Wild Life in the Land of the Giants: A Tale of Two Brothers
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near him, that Castizo had a story to tell of his own life, ifhe only would, and I felt, too, the story was a sad one.
Presently he seemed to awaken from a reverie; he pulled himselftogether, as it were, lit a fresh cigar, and smiled round on us.
"I've been dreaming, boys," he said.
"Dreaming with them black eyes o' yours open, sir?" said Ritchie.
"Ay, Ritchie, ay; I often dream with my eyes open. But, Peter, where isyour pipe?"
Peter got his pipe out, and very delightful music he discoursed.
But in every lull of the conversation we could hear the wail of thesnow-wind.
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Many a time and oft, while wintering under the Norland lights, in thelong drear Arctic night, have I thought of the months we spent in thatwild woodland glen close by the forests of the Cordilleras.
I have thought of them, and of my pleasant companions, when my ship wassnowed up for weeks, during which never a star was visible, nor even theAurora itself, when the darkness was filled with ice dust, borne alongall over the snow-fields by whirlwinds that ever and anon collided,creating a chaos in which no creature ever born could live for half aminute. I have thought of them when wandering over the Alaskan plains,or sharing his hut with the humble but friendly native of Kamschatka. Ihave thought of them, and never without a certain degree ofretrospective pleasure not unmingled with sadness. For many of mycompanions in that lonesome glen have since gone to the Land o' theLeal. Ah! that Land o' the Leal, what a happy place it must be, if onlyfrom the fact that we shall meet there the dear ones we lost on earth,and--there will be no more sad "good-byes!"
When we awoke the next morning after we had listened to the moaning ofthe snow-wind through the forest, through the harsh-leaved forest, therewas an unusual silence. There was no wind now, and the cold wasintense. It was dark, too, but soon the drift was dragged from ourwindow, and a cheerful face peeped in at us. It was Ritchie's.
"Are ye all alive and kicking, lads?"
"All alive, Ritchie, thank you. The kicking has all to come."
"Well, bear a hand, and rig up; the breakfast is ready to serve."
And such a breakfast when we did leave our room! The fish and the eggswere enough in themselves to make a hungry man's mouth water; but then,besides, there was a grill, the very odour of which I wonder did notbring all the wild beasts in the forest around us.
Castizo's bed was in this room, but it had been made up long ago. Andthere was Castizo waiting for us. He had been out, too, for his potroboots lay near the door, and his feet were encased in cosy slippers.
"This is perfectly jolly," said Peter.
"It is delightful!"
"It is delightful!" from Jill and me.
"I've been sitting here reading a little book," said our cacique, "andnow and then comparing our present life with that of the poor people whohave to winter in London or New York. The cold, damp wind out of doors,the slush and the snow, the rattle and roar of wheels, the vulgarshouting in the streets, the questionable viands, and, worse than all,the people one meets at breakfast and dinner. Here we have chosen ourcompanions--we have chosen each other; we like each other, and will helpone another."
"That we will," said Ritchie.
"A good cook, a capital sailor-man, the broad, brave shoulders of aLawlor, the best of Indians, and three young men of the world. Shouldwe not be happy and thankful? Peter, help me to a little more ofPedro's mush. And, Pedro, bring the teapot. Thank you. Place it nearthe fire again."
"Yes," I said, "independence is a truly delightful thing."
"The world is uncharitable--I mean the civilised world: in towns andcities you hardly know how to look and live to please people. If youseem independent, they hate you; if you are obsequious, they despiseyou. Jill, here is a tit-bit--ostrich gizzard, my boy! Pedro, have youseen to the dogs?"
"But," I said, "even in cities you find wheat among the chaff."
Castizo laughed lightly.
"Yes," he said, "an ounce of wheat to a hundredweight of chaff. My dearboy, I know life; and I advance that if you put the souls of city folksthrough a sieve, you might find a good big honest one in a thousand. Nomore, I assure you."
Snow was the order of the winter in our present home. But this did notkeep us within doors. On the contrary, I think it added to ourpleasures. We had splendid riding. Even Peter enjoyed it, and althoughhe had many a tumble, much to the delight of Nadi, falling among softsnow, he said, was not half so disagreeable as tumbling among the rocks.The snow gave the bumps a chance.
Two things we might have done, but could not. Skating on the frozenlake would have been delightful, only we had no skates. Sleighing wouldhave been pleasant, too, but we had not the tools to make a sledge.
We had a rude species of tobogganing, however, and in fine weather thiswas a constant pleasure to us. The Indians had never seen anything ofthe kind before, and entered into the fun heart and soul. Even Nadiliked it.
Sometimes Peter condescended to descend the toboggan slide with her asher knight. But as she always would insist on taking "that blessedbaby"--as Peter called it--with her, it was at times a little awkward,particularly when they disappeared all three in a snow-drift, or whenthey flew off the board half-way down the hill, and rolled the rest ofthe way. "Baby's a brick, though," Peter said; "the little rascal nevercries, just squeezes the snow out of its eyes with its knuckles, winksto me, and laughs."
Yes, tobogganing is great fun. It was the beavers, by the way, whofirst taught the Indians of the Rocky Mountains the game. Then theIndians taught the whites; and I think it is far from fair not to erecta monument to the beaver in some public thoroughfare in Montreal or NewYork.
Peter and I, with the assistance of others, established a kind ofcircus. This was also great fun. The feats of horsemanship performedin our circle before the log-hut doors, I have never seen surpassed atany hippodrome at home or in Paris.
We had old men riders, bare-back, standing and sitting.
We had young boy riders.
We had girl riders. We had _infant_ riders.
We had lasso performances and bolas play. Before the winter drew to aclose, I verily believe that our company was good enough to make ourfortune in any large city of Europe.
Peter once undertook to ride a Pampas pony, or rather a dwarf horse.
"It seems simple," said Peter, "and I won't have far to fall."
Well, if Peter had studied for a month how best to amuse these Indians,he could not have fallen upon a better plan. "Fallen" did I say? Yes;and it seemed all falling, for Peter was no sooner on than he was offagain; and the variety of different methods that pony adopted inspilling him proved it to be a little horse of the rarest versatility.No wonder Nadi clapped her hands as she shouted with laughter, crying--
"O, O, Angleese! Angleese!" Had this been an intentional display ofPeter's powers, it really would have been exceedingly clever; buttumbling off a horse came natural to Peter, so that instead of trying tofall off in a great many different ways, as the Indians all thought hewas, he was all the while doing his very best to keep on top, as hecalled it.
Peter's performance brought _down_ the house, but it brought _up_ hisbumps again.
If tobogganing, hunting in the plains and forest, and fishing in therivers, with circus riding, were our outdoor games, at night innocentgames of cards, story-telling, singing, and dancing, helped to pass awaythe time till ten o'clock, after which all was silence in and around thecamp and huts, except the doleful chant of the sentries.
The Indians by day, however, were certainly not always playing. Theywere often enough busy manufacturing various articles from silver, iron,copper, and wood, to say nothing of pipes. All these would barter wellwhen spring came round and they met once more the white men of SantaCruz, or even of Sandy Point itself. All this was men's work; meanwhilethe women were busy sewing skins.
Peter had already be
en presented with his little skunk-skin poncho orcapa, and very proud he was thereof.
"Aren't you fellows jealous!" he said, as he went marching up and downto show it off. "Just wait till _you_ get a little poncho; there willbe no holding you for pride."
So one way or another the winter wore away far more quickly than wouldbe imagined. Of course, Jill and I often thought of home and mother andMattie. Sometimes our hearts would give an uneasy thud, as weremembered how long a time it was since we had seen them, or even heardfrom them.
What if our darling mother were dead! This would indeed be the greatestgrief that could befall us. We could only hope for the best, and pray.
Every Sunday all through the winter we had reading and prayers in thelog hut. Jeeka and his wife were constant in their attendance, and ifNadi