Burr Junior Part 12

"They live on anything. I've seen them swallow young ducks and water-rats and frogs--anything they can get. We'll come and set a trimmer for that gentleman some day."

"I suppose I'm very stupid," I said; "but I've always lived in London, and have very seldom been in the country. I don't know anything about birds and fish."

"You soon will. There's always something to see here. Herons come sometimes, but they don't stop, because it's too deep for them to wade except in one place; and there's a hawk's nest over yonder in an old fir-tree, but Bob Hopley shot the old birds, and you can see 'em nailed up against his lodge. There was a magpie's nest, too, up in a big elm tree not far off; but never mind them now. Let's catch some--Hist! look there. See 'em?"

"No," I said, looking down into the water where he pointed.

"Come here. Lie down flat, and slowly peep over the bank through that gra.s.s. Go softly, or you'll frighten them off. Then look down."

I did as he told me, and as I looked down into the clear, deep water, that looked almost black from its depth, I could see quite a shoal of fish, with their sides barred with dark stripes, sailing slowly about between me and the dead leaves and rotten branches which strewed the bottom of the pool.

"See 'em?"

"Yes," I whispered; "perch, aren't they?"

"Why, I thought you knew nothing about fish."

"I've seen pictures of them in books," I said, "of course."

"Yes, perch, all but that black, soft-looking chap close to the bottom.

He's a tench. But come on, and let's get the rods."

He led the way to the boat-house, a green strip of coa.r.s.e gra.s.s about five feet wide leading to the rough building, and Mercer looked longingly at the boat, which was half full of water.

"We'll try her some day," he said; "but she seems very leaky. Here we are."

As he spoke, he took a couple of rough-looking, unjointed rods from where they were laid across some pegs driven into the side of the building just below the thatch eaves.

"All right," he said, examining the stout, strong silk lines twisted lightly about them, and the hooks stuck in pieces of cork which were bound on to the b.u.t.ts of the rods. "Now, then, come for the worms."

He leaned the rods up against the roof of the boat-house, and led me into the open-sided building, where, as described by the keeper, we found an old watering-pot half full of moss, and in this damp moss, and below it, an abundance of fresh, lively-looking worms.

"All right. Now for some fish. This way. Take your rod, I'll carry the pot. That's where we're going."

He pointed to where the pool narrowed, and ran up among the trees almost to a point, where I could see some woodwork, and a post standing up in the middle, with a series of holes pierced through it, and as we walked round by the gra.s.sy margin which led to the spot,--

"There, that's the place," cried Mercer. "That's the penstock."

"And what's a penstock."

"Don't you see. They pull up that post, and poke a peg in one of those holes, and that keeps it open, so as the water can run out down that gully behind there through the wood. It's to empty the pond. There used to be hundreds of years ago a great forge there, and the water turned a wheel to work the big hammers when they used to dig iron here, and melt it with charcoal. But never mind that, I want to catch some fish. Now, then, walk out along that woodwork. There's just room for us both on the top of the penstock, and we'll fish from there. Mind how you go, for it's precious deep."

It looked ugly, and the old oak beams and piles were moist, and nearly covered with moss; but I stepped out, and reached the little platform through which the upright post ran, and turned round to look for my companion, who was by my side directly after.

"There," he said; "there isn't too much room."

"Shall I go and fish from the bank?" I said.

"Oh no, we'll manage. Don't talk loud, only whisper, and don't move about. I don't believe that fishes can hear all the same. There," he added, as he baited my hook, "that's old Magglin's way. Let's see, are you deep enough. Yes, that will do. Throw in."

I dropped in my line, Mercer followed suit, and then, in the midst of the profound stillness of the lonely place, we stood on our little square platform, leaning against the post, watching the white tops of the cork floats, and waiting.

"As you've been fis.h.i.+ng before, you know what to do," whispered Mercer; "only don't be in a hurry, give 'em plenty of time, and don't strike till they take your float right down."

Half an hour pa.s.sed away, and my attention began to be drawn from my float to watch the birds that sailed over the pool, or the swallows that skimmed it in search of flies.

"Not deep enough," said Mercer suddenly, and, taking out his line, he adjusted the float higher up, and I followed his example.

Then we began to fish again; but with no better result, and I looked round at Mercer.

"Oh, it's no use to be in a hurry," he said. "Sometimes they won't bite, and then you have to wait till they will. But look, something's at mine."

I looked at his float, which had given a slight bob, and then another; but that was all.

"Off again. Didn't want worms," he said; "wants paste."

There was another long pause.

"Not deep enough," said Mercer again. "Ought to have plumbed the depth."

He altered his float, and I did the same, and we compared them to see that they were about alike, and the fis.h.i.+ng went on, till my companion decided that we ought to have fresh worms, and selected a fine fresh one for my hook, and one for his own before throwing the old ones out into the water.

"Well, now," he cried, "look at that!"

I was already looking, for before the old baits had gone down many inches, we saw them both seized by largish fish, which seemed to dart out of some lilies a short distance to our left.

"What are you going to do?" I said.

"Wait a minute and I'll show you," he whispered, laughing, and after attaching the bait, he brought down the floats till they were only about a foot away from the hooks. "Now then, do as I do. Throw your line out as near as you can to those floating leaves."

He threw his own very cleverly, so that the bait dropped into the water with hardly a splash, and I followed his example.

"Too far," he said, as my bait dropped on to a lily leaf, but the weight of the shot drew it slowly off the dark green leaf, and it glided into the water.

"I've got a bite," said Mercer, in an excited whisper. "Hi, look out!

Strike! strike!" he cried, for at that moment the white top of my float descended suddenly, rose again and then began to glide in a sloping direction along the edge of the lily bed.

I gave the rod a sharp, upward motion, and a thrill ran up my arm, as I felt the line tighten, and a curious tugging commence.

"Hurrah! you've got him. Don't let him go into the weeds, or you'll lose it. Keep your rod up, and you'll have the gentleman."

I heard all his instructions, but in the flurry of holding my first fish I did nothing but what, as the rod and line were both strong, was for the best. That is to say, I held my rod with both hands, and kept it nearly upright, while the fish I had hooked darted here and there, and tried vainly to make a dive down for the bottom.

"It's all right," said Mercer breathlessly. "It's a big one, and you must have him. Don't hurry."

"Is it very big?" I whispered excitedly.

"I think it is--over a pound, I should say. Let him get tired, or he'll break away. Ah, it's of no use, you're caught fast, old gentleman, whatever you are. It's a big carp or a tench. I think it's a carp, it's so strong."