Away in the Wilderness. Robert Michael Ballantyne
Читать онлайн книгу.
Red River,” exclaimed Heywood, “I’ve heard much of that settlement—hold steady—I’m drawing your nose just now—have you been there, Jasper?”
“That have I, lad, and a fine place it is, extendin’ fifty miles or more along the river, with fine fields, and handsome houses, and churches, and missionaries and schools, and what not; but the rest of Rupert’s Land is just what you have seen; no roads, no houses, no cultivated fields—nothing but lakes, and rivers, and woods, and plains without end, and a few Indians here and there, with plenty of wild beasts everywhere. These trading-posts are scattered here and there, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and from Canada to the Frozen Sea, standin’ solitary-like in the midst of the wilderness, as if they had dropped down from the clouds by mistake and didn’t know exactly what to do with themselves.”
“How long have de Company lived?” inquired Arrowhead, turning suddenly to Jasper.
The stout hunter felt a little put out. “Ahem! I don’t exactly know; but it must have been a long time, no doubt.”
“Oh, I can tell you that,” cried Heywood.
“You?” said Jasper in surprise.
“Ay; the Company was started nearly two hundred years ago by Prince Rupert, who was the first Governor, and that’s the reason the country came to be called Rupert’s Land. You know its common name is ‘the Hudson’s Bay Territory,’ because it surrounds Hudson’s Bay.”
“Why, where did you learn that?” said Jasper, “I thought I knowed a-most everything about the Company; but I must confess I never knew that about Prince Rupert before.”
“I learned it from books,” said the artist.
“Books!” exclaimed Jasper, “I never learned nothin’ from books—more’s the pity. I git along well enough in the trappin’ and shootin’ way without ’em; but I’m sorry I never learned to read. Ah! I’ve a great opinion of books—so I have.”
The worthy hunter shook his head solemnly as he said this in a low voice, more to himself than to his companions, and he continued to mutter and shake his head for some minutes, while he knocked the ashes out of his pipe. Having refilled and relighted it, he drew his blanket over his shoulder, laid his head upon a tuft of grass, and continued to smoke until he fell asleep, and allowed the pipe to fall from his lips.
The Indian followed his example, with this difference, that he laid aside his pipe, and drew the blanket over his head and under his feet, and wrapped it round him in such a way that he resembled a man sewed up in a sack.
Heywood was thus compelled to shut his sketch-book; so he also wrapped himself in his blanket, and was soon sound asleep.
The camp-fire gradually sank low. Once or twice the end of a log fell, sending up a bright flame and a shower of sparks, which, for a few seconds, lighted up the scene again and revealed the three slumbering figures. But at last the fire died out altogether, and left the encampment in such thick darkness that the sharpest eye would have failed to detect the presence of man in that distant part of the lone wilderness.
Chapter Four. Mosquitoes—Camp-Fire Talk.
There is a certain fly in the American forests which is worthy of notice, because it exercises a great influence over the happiness of man in those regions. This fly is found in many other parts of the world, but it swarms in immense numbers in America, particularly in the swampy districts of that continent, and in the hot months of summer. It is called a mosquito—pronounced moskeeto—and it is, perhaps, the most tormenting, the most persevering, savage, vicious little monster on the face of the earth. Other flies go to sleep at night; the mosquito never does. Darkness puts down other flies—it seems to encourage the mosquito. Day and night it persecutes man and beast, and the only time of the twenty-four hours in which it seems to rest is about noon, when the heat puts it down for a little. But this period of rest strengthens it for a renewal of war during the remainder of the day and night. In form the mosquito very much resembles the gnat, but is somewhat larger. This instrument of torture is his nose, which is quite as long as his body, and sharper than the finest needle. Being unable to rest because of the mosquitoes, Heywood resolved to have a chat.
“Come, Jasper,” said he, looking up into his companion’s grave countenance, “although we have been many weeks on this journey now, you have not yet told me what has brought you here, or what the end of your trip is going to be.”
“I’ve come here a-hunting,” said Jasper, with the look and tone of a man who did not wish to be questioned.
“Nay, now, I know that is not the reason,” said Heywood, smiling; “you could have hunted much nearer home, if you had been so minded, and to as good purpose. Come, Jasper, you know I’m your friend, and that I wish you well. Let me hear what has brought you so far into the wilderness—mayhap I can give you some good advice if you do.”
“Well, lad, I don’t mind if I do. Though, for the matter of good advice, I don’t feel much in need of any just at this time.”
Jasper shook the ashes out of his pipe, and refilled it as he spoke; then he shook his head once or twice and smiled, as if his thoughts amused him. Having lighted the pipe, he stretched himself out in a more comfortable way before the blaze, and said—
“Well, lad, I’ll tell ye what it is—it’s the old story; the love of woman has brought me here.”
“And a very good old story it is,” returned Heywood, with a look of interest. “A poor miserable set of creatures we should be without that same love of woman. Come, Jasper, I’m glad to hear you’re such a sensible fellow. I know something about that subject myself. There’s a pretty blue-eyed girl, with golden hair, down away in Canada that—” Heywood stopped short in his speech and sighed.
“Come, it ain’t a hopeless case, is it?” said Jasper, with a look of sympathy.
“I rather fear it is; but I hope not. Ah, what should we do without hope in this world?”
“That’s true,” observed Jasper, with much gravity, “we could not get on at all without hope.”
“But come, Jasper,” said the artist, “let’s hear about your affair, and I’ll tell you about mine some other time.”
“Well, there is not much to tell, but I’ll give ye all that’s of it. You must know, then, that about two years ago I was in the service of the Hudson’s Bay Company, at one o’ their outposts in the McKenzie’s River district. We had little to eat there and little to do, and I felt so lonesome, never seein’ a human bein’ except the four or five men at the fort an’ a few Indians, that I made up my mind to quit. I had no reason to complain o’ the Company, d’ye see. They always treated me handsomely, and it was no fault o’ theirs that the livin’ in that district was poor and the post lonesome.
“Well, on my way down to Lake Winnipeg, I fell in with a brigade o’ boats goin’ to the Saskatchewan district, and we camped together that night. One o’ the guides of the Saskatchewan brigade had his daughter with him. The guide was a French-Canadian, and his wife had been a Scotch half-caste, so what the daughter was is more than I can tell; but I know what she looked like. She just looked like an angel. It wasn’t so much that she was pretty, but she was so sweet, and so quiet lookin’, and so innocent! Well, to cut the matter short, I fell in love at once. D’ye know what it is, Heywood, to fall in love at first sight?”
“Oh! don’t I?” replied the artist with sudden energy.
“An’ d’ye know,” continued Jasper, “what it is to be fallen-in-love-with, at first sight?”
“Well, no, I’m not so sure about that,” replied Heywood sadly.
“I do, then,” said Jasper, “for that sweet critter fell in love with me right off—though what she saw in me to love has puzzled me much. Howsoever, she did, and for that I’m thankful. Her name is Marie Laroche. She and I opened our minds to each other that night, and I took the guide, her father, into the woods, and told him I wanted his daughter; and he was agreeable; but he would not hear