The Young Fur Traders

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER THIRTY ONE.

  THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE, CURIOUSLY ENOUGH, RUNS SMOOTH FOR ONCE, AND THECURTAIN FALLS.

  Time rolled on, and with it the sunbeams of summer went--the snowflakesof winter came. Needles of ice began to shoot across the surface of RedRiver, and gradually narrowed its bed. Crystalline trees formed uponthe window-panes. Icicles depended from the eaves of the houses. Snowfell in abundance on the plains; liquid nature began rapidly tosolidify, and not many weeks after the first frost made its appearanceeverything was (as the settlers expressed it) "hard and fast."

  Mr Kennedy, senior, was in his parlour, with his back to a blazing woodfire that seemed large enough to roast an ox whole. He was standing,moreover, in a semi-picturesque attitude, with his right hand in hisbreeches pocket and his left arm round Kate's waist. Kate was dressedin a gown that rivalled the snow itself in whiteness. One little goldclasp shone in her bosom; it was the only ornament she wore. MrKennedy, too, had somewhat altered his style of costume. He wore asky-blue swallow-tailed coat, whose maker had flourished in London halfa century before. It had a velvet collar about five inches deep, fitteduncommonly tight to the figure, and had a pair of bright brass buttons,very close together, situated half a foot above the wearer's naturalwaist. Besides this, he had on a canary-coloured vest, and a pair ofwhite duck trousers, in the fob of which _evidently_ reposed an immensegold watch of the olden time, with a bunch of seals that would haveserved very well as an anchor for a small boat. Although the dress was,on the whole, slightly comical, its owner, with his full, fat, broadfigaro, looked remarkably well in it, nevertheless.

  It was Kate's marriage-day, or rather marriage-evening; for the sun hadset two hours ago, and the moon was now sailing in the frosty sky, itspale rays causing the whole country to shine with a clear, cold, silverywhiteness.

  The old gentleman had been for some time gazing in silent admiration onthe fair brow and clustering ringlets of his daughter, when it suddenlyoccurred to him that the company would arrive in half an hour, and therewere several things still to be attended to.

  "Hollo, Kate!" he exclaimed, with a start, "we're forgetting ourselves.The candles are yet to light, and lots of other things to do." Sayingthis, he began to bustle about the room in a state of considerableagitation.

  "Oh, don't worry yourself, dear father!" cried Kate, running after him,and catching him by the hand. "Miss Cookumwell and good MrsTaddipopple are arranging everything about tea and supper in thekitchen, and Tom Whyte has been kindly sent to us by Mr Grant, withorders to make himself generally useful, so _he_ can light the candlesin a few minutes, and you've nothing to do but to kiss me and receivethe company." Kate pulled her father gently towards the fire again, andreplaced his arm round her waist.

  "Receive company! Ah, Kate, my love, that's just what I know nothingabout. If they'd let me receive them in my own way, I'd do it wellenough; but that abominable Mrs Taddi--what's her name--has quiteaddled my brains and driven me distracted with trying to get me tounderstand what she calls _etiquette_."

  Kate laughed, and said she didn't care _how_ he received them, as shewas quite sure that, whichever way he did it, he would do it pleasantlyand well.

  At that moment the door opened, and Tom Whyte entered. He was thinner,if possible, than he used to be, and considerably stiffer, and moreupright.

  "Please, sir," said he, with a motion that made you expect to hear hisback creak (it was intended for a bow)--"please, sir, can I do hanythinkfor yer?"

  "Yes, Tom, you can," replied Mr Kennedy. "Light these candles, my man,and then go to the stable and see that everything there is arranged forputting up the horses. It will be pretty full to-night, Tom, and willrequire some management. Then, let me see--ah, yes, bring me my pipe,Tom, my big meerschaum.--I'll sport that to-night in honour of you,Kate."

  "Please, sir," began Tom, with a slightly disconcerted air, "I'm afeard,sir, that--um--"

  "Well, Tom, what would you say? Go on."

  "The pipe, sir," said Tom, growing still more disconcerted--"says I tocook, says I, `Cook, wot's been an' done it, d'ye think?' `Dun know,Tom,' says he, `but it's smashed, that's sartin. I think the graycat--'"

  "What!" cried the old trader, in a voice of thunder, while a frown ofthe most portentous ferocity darkened his brow for an instant. It wasonly for an instant, however. Clearing his brow quickly, he said with asmile, "But it's your wedding-day, Kate, my darling. It won't do toblow up anybody to-day, not even the cat.--There, be off, Tom, and seeto things. Look sharp! I hear sleigh-bells already."

  As he spoke Tom vanished perpendicularly, Kate hastened to her room, andthe old gentleman himself went to the front door to receive his guests.

  The night was of that intensely calm and still character that invariablyaccompanies intense frost, so that the merry jingle of the sleigh-bellsthat struck on Mr Kennedy's listening ear continued to sound, and growlouder as they drew near, for a considerable time ere the visitorsarrived. Presently the dull, soft tramp of horses' hoofs was heard inthe snow, and a well-known voice shouted out lustily, "Now then,Mactavish, keep to the left. Doesn't the road take a turn there? Mindthe gap in the fence. That's old Kennedy's only fault. He'd ratherrisk breaking his friends' necks than mend his fences!"

  "All right, here we are," cried Mactavish, as the next instant twosleighs emerged out of the avenue into the moonlit space in front of thehouse, and dashed up to the door amid an immense noise and clatter ofbells, harness, hoofs, snorting, and salutations.

  "Ah, Grant, my dear fellow!" cried Mr Kennedy, springing to the sleighand seizing his friend by the hand as he dragged him out. "This is kindof you to come early. And Mrs Grant, too. Take care, my dear madam,step clear of the haps; now, then--cleverly done" (as Mrs Grant tumbledinto his arms in a confused heap). "Come along now; there's a capitalfire in here.--Don't mind the horses, Mactavish--follow us, my lad; TomWhyte will attend to them."

  Uttering such disjointed remarks, Mr Kennedy led Mrs Grant into thehouse, and made her over to Mrs Taddipopple, who hurried her away to aninner apartment, while Mr Kennedy conducted her spouse, along withMactavish and our friend the head clerk at Fort Garry, into the parlour.

  "Harry, my dear fellow, I wish you joy," cried Mr Grant, as the formergrasped his hand. "Lucky dog you are. Where's Kate, eh? Not visibleyet, I suppose."

  "No, not till the parson comes," interrupted Mr Kennedy, convulsing hisleft cheek.--"Hollo, Charley, where are you? Ah! bring the cigars,Charley.--Sit down, gentlemen; make yourselves at home.--I say, MrsTaddi--Taddi--oh, botheration--popple! that's it--your name, madam, _is_a puzzler--but--we'll need more chairs, I think. Fetch one or two, likea dear!"

  As he spoke the jingle of bells was heard outside, and Mr Kennedyrushed to the door again.

  "Good-evening, Mr Addison," said he, taking that gentleman warmly bythe hand as he resigned the reins to Tom Whyte. "I am delighted to seeyou, sir (look after the minister's mare, Tom), glad to see you, my dearsir. Some of my friends have come already. This way, Mr Addison."

  The worthy clergyman responded to Mr Kennedy's greeting in his ownhearty manner, and followed him into the parlour, where the guests nowbegan to assemble rapidly.

  "Father," cried Charley, catching his sire by the arm, "I've beenlooking for you everywhere, but you dance about like a will-o'-the-wisp.Do you know, I've invited my friends Jacques and Redfeather to cometo-night, and also Louis Peltier, the guide with whom I made my firsttrip. You recollect him, father?"

  "Ay, that do I, lad, and happy shall I be to see three such worthy menunder my roof as guests on this night."

  "Yes, yes, I know that, father; but I don't see them here. Have theycome yet?"

  "Can't say, boy. By the way, Pastor Conway is also coming, so we'llhave a meeting between an Episcopalian and a Wesleyan. I sincerelytrust that they won't fight!" As he said this the old gentleman grinnedand threw his cheek into convulsions--an expression which was suddenlychanged into one of confusion when he
observed that Mr Addison wasstanding close beside him, and had heard the remark.

  "Don't blush, my dear sir," said Mr Addison, with a quiet smile, as hepatted his friend on the shoulder. "You have too much reason, I amsorry to say, for expecting that clergymen of different denominationsshould look coldly on each other. There is far too much of thisindifference and distrust among those who labour in different parts ofthe Lord's vineyard. But I trust you will find that my sympathiesextend a little beyond the circle of my own particular body. Indeed,Mr Conway is a particular friend of mine; so I assure you we won'tfight."

  "Right, right," cried Mr Kennedy, giving the clergyman an energeticgrasp of the hand; "I like to hear you speak that way. I must confessthat I have been a good deal surprised to observe, by what one reads inthe old-country newspapers, as well as by what one sees even hereaway inthe backwood settlements, how little interest clergymen show in thedoings of those who don't happen to belong to their own particular sect;just as if a soul saved through the means of an Episcopalian was not ofas much value as one saved by a Wesleyan, or a Presbyterian, or aDissenter. Why, sir, it seems to me just as mean-spirited and selfishas if one of our chief factors was so entirely taken up with the doingsand success of his own particular district that he didn't care agun-flint for any other district in the Company's service."

  There was at least one man listening to these remarks, whose naturallylogical and liberal mind fully agreed with them. This was JacquesCaradoc, who had entered the room a few minutes before, in company withhis friend Redfeather and Louis Peltier.

  "Right, sir! That's fact, straight up and down," said he, in anapproving tone.

  "Ha! Jacques, my good fellow, is that you?--Redfeather, my friend, howare you?" said Mr Kennedy, turning round and grasping a hand ofeach.--"Sit down there, Louis, beside Mrs Taddi--eh!--ah!--popple.--MrAddison, this is Jacques Caradoc, the best and stoutest hunter betweenHudson's Bay and Oregon."

  Jacques smiled and bowed modestly as Mr Addison shook his hand. Theworthy hunter did indeed at that moment look as if he fully merited MrKennedy's eulogium. Instead of endeavouring to ape the gentleman, asmany men in his rank of life would have been likely to do on an occasionlike this, Jacques had not altered his costume a hairbreadth from whatit usually was, excepting that some parts of it were quite new, and allof it faultlessly clean. He wore the usual capote, but it was his bestone, and had been washed for the occasion. The scarlet belt and blueleggings were also as bright in colour as if they had been put on forthe first time; and the moccasins, which fitted closely to hiswell-formed feet, were of the cleanest and brightest yellow leather,ornamented, as usual, in front. The collar of his blue-striped shirtwas folded back a little more carefully than usual, exposing hissunburned and muscular throat. In fact, he wanted nothing, save thehunting-knife, the rifle, and the powder-horn, to constitute him aperfect specimen of a thorough backwoodsman.

  Redfeather and Louis were similarly costumed; and a noble trio theylooked as they sat modestly in a corner, talking to each other inwhispers, and endeavouring, as much as possible, to curtail theircolossal proportions.

  "Now, Harry," said Mr Kennedy, in a hoarse whisper, at the same timewinking vehemently, "we're about ready, lad. Where's Kate, eh? shall wesend for her?"

  Harry blushed, and stammered out something that was whollyunintelligible, but which, nevertheless, seemed to afford infinitedelight to the old gentleman, who chuckled and winked tremendously, gavehis son-in-law a facetious poke in the ribs, and turning abruptly toMiss Cookumwell, said to that lady, "Now, Miss Cookumpopple, we're allready. They seem to have had enough tea and trash; you'd better belooking after Kate, I think."

  Miss Cookumwell smiled, rose, and left the room to obey; MrsTaddipopple followed to help, and soon returned with Kate, whom theydelivered up to her father at the door. Mr Kennedy led her to theupper end of the room; Harry Somerville stood by her side, as if bymagic; Mr Addison dropped opportunely before them, as if from theclouds; there was an extraordinary and abrupt pause in the hum ofconversation, and ere Kate was well aware of what was about to happen,she felt herself suddenly embraced by her husband, from whom she wasthereafter violently torn and all but smothered by her sympathisingfriends.

  Poor Kate! she had gone through the ceremony almost mechanically--recklessly, we might be justified in saying; for not having raised hereyes off the floor from its commencement to its close, the man whom sheaccepted for better or for worse might have been Jacques or Redfeatherfor all that she knew.

  Immediately after this there was heard the sound of a fiddle, and an oldCanadian was led to the upper end of the room, placed on a chair, andhoisted, by the powerful arms of Jacques and Louis, upon a table. Inthis conspicuous position the old man seemed to be quite at his ease.He spent a few minutes in bringing his instrument into perfect tune;then looking round with a mild, patronising glance to see that thedancers were ready, he suddenly struck up a Scotch reel with an amountof energy, precision, and spirit that might have shot a pang of jealousythrough the heart of Neil Gow himself. The noise that instantlycommenced, and was kept up from that moment, with but few intervals,during the whole evening, was of a kind that is never heard infashionable drawing-rooms. Dancing in the backwood settlements _is_dancing. It is not walking; it is not sailing; it is not undulating; itis not sliding; no, it is _bona-fide_ dancing! It is the performance ofintricate evolutions with the feet and legs that makes one wink to lookat; performed in good time too, and by people who look upon _all_ theirmuscles as being useful machines, not merely things of which a selectfew, that cannot be dispensed with, are brought into daily operation.Consequently the thing was done with an amount of vigour that wasconducive to the health of performers, and productive of satisfaction tothe eyes of beholders. When the evening wore on apace, however, andJacques's modesty was so far overcome as to induce him to engage in areel, along with his friend Louis Peltier, and two bouncing young ladieswhose father had driven them twenty miles over the plains that day inorder to attend the wedding of their dear friend and former playmate,Kate--when these four stood up, we say, and the fiddler played moreenergetically than ever, and the stout backwoodsmen began to warm andgrow vigorous, until, in the midst of their tremendous leaps and rapidbut well-timed motions, they looked like very giants amid theirbrethren, then it was that Harry, as he felt Kate's little hand pressinghis arm, and observed her sparkling eyes gazing at the dancers ingenuine admiration, began at last firmly to believe that the whole thingwas a dream; and then it was that old Mr Kennedy rejoiced to think thatthe house had been built under his own special directions, and he knewthat it could not by any possibility be shaken to pieces.

  And well might Harry imagine that he dreamed; for besides thebewildering tendency of the almost too-good-to-be-true fact that Katewas really Mrs Harry Somerville, the scene before him was aparticularly odd and perplexing mixture of widely different elements,suggestive of new and old associations. The company was miscellaneous.There were retired old traders, whose lives from boyhood had been spentin danger, solitude, wild scenes, and adventures to which those ofRobinson Crusoe are mere child's play. There were young girls, thedaughters of these men, who had received good educations in the RedRiver academy, and a certain degree of polish which education alwaysgives, a very _different_ polish, indeed, from that which theconventionalities and refinements of the Old World bestow, but not theless agreeable on that account--nay, we might even venture to say, allthe more agreeable on that account. There were Red Indians andclergymen--there were one or two ladies of a doubtful age, who had comeout from the old country to live there, having found it no easy matter,poor things, to live at home; there were matrons whose absolute silenceon every subject save "yes" or "no" showed that they had not beensubjected to the refining influences of the academy, but whose heartysmiles and laughs of genuine good-nature proved that the storing of thebrain has, after all, _very_ little to do with the best and deepestfeelings of the heart. There were the tones of Scotch reelssounding-tones
that brought Scotland vividly before the very eyes; andthere were Canadian hunters and half-breed voyageurs, whose moccasinswere more accustomed to the turf of the woods than the boards of adrawing-room, and whose speech and accents made Scotland vanish awayaltogether from the memory. There were old people and young folk; therewere fat and lean, short and long. There were songs too--ballads ofEngland, pathetic songs of Scotland, alternating with the French dittiesof Canada, and the sweet, inexpressibly plaintive canoe-songs of thevoyageur. There were strong contrasts in dress also: some wore thehome-spun trousers of the settlement, a few the ornamented leggings ofthe hunter. Capotes were there--loose, flowing, and picturesque; andbroadcloth tail-coats were there, of the last century, tight-fitting,angular--in a word, detestable; verifying the truth of the proverb thatextremes meet, by showing that the _cut_ which all the wisdom of tailorsand scientific fops, after centuries of study, had laboriously wroughtout and foisted upon the poor civilised world as perfectly sublime,appeared in the eyes of backwoodsmen and Indians utterly ridiculous. Nowonder that Harry, under the circumstances, became quietly insane, andwent about committing _nothing_ but mistakes the whole evening. Nowonder that he emulated his father-in-law in abusing the gray cat, whenhe found it surreptitiously devouring part of the supper in an adjoiningroom; and no wonder that, when he rushed about vainly in search of MrsTaddipopple, to acquaint her with the cat's wickedness, he at last, indesperation, laid violent hands on Miss Cookumwell, and addressed thatexcellent lady by the name of Mrs Poppletaddy.

  Were we courageous enough to make the attempt, we would endeavour todescribe that joyful evening from beginning to end. We would tell youhow the company's spirits rose higher and higher, as each individualbecame more and more anxious to lend his or her aid in adding to thegeneral hilarity; how old Mr Kennedy nearly killed himself in hisfruitless efforts to be everywhere, speak to everybody, and doeverything at once; how Charley danced till he could scarcely speak, andthen talked till he could hardly dance; and how the fiddler, instead ofgrowing wearied, became gradually and continuously more powerful, untilit seemed as if fifty fiddles were playing at one and the same time. Wewould tell you how Mr Addison drew more than ever to Mr Conway, andhow the latter gentleman agreed to correspond regularly with the formerthenceforth, in order that their interest in the great work each had inhand for the _same_ Master might be increased and kept up; how, in aspirit of recklessness (afterwards deeply repented of), a bashful youngman was induced to sing a song which in the present mirthful state ofthe company ought to have been a humorous song, or a patriotic song, ora good, loud, inspiriting song, or _anything_, in short, but what itwas--a slow, dull, sentimental song, about wasting gradually away in asort of melancholy decay, on account of disappointed love, or some suchtrash, which was a false sentiment in itself, and certainly did notderive any additional tinge of truthfulness from a thin, weak voice,that was afflicted with chronic flatness, and _edged_ all its notes.Were we courageous enough to go on, we would further relate to you howduring supper Mr Kennedy, senior, tried to make a speech, and brokedown amid uproarious applause; how Mr Kennedy, junior, got upthereafter--being urged thereto by his father, who said, with aconvulsion of the cheek, "Get me out of the scrape, Charley, my boy!"--and delivered an oration which did not display much power of conciseelucidation, but was replete, nevertheless, with consummate impudence;how during this point in the proceedings the grey cat made a lastdesperate effort to purloin a cold chicken, which it had watchedanxiously the whole evening, and was caught in the very act, nearlystrangled, and flung out of the window, where it alighted in safety onthe snow, and fled, a wiser, and, we trust, a better cat. We wouldrecount all this to you, reader, and a great deal more besides; but wefear to try your patience, and we tremble violently--much more so,indeed, than you will believe--at the bare idea of waxing prosy.

  Suffice it to say that the party separated at an early hour--a good,sober, reasonable hour for such an occasion--somewhere before midnight.The horses were harnessed; the ladies were packed in the sleighs withfurs so thick and plentiful as to defy the cold; the gentlemen seizedtheir reins and cracked their whips; the horses snorted, plunged, anddashed away over the white plains in different directions, while themerry sleigh-bells sounded fainter and fainter in the frosty air. Inhalf an hour the stars twinkled down on the still, cold scene, and threwa pale light on the now silent dwelling of the old fur-trader.

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  Ere dropping the curtain over a picture in which we have soughtfaithfully to portray the prominent features of those wild regions thatlie to the north of the Canadas, and in which we have endeavoured todescribe some of the peculiarities of a class of men whose historiesseldom meet the public eye, we feel tempted to add a few more touches tothe sketch; we would fain trace a little further the fortunes of one ortwo of the chief actors in our book. But this must not be.

  Snowflakes and sunbeams came and went as in days gone by. Time rolledon, working many changes in its course, and among others consigningHarry Somerville to an important post in Red River colony, to theunutterable joy of Mr Kennedy, senior, and of Kate. After muchconsideration and frequent consultation with Mr Addison, Mr Conwayresolved to make another journey to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ tothose Indian tribes that inhabit the regions beyond Athabasca; and beinga man of great energy, he determined not to await the opening of theriver navigation, but to undertake the first part of his expedition onsnowshoes. Jacques agreed to go with him as guide and hunter,Redfeather as interpreter. It was a bright, cold morning when he setout, accompanied part of the way by Charley Kennedy and HarrySomerville, whose hearts were heavy at the prospect of parting with thetwo men who had guided and protected them during their earliestexperience of a voyageur's life, when, with hearts full to overflowingwith romantic anticipations, they first dashed joyously into the almostuntrodden wilderness.

  During their career in the woods together, the young men and the twohunters had become warmly attached to each other; and now that they wereabout to part--it might be for years, perhaps for ever--a feeling ofsadness crept over them which they could not shake off and which thepromise given by Mr Conway to revisit Red River on the following springserved but slightly to dispel.

  On arriving at the spot where they intended to bid their friends a lastfarewell, the two young men held out their hands in silence. Jacquesgrasped them warmly.

  "Mister Charles, Mister Harry," said he, in a deep, earnest voice, "theAlmighty has guided us in safety for many a day when we travelled thewoods together; for which praised be His holy name! May He guide andbless you still, and bring us together in this world again, if in Hiswisdom He see fit."

  There was no answer save a deeply-murmured "Amen." In another momentthe travellers resumed their march. On reaching the summit of a slighteminence, where the prairies terminated and the woods began, they pausedto wave a last adieu; then Jacques, putting himself at the head of thelittle party, plunged into the forest, and led them away towards thesnowy regions of the Far North.

  THE END.