CHAPTER SEVEN.
A TREMENDOUS STORM AND OTHER EXPERIENCES.
It need hardly be said that we all sprang up when the thunder-clap shookthe earth, and began hastily to make preparation for the coming storm.The broad flat branches of a majestic pine formed a roof to ourencampment. Dragging our provisions and blankets as near as possible tothe stem of the tree, we covered them up with one of our oiled-cloths,which were somewhat similar in appearance and texture to the tarpaulingsof seafaring men, though light in colour. Then we ran down to the lake,carried all our goods hastily to the same spot, covered them up in likemanner, and finally dragged our boat as far up on the beach as possible.
Several blinding flashes and deafening peals saluted us while we werethus employed, but as yet not a drop of rain or sigh of wind disturbedus, and we were congratulating ourselves on having managed the matter sopromptly, when several huge drops warned us to seek shelter.
"That will do, boys," cried Lumley, referring to the boat, "she's safe."
"_Voila! vite_!" shouted Marcelle, our volatile son of Vulcan, as thefirst big drops of rain descended on him.
He sprang towards the sheltering tree with wild activity. So, indeed,did we all, but the rain was too quick for us. Down it came with thesuddenness and fury of a shower-bath, and most of us were nearlydrenched before we reached our pine. There was a good deal of shoutingand laughter at first, but the tremendous forces of nature that had beenlet loose were too overwhelming to permit of continued levity. In a fewminutes the ground near our tree became seamed with little glancingrivulets, while the rain continued to descend like straight heavy rodsof crystal which beat on the earth with a dull persistent roar. Erelong the saturated soil refused to drink in the superabundance, and thecrystal rods, descending into innumerable pools, changed the roar intothe plash of many waters.
We stood close together for some time, gazing at this scene in silentsolemnity, when a few trickling streams began to fall upon us, showingthat our leafy canopy, thick though it was, could not protect usaltogether from such a downpour.
"We'd better rig up one of the oiled-cloths, and get under it," Isuggested.
"Do so," said our chief.
Scarcely had he spoken when a flash of lightning, brighter than any thathad gone before, revealed to us the fact that the distant part of thehitherto placid lake was seething with foam.
"A squall! Look out!" shouted Lumley, grasping the oiled-cloth we wereabout to spread.
Every one shouted and seized hold of something under the strongconviction that action of some sort was necessary to avert danger. Butall our voices were silenced in a dreadful roar of thunder which, asDonald Bane afterwards remarked, seemed to split the universe from stemto stern. This was instantly followed by a powerful whirlwind whichcaught our oiled-cloth, tore it out of our hands, and whisked it up intothe tree-tops, where it stuck fast and flapped furiously, while some ofour party were thrown down, and others seemed blown away altogether asthey ran into the thick bush for shelter.
For myself, without any definite intentions, and scarce knowing what Iwas about, I seized and clung to the branches of a small tree with thetenacity of a drowning man--unable to open my eyes while sticks andleaves, huge limbs of trees and deluges of water flew madly past,filling my mind with a vague impression that the besom of destructionhad become a veritable reality, and that we were all about to be sweptoff the face of the earth together.
Strange to say, in this crisis I felt no fear. I suppose I had not timeor power to think at all, and I have since that day thought that Godperhaps thus mercifully sends relief to His creatures in their direstextremity--just as He sends relief to poor human beings, when sufferingintolerable pain, by causing stupor.
The outburst was as short-lived as it was furious. Suddenly the windceased; the floods of rain changed to slight droppings, and finallystopped altogether, while the thunder growled itself into sullen reposein the far distance.
But what a scene of wreck was left behind! We could not of course, seethe full extent of the mischief, for the night still remained intenselydark, but enough was revealed in the numerous uprooted trees which layall round us within the light of our rekindled camp-fire. From most ofthese we had been protected by the great pine, under which we had takenshelter, though one or two had fallen perilously near to us--in one casefalling on and slightly damaging our baggage.
Our first anxiety, of course, was our boat, towards which we ran as ifby one impulse, the instant the wind had subsided.
To our horror it was gone!
Only those who know what it is to traverse hundreds of leagues of analmost tenantless wilderness, and have tried to push a few miles throughroadless forests that have grown and fallen age after age in undisturbedentanglement since the morning of creation, can imagine the state of ourminds at this discovery.
"Search towards the woods, men," said Lumley, who, whatever he mighthave felt, was the only one amongst us who seemed unexcited. We couldtrace no sign of anxiety in the deep tones of his steady voice.
It was this quality--I may remark in passing--this calm, equable flow ofself-possession in all circumstances, no matter how trying, thatrendered our young leader so fit for the work, with which he had beenentrusted, and which caused us all to rely on him with unquestioningconfidence. He never seemed uncertain how to act even in the mostdesperate circumstances, and he never gave way to discontent ordepression. A gentle, good-humoured expression usually played on hiscountenance, yet he could look stern enough at times, and even fierce,as we all knew.
While we were stumbling in the dark in the direction indicated, we heardthe voice of Salamander shouting:--
"Here it am! De bot--busted on de bank!"
And "busted" it certainly was, as we could feel, for it was too dark tosee.
"Fetch a blazing stick, one of you," cried Lumley.
A light revealed the fact that our boat, in being rolled bodily up thebank by the gale, had got several of her planks damaged and two of herribs broken.
"Let's be thankful," I said, on further examination, "that no damage hasbeen done to keel or gun'le."
"Nor to stem or stern-post," added Lumley. "Come, we shan't be delayedmore than a day after all."
He was right. The whole of the day that followed the storm we spent inrepairing the boat, and drying such portions of the goods as had gotwet, as well as our own garments. The weather turned out to be brightand warm, so that when we lay down to rest, everything was ready for astart at the earliest gleam of dawn.
"Lumley," said I, next day, as we rested after a good spell at the oars,"what would have become of us if our boat had been smashed to pieces, orbodily blown away?"
"Nothing very serious would have become of us, I think," he replied withan amused look.
"But consider," I said; "we are now hundreds of miles away from MuskratHouse--our nearest neighbour--with a dense wilderness and no roadsbetween. Without a boat we could neither advance nor retreat. Wemight, of course, try to crawl along river banks and lake shores, whichwould involve the wading or swimming of hundreds of rivulets and rivers,with provisions and blankets on our backs, and even then winter would bedown on us, and we should all be frozen to death before the end of thejourney. Besides, even if we were to escape, how could we ever showface after leaving all our supply of goods and stores to rot in thewilderness?"
"Truly," replied my friend with a short laugh, "the picture you paint isnot a lively one, but it is I who ought to ask _you_ to consider. Thereare many ways in which we might overcome our supposed difficulties. Iwill explain; and let me begin by pointing out that your first errorlies in conceiving an improbability and an impossibility. In the firstplace it is improbable that our boat should get `smashed to pieces.'Such an event seldom occurs in river navigation, except in the case ofgoing over something like Niagara. In the second place it is impossiblethat a boat should be blown bodily away. But let us suppose that, forthe sake of argument, something of the kind had happened, an
d that ourboat was damaged beyond repair, or lost; could we not, think you,fabricate a couple of birch-bark canoes in a country where such splendidbirch-trees grow, and with these proceed to our destination?"
"Very true," said I, "that did not occur to me; but," I continued,waxing argumentative, "what if there had been no birch-trees in thispart of the country?"
"Why then, Max, there would be nothing to prevent our placing most ofour goods _en cache_, construct a small portable raft for crossingstreams, and start off each man with a small load for Big Otter's home,at which we should arrive in a week or two, and there set about theerection of huts to shelter us, begin a fishery, and remain until wintershould set fast the lakes and rivers, cover the land with snow, and thusenable us to go back for our goods, and bring them forward on sledges,with aid, perhaps, from the red-men."
"True, true, Lumley, that might be done."
"Or," continued my friend, "we might stay where the disaster overtookus, remain till winter, and send Big Otter on to tell his people that wewere coming. When one plan fails, you know, all you've got to do is totry another. There is only one sort of accident that might cause us adeal of trouble, and some loss--and that is, our boat getting smashedand upset in a rapid, and our goods scattered. Even in that case wemight recover much of what could swim, but lead and iron would be lost,and powder damaged. However we won't anticipate evil. Look! there is asight that ought to banish all forebodings from our minds."
He pointed as he spoke to an opening ahead of us, which revealed abeautiful little lake, whose unruffled surface was studded withpicturesque bush-clad islets. Water-fowl of many kinds were swimmingabout on its surface, or skimming swiftly over it. It seemed sopeaceful that I was led to think of it as a miniature paradise.
"Come, Henri, chante, sing," cried Lumley, with a touch of enthusiasm ineye and tone.
Our carpenter, Coppet, was by general consent our leading singer. Hepossessed a sweet tenor voice, and always responded to a call with awillingness that went far to counteract the lugubrious aspect of hisvisage. On this occasion he at once struck up the canoe-song, "_A laclaire fontaine_," which, besides being plaintive and beautiful, seemedto me exceedingly appropriate, for we were at that time crossing aheight of land, and the clear, crystal waters over which we skimmedformed indeed the fountain-head of some of the great northern rivers.
The sudden burst of song had a wonderful effect upon the denizens ofClear Lake, as we named the sheet of water; for, after a brief momentarypause in their chatter--as if of incredulity and blazing surprise--theyall arose at once in such myriads that the noise of their wings was notunlike what I may style muffled thunder.
Before the song was well finished we had reached the other end of thelakelet, and found that a deep river ran out of it in a nor'easterlydirection. The current of the river was powerful, and we had notproceeded many miles down its course when we came to a series ofturbulent rapids.
As we entered them I could not help recalling Lumley's remarks about therisks we ran in descending rapids; but no thought of actual dangeroccurred to me until I saw Blondin, who was our bowman, draw in his oar,grasp a long pole with which he had provided himself, and stand up inthe bow, the better to look out inquiringly ahead.
Now, it must be explained that the bowman's is the most important postin river navigation in the Nor'-west--equal, at all events, to that ofsteersman. In fact the two act in concert; the bowman, whose positioncommands the best view of rocks and dangers ahead, giving direction, andthe watchful steersman acting sympathetically with his long oar orsweep, so that should the bowman with his pole thrust the head of theboat violently to the right the steersman sweeps its stern sharply tothe left, thus causing the craft to spin round and shoot aside from thedanger, whatever it may be. Of course the general flow and turmoil of arapid indicates pretty clearly to skilled eyes where the deepest waterlies; nevertheless, in spite of knowledge, skill, and experience,disasters will happen at times.
"Monsieur," said Blondin in French to Lumley, as we gained a smoothpiece of water at the foot of a short rapid, "I know not the rocksahead. It may be well to land and look."
"Do so, Blondin."
We ran the boat's head on shore, and while the bowman and our leaderwent to look at the rapids in advance, most of our men got out theirpipes and began to chat quietly.
Our scouts quickly returned, saying that the rapids, though rough, werepracticable. Soon we were among them, darting down with what would haveseemed, to any inexperienced eye, perilous velocity. The river at theplace was about a hundred yards wide, with an unusually rugged channel,but with a distinctly marked run--deep and tortuous--in the middle. Onboth sides of the run, sweeping and curling surges told of rocks closeto the surface, and in many places these showed black edges above water,which broke the stream into dazzling foam.
"Have a care, Blondin," said our chief, in a warning voice, as thebowman made a sudden and desperate shove with his pole. A side currenthad swept us too far in the direction of a forbidding ledge, to touch onwhich might have been fatal. But Henri Coppet, who acted as steersmanas well as carpenter, was equal to the occasion. He bent his lanky formalmost double, took a magnificent sweep with the oar, and secondedBlondin's shove so ably that we passed the danger like an arrow, withnothing but a slight graze.
That danger past we were on the brink of another, almost before we hadtime to think. At the time I remember being deeply impressed, in aconfused way, with the fact that, whatever might await us below, therewas now no possibility of our returning up stream. We were emphatically"in for it," and our only hope lay in the judgment, boldness, andcapacity of the two men who guided our frail bark--doubly frail, itseemed to me, when contrasted with the waters that surged around, andthe solid rocks that appeared to bar our way in all directions. Evensome of our men at the oars, whose only duty was to obey orderspromptly, began to show symptoms of anxiety, if not of fear.
"Smooth water ahead," muttered Lumley, pointing to a small lake intowhich the turbulent river ran about a quarter of a mile further down.
"All right soon," I said, but just as I spoke the boat lightly touched arock. Blondin saw that there was not sufficient depth in a passagewhich he had intended to traverse. With a shout to the steersman hethrust his pole over the side with all his might. The obedient craftturned as if on a pivot, and would have gone straight into a safe streamin another second, if Blondin's pole had not stuck fast either in mud orbetween two rocks.
In a moment our bowman was whisked over the side as if he had been afeather. Letting go the pole he caught the gunwale and held on. Theboat was carried broadside on the rocks, and the gushing water raisedher upper side so high that she was on the point of rolling over whenall of us--I think instinctively--sprang to that side and bore her down.
"Over the side, some of you," cried Lumley, leaping into the water onthe lower side, followed by six of us, including myself. Some of uswere breast deep; others, on rocks, stood higher.
"Now--together--shove!--and hold on!"
There was no need to give us the latter caution.
Our boat shot into deep water and we all held on for life. Fortunatelythe more open part of the rapid had been gained. The steersman withoutaid could keep us in deep water, and, before we had fairly scrambledback into our places, we were floating safely on the quiet lake intowhich the river ran.
You may be sure that we had matter not only for gratulation but forconversation that night at supper; for, after discussing our recentadventure in all its phases, nearly every one of our party had numeroussimilar incidents to tell of--either as having occurred to himself, orto his friends. But the pleasure of that night's intercourse and reposewas materially diminished by a pest, with which for some time previouslywe had not been much afflicted.
Who has not heard of mosquitoes? We may inform those who have neverseen or felt them that they are peculiarly virulent and numerous andvicious and bloodthirsty in the swampy lands of North America, and thatnight we had g
ot into a region of swamps. It may also, perhaps, beunknown to some people that mosquitoes do not slumber--unless, indeed,they do it on a preconcerted plan of relieving guard. Either there is a"day and night shift" or they do not rest at all. As a consequence _we_did not rest. Groans and maledictions were the order of the night. Wespent much time in slapping our own faces, and immolated hundreds of thefoe at each slap, but thousands came on to refill the ranks. We buriedour heads under our blankets, but could not sleep for suffocation. Someof the men left their faces exposed, went to sleep in desperateexhaustion, after hours of fruitless warfare, and awoke with eyes allbut shut up, and cheeks like dumplings. Others lay down to leeward ofthe fire and spent the night in a compound experience of blood-suckingand choking. One ingenious man--I think it was Salamander--wrapped hisvisage in a kerchief, leaving nothing exposed save the point of his nosefor breathing purposes. In the morning he arose with something like ahuge strawberry on the end of his prominent feature.
Indeed, it was a wearing night to follow such a trying day!