# An Angler at Large/Chapter 39

This afternoon, as I came out of the Island withy-bed and crossed the plank, I was aware of a figure, a little upstream, seated by the backwater, and knew it for Purfling. From his complete immobility it was clear that he was fishing. For the moment he was probably simulating a willow, because there were three of those trees close to him. But I for one was not deceived. His pretence was a failure. He did not look in the least like a willow. But he made a very impressive spectacle. He sat full in the glare of the sinking sun, and a little glory, as of purism, seemed to surround him. Wonder at the man possessed me that here, conscious of no human beholder, he could yet play his part, maintain his principles, be true to himself. For the first time I realised that Purfling was not a poseur, and, as the very last conceivable reason for him vanished, I broke the silence of the golden afternoon with something very like a guffaw. On ​second thoughts I am compelled to say that it was exactly like a guffaw. In short, it was a guffaw. Purfling never budged. I trusted that he had not heard me,
I approached him on my stomach through the grass, and when abreast of him bade him a cheery good afternoon. His eyes moved slowly till he saw me. "Ah," he said, "it was you. Don't come any nearer, please. There is a nice fish here. I've been over him for the last hour." "Feeding?" I asked. "No," he said shortly. "Have you risen him?" I asked, solely to annoy. "No," he said, more shortly. Purfling arouses something hellish in my nature. "What fly have you tried?" I asked. He became even more rigid than before. He was silent. I was ignored. His left shoulder said plainly, "Please, go away." "Put an alder over him," I said, "and have him out." That touched him, for he sighed. I was no longer ignored. I was pitied. I do not mind whether Purfling pities or ignores me, but perhaps his pity is the more complimentary. I lit a cigarette and remained close to Purfling. "Do you mind," I asked in my most servile way, "if I stay and watch you fish. I have never seen you fish, Purfling." Flattery could not reach this man. "Please stay," he said. "You have as much right in this meadow as I." At that moment a motor-​horn sounded from the road, and Purfling with astonishing control of his muscles began to subside slowly, slowly into the long grass. I watched him apprehensively. When he had finally come to earth and had begun to crawl from the bank I said, "Purfling, for Heaven's sake! I'm off this minute." "It's not you," he said graciously, "it's my car. I have a meeting at Little Harmony to-night. Please don't disturb yourself."
The man had watched his fish for an hour, and at the first hoot of his waiting car he left it. This was not human, but it was Purfling. "My dear man," I cried, "try an alder over your fish before you go." He sighed again and went away from me, without a single backward look at the water. It occurred to me that his Christian name must be Talus.
Here was a wretched fish abandoned by Purfling with the utmost callousness. I am not callous. I assumed Purfling's responsibilities on the instant. I got up and looked over the rushes that fringed the bank.
Eighteen yards away in a rippling shallow lay the large trout which I had expected to see. It was moving its tail very gently. It lay in the shade of a willow branch. It was an excessively easy cast.
I began to throw an alder towards it, and at the ​ninth cast this fly lit not far away from the fish's head.
The fish took the fly confidingly into its mouth.
Shortly afterwards I hit the fish on the head and placed it in my basket.
A motor-horn sounded. I looked towards the road. Purfling in his car was trying not to run over a flock of sheep.
Now read this. I call it
(Piscator, Venator, Raptor, Corydon)
Pisc: Well met, my loving scholar. You have prevented me, I see.
Ven: Ay, marry, good master. I have awaited your coming this hour. Shall we be walking towards the river?
Pisc: Nay, sir, you have been betimes indeed. But there is no cause to be so brisk. Trust me, on such a dull day we shall find no fly on the water thus early. And it is my purpose to drink my morning's draught in this same good alehouse where you have so patiently expected me. Hostess, a cup of your best drink. Another. Come, I will try a third.
​Ven: But, sir, were it not better to be by the water-side? There is no chance of a fish here.
Pisc: As much, my honest scholar, as beside the very stream. The fly will not show before seven minutes after eleven of the clock, at soonest. Hostess, a draught of ale.
Ven: Good Master, you do amaze me. How know you this so surely?
Pisc: Let me tell you, sir, that your fly is a creature very obedient to the action of the elements. On a grey morning, such as we have to-day, he lacketh the genial warmth of the sun to bring him forth. But forth he must come, will he, nill he, and that he will do this morning at seven after eleven. Nor will he fail us. Come, will you drink a civil glass with me?
Ven: Most gladly, sir; but I had rather be a-fishing. See, the sun is shining now.
Pisc: Fear not, worthy scholar; the fly will appear neither sooner nor later than I say.
Ven: I pray you, master, tell me how you have got this prodigious knowledge?
Pisc: Marry, sir, by learning. But I confess that no direction can be given to make weatherwise a man of dull capacity. Your good health, my impatient scholar.
​Ven: But, sir, may we not take some trouts, though there be no fly?
Pisc: Scholar, you are young to the angle, and so you stand excused. This is the talk of your pot-hunting fishers who do not scruple to throw an alder to a trout that is breakfasting on green drakes. Let me tell you, scholar, that no honest angler will wet a line until the fly be up. Hostess, a pot of ale.
Ven: Good master, I crave your pardon. Shall we not be going?
Pisc: Why, my honest scholar, I think we shall, for it is now eleven of the clock, and it is no more than seven minutes' walk to Willows Bridge, where I do purpose to begin.
Ven: Sir, there is a gentleman on the bridge.
Pisc: An angler, by his rod; and, by his reaching the river at this hour, one who hath skill in the craft. Good-day, sir.
Rapt: Good-morrow, sir. What sport?
Pisc: Why, sir, none.
Rapt: None, sir? You have been fishing to ill purpose then.
Pisc: Nay, sir, I have been fishing to no ill purpose, for I have not been fishing at all.
​Rapt: Then, sir, you have my sympathy, for a merrier hour's work I have never known. I have taken the number limit, three brace of as fine trouts as ever were seen. There is eighteen pounds weight here, in my fish-bag.
Ven: This is some pot-hunting fisherman, I fear.
Pisc: Why, sir, you have indeed been fortunate. But I am told that a silver doctor, run through these Clere hatch-holes——
Rapt: A murrain o' your silver doctors, sir! It was a dark olive quill.
Pisc: Indeed, sir?
Rapt: Ay, marry! The rise of a lifetime, sir. The fly came on at nine of the clock, but there hath been none for this half-hour, and so I am for home with my three brace.
Pisc: To sell them at the fishmonger's, sir?
Rapt: Good-day, sir.
Ven: Alas, I fear we have lost some noble sport.
Pisc: I fear that this good gentleman is a liar. Did you mark, scholar, how he made no offer to show us this great catch of trouts?
Ven: True, good master. Then we are to doubt his story?
Pisc: Most shrewdly.
​Ven: I see no fly, and it is eight minutes past the hour.
Pisc: Nay, my most particular scholar, would you hold me to a minute? No man may be so nice as to the moment of its coming. We shall see it in good time, never fear. Hand me your rod; a pretty tool indeed, but ill-balanced and something too limber for our manner of fishing. See, this is mine; stiff, springy, and lovable. I use no other. With this rod, no matter how bloweth the wind, I will lay my fly on a sixpence at twenty-five yards in the first throw. It is to yours, scholar, as the day is to the night.
Ven: Indeed, master, I have so little of the art that I can find no difference between them. The tackle-maker hath served me ill, for he sold me this same rod as a perfect copy of your own.
Pisc: These tackle-makers are for the most part arrant knaves. But, scholar, I see that you have already tied on your fly; and a detached badger—a most unworthy contrivance. Trust me, this is not what honest fishermen are used to do.
Ven: Nay, master, never scold me; I did but wish to be ready.
Pisc: Trust me, you do but waste your time; for while it hath been computed that there are no less than seven thousand six hundred and forty-three different sorts of fly tied by these same ​scoundrelly tackle-merchants, there can be but one or two natural kinds of insects on the river's surface. Thus, scholar, it is in the neighbourhood of four thousand to one that when the fly comes (and it is a plaguy long time a-coming) you must take off this lure and put up another.
Ven: Well, sir, I have a goodly store. See how many sorts are in this pretty box of mine, each in its separate compartment. Is there not a brave show here?
Pisc: A brave show, I warrant you. Oh, my poor scholar! How many hath the villain sold you? One, two—twelve! Trust me, scholar, no honest fisherman needs more than three.
Ven: Then have I been tricked most vilely. Tell me, sir, what are these three patterns of which you speak?
Pisc: The olive quill, light and dark, and the Piscator's Fancy, so called because your unworthy master devised it. See, it is a little similar to the Wickham, but with this essential difference: the silk is turned around the hook to the right instead of to the left. With these three flies I will catch trouts at any time, I'll hold you two to one, nor will I ask for any other pattern.
Ven: See, master, there is a great trout.
Pisc: Where? Where?
​Ven: There, good master—a most lovel fish.
Pisc: Scholar, you must get you sharper eyes. Do you not see it is a bit of weed?
Ven: But look, dear master. There—it riseth.
Pisc: Lend me your rod. I have no fly tied on.
Ven: Nay, master, you know that I have a detached badger. Would you use such a lure?
Pisc: Why, scholar, it will prove merry sport to take him so. Come, your rod; I warrant you I will fit you with a trout for supper. Note, scholar, how I shall lay my fly three inches above his nose. A plague take the wind!
Ven: Methought five yards too much on this side.
Pisc: Nay, this was but a trial cast. So, I have got his length. There—that was another trial. No man may fish in such a gale with such a rod.
Ven: Good master, do you take your own, and while you tie on a fly let me angle for this trout.
Pisc: Prithee, fair scholar, cut me off this willow branch that I may regain my hook. Come, we must try other measures with this gentleman. My Fancy shall go forth in quest of him. Scholar, I must again crave your aid; it is somewhere in the small of my jacket.
Ven: Now, sir, you are fancy free. I pray you, let me have my rod.
​Pisc These olives will not tempt him. He is a dainty fellow. See with what scorn he regardeth the pink Wickham; and the ginger quill fareth no better than the sherry spinner, nor the Welshman's button, neither. We must e'en put up a red caterpillar. No? Then an orange tag.
Ven: Now, sir, I have given you all my patterns.
Pisc: The fiend run away with this fish! Have you any salmon flies about you?
Ven: Nay, sweet master.
Pisc: Then do you essay to catch him. Is a foe worthy of your steel.
Ven: Thank you, sir. I will try this same detached badger once again. See, master, I have him.
Pisc: Well done, scholar. Keep up your point or all is lost. Reel in your line, scholar—give him line. Oh me! These weeds must be your undoing, I fear. Bravely, scholar, bravely! Give him line—reel in—he is a prodigious stout fish. Shall I take the rod?
Ven: No.
Pisc: Well, you have bungled through, scholar, and now he is your own. Well done, sir! A pound if he is an ounce, and were a good fish an he were in season; but I do find him something lean ​and lousy and unwholesome. Shall we not throw him in again and let him grow till he is more worthy of your anger?
Ven: Nay, sir, my scales make two pounds and one quarter, and I do think him to be a vastly fine trout. There—he is dead.
Pisc: See, sir, there is some fly coming down, as I said it would.
Ven: Then, master, we may look for more sport, I trust, for I do protest that I am quite in love with this fishing. My dear master, what are you doing?
Pisc: Marry, scholar, I am catching one of these same flies, for let me tell you that unless your lure is to the shadow of a shade the same as the fly that these trouts are taking, you shall labour to more purpose in yonder three-acre pasture.
Ven: Well, good master, I will e'en try my detached badger over yonder trout that I see busy by the willow.
Pisc: You will not take him. Here cometh a fly, close in, if I can but reach him. Zounds! I am in to the waist.
Ven: Give me your hand, dear master. Nay, sir, you are woefully stuck.
Pisc: …
​Ven: Here is help. Good fellow, lend me your aid.
Cor: Marnin', gentlemen both. Lar, naow, if it bean't Measter Piscator. Zure as my name be Corydon, 'tis. Swimmin', be 'ee, zur? Cayn't catch these-air trouts thataway, zur. Haw! Haw!
Pisc: …
Ven: Nay, good master, this honest man meaneth well by us. Prithee, brave Corydon.
Cor: Naow, zur—one, two, three—and up comes the——
Pisc: Donkey!
Cor: If you please, zur.
Pisc: I am soundly drenched. Corydon, are you not keeper here, and is not that your cottage?
Cor: Ay, zur.
Pisc: Then, friend, you shall fit me with a dry pair of breeches. Scholar, I will presently return.
Ven: And while you are gone, I will match my poor skill against yonder lusty fish.
Pisc: Nay, scholar, he is too far for you, trust me. Leave him, and on my return I shall show you a pretty piece of angling. Make your way below bridge where I do see some tidy trouts busy, who are more within your capacity. Come, good Corydon.
​Ven: Nay, I will angle for these sprats no longer; there is no hooking them. I will e'en go try for the big fellow, for I do believe that I can reach him. Ay, he is still at work. Marry, by his rise he is a trout indeed. So, another cast and I cover him.
Pisc: Why, most naughty scholar, do I find you so heedless of my counsels?
Ven: My loving master, are you back already?
Pisc: Ay, our worthy keeper, Corydon, hath furnished me out with these coarse, rough small-clothes. I would they fitted me less straitly, but beggars may not be choosers, eh, honest Corydon?
Cor: Why, zur, there wasn' no more'n they two pay-er fer 'ee to chuse amongst; but 'ee did zurely chuse the best.
Pisc: There is a penny for you.
Cor: Thank 'ee, zur.
Pisc: Spend it wisely; let us not find you bemused with liquor this evening, when we come to leave the water. And now we do not need an attendant, so go your ways, for I mean to catch yonder trout for this gentleman's supper. Come, scholar, give place, and you shall soon see him at closer quarters.
Ven: Dear master, I have but this moment got his length.
​Pisc: Nay, sir, you cannot take him; you have not the skill to throw so far; you will surely crack off your fly. Catch me one of these trouts below this bridge, them that I told you of.
Ven: Oh, sir, they are little things.
Cor: They be daäce, zur.
Pisc: Go your ways, Corydon; I tell you that they are trouts. Well, scholar, perhaps you will be better employed watching me. Why, it is a long cast, beshrew me! How now? My fly is gone! Mark this, scholar, and learn how the best may be caught napping. The gut hath been overlong drying and hath broken. Now, I am ready again. There—I think that was pretty well.
Ven: Your fly is in the tree, sir.
Pisc: Ah, scholar, this time your eyes have not deceived you; it is as you say. Oh me! I am most evilly hung up. Now, while I am mending the damage, let me tell you, sir, that when I shall hook yonder fish I must manage him yarely. Do you see these beds of green weeds? He will surely run for them, and once among them, he is lost to us, but you shall see how I shall master him.
Ven: That was a fine cast, sir. Oh, he hath taken it.
Pisc: Ay, hath he, and he is mine own.
​Ven: Have a care, sir; he is for the weeds.
Pisc: …
Ven: Oh, sir. What is to be done now?
Pisc: Marry, a strong fish; no man alive could have held him; but I have not done with him, scholar. Mark now, how I shall play him with the hand. See, a gentle pull and draw; a steady sawing motion of the arm, and——
Cor: Haw! Haw!
Pisc: Corydon, we do not desire your company. Come, scholar, let us be going, for there is a notable pool beyond this meadow where I have seen as many as twenty valiant trouts feeding at a time. And when we are come to this pool we will sit beneath one of those tall elms and rest from our toil awhile. For let me tell you that the sun is now so hot and high that it is odds against our seeing anything to repay our casting. But there we will take our dinner pleasantly, feasting blamelessly among the buttercups like these same silly kine; and I will give you yet more directions, for I would fain make you an artist.
Ven: Well, sir, I will confess that a sandwich will not come amiss.
Pisc: Nay, scholar, an your stomach be for sandwiches I must pity you; for let me tell you, sir, that I do abhor your sandwiches. A greasy, ​soft, and flimsy food, more fitted for the tea-table of a gentlewoman than for the dinner of an honest angler. It is ever my way to carry with me in my fish-bag a cold pullet's leg and a lettuce, a piece of good, dry wheaten bread, and such fruit as is in season. Ah hah! sir, I see your mouth begin to water. What say you to the providence of an old angler? Come, scholar, here is our tree, and now let us fall to.
Ven: Oh, master, what is the matter?
Pisc: That feather-brained wench hath forgotten to furnish me with my dinner. A murrain——
Ven: Nay, my loving master, will you not share mine? A sandwich——
Pisc: Oh, my dear scholar, shall I not be robbing you? Thank you, sir, I will try another. I protest that these sandwiches are vastly well; though this one hath more gristle in it than I could wish. Nay, sir, but one more and I am filled. No more, I thank you.
Ven: Why, sir, I shall not eat it; would you see it wasted?
Pisc: Nay, that were a sin, and I would rather have it on my stomach than on my conscience.
Ven: You are merry, sir.
Pisc: That is a gallant hunch of cake.
Ven: Will you try it, sir?
​Pisc: Very gladly, scholar. What goodly plums are here! Oh me! your cake hath stones in it, sir. Whither now, good scholar?
Ven: A fish rose, sir.
Pisc: Can you point him out?
Ven: Nay, sir, I have my eye upon the very spot in the middle of the pool, but I should be hard put to it to show it to you. Why, I have him at the first attempt.
Pisc: I will put the net under him for you, for let me tell you, scholar, that this feat is no easy one, and not to be essayed by an unskilful hand. For if in landing of a fish the net do but touch the line, he shall break all. Bring him nearer to this tussock—so——
Ven: Alas, master, he is gone.
Pisc: Scholar, you will do better yet, but I must tell you that you managed clumsily. Why did you suffer the line to touch the net?
Ven: Dear master, it seemed to me——
Pisc: No matter, sir. You will do better, trust me. I have in you a towardly scholar, but no one may learn this art in a morning's fishing. I protest that the day is over sultry; I will sit awhile beneath this fine tree and read old Epictetus in the shade. Angle, if you will; but, trust me, you may not look for sport before evening.
​Ven: Up, dear master, the trouts are rising madly.
Pisc: My shaving-water, Thomas.
Ven: Nay, sweet master, awake. It is six of the clock, and there is great sport toward.
Pisc: As I live, I do believe that I have nodded. Ay, scholar, the trouts are rising gallantly. Let me tell you that this is the evening rise, called amongst us old anglers Tom Fool's Light, because it would seem that the veriest bungler must enjoy sport when the fish are so ready to feed. But you must know, sir, that this name is ill-chosen. For all their boldness it taketh a master hand to deceive them at this time.
Ven: Yet have I landed a leash in this very pool.
Pisc: Then I will go higher yet, and try conclusions with them in the next meadow.
Ven: Well, master, the sun hath set upon a fair day and a happy one for me. I have taken another brace since we parted company. How hath fortune smiled upon you, good master, beside this tumbling bay?
Pisc: Why, sir, sourly, for I have wasted all this fine rise fishing for one trout, which, when ​I had caught him, proved too small for keeping. So I gave him his liberty.
Ven: Why, sir, what fly is this? Here is a woundily big hook, and here is a brave show of silver tinsel and peacock herl.
Pisc: It is a sedge-fly that came by accident among my tackle.
Ven: Here comes friend Corydon, the keeper, to lead you to your dry clothes.
Pisc: Prithee, sweet scholar, not a word about the sedge-fly. Our day is ended, and I am glad to see that you have profited so well by my instruction.
Ven: And by your example, fair master.