The Wanderer on his winding Way.—The Bewilderment of the Forest.—Swamps and Bogs.—? The friendly Brook.—Following the Flow of the running Water.—A pleasant Course.—An encouraging Discovery.—Astray once more.—He sinks to Rest.—The last Sandwich.
IT was very late when Phil fell asleep, and his fatigue and exhaustion combined to make his sleep heavy and prolonged. As there were no sounds to break in upon his slumbers, he continued sleeping until late on the following day. On awaking he raised himself up, and looked around in surprise, for in his dreams he had been wandering among familiar scenes, and it was some time before he could comprehend his present situation. But his mossy bed at the foot of a large maple tree, and the woods that extended all around on every side, soon enabled him to recall the events of the preceding day, and to understand how he came here.

These recollections were not cheerful, nor was it a pleasant change to turn from happy dreams to such an awakening as this; yet Phil was not cast down. He still felt the beneficial effect of those better thoughts of the night before; and still retained that buoyancy of spirit and that hopefulness which he had felt on going to sleep.

And now another day had dawned, with its possibilities for good and evil. His watch told him, to his amazement, that it was after ten o’clock. Ten o’clock! After ten o’clock, and yet no signs of Bart and the others! What did this mean? Had they neglected him so long? Neglected him? No. They could not do that; but was it not possible that during his sleep they may have wandered about these woods near him, and called to him while he could not hear them? This was a most distressing thought, and if such a thing had happened, its result would bring a twofold evil; for in the first place, he would have missed the chance of deliverance, and in the second place, they would not be likely to pass by here again. But these thoughts were not of a kind that he chose to entertain. He was in no mood now to sink into despondent inaction. He was tired of this place, and was anxious to leave it. He was also wearied of inaction, and was eager to do something. Far better did it seem to him to do anything, and go anywhere, even if he should be unsuccessful, than to remain here waiting for those who might never come. So he at once dismissed all idle thoughts and useless regrets, and addressed himself to the task of arranging his own course of action.

He saw at once that the points of the compass were as much a mystery as ever. The first glance upward showed him that the sky was darker than ever, that its covering was more opaque, that the smoke was nearer to the earth. The air also, was close and oppressive. The sun was not visible, and therefore his hope failed of finding some course which he might pursue by this means. What, then, was he to do?

The first thing that he decided on doing was, to take his breakfast. Now, he had eaten pretty freely on the preceding night, and therefore it was with some concern that he opened his basket and examined his stores. That concern was certainly not at all lessened when he found that he had only two sandwiches left.

Two sandwiches!

Rather a small supply of provisions for one who was lost in the midst of the forest, and had no idea whatever when he might be able to find his way out. Phil would not allow himself to feel anxious about this, yet at the same time he was prudent enough to look out for the future; and so, though he was hungry, and felt the need of a good breakfast, yet he did not feel inclined to devour all of his slender stock at that one meal. He chose rather to exercise some self-denial; and so he contented himself with only one sandwich, and put the other back, reserving it for a time of need.

He now felt thirsty, and began to look around for water. He could not find any for a long time. Meanwhile, as he walked about, the exertion made him much more sensitive to the closeness and heat of that torrid atmosphere, and so aggravated his thirst that it began to torment him to an intolerable degree. At length, to his great joy, he found a swampy place; and, stooping down, he tore out the moss and sods, and scooped up the black mud that was underneath, until at last some black, discolored water appeared. He took a few mouthfuls of this without hesitation, and then, scooping out some more mud, he waited till the water should grow clearer. The particles of mud after a time settled at the bottom, and the water became clear enough for Phil to drink it; and though it was disagreeably warm, it yet refreshed him.

He now resumed his course. This swamp lay in a slight hollow, and seemed to extend for some distance. He was loath to leave it, for the remembrance of his recent sufferings was strong within him; and so he walked along the swampy hollow. To his surprise it extended for a long distance, and to his great gratification the moisture of the ground increased, until at length the bog became more and more marshy, and pools of standing water became visible. He skirted the edge of the swamp, still walking on, and at length reached a place where a small brook flowed on out of this swamp into the woods. Along this he walked for a little distance, and then took another draught of the water, which he now found quite pure, and not so warm as to be unpleasant. Much refreshed, he sat down by its edge, and once more began to deliberate about the best course that he could take.

He did not like the state of things altogether. It was bad enough to be lost in the forest; but there were other things superadded which made his situation far worse. For he now felt the oppressiveness of the air most painfully, and the exertion of walking was far more exhaustive than he had ever known it before. Besides, the atmosphere had a smoky character, which was distressing, and the thick smoke clouds overhead showed that something was going on in these woods that might ere long make his situation much worse. There was, indeed, something ominous in that sickly, leaden sky, in those rolling smoke clouds that hung so low, in this suffocating air which he could not breathe with comfort,—something ominous in the oppressive heat, and in the stagnation of the atmosphere. There was, however, a breeze; its signs were visible overhead, but the woods were so dense that he could not gain any benefit from it. What the meaning of it all might be, he could easily conjecture; but the thought was too formidable to be entertained, and so he tried to dismiss it from his mind.

And now, while he thought of what he ought to do, a plan of action suggested itself which was so-simple, so feasible, and so full of promise, that he at once caught at it and proceeded to act upon it. This plan was nothing else than to follow the course of the brook. It would of course enlarge as it ran on. It might lead into a larger stream, and that stream would be sure to bring him out somewhere. Besides, to be near a stream would be of great advantage in many ways. It would be more open, and lighter, and more airy than the thick recesses of the forest; its bed would offer a comparatively easy footpath, except where it might become too strong or swampy; and he would always be in the neighborhood of water.

On this idea he proceeded at once to act, and so resumed his journey, walking in the bed of the little brook. The bottom afforded an easy path; and though the water was over his ankles, yet its coolness was refreshing, and served to alleviate very materially the effects of the sultry atmosphere.

But on resuming his course, Phil saw that if he hoped to make any real progress, he must divest himself of all useless encumbrances. His basket and his fishing-rod were of this description. He therefore sacrificed both of them to the necessities of the occasion; but before he threw them down, he removed the hook and line from the rod, so as to have it in case of need. And now, as he went on, he felt the benefit of this disencumbrance; for the weight and inconvenience of these had been excessively troublesome all along. Yet the line and hook were the only essential part of the rod, and the sandwich was the only necessary part of the basket; and these things were carried far more conveniently in his pocket.

The brook flowed on, and gradually increased in volume by the occasional addition of other brooklets, which joined it in its course. The channel grew broader, and the waters grew more abundant, sometimes spreading themselves out wide over a pebbly bottom, at other times collecting into deep pools, which Phil preferred avoiding. In spite of the irregularities and inequalities of its course, Phil preferred walking here to wandering at random through the woods; in the first place, on account of the reasons above mentioned; and in the second place, for the reason that it led to some definite point, and would not allow him to wander about blindly in a circle. The hopeless bewilderment which had resulted from his forest wanderings on the previous day, made his present course seem quite certain and definite in comparison.

At last, to Phil’s great delight, the brook joined another brook, which was fully twice as large, though not as large as that stream where he had been fishing. A vague hope had arisen in his mind that this brook might lead him to that very stream, in which case he counted confidently on finding his friends; but now he had walked so far that he gave up this hope altogether, and had made up his mind to seek his own safety, irrespective of his friends. The new brook was quite as easy as the old one; in fact, it was somewhat more so, for it was less irregular, and presented fewer inequalities of depths. Over its bed, then, Phil trudged on, sometimes stopping to dash water over his face and head, at other times thrusting in his hands, and occasionally bending down to take a drink. The presence of the brook thus proved of the greatest advantage to him, and its cool waters prevented him from feeling that exhaustion under which he might otherwise have sunk utterly. In the broader pathway that this brook afforded, he had also the chance of gaining advantage of any slight breeze or movement of the air that might take place; and thus in every way he was a gainer.

At length he came to another brook, into which this one discharged itself. The new brook was very much larger; and though not quite so large as the stream where they had been fishing, still it was not much smaller. At first the only thought that came to Phil was, that he had come back to this very stream itself from which he had started; but soon, as he came to reflect upon the length of his wanderings, and upon the probability that many streams ran through the forest, he gave up this idea, and contented himself with following out the plan that he had adopted. This stream he thought might lead to some larger one, and that larger one to some river, which might eventually bring him to the habitations of man.

The fresh hopes that were now aroused within him lessened his fatigue, and stimulated him to new efforts. The bed of this stream was shallow and pebbly, sometimes deepening into pools, at other times bringing him into the midst of swamps, and grasses, and rushes; but, on the whole, it was no more difficult than its predecessor had been; and his progress was very satisfactory.

At length he came to a place where he saw something that sent a thrill of joy through his whole being.

It was a path!

It was an unmistakable path, narrow and rough, it is true, yet still a path. It seemed like one of those roads which are used in winter to draw logs out of the woods, or fuel; yet whatever its purpose might be, there it was; and here at last Phil saw something that proved that he was not cut off altogether from all association with human kind. That path seemed to promise escape, and seemed to lead him forth from the wilderness track to life and liberty.

He stood and looked at it long and carefully. It ran across the brook, and on either side it presented the same appearance. The question that now arose in his mind was, which side should he choose—the right or the left? There was nothing in the path that helped him to a decision; no footmarks were visible to show him where to go; he was left altogether to chance and to his own instincts.

At length he decided to take the path on the right hand side, and accordingly he at once went on in this direction. The path was about six feet wide, and was comparatively smooth; so smooth, indeed, that it seemed almost luxurious when compared with the irregularities of the brook, with its alternations of gravel and swamp, which was also deep in water. Here, then, Phil walked along rapidly, and was so full of hope that at every turn in the path he expected to see some house.

The path, as has been said, seemed like one of those which are used in the winter only for lumbering purposes. At the present time it bore no marks whatever of recent use. No traces of wheels were visible, no footprints of any kind; yet it was level, for the ordinary irregularities seemed to have been smoothed away by the attrition of logs which had been hauled over it.

Phil walked on for several hours. He was very much fatigued; but the new excitement that had arisen consequent upon this discovery had prevented him from giving way to his weariness, and had, in fact, roused him above it to such an extent that he was unconscious of it. His expectation of meeting with some signs of humanity clung to him incessantly as he walked along; and though he was constantly disappointed, yet he constantly hoped, and persisted in the hope, in spite of disappointments.

At length, it began to grow darker, and he saw that evening was coming on. He had been walking incessantly, with but one short rest, ever since eleven o’clock. Under ordinary circumstances he could not have maintained such a prolonged effort; and had he not met with this path he would have sought rest long before this. But his intense desire to escape, which had been stimulated by this discovery of the path, drew him on, and nerved him to new efforts. At the end of each hour he still hoped that the next hour would bring something; and so he kept on even after the darkness began to deepen. Now, as the darkness increased, the path grew less and less perceptible, and at last he happened to get out of it at a place where there was a wide opening in the woods. Leaving it here, he wandered about until he discovered that he had lost it altogether. On making this discovery, he made no effort either to retrace his steps, or to find out the lost path. He was too much worn out to think of doing either. He simply gave up.

A moss-covered mound was close beside him; and taking a seat here, he determined to remain for the night, and leave all further effort for the following day. He was fearfully fatigued, and utterly worn out. When he gave up he gave up completely. His only thought now was for his immediate wants, and those wants comprised the two essentials of food and rest. Rest he could find here, on the mossy mound, under the forest trees. As to food, thanks to his forethought and self-denial in the morning, something yet remained. It was that sandwich which he had reserved for a time of need. The time of need had come, and he drew the sandwich from his pocket.

He looked at it for a moment solemnly and thoughtfully. It was his last sandwich—the very last of his little stock of provisions. Should he eat it all, or should he still preserve a little of it? It seemed unwise to eat it all. He broke it into two portions, and wrapping one up carefully, he proceeded to eat the other. But on eating this he found his appetite unappeased, and his craving for more was irresistible. He unwrapped what he had reserved and looked at it. Should he eat it? Dare he eat it? To eat it would be to deprive himself of his last mouthful, and on the following morning he would have nothing with which to begin the day.