The Log House by the Lake: A Tale of Canada

by William Henry Giles Kingston

It was a sad fate which seemed about to overwhelm him. Life had many charms in spite of the one disappointment, which had, rather given a gravity to his manner than in any way embittered his existence. He had hoped to do something in the world—his duty, at all events. He had many too depending on him. How would they bear his loss? He looked upward. A thick veil hung over his head. Below was the dark water—on every side the wide expanse of treacherous ice and snow. His limbs were getting chilled; still he would struggle on while consciousness was allowed him. Had the hole been smaller into which he had fallen, he might have got his pole across it. It was, however, of much assistance, as holding on to it, he could rest without breaking the edge of the ice. He was certain that he heard sleigh-bells. He shouted louder than before. The bells ceased. He instantly shouted again. A voice replied, “We’ll be with you directly, friend.” His heart leaped within him. The voices sounded louder. He discerned objects dimly moving over the ice, here and there. They must be looking for him. He shouted again. They resolved themselves into the forms of two men.

They approached him. One had a rope in his hand. “Lay hold of this, we’ll soon have you out,” said the man. Philip passed the rope round his pole, and then grasped it tightly. With care he was dragged out. The other person stood at a distance. “We must not put more weight than we can help on this treacherous stuff,” he said. “Why, I do believe that you are young Ashton.”

“The same: and you Mr Norman,” cried Philip. “I am indeed thankful for your timely aid.”

“Which my man rendered, and not I; and which he would have rendered to a drowning dog, so don’t say anything about that,” replied Mr Norman. “But we must not stop talking here. The sooner we are on terra firma, and you in a warm bed, the better.”

Philip found, on reaching the shore, that he was fully half a mile north of the settlement. Mr Norman, who was on his way to pay his family a visit, was passing in his sleigh at the moment. “I hoped that the snow would remain long enough to enable me to get up to you, for your road scarcely allows of a wheeled conveyance,” he observed, as they drove rapidly back to the settlement, Philip sitting covered up with furs at the bottom of the sleigh. A warm bed was, however, not a luxury to be found at the settlement; indeed, Philip assured his friend, that if he could obtain a change of clothes, he would much rather set off at once to rescue his brothers. “Not till you are more fit to go than at present,” said Mr Norman. “My friend Job Judson, at the hotel, will help us; and while you are drying outwardly, and warming inwardly, we will get a boat or canoe of some sort to shove over across the ice to bring away the youngsters. They are happy enough in the meantime, depend on that; I have had many such an adventure in my younger days, greatly to my enjoyment.”

In a few minutes Philip was sitting wrapped up in a sheet and blanket before the almost red-hot stove of the log-hut, y-clept an hotel, while Mr Job Judson was administering a stiffer tumbler of rum-and-water than Philip had ever before tasted, probably, though it appeared to him no stronger than weak negus. Believing this to be the case he did not decline a second, the effect of which was to throw him into a glow and to send him fast asleep. Meantime his clothes, hung up round the stove, were drying rapidly; and when the landlord at last aroused him to put them on, he found that they were, as he said, as warm as a toast; indeed they were, he had reason to suspect, rather overdone. He found Mr Norman with a large dug-out canoe on runners, with a couple of poles, one on each side, and two men who had volunteered to accompany him.

“I’d go myself, but I guess I’d rather over-ballast your craft,” said Job Judson, turning round his rotund figure, such as was not often seen in the bush. Philip thanked him, and agreed that no more persons were required for the expedition.

Mr Norman insisted on going. “Do not be afraid of my being tired,” he remarked; “I have always lived in so hardy a way that nothing tires me.”

Philip was not aware that more than three hours had passed since he reached the settlement. The fog was still as thick as ever. The two men dragged on the canoe; Mr Norman pushed astern, and placing a compass down on the seat before him, observed, “It is necessary to take our departure very carefully, or we shall find it more difficult to hit the island than you did on leaving it to reach the shore. I do not suppose that there is a person in the settlement can give us the bearings of the island from this.”