The Colonel of our Reserve Battalion has an almost unique reputation
as an angler. Scattered elements of the regiment carry his piscatorial
heroics to obscure corners of the earth. Majors on the Pushti Kuli
range recount the episode of the ingenuous troutling which, having
apparently conceived a violent passion for the Colonel, literally
forced itself upon the hook seven times within a short afternoon.
Captains on the Sultanitza Planina rehearse the epic incidents of
how the Colonel snatched victory from defeat after pursuing for three
miles an infuriated pike which had wrenched the very rod from his
grasp. Subalterns in the chill wilds of Cologne, adding picturesque
details to an already artistic story, relate how he hooked a mighty
veteran carp near Windsor, and played it for nine full hours (with a
rest of ten minutes after the first, and five after each successive
hour); how, under a full moon, he eventually grounded it on the
Blackfriars' mud and beached it with a last effort; how they lay
panting side by side for a space, and how, finally, with the courtesy
due to an honourable foe from a gallant victor, he forced neat brandy
down its throat and returned it to its domain in a slightly inebriated
but wholly grateful condition.
Consequently the Colonel's announcement that in view of the armistice
he intended to spend three days in fishing the waters of a friend's
estate was received by the Mess with lively satisfaction. An
overwhelming fish diet was deprecated, but it was generally held that
the honour of the regiment was in some way involved, and the Major
felt it his duty to escort his senior officer on an expedition of such
gravity.
It transpired that the first day was unfortunate. The Colonel was
silently impolite throughout Mess and retired immediately afterwards.
The Major explained that the conditions had been adverse. The punt
leaked at the end depressed by the Colonel and the ground-bait had
been left behind. The wind was fierce and cutting, and the brandlings
had been upset into the luncheon-basket. In addition the Colonel's
reel had escaped into the river and had declined to give itself up
until the whole length of line had been hauled in; and, in leaning
over the side to reclaim it, his gold fountain-pen had vanished. Five
hooks had failed to return from the deep and two were left suspended
from inaccessible branches; Also in the Major's opinion there was not
a single fish in the river.
By breakfast the Colonel had regained his spirits. He commented on the
lack of support given him by the Major, and in his place invited the
Adjutant on the ground that he was probably less clumsy. He remarked
that the offensive had not yet opened and that the previous day had
been mainly devoted to a thorough reconnaissance of the whole sector.
He had reason to believe that the enemy was present in considerable
force.
The second day proved equally unfortunate. The Colonel took his dinner
in private, and the Mess orderly, who had dismally cut the two of
clubs in the kitchen, returned from his ministrations a complete
nervous wreck. The Adjutant explained that misfortune had followed
misfortune. They had barely settled down midstream, and he was in
the act of extracting a hook from the Colonel's finger with his
jack-knife, when the punt broke from its moorings and carried them
half-a-mile downstream. It was uncanny how the craft had contrived to
navigate four bends without giving an opportunity of landing. In the
afternoon they had fished from the bank, and the Colonel had fallen
asleep while the Adjutant mounted guard. The Adjutant protested that
it was not his fault that the float suddenly disappeared, or that the
Colonel, on being vigorously awakened by him, struck so violently
at what proved to be a dead branch that he lost his footing and
tobogganned heavily into the river, and was compelled to waste three
hours in the neighbouring hostelry taking precautions against a chill.
At breakfast next morning the Colonel intimated that on this his last
day he would go unaccompanied. With one eye on the Major and the other
on the Adjutant, he passed a few remarks on the _finesse_ of fishing.
The element of surprise should be the basis of attack. Precision and
absolute secrecy in the carrying out of preliminary operations was
vital. Every trick and every device of camouflage should be brought
into play. There should be no violent preliminary bombardment of
ground-bait to alarm the hostile forces, but the sector should be
unostentatiously registered on the preceding night. The enemy's first
realisation of attack should be at that moment when resistance was
futile--though for his part he preferred a foe that would fight to the
fish-basket, as it were. He thought the weather was vastly improved
and admitted that his hopes were high.
In the evening the Colonel positively swaggered into Mess. He radiated
good fellowship and even bandied witticisms with the junior subaltern
in an admirable spirit of give-and-take. He had enjoyed excellent
sport. Later, in the ante-room, he delivered a useful little homily on
the surmounting of obstacles, on patience, on presence of mind and on
nerve, copiously illustrated from a day's triumph that will resound
on the Murman coast as the unconditional surrender of the intimidated
roach. He described how he had cunningly outmanoeuvred the patrols,
defeated the vigilance of the pickets, pierced the line of resistance,
launched a surprise attack on the main body, and spread panic in the
hearts of the hostile legions.
Unhappily for us, common decency, he said, had forced him to present
his catch to his friend.
* * * * *
"Wanted, to kill time whilst waiting demobilisation, an old
gun, rifle, or pistol."--_Morning Paper_.
Now we know why Time flies.
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[Illustration: _Barber_ (_carried away by his reminiscences_). "AND
WHEN HE'D LOOPED THE LOOP HE DID A NOSE-DIVE THAT FAIRLY TOOK YOUR
BREATH AWAY."]
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