Rolf In The Woods, Ernest Thompson Seton [warren buffett book recommendations TXT] 📗

Calm Of Early Morning

Was On The Water,  And The Little Craft Went Skimming And Wimpling

Across.  In Half An Hour It Was Beached At Callan's.  In A Little

More Than An Hour's Jog And Stride He Was At Warren's,  Ready For

Work.  As He Marched In,  Strong And Brisk,  His Colour Up,  His

Blue Eyes Kindled With The Thought Of Seeing Albany,  The Trader

Could Not Help Being Struck By Him,  Especially When He Remembered

Each Of Their Meetings -- Meetings In Which He Discerned A Keen,

Young Mind Of Good Judgment,  One That Could Decide Quickly.

 

Gazing At The Lithe,  Red-Checked Lad,  He Said: "Say,  Rolf,  Air Ye

An Injun?? "

 

"No,  Sir."

 

"Air Ye A Half-Breed?"

 

"No,  I'm A Yank; My Name Is Kittering; Born And Bred In Redding,

Connecticut."

 

"Well,  I Swan,  Ye Look It. At Fust I Took Ye Fur An Injun; Ye Did

Look Dark (And Rolf Laughed Inside,  As He Thought Of That

Butternut Dye),  But I'm Bound To Say We're Glad Yer White."

 

"Here,  Bill,  This Is Rolf,  Rolf Kittering,  He'll Go With Ye To

Albany." Bill,  A Loose-Jointed,  Middle-Aged,  Flat-Footed,  Large-

Handed,  Semi-Loafer,  With Keen Gray Eyes,  Looked Up From A Bundle

He Was Roping.

 

Then Warren Took Rolf Aside And Explained: "I'm Sending Down All

My Fur This Trip.  There's Ten Bales Of Sixty Pounds Each,  Pretty

Near My Hull Fortune.  I Want It Took Straight To Vandam's,  And,

Night Or Day,  Don't Leave It Till Ye Git It There. He's Close To

The Dock.  I'm Telling Ye This For Two Reasons: The River's

Swarming With Pirates And Sneaks.  They'd Like Nothing Better

Than To Get Away With A Five-Hundred-Dollar Bundle Of Fur; And,

Next,  While Bill Is A1 On The River And True As Steel,  He's Awful

Weak On The Liquor; Goes Crazy,  Once It's In Him.  And I Notice

You've Always Refused It Here. So Don't Stop At Troy,  An' When Ye

Get To Albany Go Straight Past There To Vandam's.  You'll Have A

Letter That'll Explain,  And He'll Supply The Goods Yer To Bring Back.

He's A Sort Of A Partner,  And Orders From Him Is Same As From Me.

 

"I Suppose I Ought To Go Myself,  But This Is The Time All The Fur

Is Coming In Here,  An' I Must Be On Hand To Do The Dickering,  And

There's Too Much Much To Risk It Any Longer In The Storehouse."

 

"Suppose," Said Rolf,  "Bill Wants To Stop At Troy?"

 

"He Won't. He's All Right,  Given He's Sober.  I've Give Him The

Letter."

 

"Couldn't You Give Me The Letter,  In Case?"

 

"Law,  Bill'd Get Mad And Quit."

 

"He'll Never Know."

 

"That's So; I Will." So When They Paddled Away,  Bill Had An

Important Letter Of Instructions Ostentatiously Tucked In His

Outer Pocket.  Rolf,  Unknown To Any One Else But Warren,  Had A

Duplicate,  Wrapped In Waterproof,  Hidden In An Inside Pocket.

 

Bill Was A1 On The River; A Kind And Gentle Old Woodman,  Much

Stronger Than He Looked. He Knew The Value Of Fur And The Danger

Of Wetting It,  So He Took No Chances In Doubtful Rapids. This

Meant Many Portages And Much Hard Labour.

 

I Wonder If The World Realizes The Hard Labour Of The Portage Or

Carry? Let Any Man Who Seeks For Light,  Take A Fifty-Pound Sack

Of Flour On His Shoulders And Walk A Quarter Of A Mile On Level

Ground In Cool Weather. Unless He Is In Training,  He Will Find It

A Heavy Burden Long Before He Is Half-Way.  Suppose,  Instead Of A

Flour Sack,  The Burden Has Sharp Angles; The Bearer Is Soon In

Torture.  Suppose The Weight Carried Be Double; Then The Strain

Is Far More Than Doubled.  Suppose,  Finally,  The Road Be Not A

Quarter Mile But A Mile,  And Not On Level But Through Swamps,

Over Rocks,  Logs,  And Roots,  And The Weather Not Cool,  But

Suffocating Summer Weather In The Woods,  With Mosquitoes Boring

Into Every Exposed Part,  While Both Hands Are Occupied,  Steadying

The Burden Or Holding On To Branches For Help Up Steep Places --

And Then He Will Have Some Idea Of The Horror Of The Portage; And

There Were Many Of These,  Each One Calling For Six Loaded And

Five Light Trips For Each Canoe-Man.  What Wonder That Men Will

Often Take Chances In Some Fierce Rapid,  Rather Than To Make A

Long Carry Through The Fly-Infested Woods.

 

It Was Weighty Evidence Of Bill's Fidelity That Again And Again

They Made A Portage Around Rapids He Had Often Run,  Because In

The Present Case He Was In Sacred Trust Of That Much Prized

Commodity -- Fur.

 

Eighty Miles They Called It From Warren's To Albany,  But There

Were Many Halts And Carries Which Meant Long Delay,  And A Whole

Week Was Covered Before Bill And Rolf Had Passed The Settlements

Of Glens Falls,  Fort Edward,  And Schuylerville,  And Guided Their

Heavily Laden Canoe On The Tranquil River,  Past The Little Town

Of Troy.  Loafers Hailed Them From The Bank,  But Bill Turned A

Deaf Ear To All Temptation; And They Pushed On Happy In The

Thought That Now Their Troubles Were Over; The Last Rapid Was

Past; The Broad,  Smooth Waters Extended To Their Port.

 

 

Chapter 54 (Albany)

Only A Man Who In His Youth Has Come At Last In  Sight Of Some

Great City He Had Dreamed Of All His Life And Longed To See,  Can

Enter Into Rolf's Feelings As They Swept Around The Big Bend,  And

Albany -- Albany,  Hove In View.  Abany,  The First Chartered City

Of The United States; Albany,  The Capital Of All The Empire

State; Albany,  The Thriving Metropolis With Nearly Six Thousand

Living Human Souls; Albany With Its State House,  Beautiful And

Dignified,  Looking Down The Mighty Hudson Highway That Led To The

Open Sea.

 

Rolf Knew His Bible,  And Now He Somewhat Realized The Feelings Of

St. Paul On That Historic Day When His Life-Long Dream Came True,

When First He Neared The Eternal City -- When At Last He Glimpsed

The Towers Of Imperial,  Splendid Rome.

 

The Long-Strung Docks Were Massed And Webbed With Ship Rigging;

The Water Was Livened With Boats And Canoes; The Wooden

Warehouses Back Of The Docks Were Overtopped By Wooden Houses In

Tiers,  Until High Above Them All The Capitol Itself Was The

Fitting Climax.

 

Rolf Knew Something Of Shipping,  And Amid All The Massed Boats

His Eyes Fell On A Strange,  Square-Looking Craft With A Huge

Water-Wheel On Each Side. Then,  Swinging Into Better View,  He

Read Her Name,  The Clermont,  And Knew That This Was The Famous

Fulton Steamer,  The First Of The Steamboat Age.

 

But Bill Was Swamped By No Such Emotion. Albany,  Hudson,

Clermont,  And All,  Were Familiar Stories To Him And He Stolidly

Headed The Canoe For The Dock He Knew Of Old.

 

Loafers Roosting On The Snubbing Posts Hailed Him,  At First With

Raillery; But,  Coming Nearer,  He Was Recognized. "Hello,  Bill;

Back Again? Glad To See You," And There Was Superabundant Help To

Land The Canoe.

 

"Wall,  Wall,  Wall,  So It's Really You," Said The Touter Of A Fur

House,  In Extremely Friendly Voice; "Come In Now And We'll Hev A

Drink."

 

"No,  Sir-Ree," Said Bill Decisively,  "I Don't Drink Till Business

Is Done."

 

"Wall,  Now,  Bill,  Here's Van Roost's Not Ten Steps Away An' He

Hez Tapped The Finest Bar'l In Years."

 

"No,  I Tell Ye,  I'm Not Drinking -- Now."

 

"Wall,  All Right,  Ye Know Yer Own Business. I Thought Maybe Ye'd

Be Glad To See Us."

 

"Well,  Ain't I?"

 

"Hello,  Bill," And Bill's Fat Brother-In-Law Came Up. Thus Does

Me Good,  An' Yer Sister Is Spilin' To See Ye. We'll Hev One On

This."

 

"No,  Sam,  I Ain't Drinkin'; I've Got Biz To Tend."

 

"Wall,  Hev Just One To Clear Yer Head. Then Settle Yer Business

And Come Back To Us."

 

So Bill Went To Have One To Clear His Head. "I'll Be Back In Two

Minutes,  Rolf," But Rolf Saw Him No More For Many Days.

 

"You Better Come Along,  Cub," Called Out A Red-Nosed Member Of

The Group. But Rolf Shook His Head.

 

"Here,  I'll Help You Git Them Ashore," Volunteered An Effusive

Stranger,  With One Eye.

 

"I Don't Want Help."

 

"How Are Ye Gain' To Handle 'Em Alone?"

 

"Well,  There's One Thing I'd Be Glad To Have Ye Do; That Is,  Go

Up There And Bring Peter Vandam."

 

"I'll Watch Yer Stuff While You Go."

 

"No,  I Can't Leave."  "Then Go To Blazes; D'yte Take Me For Yer

Errand Boy?" And Rolf Was Left Alone.

 

He Was Green At The Business,  But Already He Was Realizing The

Power Of That Word Fur And The Importance Of The Peltry Trade.

Fur Was The One Valued Product Of The Wilderness That Only The

Hunter Could Bring. The Merchants Of The World Were As Greedy For

Fur As For Gold,  And Far More So Than For Precious Stones.

 

It Was A Commodity So Light That,  Even In Those Days,  A Hundred

Weight Of Fur Might Range In Value From One Hundred To Five

Thousand Dollars,  So That A Man With A Pack Of Fine Furs Was A

Capitalist. The Profits Of The Business Were Good For Trapper,

Very Large For The Trader,  Who Doubled His First Gain By Paying

In Trade; But They Were Huge For The Albany Middleman,  And

Colossal For The New Yorker Who Shipped To London.

 

With Such Allurements,  It Was Small Wonder That More Country Was

Explored And Opened For Fur Than For Settlement Or Even For Gold;

And There Were More Serious Crimes And High-Handed Robberies Over

The Right To Trade A Few Furs Than Over Any Other Legitimate

Business. These Things Were New To Rolf Within The Year,  But He

Was Learn- Ing The Lesson,  And Warren's Remarks About Fur Stuck

In His Memory With Growing Value. Every Incident Since The Trip

Began Had Given Them New Points.

 

The Morning Passed Without Sign Of Bill; So,  When In The

Afternoon,  Some Bare-Legged Boys Came Along,  Rolf Said To Them:

"Do Any Of Ye Know Where Peter Vandam's House Is?"

 

"Yeh,  That's It Right There," And They Pointed To A Large Log

House Less Than A Hundred Yards Away.

 

"Do Ye Know Him?"

 

"Yeh,  He's My Paw," Said A Sun-Bleached Freckle-Face.

 

"If You Bring Him Here Right Away,  I'll Give You A Dime. Tell Him

I'm From Warren's With A Cargo."

 

The Dusty Stampede That Followed Was Like That Of A Mustang Herd,

For A Dime Was A Dime In Those Days. And Very Soon,  A Tall,Ruddy

Man Appeared At The Dock. He Was A Dutchman In Name Only.  At

First Sight He Was Much Like The Other Loafers,  But Was Bigger,

And Had A More Business-Like Air When Observed Near At Hand.

 

"Are You From Warren's?"

 

"Yes,  Sir."

 

"Alone? "

 

"No,  Sir. I Came With Bill Bymus. But He Went Off Early This

Morning; I Haven't Seen Him Since. I'm Afraid He's In Trouble."

 

"Where'd Ho Go?"

 

"In There With Some Friends."

 

"Ha,  Just Like Him; He's In Trouble All Right. He'll Be No Good

For A Week. Last Time He Came Near Losing All Our Stuff. Now

Let's See What Ye've Got."

 

"Are You Mr. Peter Vandam? "

 

"Of Course I Am."

 

Still Rolf Looked Doubtful. There Was A Small Group Around,  And

Rolf Heard Several Voices,  "Yes,  This Is Peter; Ye Needn't

A-Worry."  But Rolf Knew None Of The Speakers. His Look Of

Puzzlement At First Annoyed Then Tickled The Dutchman,  Who

Exploded Into A Hearty Guffaw.

 

"Wall,  Wall,  You Sure Think Ill Of Us.  Here,  Now Look At That,"

And He Drew Out A Bundle Of Letters Addressed To Master Peter

Vandam.  Then He Displayed A Gold Watch Inscribed On The Back

"Peter Vandam"; Next He Showed A Fob Seal With A Scroll And An

Inscription,  "Petrus Vandamus"; Then He Turned To A Youngster And

Said,  "Run,  There Is The Reverend Dr. Powellus,  He May Help Us";

So The Black-Garbed,  Knee-Breached,  Shovel-Hatted Clergyman Came

And Pompously Said: "Yes,  My Young Friend,  Without Doubt You May

Rest Assured That This Is Our Very Estimable Parishioner,  Master

Peter Vandam; A Man Well Accounted In The World Of Trade."

 

"And Now," Said Peter,  "With The Help Of My Birth- Register And

Marriage-Certificate,  Which Will Be Placed At Your Service With

All Possible Haste,  I Hope I May Win Your Recognition."  The

Situation,  At First Tense,  Had Become More And More Funny,  And

The