Lumley on Duty—Fort Wichikagan begins to Grow.  
The bold and prompt manner in which peace was established among the contending savages of Lake Wichikagan did more to raise my friend Jack Lumley in their estimation than if he had fought a hundred successful battles, and subdued a nation of foes. It seemed to be felt on all hands that he was a man who could be trusted, and his pointed reference to the Great Spirit conveyed an impression that truth and justice must be his guiding principles.
 
And on this point these children of nature read his character correctly, for, as I have had frequent occasion to observe, my friend was strictly truthful, and, I might almost say, sternly just. Duty indeed was his pole-star—duty to God and man.
 
“Max,” he once said to me when we had got into a confidential chat beside our camp-fire, “let me advise you to take a sound view and a good grasp of what men call duty. There is a right and a wrong in everything that the mind or hand of man can be brought to bear upon. It is our duty to discover and do the right if we can—to recognise and avoid the wrong. True success in life depends upon this principle being acted on at all times, and in all things. Even what worldly men deem success—the acquisition of wealth, fame, etcetera—is largely dependent on strict regard to duty.”
 
Of course I heartily agreed with him in this matter, but I am free to confess that I feel woefully far short of the standard to which he attained. Perhaps a soft and somewhat undecided nature had something to do with my failure. I say not this by way of excuse but explanation. Whatever the cause, I felt so very far below my friend that I looked up to him as a sort of demigod. Strange to say, his affection for me was also very strong. He never seemed to perceive my weak points—but, then, he was of a large-hearted, generous disposition, and he came to be loved not only by me and the Indians, but by the men of the expedition, some of whom, although good workers, were rather turbulent fellows.
 
All things having been satisfactorily arranged, as detailed in the last chapter, we now set about preparation for wintering. The first point to settle was the site for our establishment, and a council of the whole party was called to settle it on the lawn-like spot on the margin of our lake where the first fire had been kindled.
 
“No spot could be better, I think,” said our chief, as we stood in a picturesque group around him, with Masqua, Mozwa, and several other Indians looking on. “The little rising ground and clump of wood at the back will shelter us from the north winds; the underwood on the east and west is sufficiently high to form a slight protection in those directions, and to the south the island-studded bosom of Lake Wichikagan lies spread out before us, to supply us with fish and water, and a cheering prospect.”
 
“And to remind Donald Bane and James Dougall,” said I, “of Loch Lomond or Loch Ness.”
 
“I rather think,” said Lumley, “that it strikes Dougall as having more resemblance to Loch Awe, if we may judge from the awesome expression of his face.”
 
“Weel, Muster Lumley,” returned Dougall with a slight smile, “not to spoil your choke, sir, it wass thinkin’ o’ the fush I wass, an’ wonderin’ if they wass goot fush.”
 
“Big Otter says they are good,” returned our chief, “and I think we may rely on his opinion. There’s a little stretch of rock over there, jutting out from the shore, which could be made into a capital pier for our boats and canoes without much labour. What say you, Henri Coppet; could not a few trees and some planks be easily fitted to these rocks?”
 
“Oui, monsieur—yes, sir—very easily,” answered the carpenter, in French.
 
“Ay, an’ wan or two big stones on the other pint o’ rocks there,” observed Donald Bane, “would make a goot breakwater, an’ a fine harbour, whatever.”
 
“And I’m sure nothing could be finer than the view,” said I, with feelings of enthusiasm.
 
“Well, then, since we all seem agreed on that point—here shall our house be raised,” rejoined Lumley, driving the point of a stick he carried into the ground. “Come now, boys, go to work. Max, you will superintend the placing of the goods in a secure position and cover them with tarpaulin in the meantime. We’ll soon have a hut ready. Dumont, set up your forge under yon pine-tree and get your tools ready. Overhaul your nets, Blondin, and take Salamander to help you—especially the seine-net; I’ll try a sweep this afternoon or to-morrow. Come here, Max, I want to speak with you.”
 
“Now, Max,” he said, when we had gone aside some distance, “see that you arrange the goods so that they may be easily guarded, and don’t let the redskins come too near. They may be honest enough, but we won’t throw temptation in their way. We shall want one of them, by the bye, to keep house for us. What say you to hiring Waboose?”
 
“Out of the question,” said I, quickly.
 
“Why so, Max?”
 
“Why, because—don’t you see—she’s far above that sort o’ thing, she’s quite a kind of princess in the tribe. Haven’t you noticed how respectful they all are to her? And, besides, she is so—what one might almost call ladylike. I am convinced that her father must have been a gentleman.”
 
“Perhaps so,” returned Lumley, with a quiet laugh; “well, we won’t insult her by asking her to fill such a position. Away to work now. I will sketch out the plan of our establishment. When the goods are all safe, send your men to fell heavy timber for the houses, and let them also cut some firewood. Off you go.”
 
In a few minutes we were all at work, busy as bees—carrying, hauling, cutting, hammering and chopping; while some of the Indians looked on, intensely interested, others assisted under the direction of Big Otter, and the woods resounded with the noise of the new-born activity.
 
Soon Blondin had a net down, and before evening we had caught enough of that splendid staple of the North American lakes, the whitefish, to supply us with a good meal and leave something over for our red friends.
 
I observed during these operations that, after planning, sketching, and measuring, our chief took his axe into the wood and felled a tall pine, from which he proceeded to remove the branches and bark. Towards evening he took a spade, and dug a deep hole in the ground on the most prominent part of the lawn, in front of what was to be our future home.
 
“Come now, four of you,” he said, “and help me to set up our flag-staff.”
 
I ran with three others to assist, and in another minute or two the end of the tall taper stick was dropped into the hole and fixed there. A hole had been already bored in the top and a rope rove through it, to which Lumley soon attached the corners of a small red bundle.
 
“Ho! lads,” he shouted, when all was ready, in a voice that rang out full and strong, “Fall in!”
 
We had previously been trained to obey this order with the utmost alacrity, by running towards our leader, carrying our loaded guns with us, and forming into line, so as to be ready for any emergency. It was a fancy of Lumley to drill us thus, and we fell in with his humour, most of us counting it a piece of fun to break off from what we chanced to be doing at the moment the order was given, and trying who should be first to reach the spot where he stood. As our guns were always loaded and primed, we never had to lose time in charging them.
 
On the occasion of which I write, we amazed and somewhat alarmed the Indians by our prompt action, for we stood together in a silent row in less than half a minute after the summons was shouted.
 
“I have called you up, lads,” said Lumley, “to take part in a little ceremony. Through the goodness of the Almighty we have been brought in safety and health to our new home. It is already part of the Queen of England’s dominions, and I now take possession of it in the name of the Hudson’s Bay Company. May God prosper and bless us while we stay here!”
 
He hoisted, as he spoke, the small red bundle, which when shaken out proved to be a flag on which were the letters HBC in white.
 
“Now, boys, send a volley at the new moon up there. Ready—present—fire! Hoorah!”
 
The crash of the united volley and the wild huzza which followed caused many a redskin’s heart to leap, and would doubtless have caused many a foot to run, but for the fact that their own redskin brother—Big Otter—was one of the firing party, and, perhaps, the wildest cheerer of the band!
 
The ceremony ended, orders were given to knock off work for the day, and set about the preparation oh supper.
 
The food was sweet that night, sweeter than usual, for we were very hungry; the stars were bright that night,............