Frontier and pioneer life -- Québec (Province) -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Short stories
He rose to bathe his stiffened limbs in the river and the motion caused
Hemlock to spring to his feet. He glanced at the sky, and remarked that
he had slept too long. While Morton bathed, Hemlock busied himself
in contriving a scoop of withes and birch bark, with which, standing
beneath the fall, he quickly tossed out a number of trout. A flint
supplied fire and on the embers the fish as caught were laid to roast,
and whether it was so, or was due to his keen appetite, Morton thought
they tasted sweeter than when cleaned. With the biscuit in their
pouches, though wet, they made a fair breakfast. As they finished,
a faint echo of drums and fifes was wafted to them. “We will stay a
little while,” said Hemlock, “to let the scouts go back to camp, for
they would search the woods again this morning.”
“And what then?” asked Morton.
“We will go back to Perrigo, who is near-by.”
“Would they not fly to Canada after what they did?”
“Indians are like the snake. When it is hunted, it does not fly; it
hides. They are waiting for us.”
“Where were you taught to speak English so well, Hemlock?”
“I did not need to be taught; I learnt it with the Iroquois. I was born
near an English settlement and my choice companion was an English girl,
we played together, and were taught together by the missionary; long
after, she became my wife.”
“But you are not a Christian?”
“No; when I saw the white man’s ways I wanted not his religion.”
“And your wife, is she living?”
“Hemlock does not lay his heart open to the stranger; he is alone in
the world.”
Respecting his reserve, and tho’ curious to know if the guardian-spirit
of the chasm had spoken to him in his dreams, Morton changed the
subject, the more so as he did not wish his companion to know that
he had been the unwitting witness of his invocation ceremonial. He
asked about the chasm in whose solemn depths they found shelter, and
Hemlock told how it had been known to all the seven nations of the
Iroquois and regarded by them as a chosen abode of the spirits, the
more so as its origin was supernatural. There had been a very rainy
season and the beavers had their villages flooded and were in danger
of being destroyed. Two of them volunteered to visit the spirit-land
and beseech the help of their oki, which he promised. He came one dark
night and with a single flap of his tail smote the rock, splitting it
in two and allowing the waters to drain into the low country beneath.
Morton listened gravely, seeing his companion spoke in all seriousness,
and thought the tale might be an Indian version of the earthquake, or
other convulsion of nature, by which the bed of sandstone had been
rent asunder, and a channel thus afforded for the surplus waters of
the adjoining heights. The trees and bushes which had found an airy
foothold in crevices, and the weather-beaten and lichened faces of the
cliffs, told how remote that time must have been.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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