Eben Holden: A Tale of the North Country

by Irving Bacheller

  Chapter 16

  I remember how hopefully we started that morning with Elizabeth Browerand Hope waving their handkerchiefs on the porch and David near themwhittling. They had told us what to do and what not to do over and overagain. I sat with Gerald on blankets that were spread over a thick matof hay. The morning air was sweet with the odour of new hay and themusic of the bobolink. Uncle Eb and Tip Taylor sang merrily as we rodeover the hills.

  When we entered the shade of the big forest Uncle Eb got out his rifleand loaded it. He sat a long time whispering and looking eagerly forgame to right and left. He was still a boy. One could see evidences ofage only in his white hair and beard and wrinkled brow. He retainedthe little tufts in front of his ears, and lately had grown a silvercrescent of thin and silky hair that circled his throat under a barechin. Young as I was I had no keener relish for a holiday than he. Atnoon we halted beside a brook and unhitched our horses. Then we caughtsome fish, built a fire and cooked them, and brewed our tea. At sunsetwe halted at Tuley Pond, looking along its reedy margin, under purpletamaracks, for deer. There was a great silence, here in the deep ofthe woods, and Tip Taylor's axe, while he peeled the bark for our camp,seemed to fill the wilderness with echoes. It was after dark when theshanty was covered and we lay on its fragrant mow of balsam and hemlock.The great logs that we had rolled in front of our shanty were set afireand shortly supper was cooking.

  Gerald had stood the journey well. Uncle Eb and he stayed in while Tipand I got our jack ready and went off in quest of a dugout He said BillEllsworth had one hid in a thicket on the south side of Tuley. We foundit after an hour's tramp near by. It needed a little repairing but wesoon made it water worthy, and then took our seats, he in the stern,with the paddle, and I in the bow with the gun. Slowly and silently weclove a way through the star-sown shadows. It was like the hushed andmystic movement of a dream. We seemed to be above the deep of heaven,the stars below us. The shadow of the forest in the still water lookedlike the wall of some mighty castle with towers and battlements andmyriads of windows lighted for a fete. Once the groan of a nighthawkfell out of the upper air with a sound like that of a stone striking inwater. I thought little of the deer Tip was after. His only aim in lifewas the one he got with a gun barrel. I had forgotten all but the beautyof the scene. Suddenly Tip roused me by laying his hand to the gunwaleand gently shaking the dugout. In the dark distance, ahead of us, Icould hear the faint tinkle of dripping water. Then I knew a deer wasfeeding not far away and that the water was falling from his muzzle.When I opened my jack we were close upon him. His eyes gleamed. I shothigh above the deer that went splashing ashore before I had pulled mytrigger. After the roar of the gun had got away, in the distant timber,Tip mentioned a place abhorred of all men, turned and paddled for thelanding.

  'Could 'a killed 'im with a club,' said he snickering. 'Guess he must alooked putty tall didn't he?'

  'Why?' I asked.

  'Cos ye aimed into the sky,' said he. 'Mebbe ye thought he was a bird.'

  'My hand trembled a little,' said I.

  ''Minds me of Bill Barber,' he said in a half-whisper, as he worked hispaddle, chuckling with amusement.

  'How's that?' I asked.

  'Nothin' safe but the thing he shoots at,' said he. 'Terrible bad shot.Kills a cow every time he goes huntin'.'

  Uncle Eb was stirring the fire when we came whispering into camp, andGerald lay asleep under the blankets.

  'Willie couldn't hit the broadside of a bam,' said Tip. 'He don't taketo it nat'ral.'

  'Killin' an' book learnin' don't often go together,' said Uncle Eb.

  I turned in by the side of Gerald and Uncle Eb went off with Tip foranother trip in the dugout. The night was chilly but the fire floodedour shanty with its warm glow. What with the light, and the boughs underus, and the strangeness of the black forest we got little sleep. I heardthe gun roar late in the night, and when I woke again Uncle Eb and TipTaylor were standing over the fire in the chilly grey of the morning.A dead deer hung on the limb of a tree near by. They began dressing itwhile Gerald and I went to the spring for water, peeled potatoes, andgot the pots boiling. After a hearty breakfast we packed up, and weresoon on the road again, reaching Blueberry Lake before noon. There wehired a boat of the lonely keeper of the reservoir, found an abandonedcamp with an excellent bark shanty and made ourselves at home.

  That evening in camp was one to be remembered. An Thomas, the guide whotended the reservoir, came over and sat beside our fire until bedtime.He had spent years in the wilderness going out for nothing lessimportant than an annual spree at circus time. He eyed us over, each inturn, as if he thought us all very rare and interesting.

  'Many bears here?' Uncle Eb enquired.

  'More plenty 'n human bein's,' he answered, puffing lazily at his pipewith a dead calm in his voice and manner that I have never seen equalledexcept in a tropic sea.

  'See 'em often?' I asked.

  He emptied his pipe, striking it on his palm until the bowl rang,without answering. Then he blew into the stem with great violence.

  'Three or four 'n a summer, mebbe,' he said at length.

  'Ever git sassy?' Uncle Eb asked.

  He whipped a coal out of the ashes then and lifted it in his fingers tothe bowl of his pipe.

  'Never real sassy,' he said between vigourous puffs. 'One stole a hamoff my pyazz las' summer; Al Fifield brought 't in fer me one day--smeltgood too! I kep' savin' uv it thinkin' I'd enjoy it all the more whenI did hev it. One day I went off cuttin' timber an' stayed 'til mos'night. Comin' home I got t' thinkin' o' thet ham, an' made up my mindI'd hev some fer supper. The more I thought uv it the faster I hurriedan' when I got hum I was hungrier'n I'd been fer a year. When I see theol' bear's tracks an' the empty peg where the ham had hung I went t'work an' got mad. Then I started after thet bear. Tracked 'im overyender, up Cat Mountin'.'

  Here Ab paused. He had a way of stopping always at the most interestingpoint to puff at his pipe. It looked as if he were getting up steam foranother sentence and these delays had the effect of 'continued in ournext'.

  'Kill 'im?' Uncle Eb asked.

  'Licked him,' he said.

  'Huh!' we remarked incredulously.

  'Licked 'im,' he repeated chucking. 'Went into his cave with a sledgestake an' whaled 'im--whaled 'im 'til he run fer his life.'

  Whether it was true or not I have never been sure, even to this day, butAb's manner was at once modest and convincing.

  'Should 'a thought he'd 'a rassled with ye,' Uncle Eb remarked.

  'Didn't give 'im time,' said Ab, as he took out his knife and beganslowly to sharpen a stick.

  'Don't never wan' t' rassle with no bear,' he added, 'but hams is tooscurce here 'n the woods t' hev 'em tuk away 'fore ye know the taste uv'em. I ain't never been hard on bears. Don't seldom ever set no trapsan' I ain't shot a bear fer mor'n 'n ten year. But they've got t' bedecent. If any bear steals my vittles he's goin' t' git cuffed bard.'

  Ab's tongue had limbered up at last. His pipe was going well and heseemed to have struck an easy grade. There was a tone of injury andaggrievement in his talk of the bear's ingratitude. He snailed over hiswhittling as we laughed heartily at the droll effect of it all.

  'D'ye ever hear o' the wild man 'at roams 'round'n these woods?' heasked.

  'Never did,' said Uncle Eb.

  'I've seen 'im more times 'n ye could shake a stick at,' said Abcrossing his legs comfortably and spitting into the fire. 'Kind o' thankhe's the same man folks tells uv down 'n Paradise Valley there--'at goes'round 'n the clearin' after bedtime.'

  'The night man!' I exclaimed.

  'Guess thet's what they call 'im,' said Ab. 'Curus man! Sometimes I'vehed a good squint at 'im off 'n the woods. He's wilder 'n a deer an'I've seen 'im jump over logs, half as high as this shanty, jest as easyas ye 'd hop a twig. Tried t' foller 'im once er twice but tain' no use.He's quicker 'n a wil' cat.'

  'What kind of a lookin' man is he?' Tip Taylor asked.

  'Great, big, broad-
shouldered feller,' said Ab. 'Six feet tall if he'san inch. Hed a kind of a deerskin jacket on when I seen 'im an' breechesan' moccasins made o' some kind o' hide. I recollec' one day I was overon the ridge two mile er more from the Stillwater goin' south. I seen'im gittin' a drink at the spring there 'n the burnt timber. An' if Iain't mistaken there was a real live panther playin' 'round 'im. If 'twa'n't a panther 'twas pesky nigh it I can tell ye. The critter see mefast an' drew up 'is back. Then the man got up quickerin' a flash. Soon'she see me--Jeemimey! didn't they move. Never see no human critter runas he did! A big tree hed fell 'cross a lot o' bush right 'n his path.I'll be gol dummed if 'twan't higher 'n my head! But he cleared it--jestas easy as a grasshopper'd go over a straw. I'd like t' know wher hecomes from, gol dummed if I wouldn't. He's the consarndest queerestanimal 'n these woods.'

  Ab emphasised this lucid view of the night man by an animated movementof his fist that held the big hunting knife with which he whittled. Thenhe emptied his pipe and began cutting more tobacco.

  'Some says 'e 's a ghost,' said Tip Taylor, splitting his sentence witha yawn, as he lay on a buffalo robe in the shanty.

  'Shucks an' shoestrings!' said Ab, 'he looks too nat'ral. Don't believeno ghost ever wore whiskers an' long hair like his'n. Thet don't hol' t'reason.'

  This remark was followed by dead silence. Tip seemed to lack bothcourage and information with which to prolong the argument.

  Gerald had long been asleep and we were all worn out with uphilltravelling and the lack of rest. Uncle Eb went out to look after thehorses that were tethered near us. Ab rose, looked up through thetree-tops, ventured a guess about the weather, and strode off into thedarkness.

  We were five days in camp, hunting, fishing, fighting files andpicking blueberries. Gerald's cough had not improved at all--it was, ifanything, a bit worse than it had been and the worry of that had cloudedour holiday. We were not in high spirits when, finally, we decided tobreak camp the next afternoon.

  The morning of our fourth day at Blueberry Uncle Eb and I crossed thelake, at daylight, to fish awhile in Soda Brook and gather orchids thenabundant and beautiful in that part of the woods. We headed for campat noon and were well away from shore when a wild yell rang in the deadtimber that choked the wide inlet behind us. I was rowing and stoppedthe oars while we both looked back at the naked trees, belly deep in thewater.

  But for the dry limbs, here and there, they would have looked like mastsof sunken ships. In a moment another wild whoop came rushing over thewater. Thinking it might be somebody in trouble we worked about andpulled for the mouth of the inlet. Suddenly I saw a boat coming in thedead timber. There were three men in it, two of whom were paddling. Theyyelled like mad men as they caught sight of us, and one of them waved abottle in the air.

  'They're Indians,' said Uncle Eb. 'Drunk as lords. Guess we'd better gitout o' the way.'

  I put about and with a hearty pull made for the other side of the lake,three miles away. The Indians came after us, their yells echoing in thefar forest. Suddenly one of them lifted his rifle, as if taking aim atus, and, bang it went the ball ricocheting across our bows.

  'Crazy drunk,' said Uncle Eb, 'an' they're in fer trouble. Pull with allyer might.'

  I did that same putting my arms so stiffly to their task I feared theoars would break.

  In a moment another ball came splintering the gunwales right between us,but fortunately, well above the water line. Being half a mile from shoreI saw we were in great peril. Uncle Eb reached for his rifle, his handtrembling.

  'Sink 'em,' I shouted, 'an' do it quick or they'll sink us.'

  My old companion took careful aim and his ball hit them right on thestarboard bow below the water line. A splash told where it had landed.They stopped yelling. The man in the bow clapped his hat against theside of the boat.

  'Guess we've gin 'em a little business t' ten' to,' said Uncle Eb as hemade haste to load his rifle.

  The Indian at the bow was lifting his rifle again. He seemed to reel ashe took aim. He was very slow about it. I kept pulling as I watched him.I saw that their boat was slowly sinking. I had a strange fear that hewould hit me in the stomach. I dodged when I saw the flash of his rifle.His ball struck the water, ten feet away from us, and threw a spray intomy face.

  Uncle Eb had lifted his rifle to shoot again. Suddenly the Indian, whohad shot at us, went overboard. In a second they were all in the water,their boat bottom up.

  'Now take yer time,' said Uncle Eb coolly, a frown upon his face.

  'They'll drown,' said I.

  'Don't care if they do, consam 'em,' he answered. 'They're some o' themSt Regis devils, an' when they git whisky in 'em they'd jes' soon killye as look at ye. They am' no better 'n rats.'

  We kept on our way and by and by a wind came up that gave us both somecomfort, for we knew it would soon blow them ashore. Ab Thomas had cometo our camp and sat with Tip and Gerald when we got there. We told ofour adventure and then Ab gave us a bad turn, and a proper appreciationof our luck, by telling us that they were a gang of cut-throats--theworst in the wilderness.

  'They'd a robbed ye sure,' he said. 'It's the same gang 'at killed a manon Cat Mountain las' summer, an' I'll bet a dollar on it.'

  Tip had everything ready for our journey home. Each day Gerald had grownpaler and thinner. As we wrapped him in a shawl and tenderly helped himinto the wagon I read his doom in his face. We saw so much of that kindof thing in our stern climate we knew what it meant. Our fun was over.We sat in silence, speeding down the long hills in the fading light ofthe afternoon. Those few solemn hours in which I heard only the wagon'srumble and the sweet calls of the whip-poor-will-waves of music on a seaof silence-started me in a way of thought which has led me high and lowthese many years and still invites me. The day was near its end when wegot to the first big clearing. From the top of a high hill we could seeabove the far forest, the red rim of the setting sun, big with windingfrom the skein of day, that was now flying off the tree-tops in thewest.

  We stopped to feed the horses and to take a bite of jerked venison,wrapped ourselves warmer, for it was now dunk and chilly, and went onagain. The road went mostly downhill, going out of the woods, and wecould make good time. It was near midnight when we drove in at our gate.There was a light in the sitting-room and Uncle Eb and I went inwith Gerald at once. Elizabeth Brower knelt at the feet of her son,unbuttoned his coat and took off his muffler. Then she put her armsabout his neck while neither spoke nor uttered any sound. Both motherand son felt and understood and were silent. The ancient law of God,that rends asunder and makes havoc of our plans, bore heavy on them inthat moment, I have no doubt, but neither murmured. Uncle Eb began topump vigorously at the cistern while David fussed with the fire. We wereall quaking inwardly but neither betrayed a sign of it. It is a way thePuritan has of suffering. His emotions are like the deep undercurrentsof the sea.