LOST IN THE SNOW
ABOUT the middle of February news came to the camp that a French soldier
and two French traders had been captured at a post on Lake Ontario some
twenty miles to the northeast of Fort Oswego. There had been a sharp
fight between a detachment of Colonial militia and the French, who had
been in the act of removing some stores which they had left hidden in
the woods months before, and one of the enemy had been killed and two
militiamen badly wounded.
“I wonder if one of the traders can be Jean Bevoir,” said Dave, when he
heard of the affair.
“It is not impossible, Dave,” answered Barringford. “He was around these
ere diggin’s a long time, when he was holding little Nell a captive, and
he must have brung some things with him when he scooted away from your
father’s post on the Kinotah.”
“I’m going to try to find out who they are,” went on the young soldier,
and lost no time in seeking the officer who had received the report.
From this person Dave learned that the French soldier’s name was
Hildegard. The traders were sullen and refused to talk.
“Will they be brought to this fort?” asked Dave.
“Why are you so interested?”
Upon this Dave told a part of his story.
“Ah, yes, I remember now, Morris. No, I am sorry to say we have sent out
orders that they be taken down to Fort Stanwix. Some soldiers were bound
for that post, and we decided that the prisoners should accompany them.
You see, if we keep them here, and they escape, it is too easy a matter
for them to get to Canada.”
“I would like to make sure that one is not Jean Bevoir,” went on Dave.
“Well, you can take a run up there if you want to and see. They will not
start for Fort Stanwix until day after to-morrow.”
“Then I will go by all means. Can I take Sam Barringford with me? He is
a member of our company, and an old friend of mine.”
“Very well, you can take him. I will give you four days’ leave of
absence. Do you know the road?”
“I know something of it. But Barringford is an old hunter and trapper,
so we won’t have much trouble keeping to the trail,” answered Dave.
Barringford was glad enough to get away from the camp for a few days,
and the preparations for the journey were completed in short order.
“Like as not we’ll scare up some game on the way,” he said. “So be
prepared.” And each took with him as much powder as could be spared and
also a new flint for his musket.
It was a clear, cold day, and the sun made the ice and snow glitter like
diamonds. There was no wind, and in the forest all was as silent as a
tomb. They picked their way with care, Barringford taking the lead.
“It’s as good as a holiday,” said Dave. “Now, if we only had skates we
could skate along the edge of the lake for quite a distance.”
“Never mind, Dave; if we stick to land there won’t be no danger of ye
going into another hole in the ice.”
Dave gave a shiver.
“You’re right, Sam; once is enough.”
For several miles the trail was a smooth one and easily followed. But
after that they had two gullies to cross, and some rough rocks, a task
by no means easy. In one of the gullies the snow lay to a depth of
twenty or thirty feet.
“If we fell in there it would be no easy task getting out,” remarked
Dave.
At noon they rested for an hour, building a camp-fire in a sheltered
spot. They carried some provisions, and on the way Barringford had
brought down a fat rabbit, which was speedily done to a turn, and as
quickly eaten up.
“We have covered more than half the distance,” said the old
frontiersman. “But I don’t know if we’ll be able to cover the balance o’
the way afore nightfall.”
“Well, we can try,” answered Dave, and once more they set off, at a
brisk pace, for the nooning had rested them greatly.
But now the trail was very rough, and more than once they had to
consider how to get around a certain spot. It took Dave’s wind to climb
up some of the slippery rocks; and once, when the pull was extra hard,
he called on Barringford to halt.
“Got—got to—to get m-m—my wind!” he gasped.
“We had better call it a day,” announced the old hunter.
It was four o’clock, and already growing dark. A nook was found where
some bushes grew between the rocks. The bushes were cut down and piled
on top of the opening, and soon they had a fairly comfortable “corner,”
as Dave called it, with a roaring fire to cheer them as they rested.
More rabbits had been brought low, and Barringford fixed up supper in
his own particular style. If the cooking was not of the best, neither of
the travelers grumbled, for fresh air and hunger, real hunger, are the
best sauces in the world.
In such a lonely spot it was not considered necessary to remain on
guard, and after fixing the fire so it would burn for a long while, they
turned in, and slept “like rocks” until daybreak.
A loud whistle from Barringford made Dave leap from his couch of pine
boughs. The old frontiersman had breakfast ready, and this was quickly
eaten, and soon they were on the way once more. Dave was a bit stiff,
but did not complain.
“We’ll make it by noon,” said Barringford, and it lacked a good hour of
that time when they came in sight of the post, flying its colors of the
King as bravely as did Fort Oswego. A guard stopped them, but matters
were quickly explained, and they were conducted to the captain in
charge.
“I don’t know the prisoners,” said Captain Wilbur, “although I have
heard about Hildegard. You can look them over.” And he called an aid.
The two traders were confined in a hut just outside of the camp. They
were chained to a stake, so escape was next to impossible. They scowled
darkly at Dave and Barringford.
“A fool’s errand,” said Dave, after a glance at the men. Neither of the
prisoners was Jean Bevoir.
“That’s true,” returned Barringford. “But it may be they can tell you
something about Bevoir, Dave.”
“If they can speak English,” returned the young soldier.
It was speedily learned that neither of the traders could speak English.
Then an interpreter was called in; but the Frenchmen refused to say
whether they knew Bevoir or not.
“Never saw such stubborn men,” said the interpreter. “They won’t tell a
thing. We’ve tried to starve ’em into speaking; but it’s no use.”
The commander of the post was glad to listen to what little news Dave
and Barringford had to tell, and treated them to the best dinner the
post afforded.
It was ten o’clock of the following morning when Dave and the old hunter
started to return to Fort Oswego. The day was a gloomy one, with a
promise of more snow.
“We don’t want to lose any time,” said Barringford. “If we do, we may
git snow-bound.”
Some hunters from the post went with them a distance of a mile, but
after that the pair were allowed to shift for themselves. They took the
trail by which they had come, although they were told they could save a
mile or two by going a different way.
“We know this one,” said Barringford. “And it aint no use to take risks,
‘specially ef it’s goin’ to snow.”
It was not yet noon when the first flakes of the coming storm floated
lazily down upon them. The flakes were large, and soon they increased so
thickly that it was impossible to see a dozen yards in any direction.
“I am afraid that is going to be serious, Dave.”
“Big flakes can’t last very long, can they?”
“No, big flakes can’t, but we’ll have more snow, even so.”
Barringford was right, the large flakes presently gave way to smaller
ones, and then the snow became like salt, which the rising wind blew
directly into their faces.
“It’s goin’ to be a hummer!” exclaimed Barringford, as the wind suddenly
rose with a shriek. “Reckon as how we wuz fools to leave the post.”
“What shall we do, Sam? We can’t very well go back.”
“True, lad, but——By gum!”
A wild animal of some kind had leaped up almost in front of them. Around
came Barringford’s musket, and he blazed away, and then Dave did the
same. There were a roar and a snarl, and over in the snow tumbled a
small bear, clawing viciously at everything around it.
[Illustration:
“B’ar meat!” yelled Barringford.—_Page 180._
]
“B’ar meat!” yelled Barringford, and ran forward, drawing his hunting
knife. Watching his chance he drove the knife into the wounded beast’s
throat, and soon the game breathed its last.
The wind was now blowing a regular gale, causing the tree boughs to snap
and crack in all directions. Try their best they could scarcely locate
themselves, for every part of the trail had been obliterated.
“We are lost in the snow!” exclaimed Dave blankly. “And the storm is
growing worse every minute!”
“We must make some sort o’ shelter, Dave,” returned the frontiersman.
And then he added: “It’s a rare good thing we shot the b’ar. It may save
our lives.”
“You mean for food?”
“Exactly. Come with me, and ketch holt.”
Dragging the game between them, they pushed forward until they reached
the shelter of some rocks. Here were several clumps of bushes and some
tall timber, and they lost no time in starting up a fire, for the
temperature had fallen greatly, so that both were in danger of freezing
to death. With a hatchet they cut a quantity of firewood, and made a
lean-to against the tallest of the rocks. They worked hard, and this
helped to keep up the circulation of their blood.
Hour after hour went by, and the storm showed no signs of abating.
Barringford skinned the bear, and the pelt was hung upon the boughs of
the lean-to to keep off a portion of the wind. In the hollow the snow
was damp and could be packed, and this they used to build a sort of
house, of snow, boughs, and bearskin combined. It was by no means a
comfortable dwelling but it was far better than nothing. The fire was
close by, and gave them not only warmth, but also a good deal of smoke,
when the wind chanced to veer around, as it often did.
Slowly the balance of the day went by, and the night to follow was one
Dave remembered for many a year after. It was bitterly cold, and they
could do but little more than pile the wood on the fire, and crouch by
it, so closely that more than once their clothing was singed. They
cooked a huge chunk of the bear’s meat, and ate of it several times; and
added some of the fat to the fire, in the hope of gaining additional
heat. Once, a lean and hungry wolf came close, snarling viciously, and
looking wistfully at the meat, and Dave brought it down with a bullet
from his musket.
But morning came at last, and with it the end of the storm. As the sun
arose it became slightly warmer, and by ten o’clock they were again on
the way, each carrying a load of bear meat, and Barringford the pelt
also. The walk was a tiresome one, and it was two days ere they came in
sight of Fort Oswego.
“I am glad the trip is over,” muttered Dave. And Barringford echoed the
sentiment. Soon they were among their friends, where they related their
experiences, and then took a long and much-needed rest.
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