Читать книгу Wrecked but not Ruined - Robert Michael Ballantyne - Страница 3

The little outskirt settlement of Partridge Bay was one of those infant colonies which was destined to become in future years a flourishing and thickly-peopled district of Canada. At the period of our story it was a mere cluster of dwellings that were little better than shanties in point of architecture and appearance. They were, however, somewhat larger than these, and the cleared fields around them, with here and there a little garden railed in, gave them a more homelike aspect than the dwellings of the wood-men.

The valley in which the settlement stood was one of those magnificent stretches of primeval forest which used to be the hunting-grounds of the red man, and from which he had not at that time been thrust by the “paleface,” for, here and there, his wigwam might still be seen sending its wreath of blue smoke above the tree-tops.

It was evening—a calm, sunny, glorious, spring evening—when Redding and his man overtopped the heights that enclosed the vale, and paused as well to gaze upon the scene as to recover breath. Far below them lay the hamlet, a cluster of black dots on a field of pure snow. Roseate lights on undulations, and cold blue shadows in hollows, were tamed down in effect by the windows of the hamlet which shot forth beams of blazing fire at the setting sun. Illimitable space seemed to stretch away to the place where the horizon would have been if it had not lost itself in a golden glory, and this vast reach was a varied irregular network of dark pines and fields of snow—the pines tipped everywhere with sparkling snow-wreaths, the fields streaked everywhere with long shadows. Little winding lines of a grey colour which radiated from the hamlet indicated the tracks where the settlers drove their sleighs and wood-sledges. Many of these were seen moving along the far-off tracks like insects, while the tinkle of the sleigh-bells floated upwards like fairy music.

“Yes, I shall take up my abode there,” murmured Redding, as he gazed in rapt admiration on the beautiful scene.

“Monsieur?” said his companion.

“I say that I should like to dwell there,” answered Redding. “It is a splendid country, and will be better known in days to come.”

“Vraiment, truly, a magnifircent kontry,” returned Le Rue, “gorgeows, magnifique! I vould giv moche, ver moche, to have leetil cottage, an vife, an cow, an pigs dere.”

As Redding had been thinking of something similar, he laughed, and commenced the descent of the zigzag track that led to the hamlet.

They had proceeded only a few yards when, turning round a cluster of pines, they suddenly discovered some travellers in difficulty—a man whose horse had shied or stumbled off the narrow track and was embedded up to the girths in the soft snow, and two females, whose furry garments, all besprinkled with snow, showed that they had just emerged from the sledge, which lay on its side behind the horse. The driver’s chief anxiety seemed to be to quiet and restrain his horse, which being high-spirited, was plunging in vain and frantic efforts to extricate himself, to the great danger of shafts and harness.

To run up and aid the man was of course the instant impulse of our travellers.

“Ah! good luck to ’ee,” exclaimed the driver, in tones that were unmistakably Irish, “here, howld ’is head till I get the sled clear.”

“All right,” cried the Englishman, seizing the reins near the mouth of the terrified animal and holding its head forcibly down, while Le Rue assisted the owner to unharness.

In a few minutes the vehicle was righted, and the horse released.

While the driver was busy readjusting the harness, he accompanied the operation with a running fire of grateful expressions, such as— “there now, ain’t ye in luck, Rooney? Arrah! gentleman, it’s my blissin’ I bestow on yez. Och! but I’d have bin lost intirely widout ye. Well well, it’s always the way. I’m no sooner in a scrape than I’m sure to get out of it. It’s meself is a favoured man. Now thin, ladies, git in, for we’re late enough on the road.”

On the two “ladies” thus addressed Redding and his man had been gazing in silent surprise, for they were so good-looking and so blooming, that it seemed to the two men, who had been accustomed of late to the sight of none but the brown dames of the red skins, as if a couple of beings from another and a purer world had dropped suddenly upon their path. One of the two was evidently a lady, and was possessed of no common share of beauty. Her dark hair contrasted powerfully with the fairness of her skin and the whiteness of her teeth. Her dazzling black eyes almost, and her red lips altogether, laughed as she observed Redding’s gaze of astonishment. Her companion, a very pretty Canadian girl, was evidently her maid.

“We owe you many thanks, kind sirs,” said the lady, “for your opportune assistance.”

“Pardon me, madam,” said Redding, hastening forward in some confusion as he recovered from his rather rude stare of surprise, “I dwell in the wilderness and have been so unaccustomed of late to the sight of ladies that—that—allow me to assist you into the sleigh!”

“Mademoiselle, permettez moi,” said Le Rue, advancing to the waiting-maid and politely offering his hand.

Another moment and the “ladies” were seated in the vehicle and carefully repacked by our travellers, while their Irish driver mounted to his seat in front and gathered up the reins.

“Thanks, gentlemen, many thanks,” repeated the ladies, with bewitching smiles.

“Good luck to ’ee both,” cried the driver, as he flourished his whip and drove away.

Redding and his man stood silently gazing for several minutes at the turn in the road where the vision had vanished.

“Heaven for two minits, an’ now—gone for evair!” said Le Rue, with a deep sigh.

Redding echoed the sigh, and then laughed at the lugubrious expression of his man’s face.

“Oh such eyes!” exclaimed Le Rue.

“Yes, she’s rather good-looking,” replied Redding, thinking of the lady.

“Good-looking! non—bootifool—exiquitely bootifool,” cried Le Rue, thinking of the maid.

Again Redding laughed. “Well well, François,” said he, “whether good-looking or beautiful matters little, for it’s not likely that we shall ever see them again, so the less you think about them the better.—Allons! we are late enough and must not loiter.”

They pushed ahead at once at a rapid pace, but although neither spoke, each thought with somewhat similar feelings of the little incident just described.

Lest the reader should be surprised at so small a matter affecting them so deeply, we must remark that these fur-traders had lived for some years in a region where they saw no females except the brown and rather dirty squaws of the Indians who visited the Cliff Fort with furs. Their fort was indeed only three days’ journey from the little settlement of Partridge Bay, but as the space which lay between was a particularly rugged part of the wilderness, with only a portion of road—unworthy of the name—here and there, and the greater part of the way only passable on foot or by means of dog-sledges, none but an occasional red man or a trapper went to and fro; and as the nature of the fur-trader’s business called for very little intercourse with the settlements—their furs being sent by water to Quebec in summer—it followed that the inhabitants of the Cliff Fort rarely visited Partridge Bay. The sudden vision, therefore, of two pretty females of a higher type had not only the effect on Redding and his man of novelty, but also stirred up old memories and associations.

Such good use did they now make of their time that the settlement of Partridge Bay was reached before dark, and our hero went off immediately in quest of the surveyor.

Mr Gambart was a cheerful, healthy, plump little man, with a plump little wife, and three plump little daughters. Plumpness was not only a characteristic of the Gambarts, but also of their surroundings, for the cottage in which they dwelt had a certain air of plumpness about it, and the spot on which it stood was a round little knob of a hill.

Here Reginald Redding was hospitably received—we might almost say joyfully, because visitors to the settlement were so rare that whoever made his appearance was sure to be received as a “welcome guest” if he only carried the credentials of honesty and ordinary good nature on his countenance.

Redding’s impatience, however, to get at the truth of the matter that had brought him there, induced him very soon to forsake the society of the three plump little daughters and retire to the plump little father’s work-room.

“It is my opinion,” said Mr Gambart, as he carefully unfolded the plan, “that you may find the McLeods have trespassed somewhat on your reserves, for, if my memory serves me rightly, there is a small islet—as you see here—just in the centre of the creek, half of which belongs to you.”

“I see it,” said the fur-trader, earnestly gazing on the dot which represented the said island.

“Well,” continued the surveyor, “that islet is a mere rock just above the waterfall, and I am of opinion that it would be almost impossible for any one to erect a mill there without encroaching to some extent on your half of it.”

“Good,” replied the fur-trader, “can you let me have a copy of the plan to-morrow?”

“To-night if you please. I have one by me.”

“Then I’ll be off by daybreak the day after to-morrow,” said Redding, with much decision.

“Why such haste?” asked the surveyor, “the McLeods are not likely to run away from you. I know them well, for they dwelt long in this settlement, and were ever regarded as men of firm purpose—quite immovable indeed when once they had made up their minds on any point, so you’ll be sure to find them at Jenkins Creek carrying out their plans, even though you should delay your return for a month. Come, make up your mind to stay with us at least a few days. It will do you as well as me good, and will send you back to banishment in a better frame of mind.”

Redding, although strongly tempted by the comforts of civilised life and the hospitality of his host—not to mention the attractions of the plump little daughters—sternly resolved not to swerve an inch from the path of what he believed to be his duty. He entertained a strong suspicion that these McLeods had penetrated into the wilderness to the neighbourhood of the Cliff Fort, not so much for the purpose of cutting timber as for secret opposition in the fur-trade, of which the company he represented had for many years enjoyed almost a monopoly. His pride was touched, his spirit was fired. Perhaps the peaceful and secluded life he had led rendered this little opportunity of warfare more a pleasure than a pain to him. At all events the thing was not to be tolerated. The saw-mill, which the McLeods had an undoubted right to erect on the unoccupied lands, was being planted on the very border of the Company’s reserve lands, which they had purchased, and which were clearly laid down in plans. He would see to it that these interlopers did not trespass by an inch—no, not by an eighth of an inch—if he had power to prevent it! The fact that the McLeods were said to be resolute men made him more determined to assert his rights. He therefore declined Mr Gambart’s invitation firmly.

“I will stay,” said he, “only one day, to look out for a house, and then return.”

“Look out for a house!” exclaimed the surveyor, in surprise, “what mean you? Do you think of settling down here?”

“Indeed I do,” replied Redding, with a smile. “I have long been brooding over that subject. The fact is, Mr Gambart, that I am tired of solitude. I am a sociable being, and find it hard to endure the society of only five or six men in a place where there are no women, no children, and no end of bears! I intend to leave the Fur Company’s service,—indeed my resignation is already sent in,—purchase a small farm here, and get—”

“Get a wife, a horse, a dog, and a gun, and settle down to enjoy yourself, eh?” interrupted the surveyor.

“Well, I had not gone quite so much into details,” answered Redding, with a laugh, “but you are right in so far as settling down goes. My only fear is that it won’t be easy to find a place that will at once suit my fancy and my purse. The small sum of money left me by my father at his death two years ago will not purchase a very extensive place, but—”

“I know the very thing to suit you,” interrupted the surveyor with emphasis, “a splendid little cottage—quite a mansion in miniature—with garden, fences, fields, outhouses, etcetera, all complete and going literally for an old song. Come, we’ll ‘go visit it by the pale moonlight’ just now, return to have tea with the ladies, and to-morrow we’ll go see it by daylight. It is close at hand, the name is Loch Dhu, and it has only one objection.”

“What may that be?” asked Redding, much amused at the abrupt little man’s energy.

“Won’t tell you till you’ve seen it; come.”

Without more ado they sallied forth and walked along the snowy track that led to the cottage in question. A few minutes sufficed to bring them to it, and the first glance showed the fur-trader that his friend had not exaggerated the beauty of the place. The cottage, although small, was so elegant in form and so tastefully planned in every respect that it well deserved the title of a mansion in miniature. It stood on a rising ground which was crowned with trees; and the garden in front, the summer-house, the porch, the trellis-work fence, the creepers, the flower-beds—everything in fact, told that it had been laid out and planned by a refined mind.

Of course Redding had to call in the aid of his imagination a little, for at the moment when he first beheld it, the whole scene was robed in a mantle of snow. Close to the house, and in sight of the front windows, was a small lake or pond, by the side of which rose an abrupt precipice of about fifty feet in height. Beyond this, a little to the right, lay the undulating fields of the settlement, dotted with clumps of trees and clusters of cottages.

“Most beautiful!” exclaimed the fur-trader, “but why named Loch Dhu, which, if I mistake not, is the Gaelic for Black Lake?”

“Because that little pond,” answered the surveyor, “when freed from its wintry coat, looks dark and deep even at mid-day under the shadow of that beetling cliff.”

“Truly, I like it well,” said Redding, as he turned again to look at the cottage, “are you its architect?”

“I am,” answered Mr Gambart, “but a greater mind than mine guided my pencil in the process of its creation.”

“Indeed! and what is the objection to it that you spoke of?”

“That,” replied the surveyor, with a mysterious look, “I must, on second thoughts, decline to tell you.”

“How, then, can you expect me to buy the place?” demanded Redding, in surprise.

“Why, because I, a disinterested friend, strongly recommend you to do so. You believe in me. Well, I tell you that there is no objection to the place but one, and that one won’t prove to be an objection in the long run, though it is one just now. The price is, as you know, ridiculously small, first, because the family who owned it have been compelled by reverses of fortune to part with it, and are in urgent need of ready cash; and, secondly, because few people have yet found out the beauties of this paradise, which will one day become a very important district of Canada.”

“Humph, well, I believe in your friendship, and to some extent in your wisdom, though I doubt your capacity to prophesy,” said Redding. “However, if you won’t tell me the objection, I must rest content. To-morrow we will look at it in daylight, and if I then see no objections to it myself, I’ll buy it.”

The morrow came. In the blaze of the orb of day Loch Dhu looked more beautiful than it did by moonlight. After a thorough examination of house and grounds, the fur-trader resolved to purchase it, and commissioned his plump little friend to carry out the transaction. Thereafter he and his man retraced their steps to the wilderness, still breathing unutterable things against the entire clan of McLeod.