Part 39 (2/2)
If Jessie had been hard to convince, Lumley would not have ended that little discourse with ”thirdly.” As it was, Jessie gave in, and the marriage was celebrated in the decorated hall, with voyageurs, and hunters, and fur-traders as witnesses. Macnab proved himself a worthy minister, for he read the marriage-service from the Church of England prayer-book with an earnest and slightly tremulous tone which betrayed the emotion of his heart. And if ever a true prayer, by churchman or layman, mounted to the Throne, that prayer was the fervent, ”G.o.d bless you, Jessie!” to which the Highlander gave vent, as he pressed the bride to his heart when the ceremony was over.
There were some peculiarities about this wedding in the wilderness which call for special notice. In the first place, the wedding-feast, though held shortly after mid-day, was regarded as a dinner--not as a breakfast. It was rather more real, too, than civilised feasts of the kind. Those who sat down to it were hungry. They meant feeding, as was remarked by Salamander when more ”venison steaks” were called for. Then there was no champagne or strong drink of any kind. Teetotalism--with or without principle--was the order of the day, but they had gallons of tea, and they consumed them, too; and these stalwart Nor'westers afterwards became as uproarious on that inspiring beverage as if they had all been drunk. There was this peculiarity, however, in their uproar, that it was reasonable, hearty, good-humoured; did not degenerate into shameful imbecility, or shameless impropriety, nor did it end in stupid incapacity. It subsided gradually into pleasant exhaustion, and terminated in profound refres.h.i.+ng slumber.
Before that point was reached, however, much had to be done. Games had to be undertaken as long as the daylight lasted--chief among which were tobogganing down the snow-slope, and football on the ice. Then, after dark, the Hall was lighted up with an extra supply of candles round the room--though the powerful blaze of the mighty wood fire in the open chimney rendered these almost unnecessary, and another feast was inst.i.tuted under the name of supper, though it commenced at the early hour of six o'clock.
At this feast there was some speechifying--partly humorous and partly touching--and it remains a disputed point to this day whether the touching was more humorous or the humorous more touching. I therefore refrain from perplexing the reader with the speeches in detail. Only part of one speech will I refer to, as it may be said to have had a sort of prophetic bearing on our tale. It fell from the lips of Lumley.
”My friends,” he said, with that grave yet pleasant urbanity which I have before said was so natural to him, ”there is only one regret which I will venture to express on this happy day, and it is this, that some of those who were wont to enliven us with their presence at Fort Wichikagan, are not with us to-night. I really do not think there would be a single element wanting in the joy which it has pleased a loving G.o.d to send me, if I could only have had my dear young friend, George Maxby, to be my best man--”
He had to pause a few moments at this point, because of noisy demonstrations of a.s.sent.
”And I am quite sure,” he continued, ”that it would have afforded as much satisfaction to you as it would to my dear wife and me, if we could only have had our sedate friend, Big Otter--”
Again he had to pause, for the shouting with which this name was received not only made the rafters ring, but caused the very candles on the walls to wink.
”If we could only have had Big Otter,” repeated Lumley, ”to dance at our wedding. But it is of no use to sigh after the impossible. The days of miracles are over, and--”
As he spoke the hall door slowly opened, and a sight appeared which not only bereft the speaker of speech, but for a few minutes absolutely petrified all the rest of the company. It was the face and figure of a man--tall, gaunt and worn.
Now, good reader, as Lumley said (without very good authority!) the days of miracles are over, yet I venture to think that many events in this life do so much resemble miracles that we could not distinguish them from such unless the keys to their solution were given to us.
I give you the key to the supposed miracle now in hand, by asking you to accompany me deep into the wild-woods, and backward in time to about an hour before noon of the day preceding Christmas. It is a tangled shady spot to which I draw attention, the snow-floor of which is over-arched by dark pine-branches and surrounded by walls of willows and other shrubs. There is a somewhat open circular s.p.a.ce in the centre of the spot, into which an Indian on snow-shoes strode at the hour mentioned.
Even his most intimate friends might have failed at a first glance to recognise Big Otter, for he was at the time very near the close of a long, hard, wearisome journey, during the course of which he had experienced both danger and privation. Latterly he had conceived an idea, which he had striven with all his powers--and they were not small--to carry out. It was neither more nor less than to arrive in time to spend Christmas Day with his friends at Fort Wichikagan.
But to accomplish this feat, commencing at the time he conceived it, required that the Indian should travel without fail upwards of forty miles every day. This, on snow-shoes, could only be done by a very Hercules, and that only for a few days at a stretch. Big Otter knew his powers of endurance, and had carried out his resolve nearly to completion, when a storm arose so fierce, with temperature so bitterly cold, that he could not force against it, and thus lost the greater part of a day. Still, the thing was not impossible, and, as the difficulties multiplied, our Indian's resolve to conquer increased.
In this state of mind, and much worn and f.a.gged in body, with soiled and rent garments that told of weeks upon weeks of toil, he entered the circle, or open s.p.a.ce before referred to, and, coming to a stand, rested the b.u.t.t of his gun on one of his snowshoes, heaved a deep sigh, and looked round, as if undecided how to act.
But Big Otter's periods of indecision never lasted long. Being naturally of a sociable turn of mind he partially revealed his mental condition by low mutterings which I take leave to translate.
”Yes, I can do it. The pale-faces are pleasant men; pleasanter at Christmas-time than at other times. They love song, and Big Otter loves to hear song, though he does not love to do it. Men do not love to try what they cannot do. The pale-faces have much food, too, on Christmas Day, and much good-will. Big Otter loves both the good-will and the food, especially that round thing they are so fond of--plum-puddinn they call it. They dance much also. Dancing gives not much joy, though Big Otter can do some of it--but plum-puddinn is glorious! Waugh! I will do it!”
Having communed with himself thus far, the Indian leaned his gun against a tree, flung down his provision-bag, took off his snow-shoes, cleared away the snow, kindled a fire, spread his bed of pine-brush and his blanket above it--and, in short went through the usual process of encamping. It was early in the day to encamp, but there was only one way in which our Indian could hope to partake of the plum-puddinn, and that was to walk a little over fifty miles at one stretch. That distance still lay between him and Fort Wichikagan, and it had to be traversed within fourteen and fifteen hours--including rests and food.
To prepare himself for the feat Big Otter drew from his wallet an enormous ma.s.s of venison which he roasted and consumed. Then he filled a small portable kettle with snow, which, with the aid of a fierce fire, he soon converted into tea. You see our Indian was becoming civilised by intercourse with pale-faces, and rather luxurious, for he carried tea and sugar on this journey. He did not deem b.u.t.ter a necessity, but could afford to dispense with that, because of having the remains of a rogan, or birch basket, of bear's grease (unscented, of course!) which he had reserved at the end of his fall hunt.
The meal, or rather the gorging, over, Big Otter rolled himself head and feet in a blanket, pillowed his head on the provision-wallet, and suddenly went to sleep.
Hour after hour pa.s.sed, but not the slightest motion was perceptible in that rec.u.mbent figure save the slow regular rise and fall of the deep chest. The short-lived sun of winter soon pa.s.sed its zenith and began to decline towards its early couch in the west, but still the sleeper lay motionless like a log. At last the shades of early evening began to fall, and then Big Otter awoke. He rose at once, stretched himself with a sort of awful energy, rolled up his blanket, put on his snow-shoes, caught up wallet and gun, and set off on his journey.
To see a strong man stride over the land on snowshoes is a grand sight at any time, but to see Big Otter do it on this occasion would have been worth a long journey. With his huge and weighty frame and his mighty stride he made nothing of small obstacles, and was but little affected by things that might have r.e.t.a.r.ded ordinary mortals. Small bushes went down before him like gra.s.s, larger ones he turned aside, and thick ones he went cras.h.i.+ng through like an African elephant through jungle, while the fine frosted snow went flying from his snow-shoes right and left.
There was no hesitancy or wavering as to direction or pace. The land he was acquainted with, every inch. Reserve force, he knew, lay stored in every muscle, and he was prepared to draw it all out when fatigue should tell him that revenue was expended and only capital remained.
As the sun went down the moon rose up. He had counted on this and on the fact that the land was comparatively open. Yet it was not monotonous. Now he was crossing a stretch of prairie at top speed, anon driving through a patch of woodland. Here he went striding over the surface of a frozen river, or breasting the slope of a small hill. As the night wore on he tightened his belt but did not halt to do so. Once or twice he came to a good-sized lake where all impediments vanished.
Off went the snowshoes and away he went over the marble surface at a slow trot--slow in appearance, though in reality quicker than the fastest walk.
<script>