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 recognized the landmark; and here they both
flung themselves wearily down upon the bank, and waited for the return
of the others.
For a long time they waited there. It grew later and later, but there
was no sign of either of them. At length they saw some one coming, and
as he drew nearer they recognized Pat. He was very much out of breath,
and soaking wet from head to foot.
“Where’s Phil?”
Those were the first words that Pat spoke, and he spoke them in hurried,
anxious tones.
“Phil!” cried Bart. “Why, don’t you know?”
“Hasn’t he got back yit?” said Pat, with something like a wail.
“No,” said Bart, as a dark feeling of apprehension came to him.
“Och, thin,” cried Pat, “it’s fairly heart-broke I am, so I am; and no
one knows what I’ve suffered this blissed day. Sorra one o’ me knows
what has become of him. An I’ve been scourin the whole country back’ards
an for’ards, an yellin meself hoarse, so that I can’t utther one blissed
howl more, so I can’t.”
At these startling words, all Pat’s anxiety and more communicated itself
to Bart. He hastily questioned Pat about Phil’s disappearance.
“We wint down,” said Pat, “for iver so far, an we came to one of the
foinest holes iver was. We fished there a half hour an more, and thin
Phil says, says he, ‘I’ll go, says he, over beyont,’--for there was a
moighty big rock jist forninst us. So he wint for to climb the rock, and
he says, ‘I’m goin furder down,’ says he. So I thought no more about it,
but wint on wid me fishin. It wasn’t for iver so long that I thought of
him; but at last I begins to fail anxious, and wondhers to meself what
iver have become of him. So I started off. I didn’t climb over the big
rock, as he did, but crossed the sthraim and wint down the other side.
Well, I couldn’t see a sign of him. I 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 here.”
This story caused terrible anxiety. Bart at once started down 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 Phil on his return.
But on his return there was no Phil to be seen.
VIII.
_The Loss of Phil.--Deep Gloom and heavy Grief.--A Night of Terror.--The
torrid Atmosphere.----The Smell of Smoke.--The Darkness that might be
felt.--Morning brings Relief.--The Search.--The Rock and the Precipice
by the River-side.--The Track of Phil.--Following the Trail.--The Trail
lost.--Persevering Search.--The End of the Day._
THE loss of Phil produced a terrible effect upon the little party.
Pat’s grief was expressed 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 was also silent, and he tried in vain to conjecture what
had been the cause of Phil’s departure. To him it seemed perfectly
unaccountable how he could have got lost. There was the stream, and it
seemed to be easy enough, even if one had wandered from it, to retrace
his steps. From Pat’s story, Phil’s departure from him by that rock was
the beginning of misfortunes. At some time after that he must have begun
to wander in a wrong direction, and gradually gone farther and farther
away till he was lost.
All that night none of them slept. For a time they kept up a series of
cries, which awakened no response. Then they 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 could 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 every sound, however 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, and listened, and waited.
“I wonder whether he is wandering about in this darkness or not,” said
Bart, in an anxious-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 times comfortabler thin we
are. He’s jist gathered 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
I wor as sound aslape as he is this blissed momint.”
Bart shook his head mournfully.
“No,” said he, with a sigh, “he won’t have much sleep to-night, poor old
Phil; he’s got too much to think of. If he had some one 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. I never knew such a night.”
“Thrue for you,” said Pat. “It’s fairly suffocated 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 whether Sam could have been following us,” said Bart, half
shuddering at the frightful thought that had occurred.
“Sam? What, the Injin?”
“Yes.”
“An what’d he be a follerin of us for?”
“O, 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 his mad fit may have lasted till to-day; and he may have been
sneaking after us through the woods, and watching for a chance to do
some mischief. And so--”
Bart hesitated.
Pat was silent for a few moments.
“O, sure,” said he at last, “what are ye givin way for to sich mad
deludherin notions? What’d he be wantin of a boy like Phil?”
“He might have vowed vengeance on us.”
“Yingince is it? By the powers, thin, if it’s vingince he wanted, it ud
be Solomon that he’d track, not Phil, that niver so much as spoke
one word to him, good or bad, all the time he 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 glass o’ whiskey, so he wud.”
Bart made no reply. The subject was too terrible to be discussed. He
tried to dismiss the thought from his mind. But the idea, having once
suggested 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 thought it indeed was that had thus come to him--the idea of
that demoniac being who had sprung at them on the previous night, and
had only been repelled by what seemed almost a miracle, being still
animated by furious hate and a thirst for vengeance,--the idea of this
implacable savage, thirsting for their blood, following stealthily
on their trail all that day, maintaining his pursuit with that
inexhaustible patience and tenacity of purpose which a bloodthirsty
savage alone can show when on the search for vengeance. Had he indeed
done this? Had this been the secret history of that day? Was this
blood-hound indeed on their track? Could it have been possible that he
had devoted them one by one to destruction, and had bided his time,
and had 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, accumulated during a course of reading in Cooper’s
Leatherstocking 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 his 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 fire had died out, it was
impossible to see anything whatever--not even the hand before the face.
The deepest shadows surrounded them on all sides, and wherever they
looked their eyes encountered nothing but the blackness of darkness.
Besides this, it was exceedingly hot and sultry, the air having a
certain indescribable oppressiveness which made them sometimes fairly
gasp for breath. The 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. This sultriness oppressed them all in an equal degree, and united
with the intense darkness to throw them into a state of bewilderment
and perplexity. 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 formidable 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 begin 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 grateful air. Gradually the darkness disappeared, and the daylight
increased, and the forms of things around them became revealed.
Overhead there was no change from the day before. The sky was all
covered over with dense clouds, which seemed to hang much lower down
than on the preceding day, and now appeared whirling round and rolling
over the heavens in vast vortices. This movement on their part 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
whirled them back in confused heaps.
And now a new day lay before them, in which they would have to employ
every hour in the search after Phil. What that day or 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
breakfast, and discussed the best plan of procedure. Solomon, as usual,
made no remark upon the subject, being content to abide by Bart’s
decision, while Bart and Pat talked over various ways of carrying on
their search. To separate was not to be thought of, for that would only
lead to fresh troubles. So it was decided, that wherever they went, they
should now keep together. They further decided that they should go down
the stream till they reached that rock already spoken of, which had been
the point of Phil’s departure, and try if they could not get upon his
trail, so as to see, at least in a general way, what direction he had
taken.
During this deliberation about the course which they should take, Bart
still exhibited the despondency which had characterized him ever since
Phil’s disappearance. The gloom of night and the oppressive sultriness
had passed, daylight was at hand, and the breeze brought fresh life to
them; but still Bart’s spirits 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, continuing some remark which he had been
making, “if we can only get on his trail, we may at least find out the
general direction that he has 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 up all right and safe yit.”
“I 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 very bad thin. He can
only walk on an walk on; an he’s sure to come out somewheres. Besides,
he’ll hit upon a road some place or other, and wander along that.”
“There are no roads here.”
“How do you know? Ye don’t know. Thur may be fifty roads widin a mile of
this very place, so there may. So what’s the use of givin up?”
“No,” said Bart. “This is a wild, unfrequented place, and the woods are
unbroken for an 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 think
now that Phil’s an idiot? Sure now, what’d ye do yerself if it was you
that was lost instead of Phil? Do you think that you’d wandher about
till you dropped, or do ye think ye’d work yer way out somewheres? Come
now, ye know ye’d work yer way out, so you would. And so would I. And so
will Phil, so he will.”
This process of reasoning struck Bart so forcibly that he had not a word
to say. Pat in fact 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 yerself in Phil’s place,” continued Pat, cheerily.
“What’d you do? I’ll tell you what you’d do. Whin ye found yerself lost,
ye’d thry, of coorse, to git back. Well, thin, ye’d go wandherin about.
Very well. Ye’d sit down an rist, and think what ye’d best do nixt.
Then ye’d start off afrish. Maybe ye’d climb a tray to see if ye cud see
anythin. At any rate ye’d work away as long as the daylight lasted. At
steeted intervals ye’d let off howls as loud as ye cud howl. Well, thin,
it’ud grow dark, an so ye’d go to work an make up your mind to pass the
night here, an ye’d thry, of coorse, to make yerself as comfortable as
possible. So ye’d collect any quantity of moss an ferns, an spread
them out--perhaps ye’d make a fire--but that’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, I suppose I would,” said Bart; “but perhaps the Indian has had
something to do.”
“The Injin. O, bah! Bother the Injin. That does to spake of in the
middle of a dark night, but not undher the bright daylight. That Injin’s
safe in his own camp by noo, I’ll warrant ye.”
By this time they were ready to start, and accordingly 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
pathway if any such trace might remain. The rock was about thirty or
forty feet high, and rose upon the edge of the river which flowed along
its base. Phil might have crossed the river, and gone down, as Pat did,
on the other side; but he chose this, probably thinking that it was only
a few steps. On reaching this place Pat was able to point out pretty
nearly the spot where he saw Phil mount the bank. Here the underbrush
seemed to show signs of having been trampled upon, and they at once
ascended the bank in this direction. For some distance the marks
continued, and they followed very carefully. At last, shortly after they
reached the top of the bank, these faint marks died out utterly, and
there remained no trace whatever of any footsteps that was discernible
to their eyes. Here, then, they paused, and again considered what they
should do.
After careful consideration of everything, it seemed to them that
the best thing for them now to do was to advance from the river bank
directly into the woods in as straight a line as possible. If they were
to do this for several miles, they might get upon the wanderer’s track.
They therefore set out, walking away from the river, trying by every
possible means to make their course a straight line. They also tore off
twigs from the trees as they went and strewed them behind them to leave
a trail. Thus they went for about half an hour. Then they began to
shout, and still going onward for another half hour, they continued
their shouts. But at the end of this time and these efforts they were no
better off than at the beginning, and to all their cries there came no
response whatever.
Here another discussion took place. It seemed to Pat that Phil must have
wandered down the stream, how far he did not know, but perhaps miles,
and that on his return he had left the river at some point, and thus
been lost. If this were so, it followed that the best place to search
for him would be the woods lying on a line with the river, and extending
along its banks. If they were now to turn to the right, they would be
going in a course parallel to the river, and through those very woods
in which it was most likely that Phil might be. Pat’s statement and
argument seemed so reasonable that Bart at once adopted it; and so, with
the utmost care, they took up a course which seemed as near as possible
at right angles with their former one, and consequently as nearly as
possible parallel with the flow of the river. In this direction they now
went, trying as before to keep a straight course, and to leave a trail
behind them. Above all, they kept shouting and calling all the time.
They went on in this course for as much as two hours with no more
success than before. They came to woods where the underbrush was so
thick, and the ground so swampy, that further progress was out of the
question. Here, then, they once more deliberated as to what they should
do. To go back seemed inexpressibly irksome, as well as useless. It
seemed better to change their course in some new direction, which might
be favorable to their hopes. On the whole it now seemed best to get
back to the river. Phil might be there somewhere along its banks. In the
evening they could go back to their former stopping-place by ascending
the course of the river. So they took up a new line of march, which
seemed to be exactly at right angles with their last one, and thus went
on.
All this time they had been taking the utmost pains to leave a trail;
but now, as they were going back to the river, it seemed no longer
necessary: so they walked along much more easily and quickly, merely
trying to make their pathway as straight as possible.
They walked on for a long time.
The river seemed much more distant than they had supposed.
Still they cheered themselves with the thought, at almost every step,
that the next step would bring them in sight of it.
One more pause.
Still the river did not appear.
Another hour passed.
Still no river.
Nevertheless they toiled on, for having set before themselves this river
as a certain place to be reached, they were not willing to stop short of
it.
But the farther they went, the more hopeless did their attempt seem.
At length there began to come over them a vague idea that they had lost
all idea of the direction of the river--that they had been wandering
in a wrong direction altogether; and this vague idea grew stronger and
stronger, and began to grow into a full conviction that they, as well as
Phil, were utterly and hopelessly lost.
IX.
_Lost--Deliberations.--Trying to regain the Course.--The Smoke of the
Burning.--The stagnant Air.--Onward.--An Opening in the Forest.--Hope
and Enthusiasm.--A Rush forward._
LOST!
Yes, Lost!
Lost in the woods!
It was Bart who first received this idea in its full force in his mind.
He stopped abruptly, and looked all around.
“Well,” said he, “it’s my opinion that we’ve been keeping this sort of
thing up too long altogether. For my part, I haven’t the faintest idea
in the world where we are. One thing is certain: we’re utterly astray in
what we may suppose to be our reckoning; and wherever the river may be,
it certainly isn’t anywhere near us. And I’m going to knock under for
the present.”
With these words, he flung himself down upon a knoll under a neighboring
tree, threw off his bag, and pitched it away to some distance from him,
and then, drawing his knees up under his chin, he sat gazing fixedly at
the ground.
“Well,” said Pat, “I’ve been thinkin that same for the last hour, sure;
but, as ye seemed inclined to laid off, an as I hadn’t anythin more to
offer, why, I jist follered afther. An sure I think it ain’t a bad idea
at all, at all, to sit down, if it’s only to rist ourselves, an take
a bite of somethin to ate, an thry to git up some schame for our nixt
attimpt.”
With these words, Pat took a seat upon the ground, and Solomon, without
any remark, sat down near them.
And there they all sat, silent, with the same thought in all their
minds; and that was, that they were utterly, completely, and hopelessly
lost in the woods. None of them felt inclined to speak. They felt
discomfited, disheartened, mortified. So this was the end of their
elaborate plans, so carefully discussed, so carefully followed--that
they who came to seek their lost friend should themselves be lost also!
They were confident that they had made some mistake somewhere, and at
some time, and they were now busily engaged in recalling the different
events of their journey, so as to see where and when the mistake had
been.
Bart thought that their mistake was in not continuing to leave a trail
behind them, after they had made the last change in their course. Up to
that time, it seemed to him that all had gone on well, and he lamented
that fatal carelessness and over-confidence that had led to this
neglect.
Pat’s idea was, that they had not calculated the direction of the river,
and that they had somehow missed it.
Solomon declared that, ever since he left the river, he hadn’t had any
idea at all of any direction.
“Dat’s so,” he said; “I heerd you go on in dem ar long-winded
’scussions bout right Sections, an poppumdiklars, an rytanglums, an
sich, but hadn’t no more notium ob whar we was goin dan a chile. An you
hadn’t nudder. Yah! yah! yah!”
Solomon’s idea was, after all, much nearer the truth than the theories
of either Bart or Pat. For although these two had supposed all the time
that they were carrying in their very clever brains a perfectly
distinct plan of their course, yet, in reality, this belief was utterly
unfounded, and the supposed plan was a mockery, a delusion, and a snare.
Here they were--lost!--that was the end of it.
For, in point of fact, their whole journey had been one constant series
of mistakes. From the first step to the last, there had been nothing but
self-delusion.
First, they had deluded themselves into the belief that they could
go in a straight line. Now, in those woods, there had been incessant
obstacles, in the shape of clumps of trees, underbrush, bogs, rocks,
fallen timber, and a hundred other things of a similar character, which
necessitated a departure from a straight line at every few steps. To
suppose that they could walk on, under such circumstances, in a straight
line, was absurd. The consequence was, that their course had, all along,
been exceedingly crooked, leading them towards all the points of the
compass in turns.
Another mistake which they made was, in the supposition that the river
had any definite course. They had acted on the theory, not only that
their own course was straight, but that the course of the river was
straight also. Now, this river, like every other river, had a flow in
one general direction, but its actual course was a winding one, and not
far below the rock from which they had set out, it turned in a direction
which was totally different from the one in which it was flowing when
they left it.