; and as Providence has provided him with a decided snout, he
bores downward with dogged persistence, relying apparently as much upon
his classical barb appendages as upon his powerful tail for aid in time
of trouble; and an infallible sign of his unconquerable spirit is the
difficulty of bringing him into the net when he is close to it. There
is not to my mind any fish that bolts so often when to all appearance
played out.

The uncertainty of barbel and barbel fishing was illustrated by the
sequel to our day on the Thames. Our adventures were told to the
members of a certain society on the evening of our return, and no doubt
they were envious, miserable, or glad as it might happen. We can only
speculate as to that, but what can be told is that by the first trains
next morning six brethren from different quarters of London went down
and made their way to Hawkins. They had not whispered their intentions
to one another, and looked rather sheepish as they stood in a cluster
to receive the announcement from the fisherman's wife that H. was not
at home. They looked a little more sheepish when they took boat to the
pollard tree swim and found two very young gentlemen with Hawkins
seated in a punt. But they smiled again on learning that there had not
been a touch at either of the three lines, which had been out since
daylight. That swim was diligently tried after our visit, but I had
reason for knowing that not another barbel was taken there during the
entire winter.

CHAPTER X

TWO RED LETTER SALMON

It is not often that the angling clubs which encourage prize-taking
offer booby consolations for the smallest fish, but I have known
exceptions, especially at the holiday competitions by the seaside. The
biggest fish are another matter altogether. Sooner or later the world
is bound to hear of them. And who dare say us nay? That man was not a
fool who wanted to know, if you did not blow your own trumpet, who was
to blow it? Blowing it need be neither boasting nor defiance. In this
honest belief I shall try for a while to forget the butcher's bill in
Flanders by recalling the capture of my biggest salmon, and that of a
still bigger one by a friend during the same bygone back-end on Tweed,
leaving the general memories of autumn days on the great Border river
for future revival.

It was during Mr. Arthur N. Gilbey's tenancy of the Carham water, and
he was, besides being my host, also the hero of the very best