The old fur-trader endeavours to “fix” his son’s “flint,” and finds the
thing more difficult to do than he expected.
Near the centre of the colony of Red River, the stream from which the
settlement derives its name is joined by another, called the
Assiniboine. About five or six hundred yards from the point where this
union takes place, and on the banks of the latter stream, stands the
Hudson’s Bay Company’s trading-post, Fort Garry. It is a massive square
building of stone. Four high and thick walls enclose a space of ground
on which are built six or eight wooden houses, some of which are used
as dwellings for the servants of the Hudson’s Bay Company, and others
as stores, wherein are contained the furs, the provisions which are
sent annually to various parts of the country, and the goods (such as
cloth, guns, powder and shot, blankets, twine, axes, knives, etc.,
etc.) with which the fur-trade is carried on. Although Red River is a
peaceful colony, and not at all likely to be assaulted by the poor
Indians, it was, nevertheless, deemed prudent by the traders to make
some show of power; and so at the corners of the fort four round
bastions of a very imposing appearance were built, from the embrasures
of which several large black-muzzled guns protruded. No one ever
conceived the idea of firing these engines of war; and, indeed, it is
highly probable that such an attempt would have been attended with
consequences much more dreadful to those _behind_ than to those who
might chance to be in front of the guns. Nevertheless they were
imposing, and harmonised well with the flag-staff, which was the only
other military symptom about the place. This latter was used on
particular occasions, such as the arrival or departure of a brigade of
boats, for the purpose of displaying the folds of a red flag on which
were the letters H. B. C.
The fort stood, as we have said, on the banks of the Assiniboine River,
on the opposite side of which the land was somewhat wooded, though not
heavily, with oak, maple, poplar, aspens, and willows; while at the
back of the fort the great prairie rolled out like a green sea to the
horizon, and far beyond that again to the base of the Rocky mountains.
The plains at this time, however, were a sheet of unbroken snow, and
the river a mass of solid ice.
It was noon on the day following that on which our friend Charley had
threatened rebellion, when a tall elderly man might have been seen
standing at the back gate of Fort Garry, gazing wistfully out into the
prairie in the direction of the lower part of the settlement. He was
watching a small speck which moved rapidly over the snow in the
direction of the fort.
“It’s very like our friend Frank Kennedy,” said he to himself (at least
we presume so, for there was no one else within earshot to whom he
could have said it, except the door-post, which every one knows is
proverbially a deaf subject). “No man in the settlement drives so
furiously. I shouldn’t wonder if he ran against the corner of the new
fence now. Ha! just so—there he goes!”
And truly the reckless driver did “go” just at that moment. He came up
to the corner of the new fence, where the road took a rather abrupt
turn, in a style that insured a capsize. In another second the spirited
horse turned sharp round, the sleigh turned sharp over, and the
occupant was pitched out at full length, while a black object, that
might have been mistaken for his hat, rose from his side like a rocket,
and, flying over him, landed on the snow several yards beyond. A faint
shout was heard to float on the breeze as this catastrophe occurred,
and the driver was seen to jump up and readjust himself in the cariole;
while the other black object proved itself not to be a hat, by getting
hastily up on a pair of legs, and scrambling back to the seat from
which it had been so unceremoniously ejected.
In a few minutes more the cheerful tinkling of the merry sleigh-bells
was heard, and Frank Kennedy, accompanied by his hopeful son Charles,
dashed up to the gate, and pulled up with a jerk.
“Ha! Grant, my fine fellow, how are you?” exclaimed Mr. Kennedy,
senior, as he disengaged himself from the heavy folds of the buffalo
robe and shook the snow from his greatcoat. “Why on earth, man, don’t
you put up a sign-post and a board to warn travellers that you’ve been
running out new fences and changing the road, eh?”
“Why, my good friend,” said Mr. Grant, smiling, “the fence and the road
are of themselves pretty conclusive proof to most men that the road is
changed; and, besides, we don’t often have people driving round corners
at full gallop; but—”
“Hollo! Charley, you rascal,” interrupted Mr. Kennedy—“here, take the
mare to the stable, and don’t drive her too fast. Mind, now, no going
off upon the wrong road for the sake of a drive, you understand.”
“All right, father,” exclaimed the boy, while a bright smile lit up his
features and displayed two rows of white teeth: “I’ll be particularly
careful,” and he sprang into the light vehicle, seized the reins, and
with a sharp crack of the whip dashed down the road at a hard gallop.
“He’s a fine fellow that son of yours,” said Mr. Grant, “and will make
a first-rate fur-trader.”
“Pur-trader!” exclaimed Mr. Kennedy. “Just look at him! I’ll be shot if
he isn’t thrashing the mare as if she were made of leather.” The old
man’s ire was rising rapidly as he heard the whip crack every now and
then, and saw the mare bound madly over the snow. “And see!” he
continued, “I declare he _has_ taken the wrong turn after all.”
“True,” said Mr. Grant: “he’ll never reach the stable by that road;
he’s much more likely to visit the White-horse Plains. But come,
friend, it’s of no use fretting, Charley will soon tire of his ride; so
come with me to my room and have a pipe before dinner.”
Old Mr. Kennedy gave a short groan of despair, shook his fist at the
form of his retreating son, and accompanied his friend to the house.
It must not be supposed that Frank Kennedy was very deeply offended
with his son, although he did shower on him a considerable amount of
abuse. On the contrary, he loved him very much. But it was the old
man’s nature to give way to little bursts of passion on almost every
occasion in which his feelings were at all excited. These bursts,
however, were like the little puffs that ripple the surface of the sea
on a calm summer’s day. They were over in a second, and left his
good-humoured, rough, candid countenance in unruffled serenity. Charley
knew this well, and loved his father tenderly, so that his conscience
frequently smote him for raising his anger so often; and he over and
over again promised his sister Kate to do his best to refrain from
doing anything that was likely to annoy the old man in future. But,
alas! Charley’s resolves, like those of many other boys, were soon
forgotten, and his father’s equanimity was upset generally two or three
times a day; but after the gust was over, the fur-trader would kiss his
son, call him a “rascal,” and send him off to fill and fetch his pipe.
Mr. Grant, who was in charge of Fort Garry, led the way to his smoking
apartment, where the two were soon seated in front of a roaring
log-fire, emulating each other in the manufacture of smoke.
“Well, Kennedy,” said Mr. Grant, throwing himself back in his chair,
elevating his chin, and emitting a long thin stream of white vapour
from his lips, through which he gazed at his friend complacently—“well,
Kennedy, to what fortunate chance am I indebted for this visit? It is
not often that we have the pleasure of seeing you here.”
Mr. Kennedy created two large volumes of smoke, which, by means of a
vigorous puff, he sent rolling over towards his friend, and said,
“Charley.”
“And what of Charley?” said Mr. Grant with a smile, for he was well
aware of the boy’s propensity to fun, and of the father’s desire to
curb it.
“The fact is,” replied Kennedy, “that Charley must be broke. He’s the
wildest colt I ever had to tame, but I’ll do it—I will—that’s a fact.”
If Charley’s subjugation had depended on the rapidity with which the
little white clouds proceeded from his sire’s mouth, there is no doubt
that it would have been a “fact” in a very short time, for they rushed
from him with the violence of a high wind. Long habit had made the old
trader and his pipe not only inseparable companions, but part and
parcel of each other—so intimately connected that a change in the one
was sure to produce a sympathetic change in the other. In the present
instance, the little clouds rapidly increased in size and number as the
old gentleman thought on the obstinacy of his “colt.”
“Yes,” he continued, after a moment’s silence, “I’ve made up my mind to
tame him, and I want _you_, Mr. Grant, to help me.”
Mr. Grant looked as if he would rather not undertake to lend his aid in
a work that was evidently difficult; but being a good-natured man, he
said, “And how, friend, can I assist in the operation?”
“Well, you see, Charley’s a good fellow at bottom, and a clever fellow
too—at least so says the schoolmaster; though I must confess, that so
far as my experience goes, he’s only clever at finding out excuses for
not doing what I want him to. But still I’m told he’s clever, and can
use his pen well; and I know for certain that he can use his tongue
well. So I want to get him into the service, and have him placed in a
situation where he shall have to stick to his desk all day. In fact, I
want to have him broken into work; for you’ve no notion, sir, how that
boy talks about bears and buffaloes and badgers, and life in the woods
among the Indians. I do believe,” continued the old gentleman, waxing
warm, “that he would willingly go into the woods to-morrow, if I would
let him, and never show his nose in the settlement again. He’s quite
incorrigible. But I’ll tame him yet—I will!”
Mr. Kennedy followed this up with an indignant grunt, and a puff of
smoke, so thick, and propelled with such vigour, that it rolled and
curled in fantastic evolutions towards the ceiling, as if it were
unable to control itself with delight at the absolute certainty of
Charley being tamed at last.
Mr. Grant, however, shook his head, and remained for five minutes in
profound silence, during which time the two friends puffed in concert,
until they began to grow quite indistinct and ghost-like in the thick
atmosphere.
At last he broke silence.
“My opinion is that you’re wrong, Mr. Kennedy. No doubt you know the
disposition of your son better than I do; but even judging of it from
what you have said, I’m quite sure that a sedentary life will ruin
him.”
“Ruin him! Humbug!” said Kennedy, who never failed to express his
opinion at the shortest notice and in the plainest language—a fact so
well known by his friends that they had got into the habit of taking no
notice of it. “Humbug!” he repeated, “perfect humbug! You don’t mean to
tell me that the way to break him in is to let him run loose and wild
whenever and wherever he pleases?”
“By no means. But you may rest assured that tying him down won’t do
it.”
“Nonsense!” said Mr. Kennedy testily; “don’t tell me. Have I not broken
in young colts by the score? and don’t I know that the way to fix their
flints is to clap on a good strong curb?”
“If you had travelled farther south, friend,” replied Mr. Grant, “you
would have seen the Spaniards of Mexico break in their wild horses in a
very different way; for after catching one with a lasso, a fellow gets
on his back, and gives it the rein and the whip—ay, and the spur too;
and before that race is over, there is no need for a curb.”
“What!” exclaimed Kennedy, “and do you mean to argue from that, that I
should let Charley run—and _help_ him too? Send him off to the woods
with gun and blanket, canoe and tent, all complete?” The old gentleman
puffed a furious puff, and broke into a loud sarcastic laugh.
“No, no,” interrupted Mr. Grant; “I don’t exactly mean that, but I
think that you might give him his way for a year or so. He’s a fine,
active, generous fellow; and after the novelty wore off, he would be in
a much better frame of mind to listen to your proposals. Besides” (and
Mr. Grant smiled expressively), “Charley is somewhat like his father.
He has got a will of his own; and if you do not give him his way, I
very much fear that he’ll—”
“What?” inquired Mr. Kennedy abruptly.
“Take it,” said Mr. Grant.
The puff that burst from Mr. Kennedy’s lips on hearing this would have
done credit to a thirty-six pounder.
“Take it!” said he; “he’d _better_ not.”
The latter part of this speech was not in itself of a nature calculated
to convey much; but the tone of the old trader’s voice, the contraction
of his eyebrows, and above all the overwhelming flow of cloudlets that
followed, imparted to it a significance that induced the belief that
Charley’s taking his own way would be productive of more terrific
consequences than it was in the power of the most highly imaginative
man to conceive.
“There’s his sister Kate, now,” continued the old gentleman; “she’s as
gentle and biddable as a lamb. I’ve only to say a word, and she’s off
like a shot to do my bidding; and she does it with such a sweet smile
too.” There was a touch of pathos in the old trader’s voice as he said
this. He was a man of strong feeling, and as impulsive in his
tenderness as in his wrath. “But that rascal Charley,” he continued,
“is quite different. He’s obstinate as a mule. To be sure, he has a
good temper; and I must say for him he never goes into the sulks, which
is a comfort, for of all things in the world sulking is the most
childish and contemptible. He _generally_ does what I bid him, too. But
he’s _always_ getting into scrapes of one kind or other. And during the
last week, notwithstanding all I can say to him, he won’t admit that
the best thing for him is to get a place in your counting-room, with
the prospect of rapid promotion in the service. Very odd. I can’t
understand it at all;” and Mr. Kennedy heaved a deep sigh.
“Did you ever explain to him the prospects that he would have in the
situation you propose for him?” inquired Mr. Grant.
“Can’t say I ever did.”
“Did you ever point out the probable end of a life spent in the woods?”
“No.”
“Nor suggest to him that the appointment to the office here would only
be temporary, and to see how he got on in it?”
“Certainly not.”
“Then, my dear sir, I’m not surprised that Charley rebels. You have
left him to suppose that, once placed at the desk here, he is a
prisoner for life. But see, there he is,” said Mr. Grant, pointing as
he spoke towards the subject of their conversation, who was passing the
window at the moment; “let me call him, and I feel certain that he will
listen to reason in a few minutes.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Mr. Kennedy, “you may try.”
In another minute Charley had been summoned, and was seated, cap in
hand, near the door.
“Charley, my boy,” began Mr. Grant, standing with his back to the fire,
his feet pretty wide apart, and his coat-tails under his arms—“Charley,
my boy, your father has just been speaking of you. He is very anxious
that you should enter the service of the Hudson’s Bay Company; and as
you are a clever boy and a good penman, we think that you would be
likely to get on if placed for a year or so in our office here. I need
scarcely point out to you, my boy, that in such a position you would be
sure to obtain more rapid promotion than if you were placed in one of
the distant outposts, where you would have very little to do, and
perhaps little to eat, and no one to converse with except one or two
men. Of course, we would merely place you here on trial, to see how you
suited us; and if you prove steady and diligent, there is no saying how
fast you might get on. Why, you might even come to fill my place in
course of time. Come now, Charley, what think you of it?”
Charley’s eyes had been cast on the ground while Mr. Grant was
speaking. He now raised them, looked at his father, then at his
interrogator, and said,—
“It is very kind of you both to be so anxious about my prospects. I
thank you, indeed, very much; but I—a—”
“Don’t like the desk?” said his father, in an angry tone. “Is that it,
eh?”
Charley made no reply, but cast down his eyes again and smiled (Charley
had a sweet smile, a peculiarly sweet, candid smile), as if he meant to
say that his father had hit the nail quite on the top of the head that
time, and no mistake.
“But consider,” resumed Mr. Grant, “although you might probably be
pleased with an outpost life at first, you would be sure to grow weary
of it after the novelty wore off, and then you would wish with all your
heart to be back here again. Believe me, child, a trader’s life is a
very hard and not often a very satisfactory one—”
“Ay,” broke in the father, desirous, if possible, to help the argument,
“and you’ll find it a desperately wild, unsettled, roving sort of life,
too, let me tell you! full of dangers both from wild beast and wild
men—”
“Hush!” interrupted Mr. Grant, observing that the boy’s eyes kindled
when his father spoke of a wild, roving life, and wild beasts.—“Your
father does not mean that life at an outpost is wild and _interesting_
or _exciting_. He merely means that—a—it—”
Mr. Grant could not very well explain what it was that Mr. Kennedy
meant if he did not mean that, so he turned to him for help.
“Exactly so,” said that gentleman, taking a strong pull at the pipe for
inspiration. “It’s no ways interesting or exciting at all. It’s slow,
dull, and flat; a miserable sort of Robinson Crusoe life, with red
Indians and starvation constantly staring you in the face—”
“Besides,” said Mr. Grant, again interrupting the somewhat unfortunate
efforts of his friend, who seemed to have a happy facility in sending a
brilliant dash of romantic allusion across the dark side of his
picture—“besides, you’ll not have opportunity to amuse yourself, or to
read, as you’ll have no books, and you’ll have to work hard with your
hands oftentimes, like your men—”
“In fact,” broke in the impatient father, resolved, apparently, to
carry the point with a grand _coup_—“in fact, you’ll have to rough it,
as I did, when I went up the Mackenzie River district, where I was sent
to establish a new post, and had to travel for weeks and weeks through
a wild country, where none of us had ever been before; where we shot
our own meat, caught our own fish, and built our own house—and were
very near being murdered by the Indians; though, to be sure, afterwards
they became the most civil fellows in the country, and brought us
plenty of skins. Ay, lad, you’ll repent of your obstinacy when you come
to have to hunt your own dinner, as I’ve done many a day up the
Saskatchewan, where I’ve had to fight with red-skins and grizzly bears
and to chase the buffaloes over miles and miles of prairie on
rough-going nags till my bones ached and I scarce knew whether I sat
on—”
“Oh,” exclaimed Charley, starting to his feet, while his eyes flashed
and his chest heaved with emotion, “that’s the place for me,
father!—Do, please, Mr. Grant send me there, and I’ll work for you with
all my might!”
Frank Kennedy was not a man to stand this unexpected miscarriage of his
eloquence with equanimity. His first action was to throw his pipe at
the head of his enthusiastic boy; without worse effect, however, than
smashing it to atoms on the opposite wall. He then started up and
rushed towards his son, who, being near the door, retreated
precipitately and vanished.
“So,” said Mr. Grant, not very sure whether to laugh or be angry at the
result of their united efforts, “you’ve settled the question now, at
all events.”
Frank Kennedy said nothing, but filled another pipe, sat doggedly down
in front of the fire, and speedily enveloped himself, and his friend,
and all that the room contained, in thick, impenetrable clouds of
smoke.
Meanwhile his worthy son rushed off in a state of great glee. He had
often heard the voyageurs of Red River dilate on the delights of
roughing it in the woods, and his heart had bounded as they spoke of
dangers encountered and overcome among the rapids of the Far North, or
with the bears and bison-bulls of the prairie, but never till now had
he heard his father corroborate their testimony by a recital of his own
actual experience; and although the old gentleman’s intention was
undoubtedly to damp the boy’s spirit, his eloquence had exactly the
opposite effect—so that it was with a hop and a shout that he burst
into the counting-room, with the occupants of which Charley was a
special favourite.