“In which both generals were killed, but the victory was to us.”
“So I’ve heard, sir,” replied Martin. “My mother was an Englishwoman, and I was born about four years after the surrender of Quebec. My mother died soon afterwards, but my father was alive about five years ago, I believe. I can’t exactly say, as I was for three or four years in the employ of the Fur Company, and when I returned, I found that he was dead.”
“And you have been a hunter all your life?”
“Not all my life, and not exactly a hunter. I call myself a trapper, but I still am both. I first was out with the Indians when I was about fourteen, for you see my father wanted to make me a drummer, and I could not stand that; so I said to him, ‘Father, I won’t be a drummer.’ ‘Well,’ says he, ‘Martin, you must help yourself, for all my interest lies in the army.’ ‘So I will,’ says I; ‘father, I’m off for the woods.’ ‘Well,’ says he, ‘just as you like, Martin.’ So one fine day I wished him good-bye, and did not see him again for more than two years.”
“Well, and what took place then?”
“Why, I brought home three or four packages of good skins, and sold them well. Father was so pleased, that he talked of turning trapper himself, but, as I told the old man, a man with a lame leg—for he had been wounded in the leg, and halted—would not make his livelihood by hunting in the woods of Canada.”
“Was your father still in the army?”
“No, ma’am, he was not in the army; but he was employed in the storekeeper’s department; they gave him the berth on account of his wound.”
“Well; go on, Martin.”
“I haven’t much more to say, ma’am. I brought home my furs, sold them, and father helped me to spend the money as long as he was alive, and very welcome he was to his share. I felt rather queer when I came back from the Fur Company and found that the old man was dead, for I had looked forward with pleasure to the old man’s welcome, and his enjoying his frolic with me as usual.”