There are some pretty large cat fish in the Mississipi river and its tributaries and I am inclined to think that persons who have fished for Mississippi mud cats, have not always stuck to the truth in describing their catch, and it is perfectly natural for one big fish story to call for a bigger one and with willing listeners its not long coming.
    “One day as I was rowing up the creek in my canoe (a small tributary of the Mississippi) on my way home after having a poor day's catch) ”said an old-time river fisherman, “all of a sudden the water began to bubble and foam and I slowed down to see what was the trouble, and almost before I could say Jack Robinson a monstrous catfish shot out of the water at a terrific force and fell in my boat. It's flopping up and down almost wrecked my rather frail craft and observing my danger I began beating the fish over the head with my oar and continued doing so until it was sufficiently stunned to warrant no further trouble and then began to pull for home, but as I did so a vicious alligator shot his head out of the water and with its big red eyes looked daggers at me. That cat tipped the beam [weighed in] at 250 pounds, which gave me one of the finest catches I had enjoyed for a long, long time.” My friend told the above story just as earnestly as if he had not had a full gallon of John Barleycorn in the boat with him that morning when he left for his fishing field.
    “Once when some boys were in the river swimming a huge catfish tried to swallow the foot and leg of a half grown boy, but before it could do so and get away a man hunting for ducks observed the phenomena and shot Mr. Fish through the head and not only saved the life of the boy, but caught the fish and it was large enough to supply the community with a first class “fish fry.” The old hunter, who told the above fish story was not a professional prevaricator, but I always wondered how he missed the boy when he shot the fish, his explanation, however, was that it was an act of providence that saved the life of the boy, but as I grow older I am more inclined to the belief that providence was not present at the time unless it was in the bottle of bourbon that he carried in his hip pocket.
    An old fisherman and his son went down to examine a trot line they had stretched across a stream, which flowed into the river and on reaching their destiny they soon discovered they had a monster catch, which they soon learned was a monster river cat, which the father said weighed one thousand pounds. For a man and a twelve year old boy to land a cat fish that large was some job, but after an hour’s hard labor they did so and while Dad reset the trot line the boy was put to hold the fish lest he flip and flop and get back into the water, and safety first being his motto, he tied a rope in the gills of the fish and then looped it around the boy’s waist. “I was no sooner out in the water than that fish seemed to get the devil into it and jumped and skipped like a chicken with its head cut off and my boy began to cry for help because the fish got nearer the water every time it flopped over. It was some ways back and before I got started I heard the fish and the boy splash into the water. My boy was game, and having learned to swim like a fish he kept his head above the water though the big cat was darting here and there like a dog with hydrophobia. With the end of the line tied around the boy’s waist and the other in the gills of the fish the boy served as a bob cork to hold the fish in tow. I went to the boy’s rescue as rapidly as I could and I reached him none too early as the big fish was about to take him under. I succeeded after a hard struggle in pulling my boy into the boat and then a battle royal followed in our endeavor to reland our big fish, which we did after an hour’s fight. We were unable to pull the fish on land but we got him near the shore and tied the rope to a tree and then I sent my boy home for help and a wagon, which left me to watch the fish. I had not stood on watch long before it seemed to me some fifty or more cats equally as large as the one I had roped came to the rescue of my catch. They attacked the rope and fight them off as hard as I could they would return and try to break that rope. I never went out without my gun, but I was so busy fighting I forgot my gun, but when I did think of it I used it with telling effect and when my boy returned with help I had ten monster cat fish each weighing one thousand pounds, which we loaded on our wagon and triumphantly drove home.”
    When someone who heard him tell the story said, “Well that may be true, but I do not believe it,” the old fisherman replied: “Who the hell asked you or anyone else to believe it?” I too had my doubts and asked him how he could put ten thousand pounds of fish on so small a wagon; he shrugged his shoulders and replied: “I have often put more than that on it.” All the old man said must have been absolutely true because the boy stood by and nodded his head affirmatively while the father told it “fur de gospel truf.”

From— Cayton's Weekly. (Seattle, Wash.), 30 Nov. 1918. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Lib. of Congress.