The first thing our voyageurs did after choosing a suitable situation,
was to build a log-hut. Being young backwoodsmen this was but a trifle
to them. All four of them knew how to handle an axe with dexterity.
The logs were soon cut and notched, and a small cabin was put up, and
roofed with split clap-boards. With the stones that lay near the shore
of the lake they built a chimney. It was but a rude structure, but it
drew admirably. Clay was wanted to "chink" the cabin, but that could
not be had, as the ground was hard frozen, and it was quite impossible
to make either clay or mud. Even hot water poured out would freeze into
ice in a few minutes. This was a serious want--for in such a cold
climate even the smallest hole in the walls will keep a house
uncomfortable, and to fill the interstices between the logs, so as to
make them air-tight, some soft substance was necessary. Grass was
suggested, and Lucien went off in search of it. After a while he
returned with an armful of half-withered grass, which all agreed would
be the very thing; and a large quantity was soon collected, as it grew
plentifully at a short distance from the cabin.
They now set to work to stuff it into the chinks; when, to their
astonishment, they found that this grass had a beautiful smell, quite as
powerful and as pleasant as that of mint or thyme! When a small
quantity of it was flung into the fire it filled the cabin with a
fragrance as agreeable as the costliest perfumes. It was the "scented
grass," which grows in great profusion in many parts of the Hudson's Bay
territory, and out of which the Indians often make their beds, burning
it also upon the fire to enjoy its aromatic perfume.
For the first day or two, at their new abode, the travellers had lived
altogether on fish. They had, of course, brought their net with them
from the island, and had set it near the shore in the same way as
before. They had captured as many as they wanted, and, strange to say,
at one haul they found no less than five different species in the net!
One kind, a white fish, the _Coregonus albus_ of naturalists, but which
is named "tittameg" by the fur-traders, they caught in great plenty.
This fish is found in nearly all the lakes and rivers of the Hudson's
Bay territory, and is much prized both by whites and Indians for its
delicate flavour. At some of the trading posts it often forms, for
weeks together, the only food which the residents can obtain; and they
are quite satisfied when they can get enough of it. The tittameg is not
a large fish; the largest attain to the weight of about eight pounds.
There was another and still smaller species, which, from its colour, the
voyageurs call the "poisson bleu," or blue fish. It is the _Coregonus
signifer_ of ichthyologists. It is a species of grayling, and frequents
sharp-running water, where it will leap at the fly like a trout.
Several kinds of trout also inhabit the Great Slave Lake, and some of
these attain to the enormous weight of eighty pounds! A few were
caught, but none of so gigantic proportions as this. Pike were also
taken in the net, and a species of burbot (_Gadus lota_). This last is
one of the most voracious of the finny tribe, and preys upon all others
that it is able to swallow. It devours whole quantities of cray-fish,
until its stomach becomes crammed to such a degree as to distort the
shape of its whole body. When this kind was drawn out, it was treated
very rudely by the boys--because its flesh was known to be extremely
unsavoury, and none of them cared to eat it. Marengo, however, had no
such scruples, and he was wont to make several hearty meals each day
upon the rejected burbot.
A fish diet exclusively was not the thing; and as our party soon grew
tired of it, the hunter Basil shouldered his rifle, and strode off into
the woods in search of game. The others remained working upon the
cabin, which was still far from being finished.
Basil kept along the edge of the lake in an easterly direction. He had
not gone more than a quarter of a mile, when he came upon a dry gravelly
ridge, which was thickly covered with a species of pine-trees that
resembled the Scotch fir (_Pinus sylvestris_). These trees were not
over forty feet in height, with very thick trunks and long flexible
branches. No other trees grew among them, for it is the nature of this
pine--which was the "scrub" or grey pine (_Pinus Banksiana)_ to
monopolise the ground wherever it grows. As Basil passed on, he noticed
that many of the trees were completely "barked," particularly on the
branches; and small pieces of the bark lay scattered over the ground, as
though it had been peeled off and gnawed by some animal. He was walking
quietly on and thinking what creature could have made such a wreck, when
he came to a place where the ground was covered with fine sand or dust.
In this, to his astonishment, he observed what he supposed to be the
tracks of human feet! They were not those of a man, but small tracks,
resembling the footsteps of a child of three or four years of age. He
was about stooping down to examine them more closely, when a voice
sounded in his ears exactly like the cry of a child! This brought him
suddenly to an erect attitude again, and he looked all round to discover
who or what had uttered that strange cry. He could see no one--child or
man--and strange, too, for he had a clear view through the tree-trunks
for several hundred yards around. He was filled with curiosity, not
unmixed with alarm; and, stepping forward a few paces, he was about to
bend down and examine the tracks a second time, when the singular cry
again startled him. This time it was louder than before, as if he was
closer to whatever had uttered it, but Basil now perceived that it
proceeded from above him. The creature from which it came was certainly
not upon the ground, but high up among the tops of the trees. He looked
up, and there, in the fork of one of the pines, he perceived a singular
and hideous-looking animal--such as he had never before seen. It was of
a brown colour, about the size of a terrier-dog, with thick shaggy hair,
and clumped up in the fork of the tree--so that its head and feet were
scarcely distinguishable. Its odd appearance, as well as the peculiar
cry which it had uttered, would have alarmed many a one of less courage
than our young hunter, and Basil was at first, as he afterwards
confessed, "slightly flurried;" but a moment's reflection told him what
the animal was--one of the most innocent and inoffensive of God's
creatures--the Canada porcupine. It was this, then, that had barked the
scrub-pines--for they are its favourite food; and it was its track--
which in reality very much resembles that of a child--that Basil had
seen in the sand.
The first thought of the young hunter was to throw up his rifle, and
send a bullet through the ungainly animal; which, instead of making any
effort to escape, remained almost motionless, uttering, at intervals,
its child-like screams. Basil, however, reflected that the report of
his rifle would frighten any large game that might chance to be near;
and as the porcupine was hardly worth a shot, he concluded, upon
reflection, it would be better to leave it alone. He knew--for he had
heard Lucien say so--that he would find the porcupine at any time, were
it a week, or even a month after--for these creatures remain sometimes a
whole winter in the same grove. He resolved, therefore, should no other
game turn up, to return for it; and, shouldering his rifle again, he
continued his course through the woods.
As he proceeded, the timber became thinner. The scrub-pines gave place
to poplar-trees, with here and there an undergrowth of willows. The
trees stood far apart, and the willows grew only in clumps or "islands,"
so that the view was nearly open for many hundred yards around. Basil
walked on with all the silence and watchfulness of a true "still"
hunter--for, among backwoodsmen, this species of hunting is so called.
He ascended a low hill, and keeping a tree in front of him, looked
cautiously over its crest. Before him, and stretching from the bottom
of the hill, was a level tract of considerable extent. It was bounded
on one side by the edge of the lake, and on all the others by thin
woods, similar to those through which the hunter had been for some time
travelling. Here and there, over the plain, there stood trees, far
apart from each other, and in nowise intercepting the view for a mile or
more. The ground was clear of underwood, except along the immediate
edge of the lake, which was fringed by a thicket of willows.
As Basil looked over the hill, he espied a small group of animals near
the interior border of the willows. He had never seen animals of the
same species before, but the genus was easily told. The tall antlered
horns, that rose upon the head of one of them, showed that they were
deer of some kind; and the immense size of the creature that bore them,
together with his ungainly form, his long legs, and ass-like ears, his
huge head with its overhanging lip, his short neck with its standing
mane, and, above all, the broad palmation of the horns themselves, left
Basil without any doubt upon his mind that the animals before him were
moose-deer--the largest, and perhaps the most awkward, of all the deer
kind. The one with the antlers was the male or bull-moose. The others
were the female and her two calves of the preceding year. The latter
were still but half-grown, and, like the female, were without the
"branching horns" that adorned the head of the old bull. They were all
of a dark-brown colour--looking blackish in the distance--but the large
one was darker than any of the others.
Basil's heart beat high, for he had often heard of the great moose, but
now saw it for the first time. In his own country it is not found, as
it is peculiarly a creature of the cold regions, and ranges no farther
to the south than the northern edge of the United States territory. To
the north it is met with as far as timber grows--even to the shores of
the Polar Sea! Naturalists are not certain, whether or not it be the
same animal with the elk (_Cervus alces_) of Europe. Certainly the two
are but little, if anything, different; but the name "elk" has been
given in America to quite another and smaller species of deer--the
wapiti (_Cervus Canadensis_). The moose takes its name from its Indian
appellation, "moosoa," or "wood-eater;" and this name is very
appropriate, as the animal lives mostly upon the leaves and twigs of
trees. In fact, its structure--like that of the camelopard--is such
that it finds great difficulty in reaching grass, or any other herbage,
except where the latter chances to be very tall, or grows upon the
declivity of a very steep hill. When it wishes to feed upon grass, the
moose usually seeks it in such situations; and it may often be seen
browsing up the side of a hill, with its legs spread widely on both
sides of its neck. But its favourite food is found at a more convenient
height, and consists of the young shoots of many species of trees. It
prefers those of the poplar, the birch-tree, and willows, and one kind
of these last, the red willow, is its particular favourite. The
"striped" maple (_Acer striatum_) is also much relished by the moose--
hence the name "moose-wood," by which this tree is known among the
hunters. It loves also the common water-lilies (_Nympha_); and in
summer it may be seen wading out into lakes, and plucking up their
succulent leaves. It takes to the water also for other purposes--to
cool its body, and rid itself of several species of gnats and mosquitoes
that at this season torment it exceedingly. At such times it is more
easily approached; and the Indians hunt it in their canoes, and kill it
in the water, both with spears and arrows. They never find the moose,
however, in large numbers--for it is a solitary animal, and only
associates in pairs during one part of the year, and in families at
another season--as Basil now found it. In winter the Indians track it
through the snow, following it upon snow-shoes. These give them the
advantage of skimming along the surface, while the moose plunges through
the deep drift, and is therefore impeded in its flight.
Notwithstanding, it will frequently escape from the hunter, after a
_chase of several days' duration_! Sometimes, in deep snow, a dozen or
more of these animals will be found in one place, where they have got
accidentally together. The snow will be trodden down until the place
appears as if enclosed by a wall. This the hunters term a
"moose-pound," and when found in such situations the moose are easily
approached and surrounded--when a general _battue_ takes place, in which
few or none of the animals are allowed to escape.
I have said that Basil's heart beat high at the sight of the moose. He
was very desirous of killing one--partly on account of the novelty of
the thing, and partly because he and his companions at the camp were
anxious for a change of diet. Moose-meat was the very thing; and he
knew that if he could return to camp with a few pieces of this strung
over his gun, he would receive a double welcome. He was well aware that
the flesh of the moose was of the most savoury and delicate kind, and
that the long pendulous upper lip is one of the "tit-bits" of the fur
countries. Moreover, the fine hide would be an acceptable addition to
their stock, as it is the best of all deerskins for mocassins, as well
as snow-shoes--articles which Basil knew would soon be needed. For
these reasons he was unusually desirous of killing one of the moose.
He knew it would be difficult to approach them. He had heard that they
were shyest at that very season--the beginning of winter--and indeed
such is the case. No deer is so difficult to get a shot at as a moose
in early winter. In summer it is not so--as then the mosquitoes torment
these animals to such a degree that they pay less heed to other enemies,
and the hunter can more easily approach them. In winter they are always
on the alert. Their sense of smell--as well as of sight and hearing--is
acute to an extreme degree, and they are cunning besides. They can
scent an enemy a long distance off--if the wind be in their favour--and
the snapping of a twig, or the slightest rustle of the leaves, is
sufficient to start them off. In their journeyings through the snow,
when they wish to rest themselves, they make a sort of _detour_, and,
coming back, lie down near the track which they have already passed
over. This gives them an opportunity of hearing any enemy that may be
following upon their trail, and also of making off in a side-direction,
while the latter will be looking steadfastly ahead for them.
Basil had heard of all these tricks of the moose--for many an old
moose-hunter had poured his tale into Basil's ear. He proceeded,
therefore, with all due caution. He first buried his hand in his
game-bag, and after a little groping brought out a downy feather which
had chanced to be there. This he placed lightly upon the muzzle of his
rifle, and having gently elevated the piece above his head, watched the
feather. After a moment, the breeze carried it off, and Basil noted the
direction it took. This is called, in hunter phrase, "tossing the
feather," and gave Basil the exact direction of the wind--an important
knowledge in the present case. To Basil's gratification he saw that it
was blowing down the lake, and nearly towards himself. He was not
exactly to leeward of the moose; but, what was better still, the willows
that fringed the lake were, for he could see them bending from the deer,
as the breeze blew freshly. He knew he could easily get among the
willows; and as they were not yet quite leafless, and, moreover, were
interspersed with tall reed-grass, they formed a tolerable cover under
which he might make his approach.
Without losing time, then, he made for the willows, and placing them
between himself and the game, commenced "approaching" along the shore of
the lake.
He had a full half-hour's creeping--at one time upon his hands and
knees--at another, crawling flat upon his breast like a gigantic lizard,
and now and then, at favourable spots, walking in a bent attitude. A
full half-hour was he, and much pain and patience did it cost him,
before getting within shot. But Basil was a hunter, and knew both how
to endure the pain and practise the patience--virtues that, in hunting
as well as in many other occupations, usually meet with their reward.
And Basil was likely to meet with his, for on parting the leaves, and
looking cautiously through, he saw that he had arrived at the right
spot. Within fifty yards of him he saw the high shoulders of the
bull-moose and his great flat antlers towering over the tops of the
willows, among the leaves of which the snout of the animal was buried.
He also caught a glimpse of parts of the other three beyond; but he
thought only of the bull, and it was upon him that he kept his eyes
fixed. Basil did not think of the quality of the meat, else he would
have selected either the cow or one of the calves. Had it been
buffaloes he would certainly have done so; but as he had never killed a
moose, he was determined to slay the leader of the herd.
Indeed, had he wished to shoot one of the others, it might not have been
so easy, as they were farther off, and he could only see the tops of
their shoulders over the willows. Neither did the bull offer a fair
mark. He stood face to face with the hunter, and Basil fancied that a
shot on the frontal bone might not kill him. He knew it would not kill
a buffalo. There was only one other part at which he could aim--the
fore-shoulder; and after waiting some moments for the animal to give him
a fairer chance, he took aim at this and fired. He heard a loud
cracking of hoofs, as the cow and calves shambled off over the plain,
but he saw that the bull was not with them. He was down behind the
willows. No doubt he was dead.