a peculiar wedding and a wonderful walk.
turn we once again to the great wilderness, and if we do so with half the zest felt by big otter when he set forth on his journey, we will certainly enjoy the trip, you and i, whoever you be.
but we must take the journey at a bound.
it is christmas-time once more. lake wichikagan has put on its top-coat of the purest carrara marble. the roof of the little fort once again resembles a french cake overloaded with creamy sugar. the pines are black by contrast. the willows are smothered, all save the tops where the snow-flakey ptarmigan find food and shelter. smoke rises from the various chimneys, showing that the dwellers in that remote outpost are enjoying themselves as of old. the volumes of smoke also suggest christmas puddings.
let us look in upon our old friends. in the men’s house great preparation for something or other is going on, for each man is doing his best with soap, water, razor, brush, and garments, to make himself spruce. salamander is there, before a circular looking-glass three inches in diameter in the lid of a soap-box, making a complicated mess of a neck-tie in futile attempts to produce the sailor’s knot. blondin is there, before a similar glass, carefully scraping the bristles round a frostbite on his chin with a blunt razor. henri coppet, having already dressed, is smoking his pipe and quizzing marcelle dumont—who is also shaving—one of his chief jokes being an offer to give dumont’s razor a turn on the grindstone. donald bane is stooping over a tin basin on a chair, with his hair and face soap-sudded and his eyes tight shut, which fact being observed by his friend dougall, induces that worthy to cry,—“tonal’, man—look here. did iver man or wuman see the likes o’ that!”
the invitation is so irresistible to donald that he half involuntarily exclaims, “wow, man, shames—what is’t?” and opens his eyes to find that shames is laughing at him, and that soap does not improve sight. the old chief, muskrat, is also there, having been invited along with masqua and his son mozwa, with their respective squaws, to the great event that is pending, and, to judge from the intense gravity—not to say owlish solemnity—of these redskins, they are much edified by the proceedings of the men.
in the hall preparations are also being carried on for something of some sort. macnab is there, with his coat off, mounted on a chair, which he had previously set upon a rickety table, hammering away at a festoon of pine-branches with which one end of the room is being decorated. spooner is also there, weaving boughs into rude garlands of gigantic size. the dark-haired pale-face, jessie, is there too, helping spooner—who might almost be called spooney, he looks so imbecile and sweet. jack lumley is likewise there. he is calm, collected, suave, as usual, and is aiding macnab.
it was a doubly auspicious day, for it was not only christmas, but, a wedding-day.
“it seems like a dream,” cried macnab, stopping his noisy hammer in order to look round and comment with his noisy voice, “to think, jessie, that you should refuse at least a dozen sturdy highlanders north o’ the grampians, and come out to the backwoods at last to marry an englishman.”
“i wish you would attend to what you are doing, brother,” said jessie, blushing very much.
“she might have done worse,” remarked spooner, who happened to be an englishman.
lumley said nothing, but a pleased smile flickered for a minute on his lips, while macnab resumed his hammering with redoubled zest to a chuckling accompaniment.
“it would be nothing,” he resumed, turning round again and lowering his hammer, “if you hadn’t always protested that you would never marry, but—oh, jessie, i wonder at a girl who has always been so firm in sticking to her resolves, turning out so fickle. i really never thought that the family of macnab could be brought so low through one of its female members.”
“i know one of its male members,” said lumley, in a warning voice, “who will be brought still lower if he keeps dancing about so on that rickety—there—i told you so!”
as he spoke, peter macnab missed his footing and came down on the table with a crash so tremendous that the crazy article of furniture became something like what easterns style a split-camel—its feeble legs spread outwards, and its body came flat to the ground.
sprawling for a moment macnab rose dishevelled from a mass of pine-branches and looked surprised.
“not hurt, i hope,” said lumley, laughing, while jessie looked anxious for a moment.
“i—i think not. no—evidently not. yes, jessie, my dear, you may regard this as a sort of practical illustration of the value of submission. if that table had resisted me i had been hurt, probably. giving way as it did—i’m all right.”
“your illustration is not a happy one,” said lumley, “for your own safety was purchased at the cost of the table. if you had taken the lesson home, and said that ‘pride goes before a fall,’ it would have been more to the purpose.”
“perhaps so,” returned macnab, assisting to clear away the split table: “my pride is at its lowest ebb now, anyhow, for not only does jessie macnab become mrs lumley within an hour, but i am constrained to perform the marriage ceremony myself, as well as give her away.”
the highlander here referred to the fact that, for the convenience of those numerous individuals whose lives were spent in the great nor’-west, far removed at that time from clergymen, churches, and other civilised institutions, the commissioned gentlemen in the service of the hudson’s bay company were legally empowered to perform the marriage ceremony.
of course jessie regretted much the impossibility of procuring a minister of any denomination to officiate in that remote corner of the earth, and had pleaded for delay in order that they might go home and get married there; but lumley pointed out firstly, that there was not the remotest chance of his obtaining leave of absence for years to come; secondly, that the marriage tie, as tied by her brothers would be as legally binding as if managed by an archbishop of canterbury or a moderator of the scottish general assembly; and thirdly, that as he was filled with as deep a reverence for the church as herself, he would have the rite re-performed, (“ceremonially, observe, jessie, not really, for that will be done to-day,”) on the first possible opportunity.
if jessie had been hard to convince, lumley would not have ended that little discourse with “thirdly.” as it was, jessie gave in, and the marriage was celebrated in the decorated hall, with voyageurs, and hunters, and fur-traders as witnesses. macnab proved himself a worthy minister, for he read the marriage-service from the church of england prayer-book with an earnest and slightly tremulous tone which betrayed the emotion of his heart. and if ever a true prayer, by churchman or layman, mounted to the throne, that prayer was the fervent, “god bless you, jessie!” to which the highlander gave vent, as he pressed the bride to his heart when the ceremony was over.
there were some peculiarities about this wedding in the wilderness which call for special notice. in the first place, the wedding-feast, though held shortly after mid-day, was regarded as a dinner—not as a breakfast. it was rather more real, too, than civilised feasts of the kind. those who sat down to it were hungry. they meant feeding, as was remarked by salamander when more “venison steaks” were called for. then there was no champagne or strong drink of any kind. teetotalism—with or without principle—was the order of the day, but they had gallons of tea, and they consumed them, too; and these stalwart nor’westers afterwards became as uproarious on that inspiring beverage as if they had all been drunk. there was this peculiarity, however, in their uproar, that it was reasonable, hearty, good-humoured; did not degenerate into shameful imbecility, or shameless impropriety, nor did it end in stupid incapacity. it subsided gradually into pleasant exhaustion, and terminated in profound refreshing slumber.
before that point was reached, however, much had to be done. games had to be undertaken as long as the daylight lasted—chief among which were tobogganing down the snow-slope, and football on the ice. then, after dark, the hall was lighted up with an extra supply of candles round the room—though the powerful blaze of the mighty wood fire in the open chimney rendered these almost unnecessary, and another feast was instituted under the name of supper, though it commenced at the early hour of six o’clock.
at this feast there was some speechifying—partly humorous and partly touching—and it remains a disputed point to this day whether the touching was more humorous or the humorous more touching. i therefore refrain from perplexing the reader with the speeches in detail. only part of one speech will i refer to, as it may be said to have had a sort of prophetic bearing on our tale. it fell from the lips of lumley.
“my friends,” he said, with that grave yet pleasant urbanity which i have before said was so natural to him, “there is only one regret which i will venture to express on this happy day, and it is this, that some of those who were wont to enliven us with their presence at fort wichikagan, are not with us to-night. i really do not think there would be a single element wanting in the joy which it has pleased a loving god to send me, if i could only have had my dear young friend, george maxby, to be my best man—”
he had to pause a few moments at this point, because of noisy demonstrations of assent.
“and i am quite sure,” he continued, “that it would have afforded as much satisfaction to you as it would to my dear wife and me, if we could only have had our sedate friend, big otter—”
again he had to pause, for the shouting with which this name was received not only made the rafters ring, but caused the very candles on the walls to wink.
“if we could only have had big otter,” repeated lumley, “to dance at our wedding. but it is of no use to sigh after the impossible. the days of miracles are over, and—”
as he spoke the hall door slowly opened, and a sight appeared which not only bereft the speaker of speech, but for a few minutes absolutely petrified all the rest of the company. it was the face and figure of a man—tall, gaunt and worn.
now, good reader, as lumley said (without very good authority!) the days of miracles are over, yet i venture to think that many events in this life do so much resemble miracles that we could not distinguish them from such unless the keys to their solution were given to us.
i give you the key to the supposed miracle now in hand, by asking you to accompany me deep into the wild-woods, and backward in time to about an hour before noon of the day preceding christmas. it is a tangled shady spot to which i draw attention, the snow-floor of which is over-arched by dark pine-branches and surrounded by walls of willows and other shrubs. there is a somewhat open circular space in the centre of the spot, into which an indian on snow-shoes strode at the hour mentioned. even his most intimate friends might have failed at a first glance to recognise big otter, for he was at the time very near the close of a long, hard, wearisome journey, during the course of which he had experienced both danger and privation. latterly he had conceived an idea, which he had striven with all his powers—and they were not small—to carry out. it was neither more nor less than to arrive in time to spend christmas day with his friends at fort wichikagan.
but to accomplish this feat, commencing at the time he conceived it, required that the indian should travel without fail upwards of forty miles every day. this, on snow-shoes, could only be done by a very hercules, and that only for a few days at a stretch. big otter knew his powers of endurance, and had carried out his resolve nearly to completion, when a storm arose so fierce, with temperature so bitterly cold, that he could not force against it, and thus lost the greater part of a day. still, the thing was not impossible, and, as the difficulties multiplied, our indian’s resolve to conquer increased.
in this state of mind, and much worn and fagged in body, with soiled and rent garments that told of weeks upon weeks of toil, he entered the circle, or open space before referred to, and, coming to a stand, rested the butt of his gun on one of his snowshoes, heaved a deep sigh, and looked round, as if undecided how to act.
but big otter’s periods of indecision never lasted long. being naturally of a sociable turn of mind he partially revealed his mental condition by low mutterings which i take leave to translate.
“yes, i can do it. the pale-faces are pleasant men; pleasanter at christmas-time than at other times. they love song, and big otter loves to hear song, though he does not love to do it. men do not love to try what they cannot do. the pale-faces have much food, too, on christmas day, and much good-will. big otter loves both the good-will and the food, especially that round thing they are so fond of—plum-puddinn they call it. they dance much also. dancing gives not much joy, though big otter can do some of it—but plum-puddinn is glorious! waugh! i will do it!”
having communed with himself thus far, the indian leaned his gun against a tree, flung down his provision-bag, took off his snow-shoes, cleared away the snow, kindled a fire, spread his bed of pine-brush and his blanket above it—and, in short went through the usual process of encamping. it was early in the day to encamp, but there was only one way in which our indian could hope to partake of the plum-puddinn, and that was to walk a little over fifty miles at one stretch. that distance still lay between him and fort wichikagan, and it had to be traversed within fourteen and fifteen hours—including rests and food.
to prepare himself for the feat big otter drew from his wallet an enormous mass of venison which he roasted and consumed. then he filled a small portable kettle with snow, which, with the aid of a fierce fire, he soon converted into tea. you see our indian was becoming civilised by intercourse with pale-faces, and rather luxurious, for he carried tea and sugar on this journey. he did not deem butter a necessity, but could afford to dispense with that, because of having the remains of a rogan, or birch basket, of bear’s grease (unscented, of course!) which he had reserved at the end of his fall hunt.
the meal, or rather the gorging, over, big otter rolled himself head and feet in a blanket, pillowed his head on the provision-wallet, and suddenly went to sleep.
hour after hour passed, but not the slightest motion was perceptible in that recumbent figure save the slow regular rise and fall of the deep chest. the short-lived sun of winter soon passed its zenith and began to decline towards its early couch in the west, but still the sleeper lay motionless like a log. at last the shades of early evening began to fall, and then big otter awoke. he rose at once, stretched himself with a sort of awful energy, rolled up his blanket, put on his snow-shoes, caught up wallet and gun, and set off on his journey.
to see a strong man stride over the land on snowshoes is a grand sight at any time, but to see big otter do it on this occasion would have been worth a long journey. with his huge and weighty frame and his mighty stride he made nothing of small obstacles, and was but little affected by things that might have retarded ordinary mortals. small bushes went down before him like grass, larger ones he turned aside, and thick ones he went crashing through like an african elephant through jungle, while the fine frosted snow went flying from his snow-shoes right and left. there was no hesitancy or wavering as to direction or pace. the land he was acquainted with, every inch. reserve force, he knew, lay stored in every muscle, and he was prepared to draw it all out when fatigue should tell him that revenue was expended and only capital remained.
as the sun went down the moon rose up. he had counted on this and on the fact that the land was comparatively open. yet it was not monotonous. now he was crossing a stretch of prairie at top speed, anon driving through a patch of woodland. here he went striding over the surface of a frozen river, or breasting the slope of a small hill. as the night wore on he tightened his belt but did not halt to do so. once or twice he came to a good-sized lake where all impediments vanished. off went the snowshoes and away he went over the marble surface at a slow trot—slow in appearance, though in reality quicker than the fastest walk.
then the moon went down and the grey light of morning—christmas morning—dawned. still the red-man held on his way unchanged—apparently unchangeable. when the sun was high, he stopped suddenly beside a fallen tree, cleared the snow off it, and sat down to eat. he did not sit long, and the breakfast was a cold one.
in a few minutes the journey was resumed. the indian was drawing largely on his capital now, but, looking at him, you could not have told it. by a little after six o’clock that evening the feat was accomplished, and, as i have said, big otter presented himself at a critical moment to the wonder-stricken eyes of the wedding guests.
“did they make much of him?” you ask. i should think they did! “did they feed him?” of course they did—stuffed him to repletion—set him down before the massive ruins of the plum-puddinn, and would not let him rise till the last morsel was gone! moreover, when big otter discovered that he had arrived at fort wichikagan, not only on christmas day, but on chief lumley’s wedding-day, his spirit was so rejoiced that his strength came back again unimpaired, like sampson’s, and he danced that night with the pale-faces, till the small hours of the morning, to the strains of a pig-in-its-agonies fiddle, during which process he consumed several buckets of hot tea. he went to rest at last on a buffalo robe in a corner of the hall in a state of complete exhaustion and perfect felicity.
