Читать книгу The Young Nor'-Wester - James Macdonald Oxley - Страница 3

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He was but a few months younger than the century, having first opened the big grey eyes, that were afterwards to see so many strange and stirring scenes, in the month of May of the year of Our Lord one thousand eight hundred, in the very heart of the vast northern wilderness of Canada.

A remarkable mingling of race and character was this baby boy, whose advent brought great joy to Fort Chipewyan, and upon whom, without any formal baptismal service,—for priest and parson alike were quite unknown in that far-away place,—the name of Archibald was conferred by his proud father, Mr. Donald M’Kenzie, an official of the great North-West Fur Company, in command of the fort already mentioned.

If there be anything in a name, one need have no difficulty in settling what nation little Archie’s father belonged to, and you had only to take a good look at him to see that his name fitted him, for he was a Scotchman in every line of his face and turn of his body. They called him ‘Big Donald’ in the North-West, for he stood full six feet high, and was so stout of limb, broad of shoulder, and deep of chest, that exertion seemed to fatigue him no more than danger appalled him. He had not a handsome face, but, better than that, a transparently frank, honest one; and with his shaggy eyebrows, heavy moustache, and dense brown beard, from whose midst issued a voice of startling depth and volume, commanded universal respect among the voyageurs, bois-brulées (half-breeds), and Indians who formed the subjects of his realm.

For the factor of an important fort in those days held little short of regal sway over the men who were under him, and the Indians who came to barter their precious peltries for his beads and blankets and kettles and hatchets. He was responsible only to the Company, whose headquarters were at Montreal, thousands of miles distant; and so long as the number of packs sent yearly from his district showed no falling off, he could do pretty much as he liked, without interference from anybody.

Donald M’Kenzie had sailed across from Scotland when just out of his teens, to make his way in the New World as best he might, with nothing but keen wits, strong hands, a brave heart, and a clear conscience to help him. Meeting in Montreal with a brother Scot, a few years his senior, who had been some time in the employ of the North-West Fur Company, or ‘Nor’-Westers,’ as they were generally called, and who stirred his imagination and ambition alike by graphic descriptions of life with the fur-traders, he determined to enlist in the same service. He had no difficulty in obtaining an engagement. The Company was composed mainly of Scotchmen, and so sturdy and promising a fellow-countryman did not have to go a-begging. He was accepted on sight, and that same summer despatched to Fort William, at the far end of Lake Superior, where he entered upon the life in which his career was to be one of thrilling experience and steady success, until the brown beard was plentifully streaked with grey, and he could honourably retire, rich in reputation and in purse also.

As junior clerk Donald had travelled up and down a large portion of the wilderness lying between Lake Superior and the Rocky Mountains, remaining for a time at Fort Pembina, Fort Qu’Appelle, Moose Fort, and other of the many posts scattered by the Company over this immense territory, until he had become thoroughly acquainted with the workings of the fur trade and the wiles of the Indians with whom it was carried on. Then he was appointed to a permanent position at Fort Chipewyan, on the shore of mighty Lake Athabasca, and, little more than a year before Archie arrived, had, through his sterling good qualities, reached the important and responsible position of factor of the fort, so that his ultimate promotion to a partnership in the Company was only a question of time.

When once he could consider himself settled, it might be for a score of years, he very wisely looked about him for a companion and helpmate. It need hardly be explained that he had a very limited range of choice in making his selection. There was no such thing as society in the ordinary sense of the term at the forts. The tide of settlement had not yet touched those continuous wilds which the North-West and Hudson’s Bay Fur Companies sought jealously to keep for themselves as a fur preserve, but which were destined to be the home of millions. Beside the employees of the Companies, a few enterprising spirits who ventured to do a little trading and trapping on their own account, and the Indians, whose lodges and wigwams were scattered at wide intervals over the rolling plains or hidden among the depths of the forest, there was no other human life.

But fortune favoured Donald M’Kenzie and sent him a good wife nevertheless. He had not been long on the lookout when there came to the fort a hardy voyageur, having with him his wife and daughter, and no sooner had the factor’s eyes fallen upon the latter, than he said to himself with an exultant chuckle, ‘Hech, Donald lad!—but she’s a braw one. It’s doing your best to get her you must be;’ and with his customary promptness and resolution he set about the business forthwith.

Donald’s enthusiasm was not without good cause, for Virginie Latour possessed no ordinary share of beauty. Her father, Jean Baptiste, as was very usual at that time, had taken him to wife the dusky belle of a Cree encampment, and she had borne him this one child, in whose face and form were happily united the best qualities of both parents. As fair of skin as her father, she had the regular features and lithe, graceful figure of her mother, while in her character were blended the childlike buoyancy of the voyageur and the grave dignity of the Indian. Arrayed in her picturesque buckskin costume, richly adorned with beads and spangles, and bearing herself as proudly as though she were a princess, Virginie would have made a marked impression in any social circle, and to the warm-hearted Donald, longing for the grace of feminine society, she seemed a veritable vision of beauty.

His wooing was short but satisfactory. Shrewd Jean Baptiste fully recognised the advantage of having the head of a fort for a son-in-law; while Virginie on her part had not to look long with her splendid brown eyes upon ‘Big Donald’ to make up her mind that he was immeasurably superior to any of the young voyageurs or bois-brulées, who, in the ordinary course of things, would most probably be her fate.

So they took one another for better for worse, the marriage service, after Scotch usage, in default of a minister, consisting of Donald acknowledging Virginie to be his wife in the presence of her parents and of his subordinates. The union proved very happy. Donald grew increasingly fonder of his wife; and it Virginie did at times betray the quick temper that she got from her father, or the tendency to sullen sulking that came from her mother, when she could not have her own way about something, why, the big Scotchman just thought to himself that it was the way of women-folk to ‘gang agley’ now and then, and, instead of giving back hot words, closed his lips firmly over his tongue, and went away. And then, so sure as he did, when perhaps he was sitting at his desk poring over his ledger, or consoling himself with a pipe in a quiet corner, there would come a gentle step behind him, which, although his keen ears heard it well, he pretended not to notice, and presently a little brown hand would be laid upon his shoulder, and a soft voice would murmur pleadingly in a quaint patois, half French, half Indian, ‘Donald, my dear, do you love me still?’

Then the answer came quick, and left no doubt as to its sincerity, and the cloud would vanish, and all would be sunshine again in the M’Kenzie household.

It was a proud and happy time for both when they entered into the dignity of parenthood, and as little Archie throve and developed, their joy in him increased, without a shadow to mar it, for the kind fairy that bestows good health was not behind the giver of good looks, and neither measles, whooping-cough, croup, mumps, nor any other of the ordeals through which the average boy has to pass nowadays, disturbed the serenity of Archie’s cradle.

By the time he was twelve years old he stood full five feet in height, and was the very picture of health and heartiness. Three different races were represented in him, and he showed some of the most striking traits of each. The bright, frank face, the firm mouth, the steadfast purpose were as clearly Scotch as the merry laugh, the love of music, the fondness for dress were French, and the piercing eye, the acute ear, and the wild passion for outdoor life were Indian in their source.

In like manner did he share in some of the failings of his strangely mixed parentage, for he could be as obstinate as any Scotchman, as excitable as any Frenchman, and as jealous as any Indian, and altogether was a sort of a boy that it would have sorely puzzled the common run of parents under ordinary circumstances to deal with, but who, away up at Fort Chipewyan, in the midst of a life that was anything but ordinary, and with the firm hand of a father who brooked no disobedience controlling him, gave every promise of growing up into a worthy manhood.

It must not be forgotten to mention that ere he was quite half-way to the twelve years already mentioned, a little sister appeared upon the scene to divide the affection that he had been monopolising, or, as the saying is, to put his nose out of joint, and our young gentleman resented this intrusion so warmly that it positively was not safe to leave him alone with tiny Rose-Marie. He would attack her instantly. Once, indeed, he came very near ridding himself of his rival by tumbling her cradle over on top of her.

When he grew older, however, this childish jealousy disappeared, and he became as fond of his sister—who was just a comical little copy of her mother—as he had been jealous of her, playing happily with her all day long, and taking such good care of the wee one as to prove a real help to Mrs. M’Kenzie.

And now it is full time to tell something about the home in which these young folks were growing up. Fort Chipewyan still exists, and to find it you must take a good map of the Dominion of Canada, and look right into the heart of the vast region called the North-West Territories. There you will notice an immense lake, bearing the Indian name of Athabasca, and at the south-western end of the lake, occupying a commanding position upon a promontory that juts out from the northern shore into the cold blue water, is the fort, which has been for nearly a hundred years one of the most important centres of the fur trade.

To the traveller approaching it after having been for weeks accustomed to nothing better than a wigwam, the fort presented a very imposing appearance. First of all, there was a palisade of huge pickets, with sharpened points, whose twenty feet of height made it impossible to scale them without ladders. This stood in the form of a square, the sides of which were not less than one hundred yards in length. At each corner frowned a bastion marked with loopholes for muskets, while above the gates, of which there were two, one facing the lake and the other the land, rose lofty lookout towers, that enabled the sentinel upon them to see anything within the radius of many miles.

Inside the square, and arranged so as to make the best of the space at hand, were the buildings which housed the factor and his family, the clerks who assisted him, the postmaster, interpreter, voyageurs, and other employees, and finally the store and warehouses, all built in the strongest manner of logs, and looking very rough, but very solid. In front of the factor’s house stood a flag-pole, from which, on special occasions, the flag of Old England would flaunt upon the breeze.

In mid-winter, when all hands were at home, the garrison of the fort comprised some fifty men, Scotch, French, and half-breed, many of them with families; and to keep all these in good behaviour, seeing how apt they were to proceed from argument to blows, when they had nothing else to do, required no small address and determination on the part of the factor. But so firm and just a hand did he keep over them, that there was not a better ordered post in the country than Chipewyan, nor one whose chief was in better favour.

Not only because he was the factor’s son, and it was therefore good policy, but because they all liked him for himself, the men made very much of Archie, and did their best to spoil him. He was always eager to be in their company, and his father, intending as he did that he should follow in his footsteps, put no restraint upon him, for the earlier he began to learn the life of a fur-trader, the more thoroughly would he master it.

The consequence was, that at an age when the ordinary city boy would be thought a wonder if he could catch a ball fairly well, or ride a pony without falling off, this child of the wilderness could swim like a duck, ride like an Indian, hit a squirrel with an arrow at thirty yards, and paddle a canoe like a voyageur.

Nor had his education in other ways been neglected. His father had been a fairly good scholar in his young days, and among the treasures he had gathered about him since coming into the North-West were a number of volumes of fiction, poetry, history, science, and theology, which were a source of never-failing pleasure to him, and the contents of which he took delight in imparting to Archie, who proved an apt pupil, being able to read well when but eight years old, and enjoying very much his father’s enthusiastic teaching.

For this schooling there was plenty of time in the long, cold winters, when the factor spent most of his days in the bosom of his family, and when sometimes for a whole week no one who could possibly help it would think of venturing out of doors, so intense would be the cold and fierce the gales that blew about Fort Chipewyan. Then would the trappers and voyageurs gather about the roaring fires, and while away the hours in thrilling tales of hairbreadth escapes, and mighty exploits in which the Indian, the bear, the buffalo, and the elk always got the worst of it in the end, and which made Archie’s blood bound in his veins, as he longed for the day when he could take his place among these heroes, and endure and triumph with them.

‘Oh, father! when shall I be big enough to go with you?’ he exclaimed longingly one day as the factor was about setting forth on one of his journeys in quest of Indian camps where furs might be found.

‘When shall you be big enough, Archie? Well, let me see,’ responded his father, with a smile; and then, after a pause, ‘I think I might venture to take you when you are about fifteen.’

‘Fifteen, father? Oh, that’s ever so far off!’ cried Archie dolefully. ‘Won’t you take me before that?’

‘Not on a long trip like this one, laddie,’ answered Mr. M’Kenzie in a kind but firm tone. ‘You would only be in our way, you know, and that wouldn’t be pleasant.’

Archie did not relish the reflection implied in his being in the way, and would have liked to argue the point at length; but his father was too busy to listen to him then, and he had to content himself with muttering—

‘I’m very sure I shouldn’t be in the way. Why couldn’t I take care of myself, I’d like to know?’

However, there was nothing to do but to submit; for his mother, who loved her children so passionately that she was never content to have them out of sight, would give him no support, he knew, and he must only await his father’s pleasure in the matter.

But while waiting he could be preparing, and one of the most important accomplishments being the management of a canoe, he consoled himself by paddling about in his own little beauty, made especially for him by one of the Indians, who wished to find especial favour in the eyes of the factor.

It was one of the loveliest days of the all-too-short summer that comes to Athabasca, and the lake looked its best, as it stretched away from the foot of the fort, a vast expanse of dimpled blue. Archie had been but a few minutes in the canoe, and was not far from land, when who should come running down to the beach but little Rose-Marie, no hood upon her curly head, or moccasins on her chubby feet as she scampered towards Archie, calling out eagerly—

‘Archie, Archie, take me with you!’

Archie’s first impulse was to refuse her on the same ground as his father a little while before had refused him, namely, that she would only be in the way. But, before he spoke, his mind changed. It was against the rules for him to take Rose-Marie out in his canoe. Mrs. M’Kenzie did not consider he could yet be trusted with so precious a passenger, and hitherto her orders upon that point had been obeyed.

But this morning Archie was just in the mood to be reckless. He felt very much put out at what his father had said to him, and when Rose-Marie, with her toes touching the edge of the water, stretched out her arms beseechingly, and repeated her request to be taken in, the thought flashed into Archie’s mind—

‘I’ll show them I can manage a canoe,’ and turning towards the shore he called out—

‘All right, Rose, I’ll take you.’

Rose-Marie clapped her hands for joy, and eagerly awaited his approach.

‘Take care now, Rose; climb in and sit right down,’ cautioned Archie; and in another moment the little girl was sitting demurely in the bottom of the canoe.

With a half-reckless, half-repentant feeling, Archie paddled off, his little passenger beaming delightedly, as the canoe glided through the ripples, which made soft music against its birchen sides. His intention was to go out to an island that lifted its head from the water about half a mile away, and to land there for a while, as it was a great place for the berry that the Indians called tawquoy meena, but which we know as the choke-cherry.

Rose-Marie kept as still as a mouse, although her tongue wagged merrily, and Archie’s steady paddling soon brought the canoe to the island, where he ran her gently up on the beach, and they got out to hunt for choke-cherries. Their search was successful, and when they had had enough, Archie broke off a big branch laden with the red beads to take back to their mother, and they returned to the canoe.

By this time Rose-Marie was getting tired and restless, and Archie had more than once to caution sharply—

‘Be still, there, Rose, will you? You’ll upset the canoe if you don’t.’

But Rose was not in the humour to obey. She wriggled and squirmed about in a way that made Archie both cross and nervous.

At length, when they were not more than half-way home, the little witch caught sight of a dead fish gleaming white on the surface of the water, and exclaiming, ‘Oh, Archie, I’ve got a fish!’ made a sudden grasp at it. As quick as a flash Archie sprang forward to stop her, but he was too late. She had reached far over the side, and when he moved the cranky canoe was overbalanced, and the next moment they were both plunged headlong into the deep, cold water.