FIRE IN THE WOODS
By Prof. James De Mille
Author Of The “B. O. W. C.,” “The Boys Of Grand Pre School,” “Lost In
The Fog,” “Among The Brigands,” Etc.
Illustrated
Boston: Lee And Shepard Publishers
1871
[Ill 0010]
[Ill 0010]
FIRE IN THE WOODS.
I.
_On a Visit.--A Fascination and a Temptation.--Secret Plans.--An
exciting Letter.--Where’s old Solomon?--Arrival of an Opportunity.--The
Opportunity seized.--A hazardous Adventure.--The Island in the Falls._
BART DAMER lived at St. John, and on his return home he had brought
with him his two friends, Phil and Pat, to pass the vacation with
him. Solomon had also accompanied them, for the purpose of visiting some
relatives who lived in the vicinity. Neither Phil nor Pat had ever 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 possesses 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.
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 approaching. Before the city and behind it two furious
floods pass and repass, in one place filling up the broad channel with
sand, but in the other mingling with the torrent 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 beautiful. Here it expands into a broad lake, and receives
into itself, by a wide mouth, another tributary river; after which
it contracts into narrow dimensions, and winds its way between rocky
precipices till it reaches the suburbs of the city. Here it expands once
more, and then, flowing onward a little farther, it comes to a place
where towering cliffs rise abrupt, 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
length, with a majestic 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, and the difference 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 the 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 beginning of the Falls the river grows
narrow, showing 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. Across this abyss
a suspension bridge has been flung, from which there is a view 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; while 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 passing
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, received its shock upon their
rocky borders. These islands lay out of the reach of the boys, and for
that 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 that 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 slight that
it seemed almost possible to jump across. But the possibility was only
apparent; the island was in reality inaccessible, except by boat,
at certain 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 plan 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
Phil 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 communicated 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 had
forbidden him, most positively and most solemnly, from ever having
anything 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 moment entered into his head; and when Pat had mentioned his wish
to visit the islands, he had refused 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 matter Phil was influenced by Pat, rather
than by Bart; that is to say, he listened rather to Pat’s enthusiastic
descriptions of those mysterious islands than to the somewhat
unsatisfactory warning which Bart had given; and the only result of
that warning 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 difficulty was, that people
might not be willing to let one to inexperienced boys. But Pat was fully
a match for this emergency. He was ready with any amount of professions
as to his ability to manage any boat; and indeed in such professions he
was not deceitful, for he could handle an oar as well as any boy of
his age. And so his offer was accepted very readily by Phil; and the
consequence was, that Pat took occasion to make his search, and made it
with such success that he at length found a boat every way adapted to
their purpose. He did this, too, quite unknown to Bart.
This must not be considered as a violation of confidence, or anything
of that sort; for Pat was, after all, not capable of direct deceit. 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 that there was any actual
danger, nor did he stop to think that Mr. Darner’s prohibition might
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 sufficiently dangerous to cause the loss of one life per
year on an average, besides many accidents which do not result in an
actual loss of life; and it was this knowledge of the dangers attendant
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, however, produced sufficient
effect upon them 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 this was not very easy, for Bart was always with one or
both of them; and so, even after they had found a boat, it still seemed
as difficult 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 the islands.
This event was the receipt by Bart of a letter from Bruce Rawdon. 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 was 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 was putting itself
out. And who do you think it was? I won’t keep you in suspense. It was
Captain Corbet! Yes, it was himself, as meek, as mild, as paternal, and
as venerable 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 my 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 you say?
Can you resist? Can you keep away when you hear that the Antelope is
once more upon the waters, and that the flag of the B. O. 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. We all count upon meeting you at Shippegan on August
15.
“The venerable Corbet sends his blessing.
“Yours in B. O. W. C.
“Bruce Rawdon.”
This letter created the wildest outburst of joy that is possible to the
effervescing spirits of enthusiastic 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!
But where was Solomon?
Shortly after their arrival, he had taken his departure, and had not
been seen since. Bart, however, 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 away, and Mr. Damer would not trust the horse to
Bart alone. If 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 enterprise. Their first glance was highly satisfactory. As far as
they 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 further 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-between the projecting precipice of a rocky promontory 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, thunderous outpour of low tide, when the river
flings 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 found the boat afloat, with its oars inside,
and fastened 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 millpond, 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 side 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
change in their plans; for, whereas they had at first intended to go to
the upper island, they now found the sweep of the tide dragging 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
explorations 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.
II.
_The Island in the Falls.--A Discovery of a startling Kind.--The sullen
Boar.--A mad Risk.--The Struggle for Life.--On the Verge of Ruin.--A
last Effort.--Over the Falls.--Ingulfed and drawn down by the
Vortex.--Where is Pat!_
THE boys secured their boat to the rocks, 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 tug boats, 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 suspension bridge. But,
then, they were not altogether destitute of a reward. The island was
small and insignificant; but, then, it was an island, and that was
something. Besides, their position here meant that they had achieved
their enterprise; and the consciousness of success was of itself a
sufficient reward.
“I wonder,” said Phil, “why no more vessels go through the Falls--”
“Through the Falls, is it?” said Pat. “O, sure it’s just because they
don’t want to; an that’s all, so it is.”
After some more conversation, they began to grow tired of the island;
and since they had exhausted all the pleasure that a landing upon it,
combined with the consciousness of success, could afford, there remained
nothing more to do but to complete their enterprise by effecting 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 and aisy,
for we’ll have it on one side agin; and that’s how it is.”
They now began to explore this second island. It was larger than the
other, but did not seem so large. As it was free from woods, its small
extent was perceptible 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 unobstructed view. Up 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 before 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 cliffs, and between these was
the suspension bridge, whose frail 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 wonder what makes it so white over there,” said Phil, in an anxious
tone.
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
perceptible 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 uneasiness. “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 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 strame, 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
mysterious direction which he had described a short time ago. For a few
minutes they exerted all their strength; and both boys, as they pulled,
kept turning their heads, so as to see the shore, which they wished to
gain. Those few 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
evident that their progress forward was not very great, but that at the
same time their 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
destination 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 one 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 possibility of emerging
yet from the clutch of that hungry current, which grew more and more
tenacious as they advanced, and from which escape was only possible by
a retreat. But at that moment Pat did not fully realize the danger that
impended. He 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 secure 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, and 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 saw and felt;
and they knew enough of the nature of the Falls to understand now the
mistake that they had made. For they had crossed to the islands when the
tide was falling, and, in their 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 overpowered. 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 direction of the boat, turning
it but slightly, however, just enough to aim at the upper island. Then
again, as before, they put forth their last remaining energies. With
feverish anxiety they fixed their 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 might serve to bring them
there before it was too late. And now they had fairly reached the crisis
of this tremendous 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!
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 afforded 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 inevitable.
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
exhaustion; 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 impudent self-confidence which it usually wore.
Yet, if anything could have reduced Pat to despair it was the sight that
now appeared immediately 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 between 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, perhaps, 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. Immediately in front, the water
seemed to come in contact 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 so; and thus even if Pat had
been inclined to make a choice of some particular place to direct
the boat, 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 line of boiling breakers;
there was that upheaving mass of 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.”
“What!” cried Phil; “stop rowing? Why, we’ll be lost--”
“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 deliberating. He had
either to consent to Pat’s proposition, or refuse, and that at once.
“The boat’ll upset,” cried Pat, “sure. You jump out wid me whin I give
the word. But ye’ll 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 moment, 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 linger 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.
Suddenly Pat gave a loud yell--
“Jump!”
Phil was already standing with the oar poised in one hand, and the other
hand outstretched, waiting for 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, Phil 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 fathomless abysses,
and in his ears there were the howling and the abhorrent uproar, and the
deafening thunder-peal of a thousand cataracts. Then, in the midst of
all this, another grasp 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 uproar of the
ingulfing waters, into the upper 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?
As he thought of this, an involuntary shudder passed through him. He
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 direction,
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?
III.
_Bart off on an Expedition.--The Search after Solomon.--The aged
Toiler.--The Flaming Fury.--The brandished Broomstick.--Collapse of
Solomon.--Extinction of the Flaming Fury.--Solomon vanishes.--Terrible
Tidings.--An anxious Search.--Despair._
MEANWHILE Bart had started off, as we have seen, on his expedition
after old Solomon. The place in which he proposed to seek after him
was distinguished by the euphonious and historical name of Loch Lomond,
which name originated from the existence of a small but very pretty lake
in that locality, which was in the neighborhood of a hill. Now, this
lake and this hill bore a fanciful resemblance to the famous Scottish
lake and hill, and the names were applied to these by some enthusiastic
Scotchman. The lake was one of a chain, all of which were small and
rather pretty, and the whole region round about went by the name that
properly belonged to the lake.
Two or three miles away from this lake there was what is called a
“colored settlement,” which, of course, means a settlement inhabited by
people of color. This was also called the “black settlement,” and also
the “nigger settlement.” Solomon had informed Bart that he intended
visiting this place, and Bart thought of this as the only place where he
could be heard of.
The colored settlement was founded by some slaves, brought away from
the Southern 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 colonizing 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 exhilarating, the horse was fast, and
everything conspired to fill him with joyous feeling. His mind reverted
to Bruce’s letter, and he passed most of his time during the drive in
speculating about the coming excursion, and in rejoicing over the happy
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 his mind busied itself, and at
length he reached the colored settlement.
He stopped at a rude log hut, which had a roof of poles and mud, from
which a flour barrel projected, 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 for 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. He found a little difficulty about this,
as he could hardly distinguish between what might be a house and what
might also be a barn, and was stopping at a place in the road opposite
a hut like the 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, and he was toiling with all
his might over a stone and a crowbar, occasionally straightening himself
up and rubbing 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 indeed be Solomon? and was
this the way he enjoyed himself while on a visit to his friends? With a
crowbar, 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 exclaimed,--
“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 waiting for an answer, he
went on to tell about Bruce’s letter, and their proposed expedition,
and the necessity which there was for him to accompany them. Finally he
urged him to get ready as soon as possible.
To all this Solomon listened in silence, without saying 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 distance, 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 flaming
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 connected this woman with Solomon, and suggested her as the cause
of his fear. As for Solomon, he was now quite beside himself with
terror. His hands fell nerveless by his sides, his jaw dropped, his head
shook as with a palsy, his 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 turban, 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 somebody, which somebody Bart now supposed must
be Solomon, and at once, full of pity, determined to defend the old
man from her fury. He therefore 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, he recognized her perfectly. To his utter bewilderment
and unbounded amazement, the Flaming Fury turned out to be no other
than one who, for the last few years, had been quite a visitor 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 beamed,--such was the Black Betsy
that was known and loved in the Damer kitchen. But what was this? What
had happened?
This Black Betsy? This Virago, this Terror, this Flaming Fury? This!
Impossible. Yet there was the astounding fact. There 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 generally called mad.
And thus, mad drunk, the Flaming Fury came bounding up, howling and
brandishing her 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 have swept
a straw. But seeing him, and recognizing him, produced an effect
instantaneous and most astonishing. 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! Ef it ain’t de dear little Mas’r
Bart, his bressed sef. De sakes, now!”
This exclamation was uttered in the softest, and most silvery, and
most winning of those tones which Bart had always associated with Black
Betsy. This additional proof of the identity of this amiable being with
the Flaming Fury only increased his 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 my ole heart! An
so you dribe out to see de ole man! Wal, I allus sez, dat ar Mas’r Bart,
I ses, ef he ain’t de ’stror’nest, ’fecsh’nest chicken! 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 conversation 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 gentlest 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. His one
idea now was to save himself for the time, at least.
So, first of all, he edged away a little, very slowly and very
cautiously. No notice was taken of this, and he ventured to retreat
still farther. Still Black Betsy went on talking in her silvery voice,
and with her winning smile. So Solomon retreated still farther. Black
Betsy saw all this movement, and once she raised the broom and held it
in the 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
upraised broom, instead of calling Solomon back, only hastened his
retreat. He thereupon turned abruptly, and making his way as rapidly as
possible to the nearest woods, he soon disappeared.
Black Betsy still went on, mellifluous and voluble. The warmth of her
nature seemed boundless. Tears stood in her eyes as she told Bart how
she loved his mother. Finally she stopped 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.
“Berryin,” 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 ’prise--go pick berries for de dear
chicken,” said Black Betsy, in a tender voice.
“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--dese 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 apparition 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
olf to dig sassy-prilla to make beer. You wait and he come back soon.”
So Bart waited a little while, hoping that Solomon would return.
But Solomon did not return.
Black Betsy entertained him with remarks in her usual strains, chiefly
of an affectionate and endearing character; but Bart was so disappointed
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 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.