The old man lay silent in the bushes out of sight, and desired only to be let alone.We tried to tempt him with the offer of a piece of toast: it was no temptation.Tea we thought would revive him: he refused it.A drink of brandy would certainly quicken his life: he couldn't touch it.We were at the end of our resources.He seemed to think that if he were at home, and could get a bit of fried bacon, or a piece of pie, he should be all right.We knew no more how to doctor him than if he had been a sick bear.He withdrew within himself, rolled himself up, so to speak, in his primitive habits, and waited for the healing power of nature.Before our feeble fire disappeared, we smoothed a level place near it for Phelps to lie on, and got him over to it.But it didn't suit: it was too open.In fact, at the moment some drops of rain fell.Rain was quite outside of our program for the night.But the guide had an instinct about it; and, while we were groping about some yards distant for a place where we could lie down, he crawled away into the darkness, and curled himself up amid the roots of a gigantic pine, very much as a bear would do, I suppose, with his back against the trunk, and there passed the night comparatively dry and comfortable; but of this we knew nothing till morning, and had to trust to the assurance of a voice out of the darkness that he was all right.
Our own bed where we spread our blankets was excellent in one respect,--there was no danger of tumbling out of it.At first the rain pattered gently on the leaves overhead, and we congratulated ourselves on the snugness of our situation.There was something cheerful about this free life.We contrasted our condition with that of tired invalids who were tossing on downy beds, and wooing sleep in vain.Nothing was so wholesome and invigorating as this bivouac in the forest.But, somehow, sleep did not come.The rain had ceased to patter, and began to fall with a steady determination, a sort of soak, soak, all about us.In fact, it roared on the rubber blanket, and beat in our faces.The wind began to stir a little, and there was a moaning on high.Not contented with dripping, the rain was driven into our faces.Another suspicious circumstance was noticed.
Little rills of water got established along the sides under the blankets, cold, undeniable streams, that interfered with drowsiness.
Pools of water settled on the bed; and the chaplain had a habit of moving suddenly, and letting a quart or two inside, and down my neck.
It began to be evident that we and our bed were probably the wettest objects in the woods.The rubber was an excellent catch-all.There was no trouble about ventilation, but we found that we had established our quarters without any provision for drainage.There was not exactly a wild tempest abroad; but there was a degree of liveliness in the thrashing limbs and the creaking of the tree-branches which rubbed against each other, and the pouring rain increased in volume and power of penetration.Sleep was quite out of the question, with so much to distract our attention.In fine, our misery became so perfect that we both broke out into loud and sarcastic laughter over the absurdity of our situation.We had subjected ourselves to all this forlornness simply for pleasure.
Whether Old Phelps was still in existence, we couldn't tell: we could get no response from him.With daylight, if he continued ill and could not move, our situation would be little improved.Our supplies were gone, we lay in a pond, a deluge of water was pouring down on us.This was summer recreation.The whole thing was so excessively absurd that we laughed again, louder than ever.We had plenty of this sort of amusement.Suddenly through the night we heard a sort of reply that started us bolt upright.This was a prolonged squawk.
It was like the voice of no beast or bird with which we were familiar.At first it was distant; but it rapidly approached, tearing through the night and apparently through the tree-tops, like the harsh cry of a web-footed bird with a snarl in it; in fact, as Isaid, a squawk.It came close to us, and then turned, and as rapidly as it came fled away through the forest, and we lost the unearthly noise far up the mountain-slope.
"What was that, Phelps? "we cried out.But no response came; and we wondered if his spirit had been rent away, or if some evil genius had sought it, and then, baffled by his serene and philosophic spirit, had shot off into the void in rage and disappointment.
The night had no other adventure.The moon at length coming up behind the clouds lent a spectral aspect to the forest, and deceived us for a time into the notion that day was at hand; but the rain never ceased, and we lay wishful and waiting, with no item of solid misery wanting that we could conceive.
Day was slow a-coming, and didn't amount to much when it came, so heavy were the clouds; but the rain slackened.We crawled out of our water-cure "pack," and sought the guide.To our infinite relief he announced himself not only alive, but in a going condition.I looked at my watch.It had stopped at five o'clock.I poured the water out of it, and shook it; but, not being constructed on the hydraulic principle, it refused to go.Some hours later we encountered a huntsman, from whom I procured some gun-grease; with this I filled the watch, and heated it in by the fire.This is a most effectual way of treating a delicate Genevan timepiece.
