the complete writings-3-第13章

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！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！


n…　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　the　blankets。　　The　smoke　drives　in。　　We　curl　up；　and　enjoy　ourselves。　　The　guides　at　length　conclude　that　it　is　going　to　be　damp。　　The　dismal　situation　sets　us　all　into　good　spirits；　and　it　is　later　than　the　night　before　when　we　crawl　under　our　blankets；　sure　this　time　of　a　sound　sleep；　lulled　by　the　storm　and　the　rain　resounding　on　the　bark　roof。　　How　much　better　off　we　are　than　many　a　shelter…less　wretch！　　We　are　as　snug　as　dry　herrings。　　At　the　moment；　however；　of　dropping　off　to　sleep；　somebody　unfortunately　notes　a　drop　of　water　on　his　face；　this　is　followed　by　another　drop；　in　an　instant　a　stream　is　established。　He　moves　his　head　to　a　dry　place。　　Scarcely　has　he　done　so；　when　he　feels　a　dampness　in　his　back。　　Reaching　his　hand　outside；　he　finds　a　puddle　of　water　soaking　through　his　blanket。　　By　this　time；　somebody　inquires　if　it　is　possible　that　the　roof　leaks。　　One　man　has　a　stream　of　water　under　him；　another　says　it　is　coming　into　his　ear。　　The　roof　appears　to　be　a　discriminating　sieve。　　Those　who　are　dry　see　no　need　of　such　a　fuss。　　The　man　in　the　corner　spreads　his　umbrella；　and　the　protective　measure　is　resented　by　his　neighbor。　　In　the　darkness　there　is　recrimination。　　One　of　the　guides；　who　is　summoned；　suggests　that　the　rubber　blankets　be　passed　out；　and　spread　over　the　roof。　The　inmates　dislike　the　proposal；　saying　that　a　shower…bath　is　no　worse　than　a　tub…bath。　　The　rain　continues　to　soak　down。　　The　fire　is　only　half　alive。　　The　bedding　is　damp。　　Some　sit　up；　if　they　can　find　a　dry　spot　to　sit　on；　and　smoke。　　Heartless　observations　are　made。　　A　few　sleep。　　And　the　night　wears　on。　　The　morning　opens　cheerless。　The　sky　is　still　leaking；　and　so　is　the　shanty。　　The　guides　bring　in　a　half…cooked　breakfast。　　The　roof　is　patched　up。　　There　are　reviving　signs　of　breaking　away；　delusive　signs　that　create　momentary　exhilaration。　　Even　if　the　storm　clears；　the　woods　are　soaked。　　There　is　no　chance　of　stirring。　　The　world　is　only　ten　feet　square。

This　life；　without　responsibility　or　clean　clothes；　may　continue　as　long　as　the　reader　desires。　　There　are；　those　who　would　like　to　live　in　this　free　fashion　forever；　taking　rain　and　sun　as　heaven　pleases；　and　there　are　some　souls　so　constituted　that　they　cannot　exist　more　than　three　days　without　their　worldlybaggage。　　Taking　the　party　altogether；　from　one　cause　or　another　it　is　likely　to　strike　camp　sooner　than　was　intended。　　And　the　stricken　camp　is　a　melancholy　sight。　　The　woods　have　been　despoiled；　the　stumps　are　ugly；　the　bushes　are　scorched；　the　pine…leaf…strewn　earth　is　trodden　into　mire；　the　landing　looks　like　a　cattle…ford；　the　ground　is　littered　with　all　the　unsightly　dibris　of　a　hand…to…hand　life；　the　dismantled　shanty　is　a　shabby　object；　the　charred　and　blackened　logs；　where　the　fire　blazed；　suggest　the　extinction　of　family　life。　　Man　has　wrought　his　usual　wrong　upon　Nature；　and　he　can　save　his　self…respect　only　by　moving　to　virgin　forests。

And　move　to　them　he　will；　the　next　season；　if　not　this。　　For　he　who　has　once　experienced　the　fascination　of　the　wo