CHAPTER THREE.
THE COUNTING-ROOM.
Every one knows the general appearance of a counting-room. There areone or two peculiar features about such apartments that are quiteunmistakable and very characteristic; and the counting-room at FortGarry, although many hundred miles distant from other specimens of itsrace, and, from the peculiar circumstances of its position, nottherefore likely to bear them much resemblance, possessed one or twofeatures of similarity, in the shape of two large desks and several verytall stools, besides sundry ink-bottles, rulers, books, and sheets ofblotting-paper. But there were other implements there, savouringstrongly of the backwoods and savage life, which merit more particularnotice.
The room itself was small, and lighted by two little windows, whichopened into the courtyard. The entire apartment was made of wood. Thefloor was of unpainted fir boards. The walls were of the same material,painted blue from the floor upwards to about three feet, where the bluewas unceremoniously stopped short by a stripe of bright red, above whichthe somewhat fanciful decorator had laid on a coat of pale yellow; andthe ceiling, by way of variety, was of a deep ochre. As the occupantsof Red River office were, however, addicted to the use of tobacco andtallow candies, the original colour of the ceiling had vanishedentirely, and that of the walls had considerably changed.
There were three doors in the room (besides the door of entrance), eachopening into another apartment, where the three clerks were wont tocourt the favour of Morpheus after the labours of the day. No carpetsgraced the floors of any of these rooms, and with the exception of thepaint aforementioned, no ornament whatever broke the pleasing uniformityof the scene. This was compensated, however, to some extent by severalscarlet sashes, bright-coloured shot-belts, and gay portions of wintercostume, peculiar to the country, which depended from sundry nails inthe bedroom walls; and as the three doors always stood open, theseobjects, together with one or two fowling-pieces and canoe-paddles,formed quite a brilliant and highly suggestive background to theotherwise sombre picture. A large open fireplace stood in one corner ofthe room, devoid of a grate, and so constructed that large logs of woodmight be piled up on end to any extent. And really the fires made inthis manner, and in this individual fireplace, were exquisite beyonddescription. A wood-fire is a particularly cheerful thing. Those whohave never seen one can form but a faint idea of its splendour;especially on a sharp winter night in the arctic regions, where thethermometer falls to forty degrees below zero, without inducing theinhabitants to suppose that the world has reached its conclusion. Thebillets are usually piled up on end, so that the flames rise and twineround them with a fierce intensity that causes them to crack and sputtercheerfully, sending innumerable sparks of fire into the room, andthrowing out a rich glow of brilliant light that warms a man even tolook at it, and renders candles quite unnecessary.
The clerks who inhabited this counting-room were, like itself, peculiar.There were three--corresponding to the bedrooms. The senior was atall, broad-shouldered, muscular man--a Scotchman--very good-humoured,yet a man whose under-lip met the upper with that peculiar degree ofprecision that indicated the presence of other qualities besides that ofgood-humour. He was book-keeper and accountant, and managed the affairsentrusted to his care with the same dogged perseverance with which hewould have led an expedition of discovery to the North Pole. He wasthirty or thereabouts.
The second was a small man--also a Scotchman. It is curious to note hownumerous Scotchmen are in the wilds of North America. This specimen wasdiminutive and sharp. Moreover, he played the flute--an accomplishmentof which he was so proud that he ordered out from England a flute ofebony, so elaborately enriched with silver keys that one's fingers achedto behold it. This beautiful instrument, like most other instruments ofa delicate nature, found the climate too much for its constitution, and,soon after the winter began, split from top to bottom. Peter Mactavish,however, was a genius by nature, and a mechanical genius by tendency; sothat, instead of giving way to despair, he laboriously bound the flutetogether with waxed thread, which, although it could not restore it toits pristine elegance, enabled him to play with great effect sundrydoleful airs, whose influence, when performed at night, usually sent hiscompanions to sleep, or, failing this, drove them to distraction.
The third inhabitant of the office was a ruddy, smooth-chinned youth ofabout fourteen, who had left home seven months before, in the hope ofgratifying a desire to lead a wild life, which he had entertained eversince he read "Jack the Giant Killer," and found himself mostunexpectedly fastened, during the greater part of each day, to a stool.His name was Harry Somerville, and a fine, cheerful little fellow hewas, full of spirits, and curiously addicted to poking and arranging thefire at least every ten minutes--a propensity which tested theforbearance of the senior clerk rather severely, and would havesurprised any one not aware of poor Harry's incurable antipathy to thedesk, and the yearning desire with which he longed for physical action.
Harry was busily engaged with the refractory fire when Charley, asstated at the conclusion of the last chapter, burst into the room.
"Hollo!" he exclaimed, suspending his operations for a moment, "what'sup?"
"Nothing," said Charley, "but father's temper, that's all. He gave me asplendid description of his life in the woods, and then threw his pipeat me because I admired it too much."
"Ho!" exclaimed Harry, making a vigorous thrust at the fire, "thenyou've no chance now."
"No chance! what do you mean?"
"Only that we are to have a wolf-hunt in the plains tomorrow; and ifyou've aggravated your father, he'll be taking you home to-night, that'sall."
"Oh! no fear of that," said Charley, with a look that seemed to implythat there was very great fear of "that,"--much more, in fact, than hewas willing to admit even to himself. "My dear old father never keepshis anger long. I'm sure that he'll be all right again in half anhour."
"Hope so, but doubt it I do," said Harry, making another deadly poke atthe fire, and returning, with a deep sigh, to his stool.
"Would you like to go with us, Charley?" said the senior clerk, layingdown his pen and turning round on his chair (the senior clerk never saton a stool) with a benign smile.
"Oh, very, very much indeed," cried Charley; "but even should fatheragree to stay all night at the fort, I have no horse, and I'm sure hewould not let me have the mare after what I did to-day."
"Do you think he's not open to persuasion?" said the senior clerk.
"No, I'm sure he's not."
"Well, well, it don't much signify; perhaps we can mount you."(Charley's face brightened.) "Go," he continued, addressing HarrySomerville--"go, tell Tom Whyte I wish to speak to him."
Harry sprang from his stool with a suddenness and vigour that might havejustified the belief that he had been fixed to it by means of a powerfulspring, which had been set free with a sharp recoil, and shot him out atthe door, for he disappeared in a trice. In a few minutes he returned,followed by the groom Tom Whyte.
"Tom," said the senior clerk, "do you think we could manage to mountCharley to-morrow?"
"Why, sir, I don't think as how we could. There ain't an 'oss in thestable except them wot's required and them wot's badly."
"Couldn't he have the brown pony?" suggested the senior clerk.
Tom Whyte was a cockney and an old soldier, and stood so bolt uprightthat it seemed quite a marvel how the words ever managed to climb up thesteep ascent of his throat, and turn the corner so as to get out at hismouth. Perhaps this was the cause of his speaking on all occasions withgreat deliberation and slowness.
"Why, you see, sir," he replied, "the brown pony's got cut under thefetlock of the right hind leg; and I 'ad 'im down to L'Esperance thesmith's, sir, to look at 'im, sir; and he says to me, says he, `Thatdon't look well, that 'oss don't,'--and he's a knowing feller, sir, isL'Esperance, though he _is_ an 'alf-breed--"
"Never mind what he said, Tom," interrupted the senior clerk; "is thepony fit for use? that's the question
."
"No, sir, 'e hain't."
"And the black mare, can he not have that?"
"No, sir; Mr Grant is to ride 'er to-morrow."
"That's unfortunate," said the senior clerk.--"I fear, Charley, thatyou'll need to ride behind Harry on his gray pony. It wouldn't improvehis speed, to be sure, having two on his back; but then he's so like apig in his movements at any rate, I don't think it would spoil his pacemuch."
"Could he not try the new horse?" he continued, turning to the groom.
"The noo 'oss, sir! he might as well try to ride a mad buffalo bull,sir. He's quite a young colt, sir, only 'alf broke--kicks like awindmill, sir, and's got an 'ead like a steam-engine; 'e couldn't 'old'im in no'ow, sir. I 'ad 'im down to the smith t'other day, sir, an'says 'e to me, says 'e, `That's a screamer, that is.' `Yes,' says I,`that his a fact.' `Well,' says 'e--"
"Hang the smith!" cried the senior clerk, losing all patience; "can'tyou answer me without so much talk? Is the horse too wild to ride?"
"Yes, sir, 'e is," said the groom, with a look of slightly offendeddignity, and drawing himself up--if we may use such an expression to onewho was always drawn up to such an extent that he seemed to be justbalanced on his heels, and required only a gentle push to lay him flaton his back.
"Oh, I have it!" cried Peter Mactavish, who had been standing during theconversation with his back to the fire, and a short pipe in his mouth:"John Fowler, the miller, has just purchased a new pony. I'm told it'san old buffalo-runner, and I'm certain he would lend it to Charley atonce."
"The very thing," said the senior clerk.--"Run, Tom; give the miller mycompliments, and beg the loan of his horse for Charley Kennedy.--I thinkhe knows you, Charley?"
The dinner-bell rang as the groom departed, and the clerks prepared fortheir mid-day meal.
The senior clerk's order to "_run_" was a mere form of speech, intendedto indicate that haste was desirable. No man imagined for a moment thatTom Whyte could by any possibility _run_. He hadn't run since he wasdismissed from the army, twenty years before, for incurable drunkenness;and most of Tom's friends entertained the belief that if he everattempted to run he would crack all over, and go to pieces like adisentombed Egyptian mummy. Tom therefore walked off to the row ofbuildings inhabited by the men, where he sat down on a bench in front ofhis bed, and proceeded leisurely to fill his pipe.
The room in which he sat was a fair specimen of the dwellings devoted tothe _employes_ of the Hudson's Bay Company throughout the country. Itwas large, and low in the roof, built entirely of wood, which wasunpainted; a matter, however, of no consequence, as, from long exposureto dust and tobacco-smoke, the floor, walls, and ceiling had become onedeep, uniform brown. The men's berths were constructed after thefashion of berths on board ship, being wooden boxes ranged in tiersround the room. Several tables and benches were strewn miscellaneouslyabout the floor, in the centre of which stood a large double iron stove,with the word "_Carron_" stamped on it. This served at once forcooking, and warming the place. Numerous guns, axes, and canoe-paddleshung round the walls or were piled in corners, and the rafters sustaineda miscellaneous mass of materials, the more conspicuous among which weresnow-shoes, dog-sledges, axe handles, and nets.
Having filled and lighted his pipe, Tom Whyte thrust his hands into hisdeerskin mittens, and sauntered off to perform his errand.