sank under the embrace of the cool flood, it seemed to convey new life
and strength to every fibre of his wearied frame. It was one delicious
moment in a day of toil and trouble. He struck out and swam far off into
the middle of the lake. Then he dived again and again; and then, rolling
over on his back, he lay floating, with his eyes closed, and his form
reposing luxuriously upon its soft, watery couch. The water here was
sufficiently clear and sufficiently deep for his purposes, the rushes
and lilies were over upon the shore on one side, and there was nothing
to mar his enjoyment. Here he forgot the heat and the smoke. The cool
waters took away from him all that sense of oppression which he had so
long felt, and when he at length landed, it was as though he had enjoyed
some prolonged rest for hours, or some profound and refreshing slumber.
Now he resumed his clothes, and thought of those fish which he had been
carrying. On examining them, he found them slightly stale, yet not at
all crushed, and thereupon he proceeded to kindle a fire upon the shore
of the lake. Thus far he had found no difficulty in making his fires,
for he had matches with him, and there was no lack of dry twigs; so, in
a short time, a fire sufficient for his purposes was blazing merrily.
Phil was in no hurry; so, lying down near it, and leaning on one elbow,
he watched it lazily, until sufficient coals had been formed, upon which
he might lay his fish.
The fish this time were even superior to what they had been on a former
occasion, for Phil’s practice had shown him, to some extent, how they
could be broiled to the best advantage. All that they needed was a
little salt and pepper; but he was too hungry to miss either of those
seasonings. He found, indeed, in his case, the truth of the old saying,
that hunger is the best relish; and never in his life had he eaten any
meal with half the zest that he had known at the eventful meals of this
eventful day. A draught of water from the running stream completed his
repast, and he now lay down refreshed, and began to meditate over his
journey. He had now rested for nearly two hours, and he began to feel
like resuming his march. It would be necessary, he saw, to walk around
the lake till he found its outlet, and then go along as before, and keep
on as long as his strength might hold out.
Once more, then, he rose strong, eager, resolute, and cheerful, hoping
for the best, and willing to go on in this course until he reached some
destination, wherever that might be. He walked along the lake shore, and
on reaching the other end, he found the outlet. This was nothing more
than a continuation of the stream down which he had been going,
but there was more water, for the lake probably received other
contributions; and what was more important, the bottom was muddy.
Fortunately, however, the woods here were free from underbrush, so that
he had no difficulty in walking through them, keeping the stream in
sight. After going about a mile or so, he found, to his great delight,
that he had come to a pine forest. To him, after his long, rough walk,
this fact gave the greatest possible joy. For now the trees rose up
around him at wide intervals, and no tangled underbrush stood in his
way, forcing him to wind through them or lose himself in the attempt to
go around it. The pine forest allowed him to choose his own course and
walk almost as freely as though he were in an open field. Besides, the
ground under his feet gave a firm foothold. It was not like the soft
moss or long ferns of the other woods; it was not like the pebbly bed of
the stream; it was hard, and smooth, and afforded an easy pathway.
As Phil went on, he noticed that the stream grew much wider, though it
still remained shallow. Its waters flowed sometimes in the middle of the
bed, sometimes on the right bank, and sometimes towards the left; while
again they distributed themselves over the whole of its wide bed, and
brawled, and gurgled, and bubbled onward among the stones and pebbles
with which its bed was again filled. At one place its channel divided,
and a little island covered with trees arose in the midst, while the
waters, after flowing past in two streams, once more reunited. About a
half mile below this another stream joined it, and the waters were very
considerably increased.
Phil walked along for several hours, and at length began to feel once
more that excessive weariness which he had felt before bathing in the
lake. Once more the atmosphere grew exceedingly oppressive, and the
smoke distressed him. At length he came to a ledge of rocks, by the
borders of the stream. As he came up he noticed something like an
opening, and walked towards it. He saw that a huge mass of rock lay
tilted over and resting against another mass in such a way that it
formed a covered chamber about ten feet long and six feet wide. The
floor was a flat, rough rock, and the end consisted of damp moss.
Immediately beside this the stream flowed along in a deeper channel than
usual, for all its waters had gathered on this side, leaving the rest of
its bed bare. Phil was so struck with the appearance of this place that
he examined it quite closely, and began to think that it would be an
excellent place to pass the night in. He could not have found it at a
better time. Already it was growing a little dusk, and he was thoroughly
worn out. In fact he was so tired that after stopping here one minute he
found it impossible to go forward any farther; so he at once resolved to
stay.
On the top of the rock was a quantity of moss, and as he was going
to pass the night here he proceeded to gather it, and collected a
sufficient quantity to make a comfortable couch when strewed on the
rocky floor of his little cave. But there were other things to do before
he should be able to rest. He was once more in a state of starvation,
and the only thing for him to do was to resort to his fishing-line. He
found a pole without much trouble, and then threw his line. At first he
met with no success. But he persevered, and walked farther up the stream
till he came to a place that looked more favorable. Here his efforts
were crowned with success, for in a little time he had hooked no less
than six trout, one of which was large enough for a meal by itself.
After this he took a bath in the running stream, and felt once more the
same invigorating and restorative effects from the cool water which he
had experienced during his bath in the lake.
Then he kindled his fire on the edge of the stream, near his cave, and
cooked two of the fish, reserving the others for the next morning.
This meal was as great a success as the former ones had been, and at
length he retired to the little cave where he had already spread the
moss for a bed. Here he could not help recalling the events of the
day. He had hoped, on starting, by this time to have reached some human
abode. He had not done so. But this, instead of exciting his regrets,
gave way altogether to emotions of gratitude. He had been saved from
thirst and from hunger in a most wonderful manner, and, even at this
moment, instead of feeling utterly exhausted, he had little else than a
sense of languid weariness. All this filled him with thankfulness, and
kneeling down in his little cave, he offered up his most grateful thanks
to the merciful Being who had protected his wanderings during the day.
After this he lay down on his moss and soon fell asleep.
XIV.
_Bart.--An anxious Night.--Suspicions.--Reappearance of Pat.--The Woes
of Pat.--A hideous Thought.--The Leper.--Off to the Woods.--Indian
File.--The Rear Guard.--Defection of Pat.--He makes a Circuit.--“Hyar!
Hyar! You dar? Whar Mas’r Bart?”_
THE sight of the lurid glow which had burst upon Bart’s eyes as he
looked from the priest’s house excited within him anxious thoughts,
which kept him awake for hours on that night; the thought that Phil was
wandering in those woods, and that all around him were these wrathful
flames; the thought that perhaps he might have already fallen a victim;
the thought that his search could scarcely be made now, since they could
hardly hope to penetrate the woods for any distance; the thought that
now any search, however extensive, might perhaps be too late. He slept
but little. Every little while he would rise from his bed, and look out
of the window towards the woods, to see if that lurid glow continued. It
was visible for a long time, but at length died out altogether. But this
did not lessen Bart’s anxieties, for now the smoke grew thicker, and the
smell of it was most unpleasantly perceptible, exciting the very natural
thought that the fire glow was no longer visible, not because the fires
were extinguished, but rather because the smoke had grown so dense that
it hid it from view.
When Bart arose it was not yet daybreak, and on coming down stairs no
one was visible. He went out of doors, and paced up and down the
road uneasily. After a while two men made their appearance, whom Bart
recognized as the ones who were to be the guides in their exploration
of the forest. He felt too anxious and too sick at heart to ask them
anything, for he thought that anything they would say would only confirm
his worst fears, and as yet he did not wish to know the worst. He wished
to cling to his hopes, faint though they now were, until hope should be
no longer possible. After a while Solomon made his appearance; but Bart
had nothing to say to him, and the old man, seeing by his manner that he
did not wish to be spoken to, held aloof, and sat down in silence on the
doorstep.
It was now day, and still the priest had not made his appearance. Bart
wondered at this, and attributed it to his oversleeping himself. This
made him feel somewhat impatient, and he thought hardly of the priest
for yielding to his drowsiness at such a time as this, when it was a
question of life and death; but he waited, and checked a rising impulse
which he had to hunt up the priest’s bedroom and wake him. While he
was fretting and fuming, the two French guides had placidly seated
themselves on the doorstep in a line with Solomon, and began to smoke,
chatting with one another in French.
Suddenly Bart heard footsteps behind him. He thought it was the priest,
and turned hastily. It was not the priest, however, but Pat. Bart
had actually forgotten Pat’s existence ever since that moment on the
previous evening, when he had gone out doors to look for him, and
had seen that terrible appearance over the forest trees. As he now
recognized him, he wondered at his long absence, and noticed at the same
time that Pat looked very much agitated. At once he thought that Pat had
heard bad news, and had come to tell him. This idea was so terrible that
he stood paralyzed, and could scarcely utter a word.
Pat came up and gave a heavy sigh.
“It’s dhreadful--it’s terrible. Och, wurrooooo!” Bart looked at him with
an awful face, not daring to ask the question that was upon his lips,
and now feeling sure that Pat had heard the worst.
“Och, what’ll we iver do?” cried Pat; “what’ll we iver do? Sure an me
heart’s fairly broke widin me, so it is.”
“How did you find it out?” asked Bart, in a trembling voice.
“Sure an wasn’t it the praste himself that tould me,” said Pat, in a
tone of voice that sounded like a wail of despair.
“The priest?” said Bart. “You saw him then--did you. Where--where is
he?”
“The praste,” said Pat, dolefully; “sorra one o’ me knows. I seen him
dhrivin off. I wor sleepin undher a tray behind the fince. I wasn’t goin
to thrust mesilf in their leper houses, so I wasn’t.”
“You saw him. P--he has gone, has he--gone--to--to--to see about it,”
stammered Bart, feverishly; “and what did he tell you?”
“Tell me?” said Pat, dubiously.
“Yes. You said you saw him.”
“So I did.”
“Well--what did he say about it?”
“Sure an he didn’t say anythin jist thin.”
“But he told you about it, you said.”
“So he did; but it was last night.”
“O, in the night--you saw him in the night--he must have been out
then--and I thought he was in bed. O, why wasn’t I with him? Why didn’t
he take me? But I suppose he thought I’d be too much overcome, and so he
didn’t want to tell me--and did he tell you this, Pat? Tell me all. Tell
me all--don’t keep me in suspense.”
At these incoherent words Pat stared at Bart in utter amazement, and for
a moment thought that he had lost his senses.
“Suspinse?” he said--“suspinse? What do you mean? You talk as though
you’d lost your sivin sinsis! Sure an didn’t you hear it yerself, ivery
word? Sure an worn’t ye in the room yourself, listhening? Didn’t ye hear
it all?”
“Hear it all? Hear what?” cried Bart. “About what?”
“Why, about the lepers, sure. Sorra a thought I’ve had iver since,
except about that same. And I went off, so I did; for I didn’t dare to
slape in that leper house, wid a man that lives among the lepers and
shakes hands wid them.”
“The lepers!” cried Bart in impatience, but with a feeling of
inexpressible relief--the relief which is felt at a respite, however
brief, from sorrow. “The lepers! Why, I was talking about Phil. Have you
heard anything about Phil?”
“Phil?” said Pat. “Arrah, sure he’s all right. I ony wish I wor in his
shoes. It ud be a happy boy I’d be if I cud change places wid Phil. Och,
wurroo--but it’s a bitther day whin I came to this place.”
“You haven’t heard anything at all about Phil, then?” said Bart.
“Niver a word,” said Pat. “I’ve heard too much about other things.”
Bart turned away.
As for Pat, he wandered disconsolately to the fence by the road side,
and leaning against it, he stood there in a woe-begone attitude,--the
very picture of despair.
Bart now resumed his melancholy walk; but before he had taken many
paces, he heard the rapid gallop of a horse, and in turning, he saw a
rider approaching the house, who, on drawing nearer, turned out to
be the priest. Bart now saw that he had done his kind host a great
injustice in supposing that he had been oversleeping himself, and felt
a natural sorrow at his suspicions. As the priest dismounted, the very
first words which he addressed to Bart made the compunction of the
latter over his unjust suspicions still stronger, since they showed
that, so far from sleeping while Bart was wakeful, in his anxiety over
Phil, he had left Bart in bed, and had been traversing the country for
miles, in order to institute a general search after the lost boy.
“I took a few hours’ sleep,” said he, “and rose between one and two.
I’ve been up the road for twelve or fifteen miles, and have persuaded a
number of people to make a search of the woods as far as they are able
to. They are all full of the deepest anxiety about the poor lad, and
you may rest assured that the good people will do all in their power
for him. My people are not very intellectual, nor are they what you call
progressive; but they are affectionate, simple-hearted, and brave; and
there is not one of them that I have spoken to who will have any peace
until that poor lad’s fate is decided. So when we go off to search after
him, you may console yourself with the thought that our party is but one
out of several that are engaged in the same search.”
At this disclosure of the real business of the priest, Bart was so
overcome with mingled emotions, that he could scarcely say a word. He
could only murmur some confused expressions of gratitude.
“O, never mind me,” said the priest, “and my poor efforts. I assure you
I am as eager to find him as you are. Pray to God, my boy. He only can
save your friend. And now let us set out at once.”
With these words the priest hurried up to the two guides, and spoke
a few words to them in French. The guides answered, and after a short
conversation the priest went into the house. The guides took his horse
and put him in the stable; and by the time they had returned, the priest
came out, and they all went off towards the woods.
“Don’t be discouraged,” said the priest to Bart, “about the fires. After
all, they may have driven your friend away in this direction. For you
see he would naturally keep as far as possible away from them, and as
they advanced he would retreat. And so, if they are really coming in
this direction, he would be forced to come this way too. If so, I think
some of my friends would be likely to meet with him. The only real
danger is, that he may be tired out, and be unable to endure the
fatigue. But you say he is an active boy, and that he had a little food
with him; and so I really think that there is every reason for hope. You
must try, then, to keep up your spirits, and remember that even if we
don’t find him he may yet be safe, and may meet with others; or he may
even get out of the woods unassisted.”
These words were very encouraging to Bart, and excited his best hopes.
As he was naturally light-hearted and sanguine, he determined to
struggle against his depression, and cling as long as possible to the
hopes that the present held out. The consequence was, that he at once
surmounted his gloom, and dismissed from his mind those desponding
thoughts which had taken possession of him ever since he saw the glow of
the fire. He became more like his old self, and commenced the exploring
tour, full of life, and energy, and hope.
Far different was it with Pat. His trouble arose from a dark, dreadful
terror which had taken full possession of him, and which not even his
buoyancy of soul and natural cheerfulness could withstand. It was the
terror that had been awakened by the mention of the leprosy.
And so it was that as the party entered the woods, Pat held back; and
he who was usually among the first, now lingered the last. He had a
terrible fear that he had run a risk of catching the loathsome disease
by bathing in what he considered the “leper waters,” and by entering
the house of one who was on such familiar terms with the lepers as the
priest professed to be. It seemed to him, now, that the only possible
chance that remained for him was to keep as far away from the priest as
possible. He remembered with horror that he had eaten at the priest’s
house on the preceding evening. He had not eaten anything that morning,
nor had any of them as yet; for the guides carried provisions, and
it was intended to breakfast in the woods. But to Pat all thoughts of
eating were obnoxious; the sickening thought of the leprosy drove away
all his appetite; and if he followed them into the woods, it was at a
distance; and then only because there still remained a loyal regard
for Phil, and thus the tables were completely turned. Bart, who the day
before had been despondent, was now hopeful; while Pat, who had then
been the hopeful one, had now sunk down into a state of depression to
which language fails to do justice.
After walking into the woods for some distance, they sat down and made
a breakfast off some ham and crackers, which were carried by the
guides. Pat sat at a distance from the rest, and resolutely refused all
invitations to partake, pleading a slight sickness; nor was poor Pat’s
plea altogether a feigned one; for by this time he had worked himself
into a state of utter panic, and the miserable feelings resulting from
his loss of a night’s sleep and from hunger were attributed by him to
the approach of leprosy. So poor Pat stood aloof from the rest, pale,
anxious, and already beginning to think that he had made a great mistake
in accompanying them at all. The more he thought upon this, the more
convinced did he become that his presence there in company with them was
both unnecessary and unwise,--unnecessary, for, as it now seemed to him,
Phil was perfectly able to take care of himself; and unwise, for he was
only destroying his chance of escape from the leprosy, by thus remaining
in the company of those who had its terrible seeds clinging to their
clothes and to their persons.
A prey thus to his anxiety, Pat’s generous desire to help Phil gradually
weakened in the presence of his instinct of self-preservation, and
his belief that Phil was safe somewhere made him all the more eager to
secure safety for himself. The wretchedness which he felt, from the loss
of his night’s rest, and want of food, and terror, all combined, tended
to turn all his thoughts upon himself; and the more wretched he felt,
the more did he attribute it to the awful disease which he so greatly
dreaded. And so, at last, by the time they had finished their repast,
Pat had felt so overcome by his terrors, that he determined, at all
hazards, to free himself from his dangerous associates, and escape
somewhere before it was too late. Having thus made up his mind, it only
remained to find some favorable opportunity of slipping away unobserved,
and thus securing that safety for which he longed.
After their breakfast they began to go forward. The two guides of course
went first, one behind the other. Then followed the priest, and after
him came Bart. Pat wanted Solomon to go next; but Solomon declined,
from a feeling of humility natural to him, which made him seek the
lowest--that is to say, the last--place on the line of march, and partly
also from a desire to be in the rear, so as to see that no one straggled
away. Thus they all went on in Indian file, and after Bart came Pat,
while Solomon brought up the rear.
As they thus went on, one after the other, in Indian file, through the
woods, it was, of course, impossible for any one to see all the rest
of the party. It was enough if each one should see the one who might be
immediately in front. This was especially the case when the woods grew
thicker and the march more laborious. Bart then could only see the
priest; and Pat, Bart; while Solomon could only see Pat. In this way
they went on then, and this mode of progress soon suggested to Pat a
simple, easy, and perfectly natural mode of separating himself from the
others. He had only to slacken his pace a little for a short distance.
He had only to fall back slightly, and he would easily be able to put
between himself and the others such obstacles that they would be able
neither to see him nor to find him. This, now, became his fixed resolve.
So, as he went on, Pat allowed Bart to go gradually farther and farther
ahead, until at length he was out of sight. But even then he was not
satisfied. He still kept on, but chose a course which swerved slightly
from the one which the others were following; and entering upon this
course, he sought to make it more and more apart from the track of the
others. As he went along he kept constantly turning to the right, and
thus before long he had made a complete circuit; and then, when he
thought he had turned far enough to be heading towards the place from
which he set out, he tried to go in a straight line. In all this he was
completely successful; that is to say, so far as concerned his desire
not to be noticed; and so he kept on for so long a time that at length
he began to be on the lookout for the open land and the sea.
But suddenly there was a loud cry behind him,--
“Hyar, Hyar! you dar! Whar Mas’r Bart?”
It was Solomon.
Pat had forgotten all about Solomon; but now he remembered that Solomon
had been behind him, and he saw that he must have been following him
all the time, though he had been too excited to be conscious of that
important fact.
XV.
_Solomon in a Rage.--Flight of Pat.--The Explorers penetrate the
Forest.--The missing Companions.--New Fears and Anxieties.--A baffled
Search.--Onward.--The Recesses of the Forest.--An open Space.--Halt!_
YAR, Hyar! you dar! Whar Mas’r Bart?” The cry at once arrested Pat.
He stopped short, and turning round he found himself face to face with
Solomon.
“Whar Mash Bart?” said Solomon again. He was excited and agitated, and
looked all around, and peered into the forest ahead with most anxious
curiosity.
“Bart?” said Pat, in a dejected tone; “sure an I don’t know.”
“Warn’t you follerin him?” cried Solomon, in an excited voice.
“Sure an I wor,” said Pat; “but I lost sight of him iver an iver so long
ago. An wheriver he is now, it ud take more’n me to tell.”
At this Solomon made a gesture of despair, and looked wildly all around.
“Mas’r Bart lost! Mas’r Bart lost!” he murmured, clutching his wrinkled
hands together.
“Och, you needn’t bother about him. Sure an he’s follerin the praste an
the Frinchmin, an he’s all safe an right. The last time I see him he was
close on the hails of the praste.”
Solomon did not seem to have heard him. His eyes rolled wildly. He
looked all around eagerly, wistfully, with unspeakable anxiety in his
face.
“Mas’r Bart lost! Mas’r Bart lost!” he murmured, still wringing his
hands.
“But I till ye he ain’t lost,” cried Pat. “He’s wid the praste, so he
is. Didn’t I see him?”