"'Tis not for every one to catch a salmon."
Every one who knows Middleshire knows that the little lake of Beaumere
is bounded on the one side by the Westhope and on the other by the
Wilderleigh property, the boundary being the ubiquitous Drone, which
traverses the mere in a desultory fashion, and with the assistance of
several springs makes Beaumere what it is, namely (to quote from the
local guide-book), "the noblest expanse of water surrounded by some of
the most picturesque scenery in Middleshire."
Thither Doll and Hugh took their way in the leisurely manner of men
whose orthodoxy obliges them to regard Sunday as a day of rest.
Doll pointed out to Hugh the coppice which his predecessor, Mr. George
Loftus, had planted. Hugh regarded it without excitement. Both agreed
that it was coming on nicely. Hugh thought that he ought to do a little
planting at his own place. Doll said, "You can't do everything at once."
A large new farm was the next object of interest. "Uncle George rebuilt
Greenfields from the ground," remarked Doll, as they crossed the high
road and took to the harvesting fields, where "the ricks stood gray to
the sun."
Hugh nodded. Doll thought he was a very decent chap, though rather
low-spirited. Hugh thought that if Mr. George Loftus had been alive he
might have consulted him. In an amicable silence, broken occasionally by
whistling for Crack, who hurried blear-eyed and asthmatic out of
rabbit-holes, the pair reached Beaumere; and, after following the path
through the wood, came suddenly upon the little lake locked in the heart
of the steeply climbing forest.
Doll stood still and pointed with his stick for fear Hugh might overlook
it. "I come here every Sunday," he remarked.
A sense of unreality and foreboding seized on Hugh, as the still face of
the water looked up at him. Where had he seen it before, this sea of
glass reflecting the yellow woods that stooped to its very edge? What
had it to do with him?
"I've been here before," he said, involuntarily.
"I dare say," said Doll. "Newhaven marches with me here. The boundary is
by that clump of silver birch. The Drone comes in there, but you can't
see it. The Newhavens are friends of yours, aren't they?"
"Acquaintances," said Hugh, absently, looking hard at the water. He had
never been here before. Memory groped blindly for a lost link, as one
who momentarily recognizes a face in a crowd, and tries to put a name to
it and fails. As the face disappears, so the sudden impression passed
from Hugh's mind.
"I expect you have been here with them," said Doll. "Good man,
Newhaven."
"I used to see a good deal of them at one time," said Hugh; "but they
seem to have forgotten me of late."
"Oh, that's her!" said Doll. "She is always off and on with people.
Takes a fancy one day and a dislike the next. But he's not like that.
You always know where to find him. Solid man, Newhaven. He doesn't say
much, but what he says he sticks to."
"He gives one that impression," said Hugh.
"I rather think he is there now," said Doll, pointing to the farther
shore. "I see a figure moving, and two little specks. I should not
wonder if it were him and the boys. They often come here on Sunday
afternoons."
"You have long sight," said Hugh. He had met Lord Newhaven several times
since the drawing of lots, and they had always greeted each other with
cold civility. But Hugh avoided him when he could without drawing
attention to the fact that he did so.
"Are you going over to his side?" he asked.
"Rather not," said Doll. "I have never set a single trimmer or fired a
shot beyond that clump of birch, or Uncle George before me."
The two men picked their way down the hill-side among the tall, thin
tree-trunks. There was no one except the dogs at the keeper's cottage,
in a clearing half-way down. Doll took the key of the boat-house from a
little hole under the eaves.
"I think Withers must be out," he remarked at last, after knocking and
calling at the locked door and peering through the closed window. Hugh
had been of that opinion for some time. "Gone out with his wife, I
expect. Never mind, we can do without him."
They went slipping over the dry beech-mast to the boat-house. Doll
unlocked the door and climbed into one of the boats; Hugh and Crack
followed. They got a perch-rod off a long shelf, and half a dozen
trimmers. Then they pulled out a little way and stopped near an
archipelago of water-lily leaves.
Doll got out the perch-rod and float and made a cast.
"It's not fishing," he said, apologetically, half to his guest and half
to his Maker. "But we are bound to get some baits."
Hugh nodded, and gazed down at the thin forest below. He could see the
perch moving in little companies in the still water beyond the
water-trees. Presently a perch, a very small one, out alone for the
first time, came up, all stiff head and shoulders and wagging tail, to
the carelessly covered hook.
"Don't, don't, you young idiot!" said Hugh, below his breath. But the
perch knew that the time had come when a perch must judge for himself.
The float curtesied and went under, and in another second the little
independent was in the boat.
"There are other fools in the world besides me, it seems," said Hugh to
himself.
"He'll do; but I wish he was a dace," said Doll, slipping the victim
into a tin with holes in the top. "Half a dozen will be enough."
They got half a dozen, baited and set the trimmers white side up, and
were turning to row back, when Doll's eyes became suddenly fixed.
"By Jove! there's something at it," he said, pointing to a trimmer at
some distance.
Both men looked intently at it. Crack felt that something was happening,
and left off smelling the empty fish-can.
The trimmer began to nod, to tilt, and then turned suddenly upsidedown,
and remained motionless.
"He's running the line off it," said Doll.
As he spoke the trimmer gave one jerk and went under. Then it
reappeared, awkwardly bustling out into the open.
"Oh, hang it all! it's Sunday," said Doll, with a groan. "We can't be
catching pike on a Sunday." And he caught up the oars and rowed swiftly
towards the trimmer.
As soon as they were within a boat's length it disappeared again, came
up again, and went pecking along the top of the water. Doll pursued
warily, and got hold of it.
"Gently, now," he said, as he shipped the oars. "He'll go under the boat
and break us if we don't look out. I'll play him, and you shove the net
under him. Damn!--God forgive me!--we've come out without a landing-net.
Good Lord, Scarlett, you can't gaff him with a champagne-opener. There,
you pull him in, and I'll grab him somehow. I've done it before. Crack,
lie down, you infernal fool! Scarlett, if you pull him like that you'll
lose him to a certainty. By George, he's a big one!" Doll tore off his
coat and turned up his shirt-sleeves. "He's going under the boat. If you
let him go under the boat, I tell you, he'll break us. I'm quite ready."
Doll was rubbing his waistcoat-buttons against the gunwale. "Bring him
in gradually. For goodness' sake, keep your feet off the line, or, if
he makes a dash, he'll break you! Give him line. Keep your elbows out.
Keep your hands free. Don't let him jerk you. If you don't give him more
line when he runs, you'll lose him. He's not half done yet. Confound
you, Scarlett! hold on for all you're worth. All right, old chap, all
right. Don't mind me. You're doing it first-class. Right as rain. Now,
now. By George! did you see him that time? He's a nailer! Steady on him!
Bring him in gently. Keep an even pull on him. Keep steady!"
Doll craned over the gunwale, his arms in the water. There was a swirl,
a momentary glimpse of a stolid fish, face and heavy shoulders, and the
boat righted itself.
"Missed him, as I live!" gasped Doll. "Bring him in again."
Hugh let out the slippery line, and drew it in again slowly, hand over
hand. Doll's round head was over the side, his long legs spread
adhesively in the bottom of the boat. Crack, beyond himself with
excitement, got on the seat and barked without ceasing.
"He's coming up again," said Doll, gutturally, sliding forward his left
hand. "I must get him by the eyes, and then I doubt if I can lift him.
He's a big brute. He's dragging the whole boat and everything. He's
about done now. Steady! Now!"
The great side of the pike lay heaving on the surface for a second, and
Doll's left forefinger and thumb were groping for its eyes. But the
agonized pike made a last effort. Doll had him with his left hand, but
could not raise him. "Pull him in now for all you're worth," he roared
to Hugh, as he made a grab with his right hand. His legs began to lose
their grip under the violent contortions of the pike. The boat tilted
madly. Hugh reached forward to help him. There was a frantic effort, and
it capsized.
"Bad luck," said Doll, coming up spluttering, shaking his head like a
spaniel. "But we shall get him yet. He's bleeding like a pig. He'll
come up directly. Good Lord! the water's like ice. We must be over one
of the springs. I suppose you are all right, Scarlett."
Hugh had come up, but in very different fashion.
"Yes," he said, faintly, clutching the upturned boat.
"I'm not sure," said Doll, keeping going with one hand, "that we had not
better get ashore and fetch the other boat. The water's enough to freeze
one."
"I can't swim," said Hugh, his teeth chattering.
He was a delicate man at the best of times, and the cold was laying hold
of him.
Doll looked at his blue lips and shaking hands, and his face became
grave. He measured the distance to the shore with his eye. It had
receded in a treacherous manner.
"I'm not much of a performer myself," he said, "since I broke my arm
last winter, but I can get to the shore. The question is, can you hold
on while I go back and bring the other boat, or shall we have a try at
getting back together?"
"I can hold on all right," said Hugh, instantly aware that Doll did not
think he could tow him to land, but was politely ready to risk his
existence in the attempt.
"Back directly," said Doll, and without a second's delay he was gone.
Hugh put out his whole strength in the endeavor to raise himself
somewhat out of the ice-cold water. But the upturned boat sidled away
from him like a skittish horse, and after grappling with it he only
slipped back again exhausted, and had to clutch it as best he could.
As he clung to the gunwale he heard a faint coughing and gasping close
to his ear. Some one was drowning. Hugh realized that it must be Crack,
under the boat. He called to him; he chirruped, as if all were well. He
stretched one hand as far as he could under the boat feeling for him.
But he could not reach him. Presently the faint, difficult sound ceased,
began again, stopped, and was heard no more.
A great silence seemed to rush in on the extinction of that small sound.
It stooped down and enveloped Hugh in it. Everything was very calm, very
still. The boat kept turning slowly round and round, the only thing that
moved. The sunlight quivered on the wet, upturned keel. Already it was
drying in patches. Hugh watched it. The cold was sapping his powers as
if he were bleeding.
"I could have built a boat in the time Loftus takes to fetch one," he
said to himself, and he looked round him. No sign of Doll. He was alone
in the world. The cold was gaining on him slowly, surely. Why had he on
such heavy gloves, which made him fumble so clumsily. He looked at his
bare cut hands, and realized that their grip was leaving them. He felt
that he was in measurable distance of losing his hold.
Suddenly a remembrance flashed across him of the sinister face of the
water as it had first looked up at him through the trees. Now he
understood. This was the appointed place for him to die. Hugh tightened
his hold with his right hand, for his left was paralyzed.
"I will not," he said. "Nothing shall induce me. I will live and marry
Rachel."
The cold advanced suddenly on him, as at the point of the bayonet.
"Why not die?" said another voice. "Will it be easier in three months'
time than it is now? Will it ever be so easy again? See how near death
is to life, a wheel within a wheel, two rings linked together. A touch,
and you pass from one to the other."
Hugh looked wildly round him. The sun lay warm upon the tree-tops. It
could not be that he was going to die _here_ and _now_; here in the
living sunshine, with the quiet, friendly faces of the hills all around
him.
He strengthened his numb hold fiercely, all but lost it, regained it.
Cramp, long held at bay, overcame him.
And the boat kept turning in the twilight. He reached the end of his
strength, and held on beyond it. He heard some one near at hand
suffocating in long-drawn gasps. Not Crack this time, but himself.
The boat was always turning in the darkness.
The struggle was over. "It is better so," said the other voice, through
the roaring of a cataract near at hand. "Your mother will bear it better
so. And all the long difficulties are over, and pain is past, and life
is past, and sleep is best."
"But Rachel?"
She was here in the warm, swaying darkness. She was with him. She was
Death. Death was only her arms round him in a great peace. Death was
better than life. He let go the silly boat that kept him from her and
turned wholly to her, his closed eyes against her breast.