Dick o' the Fens Part 18

The man worked hard, but it seemed to have no effect upon him; and when the lads were not watching him and his energetic action, there was always something to take up their attention. Now a heron would rise out of one of the watery lanes, gaunt, grey, and with his long legs stretched out behind to look like a tail as his great flap wings beat the air and carried him slowly away.

Then with a loud splash and cackling, up would spring a knot of ducks, their wings whirring as they rapidly beat the air in a flight wonderful for such a heavy bird. Again a little farther and first one and then another snipe would dart away in zigzag flight, uttering their strange _scape, scape_. And all tempting to a lad who sat there within touch of a long heavy-looking gun, which had been cleaned and polished till every part was worn.

But he had been told that it was not charged and that the flint-lock was in a failing condition; and besides, d.i.c.k felt that it would be dishonourable to touch the gun now that it was almost trusted to his care.

In spite of Dave's ability and knowledge of the short cuts to the part of the fen where he lived, it took him nearly three-quarters of an hour to punt across, where the lads landed upon what was really an island in the fen, though one side ran pretty close up to some fairly dry land full of narrow water-lanes and pools, all favourite breeding ground for the wild-fowl.

The boys leaped out while Dave fastened the punt to an old willow trunk, and, quite at home in the place, went on first to a rough-looking house nearly hidden among alders and willows, all of which showed traces of the flood having been right up, submerging everything to a depth of three to four feet.

"Hullo, Chip! Chip! Chip!" cried Tom, and the decoy-man's little sharp-looking dog came bounding to them, to leap up, and fawn and whine, full of delight at seeing human faces again.

There was the twittering and piping of birds, and the scuffling, scratching noise made by animals in a cage, as they reached the roughly-fenced yard, more than garden, about Dave's cottage, the boys eager to inspect the birds, the ferrets, the eel-spear leaning against the reed thatch, and the brown nets hung over poles, stretching from post to post, as if to dry.

"Why, it's months sin' you've been to see me," said Dave.

"Well, whose fault's that?" said d.i.c.k sharply. "I say, Dave, these nets are new."

"Ay, every one of 'em. Made 'em all this summer."

"Didn't you get lots of things spoiled when the flood came?" cried Tom.

"N-no, lad, no. Nearly had my birds drownded, but I got 'em atop of the thack yonder."

"But hasn't your cottage been dreadfully wet?" asked d.i.c.k, who was poking his finger in a cage full of ferrets. "I say, what are John Warren's ferrets doing here?"

"Doin' nothing, and waiting to be took out, that's all, lad."

"But wasn't your place horribly wet?"

"What care I for a drop o' watter?" said Dave contemptuously.

"Look here, d.i.c.k, at the decoys," cried Tom running to a large wicker cage in which were four of the curious long-legged birds known as ruffs and reeves.

"Was six," said Dave. "I lost two."

"How?"

"Fightin', lad. I niver see such bonds to fight. Gamec.o.c.ks is babies to 'em. I'm going to try a new improved way of ketching of 'em by challenging the wild ones to fight."

"Never mind about them," said d.i.c.k eagerly; "are you going to start now?"

"Ah! you're so precious eager to begin, lad," said Dave; "but when you've been sitting out there on the boat for about a couple of hours you'll be glad to get back."

"Oh, no, we sha'n't!" cried d.i.c.k. "Now, then, let's start."

"Ay, but we've got to get ready first."

"Well, that's soon done. Shall I carry the birds down to the boat?"

"Nay; we wean't take them to-day. I've sin more pie-wipes than ruffs, so let's try for them."

He went round to the back of the hovel and took from the roof a cage which the lads had not yet seen, containing seven green plovers, and this was carried to the boat, where the frightened birds ran to and fro, thrusting their necks between the wicker bars in a vain attempt to escape.

This done, a bundle of net, some long stout cord, and poles were carefully placed in the stern, after which Dave went into his cottage to bring out a mysterious-looking basket, which was also placed in the stern of the boat.

"That's about all," said the man, after a moment's thought; and unfastening the punt after the boys were in, he pushed off, but only to turn back directly and secure the boat again.

"Why, what now, Dave?" cried d.i.c.k. "Aren't you going?"

"Going, lad! yes; but I thowt if we caught no bohds you might like me to shute one or two."

"Well, we've got the gun and plenty of powder."

"Ay, lad; but I've lost my last flint, and I've got to knap one."

The boys followed him ash.o.r.e, leaving the plovers fluttering in the cage, and Dave went inside his cottage, and returned directly with a hammer and a piece of flint, which he turned over two or three times so as to get the stone in the right position, as, taught by long experience, he struck a sharp blow.

Now Dave, the duck-decoy-man of the fens, knew nothing about lines of fracture or bulbs of percussion as taught by mineralogists, but he knew exactly where to hit that piece of flint so as to cause a nice sharp-edged flake to fly off, and he knew how and where to hit that flake so as to chip it into a neat oblong, ready for his gun, those present being ignorant of the fact that they were watching workmans.h.i.+p such as was in vogue among the men who lived and hunted in England in the far-distant ages of which we have no history but what they have left us in these works. Dave Gittan chipped away at the flint just as the ancient hunters toiled to make the arrow-heads with which they shot the animals which supplied them with food and clothing, the flint-knives with which they skinned and cut up the beasts, and the round sharp-edged sc.r.a.pers with which they removed the fat and adhering flesh as they dressed and tanned the skins to make them fit to wear.

Dave chipped one gun-flint very accurately, failed to make a second, but was triumphant with the third attempt, and fitting it exactly in the lock of his piece with a piece of leather at top and bottom, he loaded the gun with a great deal of ceremony, measuring the powder with a tiny cup which fitted over the top of his powder-horn, and his shot with the same vessel, so many times filled.

These rammed down in place with some rough paper on the top, and the ramrod measured to see whether it stood out the right distance from the barrel, the pan was primed and closed, and the gun carefully laid ready for use.

"There," cried Dave in an ill-used tone, "I don't know why I'm tekkin'

all this trouble for such a pair o' young shacks as you; but come along."

"It's because he likes us, d.i.c.k," said Tom merrily.

"Nay, that I don't," cried Dave. "I hate the lot of you. Not one of you'll be satisfied till you've spoiled all my fen-land, and made it a place where nivver a bird will come."

"Why, I wouldn't have it touched if I could help it--St! Dave, what bird's that?" said d.i.c.k.

"Curlew," replied Dave in a low voice, whose tones were imitated by the lads as the boat was softly punted along. "See them, boys!"

He nodded in the direction they were going, towards where a number of birds were flying about over some patches of land which stood just over the level of the water. Now they looked dark against the sky, now they displayed feathers of the purest white, for their flight with their blunted wings was a clumsy flapping very different to the quiver and skim of a couple of wild ducks which came by directly after and dropped into the water a quarter of a mile ahead.

"You come and see me next spring, my lads, and I'll show you where there's more pie-wipes' eggs than ever you found before in your lives."

"But you'll take us one day to the 'coy, Dave?" said d.i.c.k.

"Nay, I don't think I can," said Dave.

"But it's my father's 'coy," said d.i.c.k.

"Ay, I know all about that," said the man harshly; "but it wean't be much good to him if he dree-erns the fen."

Dave's voice was growing loud and excited, but he dropped it directly and thrust away without making the slightest splash with his iron-shod pole.