The people of Wareville had good reason alike for pride and for sorrow, pride for victory, and sorrow for the fallen, but they spent no time in either, at least openly, resuming at once the task of founding a new state.
Henry Ware1, the hero of the hour and the savior of the village, laid aside his wild garb2 and took a place in his father's fields. The work was heavy, the Indian corn was planted, but trees were to be felled, fences were to be cut down, and as he was so strong a larger share than usual was expected of him. His own father appreciated these hopes and was resolved that his son should do his full duty.
Henry entered upon his task and from the beginning he had misgivings3, but he refused to indulge them. He handled a hoe on his first day from dawn till dark in a hot field, and all the while the mighty4 wilderness5 about him was crying out to him in many voices. While the sun glowed upon him, and the sweat ran down his face he could see the deep cool shade of the forest—how restful and peaceful it looked there! He knew a sheltered glade6 where the buffalo7 were feeding, he could find the deer reposing8 in a thicket9, and to the westward10 was a new region of hills and clear brooks12, over which he might be the first white man to roam.
His blood tingled13 with his thoughts, but he never said a word, only bending lower to his task, and hardening his resolve. The voices of the wilderness might call, and he could not keep from hearing them, but he need not go. The amount of work he did that day was wonderful to all who saw, his vast strength put him far ahead of all others and back of his strength was his will. But they said nothing and he was glad they did not speak.
When he went home in the dusk he overtook Lucy Upton near the palisade. She was in the same red dress that she wore when she ran the gantlet and in the twilight14 it seemed to be tinged15 to a deeper scarlet16. She was walking swiftly with the easy, swinging grace of a good figure and good health, but when he joined her she went more slowly.
He did not speak for a few moments, and she gave him a silent glance of sympathy. In her woman's heart she guessed the cause of his trouble, and while she had been afraid of him when he appeared suddenly as the Indian warrior18 yet she liked him better in that part than as she now saw him. Then he was majestic19, now he was prosaic20, and it seemed to her that his present rôle was unfitting.
"You are tired," she said at last.
"Well, not in the body exactly, but I feel like resting."
"Do you think that you will make a good farmer?" she asked.
"As good as the times and our situation allow," he replied. "Wandering parties of the savages23 are likely to pass near here and in the course of time they may send back an army. Besides one has to hunt now, as for a long while we must depend on the forest for a part of our food."
It seemed to her that these things did not cause him sorrow, that he turned to them as a sort of relief: his eyes sparkled more brightly when he spoke24 of the necessity for hunting and the possible passage of Indian parties which must be repelled25. Girl though she was, she felt again a little glow of sympathy, guessing as she did his nature; she could understand how he thrilled when he heard the voices of the forest calling to him.
They reached the gate of the palisade and passed within. It was full dusk now, the forest blurring26 together into a mighty black wall, and the outlines of the houses becoming shadowy. The Ware family sat awhile that evening by the hearth27 fire, and John Ware was full of satisfaction. A worthy28 man, he had neither imagination nor primitive29 instincts and he valued the wilderness only as a cheap place in which to make homes. He spoke much of clearing the ground, of the great crops that would come, and of the profit and delight afforded by regular work year after year on the farm. Henry Ware sat in silence, listening to his father's oracular tones, but his mother, glancing at him, had doubts to which she gave no utterance30.
The days passed and as the spring glided31 into summer they grew hotter. The sun glowed upon the fields, and the earth parched32 with thirst. In the forest the leaves were dry and they rustled33 when the wind blew upon them. The streams sank away again, as they had done during the siege, and labor34 became more trying. Yet Henry Ware never murmured, though his soul was full of black bitterness. Often he would resolutely35 turn his eyes from the forest where he knew the deep cool pools were, and keep them on the sun-baked field. His rifle, which had seemed to reproach him, inanimate object though it was, he hid in a corner of the house where he could not see it and its temptation. In order to create a counter-irritant he plunged36 into work with the most astonishing vigor37.
John Ware, in those days, was full of pride and satisfaction, he rejoiced in the industrial prowess of his son, and he felt that his own influence had prevailed, he had led Henry back to the ways of civilization, the only right ways, and he enjoyed his triumph. But the schoolmaster, in secret, often shook his head.
The summer grew drier and hotter, it was a period of drought again and the little children gasped38 through the sweating nights. Afar they saw the blaze of forest fires and ashes and smoke came on the wind. Henry toiled39 with a dogged spirit, but every day the labor grew more bitter to him; he took no interest in it, he did not wish to calculate the result in the years to come, when all around him, extending thousands of miles, was an untrodden wilderness, in which he might roam and hunt until the end, although his years should be a hundred.
It was worst at night, when he lay awake by a window, breathing the hot air, then the deep cool forest extended to him her kindest invitation, and it took all his resolution to resist her welcome. The wind among the trees was like music, but it was a music to which he must close his ears. Then he remembered his vast wanderings with Black Cloud and his red friends, how they had crossed great and unnamed rivers, the days in the endless forest and the other days on the endless plains, and of the mighty lake they had reached in their northernmost journey—how cool and pleasant that lake seemed now! His mind ran over every detail of the great buffalo hunts, of those trips along the streams to trap the beaver40 and the events in the fight with the hostile tribe.
All these recollections seemed very vivid and real to him now, and the narrow life of Wareville faded into a mist out of which shone only the faces of those whom he loved—it was they alone who had brought him back to Wareville, but he knew that their ways were not his ways, and it was hard to confine his spirit within the narrow limits of a settlement.
But his long martyrdom went on, the summer was growing old, with the work of planting and cultivating almost done and the harvest soon to follow, and whatever his feelings may have been he had never flinched41 a single time. Nourished by his great labors42 the Ware farm far surpassed all others, and the pride of John Ware grew. He also grew more exacting43 with his pride, and this quality brought on the crisis.
Henry was building a fence one particularly hot afternoon, and his father coming by, cool and fresh, found fault with his work, chiefly to show his authority, because the work was not badly done—Mr. Ware was a good man, but like other good men he had a rare fault-finding impulse. The voices in the woods had been calling very loudly that day and Henry's temper suddenly flashed into a flame. But he did not give way to any external outburst of passion, speaking in a level, measured voice.
"I am sorry you do not like it," he said, "because it is the last work I am going to do here."
"Why—what do you mean?" exclaimed his father in astonishment44.
"I am done," replied Henry in his firm tones, and dropping the fence rail that he held he walked to the house, every nerve in him thrilling with expectation of the pleasure that was to come. His mother was there, and she started in fear at his face.
"It is true, mother," he said, "I am not going to deceive you, I am going into the forest, but I will come again and often. It is the only life that I can lead, I was made for it I suppose; I have tried the other out there in the fields, and I have tried hard, but I cannot stand it."
She knew too well to seek to stop him. He took his rifle from its secluded45 corner, and the feeling of it, stock and barrel, was good to his hands. He put on the buckskin hunting shirt, leggings and moccasins, fringed and beaded, and with them he felt all his old zest46 and pride returning. He kissed his mother and sister good-by, shook hands with his younger brother, did the same with his astonished father at the door, and then, rifle on shoulder, disappeared in the circling forest.
That night Braxton Wyatt sneered47 and said that a savage22 could not keep from being a savage, but Paul Cotter turned upon him so fiercely that he took it back. The schoolmaster made no comment aloud, but to himself he said, "It was bound to come and perhaps it is no loss that it has come."
Meanwhile Henry Ware was tasting the fiercest and keenest joy of his life. The great forest seemed to reach out its boughs48 like kind arms to welcome and embrace. How cool was the shade! How the shafts49 of sunlight piercing the leaves fell like golden arrows on the ground! How the little brooks laughed and danced over the pebbles50! This was his world and he had been too long away from it. Everything was friendly, the huge tree trunks were like old comrades, the air was fresher and keener than any that he had breathed in a long time, and was full of new life and zest. All his old wilderness love rushed back to him, and now after many months he felt at home.
Strong as he was already new strength flowed into his frame and he threw back his head, and laughed a low happy laugh. Then rifle at the trail he ran for miles among the trees from the pure happiness of living, but noting as he passed with wonderfully keen eyes every trail of a wild animal and all the forest signs that he knew so well. He ran many miles and he felt no weariness. Then he threw himself down on Mother Earth, and rejoiced at her embrace. He lay there a long time, staring up through the leaves and the shifting sunlight, and he was so still that a hare hopped52 through the undergrowth almost at his feet, never taking alarm. To Henry Ware then the world seemed grand and beautiful, and of all things in it God had made the wilderness the finest, lingering over every detail with a loving hand.
He watched the setting of the sun and the coming of the twilight. The sun was a great blazing ball and the western sky flowed away from it in circling waves of blue and pink and gold, then long shadows came over the forest, and the distant trees began to melt together into a gigantic dark wall. To the dweller53 in cities all this vast loneliness and desolation would have been dreary54 and weird55 beyond description; he would have shuddered56 with superstitious57 awe58, starting in fear at the slightest sound, but there was no such quality in it for Henry Ware. He saw only comradeship and the friendly veil of the great creeping shadow. His eye could pierce the thickest night, and fear, either of the darkness or things physical, was not in him.
He rose after a while, when the last sign of day was gone, and walked on, though more slowly. He made no noise as he passed, stepping lightly, but with sure foot like one with both genius and training for the wilderness. He knelt at a little brook11 to slake59 his thirst, but did not stop long there. His happiness decreased in nowise. The familiar voices of the night were speaking to him. He heard the distant hoot60 of an owl17, a deer rustled in the bush, a lizard61 scuttled62 over the leaves, and he rejoiced at the sounds. He did not think of hunger but toward midnight he raked some of last year's fallen leaves close to the trunk of a big tree, lay down upon them, and fell in a few moments into happy and dreamless sleep.
He awoke with the first rays of the dawn, shot a deer after an hour's search, and then cooked his breakfast by the side of one of the little brooks. It was the first food that had tasted just right to him in many weeks, and afterwards he lay by the camp fire awhile, and luxuriated. He had the most wonderful feeling of peace and ease; all the world was his to go where he chose and to do what he chose, and he began to think of an autumn camp, a tiny lodge63 in the deepest recess64 of the wilderness, where he could store spare ammunition65, furs and skins and find a frequent refuge, when the time for storms and cold came. He would build at his ease—there was plenty of time and he would fill in the intervals66 with hunting and exploration.
He ranged that day toward the north and the west, moving with deliberation, and not until the third or the fourth day did he come to the place that he had in mind. In the triangle between the junction67 of two streams was a marshy69 area, thickly grown with bushes and slim trees, that thrust their roots deep down through the mire70 into more solid soil. The marsh68 was perhaps two acres in extent; right in the heart of it was a piece of firm earth about forty feet square and here Henry meant to build his lodge. He alone knew the path across the marsh over fallen logs lying near enough to each other to be reached by an agile71 man, and on the tiny island all his possessions would be safe.
He worked a week at his hut, and it was done, a little lean-to of bark and saplings, partly lined with skins, but proof against rain or snow. On the floor he spread the skins and furs of animals that he killed, and on the walls he hung trophies72 of the hunt.
Two weeks after his house was finished he used it at its full value. Summer was gone and autumn was coming, a great rain poured and the wind blew cold. Dead leaves fell in showers from the trees, and the boughs swaying before the gale73 creaked dismally74 against each other. But it all gave to Henry a supreme75 sense of physical comfort. He lay in his snug76 hut, and, pulling a little to one side the heavy buffalo robe that hung over the doorway77, watched the storm rage through the wilderness. He had no sense of loneliness, his mind was in perfect tune78 with everything about him, and delighted in the triumphant79 manifestation80 of nature.
He stayed there all day, content to lie still and meditate81 vaguely82 of anything that came of its own accord into his mind. About the twilight hour he cooked some venison, ate it and then slept a dreamless sleep through the night.
The rain ceased the next day but the air became crisp and cold, and autumn was fully51 come. In a week the forest was dyed into the most glowing colors, red and yellow and brown, and the shades between. The heavens were pure blue and gold, and it was a poignant83 delight to breathe the keen air. Again he ranged far and rejoiced in the hunting. His infallible rifle never missed, and in the little hut in the marsh the stock of furs and skins grew so fast that scarcely room for himself was left. He hid a fresh store at another place in the forest, and then he returned to Wareville for a day. His father greeted him with some constraint84, not with coldness exactly, but with lack of understanding. His mother and his sister wept with joy and Mrs. Ware said: "I was expecting you about this time and you have not disappointed me."
He stayed two days and his keen eyes, so observant of material matters, noted85 that the colony was not doing well for the time, the drought having almost ruined the crops and there was full promise of scanty86 food and a hard winter. Now came his opportunity. He had looked upon his month in the forest as in part a holiday, and he never intended to throw aside all responsibility for others, roving the wilderness absolutely free from care. He knew that he would have work to do, he felt that he should have it, and now he saw the way to do the kind of work that he loved to do.
He replenished87 his supply of ammunition, took up his rifle again and returned to the forest. Now he used all his surpassing knowledge and skill in the chase, and game began to pour into the colony, bear, deer, buffalo and the smaller animals, until he alone seemed able to feed the entire settlement through the winter.
He experienced a new thrill keener and more delightful88 than any that had gone before; he was doing for others and the knowledge was most pleasant. Winter came on, fierce and unyielding with almost continuous snow and ice, and Henry Ware was the chief support of that little village in the wilderness. The game wandering with its fancy, or perhaps taking alarm at the new settlement had drifted far, and he alone of all the hunters could find it. The voices that had been raised against him a second time were stilled again, because no one dared to accuse when his single figure stood between them and starvation.
He took Paul Cotter with him on some of his hunts, but never even to Paul did he tell the secret of his hut in the morass89; that was to be guarded for himself alone. He was fond of Paul, but Paul able though he was fell far behind Henry in the forest.
The debt of Wareville to him grew and none felt privileged to criticise90 him now, as he appeared from the forest and disappeared into it again on his self-chosen tasks.
The winter broke up at last, but with the spring came a new and more formidable danger. Small parties of Indians, not strong enough to attack Wareville itself but sufficient for forest ambush91, began to appear in the country, and two or three lives that could be ill spared were lost. Now Henry Ware showed his supreme value; he was a match and more than a match for the savages at all their own tricks, and he became the ranger92 for the settlement, its champion against a wild and treacherous93 foe94.
The tales of his skill and prowess spread far through the wilderness. Single handed he would not hesitate in the depths of the forest to attack war parties of half a dozen, and while suffering heavily themselves they could never catch their daring tormentor95. These tales even spread across the Ohio to the Indian villages, where they told of a blond and giant white youth in the South who was the spirit of death, whom no runner could overtake, whom no bullet could slay96 and who raged against the red man with an invincible97 wrath98.
As his single hand had fed them through the winter so his single hand protected them from death in the spring. He seemed to know by instinct when the war parties were coming and where they would appear. Always he confronted them with some devious99 attack that they did not know how to meet, and Wareville remained inviolate100.
Then, in the summer, when the war bands were all gone he came back to Wareville to stay a while, although, everyone, himself included, knew that he would always remain a son of the wilderness, spending but part of his time in the houses of men.
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1
ware
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| n.(常用复数)商品，货物 | |
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garb
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| n.服装，装束 | |
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misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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glade
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| n.林间空地，一片表面有草的沼泽低地 | |
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buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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reposing
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| v.将（手臂等）靠在某人（某物）上( repose的现在分词 ) | |
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thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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brooks
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| n.小溪( brook的名词复数 ) | |
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13
tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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majestic
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| adj.雄伟的，壮丽的，庄严的，威严的，崇高的 | |
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prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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blurring
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| n.模糊，斑点甚多，（图像的）混乱v.（使）变模糊( blur的现在分词 )；（使）难以区分 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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glided
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| v.滑动( glide的过去式和过去分词 )；掠过；（鸟或飞机 ） 滑翔 | |
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parched
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| adj.焦干的；极渴的；v.（使）焦干 | |
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rustled
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| v.发出沙沙的声音( rustle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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vigor
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| n.活力，精力，元气 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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toiled
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的过去式和过去分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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beaver
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| n.海狸，河狸 | |
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flinched
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| v.（因危险和痛苦）退缩，畏惧( flinch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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labors
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| v.努力争取(for)( labor的第三人称单数 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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43
exacting
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| adj.苛求的，要求严格的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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sneered
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| 讥笑，冷笑( sneer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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shafts
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| n.轴( shaft的名词复数 )；（箭、高尔夫球棒等的）杆；通风井；一阵（疼痛、害怕等） | |
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50
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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53
dweller
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| n.居住者，住客 | |
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dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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shuddered
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| v.战栗( shudder的过去式和过去分词 )；发抖；（机器、车辆等）突然震动；颤动 | |
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superstitious
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| adj.迷信的 | |
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awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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slake
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| v.解渴，使平息 | |
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hoot
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| n.鸟叫声，汽车的喇叭声； v.使汽车鸣喇叭 | |
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lizard
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| n.蜥蜴，壁虎 | |
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scuttled
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| v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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recess
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| n.短期休息，壁凹（墙上装架子，柜子等凹处） | |
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ammunition
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| n.军火，弹药 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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marsh
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| n.沼泽，湿地 | |
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marshy
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| adj.沼泽的 | |
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mire
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| n.泥沼，泥泞；v.使...陷于泥泞，使...陷入困境 | |
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agile
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| adj.敏捷的，灵活的 | |
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trophies
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| n.（为竞赛获胜者颁发的）奖品( trophy的名词复数 )；奖杯；（尤指狩猎或战争中获得的）纪念品；（用于比赛或赛跑名称）奖 | |
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gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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snug
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| adj.温暖舒适的，合身的，安全的；v.使整洁干净，舒适地依靠，紧贴；n.（英）酒吧里的私房 | |
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doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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triumphant
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| adj.胜利的，成功的；狂欢的，喜悦的 | |
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manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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poignant
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| adj.令人痛苦的，辛酸的，惨痛的 | |
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constraint
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| n.(on)约束，限制；限制(或约束)性的事物 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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scanty
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| adj.缺乏的，仅有的，节省的，狭小的，不够的 | |
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replenished
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| 补充( replenish的过去式和过去分词 )； 重新装满 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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morass
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| n.沼泽，困境 | |
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criticise
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| v.批评，评论；非难 | |
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ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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ranger
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| n.国家公园管理员，护林员；骑兵巡逻队员 | |
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treacherous
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| adj.不可靠的，有暗藏的危险的；adj.背叛的，背信弃义的 | |
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foe
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| n.敌人，仇敌 | |
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tormentor
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| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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slay
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| v.杀死，宰杀，杀戮 | |
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invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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devious
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| adj.不坦率的，狡猾的；迂回的，曲折的 | |
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inviolate
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| adj.未亵渎的，未受侵犯的 | |
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