Buried in the Snow (3 page)
“Jacques,” cried he, “quick! move to one side everything that can take fire.”
The boy had soon thrown into the center of the room the wooden stool and fuel which had been piled upon the hearth, and then hastened to render assistance to his grandfather. With the help of a pitchfork and the shovel, they pressed the burning straw against the wall: a lurid glow illuminated the little chalet, and the room was filled with smoke, which together with the heat was almost stifling. Filled with anxiety and terror, they struggled with the strength of despair against the flames, which threatened every moment to gain the mastery. Not a drop of water was at hand, no outlet for the smoke, but, in spite of the heat and smoke, they held the bundle firm until the most of it had been consumed. The bright sparks flew from one side of the chalet to the other, lighting now upon the straw bed in the corner, then upon the dry rafters of the ceiling, and upon the wooden partition that separated the stall from the kitchen: the eyes of the poor frightened captives followed them in their play, and it seemed as though hours must have elapsed before the flames gradually expired, and at last were entirely extinguished.
When the last spark died out, and dense darkness reigned in place of the bright red glow, the first feeling of the alarmed pair—who were completely exhausted with terror and exertion—was one of thankfulness toward God, who in so wonderful a manner had protected them in the midst of such fearful danger. Gradually the stifling smoke vanished, and, lighting their lamp, they sat down in tolerable composure, and talked over their fears and their almost miraculous preservation.
“It was in a great measure our own fault,” said the old man to Jacques; “persons in our situation should have shown more foresight: if we had only had a bucket of water standing near, it would not have happened. Let this occurrence serve as a lesson for the future. Somewhere in the dairy I have seen an old empty cask: if we place it in the corner of the kitchen and fill it with snow, which would soon melt, then we would at least feel safe from a similar accident. Should our chalet burn down, even if we escaped the flames, it would inevitably result in our death, deprived as we would be of a shelter from the extreme cold, without food, and no prospect of ever reaching the valley. And now let us secure the cask without delay.”
This work was soon accomplished: fastening the bottom of the cask more securely, they had, in order to fill it, only to open the door of their chalet, and close against them rose a firm white wall of snow, a wall which inexorably separated them from all the rest of the world. The thought occurred to both as with shovel in hand they went to work, with heavy hearts and eyes filled with tears, each striving to hide from the other the sad and painful thoughts with which they were oppressed.
CHAPTER V.
THE LIFE OF THE CAPTIVES.
T
HE snow fell incessantly, day and night; and such masses accumulated upon the roof, that Jacques’s grandfather became seriously troubled.
“The weight will prove too heavy,” said he. “I fear the rafters will give way, if we do not find some way of relieving it of its load.”
“That can be done without much trouble, grandfather,” replied the boy, as he actively ascended to the trap, drawing after him the shovel, as usual. For several hours he worked, in order to clear the roof of a portion of the snow with which it was laden, leaving only a layer sufficiently thick to protect them from the cold.
This employment, although so arduous, served as an amusement, varying in some degree the wearisome monotony of his life inside the chalet; and yet the view from the roof, extended though it was, presented to the eye or heart of the poor boy no comfort: it was a bleak, cheerless scene. The snow covered the ground in such enormous masses as scarcely to leave any of the inequalities distinguishable. The sky hung dark and heavy over the dreary landscape, and Jacques thought, as he gazed, of stories he had heard of voyagers in the ice-bound seas of the popular regions: sighing, he turned and descended the chimney, feeling he would rather endure the confinement of the narrow limits of the chalet than gaze longer upon the expanded but soul-depressing view of this bleak, desolate scene.
His grandfather observed his dejected mood, and at once sought to devise some amusement to divert his sad thoughts. An inventory of their resources was speedily instituted, and soon the boy was busily engaged in searching every nook and corner of the chalet. The solitary little dwelling was not destitute of every comfort; they found hay and straw, more than Blanchette would consume during a whole year. Should she continue to yield them milk, they had in her an invaluable resource; but an accident might deprive them, at any time, of this support: they were therefore delighted to find in a corner of the stall a little store of potatoes, which they carefully covered with straw, to protect them from the cold. They also found in the stable a quantity of wood, though not sufficient to last during the winter, should their captivity continue so long. It was resolved to make use of it only in their extreme necessity, and under all circumstances to keep the trap carefully closed so that the warmth should not escape. The snow which surrounded the chalet contributed, also, to keep them warm.
Besides the wood, Jacques came across a heap of fir cones, which he had collected the previous summer, and fortunately neglected to carry down to the valley: these would serve as an excellent substitute for fuel; and should it be necessary, they could burn the hay-racks and the mangers in the stable; the old man saying: “If the ship is in danger, the cargo must be cast into the sea.” On account of the far advanced season, the chalet was partially unfurnished, the greater part of the effects having been taken down to the village. The great caldron had been left, a few cooking utensils, and some tools: the edge of the axe, to be sure, was notched and jagged, and the saw dull; but these were, in their situation, invaluable treasures: they had each, also, their pocketknives. But it was much worse with the provisions: they found only three loaves of Westphalia rye bread, of the kind that can be kept for a year or longer, and which becomes so hard that it must be chopped up with an axe or hatchet. These were stowed away in an old oaken closet, where they discovered, besides, some salt, ground coffee, oil, and quite a quantity of lard—treasures which they, in their present situation, would not have exchanged for their weight in gold.
“The lard will prove very acceptable to us,” said Jacques, as he placed it carefully in one of the drawers.
“It certainly will,” replied his grandfather, “but we dare not use it in our cooking: we must preserve it for the winter, for fear our small stock of oil runs out.”
“That would be better, grandfather,” said the boy; “it is too dreary to live in perpetual night.” And now the groping hand of the boy pulled out from behind the oaken closet an old, dusty book, quite covered with cobwebs, which must have lain there, forgotten, for many long years. The old man’s heart throbbed with joy as Jacques opened it, and read the title: “Thomas á Kempis.”
“Oh! my son,” he cried, as he heard the name, “that is the best friend, except God’s Holy Book, that could visit us in our solitude; a blessed treasure to all unhappy sufferers; it teaches us that there is only one evil in this world of ours: ‘to forget God;’ and only one source of happiness: ‘to love God.’ You see, my child, though solitary, we are not forsaken; we have found many things to nourish the body; and now we possess, also, most precious nourishment for our souls: it will impart to us much comfort, strength, and encouragement. God be thanked for this proof of his love.”
The rest of the day was passed in a further investigation, resulting, however, in no new discovery of importance; but well satisfied with their day’s work, they laid themselves down to rest, their hearts filled with thankfulness toward God, who had so manifestly exhibited his loving-kindness and watchful care for them.
Upon awakening the next morning, they found the snow was still falling; it was the 27th day of November: even on the mountains, and during this season of the year it was exceedingly rare to see so great a quantity of snow fall. The deeper the snow, the lower the hopes for release of the poor prisoners. Jacques, who had always entertained a firm hope that his father could overcome all obstacles to affect their rescue, now sank into despondency. His grandfather saw the necessity of changing the current of his thoughts: employment, physical or mental, he knew would prove the most effectual method of effecting the desired result. Exerting himself to the utmost, he talked with him, giving him, sometimes, riddles and examples which would require all his mind and memory to solve; and when he became weary of this employment, he would relate to him many pleasing incidents from the varied experiences of his long life, or from interesting books he had read: his manner was pleasing and instructive, and in this way many a good lesson was learned, as well as many an otherwise sorrowful hour passed pleasantly away.
His grandfather, restoring the cheerfulness and serenity of the boy’s mind by these means, thought he might now call his attention to a matter which, although painful, was necessitous and irremediable. As already stated, they possessed only a small stock of oil: if they continued to burn their lamp, as they hitherto had done, for twelve hours of the day, it would in all probability be consumed within one month’s time; then they would necessarily be confined to a long period of total darkness, at least until deliverance came. That must be prevented if possible, and the old man sorrowfully communicated the painful information to Jacques. The lad was startled, and shrank, at first, from the horrible thought of perpetual night: how could they give up the comforting, friendly light of their little lamp? But a short reflection convinced him that his grandfather’s fear was well grounded, and a stricter economy in the use of the precious oil an imperative necessity. After mature deliberation, it was resolved that the lamp should only be burned during three hours, and that they would for the rest of the day be content with the faint light of their little fire upon the hearth. Again was the old man obliged to exert himself to the utmost to cheer and shorten for the poor boy the long, long hours of darkness. As they had straw in plenty, he taught Jacques to weave cords and bands of the same, which were serviceable for a variety of uses; this employment they could carry on by the fire-light.
With such occupations and amusements was ushered in the first day of December; the snow still fell, without intermission, until it was now level with the roof of the chalet, indeed even covering it, so that they were literally buried alive. Every morning must Jacques ascend the chimney, and clear away the snow, so as to be able to open the trap door, to admit the fresh air, and make an outlet for the stifling smoke to escape when they made the fire.
“Our situation is not, to be sure, of the pleasantest,” said his grandfather, one day, when the lad descended the chimney, looking more than usually depressed; “but our lot is less wretched than that of many prisoners who are as guiltless as we. We have fire, and, some hours in the day at least, light; we enjoy also a certain amount of liberty and amusement to vary our lives, which is unattainable within the four walls of many an unhappy cell. We dread not each day the entrance of a cruel, hard-hearted jailer; and, beyond all, the suffering which the inscrutable will of God lays upon us, are never so bitter and intolerable as those which we attribute to the injustice of man; and lastly, my boy, we are not condemned to solitary confinement, but can cheer and comfort each other. I do not say that I would not far rather that you were in security at our home in the valley; but as God has so willed it, I find in your presence an unceasing source of comfort and peace. Poor Blanchette, too, serves to make our imprisonment far less painful than it otherwise would be, and it would be a source of much sorrow did we lose her—not merely for the sake of the milk she gives us, but for the sake of her companionship.”
“You are right, grandfather,” said Jacques; “our fate is not altogether devoid of comfort: you have often told me, and it is certainly true, ‘Shared joy is double joy, shared sorrow is half sorrow.’ Now, since you have called my attention to the thought, I see why Blanchette bleats so plaintively when we leave her alone in her stall every morning and evening. The poor creature grieves sorely for company: what should prevent us from having her here with us? She can be placed in a corner of the kitchen; it is large enough for us three. She will be so happy to be with us; and who knows if she will not, in her thankfulness, give us more and richer milk. Shall I make a place for her, grandfather?”
“I do not object to the plan, my lad,” smilingly replied the old man; “but, on the contrary, think your idea most excellent.”
Jacques waited only for the acquiescence of his grandfather; then, nailing a little manger against the wall with large wooden pegs, and supporting it with a few stakes, he hastened to the stall, and led Blanchette into her new home.
It was truly affecting to witness the joy of the poor creature. She sprang around in her delight, bleating for pleasure, overwhelming them with her stormy caresses, until they became almost burdensome. The grandfather, thinking she would in time become accustomed to her new position indulged her, and at last she laid herself quietly down in her corner; and from her large, soft eyes, which were turned thankfully upon her benefactors, beamed the intensity of the satisfaction she felt at the change.
“You see already the result of one good work,” said his grandfather, smiling and pointing to Blanchette: “there beats now, in our lonely little chalet, one happy heart at least.”
Upon the 3rd of December, as Jacques ascended the chimney to shovel off the snow from the trap, he saw with joy that the storm had ceased, that the sky was clear and cloudless, and the air pure and cold. The extended white expanse of snow reflected the bright beams of the sun, and almost dazzled him as he gazed. He remained upon the roof longer than usual, enjoying the sunshine, and the wide view that opened before him. Thinking how pleasant it would be to share his joy with his grandfather, and how delighted he would be to catch even one ray of sunshine, the thought suddenly occurred to him:
“What if I should shovel away the snow from the door, and make a path upward to the surface of the drift?”
Filled with this idea, he descended and communicated it to his grandfather, who feared the labor and exposure would prove too great: but the sanguine lad would listen to no objections of this kind, and set to work at once. When he opened the door and looked upon the firm, frozen wall before him, the work did not appear quite so attainable as the boy, in the first glow of his zeal had believed; but the thought of rendering such a service, and opening a source of pleasure to his grandfather, stimulated him to exertion, and animated him with fresh courage and endurance: boldly he commenced his assault upon the formidable barrier.
All day long the lad labored untiringly, and would have worked yet longer, had not his grandfather insisted upon his stopping for the time. The next morning, he set to afresh: it was hard toil, but he was convinced that labor and perseverance would accomplish the desired result. His work progressed slowly but surely; fortunately for him, the snow was neither too firm to resist his efforts, nor too loose to render his work ineffectual. At length, upon the third day, the path was made, and Jacques had the pleasure of leading his grandfather out of the chalet into the pure, free air. Supported upon one side by the arm of his grandson, and upon the other by a railing, which Jacques had made out of consideration for the lame foot, the old man trod with pleasure the path which so much love and toil had made.
The day was dark and gloomy and their joy was mingled with melancholy, as they reached the end of the avenue and contemplated the threatening sky; the snow surrounded them on all sides, and the dark trunks of the fir-trees. It was a bleak, dreary scene, upon which the silence of death seemed to brood; a cold, inanimate scene: nought disturbed its desolate monotony save a solitary bird of prey, which passed at some distance through the air, and with a hoarse scream, darted down into the valley, flying in the direction of the village where the home of the poor captives lay.
With a heavy sigh, the old man’s gaze followed its flight. “Our pagan ancestors,” said he, “would have regarded the appearance of this bird of prey, his cry, and the direction of his flight, as ominous of good or evil, and it would have inspired either fear or hope. But we! will we ever again follow the direction this eagle has taken? God alone knows, and he is too good and too wise to raise the veil and disclose the future to our eyes. Come, come, my dear boy, and let us await with patience and submission what the Almighty has seen fit to hide from us. I thank you heartily for all the trouble you have taken for me; and another day I will, I trust, fully enjoy the result of so much love and labor.”
