THE RIVALS.
For a time the boys were busy in the occupation which followed.
Evidently they had arrived at the right time, and when a half hour had
passed, a number of bass and pickerel had been added to the collection
already stored in the fish box. After that there was a lull in the
sport, and they were more occupied in watching the hurrying waters
only a few yards away, than in their own immediate task.
George, meanwhile, had taken one of the dead chubs and, placing it on
a hook, dropped the line into the water, and though he had no rod, he
"played" his bait so well that in a few minutes he felt a savage tug,
and quickly yanked his line on board, though he failed to land his
trophy.
"They're savage this morning," he remarked, as he looked at his hook,
on which the head of the chub was still fast, having been cut from the
body as if by a knife.
"Did a fish do that?" inquired Jock, eagerly, as he gazed curiously at
George's hook.
"That's what he did. I've known 'em to do worse things than that.
Hello," he suddenly added, "the other boy's got something."
Bob, who was too much engaged to heed his new appellation of "the
other boy," certainly did "have" something. His rod was drawn beneath
the surface, and when he strove to lift it, it seemed to be fast to
the bottom.
He was speedily undeceived, however, for his line began to cut swiftly
through the water, and he rose from his seat in his eagerness. The
others were as deeply interested as he, and it was evident that Bob's
strike was of no ordinary character. George grasped one oar and
brought the boat about, carefully avoiding the current and at the same
time favoring the movements of the excited young fisherman.
"He must have a monster!" said Jock, eagerly.
"It's a big one, and no mistake," replied George. "Now, be careful
with your slack. There, that's right," he added, as Bob once more
permitted the struggling fish to run with the line.
But Bob was wary now, and had had sufficient experience to enable him
to play his victim well. The struggle continued for several minutes,
and at last, with a quick, deft swing of his rod, he brought the
wearied fish alongside the boat, and George speedily had it on board
with a thrust of his ever-ready gaff-hook.
Both boys were excited as they viewed the prize, and Jock exclaimed,--
"It's a pike, isn't it, George?"
"Yes."
"How much will it weigh?"
"Oh, twelve or thirteen pound. Look there, will you!" he added, as he
drew from the mouth of the pike, which had been despatched with a blow
from the hickory club, a part of the body of a large chub. "He's the
fellow who cut my bait in two."
"What savage fellows they are!" said Jock, as he examined the bait
which George had thrown upon the bottom of the boat.
"They are that," replied George. "All these fish are regular tigers,
and the bass are about the worst of all. Still, they'll take good
care of their own young ones. I've seen the bass form a regular patrol
in front of some little bay or creek where the little fellows are, and
woe be to the fish that dares to come anywhere near them! We'll try it
some more," he added, as he placed a fresh bait upon Bob's hook and
threw it into the water.
But with the capture of the huge pike success seemed to have departed,
and at last George drew up his anchor, and after bidding the boys to
let out their lines, grasped his oars, and sent the boat out into the
swiftly running current once more.
Again they were borne down the stream with almost incredible
swiftness, and soon approached the bay where George had declared they
would find their friends. And there they discovered them, trolling
back and forth in the sheltered spot.
Their approach was greeted with a hail, and they could see Ben seated
in the stern of the boat, even then reeling in a fish. As his friends
came nearer he held aloft the prize he had taken, and shouted,--
"What luck, fellows?"
"Great!" responded Jock. "What have you had? How many have you got?"
"We've sixty or seventy pounds," replied Ben, as he resumed his seat.
"What does he mean by that?" inquired Jock, turning to George as he
spoke.
"Oh, everybody down here measures a catch by its weight. They don't
count their fish; they weigh 'em, or guess at the weight."
"How much have we got?"
"We haven't over fifty pound. Hold up that pike, and ask 'em whether
they've got anything to match that."
Jock held aloft Bob's prize, and called proudly, "Have you anything to
match that? Isn't that a beauty?"
"That's pretty good," replied Ben, "but we've one that can go you one
better;" and as he spoke he, too, held up a pike which certainly was
no smaller than the one in Jock's hands, and might be even larger.
"Dum it!" muttered George, as he began to row again.
"What's the trouble, George?" inquired Bob.
"I don't want to go back and have it said that Hank McBride had a
bigger catch than I did. I wish we could get a muscallonge."
"Isn't it early for them to run?" said Jock. "I thought they came
later."
"'Tis a bit early, but then we might strike one. I'd like to have you
get the first of the season, for I haven't heard of one being caught
yet. There always has to be a first, though, and if we could get it,
it would make Hank green with envy. He thinks he's the boss boatman on
the river."
"You don't wish so any more than we do," replied Jock, eagerly. "I'd
be willing to give a silver dollar for one."
"Hush!" said George, quickly.
"What's wrong?" inquired Jock, innocently.
"Don't let them hear anything about money. If we should happen to get
a muscallonge and they should hear you say anything about money, Hank
would declare we'd bought it. It's the way he always does."
The conversation suddenly ceased, for Jock had felt the welcome tug at
his line, and all his attention was required to land his fish. When it
was thrown into the boat it proved to be a pike of fair size; but
George was keenly disappointed, as it was evident now that he longed
for larger game, both to satisfy his own desires and to show the
envious Hank that he owned no monopoly of the fish of the St.
Lawrence.
The rivalry between the boatmen was a new and novel feature of the
sport, and Jock and Bob soon found themselves sympathizing with their
own boatman. They were almost as eager as he to add to their catch,
and every strike was hailed with a fresh delight.
The sun was now high in the heavens, and, sheltered as the boats were
from every breeze, the boys were soon sweltering in the heat. To add
to their discomfort the fish almost ceased to bite, and when another
hour had passed and not a further prize had been secured by either
party, George rowed his skiff in toward the other boat and hailed his
rival.
"Hank, isn't it about quitting-time?" "Yes," responded Hank, as
tersely as George had spoken.
"Where shall we have our dinner? Isn't Barnhart's about as good a
place as any?" "Barnhart's all right," responded the other boatman.
"You go over and start a fire, and we'll join you in a few minutes."
"Keep your lines out, boys," said George to his companions. "You
probably won't get anything, but you might as well be ready if a
muscallonge does come along and takes a fancy to your bait."
With lusty strokes he turned the skiff about, and once more rowed out
into the swift current. Then down the stream they darted, but the
novelty was mostly gone now, and besides, both boys were ready for the
dinner to which George had referred.
After the skiff had gone with the current for a half mile or more, its
course was changed and, passing through the stiller waters, was sent
ashore at a beautiful place on Barnhart's Island.
As the boys leaped out they perceived that the spot selected by their
boatman was in the midst of a grove of maple trees, a "sugar bush,"
George called it, and the cool shade was so inviting that both threw
themselves upon the grass, glad of the opportunity to stretch
themselves once more.
"If you boys want to help you might be getting some wood together,"
suggested George. "If you're hungry it will hurry up things a bit."
Both boys quickly responded to the invitation, and soon had a
considerable pile of broken branches and driftwood collected in the
spot indicated by their boatman.
"It's just like Hank McBride to leave me to do all the work and then
come in when everything's ready," growled George, as he placed a small
iron pot over the wood and started a fire.
"What do you do it for, then?" inquired Bob, lazily.
"Hey? Oh, I have to. Hank's been here longer'n I have, and what he
says most generally has to be done."
Neither of the boys continued the discussion, however, for just then
they discovered Hank approaching with their friends. In a moment his
boat was grounded, and before any one could leap ashore, Jock and Bob
ran hastily toward them.
"What did you get? Where's your catch?" inquired Jock, eagerly.
When the fish box was opened before them they could instantly see that
the catch was greater than their own; but they made no comments, and
returned with their friends to view their own fish.
"They aren't all there," declared George, who now joined them for a
moment. "I'm cleaning some for dinner, and, besides, we didn't save
the little fellows. They'd add to the weight, of course; but it didn't
seem fair to keep 'em just for that. My plan is to throw 'em back and
let 'em grow up."
Hank smiled, and, looking for a moment at the catch, said, "Pooty
fair! Pooty good! Ye did real well, George, for a beginner."
George smiled disdainfully, but the threatened rupture was averted by
the necessity of both boatmen joining in the preparations for dinner.
It was soon discovered that the intense heat had curdled the milk,
which had been brought in glass jars, and that no coffee could be
made, but all seemed to consider that a light matter when at last they
were summoned by the boatmen.
The dinner was not unlike that which Ethan had prepared at Goose Bay,
and the appetites of the boys were so keen that they declared it was a
repast fit for a king; and indeed it was. The successful sport of the
morning provided an added zest, if such an addition was necessary, and
as they ate their dinner, seated as they were in the grateful shade of
the majestic maples, it seemed to them all that never had they enjoyed
anything more. Before them was the great river, its waters still
rushing forward from the force of the fall at the Longue Seaut
Rapids. In the distance on the island they could see barns and
farmhouses, and over all was the peace of the perfect summer day.
"I suppose this is historic ground, too," suggested Jock, as he helped
himself to a fourth ear of corn.
"I s'pose so," replied Hank. "'Long in 1812 they had considerable many
fracases here. Leastwise that's what my grandfather used to say to
me."
"Where was the biggest fight?" said Jock, quickly, suspecting that Bob
was about to make inquiries of his own, and desiring to forestall him.
"'Twas back by Chrysler's Farm; that's on the Canadian side of the
river, across from Ogdensburgh. General Wilkinson had command o' our
forces, but he wasn't much good. Indeed, from what my grandfather used
to tell me I should think the American officers spent more time
fightin' among themselves than they did in fightin' the redcoats.
Neither side could lay claim to vict'ry in the battle o' Chrysler's
Farm, but our men acted so that they left everything open to the
British hereabouts, an' you never saw a Englishman yet who was slow
to use any chance that opened. An' they didn't hereabouts, I'm tellin'
you. They were all riled up over our trip to Toronto, and paid off old
scores. I believe the expedition, which was bound for Montreal, was
given up by Wilkinson after the fight back here. He wasn't much good,
though they whitewashed him in their investigations afterward. But if
we're goin' to do any more fishin' we'll have to be startin'. I say,
George," he added generously, "I don't s'pose you know the grounds as
well as I do. If ye want to, you can come along with us."
"No, I'm going somewhere else," responded George, quietly, as he rose
to assist Hank in clearing the table.
When at last our boys resumed their places in the skiff, George
whispered to them, "I'm after a muscallonge this time. We'll show Hank
yet."
His confidence increased the enthusiasm of Jock and Bob, and when,
after going with the current for a mile or more, George rowed into a
broad bay, they were more than ready for the attempt to secure the
great fish of the St. Lawrence.