I
“Ask Mr. Hume to come here for a moment, Gosse,” said Field, the chief
factor, as he turned from the frosty window of his office at Fort
Providence, one of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s posts. The servant,
or more properly, Orderly-Sergeant Gosse, late of the Scots Guards,
departed on his errand, glancing curiously at his master’s face as he
did so. The chief factor, as he turned round, unclasped his hands from
behind him, took a few steps forward, then standing still in the centre
of the room, read carefully through a letter which he had held in the
fingers of his right hand for the last ten minutes as he scanned the
wastes of snow stretching away beyond Great Slave Lake to the arctic
circle. He meditated a moment, went back to the window, looked out
again, shook his head negatively, and with a sigh, walked over to the
huge fireplace. He stood thoughtfully considering the floor until the
door opened and sub-factor Jaspar Hume entered.
The factor looked up and said: “Hume, I’ve something here that’s been
worrying me a bit. This letter came in the monthly batch this morning.
It is from a woman. The company sends another commending the cause of
the woman and urging us to do all that is possible to meet her wishes.
It seems that her husband is a civil engineer of considerable fame. He
had a commission to explore the Coppermine region and a portion of the
Barren Grounds. He was to be gone six months. He has been gone a
year. He left Fort Good Hope, skirted Great Bear Lake, and reached the
Coppermine River. Then he sent back all of the Indians who accompanied
him but two, they bearing the message that he would make the Great Fish
River and come down by Great Slave Lake to Fort Providence. That was
nine months ago. He has not come here, nor to any other of the forts,
so far as is known, nor has any word been received from him. His wife,
backed by the H.B.C., urges that a relief party be sent to look for him.
They and she forget that this is the arctic region, and that the task is
a well-nigh hopeless one. He ought to have been here six months ago. Now
how can we do anything? Our fort is small, and there is always danger of
trouble with the Indians. We can’t force men to join a relief party like
this, and who will volunteer? Who would lead such a party and who will
make up the party to be led?”
The brown face of Jaspar Hume was not mobile. It changed in expression
but seldom; it preserved a steady and satisfying character of
intelligence and force. The eyes, however, were of an inquiring,
debating kind, that moved from one thing to another as if to get a
sense of balance before opinion or judgment was expressed. The face
had remained impassive, but the eyes had kindled a little as the factor
talked. To the factor’s despairing question there was not an immediate
reply. The eyes were debating. But they suddenly steadied and Jaspar
Hume said sententiously: “A relief party should go.”
“Yes, yes, but who is to lead them?”
Again the eyes debated.
“Read her letter,” said the factor, handing it over. Jaspar Hume took it
and mechanically scanned it. The factor had moved towards the table
for his pipe or he would have seen the other start, and his nostrils
slightly quiver, as his eyes grew conscious of what they were seeing.
Turning quickly, Hume walked towards the window as though for more
light, and with his back to the factor he read the letter. Then he
turned and said: “I think this thing should be done.”
The factor shrugged his shoulders slightly. “Well, as to that, I think
so too, but thinking and doing are two different things, Hume.”
“Will you leave the matter in my hands until the morning?”
“Yes, of course, and glad to do so. You are the only man who can arrange
the affair, if it is to be done at all. But I tell you, as you know,
that everything will depend upon a leader, even if you secure the
men.... So you had better keep the letter for to-night. It may help you
to get the men together. A woman’s handwriting will do more than a man’s
word any time.”
Jaspar Hume’s eyes had been looking at the factor, but they were
studying something else. His face seemed not quite so fresh as it was a
few minutes before.
“I will see you at ten o’clock to-morrow morning, Mr. Field,” he said
quietly. “Will you let Gosse come to me in an hour?”
“Certainly. Good-night.”
Jaspar Hume let himself out. He walked across a small square to a log
house and opened a door which creaked and shrieked with the frost. A dog
sprang upon him as he did so, and rubbed its head against his breast. He
touched the head as if it had been that of a child, and said: “Lie down,
Bouche.”
It did so, but it watched him as he doffed his dogskin cap and buffalo
coat. He looked round the room slowly once as though he wished to fix
it clearly and deeply in his mind. Then he sat down and held near the
firelight the letter the factor had given him. His features grew stern
and set as he read it. Once he paused in the reading and looked into the
fire, drawing his breath sharply between his teeth. Then he read it to
the end without a sign. A pause, and he said aloud: “So this is how the
lines meet again, Varre Lepage!” He read the last sentence of the letter
aloud:
In the hope that you may soon give me good news of my husband,
I am, with all respect,
Faithfully yours,