We change the scene now to the margin of a small lake embosomed like a
gem in the great wilderness of the Far North.
It is autumn. The sun is bright, the air is calm and clear. There is a
species of warm haze which, paradoxically, does not seem to interfere
with the clearness, and a faint zephyr which appears rather to emphasise
than break the calm. It sends a soft cat's-paw now and then across
parts of the lake, and thus, by contrast, brings into greater prominence
the bright reflection of trees and cloudland mirrored in its depths.
Instead of being the proverbial "dead" calm, it is, if we may so put it,
rather a lively, cheerful calm.
The liveliness of it is vastly increased by hundreds of water-fowl,
which disport themselves on the surface of the lake, as if coquetting
with their own reflections, or whistle round its margin while busy on
the feeding-grounds.
Myriads of mosquitoes were wont there to murmur their maddening career
in search of blood, but, happily, at the period we write of, an
incidental and premonitory night-frost had relegated these to the graves
of their forefathers, or to the mansions of Hiberna--we know not, and
care not, which.
We have styled the lake a "little" one, but we must remind the reader
that we use the expression in an American sense, and that where lakes
are two and three hundred miles long, a little one can well afford to be
twenty or thirty miles in diameter, with, perchance, a boundless
horizon. The lake in question, however, was really a little one--not
more than two miles in length or breadth, with the opposite shore quite
visible, and a number of islets of various sizes on its bosom--all more
or less wooded, and all, more rather than less, the temporary homes of
innumerable wild-fowl, among which were noisy little gulls with pure
white bodies and bright red legs and bills.
On the morning in question--for the sun was not yet much above the
horizon--a little birch-bark canoe might have been seen to glide
noiselessly from a bed of rushes, and proceed quietly, yet swiftly,
along the outer margin of the bed.
The bow-paddle was wielded by a stout boy with fair curly hair. Another
boy, of gentle mien and sickly aspect, sat in the stern and steered.
"Little Bill," said the stout boy in a low voice, "you're too light.
This will never do."
"Archie," returned the other with a languid smile, "I can't help it, you
know--at least not in a hurry. In course of time, if I eat frightfully,
I may grow heavier, but just now there's no remedy except the old one of
a stone."
"That's true, Little Bill," responded Archie with a perplexed look, as
he glanced inquiringly along the shore; "nevertheless, if thought could
make you heavier, you'd soon be all right, for you're a powerful
thinker. The old remedy, you see, is not available, for this side of
the lake is low and swampy. I don't see a single stone anywhere."
"Never mind, get along; we'll come to one soon, I dare say," said the
other, dipping his paddle more briskly over the side.
The point which troubled Archie Sinclair was the difference in weight
between himself and his invalid brother, which, as he occupied the bow,
resulted in the stern of the light craft being raised much too high out
of the water. Of course this could have been remedied by their changing
places, but that would have thrown the heavier work of the bow-paddle on
the invalid, who happened also to be the better steersman of the two. A
large stone placed in the stern would have been a simple and effective
remedy, but, as we have seen, no large stone was procurable just then.
"It didn't much matter in the clumsy wooden things at Red River," said
Archie, "but this egg-shell of Okematan's is very different. Ho!
there's one at last," he continued with animation as they rounded a
point of land, and opened up a small bay, on the margin of which there
were plenty of pebbles, and some large water-worn stones.
One of these having been placed in the stern of the canoe, and the
balance thus rectified, the voyage was continued.
"Don't you think that breakfast on one of these islets would be nice?"
said Billie.
"Just the very thing that was in my mind, Little Bill," answered his
brother.
It was a curious peculiarity in this sturdy youth, that whatever his
invalid brother wished, he immediately wished also. Similarly, when
Billie didn't desire anything, Archie did not desire it. In short
Billie's opinion was Archie's opinion, and Billie's will was Archie's
law. Not that Archie had no will or opinion of his own. On the
contrary, he was quite sufficiently gifted in that way, but his love and
profound pity for the poor and almost helpless invalid were such that in
regard to him he had sunk his own will entirely. As to opinions--well,
he did differ from him occasionally, but he did it mildly, and with an
openness to conviction which was almost enviable. He called him Bill,
Billie, or Little Bill, according to fancy at the moment.
Poor boys! The sudden death of both parents had been a terrible blow to
them, and had intensified the tenderness with which the elder had
constituted himself the guardian of the younger.
When the Scotch settlers were banished from the colony, pity, as well as
friendship for their deceased parents, induced the Davidson family to
adopt the boys, and now, in exile, they were out hunting by themselves
to aid in replenishing the general store of provisions.
It need scarcely be said that at this period of the year the exiled
colonists were not subjected to severe hardships, for the air was alive
with wild-fowl returning south from their breeding-grounds, and the
rivers and lakes were swarming with fish, many of them of excellent
quality.
"This will do--won't it?" said Archie, pointing with his paddle to an
islet about a hundred yards in diameter.
"Yes, famously," responded Little Bill, as he steered towards a shelving
rock which formed a convenient landing-place.
The trees and shrubs covered the islet to the water's edge with dense
foliage, that glowed with all the gorgeous colouring for which North
American woods in autumn are celebrated. An open grassy space just
beyond the landing-place seemed to have been formed by nature for the
express purpose of accommodating picnic parties.
"Nothing could have been better," said Archie, drawing up the bow of the
canoe, and stooping to lift his brother out.
"I think I'll try to walk--it's such a short bit," said Billie.
"D'ye think so? well, I've no doubt you can do it, Little Bill, for
you've got a brave spirit of your own, but there's a wet bit o' moss
you'll have to cross which you mayn't have noticed. Would you like to
be lifted over that, and so keep your moccasins dry?"
"Archie, you're a humbug. You're always trying to make me give you
needless trouble."
"Well, have it your own way, Little Bill. I'll help you to walk up."
"No, carry me," said Billie, stretching out his arms; "I've changed my
mind."
"I will, if you prefer it, Little Bill," said Archie, lifting his
brother in his strong arms and setting him down on the convenient spot
before referred to.
Billie was not altogether helpless. He could stand on his weak legs and
even walk a little without support, but to tramp through the woods, or
clamber up a hill, was to him an absolute impossibility. He had to
content himself with enjoyments of a milder type. And, to do him
justice, he seemed to have no difficulty in doing so. Perhaps he owed
it to his mother, who had been a singularly contented woman and had
taught Billie from his earliest years the truth that, "contentment, with
godliness, is great gain." Billie did not announce his belief in this
truth, but he proclaimed it unwittingly by the more powerful force of
example.
Breakfast is a pleasant meal at any time if the operator be hungry, but
who shall describe the delights of breakfast when eaten in company with
several thousand wild-fowl, in a romantic wilderness with fresh air
laden with the perfumes of the vegetable kingdom encircling the person;
the glorious sunshine dazzling the eyes; the sweet songs of animated
nature thrilling the ears, and the gentle solicitations of an expectant
appetite craving within? Words are wasted in such an effort. We feel
constrained to leave it--as we have not seldom left many a thing before
now--to the reader's more or less vivid imagination.
A blazing fire of pine-logs boiled two tin kettles and roasted two fat
wild-ducks. In one of the kettles Archie compounded and stirred
robbiboo--of which, perhaps, the less said the better. In the other,
Billie infused a small quantity of tea. The roasting ducks--split open,
impaled on sticks and set up before the fire--looked after themselves
till they began to burn, when they were turned by Archie and again
neglected for a few minutes.
It was a glorious meal in all respects, and even Billie, whose appetite
was moderately strong, enjoyed it immensely--none the less that he had
asked a blessing on it before beginning, and all the more that he
sympathised fully with his brother in his possession of an amazing--a
shamelessly robust--capacity for food.
"Now, we'll go to work," remarked Archie, wiping his mouth with a sigh
of contentment, (he had nothing else to wipe it with!) after finishing
the last spoonful of robbiboo, the last limb of duck and the last mug of
tea.
Such a remark at such a period in the entertainment caused Billie to
laugh.
"Why, Archie, you've been at work this half-hour, and there's nothing
left to go to work upon now."
"You know quite well, Little Bill, that I refer to the _day's_ work.
What is it to be? Provisions must be got if the camp is not to starve,
and you and I are bound to do our share. Shall we go to Willow Point
and shoot ducks and geese, or cross the lake and trawl for fish?"
"Both," answered the invalid with decision. "We'll do both. We will
paddle to Willow Point, and try for jack-fish on the way."
"Just so--the very thing, Little Bill. Are you ready to start?"
Billie professed himself quite ready. Archie took him on his back,
replaced him in the stern of the canoe in company with the big stone,
and then stepped gently into his own place at the bow, where a common
trading gun, with the old-fashioned flint lock and single barrel, rested
against the gunwale. Pushing off they soon left Breakfast-isle far
behind them, and crept swiftly along by the margin of the reeds.
On the way Billie cast out his fishing-line. It was a strong cod-line,
with a great cod-hook attached and a lump of fat pork on it; for Archie,
in the fervour of hope coupled with piscatorial ignorance and a sanguine
disposition, had strongly advised his brother to err, if err he must, on
the safe side, and be prepared for anything, from a great lake-serpent
to a fresh-water whale.
No civilised fish would have deigned to give a second thought to the
obvious deception which a mass of indigestible pork presented, but fish
of the backwoods--especially in the early years of this century--were
not suspicious. An enormous pike, or "jack-fish," coveted that bait and
took it. Not only so, but it took the great cod-hook and ten inches of
the line besides.
A shout such as Billie had not uttered for many months announced the
fact.
"Hi! hold on, Archie! Back water! I say, I'd believe I had hanked the
bottom if it didn't tug in such a lively way!"
"Pay out line, Little Bill!" cried the other, looking over his shoulder
with blazing eyes, but unable to render any assistance owing to the
small size and crank nature of the canoe. "Stay, I'll turn about and
become steersman, while you play the--whew! It's a whale! I say--ease
off!"
"Ease off!" cried Billie in desperation; "how can I ease off, with only
a few yards o' the line left?"
"Pitch the reel back to me then. I'll manage it!" cried Archie, who had
converted the bow of the canoe into the stern--both ends being alike--by
the simple process of turning himself round and sitting with his face
towards his brother.
What Archie had styled the reel was simply a piece of stick with the
line wound round it. His brother pitched it to him with one hand while
the desperate jerking of the other--indeed of his whole body--told at
once of the size and the impatience of the fish.
Unwinding the line in haste, Archie fastened the extreme end of it to
two spare paddles and flung them overboard.
"Now, Little Bill," he said; "you may let him have his head, and if you
can't hold on without risking the line just let it go."
As he spoke the captive made another rush--not very frantic indeed, for
the pike is a sluggish creature in all waters--but with a steady
persistency that meant resolution of purpose. In a few seconds our
invalid was compelled to let go, and, the line tightening, the paddles
disappeared with a jerk.
Soon after they reappeared, and the boys paddled towards them with a
cheer, picked them up and the battle was renewed.
It would be tedious to recount all the incidents of that fight. We can
only say that after a struggle that lasted an hour--according to the
younger brother; two hours and a half, according to the elder--a pike of
about four feet in length was hauled into the canoe.
"That's enough of fishing for one day," remarked Billie, wiping his
heated brow.
"Quite enough," assented the other; "shall we make for Willow Point now,
Little Bill?"
"Yes. We will try the shooting now."
In accordance with this plan, the direction of the canoe was changed,
and, early in the afternoon, the young hunters found themselves
alongside of a low point of rocks which stretched well out into the
lake, leaving a deep bay on either side. The extreme end of the point
consisted of naked rock, but the greater part of it was covered with a
dense under-growth of low willow bushes.
Here they disembarked, and Archie, as before, carried his brother to the
highest part of the low point, where a piece of green sward, free from
bushes, formed an attractive resting-place.
"Sit there now, Billie, till I get some brush, an' make yourself useful
by cutting out goose heads. See, here are some branches o' the right
sort ready to hand. No doubt some Redskins have been at work here
before us."
He picked up some pieces of wood which Nature had formed more or less to
resemble the heads and necks of geese. By a very slight use of the
knife Billie converted these into excellent portraits. When he had
finished half-a-dozen of them, his brother had cut and brought to the
spot a number of bushy branches about two or three feet high. These
were soon stuck into the ground in a small circle so as to resemble a
growing bush, behind, or, rather, in the midst of which, they could
effectually conceal themselves by crouching.
While this was being constructed the elder brother went down to the edge
of the water and made half-a-dozen mud-heaps well within gunshot, which
when the artificial heads and necks were attached to them, formed such
exact counterparts of geese that the wild birds might well be excused
for mistaking them for friends. Indeed tyros at this work have been
known to fire at such decoys believing them to be genuine birds.
Even while they were thus engaged one and another flock of ducks and
geese passed them on their way to warmer climes; of course sheering off
as they passed. But when the arrangement was completed, and the two
boys, crouching low, gazed at the horizon with eager looks, the wild
birds no longer avoided the spot. On the contrary, seeing the decoys,
they rather inclined to pass close to the place.
In flying down a river, or along the margin of a lake, wild birds may
diverge a little to follow the sinuosities of bank or shore, but they
will not get out of the way of a projecting promontory; they rather make
a short cut by crossing over it.
The young hunters had not to wait long.
"There's a flock of geese coming," said Archie in a whisper, though the
birds were at the moment some miles away. "Take the first shot, Little
Bill."
They had only one gun between them.
"I don't like to," said Billie, "that thing gave me such an awful kick
last time, and I can't stand it now."
"O! there's no fear, I put in only a small charge of powder-and-shot, on
purpose. It won't kick hard this time. Try."
"Well, I'll try," said Billie, taking the gun.
"Aim well in advance, Bill. They fly fast, and primin' gets damp
sometimes."
A flock of small geese was approaching. The boys became dumb, but they
had remarkably speaking eyes.
Animated by curiosity, the flock descended to observe the decoys. How
often that feeling of curiosity has proved fatal--not only to feathered
geese!
Little Bill raised his gun. Puff! went the priming. Bang! went the
charge. One of the birds, describing a beautiful curve, fell with
bursting violence on the ground.
"Well done, Billie," cried his brother enthusiastically as he leaped
over the sheltering brush and ran to secure the prize. "A few like that
will give a supper to the whole camp. Now, then," he added on
returning, "you'll try again."
"No, Archie. It's your turn now--and the thing _did_ give me a
tremendous kick."
"But I will put in still less powder this time, Little Bill, and less
shot too, so you'll have to be careful of your aim. See, there's
another flock coming--there, take it, and down with you. I do believe
they are big fellows."
Thus encouraged, Billie took the gun and crouched low. His brother was
right. It was a flock of the great grey geese of Canada which now
approached. The hearts of both boys beat high, for they were not only
actuated by what is termed the sporting tendency, but by the desire to
contribute their fair share to the general larder of their friends, who
were encamped a considerable distance off at the other end of the lake.
"Okematan will open his eyes if we take back a goose or two like these;
why, they are swans almost!" whispered Archie, as the birds approached
in the form of an angle. "Take the big fat one on the left--the one now
squintin' down at the decoys."
Billie obeyed, and fired. The result was, in a manner, threefold.
First, the boy's aim was so good that the big fat fellow dropped like a
stone not three yards from their position. Second, the hitherto silent
and symmetrically arranged flock went into dire confusion and sheered
off in trumpeting convulsions; and, third, a scattering shot, having
found its billet in the head of another goose immediately behind the
first one, caused it to plunge right into the camp, straight for the
head of Little Bill. Archie, ignorant of this, was in the very act of
leaping over the brush to secure the first goose, and had fortunately
got in front of his brother at the right moment when the second goose
caught him on the shoulder and knocked him into the poor invalid's arms.
He was stunned at first, and rose in a few moments in some degree of
mental confusion; but he was not much the worse for the accident and
greatly rejoiced at his fortunate escape, as well as the splendid
shooting, of Little Bill.
It must not be supposed that the brothers continued to shoot at this
rate. Comparatively few flocks of geese passed over Willow Point that
day, but numerous flocks of wild-ducks did, and before evening had put
an end to their work, they had secured a fair canoe-load of game.
That night they lighted their camp-fire among the neighbouring willows;
feasted luxuriously on part of the day's hunt; lay down side by side
under one blanket, with the upturned canoe partially covering them;
dreamed at first of Okematan, gazing in wonder at their load, and,
afterwards, of being knocked head over heels by an enormous grey goose
whose persistent pugnacity was only equalled by its strange incapacity
to achieve its murderous ends.
Ultimately Oblivion came to their rescue, and the young hunters fell
into a dreamless slumber, with the smoking camp-fire sending an
occasional gleam of ruddy light on their recumbent forms, and the dark
sky with its hosts of twinkling stars serving for a gorgeous canopy.