THE LAST CAMP-FIRE.
We got away from Détour du Lac in the early morning, and reached the
outlet, the head of the Madawaska River, after a brisk paddle of some
eight miles. The run down the Madawaska was swift and easy,—a rapid
current and a clear channel. What more could canoemen wish? Late in the
afternoon we pitched tent on a woody hill half a mile above Edmundston.
To signalize our return to civilization we visited the hotel and
post-office, and then returned to camp for tea. The fire blazed right
merrily that night, and to ward off melancholy thoughts we told stories
as usual.
“Boys,” said Stranion, “I’ve saved for this last night in camp the one
that I count choicest of all my yarns. The scene of it lies on those
very waters which we have lately passed through!”
“Name?” demanded I, sharpening my pencil with a business air.
“Just—
‘INDIAN DEVILS,’
replied Stranion.
“It was a scorching noon in mid-July of 1885. Dear old H—— and I were in
camp on the upper waters of the Squatook, not far below the mouth of
Beardsley Brook. How H—— loved to get away from his professorial dignity
and freely unbend in the woods! He used to swear he would never again
put on a starched collar. But his big American university keeps him prim
enough now!
“We had called a halt for dinner and siesta in a little sandy cove,
where the river eddied listlessly. It was a hollow between high banks,
down which drew a soft breeze as through a funnel, and the deep grass
fringing the tiny beach was densely shadowed by a tangle of vines and
branches.
“Our birch canoe was behind us, her resined sides well shaded from the
heat. At the water’s edge flickered the remnants of our fire, paled and
browbeaten by the steady downpour of sunshine. The stream itself, for a
wonder grown drowsy, idled over its pebbly bed with a sleep-inducing
murmur.
“While we were thus half idling and dreaming, I was startled wide awake
by the grating of a paddle on a line of gravelly shoals above the point.
A moment more and a birch canoe swept into view, and drew up at our
landing-place. The crew, two youngish-looking Indians, having lifted
their craft out of the water, stalked silently up the beach and paused
before us, leaning on their paddles. With a non-committal grunt they
accepted some proffered tobacco, glanced over our baggage, eyed greedily
the bright nickel-plating on our trout-rods, and murmured something in
Melicete which I failed to comprehend.
“The professor, somewhat annoyed at this intrusion, blinked sleepily at
them for a while, and then proceeded to sort and stow away his latest
acquired specimens, amongst which were some splendid bits of pyrites,
glittering richly in the sun.
“One of our visitors was not unknown to me. He was a certain Joe Tobin,
of ill repute, hailing from Francis Village. The other was an older
looking man, with high cheek-bones and little, pig-like, half-shut eyes.
“The appearance of neither had any attraction for me, but the Indian
with the pig-like eyes I found particularly distasteful.
“These eyes grew intent at once, as they caught the yellow gleam of the
pyrites; but their owner preserved his air of stoical indifference.
“Approaching the professor’s side, he sought a closer examination; but
the professor was not propitiatory. He dumped the ore into his
specimen-box before the Indian could touch it; and shifting the box
deeper into the shade, he took his seat upon it. The box was plainly
heavy, and a gleam of interest crept into the cunning eyes of Joe.
“‘Gold, mebbe?’ he suggested persuasively.
“To which the professor, facetiously grumpy, answered, ‘Yes, all gold!
Fools’ gold!’
“At this a most greedy glance passed furtively between the Indians, and
it flashed upon me that by the barbaric ear ‘Fools’ gold’ might be
misinterpreted to ‘Full of gold.’
“I gave the rash professor a warning look, which Joe intercepted. I then
proceeded to explain what was meant by ‘Fools’ gold,’ and declared that
the things in the professor’s box were valueless bits of rock, which we
had picked up chiefly out of curiosity. This statement, however, as I
could see by our visitors’ faces, was at once regarded as a cunning and
cautious lie to conceal the vast value of our treasure.
“‘Whereabouts you get um?’ queried Joe again.
“‘Oh,’ answered the professor, ‘there’s lots of it floating round Mud
Lake and Beardsley Brook.’ He took a lovely cluster of crystals out of
his pocket, and laughed to see how the Indians’ eyes stuck out with
deluded avarice. I felt angry at his nonsense, for one of our visitors
was an out-and-out ruffian.
“In a few moments, after a series of low grunts, which baffled my ear
completely, though I was acquainted with the Melicete tongue, the
Indians turned to go, saying in explanation of their sudden departure,
‘Sugar Loaf ’fore sundown, mebbe.’ I took the precaution to display, at
this juncture, a double-barrelled breech-loader, into which I slipped a
couple of buck-shot cartridges; and as I nodded them a bland farewell, I
said in Melicete, ‘It’ll be late when you get to Sugar Loaf.’ The start
they gave, on hearing me speak their own language, confirmed my
suspicions, and they paddled off in haste without more words.
“No sooner were they well out of sight than I made ready with all speed
for our own departure; nor did I neglect to upbraid the professor for
his rashness. At first he pooh-poohed my apprehension, declaring that it
was ‘fun to fool the greedy Hottentots;’ but when I explained my grounds
for alarm, he condescended to treat them with some respect. He warmed
up, indeed, and made haste, so that we were once more darting along with
the racing current before the Indians had been gone above ten minutes;
but I could see that he had adopted my suspicions mainly for the sake of
an added excitement. The professor’s class-room afforded too little
scope for such an adventurous spirit, and he was beginning to crave the
relish of a spice of peril. With his dainty rifle just to his hand, he
was soon plying a fervent and effective paddle, while his sharp eyes
kept a lookout which I knew very little would evade.
“Our design was to press so closely upon the rascals’ heels that any
plot they might agree upon should not find time to mature. We knew they
would never calculate upon our following them so promptly; still less
would they dream of the speed that we were making. In a fair race we
flattered ourselves that we could beat most Indians, and we rather
counted on overtaking and passing this couple before they could
accomplish aught against us. There was one point in the stream, however,
which I remembered with misgivings.
“Three or four miles ahead of us were the rapids which, you remember, we
had such fun with a few days ago. I suggested to H—— that there, if
anywhere, those Indians would lie in wait for us, knowing that our hands
would be well occupied in navigating the canoe.
“Those five miles soon slipped by. As we shot down the roaring channel
we saw, in the reach beyond the last turmoil, a canoe thrust in among
the alders.
“‘Ah-h-h!’ exclaimed the professor, in a tone of deepening conviction;
and he shifted his grip upon his rifle. An instant more and we were in
the surges.
“Just then I saw the professor start, half raising his rifle to the
shoulder; but the canoe was taking all my attention, and I dared not
follow his glance to shoreward.
“Our delicate craft seemed to wallow down the roaring trough. The stream
was much heavier than we found it the other day, I can tell you. At the
foot of the first _chute_ a great thin-crested ripple slapped over us.
“I had understood the professor’s gesture; and, as we plunged down the
next leap, I chuckled to myself, ‘Sold this time!’
“Like a bird, the true little craft took the plunge. One more blinding
dash of spray, a shivering pause, and, darting forward arrow-like, she
dipped to the last and steepest descent.
“At this instant, from the bank overhead, came a spurt of blue smoke and
a report, followed by a twinge in my left shoulder. Another report,
scarcely audible amid the falls’ thunder, and cleaving the last great
ripple, we swept into gentler currents. Crack! crack! crack! went the
professor’s little rifle, as he fired over his shoulder at the place
where the smoke-puffs clung.
“I said, ‘Push on, before they can load again.’
“Dropping my paddle, as we passed their empty canoe, I put two charges
of buck-shot through her birchen sides. Then, satisfied that the mending
of this breach would keep our enemy wholesomely occupied for some time,
we pushed forward swiftly in grim triumph.
“A few miles farther on I stopped, and informed the professor that I was
wounded. At this he turned about in such sudden concern that he barely
missed upsetting the canoe; but he presently remarked, ‘By the healthy
vigor you’ve displayed in running away the last half hour, I don’t
imagine the wound can be serious.’
“On examination we found that a bullet had nicked the top of my
shoulder, though not so deeply but that cold water and some strips of
sticking-plaster went far toward giving relief from pain. But the
muscular action of paddling caused the scratch to become inflamed; and
so, when at about four in the afternoon we swept out on the smooth
waters of the lake, I gave up the stern paddle to the professor, and
played invalid a while in the bow.
“A light breeze, to which we hoisted our sail, took us pleasantly down
the lake, and about half-past six we landed near the outlet. We tented
just where Camp de Squatook stood a few days ago. Under the lulling
influence of a supper of fresh fried trout, the savor of which mixed
deliciously with the wholesome scent of the pines, we concluded that
perhaps by this time our enemies would have given up the pursuit,
disgusted by their past failure and the damage done to their canoe.
“Nevertheless, we resolved to take thorough precautions, lest our
adversaries should cross the head of the lake and come upon us by night.
“We built a huge fire so that it shone upon the landing-place, and
lighted up every way of approach by water. The tent stood out in the
full glare. To the rear and a little to one side, beyond the limits of
the grove, in the densest part of the thicket, we fixed ourselves a snug
and secret couch, whence we could command a view of the whole
surroundings.
“Close by we arranged a pile of bark, with kindlings and dry balsamic
pine-chips, such as we could urge into a sudden blaze in case of any
emergency. Immediately behind us was the water, and from that side we
felt that we were safe so long as that glare of firelight could be
maintained.
“We fixed up the camp to look natural and secure, hung our wet clothes
to dry on the _cheep lahquah-gan_,[1] closed the tent-door for the night
to keep out the mosquitoes, and retired, not dissatisfied, to our
covert.
“It was a dark and almost starless night, with a soft, rainy wind
soughing in the pine-tops, and making the ‘Big Squatook’ wash restlessly
all down her pebbled beaches. As we drew our weapons close to us, and
stretched ourselves luxuriously in our blankets, we could not forbear a
low laugh at a certain relish the situation held for us. The professor,
however, suddenly became serious; and he declared, ‘But this lark’s in
the soberest kind of earnest, anyway; and we mustn’t be letting
ourselves tumble to sleep!’
“My shoulder gave an admonitory twinge, and I cordially acquiesced.
“Just then a far-off howl of hideous laughter, ending in a sob of
distress, came down the night wind, making our flesh creep
uncomfortably.
“‘Is that what the Indians call Gluskâp’s Hunting-dogs?’ whispered the
professor.
“‘Not by any means!’ I answered under my breath.
“‘Well, it ought to be,’ returned the professor.
“I replied that the voice, in my opinion, came from the dangerous
Northern panther, or ‘Indian devil.’
“These animals, I went on to explain for H——’s comfort, were growing
yearly more numerous in the Squatook regions, owing to the fact that the
caribou, their favorite prey, were being driven hither from the south
counties and from Nova Scotia.
“Just then the cry was repeated, this time a little nearer; and the
professor began to inquire whether it was Indian or Indian devil about
which we should have most call to concern ourselves. His hope, but
half-expressed, was plainly for a ‘whack at both.’
“I assured him that so long as the Indian devil kept up his serenading
we had little need to be troubled; but should the scent of our fried
trout be blown to his nostrils, and divert his mind from thoughts of
love to war, then would it behoove us to be circumspect.
“As we talked on thus in an undertone which was half-drowned by the
washing of the waves, the panther’s cry was heard much nearer than
before; and it was not again repeated. This put us sharply on our guard.
“Hour after hour passed, till we began to find it hard to keep awake.
Only the weirdness of the place, the strange noises which stole towards
us from the depths of the forest, dying out within a radius of a couple
of hundred yards from the firelight, together with our anxiety
concerning the movements of the panther, kept us from falling asleep.
“The professor told some stories of the skill of Western Indians in
creeping upon guarded posts, and I retorted with examples of the cunning
and ferocity of these Northern Indian devils.
“Once we were started into renewed vigilance by what seemed like a
scratching or clawing on the bark of some tree near at hand; but we
heard no more of it. When, as near as we could guess, it must have been
well past midnight, we began to be concerned at the lowness of our fire.
It had fallen to a mere red glow, lighting up a circle of not more than
twenty yards around the camp. As for our covert, it was now sunk in the
outer darkness.
“We considered the needs and risks of replenishing the fire, and
concluded that the risks were so far greater than the needs, that our
better plan was to stay where we were till morning.
“If our enemies were upon our tracks, then for either of us to approach
the light would be to betray our stratagem, besides furnishing a fair
and convenient target; while we felt tolerably sure that the panther was
in some not distant tree, waiting to drop, according to his pleasant
custom, upon any one that should come within his reach. These
considerations made us once more satisfactorily wakeful, and with
straining our sight through the blackness our nerves got painfully on
the stretch.
“A bird stirred in the twigs above us, and the professor whispered,
‘What’s that?’
“Then there was a trailing rustle of the dry leaves near our feet; and,
with a sharp click and a jump of the pulse, I brought my gun to full
cock.
“But two little points of green light close together, which met my eyes
for an instant, told me that it was only a wood-mouse which we heard
scurrying away.
“The professor whispered, ‘What was it disturbed the mouse? He seemed in
a hurry about something when he ran against us that way.’
“This was a point, and we weighed it. We were just about to hazard some
guess, allowing for an owl, or polecat, or other night prowler, when the
professor gripped my arm sharply, and whispered, ‘Look!’
“Just on the outermost verge of the dim circle, I could detect a human
figure, creeping like a snake toward the rear corner of the tent.
“‘Shall we shoot—wound him?’ whispered the professor breathlessly.
“‘No; wait!’ I answered. ‘Look out for the other fellow. We’ll capture
them both and take away their guns.’
“The words were scarce out of my mouth when there was a sort of mad
rush, and a struggle, apparently close beside us, followed by an
agonized shriek. We sprang to our feet in horror, and at once set our
little beacon ablaze.
“There, not twenty yards off, beneath a tree, lay a twitching human
form. Upon his breast crouched the Indian devil, with its jaws buried in
his throat.
“With a cry we sprang to the rescue, and the beast, half-cowed by the
sudden blaze, seemed at first disposed to slink off; but, changing its
purpose, it set its claws deeper into its prey, and faced us with an
angry snarl.
“The grove all around was now as bright as day. The professor rushed
straight upon the beast; but for myself, turning at the moment to draw
my sheath-knife, I caught sight of the other Indian, whom we had
forgotten, in the act of deliberately drawing a bead upon me.
“He stood erect, close by the tent, his pig-eyed countenance lighted up
by the red glare. I had just time to drop flat upon the ground, ere a
report rang out, and a bullet went _spat_ into a tree-trunk close above
me. I returned the shot at once from where I lay, and my assailant fell.
“Without pausing to notice more, I turned to my companion’s assistance.
He had just fired one charge into the animal, and then drawn his knife,
afraid to fire a second time lest his shot should strike the Indian.
“As I reached his side the Indian devil sprang; but the ball had struck
a vital spot, and snarling madly it fell together in a heap, while again
and yet again went the professor’s knife between its shoulders right up
to the hilt.
“As the dead brute stiffened out its sinewy length, we dragged it one
side and made haste to examine its victim. The poor wretch proved to be
Tobin; and we found him stark dead, his throat most hideously mangled,
and his neck broken.
“Sickened at the sight we turned away. The other Indian we found still
lying where he had fallen, with his right arm badly shattered by my
heavy charge of buck-shot. After brightening up the fire we proceeded to
dress his wounds. At this work we had small skill, and dawn broke before
we got it accomplished.
“Then, digging with our paddles a grave in a sandy spot on the shore, we
buried the Indian devil’s victim, and set out with our sullen prisoner
for the settlements. Paddling almost night and day, we reached Détour du
Lac, and there we delivered up our captive to the combined cares of the
doctor and the village constable.
“As we afterwards learned, the doctor’s care proved effectual; but that
of the constable was so much less so, that the villain escaped before he
could be brought to justice.”
“Truly you keep your good wine for the last, Stranion,” said Ranolf.
“Can Sam do as well, I wonder?” inquired Queerman.
“No, he can’t!” said Sam positively. “But he can give you something
humorsome, at least, to relieve this tragic strain. It’s about a bear,
of course. I’m very glad my bears hold out so well. This story is
called,—
‘BRUIN’S BOXING-MATCH.’
“It was a dreamy, sun-drenched September afternoon. The wide, shallow
river was rippling with a mellow noise over its golden pebbles. Back
from the river, upon both banks, the yellow grain-fields and blue-green
patches of turnips slanted gently to the foot of the wooded hills. A
little distance down stream stood two horses, fetlock-deep in the water,
drinking.
“Near the top of the bank, where the gravel had thinned off into yellow
sand, and the sand was beginning to bristle with the scrubby bushes of
the sand-plum, lay the trunk of an ancient oak-tree. In the effort to
split this gnarled and seasoned timber, Jake Simmons and I were
expending the utmost of our energies. Our axes had proved unequal to the
enterprise, so we had been at last compelled to call in the aid of a
heavy mall and hardwood wedges.
“With the axes we had accomplished a slight split in one end of the
prostrate giant. An axe-blade held this open while we inserted a
hardwood wedge, which we drove home with repeated blows of the mall till
the crack was widened, whereupon, of course, the axe dropped out.
“The mall—a huge, long-handled mallet, so heavy as to require both hands
to wield it—was made of the sawed-off end of a small oak log, and was
bound around with two hoops of wrought iron to keep it from splitting.
This implement was wielded by Jake, with a skill born of years in the
backwoods.
“Suddenly, as Jake was delivering a tremendous blow on the head of the
wedge, the mall flew off its handle, and pounded down the bank, making
the sand and gravel fly in a way that bore eloquent witness to Jake’s
vigor. The sinewy old woodsman toppled over, and, losing his balance,
sat down in a thicket of sand-plums.
“Of course I laughed, and so did Jake; but our temperate mirth quieted
down, and Jake, picking himself up out of the sand-plums, went to
re-capture the errant mall. As he set it down on the timber, and
proceeded to refit the handle to it, he was all at once quite overcome
with merriment. He laughed and laughed, not loudly, but with convulsive
inward spasms, till I began to feel indignant at him. When mirth is not
contagious, it is always exasperating. Presently he sat down on the log
and gasped, holding his sides.
“‘Don’t be such an old fool, Jake,’ said I rudely; at which he began to
laugh again, with the intolerable relish of one who holds the monopoly
of a joke.
“‘I don’t see anything so excruciatingly funny,’ I grumbled, ‘in the
head flying off of an old mall, and a long-legged old idiot sitting down
hard in the sand-plum patch. That mall might just as well as not have
hit me on the head, and maybe you’d have called _that_ the best joke of
the season.’
“‘Bless your sober soul!’ answered Jake, ‘it ain’t that I’m laughing
at.’
“I was not going to give him the satisfaction of asking him for his
story, so I proceeded to fix a new wedge, and hammer it in with my axe.
Jake was too full of his reminiscence to be chilled by my apparent lack
of interest. Presently he drew out a short pipe, filled it with tobacco,
and remarked—
“‘When I picked up that there mall-head, I was reminded of something I
saw once up in the Madawaska woods that struck me as just about the
funniest I ever heard tell of. I ’most died laughing over it at the
time, and whenever I think of it even now it breaks me all up.’
“Here he paused and eyed me.
“‘But I don’t believe _you’d_ see anything funny in it, because you
didn’t see it,’ he continued in his slow and drawling tones ‘so I reckon
I won’t bother telling you.’
“Then he picked up the handle of the mall as if to resume work.
“I still kept silence, resolved not to ask for the story. Jake was full
of anecdotes picked up in the lumbering-camps; and though he was a good
workman, he would gladly stop any time to smoke his pipe, or to tell a
story.
“But he kept chuckling over his own thoughts until I couldn’t do a
stroke of work. I saw I had to give in, and I surrendered.
“‘Oh, go along and let’s have it!’ said I, dropping the axe, and seating
myself on the log in an attitude of most inviting attention.
“This encouragement was what Jake was waiting for.
“‘Did you ever see a bear box?’ he inquired. I had seen some
performances of that sort; but as Jake took it for granted I hadn’t, and
didn’t wait for a reply, I refrained from saying so.
“‘Well, a bear can box _some_, now I tell you. But I’ve seen one clean
knocked out by an old mall without a handle, just like this one here;
and there wasn’t any man at the end of it either.’
“Here Jake paused to indulge in a prolonged chuckle as the scene
unrolled itself anew before his mind’s eye.
“‘It happened this way: A couple of us were splitting slabs in the
Madawaska woods along in the fall, when, all of a sudden, the head of
the mall flew off, as this ’ere one did. Bill, however,—Bill Goodin was
the name of the fellow with me,—wasn’t so lucky as you were in getting
out of the way. The mall struck a tree, glanced, and took Bill on the
side of the knee. It keeled him over so he couldn’t do any more work
that day, and I had to help him back to the camp. Before we left, I took
a bit of codline out of my pocket, ran it through the eye, and strung
the mall up to a branch so it would be easier to find when I wanted it.
“‘It was maybe a week before I went for that mall,—a little more than a
week, I should say; and then, it being of a Sunday afternoon, when there
was no work to do, and Bill’s leg being so much better that he could
hobble alone, he and I thought we’d stroll over to where we’d been
splitting, and bring the mall in to camp.
“‘When we got pretty near the place, and could see through the trees the
mall hanging there where we had left it, Bill all of a sudden grabbed me
sharp by the arm, and whispered, “Keep still!”
“‘“What is it?” said I, under my breath, looking all around.
“‘“Use your eyes if you’ve got any,” said he; and I stared through the
branches in the direction he was looking. But there was a trunk in the
way. As soon as I moved my head a bit, I saw what he was watching. There
was a fine young bear sitting back on his haunches, and looking at the
mall as if he didn’t know what to make of it. Probably that bear had
once been hurt in a trap, and so had grown suspicious. That there mall
hanging from the limb of a tree was something different from anything
he’d ever seen before. Wondering what he was going to do, we crept a
little nearer, without makin’ any noise, and crouched down behind a
spruce bush.
“‘The bear was maybe a couple of yards from the mall, and watching it as
if he thought it might get down any moment and come at him. A little
gust of wind came through the trees and set the mall swinging a bit. He
didn’t like this, and backed off a few feet. The mall swung some more,
and he drew off still farther; and as soon as it was quite still again,
he sidled around it at a prudent distance, and investigated it from the
other side of the tree.
“‘“The blame fool is scared of it,” whispered Bill scornfully; “let’s
fling a rock at him!”
“‘“No,” said I, knowing bears pretty well; “let’s wait and see what he’s
going to do.”
“‘Well, when the mall had been pretty still for a minute or two, the
bear appeared to make up his mind it didn’t amount to much after all; he
came right close up to it as bold as you like, and pawed it kind of
inquiringly. The mall swung away; and being hung short, it came back
quick, and took the bear a smart rap on the nose.
[Illustration: Bruin’s Boxing Match.—Page 335.]
“‘Bill and I both snickered, but the bear didn’t hear us. He was mad
right off, and with a snort he hit the mall a pretty good cuff; back it
came like greased lightning, and took him again square on the snout with
a whack that must have made him just see stars.
“‘Bill and I could hardly hold ourselves; but even if we had laughed
right out I don’t believe that bear would have noticed us, he was so
mad. You know a bear’s snout is mighty tender. Well, he grunted and
snorted, and rooted around in the leaves a bit, and then went back at
the mall as if he was just going to knock it into the other side of
to-morrow. He stood up to it, and he did hit it so hard that it seemed
to disappear for half a second. It swung right over the limb; and, while
he was looking for it, it came down on the top of his head. Great Scott!
how he roared! And then, scratching his head with one paw, he went at it
again with the other, and hit it just the same way he’d hit it before. I
tell you, Bill and I pretty near burst as we saw that mall fly over the
limb again and come down on the top of his head just like the first
time. You’d have thought it would have cracked his skull; but a bear’s
head is as hard as they make them.
“‘This time the bear, after rubbing his head and his snout, and rooting
some more in the leaves, sat back and seemed to consider. In a second or
two he went up to the mall, and tried to take hold of it with one paw;
of course it slipped right away, and you’d have thought it was alive to
see the sharp way it dodged back and caught him again on the nose. It
wasn’t much of a whack this time, but that nose was tender enough then!
And the bear got desperate. He grabbed for the mall with both paws; and
that way, of course, he got it. With one pull he snapped the codline,
and the victory was his.
“‘After tumbling the mall about for a while, trying to chew it and claw
it to pieces, and getting nothing to show for his labor, he appeared
absolutely disgusted. He sat down and glared at the bit of iron-bound
oak lying so innocent in the leaves, and kept feeling at his snout in a
puzzled sort of way. Then all of a sudden he gave it up as a bad job,
and ambled off into the woods in a hurry as if he had just remembered
something.’”
This story had called forth a running commentary of appreciative
chuckling. When it ended, every one was in a merry humor.
“I think,” remarked Queerman, “that I, too, have kept one of my best
stories for the last. At least, it seems the best to me; and I hope you
fellows won’t think it the worst, anyway.”
“We’ll tell you about that after we hear it,” said Magnus.
“Well, here goes,” continued Queerman. “My title is—
‘THE RAFT RIVALS.’
“The last log of Thériault’s ‘drive,’ not counting a few sticks
hopelessly ‘hung up’ on far-off Squatook Shoals, had been captured in
the amber eddies of the Lower Basin below Grand Falls, and had been
safely pinned into the great raft which was just about to start on its
leisurely voyage down the river to the shrieking saws of Fredericton.
“‘This ’ere’s as purty a site fur pinnin’ up a raft as ever I sot eyes
on!” remarked Ben Smithers, thrusting his hand into his gray-blue
homespun breeches for his fig of ‘black-jack.’
“Ben was sitting on a rock near the water’s edge. No one made answer to
his remark, which was perhaps regarded as too obvious to call for
comment. Presently a large black dog, as if unwilling that any grain of
wisdom should drop from his master’s lips unheeded, thrust his head into
Ben’s lap, and uttered a short bark.
“For perhaps half an hour Ben Smithers and his fellows sat on the shore
or lounged about the raft, smoking and whittling, and not one complained
of the delay. The rafts which Thériault had already despatched down the
river, each requiring two or three hands to navigate it through the
rapids, had thinned the numbers of the drive down to not more than ten
men, all of whom were bound for Fredericton on this very raft.
“Presently one of the hands took the pipe from his mouth, tapped it
gently on a log to remove the ashes, and remarked, ‘Here they be!’
“A wagon was descending the precipitous road which led from the unseen
village to the beach. An apprehensive looking horse between the shafts
hung back warily upon the breeching, and a red-shirted lumberman clung
doggedly to one of the wheels. At the anxious horse’s head trudged a
boy; and behind or beside the wagon, as pleased her fancy, there danced
a five-year-old child, her long yellow hair and bright pink frock making
her look like some strange kind of butterfly.
“As their eyes fell on the little creature a grin of rough tenderness
flashed out on the faces of the gang. Little Mame Thériault, who came
with this wagon-load of supplies for the gang, and who was to accompany
the raft down the river, at once became the pet of the drive. Her
father, a young widower, took her wherever it was possible, and her baby
hands were dispensers of gentleness throughout the roughest gangs.
“Only Jake, the dog, refused his tribute of homage. Jake’s heart was
sore within him, for he was jealous of little Mame.
“Jake was a dog among ten thousand. He possessed countless
accomplishments, and was ever athirst to learn more. His intelligence
was such that ‘cute as Jake’ had become a current phrase of compliment
with Ben Smithers and his comrades. Wholly devoted to his master, he was
at the same time hail-fellow-well-met with all hands.
“Until Mame’s appearance on the scene, Jake had reigned without a rival.
Now it was quite different. The hands, though as respectful as ever,
seemed strangely forgetful of his presence at times; and with Ben, when
Mame was by, his place had become secondary, and all his eager affection
seemed to go as a matter of course. Ordinarily Jake would have liked
well to make a playmate of Mame; but as it was—never!
“The whole party had got aboard, and the raft was shoved off into the
current. In the middle of the structure stood a rough, temporary shanty
of hemlock slabs, with an elbow of rusted stovepipe projecting through
the roof. Within this shelter the cook presided, and two or three bunks
gave accommodation for part of the gang. The others, including of course
Mame and her father, looked to more luxurious sleeping quarters in the
settlements along shore.
“Mame was enchanted with her surroundings,—with the shores slipping
smoothly past, with the ripples washing up between the logs, with the
dashes of spray over the windward edges of the raft, with the steersmen
tugging on the great sweeps, and last, but by no means least, with the
wide sheets of glossy gingerbread which the cook in his little house was
producing for her particular gratification.
“She had never before experienced the delight of a raft voyage. She
skipped from side to side on her swift but unsteady little feet, and all
hands were kept anxiously alert to prevent her from falling into the
water.
“Several times she made playful advances to the big dog, throwing
herself down on the logs beside him, and scattering her yellow curls
over his black and crinkly coat; but Jake, after a reluctant wagging of
his tail, as if to indicate that his action was based on principle, and
not on any ill-will toward herself, invariably got up and made a
reserved withdrawal to some remoter corner of the raft. Thériault
noticed this, as he had done on previous occasions, and it seemed to vex
him.
“‘I _don’t_ see what Jake’s got agin the child that he won’t let her
play with him,’ he remarked half-crossly.
“‘Oh, I guess it’s ’cause he ain’t no ways used ter children, an’ he’s
kinder afeared o’ breakin’ her,’ Ben Smithers responded laughingly.
“Jake had caught the irritation in the boss’s tone, and had vaguely
comprehended it. Upon the boss his resentment was tending to concentrate
itself. He could harbor no real ill-feeling toward the child, but upon
Luke Thériault he seemed to lay the whole blame for his dethronement.
“Toward noon the breeze died down, and the heat grew fierce. The
yellow-pink gum began to soften and trickle on the sunny sides of the
logs, and great fragrant beads of balsam to ooze out from every
axe-wound. The gang clustered, as far as possible, under the
insufficient shade of the cook-house, in loosely sprawling
attitudes,—hats off and shirt-bosoms thrown wide open. Jake got down on
the lowermost tier of logs, and lay panting in a couple of inches of
water, surrounded by floating bits of bark and iridescent patches of
balsam scum.
“As for Mame, her pink frock by this time was pretty well bedraggled,
and frock and hands alike smeared and blackened with balsam. Her sturdy
little copper-toed boots were water-soaked. The heat had a suppressing
effect even upon her, and she spent much of the time in Ben’s lap in the
shade of the cook-house; but now and then she would rouse herself to
renewed excursions, and torment the raftsmen’s weather-beaten breasts
with fresh alarms.
“The river at this part of its course was full of shoals and
cross-currents, calling for a skilful pilot; and Thériault kept
sweltering about the open raft rather than trust the steering to less
responsible hands.
“Just as the cook, with parboiled countenance, came to the door of his
den to announce the dinner, Mame had run to Jake’s retreat, and crawled
down upon the panting animal’s back.
“This contributed not at all to Jake’s coolness, and he felt seriously
disturbed by the intrusion. Slipping from under as gently as he could,
he moved away in vexation, and Mame rolled in the shallow water.
“She picked herself up, wet and whimpering; and Thériault, who happened
to be standing close by, spoke angrily to the dog, and gave him a sharp
kick.
“For Jake this was a new and startling experience. He could hardly
resist the temptation to spring upon his insulter, and pin him to the
raft. Too wise for this, however, he merely stiffened himself to his
full height with a sudden, deep growl, and rolled a significant side
glance upon his assailant.
“The boss was astonished. At the same time he was just a little
startled, which made him still more angry, and he shouted,—
“‘Don’t you snarl at me, you brute, or I’ll kick you off o’ the raft!’
“Ben Smithers interposed. ‘Don’t kick him agin, boss!’ he exclaimed. ‘I
don’t mean no disrespec’, but Jake ain’t never had no kicks an’ cuffs,
an’ I’d ruther he _didn’t_ have none, ’less he desarves ’em. He don’t
know now what you kicked him fur, an’ he’s only protestin’. He wouldn’t
hurt a hair o’ yer head; an’ ez fur Mame, howsomever he may keep outen
her way in this ’ere heat, I’d jest like ter see anythin’ try ter tech
her onkind when Jake war ’round. You’d see then who was Mame’s friend!’
“During Ben’s expostulation Thériault had cooled down. He laughed a
little awkwardly, and acknowledged that he ‘hadn’t no call, under the
circumstances, to kick the dog;’ but at the same time it was with no
glance of affection that he eyed Jake during dinner.
“When the meal was over he cautioned Mame so severely that the child
began to look upon the dog as a bloodthirsty monster, and thereafter
Jake was persecuted no more with her attentions.
“The poor dog was none the happier on this account. Unheeded by his
master, who through most of the afternoon kept nursing the wearied child
in his lap, the poor animal lay grieving on a far-off corner of the
raft.
“Late in the afternoon the raft entered the succession of rapids lying
below the mouth of the Munquauk. There are few shoals here, but the
steering is difficult by reason of turbulent water and cross currents.
About this time, than which none could be more inopportune, little Mame
woke to new life, and resumed her perilous flittings about the raft. The
men who were not needed at the sweeps were kept busy in pursuit of her.
The swift motion, the tremblings of the raft, the tumult of the
currents,—these all enchanted and exhilarated the child. Like a
golden-crowned fairy, she balanced tiptoe upon the upper logs, clapping
her stained little hands, her hair blown all about her face.
“Suddenly forsaking Ben’s company, she started toward her father, where
he stood at the stern of the raft, directing the steersmen. The father
reached out his hands to her, laughing. She was within three or four
feet of him, but she chose to tantalize him a little. She darted to one
side, pausing on the very edge of the raft.
“At this moment the timbers lurched under a heavy swell. Mame lost her
balance, and with a shrill cry of terror she fell into the pitching
current.
“A mingled groan and prayer went up all over the raft; and Thériault and
one of the hands, a big woodsman named Vandine, plunged in to the
rescue. Ben Smithers was not a swimmer, and he could only stand and
wring his hands.
“Thériault and the other who had sprung in were both strong swimmers;
but a narrow surface current had seized Mame’s small form, and whirled
it far away from the raft, while the heavy bodies of the men, grasped by
the under-current, were forced in a different direction.
[Illustration: “Slowly battling with the Waves, Jake and His Precious
Burden drew Near the Raft.”—Page 346.]
“Thériault’s face grew ghastly and drawn as he saw the distance between
himself and his child slowly widening. His desperate efforts could not
carry him away from the raft, and he marked that Vandine was no more
successful than he. A choking spasm tightened about his throat, and he
gave a keen, sobbing cry of anguish as he saw the little pink-frocked
form go under for the first time.
“Then a great black body shot into the air above his head, and landed
with a splash far beyond him. ‘Jake!’ he thought instantly; and a
thankful sigh went up from his heart. Now he began to care once more
about keeping his own head above water.
“Jake was late in noticing the catastrophe. He had been deep in a sullen
and heavy sleep. When the cries awoke him he yawned, and then mounted a
log to take a survey of the situation. In a second or two he caught
sight of the pink frock tossing in the waves, and of the little hands
flung up in appeal.
“His instantaneous and tremendous rush carried him far out from the
raft, and then his pure Newfoundland blood made him master of the
situation.
“Little he cared for the tumult and the white-capped waves! His sinewy
shoulders and broad-webbed feet drove him straight through cross-current
and eddy to where the child had sunk. When she came up he was within
five feet of her, and with a quick plunge he caught her by the shoulder.
“And now Jake’s difficulties began. In quieter waters he would have
found no trouble, but here he was unable to choose his hold. The men saw
him let go of the child’s shoulder, snatch a mouthful of the frock, and
start for the raft.
“In this position Mame’s head passed under water, and all hands were in
a panic lest she should drown before Jake could get her in. But the dog
dropped his burden yet again, seized the little one by the upper part of
the arm, and in this position was able to hold her head clear.
“But it was a trying position. To maintain it, Jake had to swim high,
and to set his teeth with pitiless firmness into the child’s tender arm.
The wave-crests slapped ceaselessly in his face, half-choking him, and
strangling Mame’s cries every instant.
“Thériault and Vandine were by this time so exhausted as to be quite
powerless, and were with difficulty pulled back upon the raft. There
stood all hands straining their gaze upon the gallant dog’s progress.
Ben Smithers waited, with a pike-pole, on the very edge of the timbers,
ready to hook the steel into Mame’s frock, and lift her aboard the
moment Jake got within reach.
“Slowly battling with the waves, Jake and his precious burden drew near
the raft. Already Ben Smithers was reaching out his pike-pole. Suddenly
there was a crash, and the raft stopped short, quivering, while the
waves poured over its upper edge. The timbers of the farther inshore
corner had run aground and wedged fast.
“There was a moment of bewildering suspense, while Jake and his charge
were swept swiftly past the hands stretched out to save them. Then the
raft broke into two parts, and the larger outside portion swung out
across the main current and drove straight down upon the swimmer.
“With a cry the raftsmen threw themselves flat on the logs, grasped at
the dog, and succeeded in snatching the now silent child to a place of
safety.
“Jake had just got his fore-paws over the logs when the mass drove down
upon his body. His head went back under the water; and Ben, who had a
firm grip in the long hair of his pet’s fore shoulders, was himself well
nigh dragged overboard. Two of his comrades, throwing themselves on the
logs beside him, plunged down their arms into the boiling foam and got
hold of the helpless dog, and, almost lifeless, Jake was laid upon the
raft.
“Feebly wagging his tail, the noble fellow lay with his head in Ben
Smithers’s lap, while the strength returned to his sinews, and the
breath found its way again to the depths of his laboring lungs. As the
gang gathered about, and a babel arose of praise and sympathy, Jake
seemed to appreciate the tribute.
“When the boss had seen his child put safely and warmly to bed in the
cook’s bunk, he rushed forward and threw himself down beside Ben
Smithers. He embraced Jake’s dripping body, burying his face in the wet
black ringlets, and speaking words of gratitude as fast as he could
utter them.
“All this, though passionately sincere, and to Ben highly satisfactory
and appropriate, was to Jake a plain annoyance. He knew nothing of the
delights of reconcilement, or of the beauty of an effective situation,
and he failed to respond. He simply didn’t like Thériault. He endured
the endearments for a little, gazing straight into Ben’s face with a
piteous appeal. Then he staggered to his feet, dragged himself around to
the other side of his master, and thrust his big wet head under the
shield of Ben’s ample arm.
“Thériault laughed good-naturedly and rose to his feet. ‘Poor Jake!’ he
murmured, ‘I ain’t goin’ to persecute him with no more thanks, seein’ he
don’t greatly enjoy it. But I can tell _you_, Ben Smithers, what a
mistake I made this morning, an’ how it sticks in my crop now to think
on it.’
“Here the boss thrust out his hand, and Ben Smithers grasped it
cordially. It was a general understanding that the boss thus apologized
to Jake for his behavior in the morning, and that thus Jake duly
accepted the apology. Jake was expected to understand the proceeding as
the gang did, and to abide by it. No atom of surprise was felt,
therefore, when, after the lapse of a day, it became plain that Jake and
the boss were on the best of terms, with Mame in her proper place of
idolized and caressed subordination.”
“That Jake was not all unworthy to sit with Jeff and Dan,” said I, as
Queerman ended.
“No,” said Ranolf; “he was a prince among dogs.”
After this we told no more stories. I, who had all the records in
charge, made my report, giving statistics as to fish caught, miles
travelled, localities of camps, and so forth, as well as the names and
tellers of all the stories. The report proving satisfactory, we sang
“Home, Sweet Home” and “Auld Lang Syne,” standing around the camp-fire.
Then, somewhat soberly, we turned in.
Right after breakfast on the following morning we put our canoes on the
train, and were soon whirling homeward, proud in the consciousness of
sunburned skins, alarming appetites, and renovated digestions.
FOOTNOTES
[1]The green sapling stuck into the ground so as to slant across the
fire. It is used to hang the kettle and pot upon.
Transcriber’s Notes
--Retained publication information from the printed copy (the electronic
edition is in the public domain in the country of publication).
--Corrected some palpable typos.
--In the text versions only, delimited italicized text with
_underscores_.
End of Project Gutenberg's Around the Camp-fire, by Charles G. D. Roberts