boys looked after them, and saw them disappear in the thick woods.
They remained in their
covert until night, when they started again
on their long journey,
taking a new route to avoid the Indians. At
daybreak they again concealed themselves, but travelled the next
night and day without resting. By this time they had consumed all
the bread which they had taken, and were fainting from
hunger and
weariness. Just at the close of the third day they were
providentially enabled to kill a
pigeon and a small
tortoise, a part of
which they ate raw, not
daring to make a fire, which might attract
the
watchful eyes of savages. On the sixth day they struck upon an
old Indian path, and, following it until night, came suddenly upon a
camp of the enemy. Deep in the heart of the forest, under the
shelter of a ridge of land heavily timbered, a great fire of logs and
brushwood was burning; and around it the Indians sat, eating their
moose-meat and smoking their pipes.
The poor fugitives, starving, weary, and chilled by the cold spring
blasts, gazed down upon the ample fire, and the savory meats which
the squaws were cooking by it, but felt no
temptation to purchase
warmth and food by surrendering themselves to
captivity. Death in
the forest seemed preferable. They turned and fled back upon their
track, expecting every moment to hear the yells of pursuers. The
morning found them seated on the bank of a small
stream, their feet
torn and bleeding, and their bodies emaciated. The elder, as a last
effort, made search for roots, and
fortunately discovered a few
ground-nuts (*glycine apios*), which served to
refresh in some
degree himself and his still weaker
companion. As they stood
together by the
stream, hesitating and almost
despairing, it occurred
to Isaac that the
rivulet might lead to a larger
stream of water, and
that to the sea and the white settlements near it; and he
resolved to
follow it. They again began their
painful march; the day passed,
and the night once more
overtook them. When the eighth morning
dawned, the younger of the boys found himself
unable to rise from
his bed of leaves. Isaac endeavored to
encourage him, dug roots,
and procured water for him; but the poor lad was utterly exhausted.
He had no longer heart or hope. The elder boy laid him on leaves
and dry grass at the foot of a tree, and with a heavy heart bade him
farewell. Alone he slowly and
painfully proceeded down the
stream, now greatly increased in size by
tributaryrivulets. On the
top of a hill he climbed with difficulty into a tree, and saw in the
distance what seemed to be a
clearing and a newly-raised frame
building. Hopeful and
rejoicing, he turned back to his young
companion, told him what he had seen, and, after chafing his limbs
awhile, got him upon his feet. Sometimes supporting him, and at
others carrying him on his back, the
heroic boy staggered towards
the
clearing. On reaching it he found it deserted, and was obliged
to continue his journey. Towards night signs of
civilization began
to appear,--the heavy,
continuous roar of water was heard; and,
presently emerging from the forest, he saw a great river
dashing in
white foam down precipitous rocks, and on its bank the gray walls
of a huge stone building, with flankers, palisades, and moat, over
which the British flag was flying. This was the famous Saco Fort,
built by Governor Phips,(1) two years before, just below the falls of
the Saco River. The soldiers of the
garrison gave the poor fellows
a kindly
welcome. Joseph, who was scarcely alive, lay for a long
time sick in the fort; but Isaac soon regained his strength, and set
out for his home in Haverhill, which he had the good fortune to
arrive at in safety.
(1) An interesting
account of Sir William Phips will be found in
Parkman's *Frontenac and New France under Louis XIV.*
Hawthorne also tells his
romantic story in *Fanshawe and Other
Pieces.*
Amidst the
stirring excitements of the present day, when every
thrill of the electric wire conveys a new subject for thought or
action to a
generation as eager as the ancient Athenians for some
new thing, simple legends of the past like that which we have
transcribed have
undoubtedly lost in a great degree their interest.
The lore of the
fireside is becoming obsolete, and with the
octogenarian few who still
linger among us will
perish the unwritten
history of border life in New England.
End