Democratic Sentinel, Volume 4, Number 37, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 October 1880 — THOREAU OUTDONE; OR, How Jessie and I Camped Out. [ARTICLE]

THOREAU OUTDONE; OR, How Jessie and I Camped Out.

by M. C. C.

Jessie and I were not sisters. O, no. > Pretty pink-and-white Jessie lived at Beech woods, some miles out of historic C , while I was Cousin Nan, down from the city to spend the summer holidays in the grand old place, where we two worked our own sweet will through the long bright days; for was not “ Brother Fred” in a distant city practicing his profession, and was not Aunt Kate the most indulgent of hostesses? It would be hard to imagine a greater contrast than Jessie and 1 presented in outer aspect. She, with her fluffy, crimpy waves of golden hair, peachblossom complexion and pansy-purple eyes, beside my glossy jetty braids, my tawny olive face, with a smothered red burning in either cheek, and my large dark orbs, was no more striking difference than her slight, fairy-like form beside my own goodly stature. But, despite all this, our tastes were very much in common, and our minds wont to run in the self-same grooves, though Jessie would persist in looking up to “ Cousin Nan” as a very prodigy of learning—a walking encyclopedia, in fact, to the uncalled-for detriment of her own well-stored little head. It was I that brought Thoreau down from the city—the whole set—deemiiig them suitable mental pabulum for our country summer. We had been reading “ Walden,” and became thereby so imbued with a love of nature, pure and simple, and such a distaste for the artificial refinements of civilized life as to look with disdain upon such modern appliances as cushioned chairs, lace curtains, and temptingly cozy couches ; even turning away from the dainty repasts wherewith Aunt Kate was wont to regale us, with muttered exclamations such as these: “O, the ‘hurry and waste of life,’ ” “We are ‘ lost in the whirlpool of a dinner ” and refused the wonted solace afforded by the morning paper, alleging, in excuse, that “all news, so called, is gossip.” And Jessie began to pity her father openly for having “ inherited houses and lands,” and for becoming, as she was pleased to style it, “ a serf of the soil,” until genial Uncle Ned lifted hands and voice in comical amazement, crying opt, “ What ails the girls, pray tell?” “ They read altogether too much,” was Aunt Kate’s rejoinder; “ they must have more company.” Whereat * I exclaimed, theatrically, ‘ ‘ Company ! ‘ What is there that can bring two minds nearer together ?’ ” And Jessie chimed in with the assertion of having ‘ “ known many coats but few men.’” And what was there for Aunt Kate to do but leave the field in despairing silence ?

One morning we received a letter that Thoreau, notwithstanding was “ worth paying the postage on,” for was it not from certain other cousins of ours, and did it not contain glowing accounts of their delightful “ camping-out ” experiences? This communication was the metaphorical “ last straw,” and we sat in gloomy silence—a silence broken, at last, by a triumphant exclamation from Jessie : “I have it!” Then, seeing my inquiring look, she proceeded to a more thorough explanation of her plan. “You know that little cottage down by Clear brook, Nan, whore Jim, the gardener, used to live ? Well, it is in good repair, not far away, but quiet and secluded, and just the place for us to camp out. ” Seeing the gloomy delight in my face, she went on : “We can take our books down there and study as well as not. There is my German and your English literature tiiat we’ve scarcely looked into —what with our drives, our sails, and our toilets”—which was literally true, for Beechwoods was known far and wide for its hospitality, and the “fair women and brave mien ” of C were well content to sojourn there for days at a time. Of course I gave enthusiastic assent, but queried doubtfully, “What will Aunt Kate say ?” Jessie shared my look of doubt for an instant, but quickly added : “Nevermind; lean coax herover.” Which proved to be the case, for hard, indeed, must be the heart that could withstand the pleading look in those pansy-purple eyes —though for one instant the prospect was rather dark, until Uncle Ned came to the rescue with his hearty, “Let the midgets go, Kate; the old hut is safe enough, and they’ll enjoy it.” And I think the memory of certahi of his boyhood pranks rose very pleasantly before him just then, prompting a half wisli to share our retreat. So it was settled, and Jessie and I devoted the remainder of that day to an inspection of our new home. The cottage, which we christened “Walden” at first sight, in honor of our illustrious prototype, was a small one-roomed edifice, destitute of paint, but mantled with a most luxurious growth of woodbine. A fence, with dilapidated palings, inclosed the small garden spot which sloped down to the banks of Clear brook, with the stretch of beech woods on one hand that gave name to the place—said bit of woodland having been left in the earlier days for convenience, but in these later and more degenerate days for “ effect.” But whatever the cause, the result was one to us namely, that of producing the required air of retirement as well as the wherewithal to build our morning fire, for we refused all such modem conveniences as oil-stoves, classing them among the snares of civilized life, and turning in preference to the more-primi-tive camp-fire. Clear brook was, as its name signifies, a limpid streamlet flowing with dimpling laughter past our sylvan home, and hiding itself in the shady woodland depths. “ Walden ” was scarcely a quarter of a mile from the house, but, owing to the fact that one was obliged to ascend a considerable rise of ground, and descend its opposite slope before reaching it, gave it an air of complete seclusion. Jessie, taking command at once, detected the latent capabilities of our newly-acquired possession and issued her orders with the air of a General to the “neat-handed Phillis,” our attendant. “Oh, it will be just perfect, Nan, when the floor is cleaned and the windows washed!” cried she, standing in the doorway, wreathed about with woodbine tendrils, as pretty a picture as need be seen, adding, as one spray, more daring than the rest, tangled itself in her fluffy crimps, “ I must have John come down and trim those vines away.” The next day was given by the servants to the cleansing of the little cottage, and by us to the ransacking of the wide, roomy garret for suitable furnishings therefor. Wide, dim and low-raft-ered was the Beechwood’s garret, and filled with relics of by-gone days—a very treasure trove, where one might while away the hours. There was many an old arm-chair.

with moth-eaten cushions and carved frame-work, that I would fain, hav® taken, but Jessie was a stern disciplinarian, and met all my proposals with : *• Simplify! simplify 1 Nan, remember Thoreau!” until our outfit at the last was limited enough to suit even our oracle. The bedstead was of ancient device, and was to be graced by a most amazing patch-work quilt of the pattern yclept by our grandmothers, the “rising sun, wherein that luminary is seen displayed in the most gorgeous reds and yellows. This Jessie had unearthed from an old chest, saying : “ This will brighten the room up, as well as being more primitive.” Then thfere were the two “rockers”— a Windsor one, with ragged patch-work cushions, and a somewhat treacherous “cane seat,” which two were respectively christened for “solitude and friendship,” while the third, a relentlessly straight-backed affair, was unanimously dedicated to “society.” But the triumph of our “ setting out ” was to be found in “the three-legged table,” which we persuaded ourselves to be an exact counterpart of the one possessed by our prototype at the other, and more famous, “Walden,” and prized accordingly. It was a somewhat late hour that afternoon that found us en route for our new home. Before us, down the shaded path, went faithful John, driving the wagon, loaded high with our household possessions, while Jessie and I followed after, heavily laden with the numerous books of reference that we proposed consulting during our retirement. “Truly, Jessie,” quoth I, with my eyes fastened upon the shabby outfit before us, “Thoreau was right when he said, ‘ The more a man has of such things, the poorer he is.’ ” To which Jessie assented as well as might be consistent with the united endeavor she was bravely making to carry the numerous volumes wherewith she was laden, and at the same time keep those sunuy, wind-tossed crimps from quite blinding her.

But our journey was soon ended, and all our possessions heaped upon the grass, “like the contents of a gypsy’s pack.” Nor was it long before order was brought out of chaos, and the faithful John departed, leaving we two girls alone in the forest-shadowed dell, with the echo of his lusty singing fleating pleasantly back to us in the low afternoon lights that flooded the spot. Very cozy the little room looked with its plain, dark curtains at either window, for we were not quite up to “ Walden ” usage yet; its table and chairs, and the neatly-made bed, with its brilliant covering, and very well content were we as we drew forward that self-same table and proceeded to spread upon a half newspaper the daintiest of lunches, and with quickened appetites to discuss the same. “Make the most of this, Nan,” laughed Jessie, “for to-morrow we bid farewell to the ‘flesh-pots of Egypt, and return to life pure and simple.” It was growing late, and two very tired girls resolved to defer all sentimentalizing in the moonlight until some future occasion, as they locked the door and fastened the windows, thereby disobeying one of the first tenets of “ Waldenlaw, but obeying Aunt Kate, who, utterly oblivious to our reiterated assurances of ample courage, saw’’ to it with her own eyes that locks and “catches ” of modern contrivance rendered our little, domicile safe, and retired for the night. Weary as we were, however, we were long in wooing slumber to our eyelids, for the sounds of the night were about us, all, from the chance crackling of a dry twig to the rippling of the little stream, sounding strange to our unaccustomed ears. We were aroused next morning by a full flood of sunlight striking across our closed eyelids and awoke at once to the fact that we were too late for spectators of the regal advent of the king of day—that one scene of our little theater had been played to the music of bird songs while we slept. Regrets were unavailing, so we made a hasty toilet, and Jessie, standing in the open door, cried impulsively: “Oh, Nan! this is delightful; come ou ! ” and the little rogue, kilting still shorter her short gray skirts, sprung down the mossy bank to dip her fingers in the sparkling waters of Clear brook. I was not long in following her example, and, as we wandered up the smooth green slope again hand in hand, Jessie said: ‘ ‘ No wonder Thoreau came out in the woods to ‘find what life had to teach.’ Nowhere else, I am sure, can one front the ‘ essential facts of life. ’ ” “‘Essential facts!”’ quoth I disdainfully, “‘essential facts!’ What fact do you suppose life holds for most of the girls of our acquaintance more essential than the adjusting of their crimps, or the snaring of some knight in their artfid toils. ‘Essential facts,’indeed ! ” To all of which did Jessie assent, her own yellow tresses meanwhile rippling and waving in a manner to distract less fortunate girls, and her own pansypurple eyes a maze where many a heart had been lost all unrecked of by their owner. Arrived at our little domicile, however, we were confronted by the very “ essential fact ” that breakfast must be prepared by our own hands, and not only that, but the foundations of the repast must be laid from the very beginning.

There was our gypsy fireplace. John had arranged it the night before ; two forked sticks with a third one laid across in these natural angles, upon which a kettle swung suggestively over the cool, green sod as yet unscarred by any flame. We had refused, disdainfully, that same functionary’s offer of gathering “ a bit of brush to start it wid, mum,” refused it in the light of long, delightful rambles ip that same woodland which now lay white and dewy before us, rambles wherein we would collect dry twigs and lichen-covered bark, wherewith to build our morning fire. But now? Well, ‘ ‘ distance lent enchantment to the view” in this as well as many other cases ; but there was no time for dallying, for already our appetites were quickened beyond their wont, and Jessie, gathering her skirts about her, cried : “ Fill the kettle, Nan, and go after the roasting ears. I’ll get the wood and build the fire,” adding, as she vanished in the dewy depths, “ You’d better get some potatoes, too, while you are about it; they’ll roast with the corn.” The little witch, what did she mean ? Had she forgotten that my city training rendered me all unfit for such a task, and was she even now laughing at my perplexity ? But there was no help for it; so, taking basket and hoe, I started for the field of action, namely, the cornfield, where, nothing deterred by the showers of dew that fell from the broad leaves, I gathered a goodly quantity of .that esculent viand, and then turned my attention toward the potatoes. Here, owing to my inexperience, I was not quite so successful, but, after numerous struggles with the unwieldy (at least in my hands) weapon, I came off in some degree conqueror and returned in triumph, bearing my sheaves with me. The scene, however, which met my eye was by no means an encouraging one. Jessie had returned from her woodland ramble, and the evidences of her toil were to be seen in the few dry, knotty twigs scattered about her as she knelt before a very small smoky tongue of flame that flickered in the socket and threatened to expire momently. Hearing my footsteps she looked up eagerly, her pretty eyes red and tear-filled from the eddying smoke, and a half quiver in her voice as she cried : “O, Nan, what shall I do, this fire won’t bum ? ”

“Ydu want more kindling, child,” said I briskly. “ Here, this fence is all falling down, ’twill not be much the worse for a few more pickets,” and, dropping basket and hoe, I seized the hatchet and soon.reduced one of the aforesaid pickets to suitable size, through which timely aid the aspect of things was changed to such an extent that our kettle was soon boiling and bubbling merrily away in the most approved gypsy fashion. We consigned both corn and potatoes to its depths, being too hungry for any slower method, and unanimously decided it was too late for any further efforts in the culinary line, as we drew our three-legged table to the open doorway and prepared to discuss our sorelyneeded repast. Never, I think, did corn and potatoes taste better than those eaten with laugh and jest that quiet summer morning; albeit many an ear of the former, owing to my lack of knowledge, was decidedly young and “green,” and many of the latter tubers, owing to the same cause, were in a state of infancy. “But, Nan,” said Jessie, ruefully, in a pause of our merriment, as our morning troubles came back to her; “we can’t have all this trouble every day about a fire. What did Thoreau have for kindling ? ” “ Green hickory, split fine ; don’t you remember ? ” answered I, promptly. “ I’ll tell you what we’ll do, though : Cover the fire every night; damp grass and leaves will be just the thing ; then rake it open in the morning, and start it with some of this old fence.” Which we did, and successfully, too. “Nan,” said Jessie again, this time somewhat hesitatingly— “Nan, what will we have for dinner ? ” “Dinner!” echoed I, in dramatic tones; “dinner ! are we never to be free from that, nbt even in these solemn woods? What did Thoreau have ?” “ Com bread and molasses ; the bread simply meal and water kneaded hard, and baked before the fire,” answered the little puss, demurely. I winced slightly, for I’m somewhat epicurean in my tastes, and the witch knew it. “1 thought that would be pretty dry, though, so I’ll make ours thin and bake them fresh every time. See ! I’ve borught a griddle.” “ And, Nan, I’ve something else to show you,” she said, triumphantly leading the way down to Clear brook, where she displayed a small butter jar sunk for more than half its depth in the cool water, and I, firm disciple though I was of Thoreau, uttered no word of protest at this daring innovation against Walden rules.

After this our days slipped quietly, sweetly past; the three-legged table was well laden with books—so well, indeed, that, as meal-time circled round and we removed them from thence to bed or chair, or vice versa, Jessie was wont to refer mournfully to ths “ two pieces of limestone ” that Thoreau had, but threw away, because he found that he must “dust them.” Our slight duties dispatched, it was two very prim young ladies in the plainest of garbs and the smoothest of braids guiltless alike of “wave” or “crimp” —at least, mine were ; Jessie’s, little witch, were as distractingly pretty as ever—that sat down at that self-same table, armed respectively with “ Taine ” and “ Ollendorf,” to “ con each lesson o'er.” We were but girls, however, and many a pleasant interlude of dreamy wonderment and girlish gossip floated in whenever Jessie found a German verb hard to conjugate, or I paused in some unavailing search after a new authority bearing on the subject at hand. Happy, helpful days were they, varied by an occasional walk up to the house when the coast was clear, or sometimes, standing on the crest of the little rise just behind our cottage, wo would survey the graveled sweep of Beechwoods’ carriage drive through an old field-glass Jessie abstracted from “Brother Fred’s room,” and laughingly comment on the frowning faces some of the fair inmates of the cushioned barouches carried away -with them upon learning “The girls have gone farther in the country for seclusion and study,” for Beechwoods was a most delightful place for a week’s sojourn, as they well knew ; but Aunt Kate, once won over to our side, protected us manfully, so that none invaded our solitude. But everything must have an end, and so did the pleasant days that had graced our week’s stay at Walden, and we awoke one morning to hear a quick shower pattering against the windows. ‘ ‘ Dear, dear ; our fire will be all out ! What shall we do, Nan ?” “Do? I don’t know. Go up to the house far breakfast, I suppose. Everything will be too wet to kindle it again. ” “Go up to the house !” echoed Jessie, indignantly. “ Indeed, I shall do no such thing. Haven’t they been telling us all this time that the first storm would bring us back ? I've no doubt they’re expecting us, and that plates are laid for us this very minute (which we afterward found to have been the case). Go back 1 I’ll go hungry first!” and Jessie looked very determined and pretty, indeed, as she finished her toilet and announced that the rain w'as over.

“There’s, blue sky over yonder, Nan : get your rubbers and come on;” and suiting the action to the word she sallied forth, and I followed suit. Just as we expected, every spark of the provoking fire, that we had covered so jealously the night before, was out, Making the best, however, of a bad matter, we set to work bravely, and that devoted fence suffered as never before. But it was slow .work. Everything was drenched and dripping, and we were inexperienced hands—so inexperienced that after an hour of toil breakfast was still a fair but distant prospect; and the faint and struggling flame we had conjured up flickered dolefully, and threatened every instant to expire in- smoke. This was the state of affairs when, Jessie having taken her turn in the chopping department, I was bending with an anxious face over the fire, striving to place at the greatest advantage a new relay of kindlings, I was startled by the ringing sound of an unmistakably manly voice, exclaiming: “Well, I never ! if there isn’t Jess !” followed simultaneously by an ecstatic little scream from Jessie, of: “Brother Fred, where did you come from ?” as she dropped her uplifted hatchet and rushed to meet him. I rose to my feet hastily, only to find myself confronted by a tall, dark, aristocratic gentleman, whose smile of recognition brings deeper roses to my cheeks ; for was not this same gentleman Mr. Archer from the city, and one of the greatest lions of the last season, and my quondam partner for more than one German during the previous winter? I place my hand in his outstretched one, only, however, to withdraw it quickly as I discover how many and deep are the marks it displays of its recent conflict with that refractory fire, and an added color springs to my face, lest that also bear the same traces. “This is Nan, I know,” said tall, blonde Fred Cameron, releasing himself from his little sister and turning toward me—“as much of a gypsy as ever, I see ” —and—well, his greeting was very brotherly, indeed. “But what does it mean, Jessie? you girls out here at this hour on a rainy morning ? anything wrong at the house ?” and a look of anxiety darkened his face. “Nothing wrong, but where have you gentlemen been, pray tell me, and how did you arrive in this out of the way place, at this time of day ?” “Been camping out; took a fancy to come up home and bring Archer along j walked up from the station to surprise the folks,” replied Fred, briefly. “ Camping out ! that is just what we are doing, Fred, Nan and I.” “Did you ever. Archer!” said Fred,

appealingly, but that gentleman, with the relics of Boston conservatism still clinging to him, answered never a word, only - smiled aggravatingly—whereat I, aroused, answered coolly—using the very words of our oracle—“We came out in the woods because we wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and find out what it had to teach us?’ A look of astonishment grew in their faces. “ Yes,” chimed in Jessie, quoting from the same source, “We were tired of cabin passage, and wished to go before the mast, and on the deck of the world. ” “Thoreau, as I live,” cried Fred, and the look of astonishment deepened. “Yes, Thoreau,” said Jessie, calmly, but mischievously. “No man (or woman, either)can ever unfold the possibilities of his own intellect who does not at least checker his life with solitude.” Mischievously—l say—for the scene was, to say the least, slightly amusing. Time —early morning, and a rainy one at that. Place—the river bank overarched by dripping trees. Properties—a gypsy fiie-place, a smoky fire—two young ladies engaged in attendance upon it, and pausing in this occupation to quote from the classics was somewhat astonishing ! A look of amazement, mingled with interest from Mr. Archer at tins last quotation—wondering, doubtless, that a young lady should read other than the latest novel, or the newest society poem. “So you read De Quincy,- Miss Cameron ? He is one of my friends, too I” “Yes, I admire De Quincy very much, but Thoreau is our oracle just now ; let me bid you welcome to ‘ Walden.’” And Mr. Archer’s eye brightened as he caught sight through the open door of our ponderous volumes, but I interrupted here with a dolorous cry, “The fire has gone out; what shall we do?” True enough, that provoking fire, taking advantage of a lull in our efforts, had disappeared in smoke. “ O dear, we’ll have to go up to the house, I suppose, after all our trouble. Just see how I’ve hurt my hand.” And while Fred examined critically the little pink palm I related our “moving adventures.” “A fire, is that all?” said he at their close. “ I have not camped out in vain all these summers,” and his ready knife soon reduced another picket of that devoted fence to the requisite size ; and ere long a sparkling blaze rewarded his efforts.

“ Why need we go up to the house?” queried Mr. Archer. “No one knows we are coming, and I quite long for one more out-door repast. Besides, we have been ‘roughing it’ so long as to be scarcely wonted to civilized life as yet.” “Capital!” echoed Fred. “What have you girls got for breakfast ?” “Corn and potatoes roasted in the ashes, and corn-bread and molasses. You remember Thoreau’s bill of fare ; it is ours, too,” replied Jessie, demurely, with a glance at Mr. Archer as she spoke. But the gentlemen professed themselves entirely satisfied, and I said, oracularly, “He that eats must work, and if you gentlemen stay you must pay the penalty. Cousin Fred, there is the basket and hoe, your post will be the corn field and potato patch. Mr. Archer, this fire will need constant replenishing, so you may gather sticks.” Haring thus assigned them their station, Jessie and I turned our attention to the matter at hand, and after much merriment and a great deal of waiting, we sat down to a very creditable repast of the above-men-tioned articles, further reinforced by Boston crackers and cold tongue from the gentlemen’s lunch basket. We had moved the table out under the trees, and what with improvised seats, the novelty of the situation, and the laughter and jesting consequent thereupon, passed a pleasant hour. Jessie and 1 dined at the house that day, but, positively refusing any further concession to the world, returned to our solitude . and interrupted studies — studies, however, doomed to more than one interruption of the same nature, for the gentlemen professed themselves to be as much in love with Walden cottage and life therein as we ourselves, -and countless were the fishing parties they instituted, and delicious the chowders they concocted, and many were the hunting expeditions from which they returned laden with small game, to be cooked in hunter’s fashion, but most appetizingly, at our gypsy fire-place, and, I fear me, Taine and Ollendorf were most sadly neglected the while we gained in the art of angling, or took long woodland rambles, from which we returned with happy faces, and brows crowned with wild flowers. It might also have been noted about this time that sundry changes took place in our attire, numerous bright ribbons and fresh lawns taking the place of our somber serviceable grays, almost without our knowledge. It was on one of these self-same rambles late in the month, when Fred and I had fallen behind Jessie and Mr. Archer, which, by the way, had happened very often in these latter days, and some way they never seemed to mind it either ! It was on one of these rambles, I say, that Fred bent his handsome blonde head very low and whispered—though why should he whisper, there was no one to hear ? “We are going back in three days, Nan; our vacation is more than past. Shall you care very much ?” And I, startled by the sudden announcement, lifted my eyes quickly to his face, which was not at all prudent under the circumstances, and he read what he chose in their depths, and tnen —but .there, I shall not tell you a ■word he said, that is my secret. I only know that a few minutes after Fred was very near, and I was turning a jeweled circlet on my finger, and seeing it through a mist of tears that dimmed its glitter strangely. “ The time is very near, Nan ; don’t you think you had better break up at Walden ?” This brought me to myself with a start, as I exclaimed, remorsefully: “ What will Jessie say?” “ There is your answer,” laughed Fred, pointing dowm a long reach of trees, at whose farther end could be seen the glimmer of pale blue lawn, with a most unmistakable coat-sleeve outlined against it, while the jetty locks of its owner were in dangerous proximity to the other’s blonde crimps. Foiled at this point, I tried another: “ Three days ! why, I could never get ready in the world. ” “ Nothing to wear 1” said Fred, lightly ; “don’t tell me. What does your oracle, Thoreau, say about it— ‘ If you have any enterprise before you, try it in your old clothes !’ ” So what could I do? And Jessie found herself helpless before the same arguments, and, three days from that time, we were whirling away from C—, on the fast express, ere the inhabitants of that city had fairly recovered their breath at the astounding announcement of a “double wedding in high life,” upon such short notice!