Lost—Deliberations.—Trying to regain the Course.—The Smoke of the Burning.—The stagnant Air.—Onward.—An Opening in the Forest.—Hope and Enthusiasm.—A Rush forward.
Yes, Lost!
Lost in the woods!
It was Bart who first received this idea in its full force in his mind. He stopped abruptly, and looked all around.
“Well,” said he, “it’s my opinion that we’ve been keeping this sort of thing up too long altogether. For my part, I haven’t the faintest idea in the world where we are. One thing is certain: we’re utterly astray in what we may suppose to be our reckoning; and wherever the river may be, it certainly isn’t anywhere near us. And I’m going to knock under for the present.”
With these words, he flung himself down upon a knoll under a neighboring tree, threw off his bag, and pitched it away to some distance from him, and then, drawing his knees up under his chin, he sat gazing fixedly at the ground.
“Well,” said Pat, “I’ve been thinkin that same for the last hour, sure; but, as ye seemed inclined to laid off, an as I hadn’t anythin more to offer, why, I jist follered afther. An sure I think it ain’t a bad idea at all, at all, to sit down, if it’s only to rist ourselves, an take a bite of somethin to ate, an thry to git up some schame for our nixt attimpt.”
With these words, Pat took a seat upon the ground, and Solomon, without any remark, sat down near them.
And there they all sat, silent, with the same thought in all their minds; and that was, that they were utterly, completely, and hopelessly lost in the woods. None of them felt inclined to speak. They felt discomfited, disheartened, mortified. So this was the end of their elaborate plans, so carefully discussed, so carefully followed—that they who came to seek their lost friend should themselves be lost also! They were confident that they had made some mistake somewhere, and at some time, and they were now busily engaged in recalling the different events of their journey, so as to see where and when the mistake had been.
Bart thought that their mistake was in not continuing to leave a trail behind them, after they had made the last change in their course. Up to that time, it seemed to him that all had gone on well, and he lamented that fatal carelessness and over-confidence that had led to this neglect.
Pat’s idea was, that they had not calculated the direction of the river, and that they had somehow missed it.
Solomon declared that, ever since he left the river, he hadn’t had any idea at all of any direction.
“Dat’s so,” he said; “I heerd you go on in dem ar long-winded ’scussions bout right Sections, an poppumdiklars, an rytanglums, an sich, but hadn’t no more notium ob whar we was goin dan a chile. An you hadn’t nudder. Yah! yah! yah!”
Solomon’s idea was, after all, much nearer the truth than the theories of either Bart or Pat. For although these two had supposed all the time that they were carrying in their very clever brains a perfectly distinct plan of their course, yet, in reality, this belief was utterly unfounded, and the supposed plan was a mockery, a delusion, and a snare. Here they were—lost!—that was the end of it.
For, in point of fact, their whole journey had been one constant series of mistakes. From the first step to the last, there had been nothing but self-delusion.
First, they had deluded themselves into the belief that they could go in a straight line. Now, in those woods, there had been incessant obstacles, in the shape of clumps of trees, underbrush, bogs, rocks, fallen timber, and a hundred other things of a similar character, which necessitated a departure from a straight line at every few steps. To suppose that they could walk on, under such circumstances, in a straight line, was absurd. The consequence was, that their course had, all along, been exceedingly crooked, leading them towards all the points of the compass in turns.
Another mistake which they made was, in the supposition that the river had any definite course. They had acted on the theory, not only that their own course was straight, but that the course of the river was straight also. Now, this river, like every other river, had a flow in one general direction, but its actual course was a winding one, and not far below the rock from which they had set out, it turned in a direction which was totally different from the one in which it was flowing when they left it.
Thus they had been wandering in a very irregular course ever since they started. They had gone onward for mile after mile, and every step had carried them farther and farther away from the places in the neighborhood of which they wished to remain, and now, at this bewildered halt, they were in reality far, very far, away from that river which they had believed themselves to be approaching.
Some such conviction as this came to their minds now,—that is to say, the conviction that they had wandered far away from the river,—but they had no idea how far away from it they really were, and they thought—that is to say, Bart and Pat thought—that their wanderings had begun only at their last change of course, near the wooded swamp.
Thus far, the weather had been warm, but not so sultry as on the day before. The air appeared to have become cooled by that gentle breeze which had sprung up in the morning. The sky, however, had been overcast as before, and all the view overhead was covered with those rolling smoke clouds before mentioned. They noticed this now as they sat there, and it seemed to them that the sky was more enveloped with this sombre covering, and that the light was dimmer, and the scene more gloomy. The birds also seemed to have all fled away from that smoky sky.
Their long tramp had sharpened their appetites, and they now began to think of lunch. Fortunately, Solomon, with his usual forethought, had saved the fish that had been left from their repast on the previous day, and these, with some sandwiches, furnished out a meal. They were without anything to drink, however; but a little search in the neighborhood revealed a slender rill of very warm water, which, warm as it was, they were glad to drink. On the whole, this frugal repast refreshed them and invigorated them; and after its conclusion, they began to consider once more the important question of the course which they should take next.
What perplexed them most was the impossibility of knowing anything about the direction in which they ought to go. The points of the compass were all unknown. North, south, east, and west were all alike a mystery. The smoke clouds that covered the whole sky made it impossible even to conjecture, with any approach to accuracy, the possible position of the sun.
Their situation was perplexing in the extreme. In fact, it was a double perplexity. They did not know where Phil was, and they did not know where they themselves were. They wanted to find Phil; but by reason of their loss of all knowledge of locality, they were unable to form even a theory of the particular direction in which it might be best to renew their search after him. And this it was that made any discussion particularly difficult.
Then, again, though they had a distinct remembrance of the river itself, yet they had formed no definite idea about its course. Bart thought it ran north. Pat thought it ran south. Why they thought so, neither could give any reason. But this mattered nothing now. Even if they had known most perfectly the actual course of the river,—nay, even if they had been perfectly acquainted with the geography of the district,—it would have availed them nothing whatever in their present position, nor could they have been in any better position to decide about the best direction which they could take.
“We ought to be moving,” said Bart; “but where? I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Well, thin,” said Pat, “I’ll tell you what it is. Let’s be off, and thrust to luck. Let’s walk ahead anywheres, and we’ll come out somewheres.”
“Can’t we tell something by the clouds?” asked Bart, looking up at the rolling masses overhead.
“Deed an I’ve thought o’ that,” said Pat, “an I’ve been watchin thim; but sorra one o’ me can make out any thin about thim same at all, at all. They’re jist rowlin an tumblin every which way. An that same they were doin this mornin; for I watched thim, an cudn’t make any thin out o’ thim at all, at all, no more’n I can now at this blissed momint. An they won’t be afther tellin you any more’n they towld me, I’ll go bail.”
“It seems to me,” said Bart, “that they are moving in some direction. I remember noticing this morning that they moved, or seemed to move, across the river. Now, if the river ran north—”
“South,” interrupted Pat.
“North,” persisted Bart. “If it ran north, why, these clouds must be moving east.”
“West,” cried Pat.
“East,” persisted Bart. “If I’m certain of anything, I’m certain that they must be going east.”
“Deed an I’m dead sure that they’re a goin west.
“An I’m as likely to be right as you are.”
“O, well,” said Bart, “we can’t come to any decision at all.”
“Surely no; not from thim clouds,” said Pat. “For afther all, I don’t think they’re movin anywheres. They’re jist rowlin round and round. Niver mind thim clouds.”
“But we must go somewhere,” said Bart, impatiently.
“Deed an so we must; an so I say.”
“Then where shall we go?”
“Jist wheriver you say. You laid ahead, an I’ll toiler till the wurruld’s ind, so I will, an that’s all about it.”
Bart now rose, and so did the others; and after a little natural hesitation, they all set out once more upon their journey.
This journey was thus resumed on the principle that it was better to be moving than to sit idle. Something had to be done, but what it was they did not know. Bart had formed some vague idea of his general direction from the clouds, and was trying now to find his way back to the neighborhood at least of the place from which they had set out. At any rate, he thought he would thus be more likely to come upon Phil’s track, for this was still the idea that was uppermost in his mind. The direction in which that place lay seemed to him to be west; and so, with this thought in his mind, he set out and led the way.
Of course, Bart’s idea about going west was of the vaguest possible description. Bart’s west was Pat’s east; and each of them was equally likely to be wrong. For it might have been either north or south; and in addition to this, there was the fact of their circuitous march, which set straight lines at defiance, and bore them along in a winding course, that might lead to every point of the compass in turn. However, there was actually no other course possible, and Bart and Pat were both satisfied; for while Bart thought he was following the course which seemed to him best, Pat thought that they were going in no particular direction at all, but were wandering at random. Of the two, Pat was far more in the right. As to Solomon, it was a matter of indifference to him, so long as Bart led the way, and so long as the aim of their march was a search after Phil.
They walked on now in silence for some hours. The woods were just the same as they had been all along. Sometimes they came to a wide extent of pine trees, where the walking was easy, and they were able to maintain some definite direction. At other times they came to woods filled with hard-wood trees, where the underbrush was thick and the obstacles numerous. Here they were compelled to wind along in a circuitous way, making numerous detours to avoid dense thickets or impassable bogs.
At length the evening drew on, and all of them were nearly worn out. It had been a long and a difficult march. They had exerted themselves severely all that day. Besides, it was not a time that was favorable to severe exertion, for the warmth of the atmosphere affected them all. As the evening approached the warmth increased, for the slight breeze that had been prevailing all the day, and mitigating the sultriness of the weather, now died out, and at once that same oppressiveness of which they had been aware on the preceding day made itself manifest again. Exertion became more and more painful. Their progress became more and more laborious, and they walked with ever-increasing difficulty. At length Bart stopped.
“I won’t go any farther,” said he. “This isn’t much of a place to pass the night in, but I’ve been on the lookout for the last hour, and this is as good as any that I’ve seen. We can’t do any more to-day. So I move that we stop here and rest, and settle down for the night.”
To this the others agreed; and so, flinging down their baskets, they began to make preparations for the night. The preparations were simple enough, consisting in nothing more than a collection of moss and fern leaves, which abounded all around, and of which they soon heaped up a quantity sufficient for their wants. After this they sat down and partook of an evening repast from their rapidly diminishing stock of sandwiches.
“By the powers,” said Pat, “if we’re in the wuds much longer, we’ll have to git howld of a stock of frish provisions, so we will.”
That night they all slept soundly, for they were worn out by their long sleeplessness and by the fatigues of their weary march. In that march they must have traversed many miles, for they had been walking from very early morning till dusk, with only one intermission. Their sleep, therefore, was deep and heavy, and it lasted until comparatively late in the following day.
On awaking they found the air oppressively close and sultry. The smoke clouds were nearer, and appeared to touch the tree-tops. There was also an unpleasant smell of smoke which irritated their nostrils and dried up their throats. One thing only was evident from this, and that was, that the woods were on fire. It also seemed equally evident that they were approaching the scene of conflagration. It was already very oppressive, and how much longer they would be able to maintain their journey was a matter of doubt. Yet there was no desire to give up. The one thought present to all of them was, that Phil was lost; and the rolling smoke clouds now suggested to their minds a danger impending over him of which they had not thought before. Thus far Bart had been more or less subject to fears about the Indian’s being concerned with Phil’s disappearance; but now, as these natural terrors were revealed, his thoughts of the Indian gave place to others of the most painful and harassing character. For if Phil was really lost, it amounted to this—that he was wandering about in a burning forest, far from all hope of human aid. They themselves had suffered, and were suffering, enough to know well what his state must be. The lively imagination of Bart portrayed before his mind in vivid colors the situation of poor Phil, all alone, wandering helpless and despairing, surrounded by smoke and flames, oppressed by the heat, and sinking under the weight of his anxiety and fatigue. His little store of provisions must soon fail—he would not dare to stop to try to catch fish; he would hurry on as long as strength lasted, seeking to escape from the advancing fires. At last all strength and all hope would fail, and a terrific fate would seize upon him.
The others had something of the same feelings about Phil, although less vividly, and were ready to keep up the search after him as long as they could move. So they snatched a hasty breakfast, and at once prepared for the day’s march. That breakfast exhausted the last of their stock of provisions, and they could only hope to reach some brook where they might catch a few fish. At that moment, however, their thoughts about themselves were disregarded in their anxieties about Phil; and so they set out full of eager desire to find him before it might be too late.
Thus far they had continued to shout at certain intervals, and the last thing on the preceding night, and the first thing on this morning, had been a series of loud calls. But the calls had never been answered, and Phil seemed still to be as far away from them as when they first set out. Still it was the only thing that they could do; and so, as they went forward on this day, they kept up, as before, their practice of calling at certain intervals of time.
They wandered on for hour after hour. The air continued close and sultry, and the smoke was most unpleasantly perceptible; but this, instead of deterring them, only nerved them to fresh efforts, since it never ceased to suggest to them the thought of poor Phil’s terrible situation. One thing consoled them; and that was, the discovery that the sultriness and the smoke had grown no worse since they started, but if anything had rather lessened. This they were glad of on Phil’s account; as for themselves, however, it was certainly bad enough, and as the hours passed, their efforts became more and more difficult, and their labors more overpowering.
At last the woods in front of them grew thinner, and through the trees they were able to see more and more of the sky. To emerge from the thick woods into any open place whatever was a pleasant thought to all of them. They wondered what it could be. Solomon thought that it was some barren district bare of trees, and overgrown with low brush, such as sometimes occurs in the forest. Pat thought it was a lake, or a river, or a swamp, or something of that sort. Bart expected to find a clearing in the woods, and his heart beat last with joy at the idea of finding some human being who could tell them where they where. With these various thoughts and feelings they hurried forward.
The Opening.—The Sea, the Sea, the open Sea.—The Priest.—The Promise of Help.—Pat takes a Walk, and passes a mysterious Building.—He takes a Swim.—Return of Pat.—A terrific Discovery.—Pat in a Panic.—The Scene of Horror.—Smoke and Flame.—The Fire Glow by Night.IT was late in the afternoon when they reached that opening in the woods which had suddenly appeared. They had been fearfully exhausted; they had also been almost famished, and were without any prospect of either rest or food, when that opening appeared before them. But the sight of it acted upon them like magic, and seemed to drive away both hunger and weariness. Instantly their pace quickened from a languid, laborious walk to a trot, and then to a run, as they hurried forward, eager to learn what this place might be. Bart, with his hope of finding a settlement with living human beings, from whom he might receive information and assistance, was most excited, and was the first to quicken his pace; and the sight of his excited eagerness affected his companions with the same feelings. Thus they rushed forward, and in a short time emerged from the woods.
An open field lay before them, in which stumps arose here and there. The field rose with a slight ascent to an elevation which shut out the scene beyond. It was not the “Barrens,” which Solomon had expected, nor yet the lake or swamp which Pat had mentioned. Bart had been right. It was a space cleared by the hand of man; but still the question remained, what kind of a settlement was it, and of what extent. For a moment they paused as they emerged from the wood, and then they all hurried rapidly forward.
As they hurried forward the prospect opened more and more, until they gained the eminence; and then what a scene lay before them!
There, full before them—there, to their speechless amazement—lay—what? Could it be possible. Did their eyes deceive them. No. It was a fact. Yet, how amazing!
The sea!
The wide and boundless sea!
Yes, there it was, beyond the possibility of doubt—the sea—the sea itself—no river—no lake—but the sea, and nothing else.
Overhead the smoke clouds still rolled, as before, in vast voluminous folds, curling, and turning, and rolling, and lowering down close to the earth, giving to all nature a gloom that was peculiar, and not without terror. But beyond this lay the sea; and it stretched far away to the horizon, reaching along that horizon to the right and to the left as far as the eye could wander. It was the sea, the sea itself; and they had wandered far from the place from which they had set out, to reach such a goal as this.
And what was the place?
It was a settlement on the sea-shore. Between them and that sea-shore there extended cultivated fields, and numerous houses dotted the green meadows, and groves, and out-houses, and barns. Farther away, and nearer the sea, they noticed a long, low, white building, that looked like a straggling farm-house, or rather two or three farmhouses joined in one. Some people could be seen at the door, and a high fence surrounded it. Between this building and the place where they were standing a road ran, and along this road some cattle were passing. Beyond the building lay a sheet of water that looked like a harbor, between which and the sea extended a narrow spit of land; in several of the fields cattle were grazing; and within stone’s throw they saw a rude farm-house, built of logs, and whitewashed.
Pat was the first to break the silence into which they had been thrown by the utter astonishment and bewilderment of this discovery.
“Sure an it’s dead beat I am, and dumb entirely,” he exclaimed. “Ony to think of our coming out of the wuds to the say. Sure an it must be Miramichi itself, so it must, an we’ve been a wandherin through the wuds sthraight back to the place we dhruv out from wid de Injin. Och, an, be the powers, but it’s a quaire wandherin that we’ve been havin. Och, but I’ll nivir git over this.”
“It isn’t Miramichi,” said Bart, whom Pat’s wild remarks had roused from the stupor into which his amazement had thrown him. “It isn’t Miramichi,” he repeated; “for that’s a river, and here we have the open sea itself. But where in the world we have got to, and how we’ve got here, I confess I have no more idea than a stone.”
Bart’s surprise was certainly greater than that of either of his companions, and very naturally too. For he had thought all along that he was going west, and that his back was turned to the sea: but now he found that his actual course had been the very opposite of what he had supposed, and intended it to be. He had been trying to get to where Phil was, but now discovered that he had been going away from him all the time.
The discovery of the truth was amazing, bewildering, and at the same time humiliating to one who had been officiating in the dignified part of leader in this adventurous and eventful journey. But humiliating as it was, there was the actual fact, and it only remained to find out the name of the place where they had so strangely arrived.
In spite of his anxiety about Phil, and his mortification about his own mistake, Bart was not altogether without a feeling of relief at this sight that revealed itself, for he saw human habitations at any rate; and he thought that he would now be able not only to find out where he was, but also, perhaps, to get assistance, and thus resume, under more favorable circumstances, the difficult task of exploring the woods in search of Phil.
“Well,” said he, at length, “there’s no use standing here. We’re somewhere, and the best thing we can now do is to find out where we are. So come along. We’re in a place where we’ll be able to get food and shelter, at any rate.”
Saying this, he started off for the nearest house, and in a short time reached it. At first no one was visible; but on knocking at the door a woman made her appearance.
“We’ve lost our way in the woods,” said Bart. “Can you tell me what place this is?”
The woman stared at him for a moment, and then at Pat and Solomon. Then she said,—
“This place? Why, don’t you know this place? This is Tracadie.”
“Tracadie!” repeated Bart. The name was familiar to him, for he had often seen it on the map, and had often heard it mentioned. He knew it as a small settlement on the shore of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, though how in the world he could ever have wandered here still remained a profound mystery.
Bart then informed her that one of his party had been lost in the woods, and asked her if any boy had made his appearance, or had been heard of, in the settlement. The woman shook her head. Upon this Bart asked her if they could get any one in the place to help them go off in search of their lost friend. The woman did not know, but advised them to see the priest, and offered to take them to the priest’s house.
This house was not far away, and it did not take long to reach it. It was a pretty little cottage surrounded by trees, situated a little distance away from the road. Fortunately, the priest was at home. He was a wiry little man, with a benevolent face and most engaging manners. The moment he understood their errand, he insisted on giving them something to eat and drink, and refused to hear anything more until they had all satisfied their hunger.
Thus, then, they found themselves once more under a roof, after their long and eventful wandering. This was the fourth day since their departure from Miramichi. The first day they had driven for some twenty miles or so, and had walked far enough to reach a point which must have been nearly thirty miles from their starting-place. The second day they had walked ten or twelve miles farther, to the little river, where they had fished. The third day they had lost themselves, and had wandered from early dawn till dusk. The fourth day they had walked since daybreak, and had reached Tracadie towards evening. The last day had been the most fatiguing of all; partly on account of the oppressiveness of the atmosphere; partly because their provisions had given out, so that they had to walk for an immense distance without any food; and partly, also, because their hopes of finding Phil had died out, leaving them in a state of deep depression.
On hearing their story, the priest showed the deepest sympathy, and promised to do all that he could.
“You wish,” said he, “to go back to the woods again, and take a guide?”
“Yes, if we can find one.”
“Well, I think I know of one or two men who will be suitable; and if they are at home, they will be able to start as soon as you wish.”
“How near do you think this fire is?” asked Bart, anxiously. “Is there any likelihood that it is at all near?”
“I’m afraid there is,” said the priest.
“Are these woods often on fire?”
“Pretty often, in different places. These woods, in fact, are famous for fires. You’ve heard of the Great Fire of Miramichi? I can tell you all about that—but not now. These woods are a younger growth; the old forest was all swept away.”
At the mention of this Great Fire, of which he had heard, Bart’s heart sank within him. It was indeed a place of ill omen where poor Phil had lost himself; and what chance could there be for him in the presence of the merciless fire?
“I can’t make out the place where your friend was lost,” said the priest; “but I dare say the men I’ll bring will be able to understand where it is. They’ve been all through the woods in all directions, and ought to know every stream and every rock in it. Big rocks are not common here, and the one you speak of ought to be a very conspicuous landmark. But I won’t delay now any longer. I’ll go off at once; and I hope you’ll make yourselves comfortable till I return.”
The priest was a Frenchman; but he had lived here many years, and he spoke English almost like a native. His eager offer of help and active assistance greatly encouraged them, and they hoped for the best. Pat, in particular, showed this feeling in the strongest manner. He had been quite silent during the latter part of the walk, owing to fatigue and hunger combined; but now the short rest had refreshed him, and the repast had strengthened and cheered him. He accepted the promise of the priest as almost a certain token of success, and at once regained all his habitual confidence, and indulged in a long series of rattling, joyous remarks as to Phil’s present condition, and the probable state of his mind when they should find him.
At length he rose from his seat, and said he was going out to take a walk. He asked Bart and Solomon to go with him; but both declined. In spite of his long walk Pat could not sit still, but was restless and fidgety, and wanted to be moving about, even though his legs were yet aching from their long and arduous tramp. So, leaving Bart and Solomon, he went out of the house and along the road. After a while he came to another road, which led down to the water. It led to that irregular whitewashed building which they had seen from the eminence as they first emerged from the wood. Pat’s idea of the place was, that it was an inn; and so he sauntered along with the intention of reaching the water and having a swim.
As he approached the house, he noticed something very dreary and repellent in its appearance. The high fence around the adjacent ground gave it the air of a prison. Several people were in front of it, most of them sitting down. As Pat passed on he noticed that some of these had their heads bound up; others had their arms in slings; others had faces that were pale and emaciated. All of them watched him with wistful, curious eyes; with such looks as prisoners give through their jail windows at the passer-by. This strange look filled Pat with still greater surprise.
“It must be a hospital,” he thought; “but what ‘ud they be wan tin of a hospital in a scrap of a place like this?”
“Perhaps,” he thought again, “it’s a watherin place, an these are sick people that have come here to be thraited wid the custhomary rimidies.”
Passing by this place, he at length reached the beach, and walked along it for some distance before he found a place which appeared altogether suitable for his swim. About a mile away there ran a long spit of land, which seemed to shut out this piece of water from the outer sea, and made it seem like a lake. The water was calm and deliciously warm. Pat sprang in, and dived, and swam, and floundered about for a long time; and when at length he returned to the shore, he felt reinvigorated in every limb. All his fatigue seemed to have departed, and he felt almost fresh enough to begin a new tramp through the woods.
The priest returned after a short absence, bringing two men with him. They were both French, and spoke only broken English. They listened to the story of Bart, and asked a number of particular questions about the stream and the rock. They declared that they knew the place perfectly well; that there was only one rock of that description in the country, and that the place was about thirty miles away; by which Bart began to understand more clearly the full magnitude of his tramp. The men expressed a willingness to go whenever they were wanted, and it was finally agreed that they should start at daybreak on the following morning. With this understanding, the men took their departure.
It was dusk when Pat returned. He came towards the house whistling as cheerily as a bird, and the moment he entered he began telling what a delicious walk he had had. He then thought of the strange building near the shore, and asked the priest what it was.
“That?” said the priest. “O, that’s the Lazaretto.”
“The Lazaretto?” repeated Pat, not understanding him.
“Yes,” said the priest; “have you not heard of it?”
“The Lazaretto—niver a word surely. An what is the Lazaretto, thin?”
“O, it’s a place where we keep lepers.”
“Lepers!” cried Pat, in a voice of horror; and his ruddy face changed to a sickly pallor.
“Lepers?” said Bart. “Lepers? What, lepers here, in this country?”
“Yes,” said the priest. “It’s a miserable story. A great many years ago a French ship was wrecked in the Miramichi River. There were some clothing and bedding on board that came from the Levant, and the people here used them; and it is said that from this clothing they caught this terrible disease. It has continued here ever since, and the place has been established here for the poor creatures.”
“Lepers!” groaned Pat again. “An me walkin by that place, and thinkin of goin in.”
“It’s a terrible thing,” said the priest. “The patients who go there are dead to their friends. They never can hope to see them again.”
“Och, murdher!” cried Pat, starting up. “What’ll iver become of me? Och, murdher! Why didn’t somebody tell me?”
“What’s the matter?” asked the priest, in surprise.
“Och, everything’s the matther. Sure, an didn’t I go an swim for over half an hour in the leper wather, down yondher?”
“Leper water?” said the priest. “What is that?”
“Sure, the lake down there, or the cove, or whatever ye call it. Don’t they all go there an bathe?”
“I dare say they do; but what of that?”
“Och, murdher! The wather’s all fairly pisoned wid the leprosy, an I’m lost and gone intirely.”
“Nonsense,” said the priest; “don’t be alarmed. It isn’t contagious.”
“Sure, an how do I know that it isn’t?”
The priest smiled.
“Why,” said he, “I’m a proof of that, I suppose. I’ve lived here a great many years, and I’ve visited the poor creatures all that time regularly. I’ve shaken hands with them, and attended to all the duties of religion among them, but without any evil consequences.”
As the priest said this, Pat rose slowly to his feet, with a face of perfect horror. Even Bart experienced a slight feeling of repugnance as he thought that he was in familiar intercourse with one who had been so much in contact with lepers. But the priest’s calm, good-natured face, and his assurance that the disease was not contagious, quelled his rising fears, and the thought of that priest’s self-sacrifice made him feel ashamed of that cowardly feeling.
But with Pat it was different. The thought that the priest had touched the lepers; that on this very day he may have been there shaking hands with them; that he had been coming and going for years between his house and the Lazaretto,—all this filled him with terror. If that disease had been originally communicated by means of clothing, why should it not yet communicate itself in the same way? The whole house might be reeking with the insidious seeds of the deadly disease.
The thought was too horrible.
He murmured some inarticulate words, and went out of the house.
The priest went on talking with Bart, and for a long time no notice was taken of Pat’s absence. But hours passed, and bedtime came, and still there were no signs of him. Bart went out to call him.
Pat was not visible; but Bart saw a sight that drove all thoughts of Pat out of his mind. Pat, in fact, had fled, determining to sleep anywhere rather than in the priest’s house; and so Bart saw no signs of him. But the sight that he did see was awful beyond description.
There, where his eyes first turned, he saw the gloomy shadow of the forest. Overhead the sky was filled with rolling smoke clouds; and immediately above the range of the forest trees there was a long line of red,—dull, lurid, dark,—yet sustained and unintermittent, lying like a foundation of fire under all the moving mass of smoke.
The priest had followed him out. He looked at it for some time in silence.
“The fire is nearer,” he said, at last.
“And there is where we must go to-morrow,” said Bart; “and Phil is there!”
The priest said nothing.
Where—where—O, where is Phil? Such was now the one thought of Bart’s mind.
Where? O where is Phil?—The Wanderer in the Woods.—Struggles with Difficulties that always increase.—Approach of Night.—Gloom.—Despair.—Climbing a Tree.—No Hope.—Rallying from the Assault.—A Midnight Meal.—Overworn Nature seeks Repose.WHERE, O, where was Phil?
Had he indeed fallen a victim to the vengeance of the Indian? or had he wandered away through those terrible woods to encounter the fires, and to perish by them?
While Bart is racking his mind with these anxious questions, and trying in vain to answer them, let us leave him and follow the fortunes of the wanderer.
The rock that had risen on the shore of the river extended for about a hundred yards. Phil could have crossed the river and gone down on the other side, but it seemed swampy over there, and he thought it would be easier to pass over the rock. He also thought that there might be some view from the top which would give him a general idea of the country.
He therefore started off, and clambered to the top of the rock. On reaching it, however, he did not find any view in particular, for the trees around it rose so high that they intercepted the prospect. He therefore went on, intending to reach the river again lower down. On traversing the rock and reaching its lower end, he found that it terminated in an abrupt precipice. This precipice here ran back from the river into the woods, and if Phil still wished to reach the lower part of the stream, he saw that it would be necessary to go back into the woods till he found a place where he could clamber down the side of the rock. He therefore set off in that direction, expecting that he would only have to go a short distance. But the rock ran on much farther than he had supposed; and it was still too precipitous for him to descend. Along the edge there was a dense growth of underbrush which prevented his walking close to it, and forced him to go along at some distance away from it, and penetrate from time to time to the edge, to see if he had reached any place which offered a descent.
At length the rock subsided into the ground, and then Phil was able to seek the river. He walked along for some time in that direction, keeping the line of rock in sight as a guide; but at length the woods became so exceedingly dense that it was quite impossible to keep the rock in sight always. He therefore wandered off at times to avoid difficult places, returning again as soon as convenient to seek the guidance of his landmark. At length he plunged into a very dense and difficult part of the forest, where he had to make so many turns and detours to avoid the obstacles that rose in his way, that he soon lost all idea of the right direction. He struggled onward, however, striving to get into the open from which he might gain sight of his rock; but the farther he went onward, the more difficult did it seem to grow, and the less prospect was there of any open ground. Upon this he turned, and tried to retrace his steps, anxious at all hazards to get free from this entanglement. But to retrace his steps was not so easy. He had got in, but to get out was a different matter altogether. His frequent turnings and twistings had already bewildered him; and as he had still to keep up the same crooked course, and turn and twist as much as ever, his bewilderment increased. Still he was not at all alarmed as yet, for the thought of any actual danger had not begun to occur. He was only perplexed, and at the same time slightly vexed at the continuance of the jungle into which he had tumbled. There was no help for it, however; and so he toiled on as well as he could, and at length, to his satisfaction, found the underbrush diminishing very perceptibly. This discovery encouraged him, and he kept on in this direction, for now his chief desire was, first of all, to get to some place where he could regain sight of the rock; and so he walked on as rapidly as possible, until at length the woods became sufficiently open to make his progress as easy as he could expect.
It seemed to him now that he had been a long time wandering, and he began to be anxious to discover the rock. How to do so he did not know, and could only think of climbing a tree so as to take a survey of the country. Unfortunately none of the trees were very large; but he selected the tallest one that he could find, and climbed up as high as he could. He now looked all around. The prospect gave but little satisfaction. On every side other trees arose above the level of his outlook, and shut out from view the scene beyond. He therefore learned nothing whatever from this survey, and was compelled to descend disappointed. What now to do became a serious question. There was the rock, and there was the river, either of which it would be equally advisable to regain; but in what direction did they lie? It seemed to him that the rock ought to be west of his present position, and the river south. If he could go either westward, or southward, or in any intermediate direction, he would regain his course. Yet that was the very thing that he was unable to do. He had no compass, and now bitterly regretted that he had not brought one. Overhead there was nothing that could afford him any assistance, for the sky was all overspread with that smoke which he had noticed all along, and the sun could not be seen. There was nothing left, therefore, but bare conjecture.
He now tried, as far as possible, to recall his confused wanderings. Although he could not, of course, recall the details of his journey, yet, as he thought it over, it seemed to him that, on the whole, he had been making progress in some one direction, and that, if he could but go back, he would be more likely to reach the river or the rock than in any other way. As he looked back over his course, it seemed to him that the west lay there, and to the left of that was the south; so that if he could now only effect some progress in that direction, all would be well. He therefore made up his mind to go back again, as far as going back over his lost track was possible; and as he could not think of plunging again into that thicket, he thought that when he reached it he would turn to the left, and avoid it if possible in that way.
Accordingly, he now set out in the endeavor to go back on his path. No vestige of anything like a trail appeared to him, nor was there a single thing that he remembered having seen before. He walked on now for a long time, expecting every moment to reach that tangled thicket which he had considered as the chief difficulty in his way back. To his utter amazement, he came across no tangled thicket of any kind whatever. The woods, instead of growing denser, seemed to grow more open, and his progress grew easier. The woods now were precisely like what they had been daring their walk early in the day.
At first he felt only surprise; but soon surprise deepened into uneasiness, and uneasiness into anxiety. Where was he? In what direction was he going? What should he do if he were going wrong? Such were the thoughts that came to him. At length his anxiety grew so strong, and he became so convinced that his course was altogether wrong, that he stopped, and again tried to think how he might rectify his error. Once more he climbed a tree, but with the same result as before. The tops of other trees were all around. Nothing appeared which could act as a guide. Overhead, the smoky covering which overspread the skies shut out all traces of the sun; and when he descended to the ground, there began to dawn upon him the conviction, which grew stronger and stronger every moment, that he was actually lost! hopelessly and utterly lost! and that, too, in a trackless and uninhabited forest.
His only hope was, that he had not gone very far away, but was still, if not within sight of his friends, at least within hearing. So upon this he began to do what he now knew he ought to have done before. He began to call in a loud voice after Pat, and Bart, and Solomon. After each call he stopped and listened for an answer. But no answer came, and his own calls echoed far away through the forest aisles, and it was only the mocking sound of these echoes that came to his ears. Still he thought that if he persevered long enough, some response must finally come. He thought they must be near enough to hear him, but were too intent upon their fishing to think of him, or to notice his cries. Besides, he took comfort in the thought that they had not yet missed him, and consequently would not be on the alert. His cries might be faint in their ears, and not excite any notice.
The time passed, and still he kept up his cries. He called in every possible tone, and made use of every shout that his voice could compass, sometimes calling their names, sometimes uttering shrieks, and howls, and shrill yells. But all these were unavailing, and he was at last compelled to desist, from utter weariness and loss of voice.
And now he noticed that it began to grow darker. At first this discovery gave him an unpleasant shock, but immediately he began to find comfort in this circumstance.
“When it grows dark,” he thought, “they’ll miss me, and they’ll come to hunt me up. They’ll hear me if I call—or, better yet, they themselves will now do the shouting, and I’ll hear them.”
With this thought he kept perfectly still. The darker it grew, the more intently did he listen; for he was convinced that by this time they must have discovered his absence, and must be searching after him. The only thing that troubled him was the remembrance of his last words to Pat. He had told Pat that he was going down the stream, and they might make their first search after him in that direction, and this he did not think would bring them within hearing; for though he had no idea where he was, he still had every reason to believe that he was nowhere near the river.
It now grew darker and darker; yet still to his strained ears there had not come a single sound to tell him that his friends were near; not a single cry, however faint, however remote, to make known to him that they were on the search after him. As the time passed away, the long, long suspense and the protracted disappointment began to fill him with the deepest gloom—and he began to know to its fullest extent that “agony of hope deferred that maketh the heart sick.” At length it grew so dark, that even his hope, tenacious as it was, could no longer shut out from his mind the conviction that whatever anxiety his friends might feel, it was simply impossible for them at this time to make any search whatever. If they had missed him, and had sought for him, they must have gone in a direction different from that in which he had gone, and must have been altogether out of hearing.
As soon as he fully recognized this fact, all his energies gave way, and he sank down upon the ground. Not until this moment had he known how exhausted he was, and how oppressive the sultry atmosphere. Thus far his excitement, first to regain his lost path, and latterly to communicate with his friends or hear from them, had so taken possession of him, that heat or fatigue, or any other bodily sensation, was not noticed. Anxiety, eager effort, pertinacious hope,—all these had by turns influenced him; but now, as there seemed no further chance either for action or for expectation, his strength collapsed, and he gave way utterly. He lay upon the ground, his head resting upon some moss, and yielded himself up both in mind and in body to the misery of his situation. The severe exertions that he had made had utterly exhausted him; the conflict of soul that he had endured, had intensified that exhaustion; and for a long time he remained motionless, gasping for breath, and in a state of utter despair.
Now, the night came down—sultry, torrid, oppressive, suffocating. Its intense blackness covered everything in an impenetrable veil. Its effect upon the others has already been described, and upon Phil it produced results more fearful still. Had it not been for that unusual oppressiveness and that Egyptian darkness, he might have roused himself; but as it was, he gave up utterly, and remained sunk in the profoundest despair for hours.
At length a change came over him. In spite of the heat of the night, the long rest had been beneficial, and it was not in the nature of things that emotions so strong should last very long. Phil’s mind was buoyant, his temper cheerful, and hope was always strong in his soul. As he lay there sleepless, his thoughts began to revolt against the gloom that had overwhelmed him.
“What a fool I am!” he thought, rousing himself, and sitting up. “After all, what is it? and why should I knock under this way? Me, too—of all fellows! after that tremendous adventure at the Falls.”
The moment his thoughts reverted to that fearful adventure his gloom vanished. He now recalled the incidents of that terrific event. He thought of the frenzied struggle against the grip of the resistless waters; he thought of the wild plunge into the seething flood, and of that horrible moment when the rolling torrents overwhelmed him, and hurled him downward into awful depths. Then he recalled the events of their drift down the harbor, and out towards the bay, when there seemed not the faintest chance of escape.
In comparison with this his present situation seemed trifling. To be lost in the woods, what was that? Was it equal to being lost in the terrible tide, and environed in impenetrable fogs? Could it under any possibility be so bad as being swept out to sea, a helpless victim of the pitiless waves? There was no comparison between the two cases.
And now his depression fled, and the buoyancy of his soul lifted him up to hope. He began to think over his prospects cheerfully, and to make plans about the following day. As soon as daylight came, his friends would at once come in search of him. He would listen and hear their calls. If he could not think of any direction in which to go, he could wait. But as to that, he did not expect to be so puzzled as he had been. The sun would surely shine, and that would give him an idea of east, west, north, and south. He might then choose his route, and follow it up. If his friends did not come, he could go off himself, and doubtless he would reach some place eventually. He might find some stream, and follow it to its mouth, where there would be sure to be a settlement; or perhaps he might light upon some clearing in the woods where he might obtain help, and perhaps regain his friends.
Thus Phil’s thoughts grew more and more cheerful; and he looked forward most hopefully, and persisted in putting the best appearance on things. At length he began to think that his long fast was not good for him, especially as he might have some hard work to do on the morrow; so he opened his basket, and taking out his sandwiches that he had carried there all the day, he made a hearty meal. The effect was most beneficial; the hollow, craving, gnawing feeling that had distressed him passed away, and was succeeded by a sense of comfort.
And now drowsiness began to steal over him. He had satisfied his hunger; he had overcome by his long rest the first painful exhaustion and fatigue consequent upon his severe exertions; above all, his mind had attained a pleasant state of cheerfulness and hope. There were no longer any despairing thoughts or terrible fears to excite him and keep him awake; and so at length he fell into a sound and refreshing sleep.