Fort Desolation: Red Indians and Fur Traders of Rupert's Land

“What have you got?”

“Tay and coffee, sur, not to mintion wather. There’s only flour an’ salt pork to ait, for this is a bad place for game. I’ve not seed a bird or a bear for three weeks, an’ the seals is too cute for me. But I’ll bring ye the best that we’ve got.”

Teddy O’Donel hastened to the kitchen, a small log-hut in rear of the dwelling-house, and left Jack Robinson alone in the “Hall.”

Jack rose, thrust his hands deep into his pockets, and walked to the window. It was glazed with parchment, with the exception of the centre square, which was of glass.

“Pleasant, uncommonly pleasant,” he muttered, as he surveyed the landscape.

In front lay a flat beach of sand with the gulf beyond, the horizon being veiled in mist. Up the river there was a flat beach with a hill beyond. It was a black iron-looking hill, devoid of all visible verdure, and it plunged abruptly down into the sea as if it were trying fiercely to drown itself. Down the river there was a continuation of flat beach, with, apparently, nothing whatever beyond. The only objects that enlivened the dreary expanse were, the sloop at the end of the wooden jetty and a small flagstaff in front of the house, from which a flag was flying in honour of the arrival of the new governor. At the foot of this flagstaff there stood an old iron cannon, which looked pugnacious and cross, as if it longed to burst itself and blow down all visible creation.

Jack Robinson’s countenance became a simple blank as he took the first survey of his new dominions. Suddenly a gleam of hope flitted across the blank.

“Perhaps the back is better,” he muttered, opening the door that led to the rear of the premises. In order to get out he had to pass through the kitchen, where he found his men busy with fried pork and flour cakes, and his lieutenant, Teddy, preparing coffee.

“What is that?” inquired Jack, pointing to a small heap of brown substance which Teddy was roasting in a frying-pan.

“Sure it’s coffee,” said the man.

“Eh?” inquired Jack.

“Coffee, sur,” repeated Teddy with emphasis.

“What is it made of?” inquired Jack.

“Bread-crumbs, sur. I’m used to make it of pais, but it takes longer, d’ye see, for I’ve got to pound ’em in a cloth after they’re roasted. The crumbs is a’most as good as the pais, an’ quicker made whin yer in a hurry.”

Jack’s first impulse was to countermand the crumbs and order tea, but he refrained, and went out to survey the back regions of his new home.

He found that the point selected for the establishment of the fort was a plain of sand, on which little herbage of any kind grew. In rear of the house there was a belt of stunted bushes, which, as he went onward into the interior, became a wood of stunted firs. This seemed to grow a little more dense farther inland, and finally terminated at the base of the distant and rugged mountains of the interior. In fact, he found that he was established on a sandbank which had either been thrown up by the sea, or at no very remote period had formed part of its bed. Returning home so as to enter by the front door, he observed an enclosed space a few hundred yards distant from the fort. Curious to know what it was, he walked up to it, and, looking over the stockade, beheld numerous little mounds of sand with wooden crosses at the head of them. It was the burial-ground of the establishment. Trade had been carried on here by a few adventurous white men before the fort was built. Some of their number having died, a space had been enclosed as a burying-ground. The Roman Catholic Indians afterwards used it, and it was eventually consecrated with much ceremony by a priest.

With a face from which every vestige of intelligence was removed, Jack Robinson returned to the fort and sat down in solitary state in the hall. In the act of sitting down he discovered that the only arm-chair in the room was unsteady on its legs, these being of unequal length. There were two other chairs without arms, and equally unsteady on their legs. These, as well as everything in the room, were made of fir-wood—as yet unpainted. In the empty fire-place Jack observed a piece of charcoal, which he took up and began, in an absent way, to sketch on the white wall. He portrayed a raving maniac as large as life, and then, sitting down, began insensibly to hum—

“I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls.”

In the midst of which he was interrupted by the entrance of his lieutenant with a tray of viands.

“Ah, yer a purty creatur,” exclaimed Teddy, pausing with a look of admiration before the maniac.

“Come, Teddy, sit down and let’s have the news. What have we here?” said Jack, looking at three covered plates which were placed before him.

“Salt pork fried,” said Teddy removing the cover.

“And here?”

“Salt pork biled,” said the man, removing the second cover; “an’ salt pork cold,” he added, removing the third. “You see, sur, I wasn’t sure which way ye’d like it, an’ ye was out whin I come to ax; so I just did it up in three fashions. Here’s loaf bread, an’ it’s not bad, though I say it that made it.”

As Jack cut down into the loaf, he naturally remembered those lines of a well-known writer:

“Who has not tasted home-made bread,A heavy compound of putty and lead!”

“Are these cakes?” he said, as Teddy presented another plate with something hot in it.

“Ay, pancakes they is, made of flour an’ wather fried in grease, an’ the best of aitin’, as ye’ll find;—but, musha! they’ve all stuck together from some raison I han’t yet diskivered: but they’ll be none the worse for that, and there’s plenty of good thick molasses to wash ’em down wid.”

“And this,” said Jack, pointing to a battered tin kettle, “is the—the—”

“That’s the coffee, sur.”

“Ah! well, sit down, Teddy, I have seen worse fare than this. Let’s be thankful for it. Now, then, let me hear about the fishery.”

Nothing pleased Teddy O’Donel so much as being allowed to talk. He sat down accordingly and entertained his master for the next hour with a full, true, and particular account of every thing connected with Fort Desolation. We will not, however, inflict this on the reader. Reduced to its narrowest limits, his information was to the following effect:—

That the Indians, generally, were well disposed towards the traders, though difficult to please. That a good many furs had been already obtained, and there was a report of more coming in. That the salmon fishery was situated on a river twenty miles below the fort, and was progressing favourably; but that the five men engaged there were a quarrelsome set and difficult to keep in order. Teddy thought, however, that it was all owing to one of the men, named Ladoc, a bully, who kept the other four in bad humour.

But the point on which poor Teddy dilated most was his solitude. For some time he had been living with no other companions than an old Indian woman and her half-caste daughter, and they having left him, during the last three days he had been living entirely alone “among the ghosts,” many of which he described minutely.

This intelligence was brought to an abrupt close by a row among the men in the kitchen. Rollo had been boasting of his walking powers to such an extent, that Pierre had become disgusted and spoke contemptuously of Rollo; whereupon the bully, as usual, began to storm, and his wrath culminated when Pierre asserted that, “Mr Robinson would bring him to his marrow-bones ere long.”

“Jack Robinson!” exclaimed Rollo with contempt; “I’d walk him blind in two hours.”

Just at that moment the door opened, and Jack stood before them.

“You are too noisy, men,” said he, in a quiet voice, (Jack almost always spoke in a soft voice); “remember that this kitchen is within hearing of the hall. Rollo, go down to the beach and haul up the sloop’s boat, I see the tide is making on her.”

Rollo hesitated.

“You hear?” said Jack, still in a quiet tone, but with a look—not a fierce look, or a threatening look, but—a peculiar look, which instantly took effect.

One has often observed a cat when about to spring. It makes many pauses in its prowling towards its prey, and occasional motions that lead one to expect a spring. But the motion which precedes the actual spring is always emphatic. It may not be violent; it may be as slight as all the previous motions, but there is that in it which tells irresistibly, somehow, of a fixed purpose. So is it, doubtless, with tigers; so was it with Jack Robinson. His first remark to the men was a prowl; his order to Rollo was a pause, with an intention; his “you hear?” softly said, had a something in it which induced Rollo to accord instant obedience!

On returning to the hall, Jack paced up and down indignantly. “So there are two bullies in the camp,” he soliloquised; “I must cure them both;—but softly, Jack. It won’t do to fight if you can secure peace by other means. Let blows be the last resource. That’s my motto. He’ll walk me blind! Well, we shall see, to-morrow!”

Chapter Four.

Taming a Bully

The morrow came, and Jack Robinson rose with the sun. Long before his men were astir he had inspected the few books and papers of the establishment, had examined the condition of the fur and goods store, and had otherwise made himself acquainted with the details of the fort; having gone over its general features with Teddy the day before.

When the “lieutenant” arose, he found indications of his new master having been everywhere before him, and noted the fact! As Teddy was by no means a man of order—although a good and trustworthy man—there was enough to be done before breakfast. Jack purposely put Rollo into the kitchen to prepare the morning meal, this being comparatively light work. He himself worked with the other men in the stores. There was necessarily a great deal of lifting and shifting and clearing, in all of which operations he took the heaviest part of the work, and did his work better and more thoroughly than any of the others. Teddy observed this also, and noted the fact!

At breakfast there was naturally a good deal of talk among the men, and special mention was of course made of the energy of their master.

Breakfast over, Jack assembled the men and apportioned to each his day’s work.

“I myself,” said he, “mean to walk down to the fishery to-day, and I leave O’Donel in charge; I shall be back to-morrow. Rollo, you will prepare to accompany me.”

“Yes, sir,” answered the man, not knowing very well how to take this. The others glanced at each other intelligently as they departed to their work.

A few minutes sufficed for preparation, and soon Jack stood with his rifle on his shoulder in front of the house. Rollo quickly made his appearance with an old trading gun.

“You can leave that, we won’t require it,” said Jack; “besides I want to walk fast, so it is well that you should be as light as possible.”

“No fear but I’ll keep up with you, sir,” said the man, somewhat piqued.

“I do not doubt it,” replied Jack, “but one gun is enough for us, so put yours by and come along.”

Rollo obeyed, and resolved in his heart that he would give his new master a taste of his powers.

Jack started off at a good rattling pace, somewhat over four miles an hour. For the first mile Rollo allowed him to lead, keeping about a foot behind. Then he thought to himself, “Now, my friend, I’ll try you,” and ranged up beside him, keeping a few yards to one side, however, in order to avoid the appearance of racing. After a few minutes he pushed the pace considerably, and even went ahead of his companion; but, ere long, Jack was alongside and the pace increased to nearly five miles an hour.

Only those who have tried it know, or can fully appreciate, what is meant by adding a mile an hour to one’s pace. Most active men go at four miles an hour when walking at a good smart pace. Men never walk at five miles an hour except when in the utmost haste, and then only for a short distance. Anything beyond that requires a run in order to be sustained.

It was curious to watch the progress of these two men. The aim of each was to walk at his greatest possible speed, without allowing the slightest evidence of unwonted exertion to appear on his countenance or in his manner.

They walked on the sands of the shore—there being no roads there—and at first the walking was good, as the tide was out and the sand hard. But before they had got half way to the fishery the sea came in and drove them to the soft sand, which, as nearly every one knows, is terribly fatiguing and difficult to walk in.

Up to this point the two men had kept abreast, going at a tremendous pace, yet conversing quietly and keeping down every appearance of distress; affecting, in fact, to be going at their usual and natural pace! Many a sidelong glance did Rollo cast, however, at his companion, to see if he were likely to give in soon. But Jack was as cool as a cucumber, and wore a remarkably amiable expression of countenance. He even hummed snatches of one or two songs, as though he were only sauntering on the beach. At last he took out his pipe, filled it, and began to smoke, without slackening speed. This filled Rollo with surprise, and for the first time he began to entertain doubts as to the result of the struggle.

As for Jack, he never doubted it for a moment. When they were compelled to take to the heavy sand and sank above the ankles at every step, he changed his tactics. Putting out his pipe, he fell behind a few paces.

“Ha!” thought Rollo, “done up at last; now I’ll give it you.”

The thought that he was sure of victory infused such spirit into the man that he braced himself to renewed exertion. This was just what Jack wanted. He kept exactly a foot behind Rollo, yet when the other ventured to slacken his pace, (which was now too great to be kept up), he pushed forward just enough to keep him at it, without disheartening him as to result. In the midst of this they both came to a full stop on discovering a box made of birch bark, which seemed to have been dropped by some passing Indians.

“Hallo! what have we here?” cried Jack, stooping down to examine it.

“My blessin’ on’t whatever it is,” thought Rollo, to whom the momentary relief from walking was of the greatest consequence. Jack knew this, and hastened his inspection. It was a box of bear’s fat.

“Come, not a bad thing in times like these,” observed Jack; “will you carry this or the rifle, my man? See, the rifle is lighter, take that.”

Again they stepped out, and the sand seemed to grow softer and deeper as they advanced. They were now five miles from the end of their journey, so Jack began to exert himself. He pushed on at a pace that caused Rollo to pant and blow audibly. For some time Jack pretended not to notice this, but at last he turned round and said—

“You seem to be fatigued, my man, let me carry the rifle.”

Rollo did not object, and Jack went forward with the box and rifle more rapidly than before. He was perspiring, indeed, at every pore profusely, but wind and limb were as sound as when he started.

He finally left Rollo out of sight, and arrived at the fishery without him!

Half an hour afterwards Rollo arrived. He was a stout fellow, and by taking a short rest, had recovered sufficiently to come in with some degree of spirit; nevertheless, it was evident to all that he was “used up,” for, “it is not the distance but the pace that kills!” He found the fishermen at dinner, buttering their cakes with the bear’s grease that had been discovered on the way down. Jack Robinson was sitting in the midst of them, chatting quietly and smoking his pipe beside the fire-place of the hut.

Jack introduced him as one of the new men, but made no reference to the walk from Fort Desolation. He felt, however, that he had conquered the man, at least for that time, and hoped that further and more violent methods would not be necessary. In this he was disappointed, as the sequel will show.

That night Jack slept on a bed made of old salmon-nets, with a new salmon-net above him for a blanket. It was a peculiar and not a particularly comfortable bed; but in his circumstances he could have slept on a bed of thorns. He gazed up at the stars through the hole in the roof that served for a chimney, and listened to the chirping of the frogs in a neighbouring swamp, to which the snoring of the men around him formed a rough-and-ready bass. Thus he lay gazing and listening, till stars and strains alike melted away and left him in the sweet regions of oblivion.

Chapter Five.

The Salmon Fishery

Next morning, Jack Robinson went out at daybreak to inspect the salmon fishery.

The river, up which the fish went in thousands, was broad, deep, and rapid. Its banks were clothed with spruce-fir and dense underwood. There was little of the picturesque or the beautiful in the scenery. It was a bleak spot and unattractive.

Two of the four men who conducted the fishery were stationed at the mouth of the river. The other two attended to the nets about six miles farther up, at a place where there was a considerable fall terminating in a long, turbulent rapid.

With his wonted promptitude and energy, Jack began to make himself master of his position long before the men were stirring. Before Ladoc, who was superintendent, had lighted his first pipe and strolled down to the boat to commence the operations of the day, Jack had examined the nets, the salt boxes, the curing-vats, the fish in pickle, the casks, and all the other matériel of the fishery, with a critical eye. From what he saw, he was convinced that Ladoc was not the best manager that could be desired, and, remembering that Ladoc was a bully, he was strengthened in an opinion which he had long entertained, namely, that a bully is never a trustworthy man.

He was in the act of forming this opinion, when Ladoc approached.

“Good morning, Ladoc,” said he; “you rise early.”

“Oui, sair; mais, you gits up more earlier.”

“Yes, I am fond of morning air. The fishery prospers, I see.”

“It doos, monsieur,” said Ladoc, accepting the remark as a compliment to himself; “ve have catch fifteen casks already, and they is in most splendid condition.”

“Hum!” ejaculated Jack, with a doubtful look at a cask which was evidently leaking, “hum! yes, you are getting on pretty well, but—”

Here Jack “hummed” again, and looked pointedly at one of the large vats, which was also leaking, and around which there was a great deal of salt that had been scattered carelessly on the ground. Raising big eyes to the roof of the low shed in which the salt-boxes stood, he touched with his stick a torn piece of its tarpaulin covering, through which rain had found its way in bad weather. He “hummed” again, but said nothing, for he saw that Ladoc was a little disconcerted.

After some minutes Jack turned to his companion with a bland smile, and said—

“The next station is—how many miles did you say?”

“Six, monsieur.”

“Ah, six! well, let us go up and see it. You can show me the way.”

“Breakfast be ready ver’ soon,” said Ladoc, “monsieur vill eat first, p’r’aps?”

“No, we will breakfast at the upper station. Ho, Rollo! here, I want you.”

Rollo, who issued from the hut at the moment, with a view to examine the weather and light his pipe, came forward.

“I am going with Ladoc to the upper station,” said Jack; “you will take his place here until we return.”

“Very well, sir,” replied Rollo, fixing his eyes upon Ladoc. At the same moment Ladoc fixed his eyes on Rollo. The two men seemed to read each other’s character in a single glance, and then and there hurled silent defiance in each other’s teeth through their eyes! Ladoc was annoyed at having been silently found fault with and superseded; Rollo was aggrieved at being left behind; both men were therefore enraged—for it is wonderful how small a matter is sufficient to enrage a bully—but Jack ordered Ladoc to lead the way, so the rivals, or enemies, parted company with another glance of defiance.

That day, Jack Robinson had a somewhat rough and remarkable experience of life.

He began by overhauling the nets at the mouth of the river, and these were so prolific that the small flat-bottomed boat used by the fishermen was soon half filled with glittering salmon, varying from ten to fifteen pounds in weight. In order to avoid having his mocassins and nether garments soiled, Jack, who pulled the sculls, sat with bare feet and tucked-up trousers. In less than an hour he rowed back to the landing-place, literally up to the knees in salmon! Among these were a few young seals that had got entangled in the nets, while in pursuit of the fish, and been drowned. These last were filled with water to such an extent, that they resembled inflated bladders!

“Breakfast is ready, sir,” said one of the men, as the boat-party leaped ashore.

“Very good,” replied Jack; turning to Ladoc, “now, my man, are you ready to start for the upper fishery?”

“Eh? ah—oui, monsieur.”

There was a titter amongst the men at the expression of their big comrade’s face, for Ladoc was ravenously hungry, and felt inclined to rebel at the idea of being obliged to start on a six-miles’ walk without food; but as his young master was about to do the same he felt that it was beneath his dignity to complain. Besides, there was a something peculiar about Jack’s manner that puzzled and overawed the man.

The fact was, that Jack Robinson wanted to know what his bullies were made of, and took rather eccentric methods of finding it out. He accordingly set off at his best pace, and pushed Ladoc so hard, that he arrived at the upper fishery in a state of profuse perspiration, with a very red face, and with a disagreeably vacuous feeling about the pit of his stomach.

They found the men at the station just landing with a boat-load of fish. They were all clean-run, and shone in the bright sunshine like bars of burnished silver.

“Now, Ladoc,” said Jack, “get breakfast ready, while I look over matters here.”

It need not be said that the man obeyed most willingly. His master went to examine into details. Half-an-hour sufficed to make him pretty well acquainted with the state of matters at the station, and, during breakfast, he soon obtained from the men all the knowledge they possessed about the fishery, the natives, and the region.

One of the men was a half-caste, a fine-looking, grave, earnest fellow, who spoke English pretty well. His name was Marteau.

“The seals and the bears are our worst enemies, sir,” said Marteau, in the course of conversation.

“Indeed! and which of the two are worst?” inquired Jack. “Another slice of pork, Ladoc, your appetite appears to be sharp this morning; thank you, go on, Marteau, you were saying something about the bears and seals.”

“It’s not easy to say which of them is worst, sir. I think the bears is, for the seals eat the bits that they bite out o’ the fish, and so get some good of it; but the bears, they goes to the vats and pulls out the salt fish with their claws, for you see, sir, they can’t resist the smell, but when they tries to eat ’em—ah, you should see the faces they do make! You see, they can’t stand the salt, so they don’t eat much, but they hauls about and tears up an uncommon lot of fish.”

“It must make him ver’ t’irsty,” observed Ladoc, swallowing a can of tea at a draught.

“It makes one thirsty to think of it,” said Jack, imitating Ladoc’s example; “now, lads, we’ll go and overhaul the nets.”

Just as he spoke, Ladoc sprang from his seat, seized Jack’s gun, which leant against the wall, shouted, “A bear!” and, levelling the piece through the open doorway, took aim at the bushes in front of the hut.

At the same moment Jack leaped forward, struck up the muzzle of the gun just as it exploded, and, seizing Ladoc by the collar, hurled him with extraordinary violence, considering his size, against the wall.

“Make yourself a better hunter,” said he, sternly, “before you presume to lay hands again on my gun. Look there!”

Jack pointed, as he spoke, in the direction in which the man had fired, where the object that had been mistaken for a bear appeared in the form of a man, crawling out of the bushes on all-fours. He seemed to move unsteadily, as if he were in pain.

Running to his assistance, they found that he was an Indian, and, from the blood that bespattered his dress and hand, it was evident that he had been wounded. He was a pitiable object, in the last stage of exhaustion. When the party ran towards him, he looked up in their faces with lustreless eyes, and then sank fainting on the ground.