It need hardly be said that we all sprang up when the thunder-clap shook
the earth, and began hastily to make preparation for the coming storm.
The broad flat branches of a majestic pine formed a roof to our
encampment. Dragging our provisions and blankets as near as possible to
the stem of the tree, we covered them up with one of our oiled-cloths,
which were somewhat similar in appearance and texture to the tarpaulings
of seafaring men, though light in colour. Then we ran down to the lake,
carried all our goods hastily to the same spot, covered them up in like
manner, and finally dragged our boat as far up on the beach as possible.
Several blinding flashes and deafening peals saluted us while we were
thus employed, but as yet not a drop of rain or sigh of wind disturbed
us, and we were congratulating ourselves on having managed the matter so
promptly, when several huge drops warned us to seek shelter.
"That will do, boys," cried Lumley, referring to the boat, "she's safe."
"_Voila! vite_!" shouted Marcelle, our volatile son of Vulcan, as the
first big drops of rain descended on him.
He sprang towards the sheltering tree with wild activity. So, indeed,
did we all, but the rain was too quick for us. Down it came with the
suddenness and fury of a shower-bath, and most of us were nearly
drenched before we reached our pine. There was a good deal of shouting
and laughter at first, but the tremendous forces of nature that had been
let loose were too overwhelming to permit of continued levity. In a few
minutes the ground near our tree became seamed with little glancing
rivulets, while the rain continued to descend like straight heavy rods
of crystal which beat on the earth with a dull persistent roar. Ere
long the saturated soil refused to drink in the superabundance, and the
crystal rods, descending into innumerable pools, changed the roar into
the plash of many waters.
We stood close together for some time, gazing at this scene in silent
solemnity, when a few trickling streams began to fall upon us, showing
that our leafy canopy, thick though it was, could not protect us
altogether from such a downpour.
"We'd better rig up one of the oiled-cloths, and get under it," I
suggested.
"Do so," said our chief.
Scarcely had he spoken when a flash of lightning, brighter than any that
had gone before, revealed to us the fact that the distant part of the
hitherto placid lake was seething with foam.
"A squall! Look out!" shouted Lumley, grasping the oiled-cloth we were
about to spread.
Every one shouted and seized hold of something under the strong
conviction that action of some sort was necessary to avert danger. But
all our voices were silenced in a dreadful roar of thunder which, as
Donald Bane afterwards remarked, seemed to split the universe from stem
to stern. This was instantly followed by a powerful whirlwind which
caught our oiled-cloth, tore it out of our hands, and whisked it up into
the tree-tops, where it stuck fast and flapped furiously, while some of
our party were thrown down, and others seemed blown away altogether as
they ran into the thick bush for shelter.
For myself, without any definite intentions, and scarce knowing what I
was about, I seized and clung to the branches of a small tree with the
tenacity of a drowning man--unable to open my eyes while sticks and
leaves, huge limbs of trees and deluges of water flew madly past,
filling my mind with a vague impression that the besom of destruction
had become a veritable reality, and that we were all about to be swept
off the face of the earth together.
Strange to say, in this crisis I felt no fear. I suppose I had not time
or power to think at all, and I have since that day thought that God
perhaps thus mercifully sends relief to His creatures in their direst
extremity--just as He sends relief to poor human beings, when suffering
intolerable pain, by causing stupor.
The outburst was as short-lived as it was furious. Suddenly the wind
ceased; the floods of rain changed to slight droppings, and finally
stopped altogether, while the thunder growled itself into sullen repose
in the far distance.
But what a scene of wreck was left behind! We could not of course, see
the full extent of the mischief, for the night still remained intensely
dark, but enough was revealed in the numerous uprooted trees which lay
all round us within the light of our rekindled camp-fire. From most of
these we had been protected by the great pine, under which we had taken
shelter, though one or two had fallen perilously near to us--in one case
falling on and slightly damaging our baggage.
Our first anxiety, of course, was our boat, towards which we ran as if
by one impulse, the instant the wind had subsided.
To our horror it was gone!
Only those who know what it is to traverse hundreds of leagues of an
almost tenantless wilderness, and have tried to push a few miles through
roadless forests that have grown and fallen age after age in undisturbed
entanglement since the morning of creation, can imagine the state of our
minds at this discovery.
"Search towards the woods, men," said Lumley, who, whatever he might
have felt, was the only one amongst us who seemed unexcited. We could
trace no sign of anxiety in the deep tones of his steady voice.
It was this quality--I may remark in passing--this calm, equable flow of
self-possession in all circumstances, no matter how trying, that
rendered our young leader so fit for the work, with which he had been
entrusted, and which caused us all to rely on him with unquestioning
confidence. He never seemed uncertain how to act even in the most
desperate circumstances, and he never gave way to discontent or
depression. A gentle, good-humoured expression usually played on his
countenance, yet he could look stern enough at times, and even fierce,
as we all knew.
While we were stumbling in the dark in the direction indicated, we heard
the voice of Salamander shouting:--
"Here it am! De bot--busted on de bank!"
And "busted" it certainly was, as we could feel, for it was too dark to
see.
"Fetch a blazing stick, one of you," cried Lumley.
A light revealed the fact that our boat, in being rolled bodily up the
bank by the gale, had got several of her planks damaged and two of her
ribs broken.
"Let's be thankful," I said, on further examination, "that no damage has
been done to keel or gun'le."
"Nor to stem or stern-post," added Lumley. "Come, we shan't be delayed
more than a day after all."
He was right. The whole of the day that followed the storm we spent in
repairing the boat, and drying such portions of the goods as had got
wet, as well as our own garments. The weather turned out to be bright
and warm, so that when we lay down to rest, everything was ready for a
start at the earliest gleam of dawn.
"Lumley," said I, next day, as we rested after a good spell at the oars,
"what would have become of us if our boat had been smashed to pieces, or
bodily blown away?"
"Nothing very serious would have become of us, I think," he replied with
an amused look.
"But consider," I said; "we are now hundreds of miles away from Muskrat
House--our nearest neighbour--with a dense wilderness and no roads
between. Without a boat we could neither advance nor retreat. We
might, of course, try to crawl along river banks and lake shores, which
would involve the wading or swimming of hundreds of rivulets and rivers,
with provisions and blankets on our backs, and even then winter would be
down on us, and we should all be frozen to death before the end of the
journey. Besides, even if we were to escape, how could we ever show
face after leaving all our supply of goods and stores to rot in the
wilderness?"
"Truly," replied my friend with a short laugh, "the picture you paint is
not a lively one, but it is I who ought to ask _you_ to consider. There
are many ways in which we might overcome our supposed difficulties. I
will explain; and let me begin by pointing out that your first error
lies in conceiving an improbability and an impossibility. In the first
place it is improbable that our boat should get `smashed to pieces.'
Such an event seldom occurs in river navigation, except in the case of
going over something like Niagara. In the second place it is impossible
that a boat should be blown bodily away. But let us suppose that, for
the sake of argument, something of the kind had happened, and that our
boat was damaged beyond repair, or lost; could we not, think you,
fabricate a couple of birch-bark canoes in a country where such splendid
birch-trees grow, and with these proceed to our destination?"
"Very true," said I, "that did not occur to me; but," I continued,
waxing argumentative, "what if there had been no birch-trees in this
part of the country?"
"Why then, Max, there would be nothing to prevent our placing most of
our goods _en cache_, construct a small portable raft for crossing
streams, and start off each man with a small load for Big Otter's home,
at which we should arrive in a week or two, and there set about the
erection of huts to shelter us, begin a fishery, and remain until winter
should set fast the lakes and rivers, cover the land with snow, and thus
enable us to go back for our goods, and bring them forward on sledges,
with aid, perhaps, from the red-men."
"True, true, Lumley, that might be done."
"Or," continued my friend, "we might stay where the disaster overtook
us, remain till winter, and send Big Otter on to tell his people that we
were coming. When one plan fails, you know, all you've got to do is to
try another. There is only one sort of accident that might cause us a
deal of trouble, and some loss--and that is, our boat getting smashed
and upset in a rapid, and our goods scattered. Even in that case we
might recover much of what could swim, but lead and iron would be lost,
and powder damaged. However we won't anticipate evil. Look! there is a
sight that ought to banish all forebodings from our minds."
He pointed as he spoke to an opening ahead of us, which revealed a
beautiful little lake, whose unruffled surface was studded with
picturesque bush-clad islets. Water-fowl of many kinds were swimming
about on its surface, or skimming swiftly over it. It seemed so
peaceful that I was led to think of it as a miniature paradise.
"Come, Henri, chante, sing," cried Lumley, with a touch of enthusiasm in
eye and tone.
Our carpenter, Coppet, was by general consent our leading singer. He
possessed a sweet tenor voice, and always responded to a call with a
willingness that went far to counteract the lugubrious aspect of his
visage. On this occasion he at once struck up the canoe-song, "_A la
claire fontaine_," which, besides being plaintive and beautiful, seemed
to me exceedingly appropriate, for we were at that time crossing a
height of land, and the clear, crystal waters over which we skimmed
formed indeed the fountain-head of some of the great northern rivers.
The sudden burst of song had a wonderful effect upon the denizens of
Clear Lake, as we named the sheet of water; for, after a brief momentary
pause in their chatter--as if of incredulity and blazing surprise--they
all arose at once in such myriads that the noise of their wings was not
unlike what I may style muffled thunder.
Before the song was well finished we had reached the other end of the
lakelet, and found that a deep river ran out of it in a nor'easterly
direction. The current of the river was powerful, and we had not
proceeded many miles down its course when we came to a series of
turbulent rapids.
As we entered them I could not help recalling Lumley's remarks about the
risks we ran in descending rapids; but no thought of actual danger
occurred to me until I saw Blondin, who was our bowman, draw in his oar,
grasp a long pole with which he had provided himself, and stand up in
the bow, the better to look out inquiringly ahead.
Now, it must be explained that the bowman's is the most important post
in river navigation in the Nor'-west--equal, at all events, to that of
steersman. In fact the two act in concert; the bowman, whose position
commands the best view of rocks and dangers ahead, giving direction, and
the watchful steersman acting sympathetically with his long oar or
sweep, so that should the bowman with his pole thrust the head of the
boat violently to the right the steersman sweeps its stern sharply to
the left, thus causing the craft to spin round and shoot aside from the
danger, whatever it may be. Of course the general flow and turmoil of a
rapid indicates pretty clearly to skilled eyes where the deepest water
lies; nevertheless, in spite of knowledge, skill, and experience,
disasters will happen at times.
"Monsieur," said Blondin in French to Lumley, as we gained a smooth
piece of water at the foot of a short rapid, "I know not the rocks
ahead. It may be well to land and look."
"Do so, Blondin."
We ran the boat's head on shore, and while the bowman and our leader
went to look at the rapids in advance, most of our men got out their
pipes and began to chat quietly.
Our scouts quickly returned, saying that the rapids, though rough, were
practicable. Soon we were among them, darting down with what would have
seemed, to any inexperienced eye, perilous velocity. The river at the
place was about a hundred yards wide, with an unusually rugged channel,
but with a distinctly marked run--deep and tortuous--in the middle. On
both sides of the run, sweeping and curling surges told of rocks close
to the surface, and in many places these showed black edges above water,
which broke the stream into dazzling foam.
"Have a care, Blondin," said our chief, in a warning voice, as the
bowman made a sudden and desperate shove with his pole. A side current
had swept us too far in the direction of a forbidding ledge, to touch on
which might have been fatal. But Henri Coppet, who acted as steersman
as well as carpenter, was equal to the occasion. He bent his lanky form
almost double, took a magnificent sweep with the oar, and seconded
Blondin's shove so ably that we passed the danger like an arrow, with
nothing but a slight graze.
That danger past we were on the brink of another, almost before we had
time to think. At the time I remember being deeply impressed, in a
confused way, with the fact that, whatever might await us below, there
was now no possibility of our returning up stream. We were emphatically
"in for it," and our only hope lay in the judgment, boldness, and
capacity of the two men who guided our frail bark--doubly frail, it
seemed to me, when contrasted with the waters that surged around, and
the solid rocks that appeared to bar our way in all directions. Even
some of our men at the oars, whose only duty was to obey orders
promptly, began to show symptoms of anxiety, if not of fear.
"Smooth water ahead," muttered Lumley, pointing to a small lake into
which the turbulent river ran about a quarter of a mile further down.
"All right soon," I said, but just as I spoke the boat lightly touched a
rock. Blondin saw that there was not sufficient depth in a passage
which he had intended to traverse. With a shout to the steersman he
thrust his pole over the side with all his might. The obedient craft
turned as if on a pivot, and would have gone straight into a safe stream
in another second, if Blondin's pole had not stuck fast either in mud or
between two rocks.
In a moment our bowman was whisked over the side as if he had been a
feather. Letting go the pole he caught the gunwale and held on. The
boat was carried broadside on the rocks, and the gushing water raised
her upper side so high that she was on the point of rolling over when
all of us--I think instinctively--sprang to that side and bore her down.
"Over the side, some of you," cried Lumley, leaping into the water on
the lower side, followed by six of us, including myself. Some of us
were breast deep; others, on rocks, stood higher.
"Now--together--shove!--and hold on!"
There was no need to give us the latter caution.
Our boat shot into deep water and we all held on for life. Fortunately
the more open part of the rapid had been gained. The steersman without
aid could keep us in deep water, and, before we had fairly scrambled
back into our places, we were floating safely on the quiet lake into
which the river ran.
You may be sure that we had matter not only for gratulation but for
conversation that night at supper; for, after discussing our recent
adventure in all its phases, nearly every one of our party had numerous
similar incidents to tell of--either as having occurred to himself, or
to his friends. But the pleasure of that night's intercourse and repose
was materially diminished by a pest, with which for some time previously
we had not been much afflicted.
Who has not heard of mosquitoes? We may inform those who have never
seen or felt them that they are peculiarly virulent and numerous and
vicious and bloodthirsty in the swampy lands of North America, and that
night we had got into a region of swamps. It may also, perhaps, be
unknown to some people that mosquitoes do not slumber--unless, indeed,
they do it on a preconcerted plan of relieving guard. Either there is a
"day and night shift" or they do not rest at all. As a consequence _we_
did not rest. Groans and maledictions were the order of the night. We
spent much time in slapping our own faces, and immolated hundreds of the
foe at each slap, but thousands came on to refill the ranks. We buried
our heads under our blankets, but could not sleep for suffocation. Some
of the men left their faces exposed, went to sleep in desperate
exhaustion, after hours of fruitless warfare, and awoke with eyes all
but shut up, and cheeks like dumplings. Others lay down to leeward of
the fire and spent the night in a compound experience of blood-sucking
and choking. One ingenious man--I think it was Salamander--wrapped his
visage in a kerchief, leaving nothing exposed save the point of his nose
for breathing purposes. In the morning he arose with something like a
huge strawberry on the end of his prominent feature.
Indeed, it was a wearing night to follow such a trying day!