Napoleon might have marched back from Moscow with undecimated legions
safely enough, if the heart of those legions had not been crushed. The
White Guard, with their faces turned homeward, and the man they had
sought for in their care, seemed to have acquired new strength. Through
days of dreadful cold, through nights of appalling fierceness, through
storm upon the plains that made for them paralysing coverlets, they
marched. And if Lepage did not grow stronger, life at least was kept in
him.
There was little speech among them, but once in a while Gaspe Toujours
sang snatches of the songs of the voyageurs of the great rivers; and
the hearts of all were strong. Between Bouche and his master there was
occasional demonstration. On the twentieth day homeward, Hume said with
his hand on the dog’s head “It had to be done, Bouche; even a dog could
see that.”
And so it was “all right” for the White Guard. One day when the sun was
warmer than usual over Fort Providence, and just sixty-five days since
that cheer had gone up from apprehensive hearts for brave men going out
into the Barren Grounds, Sergeant Gosse, who, every day, and of late
many times a day, had swept the north-east with a field-glass, rushed
into the chief-factor’s office, and with a broken voice cried: “They’ve
all come! They’ve come!” Then he leaned his arm and head against the
wall and sobbed. And the old factor rose from his chair tremblingly, and
said his thank-god, and went hurriedly into the square. He did not go
steadily, however, the joyous news had shaken him, sturdy old pioneer
as he was. A fringe of white had grown about his temples in the last
two months. The people of the fort had said they had never seen him so
irascible, yet so gentle; so uneasy, yet so reserved; so stern about the
mouth, yet so kind about the eyes as he had been since Hume had gone on
this desperate errand.
Already the handful of people at the fort had gathered. Indians left
the store, and joined the rest; the factor and Sergeant Gosse set out
to meet the little army of relief. To the factor’s “In the name of the
Hudson’s Bay Company, Mr. Hume,” when they met there came “By the help
of God, sir,” and he pointed to the sled whereon Lepage lay. A feeble
hand was clasped in the burly hand of the factor, and then they all fell
into line again, Cloud-in-the-Sky running ahead of the dogs. Snow had
fallen on them, and as they entered the stockade, men and dogs were
white from head to foot.
The White Guard had come back. Jaspar Hume as simply acknowledged his
strident welcome as he had done the God-speed two months and more ago.
With the factor he bore the sick man in, and laid him on his own bed.
Then he came outside again, and when they cheered him once more, he
said: “We have come safe through, and I’m thankful. But remember that my
comrades in this march deserve your cheers more than I. Without them I
couldn’t have done anything.”
“In our infirmities and in all our dangers and necessities,” added Jeff
Hyde. “The luck of the world was in that book!”
In another half-hour the White Guard was at ease, and four of them were
gathered about the great stove in the store, Cloud-in-the-Sky smoking
placidly, and full of guttural emphasis; Late Carscallen moving his
animal-like jaws with a sense of satisfaction; Gaspe Toujours talking
in Chinook to the Indians, in patois to the French clerk, and in broken
English to them all; and Jeff Hyde exclaiming on the wonders of the
march, the finding of Lepage at Manitou Mountain, and of himself and
Gaspe Toujours buried in the snow.