Glengarry School Days: A Story of Early Days in Glengarry Read online

  CHAPTER II

  THE DEEPOLE

  Archibald Munro had a steady purpose in life--to play the man, and toallow no pain of his--and pain never left him long--to spoil his work,or to bring a shadow to the life of any other. And though he had hishard times, no one who could not read the lines about his mouth everknew how hard they were.

  It was this struggle for self-mastery that made him the man he was, andtaught him the secrets of nobleness that he taught his pupils with theirthree "R's"; and this was the best of his work for the Twentieth school.

  North and south in front of the school the road ran through thedeep forest of great pines, with underbrush of balsam and spruce andsilver-birch; but from this main road ran little blazed paths that ledto the farm clearings where lay the children's homes. Here and there,set in their massive frames of dark green forest, lay the little farms,the tiny fenced fields surrounding the little log houses and barns.These were the homes of a people simple of heart and manners, butsturdy, clean living, and clear thinking, with their brittle Highlandcourage toughened to endurance by their long fight with the forest, andwith a self-respect born of victory over nature's grimmest of terrors.

  A mile straight south of the school stood the manse, which was Hughie'shome; two miles straight west Ranald lived; and Thomas Finch two milesnorth; while the other lads ought to have taken some of the littlepaths that branched east from the main road. But this evening, with oneaccord, the boys chose a path that led from the school-house clearingstraight southwest through the forest.

  What a path that was! Beaten smooth with the passing of many bare feet,it wound through the brush and round the big pines, past the haunts ofsquirrels, black, gray, and red, past fox holes and woodchuck holes,under birds' nests and bee-trees, and best of all, it brought up at lastat the Deep Hole, or "Deepole," as the boys called it.

  There were many reasons why the boys should have gone straight home.They were expected home. There were cows to get up from the pasture andto milk, potatoes that needed hoeing, gardens to weed, not to speak ofmessages and the like. But these were also excellent reasons why theboys should unanimously choose the cool, smooth-beaten, sweet-scented,shady path that wound and twisted through the trees and brush, but ledstraight to the Deepole. Besides, this was Friday night, it was hot,and they were tired out; the mere thought of the long walk home wasintolerable. The Deepole was only two miles away, and "There was lotsof time" for anything else. So, with wild whoops, they turned into theshady path and sped through the forest, the big boys in front, withRanald easily leading, for there was no runner so swift and tireless inall the country-side, and Hughie, with the small boys, panting behind.

  On they went, a long, straggling, yelling line, down into the cedarswamp, splashing through the "Little Crick" and up again over the beechridge, where, in the open woods, the path grew indistinct and was easyto lose; then again among the great pines, where the underbrush wasso thick that you could not tell what might be just before, till theypulled up at the old Lumber Camp. The boys always paused at the ruins ofthe old Lumber Camp. A ruin is ever a place of mystery, but to the oldLumber Camp attached an awful dread, for behind it, in the thickest partof the underbrush, stood the cabin of Alan Gorrach.

  Alan's was a name of terror among all the small children of the section.Mothers hushed their crying with, "Alan Gorrach will get you." Alan wasa small man, short in the legs, but with long, swinging, sinewy arms.He had a gypsy face, and tangled, long, black hair; and as he walkedthrough the forest he might be heard talking to himself, with wildgesticulations. He was an itinerant cooper by trade, and made for thefarmers' wives their butter-tubs and butter-ladles, mincing-bowls andcoggies, and for the men, whip-stalks, axe handles, and the like. Butin the boys' eyes he was guilty of a horrible iniquity. He wasa dog-killer. His chief business was the doing away with dogs ofill-repute in the country; vicious dogs, sheep-killing dogs, egg-suckingdogs, were committed to Alan's dread custody, and often he would be seenleading off his wretched victims to his den in the woods, whence theynever returned. It was a current report that he ate them, too. No wonderthe boys regarded him with horror mingled with fearful awe.

  In broad day, upon the high road, the small boys would boldly flingtaunts and stones at Alan, till he would pull out his long, sharpcooper's knife and make at them. But if they met him in the woods theywould walk past in trembling and respectful silence, or slip off intohiding in the bush, till he was out of sight.

  It was always part of the programme in the exploring of the LumberCamp for the big boys to steal down the path to Alan's cabin, and peerfearfully through the brush, and then come rushing back to the littleboys waiting in the clearing, and crying in terror-stricken stagewhispers, "He's coming! He's coming!" set off again through the bushlike hunted deer, followed by the panting train of youngsters, withtheir small hearts thumping hard against their ribs.

  In a few minutes the pine woods, with its old Lumber Camp and Alan'sfearsome cabin, were left behind; and then down along the flats wherethe big elms were, and the tall ash-trees, and the alders, the flying,panting line sped on in a final dash, for they could smell the river. Ina moment more they were at the Deepole.

  O! that Deepole! Where the big creek took a great sweep around beforeit tore over the rapids and down into the gorge. It was always in coolshade; the great fan-topped elm-trees hung far out over it, and thealders and the willows edged its banks. How cool and clear the darkbrown waters looked! And how beautiful the golden mottling on theirsmooth, flowing surface, where the sun rained down through theover-spreading elm boughs! And the grassy sward where the boys tore offtheir garments, and whence they raced and plunged, was so green and firmand smooth under foot! And the music of the rapids down in the gorge,and the gurgle of the water where it sucked in under the jam of deadwood before it plunged into the boiling pool farther down! Not thatthe boys made note of all these delights accessory to the joys ofthe Deepole itself, but all these helped to weave the spell that theswimming-hole cast over them. Without the spreading elms, withoutthe mottled, golden light upon the cool, deep waters, and without thedistant roar of the little rapid, and the soft gurgle at the jam, theDeepole would still have been a place of purest delight, but I doubt if,without these, it would have stolen in among their day dreams in afteryears, on hot, dusty, weary days, with power to waken in them a vaguepain and longing for the sweet, cool woods and the clear, brown waters.Oh, for one plunge! To feel the hug of the waters, their soothingcaress, their healing touch! These boys are men now, such as are on thehither side of the darker river, but not a man of them can think, on ahot summer day, of that cool, shaded, mottled Deepole, without a longingin his heart and a lump in his throat.

  The last quarter of a mile was always a dead race, for it was a point ofdistinction to be the first to plunge, and the last few seconds of therace were spent in the preliminaries of the disrobing. A single braceslipped off the shoulder, a flutter of a shirt over the head, a kickof the trousers, and whoop! plunge! "Hurrah! first in." The little boysalways waited to admire the first series of plunges, for there were manyseries before the hour was over, and then they would off to their owncrossing, going through a similar performance on a small scale.

  What an hour it was! What contests of swimming and diving! What waterfights and mud fights! What careering of figures, stark naked, throughthe rushes and trees! What larks and pranks!

  And then the little boys would dress. A simple process, but moredifficult by far than the other, for the trousers would stick to thewet feet--no boy would dream of a towel, nor dare to be guilty of sucha piece of "stuck-upness"--and the shirt would get wrong side out, orwould bundle round the neck, or would cling to the wet shoulders tillthey had to get on their knees almost to squirm into it. But that over,all was over. The brace, or if the buttons were still there, the braceswere easily jerked up on the shoulders, and there you were. Coats,boots, and stockings were superfluous, collars and ties utterlydespised.

  Then the little ones would gather on the
grassy bank to watch the bigones get out, which was a process worth watching.

  "Well, I'm going out, boys," one would say.

  "Oh, pshaw! let's have another plunge."

  "All right. But it's the last, though."

  Then a long stream of naked figures would scramble up the bank and rushfor the last place. "First out, last in," was the rule, for the boyswould much rather jump on some one else than be jumped on themselves.After the long line of naked figures had vanished into the boilingwater, one would be seen quietly stealing out and up the bank kickinghis feet clean as he stepped off the projecting root onto the grass,when, plunk! a mud ball caught him, and back he must come. It took themfull two hours to escape clean from the water, and woe betide the boylast out. On all sides stood boys, little and big, with mud balls readyto fling, till, out of sheer pity, he would be allowed to come forthclean. Then, when all were dressed, and blue and shivering--for twoamphibious hours, even on a July day, make one blue--more games wouldbegin, leap-frog, or tag, or jumping, or climbing trees, till they werewarm enough to set out for home.

  It was as the little ones were playing tag that Hughie came to grief.He was easily king of his company and led the game. Quick as a weasel,swift and wary, he was always the last to be caught. Around the trees,and out and in among the big boys, he led the chase, much to Tom Finch'sdisgust, who had not forgotten the spelling-match incident. Not that hecared for the defeat, but he still felt the bite in the master's finalwords, and he carried a grudge against the boy who had been the occasionof his humiliation.

  "Keep off!" he cried, angrily, as Hughie swung himself round him.But Hughie paid no heed to Tom's growl, unless, indeed, to repeat hisoffense, with the result that, as he flew off, Tom caught him a kickthat hastened his flight and laid him flat on his back amid the laughterof the boys.

  "Tom," said Hughie, gravely and slowly, so that they all stoodlistening, "do you know what you kick like?"

  The boys stood waiting.

  "A h-e-i-p-h-e-r."

  In a moment Tom had him by the neck, and after a cuff or two, sent himflying, with a warning to keep to himself.

  But Hughie, with a saucy answer, was off again on his game, circling asnear Tom Finch as he dared, and being as exasperating as possible, tillTom looked as if he would like a chance to pay him off. The chancecame, for Hughie, leading the "tag," came flying past Tom and toward thewater. Hardly realizing what he was doing, Tom stuck out his foot andcaught him flying past, and before any one knew how it had happened,poor Hughie shot far out into the Deepole, lighting fair on his stomach.There was a great shout of laughter, but in a moment every one wascalling, "Swim, Hughie!" "Keep your hands down!" "Don't splash likethat, you fool!" "Paddle underneath!" But Hughie was far too excited ortoo stunned by his fall to do anything but splash and sputter, and sink,and rise again, only to sink once more. In a few moments the affairbecame serious.

  The small boys began to cry, and some of the bigger ones to undress,when there was a cry from the elm-tree overhanging the water.

  "Run out that board, Don. Quick!"

  It was Ranald, who had been swinging up in the highest branches, andhad seen what had happened, and was coming down from limb to limb likea squirrel. As he spoke, he dropped from the lowest limb into the waterclose to where Hughie was splashing wildly.

  In an instant, as he rose to the surface, Hughie's arms went round hisneck and pulled his head under water. But he was up again, and tuggingat Hughie's hands, he cried:

  "Don't, Hughie! let go! I'll pull you out. Let go!" But Hughie,half-insensible with terror and with the water he had gulped in, clungwith a death-grip.

  "Hughie!" gasped Ranald, "you'll drown us both. Oh, Hughie man, let mepull you out, can't you?"

  Something in the tone caught Hughie's ear, and he loosed his hold, andRanald, taking him under the chin, looked round for the board.

  By this time Don Cameron was in the water and working the board slowlytoward the gasping boys. But now a new danger threatened. The currenthad gradually carried them toward the log jam, under which the watersucked to the falls below. Once under the jam, no power on earth couldsave.

  "Hurry up, Don!" called out Ranald, anxiously. Then, feeling Hughiebeginning to clutch again, he added, cheerily, "It's all right. You'llget us." But his face was gray and his eyes were staring, for over hisshoulder he could see the jam and he could feel the suck of the water onhis legs.

  "Oh, Ranald, you can't do it," sobbed Hughie. "Will I paddleunderneath?"

  "Yes, yes, paddle hard, Hughie," said Ranald, for the jam was just athis back.

  But as he spoke, there was a cry, "Ranald, catch it!" Over the slipperylogs of the jam came Tom Finch pushing out a plank.

  "Catch it!" he cried, "I'll hold this end solid." And Ranald caught andheld fast, and the boys on the bank gave a mighty shout. Soon Doncame up with his board, and Tom, catching the end, hauled it up on therolling logs.

  "Hold steady there now!" cried Tom, lying at full length upon the logs;"we'll get you in a minute."

  By this time the other boys had pulled a number of boards and planks outof the jam, and laying them across the logs, made a kind of raft uponwhich the exhausted swimmers were gradually hauled, and then broughtsafe to shore.

  "Oh, Ranald," said Tom, almost weeping, "I didn't mean to--I neverthought--I'm awfully sorry."

  "Oh, pshaw!" said Ranald, who was taking off Hughie's shirt preparatoryto wringing it, "I know. Besides, it was you who pulled us out. You weredoing your best, Don, of course, but we would have gone under the jambut for Tom."

  For ten minutes the boys stood going over again the various incidentsin the recent dramatic scene, extolling the virtues of Ranald, Don, andThomas in turn, and imitating, with screams of laughter, Hughie's gulpsand splashings while he was fighting for his life. It was their way ofexpressing their emotions of gratitude and joy, for Hughie was dearlyloved by all, though no one would have dared to manifest such weakness.

  As they were separating, Hughie whispered to Ranald, "Come home withme, Ranald. I want you." And Ranald, looking down into the littlewhite face, went. It would be many a day before he would get rid of thepicture of the white face, with the staring black eyes, floating on thedark brown water beside him, and that was why he went.

  When they reached the path to the manse clearing Ranald and Hughie werealone. For some minutes Hughie followed Ranald in silence on a dog-trot,through the brule, dodging round stumps and roots and climbing overfallen trees, till they came to the pasture-field.

  "Hold on, Ranald," panted Hughie, putting on a spurt and coming up evenwith his leader.

  "Are you warm enough?" asked Ranald, looking down at the little flushedface.

  "You bet!"

  "Are you dry?"

  "Huh, huh."

  "Indeed, you are not too dry," said Ranald, feeling his wet shirt andtrousers, "and your mother will be wondering."

  "I'll tell her," said Hughie, in a tone of exulting anticipation.

  "What!" Ranald stood dead still.

  "I'll tell her," replied Hughie. "She'll be awful glad. And she'll beawful thankful to you, Ranald."

  Ranald looked at him in amazement.

  "I think I will jist be going back now," he said, at length. But Hughieseized him.

  "Oh, Ranald, you must come with me."

  He had pictured himself telling his mother of Ranald's exploit, andcovering his hero with glory. But this was the very thing that Ranalddreaded and hated, and was bound to prevent.

  "You will not be going to the Deepole again, I warrant you," Ranaldsaid, with emphasis.

  "Not go to the Deepole?"

  "No, indeed. Your mother will put an end to that sort of thing."

  "Mother! Why not?"

  "She will not be wanting to have you drowned."

  Hughie laughed scornfully. "You don't know my mother. She's not afraidof--of anything."

  "But she will be telling your father."

  This was a matter serious enough to give Hughie p
ause. His father mightvery likely forbid the Deepole.

  "There is no need for telling," suggested Ranald. "And I will just go infor a minute."

  "Will you stay for supper?"

  Ranald shook his head. The manse kitchen was a bright place, and to seethe minister's wife and to hear her talk was to Ranald pure delight. Butthen, Hughie might tell, and that would be too awful to bear.

  "Do, Ranald," pleaded Hughie. "I'll not tell."

  "I am not so sure."

  "Sure as death!"

  Still Ranald hesitated. Hughie grew desperate.

  "God may kill me on the spot!" he cried, using the most binding of alloaths known to the boys. This was satisfactory, and Ranald went.

  But Hughie was not skilled in deceiving, and especially in deceiving hismother. They were great friends, and Hughie shared all his secrets withher and knew that they were safe, unless they ought to be told. And so,when he caught sight of his mother waiting for him before the door, heleft Ranald, and thrilling with the memory of the awful peril throughwhich he had passed, rushed at her, and crying, "Oh, mother!" he flunghimself into her arms. "I am so glad to see you again!"

  "Why, Hughie, my boy, what's the matter?" said his mother, holding herarms tight about him. "And you are all wet! What is it?" But Hughie heldher fast, struggling with himself.

  "What is it?" she asked again, turning to Ranald.

  "We were running pretty fast--and it is a hot day--and--" But the cleargray-brown eyes were upon him, and Ranald found it difficult to go on.

  "Oh, mother, you mustn't ask," cried Hughie; "I promised not to tell."

  "Not to tell me, Hughie?" The surprise in the voice was quite too muchfor Hughie.

  "Oh, mother, we did not want to frighten you--and--I promised."

  "Then you must keep your promise. Come away in, my boy. Come in,Ranald."

  It was her boy's first secret from her. Ranald saw the look of pain inthe sweet face, and could not endure it.

  "It was just nothing, Mrs. Murray," he began.

  "Did you promise, too, Ranald?"

  "No, that I did not. And there is nothing much to tell, only Hughie fellinto the Deepole and the boys pulled him out!"

  "Oh, mother!" exclaimed Hughie, "it was Ranald. He jumped right downfrom the tree right into the water, and kept me up. You told yourself,Ranald," he continued, delighted to be relieved of his promise; and onhe went to give his mother, in his most picturesque style, a descriptionof the whole scene, while Ranald stood looking miserable and ashamed.

  "And Ranald was ashamed for me to tell you, and besides, he said youwouldn't let me go to the Deepole again. But you will, won't you mother?And you won't tell father, will you?"

  The mother stood listening, with face growing whiter and whiter, tillhe was done. Then she stooped down over the eager face for some moments,whispering, "My darling, my darling," and then coming to Ranald sheheld her hand on his shoulder for a moment, while she said, in a voicebravely struggling to be calm, "God reward you, Ranald. God grant my boymay always have so good and brave a friend when he needs."

  And from that day Ranald's life was different, for he had bound tohim by a tie that nothing could ever break, a friend whose influencefollowed him, and steadied and lifted him up to greatness, long afterthe grave had hidden her from men's sight.