Ungava

When the sun rose over the mountain-tops and looked down upon the calm surface of the river, there was not a man remaining in the fort, with the exception of Stanley and Frank, and their active servant La Roche.

A deep calm rested on the whole scene. The sailors of the vessel, having risen to dispatch breakfast, retired to their hammocks again and went to sleep; Stanley, Frank, and their household, were busy within doors; Chimo snored in the sunshine at the front of the fort; and the schooner floated on a sheet of water so placid, that every spar and delicate rope was clearly reflected. Nothing was heard save the soft ripple on the shore, the distant murmur of mountain streams, and, once or twice through the day, the faint reverberation of a fowling-piece.

But as the day advanced, evidences of the approaching feast began to be apparent. Early in the forenoon Massan and Prince returned with heavy loads of venison on their shoulders, and an hour later Bryan staggered into the fort bending under the weight of a well-filled bag of fish. He had been at his favourite fishing quarters in the dark valley, and was dripping wet from head to foot, having fallen, as usual, into the water. Bryan had a happy facility in falling into the water that was quite unaccountable—and rather enviable in warm weather. As the cooking operations were conducted on an extensive scale, a fire was kindled in the open air in the rear of the men’s house; round which fire, in the course of the forenoon, Bryan and La Roche performed feats of agility so extravagant, and apparently so superhuman, that they seemed to involve an element of wickedness from their very intensity. Of course no large dinner ever passed through the ordeal of being cooked without some accidents or misfortunes, more or less. Even in civilised life, where the most intricate appliances are brought to bear on the operation by artistes thoroughly acquainted with their profession, infallibility is not found. It would be unjust, therefore, to expect that two backwoodsmen should be perfectly successful, especially when it is remembered that their branch of the noble science was what might be technically termed plain cookery, the present being their first attempt in the higher branches.

Their first difficulty arose from the larger of the two plum-puddings, which La Roche had compounded under the directions of Mrs Stanley and the superintendence of Edith.

“I say, Losh,” cried Bryan to his companion, whose head was at the moment hid from view in a cloud of steam that ascended from a large pot over which he bent, apparently muttering incantations.

“Vell, fat you want?”

“Faix, and it’s just fat that I don’t want,” said Bryan, pointing, as he spoke, to the large pudding, which, being much too large for the kettle, was standing on the rim thereof like the white ball of foam that caps a tankard of double X. “It’s more nor twice too fat already. The kittle won’t hould it, no how.”

“Oh, stuff him down, dat is de way,” suggested La Roche.

“Stuff it down, avic, an’ what’s to come o’ the wather?” said Bryan.

“Ah! true, dat is perplexible, vraiment.”

At this moment the large pot boiled over and a cloud of scalding steam engulfed the sympathetic Frenchman, causing him to yell with mingled pain and rage as he bounded backwards.

“Musha! but ye’ll come to an early death, Losh, if ye don’t be more careful o’ yer dried-up body.”

“Taisez vous, donc,” muttered his companion, half angrily.

“Taisin’ ye? avic, sorra wan o’ me’s taisin’ ye. But since ye can’t help me out o’ me throubles, I’ll try to help mysilf.”

In pursuance of this noble resolve, Bryan went to the store and fetched from thence another large tin kettle. He then undid the covering of the unwieldy pudding, which he cut into two equal parts, and having squeezed them into two balls, tied them up in the cloth, which he divided for the purpose, and put them into the separate kettles, with the air of a man who had overcome a great difficulty by dint of unfathomable wisdom. It was found, however, that the smaller pudding, intended for Stanley’s table, was also too large for its kettle; but the energetic blacksmith, whose genius was now thoroughly aroused, overcame this difficulty by cutting off several pounds of it, and transferring the pudding thus reduced to the kettle, saying in an undertone as he did so, “There’s more nor enough for the six o’ ye yit, av yer only raisonable in yer appetites.”

But the superfluity of the pudding thus caused became now a new source of trouble to Bryan.

“What’s to be done wid it, Losh? I don’t like to give it to the dogs, an’ it’s too small intirely to make a dumplin’ of.”

“You better heat him raw,” suggested La Roche.

“Faix, an’ I’ve half a mind to; but it would spile my dinner. Hallo! look out for the vainison, Losh.”

“Ah, oui; oh! misere!” cried La Roche, springing over the fire, and giving a turn to the splendid haunch of venison which depended from a wooden tripod in front of the blaze, and, having been neglected for a few minutes, was beginning to singe.

“What have ye in the pot there?” inquired Bryan.

“Von goose, two duck, trois plovre, et von leetle bird—I not know de name of—put him in pour experiment.”

“Very good, Losh; out wid the goose and we’ll cram the bit o’ dumplin’ into him for stuffin’.”

“Ah! superb, excellent,” cried La Roche, laughing, as he lifted out the goose, into which Bryan thrust the mass of superfluous pudding; after which the hole was tied up and the bird re-consigned to the pot.

Everything connected with this dinner was strikingly suggestive of the circumstances under which it was given. The superabundance of venison and wild-fowl; the cooking done in the open air; the absence of women, and the performance of work usually allotted to them by bronzed and stalwart voyageurs; the wild scenery in the midst of which it took place; and the mixture of Irish, English, French, Indian, Esquimau, and compound tones, that fell upon the ear as the busy work went on,—all tended to fill the mind with a feeling of wild romance, and to suggest powerfully the idea of being, if we may so express it, far, far away! As the proceedings advanced towards completion, this feeling was rather increased than removed.

Tables and chairs were a luxury that still remained to be introduced at Fort Chimo, when the men found leisure from more urgent duties to construct them. Therefore the dining-table in Stanley’s hall was composed of three large packing-cases turned bottom up. There was no cloth wherewith to cover its rough boards; but this was a matter of little importance to the company which assembled round it, punctually at the hour of four. In place of chairs there were good substantial nail-kegs, rather low, it is true, and uncommonly hard, but not to be despised under the circumstances. Owing to the unusual demand for dishes, the pewter plates and spoons and tin drinking-cups—for they had little crockery—were of every form and size that the store contained; and the floor on which it all stood was the beaten ground, for the intended plank flooring was still growing in the mountain glens.

But if the equipage was homely and rude, the fare was choice and abundant; and an odour that might have gladdened the heart of an epicure greeted the nostrils of the captain and his two mates when they entered the hall, dressed in blue surtouts with bright brass buttons, white duck trousers, and richly flowered vests (waistcoats). There was a splendid salmon, of twenty pounds weight, at one end of the board; and beside it, on the same dish, a lake-trout of equal size and beauty. At the other end smoked a haunch of venison, covered with at least an inch of fat; and beside it a bowl of excellent cranberry jam, the handiwork of the hostess. A boiled goose and pease-pudding completed the catalogue. Afterwards, these gave place to the pudding which had caused Bryan so much perplexity, and several dishes of raisins and figs. Last, but not least, there was a bottle of brandy and two of port wine; which, along with the raisins and figs, formed part of the limited supply of luxuries furnished by the Hudson’s Bay Company to Stanley, in common with all the gentlemen in the service, in order to enable them, now and then, on great occasions, to recall, through the medium of a feast, the remembrance of civilised life.

The display in the men’s house was precisely similar to that in the hall. But the table was larger and the viands more abundant. The raisins and figs, too, were wanting; and instead of wine or brandy, there was a small supply of rum. It was necessarily small, being the gift of Stanley out of his own diminutive store, which could not, even if desired, be replenished until the return of the ship next autumn.

On the arrival of the guests a strange contrast was presented. The sailors, in white ducks, blue jackets with brass buttons, striped shirts, pumps, and straw hats, landed at the appointed hour, and in hearty good-humour swaggered towards the men’s house, where they were politely received by the quiet, manly-looking voyageurs, who, in honour of the occasion, had put on their best capotes, their brightest belts, their gayest garters, and most highly-ornamented moccasins. The French Canadians and half-breeds bowed, shook hands, and addressed the tars as messieurs. The sailors laughed, slapped their entertainers on the shoulders, and called them messmates. The Indians stood, grave and silent, but with looks of good-humour, in the background; while the Esquimaux raised their fat cheeks, totally shut up their eyes, and grinned perpetually, not to say horribly, from ear to ear. But the babel that followed is beyond the powers of description, therefore we won’t attempt it.

Here, however, the characteristic peculiarity of our scene ceases. The actual demolition of food is pretty much the same among all nations that are not absolutely savage; and, however much contrast might have been observed in the strange mixture of human beings assembled under the hospitable roof of Fort Chimo, there was none whatever in the manner in which they demolished their viands. As the evening advanced, a message was sent to Monsieur Stanley for the loan of his violin.

“Ay,” said he, as the instrument was delivered to Bryan, who happened to be the messenger and also the performer—“ay, I thought it would come to that ere long. Don’t be too hard on the strings, lad. ’Twill be a rough ball where there are no women.”

“Thrue, yer honour,” replied the blacksmith, as he received the instrument, “there’s a great want of faymales in thim parts; but the sailors have consinted to ripresint the purty craytures on the present occasion, which is but right, for, ye see, the most o’ thim’s shorter nor us, an’ their wide breeches are more like the pitticoats than our leggin’s.”

Many were the stories that were told and retold, believed, disbelieved, and doubted, on that memorable night; and loud were the songs and long and strong the dancing that followed. But it was all achieved under the influence of pure animal spirits, for the rum supplied afforded but a thimbleful to each. The consequence was that there were no headaches the following morning, and the men were up by break of day as fresh and light as larks. A feeling of sadness, however, gradually crept over the band as the dawn advanced and the schooner prepared for her departure.

By six o’clock the flood-tide turned, and a few minutes later all the sailors were aboard, hoisting the sails and anchor, while the men stood silently on the beach where they had just parted from their guests.

“Good-bye once more, Mr Stanley; good-bye, Mr Morton,” said the captain, as he stepped into his boat. “I wish you a pleasant winter and a good trade.”

“Thank you, thank you, captain,” replied Stanley; “and don’t forget us out here, in this lonely place, when you drink the health of absent friends at Christmas time.”

In a few minutes the anchor was up, and the schooner, bending round with a fair wind and tide, made for the narrows.

“Give them a cheer, lads,” said Frank.

Obedient to the command, the men doffed their caps and raised their voices; but there was little vigour in the cheer. It was replied to from the schooner’s deck. Just as the flying-jib passed the point a gun was fired, which once more awakened the loud echoes of the place. When the smoke cleared away, the schooner was gone.

Thus was severed the last link that bound the civilised world to the inhabitants of Fort Chimo.

Chapter Twenty.

Winter approaches—Esquimaux arrive—Effect of a word—A sucking baby—Prospects of trade

For many days after the ship’s departure the work of completing the fort went forward with the utmost rapidity, and not until the houses and stores were rendered weather-tight and warm did Stanley consider it advisable to send out hunting and fishing parties into the mountains. Now, however, the frosts continued a great part of the day as well as during the night, so it was high time to kill deer and fish, in order to freeze, and so preserve them for winter’s consumption.

Up to this time no further traces of Esquimaux had been discovered, and Stanley began to express his fears to Frank that they had left the neighbourhood altogether, in consequence of the repeated attacks made upon them by Indians. Soon after this, however, the fur-traders were surprised by a sudden visit from a party of these denizens of the north.

It happened on the afternoon of a beautiful day towards the close of autumn, that charming but brief season which, in consequence of its unbroken serenity, has been styled the Indian summer. The men had all been dispatched into the mountains in various directions, some to fish, others to shoot; and none were left at the fort except its commandant with his wife and child, and Oolibuck the Esquimau. Stanley was seated on a stone at the margin of the bay, admiring the vivid alterations of light and shade, as the sun dipped behind the mountains of the opposite shore, when his eye was attracted towards one or two objects on the water near the narrows. Presently they advanced, and were followed by several others. In a few minutes he perceived that they were Esquimau canoes.

Jumping hastily up, Stanley ran to the fort, and bidding his wife and child keep out of sight, put two pair of pistols in his pockets and returned to the beach, where he found Oolibuck gazing at the approaching flotilla with intense eagerness.

“Well, Oolibuck, here come your countrymen at last,” said Stanley. “Do they look friendly, think you?”

“Me no can tell; they most too quiet,” replied the interpreter.

Esquimaux in general are extremely noisy and full of animated gesticulation on meeting with strangers, especially when they meet on decidedly friendly terms. The silence, therefore, maintained by the natives as they advanced was looked upon as a bad sign. The fleet consisted of nine kayaks, and three large oomiaks full of women and children; and a curious appearance they presented at a distance, for the low kayaks of the men being almost invisible, it seemed as if their occupants were actually seated on the water. The oomiaks being much higher, were clearly visible. On coming to within a quarter of a mile of the fort, the men halted to allow the women to come up; then forming in a crescent in front of the oomiaks, the whole flotilla advanced slowly towards the beach. When within a hundred yards or so, Stanley said, “Now, Oolibuck, give them a hail.”

“Chimo! Chimo! Chimo-o-o!” shouted the interpreter.

The word acted like a talisman.

“Chimo!” yelled the Esquimaux in reply, and the kayaks shot like arrows upon the sand, while the women followed as fast as they could. In another minute a loud chattering and a brisk shaking of hands was taking place on shore.

The natives were dressed in the sealskin garments with which arctic travellers have made us all more or less acquainted. They were stout burly fellows, with fat, oily, and bearded faces.

“Now tell them, Oolibuck, the reason of our coming here,” said Stanley.

Oolibuck instantly began, by explaining to them that they had come for the purpose of bringing about peace and friendship between them and the Indians; on hearing which the Esquimaux danced and shouted for nearly a minute with joy. But when the interpreter went on to say that they intended to remain altogether among them, for the purpose of trading, their delight knew no bounds; they danced and jumped, and whooped and yelled, tossed up their arms and legs, and lay down on the sand and rolled in ecstasy. In the midst of all this, Mrs Stanley rushed out of the house, followed by Edith, in great terror at the unearthly sounds that had reached her ears; but on seeing her husband and Oolibuck laughing in the midst of the grotesque group, her fears vanished, and she stood an amused spectator of the scene.

Meanwhile, Stanley went down and stepped into the midst of one of the oomiaks, with a few beads and trinkets in his hands; and while Oolibuck entertained the men on shore, he presented gifts to the women, who received them with the most childish demonstrations of joy. There was something irresistibly comic in the childlike simplicity of these poor natives. Instead of the stiff reserve and haughty demeanour of their Indian neighbours, they danced and sang, and leaped and roared, embraced each other and wept, with the most reckless indifference to appearances, and seemed upon all occasions to give instant vent to the feelings that happened to be uppermost in their minds. As Stanley continued to distribute his gifts, the women crowded out of the other oomiaks into the one in which he stood, until they nearly sank it; some of them extending their arms for beads, others giving a jolt to the hoods on their backs, which had the effect of bringing to light fat, greasy-faced little babies, who were pointed to as being peculiarly worthy of attention.

At length Stanley broke from them and leaped ashore, where he was soon followed by the entire band. But here new objects—namely, Mrs Stanley and Edith—attracted their wondering attention. Approaching towards the former, they began timidly to examine her dress, which was indeed very different from theirs, and calculated to awaken curiosity and surprise. The Esquimau women were dressed very much like the men—namely, in long shirts of sealskin or deerskin with the hair on, short breeches of the same material, and long sealskin boots. The hoods of the women were larger than those of the men, and their boots much more capacious; and while the latter had a short stump of a tail or peak hanging from the hinder part of their shirts, the women wore their tails so long that they trailed along the ground as they walked. In some cases these tails were four and six inches broad, with a round flap at the end, and fringed with ermine. It was, therefore, with no little surprise that they found Mrs Stanley entirely destitute of a tail, and observed that she wore her upper garment so long that it reached the ground. Becoming gradually more familiar, on seeing that the strange woman permitted them to handle her pretty freely, one of them gently lifted up her gown to see whether or not she wore boots; but receiving a somewhat prompt repulse, she began to caress her, and assured her that she did not mean to give offence.

By this time Frank and some of the men had joined the group on the shore, and as it was getting late Stanley commanded silence.

“Tell them I have somewhat to say to them, Oolibuck.”

The interpreter’s remark instantly produced a dead silence.

“Now ask them if they are glad to hear that we are going to stay to trade with them.”

A vociferous jabbering followed the question, which, by Oolibuck’s interpretation, meant that their joy was utterly inexpressible.

“Have they been long on the coast?”

“No; they had just arrived, and were on their way up the river to obtain wood for building their kayaks.”

“Did they see the bundle of presents we left for them at the coast?”

“Yes, they had seen it; but not knowing whom it was intended for, they had not touched it.”

On being told that the presents were intended for them, the poor creatures put on a look of intense chagrin, which, however, passed away when it was suggested to them that they might take the gifts on their return to the coast.

“And now,” said Stanley, in conclusion, “’tis getting late. Go down to the point below the fort and encamp there for the night. We thank you for your visit, and will return it in the morning. Good-night.”

On this being translated, the Esquimaux gave a general yell of assent and immediately retired, bounding and shouting and leaping as they went, looking, in their gleesome rotundity, like the infant progeny of a race of giants.

“I like the look of these men very much,” said Stanley, as he walked up to the house with Frank. “Their genuine trustfulness is a fine trait in their character.”

“No doubt of it,” replied Frank. “There is much truth in the proverb, ‘Evil dreaders are evil doers.’ Those who fear no evil intend none. Had they been Indians, now, we should have had more trouble with them.”

“I doubt it not, Frank. You would have been pleased to witness the prompt alacrity with which the poor creatures answered to our cry of Chimo, and ran their kayaks fearlessly ashore, although, for all they knew to the contrary, the rocks might have concealed a hundred enemies.”

“And yet,” said Frank, with an air of perplexity, “the Esquimau character seems to me a difficult problem to solve. When we read the works of arctic voyagers, we find that one man’s experience of the Esquimaux proves them to be inveterate thieves and liars, while another speaks of them as an honest, truthful people—and that, too, being said of the same tribe. Nay, further, I have read of a tribe being all that is good and amiable at one time, and all that is bad and vile at another. Now the conduct of these good-natured fellows, in reference to the bundle of trinkets we left at the mouth of the river, indicates a degree of honesty that is almost too sensitive; for the merest exertion of common-sense would show that a bundle hung up in an exposed place to public view must be for the public good.”

“Nevertheless they seem both honest and friendly,” returned Stanley, “and I trust that our experience of them may never change. To-morrow I shall give them some good advice in regard to procuring furs, and show them the wealth of our trading store.”

When the morrow came the visit of the Esquimaux was returned by the entire force of Fort Chimo, and the childish delight with which they were received was most amusing. The childishness, however, was only applicable to these natives when expressing their strong feelings. In other respects, particularly in their physical actions, they were most manly; and the thick black beards and moustaches that clothed the chins of most of the men seemed very much the reverse of infantine. The children were so exactly like to their parents in costume that they seemed miniature representations of them. In fact, were a child viewed through a magnifying glass it would become a man, and were a man viewed through a diminishing glass he would become a child—always, of course, excepting the beard.

Bryan became a special favourite with the natives when it was discovered that he was a worker in iron, and the presents with which he was overwhelmed were of a most extraordinary, and, in some cases, perplexing nature. One man, who seemed determined to get into his good graces, offered him a choice morsel of broiled seal. “No, thankee, lad,” said Bryan; “I’ve had my brickfust.”

Supposing that the broiling had something to do with the blacksmith’s objection, the Esquimau hastily cut off a slice of the raw blubber and tendered it to him.

“D’ye think I’m a haythen?” said Bryan, turning away in disgust.

“Ah, try it, Bryan,” cried La Roche, turning from an Esquimau baby, in the contemplation of which he had been absorbed—“try it; ’tis ver’ goot, I ’sure you. Ver’ goot for your complaint, Bryan. But come, here, vitement.—Just regardez dat hinfant. Come here, queek!”

Thus urged, Bryan broke away from his host (who had just split open the shinbone of a deer, and offered him the raw marrow, but without success), and, going towards La Roche, regarded the baby in question. It was a remarkably fine child, seemingly about ten months old, with a round, rosy, oily face, coal-black hair, and large, round, coal-black eyes, with which it returned the stare of the two men with interest. But that which amused the visitors most was a lump of fat or blubber, with a skewer thrust through it, which its mother had given to the child to suck, and which it was endeavouring to thrust down its throat with both hands.