Once more I change the scene, from the wild regions of the north to the
little less wild lands of Colorado.
On a certain bright forenoon in Autumn I stood in the doorway of Sunny
Creek Cottage watching a clumsy vehicle as it laboured slowly up the
hill. I was alone that day, old Mrs Liston, Eve, and "Aunt Temple"
having gone off in the waggon for a long drive to visit a relative with
hunting proclivities, who had built himself a log-hut in a ravine of the
neighbouring mountains, that he might be in closer proximity to the
bears and deer.
With some curiosity I approached the lumbering machine to assist the
occupant, who seemed unable, or too impatient, to open the door. It was
a stiff door, and swung open with a jerk which caused the occupant's hat
to fall off, and reveal a bald head.
"Father!" I gasped.
"Punch, my boy!"
The dear old man tripped in his haste to get down, plunged into my
bosom, threw his arms round my neck to save himself, and almost bore me
to the ground. Neither of us being demonstrative in our affections,
this unpremeditated, not to say unintentional, embrace I felt to be
quite touching. My father obviously resolved to make the most of his
opportunities, for he gave me a thoroughly exhaustive hug before
releasing me.
"I--I--didn't m-mean," said my father, blazing with excitement, and
gasping with a mingled tendency to laugh and weep, "didn't mean to come
it quite so strong, P-Punch, my boy, b-but you'll make allowance for a
momentary weakness. I'm getting an old man, Punch. What makes you grin
so, you backwoods koonisquat?"
The last sentence, with its opprobrious epithet (coined on the spot),
was addressed with sudden asperity to the driver of the clumsy vehicle,
who was seated on his box, with mouth expanded from ear to ear.
"Wall, stranger, if you will insist on knowin'," said he, "It's sympathy
that makes me grin. I _do_ like to see human natur' out of its
go-to-meetin' togs, with its saddle off, an' no bridal on, spurtin'
around in gushin' simplicity. But you're wrong, stranger," continued
the driver, with a grave look, "quite wrong in callin' me a koonisquat.
I _have_ dropt in the social scale, but I ain't got quite so low as
that, I guess, by a long chalk."
"Well, you compound of Welshman and Yankee, be off and refresh
yourself," returned my father, putting an extra dollar, over and above
his fare, into the man's hand, "but don't consume it on your filthy
fire-water cock-tails, or gin-slings, or any other kind of sling-tails.
If you must drink, take it out in strong hot coffee."
The man drove off, still grinning, and I hurried my father into the
cottage where, while I set before him a good luncheon, he gave me a
wildly rambling and interjectional account of his proceedings since the
date of his last letter to me.
"But why did you take me by surprise in this way, dear daddy; why didn't
you let me know you were coming?"
"Because I like to take people by surprise, especially ill-doing
scapegraces like--by the way," said my father, suddenly laying down his
knife and fork, "where is she?"
"Where is who?"
"She--her, of course; the--the girl, the Hottentot, the savage. Oh!
George, what an ass you are!"
"If you mean Eve, sir," said I, "she is away from home--and everybody
else along with her. That comes of your taking people by surprise, you
see. Nobody prepared to receive you; nothing ready. No sheets aired
even."
"Well, well, Punch, my boy, don't be sharp with your old father. I
won't offend again. By the way," he added, quickly, "you're not married
_yet_? eh?"
"No, not yet."
"Ah!" said my father with a sigh of relief, as he resumed his knife and
fork, "then there's the barest chance of a possibility that if--but
you've asked her to marry you, eh?"
"Yes, I have asked her."
"And she has accepted you?"
"Yes, she has accepted me. I wrote all that to you long ago."
"Ah!" said my father, with a profound sigh of resignation, "then there
is _no_ chance of a possibility, for if a man tries to win the
affections of a girl and succeeds, he is bound in honour to marry her--
even though he were the Emperor of China, and she a--a Hottentot. Now,
Punch, I have made up my mind to like the girl, even though she painted
scarlet circles round her eyes, and smeared her nose with sky-blue--but
you _must_ let your poor old father blow off the steam, for you have
been such a--a donkey!--such a hasty, impatient, sentimental, romantic
idiot, that--another glass of that milk, my boy. Thank'ee, where do you
get it? Beats English milk hollow."
"Got it from one of our numerous cows, daddy," said I, with a short
laugh at this violent change of the subject, "and my Eve made the
butter."
"Did she, indeed? Well, I'm glad she's fit for even that small amount
of civilised labour; but you have not told me yet when I shall see her?"
"That is a question I cannot exactly answer," said I, "but you will at
all events be introduced to-night to her father's mother, and her cousin
(whom we call aunt), as well as to a young lady--a Miss Waboose--who is
staying with us at present. And now, father," I added, "come, and we'll
have a stroll round the farm. I don't expect the ladies back till
evening. Meanwhile, I want you to do me a favour; to humour what I may
call a whim."
"If it's not a very silly one, Punch, I'll do it, though I have not much
confidence in your wisdom _now_."
"It is simply that you should agree, for this night only, to pass
yourself off for a very old friend of mine. You need not tell fibs, or
give a false name. You are a namesake, you know. There are lots of
Maxbys in the world!"
"Weak, my boy; decidedly weak. They'll be sure to see through it and I
won't be able to recollect not to call you Punch."
"No matter. Call me Punch. I'll tell them you are a very familiar old
friend--a sort of relation, too, which will account for the name."
"Well, well," said my father, with a smile of pity, "I'll not object to
humour your whim, but it's weak--worthy of a man who could engage
himself to a miserable red-Indian Hottentot!"
This being finally settled, and my father having been pretty well
exhausted by his ramble round the farm, I set him down on the rustic
chair with a newspaper and left him, saying that I should be back in an
hour or so.
I knew the road by which the waggon was to return, walked along it
several miles, and then waited. Soon it drove up to the spot where I
stood. They were surprised to see me, but more surprised when I ordered
the ladies to get out, and walk with me, while the coachman drove on
slowly in advance.
Then I hurriedly told of my father's arrival, and explained more fully
than I had yet ventured to do his misconceptions and prejudices as to
Eve. "Now, I want you all," said I, "to help me to remove these
prejudices and misconceptions as quickly as possible by falling in with
my little plans."
Hereupon I explained that my father was to be introduced as an old
friend and namesake, while Eve was to be presented to him as a visitor
at the cottage named Miss Waboose. I had feared that old Mrs Liston
would not enter into my plan, but found that, on the contrary, having a
strong sense of humour, she quite enjoyed the notion of it. So did Aunt
Temple, but Eve herself felt doubtful of her ability to act out her
part. I had no doubt on that point, for she had undertaken it, and well
did I know that whatever Eve undertook she could, and would, accomplish.
It might be tedious to recount in detail the scenes that followed. The
dear old man was charmed with Miss Waboose--as I had fully expected--and
Miss Waboose was more than charmed with the dear old man! So that when
we bade the ladies good-night, he kissed her fair forehead with quite
fatherly tenderness.
When I conducted the old man to his room I was struck, and made quite
anxious, by the disconsolate expression of his face, and asked earnestly
what was wrong.
"Wrong!" he exclaimed, almost petulantly. "Everything's wrong. More
particularly, _you_ are wrong. Oh, George, I _can't_ get over it. To
think that you are tied hard and fast--_irrevocably_--to--a red-Indian--
a painted savage--a Hottentot. It is too--too bad!"
He kicked off one of his shoes so viciously at this point, that it went
straight into, and smashed, a looking-glass; but he didn't seem to care
a straw for that. He did not even condescend to notice it.
"And to think, too," he continued, "that you might have had that
adorable young lady, Miss Waboose, who--in spite of her heathenish
name--is the most charming, artless, modest young creature I ever saw.
Oh! Punch, Punch, what a consummate idiot you have been."
It was impossible to help laughing at my poor father's comical
expression of chagrin, as he sat on the edge of his bed, slapped his
hands down on both knees and looked up in my face.
"Excuse me, daddy, but what ground have you for supposing that Miss
Waboose would accept me, even if I were free to ask her hand?"
"Ground? Why the ground that she is fond of you. Any man with half an
eye could see that, by the way she looks at and speaks to you. Of
course you have not observed that. I trust, my boy, you are too
honourable to have encouraged it. Nevertheless, it is a fact--a
miserable, tantalising, exasperating fact--a maddening fact, now that
that hideous red-Indian--Hottentot stands in the way."
"That red-Indian--Hottentot," said I, unable any longer to cause my dear
father so much pain, "does _not_ stand in the way, for I am happy to
tell you that Miss Waboose and Eve are one and the same person."
"Come, come, Punch," returned my parent, testily, "I'm in no humour for
jesting. Go away, and let me get to bed and pillow my head on oblivion
if possible."
I do assure you, reader, that I had no slight difficulty in persuading
my father that Eve Liston and Waboose were really the same person.
"But the girl's _fair_," objected my father, when the truth began to
force an entrance.
"Yes--`passing fair,'" said I.
"And with blue eyes and golden hair!" said he.
"Even so," said I.
"No more like a savage than I am?" said my father.
"Much less so," said I.
When at length he did take in the fact, he flung his arms round my neck
for the second time that day, and did his best to strangle me. Then,
under a sudden impulse, he thrust me out into the passage and shut and
locked the door.
"You won't pillow your head on oblivion now, will you, daddy?" I asked
through the keyhole.
"Get away, you deceiver!" was the curt reply.
But surprises did not come singly at that time. Call it a miracle, or a
coincidence, or what you will, it is a singular fact that, on the very
next day, there arrived at Sunny Creek cottage four travellers--namely,
Jack Lumley, the black-haired pale-face, Peter Macnab, and Big Otter.
On beholding each other, Jessie Lumley and Eve Liston, uttering each a
little shriek, rushed into each other's arms, and straightway, for the
space of five minutes, became a human amalgam.
"Not too late, I hope?" said Lumley, after the first excitement of
meeting was over.
"Too late for what?" said I.
"For the wedding, of course," said he.
"By no means. It is fixed for this day three weeks."
"Good--Jessie and I will have the knot tightened a little on the same
day by the same man."
"Wind and weather permitting," said Macnab, with his wonted irreverence.
"Now, Maxby, my boy, take us into the house, and introduce us to old
Mrs Liston. But what splendid creature is this coming towards us?"
"Why that's Aunt Temple," I whispered, as she came forward. "Let me
introduce you, aunt, to Mr Macnab--the jolly fur-trader of whom you
have heard me speak so often and so much."
Macnab made a profound obeisance, and Aunt Temple returned a dignified
bow, expressing herself, "much pleased to make the acquaintance,"
etcetera, and saying that Mrs Liston, being unable to come out to greet
them, was anxious that we should enter. "Particularly Big Otter," said
Aunt Temple, turning to the grave chief, "for whom she has a very great
regard."
Thus invited and specially complimented, our tall Indian stooped to
enter the cottage door, but not being accustomed to the wooden wigwams
of the pale-faces, he did not stoop low enough, struck his head against
the top, and rather damaged an eagle's feather, with which his hair was
decorated.
Nothing, almost, could upset the dignity and imperturbable gravity of
Big Otter. He stooped lower to conquer the difficulty, and when inside
drew himself up to his full height, so that the eagle's feather touched
the ceiling, and tickled up some flies that were reposing in fancied
security there.
Glancing round till his black eyes caught sight of old Mrs Liston in a
darkish corner on a sofa, he stepped forward, and, stooping to grasp one
of her small hands in both of his, said tenderly--"Watchee."
"What cheer--what cheer?" said the accommodating old lady, responding to
the salutation in kind. "Tell him, George, that I'm _so_ happy to see
once again the friend of my beloved William."
"Big Otter rejoices to meet again the mother of Weeum," replied the
Indian.
"And tell him," said Mrs Listen, "that I hope he has now come to stay
with us altogether."
The Indian smiled gravely, and shook his head, intimating that the
question required consideration.
When the other members of the party were introduced--Jessie and Eve
having been separated for the purpose--we all adjourned to the verandah
to interchange news.
Need it be said that we had much to hear and tell? I think not.
Neither need the fact be enlarged on, that we all retired late that
night, in a state of supreme felicity and mental exhaustion.
There was one exception, however, as regards the felicity, for Mrs
Liston, out of regard for the friend of her darling William, insisted
that Big Otter should occupy the best bedroom on the ground floor. The
result was eminently unsatisfactory, for Big Otter was not accustomed to
best bedrooms. Eve conducted the Indian to his room. He cared nothing
for his comfort, and was prepared humbly to do whatever he was bid. He
silently followed her and looked round the room with open-mouthed wonder
as she pointed to his bed and, with a pleasant nod, left him.
Resting his gun in a corner--for he never parted with that weapon night
or day--and laying his powder-horn and shot-pouch on the ground, he drew
his tomahawk and scalping-knife, and was about to deposit them beside
the horn, when his eye suddenly fell on a gigantic Indian crouching, as
if on the point of springing on him. Like lightning he sprang erect.
Then an expression of intense humility and shame covered his grave
features on discovering that a large mirror had presented him with a
full-length portrait of himself! A sort of pitiful smile curled his lip
as he took off his hunting coat. Being now in his ordinary sleeping
costume he approached the bed, but did not like the look of it. No
wonder! Besides being obviously too short, it had white curtains with
frills or flounces of some sort, with various tags and tassels around,
and it did not look strong. He sat cautiously down on the side of it,
however, and put one leg in. The sheets felt unpleasant to his naked
foot, but not being particular, he shoved it in, and was slowly letting
himself down on one elbow, when the bed creaked!
This was enough. Big Otter was brave to rashness in facing known
danger, but he was too wise to risk his body on the unknown! Drawing
forth his leg he stood up again, and glanced round the room. There was
a small dressing-table opposite the bed; beside it was the large glass
which had given him such a surprise. Further on a washhand-stand with a
towel-rack beside it, but there was no spot on which he could stretch
his bulky frame save the middle of the floor. Calmly he lay down on
that, having previously pulled off all the bedclothes in a heap and
selected therefrom a single blanket. Pillowing his head on a footstool,
he tried to sleep, but the effort was vain. There was a want of air--a
dreadful silence, as if he had been buried alive--no tinkling of water,
or rustling of leaves, or roar of cataract. It was insupportable. He
got up and tried to open the door, but the handle was a mystery which he
could not unriddle. There was a window behind the dressing-table. He
examined that, overturning and extinguishing the candle in the act. But
that was nothing. The stars gave enough of light. Fortunately the
window was a simple cottage one, which opened inwards with a pull. He
put on his coat and belt, resumed his arms, and, putting his long leg
over the sill, once more stood on his native soil and breathed the pure
air! Quietly gliding round the house, he found a clump of bushes with a
footpath leading through it. There he laid him down, enveloped in one
of Mrs Liston's best blankets, and there he was found next morning in
tranquil slumber by our domestic when she went to milk the cows!
Before the three weeks were over Peter Macnab almost paralysed Aunt
Temple by a cool proposal that she should exchange the civilised
settlements for the wilderness, and go back with him, as Mrs Macnab, to
the Mountain Fort! The lady, recovering from her semi-paralytic
affection, agreed to the suggestion, and thus Peter Macnab was,
according to his own statement, "set up for life."
Shall I dwell on the triple wedding? No. Why worry the indulgent
reader, or irritate the irascible one, by recounting what is so
universally understood. There were circumstances peculiar, no doubt to
the special occasion. To Eve and myself, of course, it was the most
important day of our lives--a day never to be forgotten; and for which
we could never be too thankful, and my dear father pronounced it the
happiest day of _his_ life; but I think he forgot himself a little when
he said that! Then old Mrs Liston saw but one face the whole evening,
and it was the face of Willie--she saw it by faith, through the medium
of Eve's sweet countenance.
But I must cut matters short. When all was over, Macnab said to his
wife:--
"Now, my dear, we must be off at the end of one week. You see, I have
just one year's furlough, and part of it is gone already. The rest of
it, you and I must spend partly in the States, partly in England, and
partly on the continent of Europe, so that we may return to the Great
Nor'-west with our brains well stored with material for small talk
during an eight or nine months' winter."
Aunt Macnab had no objection. Accordingly, that day week he and she
bade us all good-bye and left us. Big Otter was to go with them part of
the way, and then diverge into the wilderness. He remained a few
minutes behind the others to say farewell.
"You will come and settle beside us at last, I hope," said Mrs Liston,
squeezing the red-man's hand.
The Indian stood gently stroking the arched neck of his magnificent
horse in silence for a few moments. Then he said, in a low voice:--
"Big Otter's heart is with the pale-faces, but he cannot change the
nature which has been given to him by the Great Master of Life. He
cannot live with the pale-faces. He will dwell where his fathers have
dwelt, and live as his fathers have lived, for he loves the great free
wilderness. Yet in the memory of his heart the mother of Weeum will
live, and Waboose and Muxbee, and the tall pale-face chief, who won the
hearts of the red-men by his justice and his love. The dark-haired
pale-face, too, will never be forgotten. Each year, as it goes and
comes, Big Otter will come again to Sunny Creek about the time that the
plovers whistle in the air. He will come and go, till his blood grows
cold and his limbs are frail. After that he will meet you all, with
Weeum, in the bright Land of Joy, where the Great Master of Life dwells
for evermore. Farewell!"
He vaulted on his steed at the last word, and, putting it to the gallop,
returned to his beloved wilderness in the Great Nor'-west.