The Major

It had not been a pleasant hunt. The rain had started a half-hour before sunrise and continued, alternating between drizzling and misting. Major Nathaniel Peabody (USA, ret.) had rejected the invitation to join the two intrepid souls who, in spite of the weather, had picked up their scatterguns and left in search of ruffed grouse.
The men had spent more than two hours in that endeavor before returning to the cabin, cold and soaked and representing what Noah Webster’s dictionary really means when it defines the word “bedraggled.” The only thing the hunters had gotten was a very disgusted look from the springer spaniel that, reluctantly, had accompanied them.
“It’s not a fit day out for man or liberal,” one of the men complained.
“You and your bright ideas,” the other one snarled. They changed into dry clothing, wiped and oiled their guns, and dried the dog, occasionally snorting or expressing their feelings with short phrases of bad language.
The men who had stayed in the cabin knew any attempt to hunt in that kind of weather was an exercise in futility, but they shared their companions’ unhappiness. The darned weather had kept them from hunting, too. They took a modicum of solace from the knowledge that they, at least, had remained dry and warm.

Peabody voiced no complaints. He busied himself by ladling out the chili that had been simmering on the flat top of the wood stove. When the miserable hunters had warmed themselves and eaten, the Major hoped the atmosphere in camp would lighten up. However, the curse of a destroyed hunt, like a miasma, hung over all of them. Sullen silence and expletives describing the wind and the rain punctuated what little conversation took place.
I n midafternoon the Major suggested a poker game. He hoped it would redirect his comrades’ attention from the weather and perhaps stop their constant complaining.
It was a very large pot. Not the kind used by hunting-camp cooks to make soup. It was the kind of pot that can be developed only when five poker players are each convinced that they will win the hand and continue betting until the final card is dealt.
Four disappointed players tossed their cards toward the center of the table and made unhappy comments.
“Lucky son of a b@%23*%.”
“Damned rain.”
“I don’t know why I play this game.”
“Damned rain.”
“You deal like old people make love—not very well.”
“Damned rain.”
“I’ve done nothing to deserve such bad luck.”
“Don’t forget the damned wind.”
In contrast to their morose mutterings, the fifth man at the table was smiling. He raked in the pile of bills and chips heaped on the center of the table. As Peabody stacked his winnings, for the benefit of the others he observed: “Science and intelligence will, eventually, win out over ignorance and superstition.” It did nothing to improve their mood. They stared—almost glared—at him. Noting their dour expressions, Peabody began a discourse calculated to raise their spirits.
“Be not disheartened,” he said. “Don’t let the adversity of the moment bother you. Things will get better... ”
“Before they get worse,” one of the hunters interrupted.
Disregarding the comment, the Major continued: “Positive thinking can make a miserable existence tolerable and sometimes downright beautiful. Adopt an optimistic attitude. Be happy. Your luck will change. Things will get better.”
Peabody pulled together the cards and prepared to shuffle the deck. “Think about it,” he said. “Here’s a good example: Many people believe the ice cap will melt, the sea level will rise and Seattle, San Francisco and New York will be abandoned and left under more than 20 feet of sea water. Those folks infest the TV talk shows, screaming, ‘The sky is falling, disaster is at hand, and the world is coming to an end.’ An equal number of people deny the melting-ice-cap theory and dismiss it as nothing more than bosh and nonsense.
“These two opposing views are an excellent example of the negative and the positive. If you choose the negative side of the equation, you will bring no joy to your life. Grumbling and complaining will be your life’s companions. If you are of a negative frame of mind, I recommend you change your pessimistic ways and become optimistic.
“Look on the bright side. Adopt a positive outlook. Think of how much better off the country will be when those three terrible cities have been destroyed. You see, there is a positive side to the melting of the arctic ice.”
“Optimism has been a major force behind mankind’s endeavors for eons. In the dim and distant past, our ancestors lived in trees. Falling out of bed had two disastrous consequences. It usually meant broken bones and, if the tree dweller was not quick enough to scramble back up the tree, possibly being attacked and eaten by a saber-toothed tiger.
“The tree dwellers didn’t sit around and complain. They took the optimistic view and were sure things would get better. Their optimism was justified. It didn’t take long, geologically speaking, before man-kind left the trees and became cave dwellers. Then somebody picked up the thighbone of a baboon, killed a tiger and ate it. Both of mankind’s problems disappeared.”
“What’s your point, Major?” one of the men asked.
“I’ve been listening to your gloomy commentaries on the weather and on your unexplainably dismal bad luck at the table,” Peabody said. “Your pessimism is destructive. Pessimists never feel the exhilaration of seeing their positive thinking turn into success. My point is: To lead a happy life, you have to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative and always remember the power of positive thinking.”
Peabody finished shuffling, called out, “Seven Card Stud—a buck ante,” and dealt three cards to each player. He didn’t immediately look at his down cards. Instead he watched the expressions on the faces of his comrades as they peeked at theirs. Two of them grimaced slightly, one retained his poker face, and the other slightly, only slightly, registered approval.
Peabody checked his cards. He had two numbered clubs down and a queen of diamonds up. A straight, a flush and all sorts of combinations were possible. The Major looked at the other cards face up on the table. One player showed a king. Another showed an ace. The ace bet 50 cents, and the kings raised it to a buck.
The Major quoted Longfellow: “The night shall be filled with music, and the cares that infest the day shall fold their tents like the Arabs and as silently steal away.” He emphasized the word “fold” as he mucked his hand.
Peabody thought, I hope they all bought that optimism and positive-thinking foolishness. It will encourage them to keep on betting long after they should have dropped. I’m constantly amazed at how people can actually believe all that Pollyanna-like optimistic drivel.
Peabody looked out the cabin window. The sky was still gray, with no hint of sunshine or blue sky. It was drizzling, and the wind had picked up. It looked like a three-day rain. As he turned back to the table and dealt the next cards, he thought, The rain will stop tonight. Tomorrow will be sunny. The birds will be out, and that dog looks like he’s a winner. I can see the grouse busting from cover. I can feel it in my bones. We’re going to have an excellent hunt tomorrow.

Galen Winter’s favorite Major stories have been collected and anthologized in The Best of the Major, available for $25 (plus shipping) from 800-685-7962; www.shooting sportsman.com.