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Over the Falls. Page 37. 
 
 e j 
 
 i 
 
;*'«':" 
 
 •^ 
 
 FIRE IN THE 
 
 ^: 
 
 Pnh;; 
 
 woom. ^" 
 
 BY 
 
 PROF. JAMES DE MILLE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF TIIK " B. O. W. C," " THK BOYS OF GRAND PRB 
 SCHOOL," " LOST IN THIC FOG," "AMONG THK 
 BRIGANDS," ETC. • 
 
 nA^V iifttnw rtf' 
 
 _i 
 
 ILL US TRATED. 
 
 BOSTON 
 LEE AND SIIEI'Alll) rUHlJSIIEUS 
 
,1 i|in,»«jMJMif''l""i^' "''^ '^ j»v--**!^v.'«i"i^.i"i V ^»-*i 11 PI I ntyii iv^f^p^jmnnvfr 
 
 Entered, accordiiiR to the Act of Congress, in the year 1871, 
 I5Y LEE AND SHEl'AUD, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washin^tos 
 
 I I 
 
■f^rr — 'i"i"MW' ■» ■" '■'.■'•^^.miJ' , I ' W"**^*-'" ■-»"iilP'-'""l w II" 1 1 ■ ^•rn^^wwiM>^"fl<i"P^"W" 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I. 
 
 PAQI 
 
 0/1 a FmV. — ^ Fascination and a Temptation. -«• (S'c- 
 cret Plans. — An exciting Letter. — Where's old Sol- 
 omon? — Arrival of an Opportunity. — The Opportu- 
 nity seized. — A hazardous Adventure. — The Island 
 in the Falls * ... 11 
 
 II. 
 
 The Island in the Falls. — A Discovery of a startling 
 Kind. — The sullen Roar. — A mad Risk. — The Strug- 
 gle for Life. — On the Verge of Ruin. — A last Efort. 
 
 — Over the Falls. — Ingulfed and drawn down by the 
 Vojiex. — Where is Pat f 26 
 
 III. 
 
 Bart off on an Expedition. — The Search after Solomon. 
 
 — The aged Toiler. — The Flaming Fury. — The bran- 
 dished Broomstick. — Collapse of Solomon. — Extinc- 
 tion of the Flaming Fury. — Solomon vanishes. — Ter- 
 rible Tidings. — An anxious Search. — Despair. . . 39 
 
 & 
 
b CONTENTS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 At the Mercy of the Tide. — Ears deafened. — Eyes blinded. 
 
 — A fresh Struggle for Life. — The Roar of the Steam 
 Whistle. — Where are we?— Pat explores. —A desolate 
 
 Abode. — The falling Tides. — Without Food and 
 Shelter, 54 
 
 V. 
 
 Flight of Solomon. — In Hiding. — Solomon is himself 
 again. — Up the River. — Through the Country. — A 
 long Drive. —An Indian Village. — An Indian Guide. 
 
 — Preparing for the Expedition 68 
 
 VI. 
 
 A long Drive, and a long Walk. — The wild Woods. — An 
 Encampment. — The blazing Fire. — Lo ! the poor In- 
 dian. — The Wolf and the Watch-dog. — The Spring of 
 the Wild Beast. — Solomon to the Rescue, — A Fight and 
 a Flight 81 
 
 VII. 
 
 / ing the Night.— On Gucrd. — The watchful Sentinel, 
 
 — Plans. — Through the Woods. — The winding River. 
 
 — Fishing. — The overcast Sky. — Arrival of Pat with 
 startling Tidings. — A useless Search 96 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Loss of Phil. — Deep Gloom and heavy Grief. — A 
 . Night of Terror, — The torrid Atmosphere. — The 
 
 t 
 
 
CONTENTS. 7 
 
 Smell of Smoke. — Thx Darkness that might be felt. — 
 Morning brings Relief. — The Search. — The Rock and 
 the Precipice by the Riverside. — The Track of Phil. — 
 Following the Trail.— The Trail lost. — Persevering 
 Search. — The End of the Day 109 
 
 IX. 
 
 Lost. — Deliberations. — Trying to regain the Course.— 
 The Smoke of the Burning. — The stagnant Air. — 
 Onward. — An Opening in the Forest. — Hope and En- 
 thusiasm. — A Rush forward. 123 
 
 X. 
 
 The Opening. — The Sea, the Sea, the open Sea.— The 
 Priest.— The Promise of Help. — Pat takes a Walk, and 
 I • 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 137 
 
 XI. 
 
 Where, O, where is Phil ? — The Wanderer in the Woods. 
 — Struggles with Difficidties thai always increase. — 
 Approach of Night. — Gloom. — Despair. — Climbing 
 a Tree. — No Hope. — Rallying from the Assault. — A 
 Midnight Meal. — Overworn Nature seeks Repose. . . 151 
 
 XII. 
 
 The Wanderer on his winding Way. — The Beioilderment 
 of the^ Forest. — Swamps and Bogs. — The friendly 
 
8 CONTENTS. 
 
 Brook. — Following the Flow of the running Water. — 
 A pleasant Course. — An encouraging Discovery. — 
 Astray once more. — lie sinks to Rest. — The last Hand- 
 wich 163 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Clouds and Vapors. — The exhaustive Heat. — Thirst. — 
 Muddy Water. — The Pangs of Hunger. — How to 
 fish. — The River. — The placid Lake. — A Plunge into 
 the Water. — The Midday Meal. — The Pine Woods.— 
 The rocky Cavei'n. — Preparing a NighVs Rest. — The 
 Evening Repast. — Night once more 176 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Bai^t. — An anxious Night. — Suspicions. — Reappearance 
 of Pat. — The Woes of Pat. — A hideous Thought. — 
 The Leper. — Off to the Woods. — Indian File. — The 
 Rear Guard. — Defection of Pat. — He makes a Circuit. 
 — «' Hyar ! Hyar ! You dar t Whar MasW Bart t " . 189 
 
 XV. 
 
 Solomon in a Rage. — Flight of Pat. — The Explorers 
 penetrate the Forest. — The missing Companions. — New 
 Fears and Anxieties. — A baffled Search. — Onward. — 
 The Recesses of the Forest. — An open Space. — Halt ! . 201 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The wide open Space, — The terrific Scene. — Arrested and 
 driven hack. — New Purposes. — The Story of the Great 
 Fire of Miramichi, and tl,e Ruin wrought in one tre- 
 mendous Night. . 213 
 
'■■i-iVV ■■ti 
 
 CONTENTS. 9 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Phil awakes. — A morning Bath and a morning Repast. 
 — A pleasant Discovery. — Once more upon the Move. — 
 The rough, impenetrable Woods. — The River. — A new 
 Mode of Travel. — The friendly Log. — I'm afloat, I'm 
 afloat. — Arrested. — The secret Place of Fire. . . 226 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The Conflagration. — A dread Alternative. — Forward or 
 Backward. — A bold Decision. — The Hood. — A terri- 
 ble 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 Mo- 
 »^««< 236 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The black Place of Desolation. — Blue Sky. — Open Heav- 
 ens. — 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 247 
 
 XX. 
 
 Fish for Breakfast. — The Cottage and the Schooner.— A 
 
 familiar Sight. — The old Boat. — Sinking in deep 
 
 Maters. — An exciting and amazing Meeting. — The 
 
 Flag. — Bart on the Road. — A strange Discovery. — A 
 
 fresh Surprise. 259 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Where is Solomon?— The Search.— The aged Wanderer. 
 — Recognition. — Boating. — Fishing. — Cooking. — 
 
 \ I 
 
f 
 
 10 CONTENTS. 
 
 Swimming. — The Preparations for the Banquet. — The 
 savory Smell. — Solomon dances a Breakdown and 
 makes a Speech, ... .... 272 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Away from Tracadte. — The Gulf of St. Lawrence. — The 
 Bay de Chaleur. — The innumerable Fishing Boats. — 
 A long Harbor. — Shippegan. — The Acadians. — The 
 Memories of Grand Pre 285 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 The Story of an Acadian Exile. — The Country in Flames. 
 ' — A dread Discovery. — Pursuit. — Flight over the 
 Water. — The Bloodhound Instinct. — Red Sea Waves. 299 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The American Indian in a new Light. — The false Guide. 
 — Solomon prepares for Vengeance. — The Indian 
 Chief. — Full Explanations 315 
 
 » : 
 
FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 
 3N«0 
 
 I. 
 
 071 a Visit. — A Fascination and a Temptation. — 
 Secret Plans. — An exciting Letter. — lllieres 
 old Solomon? —Arrival of an Opportimity.— 
 The Oiyport unity seized. — A hazardous Adven- 
 ture. ~ The Island in the Falls. 
 
 CjJ^ART DAMER lived at St. John, and on his 
 jl^ return home he had brought with him his 
 ^^^ two friends, Phil and Pat, to pass the va- 
 cation with him. Solomon had also accompanied 
 them, for the purpose of visiting some relatives 
 who lived in the vicinity. Neither Phil nor Pat 
 had vver been in St. John before, and they found 
 the place full of attractions of no common order. 
 
 Indeed, it may safely be said, that St. John pos- 
 sesses attractions sufficient to excite the interest 
 even of those who have travelled far and seen 
 much, and can lay claim to far more experience 
 than could possibly have been possessed by two 
 lads like Phil and Pat. 
 
 11 
 
12 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 Situated as it is on a peninsula between two 
 seas, and on a declivity which slopes steeply down 
 on three sides, its houses rise one above another, 
 and thus produce an effect which is in the highest 
 degree imposing to those ui)})roaching. Before 
 the city and behind it two furious floods pass and 
 repass, in one place tilling up the broad channel 
 with sand, but in the other mingling with the tor- 
 rent of a mighty river, which, after flowing for 
 five hundred miles, at this place pours all its 
 accumulated waters into the bay. 
 
 All around the city are many striking scenes ; 
 the sea, with its tides and currents; the sky, with 
 its clouds and fogs ; the rocky ledges, the surf- 
 beaten islands, and the far-folded headlands ; the 
 low marshes, and broad sand flats ; the bold, rocky 
 hills, whose summits, rising one behind another, 
 fade away in the distance; — and over all these 
 an ever-changing atmosphere, which at one time 
 veils all the scene in thick mists, and at another 
 time gathers up all its clouds to lend additional 
 glories to the setting sun. 
 
 But, amid all these objects of interest, one stands 
 forth preeminent, and that is the river. After 
 flowing for many a mile through every variety of 
 scenery, it at length approaches its termination, 
 where, within the space of a few miles, it gathers 
 together the extremes of the grand and the beau- 
 tiful. Here it expands into a broad lake, and 
 receives into itself, by a wide mouth, another tribu- 
 
-r^ 
 
 THE RIVER. 
 
 13 
 
 tary river; after wliicli it contracts into narrow 
 dimensions, and winds its way between rocky pre- 
 cipices till it reaches the subnrbs of the city. 
 Here it expands once more, and then, flowing on- 
 ward a little farther, it comes to a place where 
 towering cliff's rise abru})t, giving signs of some 
 primeval convulsion of nature, which has rent the 
 solid rock asunder to open a pathway for the 
 waters. Here, through a narrow and gloomy 
 gorge, it rushes onward, past rocky shores and 
 between small islands, and at lengtli, with a majes- 
 tic curve, sweeps into the harbor, and thence into 
 the bay. 
 
 Now, the surface of that bay is forever changing, 
 as the mighty tides ebb and flow, b,nd the differ- 
 ence between the extremes of its elevation is 
 great. At low tide all the river pours in foam 
 and fury through this gorge, forming what is 
 called the Falls ; at high tide, on the contrary, the 
 outer waters run swiftly up the river with resistless 
 sweep ; while between tlie two there is a time 
 when the waters are so still that the most fragile 
 boat can pass with perfect safety in any direction. 
 
 The scene is magnificent. At the Ixiginning 
 of the Falls the river grows narrow, sliowing two 
 rocky islets on one side, and a promontory on the 
 other. Then, after widening again, it once more 
 contracts, and lowering cliffs of solid rock arise 
 on either side. Acn)ss this abyss a suspension 
 bridge has been flung, from which there is a view 
 
14 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 full of grandeur. Here at high tide the river 
 may be seen rushing up ; at low tide it may be 
 seen pouring down with the fury of a cataract; 
 wliile at intermediate tide may be seen steamers, 
 and schooners, and scows, and timber-rafts, and 
 sail-boats, and row-boats, all passing through in 
 perfect safety. 
 
 After exhausting the possibilities of the place, 
 Phil and Pat both settled down upon the Falls as 
 the one grand distinguishing feature of the city, at 
 least in their estimation. Bart's house was not 
 very far away, and so they used to come here 
 often; sometimes sitting on the suspension bridge, 
 and watching the flood below, or the vessels pass- 
 ing underneath, or the foam of the thunderous 
 cataract ; at other times scaling the sides of the 
 precipice, and working their way down to the edge 
 of the river, so as to look up from thence and 
 watch the suspension bridge overhead, with the 
 people and carriages that passed to and fro. Thus 
 the whole immediate vicinity of the Falls became 
 at length perfectly familiar to them, and there was 
 not a single spot worth seeing which they had not 
 thoroughly explored. 
 
 When I say this, I must make an exception. 
 There were some spots which yet baffled them. 
 These were two islands which lay in the channel 
 of the river, and, when the flood poured down, re- 
 ceived its shock upon their rocky borders. These 
 islands lay out of the reach of the boys, and for 
 
THE ISLAND. 
 
 15 
 
 tnai reason became particularly attractive to them. 
 An island is always an object of unutterable 
 fascination to a boy ; but these became still more 
 fascinating, for the reason tiiat they seemed to be 
 more inaccessible than was generally the case. 
 At the same time they were very provokingly 
 near. From one shore the distance was so slignt 
 that it seemed almost possible to jump across. 
 But the possibility was only apparent ; the island 
 was in reality inaccessible, except by boat, at cer- 
 tain times of tide, and so Phil and Pat only found 
 themselves tantalized by the sight of an object 
 apparently so near, yet in reality so remote. 
 
 Each of the boys began at length to be filled 
 with a consuming desire to reach the* islands, and 
 each soon began to think over some ])lan by which 
 their purpose might be effected. Of the two, Pat 
 was the more eager ; in fact, if it had not been for 
 him, it is not at all likely that Piiil would ever 
 have felt the desire so strongly ; but Pat seemed 
 to be completely carried away by this one feeling; 
 and his excitement was gradually connnunicated 
 to Phil, till at last one was as eager as the other to 
 reach those inviting shores. 
 
 As for Bart, he was in a different position 
 altogether. He had been taken there once, and 
 consequently knew all about them ; and thus there 
 was no mystery to attract him. In the second 
 place, his father liad forl)idden him, most posi- 
 tively and most solemnly, from ever having any* 
 
16 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 thing whatever to do with any boat above the 
 Falls. The prohibition was one which was so final, 
 that the idea of disobeying it never for one mO' 
 ment entered into his head ; and when Pat had 
 mentioned liis wish to visit the islands, he had re* 
 fused so positively, and had warned him against 
 it so earnestly, that Pat from that moment never 
 alluded to it again in his presence. In this mat- 
 ter Phil was influenced by Pat, rather than by 
 Bart ; that is to say, he listened rather to Pat's en- 
 thusiastic descriptions of those mysterious islands 
 than to the somewhat unsatisfactory waining which 
 Bart had given; and the only result of that warn- 
 ing was, that he and Pat began to devise in secret 
 some plan by which they might achieve their 
 desire. 
 
 The result of this was, that Pat volunteered to 
 go forth and make some inquiries about boats. 
 There were plenty of boats above the Falls, and it 
 was easy enough to procure one. The only dif- 
 ficulty was, that people might not be willing to 
 let one to inexperienced boys. But Pat was fully 
 a match for this emergency. lie was ready with 
 any amount of professions as to his ability to man- 
 age any boat ; and indeed in such professions he 
 was not deceitful, for ho could handle an oar as 
 well as any boy of his age. And so his offer was 
 accepted very readily by Phil ; and the conse- 
 quence was, that Pat took occasion to make his 
 search, and made it with such success that he at 
 
^ «■-(!' 
 
 PAT FINDS A BOAT. 
 
 17 
 
 length found a boat every way adapted to their 
 purpose. Ho did this, too, quite unknown to Bart. 
 
 Tiiis mu8t not be considered as a violation of 
 confidence, or anything of that sort ; I'or Pat was, 
 after all, not capable of direct de ^eit. The fact 
 was, he regarded Bart's objection as due to his 
 father's command, and that command he did not 
 consider as at all binding either upon himself or 
 upon Phil. He did not suppose tliat there was 
 any actual danger, nor did he stop to think that 
 Mr. Darner's prohibition miglit be founded upon 
 wise precautions and a knowledge of the perils 
 of the place ; for, as a matter of fact, though 
 this fact was unknown to Pat, the Falls are 
 sulKciently dangerous to cause the' loss of one 
 life per year on an average, besides many acci- 
 dents which do not result in an actual loss of life ; 
 and it was this knowledge of the dangers attend- 
 a^it upon boating in these waters which had led 
 to Mr. Darner's prohibition. 
 
 Thus Pat went innocently and confidently to 
 work, and obtained a boat ; and Phil entered with 
 the utmost eagerness into Pat's plan. Bart's 
 strong objections and earnest warnings had, how- 
 ever, produced sufficient effect upon tliem to make 
 them anxious to keep their plan a secret from him, 
 and to carry it into execution at some time when 
 he might not be with them. But tins was not 
 very easy, for Bart was always with one or both 
 of them; and so, even after they had found a 
 2 
 
18 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 bout, it still seemed as diflicult as ever to make use 
 of it. 
 
 At length an event occurred which gave them 
 the long desired opportunity of making use of the 
 boat in a voyage to tiie islands. 
 
 This event was the receipt by Bart of a letter 
 from Bruce Haw don. It was as follows: — 
 
 " Dear old Bart : How are you, and how have 
 you been enjoying yourself? Are you aware that 
 four weeks have passed, and that our holidays will 
 soon be over? I've got several things to say, and 
 others to propose, and therefore I take my pen in 
 hand on the present occasion. 
 
 " First of all, Tom is with us, and has been all 
 along. A week after we got home, he received a 
 letter from his father, who told him that he was 
 going to England with his mother, and that he 
 might stay with us, and go back to school with 
 us. Well, Tom was a little disappointed, but not 
 so very much, after all. So he's been here ever 
 since. The next thing I have to tell you is, the 
 arrival here of a mutual friend and benefactor. 
 You see it happened this way : The other day I 
 M^as down on one of the wharves, when I was 
 struck by a familiar-looking craft, and on going 
 nearer it became still more familiar. So I jumped 
 on board in a state of high excitement, and put my 
 head into the opening of a very familiar cabin, 
 when suddenly it encountered another head that 
 
BRUCE WRITES A LETTER. ID 
 
 was pnttirig itself out. And wlio do you think it 
 was? I won't keep you in suspense. It was 
 Captain Corbet ! Yes, it w"as liiniself, as meek, 
 as mild, as paternal, and as vbnerable as ever. He 
 came here after oats. With him is Mr. Wade, 
 whose ' ole 'oman's name ' he still insists is Gipson, 
 and he also asserts that we won't find many of that 
 name in this country. 
 
 " Well, now I come to the point of riy letter. 
 We have persuaded the venerable Corbet to give 
 up oats for the present, and charter his ship to us. 
 We have organized a campaign around the Bay de 
 Chaleur. We are going to operate by sea and 
 land. Now, what do you say to it ? Will you 
 come? Is Phil with you, and Pat?* Have you 
 got Solomon? What do )'ou say? Can you resist? 
 Can you keep away when you hear that the Ante- 
 lope is once more upon the waters, and that the 
 flag of the B. 0. W. C. is again floating from her 
 masthead ? Resist ? You know you can't. 
 
 " And so I merely remark that we shall be at 
 Shippegan, on the Bay de Chaleur, on the 15th 
 of August. This gives you two or three weeks 
 to reach us. We shall expect you. Bring Phil. 
 Bring Pat. Bring Solomon. Without the glow 
 of his beloved countenance shining upon us as it 
 beams over the cooking-stove, no expedition is 
 worth having. 
 
 " We start in a few days. You need not answer, 
 as there will not be time to get your letter. W© 
 
 M 
 
"r»» r Hfip"— «",p 
 
 20 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 all count upon meeting you at Sliippegan on 
 August 15. 
 
 " The venerable Corbet sends his blessing. 
 « Yours in B. 0. W. C. 
 
 " Bruce Rawdon." 
 
 This letter created the wildest outburst of joy 
 that is possible to the eflervcscing spirits of enthu- 
 siastic boys. It came at the very time when the 
 holidays were beginning to grow a little dull ; when 
 all its first pleasures had been exhausted, and no 
 new ones remained. Coming thus, it brought the 
 prospect of new excitement, and met with but one 
 response. Bart eagerly appealed to his father, and 
 received his permission to meet his friends. Then 
 followed long discussions as to their journey to the 
 Bay de Chaleur ; and first and most important 
 among the preliminaries of their journey was 
 the necessity of preparing Solomon for what was 
 proposed. 
 
 Solomon 1 
 
 But where was Solomon? 
 
 Shortly after their arrival, he had taken his de- 
 parture, and had not been seen since. Bart, how- 
 ever, knew where he had gone, and supposed that 
 he might be there yet ; so he proposed that they 
 should all drive off in search of Solomon early on 
 the following day. 
 
 There soon arose a difficulty, however, which 
 interfered with this. The place was fifteen miles 
 
 1 
 
BART SEEKS SOLOMON. 21 
 
 awn,y, and Mr. Darner would not trust the horse to 
 Bart alone. It" the servant drove, there would not 
 be room for them all, and so one, at least, would 
 have to stay behind. Pat and Phil each offered to 
 stay ; and as it would be lonely for only one to 
 remain, it was finally decided that both should 
 stay, while Bart went off alone to search after the 
 Grand Panjandrum. 
 
 This arrangement was the very thing that was 
 most satisfactory to Phil and Pat; and thus chance 
 threw into their way the very opportunity for 
 which they had been waiting so eagerly and 
 impatiently. 
 
 Early on the following morning Bart started; 
 while Phil and Pat waited a little while, in order 
 ^ to have a convenient time for setting forth upon 
 
 their own enterprise. The sky was clear, and the 
 sun was bright overhead ; but half way down the 
 harbor there were heavy fog clouds, which increased 
 until all the distance was concealed from view. 
 But as these fogs belonged to the bay, and did not 
 affect the land, they had no anxiety about their 
 excursion, since it was to take place on the 
 river. 
 
 They waited leisurely about the house for an 
 hour after breakfast, and at length left without 
 saying anything to anybody, and went at once to 
 the Falls. As they came in sight of the river, 
 they looked with eager eyes over its surface to 
 see whether the time was a suitable one for their 
 
22 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 enterprise. Tlielr first glance was liiglily satisfac- 
 tory. As far as tliey could judge, it seemed the 
 very best time that there could be to make the 
 attempt. The water was quite smooth, and the 
 stream was moving along rather slowly. Upon 
 reaching the suspension bridge, they stood still 
 and looked down. As they stood there, they saw 
 several wood boats approaching them from the 
 upper part of the river. They came along slowly, 
 and with as little motion of any kind as though 
 they were in the placid waters farther up. The 
 two boys watched them as they passed under the 
 bridge, and then followed them with their eyes 
 as they half sailed, half drifted, onward to the 
 harbor. 
 
 This sight greatly encouraged them, and there 
 seemed now not the slightest doubt of the perfect 
 feasibility of their enterprise. Without any fur- 
 ther delay, therefore, they at once set out for the 
 place where the boat was kept that Pat had 
 engaged. 
 
 The Falls are about a quarter of a mile above 
 the suspension bridge. At this place, as has been 
 said, the river contracts, and is hemmed in be- 
 tween the projecting precipice of a rocky promon- 
 tory on one side, and a small, shaggy, wooded 
 island on the other. Between these it pours its 
 flood, which alternates between the swift influx of 
 the sea-water at high tide, and the swift, thunder- 
 ous outpour of low tide, when the river flings 
 
 I 
 
THE START FOU THE ISLAND. 
 
 23 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 itself in wrath and foam down a declivity of rocks 
 that form its bed. Above this place there is a 
 wide expanse, and on the upper side of the 
 promontory is a cove which affords an excellent 
 shelter for boats, rafts, and schooners. It was in 
 this cove that their boat was kept, and towards this 
 they now directed their steps as fast as possible. 
 
 On reaching the place, they ibund the boat afloat, 
 with its oars inside, and iastened by the painter to 
 the wharf Here they stopped for a short time, 
 and again looked forth over the surface of the 
 water. 
 
 Immediately in front it was as smooth as a mill- 
 pond, and farther out it appeared to be quite as 
 calm. The two islands to which they wished to 
 go were out there, full before them, on the other 
 sid(i of the river, yet not so far away but that 
 they could be reached by a moderate effort. A 
 brief survey satisfied both of them ; and without 
 waiting any longer, they cast off the line, and 
 rowed away towards the islands. 
 
 A quarter of an hour's vigorous pulling brought 
 them well out of the cove, and soon they reached 
 the channel of the river. Here the water was 
 still smooth ; but they noticed that the current 
 was much stronger than they had expected to 
 find it. After all, however, there was as yet no 
 very great force in it ; and so they pulled on. But 
 the current made some chango in their plans ; for, 
 whereas they had at first intended to go to the 
 
24 
 
 PIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 upper island, they now found the sweep of the 
 tide dragginp^ them so far out of their course, that 
 they decided to land upon the lower one. 
 
 This one lay nearest now. They were between 
 the two, and the rocky shore of the island was 
 close by. It was the part of the island which lay 
 farthest up stream. They thought it best to visit 
 this one first, then the other, after which they 
 could return to the shore, or continue their explo- 
 rations in other directions, as the fancy might 
 seize them. 
 
 With these intentions, they turned the boat's 
 head towards the island, and in a short time stepped 
 out upon the rocky beach. 
 
^^^r^m 
 
 ON THE ISLAND. 
 
 25 
 
 II. 
 
 T/ie Island in the Falls. — A Discovery of a star- 
 tling Kind. — The sullen Hoar. — A mad liisL — 
 The Struggle f^r Life.— On the Verge of liuin. 
 — ^ last Effort.— Over the Falls. —Ingulfed and 
 drawn down by the Vortex. — Where is Pat ! 
 
 'HE boys secured their boat to the rocka 
 and then clambered up the bank to the top 
 of the island. Arriving there,, they found 
 but little to be seen. The island was of very small 
 dimensions, and the thick woods that covered it 
 made it impossible to gain any view of the whole 
 scene around. They crossed to the lower side, 
 and came back ; after which they sat down on the 
 edge of the bank, just above the boat, and looked 
 out. They could see up the river from here — 
 the wide cove, the rocky shores, the saw-mills, the 
 rafts, the scows, the tugboats, the wood boats,' and 
 the river steamers. Now that they were on the 
 island, there was certainly not much to reward 
 them, except this view ; and even this was not 
 equal to that which might be had from the sus- 
 pension bridge. But, then, they were not alto- 
 
A 
 
 26 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 gether destitnto of a reward. The island was 
 small and insignificant ; but, tlicn, it was an island, 
 and that was something. Besides, their ])osition 
 here meant that they had achieved their enter- 
 prise ; and the consciousness of success was of 
 itself a snlHcient reward. 
 
 " I wonder," said J'hil, " why no more vessels go 
 through the Falls — " 
 
 '' Tlirough the Falls, is it?" said Pat. *' (), sure it's 
 just because they don't Wiint to; an that's all, so it is." 
 
 Alter some more conversation, they began to 
 grow tired of the island ; and since they had ex- 
 hausted all tlie pleasuie that a landing upon it, 
 combined with the consciousness of success, could 
 afford, there remained nothing moie to do but to 
 complete their enterprise by effeciiiig a landing 
 upon the other island also. 
 
 This one lay farther up the stream ; and as they 
 launched their boat and rowed towards it, they 
 became at once sensible of a great increase in the 
 difficulty of their task. With their utmost efforts 
 their progress was very slow, and it took far longer 
 to reach it than it had taken to come from the 
 shore to the first island. At length, however, they 
 reached it, and secured the boat. 
 
 " Ye see," said Pat, who always was ready to 
 account for everything, — "ye see we've had the 
 tide dead agin us this time. Whin we crossed 
 the river it was on'y on one side. Whin we go 
 back, it'll be all fair iind aisy, for we'll have it on 
 one side agin; and that's how it is." 
 
i 
 
 THE SULLEN ROAR. 
 
 27 
 
 : 
 ■ 
 
 Tlioy now l)egan to explore this second island. 
 It was larger than the other, but did not seem so 
 larpje. As it was free I'roni woods, its small ex- 
 tent was perce])til)le at a glance, which was not 
 the case with the other. The absence of woods 
 made it also even less interesting. But the boys 
 were not at all exacting ; and as there was nothing 
 in particular to see on the island, they naturally 
 turned their eyes to the scene that lay beyond. 
 This scene was now very extensive. They could 
 look around in every direction, and enjoy an unob- 
 structed view. U]) the river it was the same as 
 it had been before — the same assemblage of 
 rocky hills, and schooners, and steamers, and rafts: 
 but down the river a grander view unfolded itself 
 bell. re their eyes. 
 
 The river there ran on till it seemed terminated 
 by a wall of rocks, at the foot of which a steam 
 saw-mill was clattering and howling. On each 
 side of the water arose perpendicular cliifs, and 
 between these was the suspension bridge, whose 
 fntil pathway was sustained by cables that passed 
 over granite; towers at the edge of the precipice, 
 and overhung a tremendous gulf of treacherous 
 waters. 
 
 Suddenly Phil put his hand on Pat's shoulder. 
 Pat turned, and saw him looking anxiously out 
 over the water and pointing. 
 
 "What's the matter?" asked Pat. 
 
 " I Avon(l(M- what makes it so white over there," 
 said Phil, in an anxious tone. 
 
28 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 He was pointing to the water between the 
 island and the promontory. Here the surface was 
 agitated, and foam was emerging and floating on 
 in ever-increasing masses, while a deep, dull roar 
 began to be slowly perceptil)le to their ears. 
 
 " What is it? " repeated Pat, after looking for a 
 little while in silence at the place where Phil had 
 pointed. " What is it ? " he repeated, after a little 
 hesitation. Then his hesitation vanished, and in 
 his usual confident way, he proceeded to account 
 for the foam. 
 
 " Sure an it's the foam," said he, " an that's 
 what it is." 
 
 " But there wasn't any foam a little while ago," 
 said Phil. 
 
 "Deed, thin, an I wor jist thinkin that same," 
 said Pat. in a candid tone. 
 
 The boys stood now for a little while in silence. 
 The low, dull roar increased as they listened, and 
 excited very singular feelings in the minds of 
 both. 
 
 "The tide is certainly stronger," said Phil — "a 
 good deal stronger. I wonder if — if — it's too 
 strong for us." 
 
 " Niver a bit," said Pat, shaking off his uneasi- 
 ness. " Sure an we'll have no throuble. We're 
 jist a good bit above the Falls — so we are — an 
 there's no danger — not the laist in life." 
 
 Again they stopped, and looked, and listened. 
 
 And now the foam had increased, the dull roar 
 
I 
 
 A DEAD RISK. 
 
 29 
 
 I 
 
 was perceptibly louder, and its deep cadence 
 reverberated in their inmost hearts, exciting dark 
 apprehensions. 
 
 " Deed an I'll jist tell ye what it is," cried Pat, 
 suddenly. *' It's no use standin here all day ; we 
 must hurry out of this.'' 
 
 " But can we now ? " asked Phil, uneasily. 
 
 " Sure an why not ? " 
 
 " The tide — it's so strong." 
 
 " Sure an that's nothin," said Pat. " All we've 
 got to do is to head the boat up strarae, half up 
 an half across, an we'll slide over that way in spite 
 of the tide, so we will." 
 
 Pat's confident tone reassured Phil, and as Pat 
 set off quickly to the boat, he followed without a 
 word of further objection. Under the impression 
 that there was now not a moment's time to lose, 
 they pushed the boat off; and seizing the oars, 
 they began pulling with all their strength, Pat 
 taking the stroke oar, and striving to head her in 
 that mvsterious direction which he had described 
 
 %■' 
 
 a short time ago. For a few minutes they exerted 
 all their strengtii ; and both boys, as they pulled, 
 kept turning their horids, so as to see the shore, 
 which they wished to gain. Those f(^\v minutes 
 served to put a considerable distance between 
 them and the island which they had left. But the 
 interval was not exactly the kind which they 
 wished to see between them and it. It was evi- 
 dent that their progress forward was not very 
 
30 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 4 
 
 great, but that at the same time tlieir progress 
 down the stream was fearfully rapid. And that 
 stream was setting full towards the Falls. 
 
 Phil noticed this first, and his cry aroused Pat, 
 who was still too much interested in watching his 
 destination to regard his actual situation. But 
 that situation, as the two boys looked around upon 
 it, was calculated to administer a shock to the 
 strongest nerves, and quicken the action of the 
 stoutest heart. 
 
 The river current was running down at such a 
 rate of speed that their efforts to counteract it 
 while crossing were quite unavailing. Its force 
 had already dragged them down stream about half 
 way between the two islands, while the actual 
 progress which they had made towards their aes- 
 tination was small. Their downward drift had 
 brought them nearer to the Falls, and as they took 
 their hasty look around, they were aware again of 
 that low, sullen roar which they had heard on the 
 island ; but now that roar was deeper and nearer, 
 and the low, droning sound of the agitated waters 
 struck more menacingly upon their ears. 
 
 At this moment there was still one chance, and 
 ore only. That was to head the boat back for the 
 island which they had just left. Had they done 
 so, and rowed for their lives, there was a possibili- 
 ty of emerging yet from the clutch of tl^at hun- 
 gry current, which grew more and more tenacious 
 as they advanced, and from which escape was only 
 
-.. 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
 •; 
 
 THE BOAT IN DANGER. 
 
 31 
 
 possible by a retreat. But at that moment Pat 
 did not fully realize the danger that impended. 
 Ho was quite cool, and the mistake that he made 
 arose from an error in judgment, rather than from 
 anything like panic. He had only the idea of 
 resisting the current, and was unable as yet to 
 give up his purpose of returning to the boat's 
 wharf. So he headed the boat up stream in such 
 a way that their own force should be brought as 
 much as possible against the current, and yet se- 
 cure to it a slight advance. 
 
 They now pulled, as before, in silence, using all 
 their strength. The head of the boat was almost 
 up stream, nnd as they pulled they could see all 
 that could be seen of the danger below them. For 
 about five minutes they thus struggled, and at the 
 end of that time there began to force itself into 
 the minds of both of them the dread conviction 
 that the strength of the current was too great for 
 their efforts. Pat saw this first, and, seeing this, 
 made a final relinquishment of his efforts to cross, 
 and put the boat's head straight up stream, so as 
 to make all their efforts tell against the tide itself. 
 But by that time they had brought themselves to 
 where the tide was strongest, and that tide was 
 growing stronger and stronger every minute. This 
 they both fe.iw and felt; and they knew enough of 
 the nature of the Falls to understand now the mis- 
 take that they had made. For they had crossed 
 to the islands when the tide was falling, and, iu 
 
32 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 tlieir attempt to return, had been caught by a 
 tide that had been increasing in force ever since 
 they had last crossed it, and was still increasing 
 and directing all its might down towards the Falls. 
 
 Their efforts to resist the tide were overpow- 
 ered. The river was gaining; their strength was 
 failing. One last, faint hope remained — to turn 
 the boat back, to pull towards the islands ; it might 
 yet be possible by strenuous effort to drag the 
 boat forth from the clutch of the mighty waters. 
 The lower island was as yet below them, on their 
 left ; if they could only bring the boat out of the 
 middle of the stream, they might reach it. 
 
 For the last time, then, Pat changed the direc- 
 tion of the boat, turning it but slightly, however, 
 just enough to aim at the u])per island. Then 
 again, as before, they put forth their last remain- 
 ing energies. With feverish anxiety they fixed 
 tlieir eyes upon one or two objects on the land, to 
 watch whether the boat was losing or gaining. 
 That it was still being drawn down by the tide 
 was at once certain ; but they yet had a hope that 
 their advance towards the islands mi ht serve to 
 bring them tliere before it was too late. And now 
 they had fairly reached the crisis of this tremen- 
 dous struggle. Rousing up the very last of their 
 exhausted strength, they exerted themselves with 
 the convulsive energies of despair, working in 
 silence, with eyes fixed on the shore. 
 
 In vain 1 
 
A VATN STRUGGLE. 
 
 33 
 
 They saw themselves drawn down in a line with 
 the lower island, and there, tree by tree, and rock 
 by rock, they saw that island slipping past them ; 
 while the distance between them and it had been 
 lessened so slightly that it aflbrded no prospect 
 whatever of their being able to attain it. At 
 length the last vestige of hope died out. The 
 howling, wrathful vortex was just before them, and 
 now the islands were forgotten, and all their efforts 
 were directed towards saving themselves as long 
 as possible from that fate which they felt was in- 
 evitable. 
 
 Of the two, Pat was the least affected. Phil 
 was pale, and sat with his eyes glaring at the 
 flood, straining himself at the oars with all his 
 strength, his brows contracted, his lips parted, his 
 breath coming and going in quick, short gasps. 
 As for Pat, the ruddy color of his honest but 
 freckled Irish face remained unchanged ; and 
 though he was working with all his might, he as 
 yet showed no signs of any very extreme ex- 
 haustion; for his muscles were harder, and his 
 frame more inured to labor, than the slender limbs 
 and lighter frame of his companion. Nor did he 
 gasp or sob, nor were his brows contracted, nor 
 was there any other expression on his face than 
 that same jovial, healthy, and withal rather impu- 
 dent self-confidence wliich it usually wore. 
 
 Yet, if anything could have reduced Pat to de- 
 3 
 
 i 
 
imp i^M^^^^i^ 
 
 "^^^l^^W** 
 
 34 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 spair it was the sight that now appeared immedi- 
 ately before him. 
 
 The boat had been dragged for some distance 
 out of the middle of the stream, and was nearer 
 the island than it had been, though still out of 
 reach. The tide was fearfully strong. At every 
 desperate pull the boat would stand still ; but be- 
 tween the strokes the tide would bear it down. 
 Thus their efforts only served now to stop the boat 
 for a few moments at every stroke, without in any 
 way ennabling them to elude their fate. 
 
 The Falls were close at hand — just in front. 
 
 These Falls were not, however, a thunderous 
 cataract, though at the lowest stage of the tide, 
 their furious surges, as they sweep over the rock- 
 strewn descent of the river bed, would be, per- 
 haps, even more dangerous than a cataract itself 
 But now they were not at their most furious stage. 
 Still, as the boys gazed there, they saw enough to 
 appall them. 
 
 All across was a white line of foam. Immedi- 
 ately in front, the water seemed to come in con- 
 tact with some hidden reef, for it lifted itself up 
 in a heap, and, rounding over, tumbled in thunder 
 on the other side. It was towards this that they 
 were drifting. This was sufficiently formidable, 
 but where the foam tossed and the boiling waters 
 seethed in a long flood of white, it seemed equally 
 80 ; and thus even if Pat luid been inclined to make 
 a choice of some particular place to direct the boat, 
 
A LAST CHANCE. 
 
 35 
 
 he would not have been able to select one, since 
 all places appeared equally repellent. The fact 
 was, however, Pat had no such ideas, but was 
 thinking of some other way of encountering the 
 coming fate. 
 
 There, then, full before them, was the long hne 
 of boiling breakers; there was that upheaving 
 mass ol water rounding itself over the sunken 
 ledge, The hiss of the foam was in their ears, 
 while beneath it was the gloomy menace of the' 
 roar of many waters. 
 
 " Phil," cried Pat, " can you swim? " 
 
 " A little," said Phil. 
 
 '' It's our last chance. Will ye do what I tell 
 ye ? " 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 " Take off yer coat, howld on to yer oar, and 
 jump whin I give the word." 
 
 •MVhat!" cried Phil; '' stop rowing ? Whv we'll 
 be lost — " o J , 
 
 '' Lost, is it ? We're sure to be that — row — or 
 no row — so do as I say — will ye ? " 
 
 Phil was silent for a moment, and still tugged 
 at his oar, for neither of them had stopped during 
 this conversation. In that moment of extremest 
 peril there was no time to be taken up in delib- 
 erating. He had either to consent to Pat's prop- 
 osition, or refuse, and that at once. 
 
 " The boat'Il upset," cried Pat, " sure. Yon 
 jump out wid me whin I give the word. But ye'Il 
 
 «H»« 
 
36 FIRE TN THE WOODS. 
 
 have to take off yer coat first. Yer bound to 
 get a duckin, ony way, an ye'd better do as I 
 say." 
 
 " I'll do it," cried Phil, suddenly and decidedly. 
 
 " Aff wid yer coat, thin," cried Pat. 
 
 Both boys flung down their oars, and whipped 
 off their coats in an instant. 
 
 The boat was dragged now, without any further 
 resistance, straight towards the Falls. 
 
 '' Grab howld of" yer oar," cried Pat, quickly. 
 "Stand up, an' jump whin I give the word — ony 
 mind, whin ye do jump, jump for'ard as fur as ye 
 can." 
 
 " Yes," said Phil, quietly. 
 
 The two boys now stood up, each grasping an 
 oar, and watching the water before them. The boat 
 drifted down — nearer and nearer ! Phil's heart 
 throbbed fast in the suspense of that dread mo- 
 ment, but Pat stood cool, collected, with his sharp, 
 eager glance watching for the right time to jump. 
 
 And now that mighty mass of water, that lifted 
 itself up in a heap, as it rose and rounded itself 
 over the sunken ledge, grasped the boat, and raised 
 it on high in its tremendous embrace, and impelled 
 it forward. For a moment the boat seemed to lin- 
 ger there hesitating. Then it trembled in every 
 fibre. Then it slowly turned round, till its broad 
 side was presented to the waters below. Then 
 one side was slowly drawn down under the water, 
 while the other side rose up. Behind it a wall of 
 water rushed. 
 
 i- 
 
 -1 
 
 L 
 
f 
 
 OVER THE FALLS. 
 
 37 
 
 I 
 
 Suddenly Pat gave a loud yell — 
 
 '' Jump ! " 
 
 Phil was already standing with the oar poised 
 in one hand, and the other hand outstretched, wait- 
 ing- lor Pat's word. Every nerve, every sinew, was 
 on the alert, and before the whole word was fairly 
 spoken, and before Pat himself had sprung. Phi) 
 leaped forward. His feet touched the water first, 
 He went down. A tremendous grasp seemed to 
 seize upon him, dragging him downward, and ever 
 downward. He gave himself up for lost. In the 
 whirl of his senses, he seemed sinking into fathom- 
 less abysses, and in his ears there were the howling 
 and the abhorrent uproar, and the deafening thun- 
 der-peal of a thousand cataracts. Then, in the 
 midst of all this, another gras[) clutched him, and 
 dragged him swiftly forward, and whirled him 
 round and round. Then he seemed to be thrown 
 upward by the resistless upheaval of some mighty 
 mass beneath him, and then suddenly he shot forth, 
 out of the darkness and the u[)roar of the in- 
 gulfing waters, into the u})per air and the glad 
 light of day. 
 
 Clutching his oar, which he had held all this time 
 with the grasp of a drowning man, he drew a long 
 breath, and looked all around. Above him was 
 the blue sky ; farther on, across the sky, hung the 
 suspension bridge ; behind him was the howl of 
 the Charybdis that he had just escaped. 
 
 Where was Pat? 
 
^^ FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 As he thonglit of this, an involuntary shudder 
 passed throu-Ii him. Ho himself had escaped, 
 and he now felt comparatively safe, for the oar was 
 of immense assistance, and with the help of this 
 it needed only a slight effort to keep his head 
 above water. As to progress in any dii-ection, the 
 water was settling that question for him ; for the 
 mighty, resistless tide held him in its embrace, and 
 was bearing him onward helplessly. There was 
 no place to which he might look for escape, and 
 no one to help. 
 
 But where was Pat? 
 
 I 
 
BART OFF ON AN EXPEDITION. 39 
 
 III. 
 
 Bart off on an Expedition. - TJte Search after 
 
 Solomon. - The aged Toder. _ The Flaming 
 
 rlT '' ^'^'^'^^^^^^^d Broomstick. - CoUcwse 
 
 oj Solomon. - Extinction of the Flaming Fury 
 
 - bolomon vanishes. ~ Terrible Tidiriqs, — An 
 
 anxious Search. — Despair. 
 
 JfV^EANVVHILE Bart I.ad started off, as we 
 TU^ have seen, on l,is expedition- after old 
 » feoomon. The place in which he proposed 
 
 to seek after him was distinguished by the eu- 
 phomous and historical name of Loch Lomond 
 wluch name originated from the existence of a 
 small but very pretty lake in that locality, which 
 
 i Zl 'l\ *; "r'f ''''°'-'"'»^l °f - ''ill- Now, this lake 
 
 and th.s^ h,ll bore a fknciCul resemblance to the 
 
 I famous Scottish lake and hill, and the names were 
 
 applied to these by some enthisiastic Scotchman, 
 llie lake was one of a chain, all of which were 
 small and rather pretty, and the whole region 
 round about went by ti,e name that properly be- 
 longed to the lake. f i' y >= 
 
 Two or three miles away from this lake there 
 
40 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 was what is called a " colored settlement," which, 
 of course, means a settlement inhabited by people 
 of color. This was also called the " black settle- 
 ment," and also the " nip,-ger settlement." Solo- 
 mon had informed Bart that lie intended visiting 
 this place, and Bart thouglit of this as the only 
 place where he conld be hear«l (>!". 
 
 The colored settlement was founded by some 
 slaves, brought away from the ir^ouihern States by 
 the British during the war of 1812. They had 
 been presented with land here, and had been told 
 to chop down the trees, clear the land, and become 
 farmers. The settlement had not been a very great 
 success, however, and it was generally admitted 
 that the genius of these people did not lie in colo- 
 nizing new countries. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning, and though Bart 
 saw high fog banks piled up to the skies in the 
 harbor and in the bay, yet he soon left behind him 
 all thought of this, and entered the country. The 
 scenery was attractive, the air was clear and ex- 
 hilarating, the luu'se was fast, and everything 
 cons})ire(l to lill him with joyous feeling. Hia 
 mind reverted to l)ruce's letter, and ho passed 
 most of his time during the drive in speculating 
 about the coming excursion, and in rejoicing over 
 the haf>py accident that had taken Captain Corbet 
 to Prince Edward Island, and brought him within 
 sight of Bruce before he had engaged about the 
 oats. Amid such pleasant thoughts as these hia 
 
:: 
 
 THE SEARCH AFTER SOLOMON. 41 
 
 mind busied itself, and at length lie reached the 
 colored settlement. 
 
 He stopped at a rude log hut, which had a roof 
 of polos and mud, from which a flour barrel pro- 
 jected, and served as a chimney. Here some 
 squalid children were playing on the turf, and an 
 elderly colored lady was engaged in washing. 
 Her Bart accosted with a polite inquiry about 
 Solomon. 
 
 "Solomon!" said she. " Wha dat ar? What? 
 dat ar ole man ? Mrs. Franklin's ole man ? " 
 
 Bart didn't know anything about Mrs. Franklin, 
 but he gave a description of Solomon, which was' 
 sufficiently accurate iov this lady to recognize it. 
 
 " Dem's um," she said, in a positive tone. " Wal 
 — dat ar ole man's libben at Mrs. Franklin's— 
 "And where is Mrs. Franklin's?" 
 " Jes you go ahead till you come to de meetin' 
 house, an it's de sebent house after you get to de 
 meetin-house." 
 
 Bart drove on, and in due process of time" 
 reached the meeting-house, and then began to 
 count the houses. ITo foun.l a little difficulty 
 about this, as he could hardly distinguish between 
 what might be a house and what might also be 
 H barn, and was stopping at a place in the road 
 opposite a hut like tlu^ one at which he had first 
 stopped, when his attention was arrested by the 
 sight of a man in the field on the other side of the 
 way. The man's back was turned towards him, 
 
42 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 
 and he was toiling with jiU his miglit over a stone 
 and a crowlKir, occasionally straightening himself 
 np and rub1)ing his back, and uttering groans 
 which reached Bart's ears even at that distance, 
 and smote upon his heart. 
 
 That aged figure, — aged it was, — could that 
 mdeed be Solomon? and was this the way he 
 enjoyed himself while on a visit to his friends? 
 With a crow])ar, prying up granite boulders ? 
 What a thought ! 
 
 In a moment Bart was out of the wagon, and 
 was running over the fields towards the old man. 
 He came up close just as the old man was rubbing 
 his back. He caught him by the arm. The old 
 man gave a wild leap, and turned round with an 
 expression of awful fear. 
 
 But the object of his fear resolved itself into the 
 pleasant face of Bart, and all the terror fled, and 
 a smile of joy illumed the venerable, yet dusky 
 face. Tears started to his eyes, and, reaching out 
 both hands, he dropped the crowbar ; then, coming 
 forward with a low moan of happiness, he ex- 
 claimed, — 
 
 "You! Mas'r Bart. You, Mas'r Bart — you — 
 you — Mas'r Bart — 
 
 Yes, it was Solomon. 
 
 Full of wonder and pity, Bart seized the hands 
 of his old friend, and began asking him a thousand 
 questions. What was he doing here? What did 
 he mean by keeping away ? And then, without 
 
t 
 I 
 I 
 
 THE AGED TOILER. 
 
 43 
 
 waiting for an answer, lie went on to tell about 
 Bruce's letter, and their proposed expedition, and 
 the necessity which tliere was for him to ac- 
 company them. Finally he urged him to get 
 ready as soon as possible. 
 
 To all this Solomon listen.ed in silence, without 
 "lying a word. He stood with his hands clasped 
 together, with his eyes fixed at times on Bart, and 
 at times half closed, while his lips kept muttering 
 low, inaudible words. At length, however, his 
 face and manner underwent a change. He started 
 back, his eyes were fixed on something in the dis- 
 tance, and that same expression of terror came 
 over his face which Bart had seen upon it when he 
 first accosted him. 
 
 At this Bart turned instinctively to* see what 
 it was that inspired such terror in the mind of 
 Solomon. 
 
 He saw a colored lady — tall, gaunt, with a 
 turban on her brow of fiaming red, with a look of 
 fury on her face, and a broom in her hand, which 
 she was brandishing wildly. She came with great 
 strides at a run, and was evidently coming towards 
 them. Bart's first idea was, that she might be a 
 mad woman, and he had a vague impulse to run; 
 but the next instant his mind coinuM;ted this wo- 
 man with Solomon, and suggesteil her as the cause 
 of his fear. As for Solomon, he was now quite 
 beside himself with terror. His hands fell nerve- 
 less by his sides, his jaw" dr()i)ped, his head shook 
 
44 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 as with a palsy, bis knees knocked together, he 
 seemed scarce able to stand erect, and could not 
 utter one single word ; all the while his eyes were 
 fixed on the advancing Fury with the flaming tur- 
 ban, and his look was the look of one who expected 
 instant annihilation. 
 
 The Fury of the flaming turban drew nearer. 
 Her course showed that she had emerged from the 
 house on the opposite side of the road. As she 
 rushed on, and as she brandished her broom, she 
 howled out the most terrible threats against some- 
 body, which somebody Bart now suppotied must 
 be Solomon, and at once, full of pity, determined 
 to defend the old man from her fiiry. He there- 
 fore stood in front of Solomon, and was just about 
 to call to his servant to come and help him, when 
 the idea struck him that the Flaming Fury seemed 
 strangely familiar to him; and as she came yet 
 nearer, ho recognized her perfectly. To his utter 
 bewilderment and unbounded amazement, the 
 Flaming Fury turned out to be no other tlian one 
 who, for the last few years, had been quite a vis- 
 itor at his father's kitchen, and a dependant on his 
 father's bounty. " Black Betsy" was the name by 
 which she was known. A silvery voice, a truly 
 humble and grateful mind, a meek and quiet spirit, 
 a winning demeanor, a smile that always charmed 
 every one upon whom it l)eame(l, — such was the 
 Black Betsy that was known and loved in tlie Damer 
 kitchen. But what was this ? What had happened ? 
 
THE FLAMING FURY. 
 
 45 
 
 ■ 
 
 Tliis Black Betsy? This Yirag-o, tliis Terror, this 
 Flaming Fury? This! Impossible. Yet there 
 was the astoniiding- fact. Tiiere was only one 
 explanation. Black Betsy was mad ! 
 
 No, Bart, she was not mad ; she was only drunk; 
 — mad drunk, if you like, but not what is gen- 
 erally called mad. 
 
 And thus, mad drunk, the Flaming Fury came 
 bounding up, howling and brandishing lier broom. 
 The moment that he recognized her, Bart felt not 
 the slightest fear of her. He stood in front of 
 Solomon. He looked at her fixedly, and raised his 
 hand with a quiet frown. 
 
 It is just possible that, if Bart had been a 
 stranger, the Flaming Fury would have swept him 
 away with her broom, as she would ha\'e swept a 
 straw. But seeing him, and recognizing him, 
 produced an effect instantaneous and most aston- 
 ishing. She stopped, still staring at him. The 
 broom for a few moments remained poised in her 
 hands, and then slowly sank towards the ground ; 
 while, at the same time, the hard ferocity of her 
 face died out utterly, and was succeeded by a 
 smile so gentle, so amiable, and so motherly, that 
 Bart looked at her in fresh amazement. 
 
 '' Why, ef it ain't de dear chicken 1 Ef it ain't 
 de dear little Mas'r Bart, his bressed sef. De sakes, 
 now 1 " 
 
 This exclamation was uttered in the softest, and 
 most silvery, and most winning of those tonea 
 

 46 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 which Bart had always associated with Black 
 Betsy. Tliis additional proof of the identity of 
 this amiable being with the Flaming Fury only 
 increased liis wonder. 
 
 " An how is dat ar bressed angel, your mudder, 
 Mas'r Bart? Clar ef dese yer ole eyes ain't farly 
 achin to see her agin." 
 
 " She's very well, thanks," said Bart, slowly. 
 
 " Dat's good; dat's lubly. Clar ef it don't go 
 clean to mv^ ole heart ! An so you dribe out to see 
 de ole man ! Wal, I alius sez, dat ar Mas'r Bart, 
 I ses, ef he ain't de 'stror'nest, 'fecsh'nest chick- 
 en ! All heart, I sez, he is; all clar lub — no 
 mistake. An what is dis life wurf widout lub? 
 Why, it's notin but de soundin brasses an templin 
 simplum. Clar ef it ain't ! " 
 
 While this conyersation had been going on, 
 Solomon had regained consciousness ; and seeing 
 the change that had come over the woman, and 
 that the Flaming Fury had subsided into the gen- 
 tlest of beings, he began to gather together his 
 scattered senses. Bart's back was turned to him, 
 and so he did not see him. But Solomon did not 
 care for that. ITis one idea now was to save him- 
 self for the time, at least. 
 
 So, first of all, he edged away a little, very 
 sloMdy and very cautiously. No notice was taken 
 of this, and he ventured to retreat still fiirther. 
 Still Black Betsy went on talking in her silvery 
 voice, and with her winning smile. So Solomon 
 
 i 
 
 ■) 
 
i 
 
 THE BRANDISHED BROOMSTICK. 
 
 47 
 
 retreated still farther. Black Betsy saw all this 
 movement, and once she raised the broom and 
 held it in tlie air. But her face was wreathed 
 with smiles, and her soft, gentle accents flowed on 
 in a mellifluous strain ; and so it was, that the up- 
 raised broom, instead of calling Solomon back, 
 only hastened his retreat. He thereu])on turned 
 abruptly, and making his way as rapidly as possi- 
 ble to the nearest woods, he soon disappeared. 
 
 Black Betsy still went on, mellifluous and vol- 
 uble. The warmth of her nature seemed bound- 
 less. Tears stood in her eyes as she told Bart 
 how she loved his mother. Finally she sto|)ped 
 with a sob, overcome with emotion, as she related 
 the kindness she had received from his father, and 
 began to cry. 
 
 At this Bart, who had been trying in vain to 
 understand her, finally gave it up, and thought of 
 Solomon. He turned around to speak to him. 
 
 To his amazement Solomon was not there. 
 
 And now this completed his bewilderment. He 
 drew a long breath, and gave up altogether every 
 effort to understand anything at all. 
 
 "Why, where has Solomon gone?" he asked. 
 
 " Beiryin," said Black Betsy, gently — " berryin. 
 De ole man dreadful fond o' berries." 
 
 " Berries ? Well, that's odd. Why, I want to 
 see him." 
 
 "He tink he gib you pleasant '})rise — go pick 
 berries for de dear chicken," said Black Betsy, in 
 a tender voice. 
 
48 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 " But I want him," said Bart. " I want him 
 now. Where did he go ? " 
 
 '' Don-no, Mas'r Bart — no mor'n a chile. You 
 call out real loud, — you got to call loud fore dat 
 ar ole man'll har you. He's got dreadful deaf an 
 hard o' hearin o' late — dose times." 
 
 Bart now shouted over and over again, but there 
 was no response. He asked his servant if he had 
 noticed Solomon. The servant had noticed him, 
 and told him about the retreat to the woods. Bart 
 did not know what to make of it all. The appa- 
 rition of the Flaming Fury had gradually lost its 
 force, and he thought only of the gentle, silvery 
 voice of Black Betsy. The retreat of Solomon, 
 therefore, did not seem to arise from fear of so 
 gentle a being, but from something else — and 
 what could that be ? 
 
 " De ole man tinks you gwine to spen de day," 
 said Black Betsy. " He gone off to dig sassy- 
 prilla to make beer. You wait and he come back 
 soon." 
 
 So Bart waited a little while, hoping that Solo- 
 mon would return. 
 
 But Solomon did not return. 
 
 Black Betsy entertained him with remarks in 
 her usual strains, chiefly of an aifectionate and 
 end'jaring character ; but Bart was so disap})ointed 
 that he paid but little attention to her. He had 
 come out to get Solomon's consent to go with him, 
 and had not been able to do so. What was the 
 
 
 ■ 1 
 
 'a 
 
. I*""^ll 't i 
 
 • i 
 
 TERRIBLE TIDIXnq. 49 
 
 reason? Could it be possible that Solomon did 
 not want to go, but did not like to refuse, and so 
 had taken this way of getting out of the difficulty? 
 It seemed very much like it. 
 
 Bart waited an hour or so, and then drove away 
 to an inn on the borders of the lake. Here he 
 dined. Then he drove back again to see Solomon. 
 To his deep disappointment he learned that Solo- 
 mon had not made his appearance since. He 
 therefore left a message to the efl'ect that he 
 would drive out again on the following day, or, if 
 it was stormy, on the first fine day. This was all 
 he could do ; and so, mastering his disappointment 
 as well as he could, he drove home again. 
 
 It was evening when he reached home. Here 
 a fresh surprise awaited him ; for on asking after 
 Phil and Pat, he learned that they left the house 
 after breakfast, and had not been seen since. He 
 wondered at this, as he could not imagine what 
 would take them away, particularly on an occasion 
 like this, when they ought to be naturally anxious 
 to learn the result of so important a thing as his 
 search after Solomon. Pie concluded, however, 
 that they had gone off on some long walk, or out 
 in the harbor in a boat, and had been detained. 
 
 After a time, as he was wandering about, the 
 servant who had driven him to Loch Lomond 
 met l\m, and told him that there was a report of 
 some accident that had occurred at the Falls that 
 morning. 
 
 4 
 
■^•■f ' 
 
 50 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 In a moment Bart's most anxious excitement 
 was aroused, and lie asked about the accident. 
 The servant did not know anytliing in particular. 
 He had only heard that a boat had been upset in 
 the Falls with two men. Some said they Avere 
 boys. People had seen them swept under the 
 suspension bridge. It was said that they were 
 drowned. 
 
 At the mention of this, Bart felt for a few 
 "loments as though he were turned to stone. He 
 could not move or speak. In those few moments 
 there flashed across his mind the remembrance of 
 what Pat and Phil had said about a visit to the 
 islands, together with mysterious hints and casual 
 remarks that he had heard afterwards, to which at 
 the time he had paid no attention, but which now 
 all came back to his memory with fearful distinct- 
 ness and accuracy. From all this thre arose 
 within him the fear that Pat and Phil had made 
 the attempt against which he had warned them, 
 taking advantage of his absence, and that the 
 boat that had been upset was no other than 
 theirs. 
 
 What was to be done? 
 
 He did not know what. By this time his father 
 was home, and he at once went to him and told 
 him all about it. At this storv Mr. Damer's anxie- 
 ty was equal to that of Bart. He himself had 
 heard, in the course of the day, about the accident, 
 but had never imagined that it so nearly affected 
 
 a 
 
 
AN ANXIOUS SEARCH. 
 
 61 
 
 i 
 
 him. The moment tliut he learned this from Bart, 
 he at once went forth to make further in(iiiiries, 
 to see what coiikl be done, and to commence a 
 search in any possible way in which a search 
 Rii^'ht be made. 
 
 He went first of all to the suspension bridge, 
 and made iufjuiries of the toll-kee])er. That func- 
 tionary was able to tell him all that could be told. 
 It amounted to very little. He had heard shouts 
 on the bridge, over wliich two or three people 
 were passing, and had gone out to see what was 
 the matter. He had just got out in time to see 
 two men — or two boys, he did not know which — 
 swept by the current under the bridge. There 
 was a boat also, bottom upwards. He and all the 
 rest stood staring in horror without doing any- 
 thing. To do anything was in fact impossible. 
 The bridge was far above the water, preci})ices 
 intervened, and the current was running so fast 
 that the figures were swept away before they 
 could fairly understand what had happened. 
 
 Were they alive, or dead ? 
 
 This was the question which Bart asked in 
 intense anxietv and dread. 
 
 The toll-keeper could not say, but his impression 
 at the time was, that they were alive ; he also 
 had an idea that one of them was clinging to a 
 bit of wood. But he would not be sure. 
 
 "Could he make out their clothes — what they 
 were like ? " 
 
r 
 
 52 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 No ; for only their heads were above water. 
 They had no hats. They uttered no cry, and 
 made no noise whatever, but lie did not think that 
 they were dead. Still they did not seem to be 
 swimming, and the whole thing was a puzzle. 
 
 Unable to get any more satisfaction from the 
 toll-keeper, Mr. Damer next went to tlie town, and 
 made inquiries among the boatmen and fishermen. 
 There was but one reply from all of them, and 
 that was, that they had seen nothing. They 
 informed him that there had been a thick fog in 
 the harbor all day, and a boat might drift out to 
 sea without being noticed. All of them thought 
 it very unlikely that any men, after being upset in 
 the Falls, could avoid drowning, although, at the 
 same time, they were willing to allow that it was 
 just possible. But if so, the only chance that 
 they could have was to be picked up while in the 
 harbor. If any men were to drift down the harbor, 
 in the fog, without being observed, out into the 
 bay, there did not seem any chance of their being 
 saved. - 
 
 Such was the opinion of those who knew most 
 about it. Full of anxiety, and almost despair, Bart 
 and his fotlier then went elsewhere on their hope- 
 less errand. They visited the tug-boat men, the 
 ferry-boat men ; they questioned many of tlie scow 
 men and rafts-men; but though most of these men 
 had heard about the accident, none of them had 
 either seen or heard of any men, or of any boat, 
 drifting down the harbor. 
 
p 
 
 ( 
 
 DESPAIR. 
 
 53 
 
 her last hope. Yet still they were not willing 
 
 to g,ve up then- search, l,„t continue,] until late 
 
 no the n,ght the.r now apparently hopeless 
 
 BM&te 
 
!?• 
 
 54 
 
 FIUE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 At the Mercy of the Tide. — Ears deafened. — Eye^ 
 blinded. — yt fresh Struggle for Life. — The Hoar 
 of the Sham Whistle. — Where are we ? — Pat 
 explores. — A desolate Abode. — The falling Tides, 
 — Without Food and Shelter. 
 
 •jtaffTIERE is Pat? 
 
 ^KVA Such was tlio terrible question tliat came 
 ^^^^ to the mind of Phil, as, clinging- to the oar, 
 he felt hiniscU" swept onward by the resistless cur- 
 rent. Far on high was the sus])ension bridge; on 
 either side were dark, savage precipices, and the 
 sweep of the tide hurried him along helplessly 
 between these. 
 
 Where is Pat? 
 
 At that dread question his heart sank within him. 
 Tlio remiMubnince of his recent ])lunge beneath 
 the furious billows wluM'e he had been hurled 
 down, and whirled round, and thrown out again, 
 was still most vivid. He thought of Pat as being 
 engulfed beneath them still. His own escape 
 seemed little short of miracuh)us, and lie could 
 not hope that both of them were safe. Such an 
 
AT TIIH MF:I{('Y ok THE TIDK. 
 
 
 escape was astonishing for one, but for two it was 
 too nuK'li to hope for. lie did not dare to loo-; 
 hack. lie was afraid to know tlie worst, and that 
 look l)aek, he thou^-ht, wouhl show hirii only the 
 dark water. For a time he felt as thonj^h he woidJ 
 rather fear the worst, than actually know it; and 
 so, despairingly, he was swept on, and passed under 
 the l)ridtj;e in the same attitude in which he had 
 eniei-^ed from the Falls. 
 
 Suddenly from behind him there .sounded a 
 cry, — 
 
 " Hooray ! " 
 
 A thrill ol' joy passtnl throu^'h Phil. Tt was 
 Pat's voice. In an instant his terror lied, and he 
 looked back. There, to his aniaycnnent^ close be- 
 hind hiiM, he saw Pat, driftinj;- :''''n^-, with his face 
 above water fully revealed, and showing;-, evt-n at 
 thatd/ead moment, (he calm sell-reliance and ^'ood- 
 natured ease that always distin^uishe<l him. I'liil 
 was so overcome with joy, that he could not say 
 a word. 
 
 " Sure an it's rather wet, so it is," said Pat, in as 
 natural a tone as though ho were walking along 
 the road in a rain shower. 
 
 Phil made no answin-. 
 
 Again they drifted on in silence. 
 
 Now, as for Pat, at the moment when the boat 
 hung hoviM'ing on tlu^ edge of the fall, he had 
 stood, keen, watchful, observant, with every one 
 of his wits about him, and had shoute(l out to Phil. 
 
56 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 Pliil had jumped first, but Pat followed immedi- 
 ately. His experience was like that of Phil, with 
 this diti'erence — that he was under water a little 
 longer. On emerging, he saw Phil a little in front 
 of him, and so he felt at ease on that score. His 
 first thought now was about the boat. He looked 
 back, and saw it not more than six feet behind him, 
 bottom upwards. Upon this he was seized with a 
 very strong desire to gain the boat once more ; and 
 so he floated on for a time, thinking what to do. 
 At length he made an effort to swim back towards 
 it. The progress that he made was scarce i)er- 
 ceptible, and he could hardly have gained the boat 
 by his own efforts ; but, fortunately, tlie river 
 current favored him, for the boat reached a place 
 where it was whirled round so that its stern came 
 close to him. A vigorous elfort enabled him to 
 seize it, and it was his joy at this which Iiad 
 elicited the cry that had first given to Phil the 
 knowledge of his safety. The other remark, about 
 the wetness of the place, was merely owing to the 
 same exultation, and was intended to convey to 
 Phil something of the same cheerful confidence 
 that filled his own mind. 
 
 The boat was bottoni upwards, but that was 
 rather an advantage ; for a boat can bear a heavier 
 weight under those circumstances than if it is 
 filled with water in its natural position. Pat knew 
 this very well, and proceeded at once to avail him- 
 self of this knowledge. He did so by climbing 
 
AT THK MERCY OF THE TIDE. 
 
 57 
 
 upon it — a task wliich required some eflfort, but 
 in which he at lengtli succeeded. In doing so, he 
 was compelled to let go his oar. This, however, 
 did not trouble him, for the boat was better than 
 any oar could be, and so he straddled upon the 
 bottom, and began to think how he could get Phil 
 into the same comparatively easy position. 
 
 At last he hit upon a plan. 
 
 " Phil ! " he cried. 
 
 Phil looked round, and saw the boat, and Pat 
 seated on it. 
 
 " Shove us ycr oar, darlint," said Pat. " Can ye 
 shove us up your oar, jewel ? " 
 
 Pat spoke in a coaxing tone, just as though he 
 was asking some favor from Phil. 
 
 At this request Phil pushed the oar* along the 
 surface of the water with one hand, using the 
 other to keep liiinself afloat. The boat was near 
 enough for him to reach it, and Pat, stooping down, 
 grasped it. Then pulling at it, he drew Pliil to- 
 wards him, until at length he also was able to 
 grasp the boat. 
 
 " Now," said Pat, " PU take the oar, and you jist 
 climb up here." 
 
 He took the oar in one hand, and reached out 
 his other to assist Phil. Pat's help was of great 
 value in such a difficult task, and by means of it 
 Phil was at length al>le to claml)er up, and straddle 
 U])on the boat behind his friend. They found, to 
 their delight, that the boat supported both of them 
 
58 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 \ 
 
 with the greatest ease. Now, had it been filled 
 with water in its ordinary position, right side up, 
 it could scarcely have given assistance to one of 
 them ; but as it was, it gave the most perfect sup- 
 port to l)()tli of them. The reason is easy to ex- 
 plain. Wlieii a boat is turned completely over, 
 bottom u[)wards, so suddenly as this was, there 
 always remains a certain amount of air confined 
 inside. This gives it an immense amount of buoy- 
 ancy, and until that air all escapes that buoyancy 
 continues. Of course, after a time the air will all 
 escape, and then the boat must sink beneath the 
 weight imposed u[)on it. But if the boat is tight, 
 the air will be retained, and consequently the 
 buoyancy will remain for a long time. Now, for- 
 tunately for Phil and Pat, the boat that they had 
 was new, and well calked, and as tight as possible ; 
 and so there was no immediate danger. Fortu- 
 nately also for them, they had thus far suffered 
 nothing from cold ; for it was the end of July, and 
 the water was rather warm, and tlie air was warm 
 also. And so, though they had experienced such 
 a plunge into the water, and such a prolonged 
 immersion, and though tlioy now sat thus in their 
 wet clothes, yet, after all, they suffered nothing 
 whatever from eitlier damp or chill, but, on the 
 whole, were rather comfortable tlian otherwise. 
 
 Thus fiir they had uttered no cry for help, nor 
 had they heard any call of any human voice that 
 might indicate the neighborhood of any human 
 
yf 
 
 AT THE MKRCY OF THE TIDE. 
 
 50 
 
 i 
 
 ' 
 
 I 
 
 sympathy. They had passed under the suspen- 
 sion bridge. They had swept past shores that 
 were crowded on either side with wharves, liouses, 
 and steam saw-mills, but as yet had seen no eilbrts 
 to assist them. In fact, as it afterwards proved, 
 no one had noticed them. Whether it was tiiat 
 every one was busy, or that they had been care- 
 lessly regarded as an ordinary boat in its ordinary 
 position, could not be known ; certain it. was that 
 no on3 offered to assist them. Thus, then, they 
 swept along, until at length they reached the 
 place where the river enters the harbor. Just 
 here, the boat, in its drift, came near to the oar 
 which Pat had dropped when he clambered into 
 it. He grasped PhiFs oar, and reaching out, he 
 drew it towards liim and regained possession of it. 
 
 " There's no knowin," said he, " what use this 
 may be. It's best to take it whin it comes to us 
 handy." 
 
 Saying this, he gave Phil one oar, and keeping 
 the other himself, he waited for some chance of 
 escape. 
 
 But their troubles were far from ending as yet, 
 and soon the prospect of escape was removed 
 still farther fr()m them. For as they reached the 
 place where the river enters the harbor, just as 
 they saw a man on the beach, and began to shout 
 to him to try and attract his attention, they drifted 
 on, and plunged into a thick, dense cloud of fog. 
 
 That fog was no conmion fog. It was tho ad- 
 
60 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 vance guard of a fog that covered the bay, and 
 seemed to be thrown forward into the liarbor to 
 take possession and hohi it until the main army 
 should be ready to advance. It was dense, damp, 
 and obscure. Through this they passed, trying 
 to peer through the gloom, and find out where tliey 
 might be going. Several times they shouted, but 
 soon found out the uselcssness of this. For the 
 noise and riot all around showed them that shout- 
 ing was simply absurd. Around them they heard 
 the yell of steam whistles from tug-boats, from 
 ferry-boa* ), and fi'om what seemed to be a thou- 
 sand other places. For it was now aliout midday, 
 and that is the time when all the steam whistles 
 of all the steam saw-mills of the city let off one 
 simultaneous blast. The yells seemed to arise in 
 every conceivable direction. Amid such an up- 
 roar, their loudest cries were feeble, and could 
 not be heard ; so they soon became convinced of 
 the uselcssness of this, and remained silent, but 
 watchl'ul. Watchfulness, however, was equally 
 useless ; for if it is in vain that one shouts amid 
 the yells of steam whistles, so it is equally in vain 
 that one tries to keep up a watch in the midst of 
 a dense fog. Watching could reveal nothing but 
 that obscurity which surrounded them. 
 
 In this way, then, they drifted down the harbor, 
 while the steam whistles were yelling around 
 them so as to stifle all their cries for help, and 
 while the fog was gathering round them in its 
 
AT THE MERCY OP THE TIDE. 
 
 61 
 
 dense folds so as to obscure their sight. But the 
 boat bore them well, and it was at least a subject 
 of rejoicing to them that they were thus seated in 
 comparative comfort on that boat, instead of float- 
 ing up to their chins in the water, clinging to their 
 oars. 
 
 Neither of them spoke a word as they thus 
 drifted. Both of them were anxiously on the look- 
 out lor some means of escape. But no way of 
 escape presented itself. They drifted on. The 
 time seemed long indeed as they thus drifted, 
 though how long it really was they had no means 
 of knowing, and could only conjecture. On tiiey 
 went, and still on, and no help appeared, and no 
 way of escape was visible. 
 
 At length Pat began to make use of his oar by 
 putting it over the boat into the water, and work- 
 ing it in the way called sculling; in such a way, 
 however, as to give the boat as strong an inclina- 
 tion as possible to the right. It was not easy to 
 scull, for there was no socket in which to insert 
 the oar; but Fat did the best he could, and by 
 holding one foot he managed to keep the oar in a 
 steady enough position by holding it between his 
 foot and the keel. Phil watched him in silence for 
 some time, and Pat went on working at the oar 
 with all his miglit. 
 
 " What are you doing, Pat?" he asked at last. 
 
 "Well," said l^lt, without stopping, "there's 
 jist a ghost of a chance for us. We're dhriftiu 
 
 N,t«' 
 
62 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 out to sea, an ef we sit still we'll be miles out 
 before we know it. Now there's Partridge Island 
 afore us yet, an it'll be on our right as we're 
 dhriftin out, an I'm strivin to see if I can give a 
 twisht to the boat, so as to draw her in nearer to 
 the shore." __-- 
 
 "Can't I help?" said Phil. .-■ 
 
 " I suppose ye may as well thry," said Pat. 
 
 Upon this Phil took his oar, and began to use it 
 in the same way as Pat. The efforts of the boys 
 were directed, not towards resisting the current, 
 but towards effecting a movement of the boat to 
 the right, and drawing it away from the middle of 
 the stream to within reach of Partridge Island. 
 This place was now their last hope. 
 
 " Ef we can only get out of the sthraim," said 
 Pat, " we'll get to the island. The boat's hard to 
 move this way, but we may do something." 
 
 No more was said, but they both worked silently 
 and vigorously. Soon the water grew somewhat 
 rough, and waves began to rise. These were not 
 of any size, but the boat was so low down that 
 even the little wavelets broke over them as they 
 sat there. After a time these ^vavelets grew 
 larger, and at length they encountered several in 
 succession that were worthy of being considered 
 as waves. After this the water continued rougher, 
 and their drift was by no means so quiet and un- 
 eventful as it had been. The fog, too, remained 
 as thick as ever. Around them was still the sound 
 
THE ROAR OF THE STEAM WHISTLE. 
 
 63 
 
 
 I 
 
 ^ 
 
 #: 
 
 ^ 
 
 of whistles and fog horns," and high and loud and 
 clear above all the din arose one far-penetrating 
 yell. 
 
 " That's the island whistle/' said Pat — " the fog 
 whistle, so it is. We're comin nearer." 
 
 After a time this whistle seemed to be no nearer, 
 but to have changed its direction. 
 
 " Where in the wide wurruld are we dhriftin 
 to ? " said Pat, trying in vain to peer through the 
 fog. 
 
 " We must have passed the island," said Phil, 
 uneasily. 
 
 Pat shook his head in silence. 
 
 But now new anxiety came to the two cast- 
 aways, and the faint liopes that had arisen began 
 to subside. The wind was blowing somewhat 
 fresh, the waves were gi'owing larger and more 
 aggressive every moment. They appeared to 
 have been carried beyond the island, and if so, 
 they had no hope of any escaj)e, unless they should 
 come upon some vessel. I>iit in that dense fog 
 such a hope was iaint indeed. Even in broad day 
 their situation would have been dangerous, but 
 now it was nothing less than desperate. These 
 thoughts low came to each of them, and they 
 said nothing, but they still worked, as if mechan- 
 ically, at the oars. 
 
 Suddenly something dark loomed immediately 
 before them through the fog, and in a few seconds, 
 as the swift tide bore them nearer, they saw rocks 
 and sea-weed. 
 
64 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 " Hurrah ! " cried Pat. " It's the island, afther 
 all." 
 
 But at that moment the great fog whistle sent 
 forth its blast, which sounded far away over the 
 waters. 
 
 '' 'Tain't the island, ayther, sure enough," said 
 Pat. " I wondher if it's the shore." 
 
 By this time they were close up to the rocks, 
 and Pat leaped off. It was not deeper than his 
 Avaist. Phil followed, and they pulled the boat 
 forward. It was a shelving ledge of rock, covered 
 with sea-weed ; and drawing the boat as far up on 
 this as they could, they stood still, and rested, and 
 looked around. 
 
 But little could bo seen, for tlie fog was thick, 
 and shut out all except wliat was within their 
 immediate vicinity. Nothing but rocks and sea- 
 weed appeared. The rocks were rude and jagged 
 crags, upheaved in wild disorder, with huge boul- 
 ders lying in the interstices and hollows. Over all 
 these was a vast accumulation of sea-weed. 
 
 " It's ashore somewhere that we must be," said 
 Pat ; " but where it is I don't know at all, at all, so 
 I don't ; somewhere on the Carleton shore, so it 
 is. The island's over there, and this ought to be 
 the baich. I'll tell you what I'll do. You stay 
 here by the boat, and I'll go off and see if I can 
 make out anything." 
 
 Saying this, Pat started off to explore the rocks 
 and see the country. Phil sat down on the wet 
 
WHERE ARE WE? 
 
 65 
 
 sea-weed, liolding the painter. Ilis heart was full 
 of fervent gratitude for liis astonishing escape, 
 and as his memory Ijrought back the terrible 
 events that had ha})pened since he left the island, 
 a prayer of thankfuhiess was breathed forth from 
 his inmost soul to the One who had preserved 
 him. 
 
 In a short time Pat returned. He looked dis- 
 appointed, vexed, and somewhat puzzled. 
 
 it We're not on the baich at all,'' said he, in a 
 tone of vexation. 
 
 '' Where are we — on an island? " 
 
 *' Niver an island," said Pat. " It's a rock that 
 we're on. It's what they call a rafe. But what it 
 is I don't know. It's big enough, and ryns over 
 iver so far. Anyhow, w(^'re not far from the har- 
 bor, or from the island. If I ony knowed how far 
 we were from the shore, I'd like it better. But 
 I can't see anything, or hear anything of it." 
 
 " Perhaps we're close by the shore," said Phil. 
 
 " No ; I'll tell you where it is. I have it. I 
 knowed it," cried Pat. " I was sure of it, ony I 
 couldn't get hold of it. Ye know that rafe lying 
 off the Carleton shore — Shad liocks ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Phil. 
 
 "Well, it's that same that this place is; and 
 we're standin here now, so we are, as sure as 
 you're alive." 
 
 " Shad Rocks ! " cried Phil. " Shad Rocks ! " 
 
 " Shad Rocks it is," said Pat, " an no other place. 
 5 
 
G6 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 All now I uiKniorstun it all. Out tliero is the say," 
 said Pat, turning and facing where he supposed 
 the sea to be. " Up there on the lift is Partridge 
 Island, where ye hear the staim whistle, and back 
 there's the Carleton shore." 
 
 This discovery cheered them both greatly ; and 
 the moment that Pat suggested this, everything 
 confirmed it. The sounds of whistles in various 
 directions could now be identified with various 
 steamboats with which they were acquainted, while 
 the lowing of cattle and the reports of guns in 
 other directions showed where the land was. 
 
 They now looked forward with perfect calmness 
 towards escaping. Before very long the tide had 
 retreated far enough to leave the boat exposed. 
 The first thing that they did was to turn her over 
 and set her right. They then put inside her the 
 oars, which had saved their lives in the falls, and 
 which they had fortunately brought with them all 
 the time of their drift on the bottom of the boat. 
 This gave them the means of effecting their es- 
 cape. 
 
 All that they now had to do was to wait till the 
 boat could float .again. As near as they could 
 calculate, the tide would not be back again suffi- 
 ciently to float the boat until eight o'clock in the 
 evening. They had therefore nothing to do but 
 to wait as patiently as possible. They were wet 
 and hungry ; but in that midsummer day, the wet 
 did not make them at all cold, and in the course 
 
WITHOUT FOOD ANIl 3HKLTER. 
 
 67 
 
 of time their clothes dried upon tliem; and as to 
 hunger, they were too niucli overjoyed at their 
 escape to make any allusions to such a trivial 
 thing. They amused themselves by hunting after 
 shrimps in the interstices of the rocks and in the 
 water pools that lay aliout. 
 
 Thus the time passed, and at length the tide 
 rose high enough to float the boat. Fortunately 
 for them also, the fog lessened somewhat, and thus 
 they were able to direct their course much more 
 easily. 8oon they were on the waters again, row- 
 ing along, assisted now by the rising tide, and thus 
 finally succeeded in reaching their destination. 
 
 On arriving at the house, they learned about the 
 search of Bart and his father. They had not yet 
 got home. Servants were at once sent to tell them 
 the news, and it was at the very lowest point of 
 their despondency that the tidin^^d c^uub that the 
 lost were found. 
 
G8 
 
 in\r,i IN Tin-: woods. 
 
 V. 
 
 Fliijht of Solomon. — In Ili(fin(j. — SoJo)non is hwh 
 self iKjain. — Up the Itircr. — TIn'oiKjh the Coun- 
 try. — A lon<j Drive. — Jn Indian ViUa(je. — An 
 Indian Guide. — Prcpatinij for the Kvpedition. 
 
 niFi iov \\\\ich rat and IMiil liad I'olt ovor 
 tlu-ir salcty was cortaiiilv not groator tl:an 
 that oi" liart, as the lost ones wcro at Kmij:;IIi 
 rostorod. His inlcnso anxiety Avas lollowcd l»y a 
 happiness as intense, and his excited lecdings 
 resulted in a soniewliat slec^pless night. Hut in 
 tlio wakel'ul hours of (hat night liis mind was taken 
 up hy other tilings than tht^ aflairs of Phil and 
 I'at, and his thoughts reverted to the earlier ev(Mits 
 ot'tluit day, to Loch Lomond, and to Solomon. lie 
 still wondtMvd at Solomon's ])rceipitato and mys- 
 terious retr(Mt, and obstinate staving away from tlu» 
 fjouso. It lotiked as though Solomon did not want 
 to goon the exju'dition: yet he felt in his own 
 heart, that without Solomon the expiMlition would 
 lose its chief charm. Conseipiently Solomon must 
 go. IJut how could he oviM'conu^ ins ohjections? 
 It would be necessary to sco Iiini at once, to drivo 
 
FTjnnT or soi.omon. 
 
 69 
 
 out to Locli riOinoiul ;is early ns possiMo tlu^ noxt 
 
 moriir.ip;. 
 
 Tlio noxt morning' lio was np early in spite of 
 liis sle(>pless liiglit, and swallowini;* a lew hasty 
 nioutlif'ulrt, he hurried to the hain to see Jihout 
 harnessinjj; the horse. 'Vho harness was ])ut on, 
 tiie horse was already stancHng hetwecn tlu* slialts, 
 Jiart was wati'hing- the preparations impatiently, 
 standing in the doorway of the barn, when, sud- 
 denly, he I'elt his siiouider touched. 
 
 Ill' turned at onet\ 
 
 Jle stood thunderstnick ! 
 
 Vor there, elose beside him, full before him, was 
 no otIuM- than tlu^ actual real botlily j)reseneo of 
 SoIt)mon himself , * 
 
 Jiart was so amazed, that for some time he could 
 not utter one single word. 
 
 ** Solomon ! '' he exclaimed at last. 
 
 At this, Solomon held u|) both hands with a 
 warning gesture and a face full of fearful a|)pre- 
 hension. 'I'he look and g(\sture Wi)uld have been 
 in every way appropriati* to some criminal hiding 
 frt»m the law, and fearful of discovery; but it was 
 utterly out of placi» in one so virtmms and so 
 honoriMl as the vciuM'able Solomon. This incon- 
 gruity was felt by Hart, and only added tw his 
 amazement. 
 
 " When did yon eonn» ? " 
 
 Solomon retreated behind the door, dragging 
 Bart after iiini. 
 
70 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 " Last niglit," he answered. 
 
 "Lastniglit? How?" 
 
 " I '.valkerl ebery step — I did." 
 
 " Walked ? " 
 
 " Yes, ebery step. 1 rund away, y{;ii fcwow." 
 
 " Ran away ? What do you mean ? " 
 
 Solomon's eyes rolled wildly; he looked all 
 around. 
 
 " DrefTul doins out dar. DrefTul i)laee. An dar's 
 no noins what would liab ebber become ob me ef 
 you didn't liab come yesterday. I'd been a pinin 
 an a whinin in Gypsum bondage, but couldn't get 
 away. She kept tight hole ob me, — mine, I tell 
 you, — an she'll be arter me to-day, mighty quick, 
 — ony you keep me lijd, Mas'r Bart. Don't gib nie 
 up ; don't let her take me." 
 
 "She? Pier?" replied Bart, to whom all this 
 was quite unintelligible. " What do you mean? 
 What woman are you speaking of? " 
 
 " Black Betsy," said Solomon, with a groan and 
 another i'earful roll of the eyes. 
 
 " Black Betsy? Why, what has she to do with 
 you ? " asked Bart, in wonder. 
 
 " Why, she my wife, you know." 
 
 "Your wife? Your what ? Your wife?" cried 
 Bart. " What ! Black Betsy ! You married to 
 Black Betsy ! What in the world do you mean by 
 this ? When were you married ? Last week ? " 
 
 " Ben mar'd ober twenty year," said Solomon, 
 dolefully. 
 
IN HIDING. 71 
 
 Tliis was a period of renioto anti(|iiity with 
 wliicli Burt liad no connection, and he could only 
 listen in amazement to Solomon's strange and 
 startling disclosure. He had never heard of this 
 before. lie had no idea that Solomon had a wife, 
 or that Black Betsy had a husband. lint this 
 thing re(|uired examination, and meanwhile the 
 liorse was all ready. As lor the horse, he could 
 only give orders to have him taken out, and then 
 he was able to bestow his undivided attention 
 upon Solomon. 
 
 " Ben mar'd mor'n twenty year," replied Solomon, 
 dolefully. " An you nebber see sech a strorny 
 creetur in all your born <lays. Fight ? Why, dat 
 ar woman did nullin but fight from morn "to night, 
 all de vear roun. An drunk? Whv, she nebl>er 
 sober, night or day; an de life she led me ! Beat? 
 Why, she beat me black and blue; so I nuid off 
 to sea, and a bressed ting it was, for I ben dead 
 an gone long ago. Den I lieerd she gone t)if 
 Boston way, an I come back ycr, an den went to 
 de Cadmy. Well, I got a mar'd darter out Loch 
 Lomon way, an I come vim* dis time to si'c her and 
 do chil'en ; an dar was IJctsv. She nabbed me. 
 She beat my life out, made mv a slabe, and I done 
 inifKn but grub about ebber since I come yar. 
 Beat? Why, ebery day she jtound me to a jelly. 
 Clar if she didn't ! An de way she did lay dat ar 
 big broomstick ober dis ole head. De sakes, ony 
 to tink ob it." 
 
72 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 From all of which Bart learned that Black Betsy 
 was the wife of Solomon; that her character, accord- 
 ing to his showing, was by no means tliat gentle, 
 and affectionate, and motherly one wliich he had 
 supposed it to he ; that her life was disorderly, and 
 her conduct outrageous ; that she was in the 
 habit of getting drunk ; that Solomon had to nin 
 away from her years ago, and become an exile and 
 a wanderer; that it was only his yearning after 
 his daughter that had drawn him back ; that, on 
 meeting his daugliter, he had found himself, to his 
 horror, once more in the presence of his merciless 
 wife, who had at once seized him, n})])ropriated 
 him, beaten him, and reduced him to a state of 
 abject slavery. From this slavery ho had just 
 escaped. lie now appeared before Bart in the 
 attitude of a fugitive slave, dreading discovery 
 and capture, im])loring Bart's sympathy and assist- 
 ance, and eager, above all things, to fly far away, 
 and follow the ibrtunes of the boys on a new 
 expedition ; once more to join the ranks of the 
 B. 0. W. C. ; once more to ofhciate as Grand Pan- 
 jandrum; once more to furnish forth the ban(|uet ; 
 once more to sail under the orders of Captain 
 Corbet. 
 
 Solomon's p(>siti(»n was a truly painful on(», and 
 excited l^art's profoundest sympathy ; but there 
 were other things in his position which were not 
 altogether painlul. In the first place, ho was 
 delighted to find that, whatever the reason might 
 
 I 
 
SOLOMON IS HIMSELF AGAIN. 
 
 73 
 
 I 
 
 be, Solomon's eagerness to set forlli upon the ex- 
 pedition was equal to his own, if not greater. In 
 the second ])lace, Solomon wislied to remain in 
 hiding, and implored Bart to conceal him and keep 
 his secret. So Bart found himself suddenly called 
 on to become the benefactor and protector of a 
 cherished friend, and also the depositary of a tre- 
 mendous secret, which he had to guard like his 
 heart's blood. It was a secret which nnist bo com- 
 municated to none, not even to Phil and Pat, not 
 to his father or mother, in fact, not to any living 
 soul. Fortunately, the servant had not seen Sol- 
 ouion, for that wary old party had discovered him- 
 self to Bart so cautiously, and had drawn him back 
 into the barn to talk to him so carefully, that he 
 had not been seen. 
 
 So Bart undertook the task. lie found a safe 
 place for Solomon behind tlu^ hay, and at regular 
 intervals through the day he brouglit him food 
 and drink. Tliese regular intervals occurred so 
 frequently, that Bai't sjient tlie gnniter part of 
 that day in vibrating like a pendulum between 
 the house and barn. Had v^olomon remained in 
 this hi(ling-j>lace for any length of time, it is cer- 
 tain that Bart's assiduous attcMitions and air of 
 mystery would have led to a discovery ; but as it 
 happened, the concealment was not needed for 
 any longer time. 
 
 All that day, while Bart had been thus perform- 
 ing the part of a faithful friend, he had also been 
 
f 
 
 74 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 forwarding to tlio utmost tlio preparations for the 
 coming journey. Tliosc preparations consisted 
 cliiefiy in fisliing-taekle of various kinds. One 
 day was quite suilieient for this, and so, on the day 
 after, the wliole party left. Tlieir departure took 
 plai'e at sunrise. Solomon had lelt helore them, 
 and had gone in the early morning twilight to the 
 steamer in which they were to emhark, where he 
 had concealed himself behind a row of flour bar- 
 rels. At seven o'clock the boat started. The 
 boys walked forward, and there, to the utter 
 amazement of Pliil and Pat, the first object that 
 met their eyes was Solomon. They had only heard 
 Bart's account of his unsuccessful visit, and had 
 given him up. But now he appeared, radiant, 
 joyous, ecstatic ; and though a large, white smouch 
 was over his right cheek, caused by his lying 
 down with his face pressed against a flour barrel, 
 yet that white spt)t did not at all detract from the 
 exultant and trium])liant expression that over- 
 spread his face. His little black beads of eyes 
 twinkled with deliglit; his legs went hopping up 
 from the deck in all directions; and he would 
 certainly then and there have indulged in a real, 
 original, genuine, ])Iantation break-down, had not 
 rheumati/ gently reiuinde(l him that there were 
 limits to the exercise of his muscular ])owers. 
 
 The route which they took to the ]5ay de Cha- ■< 
 
 leur was a])parently a roundabout one ; but in 
 reality it was the shortest way to get to their 
 
I 
 
 ■ i 
 
 J 
 
 t 
 
 UP TFIE RIVER. 75 
 
 destination. First they went up tlie river St. 
 John, and after a time they intended to turn off 
 into tlie country. 
 
 As they sailed up that beautiful river, they 
 gazed with admiration upon the varying scenes 
 that opened upon tlieni every moment. With that 
 river and its features Bart was quite familiar; 
 but the others had never seen it before, and were 
 never tired of looking out upon the surrounding 
 valley. First of all they found themselves in a 
 narrow gorge shut in by precipices. Emerging 
 from this, they entered a broad expanse of water 
 looking like an extensive lake. Traversing this, 
 the river narrowed again, and the sheet of water 
 ran on before their eyes in a straight line.for many 
 miles, with high hills, some wooded, some culti- 
 vated on either side. Passing on, they left this 
 behind ; and now the course of the river was a 
 winding one, leading them on amidst varied sce- 
 nery of high hills and fertile valleys. Beyond 
 this, again, the high hills departed, and a broad 
 extent of mea(h>w land, dotted with groves and 
 orchards and white farm-houses, and covered over 
 with luxuriant vegetation, spread away on every 
 side as far as the eye could reach. Here the 
 scene was not so varied as it had been at first, 
 but it was rich and glorious, showing to them a 
 favored land, a land flowing with milk and honey. 
 This rich and fertile land continued till the 
 steamer stopped at Fredericton. 
 
76 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 Here they passed the night, and hired a car- 
 riage to take them to tlie River Miramichi,a place 
 which hiy on the way between Fredericton and 
 the Bay de Chaleur. 
 
 Oil the following morning they crossed the 
 ferry, and after a short drive they reached an- 
 other river, a branch of the St. John, which re- 
 j(3ices in the name of the Nashwaak. The river 
 was small, but they thought it one of the most 
 beautiful that they had ever seen. High hills 
 covered with forests arose on everv side, now 
 coming up close and shutting in the waters, again 
 3ceding and leaving rich meadow lands, through 
 which the river flowed with many a winding. 
 
 At midday they stopped at a pretty little inn by 
 the road-side, and beguiled the time during which 
 they had to wait for dinner by trying their hands 
 at trouting. Bart and Phil caught two small trout 
 apiece ; Pat hooked one ; while Solomon actually 
 landed a salmon — an event which created intense 
 excitement in the whole party. 
 
 In the evening they reached another pl.ace, 
 where they stopi)ed for the night. The next 
 day they resumed their journey, and in the after- 
 noon arrived at the village of Chatham, which is 
 situated on the banks of the River Miramichi. 
 
 And now the boys made a discovery, which, 
 strangely enough, had not suggested itself before. 
 It was the simple fact that they had started alto- 
 gether too soon. This was the third of August, 
 
THROUGH THE COUNTRY. 77 
 
 but the Rawdons and Tom would not meet tliem 
 until the fifteenth. Tliere was therefore nearly 
 a fortni^lit's time on their hands. No thouglit of 
 regret, however, arose in tlie minds of any of 
 them ; but the fact that they had so much time to 
 spare, at once set them all to work to contrive 
 some way of enjoying themselves. Various sug- 
 gestions were made. One was, that they should 
 visit tlie different settlements in all the country 
 around ; another, tliat they should go straight to 
 Shippegan, get a schooner or a fishing-boat, and 
 explore the Bay de Chaleur. Both of these plans, 
 however, were rejected, in favor of the superior 
 attractions of a third plan. 
 
 This was, to plunge into the woods,' wander 
 about, fish, explore, and rough it generally. They 
 could take a little stock of provisions with them, 
 but trust chiefly to the fish which they might 
 catch. They could build camps, and sleep in 
 them, and cook their fish themselves by their own 
 fires. Bart spoke to the landlord about the feasi- 
 bility of this plan, and that worthy a])proved of 
 it highly, but told them that they would have to 
 take some Indian guide with them. 
 
 Had the guide been English, Irish, Scotch, or 
 American, the boys would probably have felt some 
 objections ; but being an Indian, the idea had 
 overpowering fascinations for them. There was 
 a dash of romance about an Indian guide that lent 
 additional attractions to the proposed excursion. 
 
78 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 The landlord informed them that there waR an In. 
 dian settlement opposite, and that if they went 
 over there they mig-ht find a guide, and make a 
 bargain with him. 
 
 All this was settled on the evening of the day in 
 which they had arrived, and early on the follow- 
 ing morning they crossed the river on a visit to 
 the Indian settlement, in search of a guide. 
 
 The Indian settlement was not a very extensive 
 one. It consisted of about a dozen wigwams. 
 These camps care constructed of poles set together 
 in a conical shape, and covered over with birch 
 bark, a substance that with tliem is made to serve 
 a wonderful number of purposes. On entering 
 the settlement, a number of dogs came up and 
 smelt them very deliberately. They saw a num- 
 ber of children, who, at their approach, darted 
 inside the nearest camp. Old squaws were busy 
 cooking. One or two Indians were engaged in 
 making baskets. The whdle scene had a peaceful, 
 primitive, and romantic character. It was clean, 
 too ; for though an Indian camp has no architectu- 
 ral pretensions, yet it rarely gives forth those 
 overpowering odors which are encountered on 
 approaching many of the houses of the more civ- 
 ilized races. 
 
 An Indian advanced to meet the boys. 
 
 " Good day, brother," said Bart ; for in this coun- 
 try it is the fashion to address an Indian by this 
 fraternal title. 
 
AN INDIAN GUIDE. 79 
 
 " Good day, brodor," said the Indian, in a friend- 
 ly way. 
 
 He was rather old, fearfully wrinkled, and his 
 lon^, coarse hair reached to his shoulders. As 
 Bart looked at him, it struck him that this man 
 would be a most desirable guide ; his age made 
 him trustworthy, while, at the same time, his sturdy 
 frame and sinewy limbs sliowed that he possessed 
 all the powers of endurance that might be desired. 
 
 With these thoughts Bart made known to him 
 the object of his visit. As he sf)oke, the other 
 Indians listened with much interest, and addressed 
 remarks to one another, accom[)anied with glances 
 at the boys, which seemed to afford them great 
 amusement ; for smiles came over their grave 
 faces, and some of the younger squaws giggled, 
 and numbers of little heads wore pokcnl out 
 through the doors of several wigwams, and num- 
 bers of little sparkling black wild eyes were fixed 
 upon the visitors to the camp. 
 
 The Indian whom they had accosted thought for 
 some time over Bart's question, and then ad(b'essed 
 some remarks to the others. Some conversation 
 followed, which, of course, was not intelligible to 
 the boys, since it was carried on in the language 
 of these Indians. At length the one whom Bart 
 was talking with informed him that he would be 
 willing to go himself as guide. 
 
 " Me go ; me go ; takum you troom wood. Mo 
 good guide, fus rate ; go often. My name Sam." 
 
80 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 At this Bart was overjoyed. 
 
 "You wantum slioot?" asked the Indian. 
 
 " No/' said Bart, with a feeling of intense re- 
 gret, " only to fish." 
 
 " Berry well, fishiim ; all same. Me show all 
 aboutum. When you go ? " 
 
 Bart said that he wanted to set out that very 
 day, if he could. 
 
 " Me all ready," said Sam. " Go now, or to-mor- 
 row ; all same." 
 
 Upon this Bart said that they would go back to 
 get their things, and return by noon, when they 
 might all set out together. 
 
 They now went back and gathered together 
 the things that they considered necessary. The 
 Indian went over with them. After further con- 
 versation Avith Sam, Bart thought that it would be 
 better to drive for about twenty miles, and then 
 take to the woods. That would save them a long 
 and useless tramp, and bring them at once to the 
 very scene of action. 
 
A LONG DRIVE, AND A LONG WALK. 81 
 
 I 
 
 VI. 
 
 A long Drive, and a long Walk. — TJie wild Woods. 
 
 — An Encampment.—- The blazing Fire.~Lo! 
 the poor Indian. - The Wolf and the Watch-dog. 
 
 — The Spring of the Wild Beast. — Solomon to the 
 Rescue.— A light, and a Flight. 
 
 'FTER a drive of about twenty miles, they 
 came to a place where the road turned off 
 towards the east. They had been heading 
 thus ftir in a northerly direction, and at this turn- 
 mg-off place a path went from the road in the same 
 northerly direction in which it had gone. At this 
 place they got out of the wagon, and prepared to 
 follow their guide into the woods. Each one took 
 the load which he had already made up for him- 
 self, and the wagon then returned. 
 
 They did not care to burden themselves too 
 greatly upon this expedition, and so the load which 
 each one took was as light as possible. Bart, Phil 
 and Pat had each a basket slung from the neck' 
 and a fishing-rod. In each basket was a parcel of 
 ham sandwiches, which they had procured at the 
 mn, with the intention of using them as a kind of 
 relish, in addition to their ordinary wood fare 
 
 6 
 
82 FTUE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 Solomon contented, liinisolt* witli a basket only. 
 His fishing Jii)j)ariitus he carricMl in his pocket. Ho 
 wasn't gwine to Ixxlder his oie head, hi' said, with 
 dom poles — he could cat one in the wo( Is when 
 lie wanted one, and thiow it away when he got 
 tired of it. Solomon's years seemed to he adverse 
 to his taking ]»art in an expedition like this, hut in 
 spite of this he waddled along quite as fast as any 
 of them. One [)recaution he had taken which none 
 of the rest had considered necessary, and that was, 
 to bring with him a check shawl, which IJart had 
 lent him. This he did for fear of his ever watch- 
 ful enemy, the rlu>umati/.. 
 
 The path was at first very well beaten; but after 
 about a mile or so, it gradually faded aw ay, and the 
 track that they followed after this was so faint as 
 to be scarcely discernible. The woods consisted 
 chiefly of pine trees, with birch and maple inter- 
 nii.xed. None of these trees were very large, and 
 they did not see any of those forest giants which 
 had met their view in other phu^es. In simie [>lace8 
 the underbrush was very dense, but in other places 
 there was scarcely a Sometimes the ground 
 
 was quite bare and slippery with the accumuiaiion 
 of pine 8[)ires that had fidlcn there; again, they 
 came to immense growths of fern ; and yet again 
 to the young growth of the forest trees, spiinging 
 in wild luxurianct , all tangled an<l matted together. 
 
 At length even the faint outline of a path which 
 they hud been traversing for some time liided away, 
 
^^^^^^amtm ■ I ^TPP^w 
 
 
 THE WILD WOODS. 83 
 
 and they wiilk(3<l on after the guide, witlioiit fol- 
 lowinj;- any patli at all. The la.ri was quite level. 
 They Ibund no hills, and no rocks even. Sometimes 
 a fallen tree lay in iront of them, but it was never 
 of sullicient size to create any ol)8tacle. The chief 
 irrej^ularities in the ground were caused by an 
 occasional mound, that schemed to mark the place 
 where a tree had once been. Frc(iuently thev 
 came to little brooks that babl)led along beneath 
 the trees, their borders overgrown with moss; 
 and often they came to bogs and swamps, in some 
 of which they got wet enough to ucijuire a very 
 good Ibretaste of the experiences that now lay be- 
 fore them. But this was a trifle beneath their 
 consideration, and the ease with which .they ad- 
 vanced filled them all with the greatest delight. 
 
 At length they came tea stof). 
 
 It was in the midst of a pine forest. Overhead, 
 the trees interlaced their branches. Beneath, the 
 ground was dry, and covered with slippciry pine 
 spires. It was a slight declivity, and at the bot. 
 torn a brook ran along. No better place could be 
 wished than this for a inght's rest. 
 
 '' (lood place dis," said Sam ; ** him dry — alecp- 
 um safe — wakum all well." 
 
 Tlie boys were all very well pleased to find their 
 march at an cnid. Tiu^y had been o!i the steady 
 tramp for at least two hours, and had pcMietrated 
 far into the forest. Already the sky above wa« 
 overcast, and the forest shaduB were deepening. 
 
84 FIRK IN TIIK WOODS. 
 
 All thinp^H ])ot()k{;n(j(l tlio }i]i{)roucli of evening uinl 
 of ni}i;lit. 
 
 Tliey flung down tlii'ir l»ask(;ta an<l poloH, and 
 thon flung lliciusclvtjs down too, and stretcdiod 
 tlioir W(iarv iinihs n|»on tlie ground. Solomon took 
 ofT his basket, and put it down in a nion; l(Msurely 
 fashion, and took up more tiiue in dejiositing his 
 own agecl fViiuu^ upon the ground. 
 
 " Well, boys," said IJait, afler a short tiiue of 
 rest, in which he had si retched iiimself an<l yawniMl 
 to his heait's conleiit, " it's all very W( II to sit 
 down and rest, but it's rather dark hero under the 
 trees, and it's going to be darker, and we can't ex- 
 pect to g(!t to sleep for at IcMst a couple of hours. 
 How c:in wo niiiiiiige to exist, sitting hert; in tla^ 
 daik ? I'm sure; I can't for on(^; so let's make a fire." 
 
 T\n\ pidposal was at once adopted with the ut- 
 most eageriu?ss. They had all felt a certain degnMi 
 of cheerlessn((ss, and diil not know ox ^tly what 
 the caUiM' was; but now they saw that it was tln^ 
 darkness, and tlujy knew that any frii^ndly fir»;'ight, 
 liowever small, would make all the dillerenc^e in 
 the worhl. 
 
 Thin' now distriltute*! themselves in (bflVrent 
 dire<rtions for the sake of procuring futd. ITndor 
 that pine forest it was not very easy to find any. 
 At length, by dint oi car(d'ul search and unweary- 
 ing industry, tlu'y succeeded in gathering a very 
 respe(!tai)le amount, wlii<'h they deposited in a heap 
 near tho place where they had first Bat down. The 
 
 >' 
 
 ■<:> 
 
TIIK ni.AZlXf! FIRK. 85 
 
 wood wbioli tlioy tlius p;atliorc(l was not very prom- 
 ising. W!i;it was dry was rotten twip:s, and wliat 
 was sound was {j^rccn wood; hut tli('y<li«l not coui- 
 [)l!iin. In order to liml a Incl that was midway 
 hotwccn these; two extreiru^s, they went off at'tcir 
 pine l)niuelies. 'I'lies<i they rut from th(; smalh'r 
 trees with tlieir pocket knives. '^Flien they pitli- 
 orvA some ])ino eones iind hils of (hy hark, and 
 with tli(!se sueeeechMl in kindiin;:; a fire. Over tins 
 they put the dry twi^s, then the pine hrMiiehes, 
 and last of all tlui j2:reen wood. The fir(^ thus 
 earelully prepared was cpiite a sueeess; the (lames 
 rose up merrily, an<l soon the I'ricjndly hiaze illu- 
 uhikmI the ^atln^'in;:; |i:l()oni. 
 
 Artmnd this they now sat, and partook'of their 
 (ivenin;:; repast. The repast consisted of ham 
 sandwichi's, and their diink was water t'n>m the 
 nei}i;IilMU'in;j:; hrook. 
 
 While th(\v woA'i) seated round tlu^ firr; they no- 
 ticed that their ^uid(! drew lorlh a hiack Junk 
 hottle, and hepm to take litr^cj and frecpient 
 (h*auj:;hts from it. TIm^ smell sIiowjmI tlu^m plainly 
 that it was spirits, and this discov(»ry lllleil them 
 all with uneasiiK^ss. They were afraid that thiur 
 ^uide would make himself drunk at the very out- 
 wet of tludr expedition ; and if so, what could they 
 do with ii <lrunken Indian? Sam had prohahly 
 procure(l the villanous '"fire-water" when ho 
 crossed with them to Chatham, hefore starting, 
 and had hro\ip:ht it iierci with tlio (express purpuso 
 of swallowing the whole of it that night. 
 
86 FIRE IN THK WOODS. 
 
 The eirccts of tlio intoxicating^ liquor wcro soon 
 only too appsiront. ITo hejj^iin to talk with Kuch 
 volnhiiity that his ]>r()k(m English was scarrcly 
 int(!l!ip:il>lo. As far as thoy could make out, ho 
 was trying to t(3ll thoni ahout the hcst |)Iac(;s there 
 were for fishinpj and shooting:;, and illustrating his 
 remarks with incoherent anecdot(!s ahout various 
 parties which he had accompanied throu^^h these 
 forcists. 
 
 But as ho went on he jj^rew mon' and more ex- 
 citinl, and at len^^th pivc; up broken Kn^lish,and 
 spoke to them in his own laii^ua^c. Of course; this 
 made him totally unint(dlifj;iltl(^ There was now 
 something that S(;emed to tluMu uncanny in the 
 si^ht of tiiis man, as he sat there, half out of his 
 senses, talkinj^ at them vociferously and voluhly 
 in his unintelli^ihh^ jarp)n. It put an end to all 
 their own conversation, and to all tiM'ir i)l(?asure. 
 It was had (;nou|j,h to bo here; hut to h(; hero 
 with a drunken Indian, a cnv/.y savage, was too 
 much. 
 
 But the Indian ke|)t on. TTo still applicil the 
 hotthi to his lips at short intervals, and continued his 
 wild gahhh' as Ixd'ore. At first, Ik; ha<l heen sp(;ak- 
 injjj to tluMn, and now ho s(;em(;<l to 1m» ad<lressing 
 his rt;marks to sparse; for his eyes were not any 
 longer turned towards them, hut wcM'i; rolling in 
 all directions, — soUH'times resting on the; trees, 
 sometimes on the lire. Tie grew nn»ro and more 
 excited. Holding the bottle in one huudj he 
 
I.O! TFIK POOH INDIAN. 
 
 87 
 
 gwiiii«^ it arwmd, mihI witli tlu^ other ho made 
 encM'gotic gcsturt^s, which \\v used to f^ivc cmplisv 
 His to his sttitemt'iits. His voice also gra(hially 
 chaij;;('(l. At first it was natural ; and so \ou^ as 
 he spoke Knj:;lis}i, there had heen notiiing in it to 
 excite particular jittcMition ; hut when lie broke 
 forth in his nativi^ lanp;uiige, it pjrew deei>er and 
 more j^utfural, and strMn;j^(n* and more l»arl)ari(\ 
 
 The K)nj^ Indian monotones and drawl hecame 
 intensilicd hy him, and was devcdopcd into some- 
 thing that sounded like a strangi;, uncNUthly chant ; 
 and this (i(!rce sing-song (diant only served to 
 increase; the wild and savage efre(;t of tin; whole. 
 
 Here, then, were the hoys, in the midst of the 
 lonely forest, Wxri) to face with a drnnkcif Indian. 
 The fire was (himing up, and its hia/e shone u|)on 
 the Indiiin, ami threw a halelul glow upon his 
 dusky fiice. lie; sat op[)osit«! to thenj, his long 
 hair tangled and mnttetl, his hrows contracted, his 
 bright, Idiick eyes rolling restlessly in their orbits, 
 th(; dee|)-wriidvle(l face revealetl with startling 
 distinctnc'ss against the; diirk background of the 
 forest, and siiowing all tln^ incessant working of 
 its nnisides, and the ra|>id play of its features. 
 With his bottle c]ut<duMl in one hand, and the other 
 hand making fierce gesticuliitions, all the; time he 
 k(;pt howling out unintidligible sounds in a whiin'ng 
 guttural — a monot(tn«»us, but furious sing-song 
 chant. Such was the scene beflire them; and it 
 wus riu Wonder that it excited some uneasiness. 
 
88 FIllE IN TTIE WOODS. 
 
 What could tlioy do ? 
 
 They did not know. 
 
 VVIuit would this Indian do? 
 
 This also they could not know. 
 
 There was nothing- in his appearance that could 
 reassure them. Every moment he pjrew worse 
 and worse. If this sort of* tiling went on much 
 lon^(?r, he mijjjht j;row violent enough to make an 
 attack u[)on them. Already Iks looked i'jir more 
 like a wild heast than a human hein^. The mad- 
 deninp^ I'umes of the li(pu)r nuiiiht (excite the nat- 
 ural ferocity of his race, ami ur}j:;e him on to deeds 
 of horror. 'J'hey ha<l no security whatev(;r against 
 such a sus])icion, and no means whatever of de- 
 fending tluMnselves from any sudden attack. 
 
 As for Solomon, \h) had been watching the In- 
 dian most attentively all this tinu;, and the sight 
 of this wild associate had jiroduciMl upon him 
 quite as strong an elfect as upon the hoys, though 
 of a totally <lin'erent kind. Had the hoys not heeu 
 so fascinated hy the Indian as to be unable to 
 withdraw their ga/.e, and had they looked at Sol- 
 omon, they would hav(^ been astonished at the 
 change that had suddenly come over him. 
 
 lie had Ikm'Ii seated a little in the background, 
 in a lazy, reclim'ng posture, when his atfention was 
 aroused by the conduct of the Indian. l\i\ started 
 up and sat erect I'or a time. Then, as the Indian 
 grew worse, he became more excited. II(; rose 
 up on his knees, and remained in that position — 
 
 r1 
 
 1 1 
 ; 
 
1'^ 
 
 LO ! THK I'OOli INDIAN. 89 
 
 watclirul und ea^or. At leiij^lli, ;is tlu; Iiidijin 
 grew iDon^ iurious, tlio exc'it(3in()nt of Solomon iii- 
 crcascMl to a proportionate dcp'ot^. Ifo r(»se j^rad- 
 iially to liis loct, and stood tlioio, eager, attentive, 
 vigilant ; every nerv(i on the str(;teli ; liis body 
 advanced, liis arms bent, liis lists (;lin<;lied, liis 
 brows eontraeted, bis lips compress(Ml, bis (»yeH 
 kindling witb a dnil gl(»w; sind as tbe flames illu- 
 mined bis dusky jiice anil figure, tbey revealed a 
 BJgbt wbieb was (piite as impressive as tbat otber 
 spectacle upon wbi(di tbe (!yes of tbe boys were 
 fiistened. 
 
 Tbe old man was tianslormed. He was no 
 longer tbe sbambling, free and easy, indolent, gab- 
 bling, ridiculous, afl'tictionate, rbeumatiw, potter- 
 ing, and ap])arently feeble old Solomon, wbom tbo 
 boys bud known and loved. IFo was cbanged. 
 He was anotbor being. As tbe feeble woman is 
 roused to fren/y, and be<'omes transformecl at tbe 
 approach of <langer to her child, so Solomon, at 
 tbe suspicion of" possibb; danger to bis boys, bis 
 " chickens," his " chiren," whom he loved with all 
 the strength and devotion of his faithful and all'ec- 
 tionate old heart, drop|)ed his old self altogether. 
 He became changed into tln^ fierce, watchful, vigi- 
 lant champion and defend(M' of those whom he 
 loved, i'erbaps tlien^ was also some of tbe sav- 
 agery of his African bliuKJ, and the natural ferocity 
 of bis race, which, long sbnnbering, bad burst 
 forth at that moment, at tbe impulse of his brother 
 
90 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 savage. Cut as it is difliciilt to iinngino any taint 
 of savap^ory, liowcver faint, in one like Solomon, 
 his ])rostMit attitude may best l)e aecounted for on 
 tlie ground of his living watchfulness over the 
 boys. 
 
 At any rate, tlicre he stood, firm as a roek, and 
 rigid as steel, — like a watch-dog awaiting the 
 onset of the wolf. His " rheumatiz " was for- 
 got in the excitement of that treuK^ndous moment, 
 just as the soldier, in the ar<h)i' of battle, is uncon- 
 scious of dangerous wounds. 
 
 At hmgth a crisis a|)})roached. 
 
 The Indian had gone on as before, growing more 
 and more furious everv UionuMit. Ilis eves lolled 
 fearfully. lie had drunk most of the contents of 
 the bottle, and his brain was on fii'e. Ilis voice 
 grew hoarser and hoarser, liis gestures more vio- 
 lent, and Ilis manner more threatening ; his utter- 
 ances were still of that sing-song character already 
 mentioned, but they had now become almost un- 
 earthly in their intonations. What mad thoughts 
 there might be in his mind at tliat time could not 
 be known ; nor could they imagine the exciting 
 visions that were wrought in his distracted brain. 
 Whatever they were, they at length passed away; 
 and his eyes, that iiad been rolling at vacancy, 
 now steadied themselves, and suddenly fastened 
 themselves upon the boys with a look of concen- 
 trated hate and fury that was terrible. 
 
 So terrible was that look, that the boys all 
 
SOLOMON TO THE RESCUE. 
 
 91 
 
 \ 
 
 shrank back in liorror. Tlioii they started up to 
 their feet, and stood close top:ether, in silence, 
 each nervinjT^ his younp^ heart for the comin}i^ strug- 
 gle, which now seemed imminent. As they thus 
 stood, they were on a line with Solomon; hut their 
 attention was so occupied with the Indian that 
 they neitiier thought of him nor saw him. 
 
 " Let's stick together," said Bart at length in 
 hurried tones — '' it's our only chance." 
 
 " Stick it is," said Pat, who had recovered his 
 coolness, " through thick and thin." 
 
 Phil said nothing, but stood his ground with the 
 others, and waited. 
 
 The movements of the boys had excited the 
 Indian still more. A furious cry esca*[)ed him. 
 He looked at them for a moment, and then moved 
 to the right, and flung his bottle into the fire. The 
 spirits poured out, and the bla/.e threw a bluish, 
 ghastly glare over the scene. Then the madman 
 gave a terrible yell, and rushed towards the boys. 
 
 The boys saw him coming. They stood firm. 
 They gathered U}) all their strength. 
 
 But suddenly a dark shadow darted forward, 
 and a dark figure flung itself against the Indian. 
 
 It was Solomon. Watchful, eager, fierce, he had 
 waited for the onset, and as the Indian advanced 
 he made liis s])ring. Rushing upon him, he struck 
 him on the side, and the onset was so unexpected 
 that the Indian had not time to guard against it. 
 lie fell to the ground. In a moment Solomon was 
 
1 
 
 92 FIRE IN tup: woods. 
 
 upon him. Ho twined his legs around liim. He 
 grasped the savage by tlie throat. To tliat throat 
 ho clung with a death like tenacity, never relaxing 
 that iron grasp, that convulsive grip, but clinging, 
 holding, tightening his clutch all the more as iiis 
 enemy strove to shake him off. 
 
 The boys stood there looking on in speechless 
 amazement. They recognized Sohmion, but could 
 scarcely believe their own eyes. Where had Solo- 
 mon gained that bounding activity, that tremen- 
 dous strength and energy, which now availed him 
 even against the madman's fury? Could this be 
 Solomon — the one who was afraid of his own su 
 perstitious fancies — the one who had just been 
 in miserable thraldom to a drunken wile ? It 
 seemed incredible. Yet that this was Solomon 
 himself they saw plainly. 
 
 The struggle was most violent. The Indian 
 gasped, and groaned, and writhed, and sought to 
 free himself from the grasp of his assailant. But 
 Solomon's grip could not be shaken off. He devoted 
 all his strength to that one thing, and did not 
 waste any of his energies in any useless efforts. 
 The Indian's struggles grew weaker. He was 
 suffocating from that grasp on his throat. Had 
 he been younger, he might have overjunvered Solo- 
 mon ; but he was an old man himself, ])erhaps quite 
 as old as Solomon, and therefore he was not so 
 superior in strength as nn'ght be supj)osed. 
 
 And now a mighty feeling of triumph swelled 
 
SOLOMON TO TIIK IlESCUE. 
 
 93 
 
 thronp^li Solomon'a hoart, and chased away tlio fu- 
 rious impulse tiiat had animated him to tin's assault. 
 The f'aintint;- elVorts and the relaxinj;- limhs of his 
 enemy showed that the victory was his. A softer 
 feeling now came over him, mingling with his tri- 
 umph — he thought of the boys whom ho had 
 saved. 
 
 He turned his head and raised himself slightly. 
 
 " Nehher you fear, chil'en," he said — "ho do 
 you no harm now." 
 
 Suddenly the Indian made one last convulsive 
 effort. Had St)lomon not been speaking to the 
 boys he ct)uld have resisted even this last throe of 
 despair: but as it was, his attention was for the mo- 
 ment distracted, an<l he was taken by sur'prise. The 
 Indian tore himself loose Irom Solomon's grasp, 
 jerked himself u[) by a nn'ghty elfort upon one 
 knee, and threw himself free from his assailant. 
 Both were now on their feet, lacing one another, 
 panting heavily. Once more the fury of the fight 
 raged in Solomon's heart. ITe stood pois(Ml — lie 
 prepared for a spring The Indian's strength lay 
 in his madness; t\ui strength of Solomon lay in his 
 devotion to tlii^ boys — in the frenzy of his love 
 and anxietv for their safetv. 
 
 The bovs came foi-ward. This time thev would 
 not let Solomon fight their battle. They would 
 ah'sist him, and lend all their united strength to 
 crush their savage assailant. It was one common 
 impulse, part of selfpreservation, part of regard 
 

 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 1.0 
 
 I.I 
 
 1.25 
 
 
 1.4 
 
 1.6 
 
 V] 
 
 <^ 
 
 /2 
 
 m 
 
 e". 
 
 j% 
 
 <r2 
 
 
 '^.v ^^ 
 
 /a 
 
 > > 
 
 y 
 
 /A 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 «-■ 
 
f .. ^^ 
 

 94 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 for Solomon, tliat animated tliem, and they sprang 
 to his side and waited. 
 
 All this was the work of a moment. 
 
 Another moment and Solomon would once more 
 have made his tiger-spring, and flung himself upon 
 the madman. 
 
 Eut that moment had sufficed for the Indian to 
 take breath, and to receive a new impulse. This 
 time it was not hate or destructive fury. It was 
 terror. The terrible struggle from which he had 
 escaped with such difficulty had given a new turn 
 to his frenzied thoughts. Fear overmastered him. 
 A stifled exclamation escaped him. lie started 
 back. 
 
 Then he turned and ran. 
 
 He ran for his life ; and in a few moments he had 
 passed out of sight, and was lost amid the gloom 
 of the forest and the night. 
 
 
 . 
 
 
PASSING THE NIGHT. 95 
 
 VII. 
 
 Passing the Night — On Guard. — TJie watchful 
 
 Sentinel. — Plans.— Through the Woods. — Tlie 
 
 winding liiver. — Fishing. — The overcast Shj. 
 
 — Arrival of Pat with startling Tidings.-^ A 
 
 useless Search. 
 
 ^IrJOR a fow moments the whole party stood 
 JPp confounded by this new and sudden turn 
 Ct whicli events had taken. 
 
 "He's gone, anyhow," said Pat, who was the 
 first' to break the sih^ice. 
 
 The otlier boys said nothing. As for Solomon, 
 he stared for a few moments all around, and then 
 quietly seated himself by the fire. 
 
 " Woll, of all de cur'ousest an strornarest things !" 
 he exclaimed. '' Ef dis don't beat all creation hol- 
 ler, den I'm a niggar. An me in a fight — a rail 
 battle ; no play, mind you ; but a fight for life and 
 def. Clar ef I can understan it." 
 
 And Solomon buried his head in his hands, quite 
 overcome. 
 
 "Anyhow," he resumed after a pause, "ye see 
 how it was, chiren. Dat ar demon was a plungin 
 
96 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 an a jnmpin, an I see he was makin for you ; so I 
 'terminod Td liab a sliy at him. Couldn't stan dat 
 ar noliow. Ain't a fightin man ; but dat ar Ingin 
 war so dreadful aggravatin ; mor'n flesh an blood 
 could stan. Anyhow, I did gib him nulf ob it for 
 one spell; an lie'll tink twicet afore he tackle any 
 ob us agin." 
 
 "I never was so astonished in my life," said 
 Bart. " And how you did pitch into iiim !" ho con- 
 tinued, admiringly. "Why, you gave a leap like a 
 tiger. Down lie went, with you on top — at his 
 throat." 
 
 iSolomon laughed long, joyously, and uproarious- 
 ly. ITe chuckled, he giggled, he slapped his knees, 
 and finally he threw himself flat on his back, and 
 lay there, laughing, chuckling, crowing, and mak- 
 ing a confused medley of noises, all of which were 
 intended by him to be expressive of triumph and 
 exultation. 
 
 " Clar ef I knoAV what ebber did git hold ob me 
 dat time," he said, in the intervals of his liuighter. 
 " Specs I mus hab gone clean mad an rabin stract- 
 ed. Didn't tink dar was so much clar fight in me. 
 Ain't such a rheumatic old nig, arter all. Fight 
 any drunken Ingin on de liice ob de erf. Ki yi ! 
 Yep ! IIo-o-o-o-o ! Dat's so." 
 
 At all this the boys looked on Avithout saying 
 anything, wondering at the chang(>. Could this 
 be the same man, thought Bart, that had always 
 8( ?mcd so helpless? whoso " rheumatiz " seemed 
 
CONSULTATION FOR SAFETY. 97 
 
 always to prevent tlie sliglitest exertion? Could 
 this be the same Solomon who allowed himself to 
 be ca})tured by a parcel of Gaspereaiigian boys ? 
 Could this be the same man whom he had seen 
 only a day or two before, cowering and cringing 
 at the sight of an angry woman? Was the Solo- 
 mon over whom Black Betsy had tyrannized so 
 remorselessly indeed the same (me wlio had just 
 flung Iiiinsclf at the tliroat of a madman, and 
 overpowered him? It seemed incredible. 
 
 Yet it waa no other. Already Solomon was 
 himself again, his old natural self. Already he 
 began to investigate his joints, and to murmur 
 doleful anticipations of a fresh attack of rheuma- 
 tiz. But tlie boys had otlier things than this to 
 tliink of. The question now was, how to pass the 
 night. Tliey did not feel altogether safe. Tlie 
 madman who had just threatened them had fled ; 
 but it seemed to them as tliough he was still lurk- 
 ing somewhere near them in the shadow of the 
 gloomy forest, waiting his chance; waiting till they 
 should go to sleep, so that he might rush u[)on 
 them unawares. If they wished to sleep at all, it 
 would never do, tlu^y thought, for them to sleep 
 here witl. the firelight shining u])on them, and 
 revealing them to the gaze of their enemy. They 
 must seek some other place. 
 
 On mentioning this to Solomon, he objected very 
 strongly. 
 
 " Dar's no danger, chil'en," he said. " Dat ar 
 7 
 
'' 
 
 : ..^■ 
 
 98 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 Injun won't ebber come back agin. He darsn't. 
 He nebber forget my grip. I frikcnd dat ar Injun 
 away forebbermo." ^ 
 
 " 0, that's the very reason wliy he'll be back," 
 said Bart. " He'll wait till we're all asleep, and 
 then attack us. He'll make a sudden spring at 
 you first." 
 
 " No, he won't," said Solomon; "nebba. He don't 
 do dat ar wid dis chile." 
 
 " How can you prevent him if you're asleep?" 
 
 " Cos I do.i't 'tend goin to sleep ; dat's how," said 
 Solomon. " Got him dar, anyhow. Yah, yah, yah." 
 '"What ! do you intend to watch?" 
 
 "Jes so. I pose on dis yar solemn casion, my 
 spected friends, to keep de fire a goin, and to 
 hole a watch an i guard ober de party." 
 
 "Do you think we'd let you do that?" said 
 Bart. " Do you think we'd go to sleep, and leave 
 you to watch us all niglit? No. If there's going 
 to be any watching, we'll take turns." 
 
 " Dat ar am all berry well," said Solomon, with 
 a dignified wave of his hand, " stremely well, an 
 , proppa for ordnary casiums ; but dis yar casium's a 
 berry strbrnary casium. Dar's danger; and de 
 man dat's goin to keep watch mus be able to face 
 de" enemy in a fight. Dat ars de reason, den, why 
 I pose to keep a lookout. I'll set heah, keep le 
 fire a goin, an you can all sleep safe an sound. 
 Dar's no use for you to set up." 
 
 " But you must sleep," said Bart 
 
 V 
 
*Jh 
 
 THE WATCHFUL SENTINEL. 99 
 
 " 0, I'll wake you up early in de mornin, an 
 hab my sleep den. So now don't talk no more, for 
 I'm a goin to do dat ar, an watch dis bressed 
 night." 
 
 Some further conversation followed, in which 
 the boys insisted on watching for a part of the 
 time, at least. They were so urgent, that Solomon 
 at last had to consent. He insisted, howeVer, that 
 he would sit up during the first part of the night, 
 as the danger would be most likely to take place 
 then, if it took place at all, and promised to wake 
 them towards morning. With this understanding 
 the boys lay down by the fire, and in spite of their 
 recent excitement, they soon fell asleep. 
 
 Solomon sat there by tlie fire keeping watch 
 with all his senses on the alert. No danger was 
 there of this faithful old sentinel sleeping at his 
 post. The very possibility of danger to the boys 
 was enough to keep all his mind wakeful and 
 attentive. After a time he moved back a little, ^ 
 
 and rested his back against a tree. 
 
 The hours of the night passed on slowly and 
 tediously. The boys slept soundly, and were lost s^,^: 
 
 in the land of di-eams. Occasionally Solomon 
 amused himself and beguiled the time by going 
 forth and collecting sticks for the fire. The flames » . 
 
 smouldered low, and the sticks that Solomon was 
 able to gather were not sufficient to kindle them 
 afresh to any great extent, and so the consequence 
 was, that at length it nearly died out. It was 
 
100 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 profoundly dark ; but still Solomon watclied, and 
 felt no inclination to sleep. 
 
 He had promised to awake tlie boys towards 
 morning, but they slept so soundly that he had not 
 the heart to keep his promise, and so he let them 
 sleep on. At length Bart awoke, and, starting up, 
 he looked all around. It was early morning twi- 
 light; the sky was brightening overhead, and the 
 forms of the forest trees were visible around. As 
 he started, Solomon got up, and walked towards 
 him. 
 
 "Well, Mas'r Bart," said he, "all right so far. 
 De Injun gone olf Ibrebbamo." 
 
 " Why didn't you wake me before?" asked Bart. 
 
 " De gracious sakes, now, chik) ! " said Solomon ; 
 " dar wasn't no casium. 'Tain't niornin yet." 
 
 " Well, you lie down now, and go to sleep," said 
 Bart. 
 
 " All right," said Solomon ; and going back to the 
 tree where he had been sitting, he curled iiimself 
 up on the moss at the foot of it, and, drawing his 
 shawl over his head and shoulders, was soon in a 
 souu I slumber. 
 
 And now the morning advanced ; slowly the 
 shades of night faded away, unt;l, at length, the 
 day dawnetl, and a thousand l)irds awaked the 
 echoes of the forest in all directions, and filled all 
 the air with a flood of melody. Bart looked up at 
 the sky, and noticed that it was overcast. There 
 was also a very peculiar appearance there which 
 
PLANS. 
 
 101 
 
 
 excited his attention. There seemed clouds over- 
 head ; hut the clouds had a sickly, yellowish color, 
 which was unlike anythinfr; that he had ever seen. 
 Alter a short time, Pat and Phil awoke, and Bart 
 drew their attention to this. They, however, 
 thought nothing of it. 
 
 '' It's only common clouds," said Phil. 
 
 "Deed, an it's a good sign, so it is," said Pat, in 
 his usual tone of confidence. " The trout bite 
 wondherl'ul whin thev see a skv like that over 
 tliim. It's lucky for us we've got sicli weather." 
 
 Bart had his doubts about this, but he kept them 
 to himself, and then the boys began to consider 
 what they had better do. The loss of their Indian 
 guide made a change in their circumstauees of a 
 very important nature. As long as they had him 
 with them, they had no care or anxiety, for they 
 knew that he w(udd take them to all the best 
 places in the country. But, now that he had gone, 
 what ouglit they to do first? 
 
 The idea of going back occurred, Init it was at 
 once dismissed. To go back would be very fa- 
 tiguing, and would be of no particular use. For, 
 if they did get another guide, he might turn out 
 as badly as the one whom thev had lost; and be- 
 sides, their experience with Sam disgusted them 
 with guides and with Indians altogether. 
 
 " If I only had a compass," said Bart, "we'd be 
 all right, for we could at least be able to choose 
 some direction, and have some idea of where we 
 
n 
 
 102 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 went. ]5ut, as it is, we shall have to wander at 
 random." 
 
 '• Sure and that's tlie very best way there is to 
 wandher, so it is," said Pat. '•' It's a mighty sight 
 better to go stliroUin along as you like than it is to 
 be taggin afther a big drunken Injin, any day." 
 
 " Yes," said Phil, '' that's the best way. Let's 
 go strolling along, fishing at every brook we come 
 to, and enjoy ourselves. We can make camps, and 
 if we come to any pleasanter place than usual, we 
 can stay there for two or three days. Why, this 
 is the very best way of enjoying ourselves. I'm 
 sure I couldn't imagine anything more glorious." 
 
 " 1 wonder if there are any fish up that little 
 brook," said Bart. 
 
 " Sure an we'd bctther try." 
 " One of us had better stay behind with Solo- 
 mon," said Bart. 
 
 " I'll stay," said Phil ; " I'll get some sticks and 
 build the fire again, and if you do get any fish, 
 we'll be able to have some for breakfast." 
 
 Upon this, Bart and Pat prepared their rods, 
 and lines, and went oft' up the brook. It was not 
 very large, but it had the general appearance of 
 a good trouting stream ; and the appearance did 
 not deceive them, for after a short time, to their 
 great joy, they succeeded in hooking ten or a 
 dozen very respectable trout, with which they re- 
 turned to the " encampment." Here they found 
 a brisk fire, beside which Phil was sitting awaiting 
 
 \ 
 
 I. 
 I 
 
Y 
 
 ,, THROUGH THE WOODS. IQS 
 
 
 their rehn-n. As they reached tlie place, Solomon 
 awoke rom his ,mp, and joined them at the tire. 
 1 hen lollowcd l.realdkst, whicli consisted of broiled 
 trout, and, as they had brought plenty of salt and 
 pepper m their baskets, there was no lack of relish 
 anil tlie fish was pronounced delicious. 
 
 After breakfast, they once more noticed the ap. 
 pearauce of the sky. It had still that dull, sickly 
 yellow.sh hue which had first struck Bart's atten-' 
 tion. Although the day had ad^•anccd since then 
 the sky had not changed, and there was no in- 
 crease of light. 
 
 " It's smoke," said Bart. " I wonder what's the 
 cause of it." 
 
 " f *-* ''■"°^''* "'-e liurnin," said Solomon. . 
 t womler .f it i., anywhere near," said Phil. 
 0. no ! " said Bart ; " it's some distant fire or 
 other. Perhar ■ they're clearing land " 
 
 " Bar's alius smoke a fioatin about dese times in 
 de woods,'; sa,d Solomon. " Dey keep a clearin 
 an a clioppm — no end." 
 
 " Sure an it's all the betther fer us," said Pat 
 
 for an overcast sky is the thing for the throut • 
 
 an sure they niver know the difference whither it's 
 
 smoke or clouds, so they don't, an they bite all the 
 
 same, so they do." 
 
 They now prepared for the day's work: but be- 
 
 Z:T"'f'"' -^"'^ *"'^' ''^y -^''^ *° appoint 
 
 Ondi' meetnig, in ease they got separlted. 
 
 On discussnig tins poM>t, however, they soon found 
 
104 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 that tliey were not in a position to appoint any 
 place of rendezvous, since no one place was known 
 to them except where they were sitting. They 
 (lid not care about remaining in the vicinity of" 
 tliis place, but wished to ramble on at leisure, and 
 at liberty. 
 
 " Sure an there's no nade," said Pat ; " we can all 
 kape widin hearin of one another, so we can.'' 
 
 "At any rate," said Piiil, "we can start now, 
 and stay by one another as long as possible. If 
 we come to any place where we have to separate, 
 we can easily make an arrangement to come back 
 to tliat place." 
 
 This last ]-emark seemed satisfactory, and as it 
 was really the onlv thing that they could do, thev 
 said no iuore on tlie subject, but set forth at once. 
 
 They walked on for about an hour, and at length 
 emerged from the pine trees, and came to woods 
 where the trees Avere largely birch and maple. 
 Thus far, their ])rogress had been very easy, as the 
 ground under the pine trees was smooth, and there 
 was very little underbrush. At this place, how- 
 ever, it became more difficult. Small trees and 
 underbrush arose on every side in great profusion, 
 and the ground rose in a succession of gentle emi- 
 nences, while an occasional swamp intervened. 
 Still, it was not very difficult walking even there, 
 and the chief difference w^as, that their course be- 
 came much more circuitous. Through this they 
 wandered for another hour and more, without find- 
 ing any place that was at all suitable. 
 
 1 1 
 \ 
 
 II 
 
Tiir: wixDixf; i.-ivkr. 
 
 105 
 
 At Icngtli, to tlii'ir great joy, they found tl)em. 
 solves upon the e<lge „f a small rivul(>t, which 
 was not more than forty or fifty feet in width. Its 
 hed just here was strewn with pebbles and cobble- 
 stones ; but farther up and down, they saw hol- 
 lows and deeper places in the river-bed, which 
 promised some sport. Hero thoy i)repared for 
 action. Phil and Pat ofFored to go down the stream, 
 while Bart and Solomon could go up. Before 
 parting, it was settled that they should come back 
 to this place. On the other side of the stream 
 •there were two birch trees growing close together, 
 which would serve as a suflficient'landmai-k to en- 
 able them to recognize this place on their return; 
 and with this arrangement the two parties sep- 
 arated, Phil and Pat descending the strehm, while 
 Bart and Solomon went up the channel. 
 
 Bart and Solomon went up the river-bod for 
 some distance. They found no difficulty in going 
 along, for the stream was shallow, ,nid they could 
 wade it in most places. Occasionally they came 
 to deeper places, which thev traversed by goin- 
 round thei;i. At length they reached a place that 
 looked favorable to their designs, and began to try 
 them. A few bites rewarded them, and two or 
 three small trout were soon deposited in their bas- 
 kets. They now began to enter more into the 
 spirit of the occasion, and continued slowly as- 
 cending the stream, stopping sometimes a long 
 while m soTie particularly good place, till they 
 
106 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 liad exhausted it, and tlioii resiiniing- their tramp. 
 Tlie consequence was, that their baskets soon he- 
 gan to be uni)leasantly lieavy, and they liad to con- 
 fine themselves more exchisively to one spot, and 
 indulge to a less extent in tlieir wanderings. All 
 this time these two had had no occasion to keep a 
 lookout on each other, for Solomon, with his in- 
 stinct of fidelity, had no other idea than that of 
 8im])ly following F>art wherever he went. 
 
 All this time the sky had maintained the same 
 yellowish hue, and was as much overcast as ever. 
 Here and there they reached places where the 
 view upward was more extensive, and their gaze 
 could connnand a larger pait of the sky. They 
 saw rolling clouds whicli seeme(l most umnistaka- 
 bly to be smoke, and tiiese they tliought the sure 
 indications of some fire, which, judging from these 
 appearances, was larger than usual, l^eyond an 
 occasional glance upward, howi'ver, and a stray 
 remark, these a])pearanccs excited no particular 
 notice on the })art of either of them. 
 
 At length it began to grow somewhat late, and 
 they decided to return. Their long march and 
 still longer fishing excursion had greatly fatigued 
 them ; and in going back, they found the distance 
 far greater than they had supposed. At length 
 they recogniz(Ml the landmark; and here they both 
 flung themselves wearily down upcui the bank, and 
 waited for the return of the others. 
 
 For a long time they waited there. It grew 
 
ARRIVAL OF PAT. 
 
 107 
 
 later and later, hut tlicre was no sign of either of 
 them. At length tliey saw some one coming, and 
 as he drew nearer they recognized Wit. lie was 
 very much out of breath, and soaking wet from 
 head to foot. 
 
 " Wiiere's Phil ? " 
 
 Those were the first words that Pat spoke, and 
 he spoke them in hurried, anxious tones. 
 
 '' m\ ! " cried Bart. '^ Why, don't you know ? " 
 
 " Hasn't he got back yit ? " said Pat, with some- 
 tlung like a wail. 
 
 " No," said P>art, as a dark feeling of apprehen- 
 sion came to him. 
 
 ^'Och, thin," cried" Pat, "it's fairly heart-broke 
 1 am, so I am ; and no one knows what Pve sufl 
 iered this blisse.l day. Sorra one o' nie knows 
 what has become of him. An T'ye b(>en scourin 
 the whole country back'ards an for'ards, an yellin 
 meself hoarse, so that 1 can't utther one blissed 
 howl more, so I can't. 
 
 At these startling words, all Pat's anxiety and 
 more communicated itself to IJart. Uv hastily 
 questioned Pat about PlnTs disappc.irance. 
 
 ^' We wint down," said Pat, "for Wov so far an 
 we came to one of the ii,inest holes ivcr was. Wo 
 fished there a half hour an more, and thin Phil 
 says, says he, M'll go, says he, ov.v b(>v(,nf/-_ io,. 
 tiiere was a moighty big rock jist tbrninst us. So 
 he wint for to climb the rock, and he says ' Vm 
 gum furder down/ says he. So 1 thought iio'moro 
 
108 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 about it, but wint on wid rne fishin. It wasn't for 
 iver so long that 1 thought of liim ; but at last I 
 begins to fail anxious, and wondhcM-s to meself 
 what iver have become of him. So I started off. 
 I didn't climb over tlie big rock, as he did, but 
 crossed the sthraim and wint down the other side. 
 Well, I couldn't see a sign of him. 1 called, an 
 yelled, an howled, an walked iver so far down an 
 back agin ; an that same I've been doin iver since, 
 till I thought, at last, he might have somehow got 
 back here. An he ain't liere." 
 
 This story caused terrible anxiety. Bart at 
 once started doAvn the stream, and reached a high, 
 rocky bank covered with trees. He stood here 
 and called. It was now too dark to see much. 
 His calls awaked no response. He then returned, 
 full of the most anxious fears, with a faint hope 
 that he might find Pliil on his return. 
 
 But on his return there was no Phil to be seen. 
 
THE LOSS OF PHIL. 
 
 109 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Loss of Phil— Deep Gloom and heavy Grief. ^^ 
 A Nujht of Terror. — The torrid Atmosphere. — 
 — The Smell of Smoke. — The Darkness that might 
 befelt.—iVorninr/ brings IMief —The Search.— 
 The Hock and the Precipice hy the Riverside. — 
 The Track of Phil. — Following the Trail.— The 
 Trail lost. — Persevering Search. — 'The End of 
 
 the Day. 
 
 * 
 
 TIE loss of Phil ])r()duce(l a terrible effect 
 upon the little party. Pat's grief was ex- 
 pressed by sighs and groans for some time, 
 until at length his elastic nature rebounded from 
 its depression, and he began to hope for the best. 
 Solomon was deeply distressed, and said not a 
 word ; while Bart w^as also silent, and he tried in 
 vain to conjecture what had been the cause of Phil's 
 departure. To him it seemed perfectly unaccount- 
 able how he could have got lost. Tliere was the 
 stream, and it seemed to be easy enough, even if 
 one had wandered from it, to retrace his stops. 
 From Pat's story, Phil's dei)arture from him by 
 that rock was the beginning of misfortunes. At 
 
10 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 some time after tluit he must have beG:un to wan- 
 der in a wrong direction, and gradually gone far- 
 ther and farther away till lie was lost. 
 
 All that night none of them slept. For a time 
 they kept up a series of cries, which awakened no 
 response. Then Hiey built a fire, thinking that the 
 glow would penetrate to a distance beyond where 
 their cries could go. They made the fire on the 
 bank, and kept it up for two or three hours ; but at 
 length they couhl find no more fuel, and allowed 
 it to die out. 
 
 While thus watching and using these efforts to 
 make known their situation to the wanderer, their 
 excitement and suspense were too great to allow 
 of any thought of sleep. Eyes and ears were 
 constantly on the stretch, and ev^ery sound, how- 
 ever faint, awakened within them the hope that 
 it might be Phil. But the hours passed on, and 
 not a single sign appeared to them as they watched, 
 a d listened, and waited. 
 
 '* I wonder whether he is wandering about in 
 this darkness or not," said Bart, in an anxiouti 
 voice. *' But I don't suppose it is possible for any 
 one to walk in these woods now." 
 
 '' Niver a walk," said Pat; "not he. He's tin 
 tmies comfortahler thin we are. He's jist gath- 
 ered some moss, an he's made a comfortable bed 
 for himself over beyont, somewheres under thim 
 trays. Deed an he has. An what's more, he's 
 asleep now, sound as a top, so he is ; an I wish 
 
DEEP GLOOM AND HEAVY GRIEF. 
 
 Ill 
 
 I wor as sound aslape as he is this blissed mo- 
 mint." 
 
 Bart shook liis head mournfnlly. 
 
 " No," said ho, with a sigii, '^ lio won't liave 
 much sleep to-niglit, poor old Pliil: he's got too 
 much to think of. If he had some une with him, 
 he'd feel all right; but it's a terrible thing to be 
 all alone this way. And it's a miserable night ; so 
 horribly dark; so hot. I can scarcely breathe. 
 1 never knew such a night." 
 
 " Thrue for you," said Pat. " It's fairly suffo- 
 cated I am. But at any rate, that makes no differ 
 to Phil. Sure its betther for him to be too warrum 
 thin too cowld, so it is." 
 
 " I can't understand it," said Bart, after a pause. 
 " I don't see why he should be lost. I wonder 
 whether — but that's nonsense." 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " I wonder whetlier Sam could have been follow- 
 ing us," said Bart, ludf shuddering at the frightful 
 thought tiiat had occurred. 
 
 "8am? What, the Injin?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " An what'd he be a follerin of us for? " 
 
 "0, I don't know. But you remember how he 
 
 looked last night. He looked like a demon. He 
 
 certainly tried to kill us." 
 
 " Sure but he was dead dhrunk an mad intoirely, 
 so he was." 
 
 " But hiis mad fit may have lasted till to-day ; 
 
112 
 
 FTRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 and be may have boon sn-^aking after us tbrougb 
 tbe woods, and watcliing for a cbance to do some 
 miscbief. And so — ■' 
 
 Pbil hesitated. 
 
 Pat was silent for a few moments. 
 
 " 0, sure," said be at last, '' wbat are ye givin 
 way for to sicli mad dcludberin notions? Wliat'd 
 he be wantin of a boy like Pbil? " 
 
 " He might have vowed vengeance on us." 
 
 " Vingince is it? By the powers, thin, if it's 
 vingince be wanted, it ud be Solf)mon that he'd 
 track, not Phil, that niver so much as spoke one 
 word to him, good or bad, all tbe time lie was with 
 us. And as for vingince, sure my iday is, that the 
 Injin'd give up all the vingince that ivir wor for a 
 gbxss o' whiskey, so he "vvud." 
 
 Bart made no reply. Tbe subject was too terrible 
 to be discussed, lie tried to dismiss tbe thought 
 from bis mind. But tbe idea, having once sug- 
 gested itself, was not to be got rid of so easily. 
 Do what he could, it came back to him over and 
 over again, taking possession of his mind more 
 and more strongly. 
 
 A terrible thouglit it indeed was that liad thus 
 come to him — the idea of that demoniac being 
 who had sprung at them on tbe previous night, 
 and had only been repelled by wbat seemed almost 
 a miracle, being still animated by furious hate 
 and a thirst for vengeance, — tbe idea of this im- 
 placable savage, thirsting for their blood, following 
 
A NIGHT OF TEIJROR. 
 
 113 
 
 stealthily on their trail all that day, maintaining 
 his pursuit with that inexhaustible patience and 
 tenacity of purpose whicli a bloodthirsty savage 
 alone can show when on the search for vengeance. 
 Had he indeed done this ? Had this been the se- 
 cret history of that day? Was this blood-hound 
 indeed on their track? Could it have been possi- 
 ble that he had devoted them one by one to de- 
 struction, and had bided his time, and lu'd made 
 Phil his first victim the moment he wandered away 
 from the others ? It was a horrible, a sickening 
 thought. 
 
 Now, Bart's mind was full of stories of Indian 
 warfare and Indian vengeance, accunndated during 
 a course of reading in Cooper's Leatii(^rstocking 
 series, and kindred works ; and so it is no wonder 
 that this idea came to him. Besides, he had yet 
 fresh and vivid in his mind the assault of that 
 drunken fiend the night before. All these things 
 combined to fix this fearful idea in iiis mind. As 
 the hours passed on it became more deeply seated, 
 until at length he was in an indescribable state of 
 anxiety and alarm. 
 
 Thus the hours of that night passed away — a 
 night even worse than the preceding one; for 
 then the terror had come and gone; but now it hung 
 over them all the time. In addition to this, the 
 night itself was most depressing. It was intensely 
 dark. After the fii'c had died out, it was impossible 
 to see anything whatever — not even the hand 
 
 8 
 
114 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS> 
 
 before the face. The deepest shadows siirronndcd 
 them on all sides, and wherever tliey looked their 
 eyes encountered nothing hut the blackness of 
 darkness. Besides this, it was exceedinj^ly hot 
 and sultry, the air having a certain indescribable 
 oppressiveness which made them sometimes fairly 
 gasp for breath. Tlie only relief that they were 
 able to gain was by making frequent applications 
 to the water of the river, sometimes dashing it 
 over their faces, at other times dipping in their 
 heads, or feet. Tliis sultriness oppressed them all 
 in an equal degree, and united with the intense 
 darkness to throw them into a state of bewilder- 
 ment and porj)lexity. Taken in connection with 
 Phil's disappearance and the terrible event of the 
 preceding night, it produced such an effect upon 
 the mind of Bart, that all the fears which were 
 suggested by his vivid fancy became more formi- 
 dable and irresistible. Solomon said nothing at 
 all, but appeared to be quite overwhelmed. Pat 
 alone struggled against the evil influences of the 
 time, and endeavored most energetically to put the 
 best appearance on things, and to rouse Bart from 
 the deep gloom into which he had fallen. So the 
 night passed ; and it was at length with a feeling 
 of immense relief that they saw the darkness be- 
 gin to lessen. 
 
 As the day dawned, a faint breeze sprang up, 
 which brought a gentle, cooling influence with it. 
 They rose and inhaled with long breaths the more 
 
MORNING lUMNGS nELIEF. 
 
 IIT) 
 
 ft-n.tef'ul air. Gratlually the darkness disappeared, 
 and the dayh'ght inereased, and the forms of tilings 
 around them beeame revealed. 
 
 Overhead there was no ehange from the day be- 
 fore. The sky was all covered over with dense 
 clou.ls, which seemed to hang much lower down 
 than on the preceding dry, and now appeared whirl- 
 iiig round and rolling over the heavens in x ast vor- 
 . tices. This movement on their i)art was. no doubt, 
 caused by their encountering the breeze which had' 
 sprung up, and which, meeting them now in their 
 course, arrested that course, and whii-led them 
 back in confused heaps. 
 
 And now a new day lay l)eforo them, in which 
 they would have to emplov everv hour in the 
 search after Phil. What that day oi- that search 
 might bring forward, they could not tell: but they 
 were eager to begin it as soon as possible. While 
 it was yet morning twilight, they ate their break- 
 fast, and discussed the best plan of procedure. 
 ^Solomon, as usual, made no remark nix.n the sub- 
 ject, being content to abide by JJarfs decision 
 while Bart and Pat talked over various wavs of 
 carrying on their search. To separate was liot to 
 be thought of, for that would only lead to fresh 
 troubles. 80 it was decided, that' wherever they 
 went, they should now keej) together. 'I'hev fur- 
 ther decided that they should go down the stream 
 till they reached that rock alreadv spoken of, 
 which had been the point of I'hil's .hparture, an.! 
 
IIG 
 
 FIRE IN Till': WOODS. 
 
 try if tlioy could not gvt iiixjn his trail, so as to 
 see, at least in a general way, what directiuri he 
 had taken. 
 
 During this deliheration about the course which 
 they should take, Bart still exhibited the desi)on- 
 deiicy which had characterized him ever since 
 riul's disappearance. The gloom of night and the 
 o])pressivo sultriness had passed, daylight was at 
 hand, and the breeze brought fresh life to them ; 
 but still Bart's s])irits were deeply depressed. 
 Against this Pat rebelled, and the cheerfulness 
 and confidence which he had tried to maintain 
 through the night now assumed a prominent place 
 in his thoughts and in his manner. 
 
 '^ Yes," said Bart, dolefully, ccuitinuing some re- 
 mark which he had been making, '' if we can only 
 get on his trail, avo may at least find out the gen- 
 eral direction that he iias taken. But I'm afraid 
 there's no hope." 
 
 '' Arrah, be off now wid yer nonsinse," cried 
 Pat. '' What's the use of givin up at the very 
 fust, afore ye've made a single trial ? Sure an he'll 
 turrun u[) all right and safe yit." 
 
 " 1 wish I could think so." 
 
 '' Think so ! Why, I know it. Sure am I this 
 day that he'll turrun up safe an sound. An why 
 shouldn't he ? " 
 
 " These woods. If he once gets tangled among 
 them, how can he ever find his way out? " 
 
 " Tangled among them, is it ? Sure an it's not so 
 
CONFIDENX'K OF PAT. 
 
 117 
 
 . 
 
 very bad thin. He can only walk on an walk on, 
 an he's sure to come out some whores. P>,'si(l(v^,' 
 he'll hit upon a road some place or other, and wan- 
 dher along that." 
 
 " There are no roads here," 
 "Uow do you know? Ye d..n't know, 'rimr 
 may he fifty roads widin a mile of this very place, 
 so there may. So what's the use of o-ivin up ? " 
 
 ? No," said Bart. '' This is a wild, unlivquentcd 
 place, and the woods are nnbroken form, immense 
 distance. If Phil has got among them he will 
 wander on till — till he drops." 
 
 " Ah, come now, none of that. Sure, what do 
 ye think of Phil ? Do ye tliiid^ n..u- that Phil's an 
 idiot? Sure now, what'd ye do y(M-se1f if it was 
 you that was lost instead of ]>hil? Do von think 
 that you'd wandher about till you dix.pped, or 
 do ye think ye'd work yer way out somewheres ? 
 Come now, ye know ye'd woi-k yer way out, so 
 you would. And so would 1. And so will Phi) 
 so he will." ' 
 
 This i)rocess of reasoning struck Bart so fbrci- 
 l)ly that he had not a woi-d to say. Pat in fict 
 was right in his estimate of Bart's confidence in 
 himself. Bart really did feel sure that if he were 
 lost in the woods he'd get out. 
 
 Sure now imagine yerseif in Phil's place," con- 
 timied Pat, cheerily. '^Wliafd v(mdo? p|] tell 
 you what you'd do. Whin ye found verself lost, 
 ye'd thry, of coorse, to git back. Well, thin, ye'd 
 
118 
 
 rinr: in thf: woods. 
 
 p;o wniidlicrin iiltoiit. Very well. YoM sit down 
 iiii rist, iuid tliiiik wliat yc'd ])oM. do nixt. Then 
 yoM start olF alVisli. Maybe ye'd cliinb a tray to 
 see if ye end see anytliin. At any rate ye'd work 
 away as lono- as tlio daylij^'lit lasted. At steeted 
 interviUs ye'd let olf iiowls as loud as ye cud howl. 
 Well, thin, it 'ud ;i,-row dark, an so ye'd go to work 
 an make up your mind to |)ass the night here, an 
 ye'd thry, of coorse, to make yersolf as comfortable 
 as possible. So ye'd collect any quantity of moss 
 an ferns, an spread them out — perhaps ye'd make a 
 iire — but tliat's neither here nor there; anyhow, 
 ye'd make a comfortable bid for yerself, an thin 
 ye'd take a bite of somethin to ate, and thin ye'd 
 lie doun an doze off into the comfortablest slape ye 
 ever knew. That's what ye'd do — an ye know it, 
 so ye do. Now wouldn't ye? Answer me that. 
 Isn't that jist what ye wud do?" 
 
 "Well, 1 suppose I wouhl," said Bart; "but per- 
 haps the Indian has had something to do." 
 
 "The Injin. 0, bah ! Bother the Injin. That 
 does to spake of in the middle of a dark night, but 
 not undher the bi-ight daylight. That ]njin's safe 
 in his own camp by noo, I'll warrant ye." 
 
 By this time they were ready to start, and ac- 
 cordingly they set out on their way down the 
 stream to the rock already mentioned. It was not 
 quite day when they started, but by the time they 
 reached the rock it was full day, so that they 
 would be able to detect any trace of Phil's path- 
 
THE SKAIU'H. 
 
 lit) 
 
 way if any sucli traco mi-ht romaln. The mrk 
 was ahout thirty or forty foot Li-h, hikI roso uiuai 
 the odgo of the river which llou-ed ah)!,- its h;,s(.. 
 Pliil iniu-ht have crossed the rive,- and gone down, 
 as Pat (h'd, on the other si.h>: hut he cho^e thi^' 
 probal)ly thinkin- that it was only a few step.' 
 On i.achin- this place Pat was able to point out 
 pretty nea.-ly the spot where ],e saw Phil „H,„nt 
 the hank. Hce the unde,dn-ush seemed to show 
 signs ol' having hcen t.-ampled npon, and thev at 
 once ascended the l.nnk in this di.vction. For 
 some distance the ma,-ks continued, and tl..>v Ibl- 
 lowed ve,y carefully. At last, sho,-tlv after "they 
 reached the top of the hank, these faint iga,-ks died 
 out uttei-ly, and the,-e remained no tnico whatever 
 of any footsteps that was discei'nil.le to their eyes 
 Here, then, they paused, and again considered 
 what they should do. 
 
 After carefid considcation of evervthin*. it 
 seemed to them that the hest thing f.r 'them m,w 
 to do was to advance from the ,-iver hank <!i,-ectly 
 into the woods in as sti'aight a line as possible. If 
 tiiey we,-e to do this fbr sevcal milos, thev mio-ht 
 get upon the wanderer's ti'ack. Thev theivlbi-e 
 set out, walking away from the ,-ive,", ti-ving hy 
 every possible means to make their cou.'so a 
 straight line. They also to,-e off twiu-s f,u,„ the 
 trees as they went and st,-ewed them behind then, 
 to leave a trail. Thus they went ibr about hall an 
 liour. Then they began to shout, and still goiug 
 
120 
 
 FIRE IN THK WOODS. 
 
 (inward (or anotlir'- lialf lioiir, tlicy rontiniiod their 
 slioiits. Uiit at tlio ond ol" this time aiul these 
 el"lbi-ts they wci'o no better oil" than at tlie begin- 
 ning, and to all their cries there came no response 
 "whatever. 
 
 Here anotlicM* (hscnssion took })laee. It seemed 
 to Pat thai I'hil must have wandered down the 
 stream, how iar he did not know, but perhaps 
 miles, and tliat on his return he had left the river 
 at some point, and thus been lost. 11' this were so, 
 it Ibllowed that tin; best ])laee to S(>ai-eli for him 
 wctuld b(> lh(^ woods lying on a line with the river, 
 and extending along its banks. If they were now 
 to turn to the right, they would bo going in a 
 course ])arallid to tlie river, and throug'h those very 
 M'oods in wliieli it was most likely that IMiil might 
 be. Pat's statenuMit and argument seemed so 
 reasonable^ that Part at once a(l()j)ted it; and so, 
 with th(^ utmost care, they took Uj) a courses which 
 seeuKMl as near as |)ossible at right angles with 
 their Ibrmer one. and conse(|uently as nearly as 
 possible parallel with the How of the river. In 
 this dii-eclion they now wiMit, trying as belbre to 
 kei^j) a sti-aight course, and to leave a trail behind 
 them. Above all, they kept shouting and calling 
 all tlu^ time. 
 
 They went on in this course lor as much as two 
 hours with no more success than belbi-e. They 
 came b> woods wIum'o the underbrush was so thick, 
 and the gi'ound so swampy, that further progress 
 
TFIK TKAIL LOST. 
 
 12 
 
 was out of the question. Uovo, ihou, tl.oy oik'o 
 iMoro (Icliboi-iiU'd as to what tlicy sliould do. To 
 Ko back seemed inexpressibly irksome, as W(>11 as 
 useless. It seemed l)etter to ei,a.no-(. ih^.;, (.,,„,^o 
 in some new direction, wliiel, mij;-i.t be favorable to 
 their h(»pes. On the whoi(> it now seemed b(^s( to 
 got back to the river. J'hil nn'-ht be th.Mv some- 
 where alonf:^ its banks. In th(> ev.'nin- thev couhl 
 ft-o back to their former stoppin-plat-e bv asciMid- 
 iiig- the course of tlie river. S., thev <n,,k np a 
 new line of march, wiiich seemed to b(> exa.-tly at 
 ri-ht ano-Ies wirii their last one, and thus wcnl" on. 
 All this time they had been takin- the utmost 
 pains to leave a trail ; but now, as tlioy wore p.ing 
 back to the river, it seemiMl n,, lon-vr necessarv : 
 so they walked alono- m,ich mor<> easily and (piiok- 
 ly, merely trying to make their pathway as strai-ht 
 as j)ossible. 
 
 'I'hey walked on for a long time. 
 'J^he river seemed much more distant than they 
 had supposed. 
 
 Still they cheered themselves with the thou-ht, 
 nt almost every step, that the next step wmdd' 
 bring them in sight of it. 
 One more ])ause. 
 Still the river did not appear. 
 Another hour passed. 
 Still no riv(M'. 
 
 Neverthel(>ss they toiled on, for having sot be- 
 fore themselves this riv(>r as a .vrtain phiee to bo 
 roached, they were not willino- t,, stop short of it. 
 
122 
 
 FIIiE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 But the fartlier tliey went, t]ic more hopeless did 
 tlieir attoin])t seem. 
 
 At lengtli there began to come over them a 
 vagne idea that they liad lost all idea of the direc 
 tion of the river — that they had been wandering 
 in a wrong direction altogether; and this vague 
 idea grew stronger and stronger, and began to 
 gi'ow into a full conviction that they, as well as 
 Phil, were utterly and hopelessly lost. 
 
LOST ! 
 
 123 
 
 IX. 
 
 Lost- Ddiherations.-- Trying U regain the Course. 
 ~lhe Smoke of the Earning, -The stcupmnt 
 Air. - Onioard.-An Opening in the Forest. - 
 Hope and Enthusiasm. — A Hush forward 
 
 1' 
 
 OST ! 
 
 Yes, Lost ! 
 Lost in the woods ! 
 It was Bart who first received tliis idea in its 
 fill force in his mind. Ho stopped abruptly, and 
 iooked all around. 
 
 "Well," said ho, "it's my opinion that we've 
 been keeping this sort of thing up too long alto- 
 gether. For n.y part, I haven-t the faintest idea 
 in tlie 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 mav be 
 It certainly isn't anywhere near us. And I'm goi....' 
 to knock under ibr the present." '^ 
 
 With these words, lie fiung himself down upon 
 a knoll under a neighboring tree, threw oO" j.is 
 bag, and pitched it away to some distance ir.,m 
 hini, and tluMi, .Irawing jiis knees up u „a • hi. 
 chni, he sat gazing fixedly at the ground. 
 
124 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 " Well," said Pat, " I've been thiiikin that same 
 for the last hour, sure ; but, as ye seemed inclined 
 to laid off, an as 1 hadn't anythin more to offer, 
 why, I jist follered afther. An sure 1 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 sometliin 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. Tbey 
 felt disconifitcd, disheartened, mortified, i^o this 
 Avas 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 thev were now busily (Mm-aixed in recalling 
 the different events of their journey, so as to see 
 where iuid when the mistake had been. 
 
 Bart thought that their mistake was in not con- 
 tinuing to leave a trail behind them, after they 
 had made the last change in tludr cimrse. Up 
 to that time, it seemed to him that all had gone on 
 well, and he lamented that fatal carelessness and 
 over-conlidence that had led to this neglect. 
 
 Pat's idea was, tliat they had not calculated tho 
 
mi myiu)*> ■■! 
 
 DELIBERATIONS. 
 
 125 
 
 direction of tlie river, and tliat tliey had somehow 
 missed it. 
 
 Solomon declared that, ever since he hdt tlie 
 river, he hadn't had any idea at all of any direc- 
 tion. 
 
 " Dat's so," he said ; '' I lieerd yon go on in dem 
 ar long'-vvinded 'scussions bont rijj,ht 'rections, an 
 pojjpnmdiklars, an rytanglnms, an sich, bnt hadn't 
 no more iiotium ob wliar we was g(^in dan a chile. 
 An vou hadn't nudder. Yah! vah ! yah ! " 
 
 Solomon's idea was, after all, mnch nearer the 
 truth than the theories of either liart 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 real- 
 ity, this belief was utterly unfounded, and the 
 su})posed 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 
 selt-delusion. 
 
 First, they had deluded themselves into the be- 
 belief that they could go in a straight line. Now, 
 in those wcods, 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 sup- 
 
126 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 pose that tliey couki walk on, uiv'vv riuch circum- 
 stances, in a straiglit line, wa^ p/osurd. Tlie 
 consequence was, that their coim-si h'.'d, all alon^, 
 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 th-^ course of 
 the river was straight also. Now, thig river, like 
 every other river, had a flow in one general direc- 
 tion, but its actual course was a winding one, and 
 not far below the rock from Md:ich they had set 
 out, it turned in a direction Avh)oh was totally dif- 
 ferent from the one in which ii was flowing when 
 they left it. 
 
 Thus they had been wanderiiig in a very irregu- 
 lar course ever since they started, l^hey iiad gcme 
 onward for mile after mile, and every stej) 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 ap- 
 proaching. 
 
 Some such conviction as tliis 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 ronUy were, and 
 they thought — that is to say, Bart and Pat thought 
 
DELIBERATIONS. 
 
 127 
 
 — tlirtt tlioir wmi(l(M'iiiLrs had boGriin onlv at tlicir 
 last change of course, near tli(^ wooded swamp. 
 
 Tims far, tlie weatlicr had been w^arm, 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 over- 
 head 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 tied 
 away from that smoky sky. 
 
 Their long tramp had sharpened their appetites, 
 and they now began to think of lunch. Fortunate- 
 ly, 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 neigh- 
 borhood revealed a slender rill of very warm 
 water, which, Avarm as it was, they were glad to 
 drink. On the whole, this frugal repast refreshed 
 them and invigorated them ; and after its conclu. 
 sion, tiiey l)egan to consider once more the impor- 
 tant (juestion of the course which they should 
 take next. 
 
 What pcM'plexed them most was the impossibil- 
 ity of knowing anything ult^ut the directioii in 
 
128 FIRE IX THE WOODS. 
 
 wJiich they oii.c:ht to go. The points of the com- 
 pass Avere all unknown. North, south, east, and 
 west wore all ah'ko a mystery. The smoke clouds 
 that covered the whole sky made it impossihlo 
 even to conjecture, witii 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 Avas, 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 fbi-ni even a the- 
 ory 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. 
 
 I'hen, again, though they had a distinct remem- 
 brance 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, neitlKn- 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 j)erfectly ac- 
 quainted 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." 
 
f 
 
 DELIBEHATIONS. 
 
 120 
 
 "Well, thin/' said Pat, -I'll tell you what it is. 
 J^ot s he nir, au<l thrust to luck. J.et's walk ahead 
 anywheres, and we'll come out soniewheres." 
 
 "Can't we tell somethino- l,y theClouds?" asked 
 Bart, lookin- up at the rolling masses overhead 
 
 "Deed an I've thought <.' that," said Pat, - an 
 Ive bet^n watciiiathim; hut sorra one o' me can 
 make out any thin about thim same at all, at all. 
 They're jist rowlin an tuml.lin everv which way 
 An that same they were d,.in this monun ; for" I 
 watched thim, an cudn't make any thin out o' thim 
 cit all, at all, no more'n I can now at this blissed 
 monnnt. An tlH,«y won't be ai'ther tellin vou any 
 niore'n they towld me, I'll go bail/' 
 
 "It seems to me," said Part, "that'they are 
 moving ni some direction. I remember noticing 
 this morning that -hey 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 Pm certain of any- 
 thing, Pm certain that they must be going east.'' 
 " Deed an Pm dead sure that they're a g'oin west. 
 An I'm as likely to be right as you are." 
 
 _ ';0, well," said Bart, - we can't come to any do- 
 cision at all." 
 
 "Surely no; i.ot from thim clouds," said Pat. 
 For afther all, I don't think they're movin any. 
 9 ^ 
 
 . 
 
/ 
 
 130 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 wlieres. They're jist rowliii round and round. 
 Niver mind tliim clouds." 
 
 " But we must go somcwliere," said Bart, impa- 
 tiently. 
 
 " Deed an so we must ; an so I say." 
 
 " Then where shall we go ? " 
 
 "Jist wheriver you say. You laid ahead, an 
 ril foller 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 wiis tl»us resumed on the princi- 
 ple 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 neigh- 
 borhood 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 u])permost 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 westwas 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 
 
I 
 
 ^^^immmmmm 
 
 TRYING TO REGAIN THE COURSE. 131 
 
 of their circuitous march, wliich set straiglit lines 
 at defiance, and bore them along in a winding 
 course, that might lead to every point of the com- 
 pass in turn. Plovvever, 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 Solo- 
 mon, 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 Piiil. 
 ^ They walked on now in silence for s©me hours. 
 The woods were just the same as they had been 
 all along. Sometimes they came to a wide extent 
 of pine trees, wliere 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, mak- 
 ing numerous detours to avoid dense thickets or 
 impassal)le bogs. 
 
 At length the evening drew on, and all of them 
 were nearly worn out. It had been a long and a 
 di/H.'ult 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 
 
 .b 
 
132 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 tlie evoiiing approaclied the warmth increased, for 
 the sliglit breeze that liad been prevailing all the 
 day, and mitigating the sultriness of the weather, 
 now died out, and at once that same oppressive- 
 ness of which they had been aware on the pre- 
 ceding day made itself manifest again. Exertion 
 became more and more painful. Their progress 
 became more and more laborious, and they walked 
 with ever-increasing diiHculty. At length Bart 
 stopped. 
 
 " I Avon't go any farther," said he. " This isn't 
 mucli of a ])]ace to pass the night in, but I've been 
 on the lookout for tlie 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 i)i-cparations were simple enough, 
 consisting in nothing more than a collection of 
 moss and fern leaves, wiiicli abounded all around, 
 and of which they soon heaped up a quantity suf 
 ficient for their wants. After this they sat down 
 and partook of an evening repast from their rapid- 
 ly 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 
 
THE SMOKE OF THE BURNING. 
 
 13.^ 
 
 fatif^ues of their weary marcli. In tliat niarcli 
 tliey must liave traversed many miles, for they 
 liad bjen walkinj^ from very early morning till 
 dusk, with only one intermission. Their slee[), 
 therofore, was deep and heavy, and it lasted until 
 comparatively late in the iollowin^ 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 irritatiul 
 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 appr(,)aching tiio 
 scene of conflagration. It was already very o}> 
 pressive, 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 sug- 
 gested to their minds a danger impending over 
 him of which they had not thought befoi-e. Thus 
 far Bart had been more or less subject to fears 
 about the Indian's being concerned with Phil's dis- 
 appearance ; 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 amountesl to this — 
 that he was wandering about in a burning forest, 
 far from all hope of human aid. They themselves 
 
134 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 had siifrorcd, and were siifTcring, eiiongli to know 
 well what his state ninst be. The lively imagina- 
 tion of I>ai't portrayed before his mind in vivid 
 colors the situation of poor Phil, all alone, wander- 
 ing helpless and despairing, surrounded by smoke 
 and flames, o})pressed by the hejit, and sinking 
 under the weight of his anxiety ano fatigue. ITis 
 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 scMze 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 j)ro- 
 visions, and they could only hope to reach some 
 brook where they might catch a few fish. At that 
 moment, however, tiieir thoughts about them- 
 selves were disregarded in their anxieties about 
 Phil ; and so they set out full of eager desire to 
 find him beibre 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 
 
AN OPENING IN THE FOI?EST. 135 
 
 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; hut 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 terrii.ie sitm.tion. One 
 thing consoled them ; and that was, the discovery 
 that the sultriness and the smoke had grown no 
 worse since they started, hut if anvtliing had 
 ratlier lessened. This they were glad "of ,,n' Phil's 
 account; as for themselves, however, jt was cer- 
 tainly bad enough, and as the hours passed, their 
 efforts became more and more diilicult, and their 
 labors more overpowering. 
 
 At last the v/oods in front of them grewtliinner 
 and through the trees they Avei-e able to see morJ 
 and more of the sky. To emerge from the thick 
 woods into any open place wliatever was a ph^as- 
 ant thought to all of them. They wondered what 
 it could be. Solon)on thought that it was some 
 barren district bare of trees, and overgrown with 
 low brush, such as sometimes t)ccurs in the forest. 
 Pat thought it was a hd<e, or a river, or a swamp, 
 or something of that sort. Bart exi)ected to find' 
 
136 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 a clearing in the woods, and his heart beat last 
 with joy at the idea of finding some human being 
 who could tell them wliere they wliere. With 
 tliese various thouglits and feelings they hurried 
 forward. 
 
 ^ 
 
THE OPENING. 
 
 137 
 
 X. 
 
 TJie Opening. — The Sea, the Sea, the open Sea. — 
 The Priest. — The Promise of Help. —Pat takes 
 
 a Wall', and passes a mijsteriows Building. He 
 
 takes a Swim. — 7? tmm of Pat. — A terrific Dis- 
 covery.— Pat in a Panic. — 7'he Scene of Horror. 
 — Smoke and Flame. — The Fire Glow hi/ Night. 
 
 WT was late in tlio afternoon when tliey reached 
 Jj that opening- in the woods wliich lia<l snd- 
 <lenly appeared. They had l)een fearfnlly 
 exhausted ; tiiey had also been almost ilimished. anil 
 were without any prospeet 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 quickene(i from a languid, 
 laborious walk to a trot, and then to a run, as "they 
 hurried forward, eager to leaii. what this place 
 nn-ght be. Bart, with his hope of finding a settle- 
 ment with living hnman beings, from wlumi he 
 might receive information and assistance, was 
 most excited, and was the first to quicki'n his 
 pace ; and the sight of his excited eagerness af- 
 
138 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 footed Ill's companions witli the same feelings. 
 Thus tliey rusliod forward, and in a short time 
 emerged from tlio 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 settle- 
 ment 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 speech- 
 less amazement — lay — what? Could it be pos- 
 sible. Did their eyes deceive them. No. It was 
 a fact. Yet, how amazing I 
 
 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 volunn"nous folds, curling, and turning, and 
 rolling, and lowering down close to the earth, 
 giving to all nature a gloom that was peculiar, 
 
THE OI'ExV SEA. 13{> 
 
 and not without terror. But bevond tliis lav tlio 
 sea; and it stretched far away to the horizon, 
 reaching ak)ng tiiat horizon to tlie right and to tlie 
 left as tar 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, wdiite building, that looked like a strag- 
 gling farm-house, or rather two or three farm- 
 houses 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 Avhich 
 they had been thrown by the utter astonishment 
 and bewilderment • !'this discovery. 
 
 " Sure an it's dead beat I am. and dumb entirelv," 
 he exclaimed. " Ony to think of our coming out 
 
140 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 of tlio wuds to tlio say. Sure an it must be 
 Miramichi itself, so it must, an we've been a wan- 
 dlierin through tlie wuds sthraight back to the 
 place we dliruv out from wid do lujin. Ocli, an, 
 be the powers, but it's a quaire wandherin that 
 we've been liavin. Och, but I'll nivir git over 
 this." 
 
 " It isn't Mirami(^lii," said Bart, whom Pat's wild 
 remarks had roused from the stupor into which 
 his amazement had thrown him. " It isn't Mira- 
 michi," 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 cimrse had 
 been the very opposite of what he had suj)posed, 
 and intended it to be. He had been trying to get 
 to where Pliil was, but now discovered that he 
 had been going away from him all the time. 
 
 The discovery of the truth was amazing, be- 
 wildering, and at the same time humiliating to one 
 who liad been ofKciating 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. 
 
WHEREABOUTS ASCERTAINED. 141 
 
 In spito of his anxiety about Phil, and liis mortifi- 
 cation about his own mistake, Bart was not al- 
 together witiumt 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, per- 
 haps, 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 wo can now do is to find out where we are. 
 So come along. We're in a ])lace where we'll be 
 able to get food and shelter, at any rate." 
 
 Saying this, he started offlbr 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 Cart. 
 "Can you tell me what i)lace 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 
 famdiar to him, fi,r 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. 
 
142 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 Bart then informed her tliat one of his party 
 liad been lost in tlie woods, and asked lier 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 cot- 
 tage 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 be- 
 nevolent face and most engaging manners. The 
 moment he understood their errand, he insisted on 
 giving them something to eat and drink, and re- 
 fused 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 wander- 
 ing. This was the fourth day since their depart- 
 ure 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 
 naarly 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 
 
THE PRIEST. 
 
 143 
 
 clay tliey had walked since daybreak, and had 
 readied Tracadie towards evening. The last day 
 had been tlie most fatiguing of all; partly on 
 account of tlie opi)ressiveness of the atmosphere ; 
 partly because their provisions had given out, so 
 that they had to Avalk 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 th<=i 
 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 3^ou think tiiis 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 
 th. t — l)ut 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 
 
& 
 
 l-l'l FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 indeed a place of ill omen where poor Phil had lost 
 himself; and what chance could there be ior 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 sny 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 con- 
 spicuous landmark. But 1 won't delay now any 
 longer. I'll go off at once ; and I hope you'll 
 make yourselves comfortal)le till I return." 
 
 The priest was a Frenchman ; but he had lived 
 here many years, and he s})oke English almost like 
 a native. His eager oiler of help and active as- 
 sistance greatly encouraged them, and they hoped 
 for the best. Pat, in particular, sluMved this feel- 
 ing in the strongest manner. He had been quite 
 silent during the latter part of the walk, owing to 
 fiitigue and hunger combined ; but now the short 
 rest had refreshed him, aud the rei)ast 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 con- 
 fidence, 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 lejjgth he rose from his seat, and said he was 
 
PAT TAKES A WALK. Ht) 
 
 goinj? out to take a walk. Ifo jiskcd Bart and 
 Solomon to go with liiiii ; hut liolli doclined. In 
 spite of his long walk J\it eouhl not ^it still, but 
 was restless and fidgety, and wanted to be mov- 
 ing about, even thougli his legs were yet aching 
 from their long and arduous tramp. 80, leaving 
 Bart and i?olomon, 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 tluit 
 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 in- 
 tention of reaching the water and having a swim. 
 As he approached the house, he noticed some- 
 thing very dreary and repellent in its appearance. 
 Tiie 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 wantin of a hospital in a scrap of 
 a place like this?" 
 
 " Perhaps," he thought again, " it's a watherin 
 10 
 
•v- 
 
 146 FIHK IN THE WOODS. 
 
 place, an tlicso are si(;k piM )])!(; tliat liave come 
 here to l)e tliraitecl wi<l tliu custlioiiiarv rimidios." 
 
 Passing hy this place, lie at length leaehed the 
 beach, and walked along it for some distance be- 
 fore he found a place wiiich aj)peared 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 cidm nnd de- 
 liciously 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, bring- 
 ing 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 particu- 
 lar 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. 
 
THE LEPERS. 
 
 147 
 
 It was dnsk when I^it retnrnod. He came 
 towards tlie house wiiistling as cheerily as a l)ir(|, 
 and the inuinent lie entered he hepm telling- what 
 a delicious walk he had had. He then thou^iit of 
 the strange building near the shore, and asked the 
 priest what it was. 
 
 "That?" said the priest. ''0, that's the Laza- 
 retto." 
 
 " The Lazaretto ? " repeated Pat, not understand- 
 ing him. 
 
 " Yes," said the priest ; " have you nut heard 
 of it ? " 
 
 "The Lazaretto — niver a word surely. An 
 what is the Lazaretto, thin?" 
 
 " 0, 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 Mirainichi River. There were some 
 clothing and l)eddiiig on board that came from the 
 Levant, and the people here used them ; and it is 
 said that from this clothing they caught this terri- 
 ble 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 goiu in." 
 
148 
 
 PI HE IN Tin-: WOODS. 
 
 " It's a terrible tliingy' said tlie priest. " Tlie 
 patients who go tliere are rlead to their friends. 
 They never can liope to see them again." 
 
 " Och, murdher ! " cried Pat, starting up. 
 " What'll iver become of me ? Och, nnirdher ! 
 Why didn't somebody tell me?" 
 
 " What's the matter ? " asked the priest, in 
 surprise. 
 
 " Och, everything's the matther. Sure, an didn't 
 1 go an swim lor over hall' an hour in the leper 
 watlier, 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 tliey all go there an 
 bathe?" 
 
 " 1 dare say they do : but what of that ? " 
 
 " Och, murdher ! Tlie wather's all fairly pisoned 
 wid tlie 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 k.-ow that it isn't? " 
 
 The priest smiled. 
 
 '' Why," said ho, " 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 reguhirly. 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 
 
TAT IN TEHROR. 
 
 UD 
 
 feet, witli a face of perfect horror. Even Bart ex- 
 perienced a slight feeling of repngnance as he 
 thought that ho 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 feelinii". 
 
 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 ho had been coming and 
 going for years between his house and the Laza- 
 retto, — all this filled hii.i with terroy. If that 
 disease had been originaliv comnumicated by 
 means of clothing, why should it not yet com- 
 nnmicate itself in the same way ? The whole 
 house nn'ght be reeking with the insidious seeds 
 of the deadly disease. 
 
 The thought was too horrible. 
 
 He nnirmured 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 
 
■▼■ 
 
 150 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 fact, liad fled, determining to sleep anywhere 
 rather than in tlie priest's house ; and so Bart saw 
 no signs of liim. But the sight that lie 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 im- 
 mediately above the range of the forest trees 
 there was a long line of red, — dull, lurid, dark,— 
 yet sustained and uin'ntermittent, 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 — 0, where is Phil ? Such was 
 now the one thought of Bart's mind. 
 
CONJECTURES ABOUT PHIL. 
 
 151 
 
 XI. 
 
 ^je 0, lohere is PldU-The Wanderer in the 
 Woods. - Strufjijles loith DlgieidtAes that always 
 mcrexse, ~ Approach of Night. - Gloom. - De- 
 spair. — Cllmbiwj a Tree. — No Hope. — liallu- 
 mgfrora the Assault. — A Midmght Meal. ~ Over- 
 worn Nature seeks liepose. 
 
 fJjppriERE, 0, where was Phil ? 
 
 Had lie indeed fallen a victim to the 
 vengeance of the Indian? or had he wan- 
 dered away through those terri!,le woods to en- 
 counter the fires, and to perish by them ? 
 
 While Bart is racking his mind with these anx- 
 lous questions, and trying in vain to answer 
 them, let us leave hiin and follow the fortunes of 
 the wanderer. 
 
 The rock that had risen on the shore of the 
 river extended for ahout a hundred yards. Phil 
 could have crossed the river and g<me down on 
 tlie other side, but it seemed swampv over there 
 and he thought it would be easier to pass over the' 
 rock. He also thought that there might be some 
 v.ow from the top which would give him a general 
 idea of the country. 
 
 ' 1.^ 
 
152 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 He therefore started off, and clanihered to the 
 top of the rock. On reacliiiig it, liowever, lie 
 did not find any view in particnhir, for the trees 
 around it rose so hig'h that tliey intercepted the 
 prospect. ITe therefore went on, intending to 
 reach tlie river ap;-ain lower down. On traversing 
 the rock and reaching its lower end, he found that 
 it terminated in an abrupt preci[)ice. This preci- 
 pice 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. Pie 
 therefore set off in that direction, expecting that 
 he would only have to go a short distance. But 
 the rock ran on much firther than he had sup- 
 posed; and it was still too precipitous for him to 
 descend. Along the edge there was a dense 
 growth of underbrush which prevented his walk- 
 ing 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, keep- 
 ing 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 
 
THE WANDERER IN THE WOODS. 
 
 153 
 
 to avoid (lifHcult pb^ces, returning again as soon as 
 convenient to seek the guidance of his landmark. 
 At length lie plunged into a very dense and dif- 
 ficult part of the forest, where he had to make so 
 many turns and detuurs to avoid the obstacles that 
 rose in his way, tiiat 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 on- 
 ward, 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 en- 
 tanglement. But to retrace his steps was not so 
 easy. He had got in, but to get ou^ was a dif- 
 ferent matter altogether. His frequent turnings 
 and twistings had already bewildered him; and as 
 he had ^ till to keep up the same crooked course, 
 and turh and twist as much as ever, his bewilder- 
 ment 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 ho toiled on as 
 well as he could, and at lengtii, to his satisfac- 
 tion, found the underbrush, diminishing very per- 
 ceptibly. This discovery encouraged him, and he 
 k'jpt on in this direction, for now his chief desire 
 was, first of all, to get to some place where he 
 
154 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 could regain sight of the rock ; and so lie 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 bo anxious to 
 discover the rock. How to do so ho 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 ; s 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 disap- 
 pointed. What now to do became a serious ques- 
 tion. There was the rock, and there was the 
 river, either of which it would be equally ad- 
 visable 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 woidd 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 
 
STRUGGLES WITH DIFFICULTIES. 155 
 
 with tliat smoke which lie had noticed all along, 
 and tiie sun could not be seen. There was noth' 
 ing left, therefore, but bare conjecture. 
 
 He now tried, as fkr as possible, to recall his 
 confused wanderings. Although he could not, of 
 course, recall the details of his journey, yet, as he 
 tliought it over, it seemed to him that, oil 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 
 m 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 thick- 
 et, he thought that when he reached it he would 
 turn to the left, and avoid it if possible in that 
 
 Accordingly, he now set out in the endeavor to 
 go back on his path. No vestige of anything like 
 a trad appeared to him, nor was the're 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 
 lie had cimsidered as the chief difficulty in his 
 way back. To his utter amazement, he came across 
 no tangled thicket of any kind whatever. The 
 
j 
 
 156 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 woods, instead of growing denser, seemed to grow 
 more open, and his progress grew easier. The 
 woods now were precisely hke what they had been 
 during their walk early in the day. 
 
 At first he felt only surprise ; but soon surprise 
 deepened into uneasiness, and uneasiness into anx- 
 iety. 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 alto- 
 gether 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 be- 
 fore. 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 l)egan 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 h;id 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 
 
APPROACH OF MfiFIT. 157 
 
 no answer came, and his own calls echoed far away 
 throiigli 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 loug 
 enough, some response must finally come. He 
 thought they must he near enough to hear him, 
 but were too intent u])on their fishing to think of' 
 him, or to notice his cries. Besides, he took com- 
 fort 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, some- 
 times 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 un- 
 pleasant shock, but immediately he began to find 
 comfort in this circumstance. 
 
 " When it grows dark," he thought, " they'll 
 1T,> IS 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 
 
158 FIRE IN THE AVOODS. 
 
 have discovered his absence, and must be search- 
 ing after him. The only thing tliat troul)led liim 
 was tlie remembrance of his last words to Pat. 
 He had tohl Pat tliat lie was going down the 
 stream, and they might make their first search 
 after him in that direction, and tliis he did not 
 think would bring them witiiin 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 sin- 
 gle 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 disa])pointment be- 
 gan 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 dai-k, that even his hope, 
 tenacious as it was, could no longer shut out from 
 his mind the conviction that wjiatever 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 liim, 
 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 
 
GLOOM. 159 
 
 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 in's friends or hear from them, liad so taken 
 possession of him, that heat or fatigue, or any 
 other bodily sensation, was not noticed. Anxiety, 
 eager efibrt, pertinacious hope, — all these had by 
 turns influenced him ; but now, as there seemed 
 no further chance either for action or for expecta- 
 tion, his strength collapsed, and he gave way ut- 
 terly. 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 jiis situation. 
 The severe exertions that he had made had utter- 
 ly 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, op- 
 pressive, suffocating. Its intense blackness cov- 
 ered everything in an impenetrable veil. Its efl 
 feet upon the others has already been described, 
 and u})on Phil it produced results more fearful 
 still. Had it not been for that unusual oppressive- 
 ness 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. 
 
160 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 At length a change came over him. In spite 
 of the heat of the night, the k)ng rest had heen 
 beneficial, and it was not in the nature of things 
 that emotions so strong sliould last very long. 
 Phil's mind was buoyant, his temper cheerful, and 
 hope was ahvays 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 him- 
 self, 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 mcmient his thoughts reverted to that fear- 
 ful adventure his gloom vanished. He now re- 
 called 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 terri- 
 ble tide, and environed in impenetrable fogs ? 
 Could it under any possiblity be so bad as being 
 swept out to sea, a helpless victim of the pitiless 
 
SADNESS GIVES WAY TO CHEERFULNESS. 161 
 
 waves? Tliere was no comparison between tlie 
 two cases. 
 
 And now his flopression lied, and the buoyancy 
 of liis soul lifted him up to hope. He began to 
 think over his prospects cheerfully, and to maivc 
 phins about the lullowing day. As soon as day- 
 light came, his friends would at once come in 
 search of him. lie would listen and hear their 
 calls. If lie 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 tliat would give him 
 an idea of east, west, north, and south. He might 
 then choose his route, and follow it up. If 'liis 
 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 settle- 
 ment ; or perhaps he might light upon some clear- 
 ing in the woods where he might obtain help, and 
 perhaps regain his friends. 
 
 Thus Phil's thoughts grew more and more cheer- 
 ful ; and ho 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, 
 
.''-""'■TT'' 
 
 162 
 
 FIRE ly THE WOODS. 
 
 gnawing feeling that had distressed him passed 
 away, and was succeeded by a sense of condbrt. 
 
 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. 
 
THE WANDERER ON HIS WINDING WAY. 
 
 163 
 
 XII. 
 
 The JVandoer on Ids windimj Way. — The Be- 
 loildeiinent of the Forest. — Swamjts and Bogs. — 
 The/rieiidh/ Brook. — Followlh(j the Flow of the 
 runniiKj IVater. — A 'pleasant Coarse. — An 
 eiieourayiiuj Diseovery. — Astray once more. — 
 He sinks to Best. — The last Sandwich. 
 
 3*T was very late wlien Phil fell asleep, and his 
 • liiti^iu^ and exhaustion eonihined to make his 
 sleep heavy and prolon^^ed. As there were 
 no sounds to hi'eak in upon his slumbers, he con* 
 tinned sleepinjj; until late on the following day. 
 On awakiuL," lie raised himself up, and looked 
 around in suiprise, tor in his dreams he had been 
 wandering among tiimiUar scenes, and it was some 
 time belbre he could comprehend his j)resent situa- 
 tion. I>ut his mossy bed at the loot of a largo 
 ma[)le tree, and (he woods that extended all around 
 on every side, soon enabh'd him to recall the 
 events of the preceding day, and to understand 
 liow he earner here. 
 
 These recollections were not cheerful, nor was 
 it a pleasant change to turn from happy dreams to 
 
164 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 such an awakening as tin's ; yet Pliil was not cast 
 down. lie still felt the beneficial efl'ect of tlsose 
 better thoughts of the night before ; and still 
 retained that buoyancy of spirit and that hopeful- 
 ness which he had felt on going to sleep. 
 
 And now another day had dawned, with its pos- 
 sibilities lor good and evil. His watch told him, to 
 his amazement, that it was after ten o'clock. Ten 
 o'clock ! After ten o'clock, and yet no signs of 
 Bart and the others! What did this mean? 
 Had they neglected him so long? Neglected 
 him? No. 1'hey could not do that; but was it 
 not possible that during his sleep they may have 
 wandered about these woods near him, iuid called 
 to him while he could not hear them ? This was a 
 most distressing thought, and if such a thing had 
 hap])ened, its result vvoidd bring a twofold evil ; 
 lor in the first place, he would have missed the 
 chance of deliverance, and in the second place, 
 they would not be likely to pass by here again. 
 JUit these thoughts wei-e not of a kind that ho 
 chose to entertain. He was in no mood now to 
 sink into des])ondent inaction. lie was tired of 
 this place, and was anxious to leave it. He was 
 also wearied of inaction, and was eager to do 
 something. Far better did it seem to him to do 
 anything, and go anywhere, even if he should bo 
 unsuccessful, than to remain here waiting ibr those 
 who nn"ght never come. So he at once dismissed 
 all idle thoughts and useless regrets, and ad- 
 
t 
 
 THE MEAGRE I5UEAKFAST. 
 
 165 
 
 dressed liimsolf to the task of {inanging his own 
 course of action. 
 
 He saw at once that tlie points of the compass 
 were as mucli a mystery as ever. Tlic first glance 
 upward showed him tliat tlie sky was dai'ker than 
 ever, tliat its covering was more opaque, that the 
 smoke was nearer to the eartli. The air also, was 
 close and oppressive. Tlie sun was not visible, 
 and therefore his hope failed of finding some 
 course which he might pursue by this means. 
 What, then, was he to do? 
 
 The first thing that he decided on doing was, to 
 take his Itreakiixst. Now, he had eaten pretty 
 freely on the preceding night, and therefore it was 
 with some concern that he opened hi*s basket and 
 examined liis stores. That concern was certainly 
 not at all lessened when he found that he had only 
 two sandwiches left. 
 
 Two sandwiches 1 
 
 Rather a small supply of provisions for one who 
 was lost in the midst of the forest, and had no idea 
 whatever when he might be al)le to iind his way 
 out. Phil would not allow himself to feel anxious 
 about this, yet at the same time he was prudent 
 enough to look out for the future; and so, though 
 he was hungry, and felt the need of a good break- 
 fast, yet he did not feel inclincMl to devour all 
 of his slender stock at that one meal. FTe chose 
 rather to exercise some seifdenial ; and so Ik^ con- 
 tented himself with only one sandwich, and put 
 tlie other back, reserving it for a time of need. 
 
166 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 He now felt thirsty, and began to look around 
 for water. He could not find any for a long time. 
 Meanwhile, as he walked about, the exertion made 
 him much more sensitive to the closeness and heat 
 of that torrid atmosphere, and so aggravated his 
 thirst that it begpn to torment him to an intolera- 
 ble degree. At length, to his great joy, he founr' a 
 swampy place ; and, stoo])ing down, he tore: out the 
 moss and sods, and scooi)ed up the black mud that 
 was underneath, until at last some black, discolored 
 water appeared. He took a few mouthfuls of this 
 without hesitation, and then, scooping out some 
 more mud, he waited till the water should grow 
 clearer. The particles of mud alter a time settled 
 at the bottom, and the water became clear enough 
 for Phil to drink it; and though it was disagreeably 
 warm, it yet refreshed him. 
 
 He now resumed his course. This swamp lay 
 in a slight hollow, and seemed to extend for some 
 distance. He was loath to leave it, for the re- 
 membrance of his recent suife rings was strong 
 within him; and so he walked along the swami)y 
 hollow. To his surprise it extended for a long 
 distance, and to his great gratification tlie mois- 
 ture of the ground increased, until at length the 
 bog became moi-e and more marshy, and pools of 
 standing water became visible. He skirted the 
 edge of the swamp, still walking on, and at length 
 reached a place where a small brook flowed on 
 out of this swamp into the woods. Along this he 
 
DISMAL SURROUNDINGS. 
 
 W 
 
 walked for a little distance, and then took another 
 draught of the water, wliich lie now ft)und quite 
 pure, and not so warm as to be unpleasant. Much 
 refreshed, he sat down by its edge, and unce more 
 began to dehberate about the best course that ho 
 could take. 
 
 He did not like the state of things altogether. 
 It was bad enough to be lost in the forest; but 
 there were other tilings su])eradded which made 
 his situation far worse. For he now felt the op- 
 pressiveness of the air most painlully, and the ex- 
 ertion of walking was far more exhaustive than he 
 had ever known it before. Besides, the atmos- 
 phere had a smoky character, which was distress- 
 ing, and the thick smoke clouds overhead showed 
 that something was going on in these woods that 
 might ere long make his situation much worse. 
 There was, indeed, something ominous in that 
 sickly, leaden sky, in those rolling smoke clouds 
 that hung so low, in this suffocating air which he 
 could not breathe with comi'ort, — something omi- 
 nous in the o[)pressive heat, an<l in the stagnation 
 of the atmosphere. There was, however, a breeze ; 
 its signs were visible overhead, but the woods 
 were so dense that he could not gain any benefit 
 from it. What the meaning of it all might be, he 
 could easily conjecture; but the thought was too 
 foimidal)le to be entertained, and so he tried to 
 dismiss it from his mind. 
 
 And now, while he thought of what he ought to 
 
168 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 do, a plan of action suggested itself which was so 
 simple, so feasible, and so full of promise, that he 
 at once caught at it and proceeded to act upon it. 
 This plan was nothing else than to follow the 
 course of the brook. It would of course enlarge 
 as it ran on. It might lead into a larger stream, 
 and that stream would be suie to bring him out 
 somewhere. Besides, to be near a stream would 
 be of great advantage in many ways. It would be 
 more open, and lighter, and more airy tiian the 
 thick recesses of the forest ; its bed would offer 
 a comparatively easy footpath, except where it 
 might become too strong or swampy; and he 
 would always be in tlie neighborhood of water. 
 
 On this idea he proceeded at once to act, and so 
 resumed his journey, walking in the bed of the 
 little brook. The bottom aiforded an easy path ; 
 and though the water was over his ankles, yet it^ 
 coolness was refreshing, and served to alleviate 
 very materially the ell'ccts of the sultry atmos- 
 phere. 
 
 But on resinning his course, Phil saw that if he 
 hoped to make any real progress, he must divest 
 himself of all useless encumbrances. His basket 
 and his lishing-rod were of this description. He 
 therefore sacrificed both of them to the necessities 
 of the occasion ; but before lie threw them down, 
 he removed the hook and line from the rod, so as 
 to have it in case of need. And now, as he went 
 on, he felt the benefit of this disencurabrance ; for 
 
THE BROOK. Ifif^ 
 
 the weight and inconvenience of those had been 
 excessively troublesome all along. Yet the line 
 and hook were the only essential part of the rod, 
 and the sandwich was the only necessary part of 
 the basket ; and these things were carried far more 
 conveniently in his pocket. 
 
 The brook flowed on, and gradually increased in 
 volume by the occasional addition of other brook- 
 lets, which joined it in its course. The channel 
 grew broader, and the waters grew more abun- 
 dant, sometimes spreading themselves out wide 
 over a pebbly bottom, atotlier times collecting into 
 deep pools, which Phil preferred avoiding. In 
 spite of the irregularities and inequalities of its 
 course, Phil preferred walking here to wandering 
 at random through the woods ; in the first placc^ 
 on account of the reasons above mentioned; and 
 in the second place, for tlie reason that it led to 
 some definite point, and would not allow him to 
 wander al»out blindly in a circle. The hopeless 
 bewilderment which had resulted from his forest 
 wanderings on the previous day, made his present 
 course seem quite certain and definite in com- 
 parison. 
 
 At last, to Phil's great delight, the brook joined 
 another brook, which was fully twice as larn:e, 
 though not as large as that stream where he liad 
 been fishing. A vague hope had arisen in liis 
 mind that this brook might lead him to that very 
 stream, in which case he counted confidently 
 
^'^^ FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 on finding his frion.ls; 1)ut n..w ho Jmd walked 
 80 flir that lio giivo up tliis hoj.o altogother, and 
 had mado up his mind to scdc his ..\vn sarcty irre- 
 spective of his friends. The new hroek was qnite 
 as easy as the ohl „ne ; in inn, it was somewlmt 
 more so, for it was less invgular, and presented 
 fewer nieqnalities of depths. Over its Led, then, 
 rinl trudged on, sometimes stopj.inu" to dash wu' 
 ter over his face and head, at other times thrust- 
 ing m his liands, and occasionally bending down to 
 take a drink. ^J^he i)rcsence of the hrook thus 
 proved of the greatest advantage to him, and its 
 cool waters })revented him from finding that ex- 
 Imustion under which he might otherwise have ) 
 
 sunk utterly. In the hroa.h^r pathway that this 
 brook afforded, he had also the eliancj of gaining 
 advantage of any slight breeze or movement of 
 the air that might take place; an.l thus in every 
 way he w\as a gainer. 
 
 At length he came to another brook, into which 
 this one disJiarged itself The new brook was 
 very much larger; and though not quite so large 
 as the stream where they had been fishing, still it 
 was not much smaller. At first the only thouo-ht 
 that came to Phil was, that he had come back to 
 this very stream itself from whieh he had started : 
 but soon, as he came to refiect u])on the length of 
 his wanderings, an<l upon the probabilitv that 
 many streams ran through the forest, he gave up 
 this idea, and contented himself with following out 
 
 / 
 
 }■ 
 
ENCOURAGING DISCOVERY. 171 
 
 the plan tliat he had adopted. This stream he 
 thought might lead to some larger one, and that 
 larger one to some river, which might eventually 
 bring him to the habitations of man. 
 
 The fresh hopes that were now aroused within 
 him lessened his fatigue, and stimulated hijii to 
 new efforts. The bed of this stream was shallow 
 and pebbly, sometimes deepening into pools, at 
 other times bringing him into the midst of swanips, 
 and grasses, and rushes; but, on the whojo, it was 
 no more difficult than its predecessor had been; 
 and his progress was very satisfactory. 
 
 At length he came to a place where he saw 
 something that sent a thrill of joy through his 
 whole being. , , 
 
 It was a path ! 
 
 It was an unmistakable path, narrow and rough 
 It IS true, yet still a path. It seemed like onc^Of' 
 those roads which are used in winter to draw logs 
 out of the woods, or fuel ; yet whatever its pur- 
 pose might be, there it was ; and here at last Phil 
 saw something that proved that he was u..t cut olT 
 altogether from all association with human kiud 
 Ihat path seemed to promise escape, and seemed 
 to lead him forth from the wilderness track to life 
 and liberty. 
 
 He stood and looked at it long and cai-efully. It 
 ran across the brook, and on either side it pre- 
 sented the same ai>pearance. The questien that 
 now arose in his mind was, which side should ho 
 
172 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 cliooso — the right or the left ? There was notliing 
 in tlie path that helped him to a decision ; no 
 footmarks were visible to show him where to go; 
 he was left altogether to chance and to his own 
 instincts. 
 
 At length he decided to take the path on the 
 right hand side, and accordingly he at once went 
 on in this direction. The path was about six feet 
 wide, and was comparatively smooth; so smooth, 
 indeed, that it seemed almost hixnrions when c( m- 
 j)ared with the irregularities of the brook, with its 
 alternations of gravel and swamp, which was also 
 deep in water. Here, then, Phil walked along 
 rapidly, and was so lull of hope that at every turn 
 in the path he expected to see some house. 
 
 The ])ath, as has been said, seemed like one of 
 those which are used in the winter only for lumber- 
 ing purposes. At the })resent time it bore no 
 marks whatever of recent use. No traces of wIk^cIs 
 were visible, no footprints of any kind; yet it was 
 level, Ibr the ordinaiy irregularities seemed to 
 have been smoothed away by the attrition of logs 
 which had been hauled over it. 
 
 Phil walke(l on for several hours. Ho was very 
 nnich fatigued; but tiie new excitement that had 
 arisen consequent upon this, discovery had pre- 
 vented him from giving way to his weariness, and 
 had, in I'act, roused him above it to such an extent 
 that he was unconscious of it. His expectation of 
 meeting with some signs of humanity clung to 
 
ASTRAY ONX'E MORE. 
 
 n.i 
 
 him iiH'essantly as lie walked along; and tliouuh 
 lio was constantly disa])p()inti'(l, yet lie ronstiuitly 
 hu})ud, and })ersistt'd in tliu hope, in spite of dis- 
 a|)pointinents. 
 
 At length, it began to grow darker, and he siiw 
 that evening was coming on. lie had been walk- 
 ing incessantly, with but one short rest, ever since 
 eleven o'clock. Under ordinary circumstances he 
 could not have maintained such a prolonged oirort ; 
 and had he not met with this })ath he would have 
 sought rest long before this. But his intense 
 desire to escape, which had been stimulated by 
 this discovery of the path, drew him on. and nerved 
 liim to new efforts. At the end of each hour he 
 still hoped that the next hour would bring some- 
 thing ; and so he kept on even after the darkness 
 began to deepen. Now, as the darkness increased, 
 the path grew loss and less perceptible, and at last 
 lie happened to get out of it at a place where 
 there was a wide o])ening in the woods. Leaving 
 it here, he wandered al)out until he discovered 
 that he had lost it altogether. On making this 
 discovery, he made no effort either to retrace his 
 steps, or to find out the lost path. He was too 
 much worn out to think of doing either. He 
 simply gave up. 
 
 A moss-covered mound was close beside him; 
 and taking a seat here, he determined to remain 
 for the night, and leave all further effort for the 
 following day. He was fearfully fatigued, and 
 
174 
 
 FIRE IN TFJE WOODS. 
 
 uttcily Avoni out. AVIkmi Ik; jravo up lie gave up 
 (•ouiplclcly. His (.lily tlioun'lit now was for lii^ 
 iinnuMlijif(^ wants, ;iii(I tliosi; wants comprised tlio 
 two (.sscnlials of HmhI and ivst. Kest lie could 
 lind here, on tiic mossy hiouikI. uikIlm- tlio forest 
 trees. As to food, thanks to jiis loretliouo-lit and 
 sellldeiiial in liio morning, somethinu- yet remained. 
 It was thai sandwich Avhich lie had reserved ibr a 
 time of need. 'I'h(^ time of need had come, and he 
 drew the saiidwicli from liis jxick'et. 
 
 JIo looked at it for a moment solemnly and 
 thoughl fully. It was his last sandwich — the very 
 last of his little stock of provisions. Should he 
 eat it all, or should he still ])reserve a little of it? 
 It seemed unwise to eat it all. He broke it into 
 two portions, and wrap])iiig one up carefully, he 
 })roceeded to eat the other. But on eating tliis iie 
 found his appetite una])peased, ami his craving for 
 more was irresistible. lie unwra])ped what he 
 had reserved and looked at it. Should he eat it? 
 I)ar(! he eat it? To eat it would be to dojirive 
 himself of his last mouthful, and on the following 
 morning he would have nothing with which to 
 begin the day. 
 
 He looked at that small fragment of food with 
 longing eyes, an<l the longer ho looked at it the 
 more tempting did it seem, and the more irresistible 
 (lid the temptation grow. At last he thought that 
 It would be better to strengthen himself now after 
 his long journey, and secure a good night's rest. 
 
Tin; Lasi Samiwkm. I'aijie 174. 
 
 I 
 
' 
 
 
 t 
 
TflK LAST SANDWK IF. 
 
 11 ri 
 
 
 On t}»o morrow ho oonhl look out for food ;uh1 <rot 
 HoiiioMiiri^Moojit — H(»rrMMAiicr(', lie krx'W not wlicrc; 
 — soiniihow, li(^ knew not liow. This thon^^ht 
 af)|)(!iis(M| his cautious sciiifdcs. No licsirjitcd no 
 lon^^(!r, hut i»t(! wliMt niniaincf) of the s;in<l\vi(|i. 
 
 And HO his jjist particdt; of lood was pin(!. 
 
 Jint h(; ^r;tv(! no thoiiu-lil to this. If., was too 
 tirod, iind worn out with uxlmustion lie lay dowu 
 unci lull asluup. 
 
17G 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Clouds and Vopors. — 77/^' rxlrmsflve Ilejit. — 
 Thirst. —Ma<l<lii Watvr. — The. PatKjsof J/anfjer. 
 
 — /lou) to fish. — The nicer. — The placid Lidcr. 
 
 — // P/uin/c. info the IVtdcr. — The Midday Mail. 
 
 — The, I'iiH' JToods. — The rovkj/ (Juvvrii. — 
 PrcpariiHj a A'i(/hf's Jlcst. — 77/c L'ucnini/ Jli/just. 
 
 — Niijld once /nore. 
 
 ^^k \ wakiiii;- llic next in(>riiiii,<:', I'liil's (irst iiii- 
 iLlw |»"'^<' ^^'"^ •" ''"'l^ ;ilt<t\(' and around to sec 
 ^^ what nii|i,lit Im' liic jnospc N for tin- day. 
 M'o ,i!s disa|t|ioinlnM'Ml lie lonnd those prospects 
 not at all elian;^('i| for llie lietter. Oveilieaij lie 
 saw tli(! I'ollin^j,' smoke clouds, \vlii(di now wer(! 
 }:,looinief and denser than In lore, and still nearer 
 tlic! earth. The atiiosphere canu'ht I'roni tliein a, 
 very perceptiltle odoi, \vlii<'li showed the character 
 ol' tlu! (douds ahove, and was pun^Jicnt enon}j,h to 
 create some de;^ree of irritation in the nose and 
 throat. The spot where he was appeared to he 
 somewhat inoriMtpen than usual, and in some direc- 
 tions he could lotik o\er a space se\eral rods in 
 extent. In this direction thesniokt! !ia/e was very 
 u[)par(Mit. 
 
 ]* 
 
EXCESSIVE TFIIIfST. 
 
 177 
 
 IIo felt l)()tli liuiiirry mikI tliiistv. I>ut Ik; had 
 notliiii^ wliiiti!V(jr to eat, uiid kii(!\v it. Ilr IijkI 
 euten his lust moiithrul tlic cvciiiii^' hdurc, and 
 tlicrc was nothing whutcvcr h It now to satisiytho 
 (Iciriaiids of his appetito. IJiil lor the picsciit, his 
 thirst was stronger than his hiiii}:;*!!" ; aixl so 
 })!irch(Ml was his throat, aii<l so )>aiiiriil was his 
 craving for water, that ho at oni'c startcfl up, uiitl 
 sot out in search of sonio. 
 
 Ilis ()l)j(M;t was now to rc^uin tliat path which he 
 had lost tho ni^ht hci'ori;, and follow it until ho 
 mij^ht find anotlusr hrook, or at least a swamp. 
 Hut thou;j;h ho sought most dilij^ciiitly, and most 
 thoroughly, in all directions, still he could iind 
 no trace; ol" it whati^vor. IJitter (!.\perienc»; had 
 already tau}^ht him his own utter inca|>aliilit y of 
 tindin^' his way hack throu;j,h tla^so wooils to any 
 point from which he mi;2^^lil have wandereil, and so 
 h(! soon ji;av(^ up this s(;arch as useless; hut in ad- 
 dition to this, his thirst was alto};('lh(;r too pressing 
 to allow of any H('ar(di after lost paths. 'I'Ik; one 
 thiiijj;: of his desire hecame water, and so lie turned 
 his attention towards lin(lin;;' this lirst necessity. 
 lie did not have tn undergo a wry loni? trial. 
 Tho woods were intersected in many |»laces l»y 
 small hrooklets, and hidore lonjj,' he came to a l>o^, 
 in which ho ohtained sullicieiit water to allay his 
 thirst. By carefully examirnn!'- this, he found a 
 placo which was the outlet of a hrook, and ho 
 now pursuod th(3 samo courno which had hooii 
 12 
 
178 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 followed hy liiiii the day Ixd'oro ; that is, lio 
 walked Jilon,!:; in (Im! Ix^d of tlio brook, hoping that 
 it would lead to a stream. 
 
 As he walked along it gnnv larger and hirger ; 
 other brooks joined it; and at length it ran into a 
 stream which was quite as large as that one from 
 which he had originally waiiderefl. On reaching 
 this he Silt down on the bank and rested. The 
 si ream was about a dozen yai'ds wide hero, 
 and tiie waters were shallow, rumiing on among 
 graved and cobble stones. The banks wcmh; bor- 
 dered with trees, which rose to the height of about 
 I'orty feet, and threw their branches across the 
 stream till they nearly met. 
 
 Sitting here and resting, Phil began to feel 
 more hungry than ever. Jlis walk had only 
 served to sharpen his ai)petite, and tho alleviation 
 of his thirst had brought out his hunger more 
 prominently. And now what could ho do? To 
 struggles forward all day without anything to eat 
 would be almost impossible. Already he i'elt ex- 
 liausted Irom his walk thus liir without Ibod ; and 
 to commenc(^ again seemed out of tho question. 
 In his hunger he now tiieil to find something in 
 th(^ woods. JI(^ t()r(! up some grass, and chewed 
 tlu! roots ; he peeled off some ma[»l(^ bark, and 
 tried to chew this; l)ut the grass roots and tho 
 maple bark had no perce[)tible etfect in <liminish- 
 ing his hunger. At last he thought of his fishing- 
 line, which he had carried with him utter throwing 
 
 1 
 
SUCCKSSFUL FISIIIN*;. 
 
 17f) 
 
 away the rod. Womlcrin^ why he liad l)(>oii so 
 stupid as not to think of tin's Ixdorc, hi' pi'occiMh-d 
 to search l()r a snitahh' rod. This he Inund jd'tcr 
 a short time, and attachinn' tlic line to the end ol' 
 it, ho jn-occiMh'd to try his skill at lishinj:-. lie 
 walked down the sti'cani for sonic distance, hnt lor 
 some time In; met with no sncccss. He he^^an io 
 feid a little alarm, and to think that the heat and 
 the smoki^ pn-veiited the fish from rising-, when 
 suddenly, in the midst of his disconraurnient, In; 
 felt a nihhie at the hook. IIo jeiked it nj>, hut 
 mlssL'd his prey that time ; still the ciicnmstance 
 encoura^-e(l him |rreatly, joi' it showed him that 
 thei'o was hope, and he continiU'il his task with 
 fresh spirit. At IcnLith, to his intense delight, ho 
 jerked out a fish. It was (piile small, hut still it 
 was indcscrihahly weh'ome : and without waiting 
 any longer, I'liil at once proceeded to kindle a lire. 
 He did this with little diflicnily. and placing- the fish 
 on the hla/,in^' sticks, he watcheil it unlil it seemed 
 suHiciently cookcfl to he eaten. Allhouiih his 
 hun^'cr had made him too im|>atient to wait till the 
 lish was tli(tnm};-|ily c(toked, yet that same hunj^'or 
 made him in<lil1erent to little deficieneies ol" this 
 sort, and the half-raw ti'out s<'cmed to him. without 
 excojjtion, the most delicious mtu-sel that he had 
 over eaten. He now I'csniued his rod, and hejoi'e 
 lon^" hauled out anothci", which was soon followed 
 hy niKtther, and yet another. \\\ this time the fire 
 had (lied down to the coals, and on tlie-e IMiil laid 
 
 i 
 
180 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 his fish. Tliis tiino ho waited until thoy were so 
 thoroughly cooked that they would have satisfied 
 the most fastidious appetite. Ou tliese Phil made 
 a right royal re])asi; nud this su[)i)ly of food 
 seemed to him to he sullicicnt for any eft'ort that 
 he might have to make that day. Before starting, 
 however, he was provident enough to wait until 
 he had caught three more trout, so as to secure 
 himself from again coming so close to ahsolute 
 starvation as he had been that morning; and then, 
 putting these in liis pocket, he rolled up very care- 
 fully his precious hook and line, and once nu)re 
 resumed his journey. 
 
 lie had thus been able to satisfy both that thirst 
 and that hunger which had each assailed him so 
 fiercely on his iirst awaking; and this fact gave 
 to him a glow of satisfaction, and a confidence in 
 his own resources, which dispelled the last vestige 
 of his gloom, and iilled him with energy, and hope, 
 and cheerfulness. In this frame of mind he set out 
 on the renewal of his journey, not knowing any 
 better than before where he was going, yet hoping 
 for the best. 
 
 The brook ran on for some miles, receiving other 
 brooks, and growing gradually larger. As a gen- 
 eral thing, its bed allbnled a sullicicntly easy path- 
 way ibr I'hil b) traverse, without any unusual ex- 
 «rtion, and was prcl'crable, on the whole, to the 
 forest with its underbrush. Occasionally, however, 
 rie was able to take advantage of ILivorable open- 
 
cr 
 
 THE RIVER. ISl 
 
 »np:s amonp: the trees, and on several occasions 
 gained very much 1>y taking' short cuts, Miid av,.i.l- 
 ing certain hends in the river. On such sh(,rt 
 cuts it is needless to say that he never ventured, 
 unless he was ahle to see ])laiiily wJ,ore lie was' 
 going. In this way he went on "iur some hours, 
 and in that time he certaiidy succeeded in gettin ' 
 over a large extent of ground. 
 
 But such exertions as these were not made 
 easily; and soon the energy with which he had 
 started began to relax. Uv I.ecame more sensitive 
 to the heat, and it seemed to him that the smoke 
 was growing more dense and more distressing. 
 He began to think that he must be drawing nearer 
 to the fires from which all this smoke and this op. 
 pressive heat arose. The thought was a most dis- 
 hearteiu'ng one ; for if it were true, it would trans- 
 form what seemed to be his pathway to safety into 
 }i blind rush to danger, and make of no avail all 
 his long struggles that he had put forth so perse- 
 veringiy. It was a thouglit, indeed, which was too 
 'h'i»rossing for him to entertain, and so he strove 
 to drive it from his mind : but it was one of those 
 unpleasant ideas which cling to the mind in si)ite 
 of itself, and so, notwithstanding Phil's ,.|rorts to 
 hope for the best, there lowered over him a very 
 dark and dismal foreboding that his present course 
 would at length bring him face to face with the 
 fire. 
 
 And what then ? 
 
182 
 
 FIRK IN TFIK WOODS. 
 
 All, tliat lio could not toll. * 
 
 Should lie turn l>ack now? No; tliat was a 
 tliinn- which he could not bear to think of. Whcr- 
 ever he was <;()in^-, he could not turn hack yet — 
 not till he was convinced that it was all wronj^ 
 — not till the very presence of the fire itself 
 should I'orce him to o-ive up all hope of farther 
 progress in this direction. 
 
 In spite of his surroundings of oppressive heat 
 and distressing smoke, of rough pathways and al- 
 ternating wood and water, — in spite of his fatigue 
 of hody, and despondency of mind, — Phil still 
 kept on his course, and stiuggled most Iieroically 
 to maintain his onward march, wheiever it might 
 lead. At length he reached a ])lace where the 
 sti-enm ran in almost a straight line for a consider- 
 able distance ; iiud looking down this, he could see 
 at the farthest extiemity the smoky haze; but 
 at the same time he felt confident that it was not 
 a whit dens(M' than it had been in the morning. 
 This discovery encouraged him ; and now, ii' he 
 felt the smoke and the heat more keenly, he was 
 able, with great ;i])parent reason, to attribute it 
 solely to his own wenriness of body. 
 
 " 1 will rest soon," he thought. "1 will take a 
 long rest, and get something to eat, and that will 
 be sure to restore m(\" 
 
 With this thought he went on : and though he 
 bad made up his mind to rest, yet he kept con^ 
 stantly postponing the period of that rest. At 
 
TIIK PLACII) LAKE. 
 
 183 
 
 lono-t], tlio stream took a turn round n woodvd ,],> 
 clivity, and as Phil went up tin's lo cut across, l.o 
 suddenly helield lyino- in.nuMliatcIy In rnrntoliiim 
 a small lake, into wjiidi tiie stream ran. 
 
 The sight of this at onco decided him to make 
 this wooded declivity his resting-place. So ho 
 took his seat here on the shore, and looke.l „ut 
 upon the scene helore him. The h.ke was of no 
 very great extent, and was surround.-d ,,n all sides 
 by trees. In front of Phil the head, was pd.hlv, 
 inid the waters clear and transparent : hut on the' 
 right there was a wide extent covered over with 
 green rushes, and water lilies, hoth velh.w and 
 white. As Phil l,„)ked fortii upon this pleasant 
 scene, the waters seemed so inviting *and so clear, 
 that he determined to take a hatli. X,, sooner 
 had he thought of this than he was ,.„ his f,.,>t 
 figain, ami in a very short tim(> had divested him- 
 self of his clothes and ])lnnged in. 
 
 He plunged down into those sweet, clear, tran- 
 quil waters. As his h(>ad sank under th.> cMuhrace 
 of the cool flood, it seemed to convov new life and 
 strength to every fibre of his weari.Ml frame. It 
 was (me delicious moment in a day of toil and 
 trouble. He struck out and swam fi'r off into tho 
 middle of the lake. Then he divrd again an.l 
 agam; and then, rolling over on his ba.-k, he lay 
 floating, with his ey.'s eh.sed, and his Inn.i n-pos- 
 iiig luxuriously upon its soft, walcMv con.-h. The 
 water here was suiliciently dear and sulliciently 
 
184 
 
 KIIIK 1\ THE WOODS. 
 
 (loop lor Ilis purpot^os, the ruslios and lilies were 
 over uj)on the shore on one ssidc, and there was 
 notliin^- to mar his enjoyment. Here he forgot the 
 lieat and the snnjke. The eool waters took away 
 from him all that sense of oppression which he had 
 so long I'elt, and when he at length landed, it was 
 as though he had enjoyed some prolonged rest for 
 hours, oi' some profound and refreshing slumber. 
 
 Now ho resumed his clothes, and thought of 
 those lish which ho had been cai-rying. On ex- 
 amining them, he found them slightly stale, yet 
 not at all crushed, and theieupon he proceeded 
 to kindle a fire upon the shore of the lake. Thus 
 far he had Ibund no diflieulty in making his fires, 
 lor he had matches with him, and there was no 
 lack of dry twigs; so, in a shoi't time, a fire sufii- 
 cient lor his ])urposes was 1 dazing merrily. Phil 
 was in no hurry; so, lying down near it, and lean- 
 ing on one elbow, he watched it lazily, imtil sufli- 
 cient coals had been formed, upon which he might 
 hiy his iish. 
 
 I'he lish this time were oven superior to what 
 they had been on a former occasion, for Phil's prac- 
 tice liad shown him, to some extent, how they 
 could be bioiled to the best advantage. All that 
 they needed was ji little salt and ])epper; but he 
 was too hungry to miss either of those seasonings. 
 He found, indeed, in iiis case, the truth of the old 
 saying, that hunger is the best relish ; and never 
 in his life had he eaten any meal with half the 
 
THK PIXH WOODS. 18^ 
 
 
 
 :^est that he luid known al tlic eventful meals of 
 this eventful day. A drau.ulit of water from the 
 running stream completed his repast, and ho now 
 lay down refreshed, and began to meditate over 
 his journey. He had now rested i'ov nearly two 
 hours, and ho began to feel like resuming his 
 march. It would be necessary, he saw, to walk 
 around the lake till he found its outlet, and then 
 go along as beibre, and keep on as long as his 
 strength might hold out. 
 
 Once more, then, he rose strong, eager, resolute, 
 and cheerful, hoping for the best, and willing to 
 go on in this course until he reached some desti- 
 nation, wherever that might be. ITi^ walked along 
 the lake shore, and on reaching the Other end, he 
 found the ontlet. This was nothing more than a 
 continuation of the stream down which he had 
 been going, but there was more water, for the 
 lake probably received other contributions; and 
 what was more important, the bottom was muddy. 
 Fortunately, however, the woods here were free 
 from underbrush, so that he ha<l no diflieulty in 
 walking through them, keeping the streani in 
 sight. After going about a mile or so, he found, 
 to his great delight, that he had come to a pine 
 forest. To him, after his long, rough walk, this 
 fact gave the greatest possil)le joy. For now the 
 trees rose up around him at wide intervals, and no 
 tangled underbrush stood in his way, forcing him 
 to wind through them or lose himself in the at- 
 
IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
 1.0 ;!:■- H- 
 
 I.I 
 
 1.25 
 
 u. Hi 
 
 M' |40 
 
 2.2 
 
 12.0 
 
 1.8 
 
 1.4 1111 1.6 
 
 VI 
 
 ^ 
 
 /a 
 
 % 
 
 /, 
 
 9j>'/ 
 
 
 
 7 
 
 M 
 
 
 
Q- 
 
1f 
 
 18G 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 tempt to go around it. Tlie pine forest allowed 
 liim to cliooso bis own course and walk almost as 
 freely as though he were in an open field. Besides, 
 the ground under his feet gave a firm foothold. 
 It was not like the soft moss or long ferns of the 
 other woods ; it was not like the pebbly bed of the 
 ^•itream ; it was hard, and smooth, and afforded an 
 easy patlnvay. 
 
 As Phil went on, he noticed that the stream grew 
 much wid(M', though it still remained shallow. Its 
 waters flowed sometimes in the middle of the bed, 
 sometimes on the right bank, and sometimes towards 
 the lei't ; while again they distributed themselves 
 over the whole of its wide bed, and brawled, and 
 gui'gled, and bubbled onward among the stones 
 and pel)l)les with which its bed was again filled. 
 At one place its channel divided, and a little island 
 covered with trees arose in the midst, while the 
 waters, after flowing past in two streams, once more 
 reunited. About a half mile below this another 
 stream joined it, and the waters were very con- 
 siderably increased. 
 
 Phil walked along for several hours, and at 
 length began to feel once more that excessive 
 weariness which he had felt before bathing in the 
 lake. Once more the atmosphere grew exceeding- 
 ly opi)r(!ssiv(>, and the smoke distressed him. At 
 length he came to a ledge of rocks, by the l)orders 
 of the stnnnn. As he came up he noticed some- 
 thing bke an opening, and walked towards it. Ho 
 
 u 
 
THE ROCKY CAVERN. 187 
 
 saw that a huge mass of rock lay tilted over and 
 resting against another mass in such a way that it 
 formed a covered chamber about ten feet long and 
 six feet wide. The floor was a Hat, rough rock, 
 and the end consisted of damp moss. Immediate- 
 ly beside this the stream flowed along in a deeper 
 cliannel than usual, for all its waters had gathered 
 on this side, leaving the rest of its bed bare. Piiil 
 was so struck wit!, the appearance of this place 
 that he examined it quite closely, and began to 
 think that it would be an excellent place to pass 
 tiie night in. He could not have found it at a 
 I better time. Already it was growing a little dusk, 
 
 ind he was thoroughly worn out. In fact he was 
 so tired tliat after stopping here one minute he 
 found it impossible to go forward any farther ; so 
 he at once resolved to sta3\ 
 
 On the top of the rock was a quantity of moss, 
 and as he was going to pass the night here he 
 proceeded to gather it, and collected a sufficient 
 quantity to make a comfortable couch when 
 strewed on the rocky floor of his little cave. But 
 there were other things to do before he sliouhl be 
 able to rest. He was once more in a state of 
 starvation, and the only thing for him to do was 
 to resort to his flsliingdino. He found u pole 
 without mu(;li trouble, and then threw his line. 
 At first ho met with no success. But he per- 
 severed, and walked farther up the stream till he 
 came to a place that looked more favorable. Here 
 
188 FIRE IN TPIE WOODS. 
 
 his efforts were crowned with success, for in a 
 little time he had hooked no less than six trciit^ 
 one of which was large enough for a meal by itself 
 
 After this he took a bath in the running stream, 
 and felt once more the same invigorating and resto- 
 rative effects from the cool water which he had 
 experienced during his bath in the lake. 
 
 Then he kindled his fire on the edge of the 
 stream, near his cave, and cooked two of the fish, 
 reserving the others for the next morning. 
 
 This meal was as great a success as the former 
 ones had been, and at length he retired to the 
 little cave where he had already spread the moss 
 for a bed. Here he oould not help recalling the 
 events of the day. He had hoped, on starting, by 
 this time to have reached some human al)ode. He 
 had not done so. But this, instead of exciting his 
 I regrets, gave way altogether to emotions of grati- 
 
 tude. He had been saved from thirst and from 
 hunger in a most wonderful manner, and, even at 
 this moment, instead of feeling utterly exhausted, 
 he had little else than a sense of languid weari- 
 ness. All this filled him with thankfulness, and 
 kneeling down in his little cave, he offered up his 
 most grateful thanks to the merciful Being who 
 had protected his wanderings during the day. 
 
 After this he lay down on his moss and soon fell 
 asleep. 
 
 I 
 
AN ANXIOUS NIGHT. 189 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Ba7± — An anxious Nic/Jd. — Suspicions. — Heap- 
 pearance of Fat. — 2'he Woes of Pat. — A hide- 
 ous Thowjht. — The Leper. — Off to the Woods. — 
 Indian File. — The Rear Guard. — Defection of 
 Fat. — He makes a Circuit. — " Ilyar I Hijar I 
 You dar ? Whar Mas'r Bart ? " 
 
 'HE siglit of tlie lurid glow which had burst 
 upon Bart's eyes as he k)oJved from the 
 priest's house excited within him anxious 
 thoughts, which kept him awake for hours on that 
 night; the thought tliat Phil was wandering in 
 tiiose woods, and that all around him Avere these 
 wrathful flames ; the thought that perhaps he 
 might have already fallen a victim; the thought 
 that his search could scarcely be made now, since 
 tliey could hardly hope to penetrate the woods for 
 any distance ; the thought that now any search, 
 however extensive, might perhaps be too late. 
 He slept but little. Every little while he would 
 rise from his bed, and look out of the window 
 towards the woods, to see if that lurid glow con- 
 tinued. It was visible for a long time, but at 
 
190 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 length died out altogether. But this did not 
 lessen Bart's anxieties, for now the smoke grew 
 thicker, and the smell of it was most unpleasantly 
 peceptihle, exciting the very natural thought that 
 the fire glow was no longer visihle, not because 
 the fires were extinguished, but rather because 
 the smoke had grown so dense that it hid it from 
 view. 
 
 When Bart arose it was not yet daybreak, and 
 on coming down stairs no one was visible. He 
 went out of doors, and paced up and down the road 
 uncf sily. After a while two men made their ap- 
 pearance, whom Bart recognized as the ones who 
 were to be the guides in their exploration of the 
 forest. He felt too anxious and too sick at heart 
 to ask them anything, for he thought that anything 
 they would say would only confirm his worst fears, 
 and as yet he did not wish to know the worst. He 
 wished to cling to his hopes, faint though tliey 
 now were, until hope should be no longer possible. 
 After a while Solomon made his a})])earance ; but 
 Bart had nothing to say to him, and the old man, 
 seeing by his manner that he did not wish to be 
 spoken to, held aloof, and sat down in silence on 
 the doorstep. 
 
 It was now day, and still the priest had not 
 made his appearance. Bart wondered at this, pnd 
 attributed it to his oversleeping himself Inis 
 made him feel somewhat impatient, and he thought 
 hardly of the priest for yielding to his drowsiness 
 
REAPPEARANCE OF PAT. 191 
 
 at such a time as this, when it was a question of 
 life and death ; but he waited, and checked a 
 rising impulse wliich he had to hunt up the 
 priest's bedroom and wake him. While he was 
 fretting and fuming, the two French guides had 
 placidly seated tliemselves on the doorstep in a 
 line with Solomon, and began +o smoke, chatting 
 with one anotlier in French. 
 
 Suddenly Bart heard footsteps behind liim. He 
 thought it was the priest, and turned hastily. It 
 was not the priest, however, but Pat. Bart had 
 actually forgotten Pat's existence ever since that 
 moment on the previous evening, when he had 
 gone out doors to look for him, and had seen that 
 terrible appearance over the forest trees. As he 
 now recogr.ized him, he wondered at his long 
 al)sence, and noticed at the same time tiiat Pat 
 looked very much agitated. At once he thought 
 that Pat had heard bad news, and had come to tell 
 him. This idea was so terrible that he stood para- 
 lyzed, and could scarcely utter a word. 
 Pat came up and gave a heavy sigh. 
 ''■ It's diireadful — it's terrible. Och, wurrooooo!" 
 Bart looked at him with an awful face, not 
 daring to ask the questi(ui that was upon his lijjs, 
 and now feeling sure that Pat lirA heard the 
 worst. 
 
 " Och, what'll we iver do? " cried Pat; " what'l] 
 we iver do ? Sure an me heart's lairly broke widin 
 me, so it is." 
 
H 
 
 192 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 "Plow did you find it out?" asked Bart, in a 
 trembling voice. 
 
 " Sure an wasn't it the praste himself that tould 
 me/' said Pat, in a tone of voice that sounded like 
 a wail of despair. 
 
 " The priest ? " said Bart. " You saw him then 
 
 — did you. Where — where is lie ? " 
 
 " The praste," said Pat, dolefully ; " sorra one o' 
 me knows. I seen him dhrivin off. I wor sleepin 
 undher a tray behind the fince. I wasn't goin 
 to thrust mesilf in their leper houses, so I 
 wasn't." 
 
 " You saw him. — he has gone, has he — gone 
 
 — to — to — to see about it,^^ stammered Bart, 
 feverishly ; ^' and what did he tell you ? " 
 
 "Tell me? " said Pat, dubiously. 
 
 " Yes. You said you saw him." 
 
 " 80 I did." 
 
 " Well — what did he say about it? " 
 
 "Sure an he didn't say anythin jist thin." 
 
 " But he told you about it, you said." 
 
 " So he did ; but it was last night." 
 
 " , in the niglit — you saw him in the night — 
 he must have been out then — and I thought ho 
 was in bed. 0, why wasn't I with him? Why 
 didn't he tnke me? But I suppose he thought Pd 
 be too nmch overcome, and so he didn't want to 
 tell mo — and did he tell you this, Pat? Tell mo 
 all. Tell me all — don't keep me in suspense." 
 
 At these incoherent words Pat stared at Bart in 
 
THE LEPERS AGAIN. 193 
 
 uttor {unazeinont, and for a moment thought that 
 lie liad lost his senses. 
 
 "Suspinse?" lie said — " siispinse? Wliat do 
 you mean? You talk as thougli you'd lost your 
 sivin sinsis ! Sure an diihi't you hear it yerself, 
 ivery word ? Sure an worn't ye in the room your- 
 self, listhening? Didn't ye hear it all ? " 
 
 " Hear it all? Hear what? " cried Bart. " About 
 what ? " 
 
 " Why, about the lepers, sure. Sorra a thought 
 I've had iver since, except al)out that same. And 
 I went off, so I did ; for I didn't dare to slape in 
 that leper house, wid i-. man that lives among the 
 lepers and shakes hands wid them." 
 
 " The lepers ! " cried Bart in impatience, but 
 with a feeling of inexpressible relief— the relief 
 which is felt at a respite, however brief, from sor- 
 row. " The lepers ! Why, I was talking about 
 Phil. Have you heard anything about Phil ? " 
 
 '' Phil?" said Pat. " Arrah, sure he's all right. 
 I ony wish I wor in his shoes. It ud be a happy 
 boy I'd be if I cud change places wid Phil. Och, 
 wurroo — but it's a bittlier day whin I came to' 
 this place." 
 
 " You haven't heard anything at all about Phil, 
 then?" said Bart. 
 
 "Niver a word," said Pat. "I've heard too 
 much about other things." 
 Bart turned away. 
 
 As for Pat, he wandered disconsolately to the 
 13 
 
■»■ I » I i Mi gWP— WW 
 
 194 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 fence by tlie road side, and leaning against it, he 
 stood there in a woe-begone attitude, — the very 
 picture of despair. 
 
 Bart now resumed his mehmcholy walk ; but be- 
 fore he had taken many paces, he heard the rapid 
 gallop of a horse, and in turning, he saw a rider 
 approaching the house, who, on drawing nearer, 
 turned out to be the priest. Bart now saw that 
 he had done his kind host a great injustice in 
 supposing that he had been oversleeping himself, 
 and felt a natural sorrow at his suspicions. As the 
 priest dismounted, the very first words which he 
 addressed to Bart made the compunction of the 
 latter over his unjust suspicions still stronger, 
 since they showed that, so far from sleeping while 
 Bart was wakeful, in his anxiety over Phil, he had 
 left Bart in bed, and had been traversing the coun- 
 try for miles, in order to institute a general search 
 after the lost bov. 
 
 " I took a few hours' sleep," said he, " and rose 
 between one and two. I've been up the road for 
 twelve or fifteen miles, and have persuaded a num- 
 ber of people to make a search of the woods as 
 far as they are able to. They are all full of the 
 deepest anxiety about the poor lad, and you may 
 rest assured that the good people will do all in 
 their power for him. My people are not very in- 
 tellectual, nor are they what you call progressive ; 
 but they are affectionnle, simple-hearted, and 
 brave ; and there is not one of them that I have 
 
 . 
 

 
 OFF TO THE WOODS. 195 
 
 spoken to wlio will have any peace until tliat poor 
 lad's iate is decided. So when we go olF to search 
 after him, you may console yourself with the 
 thought that our party is but one out of several 
 that are engaged in the same search.'' 
 
 At this disclosure of the real business of the 
 priest, Bart was so overcome with mingled emo, 
 tions, that he could scarcely say a word. He could 
 only murmur some confused expressions of grat 
 itude. 
 
 " 0, never mind me," said the priest, " and my 
 poor efforts. I assure you I am as eager to find 
 him as you are. Pray to God, my boy. He only 
 can save your friend. And now let us set out at 
 cnc-e." 
 
 With these words the priest hurridd up to the 
 two guides, and spoke a few words to them in 
 French. Thf- guides answered, and after a short 
 conversation the priest went into the house. The 
 guides took his horse and put him in the stable ; 
 and by the time they had returned, the priest came 
 out, and they all went off towards the woods. 
 
 " Don't be discouraged," said the priest to Bart, 
 " about the fires. After all, they may have driven 
 your friend away in this direction. For you see 
 he would naturally keep as far as p()ssi])le away 
 from them, and as they advanced he would retreat. 
 And so, if they are really coming in this direction, 
 he would be forced to come this Avav too. H" so, I 
 think some of my friends would be likely to meet 
 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
 196 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 I 
 
 with him. The only real clangor is, that he may 
 
 1)0 tired out, and ho iinahlo to endure the latigue. 
 
 But you say ho is an aetive boy, and tliat lie liad a 
 
 little food witli him ; and so I really think that 
 
 there is every reason for hope. You must try, 
 
 then, to keep up your spirits, and remember that 
 
 even if we don't find him he may yet be safe and | 
 
 may meet with others ; or he may even get out of 
 
 the woods unassisted," 
 
 These words were very encouraging to Bart, 
 and excited his best hopes. As he was natuiallv^ 
 light-hearted and sanguine, he determined to 
 struggle against his depression, and cling as long 
 as possible to the hopes that the present held out. 
 The consequence was, that he at once surmounted 
 his gloom, and dismissed from his mind those 
 desponding thoughts which had taken i)ossession 
 of him ever since he saw the glow of the fire. 
 He became more like his old self, and commenced 
 the exploring tour, full of life, and energy, and 
 hope. 
 
 Far different was it with Pat. His trouble arose 
 from a dark, dreadful terror which had taken 
 full possession of him, and which not even his 
 buoyancy of soul and natural cheerfulness could 
 withstand. It was the terror that had been awa- 
 kened by tiie mention of the leprosy. 
 
 And so it was that as the party entered the 
 woods, Pat held back ; and he who was usually 
 among the fir-^t, now lingered the last. He had a 
 
 
pat's depression. 
 
 lo: 
 
 terrible fear that lie had run a risk of ciitching- 
 the loathsome disease by bathing in ^dlut he con- 
 sidered the "leper waters/' and by entering- the 
 house of one who was on such faniiliar terms with 
 the lepers as the priest professed to be. It seemed 
 to him, now, that the only possible chance that re. 
 mained for him was to keep as far away from the 
 priest as possible. He remembered w^ith horror 
 that he had eaten at the priest's house on the pre- 
 ceding evening. lie had not eaten anything that 
 morning, nor had any of them as yet ; for the 
 guides carried provisions, and it was intended to 
 breakfast in the woods. But to Pat all tiioughts 
 of eating were obnoxious ; the sickening thought 
 of the leprosy drove away all his api)etite ; and if 
 he followed them into the woods, it*was at a dis- 
 tance ; and then only because there still remained 
 a loyal icg;)rd for Phil, and thus the tallies were 
 completely turned. Bart, who the day before had 
 been despondent, was now hopeful; while Pat, 
 who had then been the hopeful one, had now sunk 
 down into a state of depression to wdiich language 
 fails to do justice. 
 
 After walking into the woods for some distance, 
 they sat down and made a breakfast off some ham 
 and crackers, which were carried by the guides. 
 Pat sat at a distance from the rest, and resolutely 
 refused all invitations to partake, pleading a slight 
 sickness ; nor was poor Pat's plea altogether a 
 feigned one ; for by this time he had worked him- 
 
 . 
 
T 
 
 198 
 
 FTRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 self into a state of utter panic, and tlio miserable 
 feelin<::s resulting from his loss of a night's sleep 
 and IVom hunger were attributed by him to the 
 approach of leprosy. So poor Pat stood aloof from 
 the rest, pale, anxious, and already beginning to 
 think that he had made a great mistake in ac- 
 companying them at all. The more he thought 
 upon this, the more convinced did he become 
 that his presence there in company with them 
 was both unnecessary and unwise, — unnecessary, 
 for, as it now seemed to him, Phil was perfectly 
 able to take care of himself ; and unwise, for ho 
 was only destroying his chance of escape from the 
 leprosy, by thus remaining in the company of those 
 who had its terrible seeds clinging to their clothes 
 and to their persons. 
 
 A. prey thus to his anxiety, Pat's generous desire 
 to help Phil gradually weakened in the presence 
 of his instinct of self-preservation, and his belief 
 that Phil was safe somewhere made him all the 
 more eager to secure safety for himself. The 
 wretchedness which he felt, from the loss of his 
 night's rest, and want of food, and terror, till com- 
 bined, tended to turn all his thoughts upon him- 
 self; and the more wretched he felt, the more did 
 he attribute it to the awful disease which he so 
 greatly dreaded. And so, at last, by the time they 
 had finished their repast, Pat had felt so overcome 
 by his terrors, that he determined, at all hazards, 
 to free himself from his dangerous associates, and 
 
TPROUOH THE WOODS. 
 
 199 
 
 escape somewhere before it was too late. Having 
 tliiis made up Iiis mind, it only remained to find 
 some favorable opportunity of slipping an'ay un- 
 observed, and thus securing that safety for which 
 he longed. 
 
 After their breakfast they began to go forward. 
 The two guides of course went first, one behind 
 the other. Then followed the priest, and after him 
 came Bart. Pat wanted Solomon to go next ; but 
 Solomon declined, from a feeling of humility natural 
 to him, which made him seek the lowest — that is to 
 say, the last — place on the line of march, and partly 
 also from a desire to be in the rear, so as to see 
 that no one straggled away. Thus they all went 
 on in Indian file, and after Bart came Pat, while 
 Solomon brought up the rear. ♦ 
 
 As they thus went on, one after the other, in 
 Indian file, through the woods, it was, of course, 
 impossible for any one to see all the rest of the 
 party. It was enough if each one should see the 
 one who might be innnediately in front. This was 
 especially the case when the woods grew thicker 
 and the march more labo/ious. Bart then couhl 
 only see the priest ; and Pat, Bart ; while Solomon 
 could only see Pat. In this way they went on 
 then, and this mode of progress soon suggested to 
 Pat a simple, easy, and perfectly natural raode of 
 separating himself from the others. He had only 
 to slacken his pace a little for a short distance. 
 He had only to fall back slightly, and he would 
 
200 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 easily be able to puu between himself and the 
 others such obstacles that they would be able 
 neither to see him nor to tind him. This, now, be- 
 came his fixed resolve. 
 
 So, as he went on, Pat allowed Bart to go gradual- 
 ly farther and farther ahead, until at length he was 
 out of sight. But even then he was not satisfied. 
 He still kept on, but chose a course which swerved 
 slightly from the one which the others were fol- 
 lowing ; and entering upon this course, he sought to 
 make it more and more apart from the track of the 
 others. As he went along he kept constantly 
 turning to the right, and thus before long he had 
 made a complete circuit ; and then, when he 
 thought he had turned far enough to be heading 
 towards the place from which he set out, he ined 
 to go in a straight line. In all this he was com- 
 pletely successful ; that is to say, so far as con- 
 cerned his desire not to be noticed ; and so he 
 kept on for so long a time that at length he began 
 to be on the lookout for the open land and the sea. 
 
 But suddenly there was a loud cry behind 
 him, — 
 
 " Ilyar, ITyar! you dar! Whar Mas'r Bart?" 
 
 It was Solomon. 
 
 Pat had forgotten all about Solomon; but now 
 he remembered that Solomon had been behind 
 him, and he saw that he must have been following 
 him all the time, though he had been too excited 
 to be conscious of that important fact. 
 
SOLOMON EXCITED. 
 
 201 
 
 
 Solomon in a Rage. — FUjht of Pat. The Ex- 
 
 plorers penetrate the Forest. — The missing Com- 
 panions. — A^ew Fears and Anxieties. -—A baffled 
 Search. — Onward.— The Recesses of the Forest. 
 — An op>cn Space. — Halt 1 
 
 ^YAR, Ilyar ! you dar ! Wliar Mus'r Bart? " 
 Tlie cry at onco arrosttul Pat. Ho stopped 
 sliort, and turning round ho iound liimsolt' 
 face to face with Solomon. 
 
 "Whar Mas'r Bart?" said Solomon ac-ain. Ho 
 was excited and agitated, and looked ail around, 
 and peered into the forest ahead with most anx- 
 ions curiosity. 
 
 ''Bart?" said Pat, in a dejected tone; "sure 
 an I don't know."' 
 
 ''Warn't you follerin him?" cried Solomcm, in 
 an excited voice. 
 
 " Sure an T wor," said Pat ; '^ but I lost sight of 
 him iver an iver so long ago. An wheriver he 
 is now, it ud take more'n me to tell." 
 
 At this Solomon made a gesture of despair, and 
 looked wildly all around. 
 
r 
 
 202 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 
 "]\ra,s'r B'>rt lost! Mas'r Bart lost!" ho mur- 
 mured, clutching his wrinkled hands together. 
 
 " Och, you needn't bother a])out him. Sure an 
 he's follerin the praste an the Frinchmin, an he's 
 all safe an right. The last time I see him he was 
 close on the liails of the praste." 
 
 Solomon did not seem io have heard him. His 
 eyes rolled wildly. He looked all around eagerly, 
 wistfully, with unspeakable anxiety in his face. 
 
 " Mas'r Bart lost ! Mas'r Bart lost ! " he mur- 
 mured, still wringing his hands. 
 
 " But I till ye he ain't lost," cried Pat. " He's 
 wid the praste, so he is. Didn't I see him?" 
 
 " Don't see no use," cried Solomon, angrily, " for 
 de likes ob you to go foolin round dis yer way, 
 leadin folks eberywhar, out ob de right track. I 
 bound to foller Mas'r Bart, an heah you go a foolin 
 an a gittin lost. What's de sense ob dis yer pro- 
 ceedin ? What do you mean, anyhow ? Ef you 
 tink I'm goin to stan any such tomfoolery, you 
 precious mis'aken. You better begin now and go 
 ahead, and find out whar Mas'r Bart is." 
 
 Solomon's tone was full of a certain angry 
 menace, which was so utterly unlike his usual 
 maimer that Pat stared at him in wonder. 
 
 "Ah, howl yer whist," he exclaimed, at last; 
 " sure I ain't the only one that's got lost in these 
 wuds, so I ain't. You can find him yerself bet- 
 ilier'n me, so ye can, if ye want to. How can I 
 find him ! Sorra one of me knows the way any- 
 
SOLOMO.NS ANXIETY FOU BART. 203 
 
 wheres out of tliis ; and I'm fairly broken-hearted, 
 so I am, and that's all about it." 
 
 And saying this, Pat flung himself down, and 
 buried his face in his hands. He felt over- 
 whelmed by his troubles. His fears of the leprosy 
 were still strong within him, inid in addition to 
 this he felt a keen sense of self-reproach at his 
 desertion of Bart. Had it not been for ^^olomon 
 he might not have thought of this ; but the sight 
 of the old man's anxiety about Bart brought before 
 him in the plainest manner the fact that he had 
 been disloyal to his friend, and had deserted him, 
 in this hour of need. 
 
 As for Solomon, he took only one look at him, 
 and then turned away. In his faithful heart there 
 was only one feeling, one desire ; and that was, to 
 get back to Bart. He had no idea of the actual 
 state of the case. He did not know what a circuit 
 Pat had made, but merely supposed that they had 
 g'ot off the track that the others were following. 
 With this idea in his mind, he proceeded to call 
 after Bart, so as to open u}) a communication with 
 him. This he strove to do by means of a series of 
 the most unearthly yells, shrieks, and howls that 
 ever echoed through the recesses of a harmless 
 and unoffending forest. Yell followed yell ; howl 
 succeeded howl ; and a long series of hoots, halloos, 
 shrieks, whoops, and hullaballoos followed in swift 
 suf^cession. After each effort Solomon stood listen- 
 ing attentively, waiting for a response before 
 
Ti f 
 
 . ijf 
 
 
 
 204 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 beginning again. But his listening and his wait- 
 ing were all unavailing, ^or no response came, and 
 all his unearthly cries only echoed through the 
 dim forest aisles, without bringing back any answer 
 from the one whom they were intended to reach. 
 And no wonder ; for by this time Bart was very 
 far indeed out of hearing. 
 
 At last Solomon gave up in utter discourage- 
 ment. He stood for a time in deep dejection, and 
 then turned towards Pat, who had all this time 
 remained in the same attitude, sitting with his 
 head buried in his hands. 
 
 " How long ago is it," asked Solomon, " sence 
 you lost sight ob Mas'r Bart ? " 
 
 " 0, iver so long," said Pat ; " more thin an hour, 
 surely." 
 
 " Why didn't you call ? " 
 
 " Sure an how did I know? " said Pat, evasively ; 
 " wasn't I bothered out of my life, an fairly heart- 
 broke ? so I was. An sure an it's been a bad time 
 for us all intirely. Bad luck to the day whin we 
 came out to this leper place, — an me goin a bathin 
 in the leper wather, an aitin their leper dinners ; 
 the more fool I was for that same. Sure an the 
 ])raste's the desayver, so he is, for lay din a poor 
 feller in this way." 
 
 Not one word of this did Solomon understand, 
 nor did he try to understand it. Ho had other 
 things to think about. His one idea was to find 
 Bart once more. He did not think that he was 
 
IN SEARCH OF BART. 205 
 
 far away, but believed that he had been going on in 
 the same general direction, though he hod swerved, 
 to some extent, from the true course. So he now 
 determined to go on, and hoped that he might iind 
 Bart before loni>-. 
 
 '' No use Avaitin in dis ycr place, dis yer way," 
 said he. " I'm a goin to hunt up Mas'r Bart." 
 
 And with these w^ords he left Pat, and went on- 
 ward into tiie woods, continuing the sam.e course 
 whicli Pat had been leading. As to aski ig Pat to 
 go with him, the thought never entered his head, 
 — partly on account of his deep disgust at Pat for 
 losing sight, as he believed, of Bart, but princi- 
 pally from the fact that his mind was so filled with 
 the desire of reaching Bart, tiiat there was no 
 place in it for any tliouglit of any bther person. 
 And so the poor old fellow plunged into the woods, 
 and took up a course whicli was about as far away 
 from that in whicli Bart was going as it well 
 could be. 
 
 At Solomon's last words Pat raised his head and 
 saw him go. He watched him till he was out of 
 sight, with varied emotions. He supposed that 
 Solomon was now on his way to Tracadie, while 
 believing himself to be following after Bart into 
 the depths of the woods. There seemed, there- 
 fore, no danger before him, and Pat had no fears 
 for his safety. Had Solomon taken another direc- 
 tion, Pat would probably have told him all ; but as 
 it was, he" saw no necessity for doing so. He 
 
r 
 
 206 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 ! 
 
 would get back, he thoiiglit, in the course of time, 
 to Tracadie, and on finding himself there, he would 
 probably wait for Bart's return, and all would be 
 well. 
 
 He sat there motionless, until Solomon was out 
 of sight, and then began to think of himself One 
 thing only was in his mind, and that Avas, the de- 
 sire to fly, as soon as possible, far away from this 
 abhorrent place, to some other place, where he 
 might be safe, and where he could watch to see if 
 the terrible disease had really taken hold of him 
 or not. So with this purpose he arose, and after 
 a look all around, he chose his course, and went 
 on through the woods. 
 
 Meanwhile the others had been walking diligent- 
 ly onward ; first the guides leading the way, next 
 the priest, and then Bart. Not a word was spoken 
 by any one of them; the guides were too intent upon 
 maintaining a correct course ; the priest was too 
 much absorbed in watching the movements of the 
 guides, and in observing the scenes through which 
 he was passing ; and Bart was too much occupied 
 with conjectures about the probable course of 
 Phil's wanderings to think anything about the 
 members of their own party. Bart had a perfect 
 conviction that Pat and Solomon were behind him ; 
 so perfect, in fact, that it remained in his mind as 
 a foundation underlying all his other thoughts ; so 
 perfect that those thoughts never reverted to 
 those behind him, but turned only to that one who 
 
REST NEEDED. 
 
 207 
 
 was at a distance — the object of their present 
 search. 
 
 Deeper and deeper, and farther and farther, they 
 advanced into the forest, encountering every vari- 
 ation of woodland scenery, and every alternation 
 of forest travelling- ; sometimes finding it easy, 
 again finding it difiicult, yet at no time encoun- 
 tering any very serious obstacle. Their pace was 
 somewhat rapid, for the guides led them on with- 
 out much regard to the possible weakness or clum- 
 siness of their followers ; and judging them by 
 themselves, they maintained a pace which soon 
 began to tell very seriously upon Bart, and forced 
 him to put forth his utmost strength and energy 
 in order to keep the priest in sight. 
 
 At last, after a walk of several hour^, the guides 
 stopped, and offered to rest. They were coming, 
 they said, upon a more difficult part of the forest, 
 where greater exertion would be required, and it 
 might be well to rest for a time. The priest ap- 
 proved of this, and mentioned it to Bart. He also 
 approved of it most heartily, for he was almost ex- 
 hausted, and then turned to mention it to Pat. To 
 his surprise, however, Pat was not behind him, nor 
 was there any sign of Solomon. 
 
 This discovery gave him a great shock, and the 
 priest also was equally amazed ; but both he and 
 Bart supposed that they could not be far away, 
 and so they looked back through the woods to gain 
 sight of their advancing figures. Not perceiving 
 
■^r- 
 
 208 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 any signs of them, tlioy listened to find out if they 
 were approaching. No sounds, however, arose of 
 any kind ; no crackle of dry twigs announced 
 coming footsteps ; and as they listened, there was 
 nothing perceptible to their hearing save the in- 
 tense and drear silence of a vast solitude. 
 
 At this Bart threw a look of anxious inquiry 
 at the priest. 
 
 " They were following you ? " said the priest, in 
 an inquiring tone. 
 
 *' Yes," said Bart, doubtfully. 
 
 " Have you noticed that they fell back?" 
 
 " 1 didn't notice them at all. 1 took it for granted 
 all the time that they were behind me." 
 
 " How long is it since you saw them last?" 
 
 " Well, really, I don't believe 1 have looked be- 
 hind me once since we started." 
 
 " 1 hope they haven't lost sight of us. I hope 
 they haven't lost their way," said the priest. 
 
 The evident anxiety of his tone affected Bart 
 very seriously. His own experience in the woods, 
 as well as the loss of Phil, made him quite ready 
 to believe the worst ; and tliough it puzzled him 
 greatly to conceive how Pat and Solomon could 
 quietly lose them, and go off on a strange course, 
 without a single word, at the same time he began 
 to fear that such must have been the case." 
 
 '' Well," said the priest, " we may as well sit 
 down and rest. There's nothing else to be done. 
 Perhaps they'll be along presently. Pll make the 
 
NEW FEARS. 209 
 
 guides call lor tliem. They can do it better than 
 
 we can." 
 
 He then spoke to the guides; and the latter, as 
 soon as they understood the state of the case, 
 began to call for their lost coni])ani()ns. They did 
 this by setting up a series of cries so loud, so 
 shrill, and so sliar}), that Bart actually started. 
 He had never in all his life heard such sounds. 
 Pitched ui)on a high and very peculiar key, they 
 seemed to have a far-penetrating power which 
 would suffice to carry them ibr an incredible 
 distance. 
 
 Again and again the guides uttered these cries, 
 and after each cry they listened ; but though they 
 listened long, there came not the slightest response. 
 At length, at a suggestion from the 'priest, one of 
 them went back along the track which they had 
 traversed. He returned after about half an hour. 
 He came back alone, and reported that he had 
 seen no sign whatever of either of those who 
 were lost. 
 
 The priest now looked worried and uneasy. He 
 sat for some time in silence, thinking over this 
 fresh difficulty. 
 
 " Well," said he, at length, " they seem to have 
 lost us — most mysteriously ; and now the only 
 question is, shall we go back to try to find them, 
 or shall we go on ? Which needs our help most, the 
 one who has been lost for two or three days, or 
 those who have just left us?" 
 
 14 
 
210 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 " 0, as to tliat," said Bart, " they are botli better 
 able to take care of themselves than Phil is ; and 
 besides, they are nearer to the settlements, and 
 they must know the way back, for the woods have 
 not been very thick, and we have been going in a 
 straight course, and so it seems to me that we had 
 better go on and try to find poor Phil." 
 
 " I think so too," said the priest. '^ At any rate 
 ve shall rest for an hour yet, and perhaps before 
 we start they will find us." 
 
 They remained for an hour longer, but there was 
 no sign of the lost ones. No sound of crackling 
 twigs, no calls for help, awakened the deep silence 
 that reigned in the surrounding forest. 
 
 At length they rose to resume their journey in 
 accordance with Bart's decision. This new calam- 
 ity broke up that cheerfulness and hopefulness 
 which he had been maintaining since the priest 
 had spoken to him those encouraging words ; and 
 the tliought of Pat and Solomon wandering about, 
 without food and without guides through this 
 trackless forest, gave him more than his former 
 anxiety. It seemed a succession of misfortunes 
 that was destined to end in some kind of a tragedy, 
 and there arose within his mind the dark anticipa- 
 tion of some inevitable calamity as the natural 
 termination of all these pieces of ill-fortune. 
 
 Struggling as well as he could with these 
 gloomy forebodings, Bart once more set out after 
 his guides on what he now began to think a hope- 
 
DIFFICULTIES OF THE WAY. 211 
 
 less errand. But now tliore came other things 
 to distract his mind from the anxieties that were 
 harassing it in the shape of the difHcultiea of the 
 way. Tlie guides were right in tlieir warn- 
 ing about the toil and hihor that now hiy be- 
 fore them. There were dense underbrushes to 
 peiiotrate — so dense and so close that every step 
 was a struggle ; there were streams to ford, in 
 which they sank to the armpits ; there were swamps 
 to cross, where there was nothing but one long 
 struggle from one extremity to the other; and 
 added to this there were long pathways that led 
 over fallen trees, and through tangled weeds, 
 and tall ferns, which impeded the feet at every 
 step, and necessitated the most painful and the 
 most nnremittent exertion. In his progress 
 through the woods before, Bart had found nothing 
 like this, except for very short periods of time, 
 and he thought that if such a journey as this had 
 been before him he could never liav*> escaped. 
 
 Thus far the heat had been very great. There 
 was no wind. The air was still and stagnant ; and 
 the elfort of walking, even when the walk had 
 been easy, as at first, had been somewhat ex- 
 haustive. But now the exertion required was far 
 greater, and what was worse, the heat far more 
 intense. There was a torrid heat in the atmos- 
 phere that exceeded anything which he had thus 
 far experienced, and made all exertion doubly 
 toilsome and exhaustive. Yet in spite of all this, 
 
il^' 
 
 212 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 his deep anxiety about Pliil seemed to sustain him, 
 and though he felt ready to diop, yet lie managed 
 to maintain his march, and follow on after his 
 guides. 
 
 At length they emerged from a tangled thicket 
 which had offered extraordinary obstacles to their 
 progress. They came suddenly into a wide, open 
 place, quitu bare of trees, and overgrown with low 
 brush and trailing evergreen vines. Here there 
 burst upon them an extraordinary sight, — so ex- 
 traordinary, indeed, that they all stt)pped with one 
 common impulse, and gazed in silence upon the 
 scene before them. 
 
THE WIDE OPEN SPACE. 
 
 213 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The ivide open Space. — The terrific Scene. — Ar- 
 rested and driven back. — New Purposes. — The 
 Story of the Great Fire of Miramichi^ and the 
 Rain wrouyht in one tremendous Night. 
 
 'FIE wide open space upon which they had 
 come extended for some miles away on the 
 riglit and on the left. About a mile olf on 
 the otlier side arose the trees of the forest again. 
 Above these the smoke was rolhng- in vast, dense, 
 voluminous clouds, while underneath them shone 
 the red glare of a mighty conflagration. It was 
 in those very woods which rose before them. They 
 could see and feel its terrible presence. They 
 could see, behind the line of trees that stood near- 
 est, the dash of the surging flames as they seized 
 upon the dry foliage aud resinous wood of the 
 forest ; and the angry glow of the red Are, as, fbl- 
 lowing the advance of the flame, it grasped and 
 held in its blighting, withering embrace all that 
 it seized upon. At the breath of the flame the 
 forest shrank away ; at the touch ol the fire it 
 crumbled into dust. 
 
 
11 
 
 21^ 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 ■1; 
 
 
 The foremost line of trees stood there, black 
 against the glow of the fire that raged behind, like 
 the bars of some vast, immeasurable furnace. Be- 
 neath, behind those bars, gleamed the fire ; over- 
 head rose the smoke, spreading over the sky, and 
 filling all the air with its hot and suffocating fumes. 
 
 The whole party stood there looking on in si- 
 lence. The guides conversed with one another 
 and with the priest in French, of which Bart un- 
 derstood nothing. By the expression of their 
 faces, and by the shaking of their heads, however, 
 he learned, — if indeed he did not know well 
 enough already, — that any farther progress in that 
 direction was impossible. 
 
 " What do they say ? " asked he at length of the 
 priest. 
 
 " Well, of course, you see yourself," said the 
 priest, '' that it's impossible to go any farther, and 
 consequently we must give uj) the idea of reach- 
 ing that part of the forest where your friend was 
 lost." 
 
 " What shall we do ? " exclaimed Bart, in deep 
 distress. 
 
 " Well, that is what we are thinking of now. 
 It all depends upon whether your friend has come 
 in this direction or not. Now, you came in this 
 direction, and you must have been within a few 
 miles of this place ; but you reached Tracadie 
 safely, and saw no fire." 
 
 " No," said Bart, " only smoke." 
 
THE TERRIFIC SCENE. 
 
 215 
 
 But yon must liuve boon near it, for you saw 
 the flames last evening. They were concealed by 
 the trees when you were in the woods. Besides 
 the fire has, no doubt, been spreading in this direc- 
 tion ever snice. Now, as for your friend, if he 
 came in this direction at all, he may have reached 
 a place to the north of the fire, and I am of the 
 opmion that we might go in that direction. We 
 shall thus see something of the other imrties that 
 are searching the woods up there. In fact there 
 IS nothing else to be done. If we don't find him 
 further to the north, then 1 shall take it for granted 
 that he has wandered in another direction alto- 
 gether, and perhaps may come out at the Bay de 
 Chaleur." *^ 
 
 " You don't think, then, that there is - reason 
 for despair? " 
 
 '^^Despair ? Certainly not. Why should there 
 
 be ?" 
 
 '' 0, I don't know. I was afraid that this fire 
 extended everywhere, like the great fire that once 
 raged here." 
 
 '' The great fire ? 0, no. Such a thing as that 
 can only take place once in centuries. That was 
 the result of a combination of circumstances so 
 extraordniary, that it is not likely that they will 
 ever occur again. And just now, such a fire as 
 that IS a simple i!n])ossil)iIitv." 
 
 " But this Hre seems pretty bad," said Bart '^md 
 K s certainly nicreasing." 
 
216 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 I! 
 
 " This fire ? O, tliis is notliing," said the priest. 
 "In tliese woods, there is afire somewhere every 
 Slimmer, — and it runs on till a rain shower comes. 
 This is only a local affair, confined to this particu- 
 lar district. It may possibly extend for ten or 
 twelve miles, and have a width of two or three 
 miles. It is troublesome, and you perceive the 
 heat in the air, and it sends out smoke for many 
 miles ; but there is nothing in it that is at all ex- 
 traordinary. There is nothing in it that a man 
 cannot escape from. It is not like the swift and 
 hurricane speed of the great fire, that swept in 
 one night through all this country, and made one 
 vast waste of ashes and death before morning. 
 0, no. As for your friend, he ought to be able to 
 get along; and every brook that he cones to 
 will give him fish to eat. It's the greatest country 
 for trout and sahnon in the >vorld. In fact, 1 don't 
 see the slightest cause for anxiet}' about him." 
 
 These words gave Bart a relief iliat was inex- 
 pressible, and he was now freed from the terrible 
 anxiety that had so long devoured him. The 
 opinion of the priest was of great value, for he, 
 no doubt, knew perfectly well just what danger 
 there might be. His estimation of the fire af- 
 forded still greater relief. Bart had feared that 
 it was some universal conflagration ; but it now 
 turned out to be a local affair, so commonplace 
 that no one here regarded it. 
 
 "I think," said the priest, " that we had better 
 go back at once." 
 
FURTHER CONSULTATION. 
 
 217 
 
 ''Go back?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 '' Wliere ? " 
 " To Tracadie." 
 
 " But I thought we wore going to search farther 
 for Phil — to the north." 
 
 " So we are," said the priest ; " but we'll have 
 to go back. If we were to walk through the 
 woods, we would only be losing time. Now, I pro- 
 pose to go back, and drive along the road to a 
 place about fifteen miles away, where some men 
 are already in the woods engaged in this search. 
 We can either go there, or go farther on ; in fact, 
 it might be well to go as far as the Bay de 
 Chaleur, and get peoi)le there to keep a lookout. 
 But first, we must go back, and we can see what 
 the prospects are." 
 
 They now retraced their steps in accordance 
 with what the priest had said. It was a deep dis- 
 appointment to Bart to find himself returning 
 again without having accomplished anything ; and 
 in addition to this, ho was very greatly troubled 
 by the disappearance of Pat and Solomon. By the 
 time they reached Tracadie it was evening, and as 
 nothing more could be done that night, Bart once 
 more took up his quarters for the night with the 
 priest. 
 
 While sitting togetlier that evening, the conver- 
 sation was very naturally drawn to the great fire, 
 of which the priest had already spoken several 
 
218 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 if 
 
 
 times ; and at Bart's request he now gave a more 
 particular account of it. 
 
 " It was in the year 1825," said the priest. " Tlie 
 summer had been the hottest and the dryest ever 
 known, not only in this province, but all over 
 North America. There was no rain for months. 
 The hay crop was a total failure everywhere, and 
 the garden vegetables all wilted and withered. 
 Corn, turnips, potatoes, almost everything failed. 
 The roads were all covered with fine dust, the 
 fields were all cracked, and the grass was as if it 
 had been scorched. The woods were dried and 
 parched in the same way, th(3 sap seemed to dry 
 up in the trees, and the leaves and branches were 
 ready to flash into a blaze at the slightest approach 
 of fire. 
 
 " Fires, indeed, were in the woods in different 
 places from midsummer till autumn. These burned 
 steadily, though without making any very great 
 progress. There were fires in these woods, and 
 up at the head of the bay, and near the Nashwaak. 
 The most extensive was one near Fredericton. 
 There were also fires in the woods of Maine. 
 And in Canada some of them had reached verv 
 serious dimensions. As a general thing, none of 
 our people thought anything of it. Fires are so 
 common that they excite no attention, and so it 
 was with us. It was so dry that there was every 
 reason to expect them, and if they were even 
 larger than usual, that was no more than might be 
 expected under such unusual circumstances. 
 
STORY OP THE GREAT FIRE. 
 
 219 
 
 « At last the montli of October came, and in the 
 early part of that month various causes contributed 
 to spread tlie fires. On tlie Gth it was noticed 
 that they had increased very greatly, and their 
 extent was now far beyond anything that had ever 
 been known before. Peor)le wondered at this, but 
 thoug-ht that before long it must come to an end. 
 Rain must come and put a stop to it. 
 
 " On the following day, tlie 7tli, it was far worse. 
 All tliroughthe preceding night the fires had been 
 extending everywhere, and when day came it had 
 an appearance different from anything ever known 
 before. The sky hud a deep purple tint, and im- 
 mense cloufls of black smoke rolled over the Whole 
 heavens. .There was not a breath of wind, but 
 everything was sunk into a calm so, deep and pro- 
 found that it seemed like the death of Nature. 
 The heat Avas suffocating, the air thick and stag- 
 nant, so that breathing was difKcult. No one 
 could put forth the sliglitest -oxertion. Everybody 
 lay about in a state of utter lassitude and listless- 
 ness, or tried in vain to find some cool place where 
 the heat might be less oppressive. 
 
 "The most wonderful thing was the effect of all 
 this ui)on the lower animals. The birds had all 
 fled. The cnttle in the fields seemed bewildered 
 and terrified. They collected in groups, lowing 
 piteously, and looking wildly around, eating noth- 
 ing, but standing as though paralyzed. The dogs 
 moaned, and crouched, and wandered restlessly 
 
220 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 I 
 
 Mi 
 
 out of doors and back again. But what was yet 
 more astonisliing- was the behavior of the wild 
 animals. Wolves, and bears, and hares, and foxes 
 came from the woods to the open places, overcome 
 with terror, and seeking refuge among the domes- 
 tic animals. 
 
 " In spite of all this the people did not show 
 much excitement. In the more lonely places they 
 may have been frightened, but in the settlements 
 they seemed simply listless. No one anticipated 
 the terror that was approaching, or had any idea 
 of the doom impending over the whole country. 
 Strangely enough, the instinct of the lower animals 
 was truer than the reason of man. As the fire was 
 not yet visible, the people in the settlements made 
 no preparations against it, nor did they even think 
 that preparations were necessary. They know, of 
 course, that the heat and the unusual appearances 
 were produced by fires in some place, but where 
 it was, or how near it might be, they did not think. 
 
 " Evening came on, and at fibout seven o'clock a 
 brisk wind suddenly sprang up. The sun set, and 
 the darkness was intense beyond all description. 
 And in that darkness nothing whatever was visible ; 
 there was something terrible beyond words in 
 such deep gloom ; but the wind went on and in- 
 creased to a Avilder degree, until at last it blew 
 with extraordinary violence. Now, through the 
 darkness a terrible sight became visible. All over 
 the west and towards the north-west there shone a 
 
STORY OP THE GREAT FIRE. 221 
 
 red glow, whicli grew brigliter and brighter, until 
 at last tlie wliole skies were lightened up with 
 flaming fires. The wind increased, coming from the 
 west, until at lengtli it Mew a perfect hurricane ; 
 fiercer, more furious, more terrii)lo than any in the' 
 memory of the oldest inlial.itants here. Driven on 
 by this fierce tempest, the fires spread with incon. 
 ceivable rapidity, and all the west became a sea of 
 fire, and above the woods vast flames shot up 
 furiously, iar into the sky. There was no darkness 
 now. It was driven away, and light had come ; 
 but the light was worse than tlie darkness 
 had been. 
 
 "The hurricane increased, and the fires drove 
 onward before it, and the fierce flames towered far 
 up into the sky. Then there came a low moan 
 from afar, which increased, and strengthened, and 
 deepei-^d, until at last it grew to a loud, appalling 
 roar — a roar like sustained thunder, which still 
 grew louder, and deeper, and nearer, and more 
 awful. lu the midst of this came the s(mnd of 
 crackling, like musketry volleys, and loud, tremen- 
 dous explosions, like the discharge of cannon. And 
 all this increased every nn-nute, the fires sweeping 
 onward more terribly, the roar of its advance 
 gathering in intensity and volume, until at last the 
 vast sheets of flame seemed to rise ahnost to the 
 zenith. Overhead all the black smoke Avas now 
 reddened in the glow of tlie fire, and there passed 
 away over the sky a fierce torrent, bearing with 
 
222 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 it innumerable sparks, niul Mazing twigs, and 
 branches of trees, which had been torn from the 
 forest by the fire, and were now hurled through 
 the air by the hurricane. 
 
 " Now there arose the wildest panic. All had 
 been so sudden that there had been no time for 
 thought — but even if there had been time, no 
 thought could have availed. There was only one 
 common impulse in all living things, whether man 
 or beast, and that was escape. One cry only arose 
 
 — the cry, 'To the river! To the river!' In 
 this direction every one hurried, a confused crowd, 
 
 — men, women, children, horses, cows, and dogs, — 
 some carrying the old or the sick, others assisting 
 the weak; fathers carrying their children, moth- 
 ers their infants. Each seized what was most 
 precious, and fled. All the time there were wild 
 outcries — some of fear, others of hope, others of 
 command, others of despair from some who had 
 been separated from relatives, and were trying to 
 find them again. Then they all hurried to the 
 river; and some stood plunged in the water, others 
 sought boats, others rafts, others floated on logs, 
 while others sought the opposite shore, from 
 which, however, the fires that spread even there 
 soon drove them. 
 
 " And now the whole country, in all directions, 
 
 blazed. The whole forest was as dry as tinder, 
 
 'and everywhere the floating sparks woidd fall 
 
 upon the trees, and there would kindle fresh 
 
STORY OF THE GREAT FIRE. 223 
 
 flames, which would sweep away before the hiirri- 
 cane like those behind. It was this that made the 
 confiagration so swift and so universal. 
 
 "The morning at length came after that night 
 of horror — the morning of the 8th of October; 
 and never did human eye rest upon such a scene 
 of desolation. The vast forests, the green mead- 
 ows, the flourishing villages, the pleasant homes 
 which a few hours before had formed one of the 
 happiest countries in the world, was now one vast 
 expanse of dust and ashes, out of which lowered 
 the smouldering, blackened shafts of giant pine 
 trees that had not been all consumed. The halfl 
 burned corpses of men, women, and children, 
 cattle and wild beasts, strewed the forests, and in 
 the dried-up beds of brooks and -rivers ' lay the 
 blackened bodies of burnt fishes. Six thousand 
 square miles had been suddenly blasted by that 
 unparalleled fire. And all this ruin had been 
 wrought on that one night of horror." 
 
 Such was the priest's narrative of one of the 
 most terrible fires on record — the great fire of 
 Miramichi; a fire most remarkable for the aston- 
 ishing rapidity of its course, and the thoroughness 
 of Its devastation. For, apart from other more im- 
 mediate evils, it ruined the timber of all that coun- 
 try, turned fertile districts into barren wastes, and 
 annihilated in one night all the resources of a 
 great commerce. 
 
 To aU this Bart listened with deep attention, 
 
224 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 m\ 
 
 and gained from it increased hope for Phil. For 
 now he saw liow different was this fire from the 
 one of which he had been hearing, and how dif- 
 ferent the circumstances were. Tliose woods were 
 not dried like tinder, nor was it possible for a fire 
 to spread so fast but that any living being could 
 escape it. Besides, the woods were full of brooks 
 and streams, and all these streams were full of 
 fisli ; and Piiil had his rod and lines, and was an 
 expert fisherman. From all these thoughts he 
 drew hope and confidence. 
 
 He was greatly puzzled, however, by the dis- 
 appearance of Pat and Solomon. Their departure 
 in the woods had greatly perplexed him, but he 
 hoped that he would find them on his return to 
 Tracadie. There were no signs of them. The 
 night passed, but they did not make their appear- 
 ance. Morning came, but brought them not. 
 
 He did not know what to think about it, and 
 felt perplexed. Still he had no anxiety. Neither 
 Pat nor Solomon was likely to come to any 
 trouble in the woods, for they were perfectly well 
 able to take care of themselves. 
 
 The party was now all broken up and scattered 
 — Phil, Pat, Solomon, and Bart, all in different 
 directions, and none of them knowing where the 
 others were. But Bart's mind was now intent 
 upon finding Phil ; and so, after a buried breakfast, 
 he got into the wagon with the priest, and they 
 both drove off together. 
 
PHII. AWAKES. 225 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Phil awakes. — A morning Bath and a morning 
 Repast. — A pleasant Discovery. — Once more 
 upon the 3Iove. — The rough, impenetrable Woods. 
 — The River. — A new Mode of Travel. — The 
 friendly Log. — Fm afoat, Tm afloat. — Ar- 
 rested. — The secret Place of Fire. 
 
 'LL that night Phil slept most soundly in the 
 little rocky chamber where he had made his 
 bed ; and early on the following morning 
 he waked and crawled forth. It had been much 
 cooler inside that little cavern than outside, and 
 he was very much refreshed ; but on emerging 
 into the outer world, he was at once sensible that 
 the heat of the atmosphere was most oppressive. 
 The smoke, too, was thicker now than ever. Over- 
 head it was darker, and descended nearer to the 
 ground; while the smell of the air was more irri- 
 tating to the throat and nostrils. Everything 
 showed him, most plainly, either that the fires were 
 increasing, or were steadily drawing nearer to 
 where he was. In either case, the prospect was 
 sufficiently unpleasant to make him look forward 
 15 
 
226 
 
 FIRE TN THE WOODS. 
 
 with uneasiness to liis future ; for as he could see 
 nothing at any distance ahead, and as lie was still 
 in ignorance of the direction which he ought to 
 take, he was quite incapable of forming any def- 
 inite plan of escape, and could only {idhere to his 
 former plan of following the course of the river. 
 
 On finding out the heat of the atmosphere, his 
 first impulse was to prepare himself for the toils 
 of the day l)y a bath, which he ^noceeded at once 
 to take. The water was still cool ; and the rushing 
 torrent, as it passed over his head and dashed 
 against his limbs, gave him a delicious sense of 
 enjoyment. Then followed his breakfast. The 
 fish which he had saved for the night before were 
 used for this purpose. ITe kindled a fire close by 
 his rock, and cooked them upon the coals with his 
 usual success. While eating his fish, he noticed 
 at a little distance some shrubbery that seemed 
 strangely familiar, and suggested the idea of a 
 luxurious addition to his re))ast. He at once went 
 towards them, and found that his surmise was cor- 
 rect. They were blacklierry bushes, and were 
 filled with berries, in such numbers that in a ver}- 
 short time he had picked as much as a (piart. 
 These he caught in some strips of bark folded so 
 as to make a disli, and with this addition to his 
 provisions he returne(l to his former station, and 
 finished his breakfast with unconnnon relish and 
 enjoyment. 
 
 After finishing his repast he waited for some 
 
-^ I I IBV I ,"V_¥^ ' ^"'t ^ 
 
 mf III qp ■> I I I I ifl i:w«fi^ 
 
 A PLEASANT DISCOVERY. 
 
 227 
 
 time, trying to tliiiik iii)un wliat iniglit ])e his best 
 course of action tliroiigli tlio day. The more he 
 tried, howevci', the more unable he lound liimselt' 
 to devise anything better than that which he had 
 been doing ; and so at length, finding any further 
 thought useless, he determined to set out on his 
 daily tramp, leaving his course to be determined 
 bv the events of the day. 
 
 His course was at first precisely like what it 
 had been on the previous day. Djirk pine trees 
 arose all about him, standing at intervals sufficient- 
 ly wide to allow of easy progress, their innumer- 
 able shafts rising on every side as far as the eye 
 could reach. Tlie shadow of the forest beneath 
 caught a peculiar leaden tinge from the smoke that 
 now surrounded evei'ything, and in some places 
 was so dark that it seemed as though the fire 
 might be smouldering there. There was no un- 
 derbrush ol" any consequence, so Wiat IMiil could 
 go on whatever course he pleased ; and as the 
 ground was firm and hard, his ])rogress was made 
 without undue ellort. Thus he was able to keep 
 the river in sight, and follow its course ibr a long 
 distance. 
 
 As he went on the brook grew gradually larger, 
 and at length ran into a stream vci-y much larger 
 than itself, large enough, in i'act, to deserve the 
 name of river. I'his ]'hil saw with delight; for 
 he saw in this the hope of encountering the haunts 
 of men. As he looked down the course of this 
 
a 
 
 228 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 i r 
 
 river, which here afforded a much wider opening 
 in the forest tlian he had yet seen, he was struck 
 by the density of the smoke clouds, and the pecu- 
 liar character of the atmosphere. The sight in- 
 spired him with far stronger I'ears than any which 
 he had hitherto known. Thus far he had consid- 
 ered tlie fire as arising from some one spot, and 
 liad thought of being able to evade it, even if he 
 should reach the place where it might be burning; 
 but now he began to feel as though the tires were 
 all around him, rolling forward from every side 
 towards him, and sending an advance march of 
 smoke to bewilder him and lead him astray. This 
 thought gave him a momentary pang, and a transi- 
 tory feeling of despair crossed his mind. But this 
 weakness was only short-lived. It soon passed, 
 and his buoyancy of soul and sanguine tempera- 
 ment reasserted themselves. 
 
 At length, as he went along by the river side, 
 he noticed, to his deep regret, that the pine woods 
 ended, and were succeeded by a forest like that 
 which he had traversed on the first day of his wan- 
 dering. What was worse, it could not be avoided. 
 He could not walk along the river bank, for it was 
 lined with trees and shrubbery. He could not 
 walk in its bed, for it was too deep. There was 
 therefore nothing left to do but to make his way 
 through the woods the best way that he could. 
 
 On entering these woods, the change was un- 
 pleasant in the extreme. It was necessary for 
 
IMPENETRABLE WOODS. 
 
 oon 
 
 him to keep near the river, and in order to do this 
 he had to encounter witlioiit shrinking all the 
 obstacles that lay in his way. He did not dare 
 now to attempt to go round any of them, or to 
 make short cuts, for he was afraid that if he got 
 out of sight of the water once, he would never be 
 able to find it again ; and, therefore, at all hazards, 
 and at every cost, he determined to keep it within 
 sight. 
 
 These new efforts soon exhausted him, and he was 
 forced to sit down and try to recover himself. As he 
 sat there gasping, there seemed to bo a more intense 
 warmth in the air, a dry, torrid heat, a suffocating 
 closeness, which was far worse than it had been 
 yet. He felt that under these circumstances his 
 progress would be small indeed, tie had only 
 one thought now, and that was, to recover from 
 his heat and exhaustion; and to do this he knew 
 of only one thing, which was — a plunge in the 
 water. 
 
 Tearing off his clothes now, he flung himself in 
 the water, and felt once more its reviving in- 
 fluence. At this moment a new idea occurred to 
 him, which filled him again with hope. It was, 
 that he should remain in the river, and go on 
 as he was, carrying his clothes with him. At this 
 rate his progress would be far more r,\\)'u\ than it 
 had just been; and he would be far less liable to 
 feel fatigue. Acting upon this suggi^stion, he 
 rolled his clothes up into as small a bundle as 
 
230 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 I« 
 
 possildo, Itiit k('])t Ills hoots on liis foot, so as to 
 walk without (hlficiilty over the sliarp sticks or 
 stones that lie mig*ht eneonnter; and now, slinging 
 his handle hehind his hack, he went on, walking 
 near one of the hanks, in water that was ahout up 
 to his waist. Ilis progress was certainly not very 
 fast; hut the plan was highly satisfactory, since 
 he no longer suffered so much from that intense 
 exhaustion to which he had been svd)ject while 
 forcing his way through the tangled hrushwood. 
 But at length he found himself assailed hy myriads 
 of mosquitos, and this infliction became so in- 
 tolerable that he had to go into the deeper water 
 of the mid-chann(d. Here, however, his progress 
 was slow, and carrying his bundle was a great 
 trouble. 
 
 Suddenly he saw a log lying near the shore, 
 cntanghnl among the brushwood. It was of cedar, 
 and looked as though it had been cut for a tele- 
 graph pole. This at once offered him an easy and 
 agreeable mode of progress, which was in every 
 possible way su])erior to anything that he had yet 
 tried. Walking towards it, he drew it out, and 
 then placing it before him he bound his bundle 
 upon it. Pie now puslied it in front of him, down 
 the stream, and clinging to it, he struck out after 
 it, sometimes swimming, sometimes walking. So 
 buoyant was the log that it easily sustained his 
 weight ; and the ('om))lete succi^ss of this con- 
 trivance made Phil determine to make the rest of 
 
THE FRIENDLY LOG. 
 
 231 
 
 his journey in tliis way. So ho once more stopped, 
 and taking off his boots, bound them upon the 
 log also. He was now divested of all his clothing, 
 keeping on only his hat, which was useful both 
 against the heat and the flies; and thus prepared, 
 he once more puslied his log before him, and seek- 
 ing the centre of the stream, began to move slow- 
 ly down. The water here was now over his head ; 
 and the current was running at the rate of about 
 three miles an hour. A very sh"ght effort on his 
 part served to increase his motion to a rate wliich 
 was faster tlian any which he had been able 
 to make yet; and he found himself going onward 
 in a way in which he was able at once to secure 
 both speed and coolness. 
 
 The musquitos were troublesome from time to 
 time, but not continuously ; and these he was able 
 to evade by plunging his head under, hat and all, 
 after which i)lunge the drip of the water from his 
 hat about his head seemed both to cool him and to 
 repel his assailants. 
 
 He now floated along, and was thus borne on- 
 ward by the river, with many a turn and winding, 
 ann'dst the forest. On either side arose the trees, 
 — dark, solemn, and silent, for not a sound of any 
 kind could be heard. TUo birds which usually 
 made the forest vocal with their melody had fled 
 to other j)laces. I Hiat torrid and smoky atmos- 
 phere there was no place for these children of 
 song. Phil, as he floated in the cool current of 
 
232 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 Bii 
 
 
 11 
 
 the river, felt himself withdrawn completely from 
 the heat and the smoke ; but as he looked up he 
 saw enough to make him feel grateful that he was 
 where he was — that he had found a stream deep 
 enough to sustain him in its waters, and swift 
 enough to carry him onward without any severe 
 exertion on his part. The smoke lowered dark- 
 ly and menacingly overhead, and before him, 
 where the river ran, it seemed accumulated in 
 gloomier and denser masses. The air seemed 
 even hotter, and as he at times plunged his head 
 under the waters, he rejoiced to think that he had 
 so near him such a perpetual remedy for heat and 
 exhaustion. 
 
 He had now been in tlie stream for some hours, 
 when at length he noticed a rising ground before 
 him. It was a hill of no very great height, 
 rounded and covered with trees ; but behind this 
 there seemed to be an agitation among the smoke 
 clouds, as though there was concealed there the 
 unseen cause of all tliese stifling vapors that filled 
 the skies. This place Phil began to watch with 
 deep interest and curiosity. He did not feel fear, 
 for in his present position he did not anticipate 
 any danger; but he expected that at this place he 
 would reach what might be the climax of his 
 adventures. The only real fear that he had was, 
 not from fire, but from the water itself. He was 
 a})prehensive that he might come to a cataract, or 
 to rapids. This danger certainly did not seem 
 
APPROACH TO THE HILL. 233 
 
 very imminent, or very probablo, for tlie country 
 was generally of too level a character to allow of 
 waterfalls ; but Phil thought of this as his only 
 possible danger, and was consequently always on 
 the lookout. Now, therefore, as he saw this ac- 
 cumulation of clouds, and the agitation that pre- 
 vailed there, he did not perceive anything that 
 could immediately affect him, and so he felt no 
 terror. 
 
 The river had a winding course ; and though it 
 drew nearer and nearer to this hill, yet it ap- 
 proached it slowly, and by gradual advances. At 
 length, on taking a turn round one of its bends, 
 Phil could see that the hill was on the left bank, 
 and that he would soon reach it, and pass round it 
 in the next turn of the stream. Full of curiosity, 
 he now drifted along, and waited for the next pros- 
 pect that would be opened up behind the hill. 
 
 Nearer and nearer Phil ap])roached, and stronger 
 and stronger did his excited curiosity grow. The 
 smoke, as he drew closer, was more distinctly 
 revealed, rising into the skies in dark, rolling 
 masses, as though sent uj) by some mighty 
 power beneath. Nearer and nearer he came, and 
 at length became aware of short, dull (lashes of 
 light, which, brightening for a moment, were soon 
 obscured. It did not surprise him, for this was in 
 some degree what he was expecting. Where 
 there is smoke there must be fire ; and if now the 
 flames flashed forth, it merely proved that he was 
 
234 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 
 at last drawiiii:; iioar to that fire whoso sip^ns had 
 tilled the air for many days. And what should he 
 see? What was it that could produce tliis veil of 
 smoke that obscured the universal sky? Could it 
 be iieor the haunts of men, and was it merely the 
 commonplace [)rocess of clearing lan<l ? No; he 
 felt that it could not be anything so ordinary as 
 this. The signs whi(;h he had seen and felt for 
 days a«)se from something moi'o than the clearing 
 of fields for cultivation. It was rather the march 
 of a mighty conflagration through the forest, which 
 devour(3d all things in its path, swept away the 
 verdant trees, blackened and devastated the rich 
 forest foliage, and sent afar in all directions the 
 breath of its devastating mouth. 
 
 With these thoughts Phil drifted on, awaiting 
 the disclosure of the great fire, and at length 
 reached the hill. Past this he was slowly borne 
 by the current which encircled it, and then, com- 
 pleting the circuit, swe])t onward upon its course. 
 
 Here, as Phil fioated looking forward, the whole 
 scene burst at once upon his sight. No obstacle 
 any longer rose between him and the fire ; he 
 saw it in its reality — living and breathing before 
 his eyes. 
 
 The river went on for about a half mile, and 
 then took another turn. Half way between this 
 hill and the next bend rose the flames of a vast 
 conflagration, devouring the forest far and wide, 
 extending on both sides of the river to the right 
 
THE SECRET PLACE OF FIRE. 235 
 
 and to the left. From Pliil's position lie could not 
 command any extensive view on either side, and, 
 indeed, the smoke would have i)revented that 
 had he even been more elevated; hut tlie scene 
 before him was enough to convince him of the 
 magnitude of the fire. Immediately in .front, be- 
 ginning from that point, lying midway between 
 him and the next bend, the fires began, and 
 extended till the river turned again upon its next 
 circuit. On both sides of the stream the fires 
 blazed up, and continued far away, reddening in 
 the glow of a mighty confiagration. In the midst 
 of this arose innumerable trees, standing up, 
 black, blighted, and withered in the red fire; 
 while over them the smoke leaped and rolled as 
 it bounded upward. Nearer, the fires were 
 brighter, for here they were incessantly advan- 
 cing to attack new trees; and the flames couhl be 
 seen darting, like lightning, upward from twig to 
 twig, and from bough to bough, until tree after 
 tree was enveloped in the raging fire. These 
 were the cause of those Hashes which he liad 
 noticed further up the stream, and indicated the 
 advance of the fire in this direction. The fore- 
 ground was thus most brilliant, most active, and 
 most thrilHng; but the background, with its in- 
 numerable array of blackened trunks rising from 
 the midst of that dull, angry fire glow, and sur- 
 rounded by the dark smoke clouds, formed a scene 
 that was yet more terrible. 
 
236 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 1,1 
 
 I 
 
 Hie Confagration. — A dread Alternative. — For- 
 ward or backward. — A hold Decision. — The 
 Hood. — A terrible Venture.— The red Place of 
 Flame.— The Place of the fery Glow. — The top- 
 pling Tree. — A Struggle for Life.— The Jiery 
 Atniosjjhere. — The lad supreme Moment. 
 
 »S this sight thus came upon his view, Phil 
 drove his float towards the shore on the 
 loft, until Ins feet touched bottom ; and 
 standing here he looked down the iver upon the 
 conflagration. Away before him stretched that 
 vista of fire, the patliway before him led tln^ough 
 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 he 
 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 ex- 
 cited, they were dashed at once to the ground. 
 
BACKWARD OR FORWARD. 237 
 
 And wliat now? 
 
 What sliould lie do? 
 
 Could ho go buck ? 
 
 Go back? No; that was a simple impossibility. 
 How should he go back ? Not through the woods, 
 for he could make but small adv^ance 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 intoleral)le. 
 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 woidd merely be 
 driven before it back to his old quarters, to perish 
 miserably. To be driven back before the fires 
 
238 
 
 PTRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 would bo a liup^oring doatli. It was not to bo 
 tli(>u<;-lit of, so long as any other course was pos- 
 sible. 
 
 What, then, was tlio other course ? 
 
 T\\v other course was — to go forward. 
 
 To go iorward ! 
 
 This was what Phil longed to do, with longing 
 unspeakMble. To go iorwiird would lead him 
 farther down the river. To go forward would 
 carry him beyond the fires. Once lev 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 o])en lands, and 
 pure air, and help, and liberty, and life. It was 
 there that he longed to go. 
 
 But between him and what be fancied to lie be- 
 yond, 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, tlie idea of pass- 
 ing that barrier could not, of course, be enter- 
 tained. But there was one thing in Phil's situa- 
 tion 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 
 
A DRKAD AI/IKUNATIVK. 2.'>9 
 
 those fires ; l»o uu^hi find protection in its niniiino- 
 waters. He eoukl keep cool amid tiiat fervent 
 heat; and as tlie stream would itself bear him on, 
 he would not need to make any elVorts excej)t 
 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, hut was 
 restrained l»v other thougiits. 
 
 ITow far might those fires extend? Uow long 
 could he endure the presence of those llaniing 
 woods, even in the waters of the I'iver? Could 
 he breathe? Would not the intense heat make; 
 breathing impossible? Tliat burning district might 
 extend for many and niitny a mile ; and if he once 
 ventured there, how would he ever get out of it? 
 Or again, might not that f)ossible obstacle in tlie 
 river waters, which he had di-eaded, be found down 
 there amid the burning Ibrests? 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 ])ossible ex- 
 tent 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 ho[)e. I^ut 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 
 
240 
 
 FTKE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 way by wliicli he might know anything more than 
 tliis. 
 
 At last tliero canio a thought whicii gave him 
 groat oncouragomont. Ilu tlioiight that the lire 
 in its march must exliaust itsoU" aftor a certain 
 time, and that after the trees were actually con- 
 sumed there must be a (le})arture of the heat. It 
 was in the advanced pai't of its march that it 
 maintainiMl this furnace glow ; at a certain dis 
 tance behind, the heat might not be intolerable. 
 If, therefore, he could traA-erse the flames and the 
 fire that he saw belbrc; him, Ik^ might find the coun- 
 try beyond not much worse than it was here. 
 
 This thought, this hope, decided him. lie de- 
 termine(l to stake everything upon this, and ven- 
 ture upon that fiery piith. 
 
 But before he attempted it ho made the only 
 preparation jxtssible. Wiiat he dreaded most was 
 the scorching glow of those flames ; and as he did 
 not know to what extent they might afreet him, he 
 wished above all things to guard his head against 
 that dangcM'. 
 
 Ho therefore unbound his clothes from the log, 
 and took his coat out, alter 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 saturatecl ^vith the water, and then 
 carefully adjusted it over his head, tying the 
 hIoovos under his ciiin so that it served tlu^ pur- 
 pose of a hood. In this way he hoped to have a 
 
A TERRIBLE VEXTUnE. 241 
 
 protection from the lioat of the burning forest, 
 while his eyes would he shaded from the dazzling; 
 and blindino; j^lare, and would he able to watch 
 without interru[)tion or impediment the course of 
 the river. 
 
 With these simple preparatitms Phil breathed a 
 short prayer, eonnniltinji,- himself to the cart^ of 
 God, and then sunHnonin«;- up all his eoura^H*, he 
 directed his float down the stream onc(^ more, and 
 then boldly launching; forth, he dared the ten-ible 
 journey. Once more the waters received him to 
 their embrace ; once more the river enfold(Ml him, 
 and bore him g;ently 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. ITe felt its 
 hot breath, growings hotter upon lu's brow — nearer 
 yet — and then, at leng;th, the flames dashed for- 
 ward, the green trees passed from his line of 
 vision, and his eyes saw nothing but one vast and 
 lar-reaching glare. 
 
 lie plunged his head beneath the water, and 
 held it under as long as he could. Wh(>n he 
 raised it again he found himsidf fartluM* on in the 
 midst of the flann'ng trees. The heat of the air was 
 intense, yet not so much so as he had feared. TTis 
 dripping coat hung round his head, protecting him. 
 His ccmrse was true, for looking forward he saw 
 that ho was still in the very middle of the stream. 
 16 
 
242 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 One look was sufficient, and tlien, desiring to pre- 
 pare liimselfas nincli 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 clianged. The dazzling flash of 
 leaping^ u])-springing flames had i)assed 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 
 })orti()n 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 atmos- 
 ])here of a room overheated on some winter day. 
 He could breathe without diflicidty, and thanks to 
 his extemporized liood, 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 atmos])here 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 I'rom time to time plunge his head 
 under water. 
 
'r 
 
 A SEVERP] TRIAL. 243 
 
 In this way he was l)orne steadily on, niul suc- 
 ceeded ill preserving himself trom destruction 
 during- tiiat first entrance intotiie aAcnue of Maine. 
 He was now in tiie avenue of fire, and over tiiis 
 the Hood ]>ore him, until at leno-th he reached that 
 bend on the river which he had seen before start- 
 ing- upon this last journey. 
 
 The river turned to the right, and swept away 
 for about as great a distance as lay between this 
 bend ami 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 suflicient allowance for the 
 tenacity of the fire where it once has fixed its 
 grasp. There rose the trees — tlje skcdetons — 
 red -glowing in a fervid glow; and the air was 
 hotter here — more torrid — more stagnant. 
 
 rier(», 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 fiir and wide the witliering 
 signs of fiery devastation, filled liim with awe and 
 n})i)rehensi(,n. 'fliere was nothing, however, whi(di 
 he could do. Ibi could only do as la^ had been 
 doing, and draw his hood over his face as far as 
 iie C(»ul(| without obstructing the view, and guide 
 himself in the right coui'se, and occasio'nally 
 [)lunge beneath the waters so as to maintain the 
 protection that was afforded by the moist uie and 
 the sheltering hood. 
 
244 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 ia\ 
 
 I 
 
 Tlie 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 |)oint 
 and entering upon the new course of the river, he 
 beheld i)efore him an unchanged scene oi devasta- 
 tion. There, as before, the glowing lire appeared on 
 the ground below and in the trees above ; the lat- 
 ter rising all red in the fire, and crumbling slowly 
 bencidh 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 top}>led over ; and 
 the silence that had reigned was now broken by 
 the thunder of those fidling masses. 
 
 The air here was also hotter; for as the fire had 
 been burning longer, so everything was aflected 
 by its long intensity. Now it was that Phil first 
 began to liud something a])])roximating to what 
 he had dreaded — a heat which made breathing 
 dillicult, and made the air like that at the mouth 
 of a furnace. 
 
 Through this he drifted on as before. ITis soul 
 already beg;ui to yield to des])ondency ; while hope 
 grew fainter, and a diirk dismay gradually took 
 possession of his heart. ITow could it end? 
 Would it ever end? Were there any linn'ts to the 
 burning woods ? Must he thus go drifting on, and 
 
The Torri.iNG Trkk. Page 245. 
 

 '. s 
 
 11 
 
 1 1 
 
 !' i 
 
 i| 
 
 . 
 
THE FIERY^ ATMOSPHERE. 245 
 
 find that every new scene, as it opened np, was 
 worse tlian its predecessor? 
 
 So lie drifted on. 
 
 As he thus went on, he suddenly saw immedi. 
 ately 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 w^ould fall 
 across the stream. Thus Phil, by a blind instinct, 
 shifted his course slightly. 
 
 The tree slowly tilted over. It descended far- 
 ther and farther. Phil at that same moment was 
 being borne on by the current. The danger was 
 innninent. 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 rat- 
 tling, 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 
 
2IG 
 
 Fir!I': IX TIIK WOODS. 
 
 liorror, mikI tlirill with a s(Miso of desoenflinp; rnin. 
 But tlio monuMit passc(l. His i'ect toiiclRMl bot- 
 tom. II(! turned and lookcnl around. Tliore, about 
 three yards IVoui liiiii, lay tlie tree, its roots still on 
 tlic other bank, and its top buried beneath tlio 
 water. With a wild, des])airing' glance Phil looked 
 for his float. p]ven 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 sti'uck 
 it, and dashed it to tlie 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 al- 
 most fainting w'lih the fatigue of this exertion, he 
 clung to it motionless, panting heavily, and now 
 scarcely able even to guide himself aright. 
 
STILL ADIilFT. 
 
 247 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The black Pla c of Desolation. ~ Blue SI,-;/. — Open 
 lleavow. — The Glorij of the Sunshine. — Green 
 Hills. — Th oj}en Sea once more. — yllon(/ the 
 
 Eoad. — A stranyc, a very strawje F)icounter. 
 
 The JVanderintj Lejjer. - Naaman the Syrian. 
 
 Ci^ANTING heavily, and almost fiiinfino. with 
 jr*| exhaustion, Phil dril'ted on, c'Iin,«iino- with a 
 %S^ convulsive grasp to his lo,u,.and seiiive con- 
 scious of his surroundings. It was the current 
 that now guided him, lor he lor some time Avas in- 
 capable of making any ellbrt to guide iiimself. 
 Several times he instinctively tiirust 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 drij» of the water 
 over his face. Drifting on in tiiis way, he remained 
 ^^T some time without noti(;ing the shoivs on 
 either side, too nnich taken u|> with his own sensa- 
 tions to regard any external things. Ib^ had a 
 general idea that the lires were all around him 
 still; but he no longer sought with his former 
 eager scrutiny to hnd some signs lav., ruble t,, Ui^ 
 own hopes. 
 
2i8 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 I ' I 
 
 I I 
 
 But at length lie regained his breath, and began 
 onee more to look around. The first thing that 
 he noticed was, that the heat had very materially 
 lessened. The next thing \vas, that the land of the 
 fiery glow had passed away. Around him there 
 was now, not a fiery country, but a black and 
 deyastated country, out of which smoke vyas 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 
 liim 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 itseli', was inexpressibly delightful to eyes that 
 had just gazed upon tlie 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 black- 
 ened 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. 
 
THE (!LORY OF THE SUNSHINE. 
 
 249 
 
 e 
 e 
 it 
 d. 
 
 It was, prol)ul)ly, this cooler air that had revived 
 him, and given liim back tlie hreath that he iiad 
 nearly lost forever at that time of his struggle near 
 the falling tree. 
 
 He looked up. The smoke was thinner over- 
 head. Before him the skies were brighter, and in 
 one place the glorious blue of heaven was discern- 
 ilie. 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 ra])id 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 
 
250 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 tliG i)(»(ly, and now joy and hope to the soul. At 
 last ho could l)roatlio I'rooly. Tlio air liad lost all 
 that opprossivonosw which it had so lon^' had. No 
 loiifj^cr was tlicro porce])tihlc tho abhorrent smell 
 of smoke. lie had emerged from tho fire and the 
 smoke, and whorever he was, he had at least left 
 those things beliind. He had no idea where he 
 was, 01- whither he was going; it was enough for 
 him to know that he had escaped from the fire 
 and the woods. 
 
 He had boon 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 siiould reach some place where he might rest. 
 
 At length there appeared before him something 
 green. It looked like the foliage of trees. It 
 rose al)Ove the black land and the charred stumps 
 of the burnt district, and seemed to be some place 
 whicli the fire had not reached. Was it some 
 green oasis in tliis desert of devastation, or was 
 it s( me new forest as boundless, as uninhabited, 
 and as desolate as the one in whicli he had been 
 lost ? At tliat moment it mattered not to him 
 what it was, so long as it was some place that was 
 free from the touch of fire. 
 
 Onwai'd he drifted, and the stream took a turn, 
 and swept forward. Here the green foliage ap- 
 peared full before him. It was of no great extent. 
 Beyond it there was no vast forest, but only the 
 
 :i._ 
 
THE OPEN SEA AGAIN. 251 
 
 sky. It soenied as thoiio-]i in one \)hic(i tlioro might 
 be a broad plain, so low did it lie, and so open was 
 it, and bare of trees. This [)laee he watehed 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 
 liarbor opened out into the sea. It was not a bay. 
 It was the sea, with the distant horizon touchinjr 
 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 fiir 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 un- 
 harmed. 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 
 
252 
 
 FJRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 about what he ouglit next to do. Wliere he was 
 he Iiad not the faintest idea. Pie coiihl not h(i 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 
 8t. Lawrence. If so, then that bridge must be- 
 long to the road that ran along the shore, and set- 
 tlements could not be very far away. 
 
 He was now too im]iatient to rest any longer, 
 and was so eager to find out where the road led to, 
 that he took his halt-dried coat over his arm, and 
 started otT 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 sea- 
 shore 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, an<l the 
 Iiope of finding a house stimulated him to such a 
 degree that he maintained a rapid walk for at least 
 an(.th(>r mile. 
 
 And now, as he ascended a slight elevation, he 
 saw a ^'guie, on the road before him, advaiuM'ng 
 towards him. It was a boy thai he saAV. He was 
 Avalking Avearily, and seemed both tired and de- 
 jectiMl. He was looking at the ground, 
 
 Phil hurried towai'ds him. The bov did not no- 
 tice him till he had come quite close. Then ho 
 looked up. 
 
A STRANGE ENCOUNTER. 253 
 
 As Phil saw tlmt flice, he stood for a moment 
 speechless with amazement and delight. 
 
 It was Pat ! 
 
 " Pat ! " lie cried. ^' Pat I " 
 
 He could say no more. Tears of joy started to 
 his eyes. lie grasped Pat's hand in his, and looked 
 at him, completely overcome. He was too dee))ly 
 agitated to notice Pat's i'ace or manner, but stood 
 overcome hy his own emotions. 
 
 " So you've been after me," said Phil. '^ Where 
 are the rest of them? Where's I5art? How did 
 vou get here? What ])lace is this? Only think 
 of my getting out here — and only a few minutes 
 ago — and tiien meeting with yon! IJut where 
 are the others? Come, Pm crazy to see Hart. I 
 declare I never was so utterly wonfounded in my 
 life ! I)Ut what's the matter with vou?" 
 
 In the midst of Phil's eager torrent of exclama- 
 tions and questions, he was struck by something 
 very pecidiar in Pat's face, and in Pat's manner, 
 and entled all with this abrupt question. 
 
 In fact, Pat's a[)pearance was very ])eculiar. 
 
 II is I'ace was Jtale, and had an anxious expres- 
 sion. Ilis eyes, generally so merry, and open, and 
 frank, were now lurtive and suspicious; and in- 
 stead of showing any ])leasure at the sight of Phil, 
 he started back, and snatched his hand away. 
 
 At Phil's (piestion Pat gave a very heavy sigh, 
 and made no answer. 
 
 ''Pat. Put, what is the matter?" cried Phil 
 
' 
 
 254 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 again. " Has any tbing happened ? Where's Bart ? 
 What is the matter?" 
 
 ''Matther," nuittered Pat. '^Matthcr enough, 
 surely, as ye'U know to yer sorra." 
 
 At this Phil stared at liini in ama/xMuent. Pat 
 was so totally changed from his former self, that 
 he couldn't ccmiprehend it at all. 
 
 « Come, Pat," said he, " don't keep me in sus- 
 pense. 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 encmgh. An maybe yell 
 find out from shakin my hand the way ye did jist 
 
 now." 
 
 " Shaking your hand ! " 
 
 " Yis " said Pat. " Ayven the t(Uich of me's on- 
 wbowlsome, so it is. An' I've got that on me_ that's 
 goin to be the death of mc afore long, so it is." ^ 
 
 "See here, Pat," cried IMiil, anxiously. "Tell 
 me what's the matter, like a goo<l fellow. Y(m 
 make me horribly anxious. Wliat do you mean?" 
 
 " Och, sure, an what's the use? Didn't 1 say it ? 
 What are ye tormentin mo for to say it again? 
 
 
 I 
 
I 
 
 THE WANDERING LEPER. 255 
 
 Haven't I just run away wliin it's too late intirely ? 
 An the leprosy's tuk, so it lias ! " 
 
 " The — the w!iat ? Wliat's that ? " asked I'hil. 
 
 "Sure an haven't 1 been sayin that it's a leper I 
 am," cried I?at, despairinj^ly. 
 
 ''A leper!" repeated IMiil, who l)e<>:an to think 
 that poor Pat was (piite insane, and wonder(Ml what 
 he ou<j^]it to do with him under the circumstances. 
 
 " I've hnppened amon^^ lepers," said Pat. " Pve 
 batlied in the leper wather — an that's the way 
 1 tuk it. Pve ate wid tlie leper praste ; an Hart's 
 wid liim now — in the wuds — they're huntin 
 aftlieryou; hut I ran lor it — ibr I was hopin to 
 get away before the leprosy tuk — but tuk it did 
 — in sj)ite of me ; and tliat's all alu»ut it." 
 
 " I don't understand you," said Phil, in bewilder- 
 ment, for Pat's remarks had some decree of con- 
 nectedness, and did not sound (luite like insanity 
 except his allusions to leprosy. " I don't under- 
 stand," said he, '' what you mean about leprosy." 
 
 "Suni it's the Lazaretto, at Traciulie, I mean. 
 I got the leprosy by bathin, so 1 did — an aitin 
 wid the lejx'r prnste." 
 
 " You'll have to explain. This is all ncmsenso. 
 Come, l*at, dim't make; a fool of yourself You've 
 got some absurd idea in ycuir head. Come, tell 
 me all about it, for 1 can't make it out at all, you 
 know." 
 
 "Well, it's this way," said Pat, with undimin- 
 ished dolel'ulness ; " ony don't be kapin too nair 
 
BB^H 
 
 256 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 me if ye vally yer life — this was the way of it. 
 Ye see we waiidiiered about the wuds aftlier ye, 
 an sure enouj>h before we kiiowed 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 gr.ve 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 faiily 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 slnvam 
 there nearly an hour, an thin I wint back, an what 
 do ye think the praste towld me." 
 
 ''What?" asked Phih 
 
 " Sure, he up an he towld us that the onwhowl- 
 some lookin house wor a lazaretto, an the ghosts 
 of people there wor lepers — nothin else — an he 
 said he wor the leper praste, an s])int 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 \ui 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 shwim 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 
 
I' 
 
 THE WANDERING LEPER. 
 
 257 
 
 chairs," — anotlier groan — ''an I'd ate at his ta- 
 ble,"— a huwi — ''an I'd swallowed his iud," — 
 another howl — "an I'd been gettin the leiJ'osy 
 meself all the time," and a ery that was something- 
 like a yell of despair terminated Pat's story. 
 
 Phil listened to all this, and i'elt 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 Pll soon be 
 there too, so I will." 
 
 "Nonsense," said Phil, impatiently. "Did you 
 ask the priest if there was any danger?" 
 
 "Oeh, sure he wouldn't be afther committin 
 himsilf." 
 
 " Didn't he say anything aboutdt? " 
 
 " He did, thin." 
 
 "What did he say?" 
 
 " Why, he said he had lived among the lepers 
 all his life, an visited tliim almost every day ; but 
 wor as w^ell a man as anylxjdy. An he said the 
 disease couldn't be caught." 
 
 "Did he say that?" cried Phil. "Why, of 
 course. I knew that. You are mistaken al- 
 together." 
 
 "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'8 some disease that's hereditary,! (hire say; but 
 it isn't contagious. Pooh! how absurd! Whv 
 17 
 
258 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 Pat, what could have put such a noti )n into your 
 liead. 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 pro- 
 duced a profound and most beneficial effect upon 
 Pat's mind. 
 
 " Sure an T 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 ! " 
 
 r 
 
FISH FOR BREAKFAST. 250 
 
 XX. 
 
 Fish for Breakfast. — Tlie Cottage and the Schooner. 
 — A familiar Sight. — The old Boat. — Sinking 
 in deep Waters. — An exciting and amazing 
 Meeting. — TJie Flag. — Bart on the Road. — A 
 strange Discovery. — A f resit Surprise. 
 
 'flE happy suggestion of Phil brouglit iiiUnite 
 relief to Pat; and the story of Naanian the 
 Syrian had sufficient power over liiiri 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 run- 
 ning 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 
 
260 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 reservation, and informed Phil that he had been 
 wandering in tlie woods all day. and had stnmbled 
 out upon the road only about an hour ago. lie 
 had seen no houses, and had mot no people. Thi.s 
 information at once changed Phil's plans. If Pat 
 had seen no inhal)itants 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 su})i)er. On Phil's suggesting this, 
 Pat received it w^ith an enthusiasm that was alto- 
 gether 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 8t. 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. 
 
NIGHT IN THE WOODS. 261 
 
 After about a half mile's walk tliey 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 afteV 
 sundown, and awoke the next morning l)efbre 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 man- 
 kind, and was seeking to fiy 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 dis- 
 
262 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 missed from his mind, and clioso rather to dwell 
 upon the fact that his confidence in Pliil's ability 
 to take care of himself had been completely vin- 
 dicated. So now, on that morning, as they 
 renewed their walk, there remained in Pat's 
 mind not a vestige of his foolish fears; but in- 
 stead of them there was a sense of triumph, a 
 consciousness of superior merit, and a sweet an- 
 ticipation of the glory that would now be his, as 
 he brought back Phil in safety. 
 
 Their frugal repast did not occupy many min- 
 utes, and the sun had not yet risen when they 
 started. They were eager to go on, and so they 
 walked at a rapid pace. Tiie 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 liad 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 har- 
 bor gave very strong recollections of that place. 
 Tlie 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 ap- 
 pearance 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 COTTAGE AND THE SCH00x\ER. 2G3 
 
 the glorious orb ascended from the ocean, tlieir 
 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 wo 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 
 
I 
 
 I 
 
 I: 
 
 264 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 it seemed to belong. No sooner had he seen it, 
 than he was struck by the tliought 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, ril go out to the schooner in this boat." 
 
 " How'U 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. " Pm not brakin 
 my heart about it, so 1 ain't. Pll stay an welcome." 
 
 " Then Pll 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. 
 
THE OLD BOAT. . 2G5 
 
 Pliil looked, and saw that tlie boat was, indeed, 
 anything hut water-tight, for the water was oozing 
 in through numerous eraeks and creviees. 
 
 " It'll take me out that far," said he ; and with 
 these words he juiv^ .d into the boat, and thrust- 
 ing tiie pole into the ground, he pushed her off. 
 
 Pat stood watching his movements with great 
 interest. 
 
 Phil pushed for some time, thrusting his polo 
 down to ihe bottom, and made excellent progress. 
 In this way he reached a point more than halfway 
 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 witii 
 connnendahlo diligence. Hut 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 liim. 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 iaster, 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 
 
2()6 VUIK IN TUK WOODS. 
 
 Inoiif^lit nearer to him. This mtiterially lessene(l 
 the (hstaiice to he traAcrscd. He now soiii^ht to 
 r(su'h the scliooiier's l»oat. lie itadiUed with 
 <les))('r;il«' clVorls, and as h(^ })addl<!d tlui water 
 rose higher. At lenj^th h(^ found hiinscIC within 
 reach olthc scliooncr's Itoat ; he flun^' out liis poh', 
 and sought to pull it nearer. As lie did so th(; 
 hoat hi'gaii to sink under him. 'I'hc watcu' rosi; to 
 his knees. At that instant the schooner's Itoat 
 was within reaidi, and llin}^ing himself forward, hv. 
 half s(M'amhle<|, half tnmhhMJ into it. 
 
 'I'lien (juite out of hreath, he sat down, and 
 restecl for a mom<'nt, while the hoat hy which h(5 
 had come slowly drifteij nlV. At this mom(»nt a 
 shout of j(»y came from I*at, who had Ixu'n watch- 
 ing th(j proeiHMlings with intense^ interest. 
 
 I>ut I'hil's movi'inents had not l»een unnoticed 
 on hoard tli(; schooner; and, indeed, Ik; had niad(> 
 noise enough to rouse any who might Ix! tlier(^ 
 lie; was not surprisetj, tlier(dore, when In; IicNird 
 movejneiits on h tard, and voices, and footsteps. 
 So he looked up, wilhout rising, so as to see those 
 on hoan* ho might he moving. 
 
 INiil had not heen surprised ;;{ the sound of 
 movements on hoard ; I>ut he was Vi^ry greatly 
 surprised, indec'd, at the sight of the person who 
 in(!t his eyes. 
 
 As he looked up some one iidvance<l to tin; 
 stern and looked down uj)on liiui. It was an aged 
 piM'son, with ii mild face, and a gracious eye, and a 
 
AN i:X( HIN(; MKKTIXd. 
 
 2()7 
 
 1)0110 V()I(Uit smiles II(^ woro a pou-jiickot, iuid liis 
 lioiul was coviuod v.itli a s()U\V(!stor. It was a 
 i'iU'Ai Ilu5 sijL^lit of vvhioli almost rnailo l*hil hound 
 out of" tlio l)oat. 
 
 Wliilo this person cxcitcMl such emotions in the 
 breast oi" IMiil, his own emotions at the sij^ht ot' 
 Pliil wore no h'ss stron;;. 'I'htiro Ik; was, in tlic; 
 schooner's hoat, with no visible means hy wliich his 
 ap[)earan(HJ there couhl he expliiiruMl. 'I'h(! person 
 in th(; schooner, theridbn;, st:ire(l at IMiil, and tluMi 
 rcmovint;- his liat with <tne hand, witli tlie other 
 hand lie thoughtfully scratcluid his venerahio 
 iiead, and tluui slowly ejaculated, — 
 
 " (io-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-il thundcjr!" 
 
 "('Mjttiiin Corhet!" exclaimed Phil, in inde- 
 R(M'ihalile Minii/.ement. 
 
 And then tlu^y both stared at (^ach other in 
 Hilen(U\ 
 
 Hut th(^ silence was soon broken. Footsteps 
 wer(! heard, and soon one after another he ids 
 appeare(|. iind then botlies, and then tlu; new 
 comers stood by the side ol" Captain (^)rbot, starinj^ 
 over \\iv stern at IMnI in mutc^ astonishmiMit. 
 
 And IMiil starc^l back at them all in astonish- 
 ment fully ecpial t<) tluur own. 
 
 It was IJruce Kawdon I 
 
 And Arthur ! 
 
 And 'i'om ! 
 
 As for Phil, he (Mudd not utter a word. Nor 
 could th(5 otlu^rs on bttard tho schooner. 
 
208 
 
 KIIIIO FN TIIK WOODS. 
 
 But Put, tlio (!X<;it(',(l watcher on tli(5 slioro — • 
 Pat lisul soon it all, aii'l ho was anything hut niuto. 
 Muto? lit! I»()wl(!(l. Il(! yoll(!(l. Il(! V()(;ilorato(l 
 uiiint((lli{j;ihlo volhsys of IViiiilic; (sxc^lairratiorjs, ad 
 (lr(iss(!(i to oaoh hy turns. 'I'hon woids lliihid, anrj 
 li(^ hc^an to (laiKUj. 
 
 At lo-n^th Phil pullcfl tlu; hoiit up, and sorainl»lo(l 
 on hoard tho sclioon«!r, and was sci/o(l hy all tho 
 hoys in turn, and ovoiwhchrMMl wilh (piostiona; 
 whihi lu^on his part, ovorwholuMMl thorn with (juoh- 
 tions (juito as (Niji;(M' and <|iiit(! as nnniorous. 
 
 Thciir story was soon told. 'I'hoy had loft at tho 
 tiuK! iriontiono(| hy l>ru(;o in his lottor to IJart, and 
 had hoon cruising alon^ tho coast of the; (inll of St. 
 IjawrciiMto. Tlu^y had arrivocl h(!ro tho day holorc;, 
 and as tlu^y W(!ro in no hurry, thoy had anchorod 
 lor tho ni}i:ht, with tlxi intention of doin^; a littlo 
 fishinj^. 'J'hcir piao(! of r(!nd(!/.vous was Sliipixijjjan, 
 which was not Far away, nno they lia(| a w«'(dc to 
 Hf)aro its yot. Thoy had no idea that Bart, woidd 
 ]oav(; HO niu(di holon; tho tinio, Jind could not 
 iind(Tstand how IMiil had found thoin. 
 
 IMiil's story was Koon toM ; for, as \\i) was a modc^sfc 
 hoy, h<5 did not dwidl u|)on his own advcntunfs to 
 anything liko tlu! oxtcMit which I hav(5 done ; and 
 so thoy loarnofl that their niootin|^ was j)urely 
 ac(U(Iontal, and that IMiil had l)0(ui lost, and had 
 loiind Pat, who had he(;n lost also, and that theso 
 two lost on<!s had stunihled upon thoni hero, in 
 Tracadiu lagoon. 
 
THE FLA(.\ 
 
 209 
 
 Ah of vvlii(;li (ilicilcMl woiidiir, and lim^lit(5r, arifl 
 Hlioiifs, and no (!ii<l ofoap'i' (jiicstioiis, and (!.\(;it«!(l 
 oxclaiiiiitidiis. Ill lli(! iiiidsl ol' (his Tom nislKid 
 oil', and \}y way oj" jj^iviiig* projjcr cxprcihsioii to llm 
 fboliiij^s wliicli a;;itiil('d l,li(!iii all, Ik; hiiMi^lit I'ortii 
 tli(5 lia^^ ol" Mir l'>. (). W. (J. I'n.iii lli(! cal.in ol" (Ik; 
 Aiifolopo, \vli(3io, straii^(!ly oiion^li, it had hccii left 
 Kirico lli(!ir last V(»ya^«!; and in a lew iiiinnt(!S lio 
 liad li()ist(;d it aloft, U'luiro it lliitlerod, and l!oal(!d, 
 and wav(Ml triuniplianlly in tlio fi(;sli morning 
 l)roo/(3. 
 
 And now l*liil tlio«i^lit of Pal, and in(!nli()n('d 
 that ho was upon tlio sIioim;; whoriMipon l)iU(;(3 
 rush(!(l to tlu! boat to ^o for him. As ho loaptid 
 in, I'hil and the others looUcfj towards tho \)hn;v, 
 \vh(;ro l*at had hoeii standing', and saw a wa^on 
 and I wo p(!rsons, a hoy and a man, talking- with l*at. 
 
 N(»w,y()U know, that very morniiij:; Hart had loft 
 aloii;^ with till! jniest, on his way to tho north, to 
 carry on his s(!arch aft«w IMiil. It was ciaily when 
 thoy l(d't, h'lt as tlnj road was roiij^h, their proj^ress 
 was not particularly rapid. Still they did iiiak(! 
 HoiiK! pr();:;ross, and in piocM^ss of tinni they reached 
 tho plaoc! wher(f the schooner lay ancdiored. 'riii* 
 Mchooner excited IJart's attention, for there was 
 sometliiii;^; in her jj;eneral appearanco that was 
 Htranj:;ely lamiliar. As they drew nc^arer they saw 
 a numlter of li|;iires on the deck, lunnirifjf to and 
 Iro, and ^ivin^' all [xissild- siuiis of the jjrreatest 
 possihlu uxciteniont. Suddenly, in tho mi(Jst of 
 
270 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 tins, he saw a flag ascend, and float in the breeze. 
 It was dark in color, and of a nondescript char- 
 acter, and at first its emblazonment was not dis- 
 tinctly visible. Soon, however, he came near 
 enoug-h 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. 0. W. C. ! 
 
 The thing was astonishing, yet not incompre- 
 hensible. 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 incom- 
 prehensible 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 ])riest, 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, fol- 
 lowed by the ])riest. In a few minutes Bart 
 understood all. First of all, Phil had been found; 
 secondly, he was on board the schooner, and the 
 
A FRESH SURPRISE. 271 
 
 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. 
 
272 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Where is Solomon ? — The SearcJi. — 77ie aged Wan- 
 derer. — Iieco'/nitio)t. — Boating. — Fishing. — 
 Cooking. — Swimming. — The Pr(jtaratio)(s/or the 
 Ba)iquet. — The savory i^rncJl. — Solomon dances 
 a Breakdown, and makes a Speech. 
 
 'HEIR joy was long and uproarious. Innu- 
 merable wore the questions which they 
 asked each other; but at lengtli they suc- 
 ceeded in. gathering; from the confusion a general 
 idea of tlie fortunes of each member of the party. 
 
 And then, in the midst of their joy, there came 
 a mournful thougiit. It was tlie thought that one 
 was yet missing out of their number, and that his 
 fate was involved in mystery. 
 
 Where was Solomon ? 
 
 Pat knew nothing more than any of tlie rest of 
 them, and his story only served to show that after 
 leading Solomon astray, he had left him in the 
 midst of the forest. Where he now was, none 
 could tell ; but all saw the necessity of doing some- 
 thing; and so, when Bart proposed that they siiould 
 go in search of him, they all assented most eager- 
 ly. The priest still saw that they would require 
 his assistance, and offered to take them where 
 
ORDER OP MARCH. 273 
 
 they wished to ,2^0 ; while Captain Corbet felt such 
 intense interest in the fate of Iiis ao-ed friend, that 
 he insisted on making one of the party, and bring- 
 ing Mr. Wade as an additional recruit. 
 
 Some preliminaries had to be atten<led to before 
 they were able to start, among which the first was 
 to get themselves ashore. This was accomplished 
 in two trips ; after which the boat was hauled up 
 on the beach, and tied to a tree. Then the priest 
 had to see to the well-being of his horse, which 
 he did by leaving his wagon behind the house, 
 and letting the horse go free in the meadow. 
 
 After this the priest gave them some general 
 advice as to their proceedings. lie reminded 
 them of their former mishaps', and in order to 
 guard against their losing the way, he advised 
 them to go on in a line, keeping always within 
 sound of one another, if not in sight. This they 
 all promised to do, and made no objection, for their 
 recent various adventures in the way of wander- 
 ing had deeply impressed their minds'. 
 At length they all started, as follows : — 
 
 The Priest, 
 
 Captain Corbet, 
 
 Mr. Wade, 
 
 Bruce, 
 
 Arthur, 
 
 Bart, 
 
 Tom, 
 
 Phil, 
 18 Pat. 
 
-TW^ 
 
 % 
 
 I 
 
 !l 
 
 274 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 The priest led the way, and leaving the road 
 close by the old house, they went stiaight into the 
 woods. Soon the forest grew tliick, and as they 
 went on, they saw that here no signs of the fire 
 were visible, though how far the green, unburnt 
 forest might extend, none of tliem could know. 
 This, however, did not trouble them in the slight- 
 est, but obeying the priest's injunction and keep- 
 ing well within hearing of one another, the whole 
 party went forward after their leader. 
 
 About two hours after they had disappeared in 
 the woods, a solitary pedestrian might have been 
 seen slowly wending his way along the road that 
 leads to Tracadie. He was rather elderly, and 
 walked slowly. His hat was sadly battered, his 
 hair was grizzled, and his face was of that com- 
 plexion which usually denotes the man of Al'rican 
 descent. 
 
 As this wanderer approached the place where 
 the schooner was anchored, his pace quickened, 
 and he walked onward quite rapidly until he 
 reached the old house. Towards this he walked, 
 but only to discover that it was ruined and de- 
 serted. Upon this the aged wanderer heaved a 
 sigh, and seating himself in the doorway, gazed 
 intently at the schooner. 
 
 As he gazed he suddenly seemed struck by some 
 very exciting thought. He raised his head, still 
 sitting, and stared for a moment most intently at; 
 the schooner. At that moment, the flag, which hud 
 
mmm 
 
 THE SEARCH. 275 
 
 been drooping, suddenly shook itself out, and 
 unfolded to his astonished gaze the escutcheon of 
 the B. O. W. C. 
 
 At this the aged wanderer bounded up to his 
 feet, and rushed down to the shore. There he 
 stood in silence for a time, staring at the schooner, 
 until at length his recognition of her was com- 
 plete. Wiiereupon he slapped both hands on his 
 thighs, jumped up in the air, came down on hie 
 riglit foot, went up again, came down on hie left, 
 wheeled about, turned about, and, in fact, indulged 
 in a regular breakdown. 
 
 After this he stopped, and burst forth into long, 
 loud, vehement, and u[)roarious peals of laughter. 
 
 After which he resumed the* breakdown. 
 
 And tiien, once more, the laughter. 
 
 Finally, he began to bawl to the schooner. 
 
 " Ship, ahoy ! Hi yah ! Hollo dar ! What you 
 bout? Hi-i-i-i ya-a-a-a-a-ah ! Mas'r Bruce ! Mas'r 
 Atta ! Mas'r Tom ! Yep. Ye-e-e-e-o-e-p ! " 
 
 But as he called, no answer came, and no matter 
 how loud his voice was, or how eager his cry, still 
 no response whatever was elicited. 
 
 " De sakes ! " he exclaimed, " ef dis var casium 
 don't beat all creation ! Wonda what dey'll say to 
 see ole Solomon ! Dey're all oil] suah — fishin — 
 course. An it ain't a mite ob good to be standin 
 heah yellin my ole head off. Wonda if dey had a 
 boat ! " 
 
 Saying this, ho looked up and down the shore, 
 
276 FTUE IN THR WOODS. 
 
 and saw tlio boat a little distance off on his right, 
 drawn up and tio(l to a tree. The oar was inside. 
 
 So intent had he been on the schooner, that he 
 had not looked about the house, and so had not 
 seen the wag'on which was behind it, or the horse 
 which was ])lacidly feeding at no great distance 
 off. But if he had seen tliem, they would have 
 liad no interest for him, except so far as they 
 showed that people were using the house, and that 
 the owner of the horse would be back in the 
 course of the day ; and even the interest of this 
 discovery would have been nothing; in comparison 
 with the sight of the Antel()i)e. For this showed 
 him that some of the boys were liere, and could 
 not be far off, and would probably be back before 
 dark. With this conviction, Solomon proceeded 
 to launch the boat — a task which he accomplished 
 with little difficulty; after which he sculled the 
 boat out to the schooner, and in a short time stood 
 on board. 
 
 Arriving here, he had a full confirmation of his 
 suppositions. It was, indeed, the Antelope, and 
 there was no one on board. By the signs all 
 around, he perceived that they could not have 
 been gone long. Bed-clothes lay carelessly tossed 
 about, trunks were ojjen, provisions were lying on 
 the boxes that had served for temporary tables. 
 
 It was with a sentiment of ailVctionate recog- 
 nition that Solomon gazed upon the old cooking- 
 stove, at which he had frequently ofliciated on 
 
THE AGED WANDERER. 277 
 
 former occasions, wliir]i iiad been iinprosscfl upon 
 his memory by events nf such tbrilline: cliuracter. 
 Over that stove be had been bowed by tlie weiglit 
 of heavy responsibib"ties, and upon it he liad 
 acliieved some of the brig-htest triumplis of his 
 life. He gazed npon it lono- and lovingly. He 
 was pained to see the rust that covered it. He 
 touched it, and with loving hands he tried to rub 
 the rust off one of the griddles. Alas ! he could 
 not. That rust had fixed itself there too deeply 
 to be easily erased. So he gave up the attempt, 
 and wandered back to the deck, where he stood 
 looking all around for some signs of the ship's 
 company. 
 
 No signs, however, appeared, and Solomon now 
 began to consider how he ought to pass the day. 
 First of all, he decided to make things look com- 
 fortable. To this task he set himself, rolling up 
 the mattresses, putting the trunks and boxes on 
 one side, cleaning the stove as well as it coidd be 
 cleaned, and arranging the confused medley of 
 stores which they had brought with them. At 
 length this task was ended, and it was about noon. 
 
 All the rest of the day still remained, and Sol- 
 omon thought that it would be a delicate, a con- 
 siderate, and a grateful act, if he were to prepare 
 a dinner for the ship's comj)any, and have it ready 
 for them on their return. An examination of the 
 stores showed him various things which his skill 
 could combine into palatable dishes ; but some* 
 

 IMAGE EVALUATION 
 TEST TARGET (MT-3) 
 
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 I.I 
 
 1.25 
 
 If i^ IIIIIM 
 
 ■^ 1^ ill 2.2 
 
 i ui IIIIIM 
 
 1.8 
 
 1.4 IIIIII.6 
 
 V] 
 
 <? 
 
 /2 
 
 /: 
 
 
 .'^, 
 
 i' 
 
 ^'^^yf 
 
 
 
 7 
 
 /A 
 
 V 
 
 iV 
 
 :\ 
 
 \ 
 
 
 Os 
 
 ». 
 
 '♦^./^ 
 
 
 <^ 
 
ie 
 
 
 . 
 
■ >"UiW)( Mj»m ". 
 
 278 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 thing was still wanting ; and it seemed to him that 
 nothing could so well supply that want as the fra- 
 grant and aromatic flavoi' of broiled trout. In the 
 brooks that meandered through the surrounding 
 country, trout were plentiful ; and if he should 
 now go after some, it would not only be in the line 
 of his duty, but he would also be able to fill up 
 the time in the pleasantest possible way. 
 
 So Solomon prepared his lines, which he had 
 carried in his pocket ever since the day when they 
 had started off after Phil, and rowing back to the 
 shore, he walked back over the road till he came 
 to a stream which he remembered, for by that very 
 stream he had made his escape from the woods. 
 Up this he went, and having cut a rod from the 
 woods suitable for his purposes, he proceeded up 
 the stream in search of fish. 
 
 After an absence of several hours, he emerged 
 once more from the woods, at the mouth of the 
 stream. An ecstatic smile illumined his dusky 
 countenance, his steps were light ;ind active, and 
 from time to time he cast proud and happy glances 
 at something which he carried in his hand. And, 
 in truth, that burden which he bore was worthy 
 of exciting pride and happiness in any bosom, for 
 there, strung on a willow twig, were two noble 
 salmon, of fine proportions, sufficient for the din- 
 ner of a large company. 
 
 With these Solomon returned to the schooner, 
 and in due time reached it. He then prepared the 
 
 I 
 
A BREAKDOWN. 279 
 
 fish, and kindled the fire, and began the important 
 and exciting business of cooking them. While 
 engaged upon this, however, an idea seized upon 
 him wliich sent him off into fits, in the shape of 
 one of those breakdowns, by which he was ac- 
 customed to let ofi' steam. 
 
 This was what he did. 
 
 He undresse 1 himself 
 
 He looked all around very stealthily, and saw 
 no signs of any human being. 
 
 Then he jumped into the boat, sculled it ashore 
 to the place where he had found it, tied it to the 
 tree, and threw the oar inside. 
 
 Then he jumped into the water, and swam back 
 to the schooner. 
 
 Then he dressed himself. 
 
 And then, in the solitude of that lonely hold, he 
 once more let off steam, and proceeded to indulge 
 in a breakdown, which was more prolonged, more 
 enthusiastic, more sustained, more vehement, more 
 emotional, lore expressive, more African, more 
 hilarious, and at the same time more perfectly 
 outrageous and insane than all the other break- 
 downs put together. 
 
 After which he subsided into a comparative 
 calm, and resumed his professional duties. 
 
 Thus the hours of the day passed away, and at 
 length evening began to draw near. 
 
 It was near sundown when there emerged from 
 the woods the party that had gone into them in 
 
280 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 tlie morning. They were all there. None were 
 missing. There were — 
 
 The Priest, 
 
 Captain Corbet, 
 
 Mr. Wade, 
 
 Bruce, 
 
 Arthur, 
 
 Bart, 
 
 Tom, 
 
 Phil, 
 
 Pat. 
 They were not talkative ; they were not demon- 
 strative ; but walked along in silence. They came 
 out of the woods about a quarter of a mile away 
 from the house, and in this silent and dejected 
 way they walked towards the place where the 
 boat was. Whether that silence and dejection 
 arose from their disnpi)ointment at not finding 
 Solomon, or simply from the fatigue of a long 
 tramp, with nothing in particular to eat, need not 
 now be considered ; suffice it to say, that they 
 were silent, and they were dejected ; and what is 
 more, they were all in a state of perfect starva- 
 tion. 
 
 "The boat can't take more'n half of us at a time," 
 said Captain Corbet. " You, boys, choose among 
 yerselves who'll go fust." 
 
 " Won't you come now ? " asked Bart of the 
 ppsst. 
 
 " O, no," said he. " PU wait. I must see about 
 
 I 
 
 
THE GOOD PRIEST. 
 
 281 
 
 my horse. You go, and I'll be ready the next 
 time." 
 
 " Sure an Til wait too, an help ye wid the horse," 
 said Pat, who had so utterly overcome his fears of 
 the " leper praist" that he had struck up a violent 
 friendship with him. And no M-onder, for the 
 "praist "was a man after Pat's ovrn heart — warm- 
 hearted, cordial, affectionate, brave, and modest; 
 a man who loved his fellow-men, and f^ave himself 
 up to them, even if they were abhorred lepers; 
 and who now was putting himself to no end of far 
 tigue and trouble for the sake of the lost com- 
 panion of a set of harum-scarum boys. Amid all 
 this, he never ceased to cheer them up, to stim- 
 ulate their flagging energies, to inspire them with 
 hope, to rouse the manliest feelings of their gen- 
 erous young natures. And therefore it was that 
 Pat fell in love with him. 
 
 Cai)tain Corbet was not anxious to go, and so it 
 happened that Bruce, Arthur, Tom, Phil, and Bart 
 got into the boat, and made the first trip, with the 
 understanding that Bruce was to come back for 
 the others. 
 
 The boat approached the schooner. 
 
 As they drew near they became suddenly aware 
 
 of an odor that was wafted to their nostrils an 
 
 odor penetrating, aromatic, fragrant, and delicious 
 beyond all description to tlieir liimished senses; an 
 odor that was suggestive of some great banquet ; 
 an odor so rich that these starving bovs felt as 
 though they might almost feed upon it. 
 
282 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 They looked up in astoniRhment. They saw- 
 that smoke was issniiip^ from tlie pipe that pro- 
 jected above tlie schooner's deck. 
 
 Some one was on board, and some one had made j 
 
 a fire. Some one was cooking. Wlio was that 
 some one ? How did he get on board ? What did 
 it all mean ? 
 
 Sucli were the questions that each one asked |' 
 
 himself; bnt none of tliem spoke, for in fact tlieir 
 amazement was too groat to allow them to utter 
 any audible words. Urnce, who was sculling, 
 worked harder than ever, twisting his head around 
 at the same time that ho tried to see who the 
 mysterious being was that had got on board the 
 schooner. The otlu^rs all stared in the same direc- 
 tion ; but to no purpose, for no one was visible. 
 
 At last the boat touched the schooner's side, and 
 they all clambered upon the deck. Bruce was 
 last, and had to wait a moment to fasten the boat. 
 When he had done this he sprang down into the 
 hold. 
 
 He there beheld an astonishing sight. There 
 were Arthur, and Bart, and Tom, and Phil, close 
 beside him, staring in silent wonder at a figure 
 beside the cooking-stove ; while the figure beside 
 the cooking-stove stood with a ladle in one hand, 
 and a dish cover in the other, enveloped in the 
 aromatic vapor of a broiling salmon, staring at 
 them in equal wonder. 
 
 " Mas'r Bart 1 Mas'r Phil ! De sakes now 1 " 
 
Solomon's speech. 283 
 
 The ladle and the dish cover dropped from his 
 hands. He had expected to see only the two 
 Rawdons and Tom ; but he saw Bart and Phil 
 
 I also. Consequently he was overwhelmed. 
 
 j' " Solomon ! " cried tiie boys ; and hurrying for- 
 
 I ward, they grasped one afler'another his trembling, 
 
 i and perliaps sliglitly greasy hands. 
 
 ^ " B'lubb'd bruddrn ob de Bee-see dubble 'Socia- 
 
 tium," said Solomon at last, in a voice tliat was 
 tremulous with emotion, and with slight indica- 
 tions of an approach to another breakdown. " Dis 
 yer's a great an shinin casium. De sperinces we 
 ben an had beat all creatium. We ben a racin an 
 a chasin arter one anoder in a way dat makes my 
 ole head ache to tink ob. An den to tink ob me 
 gettin lost, and de last ob all de venters to hab 
 youns a marchin an a sarcliin arter me ! An me a 
 huntin roun for Mas'r Bart, an a comin dis way on 
 de ole schooner ! An den to fine youns all heah, 
 in good helf an sperits ! B'lubb'd bruddrn, de 
 'motions dat 'spire dis yer wenebble ole breast ain't 
 spressible no ways. Durin de lass few weeks 1 
 ben called on to suffer 'flictiums, but I nebber 
 knowed anytin like de 'citement dat 1 now feels a 
 surgin an cumulatin inside o' me. 0, you get 
 out ! Go way, now ! Sakes alive ! Ye-e-e-e-p ! ITi — 
 ya-a-a-a-h ! ITi-i-i-i-i-i — ya-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-h ! " 
 And Solomon here burst forth in a breakdown 
 so tremendous and so absurd, that the bovs first 
 started back, and then all burst into roars of 
 laughter, and laughed till they cried. 
 
284 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 After which Bruce went back for the others, 
 and brought them to the schooner, and they all ate 
 of Solomon's banquet, and were refreshed ; and the 
 priest staid all night, and on the following morn- 
 ing bade them an affectionate adieu ; and shortly 
 after the Antelope spread her white wings to the 
 breeze, and slowly, but gracefully, passed over the 
 waters of Tracadie lagoon, to the outer seas. 
 
 
 
 I 
 
AWAY FROM TRACADIE. 285 
 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Away from Tracadic— The Gulf of St. Lawrence. 
 — TJte Bay de CJialeur. — The innumerable Fish- 
 ing Boats. — A long Harbor — Shliypegan. — The 
 Acadians. — The Memories of Grand Pre. 
 
 •JpT was a beautiful morning ; tho wind blew fair, 
 TPj and the blue waters of the Gulf of St. Law- 
 rence spread far away .before tlicni as they 
 left Tracadie. Reunited so strangely after such 
 wonderful adventures, they had not yet satisfied 
 their curiosity; but each one had still something 
 to ask the other. Pat had to tell once more the 
 cause of his desertion ; Solomon had to explain his 
 wanderings; Bart had another account to give; 
 while, above all, Phil had to recount, for the hun- 
 dredth time, the whole story of his adventures in 
 the woods. The venerable Corbet, assisted by his 
 mate. Wade, navigated the vessel ; Solomon re- 
 sumed his duties in the hold over the cooking- 
 stove ; while the eager boys gathered in knots to 
 talk over the inexhaustible themes above men- 
 tioned. 
 
 Far away on the right extended the waters of 
 
286 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 the gulf, till the view was bounded by the horizon. 
 Before and behind was the same illimitable pros- 
 pect. But on the left lay the land, — a hw, wooded 
 coast, — and their course lay i)arallel with this. 
 Their destination was the Bay de ('haleur, around 
 which they proposed to take a cruise ; but this 
 proposed cruise seemed now to promise but little 
 in comparison with the adventures which one half 
 of the party had alre;idy met with, and the for- 
 tunes of Bart's party, far from creating pity in the 
 minds of the other boys, only excited their envy; 
 for there was not one of them who did not wish 
 that he had been in the burning forest. 
 
 About midday the wind grew lighter, and the 
 schooner's progress slower. They passed two 
 openings that led into the bay wiiich divided two 
 islands from the main land. Tlie first one was Siiip- 
 pegan Island ; and the other, which lay beyond this, 
 was called Miscou Island. These two extended 
 along at the mouth of the bay in such a way as to 
 form a natural breakwater. They sailed past these, 
 and by evening they rounded Point Miscou, 
 entered the bay, and as the wind was now adverse, 
 they ancliored for the night. 
 
 The Bay de Chaleur is about seventy miles long 
 and twenty wide. On account of the islands at its 
 mouth it is sheltered from the worst gales, while 
 on every other side it is hur'tdocked. It thus 
 becomes a vast harl)or, affording throughout its 
 whole extent an excellent shelter for vessels. 
 
 I 
 
THE BAY DE CHALEUR. 
 
 287 
 
 Around its shores, particularly on the south, are 
 smaller harbors, upon whieh little villag:cs are al- 
 ready rising. The hay divides the Province of 
 New Brunswick from that of Quebec ; and on ac- 
 count of its many advantages, it will, no doubt, 
 become well known to the world before many 
 years. 
 
 On the following morning the wind clianged,and 
 blew nioi'o favorably. It was Captain Corbet's 
 design to go first to the settlement of Shi{)pegan, 
 and in this direction they now sailed. As they 
 went on their way, they were amazed at the vast 
 number of sails that dotted the surface of the sea. 
 They w^ere all fishing boats, and ap|)eared to be on 
 their way to the gulf As they came to Miscou 
 Gully, which separates Miscou and Shippegan Is- 
 lands, they saw t";:e fishing boats passing thnmgh; 
 and further on, at ^^hip])egan Gully, which lies 
 between the main land and the island of that name, 
 they found it traversed by a still larger number. 
 
 " I've ben in these here waters," remarked Cap- 
 tain Corbet, in answer to some inquiries, " oust or 
 twist, afore, an its allers ben the same. All these 
 craft air fisliin boats ; an T never see the place yet, 
 in all my born days that can turn out on a 
 pinch sich a lot of small fishin craft as this here 
 bav." 
 
 Two or three miles of a run down along, narrow 
 harbor, where the waters were deep enough for 
 large ships, brought them at last to their destinar 
 
288 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 tion. A wharf lay there, at which the Antelope 
 drew up, and the boys all stepped joyfully ashore. 
 
 The village of Shippegan was a small settlement, 
 wifh scattered houses of very simple construction. 
 Cloie by the wliarf stood the most prominent 
 structure in the place, being a huge saw-mill, which 
 now, as they landed, sent i'orth that hissing, cutting, 
 slashing, grinding howl and uproar characteristic 
 of such establishments. Towards this place the 
 boys first directed their steps; and on reaching it 
 they were gi'eeted in a very pleasant manner by a 
 gentleman who introduced himself as Mr. Smith. 
 lie was the owner of the mills, and though the 
 place was so '-omote, he was not at all discontented, 
 but, on the contrary, showed an enthusiastic attach- 
 ment to this country, which he affirmed to be the 
 best place in tbe world to live in. No sooner did 
 he learn the object of the party, than he at once 
 began to give a glowing account of the beauties 
 and attractions of the Bay de Chaleur. In par- 
 ticular he urged them to visit the Restif ouche 
 Vallev, at the extremitv of the bav, where he 
 affirmed they would find some of the most mag- 
 nificent scenery, and some of the finett sport in 
 the world. 
 
 Yet it was in this very place that the boys found 
 the greatest attraction, for Mr. Smith happened to 
 say, in a casual way, that the people were Acadian 
 French. No sooner had he mentioned that name 
 than the boys asked the meaning of it. They were 
 
 r 
 
SHIPPEGAN. 
 
 280 
 
 informed that tliose people were the descendants 
 of the Acadians, and that the anco.-tors of most of 
 them had been expelhMl from their homes in Nova 
 Scotia, and fled to this phice. Tiiis at once excited 
 the deepest interest in thr>ir minds. All that had 
 reference to the old Aca<lians was most attractive 
 to them, and in the persons of the Shippei-anders 
 they hoped to find reprodnced the forms of those 
 gentle, poetic, and simple-minded peasants, with 
 whom they had become acqnainted in the beanti- 
 ful verses of E van p;o line. 
 
 This unexpected enthusiasm of the boys delight- 
 ed Mr. Snn'th, who at once deserted his saw-mill, 
 and proceeded to show them the place. It was of" 
 no very great extent, and contfiined not more than 
 forty or fifty small cottages. These were all built 
 of frame, and shingled over. The road was gra^s- 
 grown, and did not ai)pear to have any very inti- 
 mate acquaintance with wheeled vehicles. The 
 people had an unmistakably foreign aspect, but 
 were very pleasant in their looks and manners. 
 The women wore short homespun frocks, with a 
 jacket, and a head-dress consisting of a handker- 
 chief of bright colors. Some of them were spin- 
 ning at the doors of their cottages, others were 
 knitting, others attending to the duties of the 
 dairy. In the fields were the men making hay. 
 Children laughed and danced, in their play, about 
 the cottage doors. In the middle of the" village 
 was a small, simple chapel, with a cross upheM 
 X9 
 
;'«""'»frf V " 'iK ^ "'"" 
 
 290 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 from one point of its roof, and a small belfry from 
 the other. 
 
 As the party walked down the road tlu^y Avere 
 greeted with pleasant smiles, in which there were 
 botli natural curiosity and kindly welcome, ^fr. 
 Smith spoke to the people son^e friendly words 
 in the />r<^oid^ used by them, which he seemed to 
 understand perfectly ; and the answers, though un- 
 intelligil)le to tlie l)oys, had a pleasant meaning to 
 their minds, on account of the merry laughter and 
 amia))le faces of the speakers. The little chihlren 
 stopped in their sport as tlie strangers came along, 
 and stood, with their round, merry laces, staring 
 wii(h laughing black eyes. 
 
 On the whole, the boys found in this scene all 
 that they could wish, and more than they had an- 
 ticipated. It realized verv closely the ideas which 
 they had formed from the description in Evange- 
 line ; and Bart, as he looked around, could not help 
 repeating the well-known woi'ds : — 
 
 "There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian vilhige ; 
 Strongly built were the houses, with frames of oak and of 
 
 ehestnut, 
 Such as tlie peasants of Normandy built in the days of the 
 
 Henrys. 
 There, in the tranquil evenings of summer, v/hen brightly the 
 sunset 
 ^, Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes on the chim- 
 neys, 
 Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white cap, and in kirtles 
 Scarlet, and blue, and green, witli distatt's spinning the golden 
 Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shuttles within 
 dours 
 
AN ACADIAN VILLAGE. 
 
 201 
 
 Mingled their sound with the whir of tlic wheels and the 
 
 songs of the nuiidens. 
 Solemnly d„wn the street came the parish priest, and the 
 
 children 
 
 Paused in their play to kiss the hand he extended to bless 
 them. 
 
 Reverend walked he among them; and up rose matrons and 
 
 maidens, 
 Hailing his slow approach with words of affectionate welcome. 
 Then came the laborers home from the field, and serenely the 
 
 sun sank 
 
 Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon from the 
 belfry 
 
 Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs of the village 
 Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of incense ascend- 
 ing. 
 
 Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of peace and con- 
 tentment. 
 Thus dwelt togetlier in love these simple Acadian farmers • 
 Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike were they free 
 from 
 
 Fear that dwells with the tyrant, and envy, the vice of repub- 
 lics. 
 
 Neither h.cks had they to their doors, nor bars to their win- 
 dows ; 
 
 But their dwellings were open as day and the hearts of the 
 owners. 
 
 There the richest was poor, and the poorest lived in abun- 
 dance." 
 
 After traversing ll,e village, thov appror.ched a 
 house at the other end, which, though of the same 
 simple construction, was larger and bettor than 
 the others. Two or three of those tall poplar 
 trees, which were so dear to the Acadians, grew 
 in front. A massive porch waa before the door, 
 
292 FIRE IN THE ' "OODS. 
 
 around wlncli grow a honeysuckle. Two or tliree 
 barns indicated tlio comfortable circumstances of 
 the owner. As they drew near, they saw an old 
 man sitting in the porch smoking-, who looked at 
 them, and rose with a pleasant smile. His figure 
 was slightly bent, his hair, mustache, and beard 
 quite gray, and his whole asi)ect venerable in the 
 extreme. 
 
 " It's Benedict Rellefontaine ! " exclaimed Bart. 
 " I thought we'd find him, too. Benedict Rellefon- 
 taine, the wealthiest farmer of Grand Pre. Here 
 he is, in life, dwelling on his goodly acres." 
 
 " No, it isn't," said Mr. Smith, with a laugh. " ITis 
 name is Grousset, but he'll do very well for Belle- 
 fontaine. At any rate, you can judge for your- 
 selves, for I'm going to introduce you to him." 
 
 By this time they had reached the house, and 
 Mr. Smith, after shaking hands with the old man, 
 introduced the boys. Monsieur Grousset greeted 
 each one with a paternal snn'le, and upon learning 
 their errand, at once invited them all to stay at 
 his house while they were in the village. At first 
 the boys refused ; but the old man was so urgent, 
 and the prospect of seeing an Acadian home was 
 so attractive, that they at length accepted the kind 
 invitation. 
 
 The resemblance which Bart had found between 
 Mr. Grousset and " Benedict Bellefontaine " was, 
 indeed, sufficiently striking to be marked even by 
 one less imaginative. The old man, the house, 
 
 ■ I 
 
 V 
 
 t 
 
 id^MM^MHiiMHiMiiaiiili 
 
 mlL 
 
J 
 
 grousset's home. 
 
 293 
 
 i 
 
 and the surroundings, all might have stood for 
 Longfellow's description; for though there might 
 be a diff'erence in minor things, the general char- 
 acter was the same : — 
 
 " Firmly Imildcd with rafters of oak, the house of the farmer 
 Stood on the side of a liill commanding the sea, and a shady 
 Sycamore grew hy the door, with a woodbine wreathing 
 around it. 
 
 Rudely carved was the porch, witii seats beneatii; and a foot- 
 path 
 
 Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared in he meadow. 
 
 Under the sycamore tree were iiives overiiung by ti pent-house 
 
 Such as tiie traveUer sees in regions remote, by the road-side, 
 
 Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed image of Mary. 
 
 Fartiier down on the slope of the hill was the well, with its 
 moss-grown 
 
 Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a trough for the horses. 
 
 Shielding the houst' front storms, on the north were the barns 
 and the farm-yard. 
 
 There stood the broad- wheeled wains, and the antique plouglis, 
 and the harrows. 
 
 There were the folds for the sheep, and there, in his feathered 
 seraglio, 
 
 Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the cock, with the self- 
 same 
 
 Voice that in ages of old had startled the penitent Peter. 
 
 Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves a village. In 
 each one, 
 
 Far o'er the gaiile, projected a roof of thatcli ; and a staircase 
 
 Under the siieltering eaves led up to the odorous corn-loft. 
 
 There, too, the dove-cot stood, with its meek and intiocent 
 inmates. 
 
 Murmuring ever of love ; while above, in the variant breezes, 
 
 Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and sang of mutation. 
 
 Thus, at peace with Gud and the world, the farmer of 
 Grand I're 
 
 Lived on his sunny farm." 
 
 ^ 
 
294 YsRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 For some time they remained outside, and Mr. 
 Grousset talked with them. lie spoke English 
 very well, and seemed to be a man of miieh 
 general information for one of his class, and in 
 so remote a place. He was thoroughly simple- 
 minded, however, unworldly, and guileless. 
 
 At length he invited them all to come inside. 
 Mr. Smith excused himself, as he had to go back 
 to the mill ; but the boys entered, and their host | 
 
 introduced them to his wife and granddaughter ; 
 Avho were in the house. The wife was about the 
 same age as her husband, and the granddaughter 
 was about eighteen. Her gentle face and sweet 
 smile at once charmed all the bovs, who saw in 
 her a very good representative of P^vangeline. 
 
 Leaving the l)oys with his wife and grand- 
 daughter, the old man went out to give some 
 directions about bringing up the luggage from 
 the schooner. The boys would have been charmed 
 to engage in conversation with the old Indy and 
 the young " Evangeline," but unha])pily this was 
 not possible. The old .lady and ^M^]vangeline " 
 could not speak a word of English, and the boys 
 could not speak a word of French, and the conse- 
 quence was, that they could only express their 
 mutual good feeling by amiable smiles. 
 
 Apart from the regret which this created in 
 their minds, it was very pleasant for them thus to 
 find themselves presented to an Acadian interior. 
 It seemed as though they had been carried back 
 
 t 
 
 I 
 
grousset's home. 
 
 295 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 it 
 
 into the past, and suddenly ])liinge(l into the midst 
 of that ohi Acadian life wjiicli all of them loved so 
 much to think ahout and tnlk ahont. Here were 
 the old scenes of which they had read — the 
 villao-e — the house — the Acadinn fanner — his 
 family — and the crowiu'ng- grace of all, the gentle 
 Evangeline. 
 
 The room into which they had been shown was 
 a large one. At one end was an enormous fire- 
 place, over which was a marble |)iece containing a 
 store of curiosities, such as shells and stones of 
 peculiar shape. There was no carpet on the floor, 
 but a number of home-made rugs covered the 
 middle of it. The chairs were ohbfashioned, high- 
 backed, rush-seated constructions, siiigiilarly com- 
 fortable, however, and in every way adapted to 
 carry out the intention of a chaii- to the utmost 
 perfection. A large wooden settee stood opposite 
 the fireplace. Overhead the raliers were bare, 
 and nails were driven in them, from which hung a 
 store of domestic goods, such as skeins of yarn 
 and flitches of bacon. The partitions of the room 
 were of boards, and upon these were pasted a great 
 variety of pictures, which Mr. Grousset had prob- 
 ably obtained from some strav illustrated paper, 
 that had penetrated to this place, and fallen into 
 his hands. These pictures had a modern charac- 
 ter, which was somewhat (mt of kee[)ing with the 
 rest of the interior : but after all, there was a sim- 
 plicity in such a mode of decoration which took 
 
X 
 
 296 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 away the sense of discord that might otherwise 
 have been felt. 
 
 After a short absence the ohl man returned, and, 
 seating himself, began to talk with the boys, occa- 
 sionaHy translating to Iiis wife and granddaughter 
 what they said. He asked them all where they 
 came from, and Bart narrated tlieir recent adven- 
 tures, while the old man listened with the greatest 
 interest. i 
 
 " We all belong to the same school," said Bart, 
 at length, in answer to tlie old man's question ; for 
 he was puzzled to know liow they had come to- 
 getlier from such remote places. " We belong to 
 the ?ame school. Our school is in a place that you 
 may have heard of. It is Grand Pre." 
 
 At this name the old man started and stared at 
 them. 
 
 "What? "he asked. 
 
 " Grand Pie," repeated Bart. 
 
 '' Grand Pre ! " exclaimed the old man. " Grand 
 Pre ? What ! On the Basin of Minas ? " 
 
 '' Yes." 
 
 " Grand Ciel ! " exclaimed the other. " And you 
 have been there ! And you have lived there ! 
 How easy it must be to go there 1 And I was 
 never there — never! Alas ! why did I not go to 
 see that place wlien I was a young man? " 
 
 Plis emotion was so strong that his wife asked 
 him the cause. 
 
 He explained. And Bart noticed that the old 
 
 P 
 
THE MANNERS OF GRAND PRE. 297 
 
 lady and the granddaughter both looked at them 
 with deeper interest as they repeated the name — 
 Grand Pre ! 
 
 "■ None of my countrymen live there now, I sup- 
 pose," said the old man, looking at Bart interrog- 
 atively. 
 
 Bart shook his head. 
 ^ " Ah, I thought so," said the old man. " All gr ne. 
 
 [ They had to go. They were banished. Tney 
 
 j dared not return to that place. They came back, 
 
 j but could not get their homes again. Their houses 
 
 ] were burnt up, and their farms were given away 
 
 ! to strangers. Ah, Grand Ciel ! what injustice ! 
 
 J And they so good, so pious, so innocent ! " 
 
 " They were shamefully ^^^ronged," exclaimed 
 Bart, in a burst of indignation, — '' most shame- 
 fully, most foully wronged ! " 
 * " True," said the old man. " You are right. 
 
 I They were wronged. They were robbed. Ah, 
 
 how I have heard my grandfather tell about that 
 i mournful day ! How he loved that dear home in 
 
 Grand Pro, which he never dared to revisit ! He 
 , was a young man when he was driven away, and 
 
 he lived to be an old man ; but he never lost his 
 love for his old home. He was always homesick; 
 never content." 
 , " Your grandfather ! " said Bart, with the deep, 
 
 est interest. '' Did he live in Grand Pre?" 
 ,v, ''He lived in Grand Pre," said the old man. 
 
 J '' He was one of those that the English drove 
 
 y away." 
 
298 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 " And lie must luive been one of those who 
 managed to come back again," exclaimed Bart, 
 eagerly. '' I've heard that a great many found 
 their way back from Massachusetts, from New 
 York, from the Southern States, and even from the 
 West India islands." 
 
 " Yes," said the old man, " but my grandfather 
 was never cari'ied away. He escaped, and ran for 
 his life. lie was pursued, and almost caught ; but 
 by God's help he was saved from his enemies, and 1 1 
 
 came here, where he lived to grow c)ld." 
 
 " Escnped?" said Bart. ''0, how I wish you 
 would tell us all about it ! " 
 
 The old man smiled. The eager faces of all 
 the boys showed how deeply they were interested ; 
 and with such listeners as these it could not be 
 otherwise than pleasant to tell a story. 
 
STORY OF AN ACADIAX EXILE. 299 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 TJie Story of an Acadian Exile. — The Country in 
 Flames. — A dread Discovery. — Pursuit. — 
 I Flight over the Water. — The Bloodhound In- 
 
 stinct. — Red Sea Waves. 
 
 HJE story which tlie old man went on to tell 
 the boys was lon<i-, and suhji'ct to frequent 
 intei'rii[)tions, partly owin«;- to iiis own emo- 
 tion, and partly from the ea^er (juestions of his 
 listeners. A direct report of his own words need 
 not therefore be given here, but rather the mate- 
 rial of his narrative. 
 
 Grousset, then, the grandfiither of their host, 
 was a youiig man at the time of the expulsion of 
 the Acadians. He was not married, but lived 
 with his father and mother in a place which, by 
 close questioning, Bart conjectured could not have 
 been far away from the very sj)ot where the school 
 stood. As the old man had never been there iiimself, 
 but had only to speak from hearsay, he could not, 
 of course, give any very exact description of local- 
 ities ; and it was only from his general knowledge 
 tha*, Bart was able to draw this conclusion. At 
 
 "4 
 
 i 
 
300 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 any rate, the young- Grousset lived hero. There 
 was one brother besides liiniself. They devoted 
 themselves to iUrniin'-;, chiefly, but they also went 
 out fishing, whenever any g(jod opportunity pre- 
 sented itself. 
 
 Their house was on the side of a hill which 
 sloped towards the I>asin of Minas. In front were 
 extensive marshes, beyond which was a river, that 
 emptied into the bay. Into this river ran another 
 smaller stream, a little below the house. The prin- 
 cipal part of the settlement was two or three miles 
 away. Tlieir house was a very comfortable one, 
 their farm extensive, and a thriving orciiard con- 
 tributed something towards the luxuries of life. 
 
 On that day Grousset was out in his boat, lie 
 had been out for two days fishing. The fleet of 
 schooners which was to convey the settlers away 
 had arrived before he left, but he had no idea 
 whatever of their real intent. He supposed that 
 they had come for the purpose of buying corn, or 
 hay, or something of that sort ; and he regarded 
 them simply as a probal)le market where he could 
 sell his fish. With this belief he spent much 
 longer time than usual, hoping to fill his boat, and 
 thereby effect a larger sale. 
 
 In the course of his fishing, he had gone well 
 over towards the other side of the bay ; and when 
 at length he started on the return voyage, much 
 time was taken up, and he could not go more than 
 half way. He anchored for that night, and very 
 
THE COUNTRY IN FLAMKS. 
 
 301 
 
 early on tlie Ibl lowing;- day resinned his honiewai-d 
 progress. As lie drew nearer, lie was astonished 
 to find p^'rcat elouds of smoke roiiiii};- over the 
 whole eountry where the (Jnmd Pre settlement 
 stood. He could not understand it. At first ho 
 thou,ii:ht it was the woods ; hut as he drew nearer, 
 he saw that the smoke came from the cultivated 
 parts, a4j(l not f'rfun the woods. 'I'his j)u/zled him 
 at first. He had intended to sail at once for the 
 moutii of the (iaspereanx River, where the fleet 
 was; but these stranu-e and unaccountable appear- 
 ances excited the (leepe-;t anxiety and alarm, and 
 drove all thou<:,ht of tratlic and money-making- out 
 of his mind. He chanj^'ed thw boat's course, there- 
 fore, and steered straij^iit for his own home; for 
 there, as well as elsewhere, the smoke clouds arose, 
 and the terrible C()nflaj2:ration seemed to have ex- 
 tended over his father's fi(dds. 
 
 Headin<^ thus towards his own home, full of fear 
 and anxiety, he drew ever nearer, but only to find 
 his anxiety deepened as his progress increased. 
 Nearer and nearer still he came, until at last he 
 could see that e\ery house and every bai'u had 
 disappeared from the face of the country. The 
 fire was not accidental — it had evidently been 
 done on purpose; but ihis discovery was still 
 more per[)lexing, for he could not imagine any pos- 
 sible cause that could give rise to such a deed. 
 
 The rising tide bore him onward ra])idly, and 
 soon his boat floated up that river that ran past his 
 
302 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 lather's farm. ^ There rose the hill-slope where his 
 father's house and out-hoiises had once stood; but 
 now the house and out-houses had all vanished, 
 and over the surface of the hill were spread the 
 hlack ti-aees of the devastating fires. Nor was the 
 desolation eonfined to this place. It extended 
 eveiTuhcre. Every building had disappeared. 
 Every liunian habitation had vanished. The tire 
 had spared nothing. Ail had gone. 
 
 Grousset stood in his boat, gazing with looks of 
 horror upon the scene, altogether bewildered, 
 overcome by this sudden blow, wondei-ing in his 
 bewilderment what might be the fate of his rela- 
 tives, wondering where his father was, and his 
 mother, and whether behind this conflagration 
 there could possibly lurk some other calamity. 
 With such feelings as these he floated on, and did 
 not even seek to bring his boat to the shore. 
 
 Suddenly a loud cry came to his ears. Looking 
 in the direction whence the cry came, he saw a 
 figure crawl stealthily forth from a mud gully, and 
 wave his hands towards him. Then the cry was 
 repeated — 
 
 " Pierre ! " 
 
 Grousset recognized the voice. It was his 
 brother Paul. At once he directed the boat to- 
 wards the place, which he reached in a few min- 
 utes. His brother plunged into the water, seized 
 the boat, clambeied in, and then implored him to 
 turn and fly. 
 
 .. 
 
A DRKAD niSfOVPRY. 303 
 
 His brother Piiul was palo as doatli, jiixl wj'.s 
 covered with mud t'nmi head to foot, i'icne was 
 so horrified by all tliat he had s(>('ii, and by his 
 brother's appearance, tiiat lie eoukl scarcely g'asp 
 out a question about it. 
 
 "Fly! fly!" cried Paul, "or we're lost! It's 
 the English ! They've burned all the settlement, 
 and seized the })eople ! 'I'hey are carrying' tliiMii 
 away to another country as slaves ! Father and 
 mother are gone' I was a little late at the place, 
 and managed lO escape. But fly ! fly ! ibr tliev 
 are scouring the country, and if they see us, we 
 are lost ! " 
 
 At this frightful intelligence Pierre's first im- 
 pulse was to join his father and luother, and sull'er 
 with them ; but the impulse passed away, and the 
 thought of the horrors of slavery and exile do.- 
 terred him. Flight was now his only t'lought — 
 flight instant and inunediate. 'I'he boat's head was 
 turned, and Pierre now sought the bay as eagerly 
 as a short time before he had sought the shore. 
 
 And now, as Pierre retraced his course, he soon 
 perceived that he was discovered. Over the 
 marshes a number of men came running. They 
 were dressed in red coats, and by this, even when 
 far away, they could easily be recognized as Fng- 
 lish soldiers. They gesticulated wildly towards 
 him, and finally, on reaching the l)ank of the river, 
 they discharged their muskets at the boat. I>ut 
 by that time the fugitives had passed beyond their 
 
 ii' 
 
 k 
 
304 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOxODS. 
 
 re«icli, and the sliots, tliou.di fast and fnrions, did 
 no diiina<2:o, l)ut only nr_!2,cMl tlicm on to swifter 
 flijU'Iit, if possible; and to a('(;oin{)lisli this, tl»e two 
 brothers sei/i'd the oai's, and son«;'ht by rowing to 
 make greater speed. 
 
 Tlie ])ui-sners stood for a time as tliongli baflled, 
 and then hnrried away back to the rising grountl. 
 
 "They'll pnrsnc* ns," said PanI, gloomily. 
 
 " O, no," said Pierre. 
 
 " They'll pnrsne ns,'' said Panl once more, obsti- 
 nately ; <' you don't know their malignity. They 
 will not let one of ns escape. They have gone for 
 a boat." 
 
 Pierre said nothing. After what had occnrred, 
 how conld he hope for any forbearance on the 
 part of his enemies? There, as he sat rowing, 
 appeared fnll before him the blackened fields of 
 liis father's farm, the gannt chimney that rose 
 above the rnins of the honse where he was born. 
 
 For some time the two brothers ])nlled at the 
 oars, with their eyes fixed upon the desolated 
 shore, spenking not a word, for the hearts of both 
 were too fnll. Pierre did not seek as vet to know 
 the particnliirs of the dread trngedy whose residts 
 Panl had ali'eady stated, nor did Pnnl care to say 
 anything more about an event upon which he 
 Bcarcely dared \(\ think : so both pulled on in si- 
 lence, until at length a cry from Paul startled his 
 brother. 
 
 " They have a boat ! They are chasing us ; " he 
 cried. " They are coining out of the creek I " 
 
 a 
 
 1 
 
FLIGHT OVKR TIIK WATKR. 
 
 305 
 
 
 While he was speaking Pierre saw it. lie saw 
 a boat sliootiiig out from a ereek whicli enif>tie(l 
 into the river. They had aheady passed its mouth, 
 and the l)oat was luUy a mile behind them ; but 
 still it seenied too near tor safety, and almost too 
 near for ho})e. They understood all at onee. The 
 soldiers, intent on eapturing them, had hurried 
 buck to the ereek where the bt)ats usually lay, and 
 one of these they had seize(h It was a boat like 
 their own, and in it there were a half dozen sol- 
 diers, armed, and full of the bloodhound instinct 
 of pursuit. Their own boat was loaded down with 
 fish, and even the aid of the oars did not seem 
 su(lii;ient to draw them away j'rom their pursuers. 
 
 There was one thing whieh had to be done im- 
 meibately, and this thing was suggested simultane- 
 ously to the minds of both of them. They must 
 lighten their boat at all lia/ards. 'I'he fish were 
 useless now; worse — tlu^y were an imix'diment. 
 
 "Over with them!" shouted Pierre, still rowing 
 with one hand while he Ibing out the Hsh with the 
 other. \h\t Paul had already begun to do that 
 very thing. Hearing I'ierre's words he passed his 
 oar over to his br(»tlier, and tluui, gatluuing tho 
 Hsh up in both hands, he Hung them out of the boat 
 by armfuls. M(>anwhile Pierre rowed with all his 
 strength, and at the same time the wind never 
 eeased to bear the boat alontr. I>ut the same wind 
 bore onward alter them the boat ol' their pursuers, 
 and the two brothers watched with anxious eyes 
 20 
 
'J'*»f1f; ,"",1 ■^»'^»'T*:-T™= 
 
 30G 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 the progress of those who followed on tlieir 
 track. 
 
 At last all the fish were flung overboard except 
 about half a dozen, which were reserved for food. 
 They felt the benefit of this very soon. Gradually 
 the distance between themselves and their pursuers 
 increased. By this time also the tide had turned, 
 and swept them on at an ever accelerated rate of 
 progress ; and, although the same tide swept their 
 enemies along after them, still their own speed 
 was the greater, and every minute served to in- 
 crease their chance of escape. For the boats were 
 about e{]ual in speed, and while their boat only 
 had two inside, the other carried six, and therefore 
 was over weighted in this race. 
 
 Several hours passed away, and the united action 
 of wind and tide had carried onward pursuers and 
 pursued many miles into the bay. There rose 
 before them the frowning cliffs of Blomidon, and 
 past this the current was setting in a swift stream, 
 by which they were borne along. Now, too, the 
 wind died away, and the tide alone remained. This 
 caused i change for the worse. Thus far the 
 lightness of their boat had fa\ored them, so that 
 their pursuers liad fallen behind as much as four 
 or five miles ; but now, when it came to drifting, this 
 dilference was no longer in their lavor, and the 
 enemy, either IVom liaving caught a stronger cur- 
 rent, or from some other reason, seemed to be slow- 
 ly gaining upon them. 
 
 f^' 
 
^■^^^^■••"'^^^WP^ 
 
 mg^mm 
 
 FLIGHT OVER THE WATER. 
 
 307 
 
 The question now arose, what was to be done V 
 They could easily have landed here, scaled the 
 cliff, and escaped in the woods. But that was not 
 to be thought of except as a last resort. At all 
 hazards they wished to keep the boat. If they 
 fled to the woods their boat would be captured, 
 and their fate might be a miserable death. With 
 the boat, however, they might hope not only to 
 save their lives, but perhaps to follow their friends, 
 perhaps to rescue them ; or at least, if such a thing 
 as that should be beyond their powers, they could 
 choose some new home, and have tiie means of 
 living from the water, till the land should be ready 
 to yield them sustenance. For these reasons tliey 
 resolved to cling to the boat, and fly as long, and 
 as far, as possible. 
 
 But however eager they were in their determina- 
 tion to escape, the enemy showed a resolve to 
 pursue which was as obstinate as theirs. As they 
 floated along tliey saw the other boat still follow- 
 ing. The tide bore them on, in its course, down 
 through the Straits of Minas, beneath the frowning 
 cliffs that rise gloomily on one side, where Blomidon 
 overhangs the water, past the rocks all covered 
 with sea-weed, past long, bare sand flats, past 
 the giant cliffs, wliich, torn and riven by earth- 
 quake or by tempest, rise at the extremity of the 
 straits, and onward into the wide Bay of Fund" 
 
 They had hoped that in this place a breeze . ,)-, i 
 arise, but their hopes were disappointed, ^iie 
 
 f-' 
 
 K^ 
 
"■^ 
 
 308 
 
 PIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 water Wcas smooth, and they were borne onward 
 over an unruffled surface, by the strong tide, far 
 down. Yet though there was no wind, they at 
 length encountered something which to them, in 
 tliat extremity, was no less welcome. Before them 
 rose a wall of mist, shutting out all the scene 
 beyond, hiding even the Haute, whicli lay so near. 
 Into the entrance of this dense log bank they were 
 borne by the tide ; and soon all surrounding scenes, 
 all prospect of rock, and cliff, and distant shore, 
 and overhanging sky, and, all sight of their pur- 
 suers, were snatched from their eyes, and nothing 
 remained but an all-sui-j-ounding blank, an opaque 
 wall of unpenetrable tog. 
 
 At any other time such an occurrence would 
 have plunged them into despair, but now it raised 
 them out of despair into hope. At first they 
 thought of rowing in some direction, but a little 
 discussion served to dismiss this thought from 
 their minds. In the first place, they could not tell | 
 
 in which direction to row ; and in the second place, I 
 
 they thouglit that their pursuers would probably 
 take to their oars, and if so, their best plan of t 
 
 escape w^ould be to drift. ^ 
 
 Hours had passed nway since their flight com- 
 menced, and at length darkness came on. That 
 darkness was most intense. There was not the | 
 
 slightest light to alleviate the gloom. Still even ,' 
 
 this darlxiioss wms ;i relief, for they felt more secure. ' , 
 
 In spite of the liopo which they tried to entertain | 
 
FLIGHT OVER THE WATER. 309 
 
 that their enemies had given up the chase, they 
 could not get rid of a dark fear that they were 
 still pursued, and a foreboding that with the return 
 of light they might see tliem. And as the dark- 
 ness seemed to bring safety, they bore it with 
 patience, and resignation, and liope. 
 
 All night long they drifted in this thick dark- 
 ness. At last light came again. But the light 
 was dull and obscure, for the fog still enveloped 
 them. By this time they had lost all idea of local- 
 ity, and could not conceive in what direc^tion they 
 were drifting. They knew, however, that while 
 the falling tide would carry them down the bay, 
 the refluent tide would bear them l)ack. and there- 
 fore hoped, when the i'o}!; lifted, that they would 
 find themselves somewhere near tlie land. The 
 day that followed was a gloomy day indeed. The 
 water was glassy. There was not a breath of 
 wind. Having nothing by which to judge of their 
 motion, they seemed to be without motion, and to 
 be floating on a stagnant sea. There was no sight 
 to meet their eyes throuuh the dense surrounding 
 fog. and no sound came to their ears through the 
 wide, surrounding stillness. 
 
 At last the evening of that day caine on, and 
 the fog lessened. Land appeared' on either side 
 jl <jf them. Gradually the atmosphere cleared, and 
 
 to their amazement they found thoinselves drifting 
 up a long channel that Beemed like a river. Up 
 this river the tide seemed to run, carrying them 
 
 \ 
 
^^0 ' FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 witli it at fi groat rate of speed. As they went on 
 the shores ap[)roached more closely, the stream 
 grew narrower and more winding; but still the 
 swift waters lost nothing of their speed. The 
 shores on either side were a wilderness, covered 
 with the primeval forest, with not a sign of any 
 human habitation. The strangeness of the place 
 and the suspense which they felt at finding them- 
 selves here prevented them from trying to land. 
 They rather chose to drift onward, and allow them- 
 selves to be borne wherever the current might 
 carry them. 
 
 At length darkness began to come on, and the 
 fugitives thought that they had drifted far enough. 
 They therefore flung out the rude anchor which 
 they had in the boat. It caught, and their prog- 
 ress was stopped. They felt safe at last. Here, 
 in this remote place, no pursuer would follow them, 
 and they might rest. They had not slept during 
 all the time of their flight, and were very greatly 
 fatigued. It seemed to them that the boat was 
 safer than this unknown shore, and to sleep there 
 at anchor floating on the water would be better 
 than in those unknown Avoods where wild beasts 
 or prowling Indians might be lurking ; and thus, 
 as soon as the boat came to anchor, they flung 
 themselves down in the bottom, and were soon in a 
 sound sleep. 
 
 Their sleep was somewhat disturbed, and early 
 on the following day they awaked. Pierre was up 
 
 i* 
 
FLIGHT OVER THE WATI<]R, * 311 
 
 first, and he looked about in surprise. It was 
 about dawn, and in that morning twilight sur- 
 rounding objects were as yet indistinct. The first 
 thing that he noticed was, that the boat was 
 aground. The channel u{) which tlioy had drifted 
 on the preceding evening was now bare of water 
 — a wide expanse, like those red mud flats of 
 Grand Fr6 with which he was so familiar. These 
 flats extended here above and below for nn'les, and 
 on either side they ran for a great distance before 
 they touched the shore. 
 
 Suddenly, in the nrdst of this survey, Pierre 
 caught sight of an object which made his blood run 
 cold, and caused his heart for a few moments to 
 stop its beating. It was a dark object that ap- 
 I peared, on the mud flats, about a mile away, down 
 
 the channel. 
 
 It was a boat ! 
 
 That boat, like his own, had grounded, and lay 
 there on her side. 
 
 Could that be the boat of their pursuers ? Had 
 they been followed all this time, and all this dis- 
 tance, so remorselessly ? It seemed like it. Per- 
 haps his pursuers had become bewildered by the 
 I fog, or perhaps they had allowed themselves to 
 
 drift, as the surest way of keeping near to the fugi- 
 tives ; but whatever the reason was, it seemed as 
 though the same currents that had borne them 
 away had carried the pursuers after them. 
 
 And there it lay I It grew lighter as he looked, 
 
312 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 and then, as if to confirm his worst fears, there 
 suddenly appeared something which put an end to 
 all doubt. 
 
 A figure stood up in that boat. It was light 
 enough to see the color of his dress. 
 
 It was red. 
 
 Scarcely had he seen this than other figures 
 appeared — red-coated figures. They stood up. 
 Pierre could no longer doubt. They were English 
 soldiers. Even as he looked they began to leap 
 out from the boat, and run towards him. As he 
 looked his eyes caught sight of something beyond 
 — something white — like a long, low, white wall ; 
 and from that far distance there arose a low, dron- 
 ing sound, which struck a strange terror into 
 his soul. 
 
 In a moment he roused his brother. Paul stood 
 up, and stared in the direction where Pierre was 
 pointing. He saw the wide, flat river bed uncov- 
 ered. He saw the red-coated English soldiers. 
 
 Pierre looked all around to find the best place 
 for refuge. 
 
 On his right there projected a wooded cliff, its 
 sides rising precipitously for fifty or sixty feet, and 
 its summit covered with fir trees. This was the 
 nearest land. If they ran towards this they might 
 get out of sight of their pursuers in a few minutes, 
 and plunge into the woods at a place where the 
 cliff ended and the land sloped gradually down. 
 To this place he directed Paul's attention; and 
 
 1 
 
A 
 
 1 
 
 THE BLOODHOUND INSTINCT. 313 
 
 then culling upon him to follow, ho leaped from 
 the boat. Paul followed. The two brothers ran 
 with their utmost speed over the treacherous mud 
 flats towards the shore behind the point. 
 
 Up the channel, over the same treacherous mud 
 flats, came their pursuers, who, at tliis unexpected 
 si^'ht of their prey, seemed to be lilled with fresh 
 fury. Seeing tliat prey about to escape, they fired 
 after them. Report after report sounded through 
 the air and echoed along the shore. 
 
 Six shots were thus fired, and then, as the last 
 echo died out, there arose another sound. It was 
 that low, droning sound which had come to Pierre's 
 ears before he left the boat ; but the sound was 
 louder, and deeper, and nearer, and more dreadful. 
 It was a sound of wrath. It was the voice of 
 many waters i It was the sound of a pursuer more 
 terrible than man — the sound of the pitiless march 
 of innumerable waves. 
 
 The cliff rose overhead. TIiov had reached it ; 
 but before tliey passed beliind it tiiey turned one 
 glance at their pursuers. In that one glance a 
 sight revealed itself which was never forgotten. 
 
 Far down arose a wall of white foam, toi-med 
 by the advancing tidal wave of the Bay of Fundy 
 — a dread mass of surging billows, rolling up the 
 channel, extending all the way across. At the 
 moment wlien they looked it had cauuht the boat 
 and overwhelmed it, and then, in hungry fury, ad- 
 vanced towards the soldiers. 
 
314 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 They had heard it ! They had seen it — that 
 terrible pursuer, the tremendous, the inevitable ! 
 They stood still in horror. Escape was impossible. 
 On came the wave. Even the fugitives stood for a 
 moment overwhelmed with the horror of that 
 spectacle. 
 
 On came the wave ! 
 
 The wall of white foam rose high. It rushed on- 
 ward. It reared its curling crest. It fell in 
 thunderous fury upon the wretched victims of its 
 wrath. One wild, despairing yell burst forth, and 
 then all sounds were drowned in the roar of the 
 rolling waves. 
 
 The brothers fled. They reached the sloping 
 bank, awl clambered to a place of safety, from 
 which they looked with pallid faces upon those 
 waters, wliich, like the waves of the Red Sea, had 
 saved the fugitives by overwhelming the pursuers. 
 
 After this they wandered through the woods for 
 some days, and finally met with friendly Indians, 
 with whom they went to the Miraraichi. 
 
 Such is the substance of M. Grousset's nar- 
 rative. 
 
THE AMERICAN INDIAN IN A NEW LIGHT. 315 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The American Indiaii in a new Light. — The false 
 Guide. — Solomon prepares for Vengeance. — The 
 Indian Chief. — Fall Explanations. 
 
 >HAT evening tliey had a bountiful repast, 
 after vvliicli they slept well, and on the 
 following morning an equally bountiful 
 breakfast fortified them for 'the work of the day. 
 Soon after this they started down to the schooner 
 to talk over their plans for the future. 
 
 Close by the wharf stood the mills already men- 
 tioned, where now arose the tumult and bustle 
 generally prevalent there. Into the precincts of 
 this mill the boys strolled, and looked about upon 
 the busy scene. 
 
 The scene was to Bart one of the most familiar 
 possible, for all his early life had been passed in a 
 city of saw-mills, and the present occasion offered 
 nothing that was new. To the other boys it was 
 also more or less familiar, and it was rather the ani- 
 mation of the spectacle before them than its novelty 
 which attracted them. One thing, however, there 
 certainly was which seemed to all of them most 
 singular and unaccountable. 
 
316 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 As they looked upon tlio men wlio were at work 
 in the mill and in the mill yard, they noticed that 
 one after another of them was an Indian. To see 
 an Indian en^i^ap^ed in such work as this seemed 
 astonishing, for it had been a fixed belief in their 
 minds that no Indian will engnge in continuous 
 hard labor ; yet here was a fact which contra- 
 dicted all former opinions. What was more sur- 
 prising was the gradual discovery that not one, or 
 two, or a few, but the whole gang of men at work 
 in and about the mill were of the same race. 
 
 They worked doggedly, ploddingly, industrious- 
 ly ; some floating logs, some carrying deals, some 
 attaching the ropes to those logs that had to be 
 hauled up ; all busy, none idling. 
 
 " I never knew that Indians would work," said 
 Bart to Mr. Smith. 
 
 " These Indians work very well," said he. 
 '^ Yes ; and that is what is so astonishing. Of 
 course I knew that Indians will go through any 
 amount of fatigue in the course of a hunting 
 expedition, but I have always heard that they are 
 incapable of hard work." 
 
 " Well, as to being incapable, I have my doubts 
 about that," said Mr. Smith. " They cannot be 
 incapable ; they are only unwilling. Continuous 
 drudgery like this does not suit them as a general 
 thing. But these Indians don't object. They work 
 hard, never complain, and I have never had any 
 men who have given so little trouble." 
 
 ' 
 
THE AMERICAN INDIAN IN A NEW LICIIT. 317 
 
 " It seoms very odd, tliouglj," said Burt. " I'm 
 eure no otlior Indijuis in this country would bo 
 willing to work in tliis way. No amount of wages 
 would tempt them." 
 
 " No. That's true. Tlie fact is, these Indians 
 belong to a different tribe." 
 
 "A different tribe?" 
 
 "Yes. The Indians that you arc acquainted 
 with, who live in Nova Scotia and the greater part 
 of New Brunswick, are called the Micmacs. 
 These are called the Milicetes. The language of 
 the two tribes is altogether distinct ; their tradi- 
 tions, manners, and customs also vary in many par- 
 ticulars. Between the two, tribes there is no 
 intercourse and no friendly feeling whatever. 
 You see hero with your own eyes how dilfercnt 
 they must be from the other tribe, with which you 
 are ac(piainted." 
 
 Midday came, and as the steam whistles sounded, 
 iiA hands leit off work and prepared for dinner. 
 Their dinners had been brought to them by the 
 squaws of the tribe who had come to the mill 
 bringing their pappooses with them. Men, women, 
 and children then sat in a circle, in the midst of 
 the mill yard, and engaged in their midday repast, 
 while the boys looked on curiously from a distance. 
 Among these Indians there was one who had 
 come up with the women, and seemed to have 
 8ome sort of authority. He did not work in the 
 mill, but had the air and tone of one giving direc- 
 
318 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 tions, to which the others yielded assent or obedi- 
 ence. There was something in this Indian whicli 
 seemed familiar to Bart, though lio could not 
 account for it. He was the first who noticed him, 
 and he mentioned it to the others ; hut they were 
 equally unable to do so. At length, '-is several of 
 the boys grouped themselves together, it seemed 
 to Bart as though the Indian had some recognition 
 of them. There were Bart, and Phil, and Pat, and 
 the two Rawdons ; and as the Indian looked up, he 
 caught sight of them, with Bart in the foreground. 
 He started, and then turned his head away, and 
 appeared to busy himself with something else. 
 
 He was a very old man, somewhat bent, his 
 face seamed with a million wrinkles ; but his 
 figure was still strong, sinewy, and apparently 
 capable of undergoing fatigue or exertion to an 
 indefinite extent. He turned away, as has been 
 said, but every few moments he threw a furtive 
 glance at the boys. 
 
 And now it happened that Solomon came up 
 from the schooner to ask whether the boys were 
 to get dinner on board or on shore. He came up 
 to where the Indians were seated, and it was 
 evident that they had never seen a negro before, 
 for the advent of Solomon created an extraordinary 
 sensation. The women drew back, the children 
 screamed, the men stared, and all gave signs of 
 unusual excitement. But among all, none showed 
 such excitement as the old man already mentioned. 
 
SOLOMON PREPARES FOR VENGEANCE. 319 
 
 As Solomon drew near, he saw liim first, and 
 started to his feet, staring at liim witli a face upon 
 whicli tliere was a variety of contending expres- 
 sions ; curiosity, wonder, uneasiness, alarm — all 
 these were plainly visible at the same time on that 
 old Indian's face. 
 
 But the emotion of the Indian found its counter- 
 part in that wliich was manifested by Solomon, as 
 the Indian caught sight of him and started to his 
 feet. The attention of Solomon was arrested by 
 that movement. He stopped short, and fixed his 
 eyes upon the Indian. His hands chnched tliem- 
 selves together ; his lips compressed themselves ; 
 his limbs grew rigid ; while his eyes seemed to 
 glow like fire. Again the old man was trans- 
 formed ; again tliat wonderful change took [)la('e 
 from apparent feebleness, and even decrepitude, to 
 something which seemed like the bounding vigor 
 and vehement energy of barbaric manhood. His 
 chest heaved ; he seemed like some wihl beast, as 
 he stood there, gatliering up all his energies for 
 one tremendous s{)ring. 
 
 On the other hand, the Indian saw it, and drew 
 himself up to resist the assault. He fell back a 
 step or two, and mechanically threw himself into 
 an attitude of defence. His gesture was seen by 
 his companions. They looked up to where his 
 eyes were turned, and they marked the threaten- 
 ing attitude of Solomon. In an instant every one 
 of them started up to his feet, and by one common 
 
' 
 
 320 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 movement put themselves in front of tlieir old 
 compiinion, us tlion^i;)! to guard him from the 
 attiiclv of this unexpeeted enemy. 
 
 Upon the boys these sinuular prooeedinjjjs pro- 
 duced different effeets. Hart and his companions 
 in the woods at once recot^nized the truth. The 
 old Indian was no other than their false j;'uide, who 
 had first turned upon them to attack them, and 
 then fled, leavinL>' them in the midst of the track- 
 less forest. This was the man who now appeared 
 before them in the midst ol" his own {)eople, who 
 certainly deserved some })uiiishment for all that 
 he had done, but wlio secnned to be out of the 
 reach of any punisinnent, unless, indeed, Solomon 
 should taki^ the law into his own hands. Hut 
 Bruce and the others, who had never seen the In- 
 dian l)efore, stood simply ama/ed, not knowing 
 what to make of such a sin;j:ular scene. They had 
 heard of the adventure in the woods with the In- 
 dian p:uide, but what they had heard did not suffice 
 to afford them a clew to tht* affair before them. 
 
 For a few monu^nts they stood tiius, Solomon 
 threatem'ncr, the Indians scowlinir, the boys look- 
 in,«r on. Hut Solomon, thouii'h poised to spring, 
 lu^silatcd. as he saw all tht> enemies before him. 
 Had it be(>n only the old Indian, he would have 
 lea)>(Ml upon him at once; but with so many other 
 Indians, it was a dill'erent matter. Very natu- 
 rallv, thendbre, Solomon hesitated, aiul faltered, 
 and sank down from his high pitch of fury, at thus 
 being confrontetl wdth the impossible. 
 
THE IxniAX CfllRF. 
 
 321 
 
 It was at tliis juncture tliat Mr. Smitli ap 
 proached. lie surveyed the scene with surprise 
 and anxiety, and walking- forward, liastily he asked 
 wlia it all meant. The advent of one thuseiotiied 
 with autliority produced an instantaneous efl'eet. 
 The Indians turned away, and talked in low tones 
 with one another; Solomon subsided Irom his 
 fighting- attitude into one of vehement denuncia- 
 tion ; and Bart proceeded to tell Mr. Smith the 
 whole story. 
 
 Mr. Smith listened to it all with the deepest in- 
 terest. 
 
 ** It'sabominahle of Sam,"siiid he, as TJa-t ended, 
 "and if it had been any one else, I should like to 
 have him punished. Uut with Sam it is dillerent, 
 and I can easily exj)lain it. Sam is the chief of 
 these Milicetes, and generally is all that a chief 
 should be. The only trouble with him is, tliat, like 
 all Indians, he is fond of liquor. When he gets 
 any, it makes him simply insane. lie stavs about 
 here most of the time, and in this place he can't 
 get a single drop. Conse(piently he is a very sen- 
 sible, dignified, and respectable Indian. lie is 
 looked up to with the utmost respect by his ))eo- 
 l)le, and he and I agree ])erfectly well. Tnibrtu- 
 nately, when he goi's away, he generally manages 
 to get licpior. He can't resist temptation. He 
 went olf, about a Ibrtnight ago, to Miramichi, where 
 you found him. iJelure starting with you, he sup- 
 Si 
 
322 
 
 FIRE IN THE WOODS. 
 
 plied himself with that unfortunate bottle of liquor. 
 Had it not been for that, you would have found 
 him an admirable g^uide, and lie would have 
 brought you here without any difficulty. But his 
 bottle drove him crazy, and caused that wild out- 
 break. I don't believe he remembers much about 
 it himself. Pie must have come straight back to 
 Shippegan after leaving you." 
 
 This explanation proved highly satisfactory to 
 the boys, who readily forgave the Indian for an 
 outbreak tliat had been j)roduced by such an un- 
 foi-tunate cause; and even Solomon, on learning 
 that it had not been out of any malicious inten- 
 tion, consented to forego his vengeance. 
 
 After this, Mr. Smith had some conversation 
 with the Indian himself, who, as he suspected, 
 remembered nothing about his outbreak in the 
 woods. 
 
 He only remembered that he had engaged to go 
 with the boys, and had got separated from them, 
 he knew not how. He expressed great sorrow, 
 and tried, in his broken Englisli, to explain and to 
 aj)ologize. 
 
 Thns this affair was all happily settled. 
 
 The boys spent one more day in Shippegan, 
 and then prei)ared to de|)art. On the following 
 morning they bade adieu to Mr. Grousset and his 
 amiable family, who begged them, with great 
 earnestness, to visit them again, which they all 
 
DEPARTURE OF THE ANTELOPE. 323 
 
 promised to do. Mr. Smith accompanied them to 
 the wharf, and shook hands witli them all around. 
 Up wont the sails, the lines were cast off, and tlie 
 Antelope passed down the long harbor and out 
 into the bay. 
 
^ 
 
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 Adrift in the Ice Fields By Capt. Chas. W. Mall 
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 Boy Farmers of Elm Island, The By Elijah Kellogg 
 Boys of Grand Pr^ School By Prof. James DeMille 
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 66. Facing the Enemy The Life of Gen. Wm. Tecumseh Sher 
 
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