Buried in the Snow Page 2

  Small as the chalet was, there was room for all. François prepared a frugal evening meal, of maize, flour and milk, in the boiler which hung in the enormous chimney: this, together with butter and cheese, they partook of, with appetites sharpened by their tiresome ascent. Supper over, the wearied boy, after a short but earnest thanksgiving to God for the care and protection of the past day, threw himself down upon the straw bed, in a corner of the chalet, and was soon fast asleep; while his father and grandfather conversed in an undertone for a long time, relating to each other all that had occurred of interest during the past summer, down in the valley, and above upon the mountain-top. At length, they too laid themselves down in peace, and slept until the eye of morning peeped in at the window of the little chalet.

  Upon looking out, they were disappointed and alarmed, although not altogether surprised, to see the mountain covered with snow, and the white flakes still falling fast, which violent gusts of wind whirled in thick eddies past the chalet.

  “Should this storm not soon abate, François,” said the old man, with much solicitude, “it will be impossible to reach our home in the valley: every path will be choked up by the snow.”

  “It may not last, father,” replied his son; “it is yet early in the season; at all events we will be obliged to wait, for in this storm of wind and snow, you, at least, must not leave the chalet.”

  “Do not trouble yourself about me, my son, but you and Jacques leave before the snow is deeper. My lame foot has swollen so much more, and pains me to such an extent, that I fear I shall be obliged to remain here several days longer. You go, my children, go while there is still time. The herd must be placed in safety; today, François, you may take them down without danger, while tomorrow may prove too late. Do not give yourself any uneasiness about me.”

  “No! oh, no, father, I could not leave you alone, sick, and helpless,” replied his son. “Why can we not all go together? My shoulders are strong enough to carry you, father, and Jacques can drive the herd: in this way, with the help of the dear God, we will reach the valley without accident.”

  But the old man persisted in his resolution. “You know not what you promise, my son,” said he. “In such weather it will be almost impossible to hold the cattle together; how then, if you should be burdened with one so helpless as I. Think of your boy, François. Delay not, but place the herd and Jacques in security, while it lies within your power; and then, tomorrow, you and some of our neighbors can return and care for me.”

  François was still irresolute: the storm without, howled and raved furiously, driving before it fresh clouds of snow, which shortly would render the descent impracticable. Upon the preservation of his herd depended the maintenance of his family: a speedy abatement of the storm could not be counted upon. It was truly a sad and painful position: on one side, the loss of his sole possessions; on the other, the desertion, if only for a day, of his helpless father, upon this rough, inhospitable height: he could not leave him. Again he insisted that the old man should trust himself to his strong shoulders; but no persuasions could tempt him to expose his son and grandson to danger, by becoming a burden to them.

  In these friendly altercations passed several hours of the day, when Jacques made a proposal which brought them to a decision.

  “Let me remain with grandfather, in the chalet, and you, father, take the herd down the mountain; you will reach home much sooner than with either of us, and then you can come back with our neighbors for us; grandfather will not be so lonely, and I can wait upon him: it was through my thoughtlessness that this misfortune has come upon us, and now I have an opportunity of showing him that I am truly sorry, and can thus prove my love for him. Go, father, go: why do you hesitate? ‘God, even our own God, will be with us.’”

  “The child is right, François; his plan is the wisest and best: the snow is already so deep, and the wind so fearful, that I fear the danger would be greater, did he accompany you, than were he to remain with me in the chalet. Go, my son, delay no longer: take with you my stick; it is strong, and the iron point is new and firm; it will help you down, as it has helped me up; leave with us one goat and the provisions which remain. I feel more anxiety about you, than about Jacques and myself.”

  For some moments François stood silent and undecided, until at length, feeling convinced that further opposition would only increase the evil, he determined, hard though it was, to leave his dear ones in the lonely, yet at least sheltered chalet.

  “So be it, then,” said he, while he tearfully embraced the brave old man. “We have lost one opportunity, by not going down with Pierre, and I must endeavor to remedy the neglect if possible. I will at once, upon my descent, summon the neighbors, and with their aid, and the blessing of the good God, will rescue you right speedily from your perilous situation.”

  “God help you, my son,” replied the aged man, with a sweet expression of quiet repose. “Go in peace, my son, and may the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you.”

  For the last time François embraced his father, then hastened to drive the herd out of the stable, Jacques following to render him assistance. The cattle appeared to be surprised when they found the ground covered with snow: they stood for a moment dismayed and confused, but the well-known call of the herdsman soon brought them in motion, and knowing they were going home, they sportively ran hither and thither around the little chalet, causing him some trouble in bringing them together again; that accomplished, the father once more kissed his boy and pressed him tenderly to his heart.

  “God protect you both. Watch over thy grandfather as carefully and lovingly as thou canst, and be not too solicitous[1] about the future: if God grant that I reach our home in safety, thou wilt, in a few days at farthest, be relieved: be patient, courageous, and hopeful, my son; God have thee in his gracious keeping.”

  “And you too, father,” sobbed the boy, while he broke out into tears, and pressed a farewell kiss upon his parent’s lips.

  François gently withdrew himself from the child’s embrace, and herd and herdsman disappeared amid the whirling clouds of snow. Jacques sought in vain to penetrate the thick, flaky veil; a last call of farewell reached his listening ear, faintly above the wind howlings of the tempest, and now every trace of his father had disappeared, and the boy stood alone, upon the bleak, desolate mountain summit, swaying in the howling blast, and his tender form enveloped in a soft, white garment of snow.

  “God protect you, father,” whispered the lad, “you and us. Ah! would we dare to follow.” One imploring look he cast toward the dark, shrouded heavens; then, with a powerful effort repressing his painful emotions, he entered the chalet, and busied himself with the tenderest care for his loved and helpless grandfather.

  CHAPTER III.

  THE FIRST DAY IN THE CHALET.

  AS Jacques entered, he saw the old man standing beside the window, from which he had been gazing after his son. He leaned his venerable, gray head upon the sill, while with folded hands, and with eyes raised to heaven, his lips moved as though engaged in prayer. Jacques’s tears broke forth afresh at the sorrowful, touching sight: sinking at his grandfather’s feet, he pressed his hot lips upon the dear hands. “He has gone, grandfather,” said he, “and God alone knows if we shall ever see him again!”

  “We can pray for him, my child, and commend him to the protection of the Lord,” answered the old man, in gentle, comforting tones, as he laid his trembling hand upon the head of the lad. “Our case is sad, my son, but, in just such a situation is it meet for us to set our whole confidence upon God. Hearken to

  the teachings of our blessed Lord: ‘And are five sparrows sold for two farthings, and not one of them is forgotten before God? But even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not, therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows.’ Comfort thyself with these precious words, my child, and pray from thy heart that God, for Christ’s sake, will give thee peace, that perfect peace he has promised to bestow upon all that call upon him in spiri
t and in truth. Be still, my son, weep not, but rest assured that our kind Heavenly Father will make all these things work together for our good.”

  Jacques’s tears ceased gradually to flow, and his sobs were less violent, yet he raised not his head, but nestled still closer to the old man’s side. For a long, long time they remained in this position, in perfect silence; while without, the wind roared and beat with fury against the little chalet, thick clouds of snow darkened the air, and at last, suddenly the deep darkness of night shrouded them, although the old wooden clock in the corner of the chalet had only just struck three.

  “Three o’clock,” said the old man, breaking the long silence. “God be thanked, François must by this time have reached the shelter of the pine-wood; else he would not be able to struggle against the terrific violence of this tempest. He must certainly be so far down at least, and this hurricane can now do him no harm. But his poor heart will be heavy for us, Jacques.”

  The lad sighed, but replied not, while he prayed fervently for his struggling father. The violence of the storm increased from hour to hour, and its wild roaring, howling, and whistling made the heart of the boy tremble within him. The little window shook and rattled as the showers of snow and hail were whirled wildly against the panes.

  Jacques and his grandfather had been so anxiously solicitous the entire day as to forget even hunger and thirst, until the bleating of the goat reminded them that a third living creature, helpless as themselves, was imprisoned in the little chalet.

  “Poor Blanchette,” said the old man, “we have been so absorbed with our own cares, that we have entirely forgotten her: she is calling us to come and milk her. Light the lamp, my boy, so that we may find our way to the stall.”

  As the light illumined the bare walls of the little kitchen, Jacques cast a hasty glance upon the face of his grandfather, and saw with comfort, and even pleasure, that it wore a look of quiet composure. As his eyes met his grandson’s anxious gaze, the old man smiled sweetly and fondly upon him, the light of which smile infused somewhat of the peace and tranquility of his soul into the desponding heart of the poor boy. At that very moment a fresh and still more vehement gust of wind forced its way under the planks of the roof, shaking them fearfully, until it seemed as though the roof must be carried away. Involuntarily the lad cast upward a look of anxiety.

  “Don’t be alarmed, my child,” said his grandfather, as he observed the glance; “the roof and the little chalet have resisted many such storms: you forget that the planks are held firm by good, strong stays and heavy stones; then too, the roof is so flat that it affords very little hold to the wind: go on, Jacques, that we may milk poor Blanchette.”

  As the goat saw them, she redoubled her bleatings, and seemed almost beside herself for joy, tugging at her rope as though she would break it to get at them. Jacques stroked her caressingly, giving her at the same time a handful of salt, which she licked greedily. She gave them a large bowl of milk, which the boy and his grandfather regarded with much satisfaction, for they had eaten nothing the entire day.

  “We must take good care of Blanchette,” said the old man, as they returned to the kitchen; “we dare never neglect to feed or milk her, for our lives may depend, perhaps, upon hers.”

  “You terrify me, grandfather: you surely do not fear that we will be compelled to remain here at the furthest more than a few days.”

  “Who can tell?” replied his grandfather, “We may, perchance, tomorrow, or next day, be released from our imprisonment; yet it may be that weeks elapse before we see our home in the valley. It is well to be always prepared for the worst. You both see and hear, child, that the storm has not abated, but that the snow penetrates even into our place of refuge.”

  They were seated beside the fire, which, although the chimney was narrow above, had several times been almost extinguished by the flakes of snow that fell whirling down. Drawing themselves into the remotest corner of the room, to avoid the cold draught of air which also descended, the poor captives sought to bear the discomforts of their painful situation with uncomplaining resignation. At length, the grandfather, laying his hand gently upon the lad’s head, said:

  “Jacques, my child, I fear we can only keep ourselves warm by going to bed; the snow cannot penetrate our covering, and in our sleep the storm will not disturb us. Tomorrow we will try to keep these persistent guests at a greater distance, and prepare more comfortable quarters. Come, my boy, let us commend ourselves to the watchful care and protection of our heavenly Father; He is ever present, not only in the depths of the valley, but upon the mountain top; and although the snow were a hundred times deeper, his eye would still rest upon us: even in this dreary, isolated chalet shall his ‘right hand hold us; yea, the darkness hideth not from thee, O Lord, but the night shineth as the day; the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.’ He sees our folded hands, my child, he hears our sighs. Did not our blessed Lord, also, pass the midnight hours upon the mountain top, and think you he will not pity and care for us? We will not fear, but will lie down and rest beneath the shadow of his wings.”

  Jacques kneeled beside his grandfather; and, strengthened and refreshed in spirit by waiting upon their God, they laid them down and slept in peace and safety, while without, the wind moaned and howled in its rage, and the snow chased in wild play around the little chalet.

  CHAPTER IV.

  UNDER THE SNOW.

  THEN Jacques awakened the next morning, he wondered not a little to find it was still dark, although he felt confident that he had slept longer than usual; but hearing his grandfather moving about the room, he rubbed his eyes in astonishment, but without seeing any clearer for that.

  “Grandfather,” called he, “are you up, and the day not dawned?”

  “You are mistaken, my son,” answered the old man. “Did we wait until the morning light looks into our chalet, we would not rise at all. The sun, without doubt, has long ago risen; our window is entirely blocked up.”

  “Is it possible?” cried Jacques, springing out of bed and lighting the lamp to convince himself of the truth of the statement. “I hope you are mistaken, grandfather; it is impossible that so much snow could have fallen in one night.”

  “The window is not high, my lad,” said the old man; “and besides, it is probably that the wind had drifted the snow on this side of the chalet: should this prove the case, we need not be disturbed; it may not be more than two or three feet deep, except in this particular spot.”

  “They will come today, to free us from our imprisonment,” said the boy; “father is certainly on his way by this time.”

  “I hope so, but do not be too sure, Jacques; the disappointment in case they do not come will be the more bitter. Our wisest course would be to reckon up our resources, in case we are detained here any length of time. But listen; there cries our cuckoo: seven o’clock! How fortunate it was I wound the clock yesterday evening! We must never neglect it; should I forget it, be sure to remind me of it, my lad. But now let us see how deep the snow is before the window.”

  At that moment the plaintive bleatings of Blanchette fell upon their ears.

  “First, the poor goat; then, the snow. Jacques, she must be attended to.” While his grandfather was milking, the boy stood beside him watching him closely.

  “You are right, my child,” said he, as he noticed it. “I would advise you to learn to milk, so that you may be able to fill my place, in case of necessity; my old limbs will scarcely bend to the task. Try, Jacques, and see what success you will meet with.”

  The boy kneeled down beside the goat, making at first an awkward and unsuccessful attempt, Blanchette kicking and wincing meanwhile, and almost overturning the bowl; but after several trials it grew easier, and the goat stood quiet, giving, as she had done before, a large bowl of milk: Jacques carried it carefully to the kitchen, that not one drop of the precious liquid should be lost.

  Making their breakfast of the fresh, sweet milk, they turned their attention again to the fal
len snow. The old man opened the window a little, to see if they could measure from this point the depth of the snow bank, but the attempt led to no satisfactory results. Closing the window, they examined the opening of the chimney, to see whether they could not thus discover some way of procedure.

  Looking up through the outlet, Jacques exclaimed: “I see the sky, grandfather!” At that moment the sun shone upon the snow that surrounded the opening, and they could easily judge the depth of the layer, as the chimney did not rise higher than the roof.

  “How unfortunate that we have no ladder!” said the grandfather; “you might ascend, Jacques, and take a look around. If I remember aright, there must be a trap door, with which the chimney can be closed, which would protect us from the cold and wet; your father placed it there, years ago, I think when the chimney was out of repair. It would be a great convenience and protection for us, were we able to open and close it at pleasure. But I see no possibility of your climbing up to the top.”

  “If the chimney were only a little narrower, I would need no ladder,” said the boy. “Can you not contrive some plan, grandfather?”

  “We must try, my son, to light upon some expedient,” said the old man, reflectively. “Can you climb well, Jacques?”

  “Certainly I can,” answered the boy; “my companions say I can climb better than any of them; but what good will that do us, grandfather?”

  “I do not think we will need a ladder, my boy. I saw somewhere in the stable a long fir pole,” replied the old man. “If we could bring it here!”

  “That is all I want, grandfather,” said Jacques with delight; “if the pole is only long enough to reach above the opening, we have won the game.”