cene and circumstances were
nothing new to us we could not shake off the depressing influence, but
we did not allow that to interfere with our action. Silently, but
vigorously--for the cold was increasing--we felled several small dead
trees, which we afterwards cut into lengths of about four feet. Then we
cleared a space in the snow of about ten or twelve feet in diameter
until we reached the solid earth, using our snow-shoes as shovels. What
we threw out of the hole formed an embankment round it, and as the snow
lay at that spot full four feet deep, we thus raised the surrounding
wall of our chamber to a height of six feet, if not more. Standing on
the edge of it in the ever-deepening twilight, and looking down into the
abyss, which was further darkened by the overspreading pines, this hole
in the snow suggested a tomb rather than a bed.
At one end of it we piled up the firewood. Extending from that towards
the other end, we spread a carpet of pine-branches, full six inches
thick. To do all this took a considerable amount of time and labour,
and when Lumley stood up at last to strike a light with flint, steel,
and tinder, we felt pretty well exhausted. The night had by that time
become profoundly dark, insomuch that we had to grope for the various
articles we required.
"We've been rather late of beginning to make the camp," said I, as I
watched the sparks.
"Never mind, Max, my boy, we shall soon be all right," replied my
friend, as one of the sparks at last caught on the tinder. In a few
seconds the spark was blown into a blaze, and placed in the midst of a
handful of dry moss and thin chips. This was applied to some dry twigs
under our piled-up logs, and a vivid tongue of flame shot upward.
Blessed fire! Marvellous light! It is a glorious, wonder-working
influence, well chosen by the Almighty as one of his titles. There is
no change in Nature so intense as that from darkness to light as well in
physical as in spiritual things. No sudden change from heat to cold, or
from calm to storm; no transformation ever achieved in the most gorgeous
of pantomimes, could have the startling effect, or produce the splendid
contrast that resulted from the upward flash of that first tongue of
fire. It was a vivid tongue, for the materials had been well laid; a
few seconds later it was a roaring tongue, with a host of lesser tongues
around it--all dancing, leaping, cheering, flashing, as if with
ineffable joy at th
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