“When Mike declared that all was ready, he and Ben embarked in a canoe they had hired in the settlement, and started gayly up the river.
“After ascending the main stream some fifty or sixty miles, they turned into a small tributary which flows into the Codroy from the northward. This stream ran between precipitous banks, often more than a hundred feet in height. Its deep and gloomy ravine was chiselled through a vast table-land without landmark or limit, scourged by every wind that blows.
“This inexpressibly bleak region Mike declared to be ‘the barrens,’ where they would find the caribou. Into its depths they penetrated till their way was barred by fierce rapids, at the foot of which they made their camp in a warm and windless cove.
“It was well on in the autumn, a season when the bull caribou are very pugnacious, whence it came that Ben Christie had not long to wait before finding himself face to face with the object of his desire.
“The first day’s hunting, however, was fruitless. Leaving the camp after a by no means early or hasty breakfast, Ben and Mike climbed the great wall of the ravine; and no sooner were they fairly out upon the level waste than they descried three caribou feeding about half a mile away. This to Ben seemed quite a matter of course; nevertheless, he was exhilarated at the sight, and set out in hot pursuit, followed by the laughing Mike. They made no secret of their approach, but advanced in plain view, as if they were driving cattle in a pasture. And the caribou, being in a pleasant humor and willing to avoid disturbance, discreetly withdrew.
“After pursuing them for three or four miles, Ben gave up the chase, much disappointed to find the animals so wild.
“When the hunters started to return to the river, they were astonished to find no sign of a river, or the course of one, anywhere in the landscape. Mike at once concluded that they were lost, but Ben was not troubled. He had the sun to steer by, and was amply satisfied.
“Indeed, he felt much at home on the barrens, where, as he said, ‘there was plenty of sea-room, and a chap could breathe free.’ He shaped his course confidently for the camp, and ‘fetched’ the river as unerringly as if it had been a port on the South Shore.
“The barrens, which cover so large a portion of the interior of Newfoundland, vary somewhat in character in different parts of the island.
“Where Ben and Mike were investigating them, they were covered with wide patches of a sturdy, stunted shrub called, locally, ‘skronnick.’
“This skronnick played a most important part in the experiences which presently befell the hunters. It grows about shoulder-high at its highest, and spreads out like a miniature banyan-tree. Its twisted stems are bare to a height of from two to three feet, and its top so densely matted as almost to shut out the light. The shrub is an evergreen, a remote cousin to the juniper, and its stems are wide enough apart for one to freely crawl about between them. When one is caught in a storm on the barrens, the skronnick patches make no mean shelter.
“Scattered thinly amid the skronnick stood bald, white-granite bowlders from two or three to ten or twelve feet high; and here and there lay deep pools, – cup-shaped hollows – filled to the brim with transparent, icy water.
“‘Arrah,’ said Mike, as they climbed down the ravine to the camp, ‘but it’s a quare counthry!’
“To Ben, however, all dry land was queer. So he hardly comprehended Mike’s remark.
“On the following day before they set out for the hunt a council of war was held. Said Ben, —
“‘You see, the critters won’t let us git nigh enough to fire at ’em afore they clear out; an’ then where are we?’
“‘Sure, an’ we’ll hide in the skronnick,’ replied Mike, ‘an’ shoot thim as they go by.’
“‘An’ maybe they won’t go by just to oblige us,’ suggested Ben. ‘I reckon we’ll hev to git down, so’s they can’t see us, an’ crawl up on ’em!”
“These tactics decided upon, the hunters mounted to the plain, enthusiastic and sanguine. Eagerly they scanned the bleak reaches. Not a caribou was there in sight. Ben’s face fell, and he heaved a mighty sigh of disappointment. But Mike was not so easily cast down.
“‘Come on,’ said he cheerily, ‘an’ we’ll find the bastes ’fore ye know where ye are.’
“With their guns over their shoulders, they picked their way through the skronnick for a couple of hundred yards, till suddenly, out from behind a bowlder, not twenty paces in front of them, stepped a huge bull caribou.
“The caribou was solitary, and in a very bad humor. He shook his spreading antlers and snorted ominously.
“‘You shoot! He’s yourn!’ shouted Mike in wild excitement, brandishing his gun at full cock over his head.
“Proudly Ben raised his long weapon to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. There was no marked result, however, as he had forgotten to cock the gun. Just as he hastily remedied this oversight, the caribou charged madly. Ben fired – and missed!
“‘He’ll kill ye! Dodge him in the skronnick,’ yelled Mike.
“And obediently Ben dived into the nearest patch.
“Acting upon a natural instinct, he scurried from side to side to throw his pursuer off the track.
“The caribou sprang furiously upon the bushes where Ben had disappeared, and trampled them with his knife-like front hoofs. Then he turned on Mike, who had been anxiously waiting for him to keep still and give him a fair shot.
“In desperation Mike fired, just grazing the animal’s flank, and then he darted, like a rabbit, under the skronnick bushes.
“When those deadly forehoofs came down on the place where he had vanished, the little Irishman was not there. Nimbly and noiselessly he put all the distance he could between himself and the spot where he heard his enemy tearing at the skronnick.
“Finding himself unpursued, Ben made haste to reload his gun.
“At the sound of Mike’s shot he thrust his head out of his hiding-place in time to see his comrade go under cover. Very deliberately Ben rammed the bullet home and put on the cap. Then, standing up to his full height, and taking aim at the caribou’s hind-quarters, which were towards him, he shouted, ‘Load up, Mike!’ and fired again.
“Unfortunately for the accuracy of Ben’s aim, the caribou had wheeled sharp round at the sound of his voice, and charged without an instant’s delay; so again the shot went wide. And again, with alacrity that did credit to his bulk, Ben scuttled under the skronnick.
“But this time the indignant bull, furious at being thus outwitted, bounded into the bush, and began thrusting about at random with horns and hoofs.
“More than once Ben narrowly escaped those terrible weapons, and his trepidation began to be mingled with fierce wrath at the idea of being ‘hustled ’round’ this way by a ‘critter.’
“He could get no chance to load up again, and he was on the point of stepping forth and attacking the animal with the butt of his gun. He felt as if he was battened under hatches in a sinking ship.
“Before he could put his purpose into effect, however, there was another shot from Mike. It evidently struck the animal somewhere, for he bellowed with rage as he bounded over the thickets to join battle with his other assailant.
“The Irishman had not waited to mark the result of his shot, but had plunged instantly out of sight, and betaken himself to a position well removed.
“The angry bull had no idea of his whereabouts, but thrashed around wildly, while the little Irishman chuckled in his sleeve.
“As soon as Ben once more got his gun loaded, he stuck his head up through the skronnick. He observed that in his wanderings beneath the scrub he had worked his way very nearly to the big granite bowlder before mentioned.
“He did not fire, for he was resolved not to waste his shot this time. Just as he made up his mind to try a rush for the bowlder, from the top of which he would be master of the situation, the caribou looked up, and caught sight of him again.
“The animal’s charge was so lightning-like in its rapidity that Ben could do nothing but dive once more beneath the kindly skronnick.
“As fast as he could, he worked his way toward the bowlder, but in his haste the movement of the bushes betrayed him. One of the razor-edged hoofs came down within a foot or two of his face, and he shrank back swiftly, making himself very small.
“His changed course brought him to the very brink of one of the deep pools already spoken of, and he almost fell into it. In turning aside from that obstacle, the shaking of the bushes again gave the bull a hint of his position. With a cough and a bellow the animal leaped to the spot, just missed Ben’s retiring feet, and plunged headlong into the pool.
“This seemed to Ben just his opportunity for gaining the rock. He sprang up and made a dash for it. But before he reached its foot, – and a glance told him that it was not to be scaled on that side, – the caribou had picked himself nimbly out of the water and was after him, his fury by no means dampened by the ducking.
“Grinding his teeth, Ben darted yet again beneath the scrub, but this time it was the closest shave he had had. The skronnick was thinner here, and he would hardly have succeeded in evading his antagonist for more than a minute, had not Mike come to the rescue. The Irishman rose up with a wild yell, discharged his gun right in the caribou’s face, missed with his customary facility, and dropped again into the skronnick.
“The foaming animal dashed away to hunt him; and Ben, creeping stealthily around the bowlder, found its accessible side, and scrambled to the summit as the caribou came bounding to its base.
“If the bowlder had been a very few feet lower, the adventure might have had a very different issue. But as it was, the height proved sufficient. Ben surveyed those spear-sharp prongs from his point of vantage, just three feet beyond reach of their vicious thrusts, and thought proudly how fine they would look mounted in the cabin of the Garnet.
“He was in no great hurry to end the performance, and he did not like to fire while the caribou was so close to the muzzle of the gun. But presently the animal paused and looked around for Mike.
“He turned, in fact, as if to go and hunt the little Irishman again, and Ben’s heart smote him for having even for a moment forgotten the peril in which his comrade yet remained. He took careful aim at a point close behind the caribou’s shoulder. At the report the animal sprang straight into the air, and fell back stone dead.
“Very triumphant, quite pardonably so, in fact, were Ben and Mike as they returned to the Codroy settlement with their spoils. They discreetly refrained from detailing at Codroy all the particulars of the hunt. But if the tourist, exploring the coasts of Newfoundland in the steamer Garnet, chances to remark upon the immense pair of caribou antlers which hang over the cabin door, he will hear the whole story from Ben Christie, who is endowed with an excellent sense of humor.”
When Ranolf ended he received unusual applause. Then I stepped, so to speak, into the breach. “I cannot hope,” said I, “to win the ears of this worshipful company with any such gentle humor as Ranolf has just achieved. But I have a good rousing adventure to tell you, with lots of blood though little thunder. The scene of it is not far from Newfoundland. Let this fact speak in its favor!”
“Fire away, Old Man!” said Queerman.
“I take for my narrative the simple title of —
‘LABRADOR WOLVES.’
said I.
“In early June, two years ago, my friend, Jack Rollings, of the Canada Geological Survey, was occupied in exploring parts of the Labrador coast, from the mouth of the Moisic River eastward. The following adventure, one of several that befell him in that wild region, has a peculiar interest from its possible connection with a throng of terrible legends, the scenes of which are laid along those shores.
“Ever since the Gulf of St. Lawrence became known to the fishing-fleets of Brittany and the Basque Provinces, its north-eastern coast has been peopled, by the vivid imaginations of the fishermen and sailors, with supernatural beings of various fashions, all agreeing, however, in the attributes of malignity and noisiness. Demons and griffins and monsters indescribable were supposed to haunt the bleak hills and dreadful ravines. Ships driven reluctantly inshore by stress of weather were wont to carry away strange tales of howlings and visions to freeze the marrow of the folks at home.
“The probable origin of those myths may be found in the fact that from time to time the coast has been ravaged by hordes of gigantic gray wolves, sweeping down from the unfathomed wilderness of the high interior plateau. One of these visitations was in 1873, when many of the coast dwellers, whose scanty settlements cling here and there in the lonely harbors, were torn to pieces on the shore, or shut up in their cabins till starvation stared them in the face. No great stretch of fancy is required to metamorphose a pack of ravening wolves into a yelling concourse of demons.
“What befell Jack Rollings I will tell in his own words.”
“Our schooner,” said Jack, “lay at anchor in a little landlocked bay where never a wind could get at her, and much of our exploration was done by means of short boat trips in one direction or the other. One morning Frank Jones and I made up our minds to take a day off, and try and kill a salmon or two.
“About five miles west of where we lay, there was a cove where, behind a low, rocky point, a little river came down out of the mountains. Half a mile above the head of tide the stream fell noisily over a shallow fall into a most enticing pool, and we calculated that we would be just in good time for the first run of the salmon.
“There was a stretch of shoals off the mouth of the stream, and no sheltered anchorage near; so we took the small boat for the trip, and a fresh breeze off the gulf blew us to our destination speedily. It was high tide when we arrived; and we hauled up the boat in the cove, under shelter of the point.
“Besides our rods, we had enough grub for a good lunch, and our top-coats in case it should blow up cold in the afternoon. Frank had brought his gun along, with a few cartridges loaded with number one and number two shot, in case he might want to shoot some big bird for his collection, which is already one of the best private collections in Ottawa.
“When we had put our rods together, we moved up along the wet edges of the beach, which glistened in the morning sun, and presently found ourselves at the basin where we expected our sport. Over the low, foaming barrier of the falls we saw a salmon make way in a flashing leap, and we knew we had struck both the right place and the right time.
“I need not tell you the particulars of the sport. You know what a Labrador salmon stream is when you happen to take it in a good humor. Enough to say, when we began to think of lunch it was about two o’clock; and we had six fish, ranging from ten to thirty-five pounds, lying in splendid array beneath a neighboring rock. As much of our spoils as we could carry at once we took down to the spot where the boat lay; and building a little fire of driftwood, we proceeded to fry some salmon collops for lunch.
“While enjoying our after-dinner smoke we observed that the wind had shifted a point or two to the east, and was blowing up half a gale.
“‘Great Scott!’ exclaimed Frank. ‘If we don’t get away from here right off, we’re going to be storm-stayed! This wind will raise a sea presently that we won’t be able to face. Let’s leave right off! I’ll drag the boat down to the water, while you go after the rest of those fish.’
“‘No, no!’ said I. ‘We’ll just stay where we are for the present. Don’t you see that the waves are already breaking into the cove too heavy for us? If you were round on the other side of the point now, you’d see what the water is, and you’d be glad enough you’re out of it, I can tell you! We’re all right here, and we may as well fish till toward sundown; and if the wind has not eased off by that time, we’ll just have to snug the boat up here, and foot it over the hills to the schooner. It’s not more than five or six miles anyway.’
“Frank strolled across the point for a look at the sea, and came back in agreement with my views. Then we returned to the pool, and whipped it assiduously till after five o’clock, but without a repetition of the morning’s success.
“Meanwhile the wind got fiercer and fiercer, so we went back to the boat and made a hearty supper as preparation for the rough tramp that lay before us. We took our time, and smoked at leisure, and cached our prizes, and resolved not to start till moonrise. By this time the tide was well out, and the cove had become an expanse of shingly flats, threaded by the shallow current of the stream, and fringed along its seaward edge with a line of angry surf.
“By and by the moon got up out of the gulf, round and white, and bringing with her an extra blow. As the shore brightened up clearly, we set out, moving along the crest of the point. Frank was just saying, ‘How spectral those scarred gray hills look in this light! How suitable a place for the hobgoblins those old Frenchmen imagined to possess them!’ when, as if to point his remarks, there came a ghostly clamor, high and quavering, from a dark cleft far up the mountain-side.
“We both started; and I exclaimed, ‘The loons have overheard you, old fellow, and are trying to work on your nerves! They want revenge for the stuffed companions of their bygone days.’
“‘That’s not loons!’ said Frank very seriously. ‘It’s no more like loons than it’s like lions! Listen to that!’
“I listened, and was convinced.
“‘Then it must be those old Frenchmen’s friends,’ I suggested; ‘and I feel greatly inclined to avoid meeting them if possible.’
“‘It’s the wolves from the interior,’ rejoined Frank. ‘I’d rather have the griffins and goblins. Don’t you remember ’78? I’m afraid we’re in a box.’
“‘Let us get down to windward of the point, and lie low among the rocks,’ I suggested. ‘As likely as not the brutes won’t detect us, and will keep along up the shore.’
“Instantly we dropped into concealment, keeping, through the apertures of the crest, a fearful eye upon the mountain slopes. We were fools, to be sure; for we might have known those keen eyes had spotted us from the first, silhouetted as we had been against the moonlit sea.
“Presently Frank suggested the boat, but my sufficient answer was to point to the raging surf. So we lay still, and prayed to be ignored. In a few minutes our suspense was painfully relieved by the appearance of a pack of gray forms, which swept out into the moonlight beyond the river, and came heading straight for our refuge.
“‘Two dozen of ’em!’ gasped Frank.
“‘And they’ve certainly spotted us,’ I whispered.
“‘There’s not a tree nor a hole we can get into!’ muttered Frank.
“‘We can get on top of this rock, and fight for it,’ I groaned in desperation.
“‘I have it!’ exclaimed Frank. ‘The boat! We’ll get under it, and hold it down!’
“Leaping to our feet we broke wildly for the boat. The wolves greeted us with an exultant howl as they dashed through the shallow river.
“We had just time to do it comfortably. The boat was heavy, and we turned it over in such a way that the bow was steadied between two rocks. Once safely underneath, we lifted the craft a little and jammed her between the rocks so that the brutes would be unable to root her over.
“One side was raised about eight or ten inches by a piece of rock which Frank was going to remove; but I stopped him. By this time the brutes were on top of the boat, and we could hear by the snarling that they had unearthed our salmon. Just then a row of long snouts and snapping jaws came under the gunwale, and we shrank as small as possible. The brutes shoved and struggled so mightily that it seemed as if they must succeed in overturning the boat, and a cold sweat broke out on my forehead.
“‘Shoot,’ I yelled frantically; and at the same instant my ears were almost burst by the discharge of both Frank’s barrels. A terrific yelping and howling ensued, while our crowded quarters were filled to suffocation with the smoke.
“When the air cleared somewhat we could see that the wolves were eating the two whose heads Frank’s shot had shattered. Our position was very cramped and uncomfortable, half-sitting, half-lying, between the thwarts; but by stretching flat we could peer beneath the gunwale, and command a view of the situation. We had a moment’s respite.
“‘Frank,’ said I, ‘we might as well be eaten as scared to death. Don’t fire that gun again in here. It nearly blew my ear-drums in. Club the brutes over the snout. All that’s necessary is to disable them, and it seems their kind companions will do the rest.’
“‘All right,’ responded Frank; ‘only you must do your share!’ and he passed me up the hatchet out of the ‘cuddy-hole’ in the bow.
“By this time the slaughtered wolves were reduced to hair and bones, and the pack once more turned their attention to us. Once more the ominous row of heads appeared, squeezed under the boat-side, and claws tore madly at the roof that sheltered us.
“As combatants, our positions were exceedingly constrained; but so, too, were those of our assailants. A wolf cannot dodge well when his head is squeezed under a gunwale.
“Hampered as I was I smashed the skulls of the two within easiest reach, barking my knuckles villanously as I wielded my weapon. I heard Frank, too, pounding viciously up in the bow. Then the attack drew off again, and the feasting and quarrelling recommenced.
“I turned to make some remark to my companion, but gave a yell of dismay instead, as I felt a pair of iron jaws grab me by the foot, and tear away the sole of my boot. In the excitement of the contest my foot had gone too near the gunwale.
“The wolves were now growing too wary to thrust their heads under the gunwale. For a time they merely sniffed along the edge; and though we might easily have smashed their toes or the ends of their noses, we refrained in order to gain opportunity for something more effective.
“We must have waited thus for as much as ten minutes, and the inaction was becoming intolerable, when the brutes, thinking perhaps we were dead or gone to sleep, made a sudden concerted effort to reach us. There must have been a dozen heads at once thrust in beneath the gunwale. One preternaturally lean wolf even wriggled his shoulders fairly through, so that he was within an ace of taking a mouthful out of my leg before I could have a fair blow at him with my hatchet.
“I think we either killed or disabled four at least in that assault. Thereupon the pack drew off a little, and sat down on their haunches to consider.
“They could not possibly have been still hungry, having eaten two or three wolves and a hundred pounds or so of nice fresh salmon, and we were in hopes they would go away.
“But instead of that they came back to the boat, and set up a tremendous howling, which may have been a call for re-enforcements, or a challenge to come out and settle the trouble in a square fight.
“I asked Frank how many cartridges he had left.
“‘Oh,’ said he, ‘a dozen or more, at least!’
“‘Verily well,’ said I; ‘you’d better blaze away and kill as many as you can. I’ll protect my ear-drums by stuffing my ears full of rags. Try and make every shot tell.’
“As the wolves were not more than eight or ten feet away, the heavy bird-shot had the same effect as a bullet. Two of the brutes were clean bowled over. Then the others sprang furiously upon the boat. When Frank thrust forth the muzzle of the gun, it was seized and all but wrenched from his grasp. He bagged two more; then the rest moved round to the other side of the boat.
“But very soon the survivors appeared to make up their minds to a new departure; and after a little running hither and thither with their noses down, they suddenly crystallized, as it were, into a well-ordered pack, and swept away up the shore. Their strange, terrible, wind-like ululations were soon re-echoing in the mountains.
“We came forth from our uncomfortable but effectual retreat, and counted our victims. When the last sound of the howling had long died away, we set forth in the direction of the schooner, which was not the direction in which the wolves were journeying.’