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The Opening.—The Sea, the Sea, the open Sea.—The Priest.—The Promise of Help.—Pat takes a Walk, and passes a mysterious Building.—He takes a Swim.—Return of Pat.—A terrific Discovery.—Pat in a Panic.—The Scene of Horror.—Smoke and Flame.—The Fire Glow by Night.
IT was late in the afternoon when they reached that opening in the woods which had suddenly appeared. They had been fearfully exhausted; they had also been almost famished, and were without any prospect of either rest or food, when that opening appeared before them. But the sight of it acted upon them like magic, and seemed to drive away both hunger and weariness. Instantly their pace quickened from a languid, laborious walk to a trot, and then to a run, as they hurried forward, eager to learn what this place might be. Bart, with his hope of finding a settlement with living human beings, from whom he might receive information and assistance, was most excited, and was the first to quicken his pace; and the sight of his excited eagerness affected his companions with the same feelings. Thus they rushed forward, and in a short time emerged from the woods.

An open field lay before them, in which stumps arose here and there. The field rose with a slight ascent to an elevation which shut out the scene beyond. It was not the “Barrens,” which Solomon had expected, nor yet the lake or swamp which Pat had mentioned. Bart had been right. It was a space cleared by the hand of man; but still the question remained, what kind of a settlement was it, and of what extent. For a moment they paused as they emerged from the wood, and then they all hurried rapidly forward.

As they hurried forward the prospect opened more and more, until they gained the eminence; and then what a scene lay before them!

There, full before them—there, to their speechless amazement—lay—what? Could it be possible. Did their eyes deceive them. No. It was a fact. Yet, how amazing!

The sea!

The wide and boundless sea!

Yes, there it was, beyond the possibility of doubt—the sea—the sea itself—no river—no lake—but the sea, and nothing else.

Overhead the smoke clouds still rolled, as before, in vast voluminous folds, curling, and turning, and rolling, and lowering down close to the earth, giving to all nature a gloom that was peculiar, and not without terror. But beyond this lay the sea; and it stretched far away to the horizon, reaching along that horizon to the right and to the left as far as the eye could wander. It was the sea, the sea itself; and they had wandered far from the place from which they had set out, to reach such a goal as this.

And what was the place?

It was a settlement on the sea-shore. Between them and that sea-shore there extended cultivated fields, and numerous houses dotted the green meadows, and groves, and out-houses, and barns. Farther away, and nearer the sea, they noticed a long, low, white building, that looked like a straggling farm-house, or rather two or three farmhouses joined in one. Some people could be seen at the door, and a high fence surrounded it. Between this building and the place where they were standing a road ran, and along this road some cattle were passing. Beyond the building lay a sheet of water that looked like a harbor, between which and the sea extended a narrow spit of land; in several of the fields cattle were grazing; and within stone’s throw they saw a rude farm-house, built of logs, and whitewashed.

Pat was the first to break the silence into which they had been thrown by the utter astonishment and bewilderment of this discovery.

“Sure an it’s dead beat I am, and dumb entirely,” he exclaimed. “Ony to think of our coming out of the wuds to the say. Sure an it must be Miramichi itself, so it must, an we’ve been a wandherin through the wuds sthraight back to the place we dhruv out from wid de Injin. Och, an, be the powers, but it’s a quaire wandherin that we’ve been havin. Och, but I’ll nivir git over this.”

“It isn’t Miramichi,” said Bart, whom Pat’s wild remarks had roused from the stupor into which his amazement had thrown him. “It isn’t Miramichi,” he repeated; “for that’s a river, and here we have the open sea itself. But where in the world we have got to, and how we’ve got here, I confess I have no more idea than a stone.”

Bart’s surprise was certainly greater than that of either of his companions, and very naturally too. For he had thought all along that he was going west, and that his back was turned to the sea: but now he found that his actual course had been the very opposite of what he had supposed, and intended it to be. He had been trying to get to where Phil was, but now discovered that he had been going away from him all the time.

The discovery of the truth was amazing, bewildering, and at the same time humiliating to one who had been officiating in the dignified part of leader in this adventurous and eventful journey. But humiliating as it was, there was the actual fact, and it only remained to find out the name of the place where they had so strangely arrived.

In spite of his anxiety about Phil, and his mortification about his own mistake, Bart was not altogether without a feeling of relief at this sight that revealed itself, for he saw human habitations at any rate; and he thought that he would now be able not only to find out where he was, but also, perhaps, to get assistance, and thus resume, under more favorable circumstances, the difficult task of exploring the woods in search of Phil.

“Well,” said he, at length, “there’s no use standing here. We’re somewhere, and the best thing we can now do is to find out where we are. So come along. We’re in a place where we’ll be able to get food and shelter, at any rate.”

Saying this, he started off for the nearest house, and in a short time reached it. At first no one was visible; but on knocking at the door a woman made her appearance.

“We’ve lost our way in the woods,” said Bart. “Can you tell me what place this is?”

The woman stared at him for a moment, and then at Pat and Solomon. Then she said,—

“This place? Why, don’t you know this place? This is Tracadie.”

“Tracadie!” repeated Bart. The name was familiar to him, for he had often seen it on the map, and had often heard it mentioned. He knew it as a small settlement on the shore of the Gulf of St. Lawrence, though how in the world he could ever have wandered here still remained a profound mystery.

Bart then informed her that one of his party had been lost in the woods, and asked her if any boy had made his appearance, or had been heard of, in the settlement. The woman shook her head. Upon this Bart asked her if they could get any one in the place to help them go off in search of their lost friend. The woman did not know, but advised them to see the priest, and offered to take them to the priest’s house.

This house was not far away, and it did not take long to reach it. It was a pretty little cottage surrounded by trees, situated a little distance away from the road. Fortunately, the priest was at home. He was a wiry little man, with a benevolent face and most engaging manners. The moment he understood their errand, he insisted on giving them something to eat and drink, and refused to hear anything more until they had all satisfied their hunger.

Thus, then, they found themselves once more under a roof, after their long and eventful wandering. This was the fourth day since their departure from Miramichi. The first day they had driven for some twenty miles or so, and had walked far enough to reach a point which must have been nearly thirty miles from their starting-place. The second day they had walked ten or twelve miles farther, to the little river, where they had fished. The third day they had lost themselves, and had wandered from early dawn till dusk. The fourth day they had walked since daybreak, and had reached Tracadie towards evening. The last day had been the most fatiguing of all; partly on account of the oppressiveness of the atmosphere; partly because their provisions had given out, so that they had to walk for an immense distance without any food; and partly, also, because their hopes of finding Phil had died out, leaving them in a state of deep depression.

On hearing their story, the priest showed the deepest sympathy, and promised to do all that he could.

“You wish,” said he, “to go back to the woods again, and take a guide?”

“Yes, if we can find one.”

“Well, I think I know of one or two men who will be suitable; and if they are at home, they will be able to start as soon as you wish.”

“How near do you think this fire is?” asked Bart, anxiously. “Is there any likelihood that it is at all near?”

“I’m afraid there is,” said the priest.

“Are these woods often on fire?”

“Pretty often, in different places. These woods, in fact, are famous for fires. You’ve heard of the Great Fire of Miramichi? I can tell you all about that—but not now. These woods are a younger growth; the old forest was all swept away.”

At the mention of this Great Fire, of which he had heard, Bart’s heart sank within him. It was indeed a place of ill omen where poor Phil had lost himself; and what chance could there be for him in the presence of the merciless fire?

“I can’t make out the place where your friend was lost,” said the priest; “but I dare say the men I’ll bring will be able to understand where it is. They’ve been all through the woods in all directions, and ought to know every stream and every rock in it. Big rocks are not common here, and the one you speak of ought to be a very conspicuous landmark. But I won’t delay now any longer. I’ll go off at once; and I hope you’ll make yourselves comfortable till I return.”

The priest was a Frenchman; but he had lived here many years, and he spoke English almost like a native. His eager offer of help and active assistance greatly encouraged them, and they hoped for the best. Pat, in particular, showed this feeling in the strongest manner. He had been quite silent during the latter part of the walk, owing to fatigue and hunger combined; but now the short rest had refreshed him, and the repast had strengthened and cheered him. He accepted the promise of the priest as almost a certain token of success, and at once regained all his habitual confidence, and indulged in a long series of rattling, joyous remarks as to Phil’s present condition, and the probable state of his mind when they should find him.

At length he rose from his seat, and said he was going out to take a walk. He asked Bart and Solomon to go with him; but both declined. In spite of his long walk Pat could not sit still, but was restless and fidgety, and wanted to be moving about, even though his legs were yet aching from their long and arduous tramp. So, leaving Bart and Solomon, he went out of the house and along the road. After a while he came to another road, which led down to the water. It led to that irregular whitewashed building which they had seen from the eminence as they first emerged from the wood. Pat’s idea of the place was, that it was an inn; and so he sauntered along with the intention of reaching the water and having a swim.

As he approached the house, he noticed something very dreary and repellent in its appearance. The high fence around the adjacent ground gave it the air of a prison. Several people were in front of it, most of them sitting down. As Pat passed on he noticed that some of these had their heads bound up; others had their arms in slings; others had faces that were pale and emaciated. All of them watched him with wistful, curious eyes; with such looks as prisoners give through their jail windows at the passer-by. This strange look filled Pat with still greater surprise.

“It must be a hospital,” he thought; “but what ‘ud they be wan tin of a hospital in a scrap of a place like this?”

“Perhaps,” he thought again, “it’s a watherin place, an these are sick people that have come here to be thraited wid the custhomary rimidies.”

Passing by this place, he at length reached the beach, and walked along it for some distance before he found a place which appeared altogether suitable for his swim. About a mile away there ran a long spit of land, which seemed to shut out this piece of water from the outer sea, and made it seem like a lake. The water was calm and deliciously warm. Pat sprang in, and dived, and swam, and floundered about for a long time; and when at length he returned to the shore, he felt reinvigorated in every limb. All his fatigue seemed to have departed, and he felt almost fresh enough to begin a new tramp through the woods.

The priest returned after a short absence, bringing two men with him. They were both French, and spoke only broken English. They listened to the story of Bart, and asked a number of particular questions about the stream and the rock. They declared that they knew the place perfectly well; that there was only one rock of that description in the country, and that the place was about thirty miles away; by which Bart began to understand more clearly the full magnitude of his tramp. The men expressed a willingness to go whenever they were wanted, and it was finally agreed that they should start at daybreak on the following morning. With this understanding, the men took their departure.

It was dusk when Pat returned. He came towards the house whistling as cheerily as a bird, and the moment he entered he began telling what a delicious walk he had had. He then thought of the strange building near the shore, and asked the priest what it was.

“That?” said the priest. “O, that’s the Lazaretto.”

“The Lazaretto?” repeated Pat, not understanding him.

“Yes,” said the priest; “have you not heard of it?”

“The Lazaretto—niver a word surely. An what is the Lazaretto, thin?”

“O, it’s a place where we keep lepers.”

“Lepers!” cried Pat, in a voice of horror; and his ruddy face changed to a sickly pallor.

“Lepers?” said Bart. “Lepers? What, lepers here, in this country?”

“Yes,” said the priest. “It’s a miserable story. A great many years ago a French ship was wrecked in the Miramichi River. There were some clothing and bedding on board that came from the Levant, and the people here used them; and it is said that from this clothing they caught this terrible disease. It has continued here ever since, and the place has been established here for the poor creatures.”

“Lepers!” groaned Pat again. “An me walkin by that place, and thinkin of goin in.”

“It’s a terrible thing,” said the priest. “The patients who go there are dead to their friends. They never can hope to see them again.”

“Och, murdher!” cried Pat, starting up. “What’ll iver become of me? Och, murdher! Why didn’t somebody tell me?”

“What’s the matter?” asked the priest, in surprise.

“Och, everything’s the matther. Sure, an didn’t I go an swim for over half an hour in the leper wather, down yondher?”

“Leper water?” said the priest. “What is that?”

“Sure, the lake down there, or the cove, or whatever ye call it. Don’t they all go there an bathe?”

“I dare say they do; but what of that?”

“Och, murdher! The wather’s all fairly pisoned wid the leprosy, an I’m lost and gone intirely.”

“Nonsense,” said the priest; “don’t be alarmed. It isn’t contagious.”

“Sure, an how do I know that it isn’t?”

The priest smiled.

“Why,” said he, “I’m a proof of that, I suppose. I’ve lived here a great many years, and I’ve visited the poor creatures all that time regularly. I’ve shaken hands with them, and attended to all the duties of religion among them, but without any evil consequences.”

As the priest said this, Pat rose slowly to his feet, with a face of perfect horror. Even Bart experienced a slight feeling of repugnance as he thought that he was in familiar intercourse with one who had been so much in contact with lepers. But the priest’s calm, good-natured face, and his assurance that the disease was not contagious, quelled his rising fears, and the thought of that priest’s self-sacrifice made him feel ashamed of that cowardly feeling.

But with Pat it was different. The thought that the priest had touched the lepers; that on this very day he may have been there shaking hands with them; that he had been coming and going for years between his house and the Lazaretto,—all this filled him with terror. If that disease had been originally communicated by means of clothing, why should it not yet communicate itself in the same way? The whole house might be reeking with the insidious seeds of the deadly disease.

The thought was too horrible.

He murmured some inarticulate words, and went out of the house.

The priest went on talking with Bart, and for a long time no notice was taken of Pat’s absence. But hours passed, and bedtime came, and still there were no signs of him. Bart went out to call him.

Pat was not visible; but Bart saw a sight that drove all thoughts of Pat out of his mind. Pat, in fact, had fled, determining to sleep anywhere rather than in the priest’s house; and so Bart saw no signs of him. But the sight that he did see was awful beyond description.

There, where his eyes first turned, he saw the gloomy shadow of the forest. Overhead the sky was filled with rolling smoke clouds; and immediately above the range of the forest trees there was a long line of red,—dull, lurid, dark,—yet sustained and unintermittent, lying like a foundation of fire under all the moving mass of smoke.

The priest had followed him out. He looked at it for some time in silence.

“The fire is nearer,” he said, at last.

“And there is where we must go to-morrow,” said Bart; “and Phil is there!”

The priest said nothing.

Where—where—O, where is Phil? Such was now the one thought of Bart’s mind.


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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