The work of preparing the dinner had occupied so much time that it was nearly the regular hour for supper before the last boy arose from the lowly table, and not one of them had any desire to fish or hunt. They sat around the fire, dodging the smoke as best they could, until the setting sun warned them that they must get their bedroom work done at once, or be obliged to do it in the dark.
This task was remarkably simple; it consisted in each boy finding his blanket, wrapping himself in it, and lying on the ground, all in a row, like herrings in a box.
Nor did they wait very long for slumber to visit their eyelids, for in ten minutes after they were ready it came to all, even to Tip, who had curled himself up snugly under Tim’s arm.
Had any of the party been experienced in the sport of “camping out,” they would have studied the signs in the sky, for the purpose of learning what might have been expected of the weather; but as it was, they had all laid themselves down to sleep without a thought that the dark clouds which had begun to gather in the sky were evidences of a storm.
It was nearly midnight, and up to that time not one of them had awakened from the heavy sleep into which he had first fallen, when Tim became painfully aware that something was wrong. He had been dreaming that he was again on the Pride of the Wave, that Captain Pratt had thrown him overboard because he had been trying to steer, and just as he struck the water he awoke, with a start.
The moment his eyes were open he understood the reason for his dream: he was lying in a large pool of water, and the blanket in which he had wrapped himself so comfortably was thoroughly saturated with it. At first he was at a loss to account for this sudden change of condition, and then the loud patter of rain on the canvas roof told the story plainly. A storm had come up, and the tent, being on the slope of a hill, was serving as a sort of reservoir for little streams of water that were rapidly increasing in size.
Tip, roused by his master’s sudden movement, had started from his comfortable position and walked directly into the water, very much to his discomfort and fear; howling loudly, he jumped among the sleepers with such force as at once to awaken and terrify them.
It required but a few words from Tim to make them understand all that had happened, for some of them were nearly as wet as he was, and all could hear the patter of the rain, which seemed to increase in violence each moment.
A lonesome prospect it was to think of remaining in the tent the rest of the night, unable to sleep because of the water that poured in under the canvas, or trickled down through three or four small holes in the roof.
For several moments none of them knew what to do, but they stood huddled together in sleepy surprise and sorrow, until Tim proposed that, since he could hardly be more wet than he was, he should go out and dig a trench which would lead the water each side of the tent. But that plan was abandoned when it was discovered that a hatchet and a spoon were the only effective tools they had.
In order to get some idea of the condition of affairs, Tim lighted first one match and then another; but the light shed was so feeble that Captain Jimmy proposed building a small fire, which would both illuminate and heat the interior.
Tim acted upon this suggestion at once. With some newspapers and small bits of wood that were still dry he succeeded in kindling such a blaze as shed quite a light, but did not endanger the canvas. But he forgot all about the smoke, and this oversight he was reminded of very forcibly after a few moments.
Careful examination showed that the water only came in from the upper or higher side of the tent, but it was pouring in there in such quantities that before long the interior would be spread with a carpet of water.
“We’ve got to dig a ditch along this side, so’s the water will run off,” said Tim, after he had surveyed the uncomfortable-looking little brooks, and waited a moment, in the hope that Bill or Captain Jimmy would suggest a better plan.
All saw the necessity of doing something at once, and the moment Tim gave them the idea they went to work with knives, spoons, or any other implements they could find. It did not take much time, even with the poor tools they had, to dig a trench that would carry away any moderate amount of water, and after that was done they gathered around the fire for consultation.
But by that time they began to learn that smoke was even more uncomfortable to bear than water. For some time it had been rising to the top of the tent, escaping in small quantities through the flaps and holes; but only a portion of it had found vent, and the tent was so full that they were nearly suffocated.
They covered their eyes, and tried to “grin and bear it”; but such heroic effort could only be made for a short while, and they were obliged to run out into the pelting rain in order to get the pure air.
It was no fun to stand out-of-doors in a storm, and, acting on Captain Jimmy’s suggestion, the party returned after a few moments to “kick the fire out.”
But such a plan was of very little benefit, since the embers would smoke despite all they could do, and out they ran again, seeking such shelter as they could find under the trees, where it was not long before they came to the conclusion that camping out in a rain-storm was both a delusion and a snare.
In half an hour the tent was so nearly freed from smoke that they sought its shelter again, and when they were housed once more they presented a very forlorn appearance.
At first they decided that they would remain awake until daylight; but as the hours rolled on this plan was abandoned, for one after another wrapped himself in his blanket, concluding he could keep his eyes open as well lying down, and proved it by going to sleep at once.
They did not sleep very soundly, nor lie in bed very late. When they awakened it was not necessary to look out-of-doors in order to know if it was raining, for the water was falling on the thin shelter as hard and as persistently as if bent on beating it down.
There was but one happy-looking face among all the party, and that belonged to Tim. He realized that it would be impossible to do much cooking while it was storming, and after his experience with the hen he had no desire to begin again his official duties.
As soon as the boys were fairly out of bed they began to ask how breakfast could be cooked, and what they were to have in the way of food, all of which questions Tim answered in a way that left no chance for discussion. He cut eleven slices of bread, spread them thickly with butter, placed over that a slice of cake, and informed the party that they would begin the day with just that sort of a breakfast.
Of course there was some grumbling, but the dissatisfied ones soon realized that Tim had done his best under the circumstances, and they ate the bread and cake very contentedly.
That forenoon was not spent in a very jolly manner; no one could go out save at the risk of a thorough wetting, and when dinner, consisting of the same as was given for breakfast, was served, they began to consider themselves an injured party.
That afternoon was a repetition of the forenoon, save that at supper-time Tim gravely informed them that there was hardly enough cooked provisions for breakfast.
Tip got along much better than the others. As soon as he learned that he could not venture outside of the tent without getting wet, he curled himself up on the pile of blankets and slept the day away, save at those times when some one would rouse him up to play—a liberty which he resented in such a manner as caused them to leave him alone very soon.
Nearly every five minutes some one of the boys would open the flaps of the tent, look out, and announce it as his opinion that the storm was clearing away; but yet it continued to rain as hard as ever.
Unfortunately for them, the boys were not as sleepy when the second night came, and the evening spent in the dark was not a cheerful one. The rain was still coming down as steadily as ever, and they had ceased to speculate as to when it would stop. It was after they had been sitting in mournful silence for some time that Bill Thompson started what was a painful topic of conversation.
“How long will the victuals last, Tim?”
“They’re ’most gone now, ’cept the pork an’ ’taters, an’ the eggs, that I never thought of till a minute ago.”
“If it would only stop rainin’, Jim could go out fishin’, an’ I could go out huntin’, and in a day we could get more’n the crowd of us could eat in a week. I’ll tell you what I will do”—and Bill spoke very earnestly—“I’ll take Tip an’ go out alone in the mornin’, whether it rains or not.”
“Why not all go?” said Tim, pleased with the plan. “Supposin’ we do get wet, what of that? We can get dry again when the sun does come out, an’ it’ll be better’n stayin’ here scrouchin’ around.”
There were a number of the boys who were of Tim’s way of thinking, and the hunting party was decided upon for the following day, regardless of the weather.
That night seemed a long one, and when the morning came each one looked anxiously out at the sky, gaining but little comfort from the view. The clouds were dull and gray; and though the rain was not falling as furiously as it had been, it was still coming down in the same determined way.
Tim made an addition to the rather small slices of bread and cake, in the shape of two raw eggs to each boy; and though some of them rebelled at the uncooked food, they were wise enough to suck them before they grumbled very loudly.
After breakfast some of the boys who had been the most determined to join the hunting party the night before, concluded to wait a while longer before setting out, and the consequence was that no one save Tim, Bill, and Bobby had the courage to brave the drenching which it was certain they must get.
This time Bill had a more effective weapon than the one he used at the bear hunt. He had borrowed a fowling-piece of quite a respectable size, and had brought with him a supply of powder and shot.
When Tip was called to join the party he did not display the animation usual with him when invited out for a day’s sport, and Tim blamed him severely for it. But he went, however, and Tim’s scolding seemed to have very little effect upon him.
Believing they should come back staggering under the weight of game which Tip would find and Bill would kill, the boys left the tent, going up the path, since they did not dare to strike through the thickest part of the woods, for fear of getting lost.
Bill covered the lock of the gun with the corner of his jacket, to prevent the cap from getting wet, and on they went, rapidly getting a drenching both from the rain and the water which came from the branches of the trees.
For some time Tip steadily refused to run among the bushes, but after much urging he did consent to hunt in a listless sort of way, barking once or twice at some squirrels that had come out of their holes to grumble at the weather, but scaring up no larger game.
Just at a time when the hunters were getting discouraged by their ill-luck, Tip commenced barking at a furious rate, and started off through the bushes at full speed.
Bill was all excitement; he made up his mind that they were on the track of a deer at last, and was ready to discharge his weapon at the first moving object he should see.
After running five minutes, during which time they made very little progress, owing to the density of the woods, Bobby halted suddenly and, in an excited manner, pointed toward a dark object some distance ahead, which could be but dimly seen because of the foliage.
Bill was on his knee in an instant, with gun raised, and just as he was about to pull the trigger Tim saw the object that had attracted Bobby’s attention.
He cried out sharply, and started toward Bill to prevent him from firing, but was too late. Almost as he spoke the gun was discharged, and mingled with Tim’s cries could be heard the howling of a dog.
“You’ve shot Tip! you’ve shot Tip!” cried Tim, in an agony of grief, as he rushed forward, followed by Bill and Bobby, looking as terrified as though they had shot one of their companions.
When Tim reached the spot from which the cries of pain came he found that his fears were not groundless, for there on the wet leaves, bathed in his own blood, that flowed from shot-wounds on his back and hind-legs, was poor Tip. He was trying to bite the wounds that burnt, and all the while uttering sharp yelps of distress.
Tim, with a whole heart full of sorrow such as he had never known before, knelt by the poor dog’s side, kissing him tenderly, but powerless to do anything for his suffering pet save to wipe the blood away. His grief was too great to admit of his saying anything to the unfortunate hunter who had done him so much mischief, and poor Bill stood behind a tree crying as if his heart was breaking.
Each instant Tim expected to see Tip in his death struggle, and he tried very hard to make the dog kiss him; but the poor animal was in such pain that he had no look even for his master.
It was nearly fifteen minutes that the three were gathered around the dog expecting to see him die, and then he appeared to be in less pain.
“Perhaps he won’t die after all,” said Bill, hardly even daring to hope his words would prove true. “If we could only get home Dr. Abbott would cure him.” Then, as a sudden thought came to him, he turned quickly to Bobby, and said, eagerly: “Run back to the camp as quick as you can, an’ tell the fellers what has happened. Have them get everything into the boat, so’s we can get right away for home.”
Bobby started off at full speed, and Tim, now encouraged to think that Tip might yet recover, began to look hopeful.
Bill set to work cutting down some small saplings, out of which he made a very good litter. On this Tip was placed tenderly, and, with Bill at one end and Tim at the other, they started down the path toward the camp. To avoid jolting the dog, thus causing him more pain, they were obliged to walk so slowly that when they reached the beach the boys were putting into the boat the last of their camp equipage.
Each of the party wanted to examine poor Tip, but Bill would not permit it, because of the delay it would cause. He arranged a comfortable place in the bow where Tip could lie, and another where Tim could sit beside him, working all the time as if each moment was of the greatest importance in the saving of Tip’s life.
At last all was ready, the word was given to push off, and the campers rowed swiftly toward home.