THE LONG TRAIL TO THE SOUTH COAST
A day's hard paddle past Big Island the dreaded Cape of the Four Winds
thrust its bold buttresses far out into the sea toward the White Bear,
and Marcel knew that wind here meant days of delay, for no canoe could
round this grim headland feared by all _voyageurs_, except in fair
weather. So, after a few hours' sleep, he toiled all day down the coast
and at midnight had put the gray cape behind him.
Two days later when Marcel went ashore on the Isle of Graves of the
Esquimos, to boil his kettle, he found, to his delight, a Fort George
goose-boat on the same errand. The Crees who had just left the post to
shoot the winter's supply of gray and snowy geese, or "wavies," as they
are called from their resemblance in flight to a white banner waving in
the sun, had met, two nights before off the mouth of Big River, the
canoe he was following. The dog-thieves, who were strangers, did not
stop at the post, but had continued south.
With two paddles they were not holding their lead, he laughed to
himself, but were coming back. If he hurried he would overhaul them
before they reached Rupert. He did not know the Rupert River, and if
once they started inland he would be caught by the "freeze-up" in a
strange country, so he continued on late into the night.
Then followed day after day of endless toil at the paddle, for he knew
he must travel while the weather held. He could not hope to make Rupert,
or even East Main before the wind changed; which might mean idling for
days on a beach pounded by seas in which no canoe could live. At times,
with a stern breeze, he rigged a piece of canvas to a spruce pole and
sailed. But one thought dominated him as mile after mile of the gray
East Coast slid past; the thought of having his puppy once more in his
canoe, fretting at the gulls and ducks and geese, as he headed north.
Only through necessity did he stop to shoot geese, whose gray and white
legions were gathering on the coast for the annual migration. At dawn
the "gou-luk!" of the gray ganders marshalling their families out to the
feeding grounds, which once sent his blood leaping, now left him cold.
He was hunting bigger game, and his heart hungered for his puppy, beaten
and half-starved, in all likelihood, travelling somewhere ahead down
that bleak coast in the canoe of two men who did not know that close on
their heels followed an enemy as dogged, as relentless, as a wolf on
the trail of an old caribou abandoned by the herd.
And so, after days of ceaseless dip and swing, dip and swing, which at
night left his back and arms stiff and his fingers numb, Jean Marcel
turned into the mouth of the East Main River and paddled up to the post,
where he learned that the canoe of the half-breeds had not been seen,
and that no hunters of their description traded there. So he turned
again to the Bay and headed south for Rupert House. Off the Wild Geese
Islands he met what he had for days been dreading, the first September
north-wester, and was driven ashore. For the following three days he
rested and hunted geese, and when the storm whipped itself out, went on,
and at last, crossing Boatswain's Bay, rounded Mount Sherrick and
paddled up Rupert Bay to the famous old post, which, since the days of
the Merry Monarch and his favorite, Prince Rupert, the first Governor of
the "Company of Merchants-Adventurers trading into Hudson's Bay," has
guarded the river mouth--an uninterrupted history of two centuries and a
half of fair dealing with the red fur-hunters of Rupert Land.
"So you're the son of Andre Marcel? Well, well! Time does fly! Why,
Andre and I made many a camp together in the old days. There was a man,
my lad!"
Jean straightened his wide shoulders in pride at this praise of his
father by Alec Cameron, factor at Rupert. When he had explained the
object of his long journey south in the fall, the latter raised his
bushy eyebrows in amazement.
"You mean to tell me that you paddled from Whale River in fifteen days,
after a dog?"
"Oui, M'sieu Cameron."
"Well, you didn't waste the daylight or the moon either. You're sure a
son of Andre Marcel. It must be a record for a single paddle; and all
for a pup, eh?"
"Oui, all for a pup!"
"You deserve to get that dog. Now, these half-breeds you describe
dropped in here in June behind the Mistassini brigade, and traded their
fur. Then they started north after dogs."
"Dey were onlee a day ahead of me up de coast."
"Queer I haven't seen 'em here yet. Pierre!" Cameron called to a Company
man passing the trade-house. "Have those two Mistassini strangers who
went north in June, got back yet?"
"No, but Albert meet dem in Gull Bay two day back. Dey have one pup dey
trade from Huskee!"
"There you are, Marcel! Your men crossed over to Hannah Bay to hunt
geese. They'll be here in a week or two on their way up-river. You wait
here and we'll get your dog when they show up."
"T'anks, M'sieu Cameron!" The dark eyes of Jean Marcel snapped. At last
he was closing in on his quarry. "I weel go to Hannah Bay now and get my
dog."
"Two to one, lad! They may get the best of you, and I've no men to
spare; they're all away goose hunting. You'd better wait here."
"M'sieu, Andre Marcel would go alone and tak' his dog. I, hees son, also
weel tak' mine."
"Good Lord! Andre Marcel would have skinned them alive--those two. Well,
good luck, Jean! but I don't like your tackling those breeds alone."
Jean shook hands with the factor.
"Bon-jour, M'sieu Cameron, and t'anks!"
"If you don't drop in here on your way back, give my regards to Gillies
and his family, and be careful," said the factor as Marcel left him.