It is New Year's Day. That festive season of the year is not less
marked and honoured in the Great Nor'-west than it is in civilised
lands, though there are comparatively few to honour it, and their
resources are somewhat meagre. These facts do not however, diminish the
hearty zeal of the few--perchance they tend rather to increase it.
Be that as it may, I now convey the reader to an ice-bound forest. Deep
snow has buried the frozen ground. Masses of snow weigh down the
branches of the leafless trees; and evergreens, which are not leafless,
are literally overwhelmed, almost obliterated, by the universal
covering. But the scene is by no means dismal. A blue sky overhead and
a bright sun and calm frosty air render it pre-eminently cheerful. The
ground is undulating, and among these undulations you may see two men
and a couple of sledges slowly making their way along.
The sledge in rear is the ordinary provision-sled used by winter
travellers in that land; it is hauled by an Indian. The one in front is
styled a cariole. It resembles a slipper-bath in form, is covered with
yellow parchment, gaily painted, and drawn by four fine wolf-like dogs.
The rider in that cariole is so whelmed in furs as to be absolutely
invisible. The man who beats the track has a straight, stalwart frame,
and from what of his countenance is left exposed by his fur cap and
whiskers, one may judge that he is a white man.
Slowly and silently they plod along through the deep snow--the
sleigh-bells on the dog's harness tinkling pleasantly. Ere long they
come out upon a lake, where, the snow being beaten pretty hard, they
proceed rapidly--the dogs trotting, and the leader, having changed to
the rear, holding on to the cariole-line to restrain them.
Towards the afternoon the travellers draw towards the end of the lake,
and then a spirit of mischief seems to enter into the wolf-like dogs,
for, on turning round a point which reveals a wide reach of hard snow
stretching away towards a distant group of buildings more than half
buried in drift, they make a sudden bound, overturn the stalwart white
man, jerk the tail-line from his grasp, and career away joyously over
the ice, causing their bells to send up an exceeding merry and melodious
peal.
From certain incomprehensible growls that escape the stalwart white man
as he picks himself up, it might be conjectured that he had taken to the
Chipewyan tongue; perhaps a Scotsman might have been led by them to
recall the regions that lie north of the Grampians.
Lumley and I were sitting in the hall of Fort Wichikagan, awaiting the
advent of dinner, when the sound of the sleigh-bells just referred to
broke upon our ears. We bounded from our seats as if galvanised, seized
our caps and rushed out.
"A cariole!" shouted Lumley.
"Run away!" said I.
As I spoke, the figure of a man was seen rushing round the point in
pursuit.
"Macnab!" cried Lumley, with blazing eyes, "I'd know his figure at
twenty miles off. I say, Max, the runaway cariole must certainly
contain the sister--the carroty-haired Jessie! Hurrah! We must stop
it, my boy, else the dogs will run slap into the fort, and dash the fair
six-footer against one o' the houses. Look out, man!"
But Lumley was wrong. Either the dogs had run as much as they desired,
or the decided manner in which we faced them caused them to swerve
aside, and stop when they came close to us. The swerve had the effect
of overturning the cariole gently, and emptying its contents at our
feet, and out from the mass of wraps and furs there arose--not a
red-headed six-footer, but a young and sprightly girl, with clear dark
complexion, a neat, rounded little figure, and a pair of magnificent
black eyes, which, at the moment, were opened to their utmost with an
expression of intense amazement.
Lumley gazed at this apparition open-mouthed, with a look of blank
surprise. I believe that my own visage must also have worn some
remarkable expression, for suddenly the girl's gorgeous eyes half
closed, and she burst into a hearty fit of laughter.
"Well, this _is_ a surprise!" exclaimed Lumley, on recovering some of
his usual self-possession.
"So it would seem," replied the apparition, still laughing, "for it has
robbed you of common politeness. Why don't you introduce yourself and
welcome me? No doubt you are my brother's friend, Mr Lumley!"
She drew a very small white hand from a very large leather mitten, and
held it out.
"Forgive me, Miss Macnab--for of course you can be no other," said
Lumley, advancing promptly and grasping the hand, "but your--your--
sudden, and I may almost say magical, appearance has so taken me by
surprise, that--that--"
"Yes, yes, I understand, Mr Lumley--that you find it difficult to
recover yourself,--why, your friend Mr Maxby has not yet recovered,"
said the fair Jessie, turning and holding out her hand to me.
She was right. I had not recovered, but stood there open-mouthed and
eyed, bereft of speech, until the necessity for action was thrust upon
me. My apologies were, however, cut short by the coming up of her
brother, who, while yet a long way off, began to shout in his stentorian
tones:--
"Hallo! Lumley, my boy, how are ye? Here we are at last. A happy New
Year, Max. Glad to see you once more--all alive and hearty? Eh? More
than I expected to find _you_, Jess, after such a run with these
rascally dogs--absolute wolves! But it might have been worse. Give us
a shake o' your fists, my boys, on this happy New Year's Day."
By this time our hearty friend was beside us, shaking us both vigorously
by the hands, wishing us all manner of good luck, and compliments of the
season, and otherwise letting off the steam of his exuberant feelings.
"You've introduced yourselves, I see," he continued; "come, Lumley, give
your arm to Jessie, and show us the way to the fort."
"If Miss Macnab," began Lumley, advancing, but his speech was here cut
short.
"Miss Macnab!" echoed the explosive Peter in a sarcastic shout, "call
her Jessie, man! who ever heard of a `_Miss_ Macnab' in the backwoods?
When men take to living in the wilderness, it's time to cast off all the
humbuggin' politenesses o' civilised life."
"Pardon me, Macnab," returned my friend, with more than his usual
urbanity, "I differ from you there."
"Oh, ay, I daresay ye do," interrupted the other. "It's been said of
Scotsmen that `they can aye objec',' and I think it's equally true of
Englishmen that they can always differ!"
"Men who live in the wilderness," continued Lumley, merely answering the
interruption with a smile, "ought to be unusually particular about
keeping up all the politenesses of civilised life, instead of dropping
them, and ought to be inexpressibly thankful when a soft and civilising
influence, like Miss Macnab, condescends to visit them with a ray of
sunshine from the old country."
"Bravo, Lumley," cried Macnab, with a boisterous laugh, "that speech was
worthy of an Irishman! Call her what you like, my good fellow, so long
as you never call her too late for meals; but come along now and let's
have something to eat, for I'm famishing."
By this time the Indian with the sled had joined us, so we all went off
to the fort in a state of boisterous joy, of which those unfortunates
who have never been banished from their fellows for months--or for
years--can form no conception. As dinner was opportunely smoking on the
table when we entered the hall, our visitor's hilarity was, if possible,
increased. Moreover, we had company that New Year's Day, for a knife
and fork had been laid in the hall for every man at the fort. You see,
Lumley was a strict disciplinarian, and, therefore, could afford at
special times to relax without loss of dignity and with a great increase
of good-will on the part of all under him. At all other times we and
the men--excepting our guide--messed apart; but on Christmas and New
Year's Days all distinctions were laid aside, discipline was relaxed,
and we acted on the principle of that brotherhood which is based upon
the assumption that all men have the same objects in life and the same
hopes after death. That morning we had all played football on the ice
together, had slidden and tumbled down the snow-slope together, and now
we were about to mess together in the hall. Still further, our company
was to be increased, and our festive board to be graced, by the presence
of Waboose and her mother. Little had we imagined, when all this was
planned, that we were to have the addition of our old friend Macnab, and
that glorious beam from the sun of civilisation, his sister Jessie!
I will, however, make but brief reference to this festive occasion, and
proceed to tell of an event which created an unexpected sensation in our
little community, and might have closed our New Year's Day amusements
with a terrible tragedy.
After dinner we circled round the blazing fire and enjoyed ourselves
listening to Macnab, who had a happy facility in giving a graphic
account of his sledge journey from the Mountain Fort--his recently built
trading-post--to Fort Wichikagan, and I observed particularly that the
presence of a lady among us had a most wonderful and irresistible
influence in softening the tones and the manners of all.
As the evening advanced tea was introduced--we had nothing stronger, and
did not, indeed, feel any desire for fire-water. Under the inspiriting
influence of this beverage, several of our men were induced to tell
stories, which were more or less humorous.
During the meal--at which Lumley insisted that "Miss Macnab" should
preside, to the immense disgust of Salamander--I observed that the
dark-haired white girl and the fair-haired Indian, drew very closely
together. It appeared to me that they had fallen in love with each
other at first sight, a fact which afforded me lively satisfaction,
though I had no very clear perception as to why it should do so.
Songs naturally followed the cheering cup, and at this point Lumley
became unusually bold.
"I wonder," he said, with a peculiar air of modesty which somewhat
puzzled me, "if I may venture to ask Miss Macnab for a song."
"Ha! ha!" shouted her brother, before she could reply, "you _may_
venture to ask, my boy, but you'll find it difficult to draw a song out
of Jessie. Why, she never could sing a note!"
"I've a good mind to sing now, Peter," said the girl with a laugh, "just
to prove that you are a false man."
"No, no, Jessie, spare me," returned the Highlander, "but get out your
accordion, and--"
"Accordion!" almost shouted Lumley, "do you play the accordion? Have
you really got one here?"
It is but right to say, in justification of Lumley's enthusiasm, that
music of any kind was so seldom heard in those wilds, that the mere
prospect of hearing good music excited us, for of course our natural
thought was that a girl like Jessie Macnab could not perform anything
but good music.
As she rose to go for the instrument to Salamander's room--which had
been made over to her--a growling Gaelic exclamation made me aware of
the fact that the faces of Donald Bane and James Dougall were beaming
with hope, mingled with admiration of their countrywoman. She had
naturally paid these men a good deal of attention, and, in addition to
her other good qualities, spoke their native tongue fluently. As
Dougall afterwards said, "She hes the Gaelic!"
On returning to the hall with the once familiar and well-remembered
instrument, I believe every man there felt a tendency to worship her.
But who shall describe the effect produced when she began to play, with
the utmost facility and with deep feeling, one of the most beautiful of
the plaintive Scottish melodies? Bane and Dougall shaded their rugged
faces with their rugged hands to hide the tears that could not be
restrained. Lumley, whose mind, although untouched by associations, was
peculiarly susceptible to sweet sounds, sat entranced. So did Big
Otter, who could only glare; because instrument, tune, and performer,
were alike new and magical to him. Even Salamander forgot his jealousy
and almost collapsed with wonder. As for Dumont, Coppet, and the
others--they clasped their hands, opened their eyes and mouths, and
simply drank it in.
There was no applause when the air ceased, but a deep sigh from every
one seemed to be the indication of a return to ordinary consciousness.
Waboose and her mother did not sigh, however. They sat still and gazed
in silent wonder. Jessie Macnab, with a slight blush at the unexpected
effect, ran her fingers lightly over the keys of her instrument, and
then suddenly began to play a Highland reel with tremendous vigour!
If an electric shock had traversed the marrow or our backbones, the
result could not have been more surprising.
"Wow! Tougall, man!" exclaimed Bane, starting up and flinging away his
chair.
Dougall said nothing, but he uttered a Celtic yell suggestive of war and
all its horrors to Big Otter, and, starting up, began the Highland fling
opposite to his friend in the most violent manner. As I was not a bad
dancer of Scots' reels myself, and the music had caused me also to boil
over, I started up likewise and faced Macnab, who, being equally
affected, stood up to me in a moment, and away we went, hammer and
tongs, with stamp and whoop and snap of finger--oh! the scene is
indescribable. Indeed, I may say that to an ordinary civilised man who
never saw it, the scene is inconceivable, so--we will pass on.
While these stirring events were taking place inside the hall, a
black-faced, red-painted savage was flattening his ugly nose against a
pane of glass outside one of the windows. It was Attick, whom our chief
had convicted of stealing about the time of our arrival. That
unpleasant savage had never forgiven Lumley, and, being exceedingly
vindictive, had resolved to murder him! With this end in view, he had
been prowling about the place for several days, having arrived with a
band of his tribe who had assembled at Christmas-time to enjoy some of
the good cheer which they understood to be going at that season among
the pale-faces.
On New Year's night unknown to his comrades--for it was his intention to
do the deed secretly, and leave the imputation upon all--he watched his
opportunity, and thought he had found it when, after the dance was over
and the guests had retired, he saw Lumley seated by the fire in
conversation with the newly-arrived pale-face girl. Macnab and I had
gone with the men to their house for some purpose--I forget what--so
that the two were left alone.
Attick might easily have opened the door and shot his victim, but the
report, he knew, would have roused every one; besides, his absence at
the moment and his dirty gun would have betrayed him to his comrades;
so, being a strong man, he preferred the scalping-knife, with the use of
which he was of course familiar.
Now, it chanced that there hung a small looking-glass over the hall
fireplace. In that glass Lumley could see not only himself, but the
door and windows of the room behind him, as he sat chatting with Jessie
Macnab. Happening to glance into the glass, he observed the flattened
nose of Attick on the window-pane with the glaring eyes above it. A
_tete-a-tete_ with the fair Jessie was too pleasant, however, to be
interrupted by such a trifle; he therefore continued the conversation,
though he kept a sharp look-out behind him. Presently he saw the door
open--open so gently that it gave forth no sound. Immediately after, a
blackened and savage head appeared with a diabolical expression on the
countenance. It was followed slowly by a hand in which a gleaming knife
was clutched. Lumley now fully understood what was meditated, for he
recognised Attick through his war-paint. He did not move, however, for
he felt that if he sprang up too soon the savage could easily leap back
through the doorway and escape into the dark woods. He therefore laid
strong constraint on himself and waited.
Miss Macnab's back was turned to the savage, but not having the
advantage of the glass, she could not see him, and continued her
pleasant prattle. Like a dark, noiseless shadow, the Indian advanced,
and raised his knife.
"Then you like this wilderness life?" asked Jessie, at that moment.
"Yes, I confess, Miss Macnab, that it has its charms as well as its
disagreeables--the utter want of society being the worst of the latter."
"I should have thought," said the girl, looking up, "that you--but--
but--why do you gaze and frown so fiercely at that--"
She was promptly answered, for Lumley sprang up at the moment with
panther-like agility, wheeled round, seized the uplifted arm, and, with
a wrench so violent as to break it, he hurled the savage to the ground.
Jessie Macnab sprang up in consternation, but did not give way to that
supposed female-in-alarm necessity--a scream. At the same moment Macnab
and I entered.
"Hallo! Lumley. What's all this?" cried Macnab. "Nobody hurt, I
hope?"
"I fear the Indian is hurt somewhat," said our chief, looking down at
his enemy, who lay stunned upon the floor. "Go, Max, assemble our men
and fetch all the Indians."
In a few minutes all were assembled in the hall, when Lumley, in a low,
stern voice, related what had occurred, appealing to Jessie to
corroborate what he said.
"Now," he added in conclusion, turning to the Indians, "I have no
quarrel with you. There lies your comrade. He has forfeited his life
to me, but I forgive him. Take him away."
Lumley said no more, as, in solemn surprise and silence, the Indians
lifted up their comrade and bore him out of the hall; but he took good
care to make no reference whatever to the looking-glass, and I verily
believe that to this day it is believed by the red-men of that region
that Lumley has eyes in the back of his head.