Afar in the Forest

by William Henry Giles Kingston

Mike, faithful fellow that he was, immediately set to work to build a hut, so that I might be sheltered from the heat of the sun as well as from the wind. As soon as it was completed he carried me into it, and closing the entrance, said he would set out in search of food. In a short time he returned with some delicious strawberries, which greatly refreshed me.

For several days he tended me with the greatest care, and was fortunate in trapping several young birds, which, though not very fat, served to restore my strength. I asked him how he had managed to eat the dried bear’s meat, being very sure that he had not touched any of the birds he had caught.

“Bedad, Masther Roger, it’s not the mate at all I’ve been ateing,” he answered. “I found no lack of big fellows with four legs hopping about in the marsh down there, and, for want of better food, I took the liberty of cooking them. They are not so bad, afther all; only the idea of the thing was not plisant at first.”

Mike had been living on frogs, I found out, during all my illness; and as for a whole day he was unable to catch any birds, I begged that he would let me taste the frogs. I confess that I had no reason to complain of the food, for he gave me the hinder legs alone, which I should have supposed to have been those of small birds, had he not told me what they were.

I was at last strong enough to move about, and I proposed that we should at once continue our journey. Mike agreed, therefore, that we should start the next morning.

When daylight arrived, he left the hut to look for the horse while I prepared breakfast. He was a long time absent, and I began to grow anxious, wondering what could have become of him. I waited and waited till I could bear the suspense no longer, so, going to a height at a little distance from the wood in which we had formed our encampment, I gazed around on every side. Should any accident have befallen him, how fearful would be my fate! I was also deeply grieved at the thought of losing him; but I confess that selfish feelings for the time predominated. There was a river, I should have said, in the distance, and on looking in that direction I at length saw a figure moving towards me. It might be Mike, or it might be an Indian, and perhaps an enemy. Still, I did not think of concealing myself.

Great was my joy when, as the person drew nearer, I recognised Mike. I rushed down to meet him; but I saw that there was something wrong, by the expression of his countenance.

“What is the matter, Mike?” I asked. “I was terribly afraid that you were lost.”

“Sure, a great deal is the matther,” he answered. “That baste of a horse has been afther drowning himself; and you will have to walk the rest of the journey on foot, except when I carry you on me shoulders—and that I will do, as long as I have the strength, with the greatest pleasure in the world.”

I assured Mike that I was so glad to see him, that I cared little in comparison for the loss of the horse, for I felt perfectly able to walk any distance.