Little fingers were fumbling about my face and there came the sound of a prattling voice close beside me. I opened my eyes and looked into the face of a child who was trying to arouse me, tugging valiantly at my hair and chattering away in great delight. Next I heard a laugh and turned upon my couch to see, on the other side of the hut, a woman, brown-haired and blue-eyed, who was looking cheerfully upon the babe and me, pausing only a moment to turn a cake browning before a fire flaming brightly on a broad slab of stone. She was pleasant to look upon, and I lay content, as my drowsiness passed away and my head became more clear.
“You slept deeply,” she said. “The babe was trying to rouse you.”
I looked upon the child again and caught him in my arms and drew him down toward me. He was a sturdy little one and struggled joyously, and my heart went out toward him. The woman laughed again. I now knew who I was, and where it was that I had awakened. The woman was my mate, Elka, and the little child my son. There were none fairer nor finer than these in the village above the waters of the lake which lay between the great forest and the mountains.
I could hear the plashing of the slight waves underneath us as they washed against the piles. There was the smell which comes from fish in the depths, and through the open window space in the wall of the dwelling came the fragrant odour of the growing and blooming things of the land. It was very pleasant. I arose and went out upon the platform which jutted forth over the water.
It was a pleasant scene. From where I stood a narrow pathway, made of a series of two hewed planks laid on piles extending well above the water, reached to the sloping shore nearly half an hundred yards away. From thence the slope rose into a green valley which broadened into almost a plain, and there were fenced fields almost as far as I could see, though there were no dwellings. In the fields, though it was yet early morning, I could see men and women moving, and there were animals in some of them as well. On either side of the valley save at the far end rose mountains, not very lofty and covered high up with verdure; but turning and looking over the broad blue lake toward the southeast, I could see great peaks the summits of which were clad in snow, warm as it was in the valley and in the lake village. Further rose peaks still higher, and to the southwest were mountains also snow-clad which the rising sun was turning to a glory of pink and flashing yellow. It was all wonderful and good for the eyes. It seemed to me there could be no fairer place, but I did not linger to gaze long. Little, indeed, I thought upon it, for I was hungry and turned into my cabin that I might eat. What is better than eating?
The meal was all prepared for me, and it was good. There was a fish cooked on the coals and the brown loaf my mate had made, and there were nuts and little apples. What more could fisherman or hunter ask? I ate, as did my mate, and as she ate she often tucked little mouthfuls into the mouth of the eager babe. We were untroubled, for was not our village at peace, and was not the wild game abundant, and did not the fishing yield, and were not the crops flourishing as were the tamed animals?
Truly we had reason to be glad, for there was not another of the villages of the Lake-Dwellers in all the mountain and valley region as growing and prosperous as ours, nor were there any of the land tribes whom we greatly feared. There had been great trouble and bloodshed long ago, but that was past and known of only in the stories of our fathers. Our ways were now those of the peaceful, though, sometimes, there were tragedies, yet, as the years passed, it seemed as if there could surely be no tribe so safe as we who dwelt in the huts of the lake village. The time when, as I have said, there was no peace at all, was when we dwelt upon the land which came sloping from the west to the water’s side and when very near to us to the north and east were wild tribes who made repeated forays and who slew and burned. We had remained but a small and timorous force when some one among us—none now could tell whom, but he must have been most wise and crafty—thought of the plan of making our dwellings on piles above the water, that we might be able to defend ourselves from all invaders, be they any of the wicked foraying tribes, or the marauding beasts, which at that time were many and fierce and dangerous. But this had been long ago, and the story of it was already becoming dim. To make our houses we, first, from our boats, drove sharpened piles of oak, beech, fir or ash, or sometimes yew, deep into the soft bottom of the lake, not very far from shore, yet far enough for safety’s sake; though sometimes nearer shore, so near that, when need came, a platform could be laid from it to the land, there was built a greater house than those we lived in, into which we could drive our animals when any danger threatened them. Our living places we reached mostly by boat, though in times of certain peace we had usually laid from the great platform a narrow path of split planks on a row of piles upon which we might pass more readily; these planks, like those of the slope from the ground to the stables, could easily be taken away. Upon the great platform farthest out in the lake our homes were built, very much alike. There were four upright standards connected by timbers wooden-pinned at the top, making the frame of a house a little longer than it was wide. Between these standards were the walls of interwoven willow plastered with a mortar of firmly adhesive mud. The roof was raised in the middle that the rain might run off more easily. In one end were a door and a window. At one end of the living-room was a big sandstone slab which was the fireplace, the smoke from which escaped through the door and window or through a hole in the roof; it did not annoy us, for all were accustomed to it from childhood, besides which we had learned to use only those woods for fire which burned most cleanly. In the middle of the floor of each house was a trap door, through which could be let down a small net for the fish which were so abundant in the lake and upon which we depended much for food when the hunting chanced to be bad and we had nothing else to eat with our bread of wheat or barley or millet seed, which we cultivated upon the land. For beds we had the skins of wild animals or of our own tamed cattle, or sheep or goats. What finer homes could be? Surely we were a fortunate people.
We had ways of orderly living. All disputes were decided by three chosen old men of the tribe, though not always would those who quarrelled abide by their decision, and to each man of the tribe was allotted his part in what was to be done for the general good. It must needs be so, for our occupations were so different that it was necessary that each should know how best to do his work. The potter—we had many dishes and huge jars for the grain, and other things of burned clay—could only do his best if always at his own sort of work; those who looked after the cattle and flocks must best know how to handle them and where were the richest and safest feeding places; those who did the hunting and fishing, of whom I was the chief, must be strong of arm and fleet of foot and wise in the habits of all wild things; and those who cultivated the ground—the women and some of the men—must know how to best prepare it for the seeding, digging it up with sharpened sticks, and hauling over it the branches of trees and the drags of stag’s horn, and how to do the harvesting. What a community we were! There was none other like us! Long already had our people lived above the lake, our numbers had increased, the huge platform stretched its length far along and became wider as it became longer. Thus safe and thus mingling together in such numbers we devised many new things and so were becoming more capable and potent. What we were some time to be who could foretell?
The work of the hunters was, of needs, the most adventurous and arduous, and only the strong men and those who were most capable were chosen for it. They must be in the forefront in time of conflict with other tribes, should such time come, and we of the band were all provided with coats and leggings of dried aurochs’ hide, which arrow or even spear could hardly pierce with force sufficient to enter deeply the body of the wearer. Far and wide we ranged, but not deeply, the dark and almost endless forest region to the north and east, where were dangerous beasts and still more dangerous and savage men of the tribes who had once made frequent war upon us, in the time before we became Lake-Dwellers, and so protected and too well-weaponed and trained and strong for them. In our own village were more than a thousand people, and in other lakes not far to the south and east were almost as many more.
As for my own life in my hut, or outside on land or water, it was but good. There were my mate and the child and the ardour of the chase. It seemed to me at times that I, Scar, the hunter and fisherman, was the most contented man among a contented people.
For food we never lacked, even when the hunting and fishing were not good. There was the grain equally divided throughout the tribe and stored in the great clay jars made by the potters, and the dried meat and fish and also dried fruit of many kinds, for we had the wild apples and wild pears and cherries and plums, and especially a little sour crab-apple which we liked and which grew in great abundance. There were also many berries and great quantities of beechnuts and acorns, in the hills. Much game there was at times, but, most of all, I think, we depended on the marsh cow, a wild and rather savage little brown beast which came down in numbers to feed upon the marsh grass on the east side of the lake, where we hunted it as craftily as we might. A great adventure had I one day with my brave little mate, whom I had taught to become, oftentimes, a great help to me in my hunting. I had rowed across the lake with her far to the south, for I did not wish to land near the marsh, and so came upon it from the forest beyond. Far out and near the water I could see a single marsh cow feeding close to shore. We slipped quietly from the wood and entered the grass and then crept forward on our bellies as quietly and silently as any of the little creatures living there, and, at last, came very near the cow, for the wind was from it and it did not scent us. It had been a weary crawl.
The cow, very fortunately for us, had in feeding gone out upon a little point extending into the lake. We thus had it at a disadvantage. I rose slowly to my feet and drew my arrow to its head and shot, aiming at the heart and feeling that I could at such short distance drive the shaft almost through the comparatively small brown body. Unfortunately, as I shot, the cow turned a little and the arrow buried itself in her shoulder slantingly. With a great bellow the animal whirled about, and I thought that it would charge, but suddenly it changed its mind and plunged into the water, for the marsh cattle swam almost as easily as did the beaver, of which there were thousands, the skins of which furnished us warm clothing. I leaped forward and shot again as the cow swam, but only put an arrow in its rump. Then there swished by me my little mate, carrying in her mouth crosswise a short rod she had seized from the ground; she curved forward into the water as gracefully and swiftly as any of the fish-hunting creatures which harboured in the marsh.
Then followed some great swimming! The cow struck out toward the southward, seeking to reach another point of land where it might attain the forest again, but my mate was beside and ahead of it in scarce a moment, belabouring it over the head with the stick she bore, cudgelling it most valiantly and recklessly. The cow, still swimming, and bellowing in rage, turned and charged, but could not catch that elusive thing any more than could the beaver catch the otter. There was a swirl and foam of waters and then came what made me roar aloud as much in wonder as in glee. Elka had seized the marsh cow by the tail and was still cudgelling away most valiantly and recklessly. Furthermore, she was guiding the direction of the swimming beast! As it sought to turn toward the shore, she would thwack it on the shore side so furiously that, in desperation, it would turn the other way. Soon I saw Elka’s aim—she was guiding the cow across the lake!
I ran my best until I reached the boat we had left far down the lake, and rowed fiercely toward the two dark objects I could discern now a long distance out. They were moving a little more slowly now, as well they might, but were approaching the farther shore when I came up with them. The cow was showing fatigue, though my mate was even frolicsome, since she had not borne any labour, save in the steering. She had brought her quarry home alive. She guided it to the shore, where I speared it, ending its trouble, while from the outpouring throng on the wide platform came a roar of astonishment at the exploit. Such a mate had I! Well did she merit the soft furs I always brought her and the necklaces of amber beads for which I traded with the sometimes wandering bands of friendly people from the great sea to the north they called the Baltic, wherein was the amber found. A necklace and an armlet of amber were hers, and she had beads also of serpentine and of the inside of brilliant shells, and many combs of yew-wood and of bone and horn. There were none other like her!
And, most curiously, that same day came another happening of a far different nature and one that made me almost believe that there might be reason for the stone crescent in some of the huts, for surely Yak and Mona without some power to bring good fortune to them would surely have lost their one child, a babe which could scarcely walk.
Most of us could not understand it or believe it, but somehow there had grown up a sort of what they called religion in the tribe, and a belief that we could be helped in our undertakings and preserved from evil by the aid of some great Being in the skies, and this Being was thought by these worshippers to be the kindly moon which gave us light by night, when otherwise we would have been more helpless. So, in the cabins of those who held the faith, was kept as a charm a crescent made of stone which was counted a sure aid and protection. Little faith had I in the belief or the crescent, but, as I have said, what happened on this day somewhat affected me the other way.
The babe was lying in the sunshine in the little fenced-off pen on the platform, of the kind in which the very young children were placed for safety’s sake, when it was seen by the great lammergeyer—the lamb-killer—which was hovering in the sky far overhead, and the huge bird dropped down upon it as it would fall upon a lamb in the hills. It came with a roaring swoop, swept upward with the babe in its talons, and sailed away with it above the lake, though flying somewhat lower and more heavily than usual.
Then came the marvel! Fishing far out on the waters was Lars, the best bowman of the tribe, save I, perhaps, but not so far that he did not hear the shrieks of Mona. They could have been heard a long way, those shrieks. And, by the merest chance, from hope of a shot at some water fowl, Lars had his bow with him, lying ready strung by his side and an arrow with it. He seized the bow and stood with arrow poised as the great bird came winging its way directly toward him, the child dangling below. He drew the arrow to the head and, as the bird came nearly over him, he let go the shaft. There was certainly the chance that he might kill the babe, but better such a death than to be torn to pieces by the lammergeyer. Yet the arrow did not touch the child, though it slew the devouring bird, passing fairly through its neck and bringing it down shrieking and fluttering and tossing to the water. Lars lifted out both babe and bird, the child with hardly a scratch upon it, the bird’s talons having clutched it where was its thick and protecting little breechclout. It was good to look upon the joy of Mona when she had her babe in her arms again. It was good, also, that Lars had killed the lammergeyer! Long had it circled in the sky above us, seeking a chance to descend upon and rob us of our lambs. And this was what made it seem to me that, mayhap, there might be something to the stone crescent and the worship of the moon. Surely Yak and Mona had been strangely helped.
Not all the time were we people of the Lake-Dwellers devoted to our labours, because there was no need, and because it was good to play at times and there was the call of man to woman and of woman to man. There was an open space left on the great platform near the centre of all the huts, and there the youth and many of the older ones met nightly for better acquaintance or frolic or merry chatting together. There were certain sports and there was dancing to the sounds of little skin-headed drums and of stretched strings which twanged agreeably. Sometimes there were feasts and festivals as well, when old and young assembled, and then men talked of the catch or the chase or of the tribe’s affairs, and the women of what might be in their minds or hearts. There was much proud showing of ornaments—though of none to equal those of my Elka—and there was mating, and it was for the good of all that we had this meeting place.
Yet it must not be said of us Lake-Dwellers that we never had anything to disturb us. The wild regions about us held too much of menace for that. The rude tribes to the east had not threatened us for years now, and with those on the northern sea we were on good terms, but there were others, outlanders and outlaws, whose lurking presence we must guard against at all times. They were bold and cruel and ruthless. It was not safe for the women to go far afield alone, and our flocks and herds must not be without guardians. Even at the time of which I am telling there had been a recent tragedy.
There had come up a great storm, one such as we rarely had upon the lake, though lesser ones were frequent in our climate. It rose in the afternoon, and continued into the night, the whole lake in a turmoil, and the braced huts on the platform seeming hardly safe from the onrush and pounding of the ravening waters. Toward morning, however, the storm subsided, and the sun shone out brightly, and there rose smoke from all the dwellings, save one, the home of Dill, a good fisherman and one of my own group. There was a call to the inmates of the place, but there came no answer, and the hut was entered to learn the reason for such silence. There lay Dill and all his family, speared in the midst of the storm, slain, as we well knew, by a band of the fierce wanderers. The slain could not be brought to life, but there was something else to do, for Dill had been my close friend and there was a trail which must be followed. I gathered together as many as I could of my group of hunters and fishermen, each wearing his armour of aurochs skin and each carrying his bow and spear and axe and food for many days.
Though there were shrewd trackers among us, at first we could discover no trace of the way in which the murderers had come or gone, because the storm had destroyed all trail; but, circling far, we found it where it became clear with the storm’s ending, and then, greatly aided by the dogs we had taken with us, we followed and moved more swiftly and earnestly than ever we had followed game less tremendous. We were like the wolves which follow the stag, as relentless and as pitiless!
We knew that the outlaws did not much fear pursuit. The task had, heretofore, seemed almost hopeless, because of the craftiness of the bands, to say nothing of their desperate resistance in strongholds of which they knew, or of their many secure hiding-places in the depths of the forest. Now, it was different! One, at least, of these cruel, marauding bands I was resolved should pay the penalty. This band must die!
For a day and a night we followed the freshening trail and, early in the morning, one whom I had sent ahead to creep along more softly than we could together, discovered where they were. They had just risen from sleep and were eating together in a little hollow in the very midst of the dense forest. There were eleven of them, unsuspecting our nearness, if, indeed, they had thought of pursuit at all, talking loudly and planning, it may be, other baneful expeditions. We were twenty to the eleven, and they were ours!
Silently as creeping wild-cats, we encircled the little hollow in which they were eating, and then, with my yell, we leaped upon them. They were as unprepared as they were unsuspecting. They were surrounded and none could escape. It was a time of fierce delight for us. We speared them howlingly, or brained them with our keen-edged stone axes. They were very dead when we left them, first stripping them of their plunder and their own belongings, not, as was first thought, to the wolves, but in another manner. There protruded from a huge tree which stood beside the hollow a straight extending limb which overhung it and was far above the reach of beasts of prey. With much labour, two men climbed the tree and crept out upon this limb, taking a rope of hide and many shorter ones with them. They let the long rope down to us and we fastened the bodies to it, one after another, and so they were hoisted and hung with the shorter ropes, eleven savage brutes in a row, to dangle long as a warning to other prowlers of what hazard faced those who ventured to invade the region of the Lake-Dwellers!
Yet such grim occurrences as this were rare. We were peaceful and prosperous, as I have told, increasing steadily in numbers. Because there were assembled together so many, all in helpful comradeship with each other, there came a greater knowingness and there was devised much of what was new. The potters made finer jars and all sorts of earthen vessels; the women contrived a way of weaving a sort of cloth from the fibre of plants, though as yet they could not do it very well; the hunters invented new and better snares, the flint chippers made more effective weapons for them; our fields were better tilled, and our little herds were better tended. It was the close companionship in such numbers which led toward our greatness.
And so the full days passed. It was a little after summer and the leaves in the forest were already turning slowly from green to brown or brilliant red or yellow. It was on one of the brightest of the autumn afternoons that I thought to go fishing with hook and line, taking my bow along in the hope that I might find ducks or geese about the marsh, for I had it in mind to fish near the farther shore. It was well that I did so, as far as that day went.
Of all the animals we sought to capture or kill because of the richness or beauty of their fur there was none to equal the otter. An otter skin was deemed a greater prize than that of bear or wolf or lynx or beaver, and he was counted fortunate who owned one. Very few of such skins were ours, however, for so silent and elusive, so wary and crafty, and swift either on or under the water was the otter, that it was hard to trap or kill one of them. Not a fisherman or hunter in the tribe but had hunted them with all his art, and not many had been successful, though there existed and thrived numbers of them, great prizes, in and about the shore. On the afternoon of which I tell I rowed to near where the deep water shallowed into the vast marsh, in which were broad pools connected with the lake by narrow streams of little depth. I was sitting idly and motionless in the boat with my line in the water when, suddenly, two tawny pointed noses followed by dark bodies rose to the surface. I did not move so much as an eyelid. So motionless was I that the creatures did not recognize me as a living object. It seemed to me that I must be trembling visibly in my eagerness and vague hope, but I did not stir.
The otters sported about in the water, chasing each other, diving and racing, and all the time nearing the shore of the marsh and the mouth of one of the little creeks of which I have spoken. At last they were fairly in its shallows and uplifted themselves and looked about them. They waited a moment and then, to my surprise, swam steadily up the winding, narrow stream. I was astonished because, though these fish-filled pools were among their favourite hunting-grounds at night, they were never seen in them in the dangerous daylight. What had induced these two to take the risk I cannot tell; it may be that they felt well assured of safety after their survey with uplifted necks, their eyes seeking in all directions, or, that they were unusually hungry, but, whatever the cause of their unwonted action, it threw me into wild excitement and gave me stronger hope. I might kill them both! The pond toward which they were swimming was small and shallow, and I could easily guard its entrance. I waited until a turn of the slender stream hid them from sight and then rowed swiftly toward it.
There was a commotion and splashing in the little pond, which I saw was not more than ten or twelve yards across, as I neared it after abandoning my boat and creeping forward through the high marsh grass. The otters were rioting there among the many fish of the smaller kind, perch and the like, which had reached it from the lake and were now at the mercy of their enemies. They were fairly mad in their seizing and gorging. The fish could not escape, and the otters were making a carnival of it. I raised my head by slow degrees and then a knee, moving so invisibly that no change could be seen, and gradually raised my bow with arrow upon string and drew it slowly back. One of the otters, the female it proved, caught a fish close to the shore and, with her forefeet upon the sands, raised her head high as she swallowed it. I held the shaft head fair upon her body just behind the shoulder—I could not miss so near a mark—and let it go. It struck her just where I had aimed and passed through her, leaving but little of its length in sight above its feathering. She screamed and snarled in her pain and threshed wildly about in the water. I had one of the prizes!
The other otter swam swiftly toward the narrow mouth of the creek, but I leaped into it and barred his way, discharging an arrow at him as his head appeared, but missing him in his lightning-like dart for safety. Round and round he swam in his terror and perplexity, and then darted to shore and made off through the marsh grass toward the lake. I shot at him as he left the water and before he reached the high grass, but struck him only in the ham, where the arrow stuck. Then I rushed wildly after him. An otter can run with no little speed on land, but not so swiftly as a man, and I was up with the fleeing animal in a moment, striking fiercely at him with my bow. In his desperation he faced me snarlingly, even leaping at me in his rage. The bow was useless against him, but I saw a piece of driftwood at my feet and seized upon it and, as he again sought to escape, I passed him once more and, as he faced me, killed him with a single blow upon the head. I carried his body to the shore of the pond and laid it beside that of his mate, which I rescued from the water.
It seemed incredible! I had slain two magnificent otters in a single day. When had such fortune ever before come to a Lake-Dweller? How magnificent was the fur! How carefully and delicately should the skins be tanned. What a glorious robe should my Elka wear! I carried the astonishing spoil to my boat, shouting aloud unreasoningly the while, and rowed with all my might for the great platform and my home.
What a reception I had! How amazed were all the people of the tribe and how proud and happy was my mate. It was the greatest happening in our lives since we had begun living in our hut together. Surely such fortune deserved a celebration! We considered what it should be. It must be a feast, and Nard and Lone, his mate, who were often our companions and who lived in a hut near our own, should share it with us!
We had in the hut the hind quarter of a fallow deer I had lately killed in a manner of which I was proud, for I had killed it in the open. I had seen it from the nearby wood, but at first was hopeless of getting within bowshot of it. Then an idea had come to me which I followed quickly. The animal was standing knee deep in the lush, long grass of the plain, and, seeking another open space not far behind me, I plucked quantities of this grass and bound it all about me with the strings of hide I always carried, the grass concealing even most of my head. Then, crawling upon the ground, I crept into the open and advanced toward the feeding deer. Looking however closely, one must have been sharp of eye to detect me. There was none among the hunters of the tribe who could move as softly and as silently, either afoot or crawling, as could I, and this time I fairly outdid myself. Nearer I came to the deer until I was but a few yards away, and then, as softly and slowly as I had later with the first of the two otters, I rose to my knees and raised my bow and drove the arrow to the very heart of the game. Somewhat did I boast of that among my tribesmen.
The hind quarter of this fat beast should be the meat for our feast, but, on an occasion so great, there must be other things. We must have fish as well, to go with the wheaten cakes and the wild apples and beechnuts, and I was resolved that it should be one of the great pike which were abundant in the deeper water, but which we rarely caught in the water about the village.
So in the afternoon of the day after the killing of the otters I prepared for the fishing. I was in great spirits. As I neared the edge of the platform where my boat was moored I passed old Fir, the oldest man in the tribe, and a hale old man he was! His face was withered, but his step was quick and firm and he still worked among the potters, one of the best of them. He was always cheerful, delighting in his children and grandchildren and a great-grandchild or two, as well. His presence was an animating thing for us, and we respected him much and listened to his advice, which was never unwise. As I spoke with him and looked upon him, I said to myself that in my old age I would be another like him! Surely I would live to be as old, for I, Scar, was the strongest and most full of health of all our clan, the one most able to fend off evil of any sort. Assuredly I would live as long as had this fine veteran, who was near an hundred years of age.
I took my larger net into my boat and rowed out with it and anchored it with a stone at the end of a rope of skin above a deep place in the lake where I knew the pike were most abundant. I let down the net, which was a pouch-like thing, baited in the centre and which would upon the swift pulling of a cord of hide enclose whatever was close above it. It was lined with many sharp barbed hooks, to assist the chance of capture in the struggles of the fish to break away. I waited a time for the bait fastened upon the hoop-net to attract the fish, and then lifted the net sharply. It came only a little way; it had somehow caught upon the bottom. I was enraged at the happening. Pull strongly as I dared, I could not release the net. There was but one thing to do: I must dive from the boat and free the thing, no feat for one who could swim like a beaver. The day was very warm; I was impatient and excited; I could dry happily, when I rose, in the sun, and so I dived with my tough garb still upon me. Down to the net I went and learned in a moment what had happened. There was some sort of narrow jagged opening, reaching downward perhaps a yard in the rocky bottom, and into this hole the net had fallen, catching and entangling itself upon the spurlike protuberances which extended from the sides of the little chasm. It appeared to be twisted, and impaled about and upon two of these. I tugged and strained, but my efforts at its dislodgment failed, while my breath was almost exhausted. I must go to the top for air before I could do more. Then, as I made one last desperate attempt before rising, my foot slipped with the effort and I slid downward into the hole and into the anchored net itself! I was suffocating; I strove to swim upward, but was held back; the strong sharp hooks had caught in my clothing in a score of places, at which I plucked with the fierceness of despair. Then I strived to tear away my skin garments, but was already too weak for that. I could endure the strain upon my lungs no longer. I opened my mouth gaspingly, and the water rushed in. I was drowning!
I yet struggled for a moment or two, and then became quiescent, I know not why. A thousand thoughts came to me. I had heard it said—and the wise ones of the tribe said—that it had been so from the beginning, that to the drowning always comes in an instant the memory of all things of importance which may have happened in his lifetime. It was so with me. How many things I had forgotten! I lived my life over again in what must have been but a moment. Then came the present. I thought of my immediate clan—ill could they afford the loss of Scar, the hunter—I thought of the black sorrow of Elka. I thought of my people and of the time when they would so increase that all men would be lifted, because men had come together in a city—the first the world had ever known! Of things such as these I thought. Then all became dreamy and very pleasant.