Hollowdell Grange: Holiday Hours in a Country Home

by George Manville Fenn

For a minute or so the question seemed to be—“Who shall be master?” and then the horse gave in, as much as to say, “Oh! don’t; it hurts,” and, starting forward, gave a leap that cleared the dreadful stream, and nearly upset the dog-cart into the bargain; and then, as though fearfully alarmed at what it had left behind, the horse tried hard to break into a gallop to get away as fast as possible; but a strong hand was at the reins, and very soon old Tom settled down again into an easy trot, although dreadfully ruffled in his nerves by the late dread adventure.

And now Harry had to get down again to open another gate, which he did before they saw that a woman was coming out of a pretty lodge just inside, and then, for a quarter of a mile, they drove through a fine avenue of shady trees, to look down which seemed to be like peering through a long leafy green tunnel, at the end of which could be seen portions of the noble castellated mansion of Lord Copsedale, built in imitation of the feudal homes of former days, but with a greater attention to comfort and the admission of light and air.

Mr Inglis drove into the large court, and, leaving the horse with one of the stablemen, the party strolled down past the great walled garden and the quaint parterre, past the head of the lake, where the water rushed bubbling and foaming in, and where they could see the roach lying by hundreds; and then along by the green edge of the lake to where, in a semicircular sweep, a well-kept piece of lawn-like turf, backed up with a mighty hedge of evergreens, formed about as delightfully retired a spot as could be found anywhere for a fishing-party to make their resting-place, and dip their lines in the deep water,—here and there overshadowed with trees, down beneath whose roots, in the great holes, the finest fish were said to lie. The water looked in beautiful condition for fishing, not being too clear; and pushing about amidst the lilies and great water weeds that occupied the surface, in many places could be seen great chub and carp, snapping every now and then at the flies, but in a lazy, half-hungry sort of manner.

The spots Mr Inglis chose for fishing were three, reserving one for himself, and all these were well clear of weeds, and at a few yards’ distance the one from the other, so as to insure quiet,—about the greatest requisite for making a basket of fish; for the finny denizens of the water seem to be as keenly alive to strange sounds as they are to strange sights, and the unlucky youngster who laughs, and talks, and shows himself freely upon the bank of the place where he is fishing, may fully expect that the fish near him will all be on the move, and seek for quiet lodgings in some other part of the pond, lake, or river. They don’t seem to mind seeing one of their relations hooked, and then dart frantically about in all directions, as though seized with a mad exploring fit, till, panting and tired out, he is dragged to the side and landed. They do not seem to mind this, for they will follow the example of the hooked fish, and eagerly take the bait one after another, until, perhaps, the greater part of a shoal is captured; but the angler must be upon his guard, and mind that the wary fish do not catch sight of him.

And now rods and lines were fitted together; hooks baited; ground-bait lightly thrown in, and the business of the day commenced; though, for my part, I could have wished for no pleasanter business than to have sat in the shade watching the fish and water insects darting about in the lake, and the myriads of insects in the air, to whom the lake seemed to possess so great an attraction that they kept falling in, and every now and then were captured by some hungry fish. I could, I say, have wished for no pleasanter business than watching all this, and the flecked clouds far up in the sky, so fine and soft, that they seemed almost melting away into the delicate blue above them. But there was other business for the visitors, for the fish fed well that day, and roach and carp of small size were freely landed. This was not all that was wanted, however, for the desire of the anglers was to hook one of the great carp that every now and then kept springing almost out of the water, far out in the middle of the lake, and making a splash that of itself alone whispered of pounds weight. But, no; the old fellows would not be caught,—they left that to the younger branches of their family, who fell in tolerable numbers into the basket brought from Hollowdell.

All at once Fred called out that he had caught a big one, and, from the way his rod bent, this was evidently the case—the fish seeming to be making determined efforts to perform the feat described by Harry and Philip—namely, that of sticking his tail into the mud and there anchoring himself. Mr Inglis and the boys came up to lend him assistance, when his uncle smiled, for he knew what it was that Fred had hooked.

“Isn’t it a big one, Papa?” said Harry; “look how he pulls.”

“Don’t I wish I had him,” said Philip.

“Land it, Fred,” said Mr Inglis; “and mind it does not tangle your line,—pull away.”

Fred did as his uncle told him, and pulled away, so that he soon had twisting upon the grass a very tolerably sized eel, writhing and twining and running in beneath the strands; slipping through the hands that tried to grasp it; and seeming quite as much at home on land as in the muddy water at the bottom of the pond. As for Fred, he stood aloof holding his rod, and leaving all the catching to his cousins; the snaky eel presenting no temptation to him—in fact, he felt rather afraid of the slimy wide-mouthed monster.