At whatever establishment in the fur-trader's dominions you may chance
to alight, you will find a particular building which is surrounded by a
halo of interest; towards which there seems to be a general leaning on
the part of everybody, especially of the Indians; and with which are
connected, in the minds of all, the most stirring reminiscences and
pleasing associations.
This is the trading-store. It is always recognisable, if natives are in
the neighbourhood, by the bevy of red men that cluster round it,
awaiting the coming of the storekeeper or the trader with that stoic
patience which is peculiar to Indians. It may be further recognised, by
a close observer, by the soiled condition of its walls, occasioned by
loungers rubbing their backs perpetually against it, and the peculiar
dinginess round the keyhole, caused by frequent applications of the key,
which renders it conspicuous beyond all its comrades. Here is contained
that which makes the red man's life enjoyable; that which causes his
heart to leap, and induces him to toil for months and months together in
the heat of summer and amid the frost and snow of winter; that which
_actually_ accomplishes, what music is _said_ to achieve, the "soothing
of the savage breast:" in short, here are stored up blankets, guns,
powder, shot, kettles, axes, and knives; twine for nets, vermilion for
war-paint, fish-hooks and scalping-knives, capotes, cloth, beads,
needles, and a host of miscellaneous articles, much too numerous to
mention. Here, also, occur periodical scenes of bustle and excitement,
when bands of natives arrive from distant hunting-grounds, laden with
rich furs, which are speedily transferred to the Hudson's Bay Company's
stores in exchange for the goods aforementioned. And many a tough
wrangle has the trader on such occasions with sharp natives, who might
have graduated in Billingsgate, so close are they at a bargain. Here,
too, voyageurs are supplied with an equivalent for their wages, part in
advance, if they desire it (and they generally do desire it), and part
at the conclusion of their long and arduous voyages.
It is to one of these stores, reader, that we wish to introduce you now,
that you may witness the men of the North brigade receive their
advances.
The store at Fort Garry stands on the right of the fort, as you enter by
the front gate. Its interior resembles that of the other stores in the
country, being only a little larger. A counter encloses a space
sufficiently wide to admit a dozen men, and serves to keep back those
who are more eager than the rest. Inside this counter, at the time we
write of, stood our friend Peter Mactavish, who was the presiding genius
of the scene.
"Shut the door now, and lock it" said Peter, in an authoritative tone,
after eight or ten young voyageurs had crushed into the space in front
of the counter. "I'll not supply you with so much as an ounce of
tobacco if you let in another man."
Peter needed not to repeat the command. Three or four stalwart
shoulders were applied to the door, which shut with a bang like a
cannon-shot, and the key was turned.
"Come now, Antoine," began the trader, "we've lots to do, and not much
time to do it in, so pray look sharp."
Antoine, however, was not to be urged on so easily. He had been
meditating deeply all morning on what he should purchase. Moreover, he
had a sweetheart, and of course he had to buy something for her before
setting out on his travels. Besides, Antoine was six feet high, and
broad shouldered, and well made, with a dark face and glossy black hair;
and he entertained a notion that there were one or two points in his
costume which required to be carefully rectified, ere he could consider
that he had attained to perfection: so he brushed the long hair off his
forehead, crossed his arms, and gazed around him.
"Come now, Antoine," said Peter, throwing a green blanket at him, "I
know you want _that_ to begin with. What's the use of thinking so long
about it, eh? And _that_, too," he added, throwing him a blue cloth
capote. "Anything else?"
"Oui, oui, monsieur," cried Antoine, as he disengaged himself from the
folds of the coat which Peter had thrown over his head. "Tabac,
monsieur, tabac!"
"Oh, to be sure," cried Peter. "I might have guessed that _that_ was
uppermost in your mind. Well, how much will you have?" Peter began to
unwind the fragrant weed off a coil of most appalling size and thickness
which looked like a snake of endless length. "Will that do?" and he
flourished about four feet of the snake before the eyes of the voyageur.
Antoine accepted the quantity, and young Harry Somerville entered the
articles against him in a book.
"Anything more, Antoine?" said the trader. "Ah, some beads and silks,
eh? Oho, Antoine!--By the way, Louis, have you seen Annette lately?"
Peter turned to another voyageur when he put this question, and the
voyageur gave a broad grin as he replied in the affirmative, while
Antoine looked a little confused. He did not care much, however, for
jesting. So, after getting one or two more articles--not forgetting
half a dozen clay pipes, and a few yards of gaudy calico, which called
forth from Peter a second reference to Annette--he bundled up his goods,
and made way for another comrade.
Louis Peltier, one of the principal guides, and a man of importance
therefore, now stood forward. He was probably about forty-five years of
age; had a plain, olive-coloured countenance, surrounded by a mass of
long jet-black hair, which he inherited, along with a pair of dark,
piercing eyes, from his Indian mother; and a robust, heavy, yet active
frame, which bore a strong resemblance to what his Canadian father's had
been many years before. His arms, in particular, were of herculean
mould, with large, swelling veins and strongly-marked muscles. They
seemed, in fact, just formed for the purpose of pulling the heavy sweep
of an inland boat among strong rapids. His face combined an expression
of stern resolution with great good-humour; and truly his countenance
did not belie him, for he was known among his comrades as the most
courageous and at the same time the most peaceable man in the
settlement. Louis Peltier was singular in possessing the latter
quality, for assuredly the half-breeds, whatever other good points they
boast, cannot lay claim to very gentle or dove-like dispositions. His
grey capote and blue leggings were decorated with no unusual ornaments,
and the scarlet belt which encircled his massive figure was the only bit
of colour he displayed.
The younger men fell respectfully into the rear as Louis stepped forward
and begged pardon for coming so early in the day. "Mais, monsieur," he
said, "I have to look after the boats to-day, and get them ready for a
start to-morrow."
Peter Mactavish gave Louis a hearty shake of the hand before proceeding
to supply his wants, which were simple and moderate, excepting in the
article of _tabac_, in the use of which he was immoderate, being an
inveterate smoker; so that a considerable portion of the snake had to be
uncoiled for his benefit.
"Fond as ever of smoking, Louis?" said Peter Mactavish, as he handed him
the coil.
"Oui, monsieur--very fond," answered the guide, smelling the weed. "Ah,
this is very good. I must take a good supply this voyage, because I
lost the half of my roll last year;" and the guide gave a sigh as he
thought of the overwhelming bereavement.
"Lost the half of it, Louis!" said Mactavish. "Why, how was that? You
must have lost _more_ than half your spirits with it!"
"Ah, oui, I lost _all_ my spirits, and my comrade Francois at the same
time!"
"Dear me!" exclaimed the clerk, bustling about the store while the guide
continued to talk.
"Oui, monsieur, oui. I lost _him_, and my tabac, and my spirits, and
very nearly my life, all in one moment!"
"Why, how came that about?" said Peter, pausing in his work, and laying
a handful of pipes on the counter.
"Ah, monsieur, it was very sad (merci, monsieur, merci; thirty pipes, if
you please), and I thought at the time that I should give up my voyageur
life, and remain altogether in the settlement with my old woman. Mais,
monsieur, that was not possible. When I spoke of it to my old woman,
she called _me_ an old woman; and you know, monsieur, that _two_ old
women never could live together in peace for twelve months under the
same roof. So here I am, you see, ready again for the voyage."
The voyageurs, who had drawn round Louis when he alluded to an anecdote
which they had often heard before, but were never weary of hearing over
again, laughed loudly at this sally, and urged the guide to relate the
story to "_monsieur_," who, nothing loath to suspend his operations for
a little, leaned his arms on the counter and said,--"Tell us all about
it, Louis; I am anxious to know how you managed to come by so many
losses all at one time."
"Bien, monsieur, I shall soon relate it, for the story is very short."
Harry Somerville, who was entering the pipes in Louis's account, had
just set down the figures "30" when Louis cleared his throat to begin.
Not having the mental fortitude to finish the line, he dropped his pen,
sprang off his stool, which he upset in so doing, jumped up,
sitting-ways, upon the counter, and gazed with breathless interest into
the guide's face as he spoke.
"It was on a cold, wet afternoon," said Louis, "that we were descending
the Hill River, at a part of the rapids where there is a sharp bend in
the stream, and two or three great rocks that stand up in front of the
water, as it plunges over a ledge, as if they were put there a purpose
to catch it, and split it up into foam, or to stop the boats and canoes
that try to run the rapids, and cut them up into splinters. It was an
ugly place, monsieur, I can tell you; and though I've run it again and
again, I always hold my breath tighter when we get to the top, and
breathe freer when we get to the bottom. Well, there was a chum of mine
at the bow, Francois by name, and a fine fellow he was as I ever came
across. He used to sleep with me at night under the same blanket,
although it _was_ somewhat inconvenient; for being as big as myself and
a stone heavier, it was all we could do to make the blanket cover us.
However, he and I were great friends, and we managed it somehow. Well,
he was at the bow when we took the rapids, and a first-rate bowman he
made. His pole was twice as long and twice as thick as any other pole
in the boat, and he twisted it about just like a fiddlestick. I
remember well the night before we came to the rapids, as he was sitting
by the fire, which was blazing up among the pine branches that overhung
us, he said that he wanted a good pole for the rapids next day; and with
that he jumped up, laid hold of an axe, and went back into the woods a
bit to get one. When he returned, he brought a young tree on his
shoulder, which he began to strip of its branches and bark. `Louis,'
says he, `this is hot work; give us a pipe.' So I rummaged about for
some tobacco, but found there was none left in my bag; so I went to my
kit and got out my roll, about three fathoms or so, and cutting half of
it off, I went to the fire and twisted it round his neck by way of a
joke, and he said he'd wear it as a necklace all night--and so he did,
too, and forgot to take it off in the morning; and when we came near the
rapids I couldn't get at my bag to stow it away, so says I, `Francois,
you'll have to run with it on, for I can't stop to stow it now.' `All
right,' says he, `go ahead;' and just as he said it, we came in sight of
the first run, foaming and boiling like a kettle of robbiboo. `Take
care, lads,' I cried, and the next moment we were dashing down towards
the bend in the river. As we came near to the shoot, I saw Francois
standing up on the gunwale to get a better view of the rocks ahead, and
every now and then giving me a signal with his hand how to steer.
Suddenly he gave a shout, and plunged his long pole into the water, to
fend off from a rock which a swirl in the stream had concealed. For a
second or two his pole bent like a willow, and we could feel the heavy
boat jerk off a little with the tremendous strain; but all at once the
pole broke off short with a crack, Francois' heels made a flourish in
the air, and then he disappeared head foremost into the foaming water,
with my tobacco coiled round his neck! As we flew past the place, one
of his arms appeared, and I made a grab at it, and caught him by the
sleeve; but the effort upset myself, and over I went too. Fortunately,
however, one of my men caught me by the foot, and held on like a vice;
but the force of the current tore Francois' sleeve out of my grasp, and
I was dragged into the boat again just in time to see my comrade's legs
and arms going like the sails of a windmill, as he rolled over several
times and disappeared. Well, we put ashore the moment we got into still
water, and then five or six of us started off on foot to look for
Francois. After half an hour's search, we found him pitched upon a flat
rock in the middle of the stream like a bit of driftwood. We
immediately waded out to the rock and brought him ashore, where we
lighted a fire, took off all his clothes, and rubbed him till he began
to show signs of life again. But you may judge, mes garcons, of my
misery when I found that the coil of tobacco was gone. It had come off
his neck during his struggles, and there wasn't a vestige of it left,
except a bright red mark on the throat, where it had nearly strangled
him. When he began to recover, he put his hand up to his neck as if
feeling for something, and muttered faintly, `The tabac.' `Ah,
morbleu!' said I, `you may say that! Where is it?' Well, we soon
brought him round, but he had swallowed so much water that it damaged
his lungs, and we had to leave him at the next post we came to; and so I
lost my friend too."
"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
every one 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
fire-work 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 fight 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 belonged
to lay violent hold of the Orkney-man'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 clinched 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.