The Young Fur Traders

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER ELEVEN.

  CHARLEY AND HARRY BEGIN THEIR SPORTING CAREER, WITHOUT MUCH SUCCESS--WHISKY-JOHN CATCHING.

  The place in the boats usually allotted to gentlemen in the Company'sservice while travelling is the stern. Here the lading is so arrangedas to form a pretty level hollow, where the flat bundles containingtheir blankets are placed, and a couch is thus formed that rivalsEastern effeminacy in luxuriance. There are occasions, however, whenthis couch is converted into a bed, not of thorns exactly, but ofcorners; and really it would be hard to say which of the two is the moredisagreeable. Should the men be careless in arranging the cargo, theinevitable consequence is that "monsieur" will find the leg of an ironstove, the sharp edge of a keg, or the corner of a wooden box occupyingthe place where his ribs should be. So common, however, is thisoccurrence that the clerks usually superintend the arrangementsthemselves, and so secure comfort.

  On a couch, then, of this kind, Charley and Harry now found themselvesconstrained to sit all morning--sometimes asleep, occasionally awake,and always earnestly desiring that it was time to put ashore forbreakfast, as they had now travelled for four hours without halt, excepttwice for about five minutes, to let the men light their pipes.

  "Charley," said Harry Somerville to his friend, who sat beside him, "itstrikes me that we are to have no breakfast at all to-day. Here have Ibeen holding my breath and tightening my belt, until I feel much morelike a spider or a wasp than a--a--"

  "_Man_, Harry; out with it at once, don't be afraid," said Charley.

  "Well, no, I wasn't going to have said _that_ exactly, but I was goingto have said a voyageur; only I recollected our doings this morning, andhesitated to take the name until I had won it."

  "It's well that you entertain so modest an opinion of yourself," saidMr Park, who still smoked his pipe as if he were impressed with theidea that to stop for a moment would produce instant death. "I may tellyou for your comfort, youngsters, that we shan't breakfast till we reachyonder point."

  The shores of Lake Winnipeg are flat and low, and the point indicated byMr Park lay directly in the light of the sun, which now shone with suchsplendour in the cloudless sky, and flashed on the polished water, thatit was with difficulty they could look towards the point of land.

  "Where is it?" asked Charley, shading his eyes with his hand; "I cannotmake out anything at all."

  "Try again, my boy; there's nothing like practice."

  "Ah, yes! I make it out now; a faint shadow just under the sun. Isthat it?"

  "Ay, and we'll break our fast _there_."

  "I would like very much to break your head _here_," thought Charley, buthe did not say it, as, besides being likely to produce unpleasantconsequences, he felt that such a speech to an elderly gentleman wouldbe highly improper; and Charley had _some_ respect for grey hairs fortheir own sake, whether the owner of them was a good man or a goose.

  "What shall we do, Harry? If I had only thought of keeping out a book."

  "I know what _I_ shall do," said Harry, with a resolute air:

  "I'll go and shoot!"

  "Shoot!" cried Charley. "You don't mean to say that you're going towaste your powder and shot by firing at the clouds! for, unless you take_them_, I see nothing else here."

  "That's because you don't use your eyes," retorted Harry. "Will youjust look at yonder rock ahead of us, and tell me what you see."

  Charley looked earnestly at the rock, which to a cursory glance seemedas if composed of whiter stone on the top. "Gulls, I declare!" shoutedCharley, at the same time jumping up in haste.

  Just then one of the gulls, probably a scout sent out to watch theapproaching enemy, wheeled in a circle overhead. The two youths draggedtheir guns from beneath the thwarts of the boat, and rummaged about ingreat anxiety for shot-belts and powder-horns. At last they were found;and having loaded, they sat on the edge of the boat, looking out forgame with as much--ay, with _more_ intense interest than a BlackfootIndian would have watched for a fat buffalo cow.

  "There he goes," said Harry; "take the first shot, Charley."

  "Where? where is it?"

  "Right ahead. Look out!"

  As Harry spoke, a small white gull, with bright-red legs and beak, flewover the boat so close to them that, as the guide remarked, "he couldsee it wink!" Charley's equanimity, already pretty well disturbed, wasentirely upset at the suddenness of the bird's appearance; for he hadbeen gazing intently at the rock when his friend's exclamation drew hisattention in time to see the gull within about four feet of his head.With a sudden "Oh!" Charley threw forward his gun, took a short,wavering aim, and blew the cocktail feather out of Baptiste's hat; whilethe gull sailed tranquilly away, as much as to say, "If _that's_ all youcan do, there's no need for me to hurry!"

  "Confound the boy!" cried Mr Park. "You'll be the death of some oneyet; I'm convinced of that."

  "Parbleu! you may say that, c'est vrai," remarked the voyageur, with arueful gaze at his hat, which, besides having its ornamental feathershattered, was sadly cut up about the crown.

  The poor lad's face became much redder than the legs or beak of the gullas he sat down in confusion, which he sought to hide by busily reloadinghis gun; while the men indulged in a somewhat witty and sarcasticcriticism of his powers of shooting, remarking, in flattering terms, onthe precision of the shot that blew Baptiste's feather into atoms, anddeclaring that if every shot he fired was as truly aimed he wouldcertainly be the best in the country.

  Baptiste also came in for a share of their repartee. "It serves youright," said the guide, laughing, "for wearing such things on thevoyage. You should put away such foppery till you return to thesettlement, where there are _girls_ to admire you." (Baptiste hadcontinued to wear the tall hat, ornamented with gold cords and tassels,with which he had left Red River.)

  "Ah!" cried another, pulling vigorously at his oar, "I fear that Mariewon't look at you, now that all your beauty's gone."

  "'Tis not quite gone," said a third; "there's all the brim and half atassel left, besides the wreck of the remainder."

  "Oh, I can lend you a few fragments," retorted Baptiste, endeavouring toparry some of the thrusts. "They would improve you vastly."

  "No, no, friend, gather them up and replace them; they will look morepicturesque and becoming now. I believe if you had worn them muchlonger all the men in the boat would have fallen in love with you."

  "By St. Patrick," said Mike Brady, an Irishman who sat at the oarimmediately behind the unfortunate Canadian, "there's more than enougho' rubbish scattered over mysilf nor would do to stuff a fither-bedwith."

  As Mike spoke, he collected the fragments of feathers and ribbons withwhich the unlucky shot had strewn him, and placed them slyly on the topof the dilapidated hat, which Baptiste, after clearing away the wreck,had replaced on his head.

  "It's very purty," said Mike, as the action was received by the crewwith a shout of merriment.

  Baptiste was waxing wrathful under this fire, when the general attentionwas drawn again towards Charley and his friend, who, having now gotclose to the rock, had quite forgotten their mishap in the excitement ofexpectation.

  This excitement in the shooting of such small game might perhapssurprise our readers, did we not acquaint them with the fact thatneither of the boys had, up to that time, enjoyed much opportunity ofshooting. It is true that Harry had once or twice borrowed thefowling-piece of the senior clerk, and had sallied forth with a beatingheart to pursue the grouse which are found in the belt of woodlandskirting the Assiniboine River near to Fort Garry. But theseexpeditions were of rare occurrence, and they had not sufficed to ruboff much of the bounding excitement with which he loaded and fired atanything and everything that came within range of his gun. Charley, onthe other hand, had never fired a shot before, except out of an oldhorse-pistol; having up to this period been busily engaged at school,except during the holidays, which he always spent in the society of hissister Kate, whose tastes were not such as were likely to induce him tota
ke up the gun, even if he had possessed such a weapon. Just beforeleaving Red River, his father presented him with his own gun, remarking,as he did so, with a sigh, that _his_ day was past now; and adding, thatthe gun was a good one for shot or ball, and if he (Charley) broughtdown _half_ as much game with it as he (Mr Kennedy) had brought down inthe course of his life, he might consider himself a crack shotundoubtedly.

  It was not surprising, therefore, that the two friends went nearly madwith excitation when the whole flock of gulls rose into the air like awhite cloud, and sailed in endless circles and gyrations above andaround their heads--flying so close at times that they might almost havebeen caught by the hand. Neither was it surprising that innumerableshots were fired, by both sportsmen, without a single bird being a whitthe worse for it, or themselves much the better; the energetic effortsmade to hit being rendered abortive by the very eagerness which causedthem to miss. And this was the less extraordinary, too, when it isremembered that Harry in his haste loaded several times without shot,and Charley rendered the right barrel of his gun _hors de combat_ atlast, by ramming down a charge of shot and omitting powder altogether,whereby he snapped and primed, and snapped and primed again, till hegrew desperate, and then suspicious of the true cause, which he finallyrectified with much difficulty.

  Frequently the gulls flew straight over the heads of the youths,--whichproduced peculiar consequences, as in such cases they took aim while thebirds were approaching; but being somewhat slow at taking aim, the gullswere almost perpendicularly above them ere they were ready to shoot, sothat they were obliged to fire hastily in _hope_, feeling that they werelosing their balance, or give up the chance altogether.

  Mr Park sat grimly in his place all the while, enjoying the scene, andsmoking.

  "Now then, Charley," said he, "take that fellow."

  "Which? where? Oh, if I could only get _one_!" said Charley, looking upeagerly at the screaming birds, at which he had been staring so long, intheir varying and crossing flight, that his sight had become hopelesslyunsteady.

  "There! Look sharp: fire away!"

  Bang went Charley's piece, as he spoke, at a gull which flew straighttowards him, but so rapidly that it was directly above his head; indeed,he was leaning a little backwards at the moment, which caused him tomiss again, while the recoil of the gun brought matters to a climax, bytoppling him over into Mr Park's lap, thereby smashing that gentleman'spipe to atoms. The fall accidentally exploded the second barrel,causing the butt to strike Charley in the pit of his stomach--as if toram him well home into Mr Park's open arms--and hitting with a strayshot a gull that was sailing high up in the sky in fancied security. Itfell with a fluttering crash into the boat while the men were laughingat the accident.

  "Didn't I say so?" cried Mr Park, wrathfully, as he pitched Charley outof his lap, and spat out the remnants of his broken pipe.

  Fortunately for all parties, at this moment the boat approached a spoton which the guide had resolved to land for breakfast; and seeing theunpleasant predicament into which poor Charley had fallen, he assumedthe strong tones of command with which guides are frequently gifted, andcalled out,--"Ho, ho! a terre! a terre! to land! to land! Breakfast, myboys; breakfast!"--at the same time sweeping the boat's head shoreward,and running into a rocky bay, whose margin was fringed by a growth ofsmall trees. Here, in a few minutes, they were joined by the otherboats of the brigade, which had kept within sight of each other nearlythe whole morning.

  While travelling through the wilds of North America in boats, voyageursalways make a point of landing to breakfast. Dinner is a meal withwhich they are unacquainted, at least on the voyage, and luncheon islikewise unknown. If a man feels hungry during the day, thepemmican-bag and its contents are there; he may pause in his work at anytime, for a minute, to seize the axe and cut off a lump, which he maydevour as he best can; but there is no going ashore--no resting fordinner. Two great meals are recognised, and the time allotted to theirpreparation and consumption held inviolable--breakfast and supper: thefirst varying between the hours of seven and nine in the morning; thesecond about sunset, at which time travellers usually encamp for thenight. Of the two meals it would be difficult to say which is moreagreeable. For our own part, we prefer the former. It is the meal towhich a man addresses himself with peculiar gusto, especially if he hasbeen astir three or four hours previously in the open air. It is thetime of day, too, when the spirits are freshest and highest, animated bythe prospect of the work, the difficulties, the pleasures, or theadventures of the day that has begun; and cheered by that cool, clear_buoyancy_ of Nature which belongs exclusively to the happy morninghours, and has led poets in all ages to compare these hours to the firstsweet months of spring or the early years of childhood.

  Voyageurs, not less than poets, have felt the exhilarating influence ofthe young day, although they have lacked the power to tell it insounding numbers; but where words were wanting, the sparkling eye, thebeaming countenance, the light step, and hearty laugh, were morepowerful exponents of the feelings within. Poet, and painter too, mighthave spent a profitable hour on the shores of that great sequesteredlake, and as they watched the picturesque groups clustering round theblazing fires, preparing their morning meal, smoking their pipes,examining and repairing the boats, or sunning their stalwart limbs inwild, careless attitudes upon the greensward--might have found a subjectworthy the most brilliant effusions of the pen or the most graphictouches of the pencil.

  An hour sufficed for breakfast. While it was preparing, the two friendssauntered into the forest in search of game, in which they wereunsuccessful; in fact, with the exception of the gulls before mentioned,there was not a feather to be seen--save, always, one or twowhisky-johns.

  Whisky-johns are the most impudent, puffy, conceited little birds thatexist. Not much larger in reality than sparrows, they neverthelessmanage to swell out their feathers to such an extent that they appear tobe as large as magpies, which they further resemble in their plumage.Go where you will in the woods of Rupert's Land, the instant that youlight a fire two or three whisky-johns come down and sit beside you, ona branch, it may be, or on the ground, and generally so near that youcannot but wonder at their recklessness. There is a species ofimpudence which seems to be specially attached to little birds. In themit reaches the highest pitch of perfection. A bold, swelling, arroganteffrontery--a sort of stark, staring, sell-complacent, comfortable, andyet innocent impertinence--which is at once irritating and amusing,aggravating and attractive, and which is exhibited in the greatestintensity in the whisky-john. He will jump down almost under your nose,and seize a fragment of biscuit or pemmican. He will go right into thepemmican-bag, when you are but a few paces off, and pilfer, as it were,at the fountain-head. Or if these resources are closed against him, hewill sit on a twig, within an inch of your head, and look at you as onlya whisky-john _can_ look.

  "I'll catch one of these rascals," said Harry, as he saw them jumpunceremoniously into and out of the pemmican bag.

  Going down to the boat, Harry hid himself under the tarpaulin, leaving ahole open near to the mouth of the bag. He had not remained more than afew minutes in this concealment when one of the birds flew down, andalighted on the edge of the boat. After a glance round to see that allwas right, it jumped into the bag. A moment after, Harry, darting hishand through the aperture, grasped him round the neck and secured him.Poor whisky-john screamed and pecked ferociously, while Harry broughthim in triumph to his friend; but so unremittingly did the bird screamthat his captor was fain at last to let him off, the more especially asthe cook came up at the moment and announced that breakfast was ready.