called for volunteers for the work details.
It was not a problem to get those willing to fish. Several young boys joyfully took the lines and fishhooks and scampered to the lake. A number of young women volunteered to go into the forest for herbs and greens for the cooking pots.
There were those willing to go to the forest for wild game, but what good were bullets without a gun? Our search had turned up none. We didn’t even have a bow and arrow in the whole camp.
“We send some boys to trap—to snare something,” I said, gesturing with my hands. It didn’t seem possible they would be able to provide meat for so many people in such a way, but there was nothing else we could do.
The whole camp bustled with activity. The empty, despairing faces began to come alive again, and calls and laughter of children rang out along the shoreline. Suddenly we were no longer in the midst of a tragedy but an adventure.
LaMeche and I portioned out basic food for the day for each of the campsites. The women came with their containers for the food staples. Young girls ran laughing to the stream for water, pails in hand, or headed for the woods to bring back plenty of wood for the fires.
Our spirits began to lift somewhat, though we knew the days ahead would be difficult and uncertain.
SIXTEEN
Difficulties
We limited ourselves to two meals per day. We were all so hungry that our breakfast, a thin cornmeal gruel and coffee, was gladly welcomed. Each cooking pot fed a small, family-sized group. At my fire I had ten people of various sizes and ages. There was a young widow with two small children, two teenage girls who had been orphaned, a middle-aged widow who was alone, an elderly couple who had no family members to care for them, and LaMeche and I.
Midmorning the boys returned from the lake with four fish. Though they were proud of their achievement, I knew four fish would not go far among all the people. I smiled when I thought of how many the “two fishes” had fed. Well, the Lord will need to perform another miracle if we all are to eat today, I thought.
The snaring had produced nothing. The boys who had tried came home discouraged and ashamed. I assured them they would be more successful the next time, but I did wonder knowing that snaring takes great skill, untold patience, and perhaps a good measure of luck.
We kept the fires going and the pots boiling. I divided the fish among the families who had elderly or sick to feed. I pulled vegetables from my garden and put some of them in my pot. At least we would have vegetable stew for our evening meal.
I walked the line of fires, a handful of vegetables ready to hand out where they seemed to be especially needed. I wanted to be sure that everyone had something to eat. For many it was only gruel again.
I was feeling a bit downcast. If only someone, somewhere had a gun! I wished. When the men came back they, of course, would have guns, and Wynn would bring a gun with him upon his return. But we needed a gun now. It might be three or four days until any of them returned, and with our limited amount of cornmeal and flour, we had to have meat. With so many to feed, the basic foods would last a very short time.
I was so deep in thought I scarcely noticed the barking of the dogs, which was a constant thing anyway. And then I realized this sounded different somehow, and I looked in the direction from which it was coming.
Others in the village must have sensed the difference, too, for I saw women lift their heads, and children stop in their play, and boys hesitate mid-stride—all looking toward the approaching sound.
And then the most unusual sight met our eyes. The village dogs had formed a pack and were hunting, Kip leading the chase. Stumbling along in front of them, his eyes wild and his flesh seared by the fire of the day before, limped a bull moose. He bellowed his rage and headed straight for the safety of the lake.
I jumped to my feet, waving my arms in a foolish
It was not a problem to get those willing to fish. Several young boys joyfully took the lines and fishhooks and scampered to the lake. A number of young women volunteered to go into the forest for herbs and greens for the cooking pots.
There were those willing to go to the forest for wild game, but what good were bullets without a gun? Our search had turned up none. We didn’t even have a bow and arrow in the whole camp.
“We send some boys to trap—to snare something,” I said, gesturing with my hands. It didn’t seem possible they would be able to provide meat for so many people in such a way, but there was nothing else we could do.
The whole camp bustled with activity. The empty, despairing faces began to come alive again, and calls and laughter of children rang out along the shoreline. Suddenly we were no longer in the midst of a tragedy but an adventure.
LaMeche and I portioned out basic food for the day for each of the campsites. The women came with their containers for the food staples. Young girls ran laughing to the stream for water, pails in hand, or headed for the woods to bring back plenty of wood for the fires.
Our spirits began to lift somewhat, though we knew the days ahead would be difficult and uncertain.
SIXTEEN
Difficulties
We limited ourselves to two meals per day. We were all so hungry that our breakfast, a thin cornmeal gruel and coffee, was gladly welcomed. Each cooking pot fed a small, family-sized group. At my fire I had ten people of various sizes and ages. There was a young widow with two small children, two teenage girls who had been orphaned, a middle-aged widow who was alone, an elderly couple who had no family members to care for them, and LaMeche and I.
Midmorning the boys returned from the lake with four fish. Though they were proud of their achievement, I knew four fish would not go far among all the people. I smiled when I thought of how many the “two fishes” had fed. Well, the Lord will need to perform another miracle if we all are to eat today, I thought.
The snaring had produced nothing. The boys who had tried came home discouraged and ashamed. I assured them they would be more successful the next time, but I did wonder knowing that snaring takes great skill, untold patience, and perhaps a good measure of luck.
We kept the fires going and the pots boiling. I divided the fish among the families who had elderly or sick to feed. I pulled vegetables from my garden and put some of them in my pot. At least we would have vegetable stew for our evening meal.
I walked the line of fires, a handful of vegetables ready to hand out where they seemed to be especially needed. I wanted to be sure that everyone had something to eat. For many it was only gruel again.
I was feeling a bit downcast. If only someone, somewhere had a gun! I wished. When the men came back they, of course, would have guns, and Wynn would bring a gun with him upon his return. But we needed a gun now. It might be three or four days until any of them returned, and with our limited amount of cornmeal and flour, we had to have meat. With so many to feed, the basic foods would last a very short time.
I was so deep in thought I scarcely noticed the barking of the dogs, which was a constant thing anyway. And then I realized this sounded different somehow, and I looked in the direction from which it was coming.
Others in the village must have sensed the difference, too, for I saw women lift their heads, and children stop in their play, and boys hesitate mid-stride—all looking toward the approaching sound.
And then the most unusual sight met our eyes. The village dogs had formed a pack and were hunting, Kip leading the chase. Stumbling along in front of them, his eyes wild and his flesh seared by the fire of the day before, limped a bull moose. He bellowed his rage and headed straight for the safety of the lake.
I jumped to my feet, waving my arms in a foolish
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