Under the snow! in two portions.
part 1.--(Continued.)‘"The window is low,"’ the old man remarked. ‘"Besides, it is probable that the snow has been drifted into a heap on that particular spot; perhaps we should not find it more than a couple of feet deep a few paces from the wall."’
‘"In that case, they will come and help us out!"’
‘"I hope so; but, supposing that we are to be detained here for any length of time, we must see what resources we have; when we have done that, we will consider how we can best employ them. The day has dawned, there can be no doubt; for the hour-hand of the wooden clock points to seven. It is fortunate I did not forget to wind it up last night. We must always be punctual with Blanchette."’
November 23.--Yesterday morning, when we discovered that we were more close prisoners than we were the day before, we were very much depressed and saddened; nevertheless, we did not forget our breakfast and the goat.--Whilst grandfather was milking her. I watched him closely, with great attention. He noticed it, and advised me to try and learn to milk, in order to replace him, in case of need. I made an attempt, which was clumsy and unsuccessful at first, especially as Blanchette kept wincing and shifting her ground, as if aware of my Inexperience; but I improved greatly after three or four trials.
When we had taken stock of our provisions and utensils, we wished to know what sort of weather it was out of doors. I went under the chimney and looked up through the only outlet which remained open in the chalet.--In a few minutes, the sun suddenly shone upon the snow which rose around the opening to a considerable height. I pointed out the circumstance to my grandfather. We could exactly distinguish the thickness of the layer of snow, because the chimney does not rise outside above the roof. In fact, there is simply a hole in the roof, the outside chimney having been blown down in a storm.
‘"If we had a ladder,"’ my grandfather said, ‘"you might get up and disengage a trap which your father lately fixed on the top of the chimney, to keep out cold and wet, until the outer chimney is repaired."’
‘"Never mind the ladder,"’ I replied. ‘"I saw in the stable a long fir-pole, and that is all I want. I have often climbed up trees no thicker than that, and the pole has still its bark on, which makes it easier to mount."’
I set to work, tying a string to my waistband, to haul up a shovel after I got to the top. I managed so well with feet and hands, and by pressing against the walls of the chimney as the Savoyards do, that I reached the roof.--With the shovel, I cleared away an open space and found that there was about three feet of snow on the roof. Around the chalet it appeared to me that there was a great deal more. In fact, the wind had swept it up into a heap; nevertheless, there must have fallen an enormous mass of snow in a very short space of time. Everything round about the chalet is hidden under a thick white carpet; the forest of fir-trees, which surrounds it in the direction of the valley, and which shuts in the prospect, is white like the rest, with the exception of the trunks, which appear all black.--Many trees are crushed by the weight; I saw large branches, and even stems, that were broken into fragments. At that moment, there blew a strong and bitter cold wind from the north; the dark clouds which it drove before it opened at intervals. Gleams of sunshine flashed through the openings, and ran over the field of snow with the swiftness of an arrow.
The cold began to lay hold of me. When I tried to describe to my grandfather what I saw, he heard that my teeth chattered. He told me to make haste and clear the trap, and as far as I could reach around the aperture of the chimney. It took some time, and was hard work; but it warmed me. Following my grandfather's directions. I passed the string I had brought through a pulley, in such a way that, by pulling from below, the trap would open, while its own weight would cause it to shut. When we had rehearsed this little man of use two or three times, to see that it worked properly, I descended more easily than I had mounted.
My clothes were all wet, and I had no others to put on. We lighted a bright fire of twigs and , and then lowering the trap and leaving no more than the necessary space for the smoke to escape, we spent the greater part of the day by the chimney corner, with no other light than that from the hearth; for our stock of oil was very small, and we clearly saw that we must not expect to quit our prison so soon. We did not light our lamp till it was time to milk the goat.
We find it a very unaccustomed and melancholy life, to have to drag through a whole day in this dull manner. Still I think that the hours would be less wearisome, if we were not living in a constant state of expectation. It always seems as if some one were on the point of coming to rescue us. I mounted a second time upon the roof to look whether anybody had arrived; I incessantly questioned grandpa. He is in hope, he says, that my father reached home safely; but perhaps the roads are completely choked by the drifted snow.
At last, after completely closing the chimney by means of the trap, we went to bed, hoping that somebody might come to our assistance to-day; but this morning we find that, for the present, the thing is almost impossible. As far as we can observe, it must have snowed all night. We had considerable difficulty in opening the trap to light our fire; I found two feet of fresh snow.
November 25--The snow continues to fall abundantly. I have again had great difficulty in raising the trap. We think it prudent to clear the roof of a portion of the snow with which it is laden. It employed a great part of the day. I leave under my feet a layer of snow sufficiently thick to keep out the cold, and I throw off the rest.
It is some amusement to escape out of my dungeon for a little while, and yet what I do see is very sad. The inequalities of the ground around us are scarcely distinguishable; the whole landscape is most forlorn. The earth is white, the sky is black. I have read at school the narratives of voyages in the Icy Sea and the Polar regions; I fancy we must be transported there. But since those wretched travelers, who suffered so much from cold and incurred such great dangers, have sometimes returned to their native land, I hope that we also shall see my father and our village again.
We are not deprived of every comfort in our sequestered habitation. We have found more hay and straw than Blanchette would consume in a whole twelvemonth for food and bedding. If she continues to yield us milk, we have in her a valuable resource. But an accident might deprive us of her; and we were very glad to find, in a corner of the stable, a small stock of potatoes. We have begun to cover them with straw, to protect them from the frost. My father had packed the wood-stack also in the stable; but there is not enough to carry us through a long winter. We did right, therefore, in thinking of closing the trap at the times when we have no urgent need of fire; as we have reason to fear that our fuel may run short, it is a good thing to be able to keep out the cold. Fortunately, the snow, which imprisons us, also shelters us. I am surprised that we feel the cold so little, buried up as we are. ‘"That is why,"’ my grandfather observed, ‘"the young wheat gets through the winter so well."’ We will do the same. We will lie snug and close all the winter, and in spring we will put our heads out of the window. But what a wearisome time we have to get through till then, and God grant that that may be all we have to suffer!
To make up for the wood, we have a heap of firewood, which I partly collected myself, to burn at the village. It is a mere chance they were not taken there. And in short, if we are driven to it, we shall not hesitate to burn the hay-racks and the mangers in the stable. When it becomes a question of life and death, we must not look too closely at trifles; we shall be acting like the navigators who cast their cargoes into the sea.
Our people had already in part unfurnished the chalet. What we regret the least, is the great caldron for making cheese. They have left us a few necessary kitchen utensils; and, besides, a hatchet all jagged at the edges, and a saw which will hardly cut. We have each of us a pocket-knife. Although our housekeeping articles are very incomplete, we shall manage to get on with these. We much more regret the provision; ours are but scanty. What a pity we could only find three loaves, of the sort which are kept for a whole year in the mountain, and which are obliged at last to be chopped up with a hatchet! We also found plenty of salt, a small quantity of ground coffee, five bottles of old white wine, a little oil, and a small stock of pork lard.
We have only one bed, but we sleep at our case. According to our mountain custom, it is big enough to hold five or six persons. It stands in the corner of our only living-room, which is also the kitchen and the cheese factory. Only one blanket has been left us; If it is not enough, we must make use of hay and straw. ‘"I only wish,"’ I said, ‘"that I could do as the marmots do go to sleep and remain torpid until the return of spring."’
November 26.--White examining the state of our furniture and our provisions, I have searched into every corner, to see if I could not find some books. I know that my father never went up to the chalet without taking with him a Bible and several religious books, which he read to his workmen on Sundays, to supply in some degree the public service which they attend in the village. But, apparently, he had sent his little library away.
We much regretted, in our solitary prison, not having this means of sustaining and consoling ourselves during our long watches. Today, having noticed, behind the old oak wardrobe, a plunk which somebody had stuck there out of the way. I pulled it out, thinking that it might serve some useful purpose. With it there fell down an old dusty book which must have been lost and forgotten for several years, It was a Bible.
November season, and on the mountains. In spite of that, I cannot get over my surprise at my father's not coming to our assistance, nor can I help expressing it. Hither to, my grandfather has not allowed me to perceive his uneasiness; our conversation to-day has shown that he is not less alarmed than myself.
‘"In fact,"’ I said, ‘"this immense fall of snow did not come all at once. On the first, the second, and even the third day of our captivity, they might, one would think, have cleared a path up to the chalet."’
‘"I am certain,"’ said my grandfather, ‘"that Francois has done all he could; but perhaps he could not get our friends and neighbors to share his fears, and it was out of his power to rescue us without assistance."’
‘"Do you believe that, if it had been possible to fetch us away, they would have left us here, at the risk of finding us dead in the spring? Can they be less humane than the persons of whom we read in the newspapers, who make the greatest exertions, often at the peril of their lives, to save some unfortunate fellow-creature who is buried in a mine, in digging a well, or under a vault which has fallen in?"’
‘"I grant, my dear Louis, that our position is very sad; but, after all, they know that we are under shelter, and have some provisions."’
We went on for some time in this strain.--When my grandfather was silent, I took his hands in mine, and said:
‘"Hide nothing from me, I entreat you. Tell me, are you not quite as uneasy as I am? Speak frankly. I am able to bow with resignation to the will of God; I therefore deserve your confidence. Acquaint me with your suppositions, and do not let me torment myself with my own alone. I had rather look misfortune full in the face, and know what you really think"’
‘"Well, my poor boy, I cannot deny that I fear some accident has happened to your father. Now it has come to this, I had better tell you so at once. But, in short, I hardly know what to think of it; because, in default of him, other persons ought to have borne us in mind. "’
At this, I could not restrain my fears and sobs no longer. My grandfather allowed me to give way to my grief. The fire went out as we sat before it. We remained there in the dark, till it was quite late. My grandfather kept one of my hands in his, pressing it from time to time.
‘"I have told you my fears,"’ he said; at last; ‘"but do not forget that I still have hopes. We cannot tell what unforeseen cause may have prevented their coming. All may yet turn out well. Put you trust in Providence."’
December 1.--I cannot conquer the terror which seizes me as I write this date. If some of the November days appeared so long and wearisome, what will they be this month. At least it would be bearable if we were sure this were the last of our captivity! But I no longer dare fix any term to it. The snow is heaped up to such a height that it looks as if it would take the whole summer long to melt it. It is now on a level with the roof; and if I did not get up every day to clear the chimney, we should soon be unable to open the trap or to light a fire.
It vexes me that my grandfather cannot sometimes step out of this confined vault into the open air. I asked him this morning what he longed for the most, and he said, ‘"A ray of sunshine. Nevertheless,"’ he added, ‘"our lot is much less wretched than that of very many prisoners, a number of whom have not deserved imprisonment any more than we have. We enjoy a certain amount of liberty in our seclusion, and we find subjects of amusement which are not attainable inside the four walls of a dungeon; we are not visited every day by a suspicious or cruel or even an indifferent jailer. The evils which we suffer from the hand of God have never the bitterness of those which we believe we may attribute to the injustice of men; and lastly my boy, we are not in solitary confinement; and, if your presence here causes me to feel regret for your sake, which I make no attempt to conceal, it also sustains me, and is almost necessary to my existence. I do not think you are very dissatisfied with your companion; everything about us, even up to Blanchette, is some alleviation to our captivity, and I assure you it is not merely for her milk's sake that I feel attached to her."’
These last words set me thinking, and I proposed to let the poor creature live more in our company. ‘"She is uncomfortable all alone in the stable,"’ I said; ‘" she bleats frequently, and that may do her harm, and us also. What is there to hinder us from letting her have a corner here? There is plenty of room for all of us. She will be much obliged to us for the honor we do her."’ I nailed a little manger against the wall, in the corner where she would be the least in our way, fixing it firmly with a couple of stakes; and, without further delay, introduced Blanchette into our sitting room.
How delighted she is at the change! She does nothing but thank us, in her way. If it went on so, she would become fatiguing; but when she is accustomed to her novel position, she will be quieter. At this very moment, while I am committing these details to paper, she is lying on some fresh litter, chewing the cud peaceably, and gazing at me so contentedly that she seems to guess that I am writing her history. Hitherto, she has wanted for nothing, and at least there is one happy being inside the chalet.
December 3.--The sunshine to-day attracted me out on the roof. Cold dry weather has succeeded to the continued snow storms. How my eyes were dazzled by the great white expanse, and how beautiful the forest looked! I hardly dared mention to grandfather the delight it gave me; but it suggested that I might dig away the snow in front of the door, and make a stopping path upwards from it to the surface of the snow-drift. I have already set to work, and my grandfather will soon enjoy what he has long been wishing for, a ray of sunshine.
December 4.--My task progresses; 1 labor at it as long as my grandfather will allow. The idea had struck him before it occurred to me, and I have scolded him for not communicating it. He was afraid that the exertion and the moisture to my feet might do me harm.
December 5.--We can step out of our house; the path is made; I have had the pleasure of leading my grandfather along it, supporting him on one side. We remained several minutes at the end of our avenue, which is not long; but the day was gloomy, and it made us very sad to see the black forest, the cloudy sky, and the snow surrounding us with the silence of death. We beheld only one living creature, a bird of prey, which passed at a distance with a hoarse scream. It flew down towards the valley in the direction of our village. The pagans would have derived some omen from it, but we have no such superstition.
December 9.--What a dreadful day! I had yet to learn what a hurricane up in the mountains was like. I can hardly describe what passed out of doors. We heard a frightful roaring. When we tried to open the door a jar, the chalet was filled with a whirlwind of snow; the wind rushed in with such fury that we had great difficulty in closing the door again. We were obliged to drop the trap of the chimney; and, besides, it was impossible to light a fire, because the smoke was continually driven down again. We ate our milk without boiling. My grandfather keeps up my courage by his calm behavior, as well as by his grave and pious words. At the time when one would say that the wrath of God was hanging over us, he speaks to me of His compassion and His mercy. On trying a second time to open the door, we found that a mass of snow had fallen back upon it, so that we are completely imprisoned, as before. What I most regret is my window; it is drifted up again. Decidedly, as soon as the weather permits, I will make a fresh attempt to regain a little light and liberty.
December 11.--The cold is much sharper. Although we are buried under the snow, which perhaps prevents our hearing the storm, the frost strikes to our very bones. My grandfather says that, to be felt so keenly inside the chalet, the cold must be extremely intense. He supposes that the wind has changed to the North.
December 13.--I was milking the goat, while my grandfather lighted the fire. Suddenly, she pricked up her ears, as if she heard some extraordinary noise. She trembled violently from head to foot.
‘"What is the matter, Blanchette?"’ I asked, caressing her. I could not hear the noises; they were low and distant howling, which gradually grew louder and louder. We then heard hundreds of feet pattering on the crisp snow overhead; we heard a rush of animals, a fierce struggle above us, mingled with horrid cries that made my blood run cold.
‘"What is that?"’ I asked, though I knew what it must be without asking.
‘"Hush! The wolves!"’ said my grandfather in a whisper, blowing out the light and extinguishing the fire. ‘"Keep Blanchette quiet; take her in your arms, and give her a little salt to lick, to keep her from bleating."’
[to be continued in our next.]
