CHANGES--HARRY AND HAMILTON FIND THAT VARIETY IS INDEED CHARMING--THE
LATTER ASTONISHES THE FORMER CONSIDERABLY.
Three months passed away, but the snow still lay deep and white and
undiminished around York Fort. Winter--cold, silent, unyielding
winter--still drew its white mantle closely round the lonely dwelling of
the fur-traders of the Far North.
Icicles hung, as they had done for months before, from the eaves of
every house, from the tall black scaffold on which the great bell hung,
and from the still taller erection that had been put up as an outlook
for "_the ship_" in summer. At the present time it commanded a bleak
view of the frozen sea. Snow covered every housetop, and hung in
ponderous masses from their edges, as if it were about to fall; but it
never fell--it hung there in the same position day after day, unmelted,
unchanged. Snow covered the whole land, and the frozen river, the
swamps, the sea-beach, and the sea itself, as far as the eye could
reach, seemed like a pure white carpet. Snow lined the upper edge of
every paling, filled up the key-hole of every door, embanked about half
of every window, stuck in little knobs on the top of every picket, and
clung in masses on every drooping branch of the pine trees in the
forest. Frost--sharp, biting frost--solidified, surrounded, and
pervaded everything. Mercury was congealed by it; vapour was condensed
by it; iron was cooled by it until it could scarcely be touched without
(as the men expressed it) "burning" the fingers. The water-jugs in
Bachelors' Hall and the water-buckets were frozen by it, nearly to the
bottom; though there was a good stove there, and the Hall was not
_usually_ a cold place by any means. The breath of the inhabitants was
congealed by it on the window-panes, until they had become coated with
ice an inch thick. The breath of the men was rendered white and opaque
by it, as they panted and hurried to and fro about their ordinary
avocations; beating their gloved hands together, and stamping their
well-wrapped-up feet on the hard-beaten snow to keep them warm. Old
Robin's nose seemed to be entirely shrivelled up into his face by it, as
he drove his ox-cart to the river to fetch his daily supply of water.
The only things that were not affected by it were the fires, which
crackled and roared as if in laughter, and twisted and leaped as if in
uncontrollable glee at the bare idea of John Frost acquiring, by any
artifice whatever, the smallest possible influence over _them_! Three
months had elapsed, but frost and snow, instead of abating, had gone on
increasing and intensifying, deepening and extending its work, and
riveting its chains. Winter--cold silent, unyielding winter--still
reigned at York Fort, as though it had made it a _sine qua non_ of its
existence at all that it should reign there for ever!
But although everything was thus wintry and cold, it was by no means
cheerless or dreary. A bright sun shone in the blue heavens with an
intenseness of brilliancy that was quite dazzling to the eyes, that
elated the spirits, and caused man and beast to tread with a more
elastic step than usual. Although the sun looked down upon the scene
with an unclouded face, and found a mirror in every icicle and in every
gem of hoar-frost with which the objects of nature were loaded, there
was, however, no perceptible heat in his rays. They fell on the white
earth with all the brightness of midsummer, but they fell powerless as
moonbeams in the dead of winter.
On the frozen river, just in front of the gate of the fort, a group of
men and dogs were assembled. The dogs were four in number, harnessed to
a small flat sledge of the slender kind used by Indians to drag their
furs and provisions over the snow. The group of men was composed of Mr
Rogan and the inmates of Bachelors' Hall, one or two men who happened to
be engaged there at the time in cutting a new water-hole in the ice, and
an Indian, who, to judge from his carefully-adjusted costume, the
snow-shoes on his feet, and the short whip in his hand, was the driver
of the sledge, and was about to start on a journey. Harry Somerville
and young Hamilton were also wrapped up more carefully than usual.
"Good-bye, then, good-bye," said Mr Rogan, advancing towards the
Indian, who stood beside the leading dog, ready to start. "Take care of
our young friends--they've not had much experience in travelling yet;
and don't overdrive your dogs. Treat them well, and they'll do more
work. They're like men in that respect." Mr Rogan shook the Indian by
the hand, and the latter immediately flourished the whip and gave a
shout, which the dogs no sooner heard than they uttered a simultaneous
yell, sprang forward with a jerk, and scampered up the river, closely
followed by their dark-skinned driver.
"Now, lads, farewell," said the old gentleman, turning with a kindly
smile to our two friends, who were shaking hands for the last time with
their comrades. "I'm sorry you're going to leave us, my boys. You've
done your duty well while here, and I would willingly have kept you a
little longer with me, but our governor wills it otherwise. However, I
trust that you'll be happy wherever you may be sent. Don't forget to
write to me. God bless you. Farewell."
Mr Rogan shook them heartily by the hand, turned short round, and
walked slowly up to his house, with an expression of sadness on his mild
face; while Harry and Hamilton, having once more waved farewell to their
friends, marched up the river, side by side, in silence. They followed
the track left by the dog-sledge, which guided them with unerring
certainty, although their Indian leader and his team were out of sight
in advance.
A week previous to this time an Indian arrived from the interior,
bearing a letter from headquarters, which directed that Messrs.
Somerville and Hamilton should be forthwith dispatched on snow-shoes to
Norway House. As this establishment is about three hundred miles from
the sea-coast, the order involved a journey of nearly two weeks'
duration through a country that was utterly destitute of inhabitants.
On receiving a command from Mr Rogan to prepare for an early start.
Harry retired precipitately to his own room, and there, after cutting
unheard-of capers, and giving vent to sudden incomprehensible shouts,
all indicative of the highest state of delight, he condescended to tell
his companions of his good fortune, and set about preparations without
delay. Hamilton, on the contrary, gave his usual quiet smile on being
informed of his destination, and returning somewhat pensively to
Bachelors' Hall, proceeded leisurely to make the necessary arrangements
for departure. As the time drew on, however, a perpetual flush on his
countenance, and an unusual brilliancy about his eye, showed that he was
not quite insensible to the pleasures of a change, and relished the idea
more than he got credit for. The Indian who had brought the letter was
ordered to hold himself in readiness to retrace his steps and conduct
the young men through the woods to Norway House, where they were to
await further orders. A few days later the three travellers, as already
related, set out on their journey.
After walking a mile up the river, they passed a point of land which
shut out the fort from view. Here they paused to take a last look, and
then pressed forward in silence, the thoughts of each being busy with
mingled recollections of their late home and anticipations of the
future. After an hour's sharp walking they came in sight of the guide,
and slackened their pace.
"Well, Hamilton," said Harry, throwing off his reverie with a deep sigh,
"are you glad to leave York Fort, or sorry?"
"Glad, undoubtedly," replied Hamilton, "but sorry to part from our old
companions there. I had no idea, Harry, that I loved them all so much.
I feel as if I should be glad were the order for us to leave them
countermanded even now."
"That's the very thought," said Harry, "that was passing through my own
brain when I spoke to you. Yet, somehow, I think I should be uncommonly
sorry after all if we were really sent back. There's a queer
contradiction, Hammy: we're sorry and happy at the same time! If I were
the skipper now, I would found a philosophical argument upon it."
"Which the skipper would carry on with untiring vigour," said Hamilton,
smiling, "and afterwards make an entry of in his log. But I think,
Harry, that to feel the emotion of sorrow and joy at the same time is
not such a contradiction as it at first appears."
"Perhaps not," replied Harry, "but it seems very contradictory to _me_;
and yet it's an evident fact, for I'm _very_ sorry to leave _them_, and
I'm _very_ happy to have you for my companion here."
"So am I, so am I," said the other heartily. "I would rather travel
with you, Harry, than with any of our late companions, although I like
them all very much."
The two friends had grown, almost imperceptibly, in each other's esteem
during their residence under the same roof, more than either of them
would have believed possible. The gay, reckless hilarity of the one did
not at first accord with the quiet gravity and, as his comrades styled
it, _softness_ of the other. But character is frequently misjudged at
first sight, and sometimes men who on a first acquaintance have felt
repelled from each other have, on coming to know each other better,
discovered traits and good qualities that ere long formed enduring bonds
of sympathy, and have learned to love those whom at first they felt
disposed to dislike or despise. Thus Harry soon came to know that what
he at first thought and, along with his companions, called softness in
Hamilton was in reality gentleness of disposition and thorough
good-nature, united in one who happened to be utterly unacquainted with
the _knowing_ ways of this peculiarly sharp and clever world, while in
the course of time new qualities showed themselves in a quiet,
unobtrusive way that won upon his affections and raised his esteem. On
the other hand, Hamilton found that, although Harry was volatile, and
possessed of an irresistible tendency to fun and mischief, he never by
any chance gave way to anger, or allowed malice to enter into his
practical jokes. Indeed, he often observed him restrain his natural
tendencies when they were at all likely to give pain, though Harry never
dreamed that such efforts were known to any one but himself. Besides
this, Harry was peculiarly _unselfish_, and when a man is possessed of
this inestimable disposition, he is not _quite_ but _very nearly_
perfect!
After another pause, during which the party had left the open river and
directed their course through the woods, where the depth of the snow
obliged them to tread in each other's footsteps, Harry resumed the
conversation.
"You have not yet told me, by-the-bye, what old Mr Rogan said to you
just before we started. Did he give you any hint as to where you might
be sent to after reaching Norway House?"
"No; he merely said he knew that clerks were wanted both for Mackenzie
River and the Saskatchewan districts, but he did not know which I was
destined for."
"Hum! exactly what he said to me, with the slight addition that he
strongly suspected that Mackenzie River would be my doom. Are you
aware, Hammy, my boy, that the Saskatchewan district is a sort of
terrestrial paradise, and Mackenzie River equivalent to Botany Bay?"
"I have heard as much during our conversations in Bachelors' Hall, but--
Stop a bit, Harry; these snow-shoe lines of mine have got loosened with
tearing through this deep snow and these shockingly thick bushes.
There--they are right now; go on. I was going to say that I don't--oh!"
This last exclamation was elicited from Hamilton by a sharp blow caused
by a branch which, catching on part of Harry's dress as he plodded on in
front, suddenly rebounded and struck him across the face. This is of
common occurrence in travelling through the woods, especially to those
who from inexperience walk too closely on the heels of their companions.
"What's wrong now, Hammy?" inquired his friend, looking over his
shoulder.
"Oh, nothing worth mentioning--rather a sharp blow from a branch, that's
all."
"Well, proceed; you've interrupted yourself twice in what you were going
to say. Perhaps it'll come out if you try it a third time."
"I was merely going to say that I don't much care where I am sent to, so
long as it is not to an outpost where I shall be all alone."
"All very well, my friend; but seeing that outposts are, in comparison
with principal forts, about a hundred to one, your chance of avoiding
them is rather slight. However, our youth and want of experience is in
our favour, as they like to send men who have seen some service to
outposts. But I fear that, with such brilliant characters as you and I,
Hammy, youth will only be an additional recommendation, and inexperience
won't last long.--Hollo! what's going on yonder?"
Harry pointed as he spoke to an open spot in the woods about a quarter
of a mile in advance, where a dark object was seen lying on the snow,
writhing about, now coiling into a lump, and anon extending itself like
a huge snake in agony.
As the two friends looked, a prolonged howl floated towards them.
"Something wrong with the dogs, I declare!" cried Harry.
"No doubt of it," replied his friend, hurrying forward, as they saw
their Indian guide rise from the ground and flourish his whip
energetically, while the howls rapidly increased.
A few minutes brought them to the scene of action, where they found the
dogs engaged in a fight among themselves, and the driver, in a state of
vehement passion, alternately belabouring and trying to separate them.
Dogs in these regions, like the dogs of all other regions, we suppose,
are very much addicted to fighting--a propensity which becomes extremely
unpleasant if indulged while the animals are in harness, as they then
become peculiarly savage, probably from their being unable, like an
ill-assorted pair in wedlock, to cut or break the ties that bind them.
Moreover, they twist the traces into such an ingeniously complicated
mass that it renders disentanglement almost impossible, even after
exhaustion has reduced them to obedience. Besides this, they are so
absorbed in worrying each other that for the time they are utterly
regardless of their driver's lash or voice. This naturally makes the
driver angry, and sometimes irascible men practise shameful cruelties on
the poor dogs. When the two friends came up they found the Indian
glaring at the animals, as they fought and writhed in the snow, with
every lineament of his swarthy face distorted with passion, and panting
from his late exertions. Suddenly he threw himself on the dogs again,
and lashed them furiously with the whip. Finding that this had no
effect, he twined the lash round his hand, and struck them violently
over their heads and snouts with the handle; then falling down on his
knees, he caught the most savage of the animals by the throat, and
seizing its nose between his teeth almost bit it off. The appalling
yell that followed this cruel act seemed to subdue the dogs, for they
ceased to fight, and crouched, whining, in the snow.
With a bound like a tiger young Hamilton sprang upon the guide, and
seizing him by the throat, hurled him violently to the ground.
"Scoundrel!" he cried, standing over the crestfallen Indian with flushed
face and flashing eyes, "how dare you thus treat the creatures of God?"
The young man would have spoken more, but his indignation was so fierce
that it could not find vent in words. For a moment he raised his fist,
as if he meditated dashing the Indian again to the ground as he slowly
arose; then, as if changing his mind, he seized him by the back of the
neck, thrust him towards the panting dogs, and stood in silence over him
with the whip grasped firmly in his hand, while he disentangled the
traces.
This accomplished, Hamilton ordered him in a voice of suppressed anger
to "go forward"--an order which the cowed guide promptly obeyed, and in
a few minutes more the two friends were again alone.
"Hamilton, my boy," exclaimed Harry, who up to this moment seemed to
have been petrified, "you have perfectly amazed me! I'm utterly
bewildered."
"Indeed, I fear that I have been very violent," said Hamilton, blushing
deeply.
"Violent!" exclaimed his friend. "Why, man, I've completely mistaken
your character. I--I--"
"I hope not, Harry," said Hamilton, in a subdued tone; "I hope not.
Believe me, I am not naturally violent. I should be very sorry were you
to think so. Indeed, I never felt thus before, and now that it is over
I am amazed at myself; but surely you'll admit that there was great
provocation. Such terrible cruelty to--"
"My dear fellow, you quite misunderstand me. I'm amazed at your pluck,
your energy. _Soft_, indeed! we have been most egregiously mistaken.
Provocation! I just think you had; my only sorrow is that you didn't
give him a little more."
"Come, come, Harry; I see you would be as cruel to him as he was to the
poor dog. But let us press forward; it is already growing dark, and we
must not let the fellow out of sight ahead of us."
"_Allons, donc_," cried Harry; and hastening their steps, they travelled
silently and rapidly among the stems of the trees, while the shades of
night gathered slowly round them.
That night the three travellers encamped in the snow under the shelter
of a spreading pine. The encampment was formed almost exactly in a
similar manner to that in which they had slept on the night of their
exploits at North River. They talked less, however, than on that
occasion, and slept more soundly. Before retiring to rest, and while
Harry was extended, half asleep and half awake, on his green blanket,
enjoying the delightful repose that follows a hard day's march and a
good supper, Hamilton drew near to the Indian, who sat sullenly smoking
a little apart from the young men. Sitting down beside him, he
administered a long rebuke in a low, grave tone of voice. Like rebukes
generally, it had the effect of making the visage of the Indian still
more sullen. But the young man did not appear to notice this; he still
continued to talk. As he went on, the look grew less and less sullen,
until it faded entirely away, and was succeeded by the grave, quiet,
respectful expression peculiar to the face of the North American Indian.
Day succeeded day, night followed night, and still found them plodding
laboriously through the weary waste of snow, or encamping under the
trees of the forest. The two friends went through all the varied stages
of experience which are included in what is called "becoming used to the
work," which is sometimes a modified meaning of the expression "used
up." They started with a degree of vigour that one would have thought
no amount of hard work could possibly abate. They became aware of the
melancholy fact that fatigue unstrings the youngest and toughest sinews.
They pressed on, however, from stern necessity, and found, to their
delight, that young muscles recover their elasticity even in the midst
of severe exertion. They still pressed on, and discovered, to their
dismay, that this recovery was only temporary, and that the second state
of exhaustion was infinitely worse than the first. Still they pressed
on, and raised blisters on their feet and toes that caused them to limp
woefully; then they learned that blisters break and take a long time to
heal, and are much worse to walk upon during the healing process than
they are at the commencement--at which time they innocently fancied that
nothing could be more dreadful. Still they pressed on day after day,
and found to their satisfaction that such things can be endured and
overcome; that feet and toes can become hard like leather, that muscles
can grow tough as india-rubber, and that spirits and energy can attain
to a pitch of endurance which nothing within the compass of a day's
march can by any possibility overcome. They found also, from
experience, that their conversation changed, both in manner and subject,
as they progressed on their journey. At first they conversed frequently
and on various topics, chiefly on the probability of their being sent to
pleasant places or the reverse. Then they spoke less frequently, and
growled occasionally, as they advanced in the painful process of
training. After that, as they began to get hardy, they talked of the
trees, the snow, the ice, the tracks of wild animals they happened to
cross, and the objects of nature generally that came under their
observation. Then as their muscles hardened and their sinews grew
tough, and the day's march at length became first a matter of
indifference, and ultimately an absolute pleasure, they chatted cheerily
on any and every subject, or sang occasionally, when the sun shone out
and cast an _appearance_ of warmth across their path. Thus onward they
pressed, without halt or stay, day after day, through wood and brake,
over river and lake, on ice and on snow, for miles and miles together,
through the great, uninhabited, frozen wilderness.