White Heather: A Novel (Volume 1 of 3) — John Shaqi
White Heather: A Novel (Volume 1 of 3)Black, William
General
White Heather: A Novel (Volume 1 of 3)
Black, William
Scotland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
He was doing so slowly, and the men were as slowly pulling in for the
shore in the gathering dusk, when _whirr!_ went the other reel. The
loud and sudden shriek in this silence was a startling thing; and no
less so was the springing into the air—at apparently an immense distance
away—of some creature, kelt or salmon, that fell into the water again
with a mighty splash. Instinctively Mr. Hodson had gripped this rod,
and passed the other one he had been reeling in to Strang. It was an
anxious moment. _Whirr!_ went another dozen yards of line; and again
the fish sprang into the air—this time plainly visible.
’A clean fish, sir! a clean fish!’ was the welcome cry.
But there was no time to hazard doubts or ask questions; this sudden
visitor at the end of the line had not at all made up his mind to be
easily captured. First of all he came sailing in quietly towards the
boat, giving the fisherman all he could do to reel in and keep a strain
on him; then he whirled out the line so suddenly that the rod was nearly
bent double; and then, in deep water, he kept persistently sulking and
boring, refusing to yield an inch. This was a temporary respite.
’Well, now, is this one all right?’ Mr. Hodson called out—but he was
rather bewildered, for he knew not what this violent beast might not be
after next, and the gathering darkness looked strange, the shadows of
Clebrig overhead seeming to blot out the sky.
’A clean fish, sir,’ was the confident answer.
’No doubt o’ that, sir,’ even the melancholy Duncan admitted; for he
foresaw a dram now, if not a tip in actual money.
Then slowly and slowly the salmon began to yield to the strain on
him—which was considerable, for this was the heavier of the two rods—and
quickly the line was got in, the pliant curve of the rod remaining
always the same; while Mr. Hodson flattered himself that he was doing
very well now, and that he was surely becoming the master of the
situation. But the next instant something happened that his mind was
not rapid enough to comprehend: something dreadful and horrible and
sudden: there was a whirring out of the reel so rapid that he had to
lower the point of the rod almost to the water; then the fish made one
flashing spring along the surface—and this time he saw the creature, a
gleam of silver in the dusk—and then, to his unspeakable dismay and
mortification, he felt the line quite slack. He did utter a little
monosyllable.
’He’s off, sir,’ the melancholy gillie said in a tone of sad
resignation.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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