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Old Gold; or, The Cruise of the "Jason" Brig, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 20. Brace Leigh's Sport |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY. BRACE LEIGH'S SPORT "So we're to think of the pot and pan as well as of our specimens," said Briscoe, loading both barrels of his gun. "I fancy we shall have plenty of chances for doing both," said Brace, following suit. "How well the boat sails! Why, we have got quite a long distance from the brig already." "Yes, and we're stemming a pretty good current too," said Lynton, who was steering with one hand and taking out a stout fishing-line from the boat's locker with the other. "But wouldn't you like to have a turn with a spoon-bait as we are going along? I don't know what fish we're going to catch, but I expect there'll be plenty of gar pike or something of that kind." "Well, you begin," said Brace. "I'll have a turn later on. I want to try for a duck or something else eatable, and to have a look at the country round about as well. I say, aren't we carrying too much sail?" "Not a bit," said Lynton. "Look, I can ease off in a moment. See?" "Yes," said Brace, as, with a touch at the tiller, the boat grew more level instead of careening over as she ran; "that's right." The boat glided smoothly along now on an even keel, and they all enjoyed the magnificent scenery as they passed near the bank, with the forest running right down to the brink of the stream and occasionally opening out into avenues of gigantic trees. Lynton was busying himself with the tackle as they sailed on, when Brace turned to him and said: "You don't expect to catch anything with that great drag-hook, do you?" And he laughed at the large triangle hanging beneath a huge spoon, and furnished with a double arrangement of swivels. "Indeed, but I do," was the reply. "Here, catch hold of the tiller, my lad. Steady. A little slower now." "Shall we take in a reef, sir?" said Dan, who was holding the sheet. "Oh, no, that will do, only take care you don't capsize us." He then turned to Brace once more and continued the conversation about the fishing-tackle. "Yes, Mr Brace," he said, "that spoon will spin splendidly, and I don't expect the fish here have been educated so far as to know what a fish-hook is. They've a lot to learn before they grow shy of an artificial bait. Think that lead will be heavy enough?" "Yes, quite enough to scare away a shark. What nonsense! I should put on something small and light. We're not at sea." "I know that, sir; but just you wait a bit and see. Ease off that sheet a little more, Dan," cried Lynton. "That's better. I say, we're opening up into quite a lake." "The scenery is glorious," said Brace. "Look, there's plenty of dense forest too beyond that open part we are passing." "Yes, and there's the waterfall," cried Briscoe. "It's grand." Brace nodded and sat with parted lips, gazing at the grand display of falling water which was now almost directly ahead. The whole river, which was very nearly half a mile wide at this spot, tumbled over a ridge of rocks which barred its passage, and dropped in places fully fifty feet with a dull murmuring roar which now began to be plainly heard. "Are you looking at the falls, Lynton?" cried Brace. "Not yet. I'm too busy just now. I want to get the line out first. There she goes, and good luck to her." He dropped the great spoon and its armature of hooks over the side, and Brace glanced after it, to see it for a few moments as the line was allowed to run, the silvered unfishlike piece of metal beginning to spin and, as it receded farther from the boat, to assume a wonderfully lifelike resemblance to a good-sized roach swimming pretty fast. It disappeared in a very few moments in the disturbed water, but soon after it rose to the surface again and began to make leaps and darts of a yard or two in length. "I thought so," said Lynton drily. "That weight isn't heavy enough for the rate at which we're travelling." "Let out more line," said Brace, "and it may sink lower then." The mate nodded, and drew about a dozen more yards from the open winder. "That ought to do it," he said. "I'll give the line a twist round that thole-pin, and then we shall hear it rattle if there's a bite and-- here--hi! Bless my soul!" _Whizz_! _whoop_! _bang_! The thole-pin had darted overboard, the winder was snatched from Lynton's hand and struck violently against the steersman's leg. Then both he and the mate made a dart at it to stop it, but came heavily in contact as they stooped. The tiller flew wide, and the boat careened over so dangerously that, if the man who held the sheet had not hastily let go so that the sail went flying, the mate would have gone over the side, and would soon have been left behind, as the boat was now going along at a considerable speed. It was only a matter of a moment or two, and then the tiller was steadied, the sheet hauled home, and the boat glided swiftly on once more. "I say," cried Briscoe, as Dan sat grinning with delight, "what's it all about?" "About?" cried Lynton angrily; "why, my bait was taken by either a shark or an alligator. There's a hundred yards of new line gone. What's to be done now?" "You'd better rig up another, I should say," said the American drily, "and hold on and give out when the fish runs." "It's a rum un," muttered the mate. "I say, my lad, just keep your head out of my way next time. Are you aware that it's just about as hard as a cocoanut?" "Never mind, Lynton," cried Brace. "Get out another line as soon as you can, while the fish are biting so freely." "I don't know about that. The old man will kick up a row about that line being lost. It was his, and he'll want to know how it came about that I lost it." "Never mind: we brought plenty with us. Look sharp." _ |
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