of those flaming woods, even in the waters of the river? Could he
breathe? Would not the intense heat make breathing impossible? That
burning district might extend for many and many a mile; and if he once
ventured there, how would he ever get out of it? Or again, might not
that possible obstacle in the river waters, which he had dreaded, be
found down there amid the burning forests? And if so, what a
terrible fate would be his!--to be arrested amid raging fires by a
cataract--unable to advance, unable to retreat, unable to go ashore! If
he could only form some idea as to the possible extent of the fire,--if
he could only see beyond that next turn in the river, and find out how
far those fiery shores ran on,--then he might know whether there was any
hope. But this was impossible. The land before his eyes was a land of
fire; its trees blackened by the fire, or still glowing red as they
quivered under its attack; and there was no way by which he might know
anything more than this.
At last there came a thought which gave him great encouragement. He
thought that the fire in its march must exhaust itself after a certain
time, and that after the trees were actually consumed there must be a
departure of the heat. It was in the advanced part of its march that it
maintained this furnace glow; at a certain distance behind, the heat
might not be intolerable. If, therefore, he could traverse the flames
and the fire that he saw before him, he might find the country beyond
not much worse than it was here.
This thought, this hope, decided him. He determined to stake everything
upon this, and venture upon that fiery path.
But before he attempted it he made the only preparation possible. What
he dreaded most was the scorching glow of those flames; and as he did
not know to what extent they might affect him, he wished above all
things to guard his head against that danger.
He therefore unbound his clothes from the log, and took his coat out,
after which he again bound the remainder of the clothes to the place
where they had been. His coat he dipped in the river until it was
saturated with the water, and then carefully adjusted it over his head,
tying the sleeves under his chin so that it served the purpose of a
hood. In this way he hoped to have a protection from the heat of the
burning forest, while his eyes would be shaded from the dazzling and
blinding glare, and would be able to watch without interruption or
impediment the course of the river.
With these simple preparations Phil breathed a short prayer, committing
himself to the care of God, and then summoning up all his courage, he
directed his float down the stream once more, and then boldly launching
forth, he dared the terrible journey. Once more the waters received him
to their embrace; once more the river enfolded him, and bore him gently
onward; once more he swept past the shores, and saw them recede on
either side. The current bore him on. The fire drew near.
The fire drew near--and nearer. He felt its hot breath, growing hotter
upon his brow--nearer yet--and then, at length, the flames dashed
forward, the green trees passed from his line of vision, and his eyes
saw nothing but one vast and far-reaching glare.
He plunged his head beneath the water, and held it under as long as he
could. When he raised it again he found himself farther on in the midst
of the flaming trees. The heat of the air was intense, yet not so much
so as he had feared. His dripping coat hung round his head, protecting
him. His course was true, for looking forward he saw that he was still
in the very middle of the stream.
One look was sufficient, and then, desiring to prepare himself as much
as possible for the worst that the fire might bring against him, he once
more plunged his head under.
When he next raised his head, he found the scene somewhat changed. The
dazzling flash of leaping, up-springing flames had passed away. He had
moved past the advanced line of the fire where the flames were assailing
the light twigs and foliage of the trees, and had come to that inner
portion where the trees were standing bare of everything that the flame
could destroy; skeletons--glowing red in the embrace of consuming fire.
The glow was all around--on the ground, on the trees--and the emanation
of heat was far more intense. The air was now like that of a room heated
to an intense degree; yet, to his immense relief, it was not worse than
he had known air to be before; and to him it seemed like the atmosphere
of a room overheated on some winter day. He could breathe without
difficulty, and thanks to his extemporized hood, and his plunges under
water, he did not feel that scorching glow of the hot fires that he
might otherwise have felt. Well was it for him that he was spared
the necessity of exertion. In that atmosphere any exertion would have
overcome him in a very short time. As it was he had only to cling to his
float, steer it straight, and from time to time plunge his head under
water.
In this way he was borne steadily on, and succeeded in preserving
himself from destruction during that first entrance into the avenue of
flame. He was now in the avenue of fire, and over this the flood bore
him, until at length he reached that bend on the river which he had seen
before starting upon this last journey.
The river turned to the right, and swept away for about as great a
distance as lay between this bend and the last one. As Phil looked at it
in eager and anxious scrutiny, he saw to his dismay that the fire glow
covered all the land before him, and on either side. He had been too
sanguine, and had not made sufficient allowance for the tenacity of
the fire where it once has fixed its grasp. There rose the trees--the
skeletons--red--glowing in a fervid glow; and the air was hotter
here--more torrid--more stagnant.
Here, then, Phil found a severer trial than any which he had yet
experienced; and the sight of these new regions, all glowing in the
wide-spread conflagration, showing far and wide the withering signs
of fiery devastation, filled him with awe and apprehension. There was
nothing, however, which he could do. He could only do as he had been
doing, and draw his hood over his face as far as he could without
obstructing the view, and guide himself in the right course, and
occasionally plunge beneath the waters so as to maintain the protection
that was afforded by the moisture and the sheltering hood.
The time seemed long as he thus drifted on; but at length, to his great
joy, he reached the next bend in the river, and began slowly to pass
around it.
But the joy which he had felt at reaching this place soon passed away,
when, on turning the point and entering upon the new course of the
river, he beheld before him an unchanged scene of devastation. There, as
before, the glowing fire appeared on the ground below and in the trees
above; the latter rising all red in the fire, and crumbling slowly
beneath its touch. One difference there was; and that was, that in
this new scene the conflagration seemed to be farther advanced; giant
branches fell to the ground; tall trees toppled over, and the silence
that had reigned was now broken by the thunder of those falling masses.
The air here was also hotter; for as the fire had been burning longer,
so everything was affected by its long intensity. Now it was that Phil
first began to find something approximating to what he had dreaded--a
heat which made breathing difficult, and made the air like that at the
mouth of a furnace.
Through this he drifted on as before. His soul already began to yield to
despondency; while hope grew fainter, and a dark dismay gradually took
possession of his heart. How could it end? Would it ever end? Were there
any limits to the burning woods? Must he thus go drifting on, and find
that every new scene, as it opened up, was worse than its predecessor?
So he drifted on.
As he thus went on, he suddenly saw immediately before him, on the edge
of the bank, a tree which was slanting over the river, and seemed to
him to be swaying, or toppling slowly over. It had been assailed most
fiercely by the flames. Its trunk and branches were all glowing red,
while the fire seemed to have burned into the ground, and consumed those
roots which had thus far held it in its place. The slight movement
had arrested Phil, and instinctively he turned his course towards the
opposite shore. The tree was tall, but whether it could reach across
the river, he could not tell. It seemed to be falling, and if it did,
it would fall across the stream. Thus Phil, by a blind instinct, shifted
his course slightly.
[Illustration: 0261]
The tree slowly tilted over. It descended farther and farther. Phil
at that same moment was being borne on by the current. The danger was
imminent. The tree would fall upon him. With a frantic effort he threw
himself nearer to the shore, and as he did so, the tree descended. Phil
let go the log, and swam towards the shore. There was a rush, and a
sweep through the air; a rattling, crashing sound, followed by a hiss,
as the red-hot mass touched the water; there was the shower of a million
sparks, and then all was still.
Phil felt every fibre of his frame tingle with horror, and thrill with
a sense of descending ruin. But the moment passed. His feet touched
bottom. He turned and looked around. There, about three yards from him,
lay the tree, its roots still on the other bank, and its top buried
beneath the water. With a wild, despairing glance Phil looked for
his float. Even as he looked, he saw it slowly emerge from the water,
several yards below where the tree lay. For the tree in its descent had
struck it, and dashed it to the bottom of the river; but fortunately it
had become disentangled, and the current had freed it from the tree, and
there it floated, ready once more to assist him.
Phil swam down the stream towards it, and almost fainting with the
fatigue of this exertion, he clung to it motionless, panting heavily,
and now scarcely able even to guide himself aright.
XIX.
_The black Place of Desolation.--Blue Sky.--Open Heavens.--The Glory of
the Sunshine.--Green Hills.--The open Sea once more.--Along the Road.--A
strange, a very strange Encounter.--The Wandering Leper.--Naaman the
Syrian._
PANTING heavily, and almost fainting with exhaustion, Phil drifted on,
clinging with a convulsive grasp to his log, and scarce conscious of his
surroundings. It was the current that now guided him, for he for some
time was incapable of making any effort to guide himself. Several times
he instinctively thrust his head under the water; and each time, though
this did not ease his breathing, it at least caused relief by the
grateful coolness and the drip of the water over his face. Drifting on
in this way, he remained for some time without noticing the shores on
either side, too much taken up with his own sensations to regard any
external things. He had a general idea that the fires were all around
him still; but he no longer sought with his former eager scrutiny to
find some signs favorable to his own hopes.
But at length he regained his breath, and began once more to look
around. The first thing that he noticed was, that the heat had very
materially lessened. The next thing was, that the land of the fiery glow
had passed away. Around him there was now, not a fiery country, but a
black and devastated country, out of which smoke was still arising in
places, but from which the fire had departed, having done its work. He
now saw that while he had been in a half senseless state he had been
carried along; that the current had drifted him away from the place
where the fire was now raging, to a place where it raged no longer--to a
place where the air was cooler--where it was purer--where the smoke was
much diminished. All around, and all before, the country was black, and
there arose a forest of charred and blackened trees; but this sight,
hideous though it might be in itself, was inexpressibly delightful to
eyes that had just gazed upon the fire in its wrath.
He began to understand his position now. This was the very thing that he
had hoped for when first he ventured to make the passage. His hope had
been realized. The fire was advancing up the stream. He had passed
the front line of flame, the second line of fire, and now reached the
blackened and desolate tract that lay in the rear of the conflagration.
Here the hot breath of the fire existed no longer. Here the air was
purer--it grew cooler at every yard of his progress forward.
It was, probably, this cooler air that had revived him, and given him
back the breath that he had nearly lost forever at that time of his
struggle near the falling tree.
He looked up. The smoke was thinner overhead. Before him the skies were
brighter, and in one place the glorious blue of heaven was discernible.
It was the first bit of blue sky that he had seen since first he entered
these ill-omened woods; and it seemed to him to be the harbinger of
safety, and liberty, and life. His whole soul roused itself in joyous
hope; the last vestige of his dismay and despondency departed, and
even his weakness and bodily languor left him. He gave a cry of joy; he
breathed a prayer of thankfulness to the merciful One who had preserved
him from a terrible fate; and then, grasping his float with a strong
and nervous clutch, he once more put forth his efforts to quicken his
progress, and struck out with strong and rapid strokes.
Every moment his prospects increased. The smoke faded away more and
more, and the blue sky unfolded itself, until at last the glorious sun
burst forth to view, and threw upon him those bright and gladdening rays
to which he had been a stranger for so many days. There came up also a
breeze, and it fanned his flushed face, bringing healing on its wings;
and as he inhaled it there seemed in it something which was like a new
life, something which gave new strength and energy to the body, and new
joy and hope to the soul. At last he could breathe freely. The air had
lost all that oppressiveness which it had so long had. No longer was
there perceptible the abhorrent smell of smoke. He had emerged from
the fire and the smoke, and wherever he was, he had at least left these
things behind. He had no idea where he was, or whither he was going;
it was enough for him to know that he had escaped from the fire and the
woods.
He had been long in the water, but he had no desire to leave it. The
land was not inviting, while his present mode of progress was easy and
agreeable. He chose, therefore, to drift on until he should reach some
place where he might rest.
At length there appeared before him something green. It looked like the
foliage of trees. It rose above the black land and the charred stumps of
the burnt district, and seemed to be some place which the fire had not
reached. Was it some green oasis in this desert of devastation, or was
it some new forest as boundless, as uninhabited, and as desolate as the
one in which he had been lost? At that moment it mattered not to him
what it was, so long as it was some place that was free from the touch
of fire.
Onward he drifted, and the stream took a turn, and swept forward. Here
the green foliage appeared full before him. It was of no great extent.
Beyond it there was no vast forest, but only the sky. It seemed as
though in one place there might be a broad plain, so low did it lie, and
so open was it, and bare of trees. This place he watched with the most
eager scrutiny. To this he came nearer and nearer. The space broadened
every moment, until at last he thought that it must indeed be a wide
plain--if plain it was.
Nearer he drew and nearer. Then, at length, a suspicion came to his mind
that startled him greatly. Nearer he came, and nearer, and the suspicion
changed to reality, for there, full before him, lay nothing less than
the sea!
The sea!
Yes, the sea! The river ran into a harbor. The harbor opened out into
the sea. It was not a bay. It was the sea, with the distant horizon
touching the sky. Before he had reached the green spot, he came to a
place where a bridge had been, and of which nothing now remained but
some charred timbers. This showed him that he could not be very far from
human habitations. A little below this he reached the green spot, and,
landing here, he loosened his clothes from the log, and dressed himself.
They were wet; but his watch was still ticking bravely, and marked three
o’clock. His matches were also dry, and a piece of trout left from his
morning’s repast was still there unharmed. This he ate with an eager
appetite.
He spread out his wet coat upon the grass, and lay down by it, and,
while resting, deliberated about what he ought next to do. Where he was
he had not the faintest idea. He could not be on the Bay de Chaleur, for
then the opposite shore would be visible; but here there was no shore
opposite. He thought that it must be the Gulf of St. Lawrence. If so,
then that bridge must belong to the road that ran along the shore, and
settlements could not be very far away.
He was now too impatient to rest any longer, and was so eager to find
out where the road led to, that he took his half-dried coat over his
arm, and started off towards the burnt bridge. The road here seemed to
be pretty well travelled, and the sight of this stimulated still more
his desire of reaching some house; so he at once set off.
He walked for about a mile, through a district that had been burnt, and
then came to the seashore again. Here the trees were green, and there
were no signs of fire. There was a cool and refreshing breeze now from
off the sea, and the hope of finding a house stimulated him to such a
degree that he maintained a rapid walk for at least another mile.
And now, as he ascended a slight elevation, he saw a figure, on the
road before him, advancing towards him. It was a boy that he saw. He was
walking wearily, and seemed both tired and dejected. He was looking at
the ground.
Phil hurried towards him. The boy did not notice him till he had come
quite close. Then he looked up.
As Phil saw that face, he stood for a moment speechless with amazement
and delight.
It was Pat!
“Pat!” he cried. “Pat!”
He could say no more. Tears of joy started to his eyes. He grasped Pat’s
hand in his, and looked at him, completely overcome. He was too deeply
agitated to notice Pat’s face or manner, but stood overcome by his own
emotions.
“So you’ve been after me,” said Phil. “Where are the rest of them?
Where’s Bart? How did you get here? What place is this? Only think of my
getting out here--and only a few minutes ago--and then meeting with you!
But where are the others? Come, I’m crazy to see Bart. I declare I never
was so utterly confounded in my life! But what’s the matter with you?”
In the midst of Phil’s eager torrent of exclamations and questions,
he was struck by something very peculiar in Pat’s face, and in Pat’s
manner, and ended all with this abrupt question.
In fact, Pat’s appearance was very peculiar.
His face was pale, and had an anxious expression. His eyes, generally so
merry, and open, and frank, were now furtive and suspicious; and instead
of showing any pleasure at the sight of Phil, he started back, and
snatched his hand away.
At Phil’s question Pat gave a very heavy sigh, and made no answer.
“Pat, Pat, what is the matter?” cried Phil again. “Has anything
happened? Where’s Bart? What is the matter?”
“Matther,” muttered Pat. “Matther enough, surely, as ye’ll know to yer
sorra.”
At this Phil stared at him in amazement. Pat was so totally changed from
his former self, that he couldn’t comprehend it at all.
“Come, Pat,” said he, “don’t keep me in suspense. I see by your manner
that some horrible thing has happened to some of you. Which is it? Is it
Bart?”
Pat shook his head.
“It’s me,” said he, in a dismal voice. “Me. I’m the one.”
“You! Why, what do you mean?”
“I’m a leper!” wailed Pat.
“You, what? You’re what? What are you talking about?”
“You’ll know soon enough. An maybe ye’ll find out from shakin my hand
the way ye did jist now.”
“Shaking your hand!”
“Yis,” said Pat. “Ayven the touch of me’s on-whowlsome, so it is. An
I’ve got that on me that’s goin to be the death of me afore long, so it
is.”
“See here, Pat,” cried Phil, anxiously. “Tell me what’s the matter, like
a good fellow. You make me horribly anxious. What do you mean?”
“Och, sure, an what’s the use? Didn’t I say it? What are ye tormentin me
for to say it again? Haven’t I just run away whin it’s too late
intirely? An the leprosy’s tuk, so it has!”
“The--the what? What’s that?” asked Phil. “Sure an haven’t I been sayin
that it’s a leper I am,” cried Pat, despairingly.
“A leper!” repeated Phil, who began to think that poor Pat was
quite insane, and wondered what he ought to do with him under the
circumstances.
“I’ve happened among lepers,” said Pat. “I’ve bathed in the leper
wather--an that’s the way I tuk it. I’ve ate wid the leper praste; an
Bart’s wid him now--in the wuds--they’re huntin afther you; but I ran
for it--for I was hopin to get away before the leprosy tuk--but tuk it
did--in spite of me; and that’s all about it.”
“I don’t understand you,” said Phil, in bewilderment, for Pat’s remarks
had some degree of connectedness, and did not sound quite like insanity
except his allusions to leprosy. “I don’t understand,” said he, “what
you mean about leprosy.”
“Sure it’s the Lazaretto, at Tracadie, I mean. I got the leprosy by
bathin, so I did--an aitin wid the leper praste.”
“You’ll have to explain. This is all nonsense. Come, Pat, don’t make a
fool of yourself. You’ve got some absurd idea in your head, Come, tell
me all about it, for I can’t make it out at all, you know.”
“Well, it’s this way,” said Pat, with undiminished dolefulness; “ony
don’t be kapin too nair me if ye vally yer life--this was the way of it.
Ye see we wandhered about the wuds afther ye, an sure enough before we
knowed it we got lost ourselves. Well, we wandhered about, and at last
we come out in a place they call Tracadie, an bad luck to it. So we mit
a praste that was all smiles and blarney, an he tuk us to his house
an gave us fud. Well, thin, I wint out for a walk, an I see a bit
of wather, an wint to it to have a bit of a swim. Well, I come to a
onwhowlsome lookin place, wid ghosts of people in it, that wud fairly
make yer blood run cowld to look at, an I stared at thim, an walked
right close to thim, an brathed their brith, an walked over their
ground, an wint on to the wather, an ondrissed, an wint in. An I shwam
there nearly an hour, an thin I wint back, an what do ye think the
praste towld me.”
“What?” asked Phil.
“Sure, he up an he towld us that the onwhowlsome lookin house wor a
lazaretto, an the ghosts of people there wor lepers--nothin else--an
he said he wor the leper praste, an spint the most of his time wid thim
same--sittin wid thim--talkin wid thim--feelin thim--handlin thim--an
brathin the poison leper air. An he towld us that the wather was the
leper wather, where the lepers bathed. An I had bathed there,” cried
Pat, with a burst of despair. “An I’d tuk a shwirn there,” he cried,
with another burst. “An I’d been in the house of the leper praste,”--a
groan--“an I’d sat on his chairs,”--another groan--“an I’d ate at his
table,”--a howl--“an I’d swallowed his fud,”--another howl--“an I’d been
gettin the leprosy meself all the time,” and a cry that was something
like a yell of despair terminated Pat’s story.
Phil listened to all this, and felt puzzled.
“I don’t know what you mean by lazarettos,” said he, “and lepers. I
did’nt know the disease was in this country.”
“Well, it is, thin,” moaned Pat. “An I’ll soon be there too, so I will.”
“Nonsense,” said Phil, impatiently. “Did you ask the priest if there was
any danger?”
“Och, sure he wouldn’t be afther committin himsilf.”
“Didn’t he say anything about it?”
“He did, thin.”
“What did he say?”
“Why, he said he had lived among the lepers all his life, an visited
thim almost every day; but wor as well a man as anybody. An he said the
disease couldn’t be caught.”
“Did he say that?” cried Phil. “Why, of course. I knew that. You are
mistaken altogether.”
“Sure, an how does the praste know? His time’ll come yit, so it will.”
“Nonsense! This isn’t the real leprosy, at all. It’s some disease that’s
hereditary, I dare say; but it isn’t contagious. Pooh! how absurd! Why,
Pat, what could have put such a notion into your head. The leper water
is all nonsense. What harm could it do you to bathe in the sea? If all
the lepers in the world were bathing at the same time, they couldn’t
affect the sea water.”