Lost in the Backwoods: A Tale of the Canadian Forest

by Catharine Parr Strickland Traill

The night closed in with a tempest of almost tropical violence. The inky darkness of the sky was relieved, at intervals, by sheets of lurid flame, which revealed every object far off or near. The distant lake, just seen amid the screen of leaves through the gorge of the valley, gleamed like a sea of molten sulphur; the deep narrow defile, shut in by the steep and wooded hills, looked deeper, more wild and gloomy, when revealed by that vivid glare of light.

There was no stir among the trees, the heavy rounded masses of foliage remained unmoved; the very aspen, that tremulous sensitive tree, scarcely stirred: it seemed as if the very pulses of nature were at rest. The solemn murmur that preceded the thunder-peals might have been likened to the moaning of the dying. The children felt the loneliness of the spot. Seated at the entrance of their sylvan hut, in front of which their evening fire burned brightly, they looked out upon the storm in silence and in awe. Screened by the sheltering shrubs that grew near them, they felt comparatively safe from the dangers of the storm, which now burst in terrific violence above the valley. Cloud answered to cloud, and the echoes of the hills prolonged the sound, while shattered trunks and brittle branches filled the air, and shrieked and groaned in that wild war of elements.

Between the pauses of the tempest the long howl of the wolves, from their covert in some distant cedar swamp at the edge of the lake, might be heard from time to time,—a sound that always thrilled their hearts with fear. To the mighty thunder-peals that burst above their heads they listened with awe and wonder. It seemed, indeed, to them as if it were the voice of Him who "sendeth out his voice, yea, and that a mighty voice." And they bowed and adored his majesty; but they shrank with curdled blood from the cry of the felon wolf.

And now the storm was at its climax, and the hail and rain came down in a whitening flood upon that ocean of forest leaves; the old gray branches were lifted up and down, and the stout trunks rent, for they would not bow down before the fury of the whirlwind, and were scattered all abroad like chaff before the wind.

The children thought not of danger for themselves, but they feared for the safety of their fathers, whom they believed to be not far off from them. And often amid the raging of the elements they fancied they could distinguish familiar voices calling upon their names.

"Ah, if our fathers should have perished in this fearful storm," said Catharine, weeping, "or have been starved to death while seeking for us!" She covered her face and wept more bitterly.

But Louis would not listen to such melancholy forebodings. Their fathers were both brave, hardy men, accustomed to every sort of danger and privation; they were able to take care of themselves. Yes, he was sure they were not far off; it was this unlucky storm coming on that had prevented them from meeting.

"To-morrow, ma chere, will be a glorious day after the storm. It will be a joyful one too; we shall go out with Wolfe, and he will find his master, and then—oh, yes! I dare say my dear father will be with yours. They will have taken good heed to the track, and we shall soon see our dear mothers and chere petite Louise."

The storm lasted till past midnight, when it gradually subsided, and the poor wanderers were glad to see the murky clouds roll off, and the stars peep forth among their broken masses; but they were reduced to a pitiful state, the hurricane having beaten down their little hut, and their garments were drenched with rain. However, the boys made a good fire with some bark and boughs they had in store: there were a few sparks in their back log unextinguished; these they gladly fanned up into a blaze, at which they dried their wet clothes, and warmed themselves. The air was now cool almost to chilliness; for some days the weather remained unsettled, and the sky overcast with clouds, while the lake presented a leaden hue, crested with white mimic waves.

They soon set to work to make another hut, and found close to the head of the ravine a great pine uprooted, affording them large pieces of bark, which proved very serviceable in thatching the sides of the hut. The boys employed themselves in this work, while Catharine cooked the fish they had caught the day before, with a share of which old Wolfe seemed to be mightily well pleased. After they had breakfasted, they all went up towards the high table-land above the ravine, with Wolfe, to look round in hope of getting sight of their friends from Cold Springs; but though they kept an anxious look-out in every direction, they returned towards evening tired and hopeless. Hector had killed a red squirrel, and a partridge which Wolfe "treed,"—that is, stood barking at the foot of the tree in which it had perched,—and the supply of meat was a seasonable change. They also noticed and marked with the axe, several trees where there were bee-hives, intending to come in the cold weather and cut them down. Louis's father was a great and successful bee-hunter; and Louis rather prided himself on having learned something of his father's skill in that line. Here, where flowers were so abundant and water plentiful; the wild bees seemed to be abundant also; besides, the open space between the trees, admitting the warm sunbeams freely, was favourable both for the bees and the flowers on which they fed, and Louis talked joyfully of the fine stores of honey they should collect in autumn. He had taught little Fanchon, a small French spaniel of his father's, to find out the trees where the bees hived, and also the nests of the ground-bees, and she would bark at the foot of the tree, or scratch with her feet on the ground, as the other dogs barked at the squirrels or the woodchucks; but Fanchon was far away, and Wolfe was old and would learn no new tricks, so Louis knew he had nothing but his own observation and the axe to depend upon for procuring honey.