Rain, rain, rain; continual, pertinacious, unmitigated rain! The White
House was no longer white, it was grey. Things were no longer damp,
they were totally flooded. Mr McAllister's principal hay-field was a
pond--every ditch was a rivulet; "the burn" was a destructive cataract;
the white torrents that raged down the mountains everywhere, far and
near, looked like veins of quartz, and the river had become a lake with
a strong current in the middle of it. There was no sunshine now in the
Highlands,--not a gleam!
Nevertheless there was sunshine in the hearts of some who sojourned
there. Mr Sudberry had found out that he could fish just as well in
wet weather as in dry, and that the fish were more eager to be caught.
That was sunshine enough for him! Lucy found a new and engrossing
amusement, of a semi-scientific kind, in laying down and pressing her
botanical specimens, and writing Latin names under the same, being
advised thereto and superintended by Hector Macdonald. That was
sunshine enough for her, and for him too apparently, for he came every
day to help her, (and she declared she could not get on without help),
and it was quite wonderful to observe how very slowly the laying-down
progressed, although both of the semi-philosophers were intensely
interested in their work. Flora was so sunny by nature that she
lightened up the place around her wherever she went; she was thus in
some measure independent of the sun. George was heard to say more than
once that her face was as good as a sunbeam any day! Mrs Sudberry,
poor woman, was so rampantly triumphant in the total discomfiture of her
husband touching the weather, that she resigned herself to Highland
miseries in a species of happy contentment, and thus lived in what may
be likened to a species of mild moonshine of her own. Tilly, poor,
delicate, unobtrusive Tilly, was at all times satisfied to bask in the
moonlight of her mother's countenance. As for Jacky--that arch-imp
discovered that wet weather usually brought his victims within doors,
and therefore kept them constantly within reach of his dreadful
influence. He was supremely happy--"darling child." Fred finished up
his sketches--need we say that that was sunshine to him? The servants
too shared in the general felicity. Indeed, they may, in a sense, be
said to have been happier than those they served, for, having been
transported to that region to _work_, they found the little bits of fun
and amusement that fell to their lot all the more pleasant and
enjoyable, that they were unexpected, and formed a piquant contrast to
the monotonous routine of daily duty.
But the brightest blaze of internal sunshine--the most effulgent and
dazzling beams of light were shed forth in the lowly hut of Jacky's
particular friend. Old Moggy did _not_ die after all! To the total
discomfiture of the parish doctor, and to the reflected discredit of the
medical profession generally, that obstinate old creature got well in
spite of the emphatic assurances of her medical adviser that recovery
was impossible. The doctor happened to be a misanthrope. He was not
aware that in the _Materia Medica_ of Nature's laboratory there is a
substance called "joy," which sometimes effects a cure when all else
fails--or, if he did know of this medicine, he probably regarded it as a
quack nostrum.
At all events this substance cured old Moggy, as Willie said, "in less
than no time." She took such deep draughts of it, that she quite
surprised her old friends. So did Willie himself. In fact, these two
absolutely took to tippling together on this medicine. More than that,
Jacky joined them, and seemed to imbibe a good deal--chiefly through his
eyes, which were always very wide open and watchful when he was in the
old hut. He drank to them only with his eyes and ears, and could not be
induced to enter into conversation much farther than to the extent of
yes and no. Not that he was shy--by _no_ means! The truth was that
Jacky was being opened up--mentally. The new medicine was exercising an
unconscious but powerful influence on his sagacious spirit. In addition
to that he was fascinated by Willie--for the matter of that, so was old
Moggy--for did not that small sailor-boy sing, and laugh, and talk to
them for hours about sights and scenes of foreign travel, of which
neither of them had dreamed before? Of course he did, and caused both
of them to stare with eyes and mouths quite motionless for half-hours at
a time, and then roused them up with a joke that made Jacky laugh till
he cried, and made Moggy, who was always crying more or less, laugh till
she couldn't cry! Yes, there was very brilliant sunshine in the hut
during that dismal season of rain--there was the sunshine of human love
and sympathy, and Flora was the means of introducing and mingling with
it sunshine of a still brighter and a holier nature, which, while it
intensified the other, rendered it also permanent.
At last the end of the Sudberrys' rustication arrived; the last day of
their sojourn dawned. It happened to be bright and beautiful--so bright
and lovely that it made one feel as if there never had been a bad day
since the world began, and never would be another bad one to the end of
time. It was the fourth fine day of the six dreary weeks--the third,
which occurred some days before, was only half-and-half; and therefore
unworthy of special notice. Nevertheless, the Sudberrys felt sad. They
were _going away_! The mental sunshine of the rainy season was
beclouded, and the physical sunshine was of no avail to dispel such
clouds.
"My dear," said Mr Sudberry at breakfast that morning, in a very sad
tone, "have you any further use for me?"
"My dear, no," replied his partner, sorrowfully.
From the nature of these remarks and the tone in which they were
uttered, an ignorant spectator might have imagined that Mr Sudberry,
having suspected his wife of growing indifference, and having had his
worst fears confirmed from her own lips, meant to go quietly away to the
river and drown him in a deep pool with a strong eddy, so that he might
run no chance of being prematurely washed upon a shallow. But the good
man merely referred to "the packing," in connection with which he had
been his wife's right hand during the last three or four days.
"Well, then, my love, as the heavy baggage has gone on before, and we
are ready to start with the coach, which does not pass until the
afternoon, I will go and take a last cast in the river."
Mrs Sudberry made no objection; so Mr Sudberry, accompanied by George
and Fred, went down to the "dear old river," as they styled it, for the
last time.
Now it must be known, that, some weeks previous to this time, Hobbs had
been allowed by his master to go out for a day's trout-fishing, and
Hobbs, failing to raise a single fin, put on a salmon fly in reckless
desperation.
He happened, by the merest chance, to cast over a deep pool in which
salmon were, (and still are), wont to lie. To his amazement, a
"_whale_," as he styled it, instantly rose, sent its silvery body half
out of the water, and fell over with a tremendous splash, but missed the
fly. Hobbs was instantly affected with temporary insanity. He cast in
violent haste over the same spot, as if he hoped to hook the fish by the
tail before it should get to the bottom. Again! again! and over again,
but without result. Then, dancing on the bank with excitement, he
changed the fly; tried every fly in the book; the insanity increasing,
tried two flies at once, back to back; put on a bunch of trout-flies in
addition; wound several worms round all; failed in every attempt to cast
with care; and finished off by breaking the top of the rod, entangling
the line round his legs, and fixing the hooks in his coat-tails; after
which he rushed wildly up to the White House, to tell what he had seen
and show what he had done!
From that day forward Mr Sudberry always commenced his day's sport at
the "Salmon Pool."
As usual, on this his last day, he went down to the salmon pool, but he
had so often fished there in vain, that hope was well-nigh extinguished.
In addition to this, his spirits were depressed, so he gave the rod to
Fred.
Fred was not naturally a fisher, and he only agreed to take the rod
because he saw that his father was indifferent about it.
"Fred, my boy, cast a little farther over, just below yon curl in the
water near the willow bush--ah! that's about the place. Hobbs declares
that he raised a salmon there; but I can't say I've ever seen one
myself; though I have fished here every other morning for many weeks."
Mr Sudberry had not quite finished speaking when Fred's rod was bent
into the form of a large hoop.
"Hallo! here, father, take it--I don't know what to do."
What a blaze of excitement beamed on the father's countenance!
"Hurrah! hold on, Fred,--no, no, _no_! ease off--he'll break all away."
The caution was just in time. Fred was holding on like a true Briton.
He suddenly let the rod down and allowed the line to run out, which it
did like lightning.
"What now, father? Oh! _do_ take it--I shall certainly lose the fish."
"No, no, boy; it is _your_ fish; try to play it out." No one but the
good man himself knew what a tremendous effort of self-denial Mr
Sudberry made on this occasion. But Fred felt certain that the fish
would get off. He also knew that his father would give fifty pounds
down on the spot to land a salmon: so he said firmly, "Father, if you
don't take the rod, I'll throw it down!"
This settled the question. Father took the rod under protest, and,
having had considerable experience in trout-fishing, began to play the
salmon with really creditable skill, considering the difficulty of the
operation, and the fact that it was his first "big fish."
What varied expression flitted across the countenance of the
enthusiastic sportsman on this great occasion! He totally forgot
himself and his sons; he forgot even that this was his last day in the
Highlands. It is an open question whether he did not forget altogether
that he was _in_ the Highlands, so absorbed, so intensely concentrated,
was his mind on that salmon. George and Fred also became so excited
that they lost all command of themselves, and kept leaping about,
cheering, giving useless advice in eager tones, tripping over stones and
uneven places on the banks, and following their father closely, as the
fish led him up and down the river for full two hours. They, too,
forgot themselves; they did not know what extraordinary faces they went
on making during the greater part of the time!
Mr Sudberry began the battle by winding up the line, the salmon having
begun to push slowly up stream after its first wild burst. In a moment
it made a dart towards the opposite bank, so sudden and swift that the
rod was pulled straight, and the line ran out with a whiz of the most
violent description. Almost simultaneously with the whiz the salmon
leaped its entire length out of the water, gave a tremendous fling in
the air, and came down with a heavy splash!
Fred gasped; George cheered, and Mr Sudberry uttered a roar of
astonishment, mingled with alarm, for the line was slack, and he thought
the fish had broken off. It was still on, however, as a wild dash down
stream, followed by a spurt up and across, with another fling into the
air, proved beyond a doubt. The fish was very wild--fortunately it was
well hooked, and the tackle was strong. What with excitement and the
violent action that ensued at each rush, Mr Sudberry was so dreadfully
blown in the first minutes, that he trembled from head to foot, and
could scarce wind up the line. For one moment the thought occurred that
he was too old to become a salmon-fisher, and that he would not be able
to fight the battle out. He was quite mistaken. Every minute after
this he seemed to gain fresh strength. The salmon happily took it into
his head to cease its antics for half a minute, just when the fisher was
at his worst. That half-minute of breathing-space was all that was
wanted.
"Geo'ge--hah!--cut--wata!"
George could not make out what his agitated parent wanted.
"Water! water!--chokin'!" reiterated his father.
"Oh, all right!" George scooped up a quantity of water in a leathern
cup, and ran with it to his choking sire, who, holding the rod tight
with both hands, turned his head aside and stretched over his left arm,
still, however, keeping his eyes fixed on the line.
"Here, up with't lips."
The lips were projected, and George raised the cup to them, but the
salmon moved at the moment, and the draught was postponed. The fish
came to another pause soon after.
"Now, Geo'ge, try 'gain."
Once more the lips were projected, once again the cup was raised, but
that salmon seemed to know what was going on, for, just as the cup and
the lips met, it went off in an unusually fierce run down the river.
The cup and its contents were knocked into George's face, and George
himself was knocked over by his father as he sprang down the bank, and
ran along a dry patch of gravel, which extended to the tail of the pool.
Hitherto the battle had been fought within the limits of one large pool,
which the fish seemed to have an objection to quit. It now changed its
tactics, and began to descend the river tail foremost, slowly, but
steadily. The round face of the fisher, which had all this time been
blazing red with eager hope, was now beclouded with a shade of anxiety.
"Don't let him go down the rapids, father," said George; "you'll never
get past the thick bushes that overhang the bank."
Mr Sudberry stopped, and held on till the rod bent like a giant hoop
and the line became rigid; but the fish was not to be checked. Its
retrograde movement was slow, but steady and irresistible.
"You'll smash everything!" cried Fred. Mr Sudberry was constrained to
follow, step by step. The head of the rapid was gained, and he had to
increase the pace to a quick walk; still farther down, and the walk
became a smart run. The ground here was more rugged, and the fisher's
actions became quite acrobatic. George and Fred kept higher up the
bank, and ran along, gazing in unspeakable amazement at the bounds and
leaps which their fat little sire made with the agility of a roe deer.
"Hold on! the bushes! let it break off!"
Mr Sudberry scorned the advice. The part of the bank before him was
impassable; not so the river, which rushed past him like a mill-race.
He tried once more to stop the fish; failed, of course, and deliberately
walked into the water. It was waist-deep, so he was carried down like a
cork with his toes touching the ground so lightly, that, for the first
time in his life, he rejoiced in those sensations, which he had hitherto
believed belonged exclusively to harlequins and columbines; namely,
swift motion without effort! Fifty yards at the rate of ten miles an
hour brought him to an eddy, into which the salmon had dashed just
before him. Mr Sudberry gave vent to another roar as he beheld the
fish almost under his nose. The startled creature at once flashed out
of his sight, and swept up, down, and across the stream several times,
besides throwing one or two somersaults in the air, before it recovered
its equanimity. After this it bolted into a deep, dark pool, and
remained there quite motionless.
Mr Sudberry was much puzzled at this point. To let out line when the
fish ran up or across stream, to wind in when the fish stopped, and to
follow when the fish went down stream--these principles he had been
taught by experience in trout-fishing; but how to act when a fish would
not move, and could not be made to move, was a lesson which he had yet
to learn.
"What's to be done?" said he, with a look of exasperation, (and no
wonder; he had experienced an hour and a quarter of very rough
treatment, and was getting fagged).
"Pull him out of that hole," suggested George.
"I can't."
"Try."
Mr Sudberry tried and failed. Having failed he sat down on a stone,
still holding the rod very tight, and wiped his heated brow. Then,
starting up, he tried for the next ten minutes to pull the fish out of
the hole by main force, of course never venturing to pull so hard as to
break the line. He went up the stream and pulled, down the stream and
pulled, he even waded across the stream at a shallow part and pulled,
but all in vain. The fish was in that condition which fishers term "the
sulks."
At last Fred recollected to have heard Hector Macdonald say that in such
cases a stone thrown into the pool sometimes had the effect of starting
the sulky one. Accordingly a stone was thrown in, and the result was
that the fish came out at full speed in a horrible fright, and went down
stream, not _tail_ but _head_ foremost. Now, when a salmon does this,
he knows by instinct that if he does not go down _faster_ than the
stream the water will force itself into his gills and drown him;
therefore when he goes down head first, (which he seldom does, except
when on his way to the sea), he goes at full speed, and the fisher's
only chance of saving his fish is to run after him as fast as he can, in
the hope that he may pause of his own accord in some opportune eddy.
A fine open space of bank enabled Mr Sudberry to run like a deer after
his fish for nigh a quarter of a mile, but, at the end of this burst, he
drew near to "the falls"--a succession of small cataracts and rapids
which it seemed impossible for any fisher to go down without breaking
his neck and losing his fish. George and Fred roared, "Hold on!" Mr
Sudberry glanced at the falls, frowned, and compressed his lips. He
felt that he was "in for it;" he resolved not to be beat, so on he went!
The fish went right down the first fall; the fisher leaped over a ledge
of rock three feet high, scrambled across some rough ground, and pulled
up at an eddy where the fish seemed disposed to rest. He was gratified
here by seeing the fish turn up the white of his side--thus showing
symptoms of exhaustion. But he recovered, and went over another fall.
Here he stopped again, and George and Fred, feeling convinced that their
father had gone mad, threw off their coats and ran to the foot of the
fall, ready to plunge into the stream and rescue him from the fate which
they thought they saw impending. No such fate awaited the daring man.
He succeeded in drawing the fish close to a gravelly shallow, where it
gave an exhausted wallop or two, and lay over on its side. George came
up, and leaping into the water tried to kick it out. He missed his kick
and fell. Fred dashed in, and also missed. Mr Sudberry rushed forward
and gave the salmon such a kick that he sent it high and dry on the
bank! But in doing so he fell over George and tripped up Fred, so that
all three were instantly soaked to the skin, and returned to the bank
without their hats. Mr Sudberry flung himself on the conquered fish
and held it fast, while George and Fred cheered and danced round him in
triumphant joy.
Thus Mr Sudberry landed his first and last salmon--a ten-pounder--and
thus, brilliantly, terminated his three-months' rustication in the
Highlands.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
But this was not the end of the whole affair--by no means. Mr Sudberry
and family returned to London, and they took that salmon with them. A
dinner-party of choice friends was hastily got up to do honour to the
superb fish, and on that occasion Fred and his father well-nigh
quarrelled on the point of, "who caught the salmon!" Mr Sudberry
insisting that the man who hooked the fish was the real catcher of it,
and Fred scouting the ridiculous notion, and asserting that he who
played and landed it was entitled to all the honour. The point was
settled, however, in some incomprehensible way, without the self-denying
disputants coming to blows; and everyone agreed that it was, out of
sight, the best salmon that had ever been eaten in London. Certainly,
it was one of the merriest parties that ever ate a salmon, for Mr
Sudberry's choice friends were of an uncommonly genial stamp. Jones,
the head clerk, (the man with the red nose and humble aspect), was
there, and so brilliant was Mr Sudberry that Jones was observed to
smile!--the first instance on record of his having given way to levity
of demeanour. Lady Knownothing was there too, and before the evening
was over she knew a few things that surprised but did not in the least
convince her. Oh, no! she knew everything so thoroughly that there was
no possibility on earth of increasing _her_ stock of knowledge! Truly
it was a happy party, and Mr Sudberry enjoyed himself so much that he
volunteered the Highland fling in the drawing-room--George whistling the
music--on which occasion he, (Mr Sudberry), swept nearly half the
tea-service off the table with his coat-tails, and Mrs Sudberry was so
happy that she didn't care a button--and said so!
But this was not the end of it yet, by any means. That winter Hector
and Flora Macdonald visited London and were received by the Sudberrys
with open arms. The result was that Lucy became intensely botanical in
her tastes, and routed out the old plants. Of course Hector could not
do less than assist her, and the finale was, that these two scientific
individuals were married, and dwelt for many years thereafter in the
Highlands. Strange to say, George and Flora fell in love with each--But
why say more? We do not mean to write the history of these two
families. It is enough to say, that every summer, for many years after
that, the Sudberrys spent two or three months in the Highlands with the
Macdonalds, and every winter the Macdonalds spent a similar period with
the Sudberrys. On the former of these occasions Fred renewed his
intercourse with Mr McAllister, and these two became so profoundly,
inconceivably, deep and metaphysical, besides theological, in their
converse, that they were utterly incomprehensible to everyone except
themselves.
Best of all, Jacky became a good boy! Yes; that day on the hills with
Peter was the beginning of it--old Moggy, Willie, and Flora, were the
continuation of it--and Jacky became good, to the unspeakable joy of his
mother.
Old Moggy lived to a fabulous age, and became at last as wrinkled as a
red herring. For all we know to the contrary, she may be alive yet.
Willie lived with her, and became a cultivator of the soil. But why go
on? Enough has been said to show that no ill befell any individual
mentioned in our tale. Even Mrs Brown lived to a good old age, and was
a female dragon to the last. Enough has also been said to prove, that,
as the old song has it, "we little know what great things from little
things may rise."