The walk continued—Frozen toes—An encampment in the snow.
After quitting York Fort, the three friends followed the track leading
to the spot where the winter’s firewood was cut. Snow was still falling
thickly, and it was with some difficulty that the accountant kept in
the right direction. The night was excessively dark, while the dense
fir forest, through which the narrow road ran, rendered the gloom if
possible more intense.
When they had proceeded about a mile, their leader suddenly came to a
stand.
“We must quit the track now,” said he; “so get on your snow-shoes as
fast as you can.”
Hitherto they had carried their snow-shoes under their arms, as the
beaten track along which they travelled rendered them unnecessary; but
now, having to leave the path and pursue the remainder of their journey
through deep snow, they availed themselves of those useful machines, by
means of which the inhabitants of this part of North America are
enabled to journey over many miles of trackless wilderness, with nearly
as much ease as a sportsman can traverse the moors in autumn, and that
over snow so deep that one hour’s walk through it _without_ such aids
would completely exhaust the stoutest trapper, and advance him only a
mile or so on his journey. In other words, to walk without snow-shoes
would be utterly impossible, while to walk with them is easy and
agreeable. They are not used after the manner of skates, with a
_sliding_, but a _stepping_ action, and their sole use is to support
the wearer on the top of snow, into which without them he would sink up
to the waist. When we say that they support the wearer on the _top_ of
the snow, of course we do not mean that they literally do not break the
surface at all. But the depth to which they sink is comparatively
trifling, and varies according to the state of the snow and the season
of the year. In the woods they sink frequently about six inches,
sometimes more, sometimes less, while on frozen rivers, where the snow
is packed solid by the action of the wind, they sink only two or three
inches, and sometimes so little as to render it preferable to walk
without them altogether. Snow-shoes are made of a light, strong
framework of wood, varying from three to six feet long by eighteen and
twenty inches broad, tapering to a point before and behind, and turning
up in front. Different tribes of Indians modify the form a little, but
in all essential points they are the same. The framework is filled up
with a netting of deer-skin threads, which unites lightness with great
strength, and permits any snow that may chance to fall upon the netting
to pass through it like a sieve.
On the present occasion the snow, having recently fallen, was soft, and
the walking, consequently, what is called heavy.
“Come on,” shouted the accountant, as he came to a stand for the third
time within half-an-hour, to await the coming up of poor Hamilton, who,
being rather awkward in snow-shoe walking even in daylight, found it
nearly impossible in the dark.
“Wait a little, please,” replied a faint voice in the distance; “I’ve
got among a quantity of willows, and find it very difficult to get on.
I’ve been down twice al—”
The sudden cessation of the voice, and a loud crash as of breaking
branches, proved too clearly that our friend had accomplished his third
fall.
“There he goes again,” exclaimed Harry Somerville, who came up at the
moment. “I’ve helped him up once already. We’ll never get to North
River at this rate. What _is_ to be done?”
“Let’s see what has become of him this time, however,” said the
accountant, as he began to retrace his steps. “If I mistake not, he
made rather a heavy plunge that time, judging from the sound.”
At that moment the clouds overhead broke, and a moonbeam shot down into
the forest, throwing a pale light over the cold scene. A few steps
brought Harry and the accountant to the spot whence the sound had
proceeded, and a loud startling laugh rang through the night air, as
the latter suddenly beheld poor Hamilton struggling, with his arms,
head, and shoulders stuck into the snow, his snow-shoes twisted and
sticking with the heels up and awry, in a sort of rampant confusion,
and his gun buried to the locks beside him. Regaining one’s
perpendicular after a fall in deep snow, when the feet are encumbered
by a pair of long snow-shoes, is by no means an easy thing to
accomplish, in consequence of the impossibility of getting hold of
anything solid on which to rest the hands. The depth is so great that
the outstretched arms cannot find bottom, and every successive struggle
only sinks the unhappy victim deeper down. Should no assistance be
near, he will soon beat the snow to a solidity that will enable him to
rise, but not in a very enviable or comfortable condition.
“Give me a hand, Harry,” gasped Hamilton, as he managed to twist his
head upwards for a moment.
“Here you are,” cried Harry, holding out his hand and endeavouring to
suppress his desire to laugh; “up with you,” and in another moment the
poor youth was upon his legs, with every fold and crevice about his
person stuffed to repletion with snow.
“Come, cheer up,” cried the accountant, giving the youth a slap on the
back; “there’s nothing like experience—the proverb says that it even
teaches fools, so you need not despair.”
Hamilton smiled as he endeavoured to shake off some of his white
coating.
“We’ll be all right immediately,” added Harry; “I see that the country
ahead is more open, so the walking will be easier.”
“Oh, I wish that I had not come!” said Hamilton, sorrowfully, “because
I am only detaining you. But perhaps I shall do better as we get on. At
any rate, I cannot go back now, as I could never find the way.”
“Go back! of course not,” said the accountant; “in a short time we
shall get into the old woodcutters’ track of last year, and although
it’s not beaten at all, yet it is pretty level and open, so that we
shall get on famously.”
“Go on, then,” sighed Hamilton.
“Drive ahead,” laughed Harry, and without further delay they resumed
their march, which was soon rendered more cheerful as the clouds rolled
away, the snow ceased to fall, and the bright full moon poured its rays
down upon their path.
For a long time they proceeded in silence, the muffled sound of the
snow, as it sank beneath their regular footsteps, being the only
interruption to the universal stillness around. There is something very
solemnizing in a scene such as we are now describing—the calm
tranquillity of the arctic night; the pure whiteness of the snowy
carpet, which rendered the dark firs inky black by contrast; the clear,
cold, starry sky, that glimmered behind the dark clouds, whose heavy
masses, now rolling across the moon, partially obscured the landscape,
and anon, passing slowly away, let a flood of light down upon the
forest, which, penetrating between the thick branches, scattered the
surface of the snow, as it were, with flakes of silver. Sleep has often
been applied as a simile to nature in repose, but in this case death
seemed more appropriate. So silent, so cold, so still was the scene,
that it filled the mind with an indefinable feeling of dread, as if
there was some mysterious danger near. Once or twice during their walk
the three travellers paused to rest, but they spoke little, and in
subdued voices, as if they feared to break the silence of the night.
“It is strange,” said Harry, in a low tone, as he walked beside
Hamilton, “that such a scene as this always makes me think more than
usual of home.”
“And yet it is natural,” replied the other, “because it reminds us more
forcibly than any other that we are in a foreign land—in the lonely
wilderness—far away from home.”
Both Harry and Hamilton had been trained in families where the Almighty
was feared and loved, and where their minds had been early led to
reflect upon the Creator when regarding the works of His hand: their
thoughts, therefore, naturally reverted to another home, compared with
which this world is indeed a cold, lonely wilderness; but on such
subjects they feared to converse, partly from a dread of the ridicule
of reckless companions, partly from ignorance of each other’s feelings
on religious matters, and although their minds were busy, their tongues
were silent.
The ground over which the greater part of their path lay was a swamp,
which, being now frozen, was a beautiful white plain, so that their
advance was more rapid, until they approached the belt of woodland that
skirts North River. Here they again encountered the heavy snow, which
had been such a source of difficulty to Hamilton at setting out. He had
profited by his former experience, however, and by the exercise of an
excessive degree of caution managed to scramble through the woods
tolerably well, emerging at last, along with his companions, on the
bleak margin of what appeared to be the frozen sea.
North River, at this place, is several miles broad, and the opposite
shore is so low that the snow causes it to appear but a slight
undulation of the frozen bed of the river. Indeed, it would not be
distinguishable at all, were it not for the willow bushes and dwarf
pines, whose tops, rising above the white garb of winter, indicate that
_terra firma_ lies below.
“What a cold, desolate-looking place!” said Hamilton, as the party
stood still to recover breath before taking their way over the plain to
the spot where the accountant’s traps were set. “It looks much more
like the frozen sea than a river.”
“It can scarcely be called a river at this place,” remarked the
accountant, “seeing that the water hereabouts is brackish, and the
tides ebb and flow a good way up. In fact, this is the extreme mouth of
North River, and if you turn your eyes a little to the right, towards
yonder ice-hummock in the plain, you behold the frozen sea itself.”
“Where are your traps set?” inquired Harry.
“Down in the hollow, behind yon point covered with brushwood.”
“Oh, we shall soon get to them then; come along,” cried Harry.
Harry was mistaken, however. He had not yet learned by experience the
extreme difficulty of judging of distance in the uncertain light of
night—a difficulty that was increased by the ignorance of the locality,
and by the gleams of moonshine that shot through the driving clouds and
threw confused fantastic shadows over the plain. The point which he had
at first supposed was covered with low bushes, and about a hundred
yards off, proved to be clad in reality with large bushes and small
trees, and lay at a distance of two miles.
“I think you have been mistaken in supposing the point so near, Harry,”
said Hamilton, as he trudged on beside his friend.
“A fact evident to the naked eye,” replied Harry. “How do your feet
stand it, eh? Beginning to lose bark yet?”
Hamilton did not feel quite sure. “I think,” said he softly, “that
there is a blister under the big toe of my left foot. It feels very
painful.”
“If you feel at all _uncertain_ about it, you may rest assured that
there _is_ a blister. These things don’t give much pain at first. I’m
sorry to tell you, my dear fellow, that you’ll be painfully aware of
the fact to-morrow. However, don’t distress yourself; it’s a part of
the experience that everyone goes through in this country. Besides,”
said Harry smiling, “we can send to the fort for medical advice.”
“Don’t bother the poor fellow, and hold your tongue. Harry,” said the
accountant, who now began to tread more cautiously as he approached the
place where the traps were set.
“How many traps have you?” inquired Harry in a low tone.
“Three,” replied the accountant.
“Do you know I have a very strange feeling about my heels—or rather a
want of feeling,” said Hamilton, smiling dubiously.
“A want of feeling! what do you mean?” cried the accountant, stopping
suddenly and confronting his young friend.
“Oh, I daresay it’s nothing,” he exclaimed, looking as if ashamed of
having spoken of it; “only I feel exactly as if both my heels were cut
off, and I were walking on tip-toe!”
“Say you so? then right about wheel. Your heels are frozen, man, and
you’ll lose them if you don’t look sharp.”
“Frozen!” cried Hamilton, with a look of incredulity.
“Ay, frozen; and it’s lucky you told me. I’ve a place up in the woods
here, which I call my winter camp, where we can get you put to rights.
But step out; the longer we are about it the worse for you.”
Harry Somerville was at first disposed to think that the accountant
jested, but seeing that he turned his back towards his traps, and made
for the nearest point of the thick woods with a stride that betokened
thorough sincerity, he became anxious too, and followed as fast as
possible.
The place to which the accountant led his young friends was a group of
fir trees which grew on a little knoll, that rose a few feet above the
surrounding level country. At the foot of this hillock a small rivulet
or burn ran in summer, but the only evidence of its presence now was
the absence of willow bushes all along its covered narrow bed. A level
tract was thus formed by nature, free from all underwood, and running
inland about the distance of a mile, where it was lost in the swamp
whence the stream issued. The wooded knoll or hillock lay at the mouth
of this brook, and being the only elevated spot in the neighbourhood,
besides having the largest trees growing on it, had been selected by
the accountant as a convenient place for “camping out” on, when he
visited his traps in winter, and happened to be either too late or
disinclined to return home. Moreover, the spreading fir branches
afforded an excellent shelter alike from wind and snow in the centre of
the clump, while from the margin was obtained a partial view of the
river and the sea beyond. Indeed, from this look-out there was a very
fine prospect on clear winter nights of the white landscape, enlivened
occasionally by groups of arctic foxes, which might be seen scampering
about in sport, and gambolling among the hummocks of ice like young
kittens.
“Now we shall turn up here,” said the accountant, as he walked a short
way up the brook before mentioned, and halted in front of what appeared
to be an impenetrable mass of bushes.
“We shall have to cut our way, then,” said Harry, looking to the right
and left in the vain hope of discovering a place where, the bushes
being less dense, they might effect an entrance into the knoll or
grove.
“Not so. I have taken care to make a passage into my winter camp,
although it was only a whim, after all, to make a concealed entrance,
seeing that no one ever passes this way except wolves and foxes, whose
noses render the use of their eyes in most cases unnecessary.”
So saying, the accountant turned aside a thick branch, and disclosed a
narrow track, into which he entered, followed by his two companions.
A few minutes brought them to the centre of the knoll. Here they found
a clear space of about twenty feet in diameter, round which the trees
circled so thickly that in daylight nothing could be seen but
tree-stems as far as the eye could penetrate, while overhead the broad
flat branches of the firs, with their evergreen verdure, spread out and
interlaced so thickly that very little light penetrated into the space
below. Of course at night, even in moonlight, the place was pitch dark.
Into this retreat the accountant led his companions, and bidding them
stand still for a minute lest they should stumble into the fireplace,
he proceeded to strike a light.
Those who have never travelled in the wild parts of this world can form
but a faint conception of the extraordinary and sudden change that is
produced, not only in the scene, but in the mind of the beholder, when
a blazing fire is lighted on a dark night. Before the fire is kindled,
and you stand, perhaps (as Harry and his friend did on the present
occasion) shivering in the cold, the heart sinks, and sad, gloomy
thoughts arise, while your eye endeavours to pierce the thick darkness,
which, if it succeeds in doing so, only adds to the effect by
disclosing the pallid snow, the cold, chilling beams of the moon, the
wide vista of savage scenery, the awe-inspiring solitudes that tell of
your isolated condition, or stir up sad memories of other and
far-distant scenes. But the moment the first spark of fire sends a
fitful gleam of light upwards, these thoughts and feelings take wing
and vanish. The indistinct scenery is rendered utterly invisible by the
red light, which attracts and rivets the eye as if by a species of
fascination. The deep shadows of the woods immediately around you grow
deeper and blacker as the flames leap and sparkle upwards, causing the
stems of the surrounding trees, and the foliage of the overhanging
branches, to stand out in bold relief, bathed in a ruddy glow, which
converts the forest chamber into a snug _home-like_ place, and fills
the mind with agreeable, _home-like_ feelings and meditations. It
seemed as if the spirit, in the one case, were set loose and
etherealized to enable it to spread itself over the plains of cold,
cheerless, illimitable space, and left to dwell upon objects too wide
to grasp, too indistinct to comprehend; while, in the other, it is
recalled and concentrated upon matters circumscribed and congenial,
things of which it has long been cognizant, and which it can appreciate
and enjoy without the effort of a thought.
Some such thoughts and feelings passed rapidly through the minds of
Harry and Hamilton, while the accountant struck a light and kindled a
roaring fire of logs, which he had cut and arranged there on a previous
occasion. In the middle of the space thus brilliantly illuminated, the
snow had been cleared away till the moss was uncovered, thus leaving a
hole of about ten feet in diameter. As the snow was quite four feet
deep, the hole was surrounded with a pure white wall, whose height was
further increased by the masses thrown out in the process of digging to
nearly six feet. At one end of this space was the large fire which had
just been kindled, and which, owing to the intense cold, only melted a
very little of the snow in its immediate neighbourhood. At the other
end lay a mass of flat pine branches, which were piled up so thickly as
to form a pleasant elastic couch, the upper end being slightly raised
so as to form a kind of bolster, while the lower extended almost into
the fire. Indeed, the branches at the extremity were burnt quite brown,
and some of them charred. Beside the bolster lay a small wooden box, a
round tin kettle, an iron tea-kettle, two tin mugs, a hatchet, and a
large bundle tied up in a green blanket. There were thus, as it were,
two apartments, one within the other—namely, the outer one, whose walls
were formed of tree-stems and thick darkness, and the ceiling of green
boughs; and then the inner one, with walls of snow, that sparkled in
the firelight as if set with precious stones, and a carpet of evergreen
branches.
Within this latter our three friends were soon actively employed. Poor
Hamilton’s moccasins were speedily removed, and his friends, going down
on their knees, began to rub his feet with a degree of energy that
induced him to beg for mercy.
“Mercy!” exclaimed the accountant, without pausing for an instant;
“faith, it’s little mercy there would be in stopping just now.—Rub
away, Harry. Don’t give in. They’re coming right at last.”
After a very severe rubbing, the heels began to show symptoms of
returning vitality. They were then wrapped up in the folds of a thick
blanket, and held sufficiently near to the fire to prevent any chance
of the frost getting at them again.
“Now, my boy,” said the accountant, as he sat down to enjoy a pipe and
rest himself on a blanket, which, along with the one wrapped round
Hamilton’s feet, had been extracted from the green bundle before
mentioned—“now, my boy, you’ll have to enjoy yourself here as you best
can for an hour or two, while Harry and I visit the traps. Would you
like supper before we go, or shall we have it on our return?”
“Oh, I’ll wait for it by all means till you return. I don’t feel a bit
hungry just now, and it will be much more cheerful to have it after all
your work is over. Besides, I feel my feet too painful to enjoy it just
now.”
“My poor fellow,” said Harry, whose heart smote him for having been
disposed at first to treat the thing lightly, “I’m really sorry for
you. Would you not like me to stay with you?”
“By no means,” replied Hamilton quickly. “You can do nothing more for
me, Harry; and I should be very sorry if you missed seeing the traps.”
“Oh, never mind the traps. I’ve seen traps, and set them too, fifty
times before now. I’ll stop with you, old boy, I will,” said Harry
doggedly, while he made arrangements to settle down for the evening.
“Well, if _you_ won’t go, I will,” said Hamilton coolly, as he unwound
the blanket from his feet and began to pull on his socks.
“Bravo, my lad!” exclaimed the accountant, patting him approvingly on
the back; “I didn’t think you had half so much pluck in you. But it
won’t do, old fellow. You’re in _my_ castle just now, and must obey
orders. You couldn’t walk half-a-mile for your life; so just be pleased
to pull off your socks again. Besides, I want Harry to help me to carry
up my foxes, if there are any;—so get ready, sirrah!”
“Ay, ay, captain,” cried Harry, with a laugh, while he sprang up and
put on his snow-shoes.
“You needn’t bring your gun,” said the accountant, shaking the ashes
from his pipe as he prepared to depart, “but you may as well shove that
axe into your belt; you may want it.—Now, mind, don’t roast your feet,”
he added, turning to Hamilton.
“Adieu!” cried Harry, with a nod and a smile, as he turned to go. “Take
care the bears don’t find you out.”
“No fear. Good-bye, Harry,” replied Hamilton, as his two friends
disappeared in the wood and left him to his solitary meditations.