CHAPTER V. SQUATOOK RIVER AND HORTON BRANCH.
The next was a rainy day at Camp de Squatook. Of course we fished offand on all day, whenever the rain held up a little; and in a deep run,about a hundred yards below the whitefish fence, Sam had the luck toland the big trout of the trip. It weighed, fresh from the water, threepounds three ounces, and it was killed with a minnow. Sam complained,however, that it had given him no more play than one of his two-poundersof the day before. We thought him very artful, in thus concealing hiselation so as to ward off our envy.
By nightfall it was raining pitchforks. In our tight tent, with waxcandles beaming, and the rattle of the rain on the roof, we felt verysnug. But inexpressibly lonely was the washing sound in thepine-branches; and all the rest of the world seemed ages away from us.For a while no stories were called for. Instead of that we playedMississippi euchre. When we grew tired of the game, Stranion exclaimed,“Let’s have one story, and then turn in!”
“Who will hold forth?” I asked.
“Well,” said Ranolf, “since you are all so pressing, _I_ will try andrise to the occasion. It seems to be an understood thing that all thesestories are animal stories; but in this one I must wander from the rule,and tell you a story of rain and wind. The noise on the tent-roofto-night reminds me of a nice scrape which I got myself into only lastsummer. When you hear the story you will understand just why I tell itto-night. Sam, you heard all about it two days after it happened. It’sappropriate to the occasion, isn’t it? I mean about how I was—
‘WRECKED IN A BOOM-HOUSE.’”
“Highly appropriate, indeed!” said Sam.
“Well, here you have it!” continued Ranolf. “You’ll excuse me, ofcourse, if I indulge at first in a little technical description, to makethe incidents clear.
“The Crock’s Point sheer-boom started from the shore a few yards belowthe Point. It slanted out and down till it met a great pier inmid-river, to which it was secured by heavy chains. From the pier itswung free down the middle of the channel for a distance of severalhundred yards, swaying toward one shore or the other according to theset of the wings and the strength of the current. It was a sturdystructure, of squared and bolted timbers, about three feet in width, andrising some three or four inches above the water.
“The boom, of course, was jointed at the pier so as to swing as on ahinge; and at a distance of perhaps seventy yards below the pier it hada second open joint. At the head of this section stood a windlass, woundwith a light wire cable. At intervals of ten or twelve feet along theright-hand side of this section, for about one hundred and fifty feet inall, were hinged stout wings of two-inch plank, ten feet long andeighteen inches wide, set edgewise in the water so as to catch thecurrent, like a rudder or a centreboard. Through iron staples, in theouter ends of these wings, ran and was fastened the cable from thewindlass. When the cable was unwound, the wings lay flat against theside of the boom. But a few turns of the windlass sufficed to draw thewings out at an angle to the boom; whereupon the force of the current,sweeping strongly against their faces, would slowly sway the whole freelength of the boom toward the opposite shore. The section of thesheer-boom thus peculiarly adorned was called the wing-boom. Just abovethe upper end of the wing-boom, at a place widened out a few feet toreceive it, was built a little shanty known as the boom-house. To thespectator from the shore the boom-house seemed to be afloat on the wide,lonely level of the river.
“The office of the sheer-boom was to guide the run of the logs as theycame floating briskly down from the lumber regions of the upper river.As long as the wings were not in use, and the boom swung with thecurrent, the logs were allowed to continue their journey down the middleof the channel. But when the wings were set, and the boom stood overtoward the far shore, then the stream of logs was diverted into themouth of the stationary boom, whose chain of piers held them imprisonedtill they were wanted at the mill below the island. In the boom-housedwelt an old lumberman named Mat Barnes, who, though his feet and ankleswere crippled with rheumatism from exposure to the icy water in thespring stream drivings, was, nevertheless, still clever in the handlingof boat or canoe, and very competent to manage the windlass and thewing-boom.
“On the southward slope of the line of uplands which, thrusting outboldly into the river, formed Crock’s Point, stood a comfortable oldfarmhouse in whose seclusion I was spending the months of August andSeptember. About four o’clock in the afternoon, it was my daily habit tostroll down to the shore and hail Mat Barnes, who would presently paddleover in his skiff, and take me out to the boom for my afternoon swim.The boom was a most convenient and delightful place ‘to go in off of,’as the boys say.
“One rough afternoon, when the boom was all awash, and the wind sweepingup the river so keen with suggestions of autumn that I was glad to do myundressing and my dressing in the boom-house, just as I was about totake my plunge Mat asked if I would mind staying and watching the boomfor him while he paddled up to “the Corners” to buy himself some coffeeand molasses.
“Delighted,” said I; “if you’ll get back in good time, so I won’t keepsupper waiting at the farm.”
“I’ll be back inside of an hour, sure,” replied Mat confidently.
“Knowing Mat’s fondness for a little gossip at the grocery, I felt by nomeans so confident; but I could not hesitate to oblige him in thematter, a small enough return for the favors he was doing me daily.
“I stayed in the water nearly half an hour, and while I was swimmingabout I noticed that the wind was fast freshening. The steep and brokenwaves made swimming somewhat difficult, and the crests of the whitecapsthat occasionally slapped me in the face made me gasp for breath. Whiledressing I thought, with some consternation, that this vigorous windwould prove a serious hindrance to Mat Barnes’s return, as it would beblowing directly in his teeth.
“For a time I sat sulkily in the door of the boom-house, with my feet ona block to keep them out of the wet. The door opened away from the wind,and against the back of the little structure the waves were beginning tolash with sufficient violence to make me uneasy. I strained my eyesup-river to catch the first glimpse of Mat forcing his way cleverlyagainst the tossing whitecaps. But no such welcome vision rewarded me.At last I was compelled to acknowledge that the storm had become tooviolent for him to return against it without assistance. I should haveto wait in the boom-house either till the wind abated, or till Matshould succeed in finding a pair of stout arms and a willing heart tocome with him to my rescue.
“At first my thoughts dwelt with keen regret on the smoking pancakes andluscious maple-sirup that I knew were even then awaiting me at thefarmhouse under the hill, and somewhat bitterly I reviled Mat’s lack ofconsideration. But as the sky grew rapidly dark while it wanted yet ahalf-hour of sundown, and the wind came shrieking more madly down fromthe hills, and the boom-house began to creak and groan and shudderbeneath the waves that were leaping upon it, anxiety for my safety tookthe place of all other considerations.
“Frail as the boom-house appeared, it was well jointed and framed, or itwould simply have gone to pieces under the various assaults of wind andwaves, and the rolling of the boom. The floor in particular was verycarefully secured, being bolted to the boom at the four corners, that itmight not be torn away by any chance collision with log or icecake. Atevery wave, however, the water came spurting through the cracks of thewall, and I was drenched almost before I knew it. Through the open door,too, the back wash of the waves rolled heavily; and even without theincreasing peril of the situation, the prospect of having to pass thenight in such cold, inescapable slop was far from comforting.
“The door was made to fit snugly, so I shut it in the hope of keepingout some of the water; but in the almost total darkness that ensued myapprehensions became unbearable. The writhing roll of the boom grew moreand more excessive, and produced a sickening sensation. I threw the dooropen again, but was greeted with such a fierce rush of wave and spr
aythat I shut it as quickly as I could.
“I had never before been on the boom-house after dark, so I did not knowwhat Mat was accustomed to do for light. After much difficult groping,however, I found a tin box, fortunately quite waterproof, in which werematches and a good long piece of candle. When I had succeeded in gettingthe candle to burn, I stuck a fork through it, and pinned it to thedriest spot I could find, which was the edge of Mat’s bunk, away upclose to the roof. Presently a spurt of water struck the veering andsmoky flame, and again I was in darkness. Of course I lost no time inrelighting the candle; but within ten minutes it was out again. Irepeated the process, and was prepared to keep it up as long as thematches would hold out. In fact, I was thankful for that littleannoyance, as it gave me something to do, and diverted my mind somewhatfrom my own helplessness and from the imminent peril of the situation.
“There was absolutely nothing that I could do to help myself. To reachthe shore by crawling along the boom would have been quite impossible. Ishould have inevitably been swept off before going three feet beyond theshelter of the boom-house. In those choppy and formless seas and in thebewildering darkness, I should have found it impossible to swim, or evento keep my mind clear as to the direction in which the shore lay. Thougha strong swimmer, and accustomed to rough water, I knew very well thatin that chaos I should soon be exhausted, and either drowned or dashedagainst the boom. There was nothing to do but wait, and pray that theboom-house might hold together till calm or daylight.
“It was a strange picture my faint candle revealed to me within the fournarrow walls of my refuge. All the implements and accessories of Mat’ssomewhat primitive housekeeping had been shaken from their shelves orfrom the nails on which they hung, and were coasting about the floorwith a tinny clatter, as the boom twisted and lurched from side to side.Three joints of rust-eaten stovepipe kept them in countenance, and fromtime to time I had to jump nimbly aside to save my shins from beingbroken by the careering little stove. Sometimes I would be thrownheavily against the wall or the door. At last I climbed into the bunk,where I crouched, dripping and shivering, both courage and hope prettywell drenched out of me.
“Being something of a slave to routine, when I found myself in whatresembled a sleeping-place,—or might have resembled one under morefavorable circumstances.—I took out my watch to wind it. The hour washalf-past nine. From that hour till nearly midnight there was no changein the situation. Finding that the matches were running low, I occupiedmyself in protecting the light with the aid of the tin box alreadyspoken of. And at last, strange as it may seem, I found myself growingsleepy. It was partly the result of exhaustion caused by my anxiety andsuspense, but partly also, no doubt, a sort of semi-hypnoticbewilderment induced by the motion and by the monotonous clamor of thestorm.
“As I sat there crouching over the candle I must have dropped into adoze, for suddenly I felt myself hurled out of the bunk. I fell heavilyupon the floor. The boom-house was in utter darkness. I staggered to myfeet and groped for the candle; it was gone from the edge of the bunk.In my fall I had evidently swept it away.
“The motion of the boom had now greatly increased in violence, and itwas impossible for me to stand up without clinging tightly to the edgeof the bunk. In the thick dark the stove crashed against my legs soheavily that I thought for a moment one of them was broken. I drewmyself up again into the bunk, no longer feeling in the least degreesleepy.
“Presently I realized what had happened. The boom had parted at thejoint where the wings began, and my section was swinging before thewind. The waves frequently went clear over the roof, and came pouringdown the vacant pipe-hole in torrents, whose volume I could guess bytheir sound. The pitching, rolling, tossing, and the thrashing of thewaves were appalling; and I fervently blessed the sound workmanship thathad put together the little boom-house so as to stand such undreamed-ofassaults. But I knew it could not stand them much longer. Moment bymoment I expected to find myself fighting my last battle amid a crash ofmad waters and shattered timbers.
“In a little I began to realize that the boom must have parted in _two_places at least. From the unchecked violence of its movements I knew itmust have broken loose at the pier. With this knowledge came a ray ofhope. As my section was now nothing more than a long and very attenuatedraft, it might presently be blown ashore somewhere. If the boom-housewould only hold out so long I might have a fair chance of escaping; butI realized that the progress of the fragment of boom would necessarilybe slow, as wind and current were at odds together over it.
“Cooped up in that horrible darkness, and clinging on to the edge of thebunk desperately with both hands, the strain soon became so intolerablethat I began to wish the boom-house _would_ go to pieces, and put me outof my misery. None the less, however, did my heart leap into my throatwhen at length there came a massive thud, a grinding crash, and the sideof the boom-house opposite the bunk was stove in. At the same time themarvellously tough little structure was twisted half off itsfoundations, and bent over as if a giant hand had crushed it down.
“I at once concluded that we had gone ashore on the Point. I tried toget the door open that I might have some chance of saving myself; butthe twisting of the frame had fastened it immovably. Madly I wrenched atit, but that very stability of structure which had hitherto been mysafety proved now my gravest menace. I could not budge the door; and,meanwhile, I was being thrown into all sorts of positions, while theboom ground heavily against the obstacle with which it had come incontact. The boom-house was half full of water.
“A fierce indignation now seized me at the thought of being drowned thuslike a rat in a hole. Reaching down into the water my hands came incontact with the little stove. I raised it aloft, and brought it downwith all my strength against the door. The stove went to pieces,bruising and cutting my hands; but the door was shattered, and a waverushed in upon me.
“Holding my breath, I was tearing at the remnant of the door, in doubtas to whether I should get free in time to escape suffocation, when theboom gave a mightier heave, and the upper part of the boom-house crashedagainst the obstacle with a violence that tore it clear of its base. Thenext instant I was in deep water, striking out blindly.
“When I came up, providentially I rose clear of the shatteredboom-house. I could see nothing, and I was almost choked; but I kept mypresence of mind, and battled strenuously with the boiling seas, whichtossed me about like a chip. In a second or two I was dashed against apile of timbers. Half-stunned, I yet made good my hold, and instantlydrew myself higher up on the pile. As soon as I had recovered my breathsufficiently to realize anything, I perceived that I was on one of thepiers.
“The upper portion of the great structure was open, and I speedilycrawled down among the rocks with which these piers are alwaysballasted. As I crouched to escape the chill wind which hissed betweenthe logs, how I gloried in the thought that _here_ was something not tobe tossed about by wind and wave! Drenched, shivering, exhausted as Iwas, I nevertheless felt my bed of rocks in the pier-top a mostluxurious retreat. I presently fell asleep, and when I awoke the dawnwas pink and amber in the eastern sky. I saw that the pier which hadgiven me refuge was that to which the sheer-boom had been fastened. Thestorm had moderated somewhat; and forcing its way determinedly towardthe pier came Mat’s skiff, propelled by Mat himself and Jim Coxen fromthe Corners.”
“I declare,” said Stranion, “I almost feel the tent and the floor itselfrocking, so vivid is the picture Ranolf has given us!”
“Well,” remarked Magnus, “it can rock us all to sleep, and the soonerthe better!”
In a very few minutes we were snugly rolled in our blankets. ThenStranion rose on his elbow and blew out the candle,—“doused the glim,”as he was wont to say. In the thick dark we swiftly sank to sleep.
On the day after the rain, there was a wonderful exhilaration in theair. We felt like shouting and running races. The face of earth wore aclean and honest look. Queerman roamed hither and thither declaimingMiss Guiney’s fine lines:—
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“Up with the banners on the height, Set every matin-bell astir! The tree-top choirs carouse in light; The dew’s on phlox and lavender,”—
till at last we pulled his hat down over his mouth, and made him gofishing with us. He declared he didn’t want to fish that day, so we tookhim to carry our captures.
This time we cut through the woods, and struck the river about half amile below the outlet. The sparkling day had made us break bounds. Atthis point the Squatook River, after rushing in white-capped tumult downa gloomy channel, broadens fan-like out, and breaks over a low fall intoa pool of quiet waters, out of which roars a strong rapid. The pool iswide and deep, and girt with great rocks. Over the black surface fleecymasses of froth were wheeling. How our hearts leaped at the sight!Behold us waist-deep around the margin of the pool, or braced upon theedge of the fall. The surface is lashed sometimes in three or fourplaces at once by the struggles of the speckled prey against the slow,inexorable reel. Our excitement is intense, but quiet. Its onlyexpression is the reel’s determined click, or its thrilling, swiftrattle as the taut line cuts the water, and the rod bends and bends. Asmallish fish has taken Sam’s “drop,” and is being reeled, half spent,across the basin. The “leader” trails out behind. There is a shiningswirl beside it,—a strike; and stung by the check the very monarch ofthe pool flashes up, and darts like lightning down stream. But Sam’s flyis sticking in his jaw. Now, gallant fisherman, hold thine own! Weforget our own rods. More than once Sam’s reel is almost empty. Fortwenty minutes the result is doubtful. Then, reluctantly, victorydeclares herself for the lithe rod and the skilful wrist. The larger ofthese two prizes which our lucky fisherman thus brought to land justtipped the beam at two and three-quarters pounds. The other was a lighthalf-pounder.
That day after a hasty lunch we bade farewell to Camp de Squatook. Themorning’s fishing had been so good that we resolved to keep its memoryunblurred. A sudden desire seized us for “fresh fields and pasturesnew.” We struck tent, packed the canoes, and paddled out joyously fromthe landing. Through the whitefish barrier we slipped smoothly andswiftly onward down the racing current. Almost before we could realizeit we were in the wild sluice above the fall. There was a clear channelat one side, and we raced through the big ripples with a shout and acheer.
But alas for high spirits and heedlessness! Sam and Ranolf were in therear canoe. They objected to this position; and just after running theshoot and clearing the basin, they tried to pass Magnus and me. We werein the strong and twisting current, however; and the first thing ourrivals knew they were thrown upon a round-backed, weedy rock. Theircanoe turned over gracefully, and discharged her whole burden into thestream.
Instantly the surface of the pool was diversified with floating paddles,poles, tent-pins, tin kettles, box-covers, etc., and Stranion andQueerman, Magnus and I, were busy capturing these estrays in the eddybelow. The canoe was got ashore, righted, and found to be none theworse. Our heavy valuables, guns and the like, were lashed to the canoe,and hence got no worse than a wetting; but our axe and various spoonsand forks were gone from our sight forever. The oatmeal was a part ofour lading, and the tobacco as well. For this last we felt no anxiety,congratulating ourselves that it was in a waterproof tin. We did not atthe time open this tin, as there was tobacco enough for a time in theother canoes. But the meal-bag was a slop. Henceforth we were to have noporridge, only beans, beans, beans, to go with our trout and cannedknickknacks. And this meant nothing more nor less than dinner threetimes a day, instead of the old appetizing sequence of breakfast,dinner, and—dinner.
After a brief delay we continued our journey. An exciting afternoon itproved throughout, leaving us well tired at evening. Taking care topreserve a discreet distance between the canoes whenever the currentgrew threatening, we slipped on swiftly between ever-varying shores.Rounding a sharp turn we would see before us a long slope of angrywater, with huddling waves and frequent rocks; and at the foot of theslope three or four great white “ripples” foaming and roaring in thesun. Then a brief season of stern restraint, strong checkings, strenuousthrustings, sudden bold dashes, and hair’s-breadth evasions—a plunge anda cheer, and, drenched from the crest of that last “ripple,” we wouldlook back on the raging incline behind us. This sort of thing took placethree times within two hours. We passed without stopping through SecondLake, and under the majestic front of Sugar Loaf Mountain, which ismatchlessly reflected in the deep, still waters. The mountain towersfrom the water’s edge, its base in a cedar swamp, its lofty conicalsummit, which topples towards the lake as if it had received a mightypush from behind, veiled and softened with thick bushes and shrubbery.
Some time after sundown we reached the mouth of a tributary stream knownas the Horton Branch. This was a famous trout water, and we determinedto fish it thoroughly on the morrow. By the time we had the tentpitched, a few trout caught in the gathering dusk, and a mighty dinnercooked and eaten, our eyes were filled with sleep. We cared not forstories that night, but smoked brief pipes and then turned in.
In the morning after an early breakfast we poled up to the Big Jam, adistance of nearly six miles. The Big Jam is a sort of dam, formed oflogs and tree-trunks and a long accumulation of _débris_. Just beneathit lies one of the finest trout pools I have ever fished—which is sayingnot a little. The poling up Horton Branch was delightful,—a stiffishcurrent, but few rocks.
Arrived at the pool we made great haste to put our rods together, sotempting were the eddies. Never, surely, shall I forget that morning’sfishing. All the flies in our books seemed equally killing. Those BigJam trout were insatiable. We soon grew hard to please, and made it arule to return at once to its native element every fish that did notapproach three-quarters of a pound. This had the proper effect oflimiting our take to something near what we could at once consume. A fewfine fish we packed in salt, in a sort of basket of birch-bark whichStranion ingeniously constructed. Toward noon the fish stopped rising.Then we lunched, and took a long siesta. In the afternoon the sport wasbrisk, but not equal to that of the morning. No doubt if we had stayedtill sundown the morning’s experience would have been amply repeated;but we were not so greedy as to desire that. We left in high spirits atabout five o’clock, and slipped merrily down to our camp on the mainSquatook.