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The Young Voyageurs: Boy Hunters in the North

by Mayne Reid · English · Gutenberg #23129 · 543,981 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Young Voyageurs: Boy Hunters in the North

Author: Mayne Reid

Illustrator: William Harvey


        
Release date: October 20, 2007 [eBook #23129]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23129

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG VOYAGEURS: BOY HUNTERS IN THE NORTH ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




The Young Voyageurs--Boy Hunters in the North, by Captain Mayne Reid.

________________________________________________________________________
The heroes are the three boys whom we met in "The Boy Hunters" where
they were off on a search for a white buffalo, which their father had
requested.  Now, however, their father has died, and the only relative
they have is an uncle who works for the Hudson's Bay Company, in the
very north of Canada.  The uncle sends for them, and sends his own son
to guide them over the Canadian part of the journey.

This is the story of their journey from their original home in the south
of the U.S.A., many thousands of miles, to be with their uncle.  At the
time the only way they could do this journey was by their own efforts,
by canoe, on foot, and, after the onset of winter, by sledge, or, if
they could get one, by dog-train.

The canoe and much of their clothes, food and equipment is lost in a
major rapid, so they are very much thrown on their own ingenuity and
woodcraft.  One of the boys has a major interest in natural history, and
we hear from him all about the various animals and birds encountered.
This is far from being a bore, as the author has taken care to make it
interesting.

This is a very enjoyable book, even though it is over 150 years since it
was written.

________________________________________________________________________

THE YOUNG VOYAGEURS--BOY HUNTERS IN THE NORTH, BY CAPTAIN MAYNE REID.



CHAPTER ONE.

THE FUR COUNTRIES.

Boy reader, you have heard of the Hudson's Bay Company?  Ten to one, you
have worn a piece of fur, which it has provided for you; if not, your
pretty little sister has--in her muff, or her boa, or as a trimming for
her winter dress.  Would you like to know something of the country
whence come these furs?--of the animals whose backs have been stripped
to obtain them?  As I feel certain that you and I are old friends, I
make bold to answer for you--yes.  Come, then! let us journey together
to the "Fur Countries;" let us cross them from south to north.

A vast journey it will be.  It will cost us many thousand miles of
travel.  We shall find neither railway-train, nor steamboat, nor
stage-coach, to carry us on our way.  We shall not even have the help of
a horse.  For us no hotel shall spread its luxurious board; no road-side
inn shall hang out its inviting sign and "clean beds;" no roof of any
kind shall offer us its hospitable shelter.  Our table shall be a rock,
a log, or the earth itself; our lodging a tent; and our bed the skin of
a wild beast.  Such are the best accommodations we can expect upon our
journey.  Are you still ready to undertake it?  Does the prospect not
deter you?

No--I hear you exclaim.  I shall be satisfied with the table--what care
I for mahogany?  With the lodging--I can tent like an Arab.  With the
bed--fling feathers to the wind!

Enough, brave boy! you shall go with me to the wild regions of the
"North-west," to the far "fur countries" of America.  But, first--a word
about the land through which we are going to travel.

Take down your Atlas.  Bend your eye upon the map of North America.
Note two large islands--one upon the right side, Newfoundland; another
upon the left, Vancouver.  Draw a line from one to the other; it will
nearly bisect the continent.  North of that line you behold a vast
territory.  How vast!  You may take your scissors, and clip fifty
Englands out of it!  There are lakes there in which you might _drown_
England, or make an island of it!  Now, you may form some idea of the
vastness of that region known as the "fur countries."

Will you believe me, when I tell you that all this immense tract is a
wilderness--a howling wilderness, if you like a poetical name?  It is
even so.  From north to south, from ocean to ocean,--throughout all that
vast domain, there is neither town nor village--hardly anything that can
be dignified with the name of "settlement."  The only signs of
civilisation to be seen are the "forts," or trading posts, of the
Hudson's Bay Company; and these "signs" are few and far--hundreds of
miles--between.  For inhabitants, the country has less than ten thousand
white men, the _employes_ of the Company; and its native people are
Indians of many tribes, living far apart, few in numbers, subsisting by
the chase, and half starving for at least a third part of every year!
In truth, the territory can hardly be called "inhabited."  There is not
a man to every ten miles; and in many parts of it you may travel
hundreds of miles without seeing a face, red, white, or black!

The physical aspect is, therefore, entirely wild.  It is very different
in different parts of the territory.  One tract is peculiar.  It has
been long known as the "Barren Grounds."  It is a tract of vast extent.
It lies north-west from the shores of Hudson's Bay, extending nearly to
the Mackenzie River.  Its rocks are _primitive_.  It is a land of hills
and valleys,--of deep dark lakes and sharp-running streams.  It is a
woodless region.  No timber is found there that deserves the name.  No
trees but glandular dwarf birches, willows, and black spruce, small and
stunted.  Even these only grow in isolated valleys.  More generally the
surface is covered with coarse sand--the _debris_ of granite or
quartz-rock--upon which no vegetable, save the lichen or the moss, can
find life and nourishment.  In one respect these "Barren Grounds" are
unlike the deserts of Africa: they are well watered.  In almost every
valley there is a lake; and though many of these are landlocked, yet do
they contain fish of several species.  Sometimes these lakes communicate
with each other by means of rapid and turbulent streams passing through
narrow gorges; and lines of those connected lakes form the great rivers
of the district.

Such is a large portion of the Hudson's Bay territory.  Most of the
extensive peninsula of Labrador partakes of a similar character; and
there are other like tracts west of the Rocky Mountain range in the
"Russian possessions."

Yet these "Barren Grounds" have their denizens.  Nature has formed
animals that delight to dwell there, and that are never found in more
fertile regions.  Two ruminating creatures find sustenance upon the
mosses and lichens that cover their cold rocks: they are the caribou
(reindeer) and the musk-ox.  These, in their turn, become the food and
subsistence of preying creatures.  The wolf, in all its varieties of
grey, black, white, pied, and dusky, follows upon their trail.  The
"brown bear,"--a large species, nearly resembling the "grizzly,"--is
found only in the Barren Grounds; and the great "Polar bear" comes
within their borders, but the latter is a dweller upon their shores
alone, and finds his food among the finny tribes of the seas that
surround them.  In marshy ponds, existing here and there, the musk-rat
(_Fibre zibethieus_) builds his house, like that of his larger cousin,
the beaver.  Upon the water sedge he finds subsistence; but his natural
enemy, the wolverene (_Gulo luscus_), skulks in the same neighbourhood.
The "Polar hare" lives upon the leaves and twigs of the dwarf
birch-tree; and this, transformed into its own white flesh, becomes the
food of the Arctic fox.  The herbage, sparse though it be, does not grow
in vain.  The seeds fall to the earth, but they are not suffered to
decay.  They are gathered by the little lemmings and meadow-mice
(_arvicolae_), who, in their turn, become the prey of two species of
_mustelidae_, the ermine and vison weasels.  Have the fish of the lakes
no enemy?  Yes--a terrible one in the Canada otter.  The mink-weasel,
too, pursues them; and in summer, the osprey, the great pelican, the
cormorant, and the white-headed eagle.

These are the _fauna_ of the Barren Grounds.  Man rarely ventures within
their boundaries.  The wretched creatures who find a living there are
the Esquimaux on their coasts, and a few Chippewa Indians in the
interior, who hunt the caribou, and are known as "caribou-eaters."
Other Indians enter them only in summer, in search of game, or
journeying from point to point; and so perilous are these journeyings,
that numbers frequently perish by the way.  There are no white men in
the Barren Grounds.  The "Company" has no commerce there.  No fort is
established in them: so scarce are the fur-bearing animals of these
parts, their skins would not repay the expense of a "trading post."

Far different are the "wooded tracts" of the fur countries.  These lie
mostly in the southern and central regions of the Hudson's Bay
territory.  There are found the valuable beaver, and the wolverene that
preys upon it.  There dwells the American hare, with its enemy the
Canada lynx.  There are the squirrels, and the beautiful martens
(sables) that hunt them from tree to tree.  There are found the foxes of
every variety, the red, the cross, and the rare and highly-prized
silver-fox (_Vulpes argentatus_), whose shining skin sells for its
weight in gold!  There, too, the black bear (_Ursus Americanus_) yields
its fine coat to adorn the winter carriage, the holsters of the dragoon,
and the shako of the grenadier.  There the fur-bearing animals exist in
greatest plenty, and many others whose skins are valuable in commerce,
as the moose, the wapiti, and the wood-bison.

But there is also a "prairie" district in the fur countries.  The great
table prairies of North America, that slope eastward from the Rocky
Mountains, also extend northward into the Hudson's Bay territory.  They
gradually grow narrower, however, as you proceed farther north, until,
on reaching the latitude of the Great Slave Lake, they end altogether.
This "prairie land" has its peculiar animals.  Upon it roams the
buffalo, the prong-horned antelope, and the mule-deer.  There, too, may
be seen the "barking-wolf" and the "swift fox."  It is the favourite
home of the marmots, and the gauffres or sand-rats; and there, too, the
noblest of animals, the horse, runs wild.  West of this prairie tract is
a region of far different aspect,--the region of the Rocky Mountains.
This stupendous chain, sometimes called the Andes of North America,
continues throughout the fur countries from their southern limits to the
shores of the Arctic Sea.  Some of its peaks overlook the waters of that
sea itself, towering up near the coast.  Many of these, even in southern
latitudes, carry the "eternal snow."  This "mountain-chain" is, in
places, of great breadth.  Deep valleys lie in its embrace, many of
which have never been visited by man.  Some are desolate and dreary;
others are oases of vegetation, which fascinate the traveller whose
fortune it has been, after toiling among naked rocks, to gaze upon their
smiling fertility.  These lovely wilds are the favourite home of many
strange animals.  The argali, or mountain-sheep, with his huge curving
horns, is seen there; and the shaggy wild goat bounds along the steepest
cliffs.  The black bear wanders through the wooded ravines; and his
fiercer congener, the "grizzly"--the most dreaded of all American
animals--drags his huge body along the rocky declivities.

Having crossed the mountains, the fur countries extend westward to the
Pacific.  There you encounter barren plains, treeless and waterless;
rapid rivers, that foam through deep, rock-bound channels; and a country
altogether rougher in aspect, and more mountainous, than that lying to
the east of the great chain.  A warmer atmosphere prevails as you
approach the Pacific, and in some places forests of tall trees cover the
earth.  In these are found most of the fur-bearing animals; and, on
account of the greater warmth of the climate, the true _felidae_--the
long-tailed cats--here wander much farther north than upon the eastern
side of the continent.  Even so far north as the forests of Oregon these
appear in the forms of the cougar (_Felis concolor_), and the ounce
(_Felis onza_).

But it is not our intention at present to cross the Rocky Mountains.
Our journey will lie altogether on the eastern side of that great chain.
It will extend from the frontiers of civilisation to the shores of the
Arctic Sea.  It is a long and perilous journey, boy reader; but as we
have made up our minds to it, let us waste no more time in talking, but
set forth at once.  You are ready?  Hurrah!



CHAPTER TWO.

THE YOUNG VOYAGEURS.

There is a canoe upon the waters of Red River--Red River of the north.
It is near the source of the stream, but passing downward.  It is a
small canoe, a frail structure of birch-bark, and contains only four
persons.  They are all young--the eldest of them evidently not over
nineteen years of age, and the youngest about fifteen.

The eldest is nearly full-grown, though his body and limbs have not yet
assumed the muscular development of manhood.  His complexion is dark,
nearly olive.  His hair is jet-black, straight as an Indian's, and long.
His eyes are large and brilliant, and his features prominent.  His
countenance expresses courage, and his well-set jaws betoken firmness
and resolution.  He does not belie his looks, for he possesses these
qualifications in a high degree.  There is a gravity in his manner,
somewhat rare in one so young; yet it is not the result of a morose
disposition, but a subdued temperament produced by modesty, good sense,
and much experience.  Neither has it the air of stupidity.  No: you
could easily tell that the mind of this youth, if once roused, would
exhibit both energy and alertness.  His quiet manner has a far different
expression.  It is an air of coolness and confidence, which tells you he
has met with dangers in the past, and would not fear to encounter them
again.  It is an expression peculiar, I think, to the hunters of the
"Far West,"--those men who dwell amidst dangers in the wild regions of
the great prairies.  Their solitary mode of life begets this expression.
They are often for months without the company of a creature with whom
they may converse--months without beholding a human face.  They live
alone with Nature, surrounded by her majestic forms.  These awe them
into habits of silence.  Such was in point of fact the case with the
youth whom we have been describing.  He had hunted much, though not as a
professional hunter.  With him the chase had been followed merely as a
pastime; but its pursuit had brought him into situations of peril, and
in contact with Nature in her wild solitudes.  Young as he was, he had
journeyed over the grand prairies, and through the pathless forests of
the West.  He had slain the bear and the buffalo, the wild-cat and the
cougar.  These experiences had made their impression upon his mind, and
stamped his countenance with that air of gravity we have noticed.

The second of the youths whom we shall describe is very different in
appearance.  He is of blonde complexion, rather pale, with fair silken
hair that waves gently down his cheeks, and falls upon his shoulders.
He is far from robust.  On the contrary, his form is thin and delicate.
It is not the delicacy of feebleness or ill-health, but only a body of
slighter build.  The manner in which he handles his oar shows that he
possesses both health and strength, though neither in such a high degree
as the dark youth.  His face expresses, perhaps, a larger amount of
intellect, and it is a countenance that would strike you as more open
and communicative.  The eye is blue and mild, and the brow is marked by
the paleness of study and habits of continued thought.  These
indications are no more than just, for the fair-haired youth _is_ a
student, and one of no ordinary attainments.  Although only seventeen
years of age, he is already well versed in the natural sciences; and
many a graduate of Oxford or Cambridge would but ill compare with him.
The former might excel in the knowledge--if we can dignify it by that
name--of the laws of scansion, or in the composition of Greek idyls; but
in all that constitutes _real_ knowledge he would prove but an idle
theorist, a dreamy imbecile, alongside our practical young scholar of
the West.

The third and youngest of the party--taking them as they sit from stem
to bow--differs in many respects from both those described.  He has
neither the gravity of the first, nor yet the intellectuality of the
second.  His face is round, and full, and ruddy.  It is bright and
smiling in its expression.  His eye dances merrily in his head, and its
glance falls upon everything.  His lips are hardly ever at rest.  They
are either engaged in making words--for he talks almost incessantly--or
else contracting and expanding with smiles and joyous laughter.  His cap
is jauntily set, and his fine brown curls, hanging against the rich
roseate skin of his cheeks, give to his countenance an expression of
extreme health and boyish beauty.  His merry laugh and free air tell you
he is not the boy for books.  He is not much of a hunter neither.  In
fact, he is not particularly given to anything--one of those easy
natures who take the world as it comes, look upon the bright side of
everything, without getting sufficiently interested to excel in
anything.

These three youths were dressed nearly alike.  The eldest wore the
costume, as near as may be, of a backwoods hunter--a tunic-like
hunting-shirt, of dressed buckskin, leggings and mocassins of the same
material, and all--shirt, leggings, and mocassins--handsomely braided
and embroidered with stained quills of the porcupine.  The cape of the
shirt was tastefully fringed, and so was the skirt as well as the seams
of the mocassins.  On his head was a hairy cap of raccoon skin, and the
tail of the animal, with its dark transverse bars, hung down behind like
the drooping plume of a helmet.  Around his shoulders were two leathern
belts that crossed each other upon his breast.  One of these slung a
bullet-pouch covered with a violet-green skin that glittered splendidly
in the sun.  It was from the head of the "wood-duck" (_Anas sponsa_),
the most beautiful bird of its tribe.  By the other strap was suspended
a large crescent-shaped horn taken from the head of an Opelousas bull,
and carved with various ornamental devices.  Other smaller implements
hung from the belts, attached by leathern thongs: there was a picker, a
wiper, and a steel for striking fire with.  A third belt--a broad stout
one of alligator leather--encircled the youth's waist.  To this was
fastened a holster, and the shining butt of a pistol could be seen
protruding out; a hunting-knife of the kind denominated "bowie" hanging
over the left hip, completed his "arms and accoutrements."

The second of the youths was dressed, as already stated, in a somewhat
similar manner, though his accoutrements were not of so warlike a
character.  Like the other, he had a powder-horn and pouch, but instead
of knife and pistol, a canvass bag or haversack hung from his shoulder;
and had you looked into it, you would have seen that it was half filled
with shells, pieces of rock, and rare plants, gathered during the day--
the diurnal storehouse of the geologist, the palaeontologist, and
botanist--to be emptied for study and examination by the night
camp-fire.  Instead of the 'coon-skin cap he wore a white felt hat with
broad leaf; and for leggings and mocassins he had trousers of blue
cottonade and laced buskins of tanned leather.

The youngest of the three was dressed and accoutred much like the
eldest, except that his cap was of blue cloth--somewhat after the
fashion of the military forage cap.  All three wore shirts of coloured
cotton, the best for journeying in these uninhabited regions, where soap
is scarce, and a laundress not to be had at any price.

Though very unlike one another, these three youths were brothers.  I
knew them well.  I had seen them before--about two years before--and
though each had grown several inches taller since that time, I had no
difficulty in recognising them.  Even though they were now two thousand
miles from where I had formerly encountered them, I could not be
mistaken as to their identity.  Beyond a doubt they were the same brave
young adventurers whom I had met in the swamps of Louisiana, and whose
exploits I had witnessed upon the prairies of Texas.  They were the "Boy
Hunters,"--Basil, Lucien, Francois!  I was right glad to renew
acquaintance with them.  Boy reader, do you share my joy?

But whither go they now?  They are full two thousand miles from their
home in Louisiana.  The Red River upon which their canoe floats is not
that Red River, whose blood-like waters sweep through the swamps of the
hot South--the home of the alligator and the gar.  No, it is a stream of
a far different character, though also one of great magnitude.  Upon the
banks of the former ripens the rice-plant, and the sugar-cane waves its
golden tassels high in the air.  There, too, flourishes the giant reed
(_Arundo gigantea_), the fan-palm (_Chamaerops_), and the broad-leafed
magnolia, with its huge snow-white flowers.  There the aspect is
Southern, and the heat tropical for most part of the year.

All this is reversed on the Red River of the North.  It is true that on
its banks sugar is also produced; but it is no longer from a plant but a
lordly tree--the great sugar-maple (_Acer saccharinum_).  There is rice
too,--vast fields of rice upon its marshy borders; but it is not the
pearly grain of the South.  It is the wild rice, "the water oats"
(_Zizania aquatica_), the food of millions of winged creatures, and
thousands of human beings as well.  Here for three-fourths of the year
the sun is feeble, and the aspect that of winter.  For months the cold
waters are bound up in an icy embrace.  The earth is covered with thick
snow, over which rise the needle-leafed _coniferae_--the pines, the
cedars, the spruce, and the hemlock.  Very unlike each other are the
countries watered by the two streams, the Red River of the South and its
namesake of the North.

But whither go our Boy Hunters in their birch-bark canoe?  The river
upon which they are _voyaging_ runs due northward into the great Lake
Winnipeg.  They are floating with its current, and consequently
increasing the distance from their home.  Whither go they?

The answer leads us to some sad reflections.  Our joy on again beholding
them is to be mingled with grief.  When we last saw them they had a
father, but no mother.  Now they have neither one nor the
other.  The old Colonel, their father--the French _emigre_, the
_hunter-naturalist_--is dead.  He who had taught them all they knew, who
had taught them "to ride, to swim, to dive deep rivers, to fling the
lasso, to climb tall trees, and scale steep cliffs, to bring down birds
upon the wing or beasts upon the run, with the arrow and the unerring
rifle; who had trained them to sleep in the open air, in the dark
forest, on the unsheltered prairie, along the white snow-wreath--
anywhere--with but a blanket or a buffalo-robe for their bed; who had
taught them to live on the simplest food, and had imparted to one of
them a knowledge of science, of botany in particular, that enabled them,
in case of need, to draw sustenance from plants and trees, from roots
and fruits, to find resources where ignorant men would starve; had
taught them to kindle a fire without flint, steel, or detonating powder;
to discover their direction without a compass, from the rocks and the
trees and the signs of the heavens; and in addition to all, had taught
them, as far as was then known, the geography of that vast wilderness
that stretches from the Mississippi to the shores of the Pacific Ocean,
and northward to the icy borders of the Arctic Sea"--he who had taught
them all this, their father, was no more; and his three sons, the "boy
men," of whom he was so proud, and of whose accomplishments he was wont
to boast, were now orphans upon the wide world.

But little more than a year after their return from their grand
expedition to the Texan prairies, the "old Colonel" had died.  It was
one of the worst years of that scourge of the South--the yellow fever--
and to this dread pestilence he had fallen a victim.

Hugot, the _ex-chasseur_ and attached domestic, who was accustomed to
follow his master like a shadow, had also followed him into the next
world.  It was not grief that killed Hugot, though he bore the loss of
his kind master sadly enough.  But it was not grief that killed Hugot.
He was laid low by the same disease of which his master had died--the
yellow fever.  A week had scarcely passed after the death of the latter,
before Hugot caught the disease, and in a few days he was carried to the
tomb and laid by the side of his "old Colonel."

The Boy Hunters--Basil, Lucien, Francois--became orphans.  They knew of
but _one_ relation in the whole world, with whom their father had kept
up any correspondence.  This relation was an uncle, and, strange as it
may seem, a Scotchman--a Highlander, who had strayed to Corsica in early
life, and had there married the Colonel's sister.  That uncle had
afterwards emigrated to Canada, and had become extensively engaged in
the fur trade.  He was now a superintendent or "factor" of the Hudson's
Bay Company, stationed at one of their most remote posts near the shores
of the Arctic Sea!  There is a romance in the history of some men wilder
than any fiction that could be imagined.

I have not yet answered the question as to where our Boy Hunters were
journeying in their birch-bark canoe.  By this time you will have
divined the answer.  Certainly, you will say, they were on their way to
join their uncle in his remote home.  For no other object could they be
travelling through the wild regions of the Red River.  That supposition
is correct.  To visit this Scotch uncle (they had not seen him for
years) was the object of their long, toilsome, and perilous journey.
After their father's death he had sent for them.  He had heard of their
exploits upon the prairies; and, being himself of an adventurous
disposition, he was filled with admiration for his young kinsmen, and
desired very much to have them come and live with him.  Being now their
guardian, he might command as much, but it needed not any exercise of
authority on his part to induce all three of them to obey his summons.
They had travelled through the mighty forests of the Mississippi, and
upon the summer prairies of the South.  These great features of the
earth's surface were to them familiar things, and they were no longer
curious about them.  But there remained a vast country which they longed
eagerly to explore.  They longed to look upon its shining lakes and
crystal rivers; upon its snow-clad hills and ice-bound streams; upon its
huge mammalia--its moose and its musk-oxen, its wapiti and its monster
bears.  This was the very country to which they were now invited by
their kinsman, and cheerfully did they accept his invitation.  Already
had they made one-half the journey, though by far the easier half.  They
had travelled up the Mississippi, by steamboat as far as the mouth of
the Saint Peter's.  There they had commenced their canoe voyage--in
other words became "voyageurs"--for such is the name given to those who
travel by canoes through these wild territories.  Their favourite horses
and the mule "Jeannette" had been left behind.  This was a necessity, as
these creatures, however useful upon the dry prairies of the South,
where there are few or no lakes, and where rivers only occur at long
intervals, would be of little service to the traveller in the Northern
regions.  Here the route is crossed and intercepted by numerous rivers;
and lakes of all sizes, with tracts of inundated marsh, succeed one
another continually.  Such, in fact, are the highways of the country,
and the canoe the travelling carriage; so that a journey from one point
of the Hudson's Bay territory to another is often a canoe voyage of
thousands of miles--equal to a "trip" across the Atlantic!

Following the usual custom, therefore, our Boy Hunters had become
voyageurs--"_Young Voyageurs_."  They had navigated the Saint Peter's in
safety, almost to its head-waters.  These interlock with the sources of
the Red River.  By a "portage" of a few miles they had crossed to the
latter stream; and, having launched their canoe upon its waters, were
now floating downward and northward with its current.  But they had yet
a long journey before them--nearly two thousand miles!  Many a river to
be "run," many a rapid to be "shot," many a lake to be crossed, and many
a "portage" to be passed, ere they could reach the end of that great
_voyage_.

Come, boy reader, shall we accompany them?  Yes.  The strange scenes and
wild adventures through which we must pass, may lighten the toils, and
perhaps repay us for the perils, of the journey.  Think not of the
toils.  Roses grow only upon thorns.  From toil we learn to enjoy
leisure.  Regard not the perils.  "From the nettle danger we pluck the
flower safety."  Security often springs from peril.  From such hard
experiences great men have arisen.  Come, then, my young friend! mind
neither toil nor peril, but with me to the great wilderness of the
North!

Stay!  We are to have another "_compagnon du voyage_."  There is a
fourth in the boat, a fourth "young voyageur."  Who is he?  In
appearance he is as old as Basil, full as tall, and not unlike him in
"build."  But he is altogether of a different _colour_.  He is
fair-haired; but his hair (unlike that of Lucien, which is also
light-coloured) is strong, crisp, and curly.  It does not droop, but
stands out over his cheeks in a profusion of handsome ringlets.  His
complexion is of that kind known as "fresh," and the weather, to which
it has evidently been much exposed, has bronzed and rather enriched the
colour.  The eyes are dark blue, and, strange to say, with _black_ brows
and lashes!  This is not common, though sometimes observed; and, in the
case of the youth we are describing, arose from a difference of
complexion on the part of his parents.  He looked through the eyes of
his mother, while in other respects he was more like his father, who was
fair-haired and of a "fresh" colour.

The youth, himself, might be termed handsome.  Perhaps he did not
possess the youthful beauty of Francois, nor the bolder kind that
characterised the face of Basil.  Perhaps he was of a coarser "make"
than any of his three companions.  His intellect had been less
cultivated by education, and _education adds to the beauty of the face_.
His life had been a harder one--he had toiled more with his hands, and
had seen less of civilised society.  Still many would have pronounced
him a handsome youth.  His features were regular, and of clean outline.
His lips expressed good-nature as well as firmness.  His eye beamed with
native intelligence, and his whole face bespoke a heart of true and
determined honesty--_that made it beautiful_.

Perhaps a close scrutiniser of countenances might have detected some
resemblance--a family one--between him and his three companions.  If
such there was, it was very slight; but there might have been, from the
relationship that existed between them and him.  He was their cousin--
their full cousin--the only son of that uncle they were now on their way
to visit, and the new-comer who had been sent to bring them.  Such was
the fourth of "the young voyageurs."

His dress was not unlike that worn by Basil; but as he was seated on the
bow, and acting as pilot, and therefore more likely to feel the cold, he
wore over his hunting-shirt a Canadian _capote_ of white woollen cloth,
with its hood hanging, down upon his shoulders.

But there was still another "voyageur," an old acquaintance, whom you,
boy reader, will no doubt remember.  This was an animal, a quadruped,
who lay along the bottom of the canoe upon a buffalo's hide.  "From his
size and colour--which was a tawny red--you might have mistaken him for
a panther--a cougar.  His long black muzzle and broad hanging ears gave
him quite a different aspect, however, and declared him to be a hound.
He _was_ one--a bloodhound, with the build of a mastiff--a powerful
animal.  He was the dog `Marengo.'"  You remember Marengo?

In the canoe there were other objects of interest.  There were blankets
and buffalo-robes; there was a small canvass tent folded up; there were
bags of provisions, and some cooking utensils; there was a spade and an
axe; there were rifles--three of them--and a double-barrelled shot-gun;
besides a fish-net, and many other articles, the necessary equipments
for such a journey.

Loaded almost to the gunwale was that little canoe, yet lightly did it
float down the waters of the Red River of the North.



CHAPTER THREE.

THE TRUMPETER SWAN AND THE BALD EAGLE.

It was the spring season, though late.  The snow had entirely
disappeared from the hills, and the ice from the water, and the melting
of both had swollen the river, and rendered its current more rapid than
usual.  Our young voyageurs needed not therefore to ply their oars,
except now and then to guide the canoe; for these little vessels have no
rudder, but are steered by the paddles.  The skilful voyageurs can shoot
them to any point they please, simply by their dexterous handling of the
oars; and Basil, Lucien, and Francois, had had sufficient practice both
with "skiffs" and "dugouts" to make good oarsmen of all three.  They had
made many a canoe trip upon the lower Mississippi and the bayous of
Louisiana; besides their journey up the Saint Peter's had rendered them
familiar with the management of their birchen craft.  An occasional
stroke of the paddle kept them in their course, and they floated on
without effort.  Norman--such was the name of their Canadian or Highland
cousin--sat in the bow and directed their course.  This is the post of
honour in a canoe; and as he had more experience than any of them in
this sort of navigation, he was allowed habitually to occupy this post.
Lucien sat in the stern.  He held in his hands a book and pencil; and as
the canoe glided onward, he was noting down his memoranda.  The trees
upon the banks were in leaf--many of them in blossom--and as the little
craft verged near the shore, his keen eye followed the configuration of
the leaves, to discover any new species that might appear.  There is a
rich vegetation upon the banks of the Red River; but the _flora_ is far
different from that which appears upon the low _alluvion_ of Louisiana.
It is Northern, but not Arctic.  Oaks, elms, and poplars, are seen
mingling with birches, willows, and aspens.  Several species of
indigenous fruit trees were observed by Lucien, among which were
crab-apple, raspberry, strawberry, and currant.  There was also seen the
fruit called by the voyageurs "le poire," but which in English
phraseology is known as the "service-berry" (_Amelanchier ovalis_).  It
grows upon a small bush or shrub of six or eight feet high, with smooth
pinnate leaves.  These pretty red berries are much esteemed and eaten
both by Indians and whites, who preserve them by drying, and cook them
in various ways.  There was still another bush that fixed the attention
of our young botanist, as it appeared all along the banks, and was a
_characteristic_ of the vegetation of the country.  It was not over
eight feet in height, with spreading branches of a grey colour.  Its
leaves were three inches wide, and somewhat lobed liked those of the
oak.  Of course, at this early season, the fruit was not ripe upon it;
but Lucien knew the fruit well.  When ripe it resembles very much a red
cherry, or, still more, a cranberry, having both the appearance and
acrid taste of the latter.  Indeed, it is sometimes used as a substitute
for cranberries in the making of pies and tarts; and in many parts it is
called the "bush cranberry."  The name, however, by which it is known
among the Indians of Red River is "_anepeminan_," from "_nepen_,"
summer, and "_minan_" berry.  This has been corrupted by the fur-traders
and voyageurs into "Pembina;" hence, the name of a river which runs into
the Red, and also he name of the celebrated but unsuccessful settlement
of "Pembina," formed by Lord Selkirk many years ago.  Both took their
names from this berry that grows in abundance in the neighbourhood.  The
botanical appellation of this curious shrub is _Viburnum oxycoccos_; but
there is another species of the viburnum, which is also styled
"oxycoccos."  The common "snowball bush" of our gardens is a plant of
the same genus, and very like the "Pembina" both in leaf and flower.  In
fact, in a wild state they might be regarded as the same; but it is
well-known that the flowers of the snowball are sterile, and do not
produce the beautiful bright crimson berries of the "Pembina."  Lucien
lectured upon these points to his companions as they floated along.
Norman listened with astonishment to his philosophic cousin, who,
although he had never been in this region before, knew more of its
plants and trees than he did himself.  Basil also was interested in the
explanations given by his brother.  On the contrary, Francois, who cared
but little for botanical studies, or studies of any sort, was occupied
differently.  He sat near the middle of the canoe, double-barrel in
hand, eagerly watching for a shot.  Many species of water-fowl were upon
the river, for it was now late in the spring, and the wild geese and
ducks had all arrived, and were passing northward upon their annual
migration.  During the day Francois had got several shots, and had
"bagged" three wild geese, all of different kinds, for there are many
species of wild geese in America.  He had also shot some ducks.  But
this did not satisfy him.  There was a bird upon the river that could
not be approached.  No matter how the canoe was manoeuvred, this shy
creature always took flight before Francois could get within range.  For
days he had been endeavouring to kill one.  Even upon the Saint Peter's
many of them had been seen, sometimes in pairs, at other times in small
flocks of six or seven, but always shy and wary.  The very difficulty of
getting a shot at them, along with the splendid character of the birds
themselves, had rendered Francois eager to obtain one.  The bird itself
was no other than the great wild swan--the king of aquatic birds.

"Come, brother!" said Francois, addressing Lucien, "bother your
viburnums and your oxycocks!  Tell us something about these swans.  See!
there goes another of them!  What a splendid fellow he is!  I'd give
something to have him within range of buck-shot."

As Francois spoke he pointed down-stream to a great white bird that was
seen moving out from the bank.  It was a swan, and one of the very
largest kind--a "trumpeter" (_Cygnus buccinator_).

It had been feeding in a sedge of the wild rice (_Zizania aquatica_),
and no doubt the sight of the canoe or the plash of the guiding oar had
disturbed, and given it the alarm.  It shot out from the reeds with head
erect and wings slightly raised, offering to the eyes of the voyageurs a
spectacle of graceful and majestic bearing, that, among the feathered
race at least, is quite inimitable.

A few strokes of its broad feet propelled it into the open water near
the middle of the stream, when, making a half wheel, it turned head down
the river, and swam with the current.

At the point where it turned it was not two hundred yards ahead of the
canoe.  Its apparent boldness in permitting them to come so near without
taking wing, led Francois to hope that they might get still nearer; and,
begging his companions to ply the paddles, he seized hold of his
double-barrel, and leaned forward in the canoe.  Basil also conceived a
hope that a shot was to be had, for he took up his rifle, and looked to
the cock and cap.  The others went steadily and quietly to work at the
oars.  In a few moments the canoe cleft the current at the rate of a
galloping horse, and one would have supposed that the swan must either
at once take wing or be overtaken.

Not so, however.  The "trumpeter" knew his game better than that.  He
had full confidence both in his strength and speed upon the water.  He
was not going to undergo the trouble of a fly, until the necessity arose
for so doing; and, as it was, he seemed to be satisfied that that
necessity had not yet arrived.  The swim cost him much less muscular
exertion than flying would have done, and he judged that the current,
here very swift, would carry him out of reach of his pursuers.

It soon began to appear that he judged rightly; and the voyageurs, to
their chagrin, saw that, instead of gaining upon him, as they had
expected, every moment widened the distance between him and the canoe.
The bird had an advantage over his pursuers.  Three distinct powers
propelled him, while they had only two to rely upon.  He had the current
in his favour--so had they.  He had oars or paddles--his feet; they had
oars as well.  He "carried sail," while they spread not a "rag."  The
wind chanced to blow directly down-stream, and the broad wings of the
bird, held out from his body, and half extended, caught the very pith of
the breeze on their double concave surfaces, and carried him through the
water with the velocity of an arrow.  Do you think that he was not aware
of this advantage when he started in the race?  Do you suppose that
these birds do not _think_?  I for one am satisfied they do, and look
upon every one who prates about the _instinct_ of these creatures as a
philosopher of a very old school indeed.  Not only does the great swan
think, but so does your parrot, and your piping bullfinch, and the
little canary that hops on your thumb.  All think, and _reason_, and
_judge_.  Should it ever be your fortune to witness the performance of
those marvellous birds, exhibited by the graceful Mademoiselle
Vandermeersch in the fashionable _salons_ of Paris and London, you will
agree with me in the belief that the smallest of them has a mind like
yourself.

Most certainly the swan, which our voyageurs were pursuing, thought, and
reasoned, and judged, and calculated his distance, and resolved to keep
on "the even tenor of his way," without putting himself to extra trouble
by beating the air with his wings, and lifting his heavy body--thirty
pounds at least--up into the heavens.  His judgment proved sound; for,
in less than ten minutes from the commencement of the chase, he had
gained a clear hundred yards upon his pursuers, and continued to widen
the distance.  At intervals he raised his beak higher than usual, and
uttered his loud booming note, which fell upon the ears of the voyageurs
as though it had been sent back in mockery and defiance.

They would have given up the pursuit, had they not noticed that a few
hundred yards farther down the river made a sharp turn to the right.
The swan, on reaching this, would no longer have the wind in his favour.
This inspired them with fresh hopes.  They thought they would be able
to overtake him after passing the bend, and then, either get a shot at
him, or force him into the air.  The latter was the more likely; and,
although it would be no great gratification to see him fly off, yet they
had become so interested in this singular chase that they desired to
terminate it by putting the trumpeter to some trouble.  They bent,
therefore, with fresh energy to their oars, and pulled onward in the
pursuit.  First the swan, and after him the canoe, swung round the bend,
and entered the new "reach" of the river.  The voyageurs at once
perceived that the bird now swam more slowly.  He no longer "carried
sail," as the wind was no longer in his favour.  His wings lay closely
folded to his body, and he moved only by the aid of his webbed feet and
the current, which last happened to be sluggish, as the river at this
part spread over a wide expanse of level land.  The canoe was evidently
catching up, and each stroke was bringing the pursuers nearer to the
pursued.

After a few minutes' brisk pulling, the trumpeter had lost so much
ground that he was not two hundred yards in the advance, and "dead
ahead."  His body was no longer carried with the same gracefulness, and
the majestic curving of his neck had disappeared.  His bill protruded
forward, and his thighs began to drag the water in his wake.  He was
evidently on the threshold of flight.  Both Francois and Basil saw this,
as they stood with their guns crossed and ready.

At this moment a shrill cry sounded over the water.  It was the scream
of some wild creature, ending in a strange laugh, like the laugh of a
maniac!

On both sides of the river there was a thick forest of tall trees of the
cotton-wood species (_Populus angustifolia_).  From this forest the
strange cry had proceeded, and from the right bank.  Its echoes had
hardly ceased, when it was answered by a similar cry from the trees upon
the left.  So like were the two, that it seemed as if some one of God's
wild creatures was mocking another.  These cries were hideous enough to
frighten any one not used to them.  They had not that effect upon our
voyageurs, who knew their import.  One and all of them were familiar
with the voice of the _white-headed eagle_!

The trumpeter knew it as well as any of them, but on him it produced a
far different effect.  His terror was apparent, and his intention was
all at once changed.  Instead of rising into the air, as he had
premeditated, he suddenly lowered his head, and disappeared under the
water!

Again was heard the wild scream and the maniac laugh; and the next
moment an eagle swept out from the timber, and, after a few strokes of
its broad wing, poised itself over the spot where the trumpeter had gone
down.  The other, its mate, was seen crossing at the same time from the
opposite side.

Presently the swan rose to the surface, but his head was hardly out of
the water when the eagle once more uttered its wild note, and, half
folding its wings, darted down from above.  The swan seemed to have
expected this, for before the eagle could reach the surface, he had gone
under a second time, and the latter, though passing with the velocity of
an arrow, plunged his talons in the water to no purpose.  With a cry of
disappointment the eagle mounted back into the air, and commenced
wheeling in circles over the spot.  It was now joined by its mate, and
both kept round and round watching for the reappearance of their
intended victim.

Again the swan came to the surface, but before either of the eagles
could swoop upon him he had for the third time disappeared.  The swan is
but an indifferent diver; but under such circumstances he was likely to
do his best at it.  But what could it avail him?  He must soon rise to
the surface to take breath--each time at shorter intervals.  He would
soon become fatigued and unable to dive with sufficient celerity, and
then his cruel enemies would be down upon him with their terrible
talons.  Such is the usual result, unless the swan takes to the air,
which he sometimes does.  In the present case he had built his hopes
upon a different means of escape.  He contemplated being able to conceal
himself in a heavy sedge of bulrushes (_Scirpus lacustris_) that grew
along the edge of the river, and towards these he was evidently
directing his course under the water.  At each emersion he appeared some
yards nearer them, until at length he rose within a few feet of their
margin, and diving again was seen no more!  He had crept in among the
sedge, and no doubt was lying with only his head, or part of it, above
the water, his body concealed by the broad leaves of the _nymphae_,
while the head itself could not be distinguished among the white flowers
that lay thickly along the surface.  The eagles now wheeled over the
sedge, flapping the tops of the bulrushes with their broad wings, and
screaming with disappointed rage.  Keen as were their eyes they could
not discover the hiding-place of their victim.  No doubt they would have
searched for it a long while, but the canoe--which they now appeared to
notice for the first time--had floated near; and, becoming aware of
their own danger, both mounted into the air again, and with a farewell
scream flew off, and alighted at some distance down the river.

"A swan for supper!" shouted Francois, as he poised his gun for the
expected shot.

The canoe was headed for the bulrushes near the point where the
trumpeter had been last seen; and a few strokes of the paddles brought
the little craft with a whizzing sound among the sedge.  But the culms
of the rushes were so tall, and grew so closely together, that the
canoemen, after entering, found to their chagrin they could not see six
feet around them.  They dared not stand up, for this is exceedingly
dangerous in a birch canoe, where the greatest caution is necessary to
keep the vessel from careening over.  Moreover, the sedge was so thick,
that it was with difficulty they could use their oars.  They remained
stationary for a time, surrounded by a wall of green bulrush.  They soon
perceived that that would never do, and resolved to push back into the
open water.  Meanwhile Marengo had been sent into the sedge, and was now
heard plunging and sweltering about in search of the game.  Marengo was
not much of a water-dog by nature, but he had been trained to almost
every kind of hunting, and his experience among the swamps of Louisiana
had long since relieved him of all dread for the water.  His masters
therefore had no fear but that Marengo would "put up" the trumpeter.

Marengo had been let loose a little too soon.  Before the canoe could be
cleared of the entangling sedge, the dog was heard to utter one of his
loud growls, then followed a heavy plunge, there was a confused
fluttering of wings, and the great white bird rose majestically into the
air!  Before either of the gunners could direct their aim, he was beyond
the range of shot, and both prudently reserved their fire.  Marengo
having performed his part, swam back to the canoe, and was lifted over
the gunwale.  The swan, after clearing the sedge, rose almost vertically
into the air.  These birds usually fly at a great elevation--sometimes
entirely beyond the reach of sight.  Unlike the wild geese and ducks,
they never alight upon land, but always upon the bosom of the water.  It
was evidently the intention of this one to go far from the scene of his
late dangers, perhaps to the great Lake Winnipeg itself.  After
attaining a height of several hundred yards, he flew forward in a
horizontal course, and followed the direction of the stream.  His flight
was now regular, and his trumpet-note could be heard at intervals, as,
with outstretched neck, he glided along the heavens.  He seemed to feel
the pleasant sensations that every creature has after an escape from
danger, and no doubt he fancied himself secure.  But in this fancy he
deceived himself.  Better for him had he risen a few hundred yards
higher, or else had uttered his self-gratulation in a more subdued tone;
for it was heard and answered, and that response was the maniac laugh of
the white-headed eagle.  At the same instant two of these birds--those
already introduced--were seen mounting into the air.  They did not fly
up vertically, as the swan had done, but in spiral curves, wheeling and
crossing each other as they ascended.  They were making for a point that
would intersect the flight of the swan should he keep on in his
horizontal course.  This, however, he did not do.  With an eye as quick
as theirs, he saw that he was "headed;" and, stretching his long neck
upward, he again pursued an almost vertical line.  But he had to carry
thirty pounds of flesh and bones, while the largest of the eagles--the
female bird--with a still broader spread of wing, was a "light weight"
of only seven.  The result of this difference was soon apparent.  Before
the trumpeter had got two hundred yards higher, the female of the eagles
was seen wheeling around him on the same level.  The swan was now
observed to double, fly downward, and then upward again, while his
mournful note echoed back to the earth.  But his efforts were in vain.
After a series of contortions and manoeuvres, the eagle darted forward,
with a quick toss threw herself back downward, and, striking upward,
planted her talons in the under part of the wing of her victim.  The
lacerated shaft fell uselessly down; and the great white bird, no longer
capable of flight, came whistling through the air.  But it was not
allowed to drop directly to the earth; it would have fallen on the bosom
of the broad river, and that the eagles did not wish, as it would have
given them some trouble to get the heavy carcass ashore.  As soon as the
male--who was lower in the air--saw that his partner had struck the
bird, he discontinued his upward flight, and, poising himself on his
spread tail, waited its descent.  A single instant was sufficient.  The
white object passed him still fluttering; but the moment it was below
his level he shot after it like an arrow, and, clutching it in his
talons, with an outward stroke sent it whizzing in a diagonal direction.
The next moment a crashing was heard among the twigs, and a dull sound
announced that the swan had fallen upon the earth.

The eagles were now seen sailing downward, and soon disappeared among
the tops of the trees.

The canoe soon reached the bank; and Francois, accompanied by Basil and
Marengo, leaped ashore, and went in search of the birds.  They found the
swan quite dead and lying upon its back as the eagles had turned it.
Its breast was torn open, and the crimson blood, with which they had
been gorging themselves, was spread in broad flakes over its snowy
plumage.  The eagles themselves, scared by the dog Marengo, had taken
flight before the boys could get within shot of them.

As it was just the hour for a "noon halt" and a luncheon, the swan was
carried to the bank of the river, where a crackling fire was soon
kindled to roast him; and while this operation was going on the
"naturalist" was requested by his companions to give them an account of
the "swans of America."



CHAPTER FOUR.

THE SWANS OF AMERICA.

"Very well, then," said Lucien, agreeing to the request.  "I shall tell
you all I know of the swans; and, indeed, that is not much, as the
natural history of these birds in their wild state is but little
understood.  On account of their shy habits, there is not much
opportunity of observing them; and as they annually migrate and breed in
those desolate regions within the Arctic circle, where civilised men do
not live, but little information has been collected about them.  Some of
the species, however, breed in the temperate zones, and the habits of
these are better known.

"For a long time it was fancied there was but one species of swan.  It
is now known that there are several, distinguished from each other in
form, colour, voice, and habits.  `White as a swan,' is a simile as old,
perhaps; as language itself.  This, I fancy, would sound strangely to
the ears of a native Australian, who is accustomed to look upon swans as
being of the very opposite colour, for the black swan is a native of
that country.

"According to the naturalist Brehm, who has given much attention to this
subject, there are four distinct species of swans in Europe.  They are
all white, though some of the species have a reddish orange tinge about
the head and neck.  Two of them are `gibbous,' that is, with a knob or
protuberance upon the upper part of the bill.  One of these Brehm terms
the `white-headed gibbous swan' (_Cygnus gibbus_).  The other is the
`yellow-headed' (_Cygnus olor_); and this last also is known as the
_mute_ or _tame_ swan, because it is that species most commonly seen in
a tame state upon the ornamental lakes and ponds of England.  The other
two European species Brehm has designated `singing swans,' as both of
them utter a note that may be heard to a considerable distance.

"The black swan of Australia (_Cygnus niger_) has been naturalised in
Europe, and breeds freely in England, where, from its great size and
peculiar markings, it is one of the most ornamental of water-fowls.  It
is, moreover, a great tyrant, and will not permit other birds to
approach its haunt, but drives them off, striking them furiously with
its strong broad wings.

"Until a late period the swans of America were supposed to be all of one
kind.  This is not the case.  There are now known to be three distinct
species inhabiting the fur countries, and migrating annually to the
South.  That which is best known is the `whistler,' or `hooper' (_Cygnus
Americanus_), because it is the species that abounds in the old States
upon the Atlantic, and was therefore more observed by naturalists.  It
is believed to be identical with one of the European `singing' swans
(_Cygnus ferus_), but this is not certain; and for my part, I believe
they are different, as the eggs of the American swan are greenish, while
those of its European congener are brownish, with white blotches.

"The `hooper' is four and a half feet in length, though there are males
still larger, some of them measuring five feet.  Its colour is white,
except upon the head and back part of the neck, where there is a coppery
tinge.  The bill and feet are black.  From the angle of the mouth to the
eye there is a small naked `cere,' of a bright yellow colour.  These
swans, like others of the genus, do not care much for the salt water.
They are rarely seen upon the sea, except near its shores, where they
may find the aquatic plants upon which they feed.  Nor do they go out
upon the large lakes.  When found upon these, it is generally close in
to the land.  This is accounted for by the fact that the swans do not
`dive' for their food, but stretch down for it with their long necks,
which Nature has peculiarly adapted to this very purpose.  Their
favourite food consists of the roots of aquatic plants, which are often
farinaceous.  As these grow best in the shallow small lakes and along
the margins of rivers, such places are the usual resort of the swans.
Although their diet is a vegetable one, it is not exclusively so, as
they will eat frogs, worms, and small fish.  Unlike the ducks and geese,
they rarely feed upon land, but while floating upon the surface of the
water.  They walk but awkwardly on land, and are at home only on water
or in the air.  In the air they are quite at home, and fly so swiftly
that it is no easy matter to shoot them, especially when going before
the wind.  At such times they are supposed to fly at the rate of one
hundred miles an hour.  When moulting, and unable to rise into the air,
it is no easy matter to follow them even with a canoe.  By means of
their broad feet and strong wings, they can flutter so quickly over the
water, now and then diving, that the hunter cannot overtake them in his
boat, but is obliged to use his gun in the pursuit.

"The `hoopers' are migratory,--that is, they pass to the north every
spring, and southward again in the autumn.  Why they make these annual
migrations, remains one of the mysteries of nature.  Some believe they
migrate to the north, because they there find those desolate uninhabited
regions where they can bring forth their young in security.  But this
explanation cannot be the true one, as there are also uninhabited
regions in the south, even under the equator, where they may be equally
free from the presence of man.  Another explanation might be offered.
In hot and tropical countries most of the small lakes and swamps, where
these birds love to dwell, dry up during the summer months: hence the
necessity of a migration to colder and moister regions.  But this would
only hold good of the wading and water birds; it would not account for
the migration of the many other birds of passage.

"A better explanation may be this: The north and the cold zones are the
natural habitat of most migratory birds.  It is there that they bring
forth their young, and there they are at home.  In tropical regions they
are only sojourners for a season, forced thither, some of them, by a
cold which they do not relish; but others, such as the water-fowl, by
the frost, which, binding up the lakes, rivers, and swamps, hinders them
from procuring their food.  They are thus compelled to make an annual
migration to the open waters of the South, but as soon as the ice has
given way before the genial breath of spring, they all return rejoicing
to their favourite home in the North, when their season of love
commences.

"The `hoopers' follow this general law, and migrate to the northward
every spring.  They breed upon islets in the numerous lakes that stud
the whole northern part of the American continent.  Eminences in swamps
are also chosen for breeding places, and the ends of promontories that
jut out into the water.  The spot selected is always such that the swan,
when seated upon her nest, can have a view of the surrounding country,
and detect any enemy long before it can approach her.  The top of the
dome-shaped dwellings of the musk-rat, or musquash (_Fibre zibethicus_),
is often selected by the swan for her nest.  These curious little houses
are usually in the midst of impenetrable swamps: they are only occupied
by their builders during the winter; and as they are deserted by them in
early spring, they are therefore quite at the service of the swan for
the `balance of the season.'  The bird makes a large cavity in the top,
and lines it with such reeds and grass as may be found near the spot.

"The hooper lays from six to eight eggs, and sits upon them for a period
of six weeks, when the cygnets come forth covered with a thick down of a
bluish-grey colour.  While sitting upon her eggs, the swan is
exceedingly watchful and shy.  She `faces' towards the point whence she
most apprehends danger.  When the weather is severe, and the wind cold
and keen, she changes into that position which is most comfortable.  If
her nest be upon a promontory instead of an island, she usually sits
with her head to the land, as she feels secure that no enemy will reach
her from the waterside.  From the land she has not only man to `look
out' for, but the wolverene (_Gulo luscus_), the lynx (_Felis
Canadensis_), foxes, and wolves.

"The Indians often snare the swan upon her nest.  Of course the snare--a
running noose made from the intestines of the deer--is set in her
absence.  It is placed upon the side by which she enters, as these birds
enter and leave the nest upon opposite sides.  The snare must be
arranged with great care, and with _clean hands_; and the Indians always
take the precaution to wash their hands before setting it, else the
swans, whose sense of smell is very acute, will perceive the presence of
danger, and will not only keep away for a time, but sometimes desert the
eggs altogether.  There are many other birds that have a similar habit.

"So much for the `hooper,'" continued Lucien; "now for the `trumpeter.'
This is the largest of the American swans, being found to measure
seventy inches in length.  Its specific name `trumpeter' (Cygnus
_buccinator_) is given to it on account of its note, which resembles the
sound of a French horn, or trumpet, played at a distance.  The bird is
white, with black bill and feet, and has also a reddish orange or copper
tinge upon the crown and neck; but it wants the yellow spot between the
split of the mandibles and the eye.  It is easily distinguished from the
hooper, both by its louder note and larger body.  Its habits, however,
are very similar, except that it seems to be more gregarious,--small
flocks of six or eight often appearing together, while the hooper is
seen only in pairs, and sometimes solitary.  Another distinction is,
that the trumpeter arrives much earlier in its migrations to the North,
being the earliest bird that appears except the eagles.  It breeds as
far South as latitude 61 degrees, but most generally within the Arctic
circle.  Its nest is constructed similarly to those of the hooper, but
its eggs are much larger, one of them being a meal for a moderate eater,
without bread or any other addition.  The trumpeter frequently arrives
in the North before the lakes or rivers are thawed.  It is then obliged
to find sustenance at the rapids and waterfalls, where the Indians can
approach under cover, and many are shot at such times by these people.
At all other times, as you, Francois, have observed, it is a bird most
difficult of approach; and the Indian hunters only attempt it when they
have a long-range gun loaded with ball.

"The third species of American swans is that known as Bewick's swan
(Cygnus _Bewickii_), called after the naturalist of that name.  It is
the smallest of the three, rarely measuring over fifty-two inches in
length, and weighing only fourteen pounds, while the hooper is over
twenty pounds in weight, and the trumpeter is often obtained of the
enormous weight of thirty!

"Bewick's swan is also said to be identical with one of Brehm's singing
swans.  Its colour is almost similar to that of the hooper, and the two
are often mistaken for each other.  The size and the tail-feathers of
all three of the American swans form a sufficiently specific
distinction.  In the trumpeter these are twenty-four in number, in the
hooper twenty, while the small species has only eighteen.

"Of the three, the last-mentioned is the latest on its annual journey,
but it breeds farther North than either of the others.  Its nest is
found upon the islands of the Arctic Sea; it is usually built of
peat-moss, and is of gigantic dimensions, being six feet long by five in
width, and nearly two feet high.  In the top of this pile is the nest
itself, forming a large round cavity nearly two feet in diameter.  The
eggs are of a brownish white, with clouds of darker tint.

"I have remarked," continued Lucien, "a singularity in the geographical
distribution of these three species.  Upon the Pacific coast the
smallest kind and the hooper only are met with, and the small ones
outnumber the others in the ratio of five to one.  In the interior parts
of the continent only the hoopers and trumpeters appear; and the
trumpeters are by far the most numerous, while upon the eastern coasts
of America the hoopers are the sort best known.

"The swans are eagerly hunted both by the Indians and white hunters.
Their skins, with the quills and down, form a source of profit to the
natives of the fur countries, who dispose of them to the Hudson's Bay
Company.  In some years as many as ten thousand skins have been
exported, and sold at the rate of six or seven shillings each.  Most of
the skins thus sold were those of the trumpeter swans, which are the
most numerous.

"Now," said Lucien, in conclusion, "you know as much about the swans as
I do; so I shall drop the subject, and recommend to all of you a piece
of roast swan, which is now just done to a turn, and which I doubt not
will be found less dry than my lecture."



CHAPTER FIVE.

A SWAN-HUNT BY TORCHLIGHT.

A few days brought our travellers to the settlement of Red River, where
they made but a very short stay; and, having procured a few articles
which they stood in need of, they resumed their journey, and floated on
towards Lake Winnipeg.  The swans were seen in greater numbers than
ever.  They were not less shy however, and Francois, as before, in vain
tried to get a shot at one.  He was very desirous of bringing down one
of these noble birds, partly because the taste he had had of their flesh
had given him a liking for it; and partly because their shyness had
greatly tantalised him.  One is always more eager to kill shy game, both
on account of the rarity of the thing, and the credit one gets for his
expertness.  But the voyageurs had now got within less than twenty miles
of Lake Winnipeg, and Francois had not as yet shot a single swan.  It
was not at all likely the eagles would help him to another.  So there
would be no more roast swan for supper.

Norman, seeing how eager Francois was to shoot one of these birds,
resolved to aid him by his advice.

"Cousin Frank," said he, one evening as they floated along, "you wish
very much to get a shot at the swans?"

"I do," replied Francois,--"I do; and if you can tell me how to
accomplish that business, I'll make you a present of this knife."  Here
Francois held up a very handsome clasp-knife that he carried in his
pouch.

A knife in the fur countries is no insignificant affair.  With a knife
you may sometimes buy a horse, or a tent, or a whole carcass of beef,
or, what is stranger still, a wife!  To the hunter in these wild
regions--perhaps a thousand miles from where knives are sold--such a
thing is of very great value indeed; but the knife which Francois
offered to his cousin was a particularly fine one, and the latter had
once expressed a wish to become the owner of it.  He was not slow,
therefore, in accepting the conditions.

"Well," rejoined he, "you must consent to travel a few miles by night,
and I think I can promise you a shot at the trumpeters--perhaps
several."

"What say you, brothers?" asked Francois, appealing to Basil and Lucien;
"shall we have the sport?  Say yes."

"Oh!  I have no objection," said Lucien.

"Nor I," added Basil.  "On the contrary, I should like it above all
things.  I wish very much to know what plan our cousin shall adopt.  I
never heard of any mode of approaching these birds."

"Very well, then," answered Norman, "I shall have the pleasure of
instructing you in a way that is in use in these parts among the
Indians, who hunt the swan for its skin and quills, which they trade to
us at the post.  We can manage it to-night, I think," continued he,
looking up at the sky: "there is no moon, and the sky is thick.  Yes, it
will be dark enough."

"Is it necessary the night should be a dark one?" asked Francois.

"The darker the better," replied Norman.  "To-night, if I am not
mistaken, will be as black as pitch.  But we need to make some
preparations.  It is near sundown, and we shall have just time to get
ready for the business.  Let us get ashore, then, as quickly as
possible."

"Oh! certainly--let us land," replied all three at once.

The canoe was now turned to the shore; and when it had arrived within a
few feet of the land it was brought to a stop.  Its keel was not allowed
to touch the bottom of the river, as that would have injured the little
craft.  The greatest precaution is always observed both in landing and
embarking these vessels.  The voyageurs first get out and wade to the
shore, one or two remaining to hold the canoe in its place.  The cargo,
whatever it be, is then taken out and landed; and after that the canoe
itself is lifted out of the water, and carried ashore, where it is set,
bottom upward, to dry.  The birch-bark canoe is so frail a structure,
that, were it brought rudely in contact either with the bottom or the
bank, it would be very much damaged, or might go to pieces altogether.
Hence the care with which it is handled.  It is dangerous, also, to
stand upright in it, as it is so "crank" that it would easily turn over,
and spill both canoemen and cargo into the water.  The voyageurs,
therefore, when once they have got in, remain seated during the whole
passage, shifting about as little as they can help.  When landed for the
night, the canoe is always taken out of the water as described.  The
bark is of a somewhat spongy nature; and if left in the water for a
length of time, would become soaked and heavy, and would not run so
well.  When kept all night, bottom upward, it drips and becomes dryer
and lighter.  In the morning, at the commencement of the day's journey,
it sits higher upon the water than in the afternoon and evening, and is
at that time more easily paddled along.

Our voyageurs, having got on shore, first kindled a fire to cook their
supper.  This they intended to despatch earlier than usual, so as to
give them the early part of the night for their swan-hunt, which they
expected to finish before midnight.  Lucien did the cooking, while
Norman, assisted by Basil and Francois, made his preparations for the
hunt.  Francois, who was more interested in the result than any of them,
watched every movement of his cousin.  Nothing escaped him.

Norman proceeded as follows:--

He walked off into the woods, accompanied by Francois.  After going
about an hundred yards or so, he stopped at the foot of a certain tree.
The tree was a birch--easily distinguished by its smooth, silvery bark.
By means of his sharp hunting-knife he "girdled" this tree near the
ground, and then higher up, so that the length between the two
"girdlings," or circular cuttings, was about four feet.  He then made a
longitudinal incision by drawing the point of his knife from one circle
to the other.  This done he inserted the blade under the bark, and
peeled it off, as he would have taken the skin from a buffalo.  The tree
was a foot in diameter, consequently the bark, when stripped off and
spread flat, was about three feet in width; for you must remember that
the circumference of a circle or a cylinder is always about three times
the length of its diameter, and therefore a tree is three times as much
"_round_" as it is "_through_."

They now returned to the camp-fire, taking along with them the piece of
bark that had been cut off.  This was spread out, though not quite flat,
still leaving it somewhat curved.  The convex side, that which had lain
towards the tree, was now blackened with pulverised charcoal, which
Norman had directed Basil to prepare for the purpose; and to the bark at
one end was fastened a stake or shaft.  Nothing more remained but to fix
this stake in the canoe, in an upright position near the bow, and in
such a way that the bottom of the piece of bark would be upon a level
with the seats, with its hollow side looking forward.  It would thus
form a screen, and prevent those in the canoe from being seen by any
creature that might be ahead.

When all this had been arranged, Norman shouldered the axe, and again
walked off into the woods.  This time his object was to obtain a
quantity of "knots" of the pitch-pine (_Pinus rigida_), which he knew
would most likely be found in such a situation.  The tree was soon
discovered, and pointed out to Francois, who accompanied him as before.
Francois saw that it was a tree of about fifty feet in height, and a
foot in diameter at its base.  Its bark was thick, very dark in the
colour, and full of cracks or fissures.  Its leaves, or "needles," were
about three inches long, and grew in threes, each three forming a little
bunch, bound together at its base by a brownish sheath.  These bunches,
in botanical language, are termed "fasciles."  The cones were somewhat
shorter than the leaves, nearly of the shape of eggs, and clustered
together in threes and fours.  Francois noticed that the tree was
thickly branched, and therefore there are many knots in the wood.  For
this reason it is not of much use as timber; but on account of the resin
which it contains, it is the best species for firewood; and for that
purpose it is used in all parts of the United States, where it grows.
Most of the _pine-wood_ sold for fuel in the large cities of America is
the wood of this species.

Francois supposed that his companion was about to fell one of the trees.
He was mistaken, however; Norman had no such intention; he had only
stopped before one to examine it, and make sure that it was the species
he was in search of.  He was soon satisfied of this, and moved on,
directing his eyes along the ground.  Again he stopped; but this time it
was by a tree that had already fallen--blown down, perhaps, by the wind.
It was half decayed; but Francois could see that it was one of the same
species--the pitch-pine.

This was the very thing Norman wanted, and plying his axe, he soon
knocked out a large quantity of the resinous knots.  These he at length
collected, and putting them into a bag, returned with Francois to the
fire.  He then announced that he had no further preparations to make.

All four now sat down to supper, which consisted of dry meat, with
biscuits and coffee; and, as their appetites were sharpened by their
water journey, they made a hearty meal of it.

As soon as they had finished eating, the canoe was launched and got
ready.  The screen of birch-bark was set up, by lashing its shaft to the
bottom timbers, and also to one of the seats.  Immediately in front of
this, and out upon the bow, was placed the frying-pan; and this having
been secured by being tied at the handle, was filled with dry
pine-knots, ready to be kindled at a moment's notice.  These
arrangements being made, the hunters only awaited the darkness to set
forth.

In the progress of their hunt they would be carried still farther
down-stream; but as that was the direction in which they were
travelling, they would only be progressing on their journey, and thus
"killing two birds with one stone."  This was altogether a very pleasant
consideration; and, having stowed everything snugly in the canoe, they
sat chatting agreeably and waiting for the arrival of night.

Night came at length, and, as Norman had predicted, it was as "dark as
pitch."  Stepping gently into the canoe, and seating themselves in their
respective places, they pushed out and commenced floating down-stream.
Norman sat near the bow, in order to attend to his torch of pine-knots.
Francois was next to him, holding his double-barrel, loaded with
buck-shot, which is the same size as that used for swans, and in England
is even known as "swan-shot."

Next came Basil with his rifle.  He sat near Francois, just by the
middle of the little vessel.  Lucien, who was altogether a man of peace
principles, and but little of a shot compared with either of his
brothers, handled the oar--not to propel the canoe, but merely to guide
it.  In this way the party floated on in silence.

Norman soon kindled his torch, which now cast its red glare over the
surface of the river, extending its fiery radii even to the banks on
both sides of the stream.  The trees that overhung the water seemed
tinged with vermilion, and the rippling wave sparkled like liquid gold.
The light only extended over a semicircle.  From the manner in which the
torch was placed, its light did not fall upon the other half of the
circle, and this, by contrast, appeared even darker than it would
otherwise have done.

The advantage of the plan which Norman had adopted was at once apparent
to all.  Ahead of the canoe the whole river was plainly seen for a
distance of several hundred yards.  No object larger than a cork could
have floated on its surface, without being visible to those in the
vessel--much less the great white body of a trumpeter swan.  Astern of
the canoe, on the other hand, all was pitchy darkness, and any one
looking at the vessel from a position ahead could have seen nothing but
the bright torch and the black uniform surface behind it.  As I have
already stated, the concave side of the bark was towards the blaze, and
the pan containing the torch being placed close in to the screen, none
of the light could possibly fall upon the forms of those within the
canoe.  They were therefore invisible to any creature from the front,
while they themselves could see everything before them.

Two questions yet remained unanswered.  First,--would our hunters find
any swans on the river?  Second,--if they should, would these birds
allow themselves to be approached near enough to be shot at?  The first
question Norman, of course, could not answer.  That was a matter beyond
his knowledge or control.  The swans might or might not appear, but it
was to be hoped they would.  It was likely enough.  Many had been seen
on the preceding day, and why not then?  To the second question, the
young Canadian gave a definite reply.  He assured his cousins that, if
met with, the birds would be easily approached in this manner; he had
often hunted them so.  They would either keep their place, and remain
until the light came very near them, or they would move towards it (as
he had many times known them to do), attracted by curiosity and the
novelty of the spectacle.  He had hunted deer in the same manner; he had
shot, he said, hundreds of these animals upon the banks of rivers, where
they had come down to the water to drink, and stood gazing at the light.

His cousins could well credit his statements.  They themselves had
hunted deer by torchlight in the woods of Louisiana, where it is termed
"fire-hunting."  They had killed several in this way.  The creatures, as
if held by some fascination, would stand with head erect looking at the
torch carried by one of the party, while the other took sight between
their glancing eyes and fired the deadly bullet.  Remembering this, they
could easily believe that the swans might act in a similar manner.

It was not long until they were convinced of it by actual experience.
As the canoe rounded a bend in the river, three large white objects
appeared in the "reach" before them.  A single glance satisfied all that
they were swans, though, in the deceptive glare of the torch, they
appeared even larger than swans.  Their long upright necks, however,
convinced the party they could be nothing else, and the canoe was headed
directly for them.

As our hunters approached, one of the birds was heard to utter his
strange trumpet-note, and this he repeated at intervals as they drew
nearer.

"I have heard that they sing before death," muttered Francois to Basil,
who sat nearest him.  "If so, I hope that's the song itself;" and
Francois laughed quietly at the joke he had perpetrated.

Basil also laughed; and Lucien, who had overheard the remark, could not
restrain himself from joining in the laughter.

"I fear not," rejoined Basil; "there is hardly enough music in the note
to call it a song.  They may live to `blow their own trumpet' a long
while yet."

This remark called forth a fresh chorus of laughter, in which all took
part; but it was a very silent kind of laughter, that could not have
been heard ten yards off: it might have been termed "laughing in a
whisper."

It soon ended, however, as matters now became serious: they were already
within less than two hundred yards of the game, and the greatest caution
had to be observed.  The gunners had arranged the order of fire: Basil
was to shoot first, taking steady aim with his rifle at any one of the
birds; while Francois should fire as soon as he heard the report of his
brother's gun, taking the remaining swans upon the wing, with one or
both barrels, as he best might.

At length Basil deemed himself near enough, and, levelling his piece,
fired.  The bird threw out its wings, and flattened down upon the water,
almost without a struggle.  The other two were rising into the air, when
"crack! crack!" went the two barrels of Francois' piece, and one of the
swans fell back with a broken wing, and fluttered over the surface of
the stream.  Basil's had been shot dead, and was taken up easily; but
the wounded bird was only captured after a long chase with the canoe;
and when overtaken, it struck so fiercely with its remaining wing, that
one of the blows inflicted a painful wound on the wrist of Francois.
Both, however, were at length got safely aboard, and proved to be a male
and female of the largest dimensions.



CHAPTER SIX.

"CAST AWAY."

Of course, the reports of the guns must have frightened any other swans
that were near.  It was not likely they would find any more before going
some distance farther down the river; so, having stowed away in a safe
place the two already killed, the hunters paddled rapidly onward.

They had hardly gone half a mile farther, when another flock of swans
was discovered.  These were approached in a similar way, and no less
than three were obtained--Francois making a remarkable shot, and killing
with both barrels.  A little farther down, one of the "hoopers" was
killed; and still farther on, another trumpeter; making in all no less
than seven swans that lay dead in the bottom of the canoe!

These seven great birds almost filled the little craft to the gunwales,
and you would think that our "torch-hunters" ought to have been content
with such a spoil; but the hunter is hard to satisfy with game, and but
too often inclined to "spill much more blood" than is necessary to his
wants.  Our voyageurs, instead of desisting, again set the canoe in
motion, and continued the hunt.

A short distance below the place where they had shot the last swan, as
they were rounding a bend in the river, a loud rushing sounded in their
ears; similar to that produced by a cascade or waterfall.  On first
hearing it, they were startled and somewhat alarmed.  It might be a
"fall," thought they.  Norman could not tell: he had never travelled
this route; he did not know whether there were falls in the Red River or
not, but he believed not.  In his voyage to the South, he had travelled
by another route; that was, up the Winnipeg River, and through Rainy
Lake and the Lake of the Woods to Lake Superior.  This is the usual and
well-known track followed by the _employes_ of the Hudson's Bay Company;
and Norman had travelled it.

In this uncertainty the canoe was brought to a stop, and our voyageurs
remained listening.  The noise made by the water was not very distant,
and sounded like the roaring of "rapids," or the rush of a "fall."  It
was evidently one or the other; but, after listening to it for a
considerable time, all came to the conclusion that the sound did not
proceed from the Red River itself, but from some stream that emptied
into it upon the right.  With this belief they again put the canoe in
motion, and glided slowly and cautiously onward.

Their conjecture proved to be correct.  As they approached nearer, they
perceived that the noise appeared every moment more and more to their
right; and presently they saw, below them, a rapid current sweeping into
the Red River from the right bank.  This was easily distinguished by the
white froth and bubbles that were carried along upon its surface, and
which had evidently been produced by some fall over which the water had
lately passed.  The hunters now rowed fearlessly forward, and in a few
moments came opposite the _debouchure_ of the tributary stream, when a
considerable cascade appeared to their view, not thirty yards from the
Red River itself.  The water foamed and dashed over a series of steps,
and then swept rapidly on, in a frothy current.  They had entered this
current, and were now carried along with increased velocity, so that the
oarsmen suspended operations, and drew their paddles within the canoe.

A flock of swans now drew their attention.  It was the largest flock
they had yet seen, numbering nearly a score of these noble birds,--a
sight, as Norman informed them, that was exceedingly rare even in the
most favoured haunts of the swan.  Rarely are more than six or seven
seen together, and oftener only two or three.  A grand _coup_ was
determined upon.  Norman took up his own gun, and even Lucien, who
managed the stern oar, and guided the craft, also brought his piece--a
very small rifle--close to his hand, so that he might have a shot as
well as the others.

The canoe was directed in such a manner that, by merely keeping its head
down the stream, it would float to the spot where the swans were.

In a short while they approached very near the great birds, and our
hunters could see them sitting on the water, with upraised necks, gazing
in wonder at the torch.  Whether they sounded their strange note was not
known, for the "sough" of the waterfall still echoed in the ears of the
canoemen, and they could not hear aught else.

Basil and Norman fired first, and simultaneously; but the louder
detonations of Francois' double-barrel, and even the tiny crack of
Lucien's rifle, were heard almost the instant after.  Three of the birds
were killed by the volley, while a fourth, evidently "winged," was seen
to dive, and flutter down-stream.  The others mounted into the air, and
disappeared in the darkness.

During the time occupied in this manoeuvre, the canoe, no longer guided
by Lucien's oar, had been caught by some eddy in the current, and swept
round stern-foremost.  In this position the light no longer shone upon
the river ahead, but was thrown up-stream.  All in a downward direction
was buried in deep darkness.  Before the voyageurs could bring the canoe
back to its proper direction, a new sound fell upon their ears that
caused some of them to utter a cry of terror.  It was the noise of
rushing water, but not that which they had already heard and passed.  It
was before them in the river itself.  Perhaps it was a cataract, and
_they were sweeping rapidly to its brink_!

The voice of Norman was heard exclaiming, "Hold with your oars!--the
rapids!--the rapids!"  At the same time he himself was seen rising up
and stretching forward for an oar.  All was now consternation; and the
movements of the party naturally consequent upon such a sudden panic
shook the little craft until her gunwales lipped the water.  At the same
time she had swung round, until the light again showed the stream ahead,
and a horrid sight it was.  Far as the eye could see was a reach of
foaming rapids.  Dark points of rocks, and huge black boulders, thickly
scattered in the channel, jutted above the surface; and around and
against these, the water frothed and hissed furiously.  There was no
cataract, it is true--there is none such in Red River--but for all
purposes of destruction the rapids before them were equally dangerous
and terrible to the eyes of our voyageurs.  They no longer thought of
the swans.  The dead were permitted to float down unheeded, the wounded
to make its escape.  Their only thought was to stop the canoe before it
should be carried upon the rapids.

With this intent all had taken to the oars, but in spite of every
exertion they soon found that the light craft had got within the
influence of the strong current, and was sucked downward more rapidly
than ever.  Their backward strokes were to no purpose.

In a few seconds the canoe had passed over the first stage of the
rapids, and shot down with the velocity of an arrow.  A huge boulder lay
directly in the middle of the channel, and against this the current
broke with fury, laving its sides in foaming masses.  The canoe was
hurried to this point; and as the light was again turned up-stream, none
of the voyageurs could see this dangerous rock.  But they could not have
shunned it then.  The boat had escaped from their control, and spun
round at will.  The rock once more came under the light, but just as the
canoe, with a heavy crash, was driven against it.

For some moments the vessel, pressed by the current against the rock,
remained motionless, but her sides were stove in, and the water was
rushing through.  The quick eye of Basil--cool in all crises of extreme
danger--perceived this at a glance.  He saw that the canoe was a wreck,
and nothing remained but to save themselves as they best might.
Dropping the oar, and seizing his rifle, he called to his companions to
leap to the rock: and all together immediately sprang over the gunwale.
The dog Marengo followed after.

The canoe, thus lightened, heeled round into the current, and swept on.
The next moment she struck another rock, and was carried over on her
beams.  The water then rushed in--the white bodies of the swans, with
the robes, blankets, and implements, rose on the wave; the blazing knots
were spilled from the pan, and fell with a hissing sound: and a few
seconds after they were extinguished, and all was darkness!

The Young Voyageurs--by Captain Mayne Reid



CHAPTER SEVEN.

A BRIDGE OF BUCKSKIN.

The canoe was lost, and all it had contained, or nearly all.  The
voyageurs had saved only their guns, knives, and the powder-horns and
pouches, that had been attached to their persons.  One other thing had
been saved--an axe which Basil had flung upon the rock as he stepped out
of the sinking vessel.  All the rest--robes, blankets, swans, cooking
utensils, bags of provisions, such as coffee, flour, and dried meat--
were lost--irrecoverably lost.  These had either drifted off upon the
surface, or been carried under water and hidden among the loose stones
at the bottom.  No matter where, they were lost; and our voyageurs now
stood on a small naked rock in the middle of the stream, with nothing
left but the clothes upon their backs, and the arms in their hands.
Such was their condition.

There was something so sudden and awful in the mishap that had befallen
them, that for some minutes they stood upon the spot where they had
settled without moving or addressing a word to one another.  They gazed
after the canoe.  They knew that it was wrecked, although they could see
nothing either of it or its contents.  Thick darkness enveloped them,
rendered more intense from the sudden extinction of the torchlight.
They saw nothing but the foam flickering along the river; like the
ghosts of the swans they had killed, and they heard only the roaring of
the water, that sounded in their ears with a hoarse and melancholy wail.

For a long time they stood impressed with the lamentable condition into
which the accident had plunged them; and a lamentable condition it was,
sure enough.  They were on a small rock in the midst of a rapid river.
They were in the midst of a great wilderness too, many long miles from a
settlement.  The nearest could only be reached by travelling through
pathless forests, and over numerous and deep rivers.  Impassable swamps,
and lakes with marshy shores, lay on the route, and barred the direct
course, and all this journey would have to be made on foot.

But none of our young voyageurs were of that stamp to yield themselves
to despair.  One and all of them had experienced perils before--greater
even than that in which they now stood.  As soon, therefore, as they
became fully satisfied that their little vessel was wrecked, and all its
contents scattered, instead of despairing, their first thoughts were how
to make the best of their situation.

For that night, at least, they were helpless.  They could not leave the
rock.  It was surrounded by rapids.  Sharp, jagged points peeped out of
the water, and between these the current rushed with impetuosity.  In
the darkness no human being could have crossed to either shore in
safety.  To attempt it would have been madness, and our voyageurs soon
came to this conclusion.  They had no other choice than to remain where
they were until the morning; so, seating themselves upon the rock, they
prepared to pass the night.

They sat huddled close together.  They could not lie down--there was not
room enough for that.  They kept awake most of the night, one or other
of them, overcome by fatigue, occasionally nodding over in a sort of
half-sleep, but awakening again after a few minutes' uncomfortable
dreaming.  They talked but little, as the noise of the rushing rapids
rendered conversation painful.  To be heard, they were under the
necessity of shouting to one another, like passengers in an omnibus.  It
was cold, too.  None of them had been much wetted in escaping from the
canoe; but they had saved neither overcoat, blanket, nor buffalo-robe;
and, although it was now late in the spring, the nights near Lake
Winnipeg, even at that season, are chilly.  They were above the latitude
of 50 degrees; and although in England, which is on that parallel, it is
not very cold of a spring night, it must be remembered that the line of
equal temperature--in the language of meteorologists the "_isothermal
line_,"--is of a much lower latitude in America than in Europe.

Another fact worth remembering is, that upon the eastern or Atlantic
coast of the American Continent it is much colder in the same latitude
than on the western or Pacific side.  The Pacific "sea-board" in its
climate is more like the western edge of the old continent.  This would
seem to indicate that the climate of a coast country is much influenced
by the side upon which the ocean lies, whether east or west.  This in
reality is the case, for you may observe on your map that the western
coasts of both the "old world" and the "new" are somewhat similarly
placed in regard to their oceans, and hence the similarity of their
climates.

There are many other causes connected with this; such as the direction
of winds, and the different effects produced by them on the atmosphere
when they have passed over water or over land.  It was, and is still by
many people believed, that the winds are produced by the air becoming
heated in a particular place, and then ascending, and leaving a "vacuum"
into which the colder air rushes from all sides around.  This "rushing,"
it was supposed, made the wind.  To some extent this theory is true, but
there are several other causes that operate in producing wind.
Electricity--an agent hitherto but little known, but one of the most
important elements of our Earth--has much to do with the winds; and the
revolution of the Earth on its own axis has also an influence upon them.
Indeed it is to be wondered at, that mankind should have so long
remained satisfied with the very unsatisfactory theory of the _heated
air_.  But it is not to be wondered at either, when we consider how
little mankind has had to do with these things--when we consider that as
yet nearly every country upon the face of the globe is despotic; that
the whole time of the great body of the people is occupied in a struggle
for life--occupied in toiling for a few, who by the most cunning devices
rob them of the fruits of their toils--rob them so skilfully that the
poor blinded masses have grown to consider eternal toil as the _natural
state of man_--nay more, are ready to persecute him who would elevate
them, and worship him who would sink them deeper in baseness and
bondage;--when we reflect on this almost hopeless darkness of soul that
has marked the history of the past, and is too much the character of the
present, we need not wonder that so few have had either leisure or
inclination to yield themselves to the acquirement or prosecution of
scientific knowledge.  "The winds have blown where they listed, and we
have heard the sound thereof," but men absorbed in the hard struggle of
life have found but little time to inquire "whence they come or whither
they go."

The people of the United States are yet but partially free.  They still
inherit, from customs and prejudices, the fruits of an ancestral
oppression, and a bondage of centuries of duration.  But even their
_partial_ freedom has already shown its good effects.  At this moment
knowledge is progressing faster among these people than any other on the
face of the earth.  Meteorology begins to assume the palpable shape of
an exact science.  The winds are being traced in their currents, and
followed through all their windings, by Maury and other men of talent;
and if you live twenty years longer (and I hope you may live three times
as many years), you will no doubt be able to tell "whence the wind
cometh and whither it goeth."

Well, we began this politico-scientific discussion by observing that it
was very cold in the latitude of Lake Winnipeg, even in late spring.
Only at night though; the days are sometimes so hot there that you might
fancy yourself in the tropics.  These extremes are characteristic of the
climate of all American countries, and particularly those that lie at a
distance from the sea-coast.

Our voyageurs were chilled to the very bones, and of course glad to see
the daylight glimmering through the tops of the trees that grew upon the
banks of the river.  As soon as day broke, they began to consider how
they would reach those trees.  Although swimming a river of that width
would have been to any of the four a mere bagatelle, they saw that it
was not to be so easy an affair.  Had they been upon either bank, they
could have crossed to the other without difficulty--as they would have
chosen a place where the water was comparatively still.  On the rock
they had no choice, as the rapids extended on both sides above and below
it.  Between the boulders the current rushed so impetuously, that had
they attempted to swim to either bank, they would have been carried
downward, and perhaps dashed with violence against one or other of the
sharp stones.

As soon as it was light, they saw all this; not without feelings of
apprehension and uneasiness.  Their whole attention was now occupied
with the one object--how they should get to the bank of the river.

The right bank was the more distant; but the passage in that direction
appeared the easier one.  The current was not so swift, nor yet did it
seem so deep.  They thought they might ford it, and Basil made the
attempt; but he soon got beyond his depth; and was obliged, after being
carried off his feet, to swim up under the lee of the rock again.

From the rock to the right bank was about an hundred yards' distance.
Here and there, at irregular intervals, sharp, jagged stones rose above
the surface, some of them projecting three feet or more out of the
water, and looking _very_ much like upright tombstones.  Lucien had
noticed these, and expressed the opinion that if they only had a rope,
they might fling it over one of these stones, and then, holding it fast
at the other end, might pass by that means from one to the other.

The suggestion was a good one, but where was the rope to come from?  All
their ropes and cords--lassoes and all--had been swept away in the
wreck.  Not a string remained, except those that fastened their horns,
flasks, and other accoutrements; and these were only small thongs, and
would be of no use for such a purpose.  It would require a rope strong
enough to carry the weight of a man impelled by a rapid current--in
fact, a weight equal to that of several men.  They all set to thinking
how this was to be obtained.  Each looked at the other, and scanned the
straps and thongs that were around their bodies.  They were satisfied at
a glance that these would not be sufficient to make such a rope as was
wanted.  They did not give up the hope of being able to obtain one.
They were all of them accustomed to resort to strange expedients, and a
sufficiently strange one now suggested itself.  Basil and Norman seemed
to have thought of it at the same time, for both at once unbuckled their
straps, and commenced pulling off their buckskin hunting-shirts.  The
others said nothing, as they knew well what they were going to do with
them--they knew they intended cutting them into strips, and then
twisting a rope out of them.

All four set to work together.  Lucien and Francois held the shirts
taut, while Basil and Norman handled the knives, and in a few minutes
the rock was covered with strips of buckskin about two inches wide, by a
yard or so in length.  These were next joined and plaited together in
such a manner that a rope was formed nearly forty feet long.  An eye was
made at one end, and through this the other end was reeved--so that a
running noose was obtained, in the same manner as the Mexicans and
Indians make their lassoes.  The rope was now ready for use, and Basil
was the very hand to use it; for Basil knew how to fling a lasso as well
as either Mexican or Indian.  He had practised it often, and had lassoed
many a long-horned bull upon the prairies of Opelousas and the
Attakapas.  To Basil, therefore, the rope was given.  He placed himself
on the highest part of the rock, having first coiled the new-made lasso,
and hung the coil lightly over his left arm.  He then took the noose-end
in his right hand, and commenced winding it around his head.  His
companions had laid themselves flat, so as not to be in the way of the
noose as it circled about.  After a few turns the rope was launched
forth, and a loud "hurrah!" from Francois announced that the throw was
successful.  It was so in fact, as the noose was seen settling smoothly
over the jutting-stone, taking full hold upon it.  A pull from Basil
fixed it; and in a few minutes it was made quite fast, without the
slightest danger of its slipping off.  The other end was then carried
round a projecting point of the rock on which they stood, and knotted
firmly, so that the rope was quite taut, and stretched in a nearly
horizontal direction, about a foot above the surface of the water.

The voyageurs now prepared to cross over.  Their guns, pouches, and
flasks were carefully secured, so that the water could not damage them.
Then each took a piece of the buckskin thong, and fastened it round his
waist, leaving enough to form a running loop.  This loop was intended to
embrace the rope, and run along it, as they drew themselves forward by
their hands.

Basil passed over first.  He was the oldest, and, as he asserted, it was
but right he should run the risk in testing the new-fashioned bridge, of
which he was the architect.  It worked admirably, and sustained the
weight of his body, with the whole force of the current acting upon it.
Of course he was swept far down, and the rope was stretched to its full
tension, but he succeeded in handing himself along, until he was able to
touch the second rock, and clamber upon it in safety.  During the
passage across he was watched by his companions with emotions of no
ordinary character, but as soon as he had reached the opposite end of
the rope all three uttered a loud and simultaneous cheer.  Lucien passed
over next, and after him Francois.  Notwithstanding his danger, Francois
laughed loudly all the time he was in the water, while his brothers were
not without some fears for his safety.  Marengo was next attached to the
rope, and pulled safely over.

Norman was the last to cross upon the buckskin bridge, but, like the
others, he landed in safety; and the four, with the dog, now stood upon
the little isolated boulder, where there was just room enough to give
them all a footing.

A difficulty now presented itself, which they had not hitherto thought
of.  Another reach of rapid current was to be crossed, before they could
safely trust themselves to enter the water.  This they knew before, but
they had also noticed that there was another jutting rock, upon which
they might fling their rope.  But the rope itself was now the
difficulty.  It was fast at both ends, and how were they to release it
from the rock they had left?  One of them could easily cross over again
and untie it, but how was he to get back to the others?  Here was a
dilemma which had not presented itself before, and they now saw
themselves no better off than ever.  The rapid that remained to be
crossed, was as dangerous as the one they had succeeded in passing.
There was no hope that they could swim it in safety.  They would
certainly be swept with violence against the rocks below.  There was no
chance, then, of their going an inch farther--unless by some means
similar to that they had just used, and the rope was no longer at their
service.

For some time they all stood silent, each considering the matter in his
own way.  How could they free the rope?

"It cannot be done," said one.  "Impossible," rejoined another.  "We
must make a second rope.  Francois's shirt still remains, and our
leggings--we can use them."

This was the mode suggested by Francois and Norman, and Lucien seemed to
assent to it.  They had already commenced untying their leggings, when
Basil uttered the ejaculation--

"Stop!"

"Well, what is it, brother?" asked Lucien.

"I think I can free the rope at the other end.  At all events, let me
try.  It will not cost much, either in time or trouble."

"How do you mean to do it, brother?"

"Sit close, all of you.  Give me room--you shall see presently."

As directed by Basil, they all cowered closely down, so as to occupy as
little space as possible.  Basil, having uncovered the lock of his
rifle--which had been carefully bound up in a piece of deer's bladder--
placed himself in a firm position, and appeared as if about to fire.
Such was his intention--for in a few moments he was seen to raise the
gun to his shoulder, and take aim.  None of his companions uttered a
word.  They had already guessed the object of this movement, and sat
silently awaiting the result.

On the rock which they had left, the rope still bound fast passed around
one of the angles, in such a way that, from the point where Basil stood,
it offered a fair mark.  It was at this Basil was aiming.  His object
was to cut the thong with his bullet.  He could not do it with a single
shot, as the thong was broader than the bullet, but he had calculated
that he might effect his purpose with several.  If he did not succeed in
cutting it clean through, the ball flattening upon the rock would,
perhaps, tear the rope in such a manner that, by pulling by the other
end, they might detach it.  Such were the calculations and hopes of
Basil.

A moment more and the crack of his rifle was heard.  At the same instant
the dust rose up from the point at which he had aimed, and several small
fragments flew off into the water.  Again was heard Francois's "hurrah,"
for Francois, as well as the others, had seen that the rope had been hit
at the right place, and now exhibited a mangled appearance.

While Basil was reloading, Norman took aim and fired.  Norman was a good
shot, though perhaps not so good a one as Basil, for that was no easy
matter, as there were few such marksmen to be found anywhere, not even
among the professional trappers and hunters themselves.  But Norman was
a fair shot, and this time hit his mark.  The thong was evidently better
than half divided by the two; bullets.  Seeing this, Francois took hold
of the other end, and gave it a strong jerk or two, but it was still too
much for him, and he ceased pulling, and waited the effect of Basil's
second shot.

The latter had now reloaded, and, taking deliberate aim again, fired.
The rope was still held taut upon the rock, for part of it dragged in
the current, the force of which kept pressing it hard downward.
Scarcely was the report heard, when the farther end of the thong flew
from its fastening, and, swept by the running water, was seen falling
into the lee of the boulder on which the party now stood.  A third time
was heard the voice of Francois uttering one of his customary "hurrahs."
The rope was now dragged up, and made ready for further use.  Basil
again took hold of it; and, after coiling it as before, succeeded in
throwing the noose over the third rock, where it settled and held fast.
The other end was tied as before, and all passed safely to the new
station.  Here, however, their labour ended.  They found that from this
point to the shore the river was shallow, and fordable; and, leaving the
rope where it was, all four took the water, and waded safely to the
bank.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

DECOYING THE "GOATS."

For the present, then, our voyageurs had escaped.  They were safe upon
the river's bank; but when we consider the circumstances in which they
were placed, we shall perceive that they were far from being pleasant
ones.  They were in the midst of a wilderness, without either horse or
boat to carry them out of it.  They had lost everything but their arms
and their axe.  The hunting-shirts of some of them, as we have seen,
were destroyed, and they would now suffer from the severe cold that even
in summer, as we have said, often reigns in these latitudes.  Not a
vessel was left them for cooking with, and not a morsel of meat or
anything was left to be cooked.  For their future subsistence they would
have to depend upon their guns, which, with their ammunition, they had
fortunately preserved.

After reaching the shore, their first thoughts were about procuring
something to eat.  They had now been a long time without food, and all
four were hungry enough.  As if by one impulse, all cast their eyes
around, and looked upward among the branches of the tree's, to see if
any animal could be discovered that might serve them for a meal.  Bird
or quadruped, it mattered not, so that it was large enough to give the
four a breakfast.  But neither one nor the other was to be seen,
although the woods around had a promising appearance.  The trees were
large, and as there was much underwood, consisting of berry-bushes and
plants with edible roots, our voyageurs did not doubt that there would
be found game in abundance.  It was agreed, then, that Lucien and
Francois should remain on the spot and kindle a fire, while Basil and
Norman went off in search of something to be cooked upon it.

In less than an hour the latter returned, carrying an animal upon his
shoulders, which both the boys recognised as an old acquaintance,--the
prong-horned antelope (_Antilope furcifer_), so called from the single
fork or prong upon its horns.  Norman called it "a goat," and stated
that this was its name among the fur-traders, while the Canadian
voyageurs give it the title of "cabree."  Lucien, however, knew the
animal well.  He knew it was not of the goat kind, but a true antelope,
and the only animal of that genus found in North America.  Its habitat
is the prairie country, and at the present time it is not found farther
east than the prairies extend, nor farther north either, as it is not a
creature that can bear extreme cold.  In early times, however--that is,
nearly two centuries ago--it must have ranged nearly to the Atlantic
shores, as Father Hennepin in his Travels speaks of "goats" being killed
in the neighbourhood of Niagara, meaning no other than the prong-horned
antelopes.  The true wild goat of America is a very different animal,
and is only found in the remote regions of the Rocky Mountains.

What Norman had shot, then, was an antelope; and the reason why it is
called "cabree" by the voyageurs, and "goat" by the fur-traders, is
partly from its colour resembling that of the common goat, but more from
the fact, that along the upper part of its neck there is a standing
mane, which does in truth give it somewhat the appearance of the
European goat.  Another point of resemblance lies in the fact, that the
"prong-horns" emit the same disagreeable odour, which is a well-known
characteristic of the goat species.  This proceeds from two small
glandular openings that lie at the angles of the jaws, and appear spots
of a blackish brown colour.

Both Lucien and Francois had shot antelopes.  They had decoyed them
within range in their former expedition on the prairies, and had seen
wolves do the same.  The Indians usually hunt them in this manner, by
holding up some bright-coloured flag, or other curious object, which
rarely fails to bring them within shot; but Norman informed his cousins
that the Indians of the Hudson's Bay Company care little about the
antelope, and rarely think it worth hunting.  Its skin is of little
value to them, and they consider its flesh but indifferent eating.  But
the chief reason why they take so little notice of it is, because it is
found in the same range with the buffalo, the moose, and the elk; and,
as all these animals are more valuable to the Indian hunter, he allows
the antelope to go unmolested, unless when he is hard pressed with
hunger, and none of the others are to be had.

While skinning the antelope for breakfast, Norman amused his companions
by relating how he had killed it.  He said that he had got near enough
to shoot it by practising a "dodge."  After travelling through the woods
for some half-mile or so, he had come out into a country of "openings,"
and saw that there was a large prairie beyond.  He saw that the woods
extended no farther than about a mile from the banks of the river, and
that the whole country beyond was without timber, except in scattered
clumps.  This is, in fact, true of the Red River country, particularly
of its western part, from which the great prairies stretch westward,
even to the "foot-hills" (_piedmont_) of the Rocky Mountains.  Well,
then, after arriving at the openings, Norman espied a small herd of
antelopes, about ten or a dozen in all.  He would rather they had been
something else, as elk or deer; for, like the Indians, he did not much
relish the "goat's" meat.  He was too hungry, however, to be nice, and
so he set about trying to get within shot of the herd.  There was no
cover, and he knew he could not approach near enough without using some
stratagem.  He therefore laid himself flat upon his back, and raised his
heels as high as he could into the air.  These he kicked about in such a
manner, as soon to attract the attention of the antelopes, that, curious
to make out what it was, commenced running round and round in circles,
of which Norman himself was the centre.  The circles gradually became
smaller and smaller, until the hunter saw that his game was within
range; when, slyly rolling himself round on one shoulder, he took aim at
a buck, and fired.  The buck fell, and the rest of the herd bounded off
like the wind.  Norman feeling hungry himself, and knowing that his
companions were suffering from the same cause, lost no time in looking
for other game; but shouldering the "goat," carried it into camp.

By this time Lucien and Francois had a fire kindled--a roaring fire of
"pine-knots"--and both were standing by it, smoking all over in their
wet leggings.  They had got nearly dry when Norman returned, and they
proceeded to assist in butchering the antelope.  The skin was whipped
off in a trice; and the venison, cut into steaks and ribs, was soon
spitted and sputtering cheerily in the blaze of the pine-knots.
Everything looked pleasant and promising, and it only wanted the
presence of Basil to make them all feel quite happy again.  Basil,
however, did not make his appearance; and as they were all as hungry as
wolves, they could not wait for him, but set upon the antelope-venison,
and made each of them a hearty meal from it.

As yet they had no apprehensions about Basil.  They supposed he had not
met with any game, and was still travelling about in search of it.
Should he succeed in killing any, he would bring it in; and should he
not, he would return in proper time without it.  It was still early in
the day.

But several hours passed over, and he did not come.  It was an unusual
length of time for him to be absent, especially in strange woods of
which he knew nothing; moreover, he was in his shirt-sleeves, and the
rest of his clothing had been dripping wet when he set out.  Under these
circumstances would he remain so long, unless something unpleasant had
happened to him?

This question the three began to ask one another.  They began to grow
uneasy about their absent companion; and as the hours passed on without
his appearing, their uneasiness increased to serious alarm.  They at
length resolved to go in search of him.  They took different directions,
so that there would be a better chance of finding him.  Norman struck
out into the woods, while Lucien and Francois, followed by the dog
Marengo, kept down the bank--thinking that if Basil had got lost, he
would make for the river to guide him, as night approached.  All were to
return to the camp at nightfall whether successful or not.

After several hours spent in traversing the woods and openings, Norman
came back.  He had been unable to find any traces of their missing
companion.  The others had got back before him.  They heard his story
with sorrowing hearts, for neither had they fallen in with the track of
living creature.  Basil was lost, beyond a doubt.  He would never have
stayed so long, had not some accident happened to him.  Perhaps he was
dead--killed by some wild animal--a panther or a bear.  Perhaps he had
met with Indians, who had carried him off, or put him to death on the
spot.  Such were the painful conjectures of his companions.

It was now night.  All three sat mournfully over the fire, their looks
and gestures betokening the deep dejection they felt.  Although in need
of repose, none of them attempted to go to sleep.  At intervals they
discussed the probability of his return, and then they would remain
silent.  Nothing could be done that night.  They could only await the
morning light, when they would renew their search, and scour the country
in every direction.

It was near midnight, and they were sitting silently around the fire,
when Marengo started to his feet, and uttered three or four loud barks.
The echoes of these had hardly died among the trees when a shrill
whistle was heard at some distance off in the woods.

"Hurrah!" shouted Francois, leaping to his feet at the instant; "that's
Basil's whistle, I'll be bound.  I'd know it a mile off.  Hurrah!"

Francois' "hurrah!" rang through the woods, and the next moment came
back a loud "Hilloa!" which all recognised as the voice of Basil.

"Hilloa!" shouted the three by the fire.

"Hilloa, my boys! all right!" replied the voice; and a few seconds
after, the tall upright form of Basil himself was seen advancing, under
the glare of the pine-knots.  A shout of congratulation was again
raised; and all the party, preceded by Marengo, rushed out to meet the
new-comer.  They soon returned, bringing Basil up to the fire, when it
was seen that he had not returned empty-handed.  In one hand he carried
a bag of grouse, or "prairie hens," while from the muzzle of his
shouldered rifle there hung something that was at once recognised as a
brace of buffalo tongues.

"_Voila_!" cried Basil, flinging down the bag, "how are you off for
supper?  And here," continued he, pointing to the tongues, "here's a
pair of tit-bits that'll make you lick your lips.  Come! let us lose no
time in the cooking, for I'm hungry enough to eat either of them raw."

Basil's request was instantly complied with.  The fire was raked up,
spits were speedily procured, a tongue and one of the grouse were
roasted; and although Lucien, Francois, and Norman, had already supped
on the "goat's meat," they set to upon the new viands with fresh
appetites.  Basil was hungrier than any, for he had been all the while
fasting.  It was not because he was without meat, but because he knew
that his comrades would be uneasy about him, and he would not stop to
cook it.  Of meat he had enough, since he had slain the two buffaloes to
which the tongues had belonged; and these same buffaloes, he now
informed them, had been the cause of his long absence.

Of course, all were eager to know how the buffaloes could have delayed
him; and therefore, while they were discussing their savoury supper,
Basil narrated the details of his day's adventure.



CHAPTER NINE.

A "PARTRIDGE DANCE."

"After leaving here," said Basil, "I struck off through the woods in a
line that led from the river, in a diagonal direction.  I hadn't walked
more than three hundred yards, when I heard a drumming sound, which I at
first took to be thunder; but, after listening a while, I knew it was
not that, but the drumming of the ruffed grouse.  As soon as I could
ascertain the direction of the sound, I hurried on in that way; but for
a long time I appeared to get no nearer it, so greatly does this sound
deceive one.  I should think I walked a full mile before I arrived at
the place where the birds were, for there were many of them.  I then had
a full view of them, as they went through their singular performances.

"There were, in all, about a score.  They had selected a piece of open
and level ground, and over this they were running in a circle, about
twenty feet in diameter.  They did not all run in the same direction,
but met and crossed each other, although they never deviated much from
the circumference of the circle, around which the grass was worn quite
bare, and a ring upon the turf looked baked and black.  When I first got
near, they heard my foot among the leaves, and I saw that one and all of
them stopped running, and squatted close down.  I halted, and hid myself
behind a tree.  After remaining quiet a minute or so, the birds began to
stretch up their necks, and then all rose together to their feet, and
commenced running round the ring as before.  I knew they were performing
what is called the `Partridge Dance;' and as I had never witnessed it I
held back awhile, and looked on.  Even hungry as I was, and as I knew
all of you to be, so odd were the movements of these creatures, that I
could not resist watching them a while, before I sent my unwelcome
messenger into their `ballroom.'  Now and then an old cock would
separate from the pack, and running out to some distance, would leap
upon a rock that was there; then, after dropping his wings, flirting
with his spread tail, erecting the ruff upon his neck, and throwing back
his head, he would swell and strut upon the rock, exhibiting himself
like a diminutive turkey-cock.  After manoeuvring in this way for a few
moments, he would commence flapping his wings in short quick strokes,
which grew more rapid as he proceeded, until a `booming' sound was
produced, more like the rumble of distant thunder than anything I can
think of.

"This appeared to be a challenge to the others; and then a second would
come out, and, after replying to it by putting himself through a similar
series of attitudes, the two would attack each other, and fight with all
the fury of a pair of game-cocks.

"I could have watched their manoeuvres much longer," continued Basil,
"but hunger got the better of me, and I made ready to fire.  Those that
were `dancing' moved so quickly round the ring that I could not sight
one of them.  If I had had a shot-gun, I might have covered several, but
with the rifle I could not hope for more than a single bird; so, wanting
to make sure of that, I waited until an old cock mounted the rock, and
got to `drumming.'  Then I sighted him, and sent my bullet through his
crop.  I heard the loud whirr of the pack as they rose up from the ring;
and, marking them, I saw that they all alighted only a couple of hundred
yards off, upon a large spruce-tree.  Hoping they would sit there until
I could get another shot, I loaded as quickly as possible, and stepped
forward.  The course I took brought me past the one I had killed, which
I picked up, and thrust hastily into my bag.  Beyond this I had to pass
over some logs that lay along the ground, with level spaces between
them.  What was my surprise in getting among these, to see two of the
cocks down upon the grass, and righting so desperately that they took no
notice of my approach!  At first I threw up my rifle, intending to fire,
but seeing that the birds were within a few feet of me, I thought they
might let me lay hold of them, which they, in fact, did; for the next
moment I had `grabbed' both of them, and cooled their bellicose spirits
by wringing their heads off.

"I now proceeded to the pack, that still kept the tree.  When near
enough, I sheltered myself behind another tree; and taking aim at one, I
brought him tumbling to the ground.  The others sat still.  Of course, I
shot the one upon the lowest branch: I knew that, so long as I did this,
the others would sit until I might get the whole of them; but that if I
shot one of the upper ones, its fluttering down through the branches
would alarm the rest, and cause them to fly off.  I loaded and fired,
and loaded and fired, until half-a-dozen of the birds lay around the
root of the tree.  I believe I could have killed the whole pack, but it
just then occurred to me that I was wasting our precious ammunition, and
that, considering the value of powder and shot to us just now, the birds
were hardly worth a load apiece; so I left off cracking at them.  As I
stepped forward to gather what I had killed, the rest whirred away into
the woods.

"On reaching the tree where they had perched, I was very much surprised
to find a raw-hide rope neatly coiled up, and hanging from one of the
lower branches.  I knew that somebody must have placed it there, and I
looked round to see what `sign' there was besides.  My eye fell upon the
cinders of an old fire near the foot of the tree; and I could tell that
some Indians had made their camp by it.  It must have been a good while
ago, as the ashes were beaten into the ground by the rain, and,
moreover, some young plants were springing up through them.  I
concluded, therefore, that whoever had camped there had hung the rope
upon the tree, and on leaving the place had forgotten it.  I took the
rope down to examine it: it was no other than a lasso, full fifty feet
long, with an iron ring neatly whipped into the loop-end; and, on trying
it with a pull, I saw it was in the best condition.  Of course, I was
not likely to leave such a prize behind me.  I had grown, as you may all
conceive, to have a very great regard for a rope, considering that one
had just saved all our lives; so I resolved on bringing the lasso with
me.  In order to carry it the more conveniently, I coiled it, and then
hung the coil across my shoulders like a belt.  I next packed my game
into the bag, which they filled chock up to the mouth, and was turning
to come back to camp, when my eye fell upon an object that caused me
suddenly to change my intention.

"I was near the edge of the woods, and through the trunks I could see a
large open space beyond, where there were no trees, or only one here and
there.  In the middle of this opening there was a cloud of dust, and in
the thick of it I could see two great dark animals in motion.  They were
running about, and now and then coming together with a sudden rush; and
every time they did so, I could hear a loud thump, like the stroke of a
sledgehammer.  The sun was shining upon the yellow dust-cloud, and the
animals appeared from this circumstance to be of immense size--much
larger than they really were.  Had I not known what kind of creatures
were before me, I should have believed that the mammoths were still in
existence.  But I knew well what they were: I had seen many before,
carrying on just such a game.  I knew they were buffalo bulls, engaged
in one of their terrible battles."

Here Basil's narrative was interrupted by a singular incident.  Indeed,
it had been interrupted more than once by strange noises that were heard
at some distance off in the woods.  These noises were not all alike: at
one time they resembled the barking of a cur dog; at another, they might
have been mistaken for the gurglings of a person who was being hanged;
and then would follow a shriek so dreadful that for some time the woods
would echo with its dismal sound!  After the shriek a laugh would be
heard, but a miserable "haw-haw-haw!" unlike the laugh of a sane person.

All these strange voices were calculated to inspire terror, and so have
they many a time, with travellers not accustomed to the solitary woods
of America.  But our young voyageurs were not at all alarmed by them.
They knew from what sort of a creature they proceeded; they knew they
were the varying notes of the great horned-owl (_Strix Virginiana_); and
as they had seen and heard many a one before, they paid no heed to this
individual.

While Basil was going on with his relation, the bird had been several
times seen to glide past, and circle around upon his noiseless pinions.
So easy was his flight, that the slightest inclining of his spread tail,
or the bending of his broad wing, seemed sufficient to turn and carry
him in any direction.  Nothing could be more graceful than his flight,
which was not unlike that of the eagle, while he was but little inferior
in size to one of these noble birds.

What interrupted Basil was, that the owl had alighted upon a branch not
twenty feet from where they were all sitting round the fire, by the
blaze of which they now had a full view of this singular creature.  The
moment it alighted, it commenced uttering its hideous and unmusical
cries, at the same time going through such a variety of contortions,
both with its head and body, as to cause the whole party a fit of
laughter.  It was, in fact, an odd and interesting sight to witness its
grotesque movements, as it turned first its body, and then its head
around, without moving the shoulders, while its great honey-coloured
eyes glared in the light of the fire.  At the end of every attitude and
utterance, it would snap its bill with such violence, that the cracking
of the mandibles upon each other might have been heard to the distance
of several hundred yards.

This was too much for Francois' patience to bear, and he immediately
crept to his gun.  He had got hold of the piece, and cocked it; but,
just as he was about to take aim, the owl dropped silently down from the
branch, and, gliding gently forward, thrust out its feathered leg, and
lifted one of the grouse in its talons.  The latter had been lying upon
the top of a fallen tree not six feet from the fire!  The owl, after
clutching it, rose into the air; and the next moment would have been
lost in darkness, but the crack of Francois' rifle put a sudden stop to
its flight, and with the grouse still clinging to its claws it fell
fluttering to the earth.  Marengo jumped forward to seize it; but
Marengo little knew the sort of creature he had to deal with.  It
happened to be only "winged," and as soon as the dog came near, it threw
itself upon its back, and struck at him with its talons so wickedly,
that he was fain to approach it with more caution.  It cost Marengo a
considerable fight before he succeeded in getting his jaws over it.
During the contest it continually snapped its bill, while its great
goggle eyes kept alternately and quickly opening and closing, and the
feathers being erected all over its body, gave it the appearance of
being twice its real size.  Marengo at length succeeded in "crunching"
it--although not until he was well scratched about the snout--and its
useless carcass having been thrown upon the ground, the dog continued to
worry and chew at it, while Basil went on with his narration.



CHAPTER TEN.

BASIL AND THE BISON-BULL.

"As soon as I saw the buffaloes," continued Basil, "my first thought was
to get near, and have a shot at them.  They were worth a charge of
powder and lead, and I reflected that if I could kill but one of them,
it would ensure us against hunger for a couple of weeks to come.  So I
hung my game-bag to the branch of a tree, and set about approaching
them.  I saw that the wind was in my favour, and there was no danger of
their scenting me.  But there was no cover near them--the ground was as
level as a table, and there was not a score of trees upon as many acres.
It was no use crawling up, and I did not attempt it, but walked
straight forward, treading lightly as I went.  In five minutes, I found
myself within good shooting range.  Neither of the bulls had noticed me.
They were too busy with one another, and in all my life I never saw two
creatures fighting in such earnest.  They were foaming at the mouth, and
the steam poured out of their nostrils incessantly.  At times, they
would back from each other like a pair of rams, and then rush together
head-foremost, until their skulls cracked with the terrible collision.
One would have fancied that they would break them at every fresh
encounter, but I knew the thickness of a buffalo's skull before that
time.  I remember having fired a musket at one that stood fronting me
not more than six feet distant, when, to my surprise, the bullet
flattened and fell to the ground before the nose of the buffalo!  The
creature was not less astonished than myself, as up to that time it had
not seen me.

"Well," continued Basil after a pause, "I did not stop long to watch the
battle of the bison-bulls.  I was not curious about that.  I had seen
such many a time.  I was thinking about the meat; and I paused just long
enough to select the one that appeared to have the most fat upon his
flanks, when I drew up my rifle and fired.  I aimed for the heart, and
my aim was a true one, for the animal came to its knees along with the
crack.  Just at that moment the other was charging upon it, and, to my
surprise, it continued to run on, until striking the wounded one full
butt upon the forehead, it knocked the latter right over upon its side;
where, after giving half-a-dozen kicks, it lay quite dead.

"The remaining bull had dashed some paces beyond the spot, and now
turned round again to renew his attack.  On seeing his antagonist
stretched out and motionless, he seemed to be as much astonished as I
was.  At first, no doubt, he fancied himself the author of a grand
_coup_, for it was plain that up to this time he had neither noticed my
presence, nor the report of the rifle.  The bellowing noise that both
were making had drowned the latter; and the dust, together with the long
shaggy tufts that hung over his eyes, had prevented him from seeing
anything more than his rival, with whom he was engaged.  Now that the
other was no longer able to stand before him, and thinking it was
himself that had done the deed, he tossed up his head and snorted in
triumph.  At this moment, the matted hair was thrown back from his eyes,
and the dust having somewhat settled away, he sighted me, where I stood
reloading my gun.  I fancied he would take off before I could finish,
and I made all the haste in my power--so much so that I dropped the box
of caps at my feet.  I had taken one out, however, and hurriedly
adjusted it, thinking to myself, as I did so, that the box might lie
where it was until I had finished the job.  I brought the piece to my
shoulder, when, to my surprise, the bull, instead of running away, as I
had expected, set his head, and uttering one of his terrible bellows,
came rushing towards me.  I fired, but the shot was a random one, and
though it hit him in the snout, it did not in the least disable him.
Instead of keeping him off, it only seemed to irritate him the more, and
his fury was now at its height.

"I had no time to load again.  He was within a few feet of me when I
fired, and it was with difficulty that, by leaping to one side, I
avoided his horns; but I did so, and he passed me with such violence
that I felt the ground shake under his heavy tread.

"He wheeled immediately, and made at me a second time.  I knew that if
he once touched me I was gone.  His horns were set, and his eyes glared
with a terrible earnestness.  I rushed towards the body of the buffalo
that lay near, hoping that this might assist me in avoiding the onset.
It did so, for, as he dashed forward over it, he became entangled among
the limbs, and again charged without striking me.  He turned, however,
as quick as thought, and again rushed bellowing upon me.  There was a
tree near at hand.  I had noticed it before, but I could not tell
whether I should have time to reach it.  I was now somewhat nearer it,
and, fearing that I might not be able to dodge the furious brute any
longer upon the ground, I struck out for the tree.  You may be sure I
did my best at running.  I heard the bull coming after, but before he
could overtake me, I had got to the root of the tree.  It was my
intention, at first, only to take shelter behind the trunk; but when I
had got there, I noticed that there were some low branches, and catching
one of these I swung myself up among them.

"The bull passed under me with a rush--almost touching my feet as I hung
by the branch--but I was soon safely lodged in a fork, and out of his
reach.

"My next thought was to load my gun, and fire at him from my perch, and,
with this intention, I commenced loading.  I had no fear but that he
would give me an opportunity, for he kept round the tree, and at times
attacked the trunk, butting and goring it with his horns, and all the
while bellowing furiously.  The tree was a small one, and it shook so,
that I began to fear it might break down.  I therefore made all the
haste I could to get in the load, expecting soon to put an end to his
attacks.  I succeeded at length in ramming down the bullet, and was just
turning the gun to put on a cap, when I recollected that the cap-box was
still lying on the ground where it had fallen!  The sudden attack of the
animal had prevented me from taking it up.  My caps were all within that
box, and my gun, loaded though it was, was as useless in my hands as a
bar of iron.  To get at the caps would be quite impossible.  I dared not
descend from the tree.  The infuriated bull still kept pacing under it,
now going round and round, and occasionally stopping for a moment and
looking angrily up.

"My situation was anything but a pleasant one.  I began to fear that I
might not be permitted to escape at all.  The bull seemed to be most
pertinacious in his vengeance.  I could have shot him in the back, or
the neck, or where I liked, if I had only had one cap.  He was within
three feet of the muzzle of my rifle; but what of that when I could not
get the gun to go off?  After a while I thought of making some tinder
paper, and then trying to `touch off' the piece with it, but a far
better plan at that moment came into my head.  While I was fumbling
about my bullet-pouch to get at my flint and steel, of course my fingers
came into contact with the lasso which was still hanging around my
shoulders.  It was this that suggested my plan, which was no other than
to _lasso the bull, and tie him to the tree_!

"I lost no time in carrying it into execution.  I uncoiled the rope, and
first made one end fast to the trunk.  The other was the loop-end, and
reeving it through the ring, I held it in my right hand while I leaned
over and watched my opportunity.  It was not long before a good one
offered.  The bull still continued his angry demonstrations below, and
passed round and round.  It was no new thing for me to fling a lasso,
and at the first pitch I had the satisfaction of seeing the noose pass
over the bison's head, and settle in a proper position behind his horns.
I then gave it a twitch, so as to tighten it, and after that I ran the
rope over a branch, and thus getting `a purchase' upon it, I pulled it
with all my might.

"As soon as the bull felt the strange cravat around his neck, he began
to plunge and `rout' with violence, and at length ran furiously out from
the tree.  But he soon came to the end of his tether; and the quick
jerk, which caused the tree itself to crack, brought him to his
haunches, while the noose tightening on his throat was fast strangling
him.  But for the thick matted hair it would have done so, but this
saved him, and he continued to sprawl and struggle at the end of the
rope.  The tree kept on cracking, and as I began to fear that it might
give way and precipitate me to the ground, I thought it better to slip
down.  I ran direct to where I had dropped the caps; and, having got
hold of the box, I soon had one upon my gun.  I then stole cautiously
back, and while the bison was hanging himself as fast as he could, I
brought his struggles to a period by sending a bullet through his ribs.

"As it was quite night when I had finished the business, of course I
could not stay to butcher the bulls.  I knew that you would be wondering
what kept me, so I cut out the tongues, and coming by the place where I
had left the grouse, brought them along.  I left a `scare-wolf' over
both the bulls, however, and I guess we'll find them all right in the
morning."

Basil having finished the narration of his day's adventures, fresh fuel
was heaped on the embers, and a huge fire was built--one that would last
until morning.  This was necessary, as none of them had now either
blankets or bedding.  Basil himself and Norman were even in their
shirt-sleeves, and of course their only chance for keeping warmth in
their bodies would be to keep up a roaring fire all the night.  This
they did, and all four laying themselves close together, slept soundly
enough.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THREE CURIOUS TREES.

Next morning they were awake at an early hour.  There was still enough
of the tongues and grouse left, along with some ribs of the antelope, to
breakfast the party; and then all four set out to bring the flesh of
Basil's buffaloes into camp.  This they accomplished, after making
several journeys.  It was their intention to dry the meat over the fire,
so that it might keep for future use.  For this purpose the flesh was
removed from the bones, and after being cut into thin slices and strips,
was hung up on poles at some distance from the blaze.  Nothing more
could be done, but wait until it became sufficiently parched by the
heat.

While this process was going on our voyageurs collected around the fire,
and entered into a consultation about what was best to be done.  At
first they thought of going back to the Red River settlement, and
obtaining another canoe, as well as a fresh stock of provisions and
implements.  But they all believed that getting back would be a toilsome
and difficult matter.  There was a large lake and several extensive
marshes on the route, and these would have to be got round, making the
journey a very long one indeed.  It would take them days to perform it
on foot, and nothing is more discouraging on a journey than to be forced
by some accident to what is called "taking the back-track."  All of them
acknowledged this, but what else could they do?  It is true there was a
post of the Hudson's Bay Company at the northern end of Lake Winnipeg.
This post was called Norway House.  How were they to reach that afoot?
To walk around the borders of the lake would be a distance of more than
four hundred miles.  There would be numerous rivers to cross, as well as
swamps and pathless forests to be threaded.  Such a journey would occupy
a month or more, and at Norway House they would still be as it were only
at the beginning of the great journey on which they had set out.
Moreover, Norway House lay entirely out of their way.  Cumberland
House--another trading post upon the River Saskatchewan--was the next
point where they had intended to rest themselves, after leaving the Red
River settlements.  To reach Cumberland House _afoot_ would be equally
difficult, as it, too, lay at the distance of hundreds of miles, with
lakes, and rivers, and marshes, intervening.  What, then, could they do?

"Let us _not_ go back," cried Francois, ever ready with a bold advice;
"let us make a boat, and keep on, say I."

"Ha!  Francois," rejoined Basil, "it's easy to say `make a boat;' how is
that to be done, I pray?"

"Why, what's to hinder us to hew a log, and make a dugout?  We have
still got the axe, and two hatchets left."

Norman asked what Francois meant by a dugout.  The phrase was new to
him.

"A canoe," replied Francois, "hollowed out of a tree.  They are
sometimes called `dugouts' on the Mississippi, especially when they are
roughly made.  One of them, I think, would carry all four of us well
enough.  Don't you think so, Luce?"

"Why, yes," answered the student; "a large one might: but I fear there
are no trees about here of sufficient size.  We are not among the great
timber of the Mississippi bottom, you must remember."

"How large a tree would it require?" asked Norman, who knew but little
of this kind of craft.

"Three feet in diameter, at least," replied Lucien; "and it should be of
that thickness for a length of nearly twenty feet.  A less one would not
carry four of us."

"Then I am sure enough," responded Norman, "that we won't find such
timber here.  I have seen no tree of that size either yesterday, or
while we were out this morning."

"Nor I," added Basil.

"I don't believe there's one," said Lucien.

"If we were in Louisiana," rejoined Francois, "I could find fifty
canoe-trees by walking as many yards.  Why, I never saw such
insignificant timber as this here."

"You'll see smaller timber than this, Cousin Frank, before we reach the
end of our voyage."

This remark was made by Norman, who knew that, as they proceeded
northward, the trees would be found decreasing in size until they would
appear like garden shrubbery.

"But come," continued he, "if we can't build a craft to carry us from
_one_ tree, perhaps we can do it out of _three_."

"With three!" echoed Francois.  "I should like to see a canoe made from
three trees!  Is it a raft you mean, Cousin Norman?"

"No," responded the other; "a canoe, and one that will serve us for the
rest of our voyage."

All three--Basil, Lucien, and Francois--looked to their cousin for an
explanation.

"You would rather not go back up the river?" he inquired, glancing from
one to the other.

"We wish to go on--all of us," answered Basil, speaking for his brothers
as well.

"Very well," assented the young fur-trader; "I think it is better as you
wish it.  Out of these trees I can build a boat that will carry us.  It
will take us some days to do it, and some time to find the timber, but I
am tolerably certain it is to be found in these woods.  To do the job
properly I want three kinds; two of them I can see from where I sit; the
third I expect will be got in the hills we saw this morning."

As Norman spoke he pointed to two trees that grew among many others not
far from the spot.  These trees were of very different kinds, as was
easily told by their leaves and bark.  The nearer and more conspicuous
of them at once excited the curiosity of the three Southerners.  Lucien
recognised it from its botanical description.  Even Basil and Francois,
though they had never seen it, as it is not to be found in the hot clime
of Louisiana, knew it from the accounts given of it by travellers.  The
tree was the celebrated "canoe-birch," or, as Lucien named it,
"paper-birch" (_Betula papyracea_), celebrated as the tree out of whose
bark those beautiful canoes are made that carry thousands of Indians
over the interior lakes and rivers of North America; out of whose bark
whole tribes of these people fashion their bowls, their pails, and their
baskets; with which they cover their tents, and from which they even
make their soup-kettles and boiling-pots!  This, then, was the
canoe-birch-tree, so much talked of, and so valuable to the poor Indians
who inhabit the cold regions where it grows.

Our young Southerners contemplated the tree with feelings of interest
and curiosity.  They saw that it was about sixty feet high, and somewhat
more than a foot in diameter.  Its leaves were nearly cordate, or
heart-shaped, and of a very dark-green colour; but that which rendered
it most conspicuous among the other trees of the forest was the shining
white or silver-coloured bark that covered its trunk, and its numerous
slender branches.  This bark is only white externally.  When you have
cut through the epidermis you find it of a reddish tinge, very thick,
and capable of being divided into several layers.  The wood of the tree
makes excellent fuel, and is also often used for articles of furniture.
It has a close, shining grain, and is strong enough for ordinary
implements; but if exposed to the weather will decay rapidly.

The "canoe-birch" is not the only species of these trees found in North
America.  The genus _Betula_ (so called from the Celtic word _batu_,
which means birch) has at least half-a-dozen other known representatives
in these parts.  There is the "white birch" (_Betula populifolia_), a
worthless tree of some twenty feet in height, and less than six inches
diameter.  The bark of this species is useless, and its wood, which is
soft and white, is unfit even for fuel.  It grows, however, in the
poorest soil.  Next there is a species called the "cherry-birch"
(_Betula lento_), so named from the resemblance of its bark to the
common cherry-tree.  It is also called "sweet birch," because its young
twigs, when crushed, give out a pleasant aromatic odour.  Sometimes the
name of "black birch" is given to this species.  It is a tree of fifty
or sixty feet in height, and its wood is much used in cabinet-work, as
it is close-grained, of a beautiful reddish colour, and susceptible of a
high polish.

The "yellow birch" is a tree of the same size, and is so called from the
colour of its epidermis.  It is likewise used in cabinet-work, though it
is not considered equal in quality to the cherry-birch.  Its leaves and
twigs have also an aromatic smell when bruised, not so strong, however,
as the last-mentioned.  The wood makes excellent fuel, and is much used
for that purpose in some of the large cities of America.  The bark, too,
is excellent for tanning--almost equal to that of the oak.

The "red birch" is still another species, which takes its name from the
reddish hue of its bark.  This is equal in size to the canoe-birch,
often growing seventy feet high, with a trunk of nearly three feet
diameter.  Its branches are long, slender, and pendulous; and it is from
the twigs of this species that most of the "birch-brooms" used in
America are made.

Still another species of American birches is the "dwarf birch" (_Betula
nana_), so called from its diminutive size, which is that of a shrub,
only eighteen inches or two feet in height.  It usually grows in very
cold or mountainous regions, and is the smallest of these interesting
trees.

This information regarding the birches of America was given by Lucien to
his brothers, not at that time, but shortly afterward, when the three
were engaged in felling one of these trees.  Just then other matters
occupied them, and they had only glanced, first at the canoe-birch and
then at the other tree which Norman had pointed out.  The latter was of
a different genus.  It belonged to the order _Coniferae_, or
cone-bearing trees, as was evident from the cone-shaped fruits that hung
upon its branches, as well as from its needle-like evergreen leaves.

The cone-bearing trees of America are divided by botanists into three
great sub-orders--the _Pines_, the _Cypresses_, and the _Yews_.  Each of
these includes several genera.  By the "pine tribe" is meant all those
trees known commonly by the names pine, spruce, fir, and larch; while
the _Cupressinae_, or cypress tribe, are the cypress proper, the cedars,
the arbour-vitae, and the junipers.  The yew tribe has fewer genera or
species; but the trees in America known as yews and hemlocks--of which
there are several varieties--belong to it.

Of the pine tribe a great number of species exist throughout the North
American Continent.  The late explorations on the western slope of the
Rocky Mountains, and in the countries bordering on the Pacific, have
brought to light a score of species hitherto unknown to the botanist.
Many of these are trees of a singular and valuable kind.  Several
species found in the mountains of North Mexico, and throughout those
desert regions where hardly any other vegetation exists, have edible
seeds upon which whole tribes of Indians subsist for many months in the
year.  The Spanish Americans call them _pinon_ trees, but there are
several species of them in different districts.  The Indians parch the
seeds, and sometimes pound them into a coarse meal, from which they bake
a very palatable bread.  This bread is often rendered more savoury by
mixing the meal with dried "prairie crickets," a species of coleopterous
insects--that is, insects with a crustaceous or shell-like covering over
their wings--which are common in the desert wilds where these Indians
dwell.  Some prairie travellers have pronounced this singular mixture
equal to the "best pound-cake."

The "Lambert pine," so called from the botanist of that name, is found
in Oregon and California, and may be justly considered one of the
wonders of the world.  Three hundred feet is not an uncommon height for
this vegetable giant; and its cones have been seen of eighteen inches in
length, hanging like sugar-loaves from its high branches!  The wonderful
"palo Colorado" of California is another giant of the pine tribe.  It
also grows above three hundred feet high, with a diameter of sixteen
feet!  Then there is the "red pine," of eighty feet high, much used for
the decks and masts of ships; the "pitch-pine" (_Pinus rigida_), a
smaller tree, esteemed for its fuel, and furnishing most of the firewood
used in some of the American cities.  From this species the strong
burning "knots" are obtained.  There is the "white pine" (_Pinus
strobus_), valuable for its timber.  This is one of the largest and best
known of the pines.  It often attains a height of an hundred and fifty
feet, and a large proportion of those planks so well-known to the
carpenter are sawed from its trunk.  In the State of New York alone no
less than 700,000,000 feet of timber are annually obtained from trees of
this species, which, by calculation, must exhaust every year the
enormous amount of 70,000 acres of forest!  Of course, at this rate the
pine-forests of New York State must soon be entirely destroyed.

In addition, there is the "yellow pine," a tree of sixty feet high, much
used in flooring houses; and the beautiful "balsam fir," used as an
ornamental evergreen both in Europe and America, and from which is
obtained the well-known medicine--the "Canada balsam."  This tree, in
favourable situations, attains the height of sixty feet; while upon the
cold summits of mountains it is often seen rising only a few inches from
the surface.  The "hemlock spruce" (_Pinus Canadensis_), is another
species, the bark of which is used in tanning.  It is inferior to the
oak, though the leather made by it is of excellent quality.  The "black"
or "double spruce" (_Pinus nigra_), is that species from the twigs of
which is extracted the essence that gives its peculiar flavour to the
well-known "_spruce beer_."  Besides these, at least a dozen new species
have lately been discovered on the interior mountains of Mexico--all of
them more or less possessing valuable properties.

The pines cannot be termed trees of the tropics, yet do they grow in
southern and warm countries.  In the Carolinas, tar and turpentine,
products of the pine, are two staple articles of exportation; and even
under the equator itself, the high mountains are covered with
pine-forests.  But the pine is more especially the tree of a northern
_sylva_.  As you approach the Arctic circle, it becomes the
characteristic tree.  There it appears in extensive forests, lending
their picturesque shelter to the snowy desolation of the earth.  One
species of pine is the very last tree that disappears as the traveller,
in approaching the pole, takes his leave of the limits of vegetation.
This species is the "white spruce" (_Pinus alba_), the very one which,
along with the birch-tree, had been pointed out by Norman to his
companions.

It was a tree not over thirty or forty feet high, with a trunk of less
than a foot in thickness, and of a brownish colour.  Its leaves or
"needles" were about an inch in length, very slender and acute, and of a
bluish green tint.  The cones upon it, which at that season were young,
were of a pale green.  When ripe, however, they become rusty-brown, and
are nearly two inches in length.

What use Norman would make of this tree in building his canoe, neither
Basil nor Francois knew.  Lucien only guessed at it.  Francois asked the
question, by saying that he supposed the "timbers" were to come out of
it.

"No," said Norman, "for that I want still another sort.  If I can't find
that sort, however, I can manage to do without it, but not so well."

"What other sort?" demanded Francois.

"I want some cedar-wood," replied the other.

"Ah! that's for the timbers," said Francois; "I am sure of it.  The
cedar-wood is lighter than any other, and, I dare say, would answer
admirably for ribs and other timbers."

"You are right this time, Frank--it is considered the best for that
purpose."

"You think there are cedar-trees on the hills we saw this morning?" said
Francois, addressing his Canadian cousin.

"I think so.  I noticed something like them."

"And I, too, observed a dark foliage," said Lucien, "which looked like
the cedar.  If anywhere in this neighbourhood, we shall find them there.
They usually grow upon rocky, sterile hills, such as those appear to
be--that is their proper situation."

"The question," remarked Basil, "ought to be settled at once.  We have
made up our mind to the building of a canoe, and I think we should lose
no time in getting ready the materials.  Suppose we all set out for the
hills."

"Agreed--agreed!" shouted the others with one voice; and then
shouldering their guns, and taking the axe along, all four set out for
the hills.  On reaching these, the object of their search was at once
discovered.  The tops of all the hills--dry, barren ridges they were--
were covered with a thick grove of the red cedar (_Juniperus
viginiana_).  The trees were easily distinguished by the numerous
branches spreading horizontally, and thickly covered with short
dark-green needles, giving them that sombre, shady appearance, that
makes them the favourite haunt of many species of owls.  Their beautiful
reddish wood was well-known to all the party, as it is to almost every
one in the civilised world.  Everybody who has seen or used a black-lead
pencil must know what the wood of the red cedar is like--for it is in
this the black-lead is usually incased.  In all parts of America, where
this tree grows in plenty, it is employed for posts and fence-rails, as
it is one of the most durable woods in existence.  It is a great
favourite also for kindling fires, as it catches quickly, and blazes up
in a few seconds, so as to ignite the heavier logs of other timbers,
such as the oak and the pine.

The red cedar usually attains a height of about thirty to forty feet,
but in favourable situations it grows still larger.  The soil which it
loves best is of a stony, and often sterile character, and dry barren
hill-tops are frequently covered with cedars, while the more moist and
fertile valleys between possess a _sylva_ of a far different character.
There is a variety of the red cedar, which trails upon the ground like a
creeping plant, its branches even taking root again.  This is rather a
small bush than a tree, and is often seen hanging down the face of
inaccessible cliffs.  It is known among botanists as the _Juniperus
prostrata_.

"Now," said Norman, after examining a few of the cedar-trees, "we have
here all that's wanted to make our canoe.  We need lose no more time,
but go to work at once!"

"Very well," replied the three brothers, "we are ready to assist you,--
tell us what to do."

"In the first place," said the other, "I think we had better change our
camp to this spot, as I see all the different kinds of trees here, and
much better ones than those near the river.  There," continued he,
pointing to a piece of moist ground in the valley,--"there are some
journeys if we go back and bring our meat to this place at once."

To this they all of course agreed, and started back to their first camp.
They soon returned with the meat and other things, and having chosen a
clean spot under a large-spreading cedar-tree, they kindled a new fire
and made their camp by it--that is, they strung up the provisions, hung
their horns and pouches upon the branches around, and rested their guns
against the trees.  They had no tent to pitch, but that is not necessary
to constitute a camp.  In the phraseology of the American hunter,
wherever you kindle your fire or spend the night is a "camp."



CHAPTER TWELVE.

HOW TO BUILD A BARK CANOE.

Norman expected that they would be able to finish the canoe in about a
week.  Of course, the sooner the better, and no time was lost in setting
about it.  The ribs or "timbers" were the first thing to be fashioned,
and a number of straight branches of cedar were cut, out of which they
were to be made.  These branches were cleared of twigs, and rendered of
an equal thickness at both ends.  They were then flattened with the
knife; and, by means of a little sweating in the ashes, were bent so as
to bear some resemblance in shape to the wooden ox-yokes commonly used
in America, or indeed to the letter U.  The ribs when thus bent were not
all of the same width.  On the contrary, those which were intended to be
placed near the middle or gangway of the vessel, were about two feet
across from side to side, while the space between the sides of the
others was gradually less in each fresh pair, according as their
position was to be near to the stem and stern.  When the whole of them
had been forced into the proper shape, they were placed, one inside the
other after the manner of dishes, and then all were firmly lashed
together, and left to dry.  When the lashing should be removed, they
would hold to the form thus given them, and would be ready for fastening
to the kelson.

While Norman was occupied with the timbers the others were not idle.
Basil had cut down several of the largest and straightest birches, and
Lucien employed himself in carefully removing the bark and cleansing it
of nodules and other inequalities.  The broad sheets were suspended by a
smoke fire, so as completely to dry up the sap, and render it tough and
elastic.  Francois had his part to play, and that was to collect the
resinous gum which was distilled, in plenty from the trunks of the
epinette or spruce-trees.  This gum is a species of pitch, and is one of
the most necessary materials in the making of a bark canoe.  It is used
for "paying" the seams, as well as any cracks that may show themselves
in the bark itself; and without it, or some similar substance, it would
be difficult to make one of these little vessels watertight.  But that
is not the only thing for which the epinette is valued in
canoe-building; far from it.  This tree produces another indispensable
material; its long fibrous roots when split, form the twine-like threads
by which the pieces of bark are sewed to each other and fastened to the
timbers.  These threads are as strong as the best cords of hemp, and are
known among the Indians by the name of "watap."  In a country,
therefore, where hemp and flax cannot be readily procured, the "watap"
is of great value.  You may say that deer are plenty, and that thongs of
buckskin would serve the same purpose.  This, however, is not the case.
The buckskin would never do for such a use.  The moment it becomes wet
it is liable to stretch, so that the seams would open and the canoe get
filled with water.  The watap, wet or dry, does not yield, and has
therefore been found to be the best thing of all others for this
purpose.  The only parts now wanted were the gunwale and the bottom.
The former was easily obtained.  Two long poles, each twenty feet in
length, were bent somewhat like a pair of bows, and then placed with
their concave sides towards each other, and firmly lashed together at
the ends.  This was the gunwale.  The bottom was the most difficult part
of all.  For that a solid plank was required, and they had no saw.  The
axe and the hatchet, however, were called into requisition, and a log
was soon hewn and thinned down to the proper dimensions.  It was
sharpened off at the ends, so as to run to a very acute angle, both at
the stem and stern.  When the bottom was considered sufficiently
polished, and modelled to the right shape, the most difficult part of
the undertaking was supposed to be accomplished.  A few long poles were
cut and trimmed flat.  These were to be laid longitudinally between the
ribs and the bark, somewhat after the fashion of laths in the roofing of
a house.  Their use was to prevent the bark from splitting.  The
materials were now all obtained complete, and, with a few days' smoking
and drying, would be ready for putting together.

While waiting for the timbers to dry, paddles were made, and Norman,
with the help of the others, prepared what he jokingly called his
"dock," and also his "ship-yard."  This was neither more nor less than a
long mound of earth--not unlike a new-made grave, only three times the
length of one, or even longer.  It was flat upon the top, and graded
with earth so as to be quite level and free from inequalities.

At length all the materials were considered quite ready for use, and
Norman went to work to put them together.

His first operation was to untie the bundle of timbers, and separate
them.  They were found to have taken the exact form into which they had
been bent, and the thongs being no longer necessary to keep them in
place, were removed.  The timbers themselves were next placed upon the
bottom or kelson, those with the widest bottoms being nearer to
"midships," while those with the narrower bend were set towards the
narrower ends of the plank.  Thus placed, they were all firmly lashed
with strong cords of watap, by means of holes pierced in the bottom
plank.  Fortunately Lucien happened to have a pocket-knife, in which
there was a good awl or piercer, that enabled them to make these holes--
else the matter would have been a much more difficult one, as an awl is
one of the most essential tools in the construction of a bark canoe.  Of
course it took Norman a considerable time to set all the ribs in their
proper places, and fasten them securely; but he was ably assisted by
Francois, who waited upon him with much diligence, handing him now the
awl, and then the watap, whenever he required them.

Norman's next operation was the laying of his kelson "in dock."  The
timbers being attached to it, it was lifted up on the earthen mound,
where it reached quite from end to end.  Half-a-dozen large heavy stones
were then placed upon it, so that, pressed down by these upon the even
surface of the mould, it was rendered quite firm; and, moreover, was of
such a height from the ground that the young shipwright could work upon
it without too much bending and kneeling.

The gunwale, already prepared, was next placed so as to touch the ends
of the ribs all round, and these ends were adjusted to it with great
nicety, and firmly joined.  Strong cross-pieces were fixed, which were
designed, not only to keep the gunwale from spreading or contracting,
but afterwards to serve as seats.

Of course the gunwale formed the complete mouth, or upper edge of the
canoe.  It was several feet longer than the bottom plank, and, when in
place, projected beyond the ribs at both ends.  From each end of the
bottom plank, therefore, to the corresponding end of the gunwale, a
straight piece of wood was stretched, and fastened.  One of these pieces
would form the stem or cutwater, while the other would become the stern
of the craft.  The long poles were next laid longitudinally upon the
ribs outside, and lashed in their places; and this done, the skeleton
was completed, ready for the bark.

The latter had been already cut to the proper dimensions and shape.  It
consisted of oblong pieces--each piece being a regular parallelogram, as
it had been stripped from the tree.  These were laid upon the ribs
longitudinally, and then sewed to the edge of the bottom plank, and also
to the gunwale.  The bark itself was in such broad pieces that two of
them were sufficient to cover half a side, so that but one seam was
required lengthwise, in addition to the fastenings at the top and
bottom.  Two lengths of the bark also reached cleverly from stem to
stern, and thus required only one transverse seam on each side.  There
was an advantage in this arrangement, for where the birch-bark can only
be obtained in small flakes, a great number of seams is a necessary
consequence, and then it is extremely difficult to keep the canoe from
leaking.  Thanks to the fine birch-trees, that grew in abundance around,
our boat-builders had procured the very best bark.

The canoe was now completed all but the "paying," and that would not
take long to do.  The gum of the epinette had to be boiled, and mixed
with a little grease, so as to form a species of wax.  For this the fat
already obtained from the buffaloes was the very thing; and a small tin
cup which Basil had saved from the wreck (it had been strung to his
bullet-pouch), enabled them to melt the gum, and apply it hot.  In less
than an hour the thing was done.  Every crack and awl-hole was payed,
and the canoe was pronounced "watertight," and, as Francois added, with
a laugh, "seaworthy."

A small pond was near, at the bottom of the hill: Francois espied it.

"Come, boys," cried he, "a launch! a launch!"

This was agreed to by all.  The great stones were taken out.  Basil and
Norman, going one to the stem the other to the stern, lifted the canoe
from the "dock," and, raising it upon their shoulders, carried it down
to the pond.  The next moment it was pushed into the water, where it
floated like a cork.  A loud cheer was given, in which even Marengo
joined; and a salute was then fired--a full broadside--from the four
guns.  Francois, to complete the thing, seized one of the paddles, and
leaping into the canoe, shot the little craft out upon the bosom of the
pond, cheering all the while like one frantic.  After amusing himself
for some minutes, he paddled back to the shore, when they all looked
eagerly into the canoe, and perceived to their gratification that not as
much as a drop of water had leaked during the "trip."  Thanks and
congratulations now greeted Norman from every side; and, taking their
vessel from the water, the young voyageurs returned to their camp, to
regale themselves with a grand dinner, which Lucien had cooked for the
occasion.



CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE CHAIN OF LAKES.

Our young voyageurs now prepared to resume their journey.  While Norman
was engaged in building his canoe, with his assistant, Francois, the
others had not been idle.  Basil was, of course, the hunter of the
party; and, in addition to the small game, such as hares, geese, and
grouse, he had killed three caribou, of the large variety known as
"woodland caribou."  These are a species of the reindeer (_Cervus
tarandus_), of which I have more to say hereafter.  Lucien had attended
to the drying of their flesh; and there was enough of it still left, as
our voyageurs believed, to supply their wants until they should reach
Cumberland House, where they would, of course, procure a fresh stock of
provisions.  The skins of the caribou had also been scraped and dressed
by Lucien--who understood the process well--and these, with the skin of
the antelope, were sufficient to make a pair of hunting-shirts for Basil
and Norman, who, it will be remembered, had lost theirs by cutting them
up.

Next morning the canoe was launched upon the river--below the rapids--
and the dried meat, with their other matters, snugly stowed in the
stern.  Then the young voyageurs got in, and, seating themselves in
their places, seized hold of the paddles.  The next moment the canoe
shot out into the stream; and a triumphant cheer from the crew announced
that they had recommenced their journey.  They found to their delight
that the little vessel behaved admirably,--shooting through the water
like an arrow, and leaking not water enough, as Francois expressed it,
"to drown a mosquito."  They had all taken their seats in the order
which had been agreed upon for the day.  Norman was "bowsman," and, of
course, sate in the bow.  This, among the regular Canadian voyageurs, is
esteemed the post of honour, and the bowsman is usually styled "Captain"
by the rest of the crew.  It is also the post that requires the greatest
amount of skill on the part of its occupant, particularly where there
are rapids or shoals to be avoided.  The post of "steersman" is also one
of honour and importance; and both steersman and bowsman receive higher
wages than the other voyageurs, who pass under the name of "middlemen."
The steersman sits in the stern, and that place was now occupied by
Lucien, who had proved himself an excellent steersman.  Basil and
Francois were, of course, the "middlemen," and plied the paddles.  This
was the arrangement made for the day; but although on other days the
programme was to be changed, so as to relieve Basil and Francois, on all
occasions when there were rapids or other difficulties to be encountered
they were to return to this order.  Norman, of course, understood canoe
navigation better than his Southern cousins; and therefore, by universal
assent, he was acknowledged "the Captain," and Francois always addressed
him as such.  Lucien's claim to the post of second honour was admitted
to be just, as he had proved himself capable of filling it to the
satisfaction of all.  Marengo had no post, but lay quietly upon the
buffalo skin between Lucien's legs, and listened to the conversation
without joining in it, or in any way interfering in the working of the
vessel.

In a few hours our voyageurs had passed through the low marshy country
that lies around the mouth of the Red River, and the white expanse of
the great Lake Winnipeg opened before them, stretching northward far
beyond the range of their vision.  Norman knew the lake, having crossed
it before, but its aspect somewhat disappointed the Southern travellers.
Instead of a vast dark lake which they had expected to see, they looked
upon a whitish muddy sheet, that presented but few attractive points to
the eye, either in the hue of its water or the scenery of its shores.
These, so far as they could see them, were low, and apparently marshy;
and this is, in fact, the character of the southern shores of Winnipeg.
On its east and north, however, the country is of a different character.
There the geological formation is what is termed _primitive_.  The
rocks consist of granite, sienite, gneiss, etcetera; and, as is always
the case where such rocks are found, the country is hilly and rugged.
On the western shores a _secondary_ formation exists.  This is
_stratified limestone_,--the same as that which forms the bed of many of
the great prairies of America; and, indeed, the Lake Winnipeg lies
between this secondary formation and the primitive, which bounds it on
the east.  Along its western shores extends the flat limestone country,
partly wooded and partly prairie land, running from that point for
hundreds of miles up to the very foot of the Rocky Mountains, where the
primitive rocks again make their appearance in the rugged peaks of that
stupendous chain.  Lake Winnipeg is nearly three hundred miles in
length, but it is very narrow--being in its widest reach not over fifty
miles, and in many places only fifteen miles from shore to shore.  It
trends nearly due north and south, leaning a little north-west and
south-east, and receives many large rivers, as the Red, the
Saskatchewan, and the Winnipeg.  The waters of these are again carried
out of it by other rivers that run from the lake, and empty into the
Hudson's Bay.  There is a belief among the hunters and voyageurs that
this lake has its tides like the ocean.  Such, however, is not the case.
There is at times a rise and overflow of its waters, but it is not
periodical, and is supposed to be occasioned by strong winds forcing the
waters towards a particular shore.

Lake Winnipeg is remarkable, as being in the very centre of the North
American continent, and may be called the centre of the _canoe
navigation_.  From this point it is possible to travel _by water_ to
Hudson's Bay on the north-east, to the Atlantic Ocean on the east, to
the Gulf of Mexico on the south, to the Pacific on the west, and to the
Polar Sea on the north and north-west.  Considering that some of these
distances are upwards of three thousand miles, it will be perceived that
Lake Winnipeg holds a singular position upon the continent.  All the
routes mentioned can be made without any great "portage," and even a
choice of route is often to be had upon those different lines of
communication.

These were points of information communicated by Norman as the canoe was
paddled along the shore; for Norman, although troubling himself but
little about the causes of things, possessed a good practical knowledge
of things as they actually were.  He was tolerably well acquainted with
the routes, their portages, and distances.  Some of them he had
travelled over in company with his father, and of others he had heard
the accounts given by the voyageurs, traders, and trappers.  Norman knew
that Lake Winnipeg was muddy,--he did not care to inquire the cause.  He
knew that there was a hilly country on its eastern and a low level land
on its western shores, but it never occurred to him to speculate on this
geological difference.  It was the naturalist Lucien who threw out some
hints on this part of the subject, and further added his opinion, that
the lake came to be there in consequence of the wearing away of the
rocks at the junction of the stratified with the primitive formation,
thus creating an excavation in the surface, which in time became filled
with water and formed the lake.  This cause he also assigned for the
existence of a remarkable "chain of lakes" that extends almost from the
Arctic Sea to the frontiers of Canada.  The most noted of these are
Martin, Great Slave, Athabasca, Wollaston, Deer, Lake Winnipeg, and the
Lake of the Woods.  Lucien further informed his companions, that where
primitive rocks form the surface of a country, that surface will be
found to exhibit great diversity of aspect.  There will be numerous
lakes and swamps, rugged steep hills with deep valleys between, short
streams with many falls and rapids.  These are the characteristics of a
primitive surface.  On the other hand, where secondary rocks prevail the
surface is usually a series of plains, often high, dry, and treeless, as
is the case upon the great American prairies.

Upon such topics did Lucien instruct his companions, as they paddled
their canoe around the edge of the lake.  They had turned the head of
their little vessel westward--as it was their design to keep along the
western border of the lake until they should reach the mouth of the
Saskatchewan.  They kept at a short distance from the shore, usually
steering from point to point, and in this way making their route as
direct as possible.  It would have been still more direct had they
struck out into the open lake, and kept up its middle; but this would
have been a dangerous course to pursue.  There are often high winds upon
Lake Winnipeg, that spring up suddenly; and at such times the waves, if
not mountains high, at least arrive at the height of houses.  Among such
billows the little craft would have been in danger of being swamped, and
our voyageurs of going to the bottom.  They, therefore, wisely resolved
not to risk such an accident, but to "hug the shore," though it made
their voyage longer.  Each night they would land at some convenient
place, kindle their fire, cook their supper, and dry their canoe for the
next day's journey.

According to this arrangement, a little before sunset of the first day
they came to land and made their camp.  The canoe was unloaded,
carefully lifted out of the water, and then set bottom upward to drip
and dry.  A fire was kindled, some of the dry meat cooked, and all four
sat down and began to eat, as only hungry travellers can.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

WAPITI, WOLVES, AND WOLVERENE.

The spot where our voyageurs had landed was at the bottom of a small
bay.  The country back from the lake was level and clear of timber.
Here and there, nearer the shore, however, its surface was prettily
interspersed with small clumps of willows, that formed little copse-like
thickets of deep green.  Beside one of these thickets, within a hundred
yards of the beach, the fire had been kindled, on a spot of ground that
commanded a view of the plain for miles back.

"Look yonder!" cried Francois, who had finished eating, and risen to his
feet.  "What are these, captain?"  Francois pointed to some objects that
appeared at a great distance off upon the plain.

The "captain" rose up, placed his hand so as to shade his eyes from the
sun, and, after looking for a second or two in the direction indicated,
replied to the other's question by simply saying--

"Wapiti."

"I'm no wiser than before I asked the question," said Francois.  "Pray,
enlighten me as to what a wapiti may be!"

"Why, red deer; or elk, if you like."

"Oh! elk--now I understand you.  I thought they were elk, but they're so
far off I wasn't sure."

Lucien at this moment rose up, and looking through a small telescope,
which he carried, confirmed the statement of the "captain," and
pronounced it to be a herd of elk.

"Come, Luce," demanded Francois, "tell us what you know of the elk.  It
will pass the time.  Norman says it's no use going after them out there
in the open ground, as they'd shy off before one could get within shot.
You see there is not a bush within half-a-mile of them."

"If we wait," interrupted Norman, "I should not wonder but we may have
them among the bushes before long.  They appear to be grazing this way.
I warrant you, they'll come to the lake to drink before nightfall."

"Very well then: the philosopher can tell us all about them before
that."

Lucien, thus appealed to, began:--

"There are few animals that have so many names as this.  It is called in
different districts, or by different authors, _elk, round-horned elk,
American elk, stag, red deer, grey moose, le biche, wapiti_, and
_wewaskish_.  Naturalists have given not a _few of_ their designations,
as _Cervus Canadensis, Cervus major, Cervus alces, Cervus
strongylocerus, etcetera_.

"You may ask, Why so many names?  I shall tell you.  It is called `elk'
because it was supposed by the early colonists to be the same as the elk
of Europe.  Its name of `grey moose' is a hunter appellation, to
distinguish it from the real moose, which the same hunters know as the
`black moose.'  `Round-horned elk' is also a hunter name.  `Wewaskish,'
or `waskesse,' is an Indian name for the animal.  `Stag' comes from the
European deer so called, because this species somewhat resembles the
stag; and `red deer' is a name used by the Hudson Bay traders.  `Le
biche' is another synonyme of French authors.

"Of all these names I think that of `wapiti,' which our cousin has
given, the best.  The names of `elk,' `stag,' and `red deer,' lead to
confusion, as there are other species to which they properly belong, all
of which are entirely different from the wapiti.  I believe that this
last name is now used by the best-informed naturalists.

"In my opinion," continued Lucien, "the wapiti is the noblest of all the
deer kind.  It possesses the fine form of the European stag, while it is
nearly a third larger and stronger.  It has all the grace of limb and
motion that belongs to the common deer, while its towering horns give it
a most majestic and imposing appearance.  Its colour during the summer
is of a reddish brown, hence the name red deer; but, indeed, the reddish
tint upon the wapiti is deeper and richer than that of its European
cousin.  The wapiti, like other deer, brings forth its fawns in the
spring.  They are usually a male and female, for two is the number it
produces.  The males only have horns; and they must be several years old
before the antlers become full and branching.  They fall every year, but
not until February or March, and then the new ones grow out in a month
or six weeks.  During the summer the horns remain soft and tender to the
touch.  They are covered at this time with a soft membrane that looks
like greyish velvet, and they are then said to be `in the velvet,' There
are nerves and blood-vessels running through this membrane, and a blow
upon the horns at this season gives great pain to the animal.  When the
autumn arrives the velvet peels off, and they become as hard as bone.
They would need to be, for this is the `rutting' season, and the bucks
fight furious battles with each other, clashing their horns together, as
if they would break them to pieces.  Very often a pair of bucks, while
thus contending, `lock' their antlers, and being unable to draw them
apart, remain head to head, until both die with hunger, or fall a prey
to the prowling wolves.  This is true not only of the elk, but also of
the reindeer, the moose, and many other species of deer.  Hundreds of
pairs of horns have been found thus `locked,' and the solitary hunter
has often surprised the deer in this unpleasant predicament.

"The wapiti utters a whistling sound, that can be heard far off, and
often guides the hunter to the right spot.  In the rutting season the
bucks make other noises, which somewhat resemble the braying of an ass,
and are equally disagreeable to listen to.

"The wapiti travel about in small herds, rarely exceeding fifty, but
often of only six or seven.  Where they are not much hunted they are
easily approached, but otherwise they are shy enough.  The bucks, when
wounded and brought to bay, become dangerous assailants; much more so
than those of the common deer.  Hunters have sometimes escaped with
difficulty from their horns and hoofs, with the latter of which they can
inflict very severe blows.  They are hunted in the same way as other
deer; but the Indians capture many of them in the water, when they
discover them crossing lakes or rivers.  They are excellent swimmers,
and can make their way over the arm of a lake or across the widest
river.

"They feed upon grass, and sometimes on the young shoots of willows and
poplar-trees.  They are especially fond of a species of wild rose (_Rosa
blanda_), which grows in the countries they frequent.

"The wapiti at one time ranged over a large part of the continent of
North America.  Its range is now restricted by the spread of the
settlements.  It is still found in most of the Northern parts of the
United States, but only in remote mountainous districts, and even there
it is a rare animal.  In Canada it is more common; and it roams across
the continent to the shores of the Pacific.  It is not an animal of the
tropical countries, as it is not found in Mexico proper.  On the other
hand, wapiti do not go farther north than about the fifty-seventh
parallel of latitude, and then they are not in their favourite habitat,
which is properly the temperate zone."

Lucien was interrupted by an exclamation from Basil, who stood up
looking out upon the prairie.  They all saw that he had been observing
the wapiti.

"What is it?" cried they.

"Look yonder!" replied Basil, pointing in the direction of the herd.
"Something disturbs them.  Give me your glass, Luce."

Lucien handed the telescope to his brother, who, drawing it to the
proper focus, pointed it towards the deer.  The rest watched them with
the naked eye.  They could see that there was some trouble among the
animals.  There were only six in the herd, and even at the distance our
voyageurs could tell that they were all bucks, for it was the season
when the does secrete themselves in the woods and thickets to bring
forth their young.  They were running to and fro upon the prairie, and
doubling about as if playing, or rather as if some creature was chasing
them.  With the naked eye, however, nothing could be seen upon the
ground but the bucks themselves, and all the others looked to Basil, who
held the glass, for an explanation of their odd manoeuvres.

"There are wolves at them," said Basil, after regarding them for a
second or two.

"That's odd," rejoined Norman.  "Wolves don't often attack full-grown
wapiti, except when wounded or crippled somehow.  They must be precious
hungry.  What sort of wolves are they?"

To you, boy reader, this question may seem strange.  You, perhaps, think
that a wolf is a wolf, and there is but one kind.  Such, however, is not
the exact truth.  In America there are two distinct species of wolves,
and of these two species there are many varieties, which differ so much
in colour and other respects, that some authors have classed them as so
many distinct species instead of considering them mere varieties.
Whether they may be species or not is still a question among
naturalists; but certain it is that _two_ well-defined species do exist,
which differ in size, form, colour, and habits.  These are the _large_
or _common wolf (Canis lupus_), and the barking or prairie wolf (_Canis
latrans_).  The first species is the American representative of the
common wolf of Europe; and although an animal of similar nature and
habits, it differs very much from the latter in form and appearance.  It
is, therefore, not the _same_, as hitherto supposed.  This American wolf
is found in greater or less numbers throughout the whole continent; but
in the Northern regions it is very common, and is seen in at least five
different varieties, known by the characteristic names of _black, pied,
white, dusky_, and _grey_ wolves.  Of these the grey is the most
numerous kind; but as I shall have occasion to speak of the large wolves
hereafter, I shall say no more of them at present, but direct your
attention to the second and very different species, the _prairie
wolves_.

These are a full third smaller than the common kind.  They are swifter,
and go in larger packs.  They bring forth their young in burrows on the
open plain, and not among the woods, like the other species.  They are
the most cunning of American animals, not excepting their kindred the
foxes.  They cannot be trapped by any contrivance, but by singular
manoeuvres often themselves decoy the over-curious antelope to approach
too near them.  When a gun is fired upon the prairies they may be seen
starting up on all sides, and running for the spot in hopes of coming in
for a share of the game.  Should an animal--deer, antelope, or buffalo--
be wounded, and escape the hunter, it is not likely to escape them also.
They will set after it, and run it down if _the wound has been a mortal
one_.  On the other hand, if the wound has been only slight, and is not
likely in the end to cripple the animal, the wolves will not stir from
the spot.  This extraordinary sagacity often tells the hunter whether it
is worth his while to follow the game he has shot at; but in any case he
is likely to arrive late, if the wolves set out before him, as a dozen
of them will devour the largest deer in a few minutes' time.  The
prairie wolves as well as the others follow the herds of buffaloes, and
attack the gravid cows and calves when separated from the rest.
Frequently they sustain a contest with the bulls, when the latter are
old or wounded, but on such occasions many of them get killed before the
old bull becomes their prey.

They resemble the common grey wolf in colour, but there are varieties in
this respect, though not so great as among the larger species.  Their
voice is entirely different, and consists of three distinct barks,
ending in a prolonged howl.  Hence the specific and usual name
"barking-wolf" (_Canis latrans_).  They are found only in the Western or
prairie half of the continent, and thence west to the Pacific.  Their
Northern range is limited to the fifty-fifth parallel of latitude--but
they are met with southward throughout Mexico, where they are common
enough, and known by the name of "coyote."

Their skins are an article of trade with the Hudson's Bay Company.  The
fur is of about the same quality with that of other wolves, and consists
of long hairs, with a thick wool at the base.  In commerce they are
termed "cased wolves," because their skins, on being removed, are not
split open as with the large wolf-skins, but are stript off after the
manner of rabbits, and then turned inside out, or "cased," as it is
termed.

So much for the _Canis latrans_.

"Prairie wolves!" said Basil, in answer to the question put by his
cousin.

"There must be something the matter with one of the bucks, then,"
remarked Norman, "or else there's a good big pack of the wolves, and
they expect to tire one down.  I believe they sometimes do try it that
way."

"There appears to be a large pack," answered Basil, still looking
through the glass; "fifty at least--See! they have separated one of the
bucks from the herd--it's running this way!"

Basil's companions had noticed this as soon as himself, and all four now
leaped to their guns.  The wapiti was plainly coming towards them, and
they could now distinguish the wolves following upon his heels, strung
out over the prairie like a pack of hounds.  When first started, the
buck was a full half-mile distant, but in less than a minute's time he
came breasting forward until the boys could see his sparkling eyes and
the play of his proud flanks.  He was a noble animal to look at.  His
horns were full-grown, but still "in the velvet," and as he ran with his
snout thrown forward, his antlers lay along both sides of his neck until
their tips touched his shoulders.  He continued on in a direct line
until he was within less than an hundred paces of the camp; but,
perceiving the smoke of the fire, and the figures crouching around it,
he swerved suddenly from his course, and darted into the thicket of
willows, where he was for the moment hidden from view.  The wolves--
fifty of them at least--had followed him up to this point; and as he
entered the thicket several had been close upon his heels.  The boys
expected to see the wolves rush in after him--as there appeared to be no
impediment to their doing so--but, to the astonishment of all, the
latter came to a sudden halt, and then went sneaking back--some of them
even running off as if terrified!  At first the hunters attributed this
strange conduct to their own presence, and the smoke of the camp; but a
moment's reflection convinced them that this could not be the reason of
it, as they were all well acquainted with the nature of the prairie
wolf, and had never witnessed a similar exhibition before.

They had no time to think of the wolves just then.  The buck was the
main attraction, and, calling to each other to surround the thicket, all
four started in different directions.  In a couple of minutes they had
placed themselves at nearly equal distances around the copse, and stood
watching eagerly for the reappearance of the wapiti.

The willows covered about an acre of ground, but they were tolerably
thick and full-leaved, and the buck could not be seen from any side.
Wherever he was, he was evidently at a standstill, for not a rustle
could be heard among the leaves, nor were any of the tall stalks seen to
move.

Marengo was now sent in.  This would soon start him, and all four stood
with guns cocked and ready.  But before the dog had made three lengths
of himself into the thicket, a loud snort was heard, followed by a
struggle and the stamping of hoofs, and the next moment the wapiti came
crashing through the bushes.  A shot was fired--it was the crack of
Lucien's small rifle--but it had missed, for the buck was seen passing
onward and outward.  All ran round to the side he had taken, and had a
full view of the animal as he bounded off.  Instead of running free as
before, he now leaped heavily forward, and what was their astonishment
on seeing that he _carried another animal upon his back_!

The hunters could hardly believe their eyes, but there it was, sure
enough, a brown shaggy mass, lying flat along the shoulders of the
wapiti, and clutching it with large-spreading claws.  Francois cried
out, "A panther!" and Basil at first believed it to be a bear, but it
was hardly large enough for that.  Norman, however, who had lived more
in those parts where the animal is found, knew it at once to be the
dreaded "wolverene."  Its head could not be seen, as that was hid behind
the shoulder of the wapiti, whose throat it was enga

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