The Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the FirstFenn, George Manville
History
The Black Tor: A Tale of the Reign of James the First
Fenn, George Manville
Great Britain -- History -- James I, 1603-1625 -- Juvenile fiction
Fishing was out of the question in a place like that, so twisting his
line round his rod, he used the latter as a walking-staff, and followed
till the prey he sought were compelled to flap themselves along upon
their sides; two trout on finding themselves in such straits leaping
right on to one of the half-dried pebbly shoals. Here Ralph pounced
upon one after the other, and transferred them to his creel, after first
taking out his shoes and hose, which had been reclining there, at rest
from their ordinary avocation of protecting his feet.
"Queer fishing," muttered the lad; "but I've caught them. Now for you."
This to the rest of the shoal, which he chased so perseveringly that he
caught four more by driving them into the shallowest water, the two
largest succeeding by desperate rushes in getting through the
treacherous part, and disappearing in the deeps toward the cascade.
"All too big to go in the little can," thought Ralph. "Never mind; they
will make a fry. Perhaps I can catch some smaller ones the same way."
He tied his shoes together by the strings, and fastened them to the
strap of his creel, tucked his hose through his belt, and went ashore
again, to make his way beyond the little cascade which fell musically
over the rocks; and as he was going on by the dammed-up deeps, there was
suddenly a rush among the sedges and rushes, followed by a splash, the
lad catching sight of a long, wet, brown body, as the animal made a
plunge and disappeared in deep water.
The next moment his eyes rested upon the remains of a feast, in the
shape of a fine trout, half-eaten, evidently quite freshly caught.
"Better fisherman than I am," said Ralph to himself, as he searched the
surface of the water to see if the otter he had disturbed would rise.
But the cunning animal had reached its hole in the bank, and was not
likely to return to its banquet: so Ralph went on beyond the deeps to
where the river ran shallow again beneath the overhanging trees, just
catching a glimpse at times of the great cliffs, whose tops often
resembled the ruins of neglected towers, so regularly were they laid in
fissured blocks.
Encouraged by his success, though conscious of the fact that it was the
work of a poacher more than an angler, Ralph was not long in finding a
suitable place for driving a few more fish. Fate favoured him in this,
and in their being just of a suitable size for the little pool, and he
had just secured one about six inches long, and was filling his little
can with water, when he was startled by hearing a half-stifled bark
uttered, as if by a dog whose muzzle was being held.
He looked sharply round, and suddenly woke to the fact that, for how
long he could not tell, while he had been stalking the trout, he had
been stalked in turn.
For a man suddenly appeared among the bushes on the right, looked across
the river, and shouted, "Come on, now."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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