Ungava, R. M. Ballantyne [best authors to read .txt] 📗

establishment an annual visit from England. Several large iron field-pieces stood before the front gate; but they were more for the sake of appearance than use, and were never fired except for the purpose of saluting the said ship on the occasions of her arrival and departure. The first boom of the cannon unlocks the long-closed portals of connection between Moose Fort and England; the second salvo shuts them up again in their frozen domains for another year! A century and a half ago, the band of “adventurers trading into Hudson’s Bay” felled the first trees and pitched their tents on the shores of James’s Bay, and successive generations of fur-traders have kept the post until the present day; yet there is scarcely a symptom of the presence of man beyond a few miles round the establishment. Years ago the fort was built, and there it stands now, with new tenants, it is true, but in its general aspect unchanged; and there it is likely to remain, wrapped in its barrier of all but impregnable solitude, for centuries to come.

Nevertheless, Moose is a comfortable place in its way, and when contrasted with other trading establishments is a very palace and temple of luxury. There are men within its walls who can tell of log-huts and starvation, solitude and desolation, compared with which Moose is a terrestrial paradise. Frank Morton, whom we have introduced in the first chapter, said, on his arrival at Moose, that it appeared to him to be the very fag-end of creation. He had travelled night and day for six weeks from what he considered the very outskirts of civilisation, through uninhabited forests and almost unknown rivers, in order to get to it; and while the feeling of desolation that overwhelmed him on his first arrival was strong upon him, he sighed deeply, and called it a “horrid dull hole.” But Frank was of a gay, hearty, joyous disposition, and had not been there long ere he loved the old fort dearly. Poor fellow! far removed though he was from his fellow-men at Moose, he afterwards learned that he had but obtained an indistinct notion of the signification of the word “solitude.”

There were probably about thirty human beings at Moose, when Mr George Stanley, one of the principal fur-traders of the place, received orders from the governor to make preparations, and select men, for the purpose of proceeding many hundred miles deeper into the northern wilderness, and establishing a station on the distant, almost unknown, shores of Ungava Bay. No one at Moose had ever been there before; no one knew anything about the route, except from the vague report of a few Indians; and the only thing that was definitely known about the locality at all was, that its inhabitants were a few wandering tribes of Esquimaux, who were at deadly feud with the Indians, and generally massacred all who came within their reach. What the capabilities of the country were, in regard to timber and provisions, nobody knew, and, fortunately for the success of the expedition, nobody cared! At least those who were to lead the way did not; and this admirable quality of total indifference to prospective dangers is that which, to a great extent, insures success in a forlorn hope.

Of the leaders of this expedition the reader already knows something. George Stanley was nearly six feet high, forty years of age, and endued with a decision of character that, but for his quiet good humour, would have been deemed obstinacy. He was deliberate in all his movements, and exercised a control over his feelings that quite concealed his naturally enthusiastic disposition. Moreover, he was married, and had a daughter of ten years of age. This might be thought a disadvantage in his present circumstances; but the governor of the fur-traders, a most energetic and active ruler, thought otherwise. He recommended that the family should be left at Moose until an establishment had been built, and a winter passed at Ungava. Afterwards they could join him there. As for Frank Morton, he was an inch taller than his friend Stanley, and equally powerful; fair-haired, blue-eyed, hilarious, romantic, twenty-two years of age, and so impulsive that, on hearing of the proposed expedition from one of his comrades, who happened to be present when Stanley was reading the dispatches, he sprang from his chair, which he upset, dashed out at the door, which he banged, and hurried to his friend’s quarters in order to be first to volunteer his services as second in command; which offer was rendered unnecessary by Stanley’s exclaiming, the moment he entered his room—

“Ha, Frank, my lad, the very man I wanted to see! Here’s a letter from headquarters ordering me off on an expedition to Ungava. Now, I want volunteers; will you go!”

It is needless to add that Frank’s blue eyes sparkled with animation as he seized his friend’s hand and replied, “To the North Pole if you like, or farther if need be!”

It was evening. The sun was gilding the top of the flagstaff with a parting kiss, and the inhabitants of Moose Fort, having finished their daily toil, were making preparations for their evening meal. On the end of the wharf that jutted out into the stream was assembled a picturesque group of men, who, from the earnest manner in which they conversed, and the energy of their gesticulations, were evidently discussing a subject of more than ordinary interest. Most of them were clad in corduroy trousers, gartered below the knee with thongs of deer-skin, and coarse, striped cotton shirts, open at the neck, so as to expose their sunburnt breasts. A few wore caps which, whatever might have been their original form, were now so much soiled and battered out of shape by long and severe service that they were nondescript; but most of these hardy backwoodsmen were content with the covering afforded by their thick, bushy locks.

“No, no,” exclaimed a short, thick-set, powerful man, with a somewhat ascetic cast of countenance; “I’ve seen more than enough o’ these rascally Huskies (Esquimaux). ’Tis well for me that I’m here this blessed day, an’ not made into a dan to bob about in Hudson’s Straits at the tail of a white whale, like that poor boy Peter who was shot by them varmints.”

“What’s a dan?” asked a young half-breed who had lately arrived at Moose, and knew little of Esquimau implements.

“What a green-horn you must be, François, not to know what a dan is!” replied another, who was inclined to be quizzical. “Why, it’s a sort of sea-carriage that the Esquimaux tie to the tail of a walrus or sea-horse when they feel inclined for a drive. When they can’t get a sea-horse they catch a white whale asleep, and wake him up after fastening the dan to his tail. I suppose they have conjurers or wizards among them, since Massan told us just now that poor Peter was—”

“Bah! gammon,” interrupted François with a smile, as he turned to the first speaker. “But tell me, Massan, what is a dan?”

“It’s a sort o’ float or buoy, lad, used by the Huskies, and is made out o’ the skin o’ the seal. They tie it with a long line to their whale spears to show which way the fish bolts when struck.”

“And did they use Peter’s skin for such a purpose?” inquired François earnestly.

“They did,” replied Massan.

“And did you see them do it?”

“Yes, I did.”

François gazed intently into his comrade’s face as he spoke; but Massan was an adept at what is usually called drawing the long bow, and it was with the most imperturbable gravity that he continued—

“Yes, I saw them do it; but I could not render any assistance to the poor child, for I was lying close behind a rock at the time, with an arrow sticking between my shoulders, and a score o’ them oily varmints a-shoutin’, and yellin’, and flourishing their spears in search o’ me.”

“Tell us how it happened, Massan. Let’s hear the story,” chorused the men, as they closed round their comrade.

“Well then,” began the stout backwoodsman, proceeding leisurely to fill his pipe from an ornamented bag that hung at his belt, “here goes. It was about the year—a—I forget the year, but it don’t matter—that we were ordered off on an expedition to the Huskies; ’xactly sich a one as they wants us to go on now, and—but you’ve heerd o’ that business, lads, haven’t you?”

“Yes, yes, we’ve heard all about it; go on.”

“Well,” continued Massan, “I needn’t be wastin’ time tellin’ you how we failed in that affair, and how the Huskies killed some of our men and burnt our ship to the water’s edge. After it was all over, and they thought they had killed us all, I was, as I said, lyin’ behind a great rock in a sort o’ cave, lookin’ at the dirty villains as they danced about on the shore, and took possession of all our goods. Suddenly I seed two o’ them carry Peter down to the beach, an’ I saw, as they passed me, that he was quite dead. In less time than I can count a hundred they took the skin off him, cut off his head, sewed up the hole, tied his arms and legs in a knot, blew him full o’ wind till he was fit to bu’st, an’ then hung him up to dry in the sun! In fact, they made a dan of him!”

A loud shout of laughter greeted this startling conclusion. In truth, we must do Massan the justice to say, that although he was much in the habit of amusing his companions by entertaining them with anecdotes which originated entirely in his own teeming fancy, he never actually deceived them, but invariably, either by a sly glance or by the astounding nature of his communication, gave them to understand that he was dealing not with fact but fiction.

“But seriously, lads,” said François, whose intelligence, added to a grave, manly countenance and a tall, muscular frame, caused him to be regarded by his comrades as a sort of leader both in action and in council, “what do you think of our bourgeois’ plan? For my part, I’m willing enough to go to any reasonable part o’ the country where there are furs and Indians; but as for this Ungava, from what Massan says, there’s neither Indians, nor furs, nor victuals—nothin’ but rocks, and mountains, and eternal winter; and if we do get the Huskies about us, they’ll very likely serve us as they did the last expedition to Richmond Gulf.”

“Ay, ay,” cried one of the others, “you may say that, François. Nothin’ but frost and starvation, and nobody to bury us when we’re dead.”

“Except the Huskies,” broke in another, “who would save themselves the trouble by converting us all into dans!”

“Tush, man! stop your clapper,” cried François, impatiently; “let us settle this business. You know that Monsieur Stanley said he would expect us to be ready with an answer to-night.—What think you, Gaspard? Shall we go, or shall we mutiny?”

The individual addressed was a fine specimen of an animal, but not by any means a good specimen of a man. He was of gigantic proportions, straight and tall as a poplar, and endowed with the strength of a Hercules. His glittering dark eyes and long black hair, together with the hue of his skin, bespoke him of half-breed extraction. But his countenance did not correspond to his fine physical proportions. True, his features were good, but they wore habitually a scowling, sulky expression, even when the man was pleased, and there was more of sarcasm than joviality in the sound when Gaspard condescended to laugh.

“I’ll be shot if I go to such a hole for the best bourgeois in the country,” said he in reply to François’ question.

“You’ll be dismissed the service if you don’t,” remarked Massan with a smile.

To this Gaspard vouchsafed no reply save a growl