Book: The Shagganappi

E >> E. Pauline Johnson >> The Shagganappi




"Yes, they call my father French Pete because, although he is nearly all
Indian, he speaks French so well," announced Shag.

Then followed a narration of two occasions when Shag's father had saved
Sir George's life, once from drowning in the Assiniboine and once from
freezing to death on the plains. The recreation interval was all too
short for the boys to have their talk out, and when the "good-nights"
came Hal wrung Shag's hand with a sincerity and heartiness that brought
a responsive thrill into the fingers of the lonely boy who was spending
his first night fifteen hundred miles away from home.

"Well," snorted Shorty, as the two boys left for the night, "going to
chum around with the son of your father's cook, are you?"

Hal whirled on his heel, his hand clenched, his knuckles standing out
white and bony; then he checked the torrent of words that sprang to his
lips and answered quietly, "Yes, I am."

"Going to take him to Sir George and Lady Bennington's city residence
for the Easter Vac?" sneered Shorty.

The answer came again quietly, "Yes, I am"; then, after a brief
interval, "if he will pay me the compliment of coming."

Shorty subsided; he had not expected this, and, truth to tell, he felt
at that moment that his sneers had accomplished precisely the opposite
effect to what he had intended; but Hal made no comment until just
before they got into their beds; then he said evenly:

"Shorty, you and I are room-mates, we have been pals for over a year;
we won't discuss Shag Larocque, for I see that we shall never agree
about him."

"I hate a mongrel," sniffed Shorty; "this fellow is neither Indian nor
white."

"He's more Indian than white, and better for it, too," said Hal; "but,
I say, Shorty--what nationality was your father?"

"Irish," said Shorty, with some pride.

"And your mother?" persisted Hal relentlessly.

"Oh, mother's parents were English; she was born here in Canada,"
replied Shorty a little weakly.

"Oh!" was all Hal said, but it held a world of meaning.

"Now, see here, Hal," began Shorty apologetically, "I know what you are
thinking, but I'm British right through and my skin's white, no matter
how you take it. I'm white on both sides of the family; I'm not splashed
with tinted blood like this fellow from the North-West that's strayed in
here; his skin's almost yellow."

"Yes," acquiesced Hal, "his skin is tinted--it is tinted, not tainted.
There's a big difference, Shorty. Do you know, I'd give the world if I
had as much of a copper-colored tint to my skin as Shag has."

"Rot!" ejaculated Shorty.

"No rot at all," cut in Hal; "I love the Indian people. You call this
chap a 'mongrel,' but I tell you he is Indian--anyone can see it, and I
know it. His father may have cooked in camp for my father, and did so,
but from what my father told me, he, French Pete, was an honest man, and
a brave one, too, and his son's good enough for me, and I'm his friend
until the last dog's hung."

That ended things for the time, for the college bells clanged out
"lights out," and the inmates, both white and Indian, slept.

* * * * * * * *

"Yes, my dear boy," wrote Sir George, some weeks later, "by all means
bring young Larocque home for the Easter vacation; I shall welcome the
son of my old friend and guide with the greatest delight. I have
frequently told you of French Pete's heroism and unselfishness, and if
by a little hospitality I can show the son what I think of the father,
I shall regard it as a privilege. Your dear mother will write you
to-night, and will enclose a little note of invitation from us both to
your friend 'Shagganappi'--how that good old North-West word brings
back my youth! I think I like your friend, even before I see him, just
because he has adopted that name."

So it was all arranged that Shag should spend the Easter vacation at the
palatial home of the Benningtons in Montreal. As Hal was so popular,
this holiday invitation was always regarded as the greatest compliment
by any boy who was fortunate enough to receive it, but never before had
Lady Bennington written personally to invite one of Hal's friends.

It was such a dear little note, too; Hal never admired his mother quite
so much as when Shag handed him the invitation to read. Lady Bennington
was famous as one of the few women who always say and do the right thing
at the right moment. The note ran:

"Dear Shagganappi,--
"Do come with my boy at Eastertide; we want you--come.
"Your friend, Hal's mother,
"CONSTANCE BENNINGTON."

So Easter found the boys at Montreal, Shag a little shy at first amidst
all the grandeur and wealth of Hal's home, but covering that shyness
with a quiet dignity that sat very well on his young shoulders. With
a wonderful knack of delicacy, Hal would smooth out any threatened
difficulty for the Indian boy--little table entanglements, such as
new dishes or unaccustomed foods. But Shag was at times surprisingly
outspoken, and the first night at dinner seemingly won Sir George's
heart by remarking when the fruit plates and finger-glasses were served,
"Now, Hal, don't be afraid that I won't understand this; fortunately
I dined on the dining-cars on the way East." Everyone laughed then,
including Shag, and Sir George said, "Then you are better up in things
than I was at your age, my boy. I never saw a finger-glass until I was
twenty." So this little confidence put them all on a kind of family
footing; and during the rest of his visit Shag was not afraid to ask and
learn any of the usages of wealthy city houses and manners that might
puzzle him. When he left he had endeared himself to Hal's parents as no
other boy had done before. Lady Bennington especially seemed to have
become attached to him. Once when Hal was taking some snapshots of the
grounds, she called Shag to her side, and, placing one hand on his
shoulder, asked Hal to photograph them together. Shag almost trembled
with pleasure, but his delight knew no bounds when a week after their
return to school he received a little copy of the photograph framed in
silver and inscribed on the back with "To Shagganappi Larocque, with
love from Hal's mother."

"I don't know why you and your people are so good to me," he declared to
Hal, when they both had duly admired the little picture. Hal stared at
him rather oddly, but did not reply, and it was many months before Shag
understood what that look meant; but when it was explained the Indian
recalled many things that had once perplexed him.

* * * * * * * *

It was late in May when Sir George and Lady Bennington left on their
yearly visit to England, leaving Hal with the enviable holiday ahead of
him of playing host at their summer residence in the Thousand Islands.
He was privileged to ask what boys he liked; he could have his own
canoe and sailboat, any of the servants from the city residence that
he wished, and just put in one long, golden summer, swimming, boating,
rollicking around, getting tanned and healthy. The only stipulation his
parents made was that in addition to the crowd of boys asked he must
invite one of the masters. It did not matter which one, so what did Hal
do but "cheek it up" to the Head, who had no family to summer with, and
who usually wandered off to some lonely mountain resort by himself for
the entire vacation. Professor Warwick was amazed.

"Why, Bennington," he exclaimed, "what ever do you want an old codger
like me for? There's young Graham, almost a boy himself, and Lewes, the
science man, a funny chap. I always think Mr. Lewes is more fun than a
cage of cats. I'm a dried-up old fellow that most of the boys are afraid
of. You won't enjoy yourself with me around all the time."

"We're only afraid of you in classes, sir," laughed Hal; "no one is
afraid of you outside. I've heard the boys josh you on the ball grounds
and at the sports no end of times. You've just got to come, Professor!"
And the old gentleman did go, to the delight of Hal's parents, who left
for England perfectly satisfied that the boys would be well looked after
if the Professor was an inmate of their island home.

The party was just about the right size; two of the little boys who
lived at the Pacific coast were asked, then Shorty and Cop and little
chunky Johnny Miller and Shag Larocque--seven all told, including Hal,
and eight, counting the Professor, who, on the first night in camp said,
a little gravely, "Hal, my boy, it is a great privilege to be the son of
a wealthy man. I have never cared for money, but I would like to be in a
position where I could have the pleasure of entertaining my friends in
this delightful way."

"I hope I appreciate it, Professor," replied the boy. "Dad is always
reminding me of the stacks of people not so well fixed as we are. He
frequently tells me of the times when he went hungry--really hungry,
without twenty-five cents with which to buy a meal, and he says if ever
I forget it and try to put on 'side' that he will thrash me within an
inch of my life, even after I am twenty-one."

The Professor roared, a regular boyish shout. "And he'd do it, too, I
believe," he chuckled. "That is what makes Sir George so wonderful;
with all his wealth he is the same dear old chap he always was. I knew
him when he was your age almost--and the only thing about him that has
changed is his hair; it is a little thinner now--and grey."

"Yes, dad's a boy yet," smiled Hal, "but I won't give him a chance to
lick me on the money score; it's too good fun having you all here, and
a royal holiday ahead of us, without hunting for a trimming from dad
because I play the la-de-da or think I'm the whole thing."

Shag was thinking hard, but he said nothing; yet, little as he knew of
the world, he was quite aware how few boys in Hal's position would act
as he had done. Had it not been for Sir George's son what would his life
at college have been? He knew Locke never liked him, he knew that Shorty
positively disliked him, he knew there was a strong element of prejudice
in the school against him, and he knew positively that, were it not for
Lord Mortimer's influence and recommendation, he would never have been
accepted in this exclusive college as a student. What then did he owe
to Hal? Everything, as far as making life in the East bearable, as far
as being received on an equality with the other boys went. It was a
tremendous debt that he owed this handsome boy who was his host for the
summer. But before the holiday was ended Shag paid that debt with all
his heart, and almost with his life.

It happened one day from the simple cause that the camp had run short of
bread, and one of the youngsters from the Pacific coast, Freddy by name,
had volunteered to paddle over to the mainland for it. The sailboat
being laid up for repairs, Freddy ran out the light little Peterborough,
and was just getting away from the island when Hal descried him and
shouted to him to wait. "Think I'd let you go alone in that canoe,
kiddie?" he asked. "There's too much wind to-day; look at her sweep down
the north channel. Why, she'd turn you round and round like 'Willie
waltzing.' Hold on, I'm coming with you." With that he sprang into the
canoe and they were away.

It was rather a cold wind for early September, and the two boys were
glad to paddle hard to keep their circulation up. Both were in shirt
sleeves and both somewhat chilled; but by the time they had reached the
mainland they were all tingling with rioting blood and with appetites
ready to attack their cargo of bread, even minus the butter. They
started back in good shape, although Hal's weather eye observed that
the wind was picking up and that they would have to work for it to make
the island in good time for supper. All went well for some distance,
although sometimes the waves galloped up and slipped over the bow where
Freddy knelt, plying his paddle in good form. Out in mid-stream, with
both wind and current against him, Hal had considerable difficulty
in steering; his strong, muscular arms pulled little Freddy's stroke
around, and he bent to the work of "digging potatoes" with a vengeance.
The bow with its light boyish ballast would rise and rise again,
slapping down on the surface or taking the waves like a cork. Then came
a line of combers, one on top of another. The taut little Peterborough
rode the first like a shell, the second she dipped, the third she
shipped a whole bucketful of water. As it poured over the deck, little
Freddy flung himself backward to escape the drenching, the canoe dipped,
Freddy landed full weight on the leeward gunwale--and they were over.
For the first instant, Hal was conscious of but one thing, that he was
being struck through with the chill of the water on top of being in a
heat of perspiration with battling the canoe through the waves. Then he
came to the surface to see the canoe, turned turtle, floating bottom up
three yards away. Then a limp mass of brown clothes and brown curls
cannoned into him, and reaching out, he grasped Freddy.

"Don't get scared, kid," he gasped, spluttering the water out of his
throat; "keep cool and don't clutch me too tight." He might as well
have spoken to the winds, for little Freddy, chilled through and
terror-stricken, was clinging to him like an octopus, impeding his arm
and leg action, and almost choking the breath out of his lungs. "Oh,
Hal, we're in mid-stream!" gulped the child; "we'll be drowned!"

"Not on your life, kiddie!" spluttered Hal. "I'll get that bally canoe.
Only don't hold on around my neck, that's a good kiddie. There, that's
better," as Freddy loosened his fingers from Hal's shirt collar, and the
boy struck out with one arm around the child and the other working for
all the grit and muscle there was in it. His magnificent stroke, helped
by the wind and current, soon overhauled the canoe. By a supreme effort
he clutched the immersed gunwale. With one arm around Freddy he could
never hope to right the boat, but even bottom up she was a salvation.
"Grip her, kiddie, grip her as I shove you up," he gasped, "and don't
let go; straddle her and hang on! Promise me you will hang on,--promise
me!" he cried.

"I'll promise," gulped the child. Then Hal's powerful arm flung itself
upwards, his two hands "boosted," and Freddy landed on the upturned
canoe, gripping it with all fours and coughing the water from his mouth.

Hal made an attempt to climb up, his fingers slipped; then two terrible
little demons seemed to grasp the calves of his legs; their fingers
ripped the muscles out and tied them into knots, knots that extended to
his knees, his hips, his stomach; his fingers weakened with the agony of
it--Hal Bennington knew he was going down with cramps.

Away off to the right he thought he heard a voice; it was saying, "Keep
up, Hal, keep up, I'm coming!" but he could not answer. With a last
effort he literally screamed, "Hang on, Freddy, hang on!" Then he felt
numb, very numb, and all was dark.

Professor Warwick had gone out to furl the awnings against the rising
wind. His kindly little eyes were peering through their spectacles at
sea and sky when suddenly they rested on a frail canoe that was taking
an erratic course toward the island. Instantly he was around at the
other side of the cottage. "Boys, boys," he shouted frantically, "Quick,
get out the sailboat, Hal's canoe is in danger!"

"Sailboat!" gasped Cop Billings, springing to his feet; "she's no good;
bottom's out, a whole patch of her. She's being repaired." But while
he talked he was running wildly to the boathouse followed by all the
others. As they reached the little wharf they were just in time to
see the combers strike the canoe, to see Freddy start, then to see it
capsize. For a moment they were horror-stricken, speechless, then Cop
yelled, "He's got Freddy! See, he's got him!" It seemed an eternity
before they saw Hal grasp the child, then with more horror they saw the
upturned canoe floating away, away, away.

"Boys, boys, can nothing be done to help them?" choked the Professor.
"Oh, boys, this is terrible!"

"Who swims?" yelled Shorty, "--swims well, I mean."

"You do," jerked Shag at his elbow, with a face bloodless and drawn.
"You're the best swimmer in the school. Will you come with me?"

"Come with you?" yelled Shorty. "Out there? Why, you know as well as I
do that I can't swim that far, not nearly that far; neither can you."

"I can, and I will," announced Shag in a strangely quiet voice, while
with rapid fingers he stripped off his coat and boots.

"You shan't go alone," shouted Cop, beginning to undress; "I'm with
you!"

"No, you don't," said the Indian, gripping him by the wrist. "You can't
swim twenty yards--you know you can't; and if you get played out, Cop,
I tell you right here that I can't stop to help you; I'm going to help
Hal."

"Why can't you try it, Shorty?" roared Cop "Anything rather than let him
go alone!"

But Shorty stood resolute. "I tell you I can't swim that far and back,
and I ain't going to try it only to get drowned," he snarled; but
even as he spoke there flashed past him a lithe, tan-colored body in
skintight silken underwear; there followed a splash, and Shag's clean,
dark face rose to the surface as he struck out towards the unfortunates.

The Professor was beside himself with horror. "Boys, boys!" he cried
aloud, "Hal's going down! Something is wrong; he's sinking!" The words
reached Shag's ears and he seemed to leap ahead like a giant fish.

"Heaven help them!" moaned poor Cop. "Oh, what an idiot I was never to
practise more!"

"It's awful!" began Shorty.

"Don't you open your head!" shouted Cop; "if I could swim like you
nothing would keep me ashore."

"Never mind, boys," moaned Professor Warwick; "don't quarrel with this
tragedy before us. Look, Shag's simply leaping ahead. There goes Hal
again--that's the second time he's gone under! Oh, my boy!--my poor
Hal!" and the little old man rushed wildly up to the servants' quarters
for the cook and the pantry-boy and ropes--anything, everything that
would hold out a hope of rescue.

And on against wind and current Shag battled his way; inch by inch,
foot by foot, yard by yard he forged forward, until he saw Hal loose
his grip and sink, and then rise and fight to reach the canoe again. It
was then that Shag raised his chin and shouted hoarsely, "Keep up, Hal,
keep up! I'm coming!" the words that faintly reached Hal's ears before
the silence and the dark came. Then as he rose from the depths, an
unconscious, helpless hulk, a strong tan-colored arm wound around him
like a lifebelt, and a well-nigh breathless boy, with almost superhuman
strength, flung him, limp and nearly lifeless, across the canoe. The
impact almost hurled Freddy from his slender hold, but for a few seconds
the two boys were safe. Above the slippery bow poor Shag clasped his
arms, allowing his body to drift.

With but this frail anchorage, he well knew that the canoe would never
float them all. There was but little of her above the water. The waves
were beating hard now; any moment weak little Freddy and unconscious Hal
might be swept off. Once, as the fear of losing life gripped him, he
began to struggle on to the canoe; then he remembered, and slipped back
to float, to cling, to slowly--slowly--await the horrors of the unknown.

For five terrible minutes they drifted, minutes that were an eternity
to those on shore, and to those fighting for life in mid-stream. Then
around the bend of the island came the thin, shrill whistle of a steam
launch as it headed directly for the upturned canoe, the skipper
signalling to those on the island that he was hot on the way to the
rescue.

Old Professor Warwick wept like a woman when he saw it fly past, and the
boys gulped back their breath. They dared not even try to cheer; their
voices were strangled in their throats.

"Just in time, and that's all, captain," said the engineer as he brought
the launch about. "Better reach for the chap in the water first."

"No," Shag managed to say, "take the kiddie; he's slipping off. I'm
good for a minute longer." So they lifted Freddy into the launch, then
poor unconscious Hal, and lastly Shag, exhausted but gritty and game
to the last.

Hal had been in his own bed for two hours before he spoke, and the first
word he said was "Freddy?"

"Freddy's here," trembled Professor Warwick, "here safe and sound, and
you're safe, too."

"I dreamt I heard Shag call, call that he was coming to me," said Hal
feebly.

"It was no dream, Hal," answered the Professor; "he did call and went to
you, saved you, swam out like the prince he is--saved you, Hal, saved
you!" Hal started up, his eyes wild with fear.

"Where is he? Where's Shag?" he demanded.

"Here, Hal," said the Indian from the opposite side of the room.

Hal stretched out his hand; Shag walked very shakily across and clasped
it within his own.

"If you hadn't been here, Shag, I could never have looked dad and mother
in the face again," he sighed.

"But I am here," smiled Shag, "and, what is better, you're here and
Freddy, too."

"Yes, but I know the reason that I'm here is that you somehow pulled me
out," said Hal. "I had an idea once that Shorty might come, he swims so
well; but you came, Shag!" Then he fell asleep; but Shag did not remove
his hand, although the boy slept for hours.

* * * * * * * *

Not long after this college opened for the autumn term, and Professor
Warwick and his charges were well settled in residence before the old
gentleman was obliged to acknowledge that Hal seemed unable to throw off
the shock of the accident, or the chill that seemed to cling to him in
spite of all care; but he tucked in bravely at his studies, and only the
Professor knew that the boy was not his own self.

But a great event was now absorbing the attention of all the faculty
and students. His Excellency Lord Mortimer was to visit the city, and
had expressed his wish to spend an hour or two at this famous college
for boys, so with much delight at the compliment paid, the entire
school began to make preparations. A handsome address was prepared,
and a programme of sports--for the Governor dearly loved athletic boys.
In fact gossip at the capital frequently stated that His Lordship would
rather witness a good lacrosse match than eat a good dinner. Such a
thing as voting as to who should represent the school and read the
address was never even thought of. Hal Bennington was the head boy of
the whole college, he was the most popular, the best beloved, he had
not an enemy in all the scores of boys within its gates, so of course
it was a foregone conclusion.

"I hate the idea of it," asserted Hal. "I hate these public show-offs,
besides, I don't feel well. I wish they would make some other chap do
it." But neither masters nor boys would take no for an answer. Then
disaster threatened, for a week before the event Hal fell really ill; a
slow fever seemed to grip him, and if Sir George and Lady Bennington had
not been already on the sea on their homeward way, Professor Warwick
would have felt very much like cabling them. Hal was utterly disgusted
when it was mentioned to him. "Don't you think of it," he growled.
"You've done as I wished about not telling them about that bally
accident, and don't you hurry them home for me." So the boy was made to
stay in bed, and, truth to tell, he was too ill to remonstrate much.

But the night before the viceregal visit Hal knew in his heart that he
was too ill to go out and read the address. Late at night he sent for
Professor Warwick, told him the truth, and asked him to get substitute.

"My boy, I am more distressed than I can say," began the Professor.
"Your illness is worse than any upsetting of arrangements; we are
getting a trained nurse for you, and I shall relieve your mind of all
worries. We have hardly time now to consult everyone about a substitute,
but if I tell the boys you have appointed a deputy, so to speak, I think
they will be satisfied."

"Then let Shag Larocque take my place," decided Hal instantly.

"Very appropriate, too, I should say," replied the Professor
spontaneously. "Lord Mortimer has seen Shag and knows him; very
appropriate."

So Hal slept that night contentedly, with never a dream of the storm
that would burst on the morrow.

The first indication of the tempest was when Locke burst into his room
after breakfast, with, "Hal, you _must_ be sick! Why, man alive, you are
clean batty! Shag read that address--why, it is impossible!"

"And why?" said Hal, glaring at him.

"He can't do it; we won't let him; we won't have that Indian heading
the whole school!"

"Who won't?"

"We! we! we!--Do you hear it? _We_!" yelled Locke.

"You and Shorty and Simpson and about two others, I suppose," answered
Hal. "Well, he's going to read it; now, get out and shut the door--I
feel a draft."

"Well, he isn't going to read it!" thundered Locke, banging the door
after himself as he stormed down the hall to the classrooms, where the
boys were collecting to arrange details for the day. Hal shivered back
into the bedclothes, listening anxiously to various footsteps trailing
past. He could occasionally catch fragments of conversation; everyone
seemed to be in a high state of excitement. He could hear his own name,
then Shag's, then Shorty's, and sometimes Locke's.

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