Book: The Young Fur Traders

R >> R.M. Ballantyne >> The Young Fur Traders




"Did Francois get better?" said Charley Kennedy, in a voice of great
concern.

Charley had entered the store by another door, just as the guide
began his story, and had listened to it unobserved with breathless
interest.

"Recover! Oh oui, monsieur, he soon got well again.'

"Oh, I'm so glad," cried Charley.

"But I lost him for that voyage," added the guide; "and I lost my
tabac for ever."

"You must take better care of it this time, Louis," said Peter
Mactavish, as he resumed his work.

"That I shall, monsieur," replied Louis, shouldering his goods and
quitting the store, while a short, slim, active little Canadian took
his place.

"Now, then, Baptiste," said Mactavish," you want a-"

"Blanket, monsieur,"

"Good. And--"

"A capote, monsieur."

"And--"

"An axe--"

"Stop, stop!" shouted Harry Somerville from his desk. "Here's an
entry in Louis's account that I can't make out--30 something or
other; what can it have been?"

"How often," said Mactavish, going up to him with a look of
annoyance--"how often have I told you, Mr. Somerville, not to leave
an entry half-finished on any account!"

"I didn't know that I left it so," said Harry, twisting his features,
and scratching his head in great perplexity. "What _can_ it have
been? 30--30--not blankets, eh?" (Harry was becoming banteringly
bitter.) "He couldn't have got thirty guns, could he? or thirty
knives, or thirty copper kettles?"

"Perhaps it was thirty pounds of tea," suggested Charley.

"No doubt it was thirty _pipes_," said Peter Mactavish.

"Oh, that was it!" cried Harry, "that was it! thirty pipes, to be
sure. What an ass I am!"

"And pray what is _that_?" said Mactavish, pointing sarcastically to
an entry in the previous account--"_5 yards of superfine Annette_.
Really, Mr. Somerville, I wish you would pay more attention to your
work and less to the conversation."

"Oh dear!" cried Harry, becoming almost hysterical under the combined
effects of chagrin at making so many mistakes, and suppressed
merriment at the idea of selling Annettes by the yard. "Oh, dear me--
"

Harry could say no more, but stuffed his handkerchief into his mouth
and turned away.

"Well, sir," said the offended Peter, "when you have laughed to your
entire satisfaction, we will go on with our work, if you please."

"All right," cried Harry, suppressing his feelings with a strong
effort; "what next?"

Just then a tall, raw-boned man entered the store, and rudely
thrusting Baptiste aside, asked if he could get his supplies now.

"No," said Mactavish, sharply; "you'll take your turn like the rest."

The new-comer was a native of Orkney, a country from which, and the
neighbouring islands, the Fur Company almost exclusively recruits its
staff of labourers. These men are steady, useful servants, although
inclined to be slow and lazy _at first_; but they soon get used to
the country, and rapidly improve under the example of the active
Canadians and half-breeds with whom they associate; some of them are
the best servants the Company possess. Hugh Mathison, however, was a
very bad specimen of the race, being rough and coarse in his manners,
and very lazy withal. Upon receiving the trader's answer, Hugh turned
sulkily on his heel and strode towards the door. Now, it happened
that Baptiste's bundle lay just behind him, and on turning to leave
the place, he tripped over it and stumbled, whereat the voyageurs
burst into an ironical laugh (for Hugh was not a favourite).

"Confound your trash!" he cried, giving the little bundle a kick that
scattered everything over the floor.

"Crapaud!" said Baptiste, between his set teeth, while his eyes
flashed angrily, and he stood up before Hugh with clinched fists,
"what mean you by that, eh?"

The big Scotchman held his little opponent in contempt; so that,
instead of putting himself on the defensive, he leaned his back
against the door, thrust his hands into his pockets, and requested to
know "what that was to him."

Baptiste was not a man of many words, and this reply, coupled with
the insolent sneer with which it was uttered, caused him to plant a
sudden and well-directed blow on the point of Hugh's nose, which
flattened it on his face, and brought the back of his head into
violent contact with the door.

"Well done!" shouted the men; "bravo, Baptiste! _Regardez le nez, mes
enfants!_"

"Hold!" cried Mactavish, vaulting the counter, and intercepting Hugh,
as he rushed upon his antagonist; "no fighting here, you blackguards!
If you want to do _that,_ go outside the fort;" and Peter, opening
the door, thrust the Orkneyman out.

In the meantime, Baptiste gathered up his goods and left the store,
in company with several of his friends, vowing that he would wreak
his vengeance on the "gros chien" before the sun should set.

He had not long to wait, however, for just outside the gate he found
Hugh, still smarting under the pain and indignity of the blow, and
ready to pounce upon him like a cat on a mouse.

Baptiste instantly threw down his bundle, and prepared for battle by
discarding his coat.

Every nation has its own peculiar method of fighting, and its own
ideas of what is honourable and dishonourable in combat. The English,
as everyone knows, have particularly stringent rules regarding the
part of the body which may or may not be hit with propriety, and
count it foul disgrace to strike a man when he is down, although, by
some strange perversity of reasoning, they deem it right and fair to
_fall_ upon him while in this helpless condition, and burst him if
possible. The Scotchman has less of the science, and we are half
inclined to believe that he would go the length of kicking a fallen
opponent; but on this point we are not quite positive. In regard to
the style adopted by the half-breeds, however, we have no doubt. They
fight _any_ way and _every_ way, without reference to rules at all;
and really, although we may bring ourselves into contempt by
admitting the fact, we think they are quite right. No doubt the best
course of action is _not_ to fight; but if a man does find it
_necessary_ to do so, surely the wisest plan is to get it over at
once (as the dentist suggested to his timorous patient), and to do it
in the most effectual manner.

Be this as it may, Baptiste flew at Hugh, and alighted upon him, not
head first, or fist first, or feet first, or _anything_ first, but
altogether--in a heap as it were; fist, feet, knees, nails, and
teeth, all taking effect at one and the same time, with a force so
irresistible that the next moment they both rolled in the dust
together.

For a minute or so they struggled and kicked like a couple of
serpents, and then, bounding to their feet again, they began to
perform a war-dance round each other, revolving their fists at the
same time in, we presume, the most approved fashion. Owing to his
bulk and natural laziness, which rendered jumping about like a jack-
in-the-box impossible, Hugh Mathison preferred to stand on the
defensive; while his lighter opponent, giving way to the natural bent
of his mercurial temperament and corporeal predilections, comported
himself in a manner that cannot be likened to anything mortal or
immortal, human or inhuman, unless it be to an insane cat, whose
veins ran wild-fire instead of blood. Or perhaps we might liken him
to that ingenious piece of firework called a zigzag cracker, which
explodes with unexpected and repeated suddenness, changing its
position in a most perplexing manner at every crack. Baptiste, after
the first onset, danced backwards with surprising lightness, glaring
at his adversary the while, and rapidly revolving his fists as before
mentioned; then a terrific yell was heard; his head, arms, and legs
became a sort of whirling conglomerate; the spot on which he danced
was suddenly vacant, and at the same moment Mathison received a bite,
a scratch, a dab on the nose, and a kick on the stomach all at once.
Feeling that it was impossible to plant a well-directed blow on such
an assailant, he waited for the next onslaught; and the moment he saw
the explosive object flying through the air towards him, he met it
with a crack of his heavy fist, which, happening to take effect in
the middle of the chest, drove it backwards with about as much
velocity as it had approached, and poor Baptiste measured his length
on the ground.

"Oh, pauvre chien!" cried the spectators, "c'est fini!" "Not yet,"
cried Baptiste, as he sprang with a scream to his feet again, and
began his dance with redoubled energy, just as if all that had gone
before was a mere sketch--a sort of playful rehearsal, as it were, of
what was now to follow. At this moment Hugh stumbled over a canoe-
paddle, and fell headlong into Baptiste's arms, as he was in the very
act of making one of his violent descents. This unlooked-for
occurrence brought them both to a sudden pause, partly from necessity
and partly from surprise. Out of this state Baptiste recovered first,
and taking advantage of the accident, threw Mathison heavily to the
ground. He rose quickly, however, and renewed the light with
freshened vigour.

Just at this moment a passionate growl was heard, and old Mr. Kennedy
rushed out of the fort in a towering rage.

Now Mr. Kennedy had no reason whatever for being angry. He was only a
visitor at the fort, and so had no concern in the behaviour of those
connected with it. He was not even in the Company's service now, and
could not, therefore, lay claim, as one of its officers, to any right
to interfere with its men. But Mr. Kennedy never acted much from
reason; impulse was generally his guiding-star. He had, moreover,
been an absolute monarch, and a commander of men, for many years past
in his capacity of fur-trader. Being, as we have said, a powerful,
fiery man, he had ruled very much by means of brute force--a species
of suasion, by the way, which is too common among many of the
gentlemen (?) in the employment of the Hudson's Bay Company. On
hearing, therefore, that the men were fighting in front of the fort,
Mr. Kennedy rushed out in a towering rage.

"Oh, you precious blackguards!" he cried, running up to the
combatants, while with flashing eyes he gazed first at one and then
at the other, as if uncertain on which to launch his ire. "Have you
no place in the world to fight but _here_? eh, blackguards?"

"O monsieur," said Baptiste, lowering his hands, and assuming that
politeness of demeanour which seems inseparable from French blood,
however much mixed with baser fluid, "I was just giving _that dog_ a
thrashing, monsieur."

"Go!" cried Mr. Kennedy in a voice of thunder, turning to Hugh, who
still stood in a pugilistic attitude, with very little respect in his
looks.

Hugh hesitated to obey the order; but Mr. Kennedy continued to
advance, grinding his teeth and working his fingers convulsively, as
if he longed to lay violent hold of the Orkneyman's swelled nose; so
he retreated in his uncertainty, but still with his face to the foe.
As has been already said, the Assiniboine River flows within a
hundred yards of the gate of Fort Garry. The two men, in their
combat, had approached pretty near to the bank, at a place where it
descends somewhat precipitately into the stream. It was towards this
bank that Hugh Mathison was now retreating, crab fashion, followed by
Mr. Kennedy, and both of them so taken up with each other that
neither perceived the fact until Hugh's heel struck against a stone
just at the moment that Mr. Kennedy raised his clenched fist in a
threatening attitude. The effect of this combination was to pitch the
poor man head over heels down the bank, into a row of willow bushes,
through which, as he rolled with great speed, he went with a loud
crash, and shot head first, like a startled alligator, into the
water, amid a roar of laughter from his comrades and the people
belonging to the fort; most of whom, attracted by the fight, were now
assembled on the banks of the river.

Mr. Kennedy's wrath vanished immediately, and he joined in the
laughter; but his face instantly changed when he beheld Hugh
sputtering in deep water, and heard some one say that he could not
swim.

"What! can't swim?" he exclaimed, running down the bank to the edge
of the water. Baptiste was before him, however. In a moment he
plunged in up to the neck, stretched forth his arm, grasped Hugh by
the hair, and dragged him to the land.




CHAPTER VIII.

Farewell to Kate--Departure of the brigade--Charley becomes a
voyageur.


On the following day at noon, the spot on which the late combat had
taken place became the theatre of a stirring and animated scene. Fort
Garry, and the space between it and the river, swarmed with
voyageurs, dressed in their cleanest, newest, and most brilliant
costume. The large boats for the north, six in number, lay moored to
the river's bank, laden with bales of furs, and ready to start on
their long voyage. Young men, who had never been on the road before,
stood with animated looks watching the operations of the guides as
they passed critical examination upon their boats, overhauled the
oars to see that they were in good condition, or with crooked knives
(a species of instrument in the use of which voyageurs and natives
are very expert) polished off the top of a mast, the blade of an oar,
or the handle of a tiller. Old men, who had passed their lives in
similar occupations, looked on in silence--some standing with their
heads bent on their bosoms, and an expression of sadness about their
faces, as if the scene recalled some mournful event of their early
life, or possibly reminded them of wild, joyous scenes of other days,
when the blood coursed warmly in their young veins, and the strong
muscles sprang lightly to obey their will; when the work they had to
do was hard, and the sleep that followed it was sound--scenes and
days that were now gone by for ever. Others reclined against the
wooden fence, their arms crossed, their thin white hair waving gently
in the breeze, and a kind smile playing on their sunburned faces, as
they observed the swagger and coxcombry of the younger men, or
watched the gambols of several dark-eyed little children--embryo
buffalo-hunters and voyageurs--whose mothers had brought them to the
fort to get a last kiss from papa, and witness the departure of the
boats.

Several tender scenes were going on in out-of-the-way places--in
angles of the walls and bastions, or behind the gates-between
youthful couples about to be separated for a season. Interesting
scenes these of pathos and pleasantry--a combination of soft glances
and affectionate fervent assurances; alternate embraces (that were
_apparently_ received with reluctance, but _actually_ with delight,
and proffers of pieces of calico and beads and other trinkets
(received both _apparently_ and _actually_ with extreme satisfaction)
as souvenirs of happy days that were past), and pledges of unalterable
constancy and bright hope in days that were yet to come.

A little apart from the others, a youth and a girl might be seen
sauntering slowly towards the copse beyond the stable. These were
Charley Kennedy and his sister Kate, who had retired from the
bustling scene to take a last short walk together, ere they
separated, it might be for years, perhaps for ever! Charley held
Kate's hand, while her sweet little head rested on his shoulder.

"O Charley, Charley, my own dear, darling Charley, I'm quite
miserable, and you ought not to go away; it's very wrong, and I don't
mind a bit what you say, I shall die if you leave me!" And Kate
pressed him tightly to her heart, and sobbed in the depth of her woe.
"Now, Kate, my darling, don't go on so! You know I can't help it--"

"I _don't_ know," cried Kate, interrupting him, and speaking
vehemently--" I don't know, and I don't believe, and I don't care for
anything at all; it's very hard-hearted of you, and wrong, and not
right, and I'm just quite wretched!"

Poor Kate was undoubtedly speaking the absolute truth; for a more
disconsolate and wretched look of woebegone misery was never seen on
so sweet and tender and lovable a little face before. Her blue eyes
swam in two lakes of pure crystal, that overflowed continually; her
mouth, which was usually round, had become an elongated oval; and her
nut-brown hair fell in dishevelled masses over her soft cheeks.

"O Charley," she continued, "why _won't_ you stay?"

"Listen to me, dearest Kate," said Charley, in a very husky voice.
"It's too late to draw back now, even if I wished to do so; and you
don't consider, darling, that I'll be back again soon. Besides, I'm a
man now, Kate, and I must make my own bread. Who ever heard of a man
being supported by his old father."

"Well, but can't you do that here?"

"No, don't interrupt me, Kate," said Charley, kissing her forehead;
"I'm quite satisfied with _two short_ legs, and have no desire
whatever to make my bread on the top of _three long_ ones. Besides,
you know I can write to you."

"But you won't; you'll forget."

"No, indeed, I will not. I'll write you long letters about all that I
see and do; and you shall write long letters to me about--"

"Stop, Charley," cried Kate; "I won't listen to you. I hate to think
of it."

And her tears burst forth again with fresh violence. This time
Charley's heart sank too. The lump in his throat all but choked him;
so he was fain to lay his head upon Kate's heaving bosom, and weep
along with her.

For a few minutes they remained silent, when a slight rustling in the
bushes was heard. In another moment a tall, broad-shouldered,
gentlemanly man, dressed in black, stood before them. Charley and
Kate, on seeing this personage, arose, and wiping the tears from
their eyes, gave a sad smile as they shook hands with their
clergyman.

"My poor children," said Mr. Addison, affectionately, "I know well
why your hearts are sad. May God bless and comfort you! I saw you
enter the wood, and came to bid you farewell, Charley, my dear boy,
as I shall not have another opportunity of doing so."

"O dear Mr. Addison," cried Kate, grasping his hand in both of hers,
and gazing imploringly up at him through a perfect wilderness of
ringlets and tears, "do prevail upon Charley to stay at home; please
do!"

Mr. Addison could scarcely help smiling at the poor girl's extreme
earnestness.

"I fear, my sweet child, that it is too late now to attempt to
dissuade Charley. Besides, he goes with the consent of his father;
and I am inclined to think that a change of life for a _short_ time
may do him good. Come, Kate, cheer up! Charley will return to us
again ere long, improved, I trust, both physically and mentally."

Kate did _not_ cheer up, but she dried her eyes, and endeavoured to
look more composed; while Mr. Addison took Charley by the hand, and,
as they walked slowly through the wood, gave him much earnest advice
and counsel.

The clergyman's manner was peculiar. With a large, warm, generous
heart, he possessed an enthusiastic nature, a quick, brusque manner,
and a loud voice, which, when his spirit was influenced by the strong
emotions of pity or anxiety for the souls of his flock, sunk into a
deep soft bass of the most thrilling earnestness. He belonged to the
Church of England, but conducted service very much in the
Presbyterian form, as being more suited to his mixed congregation.
After a long conversation with Charley, he concluded by saying--

"I do not care to say much to you about being kind and obliging to
all whom you may meet with during your travels, nor about the dangers
to which you will be exposed by being thrown into the company of wild
and reckless, perhaps very wicked, men. There is but _one_ incentive
to every good, and _one_ safeguard against all evil, my boy, and that
is the love of God. You may perhaps forget much that I have said to
you; but remember this, Charley, if you would be happy in this world,
and have a good hope for the next, centre your heart's affection on
our blessed Lord Jesus Christ; for believe me, boy, _His_ heart's
affection is centred upon you."

As Mr. Addison spoke, a loud hello from Mr. Kennedy apprised them
that their time was exhausted, and that the boats were ready to
start. Charley sprang towards Kate, locked her in a long, passionate
embrace, and then, forgetting Mr. Addison altogether in his haste,
ran out of the wood, and hastened towards the scene of departure.

"Good-bye, Charley!" cried Harry Somerville, running up to his friend
and giving him a warm grasp of the hand. "Don't forget me, Charley. I
wish I were going with you, with all my heart; but I'm an unlucky
dog. Good-bye." The senior clerk and Peter Mactavish had also a
kindly word and a cheerful farewell for him as he hurried past.

"Good-bye, Charley, my lad!" said old Mr. Kennedy, in an
_excessively_ loud voice, as if by such means he intended to crush
back some unusual but very powerful feelings that had a peculiar
influence on a certain lump in his throat. "Good-bye, my lad; don't
forget to write to your old--Hang it!" said the old man, brushing his
coat-sleeve somewhat violently across his eyes, and turning abruptly
round as Charley left him and sprang into the boat--"I say, Grant, I--
I--What are you staring at, eh?" The latter part of his speech was
addressed, in an angry tone, to an innocent voyageur, who happened
accidentally to confront him at the moment.

"Come along, Kennedy," said Mr. Grant, interposing, and grasping his
excited friend by the arm--"come with me."

"Ah, to be sure!--yes," said he, looking over his shoulder and waving
a last adieu to Charley, "Good-bye, God bless you, my dear boy!--I
say, Grant, come along; quick, man, and let's have a pipe--yes, let's
have a pipe." Mr. Kennedy, essaying once more to crush back his
rebellious feelings, strode rapidly up the bank, and entering the
house, sought to overwhelm his sorrow in smoke: in which attempt he
failed.




CHAPTER IX.

The voyage--The encampment--A surprise.


It was a fine sight to see the boats depart for the north. It was a
thrilling, heart-stirring sight to behold these picturesque, athletic
men, on receiving the word of command from their guides, spring
lightly into the long, heavy boats; to see them let the oars fall
into the water with a loud splash, and then, taking their seats, give
way with a will, knowing that the eyes of friends and sweethearts and
rivals were bent earnestly upon them. It was a splendid sight to see
boat after boat shoot out from the landing-place, and cut through the
calm bosom of the river, as the men bent their sturdy backs until the
thick oars creaked and groaned on the gunwales and flashed in the
stream, more and more vigorously at each successive stroke, until
their friends on the bank, who were anxious to see the last of them,
had to run faster and faster in order to keep up with them, as the
rowers warmed at their work, and made the water gurgle at the bows--
their bright blue and scarlet and white trappings reflected in the
dark waters in broken masses of colour, streaked with long lines of
shining ripples, as if they floated on a lake of liquid rainbows. And
it was a glorious thing to hear the wild, plaintive song, led by one
clear, sonorous voice, that rang out full and strong in the still
air, while at the close of every two lines the whole brigade burst
into a loud, enthusiastic chorus, that rolled far and wide over the
smooth waters--telling of their approach to settlers beyond the reach
of vision in advance, and floating faintly back, a last farewell, to
the listening ears of fathers, mothers, wives, and sisters left
behind. And it was interesting to observe how, as the rushing boats
sped onwards past the cottages on shore, groups of men and women and
children stood before the open doors and waved adieu, while ever and
anon a solitary voice rang louder than the others in the chorus, and
a pair of dark eyes grew brighter as a voyageur swept past his home,
and recognised his little ones screaming farewell, and seeking to
attract their _sire's_ attention by tossing their chubby arms or
flourishing round their heads the bright vermilion blades of canoe-
paddles. It was interesting, too, to hear the men shout as they ran a
small rapid which occurs about the lower part of the settlement, and
dashed in full career up to the Lower Fort--which stands about twenty
miles down the river from Fort Garry--and then sped onward again with
unabated energy, until they passed the Indian settlement, with its
scattered wooden buildings and its small church; passed the last
cottage on the bank; passed the low swampy land at the river's mouth;
and emerged at last as evening closed, upon the wide, calm, sea-like
bosom of Lake Winnipeg.

Charley saw and heard all this during the whole of that long,
exciting afternoon, and as he heard and saw it his heart swelled as
if it would burst its prison-bars, his voice rang out wildly in the
choruses, regardless alike of tune and time, and his spirit boiled
within him as he quaffed the first sweet draught of a rover's life--a
life in the woods, the wild, free, enchanting woods, where all
appeared in _his_ eyes bright, and sunny, and green, and beautiful!

Copyright (c) 2007. knowncrafts.net. All rights reserved.