“This story of mine,” continued Mr. O’Kelly, “has somehow spun itself out far more than I intended. My desire was, to show you briefly, in what strange and dissimilar situations I have been thrown in life—how, I have lived among every rank, and class, at home and abroad, in comparative affluence—in narrow poverty; how, I have looked on, at the world, in all its gala dress of wealth, and rank, and beauty—of power, of station, and command of intellect; and how I have seen it poor, and mean, and naked—the companion of gloomy solitudes, and the denizen of pathless forests; and yet found the same human passions, the same love, and hate, the same jealousy, and fear, courage, and daring—the same desire for power, and the same wish to govern, in the red Indian of the prairie, as in the starred noble of Europe. The proudest rank of civilized life has no higher boast, than in the practice of such virtues as I have seen rife among the wild dwellers in the dark forest. Long habit of moving thus among my fellow men, has worn off much of that conventional reverence for class, which forms the standing point of all our education at home. The tarred and weather-beaten sailor, if he be but a pleasant fellow, and has seen life, is to me as agreeable a companion as the greatest admiral that ever trod a quarter-deck. My delight has been thus, for many a year back, to ramble through the world, and look on its game, like one who sits before the curtain, and has no concern with the actors, save, in so far as they amuse him.
“There is no cynicism in this. No one enjoys life more than I do. Music is a passion with me—in painting, I take the greatest delight, and beauty, has still her charm for me. Society, never was a greater pleasure. Scenery, can give me a sense of happiness, which none but solitary men ever feel—yet, it is less as one identified with these, than as a mere spectator. All this is selfish, and egotistical, you will say—and so it is. But then, think what chance has one like me of any other pleasure! To how many annoyances should I expose myself, if I adopted a different career: think of the thousand inquiries, of,—who is he? what is his family? where did he come from? what are his means? and all such queries, which would beset me, were I the respectable denizen of one of your cities. Without some position, some rank, some settled place in society, you give a man nothing—he can neither have friend, nor home. Now, I am a wanderer—my choice of life, happily took an humble turn. I have placed myself in a good situation for seeing the game—and I am not too fastidious, if I get somewhat crushed by the company about me. But now, to finish this long story, for I see the day is breaking, and I must leave Antwerp by ten o’clock.
“At last, then, we reached Quebec. It was on a bright, clear, frosty day in December, when all the world was astir—sledges flying here and there—men slipping along in rackets—women, wrapped up in furs, sitting snugly in chairs, and pushed along the ice some ten or twelve miles the hour—all gay, all lively, and all merry-looking—while I and my Indian friend bustled our way through the crowd towards the post-office. He was a well-known character, and many a friendly nod, and a knowing shake of the head welcomed him as he passed along. I, however, was an object of no common astonishment, even in a town where every variety of costume, from full dress to almost nakedness, was to be met with daily. Still, something remained as a novelty, and it would seem I had hit on it. Imagine, then, an old and ill-used foraging-cap, drawn down over a red night-cap, from beneath which my hair descended straight, somewhere about a foot in length—beard and moustaches to match—a red uniform coat, patched with brown seal-skin, and surmounted by a kind of blanket of buffalo hide—a pair of wampum shorts, decorated with tin and copper, after the manner of a marquetrie table—gray stockings, gartered with fish skin—and moccasins made after the fashion of high-lows, an invention of my own, which I trust are still known as ‘O’Kellies,’ among my friends the red men.
“That I was not an Indian, was sufficiently apparent—if by nothing else, the gingerly delicacy with which I trod the pavement, after a promenade of seven hundred miles, would have shown it; and yet there was an evident reluctance on all sides to acknowledge me as one of themselves. The crowd that tracked our steps had by this time attracted the attention of some officers, who stopped to see what was going forward, when I recognised the major of my own regiment among the number. I saw, however, that he did not remember me, and hesitated with myself whether I should return to my old servitude. The thought that no mode of subsistence was open to me—that I was not exactly prepossessing enough to make my way in the world by artificial advantages, decided the question, and I accosted him at once.
“I will not stop to paint the astonishment of the officer, nor shall I dwell on the few events which followed the recognition—suffice it to say, that, the same evening I received my appointment, not as a sergeant, but as regimental interpreter between our people and the Indians, with whom we were then in alliance against the Yankees. The regiment soon left Quebec for Trois Rivières, where my ambassadorial functions were immediately called into play—not, I am bound to confess, under such weighty and onerous reponsibilities as I had been led to suspect would ensue between two powerful nations—but, on matters of less moment, and fully as much difficulty, viz., the barter of old regimental coats and caps for bows and arrows; the exchange of rum and gunpowder for moccasins, and wampum ornaments—in a word, the regulation of an Anglo-Indian tariff, which accurately defined the value of everything, from a black fox skin to a pair of old gaiters—from an Indian tomahawk to a tooth-pick.
“In addition to these fiscal regulations, I drew up a criminal code—which, in simplicity at least, might vie with any known system of legislation—by which it was clearly laid down, that any unknown quantity of Indians were only equal to the slightest inconvenience incurred, or discomfort endured by an English officer; that the condescension of any intercourse with them, was a circumstance of the greatest possible value—and its withdrawal the highest punishment. A few other axioms of the like nature, greatly facilitated all bargains, and promoted universal good feeling. Occasionally, a knotty point would arise, which somewhat puzzled me to determine. Now and then, some Indian prejudice, some superstition of the tribe would oppose a barrier to the summary process of my cheap justice; but then, a little adroitness and dexterity could soon reconcile matters—and as I had no fear that my decisions were to be assumed as precedents, and still less dread of their being rescinded by a higher court, I cut boldly, and generally severed the difficulty at a blow.
“My life was now a pleasant one enough—for our officers treated me on terms of familiarity, which gradually grew into intimacy, as our quarters were in remote stations, and as they perceived that I possessed a certain amount of education—which, it is no flattery to say, exceeded their own. My old qualities of convivialism, also, gave me considerable aid; and as I had neither forgotten to compose a song, nor sing it afterwards, I was rather a piece of good fortune in this solitary and monotonous state of life. Etiquette prevented my being asked to the mess, but, most generously, nothing interfered with their coming over to my wigwam almost every evening, and taking share of a bowl of sangaree, and a pipe—kindnesses I did my uttermost to repay, by putting in requisition all the amusing talents I possessed: and certainly, never did a man endeavour more for great success in life, nor give himself greater toil, than did I, to make time pass over pleasantly to some half-dozen silly subalterns, a bloated captain or two, and a plethoric, old snuff-taking major, that dreamed of nothing but rappee, punch and promotion. Still, like all men in an ambiguous, or a false position, I felt flattered by the companionship of people, whom, in my heart, I thoroughly despised and looked down upon; and felt myself honoured by the society of the most thick-headed set of noodles ever a man sat down with—Aye! and laughed at their flat witticisms, and their old stale jokes—and often threw out hints for bon mots, which, if they caught, I immediately applauded, and went about, saying, did you hear ‘Jones’s last?’—‘do you know what the major said this morning?’ bless my heart! what a time it was. Truth will out—the old tuft-hunting leaven was strong in me, even yet—hardship and roughing had not effaced it from my disposition—one more lesson was wanting, and I got it.
“Among my visitors was an old captain of the rough school of military habit, with all the dry jokes of the recruiting service, and all the coarseness which a life spent for the most part in remote stations, and small detachments, is sure to impart. This old fellow, Mat Hubbart, a well known name in the Glengarries, had the greatest partiality for practical jokes—and could calculate to a nicety, the precise amount of a liberty which any man’s rank in the service permitted, without the risk of being called to account: and the same scale of equivalents, by which he established the nomenclature for female rank in the army, was regarded by him as the test for those licences he permitted himself to take with any man beneath him: and as he spoke of the colonel’s ‘lady,’ the major’s ‘wife,’ the captain’s ‘woman,’ the lieutenant’s ‘thing’—so did he graduate his conduct to the husbands—never transgressing for a moment on the grade, by any undue familiarity, or any unwonted freedom. With me, of course, his powers were discretionary—or rather, had no discretion whatever. I was a kind of military outlaw, that any man might shoot at—and certainly, he spared not his powder in my behalf.
“Among the few reliques of my Indian life, was a bear-skin cap and hood, which I prised highly. It was a present from my old guide—his parting gift—when I put into his hands the last few pieces of silver I possessed in the world. This was then to me a thing, which, as I had met with not many kindnesses in the world, I valued at something far beyond its mere price; and would rather have parted with any, or everything I possessed, than lose it. Well, one day on my return from a fishing excursion, as I was passing the door of the mess-room, what should I see but a poor idiot that frequented the barrack, dressed in my bear-skin.
“‘Holloa! Rokey,’ said I, ‘where did you get that?’ scarce able to restrain my temper.