The chase—The fight—Retribution—Low spirits and good news.
The tragical end of the consultation related in the last chapter had
the effect of immediately reconciling the disputants. With the
exception of four or five of the most depraved and discontented among
them, the Indians bore no particular ill-will to the unfortunate
principal of Stoney Creek; and although a good deal disappointed to
find that he was a stern, unyielding trader, they had, in reality, no
intention of coming to a serious rupture with him, much less of laying
violent hands either upon master or men of the establishment.
When, therefore, they beheld Mr. Whyte weltering in his blood at their
feet, a sacrifice to the ungovernable passion of Misconna, who was by
no means a favourite among his brethren, their temporary anger was
instantly dissipated, and a feeling of deepest indignation roused in
their bosoms against the miserable assassin who had perpetrated the
base and cowardly murder. It was, therefore, with a yell of rage that
several of the band, immediately after the victim fell, sprang into the
woods in hot pursuit of him, whom they now counted their enemy. They
were joined by several men belonging to the fort, who had hastened to
the scene of action on hearing that the people in the hall were likely
to come to blows. Redfeather was the first who had bounded like a deer
into the woods in pursuit of the fugitive. Those who remained assisted
Charley and his friends to convey the body of Mr. Whyte into an
adjoining room, where they placed him on a bed. He was quite dead, the
murderer’s aim having been terribly true.
Finding that he was past all human aid, the young men returned to the
hall, which they entered just as Redfeather glided quickly through the
open doorway, and, approaching the group, stood in silence beside them,
with his arms folded on his breast.
“You have something to tell, Redfeather,” said Jacques, in a subdued
tone, after regarding him a few seconds. “Is the scoundrel caught?”
“Misconna’s foot is swift,” replied the Indian, “and the wood is thick.
It is wasting time to follow him through the bushes.”
“What would you advise then?” exclaimed Charley, in a hurried voice. “I
see that you have some plan to propose.”
“The wood is thick,” answered Redfeather, “but the lake and the river
are open. Let one party go by the lake, and one party by the river.”
“That’s it, that’s it, Injin,” interrupted Jacques, energetically;
“your wits are always jumpin’. By crosin’ over to Duck River, we can
start at a point five or six miles above the lower fall, an’ as it’s
thereabouts he must cross, we’ll be time enough to catch him. If he
tries the lake, the other party’ll fix him there; and he’ll be soon
poked up if he tries to hide in the bush.”
“Come, then; we’ll all give chase at once,” cried Charley, feeling a
temporary relief in the prospect of energetic action from the
depressing effects of the calamity that had so suddenly befallen him in
the loss of his chief and friend.
Little time was needed for preparation. Jacques, Charley, and Harry
proceeded by the river; while Redfeather and Hamilton, with a couple of
men, launched their canoe on the lake and set off in pursuit.
Crossing the country for about a mile, Jacques led his party to the
point on the Duck River to which he had previously referred. Here they
found two canoes, into one of which the guide stepped with one of the
men, a Canadian, who had accompanied them, while Harry and Charley
embarked in the other. In a few minutes they were rapidly descending
the stream.
“How do you mean to act, Jacques?” inquired Charley, as he paddled
alongside of the guide’s canoe. “Is it not likely that Misconna may
have crossed the river already? in which case we shall have no chance
of catching him.”
“Niver fear,” returned Jacques. “He must have longer legs than most men
if he gets to the flat-rock fall before us, an’ as that’s the spot
where he’ll nat’rally cross the river, being the only straight line for
the hills that escapes the bend o’ the bay to the south o’ Stoney
Creek, we’re pretty sartin to stop him there.”
“True; but that being, as you say, the _natural_ route, don’t you think
it likely he’ll expect that it will be guarded, and avoid it
accordingly?”
“He _would_ do so, Mister Charles, if he thought we were _here_; but
there are two reasons agin this. He thinks that he’s got the start o’
us, an’ won’t need to double by way o’ deceivin’ us; and then he knows
that the whole tribe is after him, and consekintly won’t take a long
road when there’s a short one, if he can help it. But here’s the rock.
Look out, Mister Charles. We’ll have to run the fall, which isn’t very
big just now, and then hide in the bushes at the foot of it till the
blackguard shows himself. Keep well to the right an’ don’t mind the big
rock; the rush o’ water takes you clear o’ that without trouble.”
With this concluding piece of advice, he pointed to the fall, which
plunged over a ledge of rock about half-a-mile ahead of them, and which
was distinguishable by a small column of white spray that rose out of
it. As Charley beheld it his spirits rose, and forgetting for a moment
the circumstances that called him there, he cried out—
“I’ll run it before you, Jacques. Hurrah! Give way, Harry!” and in
spite of a remonstrance from the guide, he shot the canoe ahead, gave
vent to another reckless shout, and flew, rather than glided, down the
stream. On seeing this, the guide held back, so as to give him
sufficient time to take the plunge ere he followed. A few strokes
brought Charley’s canoe to the brink of the fall, and Harry was just in
the act of raising himself in the bow to observe the position of the
rocks, when a shout was heard on the bank close beside them. Looking up
they beheld an Indian emerge from the forest, fit an arrow to his bow,
and discharge it at them. The winged messenger was truly aimed; it
whizzed through the air and transfixed Harry Somerville’s left shoulder
just at the moment they swept over the fall. The arrow completely
incapacitated Harry from using his arm, so that the canoe, instead of
being directed into the broad current, took a sudden turn, dashed in
among a mass of broken rocks, between which the water foamed with
violence, and upset. Here the canoe stuck fast, while its owners stood
up to their waists in the water, struggling to set it free—an object
which they were the more anxious to accomplish that its stern lay
directly in the spot where Jacques would infallibly descend. The next
instant their fears were realised. The second canoe glided over the
cataract, dashed violently against the first, and upset, leaving
Jacques and his man in a similar predicament. By their aid, however,
the canoes were more easily righted, and embarking quickly they shot
forth again, just as the Indian, who had been obliged to make a detour
in order to get within range of their position, reappeared on the banks
above, and sent another shaft after them—fortunately, however, without
effect.
“This is unfortunate,” muttered Jacques, as the party landed and
endeavoured to wring some of the water from their dripping clothes;
“an’ the worst of it is that our guns are useless after sich a duckin’,
an’ the varmint knows that, an’ will be down on us in a twinklin’.”
“But we are four to one,” exclaimed Harry. “Surely we don’t need to
fear much from a single enemy.”
“Humph!” ejaculated the guide, as he examined the lock of his gun.
“You’ve had little to do with Injins, that’s plain, You may be sure
he’s not alone, an’ the reptile has a bow with arrows enough to send us
all on a pretty long journey. But we’ve the trees to dodge behind. If I
only had _one_ dry charge!” and the disconcerted guide gave a look,
half of perplexity, half of contempt, at the dripping gun.
“Never mind,” cried Charley; “we have our paddles. But I forgot, Harry,
in all this confusion, that you are wounded, my poor fellow. We must
have it examined before doing anything further.”
“Oh, it’s nothing at all—a mere scratch, I think; at least I feel very
little pain.”
As he spoke the twang of a bow was heard, and an arrow flew past
Jacques’s ear.
“Ah, so soon!” exclaimed that worthy, with a look of surprise, as if he
had unexpectedly met with an old friend. Stepping behind a tree, he
motioned to his friends to do likewise; an example which they followed
somewhat hastily on beholding the Indian who had wounded Harry step
from the cover of the underwood and deliberately let fly another arrow,
which passed through the hair of the Canadian they had brought with
them.
From the several trees behind which they had leaped for shelter they
now perceived that the Indian with the bow was Misconna, and that he
was accompanied by eight others, who appeared, however, to be totally
unarmed; having, probably, been obliged to leave their weapons behind
them, owing to the abruptness of their flight. Seeing that the white
men were unable to use their guns, the Indians assembled in a group,
and from the hasty and violent gesticulations of some of the party,
especially of Misconna, it was evident that a speedy attack was
intended.
Observing this, Jacques coolly left the shelter of his tree, and going
up to Charley, exclaimed, “Now, Mister Charles, I’m goin’ to run away,
so you’d better come along with me.”
“That I certainly will not. Why, what do you mean?” inquired the other,
in astonishment.
“I mean that these stupid red-skins can’t make up their minds what to
do, an’ as I’ve no notion o’ stoppin’ here all day, I want to make them
do what will suit us best. You see, if they scatter through the wood
and attack us on all sides, they may give us a deal o’ trouble, and git
away after all; whereas, if we _run away_, they’ll bolt after us in a
body, and then we can take them in hand all at once, which’ll be more
comfortable-like, an’ easier to manage.”
As Jacques spoke they were joined by Harry and the Canadian; and being
observed by the Indians thus grouped together, another arrow was sent
among them.
“Now, follow me,” said Jacques, turning round with a loud howl and
running away. He was closely followed by the others. As the guide had
predicted, the Indians no sooner observed this than they rushed after
them in a body, uttering horrible yells.
“Now, then; stop here; down with you.”
Jacques instantly crouched behind a bush, while each of the party did
the same. In a moment the savages came shouting up, supposing the white
men were still running on in advance. As the foremost, a tall, muscular
fellow, with the agility of a panther, bounded over the bush behind
which Jacques was concealed, he was met with a blow from the guide’s
fist, so powerfully delivered into the pit of his stomach that it sent
him violently back into the bush, where he lay insensible. This event,
of course, put a check upon the headlong pursuit of the others, who
suddenly paused, like a group of infuriated tigers unexpectedly baulked
of their prey. The hesitation, however, was but for a moment. Misconna,
who was in advance, suddenly drew his bow again, and let fly an arrow
at Jacques, which the latter dexterously avoided; and while his
antagonist lowered his eyes for an instant to fit another arrow to the
string, the guide, making use of his paddle as a sort of javelin, threw
it with such force and precision that it struck Misconna directly
between the eyes and felled him to the earth, In another instant the
two parties rushed upon each other, and a general _mélée_ ensued, in
which the white men, being greatly superior to their adversaries in the
use of their fists, soon proved themselves more than a match for them
all although inferior in numbers. Charley’s first antagonist, making an
abortive attempt to grapple with him, received two rapid blows, one on
the chest and the other on the nose, which knocked him over the bank
into the river, while his conqueror sprang upon another Indian. Harry,
having unfortunately selected the biggest savage of the band as his
special property, rushed upon him and dealt him a vigorous blow on the
head with his paddle.
The weapon, however, was made of light wood, and, instead of felling
him to the ground, broke into shivers. Springing upon each other they
immediately engaged in a fierce struggle, in which poor Harry learned,
when too late, that his wounded shoulder was almost powerless.
Meanwhile, the Canadian having been assaulted by three Indians at once,
floored one at the outset, and immediately began an impromptu war-dance
round the other two, dealing them occasionally a kick or a blow, which
would speedily have rendered them _hors de combat_, had they not
succeeded in closing upon him, when all three fell heavily to the
ground. Jacques and Charley having succeeded in overcoming their
respective opponents, immediately hastened to his rescue. In the
meantime, Harry and his foe had struggled to a considerable distance
from the others, gradually edging towards the river’s bank. Feeling
faint from his wound, the former at length sank under the weight of his
powerful antagonist, who endeavoured to thrust him over a kind of cliff
which they had approached. He was on the point of accomplishing his
purpose, when Charley and his friends perceived Harry’s imminent
danger, and rushed to the rescue. Quickly though they ran, however, it
seemed likely that they would be too late. Harry’s head already
overhung the bank, and the Indian was endeavouring to loosen the gripe
of the young man’s hand from his throat, preparatory to tossing him
over, when a wild cry rang through the forest, followed by the reports
of a double-barrelled gun, fired in quick succession. Immediately
after, young Hamilton bounded like a deer down the slope, seized the
Indian by the legs, and tossed him over the cliff, where he turned a
complete somersault in his descent, and fell with a sounding splash
into the water.
“Well done, cleverly done, lad!” cried Jacques, as he and the rest of
the party came up and crowded round Harry, who lay in a state of
partial stupor on the bank.
At this moment Redfeather hastily but silently approached; his broad
chest was heaving heavily, and his expanded nostrils quivering with the
exertions he had made to reach the scene of action in time to succour
his friends.
“Thank God!” said Hamilton softly, as he kneeled beside Harry and
supported his head, while Charley bathed his temples—“thank God that I
have been in time! Fortunately I was walking by the river considerably
in advance of Redfeather, who was bringing up the canoe, when I heard
the sounds of the fray, and hastened to your aid.”
At this moment Harry opened his eyes, and saying faintly that he felt
better, allowed himself to be raised to a sitting posture, while his
coat was removed and his wound examined. It was found to be a deep
flesh-wound in the shoulder, from which a fragment of the broken arrow
still protruded.
“It’s a wonder to me, Mr. Harry, how ye held on to that big thief so
long,” muttered Jacques, as he drew out the splinter and bandaged up
the shoulder. Having completed the surgical operation after a rough
fashion, they collected the defeated Indians. Those of them that were
able to walk were bound together by the wrists and marched off to the
fort, under a guard which was strengthened by the arrival of several of
the fur-traders, who had been in pursuit of the fugitives, and were
attracted to the spot by the shouts of the combatants. Harry, and such
of the party as were more or less severely injured, were placed in
canoes and conveyed to Stoney Creek by the lake, into which Duck River
runs at the distance of about half-a-mile from the spot on which the
skirmish had taken place. Misconna was among the latter.
On arriving at Stoney Creek, the canoe party found a large assemblage
of the natives awaiting them on the wharf, and no sooner did Misconna
land than they advanced to seize him.
“Keep back, friends,” cried Jacques, who perceived their intentions,
and stepped hastily between them.—“Come here, lads,” he continued,
turning to his companions; “surround Misconna. He is _our_ prisoner,
and must ha’ fair justice done him, accordin’ to white law.”
They fell back in silence on observing the guide’s determined manner;
but as they hurried the wretched culprit towards the house, one of the
Indians pressed close upon their rear, and before anyone could prevent
him, dashed his tomahawk into Misconna’s brain. Seeing that the blow
was mortal, the traders ceased to offer any further opposition; and the
Indians rushing upon his body, bore it away amid shouts and yells of
execration to their canoes, to one of which the body was fastened by a
rope, and dragged through the water to point of land which jutted out
into the lake near at hand. Here they lighted a fire and burned it to
ashes.
There seems to be a period in the history of every one when the fair
aspect of this world is darkened—when everything, whether past,
present, or future, assumes a hue of the deepest gloom; a period when,
for the first time, the sun, which has shone in the mental firmament
with more or less brilliancy from childhood upwards, entirely
disappears behind a cloud of thick darkness, and leaves the soul in a
state of deep melancholy; a time when feelings somewhat akin to despair
pervade us, as we begin gradually to look upon the past as a bright,
happy vision, out of which we have at last awakened to view the sad
realities of the present, and look forward with sinking hope to the
future. Various are the causes which produce this, and diverse the
effects of it on differently constituted minds; but there are few, we
apprehend, who have not passed through the cloud in one or other of its
phases, and who do not feel that this _first_ period of prolonged
sorrow is darker, and heavier, and worse to bear, than many of the more
truly grievous afflictions that sooner or later fall to the lot of most
men.
Into a state of mind somewhat similar to that which we have endeavoured
to describe, our friend Charley Kennedy fell immediately after the
events just narrated. The sudden and awful death of his friend Mr.
Whyte fell upon his young spirit, unaccustomed as he was to scenes of
bloodshed and violence, with overwhelming power. From the depression,
however, which naturally followed he would probably soon have rallied
had not Harry Somerville’s wound in the shoulder taken an unfavourable
turn, and obliged him to remain for many weeks in bed, under the
influence of a slow fever; so that Charley felt a desolation creeping
over his soul that no effort he was capable of making could shake off.
It is true he found both occupation and pleasure in attending upon his
sick friend; but as Harry’s illness rendered great quiet necessary, and
as Hamilton had been sent to take charge of the fishing-station
mentioned in a former chapter, Charley was obliged to indulge his
gloomy reveries in silence. To add to his wretchedness he received a
letter from Kate about a week after Mr. Whyte’s burial, telling him of
the death of his mother.
Meanwhile, Redfeather and Jacques—both of whom at their young master’s
earnest solicitation, agreed to winter at Stoney Creek—cultivated each
other’s acquaintance sedulously. There were no books of any kind at the
outpost, excepting three Bibles—one belonging to Charley, and one to
Harry, the third being that which had been presented to Jacques by Mr.
Conway the missionary. This single volume, however, proved to be an
ample library to Jacques and his Indian friend. Neither of these sons
of the forest was much accustomed to reading, and neither of them would
have for a moment entertained the idea of taking to literature as a
pastime; but Redfeather loved the Bible for the sake of the great
truths which he discovered in its inspired pages, though much of what
he read was to him mysterious and utterly incomprehensible. Jacques, on
the other hand, read it, or listened to his friend, with that
philosophic gravity of countenance and earnestness of purpose which he
displayed in regard to everything; and deep, serious, and protracted
were the discussions they entered into, as night after night they sat
on a log, with the Bible spread out before them, and read by the light
of the blazing fire in the men’s house at Stoney Creek. Their
intercourse, however, was brought to an abrupt conclusion by the
unexpected arrival, one day, of Mr. Conway the missionary in his tin
canoe. This gentleman’s appearance was most welcome to all parties. It
was like a bright ray of sunshine to Charley to meet with one who could
fully sympathise with him in his present sorrowful frame of mind. It
was an event of some consequence to Harry Somerville, inasmuch as it
provided him with an amateur doctor who really understood somewhat of
his physical complaint, and was able to pour balm, at once literally
and spiritually, into his wounds. It was an event productive of the
liveliest satisfaction to Redfeather, who now felt assured that his
tribe would have those mysteries explained which he only imperfectly
understood himself; and it was an event of much rejoicing to the
Indians themselves, because their curiosity had been not a little
roused by what they heard of the doings and sayings of the white
missionary, who lived on the borders of the great lake. The only
person, perhaps, on whom Mr. Conway’s arrival acted with other than a
pleasing influence was Jacques Caradoc. This worthy, although glad to
meet with a man whom he felt inclined both to love and respect, was by
no means gratified to find that his friend Redfeather had agreed to go
with the missionary on his visit to the Indian tribe, and thereafter to
accompany him to the settlement on Playgreen Lake. But with the
stoicism that was natural to him, Jacques submitted to circumstances
which he could not alter, and contented himself with assuring
Redfeather that if he lived till next spring he would most certainly
“make tracks for the great lake,” and settle down at the missionary’s
station along with him. This promise was made at the end of the wharf
of Stoney Creek the morning on which Mr. Conway and his party embarked
in their tin canoe—the same tin canoe at which Jacques had curled his
nose contemptuously when he saw it in process of being constructed, and
at which he did not by any means curl it the less contemptuously now
that he saw it finished. The little craft answered its purpose
marvellously well, however, and bounded lightly away under the vigorous
strokes of its crew, leaving Charley and Jacques on the pier gazing
wistfully after their friends, and listening sadly to the echoes of
their parting song as it floated more and more faintly over the lake.
Winter came, but no ray of sunshine broke through the dark cloud that
hung over Stoney Creek. Harry Somerville, instead of becoming better,
grew worse and worse every day, so that when Charley despatched the
winter packet, he represented the illness of his friend to the powers
at headquarters as being of a nature that required serious and
immediate attention and change of scene. But the word _immediate_ bears
a slightly different signification in the backwoods to what it does in
the lands of railroads and steamboats. The letter containing this hint
took many weeks to traverse the waste wilderness to its destination;
months passed before the reply was written, and many weeks more elapsed
ere its contents were perused by Charley and his friend. When they did
read it, however, the dark cloud that had hung over them so long burst
at last; a ray of sunshine streamed down brightly upon their hearts,
and never forsook them again, although it did lose a little of its
brilliancy after the first flash. It was on a rich, dewy, cheerful
morning in early spring when the packet arrived, and Charley led Harry,
who was slowly recovering his wonted health and spirits, to their
favourite rocky resting-place on the margin of the lake. Here he placed
the letter in his friend’s hand with a smile of genuine delight. It ran
as follows:—
MY DEAR SIR,—Your letter containing the account of Mr. Somerville’s
illness has been forwarded to me, and I am instructed to inform you
that leave of absence for a short time has been granted to him. I have
had a conversation with the doctor here, who advises me to recommend
that, if your friend has no other summer residence in view, he should
spend part of his time in Red River settlement. In the event of his
agreeing to this, I would suggest that he should leave Stoney Creek
with the first brigade in spring, or by express canoe if you think it
advisable.—I am, etc.
“Short but sweet—uncommonly sweet!” said Harry, as a deep flush of joy
crimsoned his pale cheeks, while his own merry smile, that had been
absent for many a weary day, returned once more to its old haunt, and
danced round its accustomed dimples like a repentant wanderer who has
been long absent from and has at last returned to his native home.
“Sweet indeed!” echoed Charley. “But that’s not all; here’s another
lump of sugar for you.” So saying, he pulled a letter from his pocket,
unfolded it slowly, spread it out on his knee, and, looking up at his
expectant friend, winked.
“Go on, Charley; pray don’t tantalize me.”
“Tantalize you! My dear fellow, nothing is farther from my thoughts.
Listen to this paragraph in my dear old father’s letter:—
“‘So you see, my dear Charley, that we have managed to get you
appointed to the charge of Lower Fort Garry, and as I hear that poor
Harry Somerville is to get leave of absence, you had better bring him
along with you. I need not add that my house is at his service as long
as he may wish to remain in it.’
“There! what think ye of that, my boy?” said Charley, as he folded the
letter and returned it to his pocket.
“I think,” replied Harry, “that your father is a dear old gentleman,
and I hope that you’ll only be half as good when you come to his time
of life; and I think I’m so happy to-day that I’ll be able to walk
without the assistance of your arm to-morrow; and I think we had better
go back to the house now, for I feel, oddly enough, as tired as if I
had had a long walk. Ah, Charley, my dear fellow, that letter will
prove to be the best doctor I have had yet. But now tell me what you
intend to do.”
Charley assisted his friend to rise, and led him slowly back to the
house, as he replied,—
“Do, my boy? that’s soon said. I’ll make things square and straight at
Stoney Creek. I’ll send for Hamilton and make him interim
commander-in-chief. I’ll write two letters—one to the gentleman in
charge of the district, telling him of my movements; the other
(containing a screed of formal instructions) to the miserable mortal
who shall succeed me here. I’ll take the best canoe in our store, load
it with provisions, put you carefully in the middle of it, stick
Jacques in the bow and myself in the stern, and start, two weeks hence,
neck and crop, head over heels, through thick and thin, wet and dry,
over portage, river, fall, and lake, for Red River settlement!”