Hollowdell Grange: Holiday Hours in a Country Home

by George Manville Fenn

And now Mr Inglis tried in all the most likely spots for a chub with his live-bait, and at last one took it, was struck, and then darted away swift as an arrow from a bow—right, left, straight ahead, through the smooth water, and off again where the stream ran swiftest; but it was of no avail; the line that he had run out was wound up, and the fine fellow drawn inshore so closely that Harry could put the landing-net under him, and then, with a tremendous burst of impotent flapping and splashing, a great chub about two pounds and a half weight was laid upon the grass, with his broad scales glistening in the sun.

“That’s a napper,” said Bob.

“Oh—oh—oh—oh!” burst in chorus from the boys—a shout of pleasure nearly turned into a groan, for Philip, in lifting the fish to put him in the basket, felt it give a great spring, which so startled him that he dropped it, so there it lay close to the edge of the wood embankment, and a single flap of his tail would have borne him away; but time enough was not allowed, for Harry pounced upon him like a cat after a mouse, and, in spite of his slimy jacket, he was soon safely shut down in one of the baskets.

The boys kept on with indifferent success—only securing a few small roach and gudgeon; and Mr Inglis, too, seemed as though he would have no further good fortune, for the chub appeared to have turned sulky because their big companion was taken away, and would not even smell the gudgeon. At last, however, Mr Inglis made a cast, and the little bait-fish fell lightly just beneath a bush close under the bank; when there was a rush through the water, and a swirling that took everybody’s attention, and then, as Mr Inglis swiftly drew out the line from off his reel, away it glided through the rings of the rod, yard after yard—yard after yard—swifter and swifter—as though the fish that had taken the gudgeon meant to run the line all out; and sure enough it did the whole fifty yards; and Mr Inglis was reaching out his rod as far as he could stretch his hand, so as to avoid checking the fish, if possible, and so losing it, when the line suddenly grew slack. There all eyes were strained towards the spot where the large tell-tale cork-float slowly rose to the surface, and its white top could be seen stationary right on the far side of the mill-pool. What little slack line there was, Mr Inglis now wound in, and telling Harry to be ready with the landing-net, he waited patiently for a few minutes to give the fish time to gorge his prey, though, from the way in which the float had run to the surface, he was afraid that the fish had left his bait. At last, Mr Inglis gathered the line up in his hand, and gave a sharp twist of his wrist, and all eyes were bent upon the spot to witness the struggle; but alas! there was no resistance. The great float glided easily over the water, and then Mr Inglis began to wind in, for it was evident that the pike had merely taken the bait because he could not bear to see it pass him—not because he was hungry—and then, after playing with it, let it go again.

“Never mind, boys,” said the Squire, “better success next time.”

The words, however, were hardly out of his mouth, when there was a tremendous swirl and rush again in the water; and away with a bob—bob—bob—went the float, then under water, and out of sight once more.

There was another pause of five minutes, and then again Mr Inglis drew in what slack line there was very carefully, waited another minute, when, the float again rose to the surface, but only to move off in another direction, for it was evident that the pike had this time well taken the bait.

And now followed moments of interest, as the Squire struck the fish, and then gave him line, for with one flick of his great tail he went across the pool in a fresh direction, luckily making a great deal of slack line as he did so. The battle now began in real earnest, for every time the pike felt the line tightened away he darted, first in one direction, and then in another, while once he came close in to where his tormentor was standing, so that a great deal of the running line was wound in; but, the moment after, he started off with a swifter rush than ever right across the pool, making the line sing and the winch spin furiously, as the thin cord ran through the rings as it was reeled off. Mr Inglis had to slightly check the line so as to retard his progress, or else most probably the cord would have been snapped; but no sooner did the fish find that he was held than he made a leap of fully a yard right out of the water, displaying to the lookers-on his great gold and green sides, and looking, in the momentary glance that was afforded, almost a yard long.

In he dashed again, full of fury, and round and round, and backwards and forwards, he was played; at one time sweeping right up to the mill wheels, and nearly getting the line entangled in the piles; then making a mighty spurt to gain the river where the weeds grew so thickly; but he got no farther than the sandy bar at the mouth of the pool, where he had to turn on one side to swim in the shallows, for here he was checked again, and brought back almost unresisting into the deep water, his master’s rod bending like a cart-whip as the fish was dragged back. And so for nearly half an hour did the battle continue, the fish being gently brought back after every dash he made, for Mr Inglis dared not attempt to land the monster till he was thoroughly exhausted; and well was it that the line was one of the newest and strongest, or the slight silk cord would never have borne the strain that was put upon it... But it held good, and now the exhausted fish seemed to make its last effort to escape; and it was very nearly a successful one, for, after darting about ten yards almost to the bottom of the pool, Mr Inglis found that there was some extra resistance, and that the line was entangled.

Had this happened earlier in the struggle, the pike must have been lost, for the line would have snapped; but now the fish had fought out his fight, and scarcely attempted to move, while Dusty Bob, who had been watching the proceedings with the most intense interest, went to the mill-yard and fetched the great rake he used to clear the weeds away with, and by means of a little raking he got hold of the obstruction, which upon being drawn to the surface proved to be an old branch, and round a rugged part the line was just hitched. A sharp blow from the rake snapped the bough in two, and the line was again at liberty, the great fish being drawn to the side at the mouth of the pool, where the water was only a few inches deep, and landed amidst a burst of cheers from the delighted boys, while even Bob gave a loud “Hooray,” though he seemed rather sorry than otherwise that the water should lose so fine a fish; but the “Hooray” was brought forth by the thoughts of a prospective shilling which Mr Inglis would most likely give him, and then perhaps he would have to carry the fish home as well, and get some bread and cheese and ale up at the house.