THE RAFT PILOT'S HOME
"Here easy quiet, a secure retreat,
A harmless life that knows not how to cheat,
With home-bred plenty--the owner bless,
And rural pleasures crown his happiness;
Unvexed with quarrels, undisturb'd with noise,
The country king his peaceful realm enjoys."
--_Dryden_.
There was the steady tramp, tramp of horses' feet o'er the woodland
trail and, by the moon's shimmering gleam that sifted down through the
shadowy forest screen o'erhead, two horsemen could be perceived picking
cautiously their way in the darkness of the shadow. In clear places,
where the moonlight beamed unhindered, they pressed forward into a brisk
trot and then again slowing down to a steady tramp as they plunged once
more into some shadow. The road was uncertain, filled with pitfalls,
stumps of fallen forest giants, and other hindrances that necessitated
careful procedure. It was Ande and Dick on their way to the home of Hugh
Lark, raft-pilot, and squatter on a ridge of hills, the watershed
between the Great and Little Lycamahonings that poured their floods into
the Allegheny River. The hoot of a night owl sounded dismally in the
neighbouring forest and then, as if his call was the waving of an
orchestra leader's baton, forth burst in full chorus hundreds of other
birds of night, the most with the weird song "Whip-poor-will,
whip-poor-will."
The effect was grewsome and Ande shivered slightly.
"Dick," said he, "I had a dream last night that troubled me much."
Dick was all attention.
"It seemed in my dream that I had found somewhere a pearl of great price
and I cherished it as I did my own soul. In the upper Big Lycamahoning
district I found a large, silver ingot. In seeking to grasp the ingot I
lost the pearl, and I was filled with sorrow, and then the ingot turned
into a diamond of the first water and I was glad. I awoke then, and the
sun was beaming brightly in through the tavern window on my face."
Ande ceased speaking. Dick was silent for he was thinking, and, though a
good, sincere Methodist, was slightly superstitious.
"God knows, Ande, what it all means, but it seems to me that ee'll lose
summat and gain summat better."
Dick had spoken partly in the old Cornish dialect, which they frequently
spoke when by themselves.
"Aye, I guess that's the interpretation," said Ande, thoughtfully. The
way was pursued in silence for some time, unbroken save by the tramp of
horses' feet and the whirring wings of some bird whose solitude was
disturbed.
A mile or so was passed over and then through the trees ahead was the
gleam of a light, and after a time they rode into Hugh Lark's clearing.
The log house, two stories in height, loomed up darkly in the dusk of
evening. The moonlight touched up its clap-board roof and the edges of
its huge stone chimney, lighting them fantastically, and through the
greased paper-paned window came the glow of a fire within, evidently
from the great fireplace. There was the baying of a hound, and then the
quick bark of a shepherd dog in concert, and then the door opened and
the frame of Hugh was outlined against the inner light.
"Get back, you dogs! Back to your kennel, Shep, and you, Jack, over to
the barn with you!" he bellowed, and the dogs, that looked most
aggressive, slunk off at the word of their master. The horses were soon
fastened to the rail fence and the horsemen approached the house to be
greeted on the threshold with the outstretched hand of Hugh.
"Come in, mon, come in. It's a cauld nicht, as they ca' it in auld
Scotland," and he grasped each man's hand welcomingly and drew them
within and up to the great fireplace, for though spring had come, yet
the nights were cold. Hugh had greeted them as a Scotchman can. Though a
tolerably educated man, yet he loved to drop now and then back into his
mother tongue. The pilot's wife, a comely dame but little younger than
himself, sat near the light of the fireplace busily spinning. His two
chubby children had been put to bed in the room o'erhead and the scene
within was that of quiet, home comfort. Bunches of dried herbs and a few
hams and flitches of dried bacon and deer meat depended from the rafters
of the ceiling. A few common prints adorned the rude white-washed walls
and o'er the mantle piece, supported by deer antlers, was an old-time
flint-lock rifle of great weight and heavy bore. The pilot introduced
his wife, who, having made the customary courtesy, resumed her spinning,
the whir, whir of the wheel mingling with the cracking of the fire-logs.
Hugh drew forward two home-made chairs for his visitors, and Ande sat
down, but Dick was interested in the great rifle o'er the mantle piece.
Hugh noticed his concentrated look on the old rifle.
"Aye, ye are looking at a highly prized relic in that rifle. Test the
weight of it, sir; notice the large bore capable of carrying a ball the
size of a schoolboy's marble."
Dick took down the gun and examined it.
"That rifle could tell many a tale, Mr. Dick, if it could speak. It was
my father's, Captain Ande Lark's gun. Ye ken that captains of
sharp-shooters in the days of Washington carried guns. A gun was more
use to them then than all of the swords made. Father fired the last shot
out of it in 1794, when he was mortally wounded by Indians on the
Kiskiminatas. It was this way," said Hugh, seeing the look of interest
on the faces of his visitors. "After the Revolution, the nation was
heavily indebted, and not even the efforts of Robert Morris could save
the nation from financial ruin had not many patriots, among whom was my
father, withheld their claims for service. Some speculating jobber
offered to trade father a thousand acres of land, where Braddock met his
defeat, for the commission papers and his claims. Father accepted, and
loading up his goods on a flat boat he floated down the river
Kiskiminatas. He was attacked by lurking savages along the river side
and, although he succeeded in bringing down several of them by bullets
from 'Old Thump,'"--and the pilot waved his hand expressively toward the
old rifle,--"yet he received a wound himself from which he afterward
died."
Hugh Lark was silent and his usually pleasant face was sober and sad.
There was a long pause, unbroken save by the puffs and clouds of
ascending tobacco smoke.
"Light the lamp, Mary," he at length said.
Mrs. Lark arose from her work and took from a receptacle in the wall a
species of lamp much used by the woodsmen. It consisted of a turnip,
split, and hollowed out within. A stick, around which was wrapped a
strip of oiled linen, was inserted upright in the centre, and the vessel
having been filled with deer grease was ready for use. The visitors
gazed at this primitive vessel, that at best gave forth but a dismal
light and a far more disagreeable odour.
"Candles are too much of a luxury for us at present, so we still use the
old turnip lamp. But to get down to business. I wanted to speak to you
of prospecting."
Hugh poked the fire logs a little, and Mrs. Lark arose and brought in a
pitcher of home-made cider and some drinking vessels, and then retired.
"Ye must ken that the Indians kenned more of this country than we do,
having lived here longer," said Hugh, as he raked a brand from the fire
and lit his pipe; and then without pausing for an answer he continued:
"I have read much for a backwoodsman and know of how the spirit of
jealousy has ruled nations as well as people. The same spirit of
jealousy that led the Asiatics to conceal from Europeans their arts and
sciences is within the Indian breast. The Phoenecians, so I have read,
hid so truly their art of making their beautiful colour called
Phoenecian purple that to-day we know nothing of it. The pyramids
to-day are monuments of the lost sciences of the ancients. There is much
wealth in the hills of the country, known to the Indian alone. Father
thought the same as I did and was convinced of it by a wound he received
in an Indian expedition with the famous Sam Brady. His wound was probed
and the bullet ye see tied to the old lock by a cord was the one taken
out of the wound." Both examined the silver bullet that was attached to
the lock of "Old Thump."
"He found the mine. Then you know its location, Mr. Lark?"
"Perhaps we had best have an understanding first, before I say much
more. If ye are agreed to give me a fair share with yourselves we will
go ahead."
"We are perfectly agreed, and more. If you give my friend, Dick, a
share, I desire nothing."
Hugh looked mystified at Ande and said partly in the Scotch dialect,
"And ye're not after the siller yoursel'?"
Ande seeing that he must explain, related the tale of his grandfather's
dishonour, and Hugh, with various nods and puffs, listened.
"Aye, I see, I see," said Hugh; "and ye think the unearthing of this
Indian mine will bring to light your family honour. Ye said the other
night that ye were prospecting for character, and we thought it was a
joke on the tavern keeper," and Hugh's features relaxed into a smile.
"But now for my tale. Indians appear here, from the Shawnee tribes in
the west, every few years. They remain for a time and then disappear.
Some say they come for hunting, some for to visit the graves of their
tribe, but I always had my own opinions. Some years ago there was a
great flood and we raftsmen went down to get the rafts in safer
positions. I was busy piloting when I thought I saw something out on the
waters. It was not a rock nor a piece of driftwood, and after I had
almost wearied my eyes I saw it was the head of a man. I gave the oar to
Tom, the fellow ye saved from the tree the other day, Mr. Dick, and
flung out a rope. It fell nigh the fellow and we dragged him in, and if
it wasn't a half-breed Indian, a Canadian, so he afterward told me. He
was far from his tribe and people and had hurt himself in some scrimmage
or other with a wild animal. After we got the raft safe in good
quarters, we took him up to our place here and nursed him for many a day
until he was ready to leave, and then he showed what stuff he was made
off. He wanted to reward me for my kindness. By his directions I got
some paper and a pen and drew off a rude map of the Big Lycamahoning
region. After it was made he put his brown finger on a certain section
and said, 'If white man know what under there they shoe their oxen with
silver.' Here's the map," and Hugh took from an inner pocket of his
woollen wamus a rude roll of paper which he spread out for their view
near the old turnip lamp. Ande took out his father's map and compared it
with the other.
"Ye have a map, too," said Hugh.
"The one sent me years ago by my father."
The two maps coincided in all the essential features.
"And now we know the place and the only thing that remains for us is to
set the date of going on our search. The first night of the full moon
would be best suited to our purpose. And there must be another let into
the secret, for we can't get along handily without the use of the only
canoe on the Big Creek, and that's Hunter Tom of the Loop," said Hugh.
"Who's Hunter Tom?" asked Dick.
"He's a queer old character, and has been in the neighbourhood of the
Big Creek for the--well--as long as any of us around here, and for a
great time longer. He's a hunter and has a cabin over in a little
clearing alongside of the Big Creek."
"The very man we ate dinner with the other day," said Ande, and turning
to Hugh he related the circumstances of their adventure.
"The very same man, and a better guide and hunter none ever saw,"
replied Hugh, emphatically. Good-nights were now spoken, and, mounting,
the young men rode back to Burgtown.