White Heather: A Novel (Volume 2 of 3)Black, William
General
White Heather: A Novel (Volume 2 of 3)
Black, William
Scotland -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
She began—not without some little excitement, and awful visions of
triumph and glory if she should really be able to capture a salmon by
her own unaided skill. Of course she caught in the heather behind her
sometimes; and occasionally the line would come down in a ghastly heap
on the water; but then again it would go fairly out and over to the
other bank, and the letting it down with the current and drawing it
across—as he had shown her in one or two casts—was a comparatively easy
matter. She worked hard, at all events, and obeyed implicitly—until
alas! there came a catastrophe.
’A little bit nearer the bank if you can,’ said he; ’just a foot
nearer.’
She clenched her teeth. Back went the rod with all her might—and
forward again with all her might—but midway and overhead there was a
mighty crack like that of a horse-whip; and calmly he regarded the line
as it fell on the water.
’The fly’s gone,’ said he—but with not a trace of vexation.
’Oh, Ronald, I’m so sorry!’ she cried, for she knew that these things
were expensive, even where they did not involve a considerable outlay of
personal skill and trouble.
’Not at all,’ said he, as he quietly sate down on a dry bunch of heather
and got out his book again. ’All beginners do that. I’ll just show ye
in a minute or two how to avoid it. And we’ll try a change now.’
Indeed she was in no way loth to sit down on the heather too; and even
after he had selected the particular Childers he wanted, she took the
book, and would have him tell her the names of all the various flies,
which, quite apart from their killing merits, seemed to her beautiful
and interesting objects. And finally she said—
’Ronald, my arms are a little tired. Won’t you try a cast or two? I am
sure I should learn as much by looking on.’
He did as he was bid; and she went with him; but he could not stir
anything. The river was low; the day was clear; there was no wind. But
at last they came to a part of the stream where there was a dark and
deep pool, and below that a wide bed of shingle, while between the
shingle and the bank was a narrow channel where the water tossed and
raced before breaking out into the shallows. He drew her a little bit
back from the bank and made her take the rod again.
’If there’s a chance at all, it’s there,’ he said. ’Do ye see that
stone over there?—well, just try to drop the fly a foot above the stone,
and let it get into the swirl.’
She made her first cast—the line fell in a tangled heap about three
yards short.
’Ye’ve got out of the way of it,’ said he, and he took the rod from her,
let out a little more line, and then gave it to her again, standing
behind her, with his hand over-gripping hers.
’Now!’
The fly fell a foot short—but clean. The next cast it fell at the
precise spot indicated, and was swept into the current, and dragged
slowly and jerkily across. Again he made the cast for her, with the
same negative result; and then he withdrew his hand.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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