THE OLD PUNT: A CURIOUS 'TURNPIKE'


The sculls of our punt, being short and stout, answered very well as
levers to heave the clumsy old craft off the sand into which it sank so
deeply. That sheltered corner of the mere, with a shelving sandy shore,
and a steep bank behind covered with trees, was one of the best places
to fish for roach: you could see them playing under the punt in shoals
any sunny day.

There was a projecting bar almost enclosing the creek, which was quite
still, even when the surf whitened the stony strand without, driven
before a wet and stormy south-wester. It was the merest routine to carry
the painter ashore and twist the rotten rope round an exposed root of
the great willow tree; for there was not the slightest chance of that
ancient craft breaking adrift. All our strength and the leverage of the
sculls could scarcely move her, so much had she settled. But we had
determined to sail that lovely day to visit the island of Calypso, and
had got all our arms and munitions of war aboard, besides being
provisioned and carrying some fruit for fear of scurvy. There was of
course the gun, placed so as not to get wet; for the boat leaked, and
had to be frequently baled out with a tin mug--one that the haymakers
used.

Indeed, if we had not caulked her with some dried moss and some stiff
clay, it is doubtful if she would have floated far. The well was full of
dead leaves that had been killed by the caterpillars and the blight, and
had fallen from the trees before their time; and there were one or two
bunches of grass growing at the stern part from between the decaying
planks.