Around the Camp-fire

“Jake lay quite still till his vanquished antagonist had disappeared in the covert. Then he rose and wended his way homeward, thinking to himself how much better his wooden leg had served him than an ordinary one could have done. In a few minutes he was met by some of his fellow-townsmen, who were hastening to find out the cause of all the noise. To them Jake related the adventure with great elation, adding, as he concluded, ‘You see, now, how everything turns out for the best. If I hadn’t lost that ere leg of mine this night ten year ago, I’d have mebbe lost my head this very evening!’

“In spite of Jake Dimball’s reputation for truthfulness, his story was not believed in the village of Second Westcock. It was voted altogether too improbable, from whatever side it was looked at. In fact, so profoundly incredulous were his fellow-villagers, that Jake could not even organize a bear-hunt. Some ten days later, however, his veracity received ample confirmation. A man out looking for strayed cattle in the woods not more than a couple of miles from Jake’s pasture, found a large bear lying dead in a cedar swamp. Examining the body curiously to find the cause of death, he was puzzled till he recalled Jake’s story. Then he looked at the dead brute’s throat. The mystery was solved; and the community was once for all convinced of the fighting qualities of the wooden leg.”

“That’s a good story,” said Magnus. “In a vague way it reminds me of one which is as unlike it as anything could well be. Mine is a tropical tale. Let the O. M. enter it as —

‘PERIL AMONG THE PEARLS.’

I got it at first-hand when I was in Halifax last autumn.

“In the tiny office of the ‘Cunarder’ inn the air was thick with smoke. The white, egg-shaped stove contained a fire, though September was yet young; for a raw night fog had rolled in over Halifax, making the display of bright coals no less comforting than cheerful. From the adjacent wharves came the soft washing and whispering of the tide, with an occasional rattle of oars as a boat came to land from one of the many ships.

“The density of the atmosphere in the office was chiefly due to ‘Al’ Johnson, the diver, who, when he was not talking, diving, eating, or sleeping, was sure to be puffing at his pipe. We had talked little, but now I resolved to turn off the smoke flowing from Johnson’s pipe by getting him to tell us a story. He could never tell a story and keep his pipe lit at the same time.

“Johnson was a college-bred man, whom a love of adventure had lured into deep-sea diving. He and his partner were at this time engaged in recovering the cargo of the steamer Oelrich, sunk near the entrance to Halifax harbor.

“I asked Johnson, ‘Do you remember promising me a yarn about an adventure you had in the pearl-fisheries?’

“‘Which adventure? and what pearl-fisheries?’ Johnson asked. ‘I’ve fished at Tinnevelli, and in the Sulu waters off the Borneo coast, and also in the Torres Strait; and wheresoever it was, there seemed to be pretty nearly always some excitement going.’

“‘Oh,’ said I, ‘whichever you like to give us. I think what you spoke of was an adventure in the Torres Strait.’

“‘No,’ said Johnson, ‘I think I’ll give you a little yarn about a tussle I had with a turtle in the Sulu waters. I fancy there isn’t much that grows but you’ll find it somewhere in Borneo; and the water there is just as full of life as the land.’

“‘Sharks?’ I queried.

“‘Oh, worse than sharks!’ replied Johnson. ‘There’s a big squid that will squirt the water black as ink; and just then, perhaps, something comes along and grabs you when you can’t defend yourself. And there’s the devil-fish, own cousin to the squid, and the meanest enemy you’d want to run across anywhere. And there’s a tremendous giant of a shell-fish, – a kind of scalloped clam, that lies with its huge shells wide open, but half hidden in the long weeds and sea-mosses. If you put your foot into that trap —snap! it closes on you, and you’re fast! That clam is a good deal stronger than you are; and if you have not a hatchet or something to smash the shell with, you are likely to stay there. Of course your partner in the boat up aloft would soon know something was wrong, finding that he couldn’t haul you up. Then he would go down after you, and chop you loose perhaps. But meanwhile it would be far from nice, especially if a shark came along – if another clam does not nab him, for one of these big clams has been known to catch even a shark. Many natives thereabouts do a lot of diving on their own account, and, of course, don’t indulge in diving-suits. I can tell you, they are very careful not to fall afoul of those clam-shells; for when they do they’re drowned before they can get clear.’

“‘You can hardly blame the clam, or whatever it is,’ said I. ‘It must be rather a shock to its nerves when it feels a big foot thrust down right upon its stomach!’

“‘No,’ assented Johnson; ‘you can’t blame the clam. But besides the clam, there is a big turtle that is a most officious creature, with a beak that will almost cut railroad iron. It is forever poking that beak into whatever it thinks it doesn’t know all about; and you cannot scare it as you can a shark. You have simply got to kill it before it will acknowledge itself beaten. These same turtles, however, at the top of the water or on dry land would, in most cases, prove as timid as rabbits. And then, as you say, there are the sharks, – all kinds, big and little, forever hungry, but not half so courageous as they get the credit of being.’

“‘I suppose,’ I interrupted, ‘you always carried a weapon of some sort!’

“‘Well, rather!’ said Johnson. ‘For my own part, I took a great fancy to the ironwood stakes that the natives always use. But they didn’t seem to me quite the thing for smashing those big shells with, supposing a fellow should happen to put his foot into one. So I made myself a stake with a steel top, which answered every purpose. More than one big shark have I settled with that handspike of mine; and once I found, to my great advantage, that it was just the thing to break up a shell with.’

“‘Ha, ha!’ laughed Best, who had been listening rather inattentively hitherto. ‘So you put your foot in it, did you?”

“‘Yes, I did,’ said Johnson. ‘And that is just what I’m going to tell you about. I was working that season with a good partner, a likely young fellow hailing from Auckland. He tended the line and the pump to my complete satisfaction. I’ve never had a better tender. Also, I was teaching him to dive, and he took to it like a loon. His name was “Larry” Scott; and if he had lived, he would have made a record. He was killed about a year after the time I’m telling you of, in a row down in New Orleans. But we won’t stop to talk about that now.

“‘As I was saying, Larry and I pulled together pretty well from the start, and we were so lucky with our fishing that the fellows in the other boats began to get jealous and unpleasant. You must know that all kinds go to the pearl-fisheries; and the worst kinds have rather the best of it, in point of numbers. We were ready enough to fight, but we liked best to go our own way peaceably. So, when some of the other lads got quarrelsome, we just smiled, hoisted our sail, and looked up a new ground for ourselves some little distance from the rest of the fleet. Luck being on our side just then, we chanced upon one of the finest beds in the whole neighborhood.

“‘One morning, as I was poking about among the seaweed and stuff, I came across a fine-looking bunch of pearl-shells. I made a grab at them, but they were firmly rooted and refused to come away. I laid down my handspike, took hold of the cluster with both hands, and shifted my foothold so as to get a good chance to pull.

“‘Up came the bunch of shells at the first wrench, much more readily than I had expected. To recover myself I took a step backward; down went my foot into a crevice, “slumped” into something soft, and snap! my leg was fast in a grip that almost made me yell there in the little prison of my helmet.

“‘Well, as you may imagine, just as soon as I recovered from the start this gave me, I reached out for my handspike to knock that clam-shell into flinders. But a cold shiver went over me as I found I could not reach the weapon! As I laid it down, it had slipped a little off to one side; and there it rested about a foot out of my reach, reclining on one of those twisted conch-shells such as the farmers use for dinner-horns.

“‘How I jerked on my leg trying to pull it out of the trap! That, however, only hurt the leg. All the satisfaction I could get was in the thought that my foot, with its big, twenty-pound, rubber-and-lead boot, must be making the clam’s internal affairs rather uncomfortable. After I had pretty well tired myself out, stretching and tugging on my leg, and struggling to reach the handspike, I paused to recover my wind, and consider the situation.

“‘It was not very deep water I was working in, and there was any amount of light. You have no sort of idea, until you have been there yourself, what a queer world it is down where the pearl-oyster grows. The seaweeds were all sorts of colors – or rather, I should say, they were all sorts of reds and yellows and greens. The rest of the colors of the rainbow you might find in the shells which lay around under foot, or went crawling among the weeds; and away overhead darted and flashed the queerest looking fish, like birds in a yellow sky. There were lots of big anemones too, waving, stretching, and curling their many-colored tentacles.

“‘I saw everything with extraordinary vividness about that time, as I know by the clear way I recollect it now; but you may be sure I wasn’t thinking much just then about the beauties of nature. I was trying to think of some way of getting assistance from Larry. At length I concluded I had better give him the signal to haul me up. Finding that I was stuck, he would, I reasoned, hoist the anchor, and then pull the boat along to the place of my captivity. Then he could easily send me down a hatchet wherewith to chop my way to freedom.

“‘Just as I had come to this resolve, a black shadow passed over my head, and I looked up quickly. It was a big turtle. I didn’t like this, I can tell you; but I kept perfectly still, hoping the new-comer would not notice me.

“‘He paddled along very slowly, with his queer little head stuck far out, and presently he noticed my air-tube. It seemed to strike him as decidedly queer. My blood fairly turned to ice in my veins as I saw him paddle up and take hold of it in a gingerly fashion with his beak. Luckily, he didn’t seem to think it would be good to eat; but I knew that if he should bite it I would be a dead man in about a minute, drowned inside my helmet like a rat in a hole. It is in an emergency like this that a man learns to know what real terror is.

“‘In my desperation I stooped down and tore with both hands at the shells and weeds for something I might hurl at the turtle, thinking thus perhaps to distract his attention from my air-tube. But what do you suppose happened? Why, I succeeded in pulling up a great lump of shells and stones all bedded together. The mass was fully two feet long. My heart gave a leap of exultation, for I knew at once just what to do with the instrument thus providentially placed in my hands. Instead of trying to hurl it at the turtle, I reached out with it, and managed to scrape that precious handspike within grasp. As I gathered it once more into my grip, I straightened up and was a man again.

“‘Just at this juncture the turtle decided to take a hand in. I had given the signal to be hauled up at the very moment when I got hold of that lump of stones, and now I could feel Larry tugging energetically on the rope. The turtle left off fooling with the tube, and, paddling down to see what was making such a commotion in the water, he tackled me at once.

“‘As it happened, however, he took hold of the big copper nut on the top of the head-piece; and that was too tough a morsel even for his beak, so that all he could do was to shake me a bit. With him at my head, and the clam on my leg, and Larry jerking on my waistband, you may imagine I could hardly call my soul my own. However, I began jabbing my handspike for all I was worth into the unprotected parts of the turtle’s body, feeling around for some vital spot, – which is a thing mighty hard to find in a turtle! In a moment the water was red with blood; but that made no great difference to me, and for a while it didn’t seem to make much difference to the turtle either. All I could do was to keep on jabbing as close to the neck as I could, and between the front flippers. And the turtle kept on chewing at the copper joint.

“‘I believe it was the clam that helped me most effectually in that struggle. You see, that grip on my leg kept me as steady as a rock. If it hadn’t been for that, the turtle would have had me off my feet and end over end in no time, and would probably have soon got the best of me. As it was, after a few moments of this desperate stabbing with the handspike, I managed to kill my assailant; but even in death that iron beak of his maintained its hold on the copper nut of my helmet. Having no means of cutting the brute’s head off, I turned my attention to the big clam, and with the steel point of my handspike I soon released my foot.

“‘Then Larry hauled me up. He told me afterward he never in all his life got such a start as when that great turtle came to the surface hanging on to the top of my helmet. The creature was so heavy he could not haul it and me together into the boat; so he slashed the head off with a hatchet, and then lifted me aboard. Beyond a black-and-blue leg, I was not much the worse for that adventure; but I was so used up with the excitement of it all that I wouldn’t go down for any more pearls that day. We took a day off, – Larry and I, and indulged in a little run ashore.’

“‘You had earned it,’ said I.”

“Now, Queerman,” said Sam, “as your turn comes round again, give us something less lugubrious than your last. Be light; be cheerful!”

“It seems to me that I remember,” replied Queerman, “a merry little adventure that befell me some years ago. If it is not hilarious enough to suit you, Sam, you can stop me in the middle of it. While you fellows were fishing this afternoon, I was reading Mr. Gummere’s Handbook of Poetics. Without by any means indorsing all that he says, I was struck by many imaginative passages. In one place he says, ‘Something dimly personal stood behind the flash of lightning, the roaring of the wind.’ That is suggestive. I’ll tell you a case in point from my own experience in Newfoundland. Let us call the story —

‘THE DOGS OF THE DRIFT.’

“The very home of visions, and strange traditions, and mysteries, is Newfoundland, that great half-explored island in the wild North Atlantic.

“Here the iron coast, harborless for league upon league, opposes a black perpendicular front to the vast green seas, which slowly and unceasingly beneath their veil of fogs roll in, and fall in thunder amidst its pinnacles and caverns.

“At wide intervals the cliffs give way a little, forming narrow coves and havens, so limited that scarce a score of fishing-boats can find safe harborage therein. In almost every such cove may be found a tiny settlement, remote from the world, utterly shut in upon itself save during the brief months of summer, with no ideas but what spring from its people’s daily toil and from the stupendous aspects of surrounding nature.

“Is it strange that to such simple and lonely souls the wild elements become instinct with strange life, and seem to dominate their thoughts and their existence?

“For them the driving mists are filled with apparitions. The gnarled and wind-beaten firs take on strange features in the dusk. Through the ravings of the gale against those towering cliffs comes to their ears a hubbub of articulate voices, mingled with the cries of the baffled sea-birds.

“Men dwelling under such influences are imaginative. If left in ignorance, they grow, of necessity, superstitious. The mouths of these islanders overflow with unearthly tales, nearly all of which may be traced to the workings of some natural force.

“But their faith in these fancies is as unquestioning as our acceptance of the word that the world is round.

“What were variously known to the islanders as ‘The Dogs of the Drift,’ ‘The White Dogs,’ and ‘The Gray Dogs,’ I heard of all over the island.

“As went the tale generally, and ever with bated breath, these beings were a team of gigantic dogs, lean and pale in color, driven furiously by a gaunt woman in flowing garments of white.

“They were said to appear to travellers caught journeying in a storm, and to dash past with shrill howls when the storm was at its highest.

“Never closer did they come than within a stone’s throw; but their coming meant death ere sunset to one or another of those met by the apparition.

“In the winter of 1888 a fire took place in the out-harbor where I was then living, and a large part of the winter’s stores was destroyed. To our secluded settlement this was an overwhelming calamity; and there was nothing for it, if we would escape actual starvation, but to send some one for supplies to Harbor Briton.

“The journey was one of great difficulty and hardship, – some hundred and odd miles to be traversed through an unbroken wilderness, and the only means of conveyance a dog-team and a sledge. Being young and venturesome, and ever on the search for a new experience, I volunteered for the service, taking with me my man, Mike Conley, a keen hunter, and one well skilled in driving dogs.

“Our team was a powerful one, led by a great black-and-white fellow, whom the other dogs devotedly obeyed. With provision for ourselves and team, with blankets and the other necessaries of such a trip, our long sledge was well loaded down; and we took with us money to buy supplies, as well as pay the transportation of them back to the famishing settlement.

“We marched on snow-shoes for the most part, save over those open stretches of plain where the crust had hardened like ice, and where the dogs were able, at a brisk gallop, to draw both ourselves and their load.

“At such times, exhilarated by the swift motion in that keen air and sparkling sunshine, the hardships of our journey were forgotten, and we thrilled under the beauty of the glittering world of white. But far otherwise was it when our course lay, as it generally did, through “juniper” swamps and tangled accumulation of forest-growths.

“Then a whole day’s severest toil advanced us but a few miles on our way. The dogs, floundering in the drifts and gullies, would get their traces into an almost hopeless snarl; and many a beating the poor brutes brought upon themselves by the dangerous temper they displayed under such annoyances. They were a fierce and wolfish pack, and a strong hand we were compelled to keep over them.

“Our nights, when it was fine and calm, were pleasant enough, as we lay, wrapt in many blankets, around our fire. Our custom was to dig a deep hollow in the snow, and floor it with soft boughs, leaving a space at one side for the fire.

“Such a camp, nestled in a thick grove of “var” or spruce, was snug in all ordinary weather. But sometimes the rage of the gale would make a fire impossible. The wind-gusts would fairly shatter it to bits, and, bursting in upon us from every quarter, drive the brands and coals all over the camp. There was then nothing left for us but to smother the remnants with snow, and huddled altogether in a heap – men, dogs, and blankets – to await wretchedly the coming of the stormy dawn.

“Always on such occasions would Mike, who was superstitious to the finger-tips, be looking out in fascinated expectation for the dreadful ‘Gray Dogs.’

“At each yelling blast he strained his eyes through the dark, till from laughing at him I grew angry, and he was constrained to hide his fears. I represented to him that, as long as he kept his eyes beneath his blanket, these dogs of the drift need have no terrors for him, even should they come the whole night long and career about the camp; for the portent only applied to those beholding it.

“This view of the case, however, was but little relief to him, as his fears were no less on my account than on his own.

“Notwithstanding one or two such grim experiences, all went well with us till our journey was two-thirds done, and the hardest of the way lay behind us.

“Then, as we floundered one afternoon through a deadwood swamp, Mike slipped between two fallen trunks, and broke his left arm near the shoulder. This was a most unlooked-for blow, but the poor fellow bore it like a hero.

“With rude splints I set the arm and bandaged it; and after a day’s halt, I fixed him a sort of bed on the sledge, so that we were enabled to continue our journey.

“But now we were forced to make long detours, in order to avoid rough country.

“On the following morning, to our satisfaction, we came out upon a chain of lakes which promised us something like fair going for a while.

“In a sheltered place on the shore we found a rude cabin occupied by two hunters, who had their traps set in the surrounding woods. Neither the faces nor the manner of these men did I find prepossessing; but they received us hospitably, fed us well, and pressed us to stay with them over night.

“Not unnaturally, they were curious as to the motives of our strange journey, and before I could give him a hint of warning, my garrulous and fearless Mike had put them in possession of the whole story.

“The greedy look of intelligence which passed furtively between them upon learning we were on the way to purchase stores aroused all my suspicions, and set me sharply on my guard.

“Their hospitality now became doubly pressing. In fact, when they saw me bent on immediate departure, they grew almost threatening in their earnestness.

“At this, assuming an angry air, I asked them why they should so concern themselves about what was entirely my own business; and I gave them plainly to understand that I wanted no interference.

“Changing their tone at once, and deprecating my warmth, they called to my notice the storm that was gathering overhead.

“They were right; the signs could hardly be mistaken. The little bursts and eddies of drift that rose fitfully from the lake’s white surface; the long, whispering sob of the gusts that woke at intervals behind the forests; the heavy but vague massing of clouds all over the sky, which at a little distance was confused with the earth by a sort of pearly haze – all portended a hurricane of snow before many hours.

“With reason on their side, and the evident desire of my wounded Mike as well, our hosts urged delay till the storm should have spent its fury.

“But silencing Mike with a glance, I rejected politely, but decidedly, their proffered shelter, and made ready the team for a start.

“As soon as I had begun to tackle the dogs, the younger of our hosts suddenly took up his gun and left the cabin, saying he thought he’d better visit a few traps before the storm set in.

“He turned, I noticed, down the shore of the lake, parallel to the direction in which our own course lay.

“The older man speeded our departure with all seeming good-will, announcing that he only waited to see us safely off, and would then follow his partner to examine the traps.

“Once underway I retailed my suspicions to Mike, who, heedless as he was, had been putting this and that together during the last few minutes. Bitterly he bewailed his helplessness; and many and varied were the maledictions which from his couch in the blankets he hurled upon our prospective foes. At his suggestion we shunned the wooded shores, taking our course as nearly as possible down the middle of the lake.

“With my rifle in one hand and my long-lashed whip in the other, I urged the team to such a pace as it strained my running powers to keep up with.

“The snow was soft, and for the dogs, as for myself, the work was too severe to last; but my aim was, if possible, to settle with the first ruffian (who had, it seemed likely, undertaken to head us off) before the second could overtake and join forces with him.

“But suddenly, with a whistle and a biting blast, the storm was upon us. For a moment the dogs cowered down in their tracks, and then we were fain to hug the shore for shelter.

“The shelter was not much, for the storm seemed to rage from all quarters; yet, breathless and blinded though we were, we were able to make some headway. At a momentary lull between the gusts we rounded a sharp headland, and entered a long, narrow passage between the shore and a wooded island.