Bart.—An anxious Night.—Suspicions.—Reappearance of Pat.—The Woes of Pat.—A hideous Thought.—The Leper.—Off to the Woods.—Indian File.—The Rear Guard.—Defection of Pat.—He makes a Circuit.—“Hyar! Hyar! You dar? Whar Mas’r Bart?”
THE sight of the lurid glow which had burst upon Bart’s eyes as he looked from the priest’s house excited within him anxious thoughts, which kept him awake for hours on that night; the thought that Phil was wandering in those woods, and that all around him were these wrathful flames; the thought that perhaps he might have already fallen a victim; the thought that his search could scarcely be made now, since they could hardly hope to penetrate the woods for any distance; the thought that now any search, however extensive, might perhaps be too late. He slept but little. Every little while he would rise from his bed, and look out of the window towards the woods, to see if that lurid glow continued. It was visible for a long time, but at length died out altogether. But this did not lessen Bart’s anxieties, for now the smoke grew thicker, and the smell of it was most unpleasantly perceptible, exciting the very natural thought that the fire glow was no longer visible, not because the fires were extinguished, but rather because the smoke had grown so dense that it hid it from view.

When Bart arose it was not yet daybreak, and on coming down stairs no one was visible. He went out of doors, and paced up and down the road uneasily. After a while two men made their appearance, whom Bart recognized as the ones who were to be the guides in their exploration of the forest. He felt too anxious and too sick at heart to ask them anything, for he thought that anything they would say would only confirm his worst fears, and as yet he did not wish to know the worst. He wished to cling to his hopes, faint though they now were, until hope should be no longer possible. After a while Solomon made his appearance; but Bart had nothing to say to him, and the old man, seeing by his manner that he did not wish to be spoken to, held aloof, and sat down in silence on the doorstep.

It was now day, and still the priest had not made his appearance. Bart wondered at this, and attributed it to his oversleeping himself. This made him feel somewhat impatient, and he thought hardly of the priest for yielding to his drowsiness at such a time as this, when it was a question of life and death; but he waited, and checked a rising impulse which he had to hunt up the priest’s bedroom and wake him. While he was fretting and fuming, the two French guides had placidly seated themselves on the doorstep in a line with Solomon, and began to smoke, chatting with one another in French.

Suddenly Bart heard footsteps behind him. He thought it was the priest, and turned hastily. It was not the priest, however, but Pat. Bart had actually forgotten Pat’s existence ever since that moment on the previous evening, when he had gone out doors to look for him, and had seen that terrible appearance over the forest trees. As he now recognized him, he wondered at his long absence, and noticed at the same time that Pat looked very much agitated. At once he thought that Pat had heard bad news, and had come to tell him. This idea was so terrible that he stood paralyzed, and could scarcely utter a word.

Pat came up and gave a heavy sigh.

“It’s dhreadful—it’s terrible. Och, wurrooooo!” Bart looked at him with an awful face, not daring to ask the question that was upon his lips, and now feeling sure that Pat had heard the worst.

“Och, what’ll we iver do?” cried Pat; “what’ll we iver do? Sure an me heart’s fairly broke widin me, so it is.”

“How did you find it out?” asked Bart, in a trembling voice.

“Sure an wasn’t it the praste himself that tould me,” said Pat, in a tone of voice that sounded like a wail of despair.

“The priest?” said Bart. “You saw him then—did you. Where—where is he?”

“The praste,” said Pat, dolefully; “sorra one o’ me knows. I seen him dhrivin off. I wor sleepin undher a tray behind the fince. I wasn’t goin to thrust mesilf in their leper houses, so I wasn’t.”

“You saw him. P—he has gone, has he—gone—to—to—to see about it,” stammered Bart, feverishly; “and what did he tell you?”

“Tell me?” said Pat, dubiously.

“Yes. You said you saw him.”

“So I did.”

“Well—what did he say about it?”

“Sure an he didn’t say anythin jist thin.”

“But he told you about it, you said.”

“So he did; but it was last night.”

“O, in the night—you saw him in the night—he must have been out then—and I thought he was in bed. O, why wasn’t I with him? Why didn’t he take me? But I suppose he thought I’d be too much overcome, and so he didn’t want to tell me—and did he tell you this, Pat? Tell me all. Tell me all—don’t keep me in suspense.”

At these incoherent words Pat stared at Bart in utter amazement, and for a moment thought that he had lost his senses.

“Suspinse?” he said—“suspinse? What do you mean? You talk as though you’d lost your sivin sinsis! Sure an didn’t you hear it yerself, ivery word? Sure an worn’t ye in the room yourself, listhening? Didn’t ye hear it all?”

“Hear it all? Hear what?” cried Bart. “About what?”

“Why, about the lepers, sure. Sorra a thought I’ve had iver since, except about that same. And I went off, so I did; for I didn’t dare to slape in that leper house, wid a man that lives among the lepers and shakes hands wid them.”

“The lepers!” cried Bart in impatience, but with a feeling of inexpressible relief—the relief which is felt at a respite, however brief, from sorrow. “The lepers! Why, I was talking about Phil. Have you heard anything about Phil?”

“Phil?” said Pat. “Arrah, sure he’s all right. I ony wish I wor in his shoes. It ud be a happy boy I’d be if I cud change places wid Phil. Och, wurroo—but it’s a bitther day whin I came to this place.”

“You haven’t heard anything at all about Phil, then?” said Bart.

“Niver a word,” said Pat. “I’ve heard too much about other things.”

Bart turned away.

As for Pat, he wandered disconsolately to the fence by the road side, and leaning against it, he stood there in a woe-begone attitude,—the very picture of despair.

Bart now resumed his melancholy walk; but before he had taken many paces, he heard the rapid gallop of a horse, and in turning, he saw a rider approaching the house, who, on drawing nearer, turned out to be the priest. Bart now saw that he had done his kind host a great injustice in supposing that he had been oversleeping himself, and felt a natural sorrow at his suspicions. As the priest dismounted, the very first words which he addressed to Bart made the compunction of the latter over his unjust suspicions still stronger, since they showed that, so far from sleeping while Bart was wakeful, in his anxiety over Phil, he had left Bart in bed, and had been traversing the country for miles, in order to institute a general search after the lost boy.

“I took a few hours’ sleep,” said he, “and rose between one and two. I’ve been up the road for twelve or fifteen miles, and have persuaded a number of people to make a search of the woods as far as they are able to. They are all full of the deepest anxiety about the poor lad, and you may rest assured that the good people will do all in their power for him. My people are not very intellectual, nor are they what you call progressive; but they are affectionate, simple-hearted, and brave; and there is not one of them that I have spoken to who will have any peace until that poor lad’s fate is decided. So when we go off to search after him, you may console yourself with the thought that our party is but one out of several that are engaged in the same search.”

At this disclosure of the real business of the priest, Bart was so overcome with mingled emotions, that he could scarcely say a word. He could only murmur some confused expressions of gratitude.

“O, never mind me,” said the priest, “and my poor efforts. I assure you I am as eager to find him as you are. Pray to God, my boy. He only can save your friend. And now let us set out at once.”

With these words the priest hurried up to the two guides, and spoke a few words to them in French. The guides answered, and after a short conversation the priest went into the house. The guides took his horse and put him in the stable; and by the time they had returned, the priest came out, and they all went off towards the woods.

“Don’t be discouraged,” said the priest to Bart, “about the fires. After all, they may have driven your friend away in this direction. For you see he would naturally keep as far as possible away from them, and as they advanced he would retreat. And so, if they are really coming in this direction, he would be forced to come this way too. If so, I think some of my friends would be likely to meet with him. The only real danger is, that he may be tired out, and be unable to endure the fatigue. But you say he is an active boy, and that he had a little food with him; and so I really think that there is every reason for hope. You must try, then, to keep up your spirits, and remember that even if we don’t find him he may yet be safe, and may meet with others; or he may even get out of the woods unassisted.”

These words were very encouraging to Bart, and excited his best hopes. As he was naturally light-hearted and sanguine, he determined to struggle against his depression, and cling as long as possible to the hopes that the present held out. The consequence was, that he at once surmounted his gloom, and dismissed from his mind those desponding thoughts which had taken possession of him ever since he saw the glow of the fire. He became more like his old self, and commenced the exploring tour, full of life, and energy, and hope.

Far different was it with Pat. His trouble arose from a dark, dreadful terror which had taken full possession of him, and which not even his buoyancy of soul and natural cheerfulness could withstand. It was the terror that had been awakened by the mention of the leprosy.

And so it was that as the party entered the woods, Pat held back; and he who was usually among the first, now lingered the last. He had a terrible fear that he had run a risk of catching the loathsome disease by bathing in what he considered the “leper waters,” and by entering the house of one who was on such familiar terms with the lepers as the priest professed to be. It seemed to him, now, that the only possible chance that remained for him was to keep as far away from the priest as possible. He remembered with horror that he had eaten at the priest’s house on the preceding evening. He had not eaten anything that morning, nor had any of them as yet; for the guides carried provisions, and it was intended to breakfast in the woods. But to Pat all thoughts of eating were obnoxious; the sickening thought of the leprosy drove away all his appetite; and if he followed them into the woods, it was at a distance; and then only because there still remained a loyal regard for Phil, and thus the tables were completely turned. Bart, who the day before had been despondent, was now hopeful; while Pat, who had then been the hopeful one, had now sunk down into a state of depression to which language fails to do justice.

After walking into the woods for some distance, they sat down and made a breakfast off some ham and crackers, which were carried by the guides. Pat sat at a distance from the rest, and resolutely refused all invitations to partake, pleading a slight sickness; nor was poor Pat’s plea altogether a feigned one; for by this time he had worked himself into a state of utter panic, and the miserable feelings resulting from his loss of a night’s sleep and from hunger were attributed by him to the approach of leprosy. So poor Pat stood aloof from the rest, pale, anxious, and already beginning to think that he had made a great mistake in accompanying them at all. The more he thought upon this, the more convinced did he become that his presence there in company with them was both unnecessary and unwise,—unnecessary, for, as it now seemed to him, Phil was perfectly able to take care of himself; and unwise, for he was only destroying his chance of escape from the leprosy, by thus remaining in the company of those who had its terrible seeds clinging to their clothes and to their persons.

A prey thus to his anxiety, Pat’s generous desire to help Phil gradually weakened in the presence of his instinct of self-preservation, and his belief that Phil was safe somewhere made him all the more eager to secure safety for himself. The wretchedness which he felt, from the loss of his night’s rest, and want of food, and terror, all combined, tended to turn all his thoughts upon himself; and the more wretched he felt, the more did he attribute it to the awful disease which he so greatly dreaded. And so, at last, by the time they had finished their repast, Pat had felt so overcome by his terrors, that he determined, at all hazards, to free himself from his dangerous associates, and escape somewhere before it was too late. Having thus made up his mind, it only remained to find some favorable opportunity of slipping away unobserved, and thus securing that safety for which he longed.

After their breakfast they began to go forward. The two guides of course went first, one behind the other. Then followed the priest, and after him came Bart. Pat wanted Solomon to go next; but Solomon declined, from a feeling of humility natural to him, which made him seek the lowest—that is to say, the last—place on the line of march, and partly also from a desire to be in the rear, so as to see that no one straggled away. Thus they all went on in Indian file, and after Bart came Pat, while Solomon brought up the rear.

As they thus went on, one after the other, in Indian file, through the woods, it was, of course, impossible for any one to see all the rest of the party. It was enough if each one should see the one who might be immediately in front. This was especially the case when the woods grew thicker and the march more laborious. Bart then could only see the priest; and Pat, Bart; while Solomon could only see Pat. In this way they went on then, and this mode of progress soon suggested to Pat a simple, easy, and perfectly natural mode of separating himself from the others. He had only to slacken his pace a little for a short distance. He had only to fall back slightly, and he would easily be able to put between himself and the others such obstacles that they would be able neither to see him nor to find him. This, now, became his fixed resolve.

So, as he went on, Pat allowed Bart to go gradually farther and farther ahead, until at length he was out of sight. But even then he was not satisfied. He still kept on, but chose a course which swerved slightly from the one which the others were following; and entering upon this course, he sought to make it more and more apart from the track of the others. As he went along he kept constantly turning to the right, and thus before long he had made a complete circuit; and then, when he thought he had turned far enough to be heading towards the place from which he set out, he tried to go in a straight line. In all this he was completely successful; that is to say, so far as concerned his desire not to be noticed; and so he kept on for so long a time that at length he began to be on the lookout for the open land and the sea.

But suddenly there was a loud cry behind him,—

“Hyar, Hyar! you dar! Whar Mas’r Bart?”

It was Solomon.

Pat had forgotten all about Solomon; but now he remembered that Solomon had been behind him, and he saw that he must have been following him all the time, though he had been too excited to be conscious of that important fact.