S^^***^.-Jk 
 
 
 ^^»-^i 
 
 
 
 
 
 ^^^P^l [i^^^SI 
 
 
 
 ^-—^ 
 
 ^^^jiumw ^MBim^ 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 iir ' 
 
 \\<AVW(Htttltf 
 
 \ 
 
 ^ 
 
 
 Tf 
 
 
 k-1 
 
 :m 
 
 mi txM ones 
 
ENERAL 
 lERARY 
 
 N;v»rsnY Of 
 
 ^/^^yr^ S^t^.e^r-u^'^j^y. 
 
OfiST 
 
Digitized by tine Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 witii funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 littp://www.archive.org/details/fish-tailssometrOOhallrich 
 
FISH-TAILS 
 
 AND SOME TRUE ONES 
 
FISH-TAILS 
 
 AND SOME TRUE ONES 
 
 By BRADNOCK HALL 
 
 AUTHOR OF " ROUGH MISCHANCE " 
 
 IViTH AN Original Etching by the Author 
 
 And T^blvb Illustrations by 
 
 T. HOPE M'LACHLAN 
 
 EDWARD ARNOLD 
 
 (pttfilb^er fo t^t 3n&ta dffice 
 
 LONDON NEW YORK 
 
 37 Bedford Street 70 Fifth Avenue 
 
 1897 
 
Hi 
 
 TO 
 
 J. F. B. 
 
 FRIEND AND FISHERMAN 
 
 THIS BOOK IS 
 
 (WITHOUT PERMISSION) 
 
 RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 
 
 Tkt bUssing of ST. PETBR'S Master be with mine^ 
 and on all who love Vtrtue and Quietness and Angling. 
 
 The dearest friend to me, the kindest man, 
 The best condition'd and unwearied spirit 
 In doing conrtesies." 
 
 Merchant of Vemce. 
 
 ivi830008 
 
True happiness is of a retired nature^ and an enemy 
 to pomp and noise: it arises^ in the first place^ from 
 the enjoyment of ones self and^ in the next^ from the 
 friendship and conversation of a few select com- 
 paniotis. . . . 
 
 ADDISON. 
 
 But, O, how bitter a thing- it is to look into happiness 
 through another man's eyes! 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I. WHY 13 
 
 II. THE BENT PIN 19 
 
 III. HOW TO CATCH PIKE IN THE THAMES . . 27 
 
 IV. HIS FIRST SALMON 36 
 
 V. A NEW WAY TO CATCH OLD TROUT . . 45 
 
 VI. THE LARGEST FISH 54 
 
 VII. THE GOLD DEVON 63 
 
 VIII. THE COMPETITION 7 1 
 
 IX. OUTRAGEOUS FORTUNE 80 
 
 X. IN PAR LOCHABER 90 
 
 XI. NORTHWARD HO I 102 
 
 XII. HOW NOT TO CATCH A SALMON . . . II4 
 
 XIII. GRANA-FOSSEN 1 23 
 
 XIV. A POCKET SPATE I30 
 
 XV. LYNGEN FJORD 149 
 
 XVI. FOUL-HOOKED 157 
 
 XVII. IN A KNOT 168 
 
 
 
lo Contents, 
 
 XVIII. ANDERS l8l 
 
 XIX. ERIC 191 
 
 XX. LUCK 204 
 
 XXI. A FLOOD 215 
 
 XXII. ERIC AGAIN 226 
 
 XXIII. THE angler's LIBRARY 241 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 I. HOMEWARD . 
 
 
 • 
 
 Frontispiece 
 
 2. THE GREAT TEMPTATION 
 
 
 Facitigpage 36 
 
 3. DAMMING AND LADLING 
 
 
 
 45 
 
 4. A STRANGE FISH . 
 
 
 
 54 
 
 5. BERGEN .... 
 
 
 
 „ 102 
 
 6. THE HAPPY VALLEY 
 
 
 
 114 
 
 7. GRANA-FOSSEN 
 
 
 
 123 
 
 8. AFTER FOUR HOURS 
 
 
 
 '57 
 
 9. THE BEST POOL 
 
 
 
 181 
 
 10. ERIC .... 
 
 
 
 191 
 
 II. GYMNASTICS . 
 
 
 
 204 
 
 12. A LIKELY PLACE 
 
 
 
 „ 226 
 
 13. THE CUSTOM-HOUSE MOLE 
 
 
 
 241 
 
FISH-TAILS, 
 AND SOME TRUE ONES. 
 
 I. 
 
 Why. 
 
 '* / live in the world rather as a Spectator of Mankind 
 than as one of the species. . . . " — Addison. 
 
 " The gravity and stillness of your youth 
 The world hath noted." —OiheWo. 
 
 The object of the makers of books is gener- 
 ally twofold, for they desire the fruits of their 
 genius and their labours in non- material as 
 well as material form : fame and fortune 
 (money and notoriety), pelf and a peerage, 
 pennies and popularis aura — what else do 
 romancists desire? Anonymous newspaper- 
 men have to be satisfied with less ; but who 
 can appraise their consciousness of power? 
 
 13 
 
14 Fish -Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 It is not, however, with the hope of gain, 
 still less in the expectation of waking Byron- 
 ically, that the fabricator of these trifles asks 
 you for the patronage which leaves you debtor ; 
 it is with a more secret motive that the little 
 vessel trims its sails to the wind of readers' 
 favour. I am the victim of success, as the 
 world counts it, and am condemned to per- 
 ennial gloom by an undeserved reputation for 
 an almost puritanical sobriety. In my con- 
 stituency, and round the modest mansion with 
 which my grandfather's assiduous habits and 
 commercial probity have provided me, I am 
 pointed at by prudent parents as a paragon, 
 and hated by boys, I have little doubt, as a 
 hypocrite. They alone know me, for they 
 judge me by themselves. 
 
 My uncle always intended that I should 
 occupy his seat in the House, regardless of 
 my private opinions, when the incursion of 
 Labour Members in flannel shirts had in 
 process of time rendered St. Stephen's un- 
 bearable to his old-fashioned prejudices; and 
 with this future before me I early felt that 
 gaiety would be unbecoming, and wine. 
 
Why. 1 5 
 
 laughter, and song as dangerous as they were 
 delightful. 
 
 I became a slave: I am still in bondage, 
 and every year adds a new rivet to my fetters ; 
 so this book is the safety-valve of an over- 
 charged existence. 
 
 Even at school people took me for serious ; 
 and when, a couple of years ago, I put forth 
 that little volume on Bimetallism as a Panacea 
 for Pauperism (which nobody has ever read), I 
 was sadly convinced that all my friends would 
 say how well I had fulfilled my destiny. I 
 have, in fact, succeeded where to fail is happi- 
 ness, and am now chained for life to a reputa- 
 tion which I have not hitherto had the moral 
 courage to injure, and can never hope to shake 
 off. When I last saw my large and expres- 
 sionless features in the illustrated papers, I 
 writhed beneath my mask in powerless fury, 
 smiling sardonically to think that with my 
 handsome majority, na profession, and what 
 rich men call a competence, I am for life a 
 public man. For the next half-century, it may 
 be, my chief duty will be to march and 
 countermarch to the crack of the Whip, to 
 
1 6 Fish 'Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 gravely discuss the details of party measures I 
 may not desire, and to vote against reforms I 
 am convinced would be beneficial to the com- 
 munity. In the execution of this blameless 
 programme my simplest actions are spied upon 
 and praised by my unwelcome admirers, and I 
 have to consult their tastes and prejudices 
 before my own. I must not be absent from 
 my place in church, I must not play golf on 
 Sunday, I must eschew clay pipes and beer, 
 and books which others read with interest and 
 enjoyment must not lie upon my table: in 
 fact, I have to eat, drink, smoke, and read to 
 order, and to travel three hundred miles to 
 find a desert place to laugh in. 
 
 To be the thrall of petty principles, shackled 
 by the restrictions of a narrow morality; to 
 have no more individual existence than an 
 oyster or a cabbage ; to desire the unconven- 
 tional merely because it is free ; and to despise 
 the voice of praise : if this be success, I cer- 
 tainly have not failed. But human nature has 
 its limitations even in public men, and I have 
 been compelled to indulge privately in a 
 pleasure which is both risky and enchanting. 
 
Why, 17 
 
 I write. " I was not born under a rhyming 
 planet," but when my friends, acquaintances, or 
 political allies are characteristically offensive, 
 when the ladies I have the honour to be 
 associated with besmear me with confident 
 adulation, I relieve the tension of my mind by 
 caricaturing them in pen and ink, and writing 
 personal sketches which would be easily recog- 
 nised by their fidelity, if published, and would 
 be ruinous from their red-hot rancour. I have 
 scores of them by me which might make the 
 fortune of a literary aspirant, but they are per- 
 fectly useless to a Conservative and Unionist 
 M.P. ; dozens more of my harmless fireworks 
 have been converted, without editorial interven- 
 tion, into that constituent of our atmosphere 
 that gives us trees. Oh that you could have 
 seen my Post-obita Dicta^ or my Laug/iable 
 Lyrics^ by a Liliputian Laureate \ 
 
 But the taste for ink grows into a passion, 
 and having wasted hours on the enjoyment of 
 composing what must be safely hidden or in- 
 stantly destroyed, I drifted insensibly to articles 
 and sketches which do not betray their author- 
 ship, though they would be severely damaging, 
 
1 8 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 if detected, to a name like mine. Here are 
 some of the least trivial and the least slangy of 
 them, all connected, as it happens, with one 
 subject ; and I hope it will not be long before I 
 have the opportunity of openly disparaging my 
 own secret creations to those who honestly 
 think me incapable of anything less serious 
 or less " important " than an Essay on Man, or 
 an article in the Quarterly, This is the object 
 of publication. It has long been the desire of 
 my life to find upon the drawing-room tables 
 of my lady -canvassers, and my more rigid 
 neighbours, a frivolous, shallow, useless book 
 (as they will successfully invite me to call it), 
 which they may possibly hear well spoken of 
 by detrimentals, and called " gossipy " by 
 indolent reviewers. After all, fishing itself is 
 eminently respectable as well as fascinating, 
 and if some untoward accident should reveal 
 the authorship of what was originally com- 
 posed as the indulgence of a passion, it is no 
 hanging matter, and by some, by most, I shall 
 be forgiven — for all except the preface. I 
 need hardly say that I shall deny everything. 
 
II. 
 
 The Bent Pin. 
 
 **. . . As unto the weaker vessel. . . ." — i Pet. iii, 7, 
 
 " It's ill feeshin' wi* bent pins," old Sandy 
 once said to me when I was a boy, and had 
 broken the barb of my hook against a stone : 
 at which sarcasm I could not repress an angry 
 flush as I tried a shorter cast with a new fly. 
 In earlier years I did not despise the bent pin 
 when I used to go out with my nurse, or my 
 brother, and fish for sticklebacks in the brook, 
 with a string. But somehow one gets out of 
 the way of practising that branch of angling, 
 and when I started on my honeymoon I cer- 
 tainly did not think that I should ever be 
 tempted to take to it again. However, early 
 married life is full of surprises, and one of my 
 first was a fishing adventure with a bent pin. 
 
 19 
 
20 Fish 'Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 In sporting phraseology, I had landed my 
 matrimonial fish in August, — to carry out the 
 simile I suppose I ought to represent Hymen 
 standing by with a gaff instead of a torch, — 
 and we had chosen the Lakes for our honey- 
 moon. I like being near water; and as my 
 wife was anxious to visit the land of Words- 
 worth, we gave ourselves up to touring about 
 from lake to lake, unfettered by rigid plans, 
 basking in the sunshine, and making each 
 other's acquaintance. 
 
 One day we were strolling along, arm in arm, 
 within sight of the placid mirror of UUeswater, 
 when we came upon a grove of cherry trees 
 loaded with a plentiful crop of the small black 
 and juicy fruit which is so common in that 
 part of the country. Two boys were lodged 
 in the branches of two neighbouring trees, 
 busily engaged in eating cherries, and occa- 
 sionally throwing down a few to a bright-eyed 
 little girl who stood below. She was bare- 
 headed, her hat dangling by a piece of elastic 
 from one podgy little fist, and she kept begging 
 her brothers to give her a share of their spoil, 
 and also to come down for a game in which she 
 
The Bent Pin. 21 
 
 could take a more interesting part. They 
 replied with the superiority of possession, and 
 sarcastically alluded to her sex in the pleasant 
 way boys have when conversing with a younger 
 sister from whom there is nothing to be gained 
 at the moment. 
 
 " Girls can't play games," said the elder. 
 
 " Go and learn to bowl at the chair in the 
 garden," chimed in the other. 
 
 When this kind of thing had been going on 
 for some minutes, and the girl was becoming 
 obviously piteous and unhappy, the young 
 lords of creation perceived the presence of 
 strangers, and slowly descended, looking self- 
 conscious under their smears of juice. My 
 wife's eyes are calculated to make unkind boys 
 feel a bit ashamed of themselves even at a little 
 distance : so the trio went off together, and we 
 saw them no more that day. 
 
 On the next, however, they gave evidence of 
 their continued existence by fishing in the lake 
 within sight of our window. Each boy had a 
 nice little rod, and the girl was courageously 
 trying to scull them about in one of the 
 dingheys belonging to the inn. Their voices 
 
22 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 travelled to us over the water, and we con- 
 cluded that there was a wrangle going on about 
 the management of the boat. I made a mental 
 resolve to take the downtrodden sister to fish 
 by herself, if opportunity offered, and we 
 strolled out, discussing the ways of brothers, 
 female suffrage, and the equality of the sexes ; 
 but before our well-meant interference was 
 possible affairs took on a different complexion. 
 
 A day or two afterwards we were taking a 
 lovers' walk beside the burn which tumbles 
 down the hill behind the inn, when we again 
 came upon our young friends. The girl was 
 evidently making a strong appeal to her 
 brothers to be allowed to fish for trout with 
 them, but they were obdurate. 
 
 " Girls can't fish," said the elder. 
 
 " You've got no rod," added the other. " And 
 who's going to put on your worms ? You 
 can't do it yourself." 
 
 Upon this the poor child sat down on the 
 bank and began to cry, while the boys moved 
 off down stream, and disappeared. So ended 
 Act II. Now comes the point of my story. 
 It is a small one — not much larger, in fact, 
 
The Bent Pin, 23 
 
 than a needle's end, but, in its way, worth 
 noting. 
 
 As soon as the boys were out of sight, our 
 first idea was to take the weeping Ariadne for 
 a row ; but before we had time to show our- 
 selves, or call to her, she stopped crying, and 
 looked up with such an appearance of deter- 
 mination that we paused to see what it would 
 lead to, and sat down behind a convenient tree 
 to watch her. 
 
 She first drew herself up, and casting upon 
 the ground an old sunshade that she had been 
 carrying, took out of her pocket a piece of thin 
 string about five feet long ; then abstracting a 
 pin from some place in her frock where it could 
 best be spared, she slowly bent it into a V 
 shape, and tied the string to it. The other 
 end was quickly fastened to the ferule of the 
 parasol, and the child stood equipped with a 
 rod, line, and hook. Her tear-stained face was 
 bright with the instinct of sport, and the con- 
 centrated desire to show that inferiority of sex 
 need be no bar to skill in angling. I could 
 not make up my mind to interfere at present, 
 so we remained hidden, lazily watching the 
 
24 Fish -Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 progress of events, and wondering when the 
 difficulty of bait would put a stop to the pre- 
 parations. A moment later the infant Ariadne 
 laid down her tackle and sped like a wood 
 nymph towards the house which was near the 
 cherry trees where we had first seen her. The 
 voices of her brothers, who must have been 
 talking Committee Room No. 1 5 politics, came 
 to us on the breeze. It was a beautiful after- 
 noon, and with my wife's permission I leisurely 
 lighted a pipe. 
 
 Ariadne soon returned, carrying a piece of 
 bread in one hand and a loose newspaper parcel 
 in the other, and, seating herself by the parasol, 
 carefully fixed a cubic inch of bread upon the 
 bent pin. I felt a great desire to come forward 
 now and offer my advice and assistance, but the 
 lady at my side was too anxious for the honour 
 of her sex to allow it, so we two lay low while 
 the girl cautiously began to fish. 
 
 I presume that the bread was soon washed 
 off, for after a short interval the young fisher 
 evidently made up her mind to the final struggle, 
 drew out the line, and taking a small worm 
 from the paper parcel, set her teeth, and impaled 
 
The Bent Pin, 25 
 
 it on the pin. She looked like Cornelia de- 
 voting the last of the Gracchi to his country's 
 service. 
 
 Between her and the pool she was fishing 
 was a rock, beneath which the brook ran deep 
 and brown, hiding indefinite possibilities of 
 little fish, so round this cover she stealthily- 
 crawled, and dropped the worm softly into the 
 water. It was a moment of supreme excite- 
 ment, then — splash — she whisked out a small 
 trout, high and dry. Like the ranks of Tuscany 
 in the ballad, I could scarce forbear to cheer. 
 She had actually caught a fish, and was softly 
 contemplating it with radiant rapture, and 
 indeed it was a remarkable feat. 
 
 At this point the boys reappeared upon the 
 stage. Their patent tackle, town-made rods, 
 and g^t lines had caught nothing. One had 
 broken the top of his rod, and the other his 
 line ; but as they could not agree to join their 
 scattered forces for a combined attack, they had 
 decided to " chuck it " and play cricket, so they 
 came for their sister to field and longstop. 
 Their faces were a study when they saw the 
 trout. They hurried up, asked a hundred 
 
26 Fish 'Tails ^ and some Trtie Ones. 
 
 eager questions, examined the worms and bread, 
 and finally " forgave " their sister, and bore her 
 off to play cricket on equal terms, and "have 
 her innings like a man." Noble fellows ! they 
 little knew how my right foot was tingling. 
 
 And now, when I cannot get a rise with my 
 best March Brown or Olive Dun^ fishing " fine 
 and far off," when difficulties seem insuperable, 
 or when I hear some glib young man talking 
 about the natural inferiority of woman, my 
 mind goes back to that dingy old parasol, the 
 string, and the bent pin. 
 
III. 
 
 How to catch Pike in the Thames. 
 
 •* We'll try a better one by and by" 
 
 Sam Weller. 
 
 ^^ Sweet Themmes, nin softly till I end my song." 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 In the pursuit of my favourite pastime I 
 had had a day's fishing on Virginia Water, 
 and had found out what other brethren of 
 the craft have discovered before, that ordinary 
 mortals do not take very large fish there, 
 except in story. I thought, however, that 
 the Thames might afford me more sport, 
 and decided to consult Anderson, who lives 
 near us, and has the reputation of being a 
 nineteenth-century Izaak Walton ; so I called 
 upon him one evening, and found him dozing 
 over the Field in the little den in which 
 tobacco is allowed at " The Pines." Anderson 
 
 27 
 
28 Fish -Tails, and some Tr^te Ones. 
 
 is one of those mysterious people who live, it 
 is supposed, by journalism ; but as he has 
 never written anything over his own name, 
 we do not know whether he forms our 
 political opinions, or does the acrostics for 
 Johnson's Weakly. In consequence of this 
 mystery, we regard his life as being some- 
 thing apart and esoteric, and make no further 
 inquiry, any more than we do when a new 
 resident's wife says her husband is " in the 
 City." He may belong to the profession of 
 Miss Shuifis Husband^ for all we care in 
 Dipton. 
 
 " Good-evening," I said politely, when my 
 entry brought him broad awake. " I have 
 called to ask you a few questions about 
 Thames fishing. I have a mind to catch a 
 pike somewhere on Saturday." 
 
 We shook hands. Anderson motioned me 
 to a chair, pushed a jar of tobacco across 
 the brass-topped Moorish table, and said — 
 
 " It is very good of you to come round 
 and spare me half an hour from your Blue- 
 books and Private Bills. My wife's aunt is 
 here, so I have a headache : she is a most 
 
How to catch Pike in the Thames. 29 
 
 estimable woman. And what can I tell you 
 about the river? You live half a mile nearer 
 to it than I do, and ought to be better up 
 in it." 
 
 " I am better up in the mists than you 
 are," I smartly returned. " I was up to my 
 neck in them last night, but I have never 
 tried the fishing. I see people in punts and 
 boats, and on the banks sometimes, but they 
 are mostly sad and silent, and catch no more 
 than the man in Happy TJioughts. But the 
 people I do not see write to the papers with 
 accounts of famous bags : I want to go where 
 they go." 
 
 " Oh, you want to try the stone jar and 
 cigar-box business in a punt, do you ? " said 
 my host. " Poor young man ! Angling is 
 an art, and there is no doubt a certain amount 
 of skill necessary, but what you chiefly need 
 is imagination. Look at that Turner engraving : 
 it is the small * Lucerne.' Do you suppose 
 you would have seen it like that ? " 
 
 He waved his pipe towards a picture on the 
 wall, and I examined the beautiful print with 
 admiration, but confessed that in my recollec- 
 
30 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 tion the place looked flatter. " Just so," said 
 my friend : " that is Art." 
 
 " But you are a fisherman, are you not ? " 
 I said, **so you ought not to be sceptical. 
 People exaggerate, of course, and the biggest 
 fish are always the ones that get off ; but still 
 some good ones are landed, and I will be 
 satisfied with others like them. I suppose 
 you fish in the Thames sometimes ? Tell me 
 where to go to." 
 
 Anderson was looking dreamily into the fire. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " I have fished in the 
 Thames — once. It was with old Stephen Fare- 
 brother, one of the best-known river anglers." 
 
 " I know his name," I remarked encourag- 
 ingly. " Tell me about it." 
 
 Instead of replying directly, Anderson rose, 
 and after a moment's hesitation, took from a 
 shelf a bound volume of the Field, which he 
 opened, and running his finger along a few 
 paragraphs, directed my attention to one near 
 the bottom of a page. It ran thus : — 
 
 "On Saturday, Mr. Anderson of Dipton was out with 
 Stephen Farebrother, the well-known Thames fisherman, 
 and had fair sport : the best fish were jack, lo lb., 7 lb., 
 and 5 lb." 
 
How to catch' Pike in the Thames. 3 1 
 
 " Capital ! " I cried with enthusiasm. " That's 
 just what I wanted to see. What's Fare- 
 brother's address ? I'll engage him for Satur- 
 day." 
 
 " I am afraid you cannot do that, because 
 he has taken a permanent appointment at 
 the Angler's Rest on the Styx," said the 
 subject of the stirring paragraph (who is of a 
 slightly irreverent turn of mind) ; " but you can 
 get somebody equally good, I have no doubt." 
 
 He smiled thoughtfully as we settled our- 
 selves back into our chairs, and the twinkle of 
 the successful sportsman glittered in his blue 
 eyes. 
 
 " I will tell you about it," he went on : " fill 
 your pipe. I was once staying with my 
 brother-in-law, who has a rectory at Thornton ; 
 his garden adjoins the squire's park in the 
 usual way, and a good-sized lake is visible 
 from the dining-room window." 
 
 I should never think of interrupting any- 
 one telling a story, much less a man like 
 the humorous Anderson, but I spasmodically 
 clutched my latchkey as I observed a Thames 
 fish-tale beginning fifty miles off in a pond. 
 
32 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 " I was working one morning," he went on, 
 with great deliberation, "in this dining-room, 
 and was rather pressed for time, when I was 
 interrupted by a small boy in a knickerbocker 
 suit, who was looking at me inquiringly 
 through the window. He asked where the 
 rector was. I said shortly that I did not 
 know ; but he would not go away, and stood 
 shifting from one leg to the other, and feeling 
 something in his jacket pocket." 
 
 (We now seemed farther from the subject 
 than ever ; but my chair was comfortable, 
 anglers should be patient, and so I waited.) 
 
 " At last I got from him that the rector 
 had promised to show him how to fish in the 
 lake, — our lake, he said, — and he was not 
 going away without instruction, so to get rid 
 of him I stepped out on to the lawn and 
 asked him what tackle he had got. The 
 squire was evidently not over-generous to his 
 offspring in the matter of gear : there was 
 no rod, and for a line a strong cord was to 
 do duty, attached to an enormous hook, made 
 for conger eels, I should suppose ; there were 
 a dozen wine-bottle corks, a dead sparrow, 
 
How to catch Pike in the Thames. 33 
 
 and a moist, flaccid little frog, which the lad 
 had been caressing in his pocket. I walked 
 the young gentleman off to the lake, put the 
 frog on the hook, tied a bundle of corks to 
 the line, fastening the shore end to a tree, and 
 told Master Hopeful to sit on the bank, and 
 tell me when the corks had been submerged 
 for five minutes, and not before. I never saw 
 a boy so good : he sat down without a word, 
 and devoured the corks with his eyes. I went 
 back to my work, secure for the day." 
 
 " So that put you in mind of more serious 
 fishing in the Thames?" I ventured to suggest 
 during a pause. 
 
 " Not at all. I settled down to my writing 
 again as quickly as possible, but in half an 
 hour the boy appeared again. * Hi ! ' he 
 yelled. * Come, come along, we've got him on ! * 
 It was no use objecting; I had to go back 
 to the lake, and there, sure enough, I found a 
 pike securely hooked. He scaled seven pounds." 
 
 " How extraordinary ! " I said, admiring my 
 friend's unobtrusive good-nature. 
 
 " Yes, the boy was pleased, I recollect. 
 Indeed, with one exception, I think it was the 
 3 
 
34 Fish 'Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 largest fish I ever came across, personally, 
 that was killed on such a rag-bag assortment 
 of tackle." 
 
 " With one exception ? " I repeated mechani- 
 cally, feeling that we were sliding off into the 
 deep waters of anecdote. 
 
 " Yes," said Anderson ; " for the next one, 
 which was hooked an hour later, weighed 
 just ten pounds. I felt like a doctor in large 
 practice, or Sawyer late Nockemorf, I assure 
 you. That morning was a succession of calls 
 from the imp of a boy, for by lunch- time we 
 had added a third to our bag — a five-pounder. 
 Then we drew stumps for the day, or we 
 might have glutted the market. So, you see, 
 fish are sometimes caught." 
 
 " Yes, but," I said, rising to go, and wonder- 
 ing if Anderson's headaches made him confuse 
 ideas as well as metaphors, — " but it was the 
 Thames we were speaking of." 
 
 " Just so," he replied, as we moved through 
 the darkened hall to the front door ; " we were 
 speaking of my day with Stephen. It so 
 happens that I told the old chap that story. 
 There is time, you will find, for a good many 
 
How to catch Pike in the Thames. 35 
 
 stories in a Thames fishing-punt — that day 
 especially, for we did not catch so much as a 
 gudgeon. It was not till I saw it in the 
 Field that I knew we had killed three jack of 
 seven pounds, ten pounds, and five pounds." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " I ejaculated, " you don't 
 mean to say that Stephen Farebrother sent up 
 that fictitious " — 
 
 " Hush ! " he said, — " de mortuis^ you know. 
 Mind the step. Good-night." 
 
IV. 
 
 His First Salmon. 
 
 " Old men forget: yet all shall he forgot^ 
 But hell remember with advantages 
 What feats he did that day." 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 When I heard the ting- ting of the electric bell 
 sounding in the kitchen one evening not long 
 after the bootless visit to " The Pines " I have 
 described, I concluded with a tremor that some 
 lonely and sociable neighbour had decided to 
 pay me a late call, unless, of course, it was one 
 of the rival cricket clubs touting for subscrip- 
 tions. I was trying to recollect which was the 
 one I generally patronise, when the neat- 
 handed Phyllis who " answers " our front door 
 ushered in the familiar form of my fishing 
 friend. Married men call on each other very 
 seldom in this suburban village, preferring after 
 
The Great Temptation. 
 
His First Salmon. 37 
 
 a iete-d-tcte dinner to put up their feet like the 
 countryman in church, and think of nothing, so 
 that I was considerably surprised and equally 
 delighted at the prospect of some rational, non- 
 political conversation with a well-read sports- 
 man who always has something amusing to 
 relate, and never collects subscriptions. 
 
 We made our guest as welcome as possible, 
 and installed him in a comfortable chair near 
 the tea-table, at which my wife was brewing an 
 infusion as noxious as it is refreshing. He 
 explained that his lady was away, and as he 
 wanted to borrow a book I had offered to lend, 
 he ventured to disturb us. We upbraided him 
 for not letting us know he was a grass-widower, 
 and then abandoned commonplaces for conver- 
 sation. 
 
 Anderson was not, I believe, at Eton, but he 
 possesses the Etonian gift of being able and 
 willing to talk about what other people want 
 to liscuss, and when he is with me the subject 
 is often fishing (though I detest hearing it 
 called my " hobby "). On this particular 
 evening my wife induced him to recount some 
 personal adventures in search of sport, which 
 
38 Fis h -Tails y and some True Ones. 
 
 were entertaining as well as instructive, and, in 
 the genteel language of Miss Ferrier, " time 
 flew for a while on downy pinions." 
 
 I suggested tentatively that angling, like 
 shooting, is a pastime to which men become 
 attached by the force of circumstances : if a 
 boy lives near a trout stream, and is early 
 initiated into the hidden mysteries of the craft, 
 he acquires a love for it to which dwellers in 
 cities are necessarily strangers, just as they love 
 riding who ride best, namely, those who, some- 
 how, have always had a mount at command. 
 
 Anderson demurred to this, and stated his 
 belief that your true fisherman is born to it, 
 though he may never have a rod of his own 
 till he has earned it, reminding me of William 
 Ravenshoe, who, according to his creator, 
 Henry Kingsley, was a poet although he had 
 never written any poetry, and probably never 
 would write any. This led us to talk of the 
 trout scene in that immortal book, and of our 
 own earliest experiences, my friend saying that 
 nothing had ever moved him in shop-windows 
 like the first artificial minnow he had seen in a 
 Black Country town what time he used to catch 
 
His First Salmon, 39 
 
 three-ounce perch in his uncle's pond. " They 
 do say," he went on, " that your first salmon 
 marks the brightest hour of life, but nothing in 
 that way has ever made my pulse beat so fast 
 as a jack I once saw in Sutton Park. I lived 
 at that time in a manufacturing town in 
 Staffordshire, and at the impressionable age of 
 ten or so was taken to Sutton as assistant 
 private secretary (unpaid) to a Mothers' 
 Meeting annual picnic. My duties consisted in 
 helping to row a barge full of Gamps up and 
 down the lake, and distributing tea out of an 
 enormous tin pot I could hardly lift. I was 
 giving one old woman her third half-pint, and 
 absently thinking that the perch must be 
 larger in this big pond than in the little one at 
 my uncle's, when a man who had been fishing 
 from a boat came to shore, and the mothers 
 began to remark that he had 'cot summat.' 
 I abandoned the teapot and sidled as near to 
 the boat as I dared, and there, lying on the 
 seat, I saw IT, the fish of my dreams. It is a 
 long time ago, but the joy of that moment was 
 ecstatic, and remains as fresh as ever in my 
 mind. It was only a jack of about two or 
 
40 Fish -Tails ^ and some True Ones, 
 
 three pounds, but its shape and size (compared 
 with the three-ounce perch), and the colour of 
 its fins, raised my temperature to a height not 
 to be registered by clinical thermometry. I 
 could scarcely breathe. I supposed that such 
 a splendid capture could only be vouchsafed to 
 an elderly gentleman of forty or thereabouts, 
 such as this angler seemed to be, and I won- 
 dered what sort of an apprenticeship he had 
 served to be so rewarded. As we drove home 
 in the gathering twilight, and the two large 
 brakes full of British females broke into song 
 and shrieked the chorus of a hymn, I felt that 
 it would indeed be a sacrifice to leave angling 
 (even with nets) to become a fisher of men." 
 
 At the conclusion of this reminiscence, which 
 almost persuaded me that I was wrong and he 
 was right about the innate character of the 
 fishing instinct, Anderson said he really could 
 not do all the talking, and called upon us to 
 bear our share ; but my wife said she must say 
 good-night to baby, and left us to our pipes. 
 I filled, and said — 
 
 " You imply that your first salmon did not 
 leave so vivid an impression on you as this. 
 
His First Salmon, 41 
 
 which surprises me. Was it a tame affair, 
 then ? " 
 
 " The fact is," he replied, "I am a little 
 ashamed when I recollect that incident, and I 
 do not think I have said anything about it for 
 years. To speak plainly, only my extreme 
 youth, and the suddenness of the trial, could 
 excuse such a disgraceful business. When 
 you say * boys will be boys,' you generally 
 mean something particularly hideous." 
 
 " I am listening," I said, leaning back in my 
 chair. 
 
 " Well, if you want to hear about it, prepare 
 to regard me with the contempt I merit," he 
 replied. " You must know that I had an 
 uncle once — not the owner of the perch pond, 
 but another — who rented a house in the North 
 country, to which he used to invite me. Not 
 far off was a small trout stream, one of the 
 many tributaries of a ducal salmon river. My 
 young cousins, Rob and Willie, who were 
 about my age, — somewhere near fifteen at the 
 time I speak of, — occasionally had leave to fish 
 for trout, and in their company I learnt how 
 to throw a fly, and, like them, became animated 
 
42 Fish -Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 by a blind hope that I might some day hook 
 an unwary grilse ; but one of his Grace's 
 watchers used to keep an eye on us and our 
 tackle, which kept down the size of our flies, 
 and we never caught very much. One Sunday 
 afternoon we three went for a walk, and drifted 
 naturally towards the stream, which was 
 shining like gold in the brilliant sunshine. It 
 was a sultry day in June, and we lay down in 
 the shade of some large trees which formed a 
 little wood near the water, and felt very happy. 
 We were idle, and Satan was not far off. Sunday 
 afternoon is his chief opportunity with boys." 
 
 Anderson sententiously tapped his pipe on 
 the bar of the grate, and then continued — 
 
 " Not far from where we lay was the single 
 arch of a stone bridge, rather in want of repair, 
 and perfectly mirrored in the water; over- 
 arching trees embowered it, and made a pretty 
 picture, but I am not aware that we observed 
 it. Willie said it was a nuisance that we could 
 not fish on Sundays, and Rob grumbled that all 
 the best trout lay by the bushes where no one 
 could cast a fly. Then we clambered up on to 
 the bridge and gazed down into the water: 
 
His First Salmon, 43 
 
 what we saw was the Great Temptation. Not 
 far below the surface of the stream there lay 
 the motionless form of a lordly salmon serenely 
 basking, unweeting of the Fates. 
 
 You may guess what our feelings were : 
 our ^yos jutted out of our heads, we clutched 
 the stonework with clammy hands, and 
 blushed a guilty pink. It was a sudden trial, 
 as I pleaded just now, and we fell. We did 
 not stop to speculate on what happy accident 
 had brought the king so far from his proper 
 haunt ; it became at once a question of means 
 and nothing more. These were limited, and 
 the choice was soon made. After a whispered 
 consultation, we raised on to the parapet an 
 enormous stone, — you shudder, quite naturally, 
 — and then I, being the strongest, by a stout 
 effort directed the wicked engine of destruc- 
 tion towards the fish dozing so unsuspectingly 
 below. There was a most prodigious splash, 
 a terrible commotion in the tiny pool, and — a 
 dead salmon. How? Oh, I don't know how, 
 but there it was. We enticed the murdered 
 corpse ashore, and guiltily hid it in the reeds 
 till we could convey it in a sack under cover of 
 
44 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 the darkness to a place of safety. We eventu- 
 ally managed this without any mishap, but 
 found to our disgust that some jackal-like 
 animal, rat or otter, had begun to feed in our 
 larder among the reeds, and had bitten a 
 piece out of the salmon's shoulder. That 
 was my first salmon. I am afraid I must 
 be going now, if you are still willing to 
 shake hands with me. What became of it? 
 Oh, the cook told us a gentleman was coming 
 to lunch next day, and Rob ordered the middle 
 of the fish to be served at that meal, knowing 
 that my uncle would make no inquiries about 
 the food. For my part, I had vague fears of a 
 prosecution, and did not enjoy my help from 
 the handsome piece placed on the table, — the 
 fish weighed fifteen pounds after the animal's 
 bite, — but my cousins ate heartily, and pressed 
 the visitor to try it : in spite of their suggestions, 
 however, he stuck to cold beef, I remember. I 
 asked them why they had been so rash, as soon 
 as the meal was over and we were out of 
 danger, and who the guest was. ' Why, didn't 
 you know ? ' said Willie. ' That was just the 
 best of it. It was the Duke's agent.'" 
 
A New Way to catch Old Trout. 
 
 '• We will not stand to prate ; 
 Talkers are no good doers ; be assured 
 We come to use our handsy and not our tongites," 
 
 Richard III. 
 
 I TOLD Anderson that after a recital of such a 
 disgraceful kind I really could not shake hands 
 with him for some hours, and as he was far too 
 polite to leave until I did so, he felt compelled, 
 of course, to stay on : so, having broken the 
 ice of confidences, he plunged into the well of 
 confession. 
 
 " There is a lot of affectation in these 
 things," he said, " and if the adventures of 
 a literary poacher are ever put upon the 
 market, there will be a considerable extension 
 of nefarious practices. I could tell you a story 
 of depravity beside which that of my first 
 
46 Fish-Tails^ and some True Ones, 
 
 salmon pales its ineffectual vice, and becomes 
 an episode of the saints." 
 
 " Sail in," I said encouragingly ; " dip your 
 pencil in eclipse. Human nature revolts from 
 crime, and revels in the police news. * Not 
 enjoyment, and not sorrow, is our destined end 
 or way, but to act that each to-morrow may ' 
 have something interesting to yarn about." 
 
 " Shakespeare and the Music Hall glasses ! " 
 said my friend, with a laugh. " What you mean, 
 I suppose, is that distance lends enchantment 
 to the view. At our age we use every endeavour 
 to prevent boys from doing what we ourselves 
 once loved to do and now laugh over. We even 
 go so far as to say that all things lawful are not 
 expedient." 
 
 " Yes," I said, " and to enforce the morals of 
 St. Paul we examine our young men in the 
 geography of his journeys." 
 
 " A good obsairve," said Anderson. " Philo- 
 sophers of all nations have noted the pleasures 
 of mala prohibitay and the sinister attractiveness 
 of mala in se. But to my tale." 
 
 "It is an odd thing," I said parenthetically, 
 " that morality should be so dependent on per- 
 
A New Way to catch Old Trout. 47 
 
 spective. So long as you don't actually break 
 the law in an obvious manner, you can do any 
 mortal thing you like — only take care that you 
 are not found out before you can call your 
 peccadillo * ancient history.' * It's some years 
 ago now ' is the preface to many a narrative 
 of escapades which though in themselves dis- 
 graceful are mellowed, like wine, by age." 
 
 " You are letting me down easy, I see," said 
 my friend. " What I am about to tell you 
 took place very long ago — long before the 
 salmon incident — and was not much worse 
 than Cholmondeley Pennell's trying to gaff 
 that pike he writes about, contra bonos mores^ as 
 he says. It was a throw back to barbarism, 
 that's all." 
 
 " Let's hear about your peccadillo," I said. 
 
 '* ' How sad and bad and mad it was,' 
 
 and likewise * how it was sweet.' " 
 
 " Here goes, then. One morning in the 
 dateless and unblamable long ago, I received 
 the rare excitement of a letter, and the still 
 more infrequent pleasure of an invitation to 
 spend a few days at that same uncle's. This 
 was whole aeons before the salmon episode. 
 
48 Fish -Tails, and some Ti^ue Ones. 
 
 and the easiness of my fall under that trial 
 may no doubt be traced to this amongst 
 other early backslidings. Nemo repente fuit 
 turpissimuSy you know. * No one very base 
 was ever sorry,' as I once heard a boy trans- 
 late it. 
 
 " The letter in question was from Rob, and 
 merely directed me to come on at once, and 
 bring my fives- shoes. Lawn tennis had 
 not then been invented, and I could only con- 
 clude that some difficult tree-climbing was in 
 prospect, or that fives was permitted, or at any- 
 rate practised, in the attics. My cousins were 
 fertile in fancy, and the mysterious message 
 was redolent of a new, and probably unlawful 
 game. 
 
 " When I arrived at the house, my uncle gave 
 me, I remember, a hearty greeting, and said he 
 hoped I had brought my fishing-rod, as there 
 were plenty of trout that wanted catching, and 
 there were also perch in the pond. But when 
 I was alone with my cousins they explained 
 that as soon as their father had departed next 
 day to perform the duties of a county magis- 
 trate they intended to adopt a more fruitful 
 
A New Way to catch Old Trout, 49 
 
 method of bagging trout than that he had 
 suggested. 
 
 " Tickling ? No, they scorned the idea of 
 tickh'ng as old-fashioned, difficult, and doubtful, 
 and unfolded a plan which for sheer poaching 
 villainy stood well ahead of anything in my 
 experience. The trout stream, you must know, 
 — this line on the table, — was small, and ran 
 at no great distance from the bottom of the 
 garden where the perch pond was which I 
 mentioned just now — this ash-tray. A small 
 offshoot of the main stream fed this pond, and 
 rejoined the bigger one below — about here. 
 Lower down (off the edge of the table) came 
 the bridge from which I afterwards dropped 
 the stone. 
 
 " So much for the geography. Well, the 
 executive power being out of the way, we 
 sallied forth in our fives-shoes, armed with rods 
 (as a blind to the governess, I suppose), a 
 saloon pistol, an old wooden bucket, a spade, 
 and a hatchet. We went silently down the 
 garden, — does not what's-his-name say in the 
 play that ' silence is the perfectest herald of 
 joy ' ? Mischief and joy are convertible terms 
 4 
 
50 Fish -Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 with boys, and we did not wish to court pub- 
 licity. 
 
 " For half an hour we stealthily fired the pistol 
 at the perch basking in the pond without killing 
 anything, and then set about carrying out the 
 more daring project which had been fermenting 
 in my cousins' inventive brains for weeks. To 
 begin with, we dug up turf, cut down bushes, 
 and collected some small pieces of timber, 
 railings, and so on, I forget what. Out of 
 these materials we constructed a most success- 
 ful dam across the stream immediately below 
 the streamlet which fed the pond (about here, 
 you see). This dodge turned off nearly all the 
 water, and in an hour or so what had been a 
 trout stream was a chain of pools scarcely con- 
 nected at all, and mostly quite shallow. The 
 first part of the felonious operation known, I 
 believe, as * damming and ladling' was now 
 completed, and we were ready for the second. 
 So, taking off our stockings, and turning up 
 our knicks as far as they would go, we waded 
 in our shoes into the best pool, which was for- 
 tunately covered, on the side towards the garden, 
 by a group of thick trees, and stirred up the mud 
 
A New Way to catch Old Trout, 51 
 
 at the bottom as vigorously as we could with 
 our feet. You see why the fives-shoes were 
 wanted. 
 
 " I was extremely excited at the prospect of 
 transgressing all laws, public and private, but 
 did not believe that the result would realise the 
 rose-coloured hopes of the inventive Rob, for no 
 fish were visible when we took to the water, 
 and we had no net ; but the effect of our move- 
 ments was remarkable. There were lots of 
 trout hiding under stones and in holes, and 
 the poor things could not stand the muddy 
 mixture at all, and speedily appeared in a half- 
 suffocated condition at the top of the water. 
 Then ensued a scene of animated confusion. 
 We splashed about, shouting at the tops of 
 our voices, drunk with glory, watching like 
 demented pelicans for signs of the slippery little 
 trout, which we clutched with screams of laugh- 
 ter and threw out on to the bank, tumbling over 
 each other till we were wet to the skin. 
 
 Besides about five dozen trout there were 
 eels galore, and we revelled in the massacre 
 till we had filled the bucket and emptied the 
 stream. Then we hastily pulled up the dam. 
 
52 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 and allowed the water to return to its proper 
 channel, and I tell you there were not three 
 happier boys in England." 
 
 " * And now at last the sun is going down 
 behind the wood,' " I murmured sympatheti- 
 cally. " * And I am very happy, for I know 
 that I've been good.' " 
 
 " Yes," said Anderson, " the really happy 
 boy is the despair of consistent moralists. The 
 only way to understand him is to regard him 
 as a survival of barbarism. Your true angler 
 goes in for sport, and prefers his rod and line 
 to a drag net. Not so your boy. Short of 
 going to a fish-shop and hoicking the dead 
 things off the slab into the creel, he regulates 
 his happiness by the weight of the catch. 
 * Kill many,' he says to himself, ' honestly, if 
 possible.' " 
 
 " I suppose," I said, " that you and your 
 cousins would rather have taken those trout by 
 a dynamite cartridge than not at all ? " 
 
 " Yes," he answered. " Bees roam the country 
 miles from the hive in search of honey, but did 
 you ever see a swarm which had found a honey- 
 pot ? I have." 
 
A New Way to catch Old Trout, 53 
 
 " Is there any more to that ladling episode ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " No, no more. We found the pond had 
 overflowed its banks, and the perch must have 
 been considerably astonished. So was the 
 cook when she saw the bucket, and heard our 
 mendacious explanations; but nothing retribu- 
 tive occurred, and, so far as I remember, my 
 uncle never heard of our exploit until it was 
 buried in a safe past of uncertain date." 
 
VI. 
 
 The Largest Fish. 
 
 *' . . .No amount of moral tales will preach down the 
 aleatory instinct of mankind." 
 
 The Law Journal. 
 
 My wife had made up our minds early one 
 spring that we ought to secure a small house 
 at the seaside in the best possible situation, 
 not too bracing, but just bracing enough, 
 where baby could get a good sniff at the ozone, 
 or iodine, or whatever it is that brings the little 
 creatures on so quickly and makes their dear 
 little cheeks so brown. She said I could fish, 
 of course, either off the pier, or in one of those 
 tossing little boats, with a lobster pot and a 
 string. As she seemed to be serious on the 
 main point, I promised to call on my friend of 
 the angling anecdotes to ask him whether he 
 
 54 
 
The Largest Fish, 55 
 
 knew of a place which would suit baby, and at 
 the same time provide me with rational amuse- 
 ment — not golf, of course. I had vague ideas 
 of catching enormous bass on a fly like a Cam- 
 berwell Beauty ; and recollections of conger eels 
 resembling boa-constrictors, vari-coloured mac- 
 kerel, and whiting of sumptuous fatness, floated 
 through my mind. So shortly after our decision 
 to migrate shorewards, I called at " The 
 Pines " again, and found our neighbour in his 
 study busy with a quantity of figures neatly 
 written out on half-sheets of notepaper. I 
 said I feared I was disturbing him : was he, 
 I wondered, writing the Money Article, that 
 enthralling column ? But no, he politely wel- 
 comed me, and said it was of no consequence ; 
 he was merely relaxing his mind by calculat- 
 ing the odds against his holding two trumps 
 when each of his opponents held from one to 
 five. 
 
 "There is something very fascinating to a 
 vacant mind about the odds," he said. " I 
 should probably waste my substance at San- 
 down if my wife had not such a horror of 
 betting. Lyme Regis spoilt it all," 
 
56 Fish -Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 This thoughtful remark naturally surprised 
 me not a little, and I was tempted to postpone 
 the chief object of my visit in the hope of first 
 drawing out my host a little. When you talk 
 quietly to Anderson, tete-a-tete^ he drifts off, 
 as I have previously indicated, into delight- 
 ful stories of fishing, which he invests with a 
 peculiar charm I cannot reproduce on paper 
 any more than I can draw his blue eyes and 
 ruddy beard in pen-and-ink. Whether his 
 yarns begin with a bishop or a cricket match, 
 they always end up with a fish, and in general 
 they bristle with sharp points like a Thames 
 angler's tackle-box. Recollecting this, I thought 
 his mention of Lyme Regis sufficiently promis- 
 ing, and threw my fly, in a manner of speaking, 
 over the spot where he had risen. 
 
 " I came to ask you," I said suggestively, 
 " about places like Lyme. I think of settling 
 my little family down on the coast for a month 
 or two as soon as the House rises, and when 
 I go to them I should like some good scientific 
 fishing. I want to catch something big, you 
 know." 
 
 A peculiar expression, which I could not 
 
The Largest Fish, 57 
 
 analyse until afterwards, passed over Ander- 
 son's freckled face as he replied — 
 
 "You youngsters always want it big. You 
 don't understand till you are forty that there 
 is no pleasure in life like tickling a half-pound 
 trout. But I sincerely trust that your experience 
 in big bags may never be like mine." 
 
 " Why, you speak as if you were Jonah, or 
 had wrestled with Leviathan in the deep," I 
 retorted. " What terrible experience have you 
 had ? I should guess you were half drowned 
 by some monster salmon, or scared by sharks. 
 Was that it?" 
 
 "It was at Lyme," he gravely replied ; " and 
 though some men might have thought nothing 
 of it, it made a difference to us, and prevents my 
 going to Sandown or the seaside at present." 
 
 " This is myst'ry," I said tentatively. " If 
 the details would not be painful to relate, pray 
 give me your experiences." 
 
 I thought he was chaffing me. He rose 
 silently from his arm-chair, and carefully de- 
 taching a large pipe with a meerschaum bowl 
 of the darkest hue from a hook on the wall, 
 filled and lighted it with great deliberation. 
 
58 Fish -Tails y and some True Ones, 
 
 " I was attracted to Lyme," he began at 
 length, after a few puffs, " by the fact that it 
 has no railway station, and I rather fancy I 
 had an ancestor who landed there with Mon- 
 mouth : he was fishing for something big, if 
 you like. Anyhow, we went, and so did the 
 Vincents. While there, Vincent and I became 
 very fond of games of chance, and decided our 
 movements by the turn of a coin. So when 
 my wife wanted a bonnet beyond her quarter's 
 allowance, I tossed her for that or a box of 
 cigars (which I cannot afford to smoke), and 
 we loyally abided by the result. The bonnet 
 mostly won, but it saved a lot of heart-burning." 
 
 "You fished, of course?" I put in, as he 
 paused to stamp down the ashes in his pipe. 
 
 " Yes : it used to be heads for pollack in a 
 rowing-boat, and tails for mackerel in Flint's 
 Dancing Polly — the identical craft, I believe, 
 that Besant writes about in that charming 
 smuggler story of Rousdon. Heads we walked 
 with the ladies, tails we bathed, and so on ; no 
 brain worry." 
 
 In the silence that followed I thought it 
 wise to remind my friend that he was going 
 
The Largest Fish. 59 
 
 to warn me against the ambition of youthful 
 anglers, but I might have had more faith : it 
 was all right. Anderson got visibly graver, 
 and helped us both to whisky. 
 
 " One morning," he continued, after an elo- 
 quent interval, " we had spent a charming time 
 on the sands near that snake-like pier they call 
 the Cobb. We were lunching and discussing 
 the cause of Mary Anne's disappearance two 
 or three days before from the Vincents' lodg- 
 ings, and each of us took a different view. I 
 said it was * spoons,* Vincent suggested fright at 
 the landlady's false teeth, his wife (ignoring my 
 double entendre) thought it was 'some horrid 
 man,' while mine hotly contended that it was 
 a made-up yarn to run the house without a 
 servant, and only an economic ruse. As Mary 
 Anne was publicly reported to have run home 
 to Charmouth, I offered to sail round the bay 
 and investigate, if anyone would give me four to 
 one about my theory ; but the idea of sailing put 
 an end to the discussion, and the meal, for the 
 word suggested fishing, and we were soon hail- 
 ing Flint for boats. It was a glorious afternoon, 
 with just enough breeze for a sail, but not too 
 
6o Fish-TailSy and some True Ones. 
 
 much for a row : in our opinion, however, there 
 was too well-meaning a sun for the latter form 
 of exercise, so we let the Vincents take the 
 Susan and the pollack lines, while we raised 
 sail on the Dancing Pollys and stood out to 
 sea with the mackerel tackle. I have not been 
 near the place, or on salt water, since that day." 
 
 I thought of saying that this was " odd " or 
 " funny," but somehow, like Brer Rabbit, I kept 
 on " sayin' nothin'," and lay low : it was quite 
 exciting. 
 
 " I must tell you," said my host sadly, " that 
 my wife wanted to go on for a week to Char- 
 mouth, which is the next place round the bay, 
 you know, while I preferred to stop at Lyme, 
 so as we turned to follow the line of the Devon- 
 shire coast, Rousdon way, we arranged (on our 
 plan of leaving it to Fortune to decide) that 
 whoever caught the largest individual fish 
 during the afternoon should be allowed to 
 choose our next week's place of abode; then 
 we began to let out line. 
 
 " Nothing of interest happened for about half 
 an hour, and we only made two scientific ob- 
 servations : first, that if you hook the rope of 
 
The Largest Fish. 6i 
 
 a lobster pot while sailing through a row of 
 them, it is the mackerel line that gives way, 
 you do not catch any lobsters ; the second 
 phenomenon was that in the bright sunlight 
 the sea showed a deep ultramarine on one side 
 of the boat, and a bright emerald on the other. 
 After we had each taken about half a score of 
 fish, I hooked a monster and claimed the prize ; 
 but my wife adroitly referred the matter to Flint 
 as arbitrator, and he of course said that one of 
 hers (about half a pound lighter) was quite as 
 large as mine. I was about to enter a formal 
 protest, a sort of general objection to the juris- 
 diction of the Court, when she shouted from her 
 side of the boat, ' Never mind, this is the biggest, 
 anyhow,' and began to try and haul in her 
 line ; but instead of coming, it held taut for 
 a moment, and then ran quickly through her 
 fingers. I was endeavouring at the moment 
 to light my pipe, and having lost several 
 matches in unsuccessful attempts, was agree- 
 ably surprised to notice that the breeze had 
 died suddenly away; then the rope which 
 keeps the sail up snapped (which was odd), 
 and down came the sail, bang. Old Flint was 
 
62 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 too excited to attend to it, and came aft to see 
 what strange beast, shark or porpoise, we were 
 towing. 
 
 " ' It won't come ; it's a rock,' said my wife. 
 " * Yes,' I said, ' in twenty fathoms.' 
 " * Then it's only a sunken bundle of weed.' 
 " Nothing else was said. I fancy I see the 
 boat now bearing down slowly and almost 
 broadside on towards that fish : my wife's 
 excited face, Flint's graver, but equally alert, 
 not a breath stirring, and the salt taste on the 
 amber of my pipe. My wife suddenly uttered 
 a shrill cry, fell back into my arms, and fainted 
 dead away. You guess what it was ? " 
 
 " I have not the vaguest idea," I responded, 
 for I did not like to suggest the sea serpent or 
 a ghost, because there was evidently something 
 real in all this, and contrariwise you never know 
 when Anderson is giving you away ; so I said 
 I could not hazard a conjecture. 
 
 " I was looking over the side of the boat," 
 he went on, " and just as my wife screamed her 
 line broke, and the thing, which was almost at 
 the top of the clear water, sank with a gurgle to 
 rest evermore in the deep: it was Mary Anne." 
 
VII. 
 The Gold Devon. 
 
 " Thou gaudy gold, 
 Hard food for Midas , I will none of thee ." 
 
 Merchant of Venice. 
 
 This paper is a very humble contribution to 
 the science of catching fish, and is not intended 
 to amuse the careless reader who hunts for 
 humour in all things printed, like the prover- 
 bial pig for the infrequent truffle : it is written 
 with the deep conviction that he who makes 
 two trout lie in the basket of a brother crafts- 
 man, where one would otherwise have reposed 
 alone, is a benefactor to the human race. 
 " Ignorance is the curse of God, knowledge the 
 wing wherewith we fly to heaven." Some 
 superior people consider Devon minnows useless 
 for killing trout, especially in still, deep pools. 
 
64 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 where there is no current to disguise the taste 
 of the tackle - shop ; and others think them 
 poaching, pure and simple, though they never 
 can explain why, and shelter themselves 
 behind an expressive shrug. Since a day that 
 I once had on some Yorkshire ponds I have 
 been unable to share either view, and I regard 
 a certain form of this artificial bait as quite 
 legitimate and particularly deadly. I am 
 informed that the apparently charming little 
 quill minnow is very destructive in the hands 
 of some experienced anglers in streams where 
 there is a good clattering ripple, but I have 
 never killed a fish on one myself in England, 
 though I have given the bait a fair trial. To 
 my mind, it cannot be " thrown as a fly," and 
 its very lightness is not altogether in its favour, 
 while its lack of the metallic gleam of its 
 heavier brethren seems distinctly against it. 
 
 The course of events which led me to pin 
 my faith on the small golden variation of the 
 Devon minnow was shortly as follows. It 
 was August, the month when the fish always 
 seem to ask us, in their mute, unsympathetic 
 manner, why it is necessary to take a holiday 
 
The Gold Devon, 65 
 
 and go a-fishing then instead of at a more 
 rational time of year. They know all about the 
 artificial whipping of water, but little of the 
 stem habits of the natural or Parliamentary 
 Whip. It was, then, a bright, burning August, 
 when the grouse were dying by thousands on 
 the neighbouring moors, and the trout pools 
 lay all day beneath the sun like burnished 
 mirrors, unrippled until at eventide the small 
 fry began to leap and jeer at the perspiring 
 angler, while their great progenitors lay 
 solemnly below, meditating, no doubt, on the 
 vanity of human wishes. I inspected four 
 beautiful ponds on the evening of my arrival 
 in Yorkshire, under the guidance of my host, 
 who pointed out the special characteristics of 
 each. The first was newly made, and a 
 quantity of fry had but lately been turned into 
 it : nothing had as yet been caught there, and 
 as it was in a very exposed position, it was 
 difficult for the fishermen to approach for a 
 cast without attracting attention. The second 
 was a similar one, but in a more overgrown 
 and secluded spot, and contained, I was told, 
 some large fish. The third was much deeper, 
 5 
 
66 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 and well stocked with all sizes, but could only 
 be got at from one bank. Lastly, we came to 
 the Beech Tree Pool, which was large and deep, 
 embowered in a grove of the stately trees from 
 which it derived its name. I have never seen 
 a more beautiful spot : as the setting sun 
 struck through the overhanging branches and 
 " made a glory in the place," I almost expected 
 to see a wood nymph gliding off into the 
 bracken, or some sylvan deity challenging our 
 intrusion. However, nothing of the kind 
 happened ; and as we had but a short hour at 
 our disposal, we lost no time in putting our 
 rods together and getting to work. There were 
 quantities of beautiful water-plants growing in 
 the middle of the pool, which appeared to be very 
 deep, but round the edge there was a margin 
 of clear surface, from fifteen to twenty feet 
 wide. On the inward fringe of this belt the 
 wary old fish lay waiting for us. The only 
 available method of attracting them was to 
 cast a small single fly as near as possible to the 
 first water-lily visible on the surface, and it 
 was by no means easy to do this satisfactorily 
 without being seen or getting hung up in a 
 
The Gold Devon. 67 
 
 tree. However, we each hooked and netted a 
 nice fish before we had to reel up and tramp 
 back across the park to dinner. 
 
 On the way homeward I showed my friend 
 a gold Devon, and asked him what he thought 
 of it ; to which he replied that it was useless, as 
 the fish in these still pools were much too 
 experienced for such obviously human lures, 
 but I was welcome to try it to my heart's 
 content. For my part, I thought it looked so 
 pretty and inviting that I would take him at 
 his word ; and I did. So the next day, when I 
 had a couple of hours to spare before sunset, I 
 set off, accompanied by an ardent young friend 
 with a net, towards the ponds. It was again 
 very bright and hot, so I was not surprised to 
 find that my flies attracted nothing in the 
 nearest of the series. I got a rise in the 
 second ; but did not stop there long, as the 
 water was too clear : besides, it was a small 
 one, and, being short of time, I was anxious to 
 reach number four. In the third, small fish 
 were rising and leaping everywhere, but no- 
 thing, small or large, would look at a fly ; so at 
 length I decided to try the minnow. It was 
 
68 Fish 'T ails ^ and some True OneSr 
 
 soon on a gut trace, and made a most discon- 
 certing splash as it fell into a deep corner, 
 reminding me of Silas Wegg's punishment at 
 the hands of Sloppy ; but the noise of its entry 
 into another element did not seem to matter 
 much, as, before it had run more than a few 
 feet of its course, it was seized by a large trout. 
 My surprise was naturally considerable ; but my 
 pleasure was destined to be shortlived, for my 
 youthful gillie unfortunately struck the line 
 with the net in trying to land the fish in some 
 weeds growing near the bank, and the result 
 was what might be expected. The fario not 
 only got off, but went straightway and told the 
 rest ; and it was some time before I got another 
 run. At length I secured a threequarter- 
 pounder in a similar manner, which was duly 
 grassed, and then decided to spend the re- 
 mainder of my time in the romantic Beech 
 Tree glade. 
 
 Arrived there, I found that it was a matter 
 of considerable nicety to use the minnow at all ; 
 but at the deepest end of the lake there was 
 some open water, and also a space between the 
 trees which made some sort of casting practi- 
 
The Gold Devon. 69 
 
 cable. At the second or third successful 
 attempt I was anxiously watching the bright 
 metallic lustre of the bait, sinking in the dark 
 mysterious depths, when I saw an answering 
 gleam of gold, and a large fish darted after it, 
 but missed the hooks. I cautiously repeated 
 the performance, and the same or a similar 
 trout immediately showed himself and made a 
 most eager rush : this time he was really on, 
 and, after much cautious playing round an 
 intervening alder bush, was safely landed. After 
 this I tried other parts of the pool, but, owing 
 to the shallowness of the water and the splash 
 of casting, took nothing. However, a final 
 effort in the old place was again richly re- 
 warded, for another experienced fish, which 
 would not look at a fly, attacked the minnow 
 with a most obliging ferocity, and soon reposed in 
 the basket : the brace scaled over three pounds. 
 I was then reluctantly obliged to hurry away ; 
 but I had fully persuaded myself that, under 
 certain circumstances, the Devon may be used 
 to great advantage even in the stillest water ; 
 and my host, who was a much better and 
 more experienced angler than myself, was con- 
 
70 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 siderably surprised when he saw the three 
 fish. 
 
 I subsequently tested the same minnow in a 
 Norwegian lake, and found that it caught 
 fewer trout than the Alexandra fly, but more 
 than the blue or grey varieties of metal 
 minnow, the quill, or the small spoon. It is 
 especially useful in peaty water, and in places 
 where the fish are large and lazy. 
 
VIII. 
 The Competition. 
 
 ^.^^ Beauty is truths truth beauty ;— that is all 
 Ye know on earthy and all ye need to know" 
 
 Keats. 
 
 In the smoking-room of the House of 
 Commons you hear many interesting things : 
 they are generally wholly disconnected from 
 government and legislation. For instance, I 
 remember once inviting an enthusiastic young 
 friend to dine with me, in order that he might 
 hear a debate on the Death Duties. However, 
 the delivery of the minister whose turn it was 
 to speak when I got my guest into the gallery 
 was so portentous dull that we speedily took 
 refuge below, and listened for an hour to a 
 scientific M.P., who explained to us how to 
 calculate the velocity of a star by means of 
 
 71 
 
72 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 the spectroscope. It was vastly ingenious, 
 and much more entertaining than any debate. 
 On another occasion, Anderson came up to 
 sample the hospitality of what used to be 
 called the best club in London, and I intro- 
 duced him in the private temple of Nicotina 
 to two other votaries, both fairly well known 
 to the public, and the conversation naturally 
 turned upon fishing. The stream of com- 
 parative anecdote was mostly kept going by 
 my red-haired friend and the member who 
 smoked a clay pipe, — I must not further 
 identify him, — whilst I and the fourth man, who 
 may for my present purpose be earmarked 
 as the possessor of cheroots, contented our- 
 selves with sympathetic comments. 
 
 We discussed the piscatorial art from a 
 philosophical standpoint, vaguely endeavouring 
 to formulate a Theory of Enjoyment, but 
 gradually came to the conclusion that the 
 elements of happiness are too indefinite and 
 elusive to be categorically sorted. Of course, 
 pleasure generally varies directly with success, 
 which is itself always comparative, and in- 
 versely with the ease and celerity with which 
 
The Coinpetition, 73 
 
 the prey is captured ; but we could not agree 
 about anything else, and soon got rather 
 fogged. 
 
 " It is not necessarily more enjoyable," said 
 Anderson, " to catch a salmon than to catch 
 a trout, unless you take \}s\Q,fario on a salmon 
 rod, which always seems to me as tame as 
 cracking nuts on an anvil." 
 
 " It would probably be fun," I said, " to 
 kill a salmon on a trout rod ; but that kind of 
 accident never happened to me, and I should 
 hesitate to believe it of anybody else." 
 
 " I know something about that game, any- 
 how," said the man with the clay pipe, " but 
 you need not believe it unless you like." 
 
 We hastened to protest unbounded credulity. 
 
 " I was passing through Argyllshire last 
 year," he continued, thus encouraged, "and 
 spent a night with a friend in a manse he 
 had rented near a river. As I never can 
 sleep after about seven in the morning, I 
 generally go for a walk before breakfast, and 
 on this occasion I strolled down to look at 
 the river. There was a bridge handy, upon 
 which I took my stand to admire the view, 
 
74 Fish 'Tails ^ and some True Ones, 
 
 wishing, as was natural, that people got up 
 earlier to breakfast. Early risers are given 
 that way. In a few minutes the landscape 
 became animated, as the Italian picture 
 catalogues say, by a white-bearded old gentle- 
 man with a trout rod ; which was very surpris- 
 ing, for trout- catching in Scotch salmon rivers 
 is about as unprofitable as subscribing to 
 charities outside your constituency. I was 
 not inclined to stay long ; but when I per- 
 ceived the old sportsman select and affix to 
 his cast a small salmon fly, I was petrified 
 with astonishment. The rod, you understand, 
 was nine feet long. Well, he walked slowly 
 down from the bridge, cleverly casting a good 
 long line, and making me feel that he must 
 be either a new kind of novice or a curious 
 variety of madman, for the person who de- 
 liberately fishes for a salmon with a toy rod of 
 that size is hard to meet. 
 
 " Just as I was turning homewards towards 
 the parritch and haggis, I saw the line tighten, 
 so I stopped and took a front pew. The 
 salmon — for of course it was a salmon — ran 
 out a score of yards of line ; but the old 
 
The Competition, 75 
 
 gentleman cunningly increased the check, and 
 the usual silver bar gleamed in the customary 
 manner. There was no gillie visible, and the 
 fisherman had no gaff, or net : it seemed to 
 me that he must be fishing for the fun of 
 breaking his line, and he was within an ace 
 of doing it several times with an almost 
 empty reel ; but he managed his light tackle 
 to admiration, and it was soon evident that 
 the gaff would be needed shortly. Still no 
 ' Donald ' appeared on the scene, and tailing 
 the fish seemed his only chance. However, 
 the old chap reeled steadily up and up, and 
 at last dropped the rod and gathered the 
 fish into his arms with a sudden sweep — 
 altogether a most skilful performance. I ran 
 down and found a nice fish on the stones, 
 weighing eight or nine pounds. No intro- 
 duction was necessary ; and I learnt that this 
 master of the craft, being afflicted with a 
 weak heart, which prevented his using a proper 
 rod, was quite accustomed to giving these 
 heavy odds, and winning the game too." 
 
 " In the unavoidable absence of the kettle," 
 said the man with the cheroots, " let me 
 
76 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 present you with this very handsome ash- 
 tray." 
 
 " Wait," said Anderson, with his grave 
 manner ; " if true stories are wanted, I have a 
 couple of details of my own to relate." 
 
 So he took his turn in the competition. 
 
 " I was fishing," he said, " at Nunnington, 
 about ten years ago, near the old Hall, where 
 the stream comes down below the mill. It 
 was a clear, warm day towards the end of 
 September, and I had given up shooting, for 
 a day at the grayling for which the Rye is 
 famous. I had not been at it very long, and 
 had grassed a brace, I think, when I made a 
 longer cast than usual, and felt, as I began to 
 pull in, that I had something bigger than a 
 half-pounder at the end of my line. Sure 
 enough there was a grayling on my tail fly, 
 and a grayling on my dropper, both well over 
 the eight - ounce figure, and between them 
 was a third, not hooked at all, but noosed up 
 in the gut, which was wound round his neck. 
 I netted all three. The middle one must 
 have been rising, you see, when the other two 
 put the halter round his neck." 
 
The Competition, 77 
 
 We all nodded silently. 
 
 " The next day," he went on, "I was again 
 fishing near the mill, when I saw a handsome 
 trout of two pounds or so basking in very 
 shallow water. I cast over him, and he took 
 no sort of notice. Tried another fly with the 
 same result. Did not know what to do. Tried 
 again : no use. So I waded in warily, made 
 a frantic effort, and kicked the beggar bodily 
 into the net. He was blind^ stone-blind, — struck 
 by the mill-wheel, I expect, — so no wonder he 
 was indifferent to a fly. Now, what about the 
 kettle?" 
 
 We gave a miniature round of applause by 
 tapping pipe-stems and ash-trays on the table ; 
 upon which the man of the cheroots felt that, 
 in the absence of the division-bell, his county 
 expected him to outshine the mere borough 
 member with his trout-rod anecdotes : so he 
 waved his hand and spoke in emulation. 
 
 " I lack your powers of invention," he said 
 disdainfully, "and I only consent to stand 
 (as I have said elsewhere) at the urgent 
 solicitation of my numerous friends. The 
 only fishing I have of my own is my father's. 
 
78 Fish -Tails, and some Tr^ie Ones, 
 
 and is only trouting and such small deer; 
 and I never kill seven at a blow, or salmon 
 by mistake, or anything of that sort ; but the 
 only salmon I ever bagged anywhere was the 
 first I ever fished for, and I only cast for him 
 once." 
 
 The man with the clay pipe held out his 
 hand. 
 
 " I have looked for you all my life," he 
 said solemnly ; " I knew somebody must have 
 done it, but no one has ever dared to say so 
 before." 
 
 They shook hands. 
 " Where was it ? " I asked, laughing. 
 " It was in Aberdeen. I was staying with 
 a friend, I am afraid to say how many years 
 ago, on the Don. I was young, and he gave 
 me lessons in casting — on the lawn, you know, 
 without a fly. Then we went down to the 
 river, got into a boat, put on a fly, and I 
 made that cast. I told my companion I was 
 fast in a rock, as the line would not come 
 back. * No, by Jove, it's a fish ! ' he said ; and 
 so it was. He showed me how to play it, 
 landed me in due course, ran up to the house 
 
The Competition. 79 
 
 for the gaff, came back and lifted out a clean 
 fish of twenty and a half pounds. I have 
 never caught one since." 
 
 " That easily might have happened," I said, 
 " but, somehow, it never " — 
 
 A sharp rattle of electric bells sounded 
 through the smoking-room, and, with scarcely 
 a word of explanation or apology to our 
 stranger, we Members bolted like rabbits for 
 the division-lobbies, leaving him to muse on 
 the miraculous, and laugh at legislators, till 
 our return. 
 
IX. 
 
 Outrageous Fortune. 
 
 "A very antient and fish-like smell." 
 
 The Tempest. 
 
 The power of memory residing in what scien- 
 tists call the olfactory nerve is a constant sur- 
 prise to everybody with a nose, and may be 
 truly called transcendent. The faintest imagin- 
 able whiff of some odour, which has not greeted 
 our nostrils for a number, any number, of years, 
 transports us in a second of time to a vivid 
 scene which would not otherwise have been 
 reproducible upon the mental retina. Sights 
 and sounds never remind us half so readily, or 
 so completely, of bygone things and the years 
 that are really lost to us : we have danced, for 
 instance, many times to the now almost for- 
 gotten music of " The Cloisters," and, in conse- 
 
 80 
 
Outrageous Fo7't7i7ie, 8i 
 
 quence, its familiar cadences scarcely produce 
 even a blurred recollection of many mazy 
 pictures ; but though we have worn a gardenia 
 as often, and sniffed its languorous odour far 
 oftener, that perfume has preserved its power of 
 faithfully recalling our first " Commem.," and 
 never fails to conjure up a vision of that first 
 brilliant ball. 
 
 Of evil smells it is not perhaps fitting, as 
 Herodotus says, to speak ; but tobacco may be 
 mentioned without offence even in the presence 
 of ladies, although there are still some who say 
 they dislike smoke, as it always reminds them of 
 a bar-parlour, a room which they have, of course, 
 never seen. To dislike tobacco is like objecting 
 generally to the taste of wine, for the aroma of 
 a choice Havana is no more to be confounded 
 with the exhalation of a clay than the flavour 
 of Lafitte or Margot with the flavour of a 
 tawny port. The slightest suspicion of one 
 kind of cigar carries me, for some reason that 
 defies analysis, to Lord's, as rapidly as if I had 
 been placed on the magic carpet of the Arabian, 
 and I see the glaring July sun shining down on 
 the thousand glittering hues of that crowded 
 
82 Fish 'Tails, and some True O^ies. 
 
 ring, where the heroes of old are still making 
 history. I meet a cloud of a certain species of 
 cigarette smoke at a street corner, and straight- 
 way am transported to the old College rooms, 
 trying to believe, with other Freshmen, that 
 manliness is synonymous with capacity for 
 enormous breakfasts, and that dons and duns 
 are subjects rather for ridicule than fear. 
 
 Did you happen to notice what those two 
 foreign gentlemen were puffing at as they went 
 into Simpson's just now for their daily en- 
 counter over the chess-board ? There was 
 nothing to see but an amorphous cloud of 
 blue, but surely it wants no Sherlock Holmes 
 to tell us that it came partly from a villainous 
 black " Vevey," and partly from a lighter brown 
 roll, grown and curled in the distant Father- 
 land. I do not know how it affects you, but 
 for my part I look down the magician's tele- 
 scope and see, as in a single picture, my first 
 " foreign tour " of long, long ago, when that 
 good-natured parson warned us, by the waters 
 of the blue Thunersee, that though smaller than 
 the mouse in thickness, the " Vevey " is more 
 powerful than the lion and more noxious than 
 
Otitrageoiis Fortune. 83 
 
 the adder; whereupon we youngsters tried it, 
 with the most direful results. I see, too, that 
 sturdy Heidelberg soldier turning his day's pay 
 into pale wreathes of the same smoke beneath 
 the red walls of the greatest Gothic ruin in 
 Europe. 
 
 We had little bunches of " old man " in our 
 gardens at home ; and though no modern plants 
 or " gay parterres " ever seem to remind us of 
 that wonderful place which was so large and is 
 so small, it only wants a scrap of that scented 
 herb to show again the box-borders, marigolds, 
 and asters of that long-vanished child's para- 
 dise; while a rotting oak in Windsor Forest 
 sends up into the quiet air a more vivid re- 
 minder than a photograph of the old wood-shed 
 in the vicarage garden, which was the triumph 
 of hide-and-seek. 
 
 This undecipherable " programme " tells us of 
 nothing but a string of obsolete valses ; but 
 stay — that faint suspicion of a tuberose con- 
 jures up from the antenuptial past a figure in 
 white, surely a " coming-out " dress — ah ! yes, 
 
 we were madly pshaw ! What was her 
 
 name? . . . 
 
84 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 There is a certain smell of soft, black, clayey 
 mud which I hardly ever come across ; but 
 when it does, on rare occasions, assail my nose, 
 there passes before my mind's eye one of the 
 most humiliating and painful moments of my 
 life. 
 
 I see, then, a very large untidy garden : so 
 large that the corner beyond the red rhubarb- 
 pots seems to stretch away into an uncultivated 
 infinite : so untidy that distinct traces can still 
 be seen of the prehistoric potato- field and 
 rustic path. In this garden, between golden 
 laburnums, " dropping-wells of fire," and sad- 
 looking plane trees, lies a small still pond, 
 much overgrown with water weeds and lilies 
 save in the middle, where a dozen perch are 
 basking in the sunshine, which visits even the 
 Black Country at times. A faint breeze stirs 
 the leaves of the plane trees, and makes them 
 show silvery and quivering against the dead 
 wall of a factory, which bounds the garden on 
 that side. 
 
 Enter a boy. He is a small pale-faced boy, 
 and, having nothing very particular to occupy 
 his attention, has come down to look into the 
 
Outrageous Fortune, 85 
 
 most mysterious and interesting part of the 
 garden, the inscrutable pool. He does not live 
 in the big house, but in a very little one hard 
 by; still, he comes often, and once, indeed, 
 caught a roach on a night-line. He knows 
 that somewhere in the unknown deeps there 
 dwells a large pike which has broken many 
 hooks, and defies even men ; so he is magnetised 
 to this corner, and stands gazing into the hiding- 
 place of grand possibilities, and clicking one 
 marble against another in his pocket. I feel 
 that I am that boy. Just for the brief moment 
 that the sad little tragedy is enacting, I know 
 by the sharpness of my sensations that in 
 my own proper person I passed through those 
 extremes of feeling, and must still, when thus 
 reminded of my earlier self, glow with breath- 
 less hope and burn with undying shame. 
 
 There are slender green iron railings round 
 the pond ; and as the lad leans over these to 
 scan the open water with the air of stout 
 Cortez, " silent upon a peak in Darien," his eye 
 quickly falls upon the small perch lazily enjoy- 
 ing their siesta, and immediately the metal 
 fencing trembles under his hand. 
 
86 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 The garden is again vacant, and no sound is 
 heard except the throb of the machinery in the 
 mill. 
 
 A small red-faced boy — the same, but not the 
 same — is digging for worms with frantic energy 
 in the midden behind the stable : by him lies 
 his hickory rod, fitted up complete with red 
 float and shotted hook ; for he has obtained a 
 ready permission to fish, and, being strongly 
 convinced that the perch can only be success- 
 fully angled for when visible at the top of the 
 water, is working with the energy and under 
 the circumstances of Hercules in the Augean 
 stable, to take at the flood the tide in his affairs 
 which leads on to fortune, but if 
 
 "Omitted, all the voyage of his life 
 Is bound in shallows and in miseries." 
 
 How desperately the heavy fork turns the 
 reeking heap : there is no to-morrow, there was 
 no yesterday : all is a halcyon dream of present 
 hope, and beneath the farther end of the rain- 
 bow of desire lies buried the magic pot of gold. 
 The boy, wide-eyed and breathless with run- 
 ning, his heart thumping up into his throat, is 
 now returned, clambers over the railing, and 
 
Outrageous Fortune, 87 
 
 creeps like a panther to the edge of the pond : 
 a red worm from the broken flower-pot is 
 sacrificed to the necessities of the situation, 
 and, wriggling on the hook, is thrown out as 
 far as possible into the water. 
 
 The effect is somewhat discouraging. The 
 line is not long enough to reach the best open 
 space, but the perch all disappear in an instant 
 and the horizon is a blank. Have they seen 
 the bait and rushed to it, or, horrible thought ! 
 are they merely startled and scared away for 
 the day, for ever ? Hours, ages, seem to pass, 
 but not even a nibble relieves the tension : by 
 and by a young perch, bolder than his merry 
 companions, ventures to return to the upper 
 levels, and is soon followed by half a dozen 
 others. They were only startled, then, and 
 have not seen the now limp and untempting 
 worm at all. What is to be done ? The bank 
 on this side, which is covered with slippery 
 grass, has an awkward slope, and it is im- 
 possible to throw the bait any farther out from 
 it, but on the other, under the shade of a tree, 
 there are two or three large stones from which 
 more of the best water can be covered. . . . 
 
SS Fish -Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 The boy is on that side now, balanced on 
 the broadest stone, and preparing for a great 
 effort with a new worm : his eyes are still 
 shining with unexhausted excitement, and his 
 dirty little hands are trembling. A baker's 
 dozen of innocent fishes swim lazily to and fro 
 in full view, with all suspicion disarmed. 
 
 The catastrophe, which for a quarter of a 
 century has returned upon the odour of that 
 horrible mud, now happens. The poor little 
 angler has slipped upon the stone, lost his 
 balance, and is fiat on his face in the dirty 
 water, 
 
 ** And all his trousered flanks with garlands dressed," 
 
 but the garlands are of duck-weed and green 
 slime. 
 
 His only suit, except his Sunday best, is 
 utterly and hopelessly ruined by mud and 
 filth : he has to face the mother who made it, 
 and, what is worse, the jeering boys in the 
 street : he has to leave the merry fish unharmed, 
 while he learns one of the bitterest lessons of 
 life in his undisciplined heart. He is defeated, 
 disgraced, and dirty, and the cup of infant 
 misery, full to the brim, is drained to the dregs. 
 
Outrageotis Fortune. 89 
 
 I know that on sundry subsequent occasions 
 we caught perch in that pond, and, what is per- 
 haps more remarkable, ate them afterwards ; 
 but how many, or when, or under what cir- 
 cumstances of happiness, I can no more recall 
 than I can find in my present person reliable 
 evidence of identity with my early pre-school 
 self. I can only say that no later triumph ever 
 served to obliterate the sting of that first 
 defeat, and that the whole play is re-enacted, 
 as I have set it down, whenever the moist and 
 noisome smell of a similar slime rises from a 
 bypath of maturer life. 
 
X, 
 
 In Far Lochaber. 
 
 ^^ Fortune brings in some boats that are 7iot steered." 
 
 Cymbeline. 
 
 When does a man not look at his best ? 
 Vide " PUNCH" passim. Many occasions, not 
 illustrated in his merry pages, occur to the 
 mind. A man does not look at his best when 
 he has just been dragged to light from one of 
 those hiding-places " known to members of the 
 House of Commons," and is forced to record a 
 vote directly contrary to his conscience or his 
 pledges; or when he is compelled reluctantly 
 to admit in the witness-box of a court of 
 justice, that he uses a code, in cabling to his 
 agents in South Africa, which contains a cipher 
 meaning, as shown by the key, " Send me a 
 lying telegram in plain words." A woman 
 
 90 
 
In Far Lochaber, 91 
 
 does not look at her best when she is drinking 
 porter ; and a boy only looks at his best when 
 he is asleep. 
 
 All of which is the prelude to saying I once 
 found Anderson searching for a lost address. 
 He was sitting in his shirt-sleeves at his 
 writing-table, surrounded by the debris of a 
 large blotting-pad ; half a dozen drawers were 
 pulled open, one being upside down on the 
 floor ; papers of all kinds were scattered about ; 
 and the attitude of my friend expressed the 
 extreme of perplexity. His yellowish-red hair 
 was standing up in mutiny over a puckered 
 forehead ; and his pipe was not only out, but 
 held firmly upside down by his strong white 
 teeth, as if he had arrived at the point when 
 he was morally obliged to grit them on 
 something, or explode. He waved a greeting 
 with a large inky sheet of blotting-paper in 
 each hand, and expressed his feelings in one 
 short, sharp word, which included the whole 
 gamut of feeling. 
 
 " You have lost something ? " 1 suggested. 
 
 " Your penetration is as remarkable as my 
 stupidity," he said. " I have lost James's 
 
92 Fish- Tails y and some True Ones. 
 
 address, and James goes near to lose one of 
 the best letters ever penned by a fond uncle. 
 He is at some beastly place between Kingussie 
 and Fort William, — a kind of mixture of 
 Kirriemuir and Tora-na-freer, so far as I 
 recollect. I wrote it on one of these infernal 
 sheets, mais laquelle^ laquelle ? " 
 
 " Perhaps you have a letter from him," I 
 answered. 
 
 " That's in one of these drawers," he said, 
 indicating the hay-cock, " unless I lent it to a 
 fellow at the office." 
 
 Anderson did not look at his best. 
 
 "What would Sherlock Holmes do?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " He would crib something from Edgar 
 Allan Poe," replied Anderson tartly. " By 
 Jove, ' The Purloined Letter ' ! Of course." 
 
 He leant over his correspondence-basket with 
 a scrutinising glance at the neatly-docketed 
 letters, and then rang the bell. 
 
 " Tell your mistress," he said to the parlour- 
 maid, " that I have found what I was looking 
 for, and that it was in its proper place." 
 
 " Discipline must be observed," he said (for 
 
In Far Lockaber, 93 
 
 he knows his Dickens) as the maid departed. 
 " I am nothing if not methodical." 
 
 " It is all a matter of method," 1 said ironi- 
 cally, with my eye on the chaotic confusion of 
 his table ; " and who and how is James ? " 
 
 " James," said Anderson, " is the orphan 
 bantling of a lovely sister of mine, and, as he 
 favours me in his colouring, you may believe 
 him beautiful. In the intervals of reading for 
 the Bar, he studies the habits of game-birds — 
 with a gun. He is now in Scotland, and has 
 written me a letter which, as an uncle and a 
 fisherman, I consider a prolonged and painful 
 insult. Read it." 
 
 I read : — 
 
 "My dear Uncle, — Your importunity is 
 almost biblical ; and though I do not wish 
 to draw a flattering cornparison between my 
 humble self and the unjust judge, I will so far 
 copy that ancient model as to spend an even- 
 ing in clearing off my debt to you, or some 
 of it. 
 
 " Sheridan, or Lamb, or another of those 
 letter-writing coves, says that we should not 
 write to each other about our health or meals. 
 
94 Fish- Tails y and some True Ones, 
 
 but should discourse at large on Life, so I will 
 tell you at once about some sport we have had 
 here. 
 
 " You know already that, being an honest 
 man, more like the dove, as the poet says, than 
 the serpent under it, I do not set up for being 
 a professional fisherman, or any other kind of 
 hypocrite, but when there is nothing else to do, 
 and fish of any kind are to be caught, I am 
 quite ready to enter for the Anglers' Stakes ; 
 and here, in bonnie Scotland, when our poor 
 feet want an off-day from tramping the moors, 
 it is not bad fun to wander down the glen, past 
 the cave where Prince Charlie hid himself 
 (you've not forgotten him down south?), and 
 watch our neighbours trying to catch salmon, 
 or trout, or other finsome things, in the brown 
 stream which runs through the big rocks at the 
 bottom. Having frequently heard these fellows 
 complain of weather, luck, drought, and the 
 stupidity of their unwilling prey, and having 
 had an uncle (you need not blush), I thought 
 salmon-fishing must be a poor kind of sport 
 compared with shooting. You see, you are 
 not always blazing away on the chance of a 
 
In Far Lochaber, 95 
 
 grouse getting in your line of fire — at least I 
 am not. First see your bird, then loose off 
 your g^n, and an empty bag is an absolute 
 impossibility, even on the worst day. It seems 
 to be quite the other way on the river : you 
 fish for hours in a pool which may not contain 
 one fish, or you may see them leaping about 
 all over the place without getting one to browse 
 on the flannel, hair, feathers, or worms that you 
 offer ; and a blank week — if I may so put it 
 to a Scotchman — is an everyday occurrence. 
 
 " One day last week the tenants of the river 
 were away convalescing somewhere, and, as we 
 had given them some shooting to cheer their 
 depression, they politely invited us to do our 
 durndest with the water for a couple of days, 
 bar prawns. Jones and I thereupon rigged up 
 a rod and line, and started forth to try stones 
 and water instead of heather and hill, for the 
 sake of variety. We came to the conclusion 
 that you fishermen are a lot of grumblers, and 
 that most of you are devoid of natural aptitude. 
 A sort of liquid rush, called, I am told, a spate, 
 had been tiring itself out for a couple of days, 
 — this was what choked the other fellows off, I 
 
96 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 suppose, — and there was still a good body of 
 water careering down the rocky channel. The 
 sun shone warmly as we approached the river- 
 side, and I remarked to Jones that it was a 
 good day for cricket. We had plenty of flies, 
 and a long strong line and new gut, but 
 neither of us had tried the game before. 
 However, you must begin some time ; so we 
 began. We did not think it gentlemanly to 
 fish with worms, which are dirty, and prawns 
 were barred ; besides, we had none, which 
 simplified our code of sporting morality, and 
 decided us to try the fly. I agree that it is 
 quite exciting to stand by a deep brown pool 
 through which a quantity of water is rapidly 
 moving, and it is very amusing to smoke a pipe 
 on the bank while the other fellow is heaving 
 away with an eighteen- foot greenheart pole, as 
 if he was being paid by the job. 
 
 By the spin of a coin Jones had first shot, 
 and, selecting an attractive blue sort of fly, he 
 tied it firmly on and cast it upon the water. I 
 hastily got out of the way, and took the cork 
 off the point of the gaff. Pretty soon the fish 
 knew we were there, you bet, and the fly went 
 
In Far Lochaber, 97 
 
 working about industriously inviting bidders; 
 while I contemplated the scenery, feeling that, 
 armed with the gaff for a crook, I only wanted 
 a sheep or two to make a picture. I suppose 
 there were no fish in that pool just then, for 
 nothing happened ; but as, some way below, I 
 saw a great thing jump out of the water and 
 go back with a sounding splosh, we moved 
 down after him. Jones, who perspired, thought 
 it was not a day for blue flies, and handed over 
 the rod to me ; so I tried a brown one, care- 
 fully hoicking out the line as far as it would 
 go. I did not know whether to keep my finger 
 on the string or not (nor do I believe that it 
 matters a dump), but Jones said it was always 
 done ; so I conformed to usage. While he was 
 laying down the law, I found the line had 
 stuck, and that it was a fish which prevented 
 me from making a fresh cast. I pulled and 
 the fish pulled. My finger slipped off the 
 string, and a lot of it ran out; when I 
 recovered my presence of mind I began to 
 wind it up, whereupon a salmon jumped a 
 yard, I should compute, out of the water. 
 This did not do him any good, and I gradually 
 7 
 
98 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 lugged him up in-shore; then, when I was 
 wishing we had brought the Compleat Angler 
 or some other book of directions (even a 
 Murray would have been something), and 
 Jones was fatuously describing how he was 
 going to engineer the gaff, the fish perceived 
 our conspiracy and ran out some more line. 
 Then it all had to be done over again ; but this 
 time J. hooked the beggar in the head, and 
 successfully dragged him on to the bank. He 
 was an enormous fish, and weighed over ten 
 pounds. I now perceived that skill in salmon- 
 fishing is born in a man, and that I had found 
 my real vocation. Jones, poor fellow, was 
 perhaps qualified to be a gillie, but, aping the 
 manners of his superiors, insisted on taking his 
 turn with the rod ; besides, he said that if I 
 went on we should empty the river, and the 
 proprietors would not like it. I reluctantly 
 gave up the tackle, and we moved down a 
 piece. 
 
 " I never saw a clumsier man than Jones : 
 he had none of the grace of the true angler, 
 though he licks me at the grouse ; and I pointed 
 out that we were wasting time. However, he 
 
In Far Lochaber, 99 
 
 cut the hook out of his clothes for the fourth 
 time and cheerfully continued his efforts, 
 gassing about luck the while, until, after an 
 hour's noisy flogging and entanglements, he 
 hooked a fish. This chap ran out nearly all 
 the line, and we had to follow him across some 
 of the roughest country in the Highlands. He 
 went over a piece of tumbling, broken water 
 like nothing at all, and then danced about in 
 the pool at the bottom as if he was giving an 
 exhibition of gymnastics. Then he stopped 
 for breath, or the equivalent in water, and did 
 nothing for a while. This annoyed us, as we 
 knew he must be up to mischief; and we threw 
 stones at him until he moved. Shortly after- 
 wards, he flew the white ensign, and J. dragged 
 him slowly towards me. To gaff a fish, you 
 have to get the hook (you know) under or over 
 him, and pin him with the point. Jones said 
 the head was the place : that's why you never 
 see a mark on the salmon in shops. He for- 
 got about nets ; and I do not believe he was 
 aiming for anywhere in particular when he 
 struck my fish. Anyhow, I decided on a 
 general charge ; and as I hoisted out a young 
 
lOO Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 'un of nine pounds, I imagine it is more a 
 matter of innate judgment than anything else : 
 keep cool, and then go with a dash. Jones was 
 childishly pleased, and we had lunch. 
 
 " After a decent interval we again took turns 
 at the rod and tried some more flies, but 
 nothing worthy of this letter occurred until we 
 were on the point of chucking it, when I 
 hooked a thing called a grilse in the tail. 
 What resulted was more like a fox-chase than 
 anything else I ever saw. Off went the fish 
 up stream, full bat ; Jones fell over a rolling 
 stone and sprained his knee ; while I hung on, 
 running like a hurdler over boulders and round 
 corners, till I was out of breath. The fight 
 lasted ages, but I kept the line as tight as wax, 
 and we won, poor old J. forgetting to groan at 
 his knee when we sat down and panted beside 
 our quarry. He only scaled five pounds, but 
 when he was in the water he pulled harder than 
 both the salmon put together. I did not mean 
 to hook him in the tail, but I suppose you have 
 no fault to find with that. We went up to the 
 shooting-lodge and sent the keeper for the 
 fish. He was right mazed, and told us the 
 
In Far Lochaber, loi 
 
 other chaps had been whipping low water and 
 watching the spate for a fortnight without 
 killing a single fish. We smiled superior. I 
 am going to advertise for pupils next year. 
 When a salmon-fisher goes home empty-handed, 
 depend upon it he has not got the knack : it's 
 like writing poetry. 
 
 " Adoo, nunx ; if I scribble any more, you'll 
 think I am turned Clarissa Harlowe, instead of 
 being plain, truthful jAMES." 
 
XI. 
 
 Northward Ho! 
 
 "/ rather would entreat thy company 
 To see the wonders of the world abroad^ 
 Than, living dully sluggardized at home. 
 Wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness" 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 I AM told that Bosnia offers unique oppor- 
 tunities to the angler, and that no one who has 
 not been there can form a proper estimate of 
 its attractions, which I am quite willing to 
 believe ; but I must be permitted to " hae ma 
 doots " about the journey thither, the brigands, 
 the inhabitants, and the scenery. Many fisher- 
 men have read a romantic paper in one of the 
 magazines, describing " a lost paradise " for 
 their kind in Russia; and tarpon-fishing has 
 been as much exploited in attractive illustra- 
 tions as riding on a motor-car. But, though 
 
 102 
 
Northward Ho! 
 
 103 
 
 we take an interest in these things in the 
 smoking-room, we do not look out the trains 
 or calculate the fares to Bosnia, Petersburg, or 
 Florida. As to the tarpon, he is no use when 
 you get him, and you've got to get him first. 
 But when travellers display enthusiasm about 
 Norway, they talk of a country more accessible 
 than the Highlands, and so universally enjoyed 
 that men who go there are all in a tale on their 
 return. As a rule, they say little, especially if 
 they are frequent visitors — 
 
 " I were but little happy if I could say how much " ; 
 
 they do not wish to encourage immigration, or 
 to give a clue to the exact position of their own 
 particular hunting-grounds. 
 
 Ask one of these where he has summered 
 and he will simply reply " Norway," knowing 
 well that if his interlocutor has never visited 
 that country he will not require details ; and if 
 he has, he will understand. 
 
 But a talkative man, who is full of the glories 
 of what he probably calls the El Dorado of sport, 
 is not welcomed home again by the friends who 
 rusticated the while at Littlehampton or Herne 
 Bay. He asks them where they went to, and 
 
I04 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 what they did there, and scarcely waits for the 
 answer before enlarging on the delights of 
 travel beyond the North Sea. Shortly, the 
 unfortunate stay-at-home is not only bored, 
 but actively irritated, for he feels there may be 
 something in it. There must be undreamed-of 
 enjoyment in those distant fastnesses for those 
 who have a long enough purse and holiday to 
 adventure the fjords and fjelds. The family 
 seaside visit in England will never be played 
 out, and golf and the bicycle have now given it 
 a fresh impetus, just as lawn tennis did in an 
 earlier age; but poor paterfamilias has almost 
 ceased to provide humorous copy by his annoy- 
 ance at the countless worries and unrequited 
 sufferings that beset him. The same old game 
 goes on year after year ; and when the parent 
 has varied it to the best of his ability, by taking 
 the elder boys and girls to Lucerne or Etretat, 
 no one is more unfeignedly glad than he is to 
 glide once more into the London terminus. 
 The heat, the noise, the dirt, the extortion and 
 inconvenience which are the invariable incidents 
 of continental travel, soon pall upon maturer 
 minds, and it is a common complaint that the 
 
Northward Ho ! 105 
 
 crowd of ill-mannered tourists who scramble 
 for every meal, and almost for every bed, en 
 route y grows greater year by year. Is there one 
 man in a hundred who regrets the moment 
 when his face is turned at last towards the 
 white cliffs of home, and he can once more 
 anticipate the near enjoyment of sitting at ease 
 in his club or his comfortable house, and 
 writing to the Times about the brazen Boniface 
 who swore his sovereign was a Napoleon ? 
 
 And then the food ! It adds a relish 
 beyond the wit of Soyer to your first British 
 chop, to remember the greasy slice of beef, the 
 odious garlic, and the tasteless poulet^ and you 
 feel that your holiday has done you good, 
 because (as it did in the old lodgings on the 
 Marine Parade) it has made you contented 
 to dwell at home. In fact, to quote the 
 patriotic bard, there is no one 
 
 *' Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
 As home his footsteps he hath turned 
 From wandering on a foreign strand," 
 
 when he has suffered the pangs of most of our 
 countrymen abroad. 
 
 In modestly praising the sweet peace and 
 
io6 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 deep enchantment of a Norse holiday, " we " 
 do not blind ourselves to the attractions of 
 other places : we say nothing against the Alps, 
 for instance. You cannot get them anywhere 
 else ; and if you do not honestly enjoy a view 
 which is obtainable without bodily risk and 
 great fatigue, — if, in short, 
 
 " Towards the mountain tops you still must ride," 
 
 like Palomydes in Mr. Dobson's moving verses 
 (though what he was going to do there beyond 
 " crying her name," no commentator has been 
 able to tell us), — by all means go there, but do 
 not expect either sympathy or admiration when 
 you break your neck. And if you care only 
 for Art or cathedrals, if you love your species, 
 and enjoy the brisk activity of hotels with a 
 thousand guests, let me not detain you : the 
 table d'ltotes of the Maloja are not to be 
 sought in Telemarken ; and those who love the 
 Engadine because " you always meet someone 
 you know, don't you know," will not be happy 
 in the solitary gloom and grandeur of the 
 Romsdal, jump the salmon never so gaily. 
 But he who fishes in Norway communes with 
 his own heart, and echoes what I say — 
 
Northward Ho ! 107 
 
 " Let others praise, as fancy wills, 
 Berlin beneath her trees, 
 Or Rome upon her seven hills. 
 
 Or Venice by her seas ; 
 Stamboul by double tides embraced, 
 Or green Damascus in the waste " ; 
 
 but " there's nought he would not leave " (to 
 quote the same brilliant imitator of old Horace) 
 to revisit the glimpses of the brown river 
 gleaming under the pines in its majestic rush 
 to the placid fjord. 
 
 He may love the September turnips or the 
 sweet shady side of Pall Mall as dearly as 
 another, but it is, as a rule, with a sigh of 
 forlorn sadness that he watches the twinkling 
 harbour lights of Stavanger or Aalesund fade 
 into the darkness of the past, knowing that for 
 many months, perhaps for years, he must live 
 on recollections and anticipations, and meet the 
 cold looks of those who are afraid he will give 
 them details of his sport. 
 
 His heart burns like that of a man on the 
 Dover packet, but his face is set the outward 
 way. 
 
 There are, of course, exceptions (whom I 
 have never had the misfortune to meet), but, as 
 
io8 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 a class, the folks who go to Norway with rod- 
 boxes are more attractive to sensitive minds 
 than those who take part in the continental 
 scurry, although this may be partly attributable 
 to the conditions under which the journey is 
 performed : still, there seems to be more 
 repose in their manner, and, being sportsmen, 
 they are all brothers : it is better to share a 
 tiny steamer cabin with a man who loves to 
 chase the reindeer on the rocks, than to travel 
 in a lordly coup6 with a tripper who intends to 
 climb every mountain provided with a railway, 
 and comes home nursing an alpenstock branded 
 spirally with all the summits between Mont 
 Blanc and Mont Cervin. 
 
 I know this, for I have passed through both 
 experiences ; but here I suppress three vigorous 
 and defamatory personal sketches. 
 
 The first enjoyment of the expedition for 
 non-sailors {laymen, they might well be called) 
 begins at Stavanger, if they take the shortest 
 sea passage, for the safe arrival of the steamer 
 after that little turn-up with the North Sea 
 puts everyone into a good temper, and perfect 
 strangers congratulate each other on the happy 
 
Northward Ho f 109 
 
 fact that the day's voyage to Bergen, which now 
 begins, is " all inside," which means that the 
 outlying islets will keep the swell of the long 
 Atlantic rollers from interfering with the smooth 
 water of the fjords. 
 
 Stavanger, which has a fine Norman cathe- 
 dral, is not a particularly beautiful place as 
 seen from shipboard, but it is, at any rate, 
 novel, Norwegian, and the right side the water. 
 Some passengers go ashore to explore the 
 south, to work their way up to low-lying Odde 
 and the mazy Hardanger, or across to Chris- 
 tiania ; but the majority hold on for Bergen. 
 
 Although many of the views reveal only low 
 islands and promontories, bare alike of houses 
 and vegetation, it is an interesting journey, 
 especially when first enjoyed ; for the colours in 
 sky and sea, and the sense of freedom and 
 happy expectation, are themselves the very 
 elements of rational pleasure. There are 
 mountain ranges visible, too, in fine weather, 
 and distant glimpses of glaciers, little toy 
 houses now and then, and picturesque boats 
 everywhere ; at very rare intervals a tiny 
 church points heavenward its tapering spire. 
 
no Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 Hour after hour the steamer ploughs her 
 way steadily through wide and narrow channels, 
 until, late in the afternoon, an abrupt turn in 
 our course brings us in sight of the romantic 
 western city, nestling, as it seems, at the feet of 
 the mountains, but, in reality, scattered over 
 low hills which rise abruptly round the deep 
 inlets of the sea, that make it one of the most 
 beautiful places where men " undo their corded 
 bales." 
 
 We must press on. It is not our object to 
 examine marts or towns ; so, after a passing 
 glance at the crowded quay, where strange sea 
 things of brilliant hues — carmine, amber, and 
 ultramarine — are kept alive in briny tanks, we 
 must re-embark upon another steamer, and at 
 nightfall speed Northward ho ! again. The 
 bright ray flashes from the beacon on the 
 Custom-house mole as we emerge from the 
 shadow of the Bergenhus (once bombarded by 
 a British vessel) and venture without a qualm 
 upon the waveless sea. 
 
 Dawn of the next day finds us tasting the 
 full flavour of the fjords. We pass the craggy 
 heights of Hornelen, shaped like the Lion of 
 
Northward Ho ! 1 1 1 
 
 Lucerne ; we round the headland of the Statt- 
 lande, that terror to bad sailors if there is a 
 contrary wind, go ashore for a walk up the 
 ridge above the peninsula of Aalesund, and see 
 the sun go down and the moon shine out over 
 the mountains round Molde, the paradise of 
 wealthy merchants. 
 
 After a second night, we wake to find the 
 shipping and wharves of Christiansund dimin- 
 ishing in our wake, and by midday the screw 
 is striking into foam the still blue waters of the 
 wide Throndhjem Fjord, and we gaze idly and 
 happily at the gambols of the porpoises, and 
 the myriad colours of the jelly-fish that float 
 beneath the keel. The afternoon brings us 
 into the harbour of the wooden city, where, 
 according to the old proverb, " it is pleasant to 
 dwell," and we come to the end of what is by 
 no means the least enjoyable part of our 
 expedition. 
 
 A hearty farewell to the intimate friends we 
 have never seen before, and may never meet 
 again, and we must separate to our various 
 destinations, some of which are still far distant, 
 as distances are counted at home. Some 
 
112 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 adventurers go forward by yet another steamer to 
 Namsos, or the Lyngen Fjord, or places unspell- 
 able in the far North ; others return to an island 
 where we could not stop to set them down. 
 Two men, who own a tract as large as York- 
 shire, it appears, take the infrequent train to a 
 village from which they still have a hundred 
 miles to drive ; and we, too, travel forward with 
 quickening hope, and exchange the fjord for 
 the forest. 
 
 At length, after much bumping in karioles 
 and stolkjaerres down wild mountain paths, 
 past rocky streams and sylvan tarns, and 
 through innumerable woods, we cross a river 
 which we learn, with a thrill, is our own, and, as 
 the late darkness begins gently and almost im- 
 perceptibly to gather over the land, we approach 
 the village which is to be our home for a month 
 and a memory for ever. The moon shines 
 down upon the winding curves of that peaceful 
 valley, even as it is shining upon the muddy 
 Thames what worlds away ! The babble of 
 hidden brooks and distant waterfalls comes 
 softly to our ears, and mingles with the never- 
 ceasing roar of the turbulent flood which is 
 
Northward Ho / 113 
 
 dashing over the huge rocks far below us in its 
 resistless headlong career to the sea. The 
 evening air is laden with the scent of new-mown 
 hay and fragrant pines, and someone breaks the 
 spell by whispering the fervent wish that the 
 river may be in good order for the fly to- 
 morrow. 
 
XII. 
 
 How not to Catch a Salmon. 
 
 * ' Now, I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent 
 To say another is an ass ..." 
 
 The Society upon the Stanislaus. 
 Bret Harte. 
 
 If Wilton's eye ever falls upon these pages, he 
 will testify that what I say is true. We had 
 invited him to come for a few days' salmon- 
 fishing in our river, which runs into the largest 
 fjord in Norway ; and he came. All we knew 
 about him was that he was a Magdalen boat- 
 ing-man, whose father had given one of us some 
 shooting somewhere once ; so when I met him 
 on the Domino^ as we were getting into 
 Stavanger one rainy morning, I asked him 
 to come over. He arrived towards the end 
 of an August evening, after a ten days' drought, 
 during which the river had fallen as many feet ; 
 
 114 
 
iMf'^gSTfar"'^'*" 
 
How not to Catch a Salmon. 1 1 5 
 
 and just as he was driving the off-wheel of 
 his kariole into the gatepost of our compound, 
 and twisting the stout iron step into a derisive- 
 looking curl, I was reflecting that, if he was not 
 a patient sportsman, he would not thank us for 
 asking him, and if he were not good company, 
 we should not thank him for coming. He was 
 splendidly got-up, and called himself " Briggs " 
 with all the pleasure in life : a patent venti- 
 lating leathern helmet, with the brim turned 
 up at the back, adorned his head, while an 
 immense grey-cloth " Newmarket " covered a 
 Norfolk jacket, knickerbockers, and stockings 
 of the three-acres-and-a-cow style of architec- 
 ture, gay but not gaudy. 
 
 He also wore a blue corduroy waistcoat shot 
 with red, and the largest pair of yellow boots 
 I ever saw. His face was of the usual under- 
 graduate kind, rather sunburnt, and he flushed 
 slightly as he explained his noisy arrival by 
 saying that the heste had shied at something or 
 other as he turned the corner. 
 
 We of the log-house introduced each other 
 and unloaded our guest's traps (which included 
 a rod-box that would have set up the whole 
 
ii6 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 district), and, after a look at the nearest pool, 
 collected for dinner: afterwards we sat round 
 the empty fireplace and smoked. I have met 
 a good many ardent sportsmen, I have spent 
 pleasant " fishing evenings " with the best- 
 known anglers of the Fly-Fishers' Club, but 
 I never heard such fish-talk as Wilton's : after 
 a while the other men only spoke to draw him 
 out, but he did not require encouragement. It 
 transpired later, that he had never personally 
 slain anything more soul-stirring than a two- 
 pound jack ; but at one time I thought that his 
 father must be the pseudonymous owner of one 
 of those fishmongers' shops in Bond Street, or 
 vitally interested in the whaling industry. We 
 learnt that fishing in Norway in any state of 
 weather and water spoils you for everything 
 else in the world : that the real difficulty in 
 trout-fishing is to prevent the fish from rending 
 your cast into as many pieces as there are flies 
 directly it touches the water, and that salmon- 
 fishing is really only running up and down 
 with a fish on. He showed us a new kind of 
 reel for spinning, a new knot for attaching flies, 
 and several novelties in minnows. Anderson 
 
How not to Catch a Salmon. 117 
 
 was with us, and his face made me long for 
 a kodak : this was his fourteenth season in 
 Norway, and, as I have elsewhere indicated, he 
 knows a hawk from a hand-saw ; but he grate- 
 fully accepted Wilton's "tips," and promised to 
 try all the minnows next year. As a matter of 
 fact, he detests minnows, and never uses any- 
 thing but a fly, killing his three to eight fish a 
 day during the month that they were running : 
 the rough wooden model nailed to the wall over 
 the Magdalen man's head showed the outline 
 of his forty-two pounder ; but as a sympathetic 
 listener he has no rival. Unfortunately for 
 everybody (except perhaps himself), it was his 
 last evening. 
 
 Wilton stayed with us for three days, and 
 reduced his theories to practice : at an early 
 hour on the first morning he was off in the 
 rough country cart for two, which they call a 
 stolkjaerre, with Anders, one of our excellent 
 boatmen, about whom I shall have things to 
 relate presently, to a distant pool, equipped 
 with a brand-new eighteen-foot rod, and flies 
 enough to catch an alligator. The fish had of 
 course stopped running, the river was getting 
 
ii8 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 lower every moment, and, as it was a very- 
 bright and lovely day, I thought it advisable to 
 do a little sketching, while keeping a friendly 
 eye on our guest. So I followed up the valley. 
 Upon their arrival at the top of our beat, Anders 
 unlocked the boat, put the line through the 
 rings, rowed the young man into the stream, 
 suggested a fly, and told him to begin. He 
 began accordingly, and a fruitless hour passed: 
 they landed, and Wilton tried from the bank, 
 fishing the rush below the pool. He then dis- 
 covered for the first time, I imagine, that it is 
 unwise, on shore, to meditate in the middle of 
 a cast : it does not so much matter when you 
 are in the boat, because you only flog the water 
 on both sides of you instead of one, but ashore 
 you catch a rock, and bang goes two and 
 sixpence. I saw him discussing the second 
 " Somebody's Fancy " with Anders, who con- 
 soled him by saying it was the fault of the 
 " schlam " stones ; and after the stolid boatman 
 had had a try himself, they knocked off* for lunch. 
 After the usual interval, which I spent with 
 them to apologise for the river, the same per- 
 formance was gone through again in another 
 
How 7iot to Catch a Salmon, 1 1 9 
 
 pool, with the same negative result : the old red 
 fish lay at the bottom laughing, and the green 
 young man struck the clear brown water with 
 coils of line, and cursed them by Odin and 
 Thor ; but this they are accustomed to. 
 
 In the end, I left them in order to catch some 
 trout for breakfast ; and when we met again at 
 dinner, Wilton seemed rather dashed : but after 
 the whisky had circulated he brightened up, 
 and regretted cheerfully that he had not tried 
 for trout instead of salmon : it was just the day 
 for trout, he said, and trout run large in Norway : 
 they are almost as much sport as salmon : to- 
 morrow he was going to knock sparks out of 
 them^ if it did not rain in the night, and make the 
 solars amenable to reason. We cordially drank 
 to his better luck ; and Jackson, who was the 
 only one of our party who had been fishing, 
 promised to go up to the fjeld and shoot rype 
 the next day, so as to leave him the whole 
 seven miles of river. I decided to accompany 
 Jackson, and we were away all day : upon our 
 return in the evening, we found Wilton sitting 
 in the verandah smoking a meerschaum twice 
 the size of Anderson's largest (which looks as 
 
I20 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 if it held a quarter of a pound), and explaining 
 to Eric, our other boatman, who had not been 
 with him, how and where he had caught the 
 two six-ounce trout which lay on the grass in 
 front of the house. It appeared that he had 
 conscientiously fished a number of pools with 
 various flies, but with a lumpiness of delivery 
 and a general want of luck that had attracted 
 nothing. He had then rasped the river-bed 
 with revolving minnows until he was persuaded 
 that the only fish in the water were two arti- 
 ficial ones he had himself planted in " schlam 
 rocks"; finally, he had caught the trout by 
 harling a sea-trout fly forty yards behind the 
 boat. " Salmon-fishing is an overrated pastime," 
 he said. " If it weren't, I should introduce it 
 at Oxford, where the sport would be quite as 
 good as it is here, — no fault of yours, you know, 
 — but the exercise is more severe than rowing 
 in the College Boat, so the men would not take 
 to it. If your accounts of your ' takes ' are 
 genuine, all I can say is that you've caught 
 the lot. I've done all that mortal can do, but 
 nary fish. However, I've got one more day ; 
 and it's salmon or bust to-morrow," 
 
How not to Catch a Salmon, 121 
 
 After dinner, he asked a good many questions 
 about the kind of fly we generally used, and 
 how we preferred to use it, and went to bed 
 determined to catch a fish if he had to dive for 
 it. But to the high gods it seemed otherwise. 
 
 Jackson took our guest to all the best places, 
 to give him every chance on his last day, and 
 showed him a few of the tricks of the trade, 
 but not a rise did he get ; and when I walked 
 up to Boat Pool to finish my sketch, I found 
 him alone with Anders rigging up a powerful 
 pike rod with spinning tackle. When he was 
 ready, I watched him sending out a large 
 minnow, which he had fortified with an arsenal 
 of hooks and the red tail of a Colorado spoon, 
 until after some fruitless casts the line suddenly 
 tightened, and a twelve-pound salmon, red as 
 a fox, leaped to light. 
 
 The lad laughed with glee, and shouted 
 " I've got 'im " at the top of his voice ; but the 
 fish, after a few angry tugs, remembered an 
 engagement he had on the other side of the 
 boat, and, by a rapid manoeuvre up stream, pro- 
 ceeded to tie the line round the unused fly rod 
 which was projecting from the bows. How- 
 
122 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 ever, the skilful Anders disengaged the tackle 
 with the single remark, " Dis ting bery bad dat," 
 and in a few minutes managed to land the 
 excited angler, who was holding his fish as if 
 he had him on a two-inch hawser. The fish 
 " stopped coming " when only a few yards off, 
 and I fully expected to see the top joint of the 
 pike rod go ; but it held. After waiting five or 
 ten minutes, they re-embarked and stirred up 
 the water ; but it was too late. I saw the min- 
 now come up, and I saw Anders pointing out 
 the broken hooks to Wilton, explaining how 
 the knowing fish had stuck them in the stones 
 to free himself: then a kind of blue mist of 
 missing words surrounded them, and I reverently 
 withdrew. 
 
 We gave Wilton our last bottle of champagne 
 at dinner and sedulously talked about the county 
 averages ; but his mind kept recurring to the 
 river, and he spoke like a man who has had 
 to buy experience dear, and has bought like a 
 copper syndicate. At last he lighted his bed- 
 room candle and said, with a melancholy satis- 
 faction, " At anyrate, I have learnt how not to 
 catch a salmon." 
 
Grana-fossen. 
 
XIII. 
 Grana-fossen. 
 
 ** The Cataracts blo7v their trzim pets from the steep." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 Many miles of good road west of the railway, 
 and many miles of bad, execrably bad, road 
 south of the most northern city in Europe, a 
 beautiful little waterfall rolls over a steep 
 cliff and scatters rainbow-lighted spray into 
 the pool below. A more exact geographical 
 description of it would be indiscreet, and 
 might bring a horde of bicyclists and pedes- 
 trians to disturb its solitude, and demand 
 " rustic " seats, tea-tables, and coloured fires. 
 Let them visit the Rhine and enjoy them- 
 selves, satisfied with the rivers of Philistia. 
 But Grana-fossen has many charms for the 
 favoured few who know it, and I was fortunate 
 
 123 
 
124 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 enough to find myself near it, and to visit it 
 in the delightful company of my friend Eric, 
 of whom more anon. Its chief beauty lies in 
 the fact that its drop is sheer, in a wild, 
 narrow, and rocky gorge ; and the Grana, 
 which forms the fall and gives it name, is a 
 bustling brown trout stream, which goes hurry- 
 ing down below to swell the waters of the 
 great salmon river at its mouth. Over the 
 pool above the foss (or waterfall), a frail 
 wooden bridge connects the cliffs, which are 
 covered with luxuriant raspberry bushes, bear- 
 ing fruit as large as any in a Hampshire 
 garden : they formed a welcome addition to 
 sandwiches of pressed beef; but I failed to 
 understand the necessity for gathering them 
 by the bush, which is the Norwegian method. 
 
 When we arrived, by a circuitous route, at 
 the pools below the thunder of the spray, I 
 found that the most accessible one was over- 
 hung by a granite wall on the farther side, 
 and enclosed where we stood by a steep grass 
 and heather bank, pitched upon a fifteen-foot 
 slab of rock which sloped almost vertically into 
 water running so clear that many fish were 
 
Grana-fossen, 125 
 
 visible eight or more feet down. By creeping 
 carefully along the grassy bank, I was able to 
 catch hold of a young sapling on the top of 
 the rock ; and in that decidedly perilous position 
 I had to cast my fly up and down, as if I 
 were trying to flick the water, much in the 
 manner that schoolboys use to each other 
 with wet towels. When a fish was obliging 
 enough to rise and take my Alexandra it 
 had to be gingerly landed on the slippery 
 stone and gently hauled up within reach of 
 the boatman's net : some, of course, got off 
 in the process. I also tried a quill minnow, 
 but, owing to its triple hooks, it was more 
 difficult to keep it from catching in a ledge 
 of rock at the end of its swim. 
 
 The second pool that we tried was nearer 
 the fall, and almost impracticable. We crept 
 along the clifl", holding on by the trunks of 
 trees, until we got as nearly over it as possible. 
 I then found that the base of rock was so 
 high, and the trees so close to its upper edge, 
 that it was impossible to use a fly, and very 
 difficult to get even a minnow into the water ; 
 and this was the more tantalising, because we 
 
126 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 could see big fish serenely contemplating 
 nothing in the pellucid depths. However, we 
 rose to the occasion, hoping that the fish 
 would follow suit, and fished in this rather 
 unusual way. Eric, the boatman, held the rod 
 in his right hand and a sufficient coil of line 
 in his left, while I wrapped a piece of moss 
 round the minnow, and at a given signal threw 
 it across the water. The moment it touched 
 the surface of the stream it was washed out of 
 the moss, and went spinning down the eddies 
 in capital style, until, when it had finished its 
 course, it had to be carefully steered over the 
 edge of the rock and up the bank. We both 
 trembled with anxiety when a nice fish made 
 a grab at it ; but he missed his shot, and could 
 not be induced to make another, although we 
 were offering him the identical gold Devon 
 which proved so destructive elsewhere. The 
 larger fish were not to be tempted either ; but 
 this was perhaps, on the whole, fortunate, 
 because I doubt if it would have been possible 
 to have brought one within reach of the net. 
 
 After we had reluctantly come to this con- 
 clusion, I reeled up, and we ascended above the 
 
Grana-fossen. 127 
 
 bridge. Here there was another beautiful but 
 almost impossible pool, below a miniature fall 
 which rushed, white and foaming, into the clear 
 green. By dint of perilous climbing down 
 ledges of rock as slippery as glass, we reached 
 a point where a single spruce fir gave us some- 
 thing to hold on by ; and from this halting-place 
 my smiling guide managed to let me down, by 
 means of the net-handle, to a hollow that was 
 almost a natural cave, quite close to the water. 
 The rock was so near overhead that casting 
 was again extremely difficult, but by dropping 
 the minnow into the rush of the fall I steered it 
 towards the centre of the pool, and found a 
 couple of decent fish. Unfortunately, the 
 undertow was so strong that, as often as not, I 
 was set at naught by the bait being kept 
 under the rushing water instead of swimming 
 down properly in the current ; so at length I 
 gave the order to retreat, and, after much 
 crawling and hauling, found myself again on 
 the bridge. I used this as a fishing-station 
 for a few minutes, more for the fun of the 
 thing than with the serious hope of catching 
 the trout so far below me, though Eric showed 
 
128 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 me how he could clamber down through the 
 raspberry bushes to land anything that might 
 fancy a minnow apparently dropped from the 
 sky. And then, after all these vicissitudes, I 
 returned to my starting-point, to make up the 
 basket with the aid of the small and lively 
 worm, which turned out to be the one kind 
 of fly the trouts in that clear pool had been 
 waiting all their lives to see. 
 
 I do not know how long I stood balancing 
 myself on the edge of that slippery turf above 
 the slab of rock ; but I hooked thirty-three 
 fish, of which I lost eleven on the stone and 
 put back eleven. Not being the man who 
 stops out all night to complete his dozen, I 
 reeled up at that point, being well assured 
 that I should be late for dinner : by late, I 
 mean, of course, more than half an hour late. 
 In this expectation I was not disappointed, 
 and I was caught in a thunderstorm which 
 would have been rated A i at Lloyd's ; but 
 one gets dried, and changed, and cleaned, and 
 fed at length, and, after the experiences of 
 the day, I was not a little pleased to be able 
 to go to bed with whole bones, for Eric 
 
Grana-fossen. 129 
 
 told me a doleful, amusing tale of a certain 
 cow that navigated Grana-fossen on her own 
 account, and was nearly " pulled dead " in 
 consequence. I dream sometimes still of an 
 angler struggling in mid-air, grasping desper- 
 ately at a rotten tree, and trying to haul up 
 gigantic trout from pools out of sight hundreds 
 of feet below : then I perceive, to my speech- 
 less horror, that I am the angler, the branch 
 breaks, and I awake regretting that I took that 
 coffee ; but the adventure is one I shall repeat. 
 
XIV. 
 A Pocket Spate. 
 
 "... the brook itself ^ 
 Old as the hills that feed it from afar^ 
 Doth rather deepen than disturb the calm 
 Where all things else are still and motionless." 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 For pure enjoyment give me a fair day on 
 a Norwegian salmon river far from the haunts 
 of men, fish running, and a tight line ; but of 
 casting, as of all carnal pleasures, there cometh 
 satiety at the last (especially if you work with 
 an eighteen - foot greenheart), and then the 
 jaded angler turns for variety from the unre- 
 sponsive and diminishing river to the rype 
 of the fjeld, and the trout in their several 
 kinds that go up and down and have their 
 business in the deep black lakes. It was 
 on a broiling, cloudless August morning that 
 
A Pocket Spate, 131 
 
 we abandoned the pursuit of the unfriendly 
 salar, to make our way up a steep hill through 
 thinly-planted groves of birch trees, now being 
 cut for winter fodder, towards the plateau 
 where the waters of the mountain streams 
 have collected through centuries of time, in a 
 hole of unknown and unfathomable depth, to 
 form Foss-sjo. The abrupt ascent along the 
 bank of a swiftly-flowing burn soon gave us 
 some splendid backward views of the river 
 valley below, the rich, scattered farmsteads, 
 or gaards, on the opposite heights, and the 
 distant snow peaks of a fringe of the Dovre- 
 feld range. The ground opened out at the 
 top of the first incline and presented a lovely 
 stretch of heather and moss of every shade 
 of colour, while the strawberries, raspberries, 
 bilberries, and large amber multibaer^ seemed 
 to be trying to atone by their richness for the 
 brief span of the northern summer. 
 
 With the assistance of our guides we found 
 a path which avoided more than usually boggy 
 places, so that the ponies which carried the 
 ladies could cross in comfort, and we soon 
 found ourselves in the sparsely - timbered 
 
132 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 country where the rype loves to hide, and 
 does it so skilfully that you will almost walk 
 over him without putting him up, or even 
 seeing him, if you have no dog to play detec- 
 tive. We caught sight of a few birds flashing 
 their white feathers in the sun, and Eric told 
 us that the capercailzie, the giant of the wood, 
 comes here later in the season, and may often 
 be seen like a huge fluffy ball in the top of 
 a tall tree. 
 
 After scrambling up a steep bank by the 
 side of a waterfall, which, I suppose, gives 
 its name to the lake, we came upon the latter, 
 a bright stretch of water covering about a hun- 
 dred acres and studded with a few rocky islets 
 bearing Scotch firs. The water was intensely 
 dark in colour, and so shallow at the edge that 
 bank-fishing was practically impossible without 
 waders, with which we were unprovided ; but 
 as we had wisely sent up a boat on a hay- 
 trolly, some of us at once embarked to try 
 our luck in the middle. We soon discovered 
 why our neighbour in the valley had so 
 eagerly volunteered to drag this heavy boat 
 up the hill for a modest consideration : he 
 
A Pocket Spate. 133 
 
 was an ardent poacher, and, finding himself 
 too carefully watched on the river to be able 
 to practise his fascinating but nefarious trade 
 there, had used our boat to net the lake ex- 
 tensively ; however, we did not feel called upon 
 to interfere with his trap, and proceeded to get 
 out our lines. 
 
 The fish were rising freely, but not with the 
 serious idea of feeding ; and although we dili- 
 gently tried a variety of flies on the finest gut, 
 and also the minnows, which sometimes prove 
 destructive, even in still water, and the mild 
 and apparently succulent gelatine worm, we 
 had but poor sport. There was thunder in 
 the air, as the boatman remarked, and the 
 August angler must not expect the fortune of 
 his earlier brethren. 
 
 After a delightful picnic-lunch, for which 
 the whole party collected, the male members 
 began to feel the postprandial-pipe serenity 
 so well known to the guild of the line, and, 
 though the threatening clouds had made a 
 grey sky, and all signs of fish had disappeared, 
 we cheerfully set to work again. Making the 
 boatman row a slow steady stroke, which 
 
134 Fish 'Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 he did as if he were cutting out a slaver 
 with muffled sweeps, I unreeled a long line 
 adorned with a small white fly, a March Brown, 
 and the ever - reliable Alexandra, the most 
 deadly lure for the upland tarns. When these 
 had sunk about a foot, and had fallen behind 
 the ripple of the boat, the fish began to come 
 up, and, notwithstanding the unpromising close- 
 ness of the atmosphere, we had some better 
 luck. The white fly, which was on very thin 
 gut, was quickly torn off the line, and its suc- 
 cessor met the same fate; and finally, some 
 good fish were killed on the tail-fly, the Alex- 
 andra, one or two giving plenty of work to 
 the little nine-foot rod. After landing and 
 catching a few small ones in the stream, which, 
 though at first hopeless from lack of water, 
 was easily swelled and freshened by raising 
 a sluice-gate in a stone wall at the lower outlet 
 of the lake, we had a merry tea, packed up our 
 traps, caught the hobbled ponies, and started 
 for home. I ought to mention, for the sake 
 of those interested, that the Black Gnat 
 paid best in the stream, though I have little 
 doubt that if I had had an Alexandra of 
 
A Pocket Spate. 135 
 
 the smallest pattern, it would have proved 
 equally destructive. 
 
 The fish were not carried down the hill in 
 bag or basket, but were strung through the 
 gills on birch twigs, a method which adds a 
 picturesque touch to the return of a fishing 
 party. The journey homeward was uneventful 
 except for the capture of a couple of small 
 jays of a beautiful black colour, marked with 
 fawn ; they are rare, in this part of the country 
 at least, and quite unlike their more brilliantly- 
 attired cousins whose discordant note is so 
 common in English woods : this pair was 
 subsequently very skilfully skinned by the 
 poacher ; but I do not advise you to shoot such 
 delicate little creatures with No. 6, even at long 
 range. 
 
 When we were seated over the week-old 
 newspapers after dinner, my wife happened to 
 make the rare complaint that there were no 
 more stockings to mend, so I suggested that 
 she should embody her notion of the day's 
 experiences in prose, if she was capable of the 
 effort, so that we could compare two pictures 
 of the same view created in the brains of two 
 
136 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 artists working independently ; and this is what 
 she produced : — 
 
 " My husband laughed at me so dreadfully 
 for not being able to catch anything with my 
 new trout rod, that I made up my mind to 
 consult the boatmen privately, induce them to 
 give me what Mr. Wilton called * the straight 
 tip,* when he was here, and then surprise every- 
 body some fine day with a basket of fishes, 
 'part as yellow as a Marygold, and part as 
 white as a Lily/ I knew it was easy enough 
 when you learned just how it was done, like 
 water-colour sketching, or crewel-work, but I 
 felt that I had not yet acquired the knack. 
 I used to go out with my husband in the 
 evening sometimes, and whip the water for 
 half an hour or so after his labour with the 
 big rod was over ; but it never resulted in my 
 getting a rise out of anything except that 
 long-suffering master. I came to the openly- 
 expressed conclusion that there were no fish 
 to catch, though it was provoking to see what 
 a large river there was for them to lie in ; but 
 when I made this observation to old Mr. 
 Jackson, who seems a very old-fashioned kind 
 
A Pocket Spate. 137 
 
 of fisherman, he only said there were plenty of 
 fish but no water, which was obviously absurd. 
 Anyhow, fly-fishing is rather tiresome at first, 
 as you catch those hooky little flies in your 
 frock or on bushes ; but after a time I managed 
 to learn how to throw the whole thing nicely 
 upon the stream : however, I never caught 
 anything. 
 
 " The boatmen, Eric and Anders, were gene- 
 rally engaged, of course, in their legitimate 
 duties, — gaffing salmon for the men of our party 
 when they fished, or dragging about guns and 
 ammunition on the fjeld (when anybody went 
 rype-shooting), splicing lines and drying them, 
 and so forth, — but there was a vague sort of 
 promise that they should take us up one day 
 to a lake about three miles off to catch un- 
 sophisticated trout. I therefore got hold of 
 them one evening after a blank day, and sug- 
 gested fixing a date for the expedition. They 
 were always awfully polite to me, and readily 
 promised to suggest a day's rest on the morrow 
 from salmon-fishing in order to try the ' licks,' 
 if the bright weather held. A shower of rain 
 would, of course, change everything, and glue 
 
138 Fish'Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 them to the valley. They admired my tackle 
 in their funny broken English, and showed 
 great interest in my artificial worms, which 
 were made of gelatine expressly for ladies, 
 and certainly looked very attractive ; but as 
 I am bound to say I never knew anybody 
 who had caught anything with them, I suppose 
 fish are like boys, and love cruelty. 
 
 " Anders and Eric were so very unlike each 
 other that the younger Mr. Jackson used to 
 call them Tweedledum and Tweedledee, which 
 he declared were names easier to remember 
 when he had a fish on than those given them 
 by their godfathers and godmothers. They 
 had other names derived from their fathers, 
 and surnames from their respective villages, 
 but no one ever took any notice of them. 
 Dissimilar as they were in appearance, the 
 chief difference I noticed in them was in their 
 power of speaking English. Anders was im- 
 mensely tall, and quite red in colouring, — 
 hair, face, shirt, waistcoat, etc., — and when I 
 asked him a question he always laughed 
 genially and said, * Oh, 1 donaw ' ; but Eric 
 would reply with great volubility, though not 
 
A Pocket Spate. 139 
 
 always comprehensibly, using all sorts of 
 strange words and phrases which made me 
 roar with laughter: he was short, thin, and 
 dark, with a grey beard, and wore black : 
 two better sportsmen, I am sure, never pulled 
 scull or gaffed fish in a Norwegian valley. 
 
 " On the day of my first fishing exploit we 
 set off up the hill soon after breakfast, the 
 men walking in front and behind the sturdy 
 little ponies provided for us ; mine was capar- 
 isoned with a wonderful saddle-chair, beauti- 
 fully embroidered, and marked with the date, 
 1 8 1 4. Norwegians seem to set great store by 
 dates: I forget which of us it was that first 
 suggested the holiday witticism that they bore 
 the palm in that respect, but I make no claim 
 to it myself. 
 
 " When the path was unusually precipitous, 
 I got off to ease the pony, — I was riding 
 Strangles^ — but when I had walked a few 
 yards Eric always feared I should become 
 fatigued, and said persuasively, ' Will it please 
 you to sit up again ? ' so my poor Rosinante 
 did not have much respite. We were ascend- 
 ing along the bank of a rushing stream, which 
 
140 Fish- Tails, and some Trtie Ones, 
 
 had its rise in the lake whither we were bound, 
 and on my inquiring conversationally if there 
 were many fish in it, Anders replied in his 
 customary non-committal manner; but Eric 
 remarked smilingly, that he would raise the 
 water and make it much presently, 'oh, very 
 much, I s'pose,' which puzzled me not a little. 
 At length we entered upon a mossy upland 
 which seemed to be chiefly composed of bogs ; 
 and although the men were very clever at 
 leading the ponies along the firmest paths, 
 I got a little ahead of them once, and came 
 utterly to grief, for, just as Strangles was 
 plunging through a very soft place, the girths 
 gave way, and I was deposited, saddle and all, 
 in the soft wet mud. The consternation of 
 the guides was exteme, for they held them- 
 selves responsible for everything; but as no 
 harm was done, and I could answer in the 
 most decided negative to the anxious query, 
 * Oh, are you badly bruk ? ' their jovial nature 
 soon asserted itself, and they laughed at the 
 recollection of my tumble for hours afterwards. 
 " Arrived at our destination, we chose a 
 camping-ground, unsaddled, and prepared our 
 
A Pocket Spate. 141 
 
 tackle. My husband took the rider of Svart, 
 the other pony, and Anders in the boat for the 
 first row, and caught one or two really nice 
 trout, though I cannot think how he did it, 
 because we had the same flies and, when I 
 tried afterwards, I could not hook anything 
 at all; but his rod was longer than mine, if 
 that goes for anything. Now and then I saw 
 those round ripples which show where the fish 
 are, and we rowed softly up to them ; but when 
 I threw my line just on the very spot, the fish 
 did not like it, and went off to a quieter place. 
 I cannot think why a trout should like to 
 swallow a piece of iron not half-hidden by 
 a few feathers ; but there is no doubt they do, 
 as I proved myself later on. The colour of the 
 fish caught in this lake was not at all nice, and 
 anything farther from the Marygold or the 
 Lily of old Izaak Walton I never saw; but, 
 I suppose, it is due to environment and all 
 that sort of thing, though it is odd that living 
 creatures should be so impressionable, and 
 nobody seems to know much about it. Mr. 
 Jackson says that the naturalists in London are 
 still quarrelling about the twelve-pound trout he 
 
142 Fish -Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 caught last year, and taking sides as to whether 
 it was a giant specimen of the ordinary kind 
 or an ordinary specimen of a giant kind. It 
 does not seem to matter much either way, 
 does it? 
 
 " After rowing all over the water and round 
 the islands, we landed and had a jolly picnic 
 close to where the stream runs out of the lake. 
 I do not know when I have felt so hungry. 
 The boatmen camped by themselves at a 
 respectful distance, and solemnly munched 
 their brown bread as if the idea never entered 
 into their heads that anyone could offer them 
 a choice sandwich, or a drop of smoky whisky, 
 so incomprehensibly dear to the male palate; 
 but you may be sure they were not forgotten, 
 for, as all good children know, nothing is ever 
 lost by that kind of behaviour. After the 
 last crumb had disappeared, Anders showed 
 us the very simple arrangement by which 
 the water was prevented from escaping too 
 quickly from the lake into the stream. It 
 was a wooden door, something like a lock-gate 
 on the Thames, only it pulled up and down 
 instead of opening inwards, and regulated 
 
A Pocket Spate. 143 
 
 exactly the depth of water in the stream. I 
 soon understood what Eric had meant when 
 he said that he would * raise the water much,' 
 and I was cheered by Anders' confident asser- 
 tion that though I had failed in the lake I 
 should catch plenty in the stream. I walked 
 a few yards down with him to try the first 
 pool, leaving the other lady to make a sketch, 
 while Eric set off on a foraging expedition to 
 a neighbouring soeter^ or summer farmhouse, 
 for milk. The pool was about as large as 
 the kitchen floor in a small villa, and of a 
 beautiful deep-brown colour; the water was 
 only moving very, very slowly ; and although 
 I trailed my flies across and across in a grace- 
 ful and enticing manner, nothing happened. 
 I asked Anders why they did not bite, and 
 if he thought they would like a gelatine worm. 
 To both queries he replied, grinning, * Oh, I 
 donaw,' but added that it might be as well 
 to try. I accordingly tried, with no result. 
 I then inquired, rather fretfully, I fear, why 
 the other man did not turn on more water 
 and let out some of the lake trout, and sent 
 Anders to investigate, and to lift the sluice- 
 
144 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 gate himself, strax, Eric soon afterwards came 
 hurrying down to say that the water was 
 coming, bidding me prepare for a miraculous 
 draught of fishes. I laughed at his enthusiasm 
 and his English, and asked where my sketching 
 friend was ; to which he replied, peering under 
 his hand, * I cannot look her, she kips on 
 drawing the lick, I specs.' 
 
 " Up to this moment, you understand, I had 
 never caught a trout in my life ; but just when 
 I was fairly tickled at the honest Norseman's 
 original expressions, he hastily drew my atten- 
 tion to the water, which was rising and curling 
 and swirling in a most unwonted manner. 
 In a minute all the little pools seemed joined 
 into one rush, instead of being peacefully 
 scattered about — in fact, it was a kind of 
 artificial freshet, a pocket spate; and as I 
 once more, with renewed hope, cast my line 
 across it, I actually felt a tug. Then I knew 
 that I had hooked a fish at last, and all the 
 special directions I had been given crowded 
 in confusion upon my brain, until I could not 
 remember whether I ought to wade in, or run 
 back, or let out string, or what. While in this 
 
A Pocket Spate. 145 
 
 state of doubt, I instinctively gave a violent 
 
 jerk, like that little girl we watched at Ulles- 
 
 water, and, much to my delight, saw a very 
 
 nice trout jump out at the end of my line and 
 
 fly airily over my head on to the bank, when 
 
 the boatman seized it and administered the 
 
 happy despatch. With much half-suppressed 
 
 merriment he explained that this feminine 
 
 method was quite contrary to the rules of 
 
 the game, for fish should be landed more 
 
 slowly, and by the net. However, I consoled 
 
 myself by reflecting that the object of fishing 
 
 is to catch fish, and I had caught one. Indeed, 
 
 I very soon secured two ; and pulled in the 
 
 second for Eric to net in the orthodox manner, 
 
 which he did very neatly. I do not think 
 
 there were any more fish in that pool ; and 
 
 when we got down to the next likely place, 
 
 the water was getting low again, and so, being 
 
 tired, I soon left off, and went back to our 
 
 camp to make the tea, much elated at having, 
 
 at last, succeeded in really catching some trout 
 
 all by myself. I need hardly say that my 
 
 husband jeered a little when I showed him 
 
 the twig on which my finny prey were strung, 
 10 
 
146 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 and said he could claim the benefit of the Act 
 passed to protect people from fish-breakfasts 
 more than six days a week, and a lot of non- 
 sense of that kind ; but I secretly think he was 
 rather proud of me." 
 
 Thus, you see, two people form different 
 impressions of the same scenes and incidents. 
 " Two children in two neighbouring villages " 
 do not necessarily think alike on any subject, 
 — domestic, artistic, or piscatorial. 
 
 A day or two afterwards, the season broke, 
 the rains descended, and the floods came, and 
 in a single night the wide, barren fjelds were 
 covered with snow as far as the • eye could 
 reach. We had come to the end of our visit, 
 and, the river being still regarded as hopeless, 
 I decided to pay a last visit to Foss-sjo ; so, 
 after a lazy morning, I left the others to toast 
 themselves indoors, and went off in my macin- 
 tosh to hunt up Anders. Him I found mend- 
 ing the family shoes in the paternal mansion, 
 and, merely pausing a moment to adjust a 
 flannel chest-protector, he followed me cheer- 
 fully into the rain. Ponies were out of the 
 question owing to the softness of the ground ; 
 
A Pocket Spate. 147 
 
 so we scrambled along as best we could on 
 our ten toes, getting bathed by showers from 
 every bough we touched. Oh, how wet it was, 
 and what a contrast to our previous expedi- 
 tion ! The bushes of juniper and birch, and the 
 thick beds of heather, held innumerable douches, 
 which they never failed to shed upon us as we 
 passed ; the bogs had trebled their depth and 
 juiciness in a day, and had spread in every 
 direction ; the stepping-stones at the various 
 fords had sunk out of sight — rivulets had 
 become brooks, and brooks rivers. The grey 
 fustian of the Norseman was plainly soaked 
 through and through before we reached the 
 boat ; but when I asked him, sympathetically, 
 if he was at all wet, he rubbed his knees and 
 denied the imputation ; but he looked chilled, 
 despite the chest-protector. For my part, I was 
 so numbed while fishing that, when we landed, 
 I could not fasten a button of my macintosh 
 until half a mile of brisk walking had restored 
 my circulation. Flies proved of no avail in 
 the peaty water under that leaden sky ; and 
 it was not until I tried a small silvery revolv- 
 ing minnow that I killed my first fish, which 
 
148 Fish 'Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 was of a goodly size, but again very black. 
 Afrer rowing up and down for a couple of 
 hours with occasional moments of anxiety and 
 satisfaction, I declared myself too cold for 
 more, and, with only a small bag, decided to 
 consider the season over. As we tied up the 
 boat for the last time, I indicated briefly to 
 my companion that it was an opportunity not 
 to be lost of cutting the record for pedestrians 
 between Foss-sjo and home ; he acquiesced, 
 and we cut it. 
 
XV. 
 
 Lyngen Fjord. 
 
 ^^ Send precepts to the leviathan 
 To come ashore." 
 
 Heniy V. 
 
 An Easter holiday on a Devonshire trout 
 stream is not, as a rule, like daily cold 
 pork to those that love cold pork, " one long 
 round of delirious joy," unless they have been 
 so long in populous city pent that they are 
 thankful for a breath of pure air ; and, while 
 contemplating a brace or two of tiny trout at 
 the close of an arduous day, I am always 
 strongly reminded of a very different fishing 
 adventure in a very different place. You 
 cannot hold a fire in your hand by thinking on 
 the frosty Caucasus ; but there is a grain of con- 
 solation in reflecting that all angling is not 
 
 149 
 
150 Fish-Tails, and sovie Trtic Ones. 
 
 equally un remunerative, and that to the patient 
 sportsman the whirligig of time brings about 
 its revenges. To-day the stream runs low and 
 clear, and the unclouded sun throws your 
 shadow with undesirable emphasis over the 
 water, so that casting is but a weariness, and 
 the fish laugh silently to themselves as they 
 remark, in their proverbial philosophy, " in vain 
 is the fly cast in the sight of any/^ri^," but 
 you peacefully reflect on past success and 
 future chances, and possess your soul in 
 patience. 
 
 The adventure to which I so naturally look 
 back on these occasions took place in the 
 extreme north of Norway ; and as I killed on 
 the morning in question pretty nearly a ton of 
 fish with my own right arm, I think I am 
 justified in considering it a day of large things. 
 
 The Lyngen Fjord is too remote for much 
 traffic ; and though the hardy fisher-folk know 
 well how its snow-clad mountains rise sheer 
 from the sea, strangers are rare, and only one 
 little coasting steamer disturbs the serenity of 
 the landlocked bay as it goes to meet its 
 larger neighbours plying from Tromso to the 
 
Lyngen Fjord. 151 
 
 North Cape. The scenery is strikingly grand 
 even for those wild parts, for the cliffs are 
 abrupt, and an immense glacier, embedded 
 among competing peaks, rolls almost to the 
 unbeached margent of the sea. 
 
 One bright morning in September we were 
 awakened in our bare-walled chamber by the 
 voice of a fellow-lodger at the farm : he did 
 not know much English, but, making the most 
 of his slender vocabulary, he repeatedly shouted, 
 " We have — much — fish," a phrase sufficiently 
 suggestive to make us dress quickly and hurry 
 downstairs for explanations. Our host spoke 
 German fluently, and told us, as we accom- 
 panied him to the shore, that the fishing-boats 
 were making a great haul. About a score of 
 the clumsy, but seaworthy, vessels were visible 
 in the offing, and of these a dozen or so were 
 holding up a net half a mile long, in the middle 
 of which was a bag measuring, I should say, 
 thirty feet by ten. 
 
 We were immediately rowed out by a hand- 
 some, fair-haired and blue-eyed Norseman, a 
 son of our farmer, and I was given a small gaff, 
 with the simple direction that I was to strike 
 
152 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 at the head of any fish that came within reach 
 of my arm. I accordingly disregarded the 
 scenery and peered over the side of the boat : 
 in a few minutes I saw my opportunity, and 
 dragged on board a long dark fish, weighing 
 about ten pounds : it had a grey belly, and a 
 white line down the side, and was, I believe, a 
 ling, though the boatmen called it a seigh, I 
 knocked it on the head and killed it, being a 
 humane man ; but after treating a second in 
 the same way, I found business was too brisk 
 for the exercise of the gentler emotions, for 
 merely gaffing and landing fish that averaged as 
 much as my first took up all my time. 
 
 One, two, three hours slipped by, during 
 which the slaughter went on without interrup- 
 tion : as soon as a trawler became loaded she 
 retired shorewards from her place by the net, 
 and made way for one that was waiting her 
 turn : when the bag was at last empty, our 
 boat was deep in the water with corpses which 
 filled it to our knees ; and if there had been any 
 lee-scuppers, they would have run blood with a 
 vengeance, like those of a pirate schooner in 
 the zenith of its prosperity. I said just now 
 
Lyngen Fjord, 153 
 
 that I claimed a ton of fish, and, upon reflection, 
 I do not think it is an exaggeration : the total 
 catch was 3877, and we were so exhausted that 
 we had to fall tooth-and-nail upon the welcome 
 coffee and bread brought down to us from the 
 farm before we could take a proper interest in 
 the rapid conversion of the ling into stock-fish : 
 but every available hand was needed, and we 
 were soon at work with the rest. 
 
 First the fish already dried are removed 
 from the lines of birch poles which decorate the 
 shore, and stacked for shipment : the fresh- 
 caught monsters are then beheaded, split open 
 to the tail, cleaned, and hung over the wooden 
 lines, which are so high overhead that the 
 hanging is done by a long fork : if you are 
 clumsy, you get a clammy corpse swishing into 
 your face: the entrails and backbones are 
 thrown away, but the livers are collected 
 in tubs, in which they are kept for times vary- 
 ing from one to twelve months, and then made 
 into "cod-liver oil." The heads are dried 
 separately in long strings, kept till winter, and 
 then boiled for cattle food ; the main part of 
 the carcass, which forms the stock-fish of com- 
 
154 Fish -Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 merce, is simply dried in the sun, without being 
 smoked or salted, and forms the most un- 
 attractive variety of food I ever saw : but it is 
 often eaten raw by those who are used to it. 
 
 By the time the day's work was done the 
 place was a veritable shambles, and everyone 
 was weary; but as the English strangers 
 departed to supper and well-earned repose, a 
 faint column of smoke became visible across 
 the fjord, — for though it wanted scarcely an 
 hour to midnight, it was still day in that 
 northern latitude, — and the farmer dispassion- 
 ately informed us that the smoke was a signal 
 to the boats that more fish had been sighted, 
 and more labourers were wanted for the harvest. 
 So, as we settled down to dreamless sleep, the 
 sails were again hoisted, and the fishermen 
 were constrained to turn seaward for the fourth 
 consecutive night under the shadow of the 
 Pipertind to reap their golden opportunity, and 
 even through a fifth night that mutely eloquent 
 pillar of smoke hung over the fishing-ground. 
 It is difficult to understand how flesh and 
 blood could bear it, but the northern heroes of 
 toil managed it somehow, and the southern 
 
Lyngen Fjord. 155 
 
 markets reap the benefit. I fell into an idle 
 speculation on the ruin which would be wrought 
 in these distant fisheries by a change in the 
 religion of Spain and Italy, and exercised 
 myself in some valuable moral reflections on 
 the power of the Papacy. 
 
 And now, when I regard a small bag of 
 diminutive trout, I cannot help thinking of my 
 day on the Lyngen Fjord, for the two occasions, 
 though both enjoyable, are indeed at opposite 
 ends of the scale. What a splendid year's 
 fishing you would have if you could spread 
 over a twelvemonth the mere weight of fish 
 that a man may claim in one day when the 
 ling are in ! But the true angler will properly 
 say that, though the world must be supplied 
 with stock-fish, there is more sport in grassing 
 a basket of half-pounders than in gaffing a 
 couple of hundred fish twenty times their 
 weight out of the salt sea wave. But if you 
 are fired by a noble emulation, and really yearn 
 for something sizeable, as I did when I went to 
 see Anderson, what time he told me the mov- 
 ing tragedy of Mary Anne, go to the North 
 Cape and fish for cod. Take a stout cord, and 
 
156 Fish -Tails, and some Tnie Ones, 
 
 a very large double hook, ornamented with a 
 bright leaden body, shaped like a small fish : 
 tie a pound of lead to the line, hurl out five 
 and twenty yards from the steamer's deck, and 
 wind up : if your captain has chosen a con- 
 venient spot for the attempt, where fish lie 
 thick and hungry at the bottom, one of them 
 will quickly grasp your hook, or your hook 
 will grasp him in passing, and big things 
 result. I remember seeing a companion thus 
 catch a thirty-pounder which was too large to 
 be dragged on board, and had to be put 
 through a hole in the side of the ship : this 
 voracious cod-prince had a two-pounder in his 
 mouth, and another lord of the deep offered us 
 a herring with his latest breath. For myself, 
 I only secured four of about ten pounds a-piece, 
 cod and ling, but our five lines took altogether 
 a couple of hundredweight: if you want it 
 big and plenty. Northward ho ! and try cod- 
 snatching. 
 
XVI. 
 
 Foul-hooked. 
 
 ** And his language to me in the boat, sir, 
 Is frequent, and painful, and free" 
 
 Bret Harte (adapted). 
 
 A MAN once said to me that he did not care 
 about fishing, what he liked was exercise, which 
 shows that I number amongst my acquaintance 
 at least one very ignorant person ; he fancied, 
 I suppose, that the whole art of angling is prac- 
 tised by the Sunday watcher of bobbing floats, 
 and that to be as lame as a tree is rather an 
 advantage than otherwise to the poor deluded 
 creatures who seek their recreation at the water- 
 side; he could not appreciate the real labour 
 of salmon-fishing, and it is difficult to do so 
 properly until you have foul-hooked a heavy 
 fish, fresh run, and with a notion of his respon- 
 
 167 
 
158 Fish -Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 sibilities. Casting a long line with a big rod, 
 in sun or wind especially, tires the brain, the 
 back, the arms, and the legs of even the most 
 enthusiastic ; but you can stop to breathe when 
 you like, and even venture to sit down on the 
 bank or in the boat, until the long-desired 
 moment arrives when you hook your fish, and 
 then your time and energies are no longer your 
 own. Directly the tug is felt, your fatigue 
 vanishes like a dream, and if the hold is a good 
 one, and your tackle worthy, all goes well ; but 
 sometimes a clumsy fish muffs his shot, and 
 then all sorts of complications arise. You 
 begin to understand that something is wrong 
 when you have seen your salmon in mid-air, 
 and know that he is nothing very tremendous, 
 but still he will not come: he must be well- 
 hooked, because the hold does not break under 
 a strong and continuous strain, but beyond that 
 you know nothing; and as time goes on, you 
 wonder at the suggestion that a minute per 
 pound is well under the proper limit of time 
 to allow for the whole performance from cast 
 to gaff. 
 
 I gathered some experience in the following 
 
Foul-hooked. 
 
 159 
 
 manner : It was very late in the season when I 
 arrived at a certain log-built, match-boarded 
 house on a certain river in the middle of 
 Norway, but the news that nearly 2000 lbs. 
 weight of salmon had been killed during the 
 previous months made me hope that all the 
 good things were not yet over, and I was early 
 on the water. Anders, the tall, red-whiskered, 
 flat-nosed boatman, was told off to carry my 
 gaff and tackle-bag; and having crossed the 
 hay-field beyond the picturesque farm buildings, 
 we embarked in one of the clumsy, leaky boats 
 of the country, which you can buy for the price 
 of a silk hat : they are heavy to row, but im- 
 possible to upset, a pleasant quality to reflect 
 upon when a big fish takes you down a piece 
 of tumbling water, which at first looks anything 
 but navigable to a British eye. 
 
 After a little unsuccessful casting we floated 
 into a long even pool with a high tree-topped 
 bank on one side and dry stones on the other, 
 which plainly told that the stream had fallen 
 to its minimum : in a few minutes a salmon 
 showed himself, and gave notice by his ver- 
 milion colouring that he had been residing on 
 
i6o Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 the spot for some time, and by his size that he 
 would probably require attention for a quarter 
 of an hour. But in his lunge at the enticing 
 gleam of a Jock Scott he had shown a crass 
 unskilfulness or unwillingness, for the barb 
 struck him in the shoulder, and he ran out 
 forty odd yards of line in a manner which 
 caused the excited reel to scream aloud like 
 some strong syren in its agony. A severe 
 tussle ensued, and it was not until after the 
 effluxion of a good half-hour that Tweedledum 
 lifted him with native and dexterous politeness 
 on to the heap of stones. He was truly of a 
 red favour, but only weighed half a dozen 
 pounds after all: the hook was firmly em- 
 bedded just below the pectoral fin. 
 
 This was, comparatively speaking, a trifle, 
 and I only mention it as a prelude to a more 
 important episode. The river yielded nothing 
 else that day or the next ; but rain having fallen 
 on the fjelds, there came at last a welcome rise 
 in the water, and at noon on the third day I 
 was fast in another red fish in the same pool as 
 before. This fellow, however, was fairly hooked 
 in the lower jaw, and gave good sport of the 
 
Foul-hooked, i6i 
 
 ordinary kind, being ultimately despatched in 
 sixty minutes from the start, timed by Messrs. 
 Waterbury's patent, short-wind, seventeen and 
 sixpenny chronometer: he was of a goodly 
 shape, and scaled some baker's dozen of 
 English pounds. 
 
 We re-entered the boat, floated down over a 
 stretch of very rough-looking water, turned a 
 sharp corner, and found ourselves in a long 
 deep reach, which I have good cause to re- 
 member. The bottom was somewhat light- 
 coloured, except in the middle of the stream ; 
 and about two hundred yards below us the 
 river divided itself into two branches, which 
 became reunited beyond a large wooded 
 island. 
 
 I tried a fly without success, and we landed 
 for lunch. 
 
 Now, it so happened that I had brought a 
 small stout pike rod and a new spoon that I 
 was anxious to try with a Malloch casting-reel, 
 but Anders, a strong Conservative, thought 
 scorn of spoons, and did not wish to waste 
 valuable time on such novel gewgaws ; so, whilst 
 
 he was contentedly finishing a fill of my tobacco, 
 II 
 
1 62 Fish-Tails y and soine True Ones. 
 
 I put together the trolling-rod, and hurled the 
 spoon into the pool " from shaw," as he calls it. 
 The water within reach was, of course, too 
 clear and too still for a serious attempt ; but a 
 minute trout followed the glittering metal to 
 the bank, and this so impressed my man that 
 he himself condescendingly suggested trying a 
 few casts from the boat. I assented, but with- 
 out much enthusiasm, for the sun was bright, 
 and the water everywhere like glass for trans- 
 parency; however, as I was reeling up after 
 the second cast, and the bait was not more 
 than twenty feet from us, near the top of 
 the water, there was a flash of something 
 decidedly big from the depths, and the line 
 ran out again. 
 
 " Is it a trout ? " asked Anders cheerfully. 
 
 I said I thought not. 
 
 " You sit down," the man responded ; " I hup 
 very large." 
 
 I sat down accordingly. It was exactly a 
 quarter-past two. 
 
 Though I live long, I suppose I shall never 
 forget the remainder of that afternoon. We 
 saw nothing whatever of the fish for the first 
 
Foiil-hooked, 1 63 
 
 hour, and Anders varied the monotony of his 
 slow, even stroke by repeatedly informing me 
 that this was " biggest fish he ever knew," and, 
 to judge by the way the enemy took his 
 fathoms of line when he felt that way, I thought 
 it very probable : many times he let us come 
 within a few feet of his resting-place, and then 
 went off, for seventy or eighty yards, like a 
 Great Northern express. The neighbouring 
 haymakers abandoned their labours and col- 
 lected in a stolid group on the high bank ; but 
 whether they mutely speculated upon the size 
 of the fish or the fatuity of foreign anglers, I 
 could not guess. They gazed and gazed, and 
 faintly smiled, and kept on saying nothing. 
 During the second hour Anders came to the 
 openly-expressed conclusion that the fish was a 
 troll or demon, and would never be caught at 
 all. For my part, I felt that two hours was 
 quite long enough to be staring at my line 
 among the swirling eddies in the bright sun- 
 light ; but I kept it tight, with every nerve on 
 the stretch, set my teeth yet again, and waited. 
 Nothing that we could do would induce the 
 fish to come into shallow water ; and I began 
 
164 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 to think he must hear and understand the 
 boatman's mournful response to my ignorant 
 suggestions : " I cannot gaff him i' middle ; bad 
 plas," for when we rowed round him, and bored 
 him steadily in-shore, he always concluded the 
 manoeuvre by dashing out above or below us, 
 and then the whole thing had to be done over 
 again. There were also periods of absolute 
 sulkiness, which time after time brought my 
 heart into my mouth with apprehension, lest 
 the wily fellow should have buried the hooks 
 in a convenient rock and gone off rejoicing; 
 but on each occasion a stone or two eventually 
 moved him, and he was away again, as fresh 
 as ever, on his headlong career. 
 
 At five o'clock, when less fortunate sports- 
 men were turning their attention to the mild 
 refreshment associated with that hour, we 
 thought we perceived signs of flagging in our 
 plucky foe ; so I landed for the third time, and 
 tried to coax him towards the bank. He 
 did, indeed, now come to the top languidly, 
 " Rend'ring faint quittance, wearied and out- 
 breathed," turned on his silvery side, and 
 seemed to be ready to make terms ; but no 
 
Foul-hooked. 165 
 
 amount of judicious pulling could bring him 
 within reach of the gaff; and the haymakers 
 laughed silently. 
 
 Nearly half an hour was spent in these 
 fruitless attempts, and at last, in sheer despair, 
 we took to the boat again to make trial of a 
 shallower place lower down, a proceeding which 
 the salmon accepted as an indication that we 
 were sufficiently rested for further travel, for he 
 immediately started down river at a spanking 
 pace, and dragged us doggedly for nearly half 
 a mile, over shallows and through deep holes, 
 before we could pull him up. At last, at six 
 o'clock, he paused, far down in a pool of inky 
 blackness and mysterious recesses beneath a 
 precipitous cliff; and as there was a most con- 
 venient little sandy beach just opposite, we 
 determined to make a great effort to get him 
 out. Nor were we disappointed : inch by inch 
 I drew him across, and, after a few minutes of 
 steady and continuous hauling, succeeded in 
 bringing him within the fatal circle of the steel ; 
 then of course the unerring Norwegian struck 
 home, and I theatrically dropped the pike rod 
 with a gasp of genuine relief. 
 
1 66 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 It was exactly four hours from the start, and 
 we were a good mile below my fly rod and 
 tackle-bag, which, with Anders' coat, were still 
 reposing by the crumbs of the luncheon table 
 beneath a birch grove. The fish was fresh-run 
 and foul-hooked in the shoulder, two of the 
 three hooks having deeply penetrated the flesh ; 
 but he only weighed a trifle over fifteen pounds. 
 He would probably have succumbed sooner on 
 a big rod with a heavy line, but I do not 
 think that, with the tackle I had, I could have 
 shortened his struggles by a minute. 
 
 Anders gave an almost British " Hooray," 
 and hastened off* along the bank to get our 
 luggage, and, I have little doubt, to reassure 
 the haymakers on the subject of trolls. I was 
 pleased to hear that another angler in the same 
 water had had a fish on for the same length of 
 time earlier in the year, but had lost him. I 
 never contemplated such a catastrophe as that 
 for myself; and when the boatman serio- 
 comically suggested that, with this demon, 
 there would come a time when we should 
 have to break the line or the hold in order 
 to get home by midnight, I coldly and firmly 
 
Foul-hooked, 167 
 
 explained that the fish and I were going back 
 to the house in the same cart, regardless of 
 what day of the week it might be. I think 
 that if it had been my ill-fortune to " loose 
 him " after all our trouble, I should have let 
 fall the unmanly tear and the ungodly word ; 
 as it was — 
 
 Hcec olim meminisse juvahiU 
 
XVII. 
 In a Knot. 
 
 "... whom the fates have mark'd 
 To bear the extremity of dire mishap/" 
 
 Comedy of Errors. 
 
 Those who go a-fishing for the Princes of the 
 great river are usually armed either with ex- 
 perience or advice. There is, of course, the 
 Retiarius, or net-fiend, who needs neither ; but 
 he is the foe of all true men, and may be here 
 dismissed with an anathema. The young 
 angler who is equipped only with advice never 
 appreciates the solemn warnings of his elders 
 on the prime necessity of attention to detail ; 
 nothing but practice, disasters, and the love 
 that is bought by actual loss can teach that. 
 There are perhaps few, if any, who have killed 
 the first half-dozen salmon hooked, and the 
 risk of losing a good fish is of course infinitely 
 
In a Knot. 169 
 
 greater to a man, however skilful, who cannot 
 rely on his knots and his gut as he would on 
 his mother's affection ; but if he is really expert, 
 he will have served his apprenticeship, and will 
 not fear a vote in reduction of his salary for 
 negligence. 
 
 The worst part of it is, that the particular 
 fish you lose through defective gut or recalcit- 
 rant reel is always a monster (or he would not 
 have broken you, don't you know), and the 
 longer you have him on, and the more feeling 
 you get up about it, the more likely he is to 
 find out your weak spot and take his legitimate 
 advantage. The rule is simple: do not have 
 any weak spots ; that is, do not give any points 
 to the adversary which prudence and diligence 
 can save. Cricketers know that the man who 
 bats with a loosely-made cane-handled willow, 
 which clicks when he hits the ground, deserves 
 that unfortunate and wholly mistaken verdict 
 from the umpire when the whole field simul- 
 taneously cry out " How's that ? " and the be- 
 wildered professional raises the fatal finger. A 
 good workman, says a musty and somewhat 
 foolish old proverb, never finds fault with his 
 
170 Fish -Tails y and so^Tte True Ones. 
 
 tools, but then he does not willingly use bad 
 ones ; and the skilful fisher discards the untested 
 and untrusty whenever possible. But some 
 defects are only discovered by the ruin that 
 they cause ; and therefore if I tell how I ought 
 to have lost a couple of fine salmon, but some- 
 how did not, I must not be charged with mis- 
 leading the young, or taken to hint that the 
 most careful sportsman bestows a thought too 
 much upon the efficiency of the smallest detail 
 in his equipment. I am nothing if not moral, 
 and would rather die than poison the springs. 
 
 As the intelligent reader will recollect, I have 
 said before that I am not as immaculate as 
 people think ; and although I could name 
 several ladies who would stake their last hair- 
 pin on my being the most skilful fisherman 
 in the world, I willingly admit that there is 
 another man who is quite as good (" still nam- 
 ing no names ") ; and so, partly for his sake and 
 partly to encourage the despondent, I may as 
 well begin by admitting that I lost a whopper 
 the other day all on account of a casting-reel 
 which I ought to have given to a friend or sold 
 to an enemy. It was a beautiful reel, and for 
 
In a Knot, 171 
 
 measuring a long cast on the lawn quite unsur- 
 passable ; the mechanism, too, was so ingenious 
 that I continued to use it until it broke in half, 
 although I soon found out that the first rule 
 for fishing with it was that it must be kept dry, 
 for as soon as it got saturated it developed a 
 trick of sticking in a manner that would have 
 provoked a Dean : a sudden jerk was fatal to 
 it. Now, you cannot fish much and keep your 
 line dry. I was provided with a bottle of the 
 most enticing prawns that ever swam in gly- 
 cerine ; and though it was late in the year and 
 the fish were quite contented to read sermons 
 in stones at home instead of going marketing, 
 I could not doubt that something interesting 
 would happen as soon as that delicious pink 
 morsel went sailing down the river : but still I 
 used that reel. The first cast was a very fine 
 one, notwithstanding that some previous experi- 
 ments with a minnow had soaked the undressed 
 silk ; and the moment the prawn touched the 
 water at the head of a deep black pool there 
 was a sudden rush, a large head and shoulders 
 emerged from the wavelets, and I felt the tug 
 we all dream of. But, alas! the delicious ting- 
 
172 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 ling sensation of pleasure had hardly time to 
 get down to my toes before it was succeeded 
 by a twinge of mental gout: there was a 
 momentary stoppage as the wet coils of line 
 perversely stuck together, and the fish, with 
 the ingenuity which makes him such a worthy 
 foe, took advantage of my misfortune to wrench 
 off the desired object without touching the 
 hooks, and in a flash he had returned triumph- 
 antly to the bottom, to explain his methods 
 and boast of his dexterity to his less adven- 
 turous companions. I prawned vigorously for 
 some days after that, but the news of the 
 danger had got abroad in the river, and I 
 caught nothing. 
 
 So much for the seamy side; the other 
 accidents were less exasperating, and the relation 
 of them is free of any moral, unless it be that 
 you should always make the best of a bad job. 
 
 I was using a large split-cane rod which, with 
 all the British enjoyment of a bargain, I had 
 secured at a low figure because the ornamental 
 gloss had been to a certain extent dimmed by 
 too long a sojourn upon the market; and 
 although it had been weakened palpably by a 
 
In a Knot, 173 
 
 severe course of worming in Scotland with 
 heavy leads, it was still to all appearance a 
 very serviceable tool. My reel was purchased 
 from a friend who said he was reluctantly part- 
 ing with it because it was too large; but we 
 shall have another conversation about that 
 when we meet, and if I can sell him the patent 
 casting-reel, or a second-hand bicycle, I shall 
 do so. 
 
 It was a bright August morning, with a sug- 
 gestion of thunder ; and although the river, 
 which had risen nearly a foot the day before, 
 was rapidly falling, it was not yet in good 
 order, and the outlook was unpromising. How- 
 ever, the oldest rule in the book says that you 
 never know what luck you are going to have ; so 
 I ordered my cart and rattled off up the valley, 
 along five miles of a road which was evidently 
 made for tobogganing. The sun sent slanting 
 lances of brilliance through the firs and birches, 
 lit up the vivid moss at their feet, and sparkled 
 on many a brook as we passed through dells 
 and glades plainly designed for happy gnomes, 
 and looked back upon the valley intended as 
 plainly for happy men ; and having wound 
 
174 Fish-Tails y and some Trtie Ones, 
 
 through two or three rich homesteads, we came 
 to my favourite pool (" same which " I lost the 
 fellow on the prawn), where we took out fly- 
 books and considered the situation. Anders 
 looked at the sky, swept a doubting eye along 
 the river, shook his Rufus mane, and set about 
 baling the rain-water from the boat. 
 
 A rapid stream rushed high over great 
 boulders into the grand majestic pool which is 
 to other pools what the river is to other rivers, 
 or the lion to other beasts : that day it was full, 
 lying brown and deep beneath its overhanging 
 ledge of grey rock, or making a wide still back- 
 water under the giant firs on the opposite side. 
 At the lower end the sun glittered on the broad, 
 smooth, swirling tail, and beyond that the great 
 river swept over more stones, and clattered 
 down a straight quarter of a mile or so of rough 
 ground to its next angle. 
 
 The stream above is fished from the bank, 
 though the pool itself can only be reached from 
 the boat; so, while Anders was too engaged 
 with the baler to insist on any particular fly, I 
 assumed an air of colossal independence, put 
 on a large Black Dose, poised myself upon a 
 
In a Knot, 175 
 
 convenient but slippery rock, and began to fish. 
 I was not particularly hopeful ; but existence on 
 that spot, and under those conditions, was happi- 
 ness in itself: so why worry? I delivered a 
 short cast, and nothing happened. 
 
 At the second attempt, however, — Anders 
 was not looking, but he will bear me out that it 
 was only the second, — the fly travelled out to 
 the neck of the pool, and in a moment I was 
 fast in a fish : as much to his surprise as mine, 
 I make no doubt. He rushed below, remember- 
 ing early maternal warnings, and then, receiving 
 no sympathy from the lady to whom I paid some 
 attention later, he tried the upper air, and gave 
 an exhibition of amphibious gymnastics. After 
 twenty minutes of healthy exercise, he bowed to 
 inexorable fate and a tight line, and held up 
 his hands, so to speak: the bright gaff quivered 
 at the victim's side (to adapt the bard), and he 
 laid his ugly red head peacefully on a flat stone, 
 Anders gleefully airing his English sporting voca- 
 bulary by saying " No blank ! " which does not 
 mean " you need not swear," but is a gladsome 
 foretaste of our not unsuccessful return at even- 
 tide for congratulations. A decent interval for 
 
176 Fish-Tails, mid some True Ones. 
 
 tobacco having elapsed, we took to the boat, 
 and I began to cover the head of the pool, 
 where it could not be reached from the bank, 
 with the patience and keenness which naturally 
 follow an early success. I suppose the lady I 
 have referred to concluded that a Black Dose 
 and a subsequent mad gambol were things 
 equally fit for both sexes, for in three minutes 
 she was imitating her late lord, only more so. 
 She evidently weighed something beyond his 
 fifteen pounds, and her rushes were terrific: 
 after three or four leaps she went off like John 
 Gilpin with the post-boy at his heels, and then, 
 when she had taken fifty yards at a go, the check 
 of the reel broke. Just at that moment I should 
 have heard of its former owner's death from 
 starvation with complete indifference. 
 
 I had previously landed, and, being therefore 
 on the stones at the time, was able to plunge 
 forward, holding the rod over my shoulder, so 
 as to have a yard or two to spare for the next 
 jerk ; but the fish paused, in fatal ignorance of 
 my difficulty, or equally fatal indifference. 
 
 I need hardly say that I briefly and forcibly 
 conveyed an intimation of the difficulty to the 
 
In a Knot. I'jy 
 
 Norseman, who was leisurely taking the brass 
 button from the point of the gaff; and when its 
 disgraceful nature dawned on him, he almost 
 screamed with rage. " This reel not going ? " 
 he gasped, his brows buckled in a concentrated 
 fury ; and seizing the offending winch in both 
 his ample paws, he forced the handle round so 
 as to crash completely what remained of the 
 checking apparatus. After a few moments' 
 energetic pushing and swearing, the ruin was 
 accomplished ; and when the red lady again 
 started on her course, the line ran out silently 
 and easily, though, of course, much too rapidly. 
 I stayed it as well as I could with my finger; 
 and the fish, being well-hooked in the upper 
 jaw, was in due time drawn within a yard of 
 the boat, from the covert of which Anders 
 prefers to use his weapon. The moment she 
 felt the steel, however, she gave such a pro- 
 digious bound that she bent it quite out of 
 shape. Barring the fact that (as Shikspur 
 says) she was multitudinously incarnadined, she 
 was a very nice nineteen-pounder. 
 
 We lunched cheerily that day, and I chaffed 
 Anders a good deal about his thunder and his 
 
 12 
 
178 Fish-Tails^ and some True Ones. 
 
 gloomy prognostications generally ; but he was 
 too cheerful to mind, and offered to carry home 
 four fish like the last, if I would catch them. 
 
 The question was which reel was to be 
 used, the one with the uncertain check or the 
 one with none at all, and we reluctantly decided 
 on the latter, fishing down two more pools in 
 glaring sunlight with a Jock Scott \ a giddy 
 young trout impaled itself, and we descended 
 lower to another splendid pool, where a fresh-run 
 fish took the fly and unsuccessfully tried to tie 
 the line round some floating balks of timber; 
 however, the broken reel was good enough for 
 him, and I freely forgave the vendor as I helped 
 Anders to embed the four fish in a basket of 
 fresh alder leaves. The journey home was a 
 slow triumph, which we took by easy stages ; 
 for although I carried the salmon rod, tackle- 
 bag, and my own ample macintosh, the boat- 
 man had to stagger beneath a weight I could 
 hardly lift — fifty pounds of fish, a coat, and a 
 heavy waterproof. There was rejoicing in the 
 match-boarded loghouse that August evening. 
 
 The reel was duly mended ; but when we 
 next started on the trail, it appeared that the 
 
In a Knot. 179 
 
 rod was in a sickly state: it was decidedly 
 weak in the middle and top joints, and an 
 hour's casting made it distinctly worse : how- 
 ever, it was no good grumbling or going home, 
 so we did the best we could, and mishap 
 number two resulted. The varnish of the 
 country had been applied by Eric to the ferule 
 of the middle piece, and the only effect of this 
 potent fluid was to prevent the top from being 
 firmly fixed in its proper place. After a morn- 
 ing's unrewarded work, the latter began to show 
 symptoms of a new disease ; for it threatened to 
 break off close to the base, which made it very 
 difficult to get out a long line, and, as no fish 
 were moving, the day seemed lost. But now 
 and then I managed to send the fly to a 
 sufficient distance, and was at last rewarded 
 by a strong pull. Anders joyfully noted in 
 his usual manner that it was " biggest fish you 
 catch," even before the salmon took his first 
 jump and showed himself; but I was despond- 
 ently absorbed in contemplating the ruin of the 
 machine, for the top point had evidently decided 
 to form an angle of ninety-one or so with its 
 neighbour, and it seemed unlikely that any- 
 
i8o Fish -Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 body could kill even a sea-trout on such a 
 miserable collection of sticks. The sapient 
 will have already guessed, however, that I did 
 not lose that fish : the cane was too tough to 
 break quite off, and, by giving the fellow a 
 great deal of butt I got him in at length, and 
 found that he weighed over the score. If he 
 had not been in the river a long time, he must 
 have broken me altogether ; but he was some- 
 what lethargic, and from his appearance we 
 judged that he had lost six or seven pounds at 
 least, and was perhaps weary of life. 
 
 When you cannot afford to buy a good rod, 
 borrow the needful from somebody who can ; 
 and when you are in a knot, sit tight and don't 
 let on. 
 
XVIII. 
 
 Anders. 
 
 *' Here stand a pair of honourable men" 
 Dogberry. . . . '■^ our watch, sir, hath indeed compre- 
 hended two aspicious persons, and we would have them, this 
 morning, exatnined before your worship." 
 
 Much Ado about Nothingf. 
 
 To no men, not even to tackle-makers, owners 
 of fishing-rights, or patient teachers, are anglers 
 more indebted than to those sympathetic and 
 enduring companions who carry their gear, gaff 
 their salmon, and share the toils of pleasure. 
 If we could follow the business of life with half 
 the zest of these hardy sons of labour, we should 
 be happy indeed ; but then, to be sure, their 
 work is essentially pleasant, and, according to 
 the Stevensonian philosophy, art is paid in the 
 doing, and their task is partly the exercise of 
 a kind of art, animated, moreover, by the excite- 
 
 181 
 
1 82 Fish 'Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 ment of the chase. The Norwegian boatman 
 may not be essentially superior to the Scotch 
 gillie or his English equivalent, but I have had 
 less experience of the latter varieties, and, re- 
 flecting on the two I have mentioned in these 
 papers, I cannot hope to meet their superior in 
 any country ; and I fancy that the Norseman 
 provides more amusement than Donald or 
 William, on account of his super-comic attempts 
 at the language of his masters, and the little 
 outlandish customs that he practises : for these 
 are all his own. If my friends Eric and Anders 
 are not in any way typical, they deserve all the 
 more to be celebrated in print, so that their 
 virtues may, by a gradual process of filtration, 
 become traditional. Firstly, then, Anders, for 
 a time my own special bodyguard and hench- 
 man, is six feet high, soldierly, and as plain as 
 an unshaven rustic can be. Capable of bear- 
 ing any amount of fatigue without a complaint 
 or a sulky glance, incapable of hinting at the 
 gift of so much as a drop of whisky or a sand- 
 wich, he is more of a comrade than a servant, 
 and, except in that little matter of the choice 
 of a fly, open to argument on any subject, con- 
 
Anders, 183 
 
 eluding every discussion with the invariable 
 " what you like best." 
 
 He is never tired of giving or taking a lesson 
 in conversation or natural history, and would 
 rather carry home the heaviest bag of the year 
 on his ample military shoulder than leave it at 
 a cottage to be sent for by the cart. All day 
 he rows, through rapid and shallow, making 
 use of every current and " beckwater " with 
 perfect knowledge and noiseless dexterity, 
 saying softly now and then, as occasion arises, 
 " Dis very good plas," or " We'll have enofF of 
 it," or " Too shellow he-ar ; we go Iowqv down ; 
 you reel oop," which I do obediently, and on 
 we glide. 
 
 He takes a great interest in tackle : " Is it 
 new? How much it cost? It is good rod. 
 Very good rod in Throndhjem 40 krone ; " 
 and when a fish is hooked he says, " I hup good 
 tak," which means that he desires the prey to 
 take hold firmly. His first remark, however, 
 as I have said elsewhere, when the tug is felt 
 in fishing from the boat, is, " You sit down " ; 
 and he repeats this oddly-sounding order firmly 
 and persistently, in spite of queries and com- 
 
184 Fish-TailSy and some True Ones, 
 
 merits, until I comply. He generally continues, 
 " Do not hold him too Strang," and then sets 
 about preparing the gaff, after rowing to a con- 
 venient landing-place. " Come to shaw " is the 
 next mot d'ordre ; and when the critical moment 
 arrives, there is no bungling — one clean stroke, 
 and all is over. 
 
 At first I thought him rather slow with the 
 steel, and generally urged him, with shouts of 
 encouragement, to have a go at the fish before 
 the proper moment had arrived ; but he was 
 imperturbable, and no speculator in off-chances. 
 On one occasion he made me roar aloud in 
 irresistible laughter amid intense excitement. 
 The sun was dazzlingly bright on the brown 
 water, a fifteen-pounder was having a few last 
 exhibition kicks at the end of my line without 
 properly presenting his side for the operation, 
 and the boatman sturdily refused to take an 
 uncertain shot. " Gaff him ! gaff him ! Why 
 don't you gaff him ? " I shouted again and again 
 to the stooping figure by the boat, until his 
 patience gave way, and he cried out, in ludicrous 
 exasperation, with a wave at the bright upshot 
 of the sun, " I do not know him ! I cannot look 
 
Anders, 185 
 
 him ! I cannot gaff him unless I know him ; 
 and I do not know him ! " 
 
 Eventually he knew him. 
 
 The origin of some of his oddities of expres- 
 sion was sufficiently obvious ; he could not, for 
 instance, understand the difference between look 
 and see, ask and tell, lose and loose. " How 
 big is this fellow, Anders ? " " Oh, I dough 
 nut : I cannot look him." " Why do you think 
 the top pool will be too high ? " " Oh, Eric 
 ask me so." He surprised me one morning 
 by stopping to " go to shaw " in the middle of 
 a journey from one pool to another. " What's 
 the matter ? " I asked in some surprise. " These 
 shmall ladish going 'cross," he answered ; and 
 then I perceived two peasant maidens standing 
 on the bank, whom we presently ferried over. 
 To a chivalrous mind, like his mind, there are 
 few social distinctions, and all in petticoats are 
 " ladish," despite kerchief and homespun. When 
 I first made his acquaintance, he was not very 
 proficient in the lingo of foreign sportsmen, and 
 met every question with an urbane smile, a 
 doubtful shake of the red locks, and " Oh, I 
 dough nut " ; but by degrees he improved wonder- 
 
1 86 Fish- Tails y and some True Ones, 
 
 fully, and would respond to such commonplaces 
 as " This looks a good pool ; I hope we shall 
 catch something here," by saying " I hup so," 
 or " I should like it " ; and when I was fast in a 
 fish he would murmur, " I wish we had him i' 
 boat," " I hup we not loose him," and so forth. 
 On the rare and painful occasions of a loss 
 he would ejaculate apprehensively, " Fish not 
 coming? or-r-r fish going? Dis ting bery bad 
 dat," which was his favourite form of objurgation, 
 and frequently occurred during storms of rain 
 and rumbles of thunder. He unaffectedly told 
 me his hereditary and local names, and those 
 of his father, wife, and children, and explained 
 the convenient system upon which such titles 
 are arranged. He had lost all his four brothers, 
 who, I fancy, were attacked by consumption, 
 the scourge of Norway (save one drowned 
 amongst the pine logs) ; and so I was never 
 comfortable when he was getting wet ; but his 
 heavy " meshintosh " was too cumbersome for 
 ordinarily wet days, and only burdened him 
 in " washing rain," when most people would 
 have stayed at home. 
 
 At the luncheon halt I always shared my 
 
Anders, 187 
 
 sandwiches with him, though he made a practice 
 of never seeming to expect such a condescen- 
 sion to happen again, and, having brought me 
 the best water obtainable, took up his position 
 at a Httle distance, to munch brown bread from 
 a neatly-tied crimson " pocket chief." He could 
 be blindly trusted with the flask, for he never 
 took a drop more from it than the dose I had 
 allowed to myself, and I rewarded him by an 
 extra nip when we had been particularly suc- 
 cessful. The Local Veto is suspended in our 
 valley. 
 
 On Sundays he was very gorgeous (although 
 he never wore a coat on that festival), for his 
 new red shirt, best trousers of broadcloth, and 
 embroidered vest — the black diamond-shaped 
 front being worked in green silk — made a fine 
 appearance ; and he also distinguished the 
 blessed day of rest by scraping the front of 
 his chin with a razor: it would be hyper- 
 bolical to call it shaving. I fancy that he was 
 contemplating the possibility of cultivating a 
 pointed beard like that of the handsome Eric, 
 for I twice caught him examining his Newgate 
 fringe and stubbly chin in a minute brass- 
 
1 88 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 bound pocket mirror, and the solemn vanity 
 with which he pressed a horny finger against 
 a bristly dimple made me shake with hastily- 
 disguised amusement. 
 
 On the fjeld, as on the river, Anders was 
 indefatigable ; for on the way up through the 
 steep, narrow gullies, he carried everything, gun 
 included, and only showed the nature of his 
 exertions by the freedom of his perspiration. 
 When he was dry, he knelt over a sparkling 
 spring and quenched his thirst at Nature's 
 fountains ; and when he was hungry, he con- 
 tentedly munched his oaten loaf: his keenness 
 never relaxed, even when he had been rowing 
 me about in a thunderstorm and was chilled to 
 the marrow, and he only feared an empty day. 
 It gave me constant satisfaction to hear his 
 cheery congratulation (" No blank, oho ! ") when 
 the first fish was netted or gaffed, or the first 
 rype picked up ; and I may truly say that while 
 he more than halved the labours of pleasure, 
 he greatly added to the gaiety of our expedi- 
 tions. His friendliness was universal ; and he 
 never passed man, woman, or child without a 
 kindly greeting. I wondered what he found 
 
Anders. 189 
 
 to say, and, in the pursuit of anthropological 
 knowledge, was impertinent enough to question 
 him upon some of these wayside exchanges, 
 and he obligingly translated his sentences, which 
 certainly showed the simplicity of his mind: 
 for instance, he had said to three acquaintances 
 walking down the hill to the next gaard^ " Are 
 you going on down ? " to which they gave the 
 natural monosyllabic reply : not otherwise do 
 Oxford undergraduates greet each other after 
 the Vacation, " How d'ye do, old chap ; when 
 did you come up ? " And when I thought he 
 had been boasting to a haymaker about our 
 success, he had only said, " It's a fine day for 
 the hay." 
 
 I do not think we ever passed " a lady " 
 upon the river-bank without the genial offer 
 of a free passage, whether she was a stranger 
 crossing from one farm to another, or a cottager 
 going " to make the corn " ; and Anders was 
 welcome to the best the larder afforded in every 
 soeter we ever called at. When, in the fulness 
 of time, such a man shall pass away, it will 
 surely be no more than justice to say of 
 him the hackneyed and often misused words, 
 
190 Fish- Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 " beloved and regretted by all who knew him," 
 or, in the language of the humane and gentle- 
 minded Steele, " With that breath expired a 
 soul who never indulged a passion unfit for the 
 place he is gone to." And his pale-faced little 
 son, the gut, may thoughtfully reflect as he 
 tills the paternal acre, " No legacy is so rich as 
 honesty." 
 
Eric. 
 
XIX 
 Eric. 
 
 '* / knew hitrty Horatio ; a fcUow of infinite jest, of most 
 excellent fancy.'' Hamlet. 
 
 Eric is of medium height, with sloping 
 shoulders, and, as described by the lady who 
 fished in the pocket spate, forms a strong 
 contrast to his fellow in mind and person. 
 The grey in his neat beard accords well with 
 the possession of a grandchild, for " me 
 tochter " has been married to " me tochter's 
 man " for half a dozen years ; but the elder of 
 the two boatmen is blessed with something 
 more than the larger experience that belongs 
 by right to seniority, for he is endowed, in 
 addition, with a truly marvellous versatility 
 of talent. The chief superficial difference, 
 however, lies in the gift of speech ; for although, 
 
 101 
 
192 Fish -Tails y and some True Ones, 
 
 on our expeditions, Anders had a word for 
 every passer-by, we could not carry on a 
 sustained conversation with each other, and 
 notwithstanding my continual efforts I found 
 that a sudden question, especially one be- 
 ginning with " How " (a word he never fully 
 grasped), frequently puzzled him altogether. 
 One day we came across some sheep at a dis- 
 tance from a farm. I wondered how the farmer 
 would secure a half-wild animal if he wanted 
 to sell it, and this was the result of my inquiry : 
 
 " Anders, how do you catch a sheep ? " 
 
 " Oh, ship ; yes, very good," he said approv- 
 ingly, reminiscent of chops. 
 
 " How do you catch him ? " 
 
 "Oh, I dough nut." 
 
 I explained the meaning of the word 
 "catch," arguing from fish, the known, the 
 catchable, to sheep, the unknown, the un- 
 catchable, and then returned to my original 
 question ; but the Norseman only laughed and 
 said : 
 
 " Catch, oh yes ; catch ship, yes," which 
 caused me to shout interrogative " How's " at 
 him until the birch woods rang again. 
 
Eric, 
 
 193 
 
 With Eric it was very different. He never 
 stopped talking when on his feet, and even 
 in the boat he would occasionally pour out 
 torrents of narrative, cataracts of half com- 
 prehensible description, and streams of racy 
 comment. His knowledge of English was 
 extensive and quite peculiar, and the only 
 time he ever was at fault in language or 
 natural history was when he first saw a heron 
 winging its majestic way over a distant reach 
 of the river. 
 
 There is no boorishness in the man'is 
 rusticity, and he is equipped with all the 
 sterling qualities which make Norwegians 
 successful in a new country like the United 
 States, where so many live in exile: it goes 
 without saying, therefore, that he can live on 
 the minimum of food and sleep, lie on a hard 
 bed, smoke rubbish with contentment, and turn 
 his hand to anything; but he can do more 
 than this, for he is an expert in many trades. 
 
 First, he is a master smith ; and between 
 
 his evening farewell, after his modest glass of 
 
 aqua-vitcSy and his morning greeting to you 
 
 through the gunroom window, he will turn 
 
 13 
 
194 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones 
 
 you out a gaff or a hunting-knife which will 
 shame all the gimcracks in Piccadilly : nothing 
 is too large or too small for him to tackle, 
 and he can put an iron shoe on a lady's 
 walking-stick or pony with equal willingness 
 and success; but these things are mere trifles 
 to what he would describe as " a good 
 mekanik," a title of honour that he has earned 
 by showing that he can doctor a gun or a 
 salmon reel as if he had devoted a life's atten- 
 tion to nothing else. 
 
 The next point in his catalogue of objective 
 virtues is his intimate acquaintance with the 
 haunts and habits of fish; every boatman 
 worthy of the name can splice a rod, manage 
 a pair of sculls, and carry home a salmon, 
 but no one knows a river or the ways 
 of things that swim therein like a con- 
 verted poacher ; and there is a story — but such 
 slanders are out of place in the eulogy of Eric : 
 why rake up the past ? Suffice it to say that 
 he has the management of the fish-house, is 
 godfather to all the fry in the river, watches 
 over the Homeric battles of the males and 
 the spawning of the females in the convenient 
 
Eric, 195 
 
 shallows which are haunted by great piratical 
 g^ey crows, and can tell at any hour, by private 
 marks in the pool below his log-built house, 
 what the water is like in every turn of seven 
 miles, what places are fishable, and what are 
 temporarily useless. As he rows himself across 
 in the early morning, he makes up his mind 
 what it will be best for the fishermen under 
 his charge to do during the day ; and having 
 once come to a decision in private, nothing 
 short of an earthquake will move him. He 
 advises his master upon a certain course of 
 action much in the same way that Her 
 Majesty's Ministers, House of Lords, or Privy 
 Council advise their Sovereign. It is no use 
 arguing; and, besides, he is always right. 
 
 This despotism is benevolent, and its edge 
 is tempered by a charming urbanity; indeed, 
 Eric's manners and demeanour under all cir- 
 cumstances are the wonder of friends and 
 strangers, and would be the envy of courtiers 
 and diplomatists if any such cattle ever strayed 
 into the valley. He looks you in the face 
 with his kindly grey eye, and, using that 
 silent language which can only be spoken by 
 
196 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 friend and friend, has a sympathetic and 
 humorous smile for every incident or accident 
 of the chase. When I lost a fish with Anders, 
 we relieved our feelings in unison by bilingual 
 imprecations of sulphurous intensity ; but when 
 anything tragic occurred on the rare occasions 
 on which I had Eric to myself, he always said 
 something which changed irritation to merri- 
 ment, and plucked the flower of pleasure from 
 the nettlebed of mishap. 
 
 Like Anders, he calls the ladies by their 
 Christian names without any prefix, because, 
 in his noble mind, a woman needs no empty 
 title to imply respect ; but the gentlemen are 
 treated more conventionally, and two, father 
 and son, are respectively spoken of as Mr. 
 Old Jackson and Mr. Young Jackson, to dis- 
 tinguish them from each other and from the 
 sons of the soil. 
 
 Eric has not quite the lithe activity of the 
 younger and taller Anders : he does not walk 
 so fast, for at fifty-five it is impossible to 
 simulate the elasticity of a lost youth ; but he 
 never shows fatigue, and sets about preparing 
 tea when we are all dog-tired as if he had not 
 
Eric, 197 
 
 been rowing hard all day and carrying heavy 
 fish for miles in the lengthening shadows at a 
 steady jog-trot pace. The cheerful afternoon 
 refreshment which the ladies have gradually 
 forced upon us is taken at some prearranged 
 rendezvous to which they and the anglers 
 converge: tea-cups and kettle appear miracu- 
 lously from some secret cache^ and neat little 
 impromptu spoons are deftly cut from birch 
 twigs to stir the fragrant beverage. 
 
 " Where you get this tea ? " asks Eric with 
 a shake of his wise grey head, as he puts the 
 gauze-covered packet of it into the kettle, 
 which is also teapot. "It is not China or 
 Congo. No, we cannot buy it savi size here." 
 He values no present of whisky or aqua-vitcB 
 like a packet of Ceylon, and always preserves 
 the exhausted leaves for use at the family 
 table, where we hope the second brew may 
 not prove too strong for the digestion of " me 
 tochter's child." 
 
 Though a far better linguist than Anders, 
 he is not infrequently obscure, and often un- 
 intentionally comic ; but every novel expression 
 is delivered with such a merry twinkle, that it 
 
198 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 is difficult to believe that he is not doing it on 
 purpose, while it is impossible to reproduce 
 the true inwardness of that rich humour. 
 " You going on," he says to me, when he is 
 packing up. " I running strax following im- 
 mediately after ; " and the same form of speech 
 occurs in conversation on slippery rocks : " You 
 catching the garf- handle and not slipping;" 
 and when Anders reports a heavy bag at the 
 end of the day, he smiles approval and says, 
 " Mr. Young Jackson must have a prize, I 
 s'pose." On hearing of our complaints that 
 rype were unapproachably wild on the fjeld, 
 he announced that a dog would arrive in a 
 few days, " then you bring home more than 
 you can carry, I am safe " ; and after modestly 
 presenting me with my knife, he refused all 
 payment, and turned the subject in the most 
 delicate manner, by a glance at my lately un- 
 shaven chin, and the remark, "It is good for 
 the beard, I am responsible." 
 
 One Sunday he came upon us sketching 
 near his house, and his polite admiration, as 
 he stood and watched us, was most entertain- 
 ing; for my part, I was convinced that if he 
 
Eric. 1 99 
 
 devoted a couple of days to that untried 
 branch of art he would have beaten us all. 
 
 He is the handy-man and universal genius 
 of the valley ; and when an unfortunate 
 labourer showed signs of insanity, it was Eric 
 who was immediately sent for to act as 
 doctor, nurse, and guardian until proper ar- 
 rangements could be made for the man's 
 safety. He is also a trapper of birds and 
 beasts, and lightened that memorable long 
 wet tramp from Grana-fossen by describing to 
 me how to snare the capercailzie in the winter 
 darkness. "It is sam' you call trap ; yes, it is 
 trap." He also on that occasion gave me a 
 history of his difficulties with his landlord, 
 who enforced his ancient right of service on 
 the most inconvenient days of the year. " He 
 not liking my getting so much money, he not 
 liking my being boatman to the gentlemen." 
 He deeply regretted that we could not have 
 a sheep belonging to " me tochter's man," 
 not because of the loss of profit to the family, 
 but because it was such a good specimen. "It 
 is good, very good ship," said Erik, with the 
 characteristic and eloquent shake of the head ; 
 
200 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 " I knew him in the spring ! " But the 
 perverse animal was irretrievably lost, and 
 would probably have to be hunted on the 
 fjeld in the winter, killed with a rifle-bullet, 
 and brought home on a pony. 
 
 Having been at one time (of course) a boot- 
 maker, our friend heard with real concern that 
 the ladies occasionally came home with wet 
 feet, and so he thoughtfully brought in a 
 young man one evening to measure them for 
 some jack-boots which should for ever defy 
 the element which has no terrors for Nor- 
 wegians ; his only regret was that he had not 
 time to do the job thoroughly himself, so it 
 had to be undertaken by " me tochter's man." 
 I am wandering from the river, but I hope 
 that I have made it plain that Eric's qualities 
 of head and hand and heart make him a most 
 acceptable companion to a fisherman ; and I 
 have endeavoured to show why I think he is far 
 more than this, and how it is that he inspires 
 a feeling of strong affection in the minds of 
 those who come in contact with him. We 
 all respect and like Anders, who, I am sure, 
 is better appreciated by his compatriots, but 
 
Eric, 20 1 
 
 he leaves me cold. Eric I love. It is not 
 that his skill or knowledge are greater than 
 those of his pupil and fellow, as they are 
 acknowledged to be by the honest Anders; 
 it is not that he is cleverer or more intelligible : 
 there is in him some subtle quality of the 
 heart which evades analysis, but appeals direct 
 to other hearts, — a rare gift of nature which 
 men may seek like the Holy Grail, and find 
 when they find that treasure buried at the 
 rainbow's end. 
 
 Even when no fish are "yoomping," Eric 
 knows to a yard where they lie, and how they 
 change their customary resting - places with 
 every change of the depth of the river. If 
 a skilful stranger cannot kill a salmon in 
 his company, there is no salmon to kill that 
 day. 
 
 Like all good sportsmen, he prefers the 
 fly, but he knows when the spoon, minnow, or 
 prawn will prove the better bait, and is, I 
 am told, a clever hand at worming when he 
 has the river to himself at the close of the 
 season. The salmonidce have no secrets from 
 such a careful and diligent student of their 
 
202 Fish-Tails^ and some True Ones, 
 
 ways ; and I daresay he could write a very useful 
 appendix on spawning and the nursing of parr 
 to the best of angling manuals. I have hinted 
 that he is obstinate: neither he nor Anders 
 would willingly allow you to try a fly of a 
 size or colour which did not first recommend 
 itself to their more experienced minds, and I 
 had great difficulty in prevailing upon them 
 to allow me to tie one to the casting-line in 
 my own way. My knot, the old Dee-side 
 knot, was new to them, and therefore to be 
 regarded with suspicion ; but having elicited 
 from one of them that " Mr. Old Jackson," 
 their most respected master, had once spoken 
 of a new knot with favour, I mendaciously 
 assured them that mine was the same, and, 
 after a few trials, converted them to saying, 
 "It is good knot ; oh, very good : it is Misser 
 Jackson's knot." I regard this as a triumph 
 of policy. 
 
 Holidays must end, or they would not be 
 holidays : the brief northern summer runs 
 quickly out, the first snow falls in the valley, 
 and we must be going southward. With keen 
 regret we leave the rushing, roaring, brown 
 
Eric, 203 
 
 river we have learnt to love so dearly in a few- 
 short weeks, and turn our backs on the valley 
 for a year, for a lustre perhaps — not, let us hope, 
 for ever ; and as the springless karioles bear us 
 from Eric and Anders through the early mist, 
 we feel we could more cheerfully part from 
 many lifelong acquaintances. 
 
XX. 
 
 Luck. 
 
 ' ' Now the fair goddess, Fortuney 
 Fall deep in love with thee.'* 
 
 Coriolanus. 
 
 The Fly- Fishers' Club, or some other repre- 
 sentative body of anglers, ought to commission 
 Mr. Onslow Ford to design and execute in 
 silver a tasteful embodiment of their fetish, and 
 the Goddess of Luck, when thus handsomely 
 realised and adequately honoured, should be 
 carried round at dinner-time, after the Egyptian 
 manner, and solemnly toasted with the homage 
 of song and incense. For we are all the votaries 
 of Luck, and it is idle to disguise the fact. 
 Money, mere brute cash, will provide you with 
 the best rod, the best line, the best accessories, 
 and (possibly) the best water in England ; but 
 
 204 
 
Gymnastics, 
 
Luck, 205 
 
 when the duke is returning from the riverside 
 smoking his eighteenpenny cigar, the first 
 person he meets will ask him what luck he has 
 had, and, if fish were not moving, will com- 
 miserate his Grace very heartily. Wilton, the 
 callow undergraduate, will execrate the fickle 
 goddess to his great-uncle Smith, who has failed, 
 with all his thirty years' experience, to get a 
 rise. Smith knows the game, and keeps on 
 saying nothing. Indeed, it is within the know- 
 ledge of every schoolboy who has read his 
 Punch (and most of them are " bookworms " 
 enough for that) that the ragged urchin catches 
 trouts with rudimentary appliances, while the 
 up-to-date, well-equipped angler looks on ex- 
 asperated, and can only pluck the Dead Sea 
 apple of disappointment. 
 
 I am perfectly aware that my observations 
 on the worship of Luck might be held to apply 
 equally well to many other branches of sport. 
 The game of golf — " that d d Scotch cro- 
 quet " — rises before the mind's eye, the glorious 
 uncertainty of cricket, partridge-driving on 
 elephants, and other examples ; but I do not 
 happen to be writing about them just now. 
 
2o6 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 Those who follow after such are, it is true, 
 generally orthodox in their creed, but they are 
 not such divots as we of the hook and line. 
 
 When you meet a friend going a-fishing, 
 whatever the day and whatever the water, you 
 wish him (of course) a tight line, but, before 
 all things, you commend him earnestly to the 
 favour of the fetish, knowing that without her 
 smile all else is foolishness and vanity. The 
 very uncertainty of her temper is in itself an 
 attraction. The sky is lowering, there is a 
 suspicion of thunder ; the water is too high or 
 too low, too bright or too cold, yet something 
 tells you that all the rules that ever were made 
 are subject to some higher, unknown law, and 
 it may be that to-day you will land your 
 monster. So, also, when the spring flood is 
 nicely fining down, fish are running, and you 
 are confidently assured by all the quidnuncs in 
 the village that you will bring home a cart- 
 load, you modestly reflect that these things are 
 on the knees of the gods: that you cannot 
 " know the end of this day's business ere it 
 comes," and may, quite possibly, have only your 
 labour for your pains. 
 
Luck, 207 
 
 There is, or was, in the days when I read 
 Ballantyne, a certain tribe of Africans who 
 fought under the auspices of a mop-headed 
 divinity whose name only a native could pro- 
 nounce or a professor of philology spell. 
 When victory crowned their arms, they got 
 hilariously drunk on arrack and forgot him ; 
 but when they fled before their foes, they never 
 failed to visit their natural resentment on what 
 they chose to consider the responsible party, 
 and sought a measure of consolation in pulling 
 their fetish to a boiled owl. Anglers are 
 singularly like these illogical negroes. What 
 we catch we are content to think we catch by 
 skill, and what we lose we put down to evil 
 fortune. In fact, the only incense we burn 
 before the shrine is of a sulphurous quality; 
 and when we hold a regular service, it savours 
 strongly of commination. 
 
 To show my superiority to this unamiable 
 weakness, I will here set down a confession of 
 how I landed a salmon by luck rather than 
 skill, and thus I hope to propitiate, instead of 
 brow-beating, the goddess. 
 
 After six days of pleasant travelling, includ- 
 
2o8 Fish-Tails, and some Trtie Ones, 
 
 ing one of those nights on the North Sea which 
 act as an impassable barrier to the Cockney 
 tourist, and was only " pleasant " on that account, 
 I found myself again in the happiest position 
 in the world, that is, beginning a fishing holiday. 
 What did it matter that the river had been 
 galloping away rapidly for a week, and that the 
 run of fresh fish had entirely stopped? The 
 prospect might have seemed a blank one to 
 our predecessors, who had had magnificent 
 sport earlier in the season, and might well 
 have become fastidious ; but we had not 
 travelled eight hundred miles or so to be 
 baulked by sinister predictions, so having, like 
 Abraham and Lot, divided the boatmen and the 
 river, my companion and I parted for the day. 
 I took cart and drove some five miles up 
 the valley — it is usual for those who write 
 about Norway to call a small country cart a 
 stolkjaerrCy to show their acquaintance with the 
 language, and to throw a glamour of local 
 colour over the narrative ; but as my pen was 
 once more about to write the word, my hand 
 was palsied by a sudden recollection of Mark 
 Twain's vitriolic satire on the practice. 
 
Luck. 209 
 
 " Is Itoggle bum gullup (alleged to be Chinese 
 for * weather ') better than the English word ? 
 Is it any more descriptive?" he says to Harris; 
 and that distinguished writer is forced to admit 
 that " it means just the same," and that he 
 only " does it " " to adorn his page." After 
 that recollection, " cart " is good enough for me 
 just now. 
 
 After the drive, which would require a 
 Stevenson to describe it adequately, I thridded 
 the sombre boskage of a wood and stood once 
 more by the pool which had cheered me in my 
 dreams through many a weary London day. 
 But the best places are sometimes unfruitful 
 even in good water, and I fished all morning 
 without any more result than I should have 
 got from the Terrace at Westminster. I was 
 pained to observe also that the top joint of my 
 old split cane again showed a strong tendency 
 to burst, though it had been properly put to 
 rights in the spring ; but instead of marking 
 this down to bad luck or clumsiness, I chalked 
 it up against the tackle-maker, while the faith- 
 ful but brutally honest Anders remarked in his 
 best English, that if what I said was true, you 
 14 
 
2IO Fish-Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 could get a better rod in Throndhjem for half 
 the money. A box of sandwiches quieted my 
 nerves and renewed my energy, and I set to 
 work in the third pool, determined to catch a 
 grilse that I saw jumping there, even if I had 
 to light my pipe with my top afterwards. 
 
 Here my first piece of luck befell me, and I 
 acknowledge it gratefully ; for if I had succeeded 
 in my endeavour I should certainly have cap- 
 tured nothing over four pounds just then,whereas, 
 having shot at the pigeon, I killed the crow, or, 
 to be more precise, having cast over the grilse, 
 I saw a subaqueous eruption, the exhilarating 
 whack of a big tail, and I was fast in a salmon. 
 The pieces of cane remained sufficiently united 
 to hold the fish, which was well-hooked on a 
 silver-bodied brown, so that, after ten minutes' 
 kicking and plunging, he began reluctantly to 
 come in. I handed the rod to the Norwegian, 
 who was rather too deliberate with the gaff to suit 
 my hasty temper, and, in a brief space, a fine 
 fresh-run salmon of about seventeen pounds was 
 in the unenviable position of Napoleon on board 
 the Bellerophon. I remarked that thunder was 
 bad for fishing, and that we had better have 
 
Luck, 211 
 
 stayed at home; to which pleasantry Anders 
 responded, " Oh, very good ; no blank di." 
 
 We then ruefully examined the rod, and 
 decided that, though there might be enough of 
 it left to beat the maker with, there was not 
 sufficient to cast a fly ; and it had to be aban- 
 doned for a shorter weapon, a Mai loch reel and 
 a soleskin phantom. The minnow was new, 
 expensive, and of an enticing transparency ; it 
 was, moreover, made with what is known, I 
 believe, as a pin-head swivel, the only kind 
 worth the trouble of using in clear water. 
 This book will not have been written in vain 
 if the intending salmon-angler who seeks for 
 information, and would buy experience cheap, 
 takes the hint. 
 
 The gut to which the triangles were attached 
 was strong enough (I had been assured by Eric) 
 to hold a donkey, and in a few minutes I was 
 gaily spinning for that grilse. 
 
 A second time fortune befriended me; for 
 when the bait went over the temporary home 
 of the lesser fish, he was not attending — idling 
 away his time, doubtless, in some boyish pur- 
 suit, — marbles or hopscotch, — and the boat was 
 
212 Fish -Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 soon drawn too near him to leave a single 
 chance to the fisherman in the unequal contest. 
 I was sorrowfully realising this when the elec- 
 tric moment arrived at which the line tightens 
 and the boatman pauses in his steady stroke to 
 inquire, " Fish ? " With excited hope I made 
 the stereotyped non-committal reply, " I think 
 so," and twenty yards of line ran out, which is 
 unusual, to say the least of it, when you hook a 
 rock. 
 
 The salmon, which seemed a strong one, was 
 evidently well-hooked, as ten minutes' deter- 
 mined wrestling, jigging, and sawing did him 
 more harm than good, and everything seemed 
 to tend normally towards capitulation and a 
 good end. We landed on a sandy little beach 
 by the silver bole of a birch tree ; I held the 
 enemy's head up, the gaff was uncorked, and 
 due notice served to surrender unconditionally. 
 
 I had decided again to do the gaffing myself, 
 and was about to hand the rod over when the 
 salmon gave a monstrous plunge and ran out 
 a quantity of line. I coaxed him in again, 
 and he came heavily, like one in sorrow. He 
 seemed now quite exhausted. The boatman 
 
Luck. 
 
 213 
 
 took the rod, but as he did so he exclaimed, 
 " It is foul-hook." 
 
 " Humbug," I replied urbanely ; " foul-hook 
 your grandmother." 
 
 " It is foul-hook in taal," said Anders con- 
 fidently ; and truly, as the prize was towed into 
 port, it seemed to be progressing backwards. 
 It was no time for a divided mind, however, 
 so I postponed inquiries and explanations and 
 gaffed the fish first, a thirteen-pounder securely 
 hooked in the tail fin. Then a regular autopsy 
 was held and the apparent mystery explained ; 
 for in the fish's mouth I found the triangle on 
 which he had been originally hooked : the thick, 
 new, twisted gut being torn to shreds, it was 
 plain salar was not like Eric's " donkey " ; and 
 there could be no doubt that the very wrench 
 by which he had successfully freed his head had 
 accidentally rehooked him more firmly in the 
 tail. Perhaps, to get the right purchase for 
 that heroic effort, he had curled himself up like 
 a boiled whiting, and doubly hooked his ex- 
 tremities together. If so, it was, of course, only 
 a question of where the ring must snap, when 
 the kicking operation was artistically completed. 
 
214 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 If I had been out of luck, it is needless to say 
 the fish would have got clear away, as it was — 
 
 With thirty pounds of salmon in the birch 
 leaves which are picked fresh for each fish before 
 putting it into the basket, I conversed didacti- 
 cally and sententiously with Anders on the 
 subject of the fetish. I pointed out, first, that it 
 was a bad day. He shook his head, laughing, 
 as he fingered his empty pipe. It became 
 necessary to explain the difference between an 
 apparently bad day, an unpromising what-a- 
 fool-I-was-to-come-out sort of day, and a really 
 bad day ; that is, a blank day. 
 
 He evidently understood me, for he said 
 appreciatively, " No blank — not bad luck that " ; 
 whereat I handed him my pouch, and upon the 
 soft grassy bank of that little sandy bay where 
 we had landed, in a temple of woodland saplings 
 fit for the great god Pan himself, we solemnly 
 and silently burned the perfume of the sacred 
 plant before the unseen shrine of the Goddess 
 of Luck, feeling within us 
 
 "A peace above all earthly dignities." 
 
XXI. 
 
 A Flood. 
 
 '* Oft expectation failsy and most oft there 
 Where most it promises ; and oft it hits, 
 Where hope is coldest, and despair most sits." 
 
 All's Well that ends Well. 
 
 Rain at last ! Rain like that produced by 
 the twelve fakirs all praying at once — swishing, 
 washing, deluging, delightful rain ; misty on 
 the mountains, drifting in masses through the 
 pine-tops on the nearer hills ; drenching in the 
 valley : rain all night, rain at dawn, rain all 
 morning, all afternoon, all evening. It is not 
 only in the tropics that the variations of 
 moisture are sudden and considerable. 
 
 The splendid, passionate river rose with 
 astonishing rapidity, and its translucent emerald 
 and amber pools were united in one roaring 
 brown torrent of muddy water, crested here 
 and there with small angry-looking breakers. 
 
 216 
 
2i6 Fish-Tails y and some True Ones. 
 
 The spirit that had seemed to sleep so calmly 
 by the " rocks in rest," as Ruskin calls them, 
 was roused like some furious giant from his 
 slumbers, and dashed along with uncontrollable 
 impetuosity over the path by which he had 
 been content to meander so peacefully a few 
 short hours before. 
 
 Clumsy, buoyant, country-made boats were 
 torn from their moorings, or filled with water 
 and emptied of oars and gear ; huge pine logs, 
 that had been stranded high and dry all 
 summer, were now " bumbling in the water 
 like some calf," in the patois of the boatmen ; 
 the pools were filled with drift-wood and 
 wreckage; and all the beds of stones which 
 mark the currents and eddies at low-water 
 were overwhelmed and buried as though they 
 had never been there. 
 
 When it rains in Norway, it does rain. 
 
 It is needless to say that we wanted it 
 badly ; for it was the end of August, and there 
 had been a serious drought, amounting almost 
 to a water famine in some parts of the country, 
 and we would willingly have employed any 
 number of fakirs if we could have found them ; 
 
A Flood. 217 
 
 but there came a time when, like those Indian 
 villagers who punted about on barn doors in 
 the ruined streets of their native town, we 
 thought the thing was being over-done. On 
 the third day, however, the waters abated, the 
 rain ceased, the sun shone out brightly, and 
 the metaphorical dove returned with the 
 legendary " olive leaf pluckt off." 
 
 The first day after a flood is not one to 
 choose for fishing, for, however ready and 
 willing the salmon may be, they complain 
 with mute pathos that they really cannot see 
 a fly at a reasonable distance when the water is 
 like an infusion of chickory, and tree-roots are 
 their portion to eat ; so we decided to postpone 
 our operations until noon, when we hoped that 
 some degree of subsidence of the suspended 
 matter might have taken place. It was a 
 forlorn hope, but, being the best we had, we 
 made the most of it. 
 
 ♦* Kings it makes gods, and meaner creatures kings." 
 
 I drove seven English miles up the valley, 
 past the stolid haymakers setting out with 
 constitutional patience the sodden hay, past 
 dripping stocks of barley piled on tall poles, 
 
2i8 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 past the painted homesteads, and through 
 the well-known pine woods, glittering in the 
 welcome sunlight with their encrustations of 
 watery gems, to the precipitous cliff which 
 overhangs the farthest pool of all. How I 
 love the memory of that fairy pool ! It seems 
 like wearing one's heart upon one's sleeve even 
 to describe it. The comfortable farm, that 
 gives to it that soft, enchanting, little name, 
 which I will not write for strangers' eyes, 
 stands so far above it on the crag that, as the 
 angler creeps down the hillside through bush 
 and bramble to the water, he feels that he has 
 left humanity far behind, and is coming face to 
 face with the eternal solitude of Nature. The 
 spell that draws us from the city to the desert 
 is strong upon him, and the consciousness of 
 his utter insignificance, the clear vision that he 
 is but a passing shadow and will be cut down 
 like the flower he crushes, softens him in- 
 voluntarily into a strange humility. He feels, 
 like St. Peter on the mountain, that it is good 
 for him to be there, and, unless I am strangely 
 mistaken, it is for a similar reason ; but there 
 comes no vision to make him " sore afraid." 
 
A Flood. 219 
 
 Across this pool no maidens are ever ferried : 
 there is no path on either side through the 
 primeval forest of murmuring pines, and no 
 patch of cultivated ground is visible from 
 its banks. The upper end of the glen is 
 so narrowed by the sharp bend of the river, 
 that, if it were not for the rippling of the 
 current, it would have all the appearance 
 of a secluded mountain tarn ; at the lower 
 outlet the waters swirl round a great grey 
 rock, by which there sometimes rests a goodly 
 salmon. 
 
 We found a boat tied to an alder, but only 
 the rowlocks stood out above the flood, so it 
 cost us some trouble to get it ready; and 
 while Anders was finishing the operation, I 
 was at leisure for sentimental reflections. I 
 was congratulating myself on his being a 
 Norwegian, and therefore not an obstacle to 
 this form of aesthetic enjoyment, when he 
 interrupted me by holding out my very 
 largest silver-bodied Jock Scott, and intimating 
 that the opportunity had at last come for 
 using it. I did not object, partly because I 
 thought the fly was as good as another, and 
 
220 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 partly because it would not have been of the 
 slightest use. 
 
 The water was desperately thick and muddy ; 
 and if one only fished to kill fish, I should have 
 gone home at once, for it was all Lombard 
 Street to a china orange against my getting 
 a rise that day. I revolted against Anders' 
 hopefulness, and tried a Colorado spoon 
 because he said it was not as good as the 
 ordinary kind. 
 
 We lunched on the prominent rock which 
 juts out in the way I have described, and 
 found the river-water unfit even for human 
 food ; then on we went, carrying our rods 
 gingerly through the thick branches of the 
 trees on the bank, over gigantic moss-grown 
 boulders, fording with difficulty a swollen 
 rushing stream which had been a mere trickle 
 three days before, to the next accessible pool, 
 where another boat had to be beached and 
 emptied. 
 
 Here a very large blue and gold minnow 
 induced a trout to bite it on the head ; but he 
 quickly relinquished the metallic fraud, and 
 nothing more important gave a sign of life. 
 
A Flood. 221 
 
 "Too t'ick," said Anders sadly, as we 
 landed. The next boat was padlocked to a 
 sunken rock, and being not only half-full but 
 also stranded on a shallow reef of sand, gave 
 us a lot of trouble, especially as the baler had 
 been washed away. We got it afloat, however, 
 by tremendous " Yo — heave — yos," took noth- 
 ing by our motion, and proceeded down stream, 
 somewhat damped, physically and morally, by 
 a heavy shower. 
 
 Some pool-names are common to all salmon 
 rivers, and the confidence reposed in a guest is 
 not betrayed by his mentioning Stone Pool, 
 Boat Pool, Grilse Pool, Big Fish, and the like, 
 even in a book designed for the million ; so 
 I feel that I am not abusing the laws of 
 hospitality, or giving a clue to the identity of 
 our hidden valley, by saying that it was 
 generally agreed before we started that the 
 best place on the river (if any) would be the 
 pool called " Grilse." As we toiled up the 
 valley, watching the muddy flood with falling 
 hearts, and, later, when we were trying pool 
 after pool fruitlessly and almost in despair, we 
 whispered that inspiriting name to each other ; 
 
22 2 Fish-TailSy and some True Ones, 
 
 but when we reached the desired spot, I, for 
 my part, felt rather cold. Last time there 
 was no water at all : to-day the bushes of alder 
 on the rocky banks were knee-high in the dirty 
 flood, and it was at least doubtful if the old 
 silver-bodied " ever-reliable " would be visible 
 to the residents at all. 
 
 We took to the boat with some misgiving, 
 and fished all down the near side till the tea- 
 bell rang without seeing a sign of anything in 
 the water except snags ; then, when the boat 
 was reluctantly nearing the great, sweeping, 
 brown tail, the most delicious sound in the 
 world crackled and buzzed along the water, the 
 scream of the outraged salmon reel — Jock 
 Scott had gone home. 
 
 The fish at first behaved with such mildness 
 that we made up our minds it was Zoar, a 
 little one. 
 
 " Fish," said Anders ; " small sell-mon." 
 
 " Yes," I answered ; for, like the dear old 
 Spectator^ " I hate long speeches." 
 
 He began to come in, which was good, and I 
 welcomed him with unaffected cordiality, for I 
 had a lot of line out ; but after a few minutes 
 
A Flood. 
 
 223 
 
 progress at the rate of a South- Eastern excur- 
 sion, the procession stopped, and a severe 
 course of jigging set in, followed by a couple 
 of decidedly reactionary rushes down stream. 
 
 There were breakers ahead in that direction, 
 and they had recently proved fatal to a brother 
 angler, whose line was sundered by a big 
 invisible rock. Anders was alive to the danger, 
 and let fall a volume of emphatic warning 
 
 " In a soft undercurrent of sound." 
 
 Once, at least, I thought I should share my 
 predecessor's ill-starred fate, but, bringing all the 
 pressure I dared to bear on the tackle, I 
 managed to keep the fish up, and the boatman 
 at length was able to land and tie-up. Then a 
 bad ten minutes began : the books all tell you 
 not to be surprised if you lose your fish at this 
 period of the battle, but I was fully determined 
 to keep that useful but lugubrious piece of 
 experience for another occasion. Still, the 
 enemy was evidently " not so little," and 
 fought unexpectedly hard for life and liberty. 
 I gave Anders the rod, and crouched in the 
 stern of the boat with my seven-foot gaff; but 
 it was only after a number of futile attempts, 
 
224 Fish-TailSy and some True Ones, 
 
 which quite made my forehead ache (like the 
 king's in " Alice "), that the cool and patient 
 Norwegian was able to bring the great silvery- 
 red object within my reach. " Defer no time, 
 delays have dangerous ends." I gave him the 
 point, and the score stood one — love. 
 
 We congratulated each other after the 
 manner of the gladsome. 
 
 " No blank ! " 
 
 " Good old * Grilse ' 1 not bad that ? " 
 
 " Not so bad, oho ; not so small, oh^ " — 
 Fifteen pounds. 
 
 Whisky, just a drop ; tobacco, half a pipe. 
 
 Of course I fished the whole pool over 
 again from the other side, and also, before 
 leaving, thought it worth while to try once 
 more with the minnow ; for the curiosity of a 
 fish which has been long in the water, and is 
 proof against hair and feathers, will sometimes 
 be roused by the metallic gleam. 
 
 Patience was once more rewarded, for, after 
 yet another " last cast," almost at the bottom 
 of the pool, the phantom stopped dead, and 
 Anders inquired wrathfully if it was on " the 
 button." The fish replied in the decided 
 
A Flood. 225 
 
 negative, and, being nearer to the rapids than 
 the previous one, and more decided in its 
 mind, immediately made off down stream. 
 Despite all our endeavours, he was soon in the 
 first wave, and we had to follow apprehensively 
 down a broken stretch of water, tumbling and 
 roaring between half-drowned trees, where 
 gaffing was a sheer impossibility. The salmon 
 was so well-hooked, however, that he could not 
 get away very far, and gave us time to go 
 steadily down to a better place, land the fly 
 rod, drift another twenty yards, and gaff him 
 from the boat. He then explained that even 
 a plucky thirteen-pounder cannot do himself 
 justice with a couple of treble hooks firmly 
 embedded in his head. 
 
 At seven o'clock, amid the sunset glory, we 
 drove off home in the best of spirits, feeling 
 that pervading sense of personal satisfaction 
 which all anglers will appreciate who have 
 fished in a thick August flood. 
 
 15 
 
XXII. 
 
 Eric Again. 
 
 ^^ Let our old acquaintance he renewed" 
 
 2 Henry iv. 
 
 Anybody can go to Norway; anybody can 
 catch a fish there, or shoot a reindeer, or cross 
 the Jotunheim, but to few, indeed, is it given 
 to know Eric. To be sure, I have introduced 
 you to him to the best of my poor ability, but 
 you cannot " look " him, you cannot " know " 
 him ; and if you are a person of discernment, 
 you will go down to your grave with unavailing 
 regret at the omission. 
 
 He might be elaborately described with 
 brush or pen, from his old white felt hat, his 
 leaden earrings, his twinkling grey eyes, right 
 down to the soles of his home-made boots, but 
 to those who have fallen under his fascination 
 
Eric Again. 227 
 
 the picture would be conventional and unsatis- 
 factory. 
 
 However, before I forget the whimsical 
 oddities of his speech, I will for the moment 
 assume the pen of Boswell, and place a few 
 more of them on record by way of a rider to 
 my former proposition ; they will, perhaps, 
 serve to cheer some of us in the rheumatic 
 shades of the dim future. 
 
 It has been said that, like Caesar's wife (who 
 supplies our platform orators with such an 
 excellent analogy), he is all things to all men, 
 and even figured once as keeper and nurse to 
 that unhappy lunatic down the valley, — poor 
 frenzied mortal, he had a subsequent attack : 
 " He has been again sick," says Eric, " and is 
 now on the chain" — and I have told something 
 already of his many technical accomplishments : 
 I must further add that I found out how his 
 fame as a vet. had spread far away among the 
 nomad band of Lapps, so that they sent a 
 highly picturesque deputation to him to be- 
 seech his aid ; and how, nothing at all surprised, 
 but only a little apprehensive about the accom- 
 modation of those unupholstered barbarian 
 
228 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 homes, the man of the merry heart set off at 
 once to doctor their cattle ; and all for love. 
 
 He was charmed with the experience, and 
 told me all about it, though many of the details 
 were obscure. " I like these little trips," he 
 said, and the food was really not at all uneat- 
 able. He would only have said, " Oh, well," 
 if they had offered him raw flesh and sawdust 
 pudding : of that " I am safe." 
 
 It is curious that although he is such a good 
 scholar, and so superior in his knowledge of 
 English to Anders, he is still the more amus- 
 ing. For once that Anders' words raise a 
 smile, Eric tickles your fancy a dozen times; 
 he is, of course, a subtle humourist, and the 
 very tone of his rippling voice quickens the 
 power of enjoyment in the listener. He ex- 
 pected us to laugh, whereas Anders did not, 
 and probably never attempted to trace to their 
 source the springs of foreign mirth. 
 
 Here let me insert a vignette illustrative of 
 Anders' contributions to the gaiety of nations. 
 
 " 'Twas brillig," or thereabouts, and we had 
 fished for hours in the hot sun without hooking 
 anything except a boulder. I was fast in that. 
 
Eric Again, 229 
 
 however, and the boulder was up stream, and 
 just below it was a very fast, lumpy, shallower 
 bit of water, down which we had glided easily 
 enough a few minutes before. I looked at 
 Anders, who was rowing a steady stroke to 
 keep the boat stationary, and he looked at me. 
 
 " Bodder dis ting dat," he said with emphasis, 
 and, sadly recognising the fact that we must 
 go back against the current, began to row up 
 with all his might. We made little progress, 
 however, and the sandy-haired boatman puffed 
 and blew, and got redder and redder — " crossed 
 the rubicund," in fact, as a certain schoolboy 
 once understood and wrote that phrase. Still, 
 we could not get above the rock, and I began 
 to make up my mind to lose a most choice 
 Durham Ranger and a quantity of Christian 
 temper. 
 
 Suddenly Anders stopped rowing, as I feared 
 he must, and, holding the oars in one hand, 
 seized a spare one from the bottom of the boat, 
 and, greatly to my surprise, forced it into my 
 arms. I had put down my rod to relieve the 
 strain on it, and was holding the line in my 
 fingers. 
 
230 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 " You ! " he gasped breathlessly, as he hur- 
 riedly reseated himself; " it is for digging." 
 
 So I dug and he tugged, and the boat was 
 forced up by our united efforts, and we re- 
 covered the bright-hued Ranger. 
 
 Next time I see the Oxford champion punt- 
 ing on the Upper River (if ever I do), I shall 
 think of that " digging." 
 
 Before starting in the morning with Anders, 
 I generally used to have a talk with Eric, so 
 that I might better understand the remarks 
 and opinions of the younger and more obscure 
 countryman when at a distance from the inter- 
 preter; and during one of these Cabinet Councils 
 Eric was advising us as to the best places 
 available for the day, and described a particular 
 bit of water he was anxious we should not 
 overlook. 
 
 "You will look it," he concluded, after a 
 minute geographical direction ; " it ling — look 
 like some cellar ; very dark pool." 
 
 He added that there was a "fish ling on 
 there " of undreamed-of magnitude. 
 
 " Farvel ! I calling ' Hurrer ! ' when you 
 bring him into house to-night." 
 
Eric Again, 231 
 
 Of course, no mere amateur could compete 
 for a moment with his highly-trained faculty 
 of perception : he pointed out a fish to me one 
 day as we paused in our walk to peep through 
 a screen of leafy bushes at a pool of almost 
 impenetrable darkness, with a baffling surface 
 glitter. Again and again I strained my eyes in 
 fruitless search, and could distinguish nothing. 
 
 "It is grilse," he said, with quiet confidence ; 
 " small grilse, four pounds, ling on button, his 
 tail moving." 
 
 Still I saw nothing, although he indicated 
 the exact spot by blot and shadow and ripple. 
 
 By and by, as we stared, a new salar " swam 
 into his ken " ; and then there were two. 
 
 I came away incredulous, for I can tell the 
 time " by Salisbury clock " as far off as most 
 people. 
 
 " Oh, well," said Eric, laughing, " it is not 
 good to look ; oh no ; but I am safe of the two 
 fish ling on there." 
 
 And at this distance of time, although I 
 never saw them, " I am safe " also. 
 
 Two of his favourite expressions are: "for 
 example," which he introduces without refer- 
 
232 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 ence to the context, and " almost," in quite a 
 new meaning. 
 
 The latter caused the ladies some natural 
 embarrassment during a drive : the man was 
 standing up behind them in their stolkjaerre, 
 and jumped down to ease the pony up a steep 
 hill : on one side of the narrow road was a high 
 bank, on the other a sheer fall, guarded by a 
 few great rocks at intervals. 
 
 Suddenly a posting kariole was seen coming 
 at a brisk rattle down the incline, and Flora 
 asked apprehensively, measuring distances with 
 her eye, " Eric, can he get by ? " 
 
 Eric laughed reassuringly. 
 
 " Oh yes ; well," he answered, " almost^ 
 
 One happy day I went with him on " a little 
 trip " to a distant lake, and we had a long talk 
 together; at least he did. The weather was 
 perfect for driving, but for the salmon-hunter 
 derisive; even the shower which actually did 
 fall seemed only to emphasise and mock at the 
 general drought, but Eric's motto was Nil 
 desperandum ! 
 
 " I shell not spoil my hope," he said, shaking 
 his grey locks, and adding one or two smiling 
 
Eric Again. 233 
 
 details, the precise meaning of which escaped 
 me. " It will rain, I have good hope of it, 
 before all dog-days are over." 
 
 " But what if it does not ? " I asked. 
 
 " Oh, well, the river will get dry, I s'pose," 
 — he gave me the merriest twinkle, — " then we 
 can catch him on the hand ; we shall catch 
 him on the finger, I specks." 
 
 The mention of dog-days led us to talk of 
 dogs, and I inquired if he knew of an animal 
 that would be handy for the fjeld. It was a 
 hopelessly bad year for rype, but the views 
 from the mountains repay. 
 
 " It is a bad dog," said Eric doubtfully. 
 
 Upon cross - examination, the witness ex- 
 plained that " it " was the dog on the farm of 
 a " natbone," or neighbour, and could, of course, 
 be borrowed. 
 
 " Why is it bad ? " 
 
 " Oh, well, if you take him in string it kips 
 on bark, bark, and (otherwise) he running too 
 long way off." 
 
 I sighed. I have been after birds with just 
 that kind of beast. 
 
 He said it was very bad that Nellie was 
 
234 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 gone to Throndhjem. I knew Nellie as a 
 reliable setter, so I acquiesced. 
 
 " She very good dog to look bird," said 
 Eric; "she standing on her three legs, and 
 holding out udder, and not going on'.' 
 
 If any sportsman has a crisper definition, 
 I want to hear it. 
 
 From dogs we got to horses, and Eric told 
 me of a narrow escape he and a cousin had 
 had when driving home after a wedding at a 
 village we were passing through : the heste was 
 a skittish animal of a " dark - white " colour, 
 and had shied at something or other (I could 
 not make out what) coming out of the stable- 
 yard, and nearly threw them over a plank- 
 bridge into a stream. 
 
 " It is not very tame," was his comment on 
 the animal's fitness for the service of man ; but 
 I reflected silently that it might have been the 
 cousin's post - nuptial driving that was " not 
 very tame." 
 
 I led him on to talk of his family, which he 
 did with the most confiding willingness, telling 
 me how he had first met his wife at a " dilling- 
 shop " in another valley (where she was one of 
 
Eric Again, 235 
 
 " the ladish "), and what had befallen each of 
 his many children. I observed, as he ran over 
 the list, that two of the girls and three of the 
 boys appeared to enjoy the same names, and 
 all were alive; so I thought, in my ignorant 
 insular way, that he must be making some 
 mistake, either in number or title ; but it seems 
 that when a man loses brother or sister, or 
 brother-in-law or sister-in-law, he calls his next 
 child (of the same sex) after the last -buried 
 relative, regardless of the fact that an older 
 child, or even two, may have already been 
 given the same name. It may be confusing, 
 but it is the custom, and custom governs the 
 world. He gave me several instances among 
 farmers and children whom I knew as " nat- 
 bones." 
 
 It was altogether a memorable expedition : 
 I also " like these little trips." 
 
 The great river, I need hardly say, is the 
 mainspring of a boatman's life, and we who 
 know it a little can dimly guess how 
 entirely his mind must harmonise with its 
 ever-varying moods; for when he first rises in 
 
236 Fish -Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 the morning, he turns his eyes towards the 
 water : 
 
 " I getting outside my house to * look ' it 
 strax when I have my trousers." 
 
 And it is the last thing he sees and hears 
 before turning in at night ; and this, remember, 
 is during three hundred and sixty-five days in 
 the year. 
 
 " Happy man be his dole," say I. 
 
 Strax is the most useful word in the Nor- 
 wegian language for travellers to know, and 
 means about twice and a half as much as 
 " immediately." There is a well-known fourth- 
 form jest expressed in the words, " Bring it at 
 once, or sooner, if possible " : in Norwegian 
 the one short word says all that. It is a 
 talisman, a word to conjure with, and must 
 be used with caution. I remember once issu- 
 ing a peremptory order containing the word, 
 whereupon a more experienced friend hastily 
 corrected me, and shouted " Ikke strax " to the 
 departing waiter, thereby (as he explained to 
 me) saving the poor fellow from risking his 
 neck down the stairs. Similarly, in the early 
 
Eric Again. 237 
 
 days of our first struggles with the language, 
 we arrived at an inn one afternoon, unpacked 
 our travelling-baths, and indicated to a couple 
 of stalwart maids that we intended to start 
 very early in the morning, and should there- 
 fore require some bath- water strax. The effect 
 was magical : those girls fairly ran for their 
 lives, and, before we could get them to listen 
 to a suggestion of tea, they struggled at racing 
 speed with brimming pails of water up steep 
 stairs, until the house was slopped with pools 
 from top to bottom, nor did they desist 
 until the indiarubber pans were far too full 
 to use, and we were all spent with ineffectual 
 laughter at our blunder. 
 
 So, when there was a rumour of a thief 
 having been reported somewhere down the 
 valley, Eric said he would " like to beat him 
 some and give him a little prison strax." 
 
 We complained to him that our letters were 
 not delivered with the customary despatch im- 
 plied in that useful little word, but he explained 
 that though not " strax," the postman was " a 
 steady man," that is, regular, and a partial 
 lunatic; the advantage of the latter qualifica- 
 
238 Fish -Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 tion we failed for the moment to perceive, but 
 he went on to explain that the man whom 
 he superseded was sane, and therefore not 
 " steady," for he was liable to be called away 
 without notice "to make the grass," or the 
 corn, or the road — no aspersion was cast upon 
 his moral character. 
 
 I must confess that I did not quite grasp 
 the details of the story, which seemed to give 
 Eric the largest amount of personal gratification 
 and incommunicable amusement in the relation. 
 It was in the evening : we had collected from 
 our various beats, and were enjoying the peace- 
 ful, contented, " weVe-done-well-enough-to-day- 
 anyhow " sort of feeling which precedes changing 
 for dinner, and I was leaning my elbows on 
 the gunroom window-sill, talking to Eric in 
 the garden about his doings since breakfast. 
 It appeared that he had " gaffed " a fish with 
 his "pocket chief," as it was "so little" (a 
 two-pound sea-trout, I think), and this reminded 
 him and Anders of an adventure, "oh, very 
 long ago," when "the net" was "not high 
 enough," and a twenty-pound salmon came near 
 
Eric Again. 239 
 
 to being " loosed " ; realising this, he had seized 
 its great tail in his mouth, and so " gaffed " it. 
 
 I inquired if they were netting the river, or 
 simply landing a fish on the line, or how it 
 was; but the question appeared unintelligible 
 or impertinent, for they both laughed simply, 
 but with evident relish, and said — 
 
 " Oh yes ; very long ago ! " 
 
 I thought of the perspective of morality 
 hereinbefore discussed, and I smiled too. 
 
 Another puzzler occurred over one of my 
 boots, which had been scorched when being 
 dried before the fire. Eric offered, of course, 
 to get it mended (" Me tochter's man will make 
 it ; he shall make it better ") ; but he could not 
 understand my idea of how it had got burnt, 
 and I failed altogether to interpret his sug- 
 gestions. At last, however, I guessed that his 
 theory was that the cow providing the leather 
 had been branded, and a fraudulent cobbler had 
 used the injured part of the skin for my sole. 
 
 "Yes, it is a burning stamp on the body 
 when he is alive," was his last attempt to be 
 intelligible; "when he mending it, you shall 
 feel a good difference, for example." 
 
240 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 I must conclude this fragmentary attempt 
 to give you Eric " little by little," by setting 
 down his warning against stormy weather on 
 the mountain tarns, when we wished to ex- 
 change the shrunken river for the wind-swept 
 fjeld on a breezy day (and he did not). 
 
 "Oh, well," he said doubtfully, "the licks 
 are very bad, I s'pose : you kennot fish him. 
 Mr. Old Jackson go up one di to the licks, and 
 it is too rough, oh very rough ; he cannot use 
 it." 
 
 He laughed at the recollection of the poor 
 gentleman's discomfiture after that toilsome 
 march. 
 
 " It is like some tide sea : it come on wash- 
 ing the boat." 
 
 So we gave up the idea of " the licks," and 
 turned yet once more to the river, even as 
 I turn in fancy now. 
 
XXIII. 
 The Angler's Library. 
 
 " A thousand suns will stream on thee, 
 A thousand moons will quiver, 
 But not by thee my steps shall be 
 For ever and for ever." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 I ONCE read of a book slightly similar in 
 
 scheme to this (but in execution and interest, 
 
 alas ! far otherwise), that it was one to thrust 
 
 into the fishing-creel for spare minutes on the 
 
 bank, when an enforced period of idleness 
 
 bids the angler rest awhile from toil to refresh 
 
 his spirit ; and I wondered at the criticism, for 
 
 such trifles surely are not for the holiday or 
 
 the open air. They are for the foggy London 
 
 day, the crawling suburban train, the miserable 
 
 afternoon, or the dull cold evening, when all 
 
 the shepherds are blowing frozen finger-nails, 
 i6 
 
242 Fish -Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 and it is folly to face the outward world ; when 
 summer is only a name, and " the very birds 
 are mute"; when rods are laid aside; when 
 business and the worries of human existence 
 wear down the tired nerves ; and the impatient 
 soul longs to flee away, as on the wings of a 
 dove, and be at rest. 
 
 Whither ? it is needless to ask : to the wild 
 woods and the downs, to moor and crag and 
 fell, to stream and river and fjord. And if, 
 on the pinion of fancy, you could be lifted for 
 a brief instant to the happy hunting-grounds, 
 to smell once more the burning pine chips, 
 to taste delight of battle with a heavy salmon, 
 to see the summer sun dying over the majestic 
 f jeld, or " firing the proud tops of the eastern 
 pines," — if any breath of mine could waft you 
 thither I should be crowned, and " my crown is 
 called content." And so 
 
 "God send every one their heart's desire." 
 
 What volume, then, shall we thrust into the 
 bag with fly-book and sandwich-box, to brighten 
 the long bright morning by the water, to gild 
 the refined gold of the day's happiness? I 
 have made it plain, I think, what my choice 
 
The Angler s Library. 243 
 
 falls upon. It is not Plutarch's Lives which 
 schools the mind to greatness, or Walton's 
 Angler^ that old familiar friend, but the 
 treasure-house of jewels which we love with 
 an appetite that grows by what it feeds upon, — 
 that score of books packed into one cover, 
 and called simply by the playwright's name — 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 I fancy I see mothers of sporting sons smile 
 their condescending approval, as they picture 
 me on the bank pencilling my impertinent 
 reflections in the margin of my duodecimo, so 
 I hasten to add that I am no student, much 
 less a teacher, and only read because it gives 
 me pleasure. Indeed, it scarcely can be called 
 reading at all, but is more like the silent 
 enjoyment of the companionship of a silent 
 friend. I have him there by me, and a few 
 lines taken at random serve to direct a day- 
 dream with the magic of that green paste 
 served to M. Franz de Quesnel, Baron 
 d'Epinay, in the grottos of Monte Cristo, that 
 wonderful Jiatchis which turned statues into 
 houris. I hook a fish, the only one, I am 
 persuaded, which will show himself to-day, and 
 
244 Fish -Tails, and some True Ones, 
 
 he kicks himself off, upon which my natural 
 depravity bids me to 
 
 "Fall a-cursing like a very drab, a scullion," 
 
 and no amount of political respectability or 
 decorous church-going can raise a barrier to 
 prevent my complying; but my book says 
 softly — 
 
 " I am sure care's an enemy to life " ; 
 
 upon which I smile instead of frowning, cease 
 fretting, and read a bit of Twelfth Night to 
 Anders, "he not caring one blow." 
 
 " A merrier man 
 Within the limit of becoming mirth 
 I never spent an hour's talk withal. 
 His eye begets occasions for his wit, 
 For every object that the one doth catch, 
 The other turns to a mirth-moving jest. 
 
 I tell him that reminds me of Eric, and he 
 promptly replies, with a fine irrelevance, that 
 Eric is a very good " 7neka.nik" 
 
 Most anglers, I am persuaded, leave their 
 books behind them on the shelf, and con- 
 centrate their faculties on the practice of their 
 art. Or perhaps " trees shall be their books," 
 or they find appropriate literature " in the 
 
The Angler s Library, 245 
 
 running brooks," or construct romances for 
 themselves as they go along, much as a young 
 lawyer of my acquaintance addresses impos- 
 sible speeches to imaginary juries whenever 
 he takes a walk. 
 
 It is not, I know, considered sportsmanlike 
 to pay too much attention to the view; but 
 this is an affectation which should be ridiculed 
 out of existence. 
 
 "You will never make a fisherman with 
 your insane love of scenery," said the late 
 Archbishop of York to a volatile friend ; but 
 surely he jested, though his biographer does 
 not think so. Answer, brethren of the angle, 
 you " that love vertue and quietness," was it 
 a true word? Answer, you enduring float- 
 watchers, who travel forty miles on a Sunday 
 to forget 
 
 *' The great town's smoke and roar," 
 
 would you be as happy on some muddy canal 
 or bald bleak reservoir, as in the leafy groves 
 of the Wey ? Do you care nothing for the 
 kingfishers, the meadowsweet, and the willow 
 bowers, the windings of the mazy river, and 
 the sunset glowing over purple rims at even- 
 
246 Fish -Tails, and some Trtie Ones, 
 
 tide ? Perish the thought ! You were vegetable 
 else. 
 
 And how much greater is the happiness of 
 the favoured few who have the opportunity of 
 dwelling for more than one fleeting day among 
 the rocks and roaring of a salmon river ; of 
 seeing the sun rise and decline over some 
 valley where no other stranger wanders ! Is 
 it only that a score or two of fish may be 
 yearly added to the tale that men go so far 
 from home ? Is it nothing to carry your rod 
 through a forest where no axe is ever heard, 
 where you may chance upon the capercailzie 
 or the bear, and where the gnomes live un- 
 disturbed by impious men ? 
 
 The soi-disant sportsmen who profess to 
 have no eye for scenery — " a bad eye to look 
 it," Eric would say — are the very same, I am 
 convinced, who compile those anglers' diaries 
 at which the souls of intelligent men positively 
 sicken. Of what interest, even to the writers, 
 could such entries as these be — 
 
 Wednesday. — Test ; cold wind ; two brace and a half. 
 Friday. — Hampton ; sunny ; nothing. 
 
 Yet such things are done in a Christian 
 
The Angler s Library. 247 
 
 country, and I have seen them done in 
 print. 
 
 What do they think about, these diarists ? 
 I knew a fisherman once who devoted the 
 leisure of a lifetime to sitting on river-banks, 
 and neglecting all the duties of existence 
 except those pertaining to his profession, — he 
 was a porter in the City, — that he might give 
 himself up to that one absorbing pastime. 
 Jacob Norton neither read nor talked, he ate 
 little and drank nothing, but was perfectly 
 happy. My restless curiosity prompted me to 
 study him, and to find out how he escaped 
 rheumatism, curtain lectures, and ennui. The 
 day that I decided to begin my secret 
 inquiries, the old fellow was seated, as usual, 
 on his square box on the bank of the river, 
 not far from my house, and nodded to me 
 with his usual taciturnity as I approached. 
 I noticed that he had with him an illustrated 
 paper, which was carefully folded by his side, 
 so that he could cast his eye at will upon the 
 principal picture. 
 
 It was an extremely hot August Bank 
 Holiday; so I sat down in his shadow, and 
 
248 Fish -Tails, and some Trtie Ones, 
 
 made a few observations, to which he did not 
 respond, except by nods and grunts. 
 
 I took up the folded paper, and saw that 
 the picture exposed to view was a reproduc- 
 tion of an instantaneous photograph of the 
 crowd on Margate Sands, what time the tune- 
 ful nigger attracts the merry and cheers the 
 depressed. The melodists occupied the centre 
 of the picture, and were surrounded by a dense 
 mass of smiling humanity ; scarcely a foot of 
 sand was visible. 
 
 " You have been reading, I see," I remarked 
 suggestively. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " Looking at the pictures ? " 
 
 " One ; that one." 
 
 " Do you know Margate ? " 
 
 Another mute negative ; almost a shudder. 
 
 I thought I would stroll on and post- 
 pone further investigations, so I replaced 
 the paper by the old man's side ; but it 
 was not folded in quite the same way. He 
 turned it over again so that he could see 
 the Margate 'Arries without moving, took his 
 pipe out of his mouth, tapped the picture 
 
The Ayiglers Library, 249 
 
 lightly with the stem, and said, with visible 
 relish — 
 
 " There, but for the grace of God, goes 
 Jacob Norton." 
 
 No panegyric of the peaceful river scenery, 
 no philippic against the manners of a Cockney 
 crowd, no Timon-like bitterness could have 
 expressed half so well as that simple sent- 
 ence the man's inmost feelings, though 
 Heaven knows how he picked up the bishop's 
 apophthegm. 
 
 His happiness consisted in an abiding 
 sense of moral superiority ; and as he fished, 
 he thought of less happier men, of 'long- 
 shore minstrelsy, and crowds on Margate 
 Sands. 
 
 The same pharisaical reflections occur to 
 many people who find themselves, by no per- 
 sonal merit, placed in a position from which 
 they can look down on struggling fellow- 
 creatures, and it is this very sensation which 
 titillates the mind of the father of a family 
 who hears that his neighbour's children have 
 the measles. 
 
 I am by no means free from the taint as I 
 
250 Fish-Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 jump into my cart for the final day of the 
 final visit to the great river. It is a day for 
 prawns, the last refuge of the determined 
 angler, when no one can suggest that the best 
 pools may be spoilt for the rest of the season ; 
 for this is the ultimate throw — to-morrow we 
 take the road. Eric was given a salmon 
 yesterday, and I am to catch one for Anders 
 to-day ; " I have good hope of it," which I shall 
 not " spoil," though the weather is against us. 
 The sun is so lazy that he is not up in time 
 to disperse the deep shadow in the glen below 
 the cliff from which our moonlight view of the 
 panorama is taken, and a chill of autumn 
 strikes upon our hearts as we plunge into its 
 moist obscurity. I am wondering whether life, 
 even with the distant possibility of a Cabinet 
 appointment, has anything to offer me in the 
 future like the happiness of to-day ; and Anders 
 is, no doubt, speculating on the probability of 
 my giving him my tobacco-pouch on the 
 morrow, as it is " sam' " Mr. Old Jackson gave 
 Eric last year; "sam* sort." Good man, he shall 
 not be disappointed : he has often told me 
 how dry his Norwegian rubbish gets in that 
 
The Angler s Library. 251 
 
 picturesque little brass box. He adds, as 
 a general observation, that he has no cow, 
 and milk is an expensive luxury in the 
 dark months, when the river at last is silent 
 and 
 
 •* Barren winter with his wrathful nipping cold " 
 
 extends his sway, implacable, over the country- 
 side. If Anders could express himself in the 
 language of the bard (at whom he laughs so 
 tolerantly), he would here interpolate — 
 
 "Summer's lease hath all too short a date" ; 
 
 but he would take more interest in the history 
 of a day in the life of Sir Thomas Lucy (arms, 
 three luces, or pike, hauriant) than in all the 
 sonnets of the deer-stealer. 
 
 Nothing in the crowded pages of memory 
 shows up more brightly than that solitary morn- 
 ing drive. I say solitary for reasons that are 
 now apparent. The hour of jogging along over 
 the rolling hills of that woodland road, russet- 
 bordered with the spoil of squirrels and ants and 
 such small deer, was a time for reflecting on the 
 joy of merely living and the alluring prospects 
 of the day, although the last journey was 
 
252 Fish -Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 necessarily tinged with a sweet autumnal 
 melancholy. 
 
 The cows were all down from the sceterSy 
 and tinkled innumerable bells from their scanty 
 roadside pasture, the birch -fodder hung in 
 thousands of bundles on the trees, and even 
 the goldsmith had abandoned his filigree for 
 the duties of husbandry. 
 
 I made up my mind, as philosophers of the 
 rod are wont to do, that, as the day was so 
 pleasant, an empty bag would be an im- 
 material detail; but I was destined for one 
 crowded hour of glorious life, which, as the 
 poet sympathetically remarks, is better than a 
 cycle of Cathay. 
 
 It was high noon when the resonant splash 
 of a salmon first startled our listening ears : 
 he was a hundred yards below us, in the long 
 pool which we cross to reach the cataracts of 
 Grana-fossen, and the hunters exchanged a 
 glance of satisfaction, carefully noting the 
 exact spot. Slowly the boat drifted down- 
 ward, and a bright silver-bodied fly floated 
 again and again over the home of the fish. 
 Nor was it unnoticed ; but after gambolling 
 
The Angler s Library. 253 
 
 once over the hook, the experienced red 
 monster saw his danger, and lay irresponsive. 
 We gave him ten minutes by the watch, and 
 offered another fly. Nothing. 
 
 A prawn was deftly tied on the latest 
 novelty in the way of hooks, — you cannot have 
 too many, and they should be painted red, — 
 we crossed the stream, and lowered the bait 
 by successive casts until it was within six 
 feet of the salmon's nose, when it was snapped 
 by an undesired grilse. He kicked up no end 
 of a dust, and gained his liberty by a tremend- 
 ous bound, having, as we feared, fatally 
 disturbed the pool ; but I suppose his Hotspur 
 temperament was well known, for his antics 
 made no difference to the fish we were really 
 after. Ten minutes more, a new prawn, a 
 similar cast, and the old red fish was in his 
 proper place — on the end of my line. Being 
 more deliberate in his rush, he was better 
 hooked, and in a few minutes the success of 
 the day was secure. Two tall men stood on 
 a sandy little beach, silently eyeing a dead 
 salmon, as they slowly drew forth a couple of 
 old briar pipes, and softly blew down them. I 
 
254 Fish -Tails, and some True Ones. 
 
 handed Anders the coveted pouch, no longer 
 wholly mine, but as yet scarcely his, and we 
 blessed the day wherein we were born. I 
 caught no more that afternoon : we drifted 
 homewards over miles of changing water, 
 taking leave of all the well-known places in 
 the sweet sorrow of parting, silently rounding 
 the many corners, floating over broad reaches 
 of shallow calms, and boisterous seas of foam, 
 which make the heart go pit-a-pat as the boat 
 swirls bumping down ; among the wild duck 
 and the grey-backed crows, below the golden 
 birches and the century-old black rafters of 
 the upland farms ; to the goldsmith's cottage 
 by the tumbling burn, where all ends, and the 
 boat is beached. 
 
 Farvel, Anders : here, the pouch is yours ; 
 and I will add to it, not only the tobacco you 
 desire, but also one last quotation before the 
 book is packed away — 
 
 " Hereafter, in a better world than this, 
 I shall desire more love and knowledge of you." 
 
 A hundred years hence the new white 
 houses will be weather-stained and black with 
 
The Angler s Library. 255 
 
 age, another hungry generation will be garner- 
 ing the summer sheaves, and these human units 
 will have given their bodies 
 
 ** to that pleasant country's earth " ; 
 
 but the river will still be here, still tossing its 
 unconquered crest, still bearing all before it to 
 the sea, fit emblem of undying change, which 
 alone, through all the whirling cycle of time, 
 remains unchanged. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 PRINTED BY 
 MORRISON AND GIDB LIMITED, EDINUURGH 
 
if.' ^ 
 
!!ii 
 
 11 
 
 iilljlll 
 il 
 
 if 
 
 iHlillll'lillHiil! 
 HI llilillil 
 
 1 1.1 
 
 
 111, 
 
 
 ! 
 
 I ! 
 I t iiiiiii 
 
 i!||l 
 
 ri!M.!iiii|||!i 
 
 |'i'':|i 
 i!ili!!lllii!i!lll!i! 
 
 'Ill 
 Ilili 
 
 
 
 mmsm 
 
 mm 
 
 I y I 
 
 mmm 
 
 I ti 
 
 
 i 
 
 II I III 
 
 HI 
 I 
 
 I it ) 
 
 
 liiiiii 
 
 'i:l: 
 
 :W. 
 
 iiliiiiiil-iHiliiiij'i;' 
 
 iiiiii 
 
 1^ 
 
 :[i'!|H 
 
 llllllil 
 
 :i:.:;,:M|i|ll 
 
 iliiH'ii 
 
 m