Popular Adventure Tales Part 15

To the great joy of all the invalid was at length restored to health, and the canoe being once more launched and freighted, they continued their journey.

They coasted along the sh.o.r.es of the lake, and entered the Great Slave River, which runs from the Athabasca into the Great Slave Lake. They soon came to the mouth of another large river, called the Peace. This runs into the Great Slave a short distance below Lake Athabasca, and, strange to say, the sources of the Peace River lie upon the _western_ side of the Rocky Mountains, so that this stream actually runs across the mountain-chain! It pa.s.ses through the mountains in a succession of deep gorges, which are terrible to behold. On both sides dizzy cliffs and snow-capped peaks rise thousands of feet above its rocky bed, and the scenery is cold and desolate.

Its head-waters interlock with those of several streams that run into the Pacific; so that, had our voyageurs wished to travel to the sh.o.r.es of that ocean, they might have done so in their birch-bark canoe nearly the whole of the way. But this was not their design at present, so they pa.s.sed the _debouchure_ of the Peace, and kept on for the Great Slave Lake. They were still upon the same water as the Elk, for the Great Slave is only another name for that part of the river lying between the two lakes--Athabasca and Great Slave. Of course the river had now become much larger by the influx of the Peace, and they were travelling upon the bosom of a magnificent stream, with varied scenery upon its banks.

They were not so happy, however, as when descending the Elk--not but that they were all in good health, for Lucien had grown quite strong again. No, it was not any want of health that rendered them less cheerful. It was the prospect before them--the prospect of coming winter, which they now felt certain would arrive before they had got to the end of their journey. The delay of nearly a month, occasioned by Lucien's illness, had deranged all their calculations; and they had no longer any hope of being able to finish their voyage in what remained of the short summer. The ice would soon make its appearance; the lakes and rivers would be frozen up; they could no longer navigate them in their canoe. To travel afoot would be a most laborious undertaking, as well as perilous in an extreme degree.

In this way it is only possible to carry a very small quant.i.ty of provisions--for the traveller is compelled to load himself with skin-clothing in order to keep out the cold. The chances of procuring game by the way in that season are precarious, and not to be depended upon. Most of the birds and many of the quadrupeds migrate to more southern regions; and those that remain are shy and rare. Besides, great snow-storms are to be encountered, in which the traveller is in danger of getting "smoored." The earth is buried under a deep covering of snow, and to pa.s.s over this while soft is difficult, and at times quite impossible. All these circ.u.mstances were known to our young voyageurs--to Norman better than any of them--and of course the prospect was a cheerless one--much more so than those unacquainted with the winter of these dreary regions would be willing to believe.

It was the month of August, near its end, when they reached the Great Slave Lake, in the lat.i.tude of 62. The days had now become very short, and their journeys grew short in proportion. They already experienced weather as cold as an English winter. There were slight frosts at night--though not yet enough to cover the water with ice--and the mid-day hours were hot, sometimes too hot to be comfortable. But this only caused them to feel the cold the more sensibly when evening set in; and all their robes and skins were necessary to keep them warm during the night.

The Great Slave Lake, like the Athabasca, is very long and very narrow.

It extends full 260 miles from east to west, but at its widest part is not over thirty, and in some places much less. Along its northern sh.o.r.es lies the edge of the "Barren Grounds," and there nothing meets the eye but bleak and naked hills of primitive rock. On its southern side the geology is entirely of a different character. There the limestone prevails, and scarcely anything that deserves the name of hill is to be seen. There are fine forests too, in which poplars, pines, and birches, are the princ.i.p.al trees. The lake is filled with islands, many of which are wholly or partially covered with timber of these kinds, and willows also are abundant.

There are fish of several species in its waters--which are in many places of great depth--sixty fathoms deep--and in some of the islands, and around the wooded sh.o.r.es, game exists in abundance in the summer season. Even in winter it is not scarce, but then it is difficult to follow it on account of the deep snow. Many of the animals, too, at this season become torpid, and are of course hidden in caves and hollow trees, and even in the snow itself, where no one can find them.

Notwithstanding all this, our voyageurs knew that it would be the best place for them to make their winter camp. They saw that to complete their journey during that season would be impossible. Even had it been a month earlier it would have been a difficult undertaking.

In a few days winter would be upon them. They would have to stop somewhere. There was no place where they could so safely stay as by the lake. One thing they would have there, which might not be found so plenty elsewhere, that was wood for their fire; and this was an inducement to remain by the lake. Having made up their minds, therefore, to encamp on some part of it, they looked from day to day for a place that would be most suitable, still continuing their journey towards its western end. As yet no place appeared to their liking, and as the lake near its western point trends away towards the south, Norman proposed that they should follow the sh.o.r.e no longer, but strike across to a promontory on the northern sh.o.r.e of the lake, known as "Slave Point."

This promontory is of the limestone formation, and as Norman had heard, is well wooded, and stocked with game. Even buffaloes are found there.

It is, in fact, the farthest point to the north-east that these animals range, and this presents us with a curious fact. It is the farthest point that the limestone deposit extends in that direction. Beyond that, to the east and north, lie the primitive rocks of the Barren Grounds, into which the buffaloes never stray. Thus we observe the connexion that exists between the _fauna_ of a country and its geological character.

Of course they all agreed to Norman's proposal. The canoe was, therefore, headed for the open waters; and, after a hard day's paddling--for there was a head-wind--the voyageurs landed upon a small wooded island, about half-way over the lake, where they encamped for the night, intending next day to cross the remaining part.

CHAPTER XXIII.

FIs.h.i.+NG UNDER THE ICE.

On awaking next morning, to their great surprise, they saw that the _lake was frozen over_! They had almost antic.i.p.ated as much, for the night was one of the coldest they had yet experienced--so cold that one and all of them had slept but badly. As yet the ice was thin, but so much the worse. It was thick enough to prevent them from using the canoe, but too thin to bear their weight, and they now saw that they were _prisoners upon the island_!

It was not without some feelings of alarm that they made this discovery; but their fears were allayed by reflecting, that they could remain upon the island until the ice either thawed away or become strong enough to bear them, and then they could cross upon it to the northern sh.o.r.e. With this consolation, therefore, they set about making their temporary quarters upon the island as snug as circ.u.mstances would permit. Their apprehensions, however, began to return again, when several days had pa.s.sed over, and the ice neither grew any thinner nor any thicker, but seemed to remain at a stand-still. In the early part of the morning it was almost strong enough to bear them; but during the day the sun melted it, until it was little better than a sc.u.m over the surface of the water.

The alarm of our voyageurs increased. Their provisions were nearly out.

There was no game on the islet--not so much as a bird--for they had beaten every bush, and found nothing. Once or twice they thought of launching their canoe and breaking a way for it through the ice. But they knew that this proceeding would be one of much labour as well as danger. The islet was full ten miles from the sh.o.r.e, and they would therefore have to break the ice for ten miles. Moreover, to stand up in a bark canoe, so as to get at the work, would be a difficult task. It could not be accomplished without endangering the equilibrium of the vessel, and indeed without upsetting it altogether. Even to lean forward in the bow would be a perilous experiment; and under these considerations the idea of breaking a way was abandoned.

But their provisions were at length entirely exhausted, and what was to be done? The ice was still too weak to carry them. Near the sh.o.r.e it might have been strong enough, but farther out lay the danger. There they knew it was thinner, for it had not frozen over until a later period. It would have been madness to have risked it yet. On the other hand, they were starving, or likely to starve from hunger, by staying where they were. There was nothing eatable on the island. What was to be done? In the water were fish--they doubted not that--but how were they to catch them? They had tried them with hook and line, letting the hook through a hole in the ice; but at that late season the fish would not take a bait, and although they kept several continually set, and "looked" them most regularly and a.s.siduously, not a "tail" was taken.

They were about to adopt the desperate expedient, now more difficult than ever, of breaking their way through the ice, when, all at once, it occurred to Norman, that, if they could not coax the fish to take a bait, they might succeed better with a net, and capture them against their will. This idea would have been plausible enough, had there been a net; but there was no net on that islet, nor perhaps within an hundred miles of it. The absence of a net might have been an obstacle to those who are ever ready to despair; but such an obstacle never occurred to our courageous boys. They had two _parchment_ skins of the caribou which they had lately killed, and out of these Norman proposed to make a net.

He would soon do it, he said, if the others would set to work and cut the deer-skins into thongs fine enough for the purpose. Two of them, therefore, Basil and Lucien, took out their knives, and went briskly to work; while Francois a.s.sisted Norman in twining the thongs, and afterwards held them, while the latter wove and knotted them into meshes. In a few hours both the skins were cut into fine strips, and worked up; and a net was produced nearly six yards in length by at least two in width. It was rude enough, to be sure, but perhaps it would do its work as well as if it had been twined out of silk. At all events, it was soon to have a trial--for the moment it was finished the sinkers were attached to it, and it was carried down to the edge of the water.

The three "Southerners" had never seen a net set under ice--for in their country ice is an uncommon thing, and indeed never freezes of sufficient thickness to carry the weight of a man. They were therefore very curious to know how the thing was to be done. They could not conceive how the net was to be stretched under the ice, in such a manner as to catch the fish. Norman, however, knew all about it. He had seen the Indians, and had set many a one himself. It was no new thing for him, and he set about it at once.

He first crept out upon the ice to the distance of about twenty or thirty yards from the sh.o.r.e. He proceeded cautiously, as the ice creaked under him. Having arrived at the place where he intended to set the net, he knelt down, and with his knife cut several holes in the ice, at the distance of about six feet from each other, and all in one line. He had already provided himself with a straight sapling of more than six feet in length, to one end of which he had attached a cord. The other end of this cord was tied to the net, at one of its corners. He now thrust the sapling through the first hole he had made, and then guided it so as to pa.s.s directly under the second.

At this hole he took a fresh hold of the stick, and pa.s.sed it along to the next, and so on to the last, where he pulled it out again, and of course along with it the string. The net was not drawn into the first hole, and by means of the cord already received through, was pulled out to its full length. The sinkers, of course, fell down in the water, and drew it into a vertical position. At both its upper corners the net was made fast above the ice, and was now "set." Nothing more could be done until the fish came into it of their own accord, when it could be drawn out upon the ice by means of the cord attached; and, of course, by the same means could easily be returned to its place, and set again.

All of them now went back to the fire, and with hungry looks sat around it, waiting the result. They had made up their minds, should no fish be caught, to get once more into the canoe and attempt breaking their way to the sh.o.r.e. Summoning all their patience, therefore, they waited for nearly two hours, without examining the net. Then Norman and Basil crawled back upon the ice, to see what fortune had done for them. They approached the spot, and, with their hearts thumping against their ribs, untied the knot and commenced hauling out.

"It certainly feels heavy," said Basil, as the net was being drawn.

"Hurrah!" he shouted, "Something kicks, hurrah!" and with the second "hurrah!" a beautiful fish was pulled up through the hole, and landed upon the ice. A loud "hurrah" was uttered in response by Lucien and Francois--who, fearing the ice might not bear so many, had remained upon the sh.o.r.e. A yard or two more of the net was cleared, and a second fish still larger than the former was greeted with a general "hurrah!" The two fish were now taken out--as these were all that had been caught--and the net was once more carefully set. Basil and Norman came back to the sh.o.r.e--Norman to receive quite a shower of compliments from his companions.

The fish--the largest of which weighed nearly five pounds--proved to be trout; and it was not long before their quality was put to the proof.

All declared they had never eaten so fine trout in their lives; but when the condition of their appet.i.tes is taken into account, we may infer that there was, perhaps, a little exaggeration in this statement. If hunger really makes good sauce, our voyageurs had the best of sauce with their fish, as each of them was as hungry as a half-famished wolf.

They felt quite relieved, as far as present appet.i.te went, but they were still uneasy for the future. Should they not succeed in taking more fish--and it was by no means certain they should succeed--they would be no better off than ever. Their anxiety, however, was soon removed. Their second "haul" proved even more successful than the first--as five fish, weighing together not less than twenty pounds, were pulled up.

This supply would enable them to hold out for a long time, but they had not much longer to remain on the islet. Upon that very night there was one of those severe frosts known only in high lat.i.tudes, and the ice upon the lake became nearly a foot in thickness. They had no longer any fear of its breaking under their weight; and taking their canoe with all their "traps," they set out to cross over upon the ice. In a few hours they reached the sh.o.r.e of the lake, near the end of the promontory, where they chose a spot, and encamped.

CHAPTER XXIV.

AN ODD ALARM.

The first thing our voyageurs did after choosing a suitable situation, was to build a log-hut. Being young backwoodsmen this was but a trifle to them. All four of them knew how to handle an axe with dexterity. The logs were soon cut and notched, and a small cabin was put up, and roofed with split clap-boards. With the stones that lay near the sh.o.r.e of the lake they built a chimney. It was but a rude structure, but it drew admirably. Clay was wanted to "c.h.i.n.k" the cabin, but that could not be had, as the ground was hard frozen, and it was quite impossible to make either clay or mud.

Even hot water poured out would freeze into ice in a few minutes. This was a serious want--for in such a cold climate even the smallest hole in the walls will keep a house uncomfortable, and to fill the interstices between the logs, so as to make them air-tight, some soft substance was necessary. Gra.s.s was suggested, and Lucien went off in search of it.

After awhile he returned with an armful of half-withered gra.s.s, which all agreed would be the very thing; and a large quant.i.ty was soon collected, as it grew plentifully at a short distance from the cabin.

They now set to work to stuff it into the c.h.i.n.ks; when, to their astonishment, they found that this gra.s.s had a beautiful smell, quite as powerful and as pleasant as that of mint or thyme! When a small quant.i.ty of it was flung into the fire it filled the cabin with a fragrance as agreeable as the costliest perfumes. It was the "scented gra.s.s," which grows in great profusion in many parts of the Hudson's Bay territory, and out of which the Indians often make their beds, burning it also upon the fire to enjoy its aromatic perfume.

For the first day or two, at their new abode, the travellers had lived altogether on fish. They had, of course, brought their net with them from the island, and had set it near the sh.o.r.e in the same way as before. They had captured as many as they wanted, and, strange to say, at one haul they found no less than five different species in the net!

One kind, a white fish, the _Coregonus albus_ of naturalists, but which is named "t.i.ttameg" by the fur-traders, they caught in great plenty.

This fish is found in nearly all the lakes and rivers of the Hudson's Bay territory, and is much prized both by whites and Indians for its delicate flavour. At some of the trading posts it often forms, for weeks together, the only food which the residents can obtain; and they are quite satisfied when they can get enough of it. The t.i.ttameg is not a large fish; the largest attain to the weight of about eight pounds.

There was another and still smaller species, which, from its colour, the voyageurs call the "poisson bleu," or blue fish. It is the _Coregonus signifer_ of ichthyologists. It is a species of grayling, and frequents sharp-running water, where it will leap at the fly like a trout. Several kinds of trout also inhabit the Great Slave Lake, and some of these attain to the enormous weight of eighty pounds! A few were caught, but none of so gigantic proportions as this. Pike were also taken in the net, and a species of burbot. This last is one of the most voracious of the finny tribe, and preys upon all others that it is able to swallow.

It devours whole quant.i.ties of cray-fish, until its stomach becomes crammed to such a degree as to distort the shape of its whole body. When this kind was drawn out, it was treated very rudely by the boys--because its flesh was known to be extremely unsavoury, and none of them cared to eat it. Marengo, however, had no such scruples, and he was wont to make several hearty meals each day upon the rejected burbot.

A fish diet exclusively was not the thing; and as our party soon grew tired of it, the hunter Basil shouldered his rifle, and strode off into the woods in search of game. The others remained working upon the cabin, which was still far from being finished.

Basil kept along the edge of the lake in an easterly direction. He had not gone more than a quarter of a mile, when he came upon a dry gravelly ridge, which was thickly covered with a species of pine-trees that resembled the Scotch fir. These trees were not over forty feet in height, with very thick trunks and long flexible branches. No other trees grew among them, for it is the nature of this pine--which was the "scrub" or grey pine--to monopolise the ground wherever it grows. As Basil pa.s.sed on, he noticed that many of the trees were completely "barked," particularly on the branches; and small pieces of the bark lay scattered over the ground, as though it had been peeled off and gnawed by some animal. He was walking quietly on and thinking what creature could have made such a wreck, when he came to a place where the ground was covered with fine sand or dust.

In this, to his astonishment, he observed what he supposed to be the tracks of human feet! They were not those of a man, but small tracks, resembling the footsteps of a child of three or four years of age. He was about stooping down to examine them more closely, when a voice sounded in his ears exactly like the cry of a child! This brought him suddenly to an erect att.i.tude again, and he looked all round to discover who or what had uttered that strange cry. He could see no one--child or man--and strange, too, for he had a clear view through the tree-trunks for several hundred yards around. He was filled with curiosity, not unmixed with alarm; and, stepping forward a few paces, he was about to bend down and examine the tracks a second time, when the singular cry again startled him.

This time it was louder than before, as if he was closer to whatever had uttered it, but Basil now perceived that it proceeded from above him.

The creature from which it came was certainly not upon the ground, but high up among the tops of the trees. He looked up, and there, in the fork of one of the pines, he perceived a singular and hideous-looking animal--such as he had never before seen. It was of a brown colour, about the size of a terrier-dog, with thick s.h.a.ggy hair, and clumped up in the fork of the tree--so that its head and feet were scarcely distinguishable.

Its odd appearance, as well as the peculiar cry which it had uttered, would have alarmed many a one of less courage than our young hunter, and Basil was at first, as he afterwards confessed, "slightly flurried;" but a moment's reflection told him what the animal was--one of the most innocent and inoffensive of G.o.d's creatures--the Canada porcupine. It was this, then, that had barked the scrub pines--for they are its favourite food; and it was its track--which in reality very much resembles that of a child--that Basil had seen in the sand.

The first thought of the young hunter was to throw up his rifle, and send a bullet through the ungainly animal; which, instead of making any effort to escape, remained almost motionless, uttering, at intervals, its child-like screams. Basil, however, reflected that the report of his rifle would frighten any large game that might chance to be near; and as the porcupine was hardly worth a shot, he concluded, upon reflection, it would be better to leave it alone. He knew--for he had heard Lucien say so--that he would find the porcupine at any time, were it a week, or even a month after--for these creatures remain sometimes a whole winter in the same grove. He resolved, therefore, should no other game turn up, to return for it; and, shouldering his rifle again, he continued his course through the woods.