Devon Boys Part 11

"No, no," cried Bigley, though. "You two chaps are visitors. You have the first go, Bob, and then let Sep Duncan try. But it's no use yet."

He was quite right; there was too much room for the fish to dart about, and so we stood here, and crept there, to watch them as they glided about among the swaying sea-weed, all brown and olive-green, and full of bladder-like pods to hold them up in the water. Sometimes there was a rush, and a swirl in the pool. At another time we could catch sight of the silvery side of some fish as it turned over and glided through the shoal. Then for a few minutes all would be perfectly still and calm--so still that it was hard to imagine that there was a fish left in the place.

And all the time the tide kept on retiring, and the water in the pool lowering, till all at once there was a tremendous rush, a great silvery fish flashed out into the air, and then fell flat upon its side, making the drops fly sparkling in the sun.

"Salmon," cried Bigley, "and a big one."

"Well, let's catch him, then," cried Bob excitedly, the gloomy feeling forgotten now in the excitement of the scene.

"Go on!" cried Bigley, handing him the net, and armed therewith Bob began to wade about, hunting the salmon from side to side of the pool, under my directions, for being high up on the dry, I could see the fish far better than those who were wading.

But it was all labour in vain. Twice over Bob touched the salmon, but it was too quick for him, and flung itself over the net splashing him from head to foot, but only encouraging him to make fresh exertions.

"Here, you come and try!" he cried at last. "You're not tired. Do you hear? You come and try, Sep Duncan. They're the slipperiest fishes I ever saw."

I shook my head. I was dry, and meant to keep so now, and said so.

"It's of no use to try," said Bigley, "not till the water's nearly gone.

You can't catch 'em."

"Why, you knew that all along!" I cried.

"To be sure I did; but you wouldn't have believed me if I'd said so.

Let's wait. In half an hour it will be all right, and we can get the lot."

So we waited impatiently, wading and creeping from stone to stone, and trying to count the fish in the weir pool; but not very successfully, for some we counted over and over again, and others were like the little pig in the herd, they would not stand still to be counted.

All at once it seemed as if a big retiring wave left room for nearly all the water left to run out, and though another wave came and drove some back, the next one took it away, leaving room for the weir to drain, and with a shout of triumph we charged down now at the luckless fish, which were splashing about in about six inches of water among the sea-weed and stones.

I forgot all about not meaning to get wet, for I was in over my boot-tops directly. But what did it matter out there in the warm sunshine and by the sea!

It was rare sport for us, though it was death to the fishes. But the weir was contrived to obtain a regular food supply, and we thought of nothing but catching the prisoners and transferring them to the basket.

Bob was pretty successful with the net, but he only caught the mullet.

The honour of capturing the eleven-pound salmon, for such it proved to be, was reserved for Bigley and me, as I managed to drive the beautiful silvery creature right up on to the stones, and there Bigley pounced upon it, and bore it flapping and beating its tail to the basket.

As we worked, the remainder of the water sank away, leaving only a pool of an inch or so deep, and from which Bob fished three small mullet, the total caught being eleven, the largest five pounds, and the salmon eleven, the same number of pounds as there were mullet.

We bore our capture up to the cottage in triumph, where old Jonas presented me and Bob with a fine mullet a piece, the salmon and the rest being despatched at once by Binnacle Bill to Ripplemouth for sale.

It was now getting so near tea-time that we set off for home, it being understood that Bigley was to come with us as far as my home, where we were all to have tea, after which he was to set off one way, and I was to go the other; that is to say, walking part of the way home with Bob.

This I did; but when we set off I could not help feeling how much pleasanter it would have been to have gone with Bigley, for I did not antic.i.p.ate any very pleasant walk. And I was right; for, whether it was the new bread, or the strength of our milk and water, I don't know--all I do know is, that Bob was as sour as he could be, and insisted upon my carrying his mullet, because he said I should have nothing to carry going home.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

I STARTLE MY FATHER.

My father was first up next morning, and had been out for an hour before I went down the garden to join him, and found him walking the quarter-deck.

You must not think by these words that he was on board a ship. Nothing of the kind. He called by that name a flat place at the bottom of the garden just at the edge of the cliff, where there was a low stone wall built to keep anyone from falling over a couple of hundred feet perpendicular to the rocks and beach below.

This was my father's favourite place, where he used to spend hours with his spy-gla.s.s, and along the edge of the wall, all carefully mounted, were six small bra.s.s cannon, which came out of a sloop that was wrecked below in the bay, and which my father bought for the price of old metal when the ship was broken up and sold.

I used to think sometimes that he ought to have called the place the battery, but he settled on the quarter-deck, and the quarter-deck it remained.

Always once a year on his birthday he would load and fire all the cannons, and it was quite a sight; for he used to call himself the crew and load them and prime them, and then send me in for the poker, which had all the time been getting red-hot in the kitchen.

Then he used to take the poker from me, and I used to stop my ears. But as soon as I stopped my ears, he used to frown and say, "Take out the tompions, you young swab!"

So I used to take out the tompions--I mean my fingers--and screw up my face and look on while with quite a grand air my father, who was a fine handsome man, with a fresh colour and curly grey hair, used to stand up very erect, give the poker a flourish through the air, and bring the end down upon a touch-hole.

Then _bang_! There would be a tremendous roar, and the rocks would echo as the white smoke floated upwards.

A quarter of a minute more and _bang_ would go another gun, and so on for the whole six, every one of them kicking hard and leaping back some distance on to the shingle.

When all were fired, my father used to push them on their little carriages all back into their places; then he used to "bend," as he called it, the white ensign on to the halyards, and run it up to the head of a rigged mast which stood at the corner, and close to the edge of the cliff, and after this shake hands with himself, left hand with right, and wish himself many happy returns of the day.

It was not his birthday that one on which I ran down the garden to join him; but there he was by his guns, busy with his spy-gla.s.s sweeping, as he called it, the Bristol Channel and talking to himself about the different craft.

"Hallo, Sep, my boy!" he said; "here's a morning for a holiday landsman--or boy. Well, I didn't see much of you yesterday."

"No, father," I said; "I was out all day with Doctor Chowne's boy and young Uggleston."

"Rather a queer companion for you, my boy, eh? Uggleston is a sad smuggler, they say; but let's see, his boy goes to your school?"

"Yes, father, and he's such a good fellow. We went to his house down in the Gap, and had dinner, and Mr Uggleston was very civil to me, all but--"

"Well, speak out, Sep. All but what?"

"He spoke once, father, as if he did not like your having bought the Gap."

"Hah! Very likely; but then you see, Sep, I did not consider myself bound to ask everybody's permission when I was at the sale, much more Mr Jonas Uggleston's, so there's an end of that."

"He seemed to think he would have to turn out and go, father," I said, looking at him rather wistfully, for it appeared to me as if it would be a great pity if old Uggleston and Bigley did have to turn out, because we were such friends.

"If Mr Jonas Uggleston will behave, himself like a Christian, and pay his rent," said my father, "he'll go on just the same as he did under old Squire Allworth, so he has nothing to complain about whatever."

"May I go and tell him that, father!" I said eagerly.

"No: certainly not."

"I mean after breakfast, father."

"So do I, my boy," he replied. "Don't you meddle with such matters as that. So you had a good look round the place, eh?"