Of course hunger kept them from sleeping late. They were up and out of
the tent by an early hour. Their fire was re-kindled, and they were
making preparations for a fresh pot of rock-tripe, when they were
startled by the note of a well-known bird. On looking up, they beheld
seated upon the point of a rock the creature itself, which was the
"cinereous crow" (_Garrulus Canadensis_), or, as it is better known, the
"whiskey Jack." The latter name it receives from the voyageurs,
on account of the resemblance of its Indian appellation,
"whiskae-shaw-neesh," to the words "whiskey John." Although sometimes
called the "cinereous crow," the bird is a true jay. It is one of the
most inelegant of the genus, being of a dull grey colour, and not
particularly graceful in its form. Its plumage, moreover, does not
consist of webbed feathers, but rather more resembles hair; nor does its
voice make up for the plainness of its appearance, as is the case with
some birds. On the contrary, the voice of "whiskey Jack" is plaintive
and squeaking, though he is something of a mocker in his way, and
frequently imitates the notes of other birds. He is one of those
creatures that frequent the habitations of man, and there is not a fur
post, or fort, in all the Hudson's Bay territory, where "whiskey Jack"
is not familiarly known. He is far from being a favourite, however, as,
like his near relative the magpie, he is a great thief, and will follow
the marten-trapper all day while baiting his traps, perching upon a tree
until the bait is set, and then pouncing down, and carrying it off. He
frequently pilfers small articles from the forts and encampments, and is
so bold as to enter the tents, and seize food out of any vessel that may
contain it. Notwithstanding all this, he is a favourite with the
traveller through these inhospitable regions. No matter how barren the
spot where the voyageur may make his camp, his tent will hardly be
pitched, before he receives a visit from "whiskey Jack," who comes, of
course, to pick up any crumbs that may fall. His company, therefore, in
a region where all other wild creatures shun the society of man, endears
him to the lonely traveller.
At many of their camps our voyageurs had met with this singular bird,
and were always glad to receive him as a friend. They were now doubly
delighted to see him, but this delight arose from no friendly feelings.
Their guest was at once doomed to die. Francois had taken up his gun,
and in the next moment would have brought him down, had he not been
checked by Norman. Not that Norman intended to plead for his life, but
Norman's eye had caught sight of another "whiskey Jack,"--which was
hopping among the rocks at some distance--and fearing that Francois'
shot might frighten it away, had hindered him from firing. It was
Norman's design to get both.
The second "whiskey Jack," or, perhaps, it was the whiskey "Jill," soon
drew near; and both were now seen to hop from rock to rock, and then
upon the top of the tent, and _one of them actually settled_ upon the
edge of the pot, as it hung over the fire, and quietly looking into it,
appeared to scrutinise its contents!
The boys could not think of any way of getting the birds, except by
Francois' gun; and it was at length agreed that Francois should do his
best. He was sure of one of them, at least; so telling the others to
get behind him, he fired at the more distant one where it sat upon the
tent, and took the other on the wing.
Both shots were successful. The two jays fell, and were soon divested
of their soft, silky, hair-like plumage, and dropped into the boiling
pot. They did not weigh together more than about six or seven ounces;
but even that was accounted something under present circumstances; and,
with the _tripe de roche_, a much better breakfast was made than they
had anticipated.
No more of the lichen could be found. The rocks were all searched, but
only a few patches--not enough for another full meal--could be obtained.
The travellers had no other resource, therefore, but to continue on,
and passing through the rocky ground, they once more embarked upon the
wilderness of snow.
During that whole day not a living creature gladdened their eyes. They
saw nothing that was eatable--fish, flesh, fowl, or vegetable. Not even
a bit of rock-tripe--in these parts the last resource of starving men--
could be met with. They encamped in a plain, where not a tree stood--
not even a rock to shelter them.
Next morning a consultation was held. Marengo was again the subject of
their thoughts and conversation. Should they kill him on the spot or go
a little farther? That was the question. Lucien, as before, interposed
in his favour. There was a high hill many miles off, and in their
proper course. "Let us first reach yonder hill," proposed Lucien. "If
nothing is found before that, then we must part with Marengo."
The proposal was agreed to, and, striking their tent, they again set
out.
It was a toilsome long way to that hill--feeble and weary as they all
were--but they reached it without having observed the slightest trace of
animal life.
"Up the hill!" cried Lucien, beckoning to the others, and cheering them
with his weak voice, "Up the hill!"
On they went, up the steep declivity--Marengo toiling on after them.
The dog looked downcast and despairing. He really appeared to know the
conditions that had been made for his life. His masters, as they crept
upward, looked sharply before them. Every tuft that appeared above the
snow was scrutinised, and every inch of the ground, as it came into
view, was examined.
At length they crossed the escarpment of the hill, and stood upon the
summit. They gazed forward with disappointed feelings. The hill-top
was a sort of table plain, of about three hundred yards in diameter. It
was covered with snow, nearly a foot in depth. A few heads of withered
grass were seen above the surface, but not enough to subdue the uniform
white that prevailed all over. There was no creature upon it; that was
evident. A bird as big as a sparrow, or a quadruped as large as a
shrew-mouse, could have been seen upon any part of it. A single glance
satisfied all of them that no living thing was there.
They halted without proceeding farther. Some of them could not have
gone another mile, and all of them were tottering in their tracks.
Marengo had arrived upon the summit, and stood a little to one side,
with the sledge behind him.
"_You_ must do it!" said Basil, speaking to Norman in a hoarse voice,
and turning his head away. Lucien and Francois stepped aside at the
same time, and stood as if looking down the hill. The countenances of
all three betokened extreme sorrow. There was a tear in Basil's eye
that he was trying to wipe away with his sleeve.
The sharp click of Norman's gun was heard behind them, and they were all
waiting for the report, when, at that moment, a dark shadow passing over
the white declivity arrested their attention! It was the shadow of a
bird upon the wing. The simultaneous exclamation of all three stayed
Norman's finger--already pressing upon the trigger--and the latter,
turning round, saw that they were regarding some object in the air. It
was a bird of great size--almost as large as an eagle, but with the
plumage of a swan. It was white all over--both body and wings--white as
the snow over which it was sailing. Norman knew the bird at a glance.
Its thick short neck and large head--its broad-spreading wings, of milky
whiteness, were not to be mistaken. It was the "great snowy owl" of the
Arctic regions.
Its appearance suddenly changed the aspect of affairs. Norman let the
butt of his rifle fall to the ground, and stood, like the rest, watching
the bird in its flight.
The snowy owl (_Strix nyctea_) is, perhaps, the most beautiful, as it is
one of the most powerful birds of its genus--of which there are more
than a dozen in North America. It is a bird of the Polar regions--even
the most remote--and in the dead of winter it is found within the Arctic
circle, on both Continents--although at the same season it also wanders
farther south. It dwells upon the Barren Grounds as well as in wooded
districts. In the former it squats upon the snow, where its peculiar
colour often prevents it from being noticed by the passing hunter.
Nature has furnished it with every protection from the cold. Its
plumage is thick, closely matted, and downy, and it is feathered to the
very eyes--so that its legs appear as large as those of a good-sized
dog. The bill, too, is completely hidden under a mass of feathers that
cover its face, and not even a point of its whole body is exposed.
The owl is usually looked upon as a night-bird, and in Southern
latitudes it is rarely seen by day; but the owls of the Northern regions
differ from their congeners in this respect. They hunt by day, even
during the bright hours of noon. Were it not so, how could they exist
in the midst of an Arctic summer, when the days are months in duration?
Here we have another example of the manner in which Nature trains her
wild creatures to adapt themselves to their situation.
At least a dozen species of owls frequent the territory of the Hudson's
Bay Company--the largest of which is the cinereous owl, whose wings have
a spread of nearly five feet. Some species migrate south on the
approach of winter; while several, as the snowy owl, remain to prey upon
the ptarmigan, the hares, and other small quadrupeds, who, like
themselves, choose that dreary region for their winter home.
Our travellers, as I have said, stood watching the owl as it soared
silently through the heavens. Francois had thrown his gun across his
left arm, in hopes he might get a shot at it; but the bird--a shy one at
all times--kept away out of range; and, after circling once or twice
over the hill, uttered a loud cry and flew off.
Its cry resembled the moan of a human being in distress; and its effect
upon the minds of our travellers, in the state they then were, was far
from being pleasant. They watched the bird with despairing looks, until
it was lost against the white background of a snow-covered hill.
They had noticed that the owl appeared to be just taking flight when
they first saw it. It must have risen up from the hill upon which they
were; and they once more ran their eyes along the level summit, curious
to know where it had been perched that they had not seen it. No doubt,
reflected they, it had been near enough, but its colour had rendered it
undistinguishable from the snow.
"What a pity!" exclaimed Francois.
While making these reflections, and sweeping their glances around, an
object caught their eyes that caused some of them to ejaculate and
suddenly raise their guns. This object was near the centre of the
summit table, and at first sight appeared to be only a lump of snow; but
upon closer inspection, two little round spots of a dark colour, and
above these two elongated black marks, could be seen. Looking steadily,
the eye at length traced the outlines of an animal, that sat in a
crouching attitude. The round spots were its eyes, and the black marks
above them were tips of a pair of very long ears. All the rest of its
body was covered with a soft white fur, hardly to be distinguished from
the snow upon which it rested.
The form and colour of the animal, but more especially its long erect
ears, made it easy for them to tell what it was. All of them saw it was
a hare.
"Hush!" continued Norman, as soon as he saw it, "keep still all of you--
leave it to me."
"What shall we do?" demanded Basil. "Can we not assist you?"
"No," was the reply, uttered in a whisper, "stay where you are. Keep
the dog quiet. I'll manage puss, if the owl hasn't scared her too
badly. That scream has started her out of her form. I'm certain she
wasn't that way before. Maybe she'll sit it out. Lucky the sun's
high--don't move a step. Have the dog ready, but hold him tight, and
keep a sharp look out if she bolts."
After giving these instructions, that were all uttered quickly and in an
under tone, Norman moved off, with his gun carried across his arm. He
did not move in the direction of the hare, but rather as if he was going
from her. His course, however, bent gradually into a circle of which
the hare was the centre--the diameter being the full breadth of the
summit level, which was about three hundred yards. In this circle he
walked round and round, keeping his eye fixed upon the crouching animal.
When he had nearly completed one circumference, he began to shorten the
diameter--so that the curve which he was now following was a spiral one,
and gradually drawing nearer to the hare. The latter kept watching him
as he moved--curiosity evidently mingling with her fears. Fortunately,
as Norman had said, the sun was nearly in the vertex of the heavens, and
his own body cast very little shadow upon the snow. Had it been
otherwise, the hare would have been frightened at the moving shadow, and
would have sprung out of her form, before he could have got within
range.
When he had made some four or five circuits, Norman moved slower and
slower, and then stopped nearly opposite to where the others were.
These stood watching him with beating hearts, for they knew that the
life of Marengo, and perhaps their own as well, depended on the shot.
Norman had chosen his place, so that in case the hare bolted, she might
run towards them, and give them the chance of a flying shot. His gun
was already at his shoulder--his finger rested on the trigger, and the
boys were expecting the report, when again the shadow of a bird flitted
over the snow, a loud human-like scream sounded in their ears, and the
hare was seen to spring up, and stretch her long legs in flight. At the
same instant the great snowy owl was observed wheeling above, and
threatening to pounce upon the fleeing animal!
The hare ran in a side-direction, but it brought her as she passed
within range of the party by the sledge. The owl kept above her as she
ran. A dozen leaps was all the hare ever made. A loud crack was heard,
and she was seen to spring up and fall back upon the snow, dead as a
doornail. Like an echo another crack followed--a wild scream rang
through the air, and the great white owl fell fluttering to the earth.
The reports were not of a rifle. They were the louder detonations of a
shot-gun. All eyes were turned towards Francois, who, like a little
god, stood enveloped in a halo of blue smoke. Francois was the hero of
the hour.
Marengo rushed forward and seized the struggling owl, that snapped its
bill at him like a watch-man's rattle. But Marengo did not care for
that; and seizing its head in his teeth, gave it a crunch that at once
put an end to its flapping.
Marengo was reprieved, and he seemed to know it, as he bounded over the
snow, waving his tail, and barking like a young fool.
They all ran up to the hare, which proved to be the "Polar hare" (_Lepus
glacialis_), and one of the largest of its species--not less than
fifteen pounds in weight. Its fur, soft and white like swan-down, was
stained with red blood. It was not quite dead. Its little heart yet
beat faintly, and the light of life was still shining from its beautiful
honey-coloured eyes. Both it and the owl were taken up and carried to
the sledge, which was once more attached to Marengo, as the party
intended to go forward and halt under the shelter of the hill.
"There must be some wood in this quarter," remarked Norman: "I never
knew this sort of hare far from timber."
"True," said Lucien, "the Polar hare feeds upon willows, arbutus, and
the Labrador tea-plant. Some of these kinds must be near."
While they were speaking, they had reached the brow of the hill, on the
opposite side from where they had ascended. On looking into the valley
below, to their great joy they beheld some clumps of willows, and
good-sized trees of poplar, birch, and spruce-pine (_Pinus alba_), and
passing down the hill, the travellers soon stood in their midst.
Presently was heard the chipping sound of an axe and crash of falling
timber, and in a few moments after a column of smoke was seen soaring up
out of the valley, and curling cheerfully towards the bright blue sky.