Lost Children
"Oh, how I love the pleasant woods, when silence reigns around,
And the mighty shadows calmly sleep, like giants on the ground,
And the fire-fly sports her fairy lamp beside the moonlit stream,
And the lofty trees, in solemn state, frown darkly in the beam!"
S.M.
There was a poor woman on board the steamer, who was like myself in
search of health, and was going to the West to see her friends, and to
get rid of (if possible) a hollow, consumptive cough. She looked to
me in the last stage of pulmonary consumption; but she seemed to hope
everything from the change of air.
She had been for many years a resident in the woods, and had suffered
great hardships; but the greatest sorrow she ever knew, she said, and
what had pulled her down the most, was the loss of a fine boy, who had
strayed away after her through the bush, when she went to nurse a sick
neighbour; and though every search had been made for the child, he had
never been found. "It is a many years ago," she said, "and he would be a
fine young man now, if he were alive." And she sighed deeply, and still
seemed to cling to the idea that he might possibly be living, with a
sort of forlorn hope, that to me seemed more melancholy than the
certainty of his death.
This brought to my recollection many tales that I had been told, while
living in the bush, of persons who had perished in this miserable
manner. Some of these tales may chance to interest my readers.
I was busy sewing one day for my little girl, when we lived in the
township of Hamilton, when Mrs. H---, a woman whose husband farmed our
farm on shares, came running in quite out of breath, and cried out--
"Mrs. M---, you have heard the good news?--One of the lost children is
found!"
I shook my head, and looked inquiringly.
"What! did not you hear about it? Why, one of Clark's little fellows,
who were lost last Wednesday in the woods, has been found."
"I am glad of it. But how were they lost?"
"Oh, 'tis a thing of very common occurrence here. New settlers, who are
ignorant of the danger of going astray in the forest, are always having
their children lost. I take good care never to let my boys go alone to
the bush. But people are so careless in this respect, that I wonder it
does not more frequently happen.
"These little chaps are the sons of a poor emigrant who came out this
summer, and took up a lot of wild land just at the back of us, towards
the plains. Clark is busy logging up his fallow for fall wheat, on which
his family must depend for bread during the ensuing year; and he is so
anxious to get it ready in time, that he will not allow himself an hour
at noon to go home to get his dinner, which his wife generally sends in
a basket to the woods by his eldest daughter, a girl of fourteen.
"Last Wednesday, the girl had been sent on an errand by her mother, who
thought that, in her absence, she might venture to trust the two boys to
take the dinner to their father. The boys, who are from five to seven
years old, and very smart and knowing for their age, promised to mind
all her directions, and went off quite proud of the task, carrying the
little basket between them.
"How they came to ramble off into the woods, the younger child, who has
been just found, is too much stupified to tell, and perhaps he is too
young to remember.
"At night Clark returned from his work, and scolded his wife for not
sending his dinner as usual; but the poor woman, (who all day had
quieted her fears with the belief that the children had stayed with
their father,) instead of paying any regard to his angry words,
demanded, in a tone of agony, what had become of her children?
"Tired and hungry as Clark was, he instantly comprehended the danger to
which his boys were exposed, and started off in pursuit of them. The
shrieks of the distracted woman soon called the neighbours together, who
instantly joined in the search. It was not until this afternoon that any
trace could be discovered of the lost children, when Brian, the hunter,
found the youngest boy, Johnnie, lying fast asleep upon the trunk of a
fallen tree, fifteen miles back in the bush."
"And the brother?"
"Will never, I fear, be heard of again. They have searched for him in
all directions, and have not discovered him. The story little Johnnie
tells is to this effect. During the first two days of their absence, the
food they had brought in the basket for their father's dinner sustained
life; but to-day, it seems that little Johnnie grew very hungry, and
cried continually for bread. William, the eldest boy, promised him bread
if he would try and walk farther; but his feet were bleeding and sore,
and he could not walk another step. For some time the other little
fellow carried him upon his back; but growing tired himself, he bade
Johnnie sit down upon a fallen log, (the log on which he was found,) and
not stir from the place until he came back. He told the child that he
would run on until he found a house, and would return as soon as he
could, and bring him something to eat. He then wiped his eyes, and told
him not to cry, and not to be scared, for God would take care of him
till he came back, and he kissed him several times, and ran away.
"This is all the little fellow knows about his brother; and it is very
probable that the generous-hearted boy has been eaten by the wolves that
are very plenty in that part of the forest where the child was found.
The Indians traced him for more than a mile along the banks of the
creek, when they lost his trail altogether. If he had fallen into the
water, it is so shallow, that they could scarcely have failed in
discovering the body; but they think that he has been dragged into some
hole in the bank among the tangled cedars, and devoured.
"Since I have been in the country," continued Mrs. H---, "I have known
many cases of children, and even of grown persons, being lost in the
woods, who were never heard of again. It is a frightful calamity to
happen to any one; for should they escape from the claws of wild
animals, these dense forests contain nothing on which life can be
supported for any length of time. The very boughs of the trees are
placed so far from the ground, that no child could reach or climb to
them; and there is so little brush and small bushes among these giant
trees, that no sort of fruit can be obtained, on which they might
subsist while it remained in season. It is only in clearings, or where
the fire has run through the forest, that strawberries or raspberries
are to be found; and at this season of the year, and in the winter, a
strong man could not exist many days in the wilderness let alone a
child.
"Parents cannot be too careful in guarding their young folks against
rambling alone in the bush. Persons, when once they get off the beaten
track, get frightened and bewildered, and lose all presence of mind; and
instead of remaining where they are when they first discover their
misfortune--which is the only chance they have of being found--they
plunge desperately on, running hither and thither, in the hope of
getting out, while they only involve themselves more deeply among the
mazes of the interminable forest.
"Some winters ago, the daughter of a settler in the remote township of
Dummer (where my husband took up his grant of wild land, and in which we
lived for two years) went with her father to the mill, which was four
miles from their log-shanty, and the road lay entirely through the bush.
For awhile the girl, who was about twelve years of age, kept up with her
father, who walked briskly ahead with his bag of corn on his back; for
as their path lay through a tangled swamp, he was anxious to get home
before night. After some time, Sarah grew tired with stepping up and
down over the fallen logs that strewed their path, and lagged a long way
behind. The man felt not the least apprehensive when he lost sight of
her, expecting that she would soon come up with him again. Once or twice
he stopped and shouted, and she answered, 'Coming, father!' and he did
not turn to look after her again. He reached the mill, saw the grist
ground, resumed his burden, and took the road home, expecting to meet
Sarah by the way. He trod the long path alone; but still he thought
that the girl, tired with her walk in the woods, had turned back, and
he should find her safe at home.
"You may imagine, Mrs. M---, his consternation, and that of the family,
when they found that the girl was lost.
"It was now dark, and all search for her was given up for that night
as hopeless. By day-break the next morning the whole settlement which
was then confined to a few lonely log tenements, inhabited solely by
Cornish miners, were roused from their sleep to assist in the search.
"The men turned out with guns and horns, and divided into parties, that
started in different directions. Those who first discovered Sarah were
to fire their guns, which was to be the signal to guide the rest to the
spot. It was not long before they found the object of their search,
seated under a tree about half a mile from the path she had lost on the
preceding day.
"She had been tempted by the beauty of some wild flowers to leave the
road; and, when once in the forest, she grew bewildered, and could not
find her way back. At first she ran to and fro, in an agony of terror
at finding herself in the woods all alone, and uttered loud and frantic
cries; but her father had by this time reached the mill, and was out of
hearing.
"With a sagacity beyond her years, and not very common to her class,
instead of wandering further into the labyrinth which surrounded her,
she sat down under a large tree, covered her face with her apron, said
the Lord's prayer--the only one she knew, and hoped that God would send
her father back to find her the moment he discovered that she was lost.
"When night came down upon the forest, (and oh! how dark night is in the
woods!) the poor girl said that she felt horribly afraid of being eaten
by the wolves that abound in those dreary swamps; but she did not cry,
for fear they should hear her. Simple girl! she did not know that the
scent of a wolf is far keener than his ear; but this was her notion, and
she lay down close to the ground and never once uncovered her head, for
fear of seeing something dreadful standing beside her; until, overcome
by terror and fatigue, she fell fast asleep, and did not awake till
roused by the shrill braying of the horns, and the shouts of the party
who were seeking her."
"What a dreadful situation! I am sure that I should not have had the
courage of this poor girl, but should have died with fear."
"We don't know how much we can bear till we are tried. This girl was
more fortunate than a boy of the same age, who was lost in the same
township just as the winter set in. The lad was sent by his father, an
English settler, in company with two boys of his own age, the sons of
neighbours, to be measured for a pair of shoes. George Desne, who
followed the double occupation of farmer and shoemaker, lived about
three miles from the clearing known as the English line. After the lads
left their home, the road lay entirely through the bush. It was a path
they had often travelled, both alone and with their parents, and they
felt no fear.
"There had been a slight fall of snow, just enough to cover the ground,
and the day was clear and frosty. The boys in this country always hail
with delight the first fall of snow; and they ran races and slid over
all the shallow pools, until they reached George Desne's cabin. He
measured young Brown for a strong pair of winter boots, and the boys
returned on their homeward path, shouting and laughing in the glee of
their hearts.
"About half-way they suddenly missed their companion, and ran back
nearly a mile to find him; not succeeding, they thought that he had
hidden himself behind some of the trees, and, in order to frighten them,
was pretending to be lost; and after shouting his name at the top of
their voices, and receiving no answer, they determined to defeat his
trick, and ran home without him. They knew he was well acquainted with
the road, that it was still broad day, and he could easily find his way
home alone. When his father inquired for George, they said he was
coming, and went to their respective cabins.
"Night came on and the lad did not return, and his parents began to feel
alarmed at his absence. Mr. Brown went over to the neighbouring
settlements, and made the lads repeat to him all they knew about his
son. The boys described the part of the road where they first missed
him; but they had felt no uneasiness about him, for they concluded that
he had either run home before them, or had gone back to spend the night
with the young Desnes, who had been very importunate for him to stay.
This account pacified the anxious father. Early the next morning he went
to Desne's himself to bring home the boy, but, to his astonishment and
grief, he had not been there.
"His mysterious disappearance gave rise to a thousand strange surmises.
The whole settlement turned out in search of the boy. His steps were
traced off the road a few yards into the bush, and entirely disappeared
at the foot of a large oak tree. The tree was lofty, and the branches so
far from the ground, that it was almost impossible for any boy,
unassisted, to have raised himself to such a height. There was no track
of any animal to be seen on the new fallen snow--no shred of garment, or
stain of blood. That boy's fate will always remain a great mystery, for
he was never found."
"He must have been carried up the tree by a bear, and dragged down into
the hollow trunk," said I.
"If that had been the case, there would have been the track of the
bear's feet in the snow. It does not, however, follow that the boy is
dead, though it is more than probable. I knew of a case where two boys
and a girl were sent into the woods by their mother to fetch home the
cows. The children were lost. The parents mourned them for dead, for all
search after them proved fruitless. At length, after seven years, the
eldest son returned. The children had been overtaken and carried off by
a party of Indians, who belonged to a tribe who inhabited the islands in
Lake Huron, and who were out on a hunting expedition. They took them
many hundred miles away from their forest home, and adopted them as
their own. The girl, when she grew up, married one of the tribe; the
boys followed the occupation of hunters and fishers, and, from their
dress and appearance, might have passed for aborigines of the forest.
The eldest boy, however, never forgot his own name, or the manner in
which he had been separated from his parents. He distinctly remembered
the township and the natural features of the locality, and took the
first opportunity of making his escape, and travelling back to the home
of his childhood.
"When he made himself known to his mother, who was a widow, but resided
on the same spot, he was so dark and Indian-like that she could not
believe that it was really her son, until he brought back to her mind a
little incident that, forgotten by her, had never left his memory.
"'Mother, don't you remember saying to me on that afternoon, Ned, you
need not look for the cows in the swamp,--they went off towards the big
hill!'
"The delighted mother immediately caught him to her heart, exclaiming,
'You say truly,--you are my own, my long-lost son!'"
[This, and the two preceding chapters, were written for "Roughing it
in the Bush," and were sent to England to make a part of that work, but
came too late for insertion, which will account to the reader for their
appearance here.]
The Canadian Herd-Boy.
"Through the deep woods, at peep of day,
The careless herd-boy wends his way,
By piny ridge and forest stream,
To summon home his roving team--
Cobos! cobos! from distant dell
Shy echo wafts the cattle-bell.
"A blithe reply he whistles back,
And follows out the devious track,
O'er fallen tree and mossy stone--
A path to all, save him, unknown.
Cobos! cobos! far down the dell
More faintly falls the cattle-bell.
"See the dark swamp before him throws
A tangled maze of cedar boughs;
On all around deep silence broods,
In nature's boundless solitudes.
Cobos! cobos! the breezes swell,
As nearer floats the cattle-bell.
"He sees them now--beneath yon trees
His motley herd recline at ease;
With lazy pace and sullen stare,
They slowly leave their shady lair.
Cobos! cobos!--far up the dell
Quick jingling comes the cattle-bell!"