Devon Boys Part 9

While, to make the table thoroughly attractive to us hungry boys, who had been walking all the morning, there was a good-sized cold salmon on a big dish; a great piece of cold ham; a large round loaf that looked as if it had been baked in a basin, and a plate of b.u.t.ter and a dish of thick yellow cream.

These substantial things had a good effect upon Bob Chowne, whose face began to look smooth and pleasant, and who showed his satisfaction farther by kicking me under the table, for he was afraid to make any more remarks, because we could hear Jonas Uggleston, in some place at the back, blowing and splas.h.i.+ng as if he were was.h.i.+ng himself in a bucket; and of this last there was no doubt, for we heard the handle rattle, then a loud splash, as if he had thrown the dirty water out of the window, and the bucket set down and the handle rattling again.

This made Bob kick me again painfully, and he grinned and his eyes seemed to say, "No jug and basin, and no washstand."

Just then Bigley came in with a great brown jug of cider, smiling all over his face.

"I say, I am glad father has asked you to stop," he said. "We'll get him to let us have the boat after dinner."

Just then old Jonas came in without his otter-skin cap, combing the thick grisly fringe round his head, the top of which was quite bare; and directly after from another door--for there were doors nearly everywhere, because Jonas Uggleston had built the cottage very small at first and then kept on adding rooms, and kitchens, and wash-house with stores--Mother Bonnet came in, an elderly plump woman, who always put me in mind of a cider apple when it was ripe.

Mother Bonnet was Binnacle Bill's wife, and lived at the cottage on the other side of the stream, but she came and "did for" Master Uggleston, as she called it; that is to say, she cooked and kept the house clean; and she bore in hand a dish of hot new potatoes, which were very scarce things with us and a deal thought of by some people for a treat.

She nodded to us all in turn, and was going away again, when Jonas shouted "Winegar," and Mother Bonnet hurriedly produced a big black bottle from a corner cupboard, and placed it upon the table.

That was about as rough a dinner as Bob Chowne and I had ever sat down to, but how delicious it was!

"'Live last night," said Jonas, digging great pieces of the salmon off with a silver spoon, and supplying our plates.

"You catch him, father?" said Bigley.

"Yes, Big. Weir."

"Weir," I thought to myself. "Weir? What does he mean by weir?"

"Eat away, my lads," cried Jonas Uggleston. "Big: have off some bread."

"When did you finish the weir, father?" said Bigley, with his mouth full, in spite of all Dr Stacey had said.

"Seccun April, boy. You can work it a bit, now you're down."

Bigley looked at us with eager eyes, but we were too busy to pay much attention, though I was anxious to see a weir that would catch salmon, and ready to ask questions as soon as the dinner was done.

"Pour out the cider, lad. It's a fresh cask, and it's good. I bought some at Squire Allworth's sale."

Bigley began to pour out for us, old Jonas having pushed his silver mug to my side, while he took a brown one from a shelf for his and Bob's use; and I was feeling sorry that he should have given me the silver mug, because Bob would not like it, when, just as old Jonas mentioned Squire Allworth's sale, his face changed again, and I saw his scowl as he looked at me.

"He's thinking about my father buying the Gap," I said to myself; but forgot it all directly, for the fierce look pa.s.sed away as the old man lifted his cup.

"Taste it, boys, and it'll make you think of being in the suns.h.i.+ne in an orchard, with the sun ripening the apples. Now then: salmon getting bony. Who'll have some ham?"

We all would, and we were quite ready afterwards to attack and finish off a pot of raspberry jam which Mother Bonnet brought in with a smile; and the raspberry jam, the beautiful b.u.t.ter and bread, and the cream worked such an effect upon Bob Chowne that he exclaimed suddenly:

"Oh, don't I wish Dr Stacey would give us dinners like this!"

Old Jonas uttered a hoa.r.s.e harsh laugh, which made me feel uncomfortable, for he did not look as if he were laughing, but as if he were in a very severe and angry fit with somebody.

"There," he said, when we had quite done, "be off, boys, now. I'm going to be busy."

"Yes, father," said Big. "May we have the boat and go out for a sail?"

Old Jonas turned sharply round on him, and looked as if he were going to knock his son down, so fierce was his aspect.

"No!" he roared.

"No, father?" faltered Bigley.

"No!" said old Jonas, not quite so fiercely. "Do you think I want to spend all next week on the look-out to find you chaps when you're washed ash.o.r.e--drowned?"

"Oh, father! Just as if it was likely!"

"Haw, haw!" laughed old Jonas, and it did not seem like a laugh, but as if he were calling his son bad names. "You can manage a boat all of you, can't you, and row and reef and steer? Get out. Books is in your way, and writin', and sums, not boats."

"But father--"

"Hold your tongue. I don't want to lose my boat, and I don't want to lose you. May be useful some day. Doctor wants his boy too, teach him to make physic; and I ar'n't no spite again' young Duncan here, so I dunno as I partic'lar wants him throw'd up on the beach with his pockets full o' shrimps; so, No. Now be off. Go and look at the 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 fas.h.i.+on 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 sh.o.r.e. 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 splas.h.i.+ng 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 flas.h.i.+ng out of the surface. "They'll all go out through the holes. You'll see none of them will be left."