CURIOUS TREES, AND STILL MORE CURIOUS PLAINS--AN INTERESTING DISCOVERY,
FOLLOWED BY A SAD ONE--FATE OF TRAVELLERS IN THE MOUNTAINS--A SUDDEN
ILLNESS--NED PROVES HIMSELF TO BE A FRIEND IN NEED AND IN DEED, AS WELL
AS AN EXCELLENT DOCTOR, HUNTER, COOK, AND NURSE--DEER-SHOOTING BY
FIRELIGHT.
During the course of their wanderings among the mountains our hero and
his companion met with many strange adventures and saw many strange
sights, which, however, we cannot afford space to dwell upon here.
Their knowledge in natural history, too, was wonderfully increased, for
they were both observant men, and the school of nature is the best in
which any one can study. Audubon, the hunter-naturalist of America,
knew this well! and few men have added so much as he to the sum of human
knowledge in his peculiar department, while fewer still have so
wonderfully enriched the pages of romantic adventure in wild, unknown
regions.
In these wanderings, too, Ned and Tom learned to know experimentally
that truth is indeed stranger than fiction, and that if the writers of
fairy-tales had travelled more they would have saved their imaginations
a deal of trouble, and produced more extraordinary works.
The size of the trees they encountered was almost beyond belief, though
none of them surpassed the giant of which an account has been already
given. Among other curious trees they found _sugar-pines_ growing in
abundance in one part of the country. This is, perhaps, the most
graceful of all the pines. With a perfectly straight and cylindrical
stem and smooth bark, it rears its proud crest high above other trees,
and flings its giant limbs abroad, like a sentinel guarding the forest.
The stem rises to about four-fifths of its height perfectly free of
branches; above this point the branches spread out almost horizontally,
drooping a little at the ends from the weight of the huge cones which
they bear. These cones are about a foot-and-a-half long, and under each
leaf lies a seed the size of a pea, which has an agreeably sweet taste,
and is much esteemed by the Indians, who use it as an article of food.
Another remarkable sight they saw was a plain, of some miles in extent,
completely covered with shattered pieces of quartz, which shone with
specks and veins of pure gold. Of course they had neither time nor
inclination to attempt the laborious task of pulverising this quartz in
order to obtain the precious metal; but Ned moralised a little as they
galloped over the plain, spurning the gold beneath their horses' hoofs,
as if it had been of no value whatever! They both puzzled themselves
also to account for so strange an appearance; but the only solution that
seemed to them at all admissible was, that a quartz vein had, at some
early period of the world's history, been shattered by a volcanic
eruption, and the plain thus strewn with gold.
But from the contemplation of these and many other interesting sights
and phenomena we must pass to an event which seriously affected the
future plans of the travellers.
One beautiful evening--such an evening as, from its deep quiet and
unusual softness, leaves a lasting impression on the memory--the two
horsemen found themselves slowly toiling up the steep acclivity of a
mountain-ridge. Their advance was toilsome, for the way was rugged, and
no track of any kind assisted them in their ascent.
"I fear the poor horses will give in," said Ned, dismounting and looking
back at his companion, who slowly followed him.
"We are near the summit," answered Tom, "and they shall have a long rest
there."
As he spoke, they both dismounted and advanced on foot, leading their
fatigued horses by the bridles.
"Do you know," said Tom, with a sigh, "I feel more used up to-day than I
have been since we started on this journey. I think we had better
encamp and have a cup of tea; there is a little left yet, if I mistake
not."
"With all my heart, Tom; I, too, feel inclined to rest, and--"
Ned paused, for at that moment they overtopped the highest edge of the
ridge, and the view that burst upon them was well fitted to put to
flight every previous train of thought.
The ridge on which they stood rose several hundred feet above the level
of the plain beyond, and commanded a view of unknown extent towards the
far west.
The richest possible sweep of country was spread out at their feet like
a huge map, bathed in a glow of yellow sunshine. Lakes and streams,
crags and rocks, sward, and swamp, and plain--undulating and abrupt,
barren and verdant--all were there, and could be embraced in a single
wide-sweeping glance. It seemed, to the entranced travellers, like the
very garden of Eden. Water-fowl flew about in all directions, the
whistling of their wings and their wild cries being mellowed by distance
into pleasant music; and, far away on the right, where a clear lake
mirrored each tree on its banks, as if the image were reality, a herd of
deer were seen cooling their sides and limbs in the water, while, on the
extreme horizon, a line of light indicated the shores of the vast
Pacific Ocean.
Ere the travellers could find words to express their feelings, a rock,
with a piece of stick and a small rag attached to it, attracted their
attention.
"We are not the first who have set their feet here, it seems," said Ned,
pointing to the signal.
"Strange!" muttered Tom Collins, as they turned towards the rock; "that
does not look like an Indian mark; yet I would have thought that white
men had never stood here before, for the spot is far removed from any
known diggings, and, as we know fail well, is not easily reached."
On gaining the rock, they found that the rag was a shred of linen,
without mark of any kind to tell who had placed it there.
"It must have been the freak of some Indian hunter," said Ned, examining
the rock on which the little flag-staff was raised. "Stay--no--here are
some marks cut in the stone! Look here, Tom, can you decipher this? It
looks like the letter D--DB."
"DB?" cried Tom Collins, with a degree of energy that surprised his
friend. "Let me see!"
Tom carefully removed the moss, and cleared out the letters, which were
unmistakeable.
"Who can DB have been?" said Ned.
Tom looked up with a flushed countenance and a glittering eye, as he
exclaimed--
"Who? Who but Daniel Boone, Cooper's great hero--Hawk-eye, of the `Last
of the Mohicans'--Deer-slayer--Leather-stocking! _He_ has been here
before us--ay, brave spirit! Long before other hunters had dared to
venture far into the territory of the scalping, torturing, yelling
red-skin, this bold heart had pushed westward, fearless and alone, until
his eagle eye rested on the great Pacific. It _must_ have been he. I
have followed him, Ned, in spirit, throughout all his wild career, for I
knew him to be a _real_ man, and no fiction; but little did I think that
I should see a spot where his manly foot had rested, or live to discover
his _farthest step_ in the `far west!'"
Ned Sinton listened with interest to the words of his friend, but he did
not interrupt him, for he respected the deep emotions that swelled his
heart and beamed from his flashing eye.
"We spoke, Ned, sometime ago, of historical associations," continued
Tom,--"here are historical associations worth coming all this way to
call up. Here are associations that touch _my_ heart more than all the
deeds of ancient chivalry. Ah! Daniel Boone, little didst thou think
when thy hawk's eye rested here, that in a few short years the land
would be overrun by gold-diggers from all ends of the earth!"
"But this flag," said Ned; "_he_ could never have placed that here. It
would have been swept away by storms years ago."
"You are right," said Tom, turning over the stones that supported the
staff--"halloo! what have we here?"
He pulled out a roll of oiled cloth as he spoke, and, on opening it,
discovered a scrap of paper, on which were written, in pencil, the
words, "_Help us!--for God's sake help us! We are perishing at the foot
of the hill to the southward of this_."
No name or date was attached to this strange paper, but the purport of
it was sufficiently clear so, without wasting time in fruitless
conjecture, the young men immediately sprang on their horses, and rode
down the hill in the direction indicated.
The route proved more rugged and steep than that by which they had
ascended, and, for a considerable distance, they wound their way between
the trunks of a closely-planted cypress grove; after passing which they
emerged upon a rocky plain of small extent, at the further extremity of
which a green oasis indicated the presence of a spring.
Towards this they rode in silence.
"Ah!" exclaimed Ned, in a tone of deep pity, as he reined up at the foot
of an oak-tree, "too late!"
They were indeed too late to succour the poor creatures who had placed
the scrap of paper on the summit of that mountain-ridge, in the faint
hope that friendly hands might discover it in time.
Six dead forms lay at the foot of the oak, side by side, with their pale
faces turned upwards, and the expression of extreme suffering still
lingering on their shrunken features. It needed no living witness to
tell their sad history. The skeletons of oxen, the broken cart, the
scattered mining tools, and the empty provision casks, shewed clearly
enough that they were emigrants who had left their homesteads in the
States, and tried to reach the gold-regions of California by the
terrible overland journey. They had lost their way among the dreary
fastnesses of the mountains, travelled far from the right road to the
mines, and perished at last of exhaustion and hunger on the very borders
of the golden land. The grey-haired father of the family lay beside a
young girl, with his arm clasped round her neck. Two younger men also
lay near them, one lying as if, in dying, he had sought to afford
support to the other. The bodies were still fresh, and a glance shewed
that nearly all of them were of one family.
"Alas! Ned, had we arrived a few days sooner we might have saved them,"
said Tom.
"I think they must have been freed from their pains and sorrows here
more than a week since," replied the other, fastening his horse to a
tree, and proceeding to search the clothes of the unfortunates for
letters or anything that might afford a clue to their identity. "We
must stay here an hour or two, Tom, and bury them."
No scrap of writing, however, was found--not even a book with a name on
it--to tell who the strangers were. With hundreds of others, no doubt,
they had left their homes, full of life and hope, to seek their fortunes
in the land of gold; but the Director of man's steps had ordered it
otherwise, and their golden dreams had ended with their lives in the
unknown wilderness.
The two friends covered the bodies with sand and stones, and, leaving
them in their shallow grave, pursued their way; but they had not gone
far when a few large drops of rain fell, and the sky became overcast
with dark leaden clouds.
"Ned," said Tom, anxiously, "I fear we shall be caught by the rainy
season. It's awkward being so far from the settlements at such a time."
"Oh, nonsense! surely you don't mind a wetting?" cried Ned; "we can push
on in spite of rain."
"Can we?" retorted Tom, with unwonted gravity. "It's clear that you've
never seen the rainy season, else you would not speak of it so lightly."
"Why, man, you seem to have lost pluck all of a sudden; come, cheer up;
rain or no rain, I mean to have a good supper, and a good night's rest;
and here is just the spot that will suit us."
Ned Sinton leaped off his horse as he spoke, and, fastening him to a
tree, loosened the saddle-girths, and set about preparing the
encampment. Tom Collins assisted him; but neither the rallying of his
comrade, nor his own efforts could enable the latter to shake off the
depression of spirits, with which he was overpowered. That night the
rain came down in torrents, and drenched the travellers to the skin,
despite their most ingenious contrivances to keep it out. They spent
the night in misery, and when morning broke Ned found that his companion
was smitten down with ague.
Even Ned's buoyant spirits were swamped for a time at this unlooked-for
catastrophe; for the dangers of their position were not slight. It was
clear that Tom would not be able to travel for many days, for his whole
frame trembled, when the fits came on, with a violence that seemed to
threaten dislocation to all his joints. Ned felt that both their lives,
under God, depended on his keeping well, and being able to procure food
for, and nurse, his friend. At the same time, he knew that the rainy
season, if indeed it had not already begun, would soon set in, and
perhaps render the country impassable. There was no use, however, in
giving way to morbid fears, so Ned faced his difficulties manfully, and,
remembering the promise which he had given his old uncle at parting from
him in England, he began by offering up a short but earnest prayer at
the side of his friend's couch.
"Ned," said Tom, sadly, as his companion ceased, "I fear that you'll
have to return alone."
"Come, come, don't speak that way, Tom; it isn't right. God is able to
help us here as well as in cities. I don't think you are so ill as you
fancy--the sight of these poor emigrants has depressed you. Cheer up,
my boy, and I'll let you see that you were right when you said I could
turn my hand to anything. I'll be hunter, woodcutter, cook, and nurse
all at once, and see if I don't make you all right in a day or two. You
merely want rest, so keep quiet for a little till I make a sort of
sheltered place to put you in."
The sun broke through the clouds as he spoke and shed a warm beam down
on poor Tom, who was more revived by the sight of the cheering orb of
day than by the words of his companion.
In half-an-hour Tom was wrapped in the driest portion of the driest
blanket; his wet habiliments were hung up before a roaring fire to dry,
and a rude bower of willows, covered with turf, was erected over his
head to guard him from another attack of rain, should it come; but it
didn't come. The sun shone cheerily all day, and Ned's preparations
were completed before the next deluge came, so that when it descended on
the following morning, comparatively little found its way to Tom's
resting-place.
It was scarcely a _resting-place_, however. Tom turned and groaned on
his uneasy couch, and proved to be an uncommonly restive patient. He
complained particularly when Ned left him for a few hours each day to
procure fresh provisions; but he smiled and confessed himself
unreasonable when Ned returned, as he always did, with a dozen wild
ducks, or several geese or hares attached to his belt, or a fat deer on
his shoulders. Game of all kinds was plentiful, the weather improved,
the young hunter's rifle was good, and his aim was true, so that, but
for the sickness of his friend, he would have considered the life he led
a remarkably pleasant one.
As day after day passed by, however, and Tom Collins grew no better, but
rather worse, he began to be seriously alarmed about him. Tom himself
took the gloomiest view of his case, and at last said plainly he
believed he was dying. At first Ned sought to effect a cure by the
simple force of kind treatment and care; but finding that this would not
do, he bethought him of trying some experiments in the medicinal way.
He chanced to have a box of pills with him, and tried one, although with
much hesitation and fear, for he had got them from a miner who could not
tell what they were composed of, but who assured him they were a
sovereign remedy for the blues! Ned, it must be confessed, was rather a
reckless doctor. He was anxious, at the time he procured the pills, to
relieve a poor miner who seemed to be knocked up with hard work, but who
insisted that he had a complication of ailments; so Ned bought the pills
for twenty times their value, and gave a few to the man, advising him,
at the same time, to rest and feed well, which he did, and the result
was a complete cure.
Our hero did not feel so certain, however, that they would succeed as
well in the present case; but he resolved to try their virtues, for Tom
was so prostrate that he could scarcely be induced to whisper a word.
When the cold fit seized him he trembled so violently that his teeth
rattled in his head; and when that passed off it was followed by a
burning fever, which was even worse to bear.
At first he was restive, and inclined to be peevish under his illness,
the result, no doubt, of a naturally-robust constitution struggling
unsuccessfully against the attacks of disease, but when he was
completely overcome, his irascibility passed away, and he became
patient, sweet-tempered, and gentle as a child.
"Come, Tom, my boy," said Ned, one evening, advancing to the side of his
companion's couch and sitting down beside him, while he held up the
pill--"Open your mouth, and shut your eyes, as we used to say at
school."
"What is it?" asked the sick man, faintly.
"Never you mind; patients have no business to know what their doctors
prescribe. It's intended to cure ague, and that's enough for you to
know. If it doesn't cure you it's not my fault, anyhow--open your
mouth, sir!"
Tom smiled sadly and obeyed; the pill was dropt in, a spoonful of water
added to float it down, and it disappeared.
But the pill had no effect whatever. Another was tried with like
result--or rather with like absence of all result, and at last the box
was finished without the sick man being a whit the better or the worse
for them. This was disheartening; but Ned, having begun to dabble in
medicines, felt an irresistible tendency to go on. Like the tiger who
has once tasted blood, he could not now restrain himself.
"I think you're a little better to-night, Tom," he said on the third
evening after the administration of the first pill; "I'm making you a
decoction of bark here that will certainly do you good."
Tom shook his head, but said nothing. He evidently felt that a negative
sign was an appropriate reply to the notion of his being better, or of
any decoction whatever doing him good. However, Ned stirred the panful
of bark and water vigorously, chatting all the while in a cheering tone,
in order to keep up his friend's spirits, while the blaze of the
camp-fire lit up his handsome face and bathed his broad chest and
shoulders with a ruddy glow that rendered still more pallid the lustre
of the pale stars overhead.
"It's lucky the rain has kept off so long," he said, without looking up
from the mysterious decoction over which he bent with the earnest gaze
of an alchymist. "I do believe that has something to do with your being
better, my boy--either that or the pills, or both."
Ned totally ignored the fact that his friend did not admit that he was
better.
"And this stuff," he continued, "will set you up in a day or two. It's
as good as quinine, any day; and you've no notion what wonderful cures
that medicine effects. It took me a long time, too, to find the right
tree. I wandered over two or three leagues of country before I came
upon one. Luckily it was a fine sunny day, and I enjoyed it much. I
wish you had been with me, Tom; but you'll be all right soon. I lay
down, too, once or twice in the sunshine, and put my head in the long
grass, and tried to fancy myself in a miniature forest. Did you ever
try that, Tom!"
Ned looked round as he spoke, but the sick man gave a languid smile, and
shut his eyes, so he resumed his stirring of the pot and his rambling
talk.
"You've no idea, if you never tried it, how one can deceive one's-self
in that way. I often did it at home, when I was a little boy. I used
to go away with a companion into a grass-field, and, selecting a spot
where the grass was long and tangled, and mixed with various kinds of
weeds, we used to lie flat down with our faces as near to the ground as
possible, and gaze through the grass-stems until we fancied the blades
were trees, and the pebbles were large rocks, and the clods were
mountains. Sometimes a huge beetle would crawl past, and we instantly
thought of Saint George and the dragon, and, as the unwieldy monster
came stumbling on through the forest, we actually became quite excited,
and could scarcely believe that what we tried to imagine was not real.
"We seldom spoke on these occasions, my companion and I," continued Ned,
suspending the stirring of the decoction and filling his pipe, as he sat
down close to the blazing logs; "speaking, we found, always broke the
spell, so we agreed to keep perfect silence for as long a time as
possible. You must try it, Tom, some day, for although it may seem to
you a childish thing to do, there are many childish things which, when
done in a philosophical spirit, are deeply interesting and profitable to
men."
Ned ceased talking for a few minutes while he ignited his pipe; when he
spoke again his thoughts had wandered into a new channel.
"I'm sorry we have no fresh meat to-day," he said, looking earnestly at
his friend. "The remainder of that hare is not very savoury, but we
must be content; I walked all the country round to-day, without getting
within range of any living thing. There were plenty both of deer and
birds, but they were so wild I could not get near them. It would matter
little if you were well, Tom, but you require good food just now, my
poor fellow. Do you feel better to-night?"
Tom groaned, and said that he "felt easier," in a very uneasy voice,
after which they both relapsed into silence, and no sound was heard save
the crackling of the logs and the bubbling of the mysterious decoction
in the pot. Suddenly Tom uttered a slight hiss,--that peculiar sound so
familiar to backwoods ears, by which hunters indicate to each other that
something unusual has been observed, and that they had better be on the
alert.
Ned Sinton's nerves were of that firm kind which can never be startled
or taken by surprise. He did not spring to his feet, but, quick as
thought, he stretched forth his long arm, and, seizing his rifle, cocked
it, while he glanced at his friend's eye to see in what direction he was
looking. Tom pointed eagerly with his thin hand straight across the
fire. Ned turned in that direction, and at once saw the objects which
had attracted his attention. Two bright gleaming balls shone in the
dark background of the forest, like two lustrous Irish diamonds in a
black field of bog-oak. He knew at once that they were the eyes of a
deer, which, with a curiosity well-known as peculiar to many wild
animals, had approached the fire to stare at it.
Ned instantly threw forward his rifle; the light of the fire enabled him
easily to align the sights on the glittering eyes; the deadly contents
belched forth, and a heavy crash told that his aim had been true.
"Bravo!" shouted Tom Collins, forgetting his ailments in the excitement
of the moment, while Ned threw down his rifle, drew his hunting-knife,
sprang over the fire, and disappeared in the surrounding gloom. In a
few minutes he returned with a fine deer on his shoulders.
"So ho! my boy," he cried, flinging the carcase down; "that was a lucky
shot. We shall sup well to-night, thanks to curiosity, which is a most
useful quality in beast as well as man. But what's wrong; you look
pale, and, eh? you don't mean to say you're--laughing?"
Tom was indeed pale, for the sudden excitement, in his exhausted
condition had been too much for him; yet there did seem a peculiar
expression about the corners of his mouth that might have been the
remains of a laugh.
"Ned," he said, faintly, "the--the decoction's all gone." Ned sprang up
and ran to the fire, where, sure enough, he found the pan, over which he
had bent so long with necromantic gaze, upset, and most of the precious
liquid gone.
"Ha!" he cried, catching up the pot, "not _all_ gone, lad, so your
rejoicing was premature. There's quite enough left yet to physic you
well; and it's in fit state to be taken, so open your mouth at once, and
be a good boy."
A little of the medicine, mixed in water, was administered, and Tom,
making a wry face, fell back on his couch with a sigh. Immediately
after he was seized with, perhaps, the severest shaking fit he had yet
experienced, so that Ned could not help recalling the well-known
caution, so frequently met with on medicine vials, "When taken, to be
well shaken," despite the anxiety he felt for his friend. But soon
after, the trembling fit passed away, and Tom sank into a quiet
slumber,--the first real rest he had enjoyed for several days.
Ned felt his pulse and his brow, looked long and earnestly into his
face, nodded approvingly once or twice, and, having tucked the blankets
gently in round the sick man, he proceeded to prepare supper. He
removed just enough of the deer's skin to permit of a choice morsel
being cut out; this he put into the pot, and made thereof a rich and
savoury soup, which he tasted; and, if smacking one's lips and tasting
it again twice, indicated anything, the soup was good. But Ned Sinton
did not eat it. That was Tom's supper, and was put just near enough the
fire to keep it warm.
This being done, Ned cut out another choice morsel of deer's-meat, which
he roasted and ate, as only those can eat who are well, and young, and
robust, and in the heart of the wilderness. Then he filled his pipe,
sat down close to Tom's couch, placed his back against a tree, crossed
his arms on his breast, and smoked and watched the whole night long.
He rose gently several times during the night, however, partly for the
purpose of battling off his tendency to sleep, and partly for the
purpose of replenishing the fire and keeping the soup warm.
But Tom Collins took no supper that night. Ned longed very much to see
him awake, but he didn't. Towards morning, Ned managed for some time to
fight against sleep, by entering into a close and philosophical
speculation, as to what was the precise hour at which that pot of soup
could not properly be called supper, but would merge into breakfast.
This question still remained unsettled in his mind when grey dawn lit up
the peaks of the eastern hills, and he was still debating it, and
nodding like a Chinese mandarin, and staring at intervals like a
confused owl, when the sun shot over the tree-tops, and, alighting
softly on the sleeper's face, aroused him.
Tom awoke refreshed, ate his breakfast with relish, took his medicine
without grumbling, smiled on his comrade, and squeezed his hand as he
went to sleep again with a heavy sigh of comfort. From that hour he
mended rapidly, and in a week after he was well enough to resume his
journey.