The canoe—Ascending the rapids—The portage—Deer shooting and life in
the woods.
We must now beg the patient reader to take a leap with us, not only
through space, but also through time. We must pass over the events of
the remainder of the journey along the shore of Lake Winnipeg.
Unwilling though we are to omit anything in the history of our friends
that would be likely to prove interesting, we think it wise not to run
the risk of being tedious, or of dwelling too minutely on the details
of scenes which recall powerfully the feelings and memories of bygone
days to the writer, but may, nevertheless, appear somewhat flat to the
reader.
We shall not, therefore, enlarge at present on the arrival of the boats
at Norway House, which lies at the north end of the lake, nor on what
was said and done by our friends and by several other young comrades
whom they found there. We shall not speak of the horror of Harry
Somerville, and the extreme disappointment of his friend Charley
Kennedy, when the former was told that instead of hunting grizzly bears
up the Saskatchewan he was condemned to the desk again at York Fort,
the depot on Hudson’s Bay,—a low, swampy place near the sea-shore,
where the goods for the interior are annually landed and the furs
shipped for England, where the greater part of the summer and much of
the winter is occupied by the clerks who may be doomed to vegetate
there in making up the accounts of what is termed the Northern
Department, and where the brigades converge from all the wide scattered
and far-distant outposts, and the _ship_ from England—that great event
of the year—arrives, keeping the place in a state of constant bustle
and effervescence until autumn, when ship and brigades finally depart,
leaving the residents (about thirty in number) shut up for eight long,
dreary months of winter, with a tenantless wilderness around and behind
them, and the wide, cold frozen sea before. This was among the first of
Harry’s disappointments. He suffered many afterwards, poor fellow!
Neither shall we accompany Charley up the south branch of the
Saskatchewan, where his utmost expectations in the way of hunting were
more than realised, and where he became so accustomed to shooting ducks
and geese, and bears and buffaloes, that he could not forbear smiling
when he chanced to meet with a red-legged gull, and remembered how he
and his friend Harry had comported themselves when they first met with
these birds on the shores of Lake Winnipeg! We shall pass over all
this, and the summer, autumn, and winter too, and leap at once into the
spring of the following year.
On a very bright, cheery morning of that spring a canoe might have been
seen slowly ascending one of the numerous streams which meander through
a richly-wooded fertile country, and mingle their waters with those of
the Athabasca River, terminating their united career in a large lake of
the same name. The canoe was small—one of the kind used by the natives
while engaged in hunting, and capable of holding only two persons
conveniently, with their baggage. To any one unacquainted with the
nature and capabilities of a northern Indian canoe, the fragile, bright
orange-coloured machine that was battling with the strong current of a
rapid must indeed have appeared an unsafe and insignificant craft; but
a more careful study of its performances in the rapid, and of the
immense quantity of miscellaneous goods and chattels which were, at a
later period of the day, disgorged from its interior, would have
convinced the beholder that it was in truth the most convenient and
serviceable craft that could be devised for the exigencies of such a
country.
True, it could only hold two men (it _might_ have taken three at a
pinch), because men, and women too, are awkward, unyielding baggage,
very difficult to stow compactly; but it is otherwise with tractable
goods. The canoe is exceedingly thin, so that no space is taken up or
rendered useless by its own structure, and there is no end to the
amount of blankets, and furs, and coats, and paddles, and tent-covers,
and dogs, and babies, that can be stowed away in its capacious
interior. The canoe of which we are now writing contained two persons,
whose active figures were thrown alternately into every graceful
attitude of manly vigour, as with poles in hand they struggled to force
their light craft against the boiling stream. One was a man apparently
of about forty-five years of age. He was a square-shouldered, muscular
man, and from the ruggedness of his general appearance, the soiled
hunting-shirt that was strapped round his waist with a party-coloured
worsted belt, the leather leggings, a good deal the worse for wear,
together with the quiet, self-possessed glance of his gray eye, the
compressed lip and the sunburned brow, it was evident that he was a
hunter, and one who had seen rough work in his day. The expression of
his face was pleasing, despite a look of habitual severity which sat
upon it, and a deep scar which traversed his brow from the right temple
to the top of his nose. It was difficult to tell to what country he
belonged. His father was a Canadian, his mother a Scotchwoman. He was
born in Canada, brought up in one of the Yankee settlements on the
Missouri, and had, from a mere youth, spent his life as a hunter in the
wilderness. He could speak English, French, or Indian with equal ease
and fluency, but it would have been hard for anyone to say which of the
three was his native tongue. The younger man, who occupied the stern of
the canoe, acting the part of steersman, was quite a youth, apparently
about seventeen, but tall and stout beyond his years, and deeply
sunburned. Indeed, were it not for this fact, the unusual quantity of
hair that hung in massive curls down his neck, and the voyageur
costume, we should have recognised our young friend Charley Kennedy
again more easily. Had any doubts remained in our mind, the shout of
his merry voice would have scattered them at once.
“Hold hard, Jacques,” he cried, as the canoe trembled in the current,
“one moment, till I get my pole fixed behind this rock. Now, then,
shove ahead. Ah!” he exclaimed with chagrin, as the pole slipped on the
treacherous bottom and the canoe whirled round.
“Mind the rock,” cried the bowsman, giving an energetic thrust with his
pole, that sent the light bark into an eddy formed by a large rock
which rose above the turbulent waters. Here it rested while Jacques and
Charley raised themselves on their knees (travellers in small canoes
always sit in a kneeling position) to survey the rapid.
“It’s too much for us, I fear, Mr. Charles,” said Jacques, shading his
brow with his horny hand. “I’ve paddled up it many a time alone, but
never saw the water so big as now.”
“Humph! we shall have to make a portage then, I presume. Could we not
give it one trial more? I think we might make a dash for the tail of
that eddy, and then the stream above seems not quite so strong. Do you
think so, Jacques?”
Jacques was not the man to check a daring young spirit. His motto
through life had ever been, “Never venture, never win”—a sentiment
which his intercourse among fur-traders had taught him to embody in the
pithy expression, “Never say die;” so that, although quite satisfied
that the thing was impossible, he merely replied to his companion’s
speech by an assenting “Ho,” and pushed out again into the stream. An
energetic effort enabled them to gain the tail of the eddy spoken of,
when Charley’s pole snapped across, and, falling heavily on the
gunwale, he would have upset the little craft had not Jacques, whose
wits were habitually on the _qui vive_, thrown his own weight at the
same moment on the opposite side, and counterbalanced Charley’s slip.
The action saved them a ducking; but the canoe, being left to its own
devices for an instant, whirled off again into the stream, and before
Charley could seize a paddle to prevent it, they were floating in the
still water at the foot of the rapids.
“Now isn’t that a bore?” said Charley, with a comical look of
disappointment at his companion.
Jacques laughed.
“It was well to _try_, master. I mind a young clerk who came into these
parts the same year as I did, and _he_ seldom _tried_ anything. He
couldn’t abide canoes. He didn’t want for courage neither; but he had a
nat’ral dislike to them, I suppose, that he couldn’t help, and never
entered one except when he was obliged to do so. Well, one day he
wounded a grizzly bear on the banks o’ the Saskatchewan (mind the tail
o’ that rapid, Mr. Charles; we’ll land t’other side o’ yon rock). Well,
the bear made after him, and he cut stick right away for the river,
where there was a canoe hauled up on the bank. He didn’t take time to
put his rifle aboard, but dropped it on the gravel, crammed the canoe
into the water and jumped in, almost driving his feet through its
bottom as he did so, and then plumped down so suddenly, to prevent its
capsizing, that he split it right across. By this time the bear was at
his heels, and took the water like a duck. The poor clerk, in his
hurry, swayed from side to side tryin’ to prevent the canoe goin’ over.
But when he went to one side, he was so unused to it that he went too
far, and had to jerk over to the other pretty sharp; and so he got
worse and worse, until he heard the bear give a great snort beside him.
Then he grabbed the paddle in desperation, but at the first dash he
missed his stroke, and over he went. The current was pretty strong at
the place, which was lucky for him, for it kept him down a bit, so that
the bear didn’t observe him for a little; and while it was pokin’ away
at the canoe, he was carried down stream like a log and stranded on a
shallow. Jumping up he made tracks for the wood, and the bear (which
had found out its mistake), after him; so he was obliged at last to
take to a tree, where the beast watched him for a day and a night, till
his friends, thinking that something must be wrong, sent out to look
for him. (Steady, now, Mr. Charles; a little more to the right. That’s
it.) Now, if that young man had only ventured boldly into small canoes
when he got the chance, he might have laughed at the grizzly and killed
him too.”
As Jacques finished, the canoe glided into a quiet bay formed by an
eddy of the rapid, where the still water was overhung with dense
foliage.
“Is the portage a long one?” asked Charley, as he stepped out on the
bank, and helped to unload the canoe.
“About half-a-mile,” replied his companion. “We might make it shorter
by poling up the last rapid; but it’s stiff work, Mr. Charles, and
we’ll do the thing quicker and easier at one lift.”
The two travellers now proceeded to make a portage. They prepared to
carry their canoe and baggage overland, so as to avoid a succession of
rapids and waterfalls which intercepted their further progress.
“Now, Jacques, up with it,” said Charley, after the loading had been
taken out and placed on the grassy bank.
The hunter stooped, and seizing the canoe by its centre bar, lifted it
out of the water, placed it on his shoulders, and walked off with it
into the woods. This was not accomplished by the man’s superior
strength. Charley could have done it quite as well; and, indeed, the
strong hunter could have carried a canoe twice the size with perfect
ease. Immediately afterwards Charley followed with as much of the
lading as he could carry, leaving enough on the bank to form another
load.
The banks of the river were steep—in some places so much so that
Jacques found it a matter of no small difficulty to climb over the
broken rocks with the unwieldy canoe on his back; the more so that the
branches interlaced overhead so thickly as to present a strong barrier,
through which the canoe had to be forced, at the risk of damaging its
delicate bark covering. On reaching the comparatively level land above,
however, there was more open space, and the hunter threaded his way
among the tree stems more rapidly, making a detour occasionally to
avoid a swamp or piece of broken ground; sometimes descending a deep
gorge formed by a small tributary of the stream they were ascending,
and which to an unpractised eye would have appeared almost impassable,
even without the encumbrance of a canoe. But the said canoe never bore
Jacques more gallantly or safely over the surges of lake or stream than
did he bear _it_ through the intricate mazes of the forest; now diving
down and disappearing altogether in the umbrageous foliage of a dell;
anon reappearing on the other side and scrambling up the bank on
all-fours, he and the canoe together looking like some frightful yellow
reptile of antediluvian proportions; and then speeding rapidly forward
over a level plain until he reached a sheet of still water above the
rapids. Here he deposited his burden on the grass, and halting only for
a few seconds to carry a few drops of the clear water to his lips,
retraced his steps to bring over the remainder of the baggage. Soon
afterwards Charley made his appearance on the spot where the canoe was
left, and throwing down his load, seated himself on it and surveyed the
prospect. Before him lay a reach of the stream which spread out so
widely as to resemble a small lake, in whose clear, still bosom were
reflected the overhanging foliage of graceful willows, and here and
there the bright stem of a silver birch, whose light-green leaves
contrasted well with scattered groups and solitary specimens of the
spruce fir. Reeds and sedges grew in the water along the banks,
rendering the junction of the land and the stream uncertain and
confused. All this and a great deal more Charley noted at a glance; for
the hundreds of beautiful and interesting objects in nature which take
so long to describe even partially, and are feebly set forth after all
even by the most graphic language, flash upon the eye in all their
force and beauty, and are drunk in at once in a single glance.
But Charley noted several objects floating on the water which we have
not yet mentioned. These were five gray geese feeding among the rocks
at a considerable distance off, and all unconscious of the presence of
a human foe in their remote domains. The travellers had trusted very
much to their guns and nets for food, having only a small quantity of
pemmican in reserve, lest these should fail—an event which was not at
all likely, as the country through which they passed was teeming with
wild-fowl of all kinds, besides deer. These latter, however, were only
shot when they came inadvertently within rifle range, as our voyageurs
had a definite object in view, and could not afford to devote much of
their time to the chase.
During the day previous to that on which we have introduced them to our
readers, Charley and his companion had been so much occupied in
navigating their frail bark among a succession of rapids, that they had
not attended to the replenishing of their larder, so that the geese
which now showed themselves were looked upon by Charley with a longing
eye. Unfortunately they were feeding on the opposite side of the river,
and out of shot. But Charley was a hunter now, and knew how to overcome
slight difficulties. He first cut down a pretty large and leafy branch
of a tree, and placed it in the bow of the canoe in such a way as to
hang down before it and form a perfect screen, through the interstices
of which he could see the geese, while they could only see, what was to
them no novelty, the branch of a tree floating down the stream. Having
gently launched the canoe, Charley was soon close to the unsuspecting
birds, from among which he selected one that appeared to be unusually
complacent and self-satisfied, concluding at once, with an amount of
wisdom that bespoke him a true philosopher, that such _must_ as a
matter of course be the fattest.
“Bang” went the gun, and immediately the sleek goose turned round upon
its back and stretched out its feet towards the sky, waving them once
or twice as if bidding adieu to its friends. The others thereupon took
to flight, with such a deal of sputter and noise as made it quite
apparent that their astonishment was unfeigned. Bang went the gun
again, and down fell a second goose.
“Ha!” exclaimed Jacques, throwing down the remainder of the cargo as
Charley landed with his booty, “that’s well. I was just thinking as I
comed across that we should have to take to pemmican to-night.”
“Well, Jacques, and if we had, I’m sure an old hunter like you, who
have roughed it so often, need not complain,” said Charley, smiling.
“As to that, master,” replied Jacques, “I’ve roughed it often enough;
and when it does come to a clear fix, I can eat my shoes without
grumblin’ as well as any man. But, you see, fresh meat is better than
dried meat when it’s to be had; and so I’m glad to see that you’ve been
lucky, Mr. Charles.”
“To say truth, so am I; and these fellows are delightfully plump. But
you spoke of eating your shoes, Jacques. When were you reduced to that
direful extremity?”
Jacques finished reloading the canoe while they conversed, and the two
were seated in their places, and quietly but swiftly ascending the
stream again, ere the hunter replied.
“You’ve heerd of Sir John Franklin, I s’pose?” he inquired, after a
minute’s consideration.
“Yes, often.”
“An’ p’r’aps you’ve heerd tell of his first trip of discovery along the
shores of the Polar Sea?”
“Do you refer to the time when he was nearly starved to death, and when
poor Hood was shot by the Indian?”
“The same,” said Jacques.
“Oh, yes; I know all about that. Were you with them?” inquired Charley,
in great surprise.
“Why, no—not exactly _on_ the trip; but I was sent in winter with
provisions to them—and much need they had of them, poor fellows! I
found them tearing away at some old parchment skins that had lain under
the snow all winter, and that an Injin’s dog would ha’ turned up his
nose at—and they don’t turn up their snouts at many things, I can tell
ye. Well, after we had left all our provisions with them, we started
for the fort again, just keepin’ as much as would drive off starvation;
for, you see, we thought that surely we would git something on the
road. But neither hoof nor feather did we see all the way (I was
travellin’ with an Injin), and our grub was soon done, though we saved
it up, and only took a mouthful or two the last three days. At last it
was done, and we was pretty well used up, and the fort two days ahead
of us. So says I to my comrade—who had been looking at me for some time
as if he thought that a cut off my shoulder wouldn’t be a bad
thing—says I, ‘Nipitabo, I’m afeard the shoes must go for it now;’ so
with that I pulls out a pair o’ deerskin moccasins. ‘They looks
tender,’ said I, trying to be cheerful. ‘Wah!’ said the Injin; and then
I held them over the fire till they was done black, and Nipitabo ate
one, and I ate the tother, with a lump o’ snow to wash it down!”
“It must have been rather dry eating,” said Charley, laughing.
“Rayther; but it was better than the Injin’s leather breeches, which we
took in hand next day. They was _uncommon_ tough, and very dirty,
havin’ been worn about a year and a half. Hows’ever, they kept us up;
an’ as we only ate the legs, he had the benefit o’ the stump to arrive
with at the fort next day.”
“What’s yon ahead?” exclaimed Charley, pausing as he spoke, and shading
his eyes with his hand.
“It’s uncommon like trees,” said Jacques. “It’s likely a tree that’s
been tumbled across the river; and from its appearance, I think we’ll
have to cut through it.”
“Cut through it!” exclaimed Charley; “if my sight is worth a gun-flint,
we’ll have to cut through a dozen trees.”
Charley was right. The river ahead of them became rapidly narrower; and
either from the looseness of the surrounding soil, or the passing of a
whirlwind, dozens of trees had been upset, and lay right across the
narrow stream in terrible confusion. What made the thing worse was that
the banks on either side, which were low and flat, were covered with
such a dense thicket down to the water’s edge, that the idea of making
a portage to overcome the barrier seemed altogether hopeless.
“Here’s a pretty business, to be sure!” cried Charley, in great
disgust.
“Never say die, Mister Charles,” replied Jacques, taking up the axe
from the bottom of the canoe; “it’s quite clear that cuttin’ through
the trees is easier than cuttin’ through the bushes, so here goes.”
For fully three hours the travellers were engaged in cutting their way
up the encumbered stream, during which time they did not advance three
miles; and it was evening ere they broke down the last barrier and
paddled out into a sheet of clear water again.
“That’ll prepare us for the geese, Jacques,” said Charley, as he wiped
the perspiration from his brow; “there’s nothing like warm work for
whetting the appetite, and making one sleep soundly.”
“That’s true,” replied the hunter, resuming his paddle. “I often wonder
how them white-faced fellows in the settlements manage to keep body and
soul together—a-sittin’, as they do, all day in the house, and a-lyin’
all night in a feather bed. For my part, rather than live as they do, I
would cut my way up streams like them we’ve just passed every day and
all day, and sleep on top of a flat rock o’ nights, under the blue sky,
all my life through.”
With this decided expression of his sentiments, the stout hunter
steered the canoe up alongside of a huge flat rock, as if he were bent
on giving a practical illustration of the latter part of his speech
then and there.
“We’d better camp now, Mister Charles; there’s a portage o’ two miles
here, and it’ll take us till sundown to get the canoe and things over.”
“Be it so,” said Charley, landing. “Is there a good place at the other
end to camp on?”
“First-rate. It’s smooth as a blanket on the turf, and a clear spring
bubbling at the root of a wide tree that would keep off the rain if it
was to come down like water-spouts.”
The spot on which the travellers encamped that evening overlooked one
of those scenes in which vast extent, and rich, soft variety of natural
objects, were united with much that was grand and savage. It filled the
mind with the calm satisfaction that is experienced when one gazes on
the wide lawns studded with noble trees; the spreading fields of waving
grain that mingle with stream and copse, rock and dell, vineyard and
garden, of the cultivated lands of civilized men; while it produced
that exulting throb of freedom which stirs man’s heart to its centre,
when he casts a first glance over miles and miles of broad lands that
are yet unowned, unclaimed; that yet lie in the unmutilated beauty with
which the beneficent Creator originally clothed them—far away from the
well-known scenes of man’s checkered history; entirely devoid of those
ancient monuments of man’s power and skill that carry the mind back
with feelings of awe to bygone ages, yet stamped with evidences of an
antiquity more ancient still in the wild primeval forests, and the
noble trees that have sprouted, and spread, and towered in their
strength for centuries—trees that have fallen at their posts, while
others took their place, and rose and fell as they did, like long-lived
sentinels whose duty it was to keep perpetual guard over the vast
solitudes of the great American Wilderness.
The fire was lighted, and the canoe turned bottom up in front of it,
under the branches of a spreading tree which stood on an eminence,
whence was obtained a bird’s-eye view of the noble scene. It was a flat
valley, on either side of which rose two ranges of hills, which were
clothed to the top with trees of various kinds, the plain of the valley
itself being dotted with clumps of wood, among which the fresh green
foliage of the plane tree and the silver-stemmed birch were
conspicuous, giving an airy lightness to the scene and enhancing the
picturesque effect of the dark pines. A small stream could be traced
winding out and in among clumps of willows, reflecting their drooping
boughs and the more sombre branches of the spruce fir and the straight
larch, with which in many places its banks were shaded. Here and there
were stretches of clearer ground where the green herbage of spring gave
to it a lawn-like appearance, and the whole magnificent scene was
bounded by blue hills that became fainter as they receded from the eye
and mingled at last with the horizon. The sun had just set, and a rich
glow of red bathed the whole scene, which was further enlivened by
flocks of wild-fowls and herds of reindeer.
These last soon drew Charley’s attention from the contemplation of the
scenery, and observing a deer feeding in an open space, towards which
he could approach without coming between it and the wind, he ran for
his gun and hurried into the woods while Jacques busied himself in
arranging their blankets under the upturned canoe, and in preparing
supper.
Charley discovered soon after starting, what all hunters discover
sooner or later—namely, that appearances are deceitful; for he no
sooner reached the foot of the hill than he found, between him and the
lawn-like country, an almost impenetrable thicket of underwood. Our
young hero, however, was of that disposition which sticks at nothing,
and instead of taking time to search for an opening, he took a race and
sprang into the middle of it, in hopes of forcing his way through. His
hopes were not disappointed. He got through—quite through—and alighted
up to the armpits in a swamp, to the infinite consternation of a flock
of teal ducks that were slumbering peacefully there with their heads
under their wings, and had evidently gone to bed for the night.
Fortunately he held his gun above the water and kept his balance, so
that he was able to proceed with a dry charge, though with an
uncommonly wet skin. Half-an-hour brought Charley within range, and
watching patiently until the animal presented his side towards the
place of his concealment, he fired and shot it through the heart.
“Well done, Mister Charles,” exclaimed Jacques, as the former staggered
into camp with the reindeer on his shoulders. “A fat doe, too.”
“Ay,” said Charley; “but she has cost me a wet skin. So pray, Jacques,
rouse up the fire, and let’s have supper as soon as you can.”
Jacques speedily skinned the deer, cut a couple of steaks from its
flank, and placing them on wooden spikes, stuck them up to roast, while
his young friend put on a dry shirt, and hung his coat before the
blaze. The goose which had been shot earlier in the day was also
plucked, split open, impaled in the same manner as the steaks, and set
up to roast. By this time the shadows of night had deepened, and ere
long all was shrouded in gloom, except the circle of ruddy light around
the camp fire, in the centre of which Jacques and Charley sat, with the
canoe at their backs, knives in their hands, and the two spits, on the
top of which smoked their ample supper, planted in the ground before
them.
One by one the stars went out, until none were visible except the
bright, beautiful morning star, as it rose higher and higher in the
eastern sky. One by one the owls and the wolves, ill-omened birds and
beasts of night, retired to rest in the dark recesses of the forest.
Little by little, the gray dawn overspread the sky, and paled the
lustre of the morning star, until it faded away altogether; and then
Jacques awoke with a start, and throwing out his arm, brought it
accidentally into violent contact with Charley’s nose.
This caused Charley to awake, not only with a start, but also with a
roar, which brought them both suddenly into a sitting posture, in which
they continued for some time in a state between sleeping and waking,
their faces meanwhile expressive of mingled imbecility and extreme
surprise. Bursting into a simultaneous laugh, which degenerated into a
loud yawn, they sprang up, launched and reloaded their canoe, and
resumed their journey.