"Here," cried the man, as he recovered himself, "it's of no use. Come
back!"
Dexter was so influenced by the man's words that he was ready to go back
at once. But Bob was made of different stuff, and he began now to work
the boat along by paddling softly, fish-tail fashion.
"Do you hear!" roared the man, just as the other came trotting up, quite
out of breath.
"Yah!" cried Bob derisively, as he began to feel safe. "Come back, you
young scoundrel!" roared the man fiercely. "Here, Digges, fetch 'em
back."
He was a big black-whiskered man in a velveteen jacket, evidently a
gamekeeper, and he spoke to his companion as if he were a dog.
This man hesitated for a moment or two.
"Go on! Fetch 'em back," cried the keeper.
"But it's so wet."
"Wet? Well, do you want me to go? In with you."
The underkeeper jumped off the bank at once into the water, which was
about up to his knees; but by this time Bob was working the boat along
more quickly, and before the underkeeper had waded out many yards Bob
had seated himself, put out the second scull, and, helped by the stream,
was able to laugh defiance at his would-be captors.
"Here, I ain't going any further," grumbled the underkeeper. "It will
be deep water directly," and he stopped with the current rippling just
about his thigh.
"Are you coming back!" cried the keeper, looking round about him and
pretending to pick up a big stone.
"No! Come arter us if you want us," cried Bob, while Dexter crouched
down watching the man's hand, ready to dodge the missile he expected to
see launched at them.
"If you don't come back I'll--"
The man did not finish his speech, but threw himself back as if about to
hurl the stone.
"Yah!" cried Bob. "Y'ain't got no stone."
"No, but I've got a boat up yonder."
"Go and fetch it, then," cried Bob derisively.
"You young scoundrels! Landing here and destroying our plantations.
I'll send the police after you, and have you before the magistrates, you
poaching young vagabonds!"
"So are you!" cried Bob.
"Hush, don't!" whispered Dexter.
"Who cares for them?" cried Bob. "We weren't doing no harm."
"Here, come out, Digges, and you run across and send the men with a boat
that way. I'll go and get ours. We'll soon have 'em!"
The man slowly waded out while the keeper trampled on the fire, stamping
all over it, to extinguish the last spark, so that it should not spread,
and then they separated, going in different directions.
"Row, Bob; row hard," cried Dexter, who was in agony.
"Well, I am a-rowing, ain't I? We warn't doing no harm."
"Let me have an oar."
"Ketch hold, then," cried Bob; and as soon as Dexter was seated they
began to row as if for their lives, watching in turn the side of the
river and the reach they were leaving behind in expectation of seeing
the pursuers and the party who were to cut them off.
Dexter's horror increased. He pictured himself seized and taken before
a magistrate, charged with damaging, burning, and trespassing. The
perspiration began to stand out in beads upon each side of his nose, his
hair grew wet, and his cap stuck to his forehead as he toiled away at
his oar, trying hard to obey the injunctions of his companion to pull
steady--to keep time--not to dip his scull so deep, and the like.
As for Bob, as he rowed he was constantly uttering derisive and defiant
remarks; but all the same his grubby face was rather ashy, and he too
grew tremendously hot as he worked away at his scull for quite an hour,
during which time they had not seen anything more formidable than half a
dozen red oxen standing knee-deep in the water, and swinging their tails
to and fro to drive away the tormenting flies.
"They hadn't got no boat," said Bob at last. "I know'd it all the time.
Pretended to throw a stone at us when there wasn't one near, only the
one we tried to cook with, flee him take hold of it and drop it again!"
"No."
"I did. Burnt his jolly old fingers, and serve him right. We never
said nothing to him. He ain't everybody."
"But let's get further away."
"Well, we're getting further away, stream's taking us down. You are a
coward."
"You were frightened too."
"No, I wasn't. I laughed at him. I'd ha' give him something if he'd
touched me."
"Then why did you run away?"
"'Cause I didn't want no bother. Here, let's find another good place,
and catch some more fish."
"It won't be safe to stop yet, Bob."
"Here, don't you talk to me, I know what I'm about. We'll row round
that next bend, and I'll show you a game then."
"Hadn't we better go on till we can buy some bread and butter?" said
Dexter; and then as he saw some cattle in a field a happy
hunger-engendered thought occurred to him,--"And perhaps we can get some
milk."
"You're allus thinking of eating and drinking," cried Bob. "All right!
We'll get some, then."
They rowed steadily on, with Dexter rapidly improving in the management
of his oar, till a farm-house was sighted near the bank; but it was on
the same side as that upon which they had had their adventure.
They were afraid to land there, so rowed on for another quarter of a
mile before another building was sighted.
This proved to be a farm, and they rowed up to a place where the cattle
came down to drink, and a plank ran out on to a couple of posts,
evidently for convenience in landing from a boat, or for dipping water.
"Here, I'll go this time," said Bob, as the boat glided up against the
posts. "No games, you know."
"What games!"
"No going off and leaving a fellow!"
"Don't be afraid," said Dexter.
"I ain't," said Bob, with a malicious grin. "Why, if a fellow was to
serve me such a trick as that I should half-kill him."
Bob landed, and as Dexter sat there in the swift-streamed Devon river
gazing at the rippling water, and the glorious green pastures and
quickly sloping hills, everything seemed to him very beautiful, and he
could not help wishing that he had a pleasanter companion and some
dinner.
Bob soon returned with a wine bottle full of milk and half a loaf, and a
great pat of butter of golden yellow, with a wonderful cow printed upon
it, the butter being wrapped in a rhubarb leaf, and the bread swung in
Bob's dirty neckerchief.
"Here y'are!" he cried, as he stepped into the boat and pushed off
quickly, as if he felt safer when they were on the move. "We'll go
lower down, and then I'll show you such a game."
"Let's have some bread and butter first," said Dexter.
"No, we won't; not till we get further away. We'll get some fish first
and light a fire and cook 'em, and--pull away--I'll show yer."
Dexter obeyed; but his curiosity was excited.
"Going to catch some more fish!"
"You wait and you'll see," was the reply; and in the expectation of a
hearty meal matters looked more bright, especially as the day was
glorious, and the scenery beautiful all round.
No signs of pursuit being seen, Dexter was ready to laugh with his
companion now.
"I knew all the time," said Bob, with superior wisdom in every
intonation of his voice; "I should only have liked to see them come."
Dexter said nothing, and the next minute, as they were in a curve of the
river, where it flowed dark and deep, they ran the boat in once more
beside a meadow edged with pollard willows.
"Now then, I'll show you some fishing," cried Bob, as he secured the
boat.
"No, not now: let's have something to eat first," protested Dexter.
"Just you look here, young un, I'm captain," cried Bob. "Do you know
what cray-fish are!"
Dexter shook his head.
"Well, then, I'm just going to show yer."
The water was about two feet deep, and ran slowly along by a
perpendicular clayey bank on the side where they were, and, deliberately
undressing, Bob let himself down into the river, and then began to grope
along by the side, stooping from time to time to thrust his hand into
some hole.
"Here, undo that chain, and let her drift by me," he cried. "I shall
fish all along here."
Dexter obeyed--it seemed to be his fate to obey; and taking the
boat-hook he held on easily enough by tree after tree, for there was
scarcely any stream here, watching intently the while, as Bob kept on
thrusting his hand into some hole.
"Oh!" cried Bob suddenly, as he leaned down as far as he could reach,
and then rose slowly.
"Got one?"
"No: I missed him. It was an eel; I just felt him, and then he dodged
back. Such a big un! They're so jolly hard to hold."
This was exciting, and now Dexter began for the first time to be glad
that he had come.
"I've got him now!" cried Bob excitedly; and, rising from a stooping
position, in which his shoulder was right underneath, he threw a
dingy-looking little fresh-water lobster into the boat.
Dexter examined it wonderingly, and was favoured with a nip from its
claws for his attention.
"Here's another," said Bob, and he threw one much larger into the boat,
its horny shell rattling on the bottom.
"Are they good to eat?" said Dexter.
"Good to eat? Why, they're lovely. You wait a bit. And, I say, you
look how I do it; I shall make you always catch these here, so you've
got to learn."
Dexter paid attention to the process, and felt that there was not much
to learn: only to find out a hole--the burrow of the cray-fish,--and
then thrust in his hand, and, if the little crustacean were at home,
pull it out. The process was soon learned, but the temptation to begin
was not great.
Bob evidently found the sport exciting, however, for he searched away
with more or less success, and very soon there were a dozen cray-fish of
various sizes crawling about the bottom of the boat.
"There's thousands of them here," cried Bob, as he searched away all
along beneath the steep bank, which was full of holes, some being the
homes of rats, some those of the cray-fish, and others of eels which he
touched twice over--in one case for the slimy fish to back further in,
but in the other, for it to make a rush out into the open water, and
swim rapidly away.
The pursuit of the cray-fish lasted till the row of willows came to an
end, and with them the steep bank, the river spreading out again, and
becoming stony and shallow.
"How many are there?" said Bob, as he climbed out upon the grass, after
washing his clayey arm.
"Twenty-one," said Dexter.
"Ah, just you wait a bit till I'm dressed."
Bob said no more, but indulged in a natural towel. That is to say, he
had a roll on the warm grass, and then rose and ran to and fro in the
glowing sunshine for about five minutes, after which he rapidly slipped
on his things, which were handed to him from the boat.
"Now," he cried, as he stepped in once more and seized an oar, "I'll
show you something."
They rowed on for some distance, till a suitable spot was found at the
edge of a low, scrubby oak wood which ran up a high bank.
The place was extremely solitary. There was plenty of wood, and as soon
as the boat had been moored Dexter was set to work collecting the sticks
in a heap, close up to where there was a steep bare piece of stony bank,
and in a few minutes the dry leaves and grass first collected caught
fire, then the twigs, and soon a good glowing fire was burning.
The bread and butter and bottle of milk were stood on one side, and
close by them there was a peculiar noise made by the unhappy cray-fish
which were tied up in Bob's neckerchief, from which the bread had been
released.
"Going to cook 'em!" he said; "in course I am. Wait a bit and I'll show
yer. I say! this is something like a place, ain't it!"
Dexter agreed that it was, for it was a sylvan nook which a lover of
picnics would have considered perfect, the stream ran swiftly by, a few
yards away the stony bank rose up, dotted with patches of brown furze
and heath, nearly perpendicularly above their heads, and on either side
they were shut in by trees and great mossy stones.
The fire burned brightly, and sent up clouds of smoke, which excited
dread in Dexter's breast for a few moments, but the fear was forgotten
directly in the anticipation of the coming feast, in preparation for
which Bob kept on adding to the central flame the burnt-through pieces
of dead wood, while Dexter from time to time fetched more from the ample
store beneath the trees, and broke them off ready for his chief.
"What are you going to do, Bob!" he said at last.
"Going to do? You want to know too much."
"Well, I'm so hungry."
"Well, I'll tell yer. I'm going to roast them cray-fish, that's what
I'm going to do."
"How are you going to kill them!"
"Going to kill 'em? I ain't going to kill 'em."
"But you won't roast them alive."
"Won't I? Just you wait till there's plenty of hot ashes and you'll
see."
Dexter had made pets of so many creatures that he shrank from inflicting
pain, and he looked on at last with something like horror as Bob untied
his kerchief, shot all the cray-fish out on the heathy ground, and then,
scraping back the glowing embers with his foot till he had left a bare
patch of white ash, he rapidly thrust in the captives, which began to
hiss and steam and whistle directly.
The whistling noise might easily have been interpreted to mean a cry of
pain, but the heat was so great that doubtless death was instantaneous,
and there was something in what the boy said in reply to Dexter's
protests.
"Get out! It don't hurt 'em much."
"But you might have killed them first."
"How was I to kill 'em first?" snarled Bob, as he sat tailor fashion and
poked the cray-fish into warmer places with a piece of burning stick.
"Stuck your knife into them."
"Well, wouldn't that have hurt 'em just as much?"
"Let them die before you cooked them."
"That would hurt 'em ever so much more, and took ever so much longer."
"Well I shan't like to eat them," said Dexter.
"More for me, then. I say! don't they smell good?"
Dexter had a whiff just then, and they certainly did smell tempting to a
hungry boy; but he made up his mind to partake only of bread and butter,
and kept to his determination for quite five minutes after Bob had
declared the cookery complete, and picked the tiny lobsters out of the
hot ashes with his burnt stick.
"They're too hot to touch yet," he said. "Wait a bit and I'll show you.
Cut the bread."
Dexter obeyed with alacrity, and was soon feasting away on what might
very well be called "Boy's Delight," the honest bread and butter which
has helped to build up our stalwart race.
Bob helped himself to a piece of bread, spread it thickly with butter,
and, withdrawing a little way from the fire, hooked a hot cray-fish to
his side, calmly picking out the largest; and as soon as he could handle
it he treated it as if it were a gigantic shrimp, dividing the shell in
the middle by pulling, and holding up the delicate hot tail, which drew
easily from its armour-like case.
"Only wants a bit of salt," he cried, smacking his lips over the little
_bonne bouche_, and then proceeding to pick out the contents of the
claws, and as much of the body as he deemed good to eat.
Dexter looked on with a feeling of disgust, while Bob laughed at him,
and finished four of the cray-fish, throwing the shells over his
shoulder towards the river.
Then Dexter picked up one, drew off the shell, smelt it, tasted it, and
five minutes later he was as busy as Bob, though when they finished the
whole cooking he was seven fish behind.
"Ain't they 'lishus?" cried Bob.
"Yes," said Dexter, unconsciously repeating his companion's first
remark, "only want a bit of salt."