sprang up. The sun set, and the darkness was intense beyond all
description. And in that darkness nothing whatever was visible; there
was something terrible beyond words in such deep gloom; but the wind
went on and increased to a wilder degree, until at last it blew with
extraordinary violence. Now, through the darkness a terrible sight
became visible. All over the west and towards the north-west there shone
a red glow, which grew brighter and brighter, until at last the whole
skies were lightened up with flaming fires. The wind increased, coming
from the west, until at length it blew a perfect hurricane; fiercer,
more furious, more terrible than any in the memory of the oldest
inhabitants here. Driven on by this fierce tempest, the fires spread
with inconceivable rapidity, and all the west became a sea of fire, and
above the woods vast flames shot up, furiously, far into the sky. There
was no darkness now. It was driven away, and light had come; but the
light was worse than the darkness had been.
“The hurricane increased, and the fires drove onward before it, and the
fierce flames towered far up into the sky. Then there came a low moan
from afar, which increased, and strengthened, and deepened, until at
last it grew to a loud, appalling roar--a roar like sustained thunder,
which still grew louder, and deeper, and nearer, and more awful. In the
midst of this came the sound of crackling, like musketry volleys, and
loud, tremendous explosions, like the discharge of cannon. And all this
increased every minute, the fires sweeping onward more terribly, the
roar of its advance gathering in intensity and volume, until at last the
vast sheets of flame seemed to rise almost to the zenith. Overhead all
the black smoke was now reddened in the glow of the fire, and there
passed away over the sky a fierce torrent, bearing with it innumerable
sparks, and blazing twigs, and branches of trees, which had been torn
from the forest by the fire, and were now hurled through the air by the
hurricane.
“Now there arose the wildest panic. All had been so sudden that there
had been no time for thought--but even if there had been time, no
thought could have availed. There was only one common impulse in all
living things, whether man or beast, and that was escape. One cry only
arose--the cry, ‘To the river! To the river!’ In this direction every
one hurried, a confused crowd,--men, women, children, horses, cows,
and dogs,--some carrying the old or the sick, others assisting the weak;
fathers carrying their children, mothers their infants. Each seized what
was most precious, and fled. All the time there were wild outcries--some
of fear, others of hope, others of command, others of despair from some
who had been separated from relatives, and were trying to find them
again. Then they all hurried to the river; and some stood plunged in the
water, others sought boats, others rafts, others floated on logs, while
others sought the opposite shore, from which, however, the fires that
spread even there soon drove them.
“And now the whole country, in all directions, blazed. The whole forest
was as dry as tinder, and everywhere the floating sparks would fall upon
the trees, and there would kindle fresh flames, which would sweep
away before the hurricane like those behind. It was this that made the
conflagration so swift and so universal.
“The morning at length came after that night of horror--the morning of
the 8th of October; and never did human eye rest upon such a scene
of desolation. The vast forests, the green meadows, the flourishing
villages, the pleasant homes which a few hours before had formed one of
the happiest countries in the world, was now one vast expanse of dust
and ashes, out of which lowered the smouldering, blackened shafts of
giant pine trees that had not been all consumed. The half-burned corpses
of men, women, and children, cattle and wild beasts, strewed the
forests, and in the dried-up beds of brooks and rivers lay the blackened
bodies of burnt fishes. Six thousand square miles had been suddenly
blasted by that unparalleled fire. And all this ruin had been wrought on
that one night of horror.”
Such was the priest’s narrative of one of the most terrible fires on
record--the great fire of Miramichi; a fire most remarkable for
the astonishing rapidity of its course, and the thoroughness of its
devastation. For, apart from other more immediate evils, it ruined the
timber of all that country, turned fertile districts into barren wastes,
and annihilated in one night all the resources of a great commerce.
To all this Bart listened with deep attention, and gained from it
increased hope for Phil. For now he saw how different was this fire
from the one of which he had been hearing, and how different the
circumstances were. These woods were not dried like tinder, nor was it
possible for a fire to spread so fast but that any living being could
escape it. Besides, the woods were full of brooks and streams, and all
these streams were full of fish; and Phil had his rod and lines, and
was an expert fisherman. From all these thoughts he drew hope and
confidence.
He was greatly puzzled, however, by the disappearance of Pat and
Solomon. Their departure in the woods had greatly perplexed him, but he
hoped that he would find them on his return to Tracadie. There were no
signs of them. The night passed, but they did not make their appearance.
Morning came, but brought them not.
He did not know what to think about it, and felt perplexed. Still he had
no anxiety. Neither Pat nor Solomon was likely to come to any trouble in
the woods, for they were perfectly well able to take care of themselves.
The party was now all broken up and scattered--Phil, Pat, Solomon, and
Bart, all in different directions, and none of them knowing where the
others were. But Bart’s mind was now intent upon finding Phil; and so,
after a hurried breakfast, he got into the wagon with the priest, and
they both drove off together.
XVII.
_Phil awakes.--A morning Bath and a morning Repast.--A pleasant
Discovery.--Once more upon the Move.--The rough, impenetrable
Woods.--The River.--A new Mode of Travel.--The friendly Log.--I’m
afloat, I’m afloat.--Arrested.--The secret Place of Fire._
ALL that night Phil slept most soundly in the little rocky chamber
where he had made his bed; and early on the following morning he waked
and crawled forth. It had been much cooler inside that little cavern
than outside, and he was very much refreshed; but on emerging into the
outer world, he was at once sensible that the heat of the atmosphere was
most oppressive. The smoke, too, was thicker now than ever. Overhead it
was darker, and descended nearer to the ground; while the smell of the
air was more irritating to the throat and nostrils. Everything showed
him, most plainly, either that the fires were increasing, or were
steadily drawing nearer to where he was. In either case, the prospect
was sufficiently unpleasant to make him look forward with uneasiness to
his future; for as he could see nothing at any distance ahead, and as he
was still in ignorance of the direction which he ought to take, he was
quite incapable of forming any definite plan of escape, and could only
adhere to his former plan of following the course of the river.
On finding out the heat of the atmosphere, his first impulse was to
prepare himself for the toils of the day by a bath, which he proceeded
at once to take. The water was still cool; and the rushing torrent,
as it passed over his head and dashed against his limbs, gave him a
delicious sense of enjoyment. Then followed his breakfast. The fish
which he had saved for the night before were used for this purpose. He
kindled a fire close by his rock, and cooked them upon the coals
with his usual success. While eating his fish, he noticed at a little
distance some shrubbery that seemed strangely familiar, and suggested
the idea of a luxurious addition to his repast. He at once went towards
them, and found that his surmise was correct. They were blackberry
bushes, and were filled with berries, in such numbers that in a very
short time he had picked as much as a quart. These he caught in some
strips of bark folded so as to make a dish, and with this addition
to his provisions he returned to his former station, and finished his
breakfast with uncommon relish and enjoyment.
After finishing his repast he waited for some time, trying to think upon
what might be his best course of action through the day. The more he
tried, however, the more unable he found himself to devise anything
better than that which he had been doing; and so at length, finding any
further thought useless, he determined to set out on his daily tramp,
leaving his course to be determined by the events of the day.
His course was at first precisely like what it had been on the previous
day. Dark pine trees arose all about him, standing at intervals
sufficiently wide to allow of easy progress, their innumerable shafts
rising on every side as far as the eye could reach. The shadow of the
forest beneath caught a peculiar leaden tinge from the smoke that now
surrounded everything, and in some places was so dark that it seemed as
though the fire might be smouldering there. There was no underbrush of
any consequence, so that Phil could go on whatever course he pleased;
and as the ground was firm and hard, his progress was made without undue
effort. Thus he was able to keep the river in sight, and follow its
course for a long distance.
As he went on the brook grew gradually larger, and at length ran into a
stream very much larger than itself, large enough, in fact, to deserve
the name of river. This Phil saw with delight; for he saw in this the
hope of encountering the haunts of men. As he looked down the course of
this river, which here afforded a much wider opening in the forest than
he had yet seen, he was struck by the density of the smoke clouds, and
the peculiar character of the atmosphere. The sight inspired him with
far stronger fears than any which he had hitherto known. Thus far he had
considered the fire as arising from some one spot, and had thought of
being able to evade it, even if he should reach the place where it might
be burning; but now he began to feel as though the fires were all around
him, rolling forward from every side towards him, and sending an advance
march of smoke to bewilder him and lead him astray. This thought gave
him a momentary pang, and a transitory feeling of despair crossed his
mind. But this weakness was only short-lived. It soon passed, and his
buoyancy of soul and sanguine temperament reasserted themselves.
At length, as he went along by the river side, he noticed, to his deep
regret, that the pine woods ended, and were succeeded by a forest like
that which he had traversed on the first day of his wandering. What was
worse, it could not be avoided. He could not walk along the river bank,
for it was lined with trees and shrubbery. He could not walk in its bed,
for it was too deep. There was therefore nothing left to do but to make
his way through the woods the best way that he could.
On entering these woods, the change was unpleasant in the extreme. It
was necessary for him to keep near the river, and in order to do this
he had to encounter without shrinking all the obstacles that lay in his
way. He did not dare now to attempt to go round any of them, or to make
short cuts, for he was afraid that if he got out of sight of the water
once, he would never be able to find it again; and, therefore, at all
hazards, and at every cost, he determined to keep it within sight.
These new efforts soon exhausted him, and he was forced to sit down and
try to recover himself. As he sat there gasping, there seemed to be
a more intense warmth in the air, a dry, torrid heat, a suffocating
closeness, which was, far worse than it had been yet. He felt that under
these circumstances his progress would be small indeed. He had only one
thought now, and that was, to recover from his heat and exhaustion; and
to do this he knew of only one thing, which was--a plunge in the water.
Tearing off his clothes now, he flung himself in the water, and felt
once more its reviving influence. At this moment a new idea occurred to
him, which filled him again with hope. It was, that he should remain in
the river, and go on as he was, carrying his clothes with him. At this
rate his progress would be far more rapid than it had just been; and he
would be far less liable to feel fatigue. Acting upon this suggestion,
he rolled his clothes up into as small a bundle as possible, but kept
his boots on his feet, so as to walk without difficulty over the sharp
sticks or stones that he might encounter; and now, slinging his bundle
behind his back, he went on, walking near one of the banks, in water
that was about up to his waist. His progress was certainly not very
fast; but the plan was highly satisfactory, since he no longer suffered
so much from that intense exhaustion to which he had been subject while
forcing his way through the tangled brushwood. But at length he found
himself assailed by myriads of mosquitos, and this infliction became so
intolerable that he had to go into the deeper water of the mid-channel.
Here, however, his progress was slow, and carrying his bundle was a
great trouble.
Suddenly he saw a log lying near the shore, entangled among the
brushwood. It was of cedar, and looked as though it had been cut for a
telegraph pole. This at once offered him an easy and agreeable mode of
progress, which was in every possible way superior to anything that he
had yet tried. Walking towards it, he drew it out, and then placing it
before him he bound his bundle upon it. He now pushed it in front
of him, down the stream, and clinging to it, he struck out after it,
sometimes swimming, sometimes walking. So buoyant was the log that
it easily sustained his weight; and the complete success of this
contrivance made Phil determine to make the rest of his journey in this
way. So he once more stopped, and taking off his boots, bound them upon
the log also. He was now divested of all his clothing, keeping on only
his hat, which was useful both against the heat and the flies; and thus
prepared, he once more pushed his log before him, and seeking the centre
of the stream, began to move slowly down. The water here was now over
his head; and the current was running at the rate of about three miles
an hour. A very slight effort on his part served to increase his motion
to a rate which was faster than any which he had been able to make yet;
and he found himself going onward in a way in which he was able at once
to secure both speed and coolness.
The musquitos were troublesome from time to time, but not continuously;
and these he was able to evade by plunging his head under, hat and all,
after which plunge the drip of the water from his hat about his head
seemed both to cool him and to repel his assailants.
He now floated along, and was thus borne onward by the river, with
many a turn and winding, amidst the forest. On either side arose the
trees,--dark, solemn, and silent, for not a sound of any kind could be
heard. The birds which usually made the forest vocal with their melody
had fled to other places. In that torrid and smoky atmosphere there was
no place for these children of song. Phil, as he floated in the cool
current of the river, felt himself withdrawn completely from the heat
and the smoke; but as he looked up he saw enough to make him feel
grateful that he was where he was--that he had found a stream deep
enough to sustain him in its waters, and swift enough to carry him
onward without any severe exertion on his part. The smoke lowered darkly
and menacingly overhead, and before him, where the river ran, it seemed
accumulated in gloomier and denser masses. The air seemed even hotter,
and as he at times plunged his head under the waters, he rejoiced to
think that he had so near him such a perpetual remedy for heat and
exhaustion.
He had now been in the stream for some hours, when at length he noticed
a rising ground before him. It was a hill of no very great height,
rounded and covered with trees; but behind this there seemed to be an
agitation among the smoke clouds, as though there was concealed there
the unseen cause of all these stifling vapors that filled the skies.
This place Phil began to watch with deep interest and curiosity. He did
not feel fear, for in his present position he did not anticipate any
danger; but he expected that at this place he would reach what might be
the climax of his adventures. The only real fear that he had was, not
from fire, but from the water itself. He was apprehensive that he might
come to a cataract, or to rapids. This danger certainly did not seem
very imminent, or very probable, for the country was generally of too
level a character to allow of waterfalls; but Phil thought of this as
his only possible danger, and was consequently always on the lookout.
Now, therefore, as he saw this accumulation of clouds, and the
agitation that prevailed there, he did not perceive anything that could
immediately affect him, and so he felt no terror.
The river had a winding course; and though it drew nearer and nearer
to this hill, yet it approached it slowly, and by gradual advances. At
length, on taking a turn round one of its bends, Phil could see that
the hill was on the left bank, and that he would soon reach it, and
pass round it in the next turn of the stream. Full of curiosity, he now
drifted along, and waited for the next prospect that would be opened up
behind the hill.
Nearer and nearer Phil approached, and stronger and stronger did
his excited curiosity grow. The smoke, as he drew closer, was more
distinctly revealed, rising into the skies in dark, rolling masses, as
though sent up by some mighty power beneath. Nearer and nearer he came,
and at length became aware of short, dull flashes of light, which,
brightening for a moment, were soon obscured. It did not surprise him,
for this was in some degree what he was expecting. Where there is smoke
there must be fire; and if now the flames flashed forth, it merely
proved that he was at last drawing near to that fire whose signs had
filled the air for many days. And what should he see? What was it that
could produce this veil of smoke that obscured the universal sky? Could
it be near the haunts of men, and was it merely the commonplace process
of clearing land? No; he felt that it could not be anything so ordinary
as this. The signs which he had seen and felt for days arose from
something more than the clearing of fields for cultivation. It was
rather the march of a mighty conflagration through the forest, which
devoured all things in its path, swept away the verdant trees, blackened
and devastated the rich forest foliage, and sent afar in all directions
the breath of its devastating mouth.
With these thoughts Phil drifted on, awaiting the disclosure of the
great fire, and at length reached the hill. Past this he was slowly
borne by the current which encircled it, and then, completing the
circuit, swept onward upon its course.
Here, as Phil floated looking forward, the whole scene burst at once
upon his sight. No obstacle any longer rose between him and the fire; he
saw it in its reality--living and breathing before his eyes.
The river went on for about a half mile, and then took another turn.
Half way between this hill and the next bend rose the flames of a vast
conflagration, devouring the forest far and wide, extending on both
sides of the river to the right and to the left. From Phil’s position
he could not command any extensive view on either side, and, indeed, the
smoke would have prevented that had he even been more elevated; but
the scene before him was enough to convince him of the magnitude of
the fire. Immediately in front, beginning from that point, lying midway
between him and the next bend, the fires began, and extended till the
river turned again upon its next circuit. On both sides of the stream
the fires blazed up, and continued far away, reddening in the glow of
a mighty conflagration. In the midst of this arose innumerable trees,
standing up, black, blighted, and withered in the red fire; while over
them the smoke leaped and rolled as it bounded upward. Nearer, the fires
were brighter, for here they were incessantly advancing to attack new
trees: and the flames could be seen darting, like lightning, upward
from twig to twig, and from bough to bough, until tree after tree was
enveloped in the raging fire. These were the cause of those flashes
which he had noticed further up the stream, and indicated the advance of
the fire in this direction. The foreground was thus most brilliant, most
active, and most thrilling; but the background, with its innumerable
array of blackened trunks rising from the midst of that dull, angry fire
glow, and surrounded by the dark smoke clouds, formed a scene that was
yet more terrible.
XVIII.
_The Conflagration.--A dread Alternative.--Forward or backward.--A bold
Decision.--The Hood.--A terrible Venture.--The red Place of Flame.--The
Place of the fiery Glow.--The toppling Tree.--A Struggle for Life.--The
fiery Atmosphere.--The last supreme Moment._
AS this sight thus came upon his view, Phil drove his float towards the
shore on the left, until his feet touched bottom; and standing here he
looked down the river upon the conflagration. Away before him stretched
that vista of fire, the pathway before him led through an avenue of
flame, the burning forest glowed on either side, while overhead the vast
volumes of smoke rolled along, and around him fell showers of ashes.
There before him through that scene of terror lay his pathway; the way
which lie thought was leading him to safety had brought him here; the
river, to which he had intrusted himself, had borne him along to this;
and at the very moment when his hopes had been most excited, they were
dashed at once to the ground.
And what now?
What should he do?
Could he go back?
Go back? No; that was a simple impossibility. How should he go back? Not
through the woods, for he could make but small advance through the dense
forest that now surrounded him; not up the stream, for how could his
strength bear him on against this current? He would have to wander for
days before he could reach the place which he had left that morning; and
of what avail would it be if he did reach it? What would he do? Where
could he go? No; to go back was not to be thought of.
He saw plainly that he had now to make choice from, one of two
alternatives.
One was to remain here and wait for the fires to subside.
The other was to go forward.
Now, the idea of waiting here was intolerable. To wait here idle, or,
perhaps, slowly retreating before the advancing fires, enduring day
after day the hunger, the fatigue, and the misery of such a situation,
seemed the worst fate conceivable. Where could he sleep at night?
How could he endure living in the water by day? Besides, the fire was
evidently advancing in a direction which led it up stream; so that he
would merely be driven before it back to his old quarters, to perish
miserably. To be driven back before the fires would be a lingering
death. It was not to be thought of, so long as any other course was
possible.
What, then, was the other course?
The other course was--to go forward.
To go forward!
This was what Phil longed to do, with longing unspeakable. To go forward
would lead him farther down the river. To go forward would carry him
beyond the fires. Once let him pass the place where the fire raged, and
then he would be on the other side of it; out of its hot breath; away
from its stifling smoke. Could he but once make that passage, all would
be well. To him it seemed as though on the other side of those fires
there lay the abodes of men, and open lands, and pure air, and help, and
liberty, and life. It was there that he longed to go.
But between him and what he fancied to lie beyond, there lay a barrier,
terrific, tremendous, whose fullest horrors were unknown; a barrier that
seemed impassable--irremovable. How could he hope to overcome it?
Under any other circumstances, the idea of passing that barrier could
not, of course, be entertained. But there was one thing in Phil’s
situation which made him think that the deed might be done; that it was
not impossible, or even difficult. This one thing that gave hope was the
river. Its stream might still bear him on its bosom, amidst those fires;
he might find protection in its running waters. He could keep cool amid
that fervent heat; and as the stream would itself bear him on, he would
not need to make any efforts except those which served to guide him in a
right course.
As he thought of this, and of the possibility of making his passage, he
felt eager to go, but was restrained by other thoughts.