CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
MR. CLARE'S STORY.
The year before I left Canada, in the fall, as the autumn is calledthere, I started with a number of other young men in our neighbourhood,the county town of C---, to go about seventy-five miles up the Ottawa,what is called lumbering. The winter work is cutting down the trees andgetting them to the riverbank ready for the spring thaw, when they aregathered in rafts and floated down to a seaport. We went provided forsix months' severe life in the snowbound forests. Almost every man,too, took his gun or rifle. The journey to the site of our winter'sencampment was made on foot; our clothes, provision, stoves, and cookingutensils being loaded on an ox-cart that accompanied us, the oxen beingnecessary to haul the timber to the river, as our work extended back.
After a week's journey, we came to the spot selected for our winter'swork, on a bend of the river, ten miles above where the M--- joins theOttawa. Of course it is an utterly wild region there, never troddenexcept by hunters, and away beyond the usual search of lumbermen. I donot know why my uncle, the lumber-boss of our expedition, went sixtymiles beyond ordinary timber-cuttings. Perhaps it was to procure, on aspecial order, a remarkably fine choice of oak and pine, and that thatspot had been marked by him in some hunting trip or Indian survey asproducing the finest timber in the colony. It was grandly beautifulthere, where a valley, running at a right angle to the river's course,spread out at the bank to a semicircle, containing a hundred acres andmore of most magnificent trees--a vast forest city, inhabited by immensepatriarchs, grey-bearded with moss. Their dignity and stateliness andvenerable air were most impressive; and when they sang to the strongwind, chanting like the Druids of old, even I, who had so long lived ina country of forests, was filled with awe. And we, pigmies of twentyand thirty years, had invaded this sanctuary to slay its lords, whocounted age by centuries, and had lived and reigned here before ourforefathers first trode the continent. The quietude and hazy light ofIndian summer floated through the aisles and arches of the solemn forestcity as we first saw it--a leaf falling lazily now and then across theslanting beams of the setting sun--a startled caribou, on the discoveryof our approach, hurrying from his favourite haunt with lofty strides.All else in the picture before us was silent and motionless. Ourwinter's home! Those lofty coverts to be levelled to a bare,stump-marked plane! The old vikings of the primeval forests, to befashioned by the axe, to battle with the fury of the ocean, andreverberate with reports of hostile broadsides--to bear the flag oftheir country in peace and commerce, too, to far-distant lands--all astriumphantly as they had for ages wrestled only with the winds!
You laugh, Drake; and you are right, for I doubt if many of us thoughtthen in that strain. No, there is not much sentiment among lumbermen,and as we regarded those mighty oaks and pines, it was principally withspeculative calculation as to how many solid feet of prime timber "that'ar thicket would yield."
The first task was that of building log-houses--two for our twentyhands. In each was an immense chimney-piece, a cooking-stove, and a bedstretching the width of the house on the floor, with a mattress ofhemlock boughs. The rifles and shotguns hanging over the widefireplace, and a long pine table and rustic benches, completed thefurniture of our houses. The oxen and a company of hounds and mongrelshad their quarters in a low log barn between the houses. Our suppliesof fresh meat for the winter depended upon the good use of the firearms,and each week some one man of our number was detailed as hunter.
That winter of 1824 proved the coldest ever remembered in America, butthe long mild autumn gave no threats of the season that was to succeedit. Before the first snow--which was, I remember, on November 20--ourlittle forest colony was comfortably established, and a score of bigtrees laid stretched in the leaves.
In our company were many fine, intelligent young men--all taughtsomewhat, some tolerably well educated. None had been to college. Ilittle thought at that time of becoming a scholar and a clergyman. Theywere frank, generous, honourable fellows--honest and brave, butperfectly ungodly and reckless of Heaven's displeasure or the lifehereafter. After the day's labour, the evening was dissipated incard-playing, swearing, and hard drinking. Many a scene of riot andorgies did those log-walls witness. Such is generally the life in alumber-camp: hard, wholesome labour in the day, loud revelling at night.The rough, adventurous life, with no home charm or female influence torefine or restrain, is probably the principal reason of such lowpractice of life in the lumberman's camp.
The worst character in our company--and he happened to be in the samehouse with me--was a man of twenty-eight years of age, the son of aFrench father and American mother, and whose mother's grandfather hadbeen an Indian warrior of some renown in the early history of ourprovince. In him were united the savageness of the red man, the gaietyof the Frenchman, and the shrewdness of the Yankee. He was a large,handsome, and immensely muscular man, with dark complexion, smallstraight features, quick black eyes, and long raven-coloured beard andhair that hung down to his shoulders. Utterly wicked and unprincipledas he was, his merriment, off-hand and daring, lent him a certainfascination and popularity among us. He was very witty, his laugh wasrich and constant, he sang well, and played in a dashing way the violin.Every night he found some one to gamble with him. Every night he dranka pint of whisky, and kept the cabin in an uproar.
I greatly disliked this Guyon Vidocq; because he exerted a most banefulinfluence in our company, all of whom except the boss were younger thanhimself.
The best man of our number was John Bar, and a fine Christian,cheerful-hearted fellow he was. Although differing so widely from GuyonVidocq, he, without any effort to do so, and indeed unconsciously,disputed the palm of popularity with him. He was an active, powerfulman too, and though terribly pockmarked, had a most agreeablecountenance. He could troll a pleasant stave, and loved, when offhunting or at work with his axe sometimes, to sing one of ourC--- Sunday hymns, and whenever there was a respectable party in theevening, instead of the usual rioting set, he would willingly give them"The Fireside at home," "Merrily row, the Boat row," or any of the goodold-fashioned songs, pure and inspiriting. Not another of us was socheerful and industrious as John Bar. Drinking, gambling, or swearing,he was never guilty of, and when the evening orgies commenced hegenerally spoke to me, and we went off together to visit at the othercabin, or, if they were as bad there, find a warm corner with ourblankets in the log barn, and there chat away the hours until ourcompanions had calmed down and turned into their bunks. John Bar wasnot a meddler, nor what is contemptuously called, in such recklesssocieties as ours was, "a preacher;" but as he was loyal to his country,and loyal to his parents, he was far more loyal to his God. It wouldmadden any _man_ to hear his mother's name profanely used; it made JohnBar's heart sick--yes, and I have seen him tremble with rage--when thename of his Saviour was taken as an oath. Sometimes then, and at othertimes when the wickedness in camp was rampant, he would break out inwords of fire--words of fire that soon mingled with, and at last whollychanged to, words of love and entreaty. The others never resented theseattacks, these living sermons that his overpowering sense of duty andoutraged feeling made him speak. They felt the power of his influence,and acknowledged his goodness, for it was full of charity. Even GuyonVidocq resented not John Bar's corrections. He laughed, uttered anotheroath, and took himself away. But, alone, his face grew dark and angry,for he feared the power of John's goodness, and _hated_ him.
My turn as hunter did not come until December 18, and my companion fromthe other house was an old acquaintance of mine in C---. We had beenschoolmates and near neighbours when boys, but since that he had beenaway at sea. He was a quiet, amiable young man, and one of thesteadiest in our camp.
Sometimes such an expedition kept the hunters away for the entire week,and sometimes they would get separated. In either case the night'sshelter was a rough one, and dependent for safety and comfort upon theman's ingenuity and hardihood. But where two could keep together, boththe labour and danger of
those night camps in the snow were lessened.As game was killed, it was stowed away in what hunters call a _cache_--that is, a hole for hiding and securing what we wished from thedepredations of wolves and other wild animals; and then the ox-cart,when it was practicable--but generally, in winter, a sled drawn byhand--was sent out to bring in the game. My companion, Maine Mallory,and I started together up the frozen river; we agreed to keep together,if possible, and for that reason I carried a rifle and he adouble-barrelled shotgun of large bore for throwing buckshot. We weredressed as warmly as our exercise would allow, and had, strapped on ourbacks, blankets and snow-shoes. Besides which, each one's wallet heldfive pounds of bread, pepper and salt, powder, shot, and bullets, andpipe and tobacco, not forgetting the most important of all, flint andsteel. We proposed to follow up a branch of the Ottawa to a lakesouth-east of Mount K---, and there hunt with a party of very friendlyIndians, who had a most comfortable camp in a spot near the lake. Theywere collecting winter skins to send down by us in the spring for salein Montreal. Our first day's journey was about twenty miles on the hardfrozen river, covered with a crust of snow so stiff as to rendersnow-shoes unnecessary; but it was hard work, for the weather wasbitterly cold. We shot--that is, Maine Mallory did--a couple ofpartridges and a rabbit for our suppers, and halted early in a hemlockwood, where there was a northerly shelter of rocks; indeed, a crevice inthe rocks was almost a cave for us, a cave where we gathered quantitiesof hemlock for bedding, and built at its entrance a huge fire, which, bynight--when we had cut wood enough to last until morning, and had cookedand eaten our game--had made a deep hot bed of ashes. It was so cold,though, that we feared to sleep much; each took a turn at napping whilstthe other fed the fire. The wood was as quiet as the grave; not abreath of wind; no night-bird nor prowling animal; nothing but the finecrackling of the cold. When I watched, I almost _wished_ to see a wolfor bear--something to come in on the ghostly, silvered circle that thefirelight illumined; something to start my congealing blood with a roaror spring. In the morning we took to the river course again, and wenton, but resolved to try as hard as we could to reach the Indians' campbefore another night. It was twenty-seven miles, we calculated, but wedid it; and about nine o'clock heard the yelping of the Indian dogs thatsounded our approach while we were yet half a mile from the camp. Weknew the five Indians there; two came out to learn who drew near. Wornout and benumbed with cold, we gladly gave ourselves into their hands tobe warmed and fed. They were well provided against severe cold, andsoon made us comfortable; but we were too wearied the next day to do anyhunting.
The Indians said the weather was growing colder every day, and thehead-man, a middle-aged chief, called Ollabearqui, or Trick the Bear,told with an ominous grunt, that when the cold "grow bigger and biggerand the winds stay asleep, then Ollabearqui is afraid."
On the second morning of our stay among the Indians four of us went outafter moose. Two, Mallory and an Indian, were to go around a mountainto the eastward, and Ollabearqui and I were to follow a valley whichwould bring us to the foot of the same mountain on the farther side,where we agreed to meet the others. A large, gaunt, savage-faced houndfollowed my Indian companion. He and I had each a rifle. We wentquickly and silently through the white-clothed forests for about fourmiles. At length, where the small fall of the valley stream was held ingreat ice-shackles by the severe cold, and only a little pool of sixinches diameter kept alive just beneath the icicles, we came out of thewoods to a rocky, bushy foot and projection of the bare, stone-markedmountain. We had advanced to follow its base a short distance when myIndian companion, who had grown more careful and earnest lately, turnedsuddenly one side to a stiffly frozen covert of low bushes. The dog,before this most dull and dejected in his walk at his master's heels,now sprang ahead and into the bushes. In a moment he came out againwith his nose close to the snow, and as he emerged raised his head andgave one short, fierce howl. Ollabearqui spoke to him in the Indiantongue, and the dog renewed his search, going back again to the littlespring. The Indian at the same time pointed to the ground for me to seea track, but no mark of any kind was visible to my eye--not a scratch orimpression on the hard snow-crust. Now the dog left the trees again andled us up the steep, rough side of the mountain--a most difficult pathto climb, frozen as it was. One hundred and fifty feet or more up, thedog stopped before a mass of wildly piled rocks, and there barked loudlyand angrily. We reached the spot, Ollabearqui some minutes before me,and discovered the narrow mouth of a cavern, at which the hound wasfuriously digging. The Indian cocked his rifle, saying, "Panther! Lookout!" In a few moments the dog had made the hole big enough to admithis head and fore paws, and he attempted to crawl in, but at the samemoment we heard a rumbling growl, like an infuriated cat's, but twentytimes as strong, and the dog came out with a deep gash on the side ofhis head, cutting the mouth back a couple of inches. Again his masterordered him in. This time he entered entirely, and then we listened tothe furious noises of the two beasts, in a desperate struggle evidently.In ten minutes the commotion ceased, but the hound did not return. Ipeered into the cavern, but could see nothing. As I rose to my feetafter the attempt, I saw Ollabearqui, who had jumped to a point somewhatabove the cavern's entrance, with his rifle at his shoulder. I lookedwhere it pointed, and saw a tremendous panther-cat springing up themountain-side--it had probably crawled out from some other opening ofthe cave. At the same moment I heard a report, and saw the beast rollforward on its breast, but as quick as a flash it rose again and dashedat the shooter. It was all done in a second, but I could seeOllabearqui trying to draw his knife. The panther struck him, and helost his footing and rolled backwards from the ledge on which he stood;the panther saved itself from the fall, but bounded back, from the mereforce of the spring, I suppose, to the other side of the rock. Thesavage beast was not more than twelve yards from me, but seemed to beunconscious of my presence. Stunned by the heavy fall, Ollabearqui didnot rise, and I saw the panther crawl around the ledge to spring on hisprostrate foe. I brought up my rifle, and took deliberate aim at theanimal's shoulder. I fired. The panther made one tremendous leap, andfell with a dying yell on Ollabearqui's breast. I ran up, and, as Isupposed, found the Indian only bruised and stunned by his tumble. As Iremoved the dead beast from his body, Ollabearqui grunted and uttered alaconic "Good!" He then rose somewhat lamely, and he and I set aboutdigging at the cave. Soon we managed to pull out the dog, which wasdead, and then, pushing the panther's corpse into the cavern, we stoppedup both ends with heavy stones and went on, descending to a trackthrough the forest again.
The luck was all mine that day, for when we had nearly reached the pointwhere we were to meet our fellow-hunters, we heard, at a long distancebeyond, a noise that the Maine hunter knows well--a dull, clackingnoise, like the regular blows in a blacksmith's shop ever so far away.It was the trot of a moose. When at a slow pace they always striketheir hoofs together in that way, as a horse overreaches. We drewbehind some large trees, and, after ten minutes of anxious waiting,discerned a very large bull moose coming on a waddling trot towards us.He had probably been started by our companions, for he had his earspointed back, and turned his neck every few minutes as if to catch somesound behind. He passed near Ollabearqui first, at about eighty yards.There was only a click! Ollabearqui's rifle had snapped. The moose,alarmed by the noise, increased his pace greatly, but came directlytowards me, so that when I pulled trigger he was not farther off thantwenty-five feet. He fell dead, a bullet right through his heart. Mycompanion was not envious because of my good fortune. He scolded theerring rifle in his own language, and then said to me, "Good! good! Youwhite-man very big shoot--ugh!" We joined Mallory and the other Indiansoon after. They had only killed a fox. Together we made twosled-drags of the thickest, heaviest hemlock boughs, and loading thegame--the panther-cat and fox on one sled, and the moose on the other--pulled them to the Indian camp.
The weather was too bitterly cold for hunting. Even the wild animalsseemed not to go ab
out any more than their wants required. So Malloryand I decided to buy some more meat from the Indians, and get them to gowith us back to our lumbering station and help to carry the game onhand-sleds, which we could do with comparative ease on the river. Thebargain was made, and Ollabearqui and two other Indians started with usthe next morning, that we might reach our camp on the twenty-fourth, oron Christmas morning. No doubt the hope of getting whisky from our meninduced the Indians to assent so readily to the proposition. The sledenabled us to take plenty of heavy furs and blankets for protectionagainst the intense cold. Mallory and I also made a gallon of strongcoffee before leaving the Indian camp; that we were able to heat threeor four times a day, and would prove the greatest ally against the cold.
We made a long march the first day--nearly thirty miles--but sufferedgreatly from the unusually severe weather; and if our red friends hadnot taken us to an Indian mound to pass the night--which we used as ahut, packing all our furs against its stone sides and keeping up animmense fire in the centre, the smoke escaping where we removed a stoneon the top--and had we not had the coffee to heat and drink continually,I really believe we should all have been frozen to death that terriblenight. As it was, I remember it as the most painful and comfortlessnight I ever passed.
The morning came, and we could stir about; but the sun seemed to give nowarmth, and a light wind was blowing to make the cold more searching.For some reason I could not explain to myself, I felt strangely anxiousto get home. In the fitful naps I had caught during the night I hadsuffered from most painful dreams; but all I could remember of them werethe faces of Guyon Vidocq and John Bar, and no sight of the camp or ofthe other men, only heaps of cinders where the log-houses stood. Assoon as we had had our breakfast I urged my companions to get under wayquickly. To my astonishment the Indians answered, "Us no go--us goback--so cold, ugh!--pipe of the Great Spirit gone out--us go back!" Toour questionings and urgings they only grunted, shook their heads, andanswered as before. So all Mallory and I could do was to let thefellows take their way. We packed the game in the stone mound, andpiled stones and brushwood against its entrance and smoke-hole; and thenwith our guns, and the jug of what was left of the coffee on a slingbetween us, we started on our way.
That day's journey is a distressing remembrance. Despite the cold, weadvanced briskly enough until noon. Then the wind grew stronger, whilstwe got weak from the exposure. The cold increased. A numbness of mindand body was creeping over us, and our limbs were heavy to move. Atabout three we stopped, and in what shelter we could find, built a greatfire; and heating the coffee as hot as we could swallow it, drank nearlyall that remained, and ate a dinner. That strengthened and warmed us upenough to help us along until sunset. We were then only four or fivemiles from camp; but had not the wind gone down with the sun, we musthave perished before reaching home, for from that time our sufferingsincreased, and both of us grew drowsy. Several times Mallory's haltingsteps stopped entirely, and he would have gone into the fatal sleepwhich precedes death from freezing, had I not shaken him and pushed andurged him. To me it was like walking in a sleep.
I dragged along almost unconsciously, and yet knowing enough to keep theriver track and move my legs. The fact that Mallory was nearer deaththan I--which was shown by his constant attempts to lie down--kept meup. The sense of responsibility aroused my mind. I would implore himto try to walk for a little while longer, and then push him along again.About eight o'clock I got a fire going again, and made Mallory drink,the last drop. I told him we were not more than half a mile from thecabins--that he must rouse up now, and strive with me to reach ourfriends. "Was he willing to die," I asked, "just as we were on thethreshold of safety?" The coffee helped him a little, but I had hadnone, so in that last struggle he was as strong as I. That half-milewas only accomplished after an hour's walking, and in every minute ofthat hour I felt that I could not make another effort.
At length we staggered to the door of Maine Mallory's cabin, and were_saved_! John Bar, who was in there, a refugee from the Christmas Evefrolic in our own cabin, rubbed my limbs, and poured cup after cup ofstrong coffee down my throat, and, when I was sufficiently recovered,gave me a good supper. The same was done for Mallory. But even in thecabin, with two immense fires and warm clothing, it was difficult tokeep warm. The water in the drinking pail, four feet from the stove,was one mass of ice. Outside, that terrible night, the thermometer inMontreal, I heard afterwards, fell to 23 degrees below zero. With usthere was no thermometer to mark the temperature, but it must have beenlower.
Half of the gang of my log-house, including John Bar, were spending theevening where I had sought shelter, too wearied to go a hundred yardsfarther to my own quarters. The other five, one of whom was GuyonVidocq, were having a regular drinking and gambling bout in the othercabin. We heard their yells from time to time. At about eleven o'clockJohn Bar left us to seek his bed. I doubted if he would find his bedvery agreeable amid such an orgy as was reported to be going on underthe other roof; so I, thoroughly enjoying the bright fire and new lifeafter the exposure of the last few days, lingered a while longer, thoughutterly wearied, and answered the questions about our hunt. MaineMallory had turned into bed long ago. But when my watch showed it wastwelve, I got up to seek a night's sleep.
As I stepped into the intensely cold air, I was actually startled by thesolemnity and beauty of the scene; for the moon had risen since myreturn to camp, and flooded the winter scene in the most gloriousradiance. The gigantic trees were magnified in the pure, clear light,and their dark shadows stretched far on the glistening snow. Here andthere were the fallen timbers mounded over by drifts. Beyond, the whitemountains faded away to the pale sky. Not a sound, not a murmur ofwind, not a voice to break the awful stillness.
With great thankfulness for my deliverance from the stark death that hadbeen so near me all day, I looked up to heaven and remembered theblessed birth eighteen centuries ago when Jesus Christ came to the earthas a little babe.
Turning my steps to the other log-house, I wondered to see no light, andwas surprised, too, that the riot there had ceased by midnight. As Iwalked the hundred yards, the song of the heavenly hosts of old soundedin my heart: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good willtoward men!"
Drawing near the cabin, I was amazed to see the door stretched wideopen, and no light within. Instantly a dark foreboding fell upon me,and I remembered the fearful visions of the night before. What could itbe that I was to encounter? I ran to the open door, and entered. Nofire! only those few dull ashes. What did it mean? "Boys," I cried,"boys, where are you?" No reply. "Boys! Langdon! Vidocq! Bar!" andthere came from near me a stifled answer, as if the speaker was but halfawake. Trembling violently, I struck a match, and beheld John Bar,lying almost at my feet in a bundle of furs, and a pool of blood by him,and four other figures in everyday garments, without any other covering,stretched in different attitudes on the floor--sleeping, I thought.Yes, they were sleeping, but in death. Where they had fallen in drunkenstupor the ice-breath of Death had stiffened them for his own.
"Is that you, Clare? Thank God! I am bleeding and freezing to death."
"Who harmed you, Bar? Tell me first--Vidocq? I thought so. In asecond we'll help you."
Quicker than I can write it, I had run to the other cabin, aroused theinmates, and we had all reached the fatal cabin.
Some of us carefully removed Bar to the second house, whilst otherschafed the bodies on the floor and poured warm drinks into their mouthsto revive the spark of life, if it yet lingered. But they were frozento death. The log-cabin in which my companions and I had lived forthree months was now the lumberman's dead-house. There the four bodieswere to rest until they could be moved to their graves. The nextmorning Guyon Vidocq's body was laid beside those of his companions. Hehad been found stretched dead on the riverbank.
Such was our Christmas.
It appeared that when John Bar had gone to his cabin he found four ofthe in
mates lying drunk on the floor, the fires expiring, and GuyonVidocq in a delirium of intoxication pulling everything to pieces--table, benches, etcetera--to pile them in the corner, and, then, as hesaid, light a real Christmas bonfire. John Bar immediately saw thedanger that the poor creatures on the floor were in, and whilst he triedto get fires going in the stove and chimney-place as quickly aspossible, he also exerted his influence to soothe Guyon Vidocq and makehim cease his crazy work. But the presence of Bar seemed to maddenVidocq immediately. From the time the former entered the house, Vidocqcursed him with every vile oath his drunken lips could frame, and, whenBar attempted remonstrance and command, the infuriated maniac suddenlycaught up a table knife, and plunged it in his opponent's side. Thenwith a yell Vidocq rushed from the house, leaving the door thrown backfor the deadly cold to enter and complete his work. John Bar said thathe fell when the knife struck him; that he had strength to crawl to apile of furs and blankets; that he even tried to cover his companions,but could not; that he called for help as long as he had voice; andthat, when I entered, an hour after the assault, he had lost allconsciousness. The bleeding had ceased, but the sleep of the frozen wasfalling on him.
Those events of Christmas Day broke up the lumber-camp.
John Bar was not dangerously wounded, and when we were able to carry himon a sled to the nearest settlement he quickly recovered.
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"And now, boys, you have had your stories, so let's off to bed. CaptainMugford, Ugly has gone to sleep over mine. He prefers sea narratives."
But Ugly heard his name, and broke off in the middle of a snore to comeand put his paws apologetically on Mr Clare's knee.
The sail Harry and I had watched disappeared behind the point of rockssoon after Mr Clare commenced his story, and while waiting anxiouslyfor her reappearance we listened with much interest to Mr Clare; and ashe was finishing she came out again and stood to the south-west.Determined to investigate the mystery ourselves, we said nothing to theothers. By the time we reached the deck to take our way homeward thelittle sail was hardly distinguishable. As no one noticed it, Harry andI went to bed, partners in a secret full of romance to us.