Chapter 2
We heard no more of the voices. Uncle Eb had brought an armful of wood,and some water in the teapot, while I was sleeping. As soon as the rainhad passed he stood listening awhile and shortly opened his knife andmade a little clearing in the corn by cutting a few hills.
'We've got to do it,' he said, 'er we can't take any comfort, an' theman tol' me I could have all the corn I wanted.'
'Did you see him, Uncle Eb?' I remember asking.
'Yes,' he answered, whittling in the dark. 'I saw him when I went outfor the water an' it was he tol' me they were after us.'
He took a look at the sky after a while, and, remarking that he guessedthey couldn't see his smoke now, began to kindle the fire. As it burnedup he stuck two crotches and hung his teapot on a stick' that lay inthem, so it took the heat of the flame, as I had seen him do in themorning. Our grotto, in the corn, was shortly as cheerful as any room ina palace, and our fire sent its light into the long aisles that openedopposite, and nobody could see the warm glow of it but ourselves.
'We'll hev our supper,' said Uncle Eb, as he opened a paper and spreadout the eggs and bread and butter and crackers. 'We'll jest hev oursupper an' by 'n by when everyone's abed we'll make tracks in the dirt,I can tell ye.'
Our supper over, Uncle Eb let me look at his tobacco-box--a shiny thingof German silver that always seemed to snap out a quick farewell to mebefore it dove into his pocket. He was very cheerful and communicative,and joked a good deal as we lay there waiting in the firelight. I gotsome further acquaintance with the swift, learning among other thingsthat it had no appetite for the pure in heart.
'Why not?' I enquired.
'Well,' said Uncle Eb, 'it's like this: the meaner the boy, the sweeterthe meat.'
He sang an old song as he sat by the fire, with a whistled interludebetween lines, and the swing of it, even now, carries me back to thatfar day in the fields. I lay with my head in his lap while he wassinging.
Years after, when I could have carried him on my back' he wrote downfor me the words of the old song. Here they are, about as he sang them,although there are evidences of repair, in certain lines, to supply theloss of phrases that had dropped out of his memory:
I was goin' to Salem one bright summer day, I met a young maiden a goin' my way; O, my fallow, faddeling fallow, faddel away.
An' many a time I had seen her before, But I never dare tell 'er the love thet I bore. O, my fallow, etc.
'Oh, where are you goin' my purty fair maid?' 'O, sir, I am goin' t' Salem,' she said. O, my fallow, etc.
'O, why are ye goin' so far in a day? Fer warm is the weather and long is the way.' O, my fallow, etc.
'O, sir I've forgorten, I hev, I declare, But it's nothin' to eat an' its nothin' to wear.' O, my fallow, etc.
'Oho! then I hev it, ye purty young miss! I'll bet it is only three words an' a kiss.' O, my fallow, etc.
'Young woman, young woman, O how will it dew If I go see yer lover 'n bring 'em t' you?' O, my fallow, etc.
''S a very long journey,' says she, 'I am told, An' before ye got back, they would surely be cold.' O, my fallow, etc.
'I hev 'em right with me, I vum an' I vow, An' if you don't object I'll deliver 'em now.' O, my fallow, etc.
She laid her fair head all on to my breast, An' ye wouldn't know more if I tol' ye the rest O, my fallow, etc.
I went asleep after awhile in spite of all, right in the middle of astory. The droning voice of Uncle Eb and the feel of his hand upon myforehead called me back, blinking, once or twice, but not for long. Thefire was gone down to a few embers when Uncle Eb woke me and the grottowas lit only by a sprinkle of moonlight from above.
'Mos' twelve o'clock,' he whispered. 'Better be off.'
The basket was on his back and he was all ready. I followed him throughthe long aisle of corn, clinging to the tall of his coat. The goldenlantern of the moon hung near the zenith and when we came out in theopen we could see into the far fields. I climbed into my basket at thewall and as Uncle Eb carried me over the brook, stopping on a flat rockmidway to take a drink, I could see the sky in the water, and it seemedas if a misstep would have tumbled me into the moon.
'Hear the crickets holler,' said Uncle Eb, as he followed the bank upinto the open pasture.
'What makes 'em holler?' I asked.
'O, they're jes' filin' their saws an' thinkin'. Mebbe tellin' o' what'shappened 'em. Been a hard day fer them little folks. Terrible flood intheir country. Everyone on em hed t' git up a steeple quick 'she coulder be drownded. They hev their troubles an' they talk 'bout 'em, too.'
'What do they file their saws for?' I enquired.
'Well, ye know,' said he, 'where they live the timber's thick an' theyhev hard work clearin' t' mek a home.'
I was getting too sleepy for further talk. He made his way from field tofield, stopping sometimes to look off at the distant mountains then atthe sky or to whack the dry stalks of mullen with his cane. I rememberhe let down some bars after a long walk and stepped into a smoothroadway. He stood resting a little while, his basket on the top bar, andthen the moon that I had been watching went down behind the broad rim ofhis hat and I fell into utter forgetfulness. My eyes opened on a lovelyscene at daylight. Uncle Eb had laid me on a mossy knoll in a bit oftimber and through an opening right in front of us I could see a broadlevel of shining water, and the great green mountain on the furthershore seemed to be up to its belly in the sea.
'Hello there!' said Uncle Eb; 'here we are at Lake Champlain.'
I could hear the fire crackling and smell the odour of steeping tea.
'Ye flopped 'round like a fish in thet basket,' said Uncle Eb. ''Guessye must a been drearnin' O' bears. Jumped so ye scairt me. Didn't knowbut I had a wil' cat on my shoulders.'
Uncle Eb had taken a fish-line out of his pocket and was tying it to arude pole that he had cut and trinmed with his jack-knife.
'I've found some crawfish here,' he said, 'an' I'm goin' t' try fer abite on the p'int O' rocks there.'
'Goin' t' git some fish, Uncle Eb?' I enquired.
'Wouldn't say't I was, er wouldn't say't I wasn't,' he answered. 'Jesgoin' t' try.'
Uncle Eb was always careful not to commit himself on a doubtful point.He had fixed his hook and sinker in a moment and then we went out on arocky point nearby and threw off into the deep water. Suddenly UncleEb gave a jerk that brought a groan out of him and then let his hook godown again, his hands trembling, his face severe.
'By mighty! Uncle Eb,' he muttered to himself, 'I thought we hed himthet time.'
He jerked again presently, and then I could see a tug on the line thatmade me jump. A big fish came thrashing into the air in a minute. Hetried to swing it ashore, but the pole bent and the fish got a freshhold of the water and took the end of the pole under. Uncle Eb gave ita lift then that brought it ashore and a good bit of water with it. Iremember how the fish slapped me with its wet tail and sprinkled my faceshaking itself between my boots. It was a big bass and in a little whilewe had three of them. Uncle Eb dressed them and laid them over the fireon a gridiron of green birch, salting them as they cooked. I rememberthey went with a fine relish and the last of our eggs and bread andbutter went with them.
Our breakfast over, Uncle Eb made me promise to stay with Fred and thebasket while he went away to find a man who could row us across. Inabout an hour I heard a boat coming and the dog and I went out on thepoint of rocks where we saw Uncle Eb and another man, heading for us,half over the cove. The bow bumped the rocks beneath us in a minute.Then the stranger dropped his oars and stood staring at me and the dog.
'Say, mister,' said he presently, 'can't go no further. There's a rewardoffered fer you an' thet boy.'
Uncle Eb called him aside and was talking to him a long time.
I never knew what was said, but they came at last and took us into theboat and the stranger was very friendly.
When we had come near the landing on the 'York State' side, I
rememberhe gave us our bearings.
'Keep t' the woods,' he said, 'till you're out o' harm's way. Don't gonear the stage road fer a while. Ye'll find a store a little way up themountain. Git yer provisions there an' about eighty rod farther ye'llstrike the trail. It'll take ye over the mountain north an' t' ParadiseRoad. Then take the white church on yer right shoulder an' go straightwest.'
I would not have remembered it so well but for the fact that Uncle Ebwrote it all down in his account book and that has helped me over manya slippery place in my memory of those events. At the store we got somecrackers and cheese, tea and coffee, dried beef and herring, a bit ofhoney and a loaf of bread that was sliced and buttered before it wasdone up. We were off in the woods by nine o'clock, according to UncleEb's diary, and I remember the trail led us into thick brush where I hadto get out and walk a long way. It was smooth under foot, however, andat noon we came to a slash in the timber, full of briars that were allaglow with big blackberries. We filled our hats with them and Uncle Ebfound a spring, beside which we built a fire and had a memorable mealthat made me glad of my hunger.
Then we spread the oilcloth and lay down for another sleep. We couldsee the glow of the setting sun through the tree-tops when we woke, andbegan our packing.
'We'll hev t' hurry,' said Uncle Eb, 'er we'll never git out o' thewoods t'night 'S 'bout six mile er more t' Paradise Road, es I mek it.Come, yer slower 'n a toad in a tar barrel.'
We hurried off on the trail and I remember Fred looked very crestfallenwith two big packages tied to his collar. He delayed a bit by trying toshake them off, but Uncle Eb gave him a sharp word or two and then hewalked along very thoughtfully. Uncle Eb was a little out of patiencethat evening, and I thought he bore down too harshly in his rebuke ofthe old dog.
'You shif'less cuss,' he said to him, 'ye'd jes' dew nothin' but chasesquirrels an' let me break my back t' carry yer dinner.'
It was glooming fast in the thick timber, and Uncle Eb almost ran withme while the way was plain. The last ringing note of the wood thrushhad died away and in a little while it was so dark I could distinguishnothing but the looming mass of tree trunks.
He stopped suddenly and strained his eyes in the dark. Then he whistleda sharp, sliding note, and the sound of it gave me some hint of histrouble.
'Git down, Willie,' said he, 'an' tek my hand. I'm 'fraid we're losthere 'n the big woods.'
We groped about for a minute, trying to find the trail.
'No use,' he said presently, 'we'll hev t' stop right here. Oughterknown berter 'n t' come through s' near sundown. Guess it was more 'nanybody could do.'
He built a fire and began to lay out a supper for us then, while Fredsat down by me to be relieved of his bundles. Our supper was rather dry,for we had no water, but it was only two hours since we left the spring,so we were not suffering yet. Uncle Eb took out of the fire a burningbrand of pine and went away into the gloomy woods, holding it above hishead, while Fred and I sat by the fire.
''S lucky we didn't go no further,' he said, as he came in after a fewminutes. 'There's a big prec'pice over yender. Dunno how deep 't is.Guess we'd a found out purty soon.'
He cut some boughs of hemlock, growing near us, and spread them in alittle hollow. That done, we covered them with the oilcloth, and satdown comfortably by the fire. Uncle Eb had a serious look and was notinclined to talk or story telling. Before turning in he asked me tokneel and say my prayer as I had done every evening at the feet ofmy mother. I remember, clearly, kneeling before my old companion andhearing the echo of my small voice there in the dark and lonely woods.
I remember too, and even more clearly, how he bent his head and coveredhis eyes in that brief moment. I had a great dread of darkness andimagined much evil of the forest, but somehow I had no fear if he werenear me. When we had fixed the fire and lain down for the night on thefragrant hemlock and covered ourselves with the shawl, Uncle Eb lay onone side of me and old Fred on the other, so I felt secure indeed. Thenight had many voices there in the deep wood. Away in the distance Icould hear a strange, wild cry, and I asked what it was and Uncle Ebwhispered back, ''s a loon.' Down the side of the mountain a shrill barkrang in the timber and that was a fox, according to my patient oracle.Anon we heard the crash and thunder of a falling tree and a murmur thatfollowed in the wake of the last echo.
'Big tree fallin'!' said Uncle Eb, as he lay gaping. 'It has t' break away t' the ground an' it must hurt. Did ye notice how the woods tremble?If we was up above them we could see the hole thet tree hed made. Jes'like an open grave till the others hev filed it with their tops.'
My ears had gone deaf with drowsiness when a quick stir in the body ofUncle Eb brought me back to my senses. He was up on his elbow listeningand the firelight had sunk to a glimmer. Fred lay shivering and growlingbeside me. I could hear no other sound.
'Be still,' said Uncle Eb, as he boxed the dog's ears. Then he rose andbegan to stir the fire and lay on more wood. As the flame leaped andthrew its light into the tree-tops a shrill cry, like the scream of afrightened woman, only louder and more terrible to hear brought me to myfeet, crying. I knew the source of it was near us and ran to Uncle Eb ina fearful panic.
'Hush, boy,' said he as it died away and went echoing in the far forest.'I'll take care o' you. Don't be scairt. He's more 'fraid uv us than weare o' him. He's makin' off now.'
We heard then a great crackling of dead brush on the mountain above us.It grew fainter as we listened. In a little while the woods were silent.
'It's the ol' man o' the woods,' said Uncle Eb. 'E's out takin' a walk.'
'Will he hurt folks?' I enquired.
'Tow!' he answered, 'jest as harmless as a kitten.'