CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
THE MYSTERIOUS PACKET--FRIENDS DEPART, AND LUMLEY IS CAUGHT SINGING.
The uncertainty of all sublunary things is a truism so trite that I donot mean to insult the reader's understanding by attempting to prove it.I merely refer to it in order to say that the great Nor'-west is notexempt from that general rule of uncertainty.
At first peace and prosperity attended us, at least in all the mainlines of life, with only trivial variations, and we felt disposed tobelieve that the sunshine would continue to gladden us throughout thewhole winter. But such was not to be the case. Soon after the eventsnarrated in the last chapter, clouds began to gather, the peaceful flowof our life was interrupted, and at last a storm burst which filled theinhabitants of our little fort with consternation.
After the attempted murder by Attick on New Year's Day, the Indians leftthe fort, taking their wounded friend along with them. No doubt theyfelt that it would be scarcely reasonable in them to expect to beentertained with the good things of the pale-faces after the dastardlyattempt that had been made on our chief's life. But Attick, who hadbeen wounded more deeply in his feelings than in his body, resolved tobe revenged. He was the more urged to this because his savageaffections had been fixed on, and no doubt he had been sharp enough toperceive my own regard for the girl, and was jealous enough to believethat I would take advantage of my position and of her residence at thefort to supplant him.
Bad men invariably find like-minded spirits ready to help them in theirdark designs. Among the redskins of his tribe Attick found nodifficulty in securing the allegiance of one or two men, who were in thehabit of looking up to him as their leader, and it was not very longbefore he found his opportunity--as shall soon be told. When theMacnabs had spent three weeks with us, they set off on the returnjourney to the Mountain Fort, taking Waboose along with them--for JessieMacnab had taken so strong a fancy to the fair-haired half-caste thatshe had prevailed on her to agree to visit the Mountain Fort in companywith her mother, from whom she refused to be separated even for a fewdays.
Before their departure, however, I had a conversation with Waboose, inwhich I reminded her of the packet about which she had spoken to me on amemorable occasion in the woods. I may remark here in passing that Ihad conscientiously held to my promise to Lumley, and had carefullyabstained from making the slightest effort to gain the girl'saffections, or to show her the state of my own feelings. Indeed, I hadrather avoided her as much as possible without appearing rude or unkind.Of course I could not however, help showing my pity for, and sympathywith, her poor invalid mother, and as I was the only one in our littlecommunity who possessed the smallest knowledge of medicine or surgery Iwas forced to visit their hut daily in the capacity of doctor.
"Waboose," said I, during the conversation above referred to, "you neednot be anxious about your mother. I feel assured that her complaint isof such a nature that her general health will be benefited by a tripover the snow--provided she is kept warm and does not travel too fareach day. Of course there is no fear of that, with you and Miss Macnabto look after her, and I have given careful directions to Mr Macnab howto treat her."
"You are very kind," replied the girl with much earnestness of tone andmanner.
"And now, Waboose," I continued, "you remember saying long ago you wouldshow me the packet that--"
"Yes, it is here," she said, quickly, taking it out of the folds of alight shawl which covered her shoulders--the gift of Jessie--and handingit to me.
"Thank you. Well, I will examine it carefully this afternoon and giveit back to you to-morrow before you start."
"No, keep it. I can trust you," she said, with a simple look thatsomehow depressed me, for it was almost too simple and sisterly to mymind. "Besides," she added, "it is safer in your hands than mine, andwhen I come again you will explain to me what it contains."
Next day the party left us. It consisted of Macnab, who, with hiswonted energy of nature, was leader and beater of the track; thesprightly Jessie in a cariole drawn by four dogs; Waboose's mother in asimilar cariole, and the fair Waboose herself, on snow-shoes, for shepreferred the mode of travelling to which she had been most accustomed.Two Indians dragging provision-sleds brought up the rear.
It had been arranged that I should convoy the party to their firstbivouac in the snow, spend the night with them, and continue to journeywith them the second day as far as was consistent with the possibilityof returning to the fort that night. Jack Lumley accompanied us atfirst, but another small party of Indians had come in to stay at thefort at that time, and although he had, I am certain, a very strongdesire to go further, with his usual self-sacrificing spirit when dutypointed another way, he turned and left us at the end of a few miles.
I spent the night in the snow-bivouac as arranged, and continued tojourney onward with the party next day, until Macnab refused to let mego another step.
"Now, Max," he said, laughingly, "you must turn here. Why, man, it willbe midnight before you get in, good walker though you be. Come,good-bye."
"Well, well, I suppose it's better to turn since you seem tired of mycompany," said I, turning to Jessie, who stood up in her sleigh to shakehands. "Good-bye, Miss Macnab."
"Jessie, man, Jessie--none of your Miss Macnabs here, else I'll tumbleyou into the snow by way of farewell," shouted the irrepressibleHighlander.
"Very well, good-bye, Jessie," said I, with a laugh, though my heart washeavy enough. "Good-bye, Waboose--farewell all."
With a wave of his hand Macnab tramped on ahead, the sleigh-bells rangout merrily and the rest of the party followed.
After they had gone a few yards Waboose turned and waved her hand again.As I looked on her fair face, glowing with health and exercise, herupright, graceful figure in its picturesque costume and her modest mien,I felt that two beams of light had shot from her bright blue eyes andpierced my heart right through and through. It was a double shot--bothbarrels, if I may say so--well aimed at the centre of the bull's-eye!
Next moment she was gone--the whole party having dipped over the brow ofa snow-drift.
"An Indian! a half-caste!" I exclaimed in a burst of contempt, goingoff over the plain at five miles an hour, "nothing of the sort. Alady--one of Nature's ladies--born and br---no, not bred; no need forbreeding where genuine purity, gentleness, tenderness, simplicity,modesty--"
I stuck at this point partly for want of words and partly because mysnow-shoes, catching on a twig, sent my feet into the air and stuck myhead and shoulders deep into a drift of snow. Though my words werestopped, however, the gush of my enthusiasm flowed steadily on.
"And what can be more worthy of man's admiration and respectfulaffection?" I argued, as I recovered my perpendicular, coughed the snowout of my mouth and nose, and rubbed it out of my eyes; "what moreworthy of true-hearted devotion than this--this--creature of--of light;this noble child of nature--this _Queen of the Wilderness_?"
I repeated "This Queen of the Wilderness" for a considerable timeafterwards. It seemed to me a happy expression, and I dwelt upon itwith much satisfaction as I sped along, sending the fine snow in cloudsof white dust from my snow-shoes, and striding over the ground at such apace that I reached Fort Wichikagan considerably before midnight inspite of Macnab's prophecy.
I am not naturally prone thus to lay bare the secret workings of myspirit. You will, therefore, I trust, good reader, regard therevelation of these things as a special mark of confidence.
On reaching the fort I observed that a bright light streamed from thehall windows, casting a ruddy glow on the snow-heaps which had beenshovelled up on each side of the footpath in front, and giving, ifpossible, a paler and more ghostly aspect to the surrounding scenery.
I went to one of the windows and, imitating Attick, flattened my noseagainst a pane. A pain was the immediate result, for, the glass beingintensely cold, I was obliged to draw back promptly.
Lumley was seated alone at one side of the fire, in the familiarattitude of a man
who meditates profoundly--or sleepily; namely, withhis legs stretched straight out in front of him, his hands deep in histrousers-pockets, and his chin sunk on his breast, while his eyes staredfixedly at the flames.
I was about to quit my post of observation when a sudden action of myfriend arrested me.
Drawing up his legs, grasping his knees with his hands, turning his eyesto the ceiling with that gaze which implies that planks and roof countfor nothing in the way of intercepting the flight of Mind to the realmsof Inspiration, Lumley opened his handsome mouth and broke forth intosong. He had a magnificently harsh voice. I could distinguish both airand words through the double windows. The song was that which I havealready quoted elsewhere--"Lovely young Jessie, the flower of Dunblane."The deep pathos of his tone was thrilling! It flashed a new thoughtinto my brain. Then I became amazed at my own blind stupidity. I nowunderstood the meaning of that restless activity which had struck merecently as being so uncharacteristic of my sedate friend; that anxietyto have all our food well cooked and nicely served, in one whohabitually took food just as it came, and cared nothing for quality orappearance; that unusual effort to keep our hall neat and in order;those sharp reproofs to the astonished Salamander for failure inpunctuality at meal-hours; that very slight indication of a morefrequent use of the brush and comb, in one whose crisp curls requiredlittle aid from such implements.
Under the excitement of my discovery I burst into the room with, "Oh!Lumley, you deceiver!" cutting him short in the very middle of thoserepeated "lovely young Jessies" which constitute the very pith andmarrow of the song.
"Why, Max! back already?" cried my friend, starting up with aslightly-confused look, which confirmed my suspicion, and rattling on ata pace which was plainly meant to carry me past the subject. "How youmust have walked, to be sure, unless, indeed, you convoyed them only ashort part of the way; but that could not have been the case. It wouldhave been so unlike your gallant nature, Max--eh? Well, and how didthey get on? Snow not too soft, I hope? Encampment comfortable? Butno fear of that of course, with Peter Macnab as leader. No capsizes?"
"None," said I, seizing advantage of a slight pause; "everything went aswell as possible, and the carioles went admirably--especially Jessie's."
I looked at him pointedly as I said this, but he coolly stooped to lifta billet and put it on the fire as he rattled on again.
"Yes? That's just what I hoped for, though I could not be quite sure ofit for she has the old one which I had patched up as well as possible.You see, as Macnab said--and of course I agreed with him--it was onlyfair that the invalid should have the strongest and easiest-goingconveyance. By the way, Max, I've heard some news. Do you know thatthat scoundrel Attick is stirring up the tribes against us?"
"No--is he?" said I, quite forgetting the fair Jessie, at this piece ofinformation.
"Yes, and the rascal, I fear, may do us irreparable damage before we cantame him, for he has considerable influence with the young and fieryspirits among the savages--so Big Otter says. Fortunately his powerlies only in the tongue, at present, for it seems I broke his arm thenight he tried to murder me; but that will mend in time."
"Very unfortunate," said I, "that this should happen at the beginning ofour career in this region. We must thwart his plans if we can."
"Moreover," continued Lumley, with a sly look, "I am told that he hasthe presumption to aspire to the hand of Waboose!"
"Indeed!" I exclaimed, as a flame of indignation seemed to shootthrough my whole frame; "we must thwart his plans in _that_ directionemphatically."
"Of course, of course," said my friend, gravely; "it would never do tolet such a sweet girl throw herself away on a savage; besides, she'ssuch a favourite with Jessie Macnab, you know. It would never do--never."
I looked at him quickly, but he was gazing abstractedly at the fire. Ifelt that I was no match for my friend at badinage, and gave it up!
"But what do you think he could do!" I asked with some anxiety, after afew minutes' thought. "You know that Waboose would as soon think ofmarrying that bloodthirsty savage as she would think of marrying a--a--"
"A pine-tree or a grizzly bear. Yes, I know," interrupted Lumley, "hewill never get her with her own consent; but you know that savages havea knack of marrying women without their consent and then there is thepossibility of his attempting to carry her off--and various otherpossibilities."
I saw that my friend was jestingly attempting to test my feelings, but Imade no reply at first, though I felt strongly on the subject.
"Well, Lumley," said I, at length, "your first suggestion I meet withthe reply that the consent of parents is not ignored among Indians, andthat Waboose's mother is an Indian of so high-minded and refined anature--partly acquired, no doubt, from her husband--that _she_ willnever consent to give her daughter to such a man; such a brute, I mightsay, considering what he attempted. As to Waboose herself, her father'sgentle nature in her secures her from such a misfortune; and as to herbeing carried off--well, I don't think any savages would be bold enoughto try to carry off anything from the grip of Peter Macnab, and when weget her back here we will know how to look after her."
"It may be so," said Lumley, with a sigh; "and now, my boy, to changethe subject, we must buckle to our winter's work in right good earnest;I mean what may be styled our philanthropic work; for the other work--firewood-cutting, hunting, store arranging, preparation for the returnof Indians in spring, with their furs, and all the other odds and endsof duty--is going along swimmingly; but our classes must be resumed, nowthat the holidays are over, for we have higher interests to considerthan the mere eating that we may live, and living that we may eat."
"All right," said I heartily, for I was very glad to help in a speciesof work which, I felt gave dignity to all our other labours. "I'll getthe slates out and start the men at arithmetic to-morrow evening, fromthe place where we left off. What will you do? Give them `RobinsonCrusoe' over again?"
"No, Max, I won't do that, not just now at all events. I'll only finishthe story and then begin the `Pilgrim's Progress.' You observed, nodoubt that I had been extending my commentaries on `Robinson,'especially towards the last chapters."
"Yes--what of that?"
"Well, I am free to confess that that was intentionally done. It was adodge, my boy, to get them into the habit of expecting, and submittingto, commentary, for I intend to come out strong in that line in myexposition of the Pilgrim--as you shall see. I brought the book withthis very end, and the long winter nights, in view. And I mean to takeit easy too--spin it out. I won't bore them with too much at a time."
"Good, but don't spin it out too long, Lumley," said I; "you know whenmen set their hearts on some magnificent plan or scheme they are apt tobecome prosy. I suppose you'll also take the writing class, as before?"
"I suppose I must," returned my friend, with a sigh, "though it goesagainst the grain, for I was never very good at penmanship, and we havelost our best scholars too, now that Waboose and her mother are gone."
"By the way, that reminds me," said I, "that Waboose gave me the packetwhich she received from her father not long before he was drowned. Hereit is."
I drew it from my breast-pocket and held it up. "She told me her fatherhad said it was no use her opening it, as she could not read it, butthat she was to give it to the first white man whom she could trust; youremember my mentioning that to you? she gave it to me only yesterday,and I have not yet found time to read it."
"Did she say she could trust _you_, Max!"
"Of course she did. Why not?"
"Oh, certainly, why not?" repeated my friend, with a peculiar look."Did she say you might communicate its contents to _me_?"
"Well, no, she did not," I replied, feeling rather perplexed. "But I amquite sure that, if she meant to trust me at all, she meant to trust tomy discretion in the whole matter; and--Jack Lumley," I added, gettingup and grasping my friend's hand, "if I cannot trust _you_ I can trustnobody."
"Tha
t will do," he said, returning the squeeze. "You are safe. Goahead."
The packet was wrapped in a piece of birch-bark, and tied with a bit offibrous root. This covering removed, I found a white cambrichandkerchief, inside of which was something hard. It turned out to bethe miniature of a handsome man, somewhere between forty and fifty.Beside it was a manuscript in English. On one corner of the kerchiefwas marked in faded ink the name "Eve."
Holding out the portrait I said,--"You see. I knew he was a gentleman.This must be her father."
"No doubt," replied Lumley--"but what says this letter?"
Unfolding the manuscript I spread it carefully on my knee and began toread.