LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume II, Issue 178, 4 January 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

ACROSS THE PLAINS. Concluded,. Was death to come to us here? It passed before us all in awful visions : visions of freezing; of starvation ; of murder by the Indians, who haunt those wastes for their prey, and who would be likely to swoop down upon us with war whoop and scalpingknife when they should discover our helpless condition. Or would it come to us by some pack of hungry beasts, scenting us from afar off? I looked at the wan sky above; I looked at the white earth beneath, at the far level line, where both met in the distant horizon: and there was none to help and deliver. Less than two scores of miles away it might be that there was a house ; but it would be almost certain death to attempt to search for it in that wilderness of snow. Once lost, we should inevitably perish, and our bones would lie wasting on the plains for the snows to wrap tenderly in windingsheets—at least if no harsher fate befel. And then I thought of my mother and little Flossie—Flossie, with the bright warmth in her cheeks and the lights aud shadows in her golden hair. And I remembered the little leathern bag, and the gold I had heaped together by that hard toil : the gold that I was taking to them, and that meant possibilities of comfort and happiness, of delight and blessing. Was it possible that, after all, they would never see it ? I took out the leathern bag and gazed at the yellow heap of glitter, for which I had given everything but life, and in my fierce despair a strong impulse seized me to scatter

it all out to the show and WilSds. Then little Flossie’s face, anil "the dear mother’s behind it, seemed to hbrne'iw and look: down reproachfully upon met and I put the temptation awky.' ,T ' Rift Ti. 'll My companions ware; all the extreme perils of oar - not so much as a crust' 'of' tiiyf and hunger began to prey Of the hours that followed 'it even now to write —of- our for the lost track, of the bitter increasing hunger, of the and terror of the future. Do you think that I, brought up’imlfeiltaMPJ been, could forget the God my taught me to know ? —could such a time when death stared us iff Mtlllfifi No, no. What the others did, I leii* #gkjj6 but how I prayed to Him, how in the bitter stress of those slow, dkMjMjwiW hours only He knows. * ,l< Yl ‘lf we had but a spade or shovetfffflwdgj it the thousandth time those crossed my lips, or the lips of panions? Another morning had and we looked over the white glare Ufr tK* trackless plain as we spoke it: but my lips found no answer either in heaven above or earth beneath. But, as the last syllable died in the silence which wrapped us about, my eyes fell on the large, strong tin reflectors, which held the great lamps in their iron sockets. On a sudden it flashed across me that these could be inverted and used instead of spades for clearing out the gully, so that the mules could be again put to service, in which case the chances of regaining the road would be all in our favour, while to attempt it on foot in our present condition, was, as I said, almost certain death. At any rate, it looked like a possibility, and on the spur of the moment I suggested the idea to my fellow travellers ; yes, it did seem a chance, they thought; the only chance left to us : and I silently wondered whether it might have been Providence that showed it to me. In a moment the heavy reflectors were wrenched down ; there were four of them ; and then put to a use such as only the direst necessity could have indicated. For the next three or four hours we worked as lost, starving, freezing men will work for life. It was hard, slow labour; the snow was deep, and closely packed ; and our implements were not of the most convenient sort, and required very careful handling lest they should break. But at last we cleared a space about the coach, and then a path through the gully, wide enough' for the mules to draw it out. It was, however, impossible to induce the frightened and obstinate animals to advance a foot, until they had been again unharnessed from the stage and led to and fro several times through the gully. The fears of the animals at last allayed, they were again harnessed, and we resumed our seats in the stage with feeling that can never be • conceived, or only by those who may have undergone similar peril. It had been an awful time ; and seemed, looking back, to have taken up quite a long space of our lives. Four hours again of searching through that wilderness of snow, sometimes on foot, sometimes in the stage, before we struck the track of the road, It was just before sunset. We rode through the whole of the following night, and just as the dawn was touching with livid light the clouds in the east, we caught sight of a low-roofed house in a clearing, with some smoke ascending from the rough chimney. Oh, the wonderful power and joy of that sight! It comes over me now, and thrills my eyes with tears. Within that house were shelter and warmth and food for us ; and we—we had escaped the threatened death. How thejdriver dashed up to the door with the feeble strength of the enfeebled cattle, just as the light spread itself in a great glow over the sky, I can remember now. Two weeks had passed. The sky was tremulous all over with the golden life of stars, and in the midst of them shone the white glory of the full moon. It lay on the little cottage, the pleasant homestead, with a silvery calm—and how my heart was beating ! Suppose either of them had died, and I was coming back to a desolate home ? Entering the gate, I walked softly up the path. A light was in the old familiar room, blit the white blind hid what might be within. Gently opening the house door, a ray of light shone on the passage from the other door, which was ajar. And I saw them. I saw them both. Saw them just as I had seen them so often in my dreams at the mines. They sat by the table—mother and Flossie—Flossie with the lights and shadows in her golden hair. My heart seemed to be bursting. I pushed the door back. ‘ Mother ! Flossie ! Do you know who I am ? ’ There was a sudden start, a quick gaze and a gasp, and Flossie’s cry. * Mother ! mother, it is David ! ’ And then there rose another voice with a hungry sob breaking through it, and the dear mother was on my neck, and all of us were sobbing together. And I showed them the bag of gold I had brought; which meant comfort and peace for mother in her old age, and pretty gowns for Flossie ; and told them not to mind though I had come back a brown, rough-looking, weather-beaten chap : and oh, what thanksgiving went up to God from our hearts that night! lam an elderly man now. But I keep by me one of those old lamp reflectors ; as a solemn memento of that awful journey across the plains.