SHOWS HOW STANLEY DEIGNED TO CONSULT WITH WOMANKIND--THE OPINIONS OF A
CHILD DEVELOPED--PERSUASION FAILS--EXAMPLE TRIUMPHS--THE FIRST
VOLUNTEERS TO UNGAVA.
On reaching his apartment, which was in an angle of the principal
edifice in the fort, Mr Stanley flung down his gun and paddles, and
drawing a chair close to his wife, who was working with her needle near
a window, took her hand in his and heaved a deep sigh.
"Why, George, that's what you used to say to me when you were at a loss
for words in the days of our courtship."
"True, Jessie," he replied, patting her shoulder with a hand that rough
service had rendered hard and long exposure had burnt brown. "But the
producing cause then was different from what it is now. _Then_ it was
love; _now_ it is perplexity."
Stanley's wife was the daughter of English parents, who had settled many
years ago in the fur countries. Being quite beyond the reach of any
school, they had been obliged to undertake the instruction of their only
child, Jessie, as they best could. At first this was an easy matter,
but as years flew by, and little Jessie's mind expanded, it was found to
be a difficult matter to carry on her education in a country in most
parts of which books were not to be had and schoolmasters did not exist.
When the difficulty first presented itself, they talked of sending
their little one to England to finish her education; but being unable to
bring themselves to part with her, they resolved to have a choice
selection of books sent out to them. Jessie's mother was a clever,
accomplished, and lady-like woman, and decidedly pious, so that the
little flower, which was indeed born to blush unseen, grew up to be a
gentle, affectionate woman--one who was a lady in all her thoughts and
actions, yet had never seen polite society, save that of her father and
mother. In process of time Jessie became Mrs Stanley, and the mother
of a little girl whose voice was, at the time her father entered,
ringing cheerfully in an adjoining room. Mrs Stanley's nature was an
earnest one, and she no sooner observed that her husband was worried
about something, than she instantly dropped the light tone in which she
at first addressed him.
"And what perplexes you now, dear George?" she said, laying down her
work and looking up in his face with that straightforward, earnest gaze
that in days of yore had set the stout backwoodsman's heart on fire, and
still kept it in a perennial blaze.
"Nothing very serious," he replied with a smile; "only these fellows
have taken it into their stupid heads that Ungava is worse than the land
beyond the Styx; and so, after the tough battle that I had with you this
morning in order to prevail on you to remain here for a winter without
me, I've had to fight another battle with them in order to get them to
go on this expedition."
"Have you been victorious?" inquired Mrs Stanley.
"No, not yet."
"Do you really mean to say they are _afraid_ to go? Has Prince refused?
are Francois, Gaspard, and Massan cowards?" she inquired, her eye
kindling with indignation.
"Nay, my wife, not so. These men are not cowards; nevertheless they
don't feel inclined to go; and as for Dick Prince, he has been off
hunting for a week, and I don't expect him back for three weeks at
least, by which time we shall be off."
Mrs Stanley sighed, as if she felt the utter helplessness of woman in
such affairs.
"Why, Jessie, that's what you used to say to me when you were at a loss
for words in the days of our courtship," said Stanley, smiling.
"Ah, George, like you I may say that the cause is now perplexity; for
what can _I_ do to help you in your present difficulty?"
"Truly not much. But I like to tell you of my troubles, and to make
more of them than they deserve, for the sake of drawing forth your
sympathy. Bless your heart!" he said, in a sudden burst of enthusiasm,
"I would gladly undergo any amount of trouble every day, if by so doing
I should secure that earnest, loving, anxious gaze of your sweet blue
eyes as a reward!" Stanley imprinted a hearty kiss on his wife's cheek
as he made this lover-like speech, and then rose to place his
fowling-piece on the pegs from which it usually hung over the fireplace.
At that moment the door opened, and a little girl, with bright eyes and
flaxen hair, bounded into the room.
"O mamma, mamma!" she said, holding up a sheet of paper, while a look of
intense satisfaction beamed on her animated countenance, "see, I have
drawn Chimo's portrait. Is it like, mamma? Do you think it like?"
"Come here, Eda, my darling, come to me," said Stanley, seating himself
on a chair and extending his arms. Edith instantly left the portrait of
the dog in her mother's possession, and, without waiting for an opinion
as to its merits, ran to her father, jumped on his knee, threw her arms
round his neck, and kissed him. Edith was by no means a beautiful
child, but miserable indeed must have been the taste of him who would
have pronounced her plain-looking. Her features were not regular; her
nose had a strong tendency to what is called snubbed, and her mouth was
large; but to counterbalance these defects she had a pair of large,
deep-blue eyes, soft, golden hair, a fair, rosy complexion, and an
expression of sweetness at the corners of her mouth that betrayed
habitual good-nature. She was quick in all her movements, combined with
a peculiar softness and grace of deportment that was exceedingly
attractive.
"Would you like to go, my pet," said her father, "to a country far, far
away in the north, where there are high mountains and deep valleys,
inhabited by beautiful reindeer, and large lakes and rivers filled with
fish; where there is very little daylight all the long winter, and where
there is scarcely any night all the long, bright summer? Would my Eda
like to go there?"
The child possessed that fascinating quality of being intensely
interested in all that was said to her. As her father spoke, her eyes
gradually expanded and looked straight into his, while her head turned
slowly and very slightly to one side. As he concluded, she replied,
"Oh! very, very, _very_ much indeed," with a degree of energy that made
both her parents laugh.
"Ah, my darling! would that my lazy men were endued with some of your
spirit," said Stanley, patting the child's head.
"Is Prince a lazy man, papa?" inquired Edith anxiously.
"No, certainly, Prince is not. Why do you ask?"
"Because I love Prince."
"And do you not love all the men?"
"No," replied Edith, with some hesitation; "at least I don't love them
_very_ much, and I hate one."
"Hate one!" echoed Mrs Stanley. "Come here, my darling."
Eda slipped from her father's knee and went to her mother, feeling and
looking as if she had said something wrong.
Mrs Stanley was not one of those mothers who, whenever they hear of
their children having done anything wrong, assume a look of intense,
solemnised horror, that would lead an ignorant spectator to suppose that
intelligence had just been received of some sudden and appalling
catastrophe. She knew that children could not be deceived by such
pieces of acting. She expressed on her countenance precisely what she
felt--a slight degree of sorrow that her child should cherish an evil
passion, which, she knew, existed in her heart in common with all the
human race, but which she expected, by God's help and blessing, to
subdue effectually at last. Kissing Eda's forehead she said
kindly,--"Which of them do you hate, darling?"
"Gaspard," replied the child.
"And why do you hate him?"
"Because he struck my dog," said Eda, while her face flushed and her
eyes sparkled; "and he is always rude to everybody, and very, _very_
cruel to the dogs."
"That is very wrong of Gaspard; but, dearest Eda, do you not remember
what is written in God's Word,--`Love your enemies?' It is wrong to
_hate_ anybody."
"I know that, mamma, and I don't wish to hate Gaspard, but I can't help
it. I wish if I didn't hate him, but it _won't_ go away."
"Well, my pet," replied Mrs Stanley, pressing the child to her bosom,
"but you must pray for him, and speak kindly to him when you meet him,
and that will perhaps put it away. And now let us talk of the far-off
country that papa was speaking about. I wonder what he has to tell you
about it."
Stanley had been gazing out of the window during the foregoing colloquy,
apparently inattentive, though, in reality, deeply interested in what
was said. Turning round, he said--
"I was going to tell Eda that you had arranged to follow me to that
country next year, and that perhaps you would bring her along with you."
"Nay, George, you mistake. I did not arrange to do so--you only
proposed the arrangement; but, to say truth, I don't like it, and I
can't make up my mind to let you go without us. I cannot wait till next
year."
"Well, well, Jessie, I have exhausted all my powers of persuasion. I
leave it entirely to yourself to do as you think best."
At this moment the sound of deep voices was heard in the hall, which was
separated from Stanley's quarters by a thin partition of wood. In a few
seconds the door opened, and George Barney, the Irish butler and general
factotum to the establishment, announced that the "min wos in the hall
awaitin'."
Giving Eda a parting kiss, Stanley rose and entered the hall, where
Francois, Massan, Gaspard, and several others were grouped in a corner.
On their bourgeois entering, they doffed their bonnets and bowed.
"Well, lads," began Stanley, with a smile, "you've thought better of it,
I hope, and have come to volunteer for this expedition--" He checked
himself and frowned, for he saw by their looks that they had come with
quite a different intention. "What have you to say to me?" he continued
abruptly.
The men looked uneasily at each other, and then fixed their eyes on
Francois, who was evidently expected to be spokesman.
"Come, Francois, speak out," said Stanley; "if you have any objections,
out with them; you're free to say what you please here."
As he spoke, and ere Francois could reply, Frank Morton entered the
room. "Ah!" he exclaimed, as he deposited his rifle in a corner and
flung his cap on the table, "in time, I see, to help at the council!"
"I was just asking Francois to state his objections to going," said
Stanley, as his young friend took his place beside him.
"Objections!" repeated Frank; "what objections can bold spirits have to
go on a bold adventure? The question should have been, `Who will be
first to volunteer?'"
At this moment the door of Stanley's apartment opened, and his wife
appeared leading Eda by the hand.
"Here are two volunteers," she said, with a smile; "pray put us at the
head of your list. We will go with you to any part of the world!"
"Bravo!" shouted Frank, catching up Eda, with whom he was a great
favourite, and hugging her tightly in his arms.
"Nay, but, wife, this is sheer folly. You know not the dangers that
await you--"
"Perhaps not," interrupted Mrs Stanley; "but _you_ know them, and that
is enough for me."
"Indeed, Jessie, I know them not. I can but guess at them.--But, ah!
well, 'tis useless to argue further. Be it so; we shall head the list
with you and Eda."
"And put my name next," said a deep-toned voice from behind the other
men. All turned round in surprise.
"Dick Prince!" they exclaimed; "you here?"
"Ay, lads," said a tall man of about forty, who was not so remarkable
for physical development (though in this respect he was by no means
deficient) as for a certain decision of character that betrayed itself
in every outline of his masculine, intelligent countenance--"ay, lads,
I'm here; an' sorry am I that I've jist comed in time to hear that
you're sich poor-spirited rascals as to hang back when ye should jump
for'ard."
"But how came you so opportunely, Prince?" inquired Stanley.
"I met an Injin, sir, as told me you was goin' off; so I thought you
might want me, and comed straight back. And now, sir, I'm ready to go;
and so is Francois," he continued, turning to that individual, who
seized his hand and exclaimed, "That am I, my boy--to the moon if ye
like!"
"And Massan, too," continued Prince.
"All right; book me for Nova Zembla," replied that worthy.
"So, so," cried Mr Stanley, with a satisfied smile. "I see, lads, that
we're all of one mind now. Is it not so? Are we agreed?"
"Agreed! agreed!" they replied with one voice.
"That's well," he continued. "Now then, lads, clear out and get your
kits ready.--And ho! Barney, give these men a glass of grog.--Prince, I
shall want to talk with you this evening. Come to me an hour hence.--
And now," he added, taking Eda by the hand, "come along, my gentle
volunteers; let's go to supper."