Chapter Nineteen.Gunson fights my Battle.Gunson left us then, as if on purpose to give us an opportunity to talk about him; and as soon as he was out of hearing, Esau began by wiping the perspiration from his forehead with the back of first one hand, then with the other.“It’s o’ no use,” he said in a low, hoarse voice; “we shan’t get rid o’ that chap till he has had his wicked way of us.”I was puzzled by Gunson’s acts, but all the same, I could not help laughing at Esau’s comically dismal manner.“Why, what idea have you got in your head now?” I cried.“Him!” whispered Esau, in a tragic way. “I don’t quite see through it all, but I do through some of it. Look here, Mr Gordon, sir, you mark my words, he’s one of that gang we met at ’Frisco, only he plays the respectable game. He’d got me into their hands, and had me robbed, and then he was going to rob you, only I turned up just in time to save you.”“Look here, Esau,” I said angrily; “if you talk any more nonsense like that I’ll kick you.”“All right: kick away,” he said—“I won’t mind; but I’m not going to see you served as I was without saying a word.”“What you said was ridiculous.”“It was ridiklus for me to be served as I was, p’r’aps, but never mind; you’ll see.”“I tell you what you say is absurd.”“Very well, then, you have a say, and tell me what he means by hanging on to us as he does.”“I cannot explain it, of course. How can I tell what Gunson means? All I know is, that it’s better to have a man with us who seems to know something about the country.”“Ah, but does he?” said Esau, with a cunning look. “I don’t believe he knows anything about it. He’s been cramming us full of stories about dangers and stuff to frighten us. You’ll see it won’t be half so bad as you say. Hullo! what’s the matter?”For at that moment there arose a curious yelling sound which sent a chill through me.“We’ve run down a boat,” I said excitedly, “and the people are drowning.”I ran toward the bows of the little panting and snorting steamer, where those on board were gathered in a knot, and just then the skipper shouted an order, the clank of the engine ceased, and I caught sight of a curious-looking canoe that had come out from one of the islands which dotted the channel, and had been paddled across our course.“Is any one drowned?” I said to Gunson excitedly.“Drowned? no. Only going to take a passenger on board.”By this time I was looking over the side at the occupants of the canoe, which was formed of skins stretched over a framework, and was now being paddled up close alongside. Then one of the men in her caught the rope thrown to him, and held on while a little yellow-complexioned boy, as he seemed to me, dressed in a blue cotton pinafore and trousers, and wearing a flat, black skull-cap, made of rolls of some material joined together, suddenly stood up and threw a small bundle on board, after which he scrambled over the side himself, nodding and smiling to all around. The rope was loosened by the man in the boat, the paddle-wheels began to beat the water again, and I watched the canoe as it rapidly fell astern.“Well, what do you think of the Indians?” said Gunson, coming to where I stood.“Were those Indians?”“Yes; three siwashes and a klootchman, as they call themselves—three men and a woman.”I began to regret that I had not taken more notice of them, and seeing how I leaned over to get another glimpse, Gunson continued—“Oh, you’ll meet plenty more. But you see how civilised they are getting, carrying passengers aboard. I did not expect to find him here.”“Do you know that boy then in the blue blouse?” I said wonderingly.“Oh yes, I know him. I used to see a good deal of him right away yonder in the south; and now I see that he is getting naturalised here. Come up from ’Frisco, I suppose.”“But you don’t mean that you know that particular boy?”“Oh no. I was speaking of him as a class. He must have an object in coming across here.”Gunson said this in a thoughtful way that I did not understand then; and as he saw that I was watching him curiously, he drew my attention to the mainland, towards which we were gliding.“There,” he said, “you’ll soon be able to say goodbye to the sea. It will be canoes and legs for the rest of your journey.”“Legs,” I said laughing; “I don’t think we could manage a canoe.”“No; but it would be wise to get your boxes as far up the country as you can, and that can only be by means of the Indians and one of their canoes.”“But you would have to pay them.”“Of course.”“And would it be safe to trust them?”“We shall see, my lad. But patience. They ought to have called this place New England. What a country and a climate for a man who could be content to settle down to a ranch and farm. There,” he continued, “I dare say you two want to have a chat. I shall be aft there if you wish to say anything to me.”He was quite right. Esau was waiting to come up and talk, pointing out distant mountains, the islands we were passing, and the appearance of the land we were approaching, a place all mystery and interest to us now.“I say,” he cried, “I’ve been talking to one of the men aboard here, and he says it will be easy enough to find Fort Elk; that we’ve only got to keep to the side of the river, and we shall be sure to get there some time.”“Some time?” I said rather dismally. “When is that?”“Oh, there’s no hurry,” cried Esau, enthusiastically. “It will be rare good fun going along by the river, and through the woods, with no one to interfere with you, and order you to copy this or write out that. But let’s get away from old Gunson as soon as we can.”“You want boy?” said a mild, insinuating voice, and the little fellow in blue stood by us with his head on one side, and his black, currant-like eyes twinkling in his yellow face. The black close cap which he had seemed to wear had disappeared, for it had only been his curled-up pigtail, which now hung down his back nearly to his heels. “You want boy?” he said again.He was so close to us now that I could see, in spite of his being only about the stature of a lad of thirteen, that he must be a man of thirty at least, and in spite of his quaint aspect, there was something pleasant and good-humoured about his countenance that was attractive.“Want a boy?” said Esau, rather roughly. “He’s got one. Can’t you see him? Me!”The Chinaman nodded and smiled at Esau, as if he admired his fresh-coloured smooth face and curly fair hair. Then showing his teeth a little, he went on—“Me speak ploper Inglis allee same Melican man. Velly stlong. Washee. Cally big pack allee over countly. Cookee. Velly good cookee. Make nicee blead. Hot fire, plenty tea.”“No,” I said, smiling at his earnestness. “We don’t want a servant.”“Yes; want boy. Quong. Me Quong, talk ploper Inglis. No talkee pidgin.”“Get out!” cried Esau. “Who ever heard of talking pigeon! You mean a parrot.”“Hey? Pallot. Yes, talkee pallot—pletty polly what o’clock?”“Yes, that’s right!” cried Esau.“Quong talk ploper Inglis. Allee same Melican man. No talkee pidgin, no talkee pallot. Quong come along cally big pack. Cookee. Washee clean do.”“But we don’t want you,” I said.“No wantee Quong? Hey?”“No.”“Ah.”He nodded as good-humouredly as if we had engaged him to cook and wash for us, and as we stood there leaning over the side of the puffing little steamer, we saw him go from one to another, and amongst them to Gunson. But he was everywhere received with a shake of the head, and at last, apparently in no wise discouraged, he sat down forward on the deck, took his little bundle on his knees, and curled up his tail again.They were a curious lot of people on board, and I was dividing my time between watching the panorama of hills and mountains that seemed to rise up out of the sea, and trying to make out what the people might be by whom I was surrounded, thinking that one or two must be Englishmen, others Americans, and some people who had settled down in the country to which we were going, when a big, roughly-bearded fellow, who was very loud and noisy in his conversation, suddenly burst into a roar of laughter, and gave his leg a slap, while some of the men about him joined in his mirth.For some minutes I could not make out what was the object which attracted them, but Esau was quicker, and gave me a nudge with his elbow.“They’re going to play some games,” he said; and I grasped directly what it meant, for the big fellow went quietly up behind the little Chinaman, and with a clever twitch unfastened the pin, or whatever it was which held up the coil, and the long tail untwisted and rolled down on the deck amidst a roar of laughter—one which increased as the Chinaman turned to see who had played the trick, but only to find the man standing near with his back toward him, apparently talking thoughtfully.“You pullee?” said the Chinaman good-humouredly.“What?” came back in a voice of thunder.“You pullee tail?”The man gave him a furious scowl, and uttered a low growl like that of some savage beast, while the little Chinaman slunk toward the bulwark, and began to coil up hisqueueonce more, after which he bent forward over his bundle, his eyes half closed, and evidently thinking so deeply, that he was quite ignorant of what was passing around. Perhaps he was wondering where he would be able to sleep that night, perhaps of how he was to obtain work. At any rate he was too much occupied with his thoughts to notice that the big fellow was slowly edging his way toward him.“They are going to play some trick, Esau,” I said softly. “What a shame it seems.”“Yes; look. That other chap’s going to help him.”“But it’s too bad.”“Yes; lots of things are too bad; but it ain’t our business, and if we interfere we shall get into trouble.”I heard my companion’s words, but they did not make any impression on me, for I was too deeply intent upon what was taking place before me. There was the little Chinaman bent forward, blinking and apparently half asleep, and there on either side were the men, evidently about to disturb him in some way or another.All at once, after exchanging glances with the others, I saw the big fellow place his foot just under the Chinaman, and give him a lift which sent him up against the other man, who roared out angrily.“Where are you coming to, you yellow-eyed, waggle-headed mandarin?” he cried; and he gave the poor fellow two or three cuffs and a rude push, which sent him staggering against his first disturber, who turned upon him furiously in turn, and cuffed him back to the other.“Why, it’s like playing shuttlecock and battledore,” said Esau grimly. “If they served me so I should kick.”But the little Chinaman did not resist in the slightest degree; he only bore the buffeting patiently till such time as he could rescue his bundle, and escape to the other side of the deck, where, as if he were accustomed to such treatment, he shook himself, pulled down his blouse, and, amidst the roars of laughter that had arisen, he placed his bundle on the bulwark, and folding his arms upon it, leaned there gazing out to sea.“I do hate to see big chaps bullying little ones,” said Esau in a whisper, as I stood hoping that the horse-play was at an end, for I shared Esau’s dislike to that kind of tyranny; and though the little Celestial was nothing to me whatever, I felt hot and angry at what had been going on, and wondered why Gunson, a strong, a powerful man, had stood there smoking without interfering in the least.But my hope of the horse-play being at an end was not gratified, for a few minutes after I saw the two men whisper together, and the big fellow took out his knife and tried the edge.“Hullo!” whispered Esau, “he ain’t going to cut his head off, is he?”I did not answer, though I seemed to divine what was about to take place, and the blood flushed into my cheeks with the annoyance I felt.My ideas were quite correct, for directly after the second of the two men lounged up quietly behind the Chinaman, and before he was aware of it, he too cleverly undid the tail, but kept hold of it and drew it away tight.“Hallo!” he shouted, so as to be heard above the roars of laughter which arose, “why what’s all this ere?”The little fellow put up his hands to his head, and bent down, calling out piteously, while the big passenger took a step or two forward with the open knife hidden in his hand. Then clapping his left on the Chinaman’s head, he thrust it forward, so that the tail was held out tightly, and in another moment it would have been cut off close to the head, if in my excitement I had not suddenly made a leap forward, planting my hands on the man’s chest, and with such good effect consequent upon my weight being entirely unexpected, that he staggered back some yards, and then came down heavily in a sitting position on the deck.I was as much astonished at the result as he was, and as there was a roar of laughter from all on deck, he sat there staring at me and I at him, till I could find words to say indignantly—“Let the poor fellow be. It’s a shame!”The next minute the man sprang up, and Quong, as he called himself, cowered behind me, the other having in his astonishment loosened the poor fellow’s tail and set him free.“Why, you young cockerel,” roared the big fellow, striding up to me, and bringing his left hand down heavily upon my shoulder. “Not to cut off that yallow scoundrel’s tail, arn’t I?”“No,” I cried stoutly, though I felt anything but brave; “let him alone.”“Will I? Look here, I’m going to have off that tail; and just to give you a lesson, I’m going to try the edge o’ my knife first on one of your ears.”I wrested myself away, but he was as quick as I was, and had me again directly, holding the knife in a threatening way as if he really intended to fulfil his threat.“Get hold of the knife, Esau,” I shouted; but it was not his hand and arm which interposed, for Gunson forced himself between us, thrusting me right away, as he said quietly—“Let the boy alone.”“Let the boy alone!” cried the big fellow, fiercely. “No, I shan’t let the boy alone. What do you mean by interfering? Who are you?”“Like yourself, man—an Englishman.”“And a precious ugly one too. Here, I don’t want to hurt you, so be off and lie down.”He strode on one side, and then made at me, driving me to bay against the bulwark.“Now then,” he cried, with an ugly laugh, which did not conceal his rage, “I’ve got you again, have I?”“No,” said Gunson quietly, as he took him by the collar and swung him round, so that he staggered away; but he recovered himself and made at my protector. “Keep back! the boy is a friend of mine, and I will not have him touched.”“Friend of yours, is he? Oh, then you want to fight, do you?”“No,” said Gunson, standing firmly before him, “I don’t want to fight, neither do you, so go your way, and we’ll go ours.”“After a bit, my lad,” cried the man, fiercely. “This isn’t England, but a country where a man can fight if he likes, so clear the course, some of you, and let’s see who’s best shot.”He thrust his hand behind him, and pulled a revolver from his hip-pocket, cocking it as he spoke.“Now then, out with your own,” he cried.But Gunson seized the man’s wrist instead, gave it a wrench round, there was a sharp report, and the pistol fell heavily on the deck, and was secured by one of the sailors.“Give him a hug, mate,” cried the man who had joined in the attack upon the Chinaman.“That’s what I’m just going to do, my lad,” said the big fellow in hoarse, angry tones. “He’s got hold of the wrong pig by the ear this time;” and to my horror he drew back a little, and then suddenly darted his body forward and locked Gunson in his arms.I had often heard tell of and read accounts about wrestling, but this was the first time I had ever witnessed an encounter in the old English sport, if sport it could be called, where two strong men, one far bigger and heavier than the other, swayed to and fro, heaving, straining, and doing all they could to throw one another.There was a dead silence on the deck, and passengers, skipper, and sailors all bent forward, eagerly watching the encounter, but not one with such earnestness as I, who fully expected to see Gunson flung heavily. But no: he was raised again and again from the deck, but he always recovered his feet, and twined and swayed here and there in a way that completely baffled his powerful adversary.All this took a very short time, but as I watched I was able to see that Gunson seemed to grow cooler as the struggle went on, while his opponent became more enraged.The excitement was now intense, and I felt my heart beat heavily as I momentarily expected to see my defender dashed down insensible, while a feeling of rage at my own helplessness made my position more painful. For it was this: I could do nothing, and no man present made the slightest movement either to help or separate the combatants. Then, too, I felt that it was my fault for behaving as I did, yet I could hardly feel regret for my interference.And while thoughts like these coursed rapidly through my mind, I too was watching the struggling pair, who swayed here and there, and once struck so violently against the bulwark that I gave a sudden gasp as I expected that they would both go overboard together. But no; they struggled back again to the middle of the deck, Gunson seeming quite helpless, and offering scarcely any resistance, save when his opponent lifted or tried to throw him, when he suddenly became quick as light almost in his effort to recover himself. And all the while an excited murmur went on among those crowded together to see the weaker fall. There was no doubt as to which it would be, and one of my great dreads was lest Gunson should not only be beaten but seriously hurt.At last the struggle seemed to be coming to an end. The big fellow swung my champion round and round, and lifted him again and again, just as he seemed to please, but could never unloosen the tight grip of Gunson’s hands.“Now, Gully lad,” cried the second man, “down with him.”These words seemed to act as a spur to the wrestler, and I saw his face of a deep angry red as he put all his force now into a final effort to crushthe active man who clung so tenaciously to him. They had struggled now so far aft that another step would have brought them in contact with the man at the wheel; but Gunson gave himself a wrench, swung round, and as he reversed his position the big Englishman forced him a little backward, bearing right over him as it seemed to me; while the next moment, to my intense astonishment, I saw Gunson now lift the great fellow from the deck and literally throw him over his shoulder, to come down on the planks with quite a crash. There was a curious cry of astonishment from the group of spectators, in the midst of which the second man stepped to his companion’s side.“Get up, my lad,” he cried. “Did he play foul?”But there was no reply. The great fellow lay on the deck as if dead, and when his companion raised his head it went heavily down again.“Here, I can’t stand this,” roared the fallen man’s companion. “You played foul—you played foul;” and he rushed at Gunson and seized him, the latter only just having time to secure a good grip of the attacking party.There was a fresh murmur of excitement, followed by a roar, as, apparently without effort, Gunson threw his new opponent upon his back.“Was that foul?” cried Gunson, as he stood over him; but the man made no answer. He only got up slowly.“Here, I want to help my mate,” he said surlily; and there was a burst of laughter, for the first fall had taken all desire out of him to try another.By this time the big fellow—Gully—gave signs of returning consciousness, and sat up slowly to look about him, gently stroking his head, and accepting the offer of a couple of hands as he rose to his legs, and suffered himself to be led forward, while I turned my eyes now to where Gunson was putting on his jacket.“Are you hurt?” I said.“No; only a bit strained, my lad. It was like wrestling with an elephant. I was obliged to let him have his own way till he grew tired, and then that old Cornish fall was too much for him.”“I’m very sorry,” I said humbly. “It was all my fault.”“Yes,” he said, laughing. “We ought to go different ways now. I can’t spend my time and strength in fighting your battles. There, I am going to see for a bucket of water and a wash.”He went forward with one of the sailors, while as I turned, it was to see the Chinaman looking at me in a curious way. But just then Esau came between us.“What did he say?” he whispered; “that we were going different ways now?”“Yes,” I replied; “but I don’t think he meant it. I hope not. Why, Esau, what should we have done twice without him?”“Well, he can fight and wrastle,” said Esau. “It was quite wonderful to see how he upset those two. And that’s what I don’t like, because if he’s so strong with those two big fellows, and can do just what he likes with them, what chance should we have?”
Gunson left us then, as if on purpose to give us an opportunity to talk about him; and as soon as he was out of hearing, Esau began by wiping the perspiration from his forehead with the back of first one hand, then with the other.
“It’s o’ no use,” he said in a low, hoarse voice; “we shan’t get rid o’ that chap till he has had his wicked way of us.”
I was puzzled by Gunson’s acts, but all the same, I could not help laughing at Esau’s comically dismal manner.
“Why, what idea have you got in your head now?” I cried.
“Him!” whispered Esau, in a tragic way. “I don’t quite see through it all, but I do through some of it. Look here, Mr Gordon, sir, you mark my words, he’s one of that gang we met at ’Frisco, only he plays the respectable game. He’d got me into their hands, and had me robbed, and then he was going to rob you, only I turned up just in time to save you.”
“Look here, Esau,” I said angrily; “if you talk any more nonsense like that I’ll kick you.”
“All right: kick away,” he said—“I won’t mind; but I’m not going to see you served as I was without saying a word.”
“What you said was ridiculous.”
“It was ridiklus for me to be served as I was, p’r’aps, but never mind; you’ll see.”
“I tell you what you say is absurd.”
“Very well, then, you have a say, and tell me what he means by hanging on to us as he does.”
“I cannot explain it, of course. How can I tell what Gunson means? All I know is, that it’s better to have a man with us who seems to know something about the country.”
“Ah, but does he?” said Esau, with a cunning look. “I don’t believe he knows anything about it. He’s been cramming us full of stories about dangers and stuff to frighten us. You’ll see it won’t be half so bad as you say. Hullo! what’s the matter?”
For at that moment there arose a curious yelling sound which sent a chill through me.
“We’ve run down a boat,” I said excitedly, “and the people are drowning.”
I ran toward the bows of the little panting and snorting steamer, where those on board were gathered in a knot, and just then the skipper shouted an order, the clank of the engine ceased, and I caught sight of a curious-looking canoe that had come out from one of the islands which dotted the channel, and had been paddled across our course.
“Is any one drowned?” I said to Gunson excitedly.
“Drowned? no. Only going to take a passenger on board.”
By this time I was looking over the side at the occupants of the canoe, which was formed of skins stretched over a framework, and was now being paddled up close alongside. Then one of the men in her caught the rope thrown to him, and held on while a little yellow-complexioned boy, as he seemed to me, dressed in a blue cotton pinafore and trousers, and wearing a flat, black skull-cap, made of rolls of some material joined together, suddenly stood up and threw a small bundle on board, after which he scrambled over the side himself, nodding and smiling to all around. The rope was loosened by the man in the boat, the paddle-wheels began to beat the water again, and I watched the canoe as it rapidly fell astern.
“Well, what do you think of the Indians?” said Gunson, coming to where I stood.
“Were those Indians?”
“Yes; three siwashes and a klootchman, as they call themselves—three men and a woman.”
I began to regret that I had not taken more notice of them, and seeing how I leaned over to get another glimpse, Gunson continued—
“Oh, you’ll meet plenty more. But you see how civilised they are getting, carrying passengers aboard. I did not expect to find him here.”
“Do you know that boy then in the blue blouse?” I said wonderingly.
“Oh yes, I know him. I used to see a good deal of him right away yonder in the south; and now I see that he is getting naturalised here. Come up from ’Frisco, I suppose.”
“But you don’t mean that you know that particular boy?”
“Oh no. I was speaking of him as a class. He must have an object in coming across here.”
Gunson said this in a thoughtful way that I did not understand then; and as he saw that I was watching him curiously, he drew my attention to the mainland, towards which we were gliding.
“There,” he said, “you’ll soon be able to say goodbye to the sea. It will be canoes and legs for the rest of your journey.”
“Legs,” I said laughing; “I don’t think we could manage a canoe.”
“No; but it would be wise to get your boxes as far up the country as you can, and that can only be by means of the Indians and one of their canoes.”
“But you would have to pay them.”
“Of course.”
“And would it be safe to trust them?”
“We shall see, my lad. But patience. They ought to have called this place New England. What a country and a climate for a man who could be content to settle down to a ranch and farm. There,” he continued, “I dare say you two want to have a chat. I shall be aft there if you wish to say anything to me.”
He was quite right. Esau was waiting to come up and talk, pointing out distant mountains, the islands we were passing, and the appearance of the land we were approaching, a place all mystery and interest to us now.
“I say,” he cried, “I’ve been talking to one of the men aboard here, and he says it will be easy enough to find Fort Elk; that we’ve only got to keep to the side of the river, and we shall be sure to get there some time.”
“Some time?” I said rather dismally. “When is that?”
“Oh, there’s no hurry,” cried Esau, enthusiastically. “It will be rare good fun going along by the river, and through the woods, with no one to interfere with you, and order you to copy this or write out that. But let’s get away from old Gunson as soon as we can.”
“You want boy?” said a mild, insinuating voice, and the little fellow in blue stood by us with his head on one side, and his black, currant-like eyes twinkling in his yellow face. The black close cap which he had seemed to wear had disappeared, for it had only been his curled-up pigtail, which now hung down his back nearly to his heels. “You want boy?” he said again.
He was so close to us now that I could see, in spite of his being only about the stature of a lad of thirteen, that he must be a man of thirty at least, and in spite of his quaint aspect, there was something pleasant and good-humoured about his countenance that was attractive.
“Want a boy?” said Esau, rather roughly. “He’s got one. Can’t you see him? Me!”
The Chinaman nodded and smiled at Esau, as if he admired his fresh-coloured smooth face and curly fair hair. Then showing his teeth a little, he went on—
“Me speak ploper Inglis allee same Melican man. Velly stlong. Washee. Cally big pack allee over countly. Cookee. Velly good cookee. Make nicee blead. Hot fire, plenty tea.”
“No,” I said, smiling at his earnestness. “We don’t want a servant.”
“Yes; want boy. Quong. Me Quong, talk ploper Inglis. No talkee pidgin.”
“Get out!” cried Esau. “Who ever heard of talking pigeon! You mean a parrot.”
“Hey? Pallot. Yes, talkee pallot—pletty polly what o’clock?”
“Yes, that’s right!” cried Esau.
“Quong talk ploper Inglis. Allee same Melican man. No talkee pidgin, no talkee pallot. Quong come along cally big pack. Cookee. Washee clean do.”
“But we don’t want you,” I said.
“No wantee Quong? Hey?”
“No.”
“Ah.”
He nodded as good-humouredly as if we had engaged him to cook and wash for us, and as we stood there leaning over the side of the puffing little steamer, we saw him go from one to another, and amongst them to Gunson. But he was everywhere received with a shake of the head, and at last, apparently in no wise discouraged, he sat down forward on the deck, took his little bundle on his knees, and curled up his tail again.
They were a curious lot of people on board, and I was dividing my time between watching the panorama of hills and mountains that seemed to rise up out of the sea, and trying to make out what the people might be by whom I was surrounded, thinking that one or two must be Englishmen, others Americans, and some people who had settled down in the country to which we were going, when a big, roughly-bearded fellow, who was very loud and noisy in his conversation, suddenly burst into a roar of laughter, and gave his leg a slap, while some of the men about him joined in his mirth.
For some minutes I could not make out what was the object which attracted them, but Esau was quicker, and gave me a nudge with his elbow.
“They’re going to play some games,” he said; and I grasped directly what it meant, for the big fellow went quietly up behind the little Chinaman, and with a clever twitch unfastened the pin, or whatever it was which held up the coil, and the long tail untwisted and rolled down on the deck amidst a roar of laughter—one which increased as the Chinaman turned to see who had played the trick, but only to find the man standing near with his back toward him, apparently talking thoughtfully.
“You pullee?” said the Chinaman good-humouredly.
“What?” came back in a voice of thunder.
“You pullee tail?”
The man gave him a furious scowl, and uttered a low growl like that of some savage beast, while the little Chinaman slunk toward the bulwark, and began to coil up hisqueueonce more, after which he bent forward over his bundle, his eyes half closed, and evidently thinking so deeply, that he was quite ignorant of what was passing around. Perhaps he was wondering where he would be able to sleep that night, perhaps of how he was to obtain work. At any rate he was too much occupied with his thoughts to notice that the big fellow was slowly edging his way toward him.
“They are going to play some trick, Esau,” I said softly. “What a shame it seems.”
“Yes; look. That other chap’s going to help him.”
“But it’s too bad.”
“Yes; lots of things are too bad; but it ain’t our business, and if we interfere we shall get into trouble.”
I heard my companion’s words, but they did not make any impression on me, for I was too deeply intent upon what was taking place before me. There was the little Chinaman bent forward, blinking and apparently half asleep, and there on either side were the men, evidently about to disturb him in some way or another.
All at once, after exchanging glances with the others, I saw the big fellow place his foot just under the Chinaman, and give him a lift which sent him up against the other man, who roared out angrily.
“Where are you coming to, you yellow-eyed, waggle-headed mandarin?” he cried; and he gave the poor fellow two or three cuffs and a rude push, which sent him staggering against his first disturber, who turned upon him furiously in turn, and cuffed him back to the other.
“Why, it’s like playing shuttlecock and battledore,” said Esau grimly. “If they served me so I should kick.”
But the little Chinaman did not resist in the slightest degree; he only bore the buffeting patiently till such time as he could rescue his bundle, and escape to the other side of the deck, where, as if he were accustomed to such treatment, he shook himself, pulled down his blouse, and, amidst the roars of laughter that had arisen, he placed his bundle on the bulwark, and folding his arms upon it, leaned there gazing out to sea.
“I do hate to see big chaps bullying little ones,” said Esau in a whisper, as I stood hoping that the horse-play was at an end, for I shared Esau’s dislike to that kind of tyranny; and though the little Celestial was nothing to me whatever, I felt hot and angry at what had been going on, and wondered why Gunson, a strong, a powerful man, had stood there smoking without interfering in the least.
But my hope of the horse-play being at an end was not gratified, for a few minutes after I saw the two men whisper together, and the big fellow took out his knife and tried the edge.
“Hullo!” whispered Esau, “he ain’t going to cut his head off, is he?”
I did not answer, though I seemed to divine what was about to take place, and the blood flushed into my cheeks with the annoyance I felt.
My ideas were quite correct, for directly after the second of the two men lounged up quietly behind the Chinaman, and before he was aware of it, he too cleverly undid the tail, but kept hold of it and drew it away tight.
“Hallo!” he shouted, so as to be heard above the roars of laughter which arose, “why what’s all this ere?”
The little fellow put up his hands to his head, and bent down, calling out piteously, while the big passenger took a step or two forward with the open knife hidden in his hand. Then clapping his left on the Chinaman’s head, he thrust it forward, so that the tail was held out tightly, and in another moment it would have been cut off close to the head, if in my excitement I had not suddenly made a leap forward, planting my hands on the man’s chest, and with such good effect consequent upon my weight being entirely unexpected, that he staggered back some yards, and then came down heavily in a sitting position on the deck.
I was as much astonished at the result as he was, and as there was a roar of laughter from all on deck, he sat there staring at me and I at him, till I could find words to say indignantly—
“Let the poor fellow be. It’s a shame!”
The next minute the man sprang up, and Quong, as he called himself, cowered behind me, the other having in his astonishment loosened the poor fellow’s tail and set him free.
“Why, you young cockerel,” roared the big fellow, striding up to me, and bringing his left hand down heavily upon my shoulder. “Not to cut off that yallow scoundrel’s tail, arn’t I?”
“No,” I cried stoutly, though I felt anything but brave; “let him alone.”
“Will I? Look here, I’m going to have off that tail; and just to give you a lesson, I’m going to try the edge o’ my knife first on one of your ears.”
I wrested myself away, but he was as quick as I was, and had me again directly, holding the knife in a threatening way as if he really intended to fulfil his threat.
“Get hold of the knife, Esau,” I shouted; but it was not his hand and arm which interposed, for Gunson forced himself between us, thrusting me right away, as he said quietly—
“Let the boy alone.”
“Let the boy alone!” cried the big fellow, fiercely. “No, I shan’t let the boy alone. What do you mean by interfering? Who are you?”
“Like yourself, man—an Englishman.”
“And a precious ugly one too. Here, I don’t want to hurt you, so be off and lie down.”
He strode on one side, and then made at me, driving me to bay against the bulwark.
“Now then,” he cried, with an ugly laugh, which did not conceal his rage, “I’ve got you again, have I?”
“No,” said Gunson quietly, as he took him by the collar and swung him round, so that he staggered away; but he recovered himself and made at my protector. “Keep back! the boy is a friend of mine, and I will not have him touched.”
“Friend of yours, is he? Oh, then you want to fight, do you?”
“No,” said Gunson, standing firmly before him, “I don’t want to fight, neither do you, so go your way, and we’ll go ours.”
“After a bit, my lad,” cried the man, fiercely. “This isn’t England, but a country where a man can fight if he likes, so clear the course, some of you, and let’s see who’s best shot.”
He thrust his hand behind him, and pulled a revolver from his hip-pocket, cocking it as he spoke.
“Now then, out with your own,” he cried.
But Gunson seized the man’s wrist instead, gave it a wrench round, there was a sharp report, and the pistol fell heavily on the deck, and was secured by one of the sailors.
“Give him a hug, mate,” cried the man who had joined in the attack upon the Chinaman.
“That’s what I’m just going to do, my lad,” said the big fellow in hoarse, angry tones. “He’s got hold of the wrong pig by the ear this time;” and to my horror he drew back a little, and then suddenly darted his body forward and locked Gunson in his arms.
I had often heard tell of and read accounts about wrestling, but this was the first time I had ever witnessed an encounter in the old English sport, if sport it could be called, where two strong men, one far bigger and heavier than the other, swayed to and fro, heaving, straining, and doing all they could to throw one another.
There was a dead silence on the deck, and passengers, skipper, and sailors all bent forward, eagerly watching the encounter, but not one with such earnestness as I, who fully expected to see Gunson flung heavily. But no: he was raised again and again from the deck, but he always recovered his feet, and twined and swayed here and there in a way that completely baffled his powerful adversary.
All this took a very short time, but as I watched I was able to see that Gunson seemed to grow cooler as the struggle went on, while his opponent became more enraged.
The excitement was now intense, and I felt my heart beat heavily as I momentarily expected to see my defender dashed down insensible, while a feeling of rage at my own helplessness made my position more painful. For it was this: I could do nothing, and no man present made the slightest movement either to help or separate the combatants. Then, too, I felt that it was my fault for behaving as I did, yet I could hardly feel regret for my interference.
And while thoughts like these coursed rapidly through my mind, I too was watching the struggling pair, who swayed here and there, and once struck so violently against the bulwark that I gave a sudden gasp as I expected that they would both go overboard together. But no; they struggled back again to the middle of the deck, Gunson seeming quite helpless, and offering scarcely any resistance, save when his opponent lifted or tried to throw him, when he suddenly became quick as light almost in his effort to recover himself. And all the while an excited murmur went on among those crowded together to see the weaker fall. There was no doubt as to which it would be, and one of my great dreads was lest Gunson should not only be beaten but seriously hurt.
At last the struggle seemed to be coming to an end. The big fellow swung my champion round and round, and lifted him again and again, just as he seemed to please, but could never unloosen the tight grip of Gunson’s hands.
“Now, Gully lad,” cried the second man, “down with him.”
These words seemed to act as a spur to the wrestler, and I saw his face of a deep angry red as he put all his force now into a final effort to crushthe active man who clung so tenaciously to him. They had struggled now so far aft that another step would have brought them in contact with the man at the wheel; but Gunson gave himself a wrench, swung round, and as he reversed his position the big Englishman forced him a little backward, bearing right over him as it seemed to me; while the next moment, to my intense astonishment, I saw Gunson now lift the great fellow from the deck and literally throw him over his shoulder, to come down on the planks with quite a crash. There was a curious cry of astonishment from the group of spectators, in the midst of which the second man stepped to his companion’s side.
“Get up, my lad,” he cried. “Did he play foul?”
But there was no reply. The great fellow lay on the deck as if dead, and when his companion raised his head it went heavily down again.
“Here, I can’t stand this,” roared the fallen man’s companion. “You played foul—you played foul;” and he rushed at Gunson and seized him, the latter only just having time to secure a good grip of the attacking party.
There was a fresh murmur of excitement, followed by a roar, as, apparently without effort, Gunson threw his new opponent upon his back.
“Was that foul?” cried Gunson, as he stood over him; but the man made no answer. He only got up slowly.
“Here, I want to help my mate,” he said surlily; and there was a burst of laughter, for the first fall had taken all desire out of him to try another.
By this time the big fellow—Gully—gave signs of returning consciousness, and sat up slowly to look about him, gently stroking his head, and accepting the offer of a couple of hands as he rose to his legs, and suffered himself to be led forward, while I turned my eyes now to where Gunson was putting on his jacket.
“Are you hurt?” I said.
“No; only a bit strained, my lad. It was like wrestling with an elephant. I was obliged to let him have his own way till he grew tired, and then that old Cornish fall was too much for him.”
“I’m very sorry,” I said humbly. “It was all my fault.”
“Yes,” he said, laughing. “We ought to go different ways now. I can’t spend my time and strength in fighting your battles. There, I am going to see for a bucket of water and a wash.”
He went forward with one of the sailors, while as I turned, it was to see the Chinaman looking at me in a curious way. But just then Esau came between us.
“What did he say?” he whispered; “that we were going different ways now?”
“Yes,” I replied; “but I don’t think he meant it. I hope not. Why, Esau, what should we have done twice without him?”
“Well, he can fight and wrastle,” said Esau. “It was quite wonderful to see how he upset those two. And that’s what I don’t like, because if he’s so strong with those two big fellows, and can do just what he likes with them, what chance should we have?”
Chapter Twenty.A strange Hotel.We landed at a rough wharf at the mouth of the wide river, where a few shanties and a plank warehouse stood just in front of a forest of pine-trees, the stumps, five or six feet high, of many that had been cut down to make room for the tiny settlement, still standing up and forming a graceful curve all round from the ground to the place where the marks of the axe still looked white and yellowish red.Our chests were carried out on to the shaky platform in front of the shanties, one of which was dignified by the title of hotel, and to Esau’s great disgust, Gunson’s two chests and a long wooden case were set down close to them. Then three men who had been passengers landed, and lastly the little Chinaman, who had hung back for some time, till the steamer was about to start again, sprang quickly on to the wharf, with his luggage hanging to one crooked finger. His movements were quickened by the big fellow Gully, who, as soon as he caught sight of him, made a rush and then leaned over the gangway, uttering a roar like that of some huge beast of prey. This done he shouted to us.“Wait a bit,” he said. “We shall run again one another some day. Then we’ll all have another grip—”“With all my heart,” said Gunson, in a loud voice; “but I should have thought you had had enough of my manners and custom’s.”We stood waiting till the boat had gone some distance, and then, as the three men who had landed had disappeared, and the Chinaman was seated on a log at a short distance from where we stood, I turned to Gunson.“Where does the town lie?” I asked.“What town?” he said, smiling.“The one at the mouth of the river.”“Oh, there is one over yonder,” he said, “but it is not much better than this, and as this was the handiest for you, I thought you had better stop here.”I had often felt low-spirited since leaving England, but that evening, with the last glow of the sun fast dying out over the ocean, the huge wall of enormous trees behind, and the gliding river in front, and nothing but a few roughly-built boarded houses in sight, my spirits seemed to sink far lower than they had ever been before.I glanced at Esau, and he looked gloomy in the extreme. But I tried to put a good face on the matter, as I said to him—“One of us had better go and see if these people will give us a night’s lodging.”“You may take that for granted,” said Gunson. “Take hold of one end of my chest here, and let’s get it under cover.”I saw Esau frown, and I knew that as soon as we were alone he would protest against our being ordered about. But I did not hesitate, helping Gunson to get his two chests and packing-case into the house, when he frankly enough came and helped in with ours.The people did not seem disposed to be very friendly; but rough as the shed-like house was, everything seemed clean, and they were ready to supply us with some cake-like, heavy bread, and a glowing fire composed of pine-roots and great wedge-like chips, evidently the result of cutting down trees.“Rather rough, Squire Gordon,” said Gunson, with a laugh, as he saw me sitting disconsolate and tired on the end of my chest; “but you’ll have it worse than this. What do you say to camping out in the forest with no cover but a blanket, and the rain coming down in sheets? you’d think this a palace then.”“I was not complaining,” I said, trying to be brisk.“Not with your lips, my lad, but you looked as if you’d give anything to be back in London.”“Oh, we ain’t such cowards as that,” said Esau shortly.At that moment the wife of the settler, who called himself in red letters a hotel-keeper, came toward us with a large tin pot like a saucepan with a loose wire cross handle.“Here’s a kettle,” she said, in rather an ill-used tone; “and there’s a tub o’ water for drinking outside. Got any tea?”“Yes, thank you,” said Gunson, good-humouredly. “We shall do now.”The woman left us, and Gunson turned to me.“Well, squire,” he said, “what have you got in the commissariat department?”“Some bread and cold ham,” I replied.“Oh, but we must have some hot. I’ve done better than you,” he said, laughing, and taking out of a wallet a piece of raw bacon, which he laid upon the rough board table, and then a tin canister. “Now then, Esau, my lad, let’s see you cut that in slices, while I make some tea ready. Gordon, will you go and fill the kettle half full?”He spoke so briskly and cheerily that I hardly knew the man again, and his words had so good an effect upon me, that I soon had the kettle filled and seated in the midst of the cheery blaze; while Esau was cutting up the bacon, and Gunson was heating and cleaning a bent gridiron, that had been made by binding some pieces of thick wire a little distance apart.“Now then, Dean,” he said, “can you cook that bacon?”Esau laughed scornfully.“Do you hear that?” he said, turning to me. “Why, I’ve cooked bacon and bloaters at home hundreds of times.”“Good!” cried Gunson. “Then you shall cook a bit here. There will not be any bloaters, but as much salmon as you like to grill.”“Salmon?” said Esau, pausing in the act of paring off some bacon rind.“Yes; salmon. The rivers are so full of them here sometimes, that they crowd one another out on to the shore.”Esau gave him a look, and then went on preparing the bacon, afterwards setting it to frizzle over the clear fire.“I must rout up some basins,” said Gunson, rising. “I don’t suppose we shall get any tea-cups and saucers here.”He went out of the rough room, and left us together just as the kettle began to sing, and the bacon to send out an appetising odour.“Well,” said Esau, “that don’t smell bad. Seems to make one feel not quite so mizzable to hear a kettle singing again. I did feel bad a bit back.”“Didn’t you?”“Yes: wretched,” I replied.“And all the more,” continued Esau, “because old Gunson seems to have taken us into custody like, and orders us to do this and do that.”“But—”“Now do letmefinish,” grumbled Esau. “I know what you’re going to say, and I’ll say it for you. You’re allus getting into scrapes, and he’s getting you out of ’em.”“And you?” I said, laughing.“Hah! that’s better,” cried Esau, pouncing on a piece of bacon and turning it over. “I do like to see you laugh a bit; seems to make things cheery. But I say, when is he going his way and going to let us go ours?”“How’s the bacon getting on?” said Gunson, entering, and the rough board door swung to. “Ah, nice and brown, and the kettle close upon the boil. Know how to make tea, Gordon? Not our way in camp I know. Look here.”He turned out nearly a handful out of the common tin canister, waited till the water in the open kettle was bubbling all over, and then threw in the tea, lifted the kettle off, and stood it down.“There,” he said, “that’s camp fashion. The old lady’s going to bring us something to drink it out of;” and as he spoke the settler’s wife brought in two tin pint mugs and a cracked and chipped basin, which she banged roughly on the table.Gunson gave me a peculiar look as the sour woman turned away.“I say, Mrs—I don’t know your name.”“Well, what is it now?” said the woman, in a vinegary tone. “I can’t spend all my time waiting on you.”“My dear madam, no,” said Gunson, in the most gentlemanly way; “I only wanted to say that a cup of good tea in this wilderness is a thing that one may offer a lady, and as that is thoroughly prime China tea that I have brought up from ’Frisco, will you do us the honour of trying a cup?”The change in the woman’s countenance was wonderful. It softened; then there was a smile, and her face looked quite pleasant.“Well, really, that’s very good of you,” she said. “I’ll go and get myself a cup. A drop of good tea is such a treat out here.”She hurried out of the room, and Gunson laughed.“Here, Gordon,” he said, “get out that sugar you’ll find in my bag. We must do it well with company.”I brought forth a tin of sugar and placed it on the table, and Gunson having tidied it a little by throwing the bacon rind away, and spreading the mugs about, we sat listening to the sputtering of the bacon and watching the flickering of the flames, which in the increasing darkness began to gild and tinge the rough boarded walls with red.Just then the woman came back, with two cups, a saucer, and another tin.“I thought I’d bring you a cup to dip with,” she said, “and a drop of milk. A neighbour of ours ten miles up the river has got two cows, and he brings me a little milk when he comes down to buy stores. He was here this morning, so it’s quite fresh.”A few minutes later, and our landlady had finished her cup of tea, which she declared to be “lovely,” while upon a second one being dipped she took it up and carried it off, saying she was too busy to stay.Left alone, we proceeded to discuss our own meal, slices of the cake-like bread forming our plates, and our pocket-knives doing double duty. Great draughts of hot tea washed down the bacon, and scarcely a word was spoken till Esau sighed, and began to wipe and polish his big new knife.“Feel better, my lad?” said Gunson, smiling.“Yes,” said Esau, speaking rather reluctantly. “I am a bit better now.”“A bit? Why, you are like a new lad. Nothing like a good tea meal out in the wilds, my lad, to put life into one. Why I’ve known days when we’ve been ready to break down, or give up, or go back; then we’ve formed camp, got a bit of fire on the way, boiled the kettle with a pinch of tea in it, and eaten our cold bacon and damper, and been fit to do anything after. So are you two. To-morrow morning you’ll be ready to make your start up the river, and this will be like your first lesson in camping out.”“Which way are you going, sir?” said Esau, after a long silence, during which we had been sitting gazing at the fire, but not until there had been a general tidy up of our table.“Nor’-east,” said Gunson, laconically. Then in a very abrupt way, “Now then, you’ve a hard day’s work before you to-morrow, so roll yourselves up in your blankets and go to sleep.”“Where?” I said. “She has not showed us our bedroom.”“No, because this is, as the old song says, ‘parlour and kitchen and hall,’ with sleeping accommodation included. There are plenty of fine spreading spruces outside, though, if you prefer a bed there.”“Oh no,” I said, as I began to realise that our journey now was going to be very rough indeed; and thoroughly appreciating the value of the blanket I had brought, I rolled myself in it, and lay down to think wonderingly of where we should be to-morrow. I knew that I could not go to sleep, but thought it better to obey Gunson in every way while he was with us; and as I lay there, I saw him rise and stand thoughtfully before the fire, while almost directly a sound arose from close by me as if Esau was practising ventriloquism, and wanted to give a good imitation of wood-sawing.This grew so exasperating at last, that I should have kicked him to wake him up if I had not been prevented by my blanket, which was twisted so tightly round my legs that they would not move.“I suppose he must be lying on his back,” I remember thinking; and directly after, as it seemed to me, when I looked at Gunson, whose figure just before stood out big and black before the glowing fire, he was not there.I think I considered it rather strange, but I was under the impression directly after that he had lain down too. Then there was a low, dull, humming sound, which I knew came from the river, and then I was looking up at Gunson, who was standing over me, with the fire lighting him on one side, and the broad, warm glow of the rising sun on the other.
We landed at a rough wharf at the mouth of the wide river, where a few shanties and a plank warehouse stood just in front of a forest of pine-trees, the stumps, five or six feet high, of many that had been cut down to make room for the tiny settlement, still standing up and forming a graceful curve all round from the ground to the place where the marks of the axe still looked white and yellowish red.
Our chests were carried out on to the shaky platform in front of the shanties, one of which was dignified by the title of hotel, and to Esau’s great disgust, Gunson’s two chests and a long wooden case were set down close to them. Then three men who had been passengers landed, and lastly the little Chinaman, who had hung back for some time, till the steamer was about to start again, sprang quickly on to the wharf, with his luggage hanging to one crooked finger. His movements were quickened by the big fellow Gully, who, as soon as he caught sight of him, made a rush and then leaned over the gangway, uttering a roar like that of some huge beast of prey. This done he shouted to us.
“Wait a bit,” he said. “We shall run again one another some day. Then we’ll all have another grip—”
“With all my heart,” said Gunson, in a loud voice; “but I should have thought you had had enough of my manners and custom’s.”
We stood waiting till the boat had gone some distance, and then, as the three men who had landed had disappeared, and the Chinaman was seated on a log at a short distance from where we stood, I turned to Gunson.
“Where does the town lie?” I asked.
“What town?” he said, smiling.
“The one at the mouth of the river.”
“Oh, there is one over yonder,” he said, “but it is not much better than this, and as this was the handiest for you, I thought you had better stop here.”
I had often felt low-spirited since leaving England, but that evening, with the last glow of the sun fast dying out over the ocean, the huge wall of enormous trees behind, and the gliding river in front, and nothing but a few roughly-built boarded houses in sight, my spirits seemed to sink far lower than they had ever been before.
I glanced at Esau, and he looked gloomy in the extreme. But I tried to put a good face on the matter, as I said to him—
“One of us had better go and see if these people will give us a night’s lodging.”
“You may take that for granted,” said Gunson. “Take hold of one end of my chest here, and let’s get it under cover.”
I saw Esau frown, and I knew that as soon as we were alone he would protest against our being ordered about. But I did not hesitate, helping Gunson to get his two chests and packing-case into the house, when he frankly enough came and helped in with ours.
The people did not seem disposed to be very friendly; but rough as the shed-like house was, everything seemed clean, and they were ready to supply us with some cake-like, heavy bread, and a glowing fire composed of pine-roots and great wedge-like chips, evidently the result of cutting down trees.
“Rather rough, Squire Gordon,” said Gunson, with a laugh, as he saw me sitting disconsolate and tired on the end of my chest; “but you’ll have it worse than this. What do you say to camping out in the forest with no cover but a blanket, and the rain coming down in sheets? you’d think this a palace then.”
“I was not complaining,” I said, trying to be brisk.
“Not with your lips, my lad, but you looked as if you’d give anything to be back in London.”
“Oh, we ain’t such cowards as that,” said Esau shortly.
At that moment the wife of the settler, who called himself in red letters a hotel-keeper, came toward us with a large tin pot like a saucepan with a loose wire cross handle.
“Here’s a kettle,” she said, in rather an ill-used tone; “and there’s a tub o’ water for drinking outside. Got any tea?”
“Yes, thank you,” said Gunson, good-humouredly. “We shall do now.”
The woman left us, and Gunson turned to me.
“Well, squire,” he said, “what have you got in the commissariat department?”
“Some bread and cold ham,” I replied.
“Oh, but we must have some hot. I’ve done better than you,” he said, laughing, and taking out of a wallet a piece of raw bacon, which he laid upon the rough board table, and then a tin canister. “Now then, Esau, my lad, let’s see you cut that in slices, while I make some tea ready. Gordon, will you go and fill the kettle half full?”
He spoke so briskly and cheerily that I hardly knew the man again, and his words had so good an effect upon me, that I soon had the kettle filled and seated in the midst of the cheery blaze; while Esau was cutting up the bacon, and Gunson was heating and cleaning a bent gridiron, that had been made by binding some pieces of thick wire a little distance apart.
“Now then, Dean,” he said, “can you cook that bacon?”
Esau laughed scornfully.
“Do you hear that?” he said, turning to me. “Why, I’ve cooked bacon and bloaters at home hundreds of times.”
“Good!” cried Gunson. “Then you shall cook a bit here. There will not be any bloaters, but as much salmon as you like to grill.”
“Salmon?” said Esau, pausing in the act of paring off some bacon rind.
“Yes; salmon. The rivers are so full of them here sometimes, that they crowd one another out on to the shore.”
Esau gave him a look, and then went on preparing the bacon, afterwards setting it to frizzle over the clear fire.
“I must rout up some basins,” said Gunson, rising. “I don’t suppose we shall get any tea-cups and saucers here.”
He went out of the rough room, and left us together just as the kettle began to sing, and the bacon to send out an appetising odour.
“Well,” said Esau, “that don’t smell bad. Seems to make one feel not quite so mizzable to hear a kettle singing again. I did feel bad a bit back.”
“Didn’t you?”
“Yes: wretched,” I replied.
“And all the more,” continued Esau, “because old Gunson seems to have taken us into custody like, and orders us to do this and do that.”
“But—”
“Now do letmefinish,” grumbled Esau. “I know what you’re going to say, and I’ll say it for you. You’re allus getting into scrapes, and he’s getting you out of ’em.”
“And you?” I said, laughing.
“Hah! that’s better,” cried Esau, pouncing on a piece of bacon and turning it over. “I do like to see you laugh a bit; seems to make things cheery. But I say, when is he going his way and going to let us go ours?”
“How’s the bacon getting on?” said Gunson, entering, and the rough board door swung to. “Ah, nice and brown, and the kettle close upon the boil. Know how to make tea, Gordon? Not our way in camp I know. Look here.”
He turned out nearly a handful out of the common tin canister, waited till the water in the open kettle was bubbling all over, and then threw in the tea, lifted the kettle off, and stood it down.
“There,” he said, “that’s camp fashion. The old lady’s going to bring us something to drink it out of;” and as he spoke the settler’s wife brought in two tin pint mugs and a cracked and chipped basin, which she banged roughly on the table.
Gunson gave me a peculiar look as the sour woman turned away.
“I say, Mrs—I don’t know your name.”
“Well, what is it now?” said the woman, in a vinegary tone. “I can’t spend all my time waiting on you.”
“My dear madam, no,” said Gunson, in the most gentlemanly way; “I only wanted to say that a cup of good tea in this wilderness is a thing that one may offer a lady, and as that is thoroughly prime China tea that I have brought up from ’Frisco, will you do us the honour of trying a cup?”
The change in the woman’s countenance was wonderful. It softened; then there was a smile, and her face looked quite pleasant.
“Well, really, that’s very good of you,” she said. “I’ll go and get myself a cup. A drop of good tea is such a treat out here.”
She hurried out of the room, and Gunson laughed.
“Here, Gordon,” he said, “get out that sugar you’ll find in my bag. We must do it well with company.”
I brought forth a tin of sugar and placed it on the table, and Gunson having tidied it a little by throwing the bacon rind away, and spreading the mugs about, we sat listening to the sputtering of the bacon and watching the flickering of the flames, which in the increasing darkness began to gild and tinge the rough boarded walls with red.
Just then the woman came back, with two cups, a saucer, and another tin.
“I thought I’d bring you a cup to dip with,” she said, “and a drop of milk. A neighbour of ours ten miles up the river has got two cows, and he brings me a little milk when he comes down to buy stores. He was here this morning, so it’s quite fresh.”
A few minutes later, and our landlady had finished her cup of tea, which she declared to be “lovely,” while upon a second one being dipped she took it up and carried it off, saying she was too busy to stay.
Left alone, we proceeded to discuss our own meal, slices of the cake-like bread forming our plates, and our pocket-knives doing double duty. Great draughts of hot tea washed down the bacon, and scarcely a word was spoken till Esau sighed, and began to wipe and polish his big new knife.
“Feel better, my lad?” said Gunson, smiling.
“Yes,” said Esau, speaking rather reluctantly. “I am a bit better now.”
“A bit? Why, you are like a new lad. Nothing like a good tea meal out in the wilds, my lad, to put life into one. Why I’ve known days when we’ve been ready to break down, or give up, or go back; then we’ve formed camp, got a bit of fire on the way, boiled the kettle with a pinch of tea in it, and eaten our cold bacon and damper, and been fit to do anything after. So are you two. To-morrow morning you’ll be ready to make your start up the river, and this will be like your first lesson in camping out.”
“Which way are you going, sir?” said Esau, after a long silence, during which we had been sitting gazing at the fire, but not until there had been a general tidy up of our table.
“Nor’-east,” said Gunson, laconically. Then in a very abrupt way, “Now then, you’ve a hard day’s work before you to-morrow, so roll yourselves up in your blankets and go to sleep.”
“Where?” I said. “She has not showed us our bedroom.”
“No, because this is, as the old song says, ‘parlour and kitchen and hall,’ with sleeping accommodation included. There are plenty of fine spreading spruces outside, though, if you prefer a bed there.”
“Oh no,” I said, as I began to realise that our journey now was going to be very rough indeed; and thoroughly appreciating the value of the blanket I had brought, I rolled myself in it, and lay down to think wonderingly of where we should be to-morrow. I knew that I could not go to sleep, but thought it better to obey Gunson in every way while he was with us; and as I lay there, I saw him rise and stand thoughtfully before the fire, while almost directly a sound arose from close by me as if Esau was practising ventriloquism, and wanted to give a good imitation of wood-sawing.
This grew so exasperating at last, that I should have kicked him to wake him up if I had not been prevented by my blanket, which was twisted so tightly round my legs that they would not move.
“I suppose he must be lying on his back,” I remember thinking; and directly after, as it seemed to me, when I looked at Gunson, whose figure just before stood out big and black before the glowing fire, he was not there.
I think I considered it rather strange, but I was under the impression directly after that he had lain down too. Then there was a low, dull, humming sound, which I knew came from the river, and then I was looking up at Gunson, who was standing over me, with the fire lighting him on one side, and the broad, warm glow of the rising sun on the other.
Chapter Twenty One.Our Morning Bath.“Well, have you had a good night’s rest?” cried Gunson, smiling at me.“Have—have I been asleep?” I said, sitting up.“Asleep? Yes, for a good eight hours. There, tumble up. Your washhand-basin is waiting for you. Now, Dean,” he continued, touching him with his foot, “are you going to lie there all day?”“Don’t—I say, be quiet. I’ve only just closed my eyes. Why! Eh? If it ain’t to-morrow morning!”He got up and shook himself, and then followed my example of folding up my blanket.“Can you lads swim?”“I can,” I said; and the words recalled our river at home, and the green bank off which I used to plunge.“I learned in Lambeth Baths,” said Esau.“Then if I were you I’d go and have a dip; freshen you both up for the day. There’s a place under the trees about a hundred yards from the wharf. I’ve had a swim there this morning.”“Already?” I said.“Yes, and done some business beside. But look here; keep to the shallows there, and don’t venture into the stream, for the current is exceedingly swift.”A swim in the bright morning sunshine sounded so delightful that I made for the door at once.“Remember about the current, my lads,” said Gunson; “and you, Dean, if you keep your eyes open you’ll see plenty of salmon.”“That’s his way of making fun of me,” said Esau, as soon as we were outside. “Somehow he don’t like me.”“And you don’t like him, Esau?”“That’s about true, Mr Gordon,” cried Esau. “But oh my!—only look!”I needed no telling, for as we stood on the banks of that swift river, with the forest rising behind us, and the sun glorifying everything around, all thoughts of the last night’s low spirits, and the trouble we had gone through, were forgotten, and I felt ready to shout for joy.The axe of the woodman had been at work, but so little that it was hardly noticeable, and, look which way we would, all was lovely, glorious, more beautiful than words can paint.“Here, I want to shout. I want to lie down and roll. Here, lay hold of my ankles and hold me,” cried Esau, “Why? What are you going to do?”“I feel as if I must stand on my head, or I shall go mad. I do indeed.”“Don’t be so stupid.”“But it ain’t stupid. It’s all so—so—Oh! I can’t tell you how beautiful it is.”“Never mind now. We are here, and can go on liking it.”“Yes, I know; but—I say, lookye here. What a tree to climb, with all its branches standing out like steps, and—Why, it must be a hundred feet high.”“It’s more than two,” I said as I gazed up at the grand green spire of a Douglas pine, tapering gradually up, as if it intended to pierce the bright blue sky.“Can’t be so high as that,” said Esau. “But I don’t know,” he cried. “Look at this stump; why, it must be twenty or thirty feet round. And look at ’em, hundreds and thousands of ’em, all standing as close together as they can. Oh, look! look! look! Can’t help it, I must shout. I don’t care about the trouble or the work, or the long voyage. I’d go through it all again to come to such a place as this. Oh, I do wish mother was here to see.”I did not give vent to my feelings in the same way, but I felt as much; and all the time, as my heart seemed to swell with joy, there were tears rising to my eyes, and dimming the glorious view of river, mountain, and forest, while I kept on saying to myself, “Thank God for making such a lovely world.”The first excitement over, and the feeling of wonder that we had not seen all this last night passed away, we went on along the clearing to the bank of the river, overlooking the shallows where we were to have our bathe.The sun was shining down through the opening formed by the stream, and its waters were sparkling and flashing in the light, as we reached the spot Gunson evidently meant, and just then I caught hold of Esau’s arm, and stood pointing away toward the middle.“I see ’em,” cried Esau, “just over those shallows. Just like shoals of roach in the Lea or the New River. They must be gudgeon.”“Gudgeon!—nonsense! You forget how big everything is here. They’re salmon.”“Go along with you,” he cried. “Think I don’t know better than that? Well, I am—”This last was on seeing a bar of silver about three feet long shoot out of the water, describe a curve, and fall with a tremendous splash not half a stone’s throw from where we stood.“Why, it is!” cried Esau, excitedly. “That was a salmon, and I can see ’em now—they are big—hundreds of ’em, and oh! not a bit o’ fishing-tackle of any sort, not so much as a line.”“Are you coming to bathe?” I cried, laughing.“Who’s to bathe when there’s everything to look at like this? Here, don’t let’s go any further; let’s write to mother and the others to come over here.”“There, I shan’t wait for you, Esau,” I cried, slipping off my clothes; while he began more slowly, gazing about him all the while.“Can’t help it,” he said. “I never thought there could be such places as this. I say, ain’t it too beautiful a’most?”Splash!That was my answer as I plunged in, only to shout as I rose to the top again, for the water was so cold it sent quite a thrill through me, and the next minute I was swimming about in the full enjoyment of the dip, after having to be content for months with a miserable allowance of water for washing purposes.“Here I come: look out!” cried Esau; and the next moment he too sprang in, sending the water up sparkling in the morning sunshine. “Oh!” he cried; “oh! ice! Isn’t it cold?”“You’ll soon feel warm,” I shouted; and a minute later he was up close beside me, swimming easily, and every now and then dipping his head under water like a duck.“I shan’t go away from here,” panted Esau. “It’s too lovely to leave. I shall build a cottage down by the river side and live there, and then we can fish for salmon. What more does a fellow want?”“Let’s wait a bit, and see what the rest of the country is like. We may find a better place.”“Couldn’t,” cried Esau. “I say, one don’t feel the water so cold now. I don’t want a place to be any better than this. It’s just right.”“Well, let’s swim back now, and dress. I want my breakfast, and I dare say Gunson’s ready.”“Bother old Gunson!” puffed Esau. “He’s a regular nuisance. Is he going to-day?”“I can’t talk in—the water.”“What?”“Come on back now.”I had turned, and begun swimming steadily back, for the water hardly flowed here close to the shore; and as I swam I kept on glancing up at the huge trees, which were four or five times the size of any I had ever seen before.“Don’t you want your breakfast, Esau?” I said, after a few minutes’ swim, but he did not answer. “Esau, come along.” But still there was no answer; and I turned round and looked back, to see that he was still swimming in the other direction, and a long way from me.“Esau,” I roared, “come back!” and I had the satisfaction of seeing him turn, and begin to swim in my direction.Striking out strongly, I was making for the place where I had left my clothes, when I suddenly heard him hail me.“Hallo!” I shouted.“Can’t seem to get along here.”I stopped to watch him, and then a cold shudder ran through me, for I could see that though he was swimming with his face toward me, he was slowly gliding away by the trees on the opposite bank.“He has got into the current,” I thought; and I was going to shout a warning, but I had the good sense not to do so, for I felt that it would alarm him, and beginning to swim back, I cried—“Turn in for the shore.”“Eh?”“Make for the shore.”“Can’t, lad,” came back; and the cold chill I had before felt thrilled me; while feeling as if I dared not speak, I swam towards him, in agony all the time, for fear I should get into the current with which he was struggling.“Don’t get much nearer,” he shouted, coolly enough, for he had not yet realised his clanger; and making an effort to speak as calmly, I raised my voice and shouted—“Of course you don’t. Turn round and swim the other way, sloping for the bank.”He did not answer, but he had evidently heard my words, for he rose in the water, turned with a bit of a splash, and began to swim in the other direction; while I followed, keeping close in where there was hardly any current.Then I stopped and uttered a hoarse cry, for I saw him suddenly shoot right out toward the centre of the stream, and begin going down at a rate that was terrible. For I could see that any attempt to fight against the stream would be folly; all he could do was to keep himself afloat, and trust to being swept into some other cross current which might take him shoreward.I felt willing enough to go to his help, but I could do nothing, and the feeling of impotence began to rob me of such little power as I possessed.And now I saw that he realised his peril, for he raised one arm above the water and waved it to me, lowering it again directly, and swimming with the side-stroke, so that it seemed to me that he was drowning, for his head was nearly hidden by the water.“Now, my lads, breakfast,” came from the bank, and I saw Gunson appear from among the pines. “Out with you. Where is Dean?”I rose in the water, and pointed to where the poor fellow was rapidly passing out of eye-shot, being now quite three hundred yards away, and rapidly increasing the distance.“What madness! He’ll be—”I didn’t hear him finish the sentence, but I know what he meant to say; and in despair I swam to the shallows, waded out, and stood shading my eyes and watching Esau, who was still afloat, but rapidly being carried away.As I reached the bank, I just caught a glimpse of Gunson running along the clearing beyond the little settlement, and my feeling of despair increased, for I knew that at the end of the opening the forest went down to the water’s edge, and that any one would have to struggle through the tangle of branches and fallen trees.“No,” I thought; “he will get a boat.”But I could not remember that there was a boat about the place. I had not seen one. As I thought all this in a wild, excitable way, I snatched up some of my clothes, slipped them on partly as I ran; and even then, incongruous as it may sound, I could not help thinking how the wet hindered me. Then running on, I came upon Gunson, with his face cut and bleeding, struggling back from among the trees.“Boat! boat!” he shouted, hoarsely. “Is there no boat?”His words brought out the settler’s wife, and a couple of men from one of the shanties.“No boat here,” said one of the men. “Anything the matter?”Gunson tried to speak, but no words came, and in a despairing way he pointed down the river in the direction poor Esau had been swept.The man looked as he pointed, but nothing was visible, and just then the woman cried out—“Why, where’s your mate?”Neither could I say more than one word—“Bathing,” and I too pointed down the river.“Bathing, and swep’ away,” said one of the men. “Ah, she runs stronger nor a man can swim. None on us here don’t bathe.”“No,” said the other man quietly; and they stood looking at us heavily.“But is there no boat to be had?” cried Gunson, hoarsely. “The Indians. A canoe!”“Went down the river last night, after bringing the fish,” said the woman wildly, and then—“Oh, the poor boy—the poor boy!” and she covered her face with her apron and began to sob.“And we stand here like this,” groaned Gunson, “shut in here by these interminable trees. Is there no way through—no path?”“No,” said the man who had spoken first, “no path. Only the river. We came by the water and landed here.”“Gordon,” said my companion bitterly, “I’d have plunged in and tried to save him, but I knew it was impossible. Poor lad! poor lad! I’d have given five years of my life to have saved him.”“But will he not swim ashore somewhere lower down?” I cried, unwilling to give up all hope. “Where the stream isn’t so strong. Let’s try and find a way through the trees.”“Yes; let’s try a way along by the river if we can,” he said, wearily. “Poor lad! I meant differently to this.”He led the way back to the end of the clearing, and then hesitated.“If we could contrive something in the shape of a raft, we might float down the river. Hark! What’s that?”For there was a faint hail from somewhere down the river—in the part hidden from us by the trees. “Ahoy!” came quite distinctly this time. “He has swum to one of the overhanging branches, and is holding on,” I cried, excitedly. “Can’t we make a raft so as to get to him?”Gunson turned, and was in the act of running toward our stopping-place, with some idea, as he afterwards told me, of tearing down two or three doors, when more plainly still came the hail. “Ahoy! Gordon. Ahoy!”“Why, he is swimming back,” I cried. “Ah!” shouted Gunson, running back. “The Indians! It was about their time.”Almost as he spoke, the end of a canoe propelled by four Indians came into sight slowly from behind the trees, and as it drew a little further into view, I could see Esau’s head just above the side right back in the stern, and this was followed by one bare arm, which was waved in the air, and he shouted—“Gordon. Ahoy! Got my clothes?” Gunson gave his foot an angry stamp, and walked back to the settler’s house.
“Well, have you had a good night’s rest?” cried Gunson, smiling at me.
“Have—have I been asleep?” I said, sitting up.
“Asleep? Yes, for a good eight hours. There, tumble up. Your washhand-basin is waiting for you. Now, Dean,” he continued, touching him with his foot, “are you going to lie there all day?”
“Don’t—I say, be quiet. I’ve only just closed my eyes. Why! Eh? If it ain’t to-morrow morning!”
He got up and shook himself, and then followed my example of folding up my blanket.
“Can you lads swim?”
“I can,” I said; and the words recalled our river at home, and the green bank off which I used to plunge.
“I learned in Lambeth Baths,” said Esau.
“Then if I were you I’d go and have a dip; freshen you both up for the day. There’s a place under the trees about a hundred yards from the wharf. I’ve had a swim there this morning.”
“Already?” I said.
“Yes, and done some business beside. But look here; keep to the shallows there, and don’t venture into the stream, for the current is exceedingly swift.”
A swim in the bright morning sunshine sounded so delightful that I made for the door at once.
“Remember about the current, my lads,” said Gunson; “and you, Dean, if you keep your eyes open you’ll see plenty of salmon.”
“That’s his way of making fun of me,” said Esau, as soon as we were outside. “Somehow he don’t like me.”
“And you don’t like him, Esau?”
“That’s about true, Mr Gordon,” cried Esau. “But oh my!—only look!”
I needed no telling, for as we stood on the banks of that swift river, with the forest rising behind us, and the sun glorifying everything around, all thoughts of the last night’s low spirits, and the trouble we had gone through, were forgotten, and I felt ready to shout for joy.
The axe of the woodman had been at work, but so little that it was hardly noticeable, and, look which way we would, all was lovely, glorious, more beautiful than words can paint.
“Here, I want to shout. I want to lie down and roll. Here, lay hold of my ankles and hold me,” cried Esau, “Why? What are you going to do?”
“I feel as if I must stand on my head, or I shall go mad. I do indeed.”
“Don’t be so stupid.”
“But it ain’t stupid. It’s all so—so—Oh! I can’t tell you how beautiful it is.”
“Never mind now. We are here, and can go on liking it.”
“Yes, I know; but—I say, lookye here. What a tree to climb, with all its branches standing out like steps, and—Why, it must be a hundred feet high.”
“It’s more than two,” I said as I gazed up at the grand green spire of a Douglas pine, tapering gradually up, as if it intended to pierce the bright blue sky.
“Can’t be so high as that,” said Esau. “But I don’t know,” he cried. “Look at this stump; why, it must be twenty or thirty feet round. And look at ’em, hundreds and thousands of ’em, all standing as close together as they can. Oh, look! look! look! Can’t help it, I must shout. I don’t care about the trouble or the work, or the long voyage. I’d go through it all again to come to such a place as this. Oh, I do wish mother was here to see.”
I did not give vent to my feelings in the same way, but I felt as much; and all the time, as my heart seemed to swell with joy, there were tears rising to my eyes, and dimming the glorious view of river, mountain, and forest, while I kept on saying to myself, “Thank God for making such a lovely world.”
The first excitement over, and the feeling of wonder that we had not seen all this last night passed away, we went on along the clearing to the bank of the river, overlooking the shallows where we were to have our bathe.
The sun was shining down through the opening formed by the stream, and its waters were sparkling and flashing in the light, as we reached the spot Gunson evidently meant, and just then I caught hold of Esau’s arm, and stood pointing away toward the middle.
“I see ’em,” cried Esau, “just over those shallows. Just like shoals of roach in the Lea or the New River. They must be gudgeon.”
“Gudgeon!—nonsense! You forget how big everything is here. They’re salmon.”
“Go along with you,” he cried. “Think I don’t know better than that? Well, I am—”
This last was on seeing a bar of silver about three feet long shoot out of the water, describe a curve, and fall with a tremendous splash not half a stone’s throw from where we stood.
“Why, it is!” cried Esau, excitedly. “That was a salmon, and I can see ’em now—they are big—hundreds of ’em, and oh! not a bit o’ fishing-tackle of any sort, not so much as a line.”
“Are you coming to bathe?” I cried, laughing.
“Who’s to bathe when there’s everything to look at like this? Here, don’t let’s go any further; let’s write to mother and the others to come over here.”
“There, I shan’t wait for you, Esau,” I cried, slipping off my clothes; while he began more slowly, gazing about him all the while.
“Can’t help it,” he said. “I never thought there could be such places as this. I say, ain’t it too beautiful a’most?”
Splash!
That was my answer as I plunged in, only to shout as I rose to the top again, for the water was so cold it sent quite a thrill through me, and the next minute I was swimming about in the full enjoyment of the dip, after having to be content for months with a miserable allowance of water for washing purposes.
“Here I come: look out!” cried Esau; and the next moment he too sprang in, sending the water up sparkling in the morning sunshine. “Oh!” he cried; “oh! ice! Isn’t it cold?”
“You’ll soon feel warm,” I shouted; and a minute later he was up close beside me, swimming easily, and every now and then dipping his head under water like a duck.
“I shan’t go away from here,” panted Esau. “It’s too lovely to leave. I shall build a cottage down by the river side and live there, and then we can fish for salmon. What more does a fellow want?”
“Let’s wait a bit, and see what the rest of the country is like. We may find a better place.”
“Couldn’t,” cried Esau. “I say, one don’t feel the water so cold now. I don’t want a place to be any better than this. It’s just right.”
“Well, let’s swim back now, and dress. I want my breakfast, and I dare say Gunson’s ready.”
“Bother old Gunson!” puffed Esau. “He’s a regular nuisance. Is he going to-day?”
“I can’t talk in—the water.”
“What?”
“Come on back now.”
I had turned, and begun swimming steadily back, for the water hardly flowed here close to the shore; and as I swam I kept on glancing up at the huge trees, which were four or five times the size of any I had ever seen before.
“Don’t you want your breakfast, Esau?” I said, after a few minutes’ swim, but he did not answer. “Esau, come along.” But still there was no answer; and I turned round and looked back, to see that he was still swimming in the other direction, and a long way from me.
“Esau,” I roared, “come back!” and I had the satisfaction of seeing him turn, and begin to swim in my direction.
Striking out strongly, I was making for the place where I had left my clothes, when I suddenly heard him hail me.
“Hallo!” I shouted.
“Can’t seem to get along here.”
I stopped to watch him, and then a cold shudder ran through me, for I could see that though he was swimming with his face toward me, he was slowly gliding away by the trees on the opposite bank.
“He has got into the current,” I thought; and I was going to shout a warning, but I had the good sense not to do so, for I felt that it would alarm him, and beginning to swim back, I cried—
“Turn in for the shore.”
“Eh?”
“Make for the shore.”
“Can’t, lad,” came back; and the cold chill I had before felt thrilled me; while feeling as if I dared not speak, I swam towards him, in agony all the time, for fear I should get into the current with which he was struggling.
“Don’t get much nearer,” he shouted, coolly enough, for he had not yet realised his clanger; and making an effort to speak as calmly, I raised my voice and shouted—
“Of course you don’t. Turn round and swim the other way, sloping for the bank.”
He did not answer, but he had evidently heard my words, for he rose in the water, turned with a bit of a splash, and began to swim in the other direction; while I followed, keeping close in where there was hardly any current.
Then I stopped and uttered a hoarse cry, for I saw him suddenly shoot right out toward the centre of the stream, and begin going down at a rate that was terrible. For I could see that any attempt to fight against the stream would be folly; all he could do was to keep himself afloat, and trust to being swept into some other cross current which might take him shoreward.
I felt willing enough to go to his help, but I could do nothing, and the feeling of impotence began to rob me of such little power as I possessed.
And now I saw that he realised his peril, for he raised one arm above the water and waved it to me, lowering it again directly, and swimming with the side-stroke, so that it seemed to me that he was drowning, for his head was nearly hidden by the water.
“Now, my lads, breakfast,” came from the bank, and I saw Gunson appear from among the pines. “Out with you. Where is Dean?”
I rose in the water, and pointed to where the poor fellow was rapidly passing out of eye-shot, being now quite three hundred yards away, and rapidly increasing the distance.
“What madness! He’ll be—”
I didn’t hear him finish the sentence, but I know what he meant to say; and in despair I swam to the shallows, waded out, and stood shading my eyes and watching Esau, who was still afloat, but rapidly being carried away.
As I reached the bank, I just caught a glimpse of Gunson running along the clearing beyond the little settlement, and my feeling of despair increased, for I knew that at the end of the opening the forest went down to the water’s edge, and that any one would have to struggle through the tangle of branches and fallen trees.
“No,” I thought; “he will get a boat.”
But I could not remember that there was a boat about the place. I had not seen one. As I thought all this in a wild, excitable way, I snatched up some of my clothes, slipped them on partly as I ran; and even then, incongruous as it may sound, I could not help thinking how the wet hindered me. Then running on, I came upon Gunson, with his face cut and bleeding, struggling back from among the trees.
“Boat! boat!” he shouted, hoarsely. “Is there no boat?”
His words brought out the settler’s wife, and a couple of men from one of the shanties.
“No boat here,” said one of the men. “Anything the matter?”
Gunson tried to speak, but no words came, and in a despairing way he pointed down the river in the direction poor Esau had been swept.
The man looked as he pointed, but nothing was visible, and just then the woman cried out—
“Why, where’s your mate?”
Neither could I say more than one word—“Bathing,” and I too pointed down the river.
“Bathing, and swep’ away,” said one of the men. “Ah, she runs stronger nor a man can swim. None on us here don’t bathe.”
“No,” said the other man quietly; and they stood looking at us heavily.
“But is there no boat to be had?” cried Gunson, hoarsely. “The Indians. A canoe!”
“Went down the river last night, after bringing the fish,” said the woman wildly, and then—“Oh, the poor boy—the poor boy!” and she covered her face with her apron and began to sob.
“And we stand here like this,” groaned Gunson, “shut in here by these interminable trees. Is there no way through—no path?”
“No,” said the man who had spoken first, “no path. Only the river. We came by the water and landed here.”
“Gordon,” said my companion bitterly, “I’d have plunged in and tried to save him, but I knew it was impossible. Poor lad! poor lad! I’d have given five years of my life to have saved him.”
“But will he not swim ashore somewhere lower down?” I cried, unwilling to give up all hope. “Where the stream isn’t so strong. Let’s try and find a way through the trees.”
“Yes; let’s try a way along by the river if we can,” he said, wearily. “Poor lad! I meant differently to this.”
He led the way back to the end of the clearing, and then hesitated.
“If we could contrive something in the shape of a raft, we might float down the river. Hark! What’s that?”
For there was a faint hail from somewhere down the river—in the part hidden from us by the trees. “Ahoy!” came quite distinctly this time. “He has swum to one of the overhanging branches, and is holding on,” I cried, excitedly. “Can’t we make a raft so as to get to him?”
Gunson turned, and was in the act of running toward our stopping-place, with some idea, as he afterwards told me, of tearing down two or three doors, when more plainly still came the hail. “Ahoy! Gordon. Ahoy!”
“Why, he is swimming back,” I cried. “Ah!” shouted Gunson, running back. “The Indians! It was about their time.”
Almost as he spoke, the end of a canoe propelled by four Indians came into sight slowly from behind the trees, and as it drew a little further into view, I could see Esau’s head just above the side right back in the stern, and this was followed by one bare arm, which was waved in the air, and he shouted—“Gordon. Ahoy! Got my clothes?” Gunson gave his foot an angry stamp, and walked back to the settler’s house.
Chapter Twenty Two.We start up the River.“Esau!” I cried, half hysterically, as the canoe was paddled up to the wharf; “you frightened us horribly.”“You?” he said, coolly, “frightened you? Why, you should have been me.”I said nothing then, but made signs to the Indians, who, partly from my motions, and partly from their understanding a few words of English, paddled the boat up to where we had undressed; and as Esau leaped ashore, and hurried on his clothes, he went on talking readily enough, though I could hardly say a word.“Yes, I did begin to get a bit scared when I found I couldn’t do anything to paddle ashore,” said Esau quietly. “It does run fast. And as soon as I was in the full stream, away I went. Didn’t have no trouble about swimming, only a stroke now and then to keep one’s head right; river did all the rest. I could have gone on for an hour, I dare say, if I could have kept from being frightened, but—don’t tell old Gunson—I was scared, and no mistake.”“Till you saw the Indians with the canoe,” I said huskily.“What?” cried Esau, staring at me in astonishment. “Why that made me ever so much more frightened. How did I know but what they wanted to pull all the hair off my head? Why, I tried to swim away from them, and dived down when they were getting close, so as to let them paddle right by. I stopped under too as long as I could, and when I came up, if they hadn’t managed their boat just so as one of ’em could duck his hand down and catch hold of my curly hair.”“Esau!”“I shouted and struggled, but he held tight, and another came to help him, and they dragged me over the side into the boat, where I durstn’t kick for fear of poking my feet through the bottom, for it’s only skin stretched over a frame, just as you might make a boat as one would an umbrella, only I don’t think they could shut it up.”“But they didn’t attempt to hurt you.”“No; they were civil enough their way, and kept on jabbering at me, and saying something about Si wash, si wash. I’d had si wash enough, but they never offered to lend me a towel, and I had to get dry in the sun.”“Esau,” I said, as he was finishing dressing, “you ought to be thankful that you have had such an escape.”“Ought I? Well, I suppose I ought, lad; and I am thankful, though I take it so easy, for my poor mother would have broke her heart if I’d been drowned. She thinks a deal of me.”“Of course,” I said.“I say, what did old Gunson say?”“Don’t ask me; don’t talk about it,” I said, for I felt half choking, I was so overset by the whole scene.“Why, Mayne Gordon,” said Esau softly, as he laid his hand on my shoulder, “don’t go on like that. I ain’t nothing to you, and—”“Esau,” I cried angrily, “will you hold your tongue? Hush! don’t say another word. Here’s Mr Gunson.”“Yes,” said Esau, in rather an ill-used tone, “it always is ‘Here’s Mr Gunson!’”“Breakfast’s waiting, my lads,” he said. “Make haste; I don’t want to keep the Indians long.”“Keep the Indians?” I said. “Ah, you mean we ought to pay them something for saving him.”“Yes, for one thing; but that is not all. They will easily be satisfied.”“I sha’n’t give them anything,” said Esau sourly. “One of ’em tried to pull the hair off my head.”“Nonsense! It must have been to get you into the boat. Here we are.”He signed to us to go into our room in the shanty, and I felt puzzled at his quiet calm way of speaking now, just as if there had been nothing the matter that morning. But it was not so with Esau. The shock and its accompanying fright had had a peculiar effect upon his temper.As we entered the room there was the bright fire with the boiling water; and the landlady had been busy for us, and broiled some bacon, the smell of which was very welcome at that time in the morning; but as Esau was about to take his place he looked sharply round.“Where’s my box?” he said. And as he spoke I saw that mine and the others were gone.“In the canoe,” said Gunson, quietly.“What’s it in the canoe for?” cried Esau. “Those Indian chaps will run away with it.”“If they do,” said Gunson, who was busy making the tea, “they’ll take your companion’s and mine too.”“What’s the good o’ that to me?” cried Esau angrily. “That won’t bring mine back. Here, I want my box.”“Sit down, and don’t be stupid, my lad. You’ve given us quite enough trouble this morning.”“But I want my box,” cried Esau. “There’s lots o’ things in that I wouldn’t lose on no account.”He moved toward the door, but Gunson set down the kettle and stepped before him.“Go and sit down,” he said sternly.“But I want—”“Sit down!” roared Gunson. “Your companion here does not make an idiot of himself because his box is in the canoe. Do you think I want to run away with it?”“No; but those Indians—”“Are more honest than you are, my lad, or as honest.”“But who told them to take the boxes?”“I did. For if you go and nearly drown yourself there is no opportunity for consulting you about matters. You want to go up the river, do you not?”“Well, I don’t know,” cried Esau, whose anger was now comical.“Then we know for you. As it happens, my first halting-place is at a settlement twelve miles up the river. I wanted my chests taken up there, and I ventured to think it would be doing you lads a good turn to take you and your boxes as well. So I engaged these Indians with their canoe. They will paddle us up there and land us.”“Oh,” said Esau discontentedly. And I burst out laughing.“I’m sorry you do not like it, Mr Dean; but if you wish it, I will apologise for the liberties my Indians have taken in saving your life as they came, as well as in taking your chest.”“Well, I—that is—if I’d—”“Will you hold your mug this way for some tea, Mr Dean?” said Gunson, with mock politeness.“Oh!” exclaimed Esau.“There, help yourself to sugar and milk. Gordon, my lad, help the bacon, and give our much-injured friend the best piece.”“Look here,” cried Esau fiercely, “you may hit me, or you may kick me, but I can’t stand being made fun of. Say another word like that, and I won’t eat a bit.”“I have said my say,” cried Gunson, with a look at me. And after gulping down his tin mug of tea, Esau seemed to get better, and the meal was hastily finished in peace.“Now, Gordon,” said Gunson, “our landlady has been very civil to us, what shall we give her beside the pay for what we have had?”“If I did what I liked, I should give her a little paper of tea.”“Well done, Solomon of wisdom,” said Gunson, taking something from his pocket; “here it is, done up all ready. Now then, the sooner we start the better.”Our arrangements with the settler’s wife were soon concluded, and it was still early morning when we took our places in the big skin canoe with all our personal belongings under our eyes now; and the Indians having been well fed, pushed off rather sluggishly. But they kept time with their paddles, and soon set up a low, sad, crooning kind of chorus as they carefully avoided the powerful stream by keeping well inshore, where I gazed up in wonder at the magnificent trees which appeared in masses and clumps at every turn.It was a wonderful experience that first ride on the fierce river, whose snow-charged waters gave quite a sting to the fingers whenever they were immersed. And there was always something fresh to see. Now it was a vast shoal of salmon gliding up over the shallows, or collecting about the edges of one of the many falls we passed, where some stream or another came down from the high grounds to swell the already full bed of the river. Then some bird flew up within tempting distance for one who handled a gun, and then there would be a little bit of excitement as we neared some fierce part of the river where the bed was dotted with rocks, a touch upon any of which must mean a hole through the bottom of our canoe, and her freight sent whirling helplessly down the stream.It was at one of these rapids that Esau, who had been very quiet and rather ashamed of himself, suddenly half rose in his place, exclaiming—“Don’t let them go there; it isn’t safe.”“They know best how to manage the canoe,” said Gunson quietly.“But you won’t let them go up that bit of water? It’s like a mill-race.”“Yes; only fiercer,” said Gunson coolly. “Feel startled, Gordon?”“I do feel a bit nervous,” I said.“And not ashamed to say so,” he replied, laughing. “Well, you are a strange lad. Of course you are not frightened, Dean?”“Why it’s enough to scare any one,” cried Esau. “We shall all have to swim for it directly, and nice chance we shall have. Get stunned with stones before we know where we are. Here, look! what are they going to do?”“Sit still, and you’ll see,” said Gunson; and he joined me in looking eagerly at the men, who ran the boat as far as they could go toward the shallow rapids by energetic use of their paddles, and then, at a grunt from the one who seemed to take the lead, they dropped their paddles in the canoe, and, as if by one movement, swung themselves over into the rapids, and began to wade and drag the vessel against the surging stream.“Look here,” said Gunson, with his lips close to my ear, for the noise of the rushing water was deafening, “if we do go over, make for that big piece of rock below there, and try to climb up.”“Yes,” I said rather breathlessly; “but tell Esau too.”“Oh no; there is no need,” he said sarcastically. “Your companion is too clever to want help.”Meanwhile we were being dragged slowly up and up against the fierce current, and in and out among rocks, any one of which would have overset the canoe; and as I looked forward and to right and left, where the sides of the river were formed by precipices which ran up so high that the trees growing here and there on the ledges looked quite small, I felt a kind of shrinking sensation at my own insignificance, and turned at last to see what effect all this had upon Esau.He was seated holding on to the bottom of the canoe with all his might, and staring at the threatening rocks with eyes and mouth wide open.“Afraid?” I shouted in his ear.“Not a bit,” he replied; “but be ready for a swim if some of those rocks up above don’t tumble down and sink us.”And all the time the Indians dragged hard at the canoe, and with so much success that they proceeded over some three hundred yards of rapid, and then stopped where the water looked deep and glassy, and where it was evident that they could wade no further.Here, as they held the canoe fast to keep it from being swept back down the rapids, one of the foremost swung himself in, took his paddle, and began to use it with all his might. Then another sprang in on the other side, and paddled hard to keep the canoe stationary, two still holding tightly. Then the third leaped in, and the one still holding uttered a hoarse cry, which made the others ply their paddles with all their might, for it seemed as if the stream would be too strong for them. Finally the fourth gave another cry, and his muscles stood out in the sunshine on his forehead and neck, as he gave the boat a tremendous thrust, swung himself in, and began to paddle rapidly.The thrust he gave the boat sent it on a couple of yards, and then it became stationary, with the water, which looked white and glassy, now rushing by us, and threatening to drive the canoe on to the rocks just behind, or else to capsize us, and sweep the party headlong down the long water slope up which we had been so toilsomely drawn. And I believe we should have been mastered, for what with three passengers and the chests, the canoe was heavily laden; but Gunson suddenly pressed himself close to the last Indian, reached out one strong arm, and grasped his paddle, swaying with him, and bringing the full force of his powerful muscles to bear.The hint was sufficient. I gave Esau a look, and crawled right forward to the first paddler, and did precisely the same, and Esau acted likewise, so that there was the addition of our arms on the port side of the boat to balance Gunson’s on the starboard.For the moment my Indian, the first, seemed ready to start up, leap overboard, and swim for his life, evidently thinking I was attacking him; but he saw what it meant directly, and as soon as we boys were in regular swing with them, the chief man gave a shout, and the paddles were plied with such effect that the canoe began to move from where it had been stationary, as if one end were fixed on a rock, which allowed the hows to sway a little. Then we gained a foot or two, the feet became yards, and the Indians set up a triumphant chorus, as we glided on and on, more into smoother water, and at last right in, under the lowering precipice on our left, where we got along more rapidly, till the vessel was steered in behind a huge projecting mass of rock, where one paddle was sufficient to hold her in the eddy that was caused by the stone, and here all paused to rest.“Well done, Bri’ish muscles!” said Esau, looking round, and smiling as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “I say, I thought it was all over once.”“Yes,” said Gunson, “they had all they could do to hold their own, and of course they would soon have given way.”“Is there much more like this?” I asked.“You know the river as well as I do, my lad,” said Gunson. “As far as I can make out, it is nearly all like this, and runs through canons and wild places, where at times the sides are so high that it is quite gloomy below.”“Well, I like it,” said Esau. “There’s something in it. I’ve been on the river at home in the steamers, but there’s nothing to see.”“You’ll see enough here,” said Gunson, dryly. “What do you think of your journey up the river now? Didn’t I hear one of you speak about walking on the bank?”I looked to right and left, and felt my forehead pucker up as I saw the difficulties we should have to contend with.“But will the banks be always like this?” I said.“Of course not. I should say that we shall find everything, from piled-up masses of rock to pleasant patches of meadow, and no two miles alike.”“But no steamers could ever come up here,” said Esau.“Oh yes, out there in the broad channel in the middle, but they will need very powerful engines and careful pilots. Ah, they are getting ready for a fresh start.”“But it will take us a long time to get up to where we are to stop for to-night,” I said.“Twelve miles at the outside,” replied Gunson. “Yes, I am beginning to be in doubt as to whether we shall get there to-night.”The leader of the Indians shouted, they plunged in their paddles, and the next minute we were again struggling with a rapid bit of the river between two rocks; but they soon got into smooth water again, and, evidently quite at home in the intricacies of the navigation, they took advantage of every sheltering clump of rocks, and cut across swift rapids to get into eddies here, there, and everywhere. Now we were right in the middle of the stream, now crossing under the left bank, now making for the right, but always advancing slowly, with the sides of the river growing grander every hour, and Gunson smiling at our ecstasies, as we kept getting glimpses of ravines down which tumbled silvery streams, whose spray moistened the gigantic pines which shot up like spires.“Wouldn’t have ketched me sitting on the stool in old Dempster’s office all that mizzable time,” cried Esau, “if I’d known there were places like this to come and live at.”“It is a grand valley,” said Gunson thoughtfully, and looking at me as he spoke; “but as it is, what is it? Only something beautiful to be admired. You couldn’t live on waterfalls and pine-trees here. Suppose I landed you two lads in that lovely gorge, where the water comes down like a veil of silver, and—yes, look, there’s a rainbow floating in that mist just above the big fall. Look at the ferns, and perfect shape of that great fir-tree, with its branches drooping right to the ground. You could sleep under its spreading boughs, and find a soft bed of pine-needles; but I don’t think it would be possible to climb up the sides of the gorge, and in a short time you would starve.”“Oh would we?” cried Esau. “We’d soon build a hut, and we could catch the salmon.”“Yes, you might catch some salmon in the season; but there is nothing else you could eat. It is very beautiful too, and those pine-trees that stand there are as they stand worth nothing, but if you had them cut into square timbers, and lying in one of the London docks, they would be worth from ten to forty pounds each.”“But it is glorious to see all this,” I said eagerly.“Yes; glorious. In all my travels I have seen nothing more beautiful,” said Gunson; and he added laughing, “I never went up a river that was so rugged and so swift.”It was just in such a nook as that which we had admired so much that the Indians ran the boat ashore about midday, and after making her fast in a glassy little pool, they signed to us to get out, after which they all sat down among the ferns, and under the shelter of the spreading boughs of a pine, and brought out some food. We imitated their example, and made a hearty meal, washing it down with a tin of water from a little fountain which gushed from a moss-covered rock.By this time the Indians were lying down apparently asleep, and it set me thinking about what our position would be if we followed their example and they decamped with our boxes and stores. Suppose there was no way out of this neck, for the sides looked as if it would be impossible to climb them, and it was evidently a rare thing for any boat to go up or down.However, these were only fancies, for after about an hour’s rest the Indians suddenly jumped up and pointed to the boat. We got in, and the struggle with the river began again, to be kept up till the sun had descended behind the mountains, and it was beginning to look gloomy where the river ran. Places that would have been glorious to the eye in the bright sunshine now seemed weird and terrible, impressing even our hard, stern friend, so that he suddenly said—“We had better land at the first suitable place, and make camp for the night. We can easily get a good fire.”I was glad to hear him say this, for with the advancing evening the waters looked cold, and the echoing roar of torrent and fall had an awful sound that began to affect my spirits, and Esau’s as well, for he suddenly said to me—“I say, this part ain’t half so beautiful as some of the others.”Gunson set himself the task of explaining to the Indians that we wanted to land, a want that they grasped directly; the leader nodding and pointing forward beyond a sudden bend of the river, where it made a sweep to our right round a towering buttress of rock, which projected so far that it seemed to block up the channel, and turn the place into a lake. Then bending once more to their paddles, they set up their monotonous chant, and in about an hour we were round the great rocky buttress, and making for a meadow-like patch surrounded by magnificent trees, and upon which dotted here and there were rough shanties.“Why this is the settlement!” cried Gunson. “They have done as they promised after all. Now, my lads,” he said, “what do you say?—shall we try and get shelter at one of those places, or camp out for the first time, and you can try what it’s like?”“Camp out,” I said eagerly, for there was an attraction about the idea. “What do you say, Esau?”“Same as you do, sir, same as you.”“Then we will camp out,” said Gunson; and directing the Indians to a nook away from the tents, they landed us there by a spring of cold water, and then began to take out the chests.“No, no. To-morrow,” said Gunson. “Now then; first thing is a fire when we have chosen our tent.”Just then Esau cried sharply—“I say, lookye there!” and burst into a fit of laughter.
“Esau!” I cried, half hysterically, as the canoe was paddled up to the wharf; “you frightened us horribly.”
“You?” he said, coolly, “frightened you? Why, you should have been me.”
I said nothing then, but made signs to the Indians, who, partly from my motions, and partly from their understanding a few words of English, paddled the boat up to where we had undressed; and as Esau leaped ashore, and hurried on his clothes, he went on talking readily enough, though I could hardly say a word.
“Yes, I did begin to get a bit scared when I found I couldn’t do anything to paddle ashore,” said Esau quietly. “It does run fast. And as soon as I was in the full stream, away I went. Didn’t have no trouble about swimming, only a stroke now and then to keep one’s head right; river did all the rest. I could have gone on for an hour, I dare say, if I could have kept from being frightened, but—don’t tell old Gunson—I was scared, and no mistake.”
“Till you saw the Indians with the canoe,” I said huskily.
“What?” cried Esau, staring at me in astonishment. “Why that made me ever so much more frightened. How did I know but what they wanted to pull all the hair off my head? Why, I tried to swim away from them, and dived down when they were getting close, so as to let them paddle right by. I stopped under too as long as I could, and when I came up, if they hadn’t managed their boat just so as one of ’em could duck his hand down and catch hold of my curly hair.”
“Esau!”
“I shouted and struggled, but he held tight, and another came to help him, and they dragged me over the side into the boat, where I durstn’t kick for fear of poking my feet through the bottom, for it’s only skin stretched over a frame, just as you might make a boat as one would an umbrella, only I don’t think they could shut it up.”
“But they didn’t attempt to hurt you.”
“No; they were civil enough their way, and kept on jabbering at me, and saying something about Si wash, si wash. I’d had si wash enough, but they never offered to lend me a towel, and I had to get dry in the sun.”
“Esau,” I said, as he was finishing dressing, “you ought to be thankful that you have had such an escape.”
“Ought I? Well, I suppose I ought, lad; and I am thankful, though I take it so easy, for my poor mother would have broke her heart if I’d been drowned. She thinks a deal of me.”
“Of course,” I said.
“I say, what did old Gunson say?”
“Don’t ask me; don’t talk about it,” I said, for I felt half choking, I was so overset by the whole scene.
“Why, Mayne Gordon,” said Esau softly, as he laid his hand on my shoulder, “don’t go on like that. I ain’t nothing to you, and—”
“Esau,” I cried angrily, “will you hold your tongue? Hush! don’t say another word. Here’s Mr Gunson.”
“Yes,” said Esau, in rather an ill-used tone, “it always is ‘Here’s Mr Gunson!’”
“Breakfast’s waiting, my lads,” he said. “Make haste; I don’t want to keep the Indians long.”
“Keep the Indians?” I said. “Ah, you mean we ought to pay them something for saving him.”
“Yes, for one thing; but that is not all. They will easily be satisfied.”
“I sha’n’t give them anything,” said Esau sourly. “One of ’em tried to pull the hair off my head.”
“Nonsense! It must have been to get you into the boat. Here we are.”
He signed to us to go into our room in the shanty, and I felt puzzled at his quiet calm way of speaking now, just as if there had been nothing the matter that morning. But it was not so with Esau. The shock and its accompanying fright had had a peculiar effect upon his temper.
As we entered the room there was the bright fire with the boiling water; and the landlady had been busy for us, and broiled some bacon, the smell of which was very welcome at that time in the morning; but as Esau was about to take his place he looked sharply round.
“Where’s my box?” he said. And as he spoke I saw that mine and the others were gone.
“In the canoe,” said Gunson, quietly.
“What’s it in the canoe for?” cried Esau. “Those Indian chaps will run away with it.”
“If they do,” said Gunson, who was busy making the tea, “they’ll take your companion’s and mine too.”
“What’s the good o’ that to me?” cried Esau angrily. “That won’t bring mine back. Here, I want my box.”
“Sit down, and don’t be stupid, my lad. You’ve given us quite enough trouble this morning.”
“But I want my box,” cried Esau. “There’s lots o’ things in that I wouldn’t lose on no account.”
He moved toward the door, but Gunson set down the kettle and stepped before him.
“Go and sit down,” he said sternly.
“But I want—”
“Sit down!” roared Gunson. “Your companion here does not make an idiot of himself because his box is in the canoe. Do you think I want to run away with it?”
“No; but those Indians—”
“Are more honest than you are, my lad, or as honest.”
“But who told them to take the boxes?”
“I did. For if you go and nearly drown yourself there is no opportunity for consulting you about matters. You want to go up the river, do you not?”
“Well, I don’t know,” cried Esau, whose anger was now comical.
“Then we know for you. As it happens, my first halting-place is at a settlement twelve miles up the river. I wanted my chests taken up there, and I ventured to think it would be doing you lads a good turn to take you and your boxes as well. So I engaged these Indians with their canoe. They will paddle us up there and land us.”
“Oh,” said Esau discontentedly. And I burst out laughing.
“I’m sorry you do not like it, Mr Dean; but if you wish it, I will apologise for the liberties my Indians have taken in saving your life as they came, as well as in taking your chest.”
“Well, I—that is—if I’d—”
“Will you hold your mug this way for some tea, Mr Dean?” said Gunson, with mock politeness.
“Oh!” exclaimed Esau.
“There, help yourself to sugar and milk. Gordon, my lad, help the bacon, and give our much-injured friend the best piece.”
“Look here,” cried Esau fiercely, “you may hit me, or you may kick me, but I can’t stand being made fun of. Say another word like that, and I won’t eat a bit.”
“I have said my say,” cried Gunson, with a look at me. And after gulping down his tin mug of tea, Esau seemed to get better, and the meal was hastily finished in peace.
“Now, Gordon,” said Gunson, “our landlady has been very civil to us, what shall we give her beside the pay for what we have had?”
“If I did what I liked, I should give her a little paper of tea.”
“Well done, Solomon of wisdom,” said Gunson, taking something from his pocket; “here it is, done up all ready. Now then, the sooner we start the better.”
Our arrangements with the settler’s wife were soon concluded, and it was still early morning when we took our places in the big skin canoe with all our personal belongings under our eyes now; and the Indians having been well fed, pushed off rather sluggishly. But they kept time with their paddles, and soon set up a low, sad, crooning kind of chorus as they carefully avoided the powerful stream by keeping well inshore, where I gazed up in wonder at the magnificent trees which appeared in masses and clumps at every turn.
It was a wonderful experience that first ride on the fierce river, whose snow-charged waters gave quite a sting to the fingers whenever they were immersed. And there was always something fresh to see. Now it was a vast shoal of salmon gliding up over the shallows, or collecting about the edges of one of the many falls we passed, where some stream or another came down from the high grounds to swell the already full bed of the river. Then some bird flew up within tempting distance for one who handled a gun, and then there would be a little bit of excitement as we neared some fierce part of the river where the bed was dotted with rocks, a touch upon any of which must mean a hole through the bottom of our canoe, and her freight sent whirling helplessly down the stream.
It was at one of these rapids that Esau, who had been very quiet and rather ashamed of himself, suddenly half rose in his place, exclaiming—
“Don’t let them go there; it isn’t safe.”
“They know best how to manage the canoe,” said Gunson quietly.
“But you won’t let them go up that bit of water? It’s like a mill-race.”
“Yes; only fiercer,” said Gunson coolly. “Feel startled, Gordon?”
“I do feel a bit nervous,” I said.
“And not ashamed to say so,” he replied, laughing. “Well, you are a strange lad. Of course you are not frightened, Dean?”
“Why it’s enough to scare any one,” cried Esau. “We shall all have to swim for it directly, and nice chance we shall have. Get stunned with stones before we know where we are. Here, look! what are they going to do?”
“Sit still, and you’ll see,” said Gunson; and he joined me in looking eagerly at the men, who ran the boat as far as they could go toward the shallow rapids by energetic use of their paddles, and then, at a grunt from the one who seemed to take the lead, they dropped their paddles in the canoe, and, as if by one movement, swung themselves over into the rapids, and began to wade and drag the vessel against the surging stream.
“Look here,” said Gunson, with his lips close to my ear, for the noise of the rushing water was deafening, “if we do go over, make for that big piece of rock below there, and try to climb up.”
“Yes,” I said rather breathlessly; “but tell Esau too.”
“Oh no; there is no need,” he said sarcastically. “Your companion is too clever to want help.”
Meanwhile we were being dragged slowly up and up against the fierce current, and in and out among rocks, any one of which would have overset the canoe; and as I looked forward and to right and left, where the sides of the river were formed by precipices which ran up so high that the trees growing here and there on the ledges looked quite small, I felt a kind of shrinking sensation at my own insignificance, and turned at last to see what effect all this had upon Esau.
He was seated holding on to the bottom of the canoe with all his might, and staring at the threatening rocks with eyes and mouth wide open.
“Afraid?” I shouted in his ear.
“Not a bit,” he replied; “but be ready for a swim if some of those rocks up above don’t tumble down and sink us.”
And all the time the Indians dragged hard at the canoe, and with so much success that they proceeded over some three hundred yards of rapid, and then stopped where the water looked deep and glassy, and where it was evident that they could wade no further.
Here, as they held the canoe fast to keep it from being swept back down the rapids, one of the foremost swung himself in, took his paddle, and began to use it with all his might. Then another sprang in on the other side, and paddled hard to keep the canoe stationary, two still holding tightly. Then the third leaped in, and the one still holding uttered a hoarse cry, which made the others ply their paddles with all their might, for it seemed as if the stream would be too strong for them. Finally the fourth gave another cry, and his muscles stood out in the sunshine on his forehead and neck, as he gave the boat a tremendous thrust, swung himself in, and began to paddle rapidly.
The thrust he gave the boat sent it on a couple of yards, and then it became stationary, with the water, which looked white and glassy, now rushing by us, and threatening to drive the canoe on to the rocks just behind, or else to capsize us, and sweep the party headlong down the long water slope up which we had been so toilsomely drawn. And I believe we should have been mastered, for what with three passengers and the chests, the canoe was heavily laden; but Gunson suddenly pressed himself close to the last Indian, reached out one strong arm, and grasped his paddle, swaying with him, and bringing the full force of his powerful muscles to bear.
The hint was sufficient. I gave Esau a look, and crawled right forward to the first paddler, and did precisely the same, and Esau acted likewise, so that there was the addition of our arms on the port side of the boat to balance Gunson’s on the starboard.
For the moment my Indian, the first, seemed ready to start up, leap overboard, and swim for his life, evidently thinking I was attacking him; but he saw what it meant directly, and as soon as we boys were in regular swing with them, the chief man gave a shout, and the paddles were plied with such effect that the canoe began to move from where it had been stationary, as if one end were fixed on a rock, which allowed the hows to sway a little. Then we gained a foot or two, the feet became yards, and the Indians set up a triumphant chorus, as we glided on and on, more into smoother water, and at last right in, under the lowering precipice on our left, where we got along more rapidly, till the vessel was steered in behind a huge projecting mass of rock, where one paddle was sufficient to hold her in the eddy that was caused by the stone, and here all paused to rest.
“Well done, Bri’ish muscles!” said Esau, looking round, and smiling as he wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “I say, I thought it was all over once.”
“Yes,” said Gunson, “they had all they could do to hold their own, and of course they would soon have given way.”
“Is there much more like this?” I asked.
“You know the river as well as I do, my lad,” said Gunson. “As far as I can make out, it is nearly all like this, and runs through canons and wild places, where at times the sides are so high that it is quite gloomy below.”
“Well, I like it,” said Esau. “There’s something in it. I’ve been on the river at home in the steamers, but there’s nothing to see.”
“You’ll see enough here,” said Gunson, dryly. “What do you think of your journey up the river now? Didn’t I hear one of you speak about walking on the bank?”
I looked to right and left, and felt my forehead pucker up as I saw the difficulties we should have to contend with.
“But will the banks be always like this?” I said.
“Of course not. I should say that we shall find everything, from piled-up masses of rock to pleasant patches of meadow, and no two miles alike.”
“But no steamers could ever come up here,” said Esau.
“Oh yes, out there in the broad channel in the middle, but they will need very powerful engines and careful pilots. Ah, they are getting ready for a fresh start.”
“But it will take us a long time to get up to where we are to stop for to-night,” I said.
“Twelve miles at the outside,” replied Gunson. “Yes, I am beginning to be in doubt as to whether we shall get there to-night.”
The leader of the Indians shouted, they plunged in their paddles, and the next minute we were again struggling with a rapid bit of the river between two rocks; but they soon got into smooth water again, and, evidently quite at home in the intricacies of the navigation, they took advantage of every sheltering clump of rocks, and cut across swift rapids to get into eddies here, there, and everywhere. Now we were right in the middle of the stream, now crossing under the left bank, now making for the right, but always advancing slowly, with the sides of the river growing grander every hour, and Gunson smiling at our ecstasies, as we kept getting glimpses of ravines down which tumbled silvery streams, whose spray moistened the gigantic pines which shot up like spires.
“Wouldn’t have ketched me sitting on the stool in old Dempster’s office all that mizzable time,” cried Esau, “if I’d known there were places like this to come and live at.”
“It is a grand valley,” said Gunson thoughtfully, and looking at me as he spoke; “but as it is, what is it? Only something beautiful to be admired. You couldn’t live on waterfalls and pine-trees here. Suppose I landed you two lads in that lovely gorge, where the water comes down like a veil of silver, and—yes, look, there’s a rainbow floating in that mist just above the big fall. Look at the ferns, and perfect shape of that great fir-tree, with its branches drooping right to the ground. You could sleep under its spreading boughs, and find a soft bed of pine-needles; but I don’t think it would be possible to climb up the sides of the gorge, and in a short time you would starve.”
“Oh would we?” cried Esau. “We’d soon build a hut, and we could catch the salmon.”
“Yes, you might catch some salmon in the season; but there is nothing else you could eat. It is very beautiful too, and those pine-trees that stand there are as they stand worth nothing, but if you had them cut into square timbers, and lying in one of the London docks, they would be worth from ten to forty pounds each.”
“But it is glorious to see all this,” I said eagerly.
“Yes; glorious. In all my travels I have seen nothing more beautiful,” said Gunson; and he added laughing, “I never went up a river that was so rugged and so swift.”
It was just in such a nook as that which we had admired so much that the Indians ran the boat ashore about midday, and after making her fast in a glassy little pool, they signed to us to get out, after which they all sat down among the ferns, and under the shelter of the spreading boughs of a pine, and brought out some food. We imitated their example, and made a hearty meal, washing it down with a tin of water from a little fountain which gushed from a moss-covered rock.
By this time the Indians were lying down apparently asleep, and it set me thinking about what our position would be if we followed their example and they decamped with our boxes and stores. Suppose there was no way out of this neck, for the sides looked as if it would be impossible to climb them, and it was evidently a rare thing for any boat to go up or down.
However, these were only fancies, for after about an hour’s rest the Indians suddenly jumped up and pointed to the boat. We got in, and the struggle with the river began again, to be kept up till the sun had descended behind the mountains, and it was beginning to look gloomy where the river ran. Places that would have been glorious to the eye in the bright sunshine now seemed weird and terrible, impressing even our hard, stern friend, so that he suddenly said—
“We had better land at the first suitable place, and make camp for the night. We can easily get a good fire.”
I was glad to hear him say this, for with the advancing evening the waters looked cold, and the echoing roar of torrent and fall had an awful sound that began to affect my spirits, and Esau’s as well, for he suddenly said to me—
“I say, this part ain’t half so beautiful as some of the others.”
Gunson set himself the task of explaining to the Indians that we wanted to land, a want that they grasped directly; the leader nodding and pointing forward beyond a sudden bend of the river, where it made a sweep to our right round a towering buttress of rock, which projected so far that it seemed to block up the channel, and turn the place into a lake. Then bending once more to their paddles, they set up their monotonous chant, and in about an hour we were round the great rocky buttress, and making for a meadow-like patch surrounded by magnificent trees, and upon which dotted here and there were rough shanties.
“Why this is the settlement!” cried Gunson. “They have done as they promised after all. Now, my lads,” he said, “what do you say?—shall we try and get shelter at one of those places, or camp out for the first time, and you can try what it’s like?”
“Camp out,” I said eagerly, for there was an attraction about the idea. “What do you say, Esau?”
“Same as you do, sir, same as you.”
“Then we will camp out,” said Gunson; and directing the Indians to a nook away from the tents, they landed us there by a spring of cold water, and then began to take out the chests.
“No, no. To-morrow,” said Gunson. “Now then; first thing is a fire when we have chosen our tent.”
Just then Esau cried sharply—“I say, lookye there!” and burst into a fit of laughter.