A NIGHT IN THE STINA.
As on the second morning the rain had stopped, we thought we might
venture to proceed on our way, the next station we had in view being
the Jäeser See, a mysterious lake lying high up in the hills, of which
many strange tales are told. This _meeresauge_ (eye of the sea, as all
such high mountain lakes are called by the people) is the source of the
river Cibin, and believed by the country-folk to be directly connected
with the ocean by subterraneous openings. The bones of drowned seamen
and spars from wrecked ships are said to have been there washed ashore;
and popular superstition warns the stranger not to presume to throw
a stone into its gloomy depths, as a terrible thunder-storm would be
the inevitable result of such sacrilege. According to some people, the
Jäeser See would be no other than the devil’s own caldron, in which
he brews the weather, and where a dragon sleeps coiled up beneath the
surface.
No wonder we felt anxious to visit such an interesting spot, and that
we pressed onward without heeding the driving mists which every now and
then obscured our view. We had now reached the extremity of the pine
region, and were walking along a mountain shoulder where short stunted
bushes of fir and juniper afforded shelter for countless _krametsvögel_
(a sort of fieldfare), which flew up startled at our approach, uttering
shrill, piercing cries. Several birds were shot as we went along; but
as we had no dog to seek them out, they were mostly lost in the thick
undergrowth where they had fallen.
The sun had now hidden itself, and a sharp piping wind was blowing
full in our faces. We struggled on manfully notwithstanding, for some
time, in face of discouragement; but when at last the mist had turned
to a driving snow-storm, blinding our eyes and catching our breath,
we forcedly came to a stand-still, to consider what next was to be
done. There was no shelter to be obtained by going on, as our guides
explained; even did we succeed in reaching the lake, which was doubtful
in this weather, there was neither hut nor hovel near it, nor for
many miles around, and we ruefully acknowledged that our much-vaunted
sail-cloth tent would afford but scanty shelter against such a storm
as was evidently coming on. It was too late to think of returning to
the forester’s lodge, being near four o’clock, and darkness set in soon
after six. By good-luck, as we happened to remember, we had passed a
seemingly deserted shepherds’ hut about half an hour previously, the
only habitation we had seen that day. By retracing our steps we might
at least hope to pass the night under cover.
It proved no such easy matter, however, to find the place in question,
for the heavy mists which accompanied the snow-storm enveloped us on
all sides as with a veil, and we could not distinguish objects only
twenty paces off; and although the hut stood out upon an open slope of
pasture, we passed it close by more than once without suspecting. At
last, despatching a guide to ascertain the exact bearings, we waited
till his welcome shout informed us that our place of refuge was found,
and a few minutes later we had reached the stina.
This hut, very roughly put together of logs and beams, had been
evacuated by the shepherds some ten days previously; its walls were
very low, the roof disproportionately high; there were no windows,
and none were required, for there were as many chinks as boards, and
fully more holes than nails about the building, and these, in freely
admitting the wind and the rain, furnished enough daylight to see by
as well. Yet such as it was, it was infinitely better than our flimsy
tent, and we felt heartily thankful for the shelter it afforded.
The hut inside was divided off into two compartments, one for living
and sleeping, the other a sort of store-room where the shepherds are
in the habit of keeping their milk and cheeses. Some rude attempt at
furnishing had also been made; one or two very primitive benches, some
slanting boards to serve as beds, and a rickety table, weighted down
by stones to keep it together. Bunches of dried juniper were stuck
at regular intervals along the eaves of the roof inside by way of
decoration; perhaps, also, as a charm to keep the lightning away. Some
little objects carved out of wood, knives, spoons, etc., came likewise
to light in our course of investigation.
There was no such thing as a fireplace or chimney, but a heap of gray
wood-ashes in the centre of the stamped earth floor testified that a
fire could be made notwithstanding, and only the patient smoke of many
summers could have polished those beams inside the hut into that shiny
surface of rich brown hue.
We took the hint, and presently the welcome sight of dancing flames
lit up the scene. At first a dense smoke filled the building, and
there seemed really no choice between freezing and suffocation, when
some inventive spirit bethought himself of knocking out a portion of
the roof by means of a long pole, and so making an improvised chimney.
The current of air thus effected instantaneously carried off the dense
smoke-clouds, and left the atmosphere comparatively clear.
Like fire-fly swarms the sparks flew upward, probing the mysterious
darkness of the cavernous roof; and now as the blast swept by outside,
shaking the walls and fanning the flames to an angry growl, the dead
wood-ashes were likewise stirred to life, and, wafted aloft in the
guise of fluttering white moths, they joined in a whirling dance with
the golden fire-flies.
We had suspended our drenched cloaks from the cross-beams near the
fire, and were beginning to prepare our supper, when a startling
interruption gave a new current to our thoughts. One of the guides who
had been collecting firewood outside now rushed in, exclaiming, “A
bear! a bear! There is a young bear up there among the rocks.”
Breathless we all hurried to the door, and Count B—— seized his gun,
trembling with joyful anticipation, and almost too much agitated to
load. The snow-storm had momentarily relaxed its violence, and there,
sure enough, on the rising ground a little above the hut, we espied
a black and shaggy animal gazing at us furtively from over a large
bowlder-stone. It could be nothing else but a bear.
With palpitating hearts we watched the huntsman steal upward till
within shot, terrified lest the bear should take alarm too soon. But
no; this was not the sort of disappointment in store for us! The animal
let itself be approached till within a dozen paces; it was a perfectly
ideal bear in all respects, coming as it seemed with such obliging
readiness to be shot at our very threshold.
Delusive dream! too beautiful to last! One moment more and the shot
would be fired; we held our breath to listen—and then—oh, woful
disappointment!—the gun was lowered, and the would-be bear-hunter
called out in heart-rending accents, “It is only a dog!”
Only a poor half-starved dog, forgotten by the shepherds on their
descent into the valley, and which probably had been prowling round
the hut ever since in hopes of seeing his masters return. The animal
was shaggy and uncouth in the extreme, gaunt and wild-looking from
hunger, with glaring yellow eyes which gazed at us piteously from out
its bushy elf-locks. Even at a very short distance, the resemblance to
a bear was striking.
We called the poor outcast, and would fain have given him food and
shelter; but he was scared and savage, and misunderstanding our
benevolent intentions, could not be persuaded to approach. We had
therefore to content ourselves with throwing food from a distance,
which he stealthily devoured whenever he thought himself unobserved.
After this bitter disappointment we returned to the hut, and there made
ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit, completing our
cooking arrangements, not without a sigh of regret for the delicate
bear’s-paws we had just now been expecting to sup upon; though a brace
of haselhühner shot the previous day in the Bistra forest, and now
roasted on a spit, gave us no cause to complain of the quality of our
food.
Our next care was to prepare our sleeping-couches, for here there was
not even a sprinkling of straw to soften the hard boards. Luckily,
these forests contain an endless supply of patent spring mattresses,
and a few armfuls of fresh-cut fir-branches, with a rug spread over,
makes as good a bed as any one need desire. A Scotch plaid (my faithful
companion for many years) hung along the wall kept off the worst
draughts, and a roaring fire sustained the whole night prevented us
from perishing with cold. Our sleeping-boards were close alongside
this improvised hearth, with barely room enough to pass between
without singeing one’s clothes; yet while our faces were roasting, our
backbones were often as cold as ice, so it became necessary to turn
round from time to time when in imminent danger of getting over-done at
one side. Opposite us slumbered the guides, taking turns to sit up and
tend the fire.
Many a massive log was burned that night, and not only trunks and
branches, but much of the rustic furniture as well, was pressed into
service as fuel. The shepherds will require to furnish their house anew
next summer.
It was late ere sleep came to any of us, and when it came at last it
brought strange phantoms in its train; visions of ghosts and sorcerers,
of bears and bandits, flitted successively through our brain; and
scarcely less strange than dream-land was the reality to which we
were occasionally roused by alternate twinges of cold and heat—the
smouldering fire at our elbow, the slumbering guides, and the white
moths and fire-flies whirling aloft in the frenzied mazes of a wild
Sabbath dance, to which the moaning wind, like the wailing voice of
some unquiet spirit, played a mournful accompaniment.
When morning came we reviewed our situation dispassionately. The storm
was over, and the day, though dull, was fair as yet; but the horizon
was clouded, and some peasants coming by told us of snow lying deep on
the mountains we were bound for. We could no longer blind ourselves to
the fact that summer was over, and that the troublesome mists, which
but a fortnight ago could easily be dispersed by the sun’s disdainful
smile, were now the masters up here.
It was clearly impossible to proceed farther under the circumstances;
so, remembering that discretion is often the better part of valor,
we resolved to cut short our expedition, postponing all further
explorations to a more favorable season.
When our little caravan was set in motion, I turned round to take a
last look at the hut which had sheltered us, and which most likely
I shall never see again. There, motionless on a neighboring rock,
crouched the gaunt figure of the hungry dog, gazing intently before
him. Then, as I watched, he crept stealthily down till he had reached
the half-open door of the empty stina, where, after a cautious
investigation to assure himself of the coast being clear, he entered,
and was lost to my sight. Doubtless he thought to warm himself by the
fire we had left, and to discover some food-scraps remaining from our
meals.
That dog haunted my thoughts for many days afterwards, and I could
not refrain from speculating on its fate, which can only have been a
tragic one. Did it perish of cold and hunger, or else fall a prey to
the wild beasts of the forest? After having but yesterday unconsciously
enacted the part of the bear, perhaps Bruin himself came to fetch it on
the morrow. It would, after all, have been more merciful if the error
had lasted a little longer, and a kindly bullet been lodged in its
unsuspecting heart.