The old Mill.
It was just in the gray of the morning, and the silver light of dawn
was stealing through the deep glens of the wood, brightening the dewy
filaments that busy insects had spun across and across the grass, and
shining in long, glistening lines, upon the broad clear stream. It was
a lovely stream as ever the eye of meditation rested on, or thoughtful
angler walked beside; and from about two miles beyond Slingsby Park to
within half a mile of the small town of Tarningham, it presented an
endless variety of quiet English scenery, such as does the heart of
man good to look upon. In one part it was surrounded by high hills,
not unbroken by jagged rocks and lofty banks, and went on tumbling in
miniature cascades and tiny rapids. At another place it flowed on in
greater tranquillity through green meadows, flanked on either hand by
tall, stately trees, at the distance of eighty or ninety yards from
the banks; not in trim rows, all ranged like rank and file upon
parades, but straggling out as chance or taste had decided, sometimes
grouping into masses, sometimes protruding far towards the stream,
sometimes receding coyly into the opening of a little dell. Then again
the river dashed on at a more hurried rate through a low copse,
brawling as it went over innumerable shelves of rock and masses of
stone, or banks of gravel, which attempted to obstruct its course; and
nearer still to the town it flowed through turfy banks, slowly and
quietly, every now and then diversified by a dashing ripple over a
shallow, and a tumble into a deep pool.
It was in the gray of the morning, then, that a man in a velveteen
jacket was seen walking slowly along by the margin, at a spot where
the river was in a sort of middle state, neither so fierce and restive
as it seemed amongst the hills, nor so tranquil and sluggish as in the
neighbourhood of the little town. There were green fields around; and
numerous trees and copses approaching sometimes very close to the
water, but sometimes breaking away to a considerable distance, and
generally far enough off for the angler to throw a fly without hooking
the branches around. Amongst some elms, and walnuts, and Huntingdon
poplars on the right bank, was an old square tower of very rough
stone, gray and cold-looking, with some ivy up one side, clustering
round the glassless window. It might have been mistaken for the ruin
of some ancient castle of no great extent, had it not been for the
axle-tree and some of the spokes and fellies of a dilapidated
water-wheel projecting over the river, and at once announcing for what
purposes the building had been formerly used, and that they had long
ceased. There was still a little causeway and small stone bridge of a
single arch spanning a rivulet that here joined the stream, and from a
doorway near the wheel still stretched a frail plank to the other
side of the dam, which, being principally constructed of rude layers
of rock, remained entire, and kept up the water so as to form an
artificial cascade. Early as was the hour, some matutinal trout, who,
having risen by times and perhaps taken a long swim before breakfast,
felt hungry and sharpset, were attempting to satisfy their voracious
maws by snapping at a number of fawn-coloured moths which imprudently
trusted themselves too near the surface of the water. The religious
birds were singing their sweet hymns all around, and a large
goatsucker whirled by on his long wings, depriving the trout of many a
delicate fly before it came within reach of the greedy jaws that were
waiting for it below the ripple.
But what was the man doing while fish, flies, and birds were thus
engaged? Marry he was engaged in a very curious and mysterious
occupation. With a slow step and a careful eye fixed upon the glassy
surface beneath him, he walked along the course of the current down
towards the park paling that you see there upon the left. Was he
admiring the speckled tenants of the river? Was he admiring his own
reflected image on the shining mirror of the stream? He might be doing
either, or both; but, nevertheless, he often put his finger and thumb
into the pocket of a striped waistcoat; pulled out some small round
balls, about the size of a pea or a little larger, marvellously like
one of those boluses which doctors are sometimes fain to prescribe,
and chemists right willing to furnish, but which patients find it
somewhat difficult to swallow. These he dropped one by one into the
water, wherever he found a quiet place, and thus proceeded till he had
come within about three hundred yards of the park wall. There he
stopped the administration of these pills; and then, walking a little
further, sat down by the side of the river, in the very midst of a
tall clump of rushes.
In a minute or two something white, about the length of eighteen
inches, floated down; and instantly stretching forth a long hooked
stick, our friend drew dexterously in to the shore a fine large trout
of a pound and a half in weight. The poor fellow was quite dead, or at
least so insensible that he did not seem at all surprised or annoyed
to find himself suddenly out of his element, and into another
gentleman's pocket, though the transition was somewhat marvellous,
from the fresh clear stream to a piece of glazed buckram. Most people
would have disliked the change, but Mister Trout was in that sort of
state that he did not care about any thing. Hardly was he thus
deposited when one of his finny companions--perhaps his own brother,
or some other near relation--was seen coming down the stream with his
stomach upwards, a sort of position which, to a trout, is the same as
standing on the head would be to a human being. This one was nearer
the bank, and first he hit his nose against a stump of tree, then,
whirling quietly round, he tried the current tail foremost; but it was
all of no avail, he found his way likewise into the pocket, and two
more were easily consigned to the same receptacle, all of them showing
the same placid equanimity. At length one very fine fish, which seemed
to weigh two pounds and a half, at the least, followed advice, and
took a middle course. He was out of reach of the stick; the water was
too deep at that spot to wade, and what was our friend of the pocket
to do? He watched the fish carried slowly down the stream towards the
place where the river passed under an archway into Sir John Slingsby's
park. It was fat and fair, and its fins were rosy as if the morning
sun had tinged them. Its belly was of a glossy white, with a kindly
look about its half-expanded gills, that quite won our friend's
affection. Yet he hesitated; and being a natural philosopher, he knew
that by displacing the atoms of water the floating body might be
brought nearer to the shore. He therefore tried a stone: but whether
he threw it too far, or not far enough, I cannot tell; certain it is,
the trout was driven further away than before, and to his
inexpressible disappointment, he saw it carried through the arch. He
was resolved, however, that it should not thus escape him. Difficult
circumstances try, if they do not make, great men; and taking a little
run, he vaulted over the park paling and into the park.
He was just in the act of getting over again, perhaps feeling if he
stayed too long it might be considered an intrusion, and had the fish
in his hand, so that his movements were somewhat embarrassed, when a
little incident occurred which considerably affected his plans and
purposes for the day.
I have mentioned an old mill, and sundry trees and bushes at different
distances from the bank, breaking the soft green meadow turf in a very
picturesque manner. In the present instance, these various objects
proved not only ornamental but useful--at least to a personage who had
been upon the spot nearly as long as our friend in the velveteen
jacket. That personage had been tempted into the mill either by its
curious and ancient aspect, or by the open door, or by surprise, or by
some other circumstance or motive; and once in he thought he might as
well look out of the window. When he did look out of the window, the
first thing his eyes fell upon, was the first-mentioned gentleman
dropping his pills into the water; and there being something curious
and interesting in the whole proceeding, the man in the mill watched
the man by the river for some minutes. He then quietly slipped out,
and as the door was on the opposite side from that on which the
operations I have described were going on, he did so unperceived. It
would seem that the watcher became much affected by what he saw; for
the next minute he glided softly over the turf behind a bush, and
thence to a clump of trees, and then to a single old oak with a good
wide trunk--rather hollow and somewhat shattered about the branches,
but still with two or three of the lower boughs left, having a fair
show of leaves, like a fringe of curly hair round the poll of some
bald Anacreon. From that he went to another, and so on; in fact,
dodging our first friend all the way down, till the four first trout
were pocketed, and the fifth took its course into the park. When the
betrayer of these tender innocents, however, vaulted over the paling
in pursuit, the dodger came out and got behind some bushes--brambles,
and other similar shrubs that have occasionally other uses than
bearing blackberries; and no sooner did he see the successful chaser
of the trout, with his goodly fish in his hand and one leg over the
paling, about to return to the open country, than taking two steps
forward, he laid his hand upon his collar, and courteously helped him
over somewhat faster than he would have come without such assistance.
The man of fishes had his back to his new companion at the moment when
he received such unexpected support; but as soon as his feet touched
the ground on the other side, he struggled most unreasonably to free
his collar from the grasp that still retained it. He did not succeed
in this effort; far from it; for he well-nigh strangled himself in the
attempt to get out of that iron clutch; but, nevertheless, he
contrived, at the risk of suffocation, to bring himself face to face
with his tenacious friend, and beheld, certainly what he did not
expect to see. No form of grim and grisly gamekeeper was before him;
no shooting-jacket and leathern leggings; but a person in the garb of
a gentleman of good station, furnished with arms, legs, and chest of
dimensions and materials which seemed to show that a combat would be
neither a very safe nor pleasant affair.
"Who the devil are you?" asked the lover of trout, in the same terms
which Mr. Wittingham had used the night before to the very same
personage.
"Ha, ha, my friend!" exclaimed Ned Hayward; "so you have been
hocussing the trout have you?" And there they stood for a few minutes
without any answers to either question.