“Oh for a lodge in the vast wilderness,
The boundless contiguity of shade!”
A fortnight had now passed, and Catharine still suffered so much from
pain and fever, that they were unable to continue their wanderings; all
that Hector and his cousin could do, was to carry her to the bower
by the lake, where she reclined whilst they caught fish. The painful
longing to regain their lost home had lost nothing of its intensity; and
often would the poor sufferer start from her bed of leaves and boughs,
to wring her hands and weep, and call in piteous tones upon that dear
father and mother, who would have given worlds had they been at their
command, to have heard but one accent of her beloved voice, to have felt
one loving pressure from that fevered hand. Hope, the consoler, hovered
over the path of the young wanderers, long after she had ceased to
whisper comfort to the desolate hearts of the mournful parents.
Of all that suffered by this sad calamity, no one was more to be pitied
than Louis Perron: deeply did the poor boy lament the thoughtless folly
which had involved his cousin Catharine in so terrible a misfortune. “If
Kate had not been with me,” he would say, “we should not have been lost;
for Hector is so cautious and so careful, he would not have left the
cattle-path; but we were so heedless, we thought only of flowers and
insects, of birds, and such trifles, and paid no heed to our way.”
Louis Perron, such is life. The young press gaily onward, gathering the
flowers, and following the gay butterflies that attract them in the
form of pleasure and amusement; they forget the grave counsels of the
thoughtful, till they find the path they have followed is beset with
briers and thorns; and a thousand painful difficulties that were unseen,
unexpected, overwhelm and bring them to a sad sense of their own folly;
and perhaps the punishment of their errors does not fall upon
themselves alone, but upon the innocent, who have unknowingly been made
participators in their fault.
By the kindest and tenderest attention to all her comforts, Louis
endeavoured to alleviate his cousin’s sufferings, and soften her
regrets; nay, he would often speak cheerfully and even gaily to her,
when his own heart was heavy, and his eyes ready to overflow with tears.
“If it were not for our dear parents and the dear children at home,”
he would say, “we might spend our time most happily upon these charming
plains; it is much more delightful here than in the dark thick woods;
see how brightly the sunbeams come down and gladden the ground, and
cover the earth with fruit and flowers. It is pleasant to be able to
fish and hunt, and trap the game. Yes, if they were all here, we would
build us a nice log-house, and clear up these bushes on the flat near
the lake. This ‘Elfin Knowe,’ as you call it, Kate, would be a nice spot
to build upon. See these glorious old oaks; not one should be cut
down, and we would have a boat and a canoe, and voyage across to yonder
islands. Would it not be charming, ma belle?” and Catharine, smiling
at the picture drawn so eloquently, would enter into the spirit of the
project, and say,--
“Ah! Louis, that would be pleasant.”
“If we had but my father’s rifle now,” said Hector, “and old Wolfe.”
“Yes, and Fanchette, dear little Fanchette, that trees the partridges
and black squirrels,” said Louis.
“I saw a doe and a half-grown fawn beside her this very morning, at
break of day,” said Hector. “The fawn was so little fearful, that if I
had had a stick in my hand, I could have killed it.--I came within ten
yards of the spot where it stood. I know it would be easy to catch one
by making a dead-fall.” _[A sort of trap in which game is taken in the
woods, or on the banks of creeks.]_
“If we had but a dear fawn to frolic about us, like Mignon, dear
innocent Mignon,” cried Catharine, “I should never feel lonely then.”
“And we should never want for meat, if we could catch a fine fawn from
time to time, ma belle.”
“Hec., what are you thinking of?”
“I was thinking, Louis, that If we were doomed to remain here all our
lives, we must build a house for ourselves; we could not live in the
open air without shelter as we have done. The summer will soon pass, and
the rainy season will come, and the bitter frosts and snows of winter
will have to be provided against.”
“But, Hector, do you really think there is no chance of finding our way
back to Cold Springs? We know it must be behind this lake,” said Louis.
“True, but whether east, west, or south, we cannot tell; and whichever
way we take now is but a chance, and if once we leave the lake and get
involved in the mazes of that dark forest, we should perish, for we know
there is neither water nor berries, nor game to be had as there is here,
and we might be soon starved to death. God was good who led us beside
this fine lake, and upon these fruitful plains.”
“It is a good thing that I had my axe when we started from home,” said
Hector. “We should not have been so well off without it; we shall find
the use of it if we have to build a house. We must look out for some
spot where there is a spring of good water, and--”
“No horrible wolves,” interrupted Catharine: “though I love this pretty
ravine, and the banks and braes about us, I do not think I shall like to
stay here. I heard the wolves only last night, when you and Louis were
asleep.”
“We must not forget to keep watch-fires.”
“What shall we do for clothes?” said Catharine, glancing at her
home-spun frock of wool and cotton plaid.
“A weighty consideration, indeed,” sighed Hector; “clothes must be
provided before ours are worn out, and the winter comes on.”
“We must save all the skins of the wood-chucks and squirrels,” suggested
Louis; “and fawns when we catch them.”
“Yes, and fawns when we get them,” added Hector; “but it is time enough
to think of all these things; we must not give up all hope of home.”
“I give up all hope? I shall hope on while I have life,” said Catharine.
“My dear, dear father, he will never forget his lost children; he will
try and find us, alive or dead; he will never give up the search.”
Poor child, how long did this hope burn like a living torch in thy
guileless breast. How often, as they roamed those hills and valleys,
were thine eyes sent into the gloomy recesses of the dark ravines and
thick bushes, with the hope that they would meet the advancing form and
outstretched arms of thy earthly parents: all in vain--yet the arms of
thy heavenly Father were extended over thee, to guide, to guard, and to
sustain thee.
How often were Catharine’s hands filled with wild-flowers, to carry
home, as she fondly said, to sick Louise, or her mother. Poor Catharine,
how often did your bouquets fade; how often did the sad exile water them
with her tears,--for hers was the hope that keeps alive despair.
When they roused them in the morning to recommence their fruitless
wanderings, they would say to each other: “Perhaps we shall see our
father, he may find us here to-day;” but evening came, and still he came
not, and they were no nearer to their father’s home than they had been
the day previous.
“If we could but find our way back to the ‘Cold Creek,’ we might, by
following its course, return to Cold Springs,” said Hector.
“I doubt much the fact of the ‘Cold Creek’ having any connexion with our
Spring,” said Louis; “I think it has its rise in the ‘Beaver-meadow,’
and following its course would only entangle us among those wolfish
balsam and cedar swamps, or lead us yet further astray into the thick
recesses of the pine forest. For my part, I believe we are already fifty
miles from Cold Springs.”
It is one of the bewildering mistakes that all persons who lose their
way in the pathless woods fall into, they have no idea of distance, or
the points of the compass, unless they can see the sun rise and set,
which is not possible to do when surrounded by the dense growth of
forest-trees; they rather measure distance by the time they have been
wandering, than by any other token.
The children knew that they had been a long time absent from home,
wandering hither and thither, and they fancied their journey had been as
long as it had been weary. They had indeed the comfort of seeing the sun
in his course from east to west, but they knew not in what direction the
home they had lost lay; it was this that troubled them in their choice
of the course they should take each day, and at last determined them to
lose no more time so fruitlessly, where the peril was so great, but seek
for some pleasant spot where they might pass their time in safety, and
provide for their present and future wants.
“The world was all before them, where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide.”
Catharine declared her ancle was so much stronger than it had been since
the accident, and her health so much amended, that the day after the
conversation just recorded, the little party bade farewell to the valley
of the “big stone,” and ascending the steep sides of the hills, bent
their steps eastward, keeping the lake to their left hand; Hector led
the way, loaded with their household utensils, which consisted only of
the axe, which he would trust to no one but himself, the tin-pot, and
the birch-basket. Louis had his cousin to assist up the steep banks,
likewise some fish to carry, which had been caught early in the morning.
The wanderers thought at first to explore the ground near the lake
shore, but soon abandoned this resolution, on finding the under-growth
of trees and bushes become so thick, that they made little progress, and
the fatigue of travelling was greatly increased by having continually to
put aside the bushes or bend them down.
Hector advised trying the higher ground: and after following a deer-path
through a small ravine that crossed the hills, they found themselves
on a fine extent of table-land, richly, but not too densely wooded with
white and black oaks, diversified with here and there a solitary pine,
which reared its straight and pillar-like trunk in stately grandeur
above its leafy companions: a meet eyrie for the bald-eagle, that kept
watch from its dark crest over the silent waters of the lake, spread
below like a silver zone studded with emeralds.
In their progress, they passed the head of many small ravines, which
divided the hilly shores of the lake into deep furrows; these furrows
had once been channels, by which the waters of some upper lake (the site
of which is now dry land) had at a former period poured down into the
valley, filling the basin of what now is called the Rice Lake. These
waters with resistless course had ploughed their way between the hills,
bearing in their course those blocks of granite and limestone which
are so widely scattered both on the hill-tops and the plains, or form
a rocky pavement at the bottom of the narrow denies. What a sight of
sublime desolation must that outpouring of the waters have presented,
when those steep banks were riven by the sweeping torrents that were
loosened from their former bounds. The pleased eye rests upon these
tranquil shores, now covered with oaks and pines, or waving with a flood
of golden grain, or varied by neat dwellings and fruitful gardens; and
the gazer on that peaceful scene scarcely pictures to himself what it
must have been when no living eye was there to mark the rushing floods,
when they scooped to themselves the deep bed in which they now repose.
Those lovely islands that sit like stately crowns upon the waters, were
doubtless the wreck that remained of the valley; elevated spots, whose
rocky basis withstood the force of the rushing waters, that carried
away the lighter portions of the soil. The southern shore, seen from the
lake, seems to lie in regular ridges running from south to north; some
few are parallel with the lake-shore, possibly where some surmountable
impediment turned the current the subsiding waters; but they all find an
outlet through their connexion with ravines communicating with the lake.
There is a beautiful level tract of land, with only here and there a
solitary oak growing upon it, or a few stately pines; it is commonly
called the “upper Race-course,” merely on account of the smoothness of
the surface; it forms a high tableland, nearly three hundred feet above
the lake, and is surrounded by high hills. This spot, though now dry and
covered with turf and flowers, and low bushes, has evidently once been
a broad sheet of water. To the eastward lies a still more lovely and
attractive spot, known as the “lower Race-course;” it lies on a lower
level than the former one, and, like it, is embanked by a ridge of
distant hills; both have ravines leading down to the Rice Lake, and
may have been the sources from whence its channel was filled. Some
convulsion of nature at a remote period, by raising the waters above
their natural level, might have caused a disruption of the banks, and
drained their beds, as they now appear ready for the ploughshare or the
spade. In the month of June these flats are brilliant with the splendid
blossoms of the _enchroma_, or painted cup, the azure lupine and snowy
_trillium_ roses scent the evening air, and grow as if planted by the
hand of taste.
A carpeting of the small downy saxifrage _[FN: Saxifraga nivalis.]_
with its white silky leaves covers the ground in early spring. In the
fall, it is red with the bright berries and dark box-shaped leaves of a
species of creeping winter-green, that the Indians call spiceberry; the
leaves are highly aromatic, and it is medicinal as well as agreeable
to the taste and smell. In the month of July a gorgeous assemblage
of martagon lilies take the place of the lupine and trilliums; these
splendid lilies vary from orange to the brightest scarlet; various
species of sunflowers and _coreopsis_ next appear, and elegant white
_pyrolas_ _[FN: Gentiana linearis, G. crenata.]_ scent the air and
charm the eye. The delicate lilac and white shrubby asters next appear,
and these are followed by the large deep blue gentian, and here and
there by the elegant fringed gentian. _[FN: Pyrola rotundifolia,
P. asarifolia.]_ These are the latest and loveliest of the flowers
that adorn this tract of land. It is indeed a garden of nature’s own
planting, but the wild garden is being converted into fields of grain,
and the wild flowers give place to a new race of vegetables, less
ornamental, but more useful to man and the races of domestic animals
that depend upon him for their support.
Our travellers, after wandering over this lovely plain, found
themselves, at the close of the day, at the head of a fine ravine,
_[FN: _Pedophyllnm galmata_,--Mandrake, or May-apple.]_ where they
had the good fortune to perceive a spring of pure water, oozing beneath
some large moss-covered blocks of black waterworn granite; the ground
was thickly covered with moss about the edges of the spring, and many
varieties of flowering shrubs and fruits were scattered along the
valley and up the steep sides of the surrounding hills. There were
whortleberries, or huckleberries, as they are more usually called, in
abundance; bilberries dead ripe, and falling from the bushes at a touch.
The vines that wreathed the low bushes and climbed the trees were
loaded with clusters of grapes, but these were yet hard and green; dwarf
filberts grew on the dry gravelly sides of the hills, yet the rough
prickly calyx that enclosed the nut, filled their fingers with minute
thorns, that irritated the skin like the stings of the nettle; but
as the kernel when ripe was sweet and good, they did not mind the
consequences. The moist part of the valley was occupied by a large bed
of May-apples, _[FN: Kilvert’s Ravine, above Pine-tree Point.]_ the
fruit of which was of unusual size, but they were not ripe, August being
the month when they ripen; there were also wild plums still green, and
wild cherries and blackberries ripening; there were great numbers of the
woodchucks’ burrows on the hills, while partridges and quails were seen
under the thick covert of the blue-berried dog-wood, _[FN: _Cornus
sericea_. The blue berries of this shrub are eaten by the partridge
and wild-ducks; also by the pigeons and other birds. There are several
species of this shrub common to the Rice Lake.]_ that here grew in
abundance at the mouth of the ravine where it opened to the lake. As
this spot offered many advantages, our travellers halted for the night,
and resolved to make it their head-quarters for a season, till they
should meet with an eligible situation for building a winter shelter.
Here, then, at the head of the valley, sheltered by one of the rounded
hills that formed its sides, our young people erected a summer hut,
somewhat after the fashion of an Indian wigwam, which was all the
shelter that was requisite while the weather remained so warm. Through
the opening at the gorge of this ravine they enjoyed a peep at the
distant waters of the lake which terminated the vista, while they were
quite removed from its unwholesome vapours.
The temperature of the air for some days had been hot and sultry,
scarcely modified by the cool delicious breeze that usually sets in
about nine o’clock, and blows most refreshingly till four or five in
the afternoon. Hector and Louis had gone down to fish for supper, while
Catharine busied herself in collecting leaves and dried deer-grass, moss
and fern, of which there was abundance near the spring. The boys had
promised to cut some fresh cedar boughs near the lake shore, and
bring them up to form a foundation for their bed, and also to strew
Indian-fashion over the floor of the hut by way of a carpet. This sort
of carpeting reminds one of, the times when the palaces of our English
kings were strewed with rushes, and brings to mind the old song:--
“Oh! the golden days of good Queen Bess,
When the floors were strew’d with rushes,
And the doors went on the latch----”
Despise not then, you, my refined young readers, the rude expedients
adopted by these simple children of the forest, who knew nothing of the
luxuries that were to be met with in the houses of the great and the
rich. The fragrant carpet of cedar or hemlock-spruce sprigs strewn
lightly over the earthen floor, was to them a luxury as great as if
it had been taken from the looms of Persia or Turkey, so happy and
contented were they in their ignorance. Their bed of freshly gathered
grass and leaves, raised from the earth by a heap of branches carefully
arranged, was to them as pleasant as beds of down, and the rude hut of
bark and poles, as curtains of silk or damask.
Having collected as much of these materials as she deemed sufficient
for the purpose, Catharine next gathered up dry oak branches, plenty of
which lay scattered here and there, to make a watch-fire for the night,
and this done, weary and warm, she sat down on a little hillock, beneath
the cooling shade of a grove of young aspens, that grew near the hut;
pleased with the dancing of the leaves, which fluttered above her head,
and fanned her warm cheek with their incessant motion, she thought, like
her cousin Louise, that the aspen was the merriest tree in the forest,
for it was always dancing, dancing, dancing, even when all the rest were
still.
She watched the gathering of the distant thunder-clouds, which cast a
deeper, more sombre shade upon the pines that girded the northern shores
of the lake as with an ebon frame. Insensibly her thoughts wandered far
away from the lonely spot whereon she sat, to the stoup _[FN:
The Dutch word for verandah, which is still in common use among the
Canadians.]_ in front of her father’s house, and in memory’s eye she
beheld it all exactly as she had left it. There stood the big spinning
wheel, just as she had set it aside; the hanks of dyed yarn suspended
from the rafters, the basket filled with the carded wool ready for
her work. She saw in fancy her father, with his fine athletic upright
figure, his sunburnt cheeks and clustering sable hair, his clear
energetic hazel eye ever beaming upon her, his favourite child, with
looks of love and kindness as she moved to and fro at her wheel.
_[FN: Such is the method of working at the large wool wheel,
unknown or obsolete in England.]_ There, too, was her mother, with her
light step and sweet cheerful voice, singing as she pursued her daily
avocations; and Donald and Kenneth driving up the cows to be milked, or
chopping firewood. And as these images, like the figures of the magic
lantern, passed in all their living colours before her mental vision,
her head drooped heavier and lower till it sunk upon her arm, and then
she started, looked round, and slept again, her face deeply buried in
her young bosom; and long and peacefully the young girl slumbered.
A sound of hurrying feet approaches, a wild cry is heard and panting
breath, and the sleeper with a startling scream sprang to her feet: she
dreamed that she was struggling in the fangs of a wolf--its grisly
paws were clasped about her throat; the feeling was agony and
suffocation--her languid eyes open. Can it be?--what is it that she
sees? Yes, it is Wolfe; not the fierce creature of her dreams by night
and her fears by day, but her father’s own brave devoted dog. What joy,
what hope rushed to her heart! She threw herself upon the shaggy neck of
the faithful beast, and wept from the fulness of heart.
“Yes,” she joyfully cried, “I knew that I should see him again. My own
dear, dear, loving father! Father! father! dear, dear father, here are
your children. Come, come quickly!” and she hurried to the head of
the valley, raising her voice, that the beloved parent, who she now
confidently believed was approaching, might be guided to the spot by the
well-known sound of her voice.
Poor, child! the echoes of thy eager voice, prolonged by every
projecting headland of the valley, replied in mocking tones, “Come
quickly!”
Bewildered she paused, listened breathlessly and again she called,
“Father, come quickly, come!” and again the deceitful sounds were
repeated, “Quickly come!”
The faithful dog, who had succeeded in tracking the steps of his lost
mistress, raised his head and erected his ears, as she called on her
father’s name; but he gave no joyful bark of recognition as he was wont
to do when he heard his master’s step approaching. Still Catharine could
not but think that Wolfe had only hurried on before, and that her father
must be very near.
The sound of her voice had been heard by her brother and cousin, who,
fearing some evil beast had made its way to the wigwam, hastily wound up
their line, and left the fishing-ground to hurry to her assistance. They
could hardly believe their eyes when they saw Wolfe, faithful old Wolfe,
their earliest friend and playfellow, named by their father after the
gallant hero of Quebec. And they too, like Catharine, thought that their
friends were not far distant, and joyfully they climbed the hills and
shouted aloud, and Wolfe was coaxed and caressed, and besought to follow
them to point out the way they should take: but all their entreaties
were in vain; worn out with fatigue and long fasting, the poor old
dog refused to quit the embers of the fire, before which he stretched
himself, and the boys now noticed his gaunt frame and wasted flesh--he
looked almost starved. The fact now became evident that he was in a
state of great exhaustion. Catharine thought he eyed the spring with
wishful looks, and she soon supplied him with water in the bark dish, to
this great relief.
Wolfe had been out for several days with his master, who would repeat,
in tones of sad earnestness, to the faithful creature, “Lost, lost,
lost!” It was his custom to do so when the cattle strayed, and Wolfe
would travel in all directions till he found them, nor ceased his search
till he discovered the objects he was ordered to bring home. The last
night of the father’s wanderings, when, sick and hopeless, he came back
to his melancholy home, as he sat sleeplessly rocking himself to and
fro, he involuntarily exclaimed, wringing his hands, “Lost, lost, lost!”
Wolfe heard what to him was an imperative command; he rose, and stood
at the door, and whined; mechanically his master rose, lifted the latch,
and again exclaimed in passionate tones those magic words, that sent the
faithful messenger forth into the dark forest path. Once on the trail he
never left it, but with ah instinct incomprehensible as it was powerful,
he continued to track the woods, lingering long on spots where the
wanderers had left any signs of their sojourn; he had for some time
been baffled at the Beaver Meadow, and again where they had crossed Cold
Creek, but had regained the scent and traced them to the valley of
the “big stone,” and then with the sagacity of the bloodhound and the
affection of the terrier he had, at last, discovered the objects of his
unwearied, though often baffled search.
What a state of excitement did the unexpected arrival of old Wolfe
create! How many questions were put to the poor beast, as he lay with
his head pillowed on the knees of his loving mistress! Catharine knew it
was foolish, but she could not help talking to the dumb animal, as if
he had been conversant with her own language. Ah, old Wolfe, if your
homesick nurse could but have interpreted those expressive looks, those
eloquent waggings of your bushy tail, as it flapped upon the grass, or
waved from side to side; those gentle lickings of the hand, and mute
sorrowful glances, as though he would have said, “Dear mistress, I know
all your troubles. I know all you say, but I cannot answer you!” There
is something touching in the silent sympathy of the dog, to which only
the hard-hearted and depraved can be quite insensible. I remember once
hearing of a felon, who had shown the greatest obstinacy and callous
indifference to the appeals of his relations, and the clergyman that
attended him in prison, whose heart was softened by the sight of a
little dog, that had been his companion in his days of comparative
innocence, forcing its way through the crowd, till it gained the foot of
the gallows; its mute look of anguish and affection unlocked the fount
of human feeling, and the condemned man wept--perhaps the first tears he
had shed since childhood’s happy days.
The night closed in with a tempest of almost tropical violence. The
inky darkness of the sky was relieved, at intervals, by sheets of lurid
flame, which revealed, by its intense brightness, every object far off
or near. The distant lake, just seen amid the screen of leaves through
the gorge of the valley, gleamed like a sea of molten sulphur; the deep
narrow defile, shut in by the steep and wooded hills, looked deeper,
more wild and gloomy, when revealed by that vivid glare of light.
There was no stir among the trees, the heavy rounded masses of foliage
remained unmoved; the very aspen, that tremulous sensitive tree,
scarcely stirred; it seemed as if the very pulses of nature were at
rest. The solemn murmur that preceded the thunder-peal might have been
likened to the moaning of the dying. The children felt the loneliness of
the spot. Seated at the entrance of their sylvan hut, in front of which
their evening fire burned brightly, they looked out upon the storm in
silence and in awe. Screened by the sheltering shrubs that grew near
them, they felt comparatively safe from the dangers of the storm, which
now burst in terrific violence above the valley. Cloud answered to
cloud, and the echoes of the hills prolonged the sound, while shattered
trunks and brittle branches filled the air, and shrieked and groaned in
that wild war of elements.
Between the pauses of the tempest the long howl of the wolves, from
their covert in some distant cedar swamp at the edge of the lake, might
be heard from time to time,--a sound that always thrilled their hearts
with fear. To the mighty thunder-peal that burst above their heads they
listened with awe and wonder. It seemed, indeed, to them as if it were
the voice of Him who “sendeth out his voice, yea, and that a mighty
voice.” And they bowed and adored his majesty; but they shrank with
curdled blood from the cry of the _felon wolf._
And now the storm was at its climax, and the hail and rain came down
in a whitening flood upon that ocean of forest leaves; the old grey
branches were lifted up and down, and the stout trunks rent, for they
would not bow down before the fury of the whirlwind, and were scattered
all abroad like chaff before the wind.
The children thought not of danger for themselves, but they feared for
the safety of their fathers, whom they believed to be not far off from
them. And often ‘mid the raging of the elements, they fancied they could
distinguish familiar voices calling upon their names. “If our father had
not been near, Wolfe would not have come hither.”
“Ah, if our father should have perished in this fearful storm,” said
Catharine, weeping, “or have been starved to death while seeking for
us!” and Catharine covered her face and wept more bitterly.
But Louis would not listen to such melancholy forebodings. Their fathers
were both brave hardy men, accustomed to every sort of danger and
privation; they were able to take care of themselves. Yes, he was sure
they were not far off; it was this unlucky storm coming on that had
prevented them from meeting.
“To-morrow, ma chère, will be a glorious day after the storm; it will
be a joyful one too, we shall go out with Wolfe, and he will find his
master, and then--oh, yes! I dare say my dear father will be with yours.
They will have taken good heed to the track, and we shall soon see our
dear mothers and chère petite Louise.”
The storm lasted till past midnight, when it gradually subsided, and the
poor wanderers glad to see the murky clouds roll off, and the stars
peep forth among their broken masses; but they were reduced to a pitiful
state, the hurricane having beaten down their little hut, and their
garments were drenched with rain. However, the boys made a good fire
with some bark and boughs they had in store; there were a few sparks
in their back log unextinguished, and this they gladly fanned up into a
blaze, with which they dried their wet clothes, and warmed themselves.
The air was now cool almost to chilliness, and for some days the weather
remained unsettled, and the sky overcast with clouds, while the lake
presented a leaden hue, crested with white mimic waves.
They soon set to work to make another hut, and found close to the head
of the ravine a great pine uprooted, affording them large pieces of
bark, which proved very serviceable in thatching the sides of the hut.
The boys employed themselves in this work, while Catharine cooked the
fish they had caught the night before, with a share of which old Wolfe
seemed to be mightily well pleased. After they had breakfasted, they
all went up towards the high table-land above the ravine, with Wolfe, to
look round in hope of getting sight of their friends from Cold Springs,
but though they kept an anxious look out in every direction, they
returned, towards evening, tired and hopeless. Hector had killed a red
squirrel, and a partridge which Wolfe “treed,”--that is, stood barking
at the foot of the tree in which it had perched,--and the supply of meat
was a seasonable change. They also noticed, and marked, with the axe,
several trees where there were bees, intending to come in the cold
weather, and cut them down. Louis’s father was a great and successful
bee-hunter; and Louis rather prided himself on having learned something
of his father’s skill in that line. Here, where flowers were so abundant
and water plentiful, the wild bees seemed to be abundant also; besides,
the open space between the trees, admitting the warm sunbeam freely,
was favourable both for the bees and the flowers on which they fed, and
Louis talked joyfully of the fine stores of honey they should collect
in the fell. He had taught little Fanchon, a small French spaniel of his
father’s, to find out the trees where the bees hived, and also the
nests of the ground-bees, and she would bark at the foot of the tree,
or scratch with her feet on the ground, as the other dogs barked at the
squirrels or the woodchucks; but Fanchon was far away, and Wolfe was
old, and would learn no new tricks, so Louis knew he had nothing but his
own observation and the axe to depend upon for procuring honey.
The boys had been unsuccessful for some days past in fishing; neither
perch nor sunfish, pink roach nor mud-pouts _[FN: All these fish
are indigenous to the fresh waters of Canada.]_ were to be caught.
However, they found water-mussels by groping in the sand, and cray-fish
among the gravel at the edge of the water only; the last pinched their
fingers very spitefully. The mussels were not very palateable, for want
of salt; but hungry folks must not be dainty, and Louis declared
them very good when well roasted, covered up with hot embers. “The
fish-hawks,” said he, “set us a good example, for they eat them, and so
do the eagles and herons. I watched one the other day with a mussel in
his bill; he flew to a high tree, let his prey fall, and immediately
darted down to secure it; but I drove him off, and, to my great
amusement, perceived the wise fellow had just let it fall on a stone,
which had cracked the shell for him just in the right place. I often see
shells lying at the foot of trees, far up the hills, where these birds
must have left them. There is one large thick-shelled mussel, that I
have found several times with a round hole drilled through the shell,
just as if it had been done with a small auger, doubtless the work of
some bird with a strong beak.”
“Do you remember,” said Catharine, “the fine pink mussel-shell that Hec.
picked up in the little corn-field last year; it had a hole in one of
the shells too; _[FN: This ingenious mode of cracking the shells
of mussels is common to many birds. The crow (_Corvus corone_) has been
long known by American naturalists to break the thick shells of the
river mussels, by letting them fall from a height on to rocks and
stones.]_ and when my uncle saw it, he said it must have been dropped by
some large bird, a fish-hawk possibly, or a heron, and brought from the
great lake, as it had been taken out of some deep water, the mussels in
our creeks being quite thin-shelled and white.”
“Do you remember what a quantity of large fish bones we found in the
eagle’s nest on the top of our hill, Louis?” said Hector.
“I do; those fish must have been larger than our perch and sun-fish;
they were brought from this very lake, I dare say.”
“If we had a good canoe now, or a boat, and a strong hook and line, we
might become great fishermen.”
“Louis,” said Catharine, “is always thinking about canoes, and boats,
and skiffs; he ought to have been a sailor.”
Louis was confident that if they had a canoe he could soon learn to
manage her; he was an excellent sailor already in theory. Louis never
saw difficulties; he was always hopeful, and had a very good opinion
of his own cleverness; he was quicker in most things, his ideas flowed
faster than Hector’s, but Hector was more prudent, and possessed one
valuable quality--steady perseverance; he was slow in adopting an
opinion, but when once convinced, he pushed on steadily till he mastered
the subject or overcame the obstacle.
“Catharine,” said Louis, one day, “the huckleberries age now very
plentiful, and I think it would be a wise thing to gather a good store
of them, and dry them for the winter. See, ma chère, wherever we turn
our eyes, or place our feet, they are to be found; the hill sides are
purple with them. We may, for aught we know, be obliged to pass the rest
of our lives here; it will be well to prepare for the winter when no
berries are to be found.”
“It will be well, mon ami, but we must not dry them in the sun; for
let me tell you, Mr. Louis, that they will be quite tasteless--mere dry
husks.”
“Why so, ma belle?”
“I do not know the reason, but I only know the fact, for when our
mothers dried the currants and raspberries in the sun, such was the
case, but when they dried them on the oven floor, or on the hearth, they
were quite nice.”
“Well, Cath., I think I know of a flat thin stone that will make a good
hearthstone, and we can get sheets of birch bark and sew into flat bags,
to keep the dried fruit in.”
They now turned all their attention to drying huckleberries (or
whortleberries). _[FN: From the abundance of this fruit, the
Indians have given the name of Whortleberry Plain to the lands on the
south shore. During the month of July and the early part of August,
large parties come to the Rice Lake Plains to gather huckleberries,
which they preserve by drying, for winter use. These berries make a
delicious tart or pudding, mixed with bilberries and red-currants,
requiring little sugar.]_ Catharine and Louis (who fancied nothing could
be contrived without his help) attended to the preparing and making of
the bags of birch bark; but Hector was soon tired of girl’s work, as he
termed it, and, after gathering some berries, would wander away over
the hills in search of game, and to explore the neighbouring hills and
valleys, and sometimes it was sunset before he made his appearance.
Hector had made an excellent strong-bow, like the Indian bow, out of a
tough piece of hickory wood, which he found in one of his rambles, and
he made arrows with wood that he seasoned in the smoke, sharpening the
heads with great care with his knife, and hardening them by exposure to
strong heat, at a certain distance from the fire. The entrails of the
woodchucks, stretched, and scraped and dried, and rendered pliable by
rubbing and drawing through the hands, answered for a bowstring; but
afterwards, when they got the sinews and hide of the deer, they used
them, properly dressed for the purpose.
Hector also made a cross-bow, which he used with great effect, being a
true and steady marksman. Louis and he would often amuse themselves with
shooting at a mark, which they would chip on the bark of a tree; even
Catharine was a tolerable archeress with the longbow, and the hut was
now seldom without game of one kind or other. Hector seldom returned
from his rambles without partridges, quails, or young pigeons, which
are plentiful at this season of the year; many of the old ones that pass
over in their migratory flight in the spring, stay to breed, or return
thither for the acorns and berries that are to be found in great
abundance. Squirrels, too, are very plentiful at this season. Hector and
Louis remarked that the red and black squirrels never were to be found
very near each other. It is a common belief, that the red squirrels make
common cause with the grey, and beat the larger enemy off the ground.
The black squirrel, for a succession of years, was very rarely to be met
with on the Plains, while there were plenty of the red and grey in the
“oak openings.” _[FN: Within the last three years, however, the
black squirrels have been very numerous, and the red are less frequently
to be seen. The flesh of the black squirrel is tender, white, and
delicate, like that of a young rabbit.]_ Deer, at the time our young
Crusoes were living on the Rice Lake Plains, were plentiful, and, of
course, so were those beasts that prey upon them,--wolves, bears, and
wolverines, besides the Canadian lynx, or catamount, as it is here
commonly called, a species of wild-cat or panther. These wild animals
are now no longer to be seen; it is a rare thing to hear of bears or
wolves, and the wolverine and lynx are known only as matters of history
in this part of the country; these animals disappear as civilization
advances, while some others increase and follow man, especially many
species of birds, which seem to pick up the crumbs that fall from the
rich man’s board, and multiply about his dwelling; some adopt new habits
and modes of building and feeding, according to the alteration and
improvement in their circumstances.
While our young people seldom wanted for meat, they felt the privation
of the tread to which they had teen accustomed very sensibly. One day,
while Hector and Louis were busily engaged with their assistant, Wolfe,
in unearthing a woodchuck, that had taken refuge in his burrow, on
one of the gravelly hills above the lake, Catharine amused herself
by looking for flowers; she had filled her lap with ripe May-apples,
_[FN: _Podophyllum peltatum_-May-apple, or Mandrake. The fruit of
the May-apple, in rich moist soil, will attain to the size of the magnum
bonum, or egg-plum, which it resembles in colour and shape. It makes
a delicious preserve, if seasoned with cloves or ginger; when eaten
uncooked, the outer rind, which is thick and fleshy, and has a rank
taste, should be thrown aside; the fine acid pulp in which the seeds are
imbedded alone should be eaten. The root of the Podophyllum is used as
a cathartic by the Indians. The root of this plant is reticulated,
and when a large body of them are uncovered, they present a singular
appearance, interlacing each other in large meshes, like an extensive
net-work; these roots are white, as thick as a man’s little finger, and
fragrant, and spread horizontally along the surface. The blossom is like
a small white rose.]_ but finding them cumbersome in climbing the steep
wooded hills, she deposited them at the foot of a tree near the boys,
and pursued her search; and it was not long before she perceived some
pretty grassy-looking plants, with heads of bright lilac flowers, and on
plucking some pulled up the root also. The root was about the size
and shape of a large crocus, and, on biting it, she found it far
from disagreeable, sweet, and slightly astringent; it seemed to be a
favourite root with the wood-chucks, for she noticed that it grew about
their burrows on dry gravelly soil, and many of the stems were bitten,
and the roots eaten, a warrant in full of wholesomeness. Therefore,
carrying home a parcel of the largest of the roots, she roasted them
in the embers, and they proved almost as good as chestnuts, and more
satisfying than the acorns of the white oak, which they had often
roasted in the fire, when they were out working on the fallow, at the
log heaps. Hector and Louis ate heartily of the roots, and commended
Catharine for the discovery. Not many days afterwards, Louis
accidentally found a much larger and more valuable root, near the
lake shore. He saw a fine climbing shrub, with close bunches of
dark reddish-purple pea-shaped flowers, which scented the air with a
delicious perfume. The plant climbed to a great height over the young
trees, with a profusion of dark green leaves and tendrils. Pleased with
the bowery appearance of the plant, he tried to pull one up, that he
might show it to his cousin, when the root displayed a number of large
tubers, as big as good-sized potatoes, regular oval-shaped; the inside
was quite white, tasting somewhat like a potato, only pleasanter, when
in its raw state, than an uncooked potato. Louis gathered his pockets
full, and hastened home with his prize, and, on being roasted, these
new roots were decided to be little inferior to potatoes, at all events,
they were a valuable addition to their slender stores, and they procured
as many as they could find, carefully storing them in a hole, which they
dug for that purpose in a corner of their hut. _[FN: This plant
appears to me to be a species of the _Psoralea esculenta_, or Indian
bread-root, which it resembles in description, excepting that the root
of the above is tuberous oval, and connected by long filaments.
The largest tubers are farthest from the stem of the plant.]_ Hector
suggested that these roots would be far better late in the fall, or
early in the spring, than during the time that the plant was in bloom,
for he knew from observation and experience that at the flowering
season the greater part of the nourishment derived from the soil goes to
perfect the flower and the seeds. Upon scraping the cut tuber, there was
a white floury powder produced resembling the starchy substance of the
potato.
“This flour,” said Catharine, “would make good porridge with milk.”
“Excellent, no doubt, my wise little cook and housekeeper,” said Louis,
laughing, “but ma belle cousine, where is the milk, and where is the
porridge-pot to come from?”
“Indeed,” said Catharine, “I fear, Louis, we must wait long for both.”
One fine day, Louis returned home from the lake shore in great haste,
for the bows and arrows, with the interesting news that a herd of five
deer were in the water, and making for Long Island.
“But, Louis, they will be gone out of sight and beyond the reach of the
arrows,” said Catharine, as she handed him down the bows and a sheaf of
arrows, which she quickly slung round his shoulders by the belt of skin,
which, the young hunter had made for himself.
“No fear, ma chère; they will stop to feed on the beds of rice and
lilies. We must have Wolfe. Here, Wolfe, Wolfe, Wolfe,--here, boy,
here!”
Catharine caught a portion of the excitement that danced in the bright
eyes of her cousin, and declaring that she too would go and witness
the hunt, ran down the ravine by his side, while Wolfe, who evidently
understood that they had some sport in view, trotted along by his
mistress, wagging his great bushy tail, and looking in high good humour.
Hector was impatiently waiting the arrival of the bows and Wolfe. The
herd of deer, consisting of a noble buck, two full-grown females, and
two young half-grown males, were quietly feeding among the beds of
rice and rushes, not more than fifteen or twenty yards from the shore,
apparently quite unconcerned at the presence of Hector, who stood on
a fallen trunk eagerly eyeing their motions; but the hurried steps of
Louis and Catharine, with the deep sonorous baying of Wolfe, soon roused
the timid creatures to a sense of danger, and the stag, raising his head
and making, as the children thought, a signal for retreat, now struck
boldly out for the nearest point of Long Island.
“We shall lose them,” cried Louis, despairingly, eyeing the long bright
track that cut the silvery waters, as the deer swam gallantly out.
“Hist, hist, Louis,” said Hector, “all depends upon Wolfe. Turn them,
Wolfe; hey, hey, seek them, boy!”
Wolfe dashed bravely into the lake.
“Head them! head them!” shouted Hector.
Wolfe knew what was meant; with the sagacity of a long-trained hunter,
he made a desperate effort to gain the advantage by a circuitous route.
Twice the stag turned irresolute, as if to face his foe, and Wolfe,
taking the time, swam ahead, and then the race began. As soon as the
boys saw the herd had turned, and that Wolfe was between them and the
island, they separated, Louis making good his ambush to the right among
the cedars, and Hector at the spring to the west, while Catharine was
stationed at the solitary pine-tree, at the point which commanded the
entrance of the ravine.
“Now, Cathy,” said her brother, “when you see the herd making for the
ravine, shout and and, clap your hands, and they will turn either to the
ten right or to the left. Do not let them land, or we shall lose them.
We must trust to Wolfe for their not escaping to the island. Wolfe is
well trained, he knows what he is about.”
Catharine proved a dutiful ally, she did as she was bid; she waited
till the deer were within a few yards of the shore, then she shouted and
clapped her hands. Frightened at the noise and clamour, the terrified
creatures coasted along for some way, till within a little distance of
the thicket where Hector lay concealed, the very spot from which they
had emerged when they first took to the water; to this place they boldly
steered. Louis, who had watched the direction the herd had taken with
breathless interest, now noiselessly hurried to Hector’s assistance,
taking an advantageous post for aim, in case Hector’s arrow missed, or
only slightly wounded one of the deer.
Hector, crouched beneath the trees, waited cautiously till one of the
does was within reach of his arrow, and so good and true was his aim,
that it hit the animal hi the throat a little above the chest; the stag
now turned again, but Wolfe was behind, and pressed him forward, and
again the noble animal strained every nerve for the shore. Louis now
shot his arrow, but it swerved from the mark, he was too eager, it
glanced harmlessly along the water; but the cool, unimpassioned hand of
Hector sent another arrow between the eyes of the doe, stunning her with
its force, and then, another from Louis laid her on her side, dying, and
staining the water with her blood.
The herd, abandoning their dying companion, dashed frantically to the
shore, and the young hunters, elated by their success, suffered them to
make good their landing without further molestation. Wolfe, at a signal
from his master, ran in the quarry, and Louis declared exultingly, that
as his last arrow had given the _coup de grace_, he was entitled to the
honour of cutting the throat of the doe; but this, the stern Highlander
protested against, and Louis, with a careless laugh, yielded the point,
contenting himself with saying, “Ah, well, I will get the first steak
of the venison when it is roasted, and that is far more to my taste.”
Moreover, he privately recounted to Catharine the important share he had
had in the exploit, giving her, at the same time, full credit for the
worthy service she had performed, in withstanding the landing of the
herd. Wolfe, too, came in for a large share of the honour and glory of
the chase.
The boys were soon hard at work, skinning the animal, and cutting it up.
This was the most valuable acquisition they had yet effected, for many
uses were to be made of the deer, besides eating the flesh. It was a
store of wealth in their eyes.
During the many years that their fathers had sojourned in the country,
there had been occasional intercourse with the fur traders and trappers,
and, sometimes, with friendly disposed Indians, who had called at the
lodges of their white brothers for food and tobacco.
From all these men, rude as they were, some practical knowledge had been
acquired, and their visits, though few and far between, had left good
fruit behind them; something to think about and talk about, and turn to
future advantage.
The boys had learned from the Indians how precious were the tough sinews
of the deer for sewing. They knew how to prepare the skins of the deer
for mocassins, which they could cut out and make as neatly as the squaws
themselves. They could fashion arrow-heads, and knew how best to season
the wood for making both the long and cross-bow; they had seen the
fish-hooks these people manufactured from bone and hard wood; they knew
that strips of fresh-cut skins would make bow-strings, or the entrails
of animals dried and rendered pliable. They had watched the squaws
making baskets of the inner bark of the oak, elm, and basswood, and mats
of the inner bark of the cedar, with many other ingenious works that
they now found would prove useful to them, after a little practice
had perfected their inexperienced attempts. They also knew how to dry
venison as the Indians and trappers prepare it, by cutting the thick
fleshy portions of the meat into strips, from four to six inches in
breadth, and two or more in thickness. These strips they strung upon
poles supported on forked sticks, and exposed them to the drying action
of the sun and wind. Fish they split open, and removed the back and head
bones, and smoked them slightly, or dried them in the sun.
Their success in killing the doe greatly raised their spirits; in
their joy they embraced each other, and bestowed the most affectionate
caresses on Wolfe for his good conduct.
“But for this dear, wise old fellow, we should have had no venison for
dinner to-day,” said Louis; “and so, Wolfe, you shall have a choice
piece for your own share.”
Every part of the deer seemed valuable in the eyes of the young hunters;
the skin they carefully stretched out upon sticks to dry gradually, and
the entrails they also preserved for bow-strings. The sinews of the legs
and back, they drew out, and laid carefully aside for future use.
“We shall be glad enough of these strings by-and-by,” said careful
Hector; “for the summer will soon be at an end, and then we must turn
our attention to making ourselves winter clothes and mocassins.”
“Yes, Hec., and a good warm shanty; these huts of bark and boughs will
not do when once the cold weather sets in.”
“A shanty would soon be put up,” said Hector; “for even Kate, wee bit
lassie as she is, could give us some help in trimming up the logs.
“That I could, indeed,” replied Catherine; “for you may remember, Hec.,
that the last journey my father made to the Bay, _[FN: Bay of
Quints.]_ with the pack of furs, that you and I called a _Bee_
_[FN: A Bee is a practical instance of duty to a neighbour. We
fear it is peculiar to Canada, although deserving of imitation in all
Christian colonies. When any work which requires many hands is in
the course of performance, as the building of log-houses, barns,
or shanties, all the neighbours are summoned, and give their best
assistance in the construction. Of course the assisted party is liable
to be called upon by the community in turn, to repay in kind the help he
has received.]_
to put up a shed for the new cow that he was to drive back with him, and
I am sure Mathilde and I did as much good as you and Louis. You know you
said you could not have got on nearly so well without our help.”
“Yes, and you cried because you got a fall off the shed when if was only
four logs high.”
“It was not for the fall that I cried,” said Catharine, resentfully,
“but because cousin Louis and you laughed at me, and said, ‘Cats, you
know, have nine lives, and seldom are hurt, because they light on their
feet,’ and I thought it was very cruel to laugh at me when I was in
pain. Beside, you called me ‘puss,’ and ‘poor pussie’ all the rest of
the _Bee_.”
“I am sure, ma belle, I am very sorry if I was rude to you,” said Louis,
trying to look penitent for the offence. “For my part, I had forgotten
all about the fall; I only know that we passed a very merry day. Dear
aunt made us a fine Johnny-cake for tea, with lots of maple molasses;
and the shed was a capital shed, and the cow must have thought us fine
builders, to have made such a comfortable shelter for her, with no
better help.”
“After all,” said Hector, thoughtfully; “children can do a great many
things if they only resolutely set to work, and use the wits and the
strength that God has given them to work with. A few weeks ago, and we
should have thought it utterly impossible to have supported ourselves
in a lonely wilderness like this by our own exertions in fishing and
hunting.”
“If we had been lost in the forest, we must have died with hunger,” said
Catharine; “but let us be thankful to the good God who led us hither,
and gave us health and strength to help ourselves.”