Why, you see, sir, he replied, the brown ponys got cut under the fetlock of the right hind leg; and I ad im down to LEsperance the smiths, sir, to look at im, sir; and he says to me, says he, That dont look well, that oss dont,and hes a knowing feller, sir, is LEsperance, though he is an alf-breed
Never mind what he said, Tom, interrupted the senior clerk; is the pony fit for use? thats the question.
No, sir, e haint.
And the black mare, can he not have that?
No, sir; Mr Grant is to ride er to-morrow.
Thats unfortunate, said the senior clerk.I fear, Charley, that youll need to ride behind Harry on his gray pony. It wouldnt improve his speed, to be sure, having two on his back; but then hes so like a pig in his movements at any rate, I dont think it would spoil his pace much.
Could he not try the new horse? he continued, turning to the groom.
The noo oss, sir! he might as well try to ride a mad buffalo bull, sir. Hes quite a young colt, sir, only alf brokekicks like a windmill, sir, ands got an ead like a steam-engine; e couldnt old im in noow, sir. I ad im down to the smith tother day, sir, an says e to me, says e, Thats a screamer, that is. Yes, says I, that his a fact. Well, says e
Hang the smith! cried the senior clerk, losing all patience; cant you answer me without so much talk? Is the horse too wild to ride?
Yes, sir, e is, said the groom, with a look of slightly offended dignity, and drawing himself upif we may use such an expression to one who was always drawn up to such an extent that he seemed to be just balanced on his heels, and required only a gentle push to lay him flat on his back.
Oh, I have it! cried Peter Mactavish, who had been standing during the conversation with his back to the fire, and a short pipe in his mouth: John Fowler, the miller, has just purchased a new pony. Im told its an old buffalo-runner, and Im certain he would lend it to Charley at once.
The very thing, said the senior clerk.Run, Tom; give the miller my compliments, and beg the loan of his horse for Charley Kennedy.I think he knows you, Charley?
The dinner-bell rang as the groom departed, and the clerks prepared for their mid-day meal.
The senior clerks order to run was a mere form of speech, intended to indicate that haste was desirable. No man imagined for a moment that Tom Whyte could by any possibility run. He hadnt run since he was dismissed from the army, twenty years before, for incurable drunkenness; and most of Toms friends entertained the belief that if he ever attempted to run he would crack all over, and go to pieces like a disentombed Egyptian mummy. Tom therefore walked off to the row of buildings inhabited by the men, where he sat down on a bench in front of his bed, and proceeded leisurely to fill his pipe.
The room in which he sat was a fair specimen of the dwellings devoted to the employés of the Hudsons Bay Company throughout the country. It was large, and low in the roof, built entirely of wood, which was unpainted; a matter, however, of no consequence, as, from long exposure to dust and tobacco-smoke, the floor, walls, and ceiling had become one deep, uniform brown. The mens berths were constructed after the fashion of berths on board ship, being wooden boxes ranged in tiers round the room. Several tables and benches were strewn miscellaneously about the floor, in the centre of which stood a large double iron stove, with the word Carron stamped on it. This served at once for cooking, and warming the place. Numerous guns, axes, and canoe-paddles hung round the walls or were piled in corners, and the rafters sustained a miscellaneous mass of materials, the more conspicuous among which were snow-shoes, dog-sledges, axe handles, and nets.
Having filled and lighted his pipe, Tom Whyte thrust his hands into his deerskin mittens, and sauntered off to perform his errand.
Chapter Four.
A wolf-hunt in the prairiesCharley astonishes his father, and breaks in the noo oss effectually
During the long winter that reigns in the northern regions of America, the thermometer ranges, for many months together, from zero down to 20, 30, and 40 degrees below it. In different parts of the country the intensity of the frost varies a little, but not sufficiently to make any appreciable change in ones sensation of cold. At York Fort, on the shores of Hudsons Bay, where the winter is eight months long, the spirit-of-wine (mercury being useless in so cold a climate) sometimes falls so low as 50 degrees below zero; and away in the regions of Great Bear Lake it has been known to fall considerably lower than 60 degrees below zero of Fahrenheit. Cold of such intensity, of course, produces many curious and interesting effects, which, although scarcely noticed by the inhabitants, make a strong impression upon the minds of those who visit the country for the first time. A youth goes out to walk on one of the first sharp, frosty mornings. His locks are brown and his face ruddy. In half an hour he returns with his face blue, his nose frost-bitten, and his locks whitethe latter effect being produced by his breath congealing on his hair and breast, until both are covered with hoar-frost. Perhaps he is of a sceptical nature, prejudiced, it may be, in favour of old habits and customs; so that, although told by those who ought to know that it is absolutely necessary to wear moccasins in winter, he prefers the leather boots to which he has been accustomed at home, and goes out with them accordingly. In a few minutes the feet begin to lose sensation. First the toes, as far as feeling goes, vanish; then the heels depart, and he feels the extraordinary and peculiar and altogether disagreeable sensation of one who has had his heels and toes amputated, and is walking about on his insteps. Soon, however, these also fade away, and the unhappy youth rushes frantically home on the stumps of his anklebonesat least so it appears to him, and so in reality it would turn out to be if he did not speedily rub the benumbed appendages into vitality again.
The whole country during this season is buried in snow, and the prairies of Red River present the appearance of a sea of the purest white for five or six months of the year. Impelled by hunger, troops of prairie wolves prowl round the settlement, safe from the assault of man in consequence of their light weight permitting them to scamper away on the surface of the snow, into which man or horse, from their greater weight, would sink, so as to render pursuit either fearfully laborious or altogether impossible. In spring, however, when the first thaws begin to take place, and commence that delightful process of disruption which introduces this charming season of the year, the relative position of wolf and man is reversed. The snow becomes suddenly soft, so that the short legs of the wolf, sinking deep into it, fail to reach the solid ground below, and he is obliged to drag heavily along; while the long legs of the horse enable him to plunge through and dash aside the snow at a rate which, although not very fleet, is sufficient, nevertheless, to overtake the chase and give his rider a chance of shooting it. The inhabitants of Red River are not much addicted to this sport, but the gentlemen of the Hudsons Bay Service sometimes practise it; and it was to a hunt of this description that our young friend Charley Kennedy was now so anxious to go.
The morning was propitious. The sun blazed in dazzling splendour in a sky of deep, unclouded blue, while the white prairie glittered as if it were a sea of diamonds rolling out in an unbroken sheet from the walls of the fort to the horizon, and on looking at which one experienced all the pleasurable feelings of being out on a calm day on the wide, wide sea, without the disagreeable consequence of being very, very sick.
The thermometer stood at 39 in the shade, and everythink, as Tom White emphatically expressed it, looked like a runnin of right away into slush. That unusual sound, the trickling of water, so inexpressibly grateful to the ears of those who dwell in frosty climes, was heard all around, as the heavy masses of snow on the housetops sent a few adventurous drops gliding down the icicles which depended from the ewes and gables; and there was a balmy softness in the air that told of coming spring. Nature, in fact, seemed to have wakened from her long nap, and was beginning to think of getting up. Like people, however, who venture to delay so long as to think about it, Nature frequently turns round and goes to sleep again in her icy cradle for a few weeks after the first awakening.
The scene in the courtyard of Fort Garry harmonised with the cheerful spirit of the morning. Tom Whyte, with that upright solemnity which constituted one of his characteristic features, was standing in the centre of a group of horses, whose energy he endeavoured to restrain with the help of a small Indian boy, to whom meanwhile he imparted a variety of useful and otherwise unattainable information.
You see, Joseph, said he to the urchin, who gazed gravely in his face with a pair of very large and dark eyes, ponies is often skittish. Reason why one should be, an another not, I cant comprehend. Praps its natral, praps not, but howsomediver so tis; an if its more nor above the likes o me, Joseph, you neednt be surprised that its somethink haltogether beyond you.
It will not surprise the reader to be told that Joseph made no reply to this speech, having a very imperfect acquaintance with the English language, especially the peculiar dialect of that tongue in which Tom Whyte was wont to express his ideas, when he had any.
He merely gave a grunt, and continued to gaze at Toms fishy eyes, which were about as interesting as the face to which they belonged, and that might have been mistaken for almost anything.
Yes, Joseph, he continued, thats a fact. Theres the noo brown oss now, its a skittish un. And theres Mr Kennedys gray mare, wots a standin of beside me, she aint skittish a bit, though shes plenty of spirit, and wouldnt care hanythink for a five-barred gate. Now, wot I want to know is, wots the reason why?
We fear that the reason why, however interesting it might prove to naturalists, must remain a profound secret for ever; for just as the groom was about to entertain Joseph with one of his theories on the point, Charley Kennedy and Harry Somerville hastily approached.
Ho, Tom! exclaimed the former, have you got the millers pony for me?
Why, no, sir; e adnt got his shoes on, sir, last night
Oh, bother his shoes! said Charley, in a voice of great disappointment. Why didnt you bring him up without shoes, man, eh?
Well, sir, the miller said ed get em put on early this mornin, an I xpect ell be ere in alf a hour at farthest, sir.
Oh, very well, replied Charley, much relieved, but still a little nettled at the bare possibility of being late.Come along, Harry; lets go and meet him. Hell be long enough of coming if we dont go to poke him up a bit.
Youd better wait, called out the groom, as the boys hastened away. If you go by the river, hell praps come by the plains; and if you go by the plains, hell praps come by the river.
Charley and Harry stopped and looked at each other. Then they looked at the groom, and as their eyes surveyed his solemn, cadaverous countenance, which seemed a sort of bad caricature of the long visages of the horses that stood around him, they burst into a simultaneous and prolonged laugh. Hes a clever old lamp-post, said Harry at last: we had better remain, Charley.
You see, continued Tom Whyte, the ponys oofs is in an orrible state. Last night wen I seed im I said to the miller, says I, John, Ill take im down to the smith drectly. Very good, said John. So I ad im down to the smith
The remainder of Toms speech was cut short by one of those unforeseen operations of the laws of nature which are peculiar to arctic climates. During the long winter repeated falls of snow cover the housetops with white mantles upwards of a foot thick, which become gradually thicker and more consolidated as winter advances. In spring the suddenness of the thaw loosens these from the sloping roofs, and precipitates them in masses to the ground. These miniature avalanches are dangerous, people having been seriously injured and sometimes killed by them. Now it happened that a very large mass of snow, which lay on and partly depended from the roof of the house near to which the horses were standing, gave way, and just at that critical point in Tom Whytes speech when he ad im down to the smith, fell with a stunning crash on the back of Mr Kennedys gray mare. The mare was not skittishby no meansaccording to Toms idea, but it would have been more than an ordinary mare to have stood the sudden descent of half a ton of snow without some symptoms of consciousness. No sooner did it feel the blow than it sent both heels with a bang against the wooden store, by way of preliminary movement, and then rearing up with a wild snort, it sprang over Tom Whytes head, jerked the reins from his hand, and upset him in the snow. Poor Tom never bent to anything. The military despotism under which he had been reared having substituted a touch of the cap for a bow, rendered it unnecessary to bend; prolonged drill, laziness, and rheumatism made it at last impossible. When he stood up, he did so after the manner of a pillar; when he sat down, he broke across at two points, much in the way in which a foot-rule would have done had it felt disposed to sit down; and when he fell, he came down like an overturned lamp-post. On the present occasion Tom became horizontal in a moment, and from his unfortunate propensity to fall straight, his head, reaching much farther than might have been expected, came into violent contact with the small Indian boy, who fell flat likewise, letting go the reins of the horses, which latter no sooner felt themselves free than they fled, curvetting and snorting round the court, with reins and manes flying in rare confusion.
The two boys, who could scarce stand for laughing, ran to the gates of the fort to prevent the chargers getting free, and in a short time they were again secured, although evidently much elated in spirit.
A few minutes after this Mr Grant issued from the principal house, leaning on Mr Kennedys arm, and followed by the senior clerk, Peter Mactavish, and one or two friends who had come to take part in the wolf-hunt. They were all armed with double or single barrelled guns or pistols, according to their several fancies. The two elderly gentlemen alone entered upon the scene without any more deadly weapons than their heavy riding-whips. Young Harry Somerville, who had been strongly advised not to take a gun, lest he should shoot himself or his horse or his companions, was content to take the field with a small pocket-pistol, which he crammed to the muzzle with a compound of ball and swan-shot.