Amador ledger., 1900-05-18
NIGHT IN THE WOODS.
EFFECT OF THE AWFUL SOLITUDE
WHEN FIRST EXPERIENCED.

The Awe Inspiring Stiffness Makes
Sleep an ImpOssibility For Many
and Brings Visions of Terror to
Haunt the Tired Senses.
The awe inspiring stiffness of the
first night in camp! You lie on your
back vainly counting sleep. Vainly, l
say, because of the very intense still
ness which should WOO it, but does not,
as you are unused to it. Your guide
lies motionless, only his heavy breath
ing denoting that he is alive. 1t is sec
ond nature to him to sleep in the heart
of the wilderness, and his tired body
no more than touches the sweet scent
ed pine boughs when he slumbers.
1t will be so with you when you have
accustomed yourself to the preternat-
ural quiet so different from the rumble
of passing vehicles over paved streets
and which affects you not. But tonight
your eyelids are opened wide, and in
stead of the blissful forgetfulness
which you anticipated, your every
sense is on the alert to catch and d.
vine the meaning of the strange noises
which fill the woods Of northern Maine.
In front of your rude camp, which
is left open, the smoldering fire smokes
and crackles, each snap of charred en-
bers sounding to your ears like the re-
port of artillery. 1t is strange sensa-
ton, this first night in the woods.
Away up on the mountain side a fox
barks. The weird howl echoes and
re-echoes down the mountain side un-
til it seems to reach the lake and float
over its glasslike surface until it is
swallowed up in the dark water.
A night owl makes bold to disturb
your already troubled mind by perch
ing on a big pine not a hundred feet
away and sending forth screech that
curdles your blood until you realize
what it really is. Directly back of you
is the lake shore.
Suddenly comes a soft tread over
dried brush. Surely some one is steal
ing up to your camp. You rise to sit
ting position and await the marauder's
next move. Then once more you hear
the snap, snap, snap of his feet as he
cautiously draws near. Louder and
louder, you cannot be mistaken this
time; this is no trick of the imagina-
ton.
Now he must be directly beside you,
with nothing but a wall of boughs be-
tween. You can stand it no longer,
and, with half suppressed yell of ex-
citement, you seize your gun, spring to
your feet, dash aside the light canvas
that falls over the front of the camp
just enough to keep out the smoke
and run out prepared to shoot on sight.
There is a mad scramble, a cracking
of twigs, mad splash, and-the head
of a very badly frightened muskrat
can just be seen on the lakes surface
as it frantically pushes it's way into
the gloom.
You creep softly back to your boughs
rather ashamed at yourself and glance
furtively at the guide, who sleeps
peacefully through it ALL. At last ma
ture asserts herself and gradually you
feel the drowsiness of approaching
slumber steal over you. You slightly
raise your head to take one last look
at the Pickering log that splutters
away outside.
Hist! What's that? Two fiery eyes
set in the framework of impenetrable
gloom beyond the fire seem staring di-
rectly at you. Like Goals, they burn
and the words of your guide, "Oh,
yes, thar's plenty of bar ron yere,"
come back to you with awful import.
Then you hear the tread Of his cushion
padded feet moving here and there,
but those awful eyes never once turn
from you. They burn you with their
hypnotic, baleful glare, and with a
calmness you would not have believed
you possessed, you softly reach for
your rifle.
A muskrat may be joke, but hum
CRY bear prowling within 20 feet of you
IS an unsafe guest. You know you are
as white as a sheet, and your hands
tremble as you bring the piece to your
shoulder and aim directly between
those awful greenish yellow eyes. Sup
pose you miss; but, no, you will not.
Your finger presses the trigger.
The roar Of your rifle sounds like a
clap Of thunder, and its reverberations
roll and chase each other over the tops
of the pines and spruces and startle a
thousand sleeping creatures who rem
der night hideous with their frighten-
ed cries as they scurry or fly away
from your vicinity. It's rude way to
awaken a man, and no wonder your
guide jumps up yelling like a Co
manche Indian and nearly knocks out
the back of the camp as he runs
against 1t.
When he finds you pale and trem-
bling and hears you declare that you
have shot bear, he mutters incred-
ulously and, lighting a lantern, goes
out to investigate. You hear a loud
French Canuck laugh as he returns
carrying by the tail a headless chip
munk, which he tosses at your feet.
"You wan good shot, m'sieur You
heet him square tween de eyes. No
shoot better meself, but ah tink you
narve, what you call, onstring. you
better take wan good dreenk n go to
Sleep"
So are sounds magnified in the ST.
lence Of first night in the Maine
woods.-Portland CIe.) Express.
Our Debt to the Barn Fowl.
1t is quite possible, though of course