Ungava by R. M. Ballantyne (good non fiction books to read TXT) 📖

there’s too much row here for a comfortable palaver; bring your wife wi’ you. Ye’ve run out o’ baccy, now? Of coorse ye have. Come, then, to the house; I’ll fill yer pipe and pouch, too, boy.—See after his canoe, La Roche; and bring the old ooman, Bryan.”

“Mind yer own consarns an’ let yer shupariors proceed ye,” said Bryan, as he shoved past, and tucking Old Moggy’s arm within his own, marched off in triumph to the fort.

Meanwhile, the main body of Esquimaux had landed, and the noise and confusion on the shore were so great that scarcely an intelligible sound could be heard. In the midst of all this, and while yet engaged in caressing Chimo, Edith felt some one pluck her by the sleeve, and on looking round she beheld the smiling faces of her old friends Arnalooa and Okatook. Scarcely had she bestowed a hearty welcome on them, when she was startled by an ecstatic yell of treble laughter close to her ear; and turning quickly round, she beheld the oily visage of Kaga with the baby—the baby—in her hood, stark naked, and revelling in mirth as if that emotion of the mind were its native element—as indeed it was, if taken in connection with seal-fat.

Scarcely had she recovered from her delight at this meeting, when she was again startled by a terrific shout, and immediately after Peetoot performed a violent dance around her, expressive of unutterable joy, and finished off by suddenly seizing her in his arms, after which he fled, horrified at his own presumption.

To escape from this scene of confusion the traders returned to the fort, having directed the Esquimaux to pitch their camp on the point below; after which they were to assemble in the yard, for the double purpose of palavering and receiving a present of tobacco.

That night was spent by the inhabitants of Fort Chimo in rejoicing. In her own little room Edith entertained a select tea-party, composed of Arnalooa, Okatook, Peetoot, Chimo, and the baby; and really it would be difficult to say which of them made most noise or which behaved most obstreperously. Upon mature consideration we think that Chimo behaved best; but that, all things considered, is not saying much for him. We rather think the baby behaved worst. Its oily visage shone again like a lustrous blob of fat, and its dimples glided about the surface in an endless game of hide-and-seek! As for Peetoot, he laughed and yelled until the tears ran over his cheeks, and more than once, in the excess of his glee, he rubbed noses with Chimo—a piece of familiarity which that sagacious animal was at length induced to resent and put a stop to by a gentle and partial display of two tremendous rows of white ivory.

In the hall Stanley held a levee that lasted the greater part of the evening; and in the men’s house a ball was got up in honour of the giant’s return with his long-lost Aneetka.

Ah, reader! although the countenances of the men assembled there were sunburnt and rough, and their garments weather-worn and coarse, and their language and tones unpolished, think not that their hearts were less tender or sympathetic than the hearts of those who are nurtured in softer scenes than the wilds of Ungava. Their laugh was loud and uproarious, it is true, but there was genuine, heartfelt reality in it. Their sympathy was boisterously expressed, mayhap, if expressed at all, but it was truly and deeply felt, and many an unbidden tear glanced from the bronzed cheeks of these stalwart men of the north, as they shook their gigantic comrade by the hand and wished him joy, and kissed his blooming bride.

Aneetka had long since laid aside her native garb, and wore the more graceful and womanly costume of the Indian women, and Maximus wore the capote and leggings of the voyageur. But there were not wanting gentlemen from the camp at the point whose hairy garments and hoods, long hair and beards, did honour to the race of the Esquimaux; and there were present ladies from the same place, each of whom could a tail unfold that would have been the admiration and envy of tadpoles, had any such creatures been there to see them. They wore boots too, to which, in width at least, those worn by fishermen are nothing. Some of them carried babies in their hoods—little naked imps, whose bodies and heads were dumplings (suet dumplings, we may add, for the information of the curious), and whose arms and legs were sausages.

Bryan was great that night—he was majestic! The fiddle all but spoke, and produced a sensation of dancing in the toes of even those who happened to be seated. Bryan was great as a linguist, too, and exhibited his powers in this respect with singular felicity in the vocal entertainment that followed the dancing. The Esquimau language seemed a mere trifle to him, and he conversed, while playing the violin, with several “purty craytures” in their native tongue, with an amount of volubility quite surprising. Certainly it cannot be said that those whom he addressed expressed much intelligence; but Esquimaux are not usually found to be quick in their perceptions. Perchance Bryan was metaphysical!

Mirth, hearty, real mirth reigned at the fort, not only that day, but for many a day afterwards; for the dangers, and troubles, and anxieties of the first year were past. Hope in the future was strong, despite the partial failures that had been experienced; and through the goodness of God, all those who composed the original band of the “forlorn hope” were reunited, after many weary months of travel, danger, and anxiety, during part of which a dark and dreary cloud (now happily dispelled) had settled down on Fort Chimo.

Years have rolled away since the song and shout of the fur-trader first awakened the echoes of Ungava. Its general aspect is still the same, for there is no change in the everlasting hills. In summer the deer still wander down the dark ravines and lave their flanks in the river’s swelling tide, and in winter the frost-smoke still darkens the air and broods above the open water of the sea; but Fort Chimo, the joy and wonder of the Esquimaux and the hope of the fur-trader, is gone, and a green patch of herbage near the flat rock beside the spring alone remains to mark the spot where once it stood.

In the course of time the changes that took place in the arrangements of the Fur Company required the presence of Stanley at another station, and he left Ungava with his wife and child. The gentleman who succeeded him was a bold, enterprising Scottish Highlander, whose experience in the fur trade and energy of character were a sufficient guarantee that the best and the utmost would be done for the interests of the Company in that quarter. But however resolute a man may be, he cannot make furs of hard rocks, nor convert a scene of desolation into a source of wealth. Vigorously he wrought and long he suffered, but at length he was compelled to advise the abandonment of the station. The Governor of the Company—a man of extraordinary energy and success in developing the resources of the sterile domains over which he ruled—was fain to admit at last that the trade of Ungava would not pay. The order to retreat was as prompt and decisive as the command to advance. A vessel was sent out to remove the goods, and in a brief space of time Fort Chimo was dismantled and deserted.

The Esquimaux and Indians soon tore down and appropriated to their own use the frames of the buildings, and such of the materials of the fort as had been left standing; and the few remnants that were deemed worthless were finally swept away and every trace of them obliterated by the howling storms that rage almost continually around these desolate mountains.

And now, reader, it remains for me to dismiss the characters who have played their part in this brief tale. Of most of them, however, I have but little to say, for they are still alive, scattered far and wide throughout the vast wilderness of Rupert’s Land, each acting his busy part in a new scene; for it is frequently the fate of those who enter this wild and stirring service to be associated for a brief season under one roof, and then broken up and scattered over the land, never again to be reunited.

George Stanley, after a long sojourn in the backwoods, retired from the service, and, with his family, proceeded to Canada, where he purchased a small farm. Here Edith waxed strong and beautiful, and committed appalling havoc among the hearts of the young men for thirty miles around her father’s farm. But she favoured no one, and at the age of seventeen acquired the name of being the coldest as well as the most beautiful and modest girl in the far west.

There was a thin young man, with weak limbs and a tendency to fall into a desponding state of mind, who lived about three miles from Mr Stanley’s farm. This young man’s feelings had been so often lacerated by hopes and fears in reference to the fair Edith, that he mounted his pony one evening in desperation, and galloped away in hot haste to declare his passion, and realise or blast his hopes for ever. As he approached the villa, however, he experienced a sensation of emptiness about the region of the stomach, and regretted that he had not taken more food at dinner. Having passed the garden gate, he dismounted, fastened his pony to a tree, and struck across the shrubbery towards the house with trembling steps. As he proceeded, he received a terrific shock by observing the flutter of a scarf, which he knew intuitively belonged to Edith. The scarf disappeared within a bower which stood not more than twenty yards distant from him, close beside the avenue that led to the house. By taking two steps forward he could have seen Edith, as she sat in the bower gazing with a pensive look at the distant prospect of hill and dale, river and lake, in the midst of which she dwelt; but the young man could as easily have leaped over Stanley’s villa, farm and all, as have taken these two steps. He essayed to do so; but he was rooted to the ground as firmly as the noble trees under which he stood. At length, by a great effort, he managed to crawl—if we may so express it—to within a few yards of the bower, from which he was now concealed only by a few bushes; but just as he had screwed up his soul to the sticking point, and had shut his eyes preparatory to making a rush and flinging himself on his knees at Edith’s feet, he was struck powerless by the sound of a deep sigh, and, a moment after, was all but annihilated by a cough!

Suddenly the sound of horse-hoofs was heard clattering up the avenue. On came the rider, as if in urgent haste. In a few seconds a curve in the avenue brought him into view. He was a man of handsome and massive proportions, and bestrode a black charger that might have carried a heavy dragoon like a feather. A wheel-barrow had been left across the track, over which the steed went with an easy yet heavy bound, betokening well-balanced strength and weight; and a bright smile lighted up the rider’s bronzed face for an instant, as his straw-hat blew off in the leap and permitted his curling hair to stream out in the wind. As he passed the bower at a swinging gallop, an exclamation of surprise from Edith attracted his attention. The charger’s hoofs spurned the gravel while he was reined up so violently that he was thrown on his haunches, and almost before