He was lost.

Shrewd enough to understand that to attempt to extricate himself would only lead into a greater entanglement, from which it might not be possible to escape at all, he wisely concluded to remain where he was until daylight.

Gathering a few twigs and leaves, with his well-stored "punk-box" he soon started a small fire, by the light of which he collected a sufficient quantity of fuel to last until morning.
Few scenes of nature are more impressive than a forest at night.

That low deep roar, born of silence itself--the sad sighing of the wind--the tall, column-like trunks, resembling huge sentinels keeping guard over the mysteries of ages--the silent sea of foliage overhead, that seems to shut in a world of its own--all have an influence, peculiar, irresistible and sublime.
The picket upon duty is a prey to many an imaginary danger.

The rustling of a leaf, the crackling of a twig, the flitting shadows of the ever-changing clouds, are made to assume the guise of a foe, endeavoring to steal upon him unawares.