It seemed a long time before we heard anything, but at last there were
steps and voices which soon became plain, and, to my surprise, I found
that they were talking about me.
"Oh, he can't fight, Dicksy," said one voice, which I recognised as the
tall boy's--my namesake. "Those London chaps are all talk and no do. I
shall give him a licking first chance, just to tame him down, and then
you'd better have a go at him."
"You think he can't fight, then?"
"Tchah! not he. You can lick him with one hand."
"Then I will," said Dicksee. "I wonder where he went."
"Off with that old Senna T-pot," said Burr major scornfully. "He's
taken him with him to pick snails and frogs--an idiot! I hate that
chap, Dicksy, he's a beast."
"Yes, that he is."
"You can't shake hands with him, because you never know what he's
touched last. I think the Doctor ought to be more particular about the
sort of boys he--mumble--hum--hum hum hum!"
The buzzing of a humble-bee, and then silence.
"Ck!"
"Eh?"
"Ck!" ejaculated Mercer, uttering a stifled laugh. "Oh, I say, what a
game, and us hearing every word. Thinks the Doctor ought to be more
particular what sort of boys he has in the school. I suppose that's
meant for me. Well, my father is a gentleman, and could set his to make
him a pair of trousers if he liked. Can't shake hands with me, can't
he? Well, who wants him to? I wish I could fight, I'd make him smell
my hands--my fists. He'd know then what they'd touched. But he can
fight, and licked me horrid. Lie still yet, or they'll see us get up; I
thought they were in the cricket-field. Tired, I suppose. Such a fuss
about making your hands a bit dirty. Daresay I keep 'em as clean as he
does his. I say, got stung?"
"A little," I said.
"Never mind; dock's the thing to cure that. All right. Gone. Now
then, over the stile, and do as I do."
He crept over the stile, and into the field, and began to run down
beside the hedge in a stooping position, while I followed suit, and we
did not rise up till we gained the shelter of the trees.
"There we are! This is the beginning of the woods. Oh, it's such a
place!"
"You've been before, then?" I said, as we began to wind in and out
among large beech-trees, whose smooth grey trunks were spotted with
creamy and green moss.
"Lots of times. I go everywhere when I can get away. It's a famous
place here for moths. There's old Dame Durden again. This way--now
down here; we shall soon be there."
I followed him for about a quarter of an hour through the dim, mossy
glades of the grand old wood, till all at once it grew lighter, and we
stepped out beside a broad sheet of water dotted with lilies and patches
of rush and reed, while about fifty yards farther along the bank of the
broad pool there was a roughly-thatched boat-house, with a mossy old
punt moored to one of the posts by a rusty chain.
"Now, then, what do you think of this, eh?" said Mercer.
I looked round at the smooth sheet of water glistening in the bright
sunshine, completely shut in by giant old trees whose great branches
hung down over the sides and even dipped their ends and seemed to be
repeated in the mirror-like surface. Here I could see silvery
lily-blossoms, and there others of gold floating like cups amongst the
broad round leaves, and, turning from the beautiful picture to my
companion, I could only say two words:
"It's glorious!"
"I should think it is," he cried. "We two are going to have no end of
fun together. You don't mind the other boys bullying you, and old Reb
snarling and finding fault, and the Doctor boxing your ears with your
books, when you've got places like this to come to. Hi! look at the old
moorhen, there, with her young ones," and he pointed to a
curious-looking bird swimming about and flicking its black and white
tail, as it went in and out among the rushes growing in the water, with
six little sooty-looking, downy young ones swimming after it. "Ever see
one of them before?"
"No," I said. "There's another over there too."
"No, it isn't; that's a bald coot. It's got a white shield on the top
of its head, and the moorhen's got a red one like sealing-wax. Hi! look
at that!"
For all of a sudden there was a rush and splash close to the reeds, and
the moorhen and five young ones went through the water with a dash to
hide among the reeds.
"Know what that was?"
"They saw us, and were frightened. Or did some one throw a big stone?"
"There's no one to throw big stones here. That was Mr Jack."
"Well, did he throw stones?" I said wonderingly.
"No! What a fellow you are! A jack--a pike--a big fish--took one of
the young moorhens for his dinner."
"Why, I thought pike lived on fish," I cried.
"They live on anything. I've seen them swallow young ducks and
water-rats and frogs--anything they can get. We'll come and set a
trimmer for that gentleman some day."
"I suppose I'm very stupid," I said; "but I've always lived in London,
and have very seldom been in the country. I don't know anything about
birds and fish."
"You soon will. There's always something to see here. Herons come
sometimes, but they don't stop, because it's too deep for them to wade
except in one place; and there's a hawk's nest over yonder in an old
fir-tree, but Bob Hopley shot the old birds, and you can see 'em nailed
up against his lodge. There was a magpie's nest, too, up in a big elm
tree not far off; but never mind them now. Let's catch some--Hist! look
there. See 'em?"
"No," I said, looking down into the water where he pointed.
"Come here. Lie down flat, and slowly peep over the bank through that
grass. Go softly, or you'll frighten them off. Then look down."
I did as he told me, and as I looked down into the clear, deep water,
that looked almost black from its depth, I could see quite a shoal of
fish, with their sides barred with dark stripes, sailing slowly about
between me and the dead leaves and rotten branches which strewed the
bottom of the pool.
"See 'em?"
"Yes," I whispered; "perch, aren't they?"
"Why, I thought you knew nothing about fish."
"I've seen pictures of them in books," I said, "of course."
"Yes, perch, all but that black, soft-looking chap close to the bottom.
He's a tench. But come on, and let's get the rods."
He led the way to the boat-house, a green strip of coarse grass about
five feet wide leading to the rough building, and Mercer looked
longingly at the boat, which was half full of water.
"We'll try her some day," he said; "but she seems very leaky. Here we
are."
As he spoke, he took a couple of rough-looking, unjointed rods from
where they were laid across some pegs driven into the side of the
building just below the thatch eaves.
"All right," he said, examining the stout, strong silk lines twisted
lightly about them, and the hooks stuck in pieces of cork which were
bound on to the butts of the rods. "Now, then, come for the worms."
He leaned the rods up against the roof of the boat-house, and led me
into the open-sided building, where, as described by the keeper, we
found an old watering-pot half full of moss, and in this damp moss, and
below it, an abundance of fresh, lively-looking worms.
"All right. Now for some fish. This way. Take your rod, I'll carry
the pot. That's where we're going."
He pointed to where the pool narrowed, and ran up among the trees almost
to a point, where I could see some woodwork, and a post standing up in
the middle, with a series of holes pierced through it, and as we walked
round by the grassy margin which led to the spot,--
"There, that's the place," cried Mercer. "That's the penstock."
"And what's a penstock."
"Don't you see. They pull up that post, and poke a peg in one of those
holes, and that keeps it open, so as the water can run out down that
gully behind there through the wood. It's to empty the pond. There
used to be hundreds of years ago a great forge there, and the water
turned a wheel to work the big hammers when they used to dig iron here,
and melt it with charcoal. But never mind that, I want to catch some
fish. Now, then, walk out along that woodwork. There's just room for
us both on the top of the penstock, and we'll fish from there. Mind how
you go, for it's precious deep."
It looked ugly, and the old oak beams and piles were moist, and nearly
covered with moss; but I stepped out, and reached the little platform
through which the upright post ran, and turned round to look for my
companion, who was by my side directly after.
"There," he said; "there isn't too much room."
"Shall I go and fish from the bank?" I said.
"Oh no, we'll manage. Don't talk loud, only whisper, and don't move
about. I don't believe that fishes can hear all the same. There," he
added, as he baited my hook, "that's old Magglin's way. Let's see, are
you deep enough. Yes, that will do. Throw in."
I dropped in my line, Mercer followed suit, and then, in the midst of
the profound stillness of the lonely place, we stood on our little
square platform, leaning against the post, watching the white tops of
the cork floats, and waiting.
"As you've been fishing before, you know what to do," whispered Mercer;
"only don't be in a hurry, give 'em plenty of time, and don't strike
till they take your float right down."
Half an hour passed away, and my attention began to be drawn from my
float to watch the birds that sailed over the pool, or the swallows that
skimmed it in search of flies.
"Not deep enough," said Mercer suddenly, and, taking out his line, he
adjusted the float higher up, and I followed his example.
Then we began to fish again; but with no better result, and I looked
round at Mercer.
"Oh, it's no use to be in a hurry," he said. "Sometimes they won't
bite, and then you have to wait till they will. But look, something's
at mine."
I looked at his float, which had given a slight bob, and then another;
but that was all.
"Off again. Didn't want worms," he said; "wants paste."
There was another long pause.
"Not deep enough," said Mercer again. "Ought to have plumbed the
depth."
He altered his float, and I did the same, and we compared them to see
that they were about alike, and the fishing went on, till my companion
decided that we ought to have fresh worms, and selected a fine fresh one
for my hook, and one for his own before throwing the old ones out into
the water.
"Well, now," he cried, "look at that!"
I was already looking, for before the old baits had gone down many
inches, we saw them both seized by largish fish, which seemed to dart
out of some lilies a short distance to our left.
"What are you going to do?" I said.
"Wait a minute and I'll show you," he whispered, laughing, and after
attaching the bait, he brought down the floats till they were only about
a foot away from the hooks. "Now then, do as I do. Throw your line out
as near as you can to those floating leaves."
He threw his own very cleverly, so that the bait dropped into the water
with hardly a splash, and I followed his example.
"Too far," he said, as my bait dropped on to a lily leaf, but the weight
of the shot drew it slowly off the dark green leaf, and it glided into
the water.
"I've got a bite," said Mercer, in an excited whisper. "Hi, look out!
Strike! strike!" he cried, for at that moment the white top of my float
descended suddenly, rose again and then began to glide in a sloping
direction along the edge of the lily bed.
I gave the rod a sharp, upward motion, and a thrill ran up my arm, as I
felt the line tighten, and a curious tugging commence.
"Hurrah! you've got him. Don't let him go into the weeds, or you'll
lose it. Keep your rod up, and you'll have the gentleman."
I heard all his instructions, but in the flurry of holding my first fish
I did nothing but what, as the rod and line were both strong, was for
the best. That is to say, I held my rod with both hands, and kept it
nearly upright, while the fish I had hooked darted here and there, and
tried vainly to make a dive down for the bottom.
"It's all right," said Mercer breathlessly. "It's a big one, and you
must have him. Don't hurry."
"Is it very big?" I whispered excitedly.
"I think it is--over a pound, I should say. Let him get tired, or he'll
break away. Ah, it's of no use, you're caught fast, old gentleman,
whatever you are. It's a big carp or a tench. I think it's a carp,
it's so strong."
The struggle went on for fully five minutes before the fish gave in.
"Now we've got to land it," said Mercer. "Can't do it here, or he'll
break away. I know. Give me your rod to hold. That's it. Now you go
back, and I'll pass it to you."
He laid his own tackle down, and I walked carefully along the narrow
woodwork, back to the shore, while he drew the fish round, and then
reached toward me, till I could catch hold of the rod and feel the fish
still feebly struggling.
The next minute Mercer was by my side, the fish was drawn in close up
amongst the sedge growing on the bank. My companion went down flat,
reached a hand into the water, and scooped out my capture, which lay now
flapping feebly in all the glory of its golden scale armour, a short,
thick, broad-backed carp.
"There," cried Mercer, "didn't I tell you this was a grand place? Why,
it must be a two-pounder;" and I stood gloating over the vividly-bright
colour of my capture, while Mercer knelt down, took out the hook, and
finally deposited the fish in a hollow, and covered it with fern fronds.
"Look! look!" I cried just then.
"Oh, bother! Why, there's one on," said Mercer. "Here, give me your
rod;" and he stepped quickly out on to the penstock, and made a cast
with my line, trying to throw it over the top part of his own rod, which
was slowly sailing away, floating on the water with a curious motion
going on at the end, which kept diving down, as if something was trying
to draw it under water.
It was all plain enough: a fish had hooked itself, and at the first tug,
the light bamboo rod had glided off the penstock, to act as a big, long
float, for the cork was deep down somewhere out of sight.
I followed on to the penstock, and stood by as cast after cast was made,
always cleverly over the rod, but the hook glided back on being drawn
without taking hold.
It was plain enough that in a few minutes the rod would be drawn out of
reach, when Mercer made a more lucky cast, for in drawing back, the hook
had caught a part of the other line, and directly after there was a
steady tightening.
"Hah!" ejaculated Mercer, and he drew in steadily till his own rod was
within reach, and I lay down, leaned out as far as I could, and strained
to reach it.
"Take care. Hold tight. It's horrid deep here. Mind, or you'll be
in."
But I was holding tightly by part of the woodwork, and, after a few more
efforts, I touched the butt of the rod with the tips of my fingers,
pushing it away, for it to rise again right into my hand, and I rose
with it, safe.
"Give it to me. Take yours," cried Mercer, when the exchange was made,
and I saw his face light up as he began to play a good-sized fish, but
with my hook still attached to his line.
"It's a big one," he panted, as the struggle went on, with, the fish
fighting now to reach the water-lilies, but without success. "That
wouldn't do," he cried. "If he once got in there, he'd wind the weeds
about the line, and break away."
So, by steady force, the fish was led back, and again I went ashore
first, took Mercer's rod, and held it while he scooped out, and threw
high our second capture, which proved to be another carp, nearly, but
not quite so big as mine.
We were soon fishing again from our old place, but without the slightest
success now, the struggles with our golden prisoners having apparently
scared away all the other fish.
"This won't do," said Mercer at last; "we shall have to try somewhere
else. Here, I forgot all about Jem Roff; and look at 'em."
"Look at what?"
"Why, the eels. Can't you see them?"
"No."
"Why, look at those bubbles coming up. That's eels at work stirring up
the mud at the bottom, or coming out of their holes. We'll soon talk to
them."
His way of talking to the eels was to raise the floats so high, that,
after trying several times, it became evident that he had adjusted the
depth so that the bait touched the ground, and the floats lay half over
on their sides.
"Now then," he said, after examining the worms, "we ought to catch old
Jem's supper pretty soon. Throw in there, near me."
I did as I was told, and the patient waiting began again, with changes
of baits and moves in fresh positions, but without result, and I was
beginning to get rather tired and hungry, when my companion said
dolefully,--
"Don't seem to bite. They won't begin till it's nearly dusk, and we
shall have to go back before very long, for we must have some tea.
Wonder whether cook'll give us some meat? I know: we'll get some eggs
of Polly Hopley; she'll boil 'em for us, and we'll take 'em back."
We fished for another hour.
"It's no good," said Mercer; "I'm very sorry. I wanted you to catch a
big eel, and then you'd want to come again, and now you won't care about
it."
"Oh yes, I shall," I said. "It was worth coming too, even if we didn't
catch any more fish."
"You think so? Look! you've got him!"
For my float was bobbing gently, and moving slowly away.
"No, no, don't strike. Yes--let him have it. That's an eel biting, and
he will not leave it. You'll see."
The gentle bob, bob, bob of the float went on as it glided slowly away
foot after foot, till I could bear the excitement no longer, and I
turned my eyes to my companion as if to say, "Do let me strike now--
strike gently."
"Yes," he cried, "he must have got it;" and I struck gently, and felt
directly as if the hook was in a stump or a dead branch at the bottom of
the pool.
"It isn't a fish," I said, looking at Mercer.
"What is it then?" he replied, laughing. "It's an eel."
"But it don't move or run about."
"You wait a minute. It's an eel, and a big one."
My acquaintance with eels so far had been upon the slabs at the
fishmonger's shops, or in pieces browned and garnished with fried
parsley, and my line remained so tight and still that I still doubted my
companion's words.
"He has got his tail in a hole, or twined about a stump."
"But don't you think the hook's in a stump?"
"I never knew a stump bite at a worm, and run away with your float.
There, he's loose now. Keep him up, and don't let him go down low
again."
I heard his words, but felt that all I could do was to let the eel go
where it liked. For it started the fight by swinging its head rapidly
from side to side in a succession of sharp jerks, and then began to make
the line and the top of the rod quiver, as it worked its way backward,
trying to descend to the bottom, while my efforts were, of course,
directed towards pulling it to the top.
"That's right; you've got him fast," said Mercer. "It's of no use to
try and play him, he'll keep on like that for long enough. Give me the
rod while you get back to the bank. Then you must pull him out quickly,
right up on to the grass, and put your foot upon him. Not afraid of
eels, are you?"
"I don't know," I said.
"Because the big ones will bite--hard."
I handed the rod, and walked back along the woodwork that was like the
isthmus of our tiny wooden peninsula, and as soon as I was ashore,
Mercer left his rod again, and handed me mine, following directly after,
as I felt the snaky-looking creature writhing and undulating at the end
of the line, sending quite a galvanic thrill up my arms the while.
"Now then," said Mercer, "pull steady; and when it is near the top, run
it right out on to the grass."
I tried to obey his orders; but when I saw the creature keeping up its
rapid serpentine motion, I felt disposed to let it go down again into
its watery depths. I did not, however, but gradually swept the point of
my rod round, drawing my prisoner nearly to the bank, and then with one
good swing drew it right out on to the grass, where, in an instant, it
tied itself right up in a knot, with the line twisted about it.
"Oh my, what a mess!" cried Mercer, coming to my help. "Ugh! you nasty,
slimy wretch! Mind, or he'll be off back into the--Ah, would you?"
He seized the line, and drew the eel farther from the water's edge,
waiting his opportunity, which came directly, for the fish rapidly
untwined itself, plunged its head amongst the grass, and began to make
its way like a snake when its course was checked by Mercer's foot
planted firmly behind its head.
"Ugh! how cruel!" I said.
"Serve him right. He's grown to be as big as this by catching and
eating all the poor little fish that went near him. He's good to eat
too, and what a big one! Why, he must be over a pound. Oh my, what a
mess!" he continued. "He has swallowed the hook right down, and there's
no getting it out till he's dead. Here, give me your handkerchief, I'll
use mine when I catch one."
I took out my handkerchief, and by his directions spread it upon the
grass, when he raised his foot, lifted up the line, and the fish again
twisted itself into a knot.
"That's the way," he said. "Now then, I'll drop him gently on to the
handkerchief, and you take the cross corners and tie them over him
tight, and then the other two. Ready?"
"Yes," I said, feeling no little repugnance to the slimy creature, but
getting first one knot and then the other fast over the big round
writhing fish, and this done to my companion's satisfaction, he whipped
out his knife and cut the line.
"There," he said, "we mustn't lose sight of him, or he'll eat his way
out if he don't find another way through the folds. No; I think he's
safe. I'll hang him here."
"Here" was the rugged stump of a small branch of one of the nearest
trees.
"Now," he said, "I'll try and catch one too before we go, and we shan't
have done so very badly."
"But you've cut my hook off," I said. "How am I to fish?"
"You'll have to watch me, for I haven't another hook. Come along. We
mustn't stop much longer, or we shan't be back to tea. Stand your rod
up against that tree."
He was already half-way back to the penstock and caught up his rod, but
no fish had attacked it this time, and we stood side by side once more,
leaning against the post, watching his float, as he tried first in one
place, then in another, without success.
"We shall have to give it up and go," he said at last. "We must get
back to tea. We'll give the carp to Polly Hopley, she likes fish, and
the eel too."
"Look! a bite," I whispered, for I distinctly saw a slight quivering of
the top of the float.
"No," he said despondently. "I did that, shaking the top of the rod.
I'm not so lucky as you. Yes, it is. Hooray!"
For the faint quiver was repeated, then there were one or two little
bobs, then others, and at last the float began to dance slowly away
toward the shore.
"He has got it, and is going to take it to his hole," whispered Mercer.
"But he don't go here to-night. He's going into the frying-pan, I
think. Hah! Got him!"
For he now struck sharply, and the rod bent tremendously. There was no
steady, motionless pull here, but a fierce shaking of the head and a
hard, vibratory tugging at the line.
"Bigger than yours," he cried. "A thumper! My, how he pulls! Ah,
would you? No, you don't, my fine fellow. He wants to get to the bank,
I suppose, but he's coming out here into deep water, where there's
nothing to twist about, and he's not going ashore till I go first."
Just then the eel made a rush first in one direction, then in another,
but with a heavy pressure kept up, and the rod bending nearly double.
Then it made a rush for the shore, and Mercer raised the point of his
rod and stepped back, while I uttered a cry, for the rod had struck me
sharply on the ear.
But it was not at the blow, but at the tremendous splash, for, forgetful
in his excitement of where he stood, Mercer's step was off the narrow
penstock right into the deep water, and as I clung to the post with one
hand, I was looking down into the huge bubbling ring he had made, to see
first the rod come up, then Mercer's hand, and then his face, close to
his floating cap, but quite a dozen feet away from where I stood.
I was too much startled to move for a few moments, while Mercer beat the
water with his hands frantically for a bit, and then went under again,
but rose and called to me hoarsely,--
"Help!"
"Swim!" I shouted. "Swim!" But he only gazed at me wildly, and I saw
him go down again.
For an instant or two I stood as if turned to stone, then a thought
struck me, and I ran along the woodwork to where I had left my rod, and,
without thinking of the danger and the narrowness of the path, I ran
back again in time to see Mercer rise again, beating the water
frantically.
"Here, quick!" I shouted. "Catch hold;" and I held out the thin bamboo
pole to him, but it did not reach within a couple of yards of where he
was beating the water.
But it had its effect upon him. It was a chance for life, and in a
curious laboured way he struck out now to swim, but came on very slowly,
being hampered in some way by his own rod.
"Oh, try, try, try!" I shouted, and I saw him set his teeth and swim on
desperately till one hand closed upon the thin bamboo, and then the
other caught hold.
"Tight! Hold tight," I shouted, and, dropping on my knees, I began to
draw the rod through my hands slowly, as if it was a rope, my eyes
feeling as if they were starting as I saw his wild pallid face and set
teeth, for I was in momentary dread that he would let go.
It seemed long enough before I had drawn him within reach and snatched
at one of his wrists, then at the other, drawing myself back so as to
get him closer. Then I got tight hold of his jacket collar, and, as I
did so, my knees glided away from me back over the other side of the
penstock, and a curious sickening sensation came over me. The water and
Mercer's white face were blurred and swimming before me, and I was fast
losing consciousness, but the faintness was not much more than
momentary, and the sickening sensation began to wear away as rapidly as
it came, as I fully realised the fact that I was half off the little
platform, with my legs in the water, but holding my companion all the
time with a desperate clutch, while he clung as tightly to my wrists.
Then I tried to speak, but at first no words came, and it was all like
some terrible dream.
At last, though, the power of utterance came, and I cried loudly, in a
voice which did not seem like mine,--
"I've got you safe. Now climb out."
He did not move, only gazed wildly in my eyes till he seemed to irritate
me.
"Do you hear, you coward?" I half screamed; "climb out on to here. Do
you want me to fall right in?"
Still he did not reply, and I shouted at him again in my despairing
rage, for a curious sensation of weakness crept through me, and the
horrible thought came that sooner or later I must let him go.
"Do you hear? Don't play the fool. Climb out."
"Can't," he said in a husky whisper. "I tried--hard."
"Try again."
In obedience to my fierce order, he made an effort, splashing the water
a little, but ceased directly, and gazed at me wildly still.
"Can't. Line--round my legs."
His words sent a flash of light through me, for they explained his
miserable attempts to swim, and I realised that the stout silk line had
been twisted about him by the eel in its efforts to escape.
"Try again," I said in a voice as husky as his own. "_You must_."
He struggled feebly, but gave up at once.
"I can't," he groaned. "No strength."
The poor fellow seemed paralysed, save that I could feel his hands
grasping me with a clutch that did not relax for a moment, as I lay
there on my chest, thinking what I must do. It was evident that I
should get no help from him: for the shock of the accident, and his
discovery that he was fast bound and helpless, had completely unnerved
him, and it was plain to me that before long his desperate clutch would
relax, and, when I could hold him no longer, he would sink back and
drown before my eyes.
I looked despairingly round, but only to see deep water, and the bank so
near and yet so far, for it was out of reach.
At last my mind was made up. I would get my knees on the penstock
again, and then by main force drag him out, at all events into a sitting
position, where I could hold him against the post while he recovered
sufficiently to walk to the shore.
I waited a few moments, and then began, but to my horror found that my
feet glided over the slimy, rotten woodwork of the piles beneath the
water, and that I could get no hold anywhere. If I could have had my
hands free for a few moments, it would have been easy enough, but I
dared not let go of him, and, after a brief and weakening struggle, I
gave up, and hung over panting, with for the only result the feeling
that the water was now farther up my legs than before.
I soon got my breath again, and made a fresh effort, but with a worse
result, and this was repeated till a chilly sensation of dread ran
through me, and I felt half stunned at the horror of my position.