“I went about a mile upstream. There’s a splendid place for fishing there. The creek widens, and there’s a still, deep pool, something like the pool at the place you call Anglers’ Bend, only I think mine is deeper and stiller, and fishier! At all events, I have never failed to get fish there.
“I fished from the bank for a while, with not very good luck. At all events, it occurred to me that I could better it if I went out upon a big log that lay right across the creek—a tremendous tree it must have been, judging by the size of the trunk. You could almost ride across it, it’s so wide—if you had a circus pony, that is,” added the Hermit with a twinkle.
“So I gathered up my tackle, hung the fish I’d caught across a bough in the shade, and went out on the log, and here I had good luck at once. The fish bit just as soon as I put the bait into the water, and though a good many of them were small there were some very decent-sized ones amongst them. I threw the little chaps back, on the principle that—
Baby fish you throw away
Will make good sport another day,
and at last began to think I had caught nearly enough, even though I intended to salt some. However, just as I thought it was time to strike for camp, I had a tremendous bite. It nearly jerked the rod out of my hands!
“‘Hallo!’ I said to myself, ‘here’s a whale!’ I played him for a bit, for he was the strongest fish I ever had on a line in this country, and at last he began to tire, and I reeled the line in. It seemed quite a long time before I caught a glimpse of his lordship—a tremendous perch. I tell you I felt quite proud as his head came up out of the water.
“He was nearly up to the log, when he made a sudden, last leap in the air, and the quickness of it and his weight half threw me off my balance. I made a hurried step on the log, and my right foot slipped into a huge, gaping crack. It was only after I had made two or three ineffectual struggles to release it that I found I was stuck.
“Well I didn’t realize the seriousness of the position for a few minutes,” the Hermit went on. “I could understand that I was wedged, but I certainly never dreamed that I could not, by dint of manoeuvring, wriggle my foot out of the crack. So I turned my attention to my big fish, and—standing in a most uncomfortable position—managed to land him; and a beauty he was, handsome as paint, with queer markings on his sides. I put him down carefully, and then tried to free myself.
“And I tried—and tried—and tried—until I was tired out, and stiff and hopeless. By that time it was nearly dark. After I had endeavoured unsuccessfully to get the boot clear, I unlaced it, and tried to get my foot out of it—but I was in a trifle too far for that, and try as I would I could not get it free. The crack was rather on the side of the log. I could not get a straight pull. Hurt? Yes, of course it hurt—not more from the pinching of the log, which you may try any time by screwing your foot up in a vice, than from my own wild efforts to get clear. My foot and ankle were stiff and sore from my exertions long before I knocked off in despair. I might have tried to cut the wood away, had I not left my knife on the bank, where I was fishing first. I don’t know that it would have done much good, anyhow.
“Well, I looked at the situation—in fact, I had been looking at it all the time. It wasn’t a very cheering prospect, either. The more I pondered over it, the less chance I saw of getting free. I had done all I could towards that end; now it only remained to wait for something to ‘turn up.’ And I was quite aware that nothing was in the least likely to turn up, and also that in all probability I would wear out some time before the log did.