ROUNDING CAPE HORN--STORM AND TEMPEST--SAN FRANCISCO--GUIDES FOR THE
BACKWOODS--THE GROUP AROUND THE CAMP-FIRE--A WILD HUNTER'S STORY.
Two months after the adventures related in last chapter, our wandering
trio of friends found themselves bivouacked in one of the forests of the
far West, just as the shades of evening were beginning to deepen into
night. They had bade adieu to kind-hearted Captain Lyell at Monte
Video, finding a passage in an American ship to San Francisco. Heavy
weather had been experienced while rounding the Horn, weather that put
them in mind of the old days up north in the ice-fields: strong
head-winds snow-laden, against which they could scarcely stand, far less
walk; tempestuous grey seas, foam-fringed, that often broke aboard of
them with sullen roar, or went hurrying astern with an angry growl, like
a wild beast disappointed in its prey. But the good barque had borne
herself well. And when at length her head was fairly north, clouds, and
gloom, and storm fled away; the sun shone down on a sea of rippling
blue; reefs were shaken out, stu'n'sails set alow and aloft; and in a
few weeks they were safely at anchor not far off that busy world's mart,
that mighty mushroom city called San Francisco. Here they had lazed for
a whole week, then wended their way towards the wilderness. Yet am I
loth to call it a wilderness, this beautiful tract of country in which
they now found themselves. Savage and wild it was; its woods more often
rang with the war-whoop of the Indian, or the roar of the grizzly bear,
than echoed to the sound of the white roan's rifle; savage in all
conscience. But no one who has not wandered in its great and
interminable forests, roamed over its mountains, or embarked on its
thousand and one rivers and lakes, could imagine that such sublime
scenery could exist anywhere out of a poet's dream or an artist's fancy.
Now, although as the historian of their adventures, I am quite willing
to admit that our heroes were, after nearly three years of wandering and
hair-breadth 'scapes, and adventures in almost every land the sun shines
upon, both good travellers and sportsmen in the true sense of the word,
still, I think, it was lucky for them they met with two experienced
hunters, who consented to guide them on their expedition to the northern
backwoods of America. They met them, as they had met Lyell, at a table
d'hote, in the Palace Hotel in San Francisco; and in a few days a
friendship was cemented between them, which none of the party had ever
reason to repent of, because they were men of the world.
And here we have the five of them, mostly intent on the preparation of
the evening meal. Lyell is cook to-night; and he evidently cooks from
no badly-stored larder. Yonder hangs a lordly deer; wild-fowl they have
in prolusion; and in a short time they will, doubtless, enjoy their _al
fresco_ dinner as only sportsmen can.
Dugald McArthur, one of their pioneers, is standing with his arms
folded, and his brawny shoulders leant against a tree, while honest John
Travers is carefully examining the mechanism of Chisholm O'Grahame's
bone-crusher. Chisholm himself is gazing dreamily at the log-fire, and
so, too, is Frank. But Dugald is the first to break the silence. He
bends down, and lays a hand on Chisholm's shoulder.
"I say," he remarks, "you wouldn't think to look at me that there was
much the matter with me, would you?" Chisholm smiled by way of reply.
"But there is, though," continued Dugald. "I'm suffering from a disease
the doctors call nostalgia, and I oftentimes dream o' the bonnie hills
and glens of dear auld Scotland."
[Nostalgia, home-sickness; an irresistible longing to return to one's
native land, which sometimes becomes with the Swiss a fatal disease.]
"Well, you don't look very bad, I must say," said Chisholm. "But if
going back will cure you, why not go with us?"
"It is just what Jack and I mean to," said Dugald. "Now wait a wee
until we have eaten supper, and sit down to toast our toes, and John and
I will tell you what brought us out."
"Now," said Dugald, when the time had come, "it is ten long years, and
begun again, since Jack there and I came to the conclusion that
civilisation was a grand mistake, that broad Scotland wasn't big enough
to hold us, and so turned our eyes to the West, to seek for adventures
and fortune. What determined our choice? Why this, we both fell in
love with the same lass. John and I always rowed in the same boat. We
were both orphans, and had been at school and college together; and had,
on coming to age, both put our monies into the same grand scheme. The
grand scheme was a bubble; and, like all bubbles, it burst. While we
were still rich and fortunate, neither Jack nor I could ever tell which
of the two of us was most regarded by the beautiful, accomplished, but
heartless Maggie Rae. As soon as we became poor, however, Maggie didn't
leave us much longer in doubt; she ended our suspense by marrying the
wealthy old laird of Drumliedykes. That was a sad blow for me; and, I
believe, for Jack too, though it wasn't his nature to say very much.
But I took to moping. I used to wander about the woods and lonely
glens, longing for peace, even if it were in the grave."
"I met Jack one evening as I was returning from one of these rambles;
and I suppose I looked very lugubrious. I addressed him in the words of
our national poet--
"`Oppress'd with grief, oppress'd with care,
A burden more than I can bear,
I sit me down and sigh:
O life! thou art a galling load,
Along a rough and weary road,
To wretches such as I.'"
But Jack pulled me up sharp.
"`Havers,'" [Scottish for absurd nonsense] said Jack, in a bold, manly
voice. "I tell you, Dugald, man was never made to sit on a stane and
greet (weep); man was made to work. You envy the rich? Bah! Carriages
were made for the sick and the auld. A young man should feel the legs
beneath him, should feel the soul within him. Let us be up and doin',
Dugald; there's no pleasure on earth, man, can equal his, wha can look
up to God, fra honest wark.
"Well, gentlemen, after this I was just as anxious to get away from
England as Jack was, so we made our preparations; and in a month's time
we had crossed the wide Atlantic, and journeyed as near to the Rocky
Mountains as cars would take us. I don't think we had either of us any
very definite notion of what we should do, or what adventures we should
meet with. We were not unprepared, however, for anything. We had not
gone abroad with our fingers in our mouths, so to speak; but we had read
books on travel, and taken the best advice on everything. We had good
horses, good waggons, good guns and compasses, and a fair supply of the
necessaries of life, to say nothing of a trusty guide. So we just set a
stout heart to a stiff brae (hill), and began the march. `To the west'
was our watchword; and there was in all our wanderings, ever in our
hearts, the reflection of a sweet dream, which we firmly believed would
one day become a reality, namely, that we would fall in with some land
of gold, make riches in time, and then return to our own country.
"For many months after we had once crossed the prairie-lands, and the
terrible alkali flats, we followed the course of a broad-bosomed river,
so that our compasses were of but little use to us, for one day this
stream would take us right away up north, the next day west or
south-west. It certainly was in no great hurry to reach its
destination; but neither were we, so it just suited us. We were
contented, nay, more, we were perfectly happy; we slept at night as
hunters sleep, and we awoke at early dawn fresh as the forest birds that
flitted joyously around us, and quite prepared for another day's work.
It _was_ work sometimes, too, and no mistake; work that many a British
ploughman would have considered toil, for we had our waggons to fetch
along, and that sometimes entailed long journeys round, to avoid a
forest too dense, or river banks too rocky.
"For months we never came across the trail of a living soul, so that we
were not afraid to picket our horses, leaving them plenty to eat and
drink, and go off pleasuring for days at a time in our birch canoes,
after the deer and wild-fowl by the river, or the swans by night. We
knew, or we could generally guess, where their haunts were. Erecting a
bit of canvas in the stern sheets, by way of cover, we would light a
bundle of hay, and throw it overboard, then drop slowly down stream
before it. If they were anywhere about, they were sure to be out soon;
and as they came sailing towards us, wondering what was up, one or two
of them was sure to pay for his curiosity with the forfeiture of his
life."
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
DUGALD CONTINUES HIS STORY--A FEARFUL STORM--ATTACKED BY WOLVES--LOST IN
THE FOREST--INDIANS--THE SURRENDER--THE ESCAPE--THE MINE OF GOLD.
"But it wasn't always plain sailing with us either on these
expeditions," said Dugald, continuing the narrative of his adventures;
"sometimes storms would arise, ay, and such storms too! One I shall
never forget; our horses were picketed down stream, but on high ground;
so as soon as the blue sky got overcast, and while yet the thunder was
muttering ominously in the distance, we made up our minds to get down
towards them as speedily as possible, not knowing how they would fare.
"Well was it for us we had lashed our frail canoes together, for there
was one portion of the great river which it was dangerous to descend,
even in fine weather, so rapid was the current. When we reached this
place the storm was at its very worst, and we found ourselves suddenly
whirling along in the midst of a raging cataract, a boiling surging
cataract. The thunder seemed rending the forest, and the very rocks
around us; the rain was terrible, and I had never seen such lightning
before; forked and sheet I had been used to, but here great balls of
fire fell from heaven, splitting, and hissing as they reached the waves.
It was indeed a fearful storm. When we reached camp at long last, we
expected to find that our horses had broken loose in the extremity of
their terror, but we were greatly mistaken; here they were safe enough,
and although there was evidence in the state of the ground that they had
been at first alarmed, they were quiet now; ay, even cowed in their joy
to see us, they fawned upon us almost as a dog would have done.
"But this forest life of ours was not so very pleasant when summer
ended, and winter began to give token of his speedy approach. However,
we determined to make the best of it. We built ourselves a hut of logs,
and a rude stable for our horses, then we had to lay aside for a time
our guns and fishing-rods, and instead of hunting, take to farming, and
make hay while yet the sun shone. As long as the horses could be turned
out lariated, they could find provisions for themselves, but when the
snow fell, as fall it did ere long, we had to find fodder for them
indoors.
"We did not forget our own larder, you may be sure, and right thankful
were we that we had not forgotten to take with us a traveller's cooking
stove, with a store of oil by way of fuel. Not that we expected an
Arctic winter by any means. Our guide, a sturdy bearded man of some
fifty summers, had trapped in these wilds for more than twenty years,
and could remember many a winter passing without the grass being even
once covered with snow. But travellers should always be provided
against even probabilities, and as it turned out it was well we were.
We enjoyed Christmas in our rude log hut almost if not quite as well as
if at home, and it would have done your heart good to have heard the
merry songs we sang, or to have listened to the strange stories of our
guide. No traveller's tales were these, they were painted from the life
and natural. The wolves used to come howling round our doors now of
nights. A fall of snow, that came on about the beginning of the new
year, seemed to make the creatures hungry. They came after the bones
that were thrown out, at least that was how they pretended to account
for their visit, but we knew well they would not hesitate a moment to
attack the horses if they could only find a chance.
"There were trees all round our humble abode, and wearisome enough it
was sometimes to awake on stormy nights and listen to the wild wind
roaring through their branches, mingling with the awesome cry of the
forest wolves. On just such a night Jack and I once started from our
beds, and sat up and listened. There was the dread of some impending
danger lying like a lump of lead at my heart, and Jack afterwards
confessed that he too was awakened by the same kind of feeling. Almost
in the same breath we called aloud to our guide. There was no answer,
but a rush of cold wind that swept through the cabin told us that the
door was open. We sprang at once from our couches and hurried on some
clothing, then seizing our pistols we sallied out; just as a cry for
help fell upon our ear, a cry that was drowned the next moment in the
horrid `hubbering' sound that wolves make while worrying a victim.
`Come on, Jack,' I cried; `they are killing poor Walter.'
"Jack and I were both in the melee next moment. The merciful moon shone
out, and we could see our guide on his feet covered with blood, but
defending himself bravely with a brawny fist and a broken lantern. Not
far off was our burly camp-dog engaged with three of the hungry-eyed
monsters. Jack and I soon turned the odds to deadly game, but Walter
was badly wounded, and it took weeks to get him well. It seems he had
taken his lantern and gone out to see if the horses were secure, when he
was at once attacked by the wolves. Winter brought us visitors from the
far north, the grizzly bear and his cousin the cinnamon bear. They used
to hide in the darkest and deepest nooks of the forest by day, or in
rocky dens by the mountain sides, and come prowling out by night,
oftentimes making the woods shake with their terrible roaring.
"A better guide or trapper than Walter couldn't have been; he was good
for forest, hill, or plain, and yet he lost himself one day not
half-a-mile from our hut-door. He had gone for a short walk in the
forest; and, according to his own account, his head all of a sudden got
turned round, as it were. This is a kind of madness not at all uncommon
in the prairie or wilderness. And now to honest Walter west seemed
east, and south seemed north. He had no compass with him; and it is
questionable whether he would have believed it if he had had one. It is
a good thing in cases of this kind, that a man usually marches round and
round in a circle. We found our guide next day lying exhausted at the
foot of a pine tree, not five miles from our wigwam; or, rather, his
good and trusty Newfoundland dog found him; but how the wolves had
spared him was to us a mystery. He had never once stopped walking till
he fell where we found him.
"The time flew by, gentlemen; winter had almost passed, although snow
still lay deep in woodland and glade, and we were fain to wear our
snow-shoes when going abroad; still the winds blew more softly, and
budlets began to peep out on the larch trees, which are ever the first
to welcome the balmy breath of returning spring.
"One morning, greatly to our annoyance, we found the rude stable-door
open, and our horses gone. But their tracks were fresh on the snow, and
so we felt sure we soon should find them.
"The trail led us to the uplands, and we were not sorry for this, as by
mounting an eminence or hill we would be enabled to see the country for
miles on miles around us. When we did at long last reach a hill-top, a
sight we saw not two miles off was quite enough to curdle the blood of
such inexperienced woodsmen as we were then.
"Indians! a score and more of them, with their horses picketed, and ours
among the rest. It was evident from their armour, their rifles and
spears, and their dress, that they were on the war-path.
"Gentlemen, I have but little heart to look back upon what immediately
followed our discovery. Some day I may tell you all our wild adventures
among the backwoods savages. Suffice it for me here to say, that after
days and nights of fierce fighting, our foes were driven off by fresh
bands of Indians. This was a tribe our guide Walter well knew; and, on
his advice, we surrendered to them. They spared our lives; but they
made us prisoners, because they found us of use to them. For five long
years we remained the slaves of this warlike tribe; but the dawn came
after the long darkness. We escaped on three of their horses--we chose
the best, you may be sure. It was on the evening of a great feast, in
commemoration of a successful raid they had made into the white man's
territory, returning with cattle, and, sad to say, with scalps.
"Fire-water was abundant that night, and horrible revelry and dancing.
But sleep stole over the camp at last; and then we felt our time had
come. We had left them leagues on leagues ere morning light. But we
took little rest till we were far, far away in the southern and western
states.
"This did not quite tire Jack and me of adventure and travel. No; we
just worked for a year, and then, once more accoutring ourselves, we
made tracks for the mountain-forests. The gold fever had broken out,
and we had caught it, only we determined to go prospecting all by our
two selves. And a good thing we did. We built ourselves a house. Jack
called it `the little hut among the bushes.' Some of the bushes,
gentlemen, were three hundred feet in height. We found gold, too. Fact
is, we had a small mine all to ourselves. As soon as we made a pile, we
used to go south, disguised as poor trappers, to sell our skins and fill
our powder-flasks; but, in reality, to bank our gold.
"We've made all we want. The mine itself is sold, and well sold; and as
soon as we have shown you a bit of life in the backwoods, we shan't be
sorry to return to our dear auld Hielan' hills once more."
The huntsman finished speaking, and soon after our heroes turned in for
the night, and the silence was unbroken--the silence of the dark
primeval forest.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
MERRIE ENGLAND--A WEEK AT WILLOUGHBY PLACE--OUR HEROES PART--A PLEASANT
RE-UNION, ON WHICH THE CURTAIN DROPS.
It was a lovely evening towards the close of an autumn day, many months
after the events related in the last chapter, that you might have seen a
carriage and pair, drawn up at the gate of the down station of the quiet
little village of Twintleton. There was but one person on the platform,
a tall, elderly gentleman, who was pacing up and down with evident
impatience. When I tell you that the proud crest of the Willoughbys was
emblazoned on the panels of the carriage, you will guess that the
gentleman himself was none other than Frank's father.
"She's long overdue, isn't she, porter?" he said at last.
"Only five minutes, sir," was the reply.
"Five minutes!" muttered Mr Willoughby, "why, I seem to have waited
here for a whole hour."
In a first-class compartment of this late train--still at some
considerable distance--sat three gentlemen. Brown were they in
complexion as the waters of a mountain burn, and just as vivacious.
"Now, Frank," said one, "I do wonder what your father will think of you
when he sees you."
"We've hardened him off properly," said the other, laughing. Frank
smiled, his thoughts just then wandered away down to a certain shire in
Wales. He was wondering what his betrothed--what Eenie would think of
him, and whether she herself would be much changed.
Half an hour afterwards all three were rattling off in the carriage, to
the home of the Willoughbys. Need I say that that evening the fatted
calf was killed, or that Frank was the hero there for weeks.
Heigho! but time _will_ fly. I have kept my trio well in hand through
all their years of wandering in wild places, but now at last the wizard
power of pen must fail, our friends must scatter. It was very pleasant
for a time roaming over the lovely fields and moors, gun in hand, dogs
ahead, in the bright, bracing September days. The dinners in the
evening at Willoughby Place were pleasant, too, and yet after one of the
best of these, all of a sudden, during a lull in the conversation--
"Father," said Frank, "I'm off to-morrow, like a bird, away down to
Penmawhr Castle."
"You young dog," replied his father, laughing; "I've been expecting to
hear this every day for the last week."
"Filial affection prevented me," said Frank, "from making up my mind
before."
"Oh! that just reminds me," said Chisholm O'Grahame, "that I sail for
Australia next week."
"And, oh!" cried Fred Freeman, "that puts me in mind. I'm off about the
same time to the Russian Steppes."
"What!" exclaimed Mr Willoughby, "all bent on the same errand? Well,
well, boys will be boys. But, I will miss you all sadly."
"I say, though," said Frank, "there is one thing I do look forward to,
and that is, when Fred and Chisholm return--I, of course, am going no
distance--we may have a grand re-union, here at old Willoughby Place."
"Yes," said his father, "If we are all spared I'm sure I'll be
delighted; and there is one thing you mustn't forget, that is, if you
can find them; namely, to bring with you the companions of your
adventures in the backwoods."
"Oh! never fear, sir," Frank replied; "we'll ferret them out--ay, and
Lyell as well."
"That will be delightful," said Mr Willoughby, rubbing his hands in
joyous anticipation of the hoped-for event.
"And," he continued enthusiastically, "up on the hill, near the ruins of
the ancient home of our fathers, on the night of the re-union, I'll
kindle such a bonfire as never blazed on the heights before."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
One short week after this conversation took place my three heroes were--
"--Severed far and wide
By mountain, stream, and sea."
And this just reminds me that my tale is wonderfully near its close,
for, dear me! you know an author who has lost his heroes is just like a
bird who has lost its eggs, there is not a bit of good in trying to sing
any more. Besides, they have all gone in different directions, and I
can't be in three places at once; and even if I could, my presence would
doubtless be deemed an intrusion, for I'll warrant they are all happy
enough.
But did the re-union ever take place, and did the bonfire blaze fierce
on the hill-top? Both events came off, reader, I'm glad to tell you.
And here they all are with happy beaming faces, seated around the table
in the banquetting hall of the home of the Willoughbys: Fred, and Frank,
and Chisholm O'Grahame, each with their wives by their side. Ay, and
brave Captain Lyell, too, though he has got no wife by his side--his lot
is to be a rover, his home is on the deep. And here is brawny Dugald
McArthur and honest John Travers, the bold hunters of the backwoods.
And here is precisely the place to drop the curtain. Let it descend
then, and slowly hide the happy scene.
Yet one word. My chief reward in having written these "Wild
Adventures," rests in a _thought_ and in a _hope_. The thought is, that
I may have sometimes interested and amused you; the hope, that we may--
for stranger things have happened--meet again another day.
End of Project Gutenberg's Wild Adventures in Wild Places, by Gordon Stables