Ned Sinton leaped off his horse as he spoke, and, fastening him to a tree, loosened the saddle-girths, and set about preparing the encampment. Tom Collins assisted him; but neither the rallying of his comrade, nor his own efforts could enable the latter to shake off the depression of spirits with which he was overpowered. That night the rain came down in torrents, and drenched the travellers to the skin, despite their most ingenious contrivances to keep it out. They spent the night in misery, and when morning broke Ned found that his companion was smitten down with ague.
Even Ned’s buoyant spirits were swamped for a time at this unlooked-for catastrophe; for the dangers of their position were not slight. It was clear that Tom would not be able to travel for many days, for his whole frame trembled, when the fits came on, with a violence that seemed to threaten dislocation to all his joints. Ned felt that both their lives, under God, depended on his keeping well, and being able to procure food for, and nurse, his friend. At the same time, he knew that the rainy season, if indeed it had not already begun, would soon set in, and perhaps render the country impassable. There was no use, however, in giving way to morbid fears, so Ned faced his difficulties manfully, and, remembering the promise which he had given his old uncle at parting from him in England, he began by offering up a short but earnest prayer at the side of his friend’s couch.
“Ned,” said Tom, sadly, as his companion ceased, “I fear that you’ll have to return alone.”
“Come, come, don’t speak that way, Tom; it isn’t right. God is able to help us here as well as in cities. I don’t think you are so ill as you fancy—the sight of these poor emigrants has depressed you. Cheer up, my boy, and I’ll let you see that you were right when you said I could turn my hand to anything. I’ll be hunter, woodcutter, cook, and nurse all at once, and see if I don’t make you all right in a day or two. You merely want rest, so keep quiet for a little till I make a sort of sheltered place to put you in.”
The sun broke through the clouds as he spoke and shed a warm beam down on poor Tom, who was more revived by the sight of the cheering orb of day than by the words of his companion.
In half-an-hour Tom was wrapped in the driest portion of the driest blanket; his wet habiliments were hung up before a roaring fire to dry, and a rude bower of willows, covered with turf, was erected over his head to guard him from another attack of rain, should it come; but it didn’t come. The sun shone cheerily all day, and Ned’s preparations were completed before the next deluge came, so that when it descended on the following morning, comparatively little found its way to Tom’s resting-place.
It was scarcely a resting-place, however. Tom turned and groaned on his uneasy couch, and proved to be an uncommonly restive patient. He complained particularly when Ned left him for a few hours each day to procure fresh provisions; but he smiled and confessed himself unreasonable when Ned returned, as he always did, with a dozen wild ducks, or several geese or hares attached to his belt, or a fat deer on his shoulders. Game of all kinds was plentiful, the weather improved, the young hunter’s rifle was good, and his aim was true, so that, but for the sickness of his friend, he would have considered the life he led a remarkably pleasant one.
As day after day passed by, however, and Tom Collins grew no better, but rather worse, he began to be seriously alarmed about him. Tom himself took the gloomiest view of his case, and at last said plainly he believed he was dying. At first Ned sought to effect a cure by the simple force of kind treatment and care; but finding that this would not do, he bethought him of trying some experiments in the medicinal way. He chanced to have a box of pills with him, and tried one, although with much hesitation and fear, for he had got them from a miner who could not tell what they were composed of, but who assured him they were a sovereign remedy for the blues! Ned, it must be confessed, was rather a reckless doctor. He was anxious, at the time he procured the pills, to relieve a poor miner who seemed to be knocked up with hard work, but who insisted that he had a complication of ailments; so Ned bought the pills for twenty times their value, and gave a few to the man, advising him, at the same time, to rest and feed well, which he did, and the result was a complete cure.
Our hero did not feel so certain, however, that they would succeed as well in the present case; but he resolved to try their virtues, for Tom was so prostrate that he could scarcely be induced to whisper a word. When the cold fit seized him he trembled so violently that his teeth rattled in his head; and when that passed off it was followed by a burning fever, which was even worse to bear.
At first he was restive, and inclined to be peevish under his illness, the result, no doubt, of a naturally-robust constitution struggling unsuccessfully against the attacks of disease, but when he was completely overcome, his irascibility passed away, and he became patient, sweet-tempered, and gentle as a child.