From such a luxurious dinner you may suppose that our young voyageurs
lived in prime style. But it was not always so. They had their fasts
as well as feasts. Sometimes for days they had nothing to eat but the
jerked deer-meat. No bread--no beer--no coffee, nothing but water--dry
venison and water. Of course, this is food enough for a hungry man; but
it can hardly be called luxurious living. Now and then a wild duck, or
a goose, or perhaps a young swan, was shot; and this change in their
diet was very agreeable. Fish were caught only upon occasions, for
often these capricious creatures refused Francois' bait, however
temptingly offered. After three weeks' coasting the Lake, they reached
the Saskatchewan, and turning up that stream, now travelled in a due
westerly direction. At the Grand Rapids, near the mouth of this river,
they were obliged to make a portage of no less than three miles, but the
magnificent view of these "Rapids" fully repaid them for the toil they
underwent in passing them.
The Saskatchewan is one of the largest rivers in America, being full
1600 miles in length, from its source in the Rocky Mountains to its
_debouchure_, under the name of the "Nelson River," in Hudson's Bay.
For some distance above Lake Winnipeg, the country upon its banks is
well wooded. Farther up, the river runs through dry sandy prairies that
extend westward to the foot-hills of the Rocky Mountains. Many of these
prairies may be properly called "deserts." They contain lakes as salt
as the ocean itself, and vast tracts--hundreds of square miles in
extent--where not a drop of water is to be met with. But the route of
our voyageurs did not lie over these prairies. It was their intention,
after reaching Cumberland House, to turn again in a northerly direction.
One evening, when within two days' journey of the Fort, they had
encamped upon the bank of the Saskatchewan. They had chosen a beautiful
spot for their camp, where the country, swelling into rounded hills, was
prettily interspersed with bushy copses of _Amelanchiers_, and _Rosa
blanda_, whose pale red flowers were conspicuous among the green leaves,
and filled the air with a sweet fragrance, that was wafted to our
voyageurs upon the sunny breeze. The ground was covered with a grassy
sward enamelled by the pink flowers of the _Cleome_, and the deeper red
blossoms of the beautiful wind-flower (_Anemone_). Upon that day our
travellers had not succeeded in killing any game, and their dinner was
likely to consist of nothing better than dry venison scorched over the
coals. As they had been travelling all the morning against a sharp
current, and, of course, had taken turn about at the paddles, they all
felt fatigued, and none of them was inclined to go in search of game.
They had flung themselves down around the fire, and were waiting until
the venison should be broiled for dinner.
The camp had been placed at the foot of a tolerably steep hill, that
rose near the banks of the river. There was another and higher hill
facing it, the whole front of which could be seen by our travellers as
they sat around their fire. While glancing their eyes along its
declivity, they noticed a number of small protuberances or mounds
standing within a few feet of each other. Each of them was about a foot
in height, and of the form of a truncated cone--that is, a cone with its
top cut off, or beaten down.
"What are they?" inquired Francois.
"I fancy," answered Lucien, "they are marmot-houses."
"They are," affirmed Norman; "there are plenty of them in this country."
"Oh! marmots!" said Francois. "Prairie-dogs, you mean?--the same we met
with on the Southern prairies?"
"I think not," replied Norman: "I think the prairie-dogs are a different
sort. Are they not, Cousin Luce?"
"Yes, yes," answered the naturalist; "these must be a different species.
There are too few of them to be the houses of prairie-dogs. The `dogs'
live in large settlements, many hundreds of them in one place; besides,
their domes are somewhat different in appearance from these. The mounds
of the prairie-dogs have a hole in the top or on one side. These, you
see, have not. The hole is in the ground beside them, and the hill is
in front, made by the earth taken out of the burrow, just as you have
seen it at the entrance of a rat's hole. They are marmots, I have no
doubt, but of a different species from the prairie-dog marmots."
"Are there not many kinds of marmots in America? I have heard so," said
Francois.
This question was of course addressed to Lucien.
"Yes," answered he. "The _fauna_ of North America is peculiarly rich in
species of these singular animals. There are thirteen kinds of them,
well-known to naturalists; and there are even some varieties in these
thirteen kinds that might almost be considered distinct species. I have
no doubt, moreover, there are yet other species which have not been
described. Perhaps, altogether, there are not less than twenty
different kinds of marmots in North America. As only one or two species
are found in the settled territories of the United States, it was
supposed, until lately, that there were no others. Latterly the
naturalists of North America have been very active in their researches,
and no genus of animals has rewarded them so well as the marmots--
unless, perhaps, it may be the squirrels. Almost every year a new
species of one or the other of these has been found--mostly inhabiting
the vast wilderness territories that lie between the Mississippi and the
Pacific Ocean.
"As regards the marmots, the _closet-naturalists_, as usual, have
rendered their history as complicated and difficult to be understood as
possible. They have divided them into several genera, because one kind
happens to have a larger tubercle upon its tooth than another, or a
little more curving in its claws, or a shorter tail. It is true that in
the thirteen species some differ considerably from the others in size,
colour, and other respects. Yet, for all that, there is such an
identity, if I may so express it, about the mode of life, the food, the
appearance, and habits of all the thirteen, that I think it is both
absurd and ill-judged to render the study of them more difficult, by
thus dividing them into so many genera. They are all _marmots_, that is
what they are; and why confound the study of them by calling them
spermophiles and arctomys, and such-like hard names?"
"I quite agree with you, Luce," said the hunter, Basil, who, although
not averse to the study of natural history (all hunters, I believe, love
it more or less), had no great opinion of the closet-naturalists and
"babblers about teeth," as he contemptuously called them.
"When a family of animals," continued Lucien, "contains a great many
species, and these species differ widely from each other, I admit that
it may then be convenient and useful to class them into genera, and
sometimes even sub-genera; but, on the other hand, when there are only a
few species, and these closely allied to each other, I think nothing can
be more ridiculous than this dividing and subdividing, and giving such
unpronounceable names to them. It is this that renders the study
difficult, because even the committing to memory such a string of
unmeaning phrases is of itself no easy task. Take, for example, such a
phrase as `_Arctomys spermophilus Rickardsonii_,' which, although nearly
a yard long, means simply the `tawny marmot.' Do not mistake me,"
continued Lucien; "I do not object to the use of the Greek or Latin
phraseology used in such cases. Some universal language must be
adopted, so that the naturalists of different countries may understand
each other. But then this language should, when translated, describe
the animal, by giving some of its characteristics, and thus have a
meaning. On the contrary, it usually, when put into plain English,
gives us only the name--often a clumsy and unpronounceable German one--
of some obscure friend of the author, or, as is not unfrequently the
case, some lordly patron for whom your closet-naturalist entertains a
flunkeyish regard, and avails himself of this means of making it known
to his Maecenas. In my opinion," continued Lucien, warming with the
enthusiasm of a true naturalist, "it is a most impertinent interference
with the beautiful things of Nature--her birds and quadrupeds, her
plants and flowers--to couple them with the names of kings, princes,
lords, and lordlings, who chance to be the local gods of some
closet-naturalist. It is these catalogue-makers who generally multiply
synonymes so as to render science unintelligible. Sitting in their
easy-chairs they know little or nothing of the habits of the animals
about which they write; and therefore, to write something original, they
multiply names, and give measurements _ad infinitum_, and this among
them constitutes a science. I do not, of course, include among these
the man whose name is given--Richardson. No; he was a true naturalist,
who travelled and underwent hardships to earn the high name which he
bears and so well deserves."
"Brother Luce," said Basil, "you grow excited upon this subject, and
that is something of a rarity to see. I agree with you, however, in all
you have said. Previous to our leaving home I read several books
upon natural history. They were the works of distinguished
closet-naturalists. Well, I found that all the information they
contained about the animals of these Northern regions--at least, all
that could be called _information_--I had read somewhere before. After
thinking for a while I recollected where. It was in the pages of the
traveller Hearne--a man who, among these scientific gentlemen, is
considered only in the light of a rude traveller, and not deserving the
name of naturalist. Hearne journeyed to the Arctic Sea so early as the
year 1771; and to him the world is indebted for their first knowledge of
the fact that there was no strait across the Continent south of the
seventieth parallel of latitude."
"Yes," said Lucien, "he was sent out by the Hudson's Bay Company,
perhaps more scantily furnished than any explorer ever was before. He
underwent the most dreadful hardships and perils, and has left behind
him an account of the inhabitants and natural history of these parts, so
full and so truthful, that it has not only stood the test of subsequent
observation, but the closet-naturalists have added but little to it ever
since. Most of them have been satisfied with giving just what poor
Hearne had gathered--as, in fact, they knew nothing more, and could not,
therefore, add anything. Some of them have quoted his own words, and
given him the credit of his vast labour; while others have endeavoured
to pass off Hearne's knowledge as their own, by giving a slightly
altered paraphrase of his language. This sort of thing," said Lucien,
"makes me indignant."
"It's downright mean," interposed Norman. "All of us in this country
have heard of Hearne. He was a right hardy traveller, and no mistake
about it."
"Well, then," said Lucien, cooling down, and resuming the subject of the
marmots, "these little animals seem to form a link between the squirrels
and rabbits. On the side of the squirrels they very naturally join on,
if I may use the expression, to the ground-squirrel, and some of them
differ but little in their habits from many of the latter. Other
species, again, are more allied to the rabbits, and less like the
squirrels; and there are two or three kinds that I should say--using a
Yankee expression--have a `sprinkling' of the rat in them. Some, as the
ground-hog, or wood-chuck of the United States, are as large as rabbits,
while others, as the leopard-marmot, are not bigger than Norway rats.
Some species have cheek-pouches, in which they can carry a large
quantity of seeds, nuts, and roots, when they wish to hoard them up for
future use. These are the spermophiles, and some species of these have
more capacious pouches than others. Their food differs somewhat,
perhaps according to the circumstances in which they may be placed. In
all cases it is vegetable. Some, as the prairie-dogs, live upon
grasses, while others subsist chiefly upon seeds, berries, and leaves.
It was long supposed that the marmots, like the squirrels, laid up
stores against the winter. I believe this is not the case with any of
the different species. I know for certain that most of them pass the
winter in a state of torpidity, and of course require no provisions, as
they eat nothing during that season. In this we observe one of those
cases in which Nature so beautifully adapts a creature to its
circumstances. In the countries where many of the marmots are found, so
severe are the winters, and so barren the soil, that it would be
impossible for these creatures to get a morsel of food for many long
months. During this period, therefore, Nature suspends her functions,
by putting them into a deep, and, for aught we know to the contrary, a
pleasant sleep. It is only when the snow melts, under the vernal sun,
and the green blades of grass and the spring flowers array themselves on
the surface of the earth, that the little marmots make their appearance
again. Then the warm air, penetrating into their subterranean abodes,
admonishes them to awake from their protracted slumber, and come forth
to the enjoyment of their summer life. These animals may be said,
therefore, to have no winter. Their life is altogether a season of
summer and sunshine.
"Some of the marmots," continued Lucien, "live in large communities, as
the prairie-dogs; others, in smaller tribes, while still other species
lead a solitary life, going only in pairs, or at most in families.
Nearly all of them are burrowing animals, though there are one or two
species that are satisfied with a cleft in the rock, or a hole among
loose stones for their nests. Some of them are tree-climbers, but it is
supposed they only ascend trees in search of food, as they do not make
their dwellings there. Many of the species are very prolific, the
females bringing forth eight, and even ten young at a birth.
"The marmots are extremely shy and watchful creatures. Before going to
feed, they usually reconnoitre the ground from the tops of their little
mounds. Some species do not have such mounds, and for this purpose
ascend any little hillock that may be near. Nearly all have the curious
habit of placing sentries to watch while the rest are feeding. These
sentries station themselves on some commanding point, and when they see
an enemy approaching give warning to the others by a peculiar cry. In
several of the species this cry resembles the syllables `seek-seek'
repeated with a hiss. Others bark like `toy-dogs,' while still other
kinds utter a whistling noise, from which one species derives its
trivial name of `whistler' among the traders, and is the `siffleur' of
the Canadian voyageurs.
"The `whistler's' call of alarm can be heard at a great distance; and
when uttered by the sentinel is repeated by all the others as far as the
troop extends.
"The marmots are eaten both by Indians and white hunters. Sometimes
they are captured by pouring water into their burrows; but this method
only succeeds in early spring, when the animals awake out of their
torpid state, and the ground is still frozen hard enough to prevent the
water from filtering away. They are sometimes shot with guns; but,
unless killed upon the spot, they will escape to their burrows, and
tumble in before the hunter can lay his hands upon them."