“Now where the wave, with loud unquiet song,
Dash’d o’er the rocky channel, froths along,
Or where the silver waters soothed to rest,
The tree’s tall shadow sleeps upon its breast.”
COLERIDGE.
The Indian camp remained for nearly three weeks on this spot, _[FN:
Now known by the name of Cambelltown, though, there is but one log-house
and some pasture fields; it is a spot long used as a calling place for
the steamer that plies on the Otoanbee, between Gore’s Landing on the
Rice Lake and Peterborough, to take in fire-wood.]_ and then early one
morning the wigwams were all taken down, and the canoes, six in number,
proceeded up the river. There was very little variety in the scenery to
interest Catharine; the river still kept its slow flowing course between
low shores, thickly clothed with trees, without an opening through
which the eye might pierce to form an idea of the country beyond; not a
clearing, not a sight or sound of civilized man was there to be seen or
heard; the darting flight of the wild birds as they flitted across from
one side to the other, the tapping of the woodpeckers or shrill cry of
the blue jay, was all that was heard, from sunrise to sunset, on that
monotonous voyage. After many hours a decided change was perceived in
the current, which ran at a considerable increase of swiftness, so that
it required the united energy of both men and women to keep the light
vessels from drifting down the river again. They were in the Rapids,
_[FN: Formerly known as Whitla’s Rapids, now the site of the
Locks.]_ and it was hard work to stem the tide, and keep the upward
course of the waters. At length the rapids were passed, and the weary
Indian voyagers rested for a space on the bosom of a small but tranquil
lake. _[FN: The little lake about a mile below Peterborough and
above the Locks, formerly girt in by woods of pine and beech and maple,
now entirely divested of trees and forming part of the suburbs of the
town. ]_ The rising moon shed her silvery light upon the calm waters,
and heaven’s stars shone down into its quiet depths, as the canoes with
their dusky freight parted the glittering rays with their light paddles.
As they proceeded onward the banks rose on either side, still fringed
with pine, cedar and oaks. At an angle of the lake the banks on either
side ran out into two opposite peninsulas, forming a narrow passage or
gorge, contracting the lake once more into the appearance of a broad
river, much wider from shore to shore than any other part they had
passed through since they had left the entrance at the Rice Lake.
Catharine became interested in the change of scenery, her eye dwelt with
delight on the forms of glorious spreading oaks and lofty pines, green
cliff-like shores and low wooded islands; while as they proceeded the
sound of rapid flowing waters met her ear, and soon the white and broken
eddies rushing along with impetuous course were seen by the light of
the moon; and while she was wondering if the canoes were to stem those
rapids, at a signal from the old chief, the little fleet was pushed
to shore on a low flat of emerald verdure nearly opposite to the last
island. _[FN: Over the Otonabee, just between the rapids and the
island, a noble and substantial bridge has been built.]_
Here, under the shelter of some beautiful spreading black oaks, the
women prepared to set up their wigwams. They had brought the poles and
birch-bark covering from the encampment below, and soon all was
bustle and business; unloading the canoes, and raising the tents. Even
Catharine lent a willing hand to assist the females in bringing up the
stores, and sundry baskets containing fruits and other small wares. She
then kindly attended to the Indian children, certain dark-skinned babes,
who, bound upon their wooden cradles, were either set up against the
trunks of the trees, or swung to some lowly depending branch, there to
remain helpless and uncomplaining spectators of the scene.
Catharine thought these Indian babes were almost as much to be pitied
as herself, only that they were unconscious of their imprisoned state,
having from birth been used to no better treatment, and moreover they
were sure to be rewarded by the tender caresses of living mothers
when the season of refreshment and repose arrived; but she alas! was
friendless and alone, an orphan girl, reft of father, mother, kindred
and friends. One Father, one Friend, poor Catharine, thou hadst, even
He--the Father of the fatherless.
That night when the women and children were sleeping, Catharine stole
out of the wigwam, and climbed the precipitous bank beneath the shelter
of which the lodges had been erected. She found herself upon a grassy
plain, studded with majestic oaks and pines, so beautifully grouped that
they might have been planted by the hand of taste upon that velvet turf.
It was a delightful contrast to those dense dark forests through
which for so many many miles the waters of the Otonabee had flowed
on monotonously; here it was all wild and free, dashing along like a
restive steed rejoicing in its liberty, uncurbed and tameless.
Yes, here it was beautiful! Catharine gazed with joy upon the rushing
river, and felt her own heart expand as she marked its rapid course, as
it bounded murmuring and fretting over its rocky bed. “Happy, glorious
waters! you are not subject to the power of any living creature, no
canoe can ascend those surging waves; I would that I too, like thee,
were free to pursue my onward way--how soon would I flee away and be at
rest!” Such thoughts perhaps might have passed through the mind of the
lonely captive girl, as she sat at the foot of one giant oak, and looked
abroad over those moonlit waters, till, oppressed by the overwhelming
sense of the utter loneliness of the scene, the timid girl with
faltering step hurried down once more to the wigwams, silently crept
to the mat where her bed was spread, and soon forgot all her woes and
wanderings in deep tranquil sleep.
Catharine wondered that the Indians in erecting their lodges always
seemed to prefer the low, level, and often swampy grounds by the lakes
and rivers in preference to the higher and more healthy elevations. So
disregardful are they of this circumstance, that they do not hesitate to
sleep where the ground is saturated with moisture. They will then lay a
temporary flooring of cedar or any other bark beneath their feet, rather
than remove the tent a few feet higher up, where a drier soil may always
be found. This either arises from stupidity or indolence, perhaps from
both, but it is no doubt the cause of much of the sickness that prevails
among, them. With his feet stretched to the fire the Indian cares for
nothing else when reposing in his wigwam, and it is useless to urge the
improvement that might be made in his comfort; he listens with a face of
apathy, and utters his everlasting guttural, which saves him the trouble
of a more rational reply.
“Snow-bird” informed Catharine that the lodges would not again be
removed for some time, but that the men would hunt and fish, while the
squaws pursued their domestic labours. Catharine perceived that the
chief of the laborious part of the work fell to the share of the
females, who were very much more industrious and active than their
husbands; these, when not out hunting or fishing, were to be seen
reposing in easy indolence under the shade of the trees, or before the
tent fires, giving themselves little concern about anything that was
going on. The squaws were gentle, humble, and submissive; they bore
without a murmur pain, labour, hunger, and fatigue, and seemed to
perform every task with patience and good humour. They made the canoes,
in which the men sometimes assisted them, pitched the tents, converted
the skins of the animals which the men shot into clothes, cooked the
victuals, manufactured baskets of every kind, wove mats, dyed the quills
of the porcupine, sewed the mocassins, and in short performed a thousand
tasks which it would be difficult to enumerate.
Of the ordinary household work, such as is familiar to European females,
they of course knew nothing; they had no linen to wash or iron, no
floors to clean, no milking of cows, nor churning of butter.
Their carpets were fresh cedar boughs spread upon the ground, and only
renewed when they became offensively dirty from the accumulation of fish
bones and other offal, which are carelessly flung down during meals. Of
furniture they had none, their seat the ground, their table the
same, their beds mats or skins of animals,--such were the domestic
arrangements of the Indian camp. _[FN: Much improvement has taken
place of late years in the domestic economy of the Indians, and some of
their dwellings are clean and neat even for Europeans.]_ In the tent to
which Catharine belonged, which was that of the widow and her sons, a
greater degree of order and cleanliness prevailed than in any other, for
Catharine’s natural love of neatness and comfort induced her to strew
the floor with fresh cedar or hemlock every day or two, and to sweep
round the front of the lodge, removing all unseemly objects from its
vicinity. She never failed to wash herself in the river, and arrange her
hair with the comb that Louis had made for her; and took great care
of the little child, which she kept clean and well fed. She loved this
little creature, for it was soft and gentle, meek and playful as a
little squirrel, and the Indian mothers all looked with kinder eyes
upon the white maiden, for the loving manner in which she tended their
children. The heart of woman is seldom cold to those who cherish
their offspring, and Catharine began to experience the truth, that the
exercise of those human charities is equally beneficial to those who
give and those that receive; these things fall upon the heart as dew
upon a thirsty soil, giving and creating a blessing. But we will leave
Catharine for a short season, among the lodges of the Indians, and
return to Hector and Louis.