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.
“almost,” however, is a hopeful phrase. they were not quite beyond the influence of the eddy when they reached the end of the tail. a superhuman effort might yet save them from being swept back to the point far below that from which they had started. mozwa was just the man to make such an effort. nazinred and the others were pre-eminently the men to back him up.
“ho!” cried mozwa.
“hoi!” shouted nazinred, as they bent their backs and cracked their sinews, and made the big veins stand up on their necks and foreheads.
a few seconds more and the canoe was floating under the shelter of the black-headed rock, and the indians rested while they surveyed the battleground yet before them.
the next reach carried them right across the river to a place where a long bend produced a considerable sweep of eddying water, up which they paddled easily. above this, one or two short bursts into the tails caused by nearly sunken rocks brought them to a point full half-way up the rapid. but now greater caution was needed, because anything like a miss would send them downward, and might hurl them with destructive force against the rocks and ledges which they had already passed. a birch-bark canoe is an exceedingly tender craft, which is not only certain of destruction if it strikes a rock, but is pretty sure of being swamped if it even grazes one.
with the utmost care, therefore, and consummate skill, they succeeded in pushing up the rapid, inch by inch, without mishap, until they reached the last shoot, when their skill or good fortune, or whatever it was, failed them, for they missed the last eddy, were swept downwards a few yards, and just touched a rock. it was a very slight touch. a boatman would have smiled at it; nevertheless it drew from the indians “ho’s!” and “hoi’s!” such as they had not given vent to since the voyage began. at the same time they rushed the canoe, with all their strength, for the nearest point of land.
they were scarcely a minute in reaching it, yet in that brief space of time their craft had almost sunk, a large piece of the bark having been torn from its side.
the instant they touched land the two leaders stepped quickly out, and, while they held the craft close to the bank, their comrades threw out the bundles of fur as fast as possible. then the canoe was turned over to empty it, and carried up the bank.
“that is good luck,” said mozwa quietly, as they stood looking at the large hole in the canoe.
“i have seen better luck,” remarked nazinred, with something that might almost have been mistaken for a smile on his grave countenance.
mozwa did not explain. nazinred knew that the luck referred to was the fact that before the accident occurred they had surmounted all the difficulties of the rapid, and that the place on which they stood was convenient for camping on, as well as for opening out and drying the furs on the following day. and mozwa knew that nazinred knew all that.
while the latter kindled a fire, arranged the camp, and prepared supper under a spreading tree, the former mended the canoe. the process was simple, and soon completed. from a roll of birch-bark, always carried in canoes for such emergencies, mozwa cut off a piece a little larger than the hole it was designed to patch. with this he covered the injured place, and sewed it to the canoe, using an awl as a needle and the split roots of a tree as thread. thereafter he plastered the seams over with gum to make them water-tight, and the whole job was finished by the time the other men had got supper ready.
indians are in the habit of eating supper in what may be styled a business-like manner—they “mean business,” to use a familiar phrase, when they sit down to that meal. indeed, most savages do; it is only civilised dyspeptics who don’t. when the seriousness of the business began to wear off, the idea of mental effort and lingual communication occurred to the friends. hitherto their eyes alone had spoken, and these expressive orbs had testified, as plainly as could the tongue, to the intense gratification they derived from the possession of good appetites and plenty of food.
“i think,” said mozwa, wiping his mouth with that familiar handkerchief—the back of his hand—“that there will be trouble in the camp before long, for when you are away that beast magadar has too much power. he will try to make our young men go with him to fight the eskimos!”
it must not be supposed that the indian applied the word “beast” to magadar in that objectionable and slangy way in which it is used among ourselves. indians happily have no slang. they are not civilised enough for that. mozwa merely meant to express his opinion that magadar’s nature was more allied to that of the lower than of the higher animals.
“yes, and alizay will encourage him,” returned nazinred, with a frown. “the man is well-named.”
this remark about the name had reference to the word alizay, which means gunpowder, and which had been given to the indian in his boyhood because of his fiery and quarrelsome disposition.
“the geese and the ducks are in plenty just now,” continued nazinred; “i hope that he and magadar will be more taken up with filling their mouths than fighting till i return—and then i can hinder them.”
“h’m!” responded mozwa. he might have said more, but was busy lighting his pipe at the moment. nazinred made no further remark at the time, for he was in the full enjoyment of the first voluminous exhalation of the weed.
after a few minutes the chief resumed—
“our old chief is full of the right spirit. he is losing power with the young men, but i think he can still guide them. i will hope so, and we will return as soon as we can.”
poor nazinred! if he had known that his only and beloved daughter, even while he spoke, was on her way to the mysterious icy sea in company with one of the despised eskimos—driven away by the violence of the fire-eaters of the camp—he would not have smoked or spoken so calmly. but, fortunately for his own peace of mind, he did not know—he did not dream of the possibility of such a catastrophe; and even if he had known and returned home at full speed, he would have been too late to prevent the evil.
for a long time these indians lay side by side on their outspread blankets, with their feet to the fire, gazing through the branches at the stars, and puffing away in profound silence, but probably deep thought. at least a sudden exclamation by mozwa warrants that conclusion.
“you think,” he said, “that our old chief has the right spirit. how do you know what is the right spirit? alizay and magadar, and many of our braves—especially the young ones—think that a fiery spirit, that flares up like powder, and is always ready to fight, is the right one. you and our old chief think that gentleness and forbearance and unwillingness to fight till you cannot help it is the right spirit. how do you know which is right? you and the war-lovers cannot both be right!”
there was an expression of great perplexity on the indian’s face as he uttered the last sentence.
“my son,” replied nazinred, who, although not much older than his companion, assumed the parental rôle in virtue of his chieftainship, “how do you know that you are alive?”
this was such an unexpected answer that mozwa gazed fixedly upwards for a few minutes without making any reply.
“i know it,” he said at length, “because i—i—know it. i—i feel it.”
“how do you know,” continued the chief, with perplexing pertinacity, “that the sun is not the moon?”
again mozwa became astronomically meditative. “because i see it and feel it,” he replied. “the sun is brighter and warmer. it cheers me more than the moon, and gives me more light, and warms me. it warms the bushes and flowers too, and makes them grow, and it draws the beasts out of their holes. even a rabbit knows the difference between the sun and the moon.”
“my son,” returned nazinred, “i have not lived very long yet, but i have lived long enough to see, and feel, and know that the kind spirit is the right spirit, because it warms the heart, and opens the eyes, and gives light, and it is the only spirit that can make friends of foes. is it not better to live at peace and in good-will with all men than to live as enemies?”
“ho!” responded mozwa, by way of assent.
“then the peaceful spirit is the right one,” rejoined the chief, with a long-drawn sigh that indicated a tendency to close the discussion.
as mozwa felt himself to be in a somewhat confused mental condition, he echoed the sigh, laid down his pipe, drew his blanket round him, and, without the formality of “good-night,” resigned himself to repose.
nazinred, after taking a look at the weather, pondering, perchance, on the probabilities of the morrow, and throwing a fresh log on the fire, also wrapped his blanket round him and lost himself in slumber.
