The Walrus Hunters: A Romance of the Realms of Ice

by R. M. Ballantyne

In the Wild-Woods Again.

While these events were taking place among the islands of the Arctic sea, the Indian chief Nazinred was slowly pushing his canoe southward in the direction of Great Bear Lake. He was accompanied, as we have said, by three like-minded comrades, one of whom was named Mozwa—or Moose-deer—from some fancied resemblance in him to that uncouth animal.

But Mozwa, although uncouth, was by no means ungenial. On the contrary, he was a hearty good-natured fellow, who always tried to make the best of things, and never gave way to despondency, however gloomy or desperate might be the nature of his circumstances. Moreover, he was a big strong man, full of courage, in the prime of life, and modest withal, so that he was usually rather inclined to take than to give advice—to be led, rather than to lead.

For hours together these men dipped their paddles over the side in concert, without uttering a single word, or giving more than a slight exclamation when anything worthy of notice attracted their attention. The interchange of thought during the labours of the day did not seem to strike them as necessary. The mere being in company of each other was a sufficient bond of sympathy, until an encampment was reached each evening, supper disposed of, and the tobacco-pipes in full blast. Then, at last, their native reserve gave way, and they ventured to indulge a little—sometimes a good deal—in the feast of reason and the flow of soul.

Yet the nature of their voyage was such that white men might have deemed verbal intercourse an occasional necessity, as their route lay through much rugged and wild scenery, where the streams up which they had to force their way were in some places obstructed by rapids and shallows, and a mistake on their part might have brought sudden disaster and ruin. For their canoe was deeply laden with the furs which they had secured during the labours of the past winter, and on the sale of which to the fur-traders depended much of their and their families’ felicity or misery during the winter which was to come. But the steersman and bowman understood their work so well, and were so absolutely in accord, that the slightest action with the paddle on the part of either was understood and sympathetically met by the other.

This unity of action is much more important than the navigators of lakes and oceans may suppose. In those almost currentless waters a steersman in any craft is usually self-sufficient, but among turbulent rapids, where rocks and shoals lie in all directions, and the deep-water track is tortuous, with, it may be, abrupt turnings here and there, a bowman is absolutely essential, and sometimes, indeed, may become the more important steersman of the two.

One evening, long after the period when they left their native encampment, the friends paddled their little vessel into the backwater at the foot of a long rapid which roared in foaming white billows right ahead of them, offering what seemed an effectual barrier to their further progress—at least by water—and as the sides of the gorge through which the river rushed were almost perpendicular, without margin and with impenetrable bush everywhere, advance by land seemed equally blocked.

Looking backward, Mozwa gave his friend an interrogative glance. Nazinred replied with an affirmative nod, and, all four dipping their paddles vigorously at the same moment, they shot out into the stream. Almost before the canoe was caught by the current it swung quickly into another eddy, which carried it up a few yards close under the frowning cliffs. Here again the Indians paused, and gazed earnestly at the foaming torrent ahead, which, to an unpractised eye, might have seemed a raging flood, to enter which would ensure destruction.

And indeed the two guides seemed to entertain some such thoughts, for they continued to gaze for a considerable time in silent inaction. Then the bowman threw back another glance; the steersman replied with another nod, and again the canoe shot out into the stream.

This time the struggle was more severe. A short distance above the point where they entered it, a large rock reared its black head in mid-stream. Below it there was the usual long stretch of backwater. To reach the tail of this stretch was the object of the men, but the intervening rush was so powerful that it swept them down like a cork, so that they almost missed it despite their utmost efforts.