"Nothing for me, sir?" I asked faintly.
"There seems to be--nothing--stay! what's this?--why, I thought it was a
big book, but, yes, it _is_ a packet for you, Mr Maxby--there!"
My heart leaped into my mouth--almost out of it--as I received a thick
packet wrapped in newspaper.
Hastening to what was called the clerk's winter house with these
treasures I distributed them, and handed the men's packet to one of
themselves, who was eagerly awaiting it. Then I went to my room and
barricaded the door to prevent interruption.
In Bachelors' Hall, as we styled our apartments, we had an inveterate
habit of practical joking, which, however interesting and agreeable it
might be at most times, was in some circumstances rather inconvenient.
To guard against it at such times we were in the habit of retiring to
our respective dens and barricading the doors, the locks being sometimes
incapable of standing the strain brought to bear on them.
On this particular occasion I made my barricade stronger than usual; sat
down on my bed and opened the packet from home.
But here I must let the curtain fall. I cannot suppose that the reader,
however amiable, will sympathise with the joys and sorrows of an unknown
family, interesting though they were to me. I may state, however, that
before I got through the budget it was so late that I turned into bed
and read the remainder there. Then, as the fire in the hall-stove sank
low, the cold obliged me to put on above my voluminous blankets (we
dared not sleep in sheets out there) a thick buffalo robe, which,
besides having on the outside the shaggy hair of the animal, to which it
had belonged, was lined with flannel. Thus nestled into a warm hole, I
read on until a shout arrested me and brought me suddenly back from the
hills of bonny Scotland to the frozen wilderness.
"I say," shouted Lumley at the back of the door, which he saluted with a
kick, "my sister is married!"
"Poor thing!" said I. "Who to?"
"Open the door."
"I can't. I'm in bed."
"You must."
"I won't."
"No! then here goes."
He retired as he spoke, and, making a rush, launched himself against my
door, which, however, withstood the shock.
"Here, Spooner," I then heard him say, "lend a hand; let us go at it
together."
They went at it together. The lock gave way; the chest of drawers went
spinning to the other side of the room, and Lumley tumbled over Spooner
as both fell headlong to the floor.
As this was by no means an unfamiliar mode of entering each other's
rooms, I took no notice of it, but proceeded to inquire about the
married sister; and Lumley, sitting down on my bed with Spooner, for
neither of them had yet undressed, began to tell me of home and friends
with as much eagerness as if I had been a member of both families.
Young Spooner interrupted Lumley now and then when a touch of
coincidence struck him with reference to his own family affairs, and I
could not resist the pleasure of occasionally making some such remark
as, "How odd! that's very like what happened to my little brother Bob,"
etcetera, whereupon Spooner would immediately become excited and draw a
parallel more or less striking in regard to his own kindred and so we
went on far into the night, until we got our several families mixed up
to such an extent that it became almost impossible to disentangle them;
for, being three families, you know, we became inextricably confused as
to which was which, though each was perfectly clear in regard to his
own! Thus, to me, Jane Lumley became confused with Janet Spooner, so
that Janet Lumley and Jane Spooner were always tripping over each other
in my brain, while my dear cousin Maggie Maxby became a Maggie Spooner
to Lumley, and a Maggie Lumley to Spooner, and to each sometimes a Janet
or a Jane respectively. If the reader will multiply into this question
two mothers and three fathers, four brothers and six sisters, besides
numberless aunts, uncles, and cousins, male and female, he will easily
perceive how between mental perplexity and a tendency to slumber, we at
last gave the matter up in a sort of jovial despair.
We were startled suddenly from this condition by a crash and an
exceedingly sharp and bitter cry.
It must be remarked here, that, in order to subdue King Frost in those
northern strongholds of his, we had, besides double doors and double
windows and porches, an enormous cast-iron stove from the famous Carron
foundry. It stood in the centre of our hall, so that its genial favours
might be distributed with equal justice to the various sleeping-rooms
that opened out of the hall all round. From this stove an iron pipe
arose, and, turning at a right angle when within a couple of feet of the
ceiling, proceeded to the chimney at the upper end of the hall. When
the thermometer stood much below zero, we were accustomed to raise the
stove and part of its pipe to a dull-red heat, which had the effect of
partially melting the contents of the water-jugs in our bedrooms, and of
partially roasting the knees of our trousers. To keep this stove up to
its work was the duty of an Indian youth, whom we styled Salamander,
because he seemed to be impervious to heat. He was equally so to cold.
When I first went to Dunregan I used to pity Salamander, on hearing him
every morning enter our hall with a gust of air that seemed cold enough
to freeze a walrus, and proceed to strike a light and kindle our fire.
My own nose, and sometimes an eye, was all that protruded from the
buffalo robe at such times. But Salamander never shivered, and always
grinned, from which I came to understand that my pity was misplaced.
About nine o'clock each night he left us to look after the great Carron
stove ourselves, and we were all pretty good stokers. Self-interest
kept us up to duty. Sometimes we overdid it, raising the dull-red to
brightness now and then.
On this particular occasion, in the exuberance of his feelings, Lumley,
before bursting into my room, had heaped on as much dry wood as the
stove could hold. It chanced to be exceedingly resinous wood. He also
opened the blow-hole to its utmost extent. Being congregated in my
bedroom, as I have described, deeply engaged in eager comments and
family reminiscences, we failed to observe that the great Carron stove
roared like a wrathful furnace, that it changed from a dull to a bright
red in its anger, and eventually became white with passion. As "evil
communications" have a tendency to corrupt, the usually innocent pipe
became inflamed. It communicated the evil to the chimney, which
straightway caught fire, belched forth smoke and flames, and cast a
ruddy glare over the usually pallid snow. This chanced to meet the eye
of Salamander as he gazed from his "bunk" in the men's house; caused him
to bounce up and rush out--for, having a taste for sleeping in his
clothes, he was always ready for action--burst open our door with a
crash, and rudely dispel our confusedly pleasant intercourse with the
exceedingly sharp and bitter cry before mentioned.
"Hallo!" shouted Lumley and Spooner simultaneously, as they bounded
rather than rose from my bed. Before they had crossed the threshold I
was out of bed and into my trousers.
There is nothing like the cry of "Fire!" for producing prompt action--or
paralysis! Also for inducing imbecile stupidity. I could not find my
moccasins! Thought is quick--quicker than words. Amputation at the
knee joints stared me in the face for a certainty if I went out with
naked feet. In desperation I seized my capote and thrust both feet into
the sleeves, with some hazy intention of tying a knot on each wrist to
protect the toes. Happily I espied my moccasins at the moment, pulled
them on--left shoe on right foot, of course--and put the coat to its
proper use.
By this time Salamander, contrary to all traditions of Indian stoicism,
was yelling about the fort with his eyes a flame and his hair on end.
The men were out in a few seconds with a ladder, and swarmed up to the
roof of our house, without any definite notion as to what they meant to
do. Mr Strang was also out, smothered in winter garments, and with an
enormous Makinaw blanket over all. He was greatly excited, though the
most self-possessed among us--as most chiefs are, or ought to be.
"Water! water!" shouted the men from the roof.
A keen breeze was blowing from what seemed the very heart of King
Frost's dominion, and snow-drift fine as dust and penetrating as
needles, was swirling about in the night-air.
Water! where was water to come from? The river was frozen almost to the
bottom. Ice six feet thick covered the lakes and ponds. The sound of
trickling water had not been heard for months. It had become an ancient
memory. Water! why, it cost our cook's assistant a full hour every day
to cut through the result of one night's frost in the water-hole before
he could reach the water required for daily use, and what he did obtain
had to be slowly dragged to the fort by that slowest of creatures, an
ox. Nevertheless there _was_ water. In the warmest corner of the
kitchen--at that hour about zero--there stood a water-barrel.
"Run, cook--fetch a bucketful!" cried our chief.
Cook, who had "lost his head," obediently ran, seized a big earthenware
jug, dipped it into the barrel, and smashed it to atoms on a cake of
thick ice! This had the effect of partially recovering his head for
him. He seized an axe, shattered the cake, caught up a bucket, dipped
it full and rushed out spilling half its contents as he ran. The
spillings became icicles before they reached the flaming chimney, but
the frost, keen as it was, could not quite solidify the liquid in so
short a space of time.
Blondin, the principal bearer of the winter packet who was a heroic man
and chief actor in this scene, received the half-empty bucket.
"Bah!" he exclaimed, tossing bucket as well as water contemptuously down
the wide chimney. "Bring shuvill, an' blunkits."
Blondin was a French-Canadian half-caste, and not a good linguist.
A shovel was thrown up to him. He seized it and shovelled volumes of
snow from the house-top into the chimney. A moment later and two
blankets were thrown up. Blondin spread one over the flames. It was
shrivelled up instantly. He stuffed down the remains and spread the
second blanket over them, while he shouted for a third. The third came,
and, another bucket of water arriving at the same moment, with a large
mass of snow detached from the roof, the whole were thrust down the
chimney _en masse_, the flames were quenched and the house was saved.
During this exciting scene, I had begun to realise the great danger of
fire in the chimney of a wooden house, and, with the aid of my comrades,
had been throwing the contents of Bachelors' Hall out into the snow. We
now ceased this process, and began to carry them back again, while the
men crowded round the iron author of all the mischief to warm their
half-frozen bodies. I now observed for the first time that Blondin had
a black patch on the end of his nose. It was a handsome feature
usually, but at that time it was red, swelled, and what may be termed
blobby.
"What's the matter with it, Blondin?" I asked.
"My noz was froz," he replied curtly.
"You'd better have it looked to, or it'll be worse than froz, my man,"
said Lumley.
Blondin laughed and went off to attend to his nose in the men's house,
accompanied by the others, while we set to work to clean ourselves and
our abode. Thereafter, with moderated fire, we again got under our
buffalo robes, where we spent the remainder of a disturbed night in
thinking and dreaming about the thrilling contents of the winter packet.