It chanced that, on the morning of the arrival of Victor and his
comrades at the margin of the flood, Peegwish went a-fishing.
That astute Indian was fond of fishing. It suited his tastes and
habits; it was an art which was admirably adapted to his tendencies.
Peegwish was, naturally as well as by training, lazy, and what could be
more congenial to a lazy man than a "gentle art" which involved nothing
more than sitting on a river bank smoking a pipe and awaiting a bite?
It had a spice of intellectuality about it too, for did it not foster a
spirit of meditation, contemplation, and even of philosophical
speculation--when he chanced to be awake? Moreover, it saved him from
harder labour, and shut the mouths of those ill-natured people who
objected to drones, and had a tendency to reproach them, for was he not
assiduously procuring for men and women a portion of that nourishment
without which labour would be impossible?
The peculiar action of the flood had favoured Peegwish in regard to his
beloved art, for, whereas in former days he was obliged to get up from
his lair and go down to the river bank to fish, now he had nothing more
to do than open the window and cast out his line, and Wildcat was close
at hand to fetch him a light when his pipe chanced to go out, which it
frequently did, for the red old savage slept much. When, therefore, we
say that Peegwish went a-fishing, it must be understood that he merely
left his seat by the stove in the upper room at Willow Creek and opened
the window.
Wildcat was as fond of fishing as her brother, but there were a few
difficulties in her way which did not exist in his. Water had to be
drawn, wood to be chopped, moccasins and leggings and coats to be made,
as well as meals to be cooked. She was, therefore, compelled to fish in
moderation.
"Bring a light," said Peegwish, in that tone of mild entreaty with which
he was wont to make his wants known.
There being no one else in the room at the moment, Wildcat obeyed.
Peegwish looked into the room for a moment, and extended his left hand
for the piece of lighted stick; with his right hand he held his line.
Suddenly that hand received an amazing tug. Peegwish unintentionally
scattered the firebrand, dropped his pipe from his lips, and uttered a
shout, while with both hands he held on to the jerking line.
One of Mr Ravenshaw's largest pigs had been swept out of the outhouse
lofts. Struggling with the stream, he passed under the window of the
storeroom, and came across the line of Peegwish with his tail. Every
one must be familiar with the tendency of tails in general to shut down
when touched. The unfortunate pig obeyed the natural law, and the line
continued to slip until the hook was reached, when, of course, the
natural result followed. There could be no hope of escape, for the tail
was remarkably tough and the line strong. Peegwish held on stoutly.
Wildcat lent her aid. The jerking on the tail depressed the snout of
the pig, whose shrieks, being thus varied by intermittent gurgles,
rendered the noise more appalling, and quickly drew the whole household
to the windows.
Unfortunately there were none there but women--Mr Ravenshaw and the
other men being still absent with the boat. The canoe had also been
sent off that morning for a load of firewood, so that the only way of
relieving the pig was to haul him in at the window. But he was too
heavy to be thus treated, and as Peegwish did not wish to break his line
and lose his hook he could only hold on in despair, while Elsie and
Cora, with their mother and Wildcat, stood by helpless and horrified,
yet amused, by the novelty of the situation and the frightful noise.
While this scene was being enacted at Willow Greek, Victor, with the
recovered Tony and the rest of them, were drawing quickly near.
Deeply though the hearts of most of these wanderers were filled with
anxious fears, they could not help being impressed with the scenes of
desolation--deserted and submerged homesteads, wreck and ruin--through
which they passed. At one moment the two canoes were skimming over the
waters of a boundless lake; at another they were winding out and in
among the trees of a submerged bit of woodland. Presently they found
themselves among house tops, and had to proceed cautiously for fear of
sunken fences, and then out they swept again over the wide sheet of
water, where the once familiar prairie lay many feet below.
The maple-trees were by that time in full leaf, and the rich green
verdure of bush and tree was bursting out on all sides, when not
submerged. Swallows skimmed about in hundreds, dipping the tips of
their blue wings in the flood, as though to test its reality, while
flocks of little yellow birds--like canaries, but rather larger, with
more black on their wings--flitted from bush to tree or from isle to
isle. The month of May in those regions is styled the "flower month,"
and June the "heart-berry month," but flowers and heart-berries were
alike drowned out that year in Red River of the North, and none of the
wonted perfumes of the season regaled the noses of our voyagers as they
returned home.
"There they are at last!" exclaimed Victor, with sparkling eyes, "the
elms on the knoll. D'ye see them, Tony? I do believe I see the
smoking-box. But for the bushes we might see the chimneys of Willow
Creek."
Tony's excitement was great, but the effect of his late training was
seen in the suppression of all feeling, save that which escaped through
the eyes. Paint and charcoal concealed the flush on his cheeks
effectually.
"Tonyquat sees," he replied.
Victor received this with a loud laugh, but Tony, although annoyed, did
not lose his dignity, which the red man in the stern of the canoe
observed with a look of pride and satisfaction.
Michel Rollin, in the other canoe, close alongside, was observed to hold
up his hand.
"Hush!" he said, turning his head as if to listen. "I do hear
someting--someting not meloderous."
"Is it melliferous, then?" asked Vic, with a smile.
But Rollin made no reply. He was far from jesting, poor fellow, at that
moment. The thought of his old mother and grandfather, and fears as to
their fate, weighed heavily on his heart, and took all the fun out of
him.
"It sounds like pigs," said Ian.
"Oui. Dey be killin' porkers," said Rollin, with a nod, as he dipped
his paddle again and pushed on.
As they drew near, the excitement of the voyagers increased, so did
their surprise at the prolonged and furious shrieking. Gradually the
vigour of their strokes was strengthened, until they advanced at racing
speed. Finally, they swept round the corner of the old house at Willow
Creek, and burst upon the gaze of its inhabitants, while Peegwish and
the pig were at the height of their struggles.
Mrs Ravenshaw chanced to be the first to observe them.
"Ian Macdonald!" she shouted, for his form in the bow of the leading
canoe was the most conspicuous.
"Victor!" cried the sisters, with a scream that quite eclipsed the pig.
They rushed to another window, under which the canoes were pulled up.
"Oh! Victor, Victor," cried Mrs Ravenshaw, with a deadly faintness at
her heart; "you haven't found--"
"Mother!" cried Tony, casting off his Indian reserve and starting up
with a hysterical shout, "Mother!"
"Tony!" exclaimed everybody in the same breath, for they all knew his
voice, though they did not believe their eyes.
It was only four feet or so from the canoe to the window. Mrs
Ravenshaw leaned over and seized Tony's uplifted hands. Elsie and Cora
lent assistance. A light vault, and Tony went in at the window, from
which immediately issued half-stifled cries of joy. At that moment
Peegwish uttered a terrible roar, as he fell back into the room with the
broken line in his hand, accidentally driving Wildcat into a corner. A
last supreme effort had been made by the pig. He had broken the hook,
and went off with a final shriek of triumph.
Thus, amid an appropriate whirlwind of confusion, noise, and disaster,
was the long-lost Tony restored to his mother's arms!
Seated calmly in the stern of his canoe, Petawanaquat observed the scene
with a look of profound gravity. His revenge was complete! He had
returned to his enemy the boy of whom he had become so fond that he felt
as though Tony really were his own son. He had bowed his head to the
dictates of an enlightened conscience. He had returned good for evil.
A certain feeling of deep happiness pervaded the red man's heart, but it
was accompanied, nevertheless, by a vague sense of bereavement and
sadness which he could not shake off just then.
Quite as calmly and as gravely sat Ian Macdonald. His eyes once more
beheld Elsie, the angel of his dreams, but he had no right to look upon
her now with the old feelings. Her troth was plighted to Lambert. It
might be that they were already married! though he could not bring
himself to believe that; besides, he argued, hoping against hope, if
such were the case, Elsie would not be living with her father's family.
No, she was not yet married, he felt sure of that; but what mattered it?
A girl whose heart was true as steel could never be won from the man to
whom she had freely given herself. No, there was no hope; and poor Ian
sat there in silent despair, with no sign, however, of the bitter
thoughts within on his grave, thoughtful countenance.
Not less gravely sat Michel Rollin in the stern of his canoe. No sense
of the ludicrous was left in his anxious brain. He had but one idea,
and that was--old Liz! With some impatience he waited until the ladies
inside the house were able to answer his queries about his mother. No
sooner did he obtain all the information they possessed than he
transferred Meekeye to her husband's canoe, and set off alone in the
other to search for the lost hut--as Winklemann had done before him.
Meanwhile the remainder of the party were soon assembled in the family
room on the upper floor, doing justice to an excellent meal, of which
most of them stood much in need.
"Let me wash that horrid stuff off your face, darling, before you sit
down," said Miss Trim to Tony.
The boy was about to comply, but respect for the feelings of his Indian
father caused him to hesitate. Perhaps the memory of ancient rebellion
was roused by the old familiar voice, as he replied--
"Tonyquat loves his war-paint. It does not spoil his appetite."
It was clear from a twinkle in Tony's eye, and a slight motion in his
otherwise grave face, that, although this style of language now came
quite naturally to him, he was keeping it up to a large extent on
purpose.
"Tonyquat!" exclaimed Mrs Ravenshaw, aghast with surprise, "what does
the child mean?"
"I'll say Tony, mother, if you like it better," he said, taking his
mother's hand.
"He's become a redskin," said Victor, half-amused, half-anxious.
"Tony," said Miss Trim, whose heart yearned towards her old but almost
unrecognisable pupil, "don't you remember how we used to do lessons
together and play sometimes?"
"And fight?" added Cora, with a glance at Ian, which caused Elsie to
laugh.
"Tonyquat does not forget," replied the boy, with profound gravity. "He
remembers the lessons and the punishments. He also remembers dancing on
the teacher's bonnet and scratching the teacher's nose!"
This was received with a shout of delighted laughter, for in it the
spirit of the ancient Tony was recognised.
But Ian Macdonald did not laugh. He scarcely spoke except when spoken
to. He seemed to have no appetite, and his face was so pale from his
long illness that he had quite the air of a sick man.
"Come, Ian, why don't you eat? Why, you look as white as you did after
the grizzly had clawed you all over."
This remark, and the bear-claw collar on the youth's neck, drew forth a
question or two, but Ian was modest. He could not be induced to talk of
his adventure, even when pressed to do so by Elsie.
"Come, then, if _you_ won't tell it I will," said Victor; and thereupon
he gave a glowing account of the great fight with the bear, the
triumphant victory, and the long illness, which had well-nigh terminated
fatally.
"But why did you not help him in the hunt?" asked Elsie of Victor, in a
tone of reproach.
"Because he wouldn't let us; the reason why is best known to himself.
Perhaps native obstinacy had to do with it."
"It was a passing fancy; a foolish one, perhaps, or a touch of vanity,"
said Ian, with a smile, "but it is past now, and I have paid for it.--
Did you make fast the canoe?" he added, turning abruptly to the Indian,
who was seated on his buffalo robe by the stove.
Without waiting for an answer he rose and descended the staircase to the
passage, where poor Miss Trim had nearly met a watery grave.
Here the canoe was floating, and here he found one of the domestics.
"Has the wedding come off yet?" he asked in a low, but careless, tone,
as he stooped to examine the fastening of the canoe.
"What wedding?" said the domestic, with a look of surprise.
"Why, the wedding of Mr Ravenshaw's daughter."
"Oh no, Mr Ian. It would be a strange time for a wedding. But it's
all fixed to come off whenever the flood goes down. And she do seem
happy about it. You see, sir, they was throw'd a good deal together
here of late, so it was sort of natural they should make it up, and the
master he is quite willin'."
This was enough. Ian Macdonald returned to the room above with the
quiet air of a thoughtful schoolmaster and the callous solidity of a
human petrifaction. Duty and death were the prominent ideas stamped
upon his soul. He would not become reckless or rebellious. He would go
through life doing his duty, and, when the time came, he would die!
They were talking, of course, about the flood when he returned and sat
down.
Elsie was speaking. Ian was immediately fascinated as he listened to
her telling Victor, with graphic power, some details of the great
disaster--how dwellings and barns and stores had been swept away, and
property wrecked everywhere, though, through the mercy of God, no lives
had been lost. All this, and a great deal more, did Elsie and Cora and
Mrs Ravenshaw dilate upon, until Ian almost forgot his resolve.
Suddenly he remembered it. He also remembered that his father's house
still existed, though it was tenantless, his father and Miss Martha
having gone up to see friends at the Mountain.
"Come, Vic," he exclaimed, starting up, "I must go home. The old place
may be forsaken, but it is not the less congenial on that account.
Come."
Victor at once complied; they descended to the canoe, pushed out from
the passage, and soon crossed the flood to Angus Macdonald's dwelling.