To The West Part 38

Our chests were carried out on to the shaky platform in front of the shanties, one of which was dignified by the t.i.tle of hotel, and to Esau's great disgust, Gunson's two chests and a long wooden case were set down close to them. Then three men who had been pa.s.sengers landed, and lastly the little Chinaman, who had hung back for some time, till the steamer was about to start again, sprang quickly on to the wharf, with his luggage hanging to one crooked finger. His movements were quickened by the big fellow Gully, who, as soon as he caught sight of him, made a rush and then leaned over the gangway, uttering a roar like that of some huge beast of prey. This done he shouted to us.

"Wait a bit," he said. "We shall run again one another some day. Then we'll all have another grip--"

"With all my heart," said Gunson, in a loud voice; "but I should have thought you had had enough of my manners and custom's."

We stood waiting till the boat had gone some distance, and then, as the three men who had landed had disappeared, and the Chinaman was seated on a log at a short distance from where we stood, I turned to Gunson.

"Where does the town lie?" I asked.

"What town?" he said, smiling.

"The one at the mouth of the river."

"Oh, there is one over yonder," he said, "but it is not much better than this, and as this was the handiest for you, I thought you had better stop here."

I had often felt low-spirited since leaving England, but that evening, with the last glow of the sun fast dying out over the ocean, the huge wall of enormous trees behind, and the gliding river in front, and nothing but a few roughly-built boarded houses in sight, my spirits seemed to sink far lower than they had ever been before.

I glanced at Esau, and he looked gloomy in the extreme. But I tried to put a good face on the matter, as I said to him--

"One of us had better go and see if these people will give us a night's lodging."

"You may take that for granted," said Gunson. "Take hold of one end of my chest here, and let's get it under cover."

I saw Esau frown, and I knew that as soon as we were alone he would protest against our being ordered about. But I did not hesitate, helping Gunson to get his two chests and packing-case into the house, when he frankly enough came and helped in with ours.

The people did not seem disposed to be very friendly; but rough as the shed-like house was, everything seemed clean, and they were ready to supply us with some cake-like, heavy bread, and a glowing fire composed of pine-roots and great wedge-like chips, evidently the result of cutting down trees.

"Rather rough, Squire Gordon," said Gunson, with a laugh, as he saw me sitting disconsolate and tired on the end of my chest; "but you'll have it worse than this. What do you say to camping out in the forest with no cover but a blanket, and the rain coming down in sheets? you'd think this a palace then."

"I was not complaining," I said, trying to be brisk.

"Not with your lips, my lad, but you looked as if you'd give anything to be back in London."

"Oh, we ain't such cowards as that," said Esau shortly.

At that moment the wife of the settler, who called himself in red letters a hotel-keeper, came toward us with a large tin pot like a saucepan with a loose wire cross handle.

"Here's a kettle," she said, in rather an ill-used tone; "and there's a tub o' water for drinking outside. Got any tea?"

"Yes, thank you," said Gunson, good-humouredly. "We shall do now."

The woman left us, and Gunson turned to me.

"Well, squire," he said, "what have you got in the commissariat department?"

"Some bread and cold ham," I replied.

"Oh, but we must have some hot. I've done better than you," he said, laughing, and taking out of a wallet a piece of raw bacon, which he laid upon the rough board table, and then a tin canister. "Now then, Esau, my lad, let's see you cut that in slices, while I make some tea ready.

Gordon, will you go and fill the kettle half full?"

He spoke so briskly and cheerily that I hardly knew the man again, and his words had so good an effect upon me, that I soon had the kettle filled and seated in the midst of the cheery blaze; while Esau was cutting up the bacon, and Gunson was heating and cleaning a bent gridiron, that had been made by binding some pieces of thick wire a little distance apart.

"Now then, Dean," he said, "can you cook that bacon?"

Esau laughed scornfully.

"Do you hear that?" he said, turning to me. "Why, I've cooked bacon and bloaters at home hundreds of times."

"Good!" cried Gunson. "Then you shall cook a bit here. There will not be any bloaters, but as much salmon as you like to grill."

"Salmon?" said Esau, pausing in the act of paring off some bacon rind.

"Yes; salmon. The rivers are so full of them here sometimes, that they crowd one another out on to the sh.o.r.e."

Esau gave him a look, and then went on preparing the bacon, afterwards setting it to frizzle over the clear fire.

"I must rout up some basins," said Gunson, rising. "I don't suppose we shall get any tea-cups and saucers here."

He went out of the rough room, and left us together just as the kettle began to sing, and the bacon to send out an appetising odour.

"Well," said Esau, "that don't smell bad. Seems to make one feel not quite so mizzable to hear a kettle singing again. I did feel bad a bit back."

"Didn't you?"

"Yes: wretched," I replied.

"And all the more," continued Esau, "because old Gunson seems to have taken us into custody like, and orders us to do this and do that."

"But--"

"Now do let _me_ finish," grumbled Esau. "I know what you're going to say, and I'll say it for you. You're allus getting into sc.r.a.pes, and he's getting you out of 'em."

"And you?" I said, laughing.

"Hah! that's better," cried Esau, pouncing on a piece of bacon and turning it over. "I do like to see you laugh a bit; seems to make things cheery. But I say, when is he going his way and going to let us go ours?"

"How's the bacon getting on?" said Gunson, entering, and the rough board door swung to. "Ah, nice and brown, and the kettle close upon the boil.

Know how to make tea, Gordon? Not our way in camp I know. Look here."

He turned out nearly a handful out of the common tin canister, waited till the water in the open kettle was bubbling all over, and then threw in the tea, lifted the kettle off, and stood it down.

"There," he said, "that's camp fashion. The old lady's going to bring us something to drink it out of;" and as he spoke the settler's wife brought in two tin pint mugs and a cracked and chipped basin, which she banged roughly on the table.

Gunson gave me a peculiar look as the sour woman turned away.

"I say, Mrs--I don't know your name."

"Well, what is it now?" said the woman, in a vinegary tone. "I can't spend all my time waiting on you."