NARROW ESCAPE--A TERRIBLE SCENE--ALLAN AND OSCAR--A GLOOMY EVENING--
REUNION--SETH'S ADVENTURE--A WELCOME BACK.
For a minute or more escape from the terrible fire seemed to our heroes
an utter impossibility. The smoke that curled and swirled around them
was blinding, the roar of the flames was deafening. No wonder they
hesitated what to do or which way to flee. Their camp fire had been lit
not far from the river's brink, but the stream at this part ran deep,
and dark, and sullen; to plunge into it was only to court death in a
different form. But all at once the wind seemed to increase to almost a
gale; it blew in their faces cold and fierce, the smoke lifted off, and
suddenly their senses and presence of mind were restored; and while
behind them the flames mounted higher and higher, and seemed to rage
more fiercely every moment, they dashed off and away against that wind.
It was terribly strong now; they felt as if they were breasting the
waves against the tide, but it was their only chance. Farther down the
stream they would doubtless find a ford, and once across the river they
were safe.
It was indeed a race for life, and for fully half-an-hour it was
doubtful if they would win it. The withered heath and grass, and the
stunted shrubs which grew next to the banks of the stream, caught fire
even against the wind, and this communicated with the forest, so that
the flames seemed to chase them, and to keep alongside of them, at one
and the same time. But at last they reach a spot where the river widens
out, and they know by the ripple on it that it cannot be deep, so in
they plunge and begin to ford, and they have not gone ten yards ere the
fire has taken possession of the bank they left. There can be no going
back now, but the current is strong, and deeper in some places than
their waists, yet they stem it manfully, holding their rifles high, and
supporting each other whenever a slip is made. They reach the opposite
bank at last, and Seth is the first to clamber out and to help the
others up. They climb to the top of the ravine, ere ever they pause to
gaze behind them.
The scene they looked upon was awful in its sublimity.
The flames were doing their work with fearful speed. The fire had
rolled backwards and appeared embracing all the wooded country. The
spruce thickets seemed to suffer the worst; from them the flames rose
the highest, shooting hundreds of feet into the air in great gleaming
tongues of fire, that fed upon and licked up the very clouds of smoke
themselves. The air, for miles to leeward, was filled with sparks as
dense as snowflakes. But strangest sight of all was to see the tall
alpine pines. Other trees tottered and crashed and fell as the fierce
heat attacked them; not so they, they seemed to defy the flames, and as
the fire rolled back seeking for more pliant material on which to vent
its fury, and the wind blew round their stems, their bark caught fire
and they stood forth against the blackness like trees of molten gold.
There were here and there in the forest bold rocky bluffs, rising
hundreds of feet above the trees. These were lighted up as the fire
swept past them, as with the brightness of the noontide sun, and on
their summits our heroes could distinctly perceive flocks of tall
antlered deer, and near them frightened cowering wolves and even bears;
all alike had taken refuge on these heights from the fury of the flames
that held sway beneath them.
For a short time only the scene held the little party spellbound. Ralph
was the first to speak.
"Alas! poor Oscar!" he said in a mournful tone, "he must have perished
in the flames."
It was only natural they should come to this conclusion, but at that
moment Oscar and Allan too were safe enough, and journeying onwards in
hopes of finding them.
Allan could now understand perfectly and clearly every phase of the
situation. His friends if alive were some miles, many miles in all
probability, up-stream, the dog had escaped from their camp fire, the
fire had originated at their camp, and to escape destruction they must
have crossed the stream. Allan had never seen a forest on fire before,
but he had seen the heather, and he knew something about the dangerous
rapidity with which flames can spread along in the open. As soon,
therefore, as there was a glimmering of daylight, he stripped at the
river's brink, tied his clothes into a bundle with his plaid, and swam
to the other side, the dog following as if he understood the move
entirely and quite approved of it.
It was well he had done so, for another hour's journey along that
winding river's banks brought him face to face with the raging fire.
But wind as it might, Allan determined not to lose sight of it again; he
made all speed nevertheless. He knew his friends must wait now until
the charred and blackened ground cooled down before they re-crossed the
river and recommenced the search.
Yet, reader, we who know that Allan is safe cannot fully sympathise with
his friends in the gloom and anxiety that settled down on their hearts.
When the excitement caused by the fire and their narrow escape from
destruction wore off, it left behind it an utter hopelessness and
despair, which it is difficult to describe. When they had lain down to
sleep on the previous evening, they were full of confidence that they
would soon come up with Allan. Seth had pronounced the trail a fresh
one, and assured them he would find the lost boy before another sunset.
Rory was full of fun, even pronouncing Allan a "rogue of a runaway," and
saying that "sure the search for him was only a wild-goose chase after
all said and done, and Allan the goose."
But now where was that confidence? Where was hope? Dead. Dead, just
as they had not a single doubt Allan and his poor dog were at that
moment. And oh! to think that it was their own carelessness that had
caused that dreadful fire, which they felt sure must have cost Allan his
precious life. They would, however, so they determined, resume the
search; but what an aimless one it would be now, with track and trail
gone for ever!
Seth lit a fire; he even cooked food, but no one cared to speak, much
less to eat! and so the day wore gloomily away. The wind, which had
gone down at noon, began to rise again and moan mournfully among the
swaying branches, and a few drops of rain fell. There would be neither
moon nor stars to-night. The sky was overcast with grey and leaden
cumulus drifting before the restless wind, and night was coming on a
good hour before its time.
They crept closer together. They gathered more closely to the log fire.
"Boys," said McBain, and he spoke with some difficulty, as if his heart
were very full indeed--"boys, the shieling [Highland cot] where I lived
when a child on the braes of Arrandoon was a very humble one indeed; my
father was a poor man, but a brave and pious one; not that I mean to
boast of that, but there wasn't a morning passed without a prayer being
said, and a song being sung in praise of Him we children were all taught
to fear, and reverence, and trust. He taught us to say those beloved
words, `Thy will be done.' Oh! boys, it is easy to breathe that prayer
when everything is going well with us, but in gloom and trouble like the
present, it is true courage and true worship if we can speak the words
not with lips but with hearts."