CHAPTER III.
THE SILVER THAW.--A FOX HUNT.--ANTHONY WORRELL'S DOG.
The snow at nine o'clock had ceased to fall, but had given place to athick hail, which rattled merrily on roof and window pane, but soonbecame softer, and mingled with rain as the wind veered more to the eastand south.
"We are in for a heavy thaw," said the elder Davies, "and to-morrow weshall have good sport. It is hardly worth while to get wet to the skin,however, for what few birds we shall get to-day."
"Charley," said the younger Davies, "let us go down to the bar and lookup our decoys, for if we have a heavy thaw they may all be washed awayand lost."
Putting on their water-proof coats, boots, and sou'westers, the youngmen took their guns and started for the eastern end of the island. Thedrifts were very heavy along the fences and under the steep banks whichoverhung the eastern and northern shores of the island, and hugehummocks, white, smooth, and unbroken, showed where the snow hadentombed huge bergs and fantastic pinnacles. Facing the storm with somedifficulty, they got out as far as the ice-boat of La Salle, which theyfound completely covered to the depth of two or three feet.
"We should have been smothered if we had taken refuge there last night,"said Ben, as he proceeded to search for the buried decoys.
"I think not; for men can breathe below a great depth of snow, and Ihave heard of sheep being taken alive from a heavy drift after anentombment of twenty or thirty days."
The decoys were soon gathered, and they proceeded to the farther stand,where they took the same precaution against the expected flooding of thefloes, piling the decoys into the box until a pyramid of clumsy woodenbirds rose several feet above the level of the ice, which was fastbecoming soft, and covered with dirty pools of snow water and nasty"sludge."
A FOX HUNT.
"Here is the track of a fox," cried Davies, "and here is where he haskilled a goose this morning;" and La Salle, on hastening to the spot,found a fresh trail leading from the main land, and beside the lastdecoy a slight depression around which loose feathers and clots of bloodtold in unmistakable terms that a single bird, and not improbably awounded one, had alighted amid the decoys, and trusting to the vigilanceof his supposed companions, had fallen an easy prey to his soft-footedassailant.
"Here comes one-armed Peter on his track," said La Salle; and in a fewmoments a tall, finely-built, middle-aged Micmac came noiselessly up,bearing in his only remaining hand, not a gun, but an axe.
"Where's your gun, Peter?" said Ben, carelessly; "you don't expect tokill a fox with an axe--do you?"
The Indian's brow contracted a little, and instantly relaxed, as heanswered, "That not fox track at all; that Indian dog, I guess. MartinMitchell have dog; lun alound like that. No good dog that. Sposum mine,kill um."
"Yes, Peter, I've no doubt you'd like to kill that dog very well. See,he finds his own living for himself. He killed a goose here last night,I see. I s'pose your Indian dogs will eat geese raw, but mine neverwould. He sat down here a moment after he had killed his bird, and leftthe marks of a very bushy tail. Here's some of the hair, too. Bythunder! 'tis the hair of a black fox."
The Indian laughed silently, with no little admiration of the closeobservation of the other visible in his countenance. "Yes, that blackfox. I see his track last night; trail him two tree mile dis morning. Nouse try to fool you; fool other white man over back there; you knowtrail well as Indian. No use carry gun, I think; fox in wet weather getin hollow tlee, or under big loot. I cut down tlee and knock on headwith axe. But if fox on island, I lose him; no tlee there at all bigenough."
"Well, Peter, his trail is straight for the end of the point, and hemust be in the swamp at the other end of the island. We'll go with youand surround the swamp while you enter it. If you fail to tree him,we'll shoot him when he breaks cover, and we'll divide equally whetherone or two help to kill him." And La Salle, resting the butt of hisheavy gun on his boot, drew his load of loose shot, and substituted anEley's cartridge, containing two ounces of large "swan-drops."
A cloud settled upon the smiling face of the Indian, and he broke forthvehemently, "I no want you to help me. I need _all_ that money; you gotplenty. I been sick, had sick boy, sick old woman,--bery sick. I seethat fox two time. No got gun; borrow money on him to pay doctor, andget blead. I borrow gun one day; sit all day, no get nothing; go home,nothing to eat. Next day, man use his own gun, kill plenty. I know foxin wet day find hollow tlee; no like to wet his tail. I say to-day Ikill him, get good gun, get cloes, get plenty blead and tee. I _know_ Ikill that fox."
"Well, Peter, we won't trouble you. We'll go to see you kill him, andwatch out to see that he don't get clear," said Davies; and the Indian,rather hesitatingly, assented.
There was little woodcraft in following the "sign," for the tracks weredeeply impressed in the soft snow, and the heavy body and long neck ofhis prey had left numerous impressions where the fox had rested for amoment. In the course of half an hour the party had gained the shore,and, passing through several fields, found themselves in a heavy growthof beech and maple.
The fox, however, had not halted here, but emerging into a small meadow,had crossed into a close copse of young firs and elders, in whose midsta huge stump, whitened and splintered, rose some twenty-five feet intothe air.
Peter groaned audibly. "That old fox mean as debbil. Know that place nogood. No hollow tlee, only brush and thick branch. Fox get under loot,and eat, watch twenty way at once: well, I try, any way."
Ben and La Salle hastily passed around the woods surrounding the glade,until they reached the opposite side of the motte to that which Peterwas now entering. Noticing that only a narrow space of open groundintervened at one point, Davies crept noiselessly down to the very edgeof the underbrush, about sixty yards from La Salle.
He had scarcely drawn himself up from his crouching position, when amagnificent black fox crossed the opening almost at his very feet,followed by the light axe of the Indian, which, thrown with astonishingforce and precision, passed just above the animal, and was buried almostto the helve in a small tree not a yard from Davies's head.
Flurried out of his usual good judgment, Ben drew both triggers, withuncertain aim, and the fox, swerving a little, passed him like a shot.La Salle, springing forward through the narrow belt of woods, saw thefrightened animal a score of rods off, making across the fields for theWestern Bar. A fence bounded the field some six score yards away, underwhich the fox must pass, and whose top rail, scarce three feet above thelevel, marked the necessary elevation to allow for the "drop" of thetiny missiles used. La Salle felt that all depended on his aim, and thathis nerves were at the utmost tension of excited interest; but he forcedhimself to act with deliberate promptitude at a moment when the mostfeverish haste would have seemed interminable dallying. Steadily theponderous tube was levelled in line of the fleeing beast, until thebeaded sight rested on the top rail above him. An instant the heavyweapon seemed absolutely without motion; then the report crashed throughthe forest, and the snow-crust was dashed into impalpable powder by ahundred riddling pellets.
The shot was fired just as the fox sprang up the slight embankment onwhich, as is usual, the line of fence was placed. For an instant heseemed to falter, then leaped the top rail, and disappeared beyond theenclosure.
Peter and Davies had seen the shot, and with La Salle rushed forward tonote its effect, although neither hoped for more than a wound whosebleeding would ultimately disable him, when patient tracking wouldsecure his much-prized fur. As they ran to the fence they noted thedeeply-cut scores in the icy crust which marked the first dropping shot,and Peter became loud in his praises of the weapon.
"I never see gun like that; at hundred yards you kill him, sure; but nogun ever kill so far as you fire. See there, shot strike dis stump. Hah!there spot of blood on bank. Damn! here fox dead, sure enough."
"Hurrah! the Baby forever for a long shot. Charley, old boy, shake handson it. Peter, don't you wish you hadn't been so sure of killing himwithout our he
lp?"
The thoughtless triumph of the young Englishman recalled the memory ofhis obstinate refusal to accept the proffered aid of the sportsmen tothe mind of the poor Indian. Such a look of utter disappointment tookthe place of his joy at the successful shot, that La Salle couldscarcely contain his sympathy.
"So it is always. White man win, Indian lose; white man get food, Indianstarve; white man live, Indian die. Once, all this Indian land. No whitepeople were here, and many Indians hunt and find enough. Now, the Indianmust buy the wood which he makes into baskets. He cannot spear a salmonin the rivers. The woods are cut down, and the many ships and gunsfrighten off the game."
He looked a moment at the dead fox, smoothed its glossy fur with a handthat trembled with suppressed emotion, and then, with a curt "goodevening," turned to go.
"I wish, Peter, you would come down to the house and skin this beast forme," said La Salle. "If you will do so carefully, and stretch it fordrying in good style, I'll give you a pair of boots."
Without a word the Indian seized the dead animal and strode ahead ofthem, like one who seeks in bodily fatigue a refuge from anguish ofspirit.
"What will you give for such a skin, Davies?" asked La Salle.
"I will give you one hundred and fifty dollars for that one. It is thelargest, finest, and blackest that I ever saw."
"You have another gun like your own in your store at C.--have you not?"
"Yes, exactly like my own. I can only tell them apart by this curl inthe wood of the stock."
"What is she worth?"
"I will sell her to you for fifteen pounds."
"That would be fifty dollars. Well, Ben, I'll tell you what, we mustgive Peter one half of the fox. I should never forgive myself if wedidn't. I know he has been sick all summer, and his disappointment mustbe very hard to bear. Are you willing to give him half?"
"Do just as you please, Charley," said the warmhearted hunter. "I don'tclaim any share, for we are all on our own hook, unless by specialagreement; but I shall be very glad if you are kind enough to sharewith him, poor fellow!"
"Well, Ben, you are to take the fox at your own price, giving Peter anorder on your partner for the gun, and credit to the amount oftwenty-five dollars more. The other seventy-five we divide. You haveonly to give me credit for my moiety, as I owe you nearly that amount."
"I'm satisfied if you are; so let us hurry up, and see Peter prepare theskin, and send him home happy."
"The finest skin I ever saw," said Risk. "It's worth three hundreddollars in St. Petersburg, if it's worth a cent."
"Who killed him?" said the elder Davies. "If you did, Ben, I'd like tobuy the skin."
"I bought it myself of La Salle for one hundred and fifty. He killed it,and sold it to me. I guess I can sell to good advantage."
In the mean time Peter had drawn his _waghon_, or curved Indian knife,from his belt, and, carefully commencing at the rear of the body,skinned the animal without forming another aperture, removing the mask,and ears attached, with great nicety. With equal dexterity he whittled apiece of pine board to the proper shape, and, turning the skin insideout, drew it tightly over the batten, fastening it in place with a fewtacks. His task completed, he handed it to La Salle, and rose to go.The latter restrained him, saying,--
"Hold, Peter; you must have your pay first. Here is a pair of rubberboots and some dry stockings. Put them on, and throw away those oldmoccasons, and take these few things to your wife."
"You very kind, brother," said Peter, simply, taking the small bundle oftea, sugar, bread, cake, and jellies which could be spared from theirlimited stock of "small stores."
"And, Peter," continued La Salle, "Ben and I have concluded to sharewith you in the matter of the fox. We have no wives yet, and thereforethink about one half the price ought to go to you. This paper will getyou that double-barrel of Ben's father to-morrow, if you feel like goingover for it; and you will also be allowed to purchase twenty-fivedollars' worth more of ammunition, food, and clothing."
The tears came into the poor fellow's eyes.
"Damn! I know you hite men. I know you heretic. I say I no hunt withyou. I try cheat you on the trail, and you make Peter cly like squaw. Iwish--I wish--you two, tlee, six fathom deep in river. I jump in for youif I die."
And, seizing the bundle and the precious order, he dashed the moisturefrom his eyes, and took the road homeward.
"He will never repay your kindness," said Lund. "Them Indians is nevergrateful for anything."
"I think he will repay it, if it is ever in his power," said Risk."Peter is one of the most honest and industrious of his tribe, and it isnot his fault when his children want food."
"Well, boys," said the elder Davies, "I suppose you have done right, andthat you will receive as much gratitude as we give to our heavenlyFather; but, as men look at things, you have, indeed, 'cast your breadupon the waters.'"
"If it is so, Mr. Davies," said La Salle, with a solemnity unusual withhim, "our reward is sure; for the promise is, 'Thou _shalt_ find itafter many days.'"
"But," said Lund, with a quiet twinkle in his sharp gray eye, "I'd liketo bet five shillin' that, when you are repaid, it won't be in Indianbread."
"Pretty good!" laughed Kennedy, who had taken the day to finish up alarge pile of "back numbers" of his favorite daily, "but I think hardlyjust to the Indians. Horace Greeley has given a great deal of thought tothis Indian question, and although he would disapprove of supplying themwith arms and ammunition, yet in all other matters would indorse yourpolicy."
"You don't mean to say that Greeley would disapprove of letting poorPeter have a gun to shoot game to help support his family--do you?"asked Ben, in astonishment.
"Certainly I do. With that fifty dollars, he could have procured toolsand seed, and started a farm on Indian Island. Instead of that, you givehim the means of continuing a savage, instead of encouraging him tobecome a farmer and a civilized being. Horace Greeley would havetried--"
"To attempt an impossibility," said La Salle, excitedly. "As well mayyou expect to raise a draught horse from a pair of racers, or keep aflock of eagles as you would a coop of hens. The French have been theonly people on this continent with an Indian policy founded in reason,and a just estimate of the character and capabilities of theaborigines."
"And yet they were completely driven from this continent," said Kennedy.
"True, sir; but their Indian policy made their scanty population of twohundred thousand Europeans a dreaded foe to the nearly three millioncolonists of English descent. They made of their savage allies an armthat struck secretly, swiftly, and with terrible effect, and a defencethat kept actual hostilities a long distance from their mainsettlements. I believe, sir, that the philosophers of the future willcondemn alike our policy of extermination, and the impossible attempt tomould hunters, warriors, and absolutely free men, into peaceful,plodding citizens of a republic."
"What else can be done with them?" asked Kennedy, sharply.
"It seems to me that in generations to come, it will be said of us,'They did not try in those days to yoke the racer to the plough, nor tochain the hound to the kennel, while they urged the mastiff on the trackof the deer; yet they failed to see that the Creator, and peculiarconditions unchanged for centuries, had moulded the races of men todifferent forms of government, modes of life, and varieties ofavocation. The Roman conqueror of the world knew better than to put inhis heavily-armed legions the flying Parthian, the light-armed horsemanof Numidia, or the slinger of the Balearic Isles. The American of thepast had at his disposal a race capable of being the skirmish line ofhis march of civilization to wrest a continent from the wilderness. Astrappers, hunters, and guides; as fishermen and slayers of whale andseal; as the light horseman, quick, brave, self-sustaining, andself-reliant, the Indian was capable of valuable services to a peoplewho offered him but two alternatives--extinction, or a dull, plodding,vegetative, unnatural existence.'"
"Well, La Salle, if you two Yankees can let your argument rest a little,w
e'll go down to the shore, to take a look at the ice, and see whatto-morrow has in store for us," said Risk; and, as it was nearlysundown, the party hastened down to a part of the bank clear of trees,from whence they could discern the bay and the surrounding shores.
The rain was falling in gentle and melting showers; the south wind,laden with penetrating warmth, borne from lands hundreds of leaguesdistant, cut down drift and ice-hill with its fatal kisses; from therocky cliff a thousand tiny cascades wept and plashed; and over the icybonds of every brook and river another stream ran swiftly to the sea.Over the icy levels of harbor and bay rippled another sheet of freshwater, which each moment grew deeper and wider as the warm rain fellmore heavily, and the withering south wind came in increasing strength.
"If this lasts all night, boys," said Lund, oracularly, "it will openthe spring-holes and oyster-beds, and give the geese, which are sure tocome with this wind, a certain amount of feeding-grounds which are notlikely to be frozen up this winter. Come," continued he, turning away;"the geese will be getting cold, and we want to have time to hear a goodyarn before we go to bed."
"It's your turn to-night, Mr. Risk," said Ben; "and we must have a storyas different as possible from the last. You know all about the oldnotables of the country, who used to own thousands of acres, and keephorses and servants as they do on large manors in the old country. Tellus a story about some of that set, as you used to tell father and uncleDan, down at Morell."
"I won't try to back out, gentlemen," said Risk, laying aside hismeerschaum; "for the sooner I tell my story the better, as you will'have it over with,' and hear a great many good stories before itbecomes my turn to bore you again. My story is about
"OLD ANTHONY WORRELL AND HIS NEWFOUNDLAND DOG.
"In my young days, a number of the immediate heirs of the originalproprietors were resident here; and among them this Major Worrell, whoseestate has since been purchased by the government. He was a little,nervous, black-haired bachelor, who shared his chamber with a favoriteblack Newfoundland retriever, named Carlo.
"One or two domestics did the housework, and helped the farm-hands inhaying, harvest, and potato-digging; and over all presided Mrs. Sims, atall, stout, and resolute widow, with a heavy hand and a shrewishtemper. With a huge bunch of keys at her side, and an eye quick todetect the smallest waste and the slightest irregularity, she kept thehousehold in terror, and her master (poor little man!) in almost abjectvassalage. A specimen of one of their daily breakfast dialogues may beworthy of reproduction.
"_She._ 'Good mornin,' sir. 'Ope you're well this morning.'
"_He._ 'Yes--quite well. Breakfast ready, eh?'
"_She._ 'Almost. Heggs just boiling when I came in. That Gillbear(Gilbert, a little, French orphan) sucks heggs, hi'm sure. Hi wonder youkeep 'im hon the place.'
"_He._ 'Well, you know, Mrs. Sims, he's an orphan, and--'
"_She._ 'Well, hi like that. Han horphan! hand 'is father lives hup hinhas good a farm has there his hin Tracadie.'
"_He._ 'Well, his father Gilbert died, and Lisette, his mother, marriedFrancois: and then Lisette, his mother, died, and Francois married hiscousin Christine; and then Francois died, and Christine married Jacquesthe blacksmith; and so he hasn't any father or mother, and no home, andI let him stay here.'
"_She._ 'Yes, hand you'd 'ave the place heaten hup with lazy, dirty,thieving beggars hif hit wasn't for me. Hi told your brother when 'esent me hover. Says 'e, 'My brother his too heasy, han' needs some un tosee that 'e hisn't himposed hupon.' Says hi, 'Wen hi'm hunable to do myduty, hi've honly to return 'ome to Hingland. Wich hi've just 'ad aletter from my sister; han' hif hi must slave for sich, hi'd rather givewarnin' for to-morrow come four weeks.'
"_He_ (nervously). 'Why, my dear Mrs. Sims--'
"_She._ 'Yes, sir; hand that dratted dog Carlo, hevery mornin', when higoes to hair your sheets, gives me ha start with growlin' hat me fromhunder the bed-clothes, wich 'e wraps 'isself hup hin hevery mornin',sir, like has hif 'e were a Christian. Now, sir, hi'm ready to slavehand wear myself hout for you, but has for slavin' for a dirty cur and aFrench brat, hi've no need to, han' hi won't.'
_He._ 'Well, well, Mrs. Sims, we'll see what can be done--what can bedone. I'll get a chain for Gilbert, and send the dog away. No, I meanI'll--No, I'll--Confound it, madam, let's have breakfast.'
"On the same afternoon Mr. Grahame, the nearest magistrate, called onbusiness, and to him Worrell related his domestic troubles.
"'I can't do without her, for she is a splendid cook, and keeps myclothes in first-rate order. I can't bear the thought of the cookery Ishould have to eat, and the dirt and disorder I should see around me, ifshe does go away. But she's a regular Tartar, and I've no authority atall in my house.'
"'Well, Worrell, it's a hard case; but I would chain up that dog. As topoor little Gilbert, do what you think is right in spite of her. If sheleaves--Ah, I have it. Go into town, and propose to one of the F.sisters. They are all good cooks and amiable women, and you'll be rid ofyour Tartar.'
"'Wich I'm much hobleeged to you for the name, an' the good advice yougive the master, stirrin' hov 'im hup against a lone, friendless widow,wat's slaved an' worked this six years come St. Michaelmas.'
"Mr. Grahame, of course, with the _mauvais honte_ which men toogenerally display towards angry and unreasonable women, took an awkwardleave of the angry widow, and poor Worrell, whom she treated to alecture of half an hour, ending with a lively fit of tears andhysterics. As the poor little man turned away, leaving her in the handsof a servant, he caught her last broken objurgations.
"'An hungrateful fool, marry an' turn me hoff; ugh, ugh! fix 'im, hany'ow.'
"The following morning Worrell rose early, and passing through thebreakfast-room, received a sulky greeting from his housekeeper, and wentout to over-look the labors of his men. Feeling a little unwell, hereturned to his room, and finding his dog in his bed, flung him into aspare room, and getting into bed, went to sleep. Now, both dog andmaster had a very unhealthy habit--that of keeping the head covered withbed-clothes; and so it happened that when Mrs. Sims entered the room,she saw, as she supposed, the black ears and head of the hated Carlo.
"Revenge urged her to undue and overhasty punishment; her overchargedfeelings sought relief on some object, and a stout-handled broom was inher grasp. At last vengeance was within her reach; should she relinquishit? No, a thousand times no!
"'You dirty brute!' she yelled, in fury. 'You hold rascal, I'll pay youout! I'll murder you! I'll kill you!'
"Such was the preface of a shower of blows, which suddenly broke therest of the defenceless Worrell. Half stunned, astounded, almostparalyzed, he heard, as if in a terrible dream, the threats whichaccompanied the merciless blows of the assailant.
"'I've got you! Sleep again, will you? I'll kill you, you hold fool!I'll murder--Good Lord! hit's my master;' and as a bruised and bloodyface, surmounting a meager figure, in remarkably scanty drapery,vanished out of the room, Mrs. Sims drew a long breath, and fainted inreal earnest in one corner.
"Worrell never stopped until he reached Grahame's, who rather hastilycaught up a shawl, and wrapping him in it, got him to his chamber, andinto a suit of his own clothes, only about twice too large, for Grahamewas one of the tallest men in the county.
"When he had composed himself sufficiently, a complaint was duly enteredagainst Mrs. Sims for 'assault with intent to kill;' and Mrs. Sims,despite her piteous entreaties, was arrested and brought before themagistrate. Her appeals for mercy were heart-rending.
"'Ho, mercy, your washup; mercy, Mr. Worrell. Wich I thinks hit werethat dratted dorg. Don't 'ang me. I never hintended--' But Worrell wasinexorable.
"'But you said you would kill me, you would murder me, and you nearlydid murder me.'
"'Wich I told your brother--ugh, ugh! an' I've slaved, an', ugh, ugh!an' wich it were all a mistake--ugh, ugh! 'ave mercy, gentlemen.'
"'But you said you would murder me, and you nearly did murder me, and--'
"'Peace, Mr. Worr
ell,' said Grahame, impressively; 'the hour of yourredemption draweth nigh. Prisoner at the bar,' continued he, 'the crimewhich you have committed has always been held in just aversion andhorror by the English nation. Repaying the trust and confidence of yourmaster with unkind persecution and a shrewish tongue, you have finishedthe measure of your misdeeds by what might have proved a most brutalmurder. Your unsupported statement, that you mistook Mr. Worrell for hisdog, would have little or no weight on any unprejudiced jury. We,however, incline to mercy; and I therefore bind you over, in the sum ofone thousand pounds, to keep the peace for six months.'
"'Wherever can I find so much money?' asked the despairing prisoner.
"'On condition that you will leave for England, I will find bail foryou. Understand, however, that they will give you up, should you fail todepart at the earliest opportunity.'
"Poor Mrs. Sims went in the next ship 'bound home;' but the story gotabroad at once, and Worrell never married. Great amusement, of course,was created by the recital, and it became a favorite of the members ofthe bar on circuit, who, however, generally expressed one regret, viz.,'that Worrell escaped alive, as the world thereby lost a most remarkablecriminal case.'
"Well, that's all there is of it; and as it's nine o'clock, and we wantto be up early, I think I'll conclude by bidding you all 'good night,and pleasant dreams.'"
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