I had traveled perhaps three miles from my cabin when the woods came suddenly to an end and I found myself standing at the edge of a large clearing. I was so absolutely dumfounded that I could scarce believe my eyes, for scattered about the clearing were half a dozen log houses. I cannot describe the sensations that swept over me in the few brief minutes that I stood there, gazing speechless at the tiny settlement. Mingled with my overwhelming joy at sight of the buildings was a feeling of chagrin to think that I had lived alone for months, had suffered agonies, and had endured hardships and privations, when by an hour’s walk I could have been once more among my fellow-men.
With a loud halloo I hurried forward, and then, for the first time, I noticed that no smoke rose from the chimneys of the log buildings, that the smooth expanse of snow was unbroken by human footprints or trodden paths, and that no yelping curs—invariable accessories to outlying settlements—disputed my approach.
Before I reached the first house my spirits fell, for I realized that the place was deserted, that no human being was there to welcome me, and a sort of vague fear crept over me. There was something unnatural, something “creepy,” mysterious, and weird about this lifeless village in the wilderness, and as I reached the first building I hesitated to push open the door for dread of what I might find within.
But I had no need to fear; the house was empty, although garments hung upon the walls, the bunks were filled with moldy bedding, and utensils and rude furniture were scattered about. My curiosity now overcame my groundless fears and I made the rounds of the entire settlement, but in every building it was the same—not a sign of life anywhere—and yet somehow I felt convinced that human beings had been there not long before. Where they had gone, what had caused them to leave, was a mystery, for the buildings were in good repair, there was an abundance of timber all about, and a few dry corn-stalks projecting above the snow showed that the former inhabitants had cultivated the ground. That it was a permanent settlement and not a temporary wood-cutters’ camp was evident, for articles of feminine apparel were upon the walls of some of the houses and a few cheap toys were in two of the dwellings.
The buildings were so much better than my little cabin, that for a moment I considered moving my belongings and taking possession of the place, but the thought had scarcely entered my mind when I realized that I would feel far more lonely and depressed when surrounded by the silent, deserted houses than in my own cabin in the heart of the woods. But if I could not consider taking up my quarters in the village, I could at least make my life far easier by helping myself to the many useful articles the former inhabitants had left. Thus thinking, I started toward the first house, determined to make a systematic search of every building.
I was about half-way across an open space near the center of the clearing, which I supposed had been cultivated land, when the toe of my snow-shoe caught upon some object and I plunged forward into the snow. Picking myself up, I glanced around to see what had thus tripped me, and to my surprise saw a hewn timber, or plank, projecting through the snow.
Curious to learn what this meant, I dug away the snow about it and in a few moments disclosed a second timber nailed at right angles to the first. There was no doubt about it—the object over which I had stumbled was a cross! At first its import did not dawn upon me. No doubt, I thought, the inhabitants had been French Canadians and had erected the cross above a little shrine, and, rising, I passed around it and was about to continue on my way when I caught a glimpse of letters cut into the wood. Scraping away the ice and snow which half concealed them, I studied the inscription for a moment and a wave of deadly horror swept over me, for, in rudely carved, misspelled words I read the following:
Joseph and Marie Bemis His Wife
Dead of Smallpox October 25
God Have Mercy on Their Souls
Instantly I realized why the village was deserted, why no human being was there, why clothing, household goods, and even the children’s toys had been left behind. The place had been swept by the plague and those who survived, if indeed any had escaped, had left the stricken spot to its silent dead.
And with the thought came terror; all unwittingly I had exposed myself to the awful malady. I had entered the houses reeking with pestilence, had inhaled the stale air within the buildings where men and women had breathed their last, and had handled the very clothes and bedding which had covered their bodies during illness and death. Beyond a doubt I had already contracted the dread disease; by now the germs of smallpox might be coursing through my blood. Sick at the thought of what my fate might be and haunted by the specter of loathsome death that stalked in the silent village, I turned and dashed madly back along the trail.