The Plains of Abraham

Chapter 3

We moved a mile inland, carrying the canoe between us, upside down and above our heads, like we did on portages. We wanted to be far from the bank of the river in case any pursuers caught up.

First we needed birchbark, and a lot of it. Preferably from trees with great diameter, so we could sew together a seaworthy craft with as few seams as possible. We would need more than one tree. Our travel hut—its surfaces—consisted of bark, but we didn't have confidence in the material. It had been rolled and unrolled daily and was sure to have cracks. We needed fresh bark.

Malcolm sent me off one way and he went off another. We were to return after noon's sun and report on what we'd found.

Birches love light and open space. I took off intending to intersect a meadow somewhere. I found a picturesque creek meandering south toward the river and followed it upstream, as it cut through elephant-eared cottonwoods, until it turned and ran briefly east-west. On the north side of the bank was a grove of birches.

Several looked to be sixty feet tall and at least twenty inches in diameter. They were perfect: straight, healthy, free of knots and low branches. After satisfying myself with my estimates I returned to camp and waited for Malcolm. He came strolling in, smiling.

"Forty high and fifteen across," he said.

"Them's good trees," I said.

"You?"

"Sixty and twenty." I formed my hands as if grasping a trunk.

"No!"

"Yes."

"Show me."

We felled three of them. Two might have been sufficient, but we wanted enough leftover bark for repairs. We made slits down the trunks, cutting all the way through the bark to the hardwood underneath. It was not much different from skinning a muskrat. We used our knives to work the bark off the trunk, then rolled the bark up like stiff blankets.

The trees lay on the ground, naked and pale orange. I felt sorry for them.

Back at camp Malcolm went to work shaping the canoe while I set off again in search of cedars and spruces. We'd make the canoe's wooden parts out of cedar: gunwales, ribs, thwarts, etc. The thin, supple roots of the spruce would serve to lash the canoe together. Its sap would make spruce gum, for gluing seams.

By the time I returned Malcolm had planted stakes in the ground, outlining the bird's-eye shape of the canoe. He had a pot of water boiling and was forming sheets of bark by wetting and bending them. I handed him an armful of wood.

"Good," he said. "Go get some more. And catch us something to eat."

It was only fair. Malcolm had apprenticed as a carpenter before entering the seminary. And he couldn't hit the sky with a gun if he pointed it straight up with both eyes open, so I was the best man to hunt. And gather wood. And do laundry. Still, I couldn't help ribbing him about it.

"How is it you're so well versed in fun activities and so inept at mundane tasks?" I asked.

He looked up from his work and smiled. "Need I say it?"

"Apparently."

"You have to know these things when you're a priest."

"Ah."

*

That night, huddled next to the fire, we gazed at the night sky and talked.