Sam Sorrel, who was there at the time, afterwards said that he was divided between interest in the movements of the fish, and amusement at the open mouths and staring eyes of the natives.
This fish was a very active one; it dashed up, down, and across the river several times, running out nearly the whole of the line more than once, and compelling Fred to take to the water as deep as his waist. At last, after a fight of half an hour, it was brought close to the bank, and Hans put the gaff-hook cleverly into its side, and hauled it ashore, amid the shouts of the astonished people, for the salmon weighed eighteen pounds.
After a time the natives began to understand the principles of fly-fishing with a rod, and regarded Fred Temple with deep respect. On all his fishing excursions in that fiord, he was attended by a band of eager admirers, to whom he gave most of the fish; for he caught so many of all sizes that his friends and his crew were not able to eat the quarter of them. The catching of his largest salmon was a stirring incident.
It happened on the evening of a very bright day. He had been unfortunate. The sun being too bright, the fish would not rise. This annoyed him much, because on that particular day he had been accompanied by the Captain and Bob Bowie, as well as his two companions, all of whom were anxious to see him catch fish, and learn a lesson in the art. Fred was up to his middle in a rough part of the river. It was all he could do to retain his foothold, the water was so strong.
“It won’t do,” said he, “the sun is too bright.”
His friends on shore looked grave and disappointed.
“I sees a cloud a-comin’,” said Bob Bowie glancing upwards.
“Hallo! hey!” shouted Grant, who observed that at that moment Fred’s legs had been swept from under him, and he was gone!
Before any one could speak or act, Fred reappeared a little farther down the river, holding tight to the rod, and staggering into shallower water.
“None the worse of it,” cried Fred, bursting into a laugh.