SPORT AT THE LAKE
It was not a difficult operation to bore some holes in the gunwale of my
boat and to hammer in four stout pegs for row-locks, and then I put in a
seat, constructed of thin bamboo strips, and all was ready. The craft
was more than sixteen feet long, three feet in the beam and hollowed out
to a depth of about eighteen inches. The launch was not effected until
after I had secured a long, stout painter to the bow, the rope being
made of creeper-fibre, twisted and braided. This was pliable and quite
as enduring as hemp.
Although the Links were manifestly afraid of the lake, they were
intensely interested when the craft upon which we had worked so hard and
long, went splashing into the water. She righted herself in a second and
floated high above the surface. But when I hauled her in with the rope
and jumped inside, sat down and got out my sweeps, to row, the
astonishment of the fellows was unbounded. They were frightened for my
safety, uneasy to the verge of whining, as they ran up and down the
beach, and still were all so fascinated that not one could look at
anything else. Old Fatty acted precisely like one of those dogs who is
crazy to join his master and yet dreads the water so greatly as to fear
even wetting his feet. He lifted either foot, and half squatted and gave
little jumps, as if about to plunge in and make a bold swim for the
boat, till he appeared too ridiculous for words. Then he ran down the
shore and back again and stood with his comical head on one side making
me laugh uproariously.
The boat was great! She was inclined to roll a trifle, owing to the fact
that she was the same size from stem to stern, and therefore minus the
broad beam which makes a craft steady, but she was remarkably light to
row and easily steered. Moreover I found, by throwing my weight to
either side, that she had a powerful tendency to return to an even keel,
which rendered her almost impossible to turn bottom upward. This I
attributed to the fact that while her sides were comparatively thin, the
bottom was at least eight inches thick, which made her light on top and
heavy below, an excellent arrangement when to give her a larger belly
was out of the question. I am bound to admit that she had no “lines,”
that indeed she looked like the log she was, clumsy and quite
ungraceful. Nevertheless I was prouder as I sat in her hold than is any
captain of the noblest ship afloat.
I rowed her this way and that, across to a nearby point and then
straight away down the middle of the lake for half a mile. When I turned
I made out a floating thing a score of yards from the shore on the
left—one of my alligator acquaintances, swimming about. I was not afraid
of any attack in so large a boat, especially as my nature could not have
been so readily surmised by the hungry saurians, while I was rowing. I
should not have minded a race anyway, for I felt secure on my own
stamping ground and as saucy as a boy with a toy pistol.
Before starting back, I noted particularly the outline against the sky
which our hill and its neighbours formed, thinking I might be much in
need of some such guide when I came to go further from home. Then I
drove my craft with all the speed I could force. Her prow was slightly
above the glass-like surface and the water swashed backward from her
keel with a sound that stirred me to immoderate delight in this my
supreme achievement.
The oars were heavy and the row-locks a trifle awkward; we rolled a bit
to one side and I was obliged to keep fetching her nose about to port at
every dozen strokes, but I made satisfactory time and just before she
shot across the last fifty feet of water and rammed up high on the
shore, a startled fish of some description, leaped bodily out of the
water and darted off in affright.
My friends gave forth various notes of alarm and fell back quickly to
the shelter of the trees. I was not at all certain whether they were
most afraid of the fish or of me and the magic which they seemed to
think I possessed. Fatty, however, was too glad to get me back to care
for anything else. He fell headlong over the boat in his crazy endeavour
to get his paws upon me and to roll on top of my feet.
Inasmuch as the day was too far advanced to permit of any extended
explorations, I decided to try for a bit of sport.
“Boys,” said I, remembering an old-time joke, “which would you rather do
or go fishing?”
I got them to fetch me a long line, made of thongs tied firmly together,
while Fatty got a bird for bait and I cut a tough hard hook out of wood.
For this I chose a V-shaped crutch, one leg of which became the shank,
while the other was cut off shorter, sharpened and formed like a barb.
With the line tied to this, a rock for a sinker and a piece of the bird
spitted on my hook, I got out at the end of the boat and heaved the
tackle out as far as the cord would permit.
I pulled it back with no result, save for a nibble when I had taken it
almost in. I thought the fish must be small and near the shore. However,
I tried again. The result was the same, only that I got two nibbles
instead of one. The third cast was an aggravation, for some miserable
sprat got my bait. We put on a fresh piece and tied it in place.
“Now,” I grunted, as I threw the line again, “we’ll see if you young
sardines will—”
A sudden, hard jerk on the line nearly dragged me overboard, neck and
crop. I had a bite which felt big enough to indicate a whale.
Bracing, I stopped the line abruptly from running through my hands; and
then began a tug-o’-war. It was not a scientific fight, for I dared not
permit Mr. Fish to take his head for a second, well knowing that when he
turned and slacked the line, the hook would slip from its hold at once
and let him escape. I therefore hauled at him hard and stubbornly,
panting soon and leaning backward, for he felt as heavy as the bottom of
the lake and quite as unwilling to be led as a mule. The strain came on
the line and on the hook. If these held—what would we see?
I worked backward, inch by inch in the boat, till at last I was out on
the shore. By that time the craft had been hauled off the bank and was
all but ready to float.
“Here, Fatty,—come here—and help,” I panted.
Fatty understood and while he was filled with misgivings that made him
actually tremble, he laid hold of the line and together we drew it in,
hand over hand. Presently with a mad whirl our catch came floundering
and slashing upward till it splashed the surface, in violent action,
when it disappeared like a piece of lead. A minute later we hauled the
thrashing denizen to shallow water and then clean out on the bank. It
was a good-sized tortoise, fairly hooked, dripping, fierce-looking and
struggling with all its might to get away.
Fortunately the Links knew something of turtles. Three plucked up
courage sufficient to despatch our prize at my third shout of, “Shoot
him! Pig!”
“Shoot” meant to slay, in any style or form, and “pig” signified
anything in the way of game or a foe. The catch made my friends so
enthusiastic that they wanted no end of fishing. It also provided a food
of which they were fond, and it gave me a nice new basin. Deep-lake
angling having proved to be hot, hard work, I bethought me of trying for
something more quiet. Additional line was soon forthcoming, and a run up
to camp provided a bamboo rod, after which I cut a smaller hook and
baited as before.
At the second cast from the boat, I got a good sharp strike, and without
the slightest ceremony jerked out a silvery fish a foot in length, of a
species wholly unknown in my limited category of the finny tribe. In
fifteen minutes I had seven of these, ranging in weight from one to four
pounds, I judged, and all of firmer flesh than I had expected to find in
water so warm. The enjoyable part of all this play was to hear the
exclamations of wonder on the part of the Links, at every successive
catch. Had I remained there a day, performing this feat every two
minutes, I believe those child-like creatures would have stayed at my
side, marvelling no less at the very last catch than they did at the
first.
I created an incredible excitement, finally by making Fatty take the rod
in his hand for a cast. He got a bite so quickly that it made him jump
inside his skin, from toes to crown. The fellow would have fallen down
and rolled away had I not held him fast and compelled him to land his
flopping shiner. At this the Links behind us nearly had a fit.
Amusement, curiosity, timidity and desire to come and do likewise made
them the most excited and entertaining group in the world. One by one
they worked themselves up to the frenzy of courage necessary to try
their luck, but the ticklish, unique sensation of catching a fish so
quickly dispelled their fears that before we finished they were fairly
scrambling for the chance to be the next to try.
Beholding the immense satisfaction with which males and females, young
and old, cooked and devoured our catch, I wondered that the Links had
never progressed sufficiently to fish for themselves. The only
explanation I was able to give was that owing to their dread of the
lake, about the borders of which were innumerable snakes and alligators,
they had never discovered this food and therefore knew nothing of the
ease of taking all they could wish, by various primitive methods.
A small quantity of tortoise and one of the smaller shiners satisfied my
craving for a change of diet, for neither was cooked to my liking, nor
was the flesh of a flavour to give me any particular delight. However, I
thought the Links deserved the play which the nearness of the lake
afforded, and therefore I cut them a score of hooks, that night by the
light of the fire, and had them prepare a lot of lines to tie at the end
of some bamboo rods which they fetched before the darkness descended.
For myself, I laid out a bit of roasted meat and some fruit, got my bow
and arrows together, and otherwise made ready for an early start on my
tour of exploration.