Buried in the Snow Page 3

  They found the pole in the stable, as the old man had thought: it was not much thicker than one’s arm, but the bark was still on, and the rough surface made it much easier to climb. With some difficulty they carried it into the kitchen and placed it in the chimney: this accomplished, and the pole proving long enough for the desired purpose, Jacques set to work, tying a string around his body, to which was attached a shovel, so that he might draw it up after reaching the top: the lad managed so well with hands and feet, using the wall of the chimney as resting points, that the grandfather saw, with no little satisfaction, that Jacques had not without some foundation boasted of his dexterity in climbing. It was but a few moments before the top was reached. Drawing up the shovel, he cleared away an open space, so that he might have a firm foothold. And, stepping upon the roof, he took a view of the surroundings: the snow lay about the depth of three feet upon the roof of the chalet, but, as his grandfather had thought, the wind had drifted it into a heap around the little building, covering it almost entirely; but not only immediately around them lay the snow; an enormous mass must have fallen: as far as the eye of the boy could reach, everything was hidden under a glittering white mantle. The declivities far down to the fir woods which skirted the valley, the hills far and near, the plains, abysses, and gorges, all were enveloped in one widespread covering: nothing interrupted the monotony of this winter landscape, save the black trunks of the firs; some of the trees were almost crushed under their burden of snow, while large limbs had been rent away, and were protruding stiff and dark from the snowy mass.

  A cold and bitter north wind was blowing; the sky was covered with dark clouds, which the wind chased rapidly away. Through the openings, bright gleams of sunshine glanced here and there upon the field of snow—the glittering streaks gliding with the swiftness of an arrow over mountain and valley.

  Jacques enjoyed the view, and would, perhaps, have remained much longer, if the cold had not prevented: as he described to his grandfather what he saw, his teeth chattered with cold, so that the old man in alarm bade him to make haste and shovel the snow from the trap door, and from around the aperture of the chimney. “That will warm you up, my son: make haste.”

  Jacques came to the conclusion that it was better to shovel than freeze, and resumed his work; it took some time, and soon the drops of sweat rolled down his face from the arduous labor; but at length it was accomplished, and a loud huzza made known to the grandfather his success. Jacques now passed the cord he had taken with him, through a pulley, so that when they would draw it from below, the trap would open, while its own weight would cause it to close. When they had tested this several times, and convinced themselves that all worked well, Jacques climbed again through the chimney, and descended with more ease than he had mounted.

  His grandfather now observed that his clothes were saturated by the melted snow, which was a serious matter, as he had no others. Some precaution must be taken to protect him against the cold; so making a fire of brush and fir cones upon the hearth, and drawing shut the trap door, leaving only sufficient space for the smoke to escape, they seated themselves for the rest of the day beside the great fireplace, watching the flickering flames, and listening to the howling blast.

  Their store of oil was so scanty that they did not dare to light the lamp, except for a few moments when they went to the stall to milk the goat.

  Jacques found it a dull and sad life, and it appeared to him as though the day had no end: the hours would have passed more rapidly, and proved less wearisome, had he been employed; then, too, he was momentarily expecting the arrival of his father for their rescue; he was constantly in a state of painful agitation; at every sound, at the roaring of the wind, the crackling of a spark, he would spring up, and listen intently, almost persuading himself that he could distinguish approaching footsteps; several times during the day he ascended to the roof to look for the stalwart form of his father. In vain his grandfather sought to soothe this feverish restlessness; he asked repeatedly whether his father had not long since reached home; if he did not think he had called upon the neighbors for help. The poor old man, who, as ardently as his grandson, desired their rescue, could only reply that he hoped François had reached the valley in safety, and if so, he felt assured that he would not lose a moment, and would spare no exertion to come to their relief. “But the path, Jacques,” said he, “may be so completely blocked up with snow, that it will not be possible to reach us for some time. We must only be patient, and wait.”

  But this suggestion brought no comfort to the restless lad. At last, his grandfather, rising, closed the chimney by the aid of the trap, so as to shut out the cold air; and after an earnest prayer for protection, and patience to endure the will of God without murmuring, and feeling assured that he would pity and care for them, for the sake of his only Son our Lord, who, when he was on earth, had no where to lay his head, he betook himself to his hard couch, and persuaded Jacques to follow his example. His grandfather heard the poor, agitated lad sob for a long time, until blessed sleep, at last, put an end to the hopes and bitter disappointments of the day, enfolding him lovingly under her soft, gentle wings.

  On the following morning, as Jacques tried to open the trap, he found it stubbornly resisted all his efforts. Calling upon his grandfather for assistance, they at last succeeded, after considerable difficulty, in forcing it aside; they soon found out the cause: there had been another heavy storm during the night, and the boy found, when he clambered up, at least two feet of fresh snow. His grandfather, meanwhile, prepared to make a fire upon the hearth, and with some solicitude waited the descent of the lad.

  “It is as I thought,” said he, with a sigh, as Jacques stated how matters stood. “The snow, which has drifted more and more will not melt again, my child, before the spring, and will, without doubt, prove an insurmountable barrier in the path of your father. We will have to accustom ourselves, I fear, to the thought of remaining buried in this snow-bound chalet for weeks, ay, for months! We must not flatter ourselves with delusive hopes, which, ‘long deferred, make the heart sick.’ Let us rather look upon the dark side, and pray God to grant us grace to say, as did our blessed Lord: ‘Not my will, but thine be done.’”

  “Do you really mean, grandfather, that this day too will pass away without help from our friends?” questioned the troubled, desponding lad.

  “Impossible, altogether impossible for them to reach us,” he replied, with decision; “yesterday I entertained only the slightest hope, and this morning I feel assured it is too late: the snow is at least two feet deeper, and must have drifted in such masses that no human strength could overcome the difficulties of the ascent; they could not accomplish it, my son. I will be thankful to God if only your father reached the valley in safety, Jacques. To count upon his help would be folly: though he should call upon all the villages around, all arms would be powerless to make a path for us.”

  The boy listened to his grandfather with greater composure than could have been expected. Some moments he stood with bowed head and clasped hands, plunged in deep thought, while the tears coursed rapidly down his pale cheeks; then with sudden resolve summoning all his courage, he raised his head and wiped away the tears while he said, in a voice that gathered firmness as he proceeded:

  “If human help fail us, grandfather, we can lean upon the almighty arm of our God; and here is my hand that I will not again grieve you with my childish impatience, as I did yesterday. I will stand firmly by your side, and not one more complaint shall cross my lips while we are imprisoned in the chalet; and may God help me to keep my resolve.”

  “He will help you, my son,” said the old man, as he with emotion pressed the hand of the brave lad; “if you adhere to this determination, then, with the aid of our Heavenly Father, all will be well. We are not entirely without resources, and if we use them economically they will last until the spring, and our release comes.”

  With such words, in this wise did the aged man infuse strength and courage into the
drooping heart of his grandson. Several days elapsed without anything of importance taking place, except that the snow fell almost incessantly. Jacques, to relieve the monotony of their life, commenced, at his grandfather’s suggestion, a diary: he found a supply of paper, pens, and ink, which he had brought during the summer holidays upon a visit to his father, so as to pursue his tasks, and had forgotten to take them with him when he returned home, little thinking what a treasure they one day would prove. He wrote by the glow of the fire, and many an hour did he thus spend both pleasantly and profitably.

  One day, as Jacques and his grandfather sat by the fire, the kind old man having given to the boy some examples in arithmetic to pass away the time—to save the little store of paper, Jacques had drawn some ashes from the hearth, and had strewed them in a thin layer upon its flat surface: this served him instead of a slate, while he marked the figures with a sharp-pointed stick. The lad had not been careful in spreading the ashes, and while both were engaged with an example, they suddenly felt an unusual degree of heat, and turning, they saw with affright that a bundle of straw which lay beside the ash pile had ignited, and was burning rapidly.

  The venturous boy without a moment’s delay threw his arms around the straw, and endeavored in this manner to extinguish the flames: he was unable, however, to accomplish his purpose, and both hands were burned in his efforts.

  His grandfather now hastily seized the burning mass, and, in spite of the danger and pain, carried it directly under the chimney.

  “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.

  THE 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.”

  “T
hat 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.