Lost in the Backwoods: A Tale of the Canadian Forest

by Catharine Parr Strickland Traill

It was near sunset before Hector and his companions returned on the evening of the eventful day that had found Catharine a prisoner on Long Island. They had met with good success in hunting, and brought home a fine half-grown fawn, fat and in good order. They were surprised at finding the fire nearly extinguished, and no Catharine awaiting their return. There, it is true, was the food that she had prepared for them, but she was not to be seen. Supposing that she had been tired of waiting for them, and had gone out to gather strawberries, they did not at first feel anxious, but ate of the rice and honey, for they were hungry with long fasting. Then taking some Indian meal cake in their hands, they went out to call her in; but no trace of her was visible. Fearing she had set off by herself to seek them, and had missed her way home again, they hurried back to the happy valley,—she was not there; to Pine-tree Point,—no trace of her there; to the edge of the mount that overlooked the lake,—she was not to be seen: night found them unsuccessful in their search. Sometimes they fancied that she had seated herself beneath some tree and fallen asleep; but no one imagined the true cause, nothing having been seen of the Indians since they had proceeded up the river.

Again they retraced their steps back to the house; but they found her not there. They continued their unavailing search till the moon setting left them in darkness, and they lay down to rest, but not to sleep. The first streak of dawn saw them again hurrying to and fro, calling in vain upon the name of the loved and lost companion of their wanderings.

Indiana, whose vigilance was untiring—for she yielded not easily to grief and despair—now returned with the intelligence that she had discovered the Indian trail, through the big ravine to the lake-shore; she had found the remains of a wreath of oak leaves which had been worn by Catharine in her hair; and she had seen the mark of feet, Indian feet, on the soft clay at the edge of the lake, and the furrowing of the shingles by the pushing off of a canoe. Poor Louis gave way to transports of grief and despair; he knew the wreath, it was such as Catharine often made for herself, and Mathilde, and petite Louise, and Marie; his mother had taught her to make them; they were linked together by the stalks, and formed a sort of leaf chain. Louis placed the torn relic in his breast, and sadly turned away to hide his grief from Hector and the Indian girl.

Indiana now proposed searching the island for further traces, but advised wariness in so doing. They saw, however, neither smoke nor canoes. The Indians had departed while they were searching the ravines and flats round Mount Ararat, and the lake told no tales, The following day they ventured to land on Long Island, and on going to the north side saw evident traces of a temporary encampment having been made, but no trace of any violence having been committed. It was Indiana's opinion that, though a prisoner, Catharine was unhurt, as the Indians rarely killed women and children, unless roused to do so by some signal act on the part of their enemies, when an exterminating spirit of revenge induced them to kill and spare not; but where no offence had been offered, they were not likely to take the life of a helpless, unoffending female. The Indian is not cruel for the wanton love of blood, but to gratify revenge for some injury done to himself or to his tribe. But it was difficult to still the terrible apprehensions that haunted the minds of Louis and Hector. They spent much time in searching the northern shores and the distant islands, in the vain hope of finding her, as they still thought the camp might have been moved to the opposite side of the lake.

Inconsolable for the loss of their beloved companion, Hector and Louis no longer took interest in what was going on; they hardly troubled themselves to weed the Indian corn, in which they had taken such great delight; all now seemed to them flat, stale, and unprofitable; they wandered listlessly to and fro, silent and sad; the sunshine had departed from their little dwelling; they ate little, and talked less, each seeming absorbed in his own painful reveries.

In vain the gentle Indian girl strove to revive their drooping spirits; they seemed insensible to her attentions, and often left her for hours alone. They returned one evening about the usual hour of sunset, and missed their meek, uncomplaining guest from the place she was wont to occupy. They called, but there was none to reply,—she too was gone. They hurried to the shore just time enough to see the canoe diminishing to a mere speck upon the waters, in the direction of the mouth of the river; they called to her, in accents of despair, to return, but the wind wafted back no sound to their ears and soon the bark was lost to sight, and they sat them down disconsolately on the shore.

"What is she doing?" said Hector. "It is cruel to abandon us thus."

"She has gone up the river, in the hope of bringing us some tidings of
Catharine," said Louis.

"How came you to think that such is her intention?"

"I heard her say the other day that she would go and bring her back, or die."