CHAPTER IX.
A SUNDAY AMONG THE PINES.
"Men and boys learn a good many wholesome lessons in the forest, one ofwhich is that it pays better to take a day of rest in seven if they wantto make the most of themselves and their opportunities. Therefore, lads,we'll do no tramping to-day. And we'll have a bit of a service by and byover there under the pines."
So spoke Doctor Phil on the following morning, when the two sets ofcampers, now one joyous, brotherly crowd, were sitting or lounging aboutthe pine-wood table, leisurely emptying tin mugs of tea or coffee, andeating porridge and rolls of Joe's baking.
"You haven't told us yet, Cyrus," he went on, "what point you're boundfor. I know you're level-headed, and plan every forest trip beforehand,to economize time."
"Yes, a fellow likes to do that; it adds to the pleasures ofanticipation," Garst answered. "But it's precious little use, after all,when you're visiting a region which is as full of surprises as an egg isfull of meat. However, I have arranged to meet Herb Heal, the guide whomI generally employ, at a hunting-camp near Millinokett Lake."
"A good moose country," put in Doc.
"I know it. At all events, it is a good place for a home-camp; one canmake excursions into the dense forests at the foot of Katahdin, whichare unrivalled for big game--so Herb says, and he's an authority. TheseEnglish fellows may expect to have an attack of buck-fever, or_moose-fever_ rather, which will set their blood on fire. Not that we'reout chiefly for killing; we're willing to let his mooseship keep a wholeskin, and go in peace to replenish the forests, unless he growscantankerous and charges us."
"If he happens to be an old bull, and gits his mad up, he may do that;it's as likely as not," chimed in Joe Flint, who was listening.
"Well, it there's a man in Maine who can be warranted to start a moose,and to follow up his trail until he gets a sight of him, living or dead,that man is Herb Heal," said the doctor. "And his adventures go ahead ofthose of any woodsman up to date. You must get him to tell you how heswam across a pond at the tail of a bull-moose, holding with his fingersand teeth to the creature's long hair, then got astraddle of its back,and severed its jugular vein with his hunting-knife. How's that! It wasthe liveliest swim I ever heard of. But I mustn't spoil his yarns. Hemust tell them himself.
"A fine son of the woods is Herb Heal!" went on the speaker, withenthusiasm. "I ran across him first five years ago, when he was trappingfor fur-bearing animals in the dense forests you mentioned near the footof Mount Katahdin. He had a partner with him then, a half-breed Indian,whom woodsmen called 'Cross-eyed Chris,' a willing, plucky, honestfellow when he was sober. But he loved fire-water. Let him once tastespirits, or smell them, and he went clean crazy. He did a dog's trick toHerb,--stole all his furs and savings, with a splendid pair of mooseantlers, while he was away from camp one day, and skipped out of theState. Herb swore he'd shoot him. But I don't think he has ever comeacross him since. And if he should, he wouldn't stick to his threat.He's not built that way."
There was a general hum of interest over this story, which even Cyrushad not heard before.
"Now, how are you going to reach your camp on Millinokett Lake?" askedDr. Phil, when the buzz had subsided. "That's the next question."
"We intend to tramp the entire distance by easy stages, and get thereabout the middle of October," answered young Garst for himself and hiscomrades. "Uncle Eb will go along with us as guide; and he'll supply atent, so that we can rest for two or three nights at a time if wechoose."
"Hum!" said the doctor doubtfully, laying his hand on Dol's shoulder."This youngster oughtn't to do much tramping for a few days, Cyrus. Thatdeer-road did up his feet pretty badly. I'll be travelling in yourdirection myself the day after to-morrow. I want to visit afarm-settlement within a dozen miles of the lake, where the farmer has asickly child, the only treasure in his log shanty. The mite frets ifDoc doesn't come to see her once in a while.
"Therefore, I propose that we join forces, and press forward together. Iguess I'll keep my nephews out here for a week longer, and take theresponsibility of their missing that time at school. Now that they havefallen in with your friends, it would be a shame to separate YoungEngland and Young America without giving them a chance to get friendly."
Here Dr. Phil beamed upon the five boys, who, after one night in theforest, sleeping in a light-hearted row on the evergreen boughs, withtheir feet to the fire, had reached a brotherly intimacy which years ofcity life might not have bred.
"I further propose," he went on, "that we hire a roomy wagon and a pairof strong horses from a settler who has a clearing about two miles fromhere. There is an old logging-road which runs through the woods towardsthe point for which we're heading. We could follow that for the firsthalf of our journey. It isn't a turnpike, you know. In fact, it's only abroad track where the underbrush has been cleared away, and the treescut down, with strips of corduroy road sandwiched in. But the lumbermenstill haul supplies over it to their camps, and I propose that wefollow their example. We can pile our tent, camp duffle [stores], andall our packs into the wagon, together with the hero of thedeer-road,"--winking at Dol,--"and the rest of us can take turns inriding. It will be a big lark for these youngsters to travel over acorduroy road. A very bracing ride they'll have in more senses than one;but they can spin plenty of yarns about it when they get home."
The "youngsters," one and all, signified their approval of thesuggestion. Cyrus, who, as a college man, was above this category, waspleased to acquiesce too.
"When can we get the wagon, Doctor?" asked Neal, burning to pressonward.
"Oh! the day after to-morrow, I guess. And now, lads!" Dr. Phil's voicewas serious, but exultant, "we're a thoroughly happy set of fellows, inaccord with each other and our surroundings. We feel our brains clear,our gladness springing up, and our lungs swelling to double their sizewith the whiffs which reach us from those sky-piercing pines yonder. Sowe will remember that 'the wide earth is our Father's temple.' Overthere in the woods we will worship him, while millions of forestcreatures about us, flying, bounding, or building, in obedience to hislaws, simply worship too."
A music soft, deep, sighing, like the murmur of an organ under thefingers of a master musician, rolled through the pine-tops as the bandof campers, guides included, followed Doc into the forest. They passedthe clumps of slender trees near the camp, and reached a dimly-lit greenaisle.
Towering pines, so tall and erect that they seemed shooting upward tokiss the clouds, were the pillars of their cathedral. Its roof oftasselled boughs was stabbed by flashing needles of sunlight, which letin a flickering, mellow radiance, and traced a pattern on the woodlandcarpet. Every whiff of forest air was natural incense.
Dr. Phil stood as if in the audience-chamber of the King, and removedhis wide-brimmed hat.
"Now unto the King eternal, immortal, invisible, the only wise God, behonor and glory, for ever and ever. Amen!" he said.
Then Cyrus's voice led the worship.
"Praise God, from whom all blessings flow!"
he sang, in a strong, glad outburst.
Boys and guides, in a great chorus, swelled the familiar words. Eachsweetly chirping woodland bird, after its own manner, echoed them. Themusic among the pine-tops mingled with them. The forest fairly rang witha magnificent, adoring Doxology.
"We ought to be decent kind of fellows after this," said Cyrus, when thelittle service was over.
And the doctor answered,--
"I tell you, boy, the church was never built where a man feels so readyto worship the God-Father in spirit and in truth as he does in the wildwoods."
And looking on the six fresh, manly faces before him, Dr. Phil saw thatthis happy woodland trip would have grander results than adding to thecampers' inches and to the breadth of their shoulders. For each one ofthem had realized this morning that behind all strength and beauties offorest growth, behind their own souls' gladness, was a Presence whichthey could "almost palpably feel."
Camp and Trail: A Story of the Maine Woods Page 10