For two days nothing was heard of old Mr Seaforth. Indeed, the settlers had too much to do in saving themselves and their families to think of others; and it was not until the third day that people began to inquire about him. His son Peter had taken a canoe and made diligent search in all directions, but although he found the house sticking on a shallow point, neither his father nor the cat was on or in it. At last he was brought to the island, on which nearly half the colony had collected, by an Indian who had passed the house and brought him away in his canoe, along with the old cat. Is he not a wonderful man, to have come through so much in his old age? and he is still so active and hearty! Mr Swan of the mill is dead. He died of fever last week. Poor old Mr Cordon is also gone. His end was very sad. About a month ago he ordered his horse and rode off, intending to visit Fort Garry. At the turn of the road, just above Grant’s House, the horse suddenly swerved, and its rider was thrown to the ground. He did not live more than half an hour after it. Alas! how very sad to see a man, after escaping all the countless dangers of a long life in the woods (and his, you know, was a very adventurous one), thus cut violently down in his old age! O Charley, how little we know what is before us! How needful to have our peace made with God through Jesus Christ, so that we may be ready at any moment when our Father calls us away! There are many events of great interest that have occurred here since you left. You will be glad to hear that Jane Patterson is married to our excellent friend Mr Cameron, who has taken up a store near to us, and intends to run a boat to York Fort next summer. There has been another marriage here which will cause you astonishment at least, if not pleasure. Old Mr Peters has married Marie Peltier! What could have possessed her to take such a husband! I cannot understand it. Just think of her, Charley, a girl of eighteen, with a husband of seventy-five!

  At this point the writing, which was very close and very small, terminated. Harry laid it down with a deep sigh, wishing much that Charley had thought it advisable to send him the second sheet also. As wishes and regrets on this point were equally unavailing, he endeavoured to continue it in imagination, and was soon as deeply absorbed in following Kate through the well-remembered scenes of Red River as he had been, a short time before, in roaming with her brother over the wide prairies of the Saskatchewan. The increasing cold, however, soon warned him that the night was far spent. He rose and went to the stove; but the fire had gone out, and the almost irresistible frost of these regions was already cooling everything in Bachelors’ Hall down to the freezing-point. All his companions had put out their candles, and were busy, doubtless, dreaming of the friends whose letters had struck and reawakened the long-dormant chords that used to echo to the tones and scenes of other days. With a slight shiver, Harry returned to his apartment, and kneeled to thank God for protecting and preserving his absent friends, and especially for sending him “good news from a far land.” The letter with the British post-marks on it was placed under his pillow. It occupied his waking and sleeping thoughts that night, and it was the first thing he thought of and re-read on the following morning, and for many mornings afterwards. Only those can fully estimate the value of such letters who live in distant lands, where letters are few — very, very few — and far between.

  Chapter Twenty Three.

  Changes — Harry and Hamilton find that variety is indeed charming — The latter astonishes the former considerably.

  Three months passed away, but the snow still lay deep and white and undiminished around York Fort. Winter — cold, silent, unyielding winter — still drew its white mantle closely round the lonely dwelling of the fur-traders of the Far North.

  Icicles hung, as they had done for months before, from the eaves of every house, from the tall black scaffold on which the great bell hung, and from the still taller erection that had been put up as an outlook for “the ship” in summer. At the present time it commanded a bleak view of the frozen sea. Snow covered every housetop, and hung in ponderous masses from their edges, as if it were about to fall; but it never fell — it hung there in the same position day after day, unmelted, unchanged. Snow covered the whole land, and the frozen river, the swamps, the sea-beach, and the sea itself, as far as the eye could reach, seemed like a pure white carpet. Snow lined the upper edge of every paling, filled up the key-hole of every door, embanked about half of every window, stuck in little knobs on the top of every picket, and clung in masses on every drooping branch of the pine trees in the forest. Frost — sharp, biting frost — solidified, surrounded, and pervaded everything. Mercury was congealed by it; vapour was condensed by it; iron was cooled by it until it could scarcely be touched without (as the men expressed it) “burning” the fingers. The water-jugs in Bachelors’ Hall and the water-buckets were frozen by it, nearly to the bottom; though there was a good stove there, and the Hall was not usually a cold place by any means. The breath of the inhabitants was congealed by it on the window-panes, until they had become coated with ice an inch thick. The breath of the men was rendered white and opaque by it, as they panted and hurried to and fro about their ordinary avocations; beating their gloved hands together, and stamping their well-wrapped-up feet on the hard-beaten snow to keep them warm. Old Robin’s nose seemed to be entirely shrivelled up into his face by it, as he drove his ox-cart to the river to fetch his daily supply of water. The only things that were not affected by it were the fires, which crackled and roared as if in laughter, and twisted and leaped as if in uncontrollable glee at the bare idea of John Frost acquiring, by any artifice whatever, the smallest possible influence over them! Three months had elapsed, but frost and snow, instead of abating, had gone on increasing and intensifying, deepening and extending its work, and riveting its chains. Winter — cold silent, unyielding winter — still reigned at York Fort, as though it had made it a sine qua non of its existence at all that it should reign there for ever!

  But although everything was thus wintry and cold, it was by no means cheerless or dreary. A bright sun shone in the blue heavens with an intenseness of brilliancy that was quite dazzling to the eyes, that elated the spirits, and caused man and beast to tread with a more elastic step than usual. Although the sun looked down upon the scene with an unclouded face, and found a mirror in every icicle and in every gem of hoar-frost with which the objects of nature were loaded, there was, however, no perceptible heat in his rays. They fell on the white earth with all the brightness of midsummer, but they fell powerless as moonbeams in the dead of winter.

  On the frozen river, just in front of the gate of the fort, a group of men and dogs were assembled. The dogs were four in number, harnessed to a small flat sledge of the slender kind used by Indians to drag their furs and provisions over the snow. The group of men was composed of Mr Rogan and the inmates of Bachelors’ Hall, one or two men who happened to be engaged there at the time in cutting a new water-hole in the ice, and an Indian, who, to judge from his carefully-adjusted costume, the snow-shoes on his feet, and the short whip in his hand, was the driver of the sledge, and was about to start on a journey. Harry Somerville and young Hamilton were also wrapped up more carefully than usual.

  “Good-bye, then, good-bye,” said Mr Rogan, advancing towards the Indian, who stood beside the leading dog, ready to start. “Take care of our young friends — they’ve not had much experience in travelling yet; and don’t overdrive your dogs. Treat them well, and they’ll do more work. They’re like men in that respect.” Mr Rogan shook the Indian by the hand, and the latter immediately flourished the whip and gave a shout, which the dogs no sooner heard than they uttered a simultaneous yell, sprang forward with a jerk, and scampered up the river, closely followed by their dark-skinned driver.

  “Now, lads, farewell,” said the old gentleman, turning with a kindly smile to our two friends, who were shaking hands for the last time with their comrades. “I’m sorry you’re going to leave us, my boys. You’ve done your duty well while here, and I would willingly have kept you a little longer with me, but our governor wills it otherwise. However, I trust that you’ll be happy wherever you may be sent. Don’t forget to write to me. God bless you. Farewell.”

  Mr Rogan shook them heartily by the hand, turned short round, and walked slowly up to his house, with an expression of sadness on his mild face; while Harry and Hamilton, having once more waved farewell to their friends, marched up the river, side by side, in silence. They followed the track left by the dog-sledge, which guided them with unerring certainty, although their Indian leader and his team were out of sight in advance.

  A week previous to this time an Indian arrived from the interior, bearing a letter from headquarters, which directed that Messrs Somerville and Hamilton should be forthwith dispatched on snow-shoes to Norway House. As this establishment is about three hundred miles from the sea-coast, the order involved a journey of nearly two weeks’ duration through a country that was utterly destitute of inhabitants. On receiving a command from Mr Rogan to prepare for an early start. Harry retired precipitately to his own room, and there, after cutting unheard-of capers, and giving vent to sudden incomprehensible shouts, all indicative of the highest state of delight, he condescended to tell his companions of his good fortune, and set about preparations without delay. Hamilton, on the contrary, gave his usual quiet smile on being informed of his destination, and returning somewhat pensively to Bachelors’ Hall, proceeded leisurely to make the necessary arrangements for departure. As the time drew on, however, a perpetual flush on his countenance, and an unusual brilliancy about his eye, showed that he was not quite insensible to the pleasures of a change, and relished the idea more than he got credit for. The Indian who had brought the letter was ordered to hold himself in readiness to retrace his steps and conduct the young men through the woods to Norway House, where they were to await further orders. A few days later the three travellers, as already related, set out on their journey.

  After walking a mile up the river, they passed a point of land which shut out the fort from view. Here they paused to take a last look, and then pressed forward in silence, the thoughts of each being busy with mingled recollections of their late home and anticipations of the future. After an hour’s sharp walking they came in sight of the guide, and slackened their pace.

  “Well, Hamilton,” said Harry, throwing off his reverie with a deep sigh, “are you glad to leave York Fort, or sorry?”

  “Glad, undoubtedly,” replied Hamilton, “but sorry to part from our old companions there. I had no idea, Harry, that I loved them all so much. I feel as if I should be glad were the order for us to leave them countermanded even now.”

  “That’s the very thought,” said Harry, “that was passing through my own brain when I spoke to you. Yet, somehow, I think I should be uncommonly sorry after all if we were really sent back. There’s a queer contradiction, Hammy: we’re sorry and happy at the same time! If I were the skipper now, I would found a philosophical argument upon it.”

  “Which the skipper would carry on with untiring vigour,” said Hamilton, smiling, “and afterwards make an entry of in his log. But I think, Harry, that to feel the emotion of sorrow and joy at the same time is not such a contradiction as it at first appears.”

  “Perhaps not,” replied Harry, “but it seems very contradictory to me; and yet it’s an evident fact, for I’m very sorry to leave them, and I’m very happy to have you for my companion here.”

  “So am I, so am I,” said the other heartily. “I would rather travel with you, Harry, than with any of our late companions, although I like them all very much.”

  The two friends had grown, almost imperceptibly, in each other’s esteem during their residence under the same roof, more than either of them would have believed possible. The gay, reckless hilarity of the one did not at first accord with the quiet gravity and, as his comrades styled it, softness of the other. But character is frequently misjudged at first sight, and sometimes men who on a first acquaintance have felt repelled from each other have, on coming to know each other better, discovered traits and good qualities that ere long formed enduring bonds of sympathy, and have learned to love those whom at first they felt disposed to dislike or despise. Thus Harry soon came to know that what he at first thought and, along with his companions, called softness in Hamilton was in reality gentleness of disposition and thorough good-nature, united in one who happened to be utterly unacquainted with the knowing ways of this peculiarly sharp and clever world, while in the course of time new qualities showed themselves in a quiet, unobtrusive way that won upon his affections and raised his esteem. On the other hand, Hamilton found that, although Harry was volatile, and possessed of an irresistible tendency to fun and mischief, he never by any chance gave way to anger, or allowed malice to enter into his practical jokes. Indeed, he often observed him restrain his natural tendencies when they were at all likely to give pain, though Harry never dreamed that such efforts were known to any one but himself. Besides this, Harry was peculiarly unselfish, and when a man is possessed of this inestimable disposition, he is not quite but very nearly perfect!

  After another pause, during which the party had left the open river and directed their course through the woods, where the depth of the snow obliged them to tread in each other’s footsteps, Harry resumed the conversation.

  “You have not yet told me, by-the-bye, what old Mr Rogan said to you just before we started. Did he give you any hint as to where you might be sent to after reaching Norway House?”

  “No; he merely said he knew that clerks were wanted both for Mackenzie River and the Saskatchewan districts, but he did not know which I was destined for.”

  “Hum! exactly what he said to me, with the slight addition that he strongly suspected that Mackenzie River would be my doom. Are you aware, Hammy, my boy, that the Saskatchewan district is a sort of terrestrial paradise, and Mackenzie River equivalent to Botany Bay?”

  “I have heard as much during our conversations in Bachelors’ Hall, but — Stop a bit, Harry; these snow-shoe lines of mine have got loosened with tearing through this deep snow and these shockingly thick bushes. There — they are right now; go on. I was going to say that I don’t — oh!”

  This last exclamation was elicited from Hamilton by a sharp blow caused by a branch which, catching on part of Harry’s dress as he plodded on in front, suddenly rebounded and struck him across the face. This is of common occurrence in travelling through the woods, especially to those who from inexperience walk too closely on the heels of their companions.

  “What’s wrong now, Hammy?” inquired his friend, looking over his shoulder.

  “Oh, nothing worth mentioning — rather a sharp blow from a branch, that’s all.”

  “Well, proceed; you’ve interrupted yourself twice in what you were going to say. Perhaps it’ll come out if you try it a third time.”

  “I was merely going to say that I don’t much care where I am sent to, so long as it is not to an outpost where I shall be all alone.”

  “All very well, my friend; but seeing that outposts are, in comparison with principal forts, about a hundred to one, your chance of avoiding them is rather slight. However, our youth and want of experience is in our favour, as they like to send men who have seen some service to outposts. But I fear that, with such brilliant characters as you and I, Hammy, youth will only be an additional recommendation, and inexperience won’t last long. — Hollo! what’s going on yonder?”

  Harry pointed as he spoke to an open spot in the woods about a quarter of a mile in advance, where a dark object was seen lying on the snow, writhing about, now coiling into a lump, and anon extending itself like a huge snake in agony.

  As the two friends looked, a prolonged howl floated towards them.

  “Something wrong with the dogs, I declare!” cried Harry.

  “No doubt of it,” replied his friend, hurrying forward, as they saw their Indian guide rise from the ground and flourish his whip energetically, while the howls rapidly increased.

  A few minutes brought them to the scene of action, where they found the dogs engaged in a fight among themselves, and the driver, in a state of vehement passion, alternately belabouring and trying to separate them. Dogs in these regions, like the dogs of all other regions, we suppose, are very much addicted to fighting — a propensity which becomes extremely unpleasant if indulged while the animals are in harness, as they then become peculiarly savage, probably from their being unable, like an ill-assorted pair in wedlock, to cut or break the ties that bind them. Moreover, they twist the traces into such an ingeniously complicated mass that it renders disentanglement almost impossible, even after exhaustion has reduced them to obedience. Besides this, they are so absorbed in worrying each other that for the time they are utterly regardless of their driver’s lash or voice. This naturally makes the driver angry, and sometimes irascible men practise shameful cruelties on the poor dogs. When the two friends came up they found the Indian glaring at the animals, as they fought and writhed in the snow, with every lineament of his swarthy face distorted with passion, and panting from his late exertions. Suddenly he threw himself on the dogs again, and lashed them furiously with the whip. Finding that this had no effect, he twined the lash round his hand, and struck them violently over their heads and snouts with the handle; then falling down on his knees, he caught the most savage of the animals by the throat, and seizing its nose between his teeth almost bit it off. The appalling yell that followed this cruel act seemed to subdue the dogs, for they ceased to fight, and crouched, whining, in the snow.