Chapter 6. A Sea-Side Weir

________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER SIX. A SEA-SIDE WEIR

"It's of no good," said Bigley, as we tramped down over the rough sand and pebbles. "When he says 'no' he means it. We could have managed the boat all right. I say, I'll get him some day to let Binnacle Bill take us, and we'll buy some twisty Bristol for him, and make him spin yarns."

"But where's the weir?" I said, as we were getting close down to where the sea was breaking, and where the fresh-water of the little river came bubbling up from among the boulders after its dive down below, and was now mingling with the salt water of the sea.

"Where's the weir?" cried Bigley. "Why, this is it."

"This?" said Bob, "why it's only a lot of hurdles." So it appeared at first sight, but it was ingeniously contrived all the same for its purpose; and in accordance with the habits of the salmon and other fish that are fond of coming up with the tide to get into fresh-water, and run up the different rivers and streams.

It was a very simple affair, and looked to be exactly what Bob had said--a lot of old hurdles. But it was strongly made all the same, and consisted of a couple of rows of stout stakes driven down into the beach, just after the fashion of the figure on the opposite page, with one row towards the sea, and the other running up beside where the stream water bubbled up and towards the shore. In and out of these stakes rough oak boughs were woven so closely, that from the bottom to about four feet up, though the water would run through easily enough, there was no room for a decent-sized fish to go through, while down at the bottom all this was strengthened by being banked up with stones inside and out, and all carefully laid and wedged in together, and cemented with lime.

Now when the tide was up all these posts and hurdles were covered with water, and as the fish swam up to meet the fresh stream, a great many would sometimes be over the ground inclosed by the weir, searching about for food washed down by the stream, or for the little shrimps and other water creatures that hung about the hurdles, which were a favourite place too with mussels, which cling to such wood-work by thousands. Now though they are easily frightened it does not seem as if fish have much brain, for sometimes they stopped swimming about inside these hurdles till the tide had run down as low as the tops of the posts, and then, feeling it was time for them to be off with the tide, they'd start to swim off, but only to find themselves shut in.

Sometimes it would be a shoal of grey mullet, sometimes a salmon or two that had tried to get up the stream, and could not get by the pebble bar; and there they would be swimming about, not feeling their danger till it was too late.

First of all they would try to get through the hurdles, and there they would keep on trying till some wise one amongst them thought that by swimming round the ends at A or B they would reach the open sea.

Sometimes they would do this and escape. They all follow one another like sheep in a flock; but generally they do not try to get round the ends till it is too late, for while there is still plenty of water at C there is very little at B and none at all at A, and the consequence is that the fish are left splashing when the tide goes out, in a few little shallow pools, where there is nothing to do but scoop them out with a bit of a net.

The tide was getting well down, and the hurdles were nearly all bare, but there was too much water for us to see whether there were any fish left, and so we stood on first one big boulder, and then upon another, as they were left dry, every now and then making a bold leap on to a rock, to stand there surrounded by water, and now and then obliged to jump back to avoid a wetting.

But at last the hurdles and stones at the sea end of the weir were completely left by the tide, so that we could walk down, and then, as the water shallowed more and more in the triangular inclosure, we looked out eagerly for fish.

"There they are--lots of 'em!" cried Bob excitedly, for he was too much interested to be disagreeable and say unpleasant things.

"Oh, those are only little ones," cried Bigley, as the little silvery fry kept flashing out of the surface. "They'll all go out through the holes. You'll see none of them will be left."

And so it proved; for as the water in the inclosure sank lower and lower the small fry were seen no more, but a swirl here and there showed that one, if not more, good-sized fish were left, and in the anticipation of a good catch we hopped about from stone to stone, and clambered along the hurdles.

"Hooray!" shouted Bob, who was now in a high state of delight, "isn't this better than learning our jolly old _hic_--_haec_--_hoc_, eh, Sep?"

"I should think so."

"Oh!"

There was a shout and a splash and we two roared with laughter, for Bigley had just then made a jump to gain a stone standing clear of the falling water, when, not allowing for the slippery sea-weed that grew upon it in a patch, his feet glided over the smooth stone and he came down in a sitting position in the water, which flew out in spray on all sides.

"Here! Hi! Net!--net!" shouted Bob. "Come on, Sep, here's such a big one--a Bigley big one. It's a shark, I know it is. Look at his teeth!"

"It's all very well to laugh," said Bigley, getting up and standing knee-deep in the water to squeeze the moisture out of the upper part of his clothes, "but how would you like it?"

"Ever so," cried Bob; "I'm as hot as hot. Mind how you go near him, Sep, he'll bite. Oh, don't I wish I had a boat-hook, I'd fetch him out."

"I don't care. It's only sea-water. I don't mind," grumbled Bigley wading about in the pool. "I say, boys, here's a salmon and a whole lot of mullet."

"Where, where?" cried Bob, and, without a moment's hesitation he jumped in and waded towards Bigley.

"There! Can't you see 'em? There they go!" cried Bigley pointing.

"No."

"Why, out yonder! They're lying there quiet now amongst the stones."

"Oh, won't I give it you for this, old Big!" cried Bob. "There are no fish there at all. You gammoned me to make me come in and get my legs wet like yours are. Never mind, I'll serve you out."

"Why, there are some fish," cried Bigley indignantly.

"Don't you believe him, Sep," said Bob. "It's all nonsense."

"Yes, there are," I said from where I had climbed over the deepest part by clinging to the hurdles, "I can see them."

"Oh no, you can't, my lad. You'd like me to come splashing through the water there for you to laugh at me, but it won't do. There isn't a single fish in the place, only old Bigley--old Babby as his father calls him. I say, Sep, what a game! Did you ever see such a babby?"

"Don't do that," said Bigley sharply.

"Don't do what?--splash you?" cried Bob. "There--and there."

He suited the action to the word, and scooping up the water, he sent it flying over our tall schoolmate.

"You know what I mean," said Bigley, speaking in a low angry tone such as I had never before heard from him.

"Why, what do you mean?" cried Bob offensively. "Do you want me to thrash you?"

"I want you to leave my father alone, and what he says to me," said Bigley sharply. "I don't mind your making fun of me. I don't mind what you call me; but that's his name he has always used since I was a little baby, and you've no business to say it."

"Ha--ha--ha!" laughed Bob, "here's a game. Do you hear, Sep! He says he was once a little baby. I don't believe it. Ha--ha--ha!"

Bigley did not take any notice, and I did not join in the laugh, so Bob made a movement as if he were going to wade out of the pool, and his lips parted to say something disagreeable. I knew as well as could be that he was going to say that he should go home if we were about to turn like that; but his legs were wet, and the walk home was long, and not pleasant to take alone. And then there were the fish in the pool to catch, and in spite of his expressions of unbelief he knew that there must be some. So he altered his mind, and changed his tone.

"I didn't want to upset you, Big, old matey," he said. "I didn't, did I, Sep Duncan? Here, what's the good of quarrelling when it's holidays? There, I won't call you so any more."

Bigley's face cleared in a moment, and with a couple of splashes he was at Bob's side with one hand extended, and the other upon his school-fellow's shoulder.

"It's all right," he said quickly. "Shake hands, and let's get the fish. There, I'll go for the prawn net and a basket."

He ran splashing out of the water, and up over the boulders towards the cottage, leaving me and Bob together.

"I wouldn't be as big as he is," said Bob, "and I wouldn't have such a nasty temper for thousands of pounds. Here, what are you grinning at?"

"At you." For there was something so comic in his speech, coming as it did from the most ill-tempered boy in the school--Dr Stacey had often said so, and Bob proved it every day of his life--that I burst into a hearty laugh.

Bob stood knee-deep in the water staring hard at me. For the first few moments he looked furious; then he seemed to grow sulky, and then in a low surly voice he said:

"I say, Sep, it isn't true, is it?"

"Isn't what true?"

"About the--about what old stay-sail said?"

"About you being disagreeable?"

"Yes. It isn't true, is it?"

I nodded.

"I don't believe it," he said impetuously. "I'm as good-tempered a chap as anybody, only people turn disagreeable with me. Well, you are a pretty mate to turn against me like that."

"I don't turn against you, Bob, and I don't mind your being disagreeable," I said; "but you asked me, and I told you the truth."

Bob stood quite still and thoughtful, as if he were watching the fishes, and he began to whistle softly a very miserable old tune that the shepherds sang out on the moor--one which always suggested winter to me and driving rain and cold bleak winds.

"Look here!" I said, for the water was draining away fast out of the pool now, the stones that banked up the bottom of the woven hurdle-work being visible here and there.

But Bob did not move. He stood there with his hands deep in his pockets and the water up to his knees still, the part where he was being deeper, and he kept on whistling softly to himself.

"Why can't you look, Bob?" I said. "You can see the fishes quite plain."

"I don't want to see 'em," he replied sulkily. "When are you going home?"

"Oh, not forever so long; not till tea-time. Here comes Big!"

Bob did not look round, but his ears seemed to twitch as the sound of our schoolmates' heavy tread came over the stones, for he lumbered along at a trot with a big maund, as we called the baskets there, in one hand, a great landing-net in the other. But as Bigley came to the edge of the pool Bob waded out and said in a low quiet voice:

"Shall I carry the basket?"

We both stared, for in an ordinary way Bob would have shouted, "Here, give us hold of the net," and snatched at it or anything else in his desire to take the lead.

"No, no," cried Bigley, though. "You two chaps are visitors. You have the first go, Bob, and then let Sep Duncan try. But it's no use yet."

He was quite right; there was too much room for the fish to dart about, and so we stood here, and crept there, to watch them as they glided about among the swaying sea-weed, all brown and olive-green, and full of bladder-like pods to hold them up in the water. Sometimes there was a rush, and a swirl in the pool. At another time we could catch sight of the silvery side of some fish as it turned over and glided through the shoal. Then for a few minutes all would be perfectly still and calm--so still that it was hard to imagine that there was a fish left in the place.

And all the time the tide kept on retiring, and the water in the pool lowering, till all at once there was a tremendous rush, a great silvery fish flashed out into the air, and then fell flat upon its side, making the drops fly sparkling in the sun.

"Salmon," cried Bigley, "and a big one."

"Well, let's catch him, then," cried Bob excitedly, the gloomy feeling forgotten now in the excitement of the scene.

"Go on!" cried Bigley, handing him the net, and armed therewith Bob began to wade about, hunting the salmon from side to side of the pool, under my directions, for being high up on the dry, I could see the fish far better than those who were wading.

But it was all labour in vain. Twice over Bob touched the salmon, but it was too quick for him, and flung itself over the net splashing him from head to foot, but only encouraging him to make fresh exertions.

"Here, you come and try!" he cried at last. "You're not tired. Do you hear? You come and try, Sep Duncan. They're the slipperiest fishes I ever saw."

I shook my head. I was dry, and meant to keep so now, and said so.

"It's of no use to try," said Bigley, "not till the water's nearly gone. You can't catch 'em."

"Why, you knew that all along!" I cried.

"To be sure I did; but you wouldn't have believed me if I'd said so. Let's wait. In half an hour it will be all right, and we can get the lot."

So we waited impatiently, wading and creeping from stone to stone, and trying to count the fish in the weir pool; but not very successfully, for some we counted over and over again, and others were like the little pig in the herd, they would not stand still to be counted.

All at once it seemed as if a big retiring wave left room for nearly all the water left to run out, and though another wave came and drove some back, the next one took it away, leaving room for the weir to drain, and with a shout of triumph we charged down now at the luckless fish, which were splashing about in about six inches of water among the sea-weed and stones.

I forgot all about not meaning to get wet, for I was in over my boot-tops directly. But what did it matter out there in the warm sunshine and by the sea!

It was rare sport for us, though it was death to the fishes. But the weir was contrived to obtain a regular food supply, and we thought of nothing but catching the prisoners and transferring them to the basket.

Bob was pretty successful with the net, but he only caught the mullet. The honour of capturing the eleven-pound salmon, for such it proved to be, was reserved for Bigley and me, as I managed to drive the beautiful silvery creature right up on to the stones, and there Bigley pounced upon it, and bore it flapping and beating its tail to the basket.

As we worked, the remainder of the water sank away, leaving only a pool of an inch or so deep, and from which Bob fished three small mullet, the total caught being eleven, the largest five pounds, and the salmon eleven, the same number of pounds as there were mullet.

We bore our capture up to the cottage in triumph, where old Jonas presented me and Bob with a fine mullet a piece, the salmon and the rest being despatched at once by Binnacle Bill to Ripplemouth for sale.

It was now getting so near tea-time that we set off for home, it being understood that Bigley was to come with us as far as my home, where we were all to have tea, after which he was to set off one way, and I was to go the other; that is to say, walking part of the way home with Bob.

This I did; but when we set off I could not help feeling how much pleasanter it would have been to have gone with Bigley, for I did not anticipate any very pleasant walk. And I was right; for, whether it was the new bread, or the strength of our milk and water, I don't know--all I do know is, that Bob was as sour as he could be, and insisted upon my carrying his mullet, because he said I should have nothing to carry going home. _

Read next: Chapter 7. I Startle My Father

Read previous: Chapter 5. We Dine With A Smuggler

Table of content of Devon Boys: A Tale of the North Shore


GO TO TOP OF SCREEN

Post your review
Your review will be placed after the table of content of this book