Wrecked but not Ruined

Wrecked but not Ruined, by R.M.
Ballantyne

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Title: Wrecked but not Ruined
Author: R.M. Ballantyne
Release Date: November 6, 2007 [EBook #23388]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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BUT NOT RUINED ***

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Wrecked but not Ruined, by R.M. Ballantyne.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE OUTPOST.

On the northern shores of the Gulf of Saint Lawrence there stood, not
very long ago, a group of wooden houses, which were simple in
construction and lowly in aspect. The region around them was a vast
uncultivated, uninhabited solitude. The road that led to them was a rude
one. It wound round a rugged cliff, under the shelter of which the
houses nestled as if for protection from the cold winds and the
snowdrifts that took special delight in revelling there.
This group of buildings was, at the time we write of, an outpost of the
fur-traders, those hardy pioneers of civilisation, to whom, chiefly, we
are indebted for opening up the way into the northern wilderness of
America. The outpost was named the Cliff after the bold precipice, near
the base of which it stood. A slender stockade surrounded it, a flag-staff
rose in the centre of it, and a rusty old ship's carronade reared defiantly
at its front gate. In virtue of these warlike appendages the place was
sometimes styled "the Fort."
When first established, the Cliff Fort lay far beyond the outmost
bounds of civilised life, but the progress of emigration had sent forward
wave after wave into the northern wilderness, and the tide rose at last
until its distant murmur began to jar on the ears of the traders in their
lonely dwelling; warning them that competition was at hand, and that,
if they desired to carry on the trade in peace, they must push still
further into the bush, or be hopelessly swallowed up in the advancing
tide.
When the unwelcome sounds of advancing civilisation first broke the
stillness of this desolate region, the chief of the trading-post was seated
at breakfast with his clerk. He was a tall, good-looking, young
Englishman, named Reginald Redding. The clerk, Bob Smart, was a
sturdy youth, who first saw the light among the mountains of Scotland.
Doubtless he had been named Robert when baptised, but his intimates
would not have understood you had you mentioned him by that name.
Bob had just helped Reginald to the wing of a salt goose, and was
about to treat himself to a leg of the same when the cook entered.
This cook was a man. It may also be said with truth that he was more

than most men. At the outpost men were few, and of women there were
none. It may be imagined, then, that the cook's occupations and duties
were numerous. Francois Le Rue, besides being cook to the
establishment, was waiter, chambermaid, firewood-chopper, butcher,
baker, drawer-of-water, trader, fur-packer, and interpreter. These
offices he held professionally. When "off duty," and luxuriating in
tobacco and relaxation, he occupied himself as an amateur shoemaker,
tailor, musician, and stick-whittler, to the no small advantage of
himself and his fellow-outcasts, of whom there were five or six, besides
the principals already mentioned.
Le Rue's face bore an expression of dissatisfaction and perplexity as he
entered the hall.
"Oh, Monsieur Redding," he exclaimed, "dem squatters, de black
scoundrils what is be called Macklodds has bin come at last."
"Ho, ho! the McLeods have come, have they?" said Redding, laying
down his knife and fork, and looking earnestly at the man; "I had heard
of their intention."
"Oui, yis, vraiment," said Le Rue, with vehemence, "dey has come to
Jenkins Creek more dan tree veeks pass. Von sauvage come an' tell me
he have see dem. Got put up von hut, an' have begin de saw-mill."
"Well, well, Francois," returned Redding, with a somewhat doubtful
smile, as he resumed his knife and fork, "bring some more hot water,
and keep your mind easy. The McLeods can't do us much harm. Their
saw-mill will work for many a day before it makes much impression on
the forests hereabouts. There is room for us all."
"Forests!" exclaimed the cook, with a frown and a shrug of his
shoulders, "non, dey not hurt moche timber, but dey vill trade vid de
Injins--de sauvages--an' give dem drink, an' git all de furs, an' fat den
vill come of dat?"
Without waiting for