Buried in the Snow Read online

  In this manner did the poor lad describe his sufferings, and utter loneliness. He sank now into the deepest despondency. For days he sat beside the hearth, gazing into vacancy, and scarce conscious of one clear thought.

  Only two events are noted in his diary which for some time roused him from his stupor of despair.

  The first occurred soon after the interment of his grandfather. A light noise in the room having attracted his attention one evening, as he was about to extinguish his lamp and the fire upon the hearth, and turning to see what produced it he found a piece of lime, covered with soot, had fallen down. It was still glowing. Experiencing some anxiety, he looked up the chimney, but found his fears were groundless. As he still gazed, a bright star glided slowly past the iron pipe. It lasted but moment, yet it shed a bright gleam of hope and comfort into the bowed heart of the poor lad. It seemed like a messenger from heaven sent to cheer and illumine his dark grave—an indication that he was not forgotten by his God. Sinking down upon his knees, he thanked the Lord, with tears of gratitude, for this beam of his eternal love.

  But soon his hopelessness returned. The deathlike monotony seemed more than he could bear, and an incurable melancholy had, perhaps, settled upon him, had not a new source of disquietude aroused him from his grief.

  Jacques for some days past had observed that the weather had become milder. He required much less fire than usual, and the smoke did not escape as readily through the pipe. Toward two o’clock in the afternoon, as he sat beside the fire, he suddenly heard a hollow, rumbling noise, like the rolling of distant thunder. It approached nearer, and yet nearer, increasing with fearful power. Suddenly the chalet shook to its very foundations. Jacques sprang up in affright.

  The different utensils and tools fell in confusion around him—a thick, stifling dust filled the air, and from the straining and creaking of the rafters, the boy knew the little chalet had suffered some violent shock.

  At first, he feared the walls would be thrown down, but soon he was convinced that the kitchen, at least, stood firm. In order to assure himself that all was right, he lighted the lamp, and proceeded to investigate. When he entered the stable, a scene of destruction met his gaze. A mass of ruins covered the ground; the roof was torn off, and lime, shingles, and fragments of beams lay strewn around. Evidently some enormous mass had fallen against the chalet. The boy knew not whether it was a rock that had been torn from the mountain or an avalanche precipitated from some high point. Jacques thanked God, and took courage. His remarkable preservation convinced him that his Heavenly Father’s eye still rested upon him.

  But a new misfortune threatened him. The goat, as his grandfather feared, began gradually to yield a smaller quantity of milk. Jacques first observed it about the middle of January, and by the 25th of the month the fact could no longer be doubted. He recalled the words of his grandfather, who one day had said, while they were discussing the probabilities of such a case: ‘What should we do, Jacques, if Blanchette were to go dry? It would, I fear, be absolutely necessary for us to kill the poor creature for our own preservation.”

  But the boy could not bear to think of putting to death the faithful companion of his solitude. He resolved to delay this as long as possible. Then, too, Blanchette still gave some milk, sufficient for his immediate wants. To be sure, he could no longer make cheese, but he still had some in store, and possibly the yield of milk might increase. After a strict examination of his resources, he calculated that they would last him at farthest about fifteen or sixteen days.

  Jacques now came to the conclusion to give Blanchette a double allowance of salt: her milk increased, for two or three days, but again decreased, until it was scarcely worth while milking her for the little she gave.

  By the 8th of February he tried for the last time to milk the goat, but was obliged to give up the vain task. Seating himself upon the ground beside the poor creature, he threw his arms around her and wept bitterly. The hour had come: he must kill his faithful nurse, the sole living creature that sweetened his solitude. How was it possible for him to put a knife to her throat, after all the benefits he had received from her!

  He could not decide upon the painful yet necessary deed; he still postponed its execution; he had a little food left, and he would economize it as strictly as possible.

  Upon the 12th of February he observed in his diary, “It is impossible for me, in the midst of so much sorrow and anguish of mind, to write with any degree of regularity. My provisions are almost exhausted; Blanchette grows daily fatter, and yet….I cannot force myself to the horrible deed.

  “February 13th.—I have searched the chalet again, even digging up the ground in several places, hoping to find some hidden store—in vain: the exertion has only increased my hunger. What will become of us? O God, help us!

  “February 17th.—The cold has become, since yesterday evening, so intense that I am obliged to keep a constant fire. This would be good weather to preserve poor Blanchette’s flesh: it would freeze hard, and would be more likely to keep. But the weather may change; should that happen, I would not have sufficient salt for my purpose.

  “February 18th.—The cold increases: it reminds me of the attack of the wolves. There is nothing to hinder them now from roving about the mountain. May God protect me from them. To be torn in pieces what a frightful fate! Far rather would I be crushed by an avalanche; such a death would be sweet compared to the other.

  “February 20th.—I have concluded how to act. I will leave the chalet tomorrow; and in case a misfortune befall me, I will record in my diary what has led me to this determination. Yesterday Blanchette’s bleating awakened me from a frightful dream. I thought I was standing, with hands covered with blood, hacking her flesh to pieces, while the poor animal uttered cries of pain, looking at the same time sorrowfully upon me. When I awoke I found my cheeks wet with tears. With joy I saw that Blanchette still lived. I ran to her and caressed her tenderly—but my joy did not last long. What would I gain by the delay? In two days my food would be gone. I must come to a decision. I took my knife—I drew near to give the fatal blow, but I could not. It seemed to me as if I were about to commit murder. The knife fell from my hand, and, throwing my arms around her, I hugged her again and again.

  “The cold was severe, and after lighting a fire, while I warmed myself, the thought suddenly occurred to me, ‘If the wolves can travel over the snow, why can you not do the same?’

  “The very idea filled me with joy. But soon fear took possession of me. In order not to sacrifice Blanchette, I was about to expose myself to the ravenous wolves.

  “Should I kill the goat, how do I know if her flesh would prove sufficient to support me until deliverance came? Sometimes the Jura is covered with snow, even after summer has set in, and such an opportunity as this may not again present itself. Besides, an attack by the wolves is doubtful; and then we can descend the mountain in a sledge very rapidly. A sledge! That word turned the scale.

  “I sprang up immediately, and commenced preparations for our departure. I picked out the best wood I could find. In a short time I had constructed a sledge firm and large enough to carry myself and Blanchette. Then, too, I understand how to steer it. I will bind Blanchette’s feet together, and fasten her on behind me, and then I will venture, and, with the help of God, hope to reach the plain.

  “And now my excitement was intense; I felt myself agitated by a variety of feelings. I cannot, without emotion, gaze upon the little chalet where I have suffered so much, and where the remains of my dear grandfather repose. I think with terror upon the distance which lies between this height and the valley. But I will not shrink from my resolve. If thou only, O my God, wilt be my shield, I will fear nothing.”

  He awoke early upon the morning of the 21st of February; the cold appeared to be more severe than ever; but that favored his undertaking: not a moment must be lost. First, he must dig a passage through the snow; but he could throw back the snow, now, into the chalet: this lightened his labor not a littl
e. He set to work, and exerted himself with such zeal that at last he felt tired, and was obliged to rest: entering the chalet, he made a fire.

  But scarcely had the smoke risen in the chimney, when he heard a noise from without. His first thought was that the wolves had come again, and that they would now surely tear him in pieces. His fright did not last long: instead of the howling of the wolves, he heard distinctly human voices; yes, he even heard his own name called. With a shout of rapture he answered; then arose, almost beside himself for joy, and worked with superhuman strength toward his rescuers. Now he distinguished plainer and still plainer the tones, and now—what rapture! He heard the voice of his father. After long moments, they had forced an opening through the snow. His father was the first to force his way through. One cry of joy, and the lad was folded in his arms.

  “And your grandfather?” he cried.

  Jacques was too much overcome to answer. He led his father to the dairy, and throwing himself upon the grave, he wept freely. The poor lad tried to give a description of their sufferings and of his grandfather’s death, but he was too deeply agitated; the attempt was beyond his strength.

  “Not now, my child, not now,” said his father deeply moved; “we must set out at once upon our return.”

  Meanwhile the rest of his liberators had pressed through—two uncles of Jacques, and Pierre the servant; they all embraced the lad with much affection. Preparations were at once made for their departure. The men had brought with them a couple of extra pairs of snow-shoes: only one pair was needed.

  Pierre took care of the sledge, and Blanchette was made fast upon it. The wolves might come if they pleased now, for they were well armed. Jacques’s father, laying a rifle upon his shoulder, and taking his son’s hand, said:

  “This is not the time, my boy, to remove my dear father’s mortal remains. In the spring we will return; then they shall be laid to rest in our village church-yard. But we will kneel beside his grave before we leave.”

  They all entered the dairy, and kneeled around the lowly mound. After they had prayed, François tearfully whispered: “Farewell, father; I am only following thy wish in removing this child as quickly as possible. Farewell, father: would that I once more could have seen thee alive.”

  All eyes were full of tears as they carefully closed the door of the little chalet. The descent was rapid but laborious. Jacques, accustomed so long to darkness, was dazzled by the light of the sun and the glare of the snow.

  The cold was intense, but the lad bore it uncomplainingly, for to that he and poor Blanchette, who lay trembling upon the sledge, owed their rescue.

  They reached the foot of the mountain without further accident than an occasional sinking in the snow, and found a path which the villagers had, with almost incredible labor, prepared.

  “We would have rescued you in December, my son,” said his father, “if it had only been cold enough; but the snow was too soft to attempt it. Our neighbors and friends have not been wanting in zeal or sympathy. But, within the memory of man, never have such masses of snow fallen. Four times did we break the road, and four times was it filled up again.”

  “Was it impossible from the very first day?” inquired the lad.

  “Not from the first day,” said his father; “but an unfortunate accident delayed your rescue.”

  And now his father related to him the particulars of his descent from the mountain. His life was nearly lost by the sliding of a mass of snow. They had discovered him lying unconscious upon the brink of an abyss. A few steps farther they found the alpenstock of the old man, and the conclusion was reached that they had perished in the storm. For three days he lay in extreme danger; and when at last reason returned, the snow had increased to such a fearful depth, that the deliverance of the poor imprisoned pair in the chalet could no longer be thought of.

  Jacques was welcomed with the greatest enthusiasm by the villagers, and the lad blushed as he recalled how often he had in his loneliness doubted their sympathy.

  Everyone wanted to see the lad and faithful Blanchette. They overwhelmed them with caresses. Blanchette was served with the daintiest food, and stroked and petted without measure. Certainly, she was the happiest of all the goats in the village.

  “The dear God has saved my life. To Him be praise and thanks and glory,” wrote Jacques in his journal, on the day after his rescue. “It was His holy will that my dear grandfather should not see his family again. But this faithful teacher taught me to say in the lonely chalet, ‘Thy will be done,’ and I will not murmur. God will not be angry if I grieve for him. Did not the blessed Saviour weep at the grave of his friend?

  “And now, O my God, grant that I may never forget the instructions of my dear, beloved grandfather, but that I may follow his example, walking ever firmly and steadfastly in his most holy faith, that I may walk worthy of the blessing of the Lord, and live as my grandfather who did all things without murmurings and disputings. To the King and His Kingdom be glory and honor for ever. Amen!”

  [1] Solicitous: anxious, concerned.

  [2] Vouchsafe: permit.

  [3] Allayed: quieted, reduced.

  [4] Interment: burial.

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