Lost in the Backwoods: A Tale of the Canadian Forest

by Catharine Parr Strickland Traill

The two girls proved good helps at the raising; and in the course of a few weeks they had the comfort of seeing a more commodious dwelling than the former one put up. The finishing of this, with weeding the Indian corn, renewing the fence, and fishing, and trapping, and shooting partridges and ducks and pigeons, fully occupied their time this summer. The fruit season was less abundant this year than the previous one. The fire had done this mischief, and they had to go far a-field to collect fruits during the summer months.

It so happened that Indiana had gone out early one morning with the boys, and Catharine was alone. She had gone down to the spring for water, and on her return, was surprised at the sight of a squaw and her family of three half-grown lad, and an innocent little brown papoose. [Footnote: An Indian baby, but "papoose" is not an Indian word. It is probably derived from the Indian imitation of the word "babies.">[ In their turn the strangers seemed equally astonished at Catharine's appearance. The smiling aspect and good-natured laugh of the female, however, soon reassured the frightened girl, and she gladly gave her the water which she had in her birch dish, on her signifying her desire for drink. To this Catharine added some berries and dried venison, and a bit of maple sugar, which was received with grateful looks by the boys; she patted the brown baby, and was glad when the mother released it from its wooden cradle, and fed and nursed it. The squaw seemed to notice the difference between the colour of her young hostess's fair skin and her own swarthy hue; for she often took her hand, stripped up the sleeve of her dress, and compared her arm with her own, uttering exclamations of astonishment and curiosity: possibly Catharine was the first of a fair-skinned race this poor savage had ever seen. After her meal was finished, she set the birchen dish on the floor, and restrapping the papoose in its cradle prison, she slipped the basswood-bark rope over her forehead, and silently signing to her sons to follow her, she departed. That evening a pair of ducks were found fastened to the wooden latch of the door, a silent offering of gratitude for the refreshment that had been afforded to this Indian woman and her children.

Indiana thought, from Catharine's description, that these were Indians with whom she was acquainted; she spent some days in watching the lake and the ravine, lest a larger and more formidable party should be near. The squaw, she said, was a widow, and went by the name of Mother Snowstorm, from having been lost in the woods, when a little child, during a heavy storm of snow, and nearly starved to death. She was a gentle, kind woman, and, she believed, would not do any of them hurt. Her sons were good hunters, and, though so young, helped to support their mother, and were very good to her and the little one.

I must now pass over a considerable interval of time, with merely a brief notice that the crop of corn was carefully harvested, and proved abundant, and a source of great comfort. The rice was gathered and stored, and plenty of game and fish laid by, with an additional store of honey.

The Indians, for some reason, did not pay their accustomed visit to the lake this season. Indiana said they might be engaged with war among some hostile tribes, or had gone to other hunting-grounds. The winter was unusually mild, and it was long before it set in. Yet the spring following was tardy, and later than usual. It was the latter end of May before vegetation had made any very decided progress.

The little log-house presented a neat and comfortable appearance, both within and without. Indiana had woven a handsome mat of bass bark for the floor; Louis and Hector had furnished it with seats and a table, rough, but still very respectably constructed, considering their only tools were a tomahawk, a knife, and wooden wedges for splitting the wood into slabs. These Louis afterwards smoothed with great care and patience. Their bedsteads were furnished with thick, soft mats, woven by Indiana and Catharine from rushes which they cut and dried; but the little squaw herself preferred lying on a mat or deerskin on the floor before the fire, as she had been accustomed.

A new field had been enclosed, and a fresh crop of corn planted, which was now green and flourishing. Peace and happiness dwelt within the log-house; but for the regrets that ever attended the remembrance of all they had left and lost, no cloud would have dimmed the serenity of those who dwelt beneath its humble roof.

The season of flowers had again arrived; the earth, renovated by the fire of the former year, bloomed with fresh beauty; June, with its fragrant store of roses and lilies, was now far advanced—the anniversary of that time when they had left their beloved parents' roofs, to become sojourners in the lonely wilderness, had returned. They felt they had much to be grateful for. Many privations, it is true, and much anxiety they had felt; but they had enjoyed blessings beyond what they could have expected, and might, like the psalmist when recounting the escapes of the people of God, have said, "Oh that men would therefore praise the Lord for his goodness, and the wonders that he doeth for the children of men." And now they declared no greater evil could befall them than to lose one of their little party, for even Indiana had become as a dear and beloved sister; her gentleness, her gratitude, and faithful trusting love seemed each day to increase. Now, indeed, she was bound to them by a yet more sacred tie, for she knelt to the same God, and acknowledged with fervent love, the mercies of her Redeemer. She had made great progress in learning their language, and had also taught her friends to speak and understand much of her own tongue, so that they were now no longer at a loss to converse with her on any subject. Thus was this Indian girl united to them in bonds of social and Christian love.

Hector, Louis, and Indiana had gone over the hills to follow the track of a deer which had paid a visit to the young corn, now sprouting and showing symptoms of shooting up to blossom. Catharine usually preferred staying at home and preparing the meals against their return. She had gathered some fine ripe strawberries, to add to the stewed rice, Indian meal cake, and maple sugar, for their dinner. She was weary and warm, for the day had been hot and sultry. Seating herself on the threshold of the door, she leaned against the door-post, and closed her eyes. Perhaps the poor child's thoughts were wandering back to her far-off, unforgotten home, or she might be thinking of the hunters and their game. Suddenly a vague, undefinable feeling of dread stole over her mind. She heard no steps, she felt no breath, she saw no form; but there was a strange consciousness that she was not alone—that some unseen being was near, some eye was upon her. I have heard of sleepers starting from sleep the most profound when the noiseless hand of the assassin has been raised to destroy them, as if the power of the human eye could be felt through the closed lids.

Thus fared it with Catharine. She felt as if some unseen enemy was near her, and springing to her feet, she cast a wild, troubled glance around. No living being met her eye; and, ashamed of her cowardice, she resumed her seat. The tremulous cry of her little gray squirrel, a pet which she had tamed and taught to nestle in her bosom, attracted her attention.