foolin round dis yer way, leadin folks eberywhar, out ob de right track.
I bound to foller Mas’r Bart, an heah you go a foolin an a gittin lost.
What’s de sense ob dis yer proceedin? What do you mean, anyhow? Ef you
tink I’m goin to stan any such tomfoolery, you precious mistaken. You
better begin now and go ahead, and find out whar Mas’r Bart is.”
Solomon’s tone was full of a certain angry menace, which was so utterly
unlike his usual manner that Pat stared at him in wonder.
“Ah, howl yer whist,” he exclaimed, at last; “sure I ain’t the only
one that’s got lost in these wuds, so I ain’t. You can find him yerself
bether’n me, so ye can, if ye want to. How can I find him! Sorra one of
me knows the way anywheres out of this; and I’m fairly broken-hearted,
so I am, and that’s all about it.”
And saying this, Pat flung himself down, and buried his face in his
hands. He felt overwhelmed by his troubles. His fears of the leprosy
were still strong within him, and in addition to this he felt a keen
sense of self-reproach at his desertion of Bart. Had it not been for
Solomon he might not have thought of this; but the sight of the old
man’s anxiety about Bart brought before him in the plainest manner the
fact that he had been disloyal to his friend, and had deserted him, in
this hour of need.
As for Solomon, he took only one look at him, and then turned away. In
his faithful heart there was only one feeling, one desire; and that was,
to get back to Bart. He had no idea of the actual state of the case. He
did not know what a circuit Pat had made, but merely supposed that they
had got off the track that the others were following. With this idea
in his mind, he proceeded to call after Bart, so as to open up a
communication with him. This he strove to do by means of a series of the
most unearthly yells, shrieks, and howls that ever echoed through the
recesses of a harmless and unoffending forest. Yell followed yell; howl
succeeded howl; and a long series of hoots, halloos, shrieks, whoops,
and hullaballoos followed in swift succession. After each effort Solomon
stood listening attentively, waiting for a response before beginning
again. But his listening and his waiting were all unavailing, for no
response came, and all his unearthly cries only echoed through the dim
forest aisles, without bringing back any answer from the one whom they
were intended to reach. And no wonder: for by this time Bart was very
far indeed out of hearing.
At last Solomon gave up in utter discouragement. He stood for a time
in deep dejection, and then turned towards Pat, who had all this time
remained in the same attitude, sitting with his head buried in his
hands.
“How long ago is it,” asked Solomon, “sence you lost sight ob Mash
Bart?”
“O, iver so long,” said Pat; “more thin an hour, surely.”
“Why didn’t you call?”
“Sure an how did I know?” said Pat, evasively; “wasn’t I bothered out
of my life, an fairly heart-broke? so I was. An sure an it’s been a bad
time for us all intirely. Bad luck to the day whin we came out to this
leper place,--an me goin a bathin in the leper wather, an aitin their
leper dinners; the more fool I was for that same. Sure an the praste’s
the desayver, so he is, for laydin a poor feller in this way.”
Not one word of this did Solomon understand, nor did he try to
understand it. He had other things to think about. His one idea was to
find Bart once more. He did not think that he was far away, but believed
that he had been going on in the same general direction, though he had
swerved, to some extent, from the true course. So he now determined to
go on, and hoped that he might find Bart before long.
“No use waitin in dis yer place, dis yer way,” said he. “I’m a goin to
hunt up Mas’r Bart.”
And with these words he left Pat, and went onward into the woods,
continuing the same course which Pat had been leading. As to asking Pat
to go with him, the thought never entered his head,--partly on account
of his deep disgust at Pat for losing sight, as he believed, of Bart,
but principally from the fact that his mind was so filled with the
desire of reaching Bart, that there was no place in it for any thought
of any other person. And so the poor old fellow plunged into the woods,
and took up a course which was about as far away from that in which Bart
was going as it well could be.
At Solomon’s last words Pat raised his head and saw him go. He watched
him till he was out of sight, with varied emotions. He supposed that
Solomon was now on his way to Tracadie, while believing himself to
be following after Bart into the depths of the woods. There seemed,
therefore, no danger before him, and Pat had no fears for his safety.
Had Solomon taken another direction, Pat would probably have told him
all; but as it was, he saw no necessity for doing so. He would get back,
he thought, in the course of time, to Tracadie, and on finding himself
there, he would probably wait for Bart’s return, and all would be well.
He sat there motionless, until Solomon was out of sight, and then began
to think of himself. One thing only was in his mind, and that was, the
desire to fly, as soon as possible, far away from this abhorrent place,
to some other place, where he might be safe, and where he could watch to
see if the terrible disease had really taken hold of him or not. So with
this purpose he arose, and after a look all around, he chose his course,
and went on through the woods.
Meanwhile the others had been walking diligently onward; first the
guides leading the way, next the priest, and then Bart. Not a word was
spoken by any one of them; the guides were too intent upon maintaining
a correct course; the priest was too much absorbed in watching the
movements of the guides, and in observing the scenes through which he
was passing; and Bart was too much occupied with conjectures about the
probable course of Phil’s wanderings to think anything about the members
of their own party. Bart had a perfect conviction that Pat and Solomon
were behind him; so perfect, in fact, that it remained in his mind as
a foundation underlying all his other thoughts; so perfect that those
thoughts never reverted to those behind him, but turned only to that one
who was at a distance--the object of their present search.
Deeper and deeper, and farther and farther, they advanced into the
forest, encountering every variation of woodland scenery, and every
alternation of forest travelling; sometimes finding it easy, again
finding it difficult, yet at no time encountering any very serious
obstacle. Their pace was somewhat rapid, for the guides led them on
without much regard to the possible weakness or clumsiness of their
followers; and judging them by themselves, they maintained a pace which
soon began to tell very seriously upon Bart, and forced him to put forth
his utmost strength and energy in order to keep the priest in sight.
At last, after a walk of several hours, the guides stopped, and offered
to rest. They were coming, they said, upon a more difficult part of the
forest, where greater exertion would be required, and it might be well
to rest for a time. The priest approved of this, and mentioned it to
Bart. He also approved of it most heartily, for he was almost exhausted,
and then turned to mention it to Pat. To his surprise, however, Pat was
not behind him, nor was there any sign of Solomon.
This discovery gave him a great shock, and the priest also was equally
amazed; but both he and Bart supposed that they could not be far
away, and so they looked back through the woods to gain sight of their
advancing figures. Not perceiving any signs of them, they listened to
find out if they were approaching. No sounds, however, arose of any
kind; no crackle of dry twigs announced coming footsteps; and as they
listened, there was nothing perceptible to their hearing save the
intense and drear silence of a vast solitude.
At this Bart threw a look of anxious inquiry at the priest.
“They were following you?” said the priest, in an inquiring tone.
“Yes,” said Bart, doubtfully.
“Have you noticed that they fell back?”
“I didn’t notice them at all. I took it for granted all the time that
they were behind me.”
“How long is it since you saw them last?”
“Well, really, I don’t believe I have looked behind me once since we
started.”
“I hope they haven’t lost sight of us. I hope they haven’t lost their
way,” said the priest.
The evident anxiety of his tone affected Bart very seriously. His own
experience in the woods, as well as the loss of Phil, made him quite
ready to believe the worst; and though it puzzled him greatly to
conceive how Pat and Solomon could quietly lose them, and go off on a
strange course, without a single word, at the same time he began to fear
that such must have been the case.
“Well,” said the priest, “we may as well sit down and rest. There’s
nothing else to be done. Perhaps they’ll be along presently. I’ll make
the guides call for them. They can do it better than we can.”
He then spoke to the guides; and the latter, as soon as they understood
the state of the case, began to call for their lost companions. They did
this by setting up a series of cries so loud, so shrill, and so sharp,
that Bart actually started. He had never in all his life heard such
sounds. Pitched upon a high and very peculiar key, they seemed to have
a far-penetrating power which would suffice to carry them for an
incredible distance.
Again and again the guides uttered these cries, and after each cry they
listened; but though they listened long, there came not the slightest
response. At length, at a suggestion from the priest, one of them went
back along the track which they had traversed. He returned after about
half an hour. He came back alone, and reported that he had seen no sign
whatever of either of those who were lost.
The priest now looked worried and uneasy. He sat for some time in
silence, thinking over this fresh difficulty.
“Well,” said he, at length, “they seem to have lost us--most
mysteriously; and now the only question is, shall we go back to try to
find them, or shall we go on? Which needs our help most, the one who has
been lost for two or three days, or those who have just left us?”
“O, as to that,” said Bart, “they are both better able to take care
of themselves than Phil is; and besides, they are nearer to the
settlements, and they must know the way back, for the woods have not
been very thick, and we have been going in a straight course, and so it
seems to me that we had better go on and try to find poor Phil.”
“I think so too,” said the priest. “At any rate we shall rest for an
hour yet, and perhaps before we start they will find us.”
They remained for an hour longer, but there was no sign of the lost
ones. No sound of crackling twigs, no calls for help, awakened the deep
silence that reigned in the surrounding forest.
At length they rose to resume their journey in accordance with Bart’s
decision. This new calamity broke up that cheerfulness and hopefulness
which he had been maintaining since the priest had spoken to him those
encouraging words; and the thought of Pat and Solomon wandering about,
without food and without guides through this trackless forest, gave him
more than his former anxiety. It seemed a succession of misfortunes that
was destined to end in some kind of a tragedy, and there arose within
his mind the dark anticipation of some inevitable calamity as the
natural termination of all these pieces of ill-fortune.
Struggling as well as he could with these gloomy forebodings, Bart once
more set out after his guides on what he now began to think a hopeless
errand. But now there came other things to distract his mind from the
anxieties that were harassing it in the shape of the difficulties of
the way. The guides were right in their warning about the toil and labor
that now lay before them. There were dense underbrushes to penetrate--so
dense and so close that every step was a struggle; there were streams
to ford, in which they sank to the armpits; there were swamps to cross,
where there was nothing but one long struggle from one extremity to the
other; and added to this there were long pathways that led over fallen
trees, and through tangled weeds, and tall ferns, which impeded the
feet at every step, and necessitated the most painful and the most
unremittent exertion. In his progress through the woods before, Bart had
found nothing like this, except for very short periods of time, and
he thought that if such a journey as this had been before him he could
never have escaped.
Thus far the heat had been very great. There was no wind. The air was
still and stagnant; and the effort of walking, even when the walk
had been easy, as at first, had been somewhat exhaustive. But now the
exertion required was far greater, and what was worse, the heat far
more intense. There was a torrid heat in the atmosphere that exceeded
anything which he had thus far experienced, and made all exertion doubly
toilsome and exhaustive. Yet in spite of all this, his deep anxiety
about Phil seemed to sustain him, and though he felt ready to drop, yet
he managed to maintain his march, and follow on after his guides.
At length they emerged from a tangled thicket which had offered
extraordinary obstacles to their progress. They came suddenly into a
wide, open place, quite bare of trees, and overgrown with low brush and
trailing evergreen vines. Here there burst upon them an extraordinary
sight,--so extraordinary, indeed, that they all stopped with one common
impulse, and gazed in silence upon the scene before them.
XVI.
_The wide open Space.--The terrific Scene.--Arrested and driven
back.--New Purposes.--The Story of the Great Fire of Miramichi, and the
Ruin wrought in one tremendous Night._
THE wide open space upon which they had come extended for some miles
away on the right and on the left. About a mile off on the other side
arose the trees of the forest again. Above these the smoke was rolling
in vast, dense, voluminous clouds, while underneath them shone the red
glare of a mighty conflagration. It was in those very woods which rose
before them. They could see and feel its terrible presence. They could
see, behind the line of trees that stood nearest, the dash of the
surging flames as they seized upon the dry foliage and resinous wood
of the forest; and the angry glow of the red fire, as, following the
advance of the flame, it grasped and held in its blighting, withering
embrace all that it seized upon. At the breath of the flame the forest
shrank away; at the touch of the fire it crumbled into dust.
The foremost line of trees stood there, black against the glow of
the fire that raged behind, like the bars of some vast, immeasurable
furnace. Beneath, behind those bars, gleamed the fire; overhead rose the
smoke, spreading over the sky, and filling all the air with its hot and
suffocating fumes.
The whole party stood there looking on in silence. The guides conversed
with one another and with the priest in French, of which Bart understood
nothing. By the expression of their faces, and by the shaking of their
heads, however, he learned,--if indeed he did not know well enough
already,--that any farther progress in that direction was impossible.
“What do they say?” asked he at length of the priest.
“Well, of course, you see yourself,” said the priest, “that it’s
impossible to go any farther, and consequently we must give up the idea
of reaching that part of the forest where your friend was lost.”
“What shall we do?” exclaimed Bart, in deep distress.
“Well, that is what we are thinking of now. It all depends upon whether
your friend has come in this direction or not. Now, you came in this
direction, and you must have been within a few miles of this place; but
you reached Tracadie safely, and saw no fire.”
“No,” said Bart, “only smoke.”
“But you must have been near it, for you saw the flames last evening.
They were concealed by the trees when you were in the woods. Besides,
the fire has, no doubt, been spreading in this direction ever since.
Now, as for your friend, if he came in this direction at all, he may
have reached a place to the north of the fire, and I am of the opinion
that we might go in that direction. We shall thus see something of the
other parties that are searching the woods up there. In fact there is
nothing else to be done. If we don’t find him farther to the north, then
I shall take it for granted that he has wandered in another direction
altogether, and perhaps may come out at the Bay de Chaleur.”
“You don’t think, then, that there is--reason for despair?”
“Despair? Certainly not. Why should there be?”
“O, I don’t know. I was afraid that this fire extended everywhere, like
the great fire that once raged here.”
“The great fire? O, no. Such a thing as that can only take place once
in centuries. That was the result of a combination of circumstances so
extraordinary, that it is not likely that they will ever occur again.
And just now, such a fire as that is a simple impossibility.”
“But this fire seems pretty bad,” said Bart, “and it’s certainly
increasing.”
“This fire? O, this is nothing,” said the priest.
“In these woods, there is a fire somewhere every summer,--and it runs on
till a rain shower comes. This is only a local affair, confined to this
particular district. It may possibly extend for ten or twelve miles, and
have a width of two or three miles. It is troublesome, and you perceive
the heat in the air, and it sends out smoke for many miles; but there is
nothing in it that is at all extraordinary. There is nothing in it that
a man cannot escape from. It is not like the swift and hurricane speed
of the great fire, that swept in one night through all this country,
and made one vast waste of ashes and death before morning. O, no. As for
your friend, he ought to be able to get along; and every brook that he
comes to will give him fish to eat. It’s the greatest country for trout
and salmon in the world. In fact, I don’t see the slightest cause for
anxiety about him.”
These words gave Bart a relief that was inexpressible, and he was now
freed from the terrible anxiety that had so long devoured him. The
opinion of the priest was of great value, for he, no doubt, knew
perfectly well just what danger there might be. His estimation of the
fire afforded still greater relief. Bart had feared that it was some
universal conflagration; but it now turned out to be a local affair, so
commonplace that no one here regarded it.
“I think,” said the priest, “that we had better go back at once.”
“Go back?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“To Tracadie.”
“But I thought we were going to search farther for Phil--to the north.”
“So we are,” said the priest; “but we’ll have to go back. If we were to
walk through the woods, we would only be losing time. Now, I propose to
go back, and drive along the road to a place about fifteen miles away,
where some men are already in the woods engaged in this search. We can
either go there, or go farther on; in fact, it might be well to go as
far as the Bay de Chaleur, and get people there to keep a lookout. But
first, we must go back, and we can see what the prospects are.”
They now retraced their steps in accordance with what the priest had
said. It was a deep disappointment to Bart to find himself returning
again without having accomplished anything; and in addition to this, he
was very greatly troubled by the disappearance of Pat and Solomon. By
the time they reached Tracadie it was evening, and as nothing more could
be done that night, Bart once more took up his quarters for the night
with the priest.
While sitting together that evening, the conversation was very naturally
drawn to the great fire, of which the priest had already spoken several
times; and at Bart’s request he now gave a more particular account of
it.
“It was in the year 1825,” said the priest. “The summer had been the
hottest and the dryest ever known, not only in this province, but all
over North America. There was no rain for months. The hay crop was
a total failure everywhere, and the garden vegetables all wilted and
withered. Corn, turnips, potatoes, almost everything failed. The roads
were all covered with fine dust, the fields were all cracked, and the
grass was as if it had been scorched. The woods were dried and parched
in the same way, the sap seemed to dry up in the trees, and the leaves
and branches were ready to flash into a blaze at the slightest approach
of fire.
“Fires, indeed, were in the woods in different places from midsummer
till autumn. These burned steadily, though without making any very great
progress. There were fires in these woods, and up at the head of the
bay, and near the Nashwaak. The most extensive was one near Fredericton.
There were also fires in the woods of Maine. And in Canada some of them
had reached very serious dimensions. As a general thing, none of our
people thought anything of it. Fires are so common that they excite no
attention, and so it was with us. It was so dry that there was every
reason to expect them, and if they were even larger than usual, that was
no more than might be expected under such unusual circumstances.
“At last the month of October came, and in the early part of that
month various causes contributed to spread the fires. On the 6th it was
noticed that they had increased very greatly, and their extent was now
far beyond anything that had ever been known before. People wondered
at this, but thought that before long it must come to an end. Rain must
come and put a stop to it.
“On the following day, the 7th, it was far worse. All through the
preceding night the fires had been extending everywhere, and when day
came it had an appearance different from anything ever known before.
The sky had a deep purple tint, and immense clouds of black smoke rolled
over the whole heavens. There was not a breath of wind, but everything
was sunk into a calm so deep and profound that it seemed like the death
of Nature. The heat was suffocating, the air thick and stagnant, so that
breathing was difficult. No one could put forth the slightest exertion.
Everybody lay about in a state of utter lassitude and listlessness,
or tried in vain to find some cool place where the heat might be less
oppressive.
“The most wonderful thing was the effect of all this upon the lower
animals. The birds had all fled. The cattle in the fields seemed
bewildered and terrified. They collected in groups, lowing piteously,
and looking wildly around, eating nothing, but standing as though
paralyzed. The dogs moaned, and crouched, and wandered restlessly out of
doors and back again. But what was yet more astonishing was the behavior
of the wild animals. Wolves, and bears, and hares, and foxes came from
the woods to the open places, overcome with terror, and seeking refuge
among the domestic animals.
“In spite of all this the people did not show much excitement. In the
more lonely places they may have been frightened, but in the settlements
they seemed simply listless. No one anticipated the terror that was
approaching, or had any idea of the doom impending over the whole
country. Strangely enough, the instinct of the lower animals was truer
than the reason of man. As the fire was not yet visible, the people in
the settlements made no preparations against it, nor did they even think
that preparations were necessary. They knew, of course, that the heat
and the unusual appearances were produced by fires in some place, but
where it was, or how near it might be, they did not think.