Fourth Reader

See, the broad red sun has set,
But his rays are quivering yet
Through Nature’s vale of violet,
Streaming bright o’er lake and hill,
But earth and forest lie so still,
It sendeth to the heart a chill;
We start to check the rising tear —
’Tis beauty sleeping on her bier.

    – Susannah Moodie.

A WINTER JOURNEY

On the first day of January, 1776, I set out from Beaver Lake, attended by two men, and provided with dried meat, frozen fish, and a small quantity of roasted maize, sweetened with sugar, which I had brought from Sault Sainte Marie, for this express occasion. Our provisions were drawn by the men, upon sledges made of thin boards, a foot in breadth, and curved upwards in front, after the Indian fashion.

Each day’s journey was commenced at three o’clock in the morning. Although the sun did not rise until somewhat late, at no time was it wholly dark, as the northern lights and the reflection of the snow afforded always sufficient light. In addition, the river, the course of which I was ascending, was a guide with the aid of which I was not afraid of being lost.

As the snow was four feet deep, it rendered my progress so much slower than I had expected, that I soon began to fear the want of provisions. Moreover, I had not gone far before the wood began to dwindle away, both in size and quantity, so that it was with difficulty we could collect sufficient for making a fire, and without fire we could not drink; for melted snow was our only resource, the ice on the river being too thick to be penetrated by the axe.

As the weather continued severely cold, I made my two men sleep on the same skin with myself, one on each side, and though this arrangement was particularly beneficial to myself, it increased the comfort of all. At the usual hour in the morning, we attempted to rise, but found that a foot of snow had fallen upon our bed, as well as extinguished and covered our fire. In this situation we remained till daybreak, when, with much exertion, we collected fresh fuel. Proceeding on our journey, we found that we could no longer use our sledges on account of the quantity of newly fallen snow, and we were now compelled to carry our provisions on our backs. Unfortunately they were a diminished burden.

For the next two days the depth of the snow, and the violence of the winds, so greatly retarded our journey that my men began to fear being starved. However, I kept up their courage by telling them that I should certainly kill red deer and elk, of which the tracks were visible along the banks of the river, and on the sides of the hills. But to do this was not easy, as the animals kept within the shelter of the woods, and the snow was too deep to let me seek them there.

A little later our situation was rendered still more alarming by a fresh fall of snow, which added nearly two feet to the depth of that which was on the ground before. At the same time, we were scarcely able to collect enough wood for making a fire to melt the snow. The only trees around us were small willows, and the hills were bare of every vegetable production such as could rear itself above the snow.

On the twentieth, the last remains of our provisions were exhausted, but I had taken the precaution to conceal a cake of chocolate, in reserve for an occasion such as this. Towards evening, my men, after walking the whole day, began to lose their strength, but we, nevertheless, kept on our feet till it was late. When we encamped, I desired them to fill the kettle with snow, and showing them the chocolate, told them it would keep us alive for five days at least, during which we would surely meet with some Indian at the chase. This revived their spirits, and, the kettle being filled with two gallons of water, I put into it one square of the chocolate. The quantity was scarcely sufficient to alter the color of the water, but each of us drank half a gallon of the warm liquid, by which we were much refreshed.

In the morning, we allowed ourselves a similar repast, after finishing which, we marched vigorously for six hours. But now the spirits of my companions again deserted them, and they declared that they neither would, nor could, proceed any further. For myself, they advised me to leave them, and accomplish the journey as I could; as for themselves, they said they must die soon, and might as well die where they were as anywhere else.

While things were in this melancholy state, I filled the kettle, and boiled another square of chocolate. When prepared, I prevailed upon my desponding companions to return to their warm beverage. On taking it, they recovered inconceivably, and, after smoking a pipe, consented to go forward. While their stomachs were comforted by the warm water, they walked well, but, as evening approached, fatigue overcame them, and they relapsed into their former condition. The chocolate being now almost entirely consumed, I began to fear that I must really abandon them, as, had it not been for keeping company with them, I could have advanced double the distance, within the time that had been spent. To my great joy, however, the usual quantity of warm water revived them.

For breakfast the next morning, I put the last square of chocolate into the kettle, and, our meal finished, we began our march. We were surrounded by large herds of wolves, which sometimes came close upon us, and who seemed to know the extremity in which we were, but I carried a gun, and this was our protection. I fired several times, but unfortunately missed at each; for a morsel of wolf’s flesh would have afforded us a banquet.

Our misery, nevertheless, was nearer its end than we imagined. Before sunset, we discovered, on the ice, some remains of the bones of an elk, left there by the wolves. Having instantly gathered them, we encamped, and, filling our kettle, prepared ourselves a meal of strong and excellent soup. The greater part of the night was passed in boiling and eating our booty, and early in the morning we felt ourselves strong enough to proceed.

At noon, we saw the horns of a red deer, standing in the snow on the river, and on examination, we found that the whole carcass was with them. By cutting away the ice, we were enabled to lay bare a part of the back and shoulders, and thus procure a stock of food sufficient for the rest of our journey. We accordingly encamped, and employed our kettle to good purpose. We forgot all our misfortunes, and prepared to walk with cheerfulness the twenty leagues, which, as we reckoned, still lay between ourselves and Fort des Prairies. – Alexander Henry.

THE INCHCAPE ROCK

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was as still as she could be;
Her sails from heaven received no motion,
Her keel was steady in the ocean.

Without either sign or sound of their shock,
The waves flowed over the Inchcape Rock;
So little they rose, so little they fell,
They did not move the Inchcape Bell.

The pious Abbot of Aberbrothock
Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock;
On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung,
And over the waves its warning rung.

When the Rock was hid by the surge’s swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell;
And then they knew the perilous Rock,
And blessed the Abbot of Aberbrothock.

The sun in heaven was shining gay;
All things were joyful on that day;
The sea-birds screamed as they wheeled round,
And there was joyance in their sound.

The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen,
A darker speck on the ocean green;
Sir Ralph the Rover walked his deck,
And fixed his eye on the darker speck.

He felt the cheering power of spring;
It made him whistle, it made him sing:
His heart was mirthful to excess,
But the Rover’s mirth was wickedness.

His eye was on the Inchcape float;
Quoth he: “My men, put out the boat,
And row me to the Inchcape Rock,
And I’ll plague the Abbot of Aberbrothock.”

The boat is lowered, the boatmen row,
And to the Inchcape Rock they go;
Sir Ralph bent over from his boat,
And he cut the bell from the Inchcape float.

Down sank the bell with a gurgling sound,
The bubbles rose and burst around;
Quoth Sir Ralph: “The next who comes to the Rock
Won’t bless the Abbot of Aberbrothock.”

Sir Ralph the Rover sailed away;
He scoured the seas for many a day;
And now, grown rich with plundered store,
He steers his course for Scotland’s shore.

So thick a haze o’erspreads the sky
They cannot see the sun on high;
The wind hath blown a gale all day,
At evening it hath died away.