Where? O where is Phil?—The Wanderer in the Woods.—Struggles with Difficulties that always increase.—Approach of Night.—Gloom.—Despair.—Climbing a Tree.—No Hope.—Rallying from the Assault.—A Midnight Meal.—Overworn Nature seeks Repose.
WHERE, O, where was Phil?

Had he indeed fallen a victim to the vengeance of the Indian? or had he wandered away through those terrible woods to encounter the fires, and to perish by them?

While Bart is racking his mind with these anxious questions, and trying in vain to answer them, let us leave him and follow the fortunes of the wanderer.

The rock that had risen on the shore of the river extended for about a hundred yards. Phil could have crossed the river and gone down on the other side, but it seemed swampy over there, and he thought it would be easier to pass over the rock. He also thought that there might be some view from the top which would give him a general idea of the country.

He therefore started off, and clambered to the top of the rock. On reaching it, however, he did not find any view in particular, for the trees around it rose so high that they intercepted the prospect. He therefore went on, intending to reach the river again lower down. On traversing the rock and reaching its lower end, he found that it terminated in an abrupt precipice. This precipice here ran back from the river into the woods, and if Phil still wished to reach the lower part of the stream, he saw that it would be necessary to go back into the woods till he found a place where he could clamber down the side of the rock. He therefore set off in that direction, expecting that he would only have to go a short distance. But the rock ran on much farther than he had supposed; and it was still too precipitous for him to descend. Along the edge there was a dense growth of underbrush which prevented his walking close to it, and forced him to go along at some distance away from it, and penetrate from time to time to the edge, to see if he had reached any place which offered a descent.

At length the rock subsided into the ground, and then Phil was able to seek the river. He walked along for some time in that direction, keeping the line of rock in sight as a guide; but at length the woods became so exceedingly dense that it was quite impossible to keep the rock in sight always. He therefore wandered off at times to avoid difficult places, returning again as soon as convenient to seek the guidance of his landmark. At length he plunged into a very dense and difficult part of the forest, where he had to make so many turns and detours to avoid the obstacles that rose in his way, that he soon lost all idea of the right direction. He struggled onward, however, striving to get into the open from which he might gain sight of his rock; but the farther he went onward, the more difficult did it seem to grow, and the less prospect was there of any open ground. Upon this he turned, and tried to retrace his steps, anxious at all hazards to get free from this entanglement. But to retrace his steps was not so easy. He had got in, but to get out was a different matter altogether. His frequent turnings and twistings had already bewildered him; and as he had still to keep up the same crooked course, and turn and twist as much as ever, his bewilderment increased. Still he was not at all alarmed as yet, for the thought of any actual danger had not begun to occur. He was only perplexed, and at the same time slightly vexed at the continuance of the jungle into which he had tumbled. There was no help for it, however; and so he toiled on as well as he could, and at length, to his satisfaction, found the underbrush diminishing very perceptibly. This discovery encouraged him, and he kept on in this direction, for now his chief desire was, first of all, to get to some place where he could regain sight of the rock; and so he walked on as rapidly as possible, until at length the woods became sufficiently open to make his progress as easy as he could expect.

It seemed to him now that he had been a long time wandering, and he began to be anxious to discover the rock. How to do so he did not know, and could only think of climbing a tree so as to take a survey of the country. Unfortunately none of the trees were very large; but he selected the tallest one that he could find, and climbed up as high as he could. He now looked all around. The prospect gave but little satisfaction. On every side other trees arose above the level of his outlook, and shut out from view the scene beyond. He therefore learned nothing whatever from this survey, and was compelled to descend disappointed. What now to do became a serious question. There was the rock, and there was the river, either of which it would be equally advisable to regain; but in what direction did they lie? It seemed to him that the rock ought to be west of his present position, and the river south. If he could go either westward, or southward, or in any intermediate direction, he would regain his course. Yet that was the very thing that he was unable to do. He had no compass, and now bitterly regretted that he had not brought one. Overhead there was nothing that could afford him any assistance, for the sky was all overspread with that smoke which he had noticed all along, and the sun could not be seen. There was nothing left, therefore, but bare conjecture.

He now tried, as far as possible, to recall his confused wanderings. Although he could not, of course, recall the details of his journey, yet, as he thought it over, it seemed to him that, on the whole, he had been making progress in some one direction, and that, if he could but go back, he would be more likely to reach the river or the rock than in any other way. As he looked back over his course, it seemed to him that the west lay there, and to the left of that was the south; so that if he could now only effect some progress in that direction, all would be well. He therefore made up his mind to go back again, as far as going back over his lost track was possible; and as he could not think of plunging again into that thicket, he thought that when he reached it he would turn to the left, and avoid it if possible in that way.

Accordingly, he now set out in the endeavor to go back on his path. No vestige of anything like a trail appeared to him, nor was there a single thing that he remembered having seen before. He walked on now for a long time, expecting every moment to reach that tangled thicket which he had considered as the chief difficulty in his way back. To his utter amazement, he came across no tangled thicket of any kind whatever. The woods, instead of growing denser, seemed to grow more open, and his progress grew easier. The woods now were precisely like what they had been daring their walk early in the day.

At first he felt only surprise; but soon surprise deepened into uneasiness, and uneasiness into anxiety. Where was he? In what direction was he going? What should he do if he were going wrong? Such were the thoughts that came to him. At length his anxiety grew so strong, and he became so convinced that his course was altogether wrong, that he stopped, and again tried to think how he might rectify his error. Once more he climbed a tree, but with the same result as before. The tops of other trees were all around. Nothing appeared which could act as a guide. Overhead, the smoky covering which overspread the skies shut out all traces of the sun; and when he descended to the ground, there began to dawn upon him the conviction, which grew stronger and stronger every moment, that he was actually lost! hopelessly and utterly lost! and that, too, in a trackless and uninhabited forest.

His only hope was, that he had not gone very far away, but was still, if not within sight of his friends, at least within hearing. So upon this he began to do what he now knew he ought to have done before. He began to call in a loud voice after Pat, and Bart, and Solomon. After each call he stopped and listened for an answer. But no answer came, and his own calls echoed far away through the forest aisles, and it was only the mocking sound of these echoes that came to his ears. Still he thought that if he persevered long enough, some response must finally come. He thought they must be near enough to hear him, but were too intent upon their fishing to think of him, or to notice his cries. Besides, he took comfort in the thought that they had not yet missed him, and consequently would not be on the alert. His cries might be faint in their ears, and not excite any notice.

The time passed, and still he kept up his cries. He called in every possible tone, and made use of every shout that his voice could compass, sometimes calling their names, sometimes uttering shrieks, and howls, and shrill yells. But all these were unavailing, and he was at last compelled to desist, from utter weariness and loss of voice.

And now he noticed that it began to grow darker. At first this discovery gave him an unpleasant shock, but immediately he began to find comfort in this circumstance.

“When it grows dark,” he thought, “they’ll miss me, and they’ll come to hunt me up. They’ll hear me if I call—or, better yet, they themselves will now do the shouting, and I’ll hear them.”

With this thought he kept perfectly still. The darker it grew, the more intently did he listen; for he was convinced that by this time they must have discovered his absence, and must be searching after him. The only thing that troubled him was the remembrance of his last words to Pat. He had told Pat that he was going down the stream, and they might make their first search after him in that direction, and this he did not think would bring them within hearing; for though he had no idea where he was, he still had every reason to believe that he was nowhere near the river.

It now grew darker and darker; yet still to his strained ears there had not come a single sound to tell him that his friends were near; not a single cry, however faint, however remote, to make known to him that they were on the search after him. As the time passed away, the long, long suspense and the protracted disappointment began to fill him with the deepest gloom—and he began to know to its fullest extent that “agony of hope deferred that maketh the heart sick.” At length it grew so dark, that even his hope, tenacious as it was, could no longer shut out from his mind the conviction that whatever anxiety his friends might feel, it was simply impossible for them at this time to make any search whatever. If they had missed him, and had sought for him, they must have gone in a direction different from that in which he had gone, and must have been altogether out of hearing.

As soon as he fully recognized this fact, all his energies gave way, and he sank down upon the ground. Not until this moment had he known how exhausted he was, and how oppressive the sultry atmosphere. Thus far his excitement, first to regain his lost path, and latterly to communicate with his friends or hear from them, had so taken possession of him, that heat or fatigue, or any other bodily sensation, was not noticed. Anxiety, eager effort, pertinacious hope,—all these had by turns influenced him; but now, as there seemed no further chance either for action or for expectation, his strength collapsed, and he gave way utterly. He lay upon the ground, his head resting upon some moss, and yielded himself up both in mind and in body to the misery of his situation. The severe exertions that he had made had utterly exhausted him; the conflict of soul that he had endured, had intensified that exhaustion; and for a long time he remained motionless, gasping for breath, and in a state of utter despair.

Now, the night came down—sultry, torrid, oppressive, suffocating. Its intense blackness covered everything in an impenetrable veil. Its effect upon the others has already been described, and upon Phil it produced results more fearful still. Had it not been for that unusual oppressiveness and that Egyptian darkness, he might have roused himself; but as it was, he gave up utterly, and remained sunk in the profoundest despair for hours.

At length a change came over him. In spite of the heat of the night, the long rest had been beneficial, and it was not in the nature of things that emotions so strong should last very long. Phil’s mind was buoyant, his temper cheerful, and hope was always strong in his soul. As he lay there sleepless, his thoughts began to revolt against the gloom that had overwhelmed him.

“What a fool I am!” he thought, rousing himself, and sitting up. “After all, what is it? and why should I knock under this way? Me, too—of all fellows! after that tremendous adventure at the Falls.”

The moment his thoughts reverted to that fearful adventure his gloom vanished. He now recalled the incidents of that terrific event. He thought of the frenzied struggle against the grip of the resistless waters; he thought of the wild plunge into the seething flood, and of that horrible moment when the rolling torrents overwhelmed him, and hurled him downward into awful depths. Then he recalled the events of their drift down the harbor, and out towards the bay, when there seemed not the faintest chance of escape.

In comparison with this his present situation seemed trifling. To be lost in the woods, what was that? Was it equal to being lost in the terrible tide, and environed in impenetrable fogs? Could it under any possibility be so bad as being swept out to sea, a helpless victim of the pitiless waves? There was no comparison between the two cases.

And now his depression fled, and the buoyancy of his soul lifted him up to hope. He began to think over his prospects cheerfully, and to make plans about the following day. As soon as daylight came, his friends would at once come in search of him. He would listen and hear their calls. If he could not think of any direction in which to go, he could wait. But as to that, he did not expect to be so puzzled as he had been. The sun would surely shine, and that would give him an idea of east, west, north, and south. He might then choose his route, and follow it up. If his friends did not come, he could go off himself, and doubtless he would reach some place eventually. He might find some stream, and follow it to its mouth, where there would be sure to be a settlement; or perhaps he might light upon some clearing in the woods where he might obtain help, and perhaps regain his friends.

Thus Phil’s thoughts grew more and more cheerful; and he looked forward most hopefully, and persisted in putting the best appearance on things. At length he began to think that his long fast was not good for him, especially as he might have some hard work to do on the morrow; so he opened his basket, and taking out his sandwiches that he had carried there all the day, he made a hearty meal. The effect was most beneficial; the hollow, craving, gnawing feeling that had distressed him passed away, and was succeeded by a sense of comfort.

And now drowsiness began to steal over him. He had satisfied his hunger; he had overcome by his long rest the first painful exhaustion and fatigue consequent upon his severe exertions; above all, his mind had attained a pleasant state of cheerfulness and hope. There were no longer any despairing thoughts or terrible fears to excite him and keep him awake; and so at length he fell into a sound and refreshing sleep.