CHAPTER TWENTY.
THE ACCOUNTANT'S STORY.
"Spring had passed away, and York Fort was filled with all the bustleand activity of summer. Brigades came pouring in upon us with furs fromthe interior, and as every boat brought a CT or a clerk, our mess-tablebegan to overflow.
"You've not seen the summer mess-room filled yet, Hamilton. That's atreat in store for you."
"It was pretty full last autumn, I think," suggested Hamilton, "at thetime I arrived from England."
"Full! why, man, it was getting to feel quite lonely at that time. I'veseen more than fifty sit down to table there, and it was worth goingfifty miles to hear the row they kicked up--telling stories without end(and sometimes without foundation) about their wild doings in theinterior, where every man-jack of them having spent at least eightmonths almost in perfect solitude, they hadn't had a chance of lettingtheir tongues go till they came down here. But to proceed. When theship came out in the fall, she brought a batch of new clerks, and amongthem was this miserable chap Peterkin, whom we soon nicknamed _Butter_.He was the softest fellow I ever knew (far worse than you, Hamilton),and he hadn't been here a week before the wild blades from the interior,who were bursting with fun and mischief, began to play off all kinds ofpractical jokes upon him. The very first day he sat down at themess-table, our worthy governor (who, you are aware, detests practicaljokes) played him a trick, quite unintentionally, which raised a laughagainst him for many a day. You know that old Mr Rogan is ratherabsent at times; well, the first day that Peterkin came to mess (it wasbreakfast), the old governor asked him, in a patronising sort of way, tosit at his right hand. Accordingly down he sat, and having never, Ifancy, been away from his mother's apron-string before, he seemed tofeel very uncomfortable, especially as he was regarded as a sort ofnovelty. The first thing he did was to capsize his plate into his lap,which set the youngsters at the lower end of the table into suppressedfits of laughter. However, he was eating the leg of a dry grouse at thetime, so it didn't make much of a mess.
"`Try some fish, Peterkin,' said Mr Rogan kindly, seeing that the youthwas ill at ease. `That old grouse is tough enough to break your knife.'
"`A very rough passage,' replied the youngster, whose mind was quiteconfused by hearing the captain of the ship, who sat next to him, givingto his next neighbour a graphic account of the voyage in a very loudkey--`I mean, if you please, no, thank you,' he stammered, endeavouringto correct himself.
"`Ah! a cup of tea perhaps.--Here, Anderson,' (turning to the butler),`a cup of tea to Mr Peterkin.'
"The butler obeyed the order.
"`And here, fill my cup,' said old Rogan, interrupting himself in anearnest conversation, into which he had plunged with the gentleman onhis left hand. As he said this he lifted his cup to empty the slops,but without paying attention to what he was doing. As luck would haveit, the slop-basin was not at hand, and Peterkin's cup _was_, so heemptied it innocently into that. Peterkin hadn't courage to arrest hishand, and when the deed was done he looked timidly round to see if theaction had been observed. Nearly half the table had seen it, but theypretended ignorance of the thing so well that he thought no one hadobserved, and so went quietly on with his breakfast, and drank the tea!But I am wandering from my story. Well, about this time there was ayoung Indian who shot himself accidentally in the woods, and was broughtto the fort to see if anything could be done for him. The doctorexamined his wound, and found that the ball had passed through the upperpart of his right arm and the middle of his right thigh, breaking thebone of the latter in its passage. It was an extraordinary shot for aman to put into himself, for it would have been next to impossible evenfor _another_ man to have done it, unless the Indian had been creepingon all fours. When he was able to speak, however, he explained themystery. While running through a rough part of the wood after a woundedbird, he stumbled and fell on all fours. The gun, which he was carryingover his shoulder, holding it, as the Indians usually do, by the muzzle,flew forward, and turned right round as he fell, so that the mouth of itwas presented towards him. Striking against the stem of a tree, itexploded, and shot him through the arm and leg as described ere he hadtime to rise. A comrade carried him to his lodge, and his wife broughthim in a canoe to the fort. For three or four days the doctor had hopesof him, but at last he began to sink, and died on the sixth day afterhis arrival. His wife and one or two friends buried him in ourgraveyard, which lies, as you know, on that lonely-looking point justbelow the powder-magazine. For several months previous to this ourworthy doctor had been making strenuous efforts to get an Indian skullto send home to one of his medical friends, but without success. TheIndians could not be prevailed upon to cut off the head of one of theirdead countrymen for love or money, and the doctor had a dislike to theidea, I suppose, of killing one for himself; but now here was a goldenopportunity. The Indian was buried near to the fort, and his relativeshad gone away to their tents again. What was to prevent his being dugup? The doctor brooded over the thing for one hour and a half (beingexactly the length of time required to smoke out his large Turkey pipe),and then sauntered into Wilson's room. Wilson was busy, as usual, atsome of his mechanical contrivances.
"Thrusting his hands deep into his breeches pockets and seating himselfon an old sea-chest, he began,--
"`I say, Wilson, will you do me a favour?'
"`That depends entirely on what the favour is,' he replied, withoutraising his head from his work.
"`I want you to help me to cut off an Indian's head!'
"`Then I _won't_ do you the favour. But pray, don't humbug me just now;I'm busy.'
"`No; but I'm serious, and I can't get it done without help, and I knowyou're an obliging fellow. Besides, the savage is dead, and has nomanner of use for his head now.'
"Wilson turned round with a look of intelligence on hearing this.
"`Ha!' he exclaimed, `I see what you're up to; but I don't half like it.In the first place, his friends would be terribly cut up if they heardof it; and then I've no sort of aptitude for the work of aresurrectionist; and then, if it got wind, we should never hear the lastof it; and then--'
"`And then,' interrupted the doctor, `it would be adding to the light ofmedical science, you unaspiring monster.'
"`A light,' retorted Wilson, `which, in passing through _some_ membersof the medical profession, is totally absorbed, and reproduced in theshape of impenetrable darkness.'
"`Now, don't object, my dear fellow; you _know_ you're going to do it,so don't coquette with me, but agree at once.'
"`Well, I consent, upon one condition.'
"`And what is that?'
"`That you do not play any practical jokes on _me_ with the head whenyou have got it.'
"`Agreed!' cried the doctor, laughing; `I give you my word of honour.Now he has been buried three days already, so we must set about it atonce. Fortunately the graveyard is composed of a sandy soil, so he'llkeep for some time yet.'
"The two worthies then entered into a deep consultation as to how theywere to set about this deed of darkness. It was arranged that Wilsonshould take his gun and sally forth a little before dark, as if he werebent on an hour's sport, and, not forgetting his game-bag, proceed tothe graveyard, where the doctor engaged to meet him with a couple ofspades and a dark lantern. Accordingly, next evening, Mr Wilson, trueto his promise, shouldered his gun and sallied forth.
"It soon became an intensely dark night. Not a single star shone forthto illumine the track along which he stumbled. Everything around wassilent and dark, and congenial with the work on which he was bent. ButWilson's heart beat a little more rapidly than usual. He is a boldenough man, as you know, but boldness goes for nothing when superstitioncomes into play. However, he trudged along fearlessly enough till hecame to the thick woods just below the fort, into which he entered withsomething of a qualm. Scarcely had he set foot on the narrow track thatleads to the graveyard, when he ran slap against the post that standsthere, but which, in his trepidation,
he had entirely forgotten. Thisquite upset the small amount of courage that remained, and he has sinceconfessed that if he had not had the hope of meeting with the doctor ina few minutes, he would have turned round and fled at _that_ moment.
"Recovering a little from this accident, he hurried forward, but withmore caution; for although the night seemed as dark as could possibly bewhile he was crossing the open country, it became speedily evident thatthere were several shades of darkness which he had not yet conceived.In a few minutes he came to the creek that runs past the graveyard, andhere again his nerves got another shake; for slipping his foot while inthe act of commencing the descent, he fell and rolled heavily to thebottom, making noise enough in his fall to scare away all the ghosts inthe country. With a palpitating heart poor Wilson gathered himself up,and searched for his gun, which fortunately had not been injured, andthen commenced to climb the opposite bank, starting at every twig thatsnapped under his feet. On reaching the level ground again he breatheda little more freely, and hurried forward with more speed than caution.Suddenly he came into violent contact with a figure, which uttered aloud growl as Wilson reeled backwards.
"`Back, you monster,' he cried, with a hysterical yell, `or I'll blowyour brains out!'
"`It's little good _that_ would do ye,' cried the doctor, as he cameforward. `Why, you stupid, what did you take me for? You've nearlyknocked out my brains as it is,' and the doctor rubbed his foreheadruefully.
"`Oh, it's _you_, doctor!' said Wilson, feeling as if a ton weight hadbeen lifted off his heart; `I verily thought it was the ghost of thepoor fellow we're going to disturb. I do think you had better give itup. Mischief will come of it, you'll see.'
"`Nonsense,' cried the doctor; `don't be a goose, but let's to work atonce. Why, I've got half the thing dug up already.' So saying, he ledthe way to the grave, in which there was a large opening. Setting thelantern down by the side of it, the two seized their spades and began todig as if in earnest.
"The fact is that the doctor was nearly as frightened as Wilson, and heafterwards confessed to me that it was an immense relief to him when heheard him fall down the bank of the creek, and knew by the growl he gavethat it was he.
"In about half an hour the doctor's spade struck upon the coffin lid,which gave forth a hollow sound.
"`Now, then, we're about done with it,' said he, standing up to wipeaway the perspiration that trickled down his face. `Take the axe andforce up the lid, it's only fixed with common nails, while I--' He didnot finish the sentence, but drew a large scalping-knife from a sheathwhich hung at his belt.
"Wilson shuddered and obeyed. A good wrench caused the lid to start,and while he held it partially open the doctor inserted the knife. Forfive minutes he continued to twist and work with his arms, mutteringbetween his teeth, every now and then, that he was a `tough subject,'while the crackling of bones, and other disagreeable sounds, struck uponthe horrified ears of his companion.
"`All right,' he exclaimed at last, as he dragged a round object fromthe coffin and let down the lid with a bang, at the same time placingthe savage's head with its ghastly features full in the blaze of thelantern.
"`Now, then, close up,' said he, jumping out of the hole and shovellingin the earth.
"In a few minutes they had filled the grave up and smoothed it down onthe surface, and then, throwing the head into the game-bag, retracedtheir steps to the fort. Their nerves were by this time worked up tosuch a pitch of excitement, and their minds filled with such a degree ofsupernatural horror, that they tripped and stumbled over stumps andbranches innumerable in their double-quick march. Neither would confessto the other, however, that he was afraid. They even attempted to passa few facetious remarks as they hurried along, but it would not do, sothey relapsed into silence till they came to the hollow beside thepowder-magazine. Here the doctor's foot happening to slip, he suddenlygrasped Wilson by the shoulder to support himself--a movement which,being unexpected, made his friend leap, as he afterwards expressed it,nearly out of his skin. This was almost too much for them. For amoment they looked at each other as well as the darkness would permit,when all at once a large stone, which the doctor's slip hadoverbalanced, fell down the bank and through the bushes with a loudcrash. Nothing more was wanting. All further effort to disguise theirfeelings was dropped. Leaping the rail of the open field in atwinkling, they gave a simultaneous yell of consternation, and fled tothe fort like autumn leaves before the wind, never drawing breath tillthey were safe within the pickets."
"But what has all this to do with Peterkin?" asked Harry, as theaccountant paused to relight his pipe and toss a fresh log on the fire.
"Have patience, lad; you shall hear."
The accountant stirred the logs with his toe, drew a few whiffs to seethat the pipe was properly ignited, and proceeded.
"For a day or two after this, the doctor was observed to be oftenmysteriously engaged in an outhouse of which he kept the key. By somemeans or other, the skipper, who is always up to mischief, managed todiscover the secret. Watching where the doctor hid the key, hepossessed himself of it one day, and sallied forth, bent on a lark ofsome kind or other, but without very well knowing what. Passing thekitchen, he observed Anderson, the butler, raking the fire out of thelarge oven which stands in the back-yard.
"`Baking again, Anderson?' said he in passing. `You get soon throughwith a heavy cargo of bread just now.'
"`Yes, sir; many mouths to feed, sir,' replied the butler, proceedingwith his work.
"The skipper sauntered on, and took the track which leads to theboat-house, where he stood for some time in meditation. Casting up hiseyes, he saw Peterkin in the distance, looking as if he didn't very wellknow what to do.
"A sudden thought struck him. Pulling off his coat, he seized a malletand a caulking-chisel, and began to belabour the side of a boat as ifhis life depended on it. All at once he stopped and stood up, blowingwith the exertion.
"`Hollo, Peterkin!' he shouted, and waved his hand.
"Peterkin hastened towards him.
"`Well, sir,' said he, `do you wish to speak to me?'
"`Yes,' replied the skipper, scratching his head as if in greatperplexity. `I wish you to do me a favour, Peterkin, but I don't knowvery well how to ask you.'
"`Oh, I shall be most happy,' said poor Butter eagerly, `if I can be ofany use to you.'
"`I don't doubt your willingness,' replied the other; `but then--thedoctor, you see--the fact is, Peterkin, the doctor being called away tosee a sick Indian, has entrusted me with a delicate piece of business--rather a nasty piece of business, I may say--which I promised to do forhim. You must know that the Surgical Society of London has written tohim, begging, as a great favour, that he would, if possible, procurethem the skull of a native. After much trouble he has succeeded ingetting one, but is obliged to keep it a great secret, even from hisfellow-clerks, lest it should get wind; for if the Indians heard of itthey would be sure to kill him, and perhaps burn the fort too. Now Isuppose you are aware that it is necessary to boil an Indian's head inorder to get the flesh clean off the skull?'
"`Yes; I have heard something of that sort from the students at college,who say that boiling brings flesh more easily away from the bone. But Idon't know much about it,' replied Peterkin.
"`Well,' continued the skipper, `the doctor, who is fond of experiments,wishes to try whether _baking_ won't do better than _boiling_, andordered the oven to be heated for that purpose this morning; but beingcalled suddenly away, as I have said, he begged me to put the head intoit as soon as it was ready. I agreed, quite forgetting at the time thatI had to get this precious boat ready for sea this very afternoon. Nowthe oven is prepared, and I dare not leave my work; indeed, I doubtwhether I shall have it quite ready and taut after all, and there's theoven cooling; so, if you don't help me, I'm a lost man.'
"Having said this, the skipper looked as miserable as his jolly visagewould permit, and rubbed his nose.
"`Oh, I'll be happy to do
it for you, although it is not an agreeablejob,' replied Butter.
"`That's right--that's friendly now!' exclaimed the skipper, as ifgreatly relieved. `Give us your flipper, my lad;' and seizingPeterkin's hand, he wrung it affectionately. `Now, here is the key ofthe outhouse; do it as quickly as you can, and don't let any one seeyou. It's in a good cause, you know, but the results might be terribleif discovered.'
"So saying, the skipper fell to hammering the boat again with surprisingvigour till Butter was out of sight, and then resuming his coat,returned to the house.
"An hour after this, Anderson went to take his loaves out of the oven;but he had no sooner taken down the door than a rich odour of cookedmeat greeted his nostrils. Uttering a deep growl, the butler shoutedout, `Sprat!'
"Upon this, a very thin boy, with arms and legs like pipe stems, issuedfrom the kitchen, and came timidly towards his master.
"`Didn't I tell you, you young blackguard, that the grouse-pie was to bekept for Sunday? and there you've gone and put it to fire to-day.'
"`The grouse-pie!' said the boy, in amazement.
"`Yes, the grouse-pie,' retorted the indignant butler; and seizing theurchin by the neck, he held his head down to the mouth of the oven.
"`Smell _that_, you villain! What did you mean by it, eh?'
"`Oh, murder!' shouted the boy, as with a violent effort he freedhimself, and ran shrieking into the house.
"`Murder!' repeated Anderson in astonishment, while he stooped to lookinto the oven, where the first thing that met his gaze was a human head,whose ghastly visage and staring eyeballs worked and moved about underthe influence of the heat as if it were alive.
"With a yell that rang through the whole fort, the horrified butlerrushed through the kitchen and out at the front door, where, as ill-luckwould have it, Mr Rogan happened to be standing at the moment.Pitching head first into the small of the old gentleman's back, he threwhim off the platform and fell into his arms. Starting up in a moment,the governor dealt Anderson a cuff that sent him reeling towards thekitchen door again, on the steps of which he sat down, and began to singout, `Oh, murder, murder! the oven, the oven!' and not another word,bad, good, or indifferent, could be got out of him for the nexthalf-hour, as he swayed himself to and fro and wrung his hands.
"To make a long story short, Mr Rogan went himself to the oven, andfished out the head, along with the loaves, which were, of course, allspoiled."
"And what was the result?" inquired Harry.
"Oh, there was a long investigation, and the skipper got a blowing-up,and the doctor a warning to let Indians' skulls lie at peace in theirgraves for the future; and poor Butter was sent to McKenzie's River as apunishment, for old Rogan could never be brought to believe that hehadn't been a willing tool in the skipper's hands; and Anderson lost hisbatch of bread and his oven, for it had to be pulled down and a new onebuilt."
"Humph! and I've no doubt the governor read you a pretty stiff lectureon practical joking."
"He did," replied the accountant, laying aside his pipe, and drawing thegreen blanket over him, while Harry piled several large logs on thefire.
"Good-night," said the accountant.
"Good-night," replied his companions; and in a few minutes more theywere sound asleep in their snowy camp, while the huge fire continued,during the greater part of the night, to cast its light on theirslumbering forms.
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