CHAPTER TEN.
MAX'S FIRST "FUSH."
If Max Blande could have done as he liked, he would have said, "No,thank you, I would rather see you fish," but, with a strong feeling uponhim that if he refused to make another trial he would either be laughedat or looked upon as a contemptible coward, he took the long rod, withthe line sufficiently drawn from the reel to allow the gaudy fly to hangdown by his hand.
"Ye'll tak' haud o' the flee, or maybe ye'll hae the hook in your han',"cried Tavish. "That's richt. Noo ye'll throw the flee richt ootyonner, and keep drawing a little more line frae the reel at ivery cast.I'll tell ye whaur to throw. Noo then, tak' your stan' richt oot onthat big stane whaur the watter comes doon."
"But it looks so wet and slippery."
"The watter always mak's the stanes wet."
"But it's dangerous."
Tavish looked at him with astonishment. He could not conceive thepossibility of any one seeing danger in going with a spring from rock torock among which the beautiful river rushed, and his blue eyes openedwidely.
"I mean," faltered Max, "that it would be so easy to slip in."
"Oh, I ken the noo," cried Tavish. "Dinna be skeart, laddie. Ye thinkshe'll catch a cold. Hey, but ye needna be feart o' that. The wattercomes doon fresh frae the loch, and she wouldna gie cold to a bairn, letalane a bonnie young laird like you."
Max glanced at Kenneth, who was busily tying on a fly and talking toScoodrach. So, drawing a long breath, he stepped from the bank on tothe first stone, after a stride of about a yard, and then stood still,for the water rushing swiftly round him made him feel dizzy.
"Noo the next," said Tavish encouragingly; and, comforting himself withthe idea that if he was to fall into the rushing water it seemedshallower farther out than close in-shore, where it looked very blackand deep, he stepped out to the next stone, and then to the next,wondering the while that nothing had happened to him. Then on and onfrom stone to stone, feeling giddy, excited, and in a nervous statewhich impelled him on, though all the while he seemed to have a tragedytaking place before his eyes--of one Max Blande, visitor from London,slipping from a rock out in the midst of that rushing river, and beingrolled over and over in the foam, tossed here, banged there againstprojecting masses of rock, gliding round and round in smooth blackwhirlpools, and finally being fished out a mile below, dead and cold,and with his clothes clinging to him.
He was just about to get on to the imaginary scene of his own funeralbeing conducted in the most impressive manner, when the voice of theforester made him start.
"Gude--gude--gude!" he cried. "Why, ye can leap frae stane to stane asweel as young Scood."
The praise acted like a spur, and Max pressed on over the rest of therocks till he came to the last, quite a buttress nearly in the middle ofthe stream.
"Ye'll no' go farther," cried Tavish.
Max did not intend to try, for the next step would have been into thecold boiling water.
"Got one yet, Max?" shouted Kenneth, his voice sounding weak and faintin the roar of the hurrying stream.
Max shook his head without daring to turn, as he stood there with thefoaming, glancing water all round, steadying himself, and forgetting allabout the object for which he had come, his one idea being that hisobject there was to balance himself and to keep from falling.
"Noo," shouted Tavish, and his voice electrified Max, who nearly droppedthe rod. "That's the way, laddie. Tak a good grip o' the butt and mak'your first cast ahint that black stane. She shall hook a fush there.Leuk, did ye see the fush rise?"
Max was trying to make out among scores the black stone "ahint" which hewas to throw his "flee," and in a kind of desperation he gave the rod awave as if it was a great cart-whip, and threw.
That is to say, he did something, but where the ornamented hook fell, orwhether it fell at all, he had not the slightest idea.
"A coot cast!" cried Tavish; "richt for the spot, but not long eneuch.Pull oot some more line, laddie, and do't again."
Max obeyed, trying to repeat his former performance in the same blindfashion, and involuntarily he cast the fly in the very pool the foresterhad pointed out, the eddy catching it and giving it a swirl round beforecarrying it out of the smooth black water and then away down-stream.
"There, she will hae the fush directly. See her rise?"
Max made no reply, but let the fly run to the extent of the line, and,without being told, cast again, and looked at Tavish as if to silentlyask if that was right.
To his surprise, the forester was dancing about frantically upon theshore, while Kenneth and Scoodrach seemed to be roaring with laughter.
"Have I done anything very stupid?" said Max to himself.
"Ye winna catch a fush like that," cried Tavish; and the next moment Maxlooked at him in horror, for he came with a rush across the stones, andin the most reckless manner, as if at any moment he must fall headlonginto the water.
Nothing of the kind. Tavish was a giant in size, but as sure-footed asa goat, and in very few seconds he was alongside Max, bending down totake his keen knife out of his stocking, and looking fiercely at thefisher.
"What have I done?" Max's lips parted to say, but they did not utterthe words, for Tavish had seized him by the jacket, and for the momentideas of attacks by savage Highlanders made upon peaceful Southronsflashed into the lad's brain and faded away.
"She'll never catch a fush like that," cried Tavish.
"But I did try," said Max in remonstrance.
"She says she did try," cried Tavish scornfully. "Turn roond, she's gotta flee in her pack."
"A flee? Back? Oh, I see!" cried Max, yielding to the pressure of theHighlander's hand, and turning half round.
"Mind. Does she want to co into the watter?"
But for the strong grasp upon his arm, Max would have stepped off therock and gone headlong, but he hastily found a place for his erringfoot, and stood still while a slight slit was made in the back of histweed jacket, and the salmon fly which had hooked in there was cutloose.
"Why didn't you leave it, Tav?" Kenneth shouted, with his hands to hismouth.
"There, now, she'll co pack. Cast again, laddie. She'll soon find taway."
Tavish trotted back, and Max stood for a few moments, with his browwrinkled up, watching the forester till he was back ashore.
"Look, laddie, she's rising," he shouted. "Noo cast yonder ahint thatstane."
Max had not noticed the rise, but he grasped now the spot where the fishwas supposed to be, and made a dash with his rod, sending the linefirst, the fly after it, and the top of the rod into the stream with asplash.
"Acain! cast acain!" cried Tavish; and Max threw and threw his fly,never going two-thirds of the way toward the pool, where a salmon waspatiently waiting for such good things as might be washed down and intothe great hole behind the stone.
As the tyro whisked and waved the rod about, the natural result was thathe ran out more and more line, which, thanks to the rushing water, wassaved from entanglement.
"It's of no use," he said at last despondently, after nearlyoverbalancing himself, and feeling very dizzy once more.
The remark was meant for the forester's ears, but the sound drowned it,and the forester shouted,--
"Noo acain, laddie! Get a good grip o' the butt, and send the fleeclose under the stane; ta fush is there."
Max drew a long breath, and, after the fashion shown him, gave the rodtwo or three good swishes in the air, the line flying out well behind,and then with all his might he made a tremendous down-stroke, whoseeffect was to send the fly right across the pool and on to the blackstone, where it caught and held on.
"Drop your rod!" roared Tavish. "Na, na, the point, laddie, the point!"
Tavish was just in time. Another moment, and the rod would have allbeen in the river. As it was, only the point splashed in, and as theline was slackened the hook fell over sideways and then glided slowlydown the side of the rock and dropped lightly into the pool
, to gogliding round.
Splash!
"Up wi' the rod, laddie! up wi' the point o' your rod, laddie!" criedTavish excitedly. "She's cot ta fush--she's cot ta fush!"
Max obeyed, and raised the point of his rod, and then felt a tremendoustug, which sent an electric shock through him.
"She's cot him! she's cot him!" cried Tavish, dancing about on the shoreand waving the gaff hook he held. "Noo, my laddie, never let the fushrin without feeling your han'."
Max heard the forester's shout, but hardly comprehended his words in theexcitement of feeling the fish he had hooked dart here and there fromside to side of the black-looking pool, and keeping so tight a line thatall at once there was a flash of silver, and a goodly salmon leapedright out of the water and fell with a great splash.
"Ah, she's gone!" cried Tavish, stamping with rage. "Nay, hold on! Lether rin the noo. An' dinna catch haud too tight o' the line."
Max was too confused to obey his instructions, but, fortunately, he didthe right thing. For the fish darted away so furiously that the ladloosed his hold upon the line to a great extent, and contented himselfby keeping the hard plait close to the rod, so that it was checked agood deal in running through his hand. But all the same the winch beganto sing, as, after two or three more darts, the fish dashed off out ofthe pool and down the stream.
The checking it received was greater than would have been dealt out byan experienced fisher, and the result was that, after darting down aboutforty yards, the salmon reached another pool, where, after it had sailedround two or three times, there was a sudden cessation of movement, anda dead weight hung at the end of the line.
"She's got the line around a stane," cried Tavish, running over thestepping-stones, gaff in hand. "She'll lose the fush! she'll lose thefush."
"Has it gone?" asked Max rather piteously.
"Let her tak' a grip o' the rod, my lad," said the forester; and,catching the long supple wand from the boy's hand, he stood thinking fora few moments winding in a few yards of the line.
"Nay, she's on safe," he cried, handing the rod back to Max.
"What shall I do now?" said Max nervously.
"She shall play ta fush till she's tired, and then she will use thegaff."
"But I'm tired now."
"But ta fush isna tired, laddie. Wind in, and keep a tight line."
To Max's wonder, Tavish went back ashore, and ran down the bank pastKenneth and Scood, to begin picking up big stones and hurling them rightinto the middle of the pool, so as to disturb the fish, which laysulking at the bottom, in spite of the steady strain kept on its head.
Tavish's efforts were, however, unsuccessful, and in his excitement theforester began to abuse the salmon, calling upon it to move.
At last, though, as Max stood upon his tiny rock island with his rodbent, gazing wistfully down at the pool, Tavish sent in a great piece ofslaty shale, which fell with a great splash, and then began to zigzagdown through the dark water with so good a movement, that it touched thefish on the flank and started it off once more.
"Haud up ta rod! haud up ta rod!" cried Tavish.
"Hooray, Max! you'll have it now," cried Kenneth; and all watched thefisherman now with the greatest interest, as the salmon darted here andthere, sometimes with a good stress on the rod, often, in spite ofTavish's adjurations, with a loose line, for when it rushed toward theholder of the butt, Max could not be quick enough with the winch.
Now it was one side of the pool, now close in, and Max's excitementincreased till he reached fever heat, and then something happened.
The fish had rushed right up toward him, as if about to seek the upperpool, in which it had been hooked, when, apparently feeling itself free,from the pressure being taken off as Max wound up rapidly, the prizeturned suddenly, leaped out, giving the water a sounding slap with itstail, and then darted off down the river.
"Haud your rod up! Haud your rod up!" cried Tavish frantically; but Maxdid not respond this time, and the result was that there came a suddensnatch, as it were, at the rod, the winch sung for a moment, and as Maxtried to stop it, he had his finger pinched.
He had not time to think of that, though, for the next instant there wasa sharp snatch and a heavy jerk which drew his arms out, and, before hecould recover himself, he lost his balance and went headlong into thepool, while as he rose it was right in the full rush of the stream,which rolled him over, and, after tangling him in his line, before theboy could realise the position, he was being swept away rapidly downtoward the sea loch a couple of miles below.
Three Boys; Or, The Chiefs of the Clan Mackhai Page 10