ANGLERS’ BEND
Jim’s “bump on the head” luckily proved not very serious. A
handkerchief, soaked in the creek by Wally, who rode there and back at
a wild gallop, proved an effective bandage applied energetically by
Harry, who had studied “first-aid” in an ambulance class. Ten minutes
of this treatment, however, proved as much as Jim’s patience would
stand, and at the end of that time he firmly removed the handkerchief,
and professed himself cured.
“Nothing to make a fuss about, anyhow,” he declared, in answer to
sympathetic inquiries. “Head’s a bit ‘off,’ but nothing to grumble at.
It’ll be all right, if we ride along steadily for a while. I don’t
think I’ll do any more racing just now though, thank you!”
“Who won that race?” queried Harry, laughing. The spirits of the little
party, from being suddenly at zero, had gone up with a bound.
“Blessed if I know,” said Jim. “I only know I was leading until Mick
ended matters for me.”
“I led after that, anyhow,” said Wally. “Couldn’t pull my beauty up, he
was so excited by Mick’s somersault.”
“I’d have won, in the long run!” Norah said. There were still traces of
tears in her eyes, but her face was merry enough. She was riding very
close to Jim.
“Yes, I think you would,” Jim answered; “you and Bobs were coming up
like a hurricane last time I looked round. Never mind, we’ll call it
anybody’s race and have it over again sometime.”
They rode along for a few miles, keeping close to the river, which
wound in and out, fringed with a thick belt of scrub, amongst which
rose tall red-gum trees. Flights of cockatoos screamed over their
heads, and magpies gurgled in the thick shades by the water.
Occasionally came the clear whistle of a lyre bird or the peal of a
laughing jackass. Jim knew all the bird-notes, as well as the signs of
bush game, and pointed them out as they rode. Once a big wallaby showed
for an instant, and there was a general outcry and a plunge in pursuit,
but the wallaby was too quick for them, and found a safe hiding-place
in the thickest of the scrub, where the ponies could not follow.
“We cross the creek up here,” Jim said, “and make ’cross country a bit.
It saves several miles.”
“How do you cross? Bridge?” queried Wally.
“Bridge!—don’t grow such things in this part of the world,” laughed
Jim. “No, there’s a place where it’s easy enough to ford, a little way
up. There are plenty of places fordable, if you only know them, on this
creek; but a number of them are dangerous, because of deep holes and
boggy places. Father lost a good horse in one of those bogs, and to
look at the place you’d only have thought it a nice level bit of grassy
ground.”
“My word!” Wally whistled. “What a bit of hard luck!”
“Yes, it was, rather,” Jim said. “It made us careful about crossing, I
can tell you. Even the men look out since Harry Wilson got bogged
another time, trying to get over after a bullock. Of course he wouldn’t
wait to go round, and he had an awful job to get his horse out of the
mud—it’s something like a quicksand. After that father had two or three
good crossings made very plain and clear, and whenever a new man is put
on they’re explained to him. See, there’s one now.”
They came suddenly on a gap in the scrub, leading directly to the
creek, which was, indeed, more of a river than a creek, and in winter
ran in a broad, rapid stream. Even in summer it ran always, though the
full current dwindled to a trickling, sluggish streamlet, with here and
there a deep, quiet pool, where the fish lay hidden through the long
hot days.
All the brushwood and trees had been cleared away, leaving a broad
pathway to the creek. At the edge of the gap a big board, nailed to a
tall tree, bore the word FORD in large letters. Farther on, between the
trees, a glimpse of shining water caught the eye.
“That’s the way father’s had all the fords marked,” Norah said. “He
says it’s no good running risks for the sake of a little trouble.”
“Dad’s always preaching that,” Jim observed. “He says people are too
fond of putting up with makeshifts, that cost ever so much more time
and trouble than it does to do a thing thoroughly at the start. So he
always makes us do a thing just as well as we know how, and there’s no
end of rows if he finds any one ‘half doing’ a job. ‘Begin well and
finish better,’ he says. My word, it gives you a lesson to see how he
fixes a thing himself.”
“Dear old Dad,” said Norah softly, half to herself.
“I think your father’s just splendid,” Harry said enthusiastically. “He
does give you a good time, too.”
“Yes, I know he does,” Jim said. “I reckon he’s the best man that ever
lived! All the same, he doesn’t mean to give me a good time always.
When I leave school I’ve got to work and make my own living, with just
a start from him. He says he’s not going to bring any boy up to be a
loafer.” Jim’s eyes grew soft. “I mean to show him I can work, too,” he
said.
They were at the water’s edge, and the ponies gratefully put their
heads down for a drink of the cool stream that clattered and danced
over its stony bed. After they had finished, Jim led the way through
the water, which was only deep enough to wash the ponies’ knees. When
they had climbed the opposite bank, a wide, grassy plain stretched
before them.
“We cut across here,” Norah explained, “and pick up the creek over
there—that saves a good deal.”
“Does Billy know this cut?” Harry queried.
“What doesn’t Billy know?” Norah laughed. “Come along.”
They cantered slowly over the grass, remembering that Jim was scarcely
fit yet for violent exercise, though he stoutly averred that his
accident had left no traces whatever. The sun was getting high and it
was hot, away from the cool shade near the creek. Twice a hare bounded
off in the grass, and once Harry jumped off hurriedly and killed a big
brown snake that was lazily sunning itself upon a broad log.
“I do hate those beasts!” he said, remounting. Norah had held his pony
for him.
“So do I,” she nodded; “only one gets used to them. Father found one on
his pillow the other night.”
“By George!” Harry said. “Did he kill it?”
“Yes, rather. They are pretty thick here, especially a bit earlier than
this. One got into the kitchen through the window, by the big vine that
grows outside, and when Mrs. Brown pulled down the blind it came,
too—it was on the roller. That was last Christmas, and Mrs. Brown says
she’s shaking still!”
“Snakes are rummy things,” Harry observed. “Ever hear that you can
charm them with music?”
“I’ve heard it,” Norah said quaintly. Her tone implied that it was a
piece of evidence she did not accept on hearsay.
“Well, I believe it’s true. Last summer a whole lot of us were out on
the verandah, and there was plenty of laughing and talking going on—a
snake wouldn’t crawl into a rowdy group like that for the fun of it,
now, would he? It was Christmas day, and my little brother Phil—he’s
six—had found a piccolo in his stocking, and he was sitting on the end
of the verandah playing away at this thing. We thought it was a bit of
a row, but Phil was quite happy. Presently my sister Vera looked at
him, and screamed out, ‘Why, there’s a snake!’
“So there was, and it was just beside Phil. It had crawled up between
the verandah boards, and was lying quietly near the little chap,
looking at him stealthily—he was blowing away, quite unconcerned. We
didn’t know what to do for a moment, for the beastly thing was so near
Phil that we didn’t like to hit it for fear we missed and it bit him.
However, Phil solved the difficulty by getting up and walking off,
still playing the piccolo. The snake never stirred when he did—and you
may be sure it didn’t get much chance to stir after. Three sticks came
down on it at the same time.”
“I say!” Norah breathed quickly. “What an escape for poor Phil!”
“Wasn’t it? He didn’t seem to care a bit when we showed him the snake
and told him it had been so near him—he hadn’t known a thing about it.
‘Can’t be bovvered wiv snakes,’ was all he said.”
“When I was a little kiddie,” Norah said, “they found me playing with a
snake one day.”
“Playing with it?” Harry echoed.
“Yes; I was only about two, and I don’t remember anything about it. Dad
came on to the back verandah, and saw me sitting by a patch of dust,
stroking something. He couldn’t make out what it was at first, and then
he came a bit nearer, and saw that it was a big snake. It was lying in
the dust sunning itself, and I was stroking it most kindly.”
“By George!” said Harry.
“Funny what things kiddies will do!” said Norah, with all the
superiority of twelve long years. “It frightened Dad tremendously. He
didn’t know what to do, ’cause he didn’t dare come near or call out. I
s’pose the snake saw him, ’cause it began to move. It crawled right
over my bare legs.”
“And never bit you?”
“No; I kept on stroking its back as it went over my knees, without the
least idea that it was anything dangerous. Dad said it seemed years and
years before it went right over and crawled away from me into the
grass. He had me out of the way in about half a second, and got a
stick, and I cried like anything when he killed it, and said he was
naughty!”
“If you chaps have finished swopping snake yarns,” said Jim, turning in
his saddle, “there’s Anglers’ Bend.”
They had been riding steadily across the plain, until they had again
come near the scrub-line which marked the course of the creek.
Following the direction pointed by Jim’s finger, they saw a deep curve
in the green, where the creek suddenly left the fairly straight course
it had been pursuing and made two great bends something like a capital
U, the points of which lay in their direction. They rode down between
them until they were almost at the water’s edge.
Here the creek was very deep, and in sweeping round had cut out a wide
bed, nearly three times its usual breadth. Tall trees grew almost to
the verge of the banks on both sides, so that the water was almost
always in shadow, while so high were the banks that few breezes were
able to ripple its surface. It lay placid all the year, scarcely
troubled even in winter, when the other parts of the creek rushed and
tumbled in flood. There was room in the high banks of Anglers’ Bend for
all the extra water, and its presence was only marked by the strength
of the current that ran in the very centre of the stream.
Just now the water was not high, and seemed very far below the
children, who sat looking at it from their ponies on the bank. As they
watched in silence a fish leaped in the middle of the Bend. The sudden
movement seemed amazing in the stillness. It flashed for an instant in
a patch of sunlight, and then fell back, sending circling ripples
spreading to each bank.
“Good omen, I hope,” Harry said, “though they often don’t bite when
they jump, you know.”
“It’s not often they don’t bite here,” Jim said.
“Well, it looks a good enough place for anything—if we can’t catch fish
here, we won’t be up to much as anglers,” Harry said.
“You’ve been here before, haven’t you, Norah?” Wally asked.
“Oh, yes; ever so many times.”
“Father and Norah have great fishing excursions on their own,” said
Jim. “They take a tent and camp out for two or three days with Billy as
general flunkey. I don’t know how many whales they haven’t caught at
this place. They know the Bend as well as any one.”
“Well, I guess we’d better take off the saddles and get to work,” said
Norah, slipping off Bobs and patting his neck before undoing the girth.
The boys followed her example and soon the saddles were safely stowed
in the shade. Then Jim turned with a laugh.
“Well, we are duffers,” he said. “Can’t do a thing till Billy turns up.
He’s got all the hooks and lines, all the bait, all the hobbles, all
the everything!”
“Whew-w!” whistled the boys.
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” Norah said cheerfully. “There’s lots to do.
We can hang up the ponies while we hunt for rods. You boys have got
your strong knives, haven’t you?”
They had, and immediately scattered to work. The ponies having been
tied securely under a grove of saplings, the search for rods began, and
soon four long straight sticks were obtained with the necessary amount
of “springiness.” Then they hunted for a suitable camping-ground, where
lunch might be eaten without too much disturbance from flies and
mosquitoes, and gathered a good supply of dry sticks for a fire.
“Billy ought to bless us, anyhow,” Jim grinned.
“Yes, oughtn’t he? Come along and see if he’s coming.” They ran out
upon the plain, and cheerful exclamations immediately proclaimed the
fact that Billy and the old packhorse had at length made their
appearance in what Wally called the “offing.”
Billy soon clattered up to the little party, the hobbles and quart pot
jingling cheerfully on old Polly’s back. He grinned amiably at the four
merry faces awaiting him in the shade of a wattle tree.
“This feller pretty slow,” he said, indicating Polly with a jerk of his
thumb. “You all waitin’ for tackle?”
“Rather,” said Jim. “Never mind, we’ve got everything ready. Look sharp
and shy down the hooks, Billy—they’re in that tin, and the lines are
tied on to it, in a parcel. That’s right,” as the black boy tossed the
tackle down and he caught it deftly. “Now, you chaps, get to work, and
get your lines ready.”
“Right oh!” said the chorus, as it fell to work. Billy made a swift
incursion into the interior of the pack, and fished up a tin of worms
and some raw meat, Wally being the only one to patronize the latter.
The other three baited their hooks with worms, and, all being in
readiness, made their way down the steep bank at a place where a little
cleft gave easier access to a tiny shelving beach below. Here a great
tree-trunk had long ago been left by an unusually high flood, and
formed a splendid place to fish from, as it jutted out for some
distance over the stream. Norah scrambled out like a cat to its
farthest extremity, and Harry followed her for part of the way. Wally
and Jim settled themselves at intervals along the trunk. Sinkers,
floats and baits were examined, and the business of the day began.
Everybody knows how it feels to fish. You throw in your hook with such
blissful certainty that no fish can possibly resist the temptation you
are dangling before its eyes. There is suppressed excitement all over
you. You are all on the alert, feeling for imaginary nibbles, for bites
that are not there. Sometimes, of course, the dreams come true, and the
bites are realities; but these occasions are sadly outnumbered by the
times when you keep on feeling and bobbing your line vainly, while
excitement lulls to expectation, and expectation merges into hope, and
hope becomes wishing, and wishing often dies down to disappointment.
Such was the gradual fate of the fishing party at Anglers’ Bend. At
first the four floats were watched with an intensity of regard that
should surely have had some effect in luring fishes to the surface; but
as the minutes dragged by and not a fish seemed inclined even to
nibble, the solemn silence which had brooded on the quartet was broken
by sundry fidgetings and wrigglings and suppressed remarks on the
variableness of fish and the slowness of fishing. Men enjoy the sport,
because they can light their pipes and smoke in expectant ease; but the
consolation of tobacco was debarred from boys who were, as Jim put it,
“too young to smoke and too old to make idiots of themselves by trying
it,” and so they found it undeniably dull.
Billy came down to join the party presently, after he had seen to his
horses and unpacked old Polly’s load. His appearance gave Jim a
brilliant idea, and he promptly despatched the black boy for cake,
which proved a welcome stimulant to flagging enthusiasm.
“Don’t know if fish care about cake crumbs,” said Harry, finishing a
huge slice with some regret.
“Didn’t get a chance of sampling any of mine,” Wally laughed; “I wanted
it all myself. Hallo!”
“What is it—a bite?”
“Rather—such a whopper! I’ve got it, too,” Wally gasped, tugging at his
line.
“You’ve got it, right enough,” Jim said. “Why, your rod’s bending right
over. Want a hand?”
“No, thanks—manage it myself,” said the fisherman, tugging manfully.
“Here she comes!”
The line came in faster now, and the strain on the rod was plain.
Excitement ran high.
“It’s a great big perch, I do believe,” Norah exclaimed. “Just fancy,
if it beats Dad’s big boomer—the biggest ever caught here.”
“It’ll beat some records,” Wally gasped, hauling in frantically. “Here
she comes!”
“She” came, with a final jerk. Jim broke into a suppressed shout of
laughter. For Wally’s catch was nothing less than an ancient, mud-laden
boot!