arrival of strange indians.
about this time a band of strange indians came in with a large supply of valuable furs. they had heard, they said, of the establishment of the new post, and had gladly come to trade there, instead of making their customary long journey to muskrat house.
the change to these indians was, in truth, of the utmost importance, for so distant were some of their hunting-grounds from macnab’s establishment, that nearly all the ammunition obtained there—the procuring of which was one of the chief desires of their hearts—was expended in shooting for mere subsistence on the way back to their hunting-grounds. it will be easily understood, then, that they received us with open arms.
by this time we were quite prepared for their visit. the two dwelling-houses for ourselves and the men were completed, so also was the store for our goods. there only remained unfinished one or two outhouses and our back kitchen, the latter a detached building, afterwards to be connected with the main dwelling by a passage. the store was an unusually strong log-house of one storey with a very solid door. it was attached to the side of our dwelling, with which it was connected by an inner door, so that we could, if necessary, enter it without having to go outside—a matter of some importance in case we should ever be forced to defend the fort.
i had just returned, much dispirited, from a visit to the camp of our own indians, when this band of strangers arrived.
remembering my last conversation with waboose, and being very curious to know what were the contents of the mysterious packet she had mentioned, i had gone to the camp to visit her, but, to my extreme regret, found that big otter and several of the indians had struck their tents and gone off on a long hunting expedition, taking their families with them—waboose among the rest.
on finding, however, that strange indians had arrived with a goodly supply of furs to trade, thoughts of all other matters were driven out of my mind, the depression of spirits fled, and a burst of enthusiasm supervened as the thought occurred to me that now, at last, the great object of our expedition was about to begin in earnest. i verily believe that the same spirit of enthusiasm, or satisfaction—call it what you will—animated more or less every man at the fort. indeed, i believe that it is always so in every condition of life; that men who lay claim to even the smallest amount of spirit or self-respect, experience a thrill of justifiable pride in performing their duty well, and earning the approval of their official superiors. my own thoughts, if defined, would probably have amounted to this—
“now then, here’s a chance at last of driving a good trade, and we will soon show the governor and council of the fur-traders that they were well advised when they selected john lumley as the chief of this trading expedition into the remote wilderness!”
“come, max,” cried my friend, whom i met hastening to the store as i arrived, “you’re just in time. here’s a big band of redskins with splendid packs of furs. i fear, however, that what is our gain will to some extent be poor macnab’s loss, for they say they used to take their furs to him in former years.”
“but, then,” said i, “will not the company gain the furs which used to be damaged, and therefore lost, on the long voyage to muskrat? besides, the indians will now be enabled to devote the time thus saved to hunting and trapping, and that will also be clear gain.”
we reached the store as i said this, followed by a dozen indians with large packs on their shoulders. these were the chief men of the tribe, who were to be attended to first. the others, who had to await their turn with what patience they could command, followed behind in a body to gaze at least upon the outside of the store—that mysterious temple of unknown wealth of which all of them had heard, though many of them had never seen or entered one.
putting a large key into the lock, lumley turned it with all due solemnity, for it was his plan among savages to make all acts of importance as impressive as possible in their eyes. and this act of visiting for the first time the stores—the palace of wealth—the abode of bliss—the red-man’s haven of rest—was a very important act. it may not seem so to the reader, but it was so to the savage. the very smell of the place was to him delicious—and no wonder, for even to more cultivated nostrils there is an odour about the contents of a miscellaneous store—such as tea, molasses, grindstones, coffee, brown paper, woollen cloths, sugar, fish-hooks, raisins, scalping-knives, and soap—which is pleasantly suggestive.
entering, then, with the dozen indians, this important place, of which i was the chief and only clerk, lumley salesman and trader, and salamander warehouseman, the door was shut. becoming instantly aware of a sudden diminution in the light, i looked at the windows and observed a flattened brown nose, a painted face and glaring eyes in the centre of nearly every pane!
when i looked at this band of powerful, lithe, wiry, covetous savages, and thought of the hundreds of others whom they could summon by a single war-whoop to their side, and of the smallness of our own party, i could not help feeling that moral influence was a powerful factor in the affairs of man. no doubt they were restrained to some extent by the certain knowledge that, if they attacked and killed us, and appropriated our goods without the preliminary ceremony of barter, the white men would not only decline to send them goods in future, but would organise a force to hunt down and slay the murderers: nevertheless, savages are not much given to prudential reasoning when their cupidity or passions are roused, and i cannot help thinking that we owed our safety, under god, to the belief in the savage mind that men who put themselves so completely in their power, as we did, and who looked so unsuspicious of evil, must somehow be invulnerable.
be that as it may, we calmly acted as if there could be no question at all about our being their masters. lumley conveyed that impression, however, without the slightest assumption of dignity. he was all kindness, gentleness, and urbanity, yet treated them with that unassertive firmness which a father exercises—or ought to exercise—towards a child.
“now then, salamander,” said lumley, when he was inside the counter, and the indians stood in a group on the other side, “tell the principal chief to open his pack.”
lumley, i may remark, made use of salamander as an interpreter, until he found that the dialect of those indians was not very different from that to which he had been accustomed. then he dispensed with his services, and took up the conversation himself, to the obvious astonishment as well as respect of the indians, who seemed to think the white chief had actually picked up a new language after listening to it for only half an hour!
the principal chief opened his pack slowly and spread its contents on the counter with care. he did not hurry himself, being a very dignified man. there were beavers, martens, otters, silver-foxes, and many other valuable furs, for which large sums are given in the european markets. to obtain these, however, the company of traders had to expend very large sums in transporting goods into those northern wilds, and still larger sums would have to be paid to voyageurs, clerks, and employés generally, as well as risks run and time spent before these furs could be conveyed to market and turned into gold—hence our red chief had to content himself with moderate prices. these prices, moreover, he did not himself put on his furs. lumley did that for him, according to the tariff used by the fur-traders all over the country, every article being rated at a standard unit of value, styled a “made-beaver” in some parts of the country—a “castore” in other parts. on the counter was marked, with a piece of chalk, the value of each fur—a beaver was valued at so many castores, according to its quality, a fox at so many—and when the sum was added up, the total was made known by a number of goose-quills being presented to the chief, each quill representing a castore. the indians, being acquainted with this process, did not require to have it explained.
profoundly did that chief gaze at his bundle of quills on receiving them from lumley after salamander had swept his furs into a corner. he was studying, as it were, the credit balance of his bank-account before investing.
“now then, chief,” asked lumley, with an urbane expression of countenance, “what shall i give you?”
the chief gazed solemnly round the store with his piercing black eyes, while all the other piercing black eyes around gazed at him expectantly! at last his gaze became riveted on a particular spot. the surrounding black eyes turned to that spot intently, and the chief said:
“baskisigan.”
“ah, i thought so—a gun?” said lumley; “hand one over, salamander.”
the interpreter went to a box which contained half a dozen of the common cheap articles which were supplied for the trade. long, single-barrelled affairs they were, the barrels of blue metal, stocks extending to the muzzles and stained red, brass mountings of toy-like flimsiness, and flint-locks; the entire gun being worth something less than a pound sterling. these weapons were capable, nevertheless, of shooting pretty straight, though uncomfortably apt to burst.
one having been handed to the chief he received it with a grasp of almost reverential affection, while lumley extracted from his funds the requisite number of quills in payment.
“what next?” asked salamander, and again the solemn gaze went slowly round the store, on the shelves of which our goods were displayed most temptingly. black eyes riveted once more! what is it?
“a green blanket.”
“just so. fetch a four-point one, max, he’s a big man.”
i took up one of our largest-sized thick green blankets, handed it to the chief, and lumley abstracted a few more quills from the bundle.
at this point the red-man seemed to get into the swing of the thing, for a white blanket of medium size, and another of very small dimensions, were demanded. these represented wife and infant. after this a tin kettle and a roll of tobacco were purchased. the chief paused here, however, to ponder and count his quills.
“do you observe,” said lumley to me, in a low voice, “what a well-balanced mind he has?”
“i can’t say that i do, lumley.”
“no? don’t you see; first a gun—self-and-family-preservation being the first law of nature; then, after thus providing for war and hunting, comes repose, d’you see? a big blanket, which immediately suggests similar comfort to the squaw, a smaller blanket; then comes comfort to the baby, a miniature blanket; then, how naturally the squaw and the squawker conduct his mind to food—a tin kettle! after which he feels justified in refreshing himself with a slight luxury—tobacco! but you’ll see that he will soon repress self, with indian stoicism, and return to essentials.”
lumley was right for he had barely ceased to speak, when the chief turned and demanded an axe; then fish-hooks; then twine for lines; then awls for boring holes in the bark with which he made his canoes; then powder and shot and pipes. after this, another fit of tenderness came over him, and he bought some bright scarlet and blue cloth—doubtless for the squaw or the baby—and some brilliantly coloured silk thread with needles and variegated beads to ornament the same. soon his quills dwindled away till at last they disappeared; yet his wants were not fully supplied—would the pale-face chief advance him some goods on credit?
oh yes—he seemed a good and trustworthy brave—the pale-face chief had no objection to do that!
accordingly i opened a ledger and inserted the man’s name. it was almost welsh-like in difficulty of pronunciation, but, unlike a welshman, i spelt it as pronounced, and set down in order the additional goods he required. when lumley thought he had given him enough on credit, he firmly closed the account, gave the man a small gratuity of tobacco, powder and shot, etcetera, and bade another chief come forward.
it was slow but interesting work, for, as the indians grew familiar with the place and our ways, those of them who were loquacious, or possessed of humour, began to chat and comment on the goods, and on the white man’s doings in a way that was very diverting.
after the chief men had traded their furs, the rank and file of the band came on, and, as is the case with all rank and file, there were some indifferent, and a few bad characters among them. it was now that i observed and admired the tact, combined with firmness, of lumley. he spoke to these indians with exactly the same respect and suavity that had characterised him when trading with the chiefs. when he saw any one become puzzled or undecided, he suggested or quietly advised. if a man’s eye appeared to twinkle he cut a mild joke with him. if one became too familiar, or seemed disposed to be insolent he took no notice, but turned aside and busied himself in arranging the goods.
at last, however, an incident occurred which called for different treatment. there was among the indians a long-legged, wiry fellow who had been named attick, or reindeer, because he was a celebrated runner. those who disliked him—and they were numerous—said he was good at running away from his foes. however that might be, he was undoubtedly dexterous in the use of his fingers—and it was through this propensity that we were first introduced to him. it happened thus:
lumley, whose powers of observation often surprised me, had noticed that attick looked often and with longing eyes at a very small roll of tobacco which belonged to one of his comrades, and lay on the counter temptingly near at hand. slowly, and, as it were, inadvertently, he advanced his hand until it touched the tobacco, then, laying hold on it, when the owner was busy with something else, he carried it towards the bosom of his leather hunting-shirt. before it reached that place of concealment, however, lumley quickly, yet so quietly that the act was scarce perceived, seized the elbow of the chief and gave him a look. attick promptly put the tobacco down and looked at lumley with a scowl, but the pale-face chief was smilingly giving some advice to the man with whom he was trading.
he thought that the man would not attempt anything more of a similar kind, at least at that time, but he was mistaken. he under-estimated the force of covetousness and the power of temptation in a savage. soon afterwards he saw attick deftly pass a packet of bright beads, belonging to another comrade, from the counter to his breast, where he let it remain, grasped in his hand. immediately afterwards the owner of the beads missed them. he turned over his goods hastily, but could not find the packet and looked suspiciously at salamander, who had been standing near all the time, besides fingering the things occasionally.
“a comrade has stolen it,” said lumley, in a quiet voice and without looking at any one save the robbed man.
this was received with scowls and strong marks of disapprobation.
“not so! the interpreter, the pale-face, has stolen it,” returned the indian fiercely.
instead of replying, lumley vaulted lightly over the counter, stood before the astonished attick, thrust his hand into the bosom of that savage, and, by main force, dragged forth the thieving fist still closed over the missing packet. the indians were too much taken by surprise at the promptness of the act to speak—they could only glare.
“my friends,” said lumley, still maintaining, however, something of kindliness in his look of stern gravity, “the great master of life does not love thieving, and no thief will be permitted to enter this store.”
what more he would have said i know not for, swift as lightning, attick drew his knife and made a plunge at my friend’s heart. expecting a scuffle, i had also leaped the counter. lumley caught the wrist of the savage; at the same time he exclaimed, “open the door, max.”
i obeyed, expecting to see the indian kicked out, but i was wrong, for my friend, with a sharp twist turned attick’s back to his own breast, then, seizing him by both elbows, he lifted him off his feet as if he had been a mere infant, carried him forward a few paces, and set him gently down outside. then, stepping back, he shut the door.
a roar of laughter from those without showed the light in which they viewed the incident, and the amused looks of some of those in the store told that at least they did not disapprove of the act.
without paying any regard to these things, however, lumley returned to his place, and with his usual air of good humour continued to barter with the red-men.
thus the work of trading went on for three days, and, during that time, there was much fraternising of what i may call our home—indians with the newcomers, and a great deal, i regret to say, of gambling. we found that this evil prevailed to a great extent among them, insomuch that one or two of them gambled away all that they possessed, and came to us with very penitent looks, asking for a small quantity of goods on credit to enable them to face the winter!
i need scarcely say that our amiable chief complied with these requests, but only on the solemn promise that the goods so advanced should not be risked in gambling, and i have reason to believe that these men were faithful to their promises. this gambling was of the simplest kind, consisting of the method which is known by the name of “odd or even?”
in the evenings the chiefs were encouraged to come into our hall and palaver. they availed themselves of the invitation to come, and sometimes palavered, but more frequently smoked, with owlish solemnity, squatting on the floor with their backs against the wall.
nevertheless, on these occasions we gained a good deal of information, and lumley availed himself of the opportunities sometimes to lecture them on the sin of gambling. he always, i observed, laid much more stress on the idea that the great master of life was grieved with his children when they did evil, than that he visited the sin with disagreeable consequences. on one of these occasions an elderly chief surprised us by suddenly putting the question, “do the pale-faces trade fire-water?”
every pipe was removed from every lip, and the glittering eyes of expectancy, coupled with the all but total cessation of breathing, told of the intense interest with which they awaited the answer.
“no,” replied lumley, “we sell none. we do not love fire-water.”
a deep but quiet sigh followed, and the pipes were resumed in silent resignation. and, i must add, i felt devoutly thankful that we did not sell fire-water, when i looked at the strong features and powerful frames of the red-men around me.