The Big Otter

“Lumley,” said I, interrupting, “do try to hold your tongue, if you can, and go fill your kettle.”

With a laugh he swung off to a spring that bubbled at the foot of a rock hard by, and when he returned I had my bird plucked, singed, split open, and cleaned out. You must understand, reader, that we were not particular. We were wont to grasp the feathers in large handfuls, and such as would not come off easily we singed off.

“You see, Lumley,” said I, when he came back, “I don’t intend that this bird shall end his career in the pot. I’ll roast him.”

“’Tis well, most noble Max, for I wouldn’t let you pot him, even if you wished to. We have only one kettle, and that must be devoted to tea.”

It was not long before the supper was ready. While it was preparing Lumley and I sat chatting by the fire, and gazing in a sort of dreamy delight at the glorious view of land and water which we could see through an opening among the trees in front of us; for, not only was there the rich colouring of autumn everywhere—the greens, yellows, browns, and reds of mosses, grasses, and variegated foliage—but there was a bright golden glow cast over all by the beams of the setting sun.

Ere long all this was forgotten as we lay under the starry sky in profound slumber.

While we slept, the Creator was preparing that wonderful and beautiful change to which I have referred. Clouds gradually overspread the sky—I observed this when, in a half-sleeping state I rose to mend our fire, but thought nothing of it. I did not, however, observe what followed, for sleep had overpowered me again the instant I lay down.

Softly, silently, persistently, and in large flakes, the snow must have fallen during the entire night, for, when we awoke it lay half a foot deep upon us, and when we shook ourselves free and looked forth we found that the whole landscape, far and near, was covered with the same pure white drapery. The uniformity of the scene was broken by the knolls of trees and shrubs and belts of forest which showed powerfully against the white ground, and by the water of the numerous ponds and lakes and streams which, where calm, reflected the bright blue sky, and, where rough, sparkled in the rising sun; while every twig and leaf of bush and tree bore its little fringe or patch of snow, so that we were surrounded by the most beautiful and complicated forms of lacework conceivable of Nature’s own making.

“It is glorious to look at,” said Lumley, after our first burst of enthusiasm, “but it will be troublesome to walk through, I fear.”

We did not, however, find it as troublesome as we had expected; for, although nearly a foot deep, the snow was quite dry, owing to the frost which had set in, and we could drive it aside with comparative ease when we started on our journey homeward.

Arrived at the fort we found our men and the few Indians who had not left us for their hunting-grounds, busy at the nets, or finishing the buildings that were yet incomplete.

We also found that Big Otter had come in, bringing with him his wife, and his niece Waboose, with her mother. The health of the latter had broken down, and Big Otter had brought her to the fort in the hope that the white chief could do something for her.

“I’ll do what I can,” said Lumley, on hearing her case stated, “though I make no pretence to being a medicine-man, but I will do this for you and her:– I will engage you, if you choose, to help Blondin at his fishery, and your wife to make moccasins for us. I’ll also let you have that little hut beside our kitchen to live in. You’ll find it better and warmer than a wigwam, and as there are two rooms in it you won’t be overcrowded.”

Big Otter was delighted with this arrangement, and I took him away at once to show him the hut he was to occupy.

As this was the first time I had met with the unknown Englishman’s widow, and the mother of Waboose, it was with no little interest and curiosity that I regarded her.

She was evidently in very bad health, but I could easily see that when young she must have been a very handsome woman. Besides being tall and well-formed, she had a most expressive countenance and a dignified air, coupled with a look of tender kindness in it, which drew me to her at once. She seemed in many respects much superior—in manners and habits—to the other Indian women of the tribe, though still far below her daughter in that respect, and I could easily perceive that the latter owed her great superiority and refinement of manner to her father, though she might well have derived her gentleness from her mother.

What the illness was that broke that mother down I cannot tell. It resembled consumption in some respects, though without the cough, but she improved in health decidedly at first on getting into her new house, and set to work with zeal to assist in the making of moccasins and other garments. Of course Waboose helped her; and, very soon after this arrival, I began to give her lessons in the English language.

Lumley quizzed me a good deal about this at first, but afterwards he became more serious.

“Now, Max, my boy,” he said to me, one evening when we were alone, in that kindly-serious manner which seemed to come over him whenever he had occasion to find fault with any one, “it is all very well your giving lessons in English to that Indian girl, but what I want to know is, what do you expect to be the upshot of it?”

“Marriage,” said I with prompt decision, “if—if she will have me,” I added with a more modest air.

My friend did not laugh or banter me, as I had expected, but in an earnest tone said:—

“But think, Max, you are only just entering on manhood; you can’t be said to know your own mind yet. Suppose, now, that you were to express an intention to marry Waboose, the Hudson’s Bay Company might object till you had at least finished your apprenticeship.”

“But I would not think of it before that,” said I.

“And then,” continued Lumley, not noticing the interruption, “if you do marry her you can never more return to the civilised world, for she is utterly ignorant of its ways, and would feel so ill at ease there, and look so much out of place, that you would be obliged to take to the woods again, and live and die there—and—what would your father say to that?”

I confess that this reference to my dear father shook me.

“But, Lumley,” said I, “she is not a mere Indian girl, and would not look out of place anywhere. Her father was obviously a gentleman, and has tried, with much success I find, to cultivate a naturally gentle and delicate mind and disposition in his child. Surely, very little is required to make a lady of her—I mean in the sense that society understands by that term—and even if that were not possible, is mere polish to be weighed in the balance against gentleness, sweetness, unselfishness, tenderness, truthfulness, modesty, loving-kindness—to say nothing of beauty—”

A hearty laugh interrupted me here.

“Oh! Max, I admit that polish must go down before such a splendid array of virtues. But,” added my friend, becoming grave again, “is Waboose a Christian?”

“Yes,” I replied, stoutly, “a far, far better Christian than I am, for I find that her father has taught her the truths of the Bible—and you—you see that fruit in her which I fear you don’t see much of in me.”

“Well, we have not had much time to see the fruit yet, but now I must speak to you as your chief. You say you have no thought of marriage till your apprenticeship is up. That is a good while yet. You may change your mind.”

“Never!” said I, with emphasis.

“Well, I respect your honourable feelings, my boy, but it is just possible that even if she were willing (which has yet to be proved) she may change her mind, therefore you must promise me faithfully that in all this teaching of English there shall be no lovemaking. You are bound in honour, Max, to avoid trying to win her affections, or in any way to influence her till—till time, a considerable time—shall have passed.”

“I promise you, Lumley, with all my heart. I think it is ennobling to a man to love a girl because of her pure and sterling qualities irrespective of her looks, and I would count it foul disgrace to do anything to win her unless I saw my way quite clearly to wed her.”

“Which you do not at present, Max?”

“Which I do not at present, Lumley, so I will continue the lessons with the air and manner of a heartless pedagogue!”

This having been arranged between us, the subject was dropped, and not again referred to for many months.

Meanwhile winter advanced with rapid strides. One night an intense frost set in and covered the entire lake, as far at least as we could see, with a sheet of pure ice. It had set fast in a profound calm, and the surface was so smooth that every tree and bush on the outlying islets was reflected as if in water. Indeed, it could scarcely be told that the ice was not water except by going on it.

Being a somewhat expert skater, and having brought my skates with me, I put them on, resolved to enjoy a few hours of what used to be a favourite amusement when I was a boy. Lumley could not skate, to my regret; besides, he had no skates, and none of the men had ever learned the art, so that I was forced to skate alone. And at this time I learned a lesson about solitary amusement which I never afterwards forgot.

“Max,” said Lumley, as I went down to the lake, skates in hand, “while you’re off amusing yourself I’ll go finish the track on the hillside—that will afford amusement enough for me and the men. I’ll give them a holiday, as it is such a splendid day.”

“That’s a new kind of holiday,” said I with a laugh, as I fixed on my skates, “to set them to the finishing of a track!”

The track referred to was a straight wide cutting up the face of the hill at the side of the fort. Lumley had ordered the men to clear it of trees and shrubs, from the hill-top—which extended far behind as well as high above the fort—down to the edge of the lake. It had remained in this unfinished state for some time, and now, being covered with snow, formed a long white-floored avenue to the hill-top.

“I’m sorry you can’t join me,” said I, making a few circles before starting. “It feels so selfish to go off alone.”

“Never mind, old boy, off you go, and see that you don’t get upon weak ice.”

Lumley waved his hand as he spoke, and I shot swiftly away over the glassy lake.

Oh! it was a glorious burst, that first dash over an apparently illimitable sheet of water, for, although small for an American lake, the opposite shore of Wichikagan was so far-off as to appear dim and low, while, in one direction, the sky and water met at the horizon, so that I enjoyed the romantic feeling of, as it were, skating out to sea! The strength of youth thrilled in every nerve and muscle; the vigour of health and life coursed in every vein. I felt, just then, as if exhaustion were impossible. The ice was so smooth that there was no sensation of roughness under foot to tell of a solid support. The swift gliding motion was more like the skimming of the swallow than the skating of a man. The smallest impulse sent me shooting ahead with an ease that almost surprised me. In sensation, as well as in appearance, I was rushing over a surface of water in which the sun was reflected with a brilliancy that quite dazzled me. I became almost wild with delight. Indeed I grew reckless, and gave a sort of leap—with what intent I know not—which caused the back of my head to smite the ice and my body to proceed fifty yards or more on its back, with the legs in the air and a starry constellation corruscating in the brain!

Considerably sobered by this, I arose and cut the figure of eight thoughtfully for five minutes. After this I resumed my rapid pace, which I kept up until the necessity of pausing to recover breath impressed me. Making a wide circle outwards with my left leg in the air and my right hand pointed to the sky in the most approved manner, I gradually caused the circle to diminish until I came to a stand.

Looking back, I saw Fort Wichikagan like a mere speck on the horizon. In the opposite direction the lake still presented a limitless horizon. On either side the distant shores marked, but could hardly be said to bound, the view, while, closer at hand, the islets were reflected in the ice as clearly as if it had been water. I felt as if standing on a liquid ocean. Once more a bounding sense of joyous freedom and strength filled me. The starry corruscations had vanished. The bump on the back of my head had ceased to grieve me. Away I went again like—but words fail me. Imagery and description avail nothing when the indescribable is reached!

After an hour of this enjoyment I took to circling, and, in the exuberance of my feelings, attempted some quite new and complex performances, which resulted in a few more corruscations and bumps. But these were trifles. I heeded them not.

At last, however, I stood still and became thoughtful. We must all become thoughtful sooner or later. A sense of loneliness began to oppress me, and I longed for companionship in my joy. Knowing that this was a useless longing, I cast it aside and resumed my evolutions, rushes, bumps, and corruscations. But it would not do. The longing returned with redoubled violence. After another hour I turned to skate homeward, very much toned down in spirits, and deeply convinced of the truth—in more senses than one—of the words, “It is not good that man should be alone.”

Before leaving this subject I may add that I tried skating again the next day, but again grew weary of it in less than an hour for want of companionship; that I made up my mind, in disgust to try no more; and that, on the day following, sympathetic Nature aided me in my resolve by covering the entire lake with eighteen inches of snow—thus rendering my once favourite exercise impossible.

But, to return. When I drew near to the fort, I observed that several black specks were gliding with lightning speed down the white track on the hillside which Lumley had undertaken to finish. These specks, after descending the steep hill, slid over the level shore and shot far out upon the lake, where some of them seemed to roll over and over. Wondering what this could be, I put on a spurt. Suddenly the truth dawned upon me. My friend Lumley had cleared the slope for the purpose of sledging down it!

“Max,” he had remarked to me, long before, when talking about our men and our plans, “‘All work and no play,’ you know, ‘makes Jack a dull boy;’ so I’ll get up some kind of winter amusement for the lads which will keep them in health and spirits.”

Need I say that my recent cogitations and experience led me to join this riotous crew with redoubled ardour? Taking off my skates hurriedly and climbing up the hill, I leaped on the tail of Big Otter’s toboggan, without invitation, just as he was starting at the top of the snow-slope to follow Lumley. I gave the sled such an impetus that we overtook our chief, and upset him just as he reached the lake, causing him to collide with Donald Bane and James Dougall, who, seated on the same toboggan, were anxiously striving to keep their balance. The result was, that we all resolved ourselves into a conglomerate of toboggans and men, which went shooting and struggling over the smooth lake for fifty yards or upwards at the rate of twelve miles an hour, if not more. This, of course, afforded unutterable delight to the rest of our men, and to Waboose and her mother; as well as to several Indians, who had just arrived. Among these last were Attick and Maqua with his son Mozwa.

It was rough but health-giving, as well as enjoyable, work, and sent us to our respective beds that night in a condition of readiness to fall promptly into a state of absolute oblivion.