A DAY ON THE LAKE.—PART I.
When we reached the grove, I left Jessie in the canoe, and went up to
the house in search of her sister. Jackson and Peter were sitting on
the wood-pile; the latter was smoking his pipe, and the other held his
in his hand, as he was relating some story of his exploits in Spain.
When I approached, he rose up and saluted me in his usual formal
manner.
“Where is the doctor,” said I, “and the rest of the party?”
“Gone to see a tame moose of his, Sir,” he said, “in the pasture; but
they will be back directly.”
“Well,” sais I, lighting a cigar by Peter’s pipe, and taking a seat
alongside of him, “go on Jackson; don’t let me interrupt you.”
“I was just telling Mr McDonald, Sir,” said he, “of a night I once
spent on the field of battle in Spain.”
“Well, go on.”
“As I was a saying to him, Sir,” he continued, “you could ear the
wolves among the dead and the dying a owling like so many devils. I was
afraid to go to sleep, as I didn’t know when my turn might come; so I
put my carbine across my knees, and sat up as well as I could,
determined to sell my life as dearly as possible, but I was so weak
from the loss of blood, that I kept dozing and starting all the time
amost. Oh, what a tedious night that was, Sir, and how I longed for the
dawn of day, when search should be made among us for the wounded! Just
as the fog began to rise, I saw a henormous wolf, about a hundred yards
or so from me, busy tearing a body to pieces; and taking a good steady
haim at him, I fired, when he called out:
“‘Blood and ounds! you cowardly furrin rascal, haven’t you had your
belly-full of fighting yet, that you must be after murthering a wounded
man that way? By the powers of Moll Kelly, but you won’t serve Pat
Kallahan that dirty trick again anyhow.’
“As he levelled at me, I fell back, and the ball passed right over me
and struck a wounded orse that was broke down behind, and a sittin’ up
on his fore-legs like a dog. Oh, the scream of that are hanimal, Sir,
was just like a Christian’s. It was hawful. I have the sound of it in
my ears now halmost. It pierced through me, and you might have eard it
that still morning over the whole field. He sprung up and then fell
over, and kicked and struggled furious for a minute or two before he
died, and every time he lashed out, you could a eard a elpless wounded
wretch a groanin’ bitterly, as he battered away at him. The truth is,
Sir, what I took for a wolf that hazy morning, was poor Pat, who was
sitting up, and trying to bandage his hankle, that was shattered by a
bullet, and the way he bobbed his head up and down, as he stooped
forward, looked exactly as a wolf does when he is tearing the flesh off
a dead body.
“Well, the scream of that are orse, and the two shots the dragoon and I
exchanged, saved my life, for I saw a man and a woman making right
straight for us. It was Betty, Sir, God bless her, and Sergeant
M’Clure. The owling she sot up, when she saw me, was dreadful to ear,
Sir.
“‘Betty,’ said I, ‘dear, for eaven’s sake see if you can find a drop of
brandy in any of these poor fellows’ canteens, for I am perishing of
thirst, and amost chilled to death.’
“‘Oh, Tom, dear,’ said she, ‘I have thought of that,’ and unslinging
one from her shoulders put it to my lips, and I believe I would have
drained it at a draft, but she snatched it away directly, and said:
“‘Oh, do ‘ee think of that dreadful stroke of the sun, Tom. It will set
you crazy if you drink any more.’
“‘The stroke of the sun be anged!’ said I; ‘it’s not in my ead this
time—it’s in the other end of me.’
“‘Oh dear, dear!’ said Betty; ‘two such marks as them, and you so
handsome too! Oh dear, dear!’
“Poor old soul! it’s a way she had of trying to come round me.
“‘Where is it?’ said M’Clure.
“‘In the calf of my leg,’ said I.
“Well, he was a handy man, for he had been a hospital-sargeant, on
account of being able to read doctors’ pot-hooks and inscriptions. So
he cut my boot, and stript down my stocking and looked at it. Says he,
‘I must make a turn-and-quit.’
“‘Oh, Rory,’ said I, ‘don’t turn and quit your old comrade that way.’
“‘Oh, Rory, dear,’ said Betty, ‘don’t ‘ee leave Tom now—don’t ’ee,
that’s a good soul.’
“‘Pooh!’ said he, ‘nonsense! How your early training has been
neglected, Jackson!’
“‘Rory,’ said I, ‘if I was well you wouldn’t dare to pass that slur
upon me. I am as well-trained a soldier and as brave a man as ever you
was.’
“‘Tut, tut, man,’ said he, ‘I meant your learning.’
“‘Well,’ says I, ‘I can’t brag much of that, and I am not sorry for it.
Many a better scholar nor you, and better-looking man too, has been
anged afore now, for all his schoolin’.’
“Says he, ‘I’ll soon set you up, Tom. Let me see if I can find anything
here that will do for a turn-and-quit.’
“Close to where I lay there, was a furrin officer who had his head
nearly amputated with a sabre cut. Well, he took a beautiful gold
repeater out of his fob, and a great roll of dubloons out of one
pocket, and a little case of diamond rings out of the other.
“‘The thieving Italian rascal?’ said he, ‘he has robbed a jeweller’s
shop before he left the town,’ and he gave the body a kick and passed
on. Well, close to him was an English officer.
“‘Ah,’ said he, ‘here is something useful,’ and he undid his sash, and
then feeling in his breast pocket, he hauled out a tin tobacco-case,
and opening of it, says he:
“‘Tom, here’s a real god-send for you. This and the sash I will give
you as a keepsake. They are mine by the fortune of war, but I will
bestow them on you.’”
“Oigh! oigh!” said Peter, “she was no shentleman.”
“He warn’t then, Sir,” said Tom, not understanding him, “for he was
only a sargeant like me at that time, but he is now, for he is an
officer.”
“No, no,” said Peter, “the king can make an offisher, but she can’t
make a shentleman. She took the oyster hern ainsel, and gave you the
shell.”
“Well,” continued Jackson, “he took the sash, and tied it round my leg,
and then took a bayonet off a corpse, and with that twisted it round
and round so tight it urt more nor the wound, and then he secured the
bayonet so that it wouldn’t slip. There was a furrin trooper’s orse not
far off that had lost his rider, and had got his rein hunder his
foreleg, so Betty caught him and brought him to where I was a sitting.
By the haid of another pull at the canteen, which put new life into me,
and by their hassistance, I was got on the saddle, and he and Betty
steadied me on the hanimal, and led me off. I no sooner got on the orse
than Betty fell to a crying and a scolding again like anything.
“‘What hails you now,’ says I, ‘Betty? You are like your own town of
Plymouth—it’s showery weather with you all the year round amost. What’s
the matter now?’
“‘Oh, Tom, Tom,’ said she, ‘you will break my eart yet—I know you
will.’
“‘Why what have I done?’ says I. ‘I couldn’t help getting that little
scratch on the leg.’
“‘Oh, it tante that,’ she said; ‘it’s that orrid stroke of the sun.
There’s your poor ead huncovered again. Where is your elmet?’
“‘Oh, bother,’ sais I, ‘ow do I know? Somewhere on the ground, I
suppose.’
“Well, back she ran as ard as she could, but M’Clure wouldn’t wait a
moment for her and went on, and as she couldn’t find mine, she undid
the furriner’s and brought that, and to pacify her I had to put it on
and wear it. It was a good day for M’Clure, and I was glad of it, for
he was a great scholar and the best friend I ever had. He sold the orse
for twenty pounds afterwards.”
“She don’t want to say nothin’ disrespectable,” said Peter, “against
her friend, but she was no shentleman for all tat.”
“He is now,” said Tom again, with an air of triumph. “He is an
hofficer, and dines at the mess. I don’t suppose he’d be seen with me
now, for it’s agen the rules of the service, but he is the best friend
I have in the world.”
“She don’t know nothin’ about ta mess herself,” said Peter, “but she
supposes she eats meat and drinks wine every tay, which was more tan
she did as a poy. But she’d rather live on oatmeal and drink whiskey,
and be a poor shentlemen, than be an officher like M’Clure, and tine
with the Queen, Cot bless her.”
“And the old pipe, then, was all you got for your share, was it?” says
I.
“No, Sir,” said Tom, “it warn’t. One day, when I was nearly well, Betty
came to me—
“‘Oh, Tom,’ said she, ‘I have such good news for you.’
“‘What is it?’ sais I, ‘are we going to have another general
engagement?’
“‘Oh, dear, I hope not,’ she said. ‘You have had enough of fighting for
one while, and you are always so misfortunate.’
“‘Well, what is it?’ sais I.
“‘Will you promise me not to tell?’
“‘Yes,’ said I, ‘I will.’
“‘That’s just what you said the first time I kissed you. Do get out,’
she replied, ‘and you promise not to lisp a word of it to Rory M’Clure?
or he’ll claim it, as he did that orse, and, Tom, I caught that orse,
and he was mine. It was a orrid, nasty, dirty, mean trick that.’
“‘Betty,’ said I, ‘I won’t ear a word hagin him: he is the best friend
I ever had, but I won’t tell him, if you wish it.’
“‘Well,’ said Betty, and she bust out crying for joy, for she can cry
at nothing, amost. ‘Look, Tom, here’s twenty Napoleons, I found them
quilted in that officer’s elmet.’ So after all, I got out of that
scrape pretty well, didn’t I, Sir?”
“Indeed she did,” said Peter, “but if she had seen as much of wolves as
Peter McDonald has she wouldn’t have been much frightened by them. This
is the way to scare a whole pack of them;” and stooping down and
opening a sack, he took out the bagpipes, and struck up a favourite
Highland air. If it was calculated to alarm the animals of the forest,
it at all events served now to recall the party, who soon made their
appearance from the moose-yard. “Tat,” said Peter, “will make ’em
scamper like the tevil. It has saved her life several times.”
“So I should think,” said I. (For of all the awful instruments that
ever was heard that is the worst. Pigs in a bag ain’t the smallest part
of a circumstance to it, for the way it squeals is a caution to cats.)
When the devil was a carpenter, he cut his foot so bad with an adze, he
threw it down, and gave up the trade in disgust. And now that
Highlanders have given up the trade of barbarism, and become the
noblest fellows in Europe, they should follow the devil’s example, and
throw away the bagpipes for ever.
“I have never seen M’Clure,” said Jackson, addressing me, “but once
since he disputed with the countryman about the plural of moose in the
country-market. I met him in the street one day, and says I,
“‘How are you, Rory? Suppose we take a bit of a walk.’
“Well, he held up his ead stiff and straight, and didn’t speak for a
minute or two; at last he said:
“‘How do you do, Sargeant Jackson?’
“‘Why, Rory,’ sais I, ‘what hails you to hact that way? What’s the
matter with you now, to treat an old comrade in that manner?’
“He stared ard at me in the face hagain, without giving any
explanation. At last he said, ‘Sargeant Jackson,’ and then he stopped
again. ‘If anybody speers at you where Ensign Roderich M’Clure is to be
found, say on the second flat of the officers’ quarters at the North
Barracks,’ and he walked on and left me. He had got his commission.”
“She had a Highland name,” said Peter, “and tat is all, but she was
only a lowland Glaskow peast. Ta teivil tack a’ such friends a tat.”
“Doctor,” said I, “Jessie and I have discovered the canoe, and had a
glorious row of it. I see you have a new skiff there; suppose we all
finish the morning on the lake. We have been up to the waterfall, and
if it is agreeable to you, Jessie proposes to dine at the intervale
instead of the house.”
“Just the thing,” said the doctor, “but you understand these matters
better than I do, so just give what instructions you think proper.”
Jackson and Betty were accordingly directed to pack up what was
needful, and hold themselves in readiness to be embarked on our return
from the excursion on the water. Jessie, her sister, and myself took
the canoe; the doctor and Cutler the boat, and Peter was placed at the
stern to awaken the sleeping echoes of the lake with his pipes. The
doctor seeing me provided with a short gun, ran hastily back to the
house for his bow and arrows, and thus equipped and grouped, we
proceeded up the lake, the canoe taking the lead. Peter struck up a
tune on his pipes. The great expanse of water, and the large open area
where they were played, as well as the novelty of the scene, almost
made me think that it was not such bad music after all as I had
considered it.
After we had proceeded a short distance, Jessie proposed a race between
the canoe and the boat. I tried to dissuade her from it, on account of
the fatigue she had already undergone, and the excitement she had
manifested at the waterfall, but she declared herself perfectly well,
and able for the contest. The odds were against the girls; for the
captain and the doctor were both experienced hands, and powerful,
athletic man, and their boat was a flat-bottomed skiff, and drew but
little water. Added to which, the young women had been long out of
practice, and their hands and muscles were unprepared by exercise. I
yielded at last, on condition that the race should terminate at a large
rock that rose out of the lake at about a mile from us. I named this
distance, not merely because I wished to limit the extent of their
exertion, but because I knew that if they had the lead that far, they
would be unable to sustain it beyond that, and that they would be
beaten by the main strength of the rowers. We accordingly slackened our
speed till the boat came up alongside of us. The challenge was given
and accepted, and the terminus pointed out, and when the signal was
made, away we went with great speed.
For more than two-thirds of the distance we were bow and bow, sometimes
one and sometimes the other being ahead, but on no occasion did the
distance exceed a yard or so. When we had but the remaining third to
accomplish, I cautioned the girls that the rowers would now probably
put out all their strength, and take them by surprise, and therefore
advised them to be on their guard. They said a few words to each other
in their native language, laughed, and at once prepared for the crisis,
by readjusting their seats and foothold, and then the eldest said, with
a look of animation, that made her surpassingly beautiful, “Now,” and
away we went like iled lightning, leaving the boat behind at a rate
that was perfectly incredible.
They had evidently been playing with them at first, and doing no more
than to ascertain their speed and power of propulsion, and had all
along intended to reserve themselves for this triumph at the last. As
soon as we reached the winning point, I rose up to give the cheer of
victory, but just at that moment, they suddenly backed water with their
paddles, and in turning towards the boat, the toe of my boot caught in
one of the light ribs of the canoe, which had been loosened by the heat
of the sun, and I instantly saw that a fall was unavoidable. To put a
hand on the side of the little bark would inevitably overset it, and
precipitate the girls into the lake. I had but one resource left
therefore, and that was to arch over the gunwale, and lift my feet
clear of it, while I dove into the water. It was the work of an
instant, and in another I had again reached the canoe. Begging Jessie
to move forward, so as to counterbalance my weight, I rose over the
stern (if a craft can be said to have one, where both ends are alike,
and it can be propelled either way), and then took the seat that had
been occupied by her.
“Now, Jane,” said I, “I must return to the house, and get a dry suit of
the doctor’s clothes; let us see what we can do.”
The doctor told me Betty knew more about his wardrobe than he did
himself, and would furnish me with what I required; and in the mean
time, that they would lay upon their oars till we returned.
“Are you ready, Miss,” said I, “I want you to do your prettiest now,
and put your best foot out, because I wish them to see that I am not
the awkward critter in a canoe they think I am.”
The fact is, Squire, that neither the doctor nor Cutler knew, that to
avoid falling under the circumstances I was placed in, and to escape
without capsizing the canoe, was a feat that no man, but one familiar
with the management of those fragile barks, and a good swimmer, too,
can perform. Peter was aware of it, and appreciated it; but the other
two seemed disposed to cut their jokes upon me; and them that do that,
generally find, in the long run, I am upsides with them, that’s a fact.
A cat and a Yankee always come on their feet, pitch them up in the air
as high and as often as you please.
“Now for it,” said I, and away we went at a 2.30 pace, as we say of our
trotting horses. Cutler and the doctor cheered us as we went; and
Peter, as the latter told me afterwards, said: “A man who can dwell
like an otter, on both land and sea, has two lives.” I indorse that
saw, he made it himself; it’s genuine, and it was like a trapper’s
maxim. Warn’t it?
As soon as I landed I cut off for the house, and in no time rigged up
in a dry suit of our host’s, and joined the party, afore they knew
where they were. I put on a face as like the doctor’s as two clocks of
mine are to each other. I didn’t do it to make fun _of_ him, but _out_
of him. Oh, they roared again, and the doctor joined in it as heartily
as any of them, though he didn’t understand the joke. But Peter didn’t
seem to like it. He had lived so much among the Indians, and was so
accustomed to their way of biling things down to an essence, that he
spoke in proverbs, or wise saws. Says he to me, with a shake of his
head, “_a mocking bird has no voice of its own_.” It warn’t a bad
sayin’, was it? I wish I had noted more of them, for though I like ’em,
I am so yarney, I can’t make them as pithey as he did. I can’t talk
short-hand, and I must say I like condensation. Now, brevity is the
only use to individuals there is in telegraphs. There is very little
good news in the world for any of us; and bad news comes fast enough. I
hate them myself. The only good there is in ’em, is to make people
write short; for if you have to pay for every word you use, you won’t
be extravagant in ’em, there is no mistake.
Telegraphs ruin intellect; they reduce a wise man to the level of a
fool; and fifty years hence there won’t be a sensible trader left. For
national purposes they are very well, and government ought to have kept
them to themselves, for those objects; but they play the devil with
merchants. There is no room for the exercise of judgment. It’s a dead
certainty now. Flour is eight dollars in England; well, every one knows
that, and the price varies, and every one knows that also, by
telegraph. Before that, a judgmatical trader took his cigar in his
mouth, sat down, and calculated. Crops short, Russian war, blockade,
and so on. Capital will run up prices, till news of new harvest are
known; and then they will come down by the run. He deliberates,
reasons, and decides. Now, the last Liverpool paper gives the price
current. It advises all, and governs all. Any blockhead can be a
merchant now. Formerly, they poked sapey-headed goneys into Parliament,
to play dummey; or into the army and navy, the church, and the colonial
office. But they kept clever fellows for law, special commissioners,
the stage, the “Times,” the “Chronicle,” and such like able papers, and
commerce; and men of middlin’ talents were resarved for doctors,
solicitors, Gretna Green, and so on.
But the misfortinate prince-merchants now will have to go to the bottom
of the list with tradesmen and retailers. They can’t have an opinion of
their own, the telegraph will give it. The latest quotations, as they
call them, come to them, they know that iron is _firm,_ and timber
_giving way,_ that lead is _dull_ and _heavy,_ and coal gone to
_blases,_ while the stocks are _rising_ and vessels _sinking,_ all the
rest they won’t trouble their heads about. The man who trades with
Cuba, won’t care about Sinope, and it’s too much trouble to look for it
on the map. While the Black Sea man won’t care about Toronto, or
whether it is in Nova Scotia or Vermont, in Canada or California. There
won’t soon be a merchant that understands geography.
But what is wuss, half the time the news is false, and if it hadn’t
been for that, old Hemp and Iron would have made a fortune. And if it
is true, it’s worse still, for he would have acted on his own judgment
if he hadn’t heard it, and circumstances would have altered as they
always are doing every day, and he would have made a rael hit. Oh, I
hate them. And besides this, they have spoiled them by swearing the
operators. An oath gives them fellows such an itch to blart, that
though they don’t inform, they let the cat out of the bag, and that is
as bad. Tell you what, I wouldn’t like to confess by telegraph. If I am
courting a gall and she sais all right, why then my fun is spoiled, for
when a thing is settled, all excitement is gone, and if I am refused,
the longer I am in ignorance the better. It is wiser to wait, as the
Frenchman did at Clare, who sat up three nights to see how the letters
passed over the wires. Well, if I am married, I have to report
progress, and logbooks are always made up before or afterwards. It’s
apt to injure my veracity. In short, you know what I mean, and I
needn’t follow it out, for a nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse.
But the Lord have mercy on merchants, any fool will get along as well
as the best of them now. Dear me, I recollect a man they poked fun at
once at Salem. They induced him by way of a rise, to ship a cargo of
blankets and warming-pans to the West Indies. Well, he did so, and made
a good speck, for the pans were bought for dippers, and the blankets
for strainers. Yes, telegraphs will reduce merchants to the level of
that fellow Isaac Oxter.
But I must look for the trail again, or I shall forget my story.
I think I left off where I got back in the canoe, and joined the party
in the boat. Well, we then proceeded like the off and near ox, pulling
from rather than to each other, but still keeping neck and neck as it
were. In this manner we proceeded to the head of the lake, and then as
we returned steered for a small wooded island in the centre, where I
proposed to land and rest awhile, for this beautiful sheet of water was
of considerable extent. As we approached it, Peter again struck up his
pipes, and shortly afterwards a noble male moose, as much terrified by
the noise as McDonald said Canada wolves were, broke cover, and swam
for the main land. The moose frequently select such places to secure
their young from the bears, who are their greatest enemies, and find an
easy prey in their helpless calves. It is not improbable that the
female still remained, and that this act of gallantry in the buck was
intended to withdraw attention from her, and thus save her from
pursuit. I had no bullets with me, and my gun was only loaded with
duck-shot. To discharge that at him, would have been a wanton act of
cruelty, as at most it could only inflict upon him painful wounds. In
this emergency, Jessie pointed to a stout half-inch rope that was
coiled up in the bottom of the canoe, and I immediately exchanged
places with her, and commenced making a lasso, while she plied the
paddle.
We gained rapidly upon him, and I was preparing to throw the fatal
noose over his horns, when to my astonishment he raised his neck and a
portion of his fore-legs out of the water, as if he was landing. We
were then a considerable distance from the shore, but it appeared, as I
afterwards learned from the doctor, that a long low neck of land made
out there into the lake, that was only submerged in the spring and
autumn, but in summer was covered with wild grass, upon which deer fed
with avidity, as an agreeable change from browsing. The instinct of the
animal induced him to make for this shallow, from which he could bound
away at full speed (trot) into the cover.
All hope of the chase was now over, and I was about abandoning it in
despair, when an arrow whizzed by us, and in an instant he sprang to
his feet, and exposed his huge form to view. He was a remarkable fine
specimen of his kind, for they are the largest as well as the ugliest
of the deer tribe. For an instant he paused, shook himself violently,
and holding down his head, put up his fore-leg to break off that, which
evidently maddened him with pain. He then stood up erect, with his head
high in the air, and laid his horns back on his neck, and, giving a
snort of terror, prepared to save his life by flight.
It is astonishing how much animation and attitude has to do with
beauty. I had never seen one look well before, but as his form was
relieved against the sky, he looked as he is, the giant king of the
forest. He was just in the act of shifting his feet in the yielding
surface of the boggy meadow, preparatory to a start, when he was again
transfixed by an arrow, in a more vulnerable and vital part. He sprung,
or rather reared forward, and came down on his knees, and then several
times repeated the attempt to commence his flight by the same desperate
effort. At last he fell to rise no more, and soon rolled over, and
after some splashing with his head to avoid the impending death by
drowning, quietly submitted to his fate. Nothing now was visible of him
but the tips of his horns, and a small strip of the hide that covered
his ribs. A shout from the boat proclaimed the victory.
“Ah, Mr Slick,” said the doctor, “what could you have done with only a
charge of duck-shot in your gun, eh? The arrow, you see, served for
shot and bullet. I could have killed him with the first shaft, but his
head was turned, and covered the vital spot. So I had to aim a little
too far forward, but still it carried a death-warrant with it, for he
couldn’t have run over a mile without falling from exhaustion, arising
from the loss of blood. It is a charming day for the bow, for there is
no wind, and I could hit a dollar at a hundred and twenty yards. There
is another on that island, but she probably has a calf, perhaps two,
and it would be a wicked waste of the food that God provides for us, to
destroy her. But we must get this gentleman into the boat, and it will
bring us down so deep in the water, we must keep near the shore, as it
may be necessary occasionally to wade.”
Peter, without ceremony, began to make preparations for such an
emergency. He had been accustomed all his life, until he left the
Nor-west Company’s employment, to the kilt, and he neither felt nor
looked at home in the trousers. Like most of his countrymen, he thought
there was more beauty in a hairy leg, and in a manly shammy-leather
looking skin, than in any covering. While his bald knee, the ugliest,
weakest, most complicated and important joint in the frame, he no doubt
regarded with as much veneration as the pious do the shaven crown of a
monk. He therefore very complacently and coolly began to disencumber
himself of this detestable article of the tailor’s skill. I thought it
best therefore to push off in time, to spare his daughters this
spectacle, merely telling the doctor we would wait for him where we had
embarked.
We proceeded very leisurely, only once in a while dipping the paddle
gently into the water, so as to keep up the motion of the canoe. The
girls amused themselves by imitating the call and answer of the loon,
the blue-jay, the kingfisher, and the owl. With a piece of bark, rolled
up in the form of a short-ear trumpet, they mimicked the hideous voice
of the moose, and the not less disagreeable lowing of the cariboo. The
martin started in surprise at his affrighted neighbour on the water,
and the fox no doubt crept from his hole to listen to the voice that
called him to plunder, at this dangerous hour. All these sounds are
signals among the Indians, and are carried to a perfection that
deceives the ear of nature itself. I had read of their great power in
this species of ventriloquism, but never had heard it practised before,
with the exception of the imitation of the deer tribe, which is
well-known to white “still-hunters.”
They are, in their own country, not very communicative to strangers;
and above all, never disclose practices so peculiarly reserved for
their own service or defence. I was amazed at their skill in this
branch of Indian accomplishment.
But the notes of the dear little chick-a-dee-dee charmed me the most.
The stillness of this wild, sequestered place was most agreeably
diversified by all these fictitious birds and beasts, that seemed
inviting, each his own kind, to come and look at this lovely scene.
From the wonderful control they appeared to have over their voices, I
knew that one or both of them must sing. I therefore asked them if they
knew the Canadian-boat song; and they answered, with great delight,
that they did. And suiting the action to the word, which, by the by,
adds marvellously to its effect, they sung it charmingly. I couldn’t
resist their entreaties to join in it, although I would infinitely have
preferred listening to taking a part. When we concluded it, Jessie said
it was much prettier in her native tongue, and sung a verse in her own
language. She said the governor of the fort, who spoke Indian as well
as English, had arranged the words for it, and when she was a child in
his family, she learned it. “Listen,” said she, “what is that?”
It was Jackson playing on the key-bugle. Oh, how gloriously it sounded,
as its notes fell on the ear, mellowed and softened by the distance.
When Englishmen talk of the hunters’ horn in the morning, they don’t
know what they are a saying of. It’s well enough I do suppose in the
field, as it wakes the drowsy sportsman, and reminds him that there is
a hard day’s ride before him. But the lake and the forest is nature’s
amphitheatre, and it is at home there. It won’t speak as it can do at
all times and in all places; but it gives its whole soul out in the
woods; and the echoes love it, and the mountains wave their plumes of
pines to it, as if they wanted to be wooed by its clear, sweet,
powerful notes.1 All nature listens to it, and keeps silence, while it
lifts its voice on high. The breeze wafts its music on its wings, as if
proud of its trust; and the lake lies still, and pants like a thing of
life, as if its heart beat to its tones. The birds are all hushed, as
if afraid to disturb it; and the deer pause, and listen, and gaze on
the skies, as if the music came from heaven. Money only can move some
men, and a white heat alone dissolve stones. But he who has ever heard
the bugle, and is not inspired by it, has no divinity within him. The
body is there, but the soul is wanting.
1 This inflated passage, and some other similar ones, are extremely
characteristic of Americans in the same station of life as Slick. From
the use of superlative expressions in their conversation, they
naturally adopt an exaggerative style in writing, and the minor poets
and provincial orators of the Republic are distinguished for this
hyperbolical tone. In Great Britain they would be admired by the Irish;
on the Continent, by the Gascons. If Mr Slick were not affected by this
weakness himself, he would be among the first to detect and ridicule it
in others.
“Go on, Jackson, I will forgive your twaddle about sargeant M’Clure,
the stroke of the sun, the trooper’s helmet, and the night among the
wolves. I will listen to your old soldier’s stories all night, only go
on and play for me. Give me that simple air again. Let me drink it in
with my ears, till my heart is full. No grace notes, no tricks of the
band-master’s, no flourishes; let it be simple and natural. Let it suit
us, and the place we are in, for it is the voice of our common parent,
nature.” Ah, he didn’t hear me, and he ceased.
“Jessie, dear, ain’t that beautiful?” said I.
“Oh,” she said (and she clasped her hands hard), “it is like the sound
of a spirit speaking from above.”
“Imitate it,” said I.
She knew the air, it was a Scotch one; and their music is the most
touching, because the most simple, I know.
Squire, you will think I am getting spooney, but I ain’t. You know how
fond I am of nature, and always was; but I suppose you will think if I
ain’t talking Turkey, that I am getting crankey, when I tell you an
idea that came into my mind just then. She imitated it in the most
perfect manner possible. Her clear, sweet, mellow, but powerful notes,
never charmed me so before. I thought it sounded like a maiden,
answering her lover. One was a masculine, the other a female voice. The
only difference was in the force, but softness was common to both. Can
I ever forget the enchantment of that day?
“Dear Jessie,” said I, “you and your friend are just formed for each
other. How happy you could make him.”
“Who?” said she, and there was no affectation in the question. She knew
not the import of that word. “What do you mean?”
“Hush,” said I, “I will tell you by and by. Old Tom is playing again.”
It was “Auld lang syne.” How touching it was! It brought tears to
Jessie’s eyes. She had learned it, when a child, far, far away; and it
recalled her tribe, her childhood, her country, and her mother. I could
see these thoughts throw their shadows over her face, as light clouds
chase each other before the sun, and throw their veil, as they course
along the sky, over the glowing landscape. It made me feel sad, too;
for how many of them with whom my early years were spent have passed
away. Of all the fruit borne by the tree of life, how small a portion
drops from it when fully ripe, and in the due course of nature. The
worm, and premature decay, are continually thinning them; and the
tempest and the blight destroy the greater part of those that are left.
Poor dear worthy old Minister, you too are gone, but not forgotten. How
could I have had these thoughts? How could I have enjoyed these scenes?
and how described them? but for you! Innocent, pure, and simple-minded
man, how fond you were of nature, the handy-work of God, as you used to
call it. How full you were of poetry, beauty, and sublimity! And what
do I not owe to you? I am not ashamed of having been a Clockmaker, I am
proud of it.1 But I should indeed have been ashamed, with your
instruction, always to have remained one. Yes, yes!
“Why should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?”
Why? indeed.
1 This is the passage to which Mr Slick referred in the conversation I
had with him, related in Chapter I., entitled, “A Surprise.”
“Tam it,” said Peter, for we were so absorbed in listening to the
music, we did not hear the approach of the boat, “ta ting is very coot,
but it don’t stir up te blood, and make you feel like a man, as ta
pipes do! Did she ever hear _barris an tailler?_ Fan she has done with
her brass cow-horn, she will give it to you. It can wake the tead, that
air. When she was a piper poy to the fort, Captain Fraisher was killed
by the fall of a tree, knocked as stiff as a gunparrel, and as silent
too. We laid her out on the counter in one of the stores, and pefore we
put her into the coffin the governor said: ‘Peter,’ said he, ‘she was
always fond of _barris an tailler,_ play it before we nail her up,
come, _seid suas_ (strike up).’
“Well, she gets the pipes and plays it hern ainsel, and the governor
forgot his tears; and seized McPhee by the hand, and they danced; they
couldn’t help it when that air was played, and what do you think? It
prought Captain Fraisher to life. First she opened her eyes, and ten
her mouth again wunst more. She did, upon my shoul.
“Says she, ‘Peter, play it faster, will you? More faster yet, you
blackguard.’ And she tropt the pipes and ran away, and it was the first
and last time Peter McDonald ever turned his pack on a friend. The
doctor said it was a trance, but he was a sassanach and knew nothing
about music; but it was the pipes prought the tead to. This is the
air,” and he played it with such vigour he nearly grew black in the
face.
“I believe it,” sais I; “it has brought me to also, it has made me a
new man, and brought me back to life again. Let us land the moose.”
“Ted,” said Peter, “she is worth two ted men yet. There is only two
teaths. Ted as te tevil, and ted drunk, and she ain’t neither; and if
she were poth she would wake her up with tat tune, _barris an tailler,_
as she tid Captain Fraisher, tat she will.”
“Now,” said I, “let us land the moose.”