the complete writings-3-第14部分

快捷操作: 按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页 按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页 按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部! 如果本书没有阅读完，想下次继续接着阅读，可使用上方 "收藏到我的浏览器" 功能 和 "加入书签" 功能！


cination；　and　none　of　the　danger；　of　a　veritable　new　settlement　in　the　wilderness。　　The　axes　of　the　guides　resound　in　the　echoing　spaces；　great　trunks　fall　with　a　crash；　vistas　are　opened　towards　the　lake　and　the　mountains。　　The　spot　for　the　shanty　is　cleared　of　underbrush；　forked　stakes　are　driven　into　the　ground；　cross…pieces　are　laid　on　them；　and　poles　sloping　back　to　the　ground。　In　an　incredible　space　of　time　there　is　the　skeleton　of　a　house；　which　is　entirely　open　in　front。　　The　roof　and　sides　must　be　covered。　For　this　purpose　the　trunks　of　great　spruces　are　skinned。　　The　woodman　rims　the　bark　near　the　foot　of　the　tree；　and　again　six　feet　above；　and　slashes　it　perpendicularly；　then；　with　a　blunt　stick；　he　crowds　off　this　thick　hide　exactly　as　an　ox　is　skinned。　　It　needs　but　a　few　of　these　skins　to　cover　the　roof；　and　they　make　a　perfectly　water…tight　roof；　except　when　it　rains。　　Meantime　busy　hands　have　gathered　boughs　of　the　spruce　and　the　feathery　balsam；　and　shingled　the　ground　underneath　the　shanty　for　a　bed。　　It　is　an　aromatic　bed：　in　theory　it　is　elastic　and　consoling。　　Upon　it　are　spread　the　blankets。　　The　sleepers；　of　all　sexes　and　ages；　are　to　lie　there　in　a　row；　their　feet　to　the　fire；　and　their　heads　under　the　edge　of　the　sloping　roof。　　Nothing　could　be　better　contrived。　　The　fire　is　in　front：　it　is　not　a　fire；　but　a　conflagrationa　vast　heap　of　green　logs　set　on　fireof　pitch；　and　split　dead…wood；　and　crackling　balsams；　raging　and　roaring。　　By　the　time；　twilight　falls；　the　cook　has　prepared　supper。　　Everything　has　been　cooked　in　a　tin　pail　and　a　skillet；potatoes；　tea；　pork；　mutton；　slapjacks。　　You　wonder　how　everything　could　have　been　prepared　in　so　few　utensils。　　When　you　eat；　the　wonder　ceases：　everything　might　have　been　cooked　in　one　pail。　　It　is　a　noble　meal；　and　nobly　is　it　disposed　of　by　these　amateur　savages；　sitting　about　upon　logs　and　roots　of　trees。　　Never　were　there　such　potatoes；　never　beans　that　seemed　to　have　more　of　the　bean　in　them；　never　such　curly　pork；　never　trout　with　more　Indian…　meal　on　them；　never　mutton　more　distinctly　sheepy；　and　the　tea；　drunk　out　of　a　tin　cup；　with　a　lump　of　maple…sugar　dissolved　in　it；it　is　the　sort　of　tea　that　takes　hold；　lifts　the　hair；　and　disposes　the　drinker　to　anecdote　and　hilariousness。　　There　is　no　deception　about　it：　it　tastes　of　tannin　and　spruce　and　creosote。　　Everything；　in　short；　has　the　flavor　of　the　wilderness　and　a　free　life。　　It　is　idyllic。　　And　yet；　with　all　our　sentimentality；　there　is　nothing　feeble　about　the　cooking。　　The　slapjacks　are　a　solid　job　of　work；　made　to　last；　and　not　go　to　pieces　in　a　person's　stomach　like　a　trivial　bun：　we　might　record　on　them；　in　cuneiform　characters；　our　incipient　civilization；　and　future　generations　would　doubtless　turn　them　up　as　Acadian　bricks。　　Good；　robust　victuals　are　what　the　primitive　man　wants。

Darkness　falls　suddenly。　　Outside　the　ring　of　light　from　our　conflagration　the　woods　are　black。　　There　is　a　tremendous　impression　of　isolation　and　lonesomeness　in　our　situation。　　We　are　the　prisoners　of　the　night。　　The　woods　never　seemed　so　vast　and　mysterious。　　The　trees　are　gigantic。　　There　are　noises　that　we　do　not　understand；　mysterious　winds　passing　overhead；　and　rambling　in　the　great　galleries；　tree…trunks　grinding　against　each　other；　undefinable　stirs　and　uneasinesses。　　The　shapes　of　those　who　pass　into　the　dimness　are　outlined　in　monstrous　proportions。　　The　spectres；　seated　about　in　the　glare　of　the　fire；　talk　about　appearances　and　presentiments　and　religion。　　The　guides　cheer　the　night　with　bear…fights；　and　catamount　encounters；　and　frozen…to…death　experiences；　and　simple　tales　of　great　prolixity　and　no　point；　and　jokes　of　primitive　lucidity。　　We　hear　catamounts；　and　the　stealthy　tread　of　things　in　the　leaves；　and　the　hooting　of　owls；　and；　when　the　moon　rises；　the　laughter　of　the　loon。　　Everything　is　strange；　spectral；　fascinating。

By　and　by　we　get　our　positions　in　the　shanty　for　the　night；　and　arrange　the　row　of　sleepers。　　The　shanty　has　become　a　smoke…house　by　this　time：　waves　of　smoke　roll　into　it　from　the　fire。　　It　is　only　by　lying　down；　and　getting　the　head　well　under　the　eaves；　that　one　can　breathe。　　No　one　can　find　her　〃things〃；　nobody　has　a　pillow。　　At　length　the　row　is　laid　out；　with　the　solemn　protestation　of　intention　to　sleep。　　The　wind；　shifting；　drives　away　the　smoke。

Good…night　is　said　a　hundred　times；　positions　are　readjusted；　more　last　words；　new　shifting　about；　final　remarks；　it　is　all　so　comfortable　and　romantic；　and　then　silence。　　Silence　continues　for　a　minute。　　The　fire　flashes　up；　all　the　row　of　heads　is　lifted　up　simultaneously　to　watch　it；　showers　of　sparks　sail　aloft　into　the　blue　night；　the　vast　vault　of　greenery　is　a　fairy　spectacle。　　How　the　sparks　mount　and　twinkle　and　disappear　like　tropical　fireflies；　and　all　the　leaves　murmur；　and　clap　their　hands！　　Some　of　the　sparks　do　not　go　out：　we　see　them　flaming　in　the　sky　when　the　flame　of　the　fire　has　died　down。　　Well；　good…night；　goodnight。　　More　folding　of　the　arms　to　sleep；　more　grumbling　about　the　hardness　of　a　hand…bag；　or　the　insufficiency　of　a　pocket…handkerchief；　for　a　pillow。　　Good…　night。　　Was　that　a　remark？something　about　a　root；　a　stub　in　the　ground　sticking　into　the　back。　　〃You　couldn't　lie　along　a　hair？〃…　〃Well；　no：　here's　another　stub。　　It　needs　but　a　moment　for　the　conversation　to　become　general；about　roots　under　the　shoulder；　stubs　in　the　back；　a　ridge　on　which　it　is　impossible　for　the　sleeper　to　balance；　the　non…elasticity　of　boughs；　the　hardness　of　the　ground；　the　heat；　the　smoke；　the　chilly　air。　　Subjects　of　remarks　multiply。　The　whole　camp　is　awake；　and　chattering　like　an　aviary。　　The　owl　is　also　awake；　but　the　guides　who　are　asleep　outside　make　more　noise　than　the　owls。　　Water　is　wanted；　and　is　handed　about　in　a　dipper。　Everybody　is　yawning；　everybody　is　now　determined　to　go　to　sleep　in　good　earnest。　　A　last　good…night。　　There　is　an　appalling　silence。　　It　is　interrupted　in　the　most　natural　way　in　the　world。　　Somebody　has　got　the　start；　and　gone　to　sleep。　　He　proclaims　the　fact。　　He　seems　to　have　been　brought　up　on　the　seashore；　and　to　know　how　to　make　all　the　deep…toned　noises　of　the　restless　ocean。　　He　is　also　like　a　war…　horse；　or；　it　is　suggested；　like　a　saw…horse。　　How　malignantly　he　snorts；　and　breaks　off　short；　and　at　once　begins　again　in　another　key！　　One　head　is　raised　after　another。

〃Who　is　that？〃

〃Somebody　punch　him。〃

〃Turn　him　over。〃

〃Reason　with　him。〃

The　sleeper　is　turned　over。　　The　turn　was　a　mistake。　　He　was　before；　it　appears；　on　his　most　agreeable　side。　　The　camp　rises　in　indignation。　　The　sleeper　sits　up　in　bewilderment。　　Before　he　can　go　off　again；　two　or　three　others　have　preceded　him。　　They　are　all　alike。　　You　never　can　judge　what　a　person　is　when　he　is　awake。　　There　are　here　half　a　dozen　disturbers　of　the　peace　who　should　be　put　in　solitary　confinement。　　At　midnight；　when　a　philosopher　crawls　out　to　sit　on　a　log　by　the　fire；　and　smoke　a　pipe；　a　duet　in　tenor　and　mezzo…soprano　is　going　on　in　the　shanty；　with　a　chorus　always　coming　in　at　the　wrong　time。　　Those　who　are　not　asleep　want　to　know　why　the　smoker　doesn't　go　to　bed。　　He　is　requested　to　get　some　water；　to　throw　on　another　log；　to　see　what　time　it　is；　to　note　whether　it　looks　like　rain。　　A　buzz　of　conversation　arises。　　She　is　sure　she　heard　something　behind　the　shanty。　　He　says　it　is　all　nonsense。　〃Perhaps；　however；　it　might　be　a　mouse。〃

〃Mercy！　Are　there　mice？〃

〃Plenty。〃

〃Then　that's　what　I　heard　nibbling　by　my　head。　　I　shan't　sleep　a　wink！　Do　they　bite？〃

〃No；　they　nibble；　scarcely　ever　take　a　full　bite　out。〃

〃It's　horrid！〃

Towards　morning　it　grows　chilly；　the　guides　have　let　the　fire　go　out；　the　blankets　will　slip　down。　　Anxiety　begins　to　be　expressed　about　the　dawn。

〃What　time　does　the　sun　rise？〃

〃Awful　early。　　Did　you　sleep？

〃Not　a　wink。　　And　you？〃

〃In　spots。　　I'm　going　to　dig　up　this　root　as　soon　as　it　is　light　enough。〃

〃See　that　mist　on　the　lake；　and　the　light　just　coming　on　the　Gothics！　I'd　no　idea　it　was　so　cold：　all　the　first　part　of　the　night　I　was　roasted。〃

〃What　were　they　talking　about　all　night？

When　the　party　crawls　out　to　the　early　breakfast；　after　it　has　washed　its　faces　in　the　lake；　it　is　disorganized；　but　cheerful。　　Nobody　admits　much　sleep；　but　everybody　is　refreshed；　and　declares　it　delightful。　　It　is　the　fresh　air　all　night　that　invigorates；　or　maybe　it　is　the　tea；　or　the　slap…jacks。　　The　guides　have　erected　a　table　of　spruce　bark；　with　benches　at　the　sides；　so　that　breakfast　is　taken　in　form。　　It　is　served　on　tin　plates　and　oak　chips。　　After　breakfast　begins　the　day's　work。　　It　may　be　a　mountain…climbing　expedition；　or　rowing　and　angling　in　the　lake；　or　fishing　for　trout　in　some　stream　two　or　three　miles　distant。　　Nobody　can　stir　far　from　camp　without　a　guide。　　Hammocks　are　swung；　bowers　are　built　novel…reading　begins；　worsted　work　appears；　cards　are　shuffled　and　dealt。　　The　day　passes　in　absolute　freedom　from　responsibility　to　one's　self。　　At　night　when　the　expeditions　return；　the　camp　resumes　its　animation。　　Adventures　are　recounted；　every　statement　of　the　narrator　being　disputed　and　argued。　　Everybody　has　become　an　adept　in　woodcraft；　but　nobody　credits　his　neighbor　with　like　instinct。　　Society　getting　resolved　into　its　elements；　confidence　is　gone。

Whilst　the　hilarious　party　are　at　supper；　a　drop　or　two　of　rain　falls。　　The　head　guide　is　appealed　to。　　Is　it　going　to　rain？　　He　says　it　does　rain。　　But　will　it　be　a　rainy　night？　　The　guide　goes　down　to　the　lake；　looks　at　the　sky；　and　concludes　that；　if　the　wind　shifts　a　p'int　more；　there　is　no　telling　what　sort　of　weather　we　shall　have。　Meantime　the　drops　patter　thicker　on　the　leaves　overhead；　and　the　leaves；　in　turn；　pass　the　water　down　to　the　table；　the　sky　darkens；　the　wind　rises；　there　is　a　kind　of　shiver　in　the　woods；　and　we　scud　away　into　the　shanty；　taking　the　remains　of　our　supper；　and　eating　it　as　best　we　can。　　The　rain　increases。　　The　fire　sputters　and　fumes。　All　the　trees　are　dripping；　dripping；　and　the　ground　is　wet。　　We　cannot　step　outdoors　without　getting　a　drenching。　　Like　sheep；　we　are　penned　in　the　little　hut；　where　no　one　can　stand　erect。　　The　rain　swirls　into　the　open　front；　and　wets　the　bottom　of