Buried in the Snow Read online

  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.”

  They returned to the chalet after all their pleasant anticipations, sorrowful and depressed: for the rest of the day they were thoughtful and silent; the peaceful serenity they had for some time enjoyed they could not recover. Constantly their thoughts reverted to the valley, and they long
ed for the wings of a bird—then would they flee away and be at rest.

  CHAPTER VI.

  WOLVES.

  UPON the following morning the poor prisoners had so far recovered from their depression as to be able to plan with some spirit and pleasure for their future comfort. Jacques’s grandfather proposed that they should free the window from the snow which blocked it up, and the boy went to work with vigor, although it was still harder than making the path through the snow: there he was only obliged to throw it to one side and the other, from the window he must throw it upward, so as to afford ready entrance for the light. He would not suffer his grandfather to assist him, fearing he might, by doing so, endanger his precious health.

  Instead of digging a tunnel, he now had to bore a pit or shaft in the snow. The work progressed but slowly. By the evening of the first day he had, although working hard and steadily, accomplished so little that he could scarcely hope to finish entirely before three or four days at the least. Upon the next day he went to work with renewed energy, and shoveled away with a zeal in which all prudence was forgotten. As he cast the snow out of the hole, he heaped it upon the upper edge, until it gradually formed a sort of wall: his grandfather warned him not to make it too high, fearing it might fall upon him; but the lad in his excitement entirely forgot the warning, and the catastrophe happened that had been predicted. The wall fell, and the poor boy’s work was not only destroyed, but he was buried under the mass. Managing to free his head quickly, he escaped a horrible death; but all his strength failed to extricate himself further. After he had made many fruitless attempts, he called upon his grandfather for help. Providentially the falling of the wall had made a breach, through which the old man, though with difficulty, forced his way, and shoveled the snow to one side. When Jacques had recovered the use of his arms, it was not long until he was freed from the cold embrace.

  “You see, my son, that even in the best of causes we must never lose sight of prudence,” said his grandfather, with gentle reproof.

  “I have acted foolishly,” said Jacques, “very foolishly, but it will be a good lesson for me; and tomorrow I will commence my work wiser than yesterday.”

  But when the lad attempted to resume the quickly interrupted task, he found that, for that day, the shovel must be laid aside. All day long the snow fell heavily, and the wind blew cold and fierce. Remaining within the chalet, he plaited his straw, milked the goat, and prepared their simple meals, hoping it would cease to snow during the night.

  Vain hope! Upon reaching his head out of the trap, he found the wind raging furiously; the snowflakes striking his face with such violence as almost to blind him. Drawing back quickly, he pulled the trap close and descended. “What fearful weather!” said he. “It is worse than any we have yet experienced since our imprisonment.”

  Jacques had not yet learned what a hurricane upon the mountain was like. Notwithstanding the covering of snow with which the chalet was enveloped, the roaring and howling of the tempest penetrated within it, and filled the sinking heart of the boy with terror. Upon their attempting to open the door, the room was filled with clouds of snow, and the wind raged with such violence that they could only with the greatest difficulty, and by their united strength, again close it. It was impossible to open the trap, for the wind rushed down howling like some terrific monster through the chimney, chasing clouds of snow before it. All must remain carefully closed, and in consequence our poor captives were forced to extinguish the fire upon the hearth, as the smoke had no outlet to escape.

  They sat for hours in total darkness, and listened with heavy hearts to the wild raging of the tempest. Jacques trembled with each repeated shock, and his grandfather could scarcely quiet his fears. In order to draw his attention from the weather, he assigned him various employments, and at last succeeded in comforting him by speaking of the compassion and everlasting love of their God.

  “ ‘Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid,’ my boy. The power that appears today so fearful, is unchangeably the same—merciful and gracious, while it threatens to desolate heaven and earth in its wrath: all this storm serves as a merciful messenger, which eternal wisdom has sent to call out of this seeming chaos a new creation. It heaps masses of snow upon our mountains, so that they, in the spring, as fertilizing streams and brooks, may pour down, and waken our meadows and our fields. Without this yearly preparation, the fertility which depends upon these masses of snow would be at an end, the fresh green grass would not sprout, no flowers would delight us with their fragrance and beauty and our blessed valleys and fields would be transformed into sterile wastes. The same Power that ‘giveth snow like wool, that scattereth the hoar-frost like ashes, that casteth forth his ice like morsels, sendeth out his word and melteth them.’ Let us, my dear boy, ‘praise the name of the Lord, for he is good to all; and his tender mercies are over all his works.’ Fear not, Jacques.

  “ ‘Blind unbelief is sure to err,

  And scan His works in vain:

  God is His own interpreter,

  And He will make it plain.’”

  Jacques’s agitation was somewhat allayed through these calm, comforting words, when suddenly a powerful concussion shook the little chalet to its very foundations, and the door creaked and groaned as though it would break in pieces. The grandfather involuntary arose.

  “What is that?” cried Jacques, in affright. “Will our chalet be blown away?”

  “I hope not, my child,” replied the old man, regaining his own composure. “Light the lamp, Jacques, and we will see what has happened.”

  The boy obeyed, and the grandfather, opening the door, found that an enormous mass of snow had fallen, and they were imprisoned, as they had been before the tunnel had been dug.

  “Grieve not, my lad, that your work has been destroyed, but think rather what would have happened to us if our chalet had not been all snowed up: we are surrounded as by a protecting wall; without it we could not have hoped our chalet to resist the shocks of the hurricane; so this immense mass of snow in which we are enveloped, has again proved to us a blessing, which calls for gratitude to God, who has, by its shelter, protected us from great danger, if not from sudden death.”

  The storm lasted until night, and they laid themselves down upon their hard bed, and sought to rest after the exhausting fears and agitations of the day—quietly and trustingly confiding in the Keeper of Israel, who neither slumber nor sleeps.

  The next morning, the violence of the storm having somewhat abated, they tried to open the trap, but it resisted all their efforts; both window and door indicated that they were again completely buried in the snow. They were obliged to pass the entire day without fire, except occasionally lighting fir cones to create, for a few moments, a little light and warmth. Jacques and his grandfather passed a sorrowful and wearisome day.

  Upon the 11th of December, the lad wakened shaking with cold, and chilled to his very heart. Possessing no means of warming themselves, for they dared not attempt to light a fire, fearing they should be suffocated by the smoke, they passed a sad and uncomfortable day. Blanchette too appeared to suffer, bleating plaintively, and ceasing not, although Jacques caressed her tenderly. It required all their confidence and strength not to lose in their present situation all courage and hope, and sink into helpless despondency and grief; but this strength of soul and power of endurance the grandfather possessed in a remarkable degree: no word of complaint, not a sigh escaped his lips; and Jacques would not be less cheerful, less courageous than the feeble, delicate old man who set him so noble an example.

  A day or two passed without any variation in the monotony of their lives, when an occurrence took place which caused them considerable alarm.

  As Jacques was one morning milking the goat, while the grandfather was lighting a small fire of fir cones upon the hearth, Blanchette suddenly pricked up her ears, as though she heard an unusual noise, trembling at the same time in all her limbs.

  “What is the matter, Blanchette?�
� asked Jacques, caressing her; “what terrifies you? Hold still, my pretty one; no harm shall come to you.”

  Instead of becoming reassured by the boy’s manner, the goat exhibited new signs of terror, and, nestling close to Jacques, bleated her fears.

  At that moment the lad heard low and distant howlings, which gradually grew more and more distinct, until the noise sounded overhead, and they could hear the pattering of feet upon the crisp snow.

  “Grandfather,” cried the boy, in agitated tones, “they are wolves.”

  “Hush, my child, and try to keep Blanchette quiet,” said the old man, extending at the same time a handful of salt toward the poor creature, who still trembled violently.

  “How fortunate we are snowed up again!” whispered the grandfather; “without this, the fierce beasts would soon have discovered us. But we must be upon our guard, Jacques, and be prepared for an attack: speak low, my boy, and try to keep Blanchette from bleating.”

  They passed some moments of painful suspense: when suddenly the howlings redoubled.

  “They burrow sometimes through the snow,” whispered the lad, while he pressed his grandfather’s arm in terror; “we shall be torn in pieces.”

  “Not so, my child,” he answered; “we are certainly in a dangerous situation, yet I do not think the wolves will find us out, unless the bleatings of the goat betray us. These animals in all probability will not remain long upon the height, where there is but little to be had, but will scour down toward the plains, and in the outskirts of the villages. It may be only accident that has led them overhead, or it may be they are tearing to pieces a deer or chamois, which they have killed, and are consuming it upon the spot: hence the howlings that so terrify us.”