CHAPTER III.
LIFE IN A BARK HUT.
It was two o'clock in the morning when the tired, draggled pair stumbledashore at the place where they embarked, hauled up their birch skiff,leaving it to repose, bottom uppermost, under a screen of bushes, andthen stood for some minutes in deliberation.
"I'm sure I hope we can find the trail all right," said Cyrus. "Yes, Isee the blazes on the trees. Here's luck!"
He had been turning the jack-lamp on either side of him, trying todiscover the "blazes," or notches cut in some of the trunks, whichmarked the "blazed trail"--in other words, the spotted line through theotherwise trackless forest, which would lead him whither he wanted togo.
It required considerable experience and unending watchfulness to followthese "blazes"; but young Garst seemed to have the instinct of a truewoodsman, and went ahead unfalteringly, if vigilantly, while Nealfollowed closely in his tracks.
After rather a lengthy trudge, they reached a point where the groundsloped gently upward into a low bluff. Still keeping to the trail, theyascended this eminence, finding the forest not so dense, and the walkingeasier than it had been hitherto. Gaining the top, they emerged upon anopen patch, which had been cleared of its erect, massive pines, and thelong-hidden earth laid bare to the sky by the lumberman's axe.
Here the eagerly desired sight--that sight of all others to the tiredcamper; namely, the camp itself, with its cheery, blazingcamp-fire--burst upon their view, sheltered by a group of sapling pines,which had grown up since their giant brothers went to make timber.
Now, a Maine camp, as every one knows, may consist of any temporaryshelter you choose to name, according to the tastes and opportunitiesof its occupants, from a fair white canvas home to a log cabin or ahastily erected canopy of spruce boughs. In the present instance it wasa "wangen," or hut of strong bark, such as is sometimes used bylumbermen to rest and sleep in when they are driving their floats oftimber down one of the rivers of this region to a distant town, which isa centre of the lumber trade.
Cyrus and Neal were making across the clearing in the direction of thecamp-fire with revived spirits, when the American suddenly grabbed hisfriend by the arm, and drew him behind a clump of low bushes.
"Hold on a minute!" he whispered. "By all that's glorious, there's UncleEb singing his favorite song! It's worth hearing. You never listened tosuch music in England."
"I don't suppose I ever did," answered Neal, suppressed laughter makinghim shake.
Upon a gray pine stump, beside the blaze, which he was feeding with ahemlock bough, sat a battered-looking yet lively personage. Had he beenstanding upright upon the remnant of trunk, he would certainly, in thebright but changeful firelight, have deceived an onlooker into believinghim to be a continuation of it; for the baggy tweed trousers which hewore on his immense legs, and which partially hid his loose-fittingbrogans, or woodsman's boots, his thick, knitted jersey, his mop ofwoolly hair, with the cap of coon's fur that adorned it, were a strikingmixture of grays, all bordering upon the color of the stump. His skin,however, was a fine contrast, shining as he bent towards the flame likethe outside of a copper kettle. In daylight it would be three shadesdarker, because the thick coral lips, gleaming teeth, and prominent,friendly eyes of the individual, betrayed him to be in his own words, "acolored gen'leman;" that is, a full-blooded negro, and a free Americancitizen.
Beside him, squatting upon his haunches and wagging his shaggy tail, wasa good-sized dog, not of pure breed, but undoubtedly possessed of fireand fidelity, as was shown by the eye he raised to his master. His redcoat and general formation showed that his father had been an Irishsetter, though he seemed to have other and fiercer blood in his veins,mingling with that of this gentle parent.
To him the negro was chanting a war-song,--some lines by a popularwriter which he had found in an old newspaper, and had set to a curioustune of his own composition, rendering the performance more inspiritingby sundry wild whoops, and an occasional whacking of his teeth together.
Here are two verses, under the influence of which the dog worked himselfup to such excitement that he seemed to feel the ghosts of rabbitsslain--for he could smell no live ones--hovering near him:--
"I raise my gun whar de rabbit run-- Ketch him, Tiger, ketch him! En de rabbit say: 'Gimme time ter pray, Fer I ain't got long fer to stay, to stay!' Oh, ketch him, Tiger, ketch him!
"Ketch him, oh, ketch him! Run ter de place en fetch him! De bell done chime Fer de breakfast time-- Oh, ketch him, Tiger, ketch him!"
"If there are any more verses, Uncle Eb, keep them until we've hadsupper, or breakfast, or whatever you like to call a meal at thisunearthly hour. I'm so hungry that I could chew nails!" cried Cyrus,springing from behind the bushes, and reaching the, camp-fire with a fewstrides, Neal following him.
"Sakes alive! yonkers; is dat you?" cried the darkey, uprearing hisgray figure. "I'se mighty glad to see you back. Whar's yer meat? Left itin de canoe mebbe? De buck too big to drag 'long to camp--eh?"
There was a wicked rolling of Uncle Eb's eyes while he spoke. Evidentlyfrom the looks of the sportsmen he guessed immediately what had been theresult of their excursion.
"No luck and no buck to-night!" answered Garst. "But don't roast us,Uncle Eb. Get us something to eat quicker than lightning or we'll go foryou--at least we would if we weren't entirely played out. It isn'teverybody who can manage a hard shot as cleverly as you do, when he canonly see the eyes of an animal. And that was the one chance we got."
No man living ever heard a further word from Cyrus as to how his Englishfriend bore the scares of a first night's jacking.
"Ya-as, dat's a ticklish shot. Most folks is skeered o' trying it,"drawled out Ebenezer Grout, a professional guide as well as "coloredgen'leman," familiarly called by visitors to this region who hired theuse of his hut and his services, "Uncle Eb."
"There's some comfort for you," whispered Cyrus slyly into Neal's ear.Aloud he said, addressing the guide, "We had a spill-out, too, as acrown-all. I'm mighty glad that this is the second of October, notNovember, and that the weather is as warm as summer; otherwise we'd bein a pretty bad way from chill. I feel shivery. Hurry up, and get ussome steaming hot coffee and flapjacks, Uncle Eb, while we fling offthese wet clothes. The trouble is we haven't got any dry ones."
"Hain't got no oder suits?" queried the woodsman. "Den go 'long, boys,and rig yerselves up in yer blankets. Ye can pertend to be Injuns ferto-night. Like enough dis ain't de worst shift ye'll have to make 'foreye get out o' dese parts."
As the draggled pair were making towards the hut, which stood about sixfeet from the fire, to follow his advice, its bark door was suddenlypushed wide open. Forth stepped, or rather staggered, another boy,younger and shorter than Neal. His tumbled fair hair was here and thereadorned with a green pine-needle, which was not remarkable, consideringthat he had just arisen from a bed of pine boughs. Sundry others wereclinging to the surface of the warm, fleecy blankets in which he waswrapped, and his feet were thrust into a pair of moccasins. He had theappearance and voice of a person awaking from sound sleep.
"I say, you fellows, it's about time you got back!" he said, rubbing hisheavy eyes, and addressing the hunters. "I hope you've had some luck. Idreamt that I was smacking my lips over a venison steak."
"Smack 'em w'en you git it, honey!" remarked Uncle Eb, while he mixed aplain batter of flour, baking-powder, and cold water, which he droppedin big spoonfuls on a frying-pan, previously greased, proceeding to frythe mixture over his camp-fire.
The thin, round cakes which presently appeared were the "flapjacks"despised by Cyrus as insufficient diet.
Without waiting to answer the new boy's greeting, the hunters haddisappeared into the bark shanty. When next they issued forth they wererigged up Indian fashion in moccasins and blankets, the latter beingdoubled and draped over their underclothing,--of which luckily they hada dry supply,--and gathered round their waists with leather straps.Knitted caps, usually worn when sleeping, adorned thei
r heads.
"You see, we followed Dol's example and your advice, Uncle Eb," saidCyrus, as they seated themselves by the camp-fire. "And I tell you thesemake tip-top dressing-gowns when you're feeling a little bit chillyafter a drenching. We didn't bring along a second suit of tweeds for thesimple reason that we mean to do some pretty rough tramping with ourpacks on our backs, and then a fellow is likely to grumble at anyunnecessary pound of weight he carries."
"Shuah--shuah!" assented Uncle Eb.
"And that is why we left our fishing-rods behind," continued Garst. "Yousee, our main object this trip is neither hunting nor fishing. But acreel of gamey trout from Squaw Pond would come in handy now toreplenish our larder."
"Wal, I b'lieve I'll fix up a rod to-mo-oh an' hook a few, fer de pork'sgivin' out. Hain't got mich use fer trout meself. Dey's kind o'tasteless eatin' if a man can git a bit o' fat coon or a fatty [hare],let 'lone ven'zon. Pork's a sight better'n 'em to my mind."
While Uncle Eb was giving his views on food, he was hurriedly "bilin'"coffee, frying unlimited flapjacks, and breaking up some crystal cakesof maple sugar, which he melted into a sirup, and poured over them.
"De bell done chime Fer de breakfast time!"
he shouted gleefully when all was accomplished. "Heah, yonkers! I guesswe may call dis meal breakfast jest as well as not, fer it's neah todawn now."
And the trio fell to voraciously, as he handed them each a steaming tinmug and an equally steaming plate. The newly awakened youngster, who hadbeen cuddling his head sleepily against Neal's shoulder (a glance showedthat they were brothers), had clamored for his share of the banquet.
"You haven't been lonely, Dol, I hope, have you?" said Cyrus, as a wholeflapjack, doubled over and drenched in sirup, disappeared down hiscapacious throat.
"Not I," answered Dol (Adolphus Farrar, ladies and gentlemen), shuttingand opening a pair of steel-gray eyes with a sort of quick snap. "UncleEb and I sat by the fire until twelve o'clock. He sang songs, and toldtip-top stories about coon hunts. I tell you it was fun! I'd rather seea coon hunt than go out at night jacking, especially if I got a duckinginstead of a deer, like some bungling fellows I know."
"Don't be saucy, Young England, or I'll go for you when I've finishedeating," laughed Cyrus good-humoredly. "Who told you what we got?"
Dol winked at Uncle Eb, who had, indeed, entertained him with gigglingjokes about the unsuccessful hunters while they were stripping off theirwet garments.
Adolphus, being the youngest of the camping-party, was favored with thesoftest pine-bough bed and the best of the limited luxuries which thecamp possessed, with unlimited nicknames,--from "Young England" to"Shaver" or "Chick," according to the whims of his comrades.
"Say, Uncle Eb, we're having a fine old time to-night--all sorts ofexperiences! I guess you may as well finish that song we interruptedwhile we're finishing our meal."
"All rightee, gen'lemen!" answered the jolly guide and cook.
The dog Tiger had retreated to the back of the camp-fire, where he layblissfully snoozing; but at a booming "Whoop-ee!" from his master, whichformed a prelude to the following verses, he shot up like a rocket, andmanifested all his former signs of excitement.
"Dey's a big fat goose whar de turkey roos'-- Ketch him, Tiger, ketch him! En de goose--he say, 'Hit'll soon be day, En I got no feders fer ter give away!' Oh, ketch him, Tiger, ketch him!
"Ketch him, oh, ketch him, Run ter de roos' en fetch him! He ain't gwine tell On de dinner bell-- Ketch him, Tiger, ketch him!"
"Scoot 'long to bed now, you yonkers, or ye'll look like spooksto-mo-oh! Hit's day a'ready," cried the singer directly he had whoopedout his last note.
And the "yonkers," nothing loath, for they had finished their repast,sprang up to obey him.
"Isn't it a comfort that we haven't any trouble of undressing andgetting into our bedclothes, fellows?" Cyrus said, as they reached thewangen, and prepared to throw themselves upon the fragrant camp-bed offresh green pine-boughs, which made the bark hut smell more healthilythan a palace.
The natural mattress was wide enough to accommodate three. The boughswere laid down in rows with the under side up, and overlapped eachother. To be sure, an occasional twig might poke a sleeper's ribs, butwhat mattered that? To the English boys especially--having the charm ofentire novelty--it was a matchless bed, wholesome, restful, and richwith balsamic odors hitherto unknown.
The trio were stupidly tired; but on the American continent no happieror healthier youths could have been found.
It had, indeed, been a night big with experiences; and there was onestill to come, which, to Neal Farrar at any rate, was as novel as therest. He had thrown himself upon his bough couch, too weary to offeranything but the gladness of his heart for worship, when Cyrus touchedhis arm.
"Look there!" he said. "If a fellow could see that without feeling somesensations go through him which he never felt before, he wouldn't beworth much!"
He pointed through the open door of the hut at the sky above theclearing, over which was stealing a pearly hue of dawn, shot with atinge of rosy light, like the fire in the heart of an opal.
This made a royal canopy over the towering head of Old SquawMountain,--near by now and plainly visible,--which had not yet lost itsstarry diadem, though the gems were paling one by one. The shoulders ofthe peak wore a mantle of purple, and the forest which clothed its bulkwas changing from the blackness of a mourning robe to the emerald greenof a sea-nymph's drapery.
The shutters of Night were rolling back, and young Day was stepping outto cast her first smile on a waiting earth.
As the watchers in the hut caught that smile, every thought which rosein them was a daybreak song to the God who is light, and the secret ofevery dawning.
With the day-smile kissing their faces they fell asleep, feeling thatthey were wrapped in the embrace of the invisible King.
Camp and Trail: A Story of the Maine Woods Page 4