Rensselaer Journal, Volume 11, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 August 1901 — TOM CORNWILER’S TUMBLE [ARTICLE]

TOM CORNWILER’S TUMBLE

By L. T. Bates.

¥ BELIEVE that boy has climbed I every tree in the township, I leastwise, the worst ones," said * Mrs. Cornwiler. , “Deary me! I should be afraid he’d break his neck,” said Mrs. Millwalte. “I don’t see where he got it," said Mrs. Cornwiler, boldly. “He got it from you, that’s plain,” •aid Mr. Cornwiler, boldly. “From me! Why, just climbing a fence makes me almost dizzy!’* “Your father was a sailor,” said Cornwiler, “and his father was topman in the navy under old Commodore Preble. Tom’s inherited their climb from you.” “I suppose a sixteen-year-old boy Is more trouble than a fourteen-year girl,” said Mrs. Millwalte. “My Clara’s a comfort.” “Whenever Tom's wanted—” began Mrs. Cornwiler. “A good strong boy Is wanted pretty often in a new country,” Interrupted her husband. “Sometimes It gets tiresome to him.” “Whenever Tom’s wanted.” persisted Mrs. Cornwiler, “he generally has to be found in a tree-top. It wears out his clothes dreadfully.” “That is a bother,” said Mrs. Millwaite. “Now Clara wears her dresses longer than any other schoolgirl of her age.”

While this discussion was going on indoors, Tom was going off outdoors. Mrs, Mlllwaite's visit gave him a chance to go fishing. He put a hook and line in his pocket, intending to cut a fish-pole on the way, and trusting to find fat, white bait-grubs in old logs. He owned a sharp, one-hand hatchet, which he thrust under his buckskin belt. A quarter of a mile from the river he came to a familiar tree-stub. It had been a forest giant, but some storm had broken off Its top, leaving its great trunk thirty feet high. Forest fires had consumed the fallen top, and deeply charred the huge trunk. Tom struck It with his hatchet-head. To his surprise It sounded hollow— a mere shell. He was Immediately curious to know If it was hollow all the way up, and the only way to ascertain was to climb it. A more uninviting stub to climb could not be found. It was very grimy, and too smooth and large to be clasped by either arms or legs; but Tom sought a thicket and cut the longest tough withe he could find. He wrapped this about the stub, and fastened its two ends securely to his belt with strips of strong bark, making a hoop somewhat larger than the tree. Leaning well back, he walked bis moecasined toes right up, raising Mie hoop by quick jerks. ' The tree was hollow. Tom sat on Che edge with his feet dangling outaide, as steady of nerve as If upon the ground. When his curiosity was satisfied he slipped off the loop to retie it more to suit him. An incautious movement broke a bit of the edge, and ’ disturbed his balance. He made a violent move to recover himself. More edge crumbled inward, and down he went inside, head and heels together, like a shut jack-knife. One hand held to the hoop, pulling It after him. Head, back, hips and legs scraped down the long tube, carrying fragments of rotten wood and a dusty cloud. I Tom struck on a deep, soft pile of debris, Into which his doubled-up body plunged breast and knee-deep. The concussion shocked him breathless and set his npsebleeding copiously, and the •dust and blood hindered the recovery of his breath. Although he was not quite unconscious, it was long before he stirred. The back of his head had been severely raked, and rotten wood was ground into all his lacerations. When, at last, he began to try to move, he found himself wedged in. Vainly he wriggled; he could hardly atir, and could neither lift himself nor get his legs down. His hips, back, and all the muscles of his legs ached and pricked intolerably from strain

-and checked circulation. i He could not resist crying; but being a lad of good courage, endurance and resource, he soon began a systematic effort for release, packing the loose debris down as firmly as he could with his hands, at the same time pressing It away all around with his body. This exertion caused greater ache, but be persisted resolutely. By and by he got his hatchet out of his belt, and ■truck it, after a dozen efforts, so firmly into the wooden wall that he could hang his weight to it with one hand, trhile he worked the debris under him With the other. He gradually enlarged his space .sufficiently to allow the bending of his knees. After that he was not long in getting his body up and feet down, so as to sit cramped on one hip, with both feet nearly level. Exertion, pain, and the pressure of returning circulation made bis pulse throb and his head swim, and he lapsed intoseml-unconsclousness. How long this lasted he.knew not, but when be began to struggle again he wns In black darkness. ▲ few stars shone

calmly down his wooden well, but he could work only by feeling about with his hands. He felt exhausted, hungry and weak, but he kept on working till he managed to stand erect Then, after feebly kicking and pushing debris to fill up the hole where he had been, be curled himself as comfortable as he could, and slept a blessed though troubled sleep. He dreamed that he heard a rifleshot and that Ban was barking excitedly and his father hallooing. But his sleep was so profound that a dream could not rouse him. After a long time he stretched out His sore heels hit one wall, his sore head the other. This time the pain roused him to a renewed sense of his situation. He sat up, stiff, lame all over, weak, gnawed by hunger and thirst, but still undismayed’ and resourceful. A little thought and a trial convinced him that, weak and sore as he was, it would be a vain waste of strength to try to climb up the difficult inside of bls prison.

“There's always more than one way to skin a cat,” he reflected. “I’ve got to get out of this somehow; that’s all there is to It” He ran a thumb over the edge of his hatchet. “Pretty sharp yet Too light to chop easy, and no room to swing it but it’ll cut a hole, give it time.” Scraping awify the rotten wood, he selected a place where the wUll seemed thin, and began hacking. Progress was slow. At first his stiff muscles and sore body hurt acutely, but this pain wore away as he went on. The wood, charred outside and very dry, was hard and tough. Although it was a sunny day, and his eyes had adjusted their vision to the dimness of his pit, he could hardly see where to strike. He dared not pry out large slivers, for if edge or handle of his hatchet should break, he might never get out. His awkward poslfion and the one-hand work tired him rapidly; and he suffered occasional cramps. During one of his frequent rests he heard Ban barking loudly outside. “Good dog! I’m coming!" he shouted.

The dog bayed frantically, leaped against the tree, scratched, whined, tore the wood with his teeth, and began digging furiously between two great roots, evidently intending to tunnel under to his young master. When Tom did not appear for supper, Mrs. Cornwiler began to fret, but not much, for he was often late. After supper, with no Tom to do |he chores, Mr. Cornwiler grumbled, but did them himself, saying: “Come, now, wife, the boy probably has a good excuse. He’s pretty regular, considering.” By bedtime Mrs. Cornwiler was ahxious. “I’m sure he’s lying hurt somewhere in the woods, fallen from a tree; or maybe he's got lost.” , “Pshaw, now, Edith! Tom couldn’t lose himself anywhere in this county the darkest night that ever was; and he doesn’t know how to fall from a tree. He’ll be home all right pretty soon. Likely he’s hindered by something he thinks important” At ten o’clock Mrs. Cornwiler was insistent and Cornwiler less confident. He proposed to take the dog and search. “Maybe he’s at one of the neighbors. He’d stay, of course, if he could be of any use. Anyhow, Ban’ll track him. Blow the horn if he comes home while

I’m gone.” Ban, being told to “Go find Tom!” set off joyfully, wagging his tail. He led Cornwiler straight to the charred stub, and barked, leaping against it., Cornwiler looked the stub all over. There were no signs of Tom. He called, and fired his rifle. There was no reply. He supposed the stub solid, but thumped it Unfortunately the blow struck where the shell was thick, and where Tom had packed the debris hardest inside. It sounded solid. Mr. Cornwiler thought that Ban had foolishly tracked a squirrel up it, or perhaps a coon had been there and gone. He dragged the dog away, ordering him again to “Find Tom!’* Ban instantly ran back to the stub, and whined and scratched, but Mr. Cornwiler pulled him away. Ban then -led into a thicket and here were signs—a slender pole cut and trimmed, a bitternut sapling peeled of two strips of bark. Tom had been there. The sapling was slender for a fish-pole, but Mr. Cornwiler thought that must be it The strips of bark meant strings, but what Tom wanted of strings he could not conjecture. Having concluded it meant fishing, he uurried to the river, his anxiety considerably increased. Tom was a strong, cool swimmer and knew every foot of the river. There were few deep places, and no really dangerous places. Mr. Cornwiler searched a long time, ' but found no trace of Tom, and Ban i seemed puzzled and not much Interi ested. After midnight Cornwiler be- ! gan a terribly anxious Inquiry, rousing

neighbor after neighbor. No one bad any tidings. Mr. Millwalte dressed, took his rifle, and accompanied Cornwiler. Mrs. Millwalte, notwithstanding her depreciation of Tom, went to cheer and comfort his mother all she could. / Millwalte suggested going first to the charred stub. “You know Tom's been there,” he said, “and it’s the right point to start from.” As soon as they arrived, Ban began whining and scratching about the stub. Cornwiler sternly ordered him off, and the poor dog, probably supposing it was all right, reluctantly obeyed. Both rne'n believed the stub solid, and that Tom had merely come and gone. The news of the lost boy spread, and by sunrise a dozen men and boys were scouring the woods. After getting breakfast and doing the housework, Clara Millwalte, who had been thinking, concluded that Tom must, after all, be at or near the charred stub. “A dog never mistakes in such matters; men do,” the sensible girl reasoned. She would go and take a look for herself. “If Tom is there he’ll be hungry and thirsty,” she thought, so she put a generous breakfast and a bottle of new milk in a bark basket Ban went home with Cornwiler and Millwalte, wffio wished to see if Tom had taken his fish-line. They found it gone, and their delusion as to the river was confirmed. Thinking Ban of no service, Cornwiler left him at the house, aud the dog immediately returned to the stub and resumed his barking. Clara heard him, and hurried to reach the spot and judge for herself of the dog’s behavior. She arrived just as Tom drove a long sliver through, and put out his fingers for Ban to lick.

In a few moments more he had the aperture sufficiently enlarged for Clara to pass in the bottle and slices of food. Tom drank first—a long, thirsty pull. Then how he did eat! with the appetite of a starved wolf and the gratitude of a generous-minded boy. Clara bade him give her the hatchet, and while he ate she hacked with the skill and strength of a pioneer girl. As the wall was now pierced they could chop the edges qf the shell and make faster progress. In half an hour Tom was able to squeeze through. What an object he was! Bloody, grimy, and covered with rotten wood from head to heels! Even bis hair was plastered with gore and dust. Clara gathered leaves and helped him clean It off as well as he could, but it wpuid require Severe scrub baths, and a week’s healing to make him presentable. While they walked home she rallied him about his appearance, suggesting that half the township, especially the ladies, would be on hand to meet him. But Tom said he guessed that as long as she had seen him in this condition, he could stand being looked at by the other ladies. As for Ban, he was so absorbed that evening with the unusually large bone given him that he quite failed to hear Mr. Cornwiler’s compliment. “I allow,” said Mr. Cornwiler, “that when it comes to woodcraft, I haven't got half the sense of that dog.”— Youth’s Companion.