Nor was this all that rendered my situation singular. There was no fire in the place I inhabited, yet, strange to say, I did not suffer from the cold. Nor were there any articles of furniture. The only food that was given to me consisted of butternuts and walnuts, with a little dried beef and bread which Old Sarah had brought from the village.
For two days and two nights I remained at this place, the greater part of the time lying upon the bottom of the cave on my back, with only a ray of light admitted through the cleft of the rock, which served as a door, and which was partially closed by two large pieces of bark. On the third day I was looking from the mouth of the cave upon the scene around, when I saw a figure at a considerable distance, attempting to make its way through the snow, in the direction of the cave. At first sight I knew it to be Bill Keeler! I clambered upon the top of a rock, and shouted with all my might. I was soon discovered, and my shout was answered by Bill’s well-known voice. It was a happy moment for us both. I threw up my arms in ecstasy, and Bill did the same, jumping up and down in the deep snow, as if he were light as a feather. He continued to work his way toward us, and in half an hour we were in each other’s arms. For a short time I thought the fellow was stark mad. He rolled in the snow as you sometimes see an overjoyed and frisky dog—then he exclaimed, “I told ’em so! I told ’em so! I knew we should find you here!” Then the poor fellow got up, and looking me in the face, burst into an uncontrollable fit of tears.
I was myself deeply affected, and Old Sarah’s eyes, that had seemed dry with the scorching of sorrow and time, were now overflowing. When I noticed her sympathy, however, she shrunk from notice, and retired to her cave. Bill then related all that had happened; how he hunted for me on the mountain till midnight, and then, with a broken heart, went home for help; how he had since toiled for my discovery and deliverance, and how, against the expectations of everybody, he had a sort of presentiment that I should be found in the shelter of Old Sarah’s cave. He farther told me that my uncle and four men were coming, and would soon be with us.
I need not give the details of what followed. It is enough to say, that my uncle soon arrived, with sufficient assistance to take me home, though the depth of the snow rendered it exceedingly difficult to proceed. I left Old Sarah with abundant thanks, and an offer of money, which, however, she steadily refused. At last I reached home. Not a word was said to remind me of my obstinacy and folly, in going upon a sporting expedition, against counsel and advice; nothing but rejoicing at my return was heard or seen. My uncle invited in the neighbors at evening; there was hot flip in abundance, and ginger and cider for those who liked it. Tom Crotchet, the fiddler, was called, young and old went to dancing, and the merriest night that ever was known, was that in which young Bob Merry who was lost in the mountain, came to life, having been two days and two nights in the cave of “Old Sarah the hermitess.”
I am not sure that I did not appear to share in this mirth; but in truth I felt too sober and solemn for hilarity. The whole adventure had sunk deep into my mind, and though I did not immediately understand its full effect upon my character, I had at least determined never again to scorn the advice of those more experienced than myself. I had also been made in some degree aware of that weakness which springs from being always dependent upon others; and a wholesome lesson had been taught me, in finding my life saved by an old woman, whom a few hours before I had treated with rudeness, impertinence, and scorn. I could not but feel humbled, by discovering that this miserable old creature had more generous motives of action, a loftier and more noble soul, than a smart young fellow from New York, who was worth ten thousand dollars, and who was an object of envy and flattery to more than half the village of Salem.
(To be continued.)
The Great Northern Diver, or Loon.
The genus to which this bird belongs are all of a large size, and entirely aquatic; they are seldom on land, and, although they have great power, they seldom fly. The construction of their feet at once points out their facility of diving and their ability to pass rapidly through the water; the legs are placed far back, and the muscles possess great power; and the whole plumage of the bird is close and rigid, presenting a smooth and almost solid resistance to the waves in swimming or diving.
The Great Northern Diver measures two feet and ten inches in length, and four feet six inches in the expanse of the wings; the bill is strong, of a glossy black, and nearly five inches long. It is met with in the north of Europe, and is common at Hudson’s Bay, as well as along the Atlantic border of the United States. It is commonly found in pairs, and procures its food, which consists wholly of fish, in the deepest water, diving for a length of time with astonishing ease and rapidity. It is restless before a storm, and its cry, which foretells a tempest, is like the shrill barking of a dog and maybe heard at the distance of a mile. It is a migratory bird, always departing for warmer regions when its fishing grounds are obstructed with ice. It is difficult to kill these birds, as they easily elude their pursuers by their astonishing faculty of diving.