CHAPTER IX. WE CAMP OUT.
My wife and I were both so fond of country life and country pursuitsthat month after month passed by at our little farm in a succession ofdelightful days. Time flew like a "limited express" train, and it wasSeptember before we knew it.
I had been working very hard at the office that summer, and was glad tothink of my two weeks' vacation, which were to begin on the firstMonday of the month. I had intended spending these two weeks inrural retirement at home, but an interview in the city with my familyphysician caused me to change my mind. I told him my plan.
"Now," said he, "if I were you, I'd do nothing of the kind. You havebeen working too hard; your face shows it. You need rest and change.Nothing will do you so much good as to camp out; that will be fiftytimes better than going to any summer resort. You can take your wifewith you. I know she'll like it. I don't care where you go so that it'sa healthy spot. Get a good tent and an outfit, be off to the woods, andforget all about business and domestic matters for a few weeks."
This sounded splendid, and I propounded the plan to Euphemia thatevening. She thought very well of it, and was sure we could do it.Pomona would not be afraid to remain in the house, under the protectionof Lord Edward, and she could easily attend to the cow and the chickens.It would be a holiday for her too. Old John, the man who occasionallyworked for us, would come up sometimes and see after things. With hercustomary dexterity Euphemia swept away every obstacle to the plan, andall was settled before we went to bed.
As my wife had presumed, Pomona made no objections to remaining incharge of the house. The scheme pleased her greatly. So far, so good. Icalled that day on a friend who was in the habit of camping out to talkto him about getting a tent and the necessary "traps" for a life in thewoods. He proved perfectly competent to furnish advice and everythingelse. He offered to lend me all I needed. He had a complete outfit; haddone with them for the year, and I was perfectly welcome. Here was rareluck. He gave me a tent, camp-stove, dishes, pots, gun, fishing-tackle,a big canvas coat with dozens of pockets riveted on it, a canvas hat,rods, reels, boots that came up to my hips, and about a wagon-load ofthings in all. He was a real good fellow.
We laid in a stock of canned and condensed provisions, and I boughta book on camping out so as to be well posted on the subject. Onthe Saturday before the first Monday in September we would have beenentirely ready to start had we decided on the place where we were to go.
We found it very difficult to make this decision. There were thousandsof places where people went to camp out, but none of them seemed to bethe place for us. Most of them were too far away. We figured up the costof taking ourselves and our camp equipage to the Adirondacks, the lakes,the trout-streams of Maine, or any of those well-known resorts, and wefound that we could not afford such trips, especially for a vacation ofbut fourteen days.
On Sunday afternoon we took a little walk. Our minds were still troubledabout the spot toward which we ought to journey next day, and we neededthe soothing influences of Nature. The country to the north and west ofour little farm was very beautiful. About half a mile from the housea modest river ran; on each side of it were grass-covered fields andhills, and in some places there were extensive tracks of woodlands.
"Look here!" exclaimed Euphemia, stopping short in the little path thatwound along by the river bank. "Do you see this river, those woods,those beautiful fields, with not a soul in them or anywhere near them;and those lovely blue mountains over there?"--as she spoke she wavedher parasol in the direction of the objects indicated, and I could notmistake them. "Now what could we want better than this?" she continued."Here we can fish, and do everything that we want to. I say, let us camphere on our own river. I can take you to the very spot for the tent.Come on!" And she was so excited about it that she fairly ran.
The spot she pointed out was one we had frequently visited in our ruralwalks. It was a grassy peninsula, as I termed it, formed by a suddenturn of a creek which, a short distance below, flowed into the river.It was a very secluded spot. The place was approached through apasture-field,--we had found it by mere accident,--and where thepeninsula joined the field (we had to climb a fence just there), therewas a cluster of chestnut and hickory trees, while down near the pointstood a wide-spreading oak.
"Here, under this oak, is the place for the tent," said Euphemia, herface flushed, her eyes sparkling, and her dress a little torn by gettingover the fence in a hurry. "What do we want with your Adirondacks andyour Dismal Swamps? This is the spot for us!"
"Euphemia," said I, in as composed a tone as possible, although my wholeframe was trembling with emotion, "Euphemia, I am glad I married you!"
Had it not been Sunday, we would have set up our tent that night.
Early the next morning, old John's fifteen-dollar horse drew fromour house a wagon-load of camp-fixtures. There was some difficulty ingetting the wagon over the field, and there were fences to be taken downto allow of its passage; but we overcame all obstacles, and reached thecamp-ground without breaking so much as a teacup. Old John helped mepitch the tent, and as neither of us understood the matter very well,it took us some time. It was, indeed, nearly noon when old John left us,and it may have been possible that he delayed matters a little so as tobe able to charge for a full half-day for himself and horse. Euphemiagot into the wagon to ride back with him, that she might give someparting injunctions to Pomona.
"I'll have to stop a bit to put up the fences, ma'am," said old John,"or Misther Ball might make a fuss."
"Is this Mr. Ball's land?" I asked.
"Oh yes, sir, it's Mr. Ball's land."
"I wonder how he'll like our camping on it?" I said, thoughtfully.
"I'd 'a' thought, sir, you'd 'a' asked him that before you came," saidold John, in a tone that seemed to indicate that he had his doubts aboutMr. Ball.
"Oh, there'll be no trouble about that," cried Euphemia. "You can driveme past Mr. Ball's,--it's not much out of the way,--and I'll ask him."
"In that wagon?" said I. "Will you stop at Mr. Ball's door in that?"
"Certainly," said she, as she arranged herself on the board which servedas a seat. "Now that our campaign has really commenced, we ought tobegin to rough it, and should not be too proud to ride even in a--ina--"
She evidently couldn't think of any vehicle mean enough for her purpose.
"In a green-grocery cart," I suggested.
"Yes, or in a red one. Go ahead, John."
When Euphemia returned on foot, I had a fire in the camp-stove and thekettle was on.
"Well," said Euphemia, "Mr. Ball says it's all right, if we keep thefence up. He don't want his cows to get into the creek, and I'm sure wedon't want 'em walking over us. He couldn't understand, though, whywe wanted to live out here. I explained the whole thing to him verycarefully, but it didn't seem to make much impression on him. I believehe thinks Pomona has something the matter with her, and that we havecome to stay out here in the fresh air so as not to take it."
"What an extremely stupid man Mr. Ball must be!" I said.
The fire did not burn very well, and while I was at work at it, Euphemiaspread a cloth upon the grass, and set forth bread and butter, cheese,sardines, potted ham, preserves, biscuits, and a lot of other things.
We did not wait for the kettle to boil, but concluded to do without teaor coffee, for this meal, and content ourselves with pure water. Forsome reason or other, however, the creek water did not seem to be verypure, and we did not like it a bit.
"After lunch," said I, "we will go and look for a spring; that will be agood way of exploring the country."
"If we can't find one," said Euphemia, "we shall have to go to the housefor water, for I can never drink that stuff."
Soon after lunch we started out. We searched high and low, near and far,for a spring, but could not find one.
At length, by merest accident, we found ourselves in the vicinity of oldJohn's little house. I knew he had a good well, and so we went in to geta drink, for our ham and biscuits
had made us very thirsty.
We told old John, who was digging potatoes, and was also very muchsurprised to see us so soon, about our unexpected trouble in finding aspring.
"No," said he, very slowly, "there is no spring very near to you. Didn'tyou tell your gal to bring you water?"
"No," I replied; "we don't want her coming down to the camp. She is toattend to the house."
"Oh, very well," said John; "I will bring you water, morning andnight,--good, fresh water,--from my well, for,--well, for ten cents aday."
"That will be nice," said Euphemia, "and cheap, too. And then it will bewell to have John come every day; he can carry our letters."
"I don't expect to write any letters."
"Neither do I," said Euphemia; "but it will be pleasant to have somecommunication with the outer world."
So we engaged old John to bring us water twice a day. I was a littledisappointed at this, for I thought that camping on the edge of a streamsettled the matter of water. But we have many things to learn in thisworld.
Early in the afternoon I went out to catch some fish for supper. Weagreed to dispense with dinner, and have breakfast, lunch, and a goodsolid supper.
For some time I had poor luck. There were either very few fish in thecreek, or they were not hungry.
I had been fishing an hour or more when I saw Euphemia running towardme.
"What's the matter?" said I.
"Oh! nothing. I've just come to see how you were getting along. Haven'tyou been gone an awfully long time? And are those all the fish you'vecaught? What little bits of things they are! I thought people who campedout caught big fish and lots of them?"
"That depends a good deal upon where they go," said I.
"Yes, I suppose so," replied Euphemia; "but I should think a stream asbig as this would have plenty of fish in it. However, if you can'tcatch any, you might go up to the road and watch for Mr. Mulligan. Hesometimes comes along on Mondays."
"I'm not going to the road to watch for any fish-man," I replied, alittle more testily than I should have spoken. "What sort of a campingout would that be? But we must not be talking here or I shall never geta bite. Those fish are a little soiled from jumping about in the dust.You might wash them off at that shallow place, while I go a littlefurther on and try my luck."
I went a short distance up the creek, and threw my line into a dark,shadowy pool, under some alders, where there certainly should be fish.And, sure enough, in less than a minute I got a splendid bite,--not onlya bite, but a pull. I knew that I had certainly hooked a big fish! Thething actually tugged at my line so that I was afraid the pole wouldbreak. I did not fear for the line, for that, I knew, was strong. Iwould have played the fish until he was tired, and I could pull him outwithout risk to the pole, but I did not know exactly how the processof "playing" was conducted. I was very much excited. Sometimes I gave ajerk and a pull, and then the fish would give a jerk and a pull.
Directly I heard some one running toward me, and then I heard Euphemiacry out:
"Give him the butt! Give him the butt!"
"Give him what?" I exclaimed, without having time even to look up ather.
"The butt! the butt!" she cried, almost breathlessly. "I know that'sright! I read how Edward Everett Hale did it in the Adirondacks."
"No, it wasn't Hale at all," said I, as I jumped about the bank; "it wasMr. Murray."
"Well, it was one of those fishing ministers, and I know that it caughtthe fish."
"I know, I know. I read it, but I don't know how to do it."
"Perhaps you ought to punch him with it," said she.
"No! no!" I hurriedly replied, "I can't do anything like that. I'm goingto try to just pull him out lengthwise. You take hold of the pole and goin shore as far as you can and I'll try and get hold of the line."
Euphemia did as I bade her, and drew the line in so that I could reachit. As soon as I had a firm hold of it, I pulled in, regardless ofconsequences, and hauled ashore an enormous cat-fish.
"Hurrah!" I shouted, "here is a prize."
Euphemia dropped the pole, and ran to me.
"What a horrid beast!" she exclaimed. "Throw it in again."
"Not at all!" said I. "This is a splendid fish, if I can ever get himoff the hook. Don't come near him! If he sticks that back-fin into you,it will poison you."
"Then I should think it would poison us to eat him," said she.
"No; it's only his fin."
"I've eaten cat-fish, but I never saw one like that," she said. "Look atits horrible mouth! And it has whiskers like a cat!"
"Oh! you never saw one with its head on," I said. "What I want to do isto get this hook out."
I had caught cat-fish before, but never one so large as this, and I wasactually afraid to take hold of it, knowing, as I did, that you must bevery careful how you clutch a fish of the kind. I finally concluded tocarry it home as it was, and then I could decapitate it, and take outthe hook at my leisure. So back to camp we went, Euphemia picking up thelittle fish as we passed, for she did not think it right to catch fishand not eat them. They made her hands smell, it is true; but she did notmind that when we were camping.
I prepared the big fish (and I had a desperate time getting the skinoff), while my wife, who is one of the daintiest cooks in the world,made the fire in the stove, and got ready the rest of the supper. Shefried the fish, because I told her that was the way cat-fish ought to becooked, although she said that it seemed very strange to her to camp outfor the sake of one's health, and then to eat fried food.
But that fish was splendid! The very smell of it made us hungry.Everything was good, and when supper was over and the dishes washed, Ilighted my pipe and we sat down under a tree to enjoy the evening.
The sun had set behind the distant ridge; a delightful twilight wasgently subduing every color of the scene; the night insects werebeginning to hum and chirp, and a fire that I had made under a treeblazed up gayly, and threw little flakes of light into the shadows underthe shrubbery.
"Now isn't this better than being cooped up in a narrow, constrictedhouse?" said I.
"Ever so much better!" said Euphemia. "Now we know what Nature is. Weare sitting right down in her lap, and she is cuddling us up. Isn't thatsky lovely? Oh! I think this is perfectly splendid," said she, making alittle dab at her face,--"if it wasn't for the mosquitoes."
"They ARE bad," I said. "I thought my pipe would keep them off, but itdon't. There must be plenty of them down at that creek."
"Down there!" exclaimed Euphemia. "Why there are thousands of them here!I never saw anything like it. They're getting worse every minute."
"I'll tell you what we must do," I exclaimed, jumping up. "We must makea smudge."
"What's that? do you rub it on yourself?" asked Euphemia, anxiously.
"No, it's only a great smoke. Come, let us gather up dry leaves and makea smoldering fire of them."
We managed to get up a very fair smudge, and we stood to the leeward ofit, until Euphemia began to cough and sneeze, as if her head wouldcome off. With tears running from her eyes, she declared that she wouldrather go and be eaten alive, than stay in that smoke.
"Perhaps we were too near it," said I.
"That may be," she answered, "but I have had enough smoke. Why didn'tI think of it before? I brought two veils! We can put these over ourfaces, and wear gloves."
She was always full of expedients.
Veiled and gloved, we bade defiance to the mosquitoes, and we satand talked for half an hour or more. I made a little hole in my veil,through which I put the mouth-piece of my pipe.
When it became really dark, I lighted the lantern, and we prepared for awell-earned night's rest. The tent was spacious and comfortable, and weeach had a nice little cot-bed.
"Are you going to leave the front-door open all night?" said Euphemia,as I came in after a final round to see that all was right.
"I should hardly call this canvas-flap a front-door," I said, "but Ithink it would be better to leave it open; o
therwise we should smother.You need not be afraid. I shall keep my gun here by my bedside, and ifany one offers to come in, I'll bring him to a full stop quick enough."
"Yes, if you are awake. But I suppose we ought not to be afraid ofburglars here. People in tents never are. So you needn't shut it."
It was awfully quiet and dark and lonely, out there by that creek, whenthe light had been put out, and we had gone to bed. For some reason Icould not go to sleep. After I had been lying awake for an hour or two,Euphemia spoke:
"Are you awake?" said she, in a low voice, as if she were afraid ofdisturbing the people in the next room.
"Yes," said I. "How long have you been awake?"
"I haven't been asleep."
"Neither have I."
"Suppose we light the lantern," said she. "Don't you think it would bepleasanter?"
"It might be," I replied; "but it would draw myriads of mosquitoes.I wish I had brought a mosquito-net and a clock. It seems so lonesomewithout the ticking. Good-night! We ought to have a long sleep, if we domuch tramping about to-morrow."
In about half an hour more, just as I was beginning to be a littlesleepy, she said:
"Where is that gun?"
"Here by me," I answered.
"Well, if a man should come in, try and be sure to put it up close tohim before you fire. In a little tent like this, the shot might scattereverywhere, if you're not careful."
"All right," I said. "Good-night!"
"There's one thing we never thought of!" she presently exclaimed.
"What's that," said I.
"Snakes," said she.
"Well, don't let's think of them. We must try and get a little sleep."
"Dear knows! I've been trying hard enough," she said, plaintively, andall was quiet again.
We succeeded this time in going to sleep, and it was broad daylightbefore we awoke.
That morning, old John came with our water before breakfast was ready.He also brought us some milk, as he thought we would want it. Weconsidered this a good idea, and agreed with him to bring us a quart aday.
"Don't you want some wegetables?" said he. "I've got some nice corn andsome tomatoes, and I could bring you cabbage and peas."
We had hardly expected to have fresh vegetables every day, but thereseemed to be no reason why old John should not bring them, as he had tocome every day with the water and milk. So we arranged that he shouldfurnish us daily with a few of the products of his garden.
"I could go to the butcher's and get you a steak or some chops, if you'dlet me know in the morning," said he, intent on the profits of furthercommissions.
But this was going too far. We remembered we were camping out, anddeclined to have meat from the butcher.
John had not been gone more than ten minutes before we saw Mr. Ballapproaching.
"Oh, I hope he isn't going to say we can't stay!" exclaimed Euphemia.
"How d'ye do?" said Mr. Ball, shaking hands with us. "Did you stick itout all night?"
"Oh yes, indeed," I replied, "and expect to stick it out for a many morenights if you don't object to our occupying your land."
"No objection in the world," said he; "but it seems a little queer forpeople who have a good house to be living out here in the fields in atent, now, don't it?"
"Oh, but you see," said I, and I went on and explained the whole thingto him,--the advice of the doctor, the discussion about the proper placeto go to, and the good reasons for fixing on this spot.
"Ye-es," said he, "that's all very well, no doubt. But how's the girl?"
"What girl?" I asked.
"Your girl. The hired girl you left at the house."
"Oh, she's all right," said I; "she's always well."
"Well," said Mr. Ball, slowly turning on his heel, "if you say so, Isuppose she is. But you're going up to the house to-day to see abouther, aren't you?"
"Oh, no," said Euphemia. "We don't intend to go near the house until ourcamping is over."
"Just so,--just so," said Mr. Ball; "I expected as much. But look here,don't you think it would be well for me to ask Dr. Ames to stop in andsee how she is gettin' along? I dare say you've fixed everything forher, but that would be safer, you know. He's coming this morning tovaccinate my baby, and he might stop there, just as well as not, afterhe has left my house."
Euphemia and I could see no necessity for this proposed visit of thedoctor, but we could not well object to it, and so Mr. Ball said hewould be sure and send him.
After our visitor had gone, the significance of his remarks flashed onme. He still thought that Pomona was sick with something catching, andthat we were afraid to stay in the house with her. But I said nothingabout this to Euphemia. It would only worry her, and our vacation was tobe a season of unalloyed delight.