They left their skin-couch at an early hour, close after daybreak.
Hunger and anxiety drove them out of their tent. Not a morsel of
anything for breakfast! They looked abroad over the country, in order,
if possible, to descry some living creature. None could be seen--
nothing but the wilderness waste of snow, with here and there the side
of a steep hill, or a rock showing cold and bleak. Even the wolves that
had robbed them were no longer to be seen, as if these creatures knew
that they had got all that was worth having, and had now taken
themselves off to hunt for plunder elsewhere.
The situation of our travellers was really one of extreme peril,
although it may be difficult for you, young reader, to conceive why it
should be so. They, however, knew it well. They knew that they might
travel for days through that inhospitable region, without falling in
with anything that would make a single meal for them. But less time
than that would suffice to starve them all. Already they felt the pangs
of hunger--for they had not eaten since their breakfast of the preceding
day, the wolves having interrupted their preparations for dinner.
It was of no use remaining where they were; so, striking their tent once
more, they travelled forward. It was but poor consolation to them that
they travelled much lighter than before. They had nothing to carry but
their guns, and these they had got ready for work--so that their journey
partook somewhat of the character of a hunting excursion. They did not
even follow a direct course, but occasionally turned to one side or the
other, wherever a clump of willows, or any other roughness on the
ground, looked like it might be the shelter of game. But during that
whole day--although they travelled from near sunrise to sunset--not a
living thing was seen; and for the second night they went supperless to
bed.
A man will bear hunger for many days--some more, some less--without
actually dying of it; but at no period will his sufferings be greater
than during the third or fourth day. He will grow more feeble
afterwards, but the pain which he endures will not be greater.
On the third day the sufferings of our party were extreme. They began
to chew pieces of their skin-tent and blankets; but although this took
the sharp edge off their appetites, it added nothing to their strength;
and they still craved for food, and grew feebler.
To use a poetical phrase, Marengo now became the "cynosure of every
eye." Marengo was not very fat. The sledge and short rations had
thinned him down, and his ribs could be easily traced. Although the
boys, and Basil in particular, would have suffered much before
sacrificing him, yet starvation will reconcile a man to part with his
best friend. In spite of their friendship for Marengo, his masters
could not help scanning him from time to time with hungry looks.
Marengo was an old dog, and, no doubt, as tough as a piece of
tan-leather; but their appetites were made up for anything.
It was near midday. They had started early, as on the day before. They
were trudging wearily along, and making but little progress. Marengo
was struggling with his sledge, feeble as any of the party. Basil saw
that the eyes of his companions were from time to time bent upon the
dog; and though none of them said anything, he understood the thoughts
that were passing within them. He knew that none of them wished to
propose it--as Basil was the real master of Marengo--but their glances
were sufficiently intelligible to him. He looked at the downcast
countenance of the once merry Francois,--at the serious air of Norman--
at the wan cheek and sunken eye of Lucien, whom Basil dearly loved. He
hesitated no longer. His duty to his companions at once overcame his
affection for his faithful dog.
"We must kill him!" said he, suddenly stopping, and pointing to Marengo.
The rest halted.
"I fear there's no help for it," said Norman, turning his face in every
direction, and sweeping the surface of the snow with hopeless glances.
Francois also assented to the proposal.
"Let us make a condition," suggested Lucien; "I for one could walk five
miles farther." And as Lucien said this, he made an effort to stand
erect, and look strong and brave; but Basil knew it was an effort of
_generosity_.
"No," said he,--"no, dear Luce. You are done up. We must kill the
dog!"
"Nonsense, Basil, you mistake," replied the other; "I assure you I am
far from being done up. I could go much farther yet. Stay!" continued
he, pointing ahead; "you see yonder rocks? They are about three miles
off, I should think. They lie directly in our course. Well, now, let
us agree to this condition. Let us give poor Marengo a chance for his
life. If we find nothing before reaching those rocks, why then--"
And Lucien, seeing Marengo gazing up in his face, left the sentence
unfinished. The poor brute looked up at all of them as though he
understood every word that they were saying; and his mute appeal, had it
been necessary, would not have been thrown away. But it did not require
that to get him the proposed respite. All agreed willingly with
Lucien's proposition; and, shouldering their pieces, the party moved on.
Lucien had purposely understated the distance to the rocks. It was
five, instead of three miles; and some of them made it full ten, as they
were determined Marengo should have the benefit of every chance. They
deployed like skirmishers; and not a brake or brush that lay to the
right or left of the path but was visited and beaten by one or other of
them. Their diligence was to no purpose. After two hours' weary work,
they arrived among the rocks, having seen not a trace of either
quadruped or bird.
"Come!" cried Lucien in his now feeble voice, still trying to look
cheerful, "we must pass through them. There is a chance yet. Let him
have fair play. The rocks were to be the limit, but it was not stated
what part of them. Let us pass through to the other side--they do not
extend far."
Encouraged by the words of Lucien, the party entered among the rocks,
moving on separate paths. They had gone only a few paces, when a shout
from Norman caused the rest to look to him for an explanation. No
animal was in sight. Had he seen any? No; but something that gratified
him certainly, for his voice and manner expressed it.
"What is it?" inquired the others, all speaking at the same time.
"_Tripe de roche_!" answered he.
"_Tripe de roche_?"
"Yes," replied Norman, "look there!" and he pointed to one of the rocks
directly ahead of them, at the same time moving forward to it. The
others hastened up after. On reaching the rock, they saw what Norman
had meant by the words _tripe de roche_ (rock-tripe). It was a black,
hard, crumply substance, that nearly covered the surface of the rock,
and was evidently of a vegetable nature. Lucien knew what it was as
well as Norman, and joy had expressed itself upon his pale cheeks at the
sight. As for Basil and Francois they only stood waiting an
explanation, and wondering what value a quantity of "rock moss," as they
deemed it, could be to persons in their condition. Lucien soon informed
them that it was not a "moss," but a "lichen," and of that celebrated
species which will sustain human life. It was the _Gyrophora_. Norman
confirmed Lucien's statement, and furthermore affirmed, that not only
the Indians and Esquimaux, but also parties of voyageurs, had often
subsisted upon it for days, when they would otherwise have starved.
There are many species,--not less than five or six. All of them possess
nutritive properties, but only one is a palatable food--the _Gyrophora
vellea_ of botanists. Unfortunately, this was not the sort which our
voyageurs had happened upon, as it grows only upon rocks shaded by
woods, and is rarely met with in the open barrens. The one, however,
which Norman had discovered was the "next best," and they were all glad
at finding even that.
The first thing to be thought of was to collect it, and all four set to
peeling and scraping it from the rocks. The next thought was to make it
ready for eating. Here a new difficulty stared them in the face. The
_tripe de roche_ had to be boiled,--it could not be eaten else,--and
where was the fire? where was the wood to make one? Not a stick was to
be seen. They had not met with a tree during all that day's journey!
They were now as badly off as ever. The _tripe de roche_ would be of no
more use to them than so much dry grass. What could they do with it?
In the midst of their suspense, one of them thought of the sledge--
Marengo's sledge. That would make a fire, but a very small one. It
might do to cook a single meal. Even that was better than none.
Marengo was not going to object to the arrangement. He looked quite
willing to part with the sledge. But a few hours before, it came near
being used to cook Marengo himself. He was not aware of that, perhaps,
but no matter. All agreed that the sledge must be broken up, and
converted into firewood.
They were about taking it to pieces, and had already "unhitched" Marengo
from it, when Basil, who had walked to the other side of the rocky
jumble, cried back to them to desist. He had espied some willows at no
great distance. Out of these a fire could be made. The sledge,
therefore, was let alone for the present. Basil and Francois
immediately started for the willows, while Norman and Lucien remained
upon the spot to prepare the "tripe" for the pot.
In a short time the former parties returned with two large bundles of
willows, and the fire was kindled. The _tripe de roche_, with some
snow--for there was no water near--was put into the pot, and the latter
hung over the blaze.
After boiling for nearly an hour, the lichen became reduced to a soft
gummy pulp, and Norman thickened the mess to his taste by putting in
more snow, or more of the "tripe," as it seemed to require it. The pot
was then taken from the fire, and all four greedily ate of its contents.
It was far from being palatable, and had a clammy "feel" in the mouth,
something like sago; but none of the party was in any way either dainty
or fastidious just at that time, and they soon consumed all that had
been cooked. It did not satisfy the appetite, though it filled the
stomach, and made their situation less painful to bear.
Norman informed them that it was much better when cooked with a little
meat, so as to make broth. This Norman's companions could easily
credit, but where was the meat to come from? The Indians prefer the
_tripe de roche_ when prepared along with the roe of fish, or when
boiled in fish liquor.
Our weary voyageurs resolved to remain among the rocks for that night at
least; and with this intent they put up their little tent. They did not
kindle any fire, as the willows were scarce, and there would be barely
enough to make one or two more boilings of the rock-tripe. They spread
their skins within the tent, and creeping in, kept one another as warm
as they could until morning.