Abbott Jacob
Forests of Maine
CHAPTER XI.
THE SHINGLE WEAVER'S
The travellers walked on with fresh strength and courage, now that they thought they were in the right road. The road was, however, monotonous, being, for most of the way, through a dense forest; and it was so very similar to the road by which they had come the day before that they were convinced they were now right.
They went on, without any special adventure, for nearly two hours, when they arrived at what had the appearance of being an old wood road, which branched off at right angles to the one in which they were travelling. The trees were somewhat more open here. This admitted the sun; and there were several raspberry bushes growing at the entrance of the wood road, with ripe raspberries hanging upon them, for the season of raspberries had now arrived.
Marco seized this fruit with great avidity. Forester followed his example, and began gathering the berries. The bushes were, however, not entirely dry, and they had to advance cautiously among them. In fact, they found it better to keep along the wood road, gathering the berries as they advanced. It was not a road, strictly speaking, for there were no marks of wheels upon it, or tracks of any sort, made by travelling. It was only a space for a road, made by cutting away the trees and bushes.
Along this opening, Forester and Marco slowly advanced, eating the raspberries which grew by the side of the way. After going on for a few rods in this manner, Marco suddenly exclaimed,
"Why, here is another camp!"
Forester looked up and saw, just before them, the remains of a sort of hut, somewhat similar to those which they had seen the evening before. There was a large heap of chips and shavings about it.
"What can this be?" asked Marco.
"I presume," said Forester, "that it is an old shingle weaver's establishment."
"What is a shingle weaver?" asked Marco.
"A man who makes shingles," replied Forester, "such as they use for covering houses. They make them of clear straight-grained pine, which will split easily and true."
So saying, Forester advanced towards the hut, and took up one of the pieces of pine, which had been split out for a shingle. There were several of such pieces lying about among the chips and shavings. It was somewhat browned by exposure to the weather, but it had a very smooth and glossy appearance, shining with a sort of silken lustre.
"This is a beautiful piece of pine," said Forester.
"Let us carry some of it home," rejoined Marco.
"What good would it do us?" asked Forester.
"Why, we might make something of it," said Marco. "Perhaps I could make a little box."
"And that would serve as a souvenir of this expedition," added Forester.
"A souvenir?" said Marco,—"what is that?"
"Why, something to remember it by," replied Forester. "Hereafter, whenever you should see the box, you would be reminded of our wanderings and perils in this wilderness."
"Well," said Marco, "let us take it."
The farther conversation of our adventurers was interrupted by a sound, like that of wagon wheels, coming along the main road, which they had just left.
"There comes some traveller," exclaimed Forester. "Let us go and enquire about our way."
"Hark!" said Marco.
At this instant, the sound of the wheels suddenly stopped, and Marco and Forester heard the voice of a man calling out earnestly to his horse, "Whoa! whoa!" as if something had happened. Marco and Forester hastened to the spot, where they found that the horse had fallen down, and the man was trying in vain to get him up. The harness was drawn so tight about the horse's limbs, by the constrained position in which he was lying, that he could not get up, and the man could not extricate him. The man had gone behind, and had drawn the wagon back, so as to loosen the pressure of the harness upon the horse, but, until Forester and Marco came, there was no one to unbuckle the straps when they were thus loosened; and, if the man let go of the wagon, to go and unbuckle the harness, it was drawn back again at once by the tension of the straps, and made as tight as before.
He was, therefore, very glad to see Forester and Marco coming. He asked them to come and help him.
Forester and Marco were immediately going to attempt to unbuckle the harness, but the man told them that there was danger of their getting kicked by the horse, in case he should suddenly begin to struggle.
"Come here," said the man, "and hold the wagon back and I will loosen the harness."
By means of this plan of operations, the horse was soon liberated from his confinement, and he got up. The man seemed very thankful to Forester and Marco, and he asked them where they were going.
"We are going to No. 3," said Forester. "Is this the right way?"
The townships in a new country are numbered at first, not named. The place to which Marco and Forester were going had yet very few inhabitants, and it had no name but No. 3.
"Yes," replied the man, "this is the right road. I wish I was going that way, I would take you along in my wagon."
This answer puzzled Marco a little, on two accounts. First, the man was going the same way with them, but then Marco thought that, perhaps, he was going to turn off, pretty soon, into some other road. Then, secondly, he did not see how the man could possibly carry him and Forester, in any event, as the wagon seemed completely filled with bags, and kegs, and firkins, leaving scarcely room for the man himself to sit.
Forester told the man that they could walk very well; but he said that they were hungry, and if the man had anything to eat, in his wagon, they should be glad to buy something of him.
"Yes," replied the man, "I've a loaf of bread that I can spare, and a jug of milk."
"That will be just the thing," said Marco.
At first, the man was not willing to receive anything for the bread and milk, but as Forester insisted upon it, he consented to take a little pay. He then told Forester that he had some honey in his wagon, and a few apples, and Forester bought a supply of these. At first, they thought they should not have anything to put the honey in, but Marco ran to the shingle weaver's hut, and got one of the thin pieces which had been split out for shingles, and it made a very good plate. Forester bought a pound of the honey, and half a dozen apples.
They then bade the man good-by, and he resumed his journey. Forester and Marco went back to the hut, where they had a most excellent dinner. They built a fire, and roasted the apples and toasted the bread. They cut it into slices with Marco's knife. They made wooden spoons for the honey out of pieces of pine, which answered very well indeed. Marco said it was the very best dinner he ever ate in his life.
After dinner, they returned to the main road, and resumed their walk. Forester said he wished he had asked the man how far it was to No. 3, but he thought it could not be very far, as they had been travelling nearly three hours, and it was only about ten miles in the morning.
As he was saying this, they were just ascending a hill, and when they reached the top of it, they had a prospect of the road for a considerable distance before them. Marco thought he saw something coming, and he asked Forester what it was.
"I think it is only a stump, or something like that," said Forester.
"No, it moves," said Marco.
"It is another wagon," said Forester, "I really believe. Now we can find out how far it is to No. 3."
It was very soon quite evident that it was a wagon, and that it was coming on apace. As it drew nearer, it appeared that there was a boy in it.
"He is just about as big as Isaiah," said Marco.
"Yes," said Forester. "And the horse looks very much like the horse Isaiah had."
"I verily believe it is Isaiah," said Marco.
This supposition was confirmed as the wagon drew near. The boy was Isaiah, but he stared at Marco and Forester with a look of perplexity and wonder, as if he was very much surprised to see them.
"Isaiah!" said Marco, accosting him, as soon as Isaiah drew up the reins and stopped the horse opposite to them.
"What are you coming back for?" asked Isaiah.
"Coming back!" repeated Forester, not knowing exactly what Isaiah meant.
"Yes," said Isaiah. "I thought you were going to stay at No. 3, and I was going to carry your trunk there."
It immediately flashed upon Forester's mind that they had got turned about in their wanderings, and, instead of going on towards No. 3, as they supposed, they were in reality, though in the right road, going the wrong way in it.
Forester had a hearty laugh at this discovery, in which Marco joined, as soon as he fairly understood the case. At first, he was very much perplexed. He could not believe that they could have got their ideas of direction so completely reversed.
"Besides," said he, "that man told us that we were in the right way."
"Yes," said Forester, "but he did not tell us that we were going right in it."
"I suppose he did not know which way we were going," said Marco.
The question then arose, what was to be done. Forester proposed that they should get into the wagon and let Isaiah drive them to No. 3, but Marco said that he was commander, and he was not going to try to get to No. 3 any more. He had been travelling back and forth through those woods long enough, and he declared that he would not vote to go through them again, if he had to go round the world to get to the other side of them.
Forester laughed and submitted to the decision; so they all returned to Isaiah's father's.
The next morning they formed a different plan for pursuing their journey. They wanted to get to the Quebec road now, as soon as possible, and they found, by enquiry, that, by taking a boat upon a large pond or lake, a few miles distant, they could go about twenty miles by water, through a chain of ponds, which led in the direction in which they wished to go.
So Forester hired a man to go with them and bring back the boat. They went, in a wagon, to a place very near the landing, at the pond. The landing was in a small cove, surrounded by forests. The cove opened out into the pond by two points of land, rocky and precipitous, and crowned with evergreen trees. The water was smooth, and the whole scene highly picturesque. When Marco came in sight of it, he was much pleased with the prospect of a voyage on such a sheet of water.
There was considerable water in the boat when the party arrived on the beach, and Forester undertook to bail it out. The man who was going with them went and cut a bush, with a thick top, to use as a sail, in case there should be a fair wind. While he was bringing the bush, and Forester was bailing out the boat, Marco stood upon the beach, looking at the paddles.
"Does she leak, cousin Forester?" asked Marco.
"No," said Forester, "I presume not. This water all comes from the rain."
"I'm glad to hear that," said Marco, "for I don't want to go to sea in a leaky ship."
There was a great basket of provisions on the beach, by the side of Marco, while these preparations were making, for they were resolved not to expose themselves, a second time, to the danger of famine. When all was ready, the bush, the basket and the paddles were put on board, and our adventurers, after gliding smoothly through the water to the outlet of the cove, doubled one of the rocky points of land, and pushed boldly out upon the waters of the pond.
CHAPTER XII.
A VOYAGE ON THE POND
As the boat moved on, propelled by the paddles, which Forester and the man who accompanied them were plying, Marco sat upon a thwart, and gazed upon the picturesque and romantic scene around him. The shores of the lake, or pond, formed many beautiful points and promontories, with deep bays between them. There were a great many islands too, scattered over its surface. Marco wanted to land upon some of these, but Forester thought that they had better make the best of their way towards their destined port.
Marco contented himself, therefore, with gazing on the changing scenery, as they passed, in succession, one island and promontory after another. The whole country was covered with forests, except that here and there was an opening, with the house and barn of a settler in the middle of it. Smokes were rising, too, in various directions, where new clearings were in progress. There was one in particular, on the side of a distant hill, which rose in such dense white volumes as especially to attract Marco's attention.
When Marco had admired these objects long enough, he leaned a little over the side of the boat, and began to look down into the water. The water was not deep, and the bottom was smooth and sandy. They glided rapidly along over these sands. Marco's leaning caused the boat to incline a little to one side; but Forester, instead of asking him not to lean over so, just moved himself a little in the contrary direction, and thus restored the equilibrium.
"There, Forester," said Marco, suddenly raising himself, "I forgot one thing."
"What is that?" said Forester.
"I forgot my piece of wood to make a box of."
"I am very sorry," said Forester. "But then you can get another piece, perhaps, before we get to the end of our journey."
"But I wanted a piece from that very hut, so as to make the box a souvenir of our having got lost in the woods," said Marco.
"Yes," rejoined Forester, "that would have been very pleasant,—but, perhaps, we shall meet with some other odd adventure, which will be as good as being lost in the woods."
"I don't think being lost in the woods is anything very good," said Marco.
"It is not a very good thing at the time, but the recollection of such adventures and dangers is always pleasant afterwards. You see you specially want a souvenir of it.
"But, Marco," continued Forester, "I have thought of something which will be, perhaps, better than a box. At any rate, it will be more convenient to make."
"What is it?" said Marco.
"A little press for pressing flowers," replied Forester.
"How could I make it?" asked Marco.
"Have two pieces of pine wood, planed out thin," said Forester. "They might be varnished, and that would make them look very neat and pretty."
"How large must they be?" asked Marco.
"Oh, about as large," replied Forester, "as the covers of a small book. Just large enough to make it convenient to carry in the pocket. Then you must have some pieces of soft paper, of the same size and shape, to put between them. You must also have a piece of cord or braid, or something of that kind, to tie around them, to keep them together. Then, when you are travelling, if you find any pretty flower, you can put it into this press, and put the press in your pocket. Thus, the press will not only be a souvenir itself, but it will procure for you a great many other souvenirs."
"That's an excellent plan," said Marco. "I like it very much. That will be better than a box."
"It will be easier to make, at any rate," replied Forester. "Any joiner can plane out and square the boards for you."
"Yes," said Marco. "I mean to get a piece of pine to make them of, the first time I find any."
Marco had an opportunity to get a piece of pine suitable for this purpose, and, at the same time, a souvenir itself of an adventure, sooner than he anticipated; for, after having paddled many miles, towards noon a breeze sprung up, which, though really not against them, retarded them somewhat, as it tended to drive them out of their course. Their intention had been to have stopped upon the water, about noon, to eat their dinner; but, as this breeze would prevent the boat from remaining at rest, they concluded to land upon an island, which was near where they were at the time, and take their dinner there. Marco was particularly pleased with this plan, as it would enable him to build a fire, and he always wanted to build a fire on such occasions, whether there was anything to be cooked by it or not.
The island was rocky, and it was covered with trees. On the sheltered side of it there was a beach, where the party landed. Although this beach was somewhat protected from the wind, still the waves which rolled in kept the water in a state of agitation. They, however, landed here, running the head of the boat upon the sand.
There was a large tree lying here, with its top in the water, and butt-end upon the beach. It was a tree which some settler had cut down at some place near the shore of the pond, and when the water was high it had been washed off, and, after drifting about the pond for some time, it had got lodged upon this beach, where it remained in the position in which our adventurers found it. It had been lying there for more than a year, and the branches which were out of the water were dead and dry. The foliage had long since disappeared.
The boatman brought the boat up alongside of this tree, so that Forester and Marco stepped out upon the trunk, and walked to the land. The boatman then tied the boat to one of the dead branches of the tree, and, taking the basket of provisions and the hatchet, they all walked along, in search of a place for their dinner.
They found a sheltered and pleasant place, at a little distance, under the trees. Marco soon struck a light, and began to build a fire. He found it somewhat difficult, however, to procure dry wood enough for the fire, until, at last, he thought of the branches of the tree to which the boat was fastened. He accordingly went to the place and began to cut them off.
The boat was somewhat in the way while he was doing this, and he thought he would move it. He could fasten it just as well, he thought, by a stake driven into the sand. He therefore cut off one of the branches, and, after squaring one end and sharpening the other, he drove it down as well as he could into the sand. He then fastened the boat to this stake, thus removing it from the tree, and clearing the way so that he could conveniently cut off the branches.
This was not, however, a very wise operation, for it is very difficult to drive a stake securely into sand. Sand, even when wet, has so little tenacity that it yields to the slightest force, and the stake soon began to work loose, by the motion of the boat, agitated by the waves; and, in fact, before Marco had finished carrying away the branches, the stake was entirely loosened from its bed, and was just ready to topple over.
As the boat continued to pull upon it, this way and that, as it was agitated by the fluctuation of the water, it soon drew it down, and the boat, being now entirely at liberty, began to move slowly off from the shore. It soon drifted out where it was more fully exposed to the action of the wind, when it began to move much faster. And thus, while our party of voyagers were eating their dinner, seated on a flat rock, by the side of a good fire, in fancied security, their boat was quietly drifting away, thus apparently cutting them off from all communication with the main land.
Marco made the discovery that the boat was gone, just after finishing his dinner, and he immediately gave the alarm. Forester and the boatman came at once to the spot. They could just see the boat, half a mile distant, under a ledge of rocks, which formed the shore in that place.
This was the third time, on this journey, that Marco had found himself isolated in circumstances of difficulty and danger, and cut off, apparently, from all convenient means of retreat; and, at first, he thought that this was the worst and the most dangerous of the three. In fact, he did not see in what possible way they could escape.
"What shall we do?" asked Forester.
"We must make a raft, somehow or other," said the boatman. "If I had a log, I could go after the boat on that."
"Won't this tree answer for a log?" asked Marco.
The boatman looked at the tree. He said that, if he had an axe, he thought he could cut off the top, and roll the trunk into the water; but it would take him a long time, he said, to hack it off with the hatchet.
There seemed to be, however, no alternative; so he set himself at work, and in due time he cut off the stem of the tree, just where it entered the water. They all three then took levers, which the boatman made with his hatchet, and, by making great exertion, they got the log out of the sand, and rolled it round into the water, where it floated. The man then cut a long pole, and, mounting upon the log, he pushed himself out over the surface of the water.
Forester and Marco watched his progress with great interest. Marco thought that he would certainly roll off the log, but he seemed to stand and to walk upon it, perfectly at his ease. He would advance to the forward end of the log, and then, planting the foot of his pole in the sand on the bottom, he would push, walking along as the log advanced, until he came to the stern end of the log, when he would draw out his pole, and walk back again. In this way he propelled the log until the water became too deep for his pole to reach the bottom, and then he ceased these efforts, and, standing upright, he left himself to be driven along slowly by the wind.
Forester and Marco saw plainly that he would be gone for some time, and they amused themselves, during his absence, in wandering about the shores of the island. In one place, Marco found, upon a rock a little above the water, a slab of pine wood, which was bleached by the sun and rain. It had drifted down, the summer before, from some stream emptying into the pond. In the winter it had been frozen into the ice, and, when the ice broke up on the following spring, the cake to which the slab was attached, had been crowded up upon the shore, where the slab had been left when the ice melted.
Marco immediately thought that this slab would furnish him with a good piece of wood to make a flower press of, and he accordingly dragged it up where he could work upon it with his hatchet. He soon cut off a piece, of the proper length, and hewed it down so as to make it of a convenient shape to carry.
When Forester came to examine it, he said he thought it was a very good piece, and when it was planed smooth and varnished, he thought, from its appearance, that it would be of a very pretty color.
"You can get it made at the first shop we come to," said Forester, "and then you can collect and preserve a great many flowers in it, when we get to Canada. When you get home; you can put them in a book, and call them the Canadian Flora."
"That's just what I'll do," said Marco, "and then, when I get home, I'll give some of them to my cousins. They will like them, because they came from Canada. But I can't put a great many into such a press."
"No," said Forester. "You only collect them in the press, which you always carry with you in your pocket. You put them all in a book, or in a larger press, as soon as you get home, and then you have the small press ready for use again."
While they were talking thus, they watched the boatman, who had, by this time, reached the land and recovered the boat. He came back quite rapidly, propelling the boat with the paddle. Marco and Forester embarked on board of her, and they finished their voyage without any further adventure. The next day, they reached the Quebec road, and, leaving the region of the Kennebec, they went on their way towards Canada.
