Carrière said the swamp was full of traps, and pointed out many spots where he knew they were placed to catch the musk-rats, but which to our eyes were undistinguishable from the rest of the swamp.
On, on, down the interminable river. The rain was still falling, and we were all gradually getting numbed and quiet; running into the shore, or spinning before the wind, no longer affording any excitement. We got so far ahead of the other canoe that we could not hear even Mr. K——'s "Whoop it up!" as he called a wild halloo he indulged in whenever he thought our spirits needed raising. Pulling up under the shelter of some bulrushes, for the wind was becoming keener every moment, we waited with chattering teeth until our comrades joined us, when we kept together better for the remainder of the way. During the afternoon we several times crossed the south or first line surveyed for the Canada Pacific, which has been proved by recent inquiries the most inexpensive route. But I could not help pitying the "party" that had to work through such a wretched country.
As we neared the mouth of the river we felt the wind very much, and vague fears of what the weather would be like outside, and what chance there was of landing, began to assail us. However, there was nothing for it but to persevere. When nearly dusk, the wash of the waves on the shore warned us that we were on the Falcon Lake. Subdued by atmospheric woes, we heard the sound without comment, but it revived the drooping energies of our canoe-men, and, putting on a spurt, we were soon across the bay. Beyond the point great white capped waves tossed and raged before the fury of the wind. If we could only round the point, a good camping-ground awaited us, but it was a question whether the canoes could live through the turn. However, the alternative of landing in a swamp made it worth the attempt. Asking me if I was afraid to venture, and being answered, "Not if you are not!" Mr. M—— headed the canoe towards the lake, and in a moment we were abreast of the point, when Carrière said—"Better not try it, sir; it is too dark to cross the lake, and on this shore the canoe would be dashed to pieces before we could unload her."
So we turned, and a few vigorous strokes drove the canoe well up into the long grass, where we sat a moment waiting for the next scene of the tragi-comedy. It was Mr. M—— "in again"—but purposely this time. Rolling up their trousers as high as they could, the men jumped into the swamp, and though sinking nearly to their waists, they with a "Heave-ahoy!" pulled the loaded canoe well up to the bank. Then bidding us stay quiet until they got the tents pitched and the fire alight, they left us in the fast-gathering darkness to do that hardest work of all, which generally falls to woman's lot—to wait. As we sat silently there, the baby asleep, the maid telling her woes over the side of the canoe in the most heart-rending manner, we were nearly startled out of our wits by the sudden appearance of a birch-bark canoe propelled by two shaggy-haired Indians, which glided into the swamp alongside of us. Listening to the ring of axes and voices on shore, then pointing to us, they asked some question in their own tongue, which we answered by pointing to the land and nodding. With an "Ugh!" they left their canoe and went on shore, where they were immediately pressed into the service to unload and gather hay for our beds. They had a "tom-tom"—an instrument something between a drum and a tambourine, which they play at all their feasts and gambling bouts—a scarlet top knotted cock of the woods, a small fish, a little birch bark basket with the lid tightly sewed down, and an old worn-out blanket in their canoe.
It was quite dark by the time we landed, cramped and cold from our long day on the river. I, however, was the best off, as I had the width of the canoe to myself, and was not afraid to move about a little, while Mrs. F—— had to share her seat with the maid and the baby. We floundered helplessly up the wet path, sinking over our ankles in many places, but a glorious fire on the top of the height greeted us, and a mug of hot whisky and water—taken medicinally, of course—made us quite ready to eat a hearty dinner and dry our wet clothes. The tent was prepared, and, drying under its folds, we divested ourselves of one garment, and after drying it dived under again, to put it on while we dried the next. Hammering sticks into the ground round the fire, we soon surmounted them with an array of different-sized boots and various-coloured stockings. We held more voluminous articles to the fire ourselves, avoiding the sparks as best we might, and closing our eyes to let the smoke-drawn tears roll slowly down our cheeks, to be opened suddenly by an outcry from the other side of the fire of—
"Look out there, Miss F——; your flannel skirt is burning!"
And as I grasp the precious article, and quench the sparks with my hands, I see through the flames some of his own garments floating into the fire. The wind blows the sticks down and prostrates an impromptu clothes-line with all its load, while the maid's lugubrious countenance, as she dries petticoat after petticoat and skirt after skirt, set me speculating how much there would be left of her if she took them all off. Our Indian visitors sit hugging their knees and holding their bare feet to the fire, gazing at all the trouble we take over our absurd superfluities of clothing with stolid indifference. Frank is lying on the hay near, threatening them with the dire vengeance he will wreak on their backs if they get up in the night and burn the dry wood be has had such difficulty in collecting, and which is to be kept for cooking breakfast; and of how little value their life will be to them if they so much as lay a finger on the tent he is going to leave standing there ready to occupy on his way back. The wilder his threats become, the more expressionless are their faces; not a gleam of intelligence crosses them when he says he knows well enough they can talk English as well as he can.
"Wasn't he taken in once? But never will Redskin impose on him again."
And he laughs scornfully at the idea.
We sat up late that night, as the rain had ceased, and we had been so dull all day that we felt bound to make up for it now, especially as this was to be our last night in camp. Frank and Carrière vied with each other in relating their narrow escapes from accidents and scarcity of provisions, when Hudson Bay fare of "one pound of flour, half a pound of tea, and one pound of fat pork, or one jack-fish six mile long," would have been appreciated. These stories were varied by anecdotes of people they had travelled with; some trick of speaking or peculiarity of expression or action, cleverly mimicked by the Indians, pointing their story and giving pungency to their wit.