Encouraged by the words of Lucien, the party entered among the rocks, moving on separate paths. They had gone only a few paces, when a shout from Norman caused the rest to look to him for an explanation. No animal was in sight. Had he seen any? No; but something that gratified him certainly, for his voice and manner expressed it.

"What is it?" inquired the others, all speaking at the same time.

"_Tripe de roche_!" answered he.

"_Tripe de roche_?"

"Yes," replied Norman, "look there!" and he pointed to one of the rocks directly ahead of them, at the same time moving forward to it. The others hastened up after. On reaching the rock, they saw what Norman had meant by the words _tripe de roche_ (rock-tripe). It was a black, hard, crumply substance, that nearly covered the surface of the rock, and was evidently of a vegetable nature. Lucien knew what it was as well as Norman, and joy had expressed itself upon his pale cheeks at the sight.

As for Basil and Francois they only stood waiting an explanation, and wondering what value a quant.i.ty of "rock moss," as they deemed it, could be to persons in their condition.

Lucien soon informed them that it was not a "moss," but a "lichen," and of that celebrated species which will sustain human life. It was the _Gyrophora_. Norman confirmed Lucien's statement, and furthermore affirmed, that not only the Indians and Esquimaux, but also parties of voyageurs, had often subsisted upon it for days, when they would otherwise have starved. There are many species,--not less than five or six. All of them possess nutritive properties, but only one is a palatable food--the _Gyrophora vellea_ of botanists. Unfortunately this was not the sort which our voyageurs had happened upon, as it grows only upon rocks shaded by woods, and is rarely met with in the open barrens.

The one, however, which Norman had discovered was the "next best," and they were all glad at finding even that.

The first thing to be thought of was to collect it, and all four set to peeling and sc.r.a.ping it from the rocks. The next thought was to make it ready for eating. Here a new difficulty stared them in the face. The _tripe de roche_ had to be boiled,--it could not be eaten else,--and where was the fire? where was the wood to make one? Not a stick was to be seen. They had not met with a tree during all that day's journey!

They were now as badly off as ever. The _tripe de roche_ would be of no more use to them than so much dry gra.s.s. What could they do with it?

In the midst of their suspense, one of them thought of the sledge.--Marengo's sledge. That would make a fire, but a very small one.

It might do to cook a single meal. Even that was better than none.

Marengo was not going to object to the arrangement. He looked quite willing to part with the sledge. But a few hours before, it came near being used to cook Marengo himself. He was not aware of that, perhaps, but no matter. All agreed that the sledge must be broken up, and converted into firewood.

They were about taking it to pieces, and had already "unhitched"

Marengo from it, when Basil, who had walked to the other side of the rocky jumble, cried back to them to desist. He had espied some willows at no great distance. Out of these a fire could be made. The sledge, therefore, was let alone for the present. Basil and Francois immediately started for the willows, while Norman and Lucien remained upon the spot to prepare the "tripe" for the pot.

In a short time the former parties returned with two large bundles of willows, and the fire was kindled. The _tripe de roche_, with some snow--for there was no water near--was put into the pot, and the latter hung over the blaze.

After boiling for nearly an hour, the lichen became reduced to a soft gummy pulp, and Norman thickened the mess to his taste by putting in more snow, or more of the "tripe," as it seemed to require it. The pot was then taken from the fire, and all four greedily ate of its contents.

It was far from being palatable, and had a clammy "feel" in the mouth, something like sago; but none of the party was in any way either dainty or fastidious just at that time, and they soon consumed all that had been cooked. It did not satisfy the appet.i.te, though it filled the stomach, and made their situation less painful to bear.

Norman informed them that it was much better when cooked with a little meat, so as to make broth. This Norman's companions could easily credit, but where was the meat to come from? The Indians prefer the _tripe de roche_ when prepared along with the roe of fish, or when boiled in fish liquor.

Our weary voyageurs resolved to remain among the rocks for that night at least; and with this intent they put up their little tent. They did not kindle any fire, as the willows were scarce, and there would be barely enough to make one or two more boilings of the rock-tripe. They spread their skins within the tent, and creeping in, kept one another as warm as they could until morning.

CHAPTER x.x.x.

THE POLAR HARE AND GREAT SNOWY OWL.

Of course hunger kept them from sleeping late. They were up and out of the tent by an early hour. Their fire was re-kindled, and they were making preparations for a fresh pot of rock-tripe, when they were startled by the note of a well-known bird. On looking up, they beheld seated upon the point of a rock the creature itself, which was the "cinereous crow," or, as it is better known, the "whiskey Jack." The latter name it receives from the voyageurs, on account of the resemblance of its Indian appellation, "whiskae-shaw-neesh" to the words "whiskey John." Although sometimes called the "cinereous crow," the bird is a true jay.

It is one of the most inelegant of the genus, being of a dull grey colour, and not particularly graceful in its form. Its plumage, moreover, does not consist of webbed feathers, but rather more resembles hair; nor does its voice make up for the plainness of its appearance, as is the case with some birds. On the contrary, the voice of "whiskey Jack" is plaintive and squeaking, though he is something of a mocker in his way, and frequently imitates the notes of other birds. He is one of those creatures that frequent the habitations of man, and there is not a fur post, or fort, in all the Hudson's Bay territory, where "whiskey Jack" is not familiarly known.

He is far from being a favourite, however, as, like his near relative the magpie, he is a great thief, and will follow the marten-trapper all day while baiting his traps, perching upon a tree until the bait is set, and then pouncing down, and carrying it off. He frequently pilfers small articles from the forts and encampments, and is so bold as to enter the tents, and seize food out of any vessel that may contain it.

Notwithstanding all this, he is a favourite with the traveller through these inhospitable regions. No matter how barren the spot where the voyageur may make his camp, his tent will hardly be pitched, before he receives a visit from "whiskey Jack," who comes, of course, to pick up any crumbs that may fall. His company, therefore, in a region where all other wild creatures shun the society of man, endears him to the lonely traveller.

At many of their camps our voyageurs had met with this singular bird, and were always glad to receive him as a friend. They were now doubly delighted to see him, but this delight arose from no friendly feelings.

Their guest was at once doomed to die. Francois had taken up his gun, and in the next moment would have brought him down, had he not been checked by Norman. Not that Norman intended to plead for his life, but Norman's eye had caught sight of another "whiskey Jack,"--which was hopping among the rocks at some distance--and fearing that Francois'

shot might frighten it away, had hindered him from firing. It was Norman's design to get both.

The second "whiskey Jack," or, perhaps, it was the "whiskey Jill," soon drew near; and both were now seen to hop from rock to rock, and then upon the top of the tent, and one of them actually settled upon the edge of the pot, as it hung over the fire, and quietly looking into it, appeared to scrutinize its contents!

The boys could not think of any way of getting the birds, except by Francois' gun; and it was at length agreed that Francois should do his best. He was sure of one of them, at least; so telling the others to get behind him, he fired at the more distant one where it sat upon the tent, and took the other on the wing.

Both shots were successful. The two jays fell, and were soon divested of their soft, silky, hair-like plumage, and dropped into the boiling pot.

They did not weigh together more than about six or seven ounces; but even that was accounted something under present circ.u.mstances; and, with the _tripe de roche_, a much better breakfast was made than they had antic.i.p.ated.

No more of the lichen could be found. The rocks were all searched, but only a few patches--not enough for another full meal--could be obtained.

The travellers had no other resource, therefore, but to continue on, and pa.s.sing through the rocky ground, they once more embarked upon the wilderness of snow.

During that whole day not a living creature gladdened their eyes. They saw nothing that was eatable--fish, flesh, fowl, or vegetable. Not even a bit of rock-tripe--in these parts the last resource of starving men--could be met with. They encamped in a plain, where not a tree stood--not even a rock to shelter them.

Next morning a consultation was held. Marengo was again the subject of their thoughts and conversation. Should they kill him on the spot or go a little farther? That was the question. Lucien, as before, interposed in his favour. There was a high hill many miles off, and in their proper course. "Let us first reach yonder hill," proposed Lucien. "If nothing is found before that, then we must part with Marengo."

The proposal was agreed to, and, striking their tent, they again set out.

It was a toilsome long way to that hill--feeble and weary as they all were--but they reached it without having observed the slightest trace of animal life.

"Up the hill!" cried Lucien, beckoning to the others, and cheering them with his weak voice, "Up the hill!"

On they went, up the steep declivity--Marengo toiling on after them. The dog looked downcast and despairing. He really appeared to know the conditions that had been made for his life. His masters, as they crept upward, looked sharply before them. Every tuft that appeared above the snow was scrutinized, and every inch of the ground, as it came into view, was examined.

At length they crossed the escarpment of the hill, and stood upon the summit. They gazed forward with disappointed feelings. The hill-top was a sort of table plain, of about three hundred yards in diameter. It was covered with snow, nearly a foot in depth. A few heads of withered gra.s.s were seen above the surface, but not enough to subdue the uniform white that prevailed all over. There was no creature upon it; that was evident. A bird as big as a sparrow, or a quadruped as large as a shrew-mouse, could have been seen upon any part of it. A single glance satisfied all of them that no living thing was there.

They halted without proceeding farther. Some of them could not have gone another mile, and all of them were tottering in their tracks. Marengo had arrived upon the summit, and stood a little to one side, with the sledge behind him.

"_You_ must do it!" said Basil, speaking to Norman in a hoa.r.s.e voice, and turning his head away. Lucien and Francois stepped aside at the same time, and stood as if looking down the hill. The countenances of all three betokened extreme sorrow. There was a tear in Basil's eye that he was trying to wipe away with his sleeve.

The sharp click of Norman's gun was heard behind them, and they were all waiting for the report, when, at that moment, a dark shadow pa.s.sing over the white declivity arrested their attention! It was the shadow of a bird upon the wing. The simultaneous exclamation of all three stayed Norman's finger--already pressing upon the trigger--and the latter, turning round, saw that they were regarding some object in the air. It was a bird of great size--almost as large as an eagle, but with the plumage of a swan. It was white all over--both body and wings--white as the snow over which it was sailing. Norman knew the bird at a glance.

Its thick short neck and large head--its broad-spreading wings, of milky whiteness, were not to be mistaken. It was the "great snowy owl" of the Arctic regions.

Its appearance suddenly changed the aspect of affairs. Norman let the b.u.t.t of his rifle fall to the ground, and stood, like the rest, watching the bird in its flight.

The snowy owl is, perhaps, the most beautiful, as it is one of the most powerful birds of its genus--of which there are more than a dozen in North America. It is a bird of the Polar regions--even the most remote--and in the dead of winter it is found within the Arctic circle, on both Continents--although at the same season it also wanders farther south. It dwells upon the Barren Grounds as well as in wooded districts.

In the former it squats upon the snow, where its peculiar colour often prevents it from being noticed by the pa.s.sing hunter. Nature has furnished it with every protection from the cold. Its plumage is thick, closely matted, and downy, and it is feathered to the very eyes--so that its legs appear as large as those of a good-sized dog. The bill, too, is completely hidden under a ma.s.s of feathers that cover its face, and not even a point of its whole body is exposed.

The owl is usually looked upon as a night-bird, and in Southern lat.i.tudes it is rarely seen by day; but the owls of the Northern regions differ from their congeners in this respect. They hunt by day, even during the bright hours of noon. Were it not so, how could they exist in the midst of an Arctic summer, when the days are months in duration?

Here we have another example of the manner in which Nature trains her wild creatures to adapt themselves to their situation.

At least a dozen species of owls frequent the territory of the Hudson's Bay Company--the largest of which is the cinereous owl, whose wings have a spread of nearly five feet. Some species migrate south on the approach of winter; while several, as the snowy owl, remain to prey upon the ptarmigan, the hares, and other small quadrupeds, who, like themselves, choose that dreary region for their winter home.

Our travellers, as I have said, stood watching the owl as it soared silently through the heavens. Francois had thrown his gun across his left arm, in hopes he might get a shot at it; but the bird--a shy one at all times--kept away out of range; and, after circling once or twice over the hill, uttered a loud cry and flew off.

Its cry resembled the moan of a human being in distress; and its effect upon the minds of our travellers, in the state they then were, was far from being pleasant. They watched the bird with despairing looks, until it was lost against the white background of a snow-covered hill.

They had noticed that the owl appeared to be just taking flight when they first saw it. It must have risen up from the hill upon which they were; and they once more ran their eyes along the level summit, curious to know where it had been perched that they had not seen it. No doubt, reflected they, it had been near enough, but its colour had rendered it undistinguishable from the snow.