It is needful now to return to Fort Dunregan.
The long winter is not yet past, but there are symptoms, as I have said,
that it is coming to a close. Snow and ice are still indeed the
prevailing characteristic of the region, but the air is no longer
intensely cold. On the contrary, a genial warmth prevails, inducing the
inhabitants to discard flannel-lined leathern capotes and fur caps for
lighter garments. There is a honeycombed look about the snow-drifts,
which gives them an aged appearance; and, above all, there is an
occasional dropping of water--yes, actual water--from the points of huge
icicles! This is such an ancient memory that we can scarce believe our
senses. We sniff, too, as we walk about; for there are scents in the
air--old familiar smells of earth and vegetation--which we had begun to
fancy we had almost forgotten.
The excitement caused by the arrival of the winter packet had also by
that time passed almost out of memory, and we had sunk back into that
calm state of patient waiting which may probably be familiar to the
convict who knows that some months of monotonous existence still lie
before him; for, not until the snow and ice should completely clear away
and the summer be pretty well advanced could we hope for the blessed
sight of a new face and the cheering sound of a fresh human voice. Of
course we had the agreeable prospect of hearing ere long the voices of
wild-fowl in their noisy northern flight, but such a prospect was not
sufficient to satisfy poor secluded humanity.
"Oh that I were a bird!" exclaimed Spooner, one morning as we were
seated round the Carron stove in our hall.
"No need to wish that," said Lumley, "for you're a goose already!"
"Well, I'd even consent to be a real goose," continued Spooner, "if I
could only thereby use my wings to fly away over the snowy wilderness
and alight in my old home."
"What a surprise you'd give them if you did!" said Lumley, "especially
if you came down with your ruffled feathers as clumsily as you tumbled
into the saw-pit the other day when--"
He stopped, for at that moment I said "Hush!" and held up a finger.
"Sleigh-bells!" exclaimed Spooner, with a catch of his breath.
"Nothing new in that," said Lumley: "we hear them every day."
"Nothing new," I retorted, "to your unmusical ear, but these bells are
not _our_ bells--listen!"
I started up as I spoke, flung open the outer door, and we all listened
intently.
Clear and pleasant they rang, like the music of a sweet new song. We
all gave a shout, clapped on our caps, and ran out to the fort gate.
There an almost new sensation thrilled us, for we beheld a team of dogs
coming up weary and worn out of the wilderness, preceded by a gaunt yet
majestic Indian, whose whole aspect--haggard expression of countenance,
soiled and somewhat tattered garments, and weary gait--betokened severe
exhaustion. On the sled, drawn by four lanky dogs, we could see the
figure of a man wrapped in blankets and strapped to the conveyance.
"Who _can_ it be?" exclaimed Lumley, as he hastened out to meet the new
arrivals.
"A sick man from somewhere," suggested Spooner.
"Perhaps the governor," said I, "on an unexpected tour of inspection."
As we drew near we could see that the recumbent figure waved a hand and
cheered.
"Macnab," said I, as the familiar voice struck my ear.
"Ill--dying!" gasped the anxious Spooner.
"No dying man ever cheered like that!" cried Lumley, "except a hero of
romance in the hour of death and victory!"
A few seconds more and the matter was put at rest, while we warmly shook
the hearty and genial Highlander by both hands.
"Help me out, boys," he said; "I'm tired o' this sled, and think I can
do the little remaining bit o' the journey on foot with your help."
We disentangled him from the sledge and set him on his feet.
"Hold on, Lumley," he said, with a smile on his haggard and unshaven
face, "I want to embrace you, like the Frenchmen. There--my arm round
your neck--so. Now, Max, I want to embrace you likewise wi' the other
arm. I've grown awful affectionate in my old age. You are rather
short, Max, for a good crutch, but you're better than nothing. You see,
I've only got one good leg."
"But what has happened to the other--when, how, and where?" we exclaimed
in chorus.
Macnab answered the questions to our chief, who came forward at the
moment with welcome in his visage and extended hands.
"It's only a cut, sir, stupidly done with my own hatchet when we had
been but a few days out. But rest will soon put me to rights. My poor
man, Big Otter, is more to be pitied than I. But for him I should have
perished in the snow."
"What cheer? what cheer?" said our chief, grasping the Indian's hand on
hearing this.
"What cheer?" we all exclaimed, following his example.
"Watchee! watchee!" echoed Big Otter, returning the hearty salutation as
well as his tongue could manage it, and giving us each a powerful
squeeze with his huge bony hand, which temporary exhaustion had not
appreciably reduced in strength.
The native was obviously a sociable, well-disposed man, for his eyes
glittered and his white teeth gleamed and his bronzed visage shone with
pleasure when Macnab explained the cause of our sudden burst of
affection for him.
Thus chatting and limping we got the Highlander slowly up to the hall,
set him down in our only armchair--a wooden one without stuffing--and
fetched him a basin of hot soup, that being a liquid which our cook had
always more or less frequently on hand.
"Ha! boys!" cried Macnab, smacking his lips, "that's the thing to put
life into a man! I've not had anything like it for many a day. You
see, we had a small misfortune soon after my accident, which cost us our
kettle, and rendered soup or tea impossible."
"How was that?" inquired our chief, sitting down, while we gathered
round the stove to listen.
"Well, you see, sir, not long after my accident, there came a sharp
frost which made the surface of the snow hard after the thaw, so the
dogs could run on the top of the crust without breaking it, but Big
Otter, bein' heavy, broke through--by the way, I hope he's bein' looked
after."
"You may be sure of that," said Spooner. "I saw him safely placed in
the men's house, and Salamander, who, it turns out, is a sort of
relation of his, set to work to stuff him with the same sort of soup you
think so much of. I only hope they've enough to keep him going, for
before I left the house he had drunk off two bowls of it almost without
taking breath, though it was scalding hot."
"Good. He'll do it ample justice," returned Macnab, taking another pull
at his own bowl. "I hope you're well provisioned, for Big Otter's an
awful consumer of victuals. Well, as I was saying, the surface of the
snow got frozen thinly, and the work o' tramping after the sled and
holding on to the tail-line was uncommonly hard, as I could see, for I
lay with my head to the front, looping back on the poor man. But it was
on the exposed places and going down the slopes that the greatest
difficulty lay, for there the dogs were keen to run away. Once or twice
they did fairly get off, and gave me some rough as well as long runs
before my man could catch them up. At last we came one afternoon to an
open plain where the snow had felt the thaw and been frozen again pretty
hard. The moment we got on it away went the dogs. Big Otter tried to
run, but one of his shoes went through the crust and the other didn't,
so down he came, and had to let go the line. I felt easy enough at
first, for the plain was level, but after a time it became lumpy, and I
got some ugly bumps. `Never mind,' thought I, `they'll be sure to come
to some bushes, and that'll pull them up.' Just as I thought so, we
came to a slope, and the team went slap over a bank. The sled and I
threw a complete somersault. Fortunately we came down on the dogs,
which broke our fall, though it half killed them!
"When Big Otter came and turned me right side up, I found that I had
sustained no damage whatever, but, woe's me! our tin kettle was almost
knocked flat. The worst of it was that in trying to put it right we
drove a big hole in the bottom of it, so we had to bid farewell to hot
food, except what we roasted. We could also melt snow by plastering up
the hole so as to get enough to drink, but boiling water was quite out
of the question."
"Well, Macnab," said our chief, rising, "since you have got the soup
over at last, come along with me and let's hear about your Indian
friend's proposals."
We assisted our visitor into the mess-room, which was also our principal
council-chamber, and there left him to talk business with Mr Strang
while we returned to Bachelors' Hall to let off our effervescing spirits
by indulging in a running commentary on the unexpected visit, and a
minute analysis of the characters of Macnab and Big Otter, which, I must
add, was decidedly favourable.
"It seems to me a piece of good luck that he has got here at all," said
Lumley, after we had finished the analysis.
"Why so?" asked Spooner.
"Because there are some unmistakable symptoms that winter is about over,
and that snow-shoe and dog-sleigh travelling will soon be impossible."
That Lumley was right, the change of weather during the next few days
clearly proved, for a thaw set in with steady power. The sun became at
last warm enough to melt ice and snow visibly. We no longer listened
with interest to the sounds of dropping water from eaves and trees, for
these had become once more familiar, and soon our ears were greeted with
the gurgling of rills away in mysterious depths beneath the snow. The
gurgling ere long gave place to gushing, and it seemed as if all nature
were dissolving into liquid.
While this pleasant change was going on we awoke with song and laugh and
story the echoes of Bachelors' Hall--at no time very restful echoes,
save perhaps in the dead hours of early morning; and even then they were
more or less disturbed by snoring. For our sociable Highlander, besides
having roused our spirits by his mere presence to the effervescing
point, was himself much elated by the mighty change from prolonged
solitude to joyous companionship.
"My spirit feels inclined," he remarked one day, "to jump clean out of
my body."
"You'd better not let it then," said Lumley, "for you know it might
catch cold or freeze."
"Not in this weather, surely," retorted Macnab, "and if I did feel
coldish in the circumstances, couldn't I borrow Spooner's
blanket-capote? it might fit me then, for I'd probably be a few sizes
smaller."
"Come, Mac," said I, "give us a song. You know I'm wildly fond of
music; and, most unfortunately, not one of us three can sing a note."
Our visitor was quite willing, and began at once to sing a wild ditty,
in the wilder language of his native land.
He had a sweet, tuneful, sympathetic voice, which was at the same time
powerful, so that we listened to him, sometimes with enthusiasm swelling
our hearts, at other times with tears dimming our eyes. No one, save he
who has been banished to a wilderness and long bereft of music, can
understand the nature of our feelings--of mine, at least.
One evening, after our wounded man had charmed us with several songs,
and we all of us had done what we could, despite our incapacity, to pay
him back in kind, he pulled a sheet of crumpled paper out of his pocket.
"Come," said he, unfolding it, "I've got a poet among the men of Muskrat
House, who has produced a song, which, if not marked by sublimity, is at
least distinguished by much truth. He said he composed it at the rate
of about one line a week during the winter, and his comrades said that
it was quite a picture to see him agonising over the rhymes. Before
they found out what was the matter with him they thought he was becoming
subject to fits of some sort. Now, then, let's have a good chorus.
It's to the tune of `The British Grenadiers.'"