CHAPTER ELEVEN.
ORIGINAL EFFORTS IN THE ART OF PAINTING--FUR-TRADING HOSPITALITY--WONDERFUL ACCOUNTS OF THE WILD MAN OF THE WEST, FROM AN EYE-WITNESS--BUFFALO HUNTING, SCALPING, MURDERING, AND A SUMMARY METHOD OF INFLICTINGPUNISHMENT.
The reception hall of the Mountain Fort, into which, as we have stated,the trappers were ushered by McLeod, was one of those curious apartmentswhich were in those days (and in a few cases still are) created for theexpress purpose of "astonishing the natives!"
It was a square room, occupying the centre of the house, and havingdoors all round, which opened into the sleeping or other apartments ofthe dwelling. In the front wall of this room were the door which leddirect into the open air, and the two windows. There were no passagesin the house--it was all rooms and doors. One of these doors, towardsthe back, opened into a species of scullery--but it was not exactly ascullery, neither was it a kitchen, neither was it a pantry. The squawslived there--especially the cooking squaws--and a few favoured dogs. Alarge number of pots and pans and kettles, besides a good deal of lumberand provisions in daily use, also dwelt there. A door led from thisroom out to the back of the house, and into a small offshoot, which wasthe kitchen proper. Here a spirited French Canadian reigned supreme inthe midst of food, fire, and steam, smoke, smells, and fat.
But to return to the reception hall. There were no pictures on itswalls, no draperies about its windows, no carpets on its floors, nocloths on its tables, and no ornaments on its mantelshelf. Indeed,there was no mantelshelf to put ornaments upon. The floor, the walls,the ceiling, the chairs, the tables; all were composed of the samematerial--wood. The splendour of the apartment was entirely due topaint. Everything was painted--and that with a view solely to startlingeffect. Blue, red, and yellow, in their most brilliant purity, werelaid on in a variety of original devices, and with a boldness ofcontrast that threw Moorish effort in that line quite into the shade.The Alhambra was nothing to it! The floor was yellow ochre; the ceilingwas sky-blue; the cornices were scarlet, with flutings of blue andyellow, and, underneath, a broad belt of fruit and foliage, executed inan extremely arabesque style. The walls were light green, with narrowbands of red down the sides of each plank. The table was yellow, thechairs blue, and their bottoms red, by way of harmonious variety. Butthe grand point--the great masterpiece in the ornamentation of thisapartment--was the centre-piece in the ceiling, in the execution ofwhich there was an extraordinary display of what can be accomplished bythe daring flight of an original genius revelling in the consciouspossession of illimitable power, without the paralysing influence ofconventional education.
The device itself was indescribable. It was a sun or a star, or rathera union and commingling of suns and stars in violent contrast, wreathedwith fanciful fruits and foliage, and Cupids, and creatures of a nowextinct species. The rainbow had been the painter's palette; genius hisbrush; fancy-gone-mad his attendant; the total temporary stagnation ofredskin faculties his object, and ecstasy his general state of mind,when he executed this magnificent _chef d'oeuvre_ in the centre of theceiling of the reception hall at the Mountain Fort.
The fireplace was a capacious cavern in the wall opposite the entrancedoor, in which, during winter, there usually burned a roaring bonfire ofhuge logs of wood, but where, at the time of which we write, there wasjust enough fire to enable visitors to light their pipe's. When thatfire blazed up in the dark winter nights, the effect of that gorgeousapartment was dazzling--absolutely bewildering.
The effect upon our trappers when they entered was sufficiently strong.They gazed round in amazement, each giving vent to his feelings in hisown peculiar exclamatory grunt, or gasp, or cough. In addition to this,Bounce smote his thigh with unwonted vigour. Gibault, after gazing fora few minutes, sighed out something that sounded like _magnifique_! andBertram grinned from ear to ear. He went further: he laughed aloud--animpolite thing to do, in the circumstances, and, for a grave man likehim, an unusual ebullition of feeling. But it was observed and notedthat on this occasion the artist did not draw forth his sketch-book.
McLeod, who, from his speech and bearing, was evidently a man of someeducation, placed chairs for his visitors, took the lid off a largecanister of tobacco, and, pushing it into the middle of the yellowtable, said--
"Sit ye down, friends, and help yourselves."
He set them the example by taking down his own pipe from a nail in thewall, and proceeding to fill it. Having done so, he took a piece ofglowing charcoal from the fire, and, placing it on the bowl, began tosmoke, glancing the while, with an amused expression on his grave face,at the trappers, who, while filling their pipes, kept gazing round thewalls and up at the ceiling.
"Ha!" said he, "you are struck with our hall (puff, puff). It's rather(puff) an effective one (puff). Have a light?"
Bounce, to whom the light was offered, accepted the same, applied it tohis pipe, and said--
"Well, yes (puff), it is (puff) raither wot ye may call (puff)pecooliar."
"Most visitors to this place think so," said McLeod. "The Indianshighly approve of it, and deem me quite a marvel of artistic power."
"Wot! did _you_ paint it?" inquired Waller.
"I did," answered McLeod, with a nod.
"Vraiment, de Injuns am right in deir opinion of you," cried Gibault,relighting his pipe, which, in the astonished state of his mind, he hadallowed to go out.
McLeod smiled, if we may so speak, _gravely_, in acknowledgment of thecompliment.
"Ha!" cried Gibault, turning to Bertram as if a sudden thought hadoccurred to him, "Monsieur Bertram et Monsieur Mak Load, you be broders.Oui, Monsieur Mak Load, dis mine comrade--him be von painteur."
"Indeed!" said McLeod, turning to the artist with more interest than hehad yet shown towards the strangers.
"I have, indeed, the honour to follow the noble profession of painting,"said Bertram, "but I cannot boast of having soared so high as--as--"
"As to attempt the frescoes on the ceiling of a reception hall in thebackwoods," interrupted McLeod, laughing. "No, I believe you, sir; but,although I cannot presume to call you brother professionally, still Itrust that I may do so as an amateur. I am delighted to see you here.It is not often we are refreshed with the sight of the face of acivilised man in these wild regions."
"Upon my word, sir, you are plain-spoken," said March Marston with alook of affected indignation; "what do you call _us_?"
"Pardon me, young sir," replied McLeod, "I call you trappers, whichmeans neither civilised nor savage; neither fish, nor flesh, nor fowl--"
"That's a foul calumny," cried Bounce, knocking the ashes out of hispipe, and refilling it from the canister; "it's wot may be called a--a--"
"Lie," suggested Waller.
"No," said Bounce, "it ain't that. I don't like that word. It's a uglyword, an' you shouldn't ought to use it, Waller. It's a _error_; that'swot it is, in a feelosophical pint o' view. Jest as much of a error,now, as it was in you, Mister McLeod, putting so little baccy in thishere thing that there ain't none left."
"What! is it all done?" cried McLeod, rising, and seizing the canister;"so it is. I declare you smoke almost as fast as the Wild Man himself;for whom I mistook you, Mr Waller, when I saw you first, at somedistance off."
Saying this, he left the room to fetch a further supply of the soothingweed, and at the same moment two squaws appeared, bearing smoking dishesof whitefish and venison.
"That fellow knows something about the Wild Man o' the West," said MarchMarston in a low, eager tone, to his comrades. "Twice has he mentionedhis name since we arrived."
"So he has," observed Redhand, "but there may be other wild men besidesour one."
"Unpossible," said Bounce emphatically.
"Ditto," cried Waller still more emphatically; "what say you,Hawkswing?"
"There is but one Wild Man of the West," replied the Indian.
"By the way, Hawkswing, what was the name o' the rascally trader yousaid was in charge o' this fort when yo
u lived here?" asked Redhand.
"Mokgroggir," replied the Indian.
"Ha, Macgregor, ye mean, no doubt."
Hawkswing nodded.
"Here you are, friends," said McLeod, re-entering the room with a largeroll of tobacco. "Help yourselves and don't spare it. There's plentymore where that came from. But I see the steaks are ready, so let usfall to; we can smoke afterwards."
During the repast, to which the trappers applied themselves with thegusto of hungry men, March Marston questioned McLeod about the Wild Man.
"The Wild Man o' the West," said he in some surprise; "is it possiblethere are trappers in the Rocky Mountains who have not heard of _him_?"
"Oh yes," said March hastily, "we've heard of him, but we want to hearmore particularly about him, for the accounts don't all agree."
"Ha! that's it," said Bounce, speaking with difficulty through a largemouthful of fish, "that's it. They don't agree. One says his rifle isthirty feet long, another forty feet, an' so on. There's no gittin' attruth in this here--"
A bone having stuck in Bounce's throat at that moment he was unable toconclude the sentence.
"As to the length of his rifle," said McLeod, when the noise made byBounce in partially choking had subsided, "you seem to have got ratherwild notions about that, and about the Wild Man too, I see."
"But he _is_ a giant, isn't he?" inquired March anxiously.
"N-not exactly. Certainly he is a big fellow, about the biggest man Iever saw--but he's not forty feet high!"
March Marston's romantic hopes began to sink. "Then he's an ordinaryman just like one o' us," he said almost gloomily.
"Nay, that he is not," returned McLeod, laughing. "Your comrade Wallerdoes indeed approach to him somewhat in height, but he's nothing to himin breadth; and as for ferocity, strength, and activity, I never sawanything like him in my life. He comes sometimes here to exchange hisfurs for powder and lead, but he'll speak to no one, except in thesharpest, gruffest way. I think he's mad myself. But he seems to leada charmed life here; for although he has had fights with many of thetribes in these parts, he always puts them to flight, although he fightssingle-handed."
"Single-handed!" exclaimed Bounce in surprise.
"Ay. I've seen him at it myself, and can vouch for it, that if everthere was a born fiend let loose on this earth it's the Wild Man of theWest when he sets-to to thrash a dozen Indians. But I must do him thejustice to say that I never heard of him making an unprovoked attack onanybody. When he first came to these mountains, many years ago--beforeI came here--the Indians used to wonder who he was and what he meant todo. Then after a while, seeing he had a good horse, a good rifle, andplenty of ammunition, they tried to kill him; but the first fellow thattried that only tried it once. He lay in a close thicket nigh to wherethe Wild Man used to pass from his home in the mountains to places wherehe used to hunt the elk and the buffalo, so, when he came up, the Indianlaid an arrow on his bow. But the Wild Man's eye was sharp as a needle.He stopped his horse, took aim like a flash of lightning, and shot himthrough the head. I heard this from another Indian that was with themurderin' fellow that was shot. The Wild Man did nothing to the other.He let him escape.
"Of course the relations of the man who was killed were up immediately,and twenty of them set out to murder the Wild Man. They took theirhorses, spears, and bows, with them, and lay in wait at a place where hewas often seen passing. Sure enough up he came, on horseback, at a slowwalk, looking as careless and easy as if no blood of a redskin rested onhis hand.
"It chanced the day before that day that we had run out of fresh meat,so Mr Macgregor, our commandant here, ordered me to take three of themen, and go out after the buffaloes. Away we went, looking sharp out,however, for some of the Indians had been treated by Macgregor sobrutally, I am sorry to say, that we knew our scalps were not safe.Next morning I happened to pass close by the place where the Indians layin ambush, and we came to the top of a precipice that overlooked thespot. We saw them before they saw us, so we went quietly back into thebush, tied our horses to trees, and lay on the edge of the cliff towatch them.
"In about ten minutes after, we saw the Wild Man riding slowly forward.He was a strange sight. It was the first time I had seen him, althoughI had often heard of him before.
"Well, on he came, with his head bent and his eyes fixed on the ground.A dense thicket hid his enemies from him, though not from us, we beingso high above them. The Wild Man was armed with his long rifle slung athis back, a hunting-knife, and a small shield, such as the BlackfootIndians use to protect themselves from arrows. The only unusual sort ofweapon he carried was a long sword.
"Not knowing at the time that the Indians were waiting for him, ofcourse I gave no alarm to warn him of his danger. When he came within ahundred yards of the thicket, I saw him push his arm a little furtherinto the handle of the shield. It was but a slight action such as onemight perform to ease the arm by change of position; but the redskinsare quick-witted. They knew that he suspected they were there, so,giving one tremendous yell, they sent a cloud of arrows at him, andsprang out upon the plain at full gallop with their spears lowered.
"Instead of turning to fly from such an unequal combat, the Wild Mandrew his sword and rushed at them like a thunderbolt. His onset was themost awful thing I ever saw in my life. The plain seemed to shake underthe tread of his gigantic horse. His hair streamed wildly out behindhim, and as he was coming towards me I could see that his teeth were setand his eyes flashed like those of a tiger. The Indians were appalledby the sight. The idea of one man attacking twenty had never occurredto them. They drew up; but it was too late to prevent a shock. Therewas a yell from the savages, a shout like the roar of a lion from theWild Man, and two horses and their riders lay on the plain. I saw thelong sword gleam for one moment, just as the shock took place, and thehead of a savage rolled immediately after along the ground.
"The Indians, though overawed, were brave men. They turned to pursuethe flying horseman, but they needed not. The Wild Man was not flying,he was only unable at first to check the headlong pace of his charger.In a few seconds he wheeled about and charged again. The Indians,however, did not await the issue; they turned and fled, and they haveever since remained in the firm belief that the Wild Man is a `greatmedicine' man, and that no one can kill him. They say that neitherarrows nor bullets can pierce his skin, which is an inch thick; thatfire and smoke come out of his mouth and eyes, and that his horse is,like himself, invulnerable. I must confess, however, that with theexception of his enormous size and his ferocity, he is, from what I sawof him, much the same as other men."
McLeod concluded his description of this singular being, to which hisguests listened open-eyed and mouthed, and helped himself to abuffalo-steak.
"An' what did he when the Indians ran away!" inquired March Marston.
"Oh! he quietly pulled up his horse and let them run. After they weregone, he continued his journey, as slow and cool as if nothing hadhappened. Few Indians attack him now, except new bands from distantparts of the country, who don't know him; but all who meddle with himfind, to their cost, that it would have been better had they let himalone."
"Is he cruel? Does he eat men and childers?" inquired Bounce,commencing a fourth steak with a degree of violent energy that suggestedthe possibility of his being himself able to do some execution in thecannibal line if necessary.
McLeod laughed. "Oh dear, no; he's not cruel. Neither does he eathuman flesh. In fact, he has been known to do some kind acts to poorstarving Indians when they least expected it. The real truth is, thathe is only fierce when he's meddled with. He never takes revenge, andhe has never been known to lift a scalp."
"But what like is he when he comes to trade his furs at the fort here?how does he speak, and in what language?" inquired Marston, who,although delighted with the account given of the strength and valour ofthe Wild Man of the West, was by no means pleased to learn that he wasnot an absolute giant, something lik
e the Giant Despair of whom he hadread in the "Pilgrim's Progress."
"He's just like a trapper--only he's a tremendous big one--six feet six,if he's an inch, and would make two of the biggest of the presentcompany round the shoulders. But he's very silent, and won't let anyone question him. The long and the short of it is, that I believe he isa madman--luckily he's a well-disposed madman, and I can vouch for it heis a crack hunter, though he don't bring many furs to trade. I think hespends most of his idle time in moping among the caves of themountains."
"Does any one know where he lives?" asked Bertram, who was graduallybecoming interested in this strange being.
"No. We have sometimes tried to track him, but at a certain place wehave invariably lost all traces of him."
"But what is his face like, and how does he dress?" inquired Marcheagerly; "you have not yet said anything about that."
McLeod was about to reply, when he was interrupted by a loud shouting inthe yard of the fort. Leaping from their seats, the whole party ran tothe windows.
"I thought so," cried McLeod, seizing his cap and hurrying out. "Theseare six of my men who have been out after the buffalo, and I see theyhave been successful."
The fort gate had been swung open, and, just as the guests issued fromthe reception hall, six hunters galloped into the square with all thereckless noise and dash peculiar to that class of men. Leaping fromtheir foaming steeds, they were quickly surrounded by their comrades,and by the women and children of the place, who congratulated them ontheir success in the chase, and plied them with eager questions.
That they had indeed been successful was evident from the masses offresh meat with which the horses were laden.
"Well done, Davis," said McLeod, stepping up to one of the men, who,from his age and intelligence, had been put in command of the huntingparty. "You are back sooner than I anticipated. Surely, your goodgenius sent the buffalo across your path."
"We have bin in luck, sir," replied the hunter, touching his cap."We've killed more than we could carry, an', what's worse, we've killedmore than we wanted."
"How so?"
"We've had a brush wi' the redskins, sir, an' we had to kill one or twoin self-defence."
McLeod's brow darkened. He clenched his teeth, and the large veinsswelled in his neck and forehead. With a powerful effort he repressedhis anger, and said--
"Did I not warn you to avoid that if you could?"
"True, sir," replied Davis humbly; "but we could not help it, for, inthe first heat of passion, one o' them was shot, an' after that, ofcourse, we had to fight to save our own scalps."
"Who fired that first shot?" inquired McLeod sternly.
Davis made no reply, but all eyes were at once turned upon a tallslouching man, with a forbidding cast of countenance, who had hithertokept in the background.
"So, so, Larocque," said McLeod, stepping up to the man, "you've been atyour bloody work again, you scoundrel. Hah! you not only bring theenmity of the whole Indian race down on your own worthless head, and onthe heads of your innocent companions, but you have the effrontery tobring the evidence of your guilt into this fort along with you."
As McLeod spoke, he laid hold of a scalp which still dropped fresh bloodas it hung at the hunter's saddle-bow.
"If I'm to answer to you for every scalp I choose to lift inself-defence, the sooner I quit you the better," answered Larocquesulkily.
"Was there any occasion to lift this scalp at all?" demanded McLeod, ashe seized the man by the collar.
"Who talks of lifting scalps?" growled a loud, deep-toned voice.
All eyes were instantly turned on the speaker, and the crowd fell backto permit Mr Macgregor, the person in command of the Mountain Fort, toapproach the scene of action.
The man who now appeared on the scene was a sad and a terrible sight tobehold. He was one of that wretched class of human beings who, havingrun a long course of unbridled wickedness, become total wrecks in bodyand mind long before the prime of manhood has been passed. Macgregorhad been a confirmed drunkard for many years. He had long lost allpower of self-control, and had now reached that last fearful stage whenoccasional fits of _delirium tremens_ rendered him more like a wildbeast than a man. Being a large and powerful man, and naturallypassionate, he was at these times a terror to all who came near him. Hehad been many years in charge of the fur-trading establishment, andhaving on many occasions maltreated the Indians, he was hated by themmost cordially.
One of his mad fits had been on him for some days before the arrival ofMarch Marston and his friends. He had recovered sufficiently to be ableto stagger out of his room just at the time the buffalo hunters, asabove described, entered the square of the fort. As he strode forward,with nothing on but his shirt and trousers, his eyes bloodshot, his hairmatted and dishevelled, and his countenance haggard in the extreme, hewas the most pitiable, and, at the same time, most terrible specimen ofhuman degradation that the mind of man could conceive of.
"What now! who has been lifting scalps?" he growled between his setteeth, striding up to Larocque, and glaring in his face, with hisbloodshot eyes, like a tiger.
McLeod held up the bloody scalp.
"Who did it?" roared Macgregor.
"I did," said Larocque with an attempt at a defiant air.
The words had barely passed his lips when he received a blow between theeyes that felled him to the earth. He attempted to rise, but, with ayell that sounded more like the war-cry of a savage than the wrathfulshout of a civilised man, Macgregor knocked him down again, and,springing at his throat, began to strangle him.
Up to this point, McLeod refrained from interfering, for he was notsorry to see the murderer receive such severe punishment; but, having nodesire to witness a second murder, he now seized his master, and, withthe assistance of two of the men, succeeded in tearing him off fromLarocque, and in conveying him, as respectfully as possible in thecircumstances, to his private chamber.
The Wild Man of the West: A Tale of the Rocky Mountains Page 11