Clouds and Vapors.—The exhaustive Heat.—Thirst.—Muddy Water.—The Pangs of Hunger.—How to fish.—The River.—The placid Lake.—A Plunge into the Water.—The Midday Mead.—The Pine Woods.—The rocky Cavern.—Preparing a Night’s Rest.—The Evening Repast.—Night once more.
ON waking the next morning, Phil’s first impulse was to look above and around to see what might be the prospects for the day. To his disappointment he found those prospects not at all changed for the better. Overhead he saw the rolling smoke clouds, which now were gloomier and denser than before, and still nearer the earth. The atmosphere caught from them a very perceptible odor, which showed the character of the clouds above, and was pungent enough to create some degree of irritation in the nose and throat. The spot where he was appeared to be somewhat more open than usual, and in some directions he could look over a space several rods in extent. In this direction the smoke haze was very apparent.

He felt both hungry and thirsty. But he had nothing whatever to eat, and knew it. He had eaten his last mouthful the evening before, and there was nothing whatever left now to satisfy the demands of his appetite. But for the present his thirst was stronger than his hunger; and so parched was his throat, and so painful was his craving for water, that he at once started up, and set out in search of some.

His object was now to regain that path which he had lost the night before, and follow it until he might find another brook, or at least a swamp. But though he sought most diligently, and most thoroughly, in all directions, still he could find no trace of it whatever. Bitter experience had already taught him his own utter incapability of finding his way back through these woods to any point from which he might have wandered, and so he soon gave up this search as useless: but in addition to this, his thirst was altogether too pressing to allow of any search after lost paths. The one thing of his desire became water, and so he turned his attention towards finding this first necessity. He did not have to undergo a very long trial. The woods were intersected in many places by small brooklets, and before long he came to a bog, in which he obtained sufficient water to allay his thirst. By carefully examining this, he found a place which was the outlet of a brook, and he now pursued the same course which had been followed by him the day before; that is, he walked along in the bed of the brook, hoping that it would lead to a stream.

As he walked along it grew larger and larger; other brooks joined it; and at length it ran into a stream which was quite as large as that one from which he had originally wandered. On reaching this he sat down on the bank and rested. The stream was about a dozen yards wide here, and the waters were shallow, running on among gravel and cobble stones. The banks were bordered with trees, which rose to the height of about forty feet, and threw their branches across the stream till they nearly met.

Sitting here and resting, Phil began to feel more hungry than ever. His walk had only served to sharpen his appetite, and the alleviation of his thirst had brought out his hunger more prominently. And now what could he do? To struggle forward all day without anything to eat would be almost impossible. Already he felt exhausted from his walk thus far without food; and to commence again seemed out of the question. In his hunger he now tried to find something in the woods. He tore up some grass, and chewed the roots; he peeled off some maple bark, and tried to chew this; but the grass roots and the maple bark had no perceptible effect in diminishing his hunger. At last he thought of his fishing line, which he had carried with him after throwing away the rod. Wondering why he had been so stupid as not to think of this before, he proceeded to search for a suitable rod. This he found after a short time, and attaching the line to the end of it, he proceeded to try his skill at fishing. He walked down the stream for some distance, but for some time he met with no success. He began to feel a little alarm, and to think that the heat and the smoke prevented the fish from rising, when suddenly, in the midst of his discouragement, he felt a nibble at the hook. He jerked it up, but missed his prey that time; still the circumstance encouraged him greatly, for it showed him that there was hope, and he continued his task with fresh spirit. At length, to his intense delight, he jerked out a fish. It was quite small, but still it was indescribably welcome; and without waiting any longer, Phil at once proceeded to kindle a fire. He did this with little difficulty, and placing the fish on the blazing sticks, he watched it until it seemed sufficiently cooked to be eaten. Although his hunger had made him too impatient to wait till the fish was thoroughly cooked, yet that same hunger made him indifferent to little deficiencies of this sort, and the half-raw trout seemed to him, without exception, the most delicious morsel that he had ever eaten. He now resumed his rod, and before long hauled out another, which was soon followed by another, and yet another. By this time the fire had died down to the coals, and on these Phil laid his fish. This time he waited until they were so thoroughly cooked that they would have satisfied the most fastidious appetite. On these Phil made a right royal repast; and this supply of food seemed to him to be sufficient for any effort that he might have to make that day. Before starting, however, he was provident enough to wait until he had caught three more trout, so as to secure himself from again coming so close to absolute starvation as he had been that morning; and then, putting these in his pocket, he rolled up very carefully his precious hook and line, and once more resumed his journey.

He had thus been able to satisfy both that thirst and that hunger which had each assailed him so fiercely on his first awaking; and this fact gave to him a glow of satisfaction, and a confidence in his own resources, which dispelled the last vestige of his gloom, and filled him with energy, and hope, and cheerfulness. In this frame of mind he set out on the renewal of his journey, not knowing any better than before where he was going, yet hoping for the best.

The brook ran on for some miles, receiving other brooks, and growing gradually larger. As a general thing, its bed afforded a sufficiently easy pathway for Phil to traverse, without any unusual exertion, and was preferable, on the whole, to the forest with its underbrush. Occasionally, however, he was able to take advantage of favorable openings among the trees, and on several occasions gained very much by taking short cuts, and avoiding certain bends in the river. On such short cuts it is needless to say that he never ventured, unless he was able to see plainly where he was going. In this way he went on for some hours, and in that time he certainly succeeded in getting-over a large extent of ground.

But such exertions as these were not made easily; and soon the energy with which he had started began to relax. He became more sensitive to the heat, and it seemed to him that the smoke was growing more dense and more distressing. He began to think that he must be drawing nearer to the fires from which all this smoke and this oppressive heat arose. The thought was a most disheartening one; for if it were true, it would transform what seemed to be his pathway to safety into a blind rush to danger, and make of no avail all his long struggles that he had put forth so perseveringly. It was a thought, indeed, which was too depressing for him to entertain, and so he strove to drive it from his mind; but it was one of those unpleasant ideas which cling to the mind in spite of itself, and so, notwithstanding Phil's efforts to hope for the best, there lowered over him a very dark and dismal foreboding that his present course would at length bring him face to face with the fire.

And what then?

All, that he could not tell.

Should he turn back now? No; that was a thing which he could not bear to think of. Wherever he was going, he could not turn back yet—not till he was convinced that it was all wrong—not till the very presence of the fire itself should force him to give up all hope of farther progress in this direction.

In spite of his surroundings of oppressive heat and distressing smoke, of rough pathways and alternating wood and water,—in spite of his fatigue of body, and despondency of mind,—Phil still kept on his course, and struggled most heroically to maintain his onward march, wherever it might lead. At length he reached a place where the stream ran in almost a straight line for a considerable distance; and looking down this, he could see at the farthest extremity the smoky haze; but at the same time he felt confident that it was not a whit denser than it had been in the morning. This discovery encouraged him; and now, if he felt the smoke and the heat more keenly, he was able, with great apparent reason, to attribute it solely to his own weariness of body.

“I will rest soon,” he thought. “I will take a long rest, and get something to eat, and that will be sure to restore me.”

With this thought he went on; and though he had made up his mind to rest, yet he kept constantly postponing the period of that rest. At length the stream took a turn round a wooded declivity, and as Phil went up this to cut across, he suddenly beheld lying immediately in front of him a small lake, into which the stream ran.

The sight of this at once decided him to make this wooded declivity his resting-place. So he took his seat here on the shore, and looked out upon the scene before him. The lake was of no very great extent, and was surrounded on all sides by trees. In front of Phil the beach was pebbly, and the waters clear and transparent; but on the right there was a wide extent covered over with green rushes, and water lilies, both yellow and white. As Phil looked forth upon this pleasant scene, the waters seemed so inviting and so clear, that he determined to take a bath. No sooner had he thought of this than he was on his feet again, and in a very short time had divested himself of his clothes and plunged in.

He plunged down into those sweet, clear, tranquil waters. As his head sank under the embrace of the cool flood, it seemed to convey new life and strength to every fibre of his wearied frame. It was one delicious moment in a day of toil and trouble. He struck out and swam far off into the middle of the lake. Then he dived again and again; and then, rolling over on his back, he lay floating, with his eyes closed, and his form reposing luxuriously upon its soft, watery couch. The water here was sufficiently clear and sufficiently deep for his purposes, the rushes and lilies were over upon the shore on one side, and there was nothing to mar his enjoyment. Here he forgot the heat and the smoke. The cool waters took away from him all that sense of oppression which he had so long felt, and when he at length landed, it was as though he had enjoyed some prolonged rest for hours, or some profound and refreshing slumber.

Now he resumed his clothes, and thought of those fish which he had been carrying. On examining them, he found them slightly stale, yet not at all crushed, and thereupon he proceeded to kindle a fire upon the shore of the lake. Thus far he had found no difficulty in making his fires, for he had matches with him, and there was no lack of dry twigs; so, in a short time, a fire sufficient for his purposes was blazing merrily. Phil was in no hurry; so, lying down near it, and leaning on one elbow, he watched it lazily, until sufficient coals had been formed, upon which he might lay his fish.

The fish this time were even superior to what they had been on a former occasion, for Phil’s practice had shown him, to some extent, how they could be broiled to the best advantage. All that they needed was a little salt and pepper; but he was too hungry to miss either of those seasonings. He found, indeed, in his case, the truth of the old saying, that hunger is the best relish; and never in his life had he eaten any meal with half the zest that he had known at the eventful meals of this eventful day. A draught of water from the running stream completed his repast, and he now lay down refreshed, and began to meditate over his journey. He had now rested for nearly two hours, and he began to feel like resuming his march. It would be necessary, he saw, to walk around the lake till he found its outlet, and then go along as before, and keep on as long as his strength might hold out.

Once more, then, he rose strong, eager, resolute, and cheerful, hoping for the best, and willing to go on in this course until he reached some destination, wherever that might be. He walked along the lake shore, and on reaching the other end, he found the outlet. This was nothing more than a continuation of the stream down which he had been going, but there was more water, for the lake probably received other contributions; and what was more important, the bottom was muddy. Fortunately, however, the woods here were free from underbrush, so that he had no difficulty in walking through them, keeping the stream in sight. After going about a mile or so, he found, to his great delight, that he had come to a pine forest. To him, after his long, rough walk, this fact gave the greatest possible joy. For now the trees rose up around him at wide intervals, and no tangled underbrush stood in his way, forcing him to wind through them or lose himself in the attempt to go around it. The pine forest allowed him to choose his own course and walk almost as freely as though he were in an open field. Besides, the ground under his feet gave a firm foothold. It was not like the soft moss or long ferns of the other woods; it was not like the pebbly bed of the stream; it was hard, and smooth, and afforded an easy pathway.

As Phil went on, he noticed that the stream grew much wider, though it still remained shallow. Its waters flowed sometimes in the middle of the bed, sometimes on the right bank, and sometimes towards the left; while again they distributed themselves over the whole of its wide bed, and brawled, and gurgled, and bubbled onward among the stones and pebbles with which its bed was again filled. At one place its channel divided, and a little island covered with trees arose in the midst, while the waters, after flowing past in two streams, once more reunited. About a half mile below this another stream joined it, and the waters were very considerably increased.

Phil walked along for several hours, and at length began to feel once more that excessive weariness which he had felt before bathing in the lake. Once more the atmosphere grew exceedingly oppressive, and the smoke distressed him. At length he came to a ledge of rocks, by the borders of the stream. As he came up he noticed something like an opening, and walked towards it. He saw that a huge mass of rock lay tilted over and resting against another mass in such a way that it formed a covered chamber about ten feet long and six feet wide. The floor was a flat, rough rock, and the end consisted of damp moss. Immediately beside this the stream flowed along in a deeper channel than usual, for all its waters had gathered on this side, leaving the rest of its bed bare. Phil was so struck with the appearance of this place that he examined it quite closely, and began to think that it would be an excellent place to pass the night in. He could not have found it at a better time. Already it was growing a little dusk, and he was thoroughly worn out. In fact he was so tired that after stopping here one minute he found it impossible to go forward any farther; so he at once resolved to stay.

On the top of the rock was a quantity of moss, and as he was going to pass the night here he proceeded to gather it, and collected a sufficient quantity to make a comfortable couch when strewed on the rocky floor of his little cave. But there were other things to do before he should be able to rest. He was once more in a state of starvation, and the only thing for him to do was to resort to his fishing-line. He found a pole without much trouble, and then threw his line. At first he met with no success. But he persevered, and walked farther up the stream till he came to a place that looked more favorable. Here his efforts were crowned with success, for in a little time he had hooked no less than six trout, one of which was large enough for a meal by itself.

After this he took a bath in the running stream, and felt once more the same invigorating and restorative effects from the cool water which he had experienced during his bath in the lake.

Then he kindled his fire on the edge of the stream, near his cave, and cooked two of the fish, reserving the others for the next morning.

This meal was as great a success as the former ones had been, and at length he retired to the little cave where he had already spread the moss for a bed. Here he could not help recalling the events of the day. He had hoped, on starting, by this time to have reached some human abode. He had not done so. But this, instead of exciting his regrets, gave way altogether to emotions of gratitude. He had been saved from thirst and from hunger in a most wonderful manner, and, even at this moment, instead of feeling utterly exhausted, he had little else than a sense of languid weariness. All this filled him with thankfulness, and kneeling down in his little cave, he offered up his most grateful thanks to the merciful Being who had protected his wanderings during the day.

After this he lay down on his moss and soon fell asleep.