Around the Camp-fire

“By and by the moon got up out of the gulf, round and white, and bringing with her an extra blow. As the shore brightened up clearly, we set out, moving along the crest of the point. Frank was just saying, ‘How spectral those scarred gray hills look in this light! How suitable a place for the hobgoblins those old Frenchmen imagined to possess them!’ when, as if to point his remarks, there came a ghostly clamor, high and quavering, from a dark cleft far up the mountain-side.

“We both started; and I exclaimed, ‘The loons have overheard you, old fellow, and are trying to work on your nerves! They want revenge for the stuffed companions of their bygone days.’

“‘That’s not loons!’ said Frank very seriously. ‘It’s no more like loons than it’s like lions! Listen to that!’

“I listened, and was convinced.

“‘Then it must be those old Frenchmen’s friends,’ I suggested; ‘and I feel greatly inclined to avoid meeting them if possible.’

“‘It’s the wolves from the interior,’ rejoined Frank. ‘I’d rather have the griffins and goblins. Don’t you remember ’78? I’m afraid we’re in a box.’

“‘Let us get down to windward of the point, and lie low among the rocks,’ I suggested. ‘As likely as not the brutes won’t detect us, and will keep along up the shore.’

“Instantly we dropped into concealment, keeping, through the apertures of the crest, a fearful eye upon the mountain slopes. We were fools, to be sure; for we might have known those keen eyes had spotted us from the first, silhouetted as we had been against the moonlit sea.

“Presently Frank suggested the boat, but my sufficient answer was to point to the raging surf. So we lay still, and prayed to be ignored. In a few minutes our suspense was painfully relieved by the appearance of a pack of gray forms, which swept out into the moonlight beyond the river, and came heading straight for our refuge.

“‘Two dozen of ’em!’ gasped Frank.

“‘And they’ve certainly spotted us,’ I whispered.

“‘There’s not a tree nor a hole we can get into!’ muttered Frank.

“‘We can get on top of this rock, and fight for it,’ I groaned in desperation.

“‘I have it!’ exclaimed Frank. ‘The boat! We’ll get under it, and hold it down!’

“Leaping to our feet we broke wildly for the boat. The wolves greeted us with an exultant howl as they dashed through the shallow river.

“We had just time to do it comfortably. The boat was heavy, and we turned it over in such a way that the bow was steadied between two rocks. Once safely underneath, we lifted the craft a little and jammed her between the rocks so that the brutes would be unable to root her over.

“One side was raised about eight or ten inches by a piece of rock which Frank was going to remove; but I stopped him. By this time the brutes were on top of the boat, and we could hear by the snarling that they had unearthed our salmon. Just then a row of long snouts and snapping jaws came under the gunwale, and we shrank as small as possible. The brutes shoved and struggled so mightily that it seemed as if they must succeed in overturning the boat, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead.

“‘Shoot,’ I yelled frantically; and at the same instant my ears were almost burst by the discharge of both Frank’s barrels. A terrific yelping and howling ensued, while our crowded quarters were filled to suffocation with the smoke.

“When the air cleared somewhat we could see that the wolves were eating the two whose heads Frank’s shot had shattered. Our position was very cramped and uncomfortable, half-sitting, half-lying, between the thwarts; but by stretching flat we could peer beneath the gunwale, and command a view of the situation. We had a moment’s respite.

“‘Frank,’ said I, ‘we might as well be eaten as scared to death. Don’t fire that gun again in here. It nearly blew my ear-drums in. Club the brutes over the snout. All that’s necessary is to disable them, and it seems their kind companions will do the rest.’

“‘All right,’ responded Frank; ‘only you must do your share!’ and he passed me up the hatchet out of the ‘cuddy-hole’ in the bow.

“By this time the slaughtered wolves were reduced to hair and bones, and the pack once more turned their attention to us. Once more the ominous row of heads appeared, squeezed under the boat-side, and claws tore madly at the roof that sheltered us.

“As combatants, our positions were exceedingly constrained; but so, too, were those of our assailants. A wolf cannot dodge well when his head is squeezed under a gunwale.

“Hampered as I was I smashed the skulls of the two within easiest reach, barking my knuckles villanously as I wielded my weapon. I heard Frank, too, pounding viciously up in the bow. Then the attack drew off again, and the feasting and quarrelling recommenced.

“I turned to make some remark to my companion, but gave a yell of dismay instead, as I felt a pair of iron jaws grab me by the foot, and tear away the sole of my boot. In the excitement of the contest my foot had gone too near the gunwale.

“The wolves were now growing too wary to thrust their heads under the gunwale. For a time they merely sniffed along the edge; and though we might easily have smashed their toes or the ends of their noses, we refrained in order to gain opportunity for something more effective.

“We must have waited thus for as much as ten minutes, and the inaction was becoming intolerable, when the brutes, thinking perhaps we were dead or gone to sleep, made a sudden concerted effort to reach us. There must have been a dozen heads at once thrust in beneath the gunwale. One preternaturally lean wolf even wriggled his shoulders fairly through, so that he was within an ace of taking a mouthful out of my leg before I could have a fair blow at him with my hatchet.

“I think we either killed or disabled four at least in that assault. Thereupon the pack drew off a little, and sat down on their haunches to consider.

“They could not possibly have been still hungry, having eaten two or three wolves and a hundred pounds or so of nice fresh salmon, and we were in hopes they would go away.

“But instead of that they came back to the boat, and set up a tremendous howling, which may have been a call for re-enforcements, or a challenge to come out and settle the trouble in a square fight.

“I asked Frank how many cartridges he had left.

“‘Oh,’ said he, ‘a dozen or more, at least!’

“‘Verily well,’ said I; ‘you’d better blaze away and kill as many as you can. I’ll protect my ear-drums by stuffing my ears full of rags. Try and make every shot tell.’

“As the wolves were not more than eight or ten feet away, the heavy bird-shot had the same effect as a bullet. Two of the brutes were clean bowled over. Then the others sprang furiously upon the boat. When Frank thrust forth the muzzle of the gun, it was seized and all but wrenched from his grasp. He bagged two more; then the rest moved round to the other side of the boat.

“But very soon the survivors appeared to make up their minds to a new departure; and after a little running hither and thither with their noses down, they suddenly crystallized, as it were, into a well-ordered pack, and swept away up the shore. Their strange, terrible, wind-like ululations were soon re-echoing in the mountains.

“We came forth from our uncomfortable but effectual retreat, and counted our victims. When the last sound of the howling had long died away, we set forth in the direction of the schooner, which was not the direction in which the wolves were journeying.’

CHAPTER V.

SQUATOOK RIVER AND HORTON BRANCH

The next was a rainy day at Camp de Squatook. Of course we fished off and on all day, whenever the rain held up a little; and in a deep run, about a hundred yards below the whitefish fence, Sam had the luck to land the big trout of the trip. It weighed, fresh from the water, three pounds three ounces, and it was killed with a minnow. Sam complained, however, that it had given him no more play than one of his two-pounders of the day before. We thought him very artful, in thus concealing his elation so as to ward off our envy.

By nightfall it was raining pitchforks. In our tight tent, with wax candles beaming, and the rattle of the rain on the roof, we felt very snug. But inexpressibly lonely was the washing sound in the pine-branches; and all the rest of the world seemed ages away from us. For a while no stories were called for. Instead of that we played Mississippi euchre. When we grew tired of the game, Stranion exclaimed, “Let’s have one story, and then turn in!”

“Who will hold forth?” I asked.

“Well,” said Ranolf, “since you are all so pressing, I will try and rise to the occasion. It seems to be an understood thing that all these stories are animal stories; but in this one I must wander from the rule, and tell you a story of rain and wind. The noise on the tent-roof to-night reminds me of a nice scrape which I got myself into only last summer. When you hear the story you will understand just why I tell it to-night. Sam, you heard all about it two days after it happened. It’s appropriate to the occasion, isn’t it? I mean about how I was —

‘WRECKED IN A BOOM-HOUSE.’”

“Highly appropriate, indeed!” said Sam.

“Well, here you have it!” continued Ranolf. “You’ll excuse me, of course, if I indulge at first in a little technical description, to make the incidents clear.

“The Crock’s Point sheer-boom started from the shore a few yards below the Point. It slanted out and down till it met a great pier in mid-river, to which it was secured by heavy chains. From the pier it swung free down the middle of the channel for a distance of several hundred yards, swaying toward one shore or the other according to the set of the wings and the strength of the current. It was a sturdy structure, of squared and bolted timbers, about three feet in width, and rising some three or four inches above the water.

“The boom, of course, was jointed at the pier so as to swing as on a hinge; and at a distance of perhaps seventy yards below the pier it had a second open joint. At the head of this section stood a windlass, wound with a light wire cable. At intervals of ten or twelve feet along the right-hand side of this section, for about one hundred and fifty feet in all, were hinged stout wings of two-inch plank, ten feet long and eighteen inches wide, set edgewise in the water so as to catch the current, like a rudder or a centreboard. Through iron staples, in the outer ends of these wings, ran and was fastened the cable from the windlass. When the cable was unwound, the wings lay flat against the side of the boom. But a few turns of the windlass sufficed to draw the wings out at an angle to the boom; whereupon the force of the current, sweeping strongly against their faces, would slowly sway the whole free length of the boom toward the opposite shore. The section of the sheer-boom thus peculiarly adorned was called the wing-boom. Just above the upper end of the wing-boom, at a place widened out a few feet to receive it, was built a little shanty known as the boom-house. To the spectator from the shore the boom-house seemed to be afloat on the wide, lonely level of the river.

“The office of the sheer-boom was to guide the run of the logs as they came floating briskly down from the lumber regions of the upper river. As long as the wings were not in use, and the boom swung with the current, the logs were allowed to continue their journey down the middle of the channel. But when the wings were set, and the boom stood over toward the far shore, then the stream of logs was diverted into the mouth of the stationary boom, whose chain of piers held them imprisoned till they were wanted at the mill below the island. In the boom-house dwelt an old lumberman named Mat Barnes, who, though his feet and ankles were crippled with rheumatism from exposure to the icy water in the spring stream drivings, was, nevertheless, still clever in the handling of boat or canoe, and very competent to manage the windlass and the wing-boom.

“On the southward slope of the line of uplands which, thrusting out boldly into the river, formed Crock’s Point, stood a comfortable old farmhouse in whose seclusion I was spending the months of August and September. About four o’clock in the afternoon, it was my daily habit to stroll down to the shore and hail Mat Barnes, who would presently paddle over in his skiff, and take me out to the boom for my afternoon swim. The boom was a most convenient and delightful place ‘to go in off of,’ as the boys say.

“One rough afternoon, when the boom was all awash, and the wind sweeping up the river so keen with suggestions of autumn that I was glad to do my undressing and my dressing in the boom-house, just as I was about to take my plunge Mat asked if I would mind staying and watching the boom for him while he paddled up to “the Corners” to buy himself some coffee and molasses.

“Delighted,” said I; “if you’ll get back in good time, so I won’t keep supper waiting at the farm.”

“I’ll be back inside of an hour, sure,” replied Mat confidently.

“Knowing Mat’s fondness for a little gossip at the grocery, I felt by no means so confident; but I could not hesitate to oblige him in the matter, a small enough return for the favors he was doing me daily.

“I stayed in the water nearly half an hour, and while I was swimming about I noticed that the wind was fast freshening. The steep and broken waves made swimming somewhat difficult, and the crests of the whitecaps that occasionally slapped me in the face made me gasp for breath. While dressing I thought, with some consternation, that this vigorous wind would prove a serious hindrance to Mat Barnes’s return, as it would be blowing directly in his teeth.

“For a time I sat sulkily in the door of the boom-house, with my feet on a block to keep them out of the wet. The door opened away from the wind, and against the back of the little structure the waves were beginning to lash with sufficient violence to make me uneasy. I strained my eyes up-river to catch the first glimpse of Mat forcing his way cleverly against the tossing whitecaps. But no such welcome vision rewarded me. At last I was compelled to acknowledge that the storm had become too violent for him to return against it without assistance. I should have to wait in the boom-house either till the wind abated, or till Mat should succeed in finding a pair of stout arms and a willing heart to come with him to my rescue.

“At first my thoughts dwelt with keen regret on the smoking pancakes and luscious maple-sirup that I knew were even then awaiting me at the farmhouse under the hill, and somewhat bitterly I reviled Mat’s lack of consideration. But as the sky grew rapidly dark while it wanted yet a half-hour of sundown, and the wind came shrieking more madly down from the hills, and the boom-house began to creak and groan and shudder beneath the waves that were leaping upon it, anxiety for my safety took the place of all other considerations.

“Frail as the boom-house appeared, it was well jointed and framed, or it would simply have gone to pieces under the various assaults of wind and waves, and the rolling of the boom. The floor in particular was very carefully secured, being bolted to the boom at the four corners, that it might not be torn away by any chance collision with log or icecake. At every wave, however, the water came spurting through the cracks of the wall, and I was drenched almost before I knew it. Through the open door, too, the back wash of the waves rolled heavily; and even without the increasing peril of the situation, the prospect of having to pass the night in such cold, inescapable slop was far from comforting.

“The door was made to fit snugly, so I shut it in the hope of keeping out some of the water; but in the almost total darkness that ensued my apprehensions became unbearable. The writhing roll of the boom grew more and more excessive, and produced a sickening sensation. I threw the door open again, but was greeted with such a fierce rush of wave and spray that I shut it as quickly as I could.

“I had never before been on the boom-house after dark, so I did not know what Mat was accustomed to do for light. After much difficult groping, however, I found a tin box, fortunately quite waterproof, in which were matches and a good long piece of candle. When I had succeeded in getting the candle to burn, I stuck a fork through it, and pinned it to the driest spot I could find, which was the edge of Mat’s bunk, away up close to the roof. Presently a spurt of water struck the veering and smoky flame, and again I was in darkness. Of course I lost no time in relighting the candle; but within ten minutes it was out again. I repeated the process, and was prepared to keep it up as long as the matches would hold out. In fact, I was thankful for that little annoyance, as it gave me something to do, and diverted my mind somewhat from my own helplessness and from the imminent peril of the situation.

“There was absolutely nothing that I could do to help myself. To reach the shore by crawling along the boom would have been quite impossible. I should have inevitably been swept off before going three feet beyond the shelter of the boom-house. In those choppy and formless seas and in the bewildering darkness, I should have found it impossible to swim, or even to keep my mind clear as to the direction in which the shore lay. Though a strong swimmer, and accustomed to rough water, I knew very well that in that chaos I should soon be exhausted, and either drowned or dashed against the boom. There was nothing to do but wait, and pray that the boom-house might hold together till calm or daylight.

“It was a strange picture my faint candle revealed to me within the four narrow walls of my refuge. All the implements and accessories of Mat’s somewhat primitive housekeeping had been shaken from their shelves or from the nails on which they hung, and were coasting about the floor with a tinny clatter, as the boom twisted and lurched from side to side. Three joints of rust-eaten stovepipe kept them in countenance, and from time to time I had to jump nimbly aside to save my shins from being broken by the careering little stove. Sometimes I would be thrown heavily against the wall or the door. At last I climbed into the bunk, where I crouched, dripping and shivering, both courage and hope pretty well drenched out of me.

“Being something of a slave to routine, when I found myself in what resembled a sleeping-place, – or might have resembled one under more favorable circumstances. – I took out my watch to wind it. The hour was half-past nine. From that hour till nearly midnight there was no change in the situation. Finding that the matches were running low, I occupied myself in protecting the light with the aid of the tin box already spoken of. And at last, strange as it may seem, I found myself growing sleepy. It was partly the result of exhaustion caused by my anxiety and suspense, but partly also, no doubt, a sort of semi-hypnotic bewilderment induced by the motion and by the monotonous clamor of the storm.

“As I sat there crouching over the candle I must have dropped into a doze, for suddenly I felt myself hurled out of the bunk. I fell heavily upon the floor. The boom-house was in utter darkness. I staggered to my feet and groped for the candle; it was gone from the edge of the bunk. In my fall I had evidently swept it away.

“The motion of the boom had now greatly increased in violence, and it was impossible for me to stand up without clinging tightly to the edge of the bunk. In the thick dark the stove crashed against my legs so heavily that I thought for a moment one of them was broken. I drew myself up again into the bunk, no longer feeling in the least degree sleepy.

“Presently I realized what had happened. The boom had parted at the joint where the wings began, and my section was swinging before the wind. The waves frequently went clear over the roof, and came pouring down the vacant pipe-hole in torrents, whose volume I could guess by their sound. The pitching, rolling, tossing, and the thrashing of the waves were appalling; and I fervently blessed the sound workmanship that had put together the little boom-house so as to stand such undreamed-of assaults. But I knew it could not stand them much longer. Moment by moment I expected to find myself fighting my last battle amid a crash of mad waters and shattered timbers.

“In a little I began to realize that the boom must have parted in two places at least. From the unchecked violence of its movements I knew it must have broken loose at the pier. With this knowledge came a ray of hope. As my section was now nothing more than a long and very attenuated raft, it might presently be blown ashore somewhere. If the boom-house would only hold out so long I might have a fair chance of escaping; but I realized that the progress of the fragment of boom would necessarily be slow, as wind and current were at odds together over it.

“Cooped up in that horrible darkness, and clinging on to the edge of the bunk desperately with both hands, the strain soon became so intolerable that I began to wish the boom-house would go to pieces, and put me out of my misery. None the less, however, did my heart leap into my throat when at length there came a massive thud, a grinding crash, and the side of the boom-house opposite the bunk was stove in. At the same time the marvellously tough little structure was twisted half off its foundations, and bent over as if a giant hand had crushed it down.

“I at once concluded that we had gone ashore on the Point. I tried to get the door open that I might have some chance of saving myself; but the twisting of the frame had fastened it immovably. Madly I wrenched at it, but that very stability of structure which had hitherto been my safety proved now my gravest menace. I could not budge the door; and, meanwhile, I was being thrown into all sorts of positions, while the boom ground heavily against the obstacle with which it had come in contact. The boom-house was half full of water.

“A fierce indignation now seized me at the thought of being drowned thus like a rat in a hole. Reaching down into the water my hands came in contact with the little stove. I raised it aloft, and brought it down with all my strength against the door. The stove went to pieces, bruising and cutting my hands; but the door was shattered, and a wave rushed in upon me.

“Holding my breath, I was tearing at the remnant of the door, in doubt as to whether I should get free in time to escape suffocation, when the boom gave a mightier heave, and the upper part of the boom-house crashed against the obstacle with a violence that tore it clear of its base. The next instant I was in deep water, striking out blindly.

“When I came up, providentially I rose clear of the shattered boom-house. I could see nothing, and I was almost choked; but I kept my presence of mind, and battled strenuously with the boiling seas, which tossed me about like a chip. In a second or two I was dashed against a pile of timbers. Half-stunned, I yet made good my hold, and instantly drew myself higher up on the pile. As soon as I had recovered my breath sufficiently to realize anything, I perceived that I was on one of the piers.

“The upper portion of the great structure was open, and I speedily crawled down among the rocks with which these piers are always ballasted. As I crouched to escape the chill wind which hissed between the logs, how I gloried in the thought that here was something not to be tossed about by wind and wave! Drenched, shivering, exhausted as I was, I nevertheless felt my bed of rocks in the pier-top a most luxurious retreat. I presently fell asleep, and when I awoke the dawn was pink and amber in the eastern sky. I saw that the pier which had given me refuge was that to which the sheer-boom had been fastened. The storm had moderated somewhat; and forcing its way determinedly toward the pier came Mat’s skiff, propelled by Mat himself and Jim Coxen from the Corners.”

“I declare,” said Stranion, “I almost feel the tent and the floor itself rocking, so vivid is the picture Ranolf has given us!”

“Well,” remarked Magnus, “it can rock us all to sleep, and the sooner the better!”

In a very few minutes we were snugly rolled in our blankets. Then Stranion rose on his elbow and blew out the candle, – “doused the glim,” as he was wont to say. In the thick dark we swiftly sank to sleep.

On the day after the rain, there was a wonderful exhilaration in the air. We felt like shouting and running races. The face of earth wore a clean and honest look. Queerman roamed hither and thither declaiming Miss Guiney’s fine lines: —