Part 24 (1/2)

”Yes, yes, I understand, Mr Lumley--that you find it difficult to recover yourself,--why, your friend Mr Maxby has not yet recovered,”

said the fair Jessie, turning and holding out her hand to me.

She was right. I had not recovered, but stood there open-mouthed and eyed, bereft of speech, until the necessity for action was thrust upon me. My apologies were, however, cut short by the coming up of her brother, who, while yet a long way off, began to shout in his stentorian tones:--

”Hallo! Lumley, my boy, how are ye? Here we are at last. A happy New Year, Max. Glad to see you once more--all alive and hearty? Eh? More than I expected to find _you_, Jess, after such a run with these rascally dogs--absolute wolves! But it might have been worse. Give us a shake o' your fists, my boys, on this happy New Year's Day.”

By this time our hearty friend was beside us, shaking us both vigorously by the hands, wis.h.i.+ng us all manner of good luck, and compliments of the season, and otherwise letting off the steam of his exuberant feelings.

”You've introduced yourselves, I see,” he continued; ”come, Lumley, give your arm to Jessie, and show us the way to the fort.”

”If Miss Macnab,” began Lumley, advancing, but his speech was here cut short.

”Miss Macnab!” echoed the explosive Peter in a sarcastic shout, ”call her Jessie, man! who ever heard of a `_Miss_ Macnab' in the backwoods?

When men take to living in the wilderness, it's time to cast off all the humbuggin' politenesses o' civilised life.”

”Pardon me, Macnab,” returned my friend, with more than his usual urbanity, ”I differ from you there.”

”Oh, ay, I daresay ye do,” interrupted the other. ”It's been said of Scotsmen that `they can aye objec',' and I think it's equally true of Englishmen that they can always differ!”

”Men who live in the wilderness,” continued Lumley, merely answering the interruption with a smile, ”ought to be unusually particular about keeping up all the politenesses of civilised life, instead of dropping them, and ought to be inexpressibly thankful when a soft and civilising influence, like Miss Macnab, condescends to visit them with a ray of suns.h.i.+ne from the old country.”

”Bravo, Lumley,” cried Macnab, with a boisterous laugh, ”that speech was worthy of an Irishman! Call her what you like, my good fellow, so long as you never call her too late for meals; but come along now and let's have something to eat, for I'm famis.h.i.+ng.”

By this time the Indian with the sled had joined us, so we all went off to the fort in a state of boisterous joy, of which those unfortunates who have never been banished from their fellows for months--or for years--can form no conception. As dinner was opportunely smoking on the table when we entered the hall, our visitor's hilarity was, if possible, increased. Moreover, we had company that New Year's Day, for a knife and fork had been laid in the hall for every man at the fort. You see, Lumley was a strict disciplinarian, and, therefore, could afford at special times to relax without loss of dignity and with a great increase of good-will on the part of all under him. At all other times we and the men--excepting our guide--messed apart; but on Christmas and New Year's Days all distinctions were laid aside, discipline was relaxed, and we acted on the principle of that brotherhood which is based upon the a.s.sumption that all men have the same objects in life and the same hopes after death. That morning we had all played football on the ice together, had slidden and tumbled down the snow-slope together, and now we were about to mess together in the hall. Still further, our company was to be increased, and our festive board to be graced, by the presence of Waboose and her mother. Little had we imagined, when all this was planned, that we were to have the addition of our old friend Macnab, and that glorious beam from the sun of civilisation, his sister Jessie!

I will, however, make but brief reference to this festive occasion, and proceed to tell of an event which created an unexpected sensation in our little community, and might have closed our New Year's Day amus.e.m.e.nts with a terrible tragedy.

After dinner we circled round the blazing fire and enjoyed ourselves listening to Macnab, who had a happy facility in giving a graphic account of his sledge journey from the Mountain Fort--his recently built trading-post--to Fort Wichikagan, and I observed particularly that the presence of a lady among us had a most wonderful and irresistible influence in softening the tones and the manners of all.

As the evening advanced tea was introduced--we had nothing stronger, and did not, indeed, feel any desire for fire-water. Under the inspiriting influence of this beverage, several of our men were induced to tell stories, which were more or less humorous.

During the meal--at which Lumley insisted that ”Miss Macnab” should preside, to the immense disgust of Salamander--I observed that the dark-haired white girl and the fair-haired Indian, drew very closely together. It appeared to me that they had fallen in love with each other at first sight, a fact which afforded me lively satisfaction, though I had no very clear perception as to why it should do so.

Songs naturally followed the cheering cup, and at this point Lumley became unusually bold.

”I wonder,” he said, with a peculiar air of modesty which somewhat puzzled me, ”if I may venture to ask Miss Macnab for a song.”

”Ha! ha!” shouted her brother, before she could reply, ”you _may_ venture to ask, my boy, but you'll find it difficult to draw a song out of Jessie. Why, she never could sing a note!”

”I've a good mind to sing now, Peter,” said the girl with a laugh, ”just to prove that you are a false man.”

”No, no, Jessie, spare me,” returned the Highlander, ”but get out your accordion, and--”

”Accordion!” almost shouted Lumley, ”do you play the accordion? Have you really got one here?”

It is but right to say, in justification of Lumley's enthusiasm, that music of any kind was so seldom heard in those wilds, that the mere prospect of hearing good music excited us, for of course our natural thought was that a girl like Jessie Macnab could not perform anything but good music.

As she rose to go for the instrument to Salamander's room--which had been made over to her--a growling Gaelic exclamation made me aware of the fact that the faces of Donald Bane and James Dougall were beaming with hope, mingled with admiration of their countrywoman. She had naturally paid these men a good deal of attention, and, in addition to her other good qualities, spoke their native tongue fluently. As Dougall afterwards said, ”She hes the Gaelic!”

On returning to the hall with the once familiar and well-remembered instrument, I believe every man there felt a tendency to wors.h.i.+p her.