The horde of marauders were chasing through the lake again, and behind
them came the pike. These last did not go together, like the perch, in
serried ranks at a furious hunting pace, but slunk along one by one
from stone to stone, and from weedy clump to weedy clump.
Grim is with them, and like a seal she helps herself to the flying
bleak which in their terror rush blindly into her jaws. It is quick
work, but nevertheless not quick enough. The gluttony of the perch
angers and irritates her; she feels her belly growing larger, and her
throat widening. She has room for more fish, mountains of fish!
With a jerk of her body she comes nearer, and is now right in the
whirlpool of bleak and perch.
Quivering and trembling, the little fish fly in all directions as she
tears among them, and with strong beats of her tail to right and left
pursues her victims. Her eyes gleam, and her thin lips quiver with
insatiable desire.
A big, high-backed perch coolie makes a capture right in front of her.
In his eagerness he makes such a commotion in the water that it looks
as if it were full of thick, shining snakes. Snap! Snap! There goes a
bleak right before her nose!
This is more than she can endure! She dislikes this insolent lake-dog
in a still greater degree than when, as a young pike, she stayed in the
shelter of the creek. His cunning and deceit, his ability to save
himself and to get her into a scrape, has of late frequently irritated
her.
A moment later, while she is in the middle of a spring, he happens to
be pushed by his comrades right in front of her mouth. Her jaws are
already opened, and the water is streaming in like a mill-race; she
sees the bleak-fat upon the mouth of her plump opponent, and her
ferocity and murderous lust are doubled.
Then she gives way to the innermost need of her being. With an enormous
development of energy, intoxicated with the joy of capture, she attacks
the Rasper with the full strength of both her serrated jaws, opening
them so wide, and dashing at him with such force, that they engulf him
to far down his plump hog-back. The hundreds of little teeth with which
her palate is paved have the same desire, the same purpose; to bore
right in and hold fast.
Just as the pike’s attack is at its height, the Rasper suddenly raises
his twelve-spined dorsal fin. During his chase of the little fish, it
had lain neatly folded like a fan along his back; now it is transformed
into a murderous weapon, and its bony ribs into a bundle of hidden
sword-blades, now stiff and sharp like polished bayonets, now
elastically pliable like rapiers.
Joyfully Grim takes the big lump into her mouth. She feels that it
pricks her, but the cavity of her mouth is not troubled with any
exaggerated sensitiveness.
Splendidly heavy and solid the Rasper feels as he lies upon her tongue!
And yet--his rough, tile-like scales, and the very small amount of fat
and slime on his skin, make it unusually difficult for her to get the
lump down.
He is hurting her now. She quickly takes a better hold, even letting
her prehensile teeth come into play, and the long board-like tongue
warp in co-operation; but no matter what she does, or how wide she
opens her mouth, her efforts are in vain: the high-backed one refuses
to move beyond a certain point.
Incomprehensible! Impossible!
She tries again. Besides her tongue and her prehensile teeth, she
brings the muscles of her throat into play, and the bones of her head
expand like a snake’s. Colours dance before her eyes as the gullet
opens and closes, trying to draw in the perch’s head. But to no avail.
The wedge remains immovable. The big mouthful is _too_ big!
So there is nothing to be done, but give it up! Grim opens her mouth
wide, relaxes her prehensile teeth, which, as readily as an adder’s,
turning on their hinges, return to the perpendicular; she opens her
throat-muscles as far as she can, and even pushes with her tongue.
“There! The torture in the spiked barrel is over. The prison is
graciously open to the great perch.”
The Rasper, who, all through the battle, has been lashing out with his
strong tail, which is hanging out of the pike’s mouth, and throwing
Grim from one side to the other, suddenly notices the loosening of the
strait-jacket, and backs with a jerk. He thinks he is free, so easily
does he swim now, although the darkness before his eyes is just as
thick and oppressive.
He is still in the pike’s throat, and cannot get away, for he has his
twelve stiffest dorsal spines bored into his enemy’s palate; and the
more he worries and works with his dangerous opponent, the deeper and
more firmly do the spines fix themselves.
In the meantime Grim, true to her pike-nature, has for a few moments
lost nearly all her energy. The spines begin to hurt her, and her
mouthful on the whole to incommode her. She cannot get sufficient water
over her gills, and what does filter into her mouth in spite of the
gag, is needed by the gag itself. She can feel it breathing inside her
mouth; incessantly, with every indication of excitement, its
gill-covers open and close, and take the lion’s share of the water.
It is impossible for her to bear this suffocation any longer; she must
have air; and in ungovernable rage she begins to lash out with her
tail. Now it is she who takes the upper hand, and pushes the hog-backed
one before her through the water.
Thus the combat continues. Now it is Grim who has the mastery, and
shakes her opponent so that the perch’s tail slaps her weakly on the
cheeks, and fetches her blow after blow upon the back of her neck. Now
it is the Rasper’s turn to use Grim as a ferule, running her against
stones and water-plants on the bottom, and whirling her round.
But no matter how much they exert themselves, it is without result;
they do not succeed in getting away from one another.
Faint and dead-beat, they fall over on their sides. The blood in their
red gills scarcely circulates, their strength is ebbing, and there is
no longer any question of either being _leader_. They only take it in
turns now to splash a little with their tails and try to right
themselves.
Grim, who is lying with her gills outside in the free water, is still
alive and in possession of all her senses, but the Rasper is half dead.
Then they float up and drift over the surface of the water like dead
fish.
* * * * *
Thunder is rolling over the lake.
A scorching sun and oppressive heat have long foreboded the storm that
is brewing, and now at last it has burst; the clouds and the water have
met.
The celestial salute begins rumbling and crackling a long way off in
the farthest corner where the reed-forests rally round the mouth of the
brook. The lightning ploughs long, white-glowing fibrous sparks out of
the sombre, purple horizon, from which the showers come chasing and
sweeping over the lake, casting dark, threatening shadows before them.
Under the fringe of forest on the lee-side, where all the grebes have
crept together, one of the “big birds” is lying at anchor. She is
riding out the storm while the whirlwinds are playing touch over the
deep water. She has no lines or fishing-tackle out; she knows well that
all angling is in vain.
The water seethes and boils on all sides; the grey troughs of the waves
are full of bursting bubbles. Little slate-coloured showers dart about,
and plough up the surface of the water like the scratching of a cat on
the skin; they dash themselves against the reedy margin and the edge of
the wood, cutting broad lanes through them.
All the fish have left the shallow water for the depths where they can
lie far enough below the surface to escape the movement of the waves.
Only the sheat-fish, the old water-hyena, is out roaming.
The wild weather puts life into Oa; it brings her great opportunities.
The fish cannot see in the rough water, they are thrown out of their
course, at one moment jumbled together, then separated; and one and
another come to grief. It is corpse-weather today. The angry waves stir
up carrion from the bottom, or carry it out from bridge and bank. She
always gets so hungry in stormy weather, and feels as if she must go to
the surface for air.
Feeling her way with her sensitive barbels, she glides out of her hole
on the east side of the submarine mountain slope. Like a huge eel she
wriggles up to the surface, where she lies in wait, slowly drifting
with the current.
Grim’s white belly is not turned down now. The colour that makes the
fish look one with the water would then have hidden her well enough for
any one looking up from below. Now her flecked sides and black back
make a distinct stripe in the water.
A cunning expression comes into Oa’s little eyes. The queer fish with
two tails attracts her.
The storm is abating; the last heavy shower is over. A patch of blue
sky peeps out like a smiling eye between the frayed, swollen clouds.
The lake sinks to rest, and even the pennons of the rushes hang loosely
from their stalks; but in the distance can be heard the low rumbling of
another storm.
The boat takes advantage of the lull, and is on her way home.
Oa, hearing the swish of her bow, has only time to make a few hasty
snaps at the big perch’s already swollen belly; her thick, fleshy lips
are still pulling at the Rasper’s intestines as she slowly dives down
into deep water.
The gulls and terns, which have begun to gather about the spot, are
filled with renewed hope, and swoop down upon their prey with
vociferous cries. Involuntarily the angler’s attention is attracted to
them.
He takes out his glasses, then rows nearer; and in another moment he
has the two fish in his landing-net.
What a haul! A pike that has gorged itself on a giant perch! And it can
only just have happened, for as soon as he has them in the boat he puts
his nose to them and smells that they are fresh.
The perch, it is true, looks rather poorly, but that is probably
because the gulls have been at him already; and he carefully begins to
release it, and is greatly pleased when he discovers that the big,
voracious pike, which is quite lively, is one of his marked fish.
Grim is furious, and tries to bite and snap while the happy angler
makes a guess at her weight by swinging the landing-net up and down in
his hands. Ten pounds at the very lowest! No throwing this one back
again!
So she was once more in man’s power, between his fingers and nails. The
light made her eyes prick and smart, the dry air stopped the course of
her blood and her scales rose in terror and pain. For the third time
she was as it were in the heron’s throat!
Then at last she awoke, her sight returned and the breath to her red
gills; her brain became clear, and she no longer felt that
uncomfortable pressure on the back of her neck. Life was once more
coursing through her veins.
She was in water, and with a stroke of her tail she made for the
bottom. Oh! She had run her nose against a “stone!” She turned away and
tried to go to one side, but there was another stone; there were stones
all round her.
The fisherman had put her into the well of his boat. She would be all
right there--for the present!
The well was full of small fish, which at her appearance immediately
crowded together in a corner. She scowled at them, but although her
stomach was empty, she felt no desire to eat. She remained perfectly
still in the darkest corner of the well, and took note in her own way
of what went on around her--the angler’s tread on the planks of the
boat, his rattling with the oars and gear, his shouts and hailing of
other sportsmen gliding past, fastened themselves in her memory. Now
and again a “bushy plant” came down and waved its stalks and leaves
about her head. She wanted to get away from the bush, and started with
a stroke of her tail, but she ran straight into the landing-net. She
could not tear the bushy plant, its numerous thick tendrils were so
absurdly strong; and it increased her suspicion and gave her fresh
experience.
Deep down, Oa follows the boat and listens to the ripple of the water
against the keeled breast of the great “swimming bird.” The old hyena,
who had fed on the carrion of the lake for more than fifty years, knew
all about the fishermen. With her little blinking, bronze-coloured
eyes, that lay floating at the sides of her head, right out where the
nostrils are generally placed in mammals, she gives careful attention
to the refuse that the fisherman throws out when he cleans the dead
perch.
She dares not venture up to the surface. The sun is shining again, and
there is no archipelago of water-lily leaves under which she can hide
her head. She must wait patiently until her perquisites descend.
She also hears the splashing of the bird, and shouts and strange thumps
on the boat-planks; and she keeps her blue-black pupils fixed
expectantly upon the great dark shadow up there.
Who knows, some day perhaps a young one might drop out!
As the angler neared the shore he lifted the lid of the well, and stood
rejoicing over his catch. He saw the pike throw up her head, and was
glad to find her still as lively as ever.
And to think that Heaven should at last reward him for his magnanimity!
For the mark on the dorsal fin showed distinctly that this fish had
been in his hands before.
Grim saw glimpses of the open water from which the dark land-shadows,
in the form of the sides of the boat, shut her off. It must be a ditch
she had got into, a pool; such mishaps had befallen her before on her
annual wedding-tours up in narrow channels and bogs.
Well then, she knew what to do, and she crouched in a corner, where she
lay awaiting her opportunity.
The angler should have replaced the lid before taking his usual nip. As
it was, he was standing quietly leaning back with crooked arm, when
suddenly, with a tremendous leap, Grim sprang out of the well and over
the side of the boat, and with a splash disappeared into the lake.
“Funny thing, very funny!” said a traveller a little later in the
railway-carriage, to whom the angler had wrathfully related his story.
But the angler himself saw nothing funny in it at all.