Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Away in the Wilderness by R. M. Ballantyne (surface ebook reader txt) 📖
- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
Book online «Away in the Wilderness by R. M. Ballantyne (surface ebook reader txt) 📖». Author R. M. Ballantyne
But when the fire went out, about the middle of the night, the cold became so intense that they were awakened by it, so Jasper rose and blew up the fire, and the other two sat up and filled their pipes, while their teeth chattered in their heads. Soon the blaze and the smoke warmed them, and again they lay down to sleep comfortably till morning.
Before daybreak, however, Arrowhead—who never slept so soundly but that he could be wakened by the slightest unusual noise—slowly raised his head and touched Jasper on the shoulder. The hunter was too well-trained to the dangers of the wilderness to start up or speak. He uttered no word but took up his gun softly and looked in the direction in which the Indian’s eyes gazed. A small red spot in the ashes served to reveal a pair of glaring eye-balls among the bushes.
“A wolf,” whispered Jasper, cocking his gun. “No; a man,” said Arrowhead.
At the sound of the click of the lock the object in the bushes moved. Jasper leaped up in an instant, pointed his gun, and shouted sternly—
“Stand fast and speak, or I fire!”
At the same moment Arrowhead kicked the logs of the fire, and a bright flame leapt up, showing that the owner of the pair of eyes was an Indian. Seeing that he was discovered, and that if he turned to run he would certainly be shot, the savage came forward sulkily and sat down beside the fire. Jasper asked him why he came there in that stealthy manner like a sly fox. The Indian said he was merely travelling by night, and had come on the camp unexpectedly. Not knowing who was there, he had come forward with caution.
Jasper was not satisfied with this reply. He did not like the look of the man, and he felt sure that he had seen him somewhere before, but his face was disfigured with war paint, and he could not feel certain on that point until he remembered the scene in the trading store at Jasper’s House.
“What—Darkeye!” cried he, “can it be you?”
“Darkeye!” shouted Laroche, suddenly rising from his reclining position and staring the Indian in the face with a dark scowl. “Why, Jasper, this is the villain who insulted my daughter, and to whom I taught the lesson that an old man could knock him down.”
The surprise and indignation of Jasper on hearing this was great, but remembering that the savage had already been punished for his offence, and that it would be mean to take advantage of him when there were three to one, he merely said—
“Well, well, I won’t bear a grudge against a man who is coward enough to insult a woman. I would kick you out o’ the camp, Darkeye, but as you might use your gun when you got into the bushes, I won’t give you that chance. At the same time, we can’t afford to lose the rest of our nap for you, so Arrowhead will keep you safe here and watch you, while Laroche and I sleep. We will let you go at daybreak.”
Saying this Jasper lay down beside his father-in-law, and they were both asleep in a few minutes, leaving the two Indians to sit and scowl at each other beside the fire.
New Year’s Day came at last, and on the morning of that day Jasper Derry and Marie Laroche were made man and wife. They were married by the Reverend Mr Wilson, a Wesleyan missionary, who had come to Fort Erie, a few days before, on a visit to the tribes of Indians in that neighbourhood.
The North American Indian has no religion worthy of the name; but he has a conscience, like other men, which tells him that it is wrong to murder and to steal. Yet, although he knows this, he seldom hesitates to do both when he is tempted thereto. Mr Wilson was one of those earnest missionaries who go to that wilderness and face its dangers, as well as its hardships and sufferings, for the sake of teaching the savage that the mere knowledge of right and wrong is not enough—that the love of God, wrought in the heart of man by the Holy Spirit, alone can enable him to resist evil and do good—that belief in the Lord Jesus Christ alone can save the soul.
There are several missionaries of this stamp—men who love the name of Jesus—in that region, and there are a number of stations where the good seed of God’s Word is being planted in the wilderness. But I have not space, and this is not the place, to enlarge on the great and interesting subject of missionary work in Rupert’s Land. I must return to my narrative.
It was, as I have said, New Year’s day when Jasper and Marie were married. And a remarkably bright, beautiful morning it was. The snow appeared whiter than usual, and the countless gems of hoar-frost that hung on shrub and tree seemed to sparkle more than usual; even the sun appeared to shine more brightly than ever it did before—at least it seemed so in the eyes of Jasper and Marie.
“Everything seems to smile on us to-day, Marie,” said Jasper, as they stood with some of their friends at the gate of the fort, just after the ceremony was concluded.
“I trust that God may smile on you, and bless your union, my friends,” said Mr Wilson, coming forward with a small Bible in his hand. “Here is a copy of God’s Word, Jasper, which I wish you to accept of and keep as a remembrance of me and of this day.”
“I’ll keep it, sir, and I thank you heartily,” said Jasper, taking the book and returning the grasp of the missionary’s hand.
“And my chief object in giving it to you, Jasper, is, that you and Marie may read it often, and find joy and peace to your souls.”
As the missionary said this a faint sound, like the tinkling of distant bells, was heard in the frosty air.
Looks of surprise and excitement showed that this was an unwonted sound. And so it was; for only once or twice during the long winter did a visitor gladden Fort Erie with his presence. These sweet sounds were the tinkling of sleigh-bells, and they told that a stranger was approaching—that letters, perhaps, and news from far-distant homes, might be near at band.
Only twice in the year did the Europeans at that lonely outpost receive letters from home. Little wonder that they longed for them, and that they went almost wild with joy when they came.
Soon the sleigh appeared in sight, coming up the river at full speed, and a loud “hurrah!” from the men at the gate, told the visitor that he was a welcome guest. It was a dog-sleigh—a sort of conveyance much used by the fur-traders in winter travelling. In form, it was as like as possible to a tin slipper bath. It might also be compared to a shoe. If the reader will try to conceive of a shoe large enough to hold a man, sitting with his legs out before him, that will give him a good idea of the shape of a dog cariole. There is sometimes an ornamental curve in front. It is made of two thin hardwood planks curled up in front, with a light frame-work of wood, covered over with deer or buffalo skin, and painted in a very gay manner. Four dogs are usually harnessed to it, and these are quite sufficient to drag a man on a journey of many days, over every sort of country, where there is no road whatever. Dogs are much used for hauling little sledges in that country in winter. The traveller sits wrapped up so completely in furs, that nothing but his head is visible. He is attended by a driver on snow-shoes, who is armed with a large whip. No reins are used. If the snow is hard, as is usually the case on the surface of a lake or river, the driver walks behind and holds on to a tail-line, to prevent the dogs from running away. If the traveller’s way lies through the woods, the snow is so soft and deep that the poor dogs are neither willing nor able to run away. It is as much as they can do to walk; so the driver goes before them, in this case, and beats down the snow with his snow-shoes—“beats the track,” as it is called. The harness of the dogs is usually very gay, and covered with little bells which give forth a cheerful tinkling sound.
“It’s young Cameron,” cried Mr Pemberton, hastening forward to welcome the newcomer.
Cameron was the gentleman in charge of the nearest outpost—two hundred and fifty miles down the river.
“Welcome, Cameron, my boy, welcome to Fort Erie. You are the pleasantest sight we have seen here for many a day,” said Pemberton, shaking the young man heartily by the hand as soon as he had jumped out of his sleigh.
“Come, Pemberton, you forget Miss Marie Laroche when you talk of my being the pleasantest sight,” said Cameron, laughing.
“Ah! true. Pardon me, Marie—”
“Excuse me, gentlemen,” interrupted Jasper, with much gravity, “I know of no such person as Miss Marie Laroche!”
“How? what do you mean?” said Cameron, with a puzzled look.
“Jasper is right,” explained Pemberton, “Marie was Miss Laroche yesterday; she is Mrs Derry to-day.”
“Then I salute you, Mrs Derry, and congratulate you both,” cried the young man, kissing the bride’s fair cheek, “and I rejoice to find that I am still in time to dance at your wedding.”
“Ay,” said Pemberton, as they moved up to the hall, “that reminds me to ask you why you are so late. I expected you before Christmas Day.”
“I had intended to be here by that day,” replied Cameron, “but one of my men cut his foot badly with an axe, and I could not leave him; then my dogs broke down on the journey, and that detained me still longer. But you will forgive my being so late, I think, when I tell you that I have got a packet of letters with me.”
“Letters!” shouted every one.
“Ay, letters and newspapers from England.”
A loud cheer greeted this announcement. The packet was hauled out of the sleigh, hurried up to the fort, torn open with eager haste, and the fur-traders of Fort Erie were soon devouring the contents like hungry men.
And they were hungry men—they were starving! Those who see their kindred and friends daily, or hear from them weekly, cannot understand the feelings of men who hear from them only twice in the year. Great improvements have taken place in this matter of late years; still, many of the Hudson Bay Company’s outposts are so distant from the civilised world, that they cannot get news from “home” oftener than twice a year.
It was a sight to study and moralise over—the countenances of these banished men. The trembling anxiety lest there should be “bad news.” The gleam of joy, and the deep “thank God,” on reading “all well.” Then the smiles, the sighs, the laughs, the exclamations of surprise, perhaps the tears that would spring to their eyes as they read the brief but, to them, thrilling private history of the past half year.
There was no bad news in that packet, and a feeling of deep joy was poured into the hearts of the people of the fort by these “Good news from a far country.” Even the half-breeds and Indians, who could not share the feeling, felt the sweet influence of the general happiness that was diffused among the fur-traders on that bright New Year’s Day in the wilderness.
What a dinner they had
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