The Young Fur Traders

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"You see," remarked Hamilton, as the two friends, after having had an
audience of the gentleman in charge of the establishment, sauntered
towards the rocks that overhang the margin of Playgreen Lake--"you
see, it is of no use to fret about what we cannot possibly help.
Nobody within three hundred miles of us knows where we are destined
to spend next winter. Perhaps orders may come in a couple of weeks,
perhaps in a couple of months, but they will certainly come at last.
Anyhow, it is of no use thinking about it, so we had better forget
it, and make the best of things as we find them."

"Ah!" exclaimed Harry, "your advice is, that we should by all means
be happy, and if we can't be happy, be as happy as we can. Is that
it?"

"Just so. That's it exactly."

"Ho! But then you see, Hammy, you're a philosopher and I'm not, and
that makes all the difference. I'm not given to anticipating evil,
but I cannot help dreading that they will send me to some lonely,
swampy, out-of-the-way hole, where there will be no society, no
shooting, no riding, no work even to speak of--nothing, in fact, but
the miserable satisfaction of being styled 'bourgeois' by five or six
men, wretched outcasts like myself,"

"Come, Harry," cried Hamilton; "you are taking the very worst view of
it. There certainly are plenty of such outposts in the country, but
you know very well that young fellows like you are seldom sent to
such places."

"I don't know that," interrupted Harry. "There's young M'Andrew: he
was sent to an outpost up the Mackenzie his second year in the
service, where he was all but starved, and had to live for about two
weeks on boiled parchment. Then there's poor Forrester: he was
shipped off to a place--the name of which I never could remember--
somewhere between the head-waters of the Athabasca Lake and the North
Pole. To be sure, he had good shooting, I'm told, but he had only
four labouring men to enjoy it with; and he has been there _ten_
years now, and he has more than once had to scrape the rocks of that
detestable stuff called _tripe de roche_ to keep himself alive. And
then there's----"

"Very true," interrupted Hamilton. "Then there's your friend Charles
Kennedy, whom you so often talk about, and many other young fellows
we know, who have been sent to the Saskatchewan, and to the Columbia,
and to Athabasca, and to a host of other capital places, where they
have enough of society--male society, at least--and good sport."

The young men had climbed a rocky eminence which commanded a view of
the lake on the one side, and the fort, with its background of woods,
on the other. Here they sat down on a stone, and continued for some
time to admire the scene in silence.

"Yes," said Harry, resuming the thread of discourse, "you are right:
we have a good chance of seeing some pleasant parts of the country.
But suspense is not pleasant. O man, if they would only send me up
the Saskatchewan River! I've set my heart upon going there. I'm quite
sure it's the very best place in the whole country."

"You've told the truth that time, master," said a deep voice behind
them.

The young men turned quickly round. Close beside them, and leaning
composedly on a long Indian fowling-piece, stood a tall, broad-
shouldered, sun-burned man, apparently about forty years of age. He
was dressed in the usual leathern hunting-coat, cloth leggings, fur
cap, mittens, and moccasins that constitute the winter garb of a
hunter; and had a grave, firm, but good-humoured expression of
countenance.

"You've told the truth that time, master," he repeated, without
moving from his place. "The Saskatchewan _is_, to my mind, the best
place in the whole country; and havin' seen a considerable deal o'
places in my time, I can speak from experience."

"Indeed, friend," said Harry, "I'm glad to hear you say so. Come, sit
down beside us, and let's hear something about it."

Thus invited, the hunter seated himself on a stone and laid his gun
on the hollow of his left arm.

"First of all, friend," continued Harry, "do you belong to the fort
here?"

"No," replied the man, "I'm staying here just now, but I don't belong
to the place."

"Where do you come from then, and what's your name?"

"Why, I've comed d'rect from the Saskatchewan with a packet o'
letters. I'm payin' a visit to the missionary village yonder"--the
hunter pointed as he spoke across the lake--"and when the ice breaks
up I shall get a canoe and return again."

"And your name?"

"Why, I've got four or five names. Somehow or other people have given
me a nickname wherever I ha' chanced to go. But my true name, and the
one I hail by just now, is Jacques Caradoc."

"Jacques Caradoc!" exclaimed Harry, starting with surprise. "You knew
a Charley Kennedy in the Saskatchewan, did you?"

"That did I. As fine a lad as ever pulled a trigger."

"Give us your hand, friend," exclaimed Harry, springing forward, and
seizing the hunter's large, hard fist in both hands. "Why, man,
Charley is my dearest friend, and I had a letter from him some time
ago in which he speaks of you, and says you're one of the best
fellows he ever met."

"You don't say so," replied the hunter, returning Harry's grasp
warmly, while his eyes sparkled with pleasure, and a quiet smile
played at the corner of his mouth.

"Yes I do," said Harry; "and I'm very nearly as glad to meet with
you, friend Jacques, as I would be to meet with him. But come; it's
cold work talking here. Let's go to my room; there's a fire in the
stove.--Come along, Hammy;" and taking his new friend by the arm, he
hurried him along to his quarters in the fort.

Just as they were passing under the fort gate, a large mass of snow
became detached from a housetop and fell heavily at their feet,
passing within an inch of Hamilton's nose. The young man started back
with an exclamation, and became very red in the face.

"Hollo!" cried Harry, laughing, "got a fright, Hammy! That went so
close to your chin that it almost saved you the trouble of shaving."

"Yes; I got a little fright from the suddenness of it," said Hamilton
quietly.

"What do you think of my friend there?" said Harry to Jacques, in a
low voice, pointing to Hamilton, who walked on in advance.

"I've not seen much of him, master," replied the hunter. "Had I been
asked the same question about the same lad twenty years agone, I
should ha' said he was soft, and perhaps chicken-hearted. But I've
learned from experience to judge better than I used to do. I niver
thinks o' forming an opinion o' anyone till I geen them called to
sudden action. It's astonishin' how some faint-hearted men will come
to face a danger and put on an awful look o' courage if they only get
warnin', but take them by surprise--that's the way to try them."

"Well, Jacques, that is the very reason why I ask your opinion of
Hamilton. He was pretty well taken by surprise that time, I think."

"True, master; but _that_ kind of start don't prove much. Hows'ever,
I don't think he's easy upset. He does _look_ uncommon soft, and his
face grew red when the snow fell, but his eyebrow and his under lip
showed that it wasn't from fear."

During that afternoon and the greater part of that night the three
friends continued in close conversation--Harry sitting in front of
the stove, with his hands in his pockets, on a chair tilted as usual
on its hind legs, and pouring out volleys of questions, which were
pithily answered by the good-humoured, loquacious hunter, who sat
behind the stove, resting his elbows on his knees, and smoking his
much-loved pipe; while Hamilton reclined on Harry's bed, and listened
with eager avidity to anecdotes and stories, which seemed, like the
narrator's pipe, to be inexhaustible.

"Good-night, Jacques, good-night," said Harry, as the latter rose at
last to depart; "I'm delighted to have had a talk with you. You must
come back to-morrow. I want to hear more about your friend
Redfeather. Where did you say you left him?"

"In the Saskatchewan, master. He said that he would wait there, as
he'd heerd the missionary was comin' up to pay the Injins a visit."

"By-the-by, you're going over to the missionary's place to-morrow,
are you not?"

"Yes, I am."

"Ah, then, that'll do. I'll go over with you. How far off is it?"

"Three miles or thereabouts."

"Very good. Call in here as you pass, and my friend Hamilton and I
will accompany you. Good-night."

Jacques thrust his pipe into his bosom, held out his horny hand, and
giving his young friends a hearty shake, turned and strode from the
room.

On the following day Jacques called according to promise, and the
three friends set off together to visit the Indian village. This
missionary station was under the management of a Wesleyan clergyman,
Pastor Conway by name, an excellent man, of about forty-five years of
age, with an energetic mind and body, a bald head, a mild, expressive
countenance, and a robust constitution. He was admirably qualified
for his position, having a natural aptitude for every sort of work
that man is usually called on to perform. His chief care was for the
instruction of the Indians, whom he had induced to settle around him,
in the great and all-important truths of Christianity. He invented an
alphabet, and taught them to write and read their own language. He
commenced the laborious task of translating the Scriptures into the
Cree language; and being an excellent musician, he instructed his
converts to sing in parts the psalms and Wesleyan hymns, many of
which are exceedingly beautiful. A school was also established and a
church built under his superintendence, so that the natives assembled
in an orderly way in a commodious sanctuary every Sabbath day to
worship God; while the children were instructed, not only in the
Scriptures, and made familiar with the narrative of the humiliation
and exaltation of our blessed Saviour, but were also taught the
elementary branches of a secular education. But good Pastor Conway's
energy did not stop here. Nature had gifted him with that peculiar
genius which is powerfully expressed in the term "a jack-of-all-
trades." He could turn his hand to anything; and being, as we have
said, an energetic man, he did turn his hand to almost everything. If
anything happened to get broken, the pastor could either "mend it
himself or direct how it was to be done. If a house was to be built
for a new family of red men, who had never handled a saw or hammer in
their lives, and had lived up to that time in tents, the pastor lent
a hand to begin it, drew out the plan (not a very complicated thing
certainly), set them fairly at work, and kept his eye on it until it
was finished. In short, the worthy pastor was everything to
everybody, "that by all means he might gain some."

Under such management the village flourished as a matter of course,
although it did not increase very rapidly owing to the almost
unconquerable aversion of North American Indians to take up a settled
habitation.

It was to this little hamlet, then, that our three friends directed
their steps. On arriving, they found Pastor Conway in a sort of
workshop, giving directions to an Indian who stood with a soldering-
iron in one hand and a sheet of tin in the other, which he was about
to apply to a curious-looking half-finished machine that bore some
resemblance to a canoe.

"Ah, my friend Jacques!" he exclaimed as the hunter approached him,
"the very man I wished to see. But I beg pardon, gentlemen,-
strangers, I perceive. You are heartily welcome. It is seldom that I
have the pleasure of seeing new friends in my wild dwelling. Pray
come with me to my house."

Pastor Conway shook hands with Harry and Hamilton with a degree of
warmth that evinced the sincerity of his words. The young men thanked
him and accepted the invitation.

As they turned to quit the workshop, the pastor observed Jacques's
eye fixed with a puzzled expression of countenance, on his canoe.

"You have never seen anything like that before, I daresay?" said he,
with a smile.

"No, sir; I never did see such a queer machine afore."

"It is a tin canoe, with which I hope to pass through many miles of
country this spring, on my way to visit a tribe of Northern Indians,
and it was about this very thing that I wanted to see you, my
friend."

Jacques made no reply, but cast a look savouring very slightly of
contempt on the unfinished canoe as they turned and went away.

The pastor's dwelling stood at one end of the village, a view of
which it commanded from the back windows, while those in front
overlooked the lake. It was pleasantly situated and pleasantly
tenanted, for the pastor's wife was a cheerful, active little lady,
like-minded with himself, and delighted to receive and entertain
strangers. To her care Mr. Conway consigned the young men, after
spending a short time in conversation with them; and then, requesting
his wife to show them through the village, he took Jacques by the arm
and sauntered out,

"Come with me, Jacques," he began; "I have somewhat to say to you. I
had not time to broach the subject when I met you at the Company's
fort, and have been anxious to see you ever since. You tell me that
you have met with my friend Redfeather."

"Yes, sir; I spent a week or two with him last fall I found him
stayin' with his tribe, and we started to come down here together."

"Ah, that is the very point," exclaimed the pastor, that I wish to
inquire about. I firmly believe that God has opened that Indian's
eyes to see the truth; and I fully expected from what he said when we
last met, that he would have made up his mind to come and stay here."

"As to what the Almighty has done to him," said Jacques, in a
reverential tone of voice, "I don't pretend to know; he did for
sartin speak, and act too, in a way that I never seed an Injin do
before. But about his comin' here, sir, you were quite right: he did
mean to come, and I've no doubt will come yet."

"What prevented him coming with you, as you tell me he intended?"
inquired the pastor.

"Well, you see, sir, he and I and his squaw, as I said, set off to
come here together: but when we got the length o' Edmonton House, we
heerd that you were comin' up to pay a visit to the tribe to which
Redfeather belongs; and so seem' that it was o' no use to come down
hereaway just to turn about an' go up agin, he stopped there to wait
for you, for he knew you would want him to interpret--"

"Ay," interrupted the pastor, "that's true. I have two reasons for
wishing to have him here. The primary one is, that he may get good to
his immortal soul; and then he understands English so well that I
want him to become my interpreter; for although I understand the Cree
language pretty well now, I find it exceedingly difficult to explain
the doctrines of the Bible to my people in it. But pardon me, I
interrupted you."

"I was only going to say," resumed Jacques, "that I made up my mind
to stay with him; but they wanted a man to bring the winter packet
here, so, as they pressed me very hard, an' I had nothin' particular
to do, I 'greed and came, though I would rather ha' stopped; for
Redfeather an' I ha' struck up a friendship togither--a thing that I
would never ha' thought it poss'ble for me to do with a red Injin."

"And why not with a red Indian, friend?" inquired the pastor, while a
shade of sadness passed over his mild features, as if unpleasant
thoughts had been roused by the hunter's speech.

"Well, it's not easy to say why," rejoined the other. "I've no
partic'lar objection to the red-skins. There's only one man among
them that I bears a grudge agin, and even that one I'd rayther avoid
than otherwise."

"But you should _forgive_ him, Jacques. The Bible tells us not only
to bear our enemies no grudge, but to love them and to do them good."

The hunter's brow darkened. "That's impossible, sir," he said; "I
couldn't do _him_ a good turn if I was to try ever so hard. He may
bless his stars that I don't want to do him mischief; but to _love
him_, it's jist imposs'ble."

"With man it is impossible, but with God all things are possible,"
said the pastor solemnly.

Jacques's naturally philosophic though untutored mind saw the force
of this. He felt that God, who had formed his soul, his body, and the
wonderfully complicated machinery and objects of nature, which were
patent to his observant and reflective mind wherever he went, must of
necessity be equally able to alter, influence, and remould them all
according to His will. Common-sense was sufficient to teach him this;
and the bold hunter exhibited no ordinary amount of common-sense in
admitting the fact at once, although in the case under discussion
(the loving of his enemy) it seemed utterly impossible to his
feelings and experience. The frown, therefore, passed from his brow,
while he said respectfully, "What you say, sir, is true; I believe
though I can't _feel_ it. But I s'pose the reason I niver felt much
drawn to the red-skins is, that all the time I lived in the
settlements I was used to hear them called and treated as thievin'
dogs, an 'when I com'd among them I didn't see much to alter my
opinion. Here an' there I have found one or two honest Injins, an'
Redfeather is as true as steel; but the most o' them are no better
than they should be. I s'pose I don' think much o' them just because
they are red-skins."

"Ah, Jacques, you will excuse me if I say that there is not much
sense in _that_ reason. An Indian cannot help being a red man any
more than you can help being a white one, so that he ought not to be
despised on that account. Besides, God made him what he is, and to
despise the _work_ of God, or to undervalue it, is to despise God
Himself. You may indeed despise, or rather abhor, the sins that red
men are guilty of; but if you despise _them_ on this ground, you must
much more despise white men, for _they_ are guilty of greater
iniquities than Indians are. They have more knowledge, and are
therefore more inexcusable when they sin; and anyone who has
travelled much must be aware that, in regard to general wickedness,
white men are at least quite as bad as Indians. Depend upon it,
Jacques, that there will be Indians found in heaven at the last day
as well as white men. God is no respecter of persons."

"I niver thought much on that subject afore, sir," returned the
hunter; "what you say seems reasonable enough. I'm sure an' sartin,
any way, that if there's a red-skin in heaven at all, Redfeather will
be there, an' I only hope that I may be there too to keep him
company."

"I hope so, my friend,", said the pastor earnestly; "I hope so too,
with all my heart. And if you will accept of this little book, it
will show you how to get there."

The missionary drew a small, plainly-bound copy of the Bible from his
pocket as he spoke, and presented it to Jacques, who received it with
a smile, and thanked him, saying, at the same time, that he "was not
much up to book-larnin', but he would read it with pleasure."

"Now, Jacques," said the pastor, after a little further conversation
on the subject of the Bible, in which he endeavoured to impress upon
him the absolute necessity of being acquainted with the blessed
truths which it contains--"now, Jacques, about my visit to the
Indians. I intend, if the Almighty spares me, to embark in yon tin
canoe that you found me engaged with, and, with six men to work it,
proceed to the country of the Knisteneux Indians, visit their chief
camp, and preach to them there as long as the weather will permit.
When the season is pretty well advanced, and winter threatens to cut
off my retreat, I shall re-embark in my canoe and return home. By
this means I hope to be able to sow the good seed of Christian truths
in the hearts of men who, as they will not come to this settlement,
have no chance of being brought under the power of the Gospel by any
other means."

Jacques gave one of his quiet smiles on hearing this. "Right sir--
right," he said, with some energy; "I have always thought, although I
niver made bold to say it before, that there was not enough o' this
sort o' thing. It has always seemed to me a kind o' madness (excuse
my plainness o' speech, sir) in you pastors, thinkin' to make the
red-skins come and settle round you like so many squaws, and dig up
an' grub at the ground, when it's quite clear that their natur' and
the natur' o' things about them meant them to be hunters. An' surely,
since the Almighty made them hunters, He intended them to _be_
hunters, an' won't refuse to make them Christians on _that_ account.
A red-skin's natur' is a huntin' natur', an' nothin' on arth 'll ever
make it anything else.'

"There is much truth in what you observe, friend," rejoined the
pastor; "but you are not _altogether_ right. Their nature _may_ be
changed, although certainly nothing on _earth_ will change it. Look
at that frozen lake." He pointed to the wide field of thick snow-
covered ice that stretched out for miles like a sheet of white marble
before them. "Could anything on earth break up or sink or melt that?"

"Nothin'," replied Jacques, laconically.

"But the warm beams of yon glorious sun can do it," continued the
pastor, pointing upwards as he spoke, "and do it effectually too; so
that, although you can scarcely observe the process, it nevertheless
turns the hard, thick, solid ice into limpid water at last. So is it
in regard to man. Nothing on earth can change his heart, or alter his
nature; but our Saviour, who is called the Sun of Righteousness, can.
When He shines into a man's soul it melts. The old man becomes a
little child, the wild savage a Christian. But I agree with you in
thinking that we have not been sufficiently alive to the necessity of
seeking to convert the Indians before trying to gather them round us.
The one would follow as a natural consequence, I think, of the other,
and it is owing to this conviction that I intend, as I have already
said, to make a journey in spring to visit those who will not or
cannot come to visit me. And now, what I want to ask is whether you
will agree to accompany me as steersman and guide on my expedition."

The hunter slowly shook his head. "I'm afeard not sir; I have already
promised to take charge of a canoe for the Company. I would much
rather go with you, but I must keep my word."

"Certainly, Jacques, certainly; that settles the question You cannot
go with me--unless--" the pastor paused as if in thought for a
moment--"unless you can persuade them to let you off."

"Well, sir, I can try," returned Jacques.

"Do; and I need not say how happy I shall be if you succeed. Good-
day, friend, good-bye." So saying, the missionary shook hands with
the hunter and returned to his house, while Jacques wended his way to
the village in search of Harry and Hamilton.

CHAPTER XXV.

Good news and romantic scenery--Bear-hunting and its results.

Jaques failed in his attempt to break off his engagement with the
fur-traders. The gentleman in charge of Norway House, albeit a good-
natured, estimable man, was one who could not easily brook
disappointment, especially in matters that involved the interests of
the Hudson's Bay Company; so Jacques was obliged to hold to his
compact, and the pastor had to search for another guide.

Spring came, and with it the awakening (if we may use the expression)
of the country from the long, lethargic sleep of winter. The sun
burst forth with irresistible power, and melted all before it. Ice
and snow quickly dissolved, and set free the waters of swamp and
river, lake and sea, to leap and sparkle in their new-found liberty.
Birds renewed their visits to the regions of the north; frogs, at
last unfrozen, opened their leathern jaws to croak and whistle in the
marshes; and men began their preparations for a summer campaign.

At the commencement of the season an express arrived with letters
from headquarters, which, among other matters of importance, directed
that Messrs. Somerville and Hamilton should be despatched forthwith
to the Saskatchewan district, where, on reaching Fort Pitt, they were
to place themselves at the disposal of the gentleman in charge of the
district. It need scarcely be added that the young men were overjoyed
on receiving this almost unhoped-for intelligence, and that Harry
expressed his satisfaction in his usual hilarious manner, asserting,
somewhat profanely, in the excess of his glee, that the governor-in-
chief of Rupert's Land was a "regular brick." Hamilton agreed to all
his friend's remarks with a quiet smile, accompanied by a slight
chuckle, and a somewhat desperate attempt at a caper, which attempt,
bordering as it did on a region of buffoonery into which our quiet
and gentlemanly friend had never dared hitherto to venture proved an
awkward and utter failure. He felt this and blushed deeply.

It was further arranged and agreed upon that the young men should
accompany Jacques Caradoc in his canoe. Having become sufficiently
expert canoemen to handle their paddles well, they scouted the idea
of taking men with them, and resolved to launch boldly forth at once
as _bona-fide_ voyageurs. To this arrangement Jacques, after one or
two trials to test their skill, agreed; and very shortly after the
arrival of the express, the trio set out on their voyage, amid the
cheers and adieus of the entire population of Norway House, who were
assembled on the end of the wooden wharf to witness their departure,
and with whom they had managed during their short residence at that
place, to become special favourites. A month later, the pastor of the
Indian village, having procured a trusty guide, embarked in his tin
canoe with a crew of six men, and followed in their track.

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