It was the spring season, though late. The snow had entirely
disappeared from the hills, and the ice from the water, and the melting
of both had swollen the river, and rendered its current more rapid than
usual. Our young voyageurs needed not therefore to ply their oars,
except now and then to guide the canoe; for these little vessels have no
rudder, but are steered by the paddles. The skilful voyageurs can shoot
them to any point they please, simply by their dexterous handling of the
oars; and Basil, Lucien, and Francois, had had sufficient practice both
with "skiffs" and "dugouts" to make good oarsmen of all three. They had
made many a canoe trip upon the lower Mississippi and the bayous of
Louisiana; besides their journey up the Saint Peter's had rendered them
familiar with the management of their birchen craft. An occasional
stroke of the paddle kept them in their course, and they floated on
without effort. Norman--such was the name of their Canadian or Highland
cousin--sat in the bow and directed their course. This is the post of
honour in a canoe; and as he had more experience than any of them in
this sort of navigation, he was allowed habitually to occupy this post.
Lucien sat in the stern. He held in his hands a book and pencil; and as
the canoe glided onward, he was noting down his memoranda. The trees
upon the banks were in leaf--many of them in blossom--and as the little
craft verged near the shore, his keen eye followed the configuration of
the leaves, to discover any new species that might appear. There is a
rich vegetation upon the banks of the Red River; but the _flora_ is far
different from that which appears upon the low _alluvion_ of Louisiana.
It is Northern, but not Arctic. Oaks, elms, and poplars, are seen
mingling with birches, willows, and aspens. Several species of
indigenous fruit trees were observed by Lucien, among which were
crab-apple, raspberry, strawberry, and currant. There was also seen the
fruit called by the voyageurs "le poire," but which in English
phraseology is known as the "service-berry" (_Amelanchier ovalis_). It
grows upon a small bush or shrub of six or eight feet high, with smooth
pinnate leaves. These pretty red berries are much esteemed and eaten
both by Indians and whites, who preserve them by drying, and cook them
in various ways. There was still another bush that fixed the attention
of our young botanist, as it appeared all along the banks, and was a
_characteristic_ of the vegetation of the country. It was not over
eight feet in height, with spreading branches of a grey colour. Its
leaves were three inches wide, and somewhat lobed liked those of the
oak. Of course, at this early season, the fruit was not ripe upon it;
but Lucien knew the fruit well. When ripe it resembles very much a red
cherry, or, still more, a cranberry, having both the appearance and
acrid taste of the latter. Indeed, it is sometimes used as a substitute
for cranberries in the making of pies and tarts; and in many parts it is
called the "bush cranberry." The name, however, by which it is known
among the Indians of Red River is "_anepeminan_," from "_nepen_,"
summer, and "_minan_" berry. This has been corrupted by the fur-traders
and voyageurs into "Pembina;" hence, the name of a river which runs into
the Red, and also he name of the celebrated but unsuccessful settlement
of "Pembina," formed by Lord Selkirk many years ago. Both took their
names from this berry that grows in abundance in the neighbourhood. The
botanical appellation of this curious shrub is _Viburnum oxycoccos_; but
there is another species of the viburnum, which is also styled
"oxycoccos." The common "snowball bush" of our gardens is a plant of
the same genus, and very like the "Pembina" both in leaf and flower. In
fact, in a wild state they might be regarded as the same; but it is
well-known that the flowers of the snowball are sterile, and do not
produce the beautiful bright crimson berries of the "Pembina." Lucien
lectured upon these points to his companions as they floated along.
Norman listened with astonishment to his philosophic cousin, who,
although he had never been in this region before, knew more of its
plants and trees than he did himself. Basil also was interested in the
explanations given by his brother. On the contrary, Francois, who cared
but little for botanical studies, or studies of any sort, was occupied
differently. He sat near the middle of the canoe, double-barrel in
hand, eagerly watching for a shot. Many species of water-fowl were upon
the river, for it was now late in the spring, and the wild geese and
ducks had all arrived, and were passing northward upon their annual
migration. During the day Francois had got several shots, and had
"bagged" three wild geese, all of different kinds, for there are many
species of wild geese in America. He had also shot some ducks. But
this did not satisfy him. There was a bird upon the river that could
not be approached. No matter how the canoe was manoeuvred, this shy
creature always took flight before Francois could get within range. For
days he had been endeavouring to kill one. Even upon the Saint Peter's
many of them had been seen, sometimes in pairs, at other times in small
flocks of six or seven, but always shy and wary. The very difficulty of
getting a shot at them, along with the splendid character of the birds
themselves, had rendered Francois eager to obtain one. The bird itself
was no other than the great wild swan--the king of aquatic birds.
"Come, brother!" said Francois, addressing Lucien, "bother your
viburnums and your oxycocks! Tell us something about these swans. See!
there goes another of them! What a splendid fellow he is! I'd give
something to have him within range of buck-shot."
As Francois spoke he pointed down-stream to a great white bird that was
seen moving out from the bank. It was a swan, and one of the very
largest kind--a "trumpeter" (_Cygnus buccinator_).
It had been feeding in a sedge of the wild rice (_Zizania aquatica_),
and no doubt the sight of the canoe or the plash of the guiding oar had
disturbed, and given it the alarm. It shot out from the reeds with head
erect and wings slightly raised, offering to the eyes of the voyageurs a
spectacle of graceful and majestic bearing, that, among the feathered
race at least, is quite inimitable.
A few strokes of its broad feet propelled it into the open water near
the middle of the stream, when, making a half wheel, it turned head down
the river, and swam with the current.
At the point where it turned it was not two hundred yards ahead of the
canoe. Its apparent boldness in permitting them to come so near without
taking wing, led Francois to hope that they might get still nearer; and,
begging his companions to ply the paddles, he seized hold of his
double-barrel, and leaned forward in the canoe. Basil also conceived a
hope that a shot was to be had, for he took up his rifle, and looked to
the cock and cap. The others went steadily and quietly to work at the
oars. In a few moments the canoe cleft the current at the rate of a
galloping horse, and one would have supposed that the swan must either
at once take wing or be overtaken.
Not so, however. The "trumpeter" knew his game better than that. He
had full confidence both in his strength and speed upon the water. He
was not going to undergo the trouble of a fly, until the necessity arose
for so doing; and, as it was, he seemed to be satisfied that that
necessity had not yet arrived. The swim cost him much less muscular
exertion than flying would have done, and he judged that the current,
here very swift, would carry him out of reach of his pursuers.
It soon began to appear that he judged rightly; and the voyageurs, to
their chagrin, saw that, instead of gaining upon him, as they had
expected, every moment widened the distance between him and the canoe.
The bird had an advantage over his pursuers. Three distinct powers
propelled him, while they had only two to rely upon. He had the current
in his favour--so had they. He had oars or paddles--his feet; they had
oars as well. He "carried sail," while they spread not a "rag." The
wind chanced to blow directly down-stream, and the broad wings of the
bird, held out from his body, and half extended, caught the very pith of
the breeze on their double concave surfaces, and carried him through the
water with the velocity of an arrow. Do you think that he was not aware
of this advantage when he started in the race? Do you suppose that
these birds do not _think_? I for one am satisfied they do, and look
upon every one who prates about the _instinct_ of these creatures as a
philosopher of a very old school indeed. Not only does the great swan
think, but so does your parrot, and your piping bullfinch, and the
little canary that hops on your thumb. All think, and _reason_, and
_judge_. Should it ever be your fortune to witness the performance of
those marvellous birds, exhibited by the graceful Mademoiselle
Vandermeersch in the fashionable _salons_ of Paris and London, you will
agree with me in the belief that the smallest of them has a mind like
yourself.
Most certainly the swan, which our voyageurs were pursuing, thought, and
reasoned, and judged, and calculated his distance, and resolved to keep
on "the even tenor of his way," without putting himself to extra trouble
by beating the air with his wings, and lifting his heavy body--thirty
pounds at least--up into the heavens. His judgment proved sound; for,
in less than ten minutes from the commencement of the chase, he had
gained a clear hundred yards upon his pursuers, and continued to widen
the distance. At intervals he raised his beak higher than usual, and
uttered his loud booming note, which fell upon the ears of the voyageurs
as though it had been sent back in mockery and defiance.
They would have given up the pursuit, had they not noticed that a few
hundred yards farther down the river made a sharp turn to the right.
The swan, on reaching this, would no longer have the wind in his favour.
This inspired them with fresh hopes. They thought they would be able
to overtake him after passing the bend, and then, either get a shot at
him, or force him into the air. The latter was the more likely; and,
although it would be no great gratification to see him fly off, yet they
had become so interested in this singular chase that they desired to
terminate it by putting the trumpeter to some trouble. They bent,
therefore, with fresh energy to their oars, and pulled onward in the
pursuit. First the swan, and after him the canoe, swung round the bend,
and entered the new "reach" of the river. The voyageurs at once
perceived that the bird now swam more slowly. He no longer "carried
sail," as the wind was no longer in his favour. His wings lay closely
folded to his body, and he moved only by the aid of his webbed feet and
the current, which last happened to be sluggish, as the river at this
part spread over a wide expanse of level land. The canoe was evidently
catching up, and each stroke was bringing the pursuers nearer to the
pursued.
After a few minutes' brisk pulling, the trumpeter had lost so much
ground that he was not two hundred yards in the advance, and "dead
ahead." His body was no longer carried with the same gracefulness, and
the majestic curving of his neck had disappeared. His bill protruded
forward, and his thighs began to drag the water in his wake. He was
evidently on the threshold of flight. Both Francois and Basil saw this,
as they stood with their guns crossed and ready.
At this moment a shrill cry sounded over the water. It was the scream
of some wild creature, ending in a strange laugh, like the laugh of a
maniac!
On both sides of the river there was a thick forest of tall trees of the
cotton-wood species (_Populus angustifolia_). From this forest the
strange cry had proceeded, and from the right bank. Its echoes had
hardly ceased, when it was answered by a similar cry from the trees upon
the left. So like were the two, that it seemed as if some one of God's
wild creatures was mocking another. These cries were hideous enough to
frighten any one not used to them. They had not that effect upon our
voyageurs, who knew their import. One and all of them were familiar
with the voice of the _white-headed eagle_!
The trumpeter knew it as well as any of them, but on him it produced a
far different effect. His terror was apparent, and his intention was
all at once changed. Instead of rising into the air, as he had
premeditated, he suddenly lowered his head, and disappeared under the
water!
Again was heard the wild scream and the maniac laugh; and the next
moment an eagle swept out from the timber, and, after a few strokes of
its broad wing, poised itself over the spot where the trumpeter had gone
down. The other, its mate, was seen crossing at the same time from the
opposite side.
Presently the swan rose to the surface, but his head was hardly out of
the water when the eagle once more uttered its wild note, and, half
folding its wings, darted down from above. The swan seemed to have
expected this, for before the eagle could reach the surface, he had gone
under a second time, and the latter, though passing with the velocity of
an arrow, plunged his talons in the water to no purpose. With a cry of
disappointment the eagle mounted back into the air, and commenced
wheeling in circles over the spot. It was now joined by its mate, and
both kept round and round watching for the reappearance of their
intended victim.
Again the swan came to the surface, but before either of the eagles
could swoop upon him he had for the third time disappeared. The swan is
but an indifferent diver; but under such circumstances he was likely to
do his best at it. But what could it avail him? He must soon rise to
the surface to take breath--each time at shorter intervals. He would
soon become fatigued and unable to dive with sufficient celerity, and
then his cruel enemies would be down upon him with their terrible
talons. Such is the usual result, unless the swan takes to the air,
which he sometimes does. In the present case he had built his hopes
upon a different means of escape. He contemplated being able to conceal
himself in a heavy sedge of bulrushes (_Scirpus lacustris_) that grew
along the edge of the river, and towards these he was evidently
directing his course under the water. At each emersion he appeared some
yards nearer them, until at length he rose within a few feet of their
margin, and diving again was seen no more! He had crept in among the
sedge, and no doubt was lying with only his head, or part of it, above
the water, his body concealed by the broad leaves of the _nymphae_,
while the head itself could not be distinguished among the white flowers
that lay thickly along the surface. The eagles now wheeled over the
sedge, flapping the tops of the bulrushes with their broad wings, and
screaming with disappointed rage. Keen as were their eyes they could
not discover the hiding-place of their victim. No doubt they would have
searched for it a long while, but the canoe--which they now appeared to
notice for the first time--had floated near; and, becoming aware of
their own danger, both mounted into the air again, and with a farewell
scream flew off, and alighted at some distance down the river.
"A swan for supper!" shouted Francois, as he poised his gun for the
expected shot.
The canoe was headed for the bulrushes near the point where the
trumpeter had been last seen; and a few strokes of the paddles brought
the little craft with a whizzing sound among the sedge. But the culms
of the rushes were so tall, and grew so closely together, that the
canoemen, after entering, found to their chagrin they could not see six
feet around them. They dared not stand up, for this is exceedingly
dangerous in a birch canoe, where the greatest caution is necessary to
keep the vessel from careening over. Moreover, the sedge was so thick,
that it was with difficulty they could use their oars. They remained
stationary for a time, surrounded by a wall of green bulrush. They soon
perceived that that would never do, and resolved to push back into the
open water. Meanwhile Marengo had been sent into the sedge, and was now
heard plunging and sweltering about in search of the game. Marengo was
not much of a water-dog by nature, but he had been trained to almost
every kind of hunting, and his experience among the swamps of Louisiana
had long since relieved him of all dread for the water. His masters
therefore had no fear but that Marengo would "put up" the trumpeter.
Marengo had been let loose a little too soon. Before the canoe could be
cleared of the entangling sedge, the dog was heard to utter one of his
loud growls, then followed a heavy plunge, there was a confused
fluttering of wings, and the great white bird rose majestically into the
air! Before either of the gunners could direct their aim, he was beyond
the range of shot, and both prudently reserved their fire. Marengo
having performed his part, swam back to the canoe, and was lifted over
the gunwale. The swan, after clearing the sedge, rose almost vertically
into the air. These birds usually fly at a great elevation--sometimes
entirely beyond the reach of sight. Unlike the wild geese and ducks,
they never alight upon land, but always upon the bosom of the water. It
was evidently the intention of this one to go far from the scene of his
late dangers, perhaps to the great Lake Winnipeg itself. After
attaining a height of several hundred yards, he flew forward in a
horizontal course, and followed the direction of the stream. His flight
was now regular, and his trumpet-note could be heard at intervals, as,
with outstretched neck, he glided along the heavens. He seemed to feel
the pleasant sensations that every creature has after an escape from
danger, and no doubt he fancied himself secure. But in this fancy he
deceived himself. Better for him had he risen a few hundred yards
higher, or else had uttered his self-gratulation in a more subdued tone;
for it was heard and answered, and that response was the maniac laugh of
the white-headed eagle. At the same instant two of these birds--those
already introduced--were seen mounting into the air. They did not fly
up vertically, as the swan had done, but in spiral curves, wheeling and
crossing each other as they ascended. They were making for a point that
would intersect the flight of the swan should he keep on in his
horizontal course. This, however, he did not do. With an eye as quick
as theirs, he saw that he was "headed;" and, stretching his long neck
upward, he again pursued an almost vertical line. But he had to carry
thirty pounds of flesh and bones, while the largest of the eagles--the
female bird--with a still broader spread of wing, was a "light weight"
of only seven. The result of this difference was soon apparent. Before
the trumpeter had got two hundred yards higher, the female of the eagles
was seen wheeling around him on the same level. The swan was now
observed to double, fly downward, and then upward again, while his
mournful note echoed back to the earth. But his efforts were in vain.
After a series of contortions and manoeuvres, the eagle darted forward,
with a quick toss threw herself back downward, and, striking upward,
planted her talons in the under part of the wing of her victim. The
lacerated shaft fell uselessly down; and the great white bird, no longer
capable of flight, came whistling through the air. But it was not
allowed to drop directly to the earth; it would have fallen on the bosom
of the broad river, and that the eagles did not wish, as it would have
given them some trouble to get the heavy carcass ashore. As soon as the
male--who was lower in the air--saw that his partner had struck the
bird, he discontinued his upward flight, and, poising himself on his
spread tail, waited its descent. A single instant was sufficient. The
white object passed him still fluttering; but the moment it was below
his level he shot after it like an arrow, and, clutching it in his
talons, with an outward stroke sent it whizzing in a diagonal direction.
The next moment a crashing was heard among the twigs, and a dull sound
announced that the swan had fallen upon the earth.
The eagles were now seen sailing downward, and soon disappeared among
the tops of the trees.
The canoe soon reached the bank; and Francois, accompanied by Basil and
Marengo, leaped ashore, and went in search of the birds. They found the
swan quite dead and lying upon its back as the eagles had turned it.
Its breast was torn open, and the crimson blood, with which they had
been gorging themselves, was spread in broad flakes over its snowy
plumage. The eagles themselves, scared by the dog Marengo, had taken
flight before the boys could get within shot of them.
As it was just the hour for a "noon halt" and a luncheon, the swan was
carried to the bank of the river, where a crackling fire was soon
kindled to roast him; and while this operation was going on the
"naturalist" was requested by his companions to give them an account of
the "swans of America."