HIS LORDSHIP TO THE RESCUE
Even at the hour of our triumph, we Nor'-Westers knew that we had yet to
reckon with Lord Selkirk; and a speedy reckoning the indomitable
nobleman brought about. The massacre at Seven Oaks afforded our rivals
the very pretext they desired. Clothed with the authority of an officer
of the law, Lord Selkirk hurried northward; and a personage of his
importance could not venture into the wilderness without a strong
body-guard. At least, that was the excuse given for the retinue of two
or three hundred mercenaries decked out in all the regimentals of war,
whom Lord Selkirk brought with him to the north. A more rascally, daring
crew of ragamuffins could not have been found to defend Selkirk's side
of the gentlemen adventurers' feud. The men were the offscourings of
European armies engaged in the Napoleonic wars, and came directly from
the old De Meurons' regiment. The information which the Fort William
brigade brought of Selkirk's approach, also explained why that same
brigade hastened back to the defence of Nor'-West quarters on Lake
Superior; and their help was needed. News of events at Fort William
came to us in the Red River department tardily. First, there was a vague
rumor among the Indian _voyageurs_, who were ever gliding back and
forward on the labyrinthine waters of that north land like the birds of
passage overhead. Then came definite reports from freemen who had been
expelled from Fort William; and we could no longer doubt that Nor'-West
headquarters, with all the wealth of furs and provisions therein had
fallen into the hands of the Hudson's Bay forces. Afterwards came
warning from our _Bourgeois_, driven out of Fort William, for Fort
Douglas to be prepared. Lord Selkirk would only rest long enough at Fort
William to take possession of everything worth possessing, in the name
of the law--for was he not a justice of the peace?--and in the name of
the law would he move with like intent against Fort Douglas. To the
earl's credit, be it said, that his victories were bloodless; but they
were bloodless because the Nor'-Westers had no mind to unleash those
redskin bloodhounds a second time, preferring to suffer loss rather than
resort to violence. Nevertheless, we called in every available hand of
the Nor'-West staff to man Fort Douglas against attack. But summer
dragged into autumn and autumn into winter, and no Lord Selkirk. Then we
began to think ourselves secure; for the streams were frozen to a depth
of four feet like adamant, and unless Selkirk were a madman, he would
not attempt to bring his soldiers north by dog-train during the bitter
cold of mid-winter. But 'tis ever the policy of the astute madman to
discount the enemy's calculations; and Selkirk utterly discounted ours
by sending his hardy, dare-devil De Meurons across country under the
leadership of that prince of braggarts, Captain D'Orsonnens. Indeed, we
had only heard the rumor of their coming, when we awakened one morning
after an obscure, stormy night to find them encamped at St. James,
westward on the Assiniboine River. Day after day the menacing force
remained quiet and inoffensive, and we began to look upon these
notorious ruffians as harmless. For our part, vigilance was not lacking.
Sentinels were posted in the towers day and night. Nor'-West spies
shadowed every movement of the enemy; and it was seriously considered
whether we should not open communication with D'Orsonnens to ascertain
what he wanted; but, truth to say, we knew very well what he wanted, and
had had such a surfeit of blood, we were not anxious to re-open
hostilities.
As for Hamilton, I can hardly call his life at Fort Douglas anything
more than a mere existence. A blow stuns, but one may recover. Repeated
failure gradually benumbs hope and willpower and effort, like some
ghoulish vampire sucking away a man's life-blood till he faint and die
from very inanition. The blow, poor Eric had suffered, when he lost
Miriam; the repeated failure, when we could not restore her; and I saw
this strong, athletic man slowly succumb as to some insidious,
paralyzing disease. The thought of effort seemed to burden him. He
would silently mope by the hour in some dark corner of Fort Douglas, or
wander aimlessly about the courtyard, muttering and talking to himself.
He was weary and fatigued without a stroke of work; and what little
sleep he snatched from wakeful vigils seemed to give him no rest. His
food, he thrust from him with the petulance of a child; and at every
suggestion I could make, he sneered with a quiet, gentle insistence that
was utterly discomfiting. To be sure, I had Father Holland's boisterous
good cheer as a counter-irritant; for the priest had remained at Fort
Douglas, and was ministering to the tribes of the Red and Assiniboine.
But it was on her, who had been my guiding star and hope and inspiration
from the first, that I mainly depended. As hard, merciless winter closed
in, I could not think of those shelterless colonists driven to the lake,
without shuddering at the distress I knew they must suffer; and I
despatched a runner, urging them to return to Red River, and giving
personal guarantee for their safety. Among those, who came back, were
the Sutherlands; and if my quest had entailed far greater hardship than
it did, that quiet interval with leisure to spend much time at the
Selkirk settlement would have repaid all suffering. After sundown, I was
free from fort duties. Tying on snow-shoes after the manner of the
natives, I would speed over the whitened drifts of billowy snow. The
surface, melted by the sun-glare of mid-day and encrusted with brittle,
glistening ice, never gave under my weight; and, oddly enough, my way
always led to the Sutherland homestead. After the coming of the De
Meurons, Frances used to expostulate against what she called my
foolhardiness in making these evening visits; but their presence made no
difference to me.
"I don't believe those drones intend doing anything very dreadful, after
all, sir," I remarked one night to Frances Sutherland's father,
referring to the soldiers.
Following his daughter's directions I had been coming very early, also
very often, with the object of accustoming the dour Scotchman to my
staying late; and he had softened enough towards me to take part in
occasional argument.
"Don't believe they intend doing a thing, sir," I reiterated.
Pushing his spectacles up on his forehead, he closed the book of
sermons, which he had been reading, and puckered his brows as if he were
compromising a hard point with conscience, which, indeed, I afterwards
knew, was exactly what he had been doing.
"Aye," said he, "aye, aye, young man. But I'm thinking ye'll no do y'r
company ony harm by speerin' after the designs o' fightin' men who make
ladders."
"Oh!" I cried, all alert for information. "Have they been making
ladders?"
He pulled the spectacles down on his nose and deliberately reopened the
book of sermons.
"Of that, I canna say," he replied.
Only once again did he emerge from his readings. I had risen to go.
Frances usually accompanied me to the outer door, where I tied my
snow-shoes and took a farewell unobserved by the father; but when I
opened the door, such a blast of wind and snow drove in, I instantly
clapped it shut again and began tying the racquets on inside.
"O Rufus!" exclaimed Frances, "you can't go back to Fort Douglas in that
storm!"
Then we both noticed for the first time that a hurricane of wind was
rocking the little house to its foundations.
"Did that spring up all of a sudden?" I cried. "I never saw a blizzard
do that before."
"I'm afraid, Rufus, we were not noticing."
"No, we were otherwise interested," said I, innocently enough; but she
laughed.
"You can't go," she declared.
"The wind will be on my back," I assured her. "I'll be all right," and I
went on lacing the snow-shoe thongs about my ankle.
The book of sermons shut with a snap and the father turned towards us.
"Let no one say any man left the Sutherland hearth on such a night! Put
by those senseless things," and he pointed to the snow-shoes.
"But those ladders," I interposed. "Let no one say when the enemy came
Rufus Gillespie was absent from his citadel!"
The wind roared round the house corners like a storm at sea; and the
father looked down at me with a strange, quizzical expression.
"Ye're a headstrong young man, Rufus Gillespie," said the hard-set
mouth. "Ye maun knock a hole in the head, or the wall! Will ye go?"
"Knock the hole in the wall," I laughed back. "Of course I go."
"Then, tak' the dogs," said he, with a sparkle of kindliness in the cold
eyes. So it came that I set out in the Sutherlands' dog-sled with a
supply of robes to defy biting frost.
And I needed them every one. Old settlers, describing winter storms,
have been accused of an imagination as expansive as the prairie; but I
affirm no man could exaggerate the fury of a blizzard on the unbroken
prairie. To one thing only may it be likened--a hurricane at sea. People
in lands boxed off at short compass by mountain ridges forget with what
violence a wind sweeping half a continent can disport itself. In the
boisterous roar of the gale, my shouts to the dogs were a feeble whisper
caught from my lips and lost in the shrieking wind. The fine snowy
particles were a powdered ice that drove through seams of clothing and
cut one's skin like a whip lash. Without the fringe of woods along the
river bank to guide me, it would have been madness to set out by day,
and worse than madness by night; but I kept the dogs close to the woods.
The trees broke the wind and prevented me losing all sense of direction
in the tornado whirl of open prairie. Not enough snow had fallen on the
hard-crusted drifts to impede the dogs. They scarcely sank and with the
wind on their backs dashed ahead till the woods were passed and we were
on the bare plains. No light could be seen through the storm, but I knew
I was within a short distance of the fort gate and wheeled the dogs
toward the river flats of the left. The creatures seemed to scent human
presence. They leaped forward and brought the sleigh against the wall
with a knock that rolled me out.
"Good fellows;" I cried, springing up, uncertain where I was.
The huskies crouched around my feet almost tripping me and I felt
through the snowy darkness against the stockades, stake by stake.
Ah! There was a post! Here were close-fitted boards--here,
iron-lining--this must be the gate; but where was the lantern that hung
behind? A gust of wind might have extinguished the light; so I drubbed
loudly on the gate and shouted to the sentry, who should have been
inside.
The wind lulled for a moment and up burst wild shouting from the
courtyard intermingled with the jeers of Frenchmen and cries of terror
from our people. Then I knew judgment had come for the deeds at Seven
Oaks. The gale broke again with a hissing of serpents, or red irons, and
the howling wind rose in shrill, angry bursts. Hugging the wall, while
the dogs whined behind, I ran towards the rear. Men jostled through the
snowy dark, and I was among the De Meurons. They were too busy scaling
the stockade on the ladders of which I had heard to notice an intruder.
Taking advantage of the storm, I mounted a ladder, vaulted over the
pickets and alighted in the courtyard. Here all was noise, flight,
pursuit and confusion. I made for the main hall, where valuable papers
were kept, and at the door, cannoned against one of our men, who
shrieked with fright and begged for mercy.
"Coward!" said I, giving him a cuff. "What has happened?"
A flare fell on us both, and he recognized me.
"The De Meurons!" he gasped. "The De Meurons!"
I left him bawling out his fear and rushed inside.
"What has happened?" I asked, tripping up a clerk who was flying through
the hallway.
"The De Meurons!" he gasped. "The De Meurons!"
"Stop!" I commanded, grasping the lap of his coat.
"What--_has_--happened?"
"The De Meurons!" This was fairly screamed.
I shook him till he sputtered something more.
"They've captured the fort--our people didn't want to shed blood----"
"And threw down their guns," I interjected, disgusted beyond word.
"Threw down their guns," he repeated, as though that were a praiseworthy
action. "The s-s-sentinels--saw the court--full--full--full of
s-soldiers!"
"Full of soldiers!" I thundered. "There are not a hundred in the gang."
Thereupon I gave the caitiff a toss that sent him reeling against the
wall, and dashed up-stairs for the papers. All was darkness, and I nigh
broke my neck over a coffin-shaped rough box made for one of the
trappers, who had died in the fort. Why was the thing lying there,
anyway? The man should have been put into it and buried at once without
any drinking bout and dead wake, I reflected with some sharpness, as I
rubbed my bruised shins and shoved the box aside. Shouts rang up from
the courtyard. Heavy feet trampled in the hall below. Hamilton, as a
Hudson's Bay man, and Father Holland, I knew, were perfectly safe. But I
was far from safe. Why were they not there to help me, I wondered, with
the sort of rage we all vent on our friends when we are cornered and
they at ease. I fumbled across the apartment, found the right desk,
pried the drawer open with my knife, and was in the very act of seizing
the documents when I saw my own shadow on the floor. Lantern light burst
with a glare through the gloom of the doorway.