the hands of the Hudson’s Bay Company, in exchange for other
commodities. They are mostly Chippeway Indians, well grown men with
hardy constitutions. Their complexions are of the peculiar reddish black
colour always ascribed in Europe to the evil spirits of fairyland.
They wear very picturesque cloaks of skins and mantles of fur, with a
head-dress of eagle’s feathers spread out like a lady’s fan, and
quivering with every motion of their thick black hair.
Such was the company to whom the Captain was doing the honours of Fort
Reliance. There was no dancing for want of music, but the “buffet”
admirably supplied the want of the hired musicians of the European
balls. On the table rose a pyramidal pudding made by Mrs Joliffe’s
own hands; it was an immense truncated cone, composed of flour, fat,
rein-deer venison, and musk beef. The eggs, milk, and citron prescribed
in recipe books were, it is true, wanting, but their absence was atoned
for by its huge proportions. Mrs Joliffe served out slice after slice
with liberal hands, yet there remained enough and to spare. Piles of
sandwiches also figured on the table, in which ship biscuits took the
place of thin slices of English bread and butter, and dainty morsels of
corned beef that of the ham and stuffed veal of the old world. The sharp
teeth of the Chippeway Indians made short work of the tough biscuits;
and for drink there was plenty of whisky and gin handed round in little
pewter pots, not to speak of a great bowl of punch which was to close
the entertainment, and of which the Indians talked long afterwards in
their wigwams.
Endless were the compliments paid to the Joliffes that evening, but they
deserved them; how zealously they waited on the guests, with what easy
grace they distributed the refreshments! They did not need prompting,
they anticipated the wishes of each one. The sandwiches were succeeded
by slices of the inexhaustible pudding, the pudding by glasses of gin or
whisky.
“No, thank you, Mr Joliffe.”
“You are too good, Corporal; but let me have time to breathe.”
“Mrs Joliffe, I assure you, I can eat no more.”
“Corporal Joliffe, I am at your mercy.”
“No more, Mrs Joliffe, no more, thank you!”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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