The Young Fur Traders Read online

  CHAPTER TEN.

  VARIETIES, VEXATIONS, AND VICISSITUDES.

  Life is checkered--there is no doubt about that; whatever doubts a manmay entertain upon other subjects, he can have none upon this, we feelquite certain. In fact, so true is it that we would not for a momenthave drawn the reader's attention to it here, were it not that ourexperience of life in the backwoods corroborates the truth; and truth,however well corroborated, is none the worse of getting a littleadditional testimony now and then in this sceptical generation.

  Life is checkered, then, undoubtedly. And life in the backwoodsstrengthens the proverb, for it is a peculiarly striking and remarkablespecimen of life's variegated character.

  There is a difference between sailing smoothly along the shores of LakeWinnipeg with favouring breezes, and being tossed on its surging billowsby the howling of a nor'-west wind, that threatens destruction to theboat, or forces it to seek shelter on the shore. This difference is oneof the checkered scenes of which we write, and one that was experiencedby the brigade more than once during its passage across the lake.

  Since we are dealing in truisms, it may not, perhaps, be out of placehere to say that going to bed at night is not by any means getting up inthe morning; at least so several of our friends found to be the casewhen the deep, sonorous voice of Louis Peltier sounded through the campon the following morning, just as a very faint, scarcely perceptible,light tinged the eastern sky.

  "Leve, leve, leve!" he cried, "leve, leve, mes enfants!"

  Some of Louis's _infants_ replied to the summons in a way that wouldhave done credit to a harlequin. One or two active little Canadians, onhearing the cry of the awful word _leve_, rose to their feet with aquick bound, as if they had been keeping up an appearance of sleep as asort of practical joke all night, on purpose to be ready to leap as thefirst sound fell from the guide's lips. Others lay still, in the sameattitude in which they had fallen asleep, having made up their minds,apparently, to lie there in spite of all the guides in the world. Not afew got slowly into the sitting position, their hair dishevelled, theircaps awry, their eyes alternately winking very hard and staring awfullyin the vain effort to keep open, and their whole physiognomy wearing anexpression of blank stupidity that is peculiar to man when engaged inthat struggle which occurs each morning as he endeavours to disconnectand shake off the entanglement of nightly dreams and the realities ofthe breaking day. Throughout the whole camp there was a low, muffledsound, as of men moving lazily, with broken whispers and disjointedsentences uttered in very deep, hoarse tones, mingled with confused,unearthly noises, which, upon consideration, sounded like prolongedyawns. Gradually these sounds increased, for the guide's _leve_ isinexorable, and the voyageur's fate inevitable.

  "Oh dear!--yei a--a--ow" (yawning); "hang your _leve_!"

  "Oui, vraiment--yei a--a--ow--morbleu!"

  "Eh, what's that? Oh, misere."

  "Tare an' ages!" (from an Irishman), "an' I had only got to slaape yit!but--yei a--a--ow!"

  French and Irish yawns are very similar, the only difference being, thatwhereas the Frenchman finishes the yawn resignedly, and springs to hislegs, the Irishman finishes it with an energetic gasp, as if he werehurling it remonstratively into the face of Fate, turns round again andshuts his eyes doggedly--a piece of bravado which he _knows_ is uselessand of very short duration.

  "Leve! leve!! leve!!!" There was no mistake this time in the tones ofLouis's voice. "Embark, embark! vite, vite!"

  The subdued sounds of rousing broke into a loud buzz of activepreparation, as the men busied themselves in bundling up blankets,carrying down camp-kettles to the lake, launching the boats, kicking uplazy comrades, stumbling over and swearing at fallen trees which werenot visible in the cold, uncertain light of the early dawn, searchinghopelessly, among a tangled conglomeration of leaves and broken branchesand crushed herbage, for lost pipes and missing tobacco-pouches.

  "Hollo!" exclaimed Harry Somerville, starting suddenly from his sleepingposture, and unintentionally cramming his elbow into Charley's mouth, "Ideclare they're all up and nearly ready to start."

  "That's no reason," replied Charley, "why you should knock out all myfront teeth, is it?"

  Just then Mr Park issued from his tent, dressed and ready to step intohis boat. He first gave a glance round the camp, to see that all themen were moving; then he looked up through the trees, to ascertain thepresent state, and, if possible, the future prospects of the weather.Having come to a satisfactory conclusion on that head, he drew forth hispipe and began to fill it, when his eye fell on the two boys, who werestill sitting up in their lairs, and staring idiotically at the placewhere the fire had been, as if the white ashes, half-burned logs, andbits of charcoal were a sight of the most novel and interestingcharacter, that filled them with intense amazement.

  Mr Park could scarce forbear smiling.

  "Hello, youngsters, precious voyageurs _you'll_ make, to be sure, ifthis is the way you're going to begin. Don't you see that the thingsare all aboard, and we'll be ready to start in five minutes, and yousitting there with your neckcloths off?"

  Mr Park gave a slight sneer when he spoke of _neckcloths_, as if hethought, in the first place, that they were quite superfluous portionsof attire, and, in the second place, that having once put them on, thetaking of them off at night was a piece of effeminacy altogetherunworthy of a Nor'-wester.

  Charley and Harry needed no second rebuke. It flashed instantly uponthem that sleeping comfortably under their blankets when the men werebustling about the camp was extremely inconsistent with the heroicresolves of the previous day. They sprang up, rolled their blankets inthe oil-cloths, which they fastened tightly with ropes; tied theneckcloths, held in such contempt by Mr Park, in a twinkling; threw ontheir coats, and in _less_ than five minutes were ready to embark. Theythen found that they might have done things more leisurely, as the crewshad not yet got all their traps on board; so they began to look aroundthem, and discovered that each had omitted to pack up a blanket.

  Very much crestfallen at their stupidity, they proceeded to untie thebundles again, when it became apparent to the eyes of Charley that hisfriend had put on his capote inside out; which had a peculiarly raggedand grotesque effect. These mistakes were soon rectified, andshouldering their beds, they carried them down to the boat and tossedthem in. Meanwhile Mr Park, who had been watching the movements of theboys with a peculiar smile, that filled them with confusion, went roundthe different camps to see that nothing was left behind. The men wereall in their places with oars ready, and the boats floating on the calmwater, a yard or two from shore, with the exception of the guide's boat,the stern of which still rested on the sand awaiting Mr Park.

  "Who does this belong to?" shouted that gentleman, holding up a clothcap, part of which was of a mottled brown and part deep blue.

  Harry instantly tore the covering from his head, and discovered thatamong his numerous mistakes he had put on the head-dress of one of theIndians who had brought him to the camp. To do him justice, the cap wasnot unlike his own, excepting that it was a little more mottled anddirty in colour, besides being decorated with a gaudy but very muchcrushed and broken feather.

  "You had better change with our friend here, I think," said Mr Park,grinning from ear to ear, as he tossed the cap to its owner, while Harryhanded the other to the Indian, amid the laughter of the crew.

  "Never mind, boy," added Mr Park, in an encouraging tone; "you'll makea voyageur yet.--Now then, lads, give way;" and with a nod to theIndians, who stood on the shore watching their departure, the tradersprang into the boat and took his place beside the two boys.

  "Ho! sing, mes garcons," cried the guide, seizing the massive sweep anddirecting the boat out to sea.

  At this part of the lake there occurs a deep bay or inlet, to saverounding which travellers usually strike straight across from point topoint, making what is called in voyageur parlance a _traverse_. Thesetraverses are subjects of considerable anxiety and frequently of dela
yto travellers, being sometimes of considerable extent, varying from fourto five, and in such immense seas as Lake Superior to fourteen miles.With boats, indeed, there is little to fear, as the inland craft of thefur-traders can stand a heavy sea, and often ride out a pretty severestorm; but it is far otherwise with the bark canoes that are often usedin travelling. These frail craft can stand very little sea--theirframes being made of thin, flat slips of wood and sheets of bark, notmore than a quarter of an inch thick, which are sewed together with thefibrous roots of the pine (called by the natives _wattape_), andrendered water-tight by means of melted gum. Although light andbuoyant, therefore, and extremely useful in a country where portages arenumerous, they require very tender usage; and when a traverse has to bemade, the guides have always a grave consultation, with some of the mostsagacious among the men, as to the probability of the wind rising orfalling--consultations which are more or less marked by anxiety andtediousness in proportion to the length of the traverse, the state ofthe weather, and the courage or timidity of the guides.

  On the present occasion there was no consultation, as has been alreadyseen. The traverse was a short one, the morning fine, and the boatsgood. A warm glow began to overspread the horizon, giving promise of asplendid day, as the numerous oars dipped with a plash and a loud hissinto the water, and sent the boats leaping forth upon the white wave.

  "Sing, sing!" cried the guide again, and clearing his throat, he beganthe beautiful, quick-tuned canoe-song "Rose Blanche," to which the menchorused with such power of lungs that a family of plovers, which up tothat time had stood in mute astonishment on a sandy point, tumbledprecipitately into the water, from which they rose with a shrill,inexpressibly wild, plaintive cry, and fled screaming away to a moresecure refuge among the reeds and sedges of a swamp. A number of ducks,too, awakened by the unwonted sound, shot suddenly out from theconcealment of their night's bivouac with erect heads and startledlooks, sputtered heavily over the surface of their liquid bed, andrising into the air, flew in a wide circuit, with whistling wings, awayfrom the scene of so much uproar and confusion.

  The rough voices of the men grew softer and softer as the two Indianslistened to the song of their departing friends, mellowing down andbecoming more harmonious and more plaintive as the distance increased,and the boats grew smaller and smaller, until they were lost in theblaze of light that now bathed both water and sky in the easternhorizon, and began rapidly to climb the zenith, while the sweet tonesbecame less and less audible as they floated faintly across the stillwater, and melted at last into the deep silence of the wilderness.

  The two Indians still stood with downcast heads and listening ears, asif they loved the last echo of the dying music, while their grave,statue-like forms added to, rather than detracted from, the solitude ofthe deserted scene.