A BOOK OF FISHING STORIES 



had caught and held upwards of 50 lb. of bass during the last 

 two mornings, had at last snapped. But there was no such 

 indication of a break, and I was utterly baffled, looking round 

 at Nikko with the lack-lustre expression of the fool I felt myself 

 to be. But he, better acquainted with certain foibles of his 

 rickety old caique, quickly grasped the situation; and now 

 came the dramatic deed of daring which greatly endeared this 

 lazy but faithful follower to me during the rest of my stay in 

 his land. Without a moment's hesitation, he pulled the oars 

 inboard, grasped the landing-net in his right hand and leapt 

 over the side into the cold water. He had seen, and I saw now, 

 the bass lying on its side, panting and utterly played out in the 

 long grass which covers the sea-bed in those parts, and he 

 swiftly realised that the gut must have taken a turn round a 

 rusty old nail that projected from the keel. Here, then, was 

 the explanation of that sudden slackening of the line that had 

 sickened me a moment earlier ; and here, too, was Nikko, with 

 the bass safe in the net, holding on to the gunwale and blowing 

 like a porpoise. What though he all but upset the caique ! 

 We had the fish, and it only remained to give my resourceful 

 henchman the rest of the day off and to let him visit his friends 

 at Pendik, incidentally with the bass for sale, on which he 

 realised just on a sovereign in good silver medjidiehs. To 

 snatch a seventeen-pounder from the sea just as failure seemed 

 imminent was a triumph that recalled that other narrow squeak 

 in the far-off Devon estuary, and I remember wondering 

 whether my boatman at home would have leapt as readily into 

 the breach. Probably he would not, but then these Levantine 



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