Two days after the events of the last chapter, the brigade was making
one of the traverses which have already been noticed as of frequent
occurrence in the great lakes. The morning was calm and sultry. A deep
stillness pervaded nature, which tended to produce a corresponding
quiescence in the mind, and to fill it with those indescribably solemn
feelings that frequently arise before a thunderstorm. Dark, lurid
clouds hung overhead in gigantic masses, piled above each other like the
battlements of a dark fortress, from whose ragged embrasures the
artillery of heaven was about to play.
"Shall we get over in time, Louis?" asked Mr Park, as he turned to the
guide, who sat holding the tiller with a firm grasp; while the men,
aware of the necessity of reaching shelter ere the storm burst upon
them, were bending to the oars with steady and sustained energy.
"Perhaps," replied Louis, laconically.--"Pull, lads, pull! else you'll
have to sleep in wet skins to-night."
A low growl of distant thunder followed the guide's words, and the men
pulled with additional energy; while the slow, measured hiss of the
water, and the clank of oars, as they cut swiftly through the lake's
clear surface, alone interrupted the dead silence that ensued.
Charley and his friend conversed in low whispers; for there is a strange
power in a thunderstorm, whether raging or about to break, that overawes
the heart of man,--as if Nature's God were nearer then than at other
times; as if He--whose voice indeed, if listened to, speaks even in the
slightest evolution of natural phenomena--were about to tread the
visible earth with more than usual majesty, in the vivid glare of the
lightning flash, and in the awful crash of thunder.
"I don't know how it is, but I feel more like a coward," said Charley,
"just before a thunderstorm than I think I should do in the arms of a
polar bear. Do you feel queer, Harry?"
"A little," replied Harry, in a low whisper; "and yet I'm not
frightened. I can scarcely tell what I feel, but I'm certain it's not
fear."
"Well, I don't know," said Charley. "When father's black bull chased
Kate and me in the prairies, and almost overtook us as we ran for the
fence of the big field, I felt my heart leap to my mouth, and the blood
rush to my cheeks, as I turned about and faced him, while Kate climbed
the fence; but after she was over, I felt a wild sort of wickedness in
me, as if I should like to tantalise and torment him,--and I felt
altogether different from what I feel now while I look up at these black
clouds. Isn't there something quite awful in them, Harry?"
Ere Harry replied, a bright flash of lightning shot athwart the sky,
followed by a loud roar of thunder, and in a moment the wind rushed,
like a fiend set suddenly free, down upon the boats, tearing up the
smooth surface of the water as it flew, and cutting it into gleaming
white streaks. Fortunately the storm came down behind the boats, so
that, after the first wild burst was over, they hoisted a small portion
of their lug sails, and scudded rapidly before it.
There was still a considerable portion of the traverse to cross, and the
guide cast an anxious glance over his shoulder occasionally, as the dark
waves began to rise, and their crests were cut into white foam by the
increasing gale. Thunder roared in continued, successive peals, as if
the heavens were breaking up, while rain descended in sheets. For a
time the crews continued to ply their oars; but as the wind increased,
these were rendered superfluous. They were taken in, therefore, and the
men sought partial shelter under the tarpaulin; while Mr Park and the
two boys were covered, excepting their heads, by an oilcloth, which was
always kept at hand in rainy weather.
"What think you now, Louis?" said Mr Park, resuming the pipe which the
sudden outburst of the storm had caused him to forget. "Have we seen
the worst of it?"
Louis replied abruptly in the negative, and in a few seconds shouted
loudly, "Look out, lads! here comes a squall. Stand by to let go the
sheet there!"
Mike Brady, happening to be near the sheet, seized hold of the rope, and
prepared to let go; while the men rose, as if by instinct, and gazed
anxiously at the approaching squall, which could be seen in the distance
extending along the horizon, like a bar of blackest ink, spotted with
flakes of white. The guide sat with compressed lips, and motionless as
a statue, guiding the boat as it bounded madly towards the land, which
was now not more than half a mile distant.
"Let go!" shouted the guide, in a voice that was heard loud and clear
above the roar of the elements.
"Ay, ay," replied the Irishman, untwisting the rope instantly, as with a
sharp hiss the squall descended on the boat.
At that moment the rope became entangled round one of the oars, and the
gale burst with all its fury on the distended sail, burying the prow in
the waves, which rushed inboard in a black volume, and in an instant
half filled the boat.
"Let go!" roared the guide again, in a voice of thunder; while Mike
struggled with awkward energy to disentangle the rope.
As he spoke, an Indian, who during the storm had been sitting beside the
mast, gazing at the boiling water with a grave, contemplative aspect,
sprang quickly forward, drew his knife, and with two blows (so rapidly
delivered that they seemed but one) cut asunder first the sheet and then
the halyards, which let the sail blow out and fall flat upon the boat.
He was just in time. Another moment and the gushing water, which curled
over the bow, would have filled them to the gunwale. As it was, the
little vessel was so full of water that she lay like a log, while every
toss of the waves sent an additional torrent into her.
"Bail for your lives, lads!" cried Mr Park, as he sprang forward, and,
seizing a tin dish, began energetically to bail out the water.
Following his example, the whole crew seized whatever came first to hand
in the shape of dish or kettle, and began to bail. Charley and Harry
Somerville acted a vigorous part on this occasion--the one with a bark
dish (which had been originally made by the natives for the purpose of
holding maple-sugar), the other with his cap.
For a time it seemed doubtful whether the curling waves should send most
water _into_ the boat, or the crew should bail most out of it. But the
latter soon prevailed, and in a few minutes it was so far got under that
three of the men were enabled to leave off bailing and reset the sail,
while Louis Peltier returned to his post at the helm. At first the boat
moved but slowly, owing to the weight of water in her; but as this grew
gradually less, she increased her speed and neared the land.
"Well done, Redfeather," said Mr Park, addressing the Indian as he
resumed his seat; "your knife did us good service that time, my fine
fellow."
Redfeather, who was the only pure native in the brigade, acknowledged
the compliment with a smile.
"_Ah, oui_," said the guide, whose features had now lost their stern
expression. "Them Injins are always ready enough with their knives.
It's not the first time my life has been saved by the knife of a
redskin."
"Humph! bad luck to them," muttered Mike Brady; "it's not the first time
that my windpipe has been pretty near spiflicated by the knives o' the
redskins, the murtherin' varmints!"
As Mike gave vent to this malediction, the boat ran swiftly past a low,
rocky point, over which the surf was breaking wildly.
"Down with the sail, Mike," cried the guide, at the same time putting
the helm hard up. The beat flew round, obedient to the ruling power,
made one last plunge as it left the rolling surf behind, and slid gently
and smoothly into still water under the lee of the point.
Here, in the snug shelter of a little bay, two of the other boats were
found, with their prows already on the beach, and their crews actively
employed in landing their goods, opening bales that had received damage
from the water, and preparing the encampment; while ever and anon they
paused a moment, to watch the various boats as they flew before the
gale, and one by one doubled the friendly promontory.
If there is one thing that provokes a voyageur more than another, it is
being wind-bound on the shores of a large lake. Rain or sleet, heat or
cold, icicles forming on the oars, or a broiling sun glaring in a
cloudless sky, the stings of sandflies, or the sharp probes of a million
mosquitoes, he will bear with comparative indifference; but being
detained by high wind for two, three, or four days together--lying
inactively on shore, when everything else, it may be, is favourable: the
sun bright, the sky blue, the air invigorating, and all but the wind
propitious--is more than his philosophy can carry him through with
equanimity. He grumbles at it; sometimes makes believe to laugh at it;
very often, we are sorry to say, swears at it; does his best to sleep
through it; but whatever he does, he does with a bad grace, because he's
in a bad humour, and can't stand it.
For the next three days this was the fate of our friends. Part of the
time it rained, when the whole party slept as much as was possible, and
then _endeavoured_ to sleep _more_ than was possible, under the shelter
afforded by the spreading branches of the trees. Part of the time was
fair, with occasional gleams of sunshine, when the men turned out to eat
and smoke and gamble round the fires; and the two friends sauntered down
to a sheltered place on the shore, sunned themselves in a warm nook
among the rocks, while they gazed ruefully at the foaming billows, told
endless stories of what they had done in time past, and equally endless
_prospective_ adventures that they earnestly hoped should befall them in
time to come.
While they were thus engaged, Redfeather, the Indian who had cut the
ropes so opportunely during the storm, walked down to the shore, and
sitting down on a rock not far distant, fell apparently into a reverie.
"I like that fellow," said Harry, pointing to the Indian.
"So do I. He's a sharp, active man. Had it not been for him we should
have had to swim for it."
"Indeed, had it not been for him I should have had to sink for it," said
Harry, with a smile, "for I can't swim."
"Ah, true, I forgot that. I wonder what the redskin, as the guide calls
him, is thinking about," added Charley, in a musing tone.
"Of home, perhaps, `sweet home,'" said Harry, with a sigh. "Do you
think much of home, Charley, now that you have left it?"
Charley did not reply for a few seconds; he seemed to muse over the
question.