The Honor of the Big Snows
Page 7
CHAPTER VII
THE CARIBOU CARNIVAL
Jan had not played upon his violin since the coming of Jean de Gravois;but one evening he tuned his strings, and said to Melisse:
"They have been good to you, my Melisse. I will give them ze museek ofze violon."
It was the big night at the post--the night that is known fromAthabasca to Hudson's Bay as the night of the caribou roast. A week hadpassed, and there were no more furs to be disposed of. In the company'sledger each man had received his credit, and in the company's store thefurs were piled high and safe. Three caribou had been killed by Per-eeand his hunters; and on this night, when Jan took down his violin fromits peg on the wall, a huge fire blazed in the open, and on spits sixinches in diameter the caribou were roasting.
The air was filled with the sound and odor of the carnival. Above thefighting and snarling of dogs, the forest people lifted their voices inwild celebration, forgetting, in this one holiday of the year, thesilence that they would carry back into the solitudes with them.Numbers gave them courage of voice, and in its manifestation there wasthe savagery of the forests that hemmed them in. Shrill voices rose inmeaningless cries above the roaring of the fire. Caribou whips snappedfiercely. Chippewayans, Crees, Eskimos, and breeds crowded in the redglare. The factor's men shouted and sang like mad, for this was thecompany's annual "good time"--the show that would lure many of thesesame men back again at the end of another trapping season.
Huge boxes of white bread were placed near to the fire. A tub of realbutter, brought five thousand miles from across the sea for theoccasion, was set on a gun-case thrown where the heat played upon it inyellow glory. In a giant copper kettle, over a smaller fire, bubbledand steamed half a barrel of coffee.
The richness of the odors that drifted in the air set the dogsgathering upon their haunches beyond the waiting circle of masters,their lips dripping, their fangs snapping in an eagerness that was notfor the flesh of battle. And above it all there gleamed down a billionstars from out of the skies, the aurora flung its banners through thepale night, and softly the smoke rose straight up and then floated intothe North, carried there by the gentle breath that spring was luringfrom out of the South.
Jan picked his way through the cordon of dogs and the inner circle ofmen until he stood with the firelight flashing in his glossy hair andblack eyes, and there, seated upon the edge of one of the bread-boxes,he began to play.
It was not the low, sweet music of Cummins and the little Melisse thathe played now, but a wild, wailing song that he had found in the autumnwinds. It burst above the crackling fire and the tumult of man and dogin a weird and savage beauty that hushed all sound; and life about himbecame like life struck suddenly dead. With his head bowed Jan sawnothing--saw nothing of the wonder in the faces of the half-cringinglittle black men who were squatted in a group a dozen feet away,nothing of the staring amazement in the eyes that were looking uponthis miracle he was performing. He knew only that about him there was adeep hush, and after a while his violin sang a lower song, and sweeter;and still softer it became, and more sweet, until he was playing thatwhich he loved most of all--the music that had filled the little cabinwhen Cummins' wife died.
As he continued to play there came an interruption to the silence--alow refrain that was almost like that of the moaning wind. It grewbeyond the tense circle of men, until a song of infinite sadness rosefrom the throats of a hundred dogs in response to Jan Thoreau's violin.To Jan, it was like the song of life. The unending loneliness and griefof it stirred him to the quick of his soul, and unconsciously his voicerose and fell softly with the wailing of the brute chorus. But to theothers it was a thing that rose portentous above their understanding, amiracle of mystery that smote them with awe even as they surrenderedthemselves to the wonderful sweetness of the music.
Cummins saw the change in his people, and understood what it meant. Hesaw the surrounding cordon become thinner as man crushed closer to man,and he saw strained faces turned from the player to where the dogs satfull-throated upon their haunches, with their heads pointed straight tothe stars in the sky.
Suddenly he burst into a volume of wild song, and made his way throughthe crouching Eskimos to Jan.
"For the love of Heaven, play no more of that!" he cried in the boy'sear. "Play something fast!"
Jan lifted his head as if from a dream. In an instant he perceived thestrange effect of his music, and his bow raced across the strings ofhis violin in a rhythm swift and buoyant, his voice rising shrill andclear in words familiar to them all:
"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, He roas' on high, Jes' under ze sky, Ze beeg white cariboo-oo-oo!"
With a yell Cummins joined in, waving his arms and leaping in thefirelight. The spell was broken. Williams and Mukee and the rest of thecompany's men burst forth in song; Jan's violin leaped in crescendos ofstirring sound; and where before there had been a silent circle ofawestruck men there was now a yelling din of voices.
The dogs lowered their heads again, and licked their chops at the odorsin the air. With a yell Mukee and three Crees dashed toward the fire,long-hooked poles in their hands; and as the caribou carcasses wereturned upon their huge spits, and their dripping fat fell sizzling intothe flames, the wild chorus of men and dogs and Jan's violin rosehigher, until Cummins' great voice became only a whisper in the tumult.
The third caribou had been twice turned upon its spit, and Mukee andhis Crees paused in waiting silence, their hooked poles gripping thelong bar that rested horizontally across the arms of two stout postsdriven into the earth close to the fire. At this signal there was afinal outburst from the waiting horde, and then a momentary silencefell as Cummins sprang upon one of the bread-boxes and waved his armsfrantically above his head. "Now!" he shouted. "Now! 'Zecariboo-oo-oo--'"
With eyes flashing with excitement, Jan stood before Cummins, and hisviolin shrieked out the wild tune to a still wilder response of untamedvoices.
"Now!" yelled Cummins again.
The wilderness song, that was known from Athabasca to Hudson's Bay,burst forth in a savage enthusiasm that reached to the skies:
"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, He roas' on high, Jes' under ze sky, Ze beeg white cariboo-oo-oo!"
Cummins drew his revolver and blazed fiercely into the air.
"Now!" he shrieked.
"Oh, ze cariboo-oo-oo, ze cariboo-oo-oo, He brown 'n' juice 'n' sweet! Ze cariboo-oo-oo, he ver' polite-- He roas' on high, Jes' under ze sky, He ready now to come 'n' eat!"
With yells that rose above the last words of the song, Mukee and hisCrees tugged at their poles, and the roasted caribou fell upon thesnow. Jan drew back, and with his violin hugged under one arm, watchedthe wild revelers as, with bared knives flashing in the firelight, theycrowded to the feast. Williams, the factor, who was puffing from hisvocal exertions, joined him.
"Looks like a fight, doesn't it, Jan? Once I saw a fight at a caribouroast."
"So did I," said Jan, who had not taken his eyes from the jostlingcrowd.
"It was far to the west and north," continued Williams; "beyond theGreat Slave country."
"Far beyond," said Jan, lifting his eyes quietly. "It was ver' near toze Great Bear."
The factor stared at him in amazement.
"You saw it?" he exclaimed.
But Jan turned away, as if he had heard nothing, and passed beyond thepacks of waiting dogs to restore his precious violin to its peg on thecabin wall. The factor's words had stirred deep memories within him,and for the first time since he had come to the post he spoke no wordto Melisse when he found her wakeful and friendly in her cot.
Neither was it the old Jan Thoreau who returned to the excitement aboutthe great fire. With his long hunting-knife flashing above his head, heplunged into the throng around the caribou, crowding and jostling withthe others, his voice rising in shrill cries as he forced himselfthrough to the edge of the fire. Cummins was there, kneeling withturned-up sleeves and greasy ha
nds beside the huge roast, and when hesaw Jan he stared at him in wonder. There was neither laughter nor songin Jan Thoreau's voice. It was vibrant with a strange savageness whichwas more savage than the wildest yells of the half-breed Crees, and hisgreat eyes burned fiercely as they rested for an instant upon Cummins'face.
Close behind Cummins stood Williams. Jan saw him, and his knife droppedto his side. Then, so quickly that the startled factor drew back astep, Jan sprang to him.
"Ze fight at ze Great Bear!" he cried in swift eagerness. "For who youfight at ze Great Bear?"
The factor was silent, and the muscles of his arms grew like steel ashe saw the madness in Jan's face. Suddenly he reached out and grippedthe boy's wrists. Jan made no effort to evade the clutch.
"For who you fight?" he cried again. "For who you fight at ze GreatBear?"
"We tried to kill a man, but he got away," said Williams, speaking solow that only Jan heard. "He was--" The factor stopped.
"Ze missioner!" panted Jan.
The wild light went out of his eyes as he stared up at Williams, andthe softer glow which came into them loosened at once the factor's gripon the boy's wrists.
"Yes, the missioner!"
Jan drew back. He evaded meeting the eyes of Cummins as he made his wayamong the men. There was a new burst of song as Mukee and his Creespulled down a second caribou, but the boy paid no attention to thefresh excitement. He thrust his knife into its sheath and ran--ranswiftly through the packs of dogs fighting and snarling over the scrapsthat had beep thrown to them; past Maballa who was watching the savagebanquet around the big fire, and into the little cabin, to Melisse.
Here he flung himself upon his knees, and for the first time he caughtthe baby in his arms, holding her close to him, and rocking her to andfro, as he cried out sobbingly the words which she did not understand.
"An' when I fin' heem an' kill heem, I will come back to you, my angelMelisse," he whispered. "And then you will luf Jan Thoreau for lettingout the blood of a missioner!"
He put her back into the little bed, kissed her again, took down hisviolin from its peg in the wall, and turned to the door.