Ungava | Page 3

exclaiming, as he did so, "There, strike out, you've no time to lose, and
I'll go round by the woods."
There was indeed no time to lose. The huge mass of ice was closing
rapidly into the mouth of the creek, and narrowing the only passage
through which the canoe could escape into the open water of the river
beyond. Stanley might, indeed, drag his canoe up the bank, if so
disposed, and reach home by a circuitous walk through the woods; but
by doing so he would lose much time, and be under the necessity of
carrying his gun, blanket, tin kettle, and the goose, on his back. His
broad shoulders were admirably adapted for such a burden, but he
preferred the canoe to the woods on the present occasion. Besides, the
only risk he ran was that of getting his canoe crushed to pieces. So,
plunging his paddle vigorously in the water, he shot through the
lessening channel like an arrow, and swept out on the bosom of the
broad river just as the ice closed with a crash upon the shore and
ground itself to powder on the rocks.
"Well done!" shouted Frank, with a wave of his cap, as he witnessed
the success of his friend's exploit.
"All right," replied Stanley, glancing over his shoulder.
In another moment the canoe disappeared behind a group of willows
that grew on the point at the river's mouth, and the young man was left
alone. For a few minutes he stood contemplating the point behind
which his companion had disappeared; then giving a hasty glance at the
priming of his rifle, he threw it across his shoulder, and striding rapidly
up the bank, was soon lost to view amid the luxuriant undergrowth of
the forest.

CHAPTER TWO.
HEADQUARTERS--THE MEN--DISPUTATION AND
UNCERTAINTY--NEW USES FOR THE SKINS OF DEAD
BOYS!--MUTINOUS RESOLVES.
Moose Fort, the headquarters and depot of the fur-traders, who
prosecute their traffic in almost all parts of the wild and uninhabited
regions of North America, stands on an island near the mouth of Moose
River. Like all the establishments of the fur-traders, it is a solitary
group of wooden buildings, far removed beyond the influences--almost
beyond the ken--of the civilised world, and surrounded by the primeval
wilderness, the only tenants of which were, at the time we write of, a
few scattered tribes of Muskigon Indians, and the wild animals whose
flesh furnished them with food and whose skins constituted their sole
wealth. There was little of luxury at Moose Fort. The walls of the
houses within the stockade, that served more as an ornament than a
defence, were of painted, in some cases unpainted, planks. The floors,
ceilings, chairs, tables, and, in short, all the articles of furniture in the
place, were made of the same rough material. A lofty scaffolding of
wood rose above the surrounding buildings, and served as an outlook,
whence, at the proper season, longing eyes were wont to be turned
towards the sea in expectation of "the ship" which paid the
establishment an annual visit from England. Several large iron
field-pieces stood before the front gate; but they were more for the sake
of appearance than use, and were never fired except for the purpose of
saluting the said ship on the occasions of her arrival and departure. The
first boom of the cannon unlocks the long-closed portals of connection
between Moose Fort and England; the second salvo shuts them up
again in their frozen domains for another year! A century and a half ago,
the band of "adventurers trading into Hudson's Bay" felled the first
trees and pitched their tents on the shores of James's Bay, and
successive generations of fur-traders have kept the post until the
present day; yet there is scarcely a symptom of the presence of man
beyond a few miles round the establishment. Years ago the fort was
built, and there it stands now, with new tenants, it is true, but in its
general aspect unchanged; and there it is likely to remain, wrapped in

its barrier of all but impregnable solitude, for centuries to come.
Nevertheless, Moose is a comfortable place in its way, and when
contrasted with other trading establishments is a very palace and temple
of luxury. There are men within its walls who can tell of log-huts and
starvation, solitude and desolation, compared with which Moose is a
terrestrial paradise. Frank Morton, whom we have introduced in the
first chapter, said, on his arrival at Moose, that it appeared to him to be
the very fag-end of creation. He had travelled night and day for six
weeks from what he considered the very outskirts of civilisation,
through uninhabited forests and almost unknown rivers, in order to get
to it; and while the feeling of desolation that