snow, and lifting it to the top of the door. “Hand me those bits of stick, Harry; quick, man, stir your stumps.—Now then, skipper, fix them in so, while I hold this up.”
The skipper lent willing and effective aid, so that in a few minutes the snow was placed in such a position that upon the opening of the door it must inevitably fall on the head of the first person who should enter the room.
“So,” said the skipper; “that’s rigged up in what I call a ship-shape fashion.”
“True,” remarked the doctor, eyeing the arrangement with a look of approval; “it will do, I think, admirably.”
“Don’t you think, skipper,” said Harry Somerville gravely, as he resumed his seat in front of the fire, “that it would be worth while to make a careful and minute entry in your private log of the manner in which it was put up, to be afterwards followed by an account of its effect? You might write an essay on it now, and call it the extraordinary effects of a fall of snow in latitude so and so, eh? What think you of it?”
The skipper vouchsafed no reply, but made a significant gesture with his fist, which caused Harry to put himself in a posture of defence.
At this moment footsteps were heard on the wooden platform in front of the building.
Instantly all became silence and expectation in the hall as the result of the practical joke was about to be realised. Just then another step was heard on the platform, and it became evident that two persons were approaching the door.
“Hope it’ll be the right man,” said the skipper, with a look savouring slightly of anxiety.
As he spoke the door opened, and a foot crossed the threshold; the next instant the miniature avalanche descended on the head and shoulders of a man, who reeled forward from the weight of the blow, and, covered from head to foot with snow, fell to the ground amid shouts of laughter.
With a convulsive stamp and shake, the prostrate figure sprang up and confronted the party. Had the cast-iron stove suddenly burst into atoms and blown the roof off the house, it could scarcely have created greater consternation than that which filled the merry jesters when they beheld the visage of Mr Rogan, the superintendent of the fort, red with passion and fringed with snow.
“So,” said he, stamping violently with his foot, partly from anger, and partly with the view of shaking off the unexpected covering, which stuck all over his dress in little patches, producing a somewhat piebald effect,—“so you are pleased to jest, gentlemen. Pray, who placed that piece of snow over the door?” Mr Rogan glared fiercely round upon the culprits, who stood speechless before him.
For a moment he stood silent, as if uncertain how to act; then turning short on his heel, he strode quickly out of the room, nearly overturning Mr Hamilton, who at the same instant entered it, carrying his gun and snow-shoes under his arm.
“Dear me, what has happened?” he exclaimed, in a peculiarly gentle tone of voice, at the same time regarding the snow and the horror-stricken circle with a look of intense surprise.
“You see what has happened,” replied Harry Somerville, who was the first to recover his composure; “I presume you intended to ask, ‘What has caused it to happen?’ Perhaps the skipper will explain; it’s beyond me, quite.”
Thus appealed to, that worthy cleared his throat, and said:—
“Why, you see, Mr Hamilton, a great phenomenon of meteorology has happened. We were all standing, you must know, at the open door, taking a squint at the weather, when our attention was attracted by a curious object that appeared in the sky, and seemed to be coming down at the rate of ten knots an hour, right end-on for the house. I had just time to cry, ‘Clear out, lads,’ when it came slap in through the doorway, and smashed to shivers there, where you see the fragments. In fact, it’s a wonderful aerolite, and Mr Rogan has just gone out with a lot of the bits in his pocket, to make a careful examination of them, and draw up a report for the Geological Society in London. I shouldn’t wonder if he were to send off an express to-night; and maybe you will have to convey the news to headquarters, so you’d better go and see him about it soon.”
Soft although Mr Hamilton was supposed to be, he was not quite prepared to give credit to this explanation; but being of a peaceful disposition, and altogether unaccustomed to retort, he merely smiled his disbelief, as he proceeded to lay aside his fowling-piece, and divest himself of the voluminous out-of-door trappings with which he was clad. Mr Hamilton was a tall, slender youth, of about nineteen. He had come out by the ship in autumn, and was spending his first winter at York Fort. Up to the period of his entering the Hudson’s Bay Company’s service, he had never been more than twenty miles from home, and having mingled little with the world, was somewhat unsophisticated, besides being by nature gentle and unassuming.
Soon after this the man who acted as cook, waiter, and butler to the mess, entered, and said that Mr Rogan desired to see the accountant immediately.
“Who am I to say did it?” inquired that gentleman, as he rose to obey the summons.
“Wouldn’t it be a disinterested piece of kindness if you were to say it was yourself?” suggested the doctor.
“Perhaps it would, but I won’t,” replied the accountant, as he made his exit.
In about half an hour Mr Rogan and the accountant re-entered the apartment. The former had quite regained his composure. He was naturally amiable; which happy disposition was indicated by a habitually cheerful look and smile.
“Now, gentlemen,” said he, “I find that this practical joke was not intended for me, and therefore look upon it as an unlucky accident; but I cannot too strongly express my dislike to practical jokes of all kinds. I have seen great evil, and some bloodshed, result from practical jokes; and I think that, being a sufferer in consequence of your fondness for them, I have a right to beg that you will abstain from such doings in future—at least from such jokes as involve risk to those who do not choose to enter into them.”
Having given vent to this speech, Mr Rogan left his volatile friends to digest it at their leisure.
“Serves us right,” said the skipper, pacing up and down the room in a repentant frame of mind, with his thumbs hooked into the arm-holes of his vest.
The doctor said nothing, but breathed hard and smoked vigorously.
While we admit most thoroughly with Mr Rogan that practical jokes are exceedingly bad, and productive frequently of far more evil than fun, we feel it our duty, as a faithful delineator of manners, customs, and character in these regions, to urge in palliation of the offence committed by the young gentlemen at York Fort, that they had really about as few amusements and sources of excitement as fall to the lot of any class of men. They were entirely dependent on their own unaided exertions, during eight or nine months of the year, for amusement or recreation of any kind. Their books were few in number, and soon read through. The desolate wilderness around afforded no incidents to form subjects of conversation further than the events of a day’s shooting, which, being nearly similar every day, soon lost all interest. No newspapers came to tell of the doings of the busy world from which they were shut out, and nothing occurred to vary the dull routine of their life; so that it is not matter for wonder that they were driven to seek for relaxation and excitement occasionally in most outrageous and unnatural ways, and to indulge now and then in the perpetration of a practical joke.
For some time after the rebuke administered by Mr Rogan, silence reigned in Bachelor’s Hall, as the clerks’ house was termed. But at length symptoms
