BUSTER CAPTURES A FISH
“Chances are you left it behind in the shed where the boats were kept,”
George remarked, looking up from his work, “but I wish you’d just step
ashore, and let me go on with my little job here, Buster. Excuse me for
saying it, but whenever you swing around it makes the boat rock just
awful.”
“Oh! I’m a-goin’ right away, George, and only too glad for a chance to
set foot again on something solid, that won’t sway every time I breathe
wrong. Wait till I get my fish lines, will you? P’raps if I can’t have
the pleasure of wearing my new sweater, I might manage to pick up a few
small finny denizens of the mighty Mississippi. And when it comes to
_fish_, I know you fellows are fond of most any kind that swims.”
“Except dog-fish; I draw the line there,” objected Josh. “But here’s
some meat to bait your line with, Buster; you see, Jack brought a steak
along, thinking we’d miss it all of a sudden; and we’re going to fry
some onions with that. Makes your mouth water, don’t it?”
“Makes me eyes run a-peelin’ these same onions!” groaned Jimmie;
“somebody please do be koind enough to take out me hanky, and woipe me
tears away. ’Tis remimberin’ me ould grandmither I am at this blissed
minute and that’s what makes me cry.”
Buster kindly performed that brotherly duty, and then busied himself
with his fish lines. Rod or pole he had none, nor did Buster ever bother
with such a thing as a reel. A large hook, with a hunk of meat fastened
to it, and dropped overboard, suited his ideas all right; after which he
trusted to luck to bring him a capture.
The fire was started by Jack, and already Josh could be seen getting
ready to serve as chef. He had fetched along a cute little white cap
without a peak, which he donned whenever he had to serve as the
“dish-slinger and pot wrestler,” as he was fond of calling his
occupation. It was intended to stand for his badge of authority; and
when he had it on, the rest were supposed to be his willing slaves,
ready to jump at his bidding.
There is no part of an outing that suits boys better than preparing
meals, unless it is in disposing of the same after they are cooked.
With appetites whetted to a keen edge by the air, and freedom from
anxiety, they can hardly wait until called to the feast, but wander
around, begging the cook to please hurry, if he does not want to have a
funeral on his hands.
There was always more or less merry talk passing back and forth while
these six comrades tried and true, got dinner ready; for they were
a good-natured lot, and very fond of each other, despite frequent
bickerings, usually between George on the one hand, and some chum on the
other.
Buster had managed to set his two lines, as best the conditions allowed.
Since George was so touchy about his rocking the narrow boat with his
clumsy movements, Buster had gone out to the beamy Comfort, and fastened
one of his stout lines to a cleat he found handy. The other he had
thrown out from the shore above, and tied to a stake driven into the
earth, just as he had seen a snubbing-post used down in Florida, when
sharks were being fished for around the inlets.
Every little while he would glance toward these lines, having arranged
so that if a fish took hold, a little piece of white rag would be
hoisted as a signal; very much on the order of that frequently used by
pickerel fishermen, when watching a dozen or two holes cut through the
ice, each with its separate line.
The cooking progressed slowly. Josh said he was out of practice, but
that when he got his hand in, all would be smooth sailing again.
He had plenty of assistance, for every one but George and Buster hung
around, ready to lend a hand; and after he had fixed his snares with the
baited hooks at the end, even the fat boy was willing to do anything
Josh asked.
Finally the cook announced that everything was ready, and that they
could draw up to the board. Of course this latter was only a figure of
speech, for there was not a sign of a board around; the things were
placed right on the ground, while the diners were expected to get their
supplies on a tin platter, and in a tin cup; after which they were at
liberty to squat like tailors, with their legs drawn up under them; or
else retreat to the boats for more comfortable seats.
“Talk to me about your banquets,” remarked Herb, as he started in on his
rasher of steak and fried onions, “this beats anything that was ever
invented. I wouldn’t change places with a king, right now.”
“Them’s my sintimints!” echoed Jimmie, as well as a fellow could who had
his mouth crammed full at the moment, so that he had to talk from one
side.
“Hurry up, George, or you’ll get left!” called Josh, noticing that the
skipper of the speed boat had not come ashore.
“Oh! I suppose I’ll just have to, but I’d rather be left to work here,”
replied George, nervously, whereat the rest glanced at each other, and
the looks thus exchanged seemed to say as plainly as anything: “Wonder
now if he’s gone and done it, mixed things up with his cranky old
engine, and don’t seem able to get it to working right again; that would
be just like Fussy George!”
It was more than pleasant to sit there, looking out upon the broad river
and enjoying the feast that had been prepared as a starter to their camp
life. The very wind that came sweeping across from the further shore,
cool and delicious, seemed to be of a different brand to any that they
enjoyed at home; so much do surroundings have to do with things.
No one seemed in any particular hurry but George, who bolted his dinner,
and was back again on his boat long before any of the others had
finished.
“Are we nearly half way there, do you think Jack?” asked Herb, who knew
that the skipper of the Tramp kept track of all these things and had
charts as well of the river.
“We’ve come forty-five miles since starting, because, you see, the
current is pretty strong; and for once we haven’t been held up by
George’s cranky boat,” replied Jack, lowering his voice a little when
saying this last, since there was no necessity for offending the chum
whose little oddities gave them more or less fun during a cruise.
“Then that would mean we’ve still got a good fifty to go,” suggested
Buster.
“Somebody get a leather medal for Buster here, our Lightning Calculator.
Now, it would take me ever so long to figure that forty-five from
ninety-five really leaves fifty; but just see how he grabs the answer
right off the reel. It won’t be long before he has a little ‘Professor’
tacked to his name,” and Josh chuckled as though he had really said
something smart.
Buster did not seem to feel hurt; in fact, many of these little shafts
just glanced from him as arrows might from the thick hide of a
rhinoceros; which is not saying that Buster was impervious to ridicule,
for that would be far from the truth, as he could be quite sensitive at
times; but Josh he treated with supreme contempt whenever the latter
tried to be funny at his expense.
All this while Buster had tried to keep one eye on the places where his
fishing lines were out. He fancied several times that he saw a white rag
start to show, but before he could scramble to his feet, which was quite
an effort for him, it was all over, and proved to be only a nibble, so
that on each occasion he had to sink back again, and have patience.
There were good fish in the old Mississippi, and he knew it, so why
should he not have his share of the spoils? In his moments of leisure,
while preparing his hooks and lines, no doubt Buster had pictured
himself as hauling in some monster that would be the envy of all his
camp-mates; and beside which he must have his picture taken, as positive
proof that he was the successful angler.
Jack knew that once they started they would be apt to make their
destination in less than five hours; so that there was no need of haste.
He had seen much of George’s hurrying, and what grievous results it
often brought in its train, that somehow he felt more averse to making
haste than ever.
So he and Herb and Andy sat there, chatting, as they finished their
dinner, with Buster squatting alongside like a great toad, waiting for
that bite which did not seem to materialize very fast, and in a sort of
hazy way listening to what was said by his three chums; Josh being busy
with the cooking utensils, which he liked to keep as clean as sand and
water could scour them, after the most approved camp methods known.
All at once there was a heave on the part of Buster; who seemed to be
actuated by some wild impulse, for he made frantic efforts to get up;
but as he had been sitting on one of his legs, it had gone to “sleep,”
so that even after the fat boy did succeed in gaining an erect position,
he came very near falling over into the fire that was still smouldering.
“Hi! what’s all this mean; got a fit, Pudding?” shouted the alarmed
Josh, as he supported the swaying form of the other for just five
seconds; when Buster broke loose, and went limping toward the river,
uttering all sorts of vaporings, in his excitement.
“Oh! it’s only a fish, after all,” grunted Josh, who had begun to
believe that there was something tremendous the matter.
But at any rate it meant a whole lot for Buster, who, scrambling aboard
the Comfort made a bee line for the spot where he had fastened his
stout cord. Sure enough the piece of white rag was fluttering from the
top of the rudder post, having been pulled up there when the fish had
seized the bait, and started away with it.
Everybody just naturally stopped whatever they were doing at the time,
to watch the fisherman. Even George poked his head up to see what all
the row was about, and for the moment forgot his troubles with that
cranky engine.
Buster was giving little cries of mingled delight and wonder.
“Wow! it’s sure a big one this time, boys! Takes your Uncle Nick to coax
the dandies to take hold. Yes, I spit on my bait every time, and that’s
the trick to fetch ’em. That’ll do, Josh, I’m running this circus, and
I’d thank you not to butt in. Watch me land him now, boys! Say, ain’t
this fun, though? Worth while coming fifty miles to see me do the great
act. Wow!”
“Look out, Bumpus, or he’ll pull you in!” called Jack; but evidently the
warning meant in good earnest, fell on deaf ears. Bumpus was not going
to be denied the pleasure of landing his own capture.
They saw him unfasten the cord with trembling hands, hardly able to
contain himself. Then he threw himself back in a noble attitude that
made Josh compare him with “Ajax defying the lightning,” which every one
has seen in marble.
All at once Herb gave a shout that was echoed by others.
“Whip the cord around the cleat again, Buster, quick!”
Buster attempted to obey, realizing when it was too late that he had cut
off more than he could manage when he tried to land that monster fish;
but unable to do so, and unwilling to let go of the line, for he had a
very stubborn nature, the next thing they knew there was a great splash,
and Buster was wallowing in the yellow waters of the Mississippi.