Vi. The Rescue

Forth to the rescue went the miners bold, Regardless of the tempest wild and brisk, Regardless of the driving snow and cold, Regardless of the hazard and the risk; Facing with stalwart resolution brave The snowy fate of those they strove to save.

One form of courage nerves the soldier's arm, Excitement overcomes the wild alarm Which at the onset e'en the bravest feel, Though self-possession may that fear conceal. The unromantic dangers of the storm Require another and a sterner form, For no emotion nerves the craven breast To tempt the snowslide on the mountain's crest; That noblest element unnoticed thrives Beneath the surface in unnumbered lives; At danger's call the sympathetic bond Leaps to the surface, as the waves respond When one has tossed a pebble in a pond; For man has ever since the world began Laid down his life to save his fellow-man; Heroes are they, no praise commensurate, Who do their duty in the face of fate.

Through gloomy forests, intricate and dark, Which skirt the confines of the mountain park, With arduous climb and hazardous ascent Up through the gulch precipitous and wild To where the avalanche its force had spent, In silent haste the rescue party filed.

On such occasions little may be said, The sternest use subdued and whispered breath, For silence seems contagious from the dead, A vague, unconscious reverence for death. Facing the inconvenience of the blast, Which whirled the drifting snowflakes as it passed, The party shovelled; and with one accord Abstained from converse, no one spoke a word Till hours of strenuous search disclosed to sight Six corpses from their sepulchre of white. The other two, who by some wondrous means, Escaped with but some trifling cuts and sprains, Were in the meantime by their fellows found, Dazed and exhausted in the gulch below, For storm-bewildered men will grope around Describing circles in the blinding snow, Until they sink, their vital forces spent, And crystal snowflakes weave their cerement.

Six pairs of skies, each improvised a sled, On which were placed the stark and staring dead; As flickering lanterns flashed a ghostly glow Upon them in their winding-sheets of snow, The sad procession now retraced its course Back through the dismal forest, while the blast Wailed forth a requiem in accents hoarse, Which shuddering pines re-echoed as it passed.

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With sorely overtaxed and waning strength, As some spent swimmer struggling to the shore, The weary party found its way at length, Back through the forest to the cabin's door. As Uncle Jim, whose life was ever spent In ministering to others, had been sent Ahead, the dying coals had been renewed With fresh supplies of pine and aspen wood, And blazed a cheery invitation forth To those who sought the comfort of the hearth.

Norwegian snowshoes.

The two survivors were the strangers who Had just arrived the afternoon before; Their names nor antecedents no one knew, But western miners do not close the door On weary travellers, whosoe'er they be, No matter what their race or pedigree; The one credential needed in the west Is--human being, storm-bound and distressed. The rescued miners, much benumbed and chilled, To show some signs of conscious life began; So Dad McGuire, in therapeutics skilled To cure the maladies of beast or man, Pursuant of his self-appointed task, From out some secret depths produced a flask, Which to the rescued miners he applied As guaranteed to warm them up inside. By way of chance digression, should you ask The nature of the liquid in the flask, Which, evidently, the boys had used before, We must admit, the empty bottle bore, Like most of bottles used in mining camps, The revenue collector's excise stamps.

The senior of the rescued men appeared In age to crowd the three-score years and ten; Of stalwart form, with whitened hair and beard, The peer of multitudes of younger men, In matters appertaining to physique; He first recovered and essayed to speak. As Dad McGuire and kind old Uncle Jim Were ministering as best they could to him, In kindly interest they inquired his name, "John T. McGuire," the labored answer came. As Dad McGuire leaned over him to hear, His gaze descried a mole behind his ear, Then with an exclamation of surprise, As one who scarcely can believe his eyes, He turned the stranger over on his back, Found two more moles,--and cried--"My brother Jack!"

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Erratic as the vacillating wind, Are the mysterious wanderings of the mind. When reason lays her golden veil aside, What vagaries and aberrations glide Through the disordered precincts of the brain! What phantoms rise and disappear again! What curious blendings of reality And fact, with wildest flights of phantasy! The flickerings of reason's feeble light And relaxation into mental night, Seem as a beacon on some rock-bound coast, Which flutters, wanes and disappears almost, Then with a flash illuminates the shore, Gleams for a moment and is seen no more; Or on some starless midnight, when the storm Dissolves in chaos each familiar form, And robes the landscape in cimmerian pall, The lightnings play,--then darkness covers all.

Unlocked by fever and delirium, The cautious tongue becomes no longer dumb, And with the nervous tension overwrought, Oft gives expression to the secret thought. 'Twas thus the junior of the rescued men, A modern Hercules, both fair and young, With accent truly cosmopolitan, Raved both in English and some unknown tongue. His accents wild and unintelligible, Devoid of meaning, on his hearers fell, With the exception of the practised ear Of Russian Pete, who stood beside him there, And seemed from his expression to detect Some most familiar tongue or dialect.

When reason, with a penetrating gleam, Burst through the canopy of mental gloom, As one awakening from a hideous dream, He started up and stared about the room, Until he chanced to catch the kindly eyes Of Russian Pete, which kindled with surprise. A look of mutual recognition passed Between the men, so strangely joined at last. All that the congregated miners heard Was one, presumably a Russian word, And Russian Pete, with joy-illumined face, Held his lost brother in his kind embrace.

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Dazed by exhaustion, comatose and deep, The two survivors, while the tempest roared, Were through the gentle ministry of sleep To normal strength unconsciously restored.

"We grew as two twin pines might grow, Upon the isolated edge, Of some lone precipice or ledge."

See page 57.]

'Tis human nature to review again The stirring incidents of joy or pain; So on the eve of the succeeding day, When four-and-twenty hours had passed away, The party grouped around the blazing light Which from the fireplace streamed into the night, And in its glow, so comfortable and warm, Recounted the disasters of the storm. Like some informal gathering, at first All spoke at once, as with a common burst; Then as the intermittent tempest wailed, The talk subsided and a calm prevailed. All watched the pitch ooze from the knots and burn, Or smoked their pipes in silent unconcern.

Some moments passed, when Uncle Jim arose, Nudged Dad McGuire, who seemed inclined to doze, And as he started up and rubbed his eyes Addressed him and the Russian in this wise: "Two days ago the three of us confessed The reasons, that impelled us to come West; Now if it please your brethren to relate The strange caprice of fortune or of fate, Which led them hither,--after all these years, The boys will listen with attentive ears."