_ALONE IN THE FOREST._
About midday Cyril came to himself, opening wondering eyes upon an
unknown world. Where was he? What had happened? Where was his
father? Why were his limbs when he tried to move them so stiff and
cramped? Raising himself with difficulty he leaned upon one elbow,
and looked round searchingly.
He was alone in these unknown wilds. Where was his father? Why had
he left him?
Suddenly the boy gave a great cry; he remembered all. His father was
killed, must have been killed, or he would never have parted from
him. He had put the pistol in his father's hand before the robber
struck him; he did not know what had happened after that. But he
felt convinced that his father was dead, and he lay down again upon
the ground, crying as if his heart would break. There was a very
tender love between him and his father; since the mother's death they
had been all in all to one another. But a new thought came to Cyril
by-and-by, and that was that someone must have brought him to the
place where he was lying. For there was no railway line to be seen
near there; indeed, the trees grew too thickly to admit of such a
possibility. Who, then, had brought him away from the train, away
from the railway line? Was it, could it possibly have been his
father? But if so, where was he now?
Animated by the hope of finding him Cyril struggled to his feet.
Then he called as loudly as he could, which was not very loud, for
his throat was parched and dry, and he himself felt very faint.
"Father! Father!" he cried. "Father, where are you? Father, speak;
tell me you are here! Father! Father!"
But there was no answer.
Despairingly the boy turned in first one direction and then another,
repeating his cries until he could not utter another word. But all
in vain. There was no trace of a human being in any direction. He
was alone, quite alone in the forest.
In silence now he wandered up and down, finding some wild
raspberries, or what looked like them, and eating them quite
ravenously. The soft fruit allayed his thirst, and then he could
shout again, which he did repeatedly. At first it had been his
intention to remain near the place where he had been lying, that if
his father or whoever brought him there returned he might be found.
But he lost his way very soon and could not find the place again.
"Father! Father! Help! help!" he cried, pushing his way through
the long grass and bushes, and running along narrow tracks in first
one direction and then another. "Oh, help, I am perishing! Save me!"
For now a despairing feeling came over him that help would never
come, that he would wander up and down there until he died--perhaps
killed by some wild beast. He knew there were bears in that part of
America, and presently he came across a young one. It did not appear
to see him, and he ran away from its neighbourhood as fast as he
could. He had no weapon of any kind, and the thought of that made
him presently get out his pocket-knife and cut himself a stout stick.
Then it was that he discovered that after all he had not been robbed.
His purse was still in his pocket. He took it out, opened it, and
examined its contents ruefully. One piece of gold, a sovereign, and
a good many shillings and sixpences were all there. But of what use
was money to him now? How gladly, thankfully, he would give the
whole of his money to anyone who would show him the way out of that
fearful solitude! However, he was in a place where money availed
not. What could he do? He was in despair.
Then he remembered his heavenly Father, and, kneeling down just where
he was in the lonely forest, he prayed to Him for help and guidance,
and especially that, if his father still lived, they two might
speedily find each other.
He felt somewhat comforted when, at length, he rose from his knees,
for he knew that he had done the very best thing he could for himself
and his dear father by laying all their concerns before God in prayer.
Looking round for more berries he soon found some, ate, and was again
refreshed. Then he walked on once more in the hope that he would get
to some inhabited place. But he was very tired; and presently, when
his foot slipped over a tree-root and he fell heavily to the ground,
he did not feel able to rise again. He therefore lay still where he
was, and soon fell fast asleep.
Again the shades of night crept over the tall trees of the forest,
veiling them and the sleeping boy in darkness. And once again the
beasts of prey stole forth in search of food, but did not come near
Cyril to harm him, whilst, unconscious of his danger, he slept on.
He was happy now, for he was dreaming of his mother. She looked as
sweet as ever and far happier, for the lines of pain and trouble on
her face had been all smoothed away. "Cyril, my boy," she said to
him, stooping to kiss his brow, "it was brave of you to help your
father as you did yesterday. You suffered for it. Yes, but that is
all over. Now you must be brave in searching for your father and
waiting patiently until God, in His good providence, permits you both
to meet again."
"I will, I will, mother," Cyril cried in his dream; and then it
ceased, and he lay in heavy, dreamless slumber until he awoke with a
consciousness of its being very hot, and that there was a strong
smell of something burning.
Starting up and looking round he found that it was morning, and that
away to the right of him there was a mighty cloud of smoke mingled
with flames, out of which great showers of sparks flew up into the
sky. A tremendous roaring as of thunder announced the burning of
great forest trees. The noise of it almost drowned the pitiful cries
and screams, roars and screeches of wild animals and birds as, in
their flight for their lives, the cruel flames caught hold of them
and burnt them.
"The forest is on fire!" cried Cyril aloud in terror-stricken
accents, "and I, where shall I go? Oh, God," he murmured, "help me!"
and set off running fast in the opposite direction from that in which
the fire was advancing.
The air had become exceedingly hot. It dried up everything before
the fire, so that when the flames came up they caught hold of the
great pine trees without a moment's loss. The very ground seemed
scorched.
Cyril found the fire gaining upon him. Of what use was it to run?
Oh, if he could only come to some open space, or a sheet of water
into which he could hasten!
But no. There were no signs of either. Cyril became hotter and
hotter. Soon, very soon, the fire would overtake him. He almost
felt its hot breath on his cheeks. Wringing his hands he sank down
with a loud, despairing cry.