THE OLD SQUIRE'S PANTHER STORY
It seemed good, even after only three days' camping out, to sit down in
the house again and see the supper table nicely set and Gram at the head
of it. She welcomed us home as warmly as if we had been absent for
weeks; the Old Squire was still a little disturbed, from his recent
"interview" with Halstead.
Halse, himself, did not come to supper; and nobody mentioned his name
during the entire evening.
Little Wealthy was plainly overjoyed to see us back and, despite the
pout which she had worn when we went off without her, talked very fast
to us and told us of all the occurrences during our absence.
"Aunt Olive" was with us for a week; she and Gram and Wealthy had begun
to dry apples; and after supper, Aunt Olive brought in three bushel
basketfuls of bruised Baldwins and Greenings, along with some natural
fruit; she also produced the old paring machine, coring knives and a
hank of stringing twine and needle, and in short made ready for a busy
evening.
"Now, young folks," quoth she, "you've been off and had a fine time; and
I s'pose you're all ready to make the apples fly! It will not take us
long to do up these three bushels to-night, if you all work smart."
It was an invitation not to be refused, under the circumstances, though
Theodora and Ellen made wry faces. They disliked to cut apples, it is
such dirty, sticky work and blackens one's hands so badly. Addison took
up the paring machine, good-naturedly.
"Here's my old friend of last year," said he, screwing it to the leaf of
the kitchen table. "I pared bushels with it last fall, and I guess I'll
pare them now, while the rest of you trim and core and string them. We
must have dried apples, I suppose, for pies and sauce; at least, Gram
says we must."
He fixed an apple on the fork of the machine and then in a moment had
whirled the skin off it, in a long, thin ribbon which descended into the
basket set beneath the table. I thought it looked to be fun;--but that
was before I understood the business as well as I subsequently came to
do.
Finding that we had mustered in good force to cut the apples, Gram got
out her basket of socks to darn and presently summoned Theodora to
assist her. The Old Squire sat at the other side of the table and began
to read his _Maine Farmer_, which had come that night from the post
office; but he stopped reading often to hear what Addison had to tell of
our trip. Ellen and I trimmed and halved the apples, as Addison pared
them; "Aunt Olive" cored and Wealthy strung the cored halves.
At length, when Gramp seemed to have looked his paper pretty nearly
through, Theodora said that we had a particular favor to ask of him that
evening.
"Ah!" said the old gentleman, looking over the top of his glasses. "What
can Theodora want?"
"But I want you to promise to grant it before I tell what it is,"
replied Theodora.
The Old Squire laughed. "That's asking quite a good deal," he remarked.
"But I hope I am not running much risk."
"Well, then, grandfather," said Theodora, "we all want you to tell us
the story of the panther that you and Mr. Edwards shot up in the great
woods when you were boys. Thomas and Catherine have been telling us
about it; and we want to hear the story."
"Yes, sir," said Addison. "Please tell us about that."
The old gentleman hedged a little. "Oh, that is not much of a story,"
said he.
"Come, Squire, I've heard tell o' that 'ere catamount that you and Zeke
Edwards killed; but I never could get the particulars," said Aunt Olive.
"Jest give us the particulars."
Gramp tried to put us off. "I'm no great hand at stories," he said. "You
must get Hewey Glinds to tell you bear and catamount stories."
"But you promised me, Gramp," Theodora reminded him.
At length, after some further excuses, the Old Squire was induced to
make a beginning, and having begun, told us the following story which I
give in words as nearly like his own as I can now remember.
"It was in the year 1812. I was little more than a boy at that time, and
the country was quite new here. We had a clearing of about fifty acres
and had not yet built our present buildings; and our only neighbors,
nearer than the settlement in the lower part of the township, where the
village now stands, were the Edwardses. Old Jeremy Edwards came here at
about the same time that my father came.
"Eighteen-twelve was the time of our second war with England. Soldiers
for it did not volunteer then; troops had to be raised by draft. Father
and neighbor Edwards were both drafted. I well remember the night they
were summoned. Mother and Mrs. Edwards cried all night. But there was no
help for it. There were no such things as substitutes then. They had to
go the next morning, and leave us to take care of ourselves the best we
could.
"Little Ezekiel Edwards--Thomas's and Kate's grandfather--was just about
my age; and the men being away, everything depended on us. Those were
hard times; we had a great deal to do. We used to change works, as we
called it, so as to be together as much as we could; for it was rather
lonesome, planting and hoeing off in the stumpy, sprouted clearings.
That was a long, anxious summer! We heard from father only once. He was
somewhere near Lake Champlain.
"We were getting things fixed up to pass the winter as well as we could,
when one night, about the first of November, Ezekiel came running over
to ask if we had seen anything of old Brindle, their cow. It had been a
bright, Indian-summer day, and they had turned her out to feed; but she
had not come up as usual, and was nowhere in sight. It was dusk already,
but I took our gun and, starting out together, we searched both
clearings. Brindle was not in the cleared land.
"'We shall have to give her up to-night, Zeke,' said I; 'but I will go
with you in the morning. She's lost or hedged up somewhere among
windfalls.' We heard 'lucivees' snarling, and as we went back along, saw
a bear digging ground-nuts beside a great rock. These were common enough
sounds and sights in those days; still, we did not care to go off into
the forest after dark.
"Several inches of snow came during the night and the next morning was
cloudy and lowering. Zeke came over early. Brindle had not come in. He
brought his gun and had taken Skip, their dog; and we now started off
for a thorough search in the woods. Everything looked very odd that
morning, on account of the freshly fallen snow. The snow had lodged upon
all the trees, especially the evergreens, bending down the branches; and
every stump and bush was wreathed in white.
"As the cows used frequently to follow up the valley--where the road now
is--to the northward, we entered it and kept on to where it opens out
upon Clear Pond, at the foot of the crags which you probably noticed as
you passed. There is just a footpath between the crags and the pond,
which is very deep on that side. About the pond and the crag the trees
were mostly spruce. This morning they looked like multitudes of white
tents, lined with black. And this appearance, with the ground all white,
and the not yet frozen water looking black as ink, made everything
appear so strange, that although we had several times been there before,
we now scarcely knew the place.
"As yet we had seen no traces of Brindle. But just as we came out on the
pond, at the foot of the crag, we heard a fox bark, quite near at first,
then at a distance. Skip sprang ahead among the snowy spruces, but came
back in a few moments, and, looking up in our faces, whined, then ran on
again.
"'He's found something!' exclaimed Zeke.
"We hurried forward on his track, and a few rods further, saw him
standing still, whining; and there, under a thin covering of snow, near
the water, lay old Brindle, torn and mangled, and partially eaten.
"A feeling of awe crept over us at the sight.
"'Dead!' whispered Zeke.
"'Something's killed her!' I whispered back.
"There were fresh fox tracks all around, and the carcass had been
recently gnawed in several places. Some transient little fox had been
improving the chance to steal a breakfast. But what savage beast had
throttled resolute old Brindle?
"With strange sensations we gazed around. Not a breath of air stirred
the snow-laden boughs; and the wild, gray face of the precipice,
towering above us, seemed to grow awesome in the stillness.
"Looking more closely, we now discerned, partially obscured by the more
recent snowflakes, some broad footprints, as large as old Brindle's
hoofs, leading off along the narrow path between the crag and the pond.
After examining our priming, we followed slowly on these tracks, Skip
keeping close to us, and glancing up earnestly in our faces.
"Very soon, however, the tracks stopped. Beyond a certain point there
were no footprints. Skip whined, almost getting under our feet in his
efforts to keep near us. Suddenly then a piercing scream broke the
stillness, and on a jutting rock, fully twenty feet above us, and in the
very attitude of springing, we saw a large gray creature, its claws
protruding on the ledge, its ears laid back and its long tail switching
to and fro! It screamed again, then leaped down. Zeke and I started to
run back along the path, but both stumbled on the snowy rocks. Next
moment we heard a yell from Skip, then a loud growl. The panther had
seized him; and then we saw it go bounding back up the rocks, grappling
and gathering up the dog in its mouth, at every leap. Climbing still
higher, it gained a projecting ledge, along which it ran to a great
cleft, or fissure, seventy or eighty feet above the path. There it
disappeared.
"Its onslaught had been so sudden, that for some moments we stood
bewildered. Then, remembering our danger, we turned to run again, but
had taken only a few steps when another scream rooted us to the path!
The panther had come out in sight and was running to the place where it
had climbed up.
"Frightened as we were, we knew that it was of little use to run and
both pulled up. As long as we stood still, the animal crouched, watching
us; but the moment we stirred, it would rise and poise itself as if to
spring. We were afraid if we ran that the animal would bound down and
chase us.
"How long we stood there, I don't know, but it seemed very long. We grew
desperate. 'Let's fire,' Zeke whispered; and we raised our old
flint-locks. They were well charged with buckshot, if they would only
go off. The panther growled, seeing the movement, and started up; but we
pulled the triggers. Both guns were discharged. We then sprang away down
the path, but glancing back, beheld the panther struggling and clinging
to one of the lower ledges to which it had jumped, or fallen, from the
rocks above.
"'We hit him!' exclaimed Zeke. 'Hold up,'--and we both turned.
"For a long time the beast clung there, writhing and falling back.
Screech after screech echoed from the mountain side across the pond. We
could see blood trickling down the rock.
"The animal grew weaker, at length, and by and by fell down to another
rock, where, after fainter struggles and cries, it finally lay still. We
loaded and fired again, and the fur flew up, but there was no further
movement. Skip and Brindle were avenged, as much as they could be; but
it was a long time before the Edwards family ceased to lament their
loss.
"We went to the place twice afterwards during the winter. A mass of gray
fur was still lying on the rock, thirty or forty feet above the path.
And for years after, we could see some of the panther's bones there."
To us young folks who had so recently been camping in the "great woods"
and had passed along the foot of this very crag where the panther had
been shot, the Old Squire's story was intensely interesting. We could
vividly imagine the scene and the fears of the two pioneer boys, on that
snowy November forenoon, more than fifty years ago.
When I went up to bed that night, I found Halse soundly asleep. He did
not wake and I did not disturb him; but he was astir and dressing, when
I waked next morning, and before we went down, he began to laugh and to
ridicule us, on account of the fright we were in at the cabin when those
stones were tumbling on the roof. "And I broke up your camping trip,
anyway," he added, exultantly. "You were the scaredest lot of chickens
I ever saw! Shut yourselves up in your shanty and fastened the door with
props!"
I did not much blame him for wanting to crow a bit, after all that had
happened.
On the whole it was fortunate that we came home when we did. The storm
continued; all next day it poured and drove furiously; but apple-cutting
went on blithely indoors. What was rare for him, Addison had a bad cold
with a very sore throat; and we all retired early that night, not having
as yet caught up all arrears of broken sleep from the camping trip.
But it was not to be a night of rest; and I for one was destined to have
an exciting experience before morning. Shortly after midnight there came
an obstreperous knocking and thumping at the outer door, so loud that it
waked us in our beds up-stairs. It was repeated twice; and then I heard
the Old Squire below call out, "Who's there?"
"It's me," replied a troubled voice.
"Well, but who's 'me?'"
"Bobbie Sylvester. And please, sir, my folks want you to send one of the
boys after the doctor, quick!"
There was a sudden exclamation of wrath and indignation from Addison in
his room, with a chain of comments, which it is not necessary to
remember.
"Why, what's the matter?" we heard the Old Squire call out. But just
then we distinguished the murmur of Gram's voice, and a moment later
heard her coming up the stairs to speak to us.
"Boys," said she, "one of you must ride to the village after the doctor
for Mrs. Sylvester."
"But, Gram, it's a terrible night," Ad expostulated.
"I know it, boys," said she. "It's a bad night, but somebody must go."
"Let Sylvester go himself, then!" cried Addison, angrily.
"Well, but you know he hasn't any horse, and has rheumatism," said the
old lady.
Then began to dawn on me what I came to know full well later, that
whenever certain of our poorer neighbors were taken ill, or an
additional small member was about to be added to their families, they
were very prone to come hurrying to our door at dead of night,
beseeching some of us to ride seven miles to the village for the doctor.
Addison was really unfit to go. No doubt he felt unusually irritable.
"By the holy smoke!" he exclaimed. "I wish there wasn't a baby under the
Canopy!"--and while I was trying to puzzle out and piece together all
these darkling hints and inferences, the Old Squire came up stairs and
after a word with Addison and Gram, told me that I would have to rig up,
get on old Sol's back and take my first turn riding for Dr. Cummings.
That settled it.
Thereupon I began dressing in haste, Halstead lying at his ease and
crowing over me as I did so; and I am sorry to add that I was in a mood
so un-cousinly that I at length gave him a swipe with my thick jacket as
I put it on to hasten down stairs.
It was still raining fiercely; but they rigged me up as best they could
for the trip--buttoned me into an old buffalo coat (it was a huge fit
for a boy, thirteen), tied a woollen comforter around my neck, and
another one over the top of my cap, to hold that on my head and keep my
ears warm. Wool socks, a pair of large boots, and some heavy mittens
completed my outfit.
Gram herself went to the stable and looked to the saddle. I mounted;
Gramp pulled the great door of the stable open, and I rode forth into
the rain and darkness.
After a few moments outside, I could see objects, in outline. So much
rain had fallen that the road was completely saturated. I got on pretty
well, however, until I came to the meadow a mile from home, where the
road crossed low ground and a large brook. There was a plank-bridge here
twenty feet long. The brook was now very high--a good deal higher, in
fact, than any of us had anticipated. It had risen several feet since
nightfall.
The moment I came to the meadow I found that there was water all over
it, and also in the road, extending back two hundred yards from the
bridge to the foot of the hill. I could not see how it looked, and, of
course, did not fully realize how high and rapid the stream had grown.
Old Sol splashed through the water till we came near the bridge. There
the water was up to my feet, in the road. On pulling up, I could hear it
rushing and swirling along over the bridge. I supposed the bridge was
undisturbed, for there were stones laid on the planks at each end, I
could see nothing save a black expanse all round me. Hesitating a
moment, I summoned my courage and dug my heels into old Sol's sides. He
went forward till his feet touched the first planks. There he stopped
and snorted. I gave him the spur. He leaped forward and seemed to strike
his feet on planks. But, as was afterwards ascertained, some of them
were washed out, and all of them were afloat. At his next spring his
legs went down among them. Then the full force of the current struck
him, he rolled over sidewise, and horse and boy went off the lower end
of the bridge, in eight feet of swift water.
It is needless to say that I was holding to the horse's mane for dear
life. As we rolled over the "stringer" of the bridge, I was partly under
the horse. We went down and I distinctly touched bottom with my left
foot, but clutched the horse's mane with both hands and hugged the
saddle with both legs. It seemed to me that we rolled over before we
came to the surface. Then we went under again, but a moment later, the
horse got foothold in shallower water, and floundered out on the further
side of the brook.
If I had let go of him I would certainly have been drowned; for the
skirts of the buffalo coat had been driven by the current over my head,
and with all those water-soaked clothes on, not even a powerful swimmer
could have got out. I felt as if I weighed a ton. My cap was gone, and
with it, my comforters.
I wasn't very much frightened, I hadn't had time to be, though I
remember thinking when we rolled off the end of the bridge, that no
doctor would get to the Sylvesters' that night.
The horse waded off the meadow to a set of bars, and we got back into
the road; and on coming to the foot of the hill I dismounted and partly
wrung some of my clothes, though it still rained heavily. If I had not
been on the further side of the stream, I'm sure I would have gone home,
for I felt awfully cold and homesick.
The road was badly gullied, and I had still another brook to cross; but
the stream there was not so rapid, and after reconnoitering the bridge
as well as I could in the dark, I ventured upon it, and found that I
could pass.
I do not think that I was more than an hour and a half reaching the
village. It was so dark that I had difficulty in finding the doctor's
house, though I knew the place. A moment later I dismounted, and knocked
at his door. After a while a window was raised, and Dr. Cummings asked
what was wanted. I told him, and I can safely assert that he did not
seem overjoyed.
"How are the roads?" he asked, after some hesitation.
"Pretty bad."
"Hum! And the bridges?"
I replied that I thought one of them had been washed away.
"Washed away? How did you get over then?"
"My horse swam."
"Well, I'll tell you," said the doctor. "I'm about used up, and have
just come in from a hard ride. You call Dr. Green. He's a young man,
just settled here. I don't want to be hoggish with him. Call Dr. Green."
Dr. Green was a young homoeopathist who had come to the village the
year before. It was said that Dr. Cummings did not like him, also that
Dr. Green reciprocated the sentiment.
"Shall I tell Dr. Green that you sent me for him?" I asked, as I got on
my horse.
Dr. Cummings did not reply.
I then went to Dr. Green's door, and did my errand there. "Have you been
for Dr. Cummings?" was his first question.
"Yes," said I, "and he sent me to you."
"He's a shirk," said the young doctor, "but I'll go."
He came out directly, saddled his own horse and set off with me, asking
no questions about the road. It still rained, and the wind was in our
faces. I led the way. The doctor followed. He kept up pretty well. He
had on a suit of yellow oil-skin, and I could see that some ways back.
When we got to the hill near the meadow, I pulled up and told him about
the bridge. "You can try it," said I, "if you want to, but I am going to
wait till it gets light before I try it again."
"You are a pretty fellow," said he. "Why didn't you tell me of that
before?"
"I was afraid you might not come," said I, "and it was my business to
get a doctor."
"Go ahead, then," said he, grittily. "Let's try it."
"No, thank you," said I. "Once in that brook is enough for me, in one
night."
"Well, then," said he, "do you know any other bridge or ford?"
I knew of a bridge two miles above. The road was like porridge, but we
reached it, tried it carefully, and at length got across without
swimming. The remainder of the way was comparatively uneventful; and we
reached the Sylvesters' just as day began to dawn. Four old ladies were
there, including Gram. They greeted the doctor with great glee. He was
late--but all was well.
Nevertheless, that was a good trip for young Dr. Green. The folks
thereabouts said that he must be a staunch young fellow to turn out on
such a night. I always felt that they might have added a word for me,
too.
The doctor told me a while ago that that ride was worth a thousand
dollars to him.
"Well, then, doctor, suppose we divide that thousand," I said.
"Why?" said he. "What for?"
"Well, I went after you that night, and piloted you up there," said I.
"That's true," said he, "but you must collect your fee of the patients,
as I do."
"Little there's left for me when you are done with them," said I.
I found my cap and comforters about a fortnight after that, in the top
of some choke-cherry bushes below the bridge.