CHAPTER X
AN AFTERNOON'S FISHING
"Sitting on a bank where the bull frogs dream—
Sitting on the shore of a deep, deep stream—
Sitting on a log and waiting for a bite—
Bound to catch our supper, if we fish—all—night."
THE little boy was holding a long cane pole that he had cut as they came along, on the small end of which he had fastened a hook and line, baited with a lively worm. The Bear was leaning back against a tree and watching him lazily.
"Bo," said he presently, "I shouldn't wonder if that singing of yours scared the fish all away."
"I wouldn't say that to you, Ratio. I know if you'd wake up and take the fiddle and play some they'd walk right out on the bank."
The Bear laughed sleepily. He was in a comfortable position and the warm afternoon sun was soothing. He hummed some negro lines he had heard:—
"When yo' wan' to ketch fish yo' mus' jes' set an' wait—
When yo' wan' to ketch fish yo' must spit on yo' bait—
When yo' wan' to ketch fish yo' mus' git across de tide,
For dey's alw'ys bettah fishin' on de oth—ah—side."
"I shouldn't wonder if you were right, Ratio," assented Bo, anxiously. "It does look better over there, only there's no way to get across except this slippery looking, rotten old log, and I don't feel much like trying that."
"Walk out on it a little way, Bo," said Horatio, getting interested, "and throw your line over there by that cypress snag. That looks like a good place."
Bosephus rose cautiously, and, balancing himself with the long cane pole, edged his way a few inches at a time toward the middle of the stream, pausing every little way to be sure that the log showed no sign of yielding. He could swim, but he did not wish for a wetting, and besides there were a good many alligators in these Louisiana waters and some very fierce snapping turtles. He had heard the negroes say that alligators were particularly fond of boys, and that snapping turtles never let go till it thundered. He had no wish to furnish supper for an alligator and there were no signs of a thunder storm. Hence he advanced with great prudence. When he had nearly reached the centre Horatio called to him.
"Try it from there, Bo! Your line's long enough to reach!"
The little boy steadied himself by a limb that projected from the log and swung his line in the direction the Bear had indicated. Then he waited, holding his breath almost, and watching his float, which lay silently on the water. Horatio was watching, too, with half closed eyes, and now and then giving instructions.
"Pull it a little more to the right, Bo—nearer that root," he whispered.
Bosephus obeyed, but the float still lay silently on the water.
"Draw it a little toward you, Bo; sometimes when they think its going away they make a rush for it."
Again the little boy did as directed, but without result.
"Lift out your bait and see if it's all right. Now fling it a little further toward the bank."
Bo lifted out the bait, which was still lively and untouched, and flung it far over toward the other shore. Then he waited in silence once more, but there was no sign of even so much as a nibble.
"Oh, pshaw, Ratio!" he said at last impatiently. "I don't believe you know anything about fishing. Either that or there are no fish in here—one of the two."
He had turned his head toward the Bear as he spoke and was not looking at his float. All at once the Bear sat straight up, pointing at the water.
"Your cork's gone!" he shouted. "You've got one! Pull, Bo, pull!"
The little boy turned so quickly that he almost lost his balance and could not immediately obey. Horatio was wild with excitement.
"Why don't you pull?" he howled. "Do you expect him to climb up your pole? Are you waiting for him to make his toilet before he appears? Well, talk about fishermen!"
Bosephus was struggling madly to follow instructions. He was holding to the dead limb like grim death and pulling fiercely at the pole with one hand. The fish must be a large one, for it swung furiously from side to side, but could not be brought to the surface. Horatio on the bank was still shouting and dancing violently.
"You'll lose him!" he yelled; "you'll never in the world land him that way. You ought to go fishing for tin fish in a tub! Just let me out there; I'll show you how to fish!" and Horatio made a rush toward the log on which Bo was standing.
"PULL, BO, PULL!"
"Go back! Go back!" screamed the little boy. "It won't hold us both!" But the Bear was too much excited by this time to heed any caution. He hurried to the centre of the log and seizing the pole from Bo's hand gave a fierce pull. The fish swung clear of the water and far out on the bank, but the strain on their support was too great. There was a loud cracking sound, and before they knew what had happened both were struggling in the water.
"Help! Help!" howled Horatio. "I'm drowning!"
"Hold to the end of the log!" shouted Bo. "I'll swim ashore and tow you in with the pole!"
He struck out as he spoke and in a few strokes was near enough to seize some bushes that overhung the water. Suddenly he heard Horatio give forth a scream so wild that he whirled about to look. Then he saw something that made him turn cold. In a half circle, a few feet away from where Horatio was clinging to the end of the broken log for dear life, there had risen from the water a number of long, black, ugly heads. A drove of alligators!
"Bo! Bo!" shrieked the wretched Bear. "They're after me! They'll eat me alive—skin and all! Save me! Save me!"
The little boy swung himself to the shore and dashed up the bank. His first thought had been to seize the fishing pole and with it to drag Horatio to safety. But at that instant his eye fell on the violin. He had learned to play very well himself during the last few weeks and he remembered the night of the panther dance in the Arkansaw woods. He snatched up the instrument and struck the bow across the strings.
"Sing, Horatio!" he shouted. "It's your turn to sing!" and Bosephus broke out into a song that after the first line the Bear joined as if he never expected to sing again on earth.
"Oh, there was an Old Bear went out for a swim,
And the alligators came just to take a look at him,
"OH, THERE WAS AN OLD BEAR WENT OUT FOR A SWIM."
And the Bear was glad to see 'em, and he wanted them to stay,
And he sang a song to please 'em so they wouldn't go away."
As the music rolled out on the water there rose to the surface another half circle of dark objects. The Bear shut his eyes and his voice grew faint. They were snapping turtles.
"Stop, Bo!" he wailed. "It's no use. It only brings more of 'em, and new kinds."
"No, no; go on," whispered Bo, who had crept down quite to the water's edge. "Now—ready! sing!"
"Then 'tis 'Gator, Alligator, we expect to see you later,
If you really have to leave us—if you can't remain to tea—
Then 'tis Turtle, Mr. Turtle, you will notice we are fertile,
In providing entertainment for our com—pa—nee."
New arrivals appeared constantly until the water and logs and stumps by the water's edge were alive with listening creatures. Still remembering the panther dance the boy called in a whisper to Horatio:—
"Softly now; sing it again."
They repeated the song, letting their voices and music gradually blend into the whispering of the trees. Bo sang with closed eyes, but the watching Bear saw the listening circle of heads sink lower and lower so gently that he could not be sure when the water had closed over them. From roots and logs and stumps dark forms slid noiselessly into the stream and disappeared. The music died away and ceased. Horatio looked at the little boy eagerly.
"HELP! HELP!"
"Quick, the pole, Bo," he called softly. "They're all gone."
A moment later he was holding on to the cane pole with teeth and claws and being towed to shore. As he marched up the bank he picked up the large fish that was still flopping at the end of the line.
"Very fine, Bosephus," he said, holding it up. "You wouldn't have had that fish for supper if it hadn't been for me, Bosephus."