CHAPTER IV. MORE OF CAMP DE SQUATOOK.
On the following morning we breakfasted in a very leisurely fashion,with a delightful sense of having all day before us. We spent the day incasting our flies at the outlet, and our success was a continualrepetition of that of the previous night. Only Stranion grew tired. Hecould not hook as many fish as the rest of us; wherefore he grewdisgusted, and chose to sit on the bank deriding us. But as long as thefish were feeding we heeded him not. Our heaviest trout that day justcleared two pounds and a half.
In the evening we took tea early. Before settling down we made a littlevoyage of exploration to the top of a neighboring hill, and watched themoon rise over the vast and empty wilderness. Returning to the camp, wedoffed our scanty garments, ran down the beach, and dashed out into thegleaming lake-waters. It was such a swim as Stranion had told us of.After this we felt royally luxurious. We lolled upon our blankets with alordly air, and the soughing of the pines was all about us for music.Then, in a peremptory tone, Sam cried, “Stranion!”—“Sir, to you!” wasStranion’s polite response.
“Stranion,” continued Sam, “to you it falls to unfold to thisappreciative audience the resources of your experience or yourimagination. I would recommend, now, a judicious combination of thetwo.”
Thus irresistibly adjured, Stranion began:—
“This is the story of—
‘LOU’S CLARIONET,’”
said he. “Judge ye whether I speak from experience or imagination.
“It was a Christmas Eve service in the Second Westcock Church.
“The church at Second Westcock was quaint and old-fashioned, like thevillage over which it presided. Its shingles were gray with the beatingof many winters; its little square tower was surmounted by fourspindling posts, like the legs of a table turned heavenward; its staringwindows were adorned with curtains of yellow cotton; its uneven anddesolate churchyard, strewn with graves and snowdrifts, occupied a bleakhillside looking out across the bay to the lonely height of ShepodyMountain.
“Down the long slope below the church straggled the village, half-lostin the snow, and whistled over by the winds of the Bay of Fundy.
“Second Westcock was an outlying corner of the rector’s expansiveparish, and a Christmas Eve service there was an event almostunparalleled. To give Second Westcock this service, the rector hadforsaken his prosperous congregations at Westcock, Sackville, andDorchester, driving some eight or ten miles through the snows andsolitude of the deep Dorchester woods.
“And because the choir at Second Westcock was not remarkable even forwillingness, much less for strength or skill, he had brought with himhis fifteen-year-old niece, Lou Allison, to swell the Christmas praiseswith the notes of her clarionet.
“The little church was lighted with oil-lamps ranged along the whitewall between the windows. The poor, bare chancel—a red cloth-coveredkitchen table in a semicircle of paintless railing—was flanked by twotowering pulpits of white pine. On either side the narrow, carpetlessaisle were rows of unpainted benches.
“On the left were gathered solemnly the men of the congregation, eachlooking straight ahead. On the right were the women, whispering andscanning each other’s bonnets, till the appearance of the rector fromthe little vestry-room by the door should bring silence and reverentattention.
“In front of the women’s row stood the melodeon; and the two benchesbehind it were occupied by the choir, the male members of which satblushingly self-conscious, proud of their office, but deeply abashed atthe necessity of sitting among the women.
“There was no attempt at Christmas decoration, for Second Westcock hadnever been awakened to the delicious excitements of the church greening.
“At last the rector appeared in his voluminous white surplice. He movedslowly up the aisle, and mounted the winding steps of the right-handpulpit; and as he did so his five-year-old son, forsaking his place byLou’s side, marched forward and seated himself resolutely on the pulpitsteps. He did not feel quite at home in Second Westcock Church.
“The sweet old carol, ‘While shepherds watched their flocks by night,’rose rather doubtfully from the little choir, who looked and listenedaskance at the glittering clarionet, into which Lou was now blowingsoftly. Lou was afraid to make herself distinctly heard at first, lestshe should startle the singers; but in the second verse the pure vibrantnotes came out with confidence, and then for two lines the song waslittle more than a duet between Lou and the rector’s vigorous baritone.In the third verse, however, it all came right. The choir felt andresponded to the strong support and thrilling stimulus of theinstrument, and at length ceased to dread their own voices. The nakedlittle church was glorified with the sweep of triumphal song pulsatingthrough it.
“Never before had such music been heard there. Men, women, and childrensang from their very souls; and when the hymn was ended the wholecongregation stood for some seconds as in a dream, with quiveringthroats, till the rector’s calm voice, repeating the opening words ofthe liturgy, brought back their self-control in some measure.
“Thereafter every hymn and chant and carol was like an inspiration, andLou’s eyes sparkled with exultation.
“When the service was over the people gathered round the stove by thedoor, praising Lou’s clarionet, and petting little Ted, who had by thistime come down from the pulpit steps. One old lady gave the child two orthree brown sugar-biscuits, which she had brought in her pocket, and apair of red mittens, which she had knitted for him as a Christmaspresent.
“Turning to Lou, the old lady said, ‘I never heerd nothing like thattrumpet of yourn, Miss. I felt like it jest drawed down the angels fromheaven to sing with us to-night. Ther voices was all swimming in a smokelike, right up in the hollow of the ceiling.’
“‘’Tain’t a trumpet!’ interrupted Teddy shyly; ‘it’s a clar’onet. I gota trumpet home!’
“‘_To_ be sure!’ replied the old lady indulgently. ‘But, Miss, as I wasa-sayin’, that music of yourn would jest soften the hardest heart asever was.’
“The rector had just come from the vestry-room, well wrapped up in hisfurs, and was shaking hands and wishing every one a Merry Christmas,while the sexton brought the horse to the door. He overheard the oldlady’s last remark, as she was bundling Teddy up in a huge woollenmuffler.
“‘It certainly did,’ said he, ‘make the singing go magnificentlyto-night, didn’t it, Mrs. Tait? But I wonder, now, what sort of aneffect it would produce on a hard-hearted bear if such a creature shouldcome out at us while we are going through Dorchester woods?’
“The mild pleasantry was very delicately adapted to the rector’saudience, and the group about the stove smiled with a reverent airbefitting the place they were in; but the old lady exclaimed in haste,—
“‘My land sakes, Parson, a bear’d be jest scared to death!’
“‘I wonder if it _would_ frighten a bear?’ thought Lou to herself, asthey were getting snugly bundled into the warm, deep ‘pung,’ as the lowbox-sleigh with movable seats is called.
“Soon the crest of the hill was passed, and the four-poster on the topof Second Westcock Church sank out of sight. For a mile or more the roadled through half-cleared pasture lands, where the black stumps stuck upso strangely through the drifts that Teddy discovered bears on everyhand. He was not at all alarmed, however, for he was sure his father wasa match for a thousand bears.
“By and by the road entered the curious inverted dark of the Dorchesterwoods, where all the light seemed to come from the white snow under thetrees rather than from the dark sky above them. At this stage of thejourney Teddy retired beneath the buffalo-robes, and went to sleep inthe bottom of the pung.
“The horse jogged slowly along the somewhat heavy road. The bellsjingled drowsily amid the soft, pushing whisper of the runners. Lou andthe rector talked in quiet voices, attuned to the solemn hush of thegreat forest.
“‘_What’s that?_’
“L
ou shivered up closer to the rector as she spoke, and glancednervously into the dark woods whence a sound had come. He did not answerat once, but seized the whip and tightened the reins, as a signal to oldJerry to move on faster.
“The horse needed no signal, but awoke into an eager trot, which wouldhave become a gallop had the rector permitted.
“Again came the sound, this time a little nearer, and still, apparently,just abreast of the pung, but deep in the woods. It was a bitter, long,wailing cry, blended with a harshly grating undertone, like the raspingof a saw.
“‘What is it?’ again asked Lou, her teeth chattering.
“The rector let old Jerry out into a gallop, as he answered, ‘I’m afraidit’s a panther,—what they call around here an “Indian devil.” But Idon’t think there is any real danger. It is a ferocious beast, but willprobably give _us_ a wide berth.’
“‘Why won’t it attack _us_?” asked Lou.
“‘Oh, it prefers solitary victims,’ replied the rector. ‘It isordinarily a cautious beast, and does not understand the combination ofman and horse and vehicle. Only on rare occasions has it been known toattack people driving, and this one will probably keep well out of oursight. However, it’s just as well to get beyond its neighborhood asquickly as possible. Steady, Jerry, old boy! Steady; don’t use yourselfup too fast!’
“The rector kept the horse well in hand; but in a short time it wasplain that the panther was not avoiding the party. The cries came nearerand nearer, and Lou’s breath came quicker and quicker, and the rector’steeth began to set themselves grimly, while his brows gathered inanxious thought.
“If it should come to a struggle, what was there in the sleigh, he waswondering, that could serve as a weapon? Nothing, absolutely nothing,but his heavy pocket-knife.
“‘A poor weapon,’ thought he ruefully, ‘with which to fight a panther.’But he felt in his pocket with one hand, and opened the knife, andslipped it under the edge of the cushion beside him.
“At this instant he caught sight of the panther bounding along throughthe low underbrush, keeping parallel with the road, and not forty yardsaway.
“‘There it is!’ came in a terrified whisper from Lou’s lips; and justthen Teddy lifted his head from under the robes. Frightened at thespeed, and at the set look on his father’s face, he began to cry. Thepanther heard him and turned at once toward the sleigh.
“Old Jerry stretched himself out in a burst of extra speed, while therector grasped his poor knife fiercely; and the panther came with a longleap right into the road, not ten paces behind the flying sleigh.
“Teddy stared in amazement, then cowered down in fresh terror as therecame an ear-splitting screech, wild and high and long, from Lou’sclarionet. Lou had turned, and over the back of the seat was blowingthis peal of desperate defiance in the brute’s very face. The astonishedanimal shrank back in his tracks, and sprang again into the underbrush.
“Lou turned to the rector with a flushed face of triumph, and the rectorexclaimed in a husky voice, ‘Thank God!’ But Teddy, between his sobs,complained, ‘What did you do that for, Lou?’
“Lou jumped to the conclusion that her victory was complete and final;but the rector kept Jerry at his top speed, and scrutinized theunderwood apprehensively.
“The panther appeared again in four or five minutes, returning to theroad, and leaping along some forty or fifty feet behind the sleigh. Hispace was a very curious, disjointed, india-rubbery spring, which rapidlyclosed up on the fugitives.
“Then round swung Lou’s long instrument again, and at its piercing crythe animal again shrank back. This time, however, he kept to the road,and the moment Lou paused for breath he resumed the chase.
“‘Save your breath, child,’ exclaimed the rector, as Lou again put theslender tube to her lips. ‘Save your breath, and let him have itferociously when he begins to get too near.
“The animal came within twenty or thirty feet again, and then Lougreeted him with an ear-splitting blast, and he fell back. Again andagain the tactics were repeated. Lou tried a thrilling cadenza; it wastoo much for the brute’s nerves. He could not comprehend a girl withsuch a penetrating voice, and he could not screw up his courage to acloser investigation of the marvel.
“At last the animal seemed to resolve on a change of procedure. Plunginginto the woods, he made an effort to get ahead of the sleigh. Old Jerrywas showing signs of exhaustion; but the rector roused him to an extraspurt—and there, just ahead, was the opening of Fillmore’s settlement.
“‘Blow, Lou, blow!’ shouted the rector; and as the panther made a dashto intercept the sleigh, it found itself in too close proximity to thestrange-voiced phenomenon in the pung, and sprang backward with an angrysnarl.
“As Lou’s breath failed from her dry lips, the sleigh dashed out intothe open. A dog bayed angrily from the nearest farmhouse, and thepanther stopped short on the edge of the wood. The rector drove into thefarmyard; and old Jerry stopped, shivering as if he would fall betweenthe shafts.
“After the story had been told, and Jerry had been stabled and rubbeddown, the rector resumed his journey with a fresh horse, having no fearthat the panther would venture across the cleared lands. Three of thesettlers started out forthwith, and following the tracks in the newsnow, succeeded in shooting the beast after a chase of two or threehours.
“The adventure supplied the country-side all that winter with a themefor conversation; and about Lou’s clarionet there gathered a halo ofromance that drew rousing congregations to the parish church, where itsmusic was to be heard every alternate Sunday evening.”
“I should say,” remarked Queerman, “that to experience and imaginationyou combine a most tenacious memory. Who would have dreamed that the shyTeddy, with his proclivity for the pulpit-steps, would have developedinto the Stranion that we see before us!”
To this there was no reply. Then suddenly Magnus said, “Sam!” And Sambegan at once.
“This is all about—
‘JAKE DIMBALL’S WOODEN LEG,’”
said Sam.
“One evening in the early summer, I won’t say how many years ago, JakeDimball was driving the cows home from pasture. At that time Jake, astout youth of seventeen, had no thought of such an appendage as awooden leg. Indeed, he had no place to put one had he possessed such athing; for his own vigorous legs of bone and muscle, with which he hadbeen born and with which he had grown up in entire content, seemedlikely to serve him for the rest of his natural life. But that veryevening, amid the safe quiet and soft colors of the upland cow-pasture,fate was making ready a lesson for him in the possibilities of theunexpected.
“In Westmoreland county that summer bears were looked upon as a drug inthe market. The county, indeed, seemed to be suffering from an epidemicof bears. But, so far, these woody pastures of Second Westcock,surrounded by settlements, had apparently escaped the contagion. When,therefore, Jake was startled by an angry growl, coming from a swampythicket on his right, the thought of a bear did not immediately occur tohim. He saw that the cows were running ahead with a sudden alertness,but he paused and gazed at the thicket, wondering whether it would bewise for him to go and investigate the source of the sound. While hehesitated, the question was decided for him. A large black bear burstforth from the bushes with a crash that carried a nameless terror intoJake’s very soul. The beast looked so cruelly out of place, so horriblyout of place, breaking in upon the beauty and security of the familiarscene. Jake had no weapon more formidable than the hazel switch he wascarrying and the pocket-knife with which he was trimming off itsbranches. After one long horrified look at the bear, Jake took to flightalong the narrow cow-path.
“Jake was a notable runner in those days, yet the bear gained upon himrapidly. The cow-path was tortuous exceedingly, and away from the paththe ground was too rough for fast running—at least Jake found it so. Thebear did not seem to mind the irregularities.
“Jake envied the cows their fine head start. He wished he was with them;
then, as he heard the bear getting closer, he almost wished he was oneof them; and then his foot caught in a root and he fell headlong.
“As he fell a great wave of despair went over him, and a thought flashedthrough his mind: ‘This is the end of me!’ His sight was darkened for aninstant, as he rolled in the moss and twigs between two hillocks. Then,turning upon his back, he saw the bear already hanging over him; and nowa desperate courage came to his aid.
“Raising his heels high in the air, he brought them down with violencein the brute’s face. The animal started back, astonished at this novelmethod of defence. When it advanced again to the attack, Jake met itdesperately with his heels; and all the time he kept up a lusty shoutingsuch as he hoped would soon bring some one to the rescue. For a fewminutes, strange to say, Jake’s tactics were successful in keeping hisfoe at bay; but presently the bear, growing more angry, or more hungry,made a fiercer assault, and, succeeded in catching the lad’s footbetween his jaws. The brave fellow sickened under the cruel grip ofthose crunching teeth; but he kept up the fight with his free heel. Justas he was about fainting with pain and exhaustion, some farmers, who hadheard the outcry, arrived upon the scene, and the bear hastily withdrew.
“That night there was a bear-hunt at Second Westcock, but it brought nospoils. Bruin had made an effective disappearance. As for Jake, his footand the lower part of his leg were so dreadfully mangled that the leghad to be cut off just below the knee. When the lad was entirelyrecovered, being a handy fellow, he made himself a new leg of white oak,around the bottom of which, to prevent wear, he hammered a stout ironring.
“The years went by in their usual surreptitious fashion, and brought fewchanges to Second Westcock. One June evening, ten years after that onwhich my story opened, Jake was driving the cows home as usual, whenonce more, as he passed the swampy thicket, he heard that menacinggrowl. Jake looked about him as if in a dream. There was the same dewysmell in the air, mingled with the fragrance of sweet fern, that heremembered so painfully and so well. There was the same long yellowcloud over the black woods to the west. There was the same dappled skyof amber and violet over his head. As before, he saw the cows breakinginto a run. In a moment there was the same dreadful crashing in thethicket. Was he dreaming? He looked down in bewilderment, and his eyesfell on the iron-shod end of his wooden leg! That settled it. Evidentlyhe was not dreaming, and it was time for him to hurry home. He brokeinto a run as rapid as his wooden leg would allow.
“Now, long use and natural dexterity had made Jake almost as active inthe handling of this wooden leg as most men are with the limbs whichnature gave them. But with his original legs in their pristine vigor hehad found himself no match for a bear. What, then, could he expect inthe present instance? Jake looked over his shoulder, and beheld the bearhot on his tracks. He could have sworn it was the same bear as of old.He made up his mind to run no more, but to save his breath for what hefelt might be his last fight. He gave a series of terrific yells, suchas he thought might pierce even to the corner grocery under the hill,and threw himself flat on his back on a gentle hummock that might passfor a post of vantage.
“Jake was not hopeful, but he was firm. He thought it would be too muchto expect to come off twice victorious from a scrape like this. He eyedthe bear sternly, and it seemed to him as if the brute actually smiledon observing that its intended victim had not forgotten his ancienttactics. Jake concluded that the approaching contest was likely to befatal to himself, but he calculated on making it at least unpleasant forthe bear.
“The animal turned a little to one side, and attacked his prostrateantagonist in the flank; but Jake whirled nimbly just in time, andbrought down his iron-shod heel on the brute’s snout. The blow was aheavy one, but that bear was not at all surprised. If it was the bear ofthe previous encounter, it doubtless argued that years had broughtadditional weight and strength to its opponent’s understanding. It wasnot to be daunted, but instantly seized the wooden leg in its angryjaws. Jake’s yells for help continued; but the bear, the moment itdiscovered that the limb on which it was chewing was of good white oak,fell a prey to astonishment, if not alarm.
“It dropped the leg, backed off a few paces, sat down upon its haunches,and gazed at this strange and inedible species of man. Jake realized atonce the creature’s bewilderment; but the crisis was such a painful onethat the humor of the situation failed to strike him.
“After a few moments of contemplation, the bear made a fresh attack. Itwas hungry, and perhaps thought some other portion of Jake’s body mightprove more delicate eating than his leg. Jake, however, gave it nochance to try. The next hold the bear got was upon the very end of theoaken member, where the iron ring proved little to its taste. It triedfiercely for another hold; but Jake in his desperate struggles, endowedwith the strength of his terror, succeeded in foiling it in everyattempt. At length, with the utmost force of his powerful thigh, hedrove the end of the leg right into the beast’s open mouth, inflicting aserious wound. Blood flowed freely from the animal’s throat; andpresently, after a moment of hesitation, having probably concluded thatthe morsel was not savory enough to justify any further struggle, thebear moved sullenly away, coughing and whining.
“Jake lay quite still till his vanquished antagonist had disappeared inthe covert. Then he rose and wended his way homeward, thinking tohimself how much better his wooden leg had served him than an ordinaryone could have done. In a few minutes he was met by some of hisfellow-townsmen, who were hastening to find out the cause of all thenoise. To them Jake related the adventure with great elation, adding, ashe concluded, ‘You see, now, how everything turns out for the best. If Ihadn’t lost that ere leg of mine this night ten year ago, I’d have mebbelost my head this very evening!’
“In spite of Jake Dimball’s reputation for truthfulness, his story wasnot believed in the village of Second Westcock. It was voted altogethertoo improbable, from whatever side it was looked at. In fact, soprofoundly incredulous were his fellow-villagers, that Jake could noteven organize a bear-hunt. Some ten days later, however, his veracityreceived ample confirmation. A man out looking for strayed cattle in thewoods not more than a couple of miles from Jake’s pasture, found a largebear lying dead in a cedar swamp. Examining the body curiously to findthe cause of death, he was puzzled till he recalled Jake’s story. Thenhe looked at the dead brute’s throat. The mystery was solved; and thecommunity was once for all convinced of the fighting qualities of thewooden leg.”
“That’s a good story,” said Magnus. “In a vague way it reminds me of onewhich is as unlike it as anything could well be. Mine is a tropicaltale. 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 yetyoung; for a raw night fog had rolled in over Halifax, making thedisplay of bright coals no less comforting than cheerful. From theadjacent wharves came the soft washing and whispering of the tide, withan occasional rattle of oars as a boat came to land from one of the manyships.
“The density of the atmosphere in the office was chiefly due to ‘Al’Johnson, the diver, who, when he was not talking, diving, eating, orsleeping, was sure to be puffing at his pipe. We had talked little, butnow I resolved to turn off the smoke flowing from Johnson’s pipe bygetting him to tell us a story. He could never tell a story and keep hispipe lit at the same time.
“Johnson was a college-bred man, whom a love of adventure had lured intodeep-sea diving. He and his partner were at this time engaged inrecovering the cargo of the steamer Oelrich, sunk near the entrance toHalifax harbor.
“I asked Johnson, ‘Do you remember promising me a yarn about anadventure you had in the pearl-fisheries?’
“‘Which adventure? and what pearl-fisheries?’ Johnson asked. ‘I’vefished at Tinnevelli, and in the Sulu waters off the Borneo coast, andalso in th
e Torres Strait; and wheresoever it was, there seemed to bepretty nearly always some excitement going.’
“‘Oh,’ said I, ‘whichever you like to give us. I think what you spoke ofwas an adventure in the Torres Strait.’
“‘No,’ said Johnson, ‘I think I’ll give you a little yarn about a tussleI had with a turtle in the Sulu waters. I fancy there isn’t much thatgrows but you’ll find it somewhere in Borneo; and the water there isjust as full of life as the land.’
“‘Sharks?’ I queried.
“‘Oh, worse than sharks!’ replied Johnson. ‘There’s a big squid thatwill squirt the water black as ink; and just then, perhaps, somethingcomes along and grabs you when you can’t defend yourself. And there’sthe devil-fish, own cousin to the squid, and the meanest enemy you’dwant to run across anywhere. And there’s a tremendous giant of ashell-fish,—a kind of scalloped clam, that lies with its huge shellswide open, but half hidden in the long weeds and sea-mosses. If you putyour 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 ahatchet or something to smash the shell with, you are likely to staythere. Of course your partner in the boat up aloft would soon knowsomething was wrong, finding that he couldn’t haul you up. Then he wouldgo down after you, and chop you loose perhaps. But meanwhile it would befar from nice, especially if a shark came along—if another clam does notnab him, for one of these big clams has been known to catch even ashark. 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 arevery careful not to fall afoul of those clam-shells; for when they dothey’re drowned before they can get clear.’
“‘You can hardly blame the clam, or whatever it is,’ said I. ‘It must berather a shock to its nerves when it feels a big foot thrust down rightupon its stomach!’
“‘No,’ assented Johnson; ‘you can’t blame the clam. But besides theclam, there is a big turtle that is a most officious creature, with abeak that will almost cut railroad iron. It is forever poking that beakinto whatever it thinks it doesn’t know all about; and you cannot scareit as you can a shark. You have simply got to kill it before it willacknowledge itself beaten. These same turtles, however, at the top ofthe water or on dry land would, in most cases, prove as timid asrabbits. And then, as you say, there are the sharks,—all kinds, big andlittle, forever hungry, but not half so courageous as they get thecredit 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 tothe ironwood stakes that the natives always use. But they didn’t seem tome quite the thing for smashing those big shells with, supposing afellow should happen to put his foot into one. So I made myself a stakewith a steel top, which answered every purpose. More than one big sharkhave I settled with that handspike of mine; and once I found, to mygreat advantage, that it was just the thing to break up a shell with.’
“‘Ha, ha!’ laughed Best, who had been listening rather inattentivelyhitherto. ‘So _you_ put your foot in it, did you?”
“‘Yes, I did,’ said Johnson. ‘And that is just what I’m going to tellyou about. I was working that season with a good partner, a likely youngfellow hailing from Auckland. He tended the line and the pump to mycomplete satisfaction. I’ve never had a better tender. Also, I wasteaching 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 waskilled about a year after the time I’m telling you of, in a row down inNew Orleans. But we won’t stop to talk about that now.
“‘As I was saying, Larry and I pulled together pretty well from thestart, and we were so lucky with our fishing that the fellows in theother boats began to get jealous and unpleasant. You must know that allkinds go to the pearl-fisheries; and the worst kinds have rather thebest of it, in point of numbers. We were ready enough to fight, but weliked best to go our own way peaceably. So, when some of the other ladsgot quarrelsome, we just smiled, hoisted our sail, and looked up a newground 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 bedsin the whole neighborhood.
“‘One morning, as I was poking about among the seaweed and stuff, I cameacross a fine-looking bunch of pearl-shells. I made a grab at them, butthey were firmly rooted and refused to come away. I laid down myhandspike, took hold of the cluster with both hands, and shifted myfoothold so as to get a good chance to pull.
“‘Up came the bunch of shells at the first wrench, much more readilythan I had expected. To recover myself I took a step backward; down wentmy foot into a crevice, “slumped” into something soft, and _snap!_ myleg was fast in a grip that almost made me yell there in the littleprison of my helmet.
“‘Well, as you may imagine, just as soon as I recovered from the startthis gave me, I reached out for my handspike to knock that clam-shellinto flinders. But a cold shiver went over me as I found I could notreach the weapon! As I laid it down, it had slipped a little off to oneside; and there it rested about a foot out of my reach, reclining on oneof 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 thethought that my foot, with its big, twenty-pound, rubber-and-lead boot,must be making the clam’s internal affairs rather uncomfortable. After Ihad pretty well tired myself out, stretching and tugging on my leg, andstruggling to reach the handspike, I paused to recover my wind, andconsider the situation.
“‘It was not very deep water I was working in, and there was any amountof 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 seaweedswere all sorts of colors—or rather, I should say, they were all sorts ofreds and yellows and greens. The rest of the colors of the rainbow youmight find in the shells which lay around under foot, or went crawlingamong the weeds; and away overhead darted and flashed the queerestlooking fish, like birds in a yellow sky. There were lots of biganemones too, waving, stretching, and curling their many-coloredtentacles.
“‘I saw everything with extraordinary vividness about that time, as Iknow by the clear way I recollect it now; but you may be sure I wasn’tthinking much just then about the beauties of nature. I was trying tothink of some way of getting assistance from Larry. At length Iconcluded I had better give him the signal to haul me up. Finding that Iwas stuck, he would, I reasoned, hoist the anchor, and then pull theboat along to the place of my captivity. Then he could easily send medown a hatchet wherewith to chop my way to freedom.
“‘Just as I had come to this resolve, a black shadow passed over myhead, 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 wouldnot notice me.
“‘He paddled along very slowly, with his queer little head stuck farout, and presently he noticed my air-tube. It seemed to strike him asdecidedly queer. My blood fairly turned to ice in my veins as I saw himpaddle 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 knewthat 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 emergencylike this that a man learns to know what real terror is.
“It seemed to strike Him as decidedly Queer.”—Page 140.]
“‘In my desperation I stooped down and tore with both hands at theshells and weeds for something I might hurl at the turtle, thinking thusperhaps to distract his attention from my air-tube. But what do yousuppose happened? Why, I succeeded in pulling up a great lump of shellsand stones all bedded together. The mass was fully two feet long. Myheart gave a leap of exultation, for I knew at once just what to do withthe instrument thus providentially placed in my hands. Instead of tryingto hurl it at t
he turtle, I reached out with it, and managed to scrapethat precious handspike within grasp. As I gathered it once more into mygrip, I straightened up and was a man again.
“‘Just at this juncture the turtle decided to take a hand in. I hadgiven the signal to be hauled up at the very moment when I got hold ofthat lump of stones, and now I could feel Larry tugging energetically onthe rope. The turtle left off fooling with the tube, and, paddling downto see what was making such a commotion in the water, he tackled me atonce.
“‘As it happened, however, he took hold of the big copper nut on the topof 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, andthe clam on my leg, and Larry jerking on my waistband, you may imagine Icould hardly call my soul my own. However, I began jabbing my handspikefor 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 findin a turtle! In a moment the water was red with blood; but that made nogreat difference to me, and for a while it didn’t seem to make muchdifference to the turtle either. All I could do was to keep on jabbingas close to the neck as I could, and between the front flippers. And theturtle kept on chewing at the copper joint.
“‘I believe it was the clam that helped me most effectually in thatstruggle. You see, that grip on my leg kept me as steady as a rock. Ifit hadn’t been for that, the turtle would have had me off my feet andend over end in no time, and would probably have soon got the best ofme. As it was, after a few moments of this desperate stabbing with thehandspike, I managed to kill my assailant; but even in death that ironbeak of his maintained its hold on the copper nut of my helmet. Havingno means of cutting the brute’s head off, I turned my attention to thebig clam, and with the steel point of my handspike I soon released myfoot.
“‘Then Larry hauled me up. He told me afterward he never in all his lifegot such a start as when that great turtle came to the surface hangingon to the top of my helmet. The creature was so heavy he could not haulit and me together into the boat; so he slashed the head off with ahatchet, and then lifted me aboard. Beyond a black-and-blue leg, I wasnot much the worse for that adventure; but I was so used up with theexcitement of it all that I wouldn’t go down for any more pearls thatday. We took a day off,—Larry and I, and indulged in a little runashore.’
“‘You had earned it,’ said I.”
“Now, Queerman,” said Sam, “as your turn comes round again, give ussomething less lugubrious than your last. Be light; be cheerful!”
“It seems to me that I remember,” replied Queerman, “a merry littleadventure that befell me some years ago. If it is not hilarious enoughto suit you, Sam, you can stop me in the middle of it. While you fellowswere fishing this afternoon, I was reading Mr. Gummere’s _Handbook ofPoetics_. Without by any means indorsing all that he says, I was struckby many imaginative passages. In one place he says, ‘Something dimlypersonal 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 experiencein Newfoundland. Let us call the story—
‘THE DOGS OF THE DRIFT.’
“The very home of visions, and strange traditions, and mysteries, isNewfoundland, that great half-explored island in the wild NorthAtlantic.
“Here the iron coast, harborless for league upon league, opposes a blackperpendicular front to the vast green seas, which slowly and unceasinglybeneath their veil of fogs roll in, and fall in thunder amidst itspinnacles and caverns.
“At wide intervals the cliffs give way a little, forming narrow covesand havens, so limited that scarce a score of fishing-boats can findsafe harborage therein. In almost every such cove may be found a tinysettlement, remote from the world, utterly shut in upon itself saveduring the brief months of summer, with no ideas but what spring fromits people’s daily toil and from the stupendous aspects of surroundingnature.
“Is it strange that to such simple and lonely souls the wild elementsbecome instinct with strange life, and seem to dominate their thoughtsand their existence?
“For them the driving mists are filled with apparitions. The gnarled andwind-beaten firs take on strange features in the dusk. Through theravings of the gale against those towering cliffs comes to their ears ahubbub of articulate voices, mingled with the cries of the baffledsea-birds.
“Men dwelling under such influences are imaginative. If left inignorance, they grow, of necessity, superstitious. The mouths of theseislanders overflow with unearthly tales, nearly all of which may betraced to the workings of some natural force.
“But their faith in these fancies is as unquestioning as our acceptanceof 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 beingswere a team of gigantic dogs, lean and pale in color, driven furiouslyby 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 theircoming meant death ere sunset to one or another of those met by theapparition.
“In the winter of 1888 a fire took place in the out-harbor where I wasthen living, and a large part of the winter’s stores was destroyed. Toour secluded settlement this was an overwhelming calamity; and there wasnothing for it, if we would escape actual starvation, but to send someone for supplies to Harbor Briton.
“The journey was one of great difficulty and hardship,—some hundred andodd miles to be traversed through an unbroken wilderness, and the onlymeans of conveyance a dog-team and a sledge. Being young andventuresome, and ever on the search for a new experience, I volunteeredfor the service, taking with me my man, Mike Conley, a keen hunter, andone 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 andteam, with blankets and the other necessaries of such a trip, our longsledge was well loaded down; and we took with us money to buy supplies,as well as pay the transportation of them back to the famishingsettlement.
“We marched on snow-shoes for the most part, save over those openstretches of plain where the crust had hardened like ice, and where thedogs were able, at a brisk gallop, to draw both ourselves and theirload.
“At such times, exhilarated by the swift motion in that keen air andsparkling sunshine, the hardships of our journey were forgotten, and wethrilled under the beauty of the glittering world of white. But farotherwise 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 ourway. The dogs, floundering in the drifts and gullies, would get theirtraces into an almost hopeless snarl; and many a beating the poor brutesbrought upon themselves by the dangerous temper they displayed undersuch annoyances. They were a fierce and wolfish pack, and a strong handwe 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 deephollow in the snow, and floor it with soft boughs, leaving a space atone side for the fire.
“Such a camp, nestled in a thick grove of “var” or spruce, was snug inall ordinary weather. But sometimes the rage of the gale would make afire impossible. The wind-gusts would fairly shatter it to bits, and,bursting in upon us from every quarter, drive the brands and coals allover the camp. There was then nothing left for us but to smother theremnants with snow, and huddled altogether in a heap—men, dogs, andblankets—to await wretchedly the coming of the stormy dawn.
“Always on such occasions would Mike, who was superstitious to thefinger-tips, be look
ing out in fascinated expectation for the dreadful‘Gray Dogs.’
“At each yelling blast he strained his eyes through the dark, till fromlaughing 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 hisblanket, these dogs of the drift need have no terrors for him, evenshould they come the whole night long and career about the camp; for theportent only applied to those beholding it.
“This view of the case, however, was but little relief to him, as hisfears were no less on my account than on his own.
“Notwithstanding one or two such grim experiences, all went well with ustill our journey was two-thirds done, and the hardest of the way laybehind us.
“Then, as we floundered one afternoon through a deadwood swamp, Mikeslipped between two fallen trunks, and broke his left arm near theshoulder. This was a most unlooked-for blow, but the poor fellow bore itlike a hero.
“With rude splints I set the arm and bandaged it; and after a day’shalt, I fixed him a sort of bed on the sledge, so that we were enabledto continue our journey.
“But now we were forced to make long detours, in order to avoid roughcountry.
“On the following morning, to our satisfaction, we came out upon a chainof 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 twohunters, who had their traps set in the surrounding woods. Neither thefaces nor the manner of these men did I find prepossessing; but theyreceived us hospitably, fed us well, and pressed us to stay with themover night.
“Not unnaturally, they were curious as to the motives of our strangejourney, and before I could give him a hint of warning, my garrulous andfearless Mike had put them in possession of the whole story.
“The greedy look of intelligence which passed furtively between themupon learning we were on the way to purchase stores aroused all mysuspicions, and set me sharply on my guard.
“Their hospitality now became doubly pressing. In fact, when they saw mebent on immediate departure, they grew almost threatening in theirearnestness.
“At this, assuming an angry air, I asked them why they should so concernthemselves about what was entirely my own business; and I gave themplainly to understand that I wanted no interference.
“Changing their tone at once, and deprecating my warmth, they called tomy notice the storm that was gathering overhead.
“They were right; the signs could hardly be mistaken. The little burstsand eddies of drift that rose fitfully from the lake’s white surface;the long, whispering sob of the gusts that woke at intervals behind theforests; the heavy but vague massing of clouds all over the sky, whichat a little distance was confused with the earth by a sort of pearlyhaze—all portended a hurricane of snow before many hours.
“With reason on their side, and the evident desire of my wounded Mike aswell, 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 hostssuddenly took up his gun and left the cabin, saying he thought he’dbetter visit a few traps before the storm set in.
“He turned, I noticed, down the shore of the lake, parallel to thedirection 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 thenfollow his partner to examine the traps.
“Once underway I retailed my suspicions to Mike, who, heedless as hewas, had been putting this and that together during the last fewminutes. Bitterly he bewailed his helplessness; and many and varied werethe maledictions which from his couch in the blankets he hurled upon ourprospective foes. At his suggestion we shunned the wooded shores, takingour 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 urgedthe team to such a pace as it strained my running powers to keep upwith.
“The snow was soft, and for the dogs, as for myself, the work was toosevere to last; but my aim was, if possible, to settle with the firstruffian (who had, it seemed likely, undertaken to head us off) beforethe 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 werefain to hug the shore for shelter.
“The shelter was not much, for the storm seemed to rage from allquarters; yet, breathless and blinded though we were, we were able tomake some headway. At a momentary lull between the gusts we rounded asharp headland, and entered a long, narrow passage between the shore anda wooded island.
“‘A likely place enough for the murderin’ thief!’ exclaimed Mike.
“But we plunged ahead.
“The words had scarcely left his mouth when the snow seemed to risethinly about us in a thousand spirals and swirls. A tremendous winddrove down the channel and smote us in the face, with a long, confused,yelping howl, which made my flesh creep with its resemblance to a cry ofdogs. Our team trembled terribly and lay down.
“‘The gray dogs!’ came in a hoarse cry from Mike’s lips.
“And at the same moment there swept past us, in the heart of thewhirlwind, a pack of wild, huddling, and leaping drifts, followed by atall, bent, woman-like figure of snow-cloud, which seemed to stoop overand urge on their furious flight.
“The vision vanished, the shrill clamor died away over the open reachesof the lake, and shaking off my tremor, I cheered our dogs again to theroad.
“But as for Mike, he was overwhelmed with horror. He would admit nodoubt but that one of us must die before nightfall. And for my own part,I felt that our circumstances lent only too ugly a color to his fancy.
“A succession of fitful though not violent gusts confronted us throughour whole course up this defile. The air was white with fine snow, andwe made but meagre headway.
“It must have been about half a mile that we had covered since seeingthe apparition, when we were startled by a sharp report just ahead ofus; and instantly our dogs stopped short and fell into wild confusion.
“Springing to their heads, I found the great black-and-white leader inhis death-struggle, bleeding upon the snow.
“‘Cut the traces!’ cried Mike.
“And though not comprehending his purpose, I stooped to do so.
“It was well for me I obeyed. As I stooped, a shot snapped behind us,and the shrill whimper of a bullet sang past my ear.
“At the same moment, the gust subsiding, I saw our first assailant stepboldly out of cover just ahead of us, and raise his gun to shoulder fora second shot.
“But I had severed the traces; there was a sort of fierce hiss fromMike’s tongue, and with a yell, the whole team sprang forward to avengetheir leader.
“The ruffian, realizing at once his peril, discharged his gun wildly,threw it down, and fled for his life.
“But he was too late! In briefer space, I think, than it takes to tellit, the pack was upon him. He was literally torn to pieces.
“With whip and gun-stock I threw myself upon the mad brutes, whopresently, as if satisfied with their dreadful revenge, followed me backin submission to their places.
“As for the second scoundrel, he had taken swift warning, and vanished.
“The dogs themselves seemed cowed by what they had done; and for my ownpart, I was filled with horror.
“But no such weak sentimentality found the slightest favor with Mike.Rebuking me for having beaten them, he lavished praise and endearmentsupon the dogs.
“He reminded me, moreover, that they had saved the lives of both of us,or had, at the very least, saved myself from the necessity of takingblood upon my hands.
“Realizing this, I made hasty amends to the poor, shivering brutes,comforting them with a liberal feast of dried dogfish.
r /> “My present feeling toward them, as I look back upon the episode, is oneof unmitigated gratitude.
“The rest of our journey was accomplished without more than ordinarytrouble.
“A good deal of my spare energy I wasted in the effort to overturnMike’s faith, which stands still unshaken in the supernatural characterof the Dogs of the Drift.
“With such terrible testimony in his favor I could hardly have expectedmuch success for my arguments; for, as he concluded triumphantly, ‘ifthe spectral team came down that channel, as it plainly did, then thescoundrel lying in wait for us must have seen it, as well as we—and didnot he meet his doom before nightfall?’”
“If that’s what you call a _merry_ tale,” said Ranolf, “then the one_I’m_ going to tell you of Newfoundland will make your eyes drop‘weeping tears.’ It concerns the fate of—
‘BEN CHRISTIE’S BULL CARIBOU.’
“Ben Christie was first mate of the little coasting steamer Garnet, ofthe Newfoundland Coastal Service. Born in one of those narrow‘out-harbors’ that wedge themselves in somehow between the cliffs andthe gray sea, his eyes had been bent seaward from the beginning. Inlandall was mystery to him—alluring mystery.
“He had never been out of sight of the sea, except when the fog was toothick for him to distinguish it as he leaned over the vessel’s rail. Hehad grown up with a codline in his hands, in his eyes the alternation offog and flashing sunlight, in his ears the scream of the seafowl, andthe shattering thunder of the surf upon the cliffs.
“Of his native island he knew little but the seaward faces of her rockyramparts, over which he had often climbed to gather the eggs of puffinand gannet. Of towns he knew but the wharves and water-fronts of St.John’s and Halifax and Harbor Grace. But he was at home in his dory asit climbed the sullen purple-green slopes of the great waves on ‘theBanks,’ and he knew how to follow the seal, and triumph over the perilsof the Floating Fields.
“One day in Halifax, in a little inn on Water Street, Ben Christie sawthe stuffed and mounted head of a well-antlered bull caribou. It firedhis fancy; and from that day forth to shoot a bull caribou became hisconsuming ambition.
“When he had been serving as mate of the Garnet for about two years, theboiler of that redoubtable craft refused to perform its functions, andshe was laid up in St. John’s harbor for repairs.
“Christie’s opportunity had come. He furbished up his old muzzle-loadingsealing-gun, long of barrel and huge of bore, and took passage on alittle coasting-schooner bound for the West Shore and the mouth of theCodroy River.
“Arrived at the Codroy, he remained in the settlement for a few days,looking for a suitable comrade to go with him into the interior.
“When his errand became known,—which was right speedily, seeing that hecould talk of nothing but bull caribou,—he found plenty of practisedhunters ready to accompany him on his quest; but none of these werequite to his liking. They all knew too much. They seemed to him to beimpressed with the idea that he did not know anything about caribouhunting, and they talked about ‘getting him the finest pair of horns onthe barrens.’
“Now just what Ben wanted was to get those horns himself. He wanted todo the shooting himself, and the hunting himself; and he did _not_ wantany one around to patronize him, and deride his mistakes. Ben was off ona holiday, and he felt himself entitled to make mistakes if he wantedto.
“At length he met a harum-scarum little Irishman named Mike Slohan, whosaid he doted on hunting, but couldn’t hit anything smaller than a barndoor, and wouldn’t know—to use his own phrase—‘a spruce caribou from abull pa’tridge.’
“Ben took him to his heart at once, and without delay the pair madeready for their expedition. Inextinguishable was the mirth of all theexperienced hunters, and grievous were the mishaps they prophesied forour amateur Nimrods till at last Ben’s keen blue eyes began to flashdangerously, and they judged it prudent to check their jibes.
“Whatever Mike Slohan’s inefficiency as a hunter, he was as fearless asa grizzly, and he understood to its minutest detail the art of campingout with comfort. He armed himself only with a little muzzle-loadingshotgun, but in other respects the two went well equipped.
“When Mike declared that all was ready, he and Ben embarked in a canoethey had hired in the settlement, and started gayly up the river.
“After ascending the main stream some fifty or sixty miles, they turnedinto a small tributary which flows into the Codroy from the northward.This stream ran between precipitous banks, often more than a hundredfeet in height. Its deep and gloomy ravine was chiselled through a vasttable-land without landmark or limit, scourged by every wind that blows.
“This inexpressibly bleak region Mike declared to be ‘the barrens,’where they would find the caribou. Into its depths they penetrated tilltheir way was barred by fierce rapids, at the foot of which they madetheir camp in a warm and windless cove.
“It was well on in the autumn, a season when the bull caribou are verypugnacious, whence it came that Ben Christie had not long to wait beforefinding himself face to face with the object of his desire.
“The first day’s hunting, however, was fruitless. Leaving the camp aftera by no means early or hasty breakfast, Ben and Mike climbed the greatwall of the ravine; and no sooner were they fairly out upon the levelwaste than they descried three caribou feeding about half a mile away.This to Ben seemed quite a matter of course; nevertheless, he wasexhilarated at the sight, and set out in hot pursuit, followed by thelaughing Mike. They made no secret of their approach, but advanced inplain view, as if they were driving cattle in a pasture. And thecaribou, being in a pleasant humor and willing to avoid disturbance,discreetly withdrew.
“After pursuing them for three or four miles, Ben gave up the chase,much disappointed to find the animals so wild.
“When the hunters started to return to the river, they were astonishedto find no sign of a river, or the course of one, anywhere in thelandscape. Mike at once concluded that they were lost, but Ben was nottroubled. He had the sun to steer by, and was amply satisfied.
“Indeed, he felt much at home on the barrens, where, as he said, ‘therewas plenty of sea-room, and a chap could breathe free.’ He shaped hiscourse confidently for the camp, and ‘fetched’ the river as unerringlyas if it had been a port on the South Shore.
“The barrens, which cover so large a portion of the interior ofNewfoundland, vary somewhat in character in different parts of theisland.
“Where Ben and Mike were investigating them, they were covered with widepatches of a sturdy, stunted shrub called, locally, ‘skronnick.’
“This skronnick played a most important part in the experiences whichpresently befell the hunters. It grows about shoulder-high at itshighest, and spreads out like a miniature banyan-tree. Its twisted stemsare bare to a height of from two to three feet, and its top so denselymatted as almost to shut out the light. The shrub is an evergreen, aremote cousin to the juniper, and its stems are wide enough apart forone to freely crawl about between them. When one is caught in a storm onthe barrens, the skronnick patches make no mean shelter.
“Scattered thinly amid the skronnick stood bald, white-granite bowldersfrom two or three to ten or twelve feet high; and here and there laydeep pools,—cup-shaped hollows—filled to the brim with transparent, icywater.
“‘Arrah,’ said Mike, as they climbed down the ravine to the camp, ‘butit’s a quare counthry!’
“To Ben, however, all dry land was queer. So he hardly comprehendedMike’s remark.
“On the following day before they set out for the hunt a council of warwas held. Said Ben,—
“‘You see, the critters won’t let us git nigh enough to fire at ’emafore they clear out; an’ _then_ where are we?’
“‘Sure, an’ we’ll hide in the skronnick,’ replied Mike, ‘an’ shoot thimas they go by.’
“‘An’ maybe they won’t _go_ by just to oblige us,’ suggested Ben. ‘Ireckon we’ll hev to git d
own, so’s they can’t see us, an’ crawl up on’em!”
“These tactics decided upon, the hunters mounted to the plain,enthusiastic and sanguine. Eagerly they scanned the bleak reaches. Not acaribou was there in sight. Ben’s face fell, and he heaved a mighty sighof disappointment. But Mike was not so easily cast down.
“‘Come on,’ said he cheerily, ‘an’ we’ll find the bastes ’fore ye knowwhere ye are.’
“With their guns over their shoulders, they picked their way through theskronnick for a couple of hundred yards, till suddenly, out from behinda bowlder, not twenty paces in front of them, stepped a huge bullcaribou.
“The caribou was solitary, and in a very bad humor. He shook hisspreading antlers and snorted ominously.
“‘You shoot! He’s yourn!’ shouted Mike in wild excitement, brandishinghis gun at full cock over his head.
“Proudly Ben raised his long weapon to his shoulder and pulled thetrigger. There was no marked result, however, as he had forgotten tocock the gun. Just as he hastily remedied this oversight, the cariboucharged madly. Ben fired—and missed!
“‘He’ll kill ye! Dodge him in the skronnick,’ yelled Mike.
“And obediently Ben dived into the nearest patch.
“Acting upon a natural instinct, he scurried from side to side to throwhis pursuer off the track.
“The caribou sprang furiously upon the bushes where Ben had disappeared,and trampled them with his knife-like front hoofs. Then he turned onMike, who had been anxiously waiting for him to keep still and give hima fair shot.
“In desperation Mike fired, just grazing the animal’s flank, and then hedarted, like a rabbit, under the skronnick bushes.
“When those deadly forehoofs came down on the place where he hadvanished, the little Irishman was not there. Nimbly and noiselessly heput all the distance he could between himself and the spot where heheard his enemy tearing at the skronnick.
“Finding himself unpursued, Ben made haste to reload his gun.
“At the sound of Mike’s shot he thrust his head out of his hiding-placein time to see his comrade go under cover. Very deliberately Ben rammedthe bullet home and put on the cap. Then, standing up to his fullheight, and taking aim at the caribou’s hind-quarters, which weretowards him, he shouted, ‘Load up, Mike!’ and fired again.
“Unfortunately for the accuracy of Ben’s aim, the caribou had wheeledsharp round at the sound of his voice, and charged without an instant’sdelay; so again the shot went wide. And again, with alacrity that didcredit to his bulk, Ben scuttled under the skronnick.
“But this time the indignant bull, furious at being thus outwitted,bounded into the bush, and began thrusting about at random with hornsand hoofs.
“More than once Ben narrowly escaped those terrible weapons, and histrepidation began to be mingled with fierce wrath at the idea of being‘hustled ’round’ this way by a ‘critter.’
“He could get no chance to load up again, and he was on the point ofstepping forth and attacking the animal with the butt of his gun. Hefelt as if he was battened under hatches in a sinking ship.
“Before he could put his purpose into effect, however, there was anothershot from Mike. It evidently struck the animal somewhere, for hebellowed with rage as he bounded over the thickets to join battle withhis other assailant.
“The Irishman had not waited to mark the result of his shot, but hadplunged instantly out of sight, and betaken himself to a position wellremoved.
“The angry bull had no idea of his whereabouts, but thrashed aroundwildly, while the little Irishman chuckled in his sleeve.
“As soon as Ben once more got his gun loaded, he stuck his head upthrough the skronnick. He observed that in his wanderings beneath thescrub he had worked his way very nearly to the big granite bowlderbefore mentioned.
“He did not fire, for he was resolved not to waste his shot this time.Just as he made up his mind to try a rush for the bowlder, from the topof which he would be master of the situation, the caribou looked up, andcaught sight of him again.
“The animal’s charge was so lightning-like in its rapidity that Bencould do nothing but dive once more beneath the kindly skronnick.
“As fast as he could, he worked his way toward the bowlder, but in hishaste the movement of the bushes betrayed him. One of the razor-edgedhoofs came down within a foot or two of his face, and he shrank backswiftly, making himself very small.
“His changed course brought him to the very brink of one of the deeppools already spoken of, and he almost fell into it. In turning asidefrom that obstacle, the shaking of the bushes again gave the bull a hintof his position. With a cough and a bellow the animal leaped to thespot, just missed Ben’s retiring feet, and plunged headlong into thepool.
“This seemed to Ben just his opportunity for gaining the rock. He sprangup and made a dash for it. But before he reached its foot,—and a glancetold him that it was not to be scaled on that side,—the caribou hadpicked himself nimbly out of the water and was after him, his fury by nomeans dampened by the ducking.
“Grinding his teeth, Ben darted yet again beneath the scrub, but thistime it was the closest shave he had had. The skronnick was thinnerhere, and he would hardly have succeeded in evading his antagonist formore than a minute, had not Mike come to the rescue. The Irishman roseup with a wild yell, discharged his gun right in the caribou’s face,missed with his customary facility, and dropped again into theskronnick.
“The foaming animal dashed away to hunt him; and Ben, creepingstealthily around the bowlder, found its accessible side, and scrambledto the summit as the caribou came bounding to its base.
“If the bowlder had been a very few feet lower, the adventure might havehad a very different issue. But as it was, the height proved sufficient.Ben surveyed those spear-sharp prongs from his point of vantage, justthree feet beyond reach of their vicious thrusts, and thought proudlyhow fine they would look mounted in the cabin of the Garnet.
“He was in no great hurry to end the performance, and he did not like tofire while the caribou was so close to the muzzle of the gun. Butpresently the animal paused and looked around for Mike.
“He turned, in fact, as if to go and hunt the little Irishman again, andBen’s heart smote him for having even for a moment forgotten the perilin which his comrade yet remained. He took careful aim at a point closebehind the caribou’s shoulder. At the report the animal sprang straightinto the air, and fell back stone dead.
“Very triumphant, quite pardonably so, in fact, were Ben and Mike asthey returned to the Codroy settlement with their spoils. Theydiscreetly refrained from detailing at Codroy all the particulars of thehunt. But if the tourist, exploring the coasts of Newfoundland in thesteamer Garnet, chances to remark upon the immense pair of caribouantlers which hang over the cabin door, he will hear the whole storyfrom Ben Christie, who is endowed with an excellent sense of humor.”
When Ranolf ended he received unusual applause. Then I stepped, so tospeak, into the breach. “I cannot hope,” said I, “to win the ears ofthis worshipful company with any such gentle humor as Ranolf has justachieved. But I have a good rousing adventure to tell you, with lots ofblood though little thunder. The scene of it is not far fromNewfoundland. Let this fact speak in its favor!”
“Fire away, Old Man!” said Queerman.
“I take for my narrative the simple title of—
‘LABRADOR WOLVES.’
said I.
“In early June, two years ago, my friend, Jack Rollings, of the CanadaGeological Survey, was occupied in exploring parts of the Labradorcoast, from the mouth of the Moisic River eastward. The followingadventure, one of several that befell him in that wild region, has apeculiar interest from its possible connection with a throng of terriblelegends, the scenes of which are laid along those shores.
“Ever since the Gulf of St. Lawrence became known to the fishing-fleetsof Brittany and the Basque Provinces, its north-eastern coast has beenpeopled, by the vivid imagin
ations of the fishermen and sailors, withsupernatural beings of various fashions, all agreeing, however, in theattributes of malignity and noisiness. Demons and griffins and monstersindescribable were supposed to haunt the bleak hills and dreadfulravines. Ships driven reluctantly inshore by stress of weather were wontto carry away strange tales of howlings and visions to freeze the marrowof the folks at home.
“The probable origin of those myths may be found in the fact that fromtime to time the coast has been ravaged by hordes of gigantic graywolves, sweeping down from the unfathomed wilderness of the highinterior plateau. One of these visitations was in 1873, when many of thecoast dwellers, whose scanty settlements cling here and there in thelonely harbors, were torn to pieces on the shore, or shut up in theircabins till starvation stared them in the face. No great stretch offancy is required to metamorphose a pack of ravening wolves into ayelling concourse of demons.
“What befell Jack Rollings I will tell in his own words.”
“Our schooner,” said Jack, “lay at anchor in a little landlocked baywhere never a wind could get at her, and much of our exploration wasdone by means of short boat trips in one direction or the other. Onemorning Frank Jones and I made up our minds to take a day off, and tryand kill a salmon or two.
“About five miles west of where we lay, there was a cove where, behind alow, rocky point, a little river came down out of the mountains. Half amile above the head of tide the stream fell noisily over a shallow fallinto a most enticing pool, and we calculated that we would be just ingood time for the first run of the salmon.
“There was a stretch of shoals off the mouth of the stream, and nosheltered anchorage near; so we took the small boat for the trip, and afresh breeze off the gulf blew us to our destination speedily. It washigh tide when we arrived; and we hauled up the boat in the cove, undershelter of the point.
“Besides our rods, we had enough grub for a good lunch, and ourtop-coats in case it should blow up cold in the afternoon. Frank hadbrought his gun along, with a few cartridges loaded with number one andnumber two shot, in case he might want to shoot some big bird for hiscollection, which is already one of the best private collections inOttawa.
“When we had put our rods together, we moved up along the wet edges ofthe beach, which glistened in the morning sun, and presently foundourselves at the basin where we expected our sport. Over the low,foaming barrier of the falls we saw a salmon make way in a flashingleap, and we knew we had struck both the right place and the right time.
“I need not tell you the particulars of the sport. You know what aLabrador salmon stream is when you happen to take it in a good humor.Enough to say, when we began to think of lunch it was about two o’clock;and we had six fish, ranging from ten to thirty-five pounds, lying insplendid array beneath a neighboring rock. As much of our spoils as wecould carry at once we took down to the spot where the boat lay; andbuilding a little fire of driftwood, we proceeded to fry some salmoncollops for lunch.
“While enjoying our after-dinner smoke we observed that the wind hadshifted a point or two to the east, and was blowing up half a gale.
“‘Great Scott!’ exclaimed Frank. ‘If we don’t get away from here rightoff, we’re going to be storm-stayed! This wind will raise a seapresently that we won’t be able to face. Let’s leave right off! I’lldrag the boat down to the water, while you go after the rest of thosefish.’
“‘No, no!’ said I. ‘We’ll just stay where we are for the present. Don’tyou see that the waves are already breaking into the cove too heavy forus? If you were round on the other side of the point now, you’d see whatthe water is, and you’d be glad enough you’re out of it, I can tell you!We’re all right here, and we may as well fish till toward sundown; andif the wind has not eased off by that time, we’ll just have to snug theboat up here, and foot it over the hills to the schooner. It’s not morethan five or six miles anyway.’
“Frank strolled across the point for a look at the sea, and came back inagreement with my views. Then we returned to the pool, and whipped itassiduously till after five o’clock, but without a repetition of themorning’s success.
“Meanwhile the wind got fiercer and fiercer, so we went back to the boatand made a hearty supper as preparation for the rough tramp that laybefore us. We took our time, and smoked at leisure, and cached ourprizes, and resolved not to start till moonrise. By this time the tidewas well out, and the cove had become an expanse of shingly flats,threaded by the shallow current of the stream, and fringed along itsseaward edge with a line of angry surf.
“By and by the moon got up out of the gulf, round and white, andbringing with her an extra blow. As the shore brightened up clearly, weset out, moving along the crest of the point. Frank was just saying,‘How spectral those scarred gray hills look in this light! How suitablea place for the hobgoblins those old Frenchmen imagined to possessthem!’ 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, oldfellow, and are trying to work on your nerves! They want revenge for thestuffed companions of their bygone days.’
“‘That’s not loons!’ said Frank very seriously. ‘It’s no more like loonsthan it’s like lions! Listen to that!’
“I listened, and was convinced.
“‘Then it must be those old Frenchmen’s friends,’ I suggested; ‘and Ifeel greatly inclined to avoid meeting them if possible.’
“‘It’s the wolves from the interior,’ rejoined Frank. ‘I’d rather havethe griffins and goblins. Don’t you remember ’78? I’m afraid we’re in abox.’
“‘Let us get down to windward of the point, and lie low among therocks,’ I suggested. ‘As likely as not the brutes won’t detect us, andwill keep along up the shore.’
“Instantly we dropped into concealment, keeping, through the aperturesof the crest, a fearful eye upon the mountain slopes. We were fools, tobe sure; for we might have known those keen eyes had spotted us from thefirst, silhouetted as we had been against the moonlit sea.
“Presently Frank suggested the boat, but my sufficient answer was topoint to the raging surf. So we lay still, and prayed to be ignored. Ina few minutes our suspense was painfully relieved by the appearance of apack 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 indesperation.
“‘I have it!’ exclaimed Frank. ‘The boat! We’ll get under it, and holdit down!’
“Leaping to our feet we broke wildly for the boat. The wolves greeted uswith an exultant howl as they dashed through the shallow river.
“We had just time to do it comfortably. The boat was heavy, and weturned it over in such a way that the bow was steadied between tworocks. Once safely underneath, we lifted the craft a little and jammedher between the rocks so that the brutes would be unable to root herover.
“One side was raised about eight or ten inches by a piece of rock whichFrank was going to remove; but I stopped him. By this time the bruteswere on top of the boat, and we could hear by the snarling that they hadunearthed our salmon. Just then a row of long snouts and snapping jawscame under the gunwale, and we shrank as small as possible. The brutesshoved and struggled so mightily that it seemed as if they must succeedin overturning the boat, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead.
“‘Shoot,’ I yelled frantically; and at the same instant my ears werealmost burst by the discharge of both Frank’s barrels. A terrificyelping and howling ensued, while our crowded quarters were filled tosuffocation with the smoke.
“When the air cleared somewhat we could see that the wolves were eatingthe two whose heads Frank’s shot had shattered.
Our position was verycramped and uncomfortable, half-sitting, half-lying, between thethwarts; but by stretching flat we could peer beneath the gunwale, andcommand 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’tfire that gun again in here. It nearly blew my ear-drums in. Club thebrutes over the snout. All that’s necessary is to disable them, and itseems their kind companions will do the rest.’
“‘All right,’ responded Frank; ‘only you must do your share!’ and hepassed me up the hatchet out of the ‘cuddy-hole’ in the bow.
“By this time the slaughtered wolves were reduced to hair and bones, andthe pack once more turned their attention to us. Once more the ominousrow of heads appeared, squeezed under the boat-side, and claws toremadly 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 issqueezed 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 dismayinstead, as I felt a pair of iron jaws grab me by the foot, and tearaway the sole of my boot. In the excitement of the contest my foot hadgone too near the gunwale.
“The wolves were now growing too wary to thrust their heads under thegunwale. For a time they merely sniffed along the edge; and though wemight easily have smashed their toes or the ends of their noses, werefrained in order to gain opportunity for something more effective.
“We must have waited thus for as much as ten minutes, and the inactionwas becoming intolerable, when the brutes, thinking perhaps we were deador gone to sleep, made a sudden concerted effort to reach us. There musthave been a dozen heads at once thrust in beneath the gunwale. Onepreternaturally lean wolf even wriggled his shoulders fairly through, sothat he was within an ace of taking a mouthful out of my leg before Icould 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 toconsider.
“They could not possibly have been still hungry, having eaten two orthree wolves and a hundred pounds or so of nice fresh salmon, and wewere in hopes they would go away.
“But instead of that they came back to the boat, and set up a tremendoushowling, which may have been a call for re-enforcements, or a challengeto 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 youcan. I’ll protect my ear-drums by stuffing my ears full of rags. Try andmake every shot tell.’
“As the wolves were not more than eight or ten feet away, the heavybird-shot had the same effect as a bullet. Two of the brutes were cleanbowled over. Then the others sprang furiously upon the boat. When Frankthrust forth the muzzle of the gun, it was seized and all but wrenchedfrom his grasp. He bagged two more; then the rest moved round to theother side of the boat.
“But very soon the survivors appeared to make up their minds to a newdeparture; and after a little running hither and thither with theirnoses down, they suddenly crystallized, as it were, into a well-orderedpack, and swept away up the shore. Their strange, terrible, wind-likeululations were soon re-echoing in the mountains.
“We came forth from our uncomfortable but effectual retreat, and countedour victims. When the last sound of the howling had long died away, weset forth in the direction of the schooner, which was _not_ thedirection in which the wolves were journeying.’