Читать книгу The Best Ballantyne Westerns - R. M. Ballantyne - Страница 21

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The scene changes—Bachelor’s Hall—A practical Joke and its consequences—A snow-shoe walk at night in the forest.

Leaving Charley to pursue his adventurous career among the Indians, we will introduce our reader to a new scene, and follow for a time the fortunes of our friend Harry Somerville. It will be remembered that we left him labouring under severe disappointment at the idea of having to spend a year, it might be many years, at the depot, and being condemned to the desk, instead of realising his fond dreams of bear-hunting and deer-stalking in the woods and prairies.

It was now the autumn of Harry’s second year at York Fort. This period of the year happens to be the busiest at the depot, in consequence of the preparation of the annual accounts for transmission to England, in the solitary ship which visits this lonely spot once a year; so that Harry was tied to his desk all day and the greater part of the night too, till his spirits fell infinitely below zero, and he began to look on himself as the most miserable of mortals. His spirits rose, however, with amazing rapidity after the ship went away, and the “young gentlemen,” as the clerks were styled en masse, were permitted to run wild in the swamps and woods for the three weeks succeeding that event. During this glimpse of sunshine they recruited their exhausted frames by paddling about all day in Indian canoes, or wandering through the marshes, sleeping at nights in tents or under the pine trees, and spreading dismay among the feathered tribes, of which there were immense numbers of all kinds. After this they returned to their regular work at the desk; but as this was not so severe as in summer, and was further lightened by Wednesdays and Saturdays being devoted entirely to recreation, Harry began to look on things in a less gloomy aspect, and at length regained his wonted cheerful spirits.

Autumn passed away. The ducks and geese took their departure to more genial climes. The swamps froze up and became solid. Snow fell in great abundance, covering every vestige of vegetable nature, except the dark fir trees, that only helped to render the scenery more dreary, and winter settled down upon the land. Within the pickets of York Fort, the thirty or forty souls who lived there were actively employed in cutting their firewood, putting in double window-frames to keep out the severe cold, cutting tracks in the snow from one house to another, and otherwise preparing for a winter of eight months duration, as cold as that of Nova Zembla, and in the course of which the only new faces they had any chance of seeing were those of the two men who conveyed the annual winter packet of letters from the next station. Outside of the fort all was a wide, waste wilderness for thousands of miles around. Deathlike stillness and solitude reigned everywhere, except when a covey of ptarmigan whirred like large snowflakes athwart the sky, or an arctic fox prowled stealthily through the woods in search of prey.

As if in opposition to the gloom and stillness and solitude outside, the interior of the clerks’ house presented a striking contrast of ruddy warmth, cheerful sounds, and bustling activity.

It was evening; but although the sun had set, there was still sufficient daylight to render candles unnecessary, though not enough to prevent a bright glare from the stove in the centre of the hall taking full effect in the darkening chamber, and making it glow with fiery red. Harry Somerville sat in front, and full in the blaze of this stove, resting after the labours of the day; his arms crossed on his breast, his head a little to one side, as if in deep contemplation, as he gazed earnestly into the fire, and his chair tilted on its hind legs so as to balance with such nicety that a feather’s weight additional outside its centre of gravity would have upset it. He had divested himself of his coat—a practice that prevailed among the young gentlemen when at home, as being free-and-easy as well as convenient. The doctor, a tall, broad-shouldered man, with red hair and whiskers, paced the room sedately, with a long pipe depending from his lips, which he removed occasionally to address a few remarks to the accountant, a stout, heavy man of about thirty, with a voice like a Stentor, eyes sharp and active as those of a ferret, and a tongue that moved with twice the ordinary amount of lingual rapidity. The doctor’s remarks seemed to be particularly humorous, if one might judge from the peals of laughter with which they were received by the accountant, who stood with his back to the stove in such a position that, while it warmed him from his heels to his waist, he enjoyed the additional benefit of the pipe or chimney, which rose upwards, parallel with his spine, and, taking a sudden bend near the roof, passed over his head—thus producing a genial and equable warmth from top to toe.

“Yes,” said the doctor, “I left him hotly following up a rabbit-track, in the firm belief that it was that of a silver fox.”

“And did you not undeceive the greenhorn?” cried the accountant, with another shout of laughter.

“Not I,” replied the doctor. “I merely recommended him to keep his eye on the sun, lest he should lose his way, and hastened home; for it just occurred to me that I had forgotten to visit Louis Blanc, who cut his foot with an axe yesterday, and whose wound required redressing, so I left the poor youth to learn from experience.”

“Pray, who did you leave to that delightful fate?” asked Mr Wilson, issuing from his bedroom and approaching the stove.

Mr Wilson was a middle-aged, good-humoured, active man, who filled the onerous offices of superintendent of the men, trader of furs, seller of goods to the Indians, and general factotum.

“Our friend Hamilton,” answered the doctor, in reply to his question. “I think he is, without exception, the most egregious nincompoop I ever saw. Just as I passed the long swamp on my way home, I met him crashing through the bushes in hot pursuit of a rabbit, the track of which he mistook for a fox. Poor fellow! he had been out since breakfast, and only shot a brace of ptarmigan, although they are as thick as bees and quite tame. ‘But then, do you see,’ said he, in excuse, ‘I’m so very short-sighted! Would you believe it, I’ve blown fifteen lumps of snow to atoms, in the belief that they were ptarmigan!’ and then he rushed off again.”

“No doubt,” said Mr Wilson, smiling, “the lad is very green, but he’s a good fellow for all that.”

“I’ll answer for that,” said the accountant; “I found him over at the men’s houses this morning doing your work for you, doctor.”

“How so?” inquired the disciple of Aesculapius.

“Attending to your wounded man, Louis Blanc, to be sure; and he seemed to speak to him as wisely as if he had walked the hospitals, and regularly passed for an M.D.”

“Indeed!” said the doctor, with a mischievous grin. “Then I must pay him off for interfering with my patients.”

“Ah, doctor, you’re too fond of practical jokes. You never let slip an opportunity of ‘paying off’ your friends for something or other. It’s a bad habit. Practical jokes are very bad things—shockingly bad,” said Mr Wilson, as he put on his fur cap, and wound a thick shawl round his throat, preparatory to leaving the room.

As Mr Wilson gave utterance to this opinion, he passed Harry Somerville, who was still staring at the fire in deep mental abstraction, and, as he did so, gave his tilted chair a very slight push backwards with his finger—an action which caused Harry to toss up his legs, grasp convulsively with both hands at empty air, and fall with a loud noise and an angry yell to the ground, while his persecutor vanished from the scene.

“O you outrageous villain!” cried Harry, shaking his fist at the door, as he slowly gathered himself up: “I might have expected that.”

“Quite so,” said the doctor; “you might. It was very neatly done, undoubtedly. Wilson deserves credit for the way in which it was executed.”

“He deserves to be executed for doing it at all,” replied Harry, rubbing his elbow as he resumed his seat.

“Any bark knocked off?” inquired the accountant, as he took a piece of glowing charcoal from the stove wherewith to light his pipe. “Try a whiff, Harry. It’s good for such things. Bruises, sores, contusions, sprains, rheumatic affections of the back and loins, carbuncles, and earache—there’s nothing that smoking won’t cure; eh, doctor?”

“Certainly. If applied inwardly, there’s nothing so good for digestion when one doesn’t require tonics.—Try it, Harry; it will do you good, I assure you.”

“No, thank you,” replied Harry; “I’ll leave that to you and the chimney. I don’t wish to make a soot-bag of my mouth. But tell me, doctor, what do you mean to do with that lump of snow there?”

Harry pointed to a mass of snow, of about two feet square, which lay on the floor beside the door. It had been placed there by the doctor some time previously.

“Do with it? Have patience, my friend, and you shall see. It is a little surprise I have in store for Hamilton.”

As he spoke, the door opened, and a short, square-built man rushed into the room, with a pistol in one hand and a bright little bullet in the other.

“Hullo, skipper!” cried Harry, “what’s the row?”

“All right,” cried the skipper; “here it is at last, solid as the fluke of an anchor. Toss me the powder-flask, Harry; look sharp, else it’ll melt.”

A powder-flask was immediately produced, from which the skipper hastily charged the pistol, and rammed down the shining bullet.

“Now then,” said he, “look out for squalls. Clear the decks there.”

And rushing to the door, he flung it open, took a steady aim at something outside, and fired.

“Is the man mad?” said the accountant, as with a look of amazement he beheld the skipper spring through the doorway, and immediately return, bearing in his arms a large piece of fir plank.

“Not quite mad yet,” he said, in reply, “but I’ve sent a ball of quicksilver through an inch plank, and that’s not a thing to be done every day—even here, although it is cold enough sometimes to freeze up one’s very ideas.”

“Dear me,” interrupted Harry Somerville, looking as if a new thought had struck him, “that must be it! I’ve no doubt that poor Hamilton’s ideas are frozen, which accounts for the total absence of any indication of his possessing such things.”

“I observed,” continued the skipper, not noticing the interruption, “that the glass was down at 45 degrees below zero this morning, and put out a bullet-mould full of mercury, and you see the result.” As he spoke he held up the perforated plank in triumph.

The skipper was a strange mixture of qualities. To a wild, offhand, sailor-like hilarity of disposition in hours of leisure, he united a grave, stern energy of character while employed in the performance of his duties. Duty was always paramount with him. A smile could scarcely be extracted from him while it was in the course of performance. But the instant his work was done a new spirit seemed to take possession of the man. Fun, mischief of any kind, no matter how childish, he entered into with the greatest delight and enthusiasm. Among other peculiarities, he had become deeply imbued with a thirst for scientific knowledge, ever since he had acquired, with infinite labour, the small modicum of science necessary to navigation; and his doings in pursuit of statistical information relative to the weather, and the phenomena of nature generally, were very peculiar, and in some cases outrageous. His transaction with the quicksilver was in consequence of an eager desire to see that metal frozen (an effect which takes place when the spirit-of-wine thermometer falls to 39 degrees below zero of Fahrenheit), and a wish to be able to boast of having actually fired a mercurial bullet through an inch plank. Having made a careful note of the fact, with all the relative circumstances attending it, in a very much blotted book, which he denominated his scientific log, the worthy skipper threw off his coat, drew a chair to the stove, and prepared to regale himself with a pipe. As he glanced slowly round the room while thus engaged, his eye fell on the mass of snow before alluded to. On being informed by the doctor for what it was intended, he laid down his pipe and rose hastily from his chair.

“You’ve not a moment to lose,” said he. “As I came in at the gate just now, I saw Hamilton coming down the river on the ice, and he must be almost arrived now.”

“Up with it then,” cried the doctor, seizing the snow, and lifting it to the top of the door. “Hand me those bits of stick, Harry; quick, man, stir your stumps.—Now then, skipper, fix them in so, while I hold this up.”

The skipper lent willing and effective aid, so that in a few minutes the snow was placed in such a position that upon the opening of the door it must inevitably fall on the head of the first person who should enter the room.

“So,” said the skipper; “that’s rigged up in what I call a ship-shape fashion.”

“True,” remarked the doctor, eyeing the arrangement with a look of approval; “it will do, I think, admirably.”

“Don’t you think, skipper,” said Harry Somerville gravely, as he resumed his seat in front of the fire, “that it would be worth while to make a careful and minute entry in your private log of the manner in which it was put up, to be afterwards followed by an account of its effect? You might write an essay on it now, and call it the extraordinary effects of a fall of snow in latitude so and so, eh? What think you of it?”

The skipper vouchsafed no reply, but made a significant gesture with his fist, which caused Harry to put himself in a posture of defence.

At this moment footsteps were heard on the wooden platform in front of the building.

Instantly all became silence and expectation in the hall as the result of the practical joke was about to be realised. Just then another step was heard on the platform, and it became evident that two persons were approaching the door.

“Hope it’ll be the right man,” said the skipper, with a look savouring slightly of anxiety.

As he spoke the door opened, and a foot crossed the threshold; the next instant the miniature avalanche descended on the head and shoulders of a man, who reeled forward from the weight of the blow, and, covered from head to foot with snow, fell to the ground amid shouts of laughter.

With a convulsive stamp and shake, the prostrate figure sprang up and confronted the party. Had the cast-iron stove suddenly burst into atoms and blown the roof off the house, it could scarcely have created greater consternation than that which filled the merry jesters when they beheld the visage of Mr Rogan, the superintendent of the fort, red with passion and fringed with snow.

“So,” said he, stamping violently with his foot, partly from anger, and partly with the view of shaking off the unexpected covering, which stuck all over his dress in little patches, producing a somewhat piebald effect,—“so you are pleased to jest, gentlemen. Pray, who placed that piece of snow over the door?” Mr Rogan glared fiercely round upon the culprits, who stood speechless before him.

For a moment he stood silent, as if uncertain how to act; then turning short on his heel, he strode quickly out of the room, nearly overturning Mr Hamilton, who at the same instant entered it, carrying his gun and snow-shoes under his arm.

“Dear me, what has happened?” he exclaimed, in a peculiarly gentle tone of voice, at the same time regarding the snow and the horror-stricken circle with a look of intense surprise.

“You see what has happened,” replied Harry Somerville, who was the first to recover his composure; “I presume you intended to ask, ‘What has caused it to happen?’ Perhaps the skipper will explain; it’s beyond me, quite.”

Thus appealed to, that worthy cleared his throat, and said:—

“Why, you see, Mr Hamilton, a great phenomenon of meteorology has happened. We were all standing, you must know, at the open door, taking a squint at the weather, when our attention was attracted by a curious object that appeared in the sky, and seemed to be coming down at the rate of ten knots an hour, right end-on for the house. I had just time to cry, ‘Clear out, lads,’ when it came slap in through the doorway, and smashed to shivers there, where you see the fragments. In fact, it’s a wonderful aerolite, and Mr Rogan has just gone out with a lot of the bits in his pocket, to make a careful examination of them, and draw up a report for the Geological Society in London. I shouldn’t wonder if he were to send off an express to-night; and maybe you will have to convey the news to headquarters, so you’d better go and see him about it soon.”

Soft although Mr Hamilton was supposed to be, he was not quite prepared to give credit to this explanation; but being of a peaceful disposition, and altogether unaccustomed to retort, he merely smiled his disbelief, as he proceeded to lay aside his fowling-piece, and divest himself of the voluminous out-of-door trappings with which he was clad. Mr Hamilton was a tall, slender youth, of about nineteen. He had come out by the ship in autumn, and was spending his first winter at York Fort. Up to the period of his entering the Hudson’s Bay Company’s service, he had never been more than twenty miles from home, and having mingled little with the world, was somewhat unsophisticated, besides being by nature gentle and unassuming.

Soon after this the man who acted as cook, waiter, and butler to the mess, entered, and said that Mr Rogan desired to see the accountant immediately.

“Who am I to say did it?” inquired that gentleman, as he rose to obey the summons.

“Wouldn’t it be a disinterested piece of kindness if you were to say it was yourself?” suggested the doctor.

“Perhaps it would, but I won’t,” replied the accountant, as he made his exit.

In about half an hour Mr Rogan and the accountant re-entered the apartment. The former had quite regained his composure. He was naturally amiable; which happy disposition was indicated by a habitually cheerful look and smile.

“Now, gentlemen,” said he, “I find that this practical joke was not intended for me, and therefore look upon it as an unlucky accident; but I cannot too strongly express my dislike to practical jokes of all kinds. I have seen great evil, and some bloodshed, result from practical jokes; and I think that, being a sufferer in consequence of your fondness for them, I have a right to beg that you will abstain from such doings in future—at least from such jokes as involve risk to those who do not choose to enter into them.”

Having given vent to this speech, Mr Rogan left his volatile friends to digest it at their leisure.

“Serves us right,” said the skipper, pacing up and down the room in a repentant frame of mind, with his thumbs hooked into the arm-holes of his vest.

The doctor said nothing, but breathed hard and smoked vigorously.

While we admit most thoroughly with Mr Rogan that practical jokes are exceedingly bad, and productive frequently of far more evil than fun, we feel it our duty, as a faithful delineator of manners, customs, and character in these regions, to urge in palliation of the offence committed by the young gentlemen at York Fort, that they had really about as few amusements and sources of excitement as fall to the lot of any class of men. They were entirely dependent on their own unaided exertions, during eight or nine months of the year, for amusement or recreation of any kind. Their books were few in number, and soon read through. The desolate wilderness around afforded no incidents to form subjects of conversation further than the events of a day’s shooting, which, being nearly similar every day, soon lost all interest. No newspapers came to tell of the doings of the busy world from which they were shut out, and nothing occurred to vary the dull routine of their life; so that it is not matter for wonder that they were driven to seek for relaxation and excitement occasionally in most outrageous and unnatural ways, and to indulge now and then in the perpetration of a practical joke.

For some time after the rebuke administered by Mr Rogan, silence reigned in Bachelor’s Hall, as the clerks’ house was termed. But at length symptoms of ennui began to be displayed. The doctor yawned, and lay down on his bed to enjoy an American newspaper about twelve months old. Harry Somerville sat down to re-read a volume of Franklin’s travels in the polar regions, which he had perused twice already. Mr Hamilton busied himself in cleaning his fowling-piece; while the skipper conversed with Mr Wilson, who was engaged in his room in adjusting an ivory head to a walking-stick. Mr Wilson was a jack-of-all-trades, who could make shift, one way or other, to do anything. The accountant paced the uncarpeted floor in deep contemplation.

At length he paused, and looked at Harry Somerville for some time.

“What say you to a walk through the woods to North River, Harry?”

“Ready,” cried Harry, tossing down the book with a look of contempt—“ready for anything.”

“Will you come, Hamilton?” added the accountant. Hamilton looked up in surprise.

“You don’t mean, surely, to take so long a walk in the dark, do you? It is snowing, too, very heavily, and I think you said that North River was five miles off, did you not?”

“Of course I mean to walk in the dark,” replied the accountant, “unless you can extemporise an artificial light for the occasion, or prevail on the moon to come out for my special benefit. As to snowing, and a short tramp of five miles, why, the sooner you get to think of such things as trifles the better, if you hope to be fit for anything in this country.”

“I don’t think much of them,” replied Hamilton, softly, and with a slight smile; “I only meant that such a walk was not very attractive so late in the evening.”

“Attractive!” shouted Harry Somerville from his bedroom, where he was equipping himself for the walk; “what can be more attractive than a sharp run of ten miles through the woods on a cool night to visit your traps, with the prospect of a silver fox or a wolf at the end of it, and an extra sound sleep as the result? Come, man, don’t be soft; get ready, and go along with us.”

“Besides,” added the accountant, “I don’t mean to come back to-night. To-morrow, you know, is a holiday, so we can camp out in the snow after visiting the traps, have our supper, and start early in the morning to search for ptarmigan.”

“Well, I will go,” said Hamilton, after this account of the pleasures that were to be expected; “I am exceedingly anxious to learn to shoot birds on the wing.”

“Bless me! have you not learned that yet?” asked the doctor, in affected surprise, as he sauntered out of his bedroom to relight his pipe.

The various bedrooms in the clerks’ house were ranged round the hall, having doors that opened directly into it, so that conversation carried on in a loud voice was heard in all the rooms at once, and was not unfrequently sustained in elevated tones from different apartments, when the occupants were lounging, as they often did of an evening, in their beds.

“No,” said Hamilton, in reply to the doctor’s question, “I have not learned yet, although there were a great many grouse in the part of Scotland where I was brought up. But my aunt, with whom I lived, was so fearful of my shooting either myself or some one else, and had such an aversion to firearms, that I determined to make her mind easy, by promising that I would never use them so long as I remained under her roof.”

“Quite right; very dutiful and proper,” said the doctor, with a grave, patronising air.

“Perhaps you’ll fall in with more fox tracks of the same sort as the one you gave chase to this morning,” shouted the skipper, from Wilson’s room.

“Oh! there’s hundreds of them out there,” said the accountant; “so let’s off at once.”

The trio now proceeded to equip themselves for the walk. Their costumes were peculiar, and merit description. As they were similar in the chief points, it will suffice to describe that of our friend Harry.

On his head he wore a fur cap made of otter-skin, with a flap on each side to cover the ears, the frost being so intense in these climates that without some such protection they would inevitably freeze and fall off.

As the nose is constantly in use for the purposes of respiration, it is always left uncovered to fight with the cold as it best can; but it is a hard battle, and there is no doubt that, if it were possible, a nasal covering would be extremely pleasant. Indeed, several desperate efforts have been made to construct some sort of nose-bag, but hitherto without success, owing to the uncomfortable fact that the breath issuing from that organ immediately freezes, and converts the covering into a bag of snow or ice, which is not agreeable. Round his neck Harry wound a thick shawl of such portentous dimensions that it entirely enveloped the neck and lower part of the face; thus the entire head was, as it were, eclipsed—the eyes, the nose, and the cheek-bones alone being visible. He then threw on a coat made of deer-skin, so prepared that it bore a slight resemblance to excessively coarse chamois leather. It was somewhat in the form of a long, wide sur-tout, overlapping very much in front, and confined closely to the figure by means of a scarlet worsted belt instead of buttons, and was ornamented round the foot by a number of cuts, which produced a fringe of little tails. Being lined with thick flannel, this portion of attire was rather heavy, but extremely necessary. A pair of blue cloth leggings having a loose flap on the outside, were next drawn over the trousers, as an additional protection to the knees. The feet, besides being portions of the body that are peculiarly susceptible of cold, had further to contend against the chafing of the lines which attach them to the snow-shoes, so that special care in their preparation for duty was necessary. First were put on a pair of blanketing or duffel socks, which were merely oblong in form, without sewing or making-up of any kind. These were wrapped round the feet, which were next thrust into a pair of made-up socks, of the same material, having ankle-pieces; above these were put another pair, without flaps for the ankles. Over all was drawn a pair of moccasins made of stout deer-skin, similar to that of the coat. Of course, the elegance of Harry’s feet was entirely destroyed, and had he been met in this guise by any of his friends in the “old country,” they would infallibly have come to the conclusion that he was afflicted with gout. Over his shoulders he slung a powder-horn and shot-pouch, the latter tastefully embroidered with dyed quill-work. A pair of deerskin mittens, having a little bag for the thumb and a large bag for the fingers, completed his costume.

While the three were making ready, with a running accompaniment of grunts and groans at refractory pieces of apparel, the night without became darker, and the snow fell thicker, so that when they issued suddenly out of their warm abode, and emerged into the sharp, frosty air, which blew the snow-drift into their eyes, they felt a momentary desire to give up the project and return to their comfortable quarters.

“What a dismal-looking night it is!” said the accountant, as he led the way along the wooden platform towards the gate of the fort.

“Very!” replied Hamilton, with an involuntary shudder.

“Keep up your heart,” said Harry, in a cheerful voice; “you’ve no notion how your mind will change on that point when you have walked a mile or so and got into a comfortable heat. I must confess, however, that a little moonshine would be an improvement,” he added, on stumbling, for the third time, off the platform into the deep snow.

“It is full moon just now,” said the accountant, “and I think the clouds look as if they would break soon. At any rate, I’ve been at North River so often that I believe I could walk out there blindfold.”

As he spoke they passed the gate, and diverging to the right, proceeded, as well as the imperfect light permitted, along the footpath that led to the forest.