by Donn Fendler
I went to sleep right away that night, but I didn’t sleep long. It began to rain—great big drops that woke me up. I listened for a moment, shivering all the time and crying a little from the cold. I could hear thunder, but it sounded way off and kind of hollow. Then it started to rain harder and harder, and I remembered a hollow tree I passed. I stumbled back towards it, Boy! Was it dark! I could feel the fleece in my reefer getting wet, and I didn’t like that. I was in such a hurry that I forgot my dungarees. At last I found the tree and crawled in. It was bigger than I thought and I was able to curl up in a sitting position. It was dry and warm in there, and I just thanked God for being so good to me.
Then, I dropped off to sleep.
CHAPTER 6
I HEAR FOOTSTEPS • THIRD DAY
I DREAMED some wild dreams that night, but I can’t think of one of them. I wish I could. Some of them were funny, and some scared me. I can remember that much.
When morning came, I tried to crawl out of the tree. Now I know how an old, old man feels, going around with a cane. I couldn’t move. I had rheumatism, and my knees creaked like old hinges. My neck was stiff and sore, and I had a pain down the middle of my shoulders. I wondered if pneumonia began that way, but I took a long breath and didn’t feel any pain so I knew my lungs were all right.
Outside the sun was shining. I lay still and watched it for a long time. A little brown bird came right up to the tree and started to hunt for bugs among the roots. I could see the sunlight on its feathers and I remember saying to myself, “This can’t be such a bad place after all. That little bird seems to like it.” When the bird had flown away I worked my way out of the tree. Boy, that was some job!
The sight of that bird eating grubs made me hungry and so, after going over and looking at my dungarees I left the stream and went back up on a little hill where some bushes grew. I didn’t put on the dungarees, for when I felt of them they chilled me, they were so cold and wet and stiff. I just shoved them back under the old tree trunk.
On the hill I found some berries. They were pretty dry, but I ate all I could find, then I remembered that I hadn’t said my morning prayers. I didn’t want to start the day that way, so I knelt down and prayed for quite a while. You see, at that time I didn’t really think I was in a bad fix. I knew I was lost, but I expected to run across someone fishing or camping around every bend in the stream. That’s the way it is, you keep saying to yourself, “Well, I’ll find somebody around the next bend.” You keep saying that to yourself all day long. It never came into my head that a fellow could get so badly lost in the United States of America, and that days would pass without seeing a soul.
After I had said my prayers I went down to the stream, found my dungarees and threw them over my arm. I waded into the water, hugging the bank as much as I could. I did that because the ground there was not quite so hard on my feet. Every little while I would come across a sandy place where I could straighten up and walk fast.
As I went along, I came to a big rock—a piece of granite, I guess, that had rolled down from the mountain. On the shore side of it was a patch of bushes so thick that I could not force my way through. On the stream side the water was so fast and deep that I knew I could not wade it. I had to crawl to the top of that boulder and then jump a big crack to another rock.
I forgot to say that by now the brook had become quite a stream. I don’t know how many little brooks had run into it, but I know I crossed over quite a few.
I got to the top of the boulder, all right, but I hurt my wrist doing it. I sat down on top to rest and that gave me a chance to watch the water rushing between the rock I was on and the one just beyond. That water gurgled and gurgled and churned and seemed to be trying to climb right up to me. I was pretty stiff, but I knew I had to jump; so I tossed my dungarees across ahead of me. In one of the pockets, I had a big piece of rock.15 I was carrying it back to Mommy from the top of Katahdin. Maybe she’d use it as a paperweight or a doorstop. That rock was heavy, and I knew Mommy would like it; so I carried it along.
Well, I didn’t have strength enough to toss my pants clear across onto the rock. The legs hit the top all right, but the pocket with the stone in it slapped onto the side with a dull thud. And there my dungarees hung for a second, slowly slipping, inch by inch, into the white water, racing below. All I could do was watch them slip. Why didn’t I jump across and save them? I don’t know, except that I must have had a feeling that the least touch or jar would shoot them into the stream. Maybe I was just paralyzed, looking at them. Boy, what a moment! What would I do, if they slipped into the water? How would I keep off the insects? How would I ever get into camp without being seen? Well, I figured that I could crawl into camp after dark, when everyone was in bed—maybe.
While I was thinking such things, down slid the dungarees like a fat, blue snake into the water. One leg flapped up against the rock and they were gone. I couldn’t believe it. My pants were gone. There I was like a kewpie or something. It might be all right to run around in the woods like that, but what would I say when I came around a bend and found a camp? I couldn’t walk in like that and say, “I’m Donn Fendler. Please telephone my dad I’m here.” Everybody would die laughing.
Well, maybe after that, anyone would expect me to hunt for my pants. I didn’t even look for them. I just jumped across to the other rock and went on. Maybe I could have found my pants—I don’t know—but by the time that day was done, I was glad I had lost them. I couldn’t slap blackflies and mosquitoes and mooseflies with heavy, wet dungarees over one arm.
I kept pretty close to the stream the rest of that day. When the shadows darkened under the trees I began looking for a place to sleep. I was lucky. On a little bank, about a hundred feet away from the water, I found a beautiful patch of soft green moss under a pine tree. I was tired but I took the time to pull a lot more of the moss together and spread it out into a bed. I said my prayers and lay down. I couldn’t go to sleep right off, so I watched a bird with long legs fishing near the edge of the water. He would run a little and then stop and cock his head on one side and look and then run a little more. Then he would shoot his long bill into the water and spear a tiny fish. Boy, I wished I could feed myself as easily as that!
Suddenly I heard footsteps right behind me. I didn’t move. Something snorted, then a deer stepped past me so close that I could have touched it and went down to the brook. I must have made a noise of some kind, for the deer suddenly stopped and turned its head and looked at me, then it wheeled around and faced me. I never saw such big eyes. I stayed as still as a mouse. I wasn’t frightened, either. I wanted to see what that deer would do. Pretty soon it took a step towards me, then another and another. I wondered if it would walk on me, but it didn’t. It looked and looked, then snorted and banged up and down with its front feet. Then it turned and went down to the stream and took a drink.
I can throw a baseball pretty straight, and there were plenty of round stones handy, but I didn’t want to kill that deer. I felt glad it had come, and I felt glad that it wasn’t afraid of me. I watched the deer for a long time. When he had gone, I closed my eyes. Just before I went off to sleep, I thought of a glass of milk—a big, cold glass with white foamy milk in it. Boy, the juice just ran down the corners of my mouth thinking of it! Anybody who doesn’t like milk is crazy.
The brook was pretty noisy right there, and it sounded like someone humming a tune. I went to sleep listening to it.
CHAPTER 7
BEARS ARE NOT SO BAD • FOURTH DAY
I HAD plenty of dreams that night—maybe you never chased your pants all over the lot and never could catch up with them because they could run faster than you could. Well, that’s the kind of dream I had, and I must have been thinking a lot about my pants, because when I woke up, the backs of my legs were as sore as though I had slid down a rock and taken the skin off. The skin was off, too, but I had done it myself in the night, scratching mosquito bites. Christmas, was I sore! The red, deep scratches burned like fi
re and a million blackflies and mosquitoes bit right into them.
It’s bad enough in the woods to have a whole skin for bugs to peck at, but get a break in it and see what happens! That’s when you run into real trouble. I guess flies are just lazy, and a cut saves them the bother of boring in. Anyway, I woke up with every cut and scratch lined with insects. Even the ants were having a picnic on me, but the worst pest of all was the moosefly. You wouldn’t think a fly could bite like that fellow. He lands and zingo—you’re bit and the blood is flowing.
The flies were so bad in that place that I knew I had to get out of there in a hurry. It was sort of swampy, with water standing between rocks, and when I got down on my stomach to drink from the stream, I noticed black, slick bloodsuckers all over the bottom. I wondered why the trout didn’t feed on those bloodsuckers. There were millions of them.
As soon as I had washed myself, I started away from the stream to escape the flies. I went towards an open space I could see above me through the bushes. The stream had cut into the bank at that spot, and I had some trouble climbing up the steep side, but I made it. When I crawled out on top, on all fours, was I surprised! Four or five deer were feeding right out in the open! They looked up and saw me, but didn’t seem the least bit frightened. They just moved over to one side of the open space and watched me. Now and then, a buck would snort and make his front legs prance up and down.
I looked around and found strawberries there, and I ate some. Then I saw some bushes that were full of blue and green berries. I didn’t eat any, but I got down on all fours and picked the strawberries that grew in between the clumps. Those strawberries were good. I thought of cream, and that made me think of milk, and that made me think of Mommy and Dad, and I cried while I was eating the berries.
I was pretty lonesome, too, and getting discouraged. Besides, I wasn’t as strong as I had been the day before. I had to work harder to get through the brush and once, when my jacket was caught in a thorny vine, I had trouble getting it loose.16 I almost gave up. That vine was so strong, it tore pieces out of my jacket and scratched my legs till they bled. Anyway, I got out of that fix and began to eat strawberries again. I had worked down close to the stream once more, and I noticed that it made quite a noise over the rocks.
Suddenly, as I came around a clump of berry bushes, I came face to face with a bear—a big one, black as ink, and standing on his hind legs. I was stooping over, and when I straightened up, the bear saw me and screamed like a person. Christmas! That scream just turned me cold. I couldn’t run. I couldn’t yell. I couldn’t do anything. I just stood and stared, crouched over a little, because I never finished straightening up. For a second, that bear and I just looked at each other, then the bear made a big leap sideways. I don’t think he touched his forepaws to the ground. He just went sideways as though on springs and splash!—whish!—bobbing up and down, with the water flying around him, he was on the other side of the stream. Was I glad! I straightened up and laughed. I couldn’t help it. I just laughed and laughed, and then I cried and tears ran down into my mouth and then I laughed again. That bear stood a while looking at me and then he got down on all fours and loped off with his black shoulders going up and down like a horse on a merry-go-round.
I couldn’t eat any more berries—I wasn’t hungry anymore. I just wanted to get into the next camp and find someone who would telephone to Dad. I was getting worried about that trip to Caribou. I didn’t want Dad and the boys to be cheated out of it because of me.
My feet were bothering me a lot, now, and I was lame. Something in my hip hurt me when I walked. Besides, every time I stepped on a stone or a broken twig, I’d have to cry with pain. I guess I cried a lot that morning. I tried not to, because I knew I had to keep my head, but I did, and I guess that wasn’t so bad, because guides have told me they cried, too, when they got lost in the winter and had to “hole up” for a day or so in a snowbank.
When I was feeling worst, I got down on my knees and prayed. I had to hunt some moss, because my knees were so sore they almost made me scream when I went down on them, but I found the moss under a tree and I prayed as hard as I could. I prayed out loud, too, asking God to help me, because I needed help and asking Him not to let Mommy and Dad worry and asking Him for food—just something to keep me going till I found a camp and, oh, yes, I asked Him to help me get out and not let my feet go back on me. I had to ask Him about my feet because my toes were so stiff I couldn’t bend them. They stuck straight out and the ends were cut and worn, and my left foot had a slice cut right out of it.
After I had prayed, I rested a while. Then I got up and, right around a big rock, I found a road. It was just a tote road into a camp, but it was a road just the same and easy to walk on. Here and there, logs had been laid across, corduroy style, and water stood between them, and it was cool there, with beautiful green ferns growing. I knew the road was an old one because there were no signs of any horse or wagon wheel.
I was happy at last. I knew that road would lead me either into a camp or out to another road. I didn’t care which; so I followed it, going as fast as I could.
CHAPTER 8
I FIND A CABIN • FIFTH DAY
THE FLIES and mosquitoes were pretty bad in that place because the ground was low and swampy. At first I beat them off, but pretty soon my arms got tired and hurt me so to swing them that I just went on, letting the flies bite. I remember, once, when I slapped down on my wrist, the blood splashed into my face.17
I don’t know how long I followed that road, but night came and I had to stop. I picked out a place under a tree and tried to go to sleep, but the frogs kept me awake. Boy! They must have been big ones. One would croak and another would answer him. They were arguing—and arguing always makes me feel like running away.
“You did,” one frog would say. “I didn’t,” would answer the other. “You did,” “I didn’t,” “You did,” “I didn’t”—until I had to get up and go away from there. A handful of stones would have come in handy, but I didn’t have any stones and anyway it was so dark in there you couldn’t see your hand before your face. I had to go mighty slow, feeling the road with my feet, to keep from bumping into something.
After a while, I came to an opening. I could see the stars. Right in the middle, on what seemed to be a mound, was a big tree. I crawled up close to it and dropped down, too tired to go another step. I slept hard, too, for it was broad daylight when I awoke. Something was talking to me. I couldn’t make it out for a long time, then I opened my eyes and a chipmunk was standing on a limb with his tail jerking up and down, looking at me. He was saying a lot, too, asking me what I was doing there and if I were lost and telling me to cheer up, that a camp was just around the corner and there was bacon frying and maybe an egg or two.
Funny how you can get chummy with the wild animals when you’re in the woods. I had to laugh at that chipmunk—he was so busy talking, with that tail of his jerking up and down all the time. I found out that the woods creatures don’t want to hurt you, and they’d all help you if they could.
I just lay there and listened—and laughed a little. It didn’t seem to me that I could ever get up. I tried to lift my head, but it just plopped back like a head made of putty. I closed my eyes and dozed again, and then I rolled over and pulled myself up by hanging onto the tree. It sounds funny, but I wasn’t glad another day had come.18 I was sorry, because I had to walk some more and my feet were so sore and covered with cuts and bites that every step made me yell out. That was at first, but a person can get used to anything, I guess. After my feet got warmed up, it wasn’t so bad.
I would stop, now and then, when I found a patch of wet, green moss, and just stand in it. Boy, it felt good!
The little chipmunk seemed to want company, too, for he followed me like a dog, only he went along in the trees over my head. He kept chattering all the time. He was a pretty little fellow, and I wondered why he went so far with me.19
I hadn’t gone far along that tote road, maybe two or
three miles, when I knew I was coming to a cabin. First, I saw a pile of tin cans, sort of a dump, but the cans were all rusted, and you couldn’t tell what kind of cans they were.
I stood and looked at them. Even a rusty tin can looks good to a fellow lost in the woods. It shows that someone else has been there, ahead of him. Not far from the pile of tin cans I saw some rusty iron barrel hoops hanging over a limb, and then the road turned and I came right out onto a clearing.
Christmas! That was a glad moment for me. I was kind of stooped over, I was so tired, and I thought sure someone would come running out of a door and say, “Hello, where did you come from!” But nobody did.
I stopped a while and looked things over. The cabin was made of logs and the bark had partly peeled off, but the door was closed with a latch—at least that’s how I remember it. There wasn’t any bacon smell, like you generally find around camps. Then I knew what had happened. The camp was deserted and I wasn’t much better off than before I found it. Still, there was a house there and a fellow might find something to eat on a shelf, something someone had forgotten—a can of beans, maybe, or evaporated milk. Boy, wouldn’t that be good—a can of beans!
I hurried as fast as I could. I lifted the latch and the door almost fell off its hinges. That scared me and I pushed it open, slowly, and peeked in. I didn’t know what was in there—a porcupine, maybe, or a skunk. There wasn’t anything like that, but how that door did squeak! The inside of the house had a funny, musty smell. There was a bunk along one side, but it was empty. There was a bed, too, with a mattress on it and a rough blanket covering the bottom. That bed looked good to me but I was so hungry that I went straight to the cupboard.