The Conflagration.—A dread Alternative.—Forward or backward.—A bold Decision.—The Hood.—A terrible Venture.—The red Place of Flame.—The Place of the fiery Glow.—The toppling Tree.—A Struggle for Life.—The fiery Atmosphere.—The last supreme Moment.AS this sight thus came upon his view, Phil drove his float towards the shore on the left, until his feet touched bottom; and standing here he looked down the river upon the conflagration. Away before him stretched that vista of fire, the pathway before him led through an avenue of flame, the burning forest glowed on either side, while overhead the vast volumes of smoke rolled along, and around him fell showers of ashes. There before him through that scene of terror lay his pathway; the way which lie thought was leading him to safety had brought him here; the river, to which he had intrusted himself, had borne him along to this; and at the very moment when his hopes had been most excited, they were dashed at once to the ground.
And what now?
What should he do?
Could he go back?
Go back? No; that was a simple impossibility. How should he go back? Not through the woods, for he could make but small advance through the dense forest that now surrounded him; not up the stream, for how could his strength bear him on against this current? He would have to wander for days before he could reach the place which he had left that morning; and of what avail would it be if he did reach it? What would he do? Where could he go? No; to go back was not to be thought of.
He saw plainly that he had now to make choice from, one of two alternatives.
One was to remain here and wait for the fires to subside.
The other was to go forward.
Now, the idea of waiting here was intolerable. To wait here idle, or, perhaps, slowly retreating before the advancing fires, enduring day after day the hunger, the fatigue, and the misery of such a situation, seemed the worst fate conceivable. Where could he sleep at night? How could he endure living in the water by day? Besides, the fire was evidently advancing in a direction which led it up stream; so that he would merely be driven before it back to his old quarters, to perish miserably. To be driven back before the fires would be a lingering death. It was not to be thought of, so long as any other course was possible.
What, then, was the other course?
The other course was—to go forward.
To go forward!
This was what Phil longed to do, with longing unspeakable. To go forward would lead him farther down the river. To go forward would carry him beyond the fires. Once let him pass the place where the fire raged, and then he would be on the other side of it; out of its hot breath; away from its stifling smoke. Could he but once make that passage, all would be well. To him it seemed as though on the other side of those fires there lay the abodes of men, and open lands, and pure air, and help, and liberty, and life. It was there that he longed to go.
But between him and what he fancied to lie beyond, there lay a barrier, terrific, tremendous, whose fullest horrors were unknown; a barrier that seemed impassable—irremovable. How could he hope to overcome it?
Under any other circumstances, the idea of passing that barrier could not, of course, be entertained. But there was one thing in Phil’s situation which made him think that the deed might be done; that it was not impossible, or even difficult. This one thing that gave hope was the river. Its stream might still bear him on its bosom, amidst those fires; he might find protection in its running waters. He could keep cool amid that fervent heat; and as the stream would itself bear him on, he would not need to make any efforts except those which served to guide him in a right course.
As he thought of this, and of the possibility of making his passage, he felt eager to go, but was restrained by other thoughts.
How far might those fires extend? How long could he endure the presence of those flaming woods, even in the waters of the river? Could he breathe? Would not the intense heat make breathing impossible? That burning district might extend for many and many a mile; and if he once ventured there, how would he ever get out of it? Or again, might not that possible obstacle in the river waters, which he had dreaded, be found down there amid the burning forests? And if so, what a terrible fate would be his!—to be arrested amid raging fires by a cataract—unable to advance, unable to retreat, unable to go ashore! If he could only form some idea as to the possible extent of the fire,—if he could only see beyond that next turn in the river, and find out how far those fiery shores ran on,—then he might know whether there was any hope. But this was impossible. The land before his eyes was a land of fire; its trees blackened by the fire, or still glowing red as they quivered under its attack; and there was no way by which he might know anything more than this.
At last there came a thought which gave him great encouragement. He thought that the fire in its march must exhaust itself after a certain time, and that after the trees were actually consumed there must be a departure of the heat. It was in the advanced part of its march that it maintained this furnace glow; at a certain distance behind, the heat might not be intolerable. If, therefore, he could traverse the flames and the fire that he saw before him, he might find the country beyond not much worse than it was here.
This thought, this hope, decided him. He determined to stake everything upon this, and venture upon that fiery path.
But before he attempted it he made the only preparation possible. What he dreaded most was the scorching glow of those flames; and as he did not know to what extent they might affect him, he wished above all things to guard his head against that danger.
He therefore unbound his clothes from the log, and took his coat out, after which he again bound the remainder of the clothes to the place where they had been. His coat he dipped in the river until it was saturated with the water, and then carefully adjusted it over his head, tying the sleeves under his chin so that it served the purpose of a hood. In this way he hoped to have a protection from the heat of the burning forest, while his eyes would be shaded from the dazzling and blinding glare, and would be able to watch without interruption or impediment the course of the river.
With these simple preparations Phil breathed a short prayer, committing himself to the care of God, and then summoning up all his courage, he directed his float down the stream once more, and then boldly launching forth, he dared the terrible journey. Once more the waters received him to their embrace; once more the river enfolded him, and bore him gently onward; once more he swept past the shores, and saw them recede on either side. The current bore him on. The fire drew near.
The fire drew near—and nearer. He felt its hot breath, growing hotter upon his brow—nearer yet—and then, at length, the flames dashed forward, the green trees passed from his line of vision, and his eyes saw nothing but one vast and far-reaching glare.
He plunged his head beneath the water, and held it under as long as he could. When he raised it again he found himself farther on in the midst of the flaming trees. The heat of the air was intense, yet not so much so as he had feared. His dripping coat hung round his head, protecting him. His course was true, for looking forward he saw that he was still in the very middle of the stream.
One look was sufficient, and then, desiring to prepare himself as much as possible for the worst that the fire might bring against him, he once more plunged his head under.
When he next raised his head, he found the scene somewhat changed. The dazzling flash of leaping, up-springing flames had passed away. He had moved past the advanced line of the fire where the flames were assailing the light twigs and foliage of the trees, and had come to that inner portion where the trees were standing bare of everything that the flame could destroy; skeletons—glowing red in the embrace of consuming fire. The glow was all around—on the ground, on the trees—and the emanation of heat was far more intense. The air was now like that of a room heated to an intense degree; yet, to his immense relief, it was not worse than he had known air to be before; and to him it seemed like the atmosphere of a room overheated on some winter day. He could breathe without difficulty, and thanks to his extemporized hood, and his plunges under water, he did not feel that scorching glow of the hot fires that he might otherwise have felt. Well was it for him that he was spared the necessity of exertion. In that atmosphere any exertion would have overcome him in a very short time. As it was he had only to cling to his float, steer it straight, and from time to time plunge his head under water.
In this way he was borne steadily on, and succeeded in preserving himself from destruction during that first entrance into the avenue of flame. He was now in the avenue of fire, and over this the flood bore him, until at length he reached that bend on the river which he had seen before starting upon this last journey.
The river turned to the right, and swept away for about as great a distance as lay between this bend and the last one. As Phil looked at it in eager and anxious scrutiny, he saw to his dismay that the fire glow covered all the land before him, and on either side. He had been too sanguine, and had not made sufficient allowance for the tenacity of the fire where it once has fixed its grasp. There rose the trees—the skeletons—red—glowing in a fervid glow; and the air was hotter here—more torrid—more stagnant.
Here, then, Phil found a severer trial than any which he had yet experienced; and the sight of these new regions, all glowing in the wide-spread conflagration, showing far and wide the withering signs of fiery devastation, filled him with awe and apprehension. There was nothing, however, which he could do. He could only do as he had been doing, and draw his hood over his face as far as he could without obstructing the view, and guide himself in the right course, and occasionally plunge beneath the waters so as to maintain the protection that was afforded by the moisture and the sheltering hood.
The time seemed long as he thus drifted on; but at length, to his great joy, he reached the next bend in the river, and began slowly to pass around it.
But the joy which he had felt at reaching this place soon passed away, when, on turning the point and entering upon the new course of the river, he beheld before him an unchanged scene of devastation. There, as before, the glowing fire appeared on the ground below and in the trees above; the latter rising all red in the fire, and crumbling slowly beneath its touch. One difference there was; and that was, that in this new scene the conflagration seemed to be farther advanced; giant branches fell to the ground; tall trees toppled over, and the silence that had reigned was now broken by the thunder of those falling masses.
The air here was also hotter; for as the fire had been burning longer, so everything was affected by its long intensity. Now it was that Phil first began to find something approximating to what he had dreaded—a heat which made breathing difficult, and made the air like that at the mouth of a furnace.
Through this he drifted on as before. His soul already began to yield to despondency; while hope grew fainter, and a dark dismay gradually took possession of his heart. How could it end? Would it ever end? Were there any limits to the burning woods? Must he thus go drifting on, and find that every new scene, as it opened up, was worse than its predecessor?
So he drifted on.
As he thus went on, he suddenly saw immediately before him, on the edge of the bank, a tree which was slanting over the river, and seemed to him to be swaying, or toppling slowly over. It had been assailed most fiercely by the flames. Its trunk and branches were all glowing red, while the fire seemed to have burned into the ground, and consumed those roots which had thus far held it in its place. The slight movement had arrested Phil, and instinctively he turned his course towards the opposite shore. The tree was tall, but whether it could reach across the river, he could not tell. It seemed to be falling, and if it did, it would fall across the stream. Thus Phil, by a blind instinct, shifted his course slightly.
0261
The tree slowly tilted over. It descended farther and farther. Phil at that same moment was being borne on by the current. The danger was imminent. The tree would fall upon him. With a frantic effort he threw himself nearer to the shore, and as he did so, the tree descended. Phil let go the log, and swam towards the shore. There was a rush, and a sweep through the air; a rattling, crashing sound, followed by a hiss, as the red-hot mass touched the water; there was the shower of a million sparks, and then all was still.
Phil felt every fibre of his frame tingle with horror, and thrill with a sense of descending ruin. But the moment passed. His feet touched bottom. He turned and looked around. There, about three yards from him, lay the tree, its roots still on the other bank, and its top buried beneath the water. With a wild, despairing glance Phil looked for his float. Even as he looked, he saw it slowly emerge from the water, several yards below where the tree lay. For the tree in its descent had struck it, and dashed it to the bottom of the river; but fortunately it had become disentangled, and the current had freed it from the tree, and there it floated, ready once more to assist him.
Phil swam down the stream towards it, and almost fainting with the fatigue of this exertion, he clung to it motionless, panting heavily, and now scarcely able even to guide himself aright.
The black Place of Desolation.—Blue Sky.—Open Heavens.—The Glory of the Sunshine.—Green Hills.—The open Sea once more.—Along the Road.—A strange, a very strange Encounter.—The Wandering Leper.—Naaman the Syrian.PANTING heavily, and almost fainting with exhaustion, Phil drifted on, clinging with a convulsive grasp to his log, and scarce conscious of his surroundings. It was the current that now guided him, for he for some time was incapable of making any effort to guide himself. Several times he instinctively thrust his head under the water; and each time, though this did not ease his breathing, it at least caused relief by the grateful coolness and the drip of the water over his face. Drifting on in this way, he remained for some time without noticing the shores on either side, too much taken up with his own sensations to regard any external things. He had a general idea that the fires were all around him still; but he no longer sought with his former eager scrutiny to find some signs favorable to his own hopes.
But at length he regained his breath, and began once more to look around. The first thing that he noticed was, that the heat had very materially lessened. The next thing was, that the land of the fiery glow had passed away. Around him there was now, not a fiery country, but a black and devastated country, out of which smoke was still arising in places, but from which the fire had departed, having done its work. He now saw that while he had been in a half senseless state he had been carried along; that the current had drifted him away from the place where the fire was now raging, to a place where it raged no longer—to a place where the air was cooler—where it was purer—where the smoke was much diminished. All around, and all before, the country was black, and there arose a forest of charred and blackened trees; but this sight, hideous though it might be in itself, was inexpressibly delightful to eyes that had just gazed upon the fire in its wrath.
He began to understand his position now. This was the very thing that he had hoped for when first he ventured to make the passage. His hope had been realized. The fire was advancing up the stream. He had passed the front line of flame, the second line of fire, and now reached the blackened and desolate tract that lay in the rear of the conflagration. Here the hot breath of the fire existed no longer. Here the air was purer—it grew cooler at every yard of his progress forward.
It was, probably, this cooler air that had revived him, and given him back the breath that he had nearly lost forever at that time of his struggle near the falling tree.
He looked up. The smoke was thinner overhead. Before him the skies were brighter, and in one place the glorious blue of heaven was discernible. It was the first bit of blue sky that he had seen since first he entered these ill-omened woods; and it seemed to him to be the harbinger of safety, and liberty, and life. His whole soul roused itself in joyous hope; the last vestige of his dismay and despondency departed, and even his weakness and bodily languor left him. He gave a cry of joy; he breathed a prayer of thankfulness to the merciful One who had preserved him from a terrible fate; and then, grasping his float with a strong and nervous clutch, he once more put forth his efforts to quicken his progress, and struck out with strong and rapid strokes.
Every moment his prospects increased. The smoke faded away more and more, and the blue sky unfolded itself, until at last the glorious sun burst forth to view, and threw upon him those bright and gladdening rays to which he had been a stranger for so many days. There came up also a breeze, and it fanned his flushed face, bringing healing on its wings; and as he inhaled it there seemed in it something which was like a new life, something which gave new strength and energy to the body, and new joy and hope to the soul. At last he could breathe freely. The air had lost all that oppressiveness which it had so long had. No longer was there perceptible the abhorrent smell of smoke. He had emerged from the fire and the smoke, and wherever he was, he had at least left these things behind. He had no idea where he was, or whither he was going; it was enough for him to know that he had escaped from the fire and the woods.
He had been long in the water, but he had no desire to leave it. The land was not inviting, while his present mode of progress was easy and agreeable. He chose, therefore, to drift on until he should reach some place where he might rest.
At length there appeared before him something green. It looked like the foliage of trees. It rose above the black land and the charred stumps of the burnt district, and seemed to be some place which the fire had not reached. Was it some green oasis in this desert of devastation, or was it some new forest as boundless, as uninhabited, and as desolate as the one in which he had been lost? At that moment it mattered not to him what it was, so long as it was some place that was free from the touch of fire.
Onward he drifted, and the stream took a turn, and swept forward. Here the green foliage appeared full before him. It was of no great extent. Beyond it there was no vast forest, but only the sky. It seemed as though in one place there might be a broad plain, so low did it lie, and so open was it, and bare of trees. This place he watched with the most eager scrutiny. To this he came nearer and nearer. The space broadened every moment, until at last he thought that it must indeed be a wide plain—if plain it was.
Nearer he drew and nearer. Then, at length, a suspicion came to his mind that startled him greatly. Nearer he came, and nearer, and the suspicion changed to reality, for there, full before him, lay nothing less than the sea!
The sea!
Yes, the sea! The river ran into a harbor. The harbor opened out into the sea. It was not a bay. It was the sea, with the distant horizon touching the sky. Before he had reached the green spot, he came to a place where a bridge had been, and of which nothing now remained but some charred timbers. This showed him that he could not be very far from human habitations. A little below this he reached the green spot, and, landing here, he loosened his clothes from the log, and dressed himself. They were wet; but his watch was still ticking bravely, and marked three o’clock. His matches were also dry, and a piece of trout left from his morning’s repast was still there unharmed. This he ate with an eager appetite.
He spread out his wet coat upon the grass, and lay down by it, and, while resting, deliberated about what he ought next to do. Where he was he had not the faintest idea. He could not be on the Bay de Chaleur, for then the opposite shore would be visible; but here there was no shore opposite. He thought that it must be the Gulf of St. Lawrence. If so, then that bridge must belong to the road that ran along the shore, and settlements could not be very far away.
He was now too impatient to rest any longer, and was so eager to find out where the road led to, that he took his half-dried coat over his arm, and started off towards the burnt bridge. The road here seemed to be pretty well travelled, and the sight of this stimulated still more his desire of reaching some house; so he at once set off.
He walked for about a mile, through a district that had been burnt, and then came to the seashore again. Here the trees were green, and there were no signs of fire. There was a cool and refreshing breeze now from off the sea, and the hope of finding a house stimulated him to such a degree that he maintained a rapid walk for at least another mile.
And now, as he ascended a slight elevation, he saw a figure, on the road before him, advancing towards him. It was a boy that he saw. He was walking wearily, and seemed both tired and dejected. He was looking at the ground.
Phil hurried towards him. The boy did not notice him till he had come quite close. Then he looked up.
As Phil saw that face, he stood for a moment speechless with amazement and delight.
It was Pat!
“Pat!” he cried. “Pat!”
He could say no more. Tears of joy started to his eyes. He grasped Pat’s hand in his, and looked at him, completely overcome. He was too deeply agitated to notice Pat’s face or manner, but stood overcome by his own emotions.
“So you’ve been after me,” said Phil. “Where are the rest of them? Where’s Bart? How did you get here? What place is this? Only think of my getting out here—and only a few minutes ago—and then meeting with you! But where are the others? Come, I’m crazy to see Bart. I declare I never was so utterly confounded in my life! But what’s the matter with you?”
In the midst of Phil’s eager torrent of exclamations and questions, he was struck by something very peculiar in Pat’s face, and in Pat’s manner, and ended all with this abrupt question.
In fact, Pat’s appearance was very peculiar.
His face was pale, and had an anxious expression. His eyes, generally so merry, and open, and frank, were now furtive and suspicious; and instead of showing any pleasure at the sight of Phil, he started back, and snatched his hand away.
At Phil’s question Pat gave a very heavy sigh, and made no answer.
“Pat, Pat, what is the matter?” cried Phil again. “Has anything happened? Where’s Bart? What is the matter?”
“Matther,” muttered Pat. “Matther enough, surely, as ye’ll know to yer sorra.”
At this Phil stared at him in amazement. Pat was so totally changed from his former self, that he couldn’t comprehend it at all.
“Come, Pat,” said he, “don’t keep me in suspense. I see by your manner that some horrible thing has happened to some of you. Which is it? Is it Bart?”
Pat shook his head.
“It’s me,” said he, in a dismal voice. “Me. I’m the one.”
“You! Why, what do you mean?”
“I’m a leper!” wailed Pat.
“You, what? You’re what? What are you talking about?”
“You’ll know soon enough. An maybe ye’ll find out from shakin my hand the way ye did jist now.”
“Shaking your hand!”
“Yis,” said Pat. “Ayven the touch of me’s on-whowlsome, so it is. An I’ve got that on me that’s goin to be the death of me afore long, so it is.”
“See here, Pat,” cried Phil, anxiously. “Tell me what’s the matter, like a good fellow. You make me horribly anxious. What do you mean?”
“Och, sure, an what’s the use? Didn’t I say it? What are ye tormentin me for to say it again? Haven’t I just run away whin it’s too late intirely? An the leprosy’s tuk, so it has!”
“The—the what? What’s that?” asked Phil. “Sure an haven’t I been sayin that it’s a leper I am,” cried Pat, despairingly.
“A leper!” repeated Phil, who began to think that poor Pat was quite insane, and wondered what he ought to do with him under the circumstances.
“I’ve happened among lepers,” said Pat. “I’ve bathed in the leper wather—an that’s the way I tuk it. I’ve ate wid the leper praste; an Bart’s wid him now—in the wuds—they’re huntin afther you; but I ran for it—for I was hopin to get away before the leprosy tuk—but tuk it did—in spite of me; and that’s all about it.”
“I don’t understand you,” said Phil, in bewilderment, for Pat’s remarks had some degree of connectedness, and did not sound quite like insanity except his allusions to leprosy. “I don’t understand,” said he, “what you mean about leprosy.”
“Sure it’s the Lazaretto, at Tracadie, I mean. I got the leprosy by bathin, so I did—an aitin wid the leper praste.”
“You’ll have to explain. This is all nonsense. Come, Pat, don’t make a fool of yourself. You’ve got some absurd idea in your head, Come, tell me all about it, for I can’t make it out at all, you know.”
“Well, it’s this way,” said Pat, with undiminished dolefulness; “ony don’t be kapin too nair me if ye vally yer life—this was the way of it. Ye see we wandhered about the wuds afther ye, an sure enough before we knowed it we got lost ourselves. Well, we wandhered about, and at last we come out in a place they call Tracadie, an bad luck to it. So we mit a praste that was all smiles and blarney, an he tuk us to his house an gave us fud. Well, thin, I wint out for a walk, an I see a bit of wather, an wint to it to have a bit of a swim. Well, I come to a onwhowlsome lookin place, wid ghosts of people in it, that wud fairly make yer blood run cowld to look at, an I stared at thim, an walked right close to thim, an brathed their brith, an walked over their ground, an wint on to the wather, an ondrissed, an wint in. An I shwam there nearly an hour, an thin I wint back, an what do ye think the praste towld me.”
“What?” asked Phil.
“Sure, he up an he towld us that the onwhowlsome lookin house wor a lazaretto, an the ghosts of people there wor lepers—nothin else—an he said he wor the leper praste, an spint the most of his time wid thim same—sittin wid thim—talkin wid thim—feelin thim—handlin thim—an brathin the poison leper air. An he towld us that the wather was the leper wather, where the lepers bathed. An I had bathed there,” cried Pat, with a burst of despair. “An I’d tuk a shwirn there,” he cried, with another burst. “An I’d been in the house of the leper praste,”—a groan—“an I’d sat on his chairs,”—another groan—“an I’d ate at his table,”—a howl—“an I’d swallowed his fud,”—another howl—“an I’d been gettin the leprosy meself all the time,” and a cry that was something like a yell of despair terminated Pat’s story.
Phil listened to all this, and felt puzzled.
“I don’t know what you mean by lazarettos,” said he, “and lepers. I did’nt know the disease was in this country.”
“Well, it is, thin,” moaned Pat. “An I’ll soon be there too, so I will.”
“Nonsense,” said Phil, impatiently. “Did you ask the priest if there was any danger?”
“Och, sure he wouldn’t be afther committin himsilf.”
“Didn’t he say anything about it?”
“He did, thin.”
“What did he say?”
“Why, he said he had lived among the lepers all his life, an visited thim almost every day; but wor as well a man as anybody. An he said the disease couldn’t be caught.”
“Did he say that?” cried Phil. “Why, of course. I knew that. You are mistaken altogether.”
“Sure, an how does the praste know? His time’ll come yit, so it will.”
“Nonsense! This isn’t the real leprosy, at all. It’s some disease that’s hereditary, I dare say; but it isn’t contagious. Pooh! how absurd! Why, Pat, what could have put such a notion into your head. The leper water is all nonsense. What harm could it do you to bathe in the sea? If all the lepers in the world were bathing at the same time, they couldn’t affect the sea water.”
Phil now began to reason with Pat, and he spoke so earnestly and so confidently, that at last Pat’s fears began to yield. Phil showed him that he couldn’t possibly have the leprosy yet, and assured him that he wasn’t going to have it. Finally, he told him the story of the most famous of all lepers—Naaman the Syrian. From this story he proved so conclusively that there were some kinds of leprosy that were not contagious, that Pat hadn’t a word to say. The story produced a profound and most beneficial effect upon Pat’s mind.
“Sure an I niver thought of him before. Why didn’t I think of ould Naymin? An him the chafe gineral of the Misaypytamyins, so he was. Sure an there wer nothin contagious in that leprosy. The leper Naymin! Sure an what a fool I wor niver to think of the leper Naymin!”
Fish for Breakfast.—The Cottage and the Schooner.—A familiar Sight.—The old Boat.—Sinking in deep Waters.—An exciting and amazing Meeting.—The Flag.—Bart on the Road.—A strange Discovery.—A fresh Surprise.THE happy suggestion of Phil brought infinite relief to Pat; and the story of Naaman the Syrian had sufficient power over him to dispel his fears, and restore his olden peace of mind. So great was the reaction now, that he went to the other extreme; and being of a very excitable and volatile temperament, he exhibited a joy as immoderate as his grief had been but a short time before. He made Phil tell him all about his adventures; and as he listened to all the dangers through which his friend had gone, his warm Irish heart overflowed with the truest sympathy, and he followed the story with a running accompaniment of ejaculations of the most animated character. As for his own story, he had already told it; but there yet remained the tale of his flight in the woods. This he confessed without reservation, and informed Phil that he had been wandering in the woods all day, and had stumbled out upon the road only about an hour ago. He had seen no houses, and had met no people. This information at once changed Phil’s plans. If Pat had seen no inhabitants after an hour’s walk, it was clearly useless for him to go any farther that day. He was worn out with the exertions that he had made, and longed for rest. Pat also confessed that he was on the borders of starvation, and was too tired to go any farther. Upon this, they both resolved to remain here for the night.
It was now somewhat late in the day, but not too late to preclude the possibility of catching some fish for supper. On Phil’s suggesting this, Pat received it with an enthusiasm that was altogether like his old self; and as there was no time to lose, they at once set out in search of a brook. Pat remembered passing one not more than half a mile from this place; so they proceeded in this direction, which was the same in which Phil had been going. Pat’s story had served to give him some general idea of his whereabouts. Pat had been at Tracadie; and though he had lost his way, yet there was every reason to believe that they were now not very far away from that place, on the shore of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and most probably to the northward; for though Pat did not know exactly his position, yet he was sure that he must have come out of the woods farther north than Tracadie.
After about a half mile’s walk they reached a brook and began to fish. Their success was not brilliant, but any fish at all were very welcome at such a time; and the half dozen or so which they succeeded in hooking were regarded by them as capable of affording a repast which a king might envy. They soon had a fire burning, and broiled the fish on the coals, and thus made their dinner. Among the woods here they found a district which had escaped the ravages of the fire, and here they passed the night. They went to rest a little after sundown, and awoke the next morning before day. They then made a breakfast off the remains of their evening’s repast, and were ready for a start.
There was no question now as to the route which they should take. Pat had been walking in a direction the very opposite of that in which Phil had been going, but he had no desire now to persist in it. Then he felt himself to be a victim of one of the most cruel fates that can befall mankind, and was seeking to fly from it, anywhere, no matter where. Now, however, thanks to Phil, and to Naaman, he felt himself to be a victim no longer, and was anxious to get back to the place where Bart was or might be. He felt also a kind of pride arising from the fact that he had been the first one to find Phil; and the pride was quite as strong as it would have been if he had found Phil by his own actual efforts. The circumstances under which their meeting had taken place he dismissed from his mind, and chose rather to dwell upon the fact that his confidence in Phil’s ability to take care of himself had been completely vindicated. So now, on that morning, as they renewed their walk, there remained in Pat’s mind not a vestige of his foolish fears; but instead of them there was a sense of triumph, a consciousness of superior merit, and a sweet anticipation of the glory that would now be his, as he brought back Phil in safety.
Their frugal repast did not occupy many minutes, and the sun had not yet risen when they started. They were eager to go on, and so they walked at a rapid pace. The road was a very primitive one, and had they been in a carriage, their progress would have been rough and slow; but on foot they were able to avoid the deep ruts and numerous irregularities, and make a very good progress indeed. After about an hour, they came within sight of a harbor. They had been for some time out of sight of the sea, and this prospect filled them with the hope that they were not very far from Tracadie. To Pat, the sight of the harbor gave very strong recollections of that place. The water was very smooth, and seemed like a lake. A long, narrow strip of land separated the harbor from the outer sea, and the general appearance of the place was very much like that of the “leper wather” in which Pat had bathed. As they advanced towards it, the sun rose; and as the glorious orb ascended from the ocean, their whole sight was filled with the splendor of his appearance.
Looking now upon the scene before them, they saw at last the signs of man. On the shore was a small cottage, and near the shore, in the harbor, was a small schooner. These were both only a short distance away, and to these they hastened. On reaching the cottage they went up to it, but to their great disappointment found that it was deserted and in ruins. The door was gone, and it seemed as though it had not been inhabited for some time.
“We’ve got to go on further,” said Pat. “There must be more houses further on.”
“I wish we could find out where we are,” said Phil. “I wonder if any one is on board of that schooner.”
Saying this, he cast longing eyes upon the schooner before mentioned. It was anchored in front of the cottage, not far away from the shore. It was a small vessel, and somewhat shabby, and behind it there was a boat floating in the water.
“It looks as if there was some one on board,” said Pat. “They’ve got the boat there!”
“I wish I could go and ask them where we are,” said Phil; and saying this, he walked towards the beach.
As he did so he saw a boat upon the beach. It was old and dilapidated, like the house to which it seemed to belong. No sooner had he seen it, than he was struck by the thought that he might manage to get to the schooner by means of this; so he began to examine it very narrowly. It was very clumsily constructed, and looked more like a box than a boat; but it was strong, and though dilapidated, it still looked as though it might float for the short distance that separated the schooner from the shore.
“I’ll try it,” said Phil.
“Thry what?” asked Pat.
“Why, I’ll go out to the schooner in this boat.”
“How’ll we row her?” said Pat. “We haven’t any oars.”
“Well, in the first place, it can’t hold more than one; so you’ll have to stay, unless you want to go very particularly.”
“Niver a bit do I,” said Pat. “I’m not brakin my heart about it, so I ain’t. I’ll stay an welcome.”
“Then I’ll go,” said Phil, “and you wait. I’ll have to get something though, that’ll do for an oar.”
Saying this, he went back to the house, and looked about for some time. At length he found a pole lying near the well, and taking this, he went back to the boat. Pat and he then pushed it from the shore into the water. It floated.
“Hurrah!” said Phil. “It’ll carry me out that far any way.”
“Sure an don’t ye see the wather, how it’s rowlin an rushin in?” cried Pat.
Phil looked, and saw that the boat was, indeed, anything but water-tight, for the water was oozing in through numerous cracks and crevices.
“It’ll take me out that far,” said he; and with these words he jumped into the boat, and thrusting the pole into the ground, he pushed her off.
Pat stood watching his movements with great interest.
Phil pushed for some time, thrusting his pole down to the bottom, and made excellent progress. In this way he reached a point more than half way to the schooner. Here, however, it grew too deep, and he had to use the pole as a paddle. It was but a clumsy instrument for this purpose, and his progress was but slow; still he managed to draw nearer to his destination, and worked with commendable diligence. But unfortunately there was something more to be considered than mere progress forward, and that was the condition of the boat itself. For while Phil was gaining on the schooner, the water was gaining on him. By the time that he had reached half way, the water was over his ankles. Had his progress continued at the same rate, he might have reached the schooner without any very great inconvenience; but as it was, the water rushed in faster and faster, and in spite of his efforts he began to fear that he would not reach his destination. Fortunately for him, the schooner happened to be lying with her stern towards the shore, and the schooner’s boat was thus brought nearer to him. This materially lessened the distance to be traversed. He now sought to reach the schooner’s boat. He paddled with desperate efforts, and as he paddled the water rose higher. At length he found himself within reach of the schooner’s boat; he flung out his pole, and sought to pull it nearer. As he did so the boat began to sink under him. The water rose to his knees. At that instant the schooner’s boat was within reach, and flinging himself forward, he half scrambled, half tumbled into it.
Then quite out of breath, he sat down, and rested for a moment, while the boat by which he had come slowly drifted off. At this moment a shout of joy came from Pat, who had been watching the proceedings with intense interest.
But Phil’s movements had not been unnoticed on board the schooner; and, indeed, he had made noise enough to rouse any who might be there. He was not surprised, therefore, when he heard movements on board, and voices, and footsteps. So he looked up, without rising, so as to see those on board, who might be moving.
Phil had not been surprised at the sound of movements on board; but he was very greatly surprised, indeed, at the sight of the person who met his eyes.
As he looked up some one advanced to the stern and looked down upon him. It was an aged person, with a mild face, and a gracious eye, and a benevolent smile. He wore a pea-jacket, and his head was covered with a souwester. It was a face the sight of which almost made Phil bound out of the boat.
While this person excited such emotions in the breast of Phil, his own emotions at the sight of Phil were no less strong. There he was, in the schooner’s boat, with no visible means by which his appearance there could be explained. The person in the schooner, therefore, stared at Phil, and then removing his hat with one hand, with the other hand he thoughtfully scratched his venerable head, and then slowly ejaculated,—
“Go-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-d thunder!”
“Captain Corbet!” exclaimed Phil, in indescribable amazement.
And then they both stared at each other in silence.
But the silence was soon broken. Footsteps were heard, and soon one after another heads appeared, and then bodies, and then the new comers stood by the side of Captain Corbet, staring over the stern at Phil in mute astonishment.
And Phil stared back at them all in astonishment fully equal to their own.
It was Bruce Bawdon!
And Arthur!
And Tom!
As for Phil, he could not utter a word. Nor could the others on board the schooner.
But Pat, the excited watcher on the shore—Pat had seen it all, and he was anything but mute. Mute? He howled. He yelled. He vociferated unintelligible volleys of frantic exclamations, addressed to each by turns. Then words failed, and he began to dance.
At length Phil pulled the boat up, and scrambled on board the schooner, and was seized by all the boys in turn, and overwhelmed with questions; while he, on his part, overwhelmed them with questions quite as eager and quite as numerous.
Their story was soon told. They had left at the time mentioned by Bruce in his letter to Bart, and had been cruising along the coast of the Gulf of St. Lawrence. They had arrived here the day before, and as they were in no hurry, they had anchored for the night, with the intention of doing a little fishing. Their place of rendezvous was Shippegan, which was not far away, and they had a week to spare as yet. They had no idea that Bart would leave so much before the time, and could not understand how Phil had found them.
Phil’s story was soon told; for, as he was a modest boy, he did not dwell upon his own adventures to anything like the extent which I have done; and so they learned that their meeting was purely accidental, and that Phil had been lost, and had found Pat, who had been lost also, and that these two lost ones had stumbled upon them here, in Tracadie lagoon.
All of which elicited wonder, and laughter, and shouts, and no end of eager questions, and excited exclamations. In the midst of this Tom rushed off, and by way of giving proper expression to the feelings which agitated them all, he brought forth the flag of the B. O. W. C. from the cabin of the Antelope, where, strangely enough, it had been left since their last voyage; and in a few minutes he had hoisted it aloft, where it fluttered, and floated, and waved triumphantly in the fresh morning breeze.
And now Phil thought of Pat, and mentioned that he was upon the shore; whereupon Bruce rushed to the boat to go for him. As he leaped in, Phil and the others looked towards the place where Pat had been standing, and saw a wagon and two persons, a boy and a man, talking with Pat.
Now, you know, that very morning Bart had left along with the priest, on his way to the north, to carry on his search after Phil. It was early when they left, but as the road was rough, their progress was not particularly rapid. Still they did make some progress, and in process of time they reached the place where the schooner lay anchored. This schooner excited Bart’s attention, for there was something in her general appearance that was strangely familiar. As they drew nearer they saw a number of figures on the deck, running to and fro, and giving all possible signs of the greatest possible excitement. Suddenly, in the midst of this, he saw a flag ascend, and float in the breeze. It was dark in color, and of a nondescript character, and at first its emblazonment was not distinctly visible. Soon, however, he came near enough to see it. Then the whole thing was disclosed.
It was the well-known flag—his flag—the flag that had waved over the most memorable events of his life—the flag of the B. O. W. C.!
The thing was astonishing, yet not incomprehensible. He saw that the Antelope had probably been cruising about these waters on her way to Shippegan. He saw that he had come upon her in an amazing manner; but what seemed incomprehensible was the excitement on her deck. What was the cause, and what did it mean? It could not be that they had recognized him, and had done this in honor of his arrival. No; it must be something else.
He said nothing to the priest, but sat filled with excitement, waiting till they should come near. In this way they approached the old house, and beside the shore he saw a figure dancing, jumping, yelling, shouting, waving his cap, and indulging in a thousand fantastic gestures.
This figure was Pat.
The wagon stopped, and Bart jumped out, followed by the priest. In a few minutes Bart understood all. First of all, Phil had been found; secondly, he was on board the schooner, and the excitement was about him; and thirdly, Pat claimed the honor of discovering Phil.
In the midst of this a boat approached the shore, and soon Bruce Rawdon stood before them, giving them an uproarious welcome. The arrival of Bart had given a new turn to the excitement of the occasion, and they all went off to the schooner, accompanied by the priest, who entered most heartily into the spirit of the joyous scene.