The Crew of the Water Wagtail by R. M. Ballantyne (types of ebook readers .TXT) 📕

I’d rather see a boy try and fail, than see him fail because of unwillingness to try. Come, now, I will show you something else to try.”

He took Oliver up the stream a few yards, and pointed to a ledge of rock, more than knee-deep under water, which communicated with the rock he had failed to reach.

“The ledge is narrow,” he said, “and the current crossing it is strong, but from what I’ve seen of you I think you will manage to wade out if you go cautiously, and don’t lose heart. I will go down stream again, so that if you should slip I’ll be ready to rescue.”

Boldly did Oliver step out upon the ledge; cautiously did he advance each foot, until he was more than leg-deep, and wildly, like an insane semaphore, did he wave his arms, as well as the heavy rod, in his frantic efforts not to lose his balance! At last he planted his feet, with a cheer of triumph, on the rock.

“Hush, Olly, you’ll frighten the fish,” cried Paul, with feigned anxiety.

“You’ll tumble in again, if you don’t mind,” said his cautious father.

But Olly heard not. The whole of his little soul was centred on the oily pool into which he had just cast the bunch of worms. Another moment, and the stout rod was almost wrenched from his grasp.

“Have a care! Hold on! Stand fast!” saluted him in various keys, from the bank.

“A cod! or a whale!” was the response from the rock.

“More likely a salmon,” remarked Hendrick, in an undertone, while a sober smile lit up his features.

At the moment a magnificent salmon, not less than twenty pounds weight, leapt like a bar of silver from the flood, and fell back, with a mighty splash.

The leap caused a momentary and sudden removal of the strain on the rod. Oliver staggered, slipped, and fell with a yell that told of anxiety more than alarm; but he got up smartly, still holding on by both hands.

In fishing with the tapering rods and rattling reels of modern days, fishers never become fully aware of the strength of salmon, unless, indeed, a hitch in their line occurs, and everything snaps! It was otherwise about the beginning of the sixteenth century. It is otherwise still with primitive fishers everywhere. Oliver’s line could not run; his rod was rigid, save at the point. The result was that it was all he could do to stand and hold on to his captive. The rod, bent down into the water, sprang up to the perpendicular, flew hither and thither, jerked and quivered, causing the poor boy to jerk and quiver in irresistible sympathy. At last a mighty rush of the fish drew the fisher headlong into the flood.

“He’ll be drowned or killed on the boulders below,” gasped his father, running wildly down the bank of the river.

“Don’t fear,” said Hendrick, as he ran beside him. “There is a shallow just above the boulders. We will stop him there.”

Paul Burns was already abreast of the shallow in question, and Oliver was stranded on it, but a deep rapid stream ran between it and the bank, so that Paul hesitated and looked eagerly about for the best spot to cross.

“Follow me,” cried Hendrick, “I know the ford.”

He led his comrade swiftly to a point where the river widened and became shallow, enabling them to wade to the tail of the bank at the top of which Oliver stood engaged in a double struggle—with the water that hissed and leaped around him, and the fish that still surged wildly about in its vain efforts to escape.

As the three men waded nearer to him they got into shallower water, and then perceived that the boy had not lost his self-possession, but was still tightly grasping the butt of his rod. Just as they came up the salmon, in its blind terror, ran straight against the boy’s legs. Olly fell upon it, let go the rod, and embraced it! Happily, his friends reached him at the moment, else the water that rushed over his head would have compelled him to let go—or die!

Paul lifted him up. The great fish struggled in its captor’s arms. It was slippery as an eel, and its strength tremendous. No digging of his ten nails into it was of any use. Slowly but surely it was wriggling out of his tight embrace when Hendrick inserted his great thumbs into its gills, and grasped it round the throat.

“Let go, Oliver,” he said, “I’ve got him safe.”

But Olly would not let go. Indeed, in the state of his mind and body at the moment it is probable that he could not let go.

His father, having made some ineffectual attempts to clear the line, with which, and the rod, they had got completely entangled, was obliged to “stand by” and see that the entanglement became no worse. Thus, holding on each to the other and all together, they staggered slowly and safely to land with their beautiful prize.

“Are there many fish like that in these rivers?” asked Paul, as they all stood contemplating the salmon, and recovering breath.

“Ay, thousands of them in all the rivers, and the rivers are numerous—some of them large,” replied Hendrick.

“This will be a great country some day, you take my word for it,” said the captain, in a dogmatic manner, which was peculiar to him when he attempted amateur prophecy.

That prophecy, however, like many other prophecies, has been only partly fulfilled. It has come true, indeed, that Newfoundland now possesses the most valuable cod-fishery in the world, and that her exports of salmon are considerable, but as to her being a great country—well, that still remains unfulfilled prophecy; for, owing to no fault of her people, but to the evils of monopoly and selfishness, as we have already said, her career has been severely checked.

Not many days after the catching of the salmon—which remained a memorable point in the career of Oliver Trench—the explorers were led by Hendrick to the shores of a magnificent lake. It was so large that the captain at first doubted whether it was not the great ocean itself.

“It is not the sea,” said their guide, as he surveyed the watery expanse with evident enthusiasm. “It is a lake full fifty miles long, yet it is not the largest lake in this island. Taste its waters and you will find them sweet. Here,” he added, with a look of gratification, “is my home.”

“God has given you a wide domain,” said Paul, gazing with pleasure on the verdant islets with which the bay before him was studded. “Yet I cannot help thinking that it is a waste of one’s life to spend it in a solitude, however beautiful, when the sorrowing and the suffering world around us calls for the active energies of all good men.”

The hunter seemed to ponder Paul’s words.

“It appears to me,” he said at last, “that our Creator meant us to serve Him by making ourselves and those around us happy. I have to do so here, and in some degree have succeeded.”

As he spoke he raised both hands to his mouth and gave vent to a prolonged halloo that swept out over the calm waters of the bay.

It was quickly replied to by a shrill cry, and in a few minutes a canoe, emerging from one of the islets, was seen paddling swiftly towards them.