Book: The Young Fur Traders

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"This is unfortunate," muttered Jacques, as the party landed and
endeavoured to wring some of the water from their dripping clothes;
"an' the worst of it is that our guns are useless after sich a
duckin', an' the varmint knows that, an' will be down on us in a
twinklin'."

"But we are four to one," exclaimed Harry. "Surely we don't need to
fear much from a single enemy."

"Humph!" ejaculated the guide, as he examined the lock of his gun.
"You've had little to do with Injins, that's plain, You may be sure
he's not alone, an' the reptile has a bow with arrows enough to send
us all on a pretty long journey. But we've the trees to dodge behind.
If I only had _one_ dry charge!" and the disconcerted guide gave a
look, half of perplexity, half of contempt, at the dripping gun.

"Never mind," cried Charley; "we have our paddles. But I forgot,
Harry, in all this confusion, that you are wounded, my poor fellow.
We must have it examined before doing anything further."

"Oh, it's nothing at all--a mere scratch, I think; at least I feel
very little pain."

As he spoke the twang of a bow was heard, and an arrow flew past
Jacques's ear.

"Ah, so soon!" exclaimed that worthy, with a look of surprise, as if
he had unexpectedly met with an old friend. Stepping behind a tree,
he motioned to his friends to do likewise; an example which they
followed somewhat hastily on beholding the Indian who had wounded
Harry step from the cover of the underwood and deliberately let fly
another arrow, which passed through the hair of the Canadian they had
brought with them.

From the several trees behind which they had leaped for shelter they
now perceived that the Indian with the bow was Misconna, and that he
was accompanied by eight others, who appeared, however, to be totally
unarmed; having, probably, been obliged to leave their weapons behind
them, owing to the abruptness of their flight. Seeing that the white
men were unable to use their guns, the Indians assembled in a group,
and from the hasty and violent gesticulations of some of the party,
especially of Misconna, it was evident that a speedy attack was
intended.

Observing this, Jacques coolly left the shelter of his tree, and
going up to Charley, exclaimed, "Now, Mister Charles, I'm goin' to
run away, so you'd better come along with me."

"That I certainly will not. Why, what do you mean?" inquired the
other, in astonishment.

"I mean that these stupid red-skins can't make up their minds what to
do, an' as I've no notion o' stoppin' here all day, I want to make
them do what will suit us best. You see, if they scatter through the
wood and attack us on all sides, they may give us a deal o' trouble,
and git away after all; whereas, if we _run away_, they'll bolt after
us in a body, and then we can take them in hand all at once, which'll
be more comfortable-like, an' easier to manage."

As Jacques spoke they were joined by Harry and the Canadian; and
being observed by the Indians thus grouped together, another arrow
was sent among them.

"Now, follow me," said Jacques, turning round with a loud howl and
running away. He was closely followed by the others. As the guide had
predicted, the Indians no sooner observed this than they rushed after
them in a body, uttering horrible yells.

"Now, then; stop here; down with you."

Jacques instantly crouched behind a bush, while each of the party did
the same. In a moment the savages came shouting up, supposing the
white men were still running on in advance. As the foremost, a tall,
muscular fellow, with the agility of a panther, bounded over the bush
behind which Jacques was concealed, he was met with a blow from the
guide's fist, so powerfully delivered into the pit of his stomach
that it sent him violently back into the bush, where he lay
insensible. This event, of course, put a check upon the headlong
pursuit of the others, who suddenly paused, like a group of
infuriated tigers unexpectedly baulked of their prey. The hesitation,
however, was but for a moment. Misconna, who was in advance, suddenly
drew his bow again, and let fly an arrow at Jacques, which the latter
dexterously avoided; and while his antagonist lowered his eyes for an
instant to fit another arrow to the string, the guide, making use of
his paddle as a sort of javelin, threw it with such force and
precision that it struck Misconna directly between the eyes and
felled him to the earth, In another instant the two parties rushed
upon each other, and a general _mélée_ ensued, in which the white
men, being greatly superior to their adversaries in the use of their
fists, soon proved themselves more than a match for them all although
inferior in numbers. Charley's first antagonist, making an abortive
attempt to grapple with him, received two rapid blows, one on the
chest and the other on the nose, which knocked him over the bank into
the river, while his conqueror sprang upon another Indian. Harry,
having unfortunately selected the biggest savage of the band as his
special property, rushed upon him and dealt him a vigorous blow on
the head with his paddle.

The weapon, however, was made of light wood, and, instead of felling
him to the ground, broke into shivers. Springing upon each other they
immediately engaged in a fierce struggle, in which poor Harry
learned, when too late, that his wounded shoulder was almost
powerless. Meanwhile, the Canadian having been assaulted by three
Indians at once, floored one at the outset, and immediately began an
impromptu war-dance round the other two, dealing them occasionally a
kick or a blow, which would speedily have rendered them _hors de
combat_, had they not succeeded in closing upon him, when all three
fell heavily to the ground. Jacques and Charley having succeeded in
overcoming their respective opponents, immediately hastened to his
rescue. In the meantime, Harry and his foe had struggled to a
considerable distance from the others, gradually edging towards the
river's bank. Feeling faint from his wound, the former at length sank
under the weight of his powerful antagonist, who endeavoured to
thrust him over a kind of cliff which they had approached. He was on
the point of accomplishing his purpose, when Charley and his friends
perceived Harry's imminent danger, and rushed to the rescue. Quickly
though they ran, however, it seemed likely that they would be too
late. Harry's head already overhung the bank, and the Indian was
endeavouring to loosen the gripe of the young man's hand from his
throat, preparatory to tossing him over, when a wild cry rang through
the forest, followed by the reports of a double-barrelled gun, fired
in quick succession. Immediately after, young Hamilton bounded like a
deer down the slope, seized the Indian by the legs, and tossed him
over the cliff, where he turned a complete somersault in his descent,
and fell with a sounding splash into the water.

"Well done, cleverly done, lad!" cried Jacques, as he and the rest of
the party came up and crowded round Harry, who lay in a state of
partial stupor on the bank.

At this moment Redfeather hastily but silently approached; his broad
chest was heaving heavily, and his expanded nostrils quivering with
the exertions he had made to reach the scene of action in time to
succour his friends.

"Thank God!" said Hamilton softly, as he kneeled beside Harry and
supported his head, while Charley bathed his temples--"thank God that
I have been in time! Fortunately I was walking by the river
considerably in advance of Redfeather, who was bringing up the canoe,
when I heard the sounds of the fray, and hastened to your aid."

At this moment Harry opened his eyes, and saying faintly that he felt
better, allowed himself to be raised to a sitting posture, while his
coat was removed and his wound examined. It was found to be a deep
flesh-wound in the shoulder, from which a fragment of the broken
arrow still protruded.

"It's a wonder to me, Mr. Harry, how ye held on to that big thief so
long," muttered Jacques, as he drew out the splinter and bandaged up
the shoulder. Having completed the surgical operation after a rough
fashion, they collected the defeated Indians. Those of them that were
able to walk were bound together by the wrists and marched off to the
fort, under a guard which was strengthened by the arrival of several
of the fur-traders, who had been in pursuit of the fugitives, and
were attracted to the spot by the shouts of the combatants. Harry,
and such of the party as were more or less severely injured, were
placed in canoes and conveyed to Stoney Creek by the lake, into which
Duck River runs at the distance of about half-a-mile from the spot on
which the skirmish had taken place. Misconna was among the latter.

On arriving at Stoney Creek, the canoe party found a large assemblage
of the natives awaiting them on the wharf, and no sooner did Misconna
land than they advanced to seize him.

"Keep back, friends," cried Jacques, who perceived their intentions,
and stepped hastily between them.--"Come here, lads," he continued,
turning to his companions; "surround Misconna. He is _our_ prisoner,
and must ha' fair justice done him, accordin' to white law."

They fell back in silence on observing the guide's determined manner;
but as they hurried the wretched culprit towards the house, one of
the Indians pressed close upon their rear, and before anyone could
prevent him, dashed his tomahawk into Misconna's brain. Seeing that
the blow was mortal, the traders ceased to offer any further
opposition; and the Indians rushing upon his body, bore it away amid
shouts and yells of execration to their canoes, to one of which the
body was fastened by a rope, and dragged through the water to point
of land which jutted out into the lake near at hand. Here they
lighted a fire and burned it to ashes.

* * * * * * *

There seems to be a period in the history of every one when the fair
aspect of this world is darkened--when everything, whether past,
present, or future, assumes a hue of the deepest gloom; a period
when, for the first time, the sun, which has shone in the mental
firmament with more or less brilliancy from childhood upwards,
entirely disappears behind a cloud of thick darkness, and leaves the
soul in a state of deep melancholy; a time when feelings somewhat
akin to despair pervade us, as we begin gradually to look upon the
past as a bright, happy vision, out of which we have at last awakened
to view the sad realities of the present, and look forward with
sinking hope to the future. Various are the causes which produce
this, and diverse the effects of it on differently constituted minds;
but there are few, we apprehend, who have not passed through the
cloud in one or other of its phases, and who do not feel that this
_first_ period of prolonged sorrow is darker, and heavier, and worse
to bear, than many of the more truly grievous afflictions that sooner
or later fall to the lot of most men.

Into a state of mind somewhat similar to that which we have
endeavoured to describe, our friend Charley Kennedy fell immediately
after the events just narrated. The sudden and awful death of his
friend Mr. Whyte fell upon his young spirit, unaccustomed as he was
to scenes of bloodshed and violence, with overwhelming power. From
the depression, however, which naturally followed he would probably
soon have rallied had not Harry Somerville's wound in the shoulder
taken an unfavourable turn, and obliged him to remain for many weeks
in bed, under the influence of a slow fever; so that Charley felt a
desolation creeping over his soul that no effort he was capable of
making could shake off. It is true he found both occupation and
pleasure in attending upon his sick friend; but as Harry's illness
rendered great quiet necessary, and as Hamilton had been sent to take
charge of the fishing-station mentioned in a former chapter, Charley
was obliged to indulge his gloomy reveries in silence. To add to his
wretchedness he received a letter from Kate about a week after Mr.
Whyte's burial, telling him of the death of his mother.

Meanwhile, Redfeather and Jacques--both of whom at their young
master's earnest solicitation, agreed to winter at Stoney Creek--
cultivated each other's acquaintance sedulously. There were no books
of any kind at the outpost, excepting three Bibles--one belonging to
Charley, and one to Harry, the third being that which had been
presented to Jacques by Mr. Conway the missionary. This single
volume, however, proved to be an ample library to Jacques and his
Indian friend. Neither of these sons of the forest was much
accustomed to reading, and neither of them would have for a moment
entertained the idea of taking to literature as a pastime; but
Redfeather loved the Bible for the sake of the great truths which he
discovered in its inspired pages, though much of what he read was to
him mysterious and utterly incomprehensible. Jacques, on the other
hand, read it, or listened to his friend, with that philosophic
gravity of countenance and earnestness of purpose which he displayed
in regard to everything; and deep, serious, and protracted were the
discussions they entered into, as night after night they sat on a
log, with the Bible spread out before them, and read by the light of
the blazing fire in the men's house at Stoney Creek. Their
intercourse, however, was brought to an abrupt conclusion by the
unexpected arrival, one day, of Mr. Conway the missionary in his tin
canoe. This gentleman's appearance was most welcome to all parties.
It was like a bright ray of sunshine to Charley to meet with one who
could fully sympathise with him in his present sorrowful frame of
mind. It was an event of some consequence to Harry Somerville,
inasmuch as it provided him with an amateur doctor who really
understood somewhat of his physical complaint, and was able to pour
balm, at once literally and spiritually, into his wounds. It was an
event productive of the liveliest satisfaction to Redfeather, who now
felt assured that his tribe would have those mysteries explained
which he only imperfectly understood himself; and it was an event of
much rejoicing to the Indians themselves, because their curiosity had
been not a little roused by what they heard of the doings and sayings
of the white missionary, who lived on the borders of the great lake.
The only person, perhaps, on whom Mr. Conway's arrival acted with
other than a pleasing influence was Jacques Caradoc. This worthy,
although glad to meet with a man whom he felt inclined both to love
and respect, was by no means gratified to find that his friend
Redfeather had agreed to go with the missionary on his visit to the
Indian tribe, and thereafter to accompany him to the settlement on
Playgreen Lake. But with the stoicism that was natural to him,
Jacques submitted to circumstances which he could not alter, and
contented himself with assuring Redfeather that if he lived till next
spring he would most certainly "make tracks for the great lake," and
settle down at the missionary's station along with him. This promise
was made at the end of the wharf of Stoney Creek the morning on which
Mr. Conway and his party embarked in their tin canoe--the same tin
canoe at which Jacques had curled his nose contemptuously when he saw
it in process of being constructed, and at which he did not by any
means curl it the less contemptuously now that he saw it finished.
The little craft answered its purpose marvellously well, however, and
bounded lightly away under the vigorous strokes of its crew, leaving
Charley and Jacques on the pier gazing wistfully after their friends,
and listening sadly to the echoes of their parting song as it floated
more and more faintly over the lake.

Winter came, but no ray of sunshine broke through the dark cloud that
hung over Stoney Creek. Harry Somerville, instead of becoming better,
grew worse and worse every day, so that when Charley despatched the
winter packet, he represented the illness of his friend to the powers
at headquarters as being of a nature that required serious and
immediate attention and change of scene. But the word _immediate_
bears a slightly different signification in the backwoods to what it
does in the lands of railroads and steamboats. The letter containing
this hint took many weeks to traverse the waste wilderness to its
destination; months passed before the reply was written, and many
weeks more elapsed ere its contents were perused by Charley and his
friend. When they did read it, however, the dark cloud that had hung
over them so long burst at last; a ray of sunshine streamed down
brightly upon their hearts, and never forsook them again, although it
did lose a little of its brilliancy after the first flash. It was on
a rich, dewy, cheerful morning in early spring when the packet
arrived, and Charley led Harry, who was slowly recovering his wonted
health and spirits, to their favourite rocky resting-place on the
margin of the lake. Here he placed the letter in his friend's hand
with a smile of genuine delight. It ran as follows:--

MY DEAR SIR,--Your letter containing the account of Mr. Somerville's
illness has been forwarded to me, and I am instructed to inform you
that leave of absence for a short time has been granted to him. I
have had a conversation with the doctor here, who advises me to
recommend that, if your friend has no other summer residence in view,
he should spend part of his time in Red River settlement. In the
event of his agreeing to this, I would suggest that he should leave
Stoney Creek with the first brigade in spring, or by express canoe if
you think it advisable.--I am, etc.

"Short but sweet--uncommonly sweet!" said Harry, as a deep flush of
joy crimsoned his pale cheeks, while his own merry smile, that had
been absent for many a weary day, returned once more to its old
haunt, and danced round its accustomed dimples like a repentant
wanderer who has been long absent from and has at last returned to
his native home.

"Sweet indeed!" echoed Charley. "But that's not all; here's another
lump of sugar for you." So saying, he pulled a letter from his
pocket, unfolded it slowly, spread it out on his knee, and, looking
up at his expectant friend, winked.

"Go on, Charley; pray don't tantalize me."

"Tantalize you! My dear fellow, nothing is farther from my thoughts.
Listen to this paragraph in my dear old father's letter:--

"'So you see, my dear Charley, that we have managed to get you
appointed to the charge of Lower Fort Garry, and as I hear that poor
Harry Somerville is to get leave of absence, you had better bring him
along with you. I need not add that my house is at his service as
long as he may wish to remain in it.'

"There! what think ye of that, my boy?" said Charley, as he folded
the letter and returned it to his pocket.

"I think," replied Harry, "that your father is a dear old gentleman,
and I hope that you'll only be half as good when you come to his time
of life; and I think I'm so happy to-day that I'll be able to walk
without the assistance of your arm to-morrow; and I think we had
better go back to the house now, for I feel, oddly enough, as tired
as if I had had a long walk. Ah, Charley, my dear fellow, that letter
will prove to be the best doctor I have had yet. But now tell me what
you intend to do."

Charley assisted his friend to rise, and led him slowly back to the
house, as he replied,--

"Do, my boy? that's soon said. I'll make things square and straight
at Stoney Creek. I'll send for Hamilton and make him interim
commander-in-chief. I'll write two letters--one to the gentleman in
charge of the district, telling him of my movements; the other
(containing a screed of formal instructions) to the miserable mortal
who shall succeed me here. I'll take the best canoe in our store,
load it with provisions, put you carefully in the middle of it, stick
Jacques in the bow and myself in the stern, and start, two weeks
hence, neck and crop, head over heels, through thick and thin, wet
and dry, over portage, river, fall, and lake, for Red River
settlement!"




CHAPTER XXVIII.

Old friends and scenes--Coming events cast their shadows before.


Mr. Kennedy, senior, was seated in his own comfortable arm-chair
before the fire, in his own cheerful little parlour, in his own snug
house, at Red River, with his own highly characteristic breakfast of
buffalo steaks, tea, and pemmican before him, and his own beautiful,
affectionate daughter Kate presiding over the tea-pot, and exercising
unwarrantably despotic sway over a large gray cat, whose sole
happiness seemed to consist in subjecting Mr. Kennedy to perpetual
annoyance, and whose main object in life was to catch its master and
mistress off their guard, that it might go quietly to the table, the
meat-safe, or the pantry, and there--deliberately--steal!

Kate had grown very much since we saw her last. She was quite a woman
now, and well worthy of a minute description here; but we never could
describe a woman to our own satisfaction. We have frequently tried
and failed; so we substitute, in place, the remarks of Kate's friends
and acquaintances about her--a criterion on which to form a judgment
that is a pretty correct one, especially when the opinion pronounced
happens to be favourable. Her father said she was an angel, and the
only joy of his life. This latter expression, we may remark, was
false; for Mr. Kennedy frequently said to Kate, confidentially, that
Charley was a great happiness to him; and we are quite sure that the
pipe had something to do with the felicity of his existence. But the
old gentleman said that Kate was the _only_ joy of his life, and that
is all we have to do with at present. Several ill-tempered old ladies
in the settlement said that Miss Kennedy was really a quiet, modest
girl--testimony this (considering the source whence it came) that was
quite conclusive. Then old Mr. Grant remarked to old Mr. Kennedy,
over a confidential pipe, that Kate was certainly, in his opinion,
the most modest and the prettiest girl in Red River. Her old school
companions called her a darling. Tom Whyte said "he never seed
nothink like her nowhere." The clerks spoke of her in terms too
glowing to remember; and the last arrival among them, the youngest,
with the slang of the "old country" fresh on his lips, called her a
_stunner!_ Even Mrs. Grant got up one of her half-expressed remarks
about her, which everybody would have supposed to be quizzical in its
nature, were it not for the frequent occurrence of the terms "good
girl," "innocent creature," which seemed to contradict that idea.
There were also one or two hapless swains who said nothings, but what
they _did_ and _looked_ was in itself unequivocal. They went quietly
into a state of slow, drivelling imbecility whenever they happened to
meet with Kate; looked as if they had become shockingly unwell, and
were rather pleased than otherwise that their friends should think so
too; and upon all and every occasion in which Kate was concerned,
conducted themselves with an amount of insane stupidity (although
sane enough at other times) that nothing could account for, save the
idea that their admiration of her was inexpressible, and that _that_
was the most effective way in which they could express it.

"Kate, my darling," said Mr. Kennedy, as he finished the last
mouthful of tea, "wouldn't it be capital to get another letter from
Charley?"

"Yes, dear papa, it would indeed. But I am quite sure that the next
time we shall hear from him will be when he arrives here, and makes
the house ring with his own dear voice."

"How so, girl?" said the old trader with a smile. It may as well be
remarked here that the above opening of conversation was by no means
new; it was stereotyped now. Ever since Charley had been appointed to
the management of Lower Fort Garry, his father had been so engrossed
by the idea, and spoke of it to Kate so frequently, that he had got
into a way of feeling as if the event so much desired would happen in
a few days, although he knew quite well that it could not, in the
course of ordinary or extra-ordinary circumstances, occur in less
than several months. However, as time rolled on he began regularly,
every day or two, to ask Kate questions about Charley that she could
not by any possibility answer, but which he knew from experience
would lead her into a confabulation about his son, which helped a
little to allay his impatience.

"Why, you see, father," she replied, "it is three months since we got
his last, and you know there has been no opportunity of forwarding
letters from Stoney Creek since it was despatched. Now, the next
opportunity that occurs-"

"Mee-aow!" interrupted the cat, which had just finished two pats of
fresh butter without being detected, and began, rather recklessly, to
exult.

"Hang that cat!" cried the old gentleman, angrily, "it'll be the
death o' me yet;" and seizing the first thing that came to hand,
which happened to be the loaf of bread, discharged it with such
violence, and with so correct an aim, that it knocked, not only the
cat, but the tea-pot and sugar-bowl also, off the table.

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