LAKE OF THE SWANS
Book 2 of 3
Chapter 50
A triple wedding would have made a fine conclusion to the Emerson family’s stay at the Lake of the Swans. Any such possibility changed, however, with the arrival of a runaway slave and the knowledge he bore. And so it was that the time and effort the family might have spent on a large wedding went instead to the comparatively considerable work required to dupe the powers that be and make a quick exit into an uncharted wilderness. As for marriage, they dared not attempt to get around that which nature’s hard love pressed upon them. Therefore, on a wilderness path that promised great difficulty, it went without saying that, in the absence of marital vows, they would keep things simple—the men would sleep in the men’s tent and women in the women’s tent—the very situation that we now find our newly formed group of travelers in, on the trail in a place we’ve visited before, although presently considerably different in appearance.
John crawled from his and Laureal’s little tent, stood up, stretched his arms above his head, and let out a pleasant sigh. Coming out behind him, Laureal rose at his side and, smiling up at him, said, “It looks different in summertime.”
“It sure does,” putting his arm around her. “I like it better this way.” Then, after a moment's thought, “It was beautiful last winter, though.”
Before them, Montreal Lake stretched away to the southern horizon. Its glassy surface, reflecting the early morning sky, appeared as a mirror of polished gold. A trout jumped from it, leaving rings of ripples going out in perfect circles one after another. The splash caught the attention of a white-headed eagle high in a spruce tree. The raptor left its perch to glide as smoothly as silk over the lake. It turned its head one way and then the other as it scanned the water below.
From the breakfast fire, Jessie looked on as Harley emerged from the men’s tent, “Good morning.”
“Good morning…beautiful.”
Blushing, smiling, and shaking her head, Jessie turned to pick up a medium-sized cook pot. Then, as she handed the pot to Rowena, her expression shifted to that of an instructive mentor, “Fill this for me, please, dear. One inch of dandelion leaves, one inch of nettle leaves, one of red clover, one of blackberries, then three-quarters full with water. Bring me the dandelion roots separately. Here, fill this basket halfway with them. And take Cody with you. Tell him to take the rifle.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
Not a stone’s toss away, Noah picked up a wood chip and tossed it in a basket.
At once, Sophie took the chip from the basket and tossed it to the ground. “That’s not birch.”
Noah looked about the campsite, heavily littered with fresh wood chips, byproducts from the construction of a raft and a dugout canoe. Most of the chips were poplar, which appeared identical to birch in the untrained eye. The latter being good for smoking meats, the former not so much.
Sophie held up a chip, “You see this? This is birch, it’s what we women use for cooking. Most chips over here are birch. Those over there are poplar. Here, take this one. You can use it to compare as you gather.”
Emma knelt on a mat beside a stone campfire ring. First to have risen, she shaved slices of pork belly to lay on a smoky grate. Only minutes before, she and Jessie had paddled out to a makeshift buoy and brought a hog-side up from its storage location in the cold depths of the lake—an effective summertime method of meat storage that prehistoric peoples had also used according to 21st century science. The technique relied on a phenomenon in northern lakes that saw water temperature plummet to near freezing at particular depths (50-70ft). To see the temperature change on a 21st century chart would be startling, like falling off a cliff. The temperature drop-off point, named a ‘metalimnion’ by 21st century researchers, acted as a pressure barrier so effective that, in the event that sediment got washed into a lake, it would not penetrate the barrier but only spread out atop it. Presently, the outermost portion of the hog side would be fed to the dogs while the fresh inner bacon would be used to create a special breakfast to celebrate the completion of their work at Montreal Lake.
While the women prepared breakfast, Harley waded out into the shallows where a large river raft floated at the end of a quick but heavy-made little dock. The raft, which we will learn more about later, had been constructed specifically for the rivers and lakes on which it was to be used. In constructing the raft, the family saved an invaluable amount of time thanks to a two-man crosscut saw, a special acquisition that we will also learn more about later. The raft had passed its first and only test upon its completion the day before. Presently, as the craft’s designer, Harley worked his way along the edges of the raft for one final inspection, testing every binding and knot by hand, to be certain nothing had been overlooked.
Moored beside the raft, a dugout canoe represented twelve days of dogged teamwork. Hewn from the trunk of a gigantic balsam poplar, the canoe measured twenty-eight feet in length and three and one-quarter feet wide in girth. Rounding out the family’s miniature navy were two birch bark canoes brought overland from the Lake of the Swans. The longer of the two canoes measured seventeen feet in length, the shorter measured fifteen feet.
Working on his knees, Julian rolled a sleeping blanket extra tight to fit with other blankets in a leather bag, itself permeated with mink oil. Then, having rolled the bag’s open end closed and cinching it tight with a draw cord, he cast his eyes over to Anders, who was just then folding up the men’s tent, “This is the life for me.”
Anders broke into a broad smile, “Folding up blankets? How so?”
“You know what I mean!” laughing.
Chuckling, Anders returned to his folding. “I do know,” thinking to himself, remembering the better parts of his adventures as a young man, seeking treasure in the realm beyond the Five Seas.
Nearby, Mia and Laureal worked to roll up the women’s blankets and fold the tent. The bags were then taken to the dock and loaded into the canoes.
Just then, Mr. Fischer came along the shore, “Good morning, Mrs. Summerfield.”
“Good morning, Mr. Fisher.” And reading his worried expression, “Is something wrong?”
“I certainly hope not. It’s my turn to babysit the pups this morning, and as you know, Weya has been bringing them meat as of late. Anyway, with her on the hunt, they’ve been in my care since first light. And well, that eagle made me nervous. So I walked down the shore a piece, and I threw a rock at it. It flew away, and I returned to camp. When I got back, Storm was gone. I know he was here, and I know the eagle didn’t get him, but now I can’t find him anywhere.”
Fisher did not know, nor did anyone else know that, not ten minutes before, a cranberry-blue butterfly had fluttered through camp where, as if to dare the alpha pup, it had swooped in front of his nose. Storm had laid chase, and together the pair had gone into the wood where again and again, the pup tried to catch the butterfly only to have it sail from his reach. Presently, they went up the hill that rose behind the family’s camp, the brightly colored insect displayed its acrobatic talent on a dark animal path to enthrall the pup until, alas, it altogether vanished.
Storm looked around. He had never been so far from home. Still, the place seemed familiar enough, what with the moss and ferns, the morning light filtering through the dark wood. He knew his mother was off on a hunt. Maybe he could find her? That is, if she wanted to be found. She often left camp before sunrise to hunt, then returned in the morning, often with a stomach full of food for he and his siblings to eat. Storm suddenly felt very hungry. Only then did he hear the shouts coming through the woods—
“Storm! Storm! Where are you, boy? Storm! Here, Storm!”
Those shouts probably meant his mom was home. Time for breakfast! Storm spun around in their direction only to stammer before a large shadow.
The Inuk bent to take a knee before the pup, “You know, there are eyes in these woods just looking for little morsels like yourself.”
Recovering from his initial shock, Storm bolted around the Inuk on a beeline for home.
Chuckling, Onak continued up the hill to a rocky point overlooking the lake. Below, along the shoreline, a gap in the evergreens showed where the lake emptied into the river. The family meant to go there that very morning, north on the swift river, and every mile north was another mile closer to Onak’s home. It had been ten years since he’d seen his mother and father. Ten years a slave. Ten years since he’d walked free in his homeland. Now, at long last, the path home lay open before him. He turned his face skyward and lifted his hands to heaven, “Thank you! Thank you for answering my prayers!”
Back at camp, Elkhart also studied the lake’s outlet to the river, although from a different angle. The water level was just right for the raft. The morning sky foretold friendly weather. So far, all had gone according to plan. John and his crew had doubled back and made it to the old river crossing without detection. The rest of the family had caught up with him shortly after, and now, after two weeks of hard work, they were ready. In a few hours, they would leave behind a typical-looking construction camp in which the clan had built a raft and dugout canoe to carry their seasonal haul south toward home. But of course, it was a deception.
“Breakfast is ready!” Jessie called.
Around the campfire, adults, teenagers, and children found seats, if not on logs or rocks, then sitting cross-legged on the ground. A south breeze came gently across the lake and helped to mitigate the mosquitoes there on the peninsula between the lake and river. A few cloud puffs floated like cotton candy in the blue. It was a sunny summer morning, the air filled with the music of songbirds.
Biting into a breakfast cake, John shifted his eyes to Emma as if to say, ‘Wow!’
The cake was a hash of fresh-caught trout from the grill, smoked bacon straight off the boar, boiled dandelion roots that tasted like potatoes picked that morning, plus herbs and spices, along with a bit of wild wheat flour and honey to hold it all together. The women had hand-formed the cakes and baked them in a stone oven.
Cody turned to his mom, “Can we have these every morning?”
Laughter went around the fire, as did many compliments.
While the humans enjoyed their initial success, the pups were preoccupied with their mother’s return and the food she brought. Yike and Nemo savored their bacon breakfast, and Ellie grazed a few stone throws down the shoreline.
Sipping from his cup, Rutin shot Emma a heartfelt look of gratitude. He knew his blackberry tea not only tasted good but also contained natural anti-inflammatory ingredients for the relief of old joints.
The cooking gear was packed away on the boats. The remainder of the pork side, previously stored in the icy depths of the lake, was cut up and heavily salted so that it might last another week. Salt was common throughout their region, though, as with many things, the Kasskatchens had to process it from natural sources. In this case, however, the salt had been purchased before departing the Lake of the Swans. Having placed the salted pork in a waterproof bag, the women added a little water to create a brine solution. The bag was then stored at the bottom of a birch-bark canoe where the cold of the river could transfer to it and counter the heat of summer.
At last, with everything stowed away, the time had come to load the animals on boats and raft.
“She’ll do better today,” said Anders, looking on while John led Ellie towards the dock.
“I hope so,” John replied, remembering yesterday’s test run, when the men had loaded the giant onto the raft, and then poled a short distance along the shore before returning. “Ellie doesn’t like big bodies of water.”
No more had John spoken than Ellie stopped several yards short of the dock.
“Okay, Ellie, come on,” pulling gently at the lead rope. “Trust me, it’s not as bad as you think.” Then, after a brief struggle, “Dammit, Ellie!”
“John, darling…don’t get angry with her.”
Glancing at Laureal, John turned back to Ellie, “Come on, girl,” and turning her around, he walked her away from the dock, then continued in a circle to bring her back around for another try, only to have her stop short of the dock again.
Holding the lead rope taut, John got in Ellie’s face. His eyes slightly crazy, he spoke through gritted teeth, “Knock it off!” his tone was low and growly. Then, softening a little, “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”
John waited while Ellie’s fright, which had shifted from fear of the lake to fear of him, dissipated. It did not take long. She then followed onto the dock only to stop just shy of the raft.
Frustrated but controlled, John growled under his breath, “You damn horse.”
In John’s defense, if meticulous care were to be considered a measure of love, then John truly did love Ellie. His youthful impatience, however, had led him and her to the threshold of disaster on more than one occasion. Presently, having once again shifted Ellie’s fear from that of the lake onto himself, he gave her a moment to calm, and, to trust him.
At last, Ellie stepped onto the raft, which sank six inches under her great weight.
“That’s a good girl,” stroking her massive neck. “Alright, just a few steps more,” coaxing her into a U-shaped railing at the center of the raft. The railing had no real strength. Its purpose was to mark the center of the boat and, perhaps, give Ellie some sense of place.
Coming along in support, Anders handed John a rope. “Good job, John.”
“Thank you, Anders,” attaching the rope to Ellie’s harness.
Anders then tied the other end of the rope to a floor anchor aligned to one of the raft’s four corners. The two men repeated the process, running a total of four ropes like guy wires from Ellie’s harness to floor anchors in alignment with the raft’s four corners. In this manner, Ellie was secured in the exact center of the raft. She did not have her packsaddle on, only its frame and harness.
The puppies came next; all thirteen of them were packed into a low wicker pen that surrounded the three sides of Ellie’s U-shaped railing.
From shore, Sophie looked on with concern, “Will the puppies be okay?”
Having put the last puppy in the pen, John closed the lid before lifting his eyes to the child, “Think of how happy they’ll be when we let them out to play with you and Noah.”
“How will they get out if the raft turns over?” Sophie pressed.
“I’ve already told you…a raft this size cannot turn over. It’s too big, and the river’s too shallow.”
“John’s right,” Cody threw in, “the raft can’t tip over.” Then, pondering the power of flowing water, he added, “At least…barring some freak event.”
“What freak event?” asked Sophie, her eyes grown wide.
“The power of water,” Cody began, “it can…
“Carry us to where we want to go!” John butted in loudly, shooting a warning glance at Cody.
“John, darling,” called Laureal from down the shoreline, “I need your help with Weya.”
“I’m not touching her,” hollering back.
“John…we need to get her on the raft.”
“We tried that yesterday (and we all know how that worked out). She can run the shoreline path. Then maybe when she tires out, she’ll be easier to reason with.”
Fortunately for Waya, the shoreline path was a good one, having been opened up by the family. The path ran along the west shore of the river going north from Lake Montreal to the old crossing twenty miles to the north (in river miles, not as the crow flew).
While the humans made their final checks, Yike and Nemo trotted from shore to dock to raft, around the horse, the puppy pen, and the battened-down gear, all the while wagging their tails like the happy-go-lucky dogs they were until, at last, they were called to take their places aboard the canoes.
In the larger of the two birchbark canoes, Harley and Cody were first to launch. Yike rode with them and knew to lie low if ordered to. They would be first on the river, a scout canoe with prearranged signals that could be relayed back to the others.
Jessie and Rowe launched next in the smaller birch bark canoe. Nemo rode with them. They would maintain visual contact between the scout canoe at the front and the big dugout canoe behind.
In the dugout canoe, Elkhart sat in the stern with Mia in the bow. Spaced between them from front to back, Robert, Laureal, and Emma sat or knelt. Noah and Sophie sat with Laureal in the middle. All five adults paddled to get the heavy craft moving. Once on the river, only Rutin and Mia would need to paddle, and only then to keep the canoe aligned with the swift flow of the river. Other than that, it would be a float trip for them and the other canoes. In fact, they might need to stop now and again to allow the raft time to catch up.
Last but not least, John, Anders, Julian, and Onak, each wearing body harnesses of moose hide, secured themselves by rope to one of the raft’s four floor anchors. This put a man with a pole at each side of the big raft and, in the event the raft struck a rock—which was sure to happen—the ropes and harnesses would keep the raftmen from being thrown over the edge where they could be swept underneath to suffer a keelhaul between the logs and rocks, resulting in extreme injury or death.
Presently using their long poles, the men expended no small effort to get their heavy craft moving along the shore. As they muscled, Anders commented nonchalantly, “If you think this is hard…wait until we need to stop.”
Low laughter went round between the four.
The smaller canoes, which had gotten ahead, came paddling back. “Would you like a tow?” Harley shouted.
“Thank you, but we got this.”
With great effort, the four raftmen continued to build momentum toward the tip of the peninsula, where, with one final push, they launched into the slow-moving water. Just a hundred yards ahead, an opening in the trees indicated the spot where the lake funneled into the Montreal River—a modest-sized river, swift-moving with many gentle rapids—perfectly manageable for those who respected the formidable power of flowing water.
While still on the lake, the four boats came together in a flotilla. Their heads bowed, Elkhart led a prayer, giving thanks to the Great Spirit and asking for protection on the path ahead.
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