CORPORAL HENRY R. NEAVILLE. 195 



within three feet of where the boat upset. We then saw 

 where a board had lodged in the last freshet, and as our 

 loose seats were gone I proposed to replace them with 

 the board. 



"But you have no saw. How are you going to cut 

 that board to make two seats?" asked Frank. 



I showed him how to cut a board off square with a 

 pocket knife by taking the measure and following the 

 mark with the point of the knife. Then slightly bending 

 the board at the mark and drawing the knife in the cut, 

 taking care not to bend it too much, the fibres separated 

 with a snap under the point of the knife, and we had two 

 seats with ends as square as if sawed. It was done so 

 quickly that he was surprised, and I showed him how a 

 small tree could be cut by a sharp-pointed knife if the 

 tree could be bent so as to strain the fibres, and he very 

 ungrammatically remarked: "Well., I'm be blowed!" 



Henry Neaville was one of those rare fellows who are 

 charming companions in camp one of those cheerful 

 men who never grumble, no matter what happens. It 

 might rain, and wet him to the skin when there was no 

 chance to make a fire; he might lose his fishing tackle 

 when no more could be had, and he would joke about it. 

 He would be happy when it was a choice between being 

 eaten alive by mosquitoes or being smothered and 

 blinded by smoke. Mark Tapley could not have been 

 jollier under adverse circumstances than was Henry 

 Neaville. I was with him a year and a half later in camp 

 in northern Minnesota with a surveying party, and saw 

 him come in with both feet frozen so badly that I feared 

 amputation might be necessary, and as I dressed his feet 

 afterward, when they were swollen almost to bursting, 

 he said: "If you should have to cut these feet off just box 

 'em up, and send 'em back to Potosi and write father to 



