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

To the right of the tent was placed the small canoe, bottom up, so as to afford a partial protection to the bedding which Oostesimow was engaged in spreading out for Frank and himself and his comrade Ma-Istequan. Facing this, at the other side of the fire, and on the left of the tent, the largest canoe was turned up in a similar manner, and several of the men were engaged in covering the ground beneath it with a layer of leaves and branches, above which they spread their blankets; while others lounged around the fire and smoked their beloved pipes, or watched with impatient eyes the operations of Bryan, who, being accustomed to have familiar dealings with the fire, had been deemed worthy of holding the office of cook to the men, and was inducted accordingly.

It is due to Bryan to say that he fully merited the honour conferred upon him; for never, since the days of Vulcan, was there a man seen who could daringly dabble in the fire as he did. He had a peculiar sleight-of-hand way of seizing hold of and tossing about red-hot coals with his naked hand, that induced one to believe he must be made of leather. Flames seemed to have no effect whatever on his sinewy arms when they licked around them; and as for smoke, he treated it with benign contempt. Not so La Roche: with the mercurial temperament of his class he leaped about the fire, during his culinary operations, in a way that afforded infinite amusement to his comrades, and not unfrequently brought him into violent collision with Bryan, who usually received him on such occasions with a strong Irish growl, mingled with a disparaging or contemptuous remark.

Beyond the circle of light thrown by the fire was the belt of willows which encompassed the camp on all sides except towards the sea, where a narrow gap formed a natural entrance and afforded a glimpse of the ocean with its fields and hummocks of ice floating on its calm bosom and glancing in the faint light of the moon, which was then in its first quarter.

“How comfortable and snug everything is!” said Mrs Stanley, as she poured out the tea, while her husband carved the duck.

“Yes, isn’t it, Eda?” said Frank, patting his favourite on the head, as he held out her plate for a wing. “There, give her a bit of the breast too,” he added. “I know she’s ravenously hungry, for I saw her looking at Chimo, just before we landed, as if she meant to eat him for supper without waiting to have him cooked.”

“O Frank, how can you be so wicked?” said Eda, taking up her knife and fork and attacking the wing with so much energy as almost to justify her friend’s assertion.

“Snug, said you, Jessie? yes, that’s the very word to express it,” said Stanley. “There’s no situation that I know of (and I wasn’t born yesterday) that is so perfectly snug, and in all respects comfortable, as an encampment in the woods on a fine night in spring or autumn.”

“Or winter,” added Frank, swallowing a pannikin of tea at a draught, nodding to Chimo, as much as to say, “Do that if you can, old fellow,” and handing it to Mrs Stanley to be replenished. “Don’t omit winter—cold, sharp, sunny winter. An encampment in the snow, in fine weather, is as snug as this.”

“Rather cold, is it not?” said Mrs Stanley.

“Cold! not a bit,” replied Frank, making a reckless dive with his hand into the biscuit-bag; “if you have enough wood to get up a roaring fire, six feet long by three broad and four deep, with a bank of snow five feet high all around ye, a pine-tree with lots of thick branches spreading overhead to keep off the snow, and two big green blankets to keep out the frost—(another leg of that widgeon, please)—you’ve no notion how snug it is, I assure you.”

“Hum!” ejaculated Stanley, with a dubious smile, “you forgot to add—a youthful, robust frame, with the blood careering through the veins like wildfire, to your catalogue of requisites. No doubt it is pleasant enough in its way; but commend me to spring or autumn for thorough enjoyment, when the air is mild, and the waters flowing, and the woods green and beautiful.”

“Why don’t you speak of summer, papa?” said Eda, who had been listening intently to this conversation.

“Summer, my pet! because—”

“Allow me to explain,” interrupted Frank, laying down his knife and fork, and placing the forefinger of his right hand in his left palm, as if he were about to make a speech. “Because, Eda, because there is such a thing as heat—long-continued, never-ending, sweltering heat. Because there are such reprehensible and unutterably detestable insects as mosquitoes, and sand-flies, and bull-dogs; and there is such a thing as being bitten, and stung, and worried, and sucked into a sort of partial madness; and I have seen such sights as men perpetually slapping their own faces, and scratching the skin off their own cheeks with their own nails, and getting no relief thereby, but rather making things worse; and I have, moreover, seen men’s heads swelled until the eyes and noses were lost, and the mouths only visible when opened, and their general aspect like that of a Scotch haggis; and there is a time when all this accumulates on man and beast till the latter takes to the water in desperation, and the former takes to intermittent insanity, and that time is—summer.—Another cup, please, Mrs Stanley. ’Pon my conscience, it creates thirst to think of it.”

At this stage the conversation of the party in the tent was interrupted by a loud peal of laughter mingled with not a few angry exclamations from the men. La Roche, in one of his frantic leaps to avoid a tongue of flame which shot out from the fire with a vicious velocity towards his eyes, came into violent contact with Bryan while that worthy was in the act of lifting a seething kettle of soup and boiled pork from the fire. Fortunately for the party whose supper was thus placed in jeopardy, Bryan stood his ground; but La Roche, tripping over a log, fell heavily among the pannikins, tin plates, spoons, and knives, which had been just laid out on the ground in front of the canoe.

“Ach! mauvais chien,” growled Gaspard, as he picked up and threw away the fragments of his pipe, “you’re always cuttin’ and jumpin’ about like a monkey.”

“Oh! pauvre crapaud,” cried François, laughing; “don’t abuse him, Gaspard. He’s a useful dog in his way.”

“Tare an’ ages! you’ve done it now, ye have. Bad luck to ye! wasn’t I for iver tellin’ ye that same. Shure, if it wasn’t that ye’re no bigger or heavier than a wisp o’ pea straw, ye’d have druve me and the soup into the fire, ye would. Be the big toe o’ St. Patrick, not to mintion his riverince the Pope—”

“Come, come, Bryan,” cried Massan, “don’t speak ill o’ the Pope, an’ down wi’ the kettle.”

“The kittle, is it? Sorra a kittle ye’ll touch, Massan, till it’s cool enough to let us all start fair at wance. Ye’ve got yer mouth and throat lined wi’ brass, I believe, an’ would ate the half o’t before a soul of us could taste it!”

“Don’t insult me, you red-faced racoon,” retorted Massan, while he and his comrades circled round the kettle, and began a vigorous attack on the scalding mess; “my throat is not so used to swallowin’ fire as your own. I never knowed a man that payed into the grub as you do.—Bah! how hot it is.—I say, Oolibuck, doesn’t it remember you o’ the dogs o’ yer own country, when they gits the stone kettle to clean out?”

Oolibuck’s broad visage expanded with a chuckle as he lifted an enormous wooden spoonful of soup to his ample mouth. “Me tink de dogs of de Innuit (Esquimaux) make short work of dis kettle if ’e had ’im.”

“Do the dogs of the Huskies eat with their masters?” inquired François, as he groped in the kettle with his fork in search of a piece of pork.

“Dey not eat wid der masters, but dey al’ays clean hout de kettle,” replied Moses, somewhat indignantly.

“Ha!” exclaimed Massan, pausing for a few minutes to recover breath; “yes, they always let the dogs finish off the feast. Ye must know, comrades, that I’ve seed them do it myself—anyways I’ve seed a man that knew a feller who said he had a comrade that wintered once with the Huskies, which is pretty much the same thing. An’ he said that sometimes when they kill a big seal, they boil it whole an’ have a rig’lar feast. Ye must understand, mes garçons, that the Huskies make thumpin’ big kettles out o’ a kind o’ soft stone they find in them parts, an’ some o’ them’s big enough to boil a whole seal in. Well, when the beast is cooked, they take it out o’ the pot, an’ while they’re tuckin’ into it, the dogs come and sit in a ring round the pot to wait till the soup’s cool enough to eat. They knows well that it’s too hot at first, an’ that they must have a deal o’ patience; but afore long some o’ the young uns can’t hold on, so they steps up somewhat desperate like, and pokes their snouts in. Of course they pulls them out pretty sharp with a yell, and sit down to rub their noses for a bit longer. Then the old uns take courage an’ make a snap at it now and again, but very tenderly, till it gits cooler at last, an’ then at it they go, worryin’, an’ scufflin’, an’ barkin’, an’ gallopin’, just like Moses there, till the pot’s as clean as the day it wos made.”

“Ha! ha! oh, ver’ goot, très bien; ah! mon coeur, just très splendiferous!” shouted La Roche, whose risibility was always easily tickled.

“It’s quite true, though—isn’t it, Moses?” said Massan, as he once more applied to the kettle, while some of his comrades cut up the goose that Frank had shot in the afternoon.

“Why, Moses, what a capacity you have for grub!” said François. “If your countrymen are anything like you, I don’t wonder that they have boiled seals and whales for dinner.”

“It’ll take a screamin’ kittle for a whale,” spluttered Bryan, with his mouth full, “an’ a power o’ dogs to drink the broth.”

“You tink you funny, Bryan,” retorted Moses, while an oily smile beamed on his fat, good-humoured countenance; “but you not; you most dreadful stupid.”

“Thrue for ye, Moses; I was oncommon stupid to let you sit so long beside the kittle,” replied the Irishman, as he made a futile effort to scrape another spoonful from the bottom of it. “Och! but ye’ve licked it as clane as one of yer own dogs could ha’ done it.”

“Mind your eye!” growled Gaspard, at the same time giving La Roche a violent push, as that volatile worthy, in one of his eccentric movements, nearly upset his can of water.

“Oh! pardon, monsieur,” exclaimed La Roche, in pretended sorrow, at the same time making a grotesque bow that caused a general peal of laughter.

“Why, one might as well travel with a sick bear as with you, Gaspard,” said François half angrily.

“Hold your jaw,” replied Gaspard.

“Not at your bidding,” retorted François, half rising from his reclining posture, while his colour heightened. Gaspard had also started up, and it seemed as if the little camp were in danger of becoming a scene of strife, when Dick Prince, who was habitually silent and unobtrusive, preferring generally to listen rather than to speak, laid his hand on Gaspard’s broad shoulder and pulled him somewhat forcibly to the ground.

“Shame on you, comrades!” he said, in a low, grave voice, that instantly produced a dead silence; “shame on you, to quarrel on our first night in the