Saying this, he returned to the boat, and, putting on his coat and boots, produced a small lantern from his capacious horseman’s pocket. With a flint and steel it was lighted, when, leaning over the side of the boat, he slowly moved the light along the surface of the water.
“Now stand by with your nets,” he answered, “and you will soon pull up enough fish for your suppers.”
As he spoke, the lads saw a number of small fish attracted by the light to the surface of the water; and, following his advice, in a short time a considerable quantity were caught.
“This is not proper sunning,” he observed: “if I had had such a lantern as we use in the north, we should have caught far larger fish. It should be made watertight, and then, when lowered down close to the net, the fish are so eager to come and see the cause of the
brightness, thinking, maybe, that the sun has come down to pay them a visit, that they swim right against the net, and are caught in great numbers. That is what we call sunning in the north.”
“I heard a voice!” exclaimed Smedley, as Master Pearson ceased speaking. “There!—there again! It’s the keepers as sure as we are living men!”
“Hold your tongue!” exclaimed Master Pearson somewhat sharply. “Here, give me the oars; we will soon distance the keepers, if so be that they are coming this way. You’re right, I believe, though.”
Taking the oars in his hands, he sent the boat through the water at a rate she had seldom moved before. The noise of the oars attracted the keepers, who rushed down to the water just in time to see the boat turning a reach of the river. They hurried along the bank for some distance, shouting to those in her to stop—an order not very likely to be obeyed. So vigorously did Pearson ply the oars, that there seemed every probability of the boat escaping its pursuers. Still the latter continued to chase along the banks.
“You must take the consequences, then,” exclaimed a voice, and directly afterwards a shot whistled over their heads.