He was taken to the camp, where all was done that could be, under the circumstances, to save him, but to no purpose. His work was finished. He still lingered, in an apparently unconscious state, until midnight, when his spirit, forsaking its bruised and crushed tenement, ascended above the sighing pines, and entered the eternal state. The only words he uttered were those in reply to the calling of his name. As near as we could judge, he had laid two hours in the position in which he was found. It was astonishing to see how he had gnawed the rave[8] of the sled. It was between three and four inches through. In his agony, he had bitten it nearly half off. To do this, he must have pulled himself up with his hands, gnawed a while, then fallen back again through exhaustion and in despair. He was taken out to the nearest settlement, and buried. [8] "Rave," the railing of the sled. At a later period, we lost our teamster by an accident not altogether dissimilar. It was at the winding up of our winter's work in hauling. Late in the afternoon we had felled and prepared our final tree, which was to finish the last of the numerous loads which had been taken to the well-stowed landing. Wearied with the frequency of his travels on the same road for the same purpose, this last load was anticipated with no ordinary interest; and when the tree was loaded, he seemed to contemplate it with profound satisfaction. "This," said he, "is my last load." For the last time the team was placed in order, to drag from its bed the tree of a hundred summers. Onward it moved at the signal given, and he was soon lost to view in the frequent windings of the forest road. It was nearly sundown, and, had it not been for closing up the winter's work that day, the hauling would have been deferred until next morning.