CHAPTER II
Wherein Freckles Proves His Mettle and Finds Friends
Next morning found Freckles in clean, whole clothing, fed, and rested.
Then McLean outfitted him and gave him careful instruction in the
use of his weapon. The Boss showed him around the timber-line, and
engaged him a place to board with the family of his head teamster,
Duncan, whom he had brought from Scotland with him, and who lived
in a small clearing he was working out between the swamp and the
corduroy. When the gang was started for the south camp, Freckles
was left to guard a fortune in the Limberlost. That he was under
guard himself those first weeks he never knew.
Each hour was torture to the boy. The restricted life of a great
city orphanage was the other extreme of the world compared with
the Limberlost. He was afraid for his life every minute. The heat
was intense. The heavy wading-boots rubbed his feet until they bled.
He was sore and stiff from his long tramp and outdoor exposure.
The seven miles of trail was agony at every step. He practiced at
night, under the direction of Duncan, until he grew sure in the
use of his revolver. He cut a stout hickory cudgel, with a knot
on the end as big as his fist; this never left his hand. What he
thought in those first days he himself could not recall clearly
afterward.
His heart stood still every time he saw the beautiful marsh-grass
begin a sinuous waving AGAINST the play of the wind, as McLean had
told him it would. He bolted half a mile with the first boom of
the bittern, and his hat lifted with every yelp of the sheitpoke.
Once he saw a lean, shadowy form following him, and fired his revolver.
Then he was frightened worse than ever for fear it might have been
Duncan's collie.
The first afternoon that he found his wires down, and he was compelled
to plunge knee deep into the black swamp-muck to restring them,
he became so ill from fear and nervousness that he scarcely could
control his shaking hand to do the work. With every step, he felt
that he would miss secure footing and be swallowed in that clinging
sea of blackness. In dumb agony he plunged forward, clinging to
the posts and trees until he had finished restringing and testing
the wire. He had consumed much time. Night closed in. The Limberlost
stirred gently, then shook herself, growled, and awoke around him.
There seemed to be a great owl hooting from every hollow tree, and
a little one screeching from every knothole. The bellowing of big
bullfrogs was not sufficiently deafening to shut out the wailing
of whip-poor-wills that seemed to come from every bush. Nighthawks
swept past him with their shivering cry, and bats struck his face.
A prowling wildcat missed its catch and screamed with rage. A straying
fox bayed incessantly for its mate.
The hair on the back of Freckles' neck arose as bristles, and his
knees wavered beneath him. He could not see whether the dreaded
snakes were on the trail, or, in the pandemonium, hear the rattle
for which McLean had cautioned him to listen. He stood motionless
in an agony of fear. His breath whistled between his teeth. The
perspiration ran down his face and body in little streams.
Something big, black, and heavy came crashing through the swamp
close to him, and with a yell of utter panic Freckles ran--how far
he did not know; but at last he gained control over himself and
retraced his steps. His jaws set stiffly and the sweat dried on
his body. When he reached the place from which he had started to
run, he turned and with measured steps made his way down the line.
After a time he realized that he was only walking, so he faced that
sea of horrors again. When he came toward the corduroy, the cudgel
fell to test the wire at each step.
Sounds that curdled his blood seemed to encompass him, and shapes
of terror to draw closer and closer. Fear had so gained the mastery
that he did not dare look behind him; and just when he felt that
he would fall dead before he ever reached the clearing, came Duncan's
rolling call: "Freckles! Freckles!" A shuddering sob burst
in the boy's dry throat; but he only told Duncan that finding the
wire down had caused the delay.
The next morning he started on time. Day after day, with his heart
pounding, he ducked, dodged, ran when he could, and fought when
he was brought to bay. If he ever had an idea of giving up, no one
knew it; for he clung to his job without the shadow of wavering.
All these things, in so far as he guessed them, Duncan, who had
been set to watch the first weeks of Freckles' work, carried to
the Boss at the south camp; but the innermost, exquisite torture
of the thing the big Scotchman never guessed, and McLean, with his
finer perceptions, came only a little closer.
After a few weeks, when Freckles learned that he was still living,
that he had a home, and the very first money he ever had possessed
was safe in his pockets, he began to grow proud. He yet side- stepped,
dodged, and hurried to avoid being late again, but he was gradually
developing the fearlessness that men ever acquire of dangers to
which they are hourly accustomed.
His heart seemed to be leaping when his first rattler disputed the
trail with him, but he mustered courage to attack it with his club.
After its head had been crushed, he mastered an Irishman's inborn
repugnance for snakes sufficiently to cut off its rattles to show
Duncan. With this victory, his greatest fear of them was gone.
Then he began to realize that with the abundance of food in the
swamp, flesh-hunters would not come on the trail and attack him,
and he had his revolver for defence if they did. He soon learned
to laugh at the big, floppy birds that made horrible noises. One
day, watching behind a tree, he saw a crane solemnly performing
a few measures of a belated nuptial song-and-dance with his mate.
Realizing that it was intended in tenderness, no matter how it appeared,
the lonely, starved heart of the boy sympathized with them.
Before the first month passed, he was fairly easy about his job;
by the next he rather liked it. Nature can be trusted to work her
own miracle in the heart of any man whose daily task keeps him alone
among her sights, sounds, and silences.
When day after day the only thing that relieved his utter loneliness
was the companionship of the birds and beasts of the swamp, it was
the most natural thing in the world that Freckles should turn to
them for friendship. He began by instinctively protecting the weak
and helpless. He was astonished at the quickness with which they
became accustomed to him and the disregard they showed for his movements,
when they learned that he was not a hunter, while the club he carried
was used more frequently for their benefit than his own. He scarcely
could believe what he saw.
From the effort to protect the birds and animals, it was only a
short step to the possessive feeling, and with that sprang the impulse
to caress and provide. Through fall, when brooding was finished
and the upland birds sought the swamp in swarms to feast on its
seeds and berries, Freckles was content with watching them and speculating
about them. Outside of half a dozen of the very commonest they were
strangers to him. The likeness of their actions to humanity was
an hourly surprise.
When black frost began stripping the Limberlost, cutting the ferns,
shearing the vines from the trees, mowing the succulent green things
of the swale, and setting the leaves swirling down, he watched the
departing troops of his friends with dismay. He began to realize
that he would be left alone. He made especial efforts toward friendliness
with the hope that he could induce some of them to stay. It was
then that he conceived the idea of carrying food to the birds; for
he saw that they were leaving for lack of it; but he could not stop
them. Day after day, flocks gathered and departed: by the time the
first snow whitened his trail around the Limberlost, there were
left only the little black-and-white juncos, the sapsuckers, yellow-hammers,
a few patriarchs among the flaming cardinals, the blue jays, the
crows, and the quail.
Then Freckles began his wizard work. He cleared a space of swale,
and twice a day he spread a birds' banquet. By the middle of December
the strong winds of winter had beaten most of the seed from the
grass and bushes. The snow fell, covering the swamp, and food was
very scarce and difficult to find. The birds scarcely waited until
Freckles' back was turned to attack his provisions. In a few weeks
they flew toward the clearing to meet him. During the bitter weather
of January they came halfway to the cabin every morning, and fluttered
around him as doves all the way to the feeding-ground. Before February
they were so accustomed to him, and so hunger-driven, that they
would perch on his head and shoulders, and the saucy jays would
try to pry into his pockets.
Then Freckles added to wheat and crumbs, every scrap of refuse food
he could find at the cabin. He carried to his pets the parings of
apples, turnips, potatoes, stray cabbage-leaves, and carrots, and
tied to the bushes meat-bones having scraps of fat and gristle.
One morning, coming to his feeding-ground unusually early, he found
a gorgeous cardinal and a rabbit side by side sociably nibbling
a cabbage-leaf, and that instantly gave to him the idea of cracking
nuts, from the store he had gathered for Duncan's children, for
the squirrels, in the effort to add them to his family. Soon he
had them coming--red, gray, and black; then he became filled with
a vast impatience that he did not know their names or habits.
So the winter passed. Every week McLean rode to the Limberlost;
never on the same day or at the same hour. Always he found Freckles
at his work, faithful and brave, no matter how severe the weather.
The boy's earnings constituted his first money; and when the Boss
explained to him that he could leave them safe at a bank and carry
away a scrap of paper that represented the amount, he went straight
on every payday and made his deposit, keeping out barely what was
necessary for his board and clothing. What he wanted to do with
his money he did not know, but it gave to him a sense of freedom
and power to feel that it was there--it was his and he could have
it when he chose. In imitation of McLean, he bought a small pocket
account-book, in which he carefully set down every dollar he earned
and every penny he spent. As his expenses were small and the Boss
paid him generously, it was astonishing how his little hoard grew.
That winter held the first hours of real happiness in Freckles'
life. He was free. He was doing a man's work faithfully, through
every rigor of rain, snow, and blizzard. He was gathering a wonderful
strength of body, paying his way, and saving money. Every man of
the gang and of that locality knew that he was under the protection
of McLean, who was a power, this had the effect of smoothing Freckles'
path in many directions.
Mrs. Duncan showed him that individual kindness for which his hungry
heart was longing. She had a hot drink ready for him when he came
from a freezing day on the trail. She knit him a heavy mitten for
his left hand, and devised a way to sew and pad the right sleeve
that protected the maimed arm in bitter weather. She patched his
clothing--frequently torn by the wire--and saved kitchen scraps
for his birds, not because she either knew or cared anything about
them, but because she herself was close enough to the swamp to be
touched by its utter loneliness. When Duncan laughed at her for
this, she retorted: "My God, mannie, if Freckles hadna the
birds and the beasts he would be always alone. It was never meant
for a human being to be so solitary. He'd get touched in the head
if he hadna them to think for and to talk to."
"How much answer do ye think he gets to his talkin', lass?"
laughed Duncan.
"He gets the answer that keeps the eye bright, the heart happy,
and the feet walking faithful the rough path he's set them in,"
answered Mrs. Duncan earnestly.
Duncan walked away appearing very thoughtful. The next morning he
gave an ear from the corn he was shelling for his chickens to Freckles,
and told him to carry it to his wild chickens in the Limberlost.
Freckles laughed delightedly.
"Me chickens!" he said. "Why didn't I ever think
of that before? Of course they are! They are just little, brightly
colored cocks and hens! But `wild' is no good. What would you say
to me `wild chickens' being a good deal tamer than yours here in
your yard?"
"Hoot, lad!" cried Duncan.
"Make yours light on your head and eat out of your hands and
pockets," challenged Freckles.
"Go and tell your fairy tales to the wee people! They're juist
brash on believin' things," said Duncan. "Ye canna invent
any story too big to stop them from callin' for a bigger."
"I dare you to come see!" retorted Freckles.
"Take ye!" said Duncan. "If ye make juist ane bird
licht on your heid or eat frae your hand, ye are free to help yoursel'
to my corn-crib and wheat bin the rest of the winter."
Freckles sprang in air and howled in glee.
"Oh, Duncan! You're too, aisy" he cried. "When will
you come?"
"I'll come next Sabbath," said Duncan. "And I'll
believe the birds of the Limberlost are tame as barnyard fowl when
I see it, and no sooner!"
After that Freckles always spoke of the birds as his chickens, and
the Duncans followed his example. The very next Sabbath, Duncan,
with his wife and children, followed Freckles to the swamp. They
saw a sight so wonderful it will keep them talking all the remainder
of their lives, and make them unfailing friends of all the birds.
Freckles' chickens were awaiting him at the edge of the clearing.
They cut the frosty air around his head into curves and circles
of crimson, blue, and black. They chased each other from Freckles,
and swept so closely themselves that they brushed him with their
outspread wings.
At their feeding-ground Freckles set down his old pail of scraps
and swept the snow from a small level space with a broom improvised
of twigs. As soon as his back was turned, the birds clustered over
the food, snatching scraps to carry to the nearest bushes. Several
of the boldest, a big crow and a couple of jays, settled on the
rim and feasted at leisure, while a cardinal, that hesitated to
venture, fumed and scolded from a twig overhead.
Then Freckles scattered his store. At once the ground resembled
the spread mantle of Montezuma, except that this mass of gaily colored
feathers was on the backs of living birds. While they feasted, Duncan
gripped his wife's arm and stared in astonishment; for from the
bushes and dry grass, with gentle cheeping and queer, throaty chatter,
as if to encourage each other, came flocks of quail. Before anyone
saw it arrive, a big gray rabbit sat in the midst of the feast,
contentedly gnawing a cabbage-leaf.
"Weel, I be drawed on!" came Mrs. Duncan's tense whisper.
"Shu-shu," cautioned Duncan.
Lastly Freckles removed his cap. He began filling it with handfuls
of wheat from his pockets. In a swarm the grain-eaters arose around
him as a flock of tame pigeons. They perched on his arms and the
cap, and in the stress of hunger, forgetting all caution, a brilliant
cock cardinal and an equally gaudy jay fought for a perching-place
on his head.
"Weel, I'm beat," muttered Duncan, forgetting the silence
imposed on his wife. "I'll hae to give in. `Seein' is believin'.
A man wad hae to see that to believe it. We mauna let the Boss miss
that sight, for it's a chance will no likely come twice in a life.
Everything is snowed under and thae craturs near starved, but trustin'
Freckles that complete they are tamer than our chickens. Look hard,
bairns!" he whispered. "Ye winna see the like o' yon again,
while God lets ye live. Notice their color against the ice and snow,
and the pretty skippin' ways of them! And spunky! Weel, I'm heat
fair!"
Freckles emptied his cap, turned his pockets and scattered his last
grain. Then he waved his watching friends good-bye and started down
the timber-line.
A week later, Duncan and Freckles arose from breakfast to face the
bitterest morning of the winter. When Freckles, warmly capped and
gloved, stepped to the corner of the kitchen for his scrap-pail,
he found a big pan of steaming boiled wheat on the top of it. He
wheeled to Mrs. Duncan with a shining face.
"Were you fixing this warm food for me chickens or yours?"
he asked.
"It's for yours, Freckles," she said. "I was afeared
this cold weather they wadna lay good without a warm bite now and
then."
Duncan laughed as he stepped to the other room for his pipe; but
Freckles faced Mrs. Duncan with a trace of every pang of starved
mother-hunger he ever had suffered written large on his homely,
splotched, narrow features.
"Oh, how I wish you were my mother!" he cried.
Mrs. Duncan attempted an echo of her husband's laugh.
"Lord love the lad!" she exclaimed. "Why, Freckles,
are ye no bright enough to learn without being taught by a woman
that I am your mither? If a great man like yoursel' dinna ken that,
learn it now and ne'er forget it. Ance a woman is the wife of any
man, she becomes wife to all men for having had the wifely experience
she kens! Ance a man-child has beaten his way to life under the
heart of a woman, she is mither to all men, for the hearts of mithers
are everywhere the same. Bless ye, laddie, I am your mither!"
She tucked the coarse scarf she had knit for him closer over his
chest and pulled his cap lower over his ears, but Freckles, whipping
it off and holding it under his arm, caught her rough, reddened
hand and pressed it to his lips in a long kiss. Then he hurried
away to hide the happy, embarrassing tears that were coming straight
from his swelling heart.
Mrs. Duncan, sobbing unrestrainedly, swept into the adjoining room
and threw herself into Duncan's arms.
"Oh, the puir lad!" she wailed. "Oh, the puir mither-hungry
lad! He breaks my heart!"
Duncan's arms closed convulsively around his wife. With a big, brown
hand he lovingly stroked her rough, sorrel hair.
"Sarah, you're a guid woman!" he said. "You're a
michty guid woman! Ye hae a way o' speakin' out at times that's
like the inspired prophets of the Lord. If that had been put to
me, now, I'd `a' felt all I kent how to and been keen enough to
say the richt thing; but dang it, I'd `a' stuttered and stammered
and got naething out that would ha' done onybody a mite o' good.
But ye, Sarah! Did ye see his face, woman? Ye sent him off lookin'
leke a white light of holiness had passed ower and settled on him.
Ye sent the lad away too happy for mortal words, Sarah. And ye made
me that proud o' ye! I wouldna trade ye an' my share o' the Limberlost
with ony king ye could mention."
He relaxed his clasp, and setting a heavy hand on each shoulder,
he looked straight into her eyes.
"Ye're prime, Sarah! Juist prime!" he said.
Sarah Duncan stood alone in the middle of her two-roomed log cabin
and lifted a bony, clawlike pair of hands, reddened by frequent
immersion in hot water, cracked and chafed by exposure to cold,
black-lined by constant battle with swamp-loam, calloused with burns,
and stared at them wonderingly.
"Pretty-lookin' things ye are!" she whispered. "But
ye hae juist been kissed. And by such a man! Fine as God ever made
at His verra best. Duncan wouldna trade wi' a king! Na! Nor I wadna
trade with a queen wi' a palace, an' velvet gowns, an' diamonds
big as hazelnuts, an' a hundred visitors a day into the bargain.
Ye've been that honored I'm blest if I can bear to souse ye in dish-water.
Still, that kiss winna come off! Naething can take it from me, for
it's mine till I dee. Lord, if I amna proud! Kisses on these old
claws! Weel, I be drawed on!"