it is not necessary to say that there was joy—powerful, inexpressible—within the wooden walls of fort enterprise on that new year’s morning, and a new year’s hymn of praise welled up continually from the glad mother’s heart, finding expression sometimes in her voice, but oftener in her eyes, as she gazed upon the faces of her dear ones, the lost and found.
the flag at fort enterprise, which had not flaunted its red field from the flagstaff since the sad day—that day twelve months exactly—when the children were lost, once more waved gaily in the frosty air, and glowed in the beams of the wintry sun. the sound of joyful revelry, which had not been heard within the walls of the fort for a long, long year, once again burst forth with such energy that one might have been led to suppose its being pent up so long had intensified its power.
the huge fireplace roared, and blazed, and crackled, with a log so massive that no other yule log in the known world could have held a candle to it; and in, on, and around that fire were pots, pans, and goblets innumerable, all of which hissed, and spluttered, and steamed at larry o’dowd, as if with glee at the sight of his honest face once again presiding over his own peculiar domain. and the parlour of fort enterprise—that parlour which we have mentioned as being robin’s dining-room and drawing-room, besides being his bedroom and his kitchen—was converted into a leafy bower by means of pine branches and festooned evergreens, and laid out for a feast the like of which had not been seen there for many a day, and which was transcendently more magnificent than that memorable new year’s day dinner which had been cooked, but not eaten, just three hundred and sixty-five days before.
in short, everything in and about fort enterprise bore evidence that its inmates meant to rejoice and make merry on that first day of a new year, as it was meet they should do under such favourable circumstances.
jeff gore had shot a deer not many days before, and one of its fat haunches was to be the great dish of the feast; but robin said that it was not enough: so, after the first congratulations were over, he and walter, and slugs, and black swan, set off into the forest, and ere long returned with several brace of grouse, and a few rabbits. roy, with a very sly look, had asked leave to go and have a walk on snow-shoes in the woods with nelly before dinner, but his father threatened to lock him up in the cellar, so he consented to remain at home for that day and assist his mother.
“now, nelly, you and roy will come help me to prepare the feast,” said mrs gore, whose eyes were swollen with joyful weeping till they looked like a couple of inflamed oysters; “not that there’s much to do, for, now that larry is come back, we’ll leave everything to him except the pl–plum—poo—poo—ding—oh! my darling!”
here mrs gore broke down for the fifteenth time, and, catching nelly to her bosom, hugged her.
“darling mother!” sighed nelly.
“och! but it’s a sight good for sore eyes, anyhow,” exclaimed larry, looking up from his occupation among the steaming pots and pans.
wapaw, who was the only other member of the party who chose to remain in the house during the forenoon of that day, sat smoking his pipe in the chimney corner, and regarded the whole scene with that look of stoical solemnity which is peculiar to north american indians.
“come, i say, this’ll never do, mother,” cried roy, going to the flour-barrel which stood in a corner. “if we’re to help you wi’ that ’ere poodin’, let’s have at it at once.”
thus admonished, mrs gore and her recovered progeny set to work and fabricated a plum-pudding, which was nearly as hard, almost as heavy as, and much larger than a sixty-four pound cannon ball. it would have killed with indigestion half a regiment of artillery, but it could not affect the hardened frames of these men of the backwoods!
in course of time the board was spread, the viands smoked upon it, and the united party set to work. mrs gore sat at the head of the table, with nelly on one side and roy on the other. robin sat at the foot, supported by the white swan on his right, and wapaw on his left. ranged between these were walter, slugs, the black swan, jeff gore, obadiah stiff, the two other strangers who came with jeff, and larry o’dowd—for larry acted the part of cook only, and did not pretend to “wait.” after he had placed the viands on the table, he sat down with the rest. these backwoodsmen ignored waiters. they passed their plates from hand to hand, and when anything was wanted by any one he rose to fetch it himself.
after the plates were cleared away, the tea-kettle was put on the table. in some parts of the backwoods spirits are (fortunately) so difficult to procure, that hunters and trappers live for many months without tasting a drop, and get into the habit of doing entirely without intoxicating drink of any kind. robin had no spirits except animal spirits, but he had plenty of tea. when it was poured out into huge cups, which might have been styled small slop-basins, and sweetened and passed round, robin applied his knuckles to the table to command silence.
“friends,” said he, “i niver wos much o’ a speechifier, but i could always manage to blurt out my meanin’ somehow. wot i’ve got to say to you this day is, i’m thankful to the almighty for givin’ me back my childer, an’ i’m right glad to see ye all under my roof this noo year’s day, and so’s the wife, i know—ain’t ye, molly, my dear?”
to this appeal mrs g replied with a hysterical ye-es, and an application of her apron to the inflamed oysters. robin continued—
“well, i’m sorry there ain’t nothin’ stronger in the fort to give ’ee than tea, but for my part i find it strong enough to keep up my spirits, an’ yer all heartily welcome to swig buckets-full o’ that. there is an old fiddle in the store. if any o’ ye can scrape a tune, we’ll have a dance. if not, why we’ll sing and be jolly.”
this speech was followed up by another from obadiah stiff, who, with a countenance of the deepest solemnity, requested permission to make a few brief observations.
“friends,” said he, turning the quid of tobacco which usually graced his right cheek into his left, “it’s not every day a man’s got a chance o’—o’ wot i was a-goin’ to obsarve is, that men who are so much indebted to their much-respected host as—as (nelly happened to sneeze at this point, and distracted stiff’s attention) as—yes, i guess we ha’nt often got the chance to chase the redskins, and—and—. in short, without makin’ an onnecessairy phrase about it—i’m happy to say that i can play the fiddle, so here’s luck.”
mr stiff sat down abruptly and drained his cup at a draught.
“pr’aps,” said larry, with a twinkle in his eye, “mister stiff would favour the company wi’ a song before we commence to cut capers.”
“hear, hear!” from walter.
“hurrah!” from roy.
mr stiff cleared his throat and began at once. the tune was so dolorous, and the voice so unmusical, that in any other circumstances it would have been intolerable, but there were lines in it touching upon “good fellowship,” which partially redeemed it, and in the last verse there was reference made to “home,” and “absent friends,” which rendered it a complete success, insomuch that it was concluded amid rapturous cheering, so true is it, as walter observed, that, “one touch of nature covers a multitude of sins!”
“let’s drink to absent friends an’ owld ireland,” cried larry, filling his cup and pushing the kettle round.
this was drunk with enthusiasm and was followed by a succession of toasts and songs, which were drunk and sung not at the table, but round the fire, to which the party withdrew in order to enjoy their pipes more thoroughly. then followed a number of anecdotes of stories—some true, some doubtful, and some fabricated—which were listened to with deep interest, not only by roy and nelly, but by the whole party, including the indians, who listened intently, with faces like owls, although they did not understand a word that was said.
many of these stories were so touching that poor mrs gore’s eyes became more inflamed and more oyster-like than ever. nelly, too, became sympathetic, and her eyes were similarly affected.
when the evening was pretty well advanced, the violin was sent for and tuned, and stiff turned out to be a very fair player of scotch reels; so the party laid aside their pipes, cleared the floor, and began to dance.
it was rough but hearty dancing. each dancer composed his own steps on the spur of the moment, but executed them with a degree of precision and violence that would have caused civilised dancing masters to blush with shame and envy. mrs gore and nelly danced too, weeping the while with joy, and so did the white swan, but her performances were peculiar. she danced with a slowness of manner and a rigidity of person that are utterly indescribable. she looked as if all her joints had become inflexible, except those of her knees, and her arms hung straight down at her sides, while she pendulated about the floor and gazed at the rafters in deep solemnity.
how they did keep it up, to be sure! men of the backwoods find it no easy matter to fatigue their muscles or exhaust their spirits, so they danced all night, and a considerable portion of next morning too. long before they gave in, however, the females were obliged to retire. they lay down on their rude couches without taking the trouble to undress, and in a few moments after were sound asleep—nelly locked in her mother’s arms, with their two cheeks touching, their dishevelled hair mingling, and a few tears welling from their inflamed eyes, and mixing as they flowed slowly down their united noses. sleeping thus, the mother dreamed of home, and nelly dreamed of silver lake.
reader, our tale is told. we have not space to tell of what befell robin gore and his family in after life, but we may remark, in conclusion, that although robin stoutly refused to go back to civilisation, in the course of a few years civilisation considerately advanced to him, and the wild region, which was once a dense forest around fort enterprise, finally became (to mrs gore’s inexpressible joy) a flourishing settlement, in which were heard the sounds of human industry, and the tinkle of the sabbath bell.
