84 DAYS AND NIGHTS OF SALMON FISHING 



With some difficulty, and even risk of drowning, I 

 got my head above water, and my hand on the 

 crown of a sharp rock. There I stood, streaming 

 and disconsolate, casting a wistful look at the late 

 bright inmates of my basket, which were tilting 

 down the weeds through the gullet into a tremendous 

 pool, vulgarly called Hell's Cauldron. Into that 

 same pool with the ominous name had I myself very 

 nearly passed, and thus had followed my hat, which 

 was coursing about in the eddy or wheel of this fear- 

 ful depth. Thus vanished before my eyes my whole 

 day's sport, for dead fish immediately sink ; and it 

 was not without some skilful fishing up that my hat 

 and I renewed our acquaintance. I have before 

 observed that when I was quite an urchin I never 

 wore a hat, or any covering over my hair ; but as I 

 grew older I thought it decorous to follow the fashion. 

 At another time, whilst still a puer, and only pos- 

 sessed of one single bait-hook, to my utter confusion 

 I found that solitary hook had been swallowed by a 

 duck, which a mass of sedges under the bank had 

 concealed from my view. There we were, Mrs. Duck 

 and I, dashing, swashing, and swattering down the 

 stream ; the duck all the time declaring his senti- 

 ments by the utterance of a fearful noise, and I 

 endeavouring by every means in my power to 

 prevent my only hook from being ravished from me 

 by my feathered opponent. In the meantime a 

 group of lasses, who were washing clothes at the 

 river side, and were friendly to the bird, set upon 

 me, first with their tongues, of the use of which they 

 seemed to be in full possession, and latterly with 



