University of Virginia Library

8. CHAPTER VIII.
The Honey Camp.

The weather, which had been rainy in the
night, having held up, we resumed our march at
seven o'clock in the morning, in confident hope
of soon arriving at the encampment of the rangers.
We had not ridden above three or four
miles when we came to a large tree which had
recently been felled by an axe, for the wild
honey contained in the hollow of its trunk,
several broken flakes of which still remained.
We now felt sure that the camp could not be
far distant. About a couple of miles further
and some of the rangers set up a shout, and
pointed to a number of horses grazing in a
woody bottom. A few paces brought us to the
brow of an elevated ridge, from whence we
looked down upon the encampment. It was
a wild bandit, or Robin Hood, scene. In a
beautiful open forest, traversed by a running
stream, were booths of bark and branches, and
tents of blankets, temporary shelters from the
recent rain, for the rangers commonly bivouack
in the open air. There were groups of rangers
in every kind of uncouth garb. Some were

cooking at large fires made at the feet of trees;
some were stretching and dressing deerskins;
some were shooting at a mark, and some lying
about on the grass. Venison jerked, and hung
on frames was drying over the embers in one
place; in another lay carcasses recently brought
in by the hunters. Stacks of rifles were leaning
against the trunks of the trees, and saddles,
bridles, and powder horns hanging above them,
while the horses were grazing here and there
among the thickets.

Our arrival at the camp was greeted with acclamation.
The rangers crowded about their comrades
to inquire the news from the fort: for our
own part, we were received in frank simple hunter's
style by Capt. Bean, the commander of the
company; a man about forty years of age, vigorous
and active. His life had been chiefly passed
on the frontier, occasionally in Indian warfare,
so that he was a thorough woodsman, and a first
rate hunter. He was equipped in character;
in leathern hunting shirt and leggins, and a
leathern foraging cap.

While we were conversing with the Captain,
a veteran huntsman approached, whose whole
appearance struck me. He was of the middle
size, but tough and weather proved; a head
partly bald and garnished with loose iron-grey
locks, and a fine black eye, beaming with youthful

spirit. His dress was similar to that of the
Captain, a rifle shirt and leggins of dressed
deerskin, that had evidently seen service; a
powder horn was slung by his side, a hunting
knife stuck in his belt, and in his hand was an
ancient and trusty rifle, doubtless as dear to him
as a bosom friend. He asked permission to go
hunting, which was readily granted. “That's
old Ryan,” said the Captain, when he had gone,
“there's not a better hunter in the camp; he's
sure to bring in game.”

In a little while our pack-horses were unloaded
and turned loose to revel among the pea-vines.
Our tent was pitched; our fire made; the half
of a deer had been sent to us from the Captain's
lodge; Beatte brought in a couple of wild turkeys;
the spits were laden, and the camp kettle
crammed with meat; and to crown our luxuries,
a basin filled with great flakes of delicious honey,
the spoils of a plundered bee-tree, was given us
by one of the rangers.

Our little Frenchman Tonish was in an ecstasy,
and tucking up his sleeves to the elbows,
set to work to make a display of his culinary
skill, on which he prided himself almost as much
as upon his hunting, his riding, and his warlike
prowess.