Young Lion of the Woods / Or, A Story of Early Colonial Days

by Thomas Barlow Smith

Under such circumstances a less brave woman would have sunk on the spot in utter despair. She kept on, following as nearly as she could the track that Paul had taken. She toiled on and on for three quarters of an hour, but never sighted the Indian. At last she completely lost the trail. The rocks and uneven ground impeded her progress, and the trees confused her in the line of march. All traces of a pathway were lost.

She sat down on a large boulder—the children wanted rest, they were completely fatigued. She judged that they must be nearly two miles from the canoe. In her distressed situation she contemplated returning to the shore. To proceed further in the direction she had been going seemed hopeless. Without a guide she and her children would certainly get lost, and likely all would perish. Whilst she was thus debating in her mind what course to pursue, a peel of thunder passed over her head, and large drops of rain began to fall. The wind suddenly sprang up, and all around her was growing dark. Her blood quickened in its pulsations, as the elements were increasing the difficulties of her position. Alone, on a rocky, stormy shore, with three small children and two others far away in the arms of an almost unknown savage, what could she do? Where could she go? She said to herself: "evil seems to follow me closely, and heavy trouble is continually weighing me down. I am in a strange land, among a strange race; where will the end be? It may be here." As the above thoughts were running through her brain, a brilliant flash of lightning streamed close by her pale face, and for an instant lit up the earth and sea around. A tree, a few feet distant, was shattered by the flash. Her children trembled as the thunder shook the solid ground. She delayed no longer, but determined at once to start back in the direction of the canoe, and taking each of the smaller children by the hand, with Charlie following, she pointed for the shore.

The rain descended in torrents; the thunder roared, and the lightning flashed. Through the terrible storm Mrs. Godfrey pressed on, buoyant with a hope that all might turn out well. As she was staggering from rock to rock with the little ones pitching and stumbling along at her sides, now and again almost blinded and bewildered by the lurid lightning, she felt as one amid the crash of worlds.

Just as she sighted the canoe, which Paul had hauled upon the shore, a sharp, rattling clap of thunder peeled above her head. This was preceded an instant before by a dazzling blue and golden flash that all but blinded the band of wanderers. Another and another flash, followed by their thunderbolts, in quick succession shattered a solid rock over which they had just passed. The whole shore appeared to tremble and crash, and away far out over the surface of the bay the waters seemed as if in a blaze. The sight was grand and terrible. Every rock along the shore appeared to sink into an abyss as the lightning passed by, and many of them were riven. At length Mrs. Godfrey and her children reached the side of the canoe. There calm and unmoved amid the storm, she knelt, she wept, she prayed. The waters of Fundy were heaped into angry billows, and dashed their spray over the mother and children assembled round the altar on the shore. Darkness began to throw its sable mantle over land, rocks and bay. Margaret was suddenly started, she thought she heard the sound of a voice coming through the gloom. She turned her head in the direction of the sound, and at that moment a flash of lightning revealed a human form coming toward her. In an instant it was lost to view, shut out in the darkness. "Me come!" "Me come!" fell upon her waiting ears. Margaret, with a heart overflowing with gratitude and swelling with praise, quietly exclaimed "God is love." Paul stood before her, panting like a stricken deer, with but one of the children in his arms. As Margaret looked at him her pale face turned ashen white, her lips quivered and she fell into the arms of Paul Guidon as if dead. He sat down upon a rock, and by the lightning's flash bathed her temples with water from the sea shore. The Indian continued to pour salt water out of his brawny hands upon her head and neck. In about ten minutes Margaret was restored to consciousness. When she opened her eyes her missing child was at her side. Paul Guidon had placed the little fellow in charge of an Indian he had found fishing on the bank of the stream, and he asked him to take the child in his arms and follow on to the shore.

After Paul had been fishing along the stream for some time, seeing that Mrs. Godfrey and her children had not come up with him, he decided to return and look them up.

As they rested together on the shore beside their birchen boat, the thunder gradually died away, and there was also a truce to the lightning and rain. In two hours from the time of the happy reunion of the loved and lost the water became quite calm. Paul Guidon then launched the canoe and the little ships' company were soon heading toward the mouth of the St. John. In another hour and a half Paul and his companion had safely paddled Margaret Godfrey and her children to the sloop.

Margaret's first act, after reaching her small floating home, was to place each child upon its knees, doing likewise herself. As her clear voice rang out over the water, conveying words of thankfulness to Him whom winds and seas obey, the two Indians sank slowly on their knees.

Plenty of fish had been secured by Paul to last the family some days Margaret cooked the supper, Paul and his companion ate heartily, then left the sloop and proceeded in the canoe to their homes, Paul promising to return the next day with a load of wood to replenish the stock of fuel which was well nigh exhausted.

At seven o'clock next morning Paul again was seen sailing along toward the sloop, his little bark skimming over the river like a petrel on the ocean's breast. He appeared anxious and excited as he approached the side of the vessel. He had but a few pieces of wood in his canoe. Margaret at first sight noticed a change in his features; he looked worn and weary. His bright black eye had lost much of its fire, and as he stepped on board Mrs. Godfrey thought she noticed a tear on his cheek. As usual she saluted him and asked him on board, and as he stepped over the rail she took his hand in her own. This act of kindness on the part of Margaret seemed to electrify his whole frame. She said to him, "And how is Paul this morning." Without answering her he placed his hand on his left breast and sighed deeply. "Is my Paul ill this morning," she again asked, thinking that the strain from carrying the children the day previous, and the worry and excitement, had been too severe a task even upon the hardy and wiry frame of the Iroquois. "No! No!" he replied, "but," "but," and here he stopped being too full to utter another word. He pointed to his canoe, and then pointed up the river past the fort. She guessed his meaning. It was to return to his home at once.

Margaret said to him, "Paul do you want me and the children to go with you?"