LwivERsrnr of b.c. library III 3 9424 06203 9745 Phila^^Kig STORAGE ITEB »OOD»AfiD »dt-L05G U.B.C. LIBRARY "tftfg THE LIBRARY THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA w Best Wishes For a VICTORY CHRISTMAS AND A PEACEFUL NEW YEAR with ixyrs of TIGHT LINES FROM THE AUTHOR OF Fishing & Philandering " 1 am indebted to Mr. R. B. Marston* Editor of the "Fishing Gazette," for his kind permission to reproducethe statistics overleaf. I FISHING AND PHILANDERING p "DISCUSSING HIS QUALIFICATIONS.' THE SQUIRE AND GARRETT. FISHING AND PHILANDERING by ARTHUR MAINWARING Author of " Crown & Company" " The 2nd Bn. Royal Dublin Fusiliers in the South African War " (with Major C. F. Ronier), " Cut Cavendish" § The Whist Drive Manual" " The A.B.C. of IP &c. With an introduction by H. T. SHERINGHAM, Angling Editor of " The Field." HEATH CRANTON & OUSELEY LTD. FLEET LANE LONDON E. C. Most of the contents of this hook have appeared in the pages of " The Field," " Country Life," and " The Fishing Gazette," to the Editors and Proprietors of which papers I am much indebted for permission to republish them. ARTHUR MAINWARING. CONTENTS Introduction - - - - - -n Chapter I. ------ 17 The range of angling literature—Jonathan—The intolerance of the purist—The joy of fishing—Fishing weather—The shrimp—The worm—Billy—Jealousy —Solitude—The scientific side—Do salmon feed in fresh water—The sight of fish—The dangers of fishing-^-Fine and far off—Paraphernalia. Chapter II. - - - - 30 Indian fishing—Ignorance in the midst of plenty—The mighty mahseer—A fishing lunch—Shooting incidents—A Christmas camp—Indian trout— Caught by night—A perilous voyage—The Major's goonch—A dry river —A red letter day—My best mahseer—Indian tackle. Chapter III. - - - - - 47 Introduction to salmon—Jonathan's best fish—Johnny's hat—Fishing or whist —A determined bull—Jonathan's friend—Heresy—My discarded bob-fly— Advice gratis—Outside—Late nights. Chapter IV. - - - - - - 59 Philandering—A digression—Worcester sauce—Fresh eggs—My dinner party. —Hunting—Shooting—Charles and my change—Also my rod—A perilous trip—Bridge—Poker—South African fishing—Charles' lunch—Christmas at Colenso. Chapter V. ------ 74 Connemara—A slip of the pen—Galway—Cong—The castaways—A brace of liars—Recess—White trout—Cashel—The Zetland Arms—It's landlord— Screebe—Costello—A brace of trout. Chapter VI. ------ 84 A bicycle picnic—Not a success—Impossibility of pleasing everybody—Quotations—Dapping—Killaloe—Grace's Hotel—Lough Derg—Salmon—Water bailiffs—The unhooked fish—A big fellow. VI CONTENTS Chapter VII. 93 Free fishing—Trout or salmon—The reward of virtue—The Fane—Licenses— The Slaney—An ill-timed pike—A seventh fly—A bad gaffer—The Liffey— An astonished friend—Perch—A river flowing up hill—Another form of dapping—Trout—A fine bag—Midges—Strike duty—The battle of the Boyne —Billiards—Cricket—A well provided angler—The Tees—The Hampshire Avon—A grand fish. Chapter VIII. 107 Jibes at fishing—Jonathan as a shot—The poachers—His best shot—A French shoot—Strike duty again—Bottom fishing—Game fish or coarse—What is the best fishing—Scotland—A made loch—The evening rise—A Guardee— Derbyshire trout and grayling—Salmon or grilse. Chapter IX. - - - - - - 120 Isaak Walton-^-Is fishing cruel—Sir Herbert Maxwell's opinion—Cannibal fish— A trial—Nature's laws—Pain—A Zulu's finger—Fishing books—Giants of the past—A fishing diary—Jonathan's doubts—Knots—The discoveries of science. Chapter X. - - - - - 131 Heretical views—Flies—Their variety—Different flies for different days-1—Working the fly—Narrow mindedness—Salmon flies—Trout flies—The birth of the Dublin Fusilier—It's dressing—Jonathan's criticism—The Faugh-a- ballagh—The Dungarvon—Jonathan again—Fishing deep—Hunger, curiosity, or rage—A lady and a dog on one cast. Chapter XI. ------ 144 Spinning baits—Natural or artificial—Spinning reels—Worms—Fancy baits— Prawns or shrimps—The bait of baits—Method of baiting—Method of fishing—Mr. Sheringham's views—His hooks—Fishing the shrimp " con amore." Chapter XII. ----- _ I55 The Cachalot Club—The Bosun—His rod—The club water—The Bosun's train— His luncheon basket—Other members of the club—E. Haugh—The Sapper —The Squire—The Admiral—A rival club—The Tripper—The Little Man— His fish—The Bosun's fish—The right fly. Chapter XIII. - - - - - -166 A general's inspection—The shrimp in low water—Converted but unconvinced— Glycerine shrimps—A persistent taker—Evening fishing—An eager fish- Ducal water—Novel theories—A Guard of Honour—Bridge at the Castle— Their Majesties—A seventy pounder—Trout and pig's liver—The missing butler—The occult lady. zszz^mgmmmmm? CONTENTS vii Chapter XIV. - - - - - 175 The Bosun's peal—Crimping it—His accident—Old Tom Shea—Good days and bad—Smiler's fish—The Quarry pool—Garrett Fitzgerald—Grand sport— The eels in the mud—Jack Douane—Memory-^Somnambulism—Mice—Bulldogs—Starlings—Salmon and blasting—Disturbing fish. Chapter XV. 187 Ambition—A big pike—Difficulty of bait fishing—Col. Cane's experience—The shrimp in high water—Billy's fight with a salmon—Hooked fish disturbing others—A great day—Novice's luck—Another great day—The Colonel changes his name. Chapter XVI. - - - - - - 201 The Bard of Athy—A visit to Jonathan—Age of spawning fish—Fishermen's veracity—A dry season—Blank days—The Lochy—The Deveron—The Avon —Salmon on trout tackle—A collision—A lion—Tommy—His patience—His driving—His wife's jewellery—A coincidence—The Curate's trout—That wonderful child. Chapter XVII. 213 A rod case—The point of view—High water—Hooked in the thumb—The Crown Princess—New and cheap water for the Club—Lightning—Last casts—How many—Happy endings—The charm of fishing. Chapter XVIII. 225 The biter bit—Caught at last—Low water—My best salmon—A bet—Garrett on gaffing—The unexpected—Bad weather—A big fish—The Squire's letter —The point of view of the fish—Killaloe revisited—Her first fish—The fish that others catch—The fish we caught. Chapter XIX. 35 Pessimistic forebodings—Conventionality or unconventionality—Theory or practice^—Book-learning or Garrett—Hiding or seeking—To strike or not to strike—The fish extraordinary—Sartorial anecdotes—A welcome invitation —New ground or, rather, water—An old spoon—Triangles or single hooks —Triumph and Disaster—Aquatic Heavenly twins—What might have been —Conclusion. LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 1. DISCUSSING HIS QUALIFICATIONS - - Fwntisfiece Facing page 2. JONATHAN IN NORWAY - - - - 54 3. NEARING THE END ----- 94 4. ROSKEEN BRIDGE - - - - - 126 5. THE TWO TREE POOL - - - - - 158 6. THE WEST INSH STREAM - - - - 178 7. IN HIM IN FOYLE ----- 218 8. THE TAIL OF FOYLE ----- 236 an To R., C, J., Three friends with whom I have very often fished and philandered. INTRODUCTION Being an open letter from the Angling Editor of " The Field." My Dear Colonel, I have to thank you for a number of benefits and I am happy to be able to seize on an occasion which permits me to express my gratitude thus publicly. First, you have made me laugh with a frequency which has been a great comfort to me. Next, you have made me think pretty often, despite a natural tendency to evade thought when possible. And in the third place you have caused me to catch a considerable number of salmon which I certainly should never have caught without you. Here would be justification for a whole volume of grateful eulogy, and is ample excuse for the few paragraphs in which I want to unbosom myself. Had you been Piscator (your writing has the ring of the true metal), and I your scholar (my fishing has all the required badness), and had we both been in the year 1652 or thereabouts, these remarks would have taken the form of a set of commendatory verses. Happily (for my versifying is even worse than my fishing) this is 1914, and an open letter is now more in tune with the times. Touching this matter of laughter, you do a good deed, believe me, when you reveal the inherently comic nature of things as is your admirable manner. We are in danger of becoming a sad and serious, folk, we brethren of the angle. Things are taking on an aspect of increasing solemnity. A salmon is no longer a bonny bit of silver which you just hook, play, gaff, and eat, to think no more of him afterwards, except, maybe, as a topic for an article, or as a rejoinder to the man who would stick to the fly. No, nowadays a salmon xii INTRODUCTION is a complex organism, possessed of a caudal peduncle, an operculum, likewise a preoperculum, maxillaries, a peritoneum, and a great many other things which I have forgotten. Having quieted this fighting dictionary with the chunk of rock (whose scientific name I have also forgotten) which Garrett keeps handy for the purpose, you proceed to take the necessary particulars—length, girth, sex, condition, and other details (the "caudal fin," you note is "slightly emarginate "). Next, out with your forceps and to the great work of scale collecting. Then home to the laboratory and the microscope. Here you have a thrilling time tracing the fish through all its varied career, the two years of river life, the first summer and first winter in the sea, the second summer and second winter in the sea, and the beginnings of a third summer (or spring) in the sea. It is a great game, and though you have ©ne secret sorrow—the absence of a spawning mark from the scales—you lean back in your chair not ill content. The work advances, the table of curves grows apace, and you have reduced your salmon from its undeserved eminence as the king of fish to its proper place as a statistic. That is what a salmon is now, a statistic. The same sort of thing is happening with the trout, which is closely connected with Bibio johannis, Ephemera danicay Sericostoma personatum, and other eminent objects of careful research. I can remember an irreverent time when the searchers in this kind were opprobriously called " bug- hunters." We have changed all that of course and they are now thinly disguised as trout-fishers. And the trout, formerly recognised as the monarch of the brook, has now become a mere excuse. Other fish—but I need not go into that; though I seem to find the pike playing its part in the movement of the time. You will, I think, after a good many seasons in Ireland agree that the pike forms an admirable starting point for the purest speculative philosophy, the search for ultimate truth. I become diffuse, owing to the vast seriousness of these themes, so no more of them. Let me rather return to laughter and yourself. I have often thought that writers on fishing have been too prone to regard the angler as a special manifestation set apart from (and perhaps above) the rest of INTRODUCTION xiii humanity. Your presentation of him is much truer. You show that the angler's a man for all that.* He is. He presents accordingly a study in laughter and tears just like his fellows. He may be followed through Juvenal's catalogue of situations—votum, timor, ira, voluptas, gaudia, dis- cursus—just as if he were Napoleon, or Wagner, or Stevenson, or some other subject of frequent "appreciation." I anticipate that your chapters will appeal quite as strongly to lay-readers as to fishermen by reason of the fact that you depict human beings rather than animated wading-trousers or walking creels. Besides, everybody likes to be amused, and you have written a brave book. I am not so sure that everybody likes to be made to think —in fact a good many of us frankly resent such an obligation. Still there are few but would admit that it was salutary. And so when you make us think you do a good deed. It is all the better when you make those of us who are salmon fishers think. If ever there was a " chuck-and-chance-it " business it is salmon fishing as practised by the majority of us. We put on a fly (" any old fly ") and " go down " a pool with about as much appreciation of subtleties as a sandwich-man who goes down Piccadilly. Having "fished every inch" (save the mark) we put on any other old fly and go down it again. Then we say whatever comes to mind in the way of expletives and go on to the next pool to repeat our manual exercises. The idea of bringing a little ingenuity to bear on the matter never occurs to us. How should it, when we do not know what ingenuity (as applied to salmon fishing) is ? As a matter of fact this sport is just as artful as any other 5 kind of fishing, more artful perhaps than any. The beast we pursue has no appetite that could be called an appetite (to the " feeding in fresh water " enthusiasts I would merely say, "Why don't you catch more fish then?"), and we have to appeal to curiosity, annoyance, acquisitiveness, " bilious craving," or whatever its moods are to be called. It is possible to appeal to these moods, though difficult. * In answer to any of our intimates who might urge that both you and I had special and recent reasons for thinking this, I would point out that the reasons are of considerably later date than our mutual recognition of the truth stated. Possibly they might be considered in the light of rewards for accurate thought. xiv INTRODUCTION Perhaps it is not so difficult as it seems to those of us who have ere now spent a blank month on a well-stocked river. You, and one or two other convincing writers whom I could name, show that it ought not to be so difficult. As I read you and them I get the idea that a capable fisherman should be able, provided the fish are there, to reduce the business of catching some of them to a measure of certainty. To some small extent I have even proved this myself, and here I come to my third reason for gratitude to you. I had read a paean by you in praise of the shrimp fished on a single hook. At that time I thought meanly of the shrimp, which I had been accustomed to decorate with triangles and leave in the rocks at the rate of about three shrimps an hour, with, of course, the triangles and varying lengths of expensive salmon gut. The shrimp seemed to me a lure of the Evil One designed, not for salmon, but for me. However there I was on a northern river plumb in the middle of a paralysing drought, and at last in sheer despera* tion I worried a shrimp on to a single hook and clumsily began to fish it as much like a fly as I could—I was determined, whatever happened, to have no more of the rock and breakage business, so I used no lead and fished not deeper than mid-water. In half-an-hour I was incredulously contemplating a sixteen-pounder on the bank. Half-an-hour after that I was contemplating, with a somewhat different expression, a twenty-pounder which I had played out and which was within six inches of the gaff. Unhappily the hook was no longer in its mouth and I was compelled to watch with bulging eyes the awful spectacle of a hard-earned fish slowly recovering and receding from view. That, however, was not your fault, and the fact that I had hooked the fish at all was your credit. I got another later that day, and enough on other days of equally hopeless appearance to make my holiday a decided success. Indeed I acquired something of a local reputation as an angler, and finally received an invitation from a neighbouring fishery owner to show him how this shrimp-fishing was done ! Which was pretty well for a raw beginning. Subsequent experience has more than confirmed me in my gratitude to you for the best salmon fishing tip I ever had. INTRODUCTION xv Not that it is the only one by any means—that pleasant notion of stirring the fish up with lumps of rock, for instance, in which I have a firm belief without having ever tried it; the I Dublin Fusilier " again, to which I pin all my faith, though it has so far not gained me a rise. And there are others, as readers of your book will readily discover. That those readers will profit as much by your excellent advice and example as I have is the hope and belief of Your obliged, H. T. SHERINGHAM. ■rmrmr' Sifcn FISHING & PHILANDERING CHAPTER I Give me mine angle ; we'll to the river : there My music playing far off, I will betray Tawny-finn'd fishes; my bended hooks shall pierce Their slimy jaws. Antony and Cleopatra. The range of angling literature—Jonathan—The intolerance of the purist—The joy of fishing—Fishing weather—The shrimp— The worm—Billy—Jealousy—Solitude—The scientific side—Do salmon feed in fresh water—The sight of fish—The dangers of fishing—Fine and far off—Paraphernalia. A witty young friend writing an introduction to another of my works remarked that " no one ever reads a preface," a statement which, however jestfully written, contains about 90 p.c. of truth. But I would very strongly advise everyone not to omit the preface on this occasion, since it has very kindly been written for me by Mr. H. T. Sheringham, the Angling Editor of I The Field." In endeavouring to write a book on fishing one has a wide range of literature to crioose from if one requires a guide. A mere enumeration of the various authors' names would fill a page, the titles of their works a chapter. From " The Compleat Angler" down to those last, but by no means least, delightful books ei An Angler at large," " Days Stolen for Sport/' and tmmm ■MM 18 FISHING AND PHILANDERING I Coarse Fishing," one may select works in every sort of style, descriptive of every sort of fishing from whales to gudgeon. Some anglers treat merely of methods: others of natural history: others of moving incidents of floods and droughts. There is nothing new under the sun: every branch of the art has been dealt with: every species of fish described: every method of catching them explained. Then why on earth write another would seem a very pertinent question. Yet there seems to me an answer. For if the experience of a quarter of a century's fishing contains one useful hint, one piece of information, one tip which may perchance set a brother angler's rod bowing and quivering, then one has not written in vain nor without excuse. It is in the hope of succeeding in doing so that this book is written. The mighty angler who appears in these pages as ' Jonathan ' is far away the best fisherman I have ever met. As though it were yesterday, I see him thirty-five years ago landing the first trout I ever saw captured. Whether stretching forty yards of salmon line and returning it straight as an arrow, with the cast gracefully uncurving to fall light as thistle-down on a salmon pool, or, lying prone in June herbage, flicking a dry fly under an alder with a nine-foot rod, he is always at his best: a master to watch respectfully: a standard to endeavour to attain to: a model fisherman. Under his auspices I caught my first salmon: in his waters I have fished repeatedly. At his feet I have assimilated wisdom together with some of the finest port and choicest baccy. A purist himself, he is yet broad-minded enough to overlook my heretical unconventionality. Long may he flourish; himself and his eighteen-footer: long may he cast and fine: and many long ' Cabinet Upmann's ' of his may we consume together. For alas! all good anglers are not as he is. All purists are not tolerant. I wonder why. It does not embitter my life when they come to fish with me and prefer to stick to ' fly only ' when the salmon are obviously ' not taking FISHING AND PHILANDERING 19 any.' Why should they gaze askance at my poor fish when I have meekly followed them down the bank, fishing where they had no intention of fishing again that day? It is not jealousy. Had I caught the fish on a • Jock Scott ' or a ' Silver Doctor ' or a ' Lemon Grey,' their congratulations would have been lavishly poured upon me, but when in answer to the query ' What did he take ?' I humbly answer ' A shrimp ' or ' A Devon,' uplifted brows and monosyllabic ' Ohs ' are all their answer. Why? I know not. It is one of the unanswerable enigmas of life. No matter. We are as we are made —most of us—and they are good fellows at heart if narrow at mind. Let them go down first again to-morrow, or let them choose their beats, light another pipe, and wait till they are out of sight; then follow them, find a fish, and stick to him. Begin courteously by offering him a selection from the fly-book: if this invitation is refused, try something more substantial, a prawn for choice: as a last resort something more exciting in the shape of a minnow, natural if possible, deftly spun and deep. But stick to your fish: he will take something some time: hunger, rage, or curiosity, one of the three will lure him to his doom. But stick to him: however recalcitrant he may appear, the next may be equally if not more so. Each cast may be the fortunate one. ff Ye know not the day nor the hour," nor the minute when he will have it, so be prepared all the time, for the thrill often comes when hope is all but extinguished. Stick to it. For, of course, the aim and object of all good anglers is to catch fish: that is our objective: yet how we are misunderstood. Those who have never been initiated into the secret, seeing us return with baskets as light as our hearts, at once draw the conclusion that we have once more proved ourselves failures. What a misconception: what a void: what an ignoring of all the hundred and one other joys of fishing beside the mere catching of fish. The day in the country: the murmur of the stream: the teeming natural history around us: the glorious views, and, perchance, exchange of views: the improvement in -^"imr m 20 FISHING AND PHILANDERING our casting: the picnic meal: the seasoned pipe: the ever- fresh problem presented by the fish that will not take: and sometimes the pulse-quickening thrill produced by the fish that will: the difficulties overcome: (\ If you can meet with triumph and disaster And treat those two impostors just the same." That is it: that is the true fisherman's secret. The good day and the bad: the full creel and the empty: the big fish and the small: the lost monster and the captured specimen. Then the incidents one meets with, jocosely disbelieved by our friends the Stayat Holmes. But let them scoff an they will, so they let us go forth. Let them turn over again and come down to their late breakfasts; but let us rise with the dawn, swallow down our tea, tap the glass, glance at the sky, light our pipes, and away amongst the buttercups and marsh marigolds where the rushes bend and bend but never break, ' - The lissom reeds that give and take, That bend so far, but never break " in the swirling gold-brown water, out of which a gleaming bar of silver leaps to welcome us. That tap on the glass: that glance at the sky: the one rising, the other bright as bright, with only a few fleecy white clouds, abhorred of Jonathan, here and there, merely serving to accentuate the blueness of the ether. Both bad portents to those who allow themselves to be influenced by portents. But " He that observeth the wind shall not sow; and he that regardeth the clouds shall not reap." And if we waited for the perfect day we should probably wait a long time, and then very likely find the water too high or too low, or the fish running, or not on the take, or none there. So let the glass rise or fall, let the clouds be white or black, high or low, away with us, thankful for our holiday in the open air, thankful for health, and enough wealth at all events to go fish- FISHING AND PHILANDERING 21 ing, and for all the other benefits that will readily occur when the heart is light, and still more readily as we return when the basket is heavy. All the morning it seems as* if we may get a fish at any moment, yet no fish comes: all the afternoon hope, though eternally springing, springs lower each moment until it seems impossible that we can ever catch another fish, and we Whoop-la! In him, by Gad! A fish after all. Carefully with him, || use him as though you loved him," heart in mouth: it will be such a triumph: such a crow as we shall have over the Stayat Holmes, the tappers of glasses and the gazers at clouds. Now: as I bring him in: good man. And the gaff goes home, and twenty pounds of molten, quivering silver lie resplendent on the grass at our feet, with the tide-lice in evidence as we take out the fly. Who said ' Shrimp? ' Very likely it was a shrimp, which is Irish for prawn. Are we ashamed ? Not I at all events. Let us, however, avoid and eschew all controversy, dear men and brothers, dearer still women and sisters, or even, if our luck is in, sweethearts. " Fishers must not wrangle." If a fish will take a fly, by all means let us take him on a fly: if he wont, let us take him on a spoon, a minnow, a prawn, or even a worm, but, above all, let us take him. Now in that matter of a worm. As will appear later, to my mind it is the most difficult of all methods of catching salmon: certainly it is the most unpleasant: there is our own repugnance to be considered: there is also the worm's. For whatever one may hear to the contrary, the worm does object—and object very strongly. But have you ever watched the thrush you admire so much at his breakfast? Have you ever seen that sweet singer pecking bits off his unhappy prey, and its wriggling, though unavailing, remonstrance? What does Nature mean by its thousand seeming contradictions ? Who and what are we that we should rise superior to her rules and regulations? Ought we seriously to consider the worm ? And will he not in time take a loathsome revenge. Bah! I don't like it. In fact, I dislike it, and revert to it only in desperation: as the dernier 22 FISHING AND PHILANDERING ressort. And in the close season vow I will never revert to it again. But next week I am going an angling once more, and—well, perhaps I shall, and perhaps I sha'n't. Anyway " I wish you joy of the worm," which you will find in Antony and Cleopatra. Now it is a curious thing, but certainly a fact, that some fishermen are jealous. I remember once walking home with " Billy " after a blank day, and suddenly seeing over the gorse bushes a rod bending and swaying against the sky. " By Jove," quoth I, as we stopped to watch, " that beggar H. is in a fish." No answer did I get, and in the pleasure of watching the good fight from the opposite bank it did not seem strange. We had both fished that same pool, and I expressed wonder as to what bait had proved the deadly one. Still getting no answer, I glanced at my young friend: he was white and quivering: if he had been possessed of hackles they would every one have been bristling. Rage and fury devoured him. At last he managed to blurt out, " Come on, he's going to kill it; I can't bear it." It afforded me food for thought what time I smoked two pipes. We could not have killed that fish ourselves: at least we had failed to, and were on our way home: then what strange demon possessed " Billy ": I don't know: he did not like H. it is true, but then very few people did. Yet H. is not a bad chap in his way, though a man may be a very good chap in his own way, but an infernal nuisance in yours. He once gave me leave to fish his bit down after he'd had a blank day, and in the last fading hour of daylight I hooked three fish and killed one of them. He had certainly never done " Billy " any harm. What could it be? Could there be a kink in that seemingly kinkless character? A rift in that mellow lute? He was never jealous of me. Though once I was very jealous of him; but we were not after a fish on that occasion, and one reason why I never could catch a woman was because my father did not leave me enough bait. From all of which the moral should by this time be apparent: that I am not a jealous fisherman. No, I am FISHING AND PHILANDERING 23 not. But there is one thing to confess to all the same. I do like being alone when fishing. Some people can be with one without being in the way: silent observers in search of new methods, who after a bit go off by themselves, to turn up later with a fish, or as a friend of mine, who had never tried my single-hook method of prawning, once did with three when I had a blank day. But to be assailed with a ceaseless flow of questions or anecdotes: to be worried as to why you do this and the reason for that, or the necessity for something else. Imagine a spectator at a billiard match suddenly rising and asking Stevenson why he was hitting his ball so low, or amidst the deadly hush on the last green, approaching Braid with a request to look at his putter. Highly strung? Well, of course they are, but so is a fisherman. More especially if he fancies a fish touched him last cast. " Why are you changing your shrimp? " Has the man never changed his fly for a larger or a smaller one ? So should one change one's shrimp—I can't get into the habit of calling them prawns—if one knows a fish has seen it once or twice, for a larger or smaller one. " Why are you taking off that piece of lead? " Can't the chap see I'm too deep by a few inches? At last he gets bored, loses interest, wants to try himself, and moves on, till one is at last alone and can give one's whole mind to ascertaining why the fish you know is there won't look at anything. Yes, it is good to be alone when fishing. I only know one exception, but then, I only know one thing better than fishing. Modern science has cleared up many of the problems to which our grandfathers could find no solution. Microscopical examination of scales has rudely dispelled old theories as to the length of time salmon remain in the sea, the periods of their visits, and the old idea that they paid an annual visit to fresh water. Other scientists have proved that their inability to digest food is the reason for their empty stomachs when caught in rivers and lakes; but this last is one of those vexed questions that will probably call for a division as long as men and women 24 FISHING AND PHILANDERING go fishing. When one kills a fish with a worm, and finds that unfortunate creature halfway down the fish's gullet, it is a little hard to understand what it was there for unless to be eaten. It is much too hard for me. Let it suffice that, whether from hunger, rage, or curiosity, these noble fish will occasionally—and sometimes it does seem so very occasionally—take our baits. That is all that need concern the non-scientific branch of our brotherhood. The next thing we find is that they take some people's baits, for what is a fly but a bait, even more occasionally than others: if, then, we can find out the reason for this preference, and if it is discovered to be certain differentiation in presentation, we have made a long step towards improving our chances of sport, and that, remember, is our objective all along the line. I have recently been making a series of experiments in my bath, at considerable personal inconvenience, not to mention risk, with a view of discovering the point of view of the quarry. Lying supine on my back at the bottom of eighteen inches of clear water, I have dangled a salmon fly in mortal dread over my nose between my eyes and the window. Even to my mortal vision the fly was clear enough to behold, but never have I been able to discern any movement of the fibres of the wing or hackle by dragging it to and fro, while very little commotion in the dense element was sufficient to obscure it altogether. If, therefore, it makes a difference to us whether the water is still or disturbed, it is probable that it does the same, though perhaps in much less degree, to the fish, and our theories as to smaller flies in low or still water, and larger ones in high, rapid, or discoloured water are probably right enough. Yet it is a question if the water is ever really muddy to a fish, whether it can be compared to a London fog, for instance, or only to the difference between sunshine and shade from our point of view. For if you will take a glass of water from the river, even when it seems too hopelessly pea-soupified to fish in, you will find that the small quantity in the glass seems almost clear. Struck by this I have persevered in the 1 FISHING AND PHILANDERING 25 yellowest floods, though I must confess unsuccessfully, though the ! Bosun '—however, of that tale later. Being somewhat short of wind, my experiments were necessarily curtailed, which, coupled with the fear of getting the hook in my nose, soon made me desist. But by carrying on without a hook I have made one or two discoveries, of which one seems to me remarkable enough. One would naturally expect that one would see one's hand more distinctly with the window for a background than with the wall. Yet such is not the case. Against the dull wall the hand is plain enough and all the fingers; against the window it looks more like a skeleton hand, a sort of X ray photograph of a hand. If fish see under at all the same conditions, then they see us most distinctly when we crouch against the bank, and least distinctly when we stand erect in bold relief against the sky. There is also the question of hearing. It is commonly thought that fish do not hear, though Sir Herbert Maxwell, of whom I am a humble disciple, has himself seen evidence to prove they do. I cannot see why they should not, for even I can hear quite distinctly under water, some sounds indeed becoming intensified. Get into your bath and let the water run out; now lower your head under the surface and see if the sound is not louder. Not only can I hear a person speaking with my head completely immersed, but I can also repeat what they say if they speak fairly distinctly. Wherefore I believe that fish can hear, and intend to act according. Reverting to my fear of hooking myself, I have known two bad cases of hooked bipeds. Once in a gust of wind I Jonathan ' hooked himself well and firmly through the lip and had to wait some time before it could be extracted. On another occasion an esteemed and portly friend of mine staying in a country house was invited to fish. Fish ? Not he: not such a mug: but he would go down and watch * Hughie ' for a bit. Provided with a rug, a Laranaga, and a French novel, he made himself extremely cosy, at what seemed to him a sufficiently safe 26 FISHING AND PHILANDERING distance from the bank. But ' Hughie ' was a disciple of ' Fine and far off,' and when at the extreme stretch of forty yards of line his large spring fly caught in the lobe of my poor friend's ear, the powerful forward drive of eighteen feet of cane and steel brought him to his feet' all standing ' with a howl of mingled rage, pain, and astonishment that set every dog barking in sympathetic unison within a two-mile radius. " Fine and far off ": it is a great motto, well worthy of emulation. Yet it is possible that at times one is too fine and at others too far off, nay, sometimes both together. " Now you must be sure not to cumber yourself with too long a line, as most do." For some seasons past ' Jonathan ' has complained bitterly of the number of fish he has hooked and lost. No finer exponent of ' fine and far off ' ever threw a fly, nor is his ability to play a fish one whit less: why then his continued run of bad luck ? He told me lately that he thought he had discovered the reason. His casts had become finer and finer: they were always long: knowing the fineness ofhis tackle, he had raised the point too gently, with the result that he had failed to drive the barb home: c Hinc illae lachrymae.' Again, in the matter of I far off.' He can throw fifteen yards of line more than I ever attempt, and throw them better, and with no more effort: so to him 1 far off ' is doubtless an advantage in every way, but how many men does one not see making kind of gymnastic contortions at each cast: surely they must lose much of the pleasure derived from the serene: length at the price of effort cannot be good. Nor is it always useful. How often do they fish well at forty yards? A professional once told me that his father was the finest fisherman he had ever seen, and that he never fished more than twenty- five yards of line. Once I was a witness of some mighty casting with a vengeance. The late Mr. Enright visited the river for a couple of days' angling. He caught a few fish, and oh! but he was hard on them. Later on he delighted us by an exhibition of long casting; first with a sixteen-foot rod, and afterwards with a fearsome weapon 1 FISHING AND PHILANDERING 27 measuring no less than twenty. He invited me to try this latter, whereupon I as nearly as possible followed the line into the river. Then he took it up. True, he was on a high bank, while the rapid current was also all in his favour. But under any circumstances his performance could only be termed prodigious. At last he succeeded to his satisfaction, of course • shooting ' a tremendous lot of line in doing so. I measured that cast myself: it was one foot less than sixty yards. As regards paraphernalia I have little or nothing to say. There are many first-rate establishments, all of whom supply absolutely reliable tackle. The reader must choose for himself. Most of them publish beauti- fully-got-up catalogues annually, causing the mouths of those with the shallower purses to water almost enough to bring down a spate. The multiplicity of rods, reels, lines, flies, baits, etc., is endless. Yet perhaps one or two words of advice might be accepted in the spirit in which they are offered. Rods should be selected according to physique: split-cane, greenheart, or washaba according to individual tastes and pockets. The former are at least twice as expensive, but throw sweet lines almost of themselves. I own a rod of the latter wood given to me many years ago by * Jonathan,' when he took entirely to cane. It had then accounted for many hundreds of salmon. Now, alas! only the middle joint of the original rod remains; yet it is of all my rods the favourite: long may that centre-piece bend and spring true again. Some prefer spliced rods; others pin their faith to ferruled ones. Most people like the action to continue well down to the hand with a stiffish top. A good reel will last a lifetime: I have some old friends, twenty-five years of age, as good as the day they first appeared resplendent. The two secrets with regard to reels are to have a leather case for each, and to occasionally have them overhauled. Lines have of late years improved out of sight: if taken care of, and well rubbed with a good grease at the end of the season, they will last for years, like port, improving and mellowing with age. 4pl 28 FISHING AND PHILANDERING Gut again will last for many seasons if treated with reasonable care and not wrapped up with rusty hooks. Personally, I am satisfied if, after a thorough soaking, my casts will pull a dead weight of five pounds. One of the most surprising facts to the uninitiated is the lifting power of their rods. If this is new to you put it to practical proof. Ring up your rod, attach the end of the line to your steel-yard, and see how much strain you can put on. If you can pull from two and a half to three pounds you have a fine weapon, in which you can place implicit reliance. If, therefore, your rod bends almost double under a strain of two and a half pounds you may surely be content with last year's casts if they will lift double that amount. As L have a liberty, so I am resolved to use it, and neglect all sour censures. Izaak Walton. The Salmon and the Butterfly. Though " the salmon took the May fly With gustatory intent," I confess I'm still not certain That he was on feeding bent. For, suppose oneself a salmon, Bored and brooding all through June, Fins just moving, gently dreaming Of his coming honeymoon. Of a sudden flits a fairy Sailing down—a butterfly— " Great Jock Scott! Don't that look toothsome? Hang it! I must have a try. Gad ! That's tasty : would a salmon's Stomach were the size of whales' : Fed like that who'd be Lucullus, With his tongues of nightingales? Yet, alas ! I may but taste it, Then perforce must spit it out: Who would be a lordly salmon? Better far a lord with gout. I FISHING AND PHILANDERING 29 For there's something wrong within me In the region of my waist, And I can't digest my dinner, Though I dearly love a taste. There's another—oh ! Great Garrett! What the Dickens—dash my eye ''— There ! He's gone, a fifteen pounder, Tearing at Sir Herbert's fly. Do not some men chew instead of Smoke Sir Walter's fragrant weed For it's taste? You'd scarcely say they Were enjoying a hearty feed. Nor need fish be always hungry Just because we see fhem rise: What they seem things are not always— You should see my dog catch flies. So I take the side of science In this argument about Whether Salmon in fresh water Fast like Priests, or feed like trout. CHAPTER II Who hath seen the beaver busied ? Who hath watched the black- tail mating? Who hath lain alone to hear the wild goose cry? Who hath worked the chosen water where the ounaniche is waiting? Or the sea-trout's jumping crazy for the fly? It is there that we are going with our rods and reels and traces To a silent, smoky Indian that we know— To a couch of new-pull'd hemlock with the starlight on our faces, For the Red Gods call us out and we must go. Rudyard Kipling. Indian fishing—Ignorance in the midst of plenty—The mighty mahseer—A fishing lunch—Shooting incidents—A Christmas camp—Indian trout—Caught by night—A perilous voyage—The Major's goonch—A dry river—A red letter day—My best mahseer —Indian tackle. Of all excuses for writing of one's personal sport, perhaps the best is anxiety to promote the sport of others. In India there is so much fishing and shooting practically at one's front door that the picture of some young subaltern bewailing his fate at not being at home for '' the first time through the coverts," or when the " fly is up," when twenty-five couple of snipe or a whirling mahseer pool are within a short tonga drive, is a melancholy one to contemplate. My first Indian station was Poona. Many and many an afternoon had I spent rowing some fair creature up and down the Mooti-Moola before learning that the boat was passing over the broad backs of many a goodly fish. At last the day dawned when I was to be undeceived. As ■""*; FISHING AND PHILANDERING 31 the sun of that day set I drove my companion back from the boathouse to her father's bungalow. Not without qualms. For by the time we reached it darkness would have set in and the peppery old Colonel would be awaiting us; the prospect was indeed anything but f pleasing," while an angry parent most undoubtedly is at any time "vile." But on this occasion all was well. At his feet two noble fish gleamed in the lamplight which served to accentuate the darkness of the broad verandah. " By Jove!" quoth I, " I did not know there was any fishing in India." " Not know there was any fishing in India, my lad! Why, there's splendid fishing all round you," he answered. " Come with me next Thursday, and you shall see for yourself." On that day he accordingly drove me out to a large tank called Karakwasla, formed by a dam across the river, some twelve miles from Poona. We were soon afloat in a roomy boat, with a rod out on each side, trailing, forty yards behind us, two huge glittering spoons, each armed with a single enormous triangle. The first thing that my mentor taught me was that the brighter the sun and the clearer the water the better chance was there of a fish. On that occasion the water was as clear as gin, while there was no doubt whatever about the brightness of the sun. Nor of its heat either, for that matter, and I had just sunk off into a peaceful doze when the whirr of my check-reel awoke me to instantaneous action—only to find that the ancient one had thought it funny to pull off a few yards of line to wake me up. I pretended, out of politeness, that I too thought it amusing, thus tempting him to repeat the silly performance next time my eyes shut. However, Colonel or no Colonel, I wasn't going to stand that, and was in the act of telling him so, when my reel suddenly gave vent to a prolonged screech which might have been heard a mile off. The rowers stopped, and the Colonel at once commenced winding in his line, as I lifted my rod and gazed anxiously at the emptying reel. Why didn't I give him the butt? It's no use giving a heavy mahseer the 32 FISHING AND PHILANDERING butt. You might as well give the Irish mail the butt. Many and many a mahseer have I encountered since that day, but even now, twenty years afterwards, I well remember the sensation of impotence that came over me on my first encounter with | Barbus Tor." Would he never stop? Apparently not. Yet he did, in the nick of time, and at last I began to reel up. You will meet people who will tell you that a mahseer only has this one first glorious rush in him; that after that it is a mere question of winding him up. Greater nonsense never was talked. Certainly it is true that in deep sluggisii pools or lakes he will only fight in a sort of dogged " pull devil, pull baker " style after the opening ceremony, but over and over again have I noted the same trait in salmon, the difference being that the mahseer takes as long to land with treble gut as the salmon does with single. After an anxious ten minutes' give-and-take, we at last caught sight, far away down in the depths of the brilliant water, of a dark shadow. Slowly but surely it became more and more distinct until at last there hove in sight the finest fish I had ever had hold of. One of the boatmen produced a landing-net big enough to pick up a sheep in, and then—then, as the fish lay feebly on the top of the water, he made a dive at him, got him half in and half out of the net, lifted him a quarter in and three- quarters out of the boat, and—dropped him! Crack! went the top joint and down, far down, dived the fish. However, I managed to get hold of the line and hand- played him slowly back again. This time the Colonel took the net, and, making no mistake, lifted my prize, my first mahseer—a 13-pounder—into the boat. A smack on the head from a stretcher put him out of his pain, and we went ashore to lunch; as I drank his health in a well-iced whiskey peg, and gazed with wondering admiration on the glorious green and gold and bronze of his huge scales, I temporarily forgot my exile and tasted the cup of happiness for the time being. Having been thus 8 blooded," I spent most of my holidays—in those days Thursday was a holiday in FISHING AND PHILANDERING 33 India, as well as Sunday—either at Karakwasla or on the banks of the river. With a brother officer, who was also prepared to give up the fascinations of the band-stand and the seductiveness of " Rosherville "—the " Ultima Thule " of river boating parties of the " poodle-faking description—we went further and further afield in search of sport, until there was not a run for twenty miles of the river down which we had not spun our spoons. How little we knew about it, and how much better we should have done if we had only spun natural bait instead, as we discovered later on. We never got any big fish in the river, but as we used lighter tackle those we did get gave us all our time to overcome them in the heavy streams, fighting away to the last as gamely as any sea-trout, though they never jumped out of the water. Six or seven pounds was our biggest fish in the river, and I think 191b. in Karakwasla. But the river undoubtedly held much larger fish, for one evening a Carnatic carp, weighing i2lb., jumped into a racing eight, between stroke and a fair lady who Was coxing it. They did not upset, but they went as near it as it was possible to do without. A friend who used to accompany me on most of these expeditions was in some ways like the old lady's parrot, in that he indulged much in reverie. It used to be my business to provide our lunch from the mess. On one occasion, after we had discussed a cold fowl, some curry- puffs and hard-boiled eggs, followed by a few jam tarts, bread and cheese, cake and fruit, he said to me: " You go in for too extravagant lunches; next time I will see to this part of the show.'' To this, with my usual good nature, I assented, and on the next fishing trip my friend opened a small—very small it seemed to me—basket, and produced with a grave air two minute pies. I asked him where his lunch was, and was considerably annoyed when he said that the two tiny pies were all there was for the two of us. Being fearfully hungry, I set to work on mine. It was not unpleasant, and I munched away in sulky silence for some 3 34 FISHING AND PHILANDERING twenty minutes. At the end of that time I was not halfway through my puff, but could not have eaten another morsel to save my life. With a deep gasp, I rolled over, and inquired, | What in thunder is in these infernal things ? " Gazing quietly at the wedge I had consumed out of mine, he replied with a sigh. "You haven't done badly, you've eaten about half a calf!" They were made of compressed veal. From Poona my regiment was moved to Nasirabad with a detachment at Neemuch. At neither station did we find a fine river like the Mooti-Moola, but, on the other hand, the small game-shooting at the former and the big-game shooting at the latter were far ahead of anything we had been able to get in the more social surroundings of Poona. At Nasirabad on Thursdays and Sundays, by driving somewhat afield, twenty couple of snipe and duck or quail, with a few sand-grouse thrown in, would be by no means an exceptional bag, whilst even on days when it was impossible to get away till after lunch, one could generally get within sight of blackbuck or chinkara. At Neemuch there was even better, because more varied, shooting than at Nasirabad, and it was there that, in company with my friend " Felix," I made my first bow to big game. The occasion was a remarkable one. A panther, beautifully driven, came tearing between us as we sat perched in two trees, some forty yards apart, Being a beginner I was allowed first shot. Talk about the poetry of motion! Never shall I forget the graceful, sweeping bounds with which the beautiful beast swept across the open patch to the jungle beyond. Bang! and I missed him clean with my first barrel. Bang! and Felix ' missed him too. Then, at the very last moment, as he seemed to be poised in mid-air, over a bush 6ft. high, on the other side of which was impenetrable jungle, I pulled again, and the next moment the panther had disappeared. How bad I felt. How sadly I apologised to my tutor. All he said was, % Don't worry; I've shot FISHING AND PHILANDERING 35 it through the heart." Somewhat comforted, but very, very doubtful, I joined the great shekarry as he cautiously advanced towards the bush. Not a sound. We peered in, and there lay the panther, sure enough, on its left side, with a huge clot of blood on its right shoulder. " By Jove! " said I, " I must have shot him after all." "I'm afraid not, old chap," answered c Felix.' " That's my bullet coming out." By this time the beaters arrived, and we pulled our quarry into the open. They turned him on to his right side, when^my friend pointed out the hole made by his bullet going in, and, even as he spoke, inserting his finger in the hole, he pulled out my bullet, flattened to a beautiful mushroom, lying close under the skin on the left side. Subsequent investigations proved that our bullets—neither knew the other had fired a second barrel —must have passed within an inch of each other. No wonder it was dead! Then there was a week with my poor friend H , who now, alas! sleeps under the shadow of Spion Kop— in the Khoki Ravine, Central India. Four bears, two crocodiles, and a fearsome midnight stalk of a tiger—we knew no better—which had killed a cow within a quarter of a mile of our tents on the night of our arrival. Not a bad week for two raw subalterns! Here I shot the best blackbuck the regiment got while in India, a symmetrical 24m. head. But what about the fishing? Ah, yes! Of course; I apologise. As already stated, there was none very close, but one of our majors got an invitation to come and bring a friend for ten days at Christmas time from the hospitable officers of the Deoli Irregular force. To arrive there necessitated a sixty-mile drive in the major's tonga, and involved a most parlous crossing of the treacherous sandy bed of the river we were to fish—the Chambal, I think. On the morning after our arrival we started for the camp, another ten miles, more or less across country. At one place, where it was more across country, the major, of whom I stood in desperate awe—albeit all of m 36 FISHING AND PHILANDERING us subalterns admired him more than he ever knew— essayed to drive over a bank about a foot high. When I picked myself out of the cotton-field, he was nursing a strained wrist and using language, the mere recollection of which, even after twenty years, still makes me feel hot—and he tells me he's a Churchwarden now!—while our host was rubbing one shin with his other foot and starting in to mend the harness. However, we eventually reached one of the two most beautiful camping grounds I ever saw. The river, which up till now had meandered at its own sweet will through miles and miles of flat, sandy country, here came to a gap between two noble marble rocks, some 700ft. or 800ft. high. At their feet swirled a huge, deep pool, about half-a-mile across, from the far side of which the river once more came to its senses and swept away under steep, rocky, wooded cliffs, the home of countless monkeys, sambhur, cheetal, pig, and a few tigers, bears, and panthers. The pool and the river below it swarmed with crocodiles, so, fond as we both were of swimming, we determined to deny ourselves the luxury in that neighbourhood. It was a remarkable spot. We pitched our tents on a green and grassy bank, under the grateful shade of some glorious trees, at the base of the marble rocks, and on the very edge of the pool. We could stand in the rippling waters of the river up to our knees, and cast our baits into almost unfathomable depths. The edge shelved directly down. One could have stepped over the side from the river into 60ft. of water. There we stayed for nearly a week. The sport was good, but the methods were tame. The modus operandi consisted in covering a largish hook with a lump of dough about the size of a filbert, and waiting to see what would come along. Various and weird were the arrivals. Sometimes it would be a mahseer; sometimes a " Wallagu Attu "—a fearsome beast this, a sort of cross between a pike and a conger-eel. Sometimes a trout—Barilius bo la—of whom later; and sometimes another fish, somewhat like a pollack, whose name I have FISHING AND PHILANDERING 37 forgotten, but a game creature, who on occasions took a fly, and ran to about 3lb. in weight. Very often it would be a turtle, reluctant to the last, and the very deuce and all to get the hook away from. In the mornings and evenings the trout would rise merrily, and out came the fly-rods to fill the pot. The Indian trout—this particular variety, I mean, for there is another sort in the Cashmere rivers—rises well at the fly, and takes a small spinning bait too. He is not to be distinguished from our white trout except by a close observer, being only deficient of the adipose dorsal fin, and, like the mahseer, carrying his teeth in his throat. Moreover, they play as well as any white trout, frequently jumping out of the water, but unfortunately seldom run to much over 2lb. in weight. Tiring at last of the dough-dropping style, I one afternoon took a spinning-rod of Herculean proportions, and, • embarking in a canoe, set forth to explore the river lower down. It was full of huge rocks and boulders, disintegrated from its marble cliffs, while on every accessible sand-bank or flat-topped rock lay a huge crocodile, lazily enjoying the sunshine, eyeing me as I went by with a sort of look as much as to say he was speculating where he would like to begin. After a couple of miles or so, I emerged into more open waters, and, as they looked trouty, mounted two white trout-flies, and put the question. The response was instantaneous. About a dozen trout rose and jostled each other so that all failed to take hold. Next cast they improved in their manners, and then how I regretted not having my light fly-rod. With my tackle it was possible to flip them out almost as soon as they were hooked. For once in my life I have seen trout rise well. After about an hour I stopped. How many I threw back I do not know, but I kept forty, which weighed 21 lb. Then I discovered that raging thirst " consumed me quite," when lo! at my very elbow popped a soda- water bottle and gurgled into a tumbler not devoid of whiskey. It was like the Arabian Nights. Then my 38 FISHING AND PHILANDERING host appeared. It was his pet preserve, but seeing a stranger in it he had generously only interfered in time to save me from dying of thirst. The shades of night—good Lord! I had forgotten the time—were falling with a vengeance. As my unknown host asked where my camp was I remembered the sunken rocks and the sherry-and- bitters aspect of the assembled crocodiles. I would walk home, thanks very much, and send for my boat next— what was that? A dull, menacing, guttural roar, reverberating from hill to hill and back again, dying away to a whisper, fraught with pathetic gnawings of empty feline stomachs. No; I would not walk home. What was to be done ? Then my noble-minded friend said he would lend me an experienced boatman to paddle me back, and I heartily thanked him and bade him farewell. About half-way up the river a fool of a mahseer, about 3lb., in weight, jumped into the boat, giving my nerves a start that I shall not readily forget. After which we came in sight of the twinkling lanterns of the major's search-party, and I anticipated a hearty wigging for the fright he had got. However, the sight of the iish made him all right, and dinner was real good that night; as was also the subsequent pipe under the brilliant starlit sky. Next day was our last. The trout were rising before dinner, and we were whipping for them when a swirl in their midst showed the presence of something bigger, " Try a spoon, Major," I said. He tried. So did the something bigger, and in a minute his rod was bending gaily. I was just coming up with the net, when suddenly there was a dead pull, and in a moment the line began to unwind slowly off the major's reel, while the point of his rod descended almost into the pool. Our servants called us to dinner. Hang dinner! Lanterns were lit. An hour passed; but the situation showed no signs of changing. " Oh! put on a bit of strain, Major,'' I urged. " Put it on yourself, you young ass," he grunted back. " Feel the rod." I felt it. How the tackle stood I knew not. At last I heard him begin to FISHING AND PHILANDERING 39 wind in. Slowly, slowly, slowly he reeled up. Was the bottom coming out of the pool? Peering into the depths by the light of the lantern, a huge shadow came in sight. Very cautiously the major dragged it over the lip of the pit into the shallow river. Very neatly two coolies seized it, and carried it high up the bank. A goonch—huge, black, repulsive, with a head as big as its body. Thirty-three pounds in weight, with a 4-pound mahseer stuck tight between its huge teeth, and the spoon equally tight in the mahseer's leathery mouth. Although a far cry from Nasirabad to the ChambaL that sixty-mile drive was a very small affair compared to my next trek. A mighty fisherman had fired my imagination with a description of the sport to be obtained in the Doon Valley—which sounded of Jan Ridd, albeit it was spelt differently—and had provided me with a map and all sorts of other information. I took my two months' leave, with a fishing rather than a shooting programme, and, since everyone else preferred the latter sport, had perforce to make my trip in solitary grandeur. After spending a pleasant evening in Delhi, by way of a break to the 500-mile railway journey, I arrived at the beginning of my troubles the following morning, as I drove away from the Dak bungalow at Saharanpore. The driver of the .ramshackle sort of " growler " had never heard, it seemed, of the names of any of the places marked on my map except one, but at that one he assured me there was a river and a Dak bungalow, which seemed to make it certain this must be the point I was aiming for. After a desperately boring drive of twenty-five miles along the dustiest and least interesting road in India, we arrived somewhere, and while my servant unpacked my kit and took command of the neighbourhood generally, I armed myself with a \ rod, and, guided by a local wag, walked through a mile of sand, in which each footstep sank well in over the ankles, to the bank of the river. It was some half-mile wide and as dry as the inside of a good racquet- court, with the exception of a chain of miserable pools of mm 40 FISHING AND PHILANDERING frog-haunted, stagnant, slimy water, about 3ft. broad and 2ft. deep. Was there no other river? None for another twenty-five miles, and that only a small one compared to this. If the sahib would wait till the rains came, the sahib would But the sahib would not. He tramped back to the bungalow instead, and re-examined his map. Yes, by jingo! there it was, of course. What a fool I had been to trust the hasty map of a non-topographical-survey friend. He had inadvertently put in the arrow-head, which should have indicated the north, pointing due south! It does not bear dwelling on. We crawled back, and that evening (it was really too hot to drive in a stuffy vehicle all day) started once more, this time with our noses pointed north. Waking at 4 a.m., I crawled from the recesses of the wheeled coffin to gaze on the most splendid sight that it had yet been my luck to look upon in India. We had drawn up on the very top of the pass leading over the Sewaliks, a roughly serrated, densely vegetated range of hills some 3000ft. high. Far away below me a green valley, streaked by a noble silver stream. Far away beyond that the swelling foothills of the Himalayas, then in the full glory of ten-acre beds of brilliant rhododendrons, and farther on still those glorious mountains themselves, tipped, as it seemed, with frosted sugar, silent yet eloquent in their gorgeous magnificence, sharply outlined even sixty or seventy miles away against the turquoise blue of the early morning sky. Drinking in the glorious scenery and splendid champagne air, so nerve-bracing after the long months on the dreary plains, I turned to find my faithful servant at my elbow with a cup of steaming coffee from the Dak bungalow hard by. Then away down the easy gradient to the diamond-sparkling Arson river, speeding away for all it was worth to tumble into the mighty Jumna some four miles lower down. Mahseer and Indian trout (Barilius bo la) were there in plenty, while the bungalow, within a quarter of a mile of the river, afforded comfortable accommodation; but the FISHING AND PHILANDERING 4i fish were not large, and I soon shifted down to the Junction Pool. Here it was necessary to engage " senai- men," to enable one to get out where the fish lay. A native bedstead was placed on two inflated carcases, while the men took to the water and, half wading, half swimming, conveyed one to the pools and streams. I got an 81b mahseer, but, alas! the " senai-men " were on the way up to the hills, and refused to stay more than a couple of mornings. But " misfortunes are sometimes blessings in disguise," and the present instance proved the truth of the adage. I transferred my camp to the other side of the Jumna by means of the floating ferry, and marched across to the Giri. Here at last was the ideal river—a mixture of the Dee and Findhorn—now in a brown spate from some storm far away up in the mountains, but obviously running down. I spent three or four days trying to shoot cheetal, and obtained a couple of fair heads. But there was one stag which I failed to obtain, though seeing him daily. His head would be a prize worth having, and I abstained from firing at any others in the hope of obtaining the coveted trophy. At last there came an evening when the river was fishable, and I got hold of a nice 1 lib. mahseer by way of a start. The next day's sport was the best I ever had. Starting out at 3.15 a.m., I stalked through the forest, moving silently over the dense carpet of leaves sodden with a heavy dew, in hopes of meeting the giant stag. Plenty of others were about, but no sign of my ambition. The sun got higher and higher, till at length the leaves began to crackle, making any further stalking an impossibility, and I was on my way home, tired, hot, hungry, and disappointed. Crossing a siriall patch of cover there suddenly came a crash from the far side. Monkeys, I thought. Or perhaps cheetal! I ran as hard as I could to the edge of the trees, and there, streaming away across the open, was the biggest herd I had yet seen, and leading them at full pace, a good 120 yards away, my stag. 42 FISHING AND PHILANDERING I threw the rifle up and pulled as one might chuck one's gun up at a rabbit, and like a rabbit he fell, head over heels, once, twice, thrice—shot through the neck, stone dead. I can see him now, but could scarcely believe my eyes then. A beautiful, regular, shapely head was his, with 36m. horns, a prize that any man in India might have been proud of. A refreshing tub, a hearty breakfast, a few letters, and at four o'clock in the afternoon off to the river. I only had four casts. The very first accounted for my then record mahseer, a 2 5 pounder, as game and gallant a fish as any salmon I ever played. The next cast a fish came at me and missed, but as the little natural bait—a " blackspot " or " chilwa "—came wobbling across the stream at the next attempt, the same fish, presumably, came again, and this time took hold. The pool was about a hundred yards long, and both these fish took it in one express-train rush, fighting their way stolidly back to the white water at the head, only to once more break violently, resistlessly away. He proved to be a 19-pounder. By this time it was nearly dark, but one more cast resulted in the death of a 4^-pounder, the very best size for the pot; for in clear streams like the Giri the mahseer is by no means to be despised, though the very small ones are too bony, and the very large ones too oily. Many another noble fish rewarded me in this pool. One evening the bait was taken almost as it touched the water, nearly forty yards away, and with the usual glorious burst a fish swept down to the tail. Back again to the head, and back once more to the tail, where the water shallowed before breaking over the lip into the rapids below. There I got a glimpse, and knew he was a big fellow. And going out of the pool, too. Strain? He'd have pulled me in, I verily believe, for the rod, though much too heavy, could not have broken the trebly-twisted treble gut. Nine strands of salmon gut twisted together—try and break it with your stoutest rod. Well, if he meant going down, I meant following, and FISHING AND PHILANDERING 43 there, fifty yards away, a tree had fallen into the river. There was nothing else for it; I jumped in, and, half swimming, half floating, holding the rod aloft with one hand, followed my captor down, and, for the time being, was played by the fish. As soon as possible I landed. Some half-mile down he came to a stop, and lay in full view not more than 20ft. away, apparently considering the situation. Now, in spite of the tackle I was using, it was another quarter of an hour, and probably an hour from the time he was hooked, before I could move that fish. Then slowly and reluctantly he swam into a little bay. Two coolies with me jumped in to secure him. One wave of his tail and he was gone from between their very legs, and my heart stood still and the end of the world was at hand. But his gallant breath was gone too; the current washed him up against a rock, broadside on, where he lay supine, just long enough to enable my coolies to pick him up, head and tail, and carry him ashore. And so I killed my only 40-pounder! A word in conclusion as to the sort of outfit for Indian fishing. Mahseer vary so greatly in size, running up to ioolb. in weight, that a double set of tackle is a necessity. For the larger fish all that is necessary is a strong salmon rod, on the stiff side, especially in the tops: the Castle Connell balance is the very thing, or, if split cane is preferred, the rod known as the " Hi-Regan," made by Messrs. Hardy. My own favourite rod is by Farlow, 16 feet long, a thought stouter in the top joint than one would choose for salmon, but perfection for the heavy work entailed by big mahseer. A 4^in. to 5in. reel, capable of holding 150 yards of line, one hundred of which might be ' backing,' is the next requisite, and with care will last a lifetime. Personally, I should select one of the new casting reels, with an easily-adjustable check. Spinning traces should be of treble-gut or ' telerana,' with an ( anti-kink ' lead fixed about a yard or four feet above the bait. This lead is indispensable, and precludes the possibility of any worry from kinking lines. I have mine made with a loop at each end, the trace being 44 FISHING AND PHILANDERING made in two pieces with a loop at the end of each. This greatly facilitates a change of leads for fishing at different depths and strengths of streams. For a flight you do not require so many hooks as you do for a pike, the mahseer having a soft leathery mouth and a habit of getting the hooks well into it. You cannot beat a ' Pennell ' flight, with a straight reverse hook, and only one flying triangle, but the hooks must be specially tempered. This brings us to the baits, and the momentous question, natural or artificial. The answer, however, is easy enough, though the supply is often a very different matter. Natural bait every time, when you can get it, is the answer. As regards getting it, in a country where labour is cheap and the minimum wage unknown, the best way is to employ a native to get it for you, which he will readily do with a few casts of his net in the stream you are fishing in, or some tributary thereof. If you cannot get a native fisherman, keep a small casting net for yourself: the waters are full of ideal spinning baits. Of artificial baits the best is a hog-backed spoon as silvery or as golden as possible. The smaller mahseer, fish up to iolb. in weight, occasionally rise well to lake trout and salmon flies, but if you want to get hold of a big fellow, and cannot get natural bait, put on a spoon or a very large Devon minnow, the former for choice. There used to be a tackle-maker of the name of Luscombe at Allahabad, a practical fisherman, whose goods could be relied upon, and who could be trusted not to mount baits on split-rings. Above all, have snake rings on all your rods, with agate centres if expense is no object. I remember once seeing my line was round the lowest ring on my rod, the only one that was not a snake-ring: I knew the danger, and moved my hand to undo it, but before I got there I had hooked and been broken to smithereens by a fine fish. Oh! those fish we lose: what huge fellows they always seem; yet where would be the joy of fishing if one never lost a fish. For smaller rivers and smaller fish use smaller tackle: FISHING AND PHILANDERING 45 a handy ten or twelve foot bamboo or split cane, or a double-handed 14-foot trout rod, with the rest of the tackle in proportion, is what is best suited to meet the case. But for trout fishing, of course, use your trout rod, and prodigious fun you can have with " Barilius Bola " on a light weapon. When you first meet with him you will fancy yourself in Ireland playing a white trout; for, like that game fish, he seems to be as much out of the water as in it. And when you have landed him, unless you are a bit of a naturalist, you will still think so, though you will change your mind later on when you eat him. Not that he is bad eating by any means, but his flesh is white, and his bones are ubiquitous. The smaller mahseer, between two and five pounds in weight, are very fair eating: when bigger they get greasy. I have never tried a gaff against a mahseer's scales, having early been warned that it would not penetrate them; yet have I often read letters of men who do use gaffs. Personally, I always used a large net. Spring and autumn are the best times of the year, and with one last word of advice, worth all the rest put together, I will bid a regretful farewell to the grand fishing obtainable in the East—get " The Rod in India," by H. S. Thomas, and therein learn all you require to know before you begin to profit by your own experience. And I wish the reader also to take notice, that in writing of it I have made myself a recreation of a recreation. Izaak Walton. Mahseer (after Locksley Hall). Colonel, give me leave a little in the springtime of the year : Give me leave to fish the Giri, for a fifty-pound mahseer. 'Tis the place, and all around it seems but little changed to me: Here I camped, aye, there my tent stood, underneath that mango tree. Here the cheetal in the morning pure snow-spotted did appear : There the cavern in the cliff side where I slew the old she-bear. 46 FISHING AND PHILANDERING This the stream they caught my bait in, full of gleaming bait e'en now : That the forest where the monkeys used to slip from bough to bough. Whilst before me flows the river, slightly swollen from a flood, Far away in Himalaya, bringing down the foot-hill mud. Glorious Giri! How I loved thee more than twenty years ago : Thou art true to thy old rock-bed—I am true to thee I trow. Mixture of the Dee and Findhorn, thou to-morrow grand will fish : If I had old John beside me there'd be nothing more to wish. Here's the best pool in the river, in whose foaming head there lay Many a strong and mighty mahseer in what seems but yesterday. Here I hooked my forty pounder : killed him down stream half a mile : Nearly treading, as I followed, on a lazy crocodile. Noble stream, thou'rt bringing memories crowding up into my soul : Gallant friends and old time sweethearts swell the swelling muster roll. Social Simla, gay Mussoorie, polo, cricket, dances, rides, Champagne air, health-bearing breezes from the snowy mountain sides. There's my butler's call to dinner through the mellow evening bright s With a bit of luck to-morrow morning early I'll be tight. CHAPTER III A fisherman he had been in his youth, And still a sort of fisherman was he. Don Juan. Introduction to salmon—Jonathan's best fish—Johnny's hat— Fishing or whist—A determined bull—Jonathan's friend—Heresy —My discarded bob-fly—Advice gratis—Outside—Late nights. Having won my spurs amongst the mahseer, the spring following my return from India found my fancy lightly turning to thoughts of salmon and the long-promised trip to Galway with ] Jonathan,' which we had so often planned. Even in those days he had to use four figures to count the fish he had killed. To him a salmon seemed about as important as a small pike did to me. Yet was our first trip to prove as eventful to him as to me. As I was quartered on the Curragh at the time, we arranged that he should come there for me, as I could not get away till the Saturday evening. So he came, and dined at mess on Friday, when he captured all hearts, as much by his charm of manner as by the Villar-Villar tobacco which he so generously distributed, albeit he was the guest and I his host. And yet, and yet, much as he enjoyed meeting my merry companions, and late as we went to bed, he told me he could " hear the West a-calling," and asked if I'd mind his going by the early train, so that he could see about lodgings and maybe have a cast or two, I to follow later as soon as duty per- 47 Mprv- 48 FISHING AND PHILANDERING mitted. So away he went, and well for him he did so. For when I arrived at 8 p.m. and asked him if he had had any sport, he modestly replied: " Yes, I've got a nice little fish; I kept him to show you; but wait till after supper. I think I would like to send it to your regiment for their lunch at Punchestown." A nice little fish. Well, well. As soon as my baccy was alight he opened a cupboard door revealing to my astonished gaze the biggest salmon he had ever killed, 35lbs., and as fresh as a daisy. But I would not let him send it to be carved, however skilfully, for a lot of hungry race-goers. No; I made him send it to Rowland Ward instead, and annually when I visit my friend I feast my eyes on those noble proportions which it is my piscatorial ambition to excel. Next day began my education. Our henchman, who rejoiced in the name of " Johnny," was, like his father before him and his son after him, a past-master of angling craft. To hear him and ' Jonathan ' talk fishing was in itself a liberal education: to hear them indulge in repartee, English and Irish wit, both of the keenest, was a pure delight: but it was not until they indulged in mutual recrimination that the seventh heaven was reached. Never shall I forget a friendly wrestling match between them, in the course of which " Johnny's " new black bowler fell into the river: all unaware of his precious tile floating placidly seawards, " Johnny " rose from the ground, saying, " Give me back the hat, Mr. John," under the impression that my friend had in some mysterious manner secreted it somewhere on his person. Never, never shall I forget the expression on his face when the true state of affairs dawned on him, or his mad rush down the bank in the hope of recovering it before it reached the Gulf Stream. Oh! those pleasant, pleasant days. An archbishop could not have been dull in " Johnny's " company. Those Sunday afternoons when we used to sit and yarn with old ' Nicholas ' and make him tell again and again the same old tale of the pike that was so huge they were FISHING AND PHILANDERING 49 afraid to take it into the boat, and the eel with " a mane like a harse." There was nothing that " Johnny " did not know about fishing. On one occasion four rods fished a long morning and part of an afternoon blank, till in despair they agreed to adjourn to the club and play whist, as it was then. On the way we had to cross the bridge, which no true angler ever did yet without looking over it. The river was full of fish, as we very well knew. Suddenly 1 Johnny " plucked my sleeve. " To blazes wid yer cards," he whispered; " I'll get your waders and we'll try it from the other side." So the other three left me, and I sat and contemplated five peal lying on a white slab side by side, apparently motionless. They must have seen every one of our flies a score of times: yet it is a solemn fact that no sooner did a small " Sir Richard " come sailing over their heads, fished from the left side of the river instead of the right, than they found it quite irresistible. One after the other they meekly rose and kissed the rod in a manner of speaking. All five did I get, and good big peal they were. Later on I got another, and as I joined my friends at dinner and told them what had happened they could scarcely swallow their soup, so great was their rage and envy. Now long recitals of sport are apt to pall, but herein lies a moral, which he who fishes may read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest. In later years it brought me three more fish in the last hour of a blank day. Lay it to heart, my brethren, that it may some day tighten your lines, lighten your hearts, and weighten your baskets. Other writers have dwelt upon it: hundreds of anglers can confirm it: yet must it be well rubbed in. Therefore, if you own both banks, and have toiled all day unsuccessfully from one, go round, Cross over, swim, fly, jump, somehow or other get across, and try it from the other side. Talking of crossing a river, an incident that once occurred to me in the south of Ireland also contains a moral, not without a warning. I was fishing a long 4 5o FISHING AND PHILANDERING curving bank, with six to eight feet of deep heavy water on my side shallowing away to a strand on the other, whereon stood a mighty and bellicose black bull. Whether the waving of my rod, or something in the features of the small boy who was gillying for me, vexed him I know not. Certain it was that something did. He began to bellow and snort, pawing up the ground in a manner which would have been more than ominous but for that deep and rapid stream between us. Verily we " Heard the shout of Hiawatha, Heard his challenge of defiance, The unnecessary tumult, Ringing far across the water." But I was not afraid of him; far from it. Indeed, I commenced to chaff him, pointing out the futility of his rage and its utter foolishness. With dramatic suddenness he stopped swearing, and, after regarding us curiously for a moment or two, turned, walked up stream to the ford at the head of the pool, and began to cross. " Paddy," said I to my small factotum; " perhaps it would be as well if you walked up to the ford and I shooed ' that beast back. I think his owner would be sorry if he came over here." Nothing daunted, " Paddy " proceeded to the attack, while I, though interested in the animal's movements, strolled leisurely on in the direction of a plank which crossed a deep drain bounding the field. " Shooing," however, seemed to present no terrors to the venomous brute, which continued placidly to pick its way across the stream. Whereupon " Paddy " did the most foolish thing, suddenly turning tail and bolting: in my direction moreover. A bull is an expensive animal to injure, and I had no mind for being injured myself either, so I too " broke into double time," as we say in the army, and shortly afterwards into treble, nay, quadruple time, crossing the plank about five yards ahead of " Paddy," who arrived about a similar distance ahead of the bull. Wherefore scoff not at such enraged animals, even though a mighty river flows between you and them. FISHING AND PHILANDERING 5i Amongst " Jonathan's " many friends was an eccentric young gentleman, who may here pass by the name of " Thread." Possessed of most comfortable means, he delighted in dissipating them in a variety of queer fashions. One Christmas, being wishful to make a present to the local police force, who had doubtless frequently befriended him, he purchased no less than forty geese for their dinners. These reluctant birds he caused to be thrown into the air at short range that he might shoot them down, so making an excellent entry in his game book for the benefit of his wondering English friends. Late one evening " Jonathan," of the open heart, told him that should he ever find himself in the neighbourhood of his, " Jonathan's," home in Sussex, he felt sure his father would be pleased if he would drop in and see them. Some three months afterwards, about two o'clock in the morning, " Jonathan " suddenly heard a tremendous din at the hall-door. Convinced that a desperate gang of burglars had concentrated, my friend armed himself with a bludgeon, assumed his dressing-gown and slippers, met his father similarly attired on the landing, and together with him approached the door. There on the threshold stood " Thread," still abusing the driver of a ramshackle old " growler," in which he had driven out from Brighton, some fifteen miles. He turned beaming to greet " Jonathan " and that gentleman's astounded parent, urging both to be careful and tender with a snapping monkey, which he pressed into their reluctant hands. Returning to the four-wheeler, he took the opportunity to add a few remarks to those he had already hurled at the unfortunate charioteer, while he drew from the dark recesses of the vehicle a live owl, a moribund hawk, and, later on, a huge specimen of a pelican very badly stuffed, the neck of which being broken caused it to droop its head in a forlorn and uncomfortable manner, whilst cotton-wool protruded in some quantities from an orifice in its bosom or breast. :c Thread " refused to retire for the night until his precious treasures had been safely housed, and 52 FISHING AND PHILANDERING " Jonathan " has frequently told me that he would cheerfully have given £$o for me to have seen his father's face. Next day " Thread " presented his miserable pelican to each of " Jonathan's " four beautiful sisters in turn, accompanying the gift with a proposal of marriage, and invariably requesting the return of the bird on meeting with a firm refusal. Next night, about an hour or two after the family had retired, they were awakened by an appalling din on the roof. This proved to be caused by " Thread," who explained that, being unable to sleep, he had ascended to have a bath in the cistern, but that, having inadvertently closed the trap-door behind him, and being unable to open it from the outside, he had found himself obliged to call attention to his dilemma by hammering on the roof with some dumb-bells, which, as he said, fortunately, he had provided himself with for the purpose of obtaining some exercise after his ablutions. One of his most humorous episodes I was privileged to be a part observer of myself. " Johnny " was one' day earning the full pay of a British officer by no harder labour than falling asleep on the bank while I fished, when he suddenly said: " Will you excuse me for a few minutes, sir; my wife wants me. I can hear her whistlin' beyant." Half an hour later he returned, while shortly afterwards a small boat rowed by a solitary figure started up the lake. I Do you know who is in that boat, sir? " he presently queried. I expressed my ignorance. " Well," he continued; " that's Mr. { Thread.' Maybe you are aware he is engaged to marry one of Lord ' Blank's ' daughters, and what has he done by way of hilarity but blacken his face and put on a pair of my old trousers, hind side afore, and off with his gun to Menhigh. He's goin' to start shootin' till the keepers come, and then, when he's taken before his Lordship, he's goin to say who he is." It struck me at the time as a novel and curious departure in the delicate art of courtship, and two minutes later I knew it to be a foolish one indeed, for behind me sounded the jovial voice of the Master of Menhigh, enquiring what sport was like. For FISHING AND PHILANDERING 53 his Lordship did not often come townwards, but when he did he went back late, and we were prepared for all night sittings at the club on such occasions. We had one that time, or nearly, Lord '' Blank " driving off in high spirits at 2 a.m. In the meantime " Thread " had succeeded beyond even his aspirations. His fiancee and her sister, out for a walk in the woods bordering on the lake, hearing shooting and attributing it to the keepers, went off to join in the sport. Coming suddenly round a corner on a ragamuffin with a black face, who incontinently flew towards them waving his arms, one sister dropped to the ground in a dead faint,, and the other fled for her life, uttering such piercing screams that they soon brought forth keepers, coachmen, butler, footmen, dogboys, etc., etc. Seeing their beloved young mistress lying prone with a ruffian of Satanic aspect bending over her, they made short work of the wretched " Thread," who was speedily rendered as unconscious as the girl. The procession then started for the castle, where, upon signs of life appearing in their prisoner, they threw him into a dark and dismal dungeon about ten feet below the level of the lake. In the small hours of the morning Lord " Blank " was unable to make anything of the garbled narrative they poured into his astonished ears. When, however, the would-be murderer was brought before him, his rage got the better of him, and nothing but % Thread's " hasty retreat back to his cell saved his life. Nor was it till late next morning that he was at last able to establish his identity and wash his face. It was " Johnny " who first taught me to tie a salmon fly as well as to throw one. Like the gillies of every other river I have ever fished, he and all his family placed ^implicit reliance on flies of their own manufacture, and regarded all others with loathing and scorn. Certainly, their flies killed well, however poorly they appeared in comparison with the majority of Scotch and English patterns. Certainly also, this particular fishery adjoining the mouth of the river, their flies were the first seen by ascending fish. But on another river, on which I have 54 FISHING AND PHILANDERING spent some hundred of the happiest days of my life, for forty miles from the mouth they pin their fancies almost exclusively to what they term a " Lemon-grey." Being a heretic, from an angling point of view, I pay no attention, believing in size and to a certain extent on colour, according to background, sun, etc. Others more easily led, not quite so cocksure you think perhaps, buy their old " Lemon-greys " as fast as they can be tied, and the weary fish, ascending from one pool to another, one fishery to another, view the same old fly sweeping over their heads morning, noon, and night, till at last they sink to the bottom in utter disgust, cursing the want of imagination and originality in the bipeds they see waving about on the banks. One season " Jonathan " had extraordinary sport in Ireland with a Scotch fly—a " Lady Caroline." He killed some fifty fish with it, and gave away many and many of the sombre little combinations to others, who also met with great success. Next year he arrived with a much larger stock, and what was the result? Not one single fish did he get on that particular fly. What was the reason of that? No; don't ask me. That is one of the mysteries to which I offer no solution, contenting myself with a recital of the bare fact. The strangest incident that ever befell me happened one evening when fishing with 'j Johnny." He had prevailed upon me to stay out long after everyone else had gone home in disgust, as he said the tide often brought up a fresh fish or two. Doubting much, but hoping more, I remained out, until late in the evening I hooked a fine fish of anything between fifteen and twenty pounds on my tail fly. For the custom there is to fish for salmon with two flies, about four feet apart. It is a custom that I always disliked, though it is true that with an up-stream wind one did often get a noble rise when " tipping the bob," or in other words " dapping " it along the surface what time the tail fly pursued its subaqueous and more conventional course. But I had recently lost two fish hooked on the tail fly through the bob fly catching in the JONATHAN IN NORWAY. To face p. 5k. * FISHING AND PHILANDERING 55 rocks, and had vowed a mighty vow that should I lose another in a similar manner I would for ever discard it, except occasionally. (I know it's Irish.) This particular pool I was fishing was immediately above one of the town bridges, on the sea side of which a wooden platform on iron uprights had been erected. In the event of a fish going under the bridge an attendant could gaff up the line from this platform, hand playing the fish till the angler, having cut the line as the last yard flew off the reel, hurried round, when the line could be restrung and the battle commenced anew. My fish jumped several times, but eventually expressed a determination to go through the arch. The water being heavy, no arguments I could produce served to induce him to change his mind. '' Johnny '' ran out on the platform, signalled that he had the line gaffed up, I duly cut it and joined him. But instead of the line being some way down the river, it went deep into the water at our very feet. There was nothing very strange in this, and I bade my gillie give the fish a stir up with the butt of the gaff to induce it to get a move on. "I can feel him," he said. "Then for goodness sake gaff him," I replied, being wishful to end the fight and go home a hero. " Johnny " reversed the gaff, lay down flat on the platform, and sank it deep in the water; a rapid stroke, and " Got him," he cried, bringing the gaff up hand over hand. Alas! he had j \ got him '' right enough: got a large dead white dog, with my idiotic bob fly firmly imbedded in his miserable hide. By this time a considerable crowd had assembled on the bridge, amongst them two young ladies, one of whom —however, let me stick to the point. The shout of laughter that went up from that humorous Irish crowd must have been heard by my fish where he was chewing my tail fly somewhere in the sea. It entered into my soul as deeply as the gaff had into that for-ever-to-be-accursed dog. From that day forth I have restricted myself to one fly for salmon; the other, in spite of endless protestations from my gillies, I assure them has gone to the dogs. The keenness and anxiety for your sport of those well- 4W 56 FISHING AND PHILANDERING known attendants is past belief. Day after day, season after season, they never tire: always ready to tie on a fly, borrow a shrimp, or offer advice. Even to " Jonathan " they offered advice when he, the past-master, would be playing a fish. " Stand where ye are ": " folly him down ": " raise your hand ": " gie him the butt ": " line, line, gie him line ": " wheel now, lively ": a host of such wisdom, albeit as frequently as not entirely contradictory, would assail anyone playing a fish. Often I had begged them to dispense with it and leave me to play my own fish in my own way. But it was no use. They simply could not help it. Once, when playing a fish I knew to be small, I stooped down and laid the rod on the bank. '' Now will you shut up ?" I asked. " Oh! for the love of God, sir, pick up your rod, and the devil another word will I say," pleaded " Johnny," but no sooner did I pick it up, to find the fish still there, than he broke out afresh, " Wheel, wheel, lively now: stand: gie him line: folly him down," till in sheer weariness I " follied " him, or stood where I was, or indulged my henchman in some way or another. Once, when " Johnny's " elder brother was looking after me, he paid me the greatest compliment I ever received. I was fishing the near bank with a short line, when a fish of iolbs. made one of those graceful head and shoulder appearances, not rises, some four or five feet above my fly. Instinctively I raised my hand smartly, to fix the hook firmly somewhere near the outraged salmon's pectoral fin. " I couldn't ha' done it neater myself," yelled " Mike " as he snatched up a gaff and fled down the bank after me as I fled after the fish, which never stopped till he reached the cribs, a quarter of a mile down stream. One year on my way to fish I received a wire at my club in Dublin telling me the water was too high and not to come for a day or two. So after dinner I played billiards with a friend of great skill at that fascinating game. We played on right through the night till broad daylight shone through the skylight of that dear old FISHING AND PHILANDERING 57 Bohemian institution, only retiring to bed as more sensible people were leaving theirs. Next night I was on my way to mine at the reasonable hour of n p.m., when another friend, an even better billiard player, a splendid fisherman, and the best of good company, seized my arm, saying, " No, you don't; I've got a match at whist on, and you have got to come and play.'' Weakness or good nature? or both? or love of whist? Which was it? I don't know. Only this I know—I went. When at last I escaped at 6 a.m. I swore no earthly consideration should detain me another night in the capital: the water might be out in the streets in the West for all I cared: I was going there, and, again, I went. That night 9 p.m. seemed a reasonable hour for bed. But it was not to be. " The very man," sang out a jovial friend in the hall of the Gal way Club as I passed through. " ' Jack ' is swaggering awfully about his billiards; you simply must come and play him." Well, if I simply must I simply musted, and hundred after hundred we reeled off till somewhere between four and five o'clock, on my third night out of bed, a tap came at the window of the billiard-room, which gave upon the street. It was " Johnny." " Come on out of that; the river is in grand order, and I have your rod here now." Weak with fatigue, I uttered no remonstrance: anything to escape " Jack." So to the river we went and I killed a fish. Then, however, I returned to my lodgings, double-locked the door, whatever that may mean, and slept for twelve hours—Irish. Now for the art of catching fish, that is to say, how to make a man—that was none—to be an angler by a book. Izaak Walton. Salmon. An all night rain has ceased at last, The welcome spate is pouring fast Into the salmon's cool, dark home, Bearing its clots of creamy foam. 58 FISHING AND PHILANDERING The flashing sunshine's golden beam Searches the porter-coloured stream, Till as its bed still deeper grows It's murmur dies, when slow it flows In many an oily, curling eddy, Then broadens out and seems to steady. The further bank uprises high Where fir-trees silhouette the sky, With silver birch and hazel shade, And bracken for a carpet laid : Around us miles of purple heather, And—best of all—grand fishing weather. Anticipation joyful grows, And see ! just there a salmon rose : " Popham "? " Jock Scott "? or " Silver Grey "? Or '' Dublin Fusilier '' to-day ? By Jove ! a pull—electric thrill— Down goes the point at Salar's will; While screaming winch with joyful song Proclaims a salmon large and strong. A tearing rush, then a leap in air, Like a silvery bow, whence the drops fall fair: A forty pounder, playing like a trout, With fan-like tail, and beak-like snout. But the bottom is gravel and spate-swept clear, And, though game to the last, the end draws near : Till we catch a glimpse of a silver side That looks in such water golden dyed. Full thirty minutes he's fought like a boar, But his doom is sealed and he'll fight no more : For the gaff goes home with a quick sharp clip, And the quiver that runs from vent to lip Is gone with the merciful " Priest's " sharp sting On the shapely head where the tide-lice cling. Forty-five and a half says the steel-yard "true— The fish of a lifetime lies in view. CHAPTER IV The skilful angler allows her fish to play its foolish self, till, exhausted with splashing and struggling, she can land it without the line cutting her fingers or the water wetting her dress. Whyte Melville. Philandering—A digression—Worcester sauce—Fresh eggs— My dinner party—Hunting—Shooting—Charles and my change— also my rod—A perilous trip—Bridge—Poker—South African fishing—Charles' lunch—Christmas at Colenso. It would almost appear to be a moot point whether the chief object of the gentle art of entertaining is to entertain, or to be entertained: the correct answer probably being that the entertainment should be mutual. Having been somewhat unfortunate—from the financial point of view—in the selection of my parents, and having elected to ornament a notoriously underpaid profession, I personally have the honour on nine occasions out of every ten, to act the part of the entertained, in return for which I endeavour, to the best of my poor ability, to entertain. It is probable that this is generally the aim and object of the average guest, and if he does not mind thinly-veiled allusions to his having imitated King David and " exceeded," or to acting the part of society-clown, in spite of a tendency to possessing views on more interesting subjects, he will be voted a success, and, further, provided that he can find time within the 59 ^Hm 60 FISHING AND PHILANDERING next fortnight to fit out his hostess's butler with a brace of visiting cards, be asked again. It will be very generally conceded that to entertain well it is not necessary to entertain, and that the highest summit of the art is reached by allowing one's guests to please themselves and not to fuss around. Now amongst many other good friends I have the fortune to possess one best friend, who for many years past has fed and entertained me on countless occasions. I have had the misfortune to offend this fairest of fair creatures. And all so unwittingly. Every bachelor will sympathise with me, and I think every married man too. My offence consisted in a request for a little Worcester sauce. In fact one object of this short digression is to warn my friends of the dangerous risk they run in acquiring a taste for this delicious condiment. It appears that I thereby insulted not only my dear friend's cook, but also my dear friend's dinner. Dark and lowering looks succeeded the bright sunshine of her smiles of a moment since. I was asked what was wrong with the food. My palate—my jaded palate she called it—was attacked. My manner of life was harshly criticized: my hours of retirement held up to scorn and obloquy. Nay, even our happy, harmless club meetings on the rug in front of the fire-place, nigh unto " Besika Bay," " where the merry cock-tail circleth and the anecdotes are told," sternly taken to task, and severely reprimanded. Shortly after this " regrettable incident" she and I found ourselves the guests of another kind hostess, this time in the country, and at dinner on the first night " l'affaire Worcester sauce " was discussed. My new hostess sided entirely with me, and declared that her most excellent principle was that her guests should have what they liked, and not what she happened to like herself. I said to myself, here is indeed the ideal hostess : here is comfort: here is peace without carping criticism : and as the butler brought me the sauce of strife, I could not help glancing somewhat triumphantly at my best FISHING AND PHILANDERING 61 friend. But next morning came the debacle. However quiet the night " Battle's magnificently stern array" arrived with breakfast. I suddenly became conscious that something was "rotten in the state of Denmark," as I perceived my hostess eyeing my egg with wonder and amazement. Suspecting that she might have sniffed something that had escaped me, I took a hasty smell. But all seemed well, and yet that look remained in my friend's eye. " Please, what have I done ? " I asked, fearing I had upset the coffee, or some such dire catastrophe. In a voice broken by emotion my friend replied, " You have taken pepper with your egg! " It only proves how much sin may be entirely unconscious. I had done so every morning for a quarter of a century. Ye gods! Pepper with my eggl Why not? Because it was an insult to the new-laid eggs: an insult to the noble fowls who had taken the trouble to provide them all-fresh daily from the farmyard hard by, whence their exulting paeans had that morning roused me, far too early, from my slumbers. I was given to understand that French eggs of the quality labelled " Good " should be purchased for my consumption if I insisted in my desperately perverse behaviour, and I blushed and hung my head for shame. When lo! a rumble from the direction of Wavre. The Prussians at last. A grand flank attack by my best friend, " Why on earth shouldn't the wretched man have ' pepper if he pleases ? '' How deeply thankful I felt for that timely assistance. I had been on the point of adding a few drops of the forbidden sauce, but of course refrained from sheer gratitude, and the best friendship that ever was became bester than ever. Undoubtedly it is hard to. please everyone. " If thou hope to please all, thy hopes are vaine," said Francis Quarles, but the mere fact of trying should surely be sufficient. I remember once asking a couple of men to dine at my club. Their tastes were entirely unknown to me, and the really, I think, brilliant, idea occurred to 62 FISHING AND PHILANDERING me to have three different " hors d'oeuvres," soups, fish, birds, and savouries. My guests had first choice alternately and expressed themselves highly delighted. On another occasion I had two men—brothers^-to dinner, and, in my anxiety to please, consulted the very highest authority with a view to the provision of a pleasing repast. In the smoking-room afterwards, when the " Napoleon" brandy and Cabinet Uppmanns were under way, one of my guests remarked, " You know, my dear boy, the best part of this club is the outside." Long before I could fit him out with a suitable repartee his brother said, " Well, there's nothing to prevent you going outside." It is not only in feasting however that one's conduct is open to criticism. Trouble lurks hidden in many another unexpected quarter, and the ideal guest requires to be a fairly good all-round man if he is to steer clear of all the pitfalls that beset his path. Some years ago I received a kindly invitation from a friend to come and stay with his people for a couple of balls, one the annual Hunt Ball, the other a private dance in their own house. Being fond of dancing I gladly accepted. After an easy journey from Padding- ton I was duly landed in a most comfortable West- country house at afternoon-tea-time. My friend was not home from hunting, but his people gave me a warm welcome, and one glance at one of his sisters made me feel very glad I had come, and eagerly anticipate the coming ball. It was in every respect a brilliant function —the most salient feature being the fact that the fair lady made up for my lack of acquaintances by graciously allowing me a liberal share of her programme. There was indeed only one shadow over that evening. It appeared at supper. My friend " Charles," who I might mention was, and happily still is, a distinguished Cavalry officer, brought his partner to sit at the same table at which I was disporting myself with his sister, when I discovered that next morning I should be expected to pursue hares with a neighbouring pack of FISHING AND PHILANDERING 63 harriers, whilst on the day after there was to be a lawn- meet of the foxhounds at their own house. I must admit at once to being a nervous and unskilful horseman. The prospect of riding an unknown steed over an unknown country was therefore one that filled me with dismay. As a rule I make no attempt to hide my dislike of the chase, but the enthusiasm of my fair partner, and her unconcealed pleasure at hearing her brother had a mount for me were so evident, that I confined myself to asking my friend later on if the horse he intended me to bestride was of a confidential character. He laughed me to scorn: declared I was always making out I couldn't do things: that one thing at all events I could not do was pull his leg: and so on, sending me to bed in a most uncertain frame of mind. The morning proved mild and pleasant, thus dispelling my last hope that it might have proved too bad for out-of-door sports, or that a severe frost might have set in. We had danced till 5 a.m. th^ night before, and my nerves as I heard a small cavalcade of horses approach the front door were, to say the least of them, very shaky indeed. However there was nothing for it but to pretend the prospect was a pleasing one, and I certainly felt more cheery on seeing that my fate was little more than a pony, as I felt certain my weight would be bound to tell on him ere long. As we ambled down the drive I began to feel less sure about this. The animal, which had the appearance of being over-fed and under-exercised, commenced to adopt a crab-like mode of progression, which filled me with dismal forebodings, and when at last he laid his ears back and began to tremble all over, I asked my host what his chief characteristics were. He calmly replied -that he did not know: that he had only recently acquired him; and had in fact never before seen anyone on his back. Whatever his ideas of hospitality were they evidently differed materially from mine, and I heartily wished that some terrible misfortune might speedily overtake him as I listened to that callous 64 FISHING AND PHILANDERING answer. The cob had, however, one redeeming feature, a decided attachment for the mare which my fair friend rode easily and gracefully alongside. This equine friendship compensated to a large extent for his other less amiable qualities, and he followed that beautiful horsewoman over one or two small jumps in such a comfortable way that I almost began to enjoy myself. If only I had remembered the old adage about pride and a fall. But alas! I too was to have one. Longing to distinguish myself in the eyes of my guide, my nerves tingling with the music of the pack, I cried to her that it was my turn to give her a lead. The part of the fence I selected was no very formidable obstacle, but the part my steed selected was. Bounding high into the air it cleared it gallantly, but bounding still higher into the air I cleared everything, for, after describing a complete somersault, I landed in almost a sitting position in the further field. The lady caught the quadruped, and asked anxiously if I had sustained any severe injury. But even as she asked I could see that she was shaking with suppressed convulsions; I answered in the negative and further added that she might laugh, when she gave Way and laughed until I had serious fears that she herself would fall off. Again that evening we danced till five in the morning. At eleven a.m. I was awakened by the butler, who seemed surprised to find me still prone. He told me my horse was at the door. I told him to send it away and get me a doctor. Nor would I consent to stir until any chance of catching up the hunt was completely out of the question. Then there is shooting, a sport of-which I am fond. But to those who suffer from chronic asthmatical catarrhal bronchitis the ascent of steep heights is fraught with considerable trouble and distress. The best part of the summer had been ruined as far as I was concerned by the fact that we had been undergoing Brigade and Divisional training in a very hilly country. One mountain in particular had been a bugbear to me. It FISHING AND PHILANDERING 65 rejoiced in the name of 2002, and had been the scene of most of our engagements. We had attacked it from all four corners of the compass, in the chill of dawn, in the heat of mid-day, and during the long, cheerless watches of the night. But at last our trotrbles came to an end, and those of us who were bent on shooting packed up our traps and hied away to " Merrie Scotland." I was bound, for an eagerly-anticipated fortnight, for a moor rented by my best friends. Very beautiful was the scenery through which I approached it, and very warm was the welcome that greeted me on arrival, while during dinner on that first night I received much sympathy as I recounted all the hardships and sufferings I had lately undergone in the service of my King and country. In the smoking-room later on my long-legged, active host said he would show me a map of the moor. Hardly had he opened it than my eye, trained to map-reading, caught sight of those ominous figures 2002. " What is this ? " I asked, placing my finger on the spot. " That's where we generally begin, my boy; the best part of the moor," he answered. I turned sadly away to help myself to a whiskey and soda, and in broken accents said, " You can tell your man he needn't unpack my guns." And to that resolve I held. It was no use. I am not one of those who believe in making toil of what should be a pleasure. Moreover I should only have delayed the rest of the sportsmen. However there were plenty of other things to do: motors wherein to scour the country : rivers to fish in, and lakes to boat on : lawns for croquet and lawn-tennis : and, best of all, the most congenial society of that sex one so longs for after a prolonged course of mess-dinners and ante-room buck. So the time passed pleasantly enough : the sportsmen being kept busy and well out of the way, though their bags were daily diminishing. At last my host announced that he would have to commence driving, and I smiled to myself as I thought with gratitude that I had not been brought into the state of life of a keeper. My amusement was short-lived. After an earnest conversa- 66 FISHING AND PHILANDERING tion with his wife my bosom friend turned to me and broke the appalling news that, being short of beaters, he wanted me to act as a flag-man next day. I do not think I closed my eyes that night. After breakfast next morning the head-keeper, 6 feet 6 inches high, about 5 feet of which were legs, fitted me out with a beastly pole, on the top of which was tied a wretched rag of some red material. Armed with this I sallied forth at io a.m., and for eight weary hours, broken by only one brief interval for lunch, I toiled breathlessly up and down — principally up — crags, ravines, morasses, boulders, and broken precipitous mountain sides. I do not think I reached 2002, but certainly must have reached 2000 several times. Gasping in an agony of shortness of breath I would suddenly become aware of loud shrieks in the distance. Looking up it seemed as if all the grouse in Scotland were coming my way at once : unable to utter anything but oaths and the hoarsest sort of yell, I nevertheless feebly waved my danger- signal in their faces. Sometimes I did some good, but more generally I should say some harm, for, in spite of my utmost endeavours, it seemed I was usually some quarter-of-a-mile out of my proper place. That was a day on which I have never yet been able to make up my mind whether I was entertaining or being entertained. Fishing hospitality is yet another form in which friends may be entertained, and is not for one moment to be confounded with fishy hospitality. I remember one of those rare occasions, alluded to above, when I acted the part of host instead of guest, the latter post being ably filled by my late host, the gentleman who had insisted on my hunting. After an all-too-brief week in town, ending with a dance at which his sister had again been present, he and I met at Euston one morning to take our tickets for the West of Ireland. I paid for mine with a ten- pound note, and was about to pick up the change, when my friend " Charles " put forth his hand and plucked it from under my nose. To my remonstrances he merely answered, " My dear fellow, if you're going to argue FISHING AND PHILANDERING 67 about wretched money matters at the very beginning of our trip we can't expect a very pleasant ten days." Arguing about money matters! Indignant as I was, I yet could not help smiling, and though I alluded to the incident more than once during the journey, the only result was to produce a look of sorrow and pity on my friend's face, and a statement that he was disappointed in me. On the boat we indulged in a light lunch : paying for mine with a sovereign, I was a little more than indignant when " Charles " once more annexed my change, as the steward was about to hand it to me. It was too much. I flatter myself considerably on my toleration, broad-mindedness, and equable temperament, but this was more than I could bear. Still he turned a deaf ear to all my importunities, merely remarking that I seemed to have temporarily forgotten my obligations as a host. In Dublin I stood him a dinner at my club, when, in spite of all my care, he once more repeated his hateful trick. Host or no host I informed him that no fortune could stand out long against such a guest as he was proving himself to be: he only murmured that it was a habit he had acquired, and then fell asleep in the train that bore us away westward. Next morning I was up early and went into his room to call him. He lay sleeping as peacefully as an innocent man. On his dressing-table were seven sovereigns and some silver, all of which I annexed, and then went out to have a look at the river. We met at breakfast, the only allusion he made to the financial incident being a request that I would let him have a sovereign to go on with. This I did. After breakfast I fitted him out with rod, reel, and line, and engaged the best man on the river to act as his attendant, no other than my friend " Johnny." Now " Johnny " was also a purveyor of tackle, and regarded my loan of rod, &c, with some disapprobation. Leaving " Charles " to fish the best pool I then wandered off down the river, returning at about 1 p.m. for lunch. Looking over the bridge I saw him hard at work in :^^^" FISHING AND PHILANDERING waders. He informed me that he had already killed two fish and was the proudest man in Ireland. But I soon perceived that he was using a strange rod, and on my asking him where mine was, he replied, " Oh! I've smashed that to smithereens." " Johnny," his attendant, was meanwhile making frantic signals to me from the background, later on explaining that the gallant " Charles " was " the grandest man that ever came to Galway," and that he had already sold him £12 worth of tackle. The days passed pleasantly away, and we enjoyed fair sport. We made a trip up the lake and got caught in a gale coming back. So hard did it blow that our two boatmen, saying they did not know the part of the lake we were in, resigned themselves to fate and fell on their knees, offering up promises of many pounds of candles in the event of their being spared. " Charles " took the tiller and I stood up in the bows, clinging to the mast and calling out " port" or " starboard " as the wicked- looking submerged rocks came into view ahead. After a time the cold became severe and I told my soldier- servant to take my place for a spell. In answer to an enquiry from " Charles " as to his swimming abilities he had already made us laugh by the anxious inflexion of voice with which he assured us that he could not hope to accomplish more than ten yards. Barely had he taken up his place when he saw a yellow rock just show its vicious head in the hollow of a deep surge. Innocent of nautical terms, he roared at the top of his voice " Left incline, sorr," which proved just as effective. However we were all saved and the last afternoon of our trip arrived. I was fishing about a hundred yards below my friend, when I suddenly became aware of Cr Johnny" rushing up to my side in the most frantic state of excitement and indignation that I have ever seen a human- being in. I What sort of a man is this you brought to Galway ? " he exclaimed, literally foaming at the mouth with rage. " He says he never meant to buy any tackle from me at all, and was only after borrowing it all the FISHING AND PHILANDERING 69 time." Poor " Johnny." If ever a man was drawn he was that day, for the twelve pounds had by this time swollen to fifteen, and he fully believed that yet another and greater injustice was in store for Ireland at his expense. However, I need hardly say that all his claims were satisfied when, his face wreathed in smiles, he put us into the night mail. There is another form of hospitality which can lead to considerable inconvenience. I allude to bridge. Since its introduction into England the points for which it is played have been gradually lowered in social circles, but it is still very difficult to arrange them so as to suit everyone's pocket. Ten shillings a hundred may seem scarcely worth playing for to some, whereas such stakes mean desperate gambling to others. Ethically speaking, the points should undoubtedly be fixed to suit the shallowest purse. If one plays decently someone can generally be found willing to " carry " one, or tables can be so arranged that those wishing to play high can play together, and vice-versa. Those who suffer most from this arrangement are good players with small means. They sometimes find themselves reduced to playing the merest " bumble-puppy," for it is almost invariably the case that the best bridge is at the higher points table. It is not alone at bridge, however, that this difficulty is to be encountered. I once went to stay with a friend in Dublin for Punchestown races. My host was an exceedingly well-to-do bachelor, as were also my two fellow-guests. After dinner my friends proposed poker. I had only played this game once before in my life and then only for a five-shilling rise, so when they suggested a £2-rise I hastily made my excuses. These, however, they over-ruled. They declared that they must have four to play; that I could always " go out"; that a beginner always won; that they would write down the values of the hands for me; &c, &c, &c.; with the result that I weakly gave way. They then kindly wrote down the various combinations, which, however, I fancied I could remember. My host fitted me out with a hundred ___—__^^ 7o FISHING AND PHILANDERING pounds worth of counters, and the game commenced. Slowly but surely my pile diminished. At last I was dealt a "straight." I attentively studied the paper at my side, and then, as the man on my left had not " come in," asked the other two, whom I knew well (I had not met the man on my left before that evening) if I might consult him. Both had a fat pair and were anxious that I should play, so they eagerly consented. Looking the stranger squarely in the eye, I said " Ought I to take a card or not ? " He said, " Oh ! this is all rot: we ought not to have let this chap play." " There you are," I said, " I knew I ought to have taken a card, and I ought never to have played: but as it is I'll play as I should have done, for I ought not to have asked advice." My friends placed me with two pairs, and as they each drew a third card to their pairs, thought they had only each other to contend against. At £30 my host " went out," remarking that he hated beginners, but the other player went on up to ^40. His indignation when I took the pool has never faded from my memory, though it all took place many a long year ago. On this occasion, although I was being entertained, I feel I may undoubtedly claim that I in my turn also proved somewhat entertaining. I had originally made " Charles'" acquaintance soldiering in Natal. Finding that he also was an ardent fisherman, we frequently made some pleasant " parties carrees " on the banks of the Umsinduzi, the little river that flows by Pietermaritzburg. Sometimes the ladies would provide tea: sometimes I did. At last, hearing of some better pools rather further away, he and I determined to have a day alone together. (Which is what I mean, and the English language must bear the blame if it is not quite clear to the meanest capacity, as anything short of genius is usually termed.) We agreed that we would really fish and not frivol, and to put the crupper on the whole thing, " Charles " declared that on this occasion he would provide the lunch, as well as drive me out. On arriving at the rendez-vous, the mess W\ ——— 1 FISHING AND PHILANDERING of the very crack cavalry regiment, which he graced for short intervals between his periods of leave, I was gratified to see my host and the mess-sergeant tying on a really fine basket behind the rather ramshackle old dogcart, in the shafts of which pranced a dangerous-looking piece of " blood." The basket appeared about the size of one's linen basket, and I could not help admitting that when " Charles " did things at all he did them well. Presently we started. Our road lay down hill through the town, and there being a species of rail to cling to I was not immediately precipitated out on to my head. As we swung into the main street on our top-speed we were enthusiastically cheered by the rickshaw-boys at the corner. Most of the pedestrians dived into the shops, but a few bolder spirits yelled something as we passed, which, taking to be abuse, we ignored in a dignified manner. Two or three coloured policemen also bellowed out some advice or warning, whilst one or two people whom we knew appeared to be convulsed with laughter. " Silly jugginses," said " Charles." " They'd laugh at anything: we'll have a ripping day, my boy, and I've got an A.i. lunch for you." By this time we were some two or three miles clear of the town, and some idea born of the word lunch and the grinning idiots we had passed, caused me for the first time to look round. There, at the end of some thirty yards of line, jumped and pranced our precious luncheon basket, doing a sort of bibbety-bob down the road at a full twelve miles an hour. Only once have I seen " Charles " look grave : that was the occasion : in silence he handed me the reins as soon as he succeeded in pulling up: in silence he examined the basket. And lo! a miracle. All was well: nothing smashed. Five minutes later it was tied on once more : I was admonished to " do something " towards the day's sport and keep an eye on it from time to time, and we were soon bowling along once more. It really was a miracle that nothing was broken : for in place of the delicate repast I had figured to myself, in place of what I had guessed would be a chicken and " 72 FISHING AND PHILANDERING some salad, some caviare and cake, or what not, with perhaps a bottle or two of their pet " Moet," " Charles " had provided twelve bottles of beer, two glasses, a corkscrew, and some bread and cheese. I remember another delightful fishing party which camped for a week hard by Colenso railway station, and fished the Tugela in those very pools so soon afterwards to become historic. Little did we guess that in a few months' time the site of our happy camp would be pulverised by lyddite and resonant with whistling bullets. One of our party was to be Prime Minister of Natal, and well I recollect seeing him strip and dive into a ten- foot pool to liberate his line which had got hung up on the bottom. Happy days and pleasant places : alas ! to be so soon riven and torn : those noble bridges so gracefully spanning the broad river, so soon to be broken down by the crack of dynamite; those bush-covered banks that were so soon to prove the last resting places of so many of our brightest and best. Well, it is all over now, the storm has cleared the air, and it is to be hoped for all time, but we who remain must never forget our loved comrades who cheerfully paid away their lives as the price of the British Empire. But I think all that love this game may here learn something that may be worth their money. Izaak Walton. The New Love. (After Whyte Melville). Oh ! once I believed in my old twelve bore, And had faith in my cartridge bag, But now no more of grouse and snipe Or rights and lefts I brag. But ^iye me the joy of a peaceful day By the side of a well stocked pool, With my friend to share, and I do not care Though the whole world call me fool. ttwi mgfr FISHING AND PHILANDERING For what is the whole world after all But a medley insincere Of folk who gaze with uplifted brows On others whom they think queer. Let your motto be " Please yourselves my friends And you'll please me," your aim To do as little harm as you can : Or, in three words, play the game. 73 CHAPTER V Then fins were invented : When Queen Amphitrite Stirred up her force from Devonian beds, The race of the fishes in ocean grew mighty, Queer looking fishes with bucklers for heads. Fishes, fishes—small greedy fishes ! With wings on their shoulders and horns on their heads, With scales bright and shiny, that shoot through the briny Cerulean halls on Devonian beds ! John Stuart Blackie. Connemara—A slip of the pen—Galway—Cong—The castaways. —A brace of liars—Recess—White trout—Cashel—The Zetland Arms—It's landlord—Screebe—Costello—A brace of trout. Connemara holds vast possibilities of sport, partly recognised at last, with the result that fishing parties are now catered for as well as the ordinary gangs of tourists who visit the West only for its air and scenery. One fishing expedition stands out clearly in my memory. The trip originated through a comparison of fishing- books—my Irish and their Scotch—on a winter's night, as we sat round the fire in the smoking-room of their house in town. Though both very keen on fishing, neither of therri^ had ever been in Ireland, so we then and there deter* mined that at the first opportunity they should join me on the other side of St. George's Channel, when we would do a tour somewhere in the West, which they declared must include not only fishing and scenery, but also an opportunity for them to make a thorough study FISHING AND PHILANDERING 75 of the peculiarities of the Irish character and temperament in a fortnight. Our first attempt was a dismal failure, owing to the misunderstanding of one letter in a word. She—" the Best Friend "—wrote to me in May proposing some fishing in what I took to be Iceland, to which I replied, regretting that it was impossible for me to get leave just then to go so far as Iceland, when she—having written, or meant to write, Ireland—thinking I was laughing at her writing, would not correct my mistake. Shortly after which I went " dapping " in Lough Derg for three days, whence I sent them some trout, and proposed a visit to them in town, a proposition which I must admit they most hospitably fell in with, though anxious, no doubt, to hear my explanations as to why I could not go fishing with them, seeing that there seemed no difficulty about a week or ten days' leave. My explanation was, however, gracefully accepted on my production of the lady's letter, in which Iceland and not Ireland most distinctly appeared. But the next attempt resulted in my meeting them at Broadstone Station on one of the few fine days in that August, whence we were comfortably and expeditiously conveyed to Galway in an excellent train, and that afternoon, by the courtesy of the proprietor of the Galway Fishery, we accounted for a nice basket of white trout, most of which fell to her husband's rod—the sportsman of the party—I being guide, philosopher, friend, poet, artist, courier, lady's maid, and general utility man. At this time of year it is very necessary to book rooms considerably in advance at any of the angler-frequented hotels, and our fortnight had been mapped out for some time, leaving us only one day in Galway. Determined to make the most of it, I went out for an hour or two before breakfast next morning, but only rose three fish, without hooking any of them; whilst another foolish man —I should say early riser—lost three fish which he hooked. So that, however true it may be that the early bird secures the first worm, it by no means holds good 76 FISHING AND PHILANDERING that the early angler catches the first fish; for neither of us early birds got one all day, whereas my friends, who had lain comfortably in bed until 7-30, were both successful later on. After breakfast, my fair friend, attended by the faithful " Johnny," took the boat, while " the sportsman " and I fished from the bank, with considerable perseverance and no success. She, however, very soon hooked a couple of fish, both of which unfortunately refused to succumb to even her fascinating invitation, a breach of politeness I scarcely looked for in an Irish fish, but shortly before lunch another and better brought up young salmon came along, and this one, after a capital fight of ten minutes, I duly gaffed for her. In the afternoon I accompanied her in the boat, having clearly perceived that the fish were lying on the shallows and not in the main run of the river, or " drain," as it is called; very shortly her pertinacity in sticking to the fly was again rewarded. An enthusiastic crowd soon gathered on the bridge, and a most sporting bout ensued, which nobody could have enjoyed more than I did, as in such a current it was absolutely necessary that I should support my friend's waist to prevent her falling out of the boat. It was a good fish for the time of year, and in taking a fleeting chance with the gaff, I only succeeded in getting him by the tail, with the result that he was no sooner on than off, while I, in my anxiety, slipped up and blunted a remarkably sharp rock with my knee. However, the hook was still in him, and a second and more successful attempt on my part resulted in the death of a bright ten-pounder. After such a quarter of an hour, delicate wrists and arms were naturally somewhat tired, so I fished the shallows down, first with a fly, and then with a prawn, without a touch of any kind. The delicately-veiled sarcasm of my friend as she compared my success with hers brought murder uppermost in my mind, and as the boatman hauled back up the river my line suddenly tightened, and the next moment I had a fish by the back fin, to the surprise of " the Enchantress," the respectful admiration of " Johnny," and the infinite FISHING AND PHILANDERING 77 disgust of the fish, to judge from the variety and activity of his subsequent evolutions, which ended in his going through the bridge, and back to sea again for all I know, a few minutes later. After which we rested and had a cup of tea out of our thoughtfully-provided—I have mentioned who was courier—tea-basket, when " the sportsman "—who despised such light refreshment—kindly hooked and killed a small peal of about 5lbs. for our edification and amusement. Our destination next day was Cong, to which we proposed to go by steamer, but " the stormy winds did blow," and after a roughish passage we had barely reached half-way when the captain said it was too rough to go on, and, after placing us and our baggage ashore at an almost uninhabited spot, proceeded to tie up for the night. The prospect was, to say the least of it, the reverse of pleasing, and I looked with some anxiety at my friends to see if I could in any way gather from their demeanour what they thought of me as a guide, philosopher, friend, etc., but they accepted the situation with the greatest good-nature, and treated the episode as an excellent joke, and worthy illustration of Irish modes of travelling. Since there was no possibility of beds or refreshment in the vicinity, and Cong was some fourteen miles distant, it became necessary to look about for some conveyance; dijigent search was at length rewarded by a car of sorts, not to mention a somewhat dilapidated- looking horse, but I explained that all the others were at the Dublin show. Leaving all our " impedimenta," except our dressing-bags, in the care of an old lady who had kindly sheltered us from the gale by her peat fire, we made a start, and eventually reached the Carlisle Arms at Cong at about 10 p.m., after a drive through pitch darkness without any lights-—another Irish custom. Our carman on this occasion was certainly of a type my friends had never seen before: his Saturday-evening sobriety, his cheery optimism, and his delight when I endeavoured to lighten the monotony by singing a regimental song combining to keep them thoroughly mm 78 FISHING AND PHILANDERING interested. On hearing the song he at once claimed to have been in the regiment himself, nobody laughing more heartily than he did when his failure to answer my questions regarding his company, etc., compelled him to acknowledge that he had been telling what he called " a bit of a lie." A little later on my fair friend said: " Oh! what a story," on the conclusion of one of my best anecdotes, upon which this Ananias set up a blood-curdling yell—" Hooroosh, Mick," cried he; " there's two of us liars on the car." The sight of a well-set-up trout of i2lbs. in the dining-room at Cong filled us with the liveliest anticipations of sport; unrealised alas, for although we spent the next day trolling in Lough Mask with enormous baits of every variety and description, our basket in the evening contained only two small trout about the size of the phantoms we had been fruitlessly, but by no means weedlessly, dragging about the depths of that most beautiful lake. Cong contains one or two points of interest besides its desirability from a fishing point of view. In the first place there is the wonderful river flowing from Lough Mask into Lough Corrib, the first few miles of whose course is subterranean until it rises to the surface again in a huge pool at the end of the town, whence its water flows in three branches, only to unite again in a short distance, for the remaining mile or two of its course to the lower lake. It is quite creepy to see the clear water circling up out of the black depths, and then, after a turn or so round its parent source, depart, some to the East and some to the West, while another portion tips through the mill-wheel into a pool, the black waters of which, according to local legend, have never yet been fathQmed. An interesting country to a geologist, with its black rocks looking like huge slices of Gruyere cheese, its glacier- ground, whale-like humps of limestone, and its far-famed green-marble quarries. In this same pool a year or two afterwards another friend was fishing for small trout, and killed a splendid five-pounder. Then there is the old ruined Abbey: the monks' fishing-house in the river, — FISHING AND PHILANDERING 70 where the salmon used to ring a bell to announce their arrival: the stone at one end of a bridge, where you may stand with one foot in Galway and the other in Mayo: the cell full of skulls and old bones: and only a mile away through the trees a vista of the modern glories of Ashford House, with its turrets and gables alight in the sun, forming a contrast to the ancient relics in the Abbey sufficiently startling to prompt thoughts of the fleeting nature of all earthly matters in even the most thoughtless. A twenty-mile drive along the north shore of Lough Corrib on a bright sunny day—few and far between in that most unfortunate summer—through some of the most beautiful scenery in the West of Ireland, with the ever-varying lights and shades on the purple mountains of Connemara on our right, and the dancing, sparkling, island-studded waters of Corrib on our left, followed by eight miles in a train, brought us to that most comfortable of hotels at Recess. Its situation baffles the descriptive power of my pen, a jumble of lakes, rivers, moors, mountains, woods, and flowers being the principal features of the beautiful landscape in the midst of which it is built. Almost too comfortable and civilized for an angler's hotel it seemed to the male portion of our party, but later on the returning fishermen emptying creel after creel of splendid sea-trout, with an occasional salmon, on the verandah, proved that it was as sporting as it was convenient; and the next two days often saw our lines tight, and our hearts in our mouths, as the gamest fish that swims in the British Isles made desperate attempts to escape the wide-mouthed landing-nets. From Recess to Cashel is only a drive of some four or five miles, and here we were greeted by the most genial of hosts, who recounted with great delight his meeting with and introduction to King Edward on his visit, and the interest His Majesty had taken in the Connemara Cavalry Escort, which our host had organised for his reception. Here, at all events, the prospect was 8o FISHING AND PHILANDERING sporting enough to please the most enthusiastic angler, though at the same time comfortable enough to earn the favourable comments of " the Enchantress," who, however, never grumbled at anything, accommodation, weather, want of sport, or other hardship; she proved herself indeed as good a fisherman as the best of us, while her bridge at night might have served as a model for many a self-satisfied club player. It would be hard to find a more typical West of Ireland prospect than that afforded by the windows of the Zetland Arms Hotel, as the ground slopes away in front of the house to the rock-strewn, almost land-locked bay^— most beautiful of all at low-tide—and stretches far behind over splendid moors and loughs to the majestic group of mountains known as " The Twelve Pins." And what delicious lobsters used to come out of the bay and find their way into our luncheon baskets; and what lovely islands covered with purple heather, rowan berries, and ferns, in fair Lough Gowla, to land on in the afternoon and make a cup of tea, when a temporary calm put an end for the time being to the fishing. Certainly, the sport might have been better, our best day only realising 33 fish, of which " the sportsman " accounted for 17, whilst we in the other boat got half each of the remainder, but these white trout are fine sporting- fellows to catch, and the weather was against us for some time, all the lakes being much above their usual summer level. We spent one day at Screebe, perhaps the best of all the salmon and white trout fisheries of Galway, where private enterprise has been rewarded beyond the dreams of avarice, and where the owner killed eighteen peal on the fly in one day that year, only showing what can be done by hatcheries, care for spawning fish, etc. So it was with no small regret that we turned our backs at last on Cashel, its splendid sporting possibilities, its wild scenery, its civil-spoken, handsome peasantry, and its most cheery host. With an Irishman's eye for beauty and grace, he had been so captivated from the first with my beautiful friend, that as we ate our last lunch he in -j FISHING AND PHILANDERING 81 appeared with a bottle of his best champagne—-and a good wine it was—and requested us to drink her health and speedy return to the wilds of Connemara, which we duly did, not forgetting to drink his as well. Nowhere else but in Ireland could one meet with such a farewell; nowhere else could one be so sure of a warm welcome when the next visit, already fully determined on, may come off. And so back to Galway in time to enable " the sportsman " to catch half a dozen sea-trout round the cribs, which were afterwards fished for our benefit, as were also the eel-nets after dinner. Next day it rained in such torrents that only " the sportsman " would venture out to fish, earning a well-merited reward for his bravery in the shape of a grilse and half-a-dozen sea-trout, whilst the remainder of the party completed sketches, played " spite patience," and—I can answer for myself at all events—thoroughly enjoyed themselves in spite of the utter brutality of that summer day. Besides Screebe there are many other private waters which are well looked after. I was privileged to enioy a fortnight once at Costello, when it was in the hands of a small club. Better white trout fishing I never had. though on that occasion there was such a drought that only the lower lake was fishable, and we nearly gave up going altogether. On the afternoon of our arrival, in company with my host, we went down to the lake as soon as we had snatched a hasty meal, only to find that the boatman, not expecting us to fish till next day, had not turned up. We determined to launch the boat and do without him, upon which my friend stepped into black mud up to his waist by way of a good start. Of course he had to return to the lodge for a change, while I occupied myself in putting up the rods, soaking the gut, etc. I do not suppose we had much more than a couple of hours' fishing, which was a pity, as the trout were never in better mood, and I myself accounted for twenty-one fish weighing twenty-five pounds. It was, indeed, our best day; yet we had some other good ones too. On one occasion I hooked some- 6 82 FISHING AND PHILANDERING thing that played very deep and very strong for a long time. I was convinced that I had hold of a salmon, a few of which occasionally succumb to the lake-trout flies. But it turned out that I had hold of two stout trout, one of two pounds, and one of two pounds and a half, the latter being hooked outside by the bob-fly. The best fish out of 220 weighed 3^1bs., and a noble fellow he was. Unfortunately that little club has long ceased to exist, and the water is now in private hands. For angling may be said to be so like the mathematics, that it can never be fully learnt: at least not so fully, but that there will still be more new experiments left for the trial of other men that succeed us. Izaak Walton. An Irish Trip. All the way through Connemara, Steamer, road, and rail: Tell-tale blushes cheeks adorning Erstwhile thin and pale : Where the sun has gently kissed you As it were in fun— If I had my heart's desire I would be the sun. All the way through Connemara, Mountain, moor, and lough; Neatest ankles shyly peeping, Which a London frock Enviously hid from all eyes, Now your pretty suit Just revealing, till I'm feeling Mad to be your boot. All the way through Connemara, Salmon, peal, and trout; Screaming winch and pulse fast beating, Care and anxious doubt. Whence comes strength to play ten pounders Till you tired felt, And my arm your_waist supported— Oh ! to be your belt. FISHING AND PHILANDERING 83 All the way through Connemara, Galway, Cong, Recess, Cashel, Screebe, with fishing breezes Which your curls caress : Fresh across the broad Atlantic, Ozone soft and kind, Filling you with health and pleasure— Would I were the wind. CHAPTER VI In all vice, pleasure being presented like a bait, Draws sensual minds to the hook of perdition. Epictetus. A bicycle picnic—Not a success—Impossibility of pleasing everybody — Quotations — Dapping — Killaloe — Grace's Hotel— Lough Derg—Salmon—Water bailiffs—The unhooked fish—A big fellow. " If thou hope to please all, thy hopes are vaine : if thou feare to displease some, thy feares are idle." So spoke old Francis Quarles, one of the wisest men who ever lived, and though quoted in part before it will bear repetition. Having once received a practical illustration of the above adage, I make no excuse for telling the story here, though it has nothing to do with fishing. At the time I was a dashing young Captain of Foot, quartered at Portsmouth. For some reason, which I have never yet been able to discover, the Portsmouth matrons regarded me with greater favour than the Portsmouth damsels—with one most fair, but dark, exception. These seniors found in me some hidden quality, which in one respect resembled that we are accustomed to associate with the bull-dog breed : trustworthiness, reliability and dependability, with the result that greater latitude was allowed me than was accorded to any of my guilty—I mean giddy—brethren. On one occasion I was even permitted to chaperon some young ladies to a dance : but only on one occasion. That, however, was soon for- 84 FISHING AND PHILANDERING 85 given, and as soon as confidence was restored, I determined to show how worthily it was placed by giving a bicycle picnic. I invited three and a half couples—the half couple being the dark young lady previously mentioned—to meet me with their bikes on the Floating Bridge on a certain afternoon at a certain hour. All accepted : all arrived punctually. On the bridge going over to Gosport I took the male portion of the first couple aside : I pointed out that owing to differences of gear, and one thing and another, it seemed to me inadvisable that we should all attempt to keep together on the other side, and invited him and the other half of his couple to wheel wherever their fancy wound them, and to meet me for tea at Farnham at 4.30 p.m. He heartily concurred, whereupon I repeated the motion with No. 2, merely substituting Titchfield for Farnham as a rendezvous. He also concurred, as did the third party. I forget at the moment where I appointed to meet this latter, but anyway it was miles from Lee-on-the-Solent, whither I adjourned with my particular half-couple : not that she was particular: only pleasant: and fully enjoyed the merry jest. Indeed it was a most complete success. Yet I failed, it appeared, to " please all." For by a strange coincidence all four couples recrossed by the same boat about 6.30 p.m. To my intense surprise, I was met by nothing but the sourest looks: such discourtesy to a host filled me with amazement: I deputed the dark one to solve the problem. In a few minutes she returned, shaking with laughter—she was ever prone to laughter, the dear little lady—to inform me that the other six, acting on the assumption that they were guests, had gone forth all unprovided with that filthy lucre which has the power to make our world spin so merrily on its axis. Poor souls : they had waited and waited: the confusion of the three men: their inability to purchase so much as a dish of tea at Farnham, Titchfield, or the forgotten place : the consequent huffiness of their three partners: their return journey, empty and uncheered: all these were unblottable blots on what 86 FISHING AND PHILANDERING should have been one of the fairest pages in their histories. And mine had been so fair. How then can one hope to please all anglers? One can't. One must displease some. Of them I crave grace. The more so that I readily admit my departure from the orthodox. An angling heretic: that is what I am. And like a true angler, I glory in it. But as old Izaak observes, " Fishing is an art: or at least it is an art to catch fish." Being quoted from memory that may not be word for word exact, yet that always seems to me the truest criterion of quotation: when word perfect one always suspects a reference to the book-shelf: here, at least to my mind, " imperfection means perfection hid." We do not all think alike : how lucky that is. Yet how much more lucky when we can agree to think differently without resort to blows or even abuse. For certain it is that it is an art to catch fish. As also that he is an artist who catches them. Why all these cross- examinations as the basket is turned upside down and the dozen or so silvery, slimy, slippery, spotted beauties slide along the bench for inspection. " What fly did you get them on ? " Well, perhaps some of them were on it. And if the rest were on a minnow, what harm ? The true secret of success in angling is adaptability: conformation to conditions : a blue-bottle deftly dapped under the alders has often accounted for many a well- filled creel on a hot, still afternoon when orthodoxy returned empty. Have you ever done any dapping? The real thing as practised in Ireland with a May-fly or a Daddy Long- legs? If not, try it on the first opportunity and learn how trout can rise at times. " The fly is up come at once have reserved room and boat for you." Such was a telegram I received towards the end of a recent May from my old friend Mrs. Grace, of Ayle Vane House, Killaloe, with whom I had been corresponding on the subject of dapping. Three or four hours after leaving Dublin landed me at Birdhill (there is a connecting train on to Killaloe FISHING AND PHILANDERING 87 now), and as we drove down to the bridge I was filled with envy at seeing a boat fishing for salmon in the grand water below the bridge, and then again on arrival by seeing several fine trout, each of 2lb. or 31b. weight, in a landing-net, which had succumbed to the May-fly that very day. A trout, a spring chicken, and an omelette, all excellently cooked, and served up by a modest—my! she was modest, that girl—beautiful—and she was beautiful —young Irish girl, formed a meal that the Savoy could not beat. A pipe on the bridge in the evening, a chat with my fishermen of the next day, and " so to bed " in a state of mind " too good for any but anglers, or very honest men." What a beautiful place Killaloe is. The long grey bridge with its multitudinous arches, the weir with its constant humming roar, the dark yet clear, porter- coloured water of the Shannon clearing after a spate, and the golden, gotse-grown hills all round, combine with the white-washed houses and the scent of peat to make it one of the most picturesque, as it is one of the most sporting, towns in Ireland. After a sound breakfast we started on our row of some two or three miles up the lake. There was one thing that puzzled me, new to the game as I was, and that was the absence of our flies. True there were some even thus early dancing about, and some drowned specimens coming down the river, while in the boat were two curious white deal boxes with sliding lids, perforated with small holes. Anxious not to betray my ignorance, I had surreptitiously glanced into these, only to find them empty : fearful that my boatmen had forgotten the bait, I asked them at last where they were. They smiled compassionately, saying we had not yet arrived at the place. The entrance to Lough Derg is truly beautiful. On the left, in the midst of a small park that comes down to the water's edge, is a mound covered by a dense clump of magnificent trees, the actual site, so my men informed me, of Brian Boru's castle. The hills, too, 88 FISHING AND PHILANDERING come sweeping close down to the lake, covered with glorious gorse in full bloom, the fragrance of which sweetened all the air. Near their summits the lichen- covered grey rocks stood out bare and contemptful in their grand beauty, looking as if they had half a mind to start from their high holds and hurl themselves at any intruders who should venture to disturb them. I remember a spot in India which these rocks reminded me of, where I was once stationed on a hill-side waiting for a bear, but where nothing (short of the bear) would have tempted me to fire a rifle, for fear of bringing an avalanche upon me. Presently we arrived at a small island, with a few thorn bushes and hazel trees growing on it, its shores fringed with reeds interspersed with gorse. Here each boatman armed himself with one of the deal boxes, and began to gather flies for the day's fishing. Ten minutes sufficed to collect enough for half-a-dozen boats, and then we started to work in real earnest. Dapping is best practised with what is known as a double-handed trout rod, about fourteen feet long. To the end of your line you must attach some yards of very light undressed silk,, line, obtainable locally, and to this again some five or six feet of gut: on the end of this it is well to have a hook, and on this you impale a couple of May-flies, first snipping their heads, for of course every true angler is merciful. One other thing is necessary, and that is a good breeze, before which the boat drifts broadside on, which blows your line out ahead of you, the rod being held so as to allow the flies to dance naturally over the tops of the wavelets. The trout rise grandly on these occasions, and it is most exciting when you have spotted a rising fish ahead and know that another moment or so will put your flies right over him. The fish you stick may be one pound or he may be ten, which is one of the chief charms. You may kill a brace or you may kill a dozen. But whether your sport is indifferent, or whether it is first-rate, if you are a real fisherman at heart the beauty of your surroundings will eat into your soul. FISHING AND PHILANDERING 89 One day, sitting at lunch, I counted nine different sorts of wild flowers without moving, and the profusion of primroses, violets, anemones, cowslips, bluebells, ragged robin (" kisses in clusters " as they more delight - fully call it elsewhere), and, above all that magnificent gorse in full bloom, ought to be enough to content anyone. Of course there are many other places from which the lake can be fished—Mount Shannon, Nenagh, &c.— which have the advantage of avoiding the somewhat long pull up the river, but as I speak only of what I know, I leave them out, for are there not the Westmeath Lakes, considerably nearer to Dublin; but I cannot say how to fish them or where to stay, whereas in recommending anyone to Killaloe, and my friend Mrs. Grace, I know I shall be more than justified in the eyes of those who may take my advice.* My best bag was fourteen fish, none of them under a pound weight; my best fish only three pounds; but as I said before, these trout run up to almost any weight and I have been unlucky. A friend of mine, spinning in Lough Mask with two rods out, once caught a trout on each at the same time: one was ten pounds, the other sixteen. I have seen them; set up together in a huge case. But it is not only trout that one catches at Killaloe. Sometimes it is salmon—the finest salmon in Ireland. Often one can get a boat on preserved water for the wages of the boatmen, while there is always the free water available. But I have been unlucky with the salmon there as well as the trout: never having killed a heavy fish, though I once got hold of one, which would probably have sent my personal record up with a jump. Things had been very, very dull, only enlivened by an occasional old kelt or a small spring fish, of which the best had been i61bs. Not a bad fish in its way a sixteen- pounder, but not what I sought. I want to catch a * While correcting.these proofs I very much regret to state I have received the news of Mrs. Grace's death. Her daughters, however, intend to continue the management of their hotel. 90 FISHING AND PHILANDERING salmon as big as " Jonathan's" and, though he has probably killed ten fish to my one, I do not despair of succeeding. Anyway, on this particular day, the river was so high that anything but harling was out of the question, and I sat smoking peacefully while my baits, a fly about 2\ inches long and a Devon, fished their best at the end of some forty yards of line. My head boatman was, as a rule, somewhat taciturn, but somehow we got on rather well, and many a story of forty-pounders landed and fifty-pounders lost did he pour into my ears on that beautiful April morning. One of his yarns deserves recording. Between him and the water-bailiff there existed a quiet hatred that was more convincing than the loudest " back-chat," the reason for which consuming animosity being as follows. On a certain day at a certain place, my man, whom I will call " Jacob,"— " fear not thou worm Jacob "—was fishing with a certain gentleman, when they saw another gentleman playing a fish from the bank, at a spot where it was impossible for him to follow his fish, even then far below him. Watching the struggle with interest, " Jacob " saw that as the fish slowly dropped down stream a few yards more would bring it to his boat. Singing out to his fellow-boatman to hold the " cot," he picked up the gaff, and a second or two later saw the fish, accompanied by another, almost within reach. A moment more and he gaffed it triumphantly, only to find that it was not the hooked fish, but its mate, that he had thus unlawfully secured. The hooked one kindly took it into its head to return up-stream, and there the matter might be thought to have ended. Not so. The water-bailiff had also been an interested observer, and prosecuted " Jacob" for illicitly gaffing an unhooked fish. The makings of a very pretty quarrel, which, I believe, is not ended yet. " Jacob " had barely finished when the stone on my line was jerked violently off, and by the time I had the rod in hand a considerable quantity of line had gone too. Then began one of the strangest bouts I ever had with a fish. Slowly, slowly he seemed to be yielding to the FISHING AND PHILANDERING 9i heavy pressure brought to bear, until at last he was level with the boat and I had a nice short line on him. But slowly and sedately he forged ahead, and slowly and sedately we followed, sixteen feet of stout greenheart bent almost double. It seemed as if he intended going to Killaloe. Up, up, up : against that heavy spring water we slowly followed, the fish all the time nearly under the boat, but deep down, and well out of sight. Some two hundred yards above where I hooked him, quite that it was, there was a deep, still backwater. Selecting that in preference to the main current this traction-engine fish slowly led us into it. Arrived at the top he seemed as one who had lost his way, or as a huntsman casting his pack: circle after circle he slowly sailed round that pool, ever coming nearer and nearer. At last, after some twenty-five minutes of this carp-like behaviour, the hook came out of him, and I was left to ponder on the vicissitudes of life. I would not have minded so much if I had seen him : if he had but shown himself once : if I could but know roughly what I had been hanging on to. But it was not to be. On one other occasion I was to lose what I think would have made me famous, but these are the only times when I have lost fish that seemed to me probably prodigious. Those who do not angle are fond of saying that it is always the heaviest fish we lose, but surely in a quarter of a century of fishing I may be forgiven if I claim to have laid hold of two exceptionally large fish. Doubt not, therefore, Sir, but that angling is an art, and an aft worth your learning. The question is rather, whether you be capable of learning it? for angling is somewhat like poetry, men are to be born so. r . _, ., Izaak Walton. To a Fair Angler. You are proud of your fishing and beating us all As your basket you fill with such haste : Yet to me it is only a proof that the trout Of Galway have excellent taste. 92 FISHING AND PHILANDERING All the gillies declare that a lady so fair Was never yet seen in the West; Though I fish with some skill, and Bob's better still, It's certain you're always the best. You never complain of the wind or the rain : Small wonder I break into verse : What matter bad sport when with such a good sort— Your health ! in a bumper of Persse. CHAPTER VII This is the news : he fishes, drinks, and wastes The lamps of night in revel. Antony and Cleopatra. Free fishing—Trout or salmon—The reward of virtue—The Fane—Licenses—The Slaney—An ill-timed pike—A seventh fly— A bad gaffer—The Liffey—An astonished friend—Perch—A river flowing up hill—Another form of dapping—Trout—A fine bag— Midges—Strike duty—The battle Of the Boyne—Billiards—Cricket —A well provided angler—The Tees—The Hampshire Avon—A grand fish. Free salmon fishing is a sport which does not exist in great quantities in these islands. Moreover, where it does exist it is in nine cases out of ten owing to the rights of town lands and so on, and fished to death by the town-dwellers: or else there is an hotel perched beside it full of tourists attracted by its advertisements of free fishing. Having, however, served my country for eleven years in Ireland, I have occasionally found a nook here and there where salmon fishing is available without the necessity of paying rent, or 'being pushed into the water by the crowds on the bank. Many years ago I was trout- fishing in a small, deep, sluggish river, the Fane, when I became aware of a tattered brown figure at my side: he was all brown: skin, eyes, hair, hat, clothes and boots: a veritable " Brownie." 93 94 FISHING AND PHILANDERING " What are ye fishing for? " he inquired in answer to my polite salutation. % Trout," said I, though my outfit would have seemed to make the question unnecessary. " There's more salmon than trout in this river," was his surprising answer. A few queries on my part elicited the pleasing news that no one preserved the water for miles up or down stream: that there were plenty of fish, albeit a bit coloured, it being the end of September: that the river was open till the 15th of October: that the fish rose well to the fly: that the best was a " Claret Brown "—I might have known there would be brown in it—and that he would have much pleasure in accompanying me and showing the best places. But it was within a couple of days of the leave season, and I feared I should not be able to do much that year. On return to barracks, my friend Tom Kinn came to my room with a face so long that I at once concluded he had either lost a near relative or that his leave had been stopped. The latter surmise proved to be correct. It was, it appeared, only for a few days: he was so very anxious to get away on a certain day so as to cross with a certain young lady: he was only being kept back for a court martial: would I be a real pal ?: would I do his court martial for him, and so ensure his undying gratitude?: and so on. Well, I would. By Jove! I was a good chap: I was a brick: a stout man: he would never forget it: etc., etc., etc. So a day or two afterwards he started off on leave, and I started off for the courtmartial. Now this was to take place in the barracks of a very crack cavalry regiment some five miles from the above-mentioned river. So I took a change and a salmon rod. The court was a short one: my hospitable friends fitted me out with an early lunch: and at 1 p.m., or thereabouts, " Brownie "—to whom I had wired—and I were bowling along on an outside car to our destination. There had been a spate, •NEARING THE END.' FISHING AND PHILANDERING 95 and the water was brimming over into the fields in places, but of an excellent colour, and I soon set to work. To cut a long story short, I hooked four fish on the fly in that short afternoon's fishing, two of which I killed, both about eleven pounds in weight. I well remember the rise of the last one. I was fishing a very deep, very still stretch: so deep and so still that I turned to " Brownie," saying, " Surely this is no good," when in the very act of turning I saw a dark shadow detach itself from the bottom, rise very leisurely to the surface, and swallow the " Claret Brown." It was the most deliberate rise that ever came within my ken. After that " Brownie " and I had many and many a day's sport together, without a soul ever asking us for a license or accusing us of trespassing. Once I hooked eleven fish in a day, all on the fly, the only bait I ever used in those waters. Lots of other free fishing have I found, but never any to equal that narrow little river, a very " Lethe " in its tranquility. Now, however, its virtues are recognised, and its days of freedom are things of the past. But in Ireland people are so hospitable that nothing more than a little tact is required. Fishing some club waters once, which were closed on Sundays, an ancient general and I drove out to call on a lady who owned a small river from source to lake, to ask leave for a day's fishing. She graciously gave us tea and a note to her keeper. When we met that individual and handed him the letter, he shyly begged us to read it to him; whereupon the general broke the seal and read: " This is to grant leave to General W. and Captain Mainwaring to fish the river for the season." That is hospitality if you like. On another occasion I asked a well-known M.F.H. for leave to fish for trout, when he most kindly invited me to accompany him and fish for salmon instead. So one fine morning I met him at the train, and we were soon " en route." On the way I told him I must stop in the town to get a license, which he volunteered to get for jgzm 96 FISHING AND PHILANDERING me as he had to get some stamps. I accordingly gave him a sovereign and waited on the car. When he came back he said they had no forms, but that he had paid the money and they would send me one. Putting me in at the top pool, my friend began some two hundred yards below me. I had barely wetted my fly when there came a polite request from behind for my license. I explained what had occurred, pointing to my host, a J.P. and a D.L., who had fished there for twenty years, and saying that he would corroborate my statement. " That will be all right, thank you, sir," was the answer as the bailiff moved on down the river. He stopped and talked for some time to my friend, and I never gave the matter another thought until a week later, when I received a summons for fishing without a license. He had never said one word to my host about the matter, and had simply done it to earn some cheap notoriety. I have refrained from calling this man any names, for a month afterwards he was found drowned in the very stretch we were fishing. I presently joined my friend, who pointed out a lady walking on the other bank. " There you are, my lad," said he, ",£15,000 a year and a splendid angler." " Get her over here, and at once," was all my answer, but it had the desired effect, and some few minutes afterwards I was bowing and scraping and told to continue fishing, please. Now, now if only a fish would come: if she was keen, surely it would enhance me in her eyes: and—" In him, by the hokey! Tally-ho! " sang out the gallant fox-catcher. " Well done, indeed; well done," whispered my fair companion, while visions of spending £7,500 a year sped through my brain. But alas! ( The little more and how much it is! And the little less, and what worlds away! " It was a pike. A dirty, lantern-jawed swine of a pike. Alas! for my visions. Nor could I understand the manoeuvres of my host, who kept studiously in the background, till he afterwards explained to me that in his excitement his own fly FISHING AND PHILANDERING 97 had caught in his trousers behind, necessitating the undoing of his braces ere he could release himself. Next day we fished pool after pool blank, till at length we arrived at one known as " The Fairies' Pool," which my friend assured me always held a salmon. So I fished it down twice; first with one fly and then with another. Then he fished it twice; each time with two flies, making six in all. In vain he besought me to give it another try. But it was too hot. I was too comfortable lying on my back bathed in sunshine, drinking in the glory of the golden gorse and silvery blackthorn. . At last we saw his henchman advancing over the sky-line with refreshments. Again he urged me, till, taking heart of grace, I consented to put a seventh fly over it, provided he would let me have his share of his wife's delicious home-made soda cake. He agreed to this, and I fished it down with the very smallest fly in my book, and killed a beautiful little nine-pounder as fresh as a daisy. That evening my host was obliged to leave, but I stayed on. Fishing the " Fairies' Pool " from the weir at the top, a salmon in the dead water just above it sprang into the air, covering me with spray as it fell back. That was too much; there was not a breath of wind, so it was useless to put a fly over it, but no sooner did I drop in a shrimp than it was ruthlessly swallowed, and I killed a fish of eleven pounds. On my way back in the evening I rose a fish in a tiny pool between some rocks, which could not be induced to come again, so I offered it a shrimp, which it instantly accepted. My soldier-servant was gillying for me, and I asked him if he knew how to gaff a fish. " I do, to be sure," he scornfully answered, taking up his position. But when the fish came under him he made a tremendous bash at its head with the back of the gaff, missed, and got the hook round the line. The fish, as much astonished as I was myself, indignantly made off: my servant held on like grim death to the gaff, in spite of my roaring at him to let it go, and not until I kicked him into four feet of water would he relinquish his hold: 7 FISHING AND PHILANDERING in spite of which moving accidents we eventually secured our prize. One more fish killed and one lost completed a pleasant, not to say amusing, day's angling. Then there was the old Liffey, up which an occasional fish finds its way past Guinness' Brewery in the autumn months. Though unsuccessful in getting one myself, some of my brother officers proved more fortunate, but very, very seldom. On one occasion rumours of an immense pike were spread abroad, and I determined to have a go for him myself. Having sent my servant out in the morning to fish for baits in the canal, I joined him beside the pike's lair about three o'clock in the afternoon, my friend the County Inspector having promised to bike out to see the fun. He was a simple soul, and I fear the butt for many of our boyish witticisms, or what we thought witticisms: jokes which the good man never resented, and seemed in half-an-hour's time to enjoy as much as we did. Selecting for my first essay a rudd nearly half a pound in weight, I attached a huge float and commenced operations. After some two or three swims down, I had just plucked the bait from the water to send it forth again, when a voice behind me exclaiming, "Well done, indeed!" gave me such a start that I dropped it in the field behind. 1 Well done, old chap," said the old gentleman, hurrying up to the fish. " Why, my dear friend," I answered, " that's my bait." " Oh dear! oh dear! " he sighed. " You are, indeed, the most wonderful fellow that ever came to the Depot. Why, even your bait is bigger than any fish I've ever seen any other chap catch in the Liffey." One afternoon a young subaltern given to angling for pike returned to mess early. On being asked how he had fared, he replied: " Oh! it was no use: I couldn't get a pike: I kept on catching some of this sort of fish, so I gave it up and came home." On examining his bag we found thereto five perch, which weighed within an ounce or two of fifteen pounds. Truly e< some have greatness thrust upon them." Near the head waters of the Liffey there is a little FISHING AND PHILANDERING 99 stream which, owing to some optical illusion, appears to flow uphill. One of the local inhabitants on being asked by a brother officer if this brook did not flow uphill, remarked, " It does, sorr; and, what is more, it is the only river in Ireland that does." In after years there was a trout spoken of in bated breath, which no one could catch, but which everyone but me apparently had seen. His lair lay under the ci Bridge of Sighs " hard by " The Lover's Leap," and many an afternoon I passed in a boat with the lady whose beauty gave rise to the nomenclature of the bridge, trying for the trout, trying to teach her to throw a fly, and trying hardest of all—but let me stick to this trout. One afternoon we lay long under the shadow of the bridge, and I was in the act of trying to teach my fair companion the mystery of a spinning reel, putting her fingers into position and supporting her to prevent her falling out of our frail craft, when the voice of a miserable brother officer, addicted to the reprehensible practice of dapping a bluebottle from behind alder-bushes, said: " That's right, old man: only you want to hold her hand a little tighter each cast." Needless to say we all knew each other very well. One more tale and I must say farewell to the Liffey. Another officer, also a rival, had agreed with me that a day's trouting near the famous bridge was desirable from every point of view. But at the last moment I was delayed by some wretched orderly-corporal or somethings and he went on ahead. I fished after him to the lodge gates, but caught nothing. Going inside to leave my rod, I saw his bag, a peep into which revealed five brace of most excellent trout. To transfer them to my own and fill his up with stones delayed me but a few minutes more, and very soon I reached the house, where they were all going in to lunch. Her Ladyship asked after my sport, and I begged her acceptance of my catch, which I proudly turned out on the lawn. " Oh! how splendid! " said her eldest daughter. " What a fisherman you are." I glanced at my rival. " Indeed," said he, " I have just ioo FISHING AND PHILANDERING as many down at the lodge. I hope you will accept mine too." But this they said they could not consent to, and as we biked back in the cool of the evening my comrade complained bitterly of the weight of his bag. Next morning he told his servant to have a trout done for my breakfast and one for his own, and he'd find them in his bag in the next room. " Will ye have them broiled or fried, sorr? " asked his man a minute later, producing a handful of stones to his astonished gaze. Oh! Bard of Athy! You are not often sold, but you were done very brown that time, my boy, and you know it, though you did try so manfully to brazen it out. Very pleasant were those days beside the beautiful Liffey, albeit the fish were few and far between, and most of us suffered dreadfully from midge bites. There have been many battles of the Boyne since the unforgettable one of the ist of July, 1690. That it is unforgettable I have good cause to know. We were quartered in Sheffield in 1894 and 1895, and, when the coal strikes took place, were sent out far and wide in detachments of various sizes. My own particular job was to proceed with a corporal, a bugler, and 20 men to a district inhabited by some 15,000 able-bodied miners. Being of Napoleon's way of thinking that the Lord fights on the side of the big battalions, I took care to impress upon my commando the importance of adopting a conciliatory attitude towards our neighbours. One of their leaders had an interview, unknown to me at the time, with my corporal, asking him whether he was not a poor man himself, and whether he did not sympathise with the colliers in their endeavours to obtain what they considered justice. " I do, to be sure," answered the corporal. " And if this young officer of yours was to tell you to fire on us, you wouldn't obey him, would you? " " Not fire, is it? Why, we haven't had a crack at yiz since the battle of the Boyne." I myself have had some splendid battles in the Boyne. Nine or ten years ago a brother officer got leave for me FISHING AND PHILANDERING 101 to fish a capital stretch for a whole month, of which the exigencies of the service only enabled me to avail myself on three days. My gillie was himself a fine fisherman and a devotee of the fly, to which lure I confined myself for some time, but without any success. At length, seeing a fish show, I proposed, after trying him with three flies, to offer him a shrimp, to which my mentor assented, but after watching my " modus operandi " remarked in a sad voice, " Ye may fish for a month and ye will not catch a fish in this river that way." I told him that my faith was still whole; that the fish had only seen the shrimp properly three or four times—it was a difficult cast—and that he might go away and play with my fly-rod, but to remain within sight. I think it is no exaggeration that it was not till the fortieth cast that that fish lost his temper and swallowed the shrimp. He turned out to be a fresh- run seventeen-pounder, and my gillie admitted that he had learnt something. On my last day it rained heavily and continuously. At three o'clock in the afternoon my man said, " If ye still have faith in that shrimp, put one on: the town muoTwill be down in less than half an hour, and there will be no more fishing." In that half-hour before the mud came I got two fish: indeed, the beginning of a spate is just as likely a time as when it is running out, On another occasion a party of three went down to stay at a hospitable country-house for the purpose of fishing the next beat up stream. " Jack," prince of sportsmen and best of all good fellows; " Joe," whose store of tackle would literally have qualified him to open up a shop; and myself. Our roosts were two bachelor brothers, and we five had the house to ourselves. After dinner we played billiards, at which game " Jack " is a proficient, while I also had played before. Either of us could give one brother thirty and the other forty in a hundred, so we played foursomes, and the sovereigns changed hands without anyone coming to much grief. We were on the point of going to bed when the elder brother said: 1 Come; I'll tell you what we'll do. My — 102 FISHING AND PHILANDERING brother and I will play you and ' Jack ' level for a tenner a corner." This appeared to me the truest form of hospitality, and I was on the point of accepting when he added: " I only make one stipulation: I fix the length of the game." Now, although no Scotch blood flows in my veins, I have yet inherited some considerable degree of caution, and declined to sign on. Not so " Jack." A gambler from the word go, he declared he would take my share of the bet whatever the length of the game, and our elder host then announced that it was to be one up. This naturally led to a considerable discussion as to who should open it, eventually ending in the maker of the bet having first word. He took the extremest care in his endeavour to leave a double baulk, but getting too fine on the red, only brought his own ball behind the line, leaving the red about half-way between the top and middle pockets, and about one inch from the cushion, on the right side of the table. More complete safety I never saw in my life, nor a luckier shot—till then. There was no " jenny "on: indeed there was nothing: nothing but a hopeless-looking all-round cannon. I was perhaps in better form than '' Jack " that week, and he was anxious for me to try it. Not I: it was his £20: not mine: he must do or die: and he did. Going out for the cannon, he played too full on the red, it kissed out on to his ball, which latter flew round the table into the righthand bottom pocket, missing the cannon by about five feet. A great shot. My first meeting with ''Jack," years before, had been on the cricket ground. My regiment was playing the Phoenix, and in those days we had a " demon " bowler by name " Maylam, of the Band." He had frightened out half their side for some fifty runs, when a quiet, sleepy-looking gentleman issued from the pavilion, trailing his bat behind him as he slowly made his way to the wicket. Not much trouble here we thought. Taking up a sort of semi-recumbent stance, he waited the attack of c' the demon." But what was this ? A drawling sort of stroke and behold! the ball flew clear over the pavilion out of the ground. " In the name of goodness," I asked FISHING AND PHILANDERING the umpire, " who is this gentleman?" " That's Mr. M., sir, captain of the University eleven." That was more than twenty years ago, but the friendship that commenced that day has done nothing but grow tighter every year since. On the morning after the billiard-match we sallied forth, " Joe " in one direction, " Jack " and I in another. I Joe " took with him a powerful 17ft. rod, a lighter one of 15ft., a spinning rod of 12ft, and a 10ft. trout-rod, explaining to me that there was often a good rise of large trout at this time of year. Each of these four rods was of split-cane of the costliest make. In addition to the reel on each he carried, or rather the gardener did, two extra reels, one a new self-casting contrivance for spinning, and one carrying a new line he was anxious to try. One of his large books contained salmon-flies and casts only: the other held traces, flights, baits, &c. The two smaller books were duplicates of the large, but on a trout scale. A huge japanned tin box contained an assortment of pike tackle. " Any amount of pike about," he whispered to me in the sort of voice in which he might have divulged his suspicions as to who stole the Crown jewels. Two large bottles held gudgeons and prawns in glycerine. A large canvas bag was for his fish: a larger one for his lunch. Just as he started, the gardener's boy ran up with a tin of worms and moss, and as " Joe " forced it into the gardener's pocket we fully expected it would have the same effect on that unfortunate individual as the last straw is said to have on the camel. But he stuck it out, and wishing us "tight lines," dear old honest " Joe " strode off as happy as a King Emperor. We on our part, with our more modest outfit-^- " Jack's " was entirely borrowed from " Joe "—had but modest sport. Indeed we only^ot one fish between us, an 18-pounder, which took a shrimp in the still water above the Mill, but were cheered on our return to learn from " Joe," at his ease in an armchair before the hall fire, that he had got two. Off we went to inspect them. pm 104 FISHING AND PHILANDERING Dear old thing: he had caught a 61b. pike, and a well- mended kelt about the same weight. Needless to say we said no word to upset his complete satisfaction. He told us how they had spotted the pike, changed tackle, and slain him. He told us of the bout he had had with the salmon and the dance it had led him. Unfortunately another sportsman came in for a drink on his way home, who could not resist a dig or two. " That's a fine fish you killed to-day, ' Joe.' " " Which one ? " queried our friend, ready to fight his battles over yet again. " Oh ! I mean the salmon." " Yes : isn't it ? I never saw a more silvery fish." " You're right, old man : silvery it is. Had it any tide-lice on it, ' Joe ?' " " Why, really, I never thought of looking. I expect it had." " But I don't think it could have had much to eat recently, had it, old boy ? " But at this point we intervened and hustled him out of the room. I have never killed a salmon in Scotland. Lest it may be thought I have never had the opportunity, let me mention at once that by the grace of friends I have fished the Deveron, the Glass, the North Esk, the Lochy, and the Add. Yet have I had some of the pleasantest days of my life on their banks. On one occasion, when fishing the Add, I took the precaution of taking a bag of worms with me, and, since the fish would not look at a fly, cast a bunch into a likely looking stream. Tug, tug, tug: by Jove! a fish. Giving him plenty of time I raised the point of the rod and missed him. I tried him again: he came again: this time I had him: but only for a moment. Never was such a sporting fish. Time after time he pulled : time after time I missed him : but time after time I hooked him: only to lose him unaccountably almost immediately. After one of the most exhilarating morning's sport I can remember, I discovered a heavy wire stretched from bank to bank across FISHING AND PHILANDERING 105 the stream, and went off to try another pool, like the old lady's parrot, full of thought: pensive to a degree in fact. I have never killed a salmon in England. But have only tried the Tees and the Hampshire Avon. On one occasion in the latter river, accompanied by a dear old friend, we started out on the morning after our arrival, and, on getting to the first pool, were surprised to see a man with a gun behind a bush, peering into its depths. Enquiry elicited the astounding information that he had seen an enormous fish jump and was waiting to try and shoot it. We did not take long to chase him out of that, and m>r friend insisting that I should try first, I put on a large " Golden Eagle " and fished it. Half-way down came that electrifying tug which puts salmon-fishing so many miles ahead of all other earthly forms of enjoyment. But our hopes were short-lived. Only a kelt: a dirty old kelt about i61bs. in weight. In returning him to the river I somehow cricked my back so severely that any more fishing was out of the question, and returned to the house, where I had the pleasure shortly afterwards of seeing my host bring in a 22-pounder. But my old friend, on his way back in the evening, beat that hollow. For in the very pool whence we had ousted the poacher, with almost the last cast of the day, he had risen and killed one of the very handsomest and best- shaped fish I ever had the satisfaction of gloating my eyes upon: 3510s. in weight, with the tide-lice on him. What say you now? Is not this worth all my labour and your patience ? Izaak Walton. The Midge. She is just like other midges, being very small and black,. But she differs in one most important thing— That while others bite you outside, it is deep within your heart That this particular midge elects to sting. io6 FISHING AND PHILANDERING It is useless to pursue her in the hope to be avenged : She's illusive and she's very hard to catch : It were wiser take your heart out, and having found the spot, To have a good old satisfactory scratch. But midges have their midges, as fleas have got their fleas, And she who smites too often will get smitten : So one day we'll have the pleasure of viewing with delight This most promiscuous biter being bitten. CHAPTER VIII But most his measured words of praise Caress'd the angler's easy ways— His idly meditative days— His rustic diet. Austin Dobson. Jibes at fishing—Jonathan as a shot—The poachers—His best shot—A French shoot—Strike duty again—Bottom fishing—Game fish or coarse—What is the best fishing—Scotland—A made loch— The evening rise—A Guardee—Derbyshire trout and grayling— Salmon or grilse. However true it may be that fishing is becoming more popular in direct ratio to the decrease in available waters, it is probably equally certain that at least five sportsmen out of every six, taken at random in a club smoking-room, would vote shooting better sport than fishing; while three out of the five would probably take the opportunity to get some wretched old chestnut off their chests at the expense of angling. To some of the brotherhood this has the effect which a red rag is said to have on a bull: I personally have never tried a red rag, or indeed any other coloured rag, on a bull: I once cheeked a bull, but that tale has already been unwound. Do not imitate these peppery ones, my brothers: let the shooters remain in their ignorance lest they learn and sell their Purdeys to buy split canes. Let their jibes hurl innocently over our heads: argue, if argue you must, on some other subject. Both are excellent sports: what matter which is best: indeed, why should one be better than the other: one probably appeals to us more: let it go at that. Ie7 108 FISHING AND PHILANDERING " Jonathan " is a great sportsman in other ways than fishing. At least, he is a mighty shot: I can answer for that. But as for hunting: no: I never have seen him on the back of a horse, and don't suppose I ever shall. But as a shot I know few better. Under his fostering care I had my first shot with a gun: at a chaffinch, I remember, perched on a tree by the Home Farm. That same afternoon he promoted me to a moorhen flying. The chaffinch I downed: not so the moorhen. A year later, by the kindness of some friends, I was given leave to range with a single-barrelled gun over their estate after rabbits, wood pigeons, plovers, and the like. When " Jonathan " came down from Cambridge I asked him if he would care for a day's shooting. Rather! He was all for it. "Do you mean I may shoot anything? " he asked as we commenced operations, to which question I gave a ready assent. We had a most enjoyable day: three or four pheasants, a brace or two of partridges, some rabbits and a hare. My joy was, however, somewhat damped by my mother's reception of the game which " Jonathan," always cautious, insisted on my taking home to her. " But, Arthur dear, I'm sure Mrs. S. never meant you to shoot game: I shall write and send it to her." Later on I had the pleasure of seeing Mrs. S.'s answer: " It does not matter about Arthur: he is only a boy: but I would like to know who the other poacher was." cc Only a boy," indeed, and % the other poacher." However, it was all forgiven and laughed over long, long ago. In after years I have often and often shot with " Jonathan " and his father, and splendid shots they both were. As a matter of fact, I consider my esteemed friend a better shot than any Boer I ever met in the Transvaal. They never hit me: he did: a splendid shot, from one grouse butt to another. Yes, he is certainly a fine marksman. One of the strangest shoots I ever took part in was outside Paris. Three of us—Athos, Porthos, and D'Artagnan—I was D'Artagnan—invaded Paris for Christmas. The celebrated owner of " The New York 1 FISHING AND PHILANDERING 109 Herald " happened to be known to Athos, and amongst many other hospitalities, invited us down to Versailles for a day's shooting. The date was the 20th of December, and as the motor was not to come to our hotel till eleven, it struck me as likely to prove a short day's sport, and as things transpired, it certainly was. We arrived safely at his shooting lodge, only to find nobody there. At about mid-day our host arrived on a drag covered with sportsmen and beautiful ladies. Oh! such beautiful ladies. Princesses and Viscountesses and Baronesses. There are certain misguided friends of mine who call me a snob. I was in my element. Shortly afterwards we sat down to a " dejeuner a la fourchette." Lucullus himself could not have complained of either viands or wines. As for me, I found myself between a Russian Princess and an Austrian Baroness, both of whom complimented me deliciously on my French, more especially my accent. Shooting? Oh! blow snooting. However, at 2 p.m. we rose, and were put into two waggonettes and driven about a mile to the edge of a small covert. Then I learnt for the first time what a lot we have to learn about shooting in England. Outside the covert, at suitable distances apart, were placed a row of charcoal braziers in case our poor fingers got cold. Beside each stood a loader, and—best of all—to each stand there was a beautiful lady. I forget at this moment whether the Princess or the Baroness fell to my share, but, whichever it was, she proved herself perfectly charming. The ground was flat, but every device known to man had been adopted to get the birds well up, and they flew better than I have often seen them do at many an English and Scotch shoot. One hundred beaters, all clad in red smock frocks, converged towards the covert, and then the fun began. Moreover, the shooting was good: better than I had been accustomed to see: the main difference being that the foreign Counts and Dukes shot at anything that got a move on. Pheasants, partridges, blackbirds, thrushes, starlings, and even robins; nothing that flew mmsmmmmmmm &m no FISHING AND PHILANDERING escaped that fusillade. It only lasted a few minutes: then we got into the carriages again, were driven off to another covert, on to which another hundred beaters, similarly clad, converged: a withering fire was re-opened, and at 4 p.m. we were all back at the chateau for another meal, while the bag was 437 pheasants to six guns. A special train took us back to Paris, and then you might think the day's sport ended—but it didn't. Our host could not come himself, but detailed a Viscount to act for him, when, after another huge meal at the Cafe de Paris, this gentleman acted as our guide to the mysteries of Paris. Suffice it to say that he knew Paris; suffice it to say that he showed it to us: suffice it that when we crawled to bed in the Elysee Palace Hotel at 3 a.m., Athos, Porthos, nay, even D'Artagnan, had seen sights, drunk drinks, and danced dances that the average Englishman might live in Paris for twenty years and yet be entirely ignorant of. Which only shows that shooting is fine sport as well as fishing. Leaving this vexed and unimportant question, let us now turn to another: which is the best form of our own particular sport ? Game fish or coarse ? I do not include sea-fishing, because that is a phase of which I know nothing, though I hope to some day. Now, coarse fishing has always seemed to me a somewhat opprobrious term, and I confess to a very strong regard for the gentle pastime of watching a float. There is something so fascinating about that silent messenger: there it swims, jauntily cocked in all its beauty of paint and varnish, or graceful taper of the quill supplied by " the fretful porcupine." Sometimes quiescent: sometimes riding easily over the crests of multitudinous miniature waves: always on the look out: always doing its duty: ever ready to give you instant information of the dark happenings in the mysterious depths below. Yes: I would I had more opportunities for this form of angling: the gentle bottom-fisher is much to be envied: " his idly meditative days: his rustic diet." At the time of the regrettable railway strike I was on I FISHING AND PHILANDERING in the point of starting on leave, instead of which we were sent up to Yorkshire, where we found very little to do. After ten most unpleasant days and nights we returned, and the best of friends asked me to come over and spend a week and " bring a rod." Knowing him to be a dry fly expert, I took a "Houghton" and its accompanying paraphernalia. At lunch on the day after my arrival a request to pass up any bread left andjm indent on a lady for '' some more cotton wool '' excited a curiosity which his wife says is at all times too abundantly active. An inquiry as to what he was making paste for merely elicited the hackneyed formula "wait and see," so I waited, and presently, after a short motor drive, saw—saw a series or chain of small ponds, artificially banked up in a miniature valley—saw the selected pond, now half empty, but wholly muddy and opaque. cc You see that bottom pond, my lad? " quoth my host, producing a mass of floats and such like coarse tackle from his pocket, '' that's full of pike and wild duck, the one just below us is full of perch and kingfishers, this one is crawling with half- pound roach, and the one above holds huge tench. I want some of these roach for our pond in the Japanese garden, so just set to work." I set. Scarcely had my float cocked ere it bobbed, and then disappeared. Up you come, and out you come, and a capitally shaped roach, with fins like an Aurora Borealis, came sailing through the air. Fast and furious was the fun. Some were just under half a pound, some were just over; the smaller ones were returned; any unfortunates injured by the hook were slain " for the gardener's boy," an eccentric, who would probably have eaten anything; in an hour we had two dozen selected specimens, with which we hastened back to the motor, and fifteen minutes later they were successfully transferred p all alive and kicking " into the miniature pond. Whilst on the subject of the peculiar taste of the gardener's boy—an incident on the Hampshire Avon comes to my mind. My host, perhaps the best salmon fisherman that river ever knew, suddenly turned to me ii2 FISHING AND PHILANDERING one day, and said, " You see that chap over there? I'll bet you a sovereign my dog finds and kills a rat, and that chap skins and eats it within thirty minutes, if you like." I did not like; but consider it; what would you order for a palate like that ? But about this time appeared in the columns of " The Field " the stirring accounts of the capture of several giant carp, proving that " coarse fishing " can at times be productive of splendid sport. But for my own part, I must plump my votes for the game fishes, all insufficiently protected as they are by the game laws. Next comes the question: salmon or trout? In favour of the latter is his greater ubiquity, if ubiquity may be for this occasion treated as a relative term. Also the more economical outfit: and the far greater amount of free water. Moreover, when the mood really seizes him, there is no doubt he is hard to beat. But, personally speaking, I have only known three really good taking days, and each of those only extended over a few hours in the late afternoon. Once in India, an occasion already treated of: once with white-trout in Ireland, also dealt with: and once with brown-trout in Scotland, to be told of later on. Not very often in some thirty years it must be admitted. Nor must it be gathered that I have never had good fishing at other times, but those were the three red-letter days. And although there is much more free trout fishing than salmon, there is yet little enough of it in all conscience. As ' cThe Little Man" once put it, in discussing the comparative advantages and disadvantages of being quartered in England or Ireland, " If you go for a walk on the road you get killed by a motor-car: if you step off it you get prosecuted for trespass: and if you so much as take out a pinkeen the length of your finger you get six months." Very far from f free " was the water in which I once met brown-trout on the take proper, but, since it proves the possibilities that a little trouble can produce, it may be recounted here. Two years before, my host and I were packing up our rods, after an all but blank day, beside one of the FISHING AND PHILANDERING 113 darkest and most sombre of all the dark and sombre lochs of Argyllshire. To reach it had required a hard climb of an hour and a quarter, and we agreed that the game had been scarcely worth the candle, though I had once spent a most happy day there in years gone by. As we lit our pipes and dropped slowly homewards—I am far better downhill than up—my friend told me that a new loch was in process of formation for a water supply to the port, meaning the harbour, not the rich vintage wine with which his butler so liberally supplied me nightly. " My landlord," he continued, " has retained all the sporting rights, and means to stock it with Loch Levens, so I hope some day, old man, you will come home with a heavier creel than the one MacTavish is carrying to-day." Two years passed, and so did the conversation out of my head, so much so that I seriously debated whether to take a trout-rod North that August lest I should again be driven up those precipitous three miles of crag and bog to that dour mountain tarn. But there was a sea- trout pool at the mouth of the burn, and my <( Houghton " duly accompanied me in the end. The first thing I heard on arrival was that the new loch had turned out a complete success,.and was full of trout averaging well over a pound each, and of such unsophisticated natures that my hostess was good enough to add, " Even you will be able to catch them." Next morning, accompanied by a fellow guest and the incomparable MacTavish, I set out with high hopes and airy spirits, for they told me it was only a step, and a c< quite-quite easy climb." But climbing is not my forte; give me a funicular railway any day. After a steady plod of half an hour, I asked the gillie if we were nearly there. He pointed to a forbidding-looking pinnacle on the far-distant sky-line, and remarked, " Oh! ay, she's just under yon wee bit hillock." She was: another good half hour away, and about 7,000ft. higher up. Yet we eventually arrived, and a welcome breeze, which gradually reduced my temperature to normal, was a ii4 FISHING AND PHILANDERING stirring up a most inviting ripple on the dark waters at our feet. The little loch was formed by a small masonry dam, so cunningly situated that with very little expenditure, some forty-five acres of water had been retained and spread over the moor we had shot over only two years ago. We were soon afloat, and began a drift along a promontory which pushed out into the loch almost cutting it in half. A glance satisfied me that my companion was a workman, as well as the possessor of very neat ankles, and I started casting from the bows. But a few minutes had passed when " Phloph!" she was into a fish, and a good one too. Right hard it played for full five minutes, until I slipped the net under No. i, a well fed trout as ever I saw, of i^lb. My turn came next, then hers again, and so it continued for some time, fish for fish: then I got two running, and my companion in a most whimsical voice complained as I played it, " It's not your turn." At last the rain carried out its threat, the rise came to an end, and we sought the shelter of a huge boulder, on the leeside of which we munched a most appetising variety of delicacies. We only got one more small fish, and, being thoroughly soaked to the skin, gave it up early and went home, taking with us eight trout, weighing nib., having returned one or two which would have been considered whoppers in the burn. Pleased as Punch, I carried them in to show to my hostess, who merely remarked, p Mr. B. and I got eighteen, weighing 2ilb." " How many did you get?" I asked; and " A dozen, my dear," was her answer. That dozen had got to be beaten. Two days later, accompanied this time by " The Pride of the Coldstream Guards," I once more accomplished the ascent of the Matterhorn. Leaving him in the boat with MacTavish, I fished from the bank, picking out every likely-looking bay and casting carefully amongst the weeds that fringed the shore. There was but little breeze, and never once did any of us see a rise other than those prompted by our flies. Yet we had good sport. FISHING AND PHILANDERING 115 Just before lunch I had the luck to get the record fish of the season, two ounces over 2lb., as playful as a kitten and as strong as a young bull. At four o'clock, just when I confidently looked for an improvement, my youthful " Guardee " expressed himself tired, so we sounded the " stand fast " and marched home. Apparently he got over his fatigue without much difficulty, as, shortly after tea he went for a long walk with the very lady I had intended to escort myself. Our bag that day was nine trout, weighing n^lb., not counting some half-pounders put back. Two days afterwards a party of four of us arrived at the loch, which unfortunately presented the appearance of a plate of burnished steel. Only two small trout lay on the heather as we lunched, very shortly after which the boat was rowed up to where I was casting over a rising fish, and I was invited to " come home and play bridge." But something told me they would come on the rise later, and their blandishments fell on deaf ears, MacTavish, after landing the vendor of india-rubber and his two fair companions, returning to have some serious fishing with me. c Ye dinna have a verra good chance when the young leddies is talking to you all the time," said the veteran, though we both agreed that it was a vast pity that her devotion to hospitality prevented my hostess and his mistress from coming out for a day. Her dozen had been the best bag to one rod so far, and it did not appear likely to be beaten. Picking up a trout here, and letting go a trout there, we arrived near the end of the loch, and my total was six decent fish, and two or three indecent, which latter had been duly returned. Then, as the sun touched the summit of one of the Western peaks, they came on the rise with a vengeance. Well inside the hour I accounted for eight fish and lost two others—large ones, of course. However, I had got fourteen, weighing i61b., which, with two the stockbroker had secured, made MacTavish fairly groan before he got them home across the moor. Three other good bags were made before I came re- n6 FISHING AND PHILANDERING gretfully away—sixteen of 2o£lb., fifteen of i8lb., and fourteen of 191b., the latter as handsome a lot of trout as any angler could wish to see. All these pleasant days, the result of judicious stocking of water whose raison d'etre had been economical, show that with a little care, and for a very small expenditure, sport may still be obtained, even in these degenerate days. But supposing the vote is for trout rather than salmon, there rises the further knotty point as to whether dry or wet fly is the better fun. One can only speak personally, and, personally speaking, I have had very little dry fly fishing. That it is the very acme of art will probably be very generally admitted. That it is the most productive of a well-filled creel depends on circumstances. I once accompanied three well-known exponents of the purist style to some club water near Sheffield. Old Izaak says: '' I think the best trout anglers be in Derbyshire: for the waters there are clear to an extremity." Certain it is that my friends were artists, and the waters clear that day. They all assured me that the dry fly was the only way to catch fish in their water, and declared that so doughty a fisherman as myself would have no difficulty in acquiring it. But I knew better. I have always found the greatest difficulty in acquiring it, and though the fly occasionally falls with moderate accuracy, yet nothing I can do will make it cock. The keeper was told to look after me, and, on our arrival at the waterside, asked me if I was so desperately bent on fishing dry, as in his opinion they were feeding better under water. Gladly I took his advice, with the result that when we met in the evening I produced three brace of fine grayling ar^d a brace of good trout, the united catch of three far better anglers being one small trout. So much for adapting oneself to circumstances. But to return to the main line, my vote must oe given in favour of salmon fishing. To my mind the charm of having hold of something heavy, something that you cannot throw over your shoulder no matter how strong your tackle, easily over-rides any of the advantages and FISHING AND PHILANDERING 117 desirabilities of trout fishing. Then the prize when one has obtained it: the silver and lilac beauty of the king of fishes in sharp contrast to the grass on which he lies: the pleasure of sending such a fish to one's friends: the glow that courses through the blood after a thirty minutes' bout in even the coldest weather. Oh! yes. Salmon fishing for me when I can get it every single time without die shadow of a doubt. And which is best even then ? Heavy fish on strong tackle: the ever present chance of the fish of a lifetime: or grilse on lighter tackle and more of them. Here is a question to which I find great difficulty in supplying an answer. In my life it has fallen to me to have more good days amongst the grilse, or peal, as they are called in Ireland, than with any other fish. Once I hooked and played twenty-seven, though I didn't kill them all, nor even half of them. Heavy fish have not come my way: yet I cannot answer the question. One is always hoping, hoping, hoping. The very cast one has just made may be the one that will bring him up. At any moment he may come along. That is the charm: the ever-present, ever-expected, unexpected. The minutes that pass without a glimpse of what must surely be a big fellow. The roll in the water and the huge circling wave that floats away down stream. The lazy, almost feeble appearance of a tail spread broad as a lady's fan. The evanescent gleam deep down in the brown water, till at last he swims slowly into sight, head down, tail waving perilously, oh! so perilously, near the line. The last few yards as the gaff stretches slowly over, till a quick sharp stroke ends the long battle, and the fish that will make us famous lies at our feet* Three or four quick blows on the beautiful head: three or four ineffectual flaps of the great tail, and then the quiver that runs along the silvery flank which betrays that all is over. But that is the point: the main point. All is not over: never in our lifetime will the memory of that encounter fade. Printed on the retina as indelibly as on the film with which we photograph him, we can see him still lying there in all his n8 FISHING AND PHILANDERING majestic beauty. f Our friend has \ not ' caught one that weighs double "; " the game for the candle " will " pay us to-day." It will cost something to have him set up, but what does that matter? Nothing. He is worth it all. He is achievement: success: the reward of patient endeavour: the fulfilment of ambition: he is it. The question is answered after all: the pen has flown to help: the inward is revealed: light has come at last. Salmon fishing for me and the biggest fish obtainable at that. If it be a cloudy day, and not extreme cold, let the wind set vhat corner it will and do its worst, I heed it not. Izaak Walton. Brook Trout. Out we drive from Sheffield O'er hung with its pall of smoke, Which a thousand chimneys dark outpour From furnace of coal and coke : Fresh air we breathe as we mount the moor, Which our lungs most sadly lack, And we pay no heed to the warning grouse— " Go back," ** Go back," Go back." Through Hathersage village we swiftly drive Where it nestles midst larch and oak, - To meet " Little John "—he is six feet four— Where he's put in the gut to soak. It has rained all night so the stream comes down Just perfection of colour and height, While the soft grey clouds keep off the glare And prevent it from being too bright. My host decided to send me up With the trusty John to show me The best of the water and where he ends, Then started to work below me. With wading-stockings and nine foot rod, Even that's o'er long in places, I take to the water, for overhead The foliage oft enlaces. FISHING AND PHILANDERING 119 They're game as a pebble these little brook trout That swarm in these pretty reaches, In every eddy, behind each stone, Just where experience teaches. P'r'aps one in each dozen is half a pound, But they're shaped like fat sea bream, And you get them two or three at a time In this sweet Peak-country stream. With just one whopper to top the lot A pound and a half or over, With nut brown back and golden beam Pink spotted on bed of clover. When we lay them out to count the bag We've a hundred and twenty-seven : And dream all night of a long line tight— A fisherman's earthly Heaven. mm CHAPTER IX There's danger even where fish are caught To those who a wetting fear : For sport's like life, and life's like sport, It ain't all skittles and beer. Adam Lindsay Gordon. lsaak Walton—Is fishing cruel—Sir Herbert Maxwell's opinion —Cannibal fish—A trial—Nature's laws—Pain—A Zulu's finger —Fishing books—Giants of the past—A fishing diary—Jonathan's doubts—Knots—The discoveries of science. Of course you know your Izaak Walton : if not, I pity you : no I don't: I envy you. To me he is the purest undiluted gold. " That quaint, old, cruel coxcomb," Byron calls him, but the poet was evidently no fisherman. Open " The Compleat Angler " where you will you will find some gem: for if ever a man's heart was in his work that old man's was : dear old jumble that it is of religion, natural history, songs and recipes. Byron's charge of " cruel " often recurs to me as I read the old gentleman's directions, for baiting a frog for instance. " Allemachte! " as the Dutchmen used to say: truly the frogs must have muttered many " Allemachtes" too. For cruel he undoubtedly was, though doubtless in ignorance. But the accusation has been made and claims our fullest inquiry. At the first glance it would appear that to catch a fish by means of a hook must be cruel, very, very cruel. Yet let us examine carefully ere we condemn, especially FISHING AND PHILANDERING 121 as it is we ourselves who stand in danger of condemnation. Let us have a fair trial by all means. One of the first excuses one hears on the subject is that fish being cold-blooded animals feel no pain. This may be so, or it may not, but certain it is that they have no means of expressing their emotion other than by flapping about and wriggling generally, which they invariably do, whether hooked or not. It may be only their antipathy to the strange element they find themselves in, just as non-swimmers twist and contort themselves on being immersed in water. Equally certain is it that a fish with a hook in its mouth, or through its skin displays no violent objection to its presence provided you do not pull on that hook. It will set to work to try and rub it out against a rock, but it will not double itself into a hoop, or dash about with its fins to its mouth, or otherwise show signs of any great discomfort. Then, again, say other defendants, if we were to put a hook in your mouth and pull hard on it you would at once follow the line, howling loudly no doubt, but following whithersoever led: not resisting with all your strength and endeavouring to make off in any other direction than that whence the strain was coming. Certainly this is worthy of attention. But now it is my turn to step into the dock and the first witness for the prosecution, a disreputable looking old pike, swims up, sniffs the book, and gives his evidence. Waiting one day for his dinner, which by the way was late, he saw a something twisting and wobbling past the rushes in which he lay: thinking it was his dinner, he had seized it like a flash, only to find that it was something hard and metallic, shaped like the business end of a spoon, but armed with a triangle of hooks, which had taken firm hold of the witness and caused him considerable inconvenience till he managed to shake them free against a sunken pile. Cross-examination revealed the fact that this ferocious old beast did not feed on salad only. He admitted that he was indeed not very particular what he ate, as long as it was something alive, 122 FISHING AND PHILANDERING evincing however a preference for anything that appeared to be helpless or wounded, and consequently not very well able„to escape. He preferred to get his dinner easily, and admitted the fact when asked point- blank whether he was at times a cannibal. This made the judge shake his head, and, there being no other witnesses for the prosecution, my counsel was in favour of closing the case there and then. But having taken considerable trouble to procure witnesses for the defence I insisted on their being called. The first witness was a fat old roach, very short of breath, and, in view of the loss she had incurred, scandalously dressed in brilliant silver and crimson. She broke down on entering the box, which she tried violently to leave on catching sight of the witness for the prosecution, whose fins began to wave, whose mouth began to water, and whose eyes blinked with a yellow tigerish glare as his gaze wandered over her respectable old proportions. She gave evidence, with deep emotion, to the fact that she had been out for her afternoon swim a few days before, accompanied by four sons and three daughters. They were admiring the rushes and longing for some paste and gentles, when the witness for the prosecution had suddenly dashed into their midst, scattering her and her progeny right and left, swallowing them one after another. She herself had barely escaped by diving in between the roots of an alder, his jaws snapping viciously within a couple of inches of her tail as she slid into her haven of refuge. Cross-examined by the pike she swore that they had not intentionally disturbed him, and that not one of her unfortunate children had cheeked him or called him " old lantern jaws." Several trout gave corroborative evidence, declaring that it was a monstrous shame that such an old brute should be allowed to live, and that they were infinitely indebted to all fair fishermen. This produced tremendous applause from the back of the court, which was filled with a group of honest-looking men with rods in their hands and baskets over their shoulders. But the FISHING AND PHILANDERING 123 applause was sternly repressed and the case continued. Other witnesses consisted of frogs, eels who complained that their tails had been bitten off, an old water- rat who had lost his hind legs, a duck who had lost most of her brood, and a variety of other marine-dwellers. But before they had all done, the foreman of the jury rose and informed the judge that they had agreed to their verdict without leaving the box: and that it was " Not guilty " in the case of all fish who lived on living matter, and " Not proven " on all other counts. " Poor trout," muttered a sentimental old lady wearing a large bunch of osprey plumes in her hat. " Happy minnows," came the ready answer from a body of that tribe glancing off into the shallows as they spoke. " How ridiculous," muttered a party of old gentlemen reading the case over their lobster salad. " It is an attempt to interfere with the workings of natural laws: surely if the Designer intended fish to eat one another it is right they should do so." And it is equally certain that if it depends on a Designer he designed that men should fish, or they would not do so. tf Fish? Yes: fish of course, but not with cruel hooks," is the reply. But compare the lot of a rod-caught fish, instantly put out of all pain by the merciful " Priest" and that cargo of sea-fish which have slowly sobbed out their suffocated agony in the bottom of a North Sea trawler. Further evidence is afforded by the countless instances of fish that have been caught witrt hooks and broken lines in them, cases having been known, and that not a few, of fish that have almost immediately been hooked a second time. A friend of mine, one of the most humane men who ever lived, and of unimpeachable integrity, recently told me that he remembered, when fishing for perch as a boy, having struck only to find the eye of a perch impaled on his hook: throwing it in by way of experiment, he instantly caught the fish to whom it belonged i24 FISHING AND PHILANDERING on its own eye. I am a disciple of Sir Herbert Maxwell's, and entirely concur with his remarks on this subject in his book on " Freshwater Fishes," as I do on questions of flies, &c. There is the further remarkable difference in the ability of human beings themselves to suffer pain. Surgeons can vouch for many cases of street-urchins who have calmly contemplated the amputation of fingers and toes. I remember once examining some tame mice with a little girl of four or five years of age. Suddenly one of the mice turned and bit first her and then me, sharp, fierce little needle-prick, blood-producing bites. At the sign of the blood the little face began to break up and wobble: another moment and the tears would have welled forth : but I said " Oh! what a lark : he (it was a she) has bitten us both: isn't it fun ? " And fun it was: great delight at being bitten and much humorous objurgation of the offender, which, by the way, produced a day or two later, about a dozen of the pinkest little abominations conceivable: no wonder it had taken exception to our handling. But an instance of pain differentiation once came under my own personal observation, so remarkable that I then and there gave up all attempts at guessing what amount of pain anyone or anything other than myself really suffers. I was at " Field-training" with my company on the banks of the Umsindusi, near Maritz- burg. A bridge was being built by Kaffirs under white superintendence, and I had taken the opportunity to let my company study it while we " fell out" and smoked for a quarter of an hour.. Underneath the roadway of the bridge was fixed a large metal pulley, and hauling on the rope which ran over it were three or four Kaffirs, or Zulus, I don't remember which. The man nearest the pulley—I was within six feet of him—lost in admiration of the military, allowed his attention to wander : his hand ran up too near the pulley, was caught in it, and in a second the top joint of the first finger of his left hand was neatly amputated. His expression FISHING AND PHILANDERING 125 will remain in my memory as long as I have one: utter and complete astonishment. He looked at the bleeding stump and then he looked up at the pulley, where, wonder upon wonders, some inch of his finger stuck : he reached with his right hand and took it down. Then for some seconds he looked from the stump to the piece removed, as though utterly at a loss to diagnose what had occurred. Finally a gleam of intelligence passed across his shiny black face and he made one or two ineffectual attempts to fit the piece on. Unable to make anything of it he presently threw the end of his finger into the stream and calmly began to go on with his work. But I called the overseer's attention to what had occurred and he took him away to have the wound dressed. Now from first to last that native never gave the slightest sign of pain. He never stamped his foot: he never screwed up his features: he never gave vent to a sound of any sort. I vouch on my word of honour for the entire truth of this story. Now who shall say after that what pain a fish feels or does not feel. I leave it at that, and I leave it with a clear conscience, or I would give up fishing to-day. Angling is gradually producing a vast field of literature, and of course some of it stands out head and shoulders clear above others. As in the writing of history so in the writing of fishing. Some authors, splendidly literate, fail utterly to convince : others treat their subject too theoretically : others carry one out with them into the fields and along the river-banks, scenting the room with the very air of their beloved surroundings, lulling one over the fire side, firing one with fresh zeal, stirring one into renewed inspection of catalogues and polishing up of rods, reels, and other necessities of the chase. Frank Buckland and Francis Francis are giants of the past: nature loving, gentle, scientific lovers of the art. The former's Natural History series was and is one of my most favourite books, standing high amongst my private opinion of the hundred best books, which, J 126 FISHING AND PHILANDERING tremble not, I am not going to inflict on you now. I won the first volume as a prize for mathematics, since when, like the Pears soap gentleman, I have never been able to do any. IA book on angling " by the latter was given me in 1886 and is amongst my most treasured possessions, the dear friend who gave it me being long since dead and gone. " Hot-pot," by the same author, is a collection of tales weird and wonderful, which always seem to me alive. No one of recent years has written more charmingly and gracefully of salmon and trout fishing than the late Mr. Earl Hodgson, whose lamented death in quite early life must ever be a source of regret to his countless readers. But to enumerate them all would be quite impossible, I cannot resist them: long since they have overflowed the little bookcase which once held all my fishing books together. A quarter of a century ago a younger brother made me a present of a ledger-book. It was a curious choice for a very small schoolboy to make for a soldier brother, but, as it turned out, a most fortunate one for me. For I then and there turned it into a fishing book and commenced recording my daily observations of fish and fishing therein. I well remember a cynical major in my regiment picking it up one day and enquiring its use. When he heard it he said, " Well, if there is one thing calculated to make a liar of a man it is keeping such a book." But amongst all the majors in the British Army who have ever made mistakes that major made the biggest mistake that day. For where the fun of making wilfully false entries comes in is teetotally beyond me, and an entry made at the time must, to my mind, be of infinitely greater value than the greatest effort of the greatest memory, after a lapse of a quarter of a century. So can I supply chapter and verse for all my red-letter days as well as those melancholy blank ones. Once in my life I had thirty-one consecutive To face p. 126. FISHING AND PHILANDERING 127 blank days. Not consecutively in the sense of all coming in thirty-one days, for there were long gaps between them, but made up of odd weeks, and short periods of well-earned leave. Statistics are to me the breath of life, although some of mine afford a never-ending fund of amusement to my friends. Shooting and fishing records, runs at cricket, breaks at billiards, gains and losses at cards, literary emoluments—these latter take up very little room—theatres, ocean voyages, and so on, there they all are in another book, carefully tabulated, scheduled, and even indexed. As Mark Antony said, so say I: " I am not here to disprove " what anyone has spoken, " but here I am to speak what I do know," and expect to be believed accordingly. When " Jonathan " heard I intended to try my hand at a fishing book he said, " Good gracious ! My dear fellow : whatever you do let me see it before it goes to press : I tremble at the idea of what a chap like you may write about fishing." But I'm not going to : not I: not a chance : let him write a book for himself: goodness knows he has had material enough in his life without wanting to snatch at my modest basket. For " Jonathan" is a purist: to him a fly is not a bait: it is a creation : a fairy, every fibre in its wings a matter of supreme importance. In the club billiard-room one wintry evening we received the honour and the pleasure of a visit from one of the mightiest of all living anglers : one whose name resounds from Kelso to Tweed: there you have his name— nearly. Naturally we talked fishy: at least he and I Jonathan" did, while we others listened. He was very keen on some particular knot for tying on a salmon- fly. " Jonathan " showed the one he was in the habit of using. " That! " said the veteran. " That!—Why, my dear fellow, if you go fishing with a knot like that you will assuredly never catch a salmon. That's no use whatever." I expected to see " Jonathan " rise in his wrath and slay him with the half-butt: but he was ..Speechless : pulverised : impotent. " Well I'm blowed!" he at length said to me. " Does he think I'm a be- 128 FISHING AND PHILANDERING ginner : I've killed over 2,000 fish with that knot. Well I certainly am blowed ! " Only he didn't say blowed. Before quitting the subject of literature it is necessary to say a few words, but only a very few, on the remarkable revolution effected by the microscope in our knowledge of the habits of the salmon. Until recently we have been dependent on a few marked kelts and smolts. From them we gathered that the salmon, going down to the sea as a smolt weighing perhaps a quarter of a pound, returned in about three months time as a grilse or peal, weighing twenty, and more than twenty, times as much. We also thought they spawned annually and that kelts should be as carefully guarded as the Bank of England. But in the last few years we have changed all that. The microscope has brought to light evidence which cannot be wrong, and instead of annual visits a fish will often not ascend a river until three or four years have elapsed since its smolt stage. The one really important difference this makes is in our conduct to the well-mended kelts. Is it any longer worth while to take such care of them, Seeing that in our attempts to preserve them, they are liberated to continue the course of cannibalism, which has already resulted in their being so well-mended, all the way down to the sea. It is a question that at least deserves careful study. No life so happy and so pleasant, as the life of a well-governed angler. Izaak Walton. White Trout. A ride full far on an Irish car On relief-made roads by night, *~%V * * By the moon-kiss'd sea, Brings John and me To the lodge where the light shines bright. ililM FISHING AND PHILANDERING When we wake next morn all seems forlorn, No prospect could seem more drear, Were it not for the Lough, With its splendid stock %»*H - Of white trout, shining near. Not a wood, not a tree, not a bush could we see, From our doorstep the moor begins : As the palm of your hand So bare's the land From the Bay to the great Twelve Pins. But Johnny is waiting, and inwardly rating, With our double-handed rods : And our hopes are bright As our pipes we light— We wouldn't exchange with the gods. As our rods we seize a welcome breeze Comes furrowing o'er the lake : While the sucking sound Of the rises round Proves the trout are on the take. Our boatman rows and the soft wind blows As we mount the gaudy flies : Claret and rail, With a Zulu tail, And a bet on who'll get first rise. " In him," " Hurrah," " Erin-go-bragh," We are both of us tight in a minute : While the leaping trout Seem almost out Of the water as much as in it. Drift after drift, our course we shift Past the barren and rock-strewn shore: Now out in the deep Where the fat chaps sleep : By lunch we have thirty-four. But to waste much time would be a crime, Though a snack and a dram taste splendid : We are at it again, Very much "with the grain," Till at evening the rise is ended. i3o FISHING AND PHILANDERING When the day is done with the sinking sun, And the lough is like molten lead, Our eyes we gloat On the silvery boat, Where the fish lie bright though dead. What glorious trout: we lay them out To count them, a round three score : While they scale eighty-eight, Though weighed so late— Could a fisherman ask for more. CHAPTER X Just there, where the water, dark and cool, Lingers a moment in yonder pool, The dainty trout are at play ; And now and then one leaps in sight, With sides aglow in the golden light Of the long, sweet summer day' " Days Stolen for Sport," Geen. Heretical views—Flies—Their variety—Different flies for different days—Working the fly—Narrow mindedness—Salmon flies—Trout flies—The birth of the Dublin Fusilier—It's dressing —Jonathan's criticism—The Faugh-a-ballagh—The Dungarvon— Jonathan again—Fishing deep—Hunger, curiosity, or rage—A lady and a dog on one cast. Although until this last year an unlucky man I can at least console myself on my great good fortune in not being born until the nineteenth century. For assuredly if we had all lived in earlier days my angling friends would have had me burned at the stake for a heretic. For a heretic am I—from an angling point of view— and like a true heretic I stick to my guns. Conventionality has always been my bane, in more ways than one, but in none more than in fishing. But all this will appear later. The question before the house now is, I Do salmon feed in fresh water ? " As the answer requires a book all to itself I do not propose to go further into it here than to briefly state that I am one of those who believe they do not. Had the question been, I Do i32 FISHING AND PHILANDERING salmon take food in their mouths in fresh water ? " my answer would have been different. They do: thank goodness they do. Why? There seem to me only three possible answers : from hunger, rage, or curiosity. As the former is to my mind already eliminated we need not pursue it further, but as to the other two who shall decide? Probably it is sometimes from one cause and sometimes from the other. The next question is, " What food do they most often take in their mouths ? " and this is really the one important question, and the one whose solution most nearly concerns us. At times they will take real flies, artificial flies, natural and artificial baits, prawns, and worms, and lures which combine the principles of flies and spinning baits. Taking these in the above order we find that they are seldom fished for with natural flies, though they have been seen to take butterflies, May-flies, March-browns, and Daddy Longlegs. They are indeed often caught when dapping for trout, but as a means of catching salmon the natural fly is seldom employed. This brings us to artificial flies, and herein my hereticism becomes manifest. The artificial fly used in salmon-fishing is admittedly not a copy or imitation of any known fly. It consists of a bunch x>f feathers, wool or silk, ribbed with gold or silver tinsel, tied together in such a variety of patterns that its name is legion. Even as long ago as in old Izaak's days he remarked " You are to know that there are so many sorts of flies as there be of fruits," and they have infinitely bred since then. Now the orthodox fisherman says that the mixing of these various ingredients in the right proportions and on certain specific dressings is not only imperative, but that the fish in one river will rise only at certain flies, while they will ignore others, though if we hold them in our hands we can scarcely detect the difference ourselves. The heretic refuses to give the fish credit for such perspicacity and pins his faith to size rather than pattern. He is content to fill his book with half-a-dozen or a dozen patterns and fish any river with them, always pro- mmtm FISHING AND PHILANDERING 133 vided that he has plenty of different sizes of his favourite patterns. That is the case as concisely as possible. The reason for the faith of the orthodox is not hard to find. In the dark ages some good fisherman obtained good sport with some favourite fly: everyone spoke of his doings: everyone desired to know what he was killing his fish with: everyone rushed in to follow his example. The consequence was that that particular fly was fished far more often than any other, with the natural result that far more fish were killed on it and it became a standard, at all events as far as that particular river was concerned. Thus the various standards became more and more known and used until nowadays no one thinks of using anything else until the well-known patterns have had their say. It is somewhat on a par with Saturday afternoon cricket matches since the closure came into force. The same men go in early week after week: they get all the best of the wicket and the worst of the bowling and make most of the runs. At last a bowler's wicket comes along, the tail gets a chance, naturally, through want of practice and the difficulties which have given them their opportunity, they fail to take it, and the order of merit seems more than ever confirmed. So with certain flies : there are probably more Jock Scott's sent down first than any other fly, and they probably kill more fish. And certainly, if the fishy eye is anything like the human optic, they are justified, for it is a pleasing creation without doubt. As a general rule one selects a dark fly for a dark day, and a bright fly for a bright one; there is even a pattern known as the " Sun-fly." It is of course a matter of background, the fish always seeing the fly against the sky, whereas we merely see it against the dark water. But the main point is that it is a bait: a bait thrown like a fly is thrown only more so. Life and motion are given to it as far as possible by jerking the rod up and down, a procedure which may be beneficial in very still water, but which is quite unnecessary in a stream. If you 134 FISHING AND PHILANDERING would confirm this statement watch a friend's fly in rapid water: leaping from ripple to ripple and swirl to swirl it comes swimming along just below the surface for all the world as if imbued with life. Then get him to make a few casts in still water with twenty-five to thirty yards of line, and see how little effect all his jiggling and jerking have upon the sedate sweep of the mysterious conundrum. '• It is left for a lover of angling, or any that desires.tto improve that art, to try this conclusion." Still fish do take it and it is ever so far the pleasantest way of taking fish. It is so clean and tidy : the flies look so beautiful in the book and in the bands of our hats: it is so comparatively easy: and so comparatively little knowledge of a fish's habits and customs are necessary. If the fish took it better, or even as well as certain other baits, one would not require to look further, but certain of us do not think they do and we cast about for, and with, other baits accordingly. But why, oh! why, should your fly-fisherman think it necessary to revile all other means. We do not revile him for using what he considers the most killing, pleasantest, easiest bait to use, so why should he attack us. The art is to kill fish, and if they will not consent to be killed by these delightfully easy means must we therefore go home fishless, when a little trouble, a little study, show us that there are other baits that they prefer to take into their mouths either to destroy or examine. Other baits more likely to rouse their anger or curiosity. If hunger prompts I would certainly sooner eat a shrimp than a Jock Scott: if curiosity be the motive, a boiled prawn must be as strange as a Durham Ranger: if it be merely anger, one would sooner be tickled by the feathery part of a Silver Doctor than by the nose of a crustacean. Everyone has his, or her, favourite patterns, so there is no necessity to mention mine, tempting though it is to do so : in fact it is too tempting and I cannot resist giving my list of a dozen with which I should be satisfied to fish any river in the world. FISHING AND PHILANDERING 135 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10, 11 12 Jock Scott. Silver Doctor. Childers. Lady Caroline. Sir Richard. Dublin Fusilier. Fenian. Goldfinch. Lemon Grey. Dusty Miller. Popham. Butcher. With a few tied " Dungarvon "-wise. And since one may as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, here are my favourite trout-flies. 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Alder. Olive quill. March Brown. Zulu. Greenwell's glory. Butcher. Red quill. Black gnat. Red Palmer. Storm. Wickham's fancy. Coachman. I Jonathan " will be very angry when he reads these lists. " My dear fellow, why not stick to things of which you have some superficial knowledge? Why on earth couldn't you have let me see those lists first ? Do you mean to say you would go anywhere without a this or a that? How would you do in Scotland without a thingamyjig, or in East Wales without a what-you-may- call-it? " But I can't help it. These be my tried and trusty friends, jotted down from time to time as they have brought me sport, set my rod bending and my pulse fflBI 136 FISHING AND PHILANDERING jumping. No : I won't alter them. Let him write his own book. It is easy enough to write a book, the trouble is to get it read : but I will buy and read his fast enough when he writes it. Before quitting the subject of flies, there remains something to be said on the subject of two in the above list of salmon flies, and a word or two as to the broad principles of working the fly as a lure. Included in the above list is a fly whose fame has yet to become known. To those who do not profess and call themselves anglers the thousand and one other joys over and above the actual capture of the quarry are matters wholly vain and incomprehensible. Their sole criterion of the measure of our happiness is the weight of our bag: a blank day is to them a lost day—a day gone uselessly out of our oh! so few days on this excellent earth. For though most of us will agree with the late Professor Huxley that it might have been a better world, we must even more concur with him that it might have been inexpressibly worse. On one of the pleasantest fishing trips I ever tripped my bag for the week was a blank. On one never-to-be-forgotten day of bright sunshine and low water I was lying prone peering into a salmon pool as my friend's line came sweeping round, in the endeavour to see what amount of movement was imparted to a fly at the end of twenty yards of line by sinking and drawing the hand. The fly in question was a clumsy creation of my own tying. As it came into view, a shadow rose slowly only to sink as leisurely away. " And then and there was hurrying to and fro," though the sun instead of the lamps " shone o'er fair women and brave men." Needless to say my fair friend annexed that fly. " We must invent a suitable name for it," she said, casting a last look at a lilac and silver 14-pounder ere it was taken up to the house: " something very killing and fascinating." " That sounds like a Dublin Fusilier," said I with commendable modesty. And so it was christened on the spot, and its luck drunk FISHING AND PHILANDERING 137 out of a tiny silver flask bearing the inscription, " Any port in a storm, but a vintage wine after dinner," a present which marked a very celebrated occasion. So, with slight modifications, was evolved a fly which on a recent very successful expedition accounted for exactly as many fish as all the rest of our flies put together. Doubtless we used it more: doubtless it went in first: even as its namesakes did into Ladysmith : but even so the result was remarkable. Now the Dublin Fusiliers were themselves evolved out of the East India Company's Madras and Bombay European Regiments, wherefore the tag of Indian crow must not be omitted, nor the topping of Golden Pheasant for the tail. Their uniform is scarlet with gold lace: so the body of the fly must be tied very tight of scarlet, with ribbed gold tinsel. The hackle in their busby is of Patrick's blue and dark, rich emerald green. The blue should predominate at the shoulder, fining off into the green, but the hackle must on no account be run down the body. In honour of their Madras origin a strip of Madras jungle-cock lies along each side of the wing. This leaves Bombay still unrepresented, so our thoughts naturally turn to " Bombay duck." It is rather difficult to tie this excellent bird into the wing, so I substitute two strips of gled, or buff turkey. The remainder of the wing consists of blue, red and green, the regimental colours, mixed, with a few heron's fibres and a macaw overall, which, with a peacock herl head for a busby, completes the dressing. Mr. Malloch, of Scott Street, Perth, ties them for me and the result is a very handsome fly. I gave one to " Jonathan." Examining it critically, he remarked, " I hope nobody will make rude remarks about the Dublin Fusiliers taking their hook." " No fear," I replied, " it is those we pursue that take their hook, my boy." Shortly after this description appeared in the " Field " some remarks appeared over the name of my friend I The Tramp " in the columns of the " Pink 'Un," which I make no apology for reproducing here. 138 FISHING AND PHILANDERING " History repeats itself. The rain was swishing down in the generous manner it is wont to swish in dear old Ireland; the loughs had overflowed their banks, and the river, a pea-soupy, muddy mixture, was rising at the rate of about an inch a minute. Our gillies had been sent home, our rods stood useless in the hall, and I had sought consolation in a roomy armchair, a roaring fire, and a book. But with my fishing companion it was not so. He was the last word in restlessness. He would stand whistling at the window, watching the rain-drops coursing down the panes; he would make heroic efforts to calm his mind by settling to write a letter or read the news; and five minutes later abandon both; and as all this was a trifle distracting, it was with intense satisfaction that I hailed his outspoken intention of trying what sort of a fist he could make of tying a salmon fly. He disappeared in search, presumably, of the necessary ingredients, and, some two hours later, returned proudly displaying the fruit of his labours. It resembled, in form, a miniature meat-hook, profusely tied about with fur and feather, with a red body—for which about a foot of flannel appeared to have been used to secure the necessary effect—a dark blue hackle, and a green tail. It made me feel quite faint, and in a weak voice I demanded an explanation of the nightmare. * Can't you see, old man ? ' he chuckled. ' That fly's an original idea.' (It was, my word!) c I'm sick of all the old stereotyped patterns, and have gone out for something that'll be historic. It's a regimental fly, that fly is. Red for the British army, blue for Royal, and green for good old Ireland. I shall christen it " The Owld Fog," and if it doesn't turn out a big thing in the fly line I'll eat it.' The contraction of c Faugh-a-Ballagh '—the war-cry of a certain gallant corps, which must be heard to be thoroughly appreciated — appeared to please him mightily, and he was as happy with his masterpiece as a child with a new toy. " Neither of us ever saw I The Owld Fog' on the water; but on land it was a holy terror. You laid it FISHING AND PHILANDERING 139 down upon the table and it immediately disappeared, to turn up later, after you'd pretty nearly emptied the room out, clinging to some inaccessible portion of your clothing. The hotel housemaid got it in her thumb; the hotel dog got it in his nose; and it was not until we had seen with our own eyes Patsy Cullinan, the gillie, affix it firmly in the band of his battered hat that we felt free of the responsibilities attached to the \ Fog's' vagaries. And now, as I say, history has repeated itself. For, if rumour and the columns of the ' Field' can be relied upon, a young soldier friend of mine has perpetrated a salmon fly evolved from the distinctive colours of his regiment; and has, further, with characteristic nerve, dubbed the creation c The Dublin Fusilier,' on account, so please you, of its ' killing and attractive' powers! Good luck to him for a modest soul, and for enlightening me as to how the King's soldiers spend their time! From the piteous tales I have had to give ear to in the Service clubs I was under the impression that soldiering nowadays was, in point of severity, only one degree removed from stone-breaking or the treadmill. It seems I have been misinformed. For, however hard the juniors may be worked—after all, it keeps them out of mischief—it is evident that if the upper ranks can neglect the training of the recruit for fishing and the tying of alleged flies, Colonels, and those sort of people, are enjoying a career of slippered luxury and bloated ease. What do I pay taxes for I want to know ? " Not for us, old man, anyway: at least it is devilish little we see of your's or anybody else's taxes. But it has ever been the fate of genius to meet with scorn "and contumely at its inception, while uncon- ventionality encounters as little encouragement on the river bank as it does in the drawing-rooms of suburban society. The effort of genius which follows came to me lying prone in a hot bath. It was one of those flashes of inspiration which only come to ordinary geniuses once or twice in a lifetime—I myself have only had five or six. Go to any tackle-maker in any shop in the world f 140 FISHING AND PHILANDERING and ask for a salmon fly. You will find every single one tied in the same way—with the head up by the loop and the tail down by the business end of the hook. Consequently when you give the sink and draw, jerking, bibbety-bob motion to one of these baits, as you pull it up against the stream the hackles and wings close up against the shank of the hook, while we fondly imagine that they open as we drop our hand, though they are then moving with the current. Happy thought! Why not reverse the dressing? Thus as we pull it against the stream it must indubitably open and more or less shut as we drop our hand. Furthermore I advocate carrying the tinsel round to the barb of the hook, or having a silvered hook; anything a bit flash is what salmon like. We are perpetually giving them credit for extreme perspicacity, whereas in reality the only stupider fish are goldfish. Dear, dear, to hear some fishermen talk about shades of colour and so on, and then to read that Sir Herbert Maxwell made a magnificent basket of chalf-stream trout on crimson May-flies. However they are unconvincible, and after all they do no harm to others, indeed many of them, apart from their views about fishing, are harmless, peace-loving, pleasant souls withal, " Gentlemen of worth and brothers of the angle." I wrote and asked my friend " Jonathan " to give my idea a trial and give his answer: " I think your idea about the hackle being reversed is first-rate : also the tinsel to run down the hook: but I would go even a step further and continue the tinsel up the gut line for a considerable distance, with glass beads at intervals : this would render the gut absolutely invisible, an object so long desired by every angler of note. These attractions, coupled with a fly that one moment looks like an earwig and the next like a long-legged spider, would cause shoals of fish to follow, if only out of curiosity to see what the darn thing was going to turn into next." Curious that in these two lines he should have hit on FISHING AND PHILANDERING 141 two home truths. But before touching on them I may state that the fly thus dressed is known as the " Dun- garvon," after that well-known bird the " Dungarvon goose," which, as everybody knows, flies tail-first to prevent the dust getting in its eyes. Returning to my friend's letter. First as to the invisibility of the gut. It may be a little startling, but why should a salmon mind the gut? According to the latest theories he may have been at the bottom of the sea for four or five years : why then should the gut hold out any terrors for him? I don't know. For which reason, perhaps, I am greatly bitten with " telerana novo " on account of its invisibility, though that is only one of its virtues. Secondly, as to the curiosity of the fish to see what the " darn thing " is going to turn into next. Well, if you have roused his curiosity you have obtained your object: success will crown your hopes : for the only way in which he can satisfy it is by taking your fly in his mouth, when if you will firmly raise your hand as soon as you feel him, all you have to do is to play him as successfully. Having finally selected a fly, the next thing is to fish it, and herein anglers differ as much in method as ladies do in hats. Some whom I have .watched must have elbow-room. They will fish a pool down once and then hasten off to the next, and so on from pool to pool and stream to stream : never fishing a pool out: sometimes even leaving a rising fish, because it has failed to lay hold at the first or second time of asking. Now in ordinary sized rivers it is very, very seldom right to leave a fish, especially when they are anyway scarce. Some people when they see a fish show declare in a tone of voice that would have made Solomon seem perfectly idiotic, " Ah! They're running." And off they run to another pool. Why run ? as the gentleman said when he was told a sportsman had run away with his wife. Yes: why run ? Stay where you are and be thankful you are not fishing over bare stones. One man will 142 FISHING AND PHILANDERING fish a mile of river what time another will fish one small pool. Suppose your fish wont rise: change your fly: try a size larger : then try a third time with a size smaller than your original one. No good? Then try two flies together, and if the wind is anything up stream try " tipping the bob," that is making the bob-fly dap. Still no use? Try a " Dungarvon," and if that's no use then try a grub : tied on a hook with a lump of lead about it: you can throw it like a fly : and, if it is any further salve to your soul, you can tie some hackles on to it. A certain great angler, and talented writer on angling, takes exception to the word " rising " as applied to a salmon when it takes a fly. He says they do not rise, and of course he is right as far as comparison with the rise of a trout goes, but he is equally as certainly wrong in objecting to the word rise, for salmon most assuredly do rise to take the fly. Their natural habitat is close to the bottom for many obvious reasons, and they rise when they come up to seize the mysterious object floating between them and the sky. Therefore the deeper you get down the less trouble you give them in the satisfaction of their curiosity and the more likely they are to satisfy it. Having exhausted all these methods go over and repeat the whole programme from the other bank if it belongs to you. When this has been done you have three courses open to you. You can try some other bait, or some other pool, or eat your lunch and go over the whole thing again in the afternoon, if you are a purist and must fish fly. Personally I would sooner catch a fish on a fly, but I would also far sooner catch a fish than have a blank day. Only once have I been placed under a disadvantage from fly-fishing, and then it was trout fishing. Accompanied by a brother officer, his wife, and her lap-dog, I stood by a reservoir not far from Sheffield looking at a flat calm. There was little hope of inducing trout to rise, but I determined to endeavour. I failed right enough, but ere long my tail fly caught firmly in the FISHING AND PHILANDERING 143 hairy ear of the Chinese monstrosity. Its howls would have made the interior of a lion's den at dinner-time seem a peaceful and retired spot: away it went and away I went after it, my reel singing merrily under the impression doubtless that it was emptying after the king of all the trout. Its mistress, reviling me, rushed to meet it, and promptly got a dropper fixed in her hair or neck or somewhere. Whereupon she screamed in emulation of her dog's howling: and for some time a rough and tumble ensued that could not have been matched outside a gladiatorial arena. So even fly fishing has its drawbacks at times. You fish as you see me do, and let's try which can catch the first fish. Izaak Walton. On the Deveron. By sweet " Sunny braes " I spend most of my days, Though I feel I'm a bit of a fool, For, though deftly I cast in the teeth of the blast, The salmon remain in the pool. Not a rise to be got out of " Moses' Pot," Not in " Upper " nor " Lower Tahore," Full of fish though they be, fresh up from the sea— You may watch them leap out by the score. Though a fly I make fast to the end of my cast In place of the Satirist's worm, When the line is not tight Dr. Johnson was right— Though a fool's not a strong enough term. CHAPTER XI The pleasant'st angling is to see the fish Cut with her golden oars the silver stream, And greedily devour the treacherous bait. Much ado about nothing. Spinning baits—Natural or artificial—Spinning reels—Worms— Fancy baits—Prawns or shrimps—The bait of baits—Method of baiting—Method of fishing—Mr. Sheringham's views—His hooks —Fishing the shrimp \' con amore.'' Spinning baits may be classed in two main divisions— natural and artificial. Amongst the former those in most general use are minnows, gudgeon, stone-loach, eel's tails, and sand-eels. The name of the latter is legion, but the principal are Phantoms, Devons, and spoon-baits. Each of these are represented by hosts of different patterns, and are naturally of countless different sizes. As a general principle, it will probably be conceded that the natural bait is preferable to the artificial, its principal drawback being the difficulty of obtaining it. Moreover, under the present laws its use is illegal for many months of the year: even bottled baits being unobtainable during the close season for coarse fish. In Ireland the favourite is the " Collie," which can be spelt according to fancy, but which is in reality the stone-loach. But that there can be much difference in virtue between a small gudgeon, a large minnow, or a moderate-sized loach is altogether beyond my belief. But as regards 144 FISHING AND PHILANDERING 145 mounting any of the above, give me one large hook every time. Well mounted on one of these, a wobbling spin is obtained which salmon sometimes find quite irresistible, while if one does lay hold of a big fellow, the comfortable assurance that the link between you and him is of a size commensurate with his weight, and perhaps yours, instead of a mere jumble of weak triangles, enables you to play your fish with an easy confidence that would be altogether absent with flimsy tackle. There is one natural bait which has the merit of being obtainable all the year round, in which I have the most implicit confidence, born of many a successful bout, the silver sand-eel. Any of the good tackle makers will provide a suitable mount, but my allegiance is pinned to the pattern supplied by Mr. Malloch, of Perth, under the name of the " Kingfisher " bait. Of artificial spinning baits, my vote must be divided between a ** Devon " and a spoon. Both are practically ever-lasting, and both are portable and cheap. Soleskin phantoms are certainly very beautiful, but they are easily squashed, and apt to be useless after a heavy munching in the mouth of a big fish during a prolonged fight. My favourite spoons are of Indian origin, hog-backed in shape: that is with a ridge down the back. These continue to spin at a much slower rate of progress through the water than the more general rounded shape. I like them bronzed on one side and silvered on the other, but that, of course, is a matter of individual fancy. I have known professional fishermen, men whose bread and butter depended on the correctness of their diagnosis, who have gravely assured me that only one out of a dozen precisely similar spoons will turn out to be a killer. They have never given me any reason for their superstition, and it may probably be assigned to the same category as that which causes them to turn up their noses at the whole of your fly-book and ask " yer honour's permission to go and buy a plain little fly at Patsy's whilst ye are having your lunch." Not "bien entendu" with any view of enriching themselves or Patsy at your *amm 146 FISHING AND PHILANDERING expense, but in the honest opinion that only the fly or the spoon that actually has done the mischief can be capable of repeating the operation. Of reels for spinning there are almost as many patterns as there are baits, and evolution has never been more manifest than in the change which has taken place in this particular during the last three or four generations. When one had to coil one's line on the pebbles or among the bracken, or even in one's hand, forty yards was a capital cast, but now an adept with a superfine up-to-date reel will throw about double that distance straight from the winch. The very finest material and workmanship are put into these reels, and they are expensive in consequence, yet worth the money every time in the comfort they give in their use and the distance they enable us to cast. A very few trials will enable one to get out forty yards, while so delicate is the mechanism that with one of mine it is possible to slow down the bait just as it is coming to the water till one is able to drop it in almost as quietly as a fly. Not that I dislike a bit of a splash in salmon fishing; but for that the time is not yet ripe. Yet I can fish much cleaner by coiling my line when circumstances render that method possible, and I mean to try Mr. Geen's method of coiling into a tray next time I go angling. The most likely time for a spinning bait of any sort is towards the end of the day and in heavy water. As a spate empties itself into the sea it is often difficult to know quite how your other baits are fishing, but with a spinner, the heavier the water the more certain you may be it is doing its duty. Worms—bah! Pouf! How I hate the things. But sometimes, when everything else has failed, when one is more than usually anxious to get a fish to send away, when the bag is light and the heart is vexed, then perhaps one may be excused for trying a bunch as a sort of Forlorn Hope. But do not imagine your task is a light one: do not imagine you have but to throw them in and let the current carry them down: quite the contrary: in my FISHING AND PHILANDERING 147 opinion, and, after all, this is my book, and those who differ can write one for themselves, to fish a worm properly is the very highest branch of the angler's art. Yes: higher than dry fly fishing. For your worms must go trickling all along the bottom, bob-bob-bobbing from stone to stone, lodging, a crawling, repulsive mass, just above a sulky old fish, or creeping tentatively along his ribs, tickling him into utter exasperation. I said repulsive, but from a salmon's point of view I should have said appetising, and herein lies one of my principal arguments concerning how little one can understand the point of view of a fish. If you doubt me, make your breakfast off a succulent dish of uncooked May flies, or try an old Daddy-Longlegs, and see how you like it. Then there are any amount of fancy baits, flies that spin, and spins that fly, I mean spinners that float; at least for trout there are anyway. But these be all " fancy bred," and need not concern us further. There remains last, but by no means least, to my mind, indeed, best, the prawn. This is the bait I really pin my faith to, and I have left it till the end of malice aforethought. Now the prawn, as generally fished, comes under the head of a spinning bait, but as such it has no use for me. Take any fishing tackle maker's catalogue, and you will find half a dozen various mounts, usually named after some distinguished angler, for attaching to the prawn, which itself, as supplied in bottles at the same emporiums, is invariably of the hugest kind and the most vivid colour. In one prawn tackle figured in a certain catalogue there are no less than fifteen hooks. Bristling like this, the prawn is hurled thirty or forty yards away and recovered as you would, recover a minnow or a spoon. Or else it is " hung " thirty yards below a boat in a heavy stream and allowed to fish itself, and herein perhaps lies much of the obloquy attached to its use. But in that part of Ireland where I graduated all this is quite different, and I propose to give to the best of my ability an account of the methods employed in that ^Mif 148 FISHING AND PHILANDERING wonderful fishery where it is in such constant use, in the hope that you may at least give it a trial. To begin with, the prawns used there are only half the size of those one is accustomed to see mounted on prawn tackle, and are invariably alluded to as shrimps. At the request of the Angling Editor of the " Field," I once wrote an article for that paper on the subject, which with some slight revision is reproduced below, together with some remarks of the same gentleman after he had given the system a trial. The hook should be a round bend, No. i°, 1, or 2, tied on single salmon gut. A couple of pig's bristles whipped on with the gut helps very considerably in keeping the bait on. Hold the shrimp near the tail with the forefinger and thumb of the left hand, and straighten it out by putting the second or third finger under its head. Then insert the point of the hook at the root of its tail (Fig. 1). Push it in until the shrimp begins to bend around the hook (Fig. 2). Then shift the grip with the left hand, and, holding it by the sides of its head and shoulders with the second finger and thumb, put the first finger on its back and press. Now comes the knack: as soon as ever it begins to go, encourage it boldly, when it will slip on as easily as an old glove and lie out straight along the hook (Fig. 3). Bring the point of the hook well out, but as far down the head as possible: salmon do not mind hooks showing, but it is surprising how they will take the shrimp off and miss your hook sometimes. If you think you have had a touch, examine your shrimp. If there is a tiny dent or nick just at the back of the head, where it joins the neck, you will very likely get a fish next cast. The following is an extract from an article by Mr. H. T. Sheringham, whose weighty and corroborative words may, perhaps, carry conviction to some " doubting Thomas," and result in his going home with a fish or two instead of an empty creel. I hope he will not mind my quoting him. " A few weeks ago I described in the ' Field ' a To face p. 11,8. FISHING AND PHILANDERING 149 holiday on a salmon river in which the shrimp played rather an important part, and was responsible for most of the fish which providence permitted me to catch. Since then one or two correspondents have written asking for more details as to the method employed, because the former article dealt with it but sketchily. The use of the shrimp (distinguished from the prawn either, to speak more Hibernico, by being but a little one or by being a real brown shrimp; this, I think, is the better for very low water) is pretty common on some rivers now, and A.E.M. has celebrated the merits of the lure in the \ Field ' more than once. In the issue of August 14th, 1909, he described his way of using it and of putting it on to a round-bend single hook. It was to his suggestion that I owed my success—(Hurrah! A.E.M.)—such as it was, for had it not been for the single hook I should have clung to the old tradition of a \ tackle,' that is to say, a couple of triangles or double hooks lashed to the person of the shrimp, and endeavouring to rescue triangles from rocks and other obstructions at the bottom of a river is a pastime of which I very soon grow weary. Therefore, I should have caught little or nothing, since the river was at lowest summer level, and, in the pools, almost innocent of stream; fly-fishing was quite hopeless. "A.E.M. and other experts—(hear, hear! A.E.M.) —can bait their shrimp by inserting the point of the hook at the tail and bringing it out at the head, deftly threading the beast, in fact, as Thames fishermen thread a lob-worm. I marvel at this, but cannot emulate it, because my shrimp either * telescopes ' or falls asunder when the process of threading is scarcely begun. Therefore, I had to use a baiting needle, putting it in at the head of the shrimp and bringing it out at the tail. At first I tried the ordinary baiting needle of commerce. This was not quite satisfactory because its eye is too broad; only a very stalwart shrimp would stand having so big a thing passed through it, especially at the tail, where there is very little room. Then I got a darning 150 FISHING AND PHILANDERING needle about four inches long, filed a slip in the eye to take a loop of gut, and tried that with much better luck, coming to the conclusion that a darning needle is the best thing to use. '' At first I fished with round-bend hooks whipped on to gut, but was presently dissatisfied because I thought the lead, about 2ft. up the gut, was in the wrong place. I wanted the lead to be closely connected with the shrimp so that the bait should dart about after the manner of a drop-minnow. That was one advantage of the shrimp lashed to triangles—you could incorporate some lead wire in the arrangement and get the required motion of darting up and down. Since one of the great advantages of the single hook method for low clear water was that there was nothing showing outside the shrimp except one hook point, I did not want to spoil the effect. Therefore, I took the lead off the trace and tried wrapping some lead wire round the shank of the hook. But this failed because the lead wire, in addition to the whipping, made the shank too bulky to go into a shrimp of moderate size without doing it a serious mischief. Then I tried using an eyed hook of rather thin wire, wrapping fine lead round it and attaching it to the gut by the Turle knot. The first figure shows the hook with the lead wire wrapped tightly on it, and the second shows a hook baited, both in the exact size that I used. This version of a leaded hook would, I found, go into the shrimp quite comfortably, the only difficulty being to get the eye and knot of gut in, which involved a little manipulation at first. Practice soon made it quite an easy matter, the chief requirement being to hold the shrimp with firm tenderness while the S easing ' process went on. As the illustration shows, the eye does not get near the shrimp's tail, so there is no danger of breaking that off once the needle is got safely through. Later on, when fortune put some bigger shrimps in my way, I tied some larger hooks on to gut, incorporating a thin strip of lead in the whipping, and getting an object that was shaped like a leaded gorge hook, only, of course, FISHING AND PHILANDERING 151 thinner. These hooks answered well enough, but for smallish shrimps the eyed snecks depicted were better, and they seemed to have quite enough hooking power. After some experiments with loops on the lengths of gut tied to the hooks, I came to the conclusion that they were a mistake. If whipped they were apt to get weakened by constant threading; if knotted they pulled the tail of the shrimp off. In the end, therefore, I had a loop on the end of the cast, and attached the tippet to it after each baiting with the Figure Eight knot. It is worth remembering that with this plan you do not need a slit in the eye of your needle; you can treat your gut just as if it were cotton. I mention it because, though I managed to file a slit in one needle, with another I could do nothing, so hard was the steel." Since writing the above, Mr. Sheringham evolved a still further improvement, having some eyed hooks made with torpedo-shaped lead brazed on to the shank of the hook, so arriving at his goal in this respect. He very kindly sent me a dozen to try, but most unfortunately all the hooks were too small. Personally, I don't mind the lead showing on the line, and I don't think the salmon do either, but for those who credit this fish with so much sagacity he has undoubtedly produced the weapon they desire. But as one of the most important points in this style of angling is the ever-present necessity of changing your lead according to the current or the depth of the pool, I stick to my system of putting on or taking off lead wire as occasion demands, frequently altering the amount three or four times in fishing down one pool. If you never touch the bottom put on more lead; if you get hung up every other cast take some off. Personally, I seldom attempt long casts. Mr. Sheringham says he found he could get twenty yards by throwing it like a fly and shooting line, as he says " to all intents and purposes it was fly-fishing, except that the fly was a shrimp." I fish it much more like a worm, casting more up stream, where the current flows rapidly, more across in more placid waters. -mf 152 FISHING AND PHILANDERING Only to-day I received a letter from a friend which, though it puts me fairly in the limelight, it would be false modesty on my part to suppress, and, though a perfect martyr to the real article, I have never suffered from the false variety. Speaking of a third person, he wrote: " Strange to say, he quite shaped like killing fish. He knew all about shrimping, except that there seemed to be a little indefinable something about his work which lacked individuality. He seemed to be fishing generally for any fish that might be there, instead of for an individual fish which had to be tempted like a sick child. That is the point I have noticed about your fishing of the shrimp: it's quite a personal matter between you and the salmon you are making love to. And I firmly believe yours is the right way for the Blackwater." As I could not have described my own feeling in the matter one half so eloquently, we may leave it at that, for my friend's words exactly describe my views. The overcoming of scruples must surely prove a charm to even the most scrupulous. A word or two regarding the best time of day for fishing. It is said that the early bird catches the first worm, but one supper at Romanos is better than many matutinal worms, and I agree with Harry Lauder and " hae me doots " as to the advantages of very early rising. For it is certain that one cannot burn the candle at both ends for very long at a time, and one must perforce choose whether to stay out late at night or get up early in the morning. As far as trout fishing is concerned, I plump for late fishing, especially when it is a case of the big fellows, who will look at nothing by sunlight. Everyone has heard of the old Hampshire trout who could not only tell an artificial from a natural fly, but also what shop it came from. So with those big trout that drop down to the lower ends of the Irish lakes in summer: with them it is a case of night operations or empty bags. But with regard to salmon, I would strongly recommend the early morning, having only once killed a salmon in the dark, and then I had no business FISHING AND PHILANDERING 153 to: but, honestly, I thought it was a great trout. My opinion is that salmon take better between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m., and best between 11 a.m. and 2 p.m. Nice gentlemanly hours, and another advantage of my favourite fishing. I now see, that with advice and practice, you will make an angler in a short time. Have but a love to it, and I'll warrant you. Izaak Walton. A Ballad of the Boyne. It was the river Boyne my lads, Bank-high ran by the spate, And Joseph is out with intent to kill And expectations great. " Give me," quoth he, " My fly-book please : It seems to me a sin To fish aught but a fly down first: P'r'aps later on I'll spin." Then darkly gazed he at the flood, Knowingly at the sky : Picked out a three inch " Claret Boyne." And winked his wise old eye. But neither Claret, Green, nor Blue Would make those salmon rise : So if Joe's choler rose instead We need feel no surprise. But see! He has taken his spinning-rod, And a nip at his whiskey too, While his gillie, the gardener, gazed with awe At the size of his phantom blue. Then a look came into Joseph's eye, And the gardener held his breath, For he'd fished with Joseph oft before And he knew that that look meant death. Full forty feet the phantom flew As the Nottingham over-wound : Then " In him, by Gad " ; and Bouncer barked : Now Bouncer was Joseph's hound. m 154 FISHING AND PHILANDERING " By gum " said Joe, " He is twenty pounds If he weighs a single ounce, Sir." But the gardener answered never a word, As he cocked his eye at Bouncer. An hour passed while the sulking fi$h Lay still in the same position : The gardener smoked a couple of pipes. One is patient when there's a fish on. But he yields at last to the great split-cane, Till they view him—an awesome beast— " Get ready the gaff and the crimping-knife, The weighing-machine and ' Priest.' " Then the gardener knelt on the river bank, Leaned o'er with the gaff to strike, And swung far into the meadow land A magnificent six-pound pike. CHAPTER XII My river is mine own, and I have made it for myself. Ezekiel XXIX. 3. The Cachalot Club—The Bosun—His rod—The club water— The Bosun's train—His luncheon basket—Other members of the club—E. Haugh—The Sapper—The Squire—The Admiral—A rival club—The Tripper—The Little Man—His fish—The Bosun's fish—The right fly. The genesis of the Cachalot Club was a letter I received when in town one leave season. " Please buy me an outfit for salmon fishing. \ The Bosun ' has taken some water near here and is going to teach me all about it. Yours ever, E. Haugh." Nothing, mark you, about my being asked, and " the Bosun " my old subaltern and all. However, there was no doubt about that being all right, and even were it not, I would certainly ask myself. Dear old " Bosun," simple-minded, honest old soul: if ever a man did me a good turn, you did it when in your innocence you took that mile of water. Do you remember the afternoon when I came up to your chateau to look over your tackle: what plans we made for the future: how kindly I assented to come over and have a look at the fishing, though in my heart of hearts how greatly I doubted when you told me the modest rent you were paying? The old fellow took me out on the lawn after lunch to try his rod. It was a relic of, I should say, the days of the Crusades, 155 156 FISHING AND PHILANDERING as dry as a bone, and as brittle as a carrot. Letting out a few yards of line, I tried it on the lawn, and broke it to smithereens just above the lowest ferrule. To misquote Spenser, "In my right hand a broken rod I held." Some fellows would have been a bit annoyed: not so " the Bosun ": he merely agreed that it was most fortunate we had found it out in time, and we went in and pored over catalogues, and I marked down about £20 worth of goods which he at once sent for. At last a day came when we were able to drive over and view the water. There was a dear little cottage where we could put up: where we could meet with simple fare and a kindly welcome. There was a dear old octogenarian whom I The Bosun " appointed his head keeper. And there was a yellow flood in the river. So we left our rods at the cottage and walked up the bank. One did not require to be much of a fisherman to recognise the virtues of those seven or eight good pools. B»ut it was impossible to believe there could be any fish in them, or how on earth had he obtained it so cheaply ? Yet fish there were, fish there are, and fish I hope there always may be, for when " the Bosun " got tired of it, as he did in a couple of seasons, though he once killed a small peal all by himself, we took it on between us, he being the only Midas in the regiment, and the rent having risen, and formed it into the " Cachalot Club Limited," and a jolly good club too. Originally there were only two landlords—brothers-^- each owning about half a mile on the right bank. Then the club acquired the other bank, at first by favour, later on by fortune, or rather parting with fortune. A bit was added at the top, only one field, but oh! such a pool, bringing us up, however, to a riparian proprietor, who fishes himself, and consequently marking our extreme boundary on that bank up stream. There still remains a little bit on the left bank which we should like, to absolutely round the thing off, but it is the one little Naboth's vineyard of a certain angler and his son, and as long as they want it we won't make a bid for it. Owing to one FISHING AND PHILANDERING 157 or two good seasons, our rent has risen, and we now pay in all probability a very fair price for it, which in a way is hard, as our pertinacity made it, and it had fetched less than half for some years before. However, we are very well satisfied as matters are at present, and only hope our various landlords—there are four now—may be equally pleased. Being an honest man and no politician—vide Plato—I know not what effect the Home Rule Bill may have upon our Eden, but " Where the apple reddens Never pry— Lest we lose our Edens, Eve and I." and I daresay and hope the " status quo " may be maintained there even if it is a bygone factor in the Balkans. From time to time the " Cachalots " have greatly changed. The original President—the gallant "Bosun" —has left the regular service and become a Special Reservist. A mighty angler before the Lord, and after the ladies, was " the Capting," and he seldom stirred out angling without a train of three or four skirts in admiring attendance. You wanted your best suit of clothes when you went out fishing with him. His luncheon basket was as big as. a Saratoga trunk—he never did things by halves. Once he lent us that wondrous receptacle, giving me the strictest injunctions regarding its safe return, as he apparently intended to hand it down as an heirloom in the " Bosun " family. Very carefully we saw it put in the guard's van at our little South of Ireland station, and very carefully we searched for it when we got out at Fermoy, where we were then quartered. Not a sign: not a label: not a trace: not even a funeral note: it was gone. Happily, it turned up two months later at Southampton, though how it had gone there, or why, was beyond the ken of any member of that intelligent railway staff. " E. Haugh " is perspiring somewhere in India, all his energies devoted to the cultivation of the other 158 FISHING AND PHILANDERING Battalion Band: quite in the rightful order of things, seeing that he is absolutely and completely ignorant of any single note of music. He was what I call an unlucky fisherman, obedient and even observant for half an hour: then wandering off on any old errand. He invariably applied his military phraseology to the incidents of the chase in very amusing fashion, and would speak of " rendering a blank return," no fish having " indented on " his fly, and alluding to a fish that was playing rather well as " violently resisting the escort." The '' Sapper " has gone to Egypt, and we never hear of him. He was a fisherman if you like, and why he never comes home on leave and puts in for a bit of fishing is more than we can imagine. " Billy " and the " Squire " are still happily in our midst, the former now being an excellent angler, while the latter always was, and, moreover, as pleasant and unselfish a companion as I ever fished with. This year " The Admiral " hoisted his flag and joined us. Last year we suffered from a couple of bad " Cachalots," but they will never throw a fly there again. There is no room for jealousy and bad temper caused by inability on those sunny banks and verdant pastures. Indeed, we have determined to become more select than ever, and are thinking about an entrance fee in addition to the fiver subscription. One year the regiment ran a rival club, consisting of " The Bosun " (oh traitor), " The Little Man," and The Tripper.'' They took a certain famous pool, with a bit of a stream below it, and, to say the least of it, they paid enough for it. "The Tripper" had a blank season, which surprised me until I saw him fish. Nowadays, it is true, we live in a sort of breathless rag-time, but his methods could not be expressed by any musical synonym. Mercury in a cock-tail mixer is the only comparison that occurs to me at the moment. He and " The Bosun " one day honoured me by an invitation to fish as their guest. On our arrival at the little cottage where they kept their tackle it is no exaggeration to say that " The o o o H W X FISHING AND PHILANDERING 159 Tripper " was out of the car, had his rod put together and ringed, and was " en route " to the pool, with his mouth full of gut, before the old " Bosun " and I had divested ourselves of our coats. I stood as one amazed: talk about " quick change " artistes: but then, there is nothing " The Tripper " cannot lay his hand to. Presently my more sedate old friend and I were ready, rods up and pipes alight. Half-way to the pool we met "The Tripper '' coming back. Ye gods! He had fished down pool and stream: hadn't seen a fish: was " fed up " with salmon-fishing: and had come back for a trout rod. He caught us up again just as we reached the bank, and began fishing it down for trout, of which he caught a brace, averaging about i-nth of a pound each, upon which he chucked that and went off to gather shells or pick flowers or something of that sort, returning in about a quarter of an hour to know if we hadn't had enough fishing and wouldn't we come back and play lawn-tennis or ping-pong. " The Little Man " is an altogether different style of angler, and one of the best and most successful trout fishermen we have ever had in the regiment. But no purist: no stilted conventionalist: no, far, far too sensible. If the trout will not take his fly offered in the orthodox manner, you will see him wander off into the field, or up a hedge-row, or round the trunks of oak trees. Watch him when he comes back. Stealthily stealing up the bank, peering through a bush here, round a corner there. More like a conspirator, or a murderer, or an old Bojee, than a respectable field-officer. See, he has spotted a fish: his motions become more creepy than ever: inch by inch his rod is pushed out through the branches of an alder. A tap or two on the butt to shake the line through the rings and let the natural fly drop naturally on the water—phloph!—and a few minutes later a 2lb. trout. That's " The Little Man." Unlike " The Bosun," he loves to be alone when he fishes. Unlike " The Tripper " he did not have a blank year. No: he killed a fish: a salmon of about iolbs. weight—though it was i6o FISHING AND PHILANDERING never weighed. Unsatisfied with the amount of sport it had shown in the still waters of the pool, he dragged it down into " the sthrame," where it bucked up. Finally he killed it, and in the cool of the evening tied it on to the back of his dogcart and drove off home, thinking all through the ten miles how he would have it cooked, and whom he would invite to partake of it. Arrived " chez lui," he hailed his wife in triumph, who hastened to his call, overjoyed that her dear " Little Man " had had some sport at last. But alas! and alas! Alas for the best laid plans of mice and " Little Men." Like " Charles' " luncheon-basket in a former chapter of this veracious history, he had not tied it on tight enough, and had dragged it home, bumpety-bump, all those ten miles through dust and flints and mire of all sorts and conditions. I remember a picture which made a great impression on me as a boy, of a North American Indian, who, on seeing his first locomotive, had incautiously lassoed it, forgetting that the other end of the rope was made fast round his body; arriving in consequence at the next stop as a piece of " pemmican " or " biltong." I always think of that picture when " The Little Man " tells us the story of his only salmon of that season. Nor did " The Bosun " have a blank year: nor was it to be expected of so mighty an angler—I wonder if Nim- rod ever fished, and if that was how he got his name— which is an aside, of course. No: " The Bosun " got two—fish. Never till my dying day will I forget with what beaming pride he arrived in my room one evening as I was dressing for mess, trailing several feet of slippery, well-mended kelt behind him. " What do you think of that, my boy? " he asked. " Think? Well, I think you'll get three months if you're caught with it," I answered, and oh! but the dear old thing was upset. Poor old chap: he wrapped it up, put it in my cricket bag, took it home, and with the assistance of his gardener " buried it deeply at dead of night " in a corner of his back-garden, with a " lantern dimly burning." Full many a silvery old kelt, however, is killed with FISHING AND PHILANDERING 161 culinary intent and of fell purpose. Many times have I been assured by professionals that they are then infinitely better for the table than the old red October fish. They may easily be that, and perhaps recent microscopic discoveries will lead to less reverential treatment for these old cannibals in future. Fishing yet another bit of my favourite river one day with a very ancient gillie, I hooked a kelt on the fly, and as soon as satisfied of its identity told the old gentleman to put me ashore to tail it. To my surprise he had assumed the gaff, and, moreover, expressed his firm determination to use it. I turned a deaf ear to his entreaties, and he point blank refused to put me ashore. Neither would give way, nor would the hook come out of the kelt, so, making a virtue of necessity, I managed to lean over, pick it up by the tail, and put it in the boat. Old Methuselah, torn between anguish at the approaching departure of several dinners and admiration of my dexterity, remained in a state of masterly inactivity while I dropped the fish in, holding on to his tail till its wagging proved that the engine was going again, and it presently slid off. Had I been writing of anyone but myself I should have dwelt at greater length on the skill shown in tailing a fish out of a boat. But " The Bosun's " other fish has yet to be accounted for, and if anybody can account for it they deserve considerable praise. For some occult reason fish do not ascend above a particular weir in this river much before April, the February and March fishing below it being of great value in consequence, while that above is of no more use than a length of the Grand Junction Canal. But a mere trifle of that sort was not calculated to put " The Bosun " off. On the very first day he could obtain leave from field-training away he went, mindful, no doubt, of Francis Francis' advice to keep the fly in the water. Heavy rain had brought down a huge yellow spate: it is true it was just showing signs of clearing, but as for being in a fit condition to fish, well, " que-voulez- vous " and shrug your shoulders. So off he went by the early train and fished away for all he was worth, i 162 FISHING AND PHILANDERING devoting most of his time to the stream where the heavy rush of water precluded any possibility of a fish, and ignoring almost altogether the pool where some stray pioneer might by an outside chance have been resting his weary fins. Then there arrived on the scene the local poacher. There is no better fellow than the Irish poacher if you only take him the right way: let him fish for trout, and he will never disturb your salmon water, and will see that nobody else does, and will give you every bit of assistance in his power as well. Ever ready to listen to advice, " The Bosun " showed his fly, which was promptly declared about ten sizes too small. Out came his book, and behold! it was the largest fly in it, though, of course, it was not in it, being on his line. Had the poacher a fly? He had not. Good heavens! Of course not. What would the likes of him be doin' wid a salmon fly? But he remembered thinking some gentlemen were staying in a bit of a cottage near by the one time for the fishin', and maybe they might have been after laving a fly behind them. " Happen," said " The Bosun," who had been quartered in Yorkshire. Together they adjourned to the shebeen, where, by permission of its mistress, they rummaged in an old chest of drawers. And there If at the back of beyant " they discovered a monstrous old blue and black fly on a double hook. The moths had been very busy with it, and had left only the tougher fibres of the wing: the tarnished old tinsel was frayed at one end and drooped plaintively from the tag: one barb was rusty and the other barb was blunt. Altogether it wore a woefully out-of-date aspect. But the poacher pronounced it to be the right size. " The Bosun " flung it into the very centre of the seething cauldron, and a fresh-run 17 pounder obligingly swallowed it. I have seen a man's face when he has just been appointed to the command of a crack Fusilier Regiment: I have gazed upon an Eton boy returning to the pavilion at Lord's after making a century: I have watched various friends emerge from various church doors with FISHING AND PHILANDERING 163 their blushing brides on their arms: but for pure, unadulterated, glowing pride, I have never see anything to touch '\ The Bosun " as he came into the mess that evening with his fish. Good luck to him: may he land many and many another: would he were with us yet " to witch the world with noble fishmanship." But we did other things besides fish in these pleasant Irish quarters, and I must tell the tale of a famous cricket match, an occasion on which I think I may claim to have fairly shone as a host. My regiment played County Cork, and although I had warned them of our weakness, and told them not to bring too strong a team, our eyes were nearly blinded when they came out changed and ready for the fray. Colours of every ray flashed in the sun—M.C.C., Free Foresters, Zingari, Incogniti, Eton Ramblers, Na Shulers, Upper Tooting Bicycle Club, every blazer that was ever designed or sewn together by tailors with smoked glasses. They explained that they could not help it: they were on their way to Dublin for a cricket week, and were obliged to bring their best team, etc., etc. Now though the sun was shining at the time, it had rained all night. The wicket was still soft enough to be easy, but every hour was increasing its treacherous difficulty, so we were lucky to win the toss, and managed to collect some 150 runs before lunch. I claim that no man can mix a better cup than I can, but I knew my friends, and for once doubted myself and the potency of my brew. Consequently, I emptied another bottle of brandy into it, the acclamation with which it was poured down proving I had been right. Our guests next averaged a couple of glasses of port all round, and were also good enough to highly approve a new liqueur I brought to their notice, after which they had some brandy with their coffee, and then began to talk, all at once, declaring it to be one of the pleasantest matches they had ever played. Meanwhile, the sun had not been idle, the result being that we got seven of their best wickets for 13 runs. One or two seasoned old topers 164 FISHING AND PHILANDERING at the end got half a dozen each, but their total was only 39. When we wrote to arrange a date for the same match next year they said they would not play if I did. But by that time I was at the Depot, and a full-blown major. A subaltern, with about a year's service, wrote begging me to come down and play just for this one match. But I was getting no cricket, and declined, saying I was out of practice and could not hope to make any runs, in answer to which he had the cheek to wire, " We don't want you to make runs; we want you to mix the drinks."^ I shall commend any angler that tries conclusions, and is industrious to improve the art. Izaak Walton. Father Joseph. " You are old, Father Joseph," Jack Melton remarked, '' And of tackle you own a vast lot: Pray how many eels Have you caught with these reels?" Said Joseph, II Don't talk Tommy-rot." " You are wise, Father Joseph," the young man went on, Unabashed by the snub he had got: I You may say what you like But I know you catch pike." Said Joseph " I fish for the pot." 1' You have rods for fly fishing, for prawning, for spinning : Have you all you require?" asked Jack : Then Joe winked his eye As he made this reply, " All but one for a silly fool's back." -' You have baits, you have weights, you have flies every size, Every pattern that e'er was invented : What use such a hoard?" Said Joe, getting bored, " Why answer a man who's demented?" ^sl?* FISHING AND PHILANDERING 165 M What sums you must spend my extravagant friend," Said Jack, as he pinched a few flies : " You have gaffs, nets, and ' Priest,' And last, but not least, A weighing-machine of huge size." " You are youthful, Jack Melton," the old man replied : " * Beri-beri' you suffer from doubtless : If you'd listen to reason And use flies in season You "might not so oft come home troutless." " For the fly you should choose, and the right one to use, Must depend on the wind and the water, The cold or the heat, . The clouds, and your beat, If you wish to indulge in real slaughter." " The clouds must be neither too high nor too low. The water too dark nor too bright: You should glance as you pass At the state of the glass, And study the heat, Fahrenheit." " You are kind, Father Joseph," Jack Melton then sighed: 3 Will you lend me a rod for the Major?" " With pleasure," said Joe, " He's a sportsman I know, And at angling a very old stager.'' Now the moral is plain for the blindest to see : If you hav'n't got lots you can't lend it: And the very best thing Your money can bring Is joy to your friends when you spend it. CHAPTER XIII A river that from morn to night Down all the valley plays the fool : Not once she pauses in her flight, Nor knows the comfort of a pool. R. L. Stevenson. A general's inspection—The shrimp in low water—Converted but unconvinced-Ajlycerine shrimps—A persistent taker—Evening fishing—An eager fish—Ducal water—Novel theories—A Guard of Honour—Bridge at the Castle—r-Their Majesties—A seventy pounder—Trout and pig's liver—The missing butler—The occult lady. An Irish June at its loveliest and best. Best that is from everybody's but fishermen's point of view. At its best for cricket, tennis, picnics on the river and all kindred sports and pastimes: at its worst for fishing and ducks. The brooks had all run dry: the mighty river itself was dwindling daily. The heat was about 7 degrees worse than the Sahara and the breezes did not exist. In spite of which equatorial state of affairs the British Army went gaily and optimistically about its business. A long day's inspection had drawn to a satisfactory conclusion: the most searching questions had been ably and intelligently answered, and die most elusive tactical problems solved, with a celerity and ease that would have ensured an even money chance of a Field- Marshal's Baton had we been serving under Napoleon. 166 FISHING AND PHILANDERING 167 As it was, the General was well enough pleased and finished up by asking me to dine with him that night and fish on some aristocratic water that had been put at his disposal next day. Now the General was a fly-purist and I had to submit to a good deal of good-natured criticism of my well-known shrimping proclivities, and the relative advantages and disadvantages of sticking to the fly and returning empty-handed, or tickling the piscine palates and coming home with a couple of fish and a cucumber. Also there had been recorded in the " Field " a recent adventure of mine when the water was high and brown, and a certain amount of leg-pulling took place over that. But it was a merry meal none the less, and not the least amusing part of it perhaps the General's remark to his A.D.C. after my departure, when, speaking of my stories, fresh and fresh from " Besika Bay " as they were, he said, | All chestnuts, my boy; all chestnuts." The water next day was low and clear enough for a Winchester trout, and as that part of the river was strange to me I reflected gladly that I had received a tin box of my beloved shrimps from Galway that morning.* The morning was spent in throwing a succession of different combinations of feathers and tinsel into the water. It was good exercise, the air was pleasant, and the surroundings picturesque. Beyond that, however, there was not much to be said for it, and when we sat down to lunch my host remarked that they did not seem to be taking the fly well that morning, a remark with which I entirely concurred. " What shall we do ? " he asked next. I Shrimp," said I, " knowing the language," and offering to mount one for him. "No thank you," he replied, with an air which if we had been on parade would have led me momentarily to suppose I had given the word " Right turn " instead of " Left wheel," or " Ground arms," or some such heinous * Johnny Lydon, Corrib View, Galway, has been my shrimp merchant for the last twenty-five years. 168 FISHING AND PHILANDERING offence. " No thank you : not for me : I've got a new spinning reel I want to try, but you can do anything you like." With the result that in ten minutes' time I was into a good fish, which allowed itself to be played up to the gaff, and then rolled off. " Come and look at my line," said the General, and I came and looked. My word! It resembled nothing earthly, unless perhaps a magnified edition of the tangle left at the bottom of a plate of vermicelli soup. At his very first cast the reel had flown off, over-running gaily as it sped through the air. Talk about the Gordian Knot! And this one could not be cut: nor were either of us wearing a sword. In a quarter of an hour, however, we had things ship-shape again, and then I heard a small still voice, from one whose word of command could at other times and in other places be heard by every man in a mobilised brigade, " I think I'll try your plan now." So a shrimp was soon mounted on a single hook, and, to my great delight, he was shortly firmly fixed in a i6lb. fish, which I gaffed for him. The octogenarian gillie who was attending us beamed all over. Though a fly-fisherman to the backbone he declared that if you must use bait, the little prawn with the one hook would beat the lobster with a dozen every time. But even though we had both hooked a fish on the shrimp in the gin-clear water, he begged me so hard to try a fly, which he said had been the champion on that water for forty years—none other than our old friend " Inky boy " —that I could not refuse, and we did nothing more. But the General saw there was something in the shrimp after all, and as he drove me home in the cool of the summer evening I could see that his opinion of me as a strategist and tactician had, if possible, gone up. Having put in for a fortnight's leave that morning, I called in at the orderly-room on my way to dress for mess just in time to change it to three weeks. Once more we fished the same water together: once more we stuck to flies till lunch: once more we shrimped afterwards: and once more he killed a fish and I lost one. FISHING AND PHILANDERING 169 Oh another occasion I fished it alone, and learnt one of those valuable lessons which are open to us every time we go a-fishing if we will but keep our eyes open and learn them. It is a well-known fact that a fish will often come again at a fresh shrimp, but till that day I was very doubtful of their making a second attack on one preserved in glycerine. This time I had no fresh ones, while the water was as low and clear as before. All day long I never had a pull, until at six o'clock in the evening, wading in mid-stream in three feet of water, clear of all weeds and rocks, there came the welcome pluck-pluck. The shrimp was all right, but it was a fish right enough, for there was the little dent on the top of the head which a salmon so often makes clearly visible. With the same length of line and in just the same place, at the full stretch, he came again. Here was my theory disproved —the right treatment for salmon fishing theories. At the next cast he touched it again. A fourth time, a fifth time, and a sixth time he took it in his mouth. But at the sixth time of asking—surely it was tempting providence to ask more than three times—I got the hook into him, a lively little peal. Many a time since then hasrthe assimilation of that lesson provided me with sport. In the popular Irish station where we had all this sport there was a variation in the way of salmon fishing which I have not seen practised elsewhere. It did not begin till just as the sun was going off the water, and it did not last long after it had gone. My " modus operandi " was to play a game or two of croquet at the club, and then, when others were thinking of going home to dinner, we used to adjourn to the boathouse. " We " consisted of a subaltern to pull the boat and a very sweet and charming widow to make the tea and cook the eggs. The ' Venue" was about two or three miles down, where we would put the lady ashore, and then, on a perfectly flat, still portion of the river, where there was not an atom of perceptible current, the subaltern would let the boat down by feet, sometimes by inches, gripping on to the reeds and rushes on the banks. Meanwhile, from the bows I would let 170 FISHING AND PHILANDERING down a shrimp very slowly and draw it up equally slowly searching out all the holes and skirting along the weed- beds. Sometimes we got a fish: generally we didn't. But whether we did or whether we didn't, it was all pure happiness, and I never knew tea taste better, or ate better cooked eggs and savoury sandwiches, than we used to find waiting when '' the widdy gave the party.'' After which the subaltern got the bit of exercise he doubtless found extremely beneficial, while I smoked the pipe of peace and listened to the words of beauty in the stern sheets. Lower down the river there was a most comfortable hotel, residence in which entitled one to fish various pools in turn. On our first essay " E. Haugh " and I were flooded out, the rain descending in sheets all the time we were driving over, and though the spate did not come down until the evening we only got a couple of hours' fishing. After a hasty lunch we secured a gillie for " E. Haugh," and went down to the river. I mounted a fly for myself, but since the gut had not been moistened, forbore to draw the knot tight, letting the fly fall in the river for it to soak, while I looked round to see how the gillie was getting on with my friend's outfit, which he was putting together. As I did so there came a pull at my all-unready fly. Horrified at being caught napping, I raised the point instinctively and fastened in a fish. Knowing the gut to be quite dry, I did not dare put any strain on him for two or three minutes, during which he contented himself with chewing my fly, probably ruminating on the strange mouthful, and regretting the haste with which he had laid hold of it. Then I called his attention to the job in hand by putting on the pressure, and in five minutes landed a lively little peal of 61bs. weight. It was the only fish we got, and getting it was certainly a most astounding piece of luck. The rest of our time was devoted to what " E. Haugh " called " reconnaissance work "—exploring the various burns for trout. This hotel water abutted on some Ducal pools of great celebrity, leave to fish in which when the Duke was away it FISHING AND PHILANDERING 171 being occasionally obtainable by anglers of unimpeachable character and respectability. I often got leave. And once had a most wonderful experience there, but as it bears on another of my pet theories, it must be narrated in its proper place. They also had some curious ideas about fishing in the Castle. On the occasion of the visit of His Majesty the late King Edward VII. I had the extreme honour and delightful pleasure of commanding the Guard of Honour furnished by my regiment. Throughout the four or five days of our stay everybody did their utmost to make us welcome, and there are few pleasanter recollections in my life than the memories of the gracious words of the King and Queen Alexandra. Our band played during dinner, and the red-coated sentries dotted about the ivy- covered grey walls and battlements looked most picturesque. The night before the arrival of the Royal party the Duchess, who was extremely fond of a rubber, asked me if any other officers played to bring one to dine and make a fourth. So a subaltern without a bob in the world came along, and after a most homely dinner, we four sat down to play bridge. Before commencing I enquired what points they would like-to play, to which the Duke replied by enquiring if ten shillings would do. I knew what he meant all right, but said: " Well, to tell you the truth, I'm afraid 10s. points would be rather too high for us," upon which his secretary burst in: " His Grace means 10s. a hundred." " Oh, 10s. a hundred," said I. " Oh! that will suit us admirably." " Good gracious," said the genial old Duke; " did you think I meant 10s. a point. My goodness! I wonder what Mr. Brodrick would say to that? " So 10s. a hundred we played: a fearful gamble for us, whose mess points are is. 3d. a hundred, and I well remember the language of the subaltern as we went to bed, he having had to hand over three beautiful sovereigns. It was their angling ideas that I began about, but my anxiety that everyone should know that I have dined with 172 FISHING AND PHILANDERING a King and Queen of England has made my pen run riot. During the port stage of dinner we talked fishing, and the Duke told me that from observations of the nets and cribs, they believed that the fish which came into the river in the spring did not come to spawn, but merely for change of air, much as one goes to the Riviera or Switzerland. This seemed to me incredible, and I said as much. " But," said the Duke, " we have proved it. We have caught fish in the cribs, marked them, released them, and caught them again in the nets some distance lower down." But even that failed to convince me. " Suppose," I replied, " one was going to be married, and on arrival at the door of the church, was seized and held while a label was stuck into that part of one's anatomy which most nearly corresponds to the adipose dorsal fin of a fish: would one on being released not immediately rush back to one's club and there lie doggo till the pain and irritation were gone, and remain a bachelor all the rest of one's life? " A view of the case which the Duke was constrained to admit had not previously occurred to him. By agreement with two gentlemen of vast wealth, the cribs, or killing hatches, as they call them, opposite the Castle have for some years past been left open in return for a large sum of money during the months of February and March, which, in combination with the hatching establishment hard by, has undoubtedly had the effect of improving the river ioo per cent. Yet the upper riparian owners, who do nothing themselves towards either improvement, are unsatisfied. What they want is more fish and unraised rents. What I want is £15,000 a year and a deer park. We all seem to want something. Another friend of mine, who owns some of the river about ten miles from his house, and a motor car to get there in, not only does not fish himself, but lets his fishing. Because his British Columbian experiences have spoilt him for home fishing. Staying with him once on a memorable occasion, he got me leave for a day, and on my return home with a brace of fish, which I displayed with FISHING AND PHILANDERING 173 great pride, he merely pointed to a large glass case in his hall, and sadly remarked, " What's the use after that ? Come and play pyramids." " That '' was then, and to the best of my belief is still, the biggest salmon ever landed on a rod and line, a glorious monster of 7olbs. in weight, caught in British Columbian waters. About that time a youth enjoyed some phenomenal trout fishing a short distance above my friend's house. Situated on the bank is a bacon factory, and situating himself on the wall thereof, the youth fished with—what do you think—pig's liver. Dear me! Wretched brat! Why did he not save up his money and buy some flies? I don't know; all I do know is that he accounted 2olbs. of trout an ordinary evening's sport, and I used to long to be allowed to go out and situate myself beside him; but, of course, the social side of my character precluded any possibility of my being allowed to do that, and I did my duty, and most pleasant duty it was too, instead. One Sunday, accompanied by one of the best soldiers who ever commanded a British regiment, I went over from camp to lunch with my friends. Our host was away golfing somewhere, but Her Ladyship welcomed us warmly, and introduced us to her party. The time passed pleasantly enough, though it was a vile day outside, but it kept on passing, and still no sign of lunch. At last our hostess rang the bell and made enquiries from the footman who answered it. He had a grievous tale to tell, and grievously he told it. The butler, it appeared, had been very strange all the morning, till at length he had gone down to the river, taking the dog with him, started off in one of the boats, and had not returned. Amongst the party was a young lady accredited with powers of the occult. She at once said that she had " felt " this all the morning: that she had not liked to say anything about it before through fear of upsetting people, but that she knew there was something awful going to happen. My poor friend only required that to thoroughly upset her, and we all went off to the river, lunch being postponed sine die, for the butler had the 174 FISHING AND PHILANDERING keys, and what sort of a lunch could we have without them. On hearing that the man was a powerful swimmer and an expert boatman, I, for one, did not share the pessimistic views of the lady with the second sight, nor did my soldier friend, and we both tried to reassure our hostess. But she, poor lady, declared there was something uncanny about her Cassandra-like guest, and feared the worst. On arrival at the boat-house we were, therefore, considerably cheered by the sight of the butler, propelling a water-logged boat against wind and stream, in our direction, with the terrier doing look-out man in the bows. Nor was it long before he got into dry clothes, produced the keys, and furnished us with enough port to adequately drink to his return from the grave. These, my honest scholar, are some observations told to you as they now come suddenly into my memory, of which you may make some use. Izaak Walton. Sea Fishing. One has often heard tell there are fish in the sea Quite as good as the fish that are out, Which I always believed till July the 16th, But now it's an axiom I doubt. For I caught such a beauty one day at Bexhill— I picked her right up in my arms— That you'll never convince me another exists That can equal her exquisite charms. CHAPTER XIV " Master, I marvel how the fishes live in the sea." " Why as men do a'land : the great ones eat up the little ones." Pericles. The Bosun's peal—Crimping it—His accident—Old Tom Shea —Good days and bad—Smiler's fish—The Quarry pool—Garrett Fitzgerald—Grand sport—The eels in the mud—Jack Douane— Memory—Somnambulism—Mice—Bull-dogs—Starlings — Salmon and blasting—Disturbing fish. The opening season of the Cachalot Club, when " The Bosun " was the only member, all the rest of us being honorary members, was a good fishing year, but he himself had but an indifferent time of it. To begin with, he was sent off to Spike Island on detachment, too far from the river for an odd day's fishing. After missing the first two months in this annoying manner, he managed to get over a few times, but invariably had the misfortune to turn up on days when the fish were not taking, or he would arrive on the bank only to find his man had forgotten to put in his reel, or that somehow a wrong top had crept into the rod bag, and would either not go in or else wobbled feebly about, presenting a most uninterested, half-drunken appearance. One day, having seen to everything himself, he would arrive with flies, only to find the fish were feeding on shrimps: the next he would leave his flies behind only to find them lepping 95 176 FISHING AND PHILANDERING all over the river. Never did anyone have such a series of misfortunes. But everything comes to him who waits, and one morning on my arrival at the cottage I was struck dumb on seeing in the larder a peal, or, rather, what had evidently once been a peal. As it was, it resembled a Bulgarian atrocity, being carved into some fifteen or twenty thin slices, down to the backbone. " The Bosun " was still dressing when I went up to his room, but in his brightest and best mood. " Well, old chap, what do you think of that ? Nice fish, isn't it ? Gave me tremendous sport to land, I can tell you. I'm all right now: got the knack of it, and am certain I'll get any amount of others.'' I asked him what the mangling was for. " Mangling? " he shouted. " Why, my boy, don't you know that you should always do that to a fish: it's called ' crimping,' and makes the flavour infinitely better." Dear old chap. But his bad luck was not over yet. For before getting another fish he fell whilst getting over a low stone wall, broke two ribs, and spent the remainder of the season in bed in the cottage. So his father came down to keep him company, and do a bit of fishing as well, and we had some good sport together. Personally, I had begun with two blank days, but on the third got three fish, iolbs., io^lbs., and 151DS., which poor I Old Tom," " The Bosun's " old keeper, insisted on carrying home himself, flatly refusing to allow me to help, though his summers counted well over eighty. Dear old man: keenest of the keen: peace to his memory. One day to my astonishment I saw he was in tears as he sat on the bank behind me. " Why, Tom," I asked, " what troubles you? " " Well," he said, " they do be burying my sister to-day." Horrified, and knowing the importance Irish people attach to funerals, I asked him why he had not told me and attended it. " Well, sir, I was thinking of it, and then I was thinking that it could do no good to her, and maybe I might be some good to you, and I thought I would feel better being out 3l FISHING AND PHILANDERING 177 with your honour." Like all Irishmen, Tom was ever desirous of giving the answer he thought would please. Walking home together one evening, I was accosted by a seedy-looking individual who requested alms. " Will I give him sixpence, Tom? What sort of a man is he?" I asked. " Oh! he's an honest poor man," he answered, and the honest poor fellow got his sixpence accordingly. About a hundred yards further on I said: " Tom, that was a desperate-looking fellow I gave the sixpence to: he's a bad hat, isn't he? " " Oh, he is that, your honour: he's a damned old rogue." Ever ready to oblige was " Old Tom." Another day " Tom " and I got four peal, and finished the day in triumph with a 19 pounder in as heavy a shower of rain as I can remember in the British Isles. Luckily, the wind was behind me, but the huge drops tore up the surface of the stream till it seemed as though " lashed from the foam of ages," while my taut line dived into it under the arch of a miniature rainbow. Fired by these captures, a brother officer and his wife, together with a very long subaltern, alTflesirous of seeing a salmon killed, accompanied me on my next expedition, the only result up to tea-time being that the long-legged Dougall, fishing for trout, hooked, and very nearly landed, a salmon. As my friend was making tea for us by the side of a rocky pool, which often made up for a blank day, I got a small 8 pounder: this would have been scarcely worthy of mention were it not that in stepping back to the bank (I had been wading) I slipped and sat down gracefully in some two feet of water. Luckily it was July, and I got a couple of peal on the way home, and she got stacks of wild flowers, so everyone enjoyed our day's outing. At the end of the month two other brother officers came over with me, " Smiler " and " E. Haugh." After mounting flies and starting them off, I followed, and was at once fast in a lively peal. A small bush grew between me and " Smiler," but, on turning to call his attention to the fish, my astonishment was only exceeded by my T78 FISHING AND PHILANDERING amusement when I saw that he was under the impression that it was rising to him, and that he was casting over it repeatedly in a high state of excitement each time it came to the surface, which lack o*f attention on my part doubtless lost me the fish, as the hook soon came away. There followed prolonged spells of musketry and manoeuvres, and it was not till late in September that any more fishing was to be had. Then came the poor " Bosun's " accident and a request that I would come and take his father out fishing. On the day of my arrival the old gentleman won a shilling from me. Finding him on the bank, sore from fruitless castings, he bet me a shilling that I would not catch a fish: at my very first cast I got a fine pull, and most clumsily left the hook in him, either from striking too hard or from the gut being rotten. That was the day before my discovery of the Quarry Pool. Immediately above our fishing was a small weir, above which lay a deep still stretch of water about 150 yards long. Herein fish after fish threw themselves out of the water in the most tantalising fashion. A venerable looking old man stood watching me, and on enquiry proved to be the owner of the field. He said I might fish in it if I cared to, but rather damped my ardour by saying there had not been a fish killed in it for thirty years, but was as pleased as I was when an eleven pounder came along within thirty minutes. Thus opened a friendship that has steadily ripened ever since, and thus was acquired a pool which not only suited my contemplative, make-a-friend-of-the-fish methods, but also turned out the most productive of all our mile of water. The following morning I went out alone, as it was raining heavily and the Colonel was subject to rheumatism. In the new pool a fish came at once, and then went even quicker, as with one fierce mahseer-like rush, he tore off some sixty yards of line, after which he settled down about ten yards above the weir and gave way to a fit of FISHING AND PHILANDERING 179 sulks, combining the reserved dignity of a Red Indian with the mystery of a submarine. Apparently refreshed by his rest, he next showed signs of an intention to go down the river, where there was no chance of following him, as a small tree, too high to pass the rod over, effectually barred the way. At this moment I discovered a silent watcher at my elbow: dressed as a postman, he stood within a yard of me engrossed in the battle. Thinking I was into a 40-pounder at last, I handed him my watch and chain. " What for? " he asked. " You don't mean to say you're going to try and follow him." " I most assuredly am," was my reply. " If that fish goes down, I'm going too." " Hold on for three minutes for any sake," he answered and doubled away to a cottage, whence he shortly returned breathless with a saw. Then commenced an epic: the postman sawed like grim death: the fish fought for his life: inch by inch he fell back to the rush of water over the weir: and I for my part held on as I never held on to a fish before. Which would give first it was impossible to say. " He's going," I cried at last as the salmon turned, and availing himself of the heavy current, went off as though my 16ft. green- heart had been a lady's riding-whip: in another second I should have followed into the water, when in the very act of doing so a crack like a pistol-shot proclaimed the fall of the tree, and then, in military parlance, we all " broke into double time." Other bushes there were to be overcome, but by this time my servant had " joined the glad throng," and by combining forces with the postman, pulled their tops down till they just, just enabled me to pass the rod over. Two stone walls and a blackthorn hedge were negotiated in a manner which would have done credit to a competitor for the Conyngham Cup, but a trip in a drain proved disastrous to the favourite, and put me into the river up to my waist. No sooner in than out and away again as madly as before. An elder bush had to be pulled up by the roots by my rapidly-swelling cortege, and that brought us to the Rubicon, a long bridge, half a mile from where the fish 180 FISHING AND PHILANDERING had been hooked. No ordinary bridge either, but one of some dozen arches, every one of them, except the far one, with a wire stretched across it festooned with weeds, and down the far one, selected by the fish, some six feet of rushing black water. He got within ten yards of salvation, and then something induced him to turn and have another sulk. But by now I had been in him just one hour, and by sheer force pulled him over to my side, when that noble-minded postman rushed into three feet of water, took a fleeting chance with the gaff, and triumphantly bore him into the field. And was he a 40 pounder? No. Was he 30? No. Was he 20? No: he was 18, but instead of being in his mouth, the hook had been in his pectoral fin all the time, which, of course, accounted for his prolonged resistance. But it was the finest bout I ever had with a salmon, and when the postman went off he altogether forgot to return me my gold watch. But it could not have been safer in the Bank of England, for that day commenced a friendship which has never known a cloud in all these years. Oh! excellent Garrett; easily could I fill a book with you and your anecdotes and sayings: your scorn for bunglers and your admiration for artists: your knowledge of the river and your love for the " small little lemon grey " now, fickle that thou art, turned to passionate attachment to the little red shrimps from Galway. Once I was playing a fish, and a brother officer looking on said: " By Jove! he's a twenty-pounder, isn't he? " To whom Garrett wither- ingly replied: " We'll discuss his qualifications when we have him on the bank." On another occasion he was fishing with my wife, and I came on them from behind sitting silent side by side gazing into the river. "You're very quiet, you two," I ventured to remark. " Yes; we're just cogitating—like the eels in the mud," was his astonishing simile. Oh! those Irish similes: if one could but remember them all or even a quarter of them. There was that prince of fishermen, Jack Douane, of Fermoy. I asked FISHING AND PHILANDERING him to get me some worms to go salmon fishing. On going down to the stable yard over which he presided to get them, he turned them out for my inspection, as miserable a lot of gudgeon bait as ever I saw. " Why, Jack," said I, " what's the use of these wretched microbes; they're no use." " No use? " he exclaimed in a most aggrieved tone, as though I had asked him to lend me a shilling. " No use? I declare to goodness if ye don't get behind a bush when you're puttin' them on, the trout'11 lep out and ate ye." On the day after the battle of Roskeen Bridge an incident occurred which has powerfully affected my angling ever since. Certain things have occurred in my life bordering so closely on the incredible that were it not for there being witnesses to verify them, I should perforce have to cease from narrating them, and that would be a pity since they are true. I tell them here, however, with a sense of complete confidence, since no one will have read so far unless he or she is an angler, and since all the rest of mankind and womankind have conspired for some occult reason to call us fishers liars, we must necessarily club together all the more closely and believe each other's stories. For instance I can distinctly remember—I can see it now—a scene that occurred long before I had completed my second year. That it was an impressive scene goes without saying: that people say I only remember it from hearing it so often described also goes without saying. But as I have described actors and " mise-en-scene " with sufficient accuracy to convince my father, and as it is a fact that I remember seeing it, no more need be said as to my contention. My father and mother were walking in their garden in India, the latter carrying me in her arms, when a native soldier with a grievance came up and fired two shots at them with a rifle. He missed and hurriedly left, and of this part I know nothing. My parents went indoors, my father into one room to write a report, my mother with me into another, the rooms communicating by folding doors. My mother put me on a piano and put her head down on her 182 FISHING AND PHILANDERING arms, overcome by the shock. Suddenly she raised her head. Advancing on tip-toe across the room came the murderer, this time with a drawn sword. My mother's scream brought my father in only just in the nick of time to seize the man's wrist as he was in the act of making his blow: my mother rushed round, and, seizing him by his long black hair, pulled his head back. One of the Guard—my father commanded the station—rushed in, and seeing his beloved sahib and mem-sahib struggling with a native, cut him down, the blow almost severing his arm, cutting deep through the collar-bone. The man was mad, of course, and suffered the extreme penalty of the law as there applied. Now that scene I can still see. Again, I used to be a sleep-walker. Once, when fishing in the Himalayas, I came out of my tent in the dead of night, jumped into the river, and was swimming, twenty yards from the bank, when I woke up. My first feeling was what a cold night it was: then I saw the moon: how can I see it so clearly through my tent I thought?: then I found myself swimming and wide awake. The stream as near as a toucher carried me down a rapid: indeed, nothing saved me but the fact that I drifted on to a rock: even then I should probably have been drowned, for, though I had swum slantingdicularly towards the bank, I was still some yards from it, and the current that flowed between was much too strong to wade or swim in. But the coolies who accompanied me had been awakened by my old butler's cries, and, though none of them could swim, most gallantly made a chain, and, holding one to another, managed to wade across and pull me into safety. Yet have I had a narrower escape from drowning than that. On going out to the South African war, my party was transhipped at Cape Town to a ship called the " Ranee," employed in the Indian trade. On her we were to journey to Port Elizabeth. The night before we reached our destination I dreamt that the ship was turning turtle. So vivid was the impression that I pulled FISHING AND PHILANDERING 183 myself together as I sprang up in my bunk. Too late to try and escape by way of the saloon, I felt convinced my only chance was to go out through the port-hole, expecting to emerge on to the side of the ship as she turned over. And through the port-hole I went, head first. I should have been swimming now but for the fact that the coolies, it being a calm night, to save themselves trouble the next morning, had let down the ladder sort of arrangement one descends from a ship by, so that, instead of being parallel with the deck over my cabin, it was now at an angle of forty-five degrees below it. On to this I fell, hitting my head and spraining my wrist, but instinctively clinging on. There the officer of the watch, hearing the thud, found me, and I think it will be admitted that was a close shave. Another swimming incident. Quartered under canvas at Browndown about the year 1895, it was our daily delight to bike down to bathe in the Solent. One day five of us went down—V., a fine swimmer, " The Blighter " and " Dibs," indifferent exponents, " The Little Man," an inveterate sinker to the bottom, and myself. The weather was glorious, the sea warm and calm. We four swimmers struck boldly out, V. and I leading, while "The Little Man" paddled about ingloriously and unabashed "in statu naturalibus." On we went, delighting in the conditions, " The Blighter " and " Dibs " falling further and further astern, neither with the moral courage to turn back first. At last they called out they were tired and going back, whereupon V. and I turned and swam back leisurely behind them. We were all taken some way down towards Alverstoke by the tide, " The Little Man," like an old hen with a brood of ducklings, in mortal agony running along the shore. " Dibs " was out first, when, though puffing like a grampus, he denied altogether having had too much. " The Blighter " came next. " Weren't you nearly drowned? " asked the old hen. " I was," said " The Blighter," " as near as a toucher, and what's more, I got cramp and sang out to ' Dibs,' but all he did C~l 184 FISHING AND PHILANDERING was to strike out more vigorously than ever, saying, ' Then God help you; I can't.' Then there were my mice. It occurred to me to see if I could tame the wild mice that inhabited my quarters at Aldershot. Night by night they were induced by crumbs of cake to come nearer and nearer, till at last they would climb up my legs, feed out of my hands, and perform a variety of tricks. This was too much for my young companions to swallow, so I used to hold receptions. The sound of our voices talking did not interrupt the show as long as everyone kept perfectly still, but the slightest move sent every one of my little pets scuttling off to their holes. On another occasion I have seen, and so have several others, my old bulldog eating his dinner out of a plate .in the yard, contentedly permitting four or five full-grown rats to share it with him. One of the prettiest sights imaginable was an old starling playing with her young ones on my lawn last summer. And no doubt there are thousands of other things to be seen if people would only keep their eyes open. This is rather a long preamble to my fishing story, but it is necessary to pave the way a bit before recounting it. Watching the river one sultry summer's day, it occurred to me that the reason fish refused to take in such weather might be because they were all half asleep like myself, and that possibly a brick-bat or two in their midst might make them sit up and take notice. This theory I ventilated in the " Field," incurring the usual derision that invariably greets any novelty of ideas. On the day in question the Colonel and I started fishing in the Quarry Pool. For a quarter of an hour we fished most carefully, but then we had to stop, for a workman came to tell us they were about to explode a charge of dynamite in the quarry. Watching the blue smoke curling away from the fuse, I found myself wondering what the fish would think of the concussion, and remembered FISHING AND PHILANDERING 185 my own remarks on stirring them up. Now whether the workmen had put in an extra charge for our benefit I do not know, but the explosion seemed a mighty one as the huge rocks, riven from their hold, rose slowly into the air only to descend again into the field with a mighty thud. One block, at least twice the size of a man's head, fell with a thundering splash into the very middle of the river not forty yards from where we had been fishing. ) * Now is the time," quoth the Colonel, " to prove your precious theory." The ripples caused by this bolt from the blue had barely subsided as I made my next cast, and felt a pull at the shrimp. In another cast or two he came again, and I killed a fifteen pounder. Verbum sap. Shortly after this account appeared in the " Field," the late Mr. Earl Hodgson published his beautiful book on salmon fishing. On page 101 he recounts his impressions on the subject. Admitting that when he first read it he had allowed a tinge of scepticism to obscure his vision, he goes on to say that to his great surprise he discovered almost at the same time in an old book on salmon fishing a description of an experienced and successful fisherman who at times adopted the very same method: that is to say, he advocated stoning a pool when the fish refused to take. Mr. Hodgson drew various other deductions from the incident all tending to explain what had previously seemed to him anomalies and contradictions. For my own part, I have since proved on more than one occasion, to more than one angler, that it is an undoubted fact that disturbances in the water may under certain circumstances prove beneficial rather than detrimental to sport. The practical part, it is that that makes an angler : it is diligence, and observation, and practice, and an ambition to be the best in the art, that must do it. Izaak Walton. i86 FISHING AND PHILANDERING On the Glass (after Adam Lindsay Gordon). I said to my host, Robert Jardine, At the pool where the Glass river bends, I What is life without baccy and fishing, And one or two nice little friends?" He replied, with his mouth full of sandwich, (' There is just one thing more I could wish "; Then paused for a pull at his whiskey, That this river was fuller of fish." — CHAPTER XV The waters fall and flow By fragrant banks, and still below The great three pounders rise and take The palmer, alder, dun, or drake. Now by that stream, if there you be, I prithee keep a place for me. John Buchan. Ambition—A big pike—Difficulty of bait fishing—Col. Cane's experience^—The shrimp in high water—Billy's fight with a salmon— Hooked fish disturbing others—A great day—Novice's luck— Another great day—The Colonel changes his name. «| Everyone wants to kill a bigger fish than the next man, or shoot a heavier stag, or make more runs at cricket, or buy a bigger motor-car, or win more battles, or make more speeches, or something: in some way or another every man has some sort of ambition: yes, he has : because if he hasn't he's no man : so you see you are wrong. Fishing ambition generally runs to size rather than numbers : it is probably natural that it should : yet size in itself is, after all, a purely relative matter: if an elephant seems so huge to us what must we seem to a flea: no wonder they hop. And elusive as the volatile insect just alluded to above is the genuine, Caesar's wife sort of 4olb. pike. This is the standard weight set up as just outside the limit, and the man who kills on rod and line in fair fight, and afterwards weighs in the x*7 188 FISHING AND PHILANDERING presence of creditable witnesses, a pike of 4olbs., will be as famous amongst fishermen as the man who catches a 7olb. salmon or a 3olb. trout in the British Isles. Once there appeared in the pages of the " Irish Times " a brief statement that two pike, one of 42ibs., and one of 481bs., had been captured in Lough Corrib. On hearing that the heads of these fish were in the possession of Mr. Milne, the manager of the Galway fishery, with whom I was acquainted, a practical fisherman to be relied upon, I wrote to him: here is his reply. " There is no doubt as to the weight of the 481b. pike. It was caught by Edward McDonagh, of Portaragh, near Moycullen, with a gaff, in one of the inlets of Lough Corrib. It was a female and nearly spent; had it been caught before it spawned it would have been nearer 6olbs. than 481bs. I have the head in my possession. . . . The 48-pounder was weighed by John McDonagh with scales borrowed from a shop, and witnessed by John Melia and others. I know the man who caught it intimately, and he says : ' Ah! sure, it is nothing to the one that is there yet: he has a head as big as a basket and a body as long as my boat.' I herewith enclose dimensions." Later on Mr. Milne very kindly sent me the heads, but they were so very—well, ripe, when they arrived, that after measuring them, with a brother officer, I hastily sent them off to a naturalist in Dublin, whose remarks in reply were most cutting. Anyway I give such measurements as I took. From angle of mouth, round bone, to centre of jaw, 7iin. From angle to angle of jaw, over head, 8^in. From re-entering angle in top of head bone to point of jaw, 9^in. From gill cover to point of jaw round bone, 13m. From inside edge of eye to inside edge of eye, 2^in. From angle to angle of mouth, i.e., clear inside measurement of breadth of jaw, 7^in. The teeth were very large, old, yellow and decayed. ILlT.r FISHING AND PHILANDERING 189 Oh! those monsters that are lost. Old Nicholas Brown and his story of the one he was afraid to take into the boat, and his eel " with a mane like a harse," sink into insignificance in comparison with the pike they still speak of with bated breath on Lough Derg. Nor, since the human race from time to time produces its giants, do I for my part see why some enormous fish should not occasionally lurk hidden in those deep Irish lakes. Once upon a time an article appeared in the " Field," written by some fly purist, alluding to an exponent of any other form of the art as " a bait-fishing snatcher," and I see that whatever fish he rose or failed to rise he got a fine rise out of me, as I replied at some length in an article entitled " J Fly only' and other methods." Yet even in writing it I claimed to be in no controversial mood, and am still less sanow, but based my reply on what seemed to me the different degrees of difficulty of various sorts of fishing. Very likely that sportsman did not intend to be abusive : perhaps he only intended it as chaff, but chaff can be as different as chalk from cheese. " I may chance have some quirks and remnants of wit broken on me," but whereas some break it so gently that the fracture is pleasing, others rub in one's little failings till everything is raw. For instance, only yesterday a friend, after various remarks of an extremely personal character regarding the shape of my figure and my fondness for No. 1 Burton, went on to say that my head would soon cease to resemble even a turnip, as that vulgar vegetable at all events had something growing on it. Later on another friend, equally impertinently personal, remarked that my brow grew more intellectual and my person more majestic daily, and that a three-cornered hat alone was wanting to complete my resemblance to the Emperor Napoleon 1 st. Well, one rubbed me up against the nap, the other smoothed me down with it. Both were equally blameworthy, yet one made me growl while the other made me purr. So with these " fly purists." Can the matter not be discussed amicably ? The only reason I mention i9o FISHING AND PHILANDERING it here is because I put fishing in the following order, beginning with the easiest: i, Harling; 2, Fly-fishing; 3, Spinning; 4, Prawn-fishing; 5, Worm-fishing. My article produced a letter from a great authority, which I quote here to show wherein he differed from me, though I admit that it may have risen one or two of the " Fly only " order of the brotherhood. I Sir, " I agree entirely with what Major Mainwaring has said on this subject, except that I consider the prawn the most difficult of all lures to use really well. I think it is obvious that the best fisherman is the man who can adapt his methods to the varying conditions of weather, water, and the mood of the fish, instead of having to put up his rod and go home when, as is often the case on most waters, the fly is perfectly useless. Indeed, a man may be a champion fly caster and hardly worthy of being called a fisherman at all, and I have known many such. After a tolerably long trial, since I live on the banks of a salmon river and have been fishing ever since I was big enough to wield a rod, nearly forty years ago, my experience is that some of those who decry bait- fishing are those who are incapable of practising it. We all prefer fly-fishing for obvious reasons of cleanliness and simplicity: but to stick to it invariably through thick and thin would mean on many waters exceedingly few fish. To quote my own home water, since the middle of April I have killed fifteen fish, ten with spinning-baits—either gudgeon, roach, or dace—four with worms, and only one with fly, though the latter method has been given every chance. Am I a poacher or worse because I have killed these other fourteen? Some writers seem to assume that we bait-fishers only use baits to thinly veil snatching or stroke-hauling, which only shows their ignorance of the subject. Let them try in an ordinary stream with a heavily enough leaded bait to give them the smallest chance of success at this game, and I venture to say they will catch many more rocks FISHING AND PHILANDERING 191 than salmon, and they will not like their tackle-maker's bill when it comes to paying. It is all very well for millionaires who can afford to rent first-class fly waters like those on Tweed to be fly purists, but for us ordinary mortals, who, I venture to say, are just as good sportsmen, and probably from force of circumstance better fishermen, as I understand the term, it is entirely a different matter. Besides, after all, is not a fly, artificial monstrosity though it is, really a \ bait,' just as much as any other lure which we try to persuade the fish to take into his mouth, the only difference being that it swims on or near the surface instead of in mid-water or near the bottom? (Signed) " R. Claude Cane." A plain spoken man is the Colonel. A very general opinion prevails that the shrimp is only a low water bait, but such has not been my experience. One year " Billy" was elected a member of the I Cachalots " and, having sold his horses well and being in generous mood, rented an extra stretch of water for three or four pounds to give us a bit more elbow-room. He was the fly fisherman of the confederacy—I say I was " because now he is an ardent shrimper—and opened the season with a couple of fish on I the small little lemon-grey." After this some days passed, and by the time we could get away from barracks again a big flood came down the river. It was pouring away by the time we started, and a glance at it out of the train made us hope to find it fishable. But alas! on arrival at the station we met the one-armed keeper, but for all his one arm a better fisherman than most men of my acquaintance with two. To see him tie a fly or mount a bait with his one hand while he held the hook in position with the hook at the end of his other arm, put our clumsy efforts to shame. He told us he had just been down to the river, which was far too high and very dark in colour. The only chance, he said, was a very big fly; but as for me and my shrimp, why I might as well return to Fermoy 192 FISHING AND PHILANDERING and have a cast on the barrack square. However, there we were, with three days' leave, we had come to fish and we intended to fish for all his evil prognostications. I began with a shrimp out of sheer obstinacy, and at once landed a trout of fib. If a trout could see it why should not a salmon? True the water was very high and very dark, but it was a clear peaty darkness, and I longed to kill a fish with a shrimp just to show what the little fellow could do, no matter what the water was like. And sure enough in the same pool, a few minutes later, I was into one. " Billy " arrived breathless, after a 300 yards' run in waders, just as I gaffed a bright nine- pounder. But all day long heavy showers in the distant hills were keeping the water up, and it was with anxious hearts that we fixed a mark in the river before turning in. Next morning it was as high as ever. I commenced by hooking a fish and losing him in a dark still pool, and almost immediately afterwards lost another. Five yards lower down another fastened and, as it was impossible to follow him, I had an anxious twenty minutes before a friend who was trout-fishing put the gaff into a nineteen-pounder, which had been some time in the river. " Billy" then borrowed a few shrimps in a shame-faced sort of way, and has never gone fishing without them since. On the last day of our leave the same climatic conditions prevailed—heavy showers and dark, high water. In the same still pool—it was the Quarry pool—in which I had hooked the fish the day before I got hold of a beauty. Twice he ran across to the other side and tried to climb out on the opposite bank, and once, after a fifty yards' sprint, threw himself, a glittering silver crescent, clear out of the water. Though there were a good many men looking on, none would take the responsibility of gaffing him, so I had to do it myself, a fresh-run fish of 22lbs., shaped like a fat trout. Then, while we were waiting for the trap at the bottom of our fishing, with almost the last cast of the day, I got a noble pull and hooked a game fish. His gameness ■m FISHING AND PHILANDERING 193 soon exhausted him, and " Billy," making a splendid shot with the gaff, threw him out, silver-bright, on to" the sloping bank. But even as he did so he himself slipped in: into about 4ft. of water. As he scrambled out he met the salmon scrambling in, each in desperate haste to return to his own element. A tremendous combat in the " catch-as-catch-can " style then ensued : now the fish was under " Billy," and he tried to shovel it up the bank with his hands : now it slipped from under him and he grappled at its head, its tail—anywhere. Powerless to intervene, shaking with laughter, I could only watch the Homeric contest in awe-struck silence. But at last the slippery customer proved too much for my friend, and, with a farewell flourish of a broad tail, disappeared into the depths between " Billy's" legs. Never shall I forget the agonised face of sorrow he turned to me; never, I regret to say, shall I forget the language he used. Slowly he disengaged the line from about his legs, and then from a blackberry bush, when suddenly I saw his face change. Grasping the line with determination in his mien, he shouted to me, " He's still on! Look out I tell you! He's on, man." | Then for goodness sake let go the line," I shouted, and, marvel of marvels, the fish was still firmly on right enough. But in a couple of minutes more the hold gave and the hook came away. I was really not so very sorry—not half so sorry as " Billy." I was very sorry he was so wet, but, as long as that fish got over the wound from the gaff, I cannot grudge him his escape. He will never have a closer one. Having eased my mind of the theory as to the benefits to be derived from rousing fish to a sense of their duty by stoning them, there is another form of disturbing them that I want to dispose of. How often one reads of people who, having hooked a fish, have proceeded to pull him away from the pool in order not to disturb others. Twice in one expedition this theory received such a severe shock that as far as I am concerned it ceases to be a theory at all, and I believe the spectacle 13 i94 FISHING AND PHILANDERING of a hooked fish and its antics to be beneficial rather than prejudicial to sport under certain circumstances. The expedition consisted largely of crocks: that is to say two-thirds of it were crocks: two of us had lately emerged from the convalescent home for officers at Osborne, the generous and deeply-appreciated gift of His Majesty the late King Edward VII. The third was my friend " R," who had fished with me in the " Cachalot" waters before, and with considerable success. My invalid friend " L " suffered from palpitations of the heart or some similar disease and had to be pretty careful what he did, so he decided to stick to trout fishing, as he seemed to think it was no time for the excitement of a first salmon. From the depths of our respective bath-chairs at Osborne we had talked a lot of fishing, and I had spoken somewhat disrespectfully of the " Cachalot Club " waters as " a couple of holes and some trickles," which had for some reason rung in " L's " ears and made him disbelieve the salmon part of the sport altogether. On the morning after our arrival " R " began in one of the " trickles," and I set to work in my favourite " hole," " L " contenting himself with watching me while he put up his trout-rod. Time n a.m. At 1.15 p.m. I R " came tramping up in his waders for lunch. We asked him whether he had got anything. " No: but there are fish in the river, which is something: I've seen a couple of good ones. Have you got any? " " Yes : I've got a few," I answered modestly enough: I had been thinking for the last hour over the composition of that answer to the question he would so surely put. " A few! What the deuce do you mean by a few ? " he fairly bellowed with surprise. Hnable to wait longer, Garrett picked up my Burberry " Slip-on," and there lay revealed to his astounded eyes four spring salmon, bright as mint shillings, 10J, io|, u-J, and 14 pounds in weight. Now the point of this story is neither to boast unduly nor to dilate profusely on the merits of this or that particular lure, but to combat a theory. Ninety- itai _ FISHING AND PHILANDERING 195 nine anglers out of every hundred maintain that when playing a fish it is advisable to coax and wheedle it away from other fish, lest Their Serene Highnesses should perchance be disturbed, and their appetite or curiosity thereby be diminished. This may be right. Who can say? But if those who say that the salmon sometimes takes our bait in rage are justified, then may not his rage, not to mention his curiosity, be increased by the eccentric behaviour of his brother, sister, wife, or cousin? Who shall say? One can only produce facts and leave the arguments to abler pens. The facts were as follows. The pool in which these four fish were killed is some 120 to 150 yards long, 30 broad, and about 10ft. deep. The fish, however, lay along a strip not more than forty yards long, and fairly close in under the bank. There is a barely perceptible current through it. Until I started fishing in it no one had attempted it for thirty years. It is of course our old friend the Quarry. The first fish took the first shrimp. For ten minutes or so it dashed about in the usual conventional manner, and was gaffed in the only place where it was possible to get down to the water, which had certainly been, from a fisherman's point of view, disturbed. Starting with another shrimp at the place of gaffing I was into fish No. 2 at the first cast. Now what price a playing fish frightening others ? What about the fish we see following a hooked fish? The third shrimp produced a third fish in exacdy the same place, all three being on the bank in less than fifty minutes from the time of our arrival. The fourth did not take for nearly an hour. After lunch we got two more, " R," at my urgent solicitation, discarding his fly, getting one of them. This was too much for | L," who had never killed a salmon, so next morning, fitted out with a double-handed 14ft. trout-rod of mine, he made his first essay and killed a small fish of 61bs. I got a 7-pounder, and " R " lost two fish in one of the streams. On the third day 1 R " killed a small fish and lost six others in some water below ours, very hospitably placed at our disposal for a ^^" 196 FISHING AND PHILANDERING day or two. " What have you fellows done ? " he enquired when we met in the evening. " Oh! we've got a good many," we answered—another form of reply which we had carefully thought out on the way home. " A good many ! " he roared. " How many ? " " Half- a-dozen," we exclaimed together. What a bag it might have been but for " R's " lost fish. " L," the novice, had begun with an 1 impounder in our bottom pool, a deep swirling maelstrom in miniature. While playing it his reel came off, and when I arrived to his assistance he had the rod in one hand and the reel in the other. I took the reel from him and for some time we mutually played the fish, until I managed to fix it on again. Walking up stream we arrived at a spot where we had seen a fish show under a bush the clay before. And here I would caution my friends how they cut down the bushes on the banks. True they very often get sadly in the way, but I am very sure that if they are ruthlessly cut down the fish shift away to other spots. I told " L " to try him (yet there have been people who have accused me of selfishness), pointing out where he should stand, and he had him first cast: the same weight as the first. Two fish to my none, and, in spite of my anxiety for his sport, I must confess it gave me furiously to think. In the Quarry pool I got a 16-pounder, and he immediately afterwards another of 910s.. Three to my one, and him a novice. However, on the way down in the evening I got level with a couple of fish of 7 and 10Jibs. On the fourth day I fished my neighbour's water, the only incident being that a cow ate a good bit of my " Slip-on " when I wasn't looking. On walking up to the Club water I met " R," who had one fish. He sat on the bank watching me, and when I hooked and lost a fish, offered me a lot of gratuitous and extremely sarcastic advice anent the way to play fish, which proved so valuable that half-an-hour later he very kindly gaffed a 10-pounder for me. It was then late, but we had a try in the bottom pool, when he got a peal and I got a 14- pounder, which played like a sea-trout, leaping four FISHING AND PHILANDERING 197 times clear out of the water at the end of fifty yards of line. After this our sport fell off with the improvement in the weather. We continued to get a fish or two daily, one a 20-pounder, but they proved very hard to tempt. I The tender nibblers would not touch the bait." " L's " fifth fish was a 24-pounder, larger than anything I had ever killed, and only exceeded in the Club waters by a 24|-pounder caught by " Jonathan " on a " Devon," and a 27-pounder killed by Garrett. Then " L " had to leave us, and " R " and I went down to some hotel water for a couple of days before he had to return to England. On the first day we got a couple of fish, and spent the second with my good friends Col. and Mrs. " S." on their water. In their hall reposed two magnificent salmon of 44^1bs. and 46JIDS., both of which they had killed in their own pools, causing our hopes to rise indeed as all four of us made our way to the river. We did not catch anything, and § R " unfortunately lost the handle of his gaff, but we learnt a new form of jam-tart for luncheon, a new place for home-spun, and a new method of getting out an extra yard or two of line. They insisted on my trying every fly in their books as well as every one in my own, and I only used a shrimp for half-an-hour and without result, the spot chosen being entirely unsuited to my methods. The Colonel looked on for some time in silence : then he spoke. " My dear fellow : really : well, I have heard of the fish you kill and read your letters in the " Field " : but do you mean to tell me honestly that that is how you fish: all I can say is that down in this part of the river it would be sheer waste of time. Not one fish in a dozen sees your bait. We sometimes use a prawn on a ' tackle' and occasionally get a fish on it, but your way, well, to put it mildly " " Don't put it at all, Colonel," said I, 1 I'm sure to get a fish before we reach the end of this pool." Unfortunately I couldn't get a salmon to play up and prove me right, and so ended the first lesson, leaving the Colonel one iq8 FISHING AND PHILANDERING up. But retribution sharp, sudden, and severe was very close at hand. This was to have been the end of the trip, and, were it not for the fact that I recently read somewhere that egotism was the outstanding feature of the character of Napoleon Buonaparte, it would also be the end of the recital; yet quite apart from my own share in it, the lesson conveyed by what happened next day is so all-important that I mean to detail it in full. To begin with, my friend " R " went off by the morning mail, and I felt sad and went away to pack my own rods and tackle. That done I designed a game of croquet, as Mrs. " S " had challenged me to play her at the Club that afternoon, and it seemed to me that I was short of practise. But in the hall of the hotel I met the Admiral—now a most honoured member of the Cachalot Club—who had come over to try the hotel waters, and who wanted me to go down and show him the river and the best pools. I of course assented—when will my character be fully appreciated—and took him down to the hole below the killing hatches. There, to my surprise, were Col. and Mrs. " S," sitting side by side on a bench glaring darkly at the eddying waters. In order to fully convey my moral, I must rub in the fact that this lady and gentleman had lived on the banks of the river for some ten years, and that they were accounted as good and as successful anglers as any that ever wetted a line in it. They told us they had fished half-a-dozen different flies, a regulation prawn as big as a small lobster, covered with a " cheval-de-frise " of hooks, and a spoon which looked like an animated looking-glass when Mrs. " S " gave it a despairing swim. Only the evening before a dear old gentleman had laid down the law in the hotel smoking- room that after a spoon no fish would look at anything else for a couple of hours. I had a few shrimps in my pocket, left over from the day before, and urged my friends to try them. " Bait the hook well: this fish will bite." ("Much ado about nothing.") But no: their backs were broken : not a fish would look at anything : let me FISHING AND PHILANDERING 199 take one of their rods and try myself if I liked. Within three minutes the rod was bending and bowing its welcome to a 5lb. peal. "Wonderful," said the Colonel: " Marvellous," said his wife : and " good," said the Admiral. ! Nothing would content them but that I should try again, and in ten minutes a 13-pounder was kicking on the grass. The Admiral and I then went back to the hotel for lunch, after which I rejoined my friends. The car that was to take us to croquet had not turned up, but the Colonel had experienced some difficulty in threading the rather stale shrimps and would I have another try? Before the car came I had two more fish, of 7lbs. and 14IDS., and finished up with two games of croquet. The moral is twofold: the irresistible appeal, even under the most unfavourable circumstances, of the small shrimp, fished near the bottom, and the non-disturbance of other fish by playing fish, for all four were caught standing in one spot, with the same length of line let down to the meeting of two currents. If the recollection of these two points should ever serve to tighten a loose 'line the perpetual ego may be excused. I almost forgot the third lesson, which I preached for the edification of my friends " R " and " L." A fish which followed my bait utterly refused to take it. " I will put my hook in thy nose," nevertheless thought I; so while we munched our sandwiches my gillie flung in two or three chunks of rock some twenty yards higher up. Ten minutes afterwards that fish took and was taken. My friend Colonel " S " was so impressed that he said he should slightly alter his name and change it to Shrimp- I envy not him that eats better meat than I do, nor him that is richer, or that wears better clothes than I do: I envy nobody but him, and him only, that catches more fish than I do. Izaak Walton. 2oo FISHING AND PHILANDERING A Blank Day. Rumour says there are fish in the river to-day, Which I see little reason to doubt: What remains to be seen Is quite different—I mean Will those fishes consent to come out. Whether rumour spoke truth or whether she lied Is a problem unsolved it would seem : But I'm ready to swear, If they ever were there, They're still in and not out of the stream. CHAPTER XVI The wise find delight in water. Confucius. Slave! I have set my life upon a cast. Richard HI. Rain, rain, O dear Zeus, down on the ploughed fields. Marcus AureUus. Get thee up, eat and drink; for there is a sound of abundance of rain. /. Kings, XVIII. 41. The Bard of Athy—A visit to Jonathan—Age of spawning fish— Fishermen's veracity—A dry season—Blank days—The Lochy— The Deveron—The Avon—Salmon on trout tackle—A collision—A lion—Tommy—His patience—His driving—His wife's jewellery— A coincidence—The Curate's trout—That wonderful child. Though yielding to no one in my admiration of Shakespeare and Bacon, I must confess to having been completely disinterested in the furious altercation as to whether the former was the latter, or the latter was the former, or whether the latter wrote the former or vice versa until a few days ago, when the importance of the discussion was brought vividly home to me in a very unpleasant manner. For my friend " The Bard of Athy " tells me he intends to write no more, but to content himself in future in criticising my works. He gives as his reason his fear lest posterity should attribute his work to me, or rather mine to him, since all my endeavours to 202 FISHING AND PHILANDERING make him publish his efforts have so far proved fruitless. What the world will lose should he continue in this resolve is too dreadful to contemplate, and in order that at least some of his poetry may see the light, I have included some«of his verses among my own in this volume. As, in my opinion, they are of equal merit, or at all events, very nearly up to the standard of mine, I am prepared to present a handsome prize to such of my readers as succeed in picking out the " Bard's " productions. I have just returned from my annual visit to " Jonathan." In most respects I found him very much " in statu quo " as regards fishing. A month in Norway has left him colder than ever with regard to fishing with any other bait than feathers, and what will happen to him should the plumage bill become law I fear to guess. We argued for hours and through many feet of glorious tobacco on the question of whether salmon feed in fresh water. We tried new rods in the passage. We discussed reels. He showed me his new shaped hooks, straight below the barb, which he claims improve the chances of firm hooking by 50 per cent. But, above everything else, we talked of the new discoveries which the application of the microscope to the scales of salmon has brought to light. One item anent these discoveries is less astonishing than it would seem to be at first sight. The fact seems proved that salmon do not invariably return to the rivers to spawn at the same ages. Well, do men all get married at the same age ? Then why is it so wonderful that some salmon should remain bachelors so much longer than others ? Yet there is one fact that seems generally overlooked—the great runs of grilse, or peal, as they are called in Ireland. Does not this point to the fact that the natural bent of salmon is to return within a year of their first descent into the sea, and that the other cases are the exception rather than the rule ? At one of the annual dinners of the Fly Fishers' Club, the President made a noble defence against some of the FISHING AND PHILANDERING 203 charges made against our craft. We who have so long and so patiently borne " the slings and arrows of outrageous jibes " at the hands of our brothers who hunt and shoot might, he said, comfort ourselves with the soothing reflection that we were at least as truthful as politicians or certain North Polar explorers. Here, at least, was a standard, since Plato laid it down that no politician was honest even in his day. It is true they may have improved since: very few things are certain. Swollen with pride and confidence from the President's words, I determined to confute at least one of the base charges most frequently brought against us by those poor creatures who do not fish—that we tell not of the lean years, delighting only to boast of those of the bursting creels. So I open my fishing diary that it may confirm the record, carried only too clearly in my memory though it is, of a terrible sequence of blank days. They began on the Lochy, one of the best, as it is one of the most beautiful, of Scotch rivers. My host rented two beats, for which he paid the nominal sum of £600 for two months— a mere nothing. Over many a bottle of '63 Martinez had he told me of the bags of former years. Never was visit more eagerly anticipated. But, alas! and alas! towards the end of May the skies waxed bluer and bluer, till in June it seemed as if it could never rain again. Foolish youths and maidens clad in flannel, armed with cricket bats and tennis racquets, met me with fatuous smiles and senseless comments on the ridiculous weather, insensible to the awful omen conveyed by the fact that if we were now confronted by the climate of Egypt, we might at any moment be smitten by one of its plagues. Seven days I fished with every imaginable device. Amongst other lures, I had invested in a bran new boxful of special Lochy flies, and was rewarded by seeing my rod bend once—a mere passing nod—only to straighten again immediately, as though ashamed of its momentary weakness. That was the beginning. Worse was to come. 2o4 FISHING AND PHILANDERING An outpouring of the above woes to " Jonathan 1 brought a soothing answer and an invitation to fish the Deveron in October. He also added that two of his sisters would be there: one of them—however. Then and there I began my prayers for rain. Returning daily throughout the autumn manoeuvres, soaked to the skin, to a dripping tent, the very embodiment of Mr. Manta- lini's immortal " body," I hugged myself in the delightful anticipation of dark, heavy water foaming and curling and eddying down through " Sunnybraes " to " Moses' Pot," and fell asleep, to dream of 40 pounders that refused to be packed in my biggest fishing bag. Enough. But for the sisters there would have been little sweetness in the uses of adversity on those eleven blank days. Total forward, eighteen. Early the following year, accompanied by another kind friend and famous fisherman, I arrived on the banks of the Hampshire Avon to fish the water which then belonged to Mr. J. Turner Turner. At last the water was right, at all events, and as we lighted our after-breakfast pipes and stepped gracefully forth, armed with our trusty rods, hope sprang eternal, and no shadow of a doubt about it. " That hope and patience which I wish to all fishers." But it gradually sank lower and lower, till it flickered out as I returned empty-bagged. We fished on for two more days, but I did nothing. Three blank days. Total forward, twenty-one. A day off from the hill to try and break my luck in the North Esk made twenty- two, and finished that year. The twenty-third was an attempt to kill a salmon in the Avon before sailing for India, but, as that river was then spread out over the adjoining fields, that also proved abortive. The exigencies of the roster brought me home in a year's time to serve at the Depot, but the authorities recognised the necessity of a little leave first, and " Jonathan "again called me to the Deveron. For eight days did I both toil and spin, and during the latter part of the performance once got hold of a fish by the tail, but soon let go again. True, I caught some trout, but nary a FISHING AND PHILANDERING 205 " saumon." But that was the end of it. Thirty-one consecutive blank days. In the next sixteen I had sixty- two fish, but this is a record of empty bags, not full ones. Then there is that nauseating accusation that the fish we lose are always the biggest. But I can only think of three occasions in a quarter of a century when I think the fish lost was a really big fellow. But a brother officer of mine had a totally different experience. He went forth after trout, and did not return for mess. At 11 p.m., as he was still absent, I turned in and fell asleep, composing a suitable epitaph. Shortly after which he woke me. I lighted a candle and a pipe. White as the paper I write on, he told me of a three hours' fight he had had with a huge salmon on his trout tackle. In the darkness he had played it almost dead, when suddenly the hook flew back, and he would never get over it—never. But next night history repeated itself. That settled it. No more trouting for him. He spent the next day ordering a salmon outfit from the catalogues of most of the English and Scotch makers, and in the evening, hoping to " pull out Leviathan with an hook " before his Brobdingnagian kit arrived, I accompanied him to the river. But I never have any luck. Just as it became too dark to see, a loud shout of triumph from my friend brought me hastily to his side as his long legs scurried down the bank. In a minute or two he turned and appeared to be getting some of his own back. Then a minute later his little trout reel would give a pitiful screech, and away he went again. At the third repetition I began to smell something very much like a rat. The stream at this point split into two heavy currents, midway between them being some large piles, whose noses just jutted out of the water. With his fly tightly fixed in one of these, the foaming torrent in between occasionally gave his line a tug-tug-tug. Instantly he gave a little to the expected rush, when the stream would catch the belly of his line, tearing it off the reel in the most convincing manner in ^tie darkness. When I could see no way out of it but to prove to him 206 FISHING AND PHILANDERING what was the matter, if we were to get any sleep that night, I hardened my heart and spoiled his three night's sport and the legend of a fish that would have lasted his lifetime. There were three of us fishing that night. As we drove home through the inky darkness we discovered that our Jarvey was as drunk as Davey's sow. I reproached him for not having any lights. "Ah! never fear, your honour: sure, I can see better in the " Slap! Bang! Crash! As I slowly began to realise that I was not dead after all, a lion suddenly roared within two yards of where I lay prone in the ditch. I thereupon lay proner till someone had the unparalleled audacity to strike a match, when we discovered we had run into the Royal Mail, which in those days was drawn by an ass, whose insensate bray I had mistaken for the majestic voice of the king of beasts. After collecting as many letters and parcels as we could find, and solacing the driver of the ass cart, we eventually reached the Curragh at midnight in that condition known in the service as " fed up." Why weren't we killed? I don't know. Yet another occasion occurs to me when anybody but subalterns or very junior captains must inevitably have come to a bad end. My lifelong friend " Tommy " (he gave me the table at which I am writing) essayed to become an angler, and, since he owned a pony and trap, I very kindly undertook his education. But as he had less patience than a cobra with a stomach ache, he never attained to any very lofty summit in the art. If the trout took at once, well and good; he remained and flicked them out. But if they kept him waiting, well, he couldn't afford to waste his time whatever a lazy chap like me could do, and nothing would content him but he must go home and add up the mess accounts, or polish his keys, or some such inanity. After careful thought I saw a way out of being dragged off like this, and on the next occasion pointed out to him that we were likely to get more fish if we separated, with the j result that on arrival at the bridge he went off upstream, FISHING AND PHILANDERING 207 while I made my way down. As the trout in my part were rising freely, I did not exactly hurry, so that when I got back I found '' Tommy " troutless, and in a temper which would have compared badly with that of a buffalo accidentally tickled up by snipe-shot, an incident which it has been my privilege to view, so I know. We did the first two or three miles in recordytime, during which I gained an insight into " Tommy's " opinion of my character which was entirely novel to me. His candour was complete, while he lashed his suffering pony whenever he paused for breath till we literally flew along. We were coming to an awkward turn out of the main road, and, just at the moment when I was about to open my mouth for the first time to beg him to shut off steam, he suddenly threw the reins at his feet and clasped his hands over his eyes. I judged he had been struck blind, but managed to pick them up and steer round the bend, after which " Tommy " explained that a fly had suddenly flown into each eye. He is one of the most careful, methodical men in the world. Lunching with him shortly after his marriage, he had been showing me his wife's jewellery, contained in dozens of cases, locked in a drawer of his safe. He had just finished when his wife called him into another room. It only took a few seconds to transfer the whole store to my pockets, leaving the cases just as they were, but I had barely sat down again when he returned. He wanted me to go out into the garden then, or up to the mess, and carefully locked the safe, putting the keys in his pocket. But before reaching the door a thought seemed to strike him. He returned, opened the safe, hastily counted the cases, once more locked it, and again approached the door. But again he paused: again he unlocked the safe: opened a case: nothing in it: opened another: equally empty: and a second later he sprang at my throat. But you want to know a man well before you can play hanky-panky with his wife's diamonds like that. Looking through my fishing book once it occurred to me that an interesting article might be made up of all the 2o8 FISHING AND PHILANDERING ! most wonderful things that had happened to my friends in their angling experiences. So I wrote to them. I regret to say that the first yarn I received in reply was sufficient to deter me from going any further in that train of thought. Yet a coincidence that occurred to me and another member of the " Cachalots " was so strange that I am sorry now I did not write down the other answers. The last day of an unsuccessful trip had arrived. I wanted a fish to travel with badly—it gives one such an air, that long straw torpedo-shaped package—and I had recourse to—hush—worms, in spite of William Shakespeare's advice to " fish not with this melancholy bait," though he was alluding to another sort. Just before lunch came the pluck, pluck of an eel, and an eel it proved to be—nasty brute. In went another bunch, and very soon came quite a different " how do you do, pluck, pluck, pluck." " A salmon for a sovereign," I said to my friend S., " come and see." So my friend came and I struck. Up came a salmon and an eel. The former apparently merely for a look at the scenery, for in a second he was gone, while the eel remained. Later on in the afternoon another " Cachalot," " The Squire," arrived with three fish. He said, " I got one in rather a funny way. When I struck and he came up to the surface, I'm blowed if there wasn't a big eel alongside trying to pull the shrimp out of the salmon's mouth." This fighting for food with such low creatures as eels on the part of such gentlemen as salmon at one time, and their absolute refusal to have it at another, seems to introduce jealousy as a factor to be reckoned with in fishing problems. Kipling points out that " the blackbuck is stalked through the bullock." So why should we not let down an imitation eel alongside our shrimps or worms. Almost as wonderful is the case of the incomprehensible trout. The theatre of war was a deepish gin-clear stream, wherefrom it was considered possible only to take trout by the most advanced and up-to-date methods. The only alternative was to dap—to peer cautiously over ■s FISHING AND PHILANDERING 209 the bank, to gently insinuate the point of the rod, with only a foot of line hanging from the top, through interstices of the bushes: to let the natural bluebottle drop lightly on the surface and travel the foot or two it could go in a life-like manner. No: not there. One more try: no: and we are off to some other haunt to try for another. My host and hostess had gone to a garden party, my refusal to attend which had earned me the unqualified admiration of their eleven-year-old daughter. We had struck up an alliance from the day of my arrival, when, having found the bachelor's bath full of gold fish, sooner than disturb them I had rung for a tub in my room. She said she would take me out fishing. I sparred for time, obtaining a respite till tea, but after that not an instant. The very slowest of walks down through the sloping outskirts of the park made one as hot as a marathon in a burning fiery furnace. But that remorseless child led on. Eventually she said, " That's where Mr. Smith is always crawling about trying to catch fish." A desperate place to put a floating fly indeed, though presenting possibilities to the dapper. With infinite care I twice managed to let an old bluebottle pass over it to my satisfaction. Not at home evidently. " Let me try," said my small guide. So I gave her the rod and helped her to pass it through the leaves, whereupon the fly bobbed on the water, only to bob off it again, hanging three inches above the surface like the captive balloon over Cove Common. " I think it's best to rest it." She suited the action to the word, and down went the bluebottle with a splash: then the foot or two of line tightened as the fly was borne down stream till it came to a full stop, when she rested the rod on a convenient bough. The bluebottle lay on its back: from either side of it there stretched a tiny ripple where the gentle current laved its wings: a more obviously tethered, artificially held, unattractive looking bait you never saw. So I loaded a pipe and lit it, thinking of Antony and the "'yellow-firmed fishes,'' and ' 'the hook that sooner or later 14 2io FISHING AND PHILANDERING is in every man's nose," though I could see the fly out of the corner of my eye. I had scarcely thrown away the match when from under the bank there shot a formless shadow: the bluebottle was gone, and in a twinkling I had the rod out of the indignant child's hand. We had no net, and the bank was very awkward, but eventually she held the rod while I leant far, far over, until I managed to scoop the Curate's trout, played to a standstill, far away into the buttercups and daisies. He weighed 2lb. i ioz. But why he took that fly must ever remain a mystery, though my small companion saw nothing wonderful about it. She was a queer child that, even as children go. As we made our way home through the lush meadows of that marvellous June, she asked me questions beside which Staff College problems became the merest ABC. '' And have you got a horse ? " I had. '' What do you call it? " " The Moated Grange." " What a funny name for a horse. Why do you call it that? " I ex^ plained that I did not always call it that: that, in fact, I had a system, by which I altered its name to that of the residence of the young lady with whom at the time I was in love. After a short pause to consider the merits of this form of nomenclature, she began again. " And has the girl who lives at jj The Moated Grange ' got any horses? " I told her that she had—three hunters and a fast-trotting pony. Again she pondered, till I thought she had forgotten the subject, but just as we reached the house she said in a meditative tone, 1 I wonder if she calls any of her horses Tournay Barracks? " I had to admit that I feared she did not. The child seemed relieved: I verily believe she had designs on me for herself. Well, well, " Time heals all wounds," but it is the meantime that matters, isn't it. FISHING AND PHILANDERING 211 You must endure worse luck some time, or you will never make a good angler. Izaak Walton. Dry Fly Fishing. Calm and peaceful through the meadows Flows the slow and placid stream O'er its golden bed of gravel, Clear as crystal doth it seem. In the fields the kine are grazing, In the blue sky soars a- lark, In the depths the caddis hatching Whence the May fly will embark On it's brief ephemeral voyage, Some to swim, and some to drown, Covering bushes, reeds and river With a living amber down. Stately Drakes come gaily sailing With their cocked wings, grey and green, Fat three pounders cease their " tailing," Never such a rise has been. Phloph ! how gentle, yet what business In that sound there seems to be : I have got ten brace already, And it's surely time for tea : Yet there's something too inviting In that ring to leave behind; Just one more to break my record If the fates continue kind. Creeping slowly, slowly nearer, Now I think I reach him may : That was almost up I fancy, Just another yard we'll say : Right: it drops two feet above him— Phloph! Splash! Grrrrrrr! Oh ! sweet check reel: Trusty, bending, bowing split-cane: Only fishermen so feel. When he fails to reach the weed bed, Dives he for the sunken pile: Makes a maddened dash for freedom For the weir-gate, like a file. Gallant fish, your day is ended : Never more you'll rule the pool, Scattering silvery glancing minnows Through the pleasant chalk-stream cool. 212 FISHING AND PHILANDERING Slowly shortened line till grasped Is the roomy landing-net: Back the point goes over shoulder And you're in it—five I'll bet. Five it is and one ounce over : Rowland Ward shall make your case; Then amongst my other trophies You shall have the pride of place. CHAPTER XVII Just one cast more: how many a year Beside how many a pool and stream, Beneath the falling leaves and-sere, I've sighed, reeled up, and dreamed my dream. Andrew Lang. A rod case—The point of view—High water—Hooked in the thumb—The Crown Princess—New and cheap water for the Club —Lightning—Last casts—How many—Happy endings—The charm of fishing. I have been given one of those beautiful yellow leather rod cases, and thrill with pride on the platform when I see ordinary trippers and tourists gaze on it with wonder and me with awe. I have always regarded a pair of guns as the hall-mark of a sportsman's respectability, and if I took to shooting again should certainly get a new leather and brass-cornered double case for my old 12-bore, in place of the single canvas one it has lived in for so many years. For this leather rod case has set me aspiring once more. Yet it worries me in some slight degree: it seems dangerous to trust it to the eccentricities of a guard's van; yet it takes up a lot of room in one's compartment. My new fishing partner has, however, solved the difficulty by insisting on its going in the van. Nothing matters very much, but a very little matters a great deal. It is all a question of the point of view. The other 213 214 FISHING AND PHILANDERING day crossing the river opposite Tilbury with a subaltern who had never gone down to the sea in ships, we saw a tender leaving the side of an ocean liner flying the " Blue Peter." The tender was crowded with the friends and relations who had been seeing their friends and relations off, and her sides fluttered with pocket handkerchiefs. " Look how they're cheering," said the boy. Poor souls: far more likely sobbing their hearts out. I never see a ship starting without thinking of those lines of Whyte Melville's: ** Sad hearts are on the sea to-night, But sadder on the shore." Smiles and tears: they are very near akin: if the sun always shone we should never have seen the stars. Memory is always most bitter when it is most sweet. Let us get back to the bank. As the fame of the " Cachalot Club " spread, more and more of my friends expressed their desire to become members, until it became necessary to look about and see if we could not acquire a little more frontage. One year the fish had run up a month earlier than usual, and my friends had enjoyed good sport before I could get over. But when I did, there was any amount of water at all events: indeed, my gillie, Garrett, pessimistic as an old crow with the toothache, declared it would not fish for three days, so I determined to spend the next morning on reconnaissance work. A subaltern in my regiment, whose people lived on the bank, assured me that his father owned some splendid pools, to which we were welcome, while a friend of his said we might also fish his water, the next above. He was to meet me three miles down the line, and with light hearts I and my servant started on our route march to view the promised land, or rather water. And splendid water it proved; but alas! most of it quite unfishable, on account of high wooded banks and appalling naked snags just where a fish would lie. When we had reconnoitred it and tried a few casts, it was time au FISHING AND PHILANDERING 215 to go to lunch chez my subaltern, and as the fishing appeared somewhat problematical and the port decidedly inviting, " a drink like nectar; indeed, too good for any but us anglers," with an excellent anchorage in a cosy billiard-room, what time we embarked some coffee, I permitted myself to be seduced into giving an imitation of George Gray for half an hour or so. And that with a water fining down and fish in it! I blush now when I think of it, for on returning to the stream, where it was just possible to fish a bait, a fish showed. Hats off! The first fish of the season: you will never have any luck unless you do. That is one of my two superstitions. The other is my firm belief that there is a fairy in a billiard ball. Begin to sympathise with the other fellow: "Hard luck, old man! By Jove, they are going bad for you," and from that moment they will begin going rotten for you. Mark my words. It is so. But this fish, albeit I. had been so polite, refused to acknowledge the Irish shrimp on the English hook (one of a dozen sent me for trial by Mr. Sheringham) by even so much as a flicker of his tail: but I had also been presented with the " dernier cri " in spinning reels. " It was given to me by a most honest and excellent angler," while Mr. Mal- loch, of Perth, had, in acordance with my request, forwarded to me a bottle of his " Kingfisher " baits. " Scotch, please," must have been what that fish meant when he snowed, for he wolfed one of those baits in a manner which fixed eight out of the nine hooks firmly in his mouth. What happened to the ninth? " Wait and see." The water was heavy, the fish lively, and the " brushwood boy "—I mean banks—precluded any pursuit. At which moment the latest word in spinning wheels gave a deep sigh, struck work, and resolved into silence: in other words, something went wrong with the works, the check refused to act, and the salmon went freewheeling down towards the mouth of the river, while I cut my fingers trying to control the line and prevent its over-winding. After ten minutes of intimate acquaintance with the precise feelings of an early Christian martyr 216 FISHING AND PHILANDERING with a lighted match between his fingers, matters began to smooth out, and my servant took up a strong position at the foot of the bank. It would appear that I am fated to go through life accompanied by people with a penchant for playing cup-and-ball with salmon. I have told the story of the fish which | Billy " gaffed and released without baiL This time history tried to repeat itself, but just failed. For though my man duly gaffed the fish, only to let it slip back into the water, he threw himself bodily on to it, the only marvel being that he did not turn it into a postage stamp. Even so, the gallant fish would have won its way to a continuation of the proceedings had I not by dint of roaring at him induced my man to put his fingers through its gills and so carry it up the bank and well into the field behind. Now your patience with regard to that ninth hook reaps its reward, for it was fastened as securely into my servant's thumb as the other eight were into the fish. The subsequent proceedings, involving as they did a surgical operation with a new fishing knife (also a present from the same good friend), and a flow of language which would have made a bargee blush, cannot be done justice to in these pages. Suffice it that a fresh-run 14 pounder was the order of merit for that day, a day on which we had been told we might as well fish in the road. But even as we drove home the heavens opened and the rains descended, and for three whole days even I had to admit that fishing was impossible—the more readily perhaps in that there were compensations. This is a tale of fishing, but to make it intelligible it is necessary to state that on the first morning" of the flood a friend residing in a neighbouring castle, whilom one of the best bats who ever tapped for Middlesex, rode over to see me, accompanied by a vision before whom I fell flat on the spot, a lady who can only be likened to a Crown Princess, by which name I christened her that day. Also staying in the castle was a dark and sinister man who had come over to fish, with whom the Crown Princess had made a bet that she would get a fish before he did. After i mm FISHING AND PHILANDERING 217 dinner she enlisted me under her banner, and I promised her the first I could catch to win her bet. . Next day my landlord introduced me to a farmer, who said he owned a field above and another below the bridge hard by our lodge, very handy for a morning or an evening cast, and with one little hole above the bridge, some thirty yards long, of which I had often heard. He appeared disappointed when I offered him a sovereign for his fishing, saying he thought I would have given him three. This, I pointed out, had never occurred to me, but in a weak moment I said I would give him another sovereign if I killed a fish in his water—a fatal blunder—! for on the first day the river fished I killed a handsome 15-pounder, which was at once despatched by hand to the Crown Princess, arriving just before the departure of my hated rival, but in time to extinguish any hopes a mere civilian might still have entertained after the military had entered into competition. Next day I had just put the gaff into an eight pounder from the same place when an angry voice haled me over a gorse bush on the opposite bank, threatening me with various horrible penalties for having waded in and fished the hole, which was undoubtedly on his side of the river. Verily a soft answer turneth away wrath, for after a few moments' conversation when we met on my way home, the owner of the raucous voice not only consented to rent me his side of the fishing for half a sovereign, but also said he would cut down some bushes, and so enable it to be fished without the necessity of wading. Thus by a little civility and £2. 10s. od., our "Cachalot Club" had acquired yet another pool on the river. I say had, for it is no longer ours, and the word is all the more apt in that it possesses a double meaning, for if ever a man was " had " it was me that sunny day. To cut a long story short, neither of these riparian gentlemen had the smallest claim to the fishing they had so obligingly let, which, in fact, belonged to a friend of mine, who had often generously given me leave on his other water lower down. 218 FISHING AND PHILANDERING However, from that time on the fishing improved, and we got a few fish running up to 2olb. and 2lib. before a series of most unpleasant thunderstorms sent the river up and kept the fish down for the remainder of our brief leave. I am afraid of lightning. It altogether ruined any enjoyment I got from the South African campaign, and I am not ashamed to own it. On our last day three of us were fishing the Quarry Pool side by side, while an obnoxious thunderstorm was coming up cloud over cloud. I announced my intention of beating the retreat, but my companions merely scoffed, continuing to cast while I reeled up. Suddenly a blinding flash, accompanied by a simultaneous appalling crash, as it seemed, over our very heads, sent us all three scurrying off: nor could I help smiling, even in the midst of my alarm, at the pace with which those long-legged friends of mine made for a handy house. Everyone who has had a blank day—and what angler breathes who has not—must remember how he hoped against hope, even up to the last cast on the most hopeless day. The late Francis Francis' advice about keeping the fly in the water should be ever present in one's ears, and the chief charm perhaps of the craft we love so well is that the only time one cannot possibly expect a rise is when one's fly is out of the water. Even so I have known a salmon jump up and take a shrimp caught up on a twig and dangling some six inches out of the wet. But it is more particularly on last casts that my thoughts are dwelling at present. One always wants to fish one more pool, try one more fly, fish the last stream down once again, or even have just half a dozen more casts. My plan is to allow myself five—^-my lucky number—more casts: then one more for a fish, one more for luck, and one more for a lady, and if that won't bring them up nothing will, and I turn regretfully homewards. Many and many a time one's last casts prove futile, but the few occasions when they do not more than compensate us, I have been deeply pitied by a fair creature for a blank day, but when I told her of my thirty-one con- To face p. 218. FISHING AND PHILANDERING 219 secutive blank days, the dainty brows ascended into the pretty fringe, while a look came over her face something like that which came over the face of poor Dan Leno's horse when that noble quadruped looked at him as much as to say, " Good Heavens! What is it? " On one occasion I had fished hard all through a warm spring day till 4 p.m. without seeing a fish. Then I went to beg a cup of tea from my landlord's sister. She appeared quite shocked on hearing I was going to surrender and walk home. As an inducement to keep the flag flying, she offered to drive me the two and a half miles to the station if I would only have another try. This was far too good an offer to refuse, and when, an hour later, she appeared on the bridge with the car, I was there to meet her with two fresh-run salmon lying in silvery splendour against the emerald background of the grass by the roadside. A last cast once further confirmed my unconventional theory that the playing of a fish, far from frightening others, acts on them in some sort of '[ sherry and bitters '' fashion. Again and again have I noticed this, and the following incident added further testimony. I had arrived at our lowest and favourite pool, which I fished down twice as carefully as possible. With a train to catch, time was of considerable importance, but instead of winding up and then looking at my watch, I consulted it while my shrimp was trailing below me. As I returned it to my pocket the waters parted, a broad brown back appeared, and I was " in him." Ten minutes later I gaffed a nine pounder. Whilst playing him another fish jumped three or four times, so I fished it down again, and duly caught a beautiful twelve pounder, and a later train. On yet another occasion the unexpected came to pass. On a Monday of a week which was to be devoted to three days' racing and a two-day croquet tournament, I, with a fellow-guest, was sent to try our luck in the river. Johnny Lydon, of Galway, had sent me a few shrimps, but the stream had " never been so low in the memory of I 220 FISHING AND PHILANDERING the oldest inhabitant." We did not expect to do more than spend a quiet day by the riverside while waiting the arrival of two young ladies who were coming to swell the house-party, and whom we were to take back in the motor. My friend's rod had to be spliced, but before it was up that gin-clear water had yielded me a small salmon, a bright enough fish for September. I said: " Will you put on a fly or catch fish? " He preferred the former, and we did nothing more until 5 o'clock. It was very hot, and I was sitting on a weir gate while the little shrimp was busily fishing the stream below: on the very point of winding up—indeed, I had half risen to do so—"pluck, pluck," and I was into another, the last fish of that season. There is the charm. Any cast may be the one that will set your rod bending, your reel screaming, and your blood tingling through your veins. So fish it out, the last cast as carefully and expectantly as the first. Try everywhere, try everything, and try your best all the time: then if still unsuccessful, you will at least have the satisfaction of knowing that, though you could not command success, you have at least deserved it. I love any discourse of rivers, and fish, and fishing: the time spent in such discourse passes away very pleasantly. Izaak Walton. Night Fishing. Have you ever been out fishing In the dead of night in dreams ? Ever cast a fly or spun a bait In Lethe's tranquil streams? Where the fish are huge and hideous And indulge in wondrous play, And keep you animated By their metamorphic way. FISHING AND PHILANDERING 221 An incident occurred to me As lately as last night, A mixture of good sport, true love, Mad jealousy, and fright: Which for your benefit I'll try To tell as best I may, When you'll agree with me night-fishing Easily beats day. I was staying with my best friend, Who was anxious I should wed A very charming widow, Whose husband wasn't dead : Whom I'd never seen or heard of, But whom she declared would suit: Who excelled in mathematics - And extraction of cube root. I was sent down to the river With a gillie very glum, While she motored to the station For to meet my fate, who'd come To spend a week or two and see If I could really flirt Up to my reputation : A remark which I thought pert. The river was in order : I put up a Lemon Grey : Though some telegraphic wires and poles Were sadly in the way, And sang weird tunes as o'er them quivered Countless telegrams, While the reeds all made right-angles, squares, And parallelograms. I had scarcely cast my fly when I Was in a splendid fish, Which showed antipathy to being Got ready for the dish, And sulking lay quiescent In despite my steady strain, When up the motor snorted -^ With the ladies from the tram. ill 222 FISHING AND PHILANDERING One glance sufficed to demonstrate The stranger'd do for me : Good-looking, prepossessing, And as rich as rich couldbe. The wires festooned and coiled until Transformed into an arch, And played, with variations, Handelmehlson's wedding march. But what is this ? The water Into golden syrup turns, The fish becomes so desperate The line the treacle burns : When, springing high into the air, The fish became a bird : And even in my dream I thought That seemed a bit absurd. The more I reeled the further flew That crimson coloured goose, Chewing between his mandibles My fly, now working loose : I ran like mad along the road To try and stop a break, The motor buzzing after, Till the road became a lake. My glum and silent gillie now Said " Mind the blooming wire," But, do my best, that wretched bird Flew higher still and higher: Until it fell, stone-dead it seemed, Hung up, a tangled mass, The line all looped around the poles, Me looking like an ass. But luckily a house hard by I thought might let me shift The beggar out, so in I went, And mounted in the lift, Until I reached the top-most floor Where I could cut the line: Down fell the quarry in a ditch And gave of life no sign. FISHING AND PHILANDERING 223 That ditch grew ever deeper Till it loomed a vast abyss, And I found my poor self standing On an awesome precipice. And then—Oh Horror! my gillie growled "I'm going to take your life : I am that widow's husband whom You think to take to wife." With brutal glee the grinning corpse Began to push me off, Yet ere I fell he had to stop— He'd such a bronchial cough. The goose became a battle-ship Slow sailing up the cliff, When, taking heart, I bashed the corpse To powder in a jiff. The ship's crew all were silent, Sedate and very grave: The water lapped the hatch's combs In many a tiny wave : It seemed they were court-martialling The Army Council for Promoting Winston Churchill To command a man-of-war. Then home I went despondent And without a single fish: My hostess met me at the door Saying " You can have your wish : That corpse was my own husband, And not that, lady's coy : The artful hussy ! thinking she Could rob me of my boy." Somewhat perplexed and rather shy, Clad in attire light, I felt I must do something, Though what I knew not quite. But just as round her waist I placed My ever ready arm, She broke away and said " *Tis day: And hark! there's the alarm." 224 FISHING AND PHILANDERING I woke : the wretched noise we'd heard Still ringing in my ears, Growing loud and ever louder Till it at length appears All red and brass and hairy hats, The terror of the land, A-marching off to early Mass The Third Battalion Band. CHAPTER XVIII When men of a certain sort, ladies, are in love, though they see the hook and the string, and the whole apparatus with which they are to be taken, they gorge the bait nevertheless—they must come to it—they must swallow it—and are presently struck and landed gasping. W. M. Thackeray. The biter bit—^-Caught at last—Low water—My best salmon—A bet—Garrett on gaffing—The unexpected—-Bad weather—A big fish—The Squire's letter—The point of view of the fish—Killaloe revisited—Her first fish—The fish that others catch—The fish we caught. There is an old adage to the effect that the pitcher that goes too oft to the well is bound to get broken in the long run, the truth of which is once more exemplified in my own case. For I who have so often been the catcher have at last been caught. Fairly caught and landed. So firmly was I hooked, that in the spring, when a chance of doing a bit of catching came my way it was ignored, and I forswore the haunts of the Cachalot Club for a week amongst the peaks of Derbyshire, and the thrill of a tight line to become a target for Cupid. " Never mind," said that fair angler, | we will go and fish together in the autumn," and with that prospect I went through a summer drill season in perfect content. All my friends said, " You will catch no more fish now you're caught yourself." For in February last 225 226 FISHING AND PHILANDERING I took a Blue Gentian on the sunny slopes of Mont Pelerin, and three months later was gaffed and landed as recorded above. But my friends were all wrong, for both of us have caught fish since, while a fresh and most beautiful charm has been added to the banks by the new honorary member of the Club. It was, however, within ten days of the end of the season when those three blessed balls ascended into the sky near Camps Farm, signifying that the manoeuvres were ended and the leave season at hand : but by the time we reached the river only seven and a half days remained for fishing. There we were, however, at last, and never had I seen the river so low—fully a foot below normal fishing height, clear as a chalk stream, and ruffled only by a harsh east wind, conditions which remained in force all our time, but which left us the solitary consolation of having the river to ourselves. Within half-an-hour of our arrival came the first gentle accost, almost imperceptible, but a fish in very surety. Look at the head of the shrimp: you see that nick in it: that was made by a fish : now watch. There ! I told you so : and a good fish too. Too heavy to hand over for practise in playing. Fighting well and strongly for a big fellow: now lashing the water against the weeds under the far bank, now trying to force a way out of the pool, and now returning at top speed, drowning the line and bringing my heart into my mouth. At last we caught sight of him deep down, boring, boring, boring for those treacherous, razor-backed rocks at the bottom, where so much of my good tackle lies. And now, look, do you see? He is followed by another almost as large. Even in the excitement of my first fish of the season, anxious though I was to kill him—was she not looking on—yet in my heart of hearts I wondered—wondered what that silent, devoted follower was thinking: *wondered if I should mind so very much if the hold gave: almost tried to make it give. But that was beyond human nature—mine at all events—and Garrett gaffed it neatly and swung up a shapely 24-pounder. As a matter of fact my best fish. FISHING AND PHILANDERING 227 Twenty years ago I killed a 21-pounder: years afterwards I broke that record with a 2 2-pounder : three years ago this was increased by a fish of 231DS.: and now again I had added a solitary pound. It can only mean that some day I shall make a prodigious leap and double or nearly double it. But I cannot complain, for with me it has been a year of records : to get command of one's regiment: to marry a wife: and to land one's biggest salmon all in the self-same year, should surely satisfy most people. Yet I felt in my bones that greater things were in store. Moreover, this early fish had won me a wager. On the Same day that we started for Ireland the Pride of the Seaforth Highlanders had left for Scotland. At dinner in their mess one night, primed with their port and almost deafened by the maddening pibrochs, or whatever they call them, which their wretched pipers had blown into my suffering ears, I had made a bet with my friend that I would kill a salmon before he shot a stag. As it turned out I only won by a quarter of an hour—Irish time—for he had stalked and shot a glorious " Royal " on the morning of his arrival, and till he heard from me, looked upon the money as in his sporran. After lunch came another fish: a much smaller one: so this time the rod was handed over as soon as its preliminary antics were concluded. Nor was much instruction needed to ensure the point being kept well up, the strain steady, and the eyes fixed on the mark: sounds like musketry instruction, doesn't it? Poor Garrett: although he had fallen under the spell that finished me, yet he never can bear to see the rod given over to anyone. However he knew it was no good arguing in this case, so contented himself with taking the very earliest opportunity with the gaff and, taking it well and truly, he passed up an eleven-pounder. Only once in my life have I known him to be utterly flummoxed. He tried to gaff a biggish fish for me—i81bs. it proved to be— only to see the gaff slip off its side. Cursing himself for a blundering novice, he tried again with as little 228 FISHING AND PHILANDERING success. After one more abortive attempt he threw it away, walked in, and tailed the fish. Then he showed me the gaff: by some mysterious mischance the point had got turned completely on one side : I doubt if it would have gone into a pat of butter. Next day added two more fish to the bag, 2oJlbs. and I7^1bs. The first confirmed another of my own particular theories—that fish are like women, you never do know what the dickens they will do next. Garrett having taken the top of the taking part of the pool, i.e., where the fish took, for my wife, telling me I might " try up above in the flat water," I tried. Previously removing all lead. Ere the " Pink 'Un " had sunk six inches a fish made a great swerving lunge, and either missed it or changed its mind at the last moment: another point of resemblance you see. At the next cast—I was now fly-fishing with a prawn—he made a second and more successful bid, later on paying the penalty, but putting up a spirited fight previous to doing so. The other fish Garrett caught while we were at lunch, on the 14ft. double-handed trout-rod which my wife was using, the praises of which he sang so loudly that it seemed to me he must have somewhat mistrusted it before. Apropos of this rod hangs a little tale. Amongst the many wedding presents we received was a featherweight 9ft. split- cane, given to me by my friend "Jim "—Porthos of that delightful Parisian trip wherein I played the part of D'Artagnan. When I told my wife I had an old 14ft. rod that would be the very thing for her, she remarked in a most indignant voice, " Why can't I have your new split-cane ? " But the shrinking water and the swelling wind were combining to render our prospects of sport less and less likely. The following afternoon brought a 10-pounder, the only pull of the day. The day after, owing to a visit to my subaltern and his people, I only reached the bank at 3.30 p.m., immediately hooking, and shortly afterwards losing, a fish about the same weight, while Garrett landed a peal. Slowly but surely sport was FISHING AND PHILANDERING 229 decreasing, till at last the vanishing point was reached and the next day was blank. On Saturday the wind increased to a gale, making good fishing.most difficult, yet before lunch an 11- pounder and a peal succumbed. After that meal my wife got as far as the bank and was then blown home. The weather rapidly went from bad to worse, till to Garrett's infinite relief I sent him home too. As politely as possible he let me know his opinion of me for remaining out, but " there came a whisper silver-clear," something told me I was going to have the sport of my life, and induced me to sling bag and gaff over my own shoulder and continue the brave fight. All down the Two Tree pool I angled in vain, the fish refusing even to show in the teeth of that abominable wind and rain. At the very end of it I stood pondering, my shrimp dangling just below the surface. Was it good enough? I had never killed a fish in the field below in all the years I had fished it. Was it likely I should do so on such a day? These two fields are divided by a deep drain, some 20ft. wide, across which my landlord had laid for our benefit a single plank. It was the same plank that years before had saved me from being projected into space by the infuriated bull. I thought of that incident and—what could that have been ? A dimple as of a rising trout near my shrimp: then—well—then a tug and a rush, and what did all the foul weather in the world matter then ? Two or three stately passages across to the strand and back under the deep, curving bank whereon I stood. A good fish surely by this heavy, ponderous pull. Ah! would you? He would. Away, and away, and away, like the rush of a mahseer, unpreventable, irresistible, magnificent. " Look at the line," screamed my winch, and but just in time, though there had been over a hundred yards of it. Desperate cases demand desperate remedies. I must follow and that right soon. Yet the only means of pursuit was over that rickety plank, and would my line clear that bush beyond? Whether it would or whether 230 FISHING AND PHILANDERING it wouldn't, it was the only chance. I dashed across, rod in my left hand extended as far as possible, and— yes—just clearing that villainous bush. But here was no time or place to halt, and I broke into double time, and a moment later into quadruple. What I did that hundred yards in I do not know, but it could not have been very much outside standard time. Then the reel stopped and I followed suit, and my friend slowly came up stream to meet me. Barely was he opposite when he came clear out of the water for a look at his foe. Yes: it was him—him at last! The fish that was to make me famous: lengthy and most monstrous fat: a very Tichborne of fishes. Apparently far less pleased with my appearance than I was with his, back he fell, only to tear off again at express speed, this time up stream. When he stopped just below the drain I was as blown as a victor in the Olympic games. Then up and out he came again, and oh! my doubting friends, but he was a grand fish! And yet, and yet, what could make such a monster play like this ? Could he be hooked outside ? I feared he must be, for with the gathering gloom closing in, I knew if so it must be a long fight. Anyway he must be pressed if the victory was to rest with me, so I pressed him. Surely after all these callisthenics he too must be blown. Slowly, slowly he yielded, yard by yard I coaxed him, and then —then the hook came out of him, and I was left to walk home across the fields alone. How big was he? I do not know: and of what avail to guess ? He was gone from me: gone like yesterday: gone for ever. Yet where would be the joy of fishing if one never lost a fish? As insipid as flirting if one never met with a rebuff, or feeding if one never had an appetite. No: I did not grudge him his freedom: he had caused every pulse in my body to throb with tingling blood : he had given me ten minutes' regal sport: but oh! I would like to know what he weighed. The last day of the season was saved from being a blank by a sporting peal, and then we moved our quar- FISHING AND PHILANDERING 231 ters to another river which was still open. Before recounting our adventures there, which were not many, I must quote a letter from "the Squire," one of the oldest members of the Club, a letter which proves that though I had his sympathy I also had his scepticism. I What a pity you lost the big chap. He is now probably telling the story from his point of view, to a couple of admiring hens, in some shallow stream up Mill Street way. I can hear No. 1 hen say:— And what happened then, Bill, when you succeeded in spitting out the military gentleman's hook ? ' "My dear, it was awful,' replied Bill. 'I heard some bad language when I jumped the net last spring. I heard some pretty hot stuff when I rose short at Major P.'s fly at Kilbarry. But this chap fairly scared me : I could see him up on the bank shaking his fist like a madman. Oh! my goodness: I just headed up stream away from him until I was out of hearing.' *! I suppose too,' said No. 2 hen, * he went off swearing you were 4olbs. if you were an ounce.' " ' Quite on the cards, Madam,' said Bill, who weighed an ounce or two short of 2olbs. I These military gents are capable of any enormity.' " Well, I may be revenged on some of their offspring some day. As I said we now shifted our quarters to the Shannon in the hope of getting hold of something really heavy there. A warm welcome awaited us from the Three Graces, who rule over the destinies of Grace's Hotel, Killaloe, who had known me when a mere bachelor, and who now gave me a double welcome in my new character. It is good to be greeted so. It is good to find a fire burning and the water boiling after a cold journey. And it is very, very good to hear the river is full of fish. But for three days I tried flies, spinning baits and prawns without a touch or sign of recognition : excepting once from a miserable pike of some 61bs. Hardest to bear of all was the sight we saw on the third morning in the pool above ours, where two ancient fishermen were- 232 FISHING AND PHILANDERING plying their trade, while the angler who rented the water did not take the trouble to come out. Four fish they caught that merry morning: i2lbs., i61bs., 321DS., and 33lbs. One of the best judges of literature in England told me recently that if one could write down one's exact thoughts one could produce the most interesting book of the season. But I cannot write down mine as I felt them on seeing those ancients literally festooned with fish as we sat eating our lunch. One of those big fellows would have made me a proud and happy man : to them it was nothing: they had spent their lives catching heavy fish. Nor can I describe my feelings when one of the Miss Graces came to me that evening to say that she had induced the gentleman who owned that wondrous pool to give me leave to fish it next morning. Without expecting too much I must confess to high hopes in spite of the infernal wind and low water which greeted us next day. For the pool was deep, and the lower the water the more fish congregated therein. For 3-J hours I did my best and my Methuselah boatmen did their best: without avail: not a touch of any sort, though fish to dream of wallopped about on all sides of us. As though to accentuate matters my wife, with our boatmen, fishing our despised water, caught her first salmon, and played another up to the gaff. 1 These be accidents that we anglers sometimes see and often talk of." And before we left, two professionals caught three fish in our free water. One of which was 4210s., shaped as I have never seen a salmon shaped, a prize which had I caught it should have been set up by the best man in London, but which ended its mortal career as an ignoble kipper. Alas ! and alas ! That such things should be. How easy to have bought that splendid fish : how easy to have had it set up: how easy to have told the tale of its capture. As it was I nearly bought it as a present for the mess : but when one of its captors had the audacity to say how well it would look stuffed in my ancestral halls, I turned sadly aside and felt inclined to go out and FISHING AND PHILANDERING 233 weep bitterly. Eighteen fat pounds bigger than my biggest fish. It does not bear thinking of. So we fished on, and at last I got hold of one, and it weighed 61bs., and that was the anti-climax. She and I both love all anglers, they be such honest, civil, quiet men. Izaak Walton. A Visit to the Zoo. I have seen the anaconda Anaconding all around, Forked tongue from flat head hissing Forth its sibilaceous sound, Till I wished I'd always stuck to Tea, or been in childhood drowned. I have seen the beaver beaving And have heard his angry dam Roar as came his white teeth clashing On some empty shell of clam, Till my thoughts flew back to trekking O'er the veld and Lipton's jam. I have seen the Hip-Hip-Hip- Hurrahpopotamus at dawn Sadly chewing bunless currants With a weary look of scorn, And a passionate desire To possess a rhino's horn. I have seen the Bactrian camel And the wily tiger-cat Envying a python lunching On a most reluctant rat: While the monkeys sat and jabbered, Though I never knew what at. I have watched the Bengal tiger Hungering for a mild Hindoo, And—with good thick bars between us— Gazed its staring eyeballs through, Till I wondered why Prov. made them, And why Noah saved them too. 234 FISHING AND PHILANDERING Oh ! You hoary headed villain 4 Oh ! You wicked old man Noah : What a chance you had that flood-time : You had but to close the door On the silly, useless beasties, And we'd never seen them more. Cockroaches, and wolves, and earwigs, Tigers, reptiles, snakes, and fleas, Wasps and hornets, flies, mosquitos, Worst of all, those Indian bees, Sharks and deadly alligators— Query—weren't these in the seas? One can only marvel vainly At the purport of Noah's haul: What good end is served by all these Noxious creatures, great and small. But, since we can't solve the problem, We must bear it and that's all. CHAPTER XIX The salmon is accounted the king of fresh-water fish. Izaak Walton. Take my bait, O King of fishes. " Hiawatha/1 Longfellow. I wish ye sport. Cymbeline IV., 2. Pessimistic forebodings—Conventionality or unconventionality —Theory or practice—Book-learning or Garrett—Hiding or seeking—To strike or not to strike—The fish extraordinary—Sartorial anecdotes—A welcome invitation—New ground or, rather, water —An old spoon—Triangles or single hooks—Triumph and Disaster—Aquatic Heavenly twins—What might have been— Conclusion. Heavy floods at the end of April and beginning of May, producing most optimistic accounts of probable sport in the columns of the " Field," resulted in a bad attack of " springfret " before the exigencies of the service permitted me to pack my rods and away with me to the southwest of Ireland. Moreover, letters from two other members of the " Cachalot Club " urged me to expedite my movements. Never had there been such a show of fish in the river; never had they taken so well; it could not last; I must come at once; and so on. But with the best intentions in the world matters could not be hurried, and it was a wet night on May 20 before I arrived at 235 236 FISHING AND PHILANDERING the little wayside station. My friend the stationmaster called me into his office to show me three ten-pounders and a twenty-five. 1 That's what Mr. B. has sent up from the river so far, and he's out yet; that's what you have to beat," he said. Then, like everyone else, he proceeded to say there would be no difficulty in doing it, as " the river was stiff with fish," " tons of them in every pool," etc. Yet for some inscrutable reason I felt no confidence; the better things appeared the more pessimistic I became; it seemed as if I had lost my nerve; showing how wrong some of my friends can be. Next morning my friend S. arrived, and we began. My object is not to give a record of each fish we caught and lost, but to discuss the actions of certain fish under varying circumstances. Suffice it that he caught more than he had ever caught before, including one monster nearly three times the weight of his previous best, while I, too, killed a few, one of which was 3^1b. bigger than my former record. Then the fine weather asserted itself, and as the sport diminished the bucking on the bank increased. S. was attended by the faithful " Garrett," whose one-time allegiance to myself had received such shocks from my unconventional theories that he now regarded me darkly out of a corner only of his eye whenever I propounded any more than usually unorthodox doctrine. One hot, sunny day, after some two hours' hard flogging of the glittering stream, we three foregathered at my favourite pool. The other two arranged themselves recumbent, but I first adjusted my rod so that my shrimp—yes, I was trying a shrimp—swam in the current some two feet below the surface, close in under the bushes. 1 Is it eels you are wishful to catch? " murmured Garrett; " I never seen the like o' you and your tricks." Lighting my pipe, I asked him in reply whether he would go in front of a bush or behind it if he was anxious to remain hid, and told him of recent research and subaqueous experiments. "In the 'Field,' is it?" and the scorn in his voice woke S./who was just beginning to To face p. 236. p*ppilT FISHING AND PHILANDERING 237 snore. '' Sure I read what you wrote two years ago; one column and a half, and not one word of sinse from beginning to end." It is necessary to state that Garrett is aged, and most respectful really, being much privileged in consequence. " But, nevertheless, there is a dale in colour," he proceeded, " and I am not well satisfied at all wid the colour of the Major's clothing; them grey things is altogether too light." I interposed a remark here about Dr. Ward's photographs of the man in the white coat. [j That," said he, " is beyond the bounds of belief. Man and boy, I've fished this river for forty years, an' you come here wid the things ye read in books and try to discountenance me. 'Twas only this morning I was tellin' the Major that one way an' another an' whatever else ye wear, red will send every salmon in the river tearin' mad wid fright back to the say. 'Twas your friend Mr. G. told me of that, and what happened at Galway when ye brought the young lady wid the red parasol on to the bridge." " But what about my waistcoat then? Have I not worn the same old red waistcoat years and years, and killed about a hundred fish within a mile of where we sit with it on ? " " Ye have," he sighed, " and had you have laid it off you would have killed five hunderd." That line of argument being thus effectually closed, I inquired the ancient man's opinion as to whether any advantage was to be derived from endeavouring to hide xWhen salmon fishing. ce Never in me born days," he muttered, turning to my friend S., who was deriving much pleasure from the debate, " have I heard such questions axed. Sure I known the Colonel when he was a Capting, and he had some sinse that time. Listen to him now, Major; and after all I was telling you about keepin' low, and wadin' and all. Sure he'll be after undoing all the good instruction I'm giving ye. Now look at Mr. B.—one of the . best fishermen ye'll see—always crouchin' and hidin' and speerin' over the bushes more by token as if he was a poacher wid a stummickache. An' who kills more fish than him? " $ Certainly," I 238 FISHING AND PHILANDERING ! admitted, " Mr. B. is a great angler, and absolutely the most unselfish one I know. But you and I, Garrett, can see a great way in the air, but a very little way in the water: is it not possible that fish can see a great distance in the water, but only a little way in the air? Consequently one may be more visible when wading than people " " Come away out of this, Major," burst out Garrett to S., "or you'll be gettin' to be a heretic too. Anyone knows that ye have but to show yourself to scare every fish away." " But," said I, " have you ever seen me hide or crouch, Garrett? Have I not always stood upright? What about that fish that took my hanging . shrimp when the water was quite clear two days ago, when I was standing bolt upright, and with only a short line out." " Sure that was the merest chance, though 'tis true ye do kill fish now and then standin' on this bank." " Well, do you think it possible, Garrett, that a good deal may depend on one's appearance? If I stand up here, looking pleasant and sociable, don't you think it possible that the sight of me may be an attraction; though I quite admit that if you showed yourself the fish might be scared back to the sea? Do you think there is anything in that? " " I do not. I think one man looks very much like another. Stand up now and see if ye can attract a fish. See can ye catch that fellow? " he continued, as a twenty-pounder sprang into the air opposite us. " Well, anyway, you will admit that a fish, even if hard pricked, will come again at once, won't you? " I asked. " That I am prepared to admit, and also that it was yourself who proved it to me. But, sure, we're wasting time discussin' book-learnin' ways when we had a right to be fishin'. Come on, Major. If ye want to kill a fish," turning to me, " I'll give ye a little Lemon Grey that will kill him." Then, as S. rose yawning, I asked Garrett whether he did not think it possible that a fish that had swum through forty miles of little Lemon Greys and Green and Oranges FISHING AND PHILANDERING 239 of local manufacture might prefer something a little different; whether salmonkind, like mankind, might not be predisposed to an occasional change; but no, I might use up all my Jock Scotts, Silver Doctors, and Lady Carolines, and it would be a mere chance if I got a single rise. So they left me, and I shifted my hanging shrimp to the next bush, and ten minutes later killed a 14-pounder within 2ft. of the bank. But as it was killed in a manner I had learned in other waters, Garrett merely sighed on seeing it that night. That evening, after Garrett had gone to his supper, S. inquired over his cup of tea, ' 'Ought one to strike a fish ?" I told him that conventionally he should not; that the accepted tenet was that the fish so far obliged as to hook himself by his own weight; that some authorities went so far as to say you might raise your hand; but that for my part I gave a fish a jolly good jog in the mouth to drive the hook well home, which any decent single gut would easily stand. I quoted my friend J. G., the very best fly fisherman (note the insidious differentiation from previously expressed definitions of this noted angler) of my acquaintance, thrower of forty yards of dead true line, slayer of thousands, and purist of purists. He had carried B fine and far off "to such extremes that he only landed one fish to every six or seven he hooked. At last he saw the reason; his line was so long and his cast was so fine that he dared not bury the barb. " And if you rise a fish, do you wait five minutes? " asked S., now arrived at the jam stage of our homely meal. I told him that twenty years ago I had done so, even measuring the time with a watch, but that now I covered the same cast again at once. The idea of waiting being that the fish, having missed the fly, cruises round looking for it, and that time should be given to allow him to return to his lodge; but that in my opinion he was much more likely to take it when looking for it than after having given up the search and retired pumped to his favourite rock. To me a salmon says, " Hullo! There's one of those curious little things, and one of those 1 1 240 FISHING AND PHILANDERING animals on the bank trying to catch it. There it is! Blowed if I won't have it myself! " I heard a deep sigh. Garrett, returned from supper for our letters, was leaning against the door. " They'd have burnt ye at the shtake a few years ago," was all he said. But my last fish managed to surprise even me. A gale of wind driving tropical rain precluded any fishing except in sheltered corners. I was leaving at midday, and badly wanted a travelling companion, so stuck to it. The little shrimp had travelled across a heavy current until it hung just below me in a place where there was no sort of rock or obstruction within 4ft. of it, when it suddenly came to a dead stop. I raised my hand and found I was caught up in something. Evidently some branch, I supposed, which must have floated down. In vain I tried to release it; pull as I would, there it was, stuck tight in something. " Well," I said to my gillie, " whatever this is, it gave a pull just like a fish. I'll be able to tell old Garrett I got a pull out of a branch every bit as good as a fish.'' Then I started j erking and twitching the line to release the hook, which at last came away with a flick and a dilapidated shrimp. To put on a fresh one by the single hook method was the work of thirty seconds, and in another five I was stuck fast in the same place; but this time, after the strike, twenty yards of line were torn off my reel, and a bright 11-pounder accompanied me by the mail. Sitting with my friend and billiard rival, F. S., well out in the front of the pavilion at Lord's to avail ourselves of the full virtue of a transient sun-bath, what time Surrey were endeavouring to avoid defeat by Middlesex, we shortly found ourselves talking fish rather than cricket. He had been fishing with our mutual friend P. lower down on the same river. On hearing my story anent trying to get the hook out of a fish, he added one so confirmatory of my argument that salmon do not mind being pricked that I asked his permission to reproduce it. F. S. is a man whose conversation bristles with as many points as a cheval-de-frise, and is adorned by many grace- L *£ FISHING AND PHILANDERING 241 ful metaphors far beyond the bounds of my poor pen, but I must make an attempt to imitate his forceful delivery. " I was trying a shrimp, and my idiot of a gillie never tested the cast, with the result that after about ten minutes a whacking big fish went off with about two feet of it in his mouth. I told the idiot what I thought of him, which occupied the three or four minutes he took putting another cast on; but certainly within five minutes I was into another heavy . He turned out to be an old of a kelt about 3olb. in weight, which was rather vexing, but you can imagine my surprise when I found the remains of my gut trace and shrimp tackle complete in his mouth." Surely this may give pause to the hackneyed old phrase, " No chance of him coming again; I pricked him hard.'' One more story F. S. told me before the players came in to lunch and broke up our soiree. A friend of his, fishing on another river well known to both of us, hooked a fish which went absolutely mad. It was evident he was hooked outside, but when the end came it was conclusively proved that that fish was dead out of luck, for he was not hooked at all. A marked fish, the fly, or rather the hook, had passed through the split ring by which the marking label was attached to the fin; which explains how a salmon was caught without a hook being in him at all. It looked very much as if this trip was to conclude my fishing for the year, for when the programme of the drill season was published it became apparent that the manoeuvres were not to finish till the 2781 of September, and, as our Cachalot Club water closes on the 30th of that month, it was good-bye to any chance of an autumn fish out of the Quarry Pool. But observe how fortune smiles on the deserving. While signing up the Record of Service book I became aware that the address of the last-joined subaltern was Doonass, and what salmon- fisher has not heard of Doonass. Sending for the budding Wellington one question was sufficient to elicit the wonderful fact that it was his father who owned that 16 mam n 1 FISHING AND PHILANDERING fishery, while he added that he felt sure, if it was not let in October, his parent would be pleased to arrange for me to have a few days' fishing therein should I be in the vicinity. Should I be in the vicinity! I should. I would take very good care to be in the very closest vicinity. And then one glorious day followed another, and one rainless week succeeded the one before it. Down, down, down went the " Reports from rivers" column in the " Field," and down, down, down went my hopes. Indeed, but for one never-to-be-forgotten night, when the elements found me consigned with several hundred, nay, thousand, other unfortunates, to the top of the most exposed peak in the Chiltern Hills, and took the opportunity to rain incessantly upon us for eight cold, dreary hours, it seemed as if it would never rain again. Filled with the most dire forebodings, I arrived late one evening at Doonass, for the hospitable invitation to fish had been accompanied by the still more hospitable invitation to stay, and was at once filled with joy and rapture on hearing that there had been a nice little spate, which was just running away, and that there was quite a chance of a fish or two. Next morning Thomas Enright, scion of the world-famed Castle Connell family, came up to the house for me and my tackle. Living on the banks of perhaps the most famous bit of salmon water in the kingdom, it was only in accordance with the vicissitude of things that neither my host or his sons fished. Ye gods and little fishes! What would I give for that abode to belong to me. For, as if to make things easier and pleasanter than they naturally were, the river makes a noble bend here, allowing the builders—probably they were anglers^—to select a most convenient site in the very angle divided off by the foaming rapids. For the benefit of those who may not know I will give a short description of these Castle Connell waters. They are divided up into the following fisheries, Doonass, Worldsend, Summerhill, De Burgho, Woodlands, Hermitage, New Garden, Prospect, and Landscape, but *_ FISHING AND PHILANDERING 243 ■the greatest of these is Doonass. Although these stretches are practically always let, it occasionally hap^ ■pens that a tenant is anxious to sub-let; Messrs. ■Enright, Castle Connell, would be sure to know of any of these fleeting opportunities, and anyone with a week lor fortnight to spare should write to them for particulars, for they also own the comfortable hotel in Castle I Connell, where one, less fortunate than myself, would put up. But to continue: the Doonass water consists ■ of the following pools, on the right bank of the river, land, since their characters vary quite as much as those ■of the anglers who fish them, the fortunate sportsman ■with the right to do so has fishing at his disposal in I almost any height of water. Commencing at the top ■there are Sallybush, Lacka, Lurgah, Old Turf, The [Dancing Hole, Lickenish, Old Door, Black Weir, The [Island, Poul Coom, Faalgorribs, and Franklin's Eddy, a I very galaxy of wealth of water, a regular tiara of salmon- haunted holes, and flats, and streams. Thomas Enright, with a rod over each shoulder, and I my bag slung over his back, entertained me as we walked [down the one field which separates the house from the I river, with the most optimistic views of vast possibilities. [Barely had he introduced me to his brother Edward, who was to accompany us in the cot, when a salmon of noble proportions popped up his head to welcome me, a salu- I tation which I instantly returned by taking off my hat, 'and remember what was said before, that if you don't do that to the first fish you see you will have no luck. So we embarked on Lacka and fished it down twice, as also Sallybush, and though we moved a fish at the "Dublin Fusilier" he would not call again, and at lunch time we disembarked, with one small white trout, which had failed to resist the charm of a fly nearly half as long as itself. We had stuck religiously to the fly all the morning, one excellent reason for doing so being that the shrimps had not arrived. After lunch we went to Poul Coom, and here also we were greeted by many a stately head and shoulders, while occasionally some 244 FISHING AND PHILANDERING noble fellow would throw his whole glittering length clear out of the water. In the very tail of it the same fly produced a thrilling boil, but, as in the morning, no second effort. A Jock Scott, and a Black Dog, met with no better success. Had I a minnow? I had. It was no manner of use. Had I a spoon ? I had. A couple that had lived in the pocket of my fly-book for a quarter of a century and had swum to victory against mighty mahseer in the Giri in the eighties. My good fairy had induced me to send them both to Malloch to be re-armed, and Thomas viewed them with approval, while Edward was sceptical, and I was merely doubtful. But it was a difficult cast with a vengeance. Not only did this salmon live in a little flat a good twenty-five yards away, but behind my back there grew an enormous, and most out of place, blackberry bush. Time after time I failed to get the spoon to my fancy, or the salmon's, till at last Thomas, somewhat grimly, told me that would do. But it would not do, not for me, nor for the fish : I could not stand being beaten like that, and I said so. The very next cast was a beauty—I am sorry, but the truth must be told, and it was a real beauty. I was in the act of saying it would cover him, when all my efforts were needed to prevent his going down to Limerick in his first rush. After that it was easier, and a few minutes later Edward slipped the gaff into a 23-pounder. And oh ! but what an artist he was with the gaff. For twenty- five years have I watched the instrument being used, but never in the manner of old Edward. Since both my gillies held the very general opinion that a playing fish disturbs a pool, which in my opinion is absolutely incorrect, they removed me to a funny little cast at the head of the island. Here one stood on a rock and with a short little line fished the water at one's feet. Tingling with my recent success there came into my mind some verses of the poet I have sworn by ever since, as a boy in India, " Departmental Ditties," came into my hands. I thought of " If," that wondrous poem, which in a few lines sums up the pros and cons of life FISHING AND PHILANDERING 245 and stirs me from my lowest depths to my greatest heights, in the endeavour to live up to those splendid " Ifs." I If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster, And treat those two impostors just the same.'' Could I ? I wondered, and—Ah !—down in the deep, a bending shadow of light returning to the murky unknown, after a rise as swift as any grayling's, and a bending, quivering rod point denoting he had hooked himself. Himself? Well himself or herself, for I was never to catch another glimpse. For full ten minutes that fish swam slowly to and fro, and round and round. During all that time he, or she, never went ten yards from the spot where the fight began, and, in spite of utmost strain, never once did the casting line come out of the water. Ah ! Gone. Gone without a chance of knowing those proportions. Thomas grunted, | That was a big fish": Edward knocked out his pipe in silence : I said, " Shall I never get a big fellow ? " and then I remembered " If." Now was the time to see whether I could % be a man, my son " : I had met that afternoon with " Triumph" I hope without undue elation, and here, close on his heels, was | Disaster," black and hopeless disaster. Could I treat it " just the same ? " I could. I would. I did. Three chastened men but undismayed, we made our way to Lacka, old Lacka as Tom called it, vowing he would not exchange it for the rest of the river. The autumn evening was drawing in as we got there, but the shrimps had arrived from Limerick, and, the fly having had Jts full share, a mounting of two triangles was adjusted to one of the little red fellows and in he went. I did not like the mounting and said so, and Edward was inclined to agree with me. Then, just as we reached the eddy, tug-tug there came a gentle pull, and as the rod was raised most of the six hooks went home and a fine game 246 FISHING AND PHILANDERING of pully-hauly ensued. The question before the house was whether this fish would consent to stay in Lacka and be gaffed like a gentleman in the " Bloody hole," as the favourite spot for that operation is more euphoniously than politely named, or whether he would insist on descending the rapid, to what seemed to me a ghastly place of rocks mysterious and rushing eddies. That this was his intention became manifest after some ten minutes' heated argument, throughout which those invaluable brethren paid me the compliment of giving me no advice whatsoever. But now as we slithered down the foaming, tumbling water I was told to turn my hand in to the other side and that was all. Arrived at this station I found breath to murmur " He's only a small fish after all: about 15 or i61bs.: I caught sight of him coming down the top of the water," an observation which elicited no reply. The next question was whether he was going to get out here or go on to the next station, and the gathering gloom closed round us ere it was answered. But at last he came slowly closer, Edward picked up the long gaff, and a few seconds later it was neatly inserted. And then, and not till then, as the aged gillie put forth his strength and slowly brought foot after foot of fish over the side of the cot, I realised that at last my hopes were crowned and I had killed a big fish. How splendid he looked in the fading light as we landed and laid him on the grass. Triumph! Triumph! We shook hands at last, and oh! but it was difficult to treat such an impostor, such a glorious impostor, unenthusiastically. I put him at 331DS., my boatmen at 34IDS., but my steelyard only weighed up to 30, and that left his tail on the ground. So Edward carried him up to the house, and host and hostess and subaltern officer came in to the kitchen to admire him. A bit coloured of course, but what of that. All I cared about was his weight. I so wanted to beat 35lbs. For did not two of my oldest friends, living in juxtaposition, each own a case with a 35-pounder in it, the one from Galway, and the other from the Avon. But truth will Jk mmmm FISHING AND PHILANDERING 247 out and this fine fellow failed by half-a-pound to come up to his rivals. Never mind : what matter : I was satisfied : completely satisfied. Since it may happen to a brother, or sister, angler someday to catch a monster beyond the power of their steelyards, here are one or two tips to arrive at the weights of fish. Suppose you have no weighing machine : take the length and girth in inches: then L+ 1000* °2 w*^ approximately equal the weight in pounds, where L = length, and C= circumference. Next suppose you have a steelyard, but not a sufficiently powerful one. Take a stick three feet long. At a point B, one foot from one end, A, tie a bit of string and attach it to a beam or hook. At the end A hang your fish; to the other end, C, attach your steelyard, and pull till the stick A B C is horizontal: then the length B C being double the length A B the fish will weigh twice the amount indicated on the weighing- machine. Again, suppose you have no machine, but a known weight. Call your stick E D, and hang your fish, B, at the end E, and your known weight, A, say iolbs., at the end D. Now lift your stick and find out a point C on it where equilibrium is obtained, and measure the distances E C, C D. Then, A equalling iolbs., E C five inches, and C D thirteen inches, the weight of the fish is 10 x 13 = 261bs. 5 Next day I met Triumph twice in the shape of 2olbs. and 22lbs. fish. Both succumbed to shrimps after two or three flies had done their best. The triangles and Thomas were to the fore, and all was well. Water and weather were holding up, and life was worth living. Yet the next day everything went wrong. For a long time I fished fly and shrimp, and both were equally useless. Then in an hour I hooked four fish and lost every one of them. Here was Disaster with a great big capital D, and as the hooks came away from the last, which seemed a " dangerous big fish " as Thomas called him, Edward and I went on strike and insisted on the substitution of 248 FISHING AND PHILANDERING IE one big single hook for the two triangles and their accompanying needle. But it was not till next day that the single hook got an opportunity, but when it came it seized it bravely. The fight which followed was a matter of very few minutes. A few ponderous and dignified circles in Lacka, a halfhearted attempt at a return to the sea, and a slow yielding to a pressing invitation to come to the above-mentioned" hole. Once more a fleeting glimpse in the dark water made me grievously under-estimate my friend: for once again after the gaff went home did Edward groan as he put his back into it to heave a noble fish inboard. Here was welcome Triumph back once more: here was evidently a larger fish, and better built than the other. Had I done it this time ? By Jove! I had: 35f lbs. % Io Triumphe." What a fish! What a present for the sergeants' mess, outvieing the previous one eaten by the officers: beautiful twins, whose outlines adorn the walls of my smoking-room, to bring back golden memories each time they fill my eyes. What a week it was: how those two impostors alternated: what a chart my spirits would have shown in spite of all my efforts at equanimity. For next morning I hooked a fish in Lacka and played him for some thirty-five minutes, down through pool after pool till the inevitable in such water occurred, and my casting line came back cut through. What splendid gut it was: one does not like to advertise, but justice is justice, and my old friend Mr. Harold, of Mallow, will supply my gut for the future, as he has done a great deal of it in the past. Well, it was nobody's fault, and my principal regret was that we had no idea of his size: truly he may have been anything: he might have made me famous. But the day was far from over; misfortunes seldom come singly, and late that afternoon every detail of the morning battle was exactly repeated, and I was left with two cut casts, and an arm that ached far into the next day. However, before the week was over came consolation, dressed up as 12 and 17 pounders, rewards of keen atten- FISHING AND PHILANDERING 249 tion to business, hard work, and a due and just appreciation of a situation, whose salient feature was represented by the fact that the fish were not taking the fly. But this is not the place to re-open old wounds. Live and let live; fish and let fish; thanking our stars when our luck is in the ascendant; hoping against hope when our star is below the horizon; but, above and beyond all, rejoicing at the good fortune of others, and doing our best in every way, at all times, to improve their prospects and make life fairer for them, whether out in the open on the pleasant banks, or in the more tangled troubles that beset our daily lives. Be quiet and go a angling. Izaak Walton. The following lines were written by a friend of mine, who has very kindly given me permission to reproduce them here. I count myself very fortunate in securing such a conclusion. In my Fishing Book. (After A. B. Paterson's Verses). I have gathered these f Records " afar, In the sunshine and rain: On waters where e'er fishes are, And many are slain; On days when the sport was the best And you " couldn't go wrong " : In storm, too, with infinite zest, I have fished hard and long. They are just the crude facts of my sport, Afar and anear, Of many a fish lost or caught, As year follows year. But the wonderful scenes they recall By loch, river and stream Are the best recollections of all— A beautiful dream. 250 FISHING AND PHILANDERING This little account of my bag Means nothing to you : But for me the old joy, should it flag, 'Twill awaken anew. Their merit indeed is but slight, Yet I shall not repine If you grant me a moment's delight In these pages of mine. J. E. Deacon. INDEX A ' Buchan, John, 187 Add, River, 104 Buckland, Frank, 125 Admiral, The, 155, 158, 198, 199 Byron, 120 Alexandra, Queen, 171 feOraar^SfTs Allahabad, 44 c Alverstoke, 183 Cachalot Club, 155, 156, 157, 158, Angler at large, 17 175, 191, 194, 198, 208, 214, 217, Antony, Mark, 127 225, 235, 241 Antony and Cleopatra, 22, 93 Cambridge, 108 Arson, River, 40 Cane, Colonel, 187, 191 Athos, 108, 109, no Cape Town, 182 Athy, Bard of, 201 Cashel, 74, 79, 80, 83 Avon, River, 93, 105, in, 201, 204, Cashmere, 37 246 Castle Connell, 43, 242, 243 Ayle Vane House, 86 Chambal, River, 35, 39 " Charles," 59, 62, 66, 67, 68, 70, 71, B 72, 160 Bacon, Lord, 201 Chiltern Hills, 242 Besika Bay, 60, 167 Churchill, Winston, 223 * Bexhill, 174 Coarse fishing, 18 " Billy," 17, 22, 158, 187, 191, 192, Colenso, 59, 72 193, 216 Compleat Angler, 17 Birdhill, 87 Cong, 74, 77, 78, 83 Blackie, John Stuart, 74 Connemara, 74, 79, 81, 82, 83 Bombay, 137 Corrib, Lough, 78, 79, 188 "Bosun, The," 155, 156, 157, 158, Costello, 74, 81 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 175, 176, Crown Princess, The, 213, 216, 217 178 Cullinan, Patsy, 139 | Boyne, River, 93, 100, 153 Curragh, The, 47, 206 Braid, J., 23 Brian Boru, 88 D Brighton, 51 D'Artagnan, 108, no, 228 Brodrick, Mr., 171 Days stolen for sport, 17 Brown, Nicholas, 48, 188 Deacon, J. E., 250 Browndown, 183 De Burgho, 242 " Brownie," 93, 94, 95 Dee, River, 41, 46 252 FISHING AND PHILANDERING Delhi, 39 Deoli, 35 Derg, Lough, 75, 84, 87, 189 Deveron, River, 104, 143, 201, 4 Dibs," 183 Dobson, Austin, 107 Don Juan, 47 Doonass, 241, 242, 243 Doon Valley, 39 Douane, Jack, 175, 180, 181 " Dougall," 177 Dublin, 56, 67, 69, 77, 86, 89 163, Grace, Mrs. and the Misses, 86, 8 232 Grace's Hotel, 84, 231 H Hardy, Messrs., 43 Harold, Mr., 248 Hathersage, 118 Haugh, E., 155, 157, 170, 177 Hermitage, 242 Himalayas, 40, 46, 182 Hodgson, the late Earl, 126, 185 Dublin Fusilier, The, 15, 58, 131 136, 137. 243 Edward VIL, King, 79, 171, 194 Enright, Edward, 243, 244, 245, 246, 247, 248 Enright, the late John, 26 Enright, Messrs., 243 Enright, Thomas, 242, 243, 244, 245, 247 Fane, River, 93. Farlow, 43 Farnham, 85 "Felix," 34, 35 Fermoy, 157, 180, 191 Findhorn, River, 41, 46 Francis, Francis* 125, 161, 218 Galway, 47, 68, 74, 75, 79, 80, 81, 83, 91, 167, 180, 188, 219, 237, 246 Garrett, 12, 29, 175, 180, 194, 197, 214, 225, 226, 227, 228, 229, 235, 236, 237, 238, 239, 240 Geen, Mr. P., 131, 146 Giri, River, 41, 42, 45, 46, 244 Glass, River, 104, 186 Gordon, Adam Lindsay, 120, 186 Gosport, 85 Gowla, Lough, 80 Jardine, Robert, 186. "Joe," 101, 103, 104 "Johnny," 47, 48, 49, 52, 53, 54, 55. 56. 57, 67, 68, 69, 76, 167, 219 "Jonathan," 17, 18, 20, 25, 26, 27, 47. 48, pj 52. 54. 56, 90, 107, 108, 120, 127, 131, 135, 137, 140, 197, 201, 202, 204 Jumna, River, 40, 41 K Karakwasla, Lake, 31, 33 Killaloe, 84, 86, 87, 89, 91, 225, 231 Kinn, Tom, 94 Kipling, Rudyard, 30, 208 Ladysmith, 137 Landscape, 242 Lang, Andrew, 213 Lee-on-the-Solent, 85 Liffey, River, 93, 9*: Limerick, 244 " Little Man, The," 160, 183 Lochy, River, 104, 201, 203 Luscombe, Mr., 44 i55. 158, i59> m MacTavish, The, 113, 114, 115 Madras, 137 Malloch, Mr., 137, 215, 244 Mallow, 248 INDEX 253 Mask, Lough, 78, 89 Ridd, Jan, 39 Maxwell, Sir Herbert, 29, 120 I24. Rod in India, 45 140 May lam, Drummer, 102 S Mayo, 79 Saharanpore, 39 McDonagh, Edward, 188 "Sapper, The," 155, 157 Melia, John, 188 Screebc, 74, 80, 81, 83 Melton, Jack, 57, 101, 102, 101 , 164, Sewaliks, The, 40 165 Shakespeare, 201, 208 "Mike," 56 Shannon, River, 87, 231 Mill Street, 231 Shea, Tom, 175, 176, 177 Milne, Mr., 188 Sheffield, 100, 116, 118, 142 Mont Pelerin, 226 Sheringham, H. T., 15, 17, 144, 148, Mooti-Moola, River, 34 I51. 2IS Mount Shannon, 89 Simla, 46 Moycullen, 188 Slaney, River, 93 Mussoorie, 46 "Smiler, The," 175, 177 Southampton, 157 N Spike Island, 175 Napoleon, 13, 100, 166, 189, 98 " Squire, The," 155, 158, 208, 225, Nasirabad, 34, 39 231 Neemuch, 34 Stevenson, Mr., 13, 23, 166 Nenagh, 89 Summerhill, 242 North Esk., River, 104, 204 Switzerland, 172 T O Osborne, 194 Tees, River, 93, 105 Thomas, H. S., 45 # F "Thread," 51, 52, 53 1 Paddy," 50 Tilbury, 214 Paris, 108, no Titchfield, 85 Paterson, A. B., 249 " Tommy," 201, 206, 207 Pennell, Cholmondeley, 44 1 Tramp, The," 137 Pietermaritzburg, 70, 124 "Tripper, The," 155, 158, 159 Poona, 30, 31, 34 Tugela, River, 72 Portaragh, 188 Port Elizabeth, 182 Turner-Turner, Mr., 204 Tweed, River, 127, 191 Porthos, 108, no, 228 u Portsmouth, 84 Umsinduzi,- River, 70, 124 Prospect, 242 Punchestown, 48, 69 V Q ills Versailles, 109 Queries, Francis, 61, 84 W Walton, Izaak, 28, 45, 57, 72, 82, ft 86, 91, 105, 116, 118, 120, 128, Raleigh, Sir Walter, 29 i32. H3» J53. l64» x74> l85- Recess, 74, 79, 83 199, 211, 220, 233, 235, 249 254 FISHING AND PHILANDERING Ward, Dr., 237 Ward, Rowland, 48, 212 Wavre, 61 Westmeath Lakes, 89 Whyte Melville, G. J., 59, 72, 214 Woodlands, 242 Worldsend, 242 Zetland Arms, The, 74, 80 Printed by Ebenezer Baylia $>• Son, Trinity Work$, Worcetter, and London. 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