Shortly after the catastrophe2 just related, Charley opened his eyes to consciousness, and aroused himself out of a prolonged fainting fit, under the combined influence of a strong constitution and the medical treatment of his friends.
Medical treatment in the wilds of North America, by the way, is very original in its character, and is founded on principles so vague that no one has ever keen found capable of stating them clearly. Owing to the stubborn fact that there are no doctors in the country, men have been thrown upon their own resources, and as a natural consequence every man is a doctor. True, there are two, it may be three, real doctors in the Hudson’s Bay Company’s employment; but as one of these is resident on the shores of Hudson’s Bay, another in Oregon, and a third in Red River Settlement, they are not considered available for every case of emergency that may chance to occur in the hundreds of little outposts, scattered3 far and wide over the whole continent of North America, with miles and miles of primeval wilderness4 between each. We do not think, therefore, that when we say there are no doctors in the country, we use a culpable5 amount of exaggeration.
If a man gets ill, he goes on till he gets better; and if he doesn’t get better, he dies. To avert6 such an undesirable7 consummation, desperate and random8 efforts are made in an amateur way. The old proverb that “extremes meet” is verified. And in a land where no doctors are to be had for love or money, doctors meet you at every turn, ready to practise on everything, with anything, and all for nothing, on the shortest possible notice. As may be supposed, the practice is novel, and not unfrequently extremely wild. Tooth-drawing is considered child’s play—mere9 blacksmith’s work; bleeding is a general remedy for everything, when all else fails; castor oil, Epsom salts, and emetics10 are the three keynotes, the foundations, and the copestones of the system.
In Red River there is only one genuine doctor; and as the settlement is fully11 sixty miles long, he has enough to do, and is not always to be found when wanted, so that Charley had to rest content with amateur treatment in the meantime. Peter Mactavish was the first to try his powers. He was aware that laudanum had the effect of producing sleep, and seeing that Charley looked somewhat sleepy after recovering consciousness, he thought it advisable to help out that propensity12 to slumber13, and went to the medicine chest, whence he extracted a small phial of tincture of rhubarb, the half of which he emptied into a wineglass, under the impression that it was laudanum, and poured down Charley’s throat! The poor boy swallowed a little, and sputtered14 the remainder over the bed-clothes. It may be remarked here that Mactavish was a wild, happy, half-mad sort of fellow—wonderfully erudite in regard to some things, and profoundly ignorant in regard to others. Medicine, it need scarcely be added, was not his forte15. Having accomplished16 this feat17 to his satisfaction, he sat down to watch by the bedside of his friend. Peter had taken this opportunity to indulge in a little private practice just after several of the other gentlemen had left the office, under the impression that Charley had better remain quiet for a short time.
“Well, Peter,” whispered Mr Kennedy, senior, putting his head in at the door (it was Harry18’s room in which Charley lay), “how is he now?”
“Oh! doing capitally,” replied Peter, in a hoarse19 whisper, at the same time rising and entering the office, while he gently closed the door behind him. “I gave him a small dose of physic, which I think has done him good. He’s sleeping like a top now.”
Mr Kennedy frowned slightly, and made one or two remarks in reference to physic which were not calculated to gratify the cars of a physician.
“What did you give him?” he inquired abruptly20.
“Only a little laudanum.”
“Only, indeed! It’s all trash together, and that’s the worst kind of trash you could have given him. Humph!” and the old gentleman jerked his shoulders testily21.
“How much did you give him?” said the senior clerk, who had entered the apartment with Harry a few minutes before.
“Not quite a wineglassful,” replied Peter, somewhat subdued22.
“A what!” cried the father, starting from his chair as if he had received an electric shock, and rushing into the adjoining room, up and down which he raved23 in a state of distraction24, being utterly25 ignorant of what should be done under the circumstances.
“Oh dear!” gasped26 Peter, turning pale as death.
Poor Harry Somerville fell rather than leaped off his stool, and dashed into the bedroom, where old Mr Kennedy was occupied in alternately heaping unutterable abuse on the head of Peter Mactavish, and imploring27 him to advise what was best to be done. But Peter knew not. He could only make one or two insane proposals to roll Charley about the floor, and see if that would do him any good; while Harry suggested in desperation that he should be hung by the heels, and perhaps it would run out!
Meanwhile the senior clerk seized his hat, with the intention of going in search of Tom Whyte, and rushed out at the door; which he had no sooner done than he found himself tightly embraced in the arms of that worthy28, who happened to be entering at the moment, and who, in consequence of the sudden onset29, was pinned up against the wall of the porch.
“Oh, my buzzum!” exclaimed Tom, laying his hand on his breast; “you’ve a’most bu’st me, sir. W’at’s wrong, sir?”
“Go for the doctor, Tom, quick! run like the wind. Take the freshest horse; fly, Tom, Charley’s poisoned—laudanum; quick!”
“’Eavens an’ ’arth!” ejaculated the groom30, wheeling round, and stalking rapidly off to the stable like a pair of insane compasses; while the senior clerk returned to the bedroom, where he found Mr Kennedy still raving31, Peter Mactavish still aghast and deadly pale, and Harry Somerville staring like a maniac32 at his young friend, as if he expected every moment to see him explode, although, to all appearance, he was sleeping soundly, and comfortably too, notwithstanding the noise that was going on around him. Suddenly Harry’s eye rested on the label of the half-empty phial, and he uttered a loud, prolonged cheer.
“It’s only tincture of—”
“Wild cats and furies!” cried Mr Kennedy, turning sharply round and seizing Harry by the collar, “why d’you kick up such a row, eh?”
“It’s only tincture of rhubarb,” repeated the boy, disengaging himself and holding up the phial triumphantly33.
“So it is, I declare,” exclaimed Mr Kennedy, in a tone that indicated intense relief of mind; while Peter Mactavish uttered a sigh so deep that one might suppose a burden of innumerable tons weight had just been removed from his breast.
Charley had been roused from his slumbers34 by this last ebullition; but on being told what had caused it, he turned languidly round on his pillow and went to sleep again, while his friends departed and left him to repose35.
Tom Whyte failed to find the doctor. The servant told him that her master had been suddenly called to set a broken leg that morning for a trapper who lived ten miles down the river, and on his return had found a man waiting with a horse and cariole, who carried him violently away to see his wife, who had been taken suddenly ill at a house twenty miles up the river, and so she didn’t expect him back that night.
“An’ where has ’e been took to?” inquired Tom.
She couldn’t tell; she knew it was somewhere about the White-horse Plains, but she didn’t know more than that.
“Did ’e not say w’en ’e’d be ’ome?”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Oh dear!” said Tom, rubbing his long nose in great perplexity. “It’s an ’orrible case o’ sudden and onexpected pison.”
She was sorry for it, but couldn’t help that; and thereupon, bidding him good-morning, shut the door.
Tom’s wits had come to that condition which just precedes “giving it up” as hopeless, when it occurred to him that he was not far from Mr Kennedy’s residence; so he stepped into the cariole again and drove thither36. On his arrival, he threw poor Mrs Kennedy and Kate into great consternation37 by his exceedingly graphic38, and more than slightly exaggerated, account of what had brought him in search of the doctor. At first Mrs Kennedy resolved to go up to Fort Garry immediately, but Kate persuaded her to remain at home, by pointing out that she could herself go, and if anything very serious had occurred (which she didn’t believe), Mr Kennedy could come down for her immediately, while she (Kate) could remain to nurse her brother.
In a few minutes Kate and Tom were seated side by side in the little cariole, driving swiftly up the frozen river; and two hours later the former was seated by her brother’s bedside, watching him, as he slept, with a look of tender affection and solicitude39.
Rousing himself from his slumbers, Charley looked vacantly round the room.
“Have you slept well, darling?” inquired Kate, laying her hand lightly on his forehead.
“Slept—eh! oh yes, I’ve slept. I say, Kate, what a precious bump I came down on my head, to be sure!”
“Hush, Charley!” said Kate, perceiving that he was becoming energetic. “Father said you were to keep quiet—and so do I,” she added, with a frown. “Shut your eyes, sir, and go to sleep.”
Charley complied by shutting his eyes, and opening his mouth, and uttering a succession of deep snores.
“Now, you bad boy,” said Kate, “why won’t you try to rest?”
“Because, Kate dear,” said Charley, opening his eyes again—“because I feel as if I had slept a week at least; and not being one of the seven sleepers40, I don’t think it necessary to do more in that way just now. Besides, my sweet but particularly wicked sister, I wish just at this moment to have a talk with you.”
“But are you sure it won’t do you harm to talk? do you feel quite strong enough?”
“Quite: Samson was a mere infant compared to me.”
“Oh, don’t talk nonsense, Charley dear, and keep your hands quiet, and don’t lift the clothes with your knees in that way, else I’ll go away and leave you.”
“Very well, my pet, if you do I’ll get up and dress and follow you, that’s all! But come, Kate, tell me first of all how it was that I got pitched off that long-legged rhinoceros41, and who it was that picked me up, and why wasn’t I killed, and how did I come here; for my head is sadly confused, and I scarcely recollect42 anything that has happened. And before commencing your discourse43, Kate, please hand me a glass of water, for my mouth is as dry as a whistle.”
Kate handed him a glass of water, smoothed his pillow, brushed the curls gently off his forehead, and sat down on the bedside.
“Thank you, Kate; now go on.”
“Well, you see—” she began.
“Pardon me, dearest,” interrupted Charley, “if you would please to look at me you would observe that my two eyes are tightly closed, so that I don’t see at all.”
“Well, then, you must understand—”
“Must I? oh!—”
“That after that wicked horse leaped with you over the stable fence, you were thrown high into the air, and turning completely round, fell head foremost into the snow, and your poor head went through the top of an old cask that had been buried there all winter.”
“Dear me!” ejaculated Charley; “did any one see me, Kate?”
“Oh yes.”
“Who?” asked Charley, somewhat anxiously; “not Mrs Grant, I hope? for if she did she’d never let me hear the last of it.”
“No; only our father, who was chasing you at the time,” replied Kate, with a merry laugh.
“And no one else?”
“No—oh yes, by-the-bye, Tom Whyte was there too.”
“Oh, he’s nobody! Go on.”
“But tell me, Charley, why do you care about Mrs Grant seeing you?”
“Oh! no reason at all, only she’s such an abominable44 quiz.”
We must guard the reader here against the supposition that Mrs Grant was a quiz of the ordinary kind. She was by no means a sprightly45, clever woman, rather fond of a joke than otherwise, as the term might lead you to suppose. Her corporeal46 frame was very large, excessively fat, and remarkably47 unwieldy; being an appropriate casket in which to enshrine a mind of the heaviest and most sluggish48 nature. She spoke49 little, ate largely, and slept much—the latter recreation being very frequently enjoyed in a large arm-chair of a peculiar50 kind. It had been a water-butt, which her ingenious husband had cut half-way down the middle, then half-way across, and in the angle thus formed fixed51 a bottom, which, together with the back, he padded with tow, and covered the whole with a mantle52 of glaring bed-curtain chintz, whose pattern alternated in stripes of sky-blue and china roses, with broken fragments of rainbow between. Notwithstanding her excessive slowness, however, Mrs Grant was fond of taking a firm hold of anything or any circumstance in the character or affairs of her friends, and twitting them thereupon in a grave but persevering53 manner that was exceedingly irritating. No one could ever ascertain54 whether Mrs Grant did this in a sly way or not, as her visage never expressed anything except unalterable good-humour. She was a good wife and an affectionate mother, had a family of ten children, and could boast of never having had more than one quarrel with her husband. This disagreement was occasioned by a rather awkward mischance. One day, not long after her last baby was born, Mrs Grant waddled55 towards her tub with the intention of enjoying her accustomed siesta56. A few minutes previously57 her seventh child, which was just able to walk, had scrambled59 up into the seat and fallen fast asleep there. As has been already said, Mrs Grant’s intellect was never very bright, and at this particular time she was rather drowsy60, so that she did not observe the child, and on reaching her chair, turned round preparatory to letting herself plump into it. She always plumped into her chair. Her muscles were too soft to lower her gently down into it. Invariably on reaching a certain point they ceased to act, and let her down with a crash. She had just reached this point, and her baby’s hopes and prospects61 were on the eve of being cruelly crushed for ever, when Mr Grant noticed the impending62 calamity63. He had no time to warn her, for she had already passed the point at which her powers of muscular endurance terminated; so grasping the chair, he suddenly withdrew it with such force that the baby rolled off upon the floor like a hedgehog, straightened out flat, and gave vent58 to an outrageous64 roar, while its horror-struck mother came to the ground with a sound resembling the fall of an enormous sack of wool. Although the old lady could not see exactly that there was anything very blameworthy in her husband’s conduct upon this occasion, yet her nerves had received so severe a shock that she refused to be comforted for two entire days.
But to return from this digression. After Charley had two or three times recommended Kate (who was a little inclined to be quizzical) to proceed, she continued—
“Well, then, you were carried up here by father and Tom Whyte, and put to bed, and after a good deal of rubbing and rough treatment you were got round. Then Peter Mactavish nearly poisoned you; but fortunately he was such a goose that he did not think of reading the label of the phial, and so gave you a dose of tincture of rhubarb instead of laudanum, as he had intended; and then father flew into a passion, and Tom Whyte was sent to fetch the doctor, and couldn’t find him; but fortunately he found me, which was much better, I think, and brought me up here. And so here I am, and here I intend to remain.”
“And so that’s the end of it. Well, Kate, I’m very glad it was no worse.”
“And I am very thankful,” said Kate, with emphasis on the word, “that it’s no worse.”
“Oh, well, you know, Kate, I meant that, of course.”
“But you did not say it,” replied his sister earnestly.
“To be sure not,” said Charley gaily65; “it would be absurd to be always making solemn speeches, and things of that sort, every time one has a little accident.”
“True, Charley; but when one has a very serious accident, and escapes unhurt, don’t you think that then it would be—”
“Oh yes, to be sure,” interrupted Charley, who still strove to turn Kate from her serious frame of mind; “but, sister dear, how could I possibly say I was thankful, with my head crammed66 into an old cask and my feet pointing up to the blue sky, eh?”
Kate smiled at this, and laid her hand on his arm, while she bent67 over the pillow and looked tenderly into his eyes.
“O my darling Charley, you are disposed to jest about it; but I cannot tell you how my heart trembled this morning when I heard from Tom Whyte of what had happened. As we drove up to the fort, I thought how terrible it would have been if you had been killed; and then the happy days we have spent together rushed into my mind, and I thought of the willow68 creek69 where we used to fish for gold-eyes, and the spot in the woods where we have so often chased the little birds, and the lake in the prairies where we used to go in spring to watch the water-fowl sporting in the sunshine. When I recalled these things, Charley, and thought of you as dead, I felt as if I should die too. And when I came here and found that my fears were needless, that you were alive and safe, and almost well, I felt thankful—yes, very, very thankful—to God for sparing your life, my dear, dear Charley.” And Kate laid her head on his bosom70 and sobbed71, when she thought of what might have been, as if her very heart would break.
Charley’s disposition72 to levity73 entirely74 vanished while his sister spoke; and twining his tough little arm round her neck, he pressed her fervently75 to his heart.
“Bless you, Kate,” he said at length. “I am indeed thankful to God, not only for sparing my life, but for giving me such a darling sister to live for. But now, Kate, tell me, what do you think of father’s determination to have me placed in the office here?”
“Indeed, I think it’s very hard. Oh, I do wish so much that I could do it for you,” said Kate, with a sigh.
“Do what for me?” asked Charley.
“Why, the office work,” said Kate.
“Tuts! fiddlesticks! But isn’t it, now, really a very hard case?”
“Indeed it is; but then, what can you do?”
“Do?” said Charley impatiently; “run away, to be sure.”
“Oh, don’t speak of that!” said Kate anxiously. “You know it will kill our beloved mother; and then it would grieve father very much.”
“Well, father don’t care much about grieving me, when he hunted me down like a wolf till I nearly broke my neck.”
“Now, Charley, you must not speak so. Father loves you tenderly, although he is a little rough at times. If you only heard how kindly76 he speaks of you to our mother when you are away, you could not think of giving him so much pain. And then the Bible says, ‘Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days may be long in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee;’ and as God speaks in the Bible, surely we should pay attention to it!”
Charley was silent for a few seconds; then heaving a deep sigh, he said,—“Well, I believe you’re right, Kate; but then, what am I to do? If I don’t run away, I must live, like poor Harry Somerville, on a long—legged stool; and if I do that, I’ll—I’ll—”
As Charley spoke, the door opened, and his father entered.
“Well, my boy,” said he, seating himself on the bedside and taking his son’s hand, “how goes it now? Head getting all right again? I fear that Kate has been talking too much to you.—Is it so, you little chatterbox?”
Mr Kennedy parted Kate’s clustering ringlets and kissed her forehead.
Charley assured his father that he was almost well, and much the better of having Kate to tend him. In fact, he felt so much revived that he said he would get up and go out for a walk.
“Had I not better tell Tom Whyte to saddle the young horse for you?” said his father, half ironically. “No, no, boy; lie still where you are to-day, and get up if you feel better to-morrow. In the meantime, I’ve come to say goodbye, as I intend to go home to relieve your mother’s anxiety about you. I’ll see you again, probably, the day after to-morrow. Hark you, boy; I’ve been talking your affairs over again with Mr Grant, and we’ve come to the conclusion to give you a run in the woods for a time. You’ll have to be ready to start early in spring with the first brigades for the north. So adieu!”
Mr Kennedy patted him on the head, and hastily left the room.
A burning blush of shame arose on Charley’s cheek as he recollected77 his late remarks about his father; and then, recalling the purport78 of his last words, he sent forth79 an exulting80 shout as he thought of the coming spring.
“Well now, Charley,” said Kate, with an arch smile, “let us talk seriously over your arrangements for running away.”
Charley replied by seizing the pillow and throwing it at his sister’s head; but being accustomed to such eccentricities81, she anticipated the movement, and evaded82 the blow.
“Ah, Charley,” cried Kate, laughing, “you mustn’t let your hand get out of practice! That was a shockingly bad shot for a man thirsting to become a bear and buffalo83 hunter!”
“I’ll make my fortune at once,” cried Charley, as Kate replaced the pillow, “build a wooden castle on the shores of Great Bear Lake, take you to keep house for me, and when I’m out hunting you’ll fish for whales in the lake, and we’ll live there to a good old age; so good-night, Kate dear, and go to bed.”
Kate laughed, gave her brother a parting kiss, and left him.
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1
promulgates
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| v.宣扬（某事物）( promulgate的第三人称单数 )；传播；公布；颁布（法令、新法律等） | |
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2
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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culpable
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| adj.有罪的，该受谴责的 | |
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avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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7
undesirable
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| adj.不受欢迎的，不良的，不合意的，讨厌的；n.不受欢迎的人，不良分子 | |
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random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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emetics
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| n.催吐药( emetic的名词复数 ) | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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propensity
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| n.倾向；习性 | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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14
sputtered
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| v.唾沫飞溅( sputter的过去式和过去分词 )；发劈啪声；喷出；飞溅出 | |
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forte
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| n.长处，擅长；adj.(音乐)强音的 | |
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accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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feat
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| n.功绩；武艺，技艺；adj.灵巧的，漂亮的，合适的 | |
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harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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raved
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| v.胡言乱语( rave的过去式和过去分词 )；愤怒地说；咆哮；痴心地说 | |
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distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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imploring
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| 恳求的，哀求的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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onset
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| n.进攻，袭击，开始，突然开始 | |
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groom
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| vt.给（马、狗等）梳毛，照料，使...整洁 | |
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raving
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| adj.说胡话的；疯狂的，怒吼的；非常漂亮的；令人醉心[痴心]的v.胡言乱语(rave的现在分词)n.胡话；疯话adv.胡言乱语地；疯狂地 | |
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maniac
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| n.精神癫狂的人；疯子 | |
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triumphantly
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| ad.得意洋洋地；得胜地；成功地 | |
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slumbers
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| 睡眠，安眠( slumber的名词复数 ) | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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graphic
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| adj.生动的，形象的，绘画的，文字的，图表的 | |
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solicitude
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| n.焦虑 | |
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sleepers
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| n.卧铺（通常以复数形式出现）；卧车( sleeper的名词复数 )；轨枕；睡觉（呈某种状态）的人；小耳环 | |
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rhinoceros
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| n.犀牛 | |
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recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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sprightly
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| adj.愉快的，活泼的 | |
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corporeal
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| adj.肉体的，身体的；物质的 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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mantle
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| n.斗篷，覆罩之物，罩子；v.罩住，覆盖，脸红 | |
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persevering
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| a.坚忍不拔的 | |
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ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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waddled
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| v.（像鸭子一样）摇摇摆摆地走( waddle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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siesta
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| n.午睡 | |
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previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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vent
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| n.通风口，排放口；开衩；vt.表达，发泄 | |
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scrambled
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| v.快速爬行( scramble的过去式和过去分词 )；攀登；争夺；（军事飞机）紧急起飞 | |
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drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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impending
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| a.imminent, about to come or happen | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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outrageous
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| adj.无理的，令人不能容忍的 | |
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gaily
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| adv.欢乐地，高兴地 | |
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crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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willow
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| n.柳树 | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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sobbed
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| 哭泣，啜泣( sob的过去式和过去分词 )； 哭诉，呜咽地说 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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levity
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| n.轻率，轻浮，不稳定，多变 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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fervently
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| adv.热烈地，热情地，强烈地 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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recollected
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| adj.冷静的；镇定的；被回忆起的；沉思默想的v.记起，想起( recollect的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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purport
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| n.意义，要旨，大要；v.意味著，做为...要旨，要领是... | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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eccentricities
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| n.古怪行为( eccentricity的名词复数 )；反常；怪癖 | |
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evaded
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| 逃避( evade的过去式和过去分词 )； 避开； 回避； 想不出 | |
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buffalo
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| n.(北美)野牛；(亚洲)水牛 | |
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