Notwithstanding the exciting disturbances of the night, to both men and
beasts, the troops were up by daylight. Breakfast was over, the camp was
struck, and all were ready to march before the sun in the clear winter
sky was much above the horizon. During the last of the preparations,
Helen, wrapped in her furs, was seated on a log by one of the fires.
While waiting for Harold she was busy jotting down notes in a scrap book
that lay on her knee.
"Well, dearie!" he exclaimed, as he joined her with a slight limp. "We
start in ten minutes. Are you quite ready? But what is this you are
doing?"
"Just scribbling a bit," she replied. "Commencing my diary. And how is
the leg? It must hurt you."
"Only a little. The Doctor has dressed it again. He says it is a mere
trifle. The thick folds of my trousers saved me from a bite that might
have been serious. So you are turning historian, are you? Commencing, I
suppose, with a thrilling tale of adventure."
"Last night's experience should be thrilling enough to make a record
of, don't you think?" was her answer.
"Well, yes; if you only put it down right. You should commence with an
account of the brave lady who, without fear, seized a dagger and by her
dexterity saved the life of her husband."
"What do you take me for? Any more nonsense like that?"
"There is no nonsense about it, my dear. Where would I have been but for
you? Both my pistols empty, clutched by a big wolf, and no knife within
reach until you handed it to me. No, my dear Mrs. Manning, you were
veritably your husband's preserver. Put it down quick, for we have
scarcely a minute to lose."
"It is too late," she returned with grave perspicacity. "The first
chapter is closed. What I have writ, I have writ, and there's the end
o't." And closing her scrap book she opened her reticule to put it in.
"But my brave lady," he cried. "My heroine of the midnight battle, won't
you let me see what you have writ?"
"That is a question," was her laughing answer, putting her bag behind
her back.
"Why so?" he asked.
"Because----"
"Because what?"
"Because you shouldn't see anything I put down. I just thought I would
write a bit each day until we get to Penetang; but there are things
which a woman would not want to tell to a man, even her husband."
"I never thought of that," he replied gravely. "Still, there may be
truth in it."
"I don't want to be mean, Harold," she said relentingly, handing him the
scrap book. "Read it this time, but please let me write what I want
without showing it to you again, until we reach Penetang anyway. I
promise that you may read the whole of it then if you insist."
"Well, I agree," he replied, stooping to kiss her. "Writing letters to
nobody with nobody to read them."
"Who else should read them but the nobody for whom they were written,"
was her laughing response.
The horses were harnessed, but he had still time to glance hastily over
the first entry of her diary. It ran thus:
"Shebenacadie, Nova Scotia, Jan., 1814.
"Just three days and nights since we left Halifax. The weather sharp,
cold and bright, with scarcely a cloud in the sky at any time, and jolly
long drives they have been. We had great fun at a lumber camp on our
first day out. A good-natured Scotchman was what they call 'Boss' and he
made it very pleasant for us. He gave us an excellent dinner and was
very gallant to us all, but he tried to be funny, too. For instance, he
told me it was lucky I was not going to stay in Nova Scotia, for if I
did, I would become a 'blue-nose' like the rest of the women, for I was
catching the disease already.
"I laughingly repudiated the charge and told him it was a calumny upon
the Nova Scotia women, for their noses were all a natural color.
"'My dear woman,' he replied, 'I'm no daft. Their noses are all blue,
but for the sake of effect they just paint 'em pink.'
"The Doctor heard him and shook with laughter, while Mr. Mackenzie
reiterated: 'Fact, madame, fact! When you come back jess ask Mrs. Mason
and she'll tell you.' I feel sure he was joking, although my nose was a
little blue at the time from the extreme cold. Still the 'Boss' is a
fine specimen of his race; rough, generous and warm-hearted. I wonder if
he has a wife. If not the sooner he gets one the better, for like Harold
he could make a woman happy.
"That afternoon we passed an Indian camp. Some of the redskins were
armed, and as there were a lot of them, and only a few of us in sleighs,
it didn't seem safe, until we had driven on and they had shouted their
last 'Qua.'
"But the horror of all was last night, only three or four hours before
dawn, where, if it had not been for a providential candle, Harold would
have been killed. Oh, that blessed candle! I have stowed it away already
among my most valuable belongings in commemoration of the event. The
fiendish eyes of that gaunt wolf made my blood run cold as he wriggled
through the bars into our camp. Harold shot him twice with his pistols
and afterwards stabbed him to the heart with his dagger; still he could
not have done it but for that little candle which he had stuck between
the branches before the fight began. What a terrible scene it was! When
Harold and the brute were locked together and the blood spurted all
over, I felt sure that it was Harold's. I almost fainted. But somehow I
just wouldn't. So I grabbed hold of the wolf's leg and helped to roll
him on his back. It was all the help I could give. The whole thing was
horrible to think of. It made my blood curdle. But I don't care so long
as Harold is all right. I always knew what a good, true man my husband
was, but never before did I know how brave he could be. He's the----"
But here the record broke off abruptly, caused no doubt by the said
Harold's arrival. "I wonder how you purposed concluding that last
sentence?" he asked with a laugh, as he handed back the book. "Possibly
the dash was merely a happy substitute for something else."
"On second thought I don't think I'll finish it," she said, dryly. "Just
leave it for you to conjecture."
"And am I to read no more chapters?" he asked.
"Not even one," she replied, nodding her head. "A woman's fiat is like
the law of the Medes and Persians--it cannot be altered."
"So be it," he assented, while he helped her into the sleigh. "I shall
restrain my curiosity until the manuscript is finished. But woe betide
you if you do not let me read it then." And they both laughed.
The next moment the bugles sounded, the sleighs and troops were already
in order, and on the word of command the journey was resumed.
Helen's diary continued.
"Camp, ---- miles northwest of Truro, Jan'y ----, 10 p.m., 1814.
"I thought I would write a little in my diary every day when I
commenced, but here, on the very start, I have missed a day already.
Perhaps it was because Harold, on account of the wolf's bite, has been
with me ever since. To-day it has been terribly cold, and I was afraid
he might be worse, but thank heaven he is not. The roads are still good
through this mountainous region, and without many drifts either. Bateese
pretends to be disgusted. He says they are not worth a 'tam,' for he has
been doing his best to find a drift to camp in ever since we started. So
we laugh and tell him it is foolish to despair.
"Last night we were on the lookout for wolves again. We sat on logs
around the camp fires until quite late listening for them; but there was
not a single howl. We did hear something, however, that was at least
more amusing. The men had made our little camp comfortable for us, and
Harold and I were having a chat by ourselves before turning in for the
night. Perhaps I felt moody again in the still air and deep solitude of
the woods. It was so new and strange to me--so different from anything I
had ever experienced.
"Suddenly we heard singing in the habitants' camp. The drivers were
seated around their own fire and listening to Bateese. I wonder if I can
remember the words of the quaint little song. It ran something like
this:
Ma luffly gal she ees so neat,
She be ma femme come by-am-bye;
She ope her leetle mouf so sweet
An' all de day sing lullaby.
Ven she vas baby dress in print,
Her petite nose vas vide an' pug,
So dat it make her eyes go squint
Ven she shut up her leetle mug.
Her arms so short, her feet so long,
Dey make you tink of kangaroo;
Still, mon devoir, I sing ma song
An' tell de story all to you.
But she so fair, her hair like gold,
Her bref is like de rose to smell;
An' vat care I for tings I told,
I luff dat leetle gal so well.
An den who cares vat people say?
Mon Dieu! e'en d'ough de night owls sing,
It ees no mattare. Ve'll be gay
An' Cure'll marry us in spring.
"Then the men laughed and we laughed too. Somehow it roused my spirits,
and I liked Bateese all the better for singing his foolish little
ditty."
Diary continued.
"Miramichi River, New Brunswick, 240 miles from Halifax, Feb. ----,
1814.
"I intended to write in my diary every day when I started, but, 'The
best laid schemes of men and mice gang aft aglee.' Several weary days
have gone since I used my pencil last. I was more than half sick and did
not feel like writing. But now I am better; so start anew and will try
to keep it up. Harold has been very good to me; and so have the Doctor
and the Chaplain, and the Colonel and everybody. Still travelling twenty
miles a day, no matter how you feel, is no joke, particularly when you
have to camp out in improvised shanties every night, no matter how
intense the cold. Two of the days it stormed furiously and Bateese had
all he could do to keep our sleigh from upsetting in the drifts. Some of
the others did go over much to their discomfort, and we began to prize
Bateese all the more for his dexterity, even if he does brag a bit. When
the blast was the keenest both the women got their noses frozen. That
was two days ago, and their driver discovered it just as we stopped to
camp for dinner.
"'By gar!' he cried out vehemently, 'de vemen's noses bot' be friz.'
"Bateese dropped his lines into Harold's hands and almost with a bound
reached the other sleigh. Then the two men commenced at once to rub the
frozen noses with snow, much to the disgust of the women. But opposition
was useless. It was the right thing to do, and at the same time a rare
joke to the Frenchmen who continued to jabber their patois.
"'Be quiet now, Femme Bond,' cried Bateese. 'You no want your nose drop
off.'
"'Ardman never look at 'im femme again wid big hole in him face," yelled
the other. ''Old steel I say.'
"The women realized the truth and slowly the white ivory hardness of the
two noses disappeared, and they became red and soft again.
"Dey must cover de face wid wraps all de rest of de day" was Bateese's
parting injunction as he left them to return to his own sleigh.
"We are lucky in having Bateese for a driver. He is usually so amusing
with his stories. At first we used to believe all he said. Now we
discriminate, and laugh at his tales about bears and things as heartily
as he does himself. Speaking of Bruin reminds me that I saw wild bears
for the first time yesterday. Harold was with me. The Colonel's sleigh,
as usual, was just in front of ours; and as our horses slowly ascended a
steep hill on the curve, we saw a big black bear, with two little cubs
some months old, sitting on her haunches right in the road--a most
unusual thing, for bears as a rule hibernate during the winter.
"Sir George's horses reared, while the men in his sleigh picked up their
guns and fired. The old bear dropped, but the little ones were not hurt,
and instead of running away they cuddled beside their dead mother. Such
a pitiful sight! Some of the men clamored to keep the cubs for mascots;
and the habitants declared that the journey would be lucky if they did.
I was glad when the Colonel gave his consent, for I hated the idea of
killing the cunning little things; and if left without their mother they
would surely die. So some stayed behind to skin and dress the bear, for
it was so much added to our larder; and also to fix a box to put the
little cubs in. Funny, too, that this should happen on what they call
'Bear-day.'
"And last night we had roast bear for supper. It has a strong taste, but
as I am getting well, and hungry again, I relished it as a change from
our regular diet.
"Harold was telling me afterwards that one of the cubs is a male and the
other a female; and that the two companies are to have one apiece. The
funniest part of it is that they christened them both with singaree--one
to be called Helen and the other Manning. I knew the officers were very
kind, but I never suspected that the soldiers cared a button for me.
Pshaw! There's a tear on my paper. I wonder where it came from?"