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Devon Boys: A Tale of the North Shore, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 17. We Have A Little Fishing |
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_ CHAPTER SEVENTEEN. WE HAVE A LITTLE FISHING I went away to see if I could find Bigley, feeling very much put out, and full of hope that Bob Chowne, when he came, would not ask me to take him to see the mine. For, truth to tell, I had made rather a fuss about that mine, talking about silver-lead in a very important way at school; and, as I recalled my words, I felt quite a shudder of horror as I thought of all the boys in my class coming and standing at the mouth of the mine, and bursting into a roar of laughter at this being the silver cavern in the earth. There was no likelihood of any of them coming save Bob Chowne; but there was no knowing what he would say when we got back if I offended him and he was in one of his teasing fits. I walked down to the end of the Gap, past the cottage, and was just going to ask if Bigley had come back, when I saw old Jonas and Binnacle Bill, with another man, putting off in the lugger, which was lying by a buoy about a quarter of a mile from the shore. After five months at school it seemed such a pretty sight to see the red sails hoisted and fill out, and the lugger begin to move slowly over the smooth water, that I sat down on a stone and watched the boat, wishing I were in her, till she gradually grew more distant, and there was a dull thud close beside me. I looked round but saw nothing, and I was turning to watch the lugger again, when I heard a fresh pat on the slate rubbish by me, and soon after a piece of flat, thin shale struck the clatter stream behind me. "Some one throwing," I said to myself, and looking up, there, about six hundred feet above me on the cliff path, were Bigley and Bob Chowne. I shouted to them, and they ran to the nearest clatter stream and began to slide down standing. Sometimes they came swiftly for a few yards; sometimes they stopped and each had a check, a fall, and a roll over, but they were up again directly, and in less than half the time it would have taken them to walk they were down by my side. "Here, where have you been?" cried Bob, who was in the highest of glee. "Old Big says it's such a dark quiet day that the fish are sure to bite, and he's going to ask his father to let us have the boat, and row out." "But Mr Uggleston isn't at home." "No, that he isn't," said Bigley, who had just caught sight of the lugger. "That is tiresome." "But they haven't taken the boat," cried Bob, "so it don't matter." "Yes, it does," said Bigley gravely, "because I shouldn't like to take the boat without leave." "Why, of course you wouldn't if your father was at home," said Bob quickly; "but I'm quite sure Mr Uggleston wouldn't like us two to be disappointed when we'd come on purpose to go." "Oh, I don't think he'd mind," said Bigley. "But I know he would," cried Bob, who spoke in the most consequential manner. "Your father is rough, but he is very good at bottom." "Why, of course he is," cried Bigley. "Then he wouldn't like us to be cheated out of our treat, so you get the mussels for the bait, and some worms, and let's go." Bigley hesitated. He wanted to go, for the sea was as smooth as a mill-pond--a rare thing in winter; and perhaps we should have to wait for some time before another such day arrived. He looked at me and I wanted to go too. That was plain enough, and the chance seemed so tempting that, even if I did not openly abet Bob, I said no word to persuade Bigley not. "You'd got all the lines and bait ready, hadn't you?" said Bob cunningly. "Yes, everything's ready, and I meant to ask father as soon as I got back. Here, hi! Mother Bonnet, how long will father be?" "Oh, all depends on the wind," said the fresh-looking old lady coming out, smiling and smoothing her hair. "They've gone across to Swansea, my dear. It will be a long time 'fore they're back." "There, you see, you can't ask, and it's no use to signal to them in the lugger, because they couldn't understand, so you've got to take the boat, and we shall be back long before they are." "But it would be so horrible if we were to meet with any accident this time," said Bigley. "You know how unlucky we were over the prawns. There, we'd better not go!" "There's a Molly for you!" cried Bob. "Just because we got in a muddle twice over in catching prawns and crabs you think we're always going to be in a mess." "No, I don't," said Bigley; "but it would be so queer if we got into a scrape the very first time we go out." "Get out! Oh, I say, you do make me grin, old Big. There, go and get your lines, and a gaff, and the basket of bait. Let's be off while the sea is so smooth." Bigley hesitated, and after a good deal of banter from Bob, and an appeal to me, he went off, sorry and yet pleased, to get the lines and bait. "And now he'll be obliged to go, Sep. Don't let's give him time to think, or he's such an old woman he'll back out." "But--" "Get out! Don't say but. There, we won't go out far, only to the mouth there by the buoy, and we can catch plenty of fish without any trouble at all." I gave way--I couldn't help it, and we two went on, so that when Bigley came with the baskets and lines we were waiting for them, and his scruples were nearly overcome. "Think it will matter if we take the boat?" he said dubiously, for he evidently shared our longing to go. I said no, I did not think it would, for we could clean it out after we had done fishing, and we had been boating so often with other people that I for one felt quite equal to the management of the little vessel. But all the time there was a curious sensation of wrong-doing worrying me, and I wished that I had not been so ready to agree. It was as if I felt the impression of trouble that was coming; but I kept the feeling to myself. "Well," said Bigley, "I did mean to ask for leave." "Of course you did," cried Bob Chowne; "but as your father is off you can't. Come along, boys, and let's get a good haul this time." He seized the bait-basket and made the shells of the mussels rattle as he trotted down towards where the little five-pointed anchor or grapnel lay on the beach, and began to haul in the boat. As the light buoyant vessel came gliding over the smooth surface, and grated and bumped against and over the stones, the thoughts of whether we were doing right or wrong grew faint, and then, as the bait-basket was thrown in, and the lines followed, they were forgotten. "In with you, lads!" cried Bob, making a spring, and leaping from a dry stone right into the boat; but his feet slipped, and he came down sitting in the basket of mussels with an unpleasant crash. "Now, look here!" he cried in a passion, "if you fellows laugh at me I won't go." Of course this made us all the more disposed; but we turned our backs and went down upon our knees to begin seeing to the hooks upon one of the reeled-up lines. "There, you are laughing both of you!" cried Bob, who was easing the pain he felt, or thought he was, by lifting up and setting down first one leg and then the other. "That we are not!" I cried, and certainly our faces were serious enough, as we hurriedly popped the lines over the bows, when I jumped in, and, catching up the little grapnel, Bigley took one big stride with his long legs, and was on the gunwale, which went down nearly to the water with his weight; but as the boat rose again, the impetus of the thrust he gave her in leaping aboard carried her out a couple of lengths. There was no thought now of any wrong-doing, as Bob and I seized an oar apiece and began to paddle as the boat rose and fell and glided over the swelling tide. "Pull away, Sep!" cried Bob. "Here, old Big, you're sitting all on one side and making the boat lop. Get in the middle or I'll splash you!" Bigley moved good-humouredly, and the boat danced beneath his weight. "Heave ho! Steady!" shouted Bob. "Don't sink us, lad. I say, what a weight you are! Let's put him ashore, Sep. He's too big a Big for a boat like this." "Make good ballast," said Bigley, laughing good-humouredly. "Boats are always safer when they are well ballasted." "I daresay they are, but I like 'em best without Big lumps in 'em. I say, how far out shall we go?" "Oh, about a quarter of a mile, straight out, over the Ringlet rocks. You pull, I'll watch the bearings, and drop out the grapnel. Pull hard!" We rowed away steadily, while, to save time, Bigley took out his pocket-knife and, taking a board from the bait-basket, laid it upon the seat, and began to open the mussels and scrape out the contents of the shells ready for placing them upon the hooks when we reached the fishing ground. For I may tell you that knowing the bottom well has a great deal to do with success in sea-fishing. A stranger to our parts might think that all he had to do was to row out in a little boat a few hundred yards, and begin to fish. If he did that, the chances are that he would not catch anything, while a boat three or four lengths away might be hauling in fish quite fast. The reason is simple. Sea fish frequent certain places after the fashion of fresh-water fish, which are found, according to their sorts, on muddy bottoms; half-way down in clear deeps; among piles; in gravelly swims; at the tails of weeds; or under the boughs of trees close in to the side of river or lake. So with the sea fish. If we wanted to catch bass, we threw out in places where the tide ran fast; if we were trying for pollack, it was along close by the stones of the rocky shore; if for conger, in deep dark holes; and if for flat-fish, right out in deep water, where the bottom was all soft oozy sand. Upon this occasion we had decided for the latter, and with Bigley giving a word now and then to direct us, as he watched certain points on the shore, we rowed away for quite half a mile, but keeping straight out from the Gap. "Now we're just over the Ringlets," cried Bigley suddenly. "Heave over the anchor then!" I shouted. "No, go on a bit farther, about fifty yards, and then we shall be on the muddy sand. I know." We boys pulled, and then all at once Bigley shouted "In oars!" and we ceased rowing as the grapnel went over the side with a splash, and the cord ran across the gunwale, grating and _scrorting_ as Bob called it, till the little anchor reached the bottom, and the drifting of the boat was checked. "I say, isn't it deep?" I said. "Just about nine fathoms," said Bigley. "You'll have plenty of hauling to do." "I say, look!" I cried, as I happened to look shoreward, "you can see right up the Gap nearly to the mine." "Isn't the sea smooth?" said Bob. "It's just like oil. Now then, first fish. Put us on a good big bait, Bigley, old chap." The hooks were all ready with the weights and spreaders, and Bigley began calmly enough to hook and twist on a couple of the wet and messy raw mussels for Bob, and then did the same for mine, when we two began to fish on opposite sides of the boat, letting the leads go rapidly down what appeared to be a tremendous distance before they touched the ooze. It seemed quite a matter of course that we two were to fish, and Bigley wait upon us, opening mussels, rebaiting when necessary, and holding himself ready to take off the fish, should any be caught. I never used to think anything about Bigley Uggleston in these days, only that he was overgrown and good-tempered, and never ready to quarrel; and it did not seem to strike either of us that he was about the most unselfish, self-denying slave that ever lived. I know now that we were perfect tyrants to him, while he, amiable giant that he was, bore it all with the greatest of equanimity, and the more unreasonable we were, the more patient he seemed to grow. We fished for some few minutes without a sign, and then Bob grew weary. "It's no good here, Big, they won't bite. Let's go on farther." "Bait's off, perhaps," suggested Bigley. "No, it isn't. I haven't had a touch." "Perhaps not, but the flat-fish suck it off gently sometimes. Pull up." Bob drew in the wet line hand over hand, till the lead sinker hit the side of the boat; and Bigley proved to be right, both baits were off his hooks, and as they were being rebaited I hauled in my line to find that it was in the same condition. By the time Bob's lead was at the bottom, my hooks were being covered with mussel, and I threw in again. As mine reached the sandy ooze, and I held the line in one hand, there was a slight vibration of the lead, but it passed away again, and I fished, to pull up again at the end of a few minutes and find both baits gone. Bob's were the same, and so we fished on till he declared that it was of no use, that it was the tide washed the bait off, and that there wasn't a fish within a hundred yards. "But I'm sure there are lots," said Bigley. "Why, how can you tell?" cried Bob. "You can't see two feet down through the water, it's so muddy." "I know by the baits being taken off," replied Bigley decidedly. "There are fish here I'm sure, and--" "I've got him," I shouted, beginning to haul in, for I could feel something heavy at the end of the line which had given several sharp snatches as I hauled. "Oh, what a shame!" cried Bob. "I don't see why they should come first to old Sep. Here, I know what it is. Only an old bow-wow." "No, it isn't," I exclaimed as I caught a glimpse of something white, looking like a slice of the moon far down below the boat. "It's a flat-fish, and a big one." I proved to be right, as I hauled it flapping over the side, and Bigley seized what proved to be a nice plaice, and took the hook from its jaws. As the line, being rebaited, was thrown in again, there was a serious examination of the prize, which was about to be transferred to the basket brought to hold our captures, when Bob shouted, "I've got him!" and began to haul in with all his might. We both adjured him to be careful, but in his excitement he paid no heed, only dragged as hard as he could, and hoisted in a long grey fish, at which he gazed with a comical aspect full of disgust. I laughed, and as I laughed he grew more angry, for his prize was what he had previously called a "bow-wow" and attributed to me. For it was a good-sized dog-fish, one which had to be held at head and tail lest in its twining and lashing about it should strike with its spine and do some mischief. "Here, let me take him off," cried Bob. "No, no; you mind the line isn't tangled," cried Bigley; but Bob gave him a push, the dog-fish, which was nearly a yard long, was set free, and began to journey about amongst Bob's line, while, when he placed his foot upon its head, the fierce creature bent half round, and then let itself go like a spring, with the effect that it struck Bob's shoe so smart a blow with one of its spines that the shoe was pierced by the toe, and it required a tug to withdraw the spine. "Are you hurt, Bob?" we both cried earnestly. "No, not a bit. My toes don't go down as far as that. Ah, would you?" This was to the fish, which was lashing about fiercely. "Let me do it, Bob. I'll kill it in no time, and I know how to manage him." "So do I," said Bob independently, as he made another attack upon the dog-fish, which resented it by a fresh stroke with its spine, this time so near to Bob's leg that he jumped back and fell over the thwart. "I say, that was near," he cried. "You have a try, Big." Our school-fellow wanted no second bidding, and taking hold of the line, he drew the fish's head under his right foot, pressed down its tail with his left, took out the hook, and then with his knife inflicted so serious a cut upon the creature that, when he threw it over, it only struggled feebly, as it sank slowly and was carried away. "There's a cruel wretch!" cried Bob. "Did you see how vicious he was with his knife?" "It isn't cruel to kill fishes like that," retorted Bigley. "See what mischief they do hunting the other fish and eating everything. See how they bite the herrings and mackerel out of the nets, only leaving their heads." "He wouldn't have said anything if the dog had spiked him," I said. "Why, so he did spike me," cried Bob; "and--" "I've got another," I cried, beginning to haul up, and as I hauled Bob sent his freshly-baited and disentangled hook down to the bottom. I had caught another flat-fish about the size of the first, and directly after Bob caught one. Then there was a pause, and I took another dog-fish, and after that we fished, and fished, and fished for about half an hour and caught nothing. It was December, but the air was still, and we did not feel it in the slightest degree cold. I suppose it was the excitement kept us warm, for there was always the expectation of taking something big, even if the great fish never came. Just as we were thinking that it was of no use to stay longer the fish began to bite again, and we caught several, but all small, and then all at once, as I was lowering my lead, I cried out: "Look here! I can't touch bottom." "Nonsense!" said Bob, lowering his line, but only to become a convert, and exclaim accordingly. "Why, we're drifting," cried Bigley, going to the line that held the anchor, to find that it had been dragged out of the muddy sand, and that we had slowly gone with the tide into deeper water, whose bottom there was not length enough of rope for the grapnel to touch. "I'll soon put that right," cried Bigley, unfastening the line and letting about three fathoms more run out, but even then the anchor did not reach bottom, and without we were stationary it was of no use to fish. "Haul in your lines, lads," cried Bigley, setting us an example by dragging away at the cord which held the anchor. "We must row back a bit. We've drifted into the deep channel. I didn't know we were out so far." "Oh, I say, look!" cried Bob. "It's beginning to rain, and we've no greatcoats." "Never mind," said Big, getting hold of the anchor as we drew in our leads, and laid them with the hooks carefully placed aside, ready for beginning again. "Now, then, who's going to pull along with me!" "You pull, Sep," said Bob. "I want to count the fish." I took an oar, and just as I was about to pull the boat's head round I looked towards the mouth of the Gap, which was nearly three-quarters of a mile away, and though at present the smooth sea was just specked here and there by the falling drops, over shoreward there was what seemed to be a thick mist coming as it were out of the mouth of the Gap, and a curious dull roar towards where we were. "Going to be a squall," said Bigley. "Pull away, Sep, and let's get ashore." Easy enough to say--difficult enough to do, as we very soon found, in spite of trying our very best. _ |
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