BREAKING CAMP.
“There are just two things,” said Uncle Isaac, “for us to make up our
minds about. We’ve had great luck. We’ve got two silver-gray foxes,
which is an uncommon thing. I lay it to the honey that I fried the bait
in, the bloody neck of a moose that I dragged along the trail, and
the earth I got from Joe Bradish’s fox-pen. We’ve taken a great many
beavers, coons, minks, and otters, and the fur is all prime, for we
didn’t begin till the fur was good. It will be good about three weeks
longer, till May. If we go now, we can get out of the woods to the
nearest road, and haul our furs on the sledges, by going twice over the
road, or we can stay and trap as long as the fur is good, build canoes,
and, by carrying round the falls, take the furs and all our truck right
to our own doors.”
“I,” said Joe, “go in for staying till the very last minute, trapping
the very last beaver, and then taking to the water.”
The boys were clamorous for going by water.
“It will be nothing,” said Uncle Isaac, “to carry our canoes and furs
round the falls, to what it would to haul the sledges over the soft
snow; and then, when we get out of the woods, we shall find the snow
gone, have to leave them, and come after them with teams.”
Notwithstanding the excitement of this wild, fresh life in the woods,
the boys had by no means lost sight of the great object of their
efforts--the fitting away of the Hard-Scrabble.
“Uncle Isaac,” asked Charlie, “how much do you suppose these furs are
worth?”
“Well, I never like to crow till I have got out of the woods; but it is
remarkable, it is, our luck.”
“How much? Do tell us!”
“I don’t think you’ll have to make any wooden shrouds.”
“Shall we have enough to rig the vessel?”
“How much, Charlie, do you suppose these silver-gray fox-skins are
worth?” asked Joe.
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Forty dollars apiece for the real silvers, and the silver-gray
twenty-five.”
“O, my! and the beaver-skins?”
“About six dollars apiece.”
Beaver fur, notwithstanding it was plenty, was in far more request than
at present, as it was then the only material for nice hats; but silk
has since taken its place, beaver being too heavy a fur for wearing.
“And the coons?” asked John.
“One dollar apiece. The bears about forty shillings.”
“Why, the bears alone will come to about ten pounds!”
“The otter?”
“The otter six dollars, and the fisher six.”
“Mink and muskrats?”
“About two shillings for a mink; muskrat, seventy-five cents.”
“I reckon,” said Uncle Isaac, “we’ve made nearly a hundred dollars
a month apiece, and shall be here a little short of five months. We
shan’t get many more beaver, but we shall get more otter, may get
another silver-gray fox, and lots of muskrats.”
“Then,” cried Charlie, jumping to his feet, “we’ve got enough.”
“Hurrah! yes,” said John; “and we’ve got all summer left to earn more
in.”
“How much do you calculate it’s going to take to fit her for sea?”
“Fifteen hundred dollars--three hundred seventy-five apiece.”
“It won’t take it. You’ve made too large a calculation, though it’s
an excellent plan to make a large calculation. You’ve gone upon the
supposition of paying the regular price for labor and canvas. It ain’t
going to cost you the trade price for canvas, by a great deal, nor
for making the sails, fitting the rigging, and putting it on. I tell
you, if we get home safe, you’ll have enough to give her the best of
rigging, cables, and anchors, and enough left to load, provision her
for a voyage, and pay the crew.”
Uncle Isaac now exerted all the craft he was master of to trap another
silver fox; but, notwithstanding all his arts, the essences and other
attractions he used, his efforts were for a long time fruitless. At
length he built a booth, and, having first removed every vestige of
offal from around the camp, he roasted a beaver, and besmeared it with
medicine, then dragged the bloody neck of a deer just killed around the
bait, and into the woods, and lay in wait several nights. He finally
shot his fox, which he knew was in the vicinity, as he had seen him
several times, which was the occasion of his taking so much pains.
Having accomplished this to his heart’s content, and exclaiming, “What
will Sam and Captain Rhines say to that!” he avowed he would not bait
another trap, but instantly set himself to hunting for canoe birch.
He was not long in finding one--though at the present day they are
so rare that the Eastern Indians have pretty much abandoned the use
and construction of canoes--of sufficient size, bare of branches for
several feet, and free from cracks and knots, and, with his knife and
a sharp wedge, carefully peeled the bark from the trunk. It was a slow
process, requiring great care, for this canoe, which was designed to
carry most of the furs and provisions, was to be thirty-four feet
long. In this labor all united, under the direction of Uncle Isaac.
They next procured long strips of cedar, split with the frow from a
straight-grained log,--four of them,--which were to form the gunwales,
an inch thick and two inches wide, also a large number of strips for
linings, an inch thick and two inches wide, strips of ash for ribs,
half an inch thick and two inches wide, and spruce roots soaked in hot
water for thread. When all these materials were procured, they were
carried to a level piece of ground near the camp. While the boys, with
their knives, were shaping and smoothing the sheathing and timbers,
and stripping the spruce roots into thread, Uncle Isaac, aided by Joe,
modelled the canoe. They set up four stakes in the ground, two at each
end, nearly as far apart as the canoe was to be long, and laid the bark
on the ground between them, with the side that went next to the wood
outside, the ends brought together and put between the stakes, then
bound four of the cedar strips together by pairs in several places
with roots, then bound the ends together to form the gunwales, and
fastened them to the stakes. The ribs were then laid across the bark
on the ground, the longest in the middle, and decreasing gradually
towards each end. Stones were placed upon the middle of these to keep
them down, the ends were then successively bent up and tucked between
the gunwale strips, and fastened very near together. Other strips
were then placed outside of these, lengthwise, and where they lapped,
nicely bevelled, forming an outside covering, like the planks of a
vessel. They were to keep the ribs in their places, and strengthen the
structure.
Uncle Isaac now elevated each end by putting a stone under in two
places, to give a proper curve. He then went all over his work, pulling
up or shoving down the ribs that were placed between the gunwales,
and thus shaping her to suit his eye, till, being satisfied with his
efforts, he fastened several of the ribs securely to the inner rail
strip to preserve the shape, and bringing up the bark, fitted it
between the strips, and sewed it with roots, through both the bark and
the ribs.
A number of bars were now put across, their ends brought against the
rail, and sewed to it. The seams in the bark, at the ends and along
the sides, were sewed, and then payed over with spruce gum mixed with
charcoal dust.
The boys enjoyed themselves much at this work, as it was the very
thing they had resolved to do in their summer holiday, with which the
building of the Hard-Scrabble had so rudely interfered.
“I calculate to give these canoes to you boys; so I suppose you want
them made in style.”
“Of course, Uncle Isaac,” said Charlie, “because, you know, we shall be
asked who made them.”
Uncle Isaac boiled the moss of a tree in water in which the roots of
wild gooseberries had been boiled, and made a red dye. In this he
colored porcupine quills; others he colored blue and green, with other
barks and roots, the names of which he would not tell, and ornamented
the canoe and stained the paddles. The canoe was thirty-four feet long,
four and a half wide, and nearly three deep.
“I’ll warrant her to carry twenty-five hundred,” said Uncle Isaac.
They now built a smaller one, and packing their furs, furnished
themselves with moose meat, smoked and dried, for provision on the way,
turned their backs on the woods, and arrived safely at home in hoeing
time, where Uncle Isaac found his crops and cattle in fine order, all
his affairs having been intrusted to Ricker during his absence.
When they started for home, John said to Charlie, as he took up his
paddle, “I’ve had woods enough to last me for a long time, and shall be
contented to go to work.”
“I am only sorry,” said Charlie, “that I couldn’t find a bear’s cub
that I could take home with me.”