Crockers Hole | Page 4

"I shall not go near him," that lad replied, "until I have got a new
collar." No piece of personal adornment was it, without which he
would not act, but rather that which now is called the fly-cast, or the
gut-cast, or the trace, or what it may be. "And another thing," continued

Pike; "the bet is off if you go near him, either now or at any other time,
without asking: my leave first, and then only going as I tell you."
"What do I want with the great slimy beggar?" the arrogant Bolt made
answer. "A good rat is worth fifty of him. No fear of my going near
him, Pike. You shan't get out of it that way."
Pike showed his remarkable qualities that day, by fishing exactly as he
would have fished without having heard of the great Crockerite. He
was up and away upon the mill-stream before breakfast; and the
forenoon he devoted to his favourite course--first down the Craddock
stream, a very pretty confluent of the Culm, and from its junction,
down the pleasant hams, where the river winds toward Uffculme. It was
my privilege to accompany this hero, as his humble Sancho; while Bolt
and the faster race went up the river ratting. We were back in time to
have Pike's trout (which ranged between two ounces and one-half
pound) fried for the early dinner; and here it may be lawful to remark
that the trout of the Culm are of the very purest excellence, by reason of
the flinty bottom, at any rate in these the upper regions. For the valley
is the western outlet of the Black-down range, with the Beacon hill
upon the north, and Hackpen long ridge to the south; and beyond that
again the Whetstone hill, upon whose western end dark port-holes
scarped with white grit mark the pits. But flint is the staple of the broad
Culm Valley, under good, well-pastured loam; and here are
chalcedonies and agate stones.
At dinner everybody had a brace of trout--large for the larger folk, little
for the little ones, with coughing and some patting on the back for
bones. What of equal purport could the fierce rat-hunter show? Pike
explained many points in the history of each fish, seeming to know
them none the worse, and love them all the better, for being fried. We
banqueted, neither a whit did soul get stinted of banquet impartial.
Then the wielder of the magic rod very modestly sought leave of
absence at the tea time.
"Fishing again, Mr. Pike, I suppose," my father answered pleasantly; "I
used to-be fond of it at your age; but never so entirely wrapped up in it
as you are."

"No, sir; I am not going fishing again. I want to walk to Wellington, to
get some things at Cherry's."
"Books, Mr. Pike? Ah! I am very glad of that. But I fear it can only be
fly-books."
"I want a little Horace for eighteen-pence--the Cambridge one just
published, to carry in my pocket--and a new hank of gut."
"Which of the two is more important? Put that into Latin, and answer
it."
"Utrum pluris facio? Flaccum flocci. Viscera magni." With this vast
effort Pike turned as red as any trout spot.
"After that who could refuse you?" said my father. "You always tell the
truth, my boy, in Latin or in English."
Although it was a long walk, some fourteen miles to Wellington and
back, I got permission to go with Pike; and as we crossed the bridge
and saw the tree that overhung Crocker's Hole, I begged him to show
me that mighty fish.
"Not a bit of it," he replied. "It would bring the blackguards. If the
blackguards once find him out, it is all over with him."
"The blackguards are all in factory now, and I am sure they cannot see
us from the windows. They won't be out till five o'clock."
With the true liberality of young England, which abides even now as
large and glorious as ever, we always called the free and enlightened
operatives of the period by the courteous name above set down, and it
must be acknowledged that some of them deserved it, although perhaps
they poached with less of science than their sons. But the cowardly
murder of fish by liming the water was already prevalent.
Yielding to my request and perhaps his own desire--manfully kept in
check that morning--Pike very carefully approached that pool,

commanding me to sit down while he reconnoitred from the meadow
upon the right bank of the stream. And the place which had so sadly
quenched the fire of the poor baker's love filled my childish heart with
dread and deep wonder at the cruelty of women. But as for John Pike,
all he thought