No elaborate dissertation is needed to prove that we are ignorant of
what the morrow may bring forth, and that the best-laid plans of men are
at all times subject to dislocation. It is sufficient here to state
that immediately after parting from the Indians, Paul Burns and Captain
Trench had their plans and hopes, in regard to exploration, overturned
in a sudden and effective, though exceedingly simple, manner.
On the evening of the day on which their travels were resumed they
halted sooner than usual in order to have time to form their camp with
some care, for the weather had suddenly become cold, and that night
seemed particularly threatening.
Accordingly they selected a spot surrounded by dense bushes, canopied by
the branches of a wide-spreading fir-tree, and backed by a precipitous
cliff, which afforded complete shelter from a sharp nor'-west gale that
was blowing at the time. In this calm retreat they erected a
rough-and-ready wall of birch-bark and branches, which enclosed them on
all sides except one, where a glorious fire was kindled--a fire that
would have roasted anything from a tom-tit to an ox, and the roaring
flames of which had to be occasionally subdued, lest they should roast
the whole encampment.
There, saturated, so to speak, with ruddy light and warmth, they
revelled in the enjoyment of a hearty meal and social intercourse until
the claims of tired Nature subdued Captain Trench and Oliver, leaving
Paul and Hendrick to resume their eager and sometimes argumentative
perusal of the Gospel according to John.
At last, they also succumbed to the irresistible influences of Nature,
and lay down beside their fellows. Then it was that Nature--as if she
had only waited for the opportunity--began to unfold her "little game"
for overturning the sleepers' plans. She quietly opened her storehouse
of northern clouds, and silently dropped upon them a heavy shower of
snow.
It was early in the season for such a shower, consequently the flakes
were large. Had the cold been excessive the flakes would have been
small. As it was, they covered the landscape by imperceptible but rapid
degrees until everything turned from ghostly grey to ghastly white,
which had the effect of lighting, somehow, the darkness of the night.
But in the midst of the effective though silent transformation the camp
of our explorers remained unchanged; and the dying embers of the slowly
sinking fire continued to cast their dull red glow on the recumbent
forms which were thoroughly protected by the spreading fir-tree.
By degrees the morning light began to flow over the dreary scene, and at
length it had the effect of rousing Oliver Trench from slumber. With
the innate laziness of youth the lad turned on his other side, and was
about to settle down to a further spell of sleep when he chanced to
wink. That wink sufficed to reveal something that induced another wink,
then a stare, then a start into a sitting posture, a rubbing of the
eyes, an opening of the mouth, and a succession of exclamations, of
which "Oh! hallo! I say!" and "Hi-i-i-i!" were among the least
impressive.
Of course every one started up and made a sudden grasp at weapons, for
the memory of the recent fight was still fresh.
"Winter!" exclaimed Paul and the captain, in the same breath.
"Not quite so bad as that," remarked Hendrick, as he stepped out into
the snow and began to look round him with an anxious expression; "but it
may, nevertheless, put an end to your explorations if the snow
continues."
"Never a bit on't, man!" exclaimed the captain promptly. "What! d'ye
think we are to be frightened by a sprinkling of snow?"
To this Hendrick replied only with a gentle smile, as he returned and
set about blowing up the embers of the fire which were still
smouldering.
"There is more than a sprinkling, Master Trench," observed Paul, as he
began to overhaul the remnants of last night's supper; "but I confess it
would be greatly against the grain were we to be beaten at this point in
our travels. Let us hope that the storm won't last."
"Anyhow we can go on till we can't, daddy," said Oliver, with a
tremendous yawn and stretch.
"Well said, my son; as you once truly remarked, you are a chip of the
ancient log."
"Just so, daddy. Don't quite finish that marrow bone; I want some of
it."
"There, you young rascal, I leave you the lion's share," returned the
captain, throwing the bone in question to his son. "But now, Hendrick,
what d'ye really think o' this state of things? Shall we be forced to
give in an' 'bout ship?"
"No one can tell," answered the hunter. "If the snow stops and the
weather gets warm, all will be well. If not, it will be useless to
continue our journeying till winter fairly sets in, and the snow becomes
deep, and the rivers and lakes are frozen. In which case you must come
and stay with me in my island home."
"You are very good, Hendrick; but don't let us talk of givin' up till
the masts go by the board. We will carry all sail till then," said the
captain, rather gloomily, for he felt that the hunter knew best.
This first snowfall occurred about the middle of October; there was,
therefore, some reasonable prospect that it might melt under an improved
state of the weather, and there was also the possibility of the fall
ceasing, and still permitting them to advance.
Under the impulse of hope derived from these considerations, they set
forth once more to the westward.
The prospect in that direction, however, was not cheering. Mountain
succeeded mountain in irregular succession, rugged and bleak--the dark
precipices and sombre pine-woods looking blacker by contrast with the
newly-fallen snow. Some of the hills were wooded to their summits;
others, bristling and castellated in outline, afforded no hold to the
roots of trees, and stood out in naked sterility. Everywhere the land
seemed to have put on its winter garb, and all day, as they advanced,
snow continued to fall at intervals, so that wading through it became an
exhausting labour, and Oliver's immature frame began to suffer, though
his brave spirit forbade him to complain.
That night there came another heavy fall, and when they awoke next
morning it was found that the country was buried under a carpet of snow
full three feet deep.
"Do you admit now, Master Trench, that the masts have gone by the
board," asked Paul, "and that it is impossible to carry sail any
longer?"
"I admit nothing," returned the captain grumpily.
"That's right, daddy, never give in!" cried Oliver; "but what has Master
Hendrick got to say to it?"
"We must turn in our tracks!" said the hunter gravely, "and make for
home."
"Home, indeed!" murmured the captain, whose mind naturally flew back to
old England. "If we are to get to any sort of home at all, the sooner
we set about making sail for it the better."
There was something in the captain's remark, as well as in his tone,
which caused a slight flush on Hendrick's brow, but he let no expression
of feeling escape him. He only said--
"You are right, Captain Trench. We must set off with the least possible
delay. Will you and your son start off in advance to get something
fresh for breakfast while Master Paul and I remain to pack up and bring
on our camp equipage? Hunters, you know, should travel light--we will
do the heavy work for you."