CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
RETURN OF THE LOST ONE.
It chanced that, on the morning of the arrival of Victor and hiscomrades at the margin of the flood, Peegwish went a-fishing.
That astute Indian was fond of fishing. It suited his tastes andhabits; it was an art which was admirably adapted to his tendencies.Peegwish was, naturally as well as by training, lazy, and what could bemore congenial to a lazy man than a "gentle art" which involved nothingmore than sitting on a river bank smoking a pipe and awaiting a bite?It had a spice of intellectuality about it too, for did it not foster aspirit of meditation, contemplation, and even of philosophicalspeculation--when he chanced to be awake? Moreover, it saved him fromharder labour, and shut the mouths of those ill-natured people whoobjected to drones, and had a tendency to reproach them, for was he notassiduously procuring for men and women a portion of that nourishmentwithout which labour would be impossible?
The peculiar action of the flood had favoured Peegwish in regard to hisbeloved art, for, whereas in former days he was obliged to get up fromhis lair and go down to the river bank to fish, now he had nothing moreto do than open the window and cast out his line, and Wildcat was closeat hand to fetch him a light when his pipe chanced to go out, which itfrequently did, for the red old savage slept much. When, therefore, wesay that Peegwish went a-fishing, it must be understood that he merelyleft his seat by the stove in the upper room at Willow Creek and openedthe window.
Wildcat was as fond of fishing as her brother, but there were a fewdifficulties in her way which did not exist in his. Water had to bedrawn, wood to be chopped, moccasins and leggings and coats to be made,as well as meals to be cooked. She was, therefore, compelled to fish inmoderation.
"Bring a light," said Peegwish, in that tone of mild entreaty with whichhe was wont to make his wants known.
There being no one else in the room at the moment, Wildcat obeyed.
Peegwish looked into the room for a moment, and extended his left handfor the piece of lighted stick; with his right hand he held his line.Suddenly that hand received an amazing tug. Peegwish unintentionallyscattered the firebrand, dropped his pipe from his lips, and uttered ashout, while with both hands he held on to the jerking line.
One of Mr Ravenshaw's largest pigs had been swept out of the outhouselofts. Struggling with the stream, he passed under the window of thestoreroom, and came across the line of Peegwish with his tail. Everyone must be familiar with the tendency of tails in general to shut downwhen touched. The unfortunate pig obeyed the natural law, and the linecontinued to slip until the hook was reached, when, of course, thenatural result followed. There could be no hope of escape, for the tailwas remarkably tough and the line strong. Peegwish held on stoutly.Wildcat lent her aid. The jerking on the tail depressed the snout ofthe pig, whose shrieks, being thus varied by intermittent gurgles,rendered the noise more appalling, and quickly drew the whole householdto the windows.
Unfortunately there were none there but women--Mr Ravenshaw and theother men being still absent with the boat. The canoe had also beensent off that morning for a load of firewood, so that the only way ofrelieving the pig was to haul him in at the window. But he was tooheavy to be thus treated, and as Peegwish did not wish to break his lineand lose his hook he could only hold on in despair, while Elsie andCora, with their mother and Wildcat, stood by helpless and horrified,yet amused, by the novelty of the situation and the frightful noise.
While this scene was being enacted at Willow Greek, Victor, with therecovered Tony and the rest of them, were drawing quickly near.
Deeply though the hearts of most of these wanderers were filled withanxious fears, they could not help being impressed with the scenes ofdesolation--deserted and submerged homesteads, wreck and ruin--throughwhich they passed. At one moment the two canoes were skimming over thewaters of a boundless lake; at another they were winding out and inamong the trees of a submerged bit of woodland. Presently they foundthemselves among house tops, and had to proceed cautiously for fear ofsunken fences, and then out they swept again over the wide sheet ofwater, where the once familiar prairie lay many feet below.
The maple-trees were by that time in full leaf, and the rich greenverdure of bush and tree was bursting out on all sides, when notsubmerged. Swallows skimmed about in hundreds, dipping the tips oftheir blue wings in the flood, as though to test its reality, whileflocks of little yellow birds--like canaries, but rather larger, withmore black on their wings--flitted from bush to tree or from isle toisle. The month of May in those regions is styled the "flower month,"and June the "heart-berry month," but flowers and heart-berries werealike drowned out that year in Red River of the North, and none of thewonted perfumes of the season regaled the noses of our voyagers as theyreturned home.
"There they are at last!" exclaimed Victor, with sparkling eyes, "theelms on the knoll. D'ye see them, Tony? I do believe I see thesmoking-box. But for the bushes we might see the chimneys of WillowCreek."
Tony's excitement was great, but the effect of his late training wasseen in the suppression of all feeling, save that which escaped throughthe eyes. Paint and charcoal concealed the flush on his cheekseffectually.
"Tonyquat sees," he replied.
Victor received this with a loud laugh, but Tony, although annoyed, didnot lose his dignity, which the red man in the stern of the canoeobserved with a look of pride and satisfaction.
Michel Rollin, in the other canoe, close alongside, was observed to holdup his hand.
"Hush!" he said, turning his head as if to listen. "I do hearsometing--someting not meloderous."
"Is it melliferous, then?" asked Vic, with a smile.
But Rollin made no reply. He was far from jesting, poor fellow, at thatmoment. The thought of his old mother and grandfather, and fears as totheir fate, weighed heavily on his heart, and took all the fun out ofhim.
"It sounds like pigs," said Ian.
"Oui. Dey be killin' porkers," said Rollin, with a nod, as he dippedhis paddle again and pushed on.
As they drew near, the excitement of the voyagers increased, so didtheir surprise at the prolonged and furious shrieking. Gradually thevigour of their strokes was strengthened, until they advanced at racingspeed. Finally, they swept round the corner of the old house at WillowCreek, and burst upon the gaze of its inhabitants, while Peegwish andthe pig were at the height of their struggles.
Mrs Ravenshaw chanced to be the first to observe them.
"Ian Macdonald!" she shouted, for his form in the bow of the leadingcanoe was the most conspicuous.
"Victor!" cried the sisters, with a scream that quite eclipsed the pig.
They rushed to another window, under which the canoes were pulled up.
"Oh! Victor, Victor," cried Mrs Ravenshaw, with a deadly faintness ather heart; "you haven't found--"
"Mother!" cried Tony, casting off his Indian reserve and starting upwith a hysterical shout, "Mother!"
"Tony!" exclaimed everybody in the same breath, for they all knew hisvoice, though they did not believe their eyes.
It was only four feet or so from the canoe to the window. MrsRavenshaw leaned over and seized Tony's uplifted hands. Elsie and Coralent assistance. A light vault, and Tony went in at the window, fromwhich immediately issued half-stifled cries of joy. At that momentPeegwish uttered a terrible roar, as he fell back into the room with thebroken line in his hand, accidentally driving Wildcat into a corner. Alast supreme effort had been made by the pig. He had broken the hook,and went off with a final shriek of triumph.
Thus, amid an appropriate whirlwind of confusion, noise, and disaster,was the long-lost Tony restored to his mother's arms!
Seated calmly in the stern of his canoe, Petawanaquat observed the scenewith a look of profound gravity. His revenge was complete! He hadreturned to his enemy the boy of whom he had become so fond that he feltas though Tony really were his own son. He had bowed his head to thedictates of an enlightened conscience. He had returned g
ood for evil.A certain feeling of deep happiness pervaded the red man's heart, but itwas accompanied, nevertheless, by a vague sense of bereavement andsadness which he could not shake off just then.
Quite as calmly and as gravely sat Ian Macdonald. His eyes once morebeheld Elsie, the angel of his dreams, but he had no right to look uponher now with the old feelings. Her troth was plighted to Lambert. Itmight be that they were already married! though he could not bringhimself to believe that; besides, he argued, hoping against hope, ifsuch were the case, Elsie would not be living with her father's family.No, she was not yet married, he felt sure of that; but what mattered it?A girl whose heart was true as steel could never be won from the man towhom she had freely given herself. No, there was no hope; and poor Iansat there in silent despair, with no sign, however, of the bitterthoughts within on his grave, thoughtful countenance.
Not less gravely sat Michel Rollin in the stern of his canoe. No senseof the ludicrous was left in his anxious brain. He had but one idea,and that was--old Liz! With some impatience he waited until the ladiesinside the house were able to answer his queries about his mother. Nosooner did he obtain all the information they possessed than hetransferred Meekeye to her husband's canoe, and set off alone in theother to search for the lost hut--as Winklemann had done before him.
Meanwhile the remainder of the party were soon assembled in the familyroom on the upper floor, doing justice to an excellent meal, of whichmost of them stood much in need.
"Let me wash that horrid stuff off your face, darling, before you sitdown," said Miss Trim to Tony.
The boy was about to comply, but respect for the feelings of his Indianfather caused him to hesitate. Perhaps the memory of ancient rebellionwas roused by the old familiar voice, as he replied--
"Tonyquat loves his war-paint. It does not spoil his appetite."
It was clear from a twinkle in Tony's eye, and a slight motion in hisotherwise grave face, that, although this style of language now camequite naturally to him, he was keeping it up to a large extent onpurpose.
"Tonyquat!" exclaimed Mrs Ravenshaw, aghast with surprise, "what doesthe child mean?"
"I'll say Tony, mother, if you like it better," he said, taking hismother's hand.
"He's become a redskin," said Victor, half-amused, half-anxious.
"Tony," said Miss Trim, whose heart yearned towards her old but almostunrecognisable pupil, "don't you remember how we used to do lessonstogether and play sometimes?"
"And fight?" added Cora, with a glance at Ian, which caused Elsie tolaugh.
"Tonyquat does not forget," replied the boy, with profound gravity. "Heremembers the lessons and the punishments. He also remembers dancing onthe teacher's bonnet and scratching the teacher's nose!"
This was received with a shout of delighted laughter, for in it thespirit of the ancient Tony was recognised.
But Ian Macdonald did not laugh. He scarcely spoke except when spokento. He seemed to have no appetite, and his face was so pale from hislong illness that he had quite the air of a sick man.
"Come, Ian, why don't you eat? Why, you look as white as you did afterthe grizzly had clawed you all over."
This remark, and the bear-claw collar on the youth's neck, drew forth aquestion or two, but Ian was modest. He could not be induced to talk ofhis adventure, even when pressed to do so by Elsie.
"Come, then, if _you_ won't tell it I will," said Victor; and thereuponhe gave a glowing account of the great fight with the bear, thetriumphant victory, and the long illness, which had well-nigh terminatedfatally.
"But why did you not help him in the hunt?" asked Elsie of Victor, in atone of reproach.
"Because he wouldn't let us; the reason why is best known to himself.Perhaps native obstinacy had to do with it."
"It was a passing fancy; a foolish one, perhaps, or a touch of vanity,"said Ian, with a smile, "but it is past now, and I have paid for it.--Did you make fast the canoe?" he added, turning abruptly to the Indian,who was seated on his buffalo robe by the stove.
Without waiting for an answer he rose and descended the staircase to thepassage, where poor Miss Trim had nearly met a watery grave.
Here the canoe was floating, and here he found one of the domestics.
"Has the wedding come off yet?" he asked in a low, but careless, tone,as he stooped to examine the fastening of the canoe.
"What wedding?" said the domestic, with a look of surprise.
"Why, the wedding of Mr Ravenshaw's daughter."
"Oh no, Mr Ian. It would be a strange time for a wedding. But it'sall fixed to come off whenever the flood goes down. And she do seemhappy about it. You see, sir, they was throw'd a good deal togetherhere of late, so it was sort of natural they should make it up, and themaster he is quite willin'."
This was enough. Ian Macdonald returned to the room above with thequiet air of a thoughtful schoolmaster and the callous solidity of ahuman petrifaction. Duty and death were the prominent ideas stampedupon his soul. He would not become reckless or rebellious. He would gothrough life doing his duty, and, when the time came, he would die!
They were talking, of course, about the flood when he returned and satdown.
Elsie was speaking. Ian was immediately fascinated as he listened toher telling Victor, with graphic power, some details of the greatdisaster--how dwellings and barns and stores had been swept away, andproperty wrecked everywhere, though, through the mercy of God, no liveshad been lost. All this, and a great deal more, did Elsie and Cora andMrs Ravenshaw dilate upon, until Ian almost forgot his resolve.
Suddenly he remembered it. He also remembered that his father's housestill existed, though it was tenantless, his father and Miss Marthahaving gone up to see friends at the Mountain.
"Come, Vic," he exclaimed, starting up, "I must go home. The old placemay be forsaken, but it is not the less congenial on that account.Come."
Victor at once complied; they descended to the canoe, pushed out fromthe passage, and soon crossed the flood to Angus Macdonald's dwelling.
The Red Man's Revenge: A Tale of The Red River Flood Page 22
