Lost on a Mountain in Maine (4 page)

About the middle of the afternoon, I sat down on a big rock to rest. Boy! I was a sight. My wrists were covered with blood from the mosquitoes I'd smashed, and my feet and legs were all red, too, from the cuts and scratches and bites. I had a million bites. I looked like I had measles or smallpox. I got a little worried when I found my feet were numb. I pinched my big toe and didn't feel anything.

I wished I had a hat with mosquito netting around it, like some of the fishermen in the camp wore. I wished that, because the blackflies and mosquitoes didn't give me any rest. They made me so nervous that I could have jumped out of my boots, but I didn't have any boots to jump out of. I could hear their wings and they
sounded like airplanes right in my ears. I felt like getting up and running, but what good would
that
do? They'd follow, and I'd pick up others. Anyway, they were only flies and not bears or wild cats. They couldn't kill a fellow, even if they could drive him nearly crazy. I pulled my dungarees up over my legs and lay back on the rock, and I guess I slept for an hour or so because the shadows were pretty dark under the trees when I awoke with a start.

Something had happened. I couldn't tell just what. There had been a loud noise, like a snort and then a scramble as though some creature had gone away fast. I didn't dare get up. I just opened my eyes and looked about as far as I could without moving my head. All was quiet, except the growling of low thunder in the mountains somewhere. I was glad of one thing—the drizzling rain had stopped. I lay there listening for a long time, then I sat up and looked around. Down near the stream edge, in the mud, there were hoofmarks, quite large ones, and they were fresh because water was oozing into them. Then I knew what had happened. A deer, maybe a moose, had come up close to me while I slept.

After my rest on the rock, I felt much better. I bathed my feet in the stream and, while doing so, did I see some trout! If the fishermen in the camp knew about those trout, they'd wear their shoes out getting to them—great, green fellows with pink portholes, sliding through the water like eels—just a flip of a tail and they went a yard. Those trout looked good to me. I hadn't eaten anything since the morning before and I was hungry. I lay over the rock on my stomach and watched them. Maybe I could catch one with my hands. Nothing doing! They slid beyond reach each time, but they weren't frightened at all. They just hung around watching me. I guess that shows that they hadn't been fished much.

Anyway, what could I do with a raw trout? I couldn't cook it because I didn't have any matches. My Dad is strict about that. He never permits us boys to fool around with matches at home or in the woods. Even if I had matches, a whole box of them, and they were all dry, I would have been pretty slow about lighting a big fire where I was. A hurricane must have gone through that region, for there was down timber everywhere—whole patches of “blow-downs,” as the guides call them, with the tops all heaped together like the makings of a bonfire.
¹³
I knew very well what would happen if those tops got going—the whole place would be a roaring furnace. A fellow wouldn't have any chance at all. So I didn't worry much when I couldn't catch a trout because I don't like fish anyway, and I couldn't eat it raw.

Night was coming and I was pretty tired. I wasn't so much afraid now, but I wondered why I hadn't run into somebody or come across some trail. Tomorrow it would be different, and I'd be back with Dad. Maybe I could just telephone to Dad to pick me up on the way to Caribou, and we wouldn't lose much time after all.
¹⁴
That started me to thinking about home and Ryan. I missed Ryan a lot. He's my twin and he'd know what to do, because he's level-headed and smart.

Maybe he was out playing with the other boys, right at that moment. While I was thinking over such things, I found a gold mine—no, not exactly a gold mine, but a strawberry patch—big berries, too, and as sweet as honey. Did they taste good! I got down on all fours, like a bear, and gobbled them as fast as I could. I guess I ate a few leaves, too, but that didn't matter. Pretty soon, I noticed darkness setting in. It gets dark fast in those woods.

I have always been used to going to bed early. My Mommy and Dad think that children need lots of sleep. Maybe that was a good thing for me, because when bedtime arrived, I always stopped and hunted for some place to sleep.

Just before I found the berry patch, I came across an old stump with a lot of green moss around its roots. That seemed like a good place to sleep so I went back to it. My dungarees chafed me so badly and were so wet and cold, I took them off and shoved them under a small log that was leaning on a rock.

Maybe you think a fellow can't curl up in a ball when he's cold! Well, I had my knees right up under my chin. I got my knees under my reefer that way, and that helped keep the mosquitoes off. Boy, was I dumb! I never thought of piling moss over my legs or pulling down some branches. Maybe I could have made a lean-to if I had known how, but I didn't, and anyway, I was awfully tired and my hands were sore from catching hold of rocks and rough branches all day.

It's easy to think up things to do,
now
, but it was different in the woods. Maybe you think I didn't miss a good bed. That moss wasn't soft at all. There was always a stone under it sticking into my ribs. I'd lie on one side as long as I could, and then I'd turn over and that would give the mosquitoes a new start. Those mosquitoes were terrible. Maybe turning over so often was the wrong thing to do, but I did it.

I went to sleep right away that night, but I didn't sleep long. It began to rain—great big drops that woke me
up. I listened for a moment, shivering all the time and crying a little from the cold. I could hear thunder, but it sounded way off and kind of hollow. Then it started to rain harder and harder, and I remembered a hollow tree I passed. I stumbled back towards it, Boy! Was it dark! I could feel the fleece in my reefer getting wet, and I didn't like that. I was in such a hurry that I forgot my dungarees. At last I found the tree and crawled in. It was bigger than I thought and I was able to curl up in a sitting position. It was dry and warm in there, and I just thanked God for being so good to me.

Then, I dropped off to sleep.

I H
EAR
F
OOTSTEPS
• T
HIRD
D
AY

I
DREAMED some wild dreams that night, but I can't think of
one
of them. I wish I could. Some of them were funny, and some scared me. I can remember that much.

When morning came, I tried to crawl out of the tree. Now I know how an old, old man feels, going around with a cane. I couldn't move. I had rheumatism, and my knees creaked like old hinges. My neck was stiff and sore, and I had a pain down the middle of my shoulders. I wondered if pneumonia began that way, but I took a long breath and didn't feel any pain so I knew my lungs were all right.

Outside the sun was shining. I lay still and watched it for a long time. A little brown bird came right up to the tree and started to hunt for bugs among the roots. I could see the sunlight on its feathers and I remember saying to myself, “This can't be such a bad place after all. That little bird seems to like it.” When the bird had flown away I worked my way out of the tree. Boy, that was some job!

The sight of that bird eating grubs made me hungry and so, after going over and looking at my dungarees I left the stream and went back up on a little hill where some bushes grew. I didn't put on the dungarees, for when I felt of them they chilled me, they were so cold and wet and stiff. I just shoved them back under the old tree trunk.

On the hill I found some berries. They were pretty dry, but I ate all I could find, then I remembered that I hadn't said my morning prayers. I didn't want to start the day that way, so I knelt down and prayed for quite a while. You see, at that time I didn't really think I was in a bad fix. I knew I was lost, but I expected to run across someone fishing or camping around every bend in the stream. That's the way it is, you keep saying to yourself, “Well, I'll find somebody around the next bend.” You keep saying that to yourself all day long. It never came into my head that a fellow could get so badly lost in the United States of America, and that days would pass without seeing a soul.

After I had said my prayers I went down to the stream, found my dungarees and threw them over my arm. I waded into the water, hugging the bank as much as I could. I did that because the ground there was not quite so hard on my feet. Every little while I would come across a sandy place where I could straighten up and walk fast.

As I went along, I came to a big rock—a piece of granite, I guess, that had rolled down from the mountain. On the shore side of it was a patch of bushes so thick that I could not force my way through. On the stream side the water was so fast and deep that I knew I could not wade it. I had to crawl to the top of that boulder and then jump a big crack to another rock.

I forgot to say that by now the brook had become quite a stream. I don't know how many little brooks had run into it, but I know I crossed over quite a few.

I got to the top of the boulder, all right, but I hurt my wrist doing it. I sat down on top to rest and that gave me a chance to watch the water rushing between the rock I was on and the one just beyond. That water gurgled and gurgled and churned and seemed to be trying to climb right up to me. I was pretty stiff, but I knew I had to jump; so I tossed my dungarees across ahead of me. In one of the pockets, I had a big piece of rock.
¹⁵
I was carrying it back to Mommy from the top of Katahdin. Maybe she'd use it as a paperweight or a doorstop. That rock was heavy, and I knew Mommy would like it; so I carried it along.

Well, I didn't have strength enough to toss my pants clear across onto the rock. The legs hit the top all right, but the pocket with the stone in it slapped onto the side with a dull thud. And there my dungarees hung for a second, slowly slipping, inch by inch, into the white water, racing below. All I could do was watch them slip. Why didn't I jump across and save them? I don't know, except that I must have had a feeling that the least touch or jar would shoot them into the stream. Maybe I was just paralyzed, looking at them. Boy, what a moment! What would I do, if they slipped into the water? How would I keep off the insects? How would I ever get into camp without being seen? Well, I figured that I could crawl into camp after dark, when everyone was in bed—maybe.

While I was thinking such things, down slid the dungarees like a fat, blue snake into the water. One leg flapped up against the rock and they were gone. I couldn't believe it. My pants were
gone
. There I was like a kewpie or something. It might be all right to run around in the woods like that, but what would I say when I came around a bend and found a camp? I couldn't walk in like that and say, “I'm Donn Fendler. Please telephone my dad I'm here.” Everybody would die laughing.

Well, maybe after that, anyone would expect me to hunt for my pants. I didn't even look for them. I just jumped across to the other rock and went on. Maybe I could have found my pants—I don't know—but by the time that day was done, I was glad I had lost them. I couldn't slap blackflies and mosquitoes and mooseflies with heavy, wet dungarees over one arm.

I kept pretty close to the stream the rest of that day. When the shadows darkened under the trees I began looking for a place to sleep. I was lucky. On a little bank, about a hundred feet away from the water, I found a beautiful patch of soft green moss under a pine tree. I was tired but I took the time to pull a lot more of the moss together and spread it out into a bed. I said my prayers and lay down. I couldn't go to sleep right off, so I watched a bird with long legs fishing near the edge of the water. He would run a little and then stop and cock his head on one side and look and then run a little more. Then he would shoot his long bill into the water and spear a tiny fish. Boy, I wished I could feed myself as easily as that!

Suddenly I heard footsteps right behind me. I didn't move. Something snorted, then a deer stepped past me so close that I could have touched it and went down to the brook. I must have made a noise of some kind, for the deer suddenly stopped and turned its head and looked at me, then it wheeled around and faced me. I never saw such big eyes. I stayed as still as a mouse. I wasn't frightened, either. I wanted to see what that deer would do. Pretty soon it took a step towards me, then another and another. I wondered if it would walk on me, but it didn't. It looked and looked, then snorted and banged up and down with its front feet. Then it turned and went down to the stream and took a drink.

I can throw a baseball pretty straight, and there were plenty of round stones handy, but I didn't want to kill that deer. I felt glad it had come, and I felt glad that it wasn't afraid of me. I watched the deer for a long time. When he had gone, I closed my eyes. Just before I went off to sleep, I thought of a glass of milk—a big, cold glass with white foamy milk in it. Boy, the juice just ran down the corners of my mouth thinking of it! Anybody who doesn't like milk is crazy.