THE MYSTIC GULF.
THERE was nothing in the old garden that appealed to us as children more than its eastern boundary. The great twelve-foot wall was the home and centre of all manner of queer occupations and pursuits. It was broadly coped with freestone and massively clothed with ancient ivy for the greater part of its course, and the straight green track along the top, obscured by the luxuriant leaved and scored across by bidden branches, formed a sort of adventurous causeway where one might crawl on hands and knees looking down upon the world beneath. The view at the lower end was magnificent, extending even to the " green hill far away" on the common, and at its greater altitude the dizzy track ran in among the trees, so that one found oneself perched in a close neighbourhood of impenetrable greenery on the near side. On the far side rose the back of the adjoining house, not more than two feet beyond the wall, like a cliff, to the gutters where the sparrows dwelt far overhead. Hoisting oneself up by the roof of the meat-safe at the bottom end one made one's way along the summit, always scaling new altitudes, for the wall rose here and there in a sharp curve of perhaps a couple of feet. And thus one might practise the reckless sport of dropping from it, adding to the height by fixed gradations, and adding at the same time to the tingling sensation of " pins-and-needles " that characterized the moment when one struck the ground. And there were often sparrows' nests in the ivy and lost tennis balls. And there was a point from which one could look down through the roof of the conservatory and run little stones down it tingling over the glass. But the highest use to which the old wall was put was as a vantage ground from which to fish in the Mystic Gulf. The Mystic Gulf was the narrow strip of ground that had been left stranded between the two walls when the house next door was built. It was deep and dank as any dungeon and splendidly mysterious, and from the very nature of its confined and narrow space it was quite untrodden by the foot of man. I suppose it was for that very reason that the Mystic Gulf boasted so rich a deposit of useless odds and ends among the rough stones and broken slates that formed its main contents.
It so happened that the dining-room curtains at that time were supported by strong brass hooks, which could be reach ed with a gingerly outstretched arm from the top of the side- board, and these served the purpose admirably. It required delicate manipulation to control them at the end of their swaying line, and some patience and no little skill were called for in feeling one's way to a point that was capable of admit- ting the hook. For it would mumble impotently about the smooth surface of tin cans, and the old umbrella-stick that was one of our most coveted prizes could with difficulty be raised more than a few inches from the ground. But we laboured with a whole-hearted devotion quite out of proportion to the importance of the cause, and the museum of relics which we had established in the summer-house added daily to the number of its specimens.
As time went on innovations were introduced. We would let down a lighted candle into the darkest recesses ; two anglers would work in concert, attacking the umbrella-stick one at each end and trying to lift it with a perfect balance at the same moment. For as we became by degrees skilled exponents of the sport we despised the more obvious prizes. There was no satisfaction in fishing up a broken fire-guard, for instance, or the remnant of a wicker basket. These were too palpably hookable. As well shoot a pheasant sitting. It was to the serious problems that we turned longing eyes—the orange, the watering-pot, the twisted poker. It became a common practice to dedicate oneself for the afternoon to one of these, the baffling and the unattainable. "I am out for the poker to-day,". one would announce, and until the tea-bell rang one would suffer no distraction from this stern endeavour. It was comfort enough to have had a bite—that is to say, to have perceptibly lifted the quarry clear of the ground.
It was my younger brother who brought home the orange in an impressive scene, during which it was placed with elaborate musical honours in the forefront of the museum. He had discarded his hook and line, and borrowing a long pole from the bleaching green had fitted it with a stout point of wire. With this he had skilfully run the orange to ground in a corner of the wall, speared it, and brought it up. The pole was afterwards found useful for stirring up and altering the position of other objects so as to make them more amenable to attack.
And then there came a day when our long practice was put to good account, and we were able to save ourselves from a desperate situation by our familiarity with the art. For it was the season of sparrows' nests, and we had found one in the waterpipe that ran up the wall beyond. It was so placed that one could positively see the eggs by clinging on in a dangerous and distorted position, and yet the opening was so small that
they were not to be reached. But could they not be ladled out with a spoon P It was an important and engrossing problem. With a beautiful disregard for property a small antique silver spoon was brought forthwith from the cabinet in the drawing-room, applied by an eager and unsteady hand, and dropped into the Mystic Gulf !
Here was indeed something to fish for. Here was a new element of urgency, of overwhelming gravity introduced into the pastime. Here was a sufficient cause to put us on our mettle. The candle on being lowered revealed it lying well in an open space. But we recognized with dismay that nothing is less vulnerable to hook or spear than a small silver spoon. And yet we triumphed. For my own inherent love of all that is sticky prompted me to a brilliant rescue. It was one of the greatest triumphs of my childhood when, at the very moment of the ringing of the tea-bell that was to seal our fate and in the centre of a thrilled, expectant group, I let down a tethered tennis ball smeared lavishly with birdlime. It descended with perfect precision, and I allowed it to settle for a moment upon its prey before I drew it triumphantly to the surface. The only untoward outcome of the incident was an unmerited reproof to the housemaid for neglecting to keep the silver clean.
After that the tennis ball became for a time the favourite bait. It would roam about the horrid depths gathering an unsavoury cargo of paper, pieces of cloth, or anything else of a readily adhesive nature. These were not of course admitted to the museum, but they were carefully subjected to examina- tion before they were destroyed. For we had a wonderful faith in the possibilities of our Gulf, and it seemed not at all unlikely that one might strike a banknote or a cheque. Such things did happen!
And now I come to the last and strangest development of the passion for fishing which had filled the spare hours of a whole summer with interest and delight. It is an illustration of that gambling, reckless spirit which seems to belong to every small boy, that love of taking risks which is so far removed from the gambling spirit of later life, in that one went into the thing cheerfully with everything to lose and nothing to gain, well content that one's greatest success should leave one where one started. It was this spirit that was responsible for the once popular game of seeing who could throw his watch furthest without breaking it.
For the Gulf became exhausted. Even the umbrella-stick and the watering-pot had been retrieved, and the poker had been given up as hopeless. It was necessary to re-stock our waters. It was thus that the custom grew up of casting in all manner of goods and chattels for the sake of fishing them up again. At first they were of no value, and were selected solely by their fishable properties, but we were not satisfied with that. A sort of sinister competition grew up between us in flinging in our most treasured belongings. We would outbid each other in a display of wanton and sacrificial courage, till at last it almost became a point of honour, and one could not enjoy the possession of any new piece of property till it had faced the ordeal of the Gulf. The climax was reached on a dreadful day when this new tendency reached the propor- tions of an orgy. The nursery cupboard was cleared out, private drawers were searched and rifled, and a great bale of miscellaneous property was hauled to the top of the wall —books, knives, paint-boxes, a telescope, a tennis racquet, a Waterbury watch, and many other treasures. All were cast recklessly into the depths, and we peered down at them with quaking hearts and faced the task before us.
I doubt not that all would have ended well had it not been for the thunderstorm. As it was, our salvage operations were carried out two days later in the spirit of dark and dogged bitterness of those who must save what they can from the wreck.
And we fished no more in the Mystic Gulf.
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