At last the eel was freed from the hook, and lay quietly coiled round the bottom of the basket, turning several small fish out of their places, and making a considerable hubbub amongst the occupants of the wicker prison, the excitement being principally displayed by flappings of tails and short spring-back leaps.
All this time Mr Inglis was quietly landing a good many fish, most of which were very fair-sized roach, with an occasional perch; but, soon after Fred’s exploit with the eel, he called gently to Harry for the landing-net, and this summons caused the other members of the party to come up as well, when they saw that Mr Inglis had evidently hooked a large fish, and was playing him—many yards of his running line being taken out. The fish, however, seemed to be rather sluggish in its movements, keeping low down as though seeking the bottom; upon which Fred declared it was a great eel. But it was no eel, though a mud-loving fish, as was shown when he became ready for the landing-net, Harry deftly placing it beneath the fish’s slimy side, and lifting it upon the grass.—And now its golden sides glittered in the sun as it lay upon the bright green daisy-sprinkled bank, in all the glory, as a fisherman would term it, of a noble tench of nearly four pounds’ weight—a great slimy fellow, with tiny golden scales and dark olive-green back, huge thick leathery fins, and a mouth that looked as though the great fish had lived upon pap all its lifetime. He had been a cowardly fish in the water, and yielded himself up a prisoner with very little struggling—nothing like that displayed by a perch about a quarter his size, which Mr Inglis next hooked and played, and then lost through its darting into a bed of strong weeds and entangling the line, so that the heavy clearing ring sent down towards the hook proved inadequate to the task of releasing it, and the line broke, and the fish escaped with at least a yard of shotted silkworm gut hanging to the hook.
Fred was very fortunate, for he, sitting quietly beneath a tree, caught two or three very nice carp, independently of about a dozen roach and perch; while Harry, the impetuous, first on one side, then on another, caught scarcely anything, and would have hindered his brother and cousin from the success which rewarded their patience, if Mr Inglis had not kept to a rule which he made, that no one angler should fish close to another; for Master Hal, directly a fish was caught on either side immediately concluded that where the fish was caught would be a better place for him, and accordingly began to trespass.
All at once, just as Philip had hooked a perch and was drawing it to shore, there was a mighty rush through the water, and something seized the fish and began sailing with it backwards and forwards, bending Philip’s light rod nearly double, for he had no running tackle, and only a thin line.
“Papa! Papa!” shouted Harry, “look here; Phil has such a bite!”
Mr Inglis came up to see what sort of a bite it was that Philip had, and at once perceived that a good-sized pike had taken his prize, and was holding on fast, as though he did not intend to let go, although there was a pretty good strain kept up by Philip. Of course, capturing the pike would have been out of the question with Philip’s light tackle, even if it were not forbidden; so there was nothing left for it but to wait and see if the pike would leave the perch, for Philip did not feel disposed to give his fish up if he could help it, for it was what Harry called a regular robbery; so, for three or four minutes, it was—pull pike—pull Philip,—till at last, quite in disgust, the pike let go, gave one swoop with his tail, and was gone.
Philip then landed his perch, which seemed quite dead, and a piece was bitten completely out of its side.
“What a savage!” said Philip; “only look what a bite he has taken out of my poor fish! Don’t I wish I could have caught him!”
“Ah, Philip,” said his father, “you did not expect to have hold of such a fish as that; but it is not at all an unusual incident, for the pike is a most ravenous fellow, and will take anything that comes in his way. On one occasion I caught a small pike with a piece of paste, and another with a worm,—both very unusual baits for there to take, as their prey is small fish, while most people are of opinion that they will not touch perch on account of their sharp back fin; but we had proof this afternoon that they will. But the most curious thing that I ever knew a pike to take was a leaden plummet, which it seized one day when I was plumbing the depth in a canal previous to bottom fishing, as we have been to-day. As a matter of course I was much surprised, as no doubt the pike was also, when he felt himself hooked, and, after a struggle, I drew him to land. But come, boys, I think it is time to start; so let’s be for packing up.”
“Oh! Pa,” said Harry.