Complete Works of R M Ballantyne, page 21
“Quite right; very dutiful and proper,” said the doctor, with a grave, patronising air.
“Perhaps you’ll fall in with more fox tracks of the same sort as the one you gave chase to this morning,” shouted the skipper, from Wilson’s room.
“Oh! there’s hundreds of them out there,” said the accountant; “so let’s off at once.”
The trio now proceeded to equip themselves for the walk. Their costumes were peculiar, and merit description. As they were similar in the chief points, it will suffice to describe that of our friend Harry.
On his head he wore a fur cap made of otter-skin, with a flap on each side to cover the ears, the frost being so intense in these climates that without some such protection they would inevitably freeze and fall off.
As the nose is constantly in use for the purposes of respiration, it is always left uncovered to fight with the cold as it best can; but it is a hard battle, and there is no doubt that, if it were possible, a nasal covering would be extremely pleasant. Indeed, several desperate efforts have been made to construct some sort of nose-bag, but hitherto without success, owing to the uncomfortable fact that the breath issuing from that organ immediately freezes, and converts the covering into a bag of snow or ice, which is not agreeable. Round his neck Harry wound a thick shawl of such portentous dimensions that it entirely enveloped the neck and lower part of the face; thus the entire head was, as it were, eclipsed — the eyes, the nose, and the cheek-bones alone being visible. He then threw on a coat made of deer-skin, so prepared that it bore a slight resemblance to excessively coarse chamois leather. It was somewhat in the form of a long, wide sur-tout, overlapping very much in front, and confined closely to the figure by means of a scarlet worsted belt instead of buttons, and was ornamented round the foot by a number of cuts, which produced a fringe of little tails. Being lined with thick flannel, this portion of attire was rather heavy, but extremely necessary. A pair of blue cloth leggings having a loose flap on the outside, were next drawn over the trousers, as an additional protection to the knees. The feet, besides being portions of the body that are peculiarly susceptible of cold, had further to contend against the chafing of the lines which attach them to the snow-shoes, so that special care in their preparation for duty was necessary. First were put on a pair of blanketing or duffel socks, which were merely oblong in form, without sewing or making-up of any kind. These were wrapped round the feet, which were next thrust into a pair of made-up socks, of the same material, having ankle-pieces; above these were put another pair, without flaps for the ankles. Over all was drawn a pair of moccasins made of stout deer-skin, similar to that of the coat. Of course, the elegance of Harry’s feet was entirely destroyed, and had he been met in this guise by any of his friends in the “old country,” they would infallibly have come to the conclusion that he was afflicted with gout. Over his shoulders he slung a powder-horn and shot-pouch, the latter tastefully embroidered with dyed quill-work. A pair of deerskin mittens, having a little bag for the thumb and a large bag for the fingers, completed his costume.
While the three were making ready, with a running accompaniment of grunts and groans at refractory pieces of apparel, the night without became darker, and the snow fell thicker, so that when they issued suddenly out of their warm abode, and emerged into the sharp, frosty air, which blew the snow-drift into their eyes, they felt a momentary desire to give up the project and return to their comfortable quarters.
“What a dismal-looking night it is!” said the accountant, as he led the way along the wooden platform towards the gate of the fort.
“Very!” replied Hamilton, with an involuntary shudder.
“Keep up your heart,” said Harry, in a cheerful voice; “you’ve no notion how your mind will change on that point when you have walked a mile or so and got into a comfortable heat. I must confess, however, that a little moonshine would be an improvement,” he added, on stumbling, for the third time, off the platform into the deep snow.
“It is full moon just now,” said the accountant, “and I think the clouds look as if they would break soon. At any rate, I’ve been at North River so often that I believe I could walk out there blindfold.”
As he spoke they passed the gate, and diverging to the right, proceeded, as well as the imperfect light permitted, along the footpath that led to the forest.
Chapter Eighteen.
The walk continued — Frozen toes — An encampment in the snow.
After quitting York Fort, the three friends followed the track leading to the spot where the winter’s firewood was cut. Snow was still falling thickly, and it was with some difficulty that the accountant kept in the right direction. The night was excessively dark, while the dense fir forest, through which the narrow road ran, rendered the gloom, if possible, more intense.
When they had proceeded about a mile, their leader suddenly came to a stand.
“We must quit the track now,” said he; “so get on your snow-shoes as fast as you can.”
Hitherto they had carried their snow-shoes under their arms, as the beaten track along which they travelled rendered them unnecessary; but now, having to leave the path and pursue the remainder of their journey through deep snow, they availed themselves of those useful machines by means of which the inhabitants of this part of North America are enabled to journey over many miles of trackless wilderness, with nearly as much ease as a sportsman can traverse the moors in autumn, and that over snow so deep that one hour’s walk through it without such aids would completely exhaust the stoutest trapper, and advance him only a mile or so on his journey. In other words, to walk without snow-shoes would be utterly impossible, while to walk with them is easy and agreeable. They are not used, after the manner of skates, with a sliding, but a stepping action, and their sole use is to support the wearer on the top of snow, into which without them he would sink up to the waist. When we say that they support the wearer on the top of the snow, of course we do not mean that they literally do not break the surface at all. But the depth to which they sink is comparatively trifling, and varies according to the state of the snow and the season of the year. In the woods they sink frequently about six inches, sometimes more, sometimes less; while on frozen rivers, where the snow is packed solid by the action of the wind, they sink only two or three inches, and sometimes so little as to render it preferable to walk without them altogether. Snow-shoes are made of a light, strong framework of wood, varying from three to six feet long by eighteen and twenty inches broad, tapering to a point before and behind, and turning up in front. Different tribes of Indians modify the form a little, but in all essential points they are the same. The framework is filled up with a netting of deer-skin threads, which unites lightness with great strength, and permits any snow that may chance to fall upon the netting to pass through it like a sieve.
On the present occasion, the snow, having recently fallen, was soft, and the walking, consequently, what is called heavy.
“Come on,” shouted the accountant, as he came to a stand for the third time within half an hour, to await the coming up of poor Hamilton, who, being rather awkward in snow-shoe walking even in daylight, found it nearly impossible in the dark.
“Wait a little, please,” replied a faint voice in the distance; “I’ve got among a quantity of willows, and find it very difficult to get on. I’ve been down twice al—”
The sudden cessation of the voice, and a loud crash as of breaking branches, proved too clearly that our friend had accomplished his third fall.
“There he goes again,” exclaimed Harry Somerville, who came up at the moment. “I’ve helped him up once already. We’ll never get to North River at this rate. What is to be done?”
“Let’s see what has become of him this time, however,” said the accountant, as he began to retrace his steps. “If I mistake not, he made rather a heavy plunge that time, judging from the sound.”
At that moment the clouds overhead broke, and a moonbeam shot down into the forest, throwing a pale light over the cold scene. A few steps brought Harry and the accountant to the spot whence the sound had proceeded, and a loud, startling laugh rang through the night air, as the latter suddenly beheld poor Hamilton struggling, with his arms, head, and shoulders stuck into the snow, his snow-shoes twisted and sticking with the heels up and awry, in a sort of rampant confusion, and his gun buried to the locks beside him. Regaining one’s perpendicular after a fall in deep snow, when the feet are encumbered by a pair of long snow-shoes, is by no means an easy thing to accomplish, in consequence of the impossibility of getting hold of anything solid on which to rest the hands. The depth is so great that the outstretched arms cannot find bottom, and every successive struggle only sinks the unhappy victim deeper down. Should no assistance be near, he will soon beat the snow to a solidity that will enable him to rise, but not in a very enviable or comfortable condition.
“Give me a hand, Harry,” gasped Hamilton, as he managed to twist his head upwards for a moment.
“Here you are,” cried Harry, holding out his hand and endeavouring to suppress his desire to laugh; “up with you,” and in another moment the poor youth was upon his legs, with every fold and crevice about his person stuffed to repletion with snow.
“Come, cheer up,” cried the accountant, giving the youth a slap on the back; “there’s nothing like experience — the proverb says that it even teaches fools, so you need not despair.”
Hamilton smiled as he endeavoured to shake off some of his white coating.
“We’ll be all right immediately,” added Harry; “I see that the country ahead is more open, so the walking will be easier.”
“Oh, I wish that I had not come!” said Hamilton, sorrowfully, “because I am only detaining you. But perhaps I shall do better as we get on. At any rate I cannot go back now, as I could never find the way.”
“Go back! of course not,” said the accountant; “in a short time we shall get into the old woodcutters’ track of last year, and although it’s not beaten at all, yet it is pretty level and open, so that we shall get on famously.”
“Go on then,” sighed Hamilton.
“Drive ahead,” laughed Harry; and without further delay they resumed their march, which was soon rendered more cheerful as the clouds rolled away, the snow ceased to fall, and the bright, full moon poured its rays down upon their path.
For a long time they proceeded in silence, the muffled sound of the snow, as it sank beneath their regular footsteps, being the only interruption to the universal stillness around. There is something very solemnising in a scene such as we are now describing — the calm tranquillity of the arctic night, the pure whiteness of the snowy carpet, which rendered the dark firs inky black by contrast; the clear, cold, starry sky, that glimmered behind the dark clouds, whose heavy masses, now rolling across the moon, partially obscured the landscape, and anon, passing slowly away, let a flood of light down upon the forest, which, penetrating between the thick branches, scattered the surface of the snow as it were with flakes of silver. Sleep has often been applied as a simile to nature in repose, but in this case death seemed more appropriate. So silent, so cold, so still was the scene, that it filled the mind with an indefinable feeling of dread, as if there was some mysterious danger near. Once or twice during their walk the three travellers paused to rest, but they spoke little, and in subdued voices, as if they feared to break the silence of the night.
“It is strange,” said Harry, in a low tone, as he walked beside Hamilton, “that such a scene as this always makes me think more than usual of home.”
“And yet it is natural,” replied the other, “because it reminds us more forcibly than any other that we are in a foreign land — in the lonely wilderness — far away from home.”
Both Harry and Hamilton had been trained in families where the Almighty was feared and loved, and where their minds had been early led to reflect upon the Creator when regarding the works of His hand: their thoughts, therefore, naturally reverted to another home, compared with which this world is indeed a cold, lonely wilderness; but on such subjects they feared to converse, partly from a dread of the ridicule of reckless companions, partly from ignorance of each other’s feelings on religious matters, and although their minds were busy their tongues were silent.
The ground over which the greater part of their path lay was a swamp, which, being now frozen, was a beautiful white plain, so that their advance was more rapid, until they approached the belt of woodland that skirts North River. Here they again encountered the heavy snow, which had been such a source of difficulty to Hamilton at setting out. He had profited by his former experience, however, and by the exercise of an excessive degree of caution managed to scramble through the woods tolerably well, emerging at last, along with his companions, on the bleak margin of what appeared to be the frozen sea.
North River, at this place, is several miles broad, and the opposite shore is so low that the snow causes it to appear but a slight undulation of the frozen bed of the river. Indeed, it would not be distinguishable at all, were it not for the willow bushes and dwarf pines, whose tops, rising above the white garb of winter, indicate that terra firma lies below.
“What a cold, desolate-looking place!” said Hamilton, as the party stood still to recover breath before taking their way over the plain to the spot where the accountant’s traps were set. “It looks much more like the frozen sea than a river.”
“It can scarcely be called a river at this place,” remarked the accountant, “seeing that the water hereabouts is brackish, and the tides ebb and flow a good way up. In fact, this is the extreme mouth of North River; and if you turn your eyes a little to the right, towards yonder ice-hummock in the plain, you behold the frozen sea itself.”
“Where are your traps set?” inquired Harry.
“Down in the hollow, behind yon point covered with brushwood.”
“Oh, we shall soon get to them, then; come along,” cried Harry.
Harry was mistaken, however. He had not yet learned by experience the extreme difficulty of judging of distance in the uncertain light of night — a difficulty that was increased by his ignorance of the locality, and by the gleams of moonshine that shot through the driving clouds, and threw confused, fantastic shadows over the plain. The point which he had at first supposed was covered with low bushes, and about a hundred yards off, proved to be clad in reality with large bushes and small trees, and lay at a distance of two miles.
“I think you have been mistaken in supposing the point so near, Harry,” said Hamilton, as he trudged on beside his friend.
“A fact evident to the naked eye,” replied Harry. “How do your feet stand it, eh? Beginning to lose bark yet?”
Hamilton did not feel quite sure. “I think,” said he, softly, “that there is a blister under the big toe of my left foot. It feels very painful.”
“If you feel at all uncertain about it, you may rest assured that there is a blister. These things don’t give much pain at first. I’m sorry to tell you, my dear fellow, that you’ll be painfully aware of the fact to-morrow. However, don’t distress yourself; it’s a part of the experience that every one goes through in this country. Besides,” said Harry, smiling, “we can send to the fort for medical advice.”
“Don’t bother the poor fellow, and hold your tongue, Harry,” said the accountant, who now began to tread more cautiously as he approached the place where the traps were set.
“How many traps have you?” inquired Harry, in a low tone.
“Three,” replied the accountant.
“Do you know I have a very strange feeling about my heels — or rather a want of feeling,” said Hamilton, smiling dubiously.
“A want of feeling! what do you mean?” cried the accountant, stopping suddenly and confronting his young friend.
“Oh, I daresay it’s nothing,” he exclaimed, looking as if ashamed of having spoken of it; “only I feel exactly as if both my heels were cut off, and I were walking on tiptoe!”
“Say you so? then right about wheel. Your heels are frozen, man, and you’ll lose them if you don’t look sharp.”
“Frozen!” cried Hamilton, with a look of incredulity.
“Ay, frozen; and it’s lucky you told me. I’ve a place up in the woods here, which I call my winter camp, where we can get you put to rights. But step out; the longer we are about it the worse for you.”
Harry Somerville was at first disposed to think that the accountant jested, but seeing that he turned his back towards his traps, and made for the nearest point of the thick woods with a stride that betokened thorough sincerity, he became anxious too, and followed as fast as possible.
The place to which the accountant led his young friends was a group of fir trees which grew on a little knoll, that rose a few feet above the surrounding level country. At the foot of this hillock a small rivulet or burn ran in summer, but the only evidence of its presence now was the absence of willow bushes all along its covered narrow bed. A level tract was thus formed by nature, free from all underwood, and running inland about the distance of a mile, where it was lost in the swamp whence the stream issued. The wooded knoll or hillock lay at the mouth of this brook, and being the only elevated spot in the neighbourhood, besides having the largest trees growing on it, had been selected by the accountant as a convenient place for “camping out” on, when he visited his traps in winter, and happened to be either too late or disinclined to return home. Moreover, the spreading fir branches afforded an excellent shelter alike from wind and snow in the centre of the clump, while from the margin was obtained a partial view of the river and the sea beyond. Indeed, from this look-out there was a very fine prospect on clear winter nights of the white landscape, enlivened occasionally by groups of arctic foxes, which might be seen scampering about in sport, and gambolling among the hummocks of ice like young kittens.
“Now we shall turn up here,” said the accountant, as he walked a short way up the brook before mentioned, and halted in front of what appeared to be an impenetrable mass of bushes.
