The struggle went on for fully five minutes before the fish gave in.

"Now we've got to land it," said Mercer. "Can't do it here, or he'll break away. I know. Give me your rod to hold. That's it. Now you go back, and I'll pa.s.s it to you."

He laid his own tackle down, and I walked carefully along the narrow woodwork, back to the sh.o.r.e, while he drew the fish round, and then reached toward me, till I could catch hold of the rod and feel the fish still feebly struggling.

The next minute Mercer was by my side, the fish was drawn in close up amongst the sedge growing on the bank. My companion went down flat, reached a hand into the water, and scooped out my capture, which lay now flapping feebly in all the glory of its golden scale armour, a short, thick, broad-backed carp.

"There," cried Mercer, "didn't I tell you this was a grand place? Why, it must be a two-pounder;" and I stood gloating over the vividly-bright colour of my capture, while Mercer knelt down, took out the hook, and finally deposited the fish in a hollow, and covered it with fern fronds.

"Look! look!" I cried just then.

"Oh, bother! Why, there's one on," said Mercer. "Here, give me your rod;" and he stepped quickly out on to the penstock, and made a cast with my line, trying to throw it over the top part of his own rod, which was slowly sailing away, floating on the water with a curious motion going on at the end, which kept diving down, as if something was trying to draw it under water.

It was all plain enough: a fish had hooked itself, and at the first tug, the light bamboo rod had glided off the penstock, to act as a big, long float, for the cork was deep down somewhere out of sight.

I followed on to the penstock, and stood by as cast after cast was made, always cleverly over the rod, but the hook glided back on being drawn without taking hold.

It was plain enough that in a few minutes the rod would be drawn out of reach, when Mercer made a more lucky cast, for in drawing back, the hook had caught a part of the other line, and directly after there was a steady tightening.

"Hah!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mercer, and he drew in steadily till his own rod was within reach, and I lay down, leaned out as far as I could, and strained to reach it.

"Take care. Hold tight. It's horrid deep here. Mind, or you'll be in."

But I was holding tightly by part of the woodwork, and, after a few more efforts, I touched the b.u.t.t of the rod with the tips of my fingers, pushing it away, for it to rise again right into my hand, and I rose with it, safe.

"Give it to me. Take yours," cried Mercer, when the exchange was made, and I saw his face light up as he began to play a good-sized fish, but with my hook still attached to his line.

"It's a big one," he panted, as the struggle went on, with, the fish fighting now to reach the water-lilies, but without success. "That wouldn't do," he cried. "If he once got in there, he'd wind the weeds about the line, and break away."

So, by steady force, the fish was led back, and again I went ash.o.r.e first, took Mercer's rod, and held it while he scooped out, and threw high our second capture, which proved to be another carp, nearly, but not quite so big as mine.

We were soon fishing again from our old place, but without the slightest success now, the struggles with our golden prisoners having apparently scared away all the other fish.

"This won't do," said Mercer at last; "we shall have to try somewhere else. Here, I forgot all about Jem Roff; and look at 'em."

"Look at what?"

"Why, the eels. Can't you see them?"

"No."

"Why, look at those bubbles coming up. That's eels at work stirring up the mud at the bottom, or coming out of their holes. We'll soon talk to them."

His way of talking to the eels was to raise the floats so high, that, after trying several times, it became evident that he had adjusted the depth so that the bait touched the ground, and the floats lay half over on their sides.

"Now then," he said, after examining the worms, "we ought to catch old Jem's supper pretty soon. Throw in there, near me."

I did as I was told, and the patient waiting began again, with changes of baits and moves in fresh positions, but without result, and I was beginning to get rather tired and hungry, when my companion said dolefully,--

"Don't seem to bite. They won't begin till it's nearly dusk, and we shall have to go back before very long, for we must have some tea.

Wonder whether cook'll give us some meat? I know: we'll get some eggs of Polly Hopley; she'll boil 'em for us, and we'll take 'em back."

We fished for another hour.

"It's no good," said Mercer; "I'm very sorry. I wanted you to catch a big eel, and then you'd want to come again, and now you won't care about it."

"Oh yes, I shall," I said. "It was worth coming too, even if we didn't catch any more fish."

"You think so? Look! you've got him!"

For my float was bobbing gently, and moving slowly away.

"No, no, don't strike. Yes--let him have it. That's an eel biting, and he will not leave it. You'll see."

The gentle bob, bob, bob of the float went on as it glided slowly away foot after foot, till I could bear the excitement no longer, and I turned my eyes to my companion as if to say, "Do let me strike now-- strike gently."

"Yes," he cried, "he must have got it;" and I struck gently, and felt directly as if the hook was in a stump or a dead branch at the bottom of the pool.

"It isn't a fish," I said, looking at Mercer.

"What is it then?" he replied, laughing. "It's an eel."

"But it don't move or run about."

"You wait a minute. It's an eel, and a big one."

My acquaintance with eels so far had been upon the slabs at the fishmonger's shops, or in pieces browned and garnished with fried parsley, and my line remained so tight and still that I still doubted my companion's words.

"He has got his tail in a hole, or twined about a stump."

"But don't you think the hook's in a stump?"

"I never knew a stump bite at a worm, and run away with your float.

There, he's loose now. Keep him up, and don't let him go down low again."

I heard his words, but felt that all I could do was to let the eel go where it liked. For it started the fight by swinging its head rapidly from side to side in a succession of sharp jerks, and then began to make the line and the top of the rod quiver, as it worked its way backward, trying to descend to the bottom, while my efforts were, of course, directed towards pulling it to the top.

"That's right; you've got him fast," said Mercer. "It's of no use to try and play him, he'll keep on like that for long enough. Give me the rod while you get back to the bank. Then you must pull him out quickly, right up on to the gra.s.s, and put your foot upon him. Not afraid of eels, are you?"

"I don't know," I said.

"Because the big ones will bite--hard."

I handed the rod, and walked back along the woodwork that was like the isthmus of our tiny wooden peninsula, and as soon as I was ash.o.r.e, Mercer left his rod again, and handed me mine, following directly after, as I felt the snaky-looking creature writhing and undulating at the end of the line, sending quite a galvanic thrill up my arms the while.

"Now then," said Mercer, "pull steady; and when it is near the top, run it right out on to the gra.s.s."

I tried to obey his orders; but when I saw the creature keeping up its rapid serpentine motion, I felt disposed to let it go down again into its watery depths. I did not, however, but gradually swept the point of my rod round, drawing my prisoner nearly to the bank, and then with one good swing drew it right out on to the gra.s.s, where, in an instant, it tied itself right up in a knot, with the line twisted about it.