Plunging into the Depths of the primeval Forest.—Over Rock, Bush,
and Brier.—A toilsome March.—The Barrens.—Where are we?—General
Bewilderment of the Wanderers.—The Doctor has lost his Way.—Emerging
suddenly at the Edge of a giant Cliff with the Boom of the Surf beneath.
AT length the doctor rose, and the boys
all followed him to the carriages. Getting in, they drove a short
distance; and here the doctor informed them that he was going to leave the
horses and carriages. “We’ll take to the woods now,” said he, “and you
must prepare for a good, long, steady tramp. Well want a few things,
though, to take with us. Two spades will be enough, one hammer, and an
empty basket. You may divide these among yourselves. Each of you had
better take some sandwiches out of that basket, and anything else you may
think necessary to keep you up on your expedition.”
The boys went off, at this, to lay in a stock of provisions. As they expected to be on the move all day, each one took enough to last him. The spades, &c., they divided among themselves, with the understanding that, when those who first carried them grew tired, they should be relieved by the others. The horses and wagons were left in charge of the people of the house, with whom the doctor had some acquaintance.
After these preliminaries the doctor warned the boys that he intended to plunge boldly into the woods. Some friends of his had formerly gone over the woods to the right, which extended towards Cape Blomidon, but had found nothing. He had made up his mind that if the fort were anywhere, it would be found among the woods on the left, and here was the country which he intended to explore.
They then started, the doctor taking the lead, and soon turned into the woods. They entered a rough pathway, which had been formed by ox teams in winter while hauling out lumber and cord wood. It was now about nine o’clock.
After a time the pathway divided into several others, one of which the doctor chose, and went on, but soon found that it wound away in a direction that did not suit him. He walked on a little farther, and then, coming to place where the woods were less dense, he turned aside, and, with all his followers at his back, plunged into the primeval forest.
At first the walking was not difficult, the trees standing far apart, and the soil beneath being covered with moss and long ferns; but after a time the woods grew denser, and it was only with considerable effort that they were able to move along. Every step seemed to make it worse. Long, slender trees shot up, not large enough to prevent their progress, but sufficient to form an impediment; and working their way among these proved very difficult, and very fatiguing. What was worse, the ground began to grow rougher at every step. Soon they emerged from the thick underbrush, and came to where the trees were larger, and farther apart from one another. But here the ground was spongy; and in every direction lay fallen trunks of trees, some prostrated but lately, others lying where they had lain for years, in every stage of decay. These they had to clamber over, or crawl under; and so it was that, in order to make any progress, they were compelled to use their hands as well as their feet. The soil beneath was hidden under a covering of moss; but it was swampy and spongy, and the soft earth was interlaced with long, fibrous roots, in which their feet caught at every other step. This moss overspread everything. It grew over the fallen trees; it enfolded in its green mantle the huge granite bowlders that from time to time upreared themselves beneath the trees.
At length they came to a slight rise in the ground, where the soil was dryer. Here the doctor paused, and the boys all flung themselves down on the ground, breathing heavily. They had walked for two hours now, without stopping, and began to feel exhausted. The doctor also showed signs of exhaustion. He said nothing, however, but scanned very narrowly the scene around him.
He found but little before his eyes that was in any way different from what he had been looking at for the last two hours. He could see a few paces before him, but no farther. There the trees arose, and the prospect terminated in the dim aisles of the forest, with their shadowy vistas. All around—before, behind, and on either side—it was the same. There was the dense forest, just such a forest as they had traversed—it spread all around them. The only place where a view could be had for any distance was overhead.
But even here it was no better. For the boys, as they flung themselves down, saw that during their journey a change had taken place overhead. The blue sky was no longer to be seen. In its place there came close down a dull, gray, indistinct haze, which descended even to where they lay, hiding the tree tops from view.
It was the fog.
Such a common circumstance elicited no surprise, of course. It was no more than might have been expected. The wind had changed, and the fog of the Bay of Fundy had rushed over Blomidon, and they, in those dim woods, were now enveloped in its folds. Nor was it so much a matter of regret to them as it might have been under other circumstances. Here in the woods it made but little difference in their situation. Even if the sun were shining brightly overhead, the ground beneath would be just as swampy, the fallen trees as troublesome, the underbrush as thick.
Whatever were the doctors own private feelings, he kept them to himself, and surveyed the scene in silence. At length he made up his mind as to his course, and once more started for his onward journey.
The journey was the same as before. Sometimes a great growth of underbrush would impede their progress, and that underbrush would vary from the tall, slender stems of the young maples to the dense and prickly spines of the young spruces. At other times the trees would stand apart, the scene would expand, and they would be encircled by a dense array of forest columns, between which the view was lost in shadow and gloom. Sometimes they plunged into swamps, unawares; at other times they tore their way through ferns and trailing plants; again they were compelled to climb over fallen trees, or crawl under them. Once they came to a place which was quite bare of trees, but overgrown with fire weed and blueberries. Such places as these were known to them by the name of “Barrens,” and on this occasion they made use of it to take a long rest. The doctor again looked all around him thoughtfully, and appeared buried in profound reflection.
It was here that a thought flashed to the minds of all the boys.
It was this.
The doctor hadn’t the least idea where he was!
The moment that thought arose, every act of the doctor’s confirmed it. His silence was a very remarkable thing. Usually he was genial and lively; and such was his flow of spirits, that he could always throw an air of joyousness around an occasion like this. Usually he was full of pleasant and encouraging words. He had, by nature, a rare aptitude for winning the affection and confidence of boys by throwing himself into their feelings. With all his attainments, he had in him much of that fresh, brave, frank, joyous, hilarious temper which we call “boyish;” and his own free and frank nature, his generous enthusiasm, his disdain for all that was base, his exultation in all that was noble and pure, all combined to win the reverential affection of “his boys,” as he called them.
But now he had been silent for hours. During all that weary march he had spoken no word of encouragement. His pleasant, cheery voice, which might have lightened half their toil, had not been heard. His face was anxious, his gaze abstracted. What in the world could be the cause of this? This was the question that came to all; and all felt that one thing, and one thing only, could in any way account for this.
The doctor had lost his way!
Such was the general conclusion.
But what was to be done? None of them could direct him aright. All were alike in the dark as to their possible position. The sky was not visible. There were no landmarks by which to be guided. Even the sight of the sun would have been a guide; but the sun was now shut out from their view by a dense veil of ever-increasing fog.
The doctor remained for a long time lost in his own thoughts, and this time of rest was precious to the overworn boys. They talked in low tones with one another as to where they might be. None could throw any light on this question. Every one had a different opinion. None could even suggest any reliable way of finding out what they wished to know. But at any rate the time of rest was precious to them all; and when at length the doctor called to them to start once more, they followed him with new vigor in their limbs.
The doctor now crossed the “Barrens,” and changed his direction somewhat to the right. They entered the woods again, and once more encountered the old struggle against swamps, and ferns, and underbrush, and tangled roots, and fallen trees. The journey this time seemed harder than before. The boys began to feel their exhaustion more keenly. They exchanged words of despondency, and declared to one another that they could not hold out much longer. Their progress was much slower than it had formerly been, for the doctor himself began to feel the effects of such unusual and such excessive exertion. He led them forward, therefore, quite slowly, and stopped to rest at times.
What made it worse for the boys was the fact that all this time they had to carry the shovels and other things. There were four of these, viz., two spades, one hammer, and one basket. These the boys carried by turns; but the trouble of carrying them under such circumstances was intolerable. Sometimes they proposed to one another to drop them; but this proposal was not carried out. They still bore them on, and exchanged their burdens more rapidly as they grew more weary.
At last the woods grew thinner, the ground dryer, and the trees smaller. The walking was much easier. The necessity of such very violent exertion was taken off.
This ground formed a gentle declivity, where the woods in front, though much thinner than those behind, still shut out the view. Gradually these woods grew less and less dense, until at last immediately in front they could look through and see beyond the signs of some opening.
And now the ground began to descend more steeply. Where they were going none could tell. Some thought that they were approaching a clearing, for every step made the opening in front more and more plain. Through the trees there was nothing visible, indeed, but the gray, foggy atmosphere; yet this itself showed them that they were about to emerge from the woods; where, or in what part of the country, they could not imagine. Some of them thought that they were approaching a settlement, and rejoiced in the prospect of getting upon a road, or finding a house where they might rest. Others thought that they were descending the slope of the mountain towards Cornwallis, and were hoping every moment to emerge forth from the woods into some green meadow or pleasant pasture. Whatever hope they might have had, its effect on all of them was the same. They forgot their fatigue; new strength came to their wearied limbs. The doctor advanced faster, and the boys, in their eagerness, even hurried ahead of him. Bruce and Bart were first among the hurrying throng.
And now the ground descended still more steeply, and in front the gray mist spread out more widely; but one or two trees yet intervened. Forward rushed Bart and Bruce. After them hurried all the others.
But what was this?
Suddenly they all stopped, and sprang back a pace or two.
For they had reached almost the outside edge of the forest, but only to find that the gray mist before them was floating free in the sky, and that the skirt of the forest was the edge of a tremendous precipice, which went sheer down below them, to a place where the wild sea waves, hidden from them by the mist, sent up a long, low, distant, booming sound, as they broke in thunder on the shore.
Woods, Precipices, Mists, and Ocean Waves.—The Party divided, and
each Half departs to seek its separate Fortune.—Pat shows how to go
in a straight Line.—Pat and the Porcupine.—In Chase after Pat.—Disappearance
of Pat.—A lost Pat.—Wanderings in Search of the Lost.
THEY stood for a while confounded.
Before them nothing could be seen but the impenetrable fog. The water beneath was not visible, but the surf sent up its boom, and they knew that they were somewhere on the shore of the Bay of Fundy.
But where?
“This is certainly a most extraordinary thing!” cried the doctor, at last.
The others said nothing, but by their silence assented to the truth of this undeniable statement.
“One thing is evident.” said the doctor again, “and that is, that this is not the old French fort. In fact, I begin to doubt whether there is any old French fort here at all. They surely would never have been mad enough to build any kind of a fort in these abominable woods.”
To this, again, the boys made no reply. The assertion seemed so self-evident that it appeared like the utterance of actual fact.
“It is a conviction,” resumed the doctor, “that has been growing stronger and stronger ever since we left the ‘Barrens,’ and I now accept it without reserve. But at the same time, boys, I confess that I haven’t the smallest idea where we are.”
“We must be somewhere on the coast between Scott’s Bay and Hall’s Harbor,” said Bruce.
“Perfectly true,” said the doctor; “but where on that coast? As some ten or fifteen miles lie between those two places, we have an almost unlimited latitude for conjecture.”
Nothing was said for some time. All looked along the coast line in both directions, to see if anything were visible. Nothing, however, could be seen. The dense fog concealed everything from view.
“Well,” said the doctor, “we shall have to do something; that’s evident. Now, you’re all very tired, and so am I. Let us sit here and rest, and debate which way we had better turn.”
They all sat down on the slope, and, looking at their watches, they found that it was half past two o’clock.
“We haven’t much time to lose; that’s plain,” said the doctor, as he looked at his watch. “Let us try, first of all, to find out where we are. In the first place, I think, all things considered, that we came in a pretty straight line. I tried to guide myself by the tree-tops as I went, and I think our course was as straight as possible.”
The boys all thought so, too.
“Yes,” said the doctor, “I’m quite positive about that. It was in my mind all the time to keep a perfectly straight course. If it hadn’t been for that, our way would have been easier. But I had decided on the position of the old French fort, and had marked it on my map. So, on starting, I took my bearings, and kept on by the trees, keeping as straight a course as possible. You observed how attentive I was to that. That was the reason why I had so few words of encouragement for my patient young friends who were toiling after me, and for whom I felt exceedingly sorry all the time.”
“O, doctor,” said Bart, “we’re all right,—we only hope that you will stand it.”
“Well, let us keep up our spirits,” said the doctor, cheerily, “and we’ll come out all right yet. So, you see, we may consider that our course has been a fair one. And now I will make a rough map of our position.”
Saying this, the doctor took his memorandum-book and drew his “rough map.” He marked a rough outline for the coast between Scott’s Bay and Hall’s Harbor. Then he drew the roads which ran from each of these places across the North Mountain to Cornwallis; and finally he traced a straight line from the place where they had started, in the direction which he supposed that they had gone. The result was, that he made their present position close by Hall’s Harbor. After finishing this, he handed it to the boys, who inspected it very closely.
“Well,” said the doctor, “what do you think of it?”
They were silent for some time. At length Bruce spoke.
“The only thing against it, sir,” said he, “is, that our course may not have been so perfectly straight.”
“But then,” said the doctor, “I took particular care, and always kept several trees in line before me, so as to go straight.”
“Still, sir,” said Bruce, “travelling in the woods is a very peculiar thing. I’ve done it often. I’ve lived for weeks in the woods, camping out; and it’s always been my experience that a man can’t go straight, unless he has a compass, or at least some general landmarks. An Indian might, perhaps; but I’m sure I couldn’t.”
The doctor seemed quite impressed by this.
“Well, Bruce,” said he, “I know you have had far more experience in the woods than I can pretend to, and I should like very much to get your opinion without reserve.”
“You see, sir,” said Bruce, “everybody has a tendency, in the woods, to lean to the right. It’s the same, I’ve heard, on the western prairies. I don’t pretend to know the cause of it. I only know it’s so. This makes one go in a kind of curved line, so that if one wanders long enough he’ll perform a sort of circle. I know once, in Cape Breton, I actually came back to the place I started from, and all the time I thought I was miles away. I took great pains, too, to walk straight; and it was a better country than this. Now we’ve been working our way through all kinds of places. We’ve been in thick underbrush, where, for my part, I don’t see how it was possible to keep a straight course. We’ve had to go round rocks and fallen trees. After breaking a straight course by making such a circuit, however small, it seems to me almost impossible to take it up again. A slight mistake at the outset makes a great difference by the time you get to the journey’s end.”
“Well,” said the doctor, “where do you think we may be? Point out on the map the place.”
“I can’t do that,” said Bruce, “of course. I can only say that I think we’ve been, as usual, swerving to the right; and if so, we are now really much nearer to Scott’s Bay than we are to Hall’s Harbor.”
The doctor now sat thinking for some time.
“There’s a great deal in what you say, Bruce,” said he, at length, “and I’m very glad you’ve given your opinion. At the same time I feel quite confident that, if I have swerved to the right, it cannot have been to any great extent. The care which I took was so extreme, that my calculations cannot be much out of the way. I dare say I may have lost my course a little while going through the thick underbrush, but I’m convinced that I found it again pretty correctly. Now I will mark out a new track on the map, and make allowance for any deviation from a true course.”
Saying this, the doctor traced a new line, which curved slightly to the right, and made their present position somewhat farther away from Hall’s Harbor than the former conjecture had made it. Still this new estimate made them much nearer to Hall’s Harbor than to Scott’s Bay.
He showed this to Bruce, and asked him what he thought of it.
“Well, sir,” said Bruce, “I will only say that if I had headed the party, with all my care, I should be very much farther to the right than you make it.”
“So you think that we are now nearer to Scott’s Bay than to Hall’s Harbor?”
“Very much nearer, sir,” said Bruce.
The doctor said no more, but sat for a long time silently regarding his map.
“Well,” said he, at last, “it seems to me to be a fair question. You, Bruce, have had very much experience in the woods; but then I rely on my own correctness. On the whole, I think it would be better for us now to divide ourselves into two parties. One party could go in the direction of Hall’s Harbor, the other towards Scott’s Bay. As you are an old hand in the woods, Bruce, I consider you quite fit to head one party, and try Scott’s Bay. For my part, I will take another party, and make for Hall’s Harbor. What do you say to that?”
“O, no, sir,” said Bruce; “we won’t leave you. We’ll stay with you, and follow you wherever you go.”
The doctor laughed.
“O, nonsense!” said he. “If we were wandering in the forests of the Amazon valley, we might then make it a matter of duty to stand by one another; but these woods are only a small affair. By going in any direction, we must emerge from them before very long. Even if we were overtaken by the darkness, it would be no great hardship to pass the night here. We could make comfortable beds out of spruce boughs and fern. To tell the truth, roughing it in the bush has rather an attraction for me than otherwise; and I know your weakness, boys, in that respect. Besides, in two hours, at the very farthest, we’re sure to come out somewhere. If I thought that there was any danger, I would not think of separating you, but would guard you as carefully as possible. The most that can happen is some little inconvenience. So, Bruce, you may consider yourself the commander of the Scott’s Bay party. Who will be your followers?”
“I,” said Bart, whose hesitation had been driven away by the doctor’s words.
“I,” said Arthur.
“And I,” said Tom. “And I,” said Phil.
“Bedad, thin, an it’s mesilf that’ll jine that same,” said Pat, who preferred the comparative freedom that he would enjoy under Bruce to the restraint which he felt with the doctor. For the doctor, who, with the other boys, was a great favorite, and had won all their hearts by that boyish enthusiasm which age could never extinguish in him, and by his evident fellow-feeling and sympathy with them in all their joys and sorrows, was not so well known to Pat, and, in spite of his kindness to the poor Irish boy, still remained an object of grateful affection certainly, but yet one of extreme awe. So Pat elected to go with Bruce.
The other boys preferred taking their chance with the doctor. These were Jiggins, Bogud, Sammy, Johnny, and Billymack. Thus the party was about equally divided,—five going under the command of Bruce, and five under the command of the doctor. By the time these arrangements were completed it was three o’clock. They all felt refreshed by their rest, and inspirited also by the prospect of getting onward out of the woods into some road, or some settlement.
“If I reach Hall’s Harbor,” said the doctor, “I will get horses, and drive at once to where we left our wagons. If you get to the Scott’s Bay road, go back to that place and wait for me.”
With these words the doctor and his party set off in one direction, while Bruce started away with his followers in another. As the trees were farther apart near the edge of the cliff, he walked along here for some time; but at last finding that the line was irregular, and coming to a place where it ran out into a kind of promontory, he kept on, seeking only to find the easiest place for walking. For a long time he tried to keep in a line with what he supposed to be the direction of the coast; but at length he found himself away from it altogether. He then turned, determined to regain it, but found the way so difficult that he gave it up.
“The fact is, boys,” said he, “our only chance was to keep stolidly along the edge of the cliff, and follow all its windings. We’ve lost it now. There are two things for us to do—either to get back to the cliff again at all hazards, or to keep on through the woods as we are going now. One is the safer way, but the other is easier.”
“O, bother the cliff,” said Bart; “we’re doing very well. I don’t care, for my part, whether we’re lost or not. I’d just as soon camp out. The only trouble is, we haven’t anything to eat. We’ve eaten all our sandwiches. And then these miserable spades. I don’t see why they couldn’t have taken them. But no—Jiggins and Bogud insisted on taking the hammer and the basket, and they call that a fair division!”
“I’m of Bart’s opinion,” said Arthur. “I say, let’s go where it is easiest, and trust to luck. And let’s all take care of our right legs, and not let them drag us into a circle.”
“No, that won’t do,” said Bruce; “if you try to guard against turning to the right, you’ll be sure to turn too much to the left. It’s impossible to go straight unless you’re an Indian. Best to walk as straight as you can, and occasionally change your course so as to correct any deviation.”
“Why not walk zigzag?” said Phil.
“Or backwards?” said Tom. “I’ll tell you,” said Pat, “what we’d ort till do. Let’s howld a sthraight powl before ourselves, an follow it. That’ll be sure till take us sthraight.”
A roar of laughter greeted this proposal.
“Very well, Pat; get your pole and try it,” said Bart.
“‘Deed an I jist will,” said Pat; and seeing a young, slender maple near by, he cut it down with his knife, lopped off the young twigs, and thus formed a long, slender, straight pole. Taking this in his hand, he gravely put himself at the head of the party. Then he held out the pole. “There,” said he; “isn’t this powl sthraight?”
“Of course it is,” said they.
“Then sure, an if we go by it, we must go sthraight, too,” said Pat. And saying this, he started off, holding the pole before him.
The boys followed in great glee, almost bursting with laughter, while Pat led them on with his pole, with an expression of ineffable satisfaction, holding the pole straight before him.
So they went on, and Bruce, out of pure enjoyment of the thing, let Pat lead wherever he wished.
At last Pat gave a wild yell, leaped forward, and slashed violently with his pole at something.
The hoys crowded up.
The something at which Pat had struck had got under some fern leaves, and was not visible. But Pat slashed away bravely in all directions. Suddenly there came running out a queer little animal, all covered with sharp spines. It did not run very fast, and Bart, who carried a spade, could easily have killed it. But he did not. He stood, still, and let it run close by him. Pat had lost sight of it for a moment, and was looking in all directions for it, when suddenly he caught sight of it. With a wild yell he rushed after it, swinging his pole and slashing it madly against the ground. The little animal dodged under some blueberry bushes; and while Pat was slashing at these, it escaped and ran into a hollow tree which lay on the ground. Into this Pat poked his pole; but as he poked it in at one end, the little animal ran out from the other, and hurried away as fast as his little legs would carry him.
Again Pat caught sight of him, and gave chase.
Meanwhile the other boys had not interfered. They left it all to Pat. They also felt a sort of sympathy with the poor little creature, and gave it all their best wishes in its efforts to escape. Phil, as well as Bart, might have despatched it with the spade that he happened just then to be carrying; but he would not: so the little thing ran off, and Pat followed after it, turning and winding in all directions. The boys then went off after Pat, so as to keep him in sight; but before long they lost him altogether. They went forward to the last place where they had seen him, and began to shout for him.
There was no answer, however.
They shouted again and again, and waited a long time for some response. They began to be anxious about him. Where had he gone? He was chasing that little animal, and in the excitement of the chase had forgotten everything. It was getting late, and there was no time now for chasing anything. They ought to be moving on, and trying to get to Scott’s Bay. But they could not do so till they had found Pat.
They wandered along, calling in every possible kind of way, and waiting, after every call, to see if there would be any response. But no response came. They kept on in the way in which they supposed Pat had gone, and shouted, and screamed, and halloed, and yelled, and whistled, and made every noise that could be made. But their utmost efforts proved of no avail; and all their shouts excited no response, except the echoes that reverberated through the long, dim forest aisles.
At length they gave up.
“Well, what are we to do now?” said Bruce.
“Pat’s off—that’s certain,” said Bart; “and how we can find him again is more than I can tell.”
“There isn’t any danger, of course. He’ll work his way along; but still he belongs to our party, and I don’t like the idea of leaving him.”
“We’d better keep on quietly, as we were going,” said Arthur. “There’s no use for us to stand still. This seems to be the direction in which he was going.”
“Yes,” said Tom; “let’s go on. We haven’t any time to lose. It’s six o’clock now.”
They went on.
They hadn’t the faintest idea now where they were. Whatever general notion of their course they had kept up, while first following Pat, had now been altogether lost. His chase after the little animal had been a very eccentric one, and they had faced in several different directions while pursuing him. The monotonous woods gave no sign by which they might learn their course. They could not find their way now even to the place where Pat had been seized with his strange frenzy. The fact is, they were utterly and hopelessly lost.
“It seems to me,” said Arthur, “that we’re going to Hall’s Harbor.”
“No,” said Phil; “we’re steering straight for Cornwallis.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Tom. “We’re going to Scott’s Bay.”
“It’s my opinion,” said Bart, “that we’re on our way to the cliff; and as its getting dark, we’d better be careful. Bruce, if you get to the cliff first, and fall over in the dark, just let us know before you go down. I wouldn’t care so much in fine, bright weather, but I have a prejudice against tumbling over cliffs on a foggy night.”
“You needn’t trouble yourself,” said Bruce.
“We’ll never come near a cliff, or anything else. I know all about it. We’re wandering in a circle. We’ll camp in the woods to-night, and to-morrow night, after wandering all day, we’ll get back to the same place. I move, therefore, that we stop now in this place, and build a good, solid camp, that will serve for a shelter every night after our circular wanderings.”
“Well,” said Bart, “we won’t begin just yet. I want to get to the cliff.”
“I want to get to Scott’s Bay,” said Tom.
“I’m determined,” said Phil, “to get to Cornwallis.”
“Pooh!” said Arthur. “Every one of us will sleep to-night in Hall’s Harbor. Come along, boys.”
All lost—The gathering Gloom of Fog and of Night—Sudden
Discovery.—The lost One found.—A Turkey with four Legs.—A
cheerful Discussion.—Five Hours of Wandering.—When will it
end?—Once more upon the Tramp.
THEY went on.
The shades of evening were now coming down rapidly, and these were all intensified by the dense fog that hung around them. The woods grew more and more obscure, and the gloom that prevailed here was added to that of the twilight and the fog. It was evident that they could not go on much longer.
Fortunately, it was not so difficult now as it had been previously. The trees stood farther apart than usual. There was but little underbrush. The ground was covered with moss, but it was quite dry. This was encouraging, for if they tried to pass the night in the woods, they could not find a better place than the one which they were traversing. They would probably have given up, and decided upon making preparations for the night, had it not been for their desire to find Pat. If he had been with them, their journey for that night would have ended. But they did not like to think of him alone, severed from them, and wandering in the woods. So they kept on their way; and still, as they went along, they shouted occasionally, with some vague hope that their cry might come to the ears of the wanderer.
It grew darker and darker.
At last they began to think of halting for the night. Pat was given up. They comforted themselves with the thought that he was hardy, and fearless, and self-reliant; that the nights were mild; and that spruce boughs abounded, together with ferns and moss, on which one might sleep peacefully and pleasantly. So, as it grew darker, they talked of stopping, and making their preparations for the night before it grew too dark.
Suddenly, as they were talking over these things, they saw before them through the trees, yet not more than a dozen paces distant, a very familiar form. It was a “snake fence,”—that is to say, a fence formed of poles, built in such a way that it runs in a zigzag direction. At once the thought flashed upon them that they were near some farmhouse, perhaps some settlement; and then arose the hope of a better night’s rest than could be afforded by the woods with their damp and foggy atmosphere. With a cry of joy they rushed forward. They reached it. They looked over. In a moment the cry of joy was succeeded by one of surprise.
It was a road which lay before them.
Yes, a road, wide and well travelled,—not a private path to some small cottage, not an ox-path through dense woods, but a regular road fit for carriages, and evidently leading to some settlement.
But what settlement?
In a moment they had clambered over the fence, and stood in the road with one common determination in all of them not to leave it again for any woods whatsoever.
Yet what road was this? and where did it go?
This was the question.
And this question it was not possible to answer.
Had they continued on uninterruptedly, Bruce would have been convinced that it was the Scott’s Bay road. But their digression after Pat had led them such a journey, that he was not by any means sure; nor were any of the others. All felt that they had been wandering blindly, that after leaving the cliff they had no certainty as to their destination. This uncertainty had been increased by Pat’s leadership with the pole, and had been turned into utter and hopeless perplexity by their last pursuit of him. They had been wandering now, since they parted with Dr. Porter, for more than four hours. That gave time enough for them to get anywhere. It might be the road to Hall’s Harbor in which they now found themselves.
In this state of uncertainty they remained for some time.
“Well, boys,” said Bruce, at last, “it’s impossible to tell where we are; but, in my opinion, we’d better take it for granted that this is the Scott’s Bay road. It’s more likely, after all, to be that than the Hall’s Harbor road. If it is, we have to find our way back to where the wagons are, according to the doctor’s directions, and wait there for him. Now, if this is the Scott’s Bay road, we must turn to the right, in order to go back, for on the left it goes to Scott’s Bay. So, I say, let’s turn up the road to the right, and walk back to the wagons.”
Bruce’s opinion was accepted by the others, and his decision at once adopted. They all turned up the road to the right, and walked onward, not knowing how far they would have to walk, yet feeling greatly inspirited by the mere fact that they were out of the woods.
As they went on, it grew darker and darker at every step. The sun had gone down, the shadows of night were descending, and these shadows were all deepened by the universal fog which covered all things. The deepening gloom made their own escape from the woods appear all the more fortunate. True, they might have built a fire there, to cheer themselves by its light, and spread soft beds of moss and fern around it, and thus, even amid the forest, they could have risen superior to their dismal surroundings; but still there was a very great relief, which was felt by all, at their gaining a road which might lead them to some human abode. Besides, they were hungry. They had eaten all their sandwiches, and were eager for something to assuage their ravenous appetites.
One thing there was, however, which greatly marred their joy, and that was the thought of poor Pat. Perhaps he still was wandering in the woods, having given up his chase, calling for them, and thinking that they had deserted him. The thought of poor Pat’s loneliness was a sad one to all of them, and they could only find consolation in their belief in his perfect ability to take care of himself. At books he might not be very brilliant, but in all the practical matters of life Pat was certainly in every way worthy of being left entirely to himself. Under such circumstances, Pat was able to shine with uncommon brilliancy. In all probability, he would fare better if left to his own devices, than he would if he were a member of a crowd of school-boys. With such thoughts as these they comforted themselves, and thus tried to overcome their anxiety about Pat.
They had walked about half a mile after leaving the woods, when they saw a figure approaching them. It was not far away when they first noticed that figure, and it appeared strangely familiar.
They came nearer and nearer. The familiar outlines of the approaching figure grew more and more distinct. At last the figure came close up to them, and then suspicions became a delightful certainty.
Yes! It was no other than Pat himself!
A wild uproar of cheers and voluble questionings greeted the returning wanderer.
“When did you get out of the woods?” they asked.
“Whin, is it? Sure it wor ony five minutes ago.”
“Where are you going?”
“Where, is it? Sure I’m goin back till the ‘Cad’my.”
“The Academy? Pooh! you’re going straight away from it. Come along with us. Didn’t you hear us calling you?”
“Callin me? Niver a call did I hear.”
“Why, we followed you, and yelled, and shouted, and halloed, and hooted, and screamed, and bawled, and roared, and squalled, and whistled, and crowed, and croaked, and made every noise that we could make. We gave up everything to find you. It was only by chance that we found the road. We have just been talking about you. We were thinking about going into the woods again a little way, and shouting. But where’s your pole, and what’s become of the animal that you were chasing?”
“Sure an it’s the mischief itsilf intirely. Niver did I see such a baste. I chased it, an chased it, an it dodged, an I thought I sthruck it a hundhred times; but the little baste got off afther all, so it did.”
“So you didn’t catch it.”
“Catch it? Niver a catch. It tuk me tip into a place that I couldn’t get out of fur half an hour. I lost me pole, an gave up. I couldn’t find a sign of it, an I wandhered about, whin all av a suddint, I found mesilf by the road. An be the powers! it wor mesilf that wor glad till find that same. The dirty little baste that wudn’t let itsilf be caught, like a Christian!”
“What dirty little baste?”
“Why, the wild turkey.”
“Wild turkey! Ha, ha, ha!”
“Wild duck, thin.”
“Wild duck!” cried the boys; and another laugh followed.
“Well, thin, it wor a wild goose, ony it had fower legs, so it had—whativer it wor.”
At this very remarkable description the boys’ laughter burst forth afresh.
“Well,” said Pat, “what wor it, thin?—wor it a bayver?”
“No,” said Bart, “nor a moose, either.”
“What wor it, thin?” cried Pat. “Niver did I behowld anythin like it. It had fower legs, so it had; an it had long spikes all over its back. Was it any kind of a rabbit, thin?”
“It was a porcupine,” said Arthur. “Haven’t you ever seen any of them?”
“Pooh!” said Bart. “Pat, look here. I’ll tell you really what it was. It was the real, identical, original, bona fide ghost, that howls and knocks in the Academy garret. You ought to have known it at once. I did, the moment I saw it.”
“Ah, blatheration take ye, wid yer ghosts, an yer howls,” said Pat, peevishly. “An what wor that ye said?” he asked, turning to Arthur. “What wor the name av the little baste that ye mintioned jest now, thin?”
“A porcupine,” said Arthur.
“Porkypine!” said Pat. “Porky pine! Well, it wor a strange baste intirely. I thried hard to get him. It ud have been a swate baste fur the Musayum, so it wud. But I cudn’t get a howld av him, bad luck to him!”
“It’s lucky for you, Pat,” said Bart, “that you didn’t get hold of him. He’s got spikes enough about his back to stick you through and through, if you put your hand on him. You’ve got off very easily, Pat. You ought to say good luck to him.”
“Sure an it’s mesilf that niver, niver saw the aqual av that baste, so I didn’t. I hit him mesilf wid me powl a dozen cracks—yes, a hundhred; but niver a bit did he budge for all that same. He didn’t let out ayven a squake, so he didn’t. An me a chasin av him over the wuds! But I cudn’t get nair him.”
“O, well, Pat, it’s all right,” said Bruce. “You ought to be glad you didn’t get near him. You’d have been laid up for a couple of months if you had. If you don’t understand porcupines, you’d better steer clear of them. They’re not very pleasant beasts to handle. I know that. But come, boys. It’s getting darker and darker. We mustn’t stand dawdling here all night. Hurry up, and come along.”
Saying this, Bruce strode forward, and all the boys followed.