THE CAMP ON BEARDSLEY BROOK.
By this time the stream, having taken in two or three small tributaries,
had grown deep enough to float us in comfort. A little before dusk we
reached a spot where some previous party had encamped, and had left
behind a goodly store of elastic hemlock boughs for bedding. We took the
hint and pitched tent.
Sam’s trout were a dainty item on our bill of fare that night. Our camp
was in a dry but gloomy grove, and we piled the camp-fire high. When the
pipes were well going, I remarked,—
“It’s time Magnus gave us a story now.”
“Hear! Hear!” cried every one but Magnus.
“One of your own adventures, Magnus,” urged Queerman. “Be content to be
your own hero for once.”
“I’ll tell you a story my uncle told me,” said Magnus with a quiet
smile. “And the O. M. can enter it in his note-book as—
‘A TIGER’S PLAYTHING.’
“My uncle, Colonel Jack Anderson, a retired officer of the English army,
was a reticent man. He had never explained to me the cause of a certain
long red scar, which, starting from the grizzled locks behind his ear,
ran diagonally down his ruddy neck, and was lost beneath his
ever-immaculate shirt-collar. But one night an accidental circumstance
led him to tell the story.
“We were sitting coseyly over his study fire, when his cat came stalking
in with sanguinary elation, holding a mouse in her mouth. She stood
growling beside my chair till I applauded her and patted her for her
prowess. Then she withdrew to the middle of the room, and began to play
with her half-dazed victim, till Colonel Jack got up and gently put her
outside in order to conclude the exhibition.
“On his return my uncle surprised me by remarking that he could not look
without a shudder upon a cat tormenting a mouse. As I knew that he had
looked quite calmly, on occasion, into the cannon’s mouth, I asked for
an explanation.
“‘Do you see this?’ asked the colonel, touching the scar with his lean,
brown finger. I nodded attentively, whereupon he began his story:—
“‘In India once I went out on a hot, dusty plain near the Ganges, with
my rifle and one native servant, to see what I could shoot. It was a
dismal place. Here and there were clumps of tall grass and bamboos, with
now and then a tamarisk-tree. Parrots screamed in the trees, and the
startled caw of some Indian crows made me pause and look around to see
what had disturbed them.
“‘The crows almost at once settled down again into silence; and as I saw
no sign of danger, I went on carelessly. I was alone, for I had sent
back my servant to find my match-box, which I had left at the place of
my last halt; but I had no apprehensions, for I was near the post, and
the district was one from which, as was supposed, the tigers had been
cleared out some years before.
“‘Just as I was musing upon this fact, with a tinge of regret because I
had come too late to have a hand in the clearance, I was crushed to the
ground by a huge mass which seemed to have been hurled upon me from
behind. My head felt as if it had been dashed with icy or scalding
water, and then everything turned black.
“‘If I was stunned by the shock, it was only for an instant. When I
opened my eyes I was lying with my face in the sand. Not knowing where I
was or what had happened, I started to rise, when instantly a huge paw
turned me over on my back, and I saw the great yellow-green eyes of a
tiger looking down upon me through their narrow black slits.
“‘I did not feel horror-stricken; in fact, so far as I can remember, I
felt only a dim sense of resignation to the inevitable. I also remember
that I noticed with curious interest that the animal looked rather
gratified than ferocious.
“‘I don’t know how long I lay there, stupidly gazing up into the brute’s
eyes; but presently I made a movement to sit up, and then I saw that I
still held my rifle in my hand. While I was looking at the weapon, with
a vague, harassing sense that there was something I ought to do with it,
the tiger picked me up by the left shoulder and made off with me into
the jungle; and still I clung to the rifle, though I had forgotten what
use I should put it to.
“‘The grip of the tiger’s teeth upon my shoulder I felt but numbly; and
yet, as I found afterwards, it was so far from gentle as to have
shattered the bone.
“‘Having carried me perhaps half a mile, the brute dropped me, and
raising her head uttered a peculiar, soft cry. Two cubs appeared at once
in answer to the summons, and bounded up to meet her. At the first
glimpse of me, however, they sheered off in alarm; and their dam had to
coax them for some minutes, rolling me over softly with her paw, or
picking me up and laying me down in front of them, before she could
convince them that I was harmless.
“‘At last the youngsters suffered themselves to be persuaded. They threw
themselves upon me with eager though not very dangerous ferocity, and
began to maul and worry me. Their claws and teeth seemed to awaken me
for the first time to a sense of pain. I threw off the snarling little
animals roughly, and started to crawl away. In vain the cubs tried to
hold me. The mother lay watching the game with satisfaction.
“‘Instinctively I crept toward a tree, and little by little the desire
for escape began to stir in my dazed brain. When I was within a foot or
two of the tree the tiger made a great bound, seized me in her jaws, and
carried me back to the spot whence I had started.
“‘“Why,”’ thought I to myself, ‘“this is just exactly the way a cat
plays with a mouse!”
“‘At the same moment a cloud seemed to roll off my brain. No words of
mine, my boy, can describe the measureless and sickening horror of that
moment, when realization was thus suddenly flashed upon me.
“‘At the shock my rifle slipped from my relaxing fingers; but I
recovered it desperately, with a sensation as if I had been falling over
a precipice.
“‘I knew now what I wanted to do with it. The suddenness of my gesture,
however, appeared to warn the tiger that I had yet a little too much
life in me. She growled and shook me roughly. I took the hint, you may
be sure, and resumed my former attitude of stupidity; but my faculties
were now alert enough, and at the cruelest tension.
“‘Again the cubs began mauling me. I repelled them gently, at the same
time looking to my rifle. I saw that there was a cartridge ready to be
projected into the chamber. I remembered that the magazine was not more
than half empty.
“‘I started once more to crawl away, with the cubs snarling over me and
trying to hold me; and it was at this point I realized that my left
shoulder was broken.
“‘Having crawled four or five feet, I let the cubs turn me about,
whereupon I crawled back toward the old tiger, who lay blinking and
actually purring. It was plain that she had made a good meal not long
before, and was, therefore, in no hurry to despatch me.
“‘Within about three feet of the beast’s striped foreshoulder I stopped
and fell over on my side, as if all but exhausted. My rifle-barrel
rested on a little tussock. The beast moved her head to watch me, but
evidently considered me past all possibility of escape, for her eyes
rested as much upon her cubs as upon me.
“‘The creatures were tearing at my legs, but in this supreme moment I
never thought of them. I had now thoroughly regained my self-control.
“‘Laboriously, very deliberately, I got my sight, and covered a spot
right behind the old tigress’s foreshoulder, low down. From the position
I was in, I knew this would carry the bullet diagonally upward through
the heart. I should have preferred to put a bullet in the brain, but in
my disabled condition and awkward posture I could not safely try it.
[Illustration: “Laboriously, very Deliberately, I got My Sight.”—Page
32.]
“‘Just as I was ready, one of the cubs got in the way, and my heart
sank. The old tiger gave the cub a playful cuff, which sent it rolling
to one side. The next instant I pulled the trigger—and my heart stood
still.
“‘My aim had not wavered a hair’s breadth. The snap of the rifle was
mingled with a fierce yell from the tiger; and the long, barred body
straightened itself up into the air, and fell over almost on top of me.
The cubs sheered off in great consternation.
“‘I sat up and drew a long breath of thankful relief. The tiger lay
beside me, stone dead.
“‘I was too weak to walk at once, so I leaned against the body of my
vanquished foe and rested. My shoulder was by this time setting up an
anguish that made me think little of my other injuries. Nevertheless,
the scene about me took on a glow of exquisite color. So great was the
reaction that the very sunlight seemed transfigured.
“‘I know I fairly smiled as I rapped the cubs on the mouth with my
rifle-barrel. I felt no inclination to shoot the youngsters, but I would
have no more of their over-ardent attentions. The animals soon realized
this, and lay down in the sand beyond my reach, evidently waiting for
their mother to reduce me to proper submission.
“‘I must have lain there half an hour, and my elation was rapidly
subsiding before the agony in my shoulder, when at last my man, Gunjeet,
appeared, tracking the tiger’s traces with stealthy caution.
“‘He had not waited to go for help, but had followed up the beast
without delay, vowing to save me or avenge me ere he slept. His delight
was so sincere, and his courage in tracking the tiger alone was so
unquestionable, that I doubled his wages on the spot.
“‘The cubs, on his approach, had run off into covert, so we set out at
once for the post. When I got there I was in a raging fever which, with
my wounds, kept me laid up for three months.
“‘On my recovery I found that Gunjeet had gone the next day and captured
the two cubs, which he had sent down the river to Benares, while the
skin of the old tiger was spread luxuriously on my lounge.
“‘So you will not wonder,’ concluded the colonel, ‘that the sight of a
cat playing with a mouse has become somewhat distasteful to me since
that experience, I have acquired so keen a sympathy for the mouse!’”
While Magnus was speaking, a heavy rain had begun. It had little by
little beaten down our fire; and now, as the wind was abroad in the
hemlocks and the forest world was gloomy, we laced the tent-doors and
lit our candles. It was announced by some one that Queerman’s turn was
come to speak. He grumbled an acquiescence, and then dreamed a while;
and in the expectant stillness the rush of rain, the clamor of currents,
and the lonely murmur of the tree-tops, crept into our very souls. We
thought of the sea; and when Queerman spoke, there was a vibration in
his voice as of changing tides and the awe of mighty shores.
“Magnus,” said he, “your tale was most dusty and hot, though not _too_
dusty, if I may be allowed to say so. It was of the earth earthy; mine
shall be of the water watery. It may be entered in the O. M.’s log as—
“A FIGHT WITH THE HOUNDS OF THE SEA.”
“It was just before daybreak on a dewy June morning of 1887, when a
party of four set out to drift for shad. There was the rector (whom you
know), my cousin B—— (whom you don’t know), and myself (whom you think
you know). We went to learn how the business of drifting was conducted.
There was also the old fisherman, Chris, the owner of the shad-boat. He
went for fish.
“By the time the long fathoms of brown net were unwound from the great
creaking reel and coiled in the stern of the boat, the tide had turned,
and a current had begun to set outward from the little creek in which
our boat was moored. Our rusty mainsail was soon hoisted to catch the
gentle catspaws from the shore, and we were underway.
“A word of explanation here. The shad-fishing of the Bay of Fundy is
carried on, for the most part, by ‘drifting.’ The boats employed are
roomy, heavy, single-masted craft, with a ‘cuddy,’ or forward cabin, in
which two men may sleep with comfort. These craft, when loaded, draw
several feet of water, and are hard to float off when they chance to run
aground. They carry a deep keel, and are stanch sea-boats—as all boats
need to be that navigate the rude waters of Fundy.
“When we had gained a few cable-lengths from shore the breeze freshened
slightly. It was a mere zephyr, but it drove the boat too fast for us to
pay out the net. We furled the sail, and thrust the boat along slowly
with our heavy sweeps, while Chris paid out the net over the stern.
“These Fundy boats sometimes stay out several tides, making a haul with
each tide; but it was our intention merely to drift out with this ebb,
and return by the next flood.
“It was slow work for a while. We ate, told stories, speculated as to
how many fish were entangling themselves in our meshes, and at about
nine o’clock appealed to Chris to haul in.
“The tremendous tide had drifted us in five hours over twenty miles. We
decided to run the boat into the mouth of a small river on our right to
take a good swim before we started on the return trip. The plan was
accepted by Chris, and we set ourselves to haul in the net.
“In the centre of the boat stood two huge tubs, into which we threw the
silvery shad as we took them from the meshes. When we found a stray
skate, squid, or sculpin, we returned it to its native element; but a
small salmon we welcomed as a special prize, and laid it away in a
wrapping of sail-cloth.
“The catch proved to be rather a light one, though Chris averred it was
as good as any he had made that year.
“‘Why, what has become of the shad?’ asked the rector. ‘It seems to me
that in former years one could sometimes fill these tubs in a single
trip.’
“‘Ay, ay,’ growled Chris, ‘that’s true enough, sir! But the fishin’
ain’t now what it used to be; and it’s all along o’ them blamed
dogfish.’
“‘What do the dogfish have to do with it?’ I asked.
“‘Do with it!’ answered Chris. ‘Why, they eat ’em. They eat everything
they kin clap ther eye onto. They’re thicker’n bees in these here waters
the last year er two back.’
“‘They are a kind of small shark, I believe?’ put in the rector in a
tone of inquiry.
“‘Well, I reckon as how they be. An’ they’re worse nor any other kind as
I’ve heern tell of, because they kinder hunt in packs like, an’ nothin’
ain’t a-goin’ to escape them, once they git onto it. I’ve caught ’em
nigh onto four foot long, but mostly they run from two to three foot.
They’re spry, I tell you, an’ with a mouth onto ’em like a fox-trap.
They’re the worst varmin that swims; an’ good fer nothin’ but to make
ile out of ther livers.’
“‘I’ve heard them called the “hounds of the sea,”’ said B——. ‘Are they
bold enough to attack a man?’
“‘They’d attack an elephant, if they could git him in the water. An’
they’d eat him too,’ said Chris.
“‘I hope they won’t put in an appearance while we’re taking our swim,’
remarked, the rector. ‘I don’t think we had better swim far out.’
“By this time we were near the mouth of the stream, a broad, shallow
estuary three or four hundred yards wide. In the middle was a gravelly
shoal which was barely uncovered at low water, and was then marked by a
line of seaweed and small stones. We bore up the northern channel, and
saw that the shores were stony and likely to afford us a firm landing;
but the channel was unfamiliar to Chris, and suddenly, with a soft thud,
we found ourselves aground in a mud-bank, a hundred yards from shore.
The tide had yet a few inches to fall, and we knew that we were fast for
an hour or so.
“When we had got ourselves out of our clothes, the surface of the shoal
in mid-channel was bare. It was about fifty yards from the boat, and we
decided to swim over to it and look for anemones and starfish. B——, who
was an indifferent swimmer, took an oar along with him to rest on if he
should get tired. We laughed at him for the precaution as the distance
was so short; but he retorted,—
“‘If any of those sea-dogs should turn up, you’ll find that said oar
will come in pretty handy.’
“The water was of a delicious temperature; and we swam, floated, and
basked in a leisurely fashion. When we had reached the bar the tide was
about to turn. The Fundy tides may be said to have practically no slack;
they have to travel so fast and so far that they waste no time in
idleness. We hailed Chris, whom we had left in the boat, and told him
the tide had turned.
“Chris rose from his lounging attitude in the stern, and took a look at
the water. The next moment he was on his feet, yelling, ‘All aboard! all
aboard! Here’s the dogfish a-comin’!’
“B—— and I took the water at once, but the rector stopped us. ‘Back!’ he
commanded. ‘They’re upon us already, and our only chance is here in the
shoal water till Chris can get the boat over to us.’
“Even as he spoke we noted some small black fins cutting the water
between the boat and our shoal. We turned back with alacrity.
“The first thing Chris did was to empty both barrels of my fowling-piece
among the advancing fins. At once a great turmoil ensued, caused by the
struggles of two or three wounded dogfish. The next moment their
struggles were brought to an end. Their companions tore them to pieces
in a twinkling.
“The rector shouted to Chris to try to throw us the boat-hook. It was a
long throw, but Chris’s sinews rose to the emergency, and the boat-hook
landed nearly at our feet. The boat-hook was followed by a broken gaff,
which struck the sand at the farther side of the shoal.
“Meanwhile between us and the boat the water had become alive with
dogfish. Our shoal sloped so abruptly that already they could swim up to
within two or three feet of us. We knew that the tide would soon bring
them upon us, and we turned cold as we thought what our fate would be
unless Chris could reach us in time. Then the battle began.
“B—— and I, with our awkward weapons, managed to stun a couple of our
assailants. The rector’s boat-hook did more deadly execution; it tore
the throat out of the first fish it struck. At once the pack scented
their comrade’s blood, darted on the wounded fish, devoured it, and
crowded after us for more.
“Our blows with the oar and gaff served temporarily to disable our
assailants, but not gash their tough skin. But the moment blood was
started on one of our enemies his comrades finished the work for us.
Almost every stroke of the boat-hook tore a fish, which straightway
became food for its fellows. The most I could do with my gaff was to tap
a dogfish on the head when I could, and stun him for a while.
“During these exciting minutes the tide was rising with terrible speed.
The water that now came washing over our toes was a lather of foam and
blood, through which sharp, dark fins and long keen bodies darted and
crowded and snapped.
“Suddenly one fish, fiercer than the rest, made a dart at B——’s leg, and
its sharp snout just grazed his skin, causing him to yell with horror.
We tried to get our feet out of the water by standing on the highest
stones we could find. Our arms were weary from wielding the oar and the
gaff, but the rector’s boat-hook kept up its deadly lunges.
“Chris had been firing among our assailants; but now, beholding our
strait, he threw down the gun, and strained furiously upon his one oar
in the endeavor to shove off the boat. She would not budge.
“‘Boys, brace up! brace up!’ cried the rector. ‘She’ll float in another
minute or two. We can give these chaps all they want.’ As he spoke, his
boat-hook ripped another fish open. He had caught the knack of so using
his weapon that he raked his opponents from underneath without wasting
an ounce of effort.
“The fight was getting too hot to last. A big fish, with a most
appalling array of fangs, snatched at my foot. Just in time I thrust the
broken end of the gaff through his throat and turned him on his back.
His neighbors took charge of him, and he vanished in bloody fragments.
“As I watched this an idea struck me.
“‘Chris!’ I yelled, ‘the shad! the shad! Throw them overboard, a dozen
at a time!’
“‘Splendid!’ cried the rector; and B—— panted approvingly, ‘That’s the
talk! That’ll call ’em off.’
“Down came his oar with fresh vigor upon the head of a dogfish, which
turned at once on its side. Then the shad began to go overboard.
“At first the throwing of the shad produced no visible effect, and the
attack on us continued in unabated fury. Then the water began to foam
and twist where the shad were dropping, and on a sudden we were left
alone.
“The whole pack forsook us to attack the shad. How they fought and
lashed and sprang and tore in one mad turmoil of foam and fish!
“‘Spread them a bit!’ B—— cried. ‘Give them all a chance, or they’ll
come back at us.’
“‘She’s afloat! she’s afloat!’ he yelled the next moment, in frantic
delight.
“Chris threw out another dozen of fish. Then he thrust his oar over the
stern, and the big boat moved slowly toward us. At intervals Chris
stopped and threw out more shad. As we eagerly watched his approach the
thought occurred to us that when the boat should reach us it would be
with the whole pack surrounding it. The ravenous creatures seemed almost
ready to leap aboard.
“‘We can use these oars and things as leaping-poles,’ suggested B——.
“‘That’s what we’ll have to do,’ agreed the rector. Then he cried to
Chris, ‘Bring her side onto the shoal, so we can all jump aboard at the
same time.’
“As the boat drew nearer, Chris paused again, and threw a score of shad
far astern. Away darted the dogfish; and the boat rounded up close
before us.
“The agility with which we sprang aboard was remarkable, and Chris
almost hugged us in his joy.
“‘Not another shad’ll they git out er me!’ he declared triumphantly.
“‘Well, I should rather think not,” remarked the rector. ‘But they might
as well have some more dogfish.’
“With these words he put his foot upon the gunwale, and his unwearying
boat-hook went back jubilantly into the battle.
“Rapidly loading and firing my shotgun, I picked off as many of our
enemies as I comfortably could; and B——, by lashing the boat’s hatchet
on the end of the gaff, made a weapon with which he played havoc among
our foes.
“But the fray lasted not much longer. Innumerable as were yet the
survivors, their hunger was becoming appeased, and their ferocity
diminished. In a little while they sheered off to a safer distance.
“When we had time to think of our own condition, we found that our backs
were painfully scorched by the blazing June sun. As with pain we
struggled into our clothes, Chris trimmed our course toward home.
“‘I reckon you know now ’bout all you’ll wanter know ’bout the ways o’
dogfish,’ he suggested.
“‘They are certainly very bloodthirsty,’ said the rector; ‘but at the
same time they are interesting. That they gave us a noble contest you
can’t deny.’”
When Queerman relapsed into silence, Ranolf took up the parable without
waiting to be called upon.
“Queerman’s story,” said he, “reminds me of an adventure of my own,
which befell me in that same tide-region which he has just been talking
of. You know, I spent much of my illustrious boyhood about the Tantramar
marshes, and overlooking the yellow head-waters of the Bay of Fundy. The
name of my story is, ‘The Bull and the Leaping-Pole,’ and the scene of
it is within a mile of the spot whence Queerman and his crowd set out
for shad. It will serve to show what agility I am capable of on a
suitable occasion.
THE BULL AND THE LEAPING-POLE.
“Out on the Tantramar marshes the wind, as usual, was racing with
superfluous energy, bowing all one way the purple timothy-tops, and
rolling up long green waves of grass that shimmered like the sea under
the steady afternoon sun. I revelled in the fresh and breezy loneliness,
which nevertheless at times gave me a sort of thrill, as the bobolinks,
stopping their song for a moment, left no sound in my ears save the
confused ‘swish’ of the wind. Men talk at times of the loneliness of the
dark, but to my mind there is no more utter solitude than may be found
in a broad white glare of sunshine.
“Here on the marsh, two miles from the skirt of the uplands, perhaps
half a mile from the nearest incurve of the dike, on a twisted,
sweet-smelling bed of purple vetch, I lay pretending to read, and
deliciously dreaming. My bed of vetch sloped gently toward the sun,
being on the bank of a little winding creek which idled through the long
grasses on its way to the Tantramar. Once a tidal stream, the creek had
been brought into subjection by what the country people call a ‘bito,’
built across its mouth to shut out the tides; and now it was little more
than a rivulet at the bottom of the deep gash which it had cut for
itself through the flats in its days of freedom. From my resting-place I
could see in the distance a marsh-hawk noiselessly skimming the tops of
the grass, peering for field-mice; or a white gull wandering aimlessly
in from the sea. Beyond the dike rose the gaunt skeletons of three or
four empty net-reels; and a little way off towards the uplands stood an
old barn used for storing hay.
“Beside me among the vetch-blossoms, hummed about by the great
bumblebees and flickered over by white and yellow butterflies, lay my
faithful leaping-pole,—a straight young spruce trimmed and peeled, light
and white and tough. Some years before, fired by reading in _Hereward_
of the feats of ‘Wulfric the Heron,’ I had bent myself to learn to leap
with the pole, and had become no less skilful in the exercise than
eagerly devoted thereto. It gave me, indeed, a most fascinating sense of
freedom. Ditches, dikes, and fences were of small concern to me, and I
went craning it over the country like a huge meadow-hen.
“On this particular afternoon, which I am not likely soon to forget,
when the bobolinks had hushed for so long that the whispering stillness
grew oppressive, I became ashamed of the weird apprehension which kept
stealing across me; and springing to my feet with a shout, I seized my
leaping-pole, and went sailing over the creek hilariously. It was a good
leap, and I contemplated the distance with satisfaction, marred only by
the fact that I had no spectators.
“Then I shouted again, from full lungs; and turning instinctively for
applause toward the far-off uplands, I became aware that I was not so
much alone as I had fancied.
“From behind the old barn, at the sound of my voice, appeared a head and
shoulders which I recognized, and at the sight of which my satisfaction
vanished. They belonged to Atkinson’s bull, a notoriously dangerous
brute, which only the week before had gored a man fatally, and which had
thereupon been shut up and condemned to the knife. As was evident, he
had broken out of his pen, and wandering hither to the marshes, had been
luxuriating in such plenty of clover as well might have rendered him
mild-mannered. I thought of this for a moment; but the faint hope—it was
very faint—was at once and emphatically dispelled.
“Slowly, and with an ugly bellow, he walked his whole black-and-white
length into view, took a survey of the situation, and then, after a
moment’s pawing, and some insulting challenges which I did not feel in a
position to accept, he launched himself toward me with a sort of horrid
grunt.
“After the first chill I had quite recovered my nerve, and realized at
once that my chances lay altogether in my pole.
“The creek was in many places too wide for me to jump it in a clear leap
from brink to brink of the gully, but at other points it was well within
my powers. To the bull, however, I perceived that it would be at all
points a serious obstacle, only to be passed by clambering first down
and then up the steep sides.
“Without waiting for close parley with my assailant, I took a short run,
and placed myself once more amongst the vetch-blossoms whence I had
started. I had but time to cast my eye along, and notice that about a
stone’s throw farther down, toward the dike, the creek narrowed somewhat
so as to afford me an easier leap, when the hot brute reached the edge
opposite, and, unable to check himself, plunged headlong into the gully.
“As he rolled and snorted in the water I could scarcely help laughing;
but my triumph was not for long. The overthrow seemed to sting him into
tenfold fury. With a nimbleness that appalled me he charged straight up
the bank, and barely had I taken to my heels ere he had reached the top
and was after me. So close was he that I failed to make the point aimed
at. I was forced to leap desperately, and under such disadvantage that
only by a hair’s-breadth did I gain the opposite side. Somewhat shaken
by the effort, I ran on straightway to where I could command a less
trying jump.
“The bull made no halt whatever, but plunged right into the gully,
rolled over, and all covered with mud and streaming weeds was up the
slope again like a cat.
[Illustration: “I was forced to leap Desperately.”—Page 48.]
“But this performance delayed him, and gave me a second or two, so that
I was enabled to make my leap with more deliberation and less effort. As
I did so, I noticed with gratitude that the banks of the creek had here
become much steeper. The bull noticed it too, and paused, bellowing
vindictively; while as for me, I leaned on my trusty pole to regain my
breath. With more circumspection this time the brute attempted the
crossing, but losing his foothold he came to the bottom, as before, all
in a heap.
“As he gathered himself up again for the ascent I held my ground,
resolved to move but a yard or two aside when compelled, and not lightly
to quit a position so much to my advantage. But here my foaming
adversary found the slope too steep for him, and after every charge he
fell back ignominiously into the water. It did not take him long,
however, to realize the situation, and dashing up stream to his former
crossing-place he was at the top in a twinkling, and once more bearing
down upon me like a whirlwind of furies. The respite had given me time
to recover my breath, and now with perfect coolness I transferred myself
once more to the other side. Upon this my pursuer wheeled round,
retraced his steps without a pause, crossed over, and in a moment I
found my position again rendered untenable.
“Of course, there was nothing else for it but to make another jump; and
in the result there was no perceptible variation. The inexorable brute
left me no leisure to sit down and plan a diversion. I was conscious of
a burning anxiety to get home, and I tried to calculate how much of this
sort of thing it would take to discourage my tireless foe. Not arriving
at any satisfactory conclusion, I continued to make a shuttle-cock of
myself for some minutes longer.
“Immediately below me I saw that the sides of the gully retained their
steepness, but so widened apart as to make the leap a doubtful one. At a
considerable distance beyond, however, they drew together again, and at
last I convinced myself that a change of base would be justified. By
such a change, supposing it safely accomplished, it was evident that I
would gain much longer breathing-spells, while my antagonist would be
forced to such detours as would surely soon dishearten him.
“At the next chance, therefore, I broke at the top of my speed for the
new position. I had but a scant moment to spare, for the bull was
closing upon me with his terrific gallop. I made my jump, nevertheless,
with deliberation. But, alas for the ‘best laid schemes o’ mice an’
men’! I had planted my pole in a spot of sticky clay, and after a slow
sprawl through the air I landed helplessly on hands and knees about
half-way up the opposite bank.
“Seeing my mishap, the bull forgot his late-learned caution, and,
charging headlong, brought up not a couple of yards below me. Without
waiting to pull my pole out of the mud I scrambled desperately to the
top. It was a sick moment for me as the brute recovered his footing, and
made up the steep so impetuously that he almost conquered it; but I
threw myself flat on my face and reached for the pole, knowing well that
without it the game was pretty well up for me. As I succeeded in
wrenching it from the clay, my pursuer’s rush brought him so close that
I could almost touch his snorting and miry nostrils. But this was his
best effort, and he could come no nearer. Realizing this, he did just
what I expected him to do,—gave his tail an extra twist of relentless
malice, and swept off up the bed of the creek to his former place of
transit. I now breathed more freely; and having prodded the bottom till
I found a firm foundation for my pole, I began to feel secure.
“When the bull had gained my side of the creek, and had come so far as
to insure his coming all the way, I sprang across; and a moment later
saw him tearing up the soil on the very spot my feet had just forsaken.
This time he shirked the plunge, and stood on the bank bellowing his
challenge. I patted my good spruce pole. Then I threw some sods across
at him, which resulted in a fresh tempest, a new rush to the old
crossing, and another ‘over’ for my leaping-pole and me.
“Meanwhile I had concocted a plan for check-mating my antagonist. I saw
that from this point forward to the dike the gully became more and more
impassable, and I thought if I could lure the bull into following me but
for a little way down the opposite bank, I could gain such a start upon
him that to reach the dike would be an easy matter. With this design
then, when the bull again repeated his angry challenge, I shouted, threw
another sod, and started on a trot down the creek. But the cunning brute
was not to be deceived in such fashion. He turned at once to repeat his
former tactics, and I was fain to retrace my steps precipitately.
“The brute now resolved, apparently, upon a waiting game. After pawing
his defiance afresh, he proceeded to walk around and eat a little, ever
and anon raising his head to eye me with a sullen and obstinate hatred.
For my own part, now that time had ceased to be an object, I sat down
and racked my brains over the problem. Would the brute keep up this
guard all through the night? I felt as if there was a sleuth-hound on my
trail. That now silent presence across the creek began to weigh upon me
like a nightmare. At last, in desperation, I resolved upon a
straight-away race for the dike. As I pondered on the chances, they
seemed to grow more and more favorable. I was a good runner, and though
handicapped with the pole, would have a fair start on my enemy. Having
made up my mind to the venture I rose to my feet, ready to seize the
smallest advantage.
“As I rose, the bull wheeled sharply, and sprang to the edge of the bank
with a muffled roar. But seeing that I stood leaning idly on my pole and
made no motion to depart, he soon tossed away in the sulks and resumed
his grazing. In a few moments a succulent streak of clover so engrossed
him that he turned his back fairly upon me—and like a flash I was off,
speeding noiselessly over the grass.
“Not till several seconds had been gained did I hear the angry bellow
which told of the detection of my stratagem. I did not stop to look
back, and I certainly made some very pretty running; but the dike seemed
still most dismally remote when I heard that heavy gallop plunging
behind me. Nearer, nearer it drew, with terrible swiftness; and nearer
and nearer drew the dike. I reached it where it was perhaps about seven
feet high. Slackening up to plant my pole squarely, I sprang, and had
barely time to steady myself on the summit when the beast brought up
with a roar at my very feet. It was a narrow, a very narrow escape.
“With a sigh of relief and gratitude I sat me down to rest, and took
some satisfaction in poking the ribs of the baffled brute below. Then,
lightly balancing my pole in one hand, I turned my face toward the
‘bito,’ and made my way thoughtfully homeward. It was altogether too
literally a ‘hair’s-breadth’ adventure.”
When Ranolf concluded there was a general stir. Pipes were refilled, and
a “snack” (of biscuits, cheese, and liquids to taste) was passed around.
Then Stranion said,—
“It’s your turn, O. M.”
“But it’s bedtime,” pleaded I; “and besides, as I have the writing to
do, let others do the speaking!”
My arguments were received with a stony stare, so I made haste to begin.
“Like Magnus,” said I, “modesty forbids me to be my own hero. I’ll tell
you a story which I picked up last fall, when I was alleged to be
pigeon-shooting twenty miles above Fredericton. We will call the yarn—
‘SAVED BY THE CATTLE.’
“I was talking to an old farmer whom I had chanced to come across, and
who had passed me a cheery good-day. After I had spoken of the crops,
and he had praised my new gun, I broached a subject of much interest to
myself.
“How do you account for the fact, if it is a fact,” said I, slipping a
cartridge into my right barrel, “that the caribou are getting yearly
more numerous in the interior of New Brunswick, while other game seems
to be disappearing. As for the wild pigeons, you may say they are all
gone. Here I have been on the go since before sunrise, and that bird is
the only sign of a pigeon I have so much as got a glimpse of.”
“‘Well,’ replied my companion, as for the pigeons, I can’t say how it
is. In old times I’ve seen them so plenty round here you could knock
them down with a stick; that is, if you were anyways handy with a stick.
But they do say that caribou are increasing because the wolves have
disappeared. You see, the wolves used to be the worst enemy of the
caribou, because they could run them down nice and handy in winter, when
the snow was deep and the crust so thin that the caribou were bound to
break through it at every step. However, I don’t believe there has been
a wolf seen in this part of the country for fifty years, and it’s only
within the last ten years or so that the caribou have got more plenty.”
“We had seated ourselves, the old farmer and I, on a ragged snake-fence
that bounded a buckwheat-field overlooking the river. The field was a
new clearing, and the ripened buckwheat reared its brown heads among a
host of blackened and distorted stumps. It was a crisp and delicious
autumn morning, and the solitary pigeon that had rewarded my long tramp
over the uplands was one that I had surprised at its breakfast in the
buckwheat. Now, finding that my new acquaintance was likely to prove
interesting, I dropped my gun gently into the fence corner, loosened my
belt a couple of holes, and asked the farmer if he had himself ever seen
any wolves in New Brunswick.
“‘Not to say many,’ was the old man’s reply; ‘but they say that troubles
never come single, and so, what wolves I _have_ seen, I saw them all in
a heap, so to speak.’
“As he spoke, the old man fixed his eyes on a hilltop across the river,
with a far-off look that seemed to promise a story. I settled into an
attitude of encouraging attention, and waited for him to go on. His hand
stole deep into the pocket of his gray homespun trousers, and brought to
view a fig of ‘black-jack,’ from which he gnawed a thoughtful bite.
“Instinctively he passed the tobacco to me; and on my declining it,
which I did with grave politeness, he began the following story:—
“When I was a little shaver about thirteen years old, I was living on a
farm across the river, some ten miles up. It was a new farm, which
father was cutting out of the woods; but it had a good big bit of
‘interval,’ so we were able to keep a lot of stock.
“One afternoon late in the fall, father sent me down to the interval,
which was a good two miles from the house, to bring the cattle home.
They were pasturing on the aftermath; but the weather was getting bad,
and the grass was about done, and father thought the ‘critters,’ as we
called them, would be much better in the barn. My little ten-year-old
brother went with me, to help me drive them. That was the time I found
out there were wolves in New Brunswick.
“The feed being scarce, the cattle were scattered badly; and it was
supper-time before we got them together, at the lower end of the
interval, maybe three miles and a half from home. We didn’t mind the
lateness of the hour, however, though we were getting pretty hungry, for
we knew the moon would be up right after sundown. The cattle after a bit
appeared to catch on to the fact that they were going home to snug
quarters and good feed, and then they drove easy and hung together. When
we had gone about half-way up the interval, keeping along by the river,
the moon got up and looked at us over the hills, very sharp and thin.
‘Ugh!’ says Teddy to me in half a whisper, ‘don’t she make the shadows
black?’ He hadn’t got the words more than out of his mouth when we heard
a long, queer, howling sound from away over the other side of the
interval; and the little fellow grabbed me by the arm, with his eyes
fairly popping out of his head. I can see his startled face now; but he
was a plucky lad for his size as ever walked.
“‘What’s that?’ he whispered.
“‘Sounds mighty like the wind,’ said I, though I knew it wasn’t the
wind, for there wasn’t a breath about to stir a feather.
“The sound came from a wooded valley winding down between the hills. It
_was_ something like the wind, high and thin, but by and by getting loud
and fierce and awful, as if a lot more voices were joining in; and I
just tell you my heart stopped beating for a minute. The cattle heard
it, you’d better believe, and bunched together, kind of shivering. Then
two or three young heifers started to bolt; but the old ones knew
better, and hooked them back into the crowd. Then it flashed over me all
at once. You see, I was quite a reader, having plenty of time in the
long winters. Says I to Teddy, with a kind of sob in my throat, ‘I guess
it must be wolves.’—‘I guess so,’ says Teddy, getting brave after his
first start. And then, not a quarter of a mile away, we saw a little
pack of gray brutes dart out of the woods into the moonlight. I grabbed
Teddy by the hand, and edged in among the cattle.
“‘Let’s get up a tree!’ said Teddy.
“‘Of course we will,’ said I, with a new hope rising in my heart. We
looked about for a suitable tree in which we might take refuge, but our
hopes sank when we saw there was not a decent-sized tree in reach.
Father had cleared off everything along the river-bank except some
Indian willow scrub not six feet high.
“If the cattle, now, had scattered for home, I guess it would have been
all up with Teddy and me, and father and mother would have been mighty
lonesome on the farm. But what do you suppose the ‘critters’ did? When
they saw those gray things just lengthening themselves out across the
meadow, the old cows and the steers made a regular circle, putting the
calves—with me and Teddy—in the centre. They backed in onto us pretty
tight, and stood with their heads out and horns down, for all the world
like a company of militia forming square to receive a charge of cavalry.
And right good bayonets they made, those long, fine horns of our cattle.
“To keep from being trodden on, Teddy and I got onto the backs of a
couple of yearlings, who didn’t like it any too well, but were packed in
so tight they couldn’t help themselves. As the wolves came streaking
along through the moonlight, they set up again that awful, shrill,
wind-like, swelling howl, and I thought of all the stories I had read of
the wolves of Russia and Norway, and such countries; and the thought
didn’t comfort me much. I didn’t know what I learned afterward, that the
common wolf of North America is much better fed than his cousin in the
Old World, and consequently far less bloodthirsty. I seemed to see fire
flashing from the eyes of the pack that were rushing upon us; and I
thought their white fangs, glistening in the moonlight, were dripping
with the blood of human victims.
“‘I expect father’ll hear that noise,’ whispered Ted, ‘and he and Bill’
(that was the hired man) ‘will come with their guns and save us.’
“‘Yes,’ said I scornfully; ‘I suppose you’d like them to come along now,
and get eaten up by the wolves!’
“I was mighty sorry afterward for speaking that way, for it near broke
Teddy’s heart. However, sobbing a bit, the little fellow urged in
self-defence, ‘Why, there’s only five wolves anyway, and father and Bill
could easily kill them!’
“It was true. There were just five of the brutes, though my excited eyes
had been seeing about fifty—just such a pack as I had been used to
reading about. However, these five seemed mighty hungry, and now they
were right onto us.
“I guess they weren’t used to cattle like ours. Father’s old
black-and-white bull was running the affair that night, and he stood
facing the attack. The wolves never halted; but with their red tongues
hanging out, and their narrow jaws snapping like fox-traps, they gave a
queer, nasty gasp that it makes my blood run cold to think of, and
sprang right onto the circle of horns.
“We heard the old bull mumble something away down in his throat, and he
sort of heaved up his hind-quarters and pitched forward, without leaving
the ranks. The next thing we saw, one of his long horns was through the
belly of the leader wolf, and the animal was tossed up into the air,
yelping like a kicked dog. He came down with a thud, and lay snapping at
the grass and kicking; while the other four, who had been repulsed more
or less roughly, drew back and eyed their fallen comrade with an air of
disapproval. I expected to see them jump upon him and eat him at once,
but they didn’t; and I began to distrust the stories I had read about
wolves. It appeared, however, that it was not from any sense of decency
that they held back, but only that they wanted beef rather than wolf
meat, as we found a little later.
“Presently one of the four slouched forward, and sniffed at his dying
comrade. The brute was still lively, however, and snapped his teeth
viciously at the other’s legs, who thereupon slouched back to the pack.
After a moment of hesitation, the four stole silently, in single file,
round and round the circle, turning their heads so as to glare at us all
the time, and looking for a weak spot to attack. They must have gone
round us half a dozen times, and then they sat down on their tails, and
stuck their noses into the air, and howled and howled for maybe five
minutes steady. Teddy and I, who were now feeling sure our ‘critters’
could lick any number of wolves, came to the conclusion the brutes
thought they had too big a job on their hands and were signalling for
more forces. ‘Let ’em come,’ exclaimed Teddy. But we were getting
altogether too confident, as we soon found out.
“After howling for a while, the wolves stopped and listened. Then they
howled again, and again they stopped and listened; but still no answer
came. At this they got up and once more began prowling round the circle,
and everywhere they went you could see the long horns of the cattle
pointing in their direction. I can tell you cattle know a thing or two
more than they get credit for.
“Well, when the wolves came round to their comrade’s body, they saw it
was no longer kicking, and one of them took a bite out of it as if by
way of an experiment. He didn’t seem to care for wolf, and turned away
discontentedly. The idea struck Teddy as so funny that he laughed aloud.
The laugh sounded out of place, and fairly frightened me. The cattle
stirred uneasily; and as for Teddy, he wished he had held his tongue,
for the wolf turned and fixed his eye upon him, and drew nearer and
nearer, till I thought he was going to spring over the cattle’s heads
and seize us. But in a minute I heard the old bull mumbling again in his
throat; and the wolf sprang back just in time to keep from being gored.
How I felt like hugging that bull!
“I cheered Teddy up, and told him not to laugh or make a noise again. As
the little fellow lifted his eyes he looked over my shoulder, and,
instantly forgetting what I had been saying, shouted, ‘Here come father
and Bill!’ I looked in the same direction and saw them, sure enough,
riding furiously towards us. But the wolves didn’t notice them, and
resumed their prowling.
“On the other side of the circle from our champion, the black-and-white
bull, there stood a nervous young cow; and just at this time the wolf
who had got his eye on Teddy seemed to detect this weak spot in the
defence. Suddenly he dashed like lightning on the timid cow, who shrank
aside wildly, and opened a passage by which the wolf darted into the
very centre of the circle. The brute made straight for Teddy, whom I
snatched from his perch and dragged over against the flank of the old
bull. Instantly the herd was in confusion. The young cow had bounded
into the open and was rushing wildly up the interval, and three of the
wolves were at her flanks in a moment. The wolf who had marked Teddy for
his prey leaped lightly over a calf or two, and was almost upon us, when
a red ‘moolley’ cow, the mother of one of these calves, butted him so
fiercely as to throw him several feet to one side. Before he could reach
us a second time the old bull had spotted him. Wheeling in his tracks,
as nimble as a squirrel, he knocked me and Teddy over like a couple of
ninepins, and was onto the wolf in a flash. How he did mumble and
grumble way down in his stomach; but he fixed the wolf. He pinned the
brute down and smashed him with his forehead, and then amused himself
tossing the body in the air; and just at this moment father and Bill
rode up and snatched us two youngsters onto their saddles.
“‘Are you hurt?’ questioned father breathlessly. But he saw in a moment
we were not, for we were flushed with pride at the triumph of our old
bull.
“‘And be they any more wolves, so’s I kin git a shot at ’em?’ queried
Bill.
“‘Old Spot has fixed two of ’em,’ said I.
“‘And there’s the other two eating poor Whitey over there,’ exclaimed
Teddy, pointing at a snarling knot of creatures two or three hundred
yards across the interval.
“Sure enough, they had dragged down poor Whitey and were making a fine
meal off her carcass. But Bill rode over and spoiled their fun. He shot
two of them, while the other left like a gray streak. And that’s the
last _I’ve_ seen of wolves in this part of the country!”
“‘That was a close shave,’ said I; ‘and the cattle showed great grit.
I’ve heard of them adopting tactics like that.’
“‘Well,’ said the old farmer, getting down from the fence rail and
picking up his tin can. ‘I must be moving. Good-day to you.’ Before he
had taken half a dozen steps he turned round and remarked, ‘I suppose,
now, if those had been Norway wolves or Roossian wolves, the “critters”
would have had no show?’
“‘Very little, I imagine,’ was my answer.”
Whether it was that my story had gone far toward putting every one to
sleep, I know not. The fact remains, to be interpreted as one will, that
no longer was there any objection raised when I proposed that we should
turn in. That night, I think, no one of us lay awake over long. Before I
dropped asleep I heard two owls hooting hollowly to each other through
the wet woods. The sound changed gradually to a clamor of wolves over
their slain victim, and then to the drums and trumpets of an army on the
march; and then I awoke to find it broad daylight, and Stranion beating
a tin pan just over my head.