The Minstrel-Tree [pp. 252]

APPLETONS' JOURNAL.
water near the banks, to run up as far as the eddy
would permit; then the bowsman rose in his seat
and craned his neck forward to take a look before
attempting the passage. Signaling the route he intended to pursue to the steersman, the boat was at
once shot into the chaos of boiling waters that
rushed swiftly by. At first it was swept downward
with the speed of an arrow, while the mad flood
threatened to swamp it in a moment. To the traveler, unaccustomed to such perilous navigation, it
seemed utter folly to attempt the ascent; but a moment more revealed the plan, and brought the
stanch craft into a temporary harbor. Right in the
middle of the central current a huge rock rose above
the surface, while from its base a long eddy ran, like
the gradually-lessening tail of a comet, for nearly a
score of yards. It was just opposite this rock that
the voyageurs had entered the rapid, and for which
they paddled with all their might. The current,
sweeping them down, brought the boat just to the
extreme point of the eddy by the time mid-stream
was reached, and a few vigorous strokes of the oars
floated it quietly in the lee of the rock. A minute's
rest, and the bowsman selected another rock a few
yards higher up, and a great deal to one side. Another rush was made, and the second haven reached.
In this way, yard for yard, the boat-brigade ascended
for miles, sometimes scarcely gaining a foot; again,
as a favoring bay or curve presented a long stretch
of smooth water, advancing more rapidly.
In rapids where the strength of the current forbade the use of oars, progress was made by means
of the tracking-line. Tracking, as it is called, is
dreadfully harassing work. Half the crew go ashore,
and drag the boat slowly along, while the other half
go asleep. After an hour's walk, the others then
take their turn, and so on alternately during the entire day. As the banks about the rapids were generally high, and very precipitous, the voyageurs had
to scramble along, now close to the water's edge,
again high up the bank, on ledges where they could
hardly find a footing, and where they resembled flies
on a wall. The banks, too, composed of soft clay
and mud, increased the labor of hauling; but the
light-hearted voyageurs seemed to think nothing of
it, and laughed and joked as they toiled along, playing tricks upon each other, and plunging occasionally
up to the waist in mud and water, with a reckless
carelessness all their own.
So, day after day, the boat-brigade journeyed on:
through island-studded bays, over long reaches of
limpid water whose placid surface not a ripple
stirred, over turbid floods thick with the ooze of
muddy banks, breasting fierce rapids, climbing thundering waterfalls; sometimes making a fair day's
travel; again, after a day of weary toil, bivouacking
almost within sight of last night's camp-fire.
One day the traveler became aware of an undue
excitement and bustle among the swarthy crews of
the brigade. The pointed prows were turned shoreward, and ran upon a pebbly beach, affording easy
access to the limpid water, and facing the warm rays
of the sun. The voyageurs brought forth all the
soiled clothing worn upon the journey, and a general
scrubbing took place. Soon the bushes in the vicinity, the branches of trees, and the flat rocks, bore
plentiful burdens of gaudy apparel waving in the
breeze to dry. Copious baths were next administered to their persons, capped by each man donning
the bravest garments of his outfit. Ribbons were
braided in their hair, flashy sashes encircled their
waists, and moccasins of bewildering beadwork incased their feet. Then, with a dash and wild chorus
of boat-song, the oars were plied with quickly-measured stroke. Soon the sharp point of a headland
was turned, and the Mission of the White Dog appeared, perched upon the precipitous banks of the
stream. It was the end of the traveler's voyage: a
few huts, a company's trading-store, a few Indians,
and an aroma of decaying fish, which, amalgamating
with the slight mist from the river, surrounded the
traveler's head like an aureole.
THE MINS TRE L-TREE.
AJESTIC sovereign of his fadeless kind,
Hill-born, hill-nurtured, lo! our minstrel-tree,
Swept by the breeze, or mightier winds from sea,
Chants through the sunshine clear, the vapors blind I
Forever, to all moods of heaven resigned,
He makes ineffable music I to our ears
Now grand as trumpet-calls from knightly years,
Now sweet as memories of a loving mind!
O woodland bard I heart-open to all skies,
Thy resonant branches and thy leaves that sing
Have seemed to mock me in their gentlest sway;
Thy rhythms survive for ages-mine, a day.
Yon heaven (thy Muse), through thee, 0 forest-king I
Breathes, epic storms and south winds' lyrical sighs!
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