Читать книгу: «Wrecked but not Ruined», страница 2

Chapter Three
A Brief but Agreeable Meeting

The little outskirt settlement of Partridge Bay was one of those infant colonies which was destined to become in future years a flourishing and thickly-peopled district of Canada. At the period of our story it was a mere cluster of dwellings that were little better than shanties in point of architecture and appearance. They were, however, somewhat larger than these, and the cleared fields around them, with here and there a little garden railed in, gave them a more homelike aspect than the dwellings of the wood-men.

The valley in which the settlement stood was one of those magnificent stretches of primeval forest which used to be the hunting-grounds of the red man, and from which he had not at that time been thrust by the “paleface,” for, here and there, his wigwam might still be seen sending its wreath of blue smoke above the tree-tops.

It was evening—a calm, sunny, glorious, spring evening—when Redding and his man overtopped the heights that enclosed the vale, and paused as well to gaze upon the scene as to recover breath. Far below them lay the hamlet, a cluster of black dots on a field of pure snow. Roseate lights on undulations, and cold blue shadows in hollows, were tamed down in effect by the windows of the hamlet which shot forth beams of blazing fire at the setting sun. Illimitable space seemed to stretch away to the place where the horizon would have been if it had not lost itself in a golden glory, and this vast reach was a varied irregular network of dark pines and fields of snow—the pines tipped everywhere with sparkling snow-wreaths, the fields streaked everywhere with long shadows. Little winding lines of a grey colour which radiated from the hamlet indicated the tracks where the settlers drove their sleighs and wood-sledges. Many of these were seen moving along the far-off tracks like insects, while the tinkle of the sleigh-bells floated upwards like fairy music.

“Yes, I shall take up my abode there,” murmured Redding, as he gazed in rapt admiration on the beautiful scene.

“Monsieur?” said his companion.

“I say that I should like to dwell there,” answered Redding. “It is a splendid country, and will be better known in days to come.”

“Vraiment, truly, a magnifircent kontry,” returned Le Rue, “gorgeows, magnifique! I vould giv moche, ver moche, to have leetil cottage, an vife, an cow, an pigs dere.”

As Redding had been thinking of something similar, he laughed, and commenced the descent of the zigzag track that led to the hamlet.

They had proceeded only a few yards when, turning round a cluster of pines, they suddenly discovered some travellers in difficulty—a man whose horse had shied or stumbled off the narrow track and was embedded up to the girths in the soft snow, and two females, whose furry garments, all besprinkled with snow, showed that they had just emerged from the sledge, which lay on its side behind the horse. The driver’s chief anxiety seemed to be to quiet and restrain his horse, which being high-spirited, was plunging in vain and frantic efforts to extricate himself, to the great danger of shafts and harness.

To run up and aid the man was of course the instant impulse of our travellers.

“Ah! good luck to ’ee,” exclaimed the driver, in tones that were unmistakably Irish, “here, howld ’is head till I get the sled clear.”

“All right,” cried the Englishman, seizing the reins near the mouth of the terrified animal and holding its head forcibly down, while Le Rue assisted the owner to unharness.

In a few minutes the vehicle was righted, and the horse released.

While the driver was busy readjusting the harness, he accompanied the operation with a running fire of grateful expressions, such as— “there now, ain’t ye in luck, Rooney? Arrah! gentleman, it’s my blissin’ I bestow on yez. Och! but I’d have bin lost intirely widout ye. Well well, it’s always the way. I’m no sooner in a scrape than I’m sure to get out of it. It’s meself is a favoured man. Now thin, ladies, git in, for we’re late enough on the road.”

On the two “ladies” thus addressed Redding and his man had been gazing in silent surprise, for they were so good-looking and so blooming, that it seemed to the two men, who had been accustomed of late to the sight of none but the brown dames of the red skins, as if a couple of beings from another and a purer world had dropped suddenly upon their path. One of the two was evidently a lady, and was possessed of no common share of beauty. Her dark hair contrasted powerfully with the fairness of her skin and the whiteness of her teeth. Her dazzling black eyes almost, and her red lips altogether, laughed as she observed Redding’s gaze of astonishment. Her companion, a very pretty Canadian girl, was evidently her maid.

“We owe you many thanks, kind sirs,” said the lady, “for your opportune assistance.”

“Pardon me, madam,” said Redding, hastening forward in some confusion as he recovered from his rather rude stare of surprise, “I dwell in the wilderness and have been so unaccustomed of late to the sight of ladies that—that—allow me to assist you into the sleigh!”

“Mademoiselle, permettez moi,” said Le Rue, advancing to the waiting-maid and politely offering his hand.

Another moment and the “ladies” were seated in the vehicle and carefully repacked by our travellers, while their Irish driver mounted to his seat in front and gathered up the reins.

“Thanks, gentlemen, many thanks,” repeated the ladies, with bewitching smiles.

“Good luck to ’ee both,” cried the driver, as he flourished his whip and drove away.

Redding and his man stood silently gazing for several minutes at the turn in the road where the vision had vanished.

“Heaven for two minits, an’ now—gone for evair!” said Le Rue, with a deep sigh.

Redding echoed the sigh, and then laughed at the lugubrious expression of his man’s face.

“Oh such eyes!” exclaimed Le Rue.

“Yes, she’s rather good-looking,” replied Redding, thinking of the lady.

“Good-looking! non—bootifool—exiquitely bootifool,” cried Le Rue, thinking of the maid.

Again Redding laughed. “Well well, François,” said he, “whether good-looking or beautiful matters little, for it’s not likely that we shall ever see them again, so the less you think about them the better.—Allons! we are late enough and must not loiter.”

They pushed ahead at once at a rapid pace, but although neither spoke, each thought with somewhat similar feelings of the little incident just described.

Lest the reader should be surprised at so small a matter affecting them so deeply, we must remark that these fur-traders had lived for some years in a region where they saw no females except the brown and rather dirty squaws of the Indians who visited the Cliff Fort with furs. Their fort was indeed only three days’ journey from the little settlement of Partridge Bay, but as the space which lay between was a particularly rugged part of the wilderness, with only a portion of road—unworthy of the name—here and there, and the greater part of the way only passable on foot or by means of dog-sledges, none but an occasional red man or a trapper went to and fro; and as the nature of the fur-trader’s business called for very little intercourse with the settlements—their furs being sent by water to Quebec in summer—it followed that the inhabitants of the Cliff Fort rarely visited Partridge Bay. The sudden vision, therefore, of two pretty females of a higher type had not only the effect on Redding and his man of novelty, but also stirred up old memories and associations.

Such good use did they now make of their time that the settlement of Partridge Bay was reached before dark, and our hero went off immediately in quest of the surveyor.

Mr Gambart was a cheerful, healthy, plump little man, with a plump little wife, and three plump little daughters. Plumpness was not only a characteristic of the Gambarts, but also of their surroundings, for the cottage in which they dwelt had a certain air of plumpness about it, and the spot on which it stood was a round little knob of a hill.

Here Reginald Redding was hospitably received—we might almost say joyfully, because visitors to the settlement were so rare that whoever made his appearance was sure to be received as a “welcome guest” if he only carried the credentials of honesty and ordinary good nature on his countenance.

Redding’s impatience, however, to get at the truth of the matter that had brought him there, induced him very soon to forsake the society of the three plump little daughters and retire to the plump little father’s work-room.

“It is my opinion,” said Mr Gambart, as he carefully unfolded the plan, “that you may find the McLeods have trespassed somewhat on your reserves, for, if my memory serves me rightly, there is a small islet—as you see here—just in the centre of the creek, half of which belongs to you.”

“I see it,” said the fur-trader, earnestly gazing on the dot which represented the said island.

“Well,” continued the surveyor, “that islet is a mere rock just above the waterfall, and I am of opinion that it would be almost impossible for any one to erect a mill there without encroaching to some extent on your half of it.”

“Good,” replied the fur-trader, “can you let me have a copy of the plan to-morrow?”

“To-night if you please. I have one by me.”

“Then I’ll be off by daybreak the day after to-morrow,” said Redding, with much decision.

“Why such haste?” asked the surveyor, “the McLeods are not likely to run away from you. I know them well, for they dwelt long in this settlement, and were ever regarded as men of firm purpose—quite immovable indeed when once they had made up their minds on any point, so you’ll be sure to find them at Jenkins Creek carrying out their plans, even though you should delay your return for a month. Come, make up your mind to stay with us at least a few days. It will do you as well as me good, and will send you back to banishment in a better frame of mind.”

Redding, although strongly tempted by the comforts of civilised life and the hospitality of his host—not to mention the attractions of the plump little daughters—sternly resolved not to swerve an inch from the path of what he believed to be his duty. He entertained a strong suspicion that these McLeods had penetrated into the wilderness to the neighbourhood of the Cliff Fort, not so much for the purpose of cutting timber as for secret opposition in the fur-trade, of which the company he represented had for many years enjoyed almost a monopoly. His pride was touched, his spirit was fired. Perhaps the peaceful and secluded life he had led rendered this little opportunity of warfare more a pleasure than a pain to him. At all events the thing was not to be tolerated. The saw-mill, which the McLeods had an undoubted right to erect on the unoccupied lands, was being planted on the very border of the Company’s reserve lands, which they had purchased, and which were clearly laid down in plans. He would see to it that these interlopers did not trespass by an inch—no, not by an eighth of an inch—if he had power to prevent it! The fact that the McLeods were said to be resolute men made him more determined to assert his rights. He therefore declined Mr Gambart’s invitation firmly.

“I will stay,” said he, “only one day, to look out for a house, and then return.”

“Look out for a house!” exclaimed the surveyor, in surprise, “what mean you? Do you think of settling down here?”

“Indeed I do,” replied Redding, with a smile. “I have long been brooding over that subject. The fact is, Mr Gambart, that I am tired of solitude. I am a sociable being, and find it hard to endure the society of only five or six men in a place where there are no women, no children, and no end of bears! I intend to leave the Fur Company’s service,—indeed my resignation is already sent in,—purchase a small farm here, and get—”

“Get a wife, a horse, a dog, and a gun, and settle down to enjoy yourself, eh?” interrupted the surveyor.

“Well, I had not gone quite so much into details,” answered Redding, with a laugh, “but you are right in so far as settling down goes. My only fear is that it won’t be easy to find a place that will at once suit my fancy and my purse. The small sum of money left me by my father at his death two years ago will not purchase a very extensive place, but—”

“I know the very thing to suit you,” interrupted the surveyor with emphasis, “a splendid little cottage—quite a mansion in miniature—with garden, fences, fields, outhouses, etcetera, all complete and going literally for an old song. Come, we’ll ‘go visit it by the pale moonlight’ just now, return to have tea with the ladies, and to-morrow we’ll go see it by daylight. It is close at hand, the name is Loch Dhu, and it has only one objection.”

“What may that be?” asked Redding, much amused at the abrupt little man’s energy.

“Won’t tell you till you’ve seen it; come.”

Without more ado they sallied forth and walked along the snowy track that led to the cottage in question. A few minutes sufficed to bring them to it, and the first glance showed the fur-trader that his friend had not exaggerated the beauty of the place. The cottage, although small, was so elegant in form and so tastefully planned in every respect that it well deserved the title of a mansion in miniature. It stood on a rising ground which was crowned with trees; and the garden in front, the summer-house, the porch, the trellis-work fence, the creepers, the flower-beds—everything in fact, told that it had been laid out and planned by a refined mind.

Of course Redding had to call in the aid of his imagination a little, for at the moment when he first beheld it, the whole scene was robed in a mantle of snow. Close to the house, and in sight of the front windows, was a small lake or pond, by the side of which rose an abrupt precipice of about fifty feet in height. Beyond this, a little to the right, lay the undulating fields of the settlement, dotted with clumps of trees and clusters of cottages.

“Most beautiful!” exclaimed the fur-trader, “but why named Loch Dhu, which, if I mistake not, is the Gaelic for Black Lake?”

“Because that little pond,” answered the surveyor, “when freed from its wintry coat, looks dark and deep even at mid-day under the shadow of that beetling cliff.”

“Truly, I like it well,” said Redding, as he turned again to look at the cottage, “are you its architect?”

“I am,” answered Mr Gambart, “but a greater mind than mine guided my pencil in the process of its creation.”

“Indeed! and what is the objection to it that you spoke of?”

“That,” replied the surveyor, with a mysterious look, “I must, on second thoughts, decline to tell you.”

“How, then, can you expect me to buy the place?” demanded Redding, in surprise.

“Why, because I, a disinterested friend, strongly recommend you to do so. You believe in me. Well, I tell you that there is no objection to the place but one, and that one won’t prove to be an objection in the long run, though it is one just now. The price is, as you know, ridiculously small, first, because the family who owned it have been compelled by reverses of fortune to part with it, and are in urgent need of ready cash; and, secondly, because few people have yet found out the beauties of this paradise, which will one day become a very important district of Canada.”

“Humph, well, I believe in your friendship, and to some extent in your wisdom, though I doubt your capacity to prophesy,” said Redding. “However, if you won’t tell me the objection, I must rest content. To-morrow we will look at it in daylight, and if I then see no objections to it myself, I’ll buy it.”

The morrow came. In the blaze of the orb of day Loch Dhu looked more beautiful than it did by moonlight. After a thorough examination of house and grounds, the fur-trader resolved to purchase it, and commissioned his plump little friend to carry out the transaction. Thereafter he and his man retraced their steps to the wilderness, still breathing unutterable things against the entire clan of McLeod.

Chapter Four
Pioneering

We turn now to “the enemy”—the McLeods. The father and his two sons sat in a rude shanty, on a bench and an empty keg, drinking tea out of tin cans. They were all stalwart, dark-haired, grave-visaged mountaineers of Scotland. Unitedly they would have measured at least eighteen feet of humanity. The only difference between the father and the sons was that a few silver hairs mingled with the black on the head of the former, and a rougher skin covered his countenance. In other respects he seemed but an elder brother.

“Ian,” he said to his first-born, as he refilled his tin can with tea, “how many more timbers have you to prepare for the dam?”

“Six,” replied the son laconically.

“It seems to me,” observed Kenneth, the second son, “that if the frost holds much longer we shall be thrown idle, for everything is ready now to begin the works.”

“Idle we need not be,” returned the father, “as long as there is timber to fell in the forest. We must prepare logs to be sawn as well as the mill to saw them.”

“I can’t help thinking, father,” said Ian, “that we did not act wisely in spending all the remainder of our cash in an order for goods from England. We should have waited to see how the mill paid before setting up a store. Besides, I have my doubts as to the wood-cutters or other people passing this out-o’-the-way spot in sufficient numbers to make a store pay for many a day to come, and even if they do, people coming up the coast will have the Fur Company’s store at the Cliff Fort to go to for supplies.”

“It’s too late to think of these things now,” retorted the elder McLeod; “we have made the venture, and must go through with it. Our case shows the folly of taking the advice of a friend of whose wisdom one is not well assured. No doubt Gambart meant to do us a service, and fancied that he knew this coast well, but it is quite plain that he was mistaken, for I have no doubt now, from the situation of the place, that there will be little or no traffic here for a long time to come.”

“So, then, we might as well have thrown the remnant of our wrecked fortunes into the sea,” said Kenneth gravely.

“Not quite,” returned the father, with a smile. “If we can only manage to hold on for a year or two, we shall be sure to succeed, for there can be no question that the tide of immigration is beginning to set in this direction, but it does not flow fast, and our great difficulty in the meantime will be the want of ready cash.”

“Act in haste and repent at leisure,” said Ian.

“One can scarcely be said to act in haste,” retorted his father, “who is almost forced into a course of action. My chief mistake was in putting too much trust in Gambart.”

“Well,” said Kenneth, rising and stretching his huge frame as he placed a hatchet on his shoulder, “there’s nothing like a good breakfast for giving a man heart to face difficulties. I’ll away to work. What a pity that we may not raise some of our timbers on the other side of the creek, for it is admirably adapted to our purpose. Don’t you think we might, father?”

“No,” replied the elder McLeod, “the other side belongs to the fur-traders, whose rights must be respected.”

Ian and his father soon followed Kenneth to the scene of their labours.

The spot was a wild one, but in many respects it was well-suited to the purpose for which these adventurers had chosen it. The coast line at Jenkins Creek was precipitous. Cliffs, crowned with pines, rose in some places perpendicularly from the shingly beach of the gulf, and elsewhere the ground was very rugged. The creek itself was a mere streamlet which ran a short course from the mountains of the interior, brawling down a wild gully of inconsiderable extent. Near its mouth was a cascade, divided by a small rock or islet. It was between this rock and the south shore that the McLeods purposed to erect their dam when the ice should have cleared away, and here, in the meantime, the three men busied themselves in cutting and shaping the necessary timbers, and forming the rougher parts of the machinery of the mill.

They toiled steadily till noon, and then returned to their log-hut for dinner, which consisted of cold pork, hot tea, biscuit, and salt butter. They were still in the midst of this meal when the door opened and a man entered, carrying under his arm a pair of long snow-shoes, which he had just taken off.

“Glad to see you, Bellew, we had expected you earlier,” said the elder McLeod, rising and shaking hands with the trapper.

“I would have been earlier,” replied Bellew, handing a letter to McLeod, “but for a redskin whom I met on the way, who delayed me somewhat. He tells me something about a wreck having been seen by some of his tribe a good bit down the gulf, but what between the difficulty of makin’ out his lingo, and his stupidity, or unwillingness to communicate all he knew, I have found out very little about it. This only I feel pretty sure of, that a wreck must have occurred, and that, from something he said, there may perhaps be some poor fellows lying on the shore there.”

“If so, they will surely perish in such weather,” said McLeod, “and the least we can do is to go and try to rescue them.”

“No need for you to go,” said the trapper, “I will go alone with a small supply of provisions, and see whether it be true. If I find any of ’em alive I can make them comfortable enough for a short time, and then return here for such help as may be required.”

“You’ll start at once, then?” asked McLeod.

“Yes, at once.”

“Here, have something to eat first,” said Kenneth, pointing to the viands.

Jonas Bellew accepted the invitation. At once he sat down, and ate in silence heartily, while the elder McLeod read the letter.

“Have you bad news?” asked Ian, as he watched his father’s face.

“Not exactly bad, but it’s disappointing. This is from Gambart.—Listen.

“My dear McLeod,—I have just heard that the flour-mill in this place which you were so anxious to purchase has come unexpectedly into the market, owing to the sudden death of its owner. It is to be had cheap too—at a very much lower figure than you offered before leaving Partridge Bay. I strongly advise you to secure it without delay. This letter goes by Sam Smalls to Bellew the trapper, who will doubtless deliver it to you. You’d better send him straight back with your reply.”

“Humph! good advice this time,” said Ian when his father ceased to read, “if we could only take it. ’Tis hard to have every penny we possess locked up, with such a chance before us. Couldn’t we borrow, in the meantime, from Gambart himself?”

“I will never purchase property with borrowed capital,” replied the elder McLeod.

“Well, it can’t be helped,” said Ian, consoling himself with another slice of cold pork.

“Now I’m ready to start,” said Bellew, rising and wiping his mouth with the cuff of his capote.

In a few minutes the trapper, on snow-shoes, and with a pack of provisions on his back, was striding down the coast at a pace that soon left the Creek far behind him.

Three days after this incident the trio at Jenkins Creek were aroused, while sitting at their mid-day meal, by the tinkle of sleigh-bells. Their sitting-room window was filled chiefly with parchment, but there was one square of it filled with glass. Through this, as from a loop-hole, the inmates could reconnoitre any one who approached their hut.

“Two dog-sleighs!” exclaimed Ian, turning from the loop-hole with a look of surprise.

“Flora and Elise!” cried Kenneth and his father, in the same breath, as they started up eagerly and hastened to the door.

They were right. Flora, jumping out of the furs of a vehicle which resembled a slipper-bath, and was drawn by four panting dogs, ran into the hut, exclaiming, “Dear father,” and threw her arms round the neck of the elder McLeod, who was not slow to return the embrace. Elise entered with smiling face, and curtsied to the young men, who advanced and shook her heartily by the hand.

“Hould their hids, Mister Kenneth,” exclaimed the driver of the foremost sleigh, as he sought to undo the traces of the dogs. “Sure they’re all alike—horses or dogs, they never will lay still when they’re wanted to; bad luck to ’em intirely. Me heart is all but broke. There—git along wid ye.”

“Don’t be hard on them, Rooney,” said Kenneth, laughing, “they seem to have done good service.”

“True for ye,” replied Rooney, “it wouldn’t have bin aisy to git the ladies down here widout ’em, the snow was so soft wi’ the thaw that it nigh tore the snow-shoes off me feet, an’ my poor legs is at laist three inches longer than whin I set out, if not four.”

“Well, Flo,” said Ian, “although I know you to be a resolute girl, I didn’t believe you would undertake a journey over a country without a road at such a season of the year.”

“I knew she would come,” said her father, patting the girl’s head tenderly, “but didn’t expect her quite so soon.”

“That’s just the reason why I came,” said Flora, bustling about the room in search of a reasonably clean spot on which to deposit her fur cap and muff; “I wanted to take you by surprise, you dear old duck. Here, Elise, take these things and put them on a bed, or something of that sort, if there is one in the house. I declare there is not a spot in this room that is not covered with smoke and grease. How can you be so dirty? It is high time that Elise and I came to put your house in order. You needn’t laugh, Kenneth, you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. This is dinner-time, I fancy. Have you any to spare for us? Let me see—but stay; first tell me how you have been and what you have done, and—”

“Please, Miss,” said the maid, returning from a little side-room, “there isn’t a spot clean enough to put your things on. The beds are no better than the chairs and tables.”

“Oh you dirty thing!” said Flora, seating herself on her father’s knee, and gazing remonstratively into his face.

A quiet smile played on the dark visage of the elder McLeod as he kissed her and said:—

“How could you expect us, Flo, to keep things very tidy in a place like this, where we’ve had to work hard with our axes every day and all day, and no woman to help us in domestic affairs? Why, sometimes we’ve been so tired at the end of a day, that instead of cleaning up, we have tumbled into bed, boots and all! But there is one little corner of our otherwise dirty hut which we have reserved for lady-visitors. See here!”

He rose, unlocked a little door in a corner of the dining-hall, and throwing it open, disclosed to the astonished gaze of his visitors a small apartment which was a perfect marvel of cleanliness and propriety. True, it was a very simple and what may be styled a home-made apartment. The walls, floor, and ceiling were of unpainted wood, but the wood was perfectly fresh, and smelt pleasantly of resin. The window was preposterously small, with only four squares of glass in it, and it was curtained with mere calico, but the calico was rose-coloured, which imparted a delightfully warm glow to the room, and the view from the window of pine-woods and cliffs, and snow-fields, backed by the distant sea, was magnificent. Two little beds in the corner furthest from the window looked so snug that the tendency of beholders to lie down and go to sleep forthwith was only overcome by a sensation of fear lest the fairies, to whom they unquestionably belonged, might object. There was a rather clumsily-made chest of drawers in one corner, the workmanship of Kenneth; a book-shelf fashioned by Ian; and a table, with three chairs, made by McLeod senior.