ever. The first glance upward showed him that the sky was darker than
ever, that its covering was more opaque, that the smoke was nearer
to the earth. The air also, was close and oppressive. The 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 breakfast.
Now, he had eaten pretty freely on the preceding night, and therefore it
was with some concern that he opened his basket and examined his stores.
That concern was certainly not at all lessened when he found that he had
only two sandwiches left.
Two sandwiches!
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 able to find 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 breakfast, yet he did
not feel inclined to devour all of his slender stock at that one meal.
He chose rather to exercise some self-denial; and so he contented
himself with only one sandwich, and put the other back, reserving it for
a time of need.
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 began to torment him
to an intolerable degree. At length, to his great joy, he found a swampy
place; and, stooping down, he tore out the moss and sods, and scooped 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 after 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
remembrance of his recent sufferings was strong within him; and so he
walked along the swampy hollow. To his surprise it extended for a long
distance, and to his great gratification the moisture of the ground
increased, until at length the bog became more 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 walked
for a little distance, and then took another draught of the water,
which he now found quite pure, and not so warm as to be unpleasant. Much
refreshed, he sat down by its edge, and once more began to deliberate
about the best course that he 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 things superadded which made
his situation far worse. For he now felt the oppressiveness of the air
most painfully, and the exertion of walking was far more exhaustive
than he had ever known it before. Besides, the atmosphere had a smoky
character, which was distressing, 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
comfort,--something ominous in the oppressive heat, and 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 formidable to be entertained,
and so he tried to dismiss it from his mind.
And now, while he thought of what he ought to 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 sure 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 than 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 the 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 afforded an easy
path; and though the water was over his ankles, yet its coolness was
refreshing, and served to alleviate very materially the effects of the
sultry atmosphere.
But on resuming 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 fishing-rod were of this description. He therefore sacrificed
both of them to the necessities of the occasion; but before he 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
disencumbrance; for the weight and inconvenience of these 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 brooklets, which joined it in its course. The channel
grew broader, and the waters grew more abundant, sometimes spreading
themselves out wide over a pebbly bottom, at other 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 place, on
account of the reasons above mentioned; and in the second place, for the
reason that it led to some definite point, and would not allow him to
wander about 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 comparison.
At last, to Phil’s great delight, the brook joined another brook, which
was fully twice as large, though not as large as that stream where he
had been fishing. A vague hope had arisen in his mind that this brook
might lead him to that very stream, in which case he counted confidently
on finding his friends; but now he had walked so far that he gave up
this hope altogether, and had made up his mind to seek his own safety,
irrespective of his friends. The new brook was quite as easy as the old
one; in fact, it was somewhat more so, for it was less irregular, and
presented fewer inequalities of depths. Over its bed, then, Phil trudged
on, sometimes stopping to dash water over his face and head, at other
times thrusting in his hands, and occasionally bending down to take a
drink. The presence of the brook thus proved of the greatest advantage
to him, and its cool waters prevented him from feeling that exhaustion
under which he might otherwise have sunk utterly. In the broader pathway
that this brook afforded, he had also the chance of gaining advantage of
any slight breeze or movement of the air that might take place; and thus
in every way he was a gainer.
At length he came to another brook, into which this one discharged
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 thought that came to Phil was, that he had
come back to this very stream itself from which he had started; but
soon, as he came to reflect upon the length of his wanderings, and upon
the probability that many streams ran through the forest, he gave up
this idea, and contented himself with following out the plan that 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 him 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 swamps, and grasses, and rushes; but, on the whole,
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 one of those roads which are used in winter to draw
logs out of the woods, or fuel; yet whatever its purpose might be, there
it was; and here at last Phil saw something that proved that he was
not cut off altogether from all association with human kind. That
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 carefully. It ran across the brook,
and on either side it presented the same appearance. The question that
now arose in his mind was, which side should he choose--the right or the
left? There was nothing in the 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 luxurious when compared 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 full of hope
that at every turn in the path he expected to see some house.
The path, as has been said, seemed like one of those which are used in
the winter only for lumbering purposes. At the present time it bore
no marks whatever of recent use. No traces of wheels were visible,
no footprints of any kind; yet it was level, for the ordinary
irregularities seemed to have been smoothed away by the attrition of
logs which had been hauled over it.
Phil walked on for several hours. He was very much fatigued; but
the new excitement that had arisen consequent upon this discovery had
prevented him from giving way to his weariness, and had, in fact,
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
him incessantly as he walked along; and though he was constantly
disappointed, yet he constantly hoped, and persisted in the hope, in
spite of disappointments.
At length, it began to grow darker, and he saw that evening was coming
on. He had been walking incessantly, with but one short rest, ever
since eleven o’clock. Under ordinary circumstances he could not have
maintained such a prolonged effort; and had he not met with this path
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 him to new efforts. At the end of each hour he still
hoped that the next hour would bring something; and so he kept on even
after the darkness began to deepen. Now, as the darkness increased, the
path grew less and less perceptible, and at last he happened to get out
of it at a place where there was a wide opening in the woods. Leaving
it here, he wandered about 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 utterly worn out. When
he gave up he gave up completely. His only thought now was for his
immediate wants, and those wants comprised the two essentials of food
and rest. Rest he could find here, on the mossy mound, under the forest
trees. As to food, thanks to his forethought and self-denial in the
morning, something yet remained. It was that sandwich which he had
reserved for a time of need. The time of need had come, and he drew the
sandwich from his pocket.
He looked at it for a moment solemnly and thoughtfully. It was his last
sandwich--the very last of his little stock of provisions. Should he eat
it all, or should he still preserve a little of it? It seemed unwise
to eat it all. He broke it into two portions, and wrapping one up
carefully, he proceeded to eat the other. But on eating this he found
his appetite unappeased, and his craving for more was irresistible. He
unwrapped what he had reserved and looked at it. Should he eat it? Dare
he eat it? To eat it would be to deprive himself of his last mouthful,
and on the following morning he would have nothing with which to begin
the day.
[Illustration: 0187]
He looked at that small fragment of food with longing eyes, and the
longer he looked at it the more tempting did it seem, and the more
irresistible did 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.
On the morrow he could look out for food and get something to
eat--somewhere, he knew not where--somehow, he knew not how. This
thought appeased his cautious scruples. He hesitated no longer, but ate
what remained of the sandwich.
And so his last particle of food was gone.
But he gave no thought to this. He was too tired, and worn out with
exhaustion he lay down and fell asleep.
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 Mead.--The Pine Woods.--The rocky
Cavern.--Preparing a Night’s Rest.--The Evening Repast.--Night once
more._
ON waking the next morning, Phil’s first impulse was to look above
and around to see what might be the prospects for the day. To his
disappointment he found those prospects not at all changed for the
better. Overhead he saw the rolling smoke clouds, which now were
gloomier and denser than before, and still nearer the earth. The
atmosphere caught from them a very perceptible odor, which showed the
character of the clouds above, and was pungent enough to create some
degree of irritation in the nose and throat. The spot where he was
appeared to be somewhat more open than usual, and in some directions he
could look over a space several rods in extent. In this direction the
smoke haze was very apparent.
He felt both hungry and thirsty. But he had nothing whatever to eat, and
knew it. He had eaten his last mouthful the evening before, and there
was nothing whatever left now to satisfy the demands of his appetite.
But for the present his thirst was stronger than his hunger; and so
parched was his throat, and so painful was his craving for water, that
he at once started up, and set out in search of some.
His object was now to regain that path which he had lost the night
before, and follow it until he might find another brook, or at least a
swamp. But though he sought most diligently, and most thoroughly, in
all directions, still he could find no trace of it whatever. Bitter
experience had already taught him his own utter incapability of finding
his way back through these woods to any point from which he might have
wandered, and so he soon gave up this search as useless: but in addition
to this, his thirst was altogether too pressing to allow of any search
after lost paths. The one thing of his desire became water, and so he
turned his attention towards finding this first necessity. He did not
have to undergo a very long trial. The woods were intersected in many
places by small brooklets, and before long he came to a bog, in which
he obtained sufficient water to allay his thirst. By carefully examining
this, he found a place which was the outlet of a brook, and he now
pursued the same course which had been followed by him the day before;
that is, he walked along in the bed of the brook, hoping that it would
lead to a stream.
As he walked along it grew larger and larger; 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 wandered. On reaching this he sat down on
the bank and rested. The stream was about a dozen yards wide here, and
the waters were shallow, running on among gravel and cobble stones. The
banks were bordered with trees, which rose to the height of about forty
feet, and threw their branches across the stream till they nearly met.
Sitting here and resting, Phil began to feel more hungry than ever. His
walk had only served to sharpen his appetite, and the alleviation of his
thirst had brought out his hunger more prominently. And now what could
he do? To struggle forward all day without anything to eat would be
almost impossible. Already he felt exhausted from his walk thus far
without food; and to commence again seemed out of the question. In his
hunger he now tried to find something in the woods. He tore up some
grass, and chewed the roots; he peeled off some maple bark, and tried
to chew this; but the grass roots and the maple bark had no perceptible
effect in diminishing his hunger. At last he thought of his fishing line,
which he had carried with him after throwing away the rod. Wondering why
he had been so stupid as not to think of this before, he proceeded
to search for a suitable rod. This he found after a short time, and
attaching the line to the end of it, he proceeded to try his skill at
fishing. He walked down the stream for some distance, but for some time
he met with no success. He began to feel a little alarm, and to think
that the heat and the smoke prevented the fish from rising, when
suddenly, in the midst of his discouragement, he felt a nibble at
the hook. He jerked it up, but missed his prey that time; still the
circumstance encouraged him greatly, for it showed him that there was
hope, and he continued his task with fresh spirit. At length, to his
intense delight, he jerked out a fish. It was quite small, but still it
was indescribably welcome; and without waiting any longer, Phil at once
proceeded to kindle a fire. He did this with little difficulty, and
placing the fish on the blazing sticks, he watched it until it seemed
sufficiently cooked to be eaten. Although his hunger had made him too
impatient to wait till the fish was thoroughly cooked, yet that same
hunger made him indifferent to little deficiencies of this sort, and
the half-raw trout seemed to him, without exception, the most delicious
morsel that he had ever eaten. He now resumed his rod, and before long
hauled out another, which was soon followed by another, and yet another.
By this time the fire had died down to the coals, and on these Phil laid
his fish. This time he waited until they were so thoroughly cooked that
they would have satisfied the most fastidious appetite. On these Phil
made a right royal repast; and this supply of food seemed to him to be
sufficient for any effort 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
absolute starvation as he had been that morning; and then, putting these
in his pocket, he rolled up very carefully his precious hook and line,
and once more resumed his journey.
He had thus been able to satisfy both that thirst and that hunger which
had each assailed him so fiercely on his first 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 filled 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 general thing, its bed afforded a sufficiently
easy pathway for Phil to traverse, without any unusual exertion, and
was preferable, on the whole, to the forest with its underbrush.
Occasionally, however, he was able to take advantage of favorable
openings among the trees, and on several occasions gained very much
by taking short cuts, and avoiding certain bends in the river. On such
short cuts it is needless to say that he never ventured, unless he was
able to see plainly where he was going. In this way he went on for some
hours, and in that time he certainly succeeded in getting-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. He became 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 oppressive heat arose.
The thought was a most disheartening one; for if it were true, it would
transform what seemed to be his pathway to safety into a blind rush
to danger, and make of no avail all his long struggles that he had
put forth so perseveringly. It was a thought, indeed, which was too
depressing 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 spite of itself, and so, notwithstanding Phil's efforts 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?
All, that he could not tell.
Should he turn back now? No; that was a thing which he could not bear to
think of. Wherever he was going, he could not turn back yet--not till he
was convinced that it was all wrong--not till the very presence of the
fire itself should force him to give up all hope of farther progress in
this direction.
In spite of his surroundings of oppressive heat and distressing smoke,
of rough pathways and alternating wood and water,--in spite of his
fatigue of body, and despondency of mind,--Phil still kept on his
course, and struggled most heroically to maintain his onward march,
wherever it might lead. At length he reached a place where the stream
ran in almost a straight line for a considerable distance; and looking
down this, he could see at the farthest extremity the smoky haze; but
at the same time he felt confident that it was not a whit denser than it
had been in the morning. This discovery encouraged him; and now, if
he felt the smoke and the heat more keenly, he was able, with great
apparent reason, to attribute it solely to his own weariness of body.
“I will rest soon,” he thought. “I will take a long rest, and get
something to eat, and that will be sure to restore me.”
With this thought he went on; and though he had made up his mind to
rest, yet he kept constantly postponing the period of that rest. At
length the stream took a turn round a wooded declivity, and as Phil went
up this to cut across, he suddenly beheld lying immediately in front of
him a small lake, into which the stream ran.
The sight of this at once decided him to make this wooded declivity his
resting-place. So he took his seat here on the shore, and looked out
upon the scene before him. The lake was of no very great extent, and was
surrounded on all sides by trees. In front of Phil the beach was pebbly,
and the waters clear and transparent; but on the right there was a wide
extent covered over with green rushes, and water lilies, both yellow and
white. As Phil looked forth upon this pleasant scene, the waters seemed
so inviting and so clear, that he determined to take a bath. No sooner
had he thought of this than he was on his feet again, and in a very
short time had divested himself of his clothes and plunged in.