THE RED SCOURGE OF THE FOREST
When the drought had grown almost unbearable, and man and beast, herb and
tree, all seemed to hold up hands of appeal together to the brazen sky,
crying out, “How long? How long?” there came at last a faint, acrid
pungency on the air which made the dry woods shudder with fear. Close on
the heels of this fierce, menacing smell came a veil of thinnest vapour,
lilac-toned, delicate, magical, and indescribably sinister. Sky and
trees, hills and fields, they took on a new beauty under this light,
transfiguring touch. But the touch was one that made all the forest folk,
and the settlement folk as well, scan the horizon anxiously and calculate
the direction of the wind.
Miles away, far down the wooded ridges and beyond the farthest of the
little lakes to southward, some irresponsible and misbegotten idiot had
gone away and left his camp-fire burning. Eating its way furtively
through the punk-dry turf, and moss, and dead-leaf débris, the fire had
spread undiscovered over an area of considerable width, and had at last
begun to lay hold upon the trees. On an almost imperceptible wind, one
morning, the threatening pungency stole up over the settlement and the
ridge. Later in the day the thinnest of the smoke-veil arrived. And that
night, had any one been on watch on the top of the ridge, where Red Fox
had had his lookout two months earlier, he might have discerned a thread
of red light, cut here and there with slender, sharp tongues of flame,
along a section of the southward sky. Only the eagles, however, saw this
beautiful, ominous sight. In the last of the twilight they rose and led
off their two nestlings—now clothed with loose black feathers, and
looking nearly as large as their parents—to the top of a naked cliff far
up the flank of old Ringwaak. Here they all four huddled together on a
safe ledge, and watched the disastrous red light with fascinated eyes.
[Illustration: “A DOE AND TWO FAWNS . . . WENT BOUNDING PAST.”]
Red Fox, meanwhile, was in his lair, too troubled and apprehensive to go
hunting. He had had no experience of that scourge of the drought-stricken
woods, the forest fire. His instinct gave him no sufficient information
on the subject, at least at this early stage of the emergency. And for
once his keen sagacity found itself at fault. He could do nothing but
wait.
As the night deepened a wind arose, and the red line across the southern
horizon became a fierce glow that mounted into the sky, with leaping
spires of flame along its lower edge. The wind quickly grew into a gale,
driving the smoke and flame before it. Soon a doe and two fawns, their
eyes wide with terror, went bounding past Red Fox. Still he made no stir,
for he wanted to know more about the peril that threatened him before he
decided which way to flee to escape it. As he pondered,—no longer resting
under his bush, but standing erect behind his den mouth, his mate and the
youngsters crouching near and trembling,—a clumsy porcupine rattled past,
at a pace of which Red Fox would never have believed a porcupine capable.
Then a weasel,—and four or five rabbits immediately at its heels, all
unmindful of its insatiable ferocity. By this time the roar and savage
crackle of the flames came clearly down the wind, with puffs of choking
smoke. It was plainly time to do something. Red Fox decided that it was
hopeless to flee straight ahead of the flames, which would be sure to
outrace and outwind his family in a short time. He thought it best to run
at a slant across the path of the conflagration, and so, if possible, get
beyond the skirts of it. He thought of the open fields adjoining the
settlement, and made up his mind that there lay the best chance of
safety. With a sharp signal to his mate, he started on a long diagonal
across the meadow, over the brook, and down the hill, the whole family
keeping close behind him. No sooner had they crossed it than the meadow
was suddenly alive with fleeing shapes,—deer, and a bear, woodchucks,
squirrels, and rabbits, two wildcats, and mice, weasels, and porcupines.
There were no muskrats or mink, because these latter were keeping close
to the watercourses, however shrunken, and putting their trust in these
for final escape.
As Red Fox ran on his cunning cross line, he suddenly saw the red tongues
licking through the trees ahead of him, while blazing brands and huge
sparks began to drop about him. The air was full of appalling sights and
sounds. Seeing that the fire had cut him off, he turned and ran on
another diagonal, hoping to escape over the ridge. For a little while he
sped thus, cutting across the stream of wild-eyed fugitives; but
presently found that in this direction also the flames had headed him.
Checked straight behind his den by a long stretch of hardwood growth, the
flames had gone far ahead on either flank, tearing through the dry
balsamy fir and spruce groves. Not understanding the properties of that
appalling element, fire, nor guessing that it preferred some kinds of
woods to others, Red Fox had been misled in his calculations. There was
nothing now for him to do but join the ordinary, panic-stricken throng of
fugitives, and flee straight ahead.
In this frightful and uncomprehended situation, however, Red Fox kept his
wits about him. He remembered that about a mile ahead, a little lower
down, there was a swamp on a kind of hillside plateau, and a fair-sized
beaver pond at the farther end of it. Swerving somewhat to the left, he
led the way toward this possible refuge, at the utmost speed of which his
family were capable. This speed, of course, was regulated by the pace of
the weakest members; and for the big, headstrong whelp, whom his father
had had to save from the old raccoon and from the mad muskrat, it was by
no means fast enough. Terrified, but at the same time independent and
self-confident, he darted ahead, neck and neck with a bunch of rabbits
and a weasel, none of whom appeared to have the slightest objection to
his company. To his mother’s urgent calls he paid no heed whatever, and
in a moment he had vanished. Whether his strength and blind luck pulled
him through, or whether he perished miserably, overtaken by the flames,
Red Fox never knew.
Keeping very close together, the diminished family sped on, bellies to
earth, through the strange, hushed rustle of the silently fleeing wild
creatures. Behind them the crackling roar of the fire deepened rapidly,
while the dreadful glow of the sky seemed to lean forward as if to topple
upon them. From time to time the smoke volleyed thicker about them, as if
to strangle and engulf them. Over their heads flew hundreds of
panic-blinded birds,—grouse, and woodpeckers, and the smaller sparrow and
warbler tribes. But the wiser crows, with the hawks and owls, knew enough
to fly high into the air beyond the clutch of the flames.
[Illustration: “THE DIMINISHED FAMILY SPED ON.”]
Comparing the speed of his own flight with that of the flames behind him,
Red Fox felt that he would make the beaver pond in time, though with
nothing to spare. His compact little party was now joined by two
raccoons, whose pace seemed to just equal that of the young foxes. For
some reason they seemed to recognize a confident leadership in Red Fox,
and felt safer in following him than in trusting to their own resources.
Yet, unlike most of the fugitives, they appeared to be in no sense
panic-stricken. Their big, keen, restless eyes took note of everything,
and wore a look of brave self-possession. They were not going to lose in
this race of life and death through any failure of theirs to grasp
opportunity. Had Red Fox lost his head and done anything to discredit his
leadership, they would have promptly parted company with him.
The swift procession of fear surrounding Red Fox and his family was
continually changing, though always the same in its headlong, bewildering
confusion. Some of the creatures, as the deer and the rabbits, were
swifter than the fox family, and soon left them behind. Once, indeed, a
wildly bounding doe, belated somehow, going through the thickets with
great leaps of thirty feet from hoof-mark to hoof-mark, brought her sharp
hooves down within a hair’s breadth of Red Fox’s nose, so that he felt
himself lucky to have escaped with a whole hide. Others of the animals,
on the other hand, were slower than the fox family, and were soon
outstripped, to fall back into the galloping vortex whose heat was
already searching hungrily under the thickets far ahead. The porcupines,
for instance, and the woodchucks, and the skunks,—hopeless but
self-possessed in the face of fate,—could not long keep up the terrible
pace, and soon went under. All this tragedy, however, was no concern of
Red Fox, who troubled himself not a jot about any one’s business but that
of his own family, where his interest, in such a moment as this, began
and ended.
Suddenly, to his intense astonishment, he ran plump into a big black
bear, who stood motionless in a hollow under a thick-leaved beech-tree.
Red Fox could not understand why she was not fleeing like the rest of the
world. But, as he swerved aside, he saw behind her, stretched out in
utter exhaustion, her two cubs. Then he understood. She had evidently
brought her cubs a long way, the little animals running till they could
not stumble forward one step more; and now, having exhausted every effort
to arouse them and urge them farther, she was awaiting her doom quietly,
holding her great black body to shield them as long as possible from the
onrush of the flame. The fugitives streamed past her on either side, but
she saw none of them, as her eyes, strained with despair, wandered back
and forth between the roaring blaze and the prostrate bodies of her cubs.
Red Fox noted with anxiety that his own youngsters were beginning to
slacken speed and stumble as they ran, requiring all their watchful
mother’s efforts to keep them spurred on. But a moment later he caught a
red gleam reflected from water just ahead. He smelled the water, too; and
the wearying puppies, as they smelled it, were encouraged to a fresh
burst of speed. A few seconds more and they were up to their necks in the
saving coolness, the two raccoons close beside them, and every kind of
forest dweller panting and splashing around them.
Much as they hated the water, the fox family could swim in such an
emergency as this; and Red Fox led the way out to the biggest
beaver-house, which stood, a ragged dome of sticks and mud, near the
centre of the pond. There was trampling and splashing and swimming
everywhere, most of the larger animals, the bears and deer, gathering at
the farther side of the pond. On several overhanging limbs crouched
wildcats and a couple of lynxes, afraid to take to the water, which they
abhorred. Amid all the confusion and terrifying sounds, the beavers,
usually the shyest of wild creatures, were working imperturbably, paying
no heed whatever to the motley throngs scurrying around them. They knew
that the long drought had baked the roofs of their houses to a tinder,
and now, in a desperate but well-ordered haste, they were covering them
with wet mud from the bottom of the pond. They, at least, were going to
be safe.
By this time the heat was extreme, and the crackling roar of the flames
was almost upon them. Red Fox led his family around to the farther side
of the big beaver-house, but himself kept watch where he could see
everything. The smoke was now volleying down upon the surface of the pond
in great bursts, the water was smitten here and there with red brands
that hissed as they fell, and the tongues of flame that ran up the tall
trunks of pine and fir seemed to leap bodily into the air in order to set
fire to the trees ahead of them. The whole southeastern sky was now like
a wall of molten and blazing copper, stretching to the zenith and about
to topple down upon the world. Against it, a last despairing barrier
already beginning to crumble, stood black and defiant the water-side
fringe of trees.
[Illustration: “HIMSELF KEPT WATCH WHERE HE COULD SEE EVERYTHING.”]
At last the too frail barrier went down, and the roaring storm of fire
broke full upon the pond. In their pain and panic, many of the creatures
trampled one another under water. Others, afraid of drowning, were slain
by the implacable heat. The fox family, however, well away from the
densest and maddest of the crowd, sank their bodies quite under water,
just lifting their noses every other second to breathe. Red Fox himself,
resolutely curious no matter what the emergency, kept his head above
water as long as possible and dipped it under as briefly as possible,
enduring the heat till his eyes felt scorched and his nostrils almost
blistered, in order that he might be aware of all that happened. He saw
one great lynx, his fur so singed that he looked hardly half his usual
size, spring far out into the water with a screech, and never rise again.
He saw the other great cats swimming frantically, and clambering out of
the unaccustomed element upon the backs of deer and bears, who paid no
attention to their strangely unhostile burdens. One huge wildcat, badly
scorched, succeeded in reaching the top of a beaver-house, where he
crouched snarling and spitting at the flames, while squirrels and
chipmunks crowded about him unheeded. Drenched from his plunge, his
thick, wet fur seemed to withstand the heat for a time. Then his wits
came to his help, and he slunk down into the water again, his eyes
staring wide with the very madness of terror.
In a minute or two the flames had raced around both sides of the pond and
met again, enclosing the water with a spouting and roaring wall of fire.
The rabble of beasts gathered at the farther side now surged frantically
back toward the centre of the pond; and Red Fox anxiously made ready to
lead his family away from the path of the bedlam mob. But the unhappy
creatures, too crushed together to swim, merely trod one another down,
and most of them were drowned long before they reached the centre. The
bigger and stronger ones, of course, survived the struggle, but of these
many presently went down, burned inwardly by the flames they had inhaled;
and the assault which Red Fox had dreaded was utterly broken. Only a few
stragglers reached the beaver-houses in the centre, where the wet mud was
sending up clouds of steam.
The pond was no longer crowded, but looked almost deserted in the furious
crimson glow, for all the survivors were either swimming about the
centre, diving every other moment to keep their heads from scorching, or
else crouched like Red Fox beneath the sheltering element. Only the wise
beavers were perfectly content within their water-houses, and the
muskrats in their deep holes, and the mink lurking under the swampy
overhanging banks.
In a few minutes more the heat palpably diminished, as the underbrush,
branches, and smaller trees along the windward shore of the pond burned
themselves out in the fierce wind, leaving only the taller trunks to
flare and flicker like half-spent torches. The heat from the roaring
underbrush of the leeward side, of course, was partly carried away by the
wind. Little by little the centre of the conflagration shifted ahead, and
the leaping spires of flame moved forward, leaving behind them thick
smoke, and red glowing spikes and pillars of hot coal to illuminate the
dark. The remnants of the bushes along the shore still snapped with vivid
and spiteful sparks, and the thick moss and leaf-mould that matted the
forest floor smouldered like glowing peat. As the heat still further
moderated many of the animals still left alive tried to go ashore, but
only succeeded in burning their feet. Red Fox, too sagacious for such a
vain attempt, led his family out upon the top of the beaver-house, and
waited philosophically for the awful night to wear away. At last, after
hours that seemed like months, the savage glow in the northwestern sky
began to pale in the approach of dawn, and pure streamers of saffron and
tender pink stole out across the dreadful desolation. By noon, though the
fire still ate its way in the moss, and the smarting smoke still rose
thickly on every side, and here and there the blackened rampikes still
flickered fitfully, the ruined woods were cool enough for Red Fox to lead
his family through them by picking his way very carefully. Working over
toward his right, he came at last, footsore and singed and choked with
thirst, to the first of the lower pastures, which had proved too wide for
the flames to cross. On the other side of the pasture were woods, still
green, shadowy, unscarred. In a sort of ecstasy the foxes sped across the
hillocky pasture and plunged into blessed cool.