Chapter II: “Fear not, ye are of more value than many sparrows.” (2)

The rough outside coatings of the bark, which are of silvery whiteness, but are ragged from exposure to the action of the weather in the larger and older trees, he peeled off, and then cutting the bark so that the sides lapped well over, and the corners were secured from cracks, he proceeded to pierce holes opposite to each other, and with some trouble managed to stitch them tightly together, by drawing strips of the moose or leather-wood through and through. The first attempt, of course, was but rude and ill-shaped, but it answered the purpose, and only leaked a little at the corners for want of a sort of flap, which he had forgotten to allow in cutting out the bark; this flap in the Indian baskets and dishes turns up, and keeps all tight and close. The defect he remedied in his subsequent attempts. In spite of its deficiencies, Louis’s water-jar was looked upon with great admiration, and highly commended by Catharine, who almost forgot her sufferings--while watching her cousin’s proceedings.

Louis was elated by his own successful ingenuity, and was for running off directly to the spring. “Catharine shall now have cold water to bathe her poor ancle with, and to quench her thirst,” he said, joyfully springing to his feet, ready for a start up the steep bank: but Hector quietly restrained his lively cousin, by suggesting the possibility of his not finding the “fountain in the wilderness,” as Louis termed the spring, or losing himself altogether.

“Let us both go together, then.” cried Louis. Catharine cast on her cousin an imploring glance.

“Do not leave me, dear Louis; Hector, do not let me be left alone.” Her sorrowful appeal stayed the steps of the volatile Louis.

“Go you, Hector, as you know the way: I will not leave you, Kate, since I was the cause of all you have suffered; I will abide by you in joy or in sorrow till I see you once more safe in your own dear mother’s arms.”

Comforted by this assurance, Catharine quickly dashed away the gathering tears from her checks, and chid her own foolish fears.

“But you know, dear cousin,” she said, “I am so helpless, and then the dread of that horrible wolf makes a coward of me.”

After some little time had elapsed, Hector returned; the bark vessel had done its duty to admiration, it only wanted a very little improvement to make it complete. The water was cold and pure. Hector had spent a little time in deepening the mouth of the spring, and placing some stones about it. He described the ravine as being much deeper and wider, and more gloomy than the one they occupied. The sides and bottom were clothed with magnificent oaks. It was a grand sight, he said, to stand on the jutting spurs of this great ravine, and look down upon the tops of the trees that lay below, tossing their rounded heads like the waves of a big sea. There were many lovely flowers, vetches of several kinds, blue, white, and pencilled, twining among the grass. A beautiful white-belled flower, that was like the “Morning glory,” (_Convolvulus major,_) and scarlet-cups _[FN: _Erichroma,_ or painted cup]_ in abundance, with roses in profusion. The bottom of this ravine was strewed in places with huge blocks of black granite, cushioned with thick green moss; it opened out into a wide flat, similar to the one at the mouth of the valley of the Big Stone. _[FN: The mouth of this ravine is now under the plough, and waving fields of golden grain and verdant pastures have taken place of the wild shrubs and flowers that formerly adorned it. The lot belongs to G. Ley, Esq.]_

These children were not insensible to the beauties of nature, and both Hector and his sister had insensibly imbibed a love of the grand and the picturesque, by listening with untiring interest to their father’s animated and enthusiastic descriptions of his Highland home, and the wild mountainous scenery that surrounded it. Though brought up in solitude and uneducated, yet there was nothing vulgar or rude in the minds or manners of these young people. Simple and untaught they were, but they were guileless, earnest, and unsophisticated; and if they lacked the knowledge that is learned from books, they possessed much that was useful and practical, which had been taught by experience and observation in the school of necessity.

For several days the pain and fever arising from her sprain rendered any attempt at removing Catharine from the valley of the “Big Stone” impracticable. The ripe fruit began to grow less abundant in their immediate vicinity, and neither woodchuck, partridge, nor squirrel had been killed; and our poor wanderers now endured the agonising pains of hunger. Continual exposure to the air by night and by day contributed not a little to increase the desire for food. It is true, there was the yet untried lake, “bright, boundless, and free,” gleaming in silvery splendour, but in practice they knew nothing of the fisher’s craft, though, as a matter of report, they were well acquainted with all the mysteries of it, and had often listened with delight to the feats performed by their respective fathers in the art of angling, spearing and netting.

“I have heard my father say, that so bold and numerous were the fish in the lakes and rivers he was used to fish in, that they could be taken by the hand, with a crooked pin and coarse thread, or wooden spear; but that was in the lower province; and oh, what glorious tales I have heard him tell of spearing fish by torchlight!”

“The fish may be wiser or not so numerous in this lake,” said Hector; “however, if Kate can bear to be moved, we will go down to the shore and try our luck; but what can we do? we have neither hook nor line provided.”

Louis nodded his head, and sitting down on a projecting root of a scrub oak, produced from the depths of his capacious pocket a bit of tin, which he carefully selected from among a miscellaneous hoard of treasures. “Here.” said he, holding it up to the view as he spoke; “here is the slide of an old powder-flask, which I picked up from among some rubbish that my sister had thrown out the other day.”

“I fear you will make nothing of that,” said Hector, “a bit of bone would be better. If you had a file now you might do something.”

“Stay a moment, Monsieur Hec., what do you call this?” and Louis triumphantly handed out of his pocket the very instrument in question, a few inches of a broken, rusty file; very rusty, indeed, it was, but still it might be made to answer in such ingenious hands as those of our young French Canadian. “I well remember, Katty, how you and Mathilde laughed at me for treasuring up this old thing months ago. Ah, Louis. Louis, you little knew the use it was to be put to then,” he added thoughtfully, apostrophising himself; “how little do we know what is to befall us in our young days!” “God knows it all,” said Hector, gravely, “we are under His good guidance.”

“You are right, Hec., let us trust in His mercy and He will take good care of us. Come, let us go to the lake,” Catharine added, and sprung to her feet, but as quickly sunk down upon the grass, and regarded her companions with a piteous look, saying, “I cannot walk one step; alas, alas! what is to become of me; I am only a useless burden to you. If you leave me here, I shall fall a prey to some savage beast, and you cannot carry me with you in your search for food.”

“Dry your tears, sweet cousin, you shall go with us. Do you think that Hector or Louis would abandon you in your helpless state, to die of hunger or thirst, or to be torn by wolves or bears? We will carry you by turns; the distance to the lake is nothing, and you are not so very heavy, ma belle cousine; see, I could dance with you in my arms, you are so light a burden,”--and Louis gaily caught the suffering girl up in his arms, and with rapid steps struck into the deer path that wound through the ravine towards the lake, but when they reached a pretty rounded knoll, (where Wolf Tower _[FN: See account of the “Wolf Tower,” in the Appendix.]_ now stands,) Louis was fain to place his cousin on a flat stone beneath a big oak that grew beside the bank, and fling himself on the flowery ground at her feet, while he drew a long breath, and gathered the fruit that grew among the long grass to refresh himself after his fatigue; and then, while resting on the “Elfin Knowe,” as Catharine called the hill, he employed himself with manufacturing a rude sort of fish-hook with the aid of his knife, the bit of tin, and the rusty file; a bit of twine was next produced,--boys have always a bit of string in their pockets, and Louis, as I have before hinted, was a provident hoarder of such small matters. The string was soon attached to the hook, and Hector was not long in cutting a sapling that answered well the purpose of a fishing-rod, and thus equipped they proceeded to the lake shore, Hector and Louis carrying the crippled Catharine by turns. When there, they selected a sheltered spot beneath a grove of over-hanging cedars and birches, festooned with wild vines, which, closely woven, formed a natural bower, quite impervious to the rays of the sun. A clear spring flowing from the upper part of the bank among the hanging network of loose fibres and twisted roots, fell tinkling over a mossy log at her feet, and quietly spread itself among the round shingly pebbles that formed the beach of the lake. Beneath this pleasant bower Catharine could repose, and watch her companions at their novel employment, or bathe her feet and infirm ancle in the cool streamlet that rippled in tiny wavelets over its stony bed.

If the amusement of fishing prove pleasant and exciting when pursued for pastime only, it may readily be conceived that its interest must be greatly heightened when its object is satisfying a craving degree of hunger. Among the sunny spots on the shore, innumerable swarms of the flying grasshopper or field crickets were sporting, and one of these proved an attractive bait. The line was no sooner cast into the water, than the hook was seized, and many were the brilliant specimens of sun-fish that our eager fishermen cast at Catharine’s feet, all gleaming with gold and azure scales. Nor was there any lack of perch, or that delicate fish commonly known in these waters as the pink roach.

Tired at last with their easy sport, the hungry boys next proceeded to the grateful task of scaling and dressing their fish, and this they did very expeditiously, as soon as the more difficult part, that of kindling up a fire on the beach, had been accomplished with the help of the flint, knife, and dried rushes. The fish were then suspended, Indian fashion, on forked sticks stuck in the ground and inclined at a suitable angle towards the glowing embers,--a few minutes sufficed to cook them.

“Truly,” said Catharine, when the plentiful repast was set before her, “God hath, indeed, spread a table for us here in the wilderness;” so miraculous did this ample supply of delicious food seem in the eyes of this simple child of nature.

They had often heard tell of the facility with which the fish could be caught, but they had known nothing of it from their own experience, as the streams and creeks about Cold Springs afforded them but little opportunity for exercising their skill as anglers; so that, with the rude implements with which they were furnished, the result of their morning success seemed little short of divine interference in their behalf. Happy and contented in the belief that they were not forgotten by their heavenly Father, these poor “children in the wood” looked up with gratitude to that beneficent Being who suffereth not even a sparrow to fall unheeded.

Upon Catharine, in particular, these things made a deep impression, and there as she sat in the green shade, soothed by the lulling sound of the flowing waters, and the soft murmuring of the many-coloured insects that hovered among the fragrant leaves which thatched her sylvan bower, her young heart was raised in humble and holy aspirations to the great Creator of all things living. A peaceful calm diffused itself over her mind, as with hands meekly folded across her breast, the young girl prayed with the guileless fervour of a trusting and faithful heart.

The sun was just sinking in a flood of glory behind the dark pine-woods at the head of the lake, when Hector and Louis, who had been carefully providing fish for the morrow, (which was the Sabbath,) came loaded with their finny prey carefully strung upon a willow wand, and found Catharine sleeping in her bower. Louis was loth to break her tranquil slumbers, but her careful brother reminded him of the danger to which she was exposed, sleeping in the dew by the water side; “Moreover,” he added, “we have some distance to go, and we have left the precious axe and the birch-bark vessel in the valley.”

These things were too valuable to be lost, and so they roused the sleeper, and slowly recommenced their toilsome way, following the same path that they had made in the morning. Fortunately, Hector had taken the precaution to bend down the flexile branches of the dogwood and break the tops of the young trees that they had passed between on their route to the lake, and by this clue they were enabled with tolerable certainty to retrace their way, nothing doubting of arriving in time at the wigwam of boughs by the rock in the valley.

Their progress was, however, slow, burdened with the care of the lame girl, and heavily laden with the fish. The purple shades of twilight soon clouded the scene, deepened by the heavy masses of foliage, which cast a greater degree of obscurity upon their narrow path; for they had now left the oak-flat and entered the gorge of the valley. The utter loneliness of the path, the grotesque shadows of the trees, that stretched in long array across the steep banks on either side, taking, now this, now that wild and fanciful shape, awakened strange feelings of dread in the mind of these poor forlorn wanderers; like most persons bred up in solitude, their imaginations were strongly tinctured with superstitious fears. Here then, in the lonely wilderness, far from their beloved parents and social hearth, with no visible arm to protect them from danger, none to encourage or to cheer them, can it be matter of surprise if they started with terror-blanched cheeks at every fitful breeze that rustled the leaves or waved the branches above them? The gay and lively Louis, blithe as any wild bird in the bright sunlight, was the most easily oppressed by this strange superstitious fear, when the shades of evening were closing round, and he would start with ill-disguised terror at every sound or shape that met his ear or eye, though the next minute he was the first to laugh at his own weakness. In Hector, the feeling was of a graver, more solemn cast, recalling to his mind all the wild and wondrous tales with which his father was wont to entertain the children, as they crouched round the huge log-fire of an evening. It is strange the charm these marvellous tales possess for the youthful mind, no matter how improbable, or how often told; year after year they will be listened to with the same ardour, with an interest that appears to grow with repetition. And still, as they slowly wandered along, Hector would repeat to his breathless auditors those Highland legends that were as familiar to their ears as household words, and still they listened with fear and wonder, and deep awe, till at each pause he made, the deep-drawn breath and half-repressed shudder might be heard. And now the little party paused irresolutely, fearing to proceed,--they had omitted to notice some land-mark in their progress; the moon had not long been up, and her light was as yet indistinct; so they sat them down on a little grassy spot on the bank, and rested till the moon should lighten their path.

Louis was confident they were not far from “the bigstone,” but careful Hector had his doubts, and Catharine was weary. The children had already conceived a sort of home feeling for the valley and the mass of stone that had sheltered them for so many nights, and soon the dark mass came in sight, as the broad full light of the now risen moon fell upon its rugged sides; they were nearer to it than they had imagined. “Forward for ‘the big stone’ and the wigwam,” cried Louis.

“Hush!” said Catharine, “look there,” raising her hand with a warning gesture.

“Where? what?”

“The wolf! the wolf!” gasped out the terrified girl. There indeed, upon the summit of the block, in the attitude of a sentinel or watcher, stood the gaunt-figured animal, and as she spoke, a long wild cry, the sound of which seemed as if it came midway between the earth and the tops of the tall pines on the lofty ridge above them, struck terror into their hearts, as with speechless horror they gazed upon the dark outline of the terrible beast. There it stood, with its head raised, its neck stretched outward, and ears erect, as if to catch the echo that gave back those dismal sounds; another minute and he was gone, and the crushing of branches and the rush of many feet on the high bank above, was followed by the prolonged cry of some poor fugitive animal,--a doe, or fawn, perhaps,--in the very climax of mortal agony; and then the lonely recesses of the forest took up that fearful death-cry, the far-off shores of the lake and the distant islands prolonged it, and the terrified children clung together in fear and trembling.

A few minutes over, and all was still. The chase had turned across the hills to some distant ravine; the wolves were all gone--not even the watcher was left, and the little valley lay once more in silence, with all its dewy roses and sweet blossoms glittering in the moonlight; but though around them all was peace and loveliness, it was long ere confidence was restored to the hearts of the panic-stricken and trembling children. They beheld a savage enemy in every mass of leafy shade, and every rustling bough struck fresh terrors into their excited minds. They might have exclaimed with the patriarch Jacob, “How dreadful is this place!”

With hand clasped in hand, they sat them down among the thick covert of the bushes, for now they feared to move forward, lest the wolves should return; sleep was long a stranger to their watchful eyes, each fearing to be the only one left awake, and long and painful was their vigil. Yet nature, overtasked, at length gave way, and sleep came down upon their eyelids; deep, unbroken sleep, which lasted till the broad sunlight breaking through the leafy curtains of their forest-bed, and the sound of waving boughs and twittering birds, once more wakened them to life and light; recalling them from happy dreams of home and friends, to an aching sense of loneliness and desolation. This day they did not wander far from the valley, but took the precaution, as evening drew on, to light a large fire, the blaze of which they thought would keep away any beast of prey. They had no want of food, as the fish they had caught the day before proved an ample supply. The huckle-berries were ripening too, and soon afforded them a never-failing source of food; there were also an abundance of bilberries, the sweet rich berries of which proved a great treat, besides being very nourishing.