Eight months of winter! Those who have read and entered into the spirit
of Arctic voyagers, may have some idea of what that means, but none save
he or she who has had experience of it can fully understand it.
To us who dwelt at the little outpost in the Great Nor'-west, snow and
ice had become so familiar--such matter-of-course conditions of
existence--that green fields and flowers were a mere reminiscence of the
remote past. The scent of a rose was a faded memory--indeed the scent
of anything belonging to the vegetable kingdom had not once saluted our
nostrils during those eight months. Pure white became one of the chief
and most impressive facts of our existence in regard to colour, if we
may so call it--white, varying in tone, of course, to pearly grey.
Cold, of varied intensity, was the chief modifier of our sensations.
Happily light was also a potent factor in our experiences--bright,
glowing sunshine and blue skies contrasted well with the white and grey,
and helped to counteract the cold; while pure air invigorated our frames
and cheered our spirits.
"I tell you what, boys," said Lumley, one afternoon as he entered the
hall with gun and snow-shoes on shoulder, and flung down a bag full of
ptarmigan, "winter is drawing to a close at last. I felt my deerskin
coat quite oppressive to-day; does any one know what the thermometer
stood at this morning?"
"Yes, it was twenty-two above zero," answered Spooner, who was
attempting to smoke a pipe beside the stove; "I went to register it just
after breakfast."
"I thought so--only ten below freezing point; why, it feels quite
summery, and the snow has a softness that I have not noticed since last
autumn. I hope dinner will soon be ready, for I'm very sharp set. Why,
Spooner, what are you making such faces for?"
"Am I making faces?" said Spooner, blushing and trying to look
unconcerned.
"Of course you are, a marmozette monkey with the toothache could
scarcely make worse."
Spooner attempted to laugh, and I felt it difficult to refrain from
joining him, for I knew well the cause of his faces. He was the
youngest of us three and exceedingly anxious to imitate Lumley, who was
unfortunately a great smoker; but Spooner, like myself, had been born
with a dislike to smoke--especially tobacco smoke--and a liability to
become sick when he indulged in the pipe. Hence, whilst foolish
ambition induced him to smoke, outraged nature protested; and between
the two the poor fellow had a bad time of it. He had a good deal of
determination about him, however, and persevered.
The dinner-bell rang at the moment, and put an end to further badinage.
Lumley was right. Spring was in truth at hand, and a host of new
anticipations began from that day to crowd upon our minds.
About the same time there came another break in the monotony of outpost
life which had, if possible, a more powerful and exciting influence on
us than the arrival of the winter packet.
Now at this point I must beg the reader's pardon for asking him to go
with me to a still more desolate and remote outpost than our own.
Between one and two hundred miles nearer to the pole the little post of
Muskrat House lay under a beetling cliff, near the banks of an affluent
of the great Saskatchewan river. It was in charge of Peter Macnab,
before mentioned, who, in command of his army of six men and two women,
held the post against all comers--the chief comers there being the North
Wind and Jack Frost.
Poor Macnab was a jovial and sociable Scottish Highlander, who had been
condemned to worse than Siberian banishment because of being one of the
most active, enterprising, and pushing fellows in the service of the
Fur-Traders. His ability to manage men and Indians, and to establish
new trading-posts, excelled that of his fellows. He regarded it as a
complimentary though trying circumstance when Mr Strang sent him to
establish the post which was named by him Muskrat House, but he faced
the duty--as he faced everything--like a man; did his best for his
employers, and made the most of the situation.
But it is not easy for even the strongest mind and lightest heart to be
jovial when buried for eight months in snow more than twelve hundred
miles beyond the influences of civilised life; and it is hard to be
sociable with six uneducated men and two Indian women for one's
companions. Macnab tried it, however, and was in a measure successful.
He had his Bible with him--the one given him long ago by his mother--and
a bound volume of Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, and three copies of the
_Times_ newspaper nearly two years old, and a few numbers of an American
paper called the _Picayune_.
With these materials he set to work--after each day's labour of
water-drawing, firewood-cutting, and trapping was done--to educate his
army in religion, politics, political economy, and the varied
ramifications of social life. He had intelligent and grateful scholars.
If they had not been so, Macnab would at all events have made them
obedient pupils, for he was a physically large and powerful man--and
might was unavoidably right in those regions!
Still, with all his energy and resources, the genial Highlander began,
towards the end of winter, to feel an intense longing for a little
intercourse with his equals.
Returning one night to the solitude of his little room, as was his wont,
after a couple of hours' intercourse with his men in their own house, he
sat down before his stove and addressed it thus:--
"It won't last long, I fear. My brain is gradually turning into
something like mashed potatoes, and my heart into a tinder-box, ready
enough to catch fire, but with neither flint nor steel to light it! The
Indians won't be here for many weeks, and when they do come what good
can I get from or do to them? Wow! wow! it's terribly slow work. Oh!
Jessie, Jessie, my dear, what would I not give if I only had _you_
here!"
Lest the reader should suppose Macnab to be a love-sick swain, I may
remark here that Jessie was a sister whom he had left on the shores of
Loch Ness, and with whom he kept up a vigorous biennial correspondence.
As the stove made no reply, he continued his address.
"If I only had a few books now, it wouldn't be so hard to bear. To be
sure, the Bible is a great resource--a blessed resource; but you see I
want something light now and then. A laugh, you know, seems to be
absolutely needful at times. Why, now I think of it, we wouldn't have
been given the power to laugh if it hadn't been necessary, and the last
hearty laugh I had was, let me see--that time three months ago, when my
long-nosed interpreter mistook a dead mouse in the soup--ha! ha!--for a
bit of pemmican, and only found out his mistake when the tail got
between his teeth!"
The solitary man burst into peals of laughter at the reminiscence, and
then, becoming suddenly grave, looked slowly round the room.
"If I could only have an echo of that," he resumed, "from somebody else!
Well, well, I'll just go and have another chat with Jessie."
So saying, Macnab rose, drew a small table near to the stove, laid upon
it a very large desk made by himself of pine-wood, and, placing a sheet
of paper thereon, began to write.
The sheet of paper merits notice. Like the man who wrote, it was
extremely large, being several sizes bigger than foolscap, and very
loosely ruled. As I have said, communication with the outer world being
possible only twice in the year, our Highlander resolved, as usual, to
make the most of his opportunities. Hence he not only used the largest
paper which the company provided, but filled up several such sheets with
the smallest possible writing, so that Jessie might ultimately get
something worth having. It is but justice to add that Macnab wrote not
only a very small but a remarkably clear and legible hand--a virtue
which I earnestly commend to correspondents in general, to those of them
at least who wish their epistles to meet with thorough appreciation.
It was late when our solitaire completed that evening's addition to his
already voluminous letter, and he was thinking about going to bed when a
stamping in the porch outside announced that a visitor was clearing the
snow from his moccasins.
"One o' the men forgot something, I fancy," muttered Macnab to himself.
The latch was lifted, for locks were not deemed necessary in those
regions, and the door opening slowly disclosed the copper-hued visage
and tall bony figure of a very powerful and handsome native of the
soil--perhaps I should rather say--of the snow!
"Hallo! hey! come in," shouted Macnab, giving way to a gush of his
pent-up social feelings; "why it's good for sore eyes to see a new face,
even a red one. What cheer? what cheer? Where d'ye hail from? Come
in, come in, and welcome!"
The hearty Highlander spoke the Indian tongue fluently, but in the
excitement of his feelings mingled it with a good deal of English and an
occasional growl of expressive Gaelic.
The Indian, whose horned cap and person were well powdered with snow,
stepped slowly over the threshold, extending his hand to the
Highlander's grasp, and looking cautiously round with rolling black
eyes, as if he half expected a dynamite explosion to follow his
entrance. His garments bore evidence of rough usage. Holes in his
moccasins permitted portions of the duffle socks underneath to wander
out. Knots on his snow-shoe lines and netting told of a long rough
journey, and the soiled, greasy condition of his leathern capote spoke
of its having been much used not only as a garment by day but as a shirt
by night.
Placing his gun and snow-shoes in a corner, after solemnly responding
"watchee, watchee," to Macnab's "what cheer," the red-man seated himself
on the floor beside the stove, with silent disregard of the chair that
his host politely offered.
It is the custom of North American Indians--on arriving at an
establishment--to withhold the most interesting portion of what they may
have to communicate until after they have had a pipe, or a feed, and
have answered the questions put on the less interesting objects of their
visits. Being well aware of this trait of character, Macnab forebore to
question too closely this fine-looking Indian until he had well thawed
and smoked himself. Ultimately, however, he brought him to the point.
To the north-westward of Muskrat House, many long days' march, he said
(of course in his native tongue) there was a grand country full of fine
furs and fine people, who found it a very long journey indeed to come
all the way to Muskrat House to trade their furs. Would his white
father go and build a house there, near Lake Wichikagan, and shoot and
fish, and trade?--waugh!
To which Macnab replied that he was glad to hear about the plenty of
furs and the friendly natives and the fine country, and that he would
take the matter into his consideration--waugh!
To this the red-man responded "ho!" and then "how!"--not interrogatively
but interjectionally--with much gravity.
That night Macnab took the matter into consideration with his wonted
vigour, and came to the conclusion that it was of sufficient importance
to warrant a visit on his part to headquarters--Dunregan being
headquarters to Muskrat House. Accordingly, he went to the men's house
and introduced the stranger, whose name in the Indian tongue signified
Big Otter. The men received him with as much joy as if he had been an
angel of light.
"Get a sled and four of the best dogs ready to start by daybreak
to-morrow," said Macnab to one of his men, "and have breakfast sharp,"
he added, turning to the cook. "You'll go with me to Dunregan, won't
you, Big Otter?"
Big Otter was ready for anything at a moment's notice!
When daylight glimmered faintly in the east the following morning,
Macnab sat at his table devouring venison steaks, pancakes, and tea.
Big Otter sat opposite to him, having condescended to use a chair in
order to be on a level with the table. The chair gave him much anxiety,
however. He evidently feared to fall off or upset it, for, on rising to
reach some food opposite, he had tilted it back, and received a
tremendous though unacknowledged start from the crash that followed.
Half an hour later, Macnab, having left his interpreter in charge of the
establishment, was beating the track on snow-shoes through the forest,
his four wolfish-looking dogs following with a sled-load of provisions
and bedding, and Big Otter bringing up the rear.
The day turned out to be bright calm, and frosty. It was in thorough
unison with Macnab's feelings, for the near prospect of soon meeting
with men somewhat like himself produced a calm and bright condition of
mind which he had not experienced for many a day. It is true that the
frost can scarcely be said to have represented the Highlander's
temperament; but if there be truth in the saying that extremes meet, it
may be admissible to say that intense cold, which had the effect of
expanding water into ice so that it rent the very rocks, might be
appropriately compared with that intense warmth of Macnab's feelings
which had the effect of all but bursting his very bosom! There was not
a breath of air stirring when the two men passed from the forest, and
struck out upon the marble surface of the great lake which lay at the
distance of about two miles from their establishment. The sun was
rising at the time on the horizon of the ocean-like lake, gloriously
bright and cheering, though with no appreciable warmth in its beams.
Diamonds innumerable glittered on the frosted willow-boughs; the snow
under the travellers' tread gave forth that peculiar squeak, or chirping
sound, which is indicative of extreme Arctic frost, and the breath from
their mouths came out like the white puffs of a locomotive, settling on
their breasts in thick hoar-frost, and silvering such of their locks as
straggled out beyond the margin of their caps. There was no life at
first in the quiet scene, but, just as they passed through the last
clump of bushes on the margin of the lake, a battalion of ptarmigan,
seemingly a thousand strong, burst with startling whirr from under their
very feet, and skimmed away like a snow-cloud close to the ground, while
an Arctic fox, aroused from his lair by the noise, slank quietly off
under the false belief that he had not been seen.
The rise of the ptarmigan had another effect, on which the travellers
had not counted. The four wolfish dogs were so startled by the whirr,
that their spirits were roused to the mischievous point. Up to that
moment they had been toiling and panting through the soft snow in the
woods. They had now emerged upon the hard, wind-beaten snow of the open
ground and the lake. The sudden freedom in the action of their limbs,
coupled with the impulse to their spirits, caused the team to bound
forward with one accord. The sled swung round against Macnab's legs,
and overturned him; and the tail-line was jerked out of Big Otter's
grasp. In a vain effort to recover it, that solemn savage trod, with
his right, on his own left snow-shoe, and plunged into a willow bush.
Thus freed altogether, the dogs went away with railway speed over the
hard snow, ever urged to more and more frantic exertions by the wild
boundings of the comparatively light sled behind them.
"After them, lad!" shouted Macnab, as he cast off his snow-shoes and
gave chase.
The Indian followed suit in desperate haste, for his receptive mind at
once perceived the all but hopeless nature of a chase after four
long-legged dogs, little removed from genuine wolves, over a hard level
course that extended away to the very horizon.
Happily, there was a small island not far from the shore of the lake, on
which grew a few willow bushes whose tops protruded above the
overwhelming snow, and whose buds formed the food of the ptarmigan
before mentioned. Towards this island the dogs headed in their blind
race just as the white man and the red began to regret the comparative
slowness of human legs.
"Good luck!" exclaimed Macnab.
"Waugh!" responded his companion.
There was ground for both remarks, for, a few minutes later, the dogs
plunged into the bushes and the sled stuck fast and held them.
This was a trifling incident in itself, but it shook out of the
travellers any remains of lethargy that might have clung to them from
the slumbers of the previous night, and caused them to face the tramp
that lay before them with energy.
"Oh, you _ras_cals!" growled Macnab, as he went down on his knees beside
the leading dog to disentangle the traces which had been twisted up in
the abrupt stoppage.
I know not whether those dogs, being intellectually as well as
physically powerful beyond their fellows, understood the uncomplimentary
term and lost their tempers, but certain it is that the words were no
sooner uttered than the hindmost dog made an unprovoked assault on the
dog in front of it. Of course the latter defended itself. The dog next
to that, being probably pugnacious, could not resist the temptation to
join in, and the leader, feeling no doubt that it was "better to be out
of the world than out of the fashion," fell upon the rest with
remarkable fury. Thus the sled, traces, and dogs, instantly became a
tumultuous mass of yelling, gasping, heaving, and twisting confusion.
Big Otter carried a short, heavy whip. Without uttering a word, he
quietly proceeded to flog the mass into subjection. It was a difficult
duty to perform, but Big Otter was strong and persevering. He prevailed
after some time. The mass was disentangled; the subdued dogs went
humbly forward, and the journey, having been thus auspiciously begun,
was continued until nightfall.
They had left the lake and Muskrat House some thirty miles behind them,
and had got into a thick and profoundly still part of the great
wilderness, when the waning light warned them to encamp.