V THE BLACK MURRAY
Louis' voice, almost in Walter's ear, was crying, "_Leve, leve_,--rise,rise!"
Surely the night could not be over yet. Walter threw off his blanket,scrambled up, shook himself, and pulled out his cherished silver watch.It was ten minutes to five.
In a few moments the whole camp was stirring. Following the usualvoyageur custom, the boats got off at once, without delaying forbreakfast. After a spell of tracking, the Swiss boy was more than readyfor the pemmican and tea taken on a small island almost in midstream. TheSwiss lad had never tasted tea until he sailed on an English ship, butafter the drinking water had turned bad, he had been driven to try thestrange beverage and had grown accustomed to it. Tea was the universaldrink of the northern fur country, where coffee was practically unknown.He was amazed at the quantity of scalding hot, black stuff the voyageurscould drink.
Pemmican, the chief article of food used in the wilderness, he had eatenfor the first time at Fort York. The mixture of shredded dried meat andgrease did not look very inviting, but its odor, when heated, was notunappetizing. He tasted his portion gingerly, and decided it was not bad.The little dark specks of which he had been suspicious proved to be driedberries of some kind. Walter had a healthy appetite, and the portionserved him looked small. He was surprised to find, before he had eatenall of it, that he had had enough. Pemmican was very hearty food indeed.
That was a day of back-breaking, heart-breaking labor towing the heavyboats up the Hayes. The clay banks grew steeper and steeper. Sometimesthere was a muddy beach at the base wide enough for the trackers to walkon. Often there was no beach whatever, and they were forced to scramblealong slippery slopes, through and over landslips, fallen trees,driftwood, and brush. Where tiny streams trickled down to join the river,the ground was soft, miry, almost impassable. The forest crowning thebank had become thicker, the trees larger and more flourishing. Poplarsand willows everywhere were flecked with autumn yellow. The tamarackneedles,--which fall in the autumn like the foliage of broad leavedtrees,--were turning bronze, and contrasted with the dark green of thespruce. There was more variety and beauty in the surroundings than on thepreceding day, but Walter, stumbling along the difficult shore andtugging at the tow-line, paid little attention to the scenery. Withaching back and shoulders and straining heart and lungs, he labored on.Each time his shift was over and he was allowed to sit in the boat whileothers did the tracking, he was too weary to care for anything but rest.
The boats were strung out a long way, some crews making better speed thanothers. Some of the leaders were more considerate of their inexperiencedfollowers, though most of the voyageurs could scarcely understand why theSwiss could not trot with the tow-line and keep up the pace all day, asthe Canadians and half-breeds were accustomed to. The steersman of boatnumber three drove his men mercilessly. When at the tow-rope himself, hekept up a steady flow of profane abuse in his bad French, almost equallybad English, occasional Indian and Gaelic. Even when seated in the boat,he grumbled at the slowness and lack of skill of those on shore, andshouted orders and oaths at them.
At noon, when a short stop was made for a meal of cold pemmican and hottea, Walter said to Louis, "If our steersman doesn't take care he willhave a mutiny on his hands. You had better tell him so. We have kept ourtempers so far, but we can't stand his abuse forever."
Louis shrugged. "I tell him? No, no. I tell _le Murrai Noir_ nothing,_moi_. It would but make more trouble. With a crew of voyageurs he wouldnot dare act so. They will endure much, but not everything. Someone wouldkill him. As a voyageur the Black Murray is good. He is strong, he isswift, he knows how to shoot a rapid, he is a fine steersman. But as aman--bah! Being in charge of a boat has turned his head."
"He may get his head cracked if he does not change his manners."
"We would not grieve, you and me, eh, my friend? But this is certain,"the Canadian boy added seriously. "_Le Murrai Noir_ can hurt no one withhis tongue. Heed him not, though he bawl his voice away. It is so that Ido."
Of all the men in the boat, the one who found the tracking hardest was ayoung weaver named Matthieu. He was a lank, high-shouldered fellow, wholooked strong, but had been weakened by seasickness on the way over, andhad not regained his strength. Matthieu did his best, he made nocomplaint, but he was utterly exhausted at the end of his shift eachtime. The weaver was next to Murray in line, and much of the steersman'sill temper was vented on the poor fellow.
Late in the afternoon, Murray's crew were tracking on a wet clay slopeheavily wooded along the rim and without beach at the base. In anespecially steep place Matthieu slipped. His feet went from under him.The tow-rope jerked, and Walter barely saved himself from going down too.Murray, his moccasins holding firm on the slippery clay, seized the ropewith both hands and roared abuse at the weaver. Exhausted and panting,the poor fellow tried to regain his footing. Walter dug his heels intothe bank, and leaned down to reach Matthieu a hand, just as the enragedsteersman gave the fallen man a vicious and savage kick.
The boy's anger flamed beyond control. He forgot that he was attached bythe left shoulder to the towline. Fists doubled, he started for Murray.The rope pulled him up short. As he struggled to free himself and reachthe steersman, one of his companions intervened. He was a big, strong,intelligent Swiss, a tanner by trade, who had assumed the leadership ofthe immigrants in boat number three. His size, his authoritative manner,his firm voice, had their effect on Murray. The half-breed paused, hisfoot raised for another kick.
"There must be no fighting here," said the tanner, "and no brutality.Rossel, help Matthieu up. He must go back to the boat."
Murray began to protest that he would allow no man to interfere with hisorders. The Swiss was quiet, but determined. The steersman had no rightto work a man to death, or to strike with hand or foot any member of theparty. The settlers were not his slaves.
Murray growled and muttered. His hard little eyes glowed angrily. WhenLouis shouted to the Orkneyman to bring the boat to shore to receive theworn-out Matthieu, the steersman opened his mouth to countermand theorder, but thought better of it and merely uttered an oath instead. Hecould recognize the voice of authority,--when numbers were against him.
After Matthieu had been put aboard, the work was resumed. Murray, veryugly, plodded sullenly ahead. He seized every opportunity to abuseWalter, but the boy, now that one victory had been scored over the BlackMurray, did not heed his words.
The sky had clouded over, and rain began to fall, a chilly, sullendrizzle. Yet the trackers toiled on. The oars were used only whencrossing from one side of the river to the other to find a possibletow-path.
As darkness gathered, camp was made in the rain. The pemmican ration waseaten cold, but by using under layers of birch bark shredded very fine,and chopping into the dry heart of the stub of a lightning-killed tree,Louis succeeded in starting a small blaze and keeping it going longenough to boil water for tea.
After supper the tanner asked Walter to go with him to talk to thevoyageur in charge of the entire brigade. Laroque, the guide, amiddle-aged, steady-eyed French Canadian, listened to the complaint insilence, then shook his head gravely.
"_Le Murrai Noir_ is not the best of men to be in control of aboat,--that I know," he admitted, "but it was hard to find men enough. Hecan do the work, and do it well,--and there is this to say for him. Yousettlers know nothing of voyaging. You are so slow and clumsy it istrying to the patience. I find it so myself. _Le Murrai Noir_ has littlepatience. It is you who must be patient with him."
"But he has no right to strike and abuse men who are doing their best,men who are not even employees of the Company," protested the tanner.
Laroque nodded in agreement. "That is true."
"Can't you put someone else in as steersman of our boat?"
"No, there is no man of experience to be spared. Let the young man who issick remain in the boat with the women and children, until he is strongagain. I will speak to
_le Murrai_ in the morning, and I think thingswill go better. These first few days, they are the hardest for all."
Wet, chilled, aching with weariness, and a bit discouraged, Waltertrudged back to his own camping place. Louis and the Orkneyman had laidthe mast and oars across the boat and had covered them with the sail anda tarpaulin. Under this shelter the men spent the night, packed in soclosely there was scarcely room to turn over.
South from Hudson Bay: An Adventure and Mystery Story for Boys Page 6