University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

We will now take the reader to the wild and secluded banks
of Dead river, the great southwesterly tributary of the lordly
Kennebec, the larger twin brother of the Androscoggin, both
of which, after being born of the same parent range of mountains,
and wandering off widely apart, at length find, at the end
of their courses, like many a pair of long estranged brothers,
their final rest in a common estuary at the seaboard. At a
point on the banks of the tributary above named, where its
long southward sweep brings it nearest, and within twenty
miles of the Oquossak, and within a quarter of that distance
from the terminating camps of the outward ranges of the hunters,
two men in hunting-suits might have been seen, in the
fore part of one of the last days of November, in the season of
the eventful expedition we have been describing, intently
engaged in inspecting some fragments of wrought wood, which,
from the clue of some protruding piece, they had kicked up
from the leaves and decayed brushwood that had nearly concealed
them from view. One of these men was past the middle

age, of a hardy but somewhat worn appearance. The other
was in the prime of young manhood, of a finely-moulded form
and an unusually prepossessing face and countenance. But we
may as well let the dialogue that ensued between them disclose
their identity; the matter that was now engaging their attention;
and their reasons for thus appearing in this remote position.

“This piece,” said the elder, closely scanning the fragment
he held in his hand, “is evidently oak, and looks mightily as
if it was once the stave of an oak keg or half-barrel. Yes, and
here is another that will settle the question,” he continued, pulling
from its concealment a larger and sounder fragment.
“There! can't you trace the chine across the end of this?”

“Yes, quite distinctly, and I should not hesitate to pronounce
all these fragments the remains of an oak barrel that had once
been opened, or left here, if I could conceive how such a thing
could come here, in the heart of this extensive wilderness.
How do you solve the mystery, Mr. Phillips?”

“Well, Claud, I am as much at fault as you. Barrels don't
float up stream; and to suppose this came down stream, and
still farther from any inhabitants, wouldn't help on the explanation
any more; while to suppose it was brought here by
hunters through the woods, where they could have no use for it
even if they could get it here, is scarcely more probable.”

“True; but can't we get a clue from something else about
the place? This open space, hereabouts, wears something of
the aspect of a place from which the trees have been once cut
away, or greatly thinned out, for some great encampment, for
instance. Did you ever hear of any expedition of men through
this region, in such numbers as would require the transportation
of large quantities of provisions, drawn possibly by oxen,
or more probably by men on light sledges?”

“Well, now, come to think of it, I have. And I guess you
have blundered right smack on the truth, at the first go off;
which is more than I can claim for myself, I admit. Yes,

nearly fifty years ago, at the beginning of the old war, as you
must have often read, an army did pass somewhere through
the wilderness of Maine to Quebec. It was under the command
of that fiery Satan, Benedict Arnold, — the only man in
America, may be, who could have pushed an army, at that time
of the year, some weeks later in the season than it is now,
through a hundred and fifty miles' reach of such woods as
these are, between our last and the first Canadian settlement.
My father was one of that army of bold and hardy men. They
passed up the Kennebec some distance, and, then, according to
his account, left it, and, with the view of getting over the
Highlands on to the Great Megantic more easily, turned up a
branch, which must have been this very stream. Yes, I see,
now. You are right about the appearance of this spot. There
was once a great encampment here, and doubtless that of
Arnold's army, staying over night, and breaking open a barrel
of meat, conveyed here in some such way as you suggested.”

“It is an interesting discovery; for that was a remarkable
expedition, and must have been one of great hardship and suffering.”

“Hardship and suffering! Why, they fell short of provisions
long before they got out of the wilderness, and, besides the
hardships of cold and fatigue, came near starving to death! I
have heard my father tell how he was one of a party of thirteen,
who, with other like squads, were permitted to scatter
forward in search of some inhabitants, for food, lest they all
perished together; how, after going two days without putting
a morsel into their mouths, except their shoe-strings or the
inner bark of trees, they at length were gladdened by the sight
of an opening, with a log house, and a cow standing before the
door; how, the instant their eyes fell on the cow, they ran like
blood-hounds for the spot, seized an axe, brought the animal to
the ground, ripped up the hide on one thigh, cut off slices of
the quivering flesh, and, by the time the aroused family had

got out into the yard, were munching and gobbling them down
raw, with the desperate eagerness of ravenous beasts.”[1]

“Horrible! but they paid the poor people for their cow, I
trust?”

“Yes, twice over, but that did not reconcile them to the loss
of their only cow, where it was so difficult to get another. The
children screamed, and even the man and his wife wrung their
hands and cried as if their hearts would break.”

“That incident is to me a new feature among the horrors of
war, which I probably should have never heard of but for
coming here and making this curious discovery of one of the
relics of that terrible and fruitless campaign of our Revolution.
I am glad we concluded to come.”

“So am I; for that, and the other reason that I wanted to
see the lay of the country, round this river, where, as it happened,
I had never been. But my mind misgave me several
times, on the way.”

“Why so, pray?”

“I can hardly tell, myself, but I began to kinder feel as if
something wrong was going on somewhere, and that, though
this place could not be more than five miles from our upper
camp, where we stayed last night, we had yet better be making
our way directly back to the lake. Besides that, I haven't liked
the symptoms of the weather, to-day.”

“I don't know that I have noticed any thing peculiar in the
weather, except a chilliness of the air that I have not felt before
this season.”

“That's the thing,” rejoined the hunter, glancing uneasily up
through the treetops, to try to get a view of the sky. “But
there are other indications I don't fancy. There is a peculiar
raw dampness in the air, and a sort of low, moaning sound
heard once in a while murmuring along through the forest,

such as I have often noticed before great storms, and sudden
changes from fall to winter weather, this time of the year.
And hush! hark!” he exclaimed, suddenly cutting short his
remark, as the well-known, solemn, and quickly-repeated konk!
konk! of wild geese, on their passage, greeted their ears.

They ran down to the water's edge to get a view of the open
sky, when, looking up, they saw a large flock of these winged,
semi-annual voyagers of the air, coming in view over the forest,
in their usual widespread, harrow-shaped battalions, and with
seemingly hurried flight, pitching down from the British highlands
toward the lower regions to the south. And that flock
had scarcely receded beyond hearing, when another, and yet
another, with the same uneasy cries and rapid flight, passed, in
quick succession, over the open reach of sky above them.

“How far do you calculate the nearest shore of the Gulf of
St. Lawrence is from here?” asked the hunter, musingly.

“O, not so very great a distance, — three hundred miles,
perhaps,” replied Claud, looking inquiringly at the other.

“Well,” slowly responded the hunter, “those God-taught
creatures know more about the coming changes of the weather
than all the philosophers in the world. These are but the advanced
detachments of armies yet behind them, already, doubtless,
on their way from Labrador, and even more northern
coasts beyond. In the unusual mild November we have had,
they never received their warning till this morning. And these,
being on the southern outposts of their summer quarters, the
Gulf of St. Lawrence, started at daylight, I presume, — about
four hours ago, just about the time I perceived a change in
the atmosphere myself. This, at the rapid headway you perceive
they are making, would give them time to get here by
this hour of the day.”

“Then you take this as an indication of the approach of winter
weather?”

“I do. And the evident hurriedness of their flight, and the
sort of quickened, anxious tone of their cries, show that they,

at least, think it is not far behind them. But let us put all the
signs together. I must get to some place where I can see more
of the sky. I noticed, as I was coming in sight of the river, a
short way back in the woods, a high, sharp hill, with a bare,
open top, rising from the river, about a hundred rods up along
here to the left. What suppose we pack up, and go and ascend
it? We can, there, besides getting the view we want of the
lay of the country, see, probably, the horizon nearly all round.
And, all this done, we will then hold a council of war, and decide
on our next movement.”

This proposal meeting the ready approval of the young man,
the two took their rifles, and proceeded to the foot of the eminence
in question, which they found to be a steep, conical hill, rising
abruptly three or four hundred feet above the general level
of the surrounding forest, with a small, pointed apex, from which
some tornado had hurled every standing tree except a tall,
slender green pine, that shot up eighty or ninety feet, as straight
as a flagstaff, from the centre. After a severe scramble up
the steeps, in some places almost perpendicular, they at length
reached the summit, and commenced leisurely walking round
the verge, looking down on the variegated wilderness, which,
with its thousand dotted hills and undulating ridges, lay stretched
in cold solitude around them. With only a general glance,
however, over the surrounding forests, the gaze of the hunter
was anxiously lifted upwards, to study the omens of the heavens.
The sun, by this time, was scarcely visible beneath the cold,
lurid haze which had for some hours been gradually stealing
over it; while around the horizon lay piled long, motionless
banks of leaden clouds, thick and heavy enough evidently to be
dark, but yet of that light, dead, glazed, uncertain hue, which
the close observer may have often noted as the precursor of
winter-storms. After a long and attentive survey of every
visible part of the heavens, the hunter, with an ominous shake
of the head, dropped his eyes to the ground, and said:

“I was right, but didn't want to believe it when I got up this

morning; and the wild geese are right. We are on the eve of
winter, and our best hope is that it may come gently. But
even that favor, I greatly fear, we shall not be permitted to
realize.”

“Well, sir, with that view of the case, in which I am inclined
to concur, what do you propose now?” asked Claud.

“Why, I propose, seeing we have all the fur pelts we took
from the traps yesterday put up in packs, and have left nothing
in our upper camp of any consequence, — I propose, that, instead
of going back to our nearest marked line, as we talked of, we
strike directly across the woods, by the nearest route, to our
lake camp; or, if you are willing to put up with two or three
miles additional travel, we will steer so as to take the upper
camp of your father and Carvil in our way. We might find
them there, perhaps.”

“Then let us steer for their camp; I can stand the jaunt.
But can you determine the direction to be taken to strike it?”

“Nearly, I think. Their camp, you know, is on the neck or
connecting piece of river, between two long ponds, lying about
southwest of us. I rather expected to be able to get a glimpse
of one of those ponds from the hilltop, but find I can't. I
presume I could, however, from the top of this pine tree.”

“Yes, but to climb it would be a long, and perhaps dangerous
task, would it not?”

“No, neither. We woodsmen are often compelled to resort
to such a course, to take our latitude and bearings. And, on
the whole, I think in this case it might be the cheapest way.
So I will up it, and you may be watching for wild geese, that
are still, I perceive, every few minutes, somewhere in sight.
Very likely some flock may soon come over us near enough for
a shot.”

So saying, the resolute and active hunter, casting aside coat,
cap, and boots, sprang up several feet on to the clasped trunk
of the pine, over whose rough bark he now, by means of the
vigorous clenches of his arms and legs, fast made his way upwards.

It was a hard struggle for him, however, till he reached
the lower limbs, some fifty feet from the ground, when, swinging
himself up by a grappled limb, he quickly disappeared among
the thick, mantling boughs, on his now doubly-rapid ascent;
and, in a few minutes more, he was heard by his companion
below, breaking off the obstructing tiptop branches, and, as he
gazed abroad from his dizzy height, shouting out the discoveries
which were the object of his bold attempt.

“Make ready there, below!” he startlingly exclaimed, all at
once, after a long pause, in which he seemed to be silently
noting the distant objects in the forest; “make ready there,
below, for a famous large flock of wild geese, just heaving in
sight over the hills, and coming directly to this spot.”

The next moment the expected flock, spread out in columns
answering to the two sides of a triangle, each a quarter of a
mile in extent, and the nearest nearly in a line with the summit
where the young huntsman stood, with raised rifle, awaiting
their approach, came in full view, making the forest resound
with their multitudinous and mingling cries, and the loud beating
of their long wings on the air, as they swept onward in
their close proximity to the earth. Singling out the nearest
goose of the nearest column, Claud quickly caught his aim, and
fired; when the struck bird, with a convulsive start, suddenly
clasped its wings, and, in its onward impulse, came down like
lightning into the bushes, within five rods from its exulting
captor.

“Done like a marksman, — plumped through and through
under the wing. You are improving, young man,” exclaimed
the hunter, who now, rapidly coming down, had reached the foot
of the tree, as Claud came forward from the bushes, with his
prize. “It is a fine fat one, ain't it?” he continued, glancing
at the heavy bird, as he was pulling on his boots. “We will
take it along with us for our supper.”

“Yes, rather a lucky shot,” returned the other, self-complacently.

“But what discoveries did you make up there, that
will aid us in our course, Mr. Phillips?”

“O, that is all settled,” answered the latter, putting on his
pack, and buttoning up, preparatory to an immediate start. “I
caught glimpses of both the ponds, noted all the hilltops, ridges,
and other noticeable landmarks, in the line between here and
there, and can lead you as straight as a gun to the spot, for
which we will now be off; and the sooner the better, as it is
fast growing colder and colder, and the whole heavens are
every moment growing more dark and dubious.”

They then, after making their way down the precipitous side
of the hill to its western foot, struck off, under the lead of the
hunter, in a line through the forest, preserving their points of
compass, when none of their general landmarks were visible,
by noting the peculiar weather-beaten appearance of the mosses
on the north sides of the trees, and the usual inclination of the
tips of the hemlocks from west to east. And for the next hour
and a half, on, on they tramped, in Indian file, and almost unbroken
silence, making headway with their long, loping steps,
notwithstanding the obstructing fallen trees, brushwood, and
constantly occurring inequalities of the ground, with a speed
which none but practised woodsmen can attain in the forest,
and which is scarcely equalled by the fastest foot-travellers on
the smooth and beaten highways of the open country.

At length they were gratified by an indistinct sight of some
body of water, gleaming dimly through the trees from some
point in front; and the walk of a few hundred yards more
brought them out, as it luckily happened, directly to the camp
of which they were in search. It was, however, tenantless;
their companions had already departed; but the bed of live
coals in the usual place, from which the thin vapor was still
perceptibly ascending, showed that they could not have left
more than an hour before. In glancing into the deserted
shanty, they descried a clean strip of white birch bark, lying
conspicuously on the ground, a few feet within the entrance.

On picking it up, they were soon enabled to read the following
words, traced with the charred end of a twig:

“A very observing, considerate man, that Mr. Carvil,” said
the hunter, still musingly keeping his eyes on the unique dispatch.
“He is one of the few book-learned men I have ever
known, who could apply science to the natural philosophy of
the woods. I can see how justly he reasoned out this case:
knowing that we had some thought of a jaunt to Dead river
this trip, he judged we should notice the signs of the weather
just as we did, and, as it seems, he did; and that, in consequence,
when we got there, we should decide on the nearest
route back, which would bring us so near their camp that we
should be tempted to come to it; and so he left this notice for
us that they thought it wisdom to depart.”

While the hunter was thus delivering himself, as he stood by
the fire before the entrance, spreading out his hands over the
coals, Claud went inside, and, returning with two fine, fresh
trout, which the late occupants had, for some cause, left behind
them, held them up to his musing companion, and exclaimed

“Look here, Mr. Phillips, — see what they have left for us!”

“Good!” cried the hunter, rousing himself, “for, whether
they left them by design or mistake, they come equally well in
play at this time. You out with your knife and split them
through the back, and I will prepare the coals. We will roast
them for a lunch, which will refresh and strengthen us for the
ten or twelve miles walk that is still to be accomplished, before
reaching the lake.”

After dispatching the welcome meal, which in this primitive
fashion they had prepared for themselves out of the material
thus unexpectedly come to hand, and enjoying the half-hour's
rest consequent on the grateful occupation, they again swung on
their packs, and, striking into one of the marked lines of their

companions, set forth with fresh vigor on their journey. Their
walk, however, was a long and dreary one. Contrary to what
they had ever before experienced, in jaunts of this length
through the woods, not a single hunting adventure occurred, to
enliven the tedium of the way. For, although the heavens
above were made vocal with the screams of wild geese, still
pouring along in their hurried flight to the south, to escape the
elemental foe behind, like the rapidly succeeding detachments
of some retreating army, yet not a living creature, biped or
quadruped, was anywhere to be heard or seen in the forest beneath.
All seemed to have instinctively shrunk away and fled,
as from the presence of some impending evil, to their dens and
coverts, there to await, cowering and silent, the dreaded outbreak.
Slowly, but steadily, the lurid storm-clouds were gathering
in the heavens, bringing shade after shade over the darkening
wilderness. Low, hollow murmurs in the troubled air
were now heard, ominously stealing along the wooded hills;
and now, in the sharp, momentary rattling of the seared beech-leaves,
the whole forest seemed shivering in the dead chill that
was settling over the earth. The cold, indeed, was now becoming
so intense as to congeal and skim over all the pools and
still eddies of the river, and make solid ice along the shores of
the rapid currents of the stream; while even the ground was
fast becoming so frozen as to clumper and sound beneath the
hurrying tread of our anxious travellers. By three in the
afternoon, it had become so dark that they could scarcely see
the white blazings on the sides of the trees, by which they were
guided in their course; and in less than another hour, they were
stumbling along almost in utter darkness, uncertain of their
way, and nearly despairing of reaching their destination that
night. But, while they were on the point of giving up the attempt,
the bright glare of an ascending blaze, shooting fiercely
through the thickets before them, greeted their gladdened eyes,
and put them on exertions that soon brought them rejoicing
into the comfortable quarters of their almost equally gratified
friends and comrades; where it was at once decided that, instead
of proceeding to their own camp, to build a fire and lodge,
they should turn in for the night.

After some time passed in the animated and cheery interchange
of inquiries and opinions, which usually succeeds on the
meeting of anxiously-sought or expected friends, Claud and
Phillips, having by this time warmed and measurably rested
themselves, took hold with Carvil and Mark Elwood in dressing
and cooking for supper and for breakfast the next morning,
Claud's goose, and a pair of fine ducks from a flock which the
two latter had encountered just before reaching camp that afternoon;
and, after completing this process with their good supply
of game, and the more agreeable one of eating so much of it as
served for a hearty supper, they drew up an extra quantity of
fuel for the large fire which they felt it would be necessary to
keep up through the night; and then, seating themselves in
camp, went into an earnest consultation on the measures and
movements next to be taken. When, in view of the lateness of
the season, coupled as it was with the alarming portents of an
immediate storm, which they had all noticed, it was unanimously
determined that they should embark, early next morning, for
head-quarters on the Maguntic, where Gaut Gurley, instead of
preparing to come round again, as was now nearly his usual
time to do, would, under the altered aspect of things, doubtless
be awaiting them, and making arrangements for the return
of all to the settlement. Then, building up a fire of solid logs,
for long burning, the tired woodsmen drew up their bough-pillows
towards the entrance of the camp, so as to bring their feet
near the fire, closely wrapped their thick blankets around them,
lay down, and were soon buried in sound slumber. And it was
well for them that they were thus early taking their needed
rest; for, soon after midnight, they were awakened by the
lively undulations of the piercing cold air that was driving and
whistling through the sides of their camp, and by the puffs of
suffocating smoke that the eddying winds were ever and anon

driving from their fire directly into their faces. One after another
they rose, and ran out to see what had caused the, to them,
sudden change that had occurred in the air since they went to
sleep. And they were not long in ascertaining the truth. The
expected storm had set in, with that low, deep commotion of
the elements, and that slowly gathering impetus, which, as may
often be noted at the commencement of great storms, was but
the too certain prelude of its increase and duration. The fine
snow was sifting down apace to the already whitened ground,
and the rising wind, even in their mountain-hemmed nook, was
whirling in fierce and fitful eddies about their camp, and shrilly
piping among the strained branches of the vexed forest around;
while its loud and awful roar, as it careered along the sides of
the distant mountains, told with what strength and fury the
storm was commencing over the country at large. In the situation
in which the company now found themselves, neither sleep,
comfort, nor quiet were to be expected for the remainder of
the night. They therefore piled high the wood on their fire,
and gathered round the hot blaze, to protect them from the cold,
that had now not only grown more intense, but become doubly
difficult to withstand, from the force with which it was brought
by the driving blasts in contact with their shivering persons.
And thus, — in alternately turning their backs and fronts to the
fire, while standing in one place, and often shifting places from
one side of the fire to the other; in now taking refuge within
their camp when the constantly veering gusts bore the smoke
and flame outward, and then fleeing out of it when the stifling
column was driven inward; but finding no peace nor rest anywhere,
among those shifts and commotions of the battling elements,
— they wore away the long and comfortless hours of that
dreary night, till the return of morning light, which, after many
a vain prayer for its speedier appearance, at length gradually
broke over the storm-invested widerness.

As soon as it was light enough to see objects abroad, or see
them as well as they can ever be discerned through the fast-falling

snow of such a driving storm, Phillips and Carvil sallied
out through the snow, already eight inches deep, and made their
way down to the nearest shore of the lake, about a quarter of
a mile distant, to ascertain the condition of the water before
embarking upon it in their canoes, as they had designed to do
immediately after breakfast. On reaching the shore, they
found the narrow bay, before mentioned as forming the estuary
of the two rivers on which they had been located, comparatively
calm, though filled with congealing snow and floating ice from
the rivers. But all beyond the line of the two points of land
inclosing the bay was rolling and tumbling in wild commotion,
madly lashing the rocky headlands with the foaming waters, and
resounding abroad over the hills with the deep, hoarse roar of
the tempest-beaten breakers of the ocean.

“Do you see and hear that?” exclaimed Phillips, pointing to
the lake.

“Yes, yes; but what was that I just caught a glimpse of, out
there in the offing, to the right?” hastily cried Carvil.

They both peered forward intently; and the next moment
they saw a canoe, containing a single rower, low bending to his
oar, shoot by the northern headland with the speed of an arrow,
strike obliquely out of the white line of rolling waves into the
bay, and make towards the point where they stood.

“Who can it be?” inquired Carvil, after watching a while in
silence the slow approach of the obstructed canoe.

“In a minute more we shall see,” replied the hunter, bending
forward to get a view of the man's face, which, being seen
the next moment, he added, with a shout: “Hallo, there, Codman,
is that you? Why didn't you crow, to let us know who
was coming?”

“Crow?” exclaimed the trapper, driving through the ice to
the shore; “did you ever hear a rooster crow in a time like
this? There! I am safe, at last,” he added, leaping out upon
the shore, and glancing back with a dubious shake of the head
towards the scene from which he had thus escaped. “Yes, safe

now, for all my fright; but I would not be out another hour on
that terrible lake for all the beaver in the province of Maine!
I started at daylight, got out a mile or two, tolerably, but after
that, Heaven only knows how I rode on those wild waves without
swamping! But no matter, — I am here.”

“But where is Tomah, the Indian?” asked the hunter.

“Tomah!” said Codman, in surprise. “Why, haven't you
seen him? He went off three days ago, saying he must return
to the settlement, to be training his moose to the sledge, so as to
start for Boston with him, the first snow. He said he should
leave it with Gaut Gurley to see to his share of the furs. I
supposed he would call at one of your camps. But come, move
on. I suppose you have a fire at camp, and something to eat; I
am frozen to death, and starved to death, besides being more
than half-dead from the great scaring I've had; but that's all
over now, and I'm keen for breakfast. So troop along back to
your camp, I say.”

To return to camp, take their cold and comfortless breakfast,
and decide on the now hard alternatives of remaining where
they were, to await the event of the storm, without provisions,
and with their imperfect means of protection from the
rigor of the elements, or of starting off through the cumbering
snow beneath their feet, and the driving tempest above their
heads, with the hope of reaching head-quarters by land, before
another night should overtake them, was but the work of half
an hour. To remain, with the foretaste of the past and the
prospects of the future, was a thought so forbidding that none
of them could for a moment entertain it; and to set out to
travel by land, with such prospects, over the mountains, by
the long, winding route on the eastern side of the lake, — which
was the only one left to them, and which could not be less than
fifteen miles in extent, — was a scarcely less forbidding alternative.
But it must be adopted. So, gathering in their steel
traps and iron utensils, they buried them all, except their lightest
hatchet, under a log, that they should not be encumbered

with more weight than was absolutely necessary; snugly packing
up the few peltries they had taken since Gaut Gurley had
been round, and putting the scanty remains of their food into
their pockets, for a lunch on the way, they set forth on their
formidable undertaking.

Led on and guided by the calm and resolute hunter, — who
at different times had been over the whole way, and in whose
skill and discretion, as a woodsman, for conducting them by the
nearest and easiest route, they all had undoubting confidence, —
they vigorously made their way onwards through the accumulating
snows and natural obstructions of the forest; now threading
the thickets of the valleys; now skirting the sides of the
hills; now crossing deep ravines; and now climbing high
mountains in their toilsome march. And, though the storm
seemed to rage more and more fiercely with the advancing
hours of the day, — whirling clouds of blinding snow in their
faces, hurling the decayed limbs and trunks of the older tenants
of the wood to the earth around them, in the fury of its blasts,
and rattling and creaking through the colliding branches of the
writhing green trees, as it swept over the wilderness, — yet,
for all these difficulties of the way and commotions of the elements,
they faltered not, but continued to move forward in
stern and moody silence, hour after hour, in the footsteps of
their indomitable leader, until they reached the extreme eastern
point of the lake, where their destination required them to turn
round it, in a sharp angle to the west. Here, at the suggestion
of their leader, who made the encouraging announcement that
the worst half of their journey was accomplished, they made a
halt, under the lee of a sheltering mountain, for rest and refreshment.
And, sitting down on a fallen tree, from whose
barkless trunk they brushed off the snow, they took out and commenced
chewing their stale and frozen bread, with a few small
pieces of duck-meat, remaining from their breakfast, and comprising
the last of their provisions. The animal heat, produced
by their great and continued exertions in travelling, had thus

far prevented them from suffering much from the cold, or perceiving
its actual intensity. But they had been at rest scarcely
long enough to finish their meagre repast, when they were
driven from their seats by the chill of the invading element, and
were eagerly demanding, as a lesser annoyance, again to be led
forward on their journey. The snow by this time had accumulated
to the depth of a foot and a half, and still came swiftly
sifting down aslant to the earth, without the least sign of abatement;
while the wind, which was before a gale, had now risen
to a hurricane, causing the smitten earth to tremble and shake
under the force of the terrible blasts that went shrieking and
howling through the bowed, bending, and twisting forests,
where

But, still undismayed by these manifestations of elemental
power around them, or the prospects before them, all terrific
and disheartening as they were, and nerved by the consciousness
that their only chance of escape from a fearful death depended
on their exertions, the bold and hardy woodsmen again
started out into the trackless waste, and labored desperately
onward, mile after mile, through the impeding snow; sometimes
taken to the armpits in its gathering drifts, and sometimes
thrown at full length beneath its submerging depths by stepping
into some hole or chasm it had concealed from their sight.
And thus resolutely did they beat and buffet their rough way
through the perplexed and roaring wilderness, and thus stoutly
did they bear up against the constantly thickening dangers that
environed them during the last part of that dreadful day. But,
as night drew on, their strength and spirits began to flag and
give way. The cold was increasing in intensity. The tempest
howled louder than ever over their heads, and the snow
had become so deep and drifted that furlongs became as miles

in their progress. And yet, as they supposed, they were miles
from their destination. At length, one after another, they faltered
and stopped. The strong men quailed at the fate which
seemed staring them in the face, and they were on the point
of giving up in despair. But hark! that cheery shout which
rises above the roaring of the wind, from their more hardy and
hopeful leader, who, while all others stopped, had pushed on
some thirty rods in advance. It comes again!

“Courage, men! We have struck the river, at whose mouth
stands our camp, now not half a mile distant.”

Aroused by the glad tidings, that sent a thrill of joy through
their sinking hearts, they sprang forward, with the revivified
energies which new and suddenly-lighted hope will sometimes
so strangely impart, and were soon by the side of the exulting
hunter; when together they rushed and floundered along down
the banks of the stream towards the place, in joyful excitement
at the thought that their troubles were now so nearly over, and
with visions of the comfortable quarters, warm fires, and smoking
suppers, which they confidently expected were awaiting
them at camp, brightly dancing before them. Joy and hope
lent wings to their speed; and, in a short time, they could discern
the open place and the well-remembered outlines of the
locality where the camp was situated. But no bright light
greeted their expectant eyes. They were now at the spot, but,
to their utter consternation, no camp was to be seen! Could
they be mistaken in the place? No; there was the open path
leading to the structure; there rose the steep side of the hill;
and there, at the foot of it, stood the perpendicular rock against
which it was erected! What could it mean? After standing
a moment in mute amazement, peering inquiringly at each
other, in the fading twilight, they started forward for the rock,
and, in so doing, came upon the two front posts, still standing
up some feet out of the snow. They were black and charred!
The sad truth then flashed over their minds. Their camp had
been burnt to the ground, and with it, also, probably, their rich

collection of furs, — nearly the whole fruit of all the toils and
fatigues of their expedition! O death, death! what shall save
the poor trappers, now?

“Great God! I have had a presentiment of this,” exclaimed
Phillips, the first to find utterance, in a voice trembling with
unwonted emotion.

“How could it have happened?” and “Where is Gaut
Gurley?” simultaneously burst from the lips of the others.

“Well may you ask those questions, and well couple them
together, I fancy,” responded the hunter, with bitter significance.
“But away with all speculations about that, now. We have
something that more nearly concerns us to attend to, in this
strait, than forming conjectures about the loss of our property:
our lives are at stake! If you will mind me, however,
you may all yet be saved.”

“Direct us, direct us, and we will obey,” eagerly responded
one and all.

“Two of you follow me, then, for something dry, if we can
find it, for a fire, and the rest go to kicking away and treading
down the snow under the rock, with all your might!” sharply
commanded the hunter, dashing his way towards the thickets,
with hatchet in hand.

With that ready obedience which a superior in energy and
experience will always command among his fellows, in emergencies
like this, the men went to work in earnest. In a short
time the snow was cleared away or beat down compactly over
a space some yards in extent along the side of the rock, while
the others soon returned with a supply of the driest wood to be
found, together with an armfull of hemlock boughs, to strew
over the beaten snow. The next thing requiring their attention
was the all-important object of starting a fire. But in this
they were doomed to sad disappointment. Their punk-wood
tinder had been so dampened by the snow sifting into their
coat-pockets, where they had deposited it, that it could not be
made to catch the sparks of the smitten steel. They then tried

the flashing of their guns; but they had no paper, and could
find no dry leaves or fleecy bark of the birch, and the finest
splinters or shavings they could whittle, in the dark, from the
clefts of the imperfectly dry pine, would not take fire from the
light, evanescent flash of the powder in their pans. Again
and again did they renew the doubtful experiment; but every
succeeding trial, from the dampness of their material in the
driving snow, and from the unmanageable condition of their benumbed
fingers and shivering frames, became more and more
hopeless, till at length they were compelled to relinquish wholly
the fruitless attempt.

“This is a calamity, indeed!” exclaimed the hunter. “I
feared it might be so from the first. Could we have foreseen
the want, so as to have been on the lookout for material coming
along, or have got here before dark, it might have been averted.
But as it is, there is one resort left for us, if we would live in
this terrible wind and cold till morning; and that is, to keep in
constant and lively motion. Whoever lies down to sleep is a
dead man!”

But he found it difficult to impress on the minds of most of
them his idea of the danger of ceasing motion. They began
to say they felt more comfortable now, and, being very tired,
must lay down to take a little rest. Sharply forbidding the
indulgence, the hunter sallied out, cut and trimmed two or
three green beech switches, and returned with them to his
wondering companions; when, finding Mark Elwood, in disregard
of his warning, already down and dozing on a bunch of
boughs under the rock, he sternly exclaimed:

“Up, there, in an instant!”

“O, let me lie,” begged the unconsciously freezing man: “do
let me lie a little while. I am almost warm, now, but very,
very sleepy,” he added, sinking away again into a doze.

Instantly a smart blow from the tough and closely-setting
switch of the hunter fell upon the outstretched legs of the
dozer, who cringed and groaned, but did not start. Another

and another, and yet another, fell with the quickness and force
of a pedagogue's rod on the legs of an offending urchin, till the
aroused, maddened and enraged victim of the seeming cruelty
leaped to his feet, and, with doubled fists, rushed upon the assailant,
who darted off into the snow and led his pursuer a
doubling race of several hundred yards before he returned to
the spot.

“There are some spare switches,” resumed the active and
stout-hearted hunter, as he came in a little ahead of the puffing,
reänimated, and now pacified Elwood; “take them in hand, and
do the same by me, if you see me going the same way; it is
our only salvation!”

But, notwithstanding all this preaching, and the obvious effects
of this wholesome example, others of the company, deceived
by the insidious sensation which steals upon the unsuspecting
victims of such exposures, as the treacherous herald of
their death, — others, in turn, required and promptly received
the application of the same strange remedy. But this could
not always last. The fatigue of their previously overtasked
systems prevented them from keeping up their exertions many
hours more; and, declaring they could bear up no longer, one
after another sunk down under the rock; and even their hitherto
indomitable leader himself now visibly relaxed, and at
length threw himself down with the rest, feebly murmuring:

“I know what this feeling means; but it is so sweet! let us
all die together!”

At that instant a shock, quickly followed by the loud, gathering
rumblings of an earthquake, somewhere above them,
suddenly aroused and brought every man to his feet. And
the next moment an avalanche of snow, sweeping down the
steep side of the rock-faced declivity above, shot obliquely over
their heads to the level below, leaving them unharmed, but
buried twenty feet beneath the outward surface.

“Now, God be praised!” cried the hunter, at once comprehending
what had happened, and starting forward to feel out

what space was left them between their shielding rock in the
rear and the wedged and compact slant snow-wall in front,
which, with the no less deeply blocked ends, formed the roof
and sides of their new and thus strangely built prison-house.
“This is the work of Providence! We are now, at least,
safe from the cold, as you will all, I think, soon have the pleasure
of perceiving.”

“You are right, Mr. Phillips,” responded Carvil; “and it is
strange some of us did not think of building a snow-house at
the outset. Even the wild partridges, that in coldest weather
protect themselves by burrowing in the snow, might have taught
us the lesson.”

“Yes, but it has been far better done in the way God has
provided for us. And we have only now to get our blood into
full circulation to insure us safety and rest through the night;
and let us do this by shaking out our boughs, and treading
down the snow, as smooth as a floor, to receive them for our
bedding.”

“It may be as you say about its being mild here, Mr. Phillips,”
doubtingly observed Mark Elwood; “but it seems strange
philosophy to me, that being inclosed in snow, the coldest
substance in nature, should make us warmer than in the open
air.”

“And still I suspect it is a fact, father,” said Claud. “The
Esquimaux, and other nations of the extreme north, it is known,
live in snow-houses, without fire, the whole of their long and
rigorous winters.”

“O, Phillips is right enough about that,” added Codman, now
evidently fast regaining his usual buoyancy of spirits; “yes,
right enough about that, whether he was about that plaguey
switching he gave us, or not. Why, I can feel a great change
in the air here already! warm enough, soon; safe, at any rate;
so, hurra for life and home, which, being once so honestly lost,
will now be clear gain. Hurra! whoo-rah! whoo-rah-ee!
Kuk-kuk-ke-o-ho!”

And the hunter was right, and the trapper was right. Their
perils and physical sufferings were over. They were not only
safe, but fast becoming comfortable. And, by the time they
had trod down the snow as hard and smooth as had been proposed,
and shaken out the boughs and distributed them for
their respective beds, the air seemed as warm as that of a mild
day in October. Their clothes were smoking and becoming
dry by the evaporation of the dampness caused by the snow.
Their limbs had become pliant, and their whole systems restored
to their wonted warmth and circulation. And, wrapping themselves
in their blankets, they laid down, — as they knew they
could now safely do, — and were soon lost in refreshing slumber,
from which they did not awake till a late hour the next
morning.

When they awoke, after their deep slumbers, they at once
concluded, from the altered and lighter hue of all around them,
as well as by their own feelings, that it must be day without;
and with one accord commenced, with their hatchets, cutting
and digging a hole through the wall of their snowy prison-house,
in the place where they judged it most likely to be thinnest.
After working by turns some thirty or forty minutes,
and cutting or beating out an upward passage eight or ten
yards in extent, they suddenly broke through into the open air.
The roaring of the storm no longer greeted their ears. The
terrible conflict of the elements, which yesterday kept the
heavens and earth in such hideous commotion, was over and
gone. Though it was as cold as in the depths of winter, the
sky was almost cloudless; and the sun, already far on his
diurnal circuit, was glimmering brightly over the dreary wastes
of the snow-covered wilderness. By common consent, they
then packed up, and immediately commenced beating their
slow and toilsome way towards the nearest habitation, which
was that of the old chief, now only about five miles distant, over
land, on the shore of the lake below. With far less fatigue
and other suffering, save that of hunger, than they had anticipated,

they reached the hospitable cabin of Wenongonet before
night. Here their wants were supplied; here an earnest discussion
— in which they were aided by the shrewd surmises
of the chief — was held, respecting the burning of their camp
and the probable loss of their common property; and, finally,
here, though the “Light of the Lodge” was absent at her city
home, they were agreeably entertained through the night and
succeeding day, — when, the lakes having become frozen over
sufficiently strong to make travelling on the ice as safe as it
was convenient and easy, they, on the second morning after
their arrival at his house, bade their entertainer good-by, and
set out for their homes in the settlement, which they respectively
reached by daylight, to the great relief of their anxious
and now overjoyed families and friends.