THERE IS SOME DANGER ON THE FRENCH RIVER

In the morning, while the voyageurs were loading the canoes, I tiptoed away from the camp.

I followed the shoreline until I came to a mossy bank that lined the swiftly flowing river. There I plunked myself on a rock, head in paws, to think about where I should go next. Should I go west on my own or should I try to make my way back to Montreal? I was terribly homesick!

Just then, I saw the brigade coming down the foaming river, wending their way around boulders in the rapids. One by one, the canoes went by.

Over the roar of the water, I heard the shouts of the voyageurs. Were they calling me to come back and jump into the stewpot? Ho ho! That was not going to happen!

But, sacrebleu! The last canoe was upside down! My canoe! Red caps bobbed up and down as the voyageurs were swept downstream. There they went:

Jean Paul…

Jean Luc…

Jean Henri…

Jean Jacques…

Jean Louis…

Jean Claude…

Jean Méchant…

Mon Dieu! My friends were in danger. And where was Jean Gentille? What if…I dared not think of it!

There he was, swirling and spinning, twisting and twirling in the foamy river. Then—oh, no!—he disappeared under the water!

I bounded up and over fallen logs, along branches, as fast as I could go, trying to catch up to Jean Gentille.

His head popped up, and oh my! He’d lost his cap and his head was as hairless as a baby bird. I leapt out onto a boulder in the river.

“Grab my tail!” I chirred.

But before he could reach me, Jean Gentille was swept under again. Down the river he rushed, bobbing up and down in the current.

I flitted and flew through the cedars. Just as Jean Gentille’s head came up again, I scampered out on an overhanging bough.

“Take my paw!” I squeaked, but once again he disappeared under the water.

Where was he? Where was my friend? I waited. I watched. I trembled.

The other canoes of our brigade had stopped and the men were snagging our gear and parcels out of the water, along with my voyageurs and our canoe. My wet crew sat on the shore in their soggy shirts and dragging sashes and dripping beards. Some of the others had lost their caps in the river too.

The other men started to lay out our wet cargo to dry. In addition to the food we had to carry for ourselves—split peas, dried corn, and salt pork—there were wool blankets and bolts of scarlet cloth, mirrors, cooking pots and utensils, silver earbobs and trinkets, twists of tobacco, bags of flour, and things that made my fur stand on end: axes and knives, guns and ammunition, and most sinister of all…animal traps.

What do they do with all of these things? Especially those (shudder) traps?

I couldn’t wonder for long, for there! Sitting by the side of the river without his cap! Jean Gentille, shivering and wet, rubbing his hands together, his teeth chattering. He must have been very cold, especially with his head so bald and bare.

But there was a red cap, swirling along in the water, drifting close to shore. Jean Gentille reached down to snag it but another hand snatched it up before he could get to it. It was Jean Méchant! He wrung the hat out and plunked it on his own head.

Perhaps there was one small thing I could do to help Jean Gentille. Even though I knew that at any moment I might be grabbed and thrown into the stewpot, if there was something I could do for him, I wanted to do it.

I climbed up his pant leg and from there up his sleeve onto his shoulder. And from his shoulder onto his head. There I tenderly curled myself into a hat. I would be the warmest of warm fur hats for my cold friend.

From then on, down all the rapids of the French River, and along the northern channel of Lake Huron, many days’ worth of travel, I rode proudly upon Jean Gentille’s head. The others all agreed that Jean Gentille’s poor bald head needed a hat, so there I stayed. On sunny days I shielded him from the sun. I protected his head from rain and sleet. On windy days I clung tight, and I vowed that when the cold snows came I would keep his ears warm. I’d be his hat for as long as he liked, for we were the best of friends.