On the northern shores of the Gulf of Saint Lawrence there stood, not
very long ago, a group of wooden houses, which were simple in
construction and lowly in aspect. The region around them was a vast
uncultivated, uninhabited solitude. The road that led to them was a
rude one. It wound round a rugged cliff, under the shelter of which the
houses nestled as if for protection from the cold winds and the
snowdrifts that took special delight in revelling there.
This group of buildings was, at the time we write of, an outpost of the
fur-traders, those hardy pioneers of civilisation, to whom, chiefly, we
are indebted for opening up the way into the northern wilderness of
America. The outpost was named the Cliff after the bold precipice, near
the base of which it stood. A slender stockade surrounded it, a
flag-staff rose in the centre of it, and a rusty old ship's carronade
reared defiantly at its front gate. In virtue of these warlike
appendages the place was sometimes styled "the Fort."
When first established, the Cliff Fort lay far beyond the outmost bounds
of civilised life, but the progress of emigration had sent forward wave
after wave into the northern wilderness, and the tide rose at last until
its distant murmur began to jar on the ears of the traders in their
lonely dwelling; warning them that competition was at hand, and that, if
they desired to carry on the trade in peace, they must push still
further into the bush, or be hopelessly swallowed up in the advancing
tide.
When the unwelcome sounds of advancing civilisation first broke the
stillness of this desolate region, the chief of the trading-post was
seated at breakfast with his clerk. He was a tall, good-looking, young
Englishman, named Reginald Redding. The clerk, Bob Smart, was a sturdy
youth, who first saw the light among the mountains of Scotland.
Doubtless he had been named Robert when baptised, but his intimates
would not have understood you had you mentioned him by that name.
Bob had just helped Reginald to the wing of a salt goose, and was about
to treat himself to a leg of the same when the cook entered.
This cook was a man. It may also be said with truth that he was more
than most men. At the outpost men were few, and of women there were
none. It may be imagined, then, that the cook's occupations and duties
were numerous. Francois Le Rue, besides being cook to the
establishment, was waiter, chambermaid, firewood-chopper, butcher,
baker, drawer-of-water, trader, fur-packer, and interpreter. These
offices he held professionally. When "_off duty_," and luxuriating in
tobacco and relaxation, he occupied himself as an amateur shoemaker,
tailor, musician, and stick-whittler, to the no small advantage of
himself and his fellow-outcasts, of whom there were five or six, besides
the principals already mentioned.
Le Rue's face bore an expression of dissatisfaction and perplexity as he
entered the hall.
"Oh, Monsieur Redding," he exclaimed, "dem squatters, de black
scoundrils what is be called Macklodds has bin come at last."
"Ho, ho! the McLeods have come, have they?" said Redding, laying down
his knife and fork, and looking earnestly at the man; "I had heard of
their intention."
"Oui, yis, vraiment," said Le Rue, with vehemence, "dey has come to
Jenkins Creek more dan tree veeks pass. Von sauvage come an' tell me he
have see dem. Got put up von hut, an' have begin de saw-mill."
"Well, well, Francois," returned Redding, with a somewhat doubtful
smile, as he resumed his knife and fork, "bring some more hot water, and
keep your mind easy. The McLeods can't do us much harm. Their saw-mill
will work for many a day before it makes much impression on the forests
hereabouts. There is room for us all."
"Forests!" exclaimed the cook, with a frown and a shrug of his
shoulders, "non, dey not hurt moche timber, but dey vill trade vid de
Injins--de sauvages--an' give dem drink, an' git all de furs, an' fat
den vill come of dat?"
Without waiting for a reply the indignant cook went in quest of hot
water, leaving the traders to discuss the salt goose and the news.
"That's bad news," said Bob Smart. "What do you propose to do in the
circumstances?"
"Something definite must be done," replied Redding, "but I don't yet see
my way as to what."
Having finished the goose between them, and turned its skeleton over
with an inquisitive glance to make sure that nothing eatable had
escaped, the two friends finished their frugal meal with a cup of tea
and a fried cake of the simplest elements--flour and water--after which
they drew their chairs to the fireplace,--a large open chimney well
filled with blazing logs,--lighted their pipes, and entered on a
discussion of the McLeods and their present position.
When their pipes were emptied, Redding arose, and, turning his back to
the fire, said:--
"Well, Bob Smart, this is the outcome of our cogitations. I am almost
certain that these McLeods have taken up their quarters within the
boundary of our Company's reserve lands, and if so, they must be routed
out of their nest at once. Delay in such matters is often fatal. The
law of use and wont, Bob, is soon established; but I have a strong
objection to act in uncertainty. I will therefore drive up to the hut
of Jonas Bellew, with whom I shall leave horse and sleigh, as the track
ends at Boulder Creek, and proceed on snow-shoes to the new settlement
in Partridge Bay, where the surveyor lives, who has the plans of our
reserve lands. I shall examine these plans, and if I find that our
property has been invaded, then--"
"Death and confusion to the McLeods," interrupted Bob. "Well, perhaps
that is the best thing to do; but the spring is well advanced. The
thermometer stood high this morning. If a thaw should set in, you will
find the walking in snow-shoes bad."
"`If' is a word to which you attach too much importance, Bob. We have
not at present to do with what may be, but with what is."
"True, nevertheless a prudent man has regard to probabilities," replied
Bob, with an air of much wisdom, as he relighted his pipe.
"Just so," returned Redding, "and as there is every probability that I
shall be absent a good many days, I leave you in charge of this
establishment, with strict injunctions to keep aloof from the McLeods,
and at the same time to keep an eye on them. Francois Le Rue will
accompany me. I shall start immediately, therefore be pleased to go and
tell Le Rue to get himself and the sleigh ready while I put on my
travelling gear."
Obedient to the order, Smart left the room while his superior clothed
himself in a leathern coat and leggings, fur cap, moccasins, and
mittens.
In half an hour Redding and his man stepped into a sleigh, which was
barely large enough to hold them. They packed themselves up to the
armpits in bearskin rugs, and then Redding gave his rough little nag a
touch of the whip, which caused him to start forward with a jerk that
set all the bells on his harness ringing merrily. Another minute and
they dashed out at the gate, swept round the base of the beetling cliff
that frowned above the outpost, and entered the sombre shadow of the
forest.