Soon afterwards the expedition of the fur-traders reached the Ukon
River, a comparatively insignificant stream, but, from its character and
position with reference to the Indians of that region, well suited for
the establishment of an outpost. At least so thought the natives who
had reported upon it.
"There iss no doubt," remarked MacSweenie, as he surveyed the banks of
the river, "that the place is no' that bad, but in my opeenion the
summer will be short, whatever, an' the winter it will be long."
"Ye may be sure that you are not far wrong if it's like the rest o' this
country," replied Mowat.
"There now, look at that," cried MacSweenie, who was a sketcher, and an
enthusiast in regard to scenery; "did ever you see a prettier spot than
that, Tonal'? Just the place for a fort--a wee burn dancin' doon the
hull, wi' a bit fa' to turn a grindstone, an' a long piece o' flat land
for the houses, an' what a grand composeetion for a pictur',--wi' trees,
gress, water, sky, an' such light and shade! Man, it's magneeficent!"
"I'm thinkin' that it'll be a bad job if that keg o' screw-nails we
forgot at our last camp is lost--"
"Hoot, man, never mind the screw-nails. We can easy send back for it.
But, wow! there's a far grander place we're comin' in sight of--an'--iss
that an Indian tent I see?"
"Ay, an' there's more than wan tent," said Mowat, giving his steering
oar a sweep that sent the boat farther out into the stream, and enabled
them better to see what lay beyond the bend of the river in front of
them.
"Hold on, lads; stop pullin'!"
The men lay on their oars and turned round to look ahead. The view
presented there was indeed a pleasant and inspiring one, though it was
scarcely entitled to the appellation "magneeficent," which MacSweenie
applied to it.
The river at that place made a wide sweep on the right, round a low
cliff which was crowned with luxuriant foliage. The stream opened out
into something like a miniature lake, and the water was so calm that the
cliff and its foliage made a clear dark reflection. The left bank was
edged by a wide grass plateau some fifty yards wide, beyond which was a
background of bushes and trees, with another "wee burn," which doubtless
suggested to MacSweenie the useful as well as the picturesque. The
distance was closed by ground varied in form as well as in character,
indicating that a stream of considerable size joined the Ukon at that
point.
But that which interested the beholders most of all was a number of
Indian wigwams, which were pitched on the grassy plateau above referred
to.
"Yonder are our frunds, I make no doubt," said MacSweenie in high glee.
"That man Mozwa iss as goot as his word; an' I do believe they have
chosen the spot an' been waitin' for us. Gif way, boys; an', Tonal',
make for that landin'-slup--it must either be a naitural wan, or the
Redskins hev made it for us."
By that time the natives, having observed the boat, had launched several
of their canoes. The first man who came alongside was Mozwa himself.
"What cheer? what cheer, Mozwa?" cried the trader as he reached over the
side and shook the Indian heartily by the hand.
"Watchee! watchee!" repeated Mozwa, returning the shake with equal
good-will, though undisturbed solemnity.
The trader's surmise proved to be correct. Mindful of the prospect
which had been held out to him and Nazinred, that an expedition might
possibly be sent to establish an outpost and open up the fur trade in
their immediate neighbourhood on the Ukon River, Mozwa had made more
than one trip to the contemplated scene of operations, after the
disappearance of his friend Nazinred, with the view of making himself
well acquainted with the land, and ascertaining the best site for the
new fort. He did not of course suppose that the pale-faces would be
guided entirely by his opinion, but he thought it not unlikely that they
might weigh that opinion, and, if acted on at once, much time might be
saved during the very brief summer season they had in which to place
themselves comfortably in winter quarters before the hard weather should
set in.
"You are a wise man, Mozwa," said MacSweenie, when the Indian had
explained his views to him in the united smoke of their pipes and the
camp-fire. "Your notion of a place for a fort iss not a bad one, an'
efter I hev had a look round I hev no doubt that I will agree wi' you
that this is the very best site in the neighbourhood. Tell him that,
Tonal', an' say that I am fery much obleeged to him for all the
forethought and trouble he hes taken."
Whether Donald translated all this as it was delivered we know not.
From the peculiar cast of his mind, however, coupled with the moderate
depth of his knowledge of the Indian tongue, it is probable that his
translation was neither literal nor comprehensive. Indeed, it is not
unlikely that his subsequent remark to one of his comrades,--"we told
Mozwa it was very good of him to come to meet us, an' the place would do
well enough,"--was more like the sentence to which he had reduced it.
But whatever he said Mozwa seemed to be quite pleased with it.
"By the way, Tonal', ask him about his friend Nazinred."
The serious way in which the Indian shook his head showed that he had no
good news to tell. In a short time he had related all that was known
about the sudden departure of his friend.
While Mozwa was thus engaged with the leader of the expedition, their
guide Bartong was wandering among the wigwams and making himself
agreeable to the natives, who, because of his mixed blood and linguistic
powers, regarded him as a half-brother.
"Who is this man Nazinred that our leader is always talking about?" he
asked of the old chief while seated in his tent.
"He is one of our chiefs, one of our boldest braves--"
"But not so brave as he looks," interrupted Magadar, who was present;
"he is fonder of peace than of fighting."
"Foolish man!" exclaimed Bartong, with a smile so peculiar that Magadar
did not feel quite sure that his remark was sincere. "But has he not
left your tribe? I heard our steersman say something about that."
"He left us in the winter to seek for his daughter, who was carried off
by an Eskimo and has never come back since. We don't expect to see
either of them again."
Magadar said this with a grave countenance, for, however little he cared
for the loss of the father, that of the daughter distressed him a
little--not much, however; for could he not console himself with another
wife?
Having questioned the old chief a little more on this point, he wandered
off into other subjects, and finally left--intending to visit the wife
of Nazinred on his way back to camp.
Isquay was sitting beside her niece Idazoo, embroidering a moccasin,
when Bartong entered, squatted on a deerskin unceremoniously, and began
to fill his pipe.
"What kind of a man is your husband?" asked the guide.
"A good man," replied Isquay, who was tender-hearted, and could not
speak of him without moist eyes. "He was a good hunter. None of the
young men could equal him. And he was kind. He always had plenty of
things to give me and Adolay."
"They say he did not love war," remarked Bartong.
"No; he hated it: but he was brave, and a good fighter--the best in the
tribe. None of the young men dared to touch him."
"Was the young brave Alizay afraid to touch him?" asked the guide, with
a sly glance at the younger woman.
At this Idazoo flushed and looked up angrily.
"No," she said sharply; "Alizay fears nothing."
Bartong took no notice of the remark, but continued gravely to question
the other.
"Was Nazinred very fond of his daughter?" he asked.
"Yes, very."
"And was the girl fond of him and of you?"
"Yes," replied the poor woman, beginning to weep gently.
"And she seems to have been very fond of this Eskimo, who, they tell me,
saved your life once."
"She was, but I did not think she would go away with him. It was not
like her--she was always so good and biddable, and told me everything."
"Why did your husband go off alone?"
"I cannot tell. I suppose he knew that none of the young men would go
with him, or feared they might lose heart and turn back. No doubt he
thought it best to go by himself, for he was very brave; nothing would
turn _him_ back!"
A fresh though silent dropping of tears occurred here, and a severe pang
of remorse shot through the heart of Idazoo as she thought of her unkind
report of what had taken place beside the dead tree under the cliff.
"Don't cry, Isquay; Nazinred will come back, you may be sure of that,"
said the guide, in a confident tone, "and he will bring your little girl
along with him, for when a man is good and brave he _never_ fails!"
The brevity of summer near the shores of the Arctic Sea rendered it
advisable that no time should be wasted in looking about too
particularly for a site for the new trading-post; and as MacSweenie was
well pleased with Mozwa's selection he at once adopted it and set to
work.
Deeming it important to open the campaign by putting a good taste in the
mouths of his friends the Indians, he began by distributing a few
gratuities to them--some coloured beads to the women, and a few lines,
fish-hooks, and tobacco to the men. Then he marked out a site for the
future dwelling-house and store, got out the tools and set to work to
fell, saw, and shape suitable timber for the buildings. He constituted
Magadar chief hunter to the establishment, supplied him with a new gun,
powder and ball, and sent him off to the woods as proud as, and
doubtless much happier than, a king. Mozwa he kept by him, as a
counsellor to whom he could appeal in all matters regarding the region
and the people, as well as an overseer of those among his countrymen who
were hired to render assistance. Alizay was sent off in a canoe--much
to the satisfaction of Mowat--for that forgotten keg of screw-nails
which had lain so heavy on his mind, and the old chief was supplied with
unlimited tobacco, and allowed to wander about at will, under the
agreeable impression that he was superintendent-general of the works.
Isquay, Idazoo, and some of the other women were furnished with
moose-deer skins and needles, and employed to make moccasins for the
men, as well as to do all the needful repairs to garments.
Thus the plateau on the banks of the Ukon River presented, during the
weeks that followed, a scene of lively bustle and unfamiliar noise to
the furred and feathered inhabitants of those vast solitudes, and formed
to the Red men a new and memorable era in their monotonous existence.
At last there came a day when the roof of the principal dwelling was
completely covered, the doors were fixed up, and the glazed windows
fitted in.
"Now, Tonal'," remarked MacSweenie, on the morning of that auspicious
day, "it iss a house-warming that I will be giving to-night, for the
Indians will be expectin' something o' the sort, so you will be telling
the cook to make the biggest lump o' plum-duff he ever putt his hands
to; an' tell him not to spare the plums. It iss not every day we will
be givin' thiss goot people a blow-out, an' it iss a matter of great
importance, to my thinking, that first impressions should be good ones.
It iss the duty of a new broom to sweep clean. If it continues, goot
and well, but if it does not begin that way it iss not likely to come to
it, whatever. There iss far more than people think in sentiment. If
you fail to rouse a sentiment of goot-will, or confidence, or whatever
it may be, at a first start-off it iss not easy to rouse it afterwards.
Hev ye not noticed that, Tonal'?"
"I can't say that I have," answered the interpreter, with a
matter-of-fact frown at the ground, "but I have noticed that the pit-saw
they was usin' yesterday has been allowed to saw into the holdin'-irons
and damaged half o'--"
"Hoots, man! never mind the pit-saw!" exclaimed MacSweenie, with a touch
of asperity. "All the planks we want are sawn, an' if they were not,
surely we could mend--tut, man, I wonder ye can play the fuddle. It
always seemed to me that a goot fuddler must be a man of sentiment, but
ye are the exception, Tonal', that proves the rule. Away wi' you an'
gie my orders to the cook, an' see that you have the fuddle in goot
tune, for we will want it to-night. An' let him hev plenty of tea, for
if we gain the women we're sure o' the men."
Mowat retired with a smile on his broad benignant face. He understood
his leader, and was not offended by his plain speaking. Besides, it was
not easy to make the interpreter take offence. His spirit was of that
happy nature which hopeth all things and believeth all things. It
flowed calm and deep like an untroubled river. Nothing short of a
knock-down blow would have induced Donald Mowat to take offence, but
that would certainly have stirred him, and as he possessed vast physical
strength, and was something awful to behold when roused, and his
comrades were aware of these facts, the serenity of his life was not
often or deeply ruffled.
The cook, who was an enthusiast in his art, did his best, and was
eminently successful. His plum-duff dumpling was bigger than any gun--
at least of ancient type--could have swallowed, and the plums, as Mowat
afterwards said, did not need to seek for each other. He made enough of
delightfully greasy cakes to feed an army, and, according to his own
statement, infused "lashin's o' tea."
Before the hour for the feast arrived that night, Mowat got out his
violin and went into one of the rooms of the new house to put it in
order. The window of the room looked towards the back of the house,
where the forest was seen just beyond the plateau.
Drawing a bench to the window, he sat down and opened the case. Of
course he found the first string broken, but that did not break his
heart, for he had a good supply of spare strings, and if these should
fail--well, there were plenty of deer-sinews in the land. It was soon
put to rights, and, leaning his back against the wall, he began to
tickle the strings gently. Whatever he was at other times, there is no
doubt that the interpreter was full of genuine sentiment the moment he
got the violin under his chin.
Now at that moment three young Dogrib braves chanced to be passing under
the window, which was about seven feet from the ground. Though equally
young, and no doubt equally brave, as well as equally Dogribbed, those
three youths were not equally matched, for one was tall and thin,
another was short and thick, while the third was middle-sized and fat.
They had been hunting--successfully--for the thick man carried a small
deer on his lusty shoulders.
On hearing the first notes of the instrument the three youths started
into three different attitudes as if of petrified surprise, and remained
so, waiting for more.
They had not to wait long, for, after tickling the fiddle once or twice
to get it in perfect tune, Mowat raised his eyes to the pine-plank
ceiling and glided softly into one of those exquisite Scottish airs by
means of which a first-rate performer on the violin can almost draw the
soul out of a man's body. We think it was "The Flowers of the Forest."
Whatever it was the three Dogribs were ravished. They turned their
heads slowly, as if afraid to break the spell, and looked at each other,
showing the whites of their great eyes increasingly, while each raised a
hand with spread fingers as if to keep the others from speaking. They
had never heard anything approaching to it before. They had never even
imagined anything like it. It was an utterly new sensation. What could
it be? They had heard of something strange in the musical way from
Nazinred and Mozwa, but with the carelessness of youth they had scarce
listened to the comments of these men. Now it burst upon their awakened
sense like sounds from some other planet. Their mouths opened slowly as
well as their eyes, and there was an expression of awe in their faces
which betokened a touch of superstitious fear.
Suddenly Mowat drew his bow across all the strings with a skirl that
might have shamed the bagpipes, and burst into the Reel o' Tullochgorum.
The effect was electrical. The thick man dropped the deer; the thin man
sloped forward; the fat man sprang into the air, and all three made for
the woods as if all the spirits of evil were after them in full cry.
We need hardly say, after this, that those Dogrib Indians spent an
excited and agreeable evening with the fur-traders. They appreciated
the dancing, undoubtedly, though very few of them would condescend to
join. They appreciated the plum-duff and the greasy cakes highly, and
they more than appreciated the tea--especially the women--which
MacSweenie took care to provide hot, strong, and sweet. But there is no
doubt that the lion of the evening was--the "fuddle."