CHARLEY AND HARRY BEGIN THEIR SPORTING CAREER, WITHOUT MUCH SUCCESS--
WHISKY-JOHN CATCHING.
The place in the boats usually allotted to gentlemen in the Company's
service while travelling is the stern. Here the lading is so arranged
as to form a pretty level hollow, where the flat bundles containing
their blankets are placed, and a couch is thus formed that rivals
Eastern effeminacy in luxuriance. There are occasions, however, when
this couch is converted into a bed, not of thorns exactly, but of
corners; and really it would be hard to say which of the two is the more
disagreeable. Should the men be careless in arranging the cargo, the
inevitable consequence is that "monsieur" will find the leg of an iron
stove, the sharp edge of a keg, or the corner of a wooden box occupying
the place where his ribs should be. So common, however, is this
occurrence that the clerks usually superintend the arrangements
themselves, and so secure comfort.
On a couch, then, of this kind, Charley and Harry now found themselves
constrained to sit all morning--sometimes asleep, occasionally awake,
and always earnestly desiring that it was time to put ashore for
breakfast, as they had now travelled for four hours without halt, except
twice for about five minutes, to let the men light their pipes.
"Charley," said Harry Somerville to his friend, who sat beside him, "it
strikes me that we are to have no breakfast at all to-day. Here have I
been holding my breath and tightening my belt, until I feel much more
like a spider or a wasp than a--a--"
"_Man_, Harry; out with it at once, don't be afraid," said Charley.
"Well, no, I wasn't going to have said _that_ exactly, but I was going
to have said a voyageur; only I recollected our doings this morning, and
hesitated to take the name until I had won it."
"It's well that you entertain so modest an opinion of yourself," said
Mr Park, who still smoked his pipe as if he were impressed with the
idea that to stop for a moment would produce instant death. "I may tell
you for your comfort, youngsters, that we shan't breakfast till we reach
yonder point."
The shores of Lake Winnipeg are flat and low, and the point indicated by
Mr Park lay directly in the light of the sun, which now shone with such
splendour in the cloudless sky, and flashed on the polished water, that
it was with difficulty they could look towards the point of land.
"Where is it?" asked Charley, shading his eyes with his hand; "I cannot
make out anything at all."
"Try again, my boy; there's nothing like practice."
"Ah, yes! I make it out now; a faint shadow just under the sun. Is
that it?"
"Ay, and we'll break our fast _there_."
"I would like very much to break your head _here_," thought Charley, but
he did not say it, as, besides being likely to produce unpleasant
consequences, he felt that such a speech to an elderly gentleman would
be highly improper; and Charley had _some_ respect for grey hairs for
their own sake, whether the owner of them was a good man or a goose.
"What shall we do, Harry? If I had only thought of keeping out a book."
"I know what _I_ shall do," said Harry, with a resolute air:
"I'll go and shoot!"
"Shoot!" cried Charley. "You don't mean to say that you're going to
waste your powder and shot by firing at the clouds! for, unless you take
_them_, I see nothing else here."
"That's because you don't use your eyes," retorted Harry. "Will you
just look at yonder rock ahead of us, and tell me what you see."
Charley looked earnestly at the rock, which to a cursory glance seemed
as if composed of whiter stone on the top. "Gulls, I declare!" shouted
Charley, at the same time jumping up in haste.
Just then one of the gulls, probably a scout sent out to watch the
approaching enemy, wheeled in a circle overhead. The two youths dragged
their guns from beneath the thwarts of the boat, and rummaged about in
great anxiety for shot-belts and powder-horns. At last they were found;
and having loaded, they sat on the edge of the boat, looking out for
game with as much--ay, with _more_ intense interest than a Blackfoot
Indian would have watched for a fat buffalo cow.
"There he goes," said Harry; "take the first shot, Charley."
"Where? where is it?"
"Right ahead. Look out!"
As Harry spoke, a small white gull, with bright-red legs and beak, flew
over the boat so close to them that, as the guide remarked, "he could
see it wink!" Charley's equanimity, already pretty well disturbed, was
entirely upset at the suddenness of the bird's appearance; for he had
been gazing intently at the rock when his friend's exclamation drew his
attention in time to see the gull within about four feet of his head.
With a sudden "Oh!" Charley threw forward his gun, took a short,
wavering aim, and blew the cocktail feather out of Baptiste's hat; while
the gull sailed tranquilly away, as much as to say, "If _that's_ all you
can do, there's no need for me to hurry!"
"Confound the boy!" cried Mr Park. "You'll be the death of some one
yet; I'm convinced of that."
"Parbleu! you may say that, c'est vrai," remarked the voyageur, with a
rueful gaze at his hat, which, besides having its ornamental feather
shattered, was sadly cut up about the crown.
The poor lad's face became much redder than the legs or beak of the gull
as he sat down in confusion, which he sought to hide by busily reloading
his gun; while the men indulged in a somewhat witty and sarcastic
criticism of his powers of shooting, remarking, in flattering terms, on
the precision of the shot that blew Baptiste's feather into atoms, and
declaring that if every shot he fired was as truly aimed he would
certainly be the best in the country.
Baptiste also came in for a share of their repartee. "It serves you
right," said the guide, laughing, "for wearing such things on the
voyage. You should put away such foppery till you return to the
settlement, where there are _girls_ to admire you." (Baptiste had
continued to wear the tall hat, ornamented with gold cords and tassels,
with which he had left Red River.)
"Ah!" cried another, pulling vigorously at his oar, "I fear that Marie
won't look at you, now that all your beauty's gone."
"'Tis not quite gone," said a third; "there's all the brim and half a
tassel left, besides the wreck of the remainder."
"Oh, I can lend you a few fragments," retorted Baptiste, endeavouring to
parry some of the thrusts. "They would improve you vastly."
"No, no, friend, gather them up and replace them; they will look more
picturesque and becoming now. I believe if you had worn them much
longer all the men in the boat would have fallen in love with you."
"By St. Patrick," said Mike Brady, an Irishman who sat at the oar
immediately behind the unfortunate Canadian, "there's more than enough
o' rubbish scattered over mysilf nor would do to stuff a fither-bed
with."
As Mike spoke, he collected the fragments of feathers and ribbons with
which the unlucky shot had strewn him, and placed them slyly on the top
of the dilapidated hat, which Baptiste, after clearing away the wreck,
had replaced on his head.
"It's very purty," said Mike, as the action was received by the crew
with a shout of merriment.
Baptiste was waxing wrathful under this fire, when the general attention
was drawn again towards Charley and his friend, who, having now got
close to the rock, had quite forgotten their mishap in the excitement of
expectation.
This excitement in the shooting of such small game might perhaps
surprise our readers, did we not acquaint them with the fact that
neither of the boys had, up to that time, enjoyed much opportunity of
shooting. It is true that Harry had once or twice borrowed the
fowling-piece of the senior clerk, and had sallied forth with a beating
heart to pursue the grouse which are found in the belt of woodland
skirting the Assiniboine River near to Fort Garry. But these
expeditions were of rare occurrence, and they had not sufficed to rub
off much of the bounding excitement with which he loaded and fired at
anything and everything that came within range of his gun. Charley, on
the other hand, had never fired a shot before, except out of an old
horse-pistol; having up to this period been busily engaged at school,
except during the holidays, which he always spent in the society of his
sister Kate, whose tastes were not such as were likely to induce him to
take up the gun, even if he had possessed such a weapon. Just before
leaving Red River, his father presented him with his own gun, remarking,
as he did so, with a sigh, that _his_ day was past now; and adding, that
the gun was a good one for shot or ball, and if he (Charley) brought
down _half_ as much game with it as he (Mr Kennedy) had brought down in
the course of his life, he might consider himself a crack shot
undoubtedly.
It was not surprising, therefore, that the two friends went nearly mad
with excitation when the whole flock of gulls rose into the air like a
white cloud, and sailed in endless circles and gyrations above and
around their heads--flying so close at times that they might almost have
been caught by the hand. Neither was it surprising that innumerable
shots were fired, by both sportsmen, without a single bird being a whit
the worse for it, or themselves much the better; the energetic efforts
made to hit being rendered abortive by the very eagerness which caused
them to miss. And this was the less extraordinary, too, when it is
remembered that Harry in his haste loaded several times without shot,
and Charley rendered the right barrel of his gun _hors de combat_ at
last, by ramming down a charge of shot and omitting powder altogether,
whereby he snapped and primed, and snapped and primed again, till he
grew desperate, and then suspicious of the true cause, which he finally
rectified with much difficulty.
Frequently the gulls flew straight over the heads of the youths,--which
produced peculiar consequences, as in such cases they took aim while the
birds were approaching; but being somewhat slow at taking aim, the gulls
were almost perpendicularly above them ere they were ready to shoot, so
that they were obliged to fire hastily in _hope_, feeling that they were
losing their balance, or give up the chance altogether.
Mr Park sat grimly in his place all the while, enjoying the scene, and
smoking.
"Now then, Charley," said he, "take that fellow."
"Which? where? Oh, if I could only get _one_!" said Charley, looking up
eagerly at the screaming birds, at which he had been staring so long, in
their varying and crossing flight, that his sight had become hopelessly
unsteady.
"There! Look sharp: fire away!"
Bang went Charley's piece, as he spoke, at a gull which flew straight
towards him, but so rapidly that it was directly above his head; indeed,
he was leaning a little backwards at the moment, which caused him to
miss again, while the recoil of the gun brought matters to a climax, by
toppling him over into Mr Park's lap, thereby smashing that gentleman's
pipe to atoms. The fall accidentally exploded the second barrel,
causing the butt to strike Charley in the pit of his stomach--as if to
ram him well home into Mr Park's open arms--and hitting with a stray
shot a gull that was sailing high up in the sky in fancied security. It
fell with a fluttering crash into the boat while the men were laughing
at the accident.
"Didn't I say so?" cried Mr Park, wrathfully, as he pitched Charley out
of his lap, and spat out the remnants of his broken pipe.
Fortunately for all parties, at this moment the boat approached a spot
on which the guide had resolved to land for breakfast; and seeing the
unpleasant predicament into which poor Charley had fallen, he assumed
the strong tones of command with which guides are frequently gifted, and
called out,--"Ho, ho! a terre! a terre! to land! to land! Breakfast, my
boys; breakfast!"--at the same time sweeping the boat's head shoreward,
and running into a rocky bay, whose margin was fringed by a growth of
small trees. Here, in a few minutes, they were joined by the other
boats of the brigade, which had kept within sight of each other nearly
the whole morning.
While travelling through the wilds of North America in boats, voyageurs
always make a point of landing to breakfast. Dinner is a meal with
which they are unacquainted, at least on the voyage, and luncheon is
likewise unknown. If a man feels hungry during the day, the
pemmican-bag and its contents are there; he may pause in his work at any
time, for a minute, to seize the axe and cut off a lump, which he may
devour as he best can; but there is no going ashore--no resting for
dinner. Two great meals are recognised, and the time allotted to their
preparation and consumption held inviolable--breakfast and supper: the
first varying between the hours of seven and nine in the morning; the
second about sunset, at which time travellers usually encamp for the
night. Of the two meals it would be difficult to say which is more
agreeable. For our own part, we prefer the former. It is the meal to
which a man addresses himself with peculiar gusto, especially if he has
been astir three or four hours previously in the open air. It is the
time of day, too, when the spirits are freshest and highest, animated by
the prospect of the work, the difficulties, the pleasures, or the
adventures of the day that has begun; and cheered by that cool, clear
_buoyancy_ of Nature which belongs exclusively to the happy morning
hours, and has led poets in all ages to compare these hours to the first
sweet months of spring or the early years of childhood.
Voyageurs, not less than poets, have felt the exhilarating influence of
the young day, although they have lacked the power to tell it in
sounding numbers; but where words were wanting, the sparkling eye, the
beaming countenance, the light step, and hearty laugh, were more
powerful exponents of the feelings within. Poet, and painter too, might
have spent a profitable hour on the shores of that great sequestered
lake, and as they watched the picturesque groups clustering round the
blazing fires, preparing their morning meal, smoking their pipes,
examining and repairing the boats, or sunning their stalwart limbs in
wild, careless attitudes upon the greensward--might have found a subject
worthy the most brilliant effusions of the pen or the most graphic
touches of the pencil.
An hour sufficed for breakfast. While it was preparing, the two friends
sauntered into the forest in search of game, in which they were
unsuccessful; in fact, with the exception of the gulls before mentioned,
there was not a feather to be seen--save, always, one or two
whisky-johns.
Whisky-johns are the most impudent, puffy, conceited little birds that
exist. Not much larger in reality than sparrows, they nevertheless
manage to swell out their feathers to such an extent that they appear to
be as large as magpies, which they further resemble in their plumage.
Go where you will in the woods of Rupert's Land, the instant that you
light a fire two or three whisky-johns come down and sit beside you, on
a branch, it may be, or on the ground, and generally so near that you
cannot but wonder at their recklessness. There is a species of
impudence which seems to be specially attached to little birds. In them
it reaches the highest pitch of perfection. A bold, swelling, arrogant
effrontery--a sort of stark, staring, sell-complacent, comfortable, and
yet innocent impertinence--which is at once irritating and amusing,
aggravating and attractive, and which is exhibited in the greatest
intensity in the whisky-john. He will jump down almost under your nose,
and seize a fragment of biscuit or pemmican. He will go right into the
pemmican-bag, when you are but a few paces off, and pilfer, as it were,
at the fountain-head. Or if these resources are closed against him, he
will sit on a twig, within an inch of your head, and look at you as only
a whisky-john _can_ look.
"I'll catch one of these rascals," said Harry, as he saw them jump
unceremoniously into and out of the pemmican bag.
Going down to the boat, Harry hid himself under the tarpaulin, leaving a
hole open near to the mouth of the bag. He had not remained more than a
few minutes in this concealment when one of the birds flew down, and
alighted on the edge of the boat. After a glance round to see that all
was right, it jumped into the bag. A moment after, Harry, darting his
hand through the aperture, grasped him round the neck and secured him.
Poor whisky-john screamed and pecked ferociously, while Harry brought
him in triumph to his friend; but so unremittingly did the bird scream
that his captor was fain at last to let him off, the more especially as
the cook came up at the moment and announced that breakfast was ready.