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Canadian Crusoes by Catherine Parr Traill

C >> Catherine Parr Traill >> Canadian Crusoes




The sun was just sinking in a flood of glory behind the dark pine-woods
at the head of the lake, when Hector and Louis, who had been carefully
providing fish for the morrow, (which was the Sabbath,) came loaded with
their finny prey carefully strung upon a willow wand, and found Catharine
sleeping in her bower. Louis was loth to break her tranquil slumbers, but
her careful brother reminded him of the danger to which she was exposed,
sleeping in the dew by the water side; "Moreover," he added, "we have some
distance to go, and we have left the precious axe and the birch-bark vessel
in the valley."

These things were too valuable to be lost, and so they roused the sleeper,
and slowly recommenced their toilsome way, following the same path that
they had made in the morning. Fortunately, Hector had taken the precaution
to bend down the flexile branches of the dogwood and break the tops of the
young trees that they had passed between on their route to the lake, and by
this clue they were enabled with tolerable certainty to retrace their way,
nothing doubting of arriving in time at the wigwam of boughs by the rock in
the valley.

Their progress was, however, slow, burdened with the care of the lame girl,
and heavily laden with the fish. The purple shades of twilight soon clouded
the scene, deepened by the heavy masses of foliage, which cast a greater
degree of obscurity upon their narrow path; for they had now left the
oak-flat and entered the gorge of the valley. The utter loneliness of the
path, the grotesque shadows of the trees, that stretched in long array
across the steep banks on either side, taking, now this, now that wild and
fanciful shape, awakened strange feelings of dread in the mind of these
poor forlorn wanderers; like most persons bred up in solitude, their
imaginations were strongly tinctured with superstitious fears. Here then,
in the lonely wilderness, far from their beloved parents and social hearth,
with no visible arm to protect them from danger, none to encourage or
to cheer them, can it be matter of surprise if they started with
terror-blanched cheeks at every fitful breeze that rustled the leaves or
waved the branches above them? The gay and lively Louis, blithe as any wild
bird in the bright sunlight, was the most easily oppressed by this strange
superstitious fear, when the shades of evening were closing round, and he
would start with ill-disguised terror at every sound or shape that met his
ear or eye, though the next minute he was the first to laugh at his own
weakness. In Hector, the feeling was of a graver, more solemn cast,
recalling to his mind all the wild and wondrous tales with which his
father was wont to entertain the children, as they crouched round the huge
log-fire of an evening. It is strange the charm these marvellous tales
possess for the youthful mind, no matter how improbable, or how often told;
year after year they will be listened to with the same ardour, with an
interest that appears to grow with repetition. And still, as they slowly
wandered along, Hector would repeat to his breathless auditors those
Highland legends that were as familiar to their ears as household words,
and still they listened with fear and wonder, and deep awe, till at each
pause he made, the deep-drawn breath and half-repressed shudder might
be heard. And now the little party paused irresolutely, fearing to
proceed,--they had omitted to notice some land-mark in their progress; the
moon had not long been up, and her light was as yet indistinct; so they sat
them down on a little grassy spot on the bank, and rested till the moon
should lighten their path.

Louis was confident they were not far from "the bigstone," but careful
Hector had his doubts, and Catharine was weary. The children had already
conceived a sort of home feeling for the valley and the mass of stone that
had sheltered them for so many nights, and soon the dark mass came in
sight, as the broad full light of the now risen moon fell upon its rugged
sides; they were nearer to it than they had imagined. "Forward for 'the big
stone' and the wigwam," cried Louis.

"Hush!" said Catharine, "look there," raising her hand with a warning
gesture.

"Where? what?"

"The wolf! the wolf!" gasped out the terrified girl. There indeed, upon the
summit of the block, in the attitude of a sentinel or watcher, stood the
gaunt-figured animal, and as she spoke, a long wild cry, the sound of which
seemed as if it came midway between the earth and the tops of the tall
pines on the lofty ridge above them, struck terror into their hearts, as
with speechless horror they gazed upon the dark outline of the terrible
beast. There it stood, with its head raised, its neck stretched outward,
and ears erect, as if to catch the echo that gave back those dismal sounds;
another minute and he was gone, and the crushing of branches and the rush
of many feet on the high bank above, was followed by the prolonged cry of
some poor fugitive animal,--a doe, or fawn, perhaps,--in the very climax
of mortal agony; and then the lonely recesses of the forest took up that
fearful death-cry, the far-off shores of the lake and the distant islands
prolonged it, and the terrified children clung together in fear and
trembling.

A few minutes over, and all was still. The chase had turned across the
hills to some distant ravine; the wolves were all gone--not even the
watcher was left, and the little valley lay once more in silence, with all
its dewy roses and sweet blossoms glittering in the moonlight; but though
around them all was peace and loveliness, it was long ere confidence was
restored to the hearts of the panic-stricken and trembling children. They
beheld a savage enemy in every mass of leafy shade, and every rustling
bough struck fresh terrors into their excited minds. They might have
exclaimed with the patriarch Jacob, "How dreadful is this place!"

With hand clasped in hand, they sat them down among the thick covert of the
bushes, for now they feared to move forward, lest the wolves should return;
sleep was long a stranger to their watchful eyes, each fearing to be the
only one left awake, and long and painful was their vigil. Yet nature,
overtasked, at length gave way, and sleep came down upon their eyelids;
deep, unbroken sleep, which lasted till the broad sunlight breaking through
the leafy curtains of their forest-bed, and the sound of waving boughs and
twittering birds, once more wakened them to life and light; recalling them
from happy dreams of home and friends, to an aching sense of loneliness and
desolation. This day they did not wander far from the valley, but took the
precaution, as evening drew on, to light a large fire, the blaze of which
they thought would keep away any beast of prey. They had no want of food,
as the fish they had caught the day before proved an ample supply. The
huckle-berries were ripening too, and soon afforded them a never-failing
source of food; there were also an abundance of bilberries, the sweet rich
berries of which proved a great treat, besides being very nourishing.




CHAPTER III.

"Oh for a lodge in the vast wilderness,
The boundless contiguity of shade!"

A fortnight had now passed, and Catharine still suffered so much from pain
and fever, that they were unable to continue their wanderings; all that
Hector and his cousin could do, was to carry her to the bower by the lake,
where she reclined whilst they caught fish. The painful longing to regain
their lost home had lost nothing of its intensity; and often would the poor
sufferer start from her bed of leaves and boughs, to wring her hands and
weep, and call in piteous tones upon that dear father and mother, who would
have given worlds had they been at their command, to have heard but one
accent of her beloved voice, to have felt one loving pressure from that
fevered hand. Hope, the consoler, hovered over the path of the young
wanderers, long after she had ceased to whisper comfort to the desolate
hearts of the mournful parents.

Of all that suffered by this sad calamity, no one was more to be pitied
than Louis Perron: deeply did the poor boy lament the thoughtless folly
which had involved his cousin Catharine in so terrible a misfortune. "If
Kate had not been with me," he would say, "we should not have been lost;
for Hector is so cautious and so careful, he would not have left the
cattle-path; but we were so heedless, we thought only of flowers and
insects, of birds, and such trifles, and paid no heed to our way." Louis
Perron, such is life. The young press gaily onward, gathering the flowers,
and following the gay butterflies that attract them in the form of pleasure
and amusement; they forget the grave counsels of the thoughtful, till they
find the path they have followed is beset with briers and thorns; and a
thousand painful difficulties that were unseen, unexpected, overwhelm and
bring them to a sad sense of their own folly; and perhaps the punishment of
their errors does not fall upon themselves alone, but upon the innocent,
who have unknowingly been made participators in their fault.

By the kindest and tenderest attention to all her comforts, Louis
endeavoured to alleviate his cousin's sufferings, and soften her regrets;
nay, he would often speak cheerfully and even gaily to her, when his own
heart was heavy, and his eyes ready to overflow with tears. "If it were
not for our dear parents and the dear children at home," he would say, "we
might spend our time most happily upon these charming plains; it is much
more delightful here than in the dark thick woods; see how brightly the
sunbeams come down and gladden the ground, and cover the earth with fruit
and flowers. It is pleasant to be able to fish and hunt, and trap the game.
Yes, if they were all here, we would build us a nice log-house, and clear
up these bushes on the flat near the lake. This 'Elfin Knowe,' as you call
it, Kate, would be a nice spot to build upon. See these glorious old oaks;
not one should be cut down, and we would have a boat and a canoe, and
voyage across to yonder islands. Would it not be charming, ma belle?" and
Catharine, smiling at the picture drawn so eloquently, would enter into the
spirit of the project, and say,--

"Ah! Louis, that would be pleasant."

"If we had but my father's rifle now," said Hector, "and old Wolfe."

"Yes, and Fanchette, dear little Fanchette, that trees the partridges and
black squirrels," said Louis.

"I saw a doe and a half-grown fawn beside her this very morning, at break
of day," said Hector. "The fawn was so little fearful, that if I had had a
stick in my hand, I could have killed it.--I came within ten yards of the
spot where it stood. I know it would be easy to catch one by making a
dead-fall." [A sort of trap in which game is taken in the woods, or on the
banks of creeks.]

"If we had but a dear fawn to frolic about us, like Mignon, dear innocent
Mignon," cried Catharine, "I should never feel lonely then."

"And we should never want for meat, if we could catch a fine fawn from time
to time, ma belle."

"Hec., what are you thinking of?"

"I was thinking, Louis, that If we were doomed to remain here all our
lives, we must build a house for ourselves; we could not live in the open
air without shelter as we have done. The summer will soon pass, and the
rainy season will come, and the bitter frosts and snows of winter will have
to be provided against."

"But, Hector, do you really think there is no chance of finding our way
back to Cold Springs? We know it must be behind this lake," said Louis.

"True, but whether east, west, or south, we cannot tell; and whichever way
we take now is but a chance, and if once we leave the lake and get involved
in the mazes of that dark forest, we should perish, for we know there is
neither water nor berries, nor game to be had as there is here, and we
might be soon starved to death. God was good who led us beside this fine
lake, and upon these fruitful plains."

"It is a good thing that I had my axe when we started from home," said
Hector. "We should not have been so well off without it; we shall find the
use of it if we have to build a house. We must look out for some spot where
there is a spring of good water, and--"

"No horrible wolves," interrupted Catharine: "though I love this pretty
ravine, and the banks and braes about us, I do not think I shall like to
stay here. I heard the wolves only last night, when you and Louis were
asleep."

"We must not forget to keep watch-fires."

"What shall we do for clothes?" said Catharine, glancing at her home-spun
frock of wool and cotton plaid.

"A weighty consideration, indeed," sighed Hector; "clothes must be provided
before ours are worn out, and the winter comes on."

"We must save all the skins of the wood-chucks and squirrels," suggested
Louis; "and fawns when we catch them."

"Yes, and fawns when we get them," added Hector; "but it is time enough to
think of all these things; we must not give up all hope of home."

"I give up all hope? I shall hope on while I have life," said Catharine.
"My dear, dear father, he will never forget his lost children; he will try
and find us, alive or dead; he will never give up the search."

Poor child, how long did this hope burn like a living torch in thy
guileless breast. How often, as they roamed those hills and valleys, were
thine eyes sent into the gloomy recesses of the dark ravines and thick
bushes, with the hope that they would meet the advancing form and
outstretched arms of thy earthly parents: all in vain--yet the arms of thy
heavenly Father were extended over thee, to guide, to guard, and to sustain
thee.

How often were Catharine's hands filled with wild-flowers, to carry home,
as she fondly said, to sick Louise, or her mother. Poor Catharine, how
often did your bouquets fade; how often did the sad exile water them with
her tears,--for hers was the hope that keeps alive despair.

When they roused them in the morning to recommence their fruitless
wanderings, they would say to each other: "Perhaps we shall see our father,
he may find us here to-day;" but evening came, and still he came not, and
they were no nearer to their father's home than they had been the day
previous.

"If we could but find our way back to the 'Cold Creek,' we might, by
following its course, return to Cold Springs," said Hector.

"I doubt much the fact of the 'Cold Creek' having any connexion with our
Spring," said Louis; "I think it has its rise in the 'Beaver-meadow,' and
following its course would only entangle us among those wolfish balsam and
cedar swamps, or lead us yet further astray into the thick recesses of the
pine forest. For my part, I believe we are already fifty miles from Cold
Springs."

It is one of the bewildering mistakes that all persons who lose their way
in the pathless woods fall into, they have no idea of distance, or the
points of the compass, unless they can see the sun rise and set, which is
not possible to do when surrounded by the dense growth of forest-trees;
they rather measure distance by the time they have been wandering, than by
any other token.

The children knew that they had been a long time absent from home,
wandering hither and thither, and they fancied their journey had been as
long as it had been weary. They had indeed the comfort of seeing the sun in
his course from east to west, but they knew not in what direction the home
they had lost lay; it was this that troubled them in their choice of the
course they should take each day, and at last determined them to lose no
more time so fruitlessly, where the peril was so great, but seek for some
pleasant spot where they might pass their time in safety, and provide for
their present and future wants.

"The world was all before them, where to choose
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide."

Catharine declared her ancle was so much stronger than it had been since
the accident, and her health so much amended, that the day after the
conversation just recorded, the little party bade farewell to the valley
of the "big stone," and ascending the steep sides of the hills, bent their
steps eastward, keeping the lake to their left hand; Hector led the way,
loaded with their household utensils, which consisted only of the axe, which
he would trust to no one but himself, the tin-pot, and the birch-basket.
Louis had his cousin to assist up the steep banks, likewise some fish to
carry, which had been caught early in the morning.

The wanderers thought at first to explore the ground near the lake shore,
but soon abandoned this resolution, on finding the under-growth of trees
and bushes become so thick, that they made little progress, and the fatigue
of travelling was greatly increased by having continually to put aside the
bushes or bend them down.

Hector advised trying the higher ground: and after following a deer-path
through a small ravine that crossed the hills, they found themselves on a
fine extent of table-land, richly, but not too densely wooded with white
and black oaks, diversified with here and there a solitary pine, which
reared its straight and pillar-like trunk in stately grandeur above its
leafy companions: a meet eyrie for the bald-eagle, that kept watch from its
dark crest over the silent waters of the lake, spread below like a silver
zone studded with emeralds.

In their progress, they passed the head of many small ravines, which
divided the hilly shores of the lake into deep furrows; these furrows had
once been channels, by which the waters of some upper lake (the site of
which is now dry land) had at a former period poured down into the valley,
filling the basin of what now is called the Rice Lake. These waters with
resistless course had ploughed their way between the hills, bearing in
their course those blocks of granite and limestone which are so widely
scattered both on the hill-tops and the plains, or form a rocky pavement at
the bottom of the narrow denies. What a sight of sublime desolation must
that outpouring of the waters have presented, when those steep banks were
riven by the sweeping torrents that were loosened from their former bounds.
The pleased eye rests upon these tranquil shores, now covered with oaks and
pines, or waving with a flood of golden grain, or varied by neat dwellings
and fruitful gardens; and the gazer on that peaceful scene scarcely
pictures to himself what it must have been when no living eye was there to
mark the rushing floods, when they scooped to themselves the deep bed in
which they now repose.

Those lovely islands that sit like stately crowns upon the waters, were
doubtless the wreck that remained of the valley; elevated spots, whose
rocky basis withstood the force of the rushing waters, that carried away
the lighter portions of the soil. The southern shore, seen from the lake,
seems to lie in regular ridges running from south to north; some few are
parallel with the lake-shore, possibly where some surmountable impediment
turned the current the subsiding waters; but they all find an outlet
through their connexion with ravines communicating with the lake.

There is a beautiful level tract of land, with only here and there a
solitary oak growing upon it, or a few stately pines; it is commonly
called the "upper Race-course," merely on account of the smoothness of the
surface; it forms a high tableland, nearly three hundred feet above the
lake, and is surrounded by high hills. This spot, though now dry and
covered with turf and flowers, and low bushes, has evidently once been
a broad sheet of water. To the eastward lies a still more lovely and
attractive spot, known as the "lower Race-course;" it lies on a lower level
than the former one, and, like it, is embanked by a ridge of distant hills;
both have ravines leading down to the Rice Lake, and may have been the
sources from whence its channel was filled. Some convulsion of nature at a
remote period, by raising the waters above their natural level, might have
caused a disruption of the banks, and drained their beds, as they now
appear ready for the ploughshare or the spade. In the month of June these
flats are brilliant with the splendid blossoms of the _enchroma_, or
painted cup, the azure lupine and snowy _trillium_ roses scent the evening
air, and grow as if planted by the hand of taste.

A carpeting of the small downy saxifrage [Footnote: Saxifraga nivalis.] with
its white silky leaves covers the ground in early spring. In the fall, it
is red with the bright berries and dark box-shaped leaves of a species of
creeping winter-green, that the Indians call spiceberry; the leaves are
highly aromatic, and it is medicinal as well as agreeable to the taste and
smell. In the month of July a gorgeous assemblage of martagon lilies take
the place of the lupine and trilliums; these splendid lilies vary from
orange to the brightest scarlet; various species of sunflowers and
_coreopsis_ next appear, and elegant white _pyrolas_ [Footnote: Gentiana
linearis, G. crenata.] scent the air and charm the eye. The delicate lilac
and white shrubby asters next appear, and these are followed by the large
deep blue gentian, and here and there by the elegant fringed gentian.
[Footnote: Pyrola rotundifolia, P. asarifolia.] These are the latest and
loveliest of the flowers that adorn this tract of land. It is indeed a
garden of nature's own planting, but the wild garden is being converted
into fields of grain, and the wild flowers give place to a new race of
vegetables, less ornamental, but more useful to man and the races of
domestic animals that depend upon him for their support.

Our travellers, after wandering over this lovely plain, found themselves,
at the close of the day, at the head of a fine ravine, [Footnote:
_Pedophyllnm galmata_,--Mandrake, or May-apple.] where they had the good
fortune to perceive a spring of pure water, oozing beneath some large
moss-covered blocks of black waterworn granite; the ground was thickly
covered with moss about the edges of the spring, and many varieties of
flowering shrubs and fruits were scattered along the valley and up the
steep sides of the surrounding hills. There were whortleberries, or
huckleberries, as they are more usually called, in abundance; bilberries
dead ripe, and falling from the bushes at a touch. The vines that wreathed
the low bushes and climbed the trees were loaded with clusters of grapes,
but these were yet hard and green; dwarf filberts grew on the dry gravelly
sides of the hills, yet the rough prickly calyx that enclosed the nut,
filled their fingers with minute thorns, that irritated the skin like the
stings of the nettle; but as the kernel when ripe was sweet and good, they
did not mind the consequences. The moist part of the valley was occupied
by a large bed of May-apples, [Footnote: Kilvert's Ravine, above Pine-tree
Point.] the fruit of which was of unusual size, but they were not ripe,
August being the month when they ripen; there were also wild plums still
green, and wild cherries and blackberries ripening; there were great
numbers of the woodchucks' burrows on the hills, while partridges and
quails were seen under the thick covert of the blue-berried dog-wood,
[Footnote: _Cornus sericea_. The blue berries of this shrub are eaten by
the partridge and wild-ducks; also by the pigeons and other birds. There
are several species of this shrub common to the Rice Lake.] that here grew
in abundance at the mouth of the ravine where it opened to the lake. As
this spot offered many advantages, our travellers halted for the night, and
resolved to make it their head-quarters for a season, till they should meet
with an eligible situation for building a winter shelter.

Here, then, at the head of the valley, sheltered by one of the rounded
hills that formed its sides, our young people erected a summer hut,
somewhat after the fashion of an Indian wigwam, which was all the shelter
that was requisite while the weather remained so warm. Through the opening
at the gorge of this ravine they enjoyed a peep at the distant waters of
the lake which terminated the vista, while they were quite removed from its
unwholesome vapours.

The temperature of the air for some days had been hot and sultry, scarcely
modified by the cool delicious breeze that usually sets in about nine
o'clock, and blows most refreshingly till four or five in the afternoon.
Hector and Louis had gone down to fish for supper, while Catharine busied
herself in collecting leaves and dried deer-grass, moss and fern, of which
there was abundance near the spring. The boys had promised to cut some
fresh cedar boughs near the lake shore, and bring them up to form a
foundation for their bed, and also to strew Indian-fashion over the floor
of the hut by way of a carpet. This sort of carpeting reminds one of, the
times when the palaces of our English kings were strewed with rushes, and
brings to mind the old song:--

"Oh! the golden days of good Queen Bess,
When the floors were strew'd with rushes,
And the doors went on the latch----"

John Crace digests A Question of Upbringing by Anthony Powell

My English teacher is wearing a barrister's wig. He turns and points towards me as I sit trembling in the dock. "Members of the jury, I put it to you that this man, Tom Robinson, is innocent," he says, rather lugubriously. I want to protest. I want to shout that no, I am not Tom Robinson, but yes, I am innocent! But the words won't come out.

Then I wake up. It's another literary dream – one that's troubled me ever since I studied Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird for GCSE.

Most of the time I'm disappointed to leave my literary dreams, waking to realise that I'm not really ensconced with with the boozing Welsh pensioners from Kingsley Amis's The Old Devils or haven't really been thrashing Harry Potter's Quidditch team. I remember with fondness a skiing trip with William Shakespeare and the delightful discovery that Don DeLillo was serving drinks behind the bar in my local pub.

It's not all sunshine, though. Tom Wolfe once ruined a trip to New York, shouting at me across Fifth Avenue: "You're not even familiar with my work – get outta town, asshole!" But that's nothing on Howard Jacobson. I spent a summer discovering his novels during my waking hours and bumping into him in my sleep. I'd see him in a local restaurant and tell him how much I was enjoying his novels. "Oh right," he'd snap, "that old chestnut, huh?" When I met him for real last year he was, in fact, charm personified. I didn't tell him about the dreams.

But enough about my subconscious, what about yours? It's Friday: forget about work and tell me all about your literary dreams. Don't hold back – it's not like we'll read anything into it.

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