184 WANDERINGS AND MEMORIES 



A brother officer, Captain Barlow, and I had taken 

 it for the season, and had had very good sport 

 —getting a fish or two every day in September. 

 On the last day of the season I hooked a monster 

 and had him on for an hour. At length I got him 

 into a still pool close to the bank, where he had 

 just sufficient strength left to give one or two final 

 rolls. Sweeny, our fisherman, and a proper rascal, 

 would not wet his feet, and was under any circum- 

 stances an arrant bungler with the gaff. I had 

 brought the exhausted fish past him at least four 

 times when he ought to have gaffed it. Once more 

 I essayed the same manoeuvre, when suddenly 

 away came the hook. Even then the fish, one of 

 at least 40 lbs., lay exhausted on the surface, and a 

 clever gillie would have had time to dash in and 

 get him. Not so Sweeny, who just stared until 

 the salmon righted itself and disappeared. 



In the following spring Captain Barlow and I 

 again took Kilbary, and noted plenty of fish in the 

 river, but on the two opening days we never had a 

 rise. I had noticed, however, certain heavily in- 

 dented marks at the casting places, and as these 

 seemed to coincide with the form of Sweeny's boot, 

 which was of remarkable size, I suspected some 

 dirty work. Accordingly my friend and I drove 

 to the river, which we could approach without 

 being seen, on the third day, having told Sweeny 

 that we should be unable to come on that morning. 

 It was a cold morning in February, but we had not 

 long to wait before our dishonest keeper emerged 

 from his cottage, brought out his rod, and going to 

 the head of the best pool, commenced fishing. We 

 administered some stem threats to the poacher, 



