Eagerly, earnestly, doggedly, did Daniel Davidson and Francois La Certe
watch for a favourable opportunity to escape from their captors, but
they waited and watched in vain, for their captors were cruel, suspected
them of the intention to escape, and were consequently careful to
prevent even an attempt being made. They never freed their wrists from
strong cords; kept knives and axes out of their way; tethered them to a
tree each night, and watched them continually.
Can it be wondered at that, in the circumstances, our unfortunate hero
became almost insane? The wedding-day had been fixed before he left Red
River; preparations were being made for the great event, and it was
pretty well understood that Dan had gone off hunting with the view,
chiefly, to be out of people's way till the day should arrive. They
would scarcely begin to notice his prolonged absence till the day
approached. Then, no doubt, when too late, and he should be far on the
way to Canada, they would in some alarm send out parties to search for
him.
Dan became desperate, but he was gifted with an unusual power of
self-control, so that, beyond a very stern expression, his countenance
betrayed no sign of the terrible conflict that was raging within--a
conflict in which mortal hatred of mankind in general and an
overwhelming desire to kill or be killed formed elements. Ah! reader,
poor human beings have many and many a time in the past been brought to
this terrible condition. God grant that we and ours may never know what
it is to tremble on the brink of madness because of the combined
influence of gross injustice and horrible cruelty. To do the
Nor'-westers justice, they were unaware of the intensity of the pain
they were inflicting. They had only captured a powerful enemy, and
meant, by keeping a tight hold of him, to render him powerless in the
future--that was all!
As for La Certe, they had no intention of taking him to Canada. They
only meant to carry him so far on the road, that, when set free, it
would be impossible for him to get back to the colony in time to give
effective warning to Dan's friends.
One afternoon the voyagers put ashore at one of the numerous portages
which obstruct the navigation of that route to Canada, and, after
unloading the canoe and lifting her out of the water, they proceeded to
carry the lading across to the still water above the rapids which
rendered this portage necessary.
Although bound, the prisoners were by no means freed from labour. The
cords had been so arranged that they could use the paddle while in the
canoe; while, on the portages, although unable to load themselves, they
were quite able to carry a load which others placed on their shoulders.
On this occasion Dan was first sent off with a load, and then La Certe
and some of the others followed. When he reached the upper end of the
portage, Dan flung down his load, and, from his elevated position, gazed
wistfully down the valley through which the waters of the Winnipeg River
roared and seethed among jagged rocks as far as the eye could reach. It
was a wild majestic scene, but no thought of its grandeur touched the
mind of the poor prisoner. He thought only of escape. His intimate
knowledge, however, of the terrific power of rushing water told him that
there could be no escape in that direction.
"Oh! if my arms were only free, I would risk it!" he murmured, as he
raised his hands and looked at the powerful thongs of hide with which
they were bound--thongs which were always drawn tighter when he landed,
to render an attempt at escape more hopeless. Then he glanced at the
rushing river beside him. A sheer precipice of full thirty feet
descended from the spot on which he stood to the edge of the flood.
Just below there was a whirlpool, and beyond that began the first of the
series of falls and rapids which were avoided by means of the portage.
Half-mad though he was, he did not dream of attempting such a leap with
bound hands. He would wait, and continue to hope for a more favourable
opportunity, but the possibility of such an opportunity was now growing
very faint indeed, for even if he did escape, and had a canoe to use, it
was by that time barely possible to accomplish the journey in time for
the wedding-day. But although his hope of being in time had pretty well
died out, his whole heart was still concentrated on the simple desire to
escape.
A rush of despair came upon the poor youth just then, and the idea of
ending his misery by taking his own life occurred to him for a fleeting
moment, as he gazed wistfully around on water, wood, and sky, and
observed the laden and toiling men who were slowly clambering up the
steep towards him--La Certe being in front.
Just then an object among the grass at his feet attracted his attention.
Stooping, he picked it up and found it to be a scalping-knife!--
dropped, probably, long before by some passing Indians or voyageurs, for
it was very rusty.
With a bounding heart and a wild rush of blood to his temples, he sprang
towards a tree: stuck the point of the knife into it; held the handle
with his teeth; sawed the thongs across its edge once or twice--and was
free!
His first impulse was to bound into the woods, but the thought of his
comrade arrested him. La Certe was already close at hand. Running
towards him he said, quickly, "Drop your load! Now or never!" and cut
his bonds at once. Then, turning, he sprang towards the woods. But
from the very opening through which he meant to plunge into the tangled
thicket, there issued the leader of the Nor'-westers and two of his men.
The chief was armed with a gun, which he immediately presented. With
the instinct of bush-warriors the two prisoners dodged behind rocks, and
made for the higher ground which Dan had recently quitted. Here a sheer
precipice barred further progress. There was no way of escape but the
river. They ran to the edge and looked down. La Certe shrank back,
appalled. Dan glanced quickly round to see if there was any other
opening. Then there came over his spirit that old, old resolve which
has, in the moment of their extremity, nerved so many men to face danger
and death, from the days of Adam downward.
"Now, La Certe," he said, grasping his comrade's hand: "Farewell! Death
or Freedom! Tell Elspie my last thoughts were of her!"
Almost before the half-breed could realise what was said, Dan had leaped
over the cliff and disappeared in the raging torrent. A few seconds
later he was seen to rise in the whirlpool below the first cataract, and
to buffet the stream vigorously, then he disappeared a second time.
Before La Certe could make out whether his friend rose again, he was
seized from behind, and dragged from the brink of the precipice.
Swift as the hunted stag springs from his covert, and bounds over every
obstacle with speed and apparent ease, so sprang the chief of the
Nor'-westers down the rugged path which led to the foot of the series of
rapids, and the lower end of the portage. There was good grit in the
man, morally and physically, for he was bent on a rescue which involved
considerable danger.
Throwing off his capote, and tightening his belt, he stood on a ledge
just below the last fall, intently watching the water.
The fall was not high, but it was deep, and rushed into a large dark
basin with terrible velocity, causing the tormented foam-speckled water
to circulate round its edges. In a few moments the form of Dan was seen
to shoot down the fall and disappear in the basin. The chief stooped,
but did not spring until, not far from him, the apparently inanimate
form reappeared on the surface and began to circle slowly round among
the flecks of foam. Then he plunged, swam out with powerful strokes,
and quickly returned to the shore with Dan in his grasp.
Soon they were surrounded by the other voyageurs, who had left La Certe
to look after himself,--not caring much, in the excitement of the
moment, whether he escaped or not.
"He is dead," said one; "he breathes not; and see how his face is
bruised and cut."
"And his chest, too," said another. "I think his ribs have been broken.
Poor fellow! It was a wild, a reckless jump!"
"Keep back, and let him have air," said the chief, who was doing his
best, according to his knowledge, to resuscitate Dan.
Presently La Certe arrived, panting.
"O! he is gone! My comrade, my friend, is dead!" he exclaimed,
clenching his hands, and gazing at the pale, bruised face.
"You are wrong," exclaimed the chief, testily. "Out of the way, man!
See! his eyelids quiver."
And so they did; and so also quivered his lips, and then a sigh came--
faint and feeble--then stronger, and at last Dan opened his eyes and
thanked God that his life had been spared. But when he recovered
sufficiently to realise his true position as being again a captive, the
feeling of despair returned.
That night they encamped a mile above the upper end of the portage. At
supper the two prisoners were allowed to sit by the camp-fire and eat
with their hands free.
"Monsieur," said the guide to Dan, respectfully, "you see it is
impossible to escape. Why compel us to bind you? Give me your word of
honour that you will not try, and your limbs may then remain as free as
mine."
"I give you my word of honour," answered Dan, with a sardonic smile,
"that till after breakfast to-morrow I will not try, for I need rest and
food; but after that, I give you my word that I will never cease to
try."
With this promise the guide was fain to rest content, and that night Dan
and his friend were allowed to sleep untethered, which they did soundly.
Next morning they were roused in gentler tones than usual, and not
required to work--as had been the case hitherto--before breakfast. In
short, there was an evident change in the feelings of their captors
towards them, founded largely, no doubt, on admiration of Dan's reckless
courage; but that did not induce them in the least degree to relax their
vigilance, for the moment the hour of truce had passed, the chief
advanced towards Dan with the thongs to bind him.
For one moment Dan felt an impulse to knock the man down, and then fight
the whole party until death should end the matter; but the good-humoured
look on his jailer's face, the fact that the man had saved his life the
day before, and the certainty of defeat with such odds against him,
induced him to quell the evil spirit and to hold out his hands.
"Pardon, Monsieur," said the chief, with the politeness of a French
half-breed. "I am sorry you refuse to give me your parole. I would
rather see you like the rest of us; but my orders are strict, and I must
obey."
Before Dan could reply, a sound struck on their ears, which caused the
whole party to listen, immovable and in perfect silence.
It was the wild, plaintive, beautiful song of the voyageur which had
floated to them on the morning air, softened by distance to a mere echo
of sweet sound. After listening intently for a few moments, the guide
said gently: "Voyageurs."
Again they listened to the familiar sound, which increased in volume and
strength as it approached, proving that the voyageurs were descending
the river towards them. As yet nothing could be seen, for a
thickly-wooded point intervened. Presently the song burst on them in
full resonant chorus; at the same moment two large north-canoes--in all
the brilliancy of orange-coloured bark, painted bows and sterns,
red-bladed paddles, with crews of scarlet-capped or bare-headed men
swept round the point with quick stroke, in time to the rapid measure.
A cheer was the irrepressible impulse of the men on shore, causing the
newcomers to stop and listen.
"Perhaps," said Dan, "they may be your foes of the Hudson's Bay
Company."
"That may be so," returned the Nor'-west Chief, gravely.
The unfurling of an "H.B.C." (Hudson's Bay Company) flag proved that it
was so, to a certainty, and the depressed Nor'-westers did not cheer
again; but the H B C men came on, paddling with wild vigour and cheering
hilariously.
"They seem in great spirits," growled the Nor'-west leader. "We are
almost as strong as they, boys, and have the advantage of woods and
cliffs. Shall we fight and keep our prisoners?"
"What is that white thing in the bow of the first canoe?" said one of
the men.
"It looks like a flag," said another.
"If so, it is a flag of truce," observed Dan. "They have something to
say, and do not want to fight."
"That may be trite, but we won't let _you_ be at the conference,"
returned the leader, sternly. "Come, four of you, lead them out of
earshot. Take your guns, and use them if need be."
Four powerful fellows at once obeyed the order, and led the prisoners,
who had been once more bound, into the woods. Once again Dan was
tempted to offer fierce resistance, but he knew that the Hudson's Bay
men were yet too far off to be able to hear shouts--at least to
understand the meaning of them--and that it would be useless to resist
such a guard. He therefore submitted to be led a mile or so into the
woods, and finally was permitted to sit down with La Certe under a tree
to await the result of the conference.
They had not to wait long. In less than half-an-hour one of the younger
among the Nor'-westers came bounding towards them, waving his cap and
shouting.
"You are free, Messieurs--free!" he cried, seizing both prisoners by the
hands. "We are no longer enemies!"
"Free! What do you mean?" demanded Dan, who fancied that the young man
must have gone mad.
"The companies have joined!" he cried, excitedly. "They are one! We
are all friends now; but come and see and hear for yourself."
Filled with wonder, and some small degree of hope, Dan and La Certe
followed the young man, accompanied by their guards, who were not less
mystified than themselves. Arrived at their camping-place, they found
that the canoes had brought a Chief Trader--or officer of the Hudson's
Bay Company--who was conveying to Red River, and the interior of
Rupert's Land generally, the good news of a momentous historical event,
namely, the union of the two companies.
The important event here referred to, namely, the coalition between the
two great rival companies, which took place in 1821, was the death-blow
to party strife over the whole of Rupert's Land, and also inaugurated
the dawn of lasting prosperity in the Red River Colony.
"Cut their bonds," said the Chief Trader, as the prisoners approached.
No touch of the surgeon's knife ever effected a cure more speedily.
"I congratulate you, young sir," said the Trader, grasping Dan's hand:
"you are now free, for I understand that your loss of liberty had
nothing to do with crime, and the rival companies are no longer
opponents; they are friends. Indeed, we have been married, so to speak,
and are now one. I am on my way to Red River with the good news."
"When do you start?" asked Dan, abruptly.
"Well, if you mean from this spot," answered the Trader, somewhat
surprised as well as amused at the eagerness of the question, "I start
at once. Indeed, I would not have landed here had I not seen your
party. You appear to be anxious. Why do you ask?"
"Because it is of the utmost importance to me that I should be in Red
River on a certain date, and I fear that that is all but impossible
now."
Dan then explained, as briefly as possible, his circumstances.
Fortunately, the Trader was a sympathetic man. He ordered his crews to
embark at once and bade the two captives take a brief, if not an
affectionate, farewell of their late captors.
"I cannot promise you to push on," he said, "at a rate which will
satisfy you--or even accomplish the end you have in view--but I will do
the best I can, without overworking my men. I fear, however, that you
will have to make up your mind to a delayed wedding!"
"If you will only do your best for a day or two," said Dan, "until we
reach the mouth of this river, that will do, for there my own hunting
canoe was left; and, once in that, La Certe and I can go ahead and tell
them you are coming."
"Nay, that would be requiting me ill--returning evil for good--to take
the wind out of my sails and make my news stale," returned the Trader,
with a good-natured laugh.
"True, I did not think of that," said Dan. "Then we will say not a word
about it until you arrive."
"Yes, we will be dumb," added La Certe. "Even Slowfoot shall fail to
drag it out of me!"
And thus it was arranged. The (late) Nor'-westers continued their
voyage to Canada, and the Hudson's Bay men resumed their descent of the
Winnipeg River.
Arrived at the great lake, the anxious pair did not wait even to rest,
but at once embarked in their little hunting canoe.
"I'm sorry you are such an unpresentable bridegroom," said the Trader,
when they were about to separate. He referred to the cuts and bruises
with which poor Dan's countenance was temporarily disfigured.
"Never mind," returned our hero, with a laugh, "wait till you see the
bride; she will more than make up for the shortcomings of the groom.
Adieu!--_au revoir_!" They pushed off, and now began a race against
time, which, in the matters at least of perseverance, persistency, hard
labour, and determination, beat all the records of bicyclists and
horsemen from the beginning of time. Cyclists have frequent down-hills
to help and rest them; Dan and his friend had no such aids. It was all
either dead level or upstream. Dick Turpin and the rider to Ghent, (we
forget his name), only killed their horses. Dan and Francois nearly
killed themselves--not only with hard work and no rest, but with
profound anxiety, for the wedding hour was rapidly approaching and they
were still far from home!
While these events were transpiring in the wilderness, things were going
smoothly enough in the Colony.
"I will be thinkin'," said old Duncan McKay, one fine evening as he sat
in his invalid chair, beside Duncan junior, who was woefully reduced and
careworn, despite the attentions of the sympathetic Jessie Davidson, who
was seated near him on a rustic seat beside Elspie--
"I will be thinkin' that Tan an' La Certe are stoppin' longer away than
iss altogither seemly. Tan should have been here two or three days
before the weddin'."
"He will likely be time enough for his own weddin'--whatever," remarked
Duncan junior. "Don't you think so, Miss Jessie?"
"I think it likely," answered the girl with a smile.
"He is _sure_ to be in time," said Elspie, with emphasis.
"We niver can be sure of anything in this world, my tear," remarked old
Duncan, becoming oracular in tone. "How do you know he iss so sure?"
"Because Dan never breaks his word," returned Elspie, with an air of
decision that would have gratified Dan immensely had he been there to
see it.
"Fery true, my tear," rejoined the Highlander, "but there are many other
things that interfere with one's word besides the will. He might tie,
you know, or be trowned, or his gun might burst and render him helpless
for life, if it did not kill him altogither. It iss an uncertain world
at the best--whatever."
Archie Sinclair, who joined them--with his brother, Little Bill, by his
side, not on his back--was of the same opinion as Elspie, but Billie
shook his head, looked anxious, and said nothing--for he felt that his
friend was running things much too close.
At a later hour that same evening, the other members of the two
families--who dropped in to make inquiries--began to express anxiety,
and Okematan, who called just to see how things were getting on, shook
his head and looked owlish. Old Peg said nothing, but she evidently
thought much, to judge from the deepening wrinkles on her forehead.
As for Fred Jenkins, he was too much taken up with Elise Morel to think
much about anything, but even he at last grew anxious, and when the
wedding morning finally dawned, and no Dan made his appearance,
something like consternation filled the hearts of all within the walls
of Ben Nevis Hall and Prairie Cottage. Elspie appeared to feel less
than the others, but the truth was that she only controlled herself
better.
"He only wants to take us by surprise," she said, and, under the
strength of that opinion, she robed herself for the wedding. Only her
gravity and the pallor of her cheeks told of uneasiness in her mind.
"Muster Sutherland said he would come soon after breakfast," observed
old Duncan, uneasily. "He should hev been here now,--for we need his
advice sorely."
"Here he iss," exclaimed Fergus, starting up and hurrying forward to
welcome the good old Elder.
Mr Sutherland's advice was decided, and promptly given. Both weddings
should be deferred and all the young men must turn out in an organised
search without a moment's delay!
It was amazing to find that every one had been of exactly the same
opinion for some time past, but no one had dared to suggest a course of
action which implied a belief that Dan might be in imminent danger, if
not worse.
Now that the ice had been broken, however, all the youth of the
neighbourhood volunteered for service, and a plan of search was being
hastily formed under the direction of the Elder, when two men in a canoe
were seen to paddle very slowly to the landing-place at the foot of the
garden. After hauling the end of their canoe on shore, they walked, or
rather staggered, up towards the house.
One of them tripped and fell, and seemed from his motions as if he
thought it was not worth while to rise again. The other, paying no
attention to his companion, came on.
"Pless my soul!" exclaimed old McKay, "it iss Tan--or his ghost--
whatever!"
And so it was! Dirty, bruised, scratched, battered, and soaking wet,
Daniel Davidson appeared to claim his beautiful bride. And he did not
come in vain, for, regardless of propriety and everything else, Elspie
ran forward with a little shriek and flung herself into his arms.
"I have kept my promise, Elspie."
"I knew you would, Dan! I _said_ you would."
"Tan, you rascal! come here."
The youth obeyed, languidly, for it was evident that he was thoroughly
exhausted.
"My poy," said the Highlander, touched by Dan's appearance, "you hev
been in the watter!"
"Not exactly, father, but last night's thunderstorm caught us, and we
had no time to seek shelter."
"An' it iss fightin' you hev been?"
"With water and rocks only," said Dan.
"Well, well, go into the house now, and change your clo'es. Dry
yourself, an' get somethin' to eat, for you are used up altogither."
Elspie took his hand, and led him away. Meanwhile La Certe, having
gathered himself up and staggered to the front, was seized upon and
questioned unmercifully. Then he also was taken into the house and fed;
after which both men were made to lie down and rest.
Having slept for six hours Dan awakened, and rose up to be married!
Fred Jenkins and Elise were--as the jovial tar expressed it--turned off
at the same time.
It was customary in Rupert's Land at that time, as it is customary in
many remote lands, no doubt, at the present day, to celebrate every
wedding with a feast and a dance. Feasts are very much alike in
substance, if not in detail, everywhere. We refrain from describing
that which took place in Ben Nevis Hall at that time, further than to
say that it was superb. The dancing was simple: it consisted chiefly of
the Highland Fling danced by the performer according to taste or
imagination.
But that it was eminently satisfactory to all concerned was clearly
evinced by the appearance of the whole party--the elegant ease with
which Fergus McKay did it; the tremendous energy with which Jacques
Bourassin tried it; the persistent vigour with which Andre Morel studied
it; the facility with which Elise acquired it--under Elspie's tuition;
the untiring perseverance with which Archie and Little Bill did
something like it--for the latter had quite recovered, and was fit to
hold his own, almost, with any one; the charming confusion of mind with
which Fred Jenkins intermingled the sailor's hornpipe with it; the
inimitable languor with which La Certe condescended to go through it;
the new-born energy with which Slowfoot footed it; the side-splitting
shrieks with which Old Peg regarded it; the uproarious guffaws with
which the delighted old Duncan hailed it; the sad smile with which that
weak and worn invalid Duncan junior beheld it; and, last, but not least,
the earnest mental power and conspicuous physical ability with which Dan
Davidson attempted something which Charity personified might have
supposed to bear a distant resemblance to it.
The music was worthy of the dancing, for the appointed performer had,
owing to some occult cause, failed to turn up, and a volunteer had taken
his place with another fiddle, which was homemade, and which he did not
quite understand. A small pig with feeble intellect and disordered
nerves might have equalled--even surpassed--the tones of that violin,
but it could not hope to have beaten the volunteer's time. That,
performed on a board by the volunteer's foot, automatically, beat
everything that we have ever heard of in the musical way from the days
of Eden till now.
Only four members of the two households failed to take a violently
active part in that festive gathering. Jessie Davidson had conveniently
sprained her ankle for the occasion, and thus was set free to sit
between the wheeled chairs of the two Duncans, and act as a sympathetic
receptacle of their varied commentaries. Her mother, being too stout
for active service, sat beside them and smiled universal benignity. Her
little maid, Louise, chanced to be ill. Peter Davidson's case, however,
was the worst. He had gone off in company with Okematan to visit a camp
of Cree Indians, intending to be back in time, but his horse had gone
lame while yet far from home, and as it was impossible to procure
another at the time, he was fain to grin and bear it. Meanwhile Antoine
Dechamp had been pressed into the service, and took his place as
best-man to Fred Jenkins--a position which he filled to admiration,
chiefly owing to the fact that he had never served in such a capacity
before.
Late on the following evening La Certe sat by his own fireside, somewhat
exhausted by the festivities of the day before, and glaring
affectionately at Slowfoot, who was stirring something in a pot over the
fire. The little one--rapidly becoming a big one, and unquestionably by
that time a girl--crouched at her father's side, sound asleep, with her
head resting on his leg. She no longer cried for a pull at her father's
pipe.
"Have you heard that Kateegoose is dead?" asked Slowfoot.
"No--how did he die?"
"He was met on the plains by enemies, killed, and scalped."
"That is sad--very sad," said La Certe.
"The world is well rid of him," observed Slowfoot; "he was a bad man."
"Yes," responded her lord; "it is necessary to get rid of a bad man
somehow--but--but it is sad--very sad--to kill and scalp him."
La Certe passed his fingers softly among the locks of his sleeping child
as if the fate of Kateegoose were suggestive! Then, turning, as from a
painful subject, he asked--
"Does our little one never smoke now?"
"No--never."
"Does she never wish for it?"
"Slowfoot cannot tell what our little one wishes," was the reply, "but
she never gets it."