CHAPTER XXVI

SPORT AT THE LAKE

It was not a difficult operation to bore some holes in the gunwale of my boat and to hammer in four stout pegs for row-locks, and then I put in a seat, constructed of thin bamboo strips, and all was ready. The craft was more than sixteen feet long, three feet in the beam and hollowed out to a depth of about eighteen inches. The launch was not effected until after I had secured a long, stout painter to the bow, the rope being made of creeper-fibre, twisted and braided. This was pliable and quite as enduring as hemp.

Although the Links were manifestly afraid of the lake, they were intensely interested when the craft upon which we had worked so hard and long, went splashing into the water. She righted herself in a second and floated high above the surface. But when I hauled her in with the rope and jumped inside, sat down and got out my sweeps, to row, the astonishment of the fellows was unbounded. They were frightened for my safety, uneasy to the verge of whining, as they ran up and down the beach, and still were all so fascinated that not one could look at anything else. Old Fatty acted precisely like one of those dogs who is crazy to join his master and yet dreads the water so greatly as to fear even wetting his feet. He lifted either foot, and half squatted and gave little jumps, as if about to plunge in and make a bold swim for the boat, till he appeared too ridiculous for words. Then he ran down the shore and back again and stood with his comical head on one side making me laugh uproariously.

The boat was great! She was inclined to roll a trifle, owing to the fact that she was the same size from stem to stern, and therefore minus the broad beam which makes a craft steady, but she was remarkably light to row and easily steered. Moreover I found, by throwing my weight to either side, that she had a powerful tendency to return to an even keel, which rendered her almost impossible to turn bottom upward. This I attributed to the fact that while her sides were comparatively thin, the bottom was at least eight inches thick, which made her light on top and heavy below, an excellent arrangement when to give her a larger belly was out of the question. I am bound to admit that she had no “lines,” that indeed she looked like the log she was, clumsy and quite ungraceful. Nevertheless I was prouder as I sat in her hold than is any captain of the noblest ship afloat.

I rowed her this way and that, across to a nearby point and then straight away down the middle of the lake for half a mile. When I turned I made out a floating thing a score of yards from the shore on the left—one of my alligator acquaintances, swimming about. I was not afraid of any attack in so large a boat, especially as my nature could not have been so readily surmised by the hungry saurians, while I was rowing. I should not have minded a race anyway, for I felt secure on my own stamping ground and as saucy as a boy with a toy pistol.

Before starting back, I noted particularly the outline against the sky which our hill and its neighbours formed, thinking I might be much in need of some such guide when I came to go further from home. Then I drove my craft with all the speed I could force. Her prow was slightly above the glass-like surface and the water swashed backward from her keel with a sound that stirred me to immoderate delight in this my supreme achievement.

The oars were heavy and the row-locks a trifle awkward; we rolled a bit to one side and I was obliged to keep fetching her nose about to port at every dozen strokes, but I made satisfactory time and just before she shot across the last fifty feet of water and rammed up high on the shore, a startled fish of some description, leaped bodily out of the water and darted off in affright.

My friends gave forth various notes of alarm and fell back quickly to the shelter of the trees. I was not at all certain whether they were most afraid of the fish or of me and the magic which they seemed to think I possessed. Fatty, however, was too glad to get me back to care for anything else. He fell headlong over the boat in his crazy endeavour to get his paws upon me and to roll on top of my feet.

Inasmuch as the day was too far advanced to permit of any extended explorations, I decided to try for a bit of sport.

“Boys,” said I, remembering an old-time joke, “which would you rather do or go fishing?”

I got them to fetch me a long line, made of thongs tied firmly together, while Fatty got a bird for bait and I cut a tough hard hook out of wood. For this I chose a V-shaped crutch, one leg of which became the shank, while the other was cut off shorter, sharpened and formed like a barb. With the line tied to this, a rock for a sinker and a piece of the bird spitted on my hook, I got out at the end of the boat and heaved the tackle out as far as the cord would permit.

I pulled it back with no result, save for a nibble when I had taken it almost in. I thought the fish must be small and near the shore. However, I tried again. The result was the same, only that I got two nibbles instead of one. The third cast was an aggravation, for some miserable sprat got my bait. We put on a fresh piece and tied it in place.

“Now,” I grunted, as I threw the line again, “we’ll see if you young sardines will—”

A sudden, hard jerk on the line nearly dragged me overboard, neck and crop. I had a bite which felt big enough to indicate a whale.

Bracing, I stopped the line abruptly from running through my hands; and then began a tug-o’-war. It was not a scientific fight, for I dared not permit Mr. Fish to take his head for a second, well knowing that when he turned and slacked the line, the hook would slip from its hold at once and let him escape. I therefore hauled at him hard and stubbornly, panting soon and leaning backward, for he felt as heavy as the bottom of the lake and quite as unwilling to be led as a mule. The strain came on the line and on the hook. If these held—what would we see?

I worked backward, inch by inch in the boat, till at last I was out on the shore. By that time the craft had been hauled off the bank and was all but ready to float.

“Here, Fatty,—come here—and help,” I panted.

Fatty understood and while he was filled with misgivings that made him actually tremble, he laid hold of the line and together we drew it in, hand over hand. Presently with a mad whirl our catch came floundering and slashing upward till it splashed the surface, in violent action, when it disappeared like a piece of lead. A minute later we hauled the thrashing denizen to shallow water and then clean out on the bank. It was a good-sized tortoise, fairly hooked, dripping, fierce-looking and struggling with all its might to get away.

Fortunately the Links knew something of turtles. Three plucked up courage sufficient to despatch our prize at my third shout of, “Shoot him! Pig!”

“Shoot” meant to slay, in any style or form, and “pig” signified anything in the way of game or a foe. The catch made my friends so enthusiastic that they wanted no end of fishing. It also provided a food of which they were fond, and it gave me a nice new basin. Deep-lake angling having proved to be hot, hard work, I bethought me of trying for something more quiet. Additional line was soon forthcoming, and a run up to camp provided a bamboo rod, after which I cut a smaller hook and baited as before.

At the second cast from the boat, I got a good sharp strike, and without the slightest ceremony jerked out a silvery fish a foot in length, of a species wholly unknown in my limited category of the finny tribe. In fifteen minutes I had seven of these, ranging in weight from one to four pounds, I judged, and all of firmer flesh than I had expected to find in water so warm. The enjoyable part of all this play was to hear the exclamations of wonder on the part of the Links, at every successive catch. Had I remained there a day, performing this feat every two minutes, I believe those child-like creatures would have stayed at my side, marvelling no less at the very last catch than they did at the first.

I created an incredible excitement, finally by making Fatty take the rod in his hand for a cast. He got a bite so quickly that it made him jump inside his skin, from toes to crown. The fellow would have fallen down and rolled away had I not held him fast and compelled him to land his flopping shiner. At this the Links behind us nearly had a fit. Amusement, curiosity, timidity and desire to come and do likewise made them the most excited and entertaining group in the world. One by one they worked themselves up to the frenzy of courage necessary to try their luck, but the ticklish, unique sensation of catching a fish so quickly dispelled their fears that before we finished they were fairly scrambling for the chance to be the next to try.

Beholding the immense satisfaction with which males and females, young and old, cooked and devoured our catch, I wondered that the Links had never progressed sufficiently to fish for themselves. The only explanation I was able to give was that owing to their dread of the lake, about the borders of which were innumerable snakes and alligators, they had never discovered this food and therefore knew nothing of the ease of taking all they could wish, by various primitive methods.

A small quantity of tortoise and one of the smaller shiners satisfied my craving for a change of diet, for neither was cooked to my liking, nor was the flesh of a flavour to give me any particular delight. However, I thought the Links deserved the play which the nearness of the lake afforded, and therefore I cut them a score of hooks, that night by the light of the fire, and had them prepare a lot of lines to tie at the end of some bamboo rods which they fetched before the darkness descended.

For myself, I laid out a bit of roasted meat and some fruit, got my bow and arrows together, and otherwise made ready for an early start on my tour of exploration.