CHAPTER EIGHT.
FAREWELL TO KATE--DEPARTURE OF THE BRIGADE--CHARLEY BECOMES A VOYAGEUR.
On the following day at noon, the spot on which the late combat hadtaken place became the theatre of a stirring and animated scene. FortGarry, and the space between it and the river, swarmed with voyageurs,dressed in their cleanest, newest, and most brilliant costume. Thelarge boats for the north, six in number, lay moored to the river'sbank, laden with bales of furs, and ready to start on their long voyage.Young men, who had never been on the road before, stood with animatedlooks watching the operations of the guides as they passed criticalexamination upon their boats, overhauled the oars to see that they werein good condition, or with crooked knives (a species of instrument inthe use of which voyageurs and natives are very expert) polished off thetop of a mast, the blade of an oar, or the handle of a tiller. Old men,who had passed their lives in similar occupations, looked on insilence--some standing with their heads bent on their bosoms, and anexpression of sadness about their faces, as if the scene recalled somemournful event of their early life, or possibly reminded them of wild,joyous scenes of other days, when the blood coursed warmly in theiryoung veins, and the strong muscles sprang lightly to obey their will;when the work they had to do was hard, and the sleep that followed itwas sound--scenes and days that were now gone by for ever. Othersreclined against the wooden fence, their arms crossed, their thin whitehair waving gently in the breeze, and a kind smile playing on theirsunburned faces, as they observed the swagger and coxcombry of theyounger men, or watched the gambols of several dark-eyed littlechildren--embryo buffalo-hunters and voyageurs--whose mothers hadbrought them to the fort to get a last kiss from papa, and witness thedeparture of the boats.
Several tender scenes were going on in out-of-the-way places--in anglesof the walls and bastions, or behind the gates--between youthful couplesabout to be separated for a season. Interesting scenes these of pathosand pleasantry--a combination of soft glances and affectionate, ferventassurances; alternate embraces (that were _apparently_ received withreluctance, but _actually_ with delight), and proffers of pieces ofcalico and beads and other trinkets (received both _apparently_ and_actually_ with extreme satisfaction) as souvenirs of happy days thatwere past, and pledges of unalterable constancy and bright hopes in daysthat were yet to come.
A little apart from the others, a youth and a girl might be seensauntering slowly towards the copse beyond the stable. These wereCharley Kennedy and his sister Kate, who had retired from the bustlingscene to take a last short walk together, ere they separated, it mightbe for years, perhaps for ever! Charley held Kate's hand, while hersweet little head rested on his shoulder.
"O Charley, Charley, my own dear, darling Charley, I'm quite miserable,and you ought not to go away; it's very wrong, and I don't mind a bitwhat you say, I shall die if you leave me!" And Kate pressed himtightly to her heart, and sobbed in the depth of her woe.
"Now, Kate, my darling, don't go on so! You know I can't help it--"
"I _don't_ know," cried Kate, interrupting him, and speakingvehemently--"I don't know, and I don't believe, and I don't care foranything at all; it's very hard-hearted of you, and wrong, and notright, and I'm just quite wretched!"
Poor Kate was undoubtedly speaking the absolute truth; for a moredisconsolate and wretched look of woe-begone misery was never seen on sosweet and tender and lovable a little face before. Her blue eyes swamin two lakes of pure crystal, that overflowed continually; her mouth,which was usually round, had become an elongated oval; and her nut-brownhair fell in dishevelled masses over her soft cheeks.
"O Charley," she continued, "why _won't_ you stay?"
"Listen to me, dearest Kate," said Charley, in a very husky voice."It's too late to draw back now, even if I wished to do so; and youdon't consider, darling, that I'll be back again soon. Besides, I'm aman now, Kate, and I must make my own bread. Who ever heard of a manbeing supported by his old father?"
"Well, but you can do that here."
"Now, don't interrupt me, Kate," said Charley, kissing her forehead;"I'm quite satisfied with _two short_ legs, and have no desire whateverto make my bread on the top of _three long_ ones. Besides, you know Ican write to you--"
"But you won't; you'll forget."
"No, indeed, I will not. I'll write you long letters about all that Isee and do; and you shall write long letters to me about--"
"Stop, Charley," cried Kate; "I won't listen to you. I hate to think ofit."
And her tears burst forth again with fresh violence. This timeCharley's heart sank too. The lump in his throat all but choked him; sohe was fain to lay his head upon Kate's heaving bosom, and weep alongwith her.
For a few minutes they remained silent, when a slight rustling in thebushes was heard. In another moment a tall, broad-shouldered,gentlemanly man, dressed in black, stood before them. Charley and Kate,on seeing this personage, arose, and wiping the tears from their eyes,gave a sad smile as they shook hands with their clergyman.
"My poor children," said Mr Addison, affectionately, "I know well whyyour hearts are sad. May God bless and comfort you! I saw you enterthe wood, and came to bid you farewell, Charley, my dear boy, as I shallnot have another opportunity of doing so."
"O dear Mr Addison," cried Kate, grasping his hand in both of hers, andgazing imploringly up at him through a perfect wilderness of ringletsand tears, "do prevail upon Charley to stay at home; please do!"
Mr Addison could scarcely help smiling at the poor girl's extremeearnestness.
"I fear, my sweet child, that it is too late now to attempt to dissuadeCharley. Besides, he goes with the consent of his father; and I aminclined to think that a change of life for a _short_ time may do himgood. Come, Kate, cheer up! Charley will return to us again ere long,improved, I trust, both physically and mentally."
Kate did _not_ cheer up, but she dried her eyes, and endeavoured to lookmore composed; while Mr Addison took Charley by the hand, and, as theywalked slowly through the wood, gave him much earnest advice andcounsel.
The clergyman's manner was peculiar. With a large, warm, generousheart, he possessed an enthusiastic nature, a quick, brusque manner, anda loud voice, which, when his spirit was influenced by the strongemotions of pity or anxiety for the souls of his flock, sank into adeep, soft bass of the most thrilling earnestness. He belonged to theChurch of England, but conducted service very much in the Presbyterianform, as being more suited to his mixed congregation. After a longconversation with Charley, he concluded by saying:--
"I do not care to say much to you about being kind and obliging to allwhom you may meet with during your travels, nor about the dangers towhich you will be exposed by being thrown into the company of wild andreckless, perhaps very wicked, men. There is but _one_ incentive toevery good, and _one_ safeguard against all evil, my boy, and that isthe love of God. You may perhaps forget much that I have said to you;but remember this, Charley, if you would be happy in this world, andhave a good hope for the next, centre your heart's affection on ourblessed Lord Jesus Christ; for believe me, boy, _His_ heart's affectionis centred upon you."
As Mr Addison spoke, a loud hollo from Mr Kennedy apprised them thattheir time was exhausted, and that the boats were ready to start.Charley sprang towards Kate, locked her in a long, passionate embrace,and then, forgetting Mr Addison altogether in his haste, ran out of thewood, and hastened towards the scene of departure.
"Good-bye, Charley!" cried Harry Somerville, running up to his friendand giving him a warm grasp of the hand. "Don't forget me, Charley. Iwish I were going with you, with all my heart; but I'm an unlucky dog.Good-bye." The senior clerk and Peter Mactavish had also a kindly wordand a cheerful farewell for him as he hurried past.
"Good-bye, Charley, my lad!" said old Mr Kennedy, in an _excessively_loud voice, as if by such means he intended to crush back some unusualbut very powerful feelings that had a peculiar influence on a certainlump in his throat. "Goodbye, my lad; don't forget to w
rite to yourold--Hang it!" said the old man, brushing his coat-sleeve somewhatviolently across his eyes, and turning abruptly round as Charley lefthim and sprang into the boat.--"I say, Grant, I--I--What are you staringat, eh?" The latter part of his speech was addressed, in an angry tone,to an innocent voyageur, who happened accidentally to confront him atthe moment.
"Come along, Kennedy," said Mr Grant, interposing, and grasping hisexcited friend by the arm--"come with me."
"Ah, to be sure!--yes," said he, looking over his shoulder and waving alast adieu to Charley. "Good-bye, God bless you, my dear boy!--I say,Grant, come along; quick, man, and let's have a pipe--yes, let's have apipe." Mr Kennedy, essaying once more to crush back his rebelliousfeelings, strode rapidly up the bank, and entering the house, sought tooverwhelm his sorrow in smoke: in which attempt he failed.