Ernest Bracebridge: School Days

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Very well, just go a little on this side of that willow,” said Gregson; “you will find a deepish hole there. Throw in your ground-bait, and before long you are very likely to get some bites. See; I’ve caught another. What a whacking big perch! Three pounds’ weight, I should say. I’ll have him out soon; don’t stay for me, I can tackle him.” This success of Gregson’s made Bouldon still more anxious to be off to try and catch some fish. Hitherto he had got nothing. Having thrown in all the ground-bait he had got, he baited his hook with the full expectation of catching a basket-full. He cast in his line and stood patiently watching his float. It would not bob. He altered the depth of the hook several times; the worm wriggled, as at first, untouched. He began to grow very impatient.

“This will never do,” he muttered; “I must shift my ground till I find the fish more inclined to be caught.” He looked round towards Gregson, who was pulling up fish as fast as he could. “His basket must be already nearly full, and I have not caught even a wretched gudgeon.”

On this Tom went round the pond, throwing in his line here and there with the same want of success. At last he got a bite; “A big fish,” he thought to himself. “I’m sure it is; hurra! perhaps my one fish may weigh as much as all Gregson’s and Bracebridge’s together.” He hooked his fish, which after one or two tugs, poked his nose to the surface just to see who was at the other end of the line, which somehow or other had got hold of his lips.

“A grand, magnificent pike!” shouted Tom with delight, letting go his reel as the fish began to pull, and darted off into the centre of the pond. Bouldon stood ready to turn him as soon as he began to slacken his pace. Never had he felt so eager about catching a fish, for never had he held a bigger one at the end of his line. It would have been better for him had it been much smaller. There was a quantity of weeds in the pond; and numerous large flat leaves of the beautiful white water-lily floating near, moored to long tough stems, among which he was in a dreadful fright that the fish would get, when he felt sure it would contrive to carry line and hook and float away. The pike, if pike it was, seemed fully aware of the advantage it possessed, and darted about in every direction.

“The hook must have caught the very edge of the upper lip, or it would have bitten through my line long ago,” thought Tom. “What can I do? I wish Gregson were here to help me. He would know some dodge to get this fellow on shore. I’m sure I don’t. Hillo! Greggy! Ellis! Do come and help me. Any of you fellows there?” He dared not for a moment turn his eye away from the water, lest the fish should take the opportunity of getting off.

“Hillo! does no one hear? Hillo, I say! Come, my good fellows, lend a hand to land this monster!” No one answered. The fish had run out with the whole of his line; the rod was bending almost double. He advanced to the very edge of the pond; he thought that he might give a little more scope by going to the right hand, where there was what he supposed to be a projection of the bank. So there was, but it was only of grass, and had nothing under it. He put his foot on it; the fish pulled harder than ever; he never dreamed of letting go his rod, and over he went, the impetus of his fall, and the pulling of the fish, carrying him a considerable distance from the shore. His head went under water, and he got a good quantity of it in his mouth; but at last he came up to the surface, spluttering and blowing, and trying to strike out, but still, like a true Briton, keeping fast hold of his rod. He now shouted out with all his might, his shout becoming a sharp cry for help, for he felt very truly that life was in imminent danger. The water was deep; he had thick heavy shoes and trousers on, and he could not make up his mind to lose his rod. For some time he positively swam away from the shore, not knowing what he was about, but fortunately at last he found out what he was doing, and tried to get back. His heart sank within him when he found how far off he was from the land. His clothes were pressing him down, and the long slimy stems of the weeds began to twist and turn round his legs. “Oh, I shall be drowned—I shall be drowned!” he cried out in an agony of fear. “Help—help!—help, oh help!” he shouted, struggling to keep himself above water. His eye looked on either side of the pond. He saw some one approaching the spot where he had stood, but coming leisurely, and evidently not aware that he had tumbled into the water. “Help, help;” he again shouted, and he felt that in another minute he must go down, for the more he attempted to approach the shore, the more his legs became entangled by the fatal weeds. He thought that he recognised the gaunt figure of Ellis.

“Oh, if it had been Bracebridge now! he swims so well, he might have got me out,” he thought to himself; but he had very little confidence that Ellis would help him. Just then his last cry must have reached the ear of the person approaching, for he set off running towards the spot as fast as his legs would carry him. Bouldon began to hope once more that he might be saved. Then he saw that it was Ellis.

“Keep up, keep up!” shouted Ellis; “I’ll be with you.” He disencumbered himself of his basket as he ran, and the moment he reached the spot he threw off his shoes and his jacket, and, rod in hand, having broken off the hook from his line, plunged into the water without an instant’s hesitation. All the time, however, he shouted, “Help! help! help!” He swam out bravely towards Bouldon, poking his rod before him till the end reached his struggling school-fellow. “Catch hold of this—catch hold of this!” he sang out lustily. Bouldon heard him, but his senses were becoming confused, and he could not exert himself to reach the point of the rod. Ellis swam on still further, but he saw the weeds, and he knew that, should his legs once become entangled in them, he should be unable to help his friend, and should probably lose his own life.

“Oh! come nearer, come nearer!” gasped out poor Bouldon, making vain efforts to get free.

Ellis, against his better judgment, generously made the attempt. He instantly felt that he, too, was among the weeds. He tried to get back. His only consolation was to see that Tom had got hold of the end of his rod. Ellis exerted himself to the utmost. Move forward he dared not; but throwing himself on his back, he lifted up his legs, and endeavoured to disentangle them from the weeds which were round them. At last he felt that he could strike out with them; and paddling with one hand at the same time, he gently pulled on his rod, so as to tow Bouldon towards him. The weeds had, however, got so completely round poor Tom’s legs, that Ellis found that he was not moving him.