No sooner had the Parson realised the true state of things, than he rushed across the bridge for his boat; but the bridge was by no means a short one, and the Parson was at the farthest end; and long before he reached it, salmon, Birger, praam, and all had disappeared under one of the centre arches.
The boatmen had, of course, lounged away from the quay, probably to the nearest brandy shop; but the Parson sprang into a boat, cut the painter, seized the paddles, and shoved off furiously into the stream.
Fortunately, this had been seen by the Captain, who was at that moment returning; and he, though of course perfectly unaware what was the matter, changed his course, and dashed through the nearest arch, in pursuit.
By this time the praam was fairly at sea; but the boats were nearing her fast, and the Captain, having the advantage of oars, passed the Parson’s boat, and then, checking his speed, lest he should capsize the friend he meant to aid, grappled the praam with his boat-hook, and, winding his own boat at the same time, towed her quietly and steadily to a little sandy beach. Upon this, both he and Birger landed. The latter, whose arms were aching as only a salmon-fisher’s arms can ache, was glad enough to transfer his rod to the Captain.
The Parson calling in vain for a gaff, which implement in the hurry had been left in one of the other boats, threw himself into the water, which there was not much over his knees. But the salmon, seeing his enemies on every side, collected his energies afresh, as that gallant fish will do, and rattled off fifty yards of line into the deep blue sea before the Captain could turn him. He had, however, a practised hand to deal with. Slowly and carefully did the Captain reel him up, guiding him to the spot a little above where the Parson was standing as still and motionless as the rocks around him. There was as yet a considerable current, arising from the flow of the river, and the Captain, taking advantage of this, let the fish tail down quietly and inch by inch, to where the Parson was standing motionless and stooping so that his hands were already under water. Slowly, and without effort, the fish came nearer and nearer, till at last, gripping firmly with both hands the thin part just above the insertion of the tail, the Parson, half-lifting the fish from the water, dragged him to land, and, despite his struggles, threw him gasping on the snow-white beach.
“Well done, Birger!” said the Captain, laying his rod against a rock, and running down, steelyard in hand; “there is the first fish of the season, and you are the prize-man.”
“Hurrah,” said Birger, admiring his own handiwork,—for the steelyard had given a full two-and-twenty pounds,—“this is the first salmon I ever caught in my life; and upon my word, when I had him, I thought I had got hold of Loki himself.”
“And upon my word,” said the Parson, “it looked as if Loki had got hold of you; I thought he was taking you off to his own realms. If we had not come up, you would have been by this time half way to the Midgard Serpent!”[5]