and were
_saved_! John Bar, who was in there, a refugee from the Christmas Eve
frolic in our own cabin, rubbed my limbs, and poured cup after cup of
strong coffee down my throat, and, when I was sufficiently recovered,
gave me a good supper. The same was done for Mallory. But even in the
cabin, with two immense fires and warm clothing, it was difficult to
keep warm. The water in the drinking pail, four feet from the stove,
was one mass of ice. Outside, that terrible night, the thermometer in
Montreal, I heard afterwards, fell to 23 degrees below zero. With us
there was no thermometer to mark the temperature, but it must have been
lower.

Half of the gang of my log-house, including John Bar, were spending the
evening where I had sought shelter, too wearied to go a hundred yards
farther to my own quarters. The other five, one of whom was Guyon
Vidocq, were having a regular drinking and gambling bout in the other
cabin. We heard their yells from time to time. At about eleven o'clock
John Bar left us to seek his bed. I doubted if he would find his bed
very agreeable amid such an orgy as was reported to be going on under
the other roof; so I, thoroughly enjoying the bright fire and new life
after the exposure of the last few days, lingered a while longer, though
utterly wearied, and answered the questions about our hunt. Maine
Mallory had turned into bed long ago. But when my watch showed it was
twelve, I got up to seek a night's sleep.

As I stepped into the intensely cold air, I was actually startled by the
solemnity and beauty of the scene; for the moon had risen since my
return to camp, and flooded the winter scene in the most glorious
radiance. The gigantic trees were magnified in the pure, clear light,
and their dark shadows stretched far on the glistening snow. Here and
there were the fallen timbers mounded over by drifts. Beyond, the white
mountains faded away to the pale sky. Not a sound, not a murmur of
wind, not a voice to break the awful stillness.

With great thankfulness for my deliverance from the stark death that had
been so near me all day, I looked up to heaven and remembered the
blessed birth eighteen centuries ago when Jesus Christ came to the earth
as a little babe.

Turning my steps to the other log-house, I wondered to see no light, and
was surprised, too, that the riot there had ceased by midnight. As I
walked the hundred yards, the song of the heavenly hosts of old sounded
in my