I had a lot of fun that first winter, but none that I can remember more
gratefully than our trip in the sledgehouse--a tight little house
fitted and fastened to a big sledge. Uncle Eb had to go to mill at
Hillsborough, some twelve miles away, and Hope and I, after much
coaxing and many family counsels, got leave to go with him. The sky was
cloudless, and the frosty air was all aglow in the sunlight that morning
we started. There was a little sheet iron stove in one corner of the
sledgehouse, walled in with zinc and anchored with wires; a layer of
hay covered the floor and over that we spread our furs and blankets. The
house had an open front, and Uncle Eb sat on the doorstep, as it were,
to drive, while we sat behind him on the blankets.
'I love you very much,' said Hope, embracing me, after we were seated.
Her affection embarrassed me, I remember. It seemed unmanly to be petted
like a doll.
'I hate to be kissed,' I said, pulling away from her, at which Uncle Eb
laughed heartily.
The day came when I would have given half my life for the words I held
so cheaply then.
'You'd better be good t' me,' she answered, 'for when mother dies I'm
goin' t' take care o' you. Uncle Eb and Gran'ma Bisnette an' you an'
everybody I love is goin' t' come an' live with me in a big, big house.
An' I'm goin' t' put you t' bed nights an' hear ye say yer prayers an
everything.'
'Who'll do the spankin?' Uncle Eb asked.
'My husban',' she answered, with a sigh at the thought of all the
trouble that lay before her.
'An' I'll make him rub your back, too, Uncle Eb,' she added. 'Wall, I
rather guess he'll object to that,' said he.
'Then you can give 'ins five cents, an' I guess he'll be glad t' do it,'
she answered promptly.
'Poor man! He won't know whether he's runnin' a poorhouse er a hospital,
will he?' said Uncle Eb. 'Look here, children,' he added, taking out his
old leather wallet, as he held the reins between his knees. 'Here's tew
shillin' apiece for ye, an' I want ye t' spend it jest eggsackly as ye
please.' The last words were spoken slowly and with emphasis.
We took the two silver pieces that he handed to us and looked them all
over and compared them.
'I know what I'll do,' said she, suddenly. 'I'm goin' t' buy my mother a
new dress, or mebbe a beautiful ring,' she added thoughtfully.
For my own part I did not know what I should buy. I wanted a real gun
most of all and my inclination oscillated between that and a red rocking
horse. My mind was very busy while I sat in silence. Presently I rose
and went to Uncle Eb and whispered in his ear.
'Do you think I could get a real rifle with two shilin'?' I enquired
anxiously.
'No,' he answered in a low tone that seemed to respect my confidence.
'Bime by, when you're older, I'll buy ye a rifle--a real rip snorter,
too, with a shiny barrel 'n a silver lock. When ye get down t, the
village ye'll see lots o' things y'd rather hev, prob'ly. If I was you,
children,' he added, in a louder tone, 'I wouldn't buy a thing but nuts
'n' raisins.'
'Nuts 'n' raisins!' Hope exclaimed, scornfully.
'Nuts 'n' raisins,' he repeated. 'They're cheap 'n' satisfyin'. If ye
eat enough uv 'em you'll never want anything else in this world.'
I failed to see the irony in Uncle Eb's remark and the suggestion seemed
to have a good deal of merit, the more I thought it over.
''T any rate,' said Uncle Eb, 'I'd git somethin' fer my own selves.'
'Well,' said Hope, 'You tell us a lot o' things we could buy.'
'Less see!' said Uncle Eb, looking very serious. 'There's bootjacks an'
there's warmin' pans 'n' mustard plasters 'n' liver pads 'n' all them
kind o' things.'
We both shook our heads very doubtfully.
'Then,' he added, 'there are jimmyjacks 'n' silver no nuthin's.'
There were many other suggestions but none of them were decisive.
The snow lay deep on either side of the way and there was a glimmer on
every white hillside where Jack Frost had sown his diamonds. Here and
there a fox track crossed the smooth level of the valley and dwindled on
the distant hills like a seam in a great white robe. It grew warmer as
the sun rose, and we were a jolly company behind the merry jingle of the
sleigh bells. We had had a long spell of quiet weather and the road lay
in two furrows worn as smooth as ice at the bottom.
'Consarn it!' said Uncle Eb looking up at the sky, after we had been on
the road an hour or so. 'There's a sun dog. Wouldn't wonder if we got a
snowstorm' fore night.
I was running behind the sledge and standing on the brake hooks going
downhill. He made me get in when he saw the sun dog, and let our
horse--a rat-tailed bay known as Old Doctor--go at a merry pace.
We were awed to silence when we came in sight of Hillsborough, with
spires looming far into the sky, as it seemed to me then, and buildings
that bullied me with their big bulk, so that I had no heart for the
spending of the two shillings Uncle Eb had given me. Such sublimity
of proportion I have never seen since; and yet it was all very small
indeed. The stores had a smell about them that was like chloroform in
its effect upon me; for, once in them, I fell into a kind of trance
and had scarce sense enough to know my own mind. The smart clerks, who
generally came and asked, 'Well, young man, what can I do for you?' I
regarded with fear and suspicion. I clung the tighter to my coin always,
and said nothing, although I saw many a trinket whose glitter went to
my soul with a mighty fascination. We both stood staring silently at the
show cases, our tongues helpless with awe and wonder. Finally, after a
whispered conference, Hope asked for a 'silver no nothing', and provoked
so much laughter that we both fled to the sidewalk. Uncle Eb had to do
our buying for us in the end.
'Wall, what'll ye hev?' he said to me at length.
I tried to think-it was no easy thing to do after all I had seen.
'Guess I'll take a jacknife,' I whispered.
'Give this boy a knife,' he demanded. 'Wants t' be good 'n sharp. Might
hev t' skin a swift with it sometime.'
'What ye want?' he asked, then turning to Hope.
'A doll,' she whispered.
'White or black?' said he.
'White,' said she, 'with dark eyes and hair.'
'Want a reel, splendid, firs'-class doll,' he said to the clerk. 'Thet
one'll do, there, with the sky-blue dress 'n the pink apron.'
We were worn out with excitement when we left for home under lowering
skies. We children lay side by side under the robes, the doll between
us, and were soon asleep. It was growing dark when Uncle Eb woke us,
and the snow was driving in at the doorway. The air was full of snow, I
remember, and Old Doctor was wading to his knees in a drift. We were up
in the hills and the wind whistled in our little chimney. Uncle Eb had
a serious look in his face. The snow grew deeper and Old Doctor went
slower every moment.
'Six mild from home,' Uncle Eb muttered, as he held up to rest a moment.
'Six mild from home. 'Fraid we're in fer a night uv it.'
We got to the top of Fadden's Hill about dark, and the snow lay so deep
in the cut we all got out for fear the house would tip over. Old Doctor
floundered along a bit further until he went down in the drift and lay
between the shafts half buried. We had a shovel that always hung beside
a small hatchet in the sledgehouse--for one might need much beside the
grace of God of a winter's day in that country--and with it Uncle Eb
began to uncover the horse. We children stood in the sledgehouse door
watching him and holding the lantern. Old Doctor was on his feet in a
few minutes.
''Tain' no use tryin',' said Uncle Eb, as he began to unhitch. 'Can't go
no further t'night.'
Then he dug away the snow beside the sledgehouse, and hitched Old Doctor
to the horseshoe that was nailed to the rear end of it. That done, he
clambered up the side of the cut and took some rails off the fence and
shoved them over on the roof of the house, so that one end rested there
and the other on the high bank beside us. Then he cut a lot of hemlock
boughs with the hatchet, and thatched the roof he had made over Old
Doctor, binding them with the reins. Bringing more rails, he leaned them
to the others on the windward side and nailed a big blanket over them,
piecing it out with hemlock thatching, so it made a fairly comfortable
shelter. We were under the wind in this deep cut on Fadden's Hill, and
the snow piled in upon us rapidly. We had a warm blanket for Old Doctor
and two big buffalo robes for our own use. We gave him a good feed of
hay and oats, and then Uncle Eb cut up a fence rail with our hatchet and
built a roaring fire in the stove. We had got a bit chilly wading in the
snow, and the fire gave us a mighty sense of comfort.
'I thought somethin' might happen,' said Uncle Eb, as he hung his
lantern to the ridge pole and took a big paper parcel out of his great
coat pocket. 'I thought mebbe somethin' might happen, an' so I brought
along a bite o' luncheon.'
He gave us dried herring and bread and butter and cheese.
''S a little dry,' he remarked, while we were eating, 'but it's drier
where there's none.'
We had a pail of snow on top of the little stove and plenty of good
drinking water for ourselves and the Old Doctor in a few minutes.
After supper Uncle Eb went up the side of the cut and brought back a lot
of hemlock boughs and spread them under Old Doctor for bedding.
Then we all sat around the stove on the warm robes and listened to the
wind howling above our little roof and the stories of Uncle Eb. The
hissing of the snow as it beat upon the sledgehouse grew fainter by and
by, and Uncle Eb said he guessed we were pretty well covered up. We fell
asleep soon. I remember he stopped in the middle of a wolf story, and,
seeing that our eyes were shut, pulled us back from the fire a little
and covered us with one of the robes. It had been a mighty struggle
between Sleep and Romance, and Sleep had won. I roused myself and
begged him to go on with the story, but he only said, 'Hush, boy; it's
bedtime,' and turned up the lantern and went out of doors. I woke once
or twice in the night and saw him putting wood on the fire. He had put
out the light. The gleam of the fire shone on his face when he opened
the stove door.
'Gittin' a leetle cool here, Uncle Eb,' he was saying to himself.
We were up at daylight, and even then it was snowing and blowing
fiercely. There were two feet of snow on the sledgehouse roof, and we
were nearly buried in the bank. Uncle Eb had to do a lot of shoveling
to get out of doors and into the stable. Old Doctor was quite out of the
wind in a cave of snow and nickering for his breakfast. There was plenty
for him, but we were on short rations. Uncle Eb put on the snow shoes,
after we had eaten what there was left, and, cautioning us to keep in,
set out for Fadden's across lots. He came back inside of an hour with a
good supply of provisions in a basket on his shoulder. The wind had gone
down and the air was milder. Big flakes of snow came fluttering slowly
downward out of a dark sky. After dinner we went up on top of the
sledgehouse and saw a big scraper coming in the valley below. Six teams
of oxen were drawing it, and we could see the flying furrows on either
side of the scraper as it ploughed in the deep drifts. Uncle Eb put on
the snow shoes again, and, with Hope on his back and me clinging to his
hand, he went down to meet them and to tell of our plight. The front
team had wallowed to their ears, and the men were digging them out with
shovels when we got to the scraper. A score of men and boys clung to the
sides of that big, hollow wedge, and put their weight on it as the oxen
pulled. We got on with the others, I remember, and I was swept off as
soon as the scraper started by a roaring avalanche of snow that came
down upon our heads and buried me completely. I was up again and had
a fresh hold in a jiffy, and clung to my place until I was nearly
smothered by the flying snow. It was great fun for me, and they were
all shouting and hallooing as if it were a fine holiday. They made slow
progress, however, and we left them shortly on their promise to try to
reach us before night. If they failed to get through, one of them
said he would drive over to Paradise Valley, if possible, and tell the
Browers we were all right.
On our return, Uncle Eb began shoveling a tunnel in the cut. When we got
through to the open late in the afternoon we saw the scraper party going
back with their teams.
'Guess they've gi'n up fer t'day,' said he. 'Snow's powerful deep down
there below the bridge. Mebbe we can get 'round to where the road's
clear by goin' 'cross lots. I've a good mind t' try it.'
Then he went over in the field and picked a winding way down the hill
toward the river, while we children stood watching him. He came back
soon and took down a bit of the fence and harnessed Old Doctor and
hitched him to the sledgehouse. The tunnel was just wide enough to let
us through with a tight pinch here and there. The footing was rather
soft' and the horse had hard pulling. We went in the field, struggling
on afoot--we little people--while Uncle Eb led the horse. He had to stop
frequently to tunnel through a snowdrift, and at dusk we had only got
half-way to the bridge from our cave in the cut. Of a sudden Old Doctor
went up to his neck in a wall of deep snow that seemed to cut us off
completely. He struggled a moment, falling on his side and wrenching
the shafts from the runners. Uncle Eb went to work vigorously with his
shovel and had soon cut a narrow box stall in the deep snow around Old
Doctor. Just beyond the hill dipped sharply and down the slope we could
see the stubble sticking through the shallow snow. 'We'll hev t' stop
right where we are until mornin',' he said. 'It's mos' dark now.
Our little house stood tilting forward about half-way down the hill, its
runners buried in the snow. A few hundred yards below was a cliff where
the shore fell to the river some thirty feet It had stopped snowing, and
the air had grown warmer, but the sky was dark We put nearly all the hay
in the sledgehouse under Old Doctor and gave him the last of the oats
and a warm cover of blankets. Then Uncle Eb went away to the fence for
more wood, while we spread the supper. He was very tired, I remember,
and we all turned in for the night a short time after we had eaten. The
little stove was roaring like a furnace when we spread our blankets on
the sloping floor and lay down, our feet to the front, and drew the warm
robes over us. Uncle Eb, who had had no sleep the night before, began
to snore heavily before we children had stopped whispering. He was still
snoring, and Hope sound asleep, when I woke in the night and heard the
rain falling on our little roof and felt the warm breath of the south
wind. The water dripping from the eaves and falling far and near upon
the yielding snow had many voices. I was half-asleep when I heard a
new noise under the sledge. Something struck the front corner of the
sledgehouse--a heavy, muffled blow--and brushed the noisy boards. Then I
heard the timbers creak and felt the runners leaping over the soft snow.
I remember it was like a dream of falling. I raised myself and stared
about me. We were slipping down the steep floor. The lantern, burning
dimly under the roof, swung and rattled. Uncle Eb was up on his elbow
staring wildly. I could feel the jar and rush of the runners and the
rain that seemed to roar as it dashed into my face. Then, suddenly,
the sledgehouse gave a great leap into the air and the grating of the
runners ceased. The lantern went hard against the roof; there was a
mighty roar in my ears; then we heard a noise like thunder and felt the
shock of a blow that set my back aching, and cracked the roof above our
heads. It was all still for a second; then we children began to cry, and
Uncle Eb staggered to his feet and lit the lantern that had gone out and
that had no globe, I remember, as he held it down to our faces.
'Hush! Are you hurt?' he said, as he knelt before us. 'Git up now, see
if ye can stand.'
We got to our feet, neither of us much the worse for what had
happened--My knuckles were cut a bit by a splinter, and Hope had been
hit on the shins by the lantern globe as it fell.
'By the Lord Harry!' said Uncle Eb, when he saw we were not hurt.
'Wonder what hit us.'
We followed him outside while he was speaking.
'We've slid downhill,' he said. 'Went over the cliff. Went kerplunk in
the deep snow, er there'd have been nuthin' left uv us. Snow's meltin'
jest as if it was July.'
Uncle Eb helped us into our heavy coats, and then with a blanket over
his arm led us into the wet snow. We came out upon clear ice in a
moment and picked our way along the lowering shore. At length Uncle Eb
clambered up, pulling us up after him, one by one. Then he whistled to
Old Doctor, who whinnied a quick reply. He left us standing together,
the blanket over our heads, and went away in the dark whistling as he
had done before. We could hear Old Doctor answer as he came near, and
presently Uncle Eb returned leading the horse by the halter. Then he
put us both on Old Doctor's back, threw the blanket over our heads,
and started slowly for the road. We clung to each other as the horse
staggered in the soft snow, and kept our places with some aid from
Uncle Eb. We crossed the fence presently, and then for a way it was hard
going. We found fair footing after we had passed the big scraper, and,
coming to a house a mile or so down the road called them out of bed. It
was growing light and they made us comfortable around a big stove,
and gave us breakfast. The good man of the house took us home in a big
sleigh after the chores were done. We met David Brower coming after us,
and if we'd been gone a year we couldn't have received a warmer welcome.