Amateur Poaching.

Patea Mail, 18 March 1882, Page 2 (Supplement)

Amateur Poaching.

A NIGHT ADVENTURE ON LOCH CAERXOK. The little parlour of Garrick Inn was shining with the light of two large oil lamps, and merry with the sound of song and laughter. Tom MacLaren, A.E.S.A., sat in his shirt sleeves at the head of the oaken table brewing the punch, while we, the quieter members of the company, did what we could to aid and abet the brewer. There was vagaboudish bliss in the very way we lounged, and smoked, and drank. We were here the most of us to cultivate the gentle graces of the country—and this is how we did it. The steady junior partner of Monteith and Buchanan, East India merchants, was all but unrecognisable in this florid individual who occupied three chairs and gave sharpest of business wits to the mere puffing away little rings of blue tobacco smoke. You would scarcely have thought to look at him that he could float off gold-mining shares just about as gracefully.,-. Then there was Frank Eenneson, advocate, and neatest little man in Parliament House, who had just finished a boisterous song about being “ Merry in the hall when the beards wagged all,” and who looked as much of the Bohemian as his prim apparel would admit. The glasses were being pushed about again when MacLaren said:

“ Pull back the blind there, Buchanan, and see what sort of night it is.” “ The loch is black and still,” said the junior, peeping out, “ and above as dark—” “ As the policy of Her Majesty’s Government,” I suggested. No politics here, if you please, Sir

Scribbler j keep that for the Morning Mercury. But what do you say, boys, to a little sport,” said the A.R.S.A., filling his briar-root pipe the while. “There are some capital salmon to be got at the head of the loch, and we can easily have Campbell the innkeeper’s boat.” “ But the hauls are preserved, are they not queried Buchanan. “Of course they are. The Duke has let the loch to some soap-boiling grandee. But what of that? We can creep up in the shadows, old Campbell will show us where to drop the net, and we can all be back here within two hours, and nobody a bit the wiser.”

So reasoned Tom MacLaren, with his shirt-sleeve morality. And to say truth, we all dropped into the adventure with easy gracefulness. The risk was small, and the fun likely to be great. It was scarcely possible that the keepers would be about so late on Saturday night, and the piquancy of a little poaching could thus be easily added to flavour a quiet holiday. So, when Tom called upon us to empty our tumblers, we M.e re all ready to go. The night seemed to favour the enterprise. Loch Garrick lay windless, and still in the deep shadow of the hills. Neither star nor moon was in the sky, but away to the westward a faint mystic pallor lay on the horizon, against which were silhoutted a few sharp, rugged peaks. It was a very lonely place. As we went down to the landing we could hear the scream of the whaup on the slope of the hill behind the inn. We got the salmon net from the pole, but Campbell, the innkeeper, would not take the risk.

“ Gott, Mr. MacLaren,” he said, “we might be caught, indeed, and the Duke would neffer forgive the man as touched the salmons. But there is my cousin, Donald, you will know his house farther up the loch. If you will give him a good dram he will be very glad, indeed, to show you the 1 hauls.’ But you will be sure and take care of the keepers, Mr. MacLaren, for they will have one man in Invergarry gaol just now for poaching the salmons.” Nevertheless, we pulled away with a long stroke and light hearts. We kept close inshore, making as little noise as we could. Presently a fire flared up in the distance, and sent a rudddy streak across the water. “ Only a tinkler’s camp,” said Tom, “ there is always a nest of them about here.”

A very primitive affair it was; no more, indeed, than a branch or two from the nearest tree, with a few rags hung thereon. We passed close to them, and could see the red-burnished face of a woman in the glowing firelight. “ A dismal kind of life these poor creatures live,” I said, as we passed the camp. “Now, that is simply your ignorance. Scribbler; these people have their own share of happiness. I remember taking a walk up the loch side on a keen, cold night in January. Just at the point we have passed there was a camp, and the tinklers were shuffling and dancing in the snow to the music of the pipes. X never heard. cheerier laughter anywhere.” Pulling on, we came to the glimmer of a white house, when Mac Lean leapt out, and soon returned with Donald, who was a keen fisher. We became more careful now, absolute quietness was to be our safety. For a moment Eenneson was lured by the rythmic beat of the oars to break out with his favourite catch, “ ’Twas merry in the hall,” but was promptly silenced by an uncompromising majority. Buchanan constituted himself treasurer, and any one who ventured a sound above a whisper was promptly fined. Thus we kept away for the head of the loch, while the net was got ready. It was so very dark in the deep hollow of the hills that we could see nothing round about us. We could feel the rich, sweet smell of the bog-myrtle, while once and again we heard the low hoot of the owl from an old castle ruin. Donald steered us carefully ashore, and Buchanan and I were sent out with one end of the net, while the boat drew away in a semi-circle, Donald gently dropping the net out as it went. When this was done, and the others had got ashore with their end of the net, Buchanan and I began to “ pull in,” moving along the while to meet them. It was very exciting. There was the steady stepping along the shore, the hurried whispers, the strong tugging in the net, and the dense blackness all about us. Somebody stumbled over a boulder, which brought a deep malediction in Gaelic from Donald, and an increased nervous caution to each of us. A. s we drew in the net, hand over hand, we knew our success as we felt the salmon leaping, and when at length we landed three splendid fish, Donald declared in a stage whisper (and in the dark, of course): “ They wass the biggest salmons, gentlemen, as will have been caught in Loch Carrick this year, whateffer.” We were greatly elated with our success, talking of it rather loudly, I fear. There were three “ hauls ” at the end of the loch, and we all were determined to have another trial. So we pulled the boat across a little way and dropped the net close to the mouth of the stream that flows in there from the hills. We were more excited and much less careful this time. We drew in as before, and netted two big, glistening, tumbling fellows and a few grilse. Donald would have it that they were bigger even than our former catch, but Donald had been more than once at Tom M'Laren’s whisky flask. Perhaps it was that we were all just a little reckless and loud spoken, and nothing would do but that we must row to the other side and try the third “ haul.” Donald was steering, and, as it would seem, filling his pipe at the same time. Buchanan, who was before me, nearly dropped the oar when the foolish old Highlandman deliberately struck a lucifer match. It flared up a little in the darkness while the pipe was being lit, and then went out amid our curses low and strong. We were soon made aware that this reckless bit of folly was to have consequences. From the shore to which were making came a low mysterious whistle. We all stopped rowing, while Donald, cursing in Gaelic, brought up the boat sharply and turned her head down the loch.

“ Grott, Mr MacLaren,” said he in a fearful whisper, “ that will be the keepers as will whistle to one another just now.” “ Well, then,” said Tom, “ the sooner we get out of this hole the better. I don’t want to be caught salmon poaching.”

“ Let us pull away at once then,” said Buchanan. “We have evidently raised the alarm. But what was that ? Did you see anything move inshore there, Donald ? ” The words were barely spoken when the flash of a gun revealed a boat making towards us. How terribly loud the report seemed. The echo went shrilling away up the glens, and appeared to waken the very hills.

We were now thoroughly alarmed, for the keepers had apparently been watching our movements, and the gun-shot was, without doubt, a pre-arranged signal to intercept us on the way home. It was all bustle and excitement with us for a little. Each accused the other of being the cause of £his

misfortune, but Donald and his unlucky pipe came in for tbe chief share.

“ Stop all this jabbering,” cried MacLaren, “and look every one of you to his oar. There were not more than two men in that boat, bo far as I could see. We have four good pairs of arms here, with Donald to steer. Let us give the rascals a race for it!”

“ Give the stroke then, Tom,” said Renneson, “ for there is not a moment to lose. I can hear them paddling down on us pretty quickly.” So we lay back on the oars and pulled to our utmost strength. We lifted the boat and sent a hissing whiteness on the water at every stroke. Donald steered us for the middle of the loch so that we might have plenty of room in case they should try to intercept us. After we had raced in this hot fashion for a good bit, I suggested that we should halt for a moment just to hear if we were really being followed. “ Halt be it, then,” said MacLaren, as he pulled up his oar. There was a breathless pause. We could see the dim streak of white we had left behind us go away into the blackness. The water rushed and rippled against the side of the boat. Renneson was the-first to speak, probably because he was the most nervous.

“ There they come steadily down on us,” cried he, breathlessly. “ The fellows must be good at this kind of thing. I say, MacLaren, this is a wretched business you have brought me into. I would give fifty pounds to be out of it. How would it look for me to be brought up at Invergary on a charge of salmon poaching P ” “ Oh, confound it,” snapped Tom, losing temper as well as breath, “ you needn’t have come unless you liked, you know. And as for getting into Court, we are all in the same fray there. How would it fit me to have it paragraphed in the Morning Mercury that the eminent young artist T. MacLaren was at present busy rope-picking in tbe West Highlands.” “ This is mere waste of time,” said Buchanan, “ let us get away again. But do you not think they have stopped?” We listened again. The oar-stroke had certainly ceased behind us, but the low whistle was repeated. “ The other keeper, he will be farther down the loch,” said Donald, “ and we will have to pass him in tbe dark, indeed. But you will let me out at my own house, gentlemen, whateffer.” “ Nothing of the sort, Donald,” said MacLaren, laying himself stoutly to the oar. “ You must go with us all the way. Keep out of this streak of light from the tinkler’s camp. Run the boat down the other side, for they are sure to think we will make for the inn.”

“ Better get rid of the net and the fish/ Eenneson cried.

“ All right; we can drop them into a bush if we get a good start,” said Tom. “ Meanwhile, gentlemen, put your strength to it,” So we pegged away, throwing in all the pitch we could muster. But it was a fagging business; and when we turned a bend of the shore, right glad were we to see the lights of the inn twinkling in the distance. Donald kept away to the farther side, and put the boat gently on the shingles. The fish were quickly bundled into the net, and MacLaren ran with them up the slope a bit, and slung them into the broom. “ It doesd’t matter whether we get them again or not,” said he, pushing off the boat, breathlessly. “ The proof is gone now, Eenneson ; and a lawyer like you should be prepared to swear anything, so that we are thus far safe. The chase seems to have kept towards the inn, for I have not heard sound of oars for a little.” “ Well, then,” said Buchanan, “let us beach the boat half-a-mile below Campbell’s place, and walk home. The keepers are sure to be waiting for us.” This was thought to be the best plan. So we ran down in the shadow opposite the inn, and then crossed sharply over. We were thoroughly tired and hot with the fright and hard rowing, but I think the prospect of walking home gave us no concern. Rather, I believe, there was a mighty satisfaction when the boat was drawn up and the anchor tossed among the boulders. Tom MacLaren, at least, had recovered his temper and gaiety. He pulled out the old, inevitable briar-root pipe. With a rhetorical flourish he asked Donald, “ who, for once, had proved himself beyond doubt a man of light and leading,” to favour him with a match. Then he demanded a song from Eenneson “ for pulling you through, you know.” Much against his will the little man complied, so we went along the road, in an a.iry, jaunty fashion, letting’ all whom it might concern know that

“ ’Twas merry in the hall. When the beards wagged all, We shall never see the like again.”

When we got near the inn we went along a little more quietly. Donald was sent, and glad he was to get away home by himself, after having a taste of the flask. Buchanan proposed that we should slip in at the back door one by one, and make directly for our bedrooms, so as to avoid all questions. This was thought to be the safest course. The place was almost dismally quiet, and the lights nearly all out. Tom MacLaren went first. He and I were to sleep together, and when I reached the bed-room, after stumbling through a very dark passage, he said it was all right. Campbell, he thought, was out about the stables. He had just “ given a glance into the parlour,” where there was a man sitting drinking all alone—- ■' probably one of the keepers.” It was not long before we blew out the candle and crept into bed, assuring each other that we had got out of a very bad scrape. We lay in silence for some time, and then there came a heavy footstep to the outside door. There was a low whispering in the lobby, and then the new arrival passed into the parlour, which was separated from our room by a thin lath partition. “ Hullo, Campbell/’ we heard a voice say, where have you been ? I have been waiting about for nearly two hours. But there is something strange about your place tonight—both the boats away from the landing, and not a man about the house. I came down the glen to have a chat with your visitors, but I can’t find them anywhere.” “ Oh, the visitors, they will be very safe indeed, Mr. David,” and Campbell laughed in a low, dry fashion. “ Tom MacLaren has come back this year, I believe. Is he quite well ? ” “ Oh, yes, he is very well indeed,” said Campbell. “ And it is Tom MacLaren will have been in his bed before morning for once. But I will take a dram with you, Mr David, and it’s the good story of the salmons I can tell you whateffer.” And then he went on, with a great deal of dry humour and mirth, to tell a tale of salmon poaching—how he had refused to ge with us, and that when we were fairly off how he had slipped after us in the other boat, taking his gun with him; how he had held aloof in the darkness until the salmon had been “ hauled,” and then had whistled and tired off his gun; how he had heard our frightened talk and the headlong rush w« had made for home, while he came quietly paddling down the loch after us.

It was a very fnuny story as Campbell told it over the whiskey. MacLaren and I

could hear every word that was said. W-ll did Campbellknow that we were listening ail could not help but hear him, when he dwelt with rare relish upon “ the fright and the foolishness ” of the “ poor lads as will hev thrown away the good salmons.” Tom and I tried to laugh with them, but it was just a little forced, and the A.R.S.A. fairly broke into spleen when he heard Campbell say — “ Oh, yes ! Mr McLaren is a very clever young man indeed, and many is the trick he will have played upon old Angus Campbell. But he will hev a good fright this night, and it is me as will have the laugh of him to-morrow. Yes, indeed, he will be a very clever young man,” and here he laughed in his own low, dry way, and Tom MacLaren could only answer as he turned a disconsolate face to the wall, “Confound it, Scribbler, the old fellow has tricked us very neatly, but I will be even with him yet.”