to the store, followed by the Indians with their packs of furs.
Now, the store or shop at a Hudson's Bay trading-post is a most
interesting and curious place. To the Indian, especially, it is a sort
of enchanted chamber, out of which can be obtained everything known
under the sun. As there can be only one shop or store at a
trading-post, it follows that that shop must contain a few articles out
of almost every other style of shop in the world. Accordingly, you will
find collected within the four walls of that little room, knives and
guns from Sheffield, cotton webs from Manchester, grindstones from
Newcastle, tobacco from Virginia, and every sort of thing from I know
not where all! You can buy a blanket or a file, an axe or a pair of
trousers, a pound of sugar or a barrel of nails, a roll of tobacco or a
tin kettle,--everything, in short, that a man can think of or desire.
And you can buy it, too, without money! Indeed, you _must_ buy it
without money, for there is not such a thing as money in the land.
The trade is carried on entirely by barter, or exchange. The Indian
gives the trader his furs, and the trader gives him his goods. In order
to make the exchange fair and equitable, however, everything is rated by
a certain standard of value, which is called a _made-beaver_ in one part
of the country, a _castore_ in another.
The first man that stepped forward to the counter was a chief. A big,
coarse-looking, disagreeable man, but a first-rate hunter. He had two
wives in consequence of his abilities, and the favourite wife now stood
at his elbow to prompt, perhaps to caution, him. He threw down a huge
pack of furs, which the trader opened, and examined with care, fixing
the price of each skin, and marking it down with a piece of chalk on the
counter as he went along.
There were two splendid black bear-skins, two or three dozen martens, or
sables, five or six black foxes, and a great many silver foxes, besides
cross and red ones. In addition to these, he had a number of minks and
beaver-skins, a few otters, and sundry other furs, besides a few buffalo
and deer-skins, dressed, and with the hair scraped off. These last
skins are used for making winter coats, and also moccasins for the feet.
After all had been examined and valued, the whole was summed up, and a
number of pieces of stick were handed to the chief--each stick
representing a castore; so that he knew exactly how much he was worth,
and proceeded to choose accordingly.
First he gazed earnestly at a huge thick blanket, then he counted his
sticks, and considered. Perhaps the memory of the cold blasts of winter
crossed his mind, for he quickly asked how many castores it was worth.
The trader told him. The proper number of pieces of stick were laid
down, and the blanket was handed over. Next a gun attracted his eye.
The guns sent out for the Indian trade are very cheap ones, with blue
barrels and red stocks. They shoot pretty well, but are rather apt to
burst. Indeed this fate had befallen the chief's last gun, so he
resolved to have another, and bought it. Then he looked earnestly for
some time at a tin kettle. Boiled meat was evidently in his mind; but
at this point his squaw plucked him by the sleeve. She whispered in his
ear. A touch of generosity seemed to come over him, for he pointed to a
web of bright scarlet cloth. A yard of this was measured off, and
handed to his spouse, whose happiness for the moment was complete--for
squaws in Rupert's Land, like the fair sex in England, are uncommonly
fond of finery.
As the chief proceeded, he became more cautious and slow in his choice.
Finery tempted him on the one hand, necessaries pressed him on the
other, and at this point the trader stepped in to help him to decide; he
recommended, warned, and advised. Twine was to be got for nets and
fishing-lines, powder and shot, axes for cutting his winter firewood,
cloth for his own and his wife's leggings, knives, tobacco, needles, and
an endless variety of things, which gradually lessened his little pile
of sticks, until at last he reached the sticking point, when all his
sticks were gone.
"Now, Darkeye," (that was the chief's name), "you've come to the end at
last, and a good thing you have made of it this year," said Mr Grant,
in the Indian language. "Have you got all you want?"
"Darkeye wants bullets," said the chief.
"Ah, to be sure. You shall have a lot of these for nothing, and some
tobacco too," said the trader, handing the gifts to the Indian.
A look of satisfaction lighted up the chief's countenance as he received
the gifts, and made way for another Indian to open and display his pack
of furs. But Jasper was struck by a peculiar expression in the face of
Darkeye. Observing that he took up one of the bullets and showed it to
another savage, our hunter edged near him to overhear the conversation.
"Do you see that ball?" said the chief, in a low tone.
The Indian to whom he spoke nodded.
"Look here!"
Darkeye put the bullet into his mouth as he spoke, and bit it until his
strong sharp teeth sank deep into the lead; then, holding it up, he
said, in the same low voice, "You will know it again?"
Once more the savage nodded, and a malicious smile played on his face
for a moment.
Just then Mr Grant called out, "Come here, Jasper, tell me what you
think this otter-skin is worth."
Jasper's curiosity had been aroused by the mysterious conduct of
Darkeye, and he would have given a good deal to have heard a little more
of his conversation; but, being thus called away, he was obliged to
leave his place, and soon forgot the incident.
During the whole of that day the trading of furs was carried on much as
I have now described it. Some of the Indians had large packs, and some
had small, but all of them had sufficient to purchase such things as
were necessary for themselves and their families during the approaching
winter; and as each man received from Mr Grant a present of tobacco,
besides a few trinkets of small value, they returned to the Hall that
night in high good humour.
Next day, Jasper and his friends bade the hospitable trader farewell,
and a few days after that the Indians left him. They smoked a farewell
pipe, then struck their tents, and placed them and their packs of goods
in the canoes, with their wives, children, and dogs. Pushing out into
the stream, they commenced the return journey to their distant
hunting-grounds. Once more their shouts rang through the forest, and
rolled over the water, and once more the paddles sent the sparkling
drops into the air as they dashed ahead, round the point of rocks above
the fort, and disappeared; leaving the fur-trader, as they found him,
smoking his pipe, with his hands in his pockets, and leaning against the
door-post of his once-again silent and solitary home.
CHAPTER SEVEN.
A SAVAGE FAMILY, AND A FIGHT WITH A BEAR.
About a week after our travellers left the outpost, Arrowhead had an
adventure with a bear, which had well-nigh cut short his journey through
this world, as well as his journey in the wilderness of Rupert's Land.
It was in the evening of a beautiful day when it happened. The canoe
had got among some bad rapids, and, as it advanced very slowly, young
Heywood asked to be put on shore, that he might walk up the banks of the
river, which were very beautiful, and sketch.
In half an hour he was far ahead of the canoe. Suddenly, on turning
round a rocky point, he found himself face to face with a small Indian
boy. It is probable that the little fellow had never seen a white man
before, and it is certain that Heywood had never seen such a specimen of
a brown boy. He was clothed in skin, it is true, but it was the skin in
which he had been born, for he had not a stitch of clothing on his fat
little body.
As the man and the boy stood staring at each other, it would have been
difficult to say which opened his eyes widest with amazement. At first
Heywood fancied the urchin was a wild beast of some sort on two legs,
but a second glance convinced him that he was a real boy. The next
thought that occurred to the artist was, that he would try to sketch
him, so he clapped his hand to his pocket, pulled out his book and
pencil, and forthwith began to draw.
This terrified the little fellow so much, that he turned about and fled
howling into the woods. Heywood thought of giving chase, but a noise
attracted his attention at that moment, and, looking across the river,
he beheld the boy's father in the same cool dress as his son. The man
had been fishing, but when he saw that strangers were passing, he threw
his blanket round him, jumped into his canoe, and crossed over to meet
them.
This turned out to be a miserably poor family of Indians, consisting of
the father, mother, three girls, and a boy, and a few ill-looking dogs.
They all lived together in a little tent or wigwam, made partly of skins
and partly of birch-bark. This tent was shaped like a cone. The fire
was kindled inside, in the middle of the floor. A hole in the side
served for a door, and a hole in the top did duty for window and
chimney. The family kettle hung above the fire, and the family circle
sat around it. A dirtier family and filthier tent one could not wish to
see. The father was a poor weakly man and a bad hunter; the squaw was
thin, wrinkled, and very dirty, and the children were all
sickly-looking, except the boy before mentioned, who seemed to enjoy
more than his fair share of health and rotundity.
"Have ye got anything to eat?" inquired Jasper, when the canoe reached
the place.
They had not got much, only a few fish and an owl.
"Poor miserable critters," said Jasper, throwing them a goose and a lump
of venison; "see there--that'll keep the wolf out o' yer insides for
some time. Have ye got anything to smoke?"
No, they had nothing to smoke but a few dried leaves.
"Worse and worse," cried Jasper, pulling a large plug of tobacco from
the breast of his coat; "here, that'll keep you puffin' for a short bit,
anyhow."
Heywood, although no smoker himself, carried a small supply of tobacco
just to give away to Indians, so he added two or three plugs to Jasper's
gift, and Arrowhead gave the father a few charges of powder and shot.
They then stepped into their canoe, and pushed off with that feeling of
light hearted happiness which always follows the doing of a kind action.
"There's bears up the river," said the Indian, as they were leaving.
"Have ye seen them?" inquired Jasper.
"Ay, but could not shoot--no powder, no ball. Look out for them!"
"That will I," replied the hunter, and in another moment the canoe was
out among the rapids again, advancing slowly up the river.
In about an hour afterwards they came to a part of the river where the
banks were high and steep. Here Jasper landed to look for the tracks of
the bears. He soon found these, and as they appeared to be fresh, he
prepared to follow them up.
"We may as well encamp here," said he to Arrowhead; "you can go and look
for the bears. I will land the baggage, and haul up the canoe, and then
take my gun and follow you. I see that our friend Heywood is at work
with his pencil already."
This was true. The keen artist was so delighted with the scene before
him, that the moment the canoe touched the land he had jumped out, and,
seating himself on the trunk of a fallen tree, with book and pencil,
soon forgot everything that was going on around him.
Arrowhead shouldered his gun and went away up the river. Jasper soon
finished what he had to do, and followed him, leaving Heywood seated on
the fallen tree.
Now the position which Heywood occupied was rather dangerous. The tree
lay on the edge of an overhanging bank of clay, about ten feet above the
water, which was deep and rapid at that place. At first the young man
sat down on the tree-trunk near its root, but after a time, finding the
position not quite to his mind, he changed it, and went close to the
edge of the bank. He was so much occupied with his drawing, that he did
not observe that the ground on which his feet rested actually overhung
the stream. As his weight rested on the fallen tree, however, he
remained there safe enough and busy for half an hour.
At the end of that time he was disturbed by a noise in the bushes.
Looking up, he beheld a large brown bear coming straight towards him.
Evidently the bear did not see him, for it was coming slowly and lazily
along, with a quiet meditative expression on its face. The appearance
of the animal was so sudden and unexpected, that poor Heywood's heart
almost leaped into his mouth. His face grew deadly pale, his long hair
almost rose on his head with terror, and he was utterly unable to move
hand or foot.
In another moment the bear was within three yards of him, and, being
taken by surprise, it immediately rose on its hind legs, which is the
custom of bears when about to make or receive an attack. It stared for
a moment at the horrified artist.
Let not my reader think that Heywood's feelings were due to cowardice.
The bravest of men have been panic-stricken when taken by surprise. The
young man had never seen a bear before, except in a cage, and the
difference between a caged and a free bear is very great. Besides, when
a rough-looking monster of this kind comes unexpectedly on a man who is
unarmed, and has no chance of escape, and rises on its hind legs, as if
to let him have a full view of its enormous size, its great strength,
and its ugly appearance, he may well be excused for feeling a little
uncomfortable, and looking somewhat uneasy.
When the bear rose, as I have said, Heywood's courage returned. His
first act was to fling his sketch-book in Bruin's face, and then,
uttering a loud yell, he sprang to his feet, intending to run away. But
the violence of his action broke off the earth under his feet. He dropt
into the river like a lump of lead, and was whirled away in a moment!
What that bear thought when it saw the man vanish from the spot like a
ghost, of course I cannot tell. It certainly _looked_ surprised, and,
if it was a bear of ordinary sensibility, it must undoubtedly have
_felt_ astonished. At any rate, after standing there, gazing for nearly
a minute in mute amazement at the spot where Heywood had disappeared, it
let itself down on its forelegs, and, turning round, walked slowly back
into the bushes.
Poor Heywood could not swim, so the river did what it pleased with him.
After sweeping him out into the middle of the stream, and rolling him
over five or six times, and whirling him round in an eddy close to the
land, and dragging him out again into the main current, and sending him
struggling down a rapid, it threw him at last, like a bundle of old
clothes, on a shallow, where he managed to get on his feet, and
staggered to the shore in a most melancholy plight. Thereafter he
returned to the encampment, like a drowned rat, with his long hair
plastered to his thin face, and his soaked garments clinging tightly to
his slender body. Had he been able to see himself at that moment, he
would have laughed, but, not being able to see himself, and feeling very
miserable, he sighed and shuddered with cold, and then set to work to
kindle a fire and dry himself.
Meanwhile the bear continued its walk up the river. Arrowhead, after a
time, lost the track of the bear he was in search of, and, believing
that it was too late to follow it up farther that night, he turned
about, and began to retrace his steps. Not long after that, he and the
bear met face to face. Of course, the Indian's gun was levelled in an
instant, but the meeting was so sudden, that the aim was not so true as
usual, and, although the ball mortally wounded the animal, it did not
kill him outright.
There was no time to re-load, so Arrowhead dropped his gun and ran. He
doubled as he ran, and made for the encampment; but the bear ran faster.
It was soon at the Indian's heels. Knowing that farther flight was
useless, Arrowhead drew the hatchet that hung at his belt, and, turning
round, faced the infuriated animal, which instantly rose on its hind
legs and closed with him.
The Indian met it with a tremendous blow of his axe, seized it by the
throat with his left hand, and endeavoured to repeat the blow. [See
frontispiece.] But brave and powerful though he was, the Indian was like
a mere child in the paw of the bear. The axe descended with a crash on
the monster's head, and sank into its skull. But bears are notoriously
hard to kill. This one scarcely seemed to feel the blow. Next instant
Arrowhead was down, and, with its claws fixed in the man's back, the
bear held him down, while it began to gnaw the fleshy part of his left
shoulder.
No cry escaped from the prostrate hunter. He determined to lie
perfectly still, as if he were dead, that being his only chance of
escape; but the animal was furious, and there is little doubt that the
Indian's brave spirit would soon have fled, had not God mercifully sent
Jasper Derry to his relief.
That stout hunter had been near at hand when the shot was fired. He at
once ran in the direction whence the sound came, and arrived on the
scene of the struggle just as Arrowhead fell. Without a moment's
hesitation he dropt on one knee, took a quick but careful aim and fired.
The ball entered the bear's head just behind the ear and rolled it over
dead!
Arrowhead's first act on rising was to seize the hand of his deliverer,
and in a tone of deep feeling exclaimed, "My brother!"
"Ay," said Jasper with a quiet smile, as he reloaded his gun; "this is
not the first time that you and I have helped one another in the nick of
time, Arrowhead; we shall be brothers, and good friends to boot, I hope,
as long as we live."
"Good," said the Indian, a smile lighting up for one moment his usually
grave features.
"But my brother is wounded, let me see," said Jasper.
"It will soon be well," said the Indian carelessly, as he took off his
coat and sat down on the bank, while the white hunter examined his
wounds.
This was all that was said on the subject by these two men. They were
used to danger in every form, and had often saved each other from sudden
death. The Indian's wounds, though painful, were trifling. Jasper
dressed them in silence, and then, drawing his long hunting knife, he
skinned and cut up the bear, while his companion lay down on the bank,
smoked his pipe, and looked on. Having cut off the best parts of the
carcass for supper, the hunters returned to the canoe, carrying the skin
along with them.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
RUNNING THE FALLS--WILD SCENES AND MEN.
Next day the travellers reached one of those magnificent lakes of which
there are so many in the wild woods of North America, and which are so
like to the great ocean itself, that it is scarcely possible to believe
them to be bodies of fresh water until they are tasted.
The largest of these inland seas is the famous Lake Superior, which is
so enormous in size that ships can sail on its broad bosom for several
days _out_ _of_ _sight_ of land. It is upwards of three hundred miles
long, and about one hundred and fifty broad. A good idea of its size
may be formed from the fact, that it is large enough to contain the
whole of Scotland, and deep enough to cover her highest hills!
The lake on which the canoe was now launched, although not so large as
Superior, was, nevertheless, a respectable body of water, on which the
sun was shining as if on a shield of bright silver. There were numbers
of small islets scattered over its surface; some thickly wooded to the
water's edge, others little better than bare rocks. Crossing this lake
they came to the mouth of a pretty large stream and began to ascend it.
The first thing they saw on rounding a bend in the stream was an Indian
tent, and in front of this tent was an Indian baby, hanging from the
branch of a tree.
Let not the reader be horrified. The child was not hanging by the neck,
but by the handle of its cradle, which its mother had placed there, to
keep her little one out of the way of the dogs. The Indian cradle is a
very simple contrivance. A young mother came out of the tent with her
child just as the canoe arrived, and began to pack it in its cradle.
Jasper stopped for a few minutes to converse with one of the Indians, so
that the artist had a good opportunity of witnessing the whole
operation.
The cradle was simply a piece of flat board, with a bit of scarlet cloth
fastened down each side of it. First of all, the mother laid the poor
infant, which was quite naked, sprawling on the ground. A dirty-looking
dog took advantage of this to sneak forward and smell at it, whereupon
the mother seized a heavy piece of wood, and hit the dog such a rap over
the nose as sent it away howling. Then she spread a thick layer of soft
moss on the wooden board. Above this she laid a very neat, small
blanket, about two feet in length. Upon this she placed the baby, which
objected at first to go to bed, squalled a good deal, and kicked a
little. The mother therefore took it up, turned it over, gave it one or
two hearty slaps, and laid it down again.
This seemed to quiet it, for it afterwards lay straight out, and
perfectly still, with its coal-black eyes staring out of its fat brown
face, as if it were astonished at receiving such rough treatment. The
mother next spread a little moss over the child, and above that she
placed another small blanket, which she folded and tucked in very
comfortably, keeping the little one's arms close to its sides, and
packing it all up, from neck to heels, so tightly that it looked more
like the making up of a parcel than the wrapping up of a child. This
done, she drew the scarlet cloth over it from each side of the cradle,
and laced it down the front. When all was done, the infant looked like
an Egyptian mummy, nothing but the head being visible.
The mother then leaned the cradle against the stem of a tree, and
immediately one of the dogs ran against it, and knocked it over.
Luckily, there was a wooden bar attached to the cradle, in front of the
child's face, which bar is placed there on purpose to guard against
injury from such accidents, so that the bar came first to the ground,
and thus prevented the flattening of the child's nose, which, to say
truth, was flat enough already!
Instead of scolding herself for her own carelessness, the Indian mother
scolded the dog, and then hung the child on the branch of a tree, to
keep it from further mischief.
The next turn in the river revealed a large waterfall, up which it was
impossible to paddle, so they prepared to make a portage. Before
arriving at the foot of it, however, Jasper landed Heywood, to enable
him to make a sketch, and then the two men shoved off, and proceeded to
the foot of the fall.
They were lying there in an eddy, considering where was the best spot to
land, when a loud shout drew their attention towards the rushing water.
Immediately after, a boat was seen to hover for a moment on the brink of
the waterfall. This fall, although about ten or fifteen feet high, had
such a large body of water rushing over it, that the river, instead of
falling straight down, gushed over in a steep incline. Down this
incline the boat now darted with the speed of lightning. It was full of
men, two of whom stood erect, the one in the bow, the other in the
stern, to control the movements of the boat.
For a few seconds there was deep silence. The men held their breath as
the boat leaped along with the boiling flood. There was a curling white
wave at the foot of the fall. The boat cut through this like a knife,
drenching her crew with spray. Next moment she swept round into the
eddy where the canoe was floating, and the men gave vent to a loud cheer
of satisfaction at having run the fall in safety.
But this was not the end of that exciting scene. Scarcely had they
gained the land, when another boat appeared on the crest of the fall.
Again a shout was given and a dash made. For one moment there was a
struggle with the raging flood, and then a loud cheer as the second boat
swept into the eddy in safety. Then a third and a fourth boat went
through the same operation, and before the end of a quarter of an hour,
six boats ran the fall. The bay at the foot of it, which had been so
quiet and solitary when Jasper and his friends arrived, became the scene
of the wildest confusion and noise, as the men ran about with tremendous
activity, making preparations to spend the night there.