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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f8802ce --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66150 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66150) diff --git a/old/66150-0.txt b/old/66150-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 86cea4e..0000000 --- a/old/66150-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,11344 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Gleaner Tales, by Robert Sellar - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Gleaner Tales - -Author: Robert Sellar - -Release Date: August 27, 2021 [eBook #66150] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Sonya Schermann, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by The Internet - Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLEANER TALES *** - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber’s note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - - - -GLEANER TALES - -BY - -ROBERT SELLAR - -HUNTINGDON, Q. -1895 - - - - -Entered according to act of parliament of Canada, in -the year 1895, by Robert Sellar, at the -Department of Agriculture. - - - - -A glance at the map shows the south-western extremity of the province -of Quebec to be a wedge shaped bit of territory; the St. Lawrence on -one side, the United States on the other. All that is related in the -following pages is associated with this corner of Canada. The name of -the book comes from the newspaper in which most of the tales first -appeared. There is a purpose in the book. It attempts to convey in -a readable form an idea of an era in the life of Canada which has -passed--that of its first settlement by emigrants from the British -isles--and to give an account of two striking episodes in its history, -the invasion under Hampton and the year of the ship fever. These are -historically correct; the briefer tales are based on actual incidents -in the lives of early settlers in the old county of Huntingdon. - - - - -CONTENTS. - PAGE -HEMLOCK 1 - -ARCHANGE AND MARIE 205 - -THE SETTLER’S FIRST GRIST 225 - -ABNER’S DEVICE 236 - -A SETTLER’S STORY 254 - -JEANIE MORISON 290 - -LOST 318 - -AN INCIDENT OF HUNTINGDON FAIR 324 - -THE SUMMER OF SORROW 341 - -NOTE 459 - - - - -HEMLOCK. - - -CHAPTER I. - -The rain of the forenoon had been followed by an outburst of heat and -the sunshine beat with fierce intensity on the narrow square that -formed the yard of the barracks at Montreal. There was a milkiness in -the atmosphere which, conjoined with the low bank of black cloud that -hung over the St Lawrence where it rolled out of sight, indicated a -renewal of the downpour. The yard was deserted. Dinner was over and -the men lounged and snoozed indoors until the sun abated his fervor, -always excepting the sentry, who stood in the shade of the gateway, -his gaze alternately wandering from the refreshing motion of the blue -waters of St Mary’s current to the cluster of log houses, interspersed -by stone edifices with high tin roofs, which formed the Montreal of -1813. Presently the sound of hoofs was heard, and there came galloping -to the gate an orderly from the general’s headquarters. Passing the -sentry, he pulled up at the door of that portion of the barracks where -the officer of the day was quartered, and who, in another minute, was -reading the despatch he had brought. It was an order for a detachment -of 20 men to report without delay at headquarters. Instantly the voice -of a sergeant was heard shouting the order to those who had to turn -out and the barracks became a bustling scene of soldiers rubbing their -accoutrements and packing their kits. In half an hour they had fallen -into rank and marched to the general’s residence. The lieutenant in -charge went in to report and found General de Watteville writing. - -“You ready for the route? Ah, yes; very good, Morton. I will write you -one order. You will escort an ammunition-train to camp La Fourche and -there go under command of Major Stovin.” - -“I hope, General, there is a prospect of our helping to use the -cartridges when we get there?” - -“I cannot say. Yankee very cautious; put his nose one, two, three time -across the frontier and then run back, like rat to his hole. Maybe -Hampton come; we must be ready. Here is your order. You will find the -train at King’s Posts and use all expedition.” - -Saluting the General, Morton withdrew and, rejoining his men, they -marched down the narrow and crooked maze of St Paul street, attracting -little attention, for the sight of soldiers had become familiar even to -the habitant wives, who were jogging homeward in their market-carts. -By the time the town was cleared, and the Lachine road gained, the sun -was inclining to the west, and his rays being more endurable, the men -stepped out briskly, bandying coarse jests, while the officer, some -paces behind, eyed with surprised delight the foaming rapids, which -he now saw for the first time. The afternoon was calm, which made the -spectacle of a wide expanse of water tossed into huge billows without -apparent cause, all the more singular. “Why,” said Morton inwardly, -“all the rivers of the United Kingdom, with their falls and cataracts, -if added to this vast river, would not perceptibly add either to its -volume or its tumult.” - -At the head of the rapids, where the St Lawrence expands into the lake -named St Louis, stood the King’s Posts, an extensive collection of -buildings, with wharves in front, at which were moored a large number -of boats. King’s Posts was the depot of supplies for the country -west of Montreal, and therefore a place of bustle in time of war, -boats stemming the rapids and long trains of carts conveying to its -storehouses daily the supplies brought by shipping from England to -Montreal, to be in turn sent off as required to the numerous garrisons -along the upper St Lawrence and lakes Ontario and Erie, while the -troops, then being hurried to the front, here embarked. Reporting -his command, Morton was informed the boat with the supplies he was -to guard would not be ready to sail until late in the evening, and -quarters were assigned his men and to himself an invitation to join -the mess-dinner. Thus relieved, he strolled to the water’s edge, and -watched the shouting boatmen and the swearing soldiers as they loaded -the flotilla that was in preparation, and was fortunate enough to see -a bateau arrive from Montreal, poled up against the current by part of -its crew while the others tugged at a tow-rope, reinforced by a yoke of -oxen. Then he watched the sun, which, as it neared the horizon, dyed -the waters of the majestic river with many hues. Slowly it neared the -thick battalion of pines behind which it would disappear, and as Morton -noted the broad crimson pathway that it seemed to stretch across the -placid lake as a temptation to follow it into its chamber of glory, he -thought he never beheld anything more imposing. Slowly the throbbing -orb descended and was lost to sight, and, as if evoked by angel-spell, -cloudlets became revealed and were transformed into plumage of scarlet -and gold. The train of Morton’s reverie was snapped by the tread of -troops behind him. Turning he saw a file of soldiers with a manacled -man between them. When they reached the head of the wharf, the order -to halt was given. Morton knew what it meant. The tall thin man in his -shirt-sleeves was a spy and he was going to be shot. It was supper-time -and boats and wharfs were for the time no longer the scene of activity, -but the grimy bateau-men paused in their cookery, to watch the tragedy -about to be enacted. Two soldiers lifted from their shoulders the -rough box that was to be his coffin, and the doomed man stood beside -it. Behind him was the St Lawrence, a lake of molten glass; in front -the line of soldiers who were to shoot him. There was no hurry or -confusion; everything being done in a calm and business-like manner. -The prisoner stood undauntedly before his executioners; a man with a -sinister countenance, in which low cunning was mixed with imperturbable -self-possession. He waved the bugler away when he approached to tie a -handkerchief over his eyes. “Guess I want ter hev the use o’ my eyes as -long as I ken; but say, kurnel, moughtn’t you loose my arms. It’s the -last wish of a dyin man.” The officer gave a sign with his hand, and -the rope was untied. “Prisoner, are you ready?” - -“Yes, kurnel.” - -Turning to the firing party, the officer gave the successive -orders--make ready,--present,--fire! Hardly had the last word been -uttered, than the prisoner, with surprising agility, gave a backward -leap into the river, and the volley swept over where he stood, the -bullets ricochetting on the surface of the river behind. “The Yankee -scoundrel! Has he escaped? Ten pounds for him alive or dead!” shouted -the officer. There was a rush to the edge of the wharf, and the -soldiers fired at random amid its posts, but the American was not to -be seen. “It is impossible for him to escape,” the captain said to -Morton, who had come to aid in the search. “He would have been hung had -we had a gallows handy, and if he has escaped the bullet it is only to -be drowned, for the river runs here like a mill-race and will carry him -into the rapids.” The soldiers jumped on the boats and scanned wharf -and shore, and seeing no trace came to the conclusion that from his -backward leap he had been unable to recover himself and did not rise to -the surface. Satisfied the man was drowned, the soldiers were ordered -back to the guard-room and the stir and hurry in getting the flotilla -ready were resumed. - -Soon afterwards Morton was seated at the mess-table, which was crowded, -for there were detachments of two regiments on their way from Quebec, -where they had landed the week before, to Upper Canada. The company -was a jovial one, composed of veteran campaigners who had learned to -make the most of life’s pleasures when they could be snatched, and -joke and story kept the table in a roar for a couple of hours, when -the colonel’s servant whispered something in his ear. “Comrades,” he -said, rising, “I am informed the boats are ready. The best of friends -must part when duty calls, and the hour we have spent this evening -is a pleasant oasis in our long and toilsome journey through this -wilderness. We do not know what difficulties we may have to encounter, -but we who braved the sun of India and stormed the Pyrenees will not -falter before the obstacles Canadian flood and forest may present, and -will carry the flag of our country to victory, as we have so often -done under our glorious chief, Wellington. We come to cross swords -not for conquest but to repel those invaders, who, professing to be -the champions of liberty, seek to bolster the falling cause of the -tyrant of Europe by endeavoring to create a diversion in his favor -on this western continent. We shall drive the boasters back, or else -will leave our bones to be bleached by Canadian snows; and we shall do -more, we shall vindicate the independence of this vast country against -the ingrates who smite, in the hour of trial, the mother that reared -them, and shall preserve Canada to be the home of untold millions -who will perpetuate on the banks of these great rivers and lakes the -institutions and customs that have made the name of Britain renowned. -Comrades, let us quit ourselves in this novel field of conflict as -befits our colors, and I propose, as our parting toast, Success to the -defenders of Canada, and confusion to the King’s enemies.” - -With clank of sword and sabre each officer sprang to his feet and the -toast was drank with shout and outstretched arm. Amid the outburst of -enthusiasm, a broad-shouldered captain started the chorus, - - - “Why, soldiers, why, should we be melancholy, boys? - Why, soldiers, why, whose business ’tis to die?” - - -It was taken up with vigor until the roar was deafening, and then -the colonel gave the signal to dismiss. From the heated room, Morton -stepped out and drew his breath at the spectacle presented. The moon, -full orbed, hung over the woods of La-prairie and poured a flood of -light upon the rapids beneath, transforming them where shallow into -long lanes of glittering network and where the huge billows tossed -in endless tumult, sable and silver alternated. Above, the waters -slumbered in the soft light, unconscious of the ordeal towards which -they were drifting and scarcely ruffled by the light east breeze that -had sprung up. Directly in front were the boats, loaded, and each -having its complement of soldiers. The officers took their places -among them and they cast off, until over a hundred were engaged in -stemming the rapid current with aid of sail and oar. After passing -between Caughnawaga and Lachine, indicated by their glancing spires, -the leading boats awaited on the bosom of the lake for those that had -still to overcome the river’s drift. When the last laggard had arrived, -the flotilla was marshalled by the naval officers who had control into -three columns, some sixty yards apart, and, the oars being shipped, and -sails hoisted, moved majestically for the head of the lake. Surely, -thought Morton, as he eyed the imposing scene, the far-searching lake -embosomed by nodding forest, “This country is worth fighting for.” - -The air was balmy, the motion of the boats pleasant, the moonlight -scene inspiring, so that the men forgot their fatigues, and burst -into song, and chorus after chorus, joined in by the entire flotilla, -broke the silence. A piper, on his way to join his regiment, broke in -at intervals and the colonel ordered the fife and drum corps to strike -up. The boat in which Morton sat brought up the rear, and softened by -distance and that inexpressible quality which a calm stretch of water -gives to music, he thought he had never heard anything finer, and he -could not decide whether the singing of the men, the weird strains -of the pibroch, or the martial music of the fifes and drums was to -be preferred. About an hour had been spent thus, when the captain -of the boat shouted to shift the sail, and putting up the helm, the -little barque fell out of line and headed for an eminence on the south -shore, so sharp and smooth in outline, that Morton took it to be a -fortification. When their leaving was noted, the men in the long lines -of boats struck up Auld Lang Syne, the fifes and drums accompanying, -and when they had done, the piper succeeded. Morton listened to the -strain as it came faintly from the fast receding flotilla, it was that -of Lochaber no More. - -As the shore was neared the boat was brought closer to the wind, and -lying over somewhat deeply, the helmsman told those on the lee side -to change seats. In the movement a man rubbed against Morton, and he -felt that his clothes were wet. Looking sharply at him, he saw he was -one of the boat’s crew, when his resemblance to the spy he had seen -escape the bullets of the firing-party struck him. The more he looked -the more convinced he grew that he was correct, and, improbable as -it seemed, within an arm’s length, almost, sat the man he saw plunge -into the river and whom he, with everybody else, believed to have been -swept into the deadly rapids. With all a soldier’s detestation of a -spy, he resolved he should not escape, yet to attempt to seize him -in the boat would be to imperil all in it, for that the fellow would -make a desperate struggle Morton knew. Prudently resolving to make no -move until the boat neared its moorings, he slipped his hand into his -breast-pocket and grasped the stock of one of his pistols. - -As the boat approached the shore the sharply-cut eminence, which -Morton had taken to be a fortification, resolved itself into a grassy -knoll, destitute of glacis or rampart, and round the eastern extremity -of which they glided into a smooth narrow channel, whose margin was -fretted by the shadows cast by the trees which leant over from its -banks. The sail now flapped uselessly and the order was given to get -out the oars. The suspected spy rose with the other boatmen to get them -into place and stood on a cross-bench as he lifted a heavy oar to its -lock. It was a mere pretence. In a moment his foot was on the gunwale -and he made a sudden spring towards the bank. There was the sound of -a plunge, of a few brief strokes by a strong swimmer, a movement among -the bushes, and then silence. Morton was intensely excited, he drew his -pistol, rose and cocking it fired at random. Turning to the captain -of the boat he shouted in fury, “You villain; you have assisted in -the escape of a King’s prisoner.” With stolid countenance the captain -shifted the helm to suit the windings of the channel, and answered, -“Me no spik Ingleese.” Feeling he was powerless, Morton resumed his -seat and in a minute or two a cluster of white-washed huts came in view -and the boat drew alongside a landing-stage in front of them. Several -soldiers were standing on it awaiting them, and on asking where he -would find the commissariat officer, Morton was directed to one of the -houses, in front of which paced a sentry. Entering he perceived it -consisted of two rooms, divided by a board-partition. In the larger end -was a woman, surrounded by several children, cooking at an open-fire, -and in the other, the door and windows of which were open, for the -evening was sultry, were four officers in dishabille, seated round a -rickety table playing cards, and with a pewter-measure in the middle -of it. One of them rose on seeing the stranger, while the others -turned carelessly to examine him. Assuring himself he was addressing -the officer of the commissariat, Morton explained his business. “Oh, -that’s all right; the powder-kegs must remain in the boat and in the -morning I will get carts to forward them to the front. There’s an -empty box, Lieutenant Morton; pull it up and join us,” and hospitably -handed him the pewter-measure. It contained strong rum grog, of which -a mouthful sufficed Morton. Not so the others, who, in listening to -what he had to tell of the news of Montreal and of the movements of -the troops, emptied it, and shouted to the woman to refill it, and, at -the same time, she brought in the supper, consisting of fried fish and -potatoes. That disposed of, the cards were reproduced and the four were -evidently bent on making a night of it. On returning from seeing how -his men were quartered, Morton found that the grog and the excitement -of the card-playing were telling on his companions, who were noisy and -quarrelsome. Asking where he should sleep, the woman pointed to the -ladder that reached to a trap in the roof, and he quietly ascended. -It was merely a loft, with a small window in either gable and a few -buffalo robes and blankets laid on its loose flooring. The place was -so stiflingly hot that Morton knew sleep was out of the question even -if there had been no noise beneath, and he seated himself by the side -of one of the windows through which the wind came in puffs. The sky -was now partially clouded and the growl of distant thunder was heard. -Fatigue told on the young soldier and he dozed as he sat. A crash -of thunder awoke him. Startled he rose and was astonished to find -himself in utter darkness, save for the rays that came through the -chinks of the flooring from the candle beneath, where the officers -were still carousing. He leant out of the window and saw that the -moon had been blotted out by thick clouds. While gazing there was a -flash of lightning, revealing to him a man crouched beside the window -below. In the brief instant of intense light, Morton recognized the -spy, and guessed he was listening to the officers, hoping to pick -up information, in their drunken talk, of use to his employers. “He -cheated the provost-marshal, he cheated me, but he shall not escape -again,” muttered Morton, who drew his pistols, got them ready, and, -grasping one in each hand, leant out of the window to await the next -flash that he might take aim. It came and instantly Morton fired. The -unsuspecting spy yelled, jumped to his feet, and rushed to the cover -of the woods. Then all was darkness. A crash of thunder, the sweep of -the coming hurricane and the pelting of rain, increased the futility -of attempting to follow. “I hope I’ve done for him,” said Morton to -himself, “and that like a stricken fox he will die in cover.” - -The pistol-shots together with the crash of the elements had put a stop -to the carousal downstairs and Morton heard them disputing as to who -should go up and see what had happened. “I will not go,” said one with -the deliberation of a stupidly drunk man. “I am an officer of the Royal -Engineers and have nothing to do with personal encounters. If you want -a line of circumvallation laid down, or the plan of a mine, I am ready, -but my commission says nothing about fighting with swords or pistols. I -know my office and how to maintain its dignity.” - -“Yes, Hughes, and the integrity of your skin. I’d go myself (here he -rose and tried to steady himself by holding on to the table) but I’ll -be jiggered if I can go up such a stair-case as that. It would take a -son of a sea-cook,” and with these words, losing his grip, the speaker -toppled over and fell on the floor. The third officer, a mere lad, -was asleep in his chair in a drunken stupor. The commissariat officer -staggered to the foot of the ladder, and, after vainly attempting to -ascend, shouted, “I say you there; what’s all the shooting for? Are -you such a greenhorn as to be firing at mosquitoes or a bullfrog. By -George, when in company of gentlemen you should behave yourself. I will -report you to your shuperior officer,” and so he maundered on for a -while, receiving no answer from Morton. Finally the woman of the house -helped him to a corner, where he lay down and snored away the fumes of -the liquor that had overcome him. Meanwhile the storm raged, and when -it had passed away, and the moon again calmly came forth, and the frogs -again raised their chorus, Morton was too sleepy to think of going to -look for the body of the spy, and making as comfortable a bed as he -could, he lay down and rested until late next morning. - - -CHAPTER II. - -On descending from his sleeping place, Morton found the woman preparing -breakfast, and, looking into the adjoining room, saw that three of -its inmates were still sleeping surrounded by the litter of their -night’s carousal. Stepping out of doors, he was surprised by the beauty -of the sylvan scene. The air had the freshness and the sky the deep -tender-blue that follows a thunder-storm, and the sunshine glittered -on the smooth surface of the river that, in all its windings, was -overhung by towering trees, except where small openings had been made -by the settlers, from which peeped their white shanties. The eminence -which had excited his curiosity the night before, he perceived to be -an island, with a largish house at its base, flanked by a wind-mill. -At the landing, was the bateau, with a group of men. Approaching them, -he found the captain, whose bloodshot eyes alone indicated his excess -of the preceding night. “Ah, Morton,” he exclaimed, “you were the only -wise man among us; you have your wits about you this morning. For me, -I had a few hours’ pleasure I now loathe to think of and a racking -headache. Come, let us have a swim and then go to breakfast.” - -Following him to the nook he sought, Morton told of his shot at the -spy. The captain listened attentively to the story. “I hope you winged -him,” he said, “but he will escape. The settlers, except a few Old -Countrymen, are all in sympathy with the Yankees, and will shelter and -help him to get away. We cannot make a move that word is not sent to -the enemy. I will warn the Indians to look out for him. Had it not been -for the rain, they could trace him to his lair.” - -On returning to the house, they found their comrades trying to make -themselves presentable and sat down to a breakfast of fried pork and -sour bread, to which Morton did ample justice. The commissariat officer -told him he could not start for some time, as carts were few and the -rain would have filled the holes in the track called a road. He could -have forwarded him more quickly by canoes, but there was a risk of -wetting the powder at the rapids. It was noon before sufficient carts -arrived to enable Morton to start, when a laborious journey ensued, -the soldiers being called on constantly to help the undaunted ponies -to drag the cart-wheels out of the holes in which they got mired. When -they had gone a few miles the carts halted and the kegs were placed -in boats, which conveyed them to their destination. Camp La Fourche -was found to consist of a few temporary buildings, or rather sheds, -which, with the barns and shanties of the settlers near by, housed a -few hundred men, of whom few were regulars. Morton’s orders were to -remain and time passed heavily, the only excitement being when a scout -came in with reports of the movements of the American army on the -frontier, which were generally exaggerated. The camp had been purposely -placed at the forks of the English and Chateaugay rivers, to afford -a base of operations against the invader, should he approach either -by way of the town of Champlain or of Chateaugay. Morton relieved the -tedium of waiting by hunting and fishing, for his proper duties were -slight. At first he did not venture into the woods without a guide, -but experience quickly taught one so active and keen of observation -sufficient bush-lore to venture alone with his pocket-compass. The -fishing, at that late season, was only tolerable, and while he enjoyed -to the full the delight of skimming the glassy stretches of both rivers -in a birch canoe, he preferred the more active motion and greater -variety of traversing the pathless woods with his gun. He had been in -camp over a week when he started for an afternoon’s exploring of the -woods. After an hour’s tramp he struck the trail of what he believed -to be a bear. Following it was such pleasant exercise of his ingenuity -that he took no note of time, and he had traversed miles of swamp and -ridge before prudence cried halt. The sun was sinking fast, and to -retrace his track was out of the question. He resolved to strike due -north, which he knew would take him to the Chateaugay where he would -find shelter for the night. The flush of the sunset was dying from -the sky when he emerged from the woods on the banks of the river, -which flowed dark and silent between the endless array of trees which -sentinelled it on either side. Threading his way downward he, in time, -came upon a clearing--a gap in the bush filled with ripening grain and -tasselled corn. The shanty, a very humble one, stood at the top of the -bank, with the river at its feet. Gratified at the prospect of rest, he -paused before swinging himself over the rude fence. There rose in the -evening air the sound of singing: it was a psalm-tune. The family were -at worship. Reverently the soldier uncovered his head and listened. -The psalm ended, he could hear the voice of supplication, though not -the words. When Morton approached the house he saw a heavily-built man -leave the door to meet him. - -“Gude e’en, freen; ye’re oot late. But I see ye’re are o’ the military -and your wark caas ye at a’ hoors. Is there ony news o’ the Yankee -army?” - -Morton explained he had not been on duty but had got belated in hunting -and craved the boon of shelter until morning, for which he would pay. - -“Pay! say ye. A dog wearing the King’s colors wad be welcome to my -best. You maun be new to this country to think the poorest settler in -it wad grudge to share his bite with ony passerby. Come your ways; we -are richt glad to see you.” - -Entering the shanty Morton was astounded at the contrast between the -homelike tidiness of the interior and the rudeness of the exterior, -everything being neatly arranged and of spotless cleanliness. “Truly,” -he thought, “it is not abundance that makes comfort, but the taste and -ingenuity to make the best of what we have.” The glow of the log-fire -in the open chimney was supplemented by the faint light afforded by a -candle made from deer-fat, which showed him a tall young woman, who -came forward to shake hands without the slightest embarrassment, an -elderly woman, evidently the mother, who kept her seat by the fire, -explaining she “wasna very weel,” and two stout young men. - -“Sit in by the fire, Mr Morton; there is a snell touch in the evening -air that makes it no unpleasant, and Maggie will get ye something to -eat. An hae ye nae news frae the lines? Does it no beat a’ that thae -Yankees, wha mak such pretensions to be the only folk i’ the warld wha -understan what liberty is, should fail in practice? What hae we done -that they shud come in tae disturb us? Hae we nae richt to live doucely -and quietly under our appointed ruler, that they should come into our -ain country to harry and maybe kill us? Dod, they are a bonny lot! In -the name o’ freedom drawing the sword to help the oppressor of Europe -and the slaughterer of thousands of God’s children by creation, if no -by adoption.” - -“We have the comfort,” replied Morton, “that they have not got Canada -yet.” - -“An never will,” replied the settler, “there’s no an Auld Countryman -on the Chateaugay wha wad na sooner tint life an a’ than gie up his -independence. My sons an mysel are enrolled in Captain Ogilvie’s -company and mair Yankees than they count on will hansel it’s ground -afore they win oor puir biggin.” - -“Dinna speak sae, gudeman,” said his wife, “tho’ the Lord may chastise -he will not deliver us to the oppressor, but, as with the Assyrian, -will cause him, gin he come doon on us, to hear a rumor that shall make -him to return to his own land. We are but a feeble folk here by the -river-side, but He winna fail them wha trust Him.” - -Maggie here beckoned the young officer to draw to the table, and the -bread and milk tasted all the sweeter to him that they had been spread -by so winsome a damsel. After supper Morton was glad to fall in with -the family’s custom of going early to bed, and accompanying the lads, -whom he found to be frank, hearty fellows, to the outbuilding, slept -comfortably alongside them on top of the fragrant fodder. At daylight -they were astir, when their guest joined them in their labors, until -a shout from Maggie told of breakfast being ready. Seen by daylight -the favorable impression made upon Morton the previous evening was -deepened, and he did not know which most to admire, her tact which -never placed her at a disadvantage or the deftness with which she -discharged her household duties. Reluctantly he left, accepting readily -the invitation to revisit them. In a couple of hours he was in camp and -reported himself. - -The acquaintance thus accidentally formed was cultivated by Morton, -and few evenings passed that his canoe did not end its journey at the -foot of the bank whence the settler’s shanty overlooked the Chateaugay. -The more he knew of the family the more he was attracted, and before -long he was on familiar terms with all its members. The inaction of -camp-life in the backwoods ceased to be wearisome and there was a glow -and a joyousness in his days which he had never before known. So it -came, that when, one afternoon, the orderly-sergeant notified him the -officer in command desired to see him, the prospect of being sent away -caused him a pang of vexation. His orders were to be ready to start -at daylight for the frontier with despatches for the Indian guard -and to collect what information he could with regard to the American -army encamped at Four Corners. “I trust to your discretion,” said the -officer, “as to what means you will use to get it, but we want to -know the extent of the force and the prospect of their moving. I will -give you an Indian as a guide, and one who speaks English.” Morton -withdrew, pleased that the order was not one of recall to his regiment -at Montreal, and spent the evening with the Forsyths. The news of his -departure, on an errand that involved some danger, even though it would -last only a few days, dampened the innocent mirth of the household and -the soldier was vain enough to think Maggie gave his hand a warmer -pressure than usual when he left. He rose with the first streak of -daylight and had finished his breakfast when he was told his guide -was waiting. Hastily strapping his cloak on his back and snatching up -his musket, he went out and beheld an Indian standing stolidly on the -road. Morton noted that he was taller than the average of his race, -and, despite his grizzled hair, gave every sign of unabated vigor. He -was dressed in native fashion and his face was hideous with war-paint. -Without uttering a word, he led the way and they were soon buried in -the woods. The Indian’s pace, considering the nature of the ground -and the obstacles presented, was marvellously rapid, and induced no -fatigue. Morton vigorously exerted himself to keep up with him and, as -he did so, admired the deftness with which the Indian passed obstacles -which he laboriously overcame. The ease and smoothness with which -the red man silently slipped through thickets and fallen trees, he -compared to the motion of a fish, and his own awkwardness to that of a -blindfolded man, who stumbled at every obstacle. They had travelled -thus for over two hours when suddenly the Indian halted, peered -carefully forward, and then signed to Morton to stand still. Falling on -his knees the guide crept, or rather glided forward. Disregarding his -sign, Morton shortly followed until the object of the Indian’s quest -came in sight. Three deer were grazing on a natural meadow by the side -of a creek. Slowly the hunter raised his gun and its report was the -first intimation the timid creatures had that an enemy was near. The -youngest and plumpest had fallen; the others bounded into the bush. -Standing over the graceful creature, whose sides still palpitated, the -Indian said, “Lift.” It was the first word he had uttered. Morton drew -the four hoofs together and did so. “Put on your shoulder,” added the -guide. Morton laughed and set the animal down; he could lift it but to -carry it was out of the question. Without moving a feature, the Indian -grasped the deer by its legs, swung it round his neck, and stepped out -as if the load were no burden, and which he bore until the swamp was -passed and a ridge was reached, when he tied the hoofs together with a -withe and swung the carcase from as lofty a branch as he could reach. -Half an hour afterwards he pointed to a slight disturbance in the -litter of the forest. “Indian passed here this morning.” - -“How do you know it was an Indian?” - -“By mark of moccasin.” - -“But some white men wear moccasins.” - -“Yes, but white man steps differently. The wild duck flies no more like -the tame duck than the Indian walks like the pale face.” - -Following the trail thus struck, they were soon hailed by a scout and -in the midst of the camp of the frontier guard they sought. Morton -counted seventeen Indians lounging or sleeping about the fire, and was -told there were as many more lurking in the bush, watching the enemy, -who had, of late, been sending in strong parties to make petty raids -upon the few settlers who lived on the Canadian side of the boundary. -As the captain was absent and would not be back until the afternoon, -Morton could only await his return, and the rest was not unwelcome, for -the rapid journey had induced some fatigue, and he was interested in -watching the Indians, this being his first experience with them apart -from white men. They paid much deference to his guide, whose name he -now learned was Hemlock, and the Indian of whom he made enquiry told -him the reason was that he was the son of a great sachem in a tribe now -destroyed, and was “a big medicine.” Hemlock accepted their tributes -to his superiority with unmoved countenance and as a matter of course, -until, after a long pow-wow, he stretched himself on the ground, -face-downwards, and went to sleep. Associating the Indians with gloomy -moroseness, and a stolidity insensible alike to pain or mirth, Morton -was surprised to see how, when left to themselves, they chattered -like children, laughed, and played boyish tricks upon one another, and -regretted he could not understand what they were saying. If he had, he -would have found their talk was the shallowest of banter. - -Late in the afternoon the captain returned and warmly welcomed Morton. -Although dressed like an Indian, his only distinguishing feature being -a captain’s scarlet sash, Captain Perrigo was a white man and English -in speech, his familiarity with the Indians and their language having -been acquired during his residence at Caughnawaga. He was thoroughly -conversant with all that was passing in the American camp and expressed -his belief that only the timidity of General Hampton prevented a move -on Canada. The force was so strong and well-equipped that he believed -it could not be checked until the island of Montreal was reached. “How -can so large an army move through these woods?” asked Morton; “why, -even your handful of Indians could cut up a regiment in half an hour.” - -“You forget,” replied Perrigo, “that the larger part of these American -soldiers have been reared on farms and are familiar with the bush. -They are at home with the axe, and have scouts as well-trained to -bush-fighting as our own. Worse than that, many of the American -settlers who left the Chateaugay and the other Huntingdon settlements -at the declaration of war are with them as guides.” - -“I should like to see the American army,” said Morton. - -“That is easy; we reconnoitre their camp this evening and you may go -with us.” - -By this time dinner was ready and it was more appetizing than Morton -looked for. Hemlock, on his arrival, had told where he had left the -carcase of the deer, which two of the Indians went for and returned -with it slung between them on a pole. This they had cooked along with -pieces of fat pork. The venison, for a wonder, proved to be tender and -succulent, and was eaten with biscuit, of which there was an abundance. -When the time came to move, Perrigo gave the word, when 28 of his men -fell into line, Hemlock and Morton accompanying them. They moved in -silence in single file, the fleetest runner of their number leading -about two hundred yards ahead, to see that the way was clear. No word -was spoken except when, on gaining the summit of a stony knoll, Perrigo -whispered to Morton that they had crossed the boundary and were in the -United States. As they proceeded they moved more slowly, showing they -were nearing the enemy, and twice their scout signalled to them to -halt while he reconnoitred. The second time Perrigo went forward and -they waited while he scanned the enemy’s position. On returning, they -moved westward, when the accustomed sound of the tramp of a numerous -body of troops met the ear of Morton, followed by the commands of the -adjutant. Motioning to Morton to follow him, Perrigo cautiously crept -forward to a clump of undergrowth, and peering through it the American -camp was seen. To the right stood the cluster of wooden buildings which -formed the village of Four Corners, and on the fields that sloped up -from it southwards, shone peacefully in the setting sun long rows of -white tents. On a small field between the camp and the village two -regiments were being drilled; at one corner was a body of mounted -officers observing them. The woods, in which the British party lay -concealed, so closely hemmed in the thin line of buildings that formed -the village, that the parade-ground was not over 300 yards distant. - -Morton scanned the troops as they went through their evolutions and -marked, with some complacency, that, although tall and wiry men, they -were slouchy in their movements and marched like dock-laborers. “Could -we not give those fellows a fright?” he whispered to Perrigo. - -“If we were sure their patrols are not out we could. If they are, they -might flank us.” - -“No danger,” interposed Hemlock, “see!” and he pointed to the -guard-house, where the men detailed for the night’s patrols were -waiting. - -“All right,” answered Perrigo, “I will send two or three to creep round -to the bush on the right to cause a diversion.” - -“Stay,” said Morton, “I want to get a closer view and Hemlock will go -with me.” - -It was so decided upon, and while they picked their way to the west, -Perrigo busied himself in extending his little force along the edge -of the woods, so as to make their numbers appear formidable. The -most dangerous part of Morton’s movement was crossing two roads, but -Hemlock, who knew the ground thoroughly, selected parts where there -were bends, so that they could not be seen by travellers approaching -either way. When Hemlock dropped on all fours and crept he was followed -by Morton, who found he was at the edge of the field on which the drill -was in progress. The troops had gone through the routine movements and -were drawn up in line, awaiting the inspection of the general officer, -who, with his escort, was riding from the lower part of the field. A -stout, elderly man rode in advance on a splendid black horse. Hemlock -whispered it was General Hampton. As they drew nearer Morton started in -amaze, for among his staff, despite his handsome uniform, he recognized -the countenance of the spy he had twice shot at. His astonishment was -checked by a gurgling sound of anger from his companion, and turning he -saw that Hemlock had partly risen, grasping his musket as if about to -fire, his face so swollen with rage that the cords of the neck stood -out. “Stop,” said Morton, as he clutched his buckskin jacket, “if -we fire now while they are in rank we are lost; wait until they are -dismissed and in disorder.” - -“I care not; thrice have I missed him of late; now he falls and -Hemlock is revenged.” He pulled the trigger, but the flint snapped -harmlessly, for the priming had been lost. The disappointment restored -his self-possession and he drew back with a scowl that made Morton’s -flesh creep. On the cavalcade of officers came, chatting unconcernedly, -and wheeled within twenty yards of where Morton stood. He had a good -view of the spy’s face, and he thought he had never seen one where -cunning and selfishness were so strongly marked. “A man who would kill -his mother if she stood in his way,” muttered Morton. “And for his -passing pleasure tear out the heart of a father,” added Hemlock in a -bitter tone. They noticed how haughtily Gen. Hampton bore himself and -how superciliously he glanced at the men as he passed up and down their -ranks. When he had finished, he put spurs to his horse and galloped -towards the house in the village where his quarters were established, -followed by his escort. The troops were then dismissed and as each -company filed away in the early twilight towards its respective camp, -Morton said “Now is our time.” Hemlock rose, drew himself to his full -height, seemed for a few seconds to be gathering strength, and then let -out a screech, so piercing and terrific that Morton, who had not before -heard the war-whoop, would not have believed a human being could make -such a sound. It was the signal to Perrigo’s men, and they answered -from different parts of the bush in similar fashion. The American -soldiers, on their way to their tents, halted in amaze, while from -new and unexpected quarters, rose the blood-curdling yell, giving the -impression that they were being surrounded from the north and west by -a horde of Indians, a foe of whom they were in mortal dread. Taken by -surprise, they broke and ran towards the camp, and Morton could see -the inmates of the tents swarming out and running to meet them, as if -to find out the cause of alarm. Hemlock and Morton were now loading -and firing as quickly as they could, the former never intermitting his -ear-piercing shrieks, while the edge of the bush to their left was -dotted with puffs of smoke from the guns of Perrigo’s band. “O for -five hundred more!” cried Morton in his excitement, “and we would rout -this army of cowards.” The confusion and clamor in the camp increased -and the contradictory orders of officers were paid no heed to by men -who only wanted to know where they could fly to escape the detested -Indians. Amid the excitement rang out a bugle, and turning whence the -sound came, Morton saw it was from the General’s headquarters and -that, to its summons, horsemen were urging their way. “Huh!” exclaimed -Hemlock, “these are scouts; some of them Indians. We must go, for they -will hold the roads.” With a final yell he plunged into the bush and -Morton followed. They had not gone far when Hemlock turned and grasped -his shoulder. As they stood, the hoofs of advancing horses were heard. -The sound came nearer and Morton guessed they were riding along the -east and west road in front of where he stood and which they had been -about to cross. The troop swept past and then the order “Halt!” was -shouted. “Louis, take five men and scour the bush from the river up -until you hear from the party who are searching the bush from above. -The screeching devils who hid here cannot escape between you. We will -patrol the road and shoot them if they do.” The motion of the men -ordered to dismount was heard. - -“Quick,” whispered Hemlock, “or they will be upon us,” and facing -westward he led to the brink of what seemed to be a precipice, from the -foot of which rose the sound of rushing water. Hemlock slipped his gun -into his belt in front of him and did the same with Morton’s, then, -before he knew what was meant, Morton was grasped in his iron clutch, -unable to move, his head tucked into his breast, and with a wild fling -over the edge of the bank they went rolling and crashing downwards, -through the bushes and shrubs that faced it. On they rolled until a -final bounce threw them into a pool of the river. Without a moment’s -delay, Hemlock caught Morton’s right arm and dragged him a considerable -distance down the narrow and shallow stream behind a clump of bushes. -Breathless and excited by the rapid motion, Morton sank prone on the -turf, while Hemlock, laying aside the guns, which the water had -rendered useless, drew his tomahawk, which he held ready for use, while -he bent forward listening intently. In a few minutes Morton became -conscious of men stealthily approaching, and devoutly thanked God when -he perceived they were all on the other side of the river from where -they were concealed. On they came, searching every place of possible -concealment, with a rapidity that only children of the woods can -attain. Soon they were directly opposite and passed on. Hemlock relaxed -his strained attitude, drew a long breath, and sat down beside Morton. -“They did not think we had time to cross the river, but when they do -not find us they will come back on this side.” - -“What shall we do next?” asked Morton. - -“Wait till it is dark enough to creep across the road at the bridge.” - -“And if they come back before then?” - -“Fight them,” abruptly answered Hemlock. - -In the narrow gorge where they lay the gloom quickly gathered, and -it soon grew so dark that Morton’s fears as to the searching-party -returning were relieved. When the last streak of day had disappeared, -Hemlock led the way, and they crept as quickly as the nature of the -ground would permit down the river, whose noisy brawl blotted out the -sound they made. - -Coming out at a pond, where the water had been dammed to drive a small -mill, Hemlock stopped and listened. The road with its bridge was -directly in front, and it was likely guards were there posted. As they -watched, the door of a house opened, and a man came out with a lantern. -It was the miller going to the mill. As he swung the light its beams -shone along the road, failing to reveal a sentinel. When he passed into -the mill, Hemlock led the way under the shade of the trees that fringed -the mill-pond, crossed the road, and down into the rocky bed of the -stream on the other side. Pausing to let Morton gain his breath after -the run, he said in his ear, “We are safe now and can wait for the -moon.” - -“Can’t we rejoin Perrigo?” asked Morton. - -“No; scouts in woods over there; hide tonight and go back tomorrow.” - -The strain of excitement over, Morton stretched himself on the ferns -that abounded and quickly fell asleep. - - -CHAPTER III. - -When Morton opened his eyes he found the dell, or rather gorge, for -the sides were almost precipitous though clad with vegetation, was -lit up by the moon, and Hemlock by his side, sitting Indian fashion, -clasping his knees. Without uttering a word, he rose on perceiving the -young officer was awake and lifted his gun to move on. Morton obeyed -the mute sign and they began to descend the bed of the stream. It was -a task of some difficulty, for it abounded in rocks and often there -was no foothold at the sides, the water laving the cliffs that formed -the banks. Had it not been that the season was an unusually dry one, -leaving the river bed largely bare, Morton could not have kept up with -his companion. Chilled by his wet garments, the exercise was rather -grateful to him and he exerted himself to overcome the obstacles in his -path. As they went on, the banks grew higher and the gorge more narrow, -until, turning a bend, Morton perceived the river dashed down a channel -cleft out of a rock, which rose a pillared wall on one side and on -the other had been rendered concave by the washing down of the debris -of ages. High above, shafts of moonlight struggled thru’ the foliage -and, falling irregularly on the sides, brought into ghastly relief the -nakedness of the walls of the rocky prison. Deeply impressed Morton -followed his guide down the gloomy chasm, whence the sound of falling -water came, and they passed two small falls. Below the lower one, -where the walls drew nearer, as if they grudged the scanty space they -had been affording the tumultuous stream for its passage, the cliffs -grew loftier. Hemlock halted, and pointing to a water-worn recess in -the rocks, that afforded some covering, said, “Sleep there.” Morton -lay down, but he was in no humor to sleep again. The magnificence of -the rock-hewn chamber in which he lay, with a giant cliff bending -over him, had excited his imagination, and his eyes wandered from the -foaming falls in front of him to the solemn heights, whose walls were -flecked with shrubs and topped by spruce trees. The contrast of the -unceasing noise and motion of the river with the eternal silence and -imperturbability of the rocks, deeply impressed him. Thus time passed -and when he had scanned the scene to his satisfaction, his interest -turned to his companion, who had left him and stood beneath a pillar -of rock higher than its fellows, where the chasm narrowed into a mere -tunnel. Evidently supposing that Morton was sound asleep, he was going -through those motions of incantation by which Indian medicine-men -profess to evoke the spirits. He writhed until his contortions were -horrible, while the working of his features showed he was inwardly -striving to induce an exalted and morbid condition of feeling. He smote -his breast resounding blows, he flung himself downwards on the rock -and shook himself until his body jerked with involuntary twitchings, -he shrieked in hollow tones and plucked at his hair, until the sweat -rolled down his cheeks. After a fit of hysterical laughter he sank in a -swoon, which lasted so long that Morton was debating whether he should -not go over to him. All this time the moon had been sailing upward and -now stood directly over the chasm, its beams transforming the foaming -river into a channel of milky whiteness and, where it broke into curls -at the falls, into streams of pearls, while the foliage that tempered -the stern outline of the rocks, bedewed by the spray that kept them -constantly moist, glistened as if sprinkled with diamond-dust. The -moonlight streamed on the prostrate body of the Indian, and as he awoke -from his trance and slowly raised himself, Morton read in his face a -wonderful change--a look of calmness and of supernatural ecstasy. With -great dignity he drew himself up and stepped forward a few paces until -he stood directly beneath the pillar of rock. Then he spoke: “Spirit -of the wood and stream, who loves this best of all thine abodes, come -to me. Hemlock seeks thee to help him. The wounded moose will never -breathe again the morning-air, the stricken pine-tree never put forth -fresh shoots, and Hemlock is wounded and stricken and growing old. -Shall the hand grow feeble before the blow is dealt, the eye grow -dim before mine enemy is slain, and my ear grow deaf before it hears -his death-groan? The leaves that fall rot and the water that passeth -returneth not; therefore, oh Spirit, grant to Hemlock his prayer, that -before night comes he may find whom he seeks. Again, this day, has he -escaped me, shielded by his medicine. Break the spell, O Spirit; take -away the charm that holds my arm when I aim the blow, and pluck away -the shield the evil ones hold over him! The eagle has his nest on the -hill and the fox his lair in the valley, but Hemlock has no home. The -doe fondles its fawn and the tired swallow is helped across the great -water on the wings of its sons, but Hemlock has no children. The light -of his eyes was taken from him, the joy of his heart was frozen. The -Yankee stole his land, slew his brothers, bewitched his only daughter, -and drove him away, and now he is a sick-struck man, whom none come -near. Spirit, grant the prayer of Hemlock; break the spell that binds -me, that I may taste the blood of mine enemy and I shall die happy.” - -He paused and assumed a listening attitude as if awaiting an answer. -That in his morbid state of mind he fancied he heard the Spirit in -reply was evident, for he broke out again: - -“I am desolate; my heart is very bitter. The smoke of the wigwams of my -clan rises no more; I alone am left. When the north wind tells where -are the leaves of last summer I will say where are the warriors of my -tribe. As the beaver the white man came among us, but he crushed us -like the bear; the serpent sings on the rock but he bites in the grass. -We were deceived and robbed of the lands of our fathers. Our destroyer -is near, he is on the war-path, his hatchet is raised against the Great -Father. Blind his eyes, trip his feet with magic, O Oki, and take the -spell from the arm of Hemlock. The eagle soars to the mountain when -the loon keeps to the valley; the snow-bird breasts the storm when the -moose seeks the cedar-brake: the wolf knows no master and the catamount -will not fly, so the Indian clings to his hunting-ground and will not -be the slave of the stranger. Spirit, help to destroy the destroyer and -to rob the robber. The hunted deer dies of his wounds in the strange -forest. The arrows of the Indian are nigh spent and he mourns alone. -The glory of our nation has faded as the fire of the forest in the -morning-sun, and few live to take revenge. Oki, speak, and strengthen -the heart of Hemlock for battle!” - -The Indian fell prostrate before the gaunt pillar of stone to which he -spoke and lay there for some time. When he rose, there was a weary look -in his impassive features. “The Spirit has spoken: he tells Hemlock he -will answer him in a dream.” Advancing towards Morton he lay down and -fell asleep. - -High above him shafts of sunlight were interwoven with the foliage -of the trees that overhung the crest of the chasm, forming a radiant -ceiling, when Morton awoke. The weirdly romantic gulf in which he lay, -coupled with the strange scenes of the night, caused him to think the -past was a dream, but going over the several details the sense of -reality was restored, and there, a few feet from him, was stretched the -sinewy form of the Indian. “Who could fancy that a being so stolid, -heavy, and matter-of-fact,” asked Morton of himself, “should show such -keenness of feeling and so active an imagination? And, yet, how little -we know of what sleeps in the bosoms of our fellows. Mark that sullen -pool above the cataract! How dead and commonplace its water appears. -It is swept over the brink and, breaking into a hundred new forms, -instantly reveals there dwelt dormant beneath its placid surface a life -and a beauty undreamt of. We are not all as we seem, and so with this -much-tried son of the forest.” - -He rose to bathe his stiffened limbs in the river and the motion caused -Hemlock to spring to his feet. He glanced at the sky, and remarked that -he had slept too long. While Morton bathed, Hemlock busied himself -in contriving a scoop of withes and birch bark, with which, standing -beneath the fall, he quickly tossed out a number of trout. A flint -supplied fire and on the embers the fish as caught were laid to roast, -and whether it was so, or was due to his keen appetite, Morton thought -they tasted sweeter than when cleaned. With the biscuit in their -pouches, though wet, they made a fair breakfast. As they finished, -a faint echo of drums and fifes was wafted to them. “We will stay a -little while,” said Hemlock, “to let the scouts go back to camp, for -they would search the woods again this morning.” - -“And what then?” asked Morton. - -“We will go back to Perrigo, who is near-by.” - -“Would they not fly to Canada after what they did?” - -“Indians are like the snake. When it is hunted, it does not fly; it -hides. They are waiting for us.” - -“Where were you taught to speak English so well, Hemlock?” - -“I did not need to be taught; I learnt it with the Iroquois. I was born -near an English settlement and my choice companion was an English girl, -we played together, and were taught together by the missionary; long -after, she became my wife.” - -“But you are not a Christian?” - -“No; when I saw the white man’s ways I wanted not his religion.” - -“And your wife, is she living?” - -“Hemlock does not lay his heart open to the stranger; he is alone in -the world.” - -Respecting his reserve, and tho’ curious to know if the guardian-spirit -of the chasm had spoken to him in his dreams, Morton changed the -subject, the more so as he did not wish his companion to know that -he had been the unwitting witness of his invocation ceremonial. He -asked about the chasm in whose solemn depths they found shelter, and -Hemlock told how it had been known to all the seven nations of the -Iroquois and regarded by them as a chosen abode of the spirits, the -more so as its origin was supernatural. There had been a very rainy -season and the beavers had their villages flooded and were in danger -of being destroyed. Two of them volunteered to visit the spirit-land -and beseech the help of their oki, which he promised. He came one dark -night and with a single flap of his tail smote the rock, splitting it -in two and allowing the waters to drain into the low country beneath. -Morton listened gravely, seeing his companion spoke in all seriousness, -and thought the tale might be an Indian version of the earthquake, or -other convulsion of nature, by which the bed of sandstone had been -rent asunder, and a channel thus afforded for the surplus waters of -the adjoining heights. The trees and bushes which had found an airy -foothold in crevices, and the weather-beaten and lichened faces of the -cliffs, told how remote that time must have been. - -It was wearing on to noon before Hemlock considered it safe to move. -The delay they spent in cleaning their arms, and Morton, to his -regret, found that his powder was useless from being wet. The Indian, -more provident, had saved some in a water-proof pouch of otter skin, -but he had too little to do more than lend a single charge for his gun. -Morton took the opportunity to clean and arrange his uniform as he best -could and when ready to move felt he looked more as became an officer -of the King’s army than when he awoke. Hemlock led the way to where a -cleft in the wall of rocks afforded a possibility of ascent, and, with -the occasional aid of his outstretched arm, Morton managed to reach the -summit. When he had, he perceived he stood on a plain of table-rock, -the cleavage of which formed the chasm, of whose existence the explorer -could have no intimation until he reached its brink. They had not gone -far, until Hemlock halted and looked intently at the ground. “A party -of Yankees have passed here within an hour; a dozen or more of them. -See the trail of their muskets!” - -“How do you know they have just passed?” - -“The dew has not been dry here over an hour and they passed when it was -gone. They are searching for us, for one went to that bush there to see -no one was hiding.” - -Morton looked perplexed, for nothing was more distasteful than to be -taken prisoner. “Had we not,” he suggested, “better return to the chasm -and wait for night?” - -“It is too late,” replied Hemlock, “when they come back they would see -our trail and follow it. We will have to go on and if we get across -the road we are safe,” and without another word he went on until the -road was reached. On scanning it, before making a dash across, they -perceived, to their dismay, a mounted sentry so posted as to give a -clear view of the portion of the road they were standing by. Hemlock -gave a grunt of disappointment and returned into the bush and after -a few minutes’ rapid walking turned to Morton with the words, “You -stay here, until I go and see the road. Over there is the track of a -short-cut between Four Corners and the blockhouse, so if Yankees pass -they will keep to it and not see you. Do not leave until I come back.” - -Morton threw himself on the grass to await his report, and the rest -was grateful, for the day was hot and their short tramp fast. The -minutes sped without sign of the Indian, who he conjectured was finding -it difficult to discover a clear passage. It was now plain that the -Americans had discovered their tracks of the preceding evening and -had established a cordon to ensure their capture. So absolute was -Morton’s faith in Hemlock’s skill that he felt little perturbed and -was confident they would be in Perrigo’s camp before long. Then his -thoughts wandered to a subject that had come of late to be pleasant to -him, to the household by the Chateaugay, and he saw in fancy Maggie -bustling about her daily tasks, and he smiled. - -“In the name of the United States of America I command you to yield as -prisoner,” shouted a voice with a nasal twang. - -Morton bounded to his feet. In front of him, within four yards, stood -the spy, holding a musket, with his finger on the trigger. - -“I mout hev shot ye dead a-laying there,” he said, “but I mean to take -game like you alive. I can make more out o’ your skin when you can wag -yer tongue. Yield peaceable, young man, and giv up yer arms.” - -“Yield! And to a spy! Never!” shouted Morton indignantly, and he sprang -like a panther at his foe. Quick as was his movement, the American -was not quite taken by surprise, for he fired, but the bullet missed. -The next moment Morton was on him and they grappled. Both were strong -men, but the American was older and had better staying power, and as -they wrestled Morton felt he would be thrown, when he bethought him of -a certain trip he had often used successfully in his school days. He -made the feint, put out his foot, and the American fell with a crash, -underneath him. - -“Villain,” he whispered hoarsely, “you twice escaped me, but will not -again,” and he grasped his throat with one hand while he held his right -arm with the other. - -“Quarter,” gasped the American, who was in danger of being choked, “I -yield.” - -“Quarter to a spy!” exclaimed Morton. - -“I ain’t no spy. I’m Major Slocum, brevet-rank, of Ginral Hampton’s -staff.” - -“Not a spy! You were to have been shot for one.” - -“I was on special service, when I was informed on by an ongrateful -cuss. I’m an honorable officer and appeal to yer honor as a Britisher. -Take my sword; I yield your prisoner.” - -“If I let you go; will you lead me in safety across your lines, and -release my guide Hemlock, if he has been taken prisoner?” - -“Sartainly I will; Slocum’s word is as good as his bond. Take your -hands off me and I will set you and your Injun to hum in an hour.” - -Morton released his grasp, and stood up, drew his sword, and awaited -Slocum’s rising. With a deft movement the American thrust his hand -into his belt, drew a heavy, short-bladed knife, and shot it forward -from his palm with an ease and dexterity that indicated much practice. -Morton’s eye caught the gleam of the steel and he sprang back, and -in so doing saved his life, for the point of the blade, which would -have pierced his breast, stuck in his right thigh for an instant -and dropped out. In a towering passion of indignation, which made -him unconscious of the pain and flow of blood, he rushed upon the -American, who had sprung to his feet and lifted his sword in time to -foil Morton’s thrust. “Vile wretch, you shall die as traitors die!” -exclaimed Morton, and the clash of steel was incessant. He was much -the better swordsman, but his impetuosity and anger deprived him of the -advantage of his skill, and stepping backward, Slocum’s long sword, -wielded by his long arm, kept him at bay. Morton’s anger increased -with the difficulty in dealing a deadly thrust, until, in making a -lunge, he stumbled over a fallen log. Had he been unwounded he would -have instantly recovered himself. The wrench to his pierced leg shot -a thrill of agony to his heart, and the weakened knee refused its -office. In a moment Slocum had him on his back and planting his foot -on the bleeding wound, pressed it with all his might, while he placed -the point of his sword on his throat. A mocking leer lit up his yellow -face as he said composedly: “I don’t see how yer mother let you go out -alone; you’re green as garden-sass. Thought Major Slocum would be your -obedient servant and lead you and yer infernal Injun past the lines! -You poor trash of a Britisher! An you sucked in my talk about honor and -let go yer holt on my throat! You poor innocent, its like stabbing a -baby to put my sword through yer gizzard. Say, sonny, wouldn’t you like -to live?” - -The pain of his wound was excruciating, yet Morton answered composedly, -“I’d die a thousand times before I would beg my life of you. I am -not the first of His Majesty’s service to have lost his life through -believing there was honor in an American officer.” - -“I’m a citizen of the great Republic and will be doing a patriotic -dooty in killing you, and, like Washington, after hanging Andre, will -take a good square meal with the satisfactory feeling that there is a -red-coat less in the world. But there ain’t no comfort in killing a -chick like you. Say, what will ye give, if I let you go? I will take -an order on Montreal. Slocum ain’t the man to refuse to earn an honest -dollar and do a charitable action. Yer father maybe is a Lord or a -Dook, and he can come down handsum. Why don’t yer speak? I ain’t a mind -to do all the talking.” - -“If I was fool enough to believe you and spare your life it is enough. -Torture me not with your dishonorable proposals. I can die as becomes a -British soldier.” - -“Yer can, eh? Waal, what if I don’t mind to kill you? Perhaps Slocum -sees he can make more by toting you into camp. It ain’t every day a -British officer is caught and I mout get promotion. Kurnel Slocum would -sound well. Come now, hadn’t yer better sign a little order on your -father’s agents for a neat little sum, payable to Major Slocum for -vally received? Yer wound hurts, don’t it?” enquired Major Slocum with -a grin, as he thrust the toe of his boot into it. Involuntarily, Morton -gave a stifled shriek of pain and lay gasping, while his tormentor -looked down upon him with a smile, enjoying his sufferings. As Morton’s -eyes rolled in agony, the sight of Hemlock met their gaze. He was -stealing stealthily up behind Slocum, who stood all unconscious of his -danger, torturing his victim in the hope he would purchase his release. -Nearer the Indian came; his arms now opened out,--he stood behind -Slocum,--they closed,--he was in their grasp, and was thrown with a -heavy thud on the ground, when, Hemlock bound his arms and legs with -his sash. Then, with dreadful calmness, he drew his scalping-knife and -knelt, one knee on the breast of the prostrate man. “Many times you -have escaped me, Slocum, but you die now. The oki granted what I asked; -the spell is gone. I tracked you long, but now you are mine. I will not -kill you at once. You shall die by inches, and have a taste, before the -dark cloud swallows you, of the bitterness I have drank at your hands -for years.” - -So saying, with infernal ingenuity, the heritage of his tribe in the -art of torture, he stripped Slocum of his clothing and proceeded to -draw cuts with his knife on different parts of the body, nowhere making -an incision any deeper than requisite to cause the quivering flesh to -feel the full pain. The wretched man plied the Indian with all manner -of promises to induce him to desist, and on seeing he was relentless -in his purpose, was about to shriek in the hope of attracting aid, -when Hemlock caught him by the throat, and snatching up handfuls of -forest-litter forced them into his mouth. Then he resumed his dreadful -task. Morton, who had alternated from a state of semi-stupor to that -of insensibility, looked on in his lucid intervals with sickened -horror, and begged Hemlock to desist. He paid not the slightest heed -but went on for hours, gloating over the agonies of his victim, and -adding a fresh wound as the others dulled. Alert even in his dreadful -employment, a rustle in the bush caught his ear, and he listened. “It -is the Yankee picket going to the blockhouse. If Hemlock could take you -with him he would, but you cannot travel. They will make you prisoner -and care for your wound. And now Hemlock must finish his revenge.” With -one swift sweep of the knife, he cut the throat of his now fainting -victim, with another he severed his scalp, and flourishing it above -his head, vanished in the woods. Immediately afterwards a body of blue -uniformed soldiers appeared, who shouted with surprise at seeing the -major, naked, stiff and scalped, and a wounded British officer lying -near him. Part hurried to each. As those who went to the side of Morton -stooped over him and moved him, he fainted. - - -CHAPTER IV. - -When Morton recovered consciousness he found he was in a large -apartment, the sides formed of heavy logs, and surrounded by American -soldiers, who were talking excitedly of the discovery of the dead body -of Major Slocum. On seeing their prisoner was restored to his senses, -they plied him with questions, in the hope of clearing up the mystery, -but he felt so languid that he made no reply, and simply begged for -water. On the arrival of two ox-carts, the corpse was lifted into one -and the wounded man into the other. On being carried into the air, -Morton saw that the building he had been in was a small blockhouse, so -placed as to command the road which led to Canada. The jolting of the -cart during the short drive was agony to him, and he was thankful when -the log shanties of the village of Four Corners came in sight and the -rows of tents of the camp. The cart halted at the door of a tavern, -where he assumed the general must be, and soon an orderly came out and -directed the driver to an outhouse, into which two soldiers carried -him. It was a small, low-roofed stable, and in one of the stalls they -laid Morton. Closing the door, he was left in darkness, and so remained -until it reopened to admit what proved to be a surgeon. He examined -the wound, picked it clean, put in a few stitches, bound a wet-bandage -round it, and had a pail of water placed near. “You keep that cloth -wet,” he said to Morton, “and drink all you please, it will keep down -the fever, and you will be well in a week. You have only a flesh-cut; -had it been on the inside of the leg instead of the front you would -have been a dead man in five minutes.” - -“I am very weak.” - -“Yes; from loss of blood; I will send you some whisky and milk.” - -When the attendant appeared with the stimulant, Morton sickened at -the smell of the whisky, but drank the milk. The man approved of the -arrangement and disposed of the whisky. Having placed clean straw -below Morton, he left him, barring the door. The soothing sensation of -the wet bandage lulled him to sleep, and he slumbered soundly until -awakened by the sound of voices at the door. - -“Now, mem, you’d better go home and leave Jim alone.” - -“You tell me he’s wounded, and who can nurse him better than his old -mother?” - -“Be reasonable; the doctor said he was not to be disturbed.” - -“Oh, I will see him; look what I have brought him--a napkin full of the -cakes he liked and this bottle of syrup.” - -“Leave them, my good woman, with me and he will get them.” - -“No, no, I must see my handsome boy in his uniform; my own Jimmy that -never left my side until he listed the day before yesterday. The sight -of me will be better than salve to his hurt.” - -“I can’t let you in; you must go to the colonel for an order.” - -“An order to see my own son! Jimmy, don’t you hear me; tell the man to -let me in to you. (A pause.) Are you sleeping, Jimmy? It’s your mother -has come to see you. (Here she knocked). Are you much hurt? Just a -scratch, they tell me; perhaps they will let you go home with me till -it heals. O, Jimmy, I miss you sorely at home.” - -Again the woman knocked and placing her ear to a crack in the door -listened. - -“He ain’t moving! Soger man, tell me true, is my Jimmy here?” - -“He is, mem; you must go to the colonel. I cannot let you in; I must -obey orders.” - -“If Jimmy is here, then he must be worse than they told me.” - -“Very likely, mem; it is always best to be prepared for the worst.” - -“He may be dyin’ for all you know. Do let me in.” - -“There is the captain passing; ask him.” - -“What’s wanted, Bill?” - -“This is Jimmy’s mother and she wants to see him. Come and tell her.” - -“That I won’t,” answered the captain, with an oath, “I want to have a -hand in no scene; do as you like to break it to the old woman,” and on -the captain passed. - -“What does he mean? Jimmy ain’t to be punished, is he? He would not do -wrong. It was just Tuesday week he went to the pasture for the cows and -as he came back, there marched a lot of sogers, with flags aflying and -drums and fifes playin’ beautiful. ‘O, mother,’ says he, ‘I would like -to join em,’ an he kept acoaxin an aworryin me until I let him come up -to the Corners an take the bounty, which he brings back to me, dressed -in his fine clothes, the lovely boy.” - -“Now, good woman, you go home an’ I will send you word of him.” - -“That I won’t; if Jimmy is here I see him. Word came this morning that -the Injuns had sprang on to the camp an’ there was a soger killed, -stone dead, an’ two taken prisoners. An’, says I, lucky Jimmy ain’t one -of them, for so they told me, an’ I will hurry up my chores an’ go and -see him this evenin’, an’ here I am. An’ at the camp they tells me he -is over here, and won’t you let me see him?” - -“Your Jimmy, mem, yes, your Jimmy is----By God, I can’t speak the word. -Here, take the key and go in; you’ll find him right in front o’ the -door.” - -The door opened and Morton saw a tidy little woman, poorly dressed, -step in. She looked wonderingly around, glancing at him in her search -for her son. Not seeing him, she stepped lightly towards a heap -covered with an army blanket, of which she lifted a corner, gave a -pitiful cry, and fell sobbing on what lay beneath. To his horror and -pity, Morton perceived it was the corpse of a youth, the head with a -bloody patch on the crown, from having been scalped. “This is what -Perrigo’s men did,” he thought, “and this is war.” Here two women, -warned by the sentry of what was passing, entered and did what they -could to soothe the inconsolable mother. The succeeding half hour, -during which preparations were made for burial, was accounted by -Morton the saddest in his life, and when the detachment arrived with -a coffin to take the body away, and he saw it leave, followed by the -heart-broken mother, he breathed a sigh of relief and took a mental -oath that it would go ill with him if he did not help the poor woman to -the day of her death. - -Some biscuit were brought to him, the bucket refilled with -spring-water, the door closed, and barred, and he was left for the -night. Weakness from loss of blood made him drowsy, and forgetting -his miserable situation, he slept soundly until next morning, when he -woke feeling more like himself than he could have believed possible. -His wound felt easy and he was glad to find he could move without much -pain. The doctor looked in, nodded approval of his condition, and -said he would send him breakfast, after partaking of which Morton -turned his attention to his personal appearance, and with the aid -of water, which the sentry got him as wanted, improved it somewhat. -The day passed without incident, no one interrupting the monotony of -his imprisonment. From the sound of wagon-wheels and the hurrying of -messengers to and from the tavern, he surmised the army was preparing -to move, and that in the bustle he was forgotten. The following morning -his vigor had returned to such a degree that he fell to examining his -prison-house and so far as he could, by peeping through crevices in its -walls of logs, his surroundings, with a view to endeavoring to escape. -He had finished breakfast, when an officer appeared, who introduced -himself as Captain Thomas of the staff and announced that the General -wished to see him. By leaning rather heavily on the American, who -proved to be a gentlemanly fellow, Morton managed to hobble the short -distance to Smith’s tavern, and was led directly to the General’s room. -On entering, Morton saw a fine-looking old gentleman of dignified -bearing, whom he recognized as the one he saw inspecting the troops on -the evening of the surprise. He sat in a rocking-chair and before him -stood a rough-looking farmer, with whom he was speaking. Waving Morton -to take a seat, he went on with his conversation. - -“You tell me your name is Jacob Manning and that you are acquainted -with every inch of the country between here and Montreal. I will -give you a horse from my own stud, which no Canadian can come within -wind of, and you will go to the British camp and bring me word of its -strength?” - -“No, sir,” replied the backwoodsman. - -“You will be richly rewarded.” - -“That’s no inducement.” - -“Fellow, you forget you are my prisoner, and that I can order you to be -shot.” - -“No, I don’t, but I’d rather be shot than betray my country.” - -“Your country! You are American born. What’s Canada to you?” - -“True enough, General, I was brought up on the banks of the Hudson and -would have been there yet but for the infernal Whigs, who robbed us -first of our horses, then of our kewows, and last of all of our farms, -and called their thievery patriotism. If we Tories hadn’t had so much -property, there wouldn’t a ben so many George Washington-Tom Jefferson -patriots. When we were hunted from our birthplace for the crime of -being loyal to the good King we were born under, we found shelter -and freedom in Canada, and, by God, sir, there ain’t a United Empire -loyalist among us that wouldn’t fight and die for Canada.” - -“You rude boor,” retorted Gen. Hampton hotly, “we have come to give -liberty to Canada, and our armies will be welcomed by its down-trodden -people as their deliverers. I have reports and letters to that effect -from Montreal and, best of all, the personal report of one of my -staff, now dead, sent on a special mission.” - -“Don’t trust ’em, General. We who came from the States know what you -mean by liberty--freedom to swallow Whigery and persecution if you -refuse. The Old Countrymen are stiff as hickory against you, and the -French--why, at heart, they are against both.” - -“It is false, sir. I have filled up my regiments since I came to this -frontier with French.” - -“It wa’nt for love of you; it was for your $40 bounty.” - -The General rose and throwing open the shutter, closed to exclude the -sunshine, revealed the army in review; masses of infantry moving with -passable precision, a long train of artillery, and a dashing corps of -cavalry. Proudly turning to the farmer he said, - -“What can stop the sweep of such an army? England may well halt in -her guilty career at the sight of these embattled sons of liberty and -loosen her bloody clutch upon this continent of the New World.” - -Neither the sight of the army nor the pompous speech of the General -appalled the stout farmer, who replied, “The red-coats will make short -work of ’em, and if you don’t want to go to Halifax you’d better not -cross the lines.” - -General Hampton made no reply, his good-sense apparently checking his -pride, by suggesting the folly of arguing with a backwoodsman, who -had chanced to be taken prisoner in a foray. Summoning an orderly, he -commanded that Manning be taken back to prison and not released until -the army moved. - -“And now, Lieutenant Morton, for so I understand you are named, you are -the latest arrival from Canada; and what did they say of the Army of -the North when you left?” - -“They were wondering when they would have the pleasure of seeing it,” -replied Morton. - -“Ha! it is well to so dissemble the terror our presence on the frontier -has stricken into the mercenaries of a falling monarchy. They will see -the cohorts of the Republic soon enough: ere another sun has risen we -may have crossed the Rubicon.” - -“The wonder expressed at every mess-table has been the cause of your -tarrying here.” - -“So I am the topic of the conversation of your military circles,” said -Hampton, with a pleased expression. “And what was their surmise as to -the cause of my tarrying here.” - -“That you were awaiting orders from General Wilkinson.” - -The General sprung to his feet in anger and excitement. “What! Do they -so insult me? Look you, young man, are you telling the truth or dare -come here to beard me?” - -“On my honor, General Hampton, I only repeat what I have heard a -hundred times.” - -“Then, when you hear it again, that I await the orders of that impudent -pill-maker who masquerades at Oswego as a general, say it is a lie! -General Hampton takes no orders from him; he despises him as a man and -as a soldier--a soldier, quotha! A political mountebank, a tippler -and a poltroon. Here I have been, ready to pluck up the last vestige -of British authority on this continent for two months past, and been -hindered by the government entrusting the Western wing of my army to a -craven who refuses to recognize my authority and who lets I would wait -on I dare not.” - -“I meant no offence by my statement,” said Morton, as the General -paused in striding the room. - -“It is well for you that you did not, for I brook no aspersion upon my -independence or my reputation as a veteran who has done somewhat to -deserve well of his country, and that is implied in alleging, I take my -orders from Wilkinson.” - -Morton reiterated his regret at having unwittingly given offence and -would assure the General that he had entertained so high an opinion -of him that he did not attribute to him the harsh treatment he had -received since taken prisoner. Asked of what he complained, he told of -his having been thrust into a miserable stable and having received no -such attention as is universally accorded to a wounded officer in camp. - -The General smiled somewhat grimly as he said: “Lieut. Morton, your -treatment is no criterion of our hospitality to those whom the -fortunes of war throw into our hands. You forget that you were made -prisoner under most suspicious circumstances. You were found lying -wounded beside the mutilated corpse of that influential citizen who, -I may so express it, stepped from the political into the military -arena, the late Major Slocum, and everything points to your having been -associated with those who slew him and violated his remains. Apart -from that grave circumstance, the mere fact of your being found on the -territory of the United States government would justify my ordering -your execution as a spy.” - -“Sir,” indignantly interrupted Morton, “I am no spy. My uniform shows -I am an officer of the King’s army and I came upon American soil -engaged in lawful warfare, declared not by King George but by your own -government. I am a prisoner-of-war but no spy.” - -“It is undoubted that you consorted with Indians, that you were -present with them in the childish attempt to surprise my army the -other evening, and that you were with one or more redskins when Major -Slocum offered up his life on the altar of his country in a manner that -befitted so celebrated a patriot, who to his laurels as a statesman had -added those of a soldier. You must understand, for you appear to be a -man of parts and education, that Indians and those who associate with -them are not recognized as entitled to the rights of war. They are -shot or hung as barbarous murderers without trial.” - -“If that is your law, General, how comes it that you have Indians in -your army?” - -The General looked nonplussed for a moment. “Our Indians,” he answered, -“are not in the same category. They have embraced the allegiance of a -free government; yours are wild wretches, refugees from our domain and -fugitives from our justice, and now the minions of a bloody despotism.” - -“I do not see that if it is right for your government to avail -themselves of the skill of Indians as scouts and guides that it can be -wrong for His Majesty’s government to do the same. Between the painted -savages I perceived in your camp and those in the King’s service, I -could distinguish no difference.” - -“Keep your argument for the court martial which, tho’ I do not consider -you entitled, I may grant. Leaving that aside, sir, and reminding you -of your perilous position, I would demand whether you are disposed -to make compensation, so far as in your power, to the government of -the United States by giving information that would be useful in the -present crisis? As an officer, you must know much of the strength -and disposition of the British force who stand in my onward path to -Montreal.” - -Morton’s face, pale from his recent wound and confinement, flushed. “If -you mean, sir, that you offer me the choice of proving traitor or of -a rope, you know little of the honor of a British soldier or of his -sense of duty. It is in your power to hang me, but not to make me false -to my country and my King.” - -“Come, come young man; do not impute dishonor to a Southerner and a -gentleman who bore a commission in the Continental army. Leave me, -who am so much older and, before you were born, saw service under the -immortal Washington, to judge of what is military ethics. We are alone, -and as a gentleman speaking to a gentleman, I demand whether you are -going to give me information useful in the movement I am about to make -upon Montreal?” - -“You have had my answer.” - -The General took up a pen, wrote a few lines, and then rang a bell. -Captain Thomas entered. “Take this and conduct the prisoner away,” -said the General handing him a folded paper. Morton bowed and left the -room, fully believing that the missive was an order for his execution. -Conducted back to the stable, he threw himself on his straw-heap, -indignant and yet mortified at being treated as a spy. He thought of -his relations, of his comrades, of his impending disgraceful death, -and then clenched his teeth as he resolved he would not plead with his -captors but die without a murmur. - -The marching of a body of men was heard without. They halted and the -door was thrown open. The officer in command said he had come to -escort him to the court-martial. Morton gave no sign of surprise and -limped as firmly as he could, surrounded by the files of men, to the -tent where the court was awaiting him. The clerk read the charges, -which were, that he was a spy, that he had associated himself with -Indian marauders in an attack on the camp and, that he had been an -accomplice in the murder of Major Slocum. In reply to the usual -question of guilty or not guilty, Morton answered that he scorned to -plead to such charges, that his uniform was the best reply to his being -a spy and if they doubted his right to wear it, he referred them to -Major Stovin at Camp la Fourche; that he had made war in a lawful way -and with men regularly enrolled in the British service, and, before -God, he protested he had no hand in the killing of Major Slocum. -“That,” said the presiding officer, “is equivalent to your pleading not -guilty. The prosecutor will now have to adduce proof of the charges.” - -The only witnesses were the soldiers who had found him lying in the -bush beside the corpse of Major Slocum. Morton peremptorily refused -to answer questions. “You place us in a painful position, Lieutenant -Morton, by refusing to answer, for we must conclude that you can give -no satisfactory explanation of the circumstances under which you -were captured. A foul, a diabolical murder has been committed, and -everything points to you as being, at least, a party to it. Your -wound in itself is witness against you that you assailed our late -comrade-in-arms.” - -Morton rose to his feet, and holding up his hand said: “Gentlemen, -I stand before you expecting to receive sentence of death and to be -shortly in presence of my Maker. At this solemn moment, I repeat my -declaration, that I had no part in the death of Major Slocum, that I -did not consent to it and that if it had been in my power I would have -saved him.” - -“I submit, Mr President,” said a member of the court, “that the -statement we have just heard is tantamount to Lieutenant Morton’s -declaring he knows how and by whom Major Slocum came to his death. As -one who has practised law many years, I assert that the statement just -made is a confession of judgment, unless the defendant informs the -court who actually committed the murder and declares his willingness to -give evidence for the state. If a man admits he was witness to a murder -and will not tell who did it, the court may conclude he withholds the -information for evil purpose, and is justified in sentencing him as -an abettor at least. In this case, the wound of the accused points to -his being the principal. Before falling, Major Slocum, in his heroic -defence, deals a disabling wound to this pretended British officer who -thereupon leaves it to his associated red-skins to finish him and wreak -their deviltry on the corpse.” - -“The opinion you have heard,” said the presiding-officer, “commends -itself to this board. What have you to say in reply?” - -“Nothing,” answered Morton. - -“We will give you another chance. We cannot pass over the murder of -a brother officer. Only strict measures have prevented many citizens -in our ranks, who esteemed Major Slocum as one of their political -leaders and of popular qualities, from taking summary vengeance upon -you. We make this offer to you: make a clean breast of it, tell us who -committed the murder, give us such assistance as may enable us to track -the perpetrator, and, on his capture, we will set you free.” - -“And if I refuse,” asked Morton, “what then?” - -“You will be hanged at evening parade.” - -“With that alternative, so revolting to a soldier, I refuse your offer. -What the circumstances are which bind me to silence, I cannot, as a man -of honor, tell, but I again affirm my innocence.” - -“Lieutenant Morton, what say you: the gallows or your informing us of a -cruel murderer: which do you choose?” - -“I choose neither; I alike deny your right to take my life or to extort -what I choose not to tell.” - -“Withdraw the prisoner,” ordered the presiding-officer, “while the -court consults,” and Morton was led a few yards away from the tent. -He could hear the voice of eager debate and one speaker in his warmth -fairly shouted, “He must be made to tell; we’ll squeeze it out of -him,” and then followed a long colloquy. An hour had passed when he was -recalled. - -“We have deliberated on the evidence in your case, Lieutenant Morton; -and the clerk will read the finding of the court.” - -From a sheet of foolscap the clerk read a long minute, finding the -prisoner guilty on each count. - -Standing up and adjusting his sword, the presiding officer said, “It -only remains to pronounce sentence: it is, that you be hanged between -the hours of five and six o’clock this day.” - -Morton bowed and asked if the sentence had been confirmed by the -commanding-officer. “It has been submitted and approved,” was the reply. - -“In the brief space of time that remains to me,” said Morton in a firm -voice, “may I crave the treatment that befits my rank in so far that I -may be furnished with facilities for writing a few letters?” - -“You may remain here and when done writing, the guard will conduct you -back whence you came, there to remain until execution.” With these -words he rose, and the others followed, leaving Morton alone with the -clerk and the captain of his guard. He wrote three letters,--to Major -Stovin, to his colonel, and the longest to his relatives across the -Atlantic,--being careful in all to say nothing about Hemlock, for he -suspected the Americans would read them before sending. When done, he -was taken back to the stable, and left in darkness. He had abandoned -all hope: his voyage across life’s ocean was nearly ended, and already -he thought the mountain-tops of the unknown country he was soon to -set foot upon loomed dimly on his inward eye. The hour which comes to -all, when the things of this life shrink into nothingness, was upon -him, and the truths of revelation became to him the only actualities. -The communings of that time are sacred from record: enough to say, -they left a sobering and elevating influence on his character. He was -perfectly composed when he heard the guard return, and quietly took -his place in the centre of the hollow square. On the field used as a -parade ground he saw the troops drawn up in double line. At one end -were the preparations for his execution, a noose dangling from the limb -of a tree and a rough box beneath to serve as his coffin. There was -not a whisper or a movement as he passed slowly up between the lines -of troops. It seemed to him there was unnecessary delay in completing -the arrangements; and that the preliminaries were drawn out to a degree -that was agonizing to him. At last, however, his arms were pinioned -and the noose adjusted. The officer who had presided at his trial -approached “By authority of the General,” he whispered, “I repeat the -offer made you: assist us to secure the murderer of Major Slocum and -you get your life and liberty.” - -Morton simply answered, “Good friend, for Jesu’s sake, leave me alone.” - -The word was not given to haul the tackle and Morton stood facing the -assembled ranks for what seemed to him to be an age, though it was only -a few minutes. The bitterness of death was passed and the calmness of -resignation filled his soul. Again the officer spoke, “What say you, -Lieutenant Morton?” Morton merely shook his head. Presently a horseman -was seen to leave the General’s quarters and an orderly rode up. “By -command of the General, the execution is postponed.” Morton’s first -feeling was that of disappointment. - -As he was hurried back to the stable, the order dismissing the troops -was given. As they broke up, a soldier remarked to his comrade, “They’d -sooner have him squeal than stretch his neck.” - - -CHAPTER V. - -On the afternoon of the second day after the events of last chapter, -Allan Forsyth returned from his daily visit to Camp la Fourche excited -and indignant. “What think ye,” he said to his wife and Maggie, -“Lieutenant Morton is in the hands o’ the Yankees and they’re gaun to -hang him.” - -Maggie paled and involuntarily stepped nearer her father. - -“The deils that they be; hoo did they get haud o’ him?” asked Mrs -Forsyth. - -“The story is sune tell’t,” replied her husband. “He was sent, as ye -ken, wi’ a despatch to the lines; while there he took part in a bit -skirmish, an’ the day after was found by the Yankees lyin’ wounded in -the woods beside the body o’ a Yankee officer.” - -“Weel, they canna hang him for that. Gin the Yankees will fecht, they -maun expect to be kilt.” - -“Ah, ye dinna understan. They say their officer wasna kilt in regular -coorse o’ war. The body was scalped and carvt in a gruesome fashion, -showing plainly the hand o’ the Indian, an’ they hold Mr Morton -accountable.” - -“But he didna scalp the Yankee?” - -“True, gudewife, but he winna tell them wha did. His sword they found -beside the corpse, showing they had been in mortal combat.” - -“Is he sorely wounded?” asked Maggie. - -“I canna say for that. It’s no likely, for they had him oot ae evening -to hang him, and took a better thocht when he was below the gallows.” - -“How did you hear all this?” - -“A messenger came in today with letters from him, sent across the lines -under a flag o’ truce. It was said in camp Major Stovin was stampin’ -angry and was going to write back that gin a hair o’ the Lieutenant’s -head is harmed he will hang every Yankee officer that fa’s into his -hans. I gaed ower to see the messenger and he tell’t me the word went -that Morton defied General Hampton and his officers to do their worst, -that, to save his life, he wadna bring disgrace on his commission.” - -“Who is the messenger: has he gone back?” - -“He’s a young lad, a son o’ ane o’ the settlers in Hinchinbrook. He -goes back tomorrow with letters from Major Stovin.” - -“Will he see Morton?” - -“No, no: to be sure thae folk on the lines gang back an’ forrit, but -they’re no likely to let him near. His letters will be taken at the -outposts.” - -“Do you think Major Stovin’s letter will save him?” - -“That it won’t. The lad said the Yankees were fair wud ower the death -o’ their officer an’ will hang puir Morton to a dead certainty gin he -doesna reveal to them wha did the deed.” - -“An’ for what will he no tell?” asked Mrs Forsyth. - -“That he kens best. Maybe gratitude to an Indian ca’d Hemlock seals his -lips, for oor men believe he was with him at the time.” - -“What does Hemlock say?” interjected Maggie. - -“He’s no in camp. He came back three days ago and left for Oka, where -he bides.” - -Until bedtime Morton was the subject of conversation, and the more they -talked of him the keener their interest grew in his serious situation. -That one whom they had learned to like and respect so much should die -an ignominious death shocked them, and even Mrs Forsyth was constrained -to say, that much as she disliked Yankees, “Gin I were near eneuch to -walk to him, I wad gang on my knees to Hampton to beg his life.” - -Next morning, while engaged in the stable, Mr Forsyth was surprised by -the appearance of his daughter. - -“Hey, my woman, what’s garrd you to come oot in the grey o’ the -mornin’? Time eneuch an hour frae this.” - -“Father, I could not sleep and I wanted to speak to you. If Hemlock was -brought back, would he not save Morton?” - -“Ah, he winna come back. Doubtless he kens the Yankees wad rax his neck -for him. His leevin for hame shows he is afeard o’ what he has dune.” - -“Yet there’s no other hope of saving Morton.” - -“Too true; gin the actual slayer o’ the officer is not surrendered -within a few days poor Morton will suffer.” - -“Well, then, father, you cannot go to seek for Hemlock, and my brothers -would not be allowed to leave their duty in camp, so I will go. I can -be in Oka before dark and will see Hemlock.” - -“Dinna think o’ such a thing,” entreated the father, “the road is -lang an’ the Indian wad just laugh at you gin you found him, which is -dootful.” - -A favorite child has little difficulty in persuading a parent, and -before many minutes Mr Forsyth was won over, declaring “it wad be -a shame gin we did naething to try an’ save the puir lad.” It was -arranged she should go at once, the father undertaking to break -the news to his wife. All her other preparations having been made -beforehand, the slipping of a plaid over her head and shoulders -rendered her fit for the journey, and with a cheery goodbye to her -father she stepped quickly away. She went to the camp at La Fourche, -where she surprised her brothers and got them to search out the -messenger who had brought the startling tidings. She had a talk with -him, learning all he knew of Morton. Then she went to see the Indians -in camp, who readily enough told what little they knew of Hemlock. They -believed he was at Oka and did not expect him back, as he said he -would join the force that was being assembled above Cornwall to meet -Wilkinson. Thus informed she took the road, a mere bush track, that -led to Annfield Mills, now known as the town of Beauharnois, which she -reached in the course of two hours or so and walked straight to the -house of the only person in it who she thought could help her. It was a -log-shanty built on the angle where the St Louis rushes brawling past -and the calm waters of the bay, and was of unusual length, the front -end being devoted to the purposes of an office. The door stood open and -Maggie walked into a little den, in one corner of which stood a desk -with pigeon-holes stuffed with papers, and beside it were a few shelves -filled with bottles and odds-and-ends, the whole dusty, dark, and -smelling of tobacco. At the desk sat a little man, dressed in blue with -large gilt buttons. - -“Oh, ho, is this you, Maggie Forsyth? Often have I gone to see you, but -this is the first time you have dropped in to see me.” - -“See you, you withered auld stick! I just dropped in to speer a few -questions at you.” - -“Auld stick, Mag; I’m no sae auld that I canna loe ye.” - -“Maybe, but I dinna loe you.” - -“Look here, lassie; see this bit airn kistie; its fu o’ siller dollars; -eneuch to varnish an auld stick an keep a silken gown on yer back every -day o’ the year.” - -“An eneuch in thae dirty bottles to pooshen me when ye wad?” - -“Ha, ha, my lass; see what it is to hae lear. I didna gang four lang -sessions to new college, Aberdeen, for naething. I can heal as well as -pooshen. It’s no every lassie has a chance to get a man o’ my means and -learnin.” - -“Aye, an its no every lassie that wad want them alang wi’ an auld -wizened body.” - -“Hech, Mag, ye’re wit is ower sharp. When a man’s going down hill, ilka -body gies him a jundie. If ye winna, anither will, but we’ll let that -flee stick i’ the wa’ for awhile. Where is your faither?” - -“At hame: I just walked ower.” - -“Walked ower yer lane, an a’ thae sogers an’ Indians roun!” - -“If yer ceevil ye’ll meet wi’ ceevilty, Mr Milne; an’ I’m gaun farther -this day, an’ just looked in for yer advice.” - -“Oh ye maun hae a drap after your walk,” and here he pulled out a big -watch from his fob. “Gracious! it is 20 minutes ayont my time for a -dram.” - -Stooping beneath the table that answered for a counter, he filled a -grimy tin measure, which he tendered to Maggie, who shook her head. -“Na, na, I dinna touch it.” - -Finding persistence useless, he raised the vessel to his mouth and with -a “Here’s tae ye,” emptied it. “Hech, that does me guid,--but no for -lang. Noo, lass, what can I do to serve you?” - -Maggie unreservedly told him all. “An’ what’s this young Morton to you?” - -“Naething mair than ony neebur lad.” - -“Tell that to my grannie,” said the old buck, “I can see through a whin -stane as far as onybody an’ noo unnerstan why ye turn yer back on a -graduate o’ new college, Aberdeen, wi’ a kist o’ siller, and a’ for a -penniless leftenant.” - -“Think what thochts ye may, Mr Milne, but they’re far astray. The lad -is naething to me nor me to him. I am going to Oka because nae man-body -is allowed to leave the camp, and I couldna stay at hame gin it was in -my power to save a fellow-creature’s life.” - -“An what can I do to help you to save him?” - -“Help me to reach Oka and find Hemlock.” - -“Were it no for thae stoury war-times I wad get out my boat and gang -mysel’, and there’s naebody to send wi’ you. My lass, gif ye’ll no turn -hame again, ye’ll have to walk the road your lane.” - -“I hae set my face to the task an’ I’ll no gang hame.” - -“Weel, then, ye’ll hae a snack wi’ me an’ I’ll direct ye as well as may -be.” - -A few rods up the St Louis, in the centre of the stream, where it -trickled over a series of rocky shelves, stood a small mill, and on the -adjoining bank the house of the miller, and thither they went and had -something to eat. The miller’s wife, a good-looking woman, could not -speak English, but made up her lack in lively gesticulations, while -Maggie helped the common understanding with odd words and phrases in -French. Justice done to the food hurriedly spread before them, Maggie -walked back with Milne until they stood in front of the house. - -“There,” he said, pointing to planks resting on big stones, “you cross -the St Louis and keep the track until you come to the first house after -you pass the rapids. It is not far, but the road is shockingly bad. -There you will ask them to ferry you to the other side, when you’ve a -long walk to the Ottawa before you. I’d advise you to turn yet.” Maggie -shook her head decisively. “Weel, weel, so be it; he that will to -Cupar maun to Cupar. Here tak this,” and he put in her hand two silver -dollars. - -Maggie winced. “I’ll hae nae need o’ siller.” - -“Ye dinna ken; ye may get into trouble that money will help you out o’. -Dinna fear to take it; I’ve made (and here his voice sank to a whisper) -I’ve made a hunner o’ thae bricht lads by ae guid run o’ brandy kegs -across the Hinchinbrook line. It’s Yankee siller.” - -Maggie smiled and, as if the questionable mode of their acquisition -justified their acceptance, clasped them, and nodding to the little -man, tripped her way to the other side of the river. The road, as -predicted, proved execrable. Walled in and shadowed by trees, neither -breeze nor sunlight penetrated to dry it, and it was a succession -of holes filled with liquid mud. So bad was it, that an attempt to -haul a small cannon along it had to be abandoned despite the efforts -of horses, oxen, and a party of blue jackets. Tripping from side to -side, and occasionally passing an unusually deep hole by turning into -the bush, Maggie made all haste. Once only she halted. A party of -artillerymen and sailors were raising a breastwork at the head of the -Cascade rapids, whereon to mount a gun that would sweep the river, and -she watched them for a while. That was the only sign of life along -the road until the white-washed shanty of the ferryman came in sight, -in front of which a troop of half-naked children were tumbling in -boisterous play, and who set up a shrill cry of wonder when they saw -her. Their mother, so short and stout as to be shapeless, came to the -door in response to their cries and gazed wonderingly at the stranger. -She volubly returned Maggie’s salutation and led her into the house, -the interior of which was as bare as French Canadian houses usually -are, but clean and tidy. Her husband was away, helping to convey stores -to the fort at the Coteau, and there was not, to her knowledge, a man -within three miles capable of ferrying her across. Could not madam -paddle her over? The woman’s hands went up in pantomimic amazement. -Would she tempt the good God by venturing in a canoe alone with a -woman? Did she not know the current was swift, and led to the rapids -whose roaring she heard! No, she must stay overnight, and her good man -would take her over in the morning. Maggie could only submit and seated -herself behind the house, to gaze towards the other bank which she was -so anxious to set foot upon. From where she sat, the bank abruptly sank -to a depth of perhaps thirty feet, where a little bay gave shelter to -a canoe and a large boat fitted to convey a heavy load. Beyond the -rocks that headed the tiny inlet, which thus served as a cove for -the ferryman’s boats, the river swept irresistibly, and where in its -channel between the shore and the islands that shut out the view of -the north bank, any obstacle was met, the water rose in billows with -foaming heads. Maggie knew that she was looking upon the south channel -of the great river, and that the main stream lay on the other side of -the tree-covered islands, which varied in size from half a mile long to -rocks barely large enough to afford foothold to the tree or two whose -branches overhung the foaming current. The motion of the rushing water -contrasted so finely with the still-life and silence of the forest -that framed it, and the many shaped and many colored islands that -diversified its surface, that the scene at once soothed the anxious -mind of the peasant maid and inspired her with fresh energy. - -“Time is passing like that mighty stream,” she thought, “and before -another sunset help for Morton may be too late,” and then she asked -herself why she, so used to the management of a canoe, should not -paddle herself across? She sought out madam and told her what she -proposed, was met with energetic protestation, and then was allowed to -have her own way. Fortified with directions which she only partially -understood, Maggie took her place in the canoe, and waving good-bye to -madam and her troop of children, who stood on the landing, pushed out. -Unmindful of how the light skiff drifted downwards, she kept its head -pointed to the island that lay opposite to her and paddled for dear -life. Once she received a shower of spray in passing too near to where -the current chafed and fumed over a sunken rock, but she retained her -presence of mind, and was glad to see the island draw nearer with each -stroke. Just as the gravelly strand seemed within reach, the drift -brought her nigh to the end of the island, and she paddled into the -channel that lay between it and the islets adjoining, which nestled so -closely that the tops of the trees upon them interlaced, furnishing a -leafy arcade to the narrow channels that divided them. As Maggie paused -for breath after her severe exertion, a sense of the quiet beauty and -security of the retreat came over her, and drawing the canoe on to the -pebbly beach, she laved her feet while, idly picking from the bushes -and vines within reach, she formed a bouquet of colored leaves. She -heard the roar of the rapids beneath and she knew that a few yards -farther on lay the deep-flowing north channel, but her nature was -not one to borrow trouble and she enjoyed the present to the full in -her cool retreat. When she again took her place in the canoe, a few -dips of the paddle took it outside the islands, and she saw the main -channel of the river--smooth except for great greasy circles of slowly -whirling water, as if the mighty river, after its late experience of -being shredded in the rapids above, had a nightmare of foreboding of a -repetition of the same agony in the rapids to which it was hastening. -With steady stroke Maggie urged the canoe forward and did not allow the -consciousness that she was drifting toward the rapids discompose her. -As the canoe neared the bank, the sweep of the current increased, and -her arms began to ache with the violent and long-continued exertion. -To her joy, she saw a man standing at the landing and the strokes of -her paddle quickened. The canoe was swept past the landing, when the -man, picking up a coil of rope, ran downwards to a point, and watching -his chance, threw it across the canoe. Maggie caught an end of the -rope, and in a minute was hauled ashore. The man, a French Canadian -employed to assist the bateaux in passing between lakes St Francis and -St Louis, expressed his astonishment at a woman daring so perilous a -feat, and his wonder increased when she told him of her intention of -going to Oka. “Alone! mademoiselle,” he exclaimed, “why you will lose -your way in the forest which is full of bears and Indians.” She smiled -in answer, and receiving his directions, sought the blazed track which -led to the Ottawa. Familiar with the bush, she had no difficulty in -following the marks, for the litter of falling leaves had begun to -shroud the path. The tapping of the woodpecker and the chirrup of the -squirrel cheered her, and she pressed on with a light and quick step. -Hours passed until the gloom that pervaded the forest told her the sun -had ceased to touch the tree-tops and she wished the Ottawa would come -in sight. While giving way to a feeling of dread that she might have -to halt and, passing the night in the woods, await daylight to show -her the way, the faint tinkle of a bell reached her. With expectant -smile she paused, and poising herself drank in the grateful sound. -“It is the bell of the mission,” she said, and cheerfully resumed her -journey. All at once, the lake burst upon her view--a great sweep of -glassy water, reflecting the hues of the evening sky, and sleeping at -the foot of a long, low hill, covered to its double-topped summit with -sombre-foliaged trees. At the foot of the slope of the western end of -the hill, she distinguished the mission-buildings and, running above -and below them, an irregular string of huts, where she knew the Indians -must live, and behind those on the river’s edge rose a singular cliff -of yellow sand. The path led her to where the lake narrowed into a -river and she perceived a landing-place. Standing at the farthest -point, she raised her hand to her mouth and sent a shout across the -waters, long, clear, and strong, as she had often done to her father -and brothers, while working in the bush, to tell of waiting-meals. In -the dusk, she perceived a movement on the opposite bank and the launch -of a canoe, which paddled rapidly across. It contained two Indians, -whose small eyes and heavy features gave no indication of surprise on -seeing who wanted to be ferried. Stepping lightly in, the canoe swiftly -skimmed the dark waters, which now failed to catch a gleam from the -fading glories of the evening sky. The silence was overwhelming, and -as she viewed the wide lake, overshadowed by the melancholy mountain, -Maggie experienced a feeling of awe. At that very hour she knew her -father would be conducting worship, and as the scene of her loved -home passed before her, she felt a fresh impulse of security, and she -murmured to herself, “My father is praying for me and I shall trust in -the Lord.” - -On getting out of the canoe she was perplexed what step to take next. -To her enquiries, made in English and imperfect French, the Indians -shook their heads, and merely pointed her to the mission-buildings. -Approaching the nearest of these, from whose open door streamed the -glowing light of a log-fire, she paused at the threshold on seeing a -woman kneeling, and who, on hearing her, coolly turned, surveyed her -with an inquisitive and deliberate stare, and then calmly resumed her -devotions. When the last bead was told, the woman rose and bade her -welcome. Maggie told her of her errand. The woman grew curious as to -what she could want with an Indian. Yes, she knew Hemlock, but had not -seen him; he is a pagan and never comes near the presbytery. The father -had gone into the garden to repeat his office and had not returned; -she would ask him when he came in. Mademoiselle could have had no -supper; mon Dieu, people did not pick up ready-cooked suppers in the -woods, but she would hasten and give her of her best. It was a treat -to see a white woman, even if she was an Anglais and, she feared, a -heretic. The embers on the hearth were urged into a blaze, and before -long a platter of pottage, made from Indian corn beaten into a paste, -was heated, sprinkled over with maple-sugar and set down with a bowl -of curdled-cream on the table. Maggie had finished her repast when the -priest entered. He was a lumpish man with protruding underlip, which -hung downwards, small eyes, and a half-awakened look. “Ah, good-day,” -he said with a vacant stare. Maggie rose and curtsied, while the -housekeeper volubly repeated all she had learned of her and her errand. -“Hemlock!” he exclaimed, “we must take care. He is a bad Indian and -this young woman cannot want him for any good.” - -“True; I never thought of that.” - -“Ah, we must keep our eyes always open. What can a girl like this want -with that bold man?” - -“And to run after him through the woods, the infatuate! We must save -her.” - -“I will have her sent to the sisters, who will save her body and soul -from destruction. She would make a beautiful nun.” And the priest -rubbed his chubby hands together. - -“May it please your reverence,” interposed Maggie, who had caught the -drift of their talk, “I seek your aid to find Hemlock. If you will not -help me, I shall leave your house.” - -The priest gasped for a minute with astonishment. “I thought you were -English; you understand French?” - -“Enough to take care of myself, and I wish ministers of your robe were -taught in college to have better thoughts of us poor women.” - -“It is for your good we are instructed; so that we can guard you by our -advice.” - -“For our good you are taught to think the worst of us! I look for -Hemlock that he may go and give evidence that will save a man condemned -to die. For the sake of innocency I ask your help.” - -The priest shrugged his shoulders, stared at her, gathered up his robe, -grasped his missal with one hand and a candle with the other, and -saying, “I leave you with Martine,” passed up the open stairway to his -bedroom. - -“Ah, the holy father!” ejaculated the housekeeper, “when we are sunk -in stupid sleep, he is on his knees praying for us all, and the demons -dare not come near. Will you not come into the true church? Sister -Agatha would teach you. She has had visions in her raptures. Mon Dieu, -her knees have corns from kneeling on the stone steps of the altar. You -will not. Ah, well, I will ask their prayers for you and the scales may -drop from your eyes.” - -“Do tell me, how I can find Hemlock?” pleaded Maggie, and the current -of her thoughts thus changed, Martine insisted on learning why and how -his evidence was needed, and Maggie repeated as much of the story as -was necessary. The housekeeper grew interested and said decisively, -“the young brave must not die.” Covering her head with a blanket-like -shawl, she told Maggie to follow, and stepped out. It was a calm, clear -night, the glassy expanse of the lake reflecting the stars. Hurrying -onwards, they passed a number of huts, until reaching one, they entered -its open door. The interior was dark save for the faint glow that -proceeded from the dying embers on the hearth. Maggie saw the forms of -several asleep on the floor and seated in silence were three men. “This -woman has come to find Hemlock; can you guide her to him?” - -“What seeks she with him?” - -“She has come from the Chateaugay to tell him his word is wanted to -save his best friend from death.” - -The conversation went on in the gutturals of the Iroquois for some -time, when the housekeeper said to Maggie, “It is all right; they know -where Hemlock is, but it would not be safe to go to him now. They will -lead you to him at daybreak. Come, we will go back and you will stay -with me until morning.” - - -CHAPTER VI. - -The rising of the housekeeper, whose bed she shared, woke Maggie, and -a glance through the small window showed a faint whitening in the sky -that betokened the coming of day. Knowing there was no time to spare, -she dressed herself quickly, and, joining the housekeeper in the -kitchen, asked if the messenger had come. She answered by pointing to -the open door, and Maggie saw, seated on the lowest step, in silent -waiting, the figure of an Indian. She was for going with him at once, -when the housekeeper held her and, fearful of disturbing her master, -whispered to eat of the food she had placed on the table. Having made -a hurried repast, Maggie drew her shawl over her head and turned to -bid her hostess good-bye. The good soul forced into her pocket the -bread that remained on the table, and kissed her on both cheeks. When -Maggie came to the door, the Indian rose and, without looking at her, -proceeded to lead the way through the village and then past it, by a -path that wound to the top of the sand-hill that hems it in on the -north. Motioning her to stand still, the Indian crept forward as if to -spy out the object of their search. Glancing around her, Maggie saw -through the spruces the Ottawa outstretched at her feet, reflecting the -first rosy gleam of the approaching sun. A twitch at her shawl startled -her. It was her guide who had returned. Following him, as he slowly -threaded his way through the grove of balsams and spruces, they soon -came to a halt, and the Indian pointed to a black object outstretched -upon the ground a few yards from them. Fear overcame Maggie, and she -turned to grasp the arm of her guide--he was gone. Her commonsense came -to her aid. If this was Hemlock, she had nothing to fear, and mastering -her agitation she strove to discover whether the figure, which the -dawn only rendered perceptible amid the gloom of the evergreens, was -really the object of her quest. Silently she peered, afraid to move a -hairsbreadth, for what seemed to her to be an age, and she came to see -clearly the outline of a man, naked save for a girdle, fantastically -fashioned out of furs of varied colors, stretched immoveable on the -sod, face downward. Suddenly a groan of anguish escaped from the lips -of the prostrate man and the body swayed as if in convulsions. Her -sympathies overcame her fears, and advancing Maggie cried, “Hemlock, -are you ill? Can I help you?” - -With a terrific bound the figure leapt to its feet, the right arm -swinging a tomahawk, and, despite an effort at control, Maggie -shrieked. The light was now strong enough to show the lineaments of -the Indian, whose face and body were smeared with grease and soot and -whose countenance wore the expression of one roused from deep emotion -in sudden rage. - -“Hemlock, do not look at me so; I am Maggie Forsyth, come from the -Chateaugay to seek you.” - -Instantly the face of the Indian softened. “Why should the fawn leave -the groves of the Chateaugay to seek so far the lair of the lynx?” - -“Your friend Morton is doomed to die by the American soldiers and you -alone can save him.” - -“What! Did he not escape? Tell me all.” - -Maggie told him what she knew, he listening with impassive countenance. -When she had done, he paused, as if reflecting, and then said curtly, -“I will go with you.” It was now fair daylight, and Maggie saw, to her -dismay, that the mound upon which she had found Hemlock outstretched -was a grave, and that, at the head of it was a stake upon which hung -several scalps, the topmost evidently cut from a recent victim. -Glancing at the radiant eastward sky, the Indian started, and ignoring -the presence of his visitor, fell on his knees on the grave, and -turning his face so as to see the sun when it should shoot its first -beam over the broad lake, which was reflecting the glow of the rosy -clouds that overhung its further point, he communed with the dead. -“I leave thee, Spotted Fawn, for a while, that I may meet those who -did thee hurt and bring back another scalp to satisfy thy spirit. Thy -father’s arm is strong, but it is stronger when he thinks of thee. -Tarry a while before you cross the river and I will finish my task and -join thee in the journey to the hunting-ground; the arm that oft bore -you when a child, will carry you over the waters and rocks. Farewell! -Oh, my child, my daughter, how could you leave me? Tread softly and -slowly, for I will soon leave my lodge of sorrow and see you and clasp -you to my heart.” There was a pause, a groan of unutterable sorrow -escaped his lips, and he sank lifeless upon the grave. Agitated with -deep sympathy, Maggie stepped forward and kneeling beside the Indian -stroked his head and shoulders as if she had been soothing a child. - -“Dinna tak on sae, Hemlock. Sair it is to mourn the loved and lost, but -we maun dae our duty in this warl and try to live sae as to meet them -in the warl ayont. He that let the stroke fa’, alane can heal the hurt. -Gin yer daughter is deed, it is only for this life. Her voice will be -the first to welcome you when you cross death’s threshold.” - -“I saw her an hour ago. It is your creed that says the dead are not -seen again in this life. I got the medicine from my father that melts -the scales from our earthly eyes for a while. Last night I saw my -child--last night she was in these arms--last night my cheek felt the -warmth of her breath--last night my ears joyed in the ripple of her -laughter. Oh, my Spotted Fawn, the joy, the life of my heart, why did -you stray from me?” Then, his mood changing, he sprang up with the -words, “Cursed be the wolves that hunted you, cursed be the catamount -that crept near that he might rend you! I will seek them out, I will -track them day by day, until I slay the last of them.” Here he ground -his teeth and remained absorbed for a minute, then turning sharply, -with a wave of the hand, he beckoned Maggie to follow, and led to the -verge of the cliff overhanging the Ottawa. “Stay here until I come -back,” he whispered and, disappeared over the declivity. - -The glorious landscape outstretched at her feet soothed, as naught -else could, the agitation of Maggie’s mind, for Nature’s touch is ever -gentle and healing. The great expanse of water, here narrowed into a -broad river, there swelling into a noble lake, was smooth as a mirror, -reflecting hill and tree and rock. Beyond it, was unrolled the forest -as a brightly colored carpet, for the glory of Autumn was upon it, and -a trail of smoky mist hung on the horizon. An hour might have sped, -when Hemlock reappeared, with paint washed off and dressed in his -usual attire. Across his back was slung his rifle; at his heel was a -gaunt, ill-shaped dog. “Follow,” he said, and turning backward a few -paces, led to where the bank could be descended without difficulty. At -the foot of it, lay waiting a canoe, with a boy in the bow. Maggie -stepped lightly into the centre, and Hemlock grasping the paddle, shot -the light skiff swiftly across the stream. When the opposite bank was -gained, he sprang ashore and was followed by Maggie. The boy, without a -word, paddled back to the village. - -Hemlock was in no mood for conversation. The exhaustion following upon -his night-vigil was upon him, and he strode forward through the forest -without speaking, Maggie following his guidance. Once he halted, on -seeing his dog creeping forward on scenting game. Picking up a stick, -he stepped lightly after it, and when a covey of partridges rose, threw -his missile so successfully that two of the birds dropped. Tying them -to his belt, he resumed his monotonous trot, and several miles were -passed when the sharp yelps of the dog suddenly arrested their steps. -The alarm came from a point to their left. Hemlock, unslinging his -rifle, ran in the direction of the dog, whose baying was now intense -and continuous, and Maggie, afraid of losing sight of him, hastened -after. A short run brought the Indian to the edge of a slough, in a -thicket in the centre of which his dog was evidently engaged in mortal -combat with some wild animal. Without a moment’s hesitation, the Indian -started to pick his way across the morass; partially dried by the -prolonged drought, and had passed the centre, when there was a crashing -of branches and a huge bear burst out, followed by the dog, which was -limping, from a fractured paw. Before he could turn aside, Hemlock was -knocked down by the lumbering brute, which gained the solid ground and -was hurrying forward, when, seeing Maggie coming, it sprang for a huge -beech tree, with the intent of climbing it. Before it was a yard up, -the dog overtook it, had fastened its teeth in its hide and pulled it -down. The bear, roused to utmost ferocity by being thwarted, easily -caught hold of the disabled dog, held it in its forepaws, and standing -on its hind feet, with back resting against the tree, was proceeding to -hug its victim to death, when Hemlock came up. He had dropped his rifle -in the slough, and instead of waiting to pick it up, had rushed forward -to rescue his dog. With upraised hatchet he approached the bear, and -dealt it so terrific a stroke, that the light weapon stuck in the -skull. With a growl of rage and pain, the bear flung the dog down and -before Hemlock could recover himself after dealing the blow, fell upon -him, too stunned and weak, however, to do more than keep him under. On -catching her first glimpse of the bear, Maggie’s inclination was to -flee, but, the next moment, the instinct of self-preservation gave way -to a feeling of sympathy for the disabled dog, followed by absorbing -excitement as the contest went on. When Hemlock fell underneath the -brute, she gave a shriek, and rushed to where the rifle lay. Snatching -it, she ran to the bear, which lay panting with outstretched tongue -and half-closed eyes, and dealt him a blow with the butt. With a groan -the unwieldy animal rolled over motionless, and Hemlock sprang to his -feet, and drew his knife. It was unnecessary; the bear was dead. Maggie -looked wildly at the Indian, strove to speak, tottered, and fell: the -reaction from the delirium of excited feeling that had sustained her -having set in. Tenderly Hemlock raised her in his arms, and carrying -her to the edge of the swamp, scooped up sufficient water to bathe her -forehead. A few anxious minutes passed, when the pallor began to pass -away, and suddenly opening her eyes, Maggie asked, “What of the dog?” - -“Never mind Toga; are you hurt?” - -“No; are you?” - -“I am as well as ever, and had not my foot slipped after striking the -bear, would have spared you what you did.” - -“That does not matter,” said Maggie, simply, “it was God that put it -into my silly head to get the gun and it was His strength that gave the -blow--not mine.” - -“I care not for your God,” answered Hemlock in a hollow voice, “I have -known too many who profess to be His followers to believe in Him.” - -“Dinna speak sae,” pleaded Maggie. - -“Yesterday,” Hemlock went on, “I met the topped crow that clings to Oka -while taking from a squaw her last beaver-skins to say masses for her -dead husband, and I cursed him to his teeth as a deceiver that he may -eat the corn and give back to his dupes the cob.” - -Unheeding his words, Maggie rose and went towards the dog, which was -still alive, and began to stroke its head. Its eyes, however, sought -not her but his master, and when Hemlock put down his hand, the dying -animal feebly tried to lick it. At this sign of affection, the eyes of -Hemlock moistened, and falling on his knees he alternately patted the -dog and shook his unhurt paw. “My Toga, my old friend, my help in many -a hunt, my comrade when we were alone for weeks in the wilderness, are -you too going to leave me? You are dying, as the Indian’s dog should -die, in the fury of the hunt. A claw of the bear I shall wrap in a -piece of my wampum belt and put into your mouth, so that Spotted Fawn -may know whose dog you were, and you will serve her and follow her -until I join you in the happy hunting-ground--and that will not be -long.” - -As if sensible of what he said the dog whimpered, and with a last -effort placed its head in his outstretched hands. Then it gave a kick -or two, and died. - -The Indian rose, and selecting a knoll where spruces grew thickly, -kindled a fire. Wrapping the two partridges tightly in wet grass and -several folds of green birch bark, he waited until there were embers, -on which he placed them, and heaped fresh fuel. Asking Maggie to keep -up the fire, he left and was away for some time. When he came back he -had the bear’s pelt and several slices of steak, which he proceeded -to broil. On lifting the partridges, their bodies came out clean from -their covering of feathers, and on tearing them apart the entrails, -dried and shrivelled, were easily drawn. Maggie had eaten many a -partridge, but a sweeter bite than the breast of one so cooked she had -never tasted, and with a piece of the bread in her pocket, she made a -light but refreshing dinner. The bear-steak she could not look upon, -but like qualms did not interfere with Hemlock’s appetite, who ate them -with greater relish because part of his late enemy and the slayer of -his dog. He had filled his flask with water from a spring near by, and -Maggie remarked, if she “only had a pinch o’ saut, she couldna have -asked for a better dinner.” Trimming and scraping the bear’s hide, -to make it light as possible, Hemlock wrapped it into a bundle, and -strapped it on his back. Then looking to the priming of his rifle, he -told Maggie he was ready. - -“But the puir dowg; will ye no bury him?” - -“I have buried him,” answered Hemlock, “and poisoned the carcase of the -bear that it may sicken the wolves that eat of it.” - -The tongue of Hemlock was now free, and as they trudged on, he kept -up a constant conversation, surprising Maggie by the extent of his -information and the shrewdness of his judgment. Becoming conscious -that the sun was descending, she expressed a fear that she could not -reach home that night. “No, you cannot, and I do not mean you should, -but you will rest safe before sunset. I am taking you to the fort at -Coteau-du-lac.” - -“That is oot o’ oor way, Hemlock.” - -“Not very far; it is necessary I see Colonel Scott as to how to save -Morton.” - -Maggie said no more, for that was reason enough to go a hundred miles -out of the way, though she thought with pain of the anxiety her absence -for another night would give her parents. “Father will think I did not -find Hemlock at Oka and that I am looking for him,” she concluded at -last, “and will not borrow trouble about me.” - - -CHAPTER VII. - -Colonel Scott was pacing the walk in front of the battery of the little -fort of Coteau-du-lac, viewing alternately lake St Francis, glittering -peacefully in the rays of the fast westering sun, and the swift-running -river into which it contracted where he stood, with the surges of the -rapids farther down. He was tall, and his face was that of a man who -had intellect to conceive and will to put his conceptions into force. -To the door of a house larger than any of its neighbors, and before -which a sentry paced, the Colonel often glanced and when a lady came -out, he stepped to meet her. It was his wife, who joined him for an -airing before dinner. After admiring, as she had done every day since -her arrival, the contrast between the lake and the river, as it went -sweeping downwards between forest-covered islands, she asked, “And is -there any news? I heard an arrival reported.” - -“None since the despatch of last night and it said Wilkinson was still -at Sackett’s Harbor.” - -“So we may not expect his flotilla of boats this week?” - -“No, and were I in Sir George Prevost’s place, they would never leave -Sackett’s Harbor.” - -“Why, you have told me his Excellency has not sufficient naval force to -attack them.” - -“I would not attack the flotilla; I would render its purpose abortive. -What is the American plan of invasion? I can give it to you in a -nutshell, Helen. Wilkinson is to take possession of the St Lawrence -with his flotilla and is to meet Hampton at the mouth of the Chateaugay -river, when the combined forces will land on the island of Montreal and -capture it and the city. Now, to defeat this plan, it is not necessary -to destroy the flotilla. If the line of communication between Wilkinson -and Hampton is cut, the whole scheme fails.” - -“And how would you cut the line?” - -“Why, as I have represented time and again to headquarters, by the -capture of French Mills. Four hundred men could take and hold that -place, and with it in British hands Wilkinson and Hampton would be as -completely prevented from acting in concert as if Hampton was back to -his slaves in Carolina and Wilkinson to his gally-pots. It provokes -me to see the opportunities our forces miss. The war in the time of -Washington was a series of blunders on our side and it looks as if the -second was going to be a repetition.” - -“And you blame his Excellency?” - -“Yes and his staff. He is brave personally, and he is active to -fussiness, but he is unable to plan a campaign or carry it out. Here we -have the flower of the British army arriving by every convoy, yet our -policy is a purely defensive one and changed every day. Out upon such -a peddling course of action! I would teach the braggarts who lurk on -yonder heights that Canada is not to be invaded with impunity, and that -she has hearts to dare and die in defence of her independence.” - -“Well, Norman, it may prove to be all for the best. So far Canada has -repulsed every attempt at invasion.” - -“It is not for the best. I have made suggestion after suggestion to -improve the opportunities presented to me, and every one has been set -aside, and I am condemned to a course of inaction that galls and frets -me.” - -Here an orderly approached. “An Indian and a young woman want to speak -with you.” - -“I will go,” said Mrs Scott. - -“Do not,” cried the Colonel, “what tete-a-tete may I not have with the -lovely squaw.” - -“Please, sir,” said the orderly, “she is not a squaw. She is white and -a Scotchwoman by her speech.” - -“And young to boot,” exclaimed Mrs Scott archly, “I shall certainly -stay and keep you from falling into temptation.” - -“Bring them this way,” said the Colonel, and the orderly returned with -Hemlock and Maggie. - -“In truth an odd-matched pair,” whispered the Colonel as he saw them -approach. - -“Why, it’s you, Hemlock. I thought you were raising the war-whoop on -the Huntingdon frontier. And who may your companion be? Too young to -be your wife--too fair to be your sweetheart.” - -The Indian’s features relaxed into the nearest approach they ever came -to a smile, as he answered, “An arrow from another bow than mine has -struck the doe.” - -“Well, Hemlock, do you bring me news from Hinchinbrook? When is Hampton -going to march?” - -In reply, Hemlock briefly told how he had been at Oka, was sought -out there by Maggie and for what purpose. The Colonel listened with -stern expression as he was told of Morton’s peril, and when the Indian -had done, he plied Maggie with questions. When she had told all, the -Colonel brought his fist down heavily on the cannon beside which he -stood as he exclaimed, “I knew these Americans were boasters but I did -not think they were capable of such cruelty. Once they hung a gentleman -wearing His Majesty’s uniform and were allowed to escape under the -belief that, tradesmen and farmers as they were, they knew no better, -but if they send a second to the gallows, there is not an officer -in Canada who would not consider it his duty to challenge every one -concerned in the deed.” - -With a glance of apprehension at her husband, Mrs Scott with admirable -tact strove to divert him from his vengeful mood by changing the -subject. Addressing Maggie she asked, “And what is Mr Morton to you -that you should risk the peril of these woods to save him? Is he a -brother?” - -“He is neither kith nor kin to me,” answered Maggie. - -“The attraction is of another sort, then. Cupid flies his arrows in -these woods as well as the red warrior.” - -Maggie blushed and the Colonel, forgetting his anger, gallantly came to -her rescue. “And if he does, madam, I would say to Master Cupid, give -me the maiden who, like our fair Maggie, would dare the dragons of the -field and flood to save her lover.” - -“Oh!” retorted Mrs Scott, “that is as much as to say, I would not do -that and more for you. What thankless monsters you men are!” - -“Nay, spare me, Helen, and as by what she has told us, she has walked -from Oka today, perhaps you will take her with you and play the -hostess.” - -“She has done more than walk from Oka today,” said Hemlock, “she killed -a bear and saved my life.” - -“What!” cried Mrs Scott in astonishment, and Hemlock told the story -of the encounter. When he had done the Colonel stepped forward and -grasping Maggie’s hands he said, “I honor you as a brave man honors -a brave woman, and if there is any possibility of saving Mr Morton’s -life, it shall be done.” - -Maggie was too overcome to reply, and Mrs Scott, slipping her arm into -hers, led her away to her husband’s quarters, leaving Hemlock and the -Colonel in eager converse, which lasted until daylight had nearly -faded and until a servant came with word that dinner was waiting the -Colonel. Ordering the servant to call one of the sergeants, the Colonel -committed Hemlock to his hospitable care and then entered his own -quarters. Maggie spent one of the most delightful evenings of her life -in the company of the Colonel and his wife, forgetting her weariness -and the excitement she had passed through in the enjoyment of social -converse of a brighter and wider scope than she had been accustomed. -When bedtime came she was solicitous about being called early so -that Hemlock might not be kept waiting, when the Colonel assured her -he would take her restoration to her home by the Chateaugay into -his own hands. When she made her appearance next day, she found her -entertainers seated on the veranda, and was concerned to learn that it -was near noon and that Hemlock had left at sunrise. The anxious look -that flitted across her face, the Colonel relieved by telling her that -Hemlock had chosen a route she could not have followed, across the -great swamp that lay between the St Lawrence and the Chateaugay, and -that he carried a letter to her father, telling where she was and that -she would go home by the first safe opportunity. - -“And now, my dear Maggie,” said Mrs Scott, “You need not be concerned -about those at home but be my companion for a few days. Buried away -here in these romantic wilds, you cannot conceive what a treat it is -to me to have your society.” - -“You are welcome, Miss Forsyth,” added the Colonel, “and you will get -a chance before long of a convoy to Annfield, for I expect one from -Kingston by the end of the week.” - -“But they may be needing me at home, Colonel; my mother is frail and if -the Yankees have crossed she will be sore in need of my help.” - -“Make yourself easy as to that,” said the Colonel with a smile. -“General Hampton, as I know for an assured fact, has not crossed the -frontier and will not for several days, at least--perhaps never, for -he has no heart in the undertaking. As to Wilkinson coming, I wish -he would. I am just afraid he is going to deprive me of the pleasure -of giving him the warm reception I have gone to so much trouble to -prepare. After lunch, or rather your breakfast, we will take the boat -and see that everything is in order for him.” - -A couple of hours later they were seated in the Colonel’s long boat, -manned by four tars, who, however, were spared the labor of rowing -all the way, for the wind was favorable. Heading Grande Isle, they -sailed down the south channel of the St Lawrence to a narrow point, -where, by means of the trunks of huge trees anchored above where rapids -foamed, the passage of boats was made impossible and before these -obstructions could be lifted out, the Colonel pointed to his wife and -Maggie how a concealed battery aided by sharp-shooters hid among the -foliage that lined the river would decimate the occupants of the boats. -He considered the southern channel to be so effectually closed that -Wilkinson would not attempt it and would, therefore, have to take the -northern, where he would have to run the gauntlet of the fire of the -fort at Coteau-du-lac. “True it is,” added the Colonel, “that that -channel is wide and the current swift, yet with a fire from both banks -many boats must needs be crippled or sunk, and those that do escape -would have to face a similar ordeal at Long Point, opposite the Cedars -rapids, where another battery has been placed.” - -“What if the Americans passed in the dark?” suggested Maggie. - -“Yes,” added Mrs Scott, “or what if they landed a part of their large -force before they came within range of the Coteau batteries and -assailed them from the land-side?” - -“All that I have considered. Were they to pass in the dark, they would -not see to shoot the rapids properly, and their angry waters would be -more disastrous than our shot. As to a flank movement, I rely on the -Indian scouts to bring me word and, fully warned of their coming, these -woods are so dense and cut up by swamps, that, with a hundred men, I -would undertake to repulse a thousand.” - -“So you keep constant watch?” asked Maggie. - -“Unceasing,” answered the Colonel. “If you take this telescope you -will perceive a sail at the upper end of the lake. It is one of the -gunboats on the watch, and which would, on appearance of Wilkinson’s -flotilla, either make for Coteau or if the wind were unfavorable send a -row-boat. Then, on that farthest island there is a guard of regulars, -who are likely to give the island a name, for already it is called -Grenadier island. To the guard on that island, scouts on the southern -shore report daily.” - -“Surely you have contrived well,” exclaimed Maggie, “and I just wish -the Yankees would come and get what you have prepared for them.” - -“‘Their kail het through the reek, as the Scotch say,’” laughed the -Colonel, “well I am just afraid I will not see them. Along the river, -between Prescott and Cornwall, there is such a succession of points of -attack, that, from all I learn of him, Wilkinson is not soldier enough -to overcome.” - -In returning, the boat landed the party in a cove on Grande Isle, -whence, from under the shade of maples, they scanned the lake, -shimmering in the sun, and the islets, heavy with trees richly colored -by Autumn’s fingers, set in it like gems. - -“This is so pleasant,” remarked Mrs Scott, “that I do not wonder at -people growing to passionately love Canada. Do you prefer Canada to -Scotland, Maggie?” - -“I never saw Scotland,” replied Maggie, “but I dearly love Canada and -can find it in my heart to wish that the Colonel may wring the necks -of those who are trying to take it away from us.” - -“Well said!” shouted the Colonel, “and Canada is so favored by nature -in her line of defence and in her climate, that I cannot conceive -how, if her people are true, she can ever come under the heel of a -conqueror.” - -The day passed happily and so did several others. Accompanying Mrs -Scott, Maggie visited the little canals that enabled the boats, that -plied between Montreal and Upper Canada, to overcome the rapids, to see -the lockmen and their families, and watch the peculiar class of men who -assisted the boats in passing upwards, either by poling and towing or -by lightening their load with the help of their diminutive carts and -ponies. With the garrison and its daily life she became familiar, and -the detachment of blue jackets, drafted from the men-of-war at Quebec, -partly engaged in manning the gunboats already afloat and in building -others, she never wearied in watching. Each day endeared her more to -Mrs Scott, who, she learned, had sacrificed her comfort and safety, -by accompanying her husband on duty. Following the regiment, she had -been with him in India, Egypt, and Spain, and, when ordered on special -service to Canada, had unhesitatingly followed him, leaving their two -children with friends in England. Maggie saw that her presence was a -help rather than a drag upon the Colonel, whom she assisted and cared -for as only a true woman can and preserved him from many privations -he must otherwise have undergone. While most anxious to be at home -again, it was not without a pang of regret that Maggie learned one -morning that a fleet of the King’s bateaux was in sight coming down the -lake. An hour afterwards she was on board of one, waving farewell to -her friends. Landed at the foot of the Cascade rapids, she walked home -before sunset. - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -The army did not begin a forward movement towards Canada on the day -of Morton’s interview with Hampton. It was only the first of several -abortive starts, and the autumn days were drawing towards an end with -the army still encamped at Four Corners. The American public was -indignant at its inaction: much had been expected of the army, yet -it had accomplished nothing, and the campaigning season was near an -end. The denunciations of the Albany and New York newspapers Hampton -could not stoop to reply to: those of the Washington authorities he -answered by laying the blame upon Wilkinson. He was to move on Montreal -in conjunction with that general, and his failure to leave Sackett’s -Harbor he gave as the cause of his own inaction. To the critics who -suggested he had sufficient strength to capture Montreal unaided, he -represented that his orders from Washington expressly required him to -co-operate with the flotilla that was hugging the shelter of Sackett’s -Harbor. If he was left free to act by the secretary-of-war, he would -show the country what he could do, but he was not free. There were -those who thought his excuses were the offspring of his secret wish, -to get out of the campaign without risking any great movement. In all -those days of dallying, Morton lay forlorn in the stable, sick of his -confinement and of prolonged suspense, until the doctor, taking pity -upon him, asked, if the General could be induced to grant him the -freedom of the camp on parole, would he accept it? Eager to get out of -his dismal prison and hopeless of escape, Morton eagerly embraced the -offer, and next day he was told he was at liberty to leave his wretched -abode during daylight. The boon proved to be of less advantage than he -had anticipated. The officers would not consort with him, professing to -believe he had been a party to the disfigurement and murder of their -late comrade, and the rank-and-file swore at him as an abettor of the -Indians and as a Britisher. The miscarriage of the campaign had soured -the tempers of the troops, and they were ready to vent it upon Morton -or any other of the enemy who came within reach of their tongues. After -a few hours’ unpleasant experience, Morton returned to his stable -indignant and humiliated. Altho’ thus cut off from intercourse with the -military, he enjoyed the freedom of moving about. Even lying on the -grass and watching the face of nature, was inexpressibly sweet to him. -In course of time he scraped acquaintance with a few civilians, and -especially with a storekeeper, Douglass, a Scotchman, who showed him -such kindness as he dared without bringing upon himself the suspicion -of disloyalty. The weather, which had been uninterruptedly dry and -hot, underwent a sudden change, to wet and cold, and from suspense as -to when they would march into Canada the troops began to hope that -orders would come from Washington to retire into winter-quarters. One -particularly cold, rainy evening, Morton retired to rest in a mood -that was in keeping with his dismal surroundings, and courted sleep to -give him temporary relief. How long he might have been lost in slumber -he was unconscious, when awakened by something lightly passing over -his face. “Keep quiet,” said a voice: “do not cry or you may attract -the guard.” The darkness was intense; the patter of the rain on the -roof the only sound without. The voice Morton recognized at once as -Hemlock’s. - -“How did you get here? Do you not know they would tear you limb from -limb if they found you?” - -“I know it all, but an Indian brave counts nothing when he goes to save -a friend. Get up and go with me.” - -A momentary feeling of exultation fluttered in Morton’s breast at the -prospect of liberty, followed by the depressing recollection that he -had given his word not to escape. - -“I cannot go with you,” he said in a voice of despair. - -“Why? You are well of your hurt, and you can run a mile or two if we -are followed. Come, my arm will help you.” - -“Hemlock, had you come a fortnight ago I would have jumped at your -call: I cannot tonight, for I have given my word of honor not to -escape. I am a prisoner on parole.” - -“Honor! Did these Americans treat you as men of honor, when they put -the rope round your neck? Your promise is nothing. Come!” - -“I cannot, Hemlock. Let them be what they may, it shall never be said -that a British officer broke his word. Leave me; get away at once, or -you may be caught.” - -“I will not leave without you. Think of the fair doe that sorrows in -secret by the Chateaugay for you and sought me out to bring you. Come, -you shall be with her before another sun has set.” - -Morton was puzzled by this speech, but was too anxious concerning -Hemlock’s safety to delay by asking what it meant. - -“Save yourself, Hemlock; the patrol will be round soon, and if you are -discovered you are lost.” - -“I fear not: they cannot take me alive.” - -“For my sake, then, go; I will not leave, I will keep the promise I -have given. Consider this my friend, if you are found here it is death -to me as well as you. Go.” - -“Not without you; I will carry you on my back, whether you will or -not,” and he laid his hand upon Morton to grasp hold of him. At that -moment, the sound of the tramp of an approaching detachment of -soldiers was heard. “It is the patrol, Hemlock; fly for God’s sake.” - -Hemlock stepped to the door for an instant, then turning to Morton -whispered, “they have torches and will see what I have done, and that -will give the alarm. Come, go with me.” - -“I cannot,” said Morton decisively. - -“Then, give me a token to show her who sent me that I did my duty,” -said Hemlock. Eager for his escape, Morton plucked the signet-ring -from his finger and pressed it into the Indian’s hand with a farewell -grasp. Noiselessly and swiftly Hemlock glided out, across the open, -and was lost to sight. Seeing how near the patrol were, Morton closed -the door and lay down upon his bed of straw. He heard the tramp of -the troops draw nearer, and then a sharp cry of “Halt!” followed by -a shout of horror and a volley of curses. “The damned Indians are -about!” a voice cried. “Poor Tom,” said another, “he died like a stuck -pig.” “See to the Britisher,” shouted a third, “he must know of it.” -“Back to your ranks,” commanded the officer, “I will see to what is to -be done.” Sending a messenger to headquarters to report, he detailed -three others to approach the stable and bring out Morton. One of the -three remonstrated. “The redskin may be hiding there and kill us.” -“Obey orders,” yelled the officer to his men, who had peculiar ideas of -military obedience. “Our muskets cover you.” - -Reluctantly they approached, and two simultaneously burst in the door -with a rush, while the third held a torch. Their only discovery was -Morton lying in his bed. He was roughly dragged to the captain, who, -with his men, stood around something stretched upon the grass. - -“What do you know of this, prisoner?” asked the captain, and a soldier -waved a torch over the object. Morton, with a shudder, perceived it was -the body of a soldier that had been stabbed in the breast, and scalped. - -“This body is warm,” said the captain, “the deed has been done within -a quarter of an hour: you lay within 20 yards of its perpetration; I -demand what you know of the slaughter of this sentry of the United -States army.” - -Morton hesitated. He had no moral doubt that Hemlock had committed -the deed, and that the scalp of the dead man was then dangling from -his belt, and in his horror of the act was about to tell all, when he -suddenly recollected that by doing so he would show himself ungrateful -to Hemlock. - -“I neither saw nor heard aught of this foul murder,” answered Morton, -but his hesitation in replying was noted by men disposed to suspect -him. “Let me put my bayonet through him,” said one of the soldiers with -an oath, as he rushed upon Morton. There was a flash from the adjoining -bush, the crack of a rifle, and the soldier fell dead, with a bullet in -his forehead. - -“Out with the lights,” shrieked the captain in a transport of fear, -as he struck one torch down with his sword and the others were thrown -into the pools of rainwater. For a minute or two they listened with -palpitating hearts in the darkness, and then the captain whispered -for them to move to headquarters, the lights of which were seen near -by. Forgotten by them in their alarm, Morton made his way back to the -stable and flung himself down on his pallet of straw, perplexed and -agitated. In vain he tried to sleep and the night dragged wearily -on. When daylight at last began to dawn upon a scene of sullen rain -and sodden fields, the sound of voices told him his captors were on -the alert. The door was violently opened and a soldier looked in and -reported to his comrades outside, “The varmint is still here,” to which -he heard the reply, “That beats me!” An hour later a scout entered, -lighted a candle, and proceeded to examine the floor of the stable and -its contents. When he was done, the door was bolted and, Morton felt -assured, a sentry placed outside. Breakfast time passed without his -caterer appearing and the forenoon was well advanced before he was -disturbed, when a detachment of troops halted and an officer entered. -“I have come, Mr Morton, to take you to headquarters.” - -Going out, Morton was placed between files and marched to the General’s -quarters, where he was shown into a room where several officers were -seated. Motioned to stand at the foot of the table, the presiding -officer, a tall, cadaverous man, asked him to tell what he knew of the -event of the past night. - -“Is this a court-martial and am I on trial?” - -“No, it is a committee of enquiry. There ain’t no call for trying you, -seein’ you are already a condemned culprit.” - -“Then, why should I answer you?” - -“Wall, if you make a clean breast of it, we mought recommend the -General to commute your sentence.” - -“And should I not see fit to answer this irregular tribunal?” - -“I ain’t going to knock round the bush with you. At home, everybody -knows Major Spooner as up-and-down, frank and square, and I tell you, -if you don’t spit out all you know, the rope won’t be taken off your -neck a second time.” - -“What I know of last night’s shocking event I am ready to communicate -to any gentleman who approaches me in an honorable manner, but I scorn -to say a word under threats.” - -The officers here exchanged nods and winks, and one said: “I knew -Mister President, he wouldn’t tell--he dassn’t. He had a hand in -killing Jackson--gagged his mouth, mebbe, while the redskin drew his -knife.” - -Morton, stung to the quick, turned indignantly to the speaker, “Sir, if -I had my sword you would either take back your words or know what cold -steel is.” - -“Pshaw,” was the contemptuous retort, “I don’t care for anything in the -shape of a Britisher.” - -“That’s so, and you know first-rate how to rile one,” exclaimed the -presiding officer approvingly. Then addressing Morton, he added, “We -ain’t afeared of your threats, young man, and won’t lose time with -you--yes or no, are you going to give evidence?” - -“No,” answered Morton firmly. - -“That will do: withdraw the prisoner.” - -“Excuse me, Major Spooner,” said a voice behind. Morton turned and -saw standing by the door an officer whose bearing indicated he was a -soldier by profession and not one of a few months’ standing. “I came in -after the examination had begun and therefore did not take my seat at -the board. If you will allow me, I will endeavor to represent to the -accused how matters stand.” - -“Sartainly, Colonel Vanderberg; yer ken try him.” - -“Then, Mr Morton, the case stands thus: last night one of our men on -guard, posted near where you slept, was stabbed and scalped. I need -not say, I do not believe for a moment you had any hand in that deed. -However, this morning experts were sent to discover the trail of the -perpetrator, and they, favored by the softness of the soil, traced the -steps of the moccasined feet of an Indian to where the guard stood, -thence to your lodging-place and finally from it to the bush whence -came the shot that killed one of the patrol. More than all this, I may -tell you the footmarks of the Indian are plain inside the stable and -beside the place in it where you slept are marks caused by drops of -blood. It is thus beyond all question that the Indian visited you, and, -with a view to discovering him and so checking a system of barbarous -warfare repulsive to all true soldiers, we ask you to tell us what you -know of him--ask you, not under threats or taking advantage of your -unfortunate position, but as a gentleman and a soldier to assist us by -telling what you know of the mysterious affair.” - -Morton bowed to the Colonel and replied he had no hesitation in -telling him what he knew, and he recounted briefly how he had been -awakened during the night by an Indian and urged to fly with him. -He was prepared to take oath that he knew not of his slaying the -guard, and the drops of blood upon the straw that formed his bed -must have dripped from the scalp as the Indian stooped over him and -urged him to accompany him. Morton mentioned no name, and none of his -questioners seemed to think he could have known the Indian. At any -rate their incredulity of his story, verging on disgust, rendered -cross-questioning superfluous, Major Spooner said he could not swallow -the yarn, and another officer remarked it would be easier for him to go -without his bitters for a month than believe a Britisher would not run -away when he had a chance, to which the others agreed. - -“What!” exclaimed Morton, “do you think, after giving my word of honor -to your General that I would not attempt to escape, that I would do so?” - -“That is just what we do think, and that there was something we don’t -know of that kept you from running away with the Indian.” - -Morton’s anger again rose and he was about to say something rash, when -Colonel Vanderberg gave his shoulder a monitory touch. “If none of you -object, I will take charge of Mr Morton.” - -“Yer welkim to the critter,” remarked Major Spooner, at which the -others expectorated in order to laugh. “He is under sentence of death, -and it lies with the General to say when it shall be carried out. If -he is willing you should undertake the provost-marshal’s duty, this -committee of enquiry offer you their congratulations.” - -To this raillery Colonel Vanderberg said naught, and taking Morton by -the arm led him into a vacant room. “Stay here for a minute,” he said. -On re-entering he grasped Morton by the hand, while he informed him -“the General has given me permission to take you with me, and will you -ride with me to Fort Hickory?” - -“With all my heart,” answered Morton, and going to the door found -several troopers waiting the Colonel, who pointed to Morton to get on -the back of one of three spare horses. He did so and they galloped out -of the village. - - -CHAPTER IX. - -Maggie was busy with household duties when Hemlock entered and sat down -near the table at which she stood. - -“All away?” he asked. - -“All except mother, who is having her afternoon nap.” - -Casting a suspicious glance round, the Indian drew something out of his -pouch. “Do you know that?” - -It was a ring. Maggie examined it and as she recognized whose it was, -blushed. - -“Is he alive?” she asked, in a low earnest tone, as if fearful that it -was a memorial gift. - -“Yes; I was with him and spoke to him night before last.” - -“Where?” - -“At Four Corners.” - -“Tell me all?” entreated Maggie, and Hemlock recounted his visit, -closing with the remark, “If he had come with me, he would have been -here now.” - -“But he would have broken his word to the Yankees,” urged Maggie in his -defence. - -“And perhaps they will break his neck,” answered Hemlock with a grunt. -“Major Stovin told me that Hampton’s answer to his letter was that he -could allow no interference from outside in his disposal of spies.” - -“Morton is not a spy,” exclaimed Maggie indignantly. - -“They will punish him all the same unless I give myself up,” said -Hemlock, “and I mean to.” - -“Oh, Hemlock, they would kill you.” - -“Maybe, but Indian would save his friend.” - -“He may get off when our men beat them.” - -The Indian’s lip curled. “The owls are telling the eagles what to do. -When the order came to the Indian bands not to fight but just watch, -I left. We would have hung to their sides like wasps on a deer, and -marked every mile they marched with deeds that would have caused widows -to raise the funeral song from Champlain to the Ohio, but our arms are -held fast.” - -“You did not tell me how you came by this ring?” faltered Maggie, as -she shyly tried it on her fingers. - -“I asked him for a token, and he gave me that.” - -“A token for whom, Hemlock?” - -“For you.” - -“For me!” gasped Maggie, with beaming eyes, while her color came and -went. - -Hemlock nodded and said no more. Turning her head away from him, Maggie -pressed the token to her lips. On the Indian’s rising to go, she -entreated him to stay. Her brothers were at the camp, but her father -was only at the rear end of the lot stooking corn, and he might go and -see him. Hemlock, who had the dislike of his race to manual labor, said -he would wait, and catching up the fishing-rod of her younger brother, -prepared it to beguile the denizens of the river that flowed past the -shanty, and continued fishing until the old man returned, who sat down -beside Hemlock and got into an engrossing conversation, which was ended -by Maggie’s calling them to supper. When the meal was fairly under way, -the father said: - -“Hemlock wants us to leave. He says the Americans will be here in a day -or two. He offers to bring Indians with enough of canoes to take you -and Maggie to Montreal.” - -“Leave my hame for thae Yankees!” exclaimed Mrs Forsyth; “no a step -will I gang oot o’ my way for the deils.” - -“Hemlock says they may burn down the house and insult you, an’ ye wad -be better oot o’ their way.” - -“I wad like to see the Yankee loon that wad try to set a low to oor bit -biggin; I wad ding some dacency into his heid.” - -“Think o’ Maggie, guid wife.” - -Before her mother could speak, Maggie declared “she wasna fear’t an’ -wad bide wi’ her mither, thankin’ Hemlock a’ the same.” - -“You see, Hemlock, hoo wi’ Scotch bodies stick by our hames. Down to -the women and bairns, we will fecht to the last gasp to haud them.” - -Hemlock said nothing and helped himself to another piece of -johnny-cake. The subject, however, had excited Mrs Forsyth, who mingled -denunciations of the invaders with regrets at leaving Scotland. - -“Toots, woman, Canada is a better country for the puir man than -Scotlan.” - -“I am no denyin’ that, but eh, there was a couthie security there -that’s no here, an’ for a sicht o’ its bonnie howes an’ glens I’d gie -onything. The first an’ the last sicht each day frae my faither’s door -was the Pentlands, an’ no trees, trees, wi’ snaw an’ ice hauf the year.” - -“Ye wadna gae back, mither, for a’ that.” - -“Deed would I, gin we a’ went the gither.” - -“But ye have aften tell’t me ye wad never cross the sea again, ye were -so sick in coming.” - -“Na, neither I wad; nae boatie for me.” - -“Then, ye canna gang.” - -“Hoot, lass, what are ye sayin’; is that a’ ye ken? We could walk -roun’.” - -“Providence, dear wife, has cast oor lot here an’ it’s oor duty to -be content. Please God, we will help to mak o’ Canada a country oor -children will be proud o’, an as for thae Yankees, wha come to rob us -o’ oor liberty, I am sure their conceit will lead to their fa’ an’ that -their designs upon us will come to naething.” - -Hemlock rose and prepared to leave. “I will go with you,” said -Forsyth, “and hear what is the news in the camp.” - -Getting into the canoe they arrived at the forks in due time, and found -great activity in erecting buildings, while carts were arriving every -few minutes from the Basin with supplies or leaving empty to reload. -In every direction were soldiers encamped, and the evening being cold -their fires crackled and blazed along the lines. The soldiers were -of all kinds, from habitants in homespun blouses and blue tuques to -regulars of the line. The noisiest were the volunteer regiments, -composed of young men, lumbermen and city tradesmen, whose exuberant -animal spirits the discomforts and privations of camp failed to tame, -and where they were, screams, laughter, and singing resounded. Hemlock -led the way to a large, white house, the home of an American settler, -named Baker, but taken possession of for headquarters, and passing the -guard as a privileged character, told the orderly he wanted to see the -General. On enquiry, the two visitors were admitted into a good-sized -room, in the centre of which was a large table, at which sat a -thick-set officer of foreign aspect, Gen. deWatteville, his secretary, -and Major Henry, who had succeeded Stovin as local commander. They were -evidently engaged in examining regimental reports. - -“Hemlock, so you have got back? What news from the lines?” asked the -Major. - -“Yankees will break camp tomorrow.” - -“How do you know? Have you any despatches from our spies?” - -“No, but I saw a waggon loaded with axes arrive at Fort Hickory.” - -“Well, what about that?” - -“The advance camp, nearest to here, is called Fort Hickory: the axes -are to chop a road from there to our outposts on the Chateaugay.” - -DeWatteville became all attention. “How long would the road be?” - -“Three leagues,” answered Hemlock. - -“Pooh,” remarked the General, relapsing into indifference, “they cannot -cut a road that long through the woods.” - -“You don’t know Yankee axemen,” said Hemlock, “they will do it in a day -and turn your flank.” - -The General simply waved his hand contemptuously. Major Henry, knowing -from past acquaintance, Hemlock’s worth and intelligence, asked in a -respectful tone, “What do you advise?” - -“Send me with all the Indians and we will cut them off.” - -DeWatteville could not withhold a gesture of horror. “You would fall -upon these axemen, you say are coming, butcher them with your hatchets -and scalp them. Eh?” - -“Every one of them,” answered Hemlock in an exultant voice. - -“Faugh, that is not war; that is murder,” said the General, “we will -fight the Americans in no such way.” - -“It is how they would deal with you,” said Hemlock, “but if you do not -want the Indian to fight in the way of his fathers, he will leave you.” - -Henry here leant over and whispered into the General’s ear; who -answered aloud, “No, I will not hear of it: I will fight as a soldier -and will have no savagery.” The Major was evidently disconcerted, and -changed the subject by asking Hemlock what led him so far from the -lines as to visit Fort Hickory. - -“I followed Morton.” - -“Ha!” exclaimed the General, “poor fellow, what of him?” - -“They were going to hang him, when Colonel Vanderberg took him from -Four Corners.” - -“You see, General,” said Major Henry with a smile, “the savagery of the -invader against whom you would not use the services of Hemlock and his -braves in self-defence.” - -The General twirled his heavy grey mustache and bit it nervously. “If -they hang him, I will let every redskin in the country loose upon them.” - -“It would serve Morton better to do so before the rope does its work,” -suggested the Major. “Our remonstrances addressed to General Hampton -have been met with combined equivocation and insolence. ‘Give up,’ he -says, ‘the murderer of Major Slocum and I will set Morton at liberty.’ -As much as to say we screen the murderer--a man I know nothing of and -for whose deed His Majesty’s service is not accountable.” - -Hemlock said, “Read that again?” - -Taking up General Hampton’s despatch in answer to that regarding -Morton’s treatment, the Major read it in full. The Indian listened -intently and made no comment, but Forsyth said quietly, he was sure Mr -Morton had no hand in murdering anybody. - -“We all know that,” answered Major Henry, “a more humane and yet a more -gallant officer the King has not got. And now, Forsyth, what are you -and the settlers going to do when the Americans cross the frontier?” - -“Ye’ll excuse me for saying so, but that is a silly question to ask o’ -men wha hae gien their sons to serve as sogers and placed their horses, -and a’ their barns and cellars contain at your service.” - -“You don’t understand me. I mean do you intend staying in your houses -should the enemy come, or will you seek safety in Montreal?” - -“It wad be hard to gie up to the destroyer all we hae and that we -hae gaithered wi’ sic pains in years gane by. My ain mind is, and my -neebors agree, that we will stand by our property an’ tak chances.” - -“It is the resolve of brave men,” remarked the General, “but it may be -in the interest of the campaign to waste the country and leave neither -supplies nor shelter for the enemy.” - -“Gin sic should prove the case,” answered the farmer, “there’s no an -Auld Countryman on the river that wadna pit the fire to his biggin wi’ -his ain hand. Gear is guid, but independence is sweet.” - -“I hope you will not be asked to make such a sacrifice,” said the -Major, “we have reports here of reinforcements on the way that, if they -arrive in time, will enable us to meet the enemy.” - -The General here intimated to them to retire. Hemlock started as if -from a reverie. Going close to the General, he stretched out his right -hand after the manner of Indian orators. “You meet the Yankees as -soldier meets soldier. The red man meets them as the robbers of his -lands, the destroyers of his villages, the slayers of his race. The -land was ours, and they have driven us to the setting sun and left us -not even standing-room for our lodges. You have called us savages. Who -made us savages? The Indian forgets no kindness and forgives no wrong. -The hand that has despoiled and struck at us, we will seek late and -early, in light and dark, to smite. Our enemy for generations, the -enemy we are always at war with, is your enemy today. You may make -peace with him tomorrow. We never will. When the Indian dies, he gives -his hatchet to his sons. We offer you our help. Tell me to go and do -what I will, and the Americans will not drink of the St Lawrence. Ten -score Iroquois will keep up the war-whoop along the frontier until they -turn.” - -The General seemed annoyed and said sharply, “We take you as scouts, -not as comrades-in-arms. I will have no barbarian warfare.” - -Hemlock drew himself up with dignity as he said: “We are your allies, -not your hirelings. Our tribes declared war against the Americans -before you did, and if you will not accept our aid we withdraw this -night from your camp and shall fight on our own hand.” - -Major Henry perceived the mistake made by the General and hastened to -undo it. “King George,” he said, “is true to the treaty made with his -Indian allies and I am sure you will stand by it too. The General is -preparing his plans for receiving the Americans and the Indians will -have their place in it.” - -Without apparently heeding these words, Hemlock approached close to the -General. “I warn you,” he said, “if you reject our aid, great soldier -as you may be across the sea, in the warfare of these woods your light -will go out like this,” and with a wave of his hand he put out the -light of one of the two candles on the table. Turning on his heel, he -walked with stately stride out of the room. That night he and his band -left the camp and ceased to receive orders from headquarters. - - -CHAPTER X. - -“Well, Morton, our days of inglorious idleness are ended,” exclaimed -Col. Vanderberg. “I return from headquarters with orders for an -immediate advance.” - -“Thank heavens!” ejaculated Morton. - -“What! Do you rejoice at an attack on your country? Come, my good -friend, I see your judgment is overcoming your feelings, and you are -going to cast in your lot with us--the latest convert from monarchism -to republicanism.” - -“No, no: you need not banter me. What I rejoice at is the ending of -a policy of inaction that has kept you, my friend, and your humble -prisoner alike in wearisome suspense.” - -“It is ended: the die is cast, whatever the result may be. After dinner -squads of men begin to chop out a road from Smith’s, and tomorrow Izard -comes with reinforcements and under him we bear the banner of the -United States into Canada.” - -“And what do you propose doing with me when you advance?” asked Morton. - -“Hum! To leave you behind means your being returned to Four Corners, -with a chance of meeting the fate you twice escaped. It is against -all military rule, but you must go with us. I will not risk you in the -hands of these legal Sons of Mars--Spooner et al.” - -“Thank you, Colonel; again you have placed me under an obligation I can -never repay.” - -“I hope not,” answered the Colonel with a smile, “I’d rather not be His -Majesty’s prisoner even with Lieutenant Morton as my custodian.” - -“No, never; I wish to pay my debt of gratitude in no such way.” - -“Say no more, Morton, on that score. The happiest days I have spent -this summer have been since I made your acquaintance. If I did you a -good turn, I have had compensation. And now to work: there comes a -waggon creaking under its load of chopping axes.” - -The conversation took place at an outpost of Hampton’s army, close -upon the frontier, styled Douglas camp in official documents but known -familiarly among the soldiers as Fort Hickory, from the character of -the trees that prevailed at this spot. Colonel Vanderberg, instead of -placing Morton in custody as he half anticipated, when he dismounted -after his ride from Four Corners, took him into the house where he -was quartered, and told him in few words he was again on parole and -his guest. Without farther allusion to the humiliating and perilous -position from which he had snatched him, Col. Vanderberg made him -his friend and associate and each passing day strengthened the bond -between them. Each had experiences of interest to the other. The -Colonel had tales of peril on the Pennsylvania and Ohio frontiers in -protecting the settlements from Indian attacks, and Morton, in return, -gratified his curiosity as to the organization and character of the -British army and English life and habits. - -The following morning they had breakfast by candle-light, and on going -out, found the camp in a flurry of preparation, troopers ready to -mount, engineers with their tools over their shoulders, and a large -squad of brawny fellows in flannel shirts with axe in hand, drafted -from the various corps and hired from among the surrounding farmers to -clear a road to the Chateaugay. All was life, bustle, and confusion. -Jumping on horseback, the Colonel speedily got each man into his place, -and by the time this was effected, the drum-taps, by which they kept -step, of Izard’s column were heard, and that officer gave the word to -advance. Preceded by a squad of scouts and sharp-shooters to cover -them, the engineers and axemen moved on, then a body of infantry, -followed by the troopers, a few commissariat wagons bringing up the -rear. The Colonel and Morton were with the troopers. As the long and -picturesque cavalcade scrambled over the brow of a hill, the sun had -gained the ascendency, and the frost that had whitened everything now -sparkled on every stem and leaf as it melted in the sunbeams. The -atmosphere was clear and crisp, and the very odor that rose from the -fallen leaves added to its exhilarating quality. When the summit of the -ascent was reached, the declivity was abrupt enough to afford a lookout -over the tree-tops, and Canada lay outstretched a vast plain at their -feet. Far in the distance, could be seen a gleaming line, like a rapier -flung across a brown cloak. It was the St Lawrence. The Colonel drew -his horse to one side of the road, to permit the troops to pass, while -he scanned the inspiring scene. - -“All looks peaceful,” he said to Morton, “no sign that under the cover -of these woods an enemy awaits us.” - -“It is a grand view of a noble country,” replied Morton, “and you may -rely on it, there are men awaiting you who will shed the last drop of -their blood in its defence.” - -The Colonel, drawing his bridle, joined in the march and the glimpse -of Canada was lost under overhanging vistas of trees. “Do you know, -Morton,” he said, “it seems strange to me that our armies should meet -resistance from the Canadians. We speak the same language; we are of -the same stock. Why should they fight to the death against uniting with -us as equal partners in a free government?” - -“You forget, Colonel, that speech and origin are not the strongest -elements in national sentiment. You meet a woman with a big man -supporting her and bearing himself as if he were proud of her, and -you wonder at it, and say the man could find plenty whose faces are -pleasanter to look upon and which indicate more intelligence. The man -will admit all that, but he tells you the woman is his mother, and to -him she is better and more beautiful than all the women in the world -beside. In the same way, the British government may be inferior in -some points to your new Republic, may have made mistakes in the past, -and might be better in some regards, but then she is the mother of the -Canadians, and they will not desert her for bouncing Miss Columbia.” - -“That won’t do, Morton; you forget that the British government was -once, as you term it, our mother also.” - -“I did not forget that, and I hope I will not offend you, Colonel, by -saying that for that very cause the Canadians dislike Americans. You -turned upon your mother, you strove to compass her humiliation; the -very base of your patriotic feeling is hatred of her.” - -“That is putting it strong, Morton.” - -“I think not; the preamble of your declaration of independence is a -tirade of gratuitous charges against Great Britain.” - -“Then you think Canada will never unite with the Republic?” - -“I certainly think so, and those who live to see it, will find two -great English-speaking communities on this continent, with this radical -difference between them, that one reviles and seeks to injure the -mother-land from which they sprung and the other succors and honors -her.” - -A commotion in front stopped the conversation and two scouts were seen -dragging an old man between them towards the Colonel. - -“What’s this?” he asked sharply. - -“We have taken a prisoner!” cried one of the men in an exulting voice. - -“The divil take you,” interrupted the old man with contentious manner. -“Yees had no business wid me.” - -“We found him hiding behind some brush watching our men. He is a spy,” -said the scout. - -“Behind some brush! An’ whose brush was it? Me own, bedad.” - -“You had no business there.” - -“No business to be on my own farrum! Bad scran to ye, if I had yees in -Wixford I’d get the constable to arrist every man o’ yees for trispass.” - -“Come, hold your tongue,” said a scout roughly. - -“Hould yer own whisht. Ye havn’t mended yer manners since I saw yer -backs at Brandywine.” - -Col. Vanderberg smiled as he said to the scouts, “I am afraid you -have been too hasty. We are now in Canada and must not molest its -inhabitants. The old man is a non-combatant, and, as he declares, was -on his own farm when taken.” - -“If you had seen him kick and scratch and wriggle when we put hands -upon him, you wouldn’t say he was a non-combatant, Colonel. He swore -at the United States and said he kept one of our flags for his -pocket-handkerchief.” - -“Tut, tut,” exclaimed the Colonel, “we have not come to fight old men; -let him go.” - -“Ye’d betther,” remarked the old man with a grin, “or I’ll make ye -sorry.” - -“Now, what could you do?” asked the Colonel with an amused smile. - -The old man sidled up beside the bridle of the Colonel’s horse, and in -a tone of mock solemnity, while his eyes sparkled with fun, whispered, -“I’d put the curse of Cramwell an ye.” - -“Say, friend,” said Morton, “there is something about you that tells me -you are an old soldier. Were you ever in the army?” - -“Yis, but not in yer riffraff that ye’s call an army.” - -“You are mistaken in me,” replied Morton, and drawing aside his cloak -showed the scarlet coat of the British service. - -“An’ how did ye fall in wid dem rebels? A prisoner are ye, God save -us! You’ll be Leftenant Morton that was to be hanged, as I heard tell. -Well, well, since ye wern’t born to be hanged, it is drownded ye may -be. Av coorse I was in the army an’ got me discharge an’ a grant of -land from King George, an’ may the divil catch a hould o’ dem that -don’t wish him well.” - -“Are all your neighbors of the same mind?” asked the Colonel. - -“They are that same. Come wid me to my shanty an’ while I sind for ’im, -you will have an illigant dinner of praties an’ milk. There is not wan -on the frontier that does not say with Capt. Barron, God bless the King -an’ canfound his inimies.” - -“Thank you,” answered the Colonel, “but I have other fish to fry today. -Tell me this, old man, What difference would it make to you and your -neighbors that you should eat your potatoes and milk under the Stars -and Stripes instead of the Union Jack?” - -“Sure, that’s aisy answered. The differ between atin’ in an inimy’s -house an’ aitin’ in yer awn.” - -“Come, Morton, we lose time. Good-bye, old man,” and putting spurs -to his horse the Colonel galloped to regain his place in the column, -followed by Morton. - -By noon the scouts had reached the Chateaugay, which they forded -without hesitation and advancing on a shanty that stood on the bank, -surprised its inmates, a party of Canadian volunteers on outpost -duty, while taking an afternoon nap. This capture was of advantage to -the Americans, for it delayed by several hours intelligence of their -invasion being received at the British headquarters. Shortly afterwards -Col. Vanderberg arrived, who, without halting for refreshment, -accompanied Gen. Izard down the river some distance, examining the -country. On returning, men were set to work to prepare a camp for the -main army, which he knew was on the march. A thorough soldier, well -trained in bush fighting, the Colonel made his arrangements with an -acumen and decision that increased Morton’s regard for him. Before -sunset a line of scouts was established across the valley, a strongly -fortified post established, tents pitched, and a messenger sent with a -despatch to Hampton informing him all was ready. Not until then, did -the Colonel divest himself of his long-boots and draw up beside the -log-fire of the shanty of one Spears to discuss the fare his servant -had provided. - - -CHAPTER XI. - -On the morning after the events narrated in preceding chapter, General -Hampton left his quarters at Four Corners for the new camp. Escorted by -20 cavalrymen, he and his staff rode rapidly over the newly-cut road, -and by noon reached the Chateaugay. Halting on the bluff that overlooks -the junction of the Outard with that river, and whence he had full -view of the camp in busy preparation on the other side of the river, -he awaited the arrival of his tents. A stout man and well-advanced in -years, the exertion of the journey had fatigued him, and he sat, or -rather reclined, on a log in front of a blazing fire, for the day was -chilly, and grouped around him were the officers of his staff. At the -foot of the bank and in the near distance, were the troopers tending -their horses and the officers’ servants preparing dinner. - -From his elevated position, the General had a full view of the opposite -bank and he watched with complacency the arrival at the new camp, with -flutter of flag and tuck of drum, of frequent detachments. - -“Everything bodes favorably for our enterprise,” he remarked, “the -despatches that awaited me tell of unprecedented success. At every -point attempted our battalions have entered the enemy’s territory -unopposed and advanced unmolested. The Rubicon has been crossed and -terror-stricken the foe flies before us. This afternoon a special -messenger shall bear to Albany, New York and Washington the tidings of -our triumphant progress--of our undisputed taking possession of this -country to which the British authorities make a pretended claim.” - -“Your despatch will cause great rejoicing,” said an officer. - -“Yes, it will be hailed with loud acclaim, and my enemies who clamored -against me, will now perceive that what they stigmatized as inaction -was the profoundest strategy. Sixteen miles have we marched into the -enemy’s territory and not a hostile bayonet has been seen. Ha, who is -this? Draw your swords.” - -All eyes turned in the direction of the General’s, and a tall Indian -was seen standing immovably beside a giant pine. It was Hemlock. As he -remained motionless with folded arms, and was apparently unarmed, the -officers got over their alarm, and those who had laid their hands upon -their swords, dropped them. - -“Sirrah, what do you here? How passed you our guards?” shouted the -General. - -“I have come to speak with you. You are ten to one; your escort is -within hail of you, will you listen to me?” - -“Go on,” said Hampton. - -“You have a British officer held as prisoner. You wrote to Major Stovin -that you would set him free if the Indian who killed Slocum were given -in exchange. Do you stand by that offer?” - -“Morton goes free when the Indian is sent in.” - -“Give me an order for his release; the Indian goes to your camp at -once.” - -“That will not do, Mr Redskin. The exchange must be effected through -the British commander. Let him send an accredited officer with a flag -of truce and we will treat with him.” - -“Before that can be done, Morton may be dead. If you get the Indian -what care you for else? The Indian who killed Slocum passes into your -hands the moment Morton is given liberty.” - -“This is altogether irregular,” remarked an officer, “General Hampton -cannot deal with an irresponsible redskin, who, for all he knows, -has come here on some scheme of deviltry. See here, was it you that -murdered Slocum?” - -“I never murdered any man,” answered Hemlock proudly, “but I have -killed many in war. Had you the Indian who slew him, what would you do -to him?” - -“Well, I guess, if the General let us have our way, we would hand him -to the men of Slocum’s old regiment and they’d make him wish he had -never been born.” - -“The Indian might have had good cause for dealing with Slocum as he -did?” - -“No, you red devil, he could have no cause. He carved him up out of -pure deviltry.” - -“You are tired, General,” said Hemlock, with a courteous wave of the -hand, “and while you rest, will you listen to me, for I have heard -that Indian’s story? In the Mohawk valley lived an English family when -you Americans rose against King George. A neighbor, who had come from -Massachusetts, envied their farm, and, on the Englishman refusing to -forswear his allegiance, had it confiscated and took possession. The -Englishman had to fly and went through the woods, many days’ journey to -Canada, guided by a band of loyal Oneidas. When they reached Canada, -a young warrior of that band stayed with them and helped them to find -food in the wilderness until crops grew. That Indian gave up his tribe, -and lived with them and a daughter came to love him, and they were -married and were happy many years, until the mist rose from the lake -and she sickened and died. The Indian so loved her that he would have -killed himself to follow her to the spirit land, had she not left a -daughter, who was his joy and life. When she grew up, the Indian said, -She shall be the equal of the best, and he took her to Albany to be -taught all ladies learn. A young man saw her, met her, learned of the -Indian blood in her veins, and doomed her as his spoil. He was aided -by a companion in deceiving her by a false marriage, she lived with -him for a while, was cast off, and her deceiver married the governor’s -daughter. The Indian had gone on a far journey; he went to seek for -furs in the West to get money for his daughter. In two years he came to -Montreal with many canoe-loads, he sold them, he went to Albany, and -found his child dying of a broken heart. He took her away with him, he -nursed her by the Ottawa--he buried her there. He went back to Albany, -and was told the law could not punish Slocum or his friend, who had -gone away. Then he sought Slocum and twenty times he could have killed -him, but he would not. In his heart he said, Slocum must die not by the -knife or bullet, but by torture, and the chance came not until a moon -ago, when he met Slocum face to face in the Chateaugay woods about to -stab Morton. The Indian took Slocum, and for hours he made him feel -part of the pain he had caused him and his child--only a part, for you -who are fathers can guess what that Indian and his daughter suffered. -Was that Indian to blame? Did he do more to him than he deserved? Will -you give the father over to Slocum’s soldiers to be abused and killed?” - -“A good yarn,” remarked an officer, “and a true one, for I lived at -Albany then and saw the girl; pretty as a picture and simple as a baby. -If Major Slocum had not got his hand in first, some other fellow would -and she would have been made a fool of anyway.” - -“We will have nigger fathers running after us next,” sneered another -officer. - -“Did you know Slocum?” asked Hemlock of the first who had spoken, with -a quaver in his voice he could not control. - -“Guess I did. Slocum and Spooner were chums in those days, and by -----, I believe you are the father of the young squaw you make such a -bother about. Won’t we hold him, General?” So saying he rose, as if -waiting his assent to seize Hemlock. Before he could take a second -step, Hemlock, with a quick motion, snatched his tomahawk, which he had -concealed in his bosom, threw it, and leapt into the bush, where he was -lost to sight in a moment. The officer, without uttering a word, fell -on his back; the head of the tomahawk buried in his forehead. Stunned -by the event, the officers lost a few minutes in giving the alarm. When -search was made, it was in vain; Hemlock had not left a trace behind -him. - - * * * * * - -The evening set in dismal and rainy, with a raw east wind that made the -soldiers seek every available shelter. In the Forsyth household there -was the alarm natural to the knowledge that the invaders were within -a short distance, but the daily routine of duty was not interrupted -and everything had gone on as usual. All had retired to rest except -Maggie, who sat before the fire, building castles in the flickering -flames and dying embers. While so engaged, the door, never fastened, -opened softly, and Hemlock stepped in. Regardless of his sodden -garments, he crouched beside the girl, without uttering a word. “Do you -bring news of the coming of the enemy?” she whispered. - -“No: they are shivering in their tents.” - -“It is a cruel night to be out of doors.” - -The Indian nodded assent, and relapsed into silence. “Maggie,” he said -suddenly, “I may have to leave Morton to your care.” - -“Dear me, Hemlock, what can I do?” - -“I have done everything,” he went on to say, “that I could. I gave -him a chance to escape from his prison and today I offered Hampton to -surrender the Indian they want in exchange for him and he refused. He -will treat with the British General alone.” - -“That is surely easy, Hemlock. When the Yankees say they will give up -Mr Morton for the Indian they blame for murdering their officer, our -General will be glad to give up the Indian, provided he can be got.” - -“No: our General refuses, saying it would be an unheard of thing for -the British to give up an ally for an act of warfare, and he will not -listen to the Yankee demand.” - -“May be he says that because he cannot get the Indian,” suggested -Maggie. - -“I am the Indian,” said Hemlock curtly, “and I asked him to bind me -and send me to the American camp with a flag of truce, and all he said -was, ‘He would sooner hear of Morton being hung than be guilty of such -treachery to a faithful ally.’” - -“My, Hemlock! What made you be so cruel? That you have a feeling heart -I know, for I have seen you cry over your daughter’s----” - -With a quick gesture Hemlock stopped her. - -“Speak no more of that. It was because of my love for my child that I -tortured the wretch to death.” Here he paused, his features working -with emotions that cast them into frightful contortions. “Oh, Maggie, I -thought if I could have my revenge I’d be happy. I had my heart’s wish -on the spoiler of my child and today I brained the villain that helped -him, and I am more miserable than ever. My vengeance has done me no -good. My child, my daughter, oh come to me!” - -The heart of Maggie melted with sympathy. She rose and resting one hand -on his shoulder sought his with the other. “Take it not,” he said in a -whisper, “it is the hand of blood.” - -“Hemlock, I dinna judge you as I would ane o’ oor ain folk, for the -nature born with you is no like oors, let alane your upbringing, but I -ken you to be an honest, and wronged man, with a kindly heart, and I -would share your sorrow that I may lichten it.” - -The Indian was evidently touched. Grasping her hand he bent over it -and pressed it to his lips. After a long pause, Maggie added: “If you -would give up your heathen ways and turn to the Lord, your path would -become clear.” - -“I once followed the Lord,” said Hemlock, “I learned of Him from my -wife, and I taught my daughter to love Jesus, but when the cloud came -and its darkness blinded me, I put away the white man’s God and went -back to the ways of my fathers.” - -“Leave them again?” entreated Maggie. - -“Too late: I die as I am.” - -“But you are no going to die, Hemlock. You’ve many years to live.” - -“I die before the new moon comes; my oki told me so in a dream last -night, and that is why I have come to talk with you about Morton. You -love him?” - -Too honest to utter the “no” that came to her faltering tongue, -Maggie’s head drooped and her face flushed. - -“I know you do,” Hemlock went on, “and I know he loves you, tho’ his -heart has not told his head yet. I know not where he is; if I did, we -would attack his guard and rescue him this night. They took him away -from Fort Hickory and I have not got his track yet. When they find -where he is I want you to give orders to my men when I am gone.” - -“This is beyond me, Hemlock.” - -“Listen: I have told my Indians they must save him and to obey you.” - -“Tell my brothers or my father.” - -“The Indians would not obey them: they believe what I told them, that I -have given you my medicine. If Morton is not saved this week, he dies.” - -“If our men beat the Yankees will they not rescue him?” - -“Yankees would shoot him before they would let him escape, and they -will hang him if they retreat. They have let him live hoping to get me; -when they know they cannot, they will kill him.” - -Maggie shuddered. “And what am I to do?” - -Hemlock answered: “The Indian has a good hand but a poor head. When -they come and tell you they have found where Morton is kept, you will -order them when and how to make the attack and into the messenger’s -hand you will press this medicine, and tell him it will make success -sure.” Here he took a pouch from his breast and selected a small -package--something sewed up in a bit of bird’s skin. - -“I hope you will live to save your friend yourself,” said Maggie. - -Hemlock gloomily shook his head, and rising walked towards the door, -which he opened and stepped out into the cheerless night. Maggie -followed and looked out. She could see nothing: he was gone. That night -she rested all the more comfortably, from knowing that within hail was -a faithful band of Indians. - - -CHAPTER XII. - -Two days later Hemlock was one of a group standing on the north bank of -the river, where it broke into a short rapid, named from the settler -whose shanty overlooked it, Morrison’s rapid. The group included -representatives of the different corps that had been gathered together, -with several settlers. They were watching, in the fading twilight, a -thin line of moving red, emerging from the bush. It was a battalion -of the Canadian Fencibles that had come from Kingston to reinforce -deWatteville. The newcomers were soon among them, brawny Highlanders -from Glengarry, French Canadian lumbermen, and a number of farmers -from the English settlements in the east. They were greeted with the -earnestness men in peril welcome help, and assistance was given in -preparing such food as was available, while many sought rest after -their exhausting journey in the outbuildings of Morrison and in the -sheds that had been prepared for them. Their commander, Col. Macdonell, -a thin, wiry man, with a fair complexion that gave him the name of -Macdonell the Red, having seen his men disposed of, moved to the house. -At the door Morrison, himself a Highlander, bade his guest welcome in -the purest of Argyllshire Gaelic, and produced his bottle. After the -glass had passed round, Macdonell said, “We have come far to have a -tilt with the Yankees: will we be sure to meet them?” - -“That you will,” answered Morrison, “they are within four miles of you -and will pay us a visit, maybe, the morn.” - -“Ha! That news does me more good than your dram. When there is fighting -to be done, a Highlandman’s blood runs faster. Get us some supper -ready, and while we wait I’ll find out what has been done. Is there -none of the General’s staff here?” - -“Not an officer: they are all busy at the making of barricades; but -here is an Indian with a longer head than any of them, and who can -speak good English, which, however, is not to be compared with our -mother-language.” - -Resuming the use of the despised tongue--for he scorned to give English -the name of language--Morrison introduced Hemlock, and drawing him to a -corner of the hearth, Macdonell plied him with questions. The Indian, -using the ramrod of his musket, drew a plan of the country in the ashes -at their feet, explaining how the Americans were encamped a few miles -farther up the river and that to get to Montreal they must go down the -road that followed its north bank. To prevent him, General deWatteville -had caused the numerous gullies of creeks where they emptied into the -Chateaugay, to be protected by breastworks of fallen trees, behind -which the British would contest their advance. Six of these gullies had -been so prepared. In rear of them, was the main line of defence, placed -where the ground was favorable, and strengthened by breastworks and two -small cannon. - -“Aye, aye!” exclaimed Macdonell, “all very well if the Americans keep -to the road: but what are we to do should they try to flank us?” - -The Indian’s face darkened as he whispered, “deWatteville is a good man -but he is an Old World soldier who knows nothing about bush-fighting. -He would not believe me, when I told them there were bush-whackers in -the Yankee army who could march to his rear through the woods.” - -“That they could!” agreed the Colonel, “and where would he be then? And -what good would his six lines of barricades be? My own lads today came -over ground where regulars would have been bogged. Then the river can -be forded opposite this house. Could the Yankees get to this ford?” - -Hemlock said they could, when Macdonell answered he would see to it -that preparations were made to checkmate such a move. Finding Hemlock -acute and thoroughly acquainted with the field of operations, the -Highlander’s heart warmed to him as one of like soldierly instincts -as his own. Uncontaminated by the prejudice of race common to old -residents, he had no feeling against the red-men, and when supper was -ready he insisted on Hemlock’s sitting beside him, and in treating him -as his equal. As the evening wore on, officers from the neighboring -encampments dropped in to exchange greetings with the new-comers, and -an orderly brought instructions from the General. When Hemlock left to -join his band in their vigils along the enemy’s lines, he felt he had -not passed so happy an evening for a dozen of years. - -The night passed quietly and in the morning the enemy showed no -disposition to move, so that the preparations for their reception -went on, and the troops worked all day, the woods re-echoing the -sound of their axes as they felled trees to roll into heaps to form -rude breastworks. In the afternoon General de Watteville rode up -and carefully inspected all that had been done, and returned to his -quarters satisfied, and altogether unwitting that the attack was to be -made from another direction in a few hours. - -The day had been cloudy, cheerless, and cold, and as it faded, rain -began to fall. The men sought such cover and warmth as they could find -and the officers assembled to spend the night in carousing. So raw, -dark, and uninviting was it that not one in the British camp supposed -the enemy would be astir. But they were. At sunset, 1500 men left the -American camp, marched down to the river, forded the rapids, and began -their march down the south bank with the intent of capturing the ford -at Morrison’s at daylight. - -Next morning, the eventful 26th October, 1813, the Forsyths, -unsuspicious of what was passing under the woods around them, were at -breakfast, when the door was dashed in and Hemlock appeared, dripping -wet. “I want a messenger to go to Macdonell to tell him the Americans -are on their way to him,” he shouted. - -“Confound them,” exclaimed Forsyth, “I’ll gang at ance.” - -“An’ leave us twa women bodies oor lane?” complained his wife, “No, no, -you maun bide, an’ proteck us.” - -Hemlock was disconcerted. “Maggie,” he appealed, “won’t you go? Take -the canoe and you will be at the ford in a few minutes.” - -“Yes,” she responded, with quiet decision, “and what am I to say?” - -“Tell the Colonel that the Americans in strength are marching through -the woods on this side of the river, intending to surprise him and -capture his position. Their advance will be on him in half an hour. Say -to him, to send over men to meet them and I will join with my band. I -go to watch them.” Without another word, he left and rushed back into -the forest. - -Maggie stepped lightly to where the canoe was moored, loosened the -rope, and paddled down the river with all the strength she had. When -it struck the bank at Morrison’s she was glad to see so many astir -and hastened to the door. “You, Maggie, at this early hour,” cried Mrs -Morrison, “naething wrang I hope?” - -“I must see the Colonel,” she said, catching for breath. - -“There he is,” said Mrs Morrison, pointing to an officer engaged in -reading a letter by the fire. - -Maggie repeated Hemlock’s message. Macdonell listened with sparkling -eyes, and when she had done said, “Thank you, my bonnie lass, you have -done the King a service, and when the Yankees come they will find us -ready to gie their lang nebs a smell o’ oor claymores.” - -Hastening out, he gave his orders in quick succession, and with -surprising alacrity for a volunteer force, the men fell in. Two -companies were soon complete. “Now, Captain Bruyére, if your men do as -well as you will yourself all will be well; and for you, Captain Daly, -I know by long experience what a loyal Irishman is. Hold your ground -until I get up to you with the other companies.” - -The men quietly descended the bank and plunged into the river, which -took them nearly to the middle, for owing to the recent rains it was -deep. Gaining the opposite bank, they were swallowed up in the woods. -Gazing over the tree-tops, which looked peaceful in the calm of a dull, -moist, autumnal day, Maggie wondered what was going on beneath their -cover--wished she could see the advancing Americans and the men who -had just gone to meet them. There was an interval of suspense. Then, -suddenly, there was a sharp volley and the quiet air became filled -with shouts, and yells, and cries of frightened men. All at once there -burst from the bush on to the river bank, a good way up, a string of -habitants, flying in terror, their blue tuques streaming behind them, -and few of them having muskets, for they had thrown them away to aid -their flight. “The cowardly loons,” muttered Macdonell, “it would serve -them right to give them a taste of shot.” On reaching the ford, they -tumultuously dashed in. As the foremost came up the bank the Colonel -demanded an explanation. They had been surprised by the unexpected -appearance of a great host of Americans and ran to save themselves. -Attention, however, was now attracted from the fugitives by the -recommencement of the firing, which was sharp and continuous, relieved -by the yells and whoops of the Indians. - -“Hasten!” shouted Macdonell to the troops who were lining up, “do you -not hear the firing? Our comrades need us.” - -The head of the column had reached the water’s edge, when there was -a burst of cheering. “That’s our lads,” said the Colonel, “they must -have won the day. Halt! We will not seek to share the credit of their -victory.” In a few minutes a body of the Fencibles reappeared, with -several prisoners and bearing a few wounded men. Their report was that -they had encountered the advance guard of the American brigade, which, -although elated at the rout of the outpost of habitants, fled at the -first fire. The Colonel ordered the men to retire and wait behind the -breastworks that commanded the ford. “It is not likely,” he remarked -to his adjutant, “that the Americans will now attack us, seeing their -design to surprise us has miscarried.” Half an hour later, Hemlock -arrived with his braves, at whose girdles hung several fresh scalps. -He told Macdonell that the Americans had given up their intention of -gaining the ford and had gone into camp nearly two miles above, in a -grove beside the river. Seeing how slight was the prospect of more -fighting on that side of the river, he was going to join the main-body. -On hearing this reassuring news, Maggie slipped away to her canoe and -paddled homewards. - -On coming in sight of the shanty she was amazed and alarmed by the -change that had taken place in her short absence. American soldiers -were clustered around it, and a few horses picketed. Fearing the -worst, she drew near. Seated by the fire were several officers warming -themselves and drying their clothes, and with whom her mother was in -altercation. - -“Come to free us, say ye? What wad ye free us frae?” - -“From the tyranny of European monarchy,” answered an officer with a -smile. - -“It maun be a licht yoke that we never felt. Mak us free, dootless, -like that blackamoor servant that’s cooking yer breakfast.” - -“Waal, no,” said another officer, “yer a furriner, ye know, but yer -white.” - -“A foreigner!” exclaimed Mrs Forsyth, “hae I lived to be ca’ed in my -ain house, a foreigner! I belang to nae sic trash. Manners maun be -scarce whaur you come frae, my man.” - -“That’s all right, old woman; the old man will understand how it is. We -have come to make you independent.” - -“Auld man! Auld woman! God forgie you for haein’ nae respeck for grey -hairs. My guid man, sir, taks nae stock in ye or your fine words. Nicht -and mornin’ does he pray for King George an’ that his throne may be -preserved. You’re a set o’ land-loupers, wha hae nae business here an’ -its my howp afore nicht you may be fleein’ back to whaur ye cam frae.” - -“Canada folk are not all like you.” - -“Ay, that they are. There’s no an’ Auld Country family from here to the -Basin that winna gie you the back o’ their hand, an’ no ane that wadna -suner lose a’ than come unner yer rule.” - -Afraid that further controversy might result unpleasantly, Maggie left -her attitude of listening outside the door and entered. One or two of -the younger officers rose and bowed; the others stared. - -“Oh, Maggie, I wish you had stayed where you were,” said her mother, -“you have come into the lion’s den, for your father is no maister here.” - -“I am sure, mother, these gentlemen will not harm us.” - -“Not at all,” interrupted one of the strangers, “and in a few hours we -will leave you alone again.” - -“The sicht o’ your backs will be maist welcome,” remarked Mrs Forsyth. - -“Where is father?” - -“Helpin’ thae Yankees to get a haud o’ his ain property. They took him -oot to get fodder for their horses.” - -There was a bustle outside and presently two soldiers carried in a -young lad, in lieutenant’s uniform, whose white face told that he had -been wounded. They were about to lay him down in front of the fire, -when Mrs Forsyth darted forward: “No, na; dinna pit the puir chiel on -the floor; tak him to my ain bed,” and she helped to place him there. -Two surgeons took off his coat and shirt, when the wound appeared; a -bullet had gone through the fleshy part beneath the arm-pit, causing -some loss of blood without doing serious injury. When the surgeons -said he would recover, Mrs Forsyth’s face beamed and she bustled -about to get the requisites needed to clean and dress the wound, -while, under her orders, Maggie made gruel to revive his strength. -While thus engaged, officers came and went, and the house was never -without several of them. There came a tall, square-built man, whose -shoulder-straps indicated high rank, and his quiet, resolute face one -accustomed to command. He advanced to the bed where the wounded lad -lay, asked a few questions, and spoke encouragingly to the sufferer. - -“It is too bad that Dingley, of all our corps, should have had this -luck,” remarked an officer. - -“Yes, and to no purpose. I fear the miscarriage of our plan to surprise -the ford will lead to the abandonment of the purpose to capture -Montreal.” - -“There is not a man in the army that does not wish we were in -winter-quarters. To fight in such a country at this season is more than -flesh and blood can stand.” - -“Yet to go back will disgrace us,” said the superior officer, who -withdrew. - -“Who is that?” asked Maggie of one of the surgeons. - -“That is Col. Purdy, and if he had been in command we would not have -spent all summer doing nothing and come here in the end of October.” - -“Yet he failed in capturing the ford,” remarked Maggie, with a sparkle -in her eye. - -“He could not help the weather and the dark night that kept us standing -in the woods until daybreak. After all, we would have surprised the -guard and taken the ford had it not been for somebody, perhaps a -traitor among ourselves, who carried word of our coming.” - -“Maybe,” said Maggie demurely, “but you did not get the ford and what -can you do now?” - -“Nothing, I am afraid. The failure of our brigade to carry the key of -the enemy’s position may cause the General to give up the enterprise.” - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -On leaving Morrison’s, Hemlock hurried to the front, followed by -his braves. As he reached each successive line of defence he paused -briefly to scan it, but when he came to that which had been entrusted -to the Indians, and which was within sight of the front, he halted to -fraternize with his brethren and share their fare, for it was now noon. -The urgent requests of the chiefs, that he should stay with them and -aid in the threatened conflict, he declined, saying he wanted to be -with the first line, and his dusky comrades afterwards recalled that -he parted with more than usual ceremony and that when he and his small -band gained the eminence on the other side of the ravine, he looked -back and waved his hand in farewell. A tramp of a few minutes brought -him to the advance line, where he found men still busy felling and -rolling trees to strengthen the abattis. Inquiring for the officer in -command he came upon him, a short, broad-shouldered man, engaged in -swearing at one of his men for neglect of duty. On seeing the Indians -he turned, and with hearty gesture grasped Hemlock’s extended hand. -“Ha, bon camarado, have you come to help?” - -“Will there be a fight?” asked Hemlock. - -“Yes, yes; stand on this stump and you can see for yourself.” - -With cautious movement Hemlock scanned the scene. In front of the -abattis there was a narrow clearing that skirted the river bank as far -as the view extended. On the road and adjoining fields were masses of -American troops, with the smoke rising from the fires at which they -were cooking dinner. “You see, Hemlock,” said Colonel deSalaberry, -“they may make an attack any minute. Those mounted officers looking at -us from the road are the General and his staff.” - -Hemlock gave a grunt of satisfaction. “Where will we stand?” he asked. - -“Get into the woods and cover our flank,” deSalaberry replied. Without -another word, Hemlock motioned to his men and led the way to where -the line of defence ended in the bush. Here he spread out his men and -awaited the onset. Half an hour passed when the roll of drums was -heard, and Hemlock saw a brigade falling into rank on the road. When -all were in place, the column moved slowly, for the road was a canal of -mud intersected by pools of water. As they approached within range the -order to deploy was shouted, and the men streamed on to the clearing -until a line the length of the field was formed. Then they faced round, -and Hemlock heard the command to advance, when the Americans came on, a -solid wall of humanity, moving with slow and steady step. Instantly, -the bushy abattis, behind which the British lay, silent as the grave -until now, became alive with the puffs of musket-shots and the shouts -of those who fired them. On the Americans came with even step until -well within blank range, when they were halted and the order given -to fire by platoons. The regular roll of musketry that ensued spoke -well for their nerve and discipline. The shower of bullets they sent -streaming into the bush in front of them had no effect in checking -the opposing fire, which was irregular but lively. It soon became -apparent that firing by platoons was a waste of ammunition, a mere -flinging of bullets into the tree-tops, and there was a movement in the -companies in the column next the woods, which were swung forward, in -order that they might gain a position which would enable them to pour -a cross-fire into the British position. The men moved steadily, all -the while pouring in volleys, that caused the defenders of the upper -end of the British line to leave and go lower down. It was a critical -moment. The British line was in danger of being flanked, and Hemlock -saw its peril. He with his band were concealed in the woods that edged -the clearing, and so far had not fired a shot, for Hemlock, who knew -the futility of irregular troops engaging in a musketry duel with a -disciplined force, had determined not to show where they were until the -Americans came to close quarters. Now he saw his opportunity. Signing -to his men to follow, he stealthily crept until he was close behind -the American companies that were edging to flank the British line. -When near upon the unsuspecting Americans, he sprang to his feet, gave -the war-whoop, and fired his musket, his followers doing likewise. The -Americans looked round in terrified astonishment, and saw the Indians -leaping towards them with ear-piercing yells and brandishing their -tomahawks. They wavered, broke rank, and fled towards their supports, -who were a short distance behind. Hemlock bounded among the fleeing men -and two had fallen under his hand, when a volley of bullets from the -supporting column came shrieking through the air. All save one passed -harmlessly over the heads of the red-men--that one struck Hemlock in -the breast, and he sank upon his right knee. Alarmed at his fall, his -men desisted from following the fleeing enemy, and seizing hold of him -hurried into the shelter of the woods. They laid him down and were -about to loosen his jacket, for he was in a faint, when there rose a -burst of cheering from the British line, on seeing the success of the -Indians’ diversion. The sound caught the ear of the dying chief. His -eyes opened as from slumber, rolled wildly for a moment, and his breast -heaved convulsively. He staggered to his feet, and lifting aloft his -tomahawk, dripping with the blood of its last victim, he raised the -war-whoop, suddenly stopped short, rolled unsteadily, and then fell -as a pine-tree falls. An Indian knelt down beside him and raised his -head while he pressed his hand on his forehead. There was no responsive -throb. Hemlock was dead. - - * * * * * - -“I would swear that was Hemlock’s whoop,” said Morton to himself. He -stood amid a group of cavalrymen who were watching intently what was -going on from a field within easy view. He had followed the engagement -with intelligent interest; had noted how the American infantry had -advanced, deployed, formed line, and opened fire on the British -position. What followed provoked him. When he saw how ineffectual -the British fire was upon the American ranks, though standing in -the open and within easy range, he ground his teeth in vexation. -“Those militiamen could not hit a barn; a hundred regulars would have -decimated the American column with half the ammunition that has been -spent,” he muttered to himself. When the upper end of the American -line swung forward, his thoughts changed. “Ah, they are going to fix -bayonets and carry our position by assault. God help our lads.” He -was mistaken; the movement was to gain a point whence to rake the -British position with an enfilading fire. As he saw the Americans move -forward unopposed and the British fire slacken from the bush opposite, -his heart sank. “The day is lost: in five minutes the Americans will -have possession of the far end of that bushy entrenchment, and it -will be untenable.” Suddenly the war-whoop of the Indians was heard, -then came their wild assault, and the flight of the Americans. “Well -done, Hemlock!” exulted Morton, “no other lungs than yours could have -raised that shriek and your timely move has certainly checked the -attempt to flank the British position. What next?” Having ascertained -so unpleasantly that the wood to their left was held by Indians, the -Americans did not try again to turn the British position, and the -companies that had broken in disorder were reformed and placed in -rear, while the battalions in line continued to pour volleys into the -bush heaps in front of them. Hampton and his staff were on horseback, -watching the progress of the contest from a bit of rising ground by -the river. At this juncture Morton observed him signal with his hand -to some one on the other side of the river, and from that quarter, -soon after, came the rattle of musketry. It did not last long and when -it died away, an orderly was detached from the General’s staff and -came galloping to deliver a message to Izard, who instantly gave the -order to cease firing. The column fell back a few paces and the men -stood in rank, awaiting orders. To Morton’s surprise, firing from the -British line also ceased, and the two combatants simply looked at one -another. “Can it be,” asked Morton, “that our General does not want -to provoke an engagement and would be content to see the Americans -leave?” The brief October day was drawing to an end, and still the -American brigade stood immovable and there was not a sign of life -along the British line. When the grey clouds began to be tinged by the -setting sun, and it was apparent nothing more could be done that day, -Izard received the order to fall back. As if on parade, the evolutions -requisite were gone through and the column began its march to the camp, -three miles in rear. - -“Hillo, Morton, you seem stupefied. Lost in amaze at the gallantry of -your comrades-in-arms permitting a brigade to file off under their nose -without an attempt to molest them. Eh?” The voice was that of Colonel -Vanderberg. - -“I confess you interpret my thoughts,” answered Morton. “I am glad to -see you back.” - -“I have had a fatiguing day’s duty and am not yet done. I have just -left the General, who instructed me to go over and see Purdy and -arrange for the withdrawal of his force. Will you come with me?” - -“That I will; I am tired of standing here.” - -As they approached the river, Morton noted that the bank was strongly -picketted by infantry and that a body of cavalry were bivouaced in a -field beside the road. Stepping upon a raft that had been extemporized -to form a ferry with the other side, the Colonel and Morton were landed -in the midst of Purdy’s men, who were making themselves as comfortable -as possible before their campfires. They looked tired and dejected. -The Colonel was told Purdy had gone to remain until morning with his -outposts, as a night attack upon them was looked for. Accompanied by -a soldier to show them the way they went on, now floundering thru’ -marshy spots and again jumping little creeks, alternating with bits -of dry bank and scrubby brush, until they emerged into a clearing. -Morton caught his breath with astonishment. In front was the shanty -of the Forsyths! He had had no idea it was so near. The door was -open and he could see it was full of officers. Around the house were -resting a strong body of troops. Col. Vanderberg pushed in and was -soon in earnest conversation with Purdy, who sat smoking by the fire. -Morton remained at the door and scanned the interior, which was filled -by a cloud of tobacco-smoke and reeked with the odor of cooking and -of steaming wet clothes. In the corner, where the bed stood, he saw -Maggie leaning over a recumbent youth, whose white face and bandaged -shoulder told of a wound. Morton’s heart jumped at sight of her and -his lips twitched. The next moment, as he saw how gently she soothed -the sufferer, a pang of jealousy succeeded, and he clenched his teeth. -Pulling his cloak more tightly around him he entered and drew up behind -Colonel Vanderberg, who was saying, “Then I am to tell the General from -you, that you will not join him tonight.” - -“Yes, tell him I cannot; that the river is too deep to ford and too -wide to bridge and that it is out of the question to cross 1500 men on -rafts. At daylight we will march back the way we came and join him at -Spears.” - -“It will be an unwelcome message, for he counted on your rejoining him -tonight.” - -“I care not,” bluffly retorted Purdy, “I am a soldier and know a -soldier’s duty and have to think of those under me. I’ll risk no lives -to humor his whims.” - -“He fears a night assault upon your brigade.” - -“So do I,” replied Purdy, blowing a cloud of tobacco smoke, “and would -fear it more if assailed while on the march through these woods or in -the endeavor to cross the river. The General should have ordered us to -retire while there was daylight.” - -“Ah, well, I have delivered my message and must go back with my answer. -Come, Morton.” - -At the sound of the familiar name Maggie looked round, and when her -eyes fell on Morton, she blushed deeply. To hide her confusion from -the roomful of men, she turned her back and bowed her head close to -the pillow whereon lay the head of the patient. More nettled than -ever, Morton started to move quickly away, when there appeared at the -doorway the frail form of Mrs Forsyth. “God be gude to us, if this is -no Morton. Oh but I’m gled to see you and sae will the gudeman. I went -out to look for him, an’ hav’na found him, but he’ll sune be here an’, -onyway, you’re going to bide wi’ us.” - -“I am sorry that I cannot.” - -“But ye maun. Ye dinna ken hoo yer takin’ awa’ concerned us and pit us -aboot.” - -“You forget I am a prisoner.” - -“Prisoner! You are nae prisoner. You’re noo in oor hoose an’ you’ll -just bide here an’ let thae Yankees gae awa.” - -“I am afraid they would insist on taking me with them.” - -“Hoots, man, I’ll haud ye. Maggie, do you ken Morton’s come?” - -“Yes, mother; I saw him.” - -“Weel, come ower and mak him stay an’ no gang back to be bullyragged by -a wheen Yankees.” - -Maggie made no reply, but turned to avoid the gaze of the Americans -attracted by the scene at the door and her mother’s words. Morton also -felt mortified at the situation. “Thank you, Mrs Forsyth, but I must -go, and tell your husband and sons I have never forgot them and never -will.” Eluding her grasp he followed Colonel Vanderberg, who stood -outside the door with laughing countenance. He had not gone far when a -swift step was heard behind and his name was uttered. Turning he saw -Maggie, who held out her right hand. “Take this,” she said, “I may -not see you--again.” There was a sob as she uttered the last word. He -grasped what she held to him and before he could say a word she had -turned and fled back to the house. Morton held the object up to the -light of the nearest camp-fire. It was his signet-ring. - -More perplexed than ever, angry with Maggie and angry with himself, -he braced himself and followed the Colonel in silence until the camp -was reached. Supper awaited them, and that disposed of, the Colonel, -wearied with his day’s exertion, flung himself on the ground and fell -asleep. Morton tried in vain to do likewise. - -At daybreak the army was astir and the expectation of the men was -an order to renew the assault upon the British position. No such -order came, and it was wearing well into the forenoon when the -commanding-officers were summoned to attend at the General’s tent to -hold a council-of-war. Among others Colonel Vanderberg went. Morton -watched eagerly his return, and when he came his questioning eyes told -what his tongue, from courtesy, would not ask. “Well, Morton, you would -like to know what has been decided upon, and as it is no secret, I will -tell you. The campaign has been abandoned and the army goes back to the -States to go into winter-quarters. We marched into Canada to co-operate -with Wilkinson. Last night the General received a despatch that he had -not yet left Sackett’s Harbor, while we supposed he was now steering -his triumphant way down the St Lawrence, and might even be at the mouth -of the Chateaugay waiting for us. It was argued that, as Wilkinson had -not moved, and it was uncertain if he would, nothing was to be gained -by our army going on, for, without the flotilla, we could not cross -the St Lawrence to take Montreal.” - -“And what of the disgrace of retiring before an enemy whom you have -burnt powder with for an afternoon?” - -“There you have us, Morton. I urged that, before we fell back, the -honor of our flag required our routing the enemy in front of us, but -the General showed that he has had all along complete information of -its position and strength, obtained from spies and deserters--that -there are six lines of wooden breastworks, held by Indians and light -troops, and that only after storming them would we come in face of -the main position, where the regulars are entrenched with cannon and -commanded by Sir George Prevost in person. When there was nothing to -be gained, it was asked, what was the use of further fighting? The -miscarriage of the attempt under Purdy to flank the enemy’s position -discouraged our officers, who, altho’ they do not say it, want to get -away from this miserable condition of cold and wet and mud.” - -“So we go back whence we came?” remarked Morton moodily, as he thought -of the stable at Chateaugay. - -“My dear fellow, bear up; I will do my best to have you exchanged.” - -Morton shook his head as he said, “I am not held as a prisoner of war.” - -The Colonel bit his lip. “I have not told you all. The carrying of the -decision of the council to Wilkinson was entrusted to me.” - -“And so you leave me!” exclaimed Morton sadly. - -“I start after dinner, and cheer up, man; we will have a good one as a -farewell feast.” Then, with evident hesitation, the Colonel went on, -as delicately as possible, to show Morton that he had better withdraw -his parole and go again under a guard. Removed from his protection, it -would not be safe to move among men soured by an unfortunate campaign. -Morton assented and expressed his thanks for advice he knew it pained -the Colonel to give. Dinner over, the Colonel’s horse was brought, and -with a warm grasp of the hand he bade Morton good-bye, leapt into the -saddle, and galloped out of sight. Morton saw him not again. - -In a despondent mood Morton turned away and sought the guard-tent, -when he gave himself up to the officer-of-the-day, who accepted his -surrender as a matter of course. The soldiers took little notice of -him, being in high spirits at the prospect of going back to the States -and busily engaged in the preparations to leave. That afternoon part -of the baggage-train left and went floundering along the muddy road -to Four Corners. As evening drew nigh, the rain, accompanied by a raw -east wind, recommenced, flooding the level clearances upon which the -tents were pitched and making everybody miserable. The captain of the -guard sought shelter from the blast and the water by causing the tents -he controlled to be pitched on the slope of a hollow scooped out by a -creek, and in one of them Morton lay down along with seven soldiers. -Sleep soon came to relieve him of his depression in mind and discomfort -of body, and the hours sped while he was so unconscious that he did -not hear when his companions left to take their turn on duty and those -they relieved took their places in the tent. His first deep sleep was -over when he felt that some furtive hand was being passed over the -canvas to find the opening. When the flap was drawn aside, so dark was -it that he could not distinguish who stood there. He supposed it was -some belated private seeking cover from the pelting rain and he was -about to turn and resume his slumber when a flint was struck and the -tent was lit for a moment by its sparks. Somebody lighting a pipe, he -said, too drowsy to look. A minute afterwards he felt that the curtain -of the tent where his head lay was being cautiously lifted and soon a -hand reached in, touched his face, and then catching the collar of his -coat began pulling. He made a motion to resist, when a voice whispered, -“Hemlock.” In a flash he realized he was about to be rescued, and, -guided by the hand that grasped him, slowly crept out. No sooner was he -upon his feet, than he felt men were gliding past him into the tent. -All at once there was a sound of striking, as of knives being driven -into the bodies of the sleeping inmates, a slight commotion, a few -groans, and then all was still. Morton’s flesh crept, as he guessed -at the horrid work in which the Indians were engaged. So intensely -dark was it, that he could see nothing. There was a slight shuffling -of feet and he was grasped by the arm on either side and hurried -forward. He knew they were following the course of the ravine, for he -could hear the wash of the creek. Suddenly his conductors came to a -halt and there was a pause, until a faint chirrup was heard. Then the -bank was climbed and, emerging on a clearance, Morton saw the tents of -the American camp some distance to his left, lit up by the smoldering -fires that burned dimly between the rows. Looking round, he for the -first time saw his companions, who were, as he suspected, a band of -Indians. Taking advantage of every available cover the Indians glided, -in single file, across the bit of open that intervened between where -they stood and the bush. When its shelter was gained, they halted on -a dry knoll, and squatted, when they began to giggle and to chatter -in their native tongue, plainly exulting over the success of their -raid. Morton tried to communicate with them, but found they could not -speak English, and the only word they uttered which he recognized was -“Hemlock,” altho’ that great chief was not among them. One of them -could speak a little French, which, however, Morton did not understand. -When daylight began to creep in upon the darkness, they became alert, -and as soon as it was clear enough to see where they were going they -started; Morton had no idea in what direction. All he knew was, that -their course led them over a swampy country intersected by stony -ridges, and that had it not been that the leaders of the file broke a -path he could never have followed. The exertion was exhausting and he -would have succumbed at the end of the first hour had it not been that -the spirit of freedom elated him, and the knowledge that every mile -he overtook increased the distance between him and the hated bondage -from which he had escaped spurred him on. On the edge of an apparently -limitless swamp they paused before entering upon it to have a smoke. -It was apparent that they carried no food. Morton sank upon a pile of -leaves that had drifted against a log and stretched his wearied legs. -Refreshed by the rest, he faced the swamp with courage, soon finding, -however, that, without the help of the Indians, he could have made -little headway. With the light step and agility of cats they stepped -over quaking surfaces and sprang from log to log until solid land was -reached, and with it came the sound of rushing water. Escaping from the -brush, a broad river, dashing impetuously over a rocky channel, burst -in view. Following its bank in single file, Morton saw it grew wider, -until it expanded into a lake, when he knew it was the St Lawrence. -On coming opposite the promontory that marked the inlet of the river -from the lake, the Indians eagerly scrutinized it. Gathering some damp -leaves they made a smoke. The signal was seen by those opposite, for -a long-boat was launched from under the trees and rapidly approached -them. Morton’s heart leapt with joy when he distinguished that the -steersman had a red-coat on, and as the boat drew nearer and he -could make out the ruddy countenances of the crew, frank and open in -expression, and catch the sound of their hearty English speech, he -could not resist the impulse to swing his hat and wake the echoes with -a lusty cheer. The Indians grinned and one clapped him on the back in -high approval. - -The corporal in charge of the boat informed Morton that he belonged to -the garrison of Coteau-du-lac and was, for the week, with the party -on the point, to guard the south channel. There were so many Indians -that the boat had to leave part for a second trip. On landing at the -point Morton was warmly welcomed by the officer in charge, and given -the best he had, which proved to be fried pork and biscuit. At noon -the boat that daily brought supplies from Coteau arrived, and in it -Morton with the Indians embarked. As soon as he stepped ashore, he -made for the commander’s quarters and was shown into the presence of -Col. Lethbridge. On announcing who he was, the Colonel welcomed him -as one from the dead and impatiently demanded to hear when and how he -had escaped. When he came to tell of the exploit of the preceding -night, and that the Indians who had performed in it were waiting in -the barrack-yard, the Colonel thumped the table and swore each man of -them would take home all the tobacco and pork he could carry. Going out -to see them before they left, Morton learned through an interpreter -of Hemlock’s death and that his rescue was in fulfilment of an order -he had left. They were going to Oka to join the party who were on the -way from the Chateaugay with his body, to bury it beside that of his -daughter, and hold a funeral lodge. Morton was deeply moved. “Faithful -soul,” he exclaimed, “would to heaven he had lived that I might have -shown him my gratitude.” Applying to the paymaster he obtained an -advance, and in parting with the Indians pressed a big Mexican dollar -into the hand of each of them. - -Colonel Lethbridge insisted on Morton’s being his guest, and after -leaving him in his bedroom sent his servant to wait upon him, and who -brought a fresh suit of clothes. Morton was the hero of the garrison, -and when he appeared at the mess-table, so many complimentary speeches -were made, so many songs sung, and so many toasts drank that it was -nigh midnight when he got to bed. He rose next morning intent on -entering harness again, and over a late breakfast discussed with Col. -Lethbridge as to how he could rejoin his regiment, which had been -called to the Niagara frontier, and it was agreed he should go by the -next convoy, always provided Wilkinson did not come, which, after what -Morton reported of Hampton’s army returning to the States, Lethbridge -doubted. Each day tidings of Wilkinson’s leaving the shelter of -Sackett’s Harbor had been looked for, and the feeling was that unless -he left within a week he would not come at all, for the season was now -well-advanced, and already on several mornings had ice formed round -boats while lying at Coteau. Col. Scott had been sent to Cornwall -to superintend the preparations there, and Lethbridge had taken his -place at the less important point. The following week the unexpected -happened--late one afternoon a gunboat came down the lake under press -of canvas, with word that Wilkinson had started--was descending the -river with a flotilla of 300 boats bearing 7000 men. A few days of -excitement and wearing suspense succeeded, and then, came word of the -battle of Crystler’s Farm--how a strong brigade of Americans had landed -at the head of the Long Sault rapids to clear the north bank of the -batteries the British had planted to prevent the flotilla descending -and been routed by General Boyd. Treading upon the heels of the news -of that decisive victory came the announcement that Wilkinson had -abandoned his undertaking and had gone back to the United States by -sailing into Salmon river with his beaten army. The campaign was ended -for the season, and troops were ordered into winter-quarters. The day -the news reached Coteau of Wilkinson’s flight to French Mills, a string -of boats came up loaded with military stores for Upper Canada and a few -troops. To Morton’s astonishment, among them was the detachment he had -conducted to the Chateaugay. The camp there having been broken up, they -were on their way to join the regiment, and hoped to reach it before -navigation closed. Gladly Morton resumed command and six days later -reported at Niagara. - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -After a night of excitement from wild alarms, the Americans left the -Forsyth household at daylight, leaving not one behind, for even the -wounded officer they carried with them in a litter. Utterly worn out -the family sought rest, and it was late in the day when the father -arose, and leaving the others, sleeping, went out to see what of his -property had been left. The more closely he examined the more fully -the unwelcome fact was forced upon him, that he was left destitute, -and when he came upon the black head of his cow, which the soldiers -had slaughtered for beef, he sat down in a despairing mood. “It’s no -for mysel’ I’m troubled,” he exclaimed, “but for my ailin’ wife and -puir Maggie! To face a Canadian winter wi’ a bare loof is awfu.” And -he gave way to a fit of despondency. “This winna do,” he said with a -rueful look at the devastation around him, “a stout heart to a stey -brae, and wi’ God’s help, I’ll mak the best o’t.” When Maggie sometime -afterwards appeared at the door he was industriously laboring to bring -his surroundings into order. “Weel, lass, an’ hoo are ye after oor big -pairty?” - -“No so ill; but, father, what are we to do, there’s no a bite in the -house? The cellar is rookit as clean as if a pack of wolves had visited -it.” - -The old man approached and taking his daughter by the hand drew her to -the seat by the door-step. “Maggie, I ken ye hae a brave spirit and can -bear the worst. I am a ruined man. The Yankees have eaten us oot o’ -house an’ hold. The very boards o’ the byre hae been torn awa’ to licht -their fires. Oor coo, the young beasts, the pigs, hae a’ been eaten. -There’s no even a chuckie left.” - -“O but there is,” interrupted Maggie, “see to Jenny Tapknot over -there,” pointing smilingly thro’ tears to a favorite chicken that had -eluded the soldiers and was eyeing them from a branch. - -“Weel, weel, we hae one leevin’ thing left us. O’ a’ oor crop there -is naething to the fore but the unthreshed wheat, an’ mickle o’t is -useless from the sojers using it to lie on.” - -“Was it right, father, for them to take your property without paying -you?” - -“Pay me! The thocht o’ paying a subject o’ the King never entered their -heids. Micht is richt wi’ them. What we are to do is no just clear to -me yet, but we’ll trust in Him wha has never failed to supply oor bite -an’ sup. Only, Maggie, ye maun for yer mither’s sake put a cheerfu’ -face on’t an’ mak the best o’t.” - -“Hoot, father, what gars ye doot me? We hae aye been provided for an’ -sae will we yet, says the auld sang. You take the canoe an’ go down to -Morrison’s an’ see what you can get there to keep us going until the -morn, an’ while you’re away I’ll red the house an’ hae a’ ready for -supper gin mither wakens.” - -With brightened face and hopeful step the old man did as asked and -did not return empty-handed. Over the frugal meal the situation was -discussed and both the husband and daughter were glad to see that the -calamity that had overtaken them so far from overwhelming Mrs Forsyth, -roused her, and revived the active and hopeful spirit that had been a -feature in her character before ailments and age had overtaken her. -Long and earnest was the consultation by the fireside that night, and -many a plan proposed to tide over the long months that must intervene -before another harvest could be reaped. As bed-time drew near, the -father lifted down the book, and after they had sung the 23rd psalm, -he read the 17th chapter of First Kings, and poured out his heart in -thanksgiving for the unnumbered blessings bestowed upon him and his, -and, above all, for the departure of the invader. - -Two days afterwards, when it had become assured that Hampton was in -leisurely retreat whence he came, those of the militia, at Baker’s -camp, who wished were given leave to go to their homes, and the Forsyth -lads returned. They were much exasperated at the plundered state -of their home, and more provoked than before at the policy which -permitted the enemy to journey back over 24 miles of Canadian territory -without attempt to harass him. Leaving the scanty pay they had received -as soldiers, it was arranged they should go lumbering for the winter, -their wages to be sent home as they got them. The winter proved a hard -one. The presence of so large a body of troops had consumed much of -the produce the settlers needed for themselves, and although they had -been paid what they considered at the time good prices they now found -it difficult to procure what they wanted from Montreal. The result to -the Forsyths was, that their neighbors were unable to give them much -help and had it not been that the miller at the Basin gave credit, they -would have been sometimes in actual want. Despite the bareness of the -cupboard, the winter was a happy one: the very effort to endure and -make the best of their hard lot conducing to cheerfulness. When the -snow began to melt, the sons returned, and the new clearing at which -the father had worked all winter was made ready for seed, so that more -land than before was put under a crop. The pinch was worst in July and -until the potatoes were fit to eat. After that there was rude plenty -and an abundant harvest was reaped. - -With returning comfort Mrs Forsyth began to fail. Whether it was the -effects of the lack of usual food, or the strain to help the family -having been beyond her strength, signified little. With the coming of -the snow she began to lose strength and, as her husband saw with deep -sorrow, “to dwine awa.” She accepted her lot uncomplainingly, studying -how to give least trouble, and spending her days between her bed and -the easy chair by the fireside, generally knitting, for she said she -hoped to leave them a pair of stockings apiece. The New Year had passed -and the days were lengthening when it was plain her rest was near. - -It was a beautiful day when she asked that her chair be moved so that -she could see out at the window. The brilliant sunlight fell on the -snow that shrouded the winding course of the Chateaugay and flecked the -trees, while a blue haze hung in the distance that prophesied of coming -spring. “A bonnie day,” she remarked. - -“Ay,” replied Maggie, “warm enough to be a sugar day.” - -“It’s ower fine to last and there will be storms and hard frost afore -the trees can be tapped,” said Mrs Forsyth, “an’ I’ll no be here to -help.” - -“Dinna say that, mither; the spring weather will bring you round.” - -“Na, na, my bairn. The robin’s lilt will no wauken me, nor will my een -again see the swelling bud, but through the mercy o’ my God I trust -they will be lookin’ on the everlasting spring o’ the bidin’ place o’ -his people.” - -“Oh, mither: I canna bear the thocht o’ parting wi’ you.” - -“It’s natural to feel sae; my ain heart-strings were wrung when my -mither deed, an’ yet I see noo it was for the best. I have become a -cumberer o’ the grund, unable to labor even for an hour a day in the -vineyard, and sae the Maister o’t is goin’ to gie me the rest o’ which, -lang since, I got frae His hand the arles. Ae thing ye maun promise me, -Maggie, and that is ye maun never leev your faither.” - -“What makes you think sae o’ me, mother? I hav’na even a thocht o’ -leevin’ him.” - -“I ken ye hav’na a thocht the noo o’ sic a thing, but the day will come -when you micht--when your love for anither would incline you to forget -your duty. Sweet the drawing o’ heart to heart in the spring o’ youth, -an’ the upspringing, when you least expec’ it, o’ the flow’r o’ love. -The peety is, sae mony are content with the flow’r an’ pu’ it an’ let -the stem wither. Your faither an’ I werna o’ that mind. The flow’r grew -into a bauld stalk in the simmer o’ affection, an’ noo we reap the -harvest. It’s no like Scotch folk to open their mous on sic maitters, -but I may tell you, my lassie, that sweet an’ warm as was oor love when -your faither cam a coortin’, it’s nae mair to be compared to oor love -since syne an’ to this minute, than the licht o’ lightnin’ is to the -sunshine. I thocht to hae tended him in his last days, to hae closed -his een, an’ placed the last kiss on his cauld lips, but it’s no to be, -an’ ye maun promise me to perform what your mither wad hae dune had she -lived.” - -“I promise, mother; I promise never to leave him.” - -“Weel does he deserve a’ you can dae for him; he’s puir, he’s hamely in -looks, he’s no sae quick in thocht or speech as mony; but he is what -mony great an’ rich an’ smairt men are not--an honest man, wha strives -in a quiet way to do his duty by his fellowman an’ his Maker.” - -“What makes you speak so, mother? I am sure I never gave you cause to -think I’d leave the family.” - -“Your brothers will gang their ain gate by-and-by an’ their wives micht -na want to hae the auld man at their ingle; only o’ you may I ask that -whither you go he shall go an’ drink o’ your cup an’ eat o’ your bread. -Dinna marry ony man unless sure he will be kind to your faither an’ let -you do a dochter’s duty by him.” - -“I hav’na met ony man, mother, that will hae me, except auld Milne.” - -“Dinna mak fun o’ me, Maggie; you ken what I mean. The lad Morton will -come some day--.” - -“Wheesht, mother: he’s nothing to me.” - -“I ken different: you loe him deep an’ true an’ he loes you. Whether he -will pit pride o’ family an’ station aside to ask you to be his wife -some wad doot, but I div’na. He’ll be back, an’ when he does dinna -forget what I have said.” - -The heavy step of the father was here heard outside; the door opened -and he came in. Drawing a chair beside his wife he sat down, and, -without uttering a word, surveyed her wasted and furrowed face with -tender gaze. She returned his affectionate look and placed her hand -in his. As she looked at them, sitting in the afternoon sunshine with -clasped hands, and that radiant expression of mutual love, Maggie’s -heart, already full, was like to burst. She hastened out and falling -beneath a tree wept bitterly. - - * * * * * - -Next morning when they awoke the sad truth became apparent, that the -mother of the family had had a change for the worse in her sleep. Her -mind wandered and her strength had completely left. The only one she -recognized was her husband, and when he spoke she smiled. The spells -of unconsciousness grew longer as the day wore on and towards evening -it could be seen her last was near. As often happens in the Canadian -winter, a pet day had been followed by a storm. A piercing blast from -the west filled the air with drift and sent the frozen snow rattling -on the window-panes. They were all gathered round her bed, when she -woke, and her eyes wonderingly looked upon them, tried to make out what -it all meant, and gave it up as hopeless. “Eh, sirs, a bonnie day,” -she said, as if speaking to herself, “the westlin win’ blaws saft frae -the sea an’ the bit lammies rin after their mithers on the hill-side. -Sune the kye will be comin’ hame an’ after milkin’ I’ll snod mysel’, -for somebody’s comin’ to see somebody, an’ we’ll daunner doun e’e the -gloamin’ by the burn. Isna he a comely lad! Stracht an’ supple, and -an e’e in his heid that a bairn wad trust. Tak him? I’d gang tae the -warl’s end wi’ him.... What’s that! The kirk bell. I didna think it was -sae late. Sure eneuch, there’s the folk strachlin’ ower the muir an’ -the laird riding on his powny.... Surely it’s growin’ mirk. Mither, -tak me in your airms an’ pit me to sleep. What will you sing to me? -The Flowers o’ the Forest, the nicht, mither. Kiss me noo, I’ll be a -better bairn the morn an’ dae what you tell me.... Na, na, pick yer ain -flowers: this poesy is for my baby brither.... Faither, dinna lift your -haun’ to me: I’m sorry. I’ll no dae it again. Whaur am I?... Faither, -dinna you hear me? Oh come quick an’ save me, the tide is lowpin’ fast -ower the rock. There’s the boatie rowin’ to us: it’ll be here enow an’ -we’ll be saved.... Did you hear that? It’s Sandy the piper come to -the toun. Let’s rin an’ meet him.... I’m tired o’ daffin’ an wad hae -a rest. Let’s creep into the kirk-yaird an’ sit doun by granfaither’s -grave. Hoo sweet the merle sings, an’ tak tent to the corn-craik ower -yonner.... Weel, weel, I canna understan’ it. His ways are no oor ways, -but I’ll lippen to Him tae the end. Maggie, Maggie, whaur are ye? I’m -gaun awa’, an’ I want you to rin an’ tell the goodman o’ the hoose to -hae a chamber ready for me. What am I saying? God forgie me, my mind -wanders; he’s had ane waitin’ for me this mony a day.... I see you -noo, my bairns. Guid nicht, tae we meet again.” - -There was a long silence. The father rose, and closed the drooping -eyelids that would never be lifted and laid down the weary head which -would never move again. - - -CHAPTER XV. - -One July morning Mr Forsyth was working in the field beside the river -when he saw a canoe shoot in sight. It drew up to the bank and its -occupant walked towards him. - -“Man, it is you!” he exclaimed, grasping the extended hand. “At the -first look I didna ken you. Hoo ye hae changed since last I saw you.” - -“I know I have,” answered Morton, “the months since we parted have -aged me more than half as many years would in ordinary course of -life. The hardships of war, the strife between life and death on the -battle-field, develop fast what is good or bad in a man.” - -“Ye’ll hae had your share o’ the fechtin?” - -“Yes; our regiment took part in all the movements in the Niagara -district, and during the campaigning season there was not a week we did -not exchange shots with the enemy or have to endure a toilsome march to -check his plans.” - -“And were you hurt at a’?” - -“Nothing to speak of; scratches that did not keep me off duty over a -few days. I may be thankful to have got off so well, for many a pretty -fellow will never see home again.” - -“War’s a gruesome trade.” - -“It is that: I have seen scenes of horror that I try to banish from my -memory. The carnage at Lundy’s Lane was sickening, and the cries of the -wounded for help heart-breaking, for, from the darkness and the enemy’s -pressing us, we could not reach them.” - -“That brither should butcher brither is awfu’ proof o’ total depravity. -After a’, thae Yankees, though their ways are not oor ways, are flesh -o’ oor flesh, an’ we should live aside are anither in peace.” - -“In this war, at least, Mr Forsyth, they are to blame. They declared -it and if ever war is justifiable it is surely one like that we have -fought and won, where a people rise to defend their native land against -the invader.” - -“I dinna dispute you, but as I creep near to my end, my heart softens -to my fellow-men o’ a’ creeds and races and I wish to see peace and -good-fellowship the warld ower.” - -“So do I, but sure and permanent peace is not to be won by surrender of -right. It is better for all that the best blood of Canada and Britain -has soaked the fields within the sound of the roar of Niagara, than -that Canada should have become a conquered addition to the United -States.” - -“You’re richt in that: the sacrifice is sair, but trial bitter, but a -country’s independence maun be maintained. Canadians will think mair o’ -their country when they see what it has cost to defend it. Noo that the -war is ended, you’ll be leaving Canada?” - -“That depends on what your daughter says. My regiment sails from Quebec -by the end of the month.” - -“What mean ye, sir, by Maggie hae’in’ aucht to dae wi’ your going?” - -“Simply this, that if she will take me as her husband and you will give -your consent, I shall sell my commission and remain in Canada.” - -“You are surely no in earnest? What has the dochter o’ a backwoods -farmer t’ dae wi’ an officer?” - -“Since I landed in Canada I have had many false notions rudely torn -away, and one of them is, that there is any connection between worth -and station in life. I have found more to admire in the shanty than I -ever did in the parlors of the Old Country.” - -“That’s repeatin’ what Rabbie Burns wrote, the rank is but the guinea -stamp.” - -“I have proved it true: for the first time in my life I have become -intimate with those whose living depends upon the labor of their hands, -and my Old World notions have melted away, when I found them better -than those whose boast it is they never soiled their fingers with -manual toil.” - -“Aye, aye; nae guid comes o’ tryin’ to escape the first command to -fallen man, ‘in the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread.’” - -“What say you?” asked Morton. - -“To your asking Maggie? Oh, dinna speak o’t. She’s my ae ewe lamb and I -canna pairt wi’ her.” - -“I do not mean you should; we would go to Upper Canada together.” - -The old man paused and leant upon his hoe and Morton stood respectfully -behind him. After long silence he raised his head. “I canna answer you. -It’s no for me to put my ain selfish will against her good; gang and -let her choose for hersel’.” - -“Thank you,” said Morton with emotion. - -“We have had a backward spring; frost every week a maist to the middle -o’ June, an’ sic cauld winds since syne that naething grows. We hae -sown in hope, but I’m fearfu’ there will be little to reap. Sic a -spring the auldest settler canna mind o’. Look at thae tatties! What -poor spindly things they are, an’ this the first week o’ July.” - -“It has not been so bad in the west.” - -“I’m glad to hear it. Weel, this being the first real warm day we’ve -had, I tell’t Maggie to busk hersel’ and gang and veesit the neebors, -for she’s been in a sad and sorrowfu’ way since her mither deed. She -said she had nae heart to veesit, but wad tak a walk alang the river -and be back to mak my denner. Her brithers we expect hame every day -from takin’ rafts to Montreal.” - -“I’ll go and seek her,” remarked Morton, as he turned, and the old man -went on hoeing. Morton had gone about a mile, when his eye caught the -flutter of the linen kerchief Maggie had pinned round her neck. She did -not see him and as she sauntered before him, he marked her graceful -carriage, and muttered to himself, “A woman worthy to woo and win.” -Unwilling to startle her by going too near, he cried “Miss Forsyth.” - -She paused, turned in astonishment, and as her color came and went -said, “Is it you?” - -“Yes, and surely you will not shrink from me as you did when last we -met.” - -She held out her hand and as he pressed it, simply said, “I’m glad -you’re safe and well.” - -“Have you no warmer greeting for me?” - -“What warmer do you deserve?” - -“My deservings are nothing, but your own kind heart might plead for me.” - -“Oh, dear: the conceit of some men, who think they can pick up hearts -on the banks of the Chateaugay as they would acorns.” - -“And what of women who pitch back rings as if they stung them?” - -Maggie laughed and replied, “The gift is measured with the giver.” - -“When a gift is a token of the hour of peril, what then, my lady? Is it -a thing to be scorned?” - -“Something to be restored to the sender when he gets out of the trap, -that he may bestow it on somebody else.” - -“I swear I never cared for anybody else.” - -“Who asked you? If you must needs confess, you should have visited the -fathers at the Basin on your way here.” - -“I’m Puritan enough to desire to confess direct to the one I have -offended.” - -“So you have offended me!” - -“You know I care for you.” - -“How should I? From your many messages these last twenty months?” - -Morton felt vexed and Maggie observed and enjoyed his perplexity. -“Come,” she said, “it is wearing on to dinner-time and I know what -soldiers’ appetites are. We had some soldier visitors who left us -nothing. We will go home.” - -“Not until I have said what I want to tell you,” he said warmly. - -“Oh, you have something to tell me! You must have. Soldiers and hunters -have always long stories to tell about themselves. Keep them until you -have had some of our backwoods fare.” - -“Tease me no more, Maggie; my heart is yours whether you accept it or -not. That I have been neglectful and ungrateful I confess. How much I -owe you I did not know until some months after I saw you.” - -“You owe me nothing.” - -“I owe you my life.” - -“You owe it to Hemlock; not to me.” - -“I know all, brave heart. I met Mrs Scott at Kingston and she told me -of your journey to Oka, but for which Hemlock would never have known of -my peril. As she spoke, the smouldering love I had for you burst into -flame and your image has never been absent from my mind an hour since. -When my comrades caroused and spoke loosely, I thought of you and -turned away and tried to live worthily of you.” - -“You know how to praise yourself.” - -“No, no, my Maggie: I speak it not in praise of myself but in proof of -my devotion, for how can a man show his love for a woman better than by -forcing himself to live as he knows she would wish him to do?” - -“And if you so loved this somebody of yours, why did you not write her?” - -“You forget a soldier’s life is uncertain; I knew not the hour when I -might fall. I said to myself a thousand times, if my life is spared I -will seek her I love and plead my cause. When the bugle sounded the -call to prepare for action I never failed to breathe an ardent prayer -that Heaven’s blessing might rest upon you. I have been spared, the -supreme hour in my life has come, and I await your answer.” - -Maggie stood still. Her eyes fell to the ground and her fingers -unconsciously plucked to pieces the flowers they held. - -“Will you not speak?” pleaded Morton. - -In a low voice she replied, “I cannot marry.” - -“Why?” - -“I will never leave my father.” - -“I do not ask you should. I value his honest worth, and he shall be my -father too, for I never saw my own, he died when I was a child. Say you -will make me the happiest man on the Chateaugay and we will never part.” - -“I say it is time to go and get dinner ready. Father, poor man, will be -starving. Mr Morton, did you ever hoe potatoes for a forenoon?” - -“Nonsense; speak the word and end my anxiety.” - -“Oh, I’m not anxious. If you had hoed for half a day you would know -what hunger was.” - -“My hunger today is of another sort.” - -“Ah, well, boys ought to learn to restrain their appetites.” - -“Play with me no more. Let me know my fate. Give me my answer.” - -“Won’t it be time enough when the minister asks?” - - * * * * * - -It was not much of a dinner that Maggie cooked, for she boiled the -potatoes without salt and fried the pork to a crisp. It did not much -matter, however, for of the three the father was the only one who had -an appetite, and he did not complain. When done, he left to resume -his task, and the young couple were alone. At supper he was told all, -when he quietly rose, gripped Morton by the hand and said nothing. -Next day the two sons arrived, and, on learning the news, by way -of congratulation, slapped Maggie on the back until she declared it -was sore. There were long discussions over Morton’s plans. He told -them he had obtained promotion after Lundy’s Lane, and as captain -his commission was worth a good deal; he would sell it, and then, as -a retired officer, he would be entitled to a grant of land in Upper -Canada. He proposed they should all leave and go with him. To this -father and sons were much inclined, for the fact that the place they -occupied was subject to seigniorial rent they did not like. It was -arranged Morton should go to Quebec and sell his commission and by the -time he returned they would be ready to join him. - -Four days after he had left, Maggie received a letter from him, -enclosing one from Mrs Scott. He said he found that Colonel Scott had -arrived in Montreal, and, after winding up some ordnance business -there, meant to sail for England with the Fall fleet. Mrs Scott sent a -pressing invitation to Maggie to come and stay with her until Morton -returned from Quebec. Maggie went, expecting to stay ten days or so, -but her visit lengthened out to the end of August. They were happy -weeks, spent in enjoyable society and in the delightful task of the -preparation that is the prelude to a happy marriage. Morton at last -got back, and had not merely the money obtained for his commission, -but a patent for a large tract of land on the shore of Lake Ontario, -obtained by him in a personal interview with Sir George Prevost, the -gallant Gordon Drummond, his old commander, accompanying him and -pressing his claim to generous recognition. Leaving Maggie in Montreal, -he went again to the Chateaugay to tell all was ready. While there, -he took a run up to Four Corners, his business being to visit the -poor widow whose only son had been slain in the skirmish that led -to his imprisonment. He found her and not only made sure she would -be cared for but instituted steps to secure a pension, for congress -was considering the question of relief to those who had suffered by -the war. During his stay at Four Corners, he lived with Mr Douglass, -and repaid with earnest gratitude the advances he had made him while -living in misery in the stable, which sad abode he looked into with a -swelling heart. On the morning after his return, they were ready to -embark in the three canoes that were in waiting to convey them and -their belongings, when the old man was missed. Morton, guessing where -he was, went to seek him, and found him kneeling by the grave of his -wife. Reverently approaching, he whispered the boatmen were anxious to -start, assisted him to rise, and, leaning heavily on his arm, led him -to the canoe where he was to sit. One last look at the shanty his hands -had built and the fields they had cleared, and a bend in the river -shut them out from his sight forever. Resuming his wonted contented -cheerfulness, he adapted himself to the change, and rose still higher -in Morton’s esteem. When they reached the Basin, the wind was favorable -for the bateau that was waiting to leave on her trip to Lachine, and -there they arrived late in the evening. The following morning Morton -left for Montreal with Mr Forsyth, the sons remaining to stow away -the outfit in the bateau, which done, they also journeyed to the same -place. That evening there was a quiet little party at Colonel Scott’s -quarters, and next morning a larger assemblage, for every officer off -duty in the town was present, to see the army chaplain unite the happy -pair. When all was over and Maggie had gone to prepare for the journey, -Morton received congratulations that he knew were sincere. “Why,” said -Major Fitzjames, “she is fit to be a Duchess.” - -“She is fit for a more difficult position,” interjected Colonel Scott, -“she has a mother-wit that stands her well alike in the circles of -polished society and in the hour of danger and hardship.” - -“Who is this that is such a paragon?” asked Mrs Scott, who had just -come in. - -“Mrs Morton.” - -“Oh, say she is a true woman, and you say all. Mr Morton you have got a -treasure.” - -“I know it,” he replied, “and I will try to be worthy of her. She will -be the benediction of the life I owe her.” - -The day was fine and, for a wonder, the road was good, so that a -large party, many of them on horseback, escorted the newly married -pair to Lachine. As they drove past King’s Posts Morton recalled his -first visit to it, the spy, and all the painful complications that had -ensued, and now so happily ended. As they stood on the narrow deck of -the bateau, and the wind, filling the huge sail, bore them away, a -cheer rose, led by Colonel Scott. It was answered from the receding -boat, and Maggie waved her handkerchief. - -The journey was tedious and toilsome, but when they sailed into the -bay on which Morton’s land was situated, saw its quality and fine -situation, they felt they had been rewarded for coming so far. That -Maggie proved an admirable help-mate need hardly be told, but what -was remarkable is, that Morton became a successful farmer. Willing to -put his hand to whatever there was to do, under his father-in-law’s -tuition, he quickly became proficient, and when there was work to be -done he did not say to his helpers “Go” but “Come,” and set them an -example of cheerful and persevering exertion. Having land and enough -to spare, he induced a good class of immigrants to buy from him, so -that, before twenty years, his settlement was known as one of the most -prosperous on Lake Ontario. Influential and public-spirited, Morton, as -his circumstances grew easy and did not exact the same close attention -to his personal affairs, took a leading part in laying the commercial -and political foundations of Upper Canada, and Maggie was widely known -in its best society. That they were a happy couple everybody knew, -and their descendants are among the most prominent subjects of the -Dominion. - - - - -ARCHANGE AND MARIE. - - -I.--THEIR DISAPPEARANCE. - -During the revolutionary war a number of Acadians left the New -England States for Canada, preferring monarchic to republican rule. -The British authorities provided for these twice-exiled refugees -with liberality, giving them free grants of lands and the necessary -tools and implements, also supplying them from the nearest military -posts with provisions for three years, by which time they would be -self-sustaining. Some half dozen families asked for and received lots -in the county of Huntingdon and settled together on the shore of the -St Lawrence. Accustomed to boating and lumbering in their old Acadian -homes, they found profitable exercise in both pursuits in their new, -and after making small clearances left their cultivation to the women, -while they floated rafts to Montreal or manned the bateaux which -carried on the traffic between that place and Upper Canada. The shanty -of one of these Acadians, that of Joseph Caza, occupied a point that -ran into the great river near the mouth of the LaGuerre. - -It was a sunny afternoon towards the end of September and the lake-like -expanse of the river, an unruffled sheet of glassy blue, was set in a -frame of forest already showing the rich dyes of autumn. It was a scene -of intense solitude, for, save the clearance of the hardy settler, no -indication of human life met the gaze. There was the lonely stretch -of water and the all-embracing forest, and that was all. Playing -around the shanty were two sisters, whose gleeful shouts evoked solemn -echoes from the depths of the forest, for they were engaged in a game -of hide-and-seek amid the rows of tall corn, fast ripening in the -sunshine. They were alone, for their father and brothers were away -boating and their mother had gone to the beaver-meadow where the cows -pastured. Breathless with their play the children sat down to rest, the -head of the younger falling naturally into the lap of the older. - -“Archange, I know something you don’t.” - -“What is it?” - -“What we are to have for supper. Mother whispered it to me when she -went to milk. Guess?” - -“Oh, tell me; I won’t guess.” - -“Wheat flour pancakes. I wish she would come; I’m hungry.” - -“Let us go and meet her.” - -The children skipped along the footpath that led through the forest -from the clearance to the pasture and had gone a considerable distance -before their mother came in sight, bearing a pail. - -“Come to meet your mother, my doves! Ah, I have been long. The calves -have broken the fence and I looked for them but did not find them. -Archange, you will have to go or they may be lost. Marie, my love, you -will come home with me.” - -“No, mother, do let me go with sister.” - -“No, you will get tired; take my hand. Remember the pancakes.” - -“I won’t be tired; I want to go with Archange.” - -“Ah, well; the calves may not have strayed far; you may go. But haste, -Archange, and find them, for the sun will soon set.” - -The children danced onwards and the mother listened with a smile to -their shouts and chatter until the sounds were lost in the distance. -On entering the house she stirred up the fire and set about preparing -supper. - -The sun set, leaving a trail of golden glory on the water, and she was -still alone. The day’s work was done and the simple meal was ready. -The mother walked to the end of the clearance and gazed and listened; -neither sight nor sound rewarded her. She shouted their names at the -highest pitch of her voice. There was no response, save that a heron, -scared from its roost, flapped its great wings above her head and -sailed over the darkening waters for a quieter place of refuge. - -“It is impossible anything can have befallen them,” she said to -herself; “the calves could not have gone far and the path is plain. -No, they must be safe, and I am foolish to be the least anxious. Holy -mother, shield them from evil!” - -Returning to the house, she threw a fresh log on the fire, and placing -the food where it would keep warm she closed the door, casting one -disconsolate look across the dark water at the western sky, from -which the faintest glow had departed. Taking the path that led to -the pasture, she hastened with hurried step to seek her children. -She gained the pasture. The cows were quietly grazing; there was no -other sign of life. Her heart sank within her. She shouted, and her -cries pierced the dew-laden air. There was no response. She sank upon -her knees and her prayer, oft repeated, was, “Mother of pity, have -compassion on a mother’s sorrow and give me back my little ones!” - -The thought suddenly seized her that the children had failed to find -the calves and, in returning, had not taken the path, but sought the -house by a nigh cut through the woods. She sprang to her feet and -hastened back. Alas! the door had not been opened, and everything was -as she left it. - -“My God!” she cried in the bitterness of her disappointment, “I fear -me the wolf garou has met and devoured my children. What shall I do? -Marie, my pretty one, wilt thou not again nestle in thy mother’s bosom -nor press thy cheek to mine? Holy Virgin, thou who hadst a babe of -thine own, look on me with compassion and give back to me my innocent -lambs.” - -Again she sought the pasture, and even ventured, at her peril, to -thread in the darkness the woods that surrounded it, shouting, in -a voice shrill with agony, the names of the missing ones, but no -answering sound came. Heedless of her garments wet with dew, of her -weariness, her need of food and sleep, she spent the night wandering -back and forth between house and pasture, hoping to find them at either -place, and always disappointed. The stars melted away one by one, -the twitter of the birds was heard, the tree-tops reddened, and the -sun again looked down upon her. She resumed the search with renewed -hope, for now she could see. With the native confidence of one born -in the bush she traversed the leafy aisles, but her search was in -vain. There was only a strip of bush to be examined, for a great swamp -bounded it on one side as the St Lawrence did on the other, and into -the swamp she deemed it impossible the children could have gone. She -was more convinced than before that a wild beast had killed them and -dragged their bodies to its lair in the swamp. Stunned by this awful -conjecture, to which all the circumstances pointed, her strength left -her, and in deep anguish of spirit she tottered homewards. On coming -in sight of the shanty she marked with surprise smoke rising from the -chimney. Her heart gave a great leap. “They have returned!” she said -joyfully. She hastened to the door. A glance brought back her sorrow. -She saw only her husband and her eldest son. - -“What ails thee? Your face is white as Christmas snow. We came from -Coteau this morning and found nobody here. What is wrong?” - -“Joseph,” she replied in a hollow voice, “the wolf garou hath devoured -our children.” - -“Never! Thou art mad. There is no wolf garou.” - -“I leave it all with the good God: I wish there was no wolf garou.” -Then she told him of the disappearance of the children and of her vain -search. Husband and son listened attentively. - -“Pooh!” exclaimed Caza, “they are not lost forever to us. Get us -breakfast and Jean and I will track them and have them back to thee -before long. You do not know how to find and follow a trail.” - -An hour later, shouldering their rifles, they set forth. The day -passed painfully for the poor mother, and it was long after sunset -when they returned. They had found no trace of the wanderers. They had -met the calves, which, from the mud that covered them, had evidently -been in the swamp and floundered there long before they got back to -solid land at a point distant from the pasture. The father’s idea was -that the children had been stolen by Indians. Next day the search -was resumed, the neighbors joining in it. At nightfall all returned -baffled, perplexed and disheartened; Caza more confident than before -that the Indians were to blame. After a night’s rest, he set off -early for St Regis, where he got no information. Leaving there, he -scoured the forest along Trout River and the Chateaugay, finding a few -hunting-camps, whose dusky inmates denied all knowledge of the missing -girls. He pursued his toilsome way to Caughnawaga and came back by -the river St Louis without discovering anything to throw light on the -fate of his children. The grief of the mother who had been buoying -herself with the expectation that he would bring back the truants, is -not to be described; and she declared it would be a satisfaction to -her to be assured of their death rather than longer endure the burden -of suspense. Again the father left to scour the wilderness that lies -between the St Lawrence and the foot-hills of the Adirondacks, hoping -to find in some wigwam buried in forest-depths the objects of his eager -quest. On reaching Lake Champlain he became convinced that the captors -were beyond his reach, and, footsore and broken-hearted, he sought his -home, to make the doleful report that he had not found the slightest -trace. - -The leaves fluttered from the trees, the snow came in flurries from -the north, the nights grew longer and colder, and, at last, winter set -in. When the wind came howling across the icy plain into which the -St Lawrence had been transformed, and the trees around their shanty -groaned and wailed, the simple couple drew closer to the blazing logs -and thought sadly of their loved ones, pinched with cold and hunger, in -the far-away wigwams of their heartless captors. - -“They will grow up heathens,” murmured the mother. - -“Nay, they were baptized,” suggested the father, “and that saves their -souls. I hope they are dead rather than living to be abused by the -savages.” - -“Say not that, my husband; they can never forget us, and will watch a -chance to come back. Archange will sit on thy knee again, and I will -once more clasp my Marie to my bosom.” - -When bedtime came they knelt side by side, and in their devotions the -wanderers were not forgotten. - -Time rolled on, and Caza and his wife became old people. Each year -added some frailty, until, at a good old age, the eyes of the mother -were closed without having seen what she longed for--the return of her -children. The husband tarried a while longer, and when he was laid -to rest the sad and strange trial of their lives grew fainter and -fainter in the memories of those who succeeded them, until it became a -tradition known to few--as a mystery that had never been solved. - - -II.--THEIR FATE. - -Archange, holding Marie by the hand, on reaching the pasture, followed -the fence to find where the calves had broken out, and then traced -their footprints, which led to the edge of the swamp. Here she -hesitated. “Marie, you stay here until I come back.” - -“No, no; I will go with you; I can jump the wet places, you know.” - -“Yes, and get tired before you go far. Wait; I’ll not be long in -turning the calves back.” - -Marie, however, would not part from her sister, and followed her steps -as she picked her way over the swamp; now walking a fallen tree and -anon leaping from one mossy tussock to another. The calves were soon -sighted, but the silly creatures, after the manner of their kind, half -in play and half in fright, waited until the children drew near, when -they tossed up their heels and ran. In vain Archange tried to head -them. Cumbered by Marie, who cried when she attempted to leave her, -she could not go fast enough, and when it became so dark that it was -difficult to see the sportive animals, she awakened to the fact that -she must desist. - -“Marie, we will go home and leave the calves until morning.” - -“But if we don’t get them they will have no supper.” - -“Neither will you; let us haste home or we will not see to get out of -the swamp.” - -“There is no hurry; I am tired,” and with these words Marie sat down -on a log, and, pouting at her sister’s remonstrances, waited until -the deepening gloom alarmed Archange, who, grasping the little hand, -began, as she supposed, to retrace the way they had come. Marie was -tired, and it now being dark, she slipped repeatedly into the water, -until, exhausted and fretful, she flung herself on the broad trunk of -a fallen hemlock and burst into tears. Archange was now dreadfully -alarmed at their situation, yet it was some time before she was able -to persuade her sister to resume their journey. They moved on with -difficulty, and, after a while, the sight of solid green bush rising -before them gladdened their strained eyes. “We have passed the swamp!” -joyfully exclaimed Archange. They reached the ridge and scrambled up -its side. The heart of the elder sister sank within her for she failed -to recognize, in the starlight, a single familiar landmark. Could it be -that, in the darkness, she had pursued the reverse way, and, instead of -going towards home, had wandered farther away and crossed an arm of the -swamp? - -“Are we near home, Archange? I’m hungry.” - -“My darling, I fear we will have to stay here until daylight. We’ve -lost our way.” - -“No, no; mother is waiting for us and supper is ready; let us go.” - -“I wish I knew where to go, but I don’t. We are lost, Marie.” - -“Will we have no supper?” - -“Not tonight, but a nice breakfast in the morning.” - -“And sleep here?” - -“Yes, I will clasp you and keep you warm.” - -“I want my own bed, Archange,” and the child broke down and softly wept. - -Finding a dry hemlock knoll, Archange plucked some cedar brush, and -lying down upon it, folded Marie in her arms, who, wearied and faint, -fell asleep. It was broad daylight when they awoke, chilled and hungry. -Comforting her sister as best she could, Archange descended to the -swamp, confident that they would soon be home. She had not gone far, -until she was bewildered. The treacherous morass retained no mark of -their footprints of the night before, and she knew not whither to -go. Long and painfully they struggled without meeting an indication -of home, and the fear grew in Archange’s breast that they were going -farther and farther away from it. Noon had passed when they struck -another long, narrow, stony ridge, which rose in the swamp like an -island. Gladly they made for it, and seeking an open space, where the -sunshine streamed through the interlacing foliage, enjoyed the heat, as -it dried their wet garments and soothed their wearied limbs. - -“If we only had something to eat,” said Marie, wistfully. - -“Oh, we will get plenty of nuts here. See, yonder is a butternut tree,” -and running; to it Archange returned with a lapful, which she broke -with a stone as Marie ate them. They satisfied her craving, and laying -her head on the sunny bank she fell asleep from fatigue. As soon as -her breathing showed that she was sleeping soundly her sister stole -from her side to explore the ridge and try to discover some trace of -the way home. She found everything strange, and the conviction settled -upon her mind that they were lost and that their sole hope of escape -was in the searching-party, which she knew must be out, finding them. -Little did she know that the morass their light steps had crossed would -not bear the weight of a man, and that they were hopelessly lost and -doomed to perish in the wilderness. Had she been alone she would have -broken down; the care of her sister sustained her. For her she would -bear up. On returning, she found her still asleep, and as she bent over -her tear-stained face and lightly kissed it, she murmured, “I will take -care of Marie and be her little mother.” - -The thought of home and mother nigh overcame her. Repressing the rising -lump in her throat, she busied herself against her sister’s waking. -She increased her store of butternuts, adding beechnuts and acorns as -well and broke them and arranged the kernels on basswood leaves, as on -plates. She drew several big branches together and covered them with -boughs which she tore from the surrounding cedars, and when the bower -was complete she strewed its floor with dried ferns. She had finished -and was sitting beside Marie when the little eyes opened and were -greeted with a smile. - -“Oh, I have been waiting ever so long for you, Marie. We are going to -have a party. I have built a bower and laid out such a nice supper. We -will play at keeping house.” - -The child laughed gleefully on seeing the arrangements, and the forest -rang with their mirth as the hours sped on. When evening approached -Marie grew wistful; she wanted her mother; she wanted to go home, and -Archange soothed her with patient care. - -“Look at the bower, Marie! See what a nice bed; won’t you lie down on -it? And what stories you will have to tell mother of our happy time -here!” - -The child, charmed by the novelty, crept in, and laying down her curly -head fell asleep to the crooning of her sister. The stars as they hung -over the tree-tops gazed downwards in pity on the little girls clasped -in each others’ arms in the sleep of innocence, and the soft south -wind sighed as it swept by, sorrowing that it could not save them. A -murmuring was heard in the pine-tops. - -“Must they perish?” asked the guardian angel. - -“They must; no help can reach them,” answered Nature with a sigh. -“Unwittingly they have strayed from the fold into the wilderness, these -poor, helpless lambs, and must suffer. Only to man is given the power -to help in such extremity.” - -“Can you do nothing?” pleaded the angel. - -“Yes; I shall lighten their last hours, give them a speedy death, and -prevent the tooth of ravenous beast or crawling worm touching their -pure bodies. Think me not cruel. I cannot perform the acts allotted to -mankind, but am not, therefore, as some deem me, cruel and stolid; my -spirit is tender, and what is in my power I’ll do.” - -Sad of countenance the angel turned and glided to the side of the -sleeping children. Stooping over them he whispered in their ears, and -they smiled in their sleep and dreamt of home, of dancing on their -father’s knee, of being tossed to the rafters by their brothers, and -they felt the touch of their mother’s hand and heard the sound of her -voice, and they were very happy. - - * * * * * - -When they awoke the song of a belated greybird, perched overhead, -greeted them, and they lay and listened and watched the movements of a -brilliantly colored woodpecker, as it circled the trunk of a spruce. -Looking into the face of her sister, Archange saw that it was pale and -pinched and that her smile was wan and feeble. - -“Will father be here today?” - -“I hope so, Marie; are you tired of me?” - -“Oh, no; I do love you so, but I do want mother and--and--a drink of -warm milk and a piece of bread.” - -“Well, perhaps you will get them soon, and we will be happy until they -come.” - -They rose and Archange busied herself in setting forth breakfast, but -both, though very hungry, now loathed the sight of nuts. Wandering, -hand in hand, to find something more acceptable, they found in a -raspberry thicket a bush with a scant crop of second-growth berries. -Making a little basket of the bark of the white birch they nearly -filled it, and returning to their bower, sat down to enjoy them, -fashioning out of reeds make-believe spoons and asking each other if -they would have cream and sugar. The play went on and faint laughter -was heard. When the last berry was gone, the gnawing hunger re-awoke -and the feverish heat of tongue and palate, which the acid juice had -allayed, returned. Marie would not be comforted. She wanted to go -home; she wanted her mother; she wanted food, and burying her face -in her sister’s lap sobbed as if her heart would break and she would -not be comforted. Archange felt as if she must give way to despair, -but she repressed the feeling and bore up bravely. The trials and -responsibilities of the past thirty-six hours had aged her, and, child -as she was in years, she acted like a woman towards her sister, whom -she alternately soothed and tried to divert. While leaning over her, in -affected sportive mood, something soft brushed past her face and crept -between them. It was a grey squirrel. Marie opened her weeping eyes, -looked wonderingly for a moment, and then, with delighted gesture, -grasped the little creature, and beaming with joy, pressed it to her -lips. - -“It is Mignon; my own clear little Mignon! What caused you to run away -from me, you naughty boy?” - -It was a tame squirrel, Marie’s pet, which, a week before, had -scampered off to the woods. There was no doubt as to his identity, for -beside its evident recognition of Marie, it retained the collar of -colored yarn she had braided and tied round his neck. Hunger, home and -mother were forgotten in the delight of recovering her pet, for whom -she busied herself in getting breakfast, and he was soon sitting before -her gravely disposing of the nuts she handed him, one by one. - -“Cannot Mignon guide us home?” she suddenly asked. - -“Oh, yes; Mignon knows the way; but we would have to follow him over -the trees. I am afraid you could not jump from branch to branch; I know -I could not.” - -“Oh, I will tie a string to him and make him walk before us,” and with -pretty prattle she entered into a conversation with the squirrel, -telling him how they were lost and he was to guide them home, for she -wanted to take dinner with mother. Mignon gravely listened and nodded -his head as if he understood it all. Then he ran up a tree or two by -way of exercise, frisked with another squirrel, peeped at Marie from -all sorts of unexpected places, and ended his capers by jumping on -to her shoulder when she was not expecting him, and pretended he was -going to nibble her chin. Marie was delighted; Mignon had diverted -her mind from her sufferings and Archange assisted by suggesting they -should make a little house for him. Of sticks and reeds they framed it -and plucking from the swamp lapfuls of ripe cat-tails they lined it -with them, making a nest soft as velvet. This done, they had to fill -a larder for him, and had a great hunting for all manner of nuts, and -in this part of their work Mignon took great interest and pretended to -assist, tho’, despite all warnings from Marie, he persisted in clasping -in his forepaws the biggest butternuts and running away to bury them in -out-of-the-way places. When she became tired with her exertions, Marie -took a nap and Mignon curled himself up on her breast and snoozed with -one eye open. - -Weak in strength and sick from hunger, Archange, no longer requiring -to keep up appearances, flung herself down near by and wept bitterly. -Why did not father come? Were they to die there alone and from want of -food? Should she not try again to find the way home? She stood up, as -if to consider which way to try, when her head grew dizzy and she sank -down and knew no more until she was aroused by Marie climbing over her -and kissing her. She knew by the sun that it was late in the day, and -rising, the sisters walked slowly and unsteadily seeking berries. They -found a few only and they again tried to eat nuts. They could not. -Tracing the edge of the swamp they looked for blueberries, but their -season was past. Suddenly a low bush, dotted with red berries, caught -their sight. They found the berries small and of so peculiar a taste -that, had they not been ravenous for food, they could not have eaten -them. They picked the bush bare and went to their bower, where they -ate them. A feeling of satisfaction followed, and Marie grew quiet and -contented. - -“Sing to me, Archange: do?” and the little maid laid her down to rest -and listen. Her sister sang one after another the chansons her parents -had brought with them from Acadia. She ceased and marked the satisfied -expression that had overspread Marie’s countenance. Her eyes were -closed and her hands folded. “Sing the Cedars’ song?” she whispered, in -the voice of one about to sleep. By that name was meant a hymn Archange -had heard at Christmas tide, when for the first time to her knowledge -she had been in a church, having accompanied her father to the small -village of the Cedars. She knew not the words of the hymn, but had -carried away the tune. High and clear rose in the air and floated far -away across the desolate swamp the song in which so many generations -of believers have expressed their love for the Holy Babe--the ancient -Latin hymn, Adeste Fidelis. She sang the strain over and over again -until a strange torpor crept upon her, and her voice grew fainter until -it ceased and her head sank beside that of Marie’s. - -All nature was hushed. The remains of trees, long since burned, now -gaunt and white, stood in the swamp as sentinels to guard the sleeping -babes, and the giant pines, beneath whose cover they rested, seemed to -lift up their hands to Heaven in silent pleading. Slowly yet surely the -berries of the dread ground-hemlock did their work; stealthily as juice -of mandrake or of poppy. The leaden hours of the long September night -passed and inky clouds blotted out the stars, and when the sun rose he -shot out a shaft of purplish light, which revealed the faces of the -sisters, calm and cold in death, with Mignon whisking his head against -the whitened cheek of his sweet mistress. - -There was a roll of distant thunder; nearer and nearer it came; it grew -darker and the air was hot and stifling. The forest groaned, and then -there was an appalling crash and a blaze of lightning clad the scene -in dazzling sheen. There was the red glow of fire; the bolt had struck -a dead pine and instantly the surrounding trees, covered with withered -leaves, that caught like tinder, were in a blaze. The storm shrieked, -the thunder made the earth tremble, the rain fell in torrents, but -higher and higher mounted the flames. It was the funeral pyre of -Archange and Marie, and when it died out not a vestige of them was to -be found. - - - - -THE SETTLER’S FIRST GRIST. - - -CHAPTER I. - -Late in the fall of 1817 seven families of immigrants settled on the -banks of the St Lawrence in Dundee, close to the St Anicet line and -nearly opposite the village of Lancaster. With one exception, they -had come from the Isle of Skye, and they named their settlement after -their Scottish birthplace, which was not altogether inappropriate, for -the strip of territory they had taken possession of was so surrounded -on the land side by swamps as to be, in a sense, an island. Apart -from two or three of their number who knew a little English, they -spoke Gaelic and Gaelic only. They brought naught beyond strong arms -and great endurance of privation, for their training as crofters and -fishermen was of little use in their new surroundings. An untrodden -wilderness of forest hemmed in their shanties, which were placed on -the bank of the St Lawrence, and on the other side of the great river, -which here expands into a lake two miles in width, were their nearest -neighbors, who had shown them the greatest kindness. Highlanders like -themselves, the people on the Glengarry side of the river had taken a -lively interest in the newcomers, had made bees to give them a fresh -start in life; crossed over the river to show them how to fell trees, -build shanties, and make potash, and when spring came had, with true -Highland generosity, lent them seed and assisted in brushing it in or -planting it amid the stumps of their clearings. In the black mould of -the virgin soil the potatoes grew with an abundance that surprised -the Skyemen, though their astonishment was greater at the luxuriance -of the Indian corn, which they saw for the first time, and at the -excellence of the wheat. When the latter was threshed the next step -was to get it ground. Their nearest mill was at Williamstown, in the -county of Glengarry, and to reach it involved a fatiguing journey. It -was a bright morning in the first week of October, 1818, that one of -the settlers placed a bag of wheat in a canoe to take to this mill. It -was his first grist--the first in his life of wheat--and he looked at -the bag, as he deposited it carefully in the bottom of the canoe, with -satisfaction not unmingled with honest pride, which was shared in by -his wife and children, who came to the water’s edge to see him off. -Assisted by his son, a handsome young fellow, the paddles were dipped, -and the boat was soon skimming lake St Francis, for so the expansion -of the St Lawrence between Cornwall and Coteau is named. When half-way -across they paused to rest, and as they viewed the noble sheet of -water, embedded in a setting of bush whose bright colors glowed in the -shimmering sunshine of a true Canadian fall day, they thought they had -never seen anything more beautiful. “And the best of it is, Allan, that -the water is fresh and not salt, and,” fixing his gaze on his shanty, -which he could discern beneath the trees, “the land is our own, and -there will be no rent to pay at Martinmas.” - -When they got to the mill they found there were other customers before -them, and having to wait their turn, it was nearly dark when their -canoe passed out of the river Raisin into lake St Francis on their -homeward journey. The sun had set behind a cloud, and the lake, though -calm, had an oily appearance--both signs of a coming change. They had -gone far enough to lose sight of the shore they had left, when a slight -swell of the waters was noticed, and immediately afterwards the hollow -sound of approaching wind. Both practised boatmen of the Old World, -they knew what these signs meant. “Had we our old boat, Allan,” said -the father, “I would not care for the squall that’s coming, but this -cockle-shell will not stand a rough sea. It may soon blow over. Yonder -I think I see the light your mother has set in the window to guide us. -We will hurry before the waves get big.” Urged by their strong arms, -the canoe flew over the lake, but swifter came the storm, and before -many minutes a violent gust of wind, accompanied by pelting rain, burst -upon them. Like all shallow sheets of fresh water, the lake was quickly -beaten into a fury, and before long waves large enough not merely to -toss the boat but to drench its occupants were coursing over it. The -danger of swamping was imminent when the father’s skill averted it. -Directing his son to stretch himself full length in the bottom of -the canoe, using the bag of flour as a pillow, it steadied under the -living ballast. Then, taking his place at one end, the father brought -the other bow-on the wind and skilfully kept it, by vigorous use of -the paddle, in a line with the waves, so that the canoe breasted and -slipped over them, hardly shipping a drop of water. The fury of the -squall soon passed, and was succeeded by a gale which blew steadily -from the west. With that fine respect for parents which characterizes -Highlanders, Allan had offered no suggestion, obediently doing what his -father ordered. When he heard him say to himself “My God, we are lost!” -he exclaimed: “No, father, the storm will blow by, and we will then -make our way home this night yet.” - -“Yes, the storm will blow over, but where will we be then? You forget, -my poor boy, that the lake ends in rapids, and we are hurrying towards -them as fast as wind and wave can drive us. Your mother and your -sisters and brothers will have sore hearts tomorrow.” - -Allan had not thought of the rapids. On their way from Montreal he had -seen them, watched their foaming surges, and knew their canoe could -not live a moment among them. The thought of death was bitter to him, -and as the hours passed and they went drifting downwards, amid the -storm and darkness, towards the jaws of the dreaded danger, his heart -was filled with anguish, not alone for his mother, his brothers and -sisters, but for her with whom he had secretly plighted troth. - -“Allan, I will shout to you when I see the rapids. Jump and try to make -the shore, for it may be near; do not trouble with me, or we both may -be lost. Be a good lad to your mother, and tell her and your brothers -and sisters my last thoughts were of them.” - - -CHAPTER II. - -Mrs McDonald had tidied up the one and only room of the shanty, and -was expecting momentarily the arrival of her husband and son, when she -was terror-struck by the unlooked for sound of the squall among the -trees. Hurrying from the house, she stood on the beach, on which the -waves were beginning to break, but the darkness and rain prevented -her seeing many yards. In her agony of apprehension she shouted, in -the hope that the missing ones were near: from the stormy waters came -no reply. Bidding her children, who had followed her, to go and alarm -the neighbors, very soon every soul in the settlement was by her side, -talking rapidly in Gaelic and excitedly suggesting what ought to be -done. They were all agreed that if the canoe was on the lake when the -storm burst she was lost, and their sole hope was she had not left the -other shore. The only other canoe they had was no larger than the one -that was gone, and to launch it in order to search the lake, would be -to add to the calamity. All that could be done was to build a bonfire -on the most prominent point, to guide the missing canoe if within -sight, and hope for the best. Laying his hand on Mrs McDonald’s arm, -as she stood wistfully gazing on the now foaming waters of the lake, -the oldest man of the settlement said, “Come with us out of the cold -and wet; we can do no good here.” Gathered in the shanty, the fire was -replenished until it roared in the ample chimney, and the neighbors -talked hopefully to the family and despondently among themselves. When -the hope that the storm was only a passing squall was dissipated by its -settling into a gale, under the influence of which the waves lashed the -sandy beach with a roar so appalling that it stifled the groanings -of the forest, the men agreed among themselves that McDonald and his -son were at the bottom of the lake, and their hearts grew sore for -those whom they believed to be widowed and orphaned by the calamity. -Fighting with her fears, Mrs McDonald tried to persuade herself all -would come right, and assumed a complacency she was far from feeling. -“Often,” she remarked, “has my husband been out worse nights than this -in Scotland, and surely he who could fight the Atlantic is not going -to be drowned in a bit freshwater loch in Canada. To be sure there was -a winding-sheet in the candle last night, but that did not signify, -seeing that it was made from the fat of a wild deer, and not from that -of a Christian sheep. Not one of my family, and it goes far back, Mrs -McGillis, ever died without the wraith of Ian Ban, our forbear, who was -laird of Glenish, being seen, and it is not to be said he failed to -warn me when my husband and oldest son were near their end. I am not -afraid of them. They will be here tomorrow--Donald, like a good man, -go and see that the fire is blazing on the point--and we must keep our -composure. What is that?” - -Close to the dwelling rose a prolonged howl, beginning at a low pitch -and rising to a piercing climax, the sound of which blanched every -face. Those nearest the door opened it; none ventured out. Every ear -was strained. In a few minutes the howl was repeated. “Pooh!” said a -young man, “it is only a wolf.” - -The incident broke the tension of suspense, and one after another began -telling stories of their old life in Skye, having more or less bearing -on the situation of those they waited for. Thus the hours wore away, -and it was noted with satisfaction that at the turn of the night the -gale broke and speedily died away. The waves still ran too high for -the canoe to be launched to attempt to gain the other side of the lake -and make enquiries, but they were falling fast. When it was agreed it -would be safe to go, the settlers again gathered on the beach, which -was reddened by the beacon fire that still blazed. There was unexpected -delay; a paddle was found to be broken, and another had to be made, -and ere all was ready a faint whitening of the eastern sky told of -the coming day. It was now a beautiful night, calm and still, the -glassy swells of the lake reflecting the sparkle of the stars. Many a -searching glance was cast across the broad lake for the missing boat, -and dreadful apprehensions filled each bosom as to the secret its dark -waters kept. The canoe was about to start, the two men going with her -had dipped their paddles, and the group on the beach clustered closer -to see her off, when, faint and from afar, came over the surface of -the lake a plaintive murmur. Not a word was uttered, but every ear was -strained to catch the sound. It came again fitfully. Neighbor looked -with agony into the blanched face of neighbor. The one idea possessed -them, that it was the dirge of the spirits of their departed friends -as they were journeying to the place of souls. The mother impulsively -sprang forward until the water laved her feet and cried, “My Allan, my -first-born, is it you that is calling? Oh speak to me and tell where in -the cold deep I will find you.” - -There was a shriek behind her which froze every heart. A young woman, -the winsome daughter of one of the settlers, had fallen senseless on -the sand. - -The patriarch of the settlement who, at the first sound, had knelt -and placed his ear close to the lake, soon rose in stern reproof. “Is -it thus you welcome God’s mercy? Your son, Mrs McDonald, and your -lover, Flora, for so you have just revealed to us he is, is alive and -well. It is his voice singing the boat-song of the Isle of Mist, and I -hear the plash of oars.” And so it was, for now clear and strong came -from the lake the words of the song, and soon keen eyes could see the -approaching canoe. There was a shout of joy, and tears streamed from -every cheek. A few minutes more and the lost were among them. - -When they had re-entered the shanty and the cup of rejoicing had gone -round, Mr McDonald told his story. As time passed, and the canoe -drifted farther down the lake, he had given up all hope and expected -every moment to feel it caught in the strong current that leads to the -rapids, and to hear their dreadful sound. “I was praying for you in my -heart,” he said, “when I heard the sound of breaking water. Allan, I -shouted, here they are at last; make ready to jump and swim for your -life. No sooner said than my paddle struck bottom and I saw trees -before me. Quick, Allan, jump and we will drag the canoe ashore. We -both sprang out at the same time, and catching hold of the canoe ran -her through the breakers and high on to the bank. We were wet and so -cold, but, oh, we were thankful that we were saved. After a while we -got up and moved round to see if a house was near, when we found that -we were on one of the small islands that lie at the head of the rapids. -A few rods one way or the other and we would have swept past it and -been lost. It was God’s own hand that had steered our canoe. Well, we -waited patiently till the gale went down, and as soon as we dared we -launched out again and paddled homeward. And a long pull we had, but it -warmed us.” - -The bag of flour was opened. The water had caked the outside layer, -leaving the interior quite dry. The flour was examined with interest, -being the first from wheat grown in the settlement. - -“Well,” exclaimed the patriarch, “it is time we were in our beds, -though it be now good daylight, and we will go to sleep with thankful -hearts that our good neighbor is with us and not at the bottom of the -lake. And you, Mrs McDonald, we wish well to, for you have this morning -found not only the son that was lost, but a daughter you knew not of, -and a good girl she is too. There is plenty of land here for all, and -we will build them a house and hold our New Year in it, and, please -God, we will not again risk life in these French cobbles of canoes, but -build a big boat.” - -And so it came to pass. The New Year beheld Flora and Allan made one -with a merry-making that became a tradition in the settlement, their -Glengarry friends driving over the icy bosom of the lake to it in a -drove, and bringing two pipers to supply the music, and when spring -came a boat, large enough to carry half a dozen bags of flour, built -after the best Isle of Skye design, was launched in the creek beside -the shanty of William McPhee, and served the settlement many a long -year. - - - - -ABNER’S DEVICE. - - -“Abner, I want you to go a message for me after breakfast.” - -“Yes, mother. Is it to Four Corners?” - -“No; you are to go to the Blands, with a basket for old Mrs Whiting.” - -“Why, that’s in Canada, and they’re our enemies.” - -“Our governments are at war, but we old neighbors are not.” - -“But the Indian guard may catch me.” - -“If they do, they’ll not harm a boy like you.” - -“Yes, they would, mother. They’d scalp anything that’s Yankee, and I -hate them and every Britisher. I don’t see why you want to do a good -turn to those who’ve been trying these two years to cut our throats and -burn our houses.” - -“Abner!” exclaimed Mrs Smith reproachfully. - -“I want to hit them every time, mother, and if I have got to go, you’ll -let me take father’s rifle.” - -“No, Abner; you’ll go as you are, and if the Indian guard fall in -with you, their captain will let you go when you tell your errand. If -congress want to fight king George, that’s not to say we are to hate -and hurt those we have lived beside so long and who’ve done us many a -kindness.” - -This conversation took place in the log shanty of a first settler in -northern New York in the fall of 1813. War was then in progress, and -a few days before General Hampton had returned from his attempt to -reach Montreal, and with his withdrawal to winter quarters the settlers -along the frontier supposed hostilities were ended for the season. -When war had been declared the settlers on the American side of the -lines were in terror of being visited by the Indians, whom the British -government had enrolled to watch the frontier, but as time proved their -apprehensions groundless, they were little affected by the contest that -was being waged, beyond having their intercourse with the settlers -on the Canadian side restricted, and that intercourse had been close -and frequent, for the difference in allegiance had not affected their -friendship. In the bush distance goes for little, and though five miles -apart, the Blands were Mrs Smith’s nearest neighbors to the north, -and their relation had been of the warmest kind. Unable, owing to the -presence of Hampton’s camp at Four Corners, to do their trading there, -Mrs Smith knew that the Blands must be without groceries and even -flour, and, at this, the first opportunity, she was eager to send them -some little comforts to vary their coarse fare, especially for Mrs -Whiting, the grandmother of the household, who was often bedridden from -rheumatism. - -The basket was ready for Abner by the time he had finished breakfast. -His imagination had been fired by seeing the soldiers at fort Hickory -and at Four Corners, and to carry the basket in the usual way was out -of the question. Securing thin withe-ropes, made from the bark of the -moosewood, he slung the basket on his shoulders like a knapsack, and -catching up a cedar pole he grasped it as if it were a musket, and -shouting to himself the order, “Eyes front; right foot forward; quick -march!” off he set, fancying himself one of Colonel Purdy’s crack -brigade. Mrs Smith as, from the door, she watched her boy depart on his -errand, while she smiled at his wayward fancy, could not help feeling -a thrill of pride in his lithe, active figure, giving promise of a -handsome man. That he was shrewd and quick-witted, as well as tall and -strong, for his years, she well knew. - -The weather had been extremely wet for the season; the ground was -soaked and the leaves had long ago been washed from all the trees -except the beech. During the night the rain had ceased, and the -morning, dull and hazy, gave promise of a dry day. Once out of his -father’s clearance, Abner’s way lay through the bush. There was a -foot-track that led to the Blands, but now it was so hidden by the -litter of leaves that it was indiscernible. That did not signify. Born -in the woods, they were so familiar that Abner could find his way in -any direction he chose, with as much ease as the dwellers in cities -traverse their intricacies of streets and lanes. As he threaded his -way among the trees, the chatter of the chipmunk, the whirr of the -partridge, and the tapping of a belated woodpecker were the only sounds -that fell on his ear, and no sight more unusual than an occasional -grey-squirrel or troop of deer. When he had crossed the line that -divides Chateaugay from Hinchinbrook, and was fairly on Canadian -territory, he became more circumspect, and his fancy changed. He was -no longer the right-hand man of a file of soldiers, but a scout, sent -into the enemy’s country to get information. Keeping under every cover -that offered, looking furtively around before venturing to cross any -open that came in his way, treading on the hardest ground he could -find, and doubling on his track where the soil treacherously retained -his footprints, he found playing at Abner the spy much more exciting -than that of Abner the soldier. Suddenly a crackling sound arrested his -footsteps. It was, he knew, no noise made by any denizen of the forest, -and he turned towards whence it came. Soon he caught the faint odor of -smoke, and then he knew there was a fire near--probably the camp-fire -of the British guard. Prudence whispered to him to turn away and pass -on; curiosity, to go and have a peep at the camp. He was only a boy -of fourteen, and curiosity carried the day. Slowly he stole towards -the point whence the crackling sound of blazing branches came, and so -noiselessly that even the squirrels failed to start at his approach -until he passed their perch. Now he could see the smoke, and next -the glare of the embers. He thought he saw the figure of a man, but -as, when he looked again, the shape was gone, he thought he had been -mistaken. He paused to listen. There was no sound save the drumming of -a partridge behind him. Redoubling his caution, he crawled towards the -spot whence the smoke rose, and when he slowly lifted his head from -behind a thicket, he was startled to find himself looking into a camp -of the dreaded Indian guard, of whom he had so often heard but never -seen. There they were, 21 in number, lying prostrate in sleep in a -circle around the fire and the pale autumn sunshine streaming down upon -them. Uncouth looking men they were, with daubs of paint on their faces -that made them hideous. Beside each one lay his musket, and some even, -in their sleep, grasped their hatchets, prepared, if surprised, for -immediate combat. Their captain Abner recognized from his being white -and wearing the sword and crimson sash of a British officer. With eager -eye Abner scanned the unexpected scene, and when the first feeling -of fear died away, he grew bold and thought of what he might have -accomplished had his mother allowed him to take his father’s rifle -with him. The exploits of Robert Rogers and Ethan Allen floated before -his mind’s eye and he planned how, had he been armed, he might have -shot the captain through the heart and have disappeared before any of -the sleeping group knew what had happened. Satisfied with the sight, he -moved to withdraw and resume his journey. At the first attempt to turn -around, his arms were seized with a grasp of iron, and, looking up, -he saw he was in the hands of an Indian, whose painted visage glared -with ferocity. Appalled for a moment, Abner stood still, then he made -a wrench to get away. It was in vain. Drawing the boy’s arms together, -the Indian grasped them by the wrists with his left hand, and when the -right hand was thus released he thrust it into the folds of his belt -of wampum. Abner’s eyes followed the movement, and when the hand was -withdrawn grasping a short, thick knife, which he recognized as the -scalping-knife he had heard so much of, a paroxysm of terror smote him, -and he gave a piercing shriek. With a diabolical grin, as if he enjoyed -the boy’s terror, the Indian passed the knife before Abner’s eyes and -tried its edge on his soft chubby cheek, then flourished it before -plunging into his scalp. As he made the motion, a billet of wood came -hurtling past, and striking the Indian on the head, he fell, dragging -Abner down with him. He was lifted up by the captain, whom Abner had -seen asleep a minute before, and as he passed his hand over him to make -sure he was unhurt, he poured forth a torrent of angry words, in his -own language, at the Indian, who gave no sign that the knockdown blow -he had received had hurt him. As the captain led Abner into the circle -of Indians, who had been awakened by his shriek, he told him he had -been scolding his assailant for attempting to scalp him, and said in -apology that he was a heathen Indian of the far west, a Blackfoot who -had strayed to the Ottawa, and joined a band of the Iroquois. “I do not -allow my men to be cruel; my orders be to watch the frontier to prevent -invasion by your soldier, and not to hurt anybody.” Then he asked -Abner who he was and why he had come nigh their camp, and was answered -frankly. - -“Ah, my leetle man,” said the captain, who spoke with a French -accent, “if you tell me true you get away; but I’m afraid you carry -letter,--despatch--eh!” Taking the basket from his back, the captain -lifted out its contents, among which were half-a-dozen apples, then a -luxury in the new settlement, where the few fruit trees planted had not -begun to bear. An Indian snatched up one and took a bite, laughingly -saying, “Yankee apple better nor Yankee bullet.” The other contents -were of as innocent a description: a few little luxuries that might -tempt an invalid, a small bag of flour, and a bottle of liniment. -The captain, satisfied there was no letter in the basket, carefully -replaced its contents, and then examined Abner’s clothing, making him -even take off his shoes. While thus engaged an Indian slouched up -beside the captain and, throwing down his musket, began to speak to -him, and Abner listened to the guttural sounds with awe. - -“Dis man,” said the captain, “tell me he see you leave clearance and -follow you. He say, when you come to Canada side you act as ’fraid, -hide behind bush, and walk ve-ray fooney. Why you no want to be seen?” - -Abner blushed at this description of his enacting the role of Indian -scout and perceived how his conduct could be misconstrued. He -remembered, also, his mother’s repeated injunction that truth is better -under any circumstances, and, with a shamed smile on his face, he told -what he was doing. The captain grinned as he listened and patting Abner -on the back said: “I know; boy once myself and now fadder of four; you -play one leetle game of Indian spy, not tinking real Indian watch you. -You one good, honest-faced boy. Pity you Yankee.” - -The Indian who had tracked him, smiled as the captain spoke, showing he -understood English, and, like all his race, enjoyed banter. “You smell -smoke, eh?” he said, “hold up nose and go on. Then you hear partridge -drum (here he imitated the sound) me partridge and signal to Joe; Joe -steal up behind, catch arms, pull out knife, you--squeal,” and here, as -if overcome by the ludicrousness of the scene, the Indian grinned from -ear to ear without emitting a single sound of laughter, and poked Abner -in the side. - -“You make big mistake tink you come to Indian camp without we know,” -remarked the captain, “when we sleep, sentinel all round like fox.” -Changing the subject, the captain tried to get from Abner what he knew -of the movements and whereabouts of the American army, particularly -of the number still in camp at Four Corners, which Abner admitted he -had visited the day before. It was without avail. The boy realized the -information he would give might be used against his countrymen, and he -answered evasively. “Ah, well,” exclaimed the captain, “it no matter; -we’ve our spies in your camp so well as in de bush.” - -The Indians were now busily preparing breakfast, and Abner watched them -with curious eyes as they placed potatoes and pieces of pork to cook -upon the hot embers, while a copper-kettle with tea was slung on a -crooked stick. Their duties required them to be on the patrol along the -frontier during the night, which accounted for their sleeping so late. - -“Vell,” said the captain, “what you tink of dese Indian? Yankee able to -catch ’em? Eh? You tell, when you get home, what great fellow Indians -be. Now you may go, and give Mrs Bland de compliment of Captain de -Versailles and say he will do her de honor of taking supper with her.” - -Thus permitted to resume his journey, Abner struck into the bush, and -in half an hour had reached the house of the Blands. He was hailed -with an uproarious welcome from every member of the large household, -for there was the delight not only of resuming long-suspended friendly -intercourse, but the proof in his appearance that the warfare waged -between the two governments had not lessened the goodwill of their -neighbors. Unpacking the basket, it was found to contain a little of -everything they had been so long deprived from being shut out from the -American stores. On the cork being drawn from the bottle of liniment, -granny declared that the very smell had done her rheumatics good. As -the contents of the basket lay spread on the table, a sudden thought -seemed to strike Mrs Bland, which she communicated in a whisper to her -husband. There was a quiet consultation, and then she addressed Abner. - -“We have something strange to tell you, and mum’s the word. Night -before last, when we were asleep, a knock came to the door and then it -was pushed open. Father rose, stirred the fire, and got a light, when -we saw it was an American soldier. He was drenched to the skin, for it -was pouring rain, and, oh, what a pale, thin ghost he looked! He crept -up to the fire and sank in a heap beside it, muttering, ‘Thank God.’ I -saw he was perishing, and got some hot drink for him, and after a while -he told his story. He had been with Hampton’s army in the battle, where -he had received a flesh wound in the side, and when Purdy’s brigade -fell back he was unable to keep up with them, got separated from his -company, and, in the dark, lost his way. Next morning he tried to find -the trail of the army, but failed, and then, guided by the sun, struck -south, knowing he would in time reach the States. Too weak to carry -them, he threw away his musket and ammunition, and crawled, rather -than walked. When the last biscuit in his haversack was eaten, he had -to trust to beech and butter nuts, though he was not hungry, for his -wound fevered him. Often he lay down, thinking he would never rise -again, but he was young and strong, and when he revived a little he -pushed on, until, to his great joy, he struck our clearing. He thought -he was in the States, and when we told him our house was on the Canada -side he was dreadful afraid we would give him up, and he would be sent -to Montreal as a prisoner. We soon eased him on that score; our big -trouble was to hide him from the Indian guard until we could get him -sent across the lines.” - -“Yes, mother,” interrupted one of her sons, “they came to our house the -next day, and are close by yet.” Abner shivered. - -“Well,” resumed Mrs Bland, “I made the poor Yank take off his wet -clothes and lie down in our warm bed. I dressed his wound for the first -time, and it was raw and nasty, I can tell you, and then he fell asleep -like a baby, poor fellow. I cleaned and set his clothes to dry, and as -I sat mending them next morning father and I consulted. To keep him in -the house was to give him up to the Indians, and he was too weak to -travel farther. Where to hide him until he was able to leave bothered -us, when, all of a sudden, father thought of the big platform that -stands near the spring in the bush, two acres back, which the Indians -raised last year for still hunting. It was late in the day when he -awoke, and he found himself weak as water but the fever had left him. -We told him what we intended, and, after he had eaten something, father -and the boys carried him to the platform, rolled him in a blanket and -covered him with elm bark and cedar brush. We have taken him victuals -after dark, and last night, seeing it was wet, we fetched him over and -gave him a night’s rest in bed. He eats little, for his stomach is -turned against our common food, and he’ll be glad of what your mother -has sent. Now, Ab, can’t you think of some plan to get this poor fellow -across the lines?” - -He could not think of any, for the woods were full of Indians, but he -would like to visit the wounded soldier. Preparing as tasty a repast as -she could out of the victuals sent by Mrs Smith, Abner and Mrs Bland -started for his place of concealment. As is their custom, the Indians -had raised the platform in a thicket, which commanded a runway, and was -therefore well concealed, and, what was of equal consequence at that -season, sheltered from the wind. On coming beneath it, Mrs Bland spoke, -when there was a movement above, and a face, so ashy pale and wasted -that Abner felt a creeping feeling pass over him, peered from beyond -the edge. “Here’s a boy from Yankeetown and a dinner cooked from the -provisions he has brought.” - -“He’s welcome,” faintly whispered the soldier. “I wish I could go back -with him.” - -Taking the basket in one hand, Abner climbed up to the platform with -the agility of a squirrel, and helped the soldier to raise himself and -arrange the food. When he saw the wheaten bread, he said it put him in -mind of home, and he fell to and made the best meal he had partaken of -since the fatal day on the Chateaugay. His strength returned with the -grateful food and he asked Abner many questions, what Hampton had done -after the battle, where he was now, were many killed, did the British -follow him up, and were there many Indians in the woods. When he heard -of Abner’s encountering the Indians that morning, he shuddered, and -Abner could not help thinking of what his fate would be did one of them -ferret out his retreat, a reflection that increased his desire to save -him. Leaving the soldier in a cheerful and hopeful mood, he slipped -back to the Blands, puzzling his head to devise some plan of rescuing -his countryman. - -After dinner, which consisted of corn boiled in milk, and potatoes -with fried venison, the Bland boys proposed to go partridge shooting, -and Abner agreed, as he was in no hurry to return home. So off they -went. In beating the woods, a coon was started, and it supplied the -idea Abner had been seeking for. Before they returned home he had -worked it out and determined to submit it to Mrs Bland. On approaching -the door they heard peals of laughter, when one of the boys remarked, -“The captain has come; he’s a jolly one with the girls,” and on -entering, they found that personage entertaining the family in his -liveliest style. Abner bit his lip and saw he must bide his time. -Supper is an early meal in the backwoods, and after enjoying it to -the full, and diverting and flattering each of the household, Captain -Versailles, with many apologies for duty requiring him to leave such -delightful company, left to return to his Indians. No sooner had he -gone, than Abner asked abruptly, “These moonlight nights don’t you go -coon-hunting?” - -“Don’t we, Ab,” answered one of the boys, “think you’d say so if you -saw the skins nailed on the barn-door.” - -“Well, then, I’ve a plan to get the soldier away with me,” which he -proceeded to lay before them. Briefly it was, that the boys should go -with their guns a mile or so east and close to the boundary-line, when -they would begin firing and shouting. The Indians, thinking it was an -attack from Fort Hickory, would hurry to meet the invaders, leaving the -western part of the frontier unguarded, and let Abner slip across with -the soldier. - -“It’s feasible,” said Mr Bland, “the trouble is the poor fellow isn’t -able to walk a rod, let alone five miles.” - -“He’ll die from cold if left out longer,” remarked his wife; “we must -run some risk. He might be able to keep on the back of the old white -mare.” - -“That’s so,” answered her husband, “we’ll try Ab’s plan.” - -As no time was to be lost, it being essential to make the diversion -before the Indians were detailed by Captain Versailles to their posts -for the night, the boys caught up their guns and left, while Abner and -Mr Bland slipped over to the hiding-place of the soldier, told him -what was intended, and helped him down from his perch. The prospect of -speedy escape gave him unwonted strength, and leaning on his friends -he managed to walk to the house, where Mrs Bland, after dressing his -wound, insisted on washing his face and tidying him up. “For sure,” she -said, “you’re going home to your friends, and you mustn’t give Canada a -bad name.” - -“That I never will,” murmured the grateful soldier, “God has anointed -the hearts of both peoples with the same oil of kindness, and it’s only -the politicians and big men on both sides that make trouble between us.” - -The evening was calm and mild for the season, and Mr Bland sat -listening by the open door. Presently, there burst from a remote corner -of the woods, a sharp volley, followed by such shouts and cries as -would lead the listener to fancy a fierce fight was in progress. “There -they are!” exclaimed Mr Bland, while the shots and uproar continued to -increase, “let ’em keep that up for five minutes, and there won’t be an -Indian within earshot who won’t be running to the spot.” - -The noise did continue that long and longer too, while, with skilful -imitation, it subsided and increased, and passed from one part of the -woods to another, the cheers of soldiers mingling with equally good -imitations of Indian yells, giving the impression of a running fight -between a detachment of the American garrison and the Indian guard. -When Mr Bland considered all the Indians had left for the neighborhood -of the supposed fight, the old mare was brought to the door, which the -soldier was helped to mount, and Abner, grasping the bridle, led the -way. By this time the moon was high enough to be pouring down its rays -through the tree-tops, and though its light was useful in showing him -how to avoid obstacles and to go much faster than they otherwise could -have done, Abner would have dispensed with it for fear of its revealing -their presence to the Indians. His fear was groundless. His device was -a complete success. Not an Indian was met, the woods were traversed -in safety, and Abner exulted in the thought how he had tricked the -Indians, and almost laughed right out when he pictured to himself their -disgust, on reaching the scene of the supposed fight, to find it to -be only a coon-hunt. If they had trapped him in the morning, he had -outwitted them in the evening. When the light of his father’s house was -discerned, Abner relieved his feelings by a great shout of exultation, -that drew his parents to the door. - -“Well, Abner, you see the Indians did not catch you?” - -“Didn’t they mother! I feel the clutch of one of ’em at my scalp yet. -Won’t you help the stranger down, father? He is a soldier and wounded.” - -“Wounded! Poor critter, I must get the bed ready,” and Mrs Smith darted -indoors. - -Stiff and sore from the exertion and cold, the poor soldier was like -to fall when they helped him off the mare, and, gently, father and son -carried him to the bed. - -“Poor man, ain’t he tuckered out!” exclaimed Mrs Smith, as she -approached him when his head had been laid on the pillow. Shading the -candle she glanced at him, started, looked again, and crying out, -“Blessed if it ben’t my own brother Bill from Varmont!” she fell on his -neck in a paroxysm of hysterical sobs. And so it turned out to be. He -had been among those last drafted to reinforce Hampton, and had been -unconscious that his sister lived so near the camp at Four Corners. -Abner was the hero of the night when the soldier told how he had been -the means of saving him. “No,” said the lad modestly, “it was mother’s -sending me against my will to the Blands that saved you.” - -“That’s so, Abner, and you never forget it, that blood is thicker than -water, and in doing a kind deed to those you considered an enemy we -were serving ourselves.” - - - - -WHAT A SETTLER TOLD ME. - - -After the stifling heat and blinding glare of a Canadian summer day, -it is most refreshing to walk forth as the sun, shorn of its strength, -sinks, a glowing ball of fire, behind the forest that edges the -landscape. Vegetation, wilted by the day’s glaring heat, revives with -the dewy coolness of the hour, and from the neighboring bush comes the -song of the greybird. As the glow fades from the sky, nowhere else in -the world of tenderer blue or more translucent depth, the stars drop -into sight, and should Venus be in the ascendant, she burns with a -white flame unknown at any other season. Generally, with the setting -of the sun, a light breeze springs up from the west or northwest, -refreshing to the farmers who toiled throughout the sultry day, and -swaying the heads of timothy until the meadows seem to be swept by -billows. The eye of the saunterer takes in the scene, passing over the -great flat fields of grain and grass, until ended by the recurring -belt of bush; the snug farm-houses set amid shade-trees and orchards; -the pond-like reaches of the Chateaugay, sleeping peacefully in the -hollows of its rounded banks, unruffled save as the wing of one of the -swallows, that skim its glassy surface, frets it for a moment, or from -the leap of an inhabitant of its clear waters; and, in the finished -beauty of the picture, he finds it hard to realize that he is looking -upon the results of the labor of scarce half a century, that underneath -a few of the roofs before him still live men and women who saw the -country when a wilderness of forest and swamp, and who are survivors -of the generation who wrought the wondrous change--men and women who -underwent privations the most painful and labors the most exhausting -in making the country what it is. To give those who have inherited -the fruits of their sacrifices some idea of what the first settlers -underwent, I here submit the narrative of one of them, as nearly as may -be in the words I was told it: - -You have driven a long way to see me, sir, and I am afraid I can -tell you little worth the hearing. It is strange you should go to -so much trouble to gather these old-time stories, but if I can tell -you anything that will be of use to you I am willing. You want me to -begin with our leaving the Old Country and go on in order, as you can -recollect best that way. Very well, only you will have to come and -see me again, for it is a long story, and if you print any of it, you -are to change it so that nobody will know who told you. I don’t mind -myself, but some of my children might not like it. - -We belonged to the Border, and the first sight that met my eyes every -morning was the Eildon hills. My husband was a shepherd and we lived -well enough until our family began to grow large, and then we thought -it would be well for their sake to try Canada. We had a little saved -and that, with what we got from the roup of our furniture, paid our -passage and plenishing. We sailed from the Solway, into which a big -ship from Liverpool called for a party of emigrants. We were rowed -out in small boats, and when I got on to her deck my heart failed -me, for such dirt and confusion I never saw the like, crowded as she -was with 242 emigrants from county Kerry, who had gone on board at -Liverpool. This we never expected, but it was too late now, and we -had to make the best of it. The sight below was worse than above, and -I turned fairly sick when I went down the ladder to our berths; the -noise was bad enough but the smell was just awful. The mate, a swearing -character, was not without a show of decency, and did the great favor -of allotting to us Border folks, who numbered an even six dozen, the -row of berths aft the main hatchway, so that we were kept together. We -slipped out of the firth that night with the tide, and next morning, -which was a most beautiful day, we kept tacking off and on the coast -of the North of Ireland. As we got out on the ocean I grew sea-sick, -and for a few days I was just in misery; having to attend the children -yet hardly able to raise my head. The ship’s provisions were scanty -and very bad, which did not matter much to us, for we had taken a good -deal with us, but the poor Irish, who had brought nothing, were always -wanting to borrow, and as we, not having more than enough to serve -ourselves, had to refuse, they abused us for being proud, and tried to -pick quarrels, but both the Scotch and English of us kept our tempers -and gave them no offence. Their jealousy and ill-feeling grew, and one -morning they banded together to prevent our getting hot water at the -galley. This we could not stand, for the water was bad and only fit to -drink when boiled and made into tea or gruel. The captain refused to -interfere, being afraid, we thought, of having trouble with the Kerry -men, and when we told the mate he only swore at our lads for a cowardly -lot of sheep-tenders. When dinner-time came, our men got out their -crooks, and, going quietly on deck, formed in a column and, laying -about them right and left, cleared a road to the galley. There were -fearful threats made, but nothing came of them, and after that we were -respected and left alone. - -The ship made little headway owing to the wind keeping in the west, -and it was on the eighth day of our voyage that it became known to -us that a woman, who had been sick for some time, was ill of the -fever. On that day she got delirious and her people could not hide the -truth longer. Four of the oldest men of our party were sent to tell -the captain. He made light of their news and said they were mistaken -about the disease, but he refused to come and see the woman or to -erect a partition across the hold to separate us from the rest of the -passengers. We took his treatment sore to heart. When ship-owners get -his passage-money, they don’t care what becomes of the poor emigrant, -and would just as soon he would die on the voyage as land him. We went -to sleep that night sad and frightened, for we knew, by reading the -papers, what ship-fever meant. Well, next day the woman was worse, and -on the evening of the third she died. We were all anxious that the -corpse should be buried at once, so that the infection might not be -spread by it, and two of our folk, taking some things that might be -useful in preparing the body, went over to where it lay to advise that -that be done. The poor creatures got angry at once, and drove them -back, and cursed us for a set of heretics, who would put the decent -woman out of sight without waking her. They laid the corpse on top -of some chests in the centre of the ship, surrounded it by candles, -and then the keening began, which drove me nearly into hysterics. The -captain, hearing what was going on, sent down a keg of rum, and made -matters worse. Towards morning, when the drink had taken effect, they -began to quarrel, and the noise and confusion was terrible. There being -no partition, we could see the whole length of the hold, with the rows -of berths on either side, and towards the far end, in the middle of the -ship, was the white heap formed by the corpse and lighted by candles, -with the women sitting around it, wailing in the most unearthly way, -and taking no heed of the men and children who swarmed outside of them, -talking, shouting, pushing, and fighting. A candle was knocked down -and there was a cry of fire, but an old woman smothered it with her -cloak. As we could not sleep, and were afraid they might come to our -end of the ship and give us trouble, we went on deck to wait till all -was over. It was a cold, raw morning, with not enough of wind to keep -the ship from pitching, but anything was better than being below. When -the eight o’clock bell struck, the Irish came swarming up, bearing the -corpse. They rested it awhile by the bulwarks, when all, even to the -smallest child, fell on their knees in prayer. Then it was lifted over -and let drop into the ocean. The sailors would not help, keeping by -themselves on the forecastle, for they were afraid of the infection. -As four days passed without a new case, we were beginning to hope the -danger was passed, but on the fifth three children took ill, and before -the week was done there were 17 down. After that the disease had its -own way, and deaths became so frequent that it was impossible to hold -wakes. We pitied the poor creatures, and gave more than we could spare -to help them. The worst want of the sick was water and though it smelt -so that a horse would not have touched it and not worth the saving, -for there was plenty on board such as it was, the captain would not -order that the allowance be increased, but he encouraged the steward to -sell liquor, in the profit of which he shared. I cannot begin to tell -you of the scenes we had to endure; it was of God’s mercy that they -did not take away our senses. If the ship was dirty before the fever -broke out, it was worse now, and the smell, as you stepped from the -deck, was like to knock you down. None of our folk, with one sorrowful -exception, took the disease, which was not considered strange by the -Irish, for they accounted the taking away of the sick, especially of -the young, as a sign of favor by the saints, who carried them to glory. -The exception was my husband. When about to raise a tin of tea to his -lips one morning, he saw a child looking at him from her berth with -such entreating eyes, that he went over and held the vessel to the -girl’s mouth. When she was satisfied, he drank what was left. Three -days after he complained of a racking headache, which was followed -by a chill, after that the fever set in. Just because he was such a -lusty man the disease went hard with him, and on the tenth day of his -illness I saw there was no hope. It was in the afternoon as I sat by -him, listening to his ravings, that he suddenly sat up, and pointing -to the shaft of sunshine that poured down the hatchway into the dark -and loathsome hold, he said, “It fa’s on the Cheviots and glints on -the Tweed e’noo; let me bask in’t once mair.” We carried him over and -laid him in the sunlight. The delirium left him, and a sweet smile came -to his face. “Hae ye onything to say?” I whispered in his ear. “No, -Mailie,” he answered softly, “I am quite happy an’ feel the grip o’ my -Saviour’s han’: God will be wi’ you and the bairns.” He never opened -his een mair, but the smile lingered on his lips until the sun began -to sink, and as he felt the glow leave his cheek, he muttered, “It’s -growin’ late and the nicht will be ower cauld for the lammies; I’ll -ca’ the ewes frae the knowes,” and so saying he slipped awa wi’ the -Great Shepherd o’ the Sheep to the lown valley and the still waters. -Though my sorrow was like to rive my head, I kept my composure, for -there was work to be done, and nothing can excuse neglect of duty. -I prepared him for burial, and when all was ready, an old friend, a -brother shepherd of my husband from a boy, gave out the 90th psalm, -and when it had been sung, he read the 14th chapter of John, and -offered up a most soul-striving prayer, so that, when the corpse was -lifted, there was not a dry cheek. We followed as it was carried to -the deck. The ship was on the banks of Newfoundland, and the ocean was -a dead calm, the new moon lighting up the thin haze of mist that lay -upon it. I had wrapped my husband in his plaid, and thrust his crook -lengthways through the outer fold. Holding each an end of it, two of -the strongest of our men swung the body well out from the ship’s side. -As it disappeared I felt that my love for man as wife had gone with it, -and such a sense of desolation came over me as words cannot tell. - -Five days after we came to quarantine, where the sick were landed, and, -just five weeks and two days from the time we left Scotland, we sailed -into Quebec harbor. We were a small and heartbroken handful. Our chests -had been brought on deck and we sat on them, waiting for the steamer -to come alongside that was to carry us to Montreal. None of our folk -had asked me what I was going to do, and I knew the reason. It was not -that they were unwilling to help me, but because they had more than -they could do to mind themselves. They felt for me sore, but they could -not take the bite out of their own children’s mouths to give to mine. -Indeed, there was hardly one of them who knew what they were going to -do, for they had come to Canada to seek new homes on chance. I had had -my own thoughts and had marked out what I would try to do. - -“There’s the steamer; get yer bairns thegither and I’ll look to yer -kists.” - -It was a hard-favored man that spoke, a shepherd named Braxton from -Cumberland, who all the voyage had hardly said a word. Glad of his help -I followed him. He bought milk and bread for us when the steamer called -at Three Rivers, but never saying aught until Montreal was in sight. - -“What beest thou gaun to do?” he asked. I said I was going to bide in -Montreal and try to get something to do. I was strong and had a pair of -good hands. He gave a kind of snort. - -“Ye canna mak eneugh to keep five bairns; ye’d better come wi’ me.” - -“Where till?” I asked. - -“I dinna knaw yet, but I’se get lan’ somewhere near and ye’se keep -house for me.” - -“Are ye a single man?” He nodded. I sat thinking. He was a stranger to -me beyond what I had seen of him on the ship. Could I trust him? Here -was a home for my children in the meanwhile. For their sake would I do -right to refuse the offer? My mind was made up, and I told him I would -go with him. - -“I canna offer thee wages,” he said. - -“I dinna ask any.” - -“Very well,” he replied, and no more was said. - -By this time they had yoked the steamer to a string of oxen, which -helped it up the current into the harbor, and in course of an hour we -were in Sandy Shaw’s tavern. In answer to Braxton, the landlord told -him of there being bush land easy to be had near to the city. Next day -at sunrise he left to see it, and it was after dark on the third day -when he came back. He had got a lot on the Chateaugay, and we were to -start for it early next day. I had the children dressed soon after -daylight, and the three youngest rode on the French cart that was hired -to take our chests to Lachine. The rest of us followed on foot. It was -a fine morning, but very warm, and the road was deep with dust, which -the wind raised in clouds like to choke us. When we got to Lachine we -were disappointed to find that the ferryboat was unable to leave her -wharf owing to the strong wind blowing down the lake and which had -raised a heavy sea. We sat on our boxes and spent a weary day, my head -being just like to split with the heat and the shouting and jabbering -of the bateau men. There were several hundred emigrants waiting besides -ourselves, for the Durham boats could not start until the wind changed. -We could not get a bite to buy, for the Canadians were afraid of us -on account of the fever, and they had reason, for among those waiting -were many who had been sick of it, and there were some who were so -white and wasted that you would say the hand of death was upon them. -Towards sunset the wind fell and the lake got calmer, so the ferry -boat started. Her paddles were not driven by a steam-engine but by -a pair of horses, which went round and round. It was going to be -moonlight, so when we were put off at the Basin, we thought we would -push on to Reeves’s, for it would be cooler than to walk next day, and -we might thereby catch the canoes Braxton had bespoke. A cart was hired -to convey our chests and the younger children, and we set off. We got -along very well for about five miles, when we heard distant thunder, -and half an hour after the sky was clouded and we saw a storm would -soon burst. We knocked at the doors of several houses, but none would -let us in. As soon as the habitants saw we were emigrants, they shut -the door in our face, being afraid of the fever. When the rain began to -fall, the boy who was driving halted beneath a clump of trees by the -river-side, and I got under the cart with the children. It just poured -for about half an hour and the lightning and thunder were fearful. We -were soon wet to the skin, and I felt so desolate and lonesome, that I -drew my shawl over my head, and, hugging my youngest child to my bosom, -had a good cry. Those born here cannot understand how castdown and -solitary newcomers feel. For months after I came, the tear would start -to my eye whenever I thought of Scotland. Well, the storm passed, and -the moon came out bright in a clear sky. It was much cooler, but the -roads were awful, and we went on, slipping at every step or splashing -through mud-holes. Had I not been so much concerned about the children, -I could never have got through that night; helping and cheering them -made me forget my own weariness. It was getting to be daylight when the -cart at last stopped in front of a long stone house, in which there was -not a soul stirring, though the doors were all open. The boy pointed us -to where the kitchen was and turned to unyoke his horse. I found four -men sleeping on the floor, who woke up as we went in. They were French -and very civil, giving up the buffaloes they had been sleeping upon for -the children. I sat down on a rocking-chair, and fell at once asleep. -The sound of somebody stamping past woke me with a start. It was the -master of the house, a lame man, whom I found out after to be very -keen but honest and kind in his way. It was well on in the day, and -breakfast was on the table. I was so tired and sore that I could hardly -move. Braxton came in and asked if we were able to go on, for the -canoes would be ready to start in an hour. I was determined he should -not be hindered by me, so I woke up the children, washed and tidied -them as I best could, and then we had breakfast, which did us a deal -of good. There were two canoes, which were just long flat boats, with -two men in each to manage them. Our baggage and ourselves were divided -equally between them, and we started, everything looking most fresh -and beautiful, but the mosquitoes were perfectly awful, the children’s -faces swelling into lumps, and between them and the heat they grew -fretful. For a long way after leaving Reeves’s there were breaks in -the bush that lined the river banks--the clearances of settlers with -shanties in front--but they grew fewer as we went on, until we would go -a long way without seeing anything but the trees, that grew down to the -water’s edge. Getting round the rapids was very tiresome, and it was -late in the day when the men turned the canoes into a creek and pulled -up alongside its west bank. This was our lot and where we were to stay. -Placing our boxes so as to form a sort of wall, the canoemen felled -some small cedars for a roof, and, lighting a fire, they left us. I -watched the boats until they were out of sight and the sound of their -paddles died away, and then felt, for the first time, what it is to be -alone in the backwoods. There was so much to do that I had no time to -think of anything, and the children were happy, everything being new to -them. The kettle was put on and tea made, and we had our first meal on -our farm--if you had seen it, with the underbrush around us so thick -that we could not go six rods, you would have said it never could be -made a farm. - -We slept that night under our cover of cedar bushes and slept sound. In -the morning Braxton and my oldest boy started down the track, for it -was no road, that followed the bank of the Chateaugay, to see if the -settlers below would help to raise a shanty, and while they were gone -I did my best to get things into order. For all I had come through, -there was lightness in my heart, for there is a freedom and hopefulness -in living in the woods that nothing else seems to give one, and I made -child’s play of discomforts that would have disheartened me had I been -told of them before leaving Scotland. It was nigh noon when Braxton -came back. He had been made welcome everywhere, all were glad to have -a new neighbor, and the promise given that word would be sent to all -within reach to come to a bee next day. After dinner he took the axe -and tried his hand at chopping. He began on a tree about half a foot -thick and was nicking it all round, we looking on and admiring. - -“Ye’ll kill somebody with that tree,” said a voice behind us, and -turning, to our astonishment we saw a tall woman, in a poke-bonnet, -looking on. Explaining that it was necessary to know how a tree would -fall, she pointed how any direction could be secured by the way it was -chopped, and, seizing the axe, she showed how, and, under her strokes, -the first tree fell amid the shouts of the children. She was the wife -of our nearest neighbor, and, on hearing of our arrival, had come over -to see us, “Being real glad,” as she said, “to have a woman so near.” -She stayed an hour, and after finding out all about us, showed me how -to do a great many things needful in bush-life. Among the rest, how -to make a smudge to protect us from the mosquitoes, which was a real -comfort. - -Next morning six men came and spent the day in clearing space for the -shanty and in making logs for it. The day after, Braxton with two of -the men went to Todd’s to buy boards and rafted them down the river. -On the third day the raising took place, and that night, though it was -not finished, we slept in it, and proud we were, for the house as well -as the land was our own. It was quite a while before Braxton could -finish it, for there was more pressing work to do, and for a month -and more our only door was a blanket. The fire was on the hearth with -an open chimney made of poles covered with clay. And here I must tell -of my first trial at baking. We had brought a bag of flour and, once -established in our shanty, I resolved to make a loaf. As you know, in -Scotland there is no baking of bread in the houses of the commonality, -and though nobody could beat me at scones or oat cake, I had never seen -a loaf made. I thought, however, there was no great knack about it. I -knew hops were needed, and sent one of my boys with a pail to borrow -some from my neighbor, who sent it back half full. I set to work, and -after making a nice dough I mixed the hops with it, and moulded a -loaf, which my oldest son, who had seen the process while visiting -round, undertook to bake. He put it into a Dutch oven, or chaudron, and -heaping hot ashes over it, we waited for an hour, when the chaudron was -taken out and the cover lifted. Instead of a nice, well-raised loaf, -there was at the bottom of it a flat black cake. “Maybe it will taste -better than it looks,” says I, thrusting a knife at it, but the point -was turned, and we found our loaf to be so hard that you could have -broken it with a hammer. And the taste! It was bitter as gall. Well, -that was a good lesson to me, and I was not above asking my neighbors -after that about matters on which I was ignorant. - -No sooner had shelter been provided for us, than we all turned to with -hearty will to clear up a bit of land. My boys were a great help, and -the oldest got to be very handy with the axe, which was well, for -Braxton never got into the right hang of using it, and spent double -the strength in doing the same work my boy did. There is quite an art -in chopping. It was exhausting work clearing up the land, being quite -new to us and the weather very hot. Often had Braxton to lay down his -axe and bathe his head in the creek, but he never stopped, working from -dawn to darkening, and when it was moonlight still longer. I helped to -brush and log, as much to encourage my boys to work as for all I could -do. When ready to burn, three neighbors came to show us how to do it -and, the logs being large and full of sap, it was a slow and laborious -job. The men looked like Blackamoors, being blacker than any sweeps, -from smoke and the coom that rubbed off the logs, while the sweat just -rolled down them, owing to the heat of the fires and the weather. We -came on to our lot on the 29th of May and it was well on in June when -the remains of the logs were handspiked out of the way and the ground -was kind of clear between the stumps on half an acre. In the ashes we -planted potatoes, and a week after, when a bit more land was taken in, -we put in a few more. This done, we turned to make potash. Except along -the creek there was no timber on our lot fit for making ashes but on -its banks there was a fine cut of swale elm. The chopping of the trees -was the easiest part of the work, the getting of the logs together and -burning them being difficult, the underbrush being very thick and we so -short of help in handling the felled trees. A neighbor showed us how -to make a plan-heap and skid logs, but from inexperience we did not -work to much advantage that summer. We, however, wrought with a will -and kept at it, even my youngest, Ailie, helping by fetching water to -drink. Young people nowadays have no idea of what work is, and I don’t -suppose that one in twenty of them would go through what their fathers -and mothers did. Although it was a dry summer, the banks of the creek -were soft, so our feet were wet all the time and we had to raise the -heaps on beds of logs to get them to burn. Our first lot of ashes we -lost. Before they could be lifted into the leaches, a thunderstorm came -on and in a few minutes the labor of a fortnight was spoiled. After -that, we kept them covered with strips of bark. - -The neighbors were very kind. They had little and had not an hour to -spare, but they never grudged lending us a hand or sharing with us -anything we could not do without. There was no pride or ceremony then, -and neighbors lived as if they were one family. One of them who had -a potash kettle lent it to us, and it was fetched on a float or sort -of raft, which was pushed up the creek as far as it would go. Then -the kettle was lifted out and carried by main strength, suspended on -a pole. We had thought the chopping, the logging, and the burning bad -enough, (the carrying of water to the leaches and the boiling of the -lye was child’s play) but the melting of the salts was awful. Between -the exertion in stirring, the heat of the sun and of the fire, flesh -and blood could hardly bear up. How we ever managed I do not know, -unless it was by keeping at it and aye at it, but on the first week of -October we had filled a barrel with potash, and Reeves took it away in -one of his canoes and sold it in town for us, on the understanding -that we were to take the pay out of his store. He made thus both ways, -and everything he kept was very dear. I have paid him 25 cents a yard -for common calico and a dollar a pound for tea. We could not help -ourselves just then. - -I should have told you our potatoes grew wonderfully. There is a -warmth in newly-burned land or a nourishment in ashes, I don’t know -which, that makes everything grow on new land far beyond what they do -elsewhere. The frost held off well that fall, and we lifted our crop -in good order, except a few that were very late planted, which did not -ripen properly. When we landed on our lot, Braxton used his last dollar -to pay the canoemen, and I had just 15 shillings left after paying -the boards we got at Todd’s mill, so all we had to put us over until -another crop would be raised, was the potatoes and what we could make -out of potash. We were in no way discouraged. The work was slavish, -but we were working for ourselves in making a home; the land was our -own, and every day it was improving. The children took to the country -and its ways at once and were quite contented. We were cheerful and -hopeful, feeling we had something to work for and it was worth our -while to put up with present hardship. I remember a neighbor’s wife, -who was always miscalling Canada and regretting she had come to it, -being satisfied with nothing here. She said to her husband one day, in -my hearing, “In Scotland you had your two cows’ grass and besides your -wage sae muckle meal and potatoes, and we were bien and comfortable; -but you wad leave, and dae better, and this is your Canada for you!” -“Can you no haud your tongue, woman,” he replied, “we hae _a prospect_ -here, and that is what we hadna in Scotland.” That was just it, we had -a prospect before us that cheered us on to thole our hardships. - -I counted not the least of the drawbacks of the bush, the lack of -public ordinances. There was no church to go to on Sabbath, and the day -was spent in idleness, mostly in visiting. Sometimes the young men went -fishing or hunting, but that was not common in our neighborhood, where -the settlers respected it as a day of rest, though without religious -observance of any kind. Accustomed from a child to go to kirk regularly -in Scotland, I felt out of my ordinary as each Sabbath came round. To -be sure, I taught the children their catechism and we read the story of -Joseph and the two books of Kings before the winter set in, but that -did not satisfy me. The nearest preaching was at South Georgetown, -and tho’ I heard no good of the minister I wanted to go. Somehow, -something aye came in the way every Sabbath morning I set. At last, it -was after the potatoes had been lifted and the outdoor work about over -one Sabbath morning in October, a canoe, on its way down, stopped to -leave a message for us. This was my chance, and getting ready I and -my two oldest children went, leaving the others in charge of Braxton, -and, for a quiet man, he got on well with children, for he was fond -of them. I remember that sail as if it were yesterday--the glow of -the hazy sunlight, the river smooth as a looking-glass, in which the -trees, new clad in red and yellow claes, keeked at themselves, and the -very spirit of peace seemed to hover in the air. Oh it was soothing, -and I thought over all I had come through since I left Scotland. Tho’ -I could not help thinking how different it had been with me six months -before, yet my heart welled up as I thought of all the blessings -showered on me and mine and thanked God for his goodness. It was late -when we came in sight of the church, for the sound of singing told us -worship had begun. Dundee was the tune, and as the voices came softly -over the water my heart so melted within me to hear once again and in a -strange land the psalmody of Scotland that I had to turn away my head -to greet. Stepping ashore where the church stood on the river bank, -we went quietly in. It was a bare shed of a place, with planks set up -for seats, and there were not over thirty present. The minister was a -fresh-colored, presentable enough man, and gave a very good sermon, -from the 11th chapter of Second Corinthians. While he was expatiating -on what the apostle had suffered, something seemed to strike him, and -he said, “Aye, aye, Paul, ye went through much but you never cut down -trees in Canada.” He spoke feelingly, for he had to work like the rest -of his neighbors to earn his bread. One end of the church was boarded -off, and in it he and his wife lived. I will say no more about Mr -McWattie, for his failing was notorious. When worship was over, it was -a great treat to mix with the folk. That I did not know a soul present -made no difference, for all were free then and I made friendships that -day that have lasted to this. When he heard that I was from the south -of Scotland, Mr Brodie would take no refusal and I had to go with him -across the river to his house, where we had dinner, and soon after set -out to walk home. People now-a-days think it a hardship to walk a mile -to church, but I knew many then who went four or five, let the weather -be what it might. It was dark before we got home, and that night there -was a frost that killed everything. The weather kept fine, however, -until December, and we had no severe cold until the week before New -Year. - -I cannot think of anything out of the common that first winter. Our -neighbors wrought at chopping cordwood to raft to Montreal in the -spring, but Braxton could not, for he had no oxen to draw the wood to -the river-bank, so we went on enlarging our clearance. I forgot to say, -that one of our North Georgetown acquaintances gave my oldest boy a -pig in a present, and we managed to keep the little creature alive with -the house-slop and boiling the potatoes that had not ripened well. - -We all suffered from the cold, which was past anything we had any -conception of before coming to Canada. Our shanty was so open that it -did little more than break the wind, and water spilled on the floor at -once froze. We had plenty of wood, but it was green, and the logs were -fizzing and boiling out the sap the day long, and it took Braxton quite -a while to learn that some kinds of wood burn better than others. At -first he was just as likely to bring in a basswood or elm log as one -of maple or hemlock. Most of the heat went up the big chimney, so that -while our faces would be burning, our backs were cold. It was worst -in the mornings, for I would rise to find everything solid, even the -bread having to be thawed, and the blankets so stiff from our breaths -and the snow that had sifted in that I had to hang them near the fire -to dry. We kept our health, however, and after the middle of February -the weather moderated. In March a deer, while crossing our clearance, -broke through the crust, and while floundering in the snow was killed -by two of my boys. After that they were on the watch, and ran down and -killed two more with their axes. I salted and dried the hams, and but -for them we would have fared poorly. Having no kettle, we made only -a little maple sugar that spring by boiling the sap in the kailpot. -There was no sugar then like what is made now, it was black and had a -smoky flavor. - -The spring was late and wet, which was a great disappointment, for -Braxton could not burn the log-heaps he had ready and make potash, -on the money for which he counted to buy provisions to put us over -until harvest. To make matters worse, provisions got to be very scarce -and dear, so that flour and oatmeal sold at $5 the quintal, and -sometimes was not to be had. One day, when quite out, I went down to -Rutherford’s, who kept a bit of a store, and he had neither meal nor -flour, but went into the kitchen and brought out a bowlful of the meal -they had for themselves. I went over the potatoes we had cut for seed, -and sliced off enough around the eyes to make a dinner for us. In June, -provisions became more plentiful, for the boats had begun to bring -supplies from Upper Canada to Montreal. It was the middle of that month -before Braxton had a barrel of potash ready, and the money it brought -did not pay what we were due the storekeepers. We were kept very bare -that summer, but had a prospect before us in the three acres of crops -which we had got in and which were doing finely. - -I can never forget that summer from the fright I had about Ailie. -She was as sweet a wee dot as there was in the world, so loving and -confiding that she made friends with everybody at sight. I was never -tired of watching her pretty ways and listening to her merry prattle. -We were busy one afternoon leaching ashes, when suddenly my oldest boy -asked, “Where’s Ailie?” I started, and remembered that it was over an -hour since I had seen her. “She’ll have gone back to the house to take -a sleep,” I said, and I told one of her sisters to go and see. We went -on again, carrying water, when, after a while, the lassie came back -with the word that she could find Ailie nowhere. We threw down our tubs -and dishes, and I shouted her name as loud as I could, thinking she -was nearby in the woods. No answer came. “She’ll have fallen asleep -under some bush, and doesna hear us,” I said, and, with my children, -we went here and there searching for her, calling her name, and all -without finding Ailie. Braxton was an immovable man, who seldom spoke -or gave sign of what he was thinking about, but when we were together -again and all had the same report, his mouth quivered. Turning down -the wooden scoop with which he had been shovelling ashes, he said, -“We’ll dae nae mae wark till we find the bairn.” This time we went more -systematically about our search, but again it was without avail. It -was a hot afternoon, and the sunshine was so bright it lighted up the -darkest nooks of the forest, but in none we explored was Ailie. When we -met one another in our search and learned not a trace had been found, a -pang of agony went through our hearts. Braxton followed the creek and -looked well along the bank of the Chateaugay. It was not until it had -become too dark to see that our shouts and cries of “Ailie” ceased to -sound through the bush. When we had returned to the house, I stirred -up the fire and made supper. When we sat down, not one of us could -eat. Braxton bit a piece of bread, but could not swallow it, and with -a groan he left the table. We talked over what should be done next, -and agreed to warn our neighbors to come and help at daylight, which -Braxton and the boys went to do. None of us liked to speak of what may -have befallen the child, though we all had our fears, that she had -strayed down to the Chateaugay and been drowned or gone into the woods -and a wild beast had devoured her. Although they had not troubled us, -we knew there were bears and wolves in the swamps to the north of us -and there had been even talk of a catamount having been seen. While -there was hope I was not going to lose heart, and when I besought the -Lord to restore my last born to my arms I thanked Him that the night -was so dry and warm that she could come by no ill from the weather. -I did not sleep a wink that night, sitting at the door and straining -my hearing in the hope that I might catch the cry of my Ailie. Beside -the croaking of the frogs and the bit chirrup of some mother-bird that -wakened in its nest and tucked her young closer under her wings, -I heard nothing. When the stars were beginning to fade I set about -getting breakfast ready and wakened the children. I had no need to -call Braxton. Poor man, though he said not a word, I knew he had not -closed an eye. I insisted on their making a hearty breakfast so as to -be strong for the work before them, and in the pockets of each I put -a slice of bread and a bit of maple sugar for Ailie, should they find -her, for I knew she would be perishing from hunger. Soon after sunrise -the neighbors began to drop in until there was a party of over twenty. -All had their dogs and some of them had brought axes and guns. It was -arranged we should start out in every direction, yet keeping so near -as to be always within hearing. By spreading out this way in a circle -we would be sure to examine every part of the bush, while two men were -to search the river bank in a canoe. We started, some calling aloud, -others blowing horns or ringing ox-bells until the woods echoed again, -and all without avail, for no Ailie was to be found. What could have -become of the bairn? It was as if the earth had opened and swallowed -her up. After beating the bush for miles around we gathered together -at noon, as had been arranged. Not a trace had been found. We talked -it over and over and were at our wits’ end. One lad, new come out and -with his head full about Indians, suggested that one of them might have -stolen her, and, indeed, it looked feasible, did we not know that the -few Indians we had were civil and harmless. Had a wild beast taken her, -we would have found some fragments of her bit dress. I was dumb with -disappointment and sorrow, and had begun to think I would never see her -alive. It was agreed among the men it would be useless to spread out -farther, that we were now deeper in the woods than it was possible for -her to have wandered, and that we should use the afternoon in going -back over the ground we had passed, making a better examination of it. -We went back slowly, stopping to look at every log and going through -every hollow, and, though there was once a shout that her trail had -been struck, it proved a mistake, and our second scouring of the woods -was as fruitless as the first. The sun was fast westering when we drew -nigh our shanty. About four acres back of it there was a waterhole, a -low wet spot which all of us had gone round, nobody deeming it possible -for the child to have put foot upon it. As I looked at the black oozy -muck, half floating in water, the thought struck me, the toddler could -walk where a grown up person would sink, and without saying a word -to the lad who was with me, I drew off my shoes and stockings, and, -kilting my petticoat, stepped in. How I wrestled through I do not -know, but once in I had to scramble as I best could until I reached a -dry spot in the centre that was like an island, and on which there -was a thicket of bushes. Daubed with muck and wringing wet, I paused -when I got my footing. I heard a rustle. I was panting for breath, so -exhausted that I was about to sit down for a little, but that sound -revived hope in me. I peered through the bushes and saw a deer gazing -at me. The creature stared, without moving, which was strange for so -timid an animal. I slipped through an opening in the bushes and there, -on a grassy plot, lay my Ailie asleep, crusted with muck, and with her -arms clasped round the neck of a baby deer; her wee bit face black with -dirt and streaked where the tears had been running down. I snatched -her to my bosom and sinking down I hugged and cried over her like one -demented. Oh, had you heard her joyful cry of “Mammie, mammie!” and -seen her lift her bit pinched mou to mine, you would have cried with -us. The deer did not stir but stood looking on, startled and wondering, -while the fawn lay quietly beside me. This was a mystery, which I soon -solved, for I found the fawn could not move from having a broken leg, -and the faithful mother deer would not leave her young one. The shout -that Ailie had been found soon brought plenty of help, and the first -man that came made to kill the deer, but I prevented him and could not, -ever after, bear him near me. There are savages among us who cannot -see any of God’s creatures, however harmless, in a state of nature, -without trying to take their lives. Sportsmen, indeed! Useless louts, -who would do the country a service were they to use their powder and -shot in killing one another. The fallen tree, by which the deer got -across the swale to its well-hidden nest, was found, and I returned by -it, carrying Ailie, while Braxton took the fawn in his arms, the deer -following. There was much rejoicing at our humble shanty before our -neighbors left, and many attempts to account for Ailie’s wandering to -where she did. She was weak from want of food and I feared she might -be the worse of her exposure, but next day, beyond that she was pale, -she was well as ever. From what we could gather from her, we made out -tolerably plain how her disappearance had come about. While playing -near the house, she saw the deer come out of the woods, jump the fence -of our clearance, and begin to browse on the oats. Ailie seeing the -fawn ran to catch the bonnie creature, when the mother took the alarm, -and bounded back into the woods. In attempting to follow, the fawn -struck one of its hind feet against the top rail of the fence, and -broke the bone. Ailie caught the wee beastie, and held it in her arms, -when the doe returned, bunted her away, and managed to induce its young -one to hirple after it on three legs to its lair in the wee swamp. -Ailie, wanting to get the fawn, followed, which she could do, for they -must have gone slowly. When tired of fondling the creature, she would -have returned home, but could not find the way out, and cried and -slept, and slept and cried, croodling down beside the wounded fawn, as -it nestled under its mother, which, from its concern for its injured -offspring, never tried to drive Ailie away. Well, Braxton set the -broken bone and the leg got strong again, but before it did the fawn -had become so attached to Ailie that it would not leave her, and the -mother, which had watched over her offspring in the most touching way, -had become so accustomed to us and so tame that it did not offer to -leave, running in the woods where it had a mind, and making its home in -a shed my boys put up for her. She was torn to death, two years after, -by a hound that a Yankee neer-do-weel brought in, but the fawn lived -with us until she died of a natural death. - -We had a fair harvest that fall, and, when it was got in, we had the -satisfaction of knowing that we would have enough to eat until another -was ready. There being no oatmeal-mill then in the country, Braxton -traded half of the oats for wheat with a neighbor who wanted them for -a lumber-camp. There was a grist mill convenient at the Portage, which -was burned the following summer, after which we had to send all the -way to Huntingdon, where there was a poor sort of a mill. Having no -horse, the bag was carried by Braxton on his shoulder. The want of a -yoke of oxen was so much against our getting on, that we determined -to run some risk in getting one, and saved in every way possible with -that in view. The week before New Year we hired a horse and traineau -from a neighbor, paying him in work, and Braxton went to Montreal -with two barrels of potash. On his way down he had the offer at the -Basin of a heifer that was coming in, and instead of buying the cloth -intended, he saved the money, and took her on his way home. She was -a real beauty, and, out of all the cows we had after, there was not -one to me like her, she was so kindly and proved such a grand milker. -We were all so proud of her that, for a week after she came, we never -tired looking at her, and the children were comforted for the want of -the clothing they needed by having her for a pet. You may not think it, -but the sorest want of our settlement was clothes. When those brought -from the Old Country were done, there was no money to spare to buy -others, and families who had plenty to eat were nigh half-naked, you -may say, and on very cold days could not venture out. I did the best I -could, patching and darning, yet we all suffered much from cold that -winter on account of want of sufficient clothing. Braxton, poor man, -had only a thickness of cloth between him and the weather, yet he never -complained and went to his work in the bush on the coldest days. The -exposure, together with hard work, told on him afterwards and shortened -his life. When the lumber-camps were breaking up, we had a chance of a -yoke of oxen within our ability to pay for, and they were brought home -to the barn that had been raised before the snow came. We had not straw -enough for three head, but managed to keep them alive by cutting down -trees for them to eat the tender ends of the branches. Many a pailful -of browse I snapped off for my bossie that spring. It was well for us -the grass came early. - -I do not know that I have much more to tell that would interest you. -The oxen gave us a great start in clearing the land, and that season we -did more than all we had done before. We paid the seignior regularly, -and once we were a little ahead, it was wonderful how well we got on. -Then you must bear in mind, that, as my boys grew up, we were strong in -help, and our place improved quickly compared with the generality of -those beside us. That fall we got another cow and two sheep, so that we -never afterwards wanted for milk or yarn. It was a hard struggle, with -many ups and downs, much slavish work and pinching and paring, but in -course of time we had all we could reasonably wish and were content. - -I was long concerned about the schooling of my children, of whom only -two had got any before leaving Scotland. We could not help ourselves -until the fourth year of our coming, when a man, lame of a leg, came -round and told us he was a schoolmaster. The neighbors consulted and -one of them gave a log stable he was not using, which was fitted -up as a schoolhouse, and the man set to work. He could teach his -scholars little, and tried to cover up his deficiencies by threshing -them unmercifully. He was got rid of and another hired, who was more -qualified but was given to drink. They were a miserable lot of teachers -in those days, being either lazy or drunken fellows who took to keeping -school without considering whether they were qualified. In course of -time we had a church at Ormstown, Mr Colquhoun, a proud Highlander, -being the first minister. When we came, there was only one (old Jones) -living where Ormstown stands, now it is a large village, with buildings -the like of which nobody could have expected to see. There has been -a wonderful improvement all over, and, when I first saw it, to have -foretold the country would become what it now is, nobody would have -believed. That the people have improved correspondingly I do not think. -The money, scraped together by the hard work of their fathers, I have -seen squandered by lads who despised the plow, and the upsetting ways -of many families are pitiful to see. Folk in the old times lived far -more simply and happily. - -You want to know what became of Braxton. He died 14 years after we -came here. It was in the winter and I thought he had caught cold while -skidding logs in the bush. Any way, inflammation set in, and he died -within a week of his first complaining. We mourned sorely for him. A -more patient or truer soul never breathed, and to the example he set -my boys, who have all done well, I set down much of the credit. We -counted up his share of the property, and, adding £20 to it, sent it -to his sister in England, who was his only relative. I may say all my -old acquaintances are gone, for there are few now on the river who were -there when I came, and I wait patiently to follow them, living happily, -as you see, with Ailie and her children until the Lord is pleased to -call me. - - - - -JEANIE MORISON. - - -CHAPTER I. - -Only those who have lived in a cold country like Canada can fully -realize the pleasurable sensations which attend the opening of spring. -The weary monotony of winter, with its unvarying aspect of white -fields, and steady frost, often so intense as to make exposure painful, -gives way to freedom and life, and with some such feelings as stir the -heart of the prisoner, when he exchanges his darksome cell for sunshine -and green fields, does the dweller of Canada hail the time when the -snowbanks disappear and when he can, without wraps, move whether he -will in the genial atmosphere. It was at that period of the year when -the simple incidents I am going to relate took place. - -Amid the unbroken forest which covered the county of Huntingdon in -the year 1820, a log shanty stood on the west bank of Oak creek, at a -point where the beavers had by their industry formed a small meadow. -The shanty was rude as might be, of unsquared logs, with a roof of -basswood split into slabs, and a stick chimney. The interior consisted -of a single room, and a small one at that. The inmates were a mother -and daughter. The mother, engaged in spinning, sat in the sunshine -which streamed through the open door, brightening the few pieces of -furniture it fell upon and whitening still more the heaps of ashes in -the open fire-place, behind which smouldered a huge backlog. She had -evidently passed her fiftieth year, while the pressed lips and look of -patient reserve told of the endurance of a lifelong sorrow. - -“Dae ye no see or hear ocht?” she asked, looking through the doorway to -the woods beyond, to which she often turned her eyes. - -“No, mother,” replied the girl addressed, who was sitting on the -doorstep. - -“What can hae come ower him!” said the woman in a low voice. - -“Dinna fret; he’ll be here soon,” said Jeanie in a tone that spoke more -of a desire to comfort her mother than faith in her statement. - -As if not heeding her, the mother resumed, “He said he would be back -last nicht, and he should hae been. I sair misdoot ill has befaen him.” - -It was of her husband of whom she spoke. He had worked all winter for a -party of Americans, who were cutting the best of the timber along the -banks of the creek, and had gone Monday morning to aid them in driving -the logs to the point on the Chateaugay where they were to be formed -into rafts and thence taken to Quebec. His last words had been that he -would, at the latest, be back the following evening and it was now the -third day. - -Jeanie strained her eyes and ears to catch the faintest sign of her -father’s approach. The quaver of the grey-bird and the chirrup of the -chipmunk came occasionally from the recesses of the woods, which lay -sleeping in the April sunshine that glorified everything, but no rustle -of branch or cracking of dried stick that would indicate an approaching -footstep. The usually silent creek, now swollen by melted snow, lapped -its banks in pursuing its tortuous course, murmuring a soothing lullaby -to the genial day; and that great peace, to be found only in mountain -recess or forest depth, brooded over the scene. But there, where all -the influences of nature were so soothing, were two hearts filled with -anxious care. - -“Jeanie,” suddenly exclaimed the mother, after a long pause, and -staying the whirr of the wheel, “you maun gang and seek your father. -Gae down to Palmer’s and there you’ll find the rafts, and the men will -tell you whether he left for hame or no.” - -“But I dinna like to leave you, mother, and I am sure you are taking -trouble without need. He will be here by dark.” - -The mother understood the affectionate motive of her child in trying to -make light of her fears, but well knew her anxiety was no less than her -own. - -“Say nae mair, my lassie, but gang while there is time for you to get -back. You ken the yarn for the Yankee wife at the Fort is ready and -there is no flour until he gangs there for it.” - -Casting one long eager glance down the creek, along which her father -should come, the girl turned in from the door and made ready for the -journey. Her preparations were easily made. The slipping on of her -stoutest pair of shoes and throwing a plaid over her arm, as a hap from -the cold after sunset, comprised them, and bidding her mother not to -fret for she would bring back good news she started. She did not follow -the creek, but struck northward across the peninsula that forms the -township of Elgin, her design being to reach Trout river, as being more -fordable than the wider Chateaugay. The path was, probably, at first -a deer run, which the few who travelled it, chiefly lumbermen, had -roughly brushed. Only one accustomed to the woods could have kept the -track, for, to a stranger’s eye, it differed little from the openings -which ever and anon appeared among the trees. Jeanie, however, was no -novice to the path or to the bush, and she stepped quickly and with -confidence on her way. She had walked about an hour beneath the solemn -gloom of the primeval forest when she saw an opening ahead, and knew -she was approaching Trout river. On reaching it, she followed its bank, -until, with one end grounded in a little bay, she found a large log. -Grasping the first straight stick she saw lying about to serve as a -pole, she pushed the log from its anchorage, and stepping on it as it -moved guided it across the narrow river. From the liability of the log -to roll, such a mode of ferrying is dangerous to those unused to it, -but Jeanie knew how to place her feet and keep her balance and speedily -gained the other bank and resumed her journey. On reaching the place -where the two rivers unite, she could not, despite her anxiety, help -pausing to admire the beautiful expanse of water, which, unruffled by a -breath of wind, lay glassing itself in the sunshine, while the forest, -which rose from its margin on either side, formed no unfit setting. -Presently she saw a ripple upon its surface, and her keen eye perceived -the black head of a muskrat, which was making its way to the opposite -bank. While she followed the rapid movements of the little creature, -there was the flash and smoke of a gun before her, and, while the woods -were still echoing the report, a dog jumped into the water to bring -in the rat, which floated dead upon the current. A few steps brought -Jeanie to the marksman, a tall, wiry man, of rather prepossessing -appearance. His dog had returned and laid the rat at his master’s feet, -who was encouraging him with exclamations of “Good dog! good dog!” -when he caught sight of her. - -“Waal neow, who would a thought it? Miss Jeanie herself and nobody -else. How do you do?” And stretching forth his sinewy arm, he grasped -her hand in a clutch that would have made a bear shed tears. - -“Oh, I’m well, thank you, Mr Palmer, and my mother, but we’re in sore -trouble.” - -“Don’t say the old man is sick?” and an anxious look passed over the -kindly face of the honest Yankee. - -“Oh, dear sir, we dinna ken whether he’s sick or well. He left home -Monday morning and was to be back next night and he hasna come yet, and -I’ve come to ask after him and get help to find him if nobody knows -where he is?” As she spoke there was a tremor in Jeanie’s voice, and a -tear glistened on her drooping eyelashes. - -“Ha, do tell; this is serious,” and the hunter leant upon his rifle -and gazed abstractedly upon the river, as if trying to conjecture what -could have become of the lost man, until, noting Jeanie’s evident -distress, he aroused himself, and, exhorting her to keep up heart, led -the way to his house. - -“You see,” he said, as they picked their way along the rough path by -the river’s edge, “there ain’t much to shoot yet and what there is -ain’t worth killing, but I kinder felt lonesome to be about doors so -fine a day, and I took a stroll, tho’ all I came across was that -mushrat, which, darn it skin, ain’t worth the lead that killed it.” - -“If the shooting is poor, the fishing will be good,” said Jeanie, who -humored the spirit of the sportsman. - -“Couldn’t be better,” answered Mr Palmer, “I speared seven salmon at -the foot of the rapids last night, and this morning I drew my seine -full of as pretty fish as you would want to clap your eyes on.” - -The sound of rushing water told of their approach to the rapids, at the -head of which, on a knoll a few rods to the left, stood Mr Palmer’s -house, which was a comfortable log one, overshadowed by majestic pines. -On entering, they found Mrs Palmer, a rather delicate-looking woman, -engaged in baking. Uttering an exclamation of surprise at the sight -of Jeanie, she wiped her dusty hands and gave her a cordial welcome, -as well she might, for the visits she had received from members of -her own sex, since she had taken up her abode by the Chateaugay, -might have been counted on her fingers without exhausting them. On -learning the cause of Jeanie’s journey, she received the tidings with -the same anxious look as her husband. Evidently both entertained the -worst forebodings, while both had a delicacy in speaking of what they -believed to be the cause of his absence. Neither had seen him, but -the gang of lumbermen he had helped were now forming a raft half a -mile below the house and it was arranged that Mr Palmer should go and -see them while Jeanie would wait. Her hostess resumed her baking, and -Jeanie, feeling the heat indoors oppressive on so fine a day, stepped -out and sat on a log, near enough to keep up the conversation yet -sufficiently far to enjoy the balmy atmosphere and the beauty of the -scene before her. And here, before attempting to describe it, let me -tell what manner of woman Jeanie was. She had that first quality of -a handsome girl, stature--she was tall, with a form instinct with -life--lithe and graceful, which, when matured by age, would become -dignified also. She had no pretension to beauty, beyond what the -liveliness of youth and a sweet temper can give to the countenance, but -still her well-formed mouth, gray eyes, a forehead broad though not -too high, and a wealth of light brown hair went to form a face that -was pleasant to look upon. She had been a visitor at Palmer’s house -before, but its surroundings were still sufficiently novel to engage -her even in her present distracted frame of mind, for, as became a -Scotchwoman, she had a keen relish for whatever is beautiful in nature. -Above, and until directly opposite her, the Chateaugay came sweeping, -with graceful curve, a wide, unruffled sheet of water, until suddenly -it fell over a rocky ledge and became a mass of foaming rapids, which -brattled between banks, covered by trees and overhung by hazel bushes, -until lost to sight by a sharp bend a considerable distance below.[A] -Being at flood height, the rapids were seen at their best, and Jeanie -never wearied admiring the graceful sweep of the smooth water as it -neared the ledge that preceded its fall, or the tumult of breakers into -which, a moment after, it was tossed. It flashed upon her that the -river was, perhaps, to prove a true type of her own and her mother’s -fate,--the even tenor of their life hitherto was about to be suddenly -broken by her father’s disappearance, and then the water, tossed from -rock to rock, broken into spray and driven in every direction, except -upward, would too truly represent their life hereafter. Raising her -gaze to the south, she caught a glimpse, through a gash among the trees -on the opposite bank where fire had levelled them, of a range of smooth -moulded hills, which, blue and soft in the sweet spring sunshine, -brought back to memory the dear old hills of her native land, and joy -mingled with her sorrow. - -The afternoon wore away apace and still Mr Palmer did not return. Above -the noise of the rapids Jeanie heard, now and then, the shouts of the -lumbermen as they heaved the logs in forming their raft, and whom Mr -Palmer had gone down to see. Having finished her household duties and -spread the supper on the table, Mrs Palmer sat down beside Jeanie and, -with kindly craft, by talking of commonplace matters, strove to divert -her mind. By-and-by the appearance of a fine spaniel, the same that had -swam to the rat, indicated the approach of Mr Palmer, who, when he came -up to them, leading his eldest girl, a chattering child, seemed in no -hurry to answer the questioning eyes of the two women. - -“Blessed if the dog don’t scent something,” said the worthy man, as he -watched the animal creeping to a clump of underbrush to the right. - -“Bother the dog,” exclaimed Mrs Palmer, “what did the men tell you?” - -“Waal, they ain’t jest sure, you know, but they guess ’tis all right,” -and as he drawled out the words slowly and reluctantly, Jeanie could -see that he was far from thinking it was all right. - -“Oh, sir,” she said, “you are a father yourself and you are as dear to -your child as she is to you. Tell me the worst, and be done wi’ it.” - -“Don’t take on, Jeanie; it may be all right yet. Your father helped -to tote the logs to the foot of the rapids, and left them, well and -strong, to walk home last night. I rather conjecture he lost his way, -but he will be home by this time.” - -This was all Mr Palmer seemed disposed to tell, and, hoping for the -best, she tried to share in her host’s affected confidence as to her -father’s safety, and followed him in answer to his wife’s call “That -supper was ready.” A capital cook, and having a larder to draw from -replenished by the gun and rod of her husband, Mrs Palmer, in honor of -her guest, had spread a table that contrasted painfully with the meagre -fare to which Jeanie was accustomed, and made her think of the mess of -boiled corn of which her mother would then be partaking. After supper, -the canoe was launched, and bidding farewell to her hostess and her -little girl on the river’s bank, Jeanie stepped in, when, propelled by -the paddle of Mr Palmer, it began steadily to stem the current. - -Who that has undergone the agony of sorrowful apprehension has not -noted how every trifling incident that may have occurred during that -period has become imprinted indelibly upon the memory? The watcher -by the sick-bed, over which death hovers, is puzzled how, at a time -when the mind is absorbed with one thought, the perceptions should be -so sharpened as to note trivial events and objects, down to the very -furniture and pattern of the wallpaper, which on ordinary occasions -leave no trace upon the memory. On that April evening Jeanie’s mind -was laboring under this intensified acuteness, and while brooding -continually over her father’s probable fate, to her dying day she -remembered every feature of the scenery she was now passing. The smooth -flowing river, swollen and discolored by the melted snow from the -hills, hemmed in on either bank by a thick growth of trees, many of -which, as if enamored with the beautiful sheet of water by which they -grew, bent over it until, in their leafy prime, their branches almost -kissed its surface. Now, though leafless, their tops were glorified by -the setting sun, which filled the still air with the lambent blue haze -which distinguishes the evenings of early spring in Canada. Keeping to -the Chateaugay at its union with Trout river, the canoe stole silently -beneath the shadow of the overhanging trees until the mouth of Oak -creek was reached, when Jeanie stepped ashore to pursue her way on foot -to her home. Before bidding her goodbye, Mr Palmer paused and said: -“Now, you keep up a good heart for whatever may happen, and we’ll be up -tomorrow to search the woods. Give that to your mother and--God bless -you.” Without giving her time to say a word, he pushed his canoe into -the stream and speedily glided out of sight, leaving Jeanie standing on -the bank perplexed by what he had said and holding the basket he had -thrust into her hands, which contained a loaf of bread and a string -of fish. With a heavier heart than ever, she began to trace her way -homeward by the creek. Once in that lonely journey she thought she saw -her father walking ahead of her, and once she thought she heard his -voice. She called out and paused to listen for a reply. The only sound -that reached her was the dismal croakings of the frogs. Knowing that -her imagination was deceiving her, she hurried on and, when she caught -the first glimpse of light gleaming from her humble home, it outlined -her mother’s figure seated on the doorstep waiting her return. - -“You hav’na found him, Jeanie?” - -“No, mother; and he hasna come hame?” - -“What can hae come ower him!” exclaimed the mother, as she sank into a -seat by the open fire-place. - -It was remarkable that in their conversation no conjecture was hazarded -by either as to the probable fate of the missing one. Both, plainly, -entertained the same painful surmise, which they were alike ashamed to -breathe. They sat by the glowing backlog for many hours, hoping against -hope that the wanderer might return, until Jeanie overcome by fatigue -sought her bed. Once she awoke during the night, thinking she heard a -voice. She listened in the darkness. It was her mother wrestling with -God on behalf of her father. - -FOOTNOTE: - -[A] These rapids were known to old settlers as “Palmer’s rapids.” The -quarrying of them for building purposes has greatly changed their -appearance. - - -CHAPTER II. - -Early next day Jeanie and her mother saw a short, stout man emerge from -the woods. He was a stranger to them, but his aspect indicated he was a -lumberman. He had a towsy head of reddish hair and a matted beard and -whiskers of the same hue. - -“A pleasant day, ma’am,” he said, in a voice so soft and insinuating, -and contrasting so strikingly with the roughness of his appearance, -that Mrs Morison was somewhat startled. “It is, indeed, a fine spring -day,” she replied. - -“And the water is high, ma’am, and the rafts are getting away -finely--oh, very finely,” and the man stood complacently eyeing the -mother and daughter, and rubbing his hands. - -“Hae ye seen ocht o’ my husband? Ye’ll hae come about him?” - -“Oh, my dear ma’am, don’t fret; take it coolly and comfortable like.” - -“I see ye ken aboot him; oh, dinna play wi’ me, but tell me at once.” - -Not in the least discomposed, the little man, in more oily tones than -ever, replied, “Well, well, ma’am, there is no denying it, accidents -will happen, you know. You shouldn’t be supposing the worst, and taking -it easy, for”-- - -Before he could finish his sentence there was heard a heavy trampling -in the woods, and soon there came from beneath their cover half a dozen -men, four of them carrying a burden laid on two poles. They came in -silence to the door, when Mrs Morison saw their burden was her husband. -She snatched away the red handkerchief that covered his face, a glance -at which showed her he was dead. She gave a shriek that resounded -through the forest, and fell senseless upon the corpse. - -The career of the dead man may be told in a few words. He had been the -son of a small farmer in the south of Scotland, a strapping, lively -fellow, who won the good graces of the daughter of a draper in the -neighboring village. Her parents opposed her keeping company with him, -not merely because his circumstances were indifferent but because -his habits were not of the steadiest, he being fond of convivial -gatherings, at which, more than once, he had got overcome by drink. -Their opposition seemed only to strengthen their daughter’s affection -for the free-hearted, good tempered young fellow, and the upshot -was, that one morning she was not to be found, and before evening -they learned she had been married. The imprudent match resulted as -the parents had anticipated; the young man was unequal to the task -of supporting a wife and his habits did not mend. Moving to a mining -village, he got work as a laborer, and out of his scanty earnings a -large percentage went into the till of the whisky shop every Saturday -night, so that his wife, to eke out a living, had to exert herself to -do something also. Quietly and uncomplainingly she took in sewing, -washed, or spun, as opportunity offered, to earn an honest shilling, -and did what lay in her power to keep things decent. Children came but -none lived to maturity save Jeanie. The village was unhealthy, its -fumes and murky smoke were not favorable to childhood, typhus was a -regular winter visitor, and, more than all, the narrow means at her -disposal afforded not the necessaries of life in the abundance children -need, so, to her heart-sorrow, one after another was taken away. Time -passed, and her father died, leaving her a small legacy, and with -this she determined they should emigrate. She fondly thought were her -husband removed from his boon companions, were all his old associations -broken, and he transplanted into a new sphere, he might reform. Often -had she striven with him, often had hope kindled in her bosom that -he was going to keep the good resolutions he so often formed; always -doomed to bitter disappointment. To emigrate was the last chance, it -seemed to her, and for Canada they accordingly sailed. Deplorable to -relate, on the day of their arrival at Quebec her husband got drunk -with several of his fellow-passengers who went to take, as they termed -it, a parting glass, and before he got over his spree the greater part -of their little stock of money was gone. Instead, therefore, of being -in a position to go to Upper Canada and take up land, as intended, he -had to engage at Quebec with a lumberman who was getting out masts -and square timber on the Chateaugay, and thus it came that, two years -before the opening of our narrative, he had made a home, a poor one -as we have seen, in what is now the township of Elgin. Altho their -privations were great, Mrs Morison did not regret the change from -the dirty, squalid, mining village in Scotland to the lonely woods -of Canada. Her husband had fewer opportunities of getting drink and, -on the whole, they lived happily. Possessing a superior education -herself and having moved before her marriage in respectable society, -she brought up her daughter very differently from what might have been -expected from their circumstances, and Jeanie, despite her home-spun -dress, had acquirements and manners that qualified her to move in any -station of life. As already stated, on the Monday morning Morison had -gone to assist in running logs out of the creek. On the evening of the -succeeding day his employer settled with him for the season’s work, -and, in addition to the small balance of wages that was coming to him, -gave him a few pieces of pork to take home and, fatal parting gift, a -bottle of rum. He left the raftsmen in high spirits, an able-bodied if -not very active man, taking the track that led to his humble dwelling. -What followed no human eye witnessed. He never reached his home, and -the searching-party that morning had discovered his body a few yards -from the creek, stretched upon the ground, with his face immersed in a -pool of water--a pool only an inch or so in depth, left by the melting -of the snow and gathered in a cavity formed by the roots of a tree. Had -he, when he stumbled and fell, moved his head ever so little, he would -have breathed and lived. The more than half empty bottle, found in his -stony grasp, showed he had been too overcome to stir a hairsbreadth, -and there, in a basin of water, so small that a squirrel could have -leaped it; so shallow that a robin, in pruning his wings, could have -stepped through without wetting a feather; this stalwart man, before -whose axe the loftiest pines had fallen and whose vigorous oar had -stemmed the rapids of the Chateaugay, had ignominiously met his death, -within hail of the faithful wife and loving daughter who were anxiously -waiting his return. Jeanie, in going home the preceding evening, -had unconsciously passed within a few paces of the body which once -contained her father’s spirit. On finding it, damp from the exposure -of a day and two nights, the searching party had made the body as -presentable as possible, and sent ahead one of their number to break, -as gently as might be, the news to the wife and daughter. With what -success he, who was chosen on account of his smooth tongue, acquitted -himself, the reader knows. - -So long did Mrs Morison remain in her swoon that once the dreadful -thought darted through Jeanie’s mind that she was not going to recover, -and at one fell swoop she was to be deprived of both parents. She did -not cease her exertions, however, and while bathing the rigid temples -she rejoiced to see the flush of returning animation. Slowly did Mrs -Morison raise herself to a sitting posture, and looked in a dazed -manner, as if wondering why they were there, at the rough lumbermen -grouped around her, who stood in silence and with the awkwardness of -people who were anxious to help but did not know how. Unconsciously -she moved her glance from one to the other until it fell upon the -body of her husband. Recollection returned in a flash, and drawing -the inanimate form to her lap she pressed the bloated and discolored -features to her lips. - -“Oh, Willie,” she exclaimed, unconscious in her overwhelming passion of -sorrow that there was a listening ear, “lang did we ken ane anither and -braw and gallant were you ance; my pride and joy. Sair hae oor trials -been and muckle hae ye been misguided, but aye faithfu and true to me. -Oh, that I had been wi’ you; oh, that ye had given me your last kiss -and deed in my arms! There hae been them wha despised you, wha tauld me -to leave you; little did they ken o’ the love that bound me to you. Oh, -that we should hae partit thus!” - -Here she paused, and turning her eyes upwards she slowly and reverently -said: “Merciful God, as in your wise decree you have been pleased to -bring this affliction upon me, grant, in your pity, that I tarry not -long behind him whom ye hae taen awa.” - -The solemn petition calmed the tumult of her mind, and reverently -disposing of the body, she rose to her feet and said modestly-- - -“You will excuse me, freens, for taking on sae sairly afore you, but I -couldna help it; this misfortune has come so sudden. I thank you for -what you hae dune, and, gin it be your pleasure, as you can do nae mair -noo, leave us alane and come the morn to bury him wha’s gane.” - -The red-whiskered man was about to make a voluble reply, when he was -cut short by a tall lumberman, in whose eye there glistened a tear, -with the remark, “Yes, ma’am, we are at your service and mean to do all -we can for you.” Then, looking at his comrades, he said, “Let us go,” -and turning abruptly he led the way, leaving the mother and daughter -alone with their dead. - - -CHAPTER III. - -It is true in the moral world as in the material that after a storm -comes a calm. The agony of suspense, the wild burst of passionate -sorrow had swept over them, and the morning succeeding the sad -discovery found mother and daughter composed and resigned. The worst -was now known, a worst there was no remedying, and so they bowed, -without needless fret or repining, beneath the trial. The sun had risen -in an unclouded sky and his beams were warmer than on the preceding -days, and as they came pouring down unstintingly on the turbid waters -of the creek and the uplifted branches of the forest, it seemed as if -summer was nigh and buds and leaves and green sward would speedily -succeed the birds whose noisy concert ushered in the rosy dawn. -Everything had been arranged in the humble shanty with all the deftness -of order-loving hands; on one side of it, beneath a white cloth, was -the corpse. Mrs Morison was seated on the chair at the window; Jeanie -sat at her feet on the doorstep. - -“Wasna father a braw man when you first foregathered?” - -“He was the handsomest lad in the countryside; a very pleasure for the -ee to rest on. Little dae they ken what he was like that didna see -him then, and a kinder or truer heart couldna be. O, Jeanie, I just -worshipped him when we were lad and lass.” - -“But your father didna like him?” - -“Dinna put it that way, Jeanie. He liked him but he saw a faut in him -that spoiled a’. I was wilfu. I said Willie would gie up the company he -keepit when he was merrit, and that it was guid-fellowship and no love -o’ the drink that enticed him. I dinna say that I regret what I did, -or that my lot hasna been as guid as I deserved--God forgive me that I -should repine or say an unkindly word o’ him that lies there--but young -folks dinna lippen to their parents in choosing partners as they ocht.” - -“Hoots, mother; when a lad or lass hae found their heart’s love, what -for suld father or mother interfere?” - -“Easy said, Jeanie, but think ye there is ony body in the wide world -loes son or dochter as a parent does? They are as the apple o’ their -ee, and his or her happiness is all they seek. Dootless there are -warld’s worms o’ parents who only look to the suitor’s gear and wad -break off the truest love-match that ever was gin he were puir. I dinna -speak o’ them, for they are out o’ the question. But take parents by -ordinar, who only seek their bairns’ welfare, and the son or dochter -wha disregards their advice in choosing a life-mate will hae mickle to -repent o’.” - -“I dinna see hoo that is,” said Jeanie, “for surely their marriage -concerns only themselves?” - -“True in a sense, Jeanie, that as we mak oor bed we maun lie on’t. -Think ye, though, o’ a parent’s experience, that nae glamor o’ love -blinds their ee, that their haill concern is for their bairn’s -happiness, and they may see fauts in the would-be partner o’ their -child that can only result in meesery. Young folks shouldna think -their parents are obstinate or stupid when they oppose their marrying -this ane or that ane. In maist cases they hae solid reason for their -opposition, and the son is foolish that winna get his parents consent -before he gangs too far and the dochter silly indeed who says Yes -without taking counsel o’ her mother.” - -“Oh, but that wadna dae always,” replied Jeanie, deprecatingly, in a -tone as if such a course would rob love of its romance. - -“Come, noo, Jeanie, tell me what better adviser can a dochter hae than -her mother, and hasna the father a richt to hae some say in a match -seeing that, if it disna turn out weel, he may hae a useless son-in-law -to sorn on him or, in his auld days, hae his dochter or a tawpy of a -son’s wife come wi’ a wheen bairns to seek shelter in his hame? Na, -na, the first commandment wi’ promise requires obedience in this as -in ither callings o’ life, and happy is the wedding whaur the true -love o’ the young couple is crooned wi’ the blessings (given without a -misgiving) o’ their parents, for there is, then, a reasonable prospect -that the match will prove what a’ should be--a heaven upon earth.” - -“Mightna the parents be mistaen, mother?” - -“Aye, and so might the lad or lass, and far mair likely that the young -should err than the auld. Had I taen the advice my father and mother -pressed on me, advice that came frae their lifelong experience and -their affection for me, it wad hae been different--no that I regret -what has happened for mysel but for you, Jeanie, that maun grow up in -this wilderness, and for your brithers and sisters wha hae gane to a -better land.” And here, as the remembrance of the years of poverty and -of wretchedness caused by her husband’s intemperate habits flashed upon -her, she burst into tears. - -“Oh, mother,” exclaimed Jeanie, as rising and standing beside her she -clasped her bowed head to her bosom, “dinna tak on so. I wadna hae had -it otherwise, and wad suner hae bided wi’ you than had the queen on the -throne for my mother. We hae been very happy for a’ that has come and -gone, and sae will we yet. Were it to part us, I wadna marry the best -man in a’ Canada; I will aye be wi’ you and will aye be obedient to -your will.” - -“I ken that, my bairn, but,” said the mother, raising her tear-stained -face, “promise me this--and it is a promise that him wha lies there wad -hae backed, for weel he kent his ain faut--that, nae matter hoo ye may -be drawn to him, you will never marry a man that likes his glass.” - -“I promise,” said Jeanie with simple solemnity, and drawing up her -graceful figure to its full height, she, as if anxious to break off the -subject, turned to get a wet towel, with which she wiped her mother’s -face, “for,” as she remarked, “ye maun be decent when the folk come.” - -It was nigh noon before any of the visitors made their appearance. In -the then unsettled state of the country news spread slowly even when -messengers were sent out expressly to carry it. Everybody came that -heard of the melancholy occurrence, for in those primitive days, when -only the young and healthy inhabited this section of country, deaths -were so rare that a funeral was regarded as an important event which -nobody missed. Straggling in from different points they came in twos -and threes, except the lumbering-party with whom the deceased had been -connected, who appeared in a body marching up the creek, carrying the -coffin--a rude box of unplaned boards--with Mr Palmer leading. Two -features in the assemblage were noticeable, one being that hardly a man -among them had a coat, the other the fewness of the women. The men, -great brawny fellows in home-made shirts and pants fastened by belts, -gathered in clusters in the clearing to exchange news and talk over the -circumstances attending the event that had brought them together, while -the women went into the house. The sun was sinking fast towards the -west before the preparations necessary for the burial were completed. -When the word went round that the grave was ready, one by one they -fyled into the house to take a last look of the face of their late -neighbor, after which the lid of the coffin was nailed down. There was -no clergyman to be had at the time and among those present there was no -one inclined, even if capable, to conduct religious services. If the -solemn observances of such occasions were absent, those present had not -come unprepared to maintain a custom which in those days was universal -in Canada, and, for all the writer knows, may still be in the Mother -Country--that of passing a glass of liquor before lifting the coffin. -A man, with a jar in one hand and a tin cup in the other, went round -the company, tendering the filled cup to each, which it would have been -bad manners to refuse and which nearly all emptied before returning. -When all out of doors had been helped, the man, a well-meaning, kindly -fellow, stepped into the shanty to regale those inside. Thinking -it good manners, he pressed to where Mrs Morison was sitting and, -deliberately filling the cup to the brim, tendered it to her first. - -Mrs Morison gave him a piercing look. “What!” she exclaimed in a low -voice, so emphasized by deep feeling that every word sunk into the -minds of those present; “What! Do you ask me to take that which has -murdered my husband?” - -“Take a taste, ma’am,” said the red-whiskered man, who was in the room, -“it will do you good.” - -“Do me good!” she re-echoed, “then it will be for the first time in my -life. That do me good that took away the bread for lack of which my -bairns, noo saints in glory, perished! That do me good that robbed my -husband of his usefulness and good name; that made him fit for only -orra jobs and to be despised as a drunkard! That do me good the love of -which supplanted his love for me, for it was the stronger o’ the twa or -wad he no hae left it alane for my sake? That do me good that filled -his bosom with remorse, which hurt his health, and, last of all, has -taen his life! Oh, that it hasna caused the loss of his soul; that, -in the moment of his passing breath, he found time to seek acceptance -with God for the Redeemer’s sake! Take it away,” she screamed with the -energy of one who shrinks at the sight of a snake, “take it away, and -may the curse of the widow and the orphan rest upon them that make and -sell it--wha tempt decent men to destruction in order that they may -have an easy living.” - -Abashed at so unexpected a reception, the man continued to stand -stupidly before her, holding the cup and jar. Seeing his puzzled look, -Mrs Morison, who had recovered her composure, quietly said, “I ken -you mean it kindly, and sae far I thank you, but gin you think o’ it, -you will see that the bottle may be your own worst enemy and they are -safest and happiest who leave it alane. As a favor, freen, I ask you no -to offer it in this house.” - -A few minutes afterwards the coffin was borne out of doors, when four -lumberers lifted it on their shoulders, and, leading the straggling -procession, walked to the grave, which had been dug on a knoll close to -the creek, the only spot that could be found convenient sufficiently -free of trees and their roots. When the coffin was lowered, each man -lifted his hat for a moment, there was a pause, and then the grave was -filled in. - -With thoughtful kindness those who came had brought some gift of food -to replenish the widow’s larder, and now, while all the rest departed, -the lumbermen remained, until sunset, chopping firewood and putting -the house and its surroundings to rights, so that, before they lay down -to sleep that night, Mrs Morison and Jeanie included in their prayer -thanks to God for having so bountifully provided for them. - - - - -LOST IN THE WOODS. - - -You have heard of my passing a night in the bush, and want me to tell -you about it. When we came to Hinchinbrook, which was in July, 1831, -the shanty my husband put up did not stand where this house is, but -on a ridge at the end of the lot. For the first two years we had no -neighbor nearer than half a mile, for though the lots on each side of -us were granted, nobody was then living upon them. From morning to dark -I saw nothing but the bush that encircled our house and the little -clearance of blackened stumps. Oh, but it was lonely! It was worse than -a jail, for the prisoner gets a blink out of his cell window of the -wide prospect without, and of houses and people, but I saw nothing for -several years but trees, and trees, until our clearance so extended -that it met that on the east side of our lot, and all at once we, one -fine day, came in sight of a neighbor’s house. The second Spring we -were on the lot, my husband left to help to take a raft down to the -Basin, leaving me alone with Henry, who was then the baby. He expected -to be back in four days, or by the end of the week at furthest. If it -had not been that I had so much work to do I would have cried my eyes -out, it was so miserable to be left alone in the woods, and William had -never been away so long before. The four days passed and Sabbath came, -but he did not. I got very anxious, and all day could scarcely keep my -eyes off the spot at which he would come out of the bush, and where the -track from the river crossed our lot, and at night I could not sleep -a wink, thinking every moment I heard his footstep. Once I was sure I -heard him moving outside. I got up and opened the door and called his -name. There was no answer, and it was so dark I could not see a rod -off. Lighting a bit of pitch pine at the fire, I held it up to look -again, when there was a patter of feet and something bounded by me. It -was sugar-time and there were a few trees tapped around the house. The -noise I heard was a few deer drinking the sap out of the troughs. I -knew not what to do. I wanted to go in search of William, but how could -I leave our small stock? They might starve before I got back, and that -would ruin us. It happened Monday afternoon, just when I had determined -to go over to the nearest neighbor and see if I could get some one to -go and enquire for my husband, though I knew it would be useless, for -every man and boy old enough had gone with the rafts. I was wrapping -baby in a shawl, when the door darkened and a strange voice bade me -good day. It was that of a young lad from the second concession. He was -on his way home, and had a message from William. In running Dumouchel’s -rapids the raft had bunted on a stone, throwing her crew off their -feet. In falling, William’s oar had struck his left arm and broken it. -I thanked God it was no worse. He told the boy I was not to be anxious, -that he felt so well he hoped to be able to leave for home in a few -days. I questioned the lad, and from what he told me, I guessed my -husband was worse than he let on. My resolution was made; I would go -and see him. The lad said he had to go home first, but promised to come -back next morning and tend the stock until I returned. Before going, I -got him to fell a few saplings for the young beasts to browse on their -tops, for the fodder was nearly done. Then I prepared for my journey; -cooking enough to keep the lad while away, and baking some cakes to -take to my husband. It would be past 5 o’clock in the afternoon when -I was ready to leave, but I considered I would be able to reach the -Chateaugay before dark, and once on its banks I would be safe to get -a night’s rest. With baby in my arms I started brave enough, but had -not gone many acres in the woods until I felt I had acted rashly. I -had gone over the path only a few times and never alone, so that I was -not so well acquainted with it as I thought I was, and, from the snow -having newly melted, it was not as plain as usual. I pressed on until -I felt that I had walked so far that, if on the right track, I should -have reached the river, while I had not even come to the Outarde. The -sunlight had long left the treetops and the stars had begun to glimmer, -when I gave it up, convinced that, likely in going to one side to pass -a wet spot, I had left the track, and that I was lost in the woods. -Assured I had lost my way, I knew it would be madness to walk farther, -and so, while I could see, I picked out a hemlock knoll, and choosing -a big hemlock that had some cedar bushes growing near, I sat down -beneath it. It was not very cold, though in the clearances I daresay -there was frost. Taking a cake out of my pocket I made my supper. Baby -was very good and lay asleep in his shawl. Wrapping him more warmly in -the long plaid I had around my shoulders, I clasped him to my bosom -and, so wearied was I, that I fell asleep. I awoke with a start. I -thought I heard some one calling. I listened and the sound soon came -again. It was the cry of a wolf at some distance. Another answered -from some other part of the woods, and another and another. You have -noticed, on a calm night, how, if a dog barks, every dog within hearing -answers; it is the same with wolves, only their cries are more varied, -ranging from a deep howl to a whine like that of a child in pain. I -shuddered for my babe, who still slept, and, kissing him, resolved I -should die before the brutes would reach him. For a long time I sat -and listened, until the cries died away, from the beasts apparently -hurrying to some distant point in pursuit of their prey. I again slept, -how long I do not know, but was awakened by something warm stroking -my cheek. It was our dog licking my face. I had shut him in the house -to be a watch on it, but he had broken out some way and, scenting my -steps, had overtaken us. I was so desolate and lonesome, and so glad -to have Collie’s company, that my heart leaped with happiness as he -cuddled down beside me and would not give over licking my hands and -face for very joy. I should be ashamed to tell it, but, sir, a good dog -is better than a false friend, and Collie was a most faithful beast. -After that I slept with confidence, and it was good daylight when I -awoke, cold and stiff with my first and last night’s rest in the woods, -but refreshed and confident. I would not touch more of my cakes, for -I wanted them for my husband, so, thanking God for preserving me so -far, I went on my way, baby crowing at the sight of Collie, as he -gamboled around us with yelps. Marking as well as I could from the -way his rays fell, where the sun rose, I went north, for I knew that -in that direction I would soon come across the Outarde. Sure enough, -I had not gone a quarter of a mile, when I came upon it, flowing red -and full, for it was high water. Knowing I was safe, and that I would -quickly come upon one of the settlers by its banks, I hurried on in -great spirits, and came out on John Hughes’ clearing, and was speedily -seated by their blazing log fire at breakfast. My troubles were now -over, and I saw that, instead of going north, I had wandered to the -east. A little boy went with me to Strachan’s, where I crossed the -Chateaugay, and resuming my walk got to the house, near Ste Martine, -where my husband lay, in the afternoon. It was well I went, for his -hurt had brought on a slight fever, and though the habitant’s family -were kind, they could not nurse him as I did. These were anxious but -happy days, for William was overjoyed to have me beside him, and I was -glad to be of service to him. In ten days Dr Syme told me he would bear -the journey, and getting a cast in one of Reeves’s canoes as far as -the Portage, we were safe back in our own house before night, to find -everything better than we expected. It was a drawback William’s arm, -for it was some time before he could do hard work with it, but we got -over that and many another backset, and, if we are now well-to-do, we -earned all we’ve got. - - - - -AN INCIDENT OF HUNTINGDON FAIR. - - -A LOST CHILD. - -It was wearing on to three o’clock on the first day of the fair, and -the crowd was at its height. At a corner of the main building, where -the throng was thickest, stood a child, a girl of some four summers, -sobbing, not loudly or obtrusively, but with her face buried in her -pinafore. The passers-by, intent upon their own pleasure, took no -notice of her, until a gaunt, elderly man halted in front of her with -the query, “What are you crying for?” “For mama,” said the child -raising her tear-stained face from behind her pinafore. “Don’t you -know where she is?” “No,” sobbed the little one, “she’s goned away,” -and here her grief broke out afresh. Attention being thus directed -to the child, the standers-by grew interested. Among them were two -young ladies in rather loud costume. “Guess she’s lost,” remarked -one of them. “Want to know?” queried the other, “Ain’t she sweet?” -“Some; should say her mother don’t know much; such a looking hat.” -“You mightn’t do better, Ethie.” “I’d be sick if I couldn’t.”--“Well, -what’s to be done?” asked the man who first noticed the child. “Has -anybody seen anybody looking for a little girl?” Nobody had, and then -suggestions as to what to do were volunteered. “Ask her name?” was one -of them. “What’s your name, sissy?” “Roose,” sobbed the child. “And -where do you live?” “With mama.” “And where does she live?” “At home.” -“That’s not the way to ask her,” exclaimed a brawny young man, whose -lowest whisper would startle a horse, and bending over her he asked, -“How did mama come to the fair?” “With me and Toby.” “Is Toby your -father?” “No,” said the child, smiling through her tears, “Toby’s a -dear little dog.” “Did mama walk to the fair?” “We’s drove in a wagon -and Toby too, ever so long ways.” “What’s the name of the place you -came from?” The question was beyond the child, who simply shook her -head. “Don’t bother her,” interjected a bystander, “get your wagon and -drive her round the ground and the mother will see her.” “I can’t very -well,” said the man of the loud voice. “My horse has got the gorum, -and I want to watch the sheep judges.” “Well, take her home with you; -you’ve neither chick nor child.” At this a laugh rose, and suggestions -as to what should be done, each more senseless and impracticable than -another, began again. To send her to Grahamie as lost baggage, to seat -her in the centre of the horse-ring, at the head of the show-house -stairs, with the band, or among the fancy articles, where her mother -would be sure to go, were among the more reasonable. Each one was -clear that it was the duty of somebody else to exert themselves to -find the mother, and each one was equally clear he was not called upon -to undertake the task. And so precious time was slipping, and what to -do with the child remained undecided. At this juncture, a short and -somewhat stout woman broke through the ring. “Hech, what’s a’ this -about? A lost bairn, say ye.” Bending over, she lifted the child, and -sitting down on a bench pressed her to her bosom. “My bonnie doo, and -hae ye lost your mammie! Wha ocht ye?” The child, with staring eyes, -answered not. “You might as well speak Greek,” grimly remarked the -gaunt man. “Eh, what’s that! Do you think she disna understan the -English lang’age? Na, na, thae bonny blue een are no French. An hoo -did you lose yer mammie, my pet?” “Mama gave me penny to get candy, -and Toby ran after other dog, and I tried to catch Toby but he runned -a long way and was bad, and--and--I couldn’t find mama or Toby,” and -the recollection of her misfortune renewed her grief. “Eh, ma wee bit -lady,” exclaimed the good-hearted woman, as she clasped the sobbing -child more closely, “but hoo are we in this thrang to find Toby or -yer mither either. Hech but her heart will be sair for the loss o’ ye. -Will na some o’ ye gang and see if ye canna fin a woman lookin’ for her -bairn, instead o’ gapin there at us like so mony gomerils.” - -“If you’ll give me ten cents I’ll go,” said a pert boy. - -“Ha, ha, my man, ye’ll be a Conservative; ye want an office.” - -“There’s the president,” remarked one of the bystanders. - -“What! yon black-a-vised man wi the bit red ribbon? Hey, Mr Praseedent; -come yont: I want yer advice.” - -“What’s this; what’s this?” asked the president. - -“Jist a lost bairn, an hoo to fin the mother o’t I dinna ken.” - -“Couldn’t be in better hands,” said the president. - -“She micht be in waur, tho I say’t mysell. But that’s no what I’m -drivin at. Hoo am I to get her mither!” - -“Oh, that’s not hard to do. You have seen a lamb lose its mother, but -did you ever see the ewe that failed to find her? You just sit where -you are, and the mother will come along.” - -“I’ve seen the ewie seek her bit lammie ower knowe and heugh an never -fail to find the wanderer, but what could she do were as mony auld -tups thranging roun as are here? Na, na; yer comparison winna stan, -Mr Praseedent. Jest tell me what I’m to dae, an no be stanin’ there -twirlin yer whisker.” - -“I’ll tell you what to do. Take the child home with you; she is tired -and not fit to stay here longer. The mother will be sure to come to the -office, and I will know where to send her. I’ll take your address,” and -he pulled out his notebook. - -Glancing at the child, which had fallen asleep on her bosom, the woman -kissed the peaceful little face, and replied, “that’s gude advice. -Everybody kens me. I’m Mrs Crowdie, and I live on the ----concession -of Hinchinbrook, and if ye want to ken mair o’ me ye can speer at that -decent man, Mr Herdman, yonner, wha lifts my taxes, and as oor waggin -will be ready, I’ll gang noo. Sae gude day to ye.” - -Tired with the day’s fatigue and grief, the child did not wake until -the wagon halted at Mrs Crowdie’s door, when, seeing everything new and -strange, she cried a little for her mother, but was easily soothed, -and, on supper appearing, she forgot her little sorrows in satisfying -her appetite. Though Mrs Crowdie had much to do “in settin things to -richts,” as she termed it, about the house, and scolded the man-servant -for “thinkin mair o’ what he saw at the fair than o’ his wark,” she -found time to lavish much attention on the waif, so curiously left on -her hands, and beguiled the smiles to her cheeks by kindly arts. When -it grew dark, she cried for her mother, but accepting Mrs Crowdie’s -promise that “she would see her the morn,” and that she would “let -pooshack sleep with her,” she lisped her artless prayer at her knee -and, laid in bed, dropped into the land of Nod with her arms around Mrs -Crowdie’s big black cat. - - -A NEEBOR LADDIE. - -Little Roose was up by times next morning, and thought it grand fun to -help Mrs Crowdie to milk, to feed the poultry, and to get breakfast -ready. Everything was new to her, and enjoyed with such a zest as to -show that it was her first taste of country-life. To keep her company, -Mrs Crowdie had sent word to her neighbors to let their son come and -play with her, and by-and-by Johnnie made his appearance, and the two -had a rare time of it. It was in the afternoon, when, tired with play, -and to rest and enjoy the pieces Mrs Crowdie gave each of them, they -snuggled down behind a clump of bushes in the orchard. - -“When I’m a man, Roose, I’ll have sugar on my bread like this all the -time.” - -“When you’re a man, will you have a horse?” - -“Yes; two of them and whiskers too.” - -“And a farm like this?” - -“A bigger farm than this, an’ a big house an’ a buggy, an’ pigs an’ -sheep an’ hens.” - -“And may I come to see you?” - -“You’ll milk the cows and make butter.” - -“Will it be long time ’fore you’re a man?” - -“When I’m growed; two or three year; I’m six now.” - -“How do cows make butter?” - -“My, don’t you know? It ain’t the cows that make the butter, it’s the -girls.” - -“And will you show me when I’m big?” - -“Yes, an lots o’ things.” - -“My mama has no cows.” - -“Ain’t she! Why, my dad has lots o’ em and a bull, too.” - -“I’d be ’fraid.” - -“O, you are not a man like me. I could fire a gun an shoot a bear.” - -“Has God cows?” - -“Why, He makes em, an the horses, an the elephants, an every thing. -Don’t you go to Sabbath school?” - -“No.” - -“My! I went when littler than you, an learnt heaps o’ things, an got -raisins and candy at Christmas.” - -“Without a penny?” - -“Gimme for nothing.” - -“My.” - -“I was to have spoke a piece but got afraid.” - -“I wouldn’t be ’fraid.” - -“Oh, that’s nothing; you’re a girl.” - -Here the conference was broken by Johnnie’s offering to show where -the ground hogs kept house, and off he and his companion trotted to -a remote stone-pile, and did not turn up till supper time, when they -burst in upon Mrs Crowdie with the appetite of hawks, and the girl so -full of the wonders she had seen that her tongue never rested until she -became sleepy. When laid away for the night, Mrs Crowdie sat in the -gathering gloom to think over what she should do. The day had passed -without any one coming to enquire for a lost girl, which very much -surprised her. So far as her own inclinations went, she would rather -nobody ever came, but she knew that somewhere a poor mother’s heart -was in agony over the loss, and she resolved that, next morning, after -breakfast she would drive to Huntingdon to find out if there had been -any enquiries. - - -A SHADE OF MYSTERY. - -With many injunctions to Roose, that she was to “be a guid bairn till -she got back, an no go near the soos or the wall,” Mrs Crowdie next day -betook herself to the village, where she arrived in due course and went -first to the office of the president to find out whether he had heard -aught. Entering she spied through the net-work that surmounted the -counter a man in his shirt-sleeves leaning over a desk writing, with -his head turned away from her. - -“Hey, man!” No response. - -“Whar will I find your maister?” No response. - -“Whatna ticket is this?” as her eye here fell on a card hung to the -wire-netting, and she spelt out slowly, “THIS--IS--MY--BUSY--DAY. Fegs, -by the look o’ him I should say it is. Hey, man!” No response, the man -of the big ledger calmly continuing to write. - -“Eh, puir chiel!” exclaimed Mrs Crowdie, “he maun hae a hard maister or -be dull o’ hearin,” and she thereupon rattled on the counter with her -umbrella. - -“Oh, were you wanting me. Want to pay your church seat, eh?” - -“What na kirk? St Andrew’s, say ye? Na, na, I dinna gang there. Dod! -You dinna need to have a seat in ony kirk, for there are a’ kin o’ -bodies that ca’ themselves preachers rinnin aboot. Says I to ane that -pit maist impertinent questions to me about my saul--an us Scotch folk -dinna show our hearts to every Jock and Tam--My man, ye pit me in mind -o’ a finger-post, ye pint the way ye dinna gang yoursel. Ye see, I kent -ocht o’ him.” - -“That’s a good one,” exclaimed the man of the pen as he rubbed his left -arm. - -“Gin I had my way, there wad be a riddle afore every college door -to try the coofs wha wad wag their heids in a poopit. I ken o’ some -chuckie heads it wad hae thrown aside.” - -“Not a bad idea. And what can I do for you? You’ll want an organ?” - -“Me an organ! I’d suner tryst a parritch pat.” - -“It’s a nice thing to have a little music, and the young ladies soon -learn to play.” - -“I’se ken ye noo. I saw ye at the show. Ye can blaw a horn but ye canna -blaw my lug. I want to see your maister.” - -“What name?” - -“My name’s Mrs Crowdie; kent by her neebors as ane that pays as she -buys an is due naebody.” - -“Oh, yes, I have a memorandum. The boss left word you were not to -trouble yourself; it would be all right.” - -“I’ll gang hame we nae such assurance. I have come ane errand to see -him and I wull see him.” - -“We had a fine show, Mrs Crowdie?” - -“Whaur’s your maister?” - -“What did you think of the flowers?” - -“Whaur’s yer maister?” - -“Oh, it’s the boss you want.” - -“Ay, an I’ll no gang till I see him.” - -Calling a chubby-faced lad, he sent him in search, and the desired -gentleman soon entered. - -“And how are you to-day, Mrs Crowdie?” - -“I’ve naething to complain o’ except o’ sin an a touch o’ the -rheumatics.” - -“And what can we do for you to-day?” - -“Ye ken weel my errand, an I see by yer man ye’ve something ye dinna -want to tell me. Wha’s bairn is she?” - -“We’ll speak about that by-and-bye.” - -“We’ll speak about it noo.” - -“Is the little girl well?” - -“The lassie’s weel an I’d be laith to part wi her did I no ken there -are they wha hae a better richt to her. Noo, tell me; what hae ye -learned about her folks?” - -“There have been some enquiries; her people know that she is safe.” - -“Wha are they? I’ll gang an see them.” - -“There’s no need. You go home and you’ll hear from them.” - -A good deal of conversation followed, but Mrs Crowdie could get no -particular information about the parents, further than that they were -satisfied she was in safe hands, and they would call or send for their -child in a short time. Forced to be satisfied with this, she returned -home, and when Roose threw her arms round her neck in welcome, she -could not forbear the secret wish that the parents might never come. -There was some mystery and she hoped that it might result thus. She -watched the child pattering about during the afternoon, listened to her -prattle, and helped to amuse her, and when the evening gathered, and -the sun set beyond the forest, leaving the clouds burning in crimson -and gold, she sat with her in her lap. Something in the peaceful -scene stirred up old memories, and, with thin and quavering voice, -the old woman began the 23rd psalm. To her surprise, the child chimed -in, knowing both the words and the old world tune Mrs Crowdie sang -them to. “Wha taught ye that, ma dawtie?” she asked, as finishing the -psalm, she hugged the child in closer embrace, the moisture glistening -in her eyes. “Mama,” said the child. “She maun be a guid woman, and a -Presbyterian, too.” And clasping the child, Mrs Crowdie sat thinking in -silence and did not move into the house until it grew chill, when she -said “the bairn micht catch cauld.” - - -THE MYSTERY IS CLEARED UP. - -The section of Hinchinbrook in which Mrs Crowdie lives is a very -pleasant one to look upon; the landscape being relieved from monotony -by low knolls and ridges which break the wide intervales. In the -middle of September, the bush, that runs as a straggling and somewhat -ragged fringe over the ridges, was still green, with only here and -there a branch or tree whose brilliant red foretold the coming glory. -The day was bright and warm, the sun’s rays being chastened by the -faint smoky haze that softened the distant features of the landscape. -Her work being over until milking time came round, Mrs Crowdie took a -seat by the open window and began knitting. Her little charge had gone -to watch a preposterous hen, which, after being given up as having -furnished supper to a fox, had appeared that morning clucking with joy -over the solitary chicken that followed her; the yellow hairy little -thing a source of delight to the child. While Mrs Crowdie’s fingers -moved actively with the needles, her thoughts were wandering away to -the past. The advent of the child had stirred her nature and wakened -memories, she knew not how, that she had stifled so long ago that -she thought they were dead. And to judge by her face, they were not -pleasant memories. Casually raising her head, she was astounded to see -a woman standing at the door intently watching her; a comely woman, -neatly dressed. - -“What’s brocht you back?” demanded Mrs Crowdie, breaking silence, “I -told you I was dune wi’ you; that gin ye had made yer bed, you could -lie on it.” - -“O, mother!” - -“Na, ye needna beg; gin that useless man ye wad marry in spite o’ me, -has failed to provide for you, you maun look for help anither gate.” - -“I have not come to beg; we have made ends meet so far.” - -“Ay, by your wark. A fauchless, smooth-tongued haveril; hoo he threw a -glamor ower ye I ken na.” - -“You are too sore on him.” - -“Ower sair! A useless being that wad talk an flee round the kintry, -an dae onything but wark. To think that ye wad prefer sic na ane to -yer ane mither, you ungrateful hussy. But its aye the way; the best o’ -women get the lavins o’ men.” - -“It’s not for me to listen to such talk of my husband,” said the -daughter, coloring. - -“A bonny husband! Merry’t ye, thinking he could hang up his hat in my -hoose and sorn on me. My certie, I sorted him! Gang back to yer husband -an wark yer finger-nails aff to make up for his laziness. You made your -choice, an I’m dune with baith you an him.” - -Resentment struggled in the breast of the young woman with affection; -it was for a moment only; her better nature triumphed. - -“I have not come, mother, to ask of you anything but your love and”-- - -“An what?” asked the mother, in a voice shrill from suppressed emotion, -“Did I no nestle you in my bosom an care for you as dearer than my -life? When, ane by ane, your brithers an sisters gaed awa an you were -left the ae lam oot o’ the flock; when God in his providence took your -faither to Himsel an I was left alane, it was you that gied me heart to -wrastle wi’ the warl, an I watched ower you an thocht you wad be a prop -to my auld age. Oh, hoo could ye have the heart to leave me?” - -“I love you better than I ever did, mother, but you wouldn’t think much -of me as a wife were I to say I did wrong in marrying.” - -“Aye, there it is; the shuffling creature wi his sleek manners that cam -between you an me.” - -“Oh, mother, leave that alone. I am sorry to have vexed you today. -I never meant to trouble you, until you saw fit to send for me or I -thought you needed my help.” - -“An what has brocht ye, then?” - -“I’ve come for Ruth.” - -The old woman sank back in her chair in speechless astonishment. At -last she whispered, “An she’s your bairn! I thocht there was something -aboot her that was familiar to me: that explains it a’. She’s yerself -ower again when ye were a bit toddler. O that thae days were back -again! An hoo did ye lose her?” - -“It’s six years since I left you, mother, and my heart wearied among -the Yankees to see dear old Huntingdon again. I watched the Gleaner -when the show was to be, and arranging to be away a fortnight I came -with Ruth and stayed with cousin on the river. I saw you at the show, -but you did not see me. In the crowd I lost Ruth. I was here and there -seeking for her, when a man told me he had seen a little girl, dressed -like mine, in a wagon that drove towards the village. I followed and -found he was wrong. Thinking she had driven home with our friends, I -hastened to cousin’s, but she was not there. What a night I spent! Next -morning I went back to the show grounds, and was struck dumb when the -president told me where she was. I explained it all to him. He was -very kind and said if I would leave it in his hands he would manage it; -when you came in he would put you off for a day or two. Last night he -sent me word things had worked well, and I was to go out to you myself. -If there is any plot about it to bring us together without your will, -it’s none o’ mine,” and sinking before her mother she buried her head -in her lap and wept. - -What Mrs Crowdie would have done; whether her resentment would have -returned and she again have driven away her daughter, God alone knows, -but at this juncture the patter of little feet was heard on the gallery -and Ruth, with her pinafore full of golden-rod, came shouting, “See -what I have got.” One glance at the tearful face upraised to see -her, and there was a glad scream of “Mama.” Clasping her child and -grandchild in her arms, Mrs Crowdie broke down. “It’s the Lord’s wark; -nane save Himsel could hae brocht us thus thegither, an I’se no fecht -against His will. By a lost child I’ve found my ain, an we’ll never -pairt. Ay, my bonny Ruth, I’m your grannie, and ye’ll bide we me, an -help me tak care o’ the hens an the turkeys, and the lave.” - -“And, papa.” - -“I’ll thole him for your sake; maybe I have wranged him in my -prejudices. We’ll sen for him.” - -“An Toby, too?” - -“That’s cousin’s dog, Ruth,” said her mother, smiling in her joy. - -“Ay, Ruth,” said Mrs Crowdie, “we’ll get the dowg too, and we’ll let -byganes be byganes and begin a new life an ther’ll no be a happier -family in a’ Hinchinbrook. Eh, hoo true’s the Scripter in mair senses -than ane. An a little child shall lead them. Hech, but this’ll no dae. -There’s the nock chappin five, an the coos are comin up the lane, an -the fire’s to kinle. Let’s be steerin an get the wark dune an then -we’ll hae supper ance mair thegither.” - - - - -THE SUMMER OF SORROW. - - -LOOKING FOR THE BOOK. - -You want to see the little buk I have? An who tould you about it? -You’ll do it no harm. Maybe you won’t get the chance. It’s not the -likes of you that should have it. You’ve driven from Huntingdon on -purpose and sure I won’t disappoint you. I didn’t ax you to come, did -I? You’ll print it. Yis, what suits you: laving out all that tells how -we poor Catholics were used in Ireland. Honor bright, you’ll print -every word of the little buk. Maybe you would and maybe you wouldn’t, -but it is not to everybody I would give a reading of my poor nevy’s -book, and, if you plaze, we’ll say no more about that same. Well, then, -I might tell you what I saw myself at the favor sheds. Did you ever -know anybody who seen a ghost like to talk about it? I tries to forgit -what I saw and heard, an thank nobody that brings me in mind o’t. Come -now, I’ll tell you a bettor shtory than about poor women and childer a -dyin by the score of favor an strong men alayin aside them too wake -to git thim a cup o’ wather. An its a thrue story, which is more than -can be said about some you’ve prented. Whin I wint to William Bowron to -buy my lot, I paid my money down for’t in goold. He wrote my ticket for -the lot an’ whin he hands it to me, says he, Now you’ve got a farrum, -my man, you’ll want a cow. Thrue for you, says I, I had always a cow in -Ireland an my father afore me. Confound it all, says he, then you must -have one in Canada; I have a heifer that’ll suit you. Gittin aff his -chair, he placed his stick across his back and hooked his elbows over -it, an tuk me into his yard, where he pointed to a beauty av a crathur. -How much? says I. Three pounds, says he, Done, says I, an’ puttin my -hand in my pocket I pays him the money in his fisht. Sure the baste -wud have cost tin poun in Ireland. Confound it all, says he, ye’re a -dacint fellow; come in an have a bite to ate. An afther I had my dinner -I started for my farm, adrivin my springer afore me through the woods, -feelin proud as Punch over my bargain. It was not until I stood afore -the bit shanty I had got raised, that the thought came on me all at -once, that I had nothing to feed the baste. Och, it takes an Irishman -to jump before seeing where his feet will fall. Well, I held my whisht, -and my woman and her good mother comes out and falls admirin the baste. -There was only another cow in the settlement; wan ould Armstrong had. -Sure, I cries, won’t the nabors be invying us! Thim here long afore us -an widout a four-footed baste, barrin pigs an dogs an cats, an here, -the firsht month we come, we have an illigant heifer, new come in. -“She’s a beauty, sure,” says my wife’s mother, “an as like the wan I -sould when I left the Ould Counthry (bad luck to the day I left it) as -a red wan can be like a black; lave her to me, I’ll look afther her.” -Indeed an I will, says I, for if you don’t she’ll die, for sorra a bite -hev I got for her. An so it was, the ould woman took charge and tended -her as if she had been her child, herdin her in the woods an atakin -her to the creeks where she could get a bellyful, a drivin her home -against nightfall. It divarted the ould woman, who had all the time -been lamenting laving Ireland, and sarved us, for me wife an mysilf -were workin hard in makin a clearance to get in a few praties. It was -on in August that wan night the ould woman an the cow did not come -home. She’ll hev lost her way, says my wife to me. Not at all, I tells -her, she knows the woods as well by this time as ever she did the bog -of Dorroghmore. Thin, why’s she not here? asks she. Och, she’ll have -shtrayed furder than ordinar an daylight has failed her. Niver throuble -yer mind; she’ll be here with the sun tomorrow. I was more consarned -than I let on, but what could I do? It was dark an there was no use -going looking for her in the woods wid a candle, seein’ we hadn’t wan. -My wife couldn’t get a wink o’ sleep, an sot at the door, shouting -whiniver she thought she heard a rustlin in the bush. The day broke -an the sun climbed up until he was high enough to look over the tree -tops at us an say Good mornin, an nivir a sign o’ the ould woman or -the cow. We waited an waited, expectin ivery minute to see her, until -I got afeard, an wint an tould the nearest nabors. They were consarned -at the news an agreed if she did come back afore, they would warn the -settlement an ivery man jack o’ thim would turn out next mornin to luk. -An they did; och but there was a crowd ov them, some wid guns an some -wid horns an some wid pitchforks. There was grain awaitin to be shore, -but not a sowl of mankind stayed away. What’s that you say? They’d be -Arangemen? What ilse was there in the sittlemint then? We didn’t talk -in thim days about what makes strife, but lived as frindly as nabors -could, helpin wan another, an niver askin what you were. Well, it was -a fine day, tho hot, an aff we started, watchin for foot tracks an -shoutin an blowin horns an firing shots, expectin the ould woman would -hastin to us on hearin where we were. It was niver a bit o’ use. Hours -wint by an we thravelled miles on miles an niver a sign. Whin we found -a track we soon lost it, for the woods were cut up by slues. It was -agrowin late whin a few o’ us met to talk it over. “We’ve gone north -an east an wist,” says Sam Foster, the ouldest settler ov us all an -a knowledgable man, “an havn’t found her or the cow. That shows me -she has crossed the swamp to the south an gone towards the lines.” We -agreed to this rasonin an shtarted aff for the swamp, which was as -dirthy a puddle o’ black wather an green skum as there was in Ameriky. -Sam was our guide, or we might av been thryin to crass it to this day. -He knew where it was narrowest an by creeping along fallen trees we -reached the ridge beyant, an hadn’t gone half a mile afore we struck -the footprints of an ould woman an a cow. How did I know it was the -footprints ov an ould woman? Hould yer whisht or I won’t be atellin -you any more. It was a blessin we did, for it wad soon hev been too -dark to have followed them up. I tell ye, we forgot our tiredness an -hunger, an hurried on in great spirits, an in half an hour Sam shouts, -“There she is,” apointin through the trees. I shouts Whuroo an dashes -ahead o’ them all an in a minit I had the ould woman in my arms an the -cow a lookin on as innocint as if it had niver played thricks whin a -calf. The saints be praised ye are not kilt and ded, I cries, as I -hugged her, for sure, though she was ould an wrinkled an bint, she was -the mother o’ my darlin wife. Ded I wad hev been, says she, cryin wid -joy, but for the crathur, an niver ben waked or buried. By this time -the rist o’ the min kem up an awl sat down to hear the ould woman’s -shtory. She tould us how, from the drouth, the cow found little to pick -and kept amovin on and on until she was floundering in the swamp, an -whin they got on solid land sorra the wan of thim knew where they were. -“How did ye keep alive?” asks a man, “for ye are spry and hearty.” “I -wunna tell ye,” says she. “Two days and two nights in the bush,” says -another, “an you not hungry: it’s a mysthery.” “Hould yer whisht,” says -another, “it’s a miracle: there be good people in thim woods as well -as on the hills ov Ould Oireland.” It was growin late an there was no -time for more talk an we shtarted for home, an, bedad, the ould woman -bate us all wid the nimbleness she tripped through the bush an over the -logs. Whin we got home, an glad my wife was when she hugged her ould -mother, an the nabors left, I axed again how she had kept body an sowl -so well together in the bush. “I wunna tell ye,” says she again, an aff -she wint to bed. I tould all to my wife an axed her to find out, and -by-and-bye she got it as a great saycret--the ould woman sucked the cow -for food an purticted hersilf from the cowld ov the night by sleeping -aside her. - -“Are you done, grandpa?” - -I turned, a girl stood behind us, having come unnoticed. - -“Yis, yis; what is it?” - -“Supper is ready, and I’ve been waiting ever so long to tell you.” - -“Come,” said the old man to me as he rose, “an have a bite.” - -I followed and when after tea I rose to take my horse for my homeward -journey, my eyes must have expressed what courtesy kept my tongue from -again asking. “Och, the little buk, is it. Well, I’ll trust ye wid it.” -Leaving the room he returned with what looked like a greasy and much -handled pass-book. “Take care of it,” he exclaimed with emotion, “an -don’t keep it long.” Placing it in my pocket we parted. - - -HOW THE BOOK WAS GOT. - -On retiring to my room that night, I examined the book given me with -such reluctance and read every word of it before going to bed. I found -it to be the diary of an Irishman who had left his country during the -famine. In the ship on which he embarked for Canada typhus fever broke -out and the incidents of the horrors of the voyage and of the equal -horrors of the quarantine sheds on being landed at Grosse isle were -described with a simplicity and directness that alternately moved me to -tears and filled my bosom with indignation. Next day I set to work to -copy the diary. On considering the matter I saw it would be necessary -to learn somewhat of the writer, who he was, whether he survived the -plague, and if he did, where he was now. The first day I could get away -from duty found me on the road to interview the old man a second time. -On restoring to him the book I expressed freely my indignation at the -conduct of the landlords, of the ship-agents, and of the quarantine -officers, and my pity for those whom they oppressed. My words seemed to -be unlooked for. - -“Begorra,” said the old man, “I didn’t expict this aff ye. I tuk ye for -wan that thought anything good enough for the likes of us.” - -Explaining my wish to publish the diary I asked him to tell me what he -knew about its writer. - -“Sure he was my nevy, an I will tell ye awl about him.” - -Though it was mid-October the day was warm and the sun unpleasantly -hot, and the old man suggested we should go to the orchard, where he -could tell me what he knew without interruption. It proved a long -interview for I had many questions to ask and the substance of his -statement, though not in his words, I will now give as an introduction -to the diary. - -It was in the year 1847 myself and wife were behind the house cutting -hay. There was no mowing-machine those days; no, not even a scythe -could be used because of the stumps, and we were picking the locks -of hay out atween the stones and stumps with our hooks. It was a hot -day and we had been at work since sunrise, so our backs were tired -enough, but we could not rest, for there was much to do and we had no -help beside ourselves. We were working hard and fast, when a voice came -ahint us that made us start. - -“Uncle, wanna you look roun at me?” - -There stood a girl, with a bundle in her right hand. By her figure you -might say she was 17 or thereabout; by her face she was an old woman, -for the bones were sticking out of the tight drawn skin and her skin -was a deadly grey, with black streaks above and below the eyes. My -first thought was the colleen was demented. - -“God save you kindly,” says I, “but why do you name me uncle?” - -“I am your brother’s child.” - -You might have knocked me down with a feather, I was so astonished. - -“What! me brother Jerry?” - -“That same,” answers she in a wake voice. - -“Where is he?” shouts I, throwing down my hook. “Lade me to him. Niver -a line did he send to tell us he was laving Ireland, but welkim he and -his as the flowers in May to the best I have.” - -The girl didn’t stir; she seemed numbed and dead like and answered in -her hollow voice, “He’s dead thim three weeks.” - -“God save us all,” I shouted, “you are mad my colleen, and ye’re mind’s -awandering. My brother Jerry is in Ireland with his wife and the -childer, and ye’re mistaen when you call me uncle.” - -“No, no,” she says to me, “ye’re my own uncle for I axed at the house -next to you. My mother, my father, my brothers and sisters are wid the -saints in glory,” and wid that she lifted her eyes and crosses herself. - -“When and where?” I shouted in desperation. - -“They died ov the ship favor, part are buried in the say and part at -the favor sheds.” - -With those words the truth of all she said burst on me and I staggered, -for my head swam, and I had to throw myself down on the meadow, but -my wife rushed past and clasped the poor child in her arms, “I’ll be -mother to you, and, God help us, it won’t be on our account if the tear -o’ sorrow come again to your eye.” - -The poor thing didn’t respond as you might expect, but sank on my -wife’s bosom and looked about with that stony stare of hers. My wife’s -hot tears were raining on her face, when she whispered, “Wad ye give me -a bite to eat?” - -Then we saw it all. The girl was starving. I caught her up in my -arms--she was no heavier than many a baby--a bag of bones--and I ran -with her to the house, crying to my wife to hurry and get something -ready. Had ye seen her look at the food as my wife brought it out of -the cellar, with the eye of a wild beast, you would have shivered. -“Draw in,” says I, “it’s coorse, but it is the best we have, an -there’s plenty av it.” - -“Is the mate for me?” she asks doubtful like. - -“Surely,” says I. - -“I havn’t put a tooth mark on mate for three years,” says she simple -like. - -I reached her a rib of cold boiled pork and she smiled for the -first time, and sucked it as a child does the orange it wants to -have the taste of as long as possible. When she had eaten as much -as my wife thought safe, she took and laid her on our own bed, and -willing she was, for she was clean beat out, and went to sleep when -her head touched the pillow. Then we had a talk. She had come from -the fever sheds and might give the disease to the children, who had -gone berrying, so I goes, as agreed on, and meets them, tells them -of their new cousin from Ireland, who had come to us sick, and takes -them to stay with a neighbor for the night. Next morning I off to the -hay before sunrise and worked excited like till the sun got high and -overpowering, when I says to myself, “I’ll take a rest and go and -see my brother’s child.” She was sitting at the door, where the hops -clustered round her, and looked another crathur. The fearsome glare of -hunger in the eye was gone and there was a glint of color in the cheek -as she rose to welcome me. “You don’t think me mad today, uncle?” she -asks me. “God forgive me,” says I, “for the word--.” With that she puts -her hand over my mouth. Oh she was the kindly crathur, and now that -she was clean and fresh dressed I could see would be a handsome lass -when there was more mate on her bones. My wife had been looking for my -coming and had the table spread, and after we had eaten we sat again in -the shade at the door and as I smoked my pipe Ellen told her story. It -was, more the pity, a common enough one in those days. The failure of -the potatoes had left my brother unable to get enough for his family to -eat let alone pay the rent. On the back of the hunger came sickness and -when things had got to be as bad as they could, the agent comes round -and tells him if he would give up his houlding and go to Canada the -landlord would forgive him the rent, pay the passage-money and a pound -ahead on landing at Quebec. He took the offer as his neighbors did and -went to Dublin, where they found a ship waiting for them. They were -not out of sight of land when the fever broke out and the children, -one after another, took it, and three died at sea. When quarantine was -reached they were all sent ashore, and there the rest of the children, -saving Ellen, died, with the father and mother. When the fever left -her she was put on board a steamer for Montreal, and got sorra a bite -from the hour she left until she landed, though it took the boat 36 -hours. Faint and sick she was hurried ashore and when she made for -the city a policeman turned her back and she sat down on the wharf, -wishing to die. By and by a man comes along and by his dress she knew -he was a minister, though not of our sort. He spoke to her and she -told him she wanted to get to me, and showed my address on a bit of -paper she carried in her bosom. He read it and saying to follow him, -led to a steamer lying in the canal. He sought out the captain and -told him to take the girl and land her at Beauharnois, and the captain -promised he would to oblige the minister and refused the dollar he -offered. The stranger handed it to her with the words, “I must leave -you, for others are perishing,” and slipped away before she could thank -him. That evening she was landed at Beauharnois and when the steamer -left the wharf for the Cascades she felt more lost than ever, for she -heard nothing but French, and not a word she understood. She spied -a man putting bags of flour in a cart with a face that she thought -was that of an Old Countryman. She went up to him and he answered -her in English, or rather Scotch, for I know him well; he lives near -the Meadows. She told where she wanted to go. “You’ll be ane o’ thae -emigrants,” says he, “an may hae the fever.” “I’ve had it,” says Ellen, -“an am well again.” “Aye, but ye may give it to ither folk.” At this -a Frenchman came up to speak to the man and on seeing Ellen put his -hand to his mouth and drew back. “Louis,” says the Scotchman, “tak -this lassie hame wi you and give her a nicht’s lodgin.” Louis shook his -head. “I’ll pay you, man,” shouted the Scotchman. “No, no,” said Louis, -making a sign of horror, “me not let her in my house.” “You are a’ o’ -ae kirk and suld be kind to ane anither.” Without replying, Louis left. -“Weel, lassie, gin they’ll no gie you cover in this town, ye maun gae -wi me,” and with that he went into the tavern at the head of the wharf -and came back with some bread in his hand for her. He spread his horse -blanket on the bags for her to sit on and off they started. It was a -long drive in the dark, for the horse walked every step of the way, and -Ellen fell asleep. On waking at the rumbling of the cart ceasing, she -found they were standing in a farm-yard. The night was clear but cold, -but she had not felt it, for the Scotchman had tucked his big coat -around her. He told her he dare not take her to the house for fear of -infecting the children. Lighting a lantern he showed her to a corner -of the barn, where she lay down to sleep, while he went to unyoke his -horse. On waking in the morning she stepped into the yard, where she -found the Scotchman unloading his cart. “I’ve been waitin for you,” -says he, “an dinna tak it unkind if I say you maun go at ance on yer -way. Were my naebors to hear o’ ane wha has been sick o’ the fever bein -here, my place wad be shunned.” Putting something to eat in her hand he -bade her follow him, and pointed out the road she was to take for her -uncle’s place, and by observing his directions had succeeded. - -“An so there’s only yirsilf left?” asks my wife. - -“Av our family,” says she, “but unless he’s dead since I left, there’s -my cousin Gerald in the fever sheds at quarantine.” - -Gerald was my sister’s only child and I had heard after her death he -had gone to Maynooth to be a priest. - -“Do you tell me my nephew, that rode on my knee the day I left Ireland, -is in Canada? Why did he not come wid you?” - -Then she explained; told us of what he had been to the sick and dying -and how the day before she left he had been stricken himself. She -wanted to stay with him, but he told her to hasten to her uncle and -if he had a mind he might come and help him; she could do no good to -stay. I jumps up. “I’ll go,” I cries, “and will bring him back wid me -here safe and sound.” As I said that I caught my wife’s eye so pleading -like, not to go. But I did. I got my neighbors to look after my hay and -off I started next morning, bright and early, to catch the stage at the -Potash. When old Mr Oliver heard my errand, he told me to go back to my -family, but my mind was made up. When my own brother was adying I was -in comfort. I was determined my nephew would not suffer like him and -me so near. When the stage came along I jumped into a seat and before -darkening I was in the city. All the talk there was about the fever, -and how the poor creatures were dying by the hundred in the sheds at -Point St Charles. Everybody was in mortal dread of infection and the -police had orders to watch that none of the emigrants got past the -wharves or out of the sheds, but some did, and they were hunted down -and taken back. I kept my whisht as to my errand and listened in the -bar-room of the tavern to one story after another, that made the blood -run cold to my heart. After an early breakfast next day I left the -tavern and walked down to where the steamer sailed for Quebec. It was a -beautiful morning and I thought it the prettiest sight I had seen for a -long time, the blue river sparkling in the sun and the islands and the -other shore looking so fresh and green, with the blue mountains beyant. -It was going to be a while before the steamer was ready, for there was -a pile of freight to put on board, and I walked up a bit to look round -me. In turning the corner of a shed I sees lying on the ground a young -lad with a girl leaning over him. I went up to them. “What’s come over -you, my boy, that you be lyin on the ground?” asks I. Never a word from -either. I went close up and I sees his eyes closed and his face white -as death, with his head resting on the girl’s lap. “God save us, what’s -wrong?” Never a word. “Can I do anything for you?” I says, placing my -hand on her shoulder. She lifted up her head that was bowed down on the -young man’s, oh so slowly, and looked at me, her face white and sunk -like. “No,” she whispered, “he’s adyin.” “Dyin like this in a Christian -land,” says I, “I will get help.” I ran back to where the crowd was and -tould a policeman. “They’ll be escaped imigrants,” says he, “and must -be sent back, the villins,” and off he comes with me. I led him to the -place and he flourished his big stick, shouting, “What div ye mean, -coming among Christian people agin orders?” I caught his arm. “Don’t -touch them; he’s dyin,” for I heard the rattle in his throat. We stood -aside for a minute or so, there was a gurgle and a drawin up of the -legs, and all was over. “Oh, my brother, my brother, hev you died afore -me,” moaned the poor girl as she tighter clutched his body. “Come wid -me,” I said, stooping over and trying to lift her, “I am Irish like -yersilf, and will spind my last dollar if need be to bury your brother. -Lave him, and I will take you where you will find friends.” I could not -loosen her hould on the body. The policeman said he would go for the -ambulance and left me. I stroked her hair, I talked to her as if she -had been my own daughter; I tried to comfort her. Never a sign or a -word. There was a sound of wheels and I looked and saw the ambulance. -The men came and I grasped the girl to lift her off the corpse. I -caught a look at her face--she was dead too. The ambulance men said -that was nothing, that fever patients dropped dead every day without -a sign. I looked at the poor colleen as I helped to lift her into the -ambulance beside her brother’s corpse, and I knew it was not of the -fever alone she had died, but of a broken heart. Och, och, to come to -Ameriky to die on the quay. “Drive to the cimitry,” says I, “and I will -pay all expinses,” trying to get up beside the driver. “Have you lost -your sinses,” says he, “they wad not bury them in the cimitry; they -go to Point St Charles, and if yer wise ye’ll tell nobody you handled -faver patients and go about your business.” Wid that he cracks his -whip, and rattles aff at a great rate. “Well, well,” I said to myself, -“at ony rate they will be united in burial as they were in life and -death,” and they rest in the field where a big stone tells more than -3000 were buried. I turned with a heavy heart to the steamer, which -was ringing a warning bell to get on board and lying down on a pile of -bags fell asleep. It was afternoon when I awoke and soon after we were -at Three Rivers, where I went ashore and got something to eat. When we -had left it a while a steamer hove in sight, coming up the river. We -crowded to see her in passing. It was a sight that sunk like a stone on -my heart. Her lower deck was chuck full of women and childer and men, -all in rags, and with faces as sharp as hatchets from starvation, and -most all of them white or yellow from the fever. She passed between -us and the wind and the smell was awful. A sailor told me steamboats -passed every day like her on their way from quarantine, and never a one -reached Montreal without a row of corpses on her upper deck for burial -and a lot of sick to be carried to Point St Charles. - -It was late in the night when we tied up at Quebec and I took the first -lodging-house I found. When I paid the landlord next morning, I asked -him how I would get to Grosse Isle. “Ye’re jokin you are,” says he, -“people lave it, they don’t go to it.” I tould him my errand. Says he, -“Go home, it’s no use; your nevy is dead by this time, an if he isn’t -he’ll be dead ony way. It’ll be the death of yoursel to go.” No, says -I, I have come awl the way from Huntingdon to save the boy and I wunna -go back widout him. Whin he see I was detarmined he told me how hard -it was to get to the island; that the city people were afraid of the -infection and watched everybody going and would let none come from -there. He pointed to the landing-stage where the quarantine steamboat -lay and I went to it. There was a sentry at the end and when I made to -pass him he ordered me back. “I’m going to quarantine,” says I. “The -divil ye be; shtand back; ye can’t pass widout an order.” I was pleadin -wid him to let me by whin a voice behind says, “What is all this -loud talk about?” I turns and sees a tall man in black, straight as a -hickory. “Yer rivrince, this man wants to go to quarantine and has no -permit.” “My good man,” says he to me, “you are seeking to rush into -danger if not certain death. The sentry does a kindness in turning you.” - -“I have a good raison for wanting to go.” - -“It would need to be in risking your life and endangering the safety of -the community by bringing back infection. What may be your reason?” - -I saw he was a gentleman and his kind voice won me. I told him all. - -“What is your nephew’s name?” - -“Gerald O’Connor.” - -“Has he been stricken! They did not tell me when I was last there. He -has been one of our best helpers. His only hope lies in instant removal -on convalescence and since you have come for that purpose, I shall see -you have opportunity.” - -With that he says to the sentry, “This man is my assistant today,” and -putting his arm in mine he walks me on to the boat, where even the deck -hands saluted him. When he walked away with the captain, I axed who he -was. “Dat am Bishop Mountain,” says a Frenchman. “Bedad,” says I, “they -shpoiled a fine cavalryman when they made a preacher ov him.” - -The order was given to cast off and on we went, the river smooth as a -millpond. When a long way off we could see rows of white tents and long -wooden sheds where the sick lay on Grosse isle, and off the landing we -found anchored 17 ships that had come from Ireland or Liverpool and -had fever aboard. The wharf was a poor one and we had trouble getting -ashore, for the steps were rotten and broken. The gentleman they called -the bishop beckoned me to follow him as he walked on, speaking with the -friends who came to meet him. When in front of the first shed, before -going in at the door, he says to me, “Dr Russell will take you to your -nephew,” and with a bow he passed into the shed. I followed the doctor -to another shed and, heavens! when we went in the smell nigh knocked -me down. The doctor must have seen something in my face, for he says, -“Never mind, my man, you’ll soon get used to it.” We passed along -between two rows of berths, everyone filled, and an odd man, here and -there, trying to attend to their wants. The doctor stopped before a -berth where lay a young man, with thick black hair. Seizing his arm he -felt his pulse. “This is your man,” says he. I looks at the worn face -and with a trimble in my voice I could not keep back, I asks, “Is he -able to go away wid me?” - -“He’ll go to his grave in a few hours,” says he. - -“Doctor, dear, don’t say that; you can save him. I’ll pay you well, if -I have to mortgage my farm to get the money.” - -“There is no saving of him, poor fellow; he’s going as many like him -are going,” and with that the doctor moved away. - -I knelt beside my nephew and put my hand on his forehead. It was -burning hot. His lips were going and he was muttering something, what -I could not make out. “Gerald, won’t you spake; I’m your uncle come -to take you home wid me.” Never a word. I went over to one of the men -in charge and he pointed where the water was. I filled a noggin and -pressed it to my nephew’s lips and wet his face. I watched by him -for what seemed a long while and saw others die and heard the groans -of those in pain and the screams of those that were raving, and the -beseechings for water to drink. I attended to those near by as well -as I could, and it was when I was coming back with a pail of water I -noticed the flush had left my nephew’s face. I was bathing his forehead -when he opened his eyes and stared at me. “I’m your uncle, me poor boy; -you feel better?” - -“May God bless you,” says he, “but what made you come to this fearful -place?” - -“Sure its nothing; its little to do for my own sister’s child.” - -He squazed my hand and closed his eyes and I knew he was praying for me. - -“Bring me a priest.” - -A man that was passing told me I’d find one in the next shed. It was -worse than the one I left, for it had one row over the other of -berths. At the far end I saw a priest, and found he was giving the last -rites to an ould man, whose white hair was matted with dirt. I waited -till he was done and asked the father to come with me. I left Gerald -and him alone, and the priest had no sooner said the last prayer than -there was a message for him to go to another poor soul for whom there -was no hope. When Gerald saw me, he said, despairin’ like, “Take me out -o’ here; ye can carry me. I want to die in God’s free air.” These were -his very words. - -“That I will,” says I, “and you’ll be home wid me in Huntingdon afore -three days.” He smiled a sorrowful smile, and said nothing. I lifted -him in my arms and carried him out of the shed. I was powerful strong -when I was young, and tho’ he was tall and broad-shouthered he was -wasted to skin and bone. I laid him down in the shade of a tree, for -the sun was hot. He didn’t look at the river or the hills beyant, but -fixed his eyes on a spot that I took to be a burying-place. “Go back,” -he whispered, “and bring the bag below my berth.” I went, and found a -woman had already been put in the poor bed I had lifted him out of. -I reached for the bag and took it to him. Pointing to a spot in the -burying-place he told me to go there and I would see a grave with a -cross at its head and the name Aileen cut on it. “You can read?” “Yes,” -says I. I did his bidding and coming back told him I had found the -grave. “Promise me, you’ll bury me beside that grave.” I promised him. -“Open the bag and you’ll find in it a little book.” I reached it to -him. “Take it,” says he, “there are pages in it I would tear out were I -able. Let it go. Save the book; it will tell to those now unborn what -Irish men and women have suffered in this summer of sorrow.” - -He was wake and closed his eyes. “Is there anything more I can do for -yees?” asks I. “Nothing, uncle dear; the summer breeze is sweet.” He -never said another rational word, for the fever set in again and he -began to rave. He talked as if he were on ship again and then he would -change to ould Ireland and he would be aplayin with his comrades, and -his laughing was sore to hear. Then there came a long while when he -was quiet, just tossing uneasy like at times as he slept. My eyes were -on the river and the ships and the green fields bright beyant, when I -hears him whisper, “Mother, dear, have ye been long waiting here for -your boy?” and he spoke to her tender and soft as he must have done -manys the time in ould Ireland. Then it was Aileen he saw, and it -was true-lover talk. Oh, it was all so beautiful; the poor boy dying -there of the fever on the river bank talkin so sweet and loving with -the two women who had filled his heart, an its the lot of love a true -Irishman’s heart can hould. I was gripping his hand, watching him, when -all at once his jaw fell and I saw the soul had fled. I laid him out -as I best could, and rolling the blanket round him lifted the corpse on -my shoulder and carried it to the spot he told me. There were shovels -and picks in plenty and I set myself to dig the grave. The smell of -the fresh earth brought back to me my own family and farm that I had -clean forgot that dreadful day, and I determined to be back with them -at once. There were men at work near me finishing a long trench, and -I saw them watching me and I watched them and listened to their talk. -The sun was low before the grave was finished to my liking. There was -no use trying to get a priest, they had enough to do with the dying -without burying the dead, so I laid the corpse carefully in the grave, -said a prayer and filled it in. I drove in a cedar picket to mark the -spot, for I meant some day to put a headstone there, but I never did, -for I was never able to go back. When all was done I went over to one -of the men who had been digging the trench that I had seen by his -talk was an Irishman. He was smoking his pipe with the lave, who were -waiting for the burial. I got him by himself and told him my errand -on the island and now I was done, I wanted away at once. That’s not -easy, he said. There were guards to prevent any coming on or leaving -the island except by the steamer and with a permit. “Sure,” I says, -“if I stay here till tomorrow I may be a dead man.” “That you will,” -says he, “an thin you’ll hev to go as a passenger in the steamboat that -takes emigrants right on to Montreal.” “I’ll never go on an emigrant -steamboat,” says I, minding the one I had seen. He spoke in French to -two men near us. They lived above Beauport, he told me, and while they -came, like himself, to bury the dead for big pay, they broke the rules -by going home at night, when wind and tide served, in a small boat. -If I’d help them to get done, they would let me go with them. The job -was like to make me sick, but I wanted away, and agreed. By this time -they were beginning to carry the dead from the sheds and tents, and as -the men with the stretchers came up they dumped their load into the -trench. We straightened the corpses to make them lie close, shovelled -some lime over them, and then a few inches of earth, when we were ready -for another row. Then the trench was filled and smoothed over. I had -put on my coat and was cleaning my shovel when one of the Frenchmen -touched my arm and I followed him. We slipped into the bushes and went -to the north side of the island, meeting nobody. At the foot of a steep -bank we found a boat. We got in, and casting loose the tide, which -was making, carried us up until we were a good bit from the island, -when a sail was hoisted and we went at a great speed, for the tide had -brought with it a stiff breeze. On landing I did not follow the men, -for I had something to do I had on my mind. I stripped to the skin, -and spread my clothes on the bushes. Going into the water I rubbed my -handkerchief and shirt and washed myself as I have never done since. I -scrubbed my skin with the sand and sniffed the water up my nose until, -for the first time, since morning, I got the stink out of it. It was -such a warm night, I was in no hurry to put on my clothes, and didn’t -till I thought they were well aired. I may tell you, from the moment -I buried my nephew, the fear of the fever came upon me, though I had -never thought of it afore. Well, when I was ready for the road, I felt -sick, but I knew it was with hunger, for I hadn’t broken bread since -morning. Coming to a habitant’s house, the door of which was open, I -went to it, but when they heard my tongue, they slammed the door in my -face, taking me to be an escaped fever patient. Seeing it was no use, I -walked as quickly as I could to Quebec, and made for the lodging-house -I had left that morning. There was a light in it, though I knew it must -be long past midnight. I went in and there were some sailors drinking -and playing cards. The landlord lifted his eyebrows when he saw me, -and signed me to follow into a back room. He lit a candle “Were you at -the island?” “I was, and am right dead wid hunger.” He brought some -victuals and I told him how I had got on. When I had cleaned the plates -he showed me to a bed. I rose late next day all right, and left with -the steamboat that afternoon for Montreal. The second day after I was -home and thankful my wife was to see me. I held my whisht, and never a -one but herself knew where I had been. - -Well, that is all I have to tell. For a long while after, the sights -I had seen followed me, and at night I would wake trembling from my -dreams. That passed away, but I never cared to speak of what I saw, -and tried to keep the island and its sheds out of my mind. Did any -die of the fever in Huntingdon? Yes, Dr Shirriff told me he attended -45 cases, of whom 5 died. Not many were Irish. Emigrants strayed into -farmers’ houses and gave the infection. Father Kiernan was that year -priest in the old church at John Finn’s. He had gone on duty to attend -the emigrants at Lachine. Feeling ill one day he knew he was in for -the fever. If he stayed where he was, he would die in the sheds, so he -waited till the stage came along, got in, and rode home. When he got -off at his lodging, he told the people Geordie Pringle did not know -what kind of a customer he had. Next day he could not lift his head, -but he pulled through all right. What came of the colleen? She left -us that fall. Her mother’s brother in county Kent wrote for her. She -married a storekeeper in Chatham, who left her well off. The little -book is all I took belonging to my nephew. There were more things in -the bag. I was afeared of the infection and never touched them. He -must have had a chest or two, but I never asked for them. He was a good -man, and I’ve been thankful ever since I went to see him die. - - -Driving home in the dark I thought over what the old man had told me, -and felt how much more interesting his narrative made his nephew’s -diary, a faithful reprint of which I now present to the reader. - - -THE JOURNAL OF GERALD KEEGAN. - -“The famine was heavy upon all the land.” According to the -chronologists more than three thousand years have passed since the -event recorded in these words. Strange that, after so long a period of -time has gone, the world has made so slight an advance in providing -food for the mouths it contains. At school today there was not a -scholar who was not hungry. When I told Mike Kelly to hold out his -hand for blotting his copy, he says, “I did not mane to: it was the -belly gripe did it.” I dropped the ferule and when the school was -dismissed slipped a penny into his hand to buy a scone at the baker’s. -The poor school I have had this winter takes the heart out of me. My -best scholars dead, others unfit to walk from their homes for weakness. -For men and women to want is bad enough, but to have the children -starving, crying for the food their parents have not to give them, -and lying awake at night from the gnawing at their little stomachs; -oh, it is dreadful. God forgive those who have it, and will not share -their abundance even with His little ones. I came home from school -this afternoon dejected and despairing. As I looked round me before -opening the door of my lodging, everything was radiantly beautiful. The -sunshine rested on the glory of Ireland, its luxuriant vegetation--its -emerald greenness. Hill and valley were alike brilliant in the first -flush of spring and the silver river meandered through a plain that -suggested the beautiful fields of paradise. Appearances are deceitful, -I thought; in every one of those thatched cabins sit the twin brothers, -Famine and Death. As I opened the door, Mrs Moriarty called to me -that my uncle Jeremiah had been twice asking for me. Poor man, I said -to myself, he will have come to borrow to buy meal for his children -and I will not have a shilling in my pocket until the board pays me -my quarter’s salary. I respect Jeremiah, for both he and his brother -in Canada were kind to my poor mother. How I wish all the family had -gone to Canada; cold in winter and hot in summer, they say, but there -is plenty to eat. I took up a book and had not long to wait for my -uncle. He did not need to say a word, his face told me he knew what -starvation meant. I called to my landlady to roast another herring; my -uncle would share my dinner. He came neither to beg nor borrow, but to -ask my advice. After high mass on Sunday the proctor got up on a stone -and told them their landlord had taken their case into consideration, -and went on to read a letter he had got from him. In it Lord Palmerston -said he had become convinced there was no hope for them so long as they -remained in Ireland, and their only means of doing better was to leave -the country. All in arrears, who would agree to emigrate, he would -forgive what they were due and pay their passage to Canada. Are you -sure, I asked, this letter was really from Lord Palmerston? - -“We have just the proctor’s word for it. Well,” my uncle went on to -say, “the most of us jumped wid joy when we heard the letter and we -all began talkin as soon as he druv aff in his car. Tim Maloney said -nothin. He’s a deep one, Tim, a pathriot, an rades the papers. What -hev ye to say, Tim? I’m considerin, says he, the likes o’ this must be -deliberated on. Sure, I spakes up, the besht we can do is to get away -from here. In the wan letther I iver got from my brother in Canada, he -tould me he had two cows and a calf and three pigs, an a pair o’ oxen -and as much as they could ate. That’s not the pint, answers Tim, this -affer prisints itself to me as a plot to get us to lave the land widout -an equitable equivalent.” - -With doubt thrown on the landlord’s good faith, the poor people went -on arguing among themselves, until a majority decided to stand out -and demand better terms. On hearing this, the agent sent word they -must decide within a week. If they rejected the offer, it would be -withdrawn and no new one would be submitted. My uncle had come to -get my advice, “For sure,” he said, “you are the only scholard in the -family.” I comprehended the infamous nature of the offer. The people -did not own the land, but they owned the improvements they had made on -it, and had a right to be compensated for them. I knew my uncle when a -boy had rented a piece of worthless bog and by the labor of himself, -and afterwards of his wife, and children, had converted it into a -profitable field. Should I advise him to give it up for a receipt for -back rent and a free passage to Canada? I tried to find out what he -thought himself. Are you for accepting the offer, uncle? - -“That depinds,” he answered. “Give me a crop of spuds such as we had in -the ould times, an niver a step wad I muv.” - -I told him potatoes had been the ruin of Ireland; that placing sole -dependence upon them had made her farmers neglect the proper care -of the land and the raising of other crops. When the rot came or -even a hard frost, such as they had in 1837, when potatoes froze in -the ground, they had nothing. My uncle was a sample of his class. -The lessons of Providence had been lost upon them. They would go on -planting potatoes and hoping for days that would never return, for the -land had become, by years of cropping, potato sick. Now, uncle, that -Tim Maloney has had time for deliberating, what has he decided on? - -“I mit him at O’Calaghan’s lasht night,” replied my uncle, “an he tould -us to rejict the affer an jine the Young Ireland min. There’ll niver be -peace and plinty in Ireland, ses he, until she’s free.” - -“May be,” I remarked, “but you and your family will be dead from -starvation before Tim and his friends free Ireland.” I cast the matter -over and over in my head while we were eating our bite of dinner, but -could not decide what advice to give my uncle and those who were going -to be governed by what he did. Escape from the dreadful conditions -under which they suffered would be a great blessing. On the other hand, -my sense of what was fair revolted at the idea of their giving up their -holdings, their homes for generations, for a nominal consideration. -When my uncle rose to go, for he had a long walk before him, I said I -could not decide then; I would think it over and on Sunday I would go -and see them. - -When Sunday came, I rose early, and let myself out quietly. It was a -misty, soggy morning. I stepped out quickly, for I had a good way to -go. The walking was heavy, so when I came in sight of the chapel, I saw -late comers hurrying in for high mass. At the altar, to my surprise -and joy, I saw my old companion, Tom Burke. When the sermon came it -was like his old self, strong and bold. He compared the afflictions of -the people of suffering Ireland to those of the Israelites in Egypt, -ascribing the famine to the alien government, which wanted to wipe -them from the face of the earth. It would prove as futile as all past -persecutions directed against the Irish race, which would continue to -cherish their faith and their love of country. He carried me away with -him, but his hearers listened with countenances stolid and heavy. It -was the hunger; they could think of nothing but their craving for food. -Father Tom had noticed me, for when I was going out at the door the -man whispered to me to step into the sacristy. Passing the word with -my uncle, that I would be at his house in the afternoon, I joined my -old fellow student, who would have me to break my fast with him. He had -come on temporary duty, and I went with him to the priest’s house. Over -the table we recalled old times at Maynooth and were living those happy -days over again with joke and story, when our laughter was checked by -the housekeeper coming in to say if we were done with our dinner Mrs -Murtagh was waiting to see for what his reverence wanted her. “Send her -here,” he ordered. A broken-down woman, haggard and in rags, stood at -the door. “O ye have come, have ye, Mrs Murtagh.” - -“Yes, yer rivirence; Mrs Maloney tould me ye wanted me, and didn’t know -what for.” - -“Oh, you know what I wanted you for, if Mrs Maloney did not. I wanted -to see what kind of a baste you were that would go to the soupers--what -kind of Irish woman you were that would sell your faith to thim -white-livered divils.” - -Father Burke here rose to his feet, his face lit with wrath, and his -hand moving to grasp his cross. The woman sunk on her knees at his -feet. “For the sake of the dear mother of God, don’t put the curse on -me, yer rivirence,” she entreated. - -“Why not? What have ye to say?” - -“The childher were cryin all night for a bite, but it wasn’t that. -Little Tim was adyin on my breast, an I cudn’t bear to have him tuk -from me. I wint out, I tried everywhere, I could get nothin, an thin, I -wint to the soupers. It was to keep the life in Tim, yer rivirence; I -burned their thracks an never tasted myself what they gev me.” - -With a piercing cry the woman fell prone on the floor. Father Tom’s -anger passed as quickly as it rose. “Take her away,” he said to the -housekeeper who hastened in, “I’ll see her after vespers.” - -I rose to go; he was his old self again; and with a hearty word we -parted. At my uncle’s house I found a number of his neighbors waiting -and we were soon discussing the subject that filled their heads. The -agent had given out he had got another letter, in which the landlord -mended his offer, by promising that his agent at Quebec would pay ten -shillings a head on their landing at that city, and saying the Canadian -government would give each family a hundred acres free. There was to -be no breaking or separating of families; all would go in the same -ship. Against the lure of the free passage, the ten shillings, and the -hundred acres, they put leaving Ireland for such a wild, cold place as -Canada, and to people in rags the thought of its frost and snow was -terrible. My uncle fetched his only letter from his brother and I read -it aloud. I had to do so several times, as they argued over particular -statements and expressions in it. The account it gave of his comfort -weighed with them. After a great deal of talk my uncle says, “Well, -boys, my brother never told me a lie an I believe every word of his -letter. If ye says, I’ll go wid ye, I’m for takin the offer an lavin at -onct.” His decision carried them by storm, and the listless downcast -men became bright and energetic with the new hope born within them. As -I walked home, I thought it over. There was the possibility of their -being deceived by the agent. They were ignorant of business and could -easily be imposed upon. Should I not go with them and protect their -interests? What was there to keep me in Ireland? Everything I had tried -had gone against me. When I was in a fair way at Maynooth, the thought -had possessed me the priesthood was not my vocation and I left its -loved walls. Failure and disappointment had marked every effort made in -other callings since. To give up my situation as teacher would matter -little; its salary was a mockery. I would see Aileen. - -Feby. 28, 1847.--Aileen consents. Like myself an orphan, she has no -ties to bind her to dear old Ireland beyond those common to all her -children. We will be married the week before the ship sails. Gave up -my school today. As I mean to keep a journal of the voyage, I sat down -tonight and wrote the foregoing, to remind me in future years of the -causes that led to my decision. - -March 8.--Uncle came to see me this morning. What he tells me raises -doubts of the good faith of the landlord. The agent was round yesterday -with an attorney who got them to put their mark to a paper. A ship is -promised beginning of April. - -10.--Walked to town to see the agent. He was not for showing the paper -at first. It was a release of all claims on the landlord and a promise -to give him peaceable possession on the 1st April. The remission of -what is due for rent and the free passage are specified as the quid -pro quo of the landlord, but not a word about the ten shillings a head -to be paid at Quebec or the 100 acres per family from the Canadian -government. Nothing can now be done; the poor people are at Lord -Palmerston’s mercy. - -April 9.--We were married Monday morning, and spent three happy days -with Aileen’s cousin in Limerick. Arrived here in Dublin today. The -ship is advertised to sail tomorrow. Took out our tickets for second -cabin and drive tomorrow morning to where the ship is lying. - -10.--When the car drove alongside the ship, instead of finding her -ready for sea she was a scene of confusion, carpenters at work on her -hull and riggers perched in her cordage. There is a mountain of freight -to go on board, which she is not ready to receive. It was a shame to -advertise her to sail today when she cannot leave for several days. Our -second cabin proves to be a cubby-hole in the house on deck. We might -as well have gone in the steerage and saved £5. It was late in the day -when uncle and his neighbors arrived; they formed a large party, and -were footsore with their long tramp. The captain refused to allow them -to go on board and they will have to spend the night on the quay. The -weather fortunately is dry. - -11.--I spoke to the captain on behalf of the emigrants. I showed him -they had come on the day advertised and had a right to maintenance. -He curtly told me to go and see the ship’s broker, who has his office -far up in the city. I waited over an hour in an outer room to get an -interview with the government emigration inspector. I implored him to -put in force the law on behalf of the poor people shivering on the -quay. He haughtily ordered me out of his office; saying he knew his -duty and would not be dictated to by a hedge schoolmaster. Came away -indignant and sore at heart. Looking over the emigrants I can see why -Lord Palmerston confined his offer to those in arrears for rent and -who had small holdings. Such persons must needs be widows or old men -without proper help. His lordship has shrewdly got rid of those likely -to be an incumbrance on his estates. The company is made up largely of -women and children, with a few old or weakly men. The number of widows -is surprising. - -12.--The weather is cold and showery and the poor people are most -miserable--wet, hungry, and shivering. I went to Dublin to see the -ship’s broker. He received me very smoothly and referred me to the -charterer, without whose instructions he could do nothing. The -charterer I found to be out of town; the owner of the ship lives in -Cork. I returned disconsolate. An infant died today from exposure. On -going to see about the innocent’s burial, the priest told me it was -common for ships to advertise they would sail on a day on which they -had no intention of leaving. It was done to make sure of getting all -the passengers they could pack into the vessel. They get £3 a head -from the landlords, children counting as half, and the more they can -force on board the greater their profit. His experience had been that -charterers of vessels for carrying emigrants were remorseless in their -greed, and, by bribing the officials, set the government regulations -at defiance. Scenes he had seen on the quays drew tears from all save -those whose hearts were hardened by the lust of gain. - -14--The poor people are homesick and heartsick. Today a number of -them tried to get on board and take possession of the berths between -decks, which were finished yesterday. They were driven back by the mate -and the sailors. One man was brutally kicked by the mate. It seems -if the passengers got on board they would have a right to rations, -hence their being denied shelter. Some of the men have got work along -the quays, and every sixpence is a help to buy bread. Again ventured -to remonstrate with the captain. He said he had nothing to say to an -informer, referring to my visit to the government agent. I told him I -would report his conduct to Lord Palmerston, and have just written a -letter to his lordship. - -15.--Matters have been going on from bad to worse. Two more children -have died from cold and want. Not a soul in the crowd has had a warm -bite since they left home. Their food is an insufficiency of bread, -which is poor sustenance to ill-clad people camped in open sheds. The -ship is ready for sea yet they will not let us go on board. - -16.--This morning we were ordered to go on board and gladly hurried -up the long plank. We had not been fairly settled in her until there -was a hurroo, and looking ashore I saw a great crowd of men carrying -bundles and babies, with women and children. They were worse clad and -more miserable than our own people. To my surprise they headed for -our ship and were soon crowding into her until there was not room to -turn. No sooner was the last chest got on board than the sailors began -to unmoor the ship. Before they were done a tug steamed up to us and -passed her hawser. We had moved out into the bay some distance, when -the paddles of the tug stopped, and we saw a six-oared cutter making -for us, and when alongside the government inspector, in blue uniform -with gilt buttons, leapt on board. He looked neither to left nor right, -but walked with the captain across the quarter-deck and went down into -the cabin. My mind was made up. My people had already suffered much at -the hands of the shipping-men, and I resolved to protest against their -being overcrowded. I knew the law, and knew full well that she had all -on board she was competent for before this new arrival. I waited my -opportunity, and when I saw the inspector emerge from the companion-way -and head straight for his boat, I rushed forward. I had just shouted -the words, “I protest--,” when I was tripped from behind. As I fell -headlong, I heard the inspector say, “Poor fellow, has had a drop too -much. Good-bye, captain; prosperous voyage.” When I rose to my feet he -was gone, and the mate faced me. “Damn you,” he shouted, “try to speak -to an outsider again and I’ll brain you.” Mortified at my failure and -indignant at my usage, I left the quarter-deck. The tug was in motion -again, and we were sailing down the bay--fair Dublin bay, with its -beautifully rounded slopes and hills, bright with budding woods and -verdant sward. To our surprise, for we thought we had started on our -voyage, the tug dropped us when we had gone down the bay a bit, and our -anchor was let go. Late in the evening the word went round the reason -of our not sailing was that the crew, from the captain down to the -apprentices, believed the ship would have no luck were she to begin her -voyage on a Friday. - -17.--At daybreak we were roused by the clanking of the capstan as the -anchor was weighed. There was a light air from the north-east. Sails -were spread and we slowly beat out of the bay and took a long slant -into the channel, dropping our pilot as we passed Kingstown. Stores -were broached and biscuit for three days served. They were very coarse -and somewhat mouldy, yet the government officer was supposed to have -examined and passed them as up to the requirements of the emigration -act. Bad as they were, they were eagerly accepted, and so hungry were -the people that by night most of them were eaten. How shamefully the -ship was overcrowded was now to be seen and fully realized. There were -not berths for two-thirds of the passengers, and by common consent they -were given up to the aged, to the women and the children. The others -slept on chests and bundles, and many could find no other resting place -than the floor, which was so occupied that there was no room to walk -left. I ascertained, accidentally, that the mate served out rations -for 530 today. He counts two children as one, so that there are over -600 souls on board a ship which should not legally have 400, for the -emigrant act specifies 10 square feet of deck to a passenger. Why was -this allowed? What I heard a man telling this morning explains all. The -government had sent £200 to be spent on relief works in his townland -by giving employment at a shilling a day. When £50 had been paid out, -the grant was declared to be exhausted. Where did the £150 go? Into the -pockets of a few truly loyal defenders of the English constitution and -of the Protestant religion. The British parliament has voted enough -money to put food in every starving mouth in Ireland. Half and more of -the money has been kept by bloodsuckers of the English garrison. I get -mad when I think of all this. The official class in Ireland is the most -corrupt under the sun. A bribe will blind them, as I saw yesterday, -when the inspector passed our ship and stores. Wind continued light -all forenoon, and fell away in the afternoon to a calm. After sunset a -breeze sprung up from the west, but did not hold, and as I write we are -becalmed in mid-channel. - -18.--Light and baffling breezes from the west and north-west prevailed -all day, so we made little progress on the long journey before us. One -of our many tacks brought us close to the English coast. It was my -first and likely to be my last view of that country. Aileen has made -our cabin snug and convenient beyond belief. Her happy disposition -causes her to make the best of everything. - -19.--The westerly breezes that kept us tacking in the channel gave -place, during the night, to a strong east wind, before which the ship -is bowling at a fine rate. Passing close to the shore we had a view of -the coast from Ardmore to Cape Clear. Aileen sat with me all day, our -eyes fixed on the land we loved. Knowing, as it swept past us, it was -the last time we would ever gaze upon it, our hearts were too full for -speech. Towards evening the ship drew away from it, until the hills -of Kerry became so faint that they could hardly be distinguished from -the clouds that hovered over them. When I finally turned away my eyes -from where I knew the dear old land was, my heart throbbed as if it -would burst. Farewell, Erin; no matter how far from you I may roam, my -heartstrings are woven to you and forget you I never shall. May the -centuries of your sorrows soon be completed, and peace and plenty be -yours forever. Land of my fathers, shrine of my faith, a last farewell! - -20.--When I awoke this morning I became sensible of the violent -motion of the ship. Going out I saw we were fairly on the bosom of -the Atlantic and the ship was plunging through the ocean swell. The -east wind still held and we were speeding on our course under full -sail. I found my fellow-passengers to be in a deplorable condition. -The bulwarks were lined with a number who were deadly seasick. Going -between decks the scene nigh overcame me. The first time I went below -I was reminded of a cavern--long and narrow and low in ceiling. Today -it was a place for the damned. Three blinking oil lanterns cast light -enough to show the outlines of forms that lay groaning on the floor, -and give glimpses of white stony faces lying in the berths, a double -tier of which surround the sides of the ship. A poignant wail of misery -came through an atmosphere of such deadly odour that, for the first -time, I felt sick, and had to beat a retreat up the narrow ladder. The -cool ocean breeze revived me and Aileen, who proved a good sailor, -had our modest breakfast ready when I joined her. On revisiting the -steerage later in the day I found there were passengers down with more -than seasickness. There are several cases of dysentery. I asked the -steward to tell the captain. He informs me the captain can do nothing, -having only a small medicine-chest for the crew. However he told him, -and the captain ordered the steward to give them each a glass of -whisky. I had plain proof today of my suspicions that drink is being -sold, and on charging the steward he told me it was the custom for -the mates of emigrant ships to be allowed to do so, and he would get -me what I wanted at any time for sixpence a noggin. I told him I had -taken the pledge at the hands of Father Matthew and considered drink -unnecessary. My remonstrances fell on stony ground, for the steward, a -decent, civil fellow, sees no wrong in drinking or in selling drink. - -21.--The first death took place last night, when a boy of five years -succumbed to dysentery. In the afternoon a wail suddenly arose from -the hold--a fine young woman had died from the same cause. Both were -dropped into the sea at sunset. There are fewer seasick today, but the -number ill from dysentery grows. Cornmeal was served out today instead -of biscuit. It was an injury instead of a sustenance, for it being -impossible to make stirabout of it owing to no provision having been -made for a galley for the passengers, it had to be mixed with water and -eaten raw. Some got hot water, but most had to use cold. Such food when -dysentery threatens is poison. Today was cold with a headwind that sent -the spray flying over the bows. Had a long talk this afternoon with a -very decent man who is going to Peterborough, Canada West. He thinks it -is not disease that ails the children, but cold and hunger. Food and -clothes is what they need, not medicine. The number of sick grows. -Sighted 2 ships today, both too far away to speak them. - -22.--Why do we exert ourselves so little to help one another, when it -takes so little to please? Aileen coaxed the steward to let her have -some discarded biscuit bags. These she is fashioning into a sort of -gowns to cover the nakedness of several girls who could not come on -deck. The first she finished this afternoon, and no aristocratic miss -could have been prouder of her first silk dress than was the poor child -of the transformed canvas bag, which was her only garment. - -23.--This is Sunday. The only change in the routine of the ship that -marks the day is that the sailors gave an extra wash down to the decks -and after that did no work except trim the sails. They spent the -forenoon on the forecastle mending or washing their clothes. During -the afternoon it grew cold, with a strong wind from the northeast, -accompanied by driving showers. Towards sunset the sea was a lather of -foam, and the wind had increased to a gale. When the waves began to -flood the deck, the order was given to put the hatches on. God help the -poor souls shut in beneath my feet! With hatches open, the hold was -unbearable to me. With them closed, what will it be by morning? It is -growing so dark I cannot see to write more, for a light is forbidden -to us. The wind is still rising and the thump of the waves as they -strike the ship’s side grows more violent. The shouting of orders, -the tramp and rush of the sailors to obey them, the swaying of the -ship, the groaning of her timbers and masts, and the constant swish of -water rushing across the deck, combine to make me most melancholy and -forebodings of evil darken my soul. Aileen is on her knees, the calm -and resignation of a saint resting upon her face. There is a faith in -God that rises above the worst of the world’s trials. - -24.--We had a dreadful night, and I slept only by snatches. At midnight -the tempest seemed to reach its heighth, when its roar drowned all -other sounds. The ship swayed and rolled as if she would capsize, -while ever and anon she shipped a sea that flooded our little cabin, -and threatened to tear the house, of which it forms part, from its -fastenings and carry it overboard. How I prayed for daylight! When -at last the dawn of another day came, the wind lessened somewhat in -its force, but the waves were higher and stronger, and while the ship -was still shuddering from the dreadful blow dealt by one, another -struck her, and made her stagger worse than before. Peering out of the -side-scuttle I could see naught but a wild tumult of waters--yawning -abysses of green water and moving mountains crested with foam. The -writhing, ceaseless activity of the raging waters deeply impressed -me. Our ship at one time seemed to be about to be engulfed; the next -moment she towered above the highest waves. So far as I could make -out she was driving before the gale under her foresail, close reefed. -It was noon before it was safe to step out on deck. The wind was dying -away but the ocean was still a wild scene. With little way on the ship, -she rolled and pitched, so that to keep from falling I had to clutch -at whatever I could get a hold of. The sails were slatting against the -masts with a noise like thunder. It was late in the day when a breeze -came up, which steadied the vessel and caused her to ship no more -water, when the mate ordered the hatches to be opened. I was standing -by, concerned to know how it had gone with my people. The first man to -come up was my uncle. He had been waiting anxiously to see me. His wife -had taken ill during the night, and he was afraid her trouble was the -fever. I hurried down with him and found her pulse high and her body -racked with pains. All that we had in our power to do for her was to -give a few drops of laudanum from a bottle Aileen had brought with her, -which eased her pains and gave her some rest. Aileen wanted to go and -see her but I would not allow her, the sights and stench of between -decks being revolting and past description. Uncle says the passengers -passed a dreadful night. The seams opened in the forepeak, and the -water coming in caused a panic, the belief being the ship was about to -sink. One old man was thrown against a trunk and had three ribs broken -and a girl, ill from dysentery, died during the worst of the storm. - -25.--Tired and worn out as I was, I had a broken night’s rest. I woke -with a start from a dream that uncle’s wife was dead. So impressed was -I that such was the case, that I dressed hurriedly to go and see. As I -stepped on deck 8 bells were struck, indicating midnight. It was clear -though cold, and the stars could be seen to the horizon. The column of -heated air that rose from the hatchway was peculiarly fetid, but I did -not hesitate to descend. Except for the cries and groans of the sick -stillness prevailed. Exhausted by the watching of the preceding night -all who could were asleep. On getting to uncle’s berth, I found him -sleeping heavily, his wife tossing by his side with the restlessness of -her disease. She was dosing and muttering, showing she was not herself. -I tried to catch the words she uttered, and found in her delirium she -was back in Ireland and to the happy days when uncle was a wanter -and was coming to see her. I searched high and low before I found a -pannikin of water. I raised her head and held it to her lips. She drank -it to the last drop. Slipping back to my bunk, I slept until it was -late in the day. My first thought on opening my eyes was, that it was -my duty to speak to the captain, and as I took breakfast with Aileen I -thought how I could approach him with some hope of success. I kept on -deck watching my chance. The captain came up only for a short time at -noon to take the sun, and then the mate was with him. I knew it was no -use to speak when that fellow was near. After dinner I saw the mate go -to his cabin for a sleep, and waited anxiously for the captain. When he -did step from the companion and had taken a round or two on the poop, -I stepped up. He looked surprised and as if he resented my intrusion. -Before he could speak I said--“Pardon me, captain, for coming here. I -thought you might not know what is on board ship.” - -“What do you mean?” he asked roughly. - -“There is fever on board,” I answered quietly. He paled a little, and -then shouted, “You lie; what do you know about fever? You are not a -doctor.” - -“Come and see for yourself,” I said, “you have not been ’tween decks -since we left Dublin.” - -With an oath he retorted “Do you mean to tell me what I should do? I -want you to understand I know my duty.” - -“For heaven’s sake, captain, do it then. Fever is on board and unless a -change is made half the passengers may die.” - -“What change?” he asked sulkily. - -“The steerage wants cleansing and the passengers need better food and -more of it.” - -“Grumbling, eh; what do they expect? Roast beef and plum pudding? The -beggars get the government allowance. Begone, sir.” - -I was trembling with repressed indignation but for the sake of -those I pled for I kept cool. “Captain, the poor people ask nothing -unreasonable. Go and see for yourself the biscuits and water served out -to them, and I am sure you will order a change.” - -“Complain about the water, too! What’s wrong with it?” - -“It’s foul,” I told him, “it smells and bad though it be, there is not -enough served out. The sick are calling for water and not a drop to be -got.” - -“Not enough served out--what do you mean?” - -“That the allowance is scrimped.” - -He clinched his fist and raised his right arm as if to strike me. “This -to me, on my own ship; that passengers are cheated in measure!” - -“Strike me, captain, if you will, but by our common faith I implore you -to consider the case of my poor people. There are children who have -died from starvation and they have been dropped into the sea. There are -more dying and you can save them by ordering a larger ration of sound -biscuit. There are men and women lying stretched in the fever, will -you not ease their agony by letting them have all the water they can -drink? They have suffered everything flesh and blood can suffer short -of death. In fleeing from the famine in Ireland, do not let it be said -they have found harder hearts and a worse fate on board ship. When you -know a cup of water and a bite will save life and will make hundreds -happy, sure, captain, you will not refuse to give them.” - -“You vagabond,” he exclaimed, his eyes flashing with anger, “if you -insinuate I am starving anybody I will pitch you overboard. The -passengers get all the government regulations allow them and more they -shan’t have. Begone, sir, and do not dare to come on the poop again.” - -“One word, captain. I have been told you have a wife and children. For -their sweet sake, have pity on the little ones and the women on board.” - -“Do you hear me?” he shouted. “Leave the poop or I will kick you off. -I’ll have no mutiny on my ship.” - -I turned and left more sorrowful at my failure than indignant at my -usage. My appeal did some good, however, for before the day was over -wind-sails were rigged at the hatchways, which did a little to freshen -the air ’tween decks. A sail ahead hove in sight during the afternoon, -and we rapidly gained on her. At six o’clock we were abreast of the -stranger, which was not over half a mile away. She was a small barque -and had lost her foretopmast during the gale. She signalled us, but -our captain took no notice, and we soon left her a long way astern. -Asking the boatswain why she wanted to speak us, he said she likely was -short of sails and spars to repair her damage and wanted to get them -from us. “And why did the captain not help her?” The boatswain smiled. -“They cost money and supplying them would have delayed us.” I had my -own thoughts about the sailor who would not give a helping hand to his -brother when overtaken by misfortune. If that ship be lost for lack of -spar or sail, then that little tyrant who struts our quarter-deck is -accountable. - -26.--A beautiful morning, bright and milder than it has been. Every -sail is drawing and the ship is bowling along at a fine rate. I got up -early, being anxious about uncle’s wife. Found her no better. Worse -than that, learned there were five besides her ill the same way. There -is now not a shadow of a doubt that typhus fever is on board. Since -we left port, no attempt has been made to clear the steerage, which -is filthy beyond description. When I speak to the men to join in and -shovel up the worst of the dirt, they despondently ask me, “What’s the -use?” The despondency engendered of hunger and disease is upon them -and they will not exert themselves. The steward is the only one of the -ship’s company who goes down the hatch-steps, and it would be better -if he did not, for his errand is to sell the drink for which so many -are parting with the sixpences they should keep for their landing in -a strange country. The day being passably warm in the afternoon the -children played on the deck and I coaxed Paddy Doolan to get out his -pipes and set them jigging. - -27.--A dull, murky morning, with a mist that surrounded the ship as -the wrapping of silk paper does an orange. It was almost a dead calm -and the atmosphere was so heavy the smoke of the galley did not rise -and filled the deck with its fumes. The main deck was deserted, save -by myself and three old women who sat on the coaming of the main -hatchway, smoking their pipes. The cabin boy flitted backwards and -forwards carrying breakfast to the cabin, where the steward was laying -the table. The boy’s motions did not escape the women, and I noticed -them whispering and laughing as if concocting a plot. One presently -went down into the hold, while the other two turned anxious glances -for the return of the cabin boy. When he did come he loaded up with as -many skillets and pans as he could carry. No sooner had he disappeared -down the companion-way, than the women ran to the galley, which was -deserted, for the cook, having completed his morning’s work, had gone -to the forecastle, where the sailors were at breakfast, leaving the -dishes ready for the boy to take to the cabin as wanted. In a twinkling -the women were out again, one of them bearing a big copper teapot, -the steam from its spout showing in the morning air. Hurrying to the -hatchway they were met by the woman who had left them, ready with a -lapful of tins of every description. Into these the tea was poured and -handed below, as quickly as they could be handled. Curious to view the -scene I went to the hatch and looked down, seeing a crowd of grinning -passengers beneath, who carried off the tins as they got them. When -the last drop was out of the kettle, the woman who held it ran back to -the galley, and dipping it into an open copper of hot water replaced -it where she got it. The women did not disappear, but resuming their -seats on the edge of the hatch proceeded to discuss the tins of tea -they had reserved for themselves. By-and-by the boy hove in sight, -and, unsuspicious of the change in its contents, carried the kettle to -the cabin. He had been away five minutes when he reappeared kettle in -hand and went to the galley. I stood behind him. He looked bewildered. -“Bedad, I was right; there’s no other kettle.” “Anything wrong, my -boy?” “Och, yis; it’s hot say water instead of tay that’s in the -kettle.” Going to the sailors’ quarters he returned with the cook who, -on tasting what was in the kettle, looked perplexed. Accompanied by the -boy he made his way to the cabin to report a trick had been played upon -him. Telling Aileen of what was afoot, she drew a shawl over her head, -came out and took her place by me in lee of the long boat, awaiting -developments. The mate, followed by cook, steward, and boy, emerged -from the companion. Striding the deck with wrathful haste the mate went -to the galley and after hearing the explanations of the cook, shouted -“I’ll flay the----thieves with a rope’s end.” Coming back, he asked -me, “What do you know about this?” - -“That I had no hand it,” I replied, “nor, I’m sorry to say, even a -taste of it.” Aileen laughed, and eyeing me malignantly the mate -retorted, “You know who did it; tell me right away.” - -“Of course I know, but I would not tell a gentleman like yourself who -hates informers. Remember Dublin bay.” - -He ground his teeth and had Aileen not been there I believe he would -have attempted to strike me. Wheeling round to the three old women who -sat quietly on the hatchway he asked them. - -“Is it the tay ye are askin afther? Sure an it wasn’t bad; was it, Mrs -O’Flaherty?” - -“Dade it was comfortin this saft mornin, Mrs Doolan, an good it was ov -the gintlemin to send it to us. It’s a captain ye should be instead ov -a mate, my dear.” - -“Tell me who stole the tea-kettle from the galley,” yelled the mate. - -“Och, dear, don’t be shoutin so loud,” replied Mrs Doolan, “if I be -old, I’m not deaf yet. An as for stealin yer dirthy ould tay-kittle, -sure I saw the boy with it in his hand this minit.” - -“Come, no prevaricating. You know what I mean. Who stole the tea?” -cried the mate. - -“Mrs Finegan, ye sit there niver saying a word; can’t ye tell this -swate gintlemin who stole the tay.” - -“You’ll be manin the tay the landlord tould us he paid tin pounds into -the hands of the mate to give us on the voyage. Where that tay wint to -I don’t know at awl, at awl. Do you, Mrs O’Flaherty?” - -“For shame, Mrs Finegan, to be purtindin sich a gintlemin wad kep the -tin poun. He’s agoin to give us tay reglar afther this, an (here she -raised her tin and drank the last drop) this is the first token. If ye -plaze, sir, it would taste betther were ye to put a grain o’ shuggar in -it.” - -At this, Aileen, who had been quivering with restrained merriment, -burst into a ripple of laughter, loud and long, and an echo from -beneath showed there were amused auditors at the hatchway. The mate -grew purple with wrath. Seizing Mrs O’Flaherty by the shoulder he -fairly screamed, “You old hag, you know all about it; show me the -thief.” - -The woman rose to her feet, her long grey hair hanging damp and limp in -straggling locks. With a twinkle in her eye she composedly regarded the -mate and dropping him a curtsey, said, she could “not refuse so purlite -a gintlemin. Thravellin in furrin parts is as good for manners as a -boardin-school eddication, Mrs Finegan.” - -With an oath the mate shouted, “Show me the thief.” - -“It’s that same I’m going to do,” she replied, “Come afther me,” and -she put her foot on the ladder that led into the hold. The mate shrank -back as if shot. “Are you not acomin?” asked Mrs O’Flaherty. “Indade -its proud we will all be to see yer bewtiful face below for ye have -never been down to see us yet.” - -“He’s bashful,” interjected Mrs Doolan, rising, “come wid me, if ye -plaze, Mr Mate, an I’ll interjuce you.” - -The mate was glaring with a look in which fear mingled with baffled -rage. The crones noted his state of mind and enjoyed it. “Can ye tell -me, Mrs O’Flaherty, where that fine parfume is comin from?” - -“Is it the sint aff the mate, yer smellin?” remarked Mrs Finegan, who -had relit her pipe and was looking on with a solemn face. “Sure it’s -camfire, an he shmells av it like an ould maid’s chist o’ drawers.” - -“Beggin yer pardon, Mrs Finegan,” retorted Mrs O’Flaherty, “it’s a -docthur he be, an he is comin down to see thim sick wid the favor.” - -With a volley of curses the mate turned away. As he went towards the -poop he was followed by a chorus of cries from the old women, Wunna -ye come an git the thafe? How did ye like hot say wather for tay? -Remimber, an send us our tay reglar afther this, not forgittin the -shuggar. There’s a favor patient wants to see ye, sir. - -When he disappeared I said to Aileen “none but Irishwomen could have -so settled a bully.” “And no other,” she laughingly replied, “have -captured a cup of tea so neatly.” Towards noon the fog cleared, and the -ship made some progress under a light breeze. There was no death today, -but there are more cases of fever. The boatswain told me that the sight -of the sun today showed we were 600 miles from Newfoundland. Saw the -topsails of a full-rigged ship at the edge of the horizon before sunset. - -28.--Rained all morning and miserably cold. The light breeze we had -died away and we rolled helplessly until after dinner, when the wind -came up from the south-east, which sent us bowling on our course. A -huge staysail, that had been bent by the sailors two days ago between -the main and foremast, was hoisted for the first time, and added -perceptibly to the ship’s speed. Sickness increases and the body of a -boy of 5 years of age was dropped into the ocean in the forenoon. The -frequency of deaths has made the passengers callous, and, especially -those of children, call out little comment. When men and women have -sounded the deepest depth of wretchedness, as they have done, they seem -to lose both hope and fear. Uncle’s wife is no better; so far as I can -judge she is sinking. She might rally had we suitable nourishment to -give her, but we have nothing. She has not even fresh air, but with -every breath inhales the stench of a pestilence. Uncle, unable to do -anything else for her, sits at the head of the berth, her hand clasped -in his. We had a wonderful sunset. The change of wind brought warmth -and dappled the sky with fleecy clouds. The forecastle being deserted -Aileen went with me and we sat where, looking down, we could see the -cutwater flashing the waves into foam, or, looking up, see the cloud of -canvas and tracery of rope and block crimsoning in the waning sunlight. -The sun was setting so directly ahead of us that it might be supposed -the man at the wheel was steering for it. The glittering, burnished -pathway it threw across the ocean, our ship sailed up. - -“Sure,” whispered Aileen, “it is the road to the land of promise and -the sun himself welcomes us as we pursue it.” - -“Heaven grant it may be so, but for some on board the land of promise -will never be.” - -“Don’t be looking at the dark side, Gerald. See yonder clouds, their -downy edges touched with pink. Let us fancy them the wings of the -angels who are beckoning us to homes of plenty and content beyond that -western wave, and cheer up.” - -As I looked into her face, bright with enthusiasm, I felt if angels -beckoned I had also one at my side to encourage me. We gazed in silence -at the glowing scene, marked the sun’s disappearance, and the deepening -colors in cloud and water. Turning our gaze to the ship we could trace -the sun’s departing rays as they creeped up the tall masts. “Who -would think,” I said, “to look upon this most beautiful of all man’s -creations, a ship in full sail radiant in the sun’s richest tints, that -in her hold she is bearing an unspeakable mass of misery and woe? How -dark within; how bright without. How deceiving are appearances!” - -“Nay, Gerald, rather look at it this way: How God in his goodness -beautifies what man mars. Nothing so loathsome the sun will not bathe -in the fullness of his brightness and glory.” - -And in that I thought, the sunshine is type of woman’s love, which -is not withheld by what is repulsive and like the sunshine takes no -defilement from what it touches. - -29.--Uncle’s wife died this morning. It would not be correct to say -the fever killed her, for it had not reached its crisis. She was -weakly when she left home, and the sojourn on the quay, waiting to get -on board ship, gave her a bad cold. Her system was so reduced, she -could not withstand the onset of the disease. Uncle wanted a coffin, -and the carpenter agreed to make one for five shillings, but when he -asked permission of the mate he refused, so she was buried like the -others, slipped into the ocean. I recited the prayers for the dead, -and the deck was crowded, many being there who had not left the hold -since we sailed. Just as they were about to lift the corpse over the -gunwale Aileen suddenly burst into song--that mournful, consolatory -hymn of the ages, Dies Iræ, to whose strains so many millions of the -faithful have been carried to the grave. It was her magnificent voice, -sounding from the choir-loft of our chapel, that first drew me to her, -and, never before, did I hear her put more feeling into her voice than -now. When the last strain of melody floated over the waters, there was -a hush for a minute, my uncle laid his hand for the last time on the -head of her he so dearly loved, there was a plunge, and all was over. -The breaking out of the fever has produced, even among us hardened to -misfortune, something like a panic. The crew are in mortal terror of -the infection and will not allow passengers to go on the forecastle, -as was their wont. The ship being sent to sea purposely shorthanded, -the owner relying on saving something by getting the emigrants to -help, a few of our lads, who had been given bunks in the forecastle -and allowed sailors’ rations, have been warned, if they go down the -hatchways to see their people, they need not return. The captain and -cabin passengers never leave the poop. As for the mate, he seems to put -his faith for protection against infection on camphor, and so smells of -it that he must have a piece in every pocket. Uncle’s sorrows are not -ended, for two of his family are very ill. - -30.--Cold and rainy with fog. A north-west wind is blowing that drives -the ship at a good rate, though not straight on her course. The fever -spreads and to the other horrors of the steerage is added the cries of -those in delirium. While I was coming from the galley this afternoon, -with a pan of stirabout for some sick children, a man suddenly sprang -upwards from the hatchway, rushed to the bulwark, his white hair -streaming in the wind, and without a moment’s hesitation leaped into -the seething waters. He disappeared beneath them at once. His daughter -soon came hurrying up the ladder to look for him. She said he had -escaped from his bunk during her momentary absence, that he was mad -with the fever. When I told her gently as I could that she would never -see him again, she could not believe me, thinking he was hiding. Oh -the piercing cry that came from her lips when she learned where he had -gone; the rush to the vessel’s side, and the eager look as she scanned -the foaming billows. Aileen led her away; dumb from the sudden stroke -yet without a tear. - -May 1.--Wind still from northwest; ship beating against it in short -tacks. Most disagreeable motion. Cast lead at noon. At 150 fathoms -found no bottom. A whale crossed our bows, not a hundred yards away. -During the afternoon wind veered to northeast and before dark developed -into a gale, before which we are driving. May it last long enough to -bring us to land. Two deaths today, which has been a truly miserable -May-day. - -2.--There had been a flurry of snow during the night, so that yards -and deck were white when I went out. The gale still holds and boatswain -said if the weather cleared we would see Newfoundland. Two small booms -cracked but that has not deterred the captain from keeping on all the -sail the ship will bear. At times her lee rail almost touches the -water, and the deck slants so it is difficult to cross it. The captain -is anxious to end the voyage, and no wonder, for the fever spreads. One -child and two adults have died within the last twenty-four hours. Their -bodies were dropped overboard when the ship was going 12 knots an hour. -A cold, miserable day. - -3.--The gale blew itself out during the night and today it is calm, the -ship pitching and rolling on a glassy swell, and the sails flapping as -if they would split. There is a mist, and it is very cold, which, the -boatswain tells me, indicates ice near. Lead cast and soundings found, -showing we are on the Banks. Some of our people, who are fishermen, -bargained with the cook for a piece of salt pork and using it as bait -cast their lines. Their patience was tried for a while, until we struck -a school of fish, when for half an hour they caught cod and dogfish -as fast as they could haul them in. The school then left and few were -caught afterwards. They gave a few of best fish to the cook and in -consideration he cooked what they had, so for one day all between decks -had enough to eat. The drinking-water has been growing daily worse, -and now the smell of it is shocking. The barrels must have been filled -from the Liffey near a sewer. Repugnant as it is to sight, smell, and -taste it continues to be doled out in such meagre measure that the sick -are continually crying for water with not a drop to give them. The -number now sick is appalling--the young of dysentery, the old of fever, -the cause of both diseases starvation. Uncle’s second boy died this -afternoon of dysentery. Poor uncle, his lot is a sore one, yet he never -complains. Wind came from southwest towards evening bringing milder -temperature with light rain. Sighted several fishing schooners and saw -sea-birds for first time since left coast of Ireland. - -4.--This has been a variable day; at times bright and warm, at others -foggy and chilly, according as the wind blew, and it has veered from -west to southwest. Sailors busy getting anchors off forecastle and -bitted to the catheads--a slow and laborious task. Passed a number of -fishing smacks today and sailed through a school of porpoises. Our own -fishermen did pretty well today, The fish they catch is a great boon to -our starving people. No death today. - -5.--Weather thick and bitterly cold; no child played on deck today. -Passed large fields of ice requiring great skill in handling the ship -to avoid them. Captain remained on deck all day. While I have no -respect for him as a man, he is an excellent sailor. Passed two ships -caught in the ice. Boatswain says they will have to drift with it until -the wind opens a channel by which they can escape. Steady wind from -north-east all day. One death this evening, body buried by moonlight. - -6.--No ice seen today. Boatswain tells me the captain has brought the -ship well south of it. Weather continued thick, with wind from east, -and frequent showers of rain. Passed a beautifully shaped two-masted -vessel, painted white. She hoisted the stars and stripes. Sighted two -large vessels, one like ourselves crowded with emigrants, for her lee -bulwark was black with them, looking at us. A patch of floating sea -weed drifted by before dark, showing we must be near land. There were -three deaths today. If it please God, may this agony soon end. - -7.--Stepping on deck this morning to my astonishment saw land on -either side--cape North and St Paul island, the sunlight bringing the -lighthouses into sharp relief. Both spits looked desolate, but were -a cheering sight, for they were the first land we have seen since we -lost sight of the Kerry hills. Thank God for his goodness in bringing -us to land, the sight of which cheered me beyond expression. It sent -a thrill of excitement even through the steerage. During the night -the wind changed to the southeast and the ship makes great progress, -the water being smooth, for now being in the gulf of St Lawrence we -have left behind us the swell of the Atlantic. As the morning wore on -it grew warmer, and when the sun had climbed to his heighth his rays -became almost unpleasantly hot. Passengers not seen on deck since we -sailed, crawled up to have a sight of the land, which we quickly left -astern, and to bask in the sunshine, until few except the sick remained -below. It was wonderful the change heat and prospect of soon being on -land, wrought on the spirits of us all. Hope sprung afresh, and the -misery of the past was forgotten. Children played about the deck and -the hum of conversation filled the air. There were a number of ships -in sight, bound, like ourselves, for Quebec. The hours sped and we -were bearing down on the Bird-rocks--lonely islets of rock, worn into -fantastic shapes, shooting sheer up from the sea and whose cliffs give -a foothold to sea fowl, squadrons of whom were careering above them. -While intently watching these sentinels of the gulf of the mighty river -we had entered, my eye chanced to fall on the face of an old woman -whom Aileen had persuaded to stay on deck. More pinched and sallow it -could not be, for she was wasted and worn, but, to my alarm, I saw its -lines assuming the rigidity of coming death. I touched Aileen’s arm -to direct her attention. She was down on her knees by her side in a -moment. “Mother, dear, are you not feeling well?” The eyelids lifted -and the answer came, “I thank God for his goodness,” and then they -drooped over the poor dazed eyes. I stepped into my cabin for a tin -of water and Aileen held it to her lips. She feebly motioned it away. -The slip of a girl who belonged to her, a grandchild, now realizing -the coming change, clasped her round the neck. “Granny, dear, don’t be -aleavin me all alone; sure we see Ameriky now and will soon be walkin -on it.” The soul was quitting its frail tenement but the child’s voice -so far recalled it, that a slight look of recognition lightened the -face. “Och, stay wid me, granny, an I’ll do yer biddin and nivir vix ye -agin. We’ll soon be havin lashins of meat an wather, an ye wunna need -to be givin me your share. O stay wid me!” At that moment there was a -report of a musket fired near by. The passengers, grouped around the -dying woman, raised their startled eyes and saw it was the mate, who -had fired at the sea fowl on the rocks we were now passing. The angry -scowl at the interruption melted again into sorrow when Aileen, lifting -the gray head from her lap, reverently straightened it on the deck, -and leaving the body to the care of the women who crowded near, led -the sobbing girl, doubly orphaned, to our cabin. At sunset we buried -the body and with it that of a poor cripple, who had been suffering -from dysentery. We sat late that night, for the breeze was warm and -the speed of the ship exhilarating, while the waters sparkled in the -moonlight. I had been in bed some time, when voices outside wakened -me. It was the boatswain and a sailor who were talking, and the sound -of their voices seemed to express astonishment. I dressed and hurried -out. “Is there anything gone wrong?” I asked. “Did you ever see the -like of that?” the boatswain replied, by pointing to the sky. The wind -had fallen and glancing up the masts I saw sail, and rope, and block -were motionless. Above hung clouds the like of which I had never seen. -There were thousands of them, all about a size, all spherical, and all -placed together as exactly as the panes in a cathedral window. Though -hid from view, the moon was in the zenith, and its downward rays fell -on the cloudlets, illuminating them and transmitting a ghostly light, -reflected by a ghostly sea. From the horizon to the apex the illusion -of the clouds was perfect in representing the ship as standing beneath -the centre of a great dome composed of spheres of grey glass, through -which streamed a light mysterious and fearsome, revealing the face -of a glassy sea, dark and dread. “What weather does this portend?” I -whispered. The boatswain shook his head. “It ain’t weather, sir,” said -the sailor, “It’s death. You see if the fever don’t grow worse.” - -8.--I had sat so long on deck during the night that it was late in -the day when I awoke. Aileen had gone out but returned when I had -dressed and we had breakfast. A western breeze was blowing and the -ship was tacking. The boatswain told me the gulf was over 200 miles -wide so there was plenty of sea room, but before night we found there -was not. As the day wore on the wind increased and the weather became -thick, so that the men on the lookout kept sounding the horn nearly all -the time. The captain was more afraid of ice than of a collision with -another ship, and did not leave the deck after dinner. It was about -6 o’clock, when everything seemed to be going well, the ship tearing -through the water on her northern tack, when the fog suddenly thinned, -and to our surprise we saw land ahead. We were not over a mile from it. -The captain shouted to the man at the wheel, who brought the ship up -to the wind, the sails slatting like to break the masts. The yards of -the foremast were soon braced round, and the question was whether the -ship would wear in time to avoid striking, for the land was now so near -that we could see the foam of the breakers on the shore. There was a -dreadful period of suspense, during which the ship drifted broadside -on towards the land, until the sails of the foremast bellied out on -catching the wind, when she turned on her heel, and the order tacks and -sheets given, when everybody who had been able to get a grip of the -ropes hauled with all their strength. The ship was now on the other -tack, when we left the land astern, and which presented a desolate -appearance, a foreground of rock with low hills behind on which were -patches of snow. The boatswain said it was the eastern end of the -island of Anticosti, and had we struck the rocks, those who escaped -drowning would have starved to death, for the island, save a lighthouse -or two, is uninhabited. I thought it, but did not say it, for he is not -responsible, that 500 people were being starved to death on board ship. -Our having got out of our course, for the captain supposed he was well -clear of the island, is blamed on the currents and tides of the gulf. - -9.--Uncle’s oldest son died of the fever soon after daylight. The blow -is a crushing one, but I have yet to hear the first murmur from uncle. -His submission to the Divine Will is most touching. The body along with -two more we dropped overboard when the sailors were at dinner. Tho’ -near the end of our voyage, the little tyrant on the poop has given no -order to increase the supply of water or biscuit. I did not think the -stench of the hold could become worse, but the heat we had a day ago -has intensified it. To descend into the hold has become more than I can -well bear. I told Aileen today she must not even go near the hatchways. -Wind unfavorable all day, and ship tacking. - -10.--Wind again in the south but very light. Today in making the -weather tack we came close to the south shore, which seemed to be a -succession of ranges of high hills with trees to their tops. This was -a sad day, five having died. Exchanged signals with a ship. She said -she was from Liverpool with emigrants and many were sick. Lead was kept -going all day. - -11.--In beating across the gulf this morning, the wind being ahead, and -cold enough to chill to the marrow, we noticed a small schooner bearing -down upon us. It was a pilot boat that had sighted us. When alongside, -a row boat left her and soon a pilot was climbing to our deck. He was a -Frenchman and spoke broken English. When he saw he had got on board an -emigrant ship, he seemed to hesitate, and looked as if he wished he was -back, with the bundle he had in his hand, on the schooner again. The -boat, however, was by this time near the schooner. “Any seek?” he asked -the captain. What the captain answered I could not hear, for he turned -and took the stranger to the cabin. When the pilot reappeared he took -command, and I noticed he never left the poop. In the afternoon it grew -foggy and from the forecastle the dismal sound of the fog horn came. -Being now well up the gulf we were in the neighborhood of many vessels, -and a collision was possible. We sighted no ship, however, until late -in the afternoon, when we saw masttops above the fog. She proved to -be a large vessel in splendid order. Ranging close to us, her captain -asked if we had a pilot. Answered yes, he replied he had none. Our -captain told them to follow us. Instead of that, the order was given -to set more sail and in a few minutes she was lost to sight. Our pilot -shook his head as he remarked, “She heading for Mingan rocks.” When -it began to grow dark, order given to let go the anchor. The noise of -the rattling cable was like thunder. A child died today, a sweet girl -toddler that Aileen was fond of. Many of the sick are sinking tonight, -not one of whom but might have lived with proper sustenance, for it is -the period of convalescence that proves fatal in nine cases out of ten. -Mouldy sea biscuit of the coarsest kind and foul water simply kill the -patient who has got over the fever, yet we have nothing else to offer -to satisfy their cravings. - -12.-Anchor was weighed at daylight and when I came out on deck found we -were tacking towards south shore, which was concealed by a fog-bank. -Afterwards the wind veered to the east, and a drizzling rain set in. -Weather thick all day, cold and disagreeable, with satisfaction, -however, of knowing we are making good progress. The pilot, like the -captain, is anxious to make all possible speed, and even the top stun -sails were set. This was a sad day between decks. There were four -deaths and the number of sick greatly increased. No wonder: the air is -that of a charnel vault and the people are so weak from want of food -that they have no strength to resist disease. - -13.--During the night was roused by the noise of the anchor being let -go. On leaving my cabin was astounded, for I stepped into brilliant -sun shine, in whose beams the waters danced, while, like a panorama, a -lovely landscape was unrolled on either side. No longer a weary waste -of water, with an unchanging horizon, met my view, but a noble river, -rolling between picturesque banks. The north was rugged, with lofty -hills, wooded to the summit; the south was an undulating slope, along -whose lower edge ran a line of small white-washed houses, so near each -other as to form a street. The fields were flushed with green and some -of the tree-tops thickened with bud and bursting leaf. Evidently the -occupants of each house had a farm, which ran like a riband from the -river to nigh the head of the slope, which was crowned with woods. -At regular intervals in the line of houses there is a church--plain -stone edifices with high pitched roofs, which, with steeples, are -tinned, giving them a foreign look. We were waiting for the tide to -turn, the breeze being insufficient to enable the ship to beat against -the current. On the other side of the river were four large ships, at -anchor like ourselves. As the morning wore on a boat was seen to leave -the shore and row towards us. The gunwale of our ship was crowded with -passengers watching her approach. On coming near us, the two men in -the boat did not seem to fancy our looks, for they did not throw their -line to us. They had evidently come to sell us the provisions they -had aboard. “Lay to, what are you afeared of,” shouted the boatswain. -One of the men shook his blue cowled head. “Parley vous Français?” he -cried “What does he say?” the boatswain asked me “I think he wants to -know if you speak French.” “Blast his himpudence; what does he think my -mother was? I wants none sich lingo,” retorted the salt. Scared by the -row of white faces the men had plainly decided to forego the profits -of trade from fear of infection. One had seized his oar to bring the -boat’s head to shore when, recalling all the French words I had ever -heard, I shouted “Lait,” and held out a pail with one hand and sixpence -with the other. They swung round, and one of the men caught my pail, -filled it and handed it back. Pointing to some loaves he gave me one -for a sixpence, and several other passengers bought the rest of them. -This done, the boat left. With that milk Aileen hopes to save the -lives of the few infants left. The bread was welcome, though it was -heavy and had a peculiar sourish taste. When the tide began to make, -the order to weigh the anchor was given. The ships to the north of us -were doing the same, and the sailors’ songs came over the water with -beautiful cadence, blending with the chorus of our own crew, which -began with “haul in the bowline, the black ship’s arolling,” and ended -declaring that “Katie is my darling.” With a large spread of canvas -we moved slowly up the mighty river for the wind was light. In spite -of our dismal surroundings, this was a day of quiet delight to Aileen -and myself. The extraordinary width of the river, said to be over ten -miles, its waters, pure and of deep blue color, clasping at intervals -a picturesque island, the boldness of the wooded hills on the north -shore and the brightness and softness of the cultivated landscape on -the south, were a constant feast for eyes wearied of the sea. The depth -and tender blue of the sky, so much more transparent than in the dear -old land, particularly impressed Aileen. As we made our way up the -glorious river, the shores trended nearer, the hills on the north grew -loftier and the southern bank less steep. The sun had set in a glory -of gold and crimson beyond the hills when the order was given to let -go the anchor, the tide no longer serving us. Quarter a mile ahead -of us a large ship did the same. The evening being calm Aileen got -a wrap and we sat watching the darkening waters and the shores that -loomed momentarily more faint, until the lights from the house windows -alone marked where they were. “What is that?” she suddenly exclaimed, -and I saw a shapeless heap move past our ship on the outgoing tide. -Presently there was another and another. Craning my head over the -bulwark I watched. Another came, it caught in our cable, and before the -swish of the current washed it clear, I caught a glimpse of a white -face. I understood it all. The ship ahead of us had emigrants and they -were throwing overboard their dead. Without telling Aileen, I grasped -her arm, and drew her to our cabin. - -14.--An eventful day, the consequences of which I fear, although, -recalling every detail, I do not see how I could have acted otherwise. -Anxious to see this country, so new and bright to me, I rose at -daylight. The ship was under plain sail, beating against a northwest -wind, and making little headway. One of our lads who had been taken -to help the sailors was ordered by the mate up the foremast to put to -rights some tackle that had got entangled in the last tack. The boy -blundered, and the mate repeated the order with his customary oaths. -Again the lad tried to do what he was bid and failed. Ordering a sailor -to go up and do the work, the mate shouted to the boy to come down. -He did so reluctantly, for he saw the mate had grasped a rope’s end. -Cursing him for his slowness, the mate seized his feet while still in -the ratlines. He fell violently on the deck, when the mate proceeded to -shower blows with the heavy rope on the head and back of the boy, who -cried piteously for mercy. I could not stand it; my blood was boiling. -“Stop,” I shouted, “have pity on the boy; he did not mean to disobey -your order. It was his sorrow for his mother who died last night that -confused him.” The mate paused in his lashing of the lad and glared at -me with such a malignant look as I pray the saints I may never again -have cast on me. “Mind your business, damn you, or I’ll have you put -in irons for mutiny,” he shouted and again laid the rope across the -lad’s quivering body with fiercer strength. It was, perhaps, foolish -for my own interests but I could not help it. I sprang at the mate and -dealt him a blow in the face. He clutched hold of me and we grappled. -He was strong, with muscles toughened by fighting sea and wind, but -a Sligo boy of my inches will take odds from no man in a wrestle. We -fell time and again, he beneath me, but he always managed to wriggle -up again, until I got a good hold of his neck, then I bent him under -me and rained blows on every part of him my right fist could reach. -All that the cheating villain had done, his cruelties to my people, -his brutal indifference to their sufferings, flashed across my mind, -and lent vim to every blow I dealt. How the scoundrel howled for help -and, finally, for mercy. Not one of the sailors interfered. They drew -off to the forepeak and looked on, glad to see his punishment. The -passengers who were on deck formed in a circle around us, delighted at -the sight. One of them, I recall, popped up from the hatchway and held -out a blackthorn to me with the explanation, “To finish him off wid, -yer honor.” I needed no shillelah. The fear that I might fatally injure -the bully alone caused me to pause. I gathered him up in my arms for -a final effort, when a strange thing happened me. I saw in my mind’s -eye, as they passed before me, the white face of one after the other -of the dead I helped to drop into the sea. It was one of those freaks -the imagination plays when the mind is intensely excited. This could -not have taken over a moment or two, but I saw them all, plainly and -distinctly. Solemnized yet strengthened by the sight, I was given a -power I had not. I raised the craven, who was whining and sobbing, as -high as my breast and flung him away as far as I could. Fortune favored -him, he fell on a coil of rope, where he lay helpless. The steward -went to him, wiped the blood from his eyes, and finally he was able -to rise and, leaning on the steward’s left shoulder, shuffled to the -cabin. By this time every man of my people able to leave the hold was -on deck, an excited throng, eager for fighting. “If they lay a finger -on yees for what ye’ve so nately done, we’ll break the heads av ivery -wan o’ thim,” said a county Leitrim man to me, and I knew that was -the spirit of them all. Softly opening the door of our little cabin I -was thankful to find Aileen asleep. Getting a change of clothes, for -those I had on were torn and bloodstained, I slipped out, had a wash -in a bucket of saltwater, and then dressed myself. At breakfast I told -Aileen all. She was much shocked at the danger I had run, and when -satisfied I had received no greater injury than sundry black and blue -bruises from kicks and blows and some handfuls of hair the coward had -torn from my head, she became alarmed for the result. Assaulting an -officer on shipboard I knew was a serious offence in the eyes of the -law, and so did Aileen. “I don’t think,” I said to her, “you need fear -their punishing me according to law, for they know if I am taken before -a court, all the villainy of captain and mate towards the passengers -would come out. They have broken the law in fifty ways, and know it. -What I fear is the captain trying to take the law into his own hands -before we reach Quebec.” We passed the day on deck as usual, appearing -as unconcerned as might be. Whether the captain entertained any notion -of arresting me, I cannot say, for he made no sign. The sight of a -score or so of my people keeping nigh me wherever I moved, from whose -coats peeped the end of what they called “a bit av a shtick,” may have -had some influence in deterring him, but the real cause I opine to be -what the boatswain whispered to me in the evening, that the steward had -told the captain the sailors to a man would refuse to put a hand on -me. They hate the mate, who, by the way, according to the cabin boy, -is lying in his berth, alternately groaning with pain and swearing -from rage. We made little progress today. The wind was ahead and we -kept tacking every half hour or so. In beating up the river thus, a -ship overhauled us. She was a Clyde trader, and being shorter she wore -more quickly and being heavier laden sailed more closely to the wind, -and owing to these advantages she outsailed us. As she passed us, her -captain stood at the stern and dangled a rope to us, as if offering -to take our ship in tow. Our captain, with an oath, rushed down the -companionway to hide his mortification. In the afternoon a discovery -was made that sent joy to the heart of every passenger. A boy had -hauled up a pailful of water to douse his head in, after getting his -hair clipped, when he got a taste of it and found it was fresh. The -tide was out, and at the point we now had reached, at the slack, the -water is fresh. Pailful after pailful was hauled on board, and the -sick were supplied without stint, with water sweet, clear and cool. -Alas, the refreshing draught came too late for seven, who died during -the day. I wanted to keep the bodies on board in hopes of giving them -burial, but the boatswain advised otherwise, as he said, although we -were within a short distance of quarantine with the present wind we -might be two or three days of making it. Ship anchored at darkening, -close to shore. - -15.--Remained at anchor all day. Cold with strong wind from north-west. -At intervals there were squalls, accompanied by driving showers of -rain and hail. Three hours’ fair wind would see us at quarantine, yet -here we are unable to advance a yard on our way. Five deaths today. I -resolved the bodies be kept for burial. Boatswain told me mate is worse -today, being feverish. The pilot bled him and the captain gave him a -blue pill. Not being needed to work the ship, all hands were engaged -in putting the vessel into her best trim, scraping, scrubbing, and -painting. Outwardly the ship is neat and clean, a sight to delight a -sailor’s eye, and to look at her from the deck it is hard to conceive -of the putrid state of her hold. The steward bribed several of the -passengers with whisky to clean the steps and alley-ways of the -steerage. A steamer painted white and with a house the length of her -deck, passed us, going east. - -16.--The sound of the anchor being weighed awoke me and I heard it -with joy. I dressed and gave the sailors a hand. The wind had veered -into the east, and it looked as if rain was coming. The fore mainsail -having been set, the ship swept on, keeping the channel as easily as if -propelled by steam. When Aileen came out, the church bells were ringing -for early mass, and we could make out the people driving along the -roads to attend. Reports from the steerage are gloomy. There have been -three deaths during the night. It seems as if a number of the sick had -reached that point that their dropping off is inevitable. The river -was dotted with ships following us, and the sight of so many large -vessels moving majestically in a column in our rear fascinated me. By -and by the rain came on, when Aileen left to pack our trunks, for we -are fully persuaded the wind will hold and that we will land in Quebec -before dark, bidding farewell to this ship of misery. When quarantine -was sighted, I dropped in to see how she was getting on, and finding my -help not needed, wrote this, in all probability, the last entry I will -make on board. - - -Grosse Isle, May 31.--Fourteen days since I penned a line in this -sorrowful record. I wish I had not lived to pen another. God’s will -be done, but, oh, it is hard to say it. Yet I ask myself, what right -have I to repine? Grievous as has been my loss, what is it compared -with that of many of those around me, whose quiet submission rebukes my -selfish sorrow. Enough of this, let me resume my record. When the ship -came abreast of the quarantine buildings, all fresh from a new coat of -whitewash, the anchor was dropped. It was nearly an hour before the -quarantine officer came on board, and I heard him on stepping from -his boat apologize to our captain for the delay, owing to his waiting -for breakfast. The captain took him down to the cabin and it was a -long while before he re-appeared, when he stepped down to the main -deck, where all the passengers, able to be out of bed, were waiting -him. He walked round us, asked a few to hold out their tongues, and -then went down into the hold, where he stayed only a minute or so. -Passing a few words with the captain, he re-entered his boat and was -rowed back to the island. No sooner had he left, than the boatswain got -orders to have all boats made ready to take the sick ashore. First the -dead were brought up. The sailors shrank back, there was a muttered -consultation, and the boatswain, taking me aside, told me they would -not touch them or even row a boat that held them, and I had better drop -them overboard. “Never,” I cried, “shall it be said that the bodies -of the faithful did not receive Christian burial when it was possible -to give it.” Calling out from among my people four men whom I knew -were fishermen, I asked them if they would row the dead ashore, and -on saying they would, the boatswain let me have a boat. Decently the -bodies were passed over and we made our way to the landing. We had -trouble in getting them out of the boat, for the steps of the quay were -out of repair, but we managed it and carried them to what, from the -cross on it, we saw was a church. The priest came out, and I told him -our purpose. Leaving the dead in the church, we went back to the ship -for the others. By this time the sick were being landed, and roughly -handled they were. As it would be awhile before the graves would be -ready, I lent a hand--the most miserable, heartrending work I had ever -engaged in. With indecent haste they were hurried from the ship deck -into the boats, and tossed on to the steps of the quay, careless of -what injury they might receive. Most were unable to help themselves -in the least, a few were delirious. Men, women, and children were all -treated the same, as so much rubbish to be got rid of as quickly as -possible. It was no better on land. The quarantine had only two men to -spare to help the few relatives who came ashore to carry them from the -wharf to the buildings, and many lay an hour in a cold pelting rain. -It signified little as to their getting wet, for they were all doused -by the waves in landing them on the quay. Small wonder two died on the -quay, and were borne to the chapel to add to the number awaiting burial -there. The priest was very considerate, and, although I did not ask it, -said mass, which I knew would be a great consolation to the relatives. -Leaving the cemetery with the priest, I thanked him from my heart, and -ran to the quay. My heart was in my mouth when I saw on it Aileen, -standing beside our boxes, and the ship, having tripped her anchor, -bearing up the river. “What makes you look so at me, Gerald? I have -come as you asked.” - -“I never sent for you.” - -“The steward told me you had sent word by the sailors for me to come -ashore, that you were going to stay here. They carried the luggage into -a boat and I followed.” - -I groaned in spirit. I saw it all. By a villainous trick, the captain -had got rid of me. Instead of being in Quebec that day, here I was left -at the quarantine-station. “My poor Aileen, I know not what to do; my -trouble is for you.” I went to see the head of the establishment, Dr -Douglas. He proved to be a fussy gentleman, worried over a number of -details. Professing to be ready to oblige, he said there was no help -for me until the steamer came. “When will that be?” Next Saturday. A -week on an island full of people sick with fever! Aileen, brave heart, -made the best of it. She was soaking wet, yet the only shelter, apart -from the fever sheds, which were not to be thought of, was an outhouse -with a leaky roof, with no possibility of a fire or change of clothing. -How I cursed myself for my rashness in making captain and mate my -enemies, for the penalty had fallen not on me, but on my Aileen. There -was not an armful of straw to be had; not even boards to lie on. I -went to the cooking booth, and found a Frenchman in charge. Bribing -him with a shilling he gave me a loaf and a tin of hot tea. Aileen -could not eat a bite, though she tried to do so to please me, but drank -the tea. The rain continued and the east wind penetrated between the -boards of the wretched sheiling. What a night it was! I put my coat -over Aileen, I pressed her to my bosom to impart some heat to her -chilled frame, I endeavored to cheer her with prospects of the morrow. -Alas, when morning came she was unable to move, and fever and chill -alternated. I sought the doctor, he was not to be had. Other emigrant -ships had arrived, and he was visiting them. Beyond giving her water -to assuage her thirst when in the fever it was not in my power to do -anything. It was evening when the doctor, yielding to my importunities, -came to see her. He did not stay a minute and writing a few lines told -me to go to the hospital steward, who would give me some medicine. -Why recall the dreadful nights and days that followed? What profit to -tell of the pain in the breast, the raging fever, the delirium, the -agonizing gasping for breath--the end? The fourth day, with bursting -heart and throbbing head, I knelt by the corpse of my Aileen. There -was not a soul to help; everybody was too full of their own troubles -to be able to heed me. The island was now filled with sick emigrants, -and death was on every side. I dug her grave, the priest came, I laid -her there, I filled it in, I staggered to the shed that had sheltered -us, I fell from sheer exhaustion, and remember no more. When I woke, I -heard the patter of rain, and felt so inexpressibly weary I could think -of nothing, much less make any exertion. My eye fell on Aileen’s shawl, -and the past rushed on me. Oh, the agony of that hour; my remorse, my -sorrow, my beseechings of the Unseen. Such a paroxysm could not last -long, and when exhausted nature compelled me to lie down, I turned my -face to the wall with the earnest prayer I might never awaken on this -earth. How long I slept I know not. Some motion of one leaning over me -brought back consciousness. - -“Pax tecum,” said a voice I seemed to recall. “Et cum spiritu tuo,” I -mechanically responded. - -I opened my eyes. Could I believe them? It was Father Moylan. I put my -arms round his neck, and kissed him a score of times. - -“Father, dear; sure it must be the Blessed Virgin herself sent you to -console me for the loss of her daughter, my Aileen, my love.” - -“My consolation would be of little aid; but as an unworthy servant of -the church I may be the channel of communicating the consolation that -doth avail. May the Mother of Sorrows, whose heart was pierced by the -sight of her son’s death, heal thy wound. I knew not Aileen was dead.” - -“Did Father McGoran not tell you?” - -“Like everybody else in this wretched place his hands are too full -to permit of speech that can be dispensed with. A lad called on me at -Quebec to tell me of how you had been left behind and besought me to -help you and your wife.” - -“His name, father?” - -“Michael Fagan.” - -“The grateful soul; the boy I stopped the mate from lashing.” - -“He it was, for he told me all and of what you had been to the sick -on the voyage. I intended coming anyway to see what I could do for -our poor country people, but when I knew of my pupil being here in -distress, I went to the bishop to ask to be sent at once.” - -“And how did you find me?” - -“By searching. The last hour I have gone through every building looking -for you and came in course to this outhouse.” - -“May the saints ease your dying hour for this kindness, father. Oh that -you had come while Aileen was alive!” - -“Fret not over the past, Gerald; there is work calling for you which -you must rise and do.” - -“I have no heart to lift my head: I want to die and be with Aileen.” - -“A wish natural to the flesh, my son, but I taught you to little avail -if I did not ground you in the belief that it is the duty of the -Christian to so direct the blind sorrow of fallen humanity that it -become an impulse to more strenuous discharge of our daily duties. -Aileen is dead; requiescat en pace. Is your sorrow for her to be a -selfish sorrow that will add to your load of sin; or shall it become an -incitement to you to do for those around you what she would wish you to -do could she speak?” - -“Do not ask me; I cannot forget her.” - -“You are not asked to forget her. May you ever see her in your mind’s -eye, beckoning you on to works of faith and mercy; may her precious -memory be your inspiration to do what duty calls from your hand.” - -“There is no need of my help now.” - -“No need! I tell you every hour there are Irish men and women dying -within a furlong of you for lack of the commonest help. Before I came -here, I found sick who had not had their fever assuaged by a drop of -water for 18 hours; children who had not tasted a bite since yesterday; -the dead lying beside the living, and all because there is none to -help.” - -“I do not understand why that should be on land. There is plenty of -food and help in Quebec.” - -“Yes, and so there was on your ship, but a heartless captain and a -greedy mate stood between the food and water and the passengers. There -is abundance of everything within sight of here, yet our countrymen are -perishing by the score, because the government of Canada is deaf to -their cries.” - -“What interest can the Canadian government have in acting so?” - -“No interest. It is more heedlessness than intent. The politicians are -too absorbed in their paltry strifes to give heed to a few thousand -Irish emigrants dying at their door.” - -“It sounds incredible.” - -“That is because you do not know politics and politicians here. I -tell you, Gerald, I have been in Canada now three years, and (always -barring the tools of the Irish landlords) if there be a more despicable -creature than the office-hunting Canadian politician, I have yet to see -him.” - -“If I must act, I should go first to Quebec to see after my people. -They were promised ten shillings a head, to be paid by Lord -Palmerston’s agent at Quebec, and a deed from the Canadian government -for a hundred acres a family.” - -“Faugh! Not a shilling, not an acre did they get. I saw them. Lord -Palmerston has no agent in Quebec, the government will give no free -grant of land. Mere lies told the poor crathurs to get them to leave -Ireland.” - -“Well, then, I could at least make an example of the captain of our -ship.” - -“Not a bit of it; you are deceiving yourself. The prosecution would -have to be taken by the emigration agent, and he would not, if he could -help it. Then, where are your witnesses? You would be bled of your last -dollar by the lawyers and do nothing. No, Gerald, there is no use of -thinking of leaving here. Providence has guided you to Grosse isle and -here is your work. Come, man, get up and do it.” - -I sank back with a groan. I did not want to move, the father insisted, -however, and, after many remonstrances, grasped my hand and raised me -to my feet. He took me to where the resident priest lived, insisted -on my washing myself and gave me, out of his bag, one of his clean -shirts. Then we sat down to dinner, Fathers McGoran and Taschereau -joining us. The conversation was of the deluge of emigrants, every -day bringing new arrivals, and every ship with its quota of sick and -dying. Every available place having become crowded, the ships had to -remain and become floating hospitals. The calamity with which they -were face to face was so unexpected and appalling that how to devise -means to grapple with it staggered them. They spoke of the need of -urging the government to erect sheds and send plenty of nurses and -doctors. I listened in silence until Father Taschereau asked me for -my opinion, as one who was an emigrant. I said many had died on the -voyage and many more had been landed who would certainly die, but of -this I was confident, there would not have been a death from fever or -dysentery on the voyage or one sick of these diseases landed at Grosse -isle, had there been enough to eat. The solution of the difficulty -therefore seemed to me simple. Give all who arrive plenty of wholesome -food. Starvation is the cause of dysentery and fever. Remove the cause -and these diseases will disappear. It is not medicine and nursing -that are wanted, but food. The people fled from starvation in Ireland -to be worse starved on board ship where their lot was made worse by -the lack of pure air and water, of which they had no lack in Ireland. -They asked me many questions about the treatment of the emigrants on -shipboard. Father McGoran said he was inclined to believe I was right, -that Dr Douglas was making the mistake of fighting the fever instead of -removing what caused the fever. The fever was not to be looked upon as -was the cholera visitation of 12 years before. I left the table with -Father Moylan and as we went out at the door, he stood for a minute to -look at the sight on the river. The clouds had cleared and the sun had -come out strong, with a marvellously soft and clear atmosphere. So far -as we could see from where we stood, the blue waters of the river bore -a column of vessels of which neither head nor end was visible. “Let us -take a step over and see them,” said Father Moylan. When we reached the -bank, the sight was striking, and would have been most inspiring had -we not known that each of these noble ships was a floating pest-house. -There was a shout from the vessel opposite us. A man stood on the -gunwale, and steadying himself with one hand grasping the rigging, -gesticulated with the other. His agitation was so great neither of us -could make out what he was saying. “Speak slowly,” cried Father Moylan, -when clear the response came across the water, “For the love of God, -father, come aboord; ye’re needed.” There was only one rowboat in -sight, and it belonged to Dr. Douglas. The oars were out of her and the -chain locked. “You’ll have to send a boat,” cried the father. There was -a long delay, ending in a boat putting off from the ship. He wanted me -to go with him, but I said I wished to find my uncle. - -With heavy heart and unsteady step I turned to the buildings where -the sick were. The nighest was the best. I looked in and to my joy -espied my cousin Bridget sitting alongside a bunk. She started and -gave a cry of fright when she saw me, for, she explained, she thought -I was in Quebec and I looked like a ghost. It was her father and her -sister Ellen who were in the bed. The latter had been landed sick of -the fever; uncle had been stricken by it the day after arrival. He did -not know me, and I feared the worst from the sound of his moaning. The -girl seemed to be doing well. “Comfortable they be,” said Bridget, -“this is the best place; the sheds are bad as the ship.” I told her -to go and take the air for a while, and sat down to watch in her -place. I was hardly seated when I distinguished a murmur of plaintive -cries from every part of the room, mostly--“Wather, if ye plaze.” I -bestirred myself, and when the poor souls found there was somebody to -help, requests increased, and I was kept going from bed to bed. When -Bridget returned I remarked that I saw none of our ship’s people in the -place. She said there was only room for her father and Ellen and the -others were in the sheds. It was growing dark when Father Malloy came -to the door and beckoned me out. He had such a distressed and wearied -look that I went with him without asking any questions. When we came -near the outhouse I had lodged in, I turned towards it. He gripped -my arm. “No, Gerald, not there; you’d lapse into your old mood.” He -took me to the priest’s house, and a shake-down was made for me in the -kitchen. I had a wakeful night and went out of doors before sunrise. -To my surprise I saw Father Malloy walking up and down in front of the -house, prayer-book in hand. When done he joined me. “Now, Gerald, we -have work to do; we must make an examination of everything, for no plan -can be laid until we know the actual state of affairs.” Re-entering -the house with him, he got a loaf and a jug of milk. “I am going to -tell you something you should never forget; when you have to go where -there are sick, do not go with an empty stomach. Fasting and infection -go together.” Having broken our fast, we started, the first thing to -be done, the father said, being to see what the island was like. The -morning was delightfully fresh and we walked briskly. We found the -island larger than we supposed, and having a good deal of land fit -for cultivation. Pausing at a field where a man was harrowing, the -father had a conversation with him in French. He told him the island -was about three miles long by one in width, and that Doctor Douglas -farmed a considerable part of it, keeping a number of cows. Standing -on its north bank a wide expanse of the St Lawrence lay at our feet, -the blue waters ruffled by a western breeze. Beyond rose a chain of -wooded hills, which swelled into a lofty peak, overhanging the river. -“That is called cape Tourmente,” said Father Malloy. “Is it not a -glorious scene! Who, looking upon it, would dream there is concentrated -within ten minutes’ walk the misery of a nation? Gerald, we must give -Ireland’s woe on this island a voice that will bring the help of -Christian people.” - -“I am afraid it will be hard to interest them. Everything is against -the poor emigrant, father. He is not looked upon as a human being. The -very sailors treat him as they would a steer given to carry from one -port to another.” - -“True, my boy, and you don’t know it all, for you have not lived in -this country yet. I’ve seen in New York men and women shrink from the -newly landed emigrant as an unclean thing, and at Quebec over there -the very bar-room loafers sniff their noses in disgust at him. Unless -they have money nobody makes them welcome; and if they have money -everybody tries to get it from them. I buried a woman who had been left -to die on the wharf at Quebec. The captain bundled her out, nobody -would touch her, let alone give her shelter, and the poor sick crathur -afore sundown found rest and is now where those who despised her will -have little chance of going.” - -I asked Father Malloy about his visit to the ship the day before. He -told me the man who shouted for him had a brother dying, who wanted the -church’s last rites. “It was my first visit to a fever-stricken ship,” -he went on to say, “and it was a revelation. I could not stand upright -in her hold, for it was not much over 5 feet high, and there was little -more elbow than head room. Every side was lined with berths and I saw -dead lying in them with the living. The stench made one gasp, and the -sight of the vermin crawling over dead and living made my flesh creep. -An Irish priest is used to the sights of disease and want, but the -emigrant-ship, fever-stricken, embodies every form of wretchedness and -multiplies them a ten-fold.” - -The quarantine-buildings are huddled together at the upper end of the -island and each we examined during the day. Except the one in which -uncle lay, they are flimsy affairs, a shelter from the heat of the -sun and no more, for the boards are shrunken and the roofs leaky. In -one the berths are in double tier, like those of a ship, the result -being the patient in the lower berth is made uncomfortable by the one -above, and he, in turn, from weakness, can neither get out nor into it -without help, which he seldom gets. Every place is crowded with sick, -even the two churches being occupied. The government had prepared for -200 sick; already there are nigh a thousand, and many more on the ships -who cannot be landed for want of room. Without regard to age or sex -they are huddled together in the sheds, and left to die or recover. The -attendance was hardly worth speaking of. At long intervals a man or -woman would come round with drink and food, but there was no pretence -at coming for their comfort. We were told by many nobody had been near -them for hours. We saw the dead lying next the living, for the bodies -are removed only night and morning, and in many cases there were two -and three in a berth. Over all this sad scene, from which hope had -fled, shone the virtues of patience and submission to the divine will. -No querulous word was heard, no grumbling; the stricken flock bowed -beneath the rod of affliction with pious resignation. Workmen were -busy building a new shed and there were tents lying round, but all the -preparations were wofully insufficient. Father Malloy agreed with me -that the lack of nurses was even worse than the lack of shelter, and -thought a supply might be had from the healthy emigrants. I thought -not; emigrants in health were too eager to escape after being bound to -scenes of horror on shipboard for a month and more. We labored to do -our best, and many a pail of water did the father carry from the river -to serve out in cupfuls in the sheds. - -The weather has been sorely against the sick, rain with high east -winds, adding to their discomfort. Nearly every day there is a fresh -arrival of a ship, and not one without sick on board. The wind had been -from the east the day before and on the morning of the 25th a whole -fleet was seen bearing up the river, of which a dozen had emigrants. At -Father Malloy’s request I spent a day with him going from ship to ship, -a boat having been lent him by a friendly captain. The passengers cried -with joy when they saw him and clustered round the holy man, whose -services in administering the last consolations of the church were -needed at every step. I spoke with the passengers while he was below, -and it was an unvarying tale of starvation on the voyage and cruel -usage. I found the passengers on ships that had been lying at anchor -over a week to be still starving, for the captains had not increased -the rations and Dr Douglas said he could not supply provisions from the -shore unless authorized by the Canadian government. One of the new -arrivals had 13 dead on board. The 40 ships now at anchor, have nigh -15,000 emigrants: of these I am sure one-third would not be passed as -healthy. Sailors are at work on shore erecting a sort of shelter with -spars and sails, where the ships will leave their healthy to perform -quarantine, while they go on to Quebec. - -June 3.--Father Malloy has left with the design of making -representations to the government about the condition of things here. -He intended, if his bishop consented, to go direct to Montreal, and -speak to the ministers themselves. The forwarding of emigrants passed -as healthy has begun. They are crowded on to the steamers until there -is barely room to move. The reason for this is, the passage money is a -dollar a-head and the more packed on board, the more profit. Truth to -tell, this class of emigrants are eager enough to leave, and get away -from this place. The meanness of the Canadian government in dealing -with them is shameful. Instead of allowing healthy passengers to go on -with the ship as at first, they are now landed. Being compelled to land -and stay here by the government’s orders, it would be reasonable to -expect the government would provide for them. It does not; all it has -done is to send an agent who offers to sell them provisions at cost. -Uncle’s recovery is hopeless; his strength has gone. - -5.--Poor uncle is dead. He was buried yesterday. Ellen keeps hovering -between life and death; she has youth on her side. Poor Bridget is worn -to a shadow, waiting on the sick. Being told a ship that came in this -forenoon was from Sligo, I watched a chance to get on board, expecting -to find some I knew among her passengers. I found her deck crowded with -emigrants, watching the sailors fish up from the hold with boat-hooks -the bodies of those who had died since entering the river. I soon -learned there was bad blood between the crew and passengers, all of -whom who could do so had left the steerage two days before and lived -on deck. The hold had grown so loathsome with the warm weather that it -became unbearable. The crew resented their living on deck. The captain -stood at the poop rail, and proved to be a civil man. He told me he -had done his best for the passengers on the voyage, but the charterers -had poorly provisioned the vessel and he could not therefore give them -the rations he wished. For the bad feeling between the sailors and -passengers he could not blame either. Staying on deck the emigrants -were in the sailors’ way, yet he could not order them back to the hold. -Three sailors had caught the fever during the week, which incensed -their comrades against the emigrants. He was to pay the sailors a -sovereign for each body brought up. I told him of Captain Christian of -the ship Sisters, who, the week before, when emigrants and sailors -refused for any money to go into the hold to bring up the dead, went -down himself and carried them to the deck on his shoulders. I hope he -may live to know that Irishmen are grateful, for he is now down with -the fever. I recognized none of the passengers, for they were from the -northwest end of Lord Palmerston’s estates. Their poverty was extreme. -They had no luggage and many had not rags enough to cover their -nakedness. So haggard and white were they, so vacant their expression, -that they looked more like an array of spectres, than of human beings. -Coming back, I had painful evidence of the brutal indifference of the -authorities in dealing with the sick. They continue to be brought from -the ships to the quay in rowboats, and the line of ships being now two -miles long, the journey is a long one, and often fatal in bad weather. -A small steamboat for transferring them would be a godsend, but the -government does not get one, does not even spend ten shillings to -replace the broken planks of the steps on the quay, although the want -of them causes many a feeble one to slip into the river. - -6.--Dr Douglas exemplifies how a man may be estimable as an individual -yet unequal for his duties as an official. He is so obliging and -gracious personally that it is unpleasant to find fault with him, yet -it is apparent he does not grasp the magnitude of the affliction he -has to deal with and is unable to devise means to meet it. All the -steps taken are ridiculous in their petty nature. I have been told -that it is not him but the Canadian government that is to blame, that -it will not allow him a free hand in meeting the emergency, does -not respond to his calls, and warns him to be careful in incurring -expenditure. Probably that is true, but the government is not -accountable for the foolish rules by which the island is governed. -There is now a large colony of supposed healthy emigrants confined to -the northwest corner of the island. When one falls sick, instead of -being taken to the fever-sheds, he is conveyed to the ship in which -he was a passenger, and from her is taken to the sheds. The delay and -the fatigue of the journey by land and water, if it does not kill the -patient makes his recovery more doubtful. Although the population of -the island has doubled in a few weeks, the boat with supplies from -Quebec continues to come once a week only. We may be starving, many -are starving this day, yet until the steamer comes there is no help. -The dead are being buried in trenches, three tier deep. Men and women -whose strong arms would add to Canada’s wealth are being held here by -its authorities to die of want when within sight of plenty. I look at -the row of farm-houses on the opposite bank of the river, on the little -town whose roofs I see, and knowing there is comfort and plenty over -there, marvel at the stupidity, the criminal disregard, that leaves us -without bread to eat or even straw to die upon. Steamers pass daily but -they are not allowed to stop at the island; my poor people are kept -prisoners to perish amid the rocks of this island. The Almighty will -surely have a day of reckoning with the rulers of Canada, for it is -Canada’s territory we are on and it is Canada’s quarantine in which we -lie bound. The sick are everywhere and are neglected. I found the body -of a man in a thicket where he had crawled like a scared beast to die -in peace. Bodies are taken from the tents daily where the healthy are -supposed to lodge. The sheds have become repugnant to every sense, and -the sick are worse off than on ship, for few have relatives to attend -them, and they lie for hours without being helped even to a drink of -water. The inmates of a tent told me nobody had been near them for two -days, and not one among them able to stand for a minute. Everything -is against us, for the weather is windy and wet. I go to spend the -night in the old shed. My brain is overburdened with the sorrows of my -people, and I would I were at rest with Aileen. - -10.--A steamer came in this morning to take away emigrants, and I am -sure over a thousand were packed on board. Her purser brought a package -of letters; one of them was for myself. - - - Montreal, June 8, 1847. - - My Dear Gerald,--I had it in mind to have written you several days - ago, but postponed taking pen in hand day after day in expectation - of being able to convey to you the intelligence that would cheer - your heart--that the government had decided on adopting a policy - of adequate relief. That, it grieves me to say, they have not - done, although I have exerted myself to arouse them to a sense - of their duty, but it is little a poor priest can do with our - public men. When I reached here I went first to see the premier. - After waiting my turn for an hour with a crowd of visitors, I was - admitted. He was civil, but is a dull man, and did not seem to - realize what I was telling him. He told me to go to the provincial - secretary, to whose department emigration belongs, and see him. I - left in no good humor, to do as Mr Sherwood bade me. Mr Daly was - not at his lodgings; he had gone to the back of the mountain to - dine. I have learned since, he is better at dining and wining than - attending to his duties. I had an interview with him next day. - You may not know that Mr Daly is of ourselves. He is a Galway man - himself and his lady is from Kilkenny. Appealing to an Irishman - and a Catholic I expected him to fall in with me--that all I had - to do, was to seize him of the actual facts of the situation at - Grosse isle and he would act with energy. That was what I expected - of him but all I got from him, Gerald, was soft words and - promises, and neither the one nor the other will feed the starving - or cure the sick. He told me to call next day, as he wanted time - to go over the reports. When I went, his servant man said he was - out, and I never found him in again for me. When the house opened, - I managed to get in, to hear what the governor would say about the - emigrants. The words put in his mouth about them made me angry. - The government pretended they had made ample preparation for the - expected influx and that everything was going on well. Beside him - stood two men smiling among a bevy of ladies who knew better, - for I had told them all. In the debate since then, when a member - on the opposition side referred to the rumors of the state of - matters at quarantine, Mr Daly begged the house not to give heed - to alarmist reports and to rest assured the government was doing - everything that was required, had appointed a commission of three - doctors to visit Grosse isle, and would act on their report. I - had little respect before for Canadian politicians, I have less - now. I was advised to wait on the new minister, John A. Macdonald, - the youngest member of the government. I told my friend that if - Mr Daly would not do the decent thing by his countrymen, I was - not going to ask the member for the Orange city of Kingston, who, - like all the others of them, is engrossed in intrigues to keep his - party in office. The talk of the city is whether the ministry - will stand, for its majority is only one or two, and there is a - good deal of excitement about it. More attention is being paid to - the ribaldry of The Pilot than anything else. This will not be for - long. The evil has come to the door of this city. The forwarding - by wholesale of all emigrants able to move, has brought the fever. - The emigration sheds are at Windmill point, an inconvenient place, - for there is not water enough to permit the steamers to come up - to the wharf, and the emigrants have to be landed by scows, which - is sore on the sick. I am not going to say that the journey from - Grosse isle to here is as bad as the voyage across the Atlantic, - but it has a few features worse than it. The steamers come in - with emigrants packed on their lower deck like herrings in a - fish-box. The steamers are chartered by the government from their - supporters, and a few of them are old, worn-out tubs, that take - two days to a trip that ought to be made inside 20 hours. Without - food or cover, blistered by the sun in the day and chilled by the - river breezes at night, the poor creatures are landed here more - dead than alive. Many who went aboard feeling well, are carried - off in a dying state. My curse and the curse of every Irishman be - on the government that allows the helplessness of our countrymen - to be traded upon to make money for their followers. If their - transportation was left open to all ship-owners, the emigrants - would be brought here in large and speedy steamers, and a limit - could be put to the number they carry. Once landed, the emigrants - are decently treated. I am thankful to be able to say that. It - is the city and not the government that manages. For sick and - well there is plenty of wholesome food, and no lack of doctors - or nurses. The food, to be sure, is coarse and the cooking not - good, but you know the saying, The poor drink wather and the rich - sip tay. After Grosse isle it is fine. What I have seen here has - shown me the necessity of moving the quarantine to the flats below - Quebec. If the sick were moved from Grosse isle to near the city - they would get all the supplies and service needed. I expect to - return to Quebec in a day or so, and before leaving here hope - to get the bishop to wait on the premier, to ask that the new - fever sheds be placed on the outskirts of Quebec. I hear from the - emigrants as they arrive of you, and as they speak they bless you. - I hope to see you soon. - - YOUR OLD PRECEPTOR. - - -12.--A ship that came in from Sligo has many of my old neighbors. They -say after we left, the agents gave out that all who refused to emigrate -would have the relief taken from them, which was all they had to keep -life in them until next crop. The more that went, the more eager were -those left behind to go. At the rate they are coming, Lord Palmerston -will have his land clear of people by Michaelmas, and be able to lease -it to Scotch cow-feeders. Most of the emigrants come expecting free -land from the Canadian government and a pound a-head from the agents -of their landlords at Quebec. Oh, the deceivers, to cheat these poor -people with lies! - -16.--Bridget is down with the fever, just when Ellen was recovering and -likely to be able soon to leave with her sister for uncle’s farm in -Huntingdon. It seems as if exposure, if long enough continued, is sure -to induce the disease. Doctor Douglas says few can withstand breathing -the air of the sheds for a fortnight without being laid down. I expect -my turn will come yet. A company of soldiers has arrived to act as a -guard over the camp of what is called the healthy emigrants to keep -them from going near the fever sheds. It is of a piece with everything -else. The fever is in the camp as well as in the sheds. Had they sent a -few hundred boards from Quebec to floor the tents, it would have been -more sensible than to supply a guard. The weather is still wet, and the -ground under the tents is soaking, yet the people have nowhere else to -lie. I was telling the head of the Church of England clergymen, Doctor -Mountain, of what my friend had said about quarantine being moved -near the city. He agreed it ought to be done, although the people of -Quebec would resist. The cellar of the marine hospital having become -full to overflowing with emigrants, workmen came three days ago to -erect sheds on the hospital grounds. The people of St Rochs assembled, -scattered the lumber, and drove away the workmen. Lamenting the lack of -nurses, he told me it was partly due to the government’s not offering -sufficient wages. Placards on the Quebec streets asking for nurses at -60 cents a day met with no response. Doctors were offered only $3.50 a -day. A dollar a day for nurses and $5 for doctors would get a supply, -but the authorities would not consent. I can believe anything of them. -They will not send us a supply of straw, even, and many of the sick are -lying without anything below them. - -18.--I was witness today of an incident I want to preserve some note -of. I was attending to an old neighbor, Mr Monaghan, who came in the -ship from Sligo six days ago. He is mending, though still poorly. While -bending over him, he gave a start, and turning I saw they were carrying -in a new patient. They placed him in an adjoining bed. Wasted and -sallow as he was, I recognized in him a man I had seen from boyhood, -but had never spoken to. He had a farm in our townland and was a bitter -Orangeman. With Monaghan he had a feud, which they tried to fight out -on many a market day. Stanhope had led a party that beat his oldest son -and four other boys nigh to death one St John’s eve, and had heaped -insult on him and his times without count. I will not say Monaghan did -not pay him back. If he did not, somebody else did, for he had his -stackyard twice burned and one fine morning found four of his cows -houghed. How would these mortal enemies meet now, far from their native -land and laid side by side in deathly sickness? Stanhope was overcome -with the fatigue of bringing him from the ship, and lay exhausted with -his eyes shut. I held up his head to give him some cordial, and then -he sank back and fell asleep. I kept my eye on him as I went about the -shed, watching his waking. On Dr Mountain’s coming in, I told him of -the new Protestant patient and of the circumstances I have here set -down. We went to where the couple lay and were looking at them when -Stanhope awoke. He gazed helplessly around until his eyes met those of -Monaghan, which had been fixed on him from the time he came in. The -glitter of the old fire sprung up in Stanhope’s eyes and a flush passed -over his white face. Neither said a word for quite a while. During the -pause the defiant look faded from Stanhope’s face, and I could see -recollection of old neighborhood and a sense of community of suffering -filled his bosom. The stern, hard features relaxed and a bony hand was -thrust across. - -“Is that yersilf, Monaghan; will ye shak hans wid me?” - -“Glad an proud to do that same, and let bygones be bygones, Mr -Stanhope.” - -There was a moistness in Dr Mountain’s eyes as he said, “Love is the -fulfilling of the law. May the Good Shepherd, who has sheep in every -flock, bless you both, and in His own time gather you into His heavenly -fold.” - -“Amen,” I said with all my heart. “Dr Mountain, I have learned -something in this island of horrors--that goodness is not bounded by -creed, for I have seen you and your clergy nurse the sick and feed the -hungry day after day although not one in a score of them are of your -church. The thanks that have been in my heart for your kindness to my -countrymen I am not ashamed now to speak.” - -He clasped my hand. “My dear Mr Keegan, say not another word; when a -man comes to die the most painful reflection he can have is, that he -did not embrace every opportunity he had during his lifetime of doing -good. You and I have simply done our duty, and, after all, have to -confess we are unprofitable servants of the one God whom we worship -at different altars.” Having said this he turned away to resume his -visitation of the sick elsewhere. - -26.--The weather has been steaming hot for a week, with heavy showers, -and fog at night, making our situation worse and spreading infection. -There is a stench both in and out of doors. Ships continue to come -in and the number of sick to grow; a doctor told me there are over -2000. The nurses, both men and women, that come from Quebec, are a -bad lot. They neglect their duties, smuggle in drink to those of the -sick who can pay for it, and rob the dying. On this lone island, where -everything else is so scarce, whisky can be got by whoever wants it. -The greed of gain overcomes the fear of infection, and it is smuggled -in by small boats from Quebec. Last night there was an uproar in the -camp of the healthy, caused by drunkenness. The military guard is a -hurt to the emigrants. Like soldiers everywhere, they have neither -morals nor decency. Bridget grows worse and poor Ellen is making a bad -recovery, for she exhausts her strength by trying to nurse her sister. -Monaghan and Stanhope talk by the hour, and their converse has put new -heart in them. Hope is better than medicine. Indeed, I have seen scores -die from despondency or indifference to life, who, to all appearance, -ought to have recovered. The two old enemies are the most cordial of -friends and will soon be able to leave. They have agreed to go with -the survivors of their families to the London district and take up -land together. Both are industrious and steady and having buried their -senseless hatred will be of mutual help to one another. Both have money -enough to start them. - -24.--Father Moylan has got back for a few days. There is need for more -like him, but Irish priests are few in this part of Canada, and our -people want them alone. The ships now arriving report larger mortality -than those that came in May. This is due to the heat. The condition of -the holds of the ships that come in is unspeakably revolting. Several -buried over a hundred in the ocean, equal to a fifth of the number of -their passengers. - -July 2.--Father Moylan wanted me to go to Montreal as a witness before -a committee of enquiry appointed by the legislature. I have no heart -to leave here, and I told him if they would not believe him they would -not believe me. There is no improvement in caring for the sick; the -callousness of the Canadian government to the sufferings of God’s poor -on this island I cannot understand. The weather is now settled, and -beyond the sun being scorchingly hot at midday is as fine as could be -wished. - -9th.--This evening I took a walk to the far side of the island and -enjoyed the solitude and the peace of nature. Sitting on the beach, I -watched the sun sink behind the hills. I have a feeling that my own -sun will soon disappear, for I am sad and disheartened beyond all my -experience. Dr Fenwick told me the other day I should leave; that -I needed a change. I cannot, indeed I will not, for I cherish the -secret wish to die where my Aileen left me. A ship has arrived with -31 dead on board; she lost over a fourth of those who embarked on -her at Liverpool. Another out of 470 emigrants, dropped 150 into the -Atlantic. Sure, tragedies like these ought to direct the eyes of the -civilized world to what is happening. My heart is broken at the sight -of thousands of my own dear people, men, women, and little children, -dying for lack of a crust on Canada’s shore. - -14.--I think the end has come. Tonight my head throbs and my bones are -sore. Bridget, after hovering a long while between life and death, -sank to rest this morning, and is buried. Ellen leaves by tomorrow’s -steamer, and will be in Huntingdon in a few days. I gave her a message -to uncle. My life has been a failure. May God have pity on me and on -my poor people. Oh, that Aileen were here; that I felt her hand on my -racked forehead. - - -THE END. - - - - -NOTE TO THE SUMMER OF SORROW. - - -The immigration to Canada in 1847 was the largest on record. During -the season of navigation vessels hearing 90,000 arrived in the St -Lawrence. Of these 20,000 were English, Scotch, and Germans, and on -the vessels that carried them there was no unusual sickness, so that, -in considering the calamity of 1847, they are to be set aside, and the -remaining seventy thousand alone to be dealt with. They were mainly -Irish Roman Catholics, and it was among them that disease and death -reigned. Fifty thousand of them sailed from ports in Ireland; twenty -thousand came by way of Liverpool. 129 ships were required to carry -them. On every vessel fever and dysentery broke out; the emigrants who -sailed from Liverpool faring worst. In crossing the Atlantic these 129 -vessels dropped 4092 of their passengers into the deep; while anchored -off Grosse isle 1190 died on board; out of those they sent ashore upon -the island 3389 perished. A monument in its cemetery records that there -was buried, in less than six months, 5424 persons “who, flying from -pestilence and famine in Ireland, found in America but a grave.” That, -however, is only a portion of the mortality. Streaming past Grosse -isle, after a detention that was harmful to them and of no benefit -in protecting the Canadian community against disease, the advancing -army of immigrants swept westward, and wherever it bivouaced, left -a cluster of graves. At Quebec city 712 died, at Montreal 6330, at -Lachine 130, at Cornwall 52, at Kingston 1900, at Toronto 863. Only -where the authorities prepared places of shelter, was any record kept -of the deaths, and these places closed in October. Of the mortality -during the winter no count was kept nor of the hundreds who died -by twos or threes along the routes of travel or in remote country -districts, to which the sorely smitten people penetrated in the hope -of relief. The official record gives the total at 17,000; actually, -about 20,000 died. Adding those who died on shipboard, the number -rises to 24,000. That is, out of every fourteen who left Ireland, five -died--a rate of mortality without parallel in modern times. For this -appalling destruction of human life, the Irish landlords were primarily -responsible in compelling or inducing their tenants to leave Ireland -without making adequate provision for their sustenance. For their -treatment on shipboard, the owners, or charterers of the vessels, and -the officers in command are accountable. It is humiliating to state -that no effort was made by the officials at Quebec to punish the -captains and mates of vessels who had maltreated passengers. It was -notorious that the poor emigrant had been robbed in measuring out his -scanty allowance of biscuit, meal, and water, and that the quality -was detestable, yet there is only one case on record of a captain -being brought to account. The master of the Birnam was charged with -cheating in the allowance of water. By confessing judgment and paying -a paltry fine, he avoided trial and went free! No class of men more -abuse the power their position gives them than the officers of ships. -The emigrant has always been badly treated; is to this day shamefully -used. Steam has shortened the voyage and made it more bearable, while -government requirements as to space and accommodation are more liberal, -but there are steamships which come to Quebec whose passengers tell -of their voyage being an ordeal of starvation and neglect--of petty -tyranny on the part of hectoring ship-officers, of food being thrown -before them of such execrable quality and so badly cooked as to turn -the stoutest stomach. Desirous of hurrying to their destination and -knowing their inability to contend with powerful companies, the -grievances of the poverty-stricken and friendless immigrant are -unrecorded in our courts. - -For the tragedy enacted at Grosse isle in 1847, and its sad scenes -re-enacted in every town and city west of it, from Quebec to Sandwich, -the Canadian government is accountable, and the responsibility for the -death of the twenty thousand laid in premature graves lies at the door -of Sherwood and his ministers. The letters and reports of Dr Douglas -show they were fully acquainted with the awful state of affairs at -Grosse isle from the landing of the first sick emigrants, yet took -no adequate steps in response. There never was a calamity that could -have been more easily averted; there never was waste of life that -could have been more easily prevented. The British government did its -part. Communication was slow then, and it was past the middle of June -before accounts of the dreadful state of matters at Grosse isle reached -Britain. On the 18th, the Imperial government sent a despatch asking -the Canadian authorities to take vigorous action to relieve it and -promising to pay the cost. On receipt of this despatch, the Canadian -government became lavish enough, and the following year presented a -bill for some $700,000, which the Imperial authorities paid without -enquiry. Where that money went, it is useless now to enquire; assuredly -little of it went to feed the famishing immigrant. The efficiency -of the action of the government can be judged by one fact--it was -not until the end of August it had provided sufficient sheds for the -sick at Grosse isle to permit of the sexes being separated. While -no Canadian can look back upon 1847 without a feeling of shame for -the conduct of our public men, they entertain an honest pride in the -devotion of the clergy and physicians. Thus, out of 42 Roman Catholic -priests who volunteered to visit Grosse isle 19 caught the fever, and -4 died. Out of the 16 Episcopal clergymen who responded to the call of -Bishop Mountain, 7 took ill and 2 died. Of the 26 doctors, 22 fell ill -and 4 died. The same devotion was shown elsewhere, doctors, nurses, and -ministers, in the hope of doing good to the sick and dying, walking -into danger. One clergyman associated with this district, Rev Wm. -Dawes, died from the fever at St Johns. The mayor of Montreal, J. T. -Mills, after doing invaluable work in providing for the sick, caught -the contagion and died. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLEANER TALES *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Gleaner Tales</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Robert Sellar</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 27, 2021 [eBook #66150]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Sonya Schermann, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLEANER TALES ***</div> - -<div class="mynote"><p class="center">Transcriber’s Note:<br /><br /> -Obvious typographic errors have been corrected.<br /></p></div> - -<hr /> - -<div class="center"><img src="images/front.jpg" alt="title page" /></div> - -<hr /> - -<h1>GLEANER TALES</h1> - -<p class="bold space-above">BY</p> - -<p class="bold2">ROBERT SELLAR</p> - -<p class="bold space-above">HUNTINGDON, Q.<br />1895</p> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center">Entered according to act of parliament of Canada, in<br /> -the year 1895, by Robert Sellar, at the<br />Department of Agriculture.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p>A glance at the map shows the south-western extremity of the province -of Quebec to be a wedge shaped bit of territory; the St. Lawrence on -one side, the United States on the other. All that is related in the -following pages is associated with this corner of Canada. The name of -the book comes from the newspaper in which most of the tales first -appeared. There is a purpose in the book. It attempts to convey in -a readable form an idea of an era in the life of Canada which has -passed—that of its first settlement by emigrants from the British -isles—and to give an account of two striking episodes in its history, -the invasion under Hampton and the year of the ship fever. These are -historically correct; the briefer tales are based on actual incidents -in the lives of early settlers in the old county of Huntingdon.</p> - -<hr /> - -<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> - -<table summary="CONTENTS"> - <tr> - <td></td> - <td><span class="smcap">Page</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Hemlock</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Archange and Marie</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Settler’s First Grist</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_225">225</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Abner’s Device</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_236">236</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">A Settler’s Story</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_254">254</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Jeanie Morison</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_290">290</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Lost</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_318">318</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">An Incident of Huntingdon Fair</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_324">324</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">The Summer of Sorrow</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_341">341</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="left"><span class="smcap">Note</span></td> - <td><a href="#Page_459">459</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - -<h2>HEMLOCK.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> - -<p>The rain of the forenoon had been followed by an outburst of heat and -the sunshine beat with fierce intensity on the narrow square that -formed the yard of the barracks at Montreal. There was a milkiness in -the atmosphere which, conjoined with the low bank of black cloud that -hung over the St Lawrence where it rolled out of sight, indicated a -renewal of the downpour. The yard was deserted. Dinner was over and -the men lounged and snoozed indoors until the sun abated his fervor, -always excepting the sentry, who stood in the shade of the gateway, -his gaze alternately wandering from the refreshing motion of the blue -waters of St Mary’s current to the cluster of log houses, interspersed -by stone edifices with high tin roofs, which formed the Montreal of -1813. Presently the sound of hoofs was heard, and there came galloping -to the gate an orderly from the general’s headquarters. Passing the -sentry, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> pulled up at the door of that portion of the barracks where -the officer of the day was quartered, and who, in another minute, was -reading the despatch he had brought. It was an order for a detachment -of 20 men to report without delay at headquarters. Instantly the voice -of a sergeant was heard shouting the order to those who had to turn -out and the barracks became a bustling scene of soldiers rubbing their -accoutrements and packing their kits. In half an hour they had fallen -into rank and marched to the general’s residence. The lieutenant in -charge went in to report and found General de Watteville writing.</p> - -<p>“You ready for the route? Ah, yes; very good, Morton. I will write you -one order. You will escort an ammunition-train to camp La Fourche and -there go under command of Major Stovin.”</p> - -<p>“I hope, General, there is a prospect of our helping to use the -cartridges when we get there?”</p> - -<p>“I cannot say. Yankee very cautious; put his nose one, two, three time -across the frontier and then run back, like rat to his hole. Maybe -Hampton come; we must be ready. Here is your order. You will find the -train at King’s Posts and use all expedition.”</p> - -<p>Saluting the General, Morton withdrew and, rejoining his men, they -marched down the narrow and crooked maze of St Paul street, attracting -little attention, for the sight of soldiers had become familiar even to -the habitant wives, who were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> jogging homeward in their market-carts. -By the time the town was cleared, and the Lachine road gained, the sun -was inclining to the west, and his rays being more endurable, the men -stepped out briskly, bandying coarse jests, while the officer, some -paces behind, eyed with surprised delight the foaming rapids, which -he now saw for the first time. The afternoon was calm, which made the -spectacle of a wide expanse of water tossed into huge billows without -apparent cause, all the more singular. “Why,” said Morton inwardly, -“all the rivers of the United Kingdom, with their falls and cataracts, -if added to this vast river, would not perceptibly add either to its -volume or its tumult.”</p> - -<p>At the head of the rapids, where the St Lawrence expands into the lake -named St Louis, stood the King’s Posts, an extensive collection of -buildings, with wharves in front, at which were moored a large number -of boats. King’s Posts was the depot of supplies for the country -west of Montreal, and therefore a place of bustle in time of war, -boats stemming the rapids and long trains of carts conveying to its -storehouses daily the supplies brought by shipping from England to -Montreal, to be in turn sent off as required to the numerous garrisons -along the upper St Lawrence and lakes Ontario and Erie, while the -troops, then being hurried to the front, here embarked. Reporting -his command, Morton was informed the boat with the supplies he was -to guard would not be ready to sail until<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> late in the evening, and -quarters were assigned his men and to himself an invitation to join -the mess-dinner. Thus relieved, he strolled to the water’s edge, and -watched the shouting boatmen and the swearing soldiers as they loaded -the flotilla that was in preparation, and was fortunate enough to see -a bateau arrive from Montreal, poled up against the current by part of -its crew while the others tugged at a tow-rope, reinforced by a yoke of -oxen. Then he watched the sun, which, as it neared the horizon, dyed -the waters of the majestic river with many hues. Slowly it neared the -thick battalion of pines behind which it would disappear, and as Morton -noted the broad crimson pathway that it seemed to stretch across the -placid lake as a temptation to follow it into its chamber of glory, he -thought he never beheld anything more imposing. Slowly the throbbing -orb descended and was lost to sight, and, as if evoked by angel-spell, -cloudlets became revealed and were transformed into plumage of scarlet -and gold. The train of Morton’s reverie was snapped by the tread of -troops behind him. Turning he saw a file of soldiers with a manacled -man between them. When they reached the head of the wharf, the order -to halt was given. Morton knew what it meant. The tall thin man in his -shirt-sleeves was a spy and he was going to be shot. It was supper-time -and boats and wharfs were for the time no longer the scene of activity, -but the grimy bateau-men paused<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> in their cookery, to watch the tragedy -about to be enacted. Two soldiers lifted from their shoulders the -rough box that was to be his coffin, and the doomed man stood beside -it. Behind him was the St Lawrence, a lake of molten glass; in front -the line of soldiers who were to shoot him. There was no hurry or -confusion; everything being done in a calm and business-like manner. -The prisoner stood undauntedly before his executioners; a man with a -sinister countenance, in which low cunning was mixed with imperturbable -self-possession. He waved the bugler away when he approached to tie a -handkerchief over his eyes. “Guess I want ter hev the use o’ my eyes as -long as I ken; but say, kurnel, moughtn’t you loose my arms. It’s the -last wish of a dyin man.” The officer gave a sign with his hand, and -the rope was untied. “Prisoner, are you ready?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, kurnel.”</p> - -<p>Turning to the firing party, the officer gave the successive -orders—make ready,—present,—fire! Hardly had the last word been -uttered, than the prisoner, with surprising agility, gave a backward -leap into the river, and the volley swept over where he stood, the -bullets ricochetting on the surface of the river behind. “The Yankee -scoundrel! Has he escaped? Ten pounds for him alive or dead!” shouted -the officer. There was a rush to the edge of the wharf, and the -soldiers fired at random amid its posts, but the American was not to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> -be seen. “It is impossible for him to escape,” the captain said to -Morton, who had come to aid in the search. “He would have been hung had -we had a gallows handy, and if he has escaped the bullet it is only to -be drowned, for the river runs here like a mill-race and will carry him -into the rapids.” The soldiers jumped on the boats and scanned wharf -and shore, and seeing no trace came to the conclusion that from his -backward leap he had been unable to recover himself and did not rise to -the surface. Satisfied the man was drowned, the soldiers were ordered -back to the guard-room and the stir and hurry in getting the flotilla -ready were resumed.</p> - -<p>Soon afterwards Morton was seated at the mess-table, which was crowded, -for there were detachments of two regiments on their way from Quebec, -where they had landed the week before, to Upper Canada. The company -was a jovial one, composed of veteran campaigners who had learned to -make the most of life’s pleasures when they could be snatched, and -joke and story kept the table in a roar for a couple of hours, when -the colonel’s servant whispered something in his ear. “Comrades,” he -said, rising, “I am informed the boats are ready. The best of friends -must part when duty calls, and the hour we have spent this evening -is a pleasant oasis in our long and toilsome journey through this -wilderness. We do not know what difficulties we may have to encounter, -but we who braved the sun<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> of India and stormed the Pyrenees will not -falter before the obstacles Canadian flood and forest may present, and -will carry the flag of our country to victory, as we have so often -done under our glorious chief, Wellington. We come to cross swords -not for conquest but to repel those invaders, who, professing to be -the champions of liberty, seek to bolster the falling cause of the -tyrant of Europe by endeavoring to create a diversion in his favor -on this western continent. We shall drive the boasters back, or else -will leave our bones to be bleached by Canadian snows; and we shall do -more, we shall vindicate the independence of this vast country against -the ingrates who smite, in the hour of trial, the mother that reared -them, and shall preserve Canada to be the home of untold millions -who will perpetuate on the banks of these great rivers and lakes the -institutions and customs that have made the name of Britain renowned. -Comrades, let us quit ourselves in this novel field of conflict as -befits our colors, and I propose, as our parting toast, Success to the -defenders of Canada, and confusion to the King’s enemies.”</p> - -<p>With clank of sword and sabre each officer sprang to his feet and the -toast was drank with shout and outstretched arm. Amid the outburst of -enthusiasm, a broad-shouldered captain started the chorus,</p> - -<div class="center"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<div>“Why, soldiers, why, should we be melancholy, boys?</div> -<div>Why, soldiers, why, whose business ’tis to die?”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>It was taken up with vigor until the roar was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>deafening, and then -the colonel gave the signal to dismiss. From the heated room, Morton -stepped out and drew his breath at the spectacle presented. The moon, -full orbed, hung over the woods of La-prairie and poured a flood of -light upon the rapids beneath, transforming them where shallow into -long lanes of glittering network and where the huge billows tossed -in endless tumult, sable and silver alternated. Above, the waters -slumbered in the soft light, unconscious of the ordeal towards which -they were drifting and scarcely ruffled by the light east breeze that -had sprung up. Directly in front were the boats, loaded, and each -having its complement of soldiers. The officers took their places -among them and they cast off, until over a hundred were engaged in -stemming the rapid current with aid of sail and oar. After passing -between Caughnawaga and Lachine, indicated by their glancing spires, -the leading boats awaited on the bosom of the lake for those that had -still to overcome the river’s drift. When the last laggard had arrived, -the flotilla was marshalled by the naval officers who had control into -three columns, some sixty yards apart, and, the oars being shipped, and -sails hoisted, moved majestically for the head of the lake. Surely, -thought Morton, as he eyed the imposing scene, the far-searching lake -embosomed by nodding forest, “This country is worth fighting for.”</p> - -<p>The air was balmy, the motion of the boats pleasant, the moonlight -scene inspiring, so that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> men forgot their fatigues, and burst -into song, and chorus after chorus, joined in by the entire flotilla, -broke the silence. A piper, on his way to join his regiment, broke in -at intervals and the colonel ordered the fife and drum corps to strike -up. The boat in which Morton sat brought up the rear, and softened by -distance and that inexpressible quality which a calm stretch of water -gives to music, he thought he had never heard anything finer, and he -could not decide whether the singing of the men, the weird strains -of the pibroch, or the martial music of the fifes and drums was to -be preferred. About an hour had been spent thus, when the captain -of the boat shouted to shift the sail, and putting up the helm, the -little barque fell out of line and headed for an eminence on the south -shore, so sharp and smooth in outline, that Morton took it to be a -fortification. When their leaving was noted, the men in the long lines -of boats struck up Auld Lang Syne, the fifes and drums accompanying, -and when they had done, the piper succeeded. Morton listened to the -strain as it came faintly from the fast receding flotilla, it was that -of Lochaber no More.</p> - -<p>As the shore was neared the boat was brought closer to the wind, and -lying over somewhat deeply, the helmsman told those on the lee side -to change seats. In the movement a man rubbed against Morton, and he -felt that his clothes were wet. Looking sharply at him, he saw he was -one of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> boat’s crew, when his resemblance to the spy he had seen -escape the bullets of the firing-party struck him. The more he looked -the more convinced he grew that he was correct, and, improbable as -it seemed, within an arm’s length, almost, sat the man he saw plunge -into the river and whom he, with everybody else, believed to have been -swept into the deadly rapids. With all a soldier’s detestation of a -spy, he resolved he should not escape, yet to attempt to seize him -in the boat would be to imperil all in it, for that the fellow would -make a desperate struggle Morton knew. Prudently resolving to make no -move until the boat neared its moorings, he slipped his hand into his -breast-pocket and grasped the stock of one of his pistols.</p> - -<p>As the boat approached the shore the sharply-cut eminence, which -Morton had taken to be a fortification, resolved itself into a grassy -knoll, destitute of glacis or rampart, and round the eastern extremity -of which they glided into a smooth narrow channel, whose margin was -fretted by the shadows cast by the trees which leant over from its -banks. The sail now flapped uselessly and the order was given to get -out the oars. The suspected spy rose with the other boatmen to get them -into place and stood on a cross-bench as he lifted a heavy oar to its -lock. It was a mere pretence. In a moment his foot was on the gunwale -and he made a sudden spring towards the bank.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> There was the sound of -a plunge, of a few brief strokes by a strong swimmer, a movement among -the bushes, and then silence. Morton was intensely excited, he drew his -pistol, rose and cocking it fired at random. Turning to the captain -of the boat he shouted in fury, “You villain; you have assisted in -the escape of a King’s prisoner.” With stolid countenance the captain -shifted the helm to suit the windings of the channel, and answered, -“Me no spik Ingleese.” Feeling he was powerless, Morton resumed his -seat and in a minute or two a cluster of white-washed huts came in view -and the boat drew alongside a landing-stage in front of them. Several -soldiers were standing on it awaiting them, and on asking where he -would find the commissariat officer, Morton was directed to one of the -houses, in front of which paced a sentry. Entering he perceived it -consisted of two rooms, divided by a board-partition. In the larger end -was a woman, surrounded by several children, cooking at an open-fire, -and in the other, the door and windows of which were open, for the -evening was sultry, were four officers in dishabille, seated round a -rickety table playing cards, and with a pewter-measure in the middle -of it. One of them rose on seeing the stranger, while the others -turned carelessly to examine him. Assuring himself he was addressing -the officer of the commissariat, Morton explained his business. “Oh, -that’s all right; the powder-kegs must remain in the boat and in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> the -morning I will get carts to forward them to the front. There’s an -empty box, Lieutenant Morton; pull it up and join us,” and hospitably -handed him the pewter-measure. It contained strong rum grog, of which -a mouthful sufficed Morton. Not so the others, who, in listening to -what he had to tell of the news of Montreal and of the movements of -the troops, emptied it, and shouted to the woman to refill it, and, at -the same time, she brought in the supper, consisting of fried fish and -potatoes. That disposed of, the cards were reproduced and the four were -evidently bent on making a night of it. On returning from seeing how -his men were quartered, Morton found that the grog and the excitement -of the card-playing were telling on his companions, who were noisy and -quarrelsome. Asking where he should sleep, the woman pointed to the -ladder that reached to a trap in the roof, and he quietly ascended. -It was merely a loft, with a small window in either gable and a few -buffalo robes and blankets laid on its loose flooring. The place was -so stiflingly hot that Morton knew sleep was out of the question even -if there had been no noise beneath, and he seated himself by the side -of one of the windows through which the wind came in puffs. The sky -was now partially clouded and the growl of distant thunder was heard. -Fatigue told on the young soldier and he dozed as he sat. A crash -of thunder awoke him. Startled he rose and was astonished to find -himself in utter <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>darkness, save for the rays that came through the -chinks of the flooring from the candle beneath, where the officers -were still carousing. He leant out of the window and saw that the -moon had been blotted out by thick clouds. While gazing there was a -flash of lightning, revealing to him a man crouched beside the window -below. In the brief instant of intense light, Morton recognized the -spy, and guessed he was listening to the officers, hoping to pick -up information, in their drunken talk, of use to his employers. “He -cheated the provost-marshal, he cheated me, but he shall not escape -again,” muttered Morton, who drew his pistols, got them ready, and, -grasping one in each hand, leant out of the window to await the next -flash that he might take aim. It came and instantly Morton fired. The -unsuspecting spy yelled, jumped to his feet, and rushed to the cover -of the woods. Then all was darkness. A crash of thunder, the sweep of -the coming hurricane and the pelting of rain, increased the futility -of attempting to follow. “I hope I’ve done for him,” said Morton to -himself, “and that like a stricken fox he will die in cover.”</p> - -<p>The pistol-shots together with the crash of the elements had put a stop -to the carousal downstairs and Morton heard them disputing as to who -should go up and see what had happened. “I will not go,” said one with -the deliberation of a stupidly drunk man. “I am an officer of the Royal -Engineers and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> have nothing to do with personal encounters. If you want -a line of circumvallation laid down, or the plan of a mine, I am ready, -but my commission says nothing about fighting with swords or pistols. I -know my office and how to maintain its dignity.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Hughes, and the integrity of your skin. I’d go myself (here he -rose and tried to steady himself by holding on to the table) but I’ll -be jiggered if I can go up such a stair-case as that. It would take a -son of a sea-cook,” and with these words, losing his grip, the speaker -toppled over and fell on the floor. The third officer, a mere lad, -was asleep in his chair in a drunken stupor. The commissariat officer -staggered to the foot of the ladder, and, after vainly attempting to -ascend, shouted, “I say you there; what’s all the shooting for? Are -you such a greenhorn as to be firing at mosquitoes or a bullfrog. By -George, when in company of gentlemen you should behave yourself. I will -report you to your shuperior officer,” and so he maundered on for a -while, receiving no answer from Morton. Finally the woman of the house -helped him to a corner, where he lay down and snored away the fumes of -the liquor that had overcome him. Meanwhile the storm raged, and when -it had passed away, and the moon again calmly came forth, and the frogs -again raised their chorus, Morton was too sleepy to think of going to -look for the body of the spy, and making as comfortable a bed as he -could, he lay down and rested until late next morning. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> - -<p>On descending from his sleeping place, Morton found the woman preparing -breakfast, and, looking into the adjoining room, saw that three of -its inmates were still sleeping surrounded by the litter of their -night’s carousal. Stepping out of doors, he was surprised by the beauty -of the sylvan scene. The air had the freshness and the sky the deep -tender-blue that follows a thunder-storm, and the sunshine glittered -on the smooth surface of the river that, in all its windings, was -overhung by towering trees, except where small openings had been made -by the settlers, from which peeped their white shanties. The eminence -which had excited his curiosity the night before, he perceived to be -an island, with a largish house at its base, flanked by a wind-mill. -At the landing, was the bateau, with a group of men. Approaching them, -he found the captain, whose bloodshot eyes alone indicated his excess -of the preceding night. “Ah, Morton,” he exclaimed, “you were the only -wise man among us; you have your wits about you this morning. For me, -I had a few hours’ pleasure I now loathe<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> to think of and a racking -headache. Come, let us have a swim and then go to breakfast.”</p> - -<p>Following him to the nook he sought, Morton told of his shot at the -spy. The captain listened attentively to the story. “I hope you winged -him,” he said, “but he will escape. The settlers, except a few Old -Countrymen, are all in sympathy with the Yankees, and will shelter and -help him to get away. We cannot make a move that word is not sent to -the enemy. I will warn the Indians to look out for him. Had it not been -for the rain, they could trace him to his lair.”</p> - -<p>On returning to the house, they found their comrades trying to make -themselves presentable and sat down to a breakfast of fried pork and -sour bread, to which Morton did ample justice. The commissariat officer -told him he could not start for some time, as carts were few and the -rain would have filled the holes in the track called a road. He could -have forwarded him more quickly by canoes, but there was a risk of -wetting the powder at the rapids. It was noon before sufficient carts -arrived to enable Morton to start, when a laborious journey ensued, -the soldiers being called on constantly to help the undaunted ponies -to drag the cart-wheels out of the holes in which they got mired. When -they had gone a few miles the carts halted and the kegs were placed -in boats, which conveyed them to their destination. Camp La Fourche -was found to consist of a few temporary buildings, or rather<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> sheds, -which, with the barns and shanties of the settlers near by, housed a -few hundred men, of whom few were regulars. Morton’s orders were to -remain and time passed heavily, the only excitement being when a scout -came in with reports of the movements of the American army on the -frontier, which were generally exaggerated. The camp had been purposely -placed at the forks of the English and Chateaugay rivers, to afford -a base of operations against the invader, should he approach either -by way of the town of Champlain or of Chateaugay. Morton relieved the -tedium of waiting by hunting and fishing, for his proper duties were -slight. At first he did not venture into the woods without a guide, -but experience quickly taught one so active and keen of observation -sufficient bush-lore to venture alone with his pocket-compass. The -fishing, at that late season, was only tolerable, and while he enjoyed -to the full the delight of skimming the glassy stretches of both rivers -in a birch canoe, he preferred the more active motion and greater -variety of traversing the pathless woods with his gun. He had been in -camp over a week when he started for an afternoon’s exploring of the -woods. After an hour’s tramp he struck the trail of what he believed -to be a bear. Following it was such pleasant exercise of his ingenuity -that he took no note of time, and he had traversed miles of swamp and -ridge before prudence cried halt. The sun was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> sinking fast, and to -retrace his track was out of the question. He resolved to strike due -north, which he knew would take him to the Chateaugay where he would -find shelter for the night. The flush of the sunset was dying from -the sky when he emerged from the woods on the banks of the river, -which flowed dark and silent between the endless array of trees which -sentinelled it on either side. Threading his way downward he, in time, -came upon a clearing—a gap in the bush filled with ripening grain and -tasselled corn. The shanty, a very humble one, stood at the top of the -bank, with the river at its feet. Gratified at the prospect of rest, he -paused before swinging himself over the rude fence. There rose in the -evening air the sound of singing: it was a psalm-tune. The family were -at worship. Reverently the soldier uncovered his head and listened. -The psalm ended, he could hear the voice of supplication, though not -the words. When Morton approached the house he saw a heavily-built man -leave the door to meet him.</p> - -<p>“Gude e’en, freen; ye’re oot late. But I see ye’re are o’ the military -and your wark caas ye at a’ hoors. Is there ony news o’ the Yankee -army?”</p> - -<p>Morton explained he had not been on duty but had got belated in hunting -and craved the boon of shelter until morning, for which he would pay.</p> - -<p>“Pay! say ye. A dog wearing the King’s colors wad be welcome to my -best. You maun be new<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> to this country to think the poorest settler in -it wad grudge to share his bite with ony passerby. Come your ways; we -are richt glad to see you.”</p> - -<p>Entering the shanty Morton was astounded at the contrast between the -homelike tidiness of the interior and the rudeness of the exterior, -everything being neatly arranged and of spotless cleanliness. “Truly,” -he thought, “it is not abundance that makes comfort, but the taste and -ingenuity to make the best of what we have.” The glow of the log-fire -in the open chimney was supplemented by the faint light afforded by a -candle made from deer-fat, which showed him a tall young woman, who -came forward to shake hands without the slightest embarrassment, an -elderly woman, evidently the mother, who kept her seat by the fire, -explaining she “wasna very weel,” and two stout young men.</p> - -<p>“Sit in by the fire, Mr Morton; there is a snell touch in the evening -air that makes it no unpleasant, and Maggie will get ye something to -eat. An hae ye nae news frae the lines? Does it no beat a’ that thae -Yankees, wha mak such pretensions to be the only folk i’ the warld wha -understan what liberty is, should fail in practice? What hae we done -that they shud come in tae disturb us? Hae we nae richt to live doucely -and quietly under our appointed ruler, that they should come into our -ain country to harry and maybe kill us? Dod, they are a bonny lot! In -the name o’ freedom drawing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> the sword to help the oppressor of Europe -and the slaughterer of thousands of God’s children by creation, if no -by adoption.”</p> - -<p>“We have the comfort,” replied Morton, “that they have not got Canada -yet.”</p> - -<p>“An never will,” replied the settler, “there’s no an Auld Countryman -on the Chateaugay wha wad na sooner tint life an a’ than gie up his -independence. My sons an mysel are enrolled in Captain Ogilvie’s -company and mair Yankees than they count on will hansel it’s ground -afore they win oor puir biggin.”</p> - -<p>“Dinna speak sae, gudeman,” said his wife, “tho’ the Lord may chastise -he will not deliver us to the oppressor, but, as with the Assyrian, -will cause him, gin he come doon on us, to hear a rumor that shall make -him to return to his own land. We are but a feeble folk here by the -river-side, but He winna fail them wha trust Him.”</p> - -<p>Maggie here beckoned the young officer to draw to the table, and the -bread and milk tasted all the sweeter to him that they had been spread -by so winsome a damsel. After supper Morton was glad to fall in with -the family’s custom of going early to bed, and accompanying the lads, -whom he found to be frank, hearty fellows, to the outbuilding, slept -comfortably alongside them on top of the fragrant fodder. At daylight -they were astir, when their guest joined them in their labors, until -a shout from Maggie told of breakfast being ready. Seen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> by daylight -the favorable impression made upon Morton the previous evening was -deepened, and he did not know which most to admire, her tact which -never placed her at a disadvantage or the deftness with which she -discharged her household duties. Reluctantly he left, accepting readily -the invitation to revisit them. In a couple of hours he was in camp and -reported himself.</p> - -<p>The acquaintance thus accidentally formed was cultivated by Morton, -and few evenings passed that his canoe did not end its journey at the -foot of the bank whence the settler’s shanty overlooked the Chateaugay. -The more he knew of the family the more he was attracted, and before -long he was on familiar terms with all its members. The inaction of -camp-life in the backwoods ceased to be wearisome and there was a glow -and a joyousness in his days which he had never before known. So it -came, that when, one afternoon, the orderly-sergeant notified him the -officer in command desired to see him, the prospect of being sent away -caused him a pang of vexation. His orders were to be ready to start -at daylight for the frontier with despatches for the Indian guard -and to collect what information he could with regard to the American -army encamped at Four Corners. “I trust to your discretion,” said the -officer, “as to what means you will use to get it, but we want to -know the extent of the force and the prospect of their moving. I will -give you an Indian as a guide, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> one who speaks English.” Morton -withdrew, pleased that the order was not one of recall to his regiment -at Montreal, and spent the evening with the Forsyths. The news of his -departure, on an errand that involved some danger, even though it would -last only a few days, dampened the innocent mirth of the household and -the soldier was vain enough to think Maggie gave his hand a warmer -pressure than usual when he left. He rose with the first streak of -daylight and had finished his breakfast when he was told his guide -was waiting. Hastily strapping his cloak on his back and snatching up -his musket, he went out and beheld an Indian standing stolidly on the -road. Morton noted that he was taller than the average of his race, -and, despite his grizzled hair, gave every sign of unabated vigor. He -was dressed in native fashion and his face was hideous with war-paint. -Without uttering a word, he led the way and they were soon buried in -the woods. The Indian’s pace, considering the nature of the ground -and the obstacles presented, was marvellously rapid, and induced no -fatigue. Morton vigorously exerted himself to keep up with him and, as -he did so, admired the deftness with which the Indian passed obstacles -which he laboriously overcame. The ease and smoothness with which -the red man silently slipped through thickets and fallen trees, he -compared to the motion of a fish, and his own awkwardness to that of a -blindfolded man, who stumbled at every<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> obstacle. They had travelled -thus for over two hours when suddenly the Indian halted, peered -carefully forward, and then signed to Morton to stand still. Falling on -his knees the guide crept, or rather glided forward. Disregarding his -sign, Morton shortly followed until the object of the Indian’s quest -came in sight. Three deer were grazing on a natural meadow by the side -of a creek. Slowly the hunter raised his gun and its report was the -first intimation the timid creatures had that an enemy was near. The -youngest and plumpest had fallen; the others bounded into the bush. -Standing over the graceful creature, whose sides still palpitated, the -Indian said, “Lift.” It was the first word he had uttered. Morton drew -the four hoofs together and did so. “Put on your shoulder,” added the -guide. Morton laughed and set the animal down; he could lift it but to -carry it was out of the question. Without moving a feature, the Indian -grasped the deer by its legs, swung it round his neck, and stepped out -as if the load were no burden, and which he bore until the swamp was -passed and a ridge was reached, when he tied the hoofs together with a -withe and swung the carcase from as lofty a branch as he could reach. -Half an hour afterwards he pointed to a slight disturbance in the -litter of the forest. “Indian passed here this morning.”</p> - -<p>“How do you know it was an Indian?”</p> - -<p>“By mark of moccasin.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> - -<p>“But some white men wear moccasins.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but white man steps differently. The wild duck flies no more like -the tame duck than the Indian walks like the pale face.”</p> - -<p>Following the trail thus struck, they were soon hailed by a scout and -in the midst of the camp of the frontier guard they sought. Morton -counted seventeen Indians lounging or sleeping about the fire, and was -told there were as many more lurking in the bush, watching the enemy, -who had, of late, been sending in strong parties to make petty raids -upon the few settlers who lived on the Canadian side of the boundary. -As the captain was absent and would not be back until the afternoon, -Morton could only await his return, and the rest was not unwelcome, for -the rapid journey had induced some fatigue, and he was interested in -watching the Indians, this being his first experience with them apart -from white men. They paid much deference to his guide, whose name he -now learned was Hemlock, and the Indian of whom he made enquiry told -him the reason was that he was the son of a great sachem in a tribe now -destroyed, and was “a big medicine.” Hemlock accepted their tributes -to his superiority with unmoved countenance and as a matter of course, -until, after a long pow-wow, he stretched himself on the ground, -face-downwards, and went to sleep. Associating the Indians with gloomy -moroseness, and a stolidity insensible alike to pain or mirth, Morton -was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>surprised to see how, when left to themselves, they chattered -like children, laughed, and played boyish tricks upon one another, and -regretted he could not understand what they were saying. If he had, he -would have found their talk was the shallowest of banter.</p> - -<p>Late in the afternoon the captain returned and warmly welcomed Morton. -Although dressed like an Indian, his only distinguishing feature being -a captain’s scarlet sash, Captain Perrigo was a white man and English -in speech, his familiarity with the Indians and their language having -been acquired during his residence at Caughnawaga. He was thoroughly -conversant with all that was passing in the American camp and expressed -his belief that only the timidity of General Hampton prevented a move -on Canada. The force was so strong and well-equipped that he believed -it could not be checked until the island of Montreal was reached. “How -can so large an army move through these woods?” asked Morton; “why, -even your handful of Indians could cut up a regiment in half an hour.”</p> - -<p>“You forget,” replied Perrigo, “that the larger part of these American -soldiers have been reared on farms and are familiar with the bush. -They are at home with the axe, and have scouts as well-trained to -bush-fighting as our own. Worse than that, many of the American -settlers who left the Chateaugay and the other Huntingdon settlements -at the declaration of war are with them as guides.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I should like to see the American army,” said Morton.</p> - -<p>“That is easy; we reconnoitre their camp this evening and you may go -with us.”</p> - -<p>By this time dinner was ready and it was more appetizing than Morton -looked for. Hemlock, on his arrival, had told where he had left the -carcase of the deer, which two of the Indians went for and returned -with it slung between them on a pole. This they had cooked along with -pieces of fat pork. The venison, for a wonder, proved to be tender and -succulent, and was eaten with biscuit, of which there was an abundance. -When the time came to move, Perrigo gave the word, when 28 of his men -fell into line, Hemlock and Morton accompanying them. They moved in -silence in single file, the fleetest runner of their number leading -about two hundred yards ahead, to see that the way was clear. No word -was spoken except when, on gaining the summit of a stony knoll, Perrigo -whispered to Morton that they had crossed the boundary and were in the -United States. As they proceeded they moved more slowly, showing they -were nearing the enemy, and twice their scout signalled to them to -halt while he reconnoitred. The second time Perrigo went forward and -they waited while he scanned the enemy’s position. On returning, they -moved westward, when the accustomed sound of the tramp of a numerous -body of troops met the ear of Morton, followed by the commands of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> -adjutant. Motioning to Morton to follow him, Perrigo cautiously crept -forward to a clump of undergrowth, and peering through it the American -camp was seen. To the right stood the cluster of wooden buildings which -formed the village of Four Corners, and on the fields that sloped up -from it southwards, shone peacefully in the setting sun long rows of -white tents. On a small field between the camp and the village two -regiments were being drilled; at one corner was a body of mounted -officers observing them. The woods, in which the British party lay -concealed, so closely hemmed in the thin line of buildings that formed -the village, that the parade-ground was not over 300 yards distant.</p> - -<p>Morton scanned the troops as they went through their evolutions and -marked, with some complacency, that, although tall and wiry men, they -were slouchy in their movements and marched like dock-laborers. “Could -we not give those fellows a fright?” he whispered to Perrigo.</p> - -<p>“If we were sure their patrols are not out we could. If they are, they -might flank us.”</p> - -<p>“No danger,” interposed Hemlock, “see!” and he pointed to the -guard-house, where the men detailed for the night’s patrols were -waiting.</p> - -<p>“All right,” answered Perrigo, “I will send two or three to creep round -to the bush on the right to cause a diversion.”</p> - -<p>“Stay,” said Morton, “I want to get a closer view and Hemlock will go -with me.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was so decided upon, and while they picked their way to the west, -Perrigo busied himself in extending his little force along the edge -of the woods, so as to make their numbers appear formidable. The -most dangerous part of Morton’s movement was crossing two roads, but -Hemlock, who knew the ground thoroughly, selected parts where there -were bends, so that they could not be seen by travellers approaching -either way. When Hemlock dropped on all fours and crept he was followed -by Morton, who found he was at the edge of the field on which the drill -was in progress. The troops had gone through the routine movements and -were drawn up in line, awaiting the inspection of the general officer, -who, with his escort, was riding from the lower part of the field. A -stout, elderly man rode in advance on a splendid black horse. Hemlock -whispered it was General Hampton. As they drew nearer Morton started in -amaze, for among his staff, despite his handsome uniform, he recognized -the countenance of the spy he had twice shot at. His astonishment was -checked by a gurgling sound of anger from his companion, and turning he -saw that Hemlock had partly risen, grasping his musket as if about to -fire, his face so swollen with rage that the cords of the neck stood -out. “Stop,” said Morton, as he clutched his buckskin jacket, “if -we fire now while they are in rank we are lost; wait until they are -dismissed and in disorder.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I care not; thrice have I missed him of late; now he falls and -Hemlock is revenged.” He pulled the trigger, but the flint snapped -harmlessly, for the priming had been lost. The disappointment restored -his self-possession and he drew back with a scowl that made Morton’s -flesh creep. On the cavalcade of officers came, chatting unconcernedly, -and wheeled within twenty yards of where Morton stood. He had a good -view of the spy’s face, and he thought he had never seen one where -cunning and selfishness were so strongly marked. “A man who would kill -his mother if she stood in his way,” muttered Morton. “And for his -passing pleasure tear out the heart of a father,” added Hemlock in a -bitter tone. They noticed how haughtily Gen. Hampton bore himself and -how superciliously he glanced at the men as he passed up and down their -ranks. When he had finished, he put spurs to his horse and galloped -towards the house in the village where his quarters were established, -followed by his escort. The troops were then dismissed and as each -company filed away in the early twilight towards its respective camp, -Morton said “Now is our time.” Hemlock rose, drew himself to his full -height, seemed for a few seconds to be gathering strength, and then let -out a screech, so piercing and terrific that Morton, who had not before -heard the war-whoop, would not have believed a human being could make -such a sound. It was the signal to Perrigo’s men, and they answered -from different<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> parts of the bush in similar fashion. The American -soldiers, on their way to their tents, halted in amaze, while from -new and unexpected quarters, rose the blood-curdling yell, giving the -impression that they were being surrounded from the north and west by -a horde of Indians, a foe of whom they were in mortal dread. Taken by -surprise, they broke and ran towards the camp, and Morton could see -the inmates of the tents swarming out and running to meet them, as if -to find out the cause of alarm. Hemlock and Morton were now loading -and firing as quickly as they could, the former never intermitting his -ear-piercing shrieks, while the edge of the bush to their left was -dotted with puffs of smoke from the guns of Perrigo’s band. “O for -five hundred more!” cried Morton in his excitement, “and we would rout -this army of cowards.” The confusion and clamor in the camp increased -and the contradictory orders of officers were paid no heed to by men -who only wanted to know where they could fly to escape the detested -Indians. Amid the excitement rang out a bugle, and turning whence the -sound came, Morton saw it was from the General’s headquarters and -that, to its summons, horsemen were urging their way. “Huh!” exclaimed -Hemlock, “these are scouts; some of them Indians. We must go, for they -will hold the roads.” With a final yell he plunged into the bush and -Morton followed. They had not gone far when Hemlock turned and grasped -his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>shoulder. As they stood, the hoofs of advancing horses were heard. -The sound came nearer and Morton guessed they were riding along the -east and west road in front of where he stood and which they had been -about to cross. The troop swept past and then the order “Halt!” was -shouted. “Louis, take five men and scour the bush from the river up -until you hear from the party who are searching the bush from above. -The screeching devils who hid here cannot escape between you. We will -patrol the road and shoot them if they do.” The motion of the men -ordered to dismount was heard.</p> - -<p>“Quick,” whispered Hemlock, “or they will be upon us,” and facing -westward he led to the brink of what seemed to be a precipice, from the -foot of which rose the sound of rushing water. Hemlock slipped his gun -into his belt in front of him and did the same with Morton’s, then, -before he knew what was meant, Morton was grasped in his iron clutch, -unable to move, his head tucked into his breast, and with a wild fling -over the edge of the bank they went rolling and crashing downwards, -through the bushes and shrubs that faced it. On they rolled until a -final bounce threw them into a pool of the river. Without a moment’s -delay, Hemlock caught Morton’s right arm and dragged him a considerable -distance down the narrow and shallow stream behind a clump of bushes. -Breathless and excited by the rapid motion, Morton sank prone on the -turf, while Hemlock, laying aside the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> guns, which the water had -rendered useless, drew his tomahawk, which he held ready for use, while -he bent forward listening intently. In a few minutes Morton became -conscious of men stealthily approaching, and devoutly thanked God when -he perceived they were all on the other side of the river from where -they were concealed. On they came, searching every place of possible -concealment, with a rapidity that only children of the woods can -attain. Soon they were directly opposite and passed on. Hemlock relaxed -his strained attitude, drew a long breath, and sat down beside Morton. -“They did not think we had time to cross the river, but when they do -not find us they will come back on this side.”</p> - -<p>“What shall we do next?” asked Morton.</p> - -<p>“Wait till it is dark enough to creep across the road at the bridge.”</p> - -<p>“And if they come back before then?”</p> - -<p>“Fight them,” abruptly answered Hemlock.</p> - -<p>In the narrow gorge where they lay the gloom quickly gathered, and -it soon grew so dark that Morton’s fears as to the searching-party -returning were relieved. When the last streak of day had disappeared, -Hemlock led the way, and they crept as quickly as the nature of the -ground would permit down the river, whose noisy brawl blotted out the -sound they made.</p> - -<p>Coming out at a pond, where the water had been dammed to drive a small -mill, Hemlock stopped<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> and listened. The road with its bridge was -directly in front, and it was likely guards were there posted. As they -watched, the door of a house opened, and a man came out with a lantern. -It was the miller going to the mill. As he swung the light its beams -shone along the road, failing to reveal a sentinel. When he passed into -the mill, Hemlock led the way under the shade of the trees that fringed -the mill-pond, crossed the road, and down into the rocky bed of the -stream on the other side. Pausing to let Morton gain his breath after -the run, he said in his ear, “We are safe now and can wait for the -moon.”</p> - -<p>“Can’t we rejoin Perrigo?” asked Morton.</p> - -<p>“No; scouts in woods over there; hide tonight and go back tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>The strain of excitement over, Morton stretched himself on the ferns -that abounded and quickly fell asleep. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> - -<p>When Morton opened his eyes he found the dell, or rather gorge, for -the sides were almost precipitous though clad with vegetation, was -lit up by the moon, and Hemlock by his side, sitting Indian fashion, -clasping his knees. Without uttering a word, he rose on perceiving the -young officer was awake and lifted his gun to move on. Morton obeyed -the mute sign and they began to descend the bed of the stream. It was -a task of some difficulty, for it abounded in rocks and often there -was no foothold at the sides, the water laving the cliffs that formed -the banks. Had it not been that the season was an unusually dry one, -leaving the river bed largely bare, Morton could not have kept up with -his companion. Chilled by his wet garments, the exercise was rather -grateful to him and he exerted himself to overcome the obstacles in his -path. As they went on, the banks grew higher and the gorge more narrow, -until, turning a bend, Morton perceived the river dashed down a channel -cleft out of a rock, which rose a pillared wall on one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> side and on -the other had been rendered concave by the washing down of the debris -of ages. High above, shafts of moonlight struggled thru’ the foliage -and, falling irregularly on the sides, brought into ghastly relief the -nakedness of the walls of the rocky prison. Deeply impressed Morton -followed his guide down the gloomy chasm, whence the sound of falling -water came, and they passed two small falls. Below the lower one, -where the walls drew nearer, as if they grudged the scanty space they -had been affording the tumultuous stream for its passage, the cliffs -grew loftier. Hemlock halted, and pointing to a water-worn recess in -the rocks, that afforded some covering, said, “Sleep there.” Morton -lay down, but he was in no humor to sleep again. The magnificence of -the rock-hewn chamber in which he lay, with a giant cliff bending -over him, had excited his imagination, and his eyes wandered from the -foaming falls in front of him to the solemn heights, whose walls were -flecked with shrubs and topped by spruce trees. The contrast of the -unceasing noise and motion of the river with the eternal silence and -imperturbability of the rocks, deeply impressed him. Thus time passed -and when he had scanned the scene to his satisfaction, his interest -turned to his companion, who had left him and stood beneath a pillar -of rock higher than its fellows, where the chasm narrowed into a mere -tunnel. Evidently supposing that Morton was sound asleep, he was going -through<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> those motions of incantation by which Indian medicine-men -profess to evoke the spirits. He writhed until his contortions were -horrible, while the working of his features showed he was inwardly -striving to induce an exalted and morbid condition of feeling. He smote -his breast resounding blows, he flung himself downwards on the rock -and shook himself until his body jerked with involuntary twitchings, -he shrieked in hollow tones and plucked at his hair, until the sweat -rolled down his cheeks. After a fit of hysterical laughter he sank in a -swoon, which lasted so long that Morton was debating whether he should -not go over to him. All this time the moon had been sailing upward and -now stood directly over the chasm, its beams transforming the foaming -river into a channel of milky whiteness and, where it broke into curls -at the falls, into streams of pearls, while the foliage that tempered -the stern outline of the rocks, bedewed by the spray that kept them -constantly moist, glistened as if sprinkled with diamond-dust. The -moonlight streamed on the prostrate body of the Indian, and as he awoke -from his trance and slowly raised himself, Morton read in his face a -wonderful change—a look of calmness and of supernatural ecstasy. With -great dignity he drew himself up and stepped forward a few paces until -he stood directly beneath the pillar of rock. Then he spoke: “Spirit -of the wood and stream, who loves this best of all thine abodes, come -to me.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> Hemlock seeks thee to help him. The wounded moose will never -breathe again the morning-air, the stricken pine-tree never put forth -fresh shoots, and Hemlock is wounded and stricken and growing old. -Shall the hand grow feeble before the blow is dealt, the eye grow -dim before mine enemy is slain, and my ear grow deaf before it hears -his death-groan? The leaves that fall rot and the water that passeth -returneth not; therefore, oh Spirit, grant to Hemlock his prayer, that -before night comes he may find whom he seeks. Again, this day, has he -escaped me, shielded by his medicine. Break the spell, O Spirit; take -away the charm that holds my arm when I aim the blow, and pluck away -the shield the evil ones hold over him! The eagle has his nest on the -hill and the fox his lair in the valley, but Hemlock has no home. The -doe fondles its fawn and the tired swallow is helped across the great -water on the wings of its sons, but Hemlock has no children. The light -of his eyes was taken from him, the joy of his heart was frozen. The -Yankee stole his land, slew his brothers, bewitched his only daughter, -and drove him away, and now he is a sick-struck man, whom none come -near. Spirit, grant the prayer of Hemlock; break the spell that binds -me, that I may taste the blood of mine enemy and I shall die happy.”</p> - -<p>He paused and assumed a listening attitude as if awaiting an answer. -That in his morbid state of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> mind he fancied he heard the Spirit in -reply was evident, for he broke out again:</p> - -<p>“I am desolate; my heart is very bitter. The smoke of the wigwams of my -clan rises no more; I alone am left. When the north wind tells where -are the leaves of last summer I will say where are the warriors of my -tribe. As the beaver the white man came among us, but he crushed us -like the bear; the serpent sings on the rock but he bites in the grass. -We were deceived and robbed of the lands of our fathers. Our destroyer -is near, he is on the war-path, his hatchet is raised against the Great -Father. Blind his eyes, trip his feet with magic, O Oki, and take the -spell from the arm of Hemlock. The eagle soars to the mountain when -the loon keeps to the valley; the snow-bird breasts the storm when the -moose seeks the cedar-brake: the wolf knows no master and the catamount -will not fly, so the Indian clings to his hunting-ground and will not -be the slave of the stranger. Spirit, help to destroy the destroyer and -to rob the robber. The hunted deer dies of his wounds in the strange -forest. The arrows of the Indian are nigh spent and he mourns alone. -The glory of our nation has faded as the fire of the forest in the -morning-sun, and few live to take revenge. Oki, speak, and strengthen -the heart of Hemlock for battle!”</p> - -<p>The Indian fell prostrate before the gaunt pillar of stone to which he -spoke and lay there for some time. When he rose, there was a weary look -in his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>impassive features. “The Spirit has spoken: he tells Hemlock he -will answer him in a dream.” Advancing towards Morton he lay down and -fell asleep.</p> - -<p>High above him shafts of sunlight were interwoven with the foliage -of the trees that overhung the crest of the chasm, forming a radiant -ceiling, when Morton awoke. The weirdly romantic gulf in which he lay, -coupled with the strange scenes of the night, caused him to think the -past was a dream, but going over the several details the sense of -reality was restored, and there, a few feet from him, was stretched the -sinewy form of the Indian. “Who could fancy that a being so stolid, -heavy, and matter-of-fact,” asked Morton of himself, “should show such -keenness of feeling and so active an imagination? And, yet, how little -we know of what sleeps in the bosoms of our fellows. Mark that sullen -pool above the cataract! How dead and commonplace its water appears. -It is swept over the brink and, breaking into a hundred new forms, -instantly reveals there dwelt dormant beneath its placid surface a life -and a beauty undreamt of. We are not all as we seem, and so with this -much-tried son of the forest.”</p> - -<p>He rose to bathe his stiffened limbs in the river and the motion caused -Hemlock to spring to his feet. He glanced at the sky, and remarked that -he had slept too long. While Morton bathed, Hemlock busied himself -in contriving a scoop of withes and birch bark, with which, standing -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>beneath the fall, he quickly tossed out a number of trout. A flint -supplied fire and on the embers the fish as caught were laid to roast, -and whether it was so, or was due to his keen appetite, Morton thought -they tasted sweeter than when cleaned. With the biscuit in their -pouches, though wet, they made a fair breakfast. As they finished, -a faint echo of drums and fifes was wafted to them. “We will stay a -little while,” said Hemlock, “to let the scouts go back to camp, for -they would search the woods again this morning.”</p> - -<p>“And what then?” asked Morton.</p> - -<p>“We will go back to Perrigo, who is near-by.”</p> - -<p>“Would they not fly to Canada after what they did?”</p> - -<p>“Indians are like the snake. When it is hunted, it does not fly; it -hides. They are waiting for us.”</p> - -<p>“Where were you taught to speak English so well, Hemlock?”</p> - -<p>“I did not need to be taught; I learnt it with the Iroquois. I was born -near an English settlement and my choice companion was an English girl, -we played together, and were taught together by the missionary; long -after, she became my wife.”</p> - -<p>“But you are not a Christian?”</p> - -<p>“No; when I saw the white man’s ways I wanted not his religion.”</p> - -<p>“And your wife, is she living?”</p> - -<p>“Hemlock does not lay his heart open to the stranger; he is alone in -the world.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> - -<p>Respecting his reserve, and tho’ curious to know if the guardian-spirit -of the chasm had spoken to him in his dreams, Morton changed the -subject, the more so as he did not wish his companion to know that -he had been the unwitting witness of his invocation ceremonial. He -asked about the chasm in whose solemn depths they found shelter, and -Hemlock told how it had been known to all the seven nations of the -Iroquois and regarded by them as a chosen abode of the spirits, the -more so as its origin was supernatural. There had been a very rainy -season and the beavers had their villages flooded and were in danger -of being destroyed. Two of them volunteered to visit the spirit-land -and beseech the help of their oki, which he promised. He came one dark -night and with a single flap of his tail smote the rock, splitting it -in two and allowing the waters to drain into the low country beneath. -Morton listened gravely, seeing his companion spoke in all seriousness, -and thought the tale might be an Indian version of the earthquake, or -other convulsion of nature, by which the bed of sandstone had been -rent asunder, and a channel thus afforded for the surplus waters of -the adjoining heights. The trees and bushes which had found an airy -foothold in crevices, and the weather-beaten and lichened faces of the -cliffs, told how remote that time must have been.</p> - -<p>It was wearing on to noon before Hemlock considered it safe to move. -The delay they spent in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> cleaning their arms, and Morton, to his -regret, found that his powder was useless from being wet. The Indian, -more provident, had saved some in a water-proof pouch of otter skin, -but he had too little to do more than lend a single charge for his gun. -Morton took the opportunity to clean and arrange his uniform as he best -could and when ready to move felt he looked more as became an officer -of the King’s army than when he awoke. Hemlock led the way to where a -cleft in the wall of rocks afforded a possibility of ascent, and, with -the occasional aid of his outstretched arm, Morton managed to reach the -summit. When he had, he perceived he stood on a plain of table-rock, -the cleavage of which formed the chasm, of whose existence the explorer -could have no intimation until he reached its brink. They had not gone -far, until Hemlock halted and looked intently at the ground. “A party -of Yankees have passed here within an hour; a dozen or more of them. -See the trail of their muskets!”</p> - -<p>“How do you know they have just passed?”</p> - -<p>“The dew has not been dry here over an hour and they passed when it was -gone. They are searching for us, for one went to that bush there to see -no one was hiding.”</p> - -<p>Morton looked perplexed, for nothing was more distasteful than to be -taken prisoner. “Had we not,” he suggested, “better return to the chasm -and wait for night?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It is too late,” replied Hemlock, “when they come back they would see -our trail and follow it. We will have to go on and if we get across -the road we are safe,” and without another word he went on until the -road was reached. On scanning it, before making a dash across, they -perceived, to their dismay, a mounted sentry so posted as to give a -clear view of the portion of the road they were standing by. Hemlock -gave a grunt of disappointment and returned into the bush and after -a few minutes’ rapid walking turned to Morton with the words, “You -stay here, until I go and see the road. Over there is the track of a -short-cut between Four Corners and the blockhouse, so if Yankees pass -they will keep to it and not see you. Do not leave until I come back.”</p> - -<p>Morton threw himself on the grass to await his report, and the rest -was grateful, for the day was hot and their short tramp fast. The -minutes sped without sign of the Indian, who he conjectured was finding -it difficult to discover a clear passage. It was now plain that the -Americans had discovered their tracks of the preceding evening and -had established a cordon to ensure their capture. So absolute was -Morton’s faith in Hemlock’s skill that he felt little perturbed and -was confident they would be in Perrigo’s camp before long. Then his -thoughts wandered to a subject that had come of late to be pleasant to -him, to the household by the Chateaugay, and he saw in fancy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> Maggie -bustling about her daily tasks, and he smiled.</p> - -<p>“In the name of the United States of America I command you to yield as -prisoner,” shouted a voice with a nasal twang.</p> - -<p>Morton bounded to his feet. In front of him, within four yards, stood -the spy, holding a musket, with his finger on the trigger.</p> - -<p>“I mout hev shot ye dead a-laying there,” he said, “but I mean to take -game like you alive. I can make more out o’ your skin when you can wag -yer tongue. Yield peaceable, young man, and giv up yer arms.”</p> - -<p>“Yield! And to a spy! Never!” shouted Morton indignantly, and he sprang -like a panther at his foe. Quick as was his movement, the American -was not quite taken by surprise, for he fired, but the bullet missed. -The next moment Morton was on him and they grappled. Both were strong -men, but the American was older and had better staying power, and as -they wrestled Morton felt he would be thrown, when he bethought him of -a certain trip he had often used successfully in his school days. He -made the feint, put out his foot, and the American fell with a crash, -underneath him.</p> - -<p>“Villain,” he whispered hoarsely, “you twice escaped me, but will not -again,” and he grasped his throat with one hand while he held his right -arm with the other.</p> - -<p>“Quarter,” gasped the American, who was in danger of being choked, “I -yield.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Quarter to a spy!” exclaimed Morton.</p> - -<p>“I ain’t no spy. I’m Major Slocum, brevet-rank, of Ginral Hampton’s -staff.”</p> - -<p>“Not a spy! You were to have been shot for one.”</p> - -<p>“I was on special service, when I was informed on by an ongrateful -cuss. I’m an honorable officer and appeal to yer honor as a Britisher. -Take my sword; I yield your prisoner.”</p> - -<p>“If I let you go; will you lead me in safety across your lines, and -release my guide Hemlock, if he has been taken prisoner?”</p> - -<p>“Sartainly I will; Slocum’s word is as good as his bond. Take your -hands off me and I will set you and your Injun to hum in an hour.”</p> - -<p>Morton released his grasp, and stood up, drew his sword, and awaited -Slocum’s rising. With a deft movement the American thrust his hand -into his belt, drew a heavy, short-bladed knife, and shot it forward -from his palm with an ease and dexterity that indicated much practice. -Morton’s eye caught the gleam of the steel and he sprang back, and -in so doing saved his life, for the point of the blade, which would -have pierced his breast, stuck in his right thigh for an instant -and dropped out. In a towering passion of indignation, which made -him unconscious of the pain and flow of blood, he rushed upon the -American, who had sprung to his feet and lifted his sword in time to -foil Morton’s thrust. “Vile wretch, you shall die as traitors die!” -exclaimed Morton, and the clash of steel was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> incessant. He was much -the better swordsman, but his impetuosity and anger deprived him of the -advantage of his skill, and stepping backward, Slocum’s long sword, -wielded by his long arm, kept him at bay. Morton’s anger increased -with the difficulty in dealing a deadly thrust, until, in making a -lunge, he stumbled over a fallen log. Had he been unwounded he would -have instantly recovered himself. The wrench to his pierced leg shot -a thrill of agony to his heart, and the weakened knee refused its -office. In a moment Slocum had him on his back and planting his foot -on the bleeding wound, pressed it with all his might, while he placed -the point of his sword on his throat. A mocking leer lit up his yellow -face as he said composedly: “I don’t see how yer mother let you go out -alone; you’re green as garden-sass. Thought Major Slocum would be your -obedient servant and lead you and yer infernal Injun past the lines! -You poor trash of a Britisher! An you sucked in my talk about honor and -let go yer holt on my throat! You poor innocent, its like stabbing a -baby to put my sword through yer gizzard. Say, sonny, wouldn’t you like -to live?”</p> - -<p>The pain of his wound was excruciating, yet Morton answered composedly, -“I’d die a thousand times before I would beg my life of you. I am -not the first of His Majesty’s service to have lost his life through -believing there was honor in an American officer.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I’m a citizen of the great Republic and will be doing a patriotic -dooty in killing you, and, like Washington, after hanging Andre, will -take a good square meal with the satisfactory feeling that there is a -red-coat less in the world. But there ain’t no comfort in killing a -chick like you. Say, what will ye give, if I let you go? I will take -an order on Montreal. Slocum ain’t the man to refuse to earn an honest -dollar and do a charitable action. Yer father maybe is a Lord or a -Dook, and he can come down handsum. Why don’t yer speak? I ain’t a mind -to do all the talking.”</p> - -<p>“If I was fool enough to believe you and spare your life it is enough. -Torture me not with your dishonorable proposals. I can die as becomes a -British soldier.”</p> - -<p>“Yer can, eh? Waal, what if I don’t mind to kill you? Perhaps Slocum -sees he can make more by toting you into camp. It ain’t every day a -British officer is caught and I mout get promotion. Kurnel Slocum would -sound well. Come now, hadn’t yer better sign a little order on your -father’s agents for a neat little sum, payable to Major Slocum for -vally received? Yer wound hurts, don’t it?” enquired Major Slocum with -a grin, as he thrust the toe of his boot into it. Involuntarily, Morton -gave a stifled shriek of pain and lay gasping, while his tormentor -looked down upon him with a smile, enjoying his sufferings. As Morton’s -eyes rolled in agony, the sight of Hemlock met their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> gaze. He was -stealing stealthily up behind Slocum, who stood all unconscious of his -danger, torturing his victim in the hope he would purchase his release. -Nearer the Indian came; his arms now opened out,—he stood behind -Slocum,—they closed,—he was in their grasp, and was thrown with a -heavy thud on the ground, when, Hemlock bound his arms and legs with -his sash. Then, with dreadful calmness, he drew his scalping-knife and -knelt, one knee on the breast of the prostrate man. “Many times you -have escaped me, Slocum, but you die now. The oki granted what I asked; -the spell is gone. I tracked you long, but now you are mine. I will not -kill you at once. You shall die by inches, and have a taste, before the -dark cloud swallows you, of the bitterness I have drank at your hands -for years.”</p> - -<p>So saying, with infernal ingenuity, the heritage of his tribe in the -art of torture, he stripped Slocum of his clothing and proceeded to -draw cuts with his knife on different parts of the body, nowhere making -an incision any deeper than requisite to cause the quivering flesh to -feel the full pain. The wretched man plied the Indian with all manner -of promises to induce him to desist, and on seeing he was relentless -in his purpose, was about to shriek in the hope of attracting aid, -when Hemlock caught him by the throat, and snatching up handfuls of -forest-litter forced them into his mouth. Then he resumed his dreadful -task. Morton, who had <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>alternated from a state of semi-stupor to that -of insensibility, looked on in his lucid intervals with sickened -horror, and begged Hemlock to desist. He paid not the slightest heed -but went on for hours, gloating over the agonies of his victim, and -adding a fresh wound as the others dulled. Alert even in his dreadful -employment, a rustle in the bush caught his ear, and he listened. “It -is the Yankee picket going to the blockhouse. If Hemlock could take you -with him he would, but you cannot travel. They will make you prisoner -and care for your wound. And now Hemlock must finish his revenge.” With -one swift sweep of the knife, he cut the throat of his now fainting -victim, with another he severed his scalp, and flourishing it above -his head, vanished in the woods. Immediately afterwards a body of blue -uniformed soldiers appeared, who shouted with surprise at seeing the -major, naked, stiff and scalped, and a wounded British officer lying -near him. Part hurried to each. As those who went to the side of Morton -stooped over him and moved him, he fainted. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER IV.</h3> - -<p>When Morton recovered consciousness he found he was in a large -apartment, the sides formed of heavy logs, and surrounded by American -soldiers, who were talking excitedly of the discovery of the dead body -of Major Slocum. On seeing their prisoner was restored to his senses, -they plied him with questions, in the hope of clearing up the mystery, -but he felt so languid that he made no reply, and simply begged for -water. On the arrival of two ox-carts, the corpse was lifted into one -and the wounded man into the other. On being carried into the air, -Morton saw that the building he had been in was a small blockhouse, so -placed as to command the road which led to Canada. The jolting of the -cart during the short drive was agony to him, and he was thankful when -the log shanties of the village of Four Corners came in sight and the -rows of tents of the camp. The cart halted at the door of a tavern, -where he assumed the general must be, and soon an orderly came out and -directed the driver to an outhouse, into which two soldiers carried -him. It was a small, low-roofed stable, and in one of the stalls they -laid Morton. Closing the door, he was left in darkness, and so remained -until it reopened to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> admit what proved to be a surgeon. He examined -the wound, picked it clean, put in a few stitches, bound a wet-bandage -round it, and had a pail of water placed near. “You keep that cloth -wet,” he said to Morton, “and drink all you please, it will keep down -the fever, and you will be well in a week. You have only a flesh-cut; -had it been on the inside of the leg instead of the front you would -have been a dead man in five minutes.”</p> - -<p>“I am very weak.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; from loss of blood; I will send you some whisky and milk.”</p> - -<p>When the attendant appeared with the stimulant, Morton sickened at -the smell of the whisky, but drank the milk. The man approved of the -arrangement and disposed of the whisky. Having placed clean straw -below Morton, he left him, barring the door. The soothing sensation of -the wet bandage lulled him to sleep, and he slumbered soundly until -awakened by the sound of voices at the door.</p> - -<p>“Now, mem, you’d better go home and leave Jim alone.”</p> - -<p>“You tell me he’s wounded, and who can nurse him better than his old -mother?”</p> - -<p>“Be reasonable; the doctor said he was not to be disturbed.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I will see him; look what I have brought him—a napkin full of the -cakes he liked and this bottle of syrup.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Leave them, my good woman, with me and he will get them.”</p> - -<p>“No, no, I must see my handsome boy in his uniform; my own Jimmy that -never left my side until he listed the day before yesterday. The sight -of me will be better than salve to his hurt.”</p> - -<p>“I can’t let you in; you must go to the colonel for an order.”</p> - -<p>“An order to see my own son! Jimmy, don’t you hear me; tell the man to -let me in to you. (A pause.) Are you sleeping, Jimmy? It’s your mother -has come to see you. (Here she knocked). Are you much hurt? Just a -scratch, they tell me; perhaps they will let you go home with me till -it heals. O, Jimmy, I miss you sorely at home.”</p> - -<p>Again the woman knocked and placing her ear to a crack in the door -listened.</p> - -<p>“He ain’t moving! Soger man, tell me true, is my Jimmy here?”</p> - -<p>“He is, mem; you must go to the colonel. I cannot let you in; I must -obey orders.”</p> - -<p>“If Jimmy is here, then he must be worse than they told me.”</p> - -<p>“Very likely, mem; it is always best to be prepared for the worst.”</p> - -<p>“He may be dyin’ for all you know. Do let me in.”</p> - -<p>“There is the captain passing; ask him.”</p> - -<p>“What’s wanted, Bill?”</p> - -<p>“This is Jimmy’s mother and she wants to see him. Come and tell her.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That I won’t,” answered the captain, with an oath, “I want to have a -hand in no scene; do as you like to break it to the old woman,” and on -the captain passed.</p> - -<p>“What does he mean? Jimmy ain’t to be punished, is he? He would not do -wrong. It was just Tuesday week he went to the pasture for the cows and -as he came back, there marched a lot of sogers, with flags aflying and -drums and fifes playin’ beautiful. ‘O, mother,’ says he, ‘I would like -to join em,’ an he kept acoaxin an aworryin me until I let him come up -to the Corners an take the bounty, which he brings back to me, dressed -in his fine clothes, the lovely boy.”</p> - -<p>“Now, good woman, you go home an’ I will send you word of him.”</p> - -<p>“That I won’t; if Jimmy is here I see him. Word came this morning that -the Injuns had sprang on to the camp an’ there was a soger killed, -stone dead, an’ two taken prisoners. An’, says I, lucky Jimmy ain’t one -of them, for so they told me, an’ I will hurry up my chores an’ go and -see him this evenin’, an’ here I am. An’ at the camp they tells me he -is over here, and won’t you let me see him?”</p> - -<p>“Your Jimmy, mem, yes, your Jimmy is——By God, I can’t speak the word. -Here, take the key and go in; you’ll find him right in front o’ the -door.”</p> - -<p>The door opened and Morton saw a tidy little woman, poorly dressed, -step in. She looked wonderingly around, glancing at him in her search -for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> her son. Not seeing him, she stepped lightly towards a heap -covered with an army blanket, of which she lifted a corner, gave a -pitiful cry, and fell sobbing on what lay beneath. To his horror and -pity, Morton perceived it was the corpse of a youth, the head with a -bloody patch on the crown, from having been scalped. “This is what -Perrigo’s men did,” he thought, “and this is war.” Here two women, -warned by the sentry of what was passing, entered and did what they -could to soothe the inconsolable mother. The succeeding half hour, -during which preparations were made for burial, was accounted by -Morton the saddest in his life, and when the detachment arrived with -a coffin to take the body away, and he saw it leave, followed by the -heart-broken mother, he breathed a sigh of relief and took a mental -oath that it would go ill with him if he did not help the poor woman to -the day of her death.</p> - -<p>Some biscuit were brought to him, the bucket refilled with -spring-water, the door closed, and barred, and he was left for the -night. Weakness from loss of blood made him drowsy, and forgetting -his miserable situation, he slept soundly until next morning, when he -woke feeling more like himself than he could have believed possible. -His wound felt easy and he was glad to find he could move without much -pain. The doctor looked in, nodded approval of his condition, and -said he would send him breakfast, after partaking of which <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>Morton -turned his attention to his personal appearance, and with the aid -of water, which the sentry got him as wanted, improved it somewhat. -The day passed without incident, no one interrupting the monotony of -his imprisonment. From the sound of wagon-wheels and the hurrying of -messengers to and from the tavern, he surmised the army was preparing -to move, and that in the bustle he was forgotten. The following morning -his vigor had returned to such a degree that he fell to examining his -prison-house and so far as he could, by peeping through crevices in its -walls of logs, his surroundings, with a view to endeavoring to escape. -He had finished breakfast, when an officer appeared, who introduced -himself as Captain Thomas of the staff and announced that the General -wished to see him. By leaning rather heavily on the American, who -proved to be a gentlemanly fellow, Morton managed to hobble the short -distance to Smith’s tavern, and was led directly to the General’s room. -On entering, Morton saw a fine-looking old gentleman of dignified -bearing, whom he recognized as the one he saw inspecting the troops on -the evening of the surprise. He sat in a rocking-chair and before him -stood a rough-looking farmer, with whom he was speaking. Waving Morton -to take a seat, he went on with his conversation.</p> - -<p>“You tell me your name is Jacob Manning and that you are acquainted -with every inch of the country between here and Montreal. I will -give<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> you a horse from my own stud, which no Canadian can come within -wind of, and you will go to the British camp and bring me word of its -strength?”</p> - -<p>“No, sir,” replied the backwoodsman.</p> - -<p>“You will be richly rewarded.”</p> - -<p>“That’s no inducement.”</p> - -<p>“Fellow, you forget you are my prisoner, and that I can order you to be -shot.”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t, but I’d rather be shot than betray my country.”</p> - -<p>“Your country! You are American born. What’s Canada to you?”</p> - -<p>“True enough, General, I was brought up on the banks of the Hudson and -would have been there yet but for the infernal Whigs, who robbed us -first of our horses, then of our kewows, and last of all of our farms, -and called their thievery patriotism. If we Tories hadn’t had so much -property, there wouldn’t a ben so many George Washington-Tom Jefferson -patriots. When we were hunted from our birthplace for the crime of -being loyal to the good King we were born under, we found shelter -and freedom in Canada, and, by God, sir, there ain’t a United Empire -loyalist among us that wouldn’t fight and die for Canada.”</p> - -<p>“You rude boor,” retorted Gen. Hampton hotly, “we have come to give -liberty to Canada, and our armies will be welcomed by its down-trodden -people as their deliverers. I have reports and letters to that effect -from Montreal and, best of all, the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>personal report of one of my -staff, now dead, sent on a special mission.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t trust ’em, General. We who came from the States know what you -mean by liberty—freedom to swallow Whigery and persecution if you -refuse. The Old Countrymen are stiff as hickory against you, and the -French—why, at heart, they are against both.”</p> - -<p>“It is false, sir. I have filled up my regiments since I came to this -frontier with French.”</p> - -<p>“It wa’nt for love of you; it was for your $40 bounty.”</p> - -<p>The General rose and throwing open the shutter, closed to exclude the -sunshine, revealed the army in review; masses of infantry moving with -passable precision, a long train of artillery, and a dashing corps of -cavalry. Proudly turning to the farmer he said,</p> - -<p>“What can stop the sweep of such an army? England may well halt in -her guilty career at the sight of these embattled sons of liberty and -loosen her bloody clutch upon this continent of the New World.”</p> - -<p>Neither the sight of the army nor the pompous speech of the General -appalled the stout farmer, who replied, “The red-coats will make short -work of ’em, and if you don’t want to go to Halifax you’d better not -cross the lines.”</p> - -<p>General Hampton made no reply, his good-sense apparently checking his -pride, by suggesting the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> folly of arguing with a backwoodsman, who -had chanced to be taken prisoner in a foray. Summoning an orderly, he -commanded that Manning be taken back to prison and not released until -the army moved.</p> - -<p>“And now, Lieutenant Morton, for so I understand you are named, you are -the latest arrival from Canada; and what did they say of the Army of -the North when you left?”</p> - -<p>“They were wondering when they would have the pleasure of seeing it,” -replied Morton.</p> - -<p>“Ha! it is well to so dissemble the terror our presence on the frontier -has stricken into the mercenaries of a falling monarchy. They will see -the cohorts of the Republic soon enough: ere another sun has risen we -may have crossed the Rubicon.”</p> - -<p>“The wonder expressed at every mess-table has been the cause of your -tarrying here.”</p> - -<p>“So I am the topic of the conversation of your military circles,” said -Hampton, with a pleased expression. “And what was their surmise as to -the cause of my tarrying here.”</p> - -<p>“That you were awaiting orders from General Wilkinson.”</p> - -<p>The General sprung to his feet in anger and excitement. “What! Do they -so insult me? Look you, young man, are you telling the truth or dare -come here to beard me?”</p> - -<p>“On my honor, General Hampton, I only repeat what I have heard a -hundred times.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Then, when you hear it again, that I await the orders of that impudent -pill-maker who masquerades at Oswego as a general, say it is a lie! -General Hampton takes no orders from him; he despises him as a man and -as a soldier—a soldier, quotha! A political mountebank, a tippler -and a poltroon. Here I have been, ready to pluck up the last vestige -of British authority on this continent for two months past, and been -hindered by the government entrusting the Western wing of my army to a -craven who refuses to recognize my authority and who lets I would wait -on I dare not.”</p> - -<p>“I meant no offence by my statement,” said Morton, as the General -paused in striding the room.</p> - -<p>“It is well for you that you did not, for I brook no aspersion upon my -independence or my reputation as a veteran who has done somewhat to -deserve well of his country, and that is implied in alleging, I take my -orders from Wilkinson.”</p> - -<p>Morton reiterated his regret at having unwittingly given offence and -would assure the General that he had entertained so high an opinion -of him that he did not attribute to him the harsh treatment he had -received since taken prisoner. Asked of what he complained, he told of -his having been thrust into a miserable stable and having received no -such attention as is universally accorded to a wounded officer in camp.</p> - -<p>The General smiled somewhat grimly as he said: “Lieut. Morton, your -treatment is no criterion of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> our hospitality to those whom the -fortunes of war throw into our hands. You forget that you were made -prisoner under most suspicious circumstances. You were found lying -wounded beside the mutilated corpse of that influential citizen who, -I may so express it, stepped from the political into the military -arena, the late Major Slocum, and everything points to your having been -associated with those who slew him and violated his remains. Apart -from that grave circumstance, the mere fact of your being found on the -territory of the United States government would justify my ordering -your execution as a spy.”</p> - -<p>“Sir,” indignantly interrupted Morton, “I am no spy. My uniform shows -I am an officer of the King’s army and I came upon American soil -engaged in lawful warfare, declared not by King George but by your own -government. I am a prisoner-of-war but no spy.”</p> - -<p>“It is undoubted that you consorted with Indians, that you were -present with them in the childish attempt to surprise my army the -other evening, and that you were with one or more redskins when Major -Slocum offered up his life on the altar of his country in a manner that -befitted so celebrated a patriot, who to his laurels as a statesman had -added those of a soldier. You must understand, for you appear to be a -man of parts and education, that Indians and those who associate with -them are not recognized as entitled to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> rights of war. They are -shot or hung as barbarous murderers without trial.”</p> - -<p>“If that is your law, General, how comes it that you have Indians in -your army?”</p> - -<p>The General looked nonplussed for a moment. “Our Indians,” he answered, -“are not in the same category. They have embraced the allegiance of a -free government; yours are wild wretches, refugees from our domain and -fugitives from our justice, and now the minions of a bloody despotism.”</p> - -<p>“I do not see that if it is right for your government to avail -themselves of the skill of Indians as scouts and guides that it can be -wrong for His Majesty’s government to do the same. Between the painted -savages I perceived in your camp and those in the King’s service, I -could distinguish no difference.”</p> - -<p>“Keep your argument for the court martial which, tho’ I do not consider -you entitled, I may grant. Leaving that aside, sir, and reminding you -of your perilous position, I would demand whether you are disposed -to make compensation, so far as in your power, to the government of -the United States by giving information that would be useful in the -present crisis? As an officer, you must know much of the strength -and disposition of the British force who stand in my onward path to -Montreal.”</p> - -<p>Morton’s face, pale from his recent wound and confinement, flushed. “If -you mean, sir, that you offer me the choice of proving traitor or of -a rope,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> you know little of the honor of a British soldier or of his -sense of duty. It is in your power to hang me, but not to make me false -to my country and my King.”</p> - -<p>“Come, come young man; do not impute dishonor to a Southerner and a -gentleman who bore a commission in the Continental army. Leave me, -who am so much older and, before you were born, saw service under the -immortal Washington, to judge of what is military ethics. We are alone, -and as a gentleman speaking to a gentleman, I demand whether you are -going to give me information useful in the movement I am about to make -upon Montreal?”</p> - -<p>“You have had my answer.”</p> - -<p>The General took up a pen, wrote a few lines, and then rang a bell. -Captain Thomas entered. “Take this and conduct the prisoner away,” -said the General handing him a folded paper. Morton bowed and left the -room, fully believing that the missive was an order for his execution. -Conducted back to the stable, he threw himself on his straw-heap, -indignant and yet mortified at being treated as a spy. He thought of -his relations, of his comrades, of his impending disgraceful death, -and then clenched his teeth as he resolved he would not plead with his -captors but die without a murmur.</p> - -<p>The marching of a body of men was heard without. They halted and the -door was thrown open. The officer in command said he had come to -escort<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> him to the court-martial. Morton gave no sign of surprise and -limped as firmly as he could, surrounded by the files of men, to the -tent where the court was awaiting him. The clerk read the charges, -which were, that he was a spy, that he had associated himself with -Indian marauders in an attack on the camp and, that he had been an -accomplice in the murder of Major Slocum. In reply to the usual -question of guilty or not guilty, Morton answered that he scorned to -plead to such charges, that his uniform was the best reply to his being -a spy and if they doubted his right to wear it, he referred them to -Major Stovin at Camp la Fourche; that he had made war in a lawful way -and with men regularly enrolled in the British service, and, before -God, he protested he had no hand in the killing of Major Slocum. -“That,” said the presiding officer, “is equivalent to your pleading not -guilty. The prosecutor will now have to adduce proof of the charges.”</p> - -<p>The only witnesses were the soldiers who had found him lying in the -bush beside the corpse of Major Slocum. Morton peremptorily refused -to answer questions. “You place us in a painful position, Lieutenant -Morton, by refusing to answer, for we must conclude that you can give -no satisfactory explanation of the circumstances under which you -were captured. A foul, a diabolical murder has been committed, and -everything points to you as being, at least, a party to it. Your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> -wound in itself is witness against you that you assailed our late -comrade-in-arms.”</p> - -<p>Morton rose to his feet, and holding up his hand said: “Gentlemen, -I stand before you expecting to receive sentence of death and to be -shortly in presence of my Maker. At this solemn moment, I repeat my -declaration, that I had no part in the death of Major Slocum, that I -did not consent to it and that if it had been in my power I would have -saved him.”</p> - -<p>“I submit, Mr President,” said a member of the court, “that the -statement we have just heard is tantamount to Lieutenant Morton’s -declaring he knows how and by whom Major Slocum came to his death. As -one who has practised law many years, I assert that the statement just -made is a confession of judgment, unless the defendant informs the -court who actually committed the murder and declares his willingness to -give evidence for the state. If a man admits he was witness to a murder -and will not tell who did it, the court may conclude he withholds the -information for evil purpose, and is justified in sentencing him as -an abettor at least. In this case, the wound of the accused points to -his being the principal. Before falling, Major Slocum, in his heroic -defence, deals a disabling wound to this pretended British officer who -thereupon leaves it to his associated red-skins to finish him and wreak -their deviltry on the corpse.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The opinion you have heard,” said the presiding-officer, “commends -itself to this board. What have you to say in reply?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing,” answered Morton.</p> - -<p>“We will give you another chance. We cannot pass over the murder of -a brother officer. Only strict measures have prevented many citizens -in our ranks, who esteemed Major Slocum as one of their political -leaders and of popular qualities, from taking summary vengeance upon -you. We make this offer to you: make a clean breast of it, tell us who -committed the murder, give us such assistance as may enable us to track -the perpetrator, and, on his capture, we will set you free.”</p> - -<p>“And if I refuse,” asked Morton, “what then?”</p> - -<p>“You will be hanged at evening parade.”</p> - -<p>“With that alternative, so revolting to a soldier, I refuse your offer. -What the circumstances are which bind me to silence, I cannot, as a man -of honor, tell, but I again affirm my innocence.”</p> - -<p>“Lieutenant Morton, what say you: the gallows or your informing us of a -cruel murderer: which do you choose?”</p> - -<p>“I choose neither; I alike deny your right to take my life or to extort -what I choose not to tell.”</p> - -<p>“Withdraw the prisoner,” ordered the presiding-officer, “while the -court consults,” and Morton was led a few yards away from the tent. -He could hear the voice of eager debate and one speaker in his warmth -fairly shouted, “He must be made to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> tell; we’ll squeeze it out of -him,” and then followed a long colloquy. An hour had passed when he was -recalled.</p> - -<p>“We have deliberated on the evidence in your case, Lieutenant Morton; -and the clerk will read the finding of the court.”</p> - -<p>From a sheet of foolscap the clerk read a long minute, finding the -prisoner guilty on each count.</p> - -<p>Standing up and adjusting his sword, the presiding officer said, “It -only remains to pronounce sentence: it is, that you be hanged between -the hours of five and six o’clock this day.”</p> - -<p>Morton bowed and asked if the sentence had been confirmed by the -commanding-officer. “It has been submitted and approved,” was the reply.</p> - -<p>“In the brief space of time that remains to me,” said Morton in a firm -voice, “may I crave the treatment that befits my rank in so far that I -may be furnished with facilities for writing a few letters?”</p> - -<p>“You may remain here and when done writing, the guard will conduct you -back whence you came, there to remain until execution.” With these -words he rose, and the others followed, leaving Morton alone with the -clerk and the captain of his guard. He wrote three letters,—to Major -Stovin, to his colonel, and the longest to his relatives across the -Atlantic,—being careful in all to say nothing about Hemlock, for he -suspected the Americans would read them before sending. When done, he -was taken back to the stable, and left in darkness. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> had abandoned -all hope: his voyage across life’s ocean was nearly ended, and already -he thought the mountain-tops of the unknown country he was soon to -set foot upon loomed dimly on his inward eye. The hour which comes to -all, when the things of this life shrink into nothingness, was upon -him, and the truths of revelation became to him the only actualities. -The communings of that time are sacred from record: enough to say, -they left a sobering and elevating influence on his character. He was -perfectly composed when he heard the guard return, and quietly took -his place in the centre of the hollow square. On the field used as a -parade ground he saw the troops drawn up in double line. At one end -were the preparations for his execution, a noose dangling from the limb -of a tree and a rough box beneath to serve as his coffin. There was -not a whisper or a movement as he passed slowly up between the lines -of troops. It seemed to him there was unnecessary delay in completing -the arrangements; and that the preliminaries were drawn out to a degree -that was agonizing to him. At last, however, his arms were pinioned -and the noose adjusted. The officer who had presided at his trial -approached “By authority of the General,” he whispered, “I repeat the -offer made you: assist us to secure the murderer of Major Slocum and -you get your life and liberty.”</p> - -<p>Morton simply answered, “Good friend, for Jesu’s sake, leave me alone.”</p> -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> - -<p>The word was not given to haul the tackle and Morton stood facing the -assembled ranks for what seemed to him to be an age, though it was only -a few minutes. The bitterness of death was passed and the calmness of -resignation filled his soul. Again the officer spoke, “What say you, -Lieutenant Morton?” Morton merely shook his head. Presently a horseman -was seen to leave the General’s quarters and an orderly rode up. “By -command of the General, the execution is postponed.” Morton’s first -feeling was that of disappointment.</p> - -<p>As he was hurried back to the stable, the order dismissing the troops -was given. As they broke up, a soldier remarked to his comrade, “They’d -sooner have him squeal than stretch his neck.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER V.</h3> - -<p>On the afternoon of the second day after the events of last chapter, -Allan Forsyth returned from his daily visit to Camp la Fourche excited -and indignant. “What think ye,” he said to his wife and Maggie, -“Lieutenant Morton is in the hands o’ the Yankees and they’re gaun to -hang him.”</p> - -<p>Maggie paled and involuntarily stepped nearer her father.</p> - -<p>“The deils that they be; hoo did they get haud o’ him?” asked Mrs -Forsyth.</p> - -<p>“The story is sune tell’t,” replied her husband. “He was sent, as ye -ken, wi’ a despatch to the lines; while there he took part in a bit -skirmish, an’ the day after was found by the Yankees lyin’ wounded in -the woods beside the body o’ a Yankee officer.”</p> - -<p>“Weel, they canna hang him for that. Gin the Yankees will fecht, they -maun expect to be kilt.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, ye dinna understan. They say their officer wasna kilt in regular -coorse o’ war. The body was scalped and carvt in a gruesome fashion, -showing plainly the hand o’ the Indian, an’ they hold Mr Morton -accountable.”</p> - -<p>“But he didna scalp the Yankee?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> - -<p>“True, gudewife, but he winna tell them wha did. His sword they found -beside the corpse, showing they had been in mortal combat.”</p> - -<p>“Is he sorely wounded?” asked Maggie.</p> - -<p>“I canna say for that. It’s no likely, for they had him oot ae evening -to hang him, and took a better thocht when he was below the gallows.”</p> - -<p>“How did you hear all this?”</p> - -<p>“A messenger came in today with letters from him, sent across the lines -under a flag o’ truce. It was said in camp Major Stovin was stampin’ -angry and was going to write back that gin a hair o’ the Lieutenant’s -head is harmed he will hang every Yankee officer that fa’s into his -hans. I gaed ower to see the messenger and he tell’t me the word went -that Morton defied General Hampton and his officers to do their worst, -that, to save his life, he wadna bring disgrace on his commission.”</p> - -<p>“Who is the messenger: has he gone back?”</p> - -<p>“He’s a young lad, a son o’ ane o’ the settlers in Hinchinbrook. He -goes back tomorrow with letters from Major Stovin.”</p> - -<p>“Will he see Morton?”</p> - -<p>“No, no: to be sure thae folk on the lines gang back an’ forrit, but -they’re no likely to let him near. His letters will be taken at the -outposts.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think Major Stovin’s letter will save him?”</p> - -<p>“That it won’t. The lad said the Yankees were fair wud ower the death -o’ their officer an’ will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> hang puir Morton to a dead certainty gin he -doesna reveal to them wha did the deed.”</p> - -<p>“An’ for what will he no tell?” asked Mrs Forsyth.</p> - -<p>“That he kens best. Maybe gratitude to an Indian ca’d Hemlock seals his -lips, for oor men believe he was with him at the time.”</p> - -<p>“What does Hemlock say?” interjected Maggie.</p> - -<p>“He’s no in camp. He came back three days ago and left for Oka, where -he bides.”</p> - -<p>Until bedtime Morton was the subject of conversation, and the more they -talked of him the keener their interest grew in his serious situation. -That one whom they had learned to like and respect so much should die -an ignominious death shocked them, and even Mrs Forsyth was constrained -to say, that much as she disliked Yankees, “Gin I were near eneuch to -walk to him, I wad gang on my knees to Hampton to beg his life.”</p> - -<p>Next morning, while engaged in the stable, Mr Forsyth was surprised by -the appearance of his daughter.</p> - -<p>“Hey, my woman, what’s garrd you to come oot in the grey o’ the -mornin’? Time eneuch an hour frae this.”</p> - -<p>“Father, I could not sleep and I wanted to speak to you. If Hemlock was -brought back, would he not save Morton?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, he winna come back. Doubtless he kens the Yankees wad rax his neck -for him. His leevin<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> for hame shows he is afeard o’ what he has dune.”</p> - -<p>“Yet there’s no other hope of saving Morton.”</p> - -<p>“Too true; gin the actual slayer o’ the officer is not surrendered -within a few days poor Morton will suffer.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, father, you cannot go to seek for Hemlock, and my brothers -would not be allowed to leave their duty in camp, so I will go. I can -be in Oka before dark and will see Hemlock.”</p> - -<p>“Dinna think o’ such a thing,” entreated the father, “the road is -lang an’ the Indian wad just laugh at you gin you found him, which is -dootful.”</p> - -<p>A favorite child has little difficulty in persuading a parent, and -before many minutes Mr Forsyth was won over, declaring “it wad be -a shame gin we did naething to try an’ save the puir lad.” It was -arranged she should go at once, the father undertaking to break -the news to his wife. All her other preparations having been made -beforehand, the slipping of a plaid over her head and shoulders -rendered her fit for the journey, and with a cheery goodbye to her -father she stepped quickly away. She went to the camp at La Fourche, -where she surprised her brothers and got them to search out the -messenger who had brought the startling tidings. She had a talk with -him, learning all he knew of Morton. Then she went to see the Indians -in camp, who readily enough told what little they knew of Hemlock. They -believed he was at Oka and did not expect him back, as he said he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> -would join the force that was being assembled above Cornwall to meet -Wilkinson. Thus informed she took the road, a mere bush track, that -led to Annfield Mills, now known as the town of Beauharnois, which she -reached in the course of two hours or so and walked straight to the -house of the only person in it who she thought could help her. It was a -log-shanty built on the angle where the St Louis rushes brawling past -and the calm waters of the bay, and was of unusual length, the front -end being devoted to the purposes of an office. The door stood open and -Maggie walked into a little den, in one corner of which stood a desk -with pigeon-holes stuffed with papers, and beside it were a few shelves -filled with bottles and odds-and-ends, the whole dusty, dark, and -smelling of tobacco. At the desk sat a little man, dressed in blue with -large gilt buttons.</p> - -<p>“Oh, ho, is this you, Maggie Forsyth? Often have I gone to see you, but -this is the first time you have dropped in to see me.”</p> - -<p>“See you, you withered auld stick! I just dropped in to speer a few -questions at you.”</p> - -<p>“Auld stick, Mag; I’m no sae auld that I canna loe ye.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe, but I dinna loe you.”</p> - -<p>“Look here, lassie; see this bit airn kistie; its fu o’ siller dollars; -eneuch to varnish an auld stick an keep a silken gown on yer back every -day o’ the year.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> - -<p>“An eneuch in thae dirty bottles to pooshen me when ye wad?”</p> - -<p>“Ha, ha, my lass; see what it is to hae lear. I didna gang four lang -sessions to new college, Aberdeen, for naething. I can heal as well as -pooshen. It’s no every lassie has a chance to get a man o’ my means and -learnin.”</p> - -<p>“Aye, an its no every lassie that wad want them alang wi’ an auld -wizened body.”</p> - -<p>“Hech, Mag, ye’re wit is ower sharp. When a man’s going down hill, ilka -body gies him a jundie. If ye winna, anither will, but we’ll let that -flee stick i’ the wa’ for awhile. Where is your faither?”</p> - -<p>“At hame: I just walked ower.”</p> - -<p>“Walked ower yer lane, an a’ thae sogers an’ Indians roun!”</p> - -<p>“If yer ceevil ye’ll meet wi’ ceevilty, Mr Milne; an’ I’m gaun farther -this day, an’ just looked in for yer advice.”</p> - -<p>“Oh ye maun hae a drap after your walk,” and here he pulled out a big -watch from his fob. “Gracious! it is 20 minutes ayont my time for a -dram.”</p> - -<p>Stooping beneath the table that answered for a counter, he filled a -grimy tin measure, which he tendered to Maggie, who shook her head. -“Na, na, I dinna touch it.”</p> - -<p>Finding persistence useless, he raised the vessel to his mouth and with -a “Here’s tae ye,” emptied it. “Hech, that does me guid,—but no for -lang. Noo, lass, what can I do to serve you?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> - -<p>Maggie unreservedly told him all. “An’ what’s this young Morton to you?”</p> - -<p>“Naething mair than ony neebur lad.”</p> - -<p>“Tell that to my grannie,” said the old buck, “I can see through a whin -stane as far as onybody an’ noo unnerstan why ye turn yer back on a -graduate o’ new college, Aberdeen, wi’ a kist o’ siller, and a’ for a -penniless leftenant.”</p> - -<p>“Think what thochts ye may, Mr Milne, but they’re far astray. The lad -is naething to me nor me to him. I am going to Oka because nae man-body -is allowed to leave the camp, and I couldna stay at hame gin it was in -my power to save a fellow-creature’s life.”</p> - -<p>“An what can I do to help you to save him?”</p> - -<p>“Help me to reach Oka and find Hemlock.”</p> - -<p>“Were it no for thae stoury war-times I wad get out my boat and gang -mysel’, and there’s naebody to send wi’ you. My lass, gif ye’ll no turn -hame again, ye’ll have to walk the road your lane.”</p> - -<p>“I hae set my face to the task an’ I’ll no gang hame.”</p> - -<p>“Weel, then, ye’ll hae a snack wi’ me an’ I’ll direct ye as well as may -be.”</p> - -<p>A few rods up the St Louis, in the centre of the stream, where it -trickled over a series of rocky shelves, stood a small mill, and on the -adjoining bank the house of the miller, and thither they went and had -something to eat. The miller’s wife, a good-looking woman, could not -speak English, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> made up her lack in lively gesticulations, while -Maggie helped the common understanding with odd words and phrases in -French. Justice done to the food hurriedly spread before them, Maggie -walked back with Milne until they stood in front of the house.</p> - -<p>“There,” he said, pointing to planks resting on big stones, “you cross -the St Louis and keep the track until you come to the first house after -you pass the rapids. It is not far, but the road is shockingly bad. -There you will ask them to ferry you to the other side, when you’ve a -long walk to the Ottawa before you. I’d advise you to turn yet.” Maggie -shook her head decisively. “Weel, weel, so be it; he that will to -Cupar maun to Cupar. Here tak this,” and he put in her hand two silver -dollars.</p> - -<p>Maggie winced. “I’ll hae nae need o’ siller.”</p> - -<p>“Ye dinna ken; ye may get into trouble that money will help you out o’. -Dinna fear to take it; I’ve made (and here his voice sank to a whisper) -I’ve made a hunner o’ thae bricht lads by ae guid run o’ brandy kegs -across the Hinchinbrook line. It’s Yankee siller.”</p> - -<p>Maggie smiled and, as if the questionable mode of their acquisition -justified their acceptance, clasped them, and nodding to the little -man, tripped her way to the other side of the river. The road, as -predicted, proved execrable. Walled in and shadowed by trees, neither -breeze nor sunlight <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>penetrated to dry it, and it was a succession -of holes filled with liquid mud. So bad was it, that an attempt to -haul a small cannon along it had to be abandoned despite the efforts -of horses, oxen, and a party of blue jackets. Tripping from side to -side, and occasionally passing an unusually deep hole by turning into -the bush, Maggie made all haste. Once only she halted. A party of -artillerymen and sailors were raising a breastwork at the head of the -Cascade rapids, whereon to mount a gun that would sweep the river, and -she watched them for a while. That was the only sign of life along -the road until the white-washed shanty of the ferryman came in sight, -in front of which a troop of half-naked children were tumbling in -boisterous play, and who set up a shrill cry of wonder when they saw -her. Their mother, so short and stout as to be shapeless, came to the -door in response to their cries and gazed wonderingly at the stranger. -She volubly returned Maggie’s salutation and led her into the house, -the interior of which was as bare as French Canadian houses usually -are, but clean and tidy. Her husband was away, helping to convey stores -to the fort at the Coteau, and there was not, to her knowledge, a man -within three miles capable of ferrying her across. Could not madam -paddle her over? The woman’s hands went up in pantomimic amazement. -Would she tempt the good God by venturing in a canoe alone with a -woman? Did she not know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> the current was swift, and led to the rapids -whose roaring she heard! No, she must stay overnight, and her good man -would take her over in the morning. Maggie could only submit and seated -herself behind the house, to gaze towards the other bank which she was -so anxious to set foot upon. From where she sat, the bank abruptly sank -to a depth of perhaps thirty feet, where a little bay gave shelter to -a canoe and a large boat fitted to convey a heavy load. Beyond the -rocks that headed the tiny inlet, which thus served as a cove for -the ferryman’s boats, the river swept irresistibly, and where in its -channel between the shore and the islands that shut out the view of -the north bank, any obstacle was met, the water rose in billows with -foaming heads. Maggie knew that she was looking upon the south channel -of the great river, and that the main stream lay on the other side of -the tree-covered islands, which varied in size from half a mile long to -rocks barely large enough to afford foothold to the tree or two whose -branches overhung the foaming current. The motion of the rushing water -contrasted so finely with the still-life and silence of the forest -that framed it, and the many shaped and many colored islands that -diversified its surface, that the scene at once soothed the anxious -mind of the peasant maid and inspired her with fresh energy.</p> - -<p>“Time is passing like that mighty stream,” she thought, “and before -another sunset help for <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>Morton may be too late,” and then she asked -herself why she, so used to the management of a canoe, should not -paddle herself across? She sought out madam and told her what she -proposed, was met with energetic protestation, and then was allowed to -have her own way. Fortified with directions which she only partially -understood, Maggie took her place in the canoe, and waving good-bye to -madam and her troop of children, who stood on the landing, pushed out. -Unmindful of how the light skiff drifted downwards, she kept its head -pointed to the island that lay opposite to her and paddled for dear -life. Once she received a shower of spray in passing too near to where -the current chafed and fumed over a sunken rock, but she retained her -presence of mind, and was glad to see the island draw nearer with each -stroke. Just as the gravelly strand seemed within reach, the drift -brought her nigh to the end of the island, and she paddled into the -channel that lay between it and the islets adjoining, which nestled so -closely that the tops of the trees upon them interlaced, furnishing a -leafy arcade to the narrow channels that divided them. As Maggie paused -for breath after her severe exertion, a sense of the quiet beauty and -security of the retreat came over her, and drawing the canoe on to the -pebbly beach, she laved her feet while, idly picking from the bushes -and vines within reach, she formed a bouquet of colored leaves. She -heard the roar of the rapids<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> beneath and she knew that a few yards -farther on lay the deep-flowing north channel, but her nature was -not one to borrow trouble and she enjoyed the present to the full in -her cool retreat. When she again took her place in the canoe, a few -dips of the paddle took it outside the islands, and she saw the main -channel of the river—smooth except for great greasy circles of slowly -whirling water, as if the mighty river, after its late experience of -being shredded in the rapids above, had a nightmare of foreboding of a -repetition of the same agony in the rapids to which it was hastening. -With steady stroke Maggie urged the canoe forward and did not allow the -consciousness that she was drifting toward the rapids discompose her. -As the canoe neared the bank, the sweep of the current increased, and -her arms began to ache with the violent and long-continued exertion. -To her joy, she saw a man standing at the landing and the strokes of -her paddle quickened. The canoe was swept past the landing, when the -man, picking up a coil of rope, ran downwards to a point, and watching -his chance, threw it across the canoe. Maggie caught an end of the -rope, and in a minute was hauled ashore. The man, a French Canadian -employed to assist the bateaux in passing between lakes St Francis and -St Louis, expressed his astonishment at a woman daring so perilous a -feat, and his wonder increased when she told him of her intention of -going to Oka. “Alone! mademoiselle,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> he exclaimed, “why you will lose -your way in the forest which is full of bears and Indians.” She smiled -in answer, and receiving his directions, sought the blazed track which -led to the Ottawa. Familiar with the bush, she had no difficulty in -following the marks, for the litter of falling leaves had begun to -shroud the path. The tapping of the woodpecker and the chirrup of the -squirrel cheered her, and she pressed on with a light and quick step. -Hours passed until the gloom that pervaded the forest told her the sun -had ceased to touch the tree-tops and she wished the Ottawa would come -in sight. While giving way to a feeling of dread that she might have -to halt and, passing the night in the woods, await daylight to show -her the way, the faint tinkle of a bell reached her. With expectant -smile she paused, and poising herself drank in the grateful sound. -“It is the bell of the mission,” she said, and cheerfully resumed her -journey. All at once, the lake burst upon her view—a great sweep of -glassy water, reflecting the hues of the evening sky, and sleeping at -the foot of a long, low hill, covered to its double-topped summit with -sombre-foliaged trees. At the foot of the slope of the western end of -the hill, she distinguished the mission-buildings and, running above -and below them, an irregular string of huts, where she knew the Indians -must live, and behind those on the river’s edge rose a singular cliff -of yellow sand. The path led her to where the lake narrowed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> into a -river and she perceived a landing-place. Standing at the farthest -point, she raised her hand to her mouth and sent a shout across the -waters, long, clear, and strong, as she had often done to her father -and brothers, while working in the bush, to tell of waiting-meals. In -the dusk, she perceived a movement on the opposite bank and the launch -of a canoe, which paddled rapidly across. It contained two Indians, -whose small eyes and heavy features gave no indication of surprise on -seeing who wanted to be ferried. Stepping lightly in, the canoe swiftly -skimmed the dark waters, which now failed to catch a gleam from the -fading glories of the evening sky. The silence was overwhelming, and -as she viewed the wide lake, overshadowed by the melancholy mountain, -Maggie experienced a feeling of awe. At that very hour she knew her -father would be conducting worship, and as the scene of her loved -home passed before her, she felt a fresh impulse of security, and she -murmured to herself, “My father is praying for me and I shall trust in -the Lord.”</p> - -<p>On getting out of the canoe she was perplexed what step to take next. -To her enquiries, made in English and imperfect French, the Indians -shook their heads, and merely pointed her to the mission-buildings. -Approaching the nearest of these, from whose open door streamed the -glowing light of a log-fire, she paused at the threshold on seeing a -woman kneeling, and who, on hearing her, coolly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> turned, surveyed her -with an inquisitive and deliberate stare, and then calmly resumed her -devotions. When the last bead was told, the woman rose and bade her -welcome. Maggie told her of her errand. The woman grew curious as to -what she could want with an Indian. Yes, she knew Hemlock, but had not -seen him; he is a pagan and never comes near the presbytery. The father -had gone into the garden to repeat his office and had not returned; -she would ask him when he came in. Mademoiselle could have had no -supper; mon Dieu, people did not pick up ready-cooked suppers in the -woods, but she would hasten and give her of her best. It was a treat -to see a white woman, even if she was an Anglais and, she feared, a -heretic. The embers on the hearth were urged into a blaze, and before -long a platter of pottage, made from Indian corn beaten into a paste, -was heated, sprinkled over with maple-sugar and set down with a bowl -of curdled-cream on the table. Maggie had finished her repast when the -priest entered. He was a lumpish man with protruding underlip, which -hung downwards, small eyes, and a half-awakened look. “Ah, good-day,” -he said with a vacant stare. Maggie rose and curtsied, while the -housekeeper volubly repeated all she had learned of her and her errand. -“Hemlock!” he exclaimed, “we must take care. He is a bad Indian and -this young woman cannot want him for any good.”</p> - -<p>“True; I never thought of that.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Ah, we must keep our eyes always open. What can a girl like this want -with that bold man?”</p> - -<p>“And to run after him through the woods, the infatuate! We must save -her.”</p> - -<p>“I will have her sent to the sisters, who will save her body and soul -from destruction. She would make a beautiful nun.” And the priest -rubbed his chubby hands together.</p> - -<p>“May it please your reverence,” interposed Maggie, who had caught the -drift of their talk, “I seek your aid to find Hemlock. If you will not -help me, I shall leave your house.”</p> - -<p>The priest gasped for a minute with astonishment. “I thought you were -English; you understand French?”</p> - -<p>“Enough to take care of myself, and I wish ministers of your robe were -taught in college to have better thoughts of us poor women.”</p> - -<p>“It is for your good we are instructed; so that we can guard you by our -advice.”</p> - -<p>“For our good you are taught to think the worst of us! I look for -Hemlock that he may go and give evidence that will save a man condemned -to die. For the sake of innocency I ask your help.”</p> - -<p>The priest shrugged his shoulders, stared at her, gathered up his robe, -grasped his missal with one hand and a candle with the other, and -saying, “I leave you with Martine,” passed up the open stairway to his -bedroom.</p> - -<p>“Ah, the holy father!” ejaculated the housekeeper,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> “when we are sunk -in stupid sleep, he is on his knees praying for us all, and the demons -dare not come near. Will you not come into the true church? Sister -Agatha would teach you. She has had visions in her raptures. Mon Dieu, -her knees have corns from kneeling on the stone steps of the altar. You -will not. Ah, well, I will ask their prayers for you and the scales may -drop from your eyes.”</p> - -<p>“Do tell me, how I can find Hemlock?” pleaded Maggie, and the current -of her thoughts thus changed, Martine insisted on learning why and how -his evidence was needed, and Maggie repeated as much of the story as -was necessary. The housekeeper grew interested and said decisively, -“the young brave must not die.” Covering her head with a blanket-like -shawl, she told Maggie to follow, and stepped out. It was a calm, clear -night, the glassy expanse of the lake reflecting the stars. Hurrying -onwards, they passed a number of huts, until reaching one, they entered -its open door. The interior was dark save for the faint glow that -proceeded from the dying embers on the hearth. Maggie saw the forms of -several asleep on the floor and seated in silence were three men. “This -woman has come to find Hemlock; can you guide her to him?”</p> - -<p>“What seeks she with him?”</p> - -<p>“She has come from the Chateaugay to tell him his word is wanted to -save his best friend from death.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> - -<p>The conversation went on in the gutturals of the Iroquois for some -time, when the housekeeper said to Maggie, “It is all right; they know -where Hemlock is, but it would not be safe to go to him now. They will -lead you to him at daybreak. Come, we will go back and you will stay -with me until morning.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER VI.</h3> - -<p>The rising of the housekeeper, whose bed she shared, woke Maggie, and -a glance through the small window showed a faint whitening in the sky -that betokened the coming of day. Knowing there was no time to spare, -she dressed herself quickly, and, joining the housekeeper in the -kitchen, asked if the messenger had come. She answered by pointing to -the open door, and Maggie saw, seated on the lowest step, in silent -waiting, the figure of an Indian. She was for going with him at once, -when the housekeeper held her and, fearful of disturbing her master, -whispered to eat of the food she had placed on the table. Having made -a hurried repast, Maggie drew her shawl over her head and turned to -bid her hostess good-bye. The good soul forced into her pocket the -bread that remained on the table, and kissed her on both cheeks. When -Maggie came to the door, the Indian rose and, without looking at her, -proceeded to lead the way through the village and then past it, by a -path that wound to the top of the sand-hill that hems it in on the -north. Motioning her to stand still, the Indian crept forward as if to -spy out the object of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> their search. Glancing around her, Maggie saw -through the spruces the Ottawa outstretched at her feet, reflecting the -first rosy gleam of the approaching sun. A twitch at her shawl startled -her. It was her guide who had returned. Following him, as he slowly -threaded his way through the grove of balsams and spruces, they soon -came to a halt, and the Indian pointed to a black object outstretched -upon the ground a few yards from them. Fear overcame Maggie, and she -turned to grasp the arm of her guide—he was gone. Her commonsense came -to her aid. If this was Hemlock, she had nothing to fear, and mastering -her agitation she strove to discover whether the figure, which the -dawn only rendered perceptible amid the gloom of the evergreens, was -really the object of her quest. Silently she peered, afraid to move a -hairsbreadth, for what seemed to her to be an age, and she came to see -clearly the outline of a man, naked save for a girdle, fantastically -fashioned out of furs of varied colors, stretched immoveable on the -sod, face downward. Suddenly a groan of anguish escaped from the lips -of the prostrate man and the body swayed as if in convulsions. Her -sympathies overcame her fears, and advancing Maggie cried, “Hemlock, -are you ill? Can I help you?”</p> - -<p>With a terrific bound the figure leapt to its feet, the right arm -swinging a tomahawk, and, despite an effort at control, Maggie -shrieked. The light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> was now strong enough to show the lineaments of -the Indian, whose face and body were smeared with grease and soot and -whose countenance wore the expression of one roused from deep emotion -in sudden rage.</p> - -<p>“Hemlock, do not look at me so; I am Maggie Forsyth, come from the -Chateaugay to seek you.”</p> - -<p>Instantly the face of the Indian softened. “Why should the fawn leave -the groves of the Chateaugay to seek so far the lair of the lynx?”</p> - -<p>“Your friend Morton is doomed to die by the American soldiers and you -alone can save him.”</p> - -<p>“What! Did he not escape? Tell me all.”</p> - -<p>Maggie told him what she knew, he listening with impassive countenance. -When she had done, he paused, as if reflecting, and then said curtly, -“I will go with you.” It was now fair daylight, and Maggie saw, to her -dismay, that the mound upon which she had found Hemlock outstretched -was a grave, and that, at the head of it was a stake upon which hung -several scalps, the topmost evidently cut from a recent victim. -Glancing at the radiant eastward sky, the Indian started, and ignoring -the presence of his visitor, fell on his knees on the grave, and -turning his face so as to see the sun when it should shoot its first -beam over the broad lake, which was reflecting the glow of the rosy -clouds that overhung its further point, he communed with the dead. -“I leave thee, Spotted Fawn, for a while, that I may meet those who -did<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> thee hurt and bring back another scalp to satisfy thy spirit. Thy -father’s arm is strong, but it is stronger when he thinks of thee. -Tarry a while before you cross the river and I will finish my task and -join thee in the journey to the hunting-ground; the arm that oft bore -you when a child, will carry you over the waters and rocks. Farewell! -Oh, my child, my daughter, how could you leave me? Tread softly and -slowly, for I will soon leave my lodge of sorrow and see you and clasp -you to my heart.” There was a pause, a groan of unutterable sorrow -escaped his lips, and he sank lifeless upon the grave. Agitated with -deep sympathy, Maggie stepped forward and kneeling beside the Indian -stroked his head and shoulders as if she had been soothing a child.</p> - -<p>“Dinna tak on sae, Hemlock. Sair it is to mourn the loved and lost, but -we maun dae our duty in this warl and try to live sae as to meet them -in the warl ayont. He that let the stroke fa’, alane can heal the hurt. -Gin yer daughter is deed, it is only for this life. Her voice will be -the first to welcome you when you cross death’s threshold.”</p> - -<p>“I saw her an hour ago. It is your creed that says the dead are not -seen again in this life. I got the medicine from my father that melts -the scales from our earthly eyes for a while. Last night I saw my -child—last night she was in these arms—last night my cheek felt the -warmth of her breath—last night my ears joyed in the ripple of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> -laughter. Oh, my Spotted Fawn, the joy, the life of my heart, why did -you stray from me?” Then, his mood changing, he sprang up with the -words, “Cursed be the wolves that hunted you, cursed be the catamount -that crept near that he might rend you! I will seek them out, I will -track them day by day, until I slay the last of them.” Here he ground -his teeth and remained absorbed for a minute, then turning sharply, -with a wave of the hand, he beckoned Maggie to follow, and led to the -verge of the cliff overhanging the Ottawa. “Stay here until I come -back,” he whispered and, disappeared over the declivity.</p> - -<p>The glorious landscape outstretched at her feet soothed, as naught -else could, the agitation of Maggie’s mind, for Nature’s touch is ever -gentle and healing. The great expanse of water, here narrowed into a -broad river, there swelling into a noble lake, was smooth as a mirror, -reflecting hill and tree and rock. Beyond it, was unrolled the forest -as a brightly colored carpet, for the glory of Autumn was upon it, and -a trail of smoky mist hung on the horizon. An hour might have sped, -when Hemlock reappeared, with paint washed off and dressed in his -usual attire. Across his back was slung his rifle; at his heel was a -gaunt, ill-shaped dog. “Follow,” he said, and turning backward a few -paces, led to where the bank could be descended without difficulty. At -the foot of it, lay waiting a canoe, with a boy in the bow. Maggie<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> -stepped lightly into the centre, and Hemlock grasping the paddle, shot -the light skiff swiftly across the stream. When the opposite bank was -gained, he sprang ashore and was followed by Maggie. The boy, without a -word, paddled back to the village.</p> - -<p>Hemlock was in no mood for conversation. The exhaustion following upon -his night-vigil was upon him, and he strode forward through the forest -without speaking, Maggie following his guidance. Once he halted, on -seeing his dog creeping forward on scenting game. Picking up a stick, -he stepped lightly after it, and when a covey of partridges rose, threw -his missile so successfully that two of the birds dropped. Tying them -to his belt, he resumed his monotonous trot, and several miles were -passed when the sharp yelps of the dog suddenly arrested their steps. -The alarm came from a point to their left. Hemlock, unslinging his -rifle, ran in the direction of the dog, whose baying was now intense -and continuous, and Maggie, afraid of losing sight of him, hastened -after. A short run brought the Indian to the edge of a slough, in a -thicket in the centre of which his dog was evidently engaged in mortal -combat with some wild animal. Without a moment’s hesitation, the Indian -started to pick his way across the morass; partially dried by the -prolonged drought, and had passed the centre, when there was a crashing -of branches and a huge bear burst out, followed by the dog, which was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> -limping, from a fractured paw. Before he could turn aside, Hemlock was -knocked down by the lumbering brute, which gained the solid ground and -was hurrying forward, when, seeing Maggie coming, it sprang for a huge -beech tree, with the intent of climbing it. Before it was a yard up, -the dog overtook it, had fastened its teeth in its hide and pulled it -down. The bear, roused to utmost ferocity by being thwarted, easily -caught hold of the disabled dog, held it in its forepaws, and standing -on its hind feet, with back resting against the tree, was proceeding to -hug its victim to death, when Hemlock came up. He had dropped his rifle -in the slough, and instead of waiting to pick it up, had rushed forward -to rescue his dog. With upraised hatchet he approached the bear, and -dealt it so terrific a stroke, that the light weapon stuck in the -skull. With a growl of rage and pain, the bear flung the dog down and -before Hemlock could recover himself after dealing the blow, fell upon -him, too stunned and weak, however, to do more than keep him under. On -catching her first glimpse of the bear, Maggie’s inclination was to -flee, but, the next moment, the instinct of self-preservation gave way -to a feeling of sympathy for the disabled dog, followed by absorbing -excitement as the contest went on. When Hemlock fell underneath the -brute, she gave a shriek, and rushed to where the rifle lay. Snatching -it, she ran to the bear, which lay panting with outstretched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> tongue -and half-closed eyes, and dealt him a blow with the butt. With a groan -the unwieldy animal rolled over motionless, and Hemlock sprang to his -feet, and drew his knife. It was unnecessary; the bear was dead. Maggie -looked wildly at the Indian, strove to speak, tottered, and fell: the -reaction from the delirium of excited feeling that had sustained her -having set in. Tenderly Hemlock raised her in his arms, and carrying -her to the edge of the swamp, scooped up sufficient water to bathe her -forehead. A few anxious minutes passed, when the pallor began to pass -away, and suddenly opening her eyes, Maggie asked, “What of the dog?”</p> - -<p>“Never mind Toga; are you hurt?”</p> - -<p>“No; are you?”</p> - -<p>“I am as well as ever, and had not my foot slipped after striking the -bear, would have spared you what you did.”</p> - -<p>“That does not matter,” said Maggie, simply, “it was God that put it -into my silly head to get the gun and it was His strength that gave the -blow—not mine.”</p> - -<p>“I care not for your God,” answered Hemlock in a hollow voice, “I have -known too many who profess to be His followers to believe in Him.”</p> - -<p>“Dinna speak sae,” pleaded Maggie.</p> - -<p>“Yesterday,” Hemlock went on, “I met the topped crow that clings to Oka -while taking from a squaw her last beaver-skins to say masses for her -dead husband, and I cursed him to his teeth as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> deceiver that he may -eat the corn and give back to his dupes the cob.”</p> - -<p>Unheeding his words, Maggie rose and went towards the dog, which was -still alive, and began to stroke its head. Its eyes, however, sought -not her but his master, and when Hemlock put down his hand, the dying -animal feebly tried to lick it. At this sign of affection, the eyes of -Hemlock moistened, and falling on his knees he alternately patted the -dog and shook his unhurt paw. “My Toga, my old friend, my help in many -a hunt, my comrade when we were alone for weeks in the wilderness, are -you too going to leave me? You are dying, as the Indian’s dog should -die, in the fury of the hunt. A claw of the bear I shall wrap in a -piece of my wampum belt and put into your mouth, so that Spotted Fawn -may know whose dog you were, and you will serve her and follow her -until I join you in the happy hunting-ground—and that will not be -long.”</p> - -<p>As if sensible of what he said the dog whimpered, and with a last -effort placed its head in his outstretched hands. Then it gave a kick -or two, and died.</p> - -<p>The Indian rose, and selecting a knoll where spruces grew thickly, -kindled a fire. Wrapping the two partridges tightly in wet grass and -several folds of green birch bark, he waited until there were embers, -on which he placed them, and heaped fresh fuel. Asking Maggie to keep -up the fire, he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> left and was away for some time. When he came back he -had the bear’s pelt and several slices of steak, which he proceeded -to broil. On lifting the partridges, their bodies came out clean from -their covering of feathers, and on tearing them apart the entrails, -dried and shrivelled, were easily drawn. Maggie had eaten many a -partridge, but a sweeter bite than the breast of one so cooked she had -never tasted, and with a piece of the bread in her pocket, she made a -light but refreshing dinner. The bear-steak she could not look upon, -but like qualms did not interfere with Hemlock’s appetite, who ate them -with greater relish because part of his late enemy and the slayer of -his dog. He had filled his flask with water from a spring near by, and -Maggie remarked, if she “only had a pinch o’ saut, she couldna have -asked for a better dinner.” Trimming and scraping the bear’s hide, -to make it light as possible, Hemlock wrapped it into a bundle, and -strapped it on his back. Then looking to the priming of his rifle, he -told Maggie he was ready.</p> - -<p>“But the puir dowg; will ye no bury him?”</p> - -<p>“I have buried him,” answered Hemlock, “and poisoned the carcase of the -bear that it may sicken the wolves that eat of it.”</p> - -<p>The tongue of Hemlock was now free, and as they trudged on, he kept -up a constant conversation, surprising Maggie by the extent of his -information and the shrewdness of his judgment. Becoming conscious -that the sun was descending, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> expressed a fear that she could not -reach home that night. “No, you cannot, and I do not mean you should, -but you will rest safe before sunset. I am taking you to the fort at -Coteau-du-lac.”</p> - -<p>“That is oot o’ oor way, Hemlock.”</p> - -<p>“Not very far; it is necessary I see Colonel Scott as to how to save -Morton.”</p> - -<p>Maggie said no more, for that was reason enough to go a hundred miles -out of the way, though she thought with pain of the anxiety her absence -for another night would give her parents. “Father will think I did not -find Hemlock at Oka and that I am looking for him,” she concluded at -last, “and will not borrow trouble about me.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER VII.</h3> - -<p>Colonel Scott was pacing the walk in front of the battery of the little -fort of Coteau-du-lac, viewing alternately lake St Francis, glittering -peacefully in the rays of the fast westering sun, and the swift-running -river into which it contracted where he stood, with the surges of the -rapids farther down. He was tall, and his face was that of a man who -had intellect to conceive and will to put his conceptions into force. -To the door of a house larger than any of its neighbors, and before -which a sentry paced, the Colonel often glanced and when a lady came -out, he stepped to meet her. It was his wife, who joined him for an -airing before dinner. After admiring, as she had done every day since -her arrival, the contrast between the lake and the river, as it went -sweeping downwards between forest-covered islands, she asked, “And is -there any news? I heard an arrival reported.”</p> - -<p>“None since the despatch of last night and it said Wilkinson was still -at Sackett’s Harbor.”</p> - -<p>“So we may not expect his flotilla of boats this week?”</p> - -<p>“No, and were I in Sir George Prevost’s place, they would never leave -Sackett’s Harbor.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why, you have told me his Excellency has not sufficient naval force to -attack them.”</p> - -<p>“I would not attack the flotilla; I would render its purpose abortive. -What is the American plan of invasion? I can give it to you in a -nutshell, Helen. Wilkinson is to take possession of the St Lawrence -with his flotilla and is to meet Hampton at the mouth of the Chateaugay -river, when the combined forces will land on the island of Montreal and -capture it and the city. Now, to defeat this plan, it is not necessary -to destroy the flotilla. If the line of communication between Wilkinson -and Hampton is cut, the whole scheme fails.”</p> - -<p>“And how would you cut the line?”</p> - -<p>“Why, as I have represented time and again to headquarters, by the -capture of French Mills. Four hundred men could take and hold that -place, and with it in British hands Wilkinson and Hampton would be as -completely prevented from acting in concert as if Hampton was back to -his slaves in Carolina and Wilkinson to his gally-pots. It provokes -me to see the opportunities our forces miss. The war in the time of -Washington was a series of blunders on our side and it looks as if the -second was going to be a repetition.”</p> - -<p>“And you blame his Excellency?”</p> - -<p>“Yes and his staff. He is brave personally, and he is active to -fussiness, but he is unable to plan a campaign or carry it out. Here we -have the flower of the British army arriving by every convoy, yet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> our -policy is a purely defensive one and changed every day. Out upon such -a peddling course of action! I would teach the braggarts who lurk on -yonder heights that Canada is not to be invaded with impunity, and that -she has hearts to dare and die in defence of her independence.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Norman, it may prove to be all for the best. So far Canada has -repulsed every attempt at invasion.”</p> - -<p>“It is not for the best. I have made suggestion after suggestion to -improve the opportunities presented to me, and every one has been set -aside, and I am condemned to a course of inaction that galls and frets -me.”</p> - -<p>Here an orderly approached. “An Indian and a young woman want to speak -with you.”</p> - -<p>“I will go,” said Mrs Scott.</p> - -<p>“Do not,” cried the Colonel, “what tete-a-tete may I not have with the -lovely squaw.”</p> - -<p>“Please, sir,” said the orderly, “she is not a squaw. She is white and -a Scotchwoman by her speech.”</p> - -<p>“And young to boot,” exclaimed Mrs Scott archly, “I shall certainly -stay and keep you from falling into temptation.”</p> - -<p>“Bring them this way,” said the Colonel, and the orderly returned with -Hemlock and Maggie.</p> - -<p>“In truth an odd-matched pair,” whispered the Colonel as he saw them -approach.</p> - -<p>“Why, it’s you, Hemlock. I thought you were raising the war-whoop on -the Huntingdon frontier.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> And who may your companion be? Too young to -be your wife—too fair to be your sweetheart.”</p> - -<p>The Indian’s features relaxed into the nearest approach they ever came -to a smile, as he answered, “An arrow from another bow than mine has -struck the doe.”</p> - -<p>“Well, Hemlock, do you bring me news from Hinchinbrook? When is Hampton -going to march?”</p> - -<p>In reply, Hemlock briefly told how he had been at Oka, was sought -out there by Maggie and for what purpose. The Colonel listened with -stern expression as he was told of Morton’s peril, and when the Indian -had done, he plied Maggie with questions. When she had told all, the -Colonel brought his fist down heavily on the cannon beside which he -stood as he exclaimed, “I knew these Americans were boasters but I did -not think they were capable of such cruelty. Once they hung a gentleman -wearing His Majesty’s uniform and were allowed to escape under the -belief that, tradesmen and farmers as they were, they knew no better, -but if they send a second to the gallows, there is not an officer -in Canada who would not consider it his duty to challenge every one -concerned in the deed.”</p> - -<p>With a glance of apprehension at her husband, Mrs Scott with admirable -tact strove to divert him from his vengeful mood by changing the -subject. Addressing Maggie she asked, “And what is Mr Morton to you -that you should risk the peril of these woods to save him? Is he a -brother?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> - -<p>“He is neither kith nor kin to me,” answered Maggie.</p> - -<p>“The attraction is of another sort, then. Cupid flies his arrows in -these woods as well as the red warrior.”</p> - -<p>Maggie blushed and the Colonel, forgetting his anger, gallantly came to -her rescue. “And if he does, madam, I would say to Master Cupid, give -me the maiden who, like our fair Maggie, would dare the dragons of the -field and flood to save her lover.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” retorted Mrs Scott, “that is as much as to say, I would not do -that and more for you. What thankless monsters you men are!”</p> - -<p>“Nay, spare me, Helen, and as by what she has told us, she has walked -from Oka today, perhaps you will take her with you and play the -hostess.”</p> - -<p>“She has done more than walk from Oka today,” said Hemlock, “she killed -a bear and saved my life.”</p> - -<p>“What!” cried Mrs Scott in astonishment, and Hemlock told the story -of the encounter. When he had done the Colonel stepped forward and -grasping Maggie’s hands he said, “I honor you as a brave man honors -a brave woman, and if there is any possibility of saving Mr Morton’s -life, it shall be done.”</p> - -<p>Maggie was too overcome to reply, and Mrs Scott, slipping her arm into -hers, led her away to her husband’s quarters, leaving Hemlock and the -Colonel<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> in eager converse, which lasted until daylight had nearly -faded and until a servant came with word that dinner was waiting the -Colonel. Ordering the servant to call one of the sergeants, the Colonel -committed Hemlock to his hospitable care and then entered his own -quarters. Maggie spent one of the most delightful evenings of her life -in the company of the Colonel and his wife, forgetting her weariness -and the excitement she had passed through in the enjoyment of social -converse of a brighter and wider scope than she had been accustomed. -When bedtime came she was solicitous about being called early so -that Hemlock might not be kept waiting, when the Colonel assured her -he would take her restoration to her home by the Chateaugay into -his own hands. When she made her appearance next day, she found her -entertainers seated on the veranda, and was concerned to learn that it -was near noon and that Hemlock had left at sunrise. The anxious look -that flitted across her face, the Colonel relieved by telling her that -Hemlock had chosen a route she could not have followed, across the -great swamp that lay between the St Lawrence and the Chateaugay, and -that he carried a letter to her father, telling where she was and that -she would go home by the first safe opportunity.</p> - -<p>“And now, my dear Maggie,” said Mrs Scott, “You need not be concerned -about those at home but be my companion for a few days. Buried away -here in these romantic wilds, you cannot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> conceive what a treat it is -to me to have your society.”</p> - -<p>“You are welcome, Miss Forsyth,” added the Colonel, “and you will get -a chance before long of a convoy to Annfield, for I expect one from -Kingston by the end of the week.”</p> - -<p>“But they may be needing me at home, Colonel; my mother is frail and if -the Yankees have crossed she will be sore in need of my help.”</p> - -<p>“Make yourself easy as to that,” said the Colonel with a smile. -“General Hampton, as I know for an assured fact, has not crossed the -frontier and will not for several days, at least—perhaps never, for -he has no heart in the undertaking. As to Wilkinson coming, I wish -he would. I am just afraid he is going to deprive me of the pleasure -of giving him the warm reception I have gone to so much trouble to -prepare. After lunch, or rather your breakfast, we will take the boat -and see that everything is in order for him.”</p> - -<p>A couple of hours later they were seated in the Colonel’s long boat, -manned by four tars, who, however, were spared the labor of rowing -all the way, for the wind was favorable. Heading Grande Isle, they -sailed down the south channel of the St Lawrence to a narrow point, -where, by means of the trunks of huge trees anchored above where rapids -foamed, the passage of boats was made impossible and before these -obstructions could be lifted out, the Colonel pointed to his wife and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> -Maggie how a concealed battery aided by sharp-shooters hid among the -foliage that lined the river would decimate the occupants of the boats. -He considered the southern channel to be so effectually closed that -Wilkinson would not attempt it and would, therefore, have to take the -northern, where he would have to run the gauntlet of the fire of the -fort at Coteau-du-lac. “True it is,” added the Colonel, “that that -channel is wide and the current swift, yet with a fire from both banks -many boats must needs be crippled or sunk, and those that do escape -would have to face a similar ordeal at Long Point, opposite the Cedars -rapids, where another battery has been placed.”</p> - -<p>“What if the Americans passed in the dark?” suggested Maggie.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” added Mrs Scott, “or what if they landed a part of their large -force before they came within range of the Coteau batteries and -assailed them from the land-side?”</p> - -<p>“All that I have considered. Were they to pass in the dark, they would -not see to shoot the rapids properly, and their angry waters would be -more disastrous than our shot. As to a flank movement, I rely on the -Indian scouts to bring me word and, fully warned of their coming, these -woods are so dense and cut up by swamps, that, with a hundred men, I -would undertake to repulse a thousand.”</p> - -<p>“So you keep constant watch?” asked Maggie.</p> - -<p>“Unceasing,” answered the Colonel. “If you<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> take this telescope you -will perceive a sail at the upper end of the lake. It is one of the -gunboats on the watch, and which would, on appearance of Wilkinson’s -flotilla, either make for Coteau or if the wind were unfavorable send a -row-boat. Then, on that farthest island there is a guard of regulars, -who are likely to give the island a name, for already it is called -Grenadier island. To the guard on that island, scouts on the southern -shore report daily.”</p> - -<p>“Surely you have contrived well,” exclaimed Maggie, “and I just wish -the Yankees would come and get what you have prepared for them.”</p> - -<p>“‘Their kail het through the reek, as the Scotch say,’” laughed the -Colonel, “well I am just afraid I will not see them. Along the river, -between Prescott and Cornwall, there is such a succession of points of -attack, that, from all I learn of him, Wilkinson is not soldier enough -to overcome.”</p> - -<p>In returning, the boat landed the party in a cove on Grande Isle, -whence, from under the shade of maples, they scanned the lake, -shimmering in the sun, and the islets, heavy with trees richly colored -by Autumn’s fingers, set in it like gems.</p> - -<p>“This is so pleasant,” remarked Mrs Scott, “that I do not wonder at -people growing to passionately love Canada. Do you prefer Canada to -Scotland, Maggie?”</p> - -<p>“I never saw Scotland,” replied Maggie, “but I dearly love Canada and -can find it in my heart to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> wish that the Colonel may wring the necks -of those who are trying to take it away from us.”</p> - -<p>“Well said!” shouted the Colonel, “and Canada is so favored by nature -in her line of defence and in her climate, that I cannot conceive -how, if her people are true, she can ever come under the heel of a -conqueror.”</p> - -<p>The day passed happily and so did several others. Accompanying Mrs -Scott, Maggie visited the little canals that enabled the boats, that -plied between Montreal and Upper Canada, to overcome the rapids, to see -the lockmen and their families, and watch the peculiar class of men who -assisted the boats in passing upwards, either by poling and towing or -by lightening their load with the help of their diminutive carts and -ponies. With the garrison and its daily life she became familiar, and -the detachment of blue jackets, drafted from the men-of-war at Quebec, -partly engaged in manning the gunboats already afloat and in building -others, she never wearied in watching. Each day endeared her more to -Mrs Scott, who, she learned, had sacrificed her comfort and safety, -by accompanying her husband on duty. Following the regiment, she had -been with him in India, Egypt, and Spain, and, when ordered on special -service to Canada, had unhesitatingly followed him, leaving their two -children with friends in England. Maggie saw that her presence was a -help rather than a drag upon the Colonel, whom she assisted and cared -for as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> only a true woman can and preserved him from many privations -he must otherwise have undergone. While most anxious to be at home -again, it was not without a pang of regret that Maggie learned one -morning that a fleet of the King’s bateaux was in sight coming down the -lake. An hour afterwards she was on board of one, waving farewell to -her friends. Landed at the foot of the Cascade rapids, she walked home -before sunset. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER VIII.</h3> - -<p>The army did not begin a forward movement towards Canada on the day -of Morton’s interview with Hampton. It was only the first of several -abortive starts, and the autumn days were drawing towards an end with -the army still encamped at Four Corners. The American public was -indignant at its inaction: much had been expected of the army, yet -it had accomplished nothing, and the campaigning season was near an -end. The denunciations of the Albany and New York newspapers Hampton -could not stoop to reply to: those of the Washington authorities he -answered by laying the blame upon Wilkinson. He was to move on Montreal -in conjunction with that general, and his failure to leave Sackett’s -Harbor he gave as the cause of his own inaction. To the critics who -suggested he had sufficient strength to capture Montreal unaided, he -represented that his orders from Washington expressly required him to -co-operate with the flotilla that was hugging the shelter of Sackett’s -Harbor. If he was left free to act by the secretary-of-war, he would -show the country what he could do, but he was not free.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> There were -those who thought his excuses were the offspring of his secret wish, -to get out of the campaign without risking any great movement. In all -those days of dallying, Morton lay forlorn in the stable, sick of his -confinement and of prolonged suspense, until the doctor, taking pity -upon him, asked, if the General could be induced to grant him the -freedom of the camp on parole, would he accept it? Eager to get out of -his dismal prison and hopeless of escape, Morton eagerly embraced the -offer, and next day he was told he was at liberty to leave his wretched -abode during daylight. The boon proved to be of less advantage than he -had anticipated. The officers would not consort with him, professing to -believe he had been a party to the disfigurement and murder of their -late comrade, and the rank-and-file swore at him as an abettor of the -Indians and as a Britisher. The miscarriage of the campaign had soured -the tempers of the troops, and they were ready to vent it upon Morton -or any other of the enemy who came within reach of their tongues. After -a few hours’ unpleasant experience, Morton returned to his stable -indignant and humiliated. Altho’ thus cut off from intercourse with the -military, he enjoyed the freedom of moving about. Even lying on the -grass and watching the face of nature, was inexpressibly sweet to him. -In course of time he scraped acquaintance with a few civilians, and -especially with a storekeeper, Douglass, a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>Scotchman, who showed him -such kindness as he dared without bringing upon himself the suspicion -of disloyalty. The weather, which had been uninterruptedly dry and -hot, underwent a sudden change, to wet and cold, and from suspense as -to when they would march into Canada the troops began to hope that -orders would come from Washington to retire into winter-quarters. One -particularly cold, rainy evening, Morton retired to rest in a mood -that was in keeping with his dismal surroundings, and courted sleep to -give him temporary relief. How long he might have been lost in slumber -he was unconscious, when awakened by something lightly passing over -his face. “Keep quiet,” said a voice: “do not cry or you may attract -the guard.” The darkness was intense; the patter of the rain on the -roof the only sound without. The voice Morton recognized at once as -Hemlock’s.</p> - -<p>“How did you get here? Do you not know they would tear you limb from -limb if they found you?”</p> - -<p>“I know it all, but an Indian brave counts nothing when he goes to save -a friend. Get up and go with me.”</p> - -<p>A momentary feeling of exultation fluttered in Morton’s breast at the -prospect of liberty, followed by the depressing recollection that he -had given his word not to escape.</p> - -<p>“I cannot go with you,” he said in a voice of despair.</p> - -<p>“Why? You are well of your hurt, and you can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> run a mile or two if we -are followed. Come, my arm will help you.”</p> - -<p>“Hemlock, had you come a fortnight ago I would have jumped at your -call: I cannot tonight, for I have given my word of honor not to -escape. I am a prisoner on parole.”</p> - -<p>“Honor! Did these Americans treat you as men of honor, when they put -the rope round your neck? Your promise is nothing. Come!”</p> - -<p>“I cannot, Hemlock. Let them be what they may, it shall never be said -that a British officer broke his word. Leave me; get away at once, or -you may be caught.”</p> - -<p>“I will not leave without you. Think of the fair doe that sorrows in -secret by the Chateaugay for you and sought me out to bring you. Come, -you shall be with her before another sun has set.”</p> - -<p>Morton was puzzled by this speech, but was too anxious concerning -Hemlock’s safety to delay by asking what it meant.</p> - -<p>“Save yourself, Hemlock; the patrol will be round soon, and if you are -discovered you are lost.”</p> - -<p>“I fear not: they cannot take me alive.”</p> - -<p>“For my sake, then, go; I will not leave, I will keep the promise I -have given. Consider this my friend, if you are found here it is death -to me as well as you. Go.”</p> - -<p>“Not without you; I will carry you on my back, whether you will or -not,” and he laid his hand upon Morton to grasp hold of him. At that -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>moment, the sound of the tramp of an approaching detachment of -soldiers was heard. “It is the patrol, Hemlock; fly for God’s sake.”</p> - -<p>Hemlock stepped to the door for an instant, then turning to Morton -whispered, “they have torches and will see what I have done, and that -will give the alarm. Come, go with me.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot,” said Morton decisively.</p> - -<p>“Then, give me a token to show her who sent me that I did my duty,” -said Hemlock. Eager for his escape, Morton plucked the signet-ring -from his finger and pressed it into the Indian’s hand with a farewell -grasp. Noiselessly and swiftly Hemlock glided out, across the open, -and was lost to sight. Seeing how near the patrol were, Morton closed -the door and lay down upon his bed of straw. He heard the tramp of -the troops draw nearer, and then a sharp cry of “Halt!” followed by -a shout of horror and a volley of curses. “The damned Indians are -about!” a voice cried. “Poor Tom,” said another, “he died like a stuck -pig.” “See to the Britisher,” shouted a third, “he must know of it.” -“Back to your ranks,” commanded the officer, “I will see to what is to -be done.” Sending a messenger to headquarters to report, he detailed -three others to approach the stable and bring out Morton. One of the -three remonstrated. “The redskin may be hiding there and kill us.” -“Obey orders,” yelled the officer to his men, who had peculiar ideas of -military obedience. “Our muskets cover you.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> - -<p>Reluctantly they approached, and two simultaneously burst in the door -with a rush, while the third held a torch. Their only discovery was -Morton lying in his bed. He was roughly dragged to the captain, who, -with his men, stood around something stretched upon the grass.</p> - -<p>“What do you know of this, prisoner?” asked the captain, and a soldier -waved a torch over the object. Morton, with a shudder, perceived it was -the body of a soldier that had been stabbed in the breast, and scalped.</p> - -<p>“This body is warm,” said the captain, “the deed has been done within -a quarter of an hour: you lay within 20 yards of its perpetration; I -demand what you know of the slaughter of this sentry of the United -States army.”</p> - -<p>Morton hesitated. He had no moral doubt that Hemlock had committed -the deed, and that the scalp of the dead man was then dangling from -his belt, and in his horror of the act was about to tell all, when he -suddenly recollected that by doing so he would show himself ungrateful -to Hemlock.</p> - -<p>“I neither saw nor heard aught of this foul murder,” answered Morton, -but his hesitation in replying was noted by men disposed to suspect -him. “Let me put my bayonet through him,” said one of the soldiers with -an oath, as he rushed upon Morton. There was a flash from the adjoining -bush, the crack of a rifle, and the soldier fell dead, with a bullet in -his forehead. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Out with the lights,” shrieked the captain in a transport of fear, -as he struck one torch down with his sword and the others were thrown -into the pools of rainwater. For a minute or two they listened with -palpitating hearts in the darkness, and then the captain whispered -for them to move to headquarters, the lights of which were seen near -by. Forgotten by them in their alarm, Morton made his way back to the -stable and flung himself down on his pallet of straw, perplexed and -agitated. In vain he tried to sleep and the night dragged wearily -on. When daylight at last began to dawn upon a scene of sullen rain -and sodden fields, the sound of voices told him his captors were on -the alert. The door was violently opened and a soldier looked in and -reported to his comrades outside, “The varmint is still here,” to which -he heard the reply, “That beats me!” An hour later a scout entered, -lighted a candle, and proceeded to examine the floor of the stable and -its contents. When he was done, the door was bolted and, Morton felt -assured, a sentry placed outside. Breakfast time passed without his -caterer appearing and the forenoon was well advanced before he was -disturbed, when a detachment of troops halted and an officer entered. -“I have come, Mr Morton, to take you to headquarters.”</p> - -<p>Going out, Morton was placed between files and marched to the General’s -quarters, where he was shown into a room where several officers were -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>seated. Motioned to stand at the foot of the table, the presiding -officer, a tall, cadaverous man, asked him to tell what he knew of the -event of the past night.</p> - -<p>“Is this a court-martial and am I on trial?”</p> - -<p>“No, it is a committee of enquiry. There ain’t no call for trying you, -seein’ you are already a condemned culprit.”</p> - -<p>“Then, why should I answer you?”</p> - -<p>“Wall, if you make a clean breast of it, we mought recommend the -General to commute your sentence.”</p> - -<p>“And should I not see fit to answer this irregular tribunal?”</p> - -<p>“I ain’t going to knock round the bush with you. At home, everybody -knows Major Spooner as up-and-down, frank and square, and I tell you, -if you don’t spit out all you know, the rope won’t be taken off your -neck a second time.”</p> - -<p>“What I know of last night’s shocking event I am ready to communicate -to any gentleman who approaches me in an honorable manner, but I scorn -to say a word under threats.”</p> - -<p>The officers here exchanged nods and winks, and one said: “I knew -Mister President, he wouldn’t tell—he dassn’t. He had a hand in -killing Jackson—gagged his mouth, mebbe, while the redskin drew his -knife.”</p> - -<p>Morton, stung to the quick, turned indignantly to the speaker, “Sir, if -I had my sword you would either take back your words or know what cold -steel is.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Pshaw,” was the contemptuous retort, “I don’t care for anything in the -shape of a Britisher.”</p> - -<p>“That’s so, and you know first-rate how to rile one,” exclaimed the -presiding officer approvingly. Then addressing Morton, he added, “We -ain’t afeared of your threats, young man, and won’t lose time with -you—yes or no, are you going to give evidence?”</p> - -<p>“No,” answered Morton firmly.</p> - -<p>“That will do: withdraw the prisoner.”</p> - -<p>“Excuse me, Major Spooner,” said a voice behind. Morton turned and -saw standing by the door an officer whose bearing indicated he was a -soldier by profession and not one of a few months’ standing. “I came in -after the examination had begun and therefore did not take my seat at -the board. If you will allow me, I will endeavor to represent to the -accused how matters stand.”</p> - -<p>“Sartainly, Colonel Vanderberg; yer ken try him.”</p> - -<p>“Then, Mr Morton, the case stands thus: last night one of our men on -guard, posted near where you slept, was stabbed and scalped. I need -not say, I do not believe for a moment you had any hand in that deed. -However, this morning experts were sent to discover the trail of the -perpetrator, and they, favored by the softness of the soil, traced the -steps of the moccasined feet of an Indian to where the guard stood, -thence to your lodging-place and finally from it to the bush whence -came the shot that killed one of the patrol.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> More than all this, I may -tell you the footmarks of the Indian are plain inside the stable and -beside the place in it where you slept are marks caused by drops of -blood. It is thus beyond all question that the Indian visited you, and, -with a view to discovering him and so checking a system of barbarous -warfare repulsive to all true soldiers, we ask you to tell us what you -know of him—ask you, not under threats or taking advantage of your -unfortunate position, but as a gentleman and a soldier to assist us by -telling what you know of the mysterious affair.”</p> - -<p>Morton bowed to the Colonel and replied he had no hesitation in -telling him what he knew, and he recounted briefly how he had been -awakened during the night by an Indian and urged to fly with him. -He was prepared to take oath that he knew not of his slaying the -guard, and the drops of blood upon the straw that formed his bed -must have dripped from the scalp as the Indian stooped over him and -urged him to accompany him. Morton mentioned no name, and none of his -questioners seemed to think he could have known the Indian. At any -rate their incredulity of his story, verging on disgust, rendered -cross-questioning superfluous, Major Spooner said he could not swallow -the yarn, and another officer remarked it would be easier for him to go -without his bitters for a month than believe a Britisher would not run -away when he had a chance, to which the others agreed. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What!” exclaimed Morton, “do you think, after giving my word of honor -to your General that I would not attempt to escape, that I would do so?”</p> - -<p>“That is just what we do think, and that there was something we don’t -know of that kept you from running away with the Indian.”</p> - -<p>Morton’s anger again rose and he was about to say something rash, when -Colonel Vanderberg gave his shoulder a monitory touch. “If none of you -object, I will take charge of Mr Morton.”</p> - -<p>“Yer welkim to the critter,” remarked Major Spooner, at which the -others expectorated in order to laugh. “He is under sentence of death, -and it lies with the General to say when it shall be carried out. If -he is willing you should undertake the provost-marshal’s duty, this -committee of enquiry offer you their congratulations.”</p> - -<p>To this raillery Colonel Vanderberg said naught, and taking Morton by -the arm led him into a vacant room. “Stay here for a minute,” he said. -On re-entering he grasped Morton by the hand, while he informed him -“the General has given me permission to take you with me, and will you -ride with me to Fort Hickory?”</p> - -<p>“With all my heart,” answered Morton, and going to the door found -several troopers waiting the Colonel, who pointed to Morton to get on -the back of one of three spare horses. He did so and they galloped out -of the village. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER IX.</h3> - -<p>Maggie was busy with household duties when Hemlock entered and sat down -near the table at which she stood.</p> - -<p>“All away?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“All except mother, who is having her afternoon nap.”</p> - -<p>Casting a suspicious glance round, the Indian drew something out of his -pouch. “Do you know that?”</p> - -<p>It was a ring. Maggie examined it and as she recognized whose it was, -blushed.</p> - -<p>“Is he alive?” she asked, in a low earnest tone, as if fearful that it -was a memorial gift.</p> - -<p>“Yes; I was with him and spoke to him night before last.”</p> - -<p>“Where?”</p> - -<p>“At Four Corners.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me all?” entreated Maggie, and Hemlock recounted his visit, -closing with the remark, “If he had come with me, he would have been -here now.”</p> - -<p>“But he would have broken his word to the Yankees,” urged Maggie in his -defence.</p> - -<p>“And perhaps they will break his neck,” answered<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> Hemlock with a grunt. -“Major Stovin told me that Hampton’s answer to his letter was that he -could allow no interference from outside in his disposal of spies.”</p> - -<p>“Morton is not a spy,” exclaimed Maggie indignantly.</p> - -<p>“They will punish him all the same unless I give myself up,” said -Hemlock, “and I mean to.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Hemlock, they would kill you.”</p> - -<p>“Maybe, but Indian would save his friend.”</p> - -<p>“He may get off when our men beat them.”</p> - -<p>The Indian’s lip curled. “The owls are telling the eagles what to do. -When the order came to the Indian bands not to fight but just watch, -I left. We would have hung to their sides like wasps on a deer, and -marked every mile they marched with deeds that would have caused widows -to raise the funeral song from Champlain to the Ohio, but our arms are -held fast.”</p> - -<p>“You did not tell me how you came by this ring?” faltered Maggie, as -she shyly tried it on her fingers.</p> - -<p>“I asked him for a token, and he gave me that.”</p> - -<p>“A token for whom, Hemlock?”</p> - -<p>“For you.”</p> - -<p>“For me!” gasped Maggie, with beaming eyes, while her color came and -went.</p> - -<p>Hemlock nodded and said no more. Turning her head away from him, Maggie -pressed the token to her lips. On the Indian’s rising to go, she -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>entreated him to stay. Her brothers were at the camp, but her father -was only at the rear end of the lot stooking corn, and he might go and -see him. Hemlock, who had the dislike of his race to manual labor, said -he would wait, and catching up the fishing-rod of her younger brother, -prepared it to beguile the denizens of the river that flowed past the -shanty, and continued fishing until the old man returned, who sat down -beside Hemlock and got into an engrossing conversation, which was ended -by Maggie’s calling them to supper. When the meal was fairly under way, -the father said:</p> - -<p>“Hemlock wants us to leave. He says the Americans will be here in a day -or two. He offers to bring Indians with enough of canoes to take you -and Maggie to Montreal.”</p> - -<p>“Leave my hame for thae Yankees!” exclaimed Mrs Forsyth; “no a step -will I gang oot o’ my way for the deils.”</p> - -<p>“Hemlock says they may burn down the house and insult you, an’ ye wad -be better oot o’ their way.”</p> - -<p>“I wad like to see the Yankee loon that wad try to set a low to oor bit -biggin; I wad ding some dacency into his heid.”</p> - -<p>“Think o’ Maggie, guid wife.”</p> - -<p>Before her mother could speak, Maggie declared “she wasna fear’t an’ -wad bide wi’ her mither, thankin’ Hemlock a’ the same.”</p> - -<p>“You see, Hemlock, hoo wi’ Scotch bodies stick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> by our hames. Down to -the women and bairns, we will fecht to the last gasp to haud them.”</p> - -<p>Hemlock said nothing and helped himself to another piece of -johnny-cake. The subject, however, had excited Mrs Forsyth, who mingled -denunciations of the invaders with regrets at leaving Scotland.</p> - -<p>“Toots, woman, Canada is a better country for the puir man than -Scotlan.”</p> - -<p>“I am no denyin’ that, but eh, there was a couthie security there -that’s no here, an’ for a sicht o’ its bonnie howes an’ glens I’d gie -onything. The first an’ the last sicht each day frae my faither’s door -was the Pentlands, an’ no trees, trees, wi’ snaw an’ ice hauf the year.”</p> - -<p>“Ye wadna gae back, mither, for a’ that.”</p> - -<p>“Deed would I, gin we a’ went the gither.”</p> - -<p>“But ye have aften tell’t me ye wad never cross the sea again, ye were -so sick in coming.”</p> - -<p>“Na, neither I wad; nae boatie for me.”</p> - -<p>“Then, ye canna gang.”</p> - -<p>“Hoot, lass, what are ye sayin’; is that a’ ye ken? We could walk -roun’.”</p> - -<p>“Providence, dear wife, has cast oor lot here an’ it’s oor duty to -be content. Please God, we will help to mak o’ Canada a country oor -children will be proud o’, an as for thae Yankees, wha come to rob us -o’ oor liberty, I am sure their conceit will lead to their fa’ an’ that -their designs upon us will come to naething.”</p> - -<p>Hemlock rose and prepared to leave. “I will go<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> with you,” said -Forsyth, “and hear what is the news in the camp.”</p> - -<p>Getting into the canoe they arrived at the forks in due time, and found -great activity in erecting buildings, while carts were arriving every -few minutes from the Basin with supplies or leaving empty to reload. -In every direction were soldiers encamped, and the evening being cold -their fires crackled and blazed along the lines. The soldiers were -of all kinds, from habitants in homespun blouses and blue tuques to -regulars of the line. The noisiest were the volunteer regiments, -composed of young men, lumbermen and city tradesmen, whose exuberant -animal spirits the discomforts and privations of camp failed to tame, -and where they were, screams, laughter, and singing resounded. Hemlock -led the way to a large, white house, the home of an American settler, -named Baker, but taken possession of for headquarters, and passing the -guard as a privileged character, told the orderly he wanted to see the -General. On enquiry, the two visitors were admitted into a good-sized -room, in the centre of which was a large table, at which sat a -thick-set officer of foreign aspect, Gen. deWatteville, his secretary, -and Major Henry, who had succeeded Stovin as local commander. They were -evidently engaged in examining regimental reports.</p> - -<p>“Hemlock, so you have got back? What news from the lines?” asked the -Major. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yankees will break camp tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>“How do you know? Have you any despatches from our spies?”</p> - -<p>“No, but I saw a waggon loaded with axes arrive at Fort Hickory.”</p> - -<p>“Well, what about that?”</p> - -<p>“The advance camp, nearest to here, is called Fort Hickory: the axes -are to chop a road from there to our outposts on the Chateaugay.”</p> - -<p>DeWatteville became all attention. “How long would the road be?”</p> - -<p>“Three leagues,” answered Hemlock.</p> - -<p>“Pooh,” remarked the General, relapsing into indifference, “they cannot -cut a road that long through the woods.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t know Yankee axemen,” said Hemlock, “they will do it in a day -and turn your flank.”</p> - -<p>The General simply waved his hand contemptuously. Major Henry, knowing -from past acquaintance, Hemlock’s worth and intelligence, asked in a -respectful tone, “What do you advise?”</p> - -<p>“Send me with all the Indians and we will cut them off.”</p> - -<p>DeWatteville could not withhold a gesture of horror. “You would fall -upon these axemen, you say are coming, butcher them with your hatchets -and scalp them. Eh?”</p> - -<p>“Every one of them,” answered Hemlock in an exultant voice.</p> - -<p>“Faugh, that is not war; that is murder,” said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> the General, “we will -fight the Americans in no such way.”</p> - -<p>“It is how they would deal with you,” said Hemlock, “but if you do not -want the Indian to fight in the way of his fathers, he will leave you.”</p> - -<p>Henry here leant over and whispered into the General’s ear; who -answered aloud, “No, I will not hear of it: I will fight as a soldier -and will have no savagery.” The Major was evidently disconcerted, and -changed the subject by asking Hemlock what led him so far from the -lines as to visit Fort Hickory.</p> - -<p>“I followed Morton.”</p> - -<p>“Ha!” exclaimed the General, “poor fellow, what of him?”</p> - -<p>“They were going to hang him, when Colonel Vanderberg took him from -Four Corners.”</p> - -<p>“You see, General,” said Major Henry with a smile, “the savagery of the -invader against whom you would not use the services of Hemlock and his -braves in self-defence.”</p> - -<p>The General twirled his heavy grey mustache and bit it nervously. “If -they hang him, I will let every redskin in the country loose upon them.”</p> - -<p>“It would serve Morton better to do so before the rope does its work,” -suggested the Major. “Our remonstrances addressed to General Hampton -have been met with combined equivocation and insolence. ‘Give up,’ he -says, ‘the murderer of Major Slocum and I will set Morton at liberty.’ -As much as to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> say we screen the murderer—a man I know nothing of and -for whose deed His Majesty’s service is not accountable.”</p> - -<p>Hemlock said, “Read that again?”</p> - -<p>Taking up General Hampton’s despatch in answer to that regarding -Morton’s treatment, the Major read it in full. The Indian listened -intently and made no comment, but Forsyth said quietly, he was sure Mr -Morton had no hand in murdering anybody.</p> - -<p>“We all know that,” answered Major Henry, “a more humane and yet a more -gallant officer the King has not got. And now, Forsyth, what are you -and the settlers going to do when the Americans cross the frontier?”</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll excuse me for saying so, but that is a silly question to ask o’ -men wha hae gien their sons to serve as sogers and placed their horses, -and a’ their barns and cellars contain at your service.”</p> - -<p>“You don’t understand me. I mean do you intend staying in your houses -should the enemy come, or will you seek safety in Montreal?”</p> - -<p>“It wad be hard to gie up to the destroyer all we hae and that we -hae gaithered wi’ sic pains in years gane by. My ain mind is, and my -neebors agree, that we will stand by our property an’ tak chances.”</p> - -<p>“It is the resolve of brave men,” remarked the General, “but it may be -in the interest of the campaign to waste the country and leave neither -supplies nor shelter for the enemy.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Gin sic should prove the case,” answered the farmer, “there’s no an -Auld Countryman on the river that wadna pit the fire to his biggin wi’ -his ain hand. Gear is guid, but independence is sweet.”</p> - -<p>“I hope you will not be asked to make such a sacrifice,” said the -Major, “we have reports here of reinforcements on the way that, if they -arrive in time, will enable us to meet the enemy.”</p> - -<p>The General here intimated to them to retire. Hemlock started as if -from a reverie. Going close to the General, he stretched out his right -hand after the manner of Indian orators. “You meet the Yankees as -soldier meets soldier. The red man meets them as the robbers of his -lands, the destroyers of his villages, the slayers of his race. The -land was ours, and they have driven us to the setting sun and left us -not even standing-room for our lodges. You have called us savages. Who -made us savages? The Indian forgets no kindness and forgives no wrong. -The hand that has despoiled and struck at us, we will seek late and -early, in light and dark, to smite. Our enemy for generations, the -enemy we are always at war with, is your enemy today. You may make -peace with him tomorrow. We never will. When the Indian dies, he gives -his hatchet to his sons. We offer you our help. Tell me to go and do -what I will, and the Americans will not drink of the St Lawrence. Ten -score Iroquois will keep up the war-whoop along the frontier until they -turn.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> - -<p>The General seemed annoyed and said sharply, “We take you as scouts, -not as comrades-in-arms. I will have no barbarian warfare.”</p> - -<p>Hemlock drew himself up with dignity as he said: “We are your allies, -not your hirelings. Our tribes declared war against the Americans -before you did, and if you will not accept our aid we withdraw this -night from your camp and shall fight on our own hand.”</p> - -<p>Major Henry perceived the mistake made by the General and hastened to -undo it. “King George,” he said, “is true to the treaty made with his -Indian allies and I am sure you will stand by it too. The General is -preparing his plans for receiving the Americans and the Indians will -have their place in it.”</p> - -<p>Without apparently heeding these words, Hemlock approached close to the -General. “I warn you,” he said, “if you reject our aid, great soldier -as you may be across the sea, in the warfare of these woods your light -will go out like this,” and with a wave of his hand he put out the -light of one of the two candles on the table. Turning on his heel, he -walked with stately stride out of the room. That night he and his band -left the camp and ceased to receive orders from headquarters. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER X.</h3> - -<p>“Well, Morton, our days of inglorious idleness are ended,” exclaimed -Col. Vanderberg. “I return from headquarters with orders for an -immediate advance.”</p> - -<p>“Thank heavens!” ejaculated Morton.</p> - -<p>“What! Do you rejoice at an attack on your country? Come, my good -friend, I see your judgment is overcoming your feelings, and you are -going to cast in your lot with us—the latest convert from monarchism -to republicanism.”</p> - -<p>“No, no: you need not banter me. What I rejoice at is the ending of -a policy of inaction that has kept you, my friend, and your humble -prisoner alike in wearisome suspense.”</p> - -<p>“It is ended: the die is cast, whatever the result may be. After dinner -squads of men begin to chop out a road from Smith’s, and tomorrow Izard -comes with reinforcements and under him we bear the banner of the -United States into Canada.”</p> - -<p>“And what do you propose doing with me when you advance?” asked Morton.</p> - -<p>“Hum! To leave you behind means your being returned to Four Corners, -with a chance of meeting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> the fate you twice escaped. It is against -all military rule, but you must go with us. I will not risk you in the -hands of these legal Sons of Mars—Spooner et al.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Colonel; again you have placed me under an obligation I can -never repay.”</p> - -<p>“I hope not,” answered the Colonel with a smile, “I’d rather not be His -Majesty’s prisoner even with Lieutenant Morton as my custodian.”</p> - -<p>“No, never; I wish to pay my debt of gratitude in no such way.”</p> - -<p>“Say no more, Morton, on that score. The happiest days I have spent -this summer have been since I made your acquaintance. If I did you a -good turn, I have had compensation. And now to work: there comes a -waggon creaking under its load of chopping axes.”</p> - -<p>The conversation took place at an outpost of Hampton’s army, close -upon the frontier, styled Douglas camp in official documents but known -familiarly among the soldiers as Fort Hickory, from the character of -the trees that prevailed at this spot. Colonel Vanderberg, instead of -placing Morton in custody as he half anticipated, when he dismounted -after his ride from Four Corners, took him into the house where he -was quartered, and told him in few words he was again on parole and -his guest. Without farther allusion to the humiliating and perilous -position from which he had snatched him, Col. Vanderberg made him -his friend<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span> and associate and each passing day strengthened the bond -between them. Each had experiences of interest to the other. The -Colonel had tales of peril on the Pennsylvania and Ohio frontiers in -protecting the settlements from Indian attacks, and Morton, in return, -gratified his curiosity as to the organization and character of the -British army and English life and habits.</p> - -<p>The following morning they had breakfast by candle-light, and on going -out, found the camp in a flurry of preparation, troopers ready to -mount, engineers with their tools over their shoulders, and a large -squad of brawny fellows in flannel shirts with axe in hand, drafted -from the various corps and hired from among the surrounding farmers to -clear a road to the Chateaugay. All was life, bustle, and confusion. -Jumping on horseback, the Colonel speedily got each man into his place, -and by the time this was effected, the drum-taps, by which they kept -step, of Izard’s column were heard, and that officer gave the word to -advance. Preceded by a squad of scouts and sharp-shooters to cover -them, the engineers and axemen moved on, then a body of infantry, -followed by the troopers, a few commissariat wagons bringing up the -rear. The Colonel and Morton were with the troopers. As the long and -picturesque cavalcade scrambled over the brow of a hill, the sun had -gained the ascendency, and the frost that had whitened everything now -sparkled on every stem and leaf as it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> melted in the sunbeams. The -atmosphere was clear and crisp, and the very odor that rose from the -fallen leaves added to its exhilarating quality. When the summit of the -ascent was reached, the declivity was abrupt enough to afford a lookout -over the tree-tops, and Canada lay outstretched a vast plain at their -feet. Far in the distance, could be seen a gleaming line, like a rapier -flung across a brown cloak. It was the St Lawrence. The Colonel drew -his horse to one side of the road, to permit the troops to pass, while -he scanned the inspiring scene.</p> - -<p>“All looks peaceful,” he said to Morton, “no sign that under the cover -of these woods an enemy awaits us.”</p> - -<p>“It is a grand view of a noble country,” replied Morton, “and you may -rely on it, there are men awaiting you who will shed the last drop of -their blood in its defence.”</p> - -<p>The Colonel, drawing his bridle, joined in the march and the glimpse -of Canada was lost under overhanging vistas of trees. “Do you know, -Morton,” he said, “it seems strange to me that our armies should meet -resistance from the Canadians. We speak the same language; we are of -the same stock. Why should they fight to the death against uniting with -us as equal partners in a free government?”</p> - -<p>“You forget, Colonel, that speech and origin are not the strongest -elements in national sentiment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> You meet a woman with a big man -supporting her and bearing himself as if he were proud of her, and -you wonder at it, and say the man could find plenty whose faces are -pleasanter to look upon and which indicate more intelligence. The man -will admit all that, but he tells you the woman is his mother, and to -him she is better and more beautiful than all the women in the world -beside. In the same way, the British government may be inferior in -some points to your new Republic, may have made mistakes in the past, -and might be better in some regards, but then she is the mother of the -Canadians, and they will not desert her for bouncing Miss Columbia.”</p> - -<p>“That won’t do, Morton; you forget that the British government was -once, as you term it, our mother also.”</p> - -<p>“I did not forget that, and I hope I will not offend you, Colonel, by -saying that for that very cause the Canadians dislike Americans. You -turned upon your mother, you strove to compass her humiliation; the -very base of your patriotic feeling is hatred of her.”</p> - -<p>“That is putting it strong, Morton.”</p> - -<p>“I think not; the preamble of your declaration of independence is a -tirade of gratuitous charges against Great Britain.”</p> - -<p>“Then you think Canada will never unite with the Republic?”</p> - -<p>“I certainly think so, and those who live to see<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> it, will find two -great English-speaking communities on this continent, with this radical -difference between them, that one reviles and seeks to injure the -mother-land from which they sprung and the other succors and honors -her.”</p> - -<p>A commotion in front stopped the conversation and two scouts were seen -dragging an old man between them towards the Colonel.</p> - -<p>“What’s this?” he asked sharply.</p> - -<p>“We have taken a prisoner!” cried one of the men in an exulting voice.</p> - -<p>“The divil take you,” interrupted the old man with contentious manner. -“Yees had no business wid me.”</p> - -<p>“We found him hiding behind some brush watching our men. He is a spy,” -said the scout.</p> - -<p>“Behind some brush! An’ whose brush was it? Me own, bedad.”</p> - -<p>“You had no business there.”</p> - -<p>“No business to be on my own farrum! Bad scran to ye, if I had yees in -Wixford I’d get the constable to arrist every man o’ yees for trispass.”</p> - -<p>“Come, hold your tongue,” said a scout roughly.</p> - -<p>“Hould yer own whisht. Ye havn’t mended yer manners since I saw yer -backs at Brandywine.”</p> - -<p>Col. Vanderberg smiled as he said to the scouts, “I am afraid you -have been too hasty. We are now in Canada and must not molest its -inhabitants. The old man is a non-combatant, and, as he declares, was -on his own farm when taken.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span></p> - -<p>“If you had seen him kick and scratch and wriggle when we put hands -upon him, you wouldn’t say he was a non-combatant, Colonel. He swore -at the United States and said he kept one of our flags for his -pocket-handkerchief.”</p> - -<p>“Tut, tut,” exclaimed the Colonel, “we have not come to fight old men; -let him go.”</p> - -<p>“Ye’d betther,” remarked the old man with a grin, “or I’ll make ye -sorry.”</p> - -<p>“Now, what could you do?” asked the Colonel with an amused smile.</p> - -<p>The old man sidled up beside the bridle of the Colonel’s horse, and in -a tone of mock solemnity, while his eyes sparkled with fun, whispered, -“I’d put the curse of Cramwell an ye.”</p> - -<p>“Say, friend,” said Morton, “there is something about you that tells me -you are an old soldier. Were you ever in the army?”</p> - -<p>“Yis, but not in yer riffraff that ye’s call an army.”</p> - -<p>“You are mistaken in me,” replied Morton, and drawing aside his cloak -showed the scarlet coat of the British service.</p> - -<p>“An’ how did ye fall in wid dem rebels? A prisoner are ye, God save -us! You’ll be Leftenant Morton that was to be hanged, as I heard tell. -Well, well, since ye wern’t born to be hanged, it is drownded ye may -be. Av coorse I was in the army an’ got me discharge an’ a grant of -land from King George, an’ may the divil catch a hould o’ dem that -don’t wish him well.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Are all your neighbors of the same mind?” asked the Colonel.</p> - -<p>“They are that same. Come wid me to my shanty an’ while I sind for ’im, -you will have an illigant dinner of praties an’ milk. There is not wan -on the frontier that does not say with Capt. Barron, God bless the King -an’ canfound his inimies.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” answered the Colonel, “but I have other fish to fry today. -Tell me this, old man, What difference would it make to you and your -neighbors that you should eat your potatoes and milk under the Stars -and Stripes instead of the Union Jack?”</p> - -<p>“Sure, that’s aisy answered. The differ between atin’ in an inimy’s -house an’ aitin’ in yer awn.”</p> - -<p>“Come, Morton, we lose time. Good-bye, old man,” and putting spurs -to his horse the Colonel galloped to regain his place in the column, -followed by Morton.</p> - -<p>By noon the scouts had reached the Chateaugay, which they forded -without hesitation and advancing on a shanty that stood on the bank, -surprised its inmates, a party of Canadian volunteers on outpost -duty, while taking an afternoon nap. This capture was of advantage to -the Americans, for it delayed by several hours intelligence of their -invasion being received at the British headquarters. Shortly afterwards -Col. Vanderberg arrived, who, without halting for refreshment, -accompanied Gen. Izard down the river some distance, examining the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> -country. On returning, men were set to work to prepare a camp for the -main army, which he knew was on the march. A thorough soldier, well -trained in bush fighting, the Colonel made his arrangements with an -acumen and decision that increased Morton’s regard for him. Before -sunset a line of scouts was established across the valley, a strongly -fortified post established, tents pitched, and a messenger sent with a -despatch to Hampton informing him all was ready. Not until then, did -the Colonel divest himself of his long-boots and draw up beside the -log-fire of the shanty of one Spears to discuss the fare his servant -had provided. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XI.</h3> - -<p>On the morning after the events narrated in preceding chapter, General -Hampton left his quarters at Four Corners for the new camp. Escorted by -20 cavalrymen, he and his staff rode rapidly over the newly-cut road, -and by noon reached the Chateaugay. Halting on the bluff that overlooks -the junction of the Outard with that river, and whence he had full -view of the camp in busy preparation on the other side of the river, -he awaited the arrival of his tents. A stout man and well-advanced in -years, the exertion of the journey had fatigued him, and he sat, or -rather reclined, on a log in front of a blazing fire, for the day was -chilly, and grouped around him were the officers of his staff. At the -foot of the bank and in the near distance, were the troopers tending -their horses and the officers’ servants preparing dinner.</p> - -<p>From his elevated position, the General had a full view of the opposite -bank and he watched with complacency the arrival at the new camp, with -flutter of flag and tuck of drum, of frequent detachments.</p> - -<p>“Everything bodes favorably for our enterprise,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> he remarked, “the -despatches that awaited me tell of unprecedented success. At every -point attempted our battalions have entered the enemy’s territory -unopposed and advanced unmolested. The Rubicon has been crossed and -terror-stricken the foe flies before us. This afternoon a special -messenger shall bear to Albany, New York and Washington the tidings of -our triumphant progress—of our undisputed taking possession of this -country to which the British authorities make a pretended claim.”</p> - -<p>“Your despatch will cause great rejoicing,” said an officer.</p> - -<p>“Yes, it will be hailed with loud acclaim, and my enemies who clamored -against me, will now perceive that what they stigmatized as inaction -was the profoundest strategy. Sixteen miles have we marched into the -enemy’s territory and not a hostile bayonet has been seen. Ha, who is -this? Draw your swords.”</p> - -<p>All eyes turned in the direction of the General’s, and a tall Indian -was seen standing immovably beside a giant pine. It was Hemlock. As he -remained motionless with folded arms, and was apparently unarmed, the -officers got over their alarm, and those who had laid their hands upon -their swords, dropped them.</p> - -<p>“Sirrah, what do you here? How passed you our guards?” shouted the -General.</p> - -<p>“I have come to speak with you. You are ten<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> to one; your escort is -within hail of you, will you listen to me?”</p> - -<p>“Go on,” said Hampton.</p> - -<p>“You have a British officer held as prisoner. You wrote to Major Stovin -that you would set him free if the Indian who killed Slocum were given -in exchange. Do you stand by that offer?”</p> - -<p>“Morton goes free when the Indian is sent in.”</p> - -<p>“Give me an order for his release; the Indian goes to your camp at -once.”</p> - -<p>“That will not do, Mr Redskin. The exchange must be effected through -the British commander. Let him send an accredited officer with a flag -of truce and we will treat with him.”</p> - -<p>“Before that can be done, Morton may be dead. If you get the Indian -what care you for else? The Indian who killed Slocum passes into your -hands the moment Morton is given liberty.”</p> - -<p>“This is altogether irregular,” remarked an officer, “General Hampton -cannot deal with an irresponsible redskin, who, for all he knows, -has come here on some scheme of deviltry. See here, was it you that -murdered Slocum?”</p> - -<p>“I never murdered any man,” answered Hemlock proudly, “but I have -killed many in war. Had you the Indian who slew him, what would you do -to him?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I guess, if the General let us have our way, we would hand him -to the men of Slocum’s old regiment and they’d make him wish he had -never been born.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span></p> - -<p>“The Indian might have had good cause for dealing with Slocum as he -did?”</p> - -<p>“No, you red devil, he could have no cause. He carved him up out of -pure deviltry.”</p> - -<p>“You are tired, General,” said Hemlock, with a courteous wave of the -hand, “and while you rest, will you listen to me, for I have heard -that Indian’s story? In the Mohawk valley lived an English family when -you Americans rose against King George. A neighbor, who had come from -Massachusetts, envied their farm, and, on the Englishman refusing to -forswear his allegiance, had it confiscated and took possession. The -Englishman had to fly and went through the woods, many days’ journey to -Canada, guided by a band of loyal Oneidas. When they reached Canada, -a young warrior of that band stayed with them and helped them to find -food in the wilderness until crops grew. That Indian gave up his tribe, -and lived with them and a daughter came to love him, and they were -married and were happy many years, until the mist rose from the lake -and she sickened and died. The Indian so loved her that he would have -killed himself to follow her to the spirit land, had she not left a -daughter, who was his joy and life. When she grew up, the Indian said, -She shall be the equal of the best, and he took her to Albany to be -taught all ladies learn. A young man saw her, met her, learned of the -Indian blood in her veins, and doomed her as his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> spoil. He was aided -by a companion in deceiving her by a false marriage, she lived with -him for a while, was cast off, and her deceiver married the governor’s -daughter. The Indian had gone on a far journey; he went to seek for -furs in the West to get money for his daughter. In two years he came to -Montreal with many canoe-loads, he sold them, he went to Albany, and -found his child dying of a broken heart. He took her away with him, he -nursed her by the Ottawa—he buried her there. He went back to Albany, -and was told the law could not punish Slocum or his friend, who had -gone away. Then he sought Slocum and twenty times he could have killed -him, but he would not. In his heart he said, Slocum must die not by the -knife or bullet, but by torture, and the chance came not until a moon -ago, when he met Slocum face to face in the Chateaugay woods about to -stab Morton. The Indian took Slocum, and for hours he made him feel -part of the pain he had caused him and his child—only a part, for you -who are fathers can guess what that Indian and his daughter suffered. -Was that Indian to blame? Did he do more to him than he deserved? Will -you give the father over to Slocum’s soldiers to be abused and killed?”</p> - -<p>“A good yarn,” remarked an officer, “and a true one, for I lived at -Albany then and saw the girl; pretty as a picture and simple as a baby. -If Major Slocum had not got his hand in first, some other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> fellow would -and she would have been made a fool of anyway.”</p> - -<p>“We will have nigger fathers running after us next,” sneered another -officer.</p> - -<p>“Did you know Slocum?” asked Hemlock of the first who had spoken, with -a quaver in his voice he could not control.</p> - -<p>“Guess I did. Slocum and Spooner were chums in those days, and by -——, I believe you are the father of the young squaw you make such a -bother about. Won’t we hold him, General?” So saying he rose, as if -waiting his assent to seize Hemlock. Before he could take a second -step, Hemlock, with a quick motion, snatched his tomahawk, which he had -concealed in his bosom, threw it, and leapt into the bush, where he was -lost to sight in a moment. The officer, without uttering a word, fell -on his back; the head of the tomahawk buried in his forehead. Stunned -by the event, the officers lost a few minutes in giving the alarm. When -search was made, it was in vain; Hemlock had not left a trace behind -him.</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * *</p> - -<p>The evening set in dismal and rainy, with a raw east wind that made the -soldiers seek every available shelter. In the Forsyth household there -was the alarm natural to the knowledge that the invaders were within -a short distance, but the daily routine of duty was not interrupted -and everything had gone on as usual. All had retired to rest <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>except -Maggie, who sat before the fire, building castles in the flickering -flames and dying embers. While so engaged, the door, never fastened, -opened softly, and Hemlock stepped in. Regardless of his sodden -garments, he crouched beside the girl, without uttering a word. “Do you -bring news of the coming of the enemy?” she whispered.</p> - -<p>“No: they are shivering in their tents.”</p> - -<p>“It is a cruel night to be out of doors.”</p> - -<p>The Indian nodded assent, and relapsed into silence. “Maggie,” he said -suddenly, “I may have to leave Morton to your care.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me, Hemlock, what can I do?”</p> - -<p>“I have done everything,” he went on to say, “that I could. I gave -him a chance to escape from his prison and today I offered Hampton to -surrender the Indian they want in exchange for him and he refused. He -will treat with the British General alone.”</p> - -<p>“That is surely easy, Hemlock. When the Yankees say they will give up -Mr Morton for the Indian they blame for murdering their officer, our -General will be glad to give up the Indian, provided he can be got.”</p> - -<p>“No: our General refuses, saying it would be an unheard of thing for -the British to give up an ally for an act of warfare, and he will not -listen to the Yankee demand.”</p> - -<p>“May be he says that because he cannot get the Indian,” suggested -Maggie. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am the Indian,” said Hemlock curtly, “and I asked him to bind me -and send me to the American camp with a flag of truce, and all he said -was, ‘He would sooner hear of Morton being hung than be guilty of such -treachery to a faithful ally.’”</p> - -<p>“My, Hemlock! What made you be so cruel? That you have a feeling heart -I know, for I have seen you cry over your daughter’s——”</p> - -<p>With a quick gesture Hemlock stopped her.</p> - -<p>“Speak no more of that. It was because of my love for my child that I -tortured the wretch to death.” Here he paused, his features working -with emotions that cast them into frightful contortions. “Oh, Maggie, I -thought if I could have my revenge I’d be happy. I had my heart’s wish -on the spoiler of my child and today I brained the villain that helped -him, and I am more miserable than ever. My vengeance has done me no -good. My child, my daughter, oh come to me!”</p> - -<p>The heart of Maggie melted with sympathy. She rose and resting one hand -on his shoulder sought his with the other. “Take it not,” he said in a -whisper, “it is the hand of blood.”</p> - -<p>“Hemlock, I dinna judge you as I would ane o’ oor ain folk, for the -nature born with you is no like oors, let alane your upbringing, but I -ken you to be an honest, and wronged man, with a kindly heart, and I -would share your sorrow that I may lichten it.”</p> - -<p>The Indian was evidently touched. Grasping her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> hand he bent over it -and pressed it to his lips. After a long pause, Maggie added: “If you -would give up your heathen ways and turn to the Lord, your path would -become clear.”</p> - -<p>“I once followed the Lord,” said Hemlock, “I learned of Him from my -wife, and I taught my daughter to love Jesus, but when the cloud came -and its darkness blinded me, I put away the white man’s God and went -back to the ways of my fathers.”</p> - -<p>“Leave them again?” entreated Maggie.</p> - -<p>“Too late: I die as I am.”</p> - -<p>“But you are no going to die, Hemlock. You’ve many years to live.”</p> - -<p>“I die before the new moon comes; my oki told me so in a dream last -night, and that is why I have come to talk with you about Morton. You -love him?”</p> - -<p>Too honest to utter the “no” that came to her faltering tongue, -Maggie’s head drooped and her face flushed.</p> - -<p>“I know you do,” Hemlock went on, “and I know he loves you, tho’ his -heart has not told his head yet. I know not where he is; if I did, we -would attack his guard and rescue him this night. They took him away -from Fort Hickory and I have not got his track yet. When they find -where he is I want you to give orders to my men when I am gone.”</p> - -<p>“This is beyond me, Hemlock.”</p> - -<p>“Listen: I have told my Indians they must save him and to obey you.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Tell my brothers or my father.”</p> - -<p>“The Indians would not obey them: they believe what I told them, that I -have given you my medicine. If Morton is not saved this week, he dies.”</p> - -<p>“If our men beat the Yankees will they not rescue him?”</p> - -<p>“Yankees would shoot him before they would let him escape, and they -will hang him if they retreat. They have let him live hoping to get me; -when they know they cannot, they will kill him.”</p> - -<p>Maggie shuddered. “And what am I to do?”</p> - -<p>Hemlock answered: “The Indian has a good hand but a poor head. When -they come and tell you they have found where Morton is kept, you will -order them when and how to make the attack and into the messenger’s -hand you will press this medicine, and tell him it will make success -sure.” Here he took a pouch from his breast and selected a small -package—something sewed up in a bit of bird’s skin.</p> - -<p>“I hope you will live to save your friend yourself,” said Maggie.</p> - -<p>Hemlock gloomily shook his head, and rising walked towards the door, -which he opened and stepped out into the cheerless night. Maggie -followed and looked out. She could see nothing: he was gone. That night -she rested all the more comfortably, from knowing that within hail was -a faithful band of Indians. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XII.</h3> - -<p>Two days later Hemlock was one of a group standing on the north bank of -the river, where it broke into a short rapid, named from the settler -whose shanty overlooked it, Morrison’s rapid. The group included -representatives of the different corps that had been gathered together, -with several settlers. They were watching, in the fading twilight, a -thin line of moving red, emerging from the bush. It was a battalion -of the Canadian Fencibles that had come from Kingston to reinforce -deWatteville. The newcomers were soon among them, brawny Highlanders -from Glengarry, French Canadian lumbermen, and a number of farmers -from the English settlements in the east. They were greeted with the -earnestness men in peril welcome help, and assistance was given in -preparing such food as was available, while many sought rest after -their exhausting journey in the outbuildings of Morrison and in the -sheds that had been prepared for them. Their commander, Col. Macdonell, -a thin, wiry man, with a fair complexion that gave him the name of -Macdonell the Red, having seen his men disposed of, moved to the house. -At the door Morrison,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> himself a Highlander, bade his guest welcome in -the purest of Argyllshire Gaelic, and produced his bottle. After the -glass had passed round, Macdonell said, “We have come far to have a -tilt with the Yankees: will we be sure to meet them?”</p> - -<p>“That you will,” answered Morrison, “they are within four miles of you -and will pay us a visit, maybe, the morn.”</p> - -<p>“Ha! That news does me more good than your dram. When there is fighting -to be done, a Highlandman’s blood runs faster. Get us some supper -ready, and while we wait I’ll find out what has been done. Is there -none of the General’s staff here?”</p> - -<p>“Not an officer: they are all busy at the making of barricades; but -here is an Indian with a longer head than any of them, and who can -speak good English, which, however, is not to be compared with our -mother-language.”</p> - -<p>Resuming the use of the despised tongue—for he scorned to give English -the name of language—Morrison introduced Hemlock, and drawing him to a -corner of the hearth, Macdonell plied him with questions. The Indian, -using the ramrod of his musket, drew a plan of the country in the ashes -at their feet, explaining how the Americans were encamped a few miles -farther up the river and that to get to Montreal they must go down the -road that followed its north bank. To prevent him, General deWatteville -had caused the numerous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> gullies of creeks where they emptied into the -Chateaugay, to be protected by breastworks of fallen trees, behind -which the British would contest their advance. Six of these gullies had -been so prepared. In rear of them, was the main line of defence, placed -where the ground was favorable, and strengthened by breastworks and two -small cannon.</p> - -<p>“Aye, aye!” exclaimed Macdonell, “all very well if the Americans keep -to the road: but what are we to do should they try to flank us?”</p> - -<p>The Indian’s face darkened as he whispered, “deWatteville is a good man -but he is an Old World soldier who knows nothing about bush-fighting. -He would not believe me, when I told them there were bush-whackers in -the Yankee army who could march to his rear through the woods.”</p> - -<p>“That they could!” agreed the Colonel, “and where would he be then? And -what good would his six lines of barricades be? My own lads today came -over ground where regulars would have been bogged. Then the river can -be forded opposite this house. Could the Yankees get to this ford?”</p> - -<p>Hemlock said they could, when Macdonell answered he would see to it -that preparations were made to checkmate such a move. Finding Hemlock -acute and thoroughly acquainted with the field of operations, the -Highlander’s heart warmed to him as one of like soldierly instincts -as his own. Uncontaminated by the prejudice of race common<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> to old -residents, he had no feeling against the red-men, and when supper was -ready he insisted on Hemlock’s sitting beside him, and in treating him -as his equal. As the evening wore on, officers from the neighboring -encampments dropped in to exchange greetings with the new-comers, and -an orderly brought instructions from the General. When Hemlock left to -join his band in their vigils along the enemy’s lines, he felt he had -not passed so happy an evening for a dozen of years.</p> - -<p>The night passed quietly and in the morning the enemy showed no -disposition to move, so that the preparations for their reception -went on, and the troops worked all day, the woods re-echoing the -sound of their axes as they felled trees to roll into heaps to form -rude breastworks. In the afternoon General de Watteville rode up -and carefully inspected all that had been done, and returned to his -quarters satisfied, and altogether unwitting that the attack was to be -made from another direction in a few hours.</p> - -<p>The day had been cloudy, cheerless, and cold, and as it faded, rain -began to fall. The men sought such cover and warmth as they could find -and the officers assembled to spend the night in carousing. So raw, -dark, and uninviting was it that not one in the British camp supposed -the enemy would be astir. But they were. At sunset, 1500 men left the -American camp, marched down to the river, forded the rapids, and began -their<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> march down the south bank with the intent of capturing the ford -at Morrison’s at daylight.</p> - -<p>Next morning, the eventful 26th October, 1813, the Forsyths, -unsuspicious of what was passing under the woods around them, were at -breakfast, when the door was dashed in and Hemlock appeared, dripping -wet. “I want a messenger to go to Macdonell to tell him the Americans -are on their way to him,” he shouted.</p> - -<p>“Confound them,” exclaimed Forsyth, “I’ll gang at ance.”</p> - -<p>“An’ leave us twa women bodies oor lane?” complained his wife, “No, no, -you maun bide, an’ proteck us.”</p> - -<p>Hemlock was disconcerted. “Maggie,” he appealed, “won’t you go? Take -the canoe and you will be at the ford in a few minutes.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” she responded, with quiet decision, “and what am I to say?”</p> - -<p>“Tell the Colonel that the Americans in strength are marching through -the woods on this side of the river, intending to surprise him and -capture his position. Their advance will be on him in half an hour. Say -to him, to send over men to meet them and I will join with my band. I -go to watch them.” Without another word, he left and rushed back into -the forest.</p> - -<p>Maggie stepped lightly to where the canoe was moored, loosened the -rope, and paddled down the river with all the strength she had. When -it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> struck the bank at Morrison’s she was glad to see so many astir -and hastened to the door. “You, Maggie, at this early hour,” cried Mrs -Morrison, “naething wrang I hope?”</p> - -<p>“I must see the Colonel,” she said, catching for breath.</p> - -<p>“There he is,” said Mrs Morrison, pointing to an officer engaged in -reading a letter by the fire.</p> - -<p>Maggie repeated Hemlock’s message. Macdonell listened with sparkling -eyes, and when she had done said, “Thank you, my bonnie lass, you have -done the King a service, and when the Yankees come they will find us -ready to gie their lang nebs a smell o’ oor claymores.”</p> - -<p>Hastening out, he gave his orders in quick succession, and with -surprising alacrity for a volunteer force, the men fell in. Two -companies were soon complete. “Now, Captain Bruyére, if your men do as -well as you will yourself all will be well; and for you, Captain Daly, -I know by long experience what a loyal Irishman is. Hold your ground -until I get up to you with the other companies.”</p> - -<p>The men quietly descended the bank and plunged into the river, which -took them nearly to the middle, for owing to the recent rains it was -deep. Gaining the opposite bank, they were swallowed up in the woods. -Gazing over the tree-tops, which looked peaceful in the calm of a dull, -moist, autumnal day, Maggie wondered what was going on beneath their -cover—wished she could see the advancing <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>Americans and the men who -had just gone to meet them. There was an interval of suspense. Then, -suddenly, there was a sharp volley and the quiet air became filled -with shouts, and yells, and cries of frightened men. All at once there -burst from the bush on to the river bank, a good way up, a string of -habitants, flying in terror, their blue tuques streaming behind them, -and few of them having muskets, for they had thrown them away to aid -their flight. “The cowardly loons,” muttered Macdonell, “it would serve -them right to give them a taste of shot.” On reaching the ford, they -tumultuously dashed in. As the foremost came up the bank the Colonel -demanded an explanation. They had been surprised by the unexpected -appearance of a great host of Americans and ran to save themselves. -Attention, however, was now attracted from the fugitives by the -recommencement of the firing, which was sharp and continuous, relieved -by the yells and whoops of the Indians.</p> - -<p>“Hasten!” shouted Macdonell to the troops who were lining up, “do you -not hear the firing? Our comrades need us.”</p> - -<p>The head of the column had reached the water’s edge, when there was -a burst of cheering. “That’s our lads,” said the Colonel, “they must -have won the day. Halt! We will not seek to share the credit of their -victory.” In a few minutes a body of the Fencibles reappeared, with -several prisoners and bearing a few wounded men. Their report<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> was that -they had encountered the advance guard of the American brigade, which, -although elated at the rout of the outpost of habitants, fled at the -first fire. The Colonel ordered the men to retire and wait behind the -breastworks that commanded the ford. “It is not likely,” he remarked -to his adjutant, “that the Americans will now attack us, seeing their -design to surprise us has miscarried.” Half an hour later, Hemlock -arrived with his braves, at whose girdles hung several fresh scalps. -He told Macdonell that the Americans had given up their intention of -gaining the ford and had gone into camp nearly two miles above, in a -grove beside the river. Seeing how slight was the prospect of more -fighting on that side of the river, he was going to join the main-body. -On hearing this reassuring news, Maggie slipped away to her canoe and -paddled homewards.</p> - -<p>On coming in sight of the shanty she was amazed and alarmed by the -change that had taken place in her short absence. American soldiers -were clustered around it, and a few horses picketed. Fearing the -worst, she drew near. Seated by the fire were several officers warming -themselves and drying their clothes, and with whom her mother was in -altercation.</p> - -<p>“Come to free us, say ye? What wad ye free us frae?”</p> - -<p>“From the tyranny of European monarchy,” answered an officer with a -smile. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It maun be a licht yoke that we never felt. Mak us free, dootless, -like that blackamoor servant that’s cooking yer breakfast.”</p> - -<p>“Waal, no,” said another officer, “yer a furriner, ye know, but yer -white.”</p> - -<p>“A foreigner!” exclaimed Mrs Forsyth, “hae I lived to be ca’ed in my -ain house, a foreigner! I belang to nae sic trash. Manners maun be -scarce whaur you come frae, my man.”</p> - -<p>“That’s all right, old woman; the old man will understand how it is. We -have come to make you independent.”</p> - -<p>“Auld man! Auld woman! God forgie you for haein’ nae respeck for grey -hairs. My guid man, sir, taks nae stock in ye or your fine words. Nicht -and mornin’ does he pray for King George an’ that his throne may be -preserved. You’re a set o’ land-loupers, wha hae nae business here an’ -its my howp afore nicht you may be fleein’ back to whaur ye cam frae.”</p> - -<p>“Canada folk are not all like you.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, that they are. There’s no an’ Auld Country family from here to the -Basin that winna gie you the back o’ their hand, an’ no ane that wadna -suner lose a’ than come unner yer rule.”</p> - -<p>Afraid that further controversy might result unpleasantly, Maggie left -her attitude of listening outside the door and entered. One or two of -the younger officers rose and bowed; the others stared. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, Maggie, I wish you had stayed where you were,” said her mother, -“you have come into the lion’s den, for your father is no maister here.”</p> - -<p>“I am sure, mother, these gentlemen will not harm us.”</p> - -<p>“Not at all,” interrupted one of the strangers, “and in a few hours we -will leave you alone again.”</p> - -<p>“The sicht o’ your backs will be maist welcome,” remarked Mrs Forsyth.</p> - -<p>“Where is father?”</p> - -<p>“Helpin’ thae Yankees to get a haud o’ his ain property. They took him -oot to get fodder for their horses.”</p> - -<p>There was a bustle outside and presently two soldiers carried in a -young lad, in lieutenant’s uniform, whose white face told that he had -been wounded. They were about to lay him down in front of the fire, -when Mrs Forsyth darted forward: “No, na; dinna pit the puir chiel on -the floor; tak him to my ain bed,” and she helped to place him there. -Two surgeons took off his coat and shirt, when the wound appeared; a -bullet had gone through the fleshy part beneath the arm-pit, causing -some loss of blood without doing serious injury. When the surgeons -said he would recover, Mrs Forsyth’s face beamed and she bustled -about to get the requisites needed to clean and dress the wound, -while, under her orders, Maggie made gruel to revive his strength. -While thus engaged, officers came and went, and the house was never -without<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> several of them. There came a tall, square-built man, whose -shoulder-straps indicated high rank, and his quiet, resolute face one -accustomed to command. He advanced to the bed where the wounded lad -lay, asked a few questions, and spoke encouragingly to the sufferer.</p> - -<p>“It is too bad that Dingley, of all our corps, should have had this -luck,” remarked an officer.</p> - -<p>“Yes, and to no purpose. I fear the miscarriage of our plan to surprise -the ford will lead to the abandonment of the purpose to capture -Montreal.”</p> - -<p>“There is not a man in the army that does not wish we were in -winter-quarters. To fight in such a country at this season is more than -flesh and blood can stand.”</p> - -<p>“Yet to go back will disgrace us,” said the superior officer, who -withdrew.</p> - -<p>“Who is that?” asked Maggie of one of the surgeons.</p> - -<p>“That is Col. Purdy, and if he had been in command we would not have -spent all summer doing nothing and come here in the end of October.”</p> - -<p>“Yet he failed in capturing the ford,” remarked Maggie, with a sparkle -in her eye.</p> - -<p>“He could not help the weather and the dark night that kept us standing -in the woods until daybreak. After all, we would have surprised the -guard and taken the ford had it not been for somebody, perhaps a -traitor among ourselves, who carried word of our coming.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Maybe,” said Maggie demurely, “but you did not get the ford and what -can you do now?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing, I am afraid. The failure of our brigade to carry the key of -the enemy’s position may cause the General to give up the enterprise.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XIII.</h3> - -<p>On leaving Morrison’s, Hemlock hurried to the front, followed by -his braves. As he reached each successive line of defence he paused -briefly to scan it, but when he came to that which had been entrusted -to the Indians, and which was within sight of the front, he halted to -fraternize with his brethren and share their fare, for it was now noon. -The urgent requests of the chiefs, that he should stay with them and -aid in the threatened conflict, he declined, saying he wanted to be -with the first line, and his dusky comrades afterwards recalled that -he parted with more than usual ceremony and that when he and his small -band gained the eminence on the other side of the ravine, he looked -back and waved his hand in farewell. A tramp of a few minutes brought -him to the advance line, where he found men still busy felling and -rolling trees to strengthen the abattis. Inquiring for the officer in -command he came upon him, a short, broad-shouldered man, engaged in -swearing at one of his men for neglect of duty. On seeing the Indians -he turned, and with hearty gesture grasped Hemlock’s extended hand. -“Ha, bon camarado, have you come to help?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Will there be a fight?” asked Hemlock.</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes; stand on this stump and you can see for yourself.”</p> - -<p>With cautious movement Hemlock scanned the scene. In front of the -abattis there was a narrow clearing that skirted the river bank as far -as the view extended. On the road and adjoining fields were masses of -American troops, with the smoke rising from the fires at which they -were cooking dinner. “You see, Hemlock,” said Colonel deSalaberry, -“they may make an attack any minute. Those mounted officers looking at -us from the road are the General and his staff.”</p> - -<p>Hemlock gave a grunt of satisfaction. “Where will we stand?” he asked.</p> - -<p>“Get into the woods and cover our flank,” deSalaberry replied. Without -another word, Hemlock motioned to his men and led the way to where -the line of defence ended in the bush. Here he spread out his men and -awaited the onset. Half an hour passed when the roll of drums was -heard, and Hemlock saw a brigade falling into rank on the road. When -all were in place, the column moved slowly, for the road was a canal of -mud intersected by pools of water. As they approached within range the -order to deploy was shouted, and the men streamed on to the clearing -until a line the length of the field was formed. Then they faced round, -and Hemlock heard the command to advance, when the Americans came on, a -solid wall<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> of humanity, moving with slow and steady step. Instantly, -the bushy abattis, behind which the British lay, silent as the grave -until now, became alive with the puffs of musket-shots and the shouts -of those who fired them. On the Americans came with even step until -well within blank range, when they were halted and the order given -to fire by platoons. The regular roll of musketry that ensued spoke -well for their nerve and discipline. The shower of bullets they sent -streaming into the bush in front of them had no effect in checking -the opposing fire, which was irregular but lively. It soon became -apparent that firing by platoons was a waste of ammunition, a mere -flinging of bullets into the tree-tops, and there was a movement in the -companies in the column next the woods, which were swung forward, in -order that they might gain a position which would enable them to pour -a cross-fire into the British position. The men moved steadily, all -the while pouring in volleys, that caused the defenders of the upper -end of the British line to leave and go lower down. It was a critical -moment. The British line was in danger of being flanked, and Hemlock -saw its peril. He with his band were concealed in the woods that edged -the clearing, and so far had not fired a shot, for Hemlock, who knew -the futility of irregular troops engaging in a musketry duel with a -disciplined force, had determined not to show where they were until the -Americans came to close <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>quarters. Now he saw his opportunity. Signing -to his men to follow, he stealthily crept until he was close behind -the American companies that were edging to flank the British line. -When near upon the unsuspecting Americans, he sprang to his feet, gave -the war-whoop, and fired his musket, his followers doing likewise. The -Americans looked round in terrified astonishment, and saw the Indians -leaping towards them with ear-piercing yells and brandishing their -tomahawks. They wavered, broke rank, and fled towards their supports, -who were a short distance behind. Hemlock bounded among the fleeing men -and two had fallen under his hand, when a volley of bullets from the -supporting column came shrieking through the air. All save one passed -harmlessly over the heads of the red-men—that one struck Hemlock in -the breast, and he sank upon his right knee. Alarmed at his fall, his -men desisted from following the fleeing enemy, and seizing hold of him -hurried into the shelter of the woods. They laid him down and were -about to loosen his jacket, for he was in a faint, when there rose a -burst of cheering from the British line, on seeing the success of the -Indians’ diversion. The sound caught the ear of the dying chief. His -eyes opened as from slumber, rolled wildly for a moment, and his breast -heaved convulsively. He staggered to his feet, and lifting aloft his -tomahawk, dripping with the blood of its last victim, he raised the -war-whoop, suddenly stopped short,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> rolled unsteadily, and then fell -as a pine-tree falls. An Indian knelt down beside him and raised his -head while he pressed his hand on his forehead. There was no responsive -throb. Hemlock was dead.</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * *</p> - -<p>“I would swear that was Hemlock’s whoop,” said Morton to himself. He -stood amid a group of cavalrymen who were watching intently what was -going on from a field within easy view. He had followed the engagement -with intelligent interest; had noted how the American infantry had -advanced, deployed, formed line, and opened fire on the British -position. What followed provoked him. When he saw how ineffectual -the British fire was upon the American ranks, though standing in -the open and within easy range, he ground his teeth in vexation. -“Those militiamen could not hit a barn; a hundred regulars would have -decimated the American column with half the ammunition that has been -spent,” he muttered to himself. When the upper end of the American -line swung forward, his thoughts changed. “Ah, they are going to fix -bayonets and carry our position by assault. God help our lads.” He -was mistaken; the movement was to gain a point whence to rake the -British position with an enfilading fire. As he saw the Americans move -forward unopposed and the British fire slacken from the bush opposite, -his heart sank. “The day is lost: in five minutes the Americans will -have possession of the far end of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> that bushy entrenchment, and it -will be untenable.” Suddenly the war-whoop of the Indians was heard, -then came their wild assault, and the flight of the Americans. “Well -done, Hemlock!” exulted Morton, “no other lungs than yours could have -raised that shriek and your timely move has certainly checked the -attempt to flank the British position. What next?” Having ascertained -so unpleasantly that the wood to their left was held by Indians, the -Americans did not try again to turn the British position, and the -companies that had broken in disorder were reformed and placed in -rear, while the battalions in line continued to pour volleys into the -bush heaps in front of them. Hampton and his staff were on horseback, -watching the progress of the contest from a bit of rising ground by -the river. At this juncture Morton observed him signal with his hand -to some one on the other side of the river, and from that quarter, -soon after, came the rattle of musketry. It did not last long and when -it died away, an orderly was detached from the General’s staff and -came galloping to deliver a message to Izard, who instantly gave the -order to cease firing. The column fell back a few paces and the men -stood in rank, awaiting orders. To Morton’s surprise, firing from the -British line also ceased, and the two combatants simply looked at one -another. “Can it be,” asked Morton, “that our General does not want -to provoke an engagement and would be content to see the Americans -leave?” The brief<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> October day was drawing to an end, and still the -American brigade stood immovable and there was not a sign of life -along the British line. When the grey clouds began to be tinged by the -setting sun, and it was apparent nothing more could be done that day, -Izard received the order to fall back. As if on parade, the evolutions -requisite were gone through and the column began its march to the camp, -three miles in rear.</p> - -<p>“Hillo, Morton, you seem stupefied. Lost in amaze at the gallantry of -your comrades-in-arms permitting a brigade to file off under their nose -without an attempt to molest them. Eh?” The voice was that of Colonel -Vanderberg.</p> - -<p>“I confess you interpret my thoughts,” answered Morton. “I am glad to -see you back.”</p> - -<p>“I have had a fatiguing day’s duty and am not yet done. I have just -left the General, who instructed me to go over and see Purdy and -arrange for the withdrawal of his force. Will you come with me?”</p> - -<p>“That I will; I am tired of standing here.”</p> - -<p>As they approached the river, Morton noted that the bank was strongly -picketted by infantry and that a body of cavalry were bivouaced in a -field beside the road. Stepping upon a raft that had been extemporized -to form a ferry with the other side, the Colonel and Morton were landed -in the midst of Purdy’s men, who were making themselves as comfortable -as possible before their <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>campfires. They looked tired and dejected. -The Colonel was told Purdy had gone to remain until morning with his -outposts, as a night attack upon them was looked for. Accompanied by -a soldier to show them the way they went on, now floundering thru’ -marshy spots and again jumping little creeks, alternating with bits -of dry bank and scrubby brush, until they emerged into a clearing. -Morton caught his breath with astonishment. In front was the shanty -of the Forsyths! He had had no idea it was so near. The door was -open and he could see it was full of officers. Around the house were -resting a strong body of troops. Col. Vanderberg pushed in and was -soon in earnest conversation with Purdy, who sat smoking by the fire. -Morton remained at the door and scanned the interior, which was filled -by a cloud of tobacco-smoke and reeked with the odor of cooking and -of steaming wet clothes. In the corner, where the bed stood, he saw -Maggie leaning over a recumbent youth, whose white face and bandaged -shoulder told of a wound. Morton’s heart jumped at sight of her and -his lips twitched. The next moment, as he saw how gently she soothed -the sufferer, a pang of jealousy succeeded, and he clenched his teeth. -Pulling his cloak more tightly around him he entered and drew up behind -Colonel Vanderberg, who was saying, “Then I am to tell the General from -you, that you will not join him tonight.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, tell him I cannot; that the river is too deep<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> to ford and too -wide to bridge and that it is out of the question to cross 1500 men on -rafts. At daylight we will march back the way we came and join him at -Spears.”</p> - -<p>“It will be an unwelcome message, for he counted on your rejoining him -tonight.”</p> - -<p>“I care not,” bluffly retorted Purdy, “I am a soldier and know a -soldier’s duty and have to think of those under me. I’ll risk no lives -to humor his whims.”</p> - -<p>“He fears a night assault upon your brigade.”</p> - -<p>“So do I,” replied Purdy, blowing a cloud of tobacco smoke, “and would -fear it more if assailed while on the march through these woods or in -the endeavor to cross the river. The General should have ordered us to -retire while there was daylight.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, well, I have delivered my message and must go back with my answer. -Come, Morton.”</p> - -<p>At the sound of the familiar name Maggie looked round, and when her -eyes fell on Morton, she blushed deeply. To hide her confusion from -the roomful of men, she turned her back and bowed her head close to -the pillow whereon lay the head of the patient. More nettled than -ever, Morton started to move quickly away, when there appeared at the -doorway the frail form of Mrs Forsyth. “God be gude to us, if this is -no Morton. Oh but I’m gled to see you and sae will the gudeman. I went -out to look for him, an’ hav’na found him, but he’ll sune be here an’, -onyway, you’re going to bide wi’ us.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I am sorry that I cannot.”</p> - -<p>“But ye maun. Ye dinna ken hoo yer takin’ awa’ concerned us and pit us -aboot.”</p> - -<p>“You forget I am a prisoner.”</p> - -<p>“Prisoner! You are nae prisoner. You’re noo in oor hoose an’ you’ll -just bide here an’ let thae Yankees gae awa.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid they would insist on taking me with them.”</p> - -<p>“Hoots, man, I’ll haud ye. Maggie, do you ken Morton’s come?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, mother; I saw him.”</p> - -<p>“Weel, come ower and mak him stay an’ no gang back to be bullyragged by -a wheen Yankees.”</p> - -<p>Maggie made no reply, but turned to avoid the gaze of the Americans -attracted by the scene at the door and her mother’s words. Morton also -felt mortified at the situation. “Thank you, Mrs Forsyth, but I must -go, and tell your husband and sons I have never forgot them and never -will.” Eluding her grasp he followed Colonel Vanderberg, who stood -outside the door with laughing countenance. He had not gone far when a -swift step was heard behind and his name was uttered. Turning he saw -Maggie, who held out her right hand. “Take this,” she said, “I may -not see you—again.” There was a sob as she uttered the last word. He -grasped what she held to him and before he could say a word she had -turned and fled back to the house. Morton held the object up to the -light<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> of the nearest camp-fire. It was his signet-ring.</p> - -<p>More perplexed than ever, angry with Maggie and angry with himself, -he braced himself and followed the Colonel in silence until the camp -was reached. Supper awaited them, and that disposed of, the Colonel, -wearied with his day’s exertion, flung himself on the ground and fell -asleep. Morton tried in vain to do likewise.</p> - -<p>At daybreak the army was astir and the expectation of the men was -an order to renew the assault upon the British position. No such -order came, and it was wearing well into the forenoon when the -commanding-officers were summoned to attend at the General’s tent to -hold a council-of-war. Among others Colonel Vanderberg went. Morton -watched eagerly his return, and when he came his questioning eyes told -what his tongue, from courtesy, would not ask. “Well, Morton, you would -like to know what has been decided upon, and as it is no secret, I will -tell you. The campaign has been abandoned and the army goes back to the -States to go into winter-quarters. We marched into Canada to co-operate -with Wilkinson. Last night the General received a despatch that he had -not yet left Sackett’s Harbor, while we supposed he was now steering -his triumphant way down the St Lawrence, and might even be at the mouth -of the Chateaugay waiting for us. It was argued that, as Wilkinson had -not moved, and it was uncertain if he would, nothing was to be gained -by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> our army going on, for, without the flotilla, we could not cross -the St Lawrence to take Montreal.”</p> - -<p>“And what of the disgrace of retiring before an enemy whom you have -burnt powder with for an afternoon?”</p> - -<p>“There you have us, Morton. I urged that, before we fell back, the -honor of our flag required our routing the enemy in front of us, but -the General showed that he has had all along complete information of -its position and strength, obtained from spies and deserters—that -there are six lines of wooden breastworks, held by Indians and light -troops, and that only after storming them would we come in face of -the main position, where the regulars are entrenched with cannon and -commanded by Sir George Prevost in person. When there was nothing to -be gained, it was asked, what was the use of further fighting? The -miscarriage of the attempt under Purdy to flank the enemy’s position -discouraged our officers, who, altho’ they do not say it, want to get -away from this miserable condition of cold and wet and mud.”</p> - -<p>“So we go back whence we came?” remarked Morton moodily, as he thought -of the stable at Chateaugay.</p> - -<p>“My dear fellow, bear up; I will do my best to have you exchanged.”</p> - -<p>Morton shook his head as he said, “I am not held as a prisoner of war.”</p> - -<p>The Colonel bit his lip. “I have not told you all.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span> The carrying of the -decision of the council to Wilkinson was entrusted to me.”</p> - -<p>“And so you leave me!” exclaimed Morton sadly.</p> - -<p>“I start after dinner, and cheer up, man; we will have a good one as a -farewell feast.” Then, with evident hesitation, the Colonel went on, -as delicately as possible, to show Morton that he had better withdraw -his parole and go again under a guard. Removed from his protection, it -would not be safe to move among men soured by an unfortunate campaign. -Morton assented and expressed his thanks for advice he knew it pained -the Colonel to give. Dinner over, the Colonel’s horse was brought, and -with a warm grasp of the hand he bade Morton good-bye, leapt into the -saddle, and galloped out of sight. Morton saw him not again.</p> - -<p>In a despondent mood Morton turned away and sought the guard-tent, -when he gave himself up to the officer-of-the-day, who accepted his -surrender as a matter of course. The soldiers took little notice of -him, being in high spirits at the prospect of going back to the States -and busily engaged in the preparations to leave. That afternoon part -of the baggage-train left and went floundering along the muddy road -to Four Corners. As evening drew nigh, the rain, accompanied by a raw -east wind, recommenced, flooding the level clearances upon which the -tents were pitched and making everybody miserable. The captain of the -guard sought shelter from the blast and the water by causing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> the tents -he controlled to be pitched on the slope of a hollow scooped out by a -creek, and in one of them Morton lay down along with seven soldiers. -Sleep soon came to relieve him of his depression in mind and discomfort -of body, and the hours sped while he was so unconscious that he did -not hear when his companions left to take their turn on duty and those -they relieved took their places in the tent. His first deep sleep was -over when he felt that some furtive hand was being passed over the -canvas to find the opening. When the flap was drawn aside, so dark was -it that he could not distinguish who stood there. He supposed it was -some belated private seeking cover from the pelting rain and he was -about to turn and resume his slumber when a flint was struck and the -tent was lit for a moment by its sparks. Somebody lighting a pipe, he -said, too drowsy to look. A minute afterwards he felt that the curtain -of the tent where his head lay was being cautiously lifted and soon a -hand reached in, touched his face, and then catching the collar of his -coat began pulling. He made a motion to resist, when a voice whispered, -“Hemlock.” In a flash he realized he was about to be rescued, and, -guided by the hand that grasped him, slowly crept out. No sooner was he -upon his feet, than he felt men were gliding past him into the tent. -All at once there was a sound of striking, as of knives being driven -into the bodies of the sleeping inmates, a slight commotion, a few<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> -groans, and then all was still. Morton’s flesh crept, as he guessed -at the horrid work in which the Indians were engaged. So intensely -dark was it, that he could see nothing. There was a slight shuffling -of feet and he was grasped by the arm on either side and hurried -forward. He knew they were following the course of the ravine, for he -could hear the wash of the creek. Suddenly his conductors came to a -halt and there was a pause, until a faint chirrup was heard. Then the -bank was climbed and, emerging on a clearance, Morton saw the tents of -the American camp some distance to his left, lit up by the smoldering -fires that burned dimly between the rows. Looking round, he for the -first time saw his companions, who were, as he suspected, a band of -Indians. Taking advantage of every available cover the Indians glided, -in single file, across the bit of open that intervened between where -they stood and the bush. When its shelter was gained, they halted on -a dry knoll, and squatted, when they began to giggle and to chatter -in their native tongue, plainly exulting over the success of their -raid. Morton tried to communicate with them, but found they could not -speak English, and the only word they uttered which he recognized was -“Hemlock,” altho’ that great chief was not among them. One of them -could speak a little French, which, however, Morton did not understand. -When daylight began to creep in upon the darkness, they became alert, -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> as soon as it was clear enough to see where they were going they -started; Morton had no idea in what direction. All he knew was, that -their course led them over a swampy country intersected by stony -ridges, and that had it not been that the leaders of the file broke a -path he could never have followed. The exertion was exhausting and he -would have succumbed at the end of the first hour had it not been that -the spirit of freedom elated him, and the knowledge that every mile -he overtook increased the distance between him and the hated bondage -from which he had escaped spurred him on. On the edge of an apparently -limitless swamp they paused before entering upon it to have a smoke. -It was apparent that they carried no food. Morton sank upon a pile of -leaves that had drifted against a log and stretched his wearied legs. -Refreshed by the rest, he faced the swamp with courage, soon finding, -however, that, without the help of the Indians, he could have made -little headway. With the light step and agility of cats they stepped -over quaking surfaces and sprang from log to log until solid land was -reached, and with it came the sound of rushing water. Escaping from the -brush, a broad river, dashing impetuously over a rocky channel, burst -in view. Following its bank in single file, Morton saw it grew wider, -until it expanded into a lake, when he knew it was the St Lawrence. -On coming opposite the promontory that marked the inlet<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> of the river -from the lake, the Indians eagerly scrutinized it. Gathering some damp -leaves they made a smoke. The signal was seen by those opposite, for -a long-boat was launched from under the trees and rapidly approached -them. Morton’s heart leapt with joy when he distinguished that the -steersman had a red-coat on, and as the boat drew nearer and he -could make out the ruddy countenances of the crew, frank and open in -expression, and catch the sound of their hearty English speech, he -could not resist the impulse to swing his hat and wake the echoes with -a lusty cheer. The Indians grinned and one clapped him on the back in -high approval.</p> - -<p>The corporal in charge of the boat informed Morton that he belonged to -the garrison of Coteau-du-lac and was, for the week, with the party -on the point, to guard the south channel. There were so many Indians -that the boat had to leave part for a second trip. On landing at the -point Morton was warmly welcomed by the officer in charge, and given -the best he had, which proved to be fried pork and biscuit. At noon -the boat that daily brought supplies from Coteau arrived, and in it -Morton with the Indians embarked. As soon as he stepped ashore, he -made for the commander’s quarters and was shown into the presence of -Col. Lethbridge. On announcing who he was, the Colonel welcomed him -as one from the dead and impatiently demanded to hear when and how he -had escaped.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> When he came to tell of the exploit of the preceding -night, and that the Indians who had performed in it were waiting in -the barrack-yard, the Colonel thumped the table and swore each man of -them would take home all the tobacco and pork he could carry. Going out -to see them before they left, Morton learned through an interpreter -of Hemlock’s death and that his rescue was in fulfilment of an order -he had left. They were going to Oka to join the party who were on the -way from the Chateaugay with his body, to bury it beside that of his -daughter, and hold a funeral lodge. Morton was deeply moved. “Faithful -soul,” he exclaimed, “would to heaven he had lived that I might have -shown him my gratitude.” Applying to the paymaster he obtained an -advance, and in parting with the Indians pressed a big Mexican dollar -into the hand of each of them.</p> - -<p>Colonel Lethbridge insisted on Morton’s being his guest, and after -leaving him in his bedroom sent his servant to wait upon him, and who -brought a fresh suit of clothes. Morton was the hero of the garrison, -and when he appeared at the mess-table, so many complimentary speeches -were made, so many songs sung, and so many toasts drank that it was -nigh midnight when he got to bed. He rose next morning intent on -entering harness again, and over a late breakfast discussed with Col. -Lethbridge as to how he could rejoin his regiment, which had been -called to the Niagara frontier, and it was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> agreed he should go by the -next convoy, always provided Wilkinson did not come, which, after what -Morton reported of Hampton’s army returning to the States, Lethbridge -doubted. Each day tidings of Wilkinson’s leaving the shelter of -Sackett’s Harbor had been looked for, and the feeling was that unless -he left within a week he would not come at all, for the season was now -well-advanced, and already on several mornings had ice formed round -boats while lying at Coteau. Col. Scott had been sent to Cornwall -to superintend the preparations there, and Lethbridge had taken his -place at the less important point. The following week the unexpected -happened—late one afternoon a gunboat came down the lake under press -of canvas, with word that Wilkinson had started—was descending the -river with a flotilla of 300 boats bearing 7000 men. A few days of -excitement and wearing suspense succeeded, and then, came word of the -battle of Crystler’s Farm—how a strong brigade of Americans had landed -at the head of the Long Sault rapids to clear the north bank of the -batteries the British had planted to prevent the flotilla descending -and been routed by General Boyd. Treading upon the heels of the news -of that decisive victory came the announcement that Wilkinson had -abandoned his undertaking and had gone back to the United States by -sailing into Salmon river with his beaten army. The campaign was ended -for the season, and troops<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> were ordered into winter-quarters. The day -the news reached Coteau of Wilkinson’s flight to French Mills, a string -of boats came up loaded with military stores for Upper Canada and a few -troops. To Morton’s astonishment, among them was the detachment he had -conducted to the Chateaugay. The camp there having been broken up, they -were on their way to join the regiment, and hoped to reach it before -navigation closed. Gladly Morton resumed command and six days later -reported at Niagara. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XIV.</h3> - -<p>After a night of excitement from wild alarms, the Americans left the -Forsyth household at daylight, leaving not one behind, for even the -wounded officer they carried with them in a litter. Utterly worn out -the family sought rest, and it was late in the day when the father -arose, and leaving the others, sleeping, went out to see what of his -property had been left. The more closely he examined the more fully -the unwelcome fact was forced upon him, that he was left destitute, -and when he came upon the black head of his cow, which the soldiers -had slaughtered for beef, he sat down in a despairing mood. “It’s no -for mysel’ I’m troubled,” he exclaimed, “but for my ailin’ wife and -puir Maggie! To face a Canadian winter wi’ a bare loof is awfu.” And -he gave way to a fit of despondency. “This winna do,” he said with a -rueful look at the devastation around him, “a stout heart to a stey -brae, and wi’ God’s help, I’ll mak the best o’t.” When Maggie sometime -afterwards appeared at the door he was industriously laboring to bring -his surroundings into order. “Weel, lass, an’ hoo are ye after oor big -pairty?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p> - -<p>“No so ill; but, father, what are we to do, there’s no a bite in the -house? The cellar is rookit as clean as if a pack of wolves had visited -it.”</p> - -<p>The old man approached and taking his daughter by the hand drew her to -the seat by the door-step. “Maggie, I ken ye hae a brave spirit and can -bear the worst. I am a ruined man. The Yankees have eaten us oot o’ -house an’ hold. The very boards o’ the byre hae been torn awa’ to licht -their fires. Oor coo, the young beasts, the pigs, hae a’ been eaten. -There’s no even a chuckie left.”</p> - -<p>“O but there is,” interrupted Maggie, “see to Jenny Tapknot over -there,” pointing smilingly thro’ tears to a favorite chicken that had -eluded the soldiers and was eyeing them from a branch.</p> - -<p>“Weel, weel, we hae one leevin’ thing left us. O’ a’ oor crop there -is naething to the fore but the unthreshed wheat, an’ mickle o’t is -useless from the sojers using it to lie on.”</p> - -<p>“Was it right, father, for them to take your property without paying -you?”</p> - -<p>“Pay me! The thocht o’ paying a subject o’ the King never entered their -heids. Micht is richt wi’ them. What we are to do is no just clear to -me yet, but we’ll trust in Him wha has never failed to supply oor bite -an’ sup. Only, Maggie, ye maun for yer mither’s sake put a cheerfu’ -face on’t an’ mak the best o’t.”</p> - -<p>“Hoot, father, what gars ye doot me? We hae aye been provided for an’ -sae will we yet, says the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> auld sang. You take the canoe an’ go down to -Morrison’s an’ see what you can get there to keep us going until the -morn, an’ while you’re away I’ll red the house an’ hae a’ ready for -supper gin mither wakens.”</p> - -<p>With brightened face and hopeful step the old man did as asked and -did not return empty-handed. Over the frugal meal the situation was -discussed and both the husband and daughter were glad to see that the -calamity that had overtaken them so far from overwhelming Mrs Forsyth, -roused her, and revived the active and hopeful spirit that had been a -feature in her character before ailments and age had overtaken her. -Long and earnest was the consultation by the fireside that night, and -many a plan proposed to tide over the long months that must intervene -before another harvest could be reaped. As bed-time drew near, the -father lifted down the book, and after they had sung the 23rd psalm, -he read the 17th chapter of First Kings, and poured out his heart in -thanksgiving for the unnumbered blessings bestowed upon him and his, -and, above all, for the departure of the invader.</p> - -<p>Two days afterwards, when it had become assured that Hampton was in -leisurely retreat whence he came, those of the militia, at Baker’s -camp, who wished were given leave to go to their homes, and the Forsyth -lads returned. They were much exasperated at the plundered state -of their home, and more provoked than before at the policy which<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> -permitted the enemy to journey back over 24 miles of Canadian territory -without attempt to harass him. Leaving the scanty pay they had received -as soldiers, it was arranged they should go lumbering for the winter, -their wages to be sent home as they got them. The winter proved a hard -one. The presence of so large a body of troops had consumed much of -the produce the settlers needed for themselves, and although they had -been paid what they considered at the time good prices they now found -it difficult to procure what they wanted from Montreal. The result to -the Forsyths was, that their neighbors were unable to give them much -help and had it not been that the miller at the Basin gave credit, they -would have been sometimes in actual want. Despite the bareness of the -cupboard, the winter was a happy one: the very effort to endure and -make the best of their hard lot conducing to cheerfulness. When the -snow began to melt, the sons returned, and the new clearing at which -the father had worked all winter was made ready for seed, so that more -land than before was put under a crop. The pinch was worst in July and -until the potatoes were fit to eat. After that there was rude plenty -and an abundant harvest was reaped.</p> - -<p>With returning comfort Mrs Forsyth began to fail. Whether it was the -effects of the lack of usual food, or the strain to help the family -having been beyond her strength, signified little. With<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> the coming of -the snow she began to lose strength and, as her husband saw with deep -sorrow, “to dwine awa.” She accepted her lot uncomplainingly, studying -how to give least trouble, and spending her days between her bed and -the easy chair by the fireside, generally knitting, for she said she -hoped to leave them a pair of stockings apiece. The New Year had passed -and the days were lengthening when it was plain her rest was near.</p> - -<p>It was a beautiful day when she asked that her chair be moved so that -she could see out at the window. The brilliant sunlight fell on the -snow that shrouded the winding course of the Chateaugay and flecked the -trees, while a blue haze hung in the distance that prophesied of coming -spring. “A bonnie day,” she remarked.</p> - -<p>“Ay,” replied Maggie, “warm enough to be a sugar day.”</p> - -<p>“It’s ower fine to last and there will be storms and hard frost afore -the trees can be tapped,” said Mrs Forsyth, “an’ I’ll no be here to -help.”</p> - -<p>“Dinna say that, mither; the spring weather will bring you round.”</p> - -<p>“Na, na, my bairn. The robin’s lilt will no wauken me, nor will my een -again see the swelling bud, but through the mercy o’ my God I trust -they will be lookin’ on the everlasting spring o’ the bidin’ place o’ -his people.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, mither: I canna bear the thocht o’ parting wi’ you.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It’s natural to feel sae; my ain heart-strings were wrung when my -mither deed, an’ yet I see noo it was for the best. I have become a -cumberer o’ the grund, unable to labor even for an hour a day in the -vineyard, and sae the Maister o’t is goin’ to gie me the rest o’ which, -lang since, I got frae His hand the arles. Ae thing ye maun promise me, -Maggie, and that is ye maun never leev your faither.”</p> - -<p>“What makes you think sae o’ me, mother? I hav’na even a thocht o’ -leevin’ him.”</p> - -<p>“I ken ye hav’na a thocht the noo o’ sic a thing, but the day will come -when you micht—when your love for anither would incline you to forget -your duty. Sweet the drawing o’ heart to heart in the spring o’ youth, -an’ the upspringing, when you least expec’ it, o’ the flow’r o’ love. -The peety is, sae mony are content with the flow’r an’ pu’ it an’ let -the stem wither. Your faither an’ I werna o’ that mind. The flow’r grew -into a bauld stalk in the simmer o’ affection, an’ noo we reap the -harvest. It’s no like Scotch folk to open their mous on sic maitters, -but I may tell you, my lassie, that sweet an’ warm as was oor love when -your faither cam a coortin’, it’s nae mair to be compared to oor love -since syne an’ to this minute, than the licht o’ lightnin’ is to the -sunshine. I thocht to hae tended him in his last days, to hae closed -his een, an’ placed the last kiss on his cauld lips, but it’s no to be, -an’ ye maun promise me to perform what your mither wad hae dune had she -lived.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I promise, mother; I promise never to leave him.”</p> - -<p>“Weel does he deserve a’ you can dae for him; he’s puir, he’s hamely in -looks, he’s no sae quick in thocht or speech as mony; but he is what -mony great an’ rich an’ smairt men are not—an honest man, wha strives -in a quiet way to do his duty by his fellowman an’ his Maker.”</p> - -<p>“What makes you speak so, mother? I am sure I never gave you cause to -think I’d leave the family.”</p> - -<p>“Your brothers will gang their ain gate by-and-by an’ their wives micht -na want to hae the auld man at their ingle; only o’ you may I ask that -whither you go he shall go an’ drink o’ your cup an’ eat o’ your bread. -Dinna marry ony man unless sure he will be kind to your faither an’ let -you do a dochter’s duty by him.”</p> - -<p>“I hav’na met ony man, mother, that will hae me, except auld Milne.”</p> - -<p>“Dinna mak fun o’ me, Maggie; you ken what I mean. The lad Morton will -come some day—.”</p> - -<p>“Wheesht, mother: he’s nothing to me.”</p> - -<p>“I ken different: you loe him deep an’ true an’ he loes you. Whether he -will pit pride o’ family an’ station aside to ask you to be his wife -some wad doot, but I div’na. He’ll be back, an’ when he does dinna -forget what I have said.”</p> - -<p>The heavy step of the father was here heard outside; the door opened -and he came in. Drawing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span> a chair beside his wife he sat down, and, -without uttering a word, surveyed her wasted and furrowed face with -tender gaze. She returned his affectionate look and placed her hand -in his. As she looked at them, sitting in the afternoon sunshine with -clasped hands, and that radiant expression of mutual love, Maggie’s -heart, already full, was like to burst. She hastened out and falling -beneath a tree wept bitterly.</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * *</p> - -<p>Next morning when they awoke the sad truth became apparent, that the -mother of the family had had a change for the worse in her sleep. Her -mind wandered and her strength had completely left. The only one she -recognized was her husband, and when he spoke she smiled. The spells -of unconsciousness grew longer as the day wore on and towards evening -it could be seen her last was near. As often happens in the Canadian -winter, a pet day had been followed by a storm. A piercing blast from -the west filled the air with drift and sent the frozen snow rattling -on the window-panes. They were all gathered round her bed, when she -woke, and her eyes wonderingly looked upon them, tried to make out what -it all meant, and gave it up as hopeless. “Eh, sirs, a bonnie day,” -she said, as if speaking to herself, “the westlin win’ blaws saft frae -the sea an’ the bit lammies rin after their mithers on the hill-side. -Sune the kye will be comin’ hame an’ after milkin’ I’ll snod mysel’, -for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> somebody’s comin’ to see somebody, an’ we’ll daunner doun e’e the -gloamin’ by the burn. Isna he a comely lad! Stracht an’ supple, and -an e’e in his heid that a bairn wad trust. Tak him? I’d gang tae the -warl’s end wi’ him.... What’s that! The kirk bell. I didna think it was -sae late. Sure eneuch, there’s the folk strachlin’ ower the muir an’ -the laird riding on his powny.... Surely it’s growin’ mirk. Mither, -tak me in your airms an’ pit me to sleep. What will you sing to me? -The Flowers o’ the Forest, the nicht, mither. Kiss me noo, I’ll be a -better bairn the morn an’ dae what you tell me.... Na, na, pick yer ain -flowers: this poesy is for my baby brither.... Faither, dinna lift your -haun’ to me: I’m sorry. I’ll no dae it again. Whaur am I?... Faither, -dinna you hear me? Oh come quick an’ save me, the tide is lowpin’ fast -ower the rock. There’s the boatie rowin’ to us: it’ll be here enow an’ -we’ll be saved.... Did you hear that? It’s Sandy the piper come to -the toun. Let’s rin an’ meet him.... I’m tired o’ daffin’ an wad hae -a rest. Let’s creep into the kirk-yaird an’ sit doun by granfaither’s -grave. Hoo sweet the merle sings, an’ tak tent to the corn-craik ower -yonner.... Weel, weel, I canna understan’ it. His ways are no oor ways, -but I’ll lippen to Him tae the end. Maggie, Maggie, whaur are ye? I’m -gaun awa’, an’ I want you to rin an’ tell the goodman o’ the hoose to -hae a chamber ready for me. What am I saying? God forgie me, my mind -wanders; he’s had ane waitin’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> for me this mony a day.... I see you -noo, my bairns. Guid nicht, tae we meet again.”</p> - -<p>There was a long silence. The father rose, and closed the drooping -eyelids that would never be lifted and laid down the weary head which -would never move again. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> - -<h3>CHAPTER XV.</h3> - -<p>One July morning Mr Forsyth was working in the field beside the river -when he saw a canoe shoot in sight. It drew up to the bank and its -occupant walked towards him.</p> - -<p>“Man, it is you!” he exclaimed, grasping the extended hand. “At the -first look I didna ken you. Hoo ye hae changed since last I saw you.”</p> - -<p>“I know I have,” answered Morton, “the months since we parted have -aged me more than half as many years would in ordinary course of -life. The hardships of war, the strife between life and death on the -battle-field, develop fast what is good or bad in a man.”</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll hae had your share o’ the fechtin?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; our regiment took part in all the movements in the Niagara -district, and during the campaigning season there was not a week we did -not exchange shots with the enemy or have to endure a toilsome march to -check his plans.”</p> - -<p>“And were you hurt at a’?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing to speak of; scratches that did not keep me off duty over a -few days. I may be thankful<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span> to have got off so well, for many a pretty -fellow will never see home again.”</p> - -<p>“War’s a gruesome trade.”</p> - -<p>“It is that: I have seen scenes of horror that I try to banish from my -memory. The carnage at Lundy’s Lane was sickening, and the cries of the -wounded for help heart-breaking, for, from the darkness and the enemy’s -pressing us, we could not reach them.”</p> - -<p>“That brither should butcher brither is awfu’ proof o’ total depravity. -After a’, thae Yankees, though their ways are not oor ways, are flesh -o’ oor flesh, an’ we should live aside are anither in peace.”</p> - -<p>“In this war, at least, Mr Forsyth, they are to blame. They declared -it and if ever war is justifiable it is surely one like that we have -fought and won, where a people rise to defend their native land against -the invader.”</p> - -<p>“I dinna dispute you, but as I creep near to my end, my heart softens -to my fellow-men o’ a’ creeds and races and I wish to see peace and -good-fellowship the warld ower.”</p> - -<p>“So do I, but sure and permanent peace is not to be won by surrender of -right. It is better for all that the best blood of Canada and Britain -has soaked the fields within the sound of the roar of Niagara, than -that Canada should have become a conquered addition to the United -States.”</p> - -<p>“You’re richt in that: the sacrifice is sair, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> trial bitter, but a -country’s independence maun be maintained. Canadians will think mair o’ -their country when they see what it has cost to defend it. Noo that the -war is ended, you’ll be leaving Canada?”</p> - -<p>“That depends on what your daughter says. My regiment sails from Quebec -by the end of the month.”</p> - -<p>“What mean ye, sir, by Maggie hae’in’ aucht to dae wi’ your going?”</p> - -<p>“Simply this, that if she will take me as her husband and you will give -your consent, I shall sell my commission and remain in Canada.”</p> - -<p>“You are surely no in earnest? What has the dochter o’ a backwoods -farmer t’ dae wi’ an officer?”</p> - -<p>“Since I landed in Canada I have had many false notions rudely torn -away, and one of them is, that there is any connection between worth -and station in life. I have found more to admire in the shanty than I -ever did in the parlors of the Old Country.”</p> - -<p>“That’s repeatin’ what Rabbie Burns wrote, the rank is but the guinea -stamp.”</p> - -<p>“I have proved it true: for the first time in my life I have become -intimate with those whose living depends upon the labor of their hands, -and my Old World notions have melted away, when I found them better -than those whose boast it is they never soiled their fingers with -manual toil.”</p> - -<p>“Aye, aye; nae guid comes o’ tryin’ to escape the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> first command to -fallen man, ‘in the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread.’”</p> - -<p>“What say you?” asked Morton.</p> - -<p>“To your asking Maggie? Oh, dinna speak o’t. She’s my ae ewe lamb and I -canna pairt wi’ her.”</p> - -<p>“I do not mean you should; we would go to Upper Canada together.”</p> - -<p>The old man paused and leant upon his hoe and Morton stood respectfully -behind him. After long silence he raised his head. “I canna answer you. -It’s no for me to put my ain selfish will against her good; gang and -let her choose for hersel’.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” said Morton with emotion.</p> - -<p>“We have had a backward spring; frost every week a maist to the middle -o’ June, an’ sic cauld winds since syne that naething grows. We hae -sown in hope, but I’m fearfu’ there will be little to reap. Sic a -spring the auldest settler canna mind o’. Look at thae tatties! What -poor spindly things they are, an’ this the first week o’ July.”</p> - -<p>“It has not been so bad in the west.”</p> - -<p>“I’m glad to hear it. Weel, this being the first real warm day we’ve -had, I tell’t Maggie to busk hersel’ and gang and veesit the neebors, -for she’s been in a sad and sorrowfu’ way since her mither deed. She -said she had nae heart to veesit, but wad tak a walk alang the river -and be back to mak my denner. Her brithers we expect hame every day -from takin’ rafts to Montreal.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll go and seek her,” remarked Morton, as he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> turned, and the old man -went on hoeing. Morton had gone about a mile, when his eye caught the -flutter of the linen kerchief Maggie had pinned round her neck. She did -not see him and as she sauntered before him, he marked her graceful -carriage, and muttered to himself, “A woman worthy to woo and win.” -Unwilling to startle her by going too near, he cried “Miss Forsyth.”</p> - -<p>She paused, turned in astonishment, and as her color came and went -said, “Is it you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and surely you will not shrink from me as you did when last we -met.”</p> - -<p>She held out her hand and as he pressed it, simply said, “I’m glad -you’re safe and well.”</p> - -<p>“Have you no warmer greeting for me?”</p> - -<p>“What warmer do you deserve?”</p> - -<p>“My deservings are nothing, but your own kind heart might plead for me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, dear: the conceit of some men, who think they can pick up hearts -on the banks of the Chateaugay as they would acorns.”</p> - -<p>“And what of women who pitch back rings as if they stung them?”</p> - -<p>Maggie laughed and replied, “The gift is measured with the giver.”</p> - -<p>“When a gift is a token of the hour of peril, what then, my lady? Is it -a thing to be scorned?”</p> - -<p>“Something to be restored to the sender when he gets out of the trap, -that he may bestow it on somebody else.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I swear I never cared for anybody else.”</p> - -<p>“Who asked you? If you must needs confess, you should have visited the -fathers at the Basin on your way here.”</p> - -<p>“I’m Puritan enough to desire to confess direct to the one I have -offended.”</p> - -<p>“So you have offended me!”</p> - -<p>“You know I care for you.”</p> - -<p>“How should I? From your many messages these last twenty months?”</p> - -<p>Morton felt vexed and Maggie observed and enjoyed his perplexity. -“Come,” she said, “it is wearing on to dinner-time and I know what -soldiers’ appetites are. We had some soldier visitors who left us -nothing. We will go home.”</p> - -<p>“Not until I have said what I want to tell you,” he said warmly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you have something to tell me! You must have. Soldiers and hunters -have always long stories to tell about themselves. Keep them until you -have had some of our backwoods fare.”</p> - -<p>“Tease me no more, Maggie; my heart is yours whether you accept it or -not. That I have been neglectful and ungrateful I confess. How much I -owe you I did not know until some months after I saw you.”</p> - -<p>“You owe me nothing.”</p> - -<p>“I owe you my life.”</p> - -<p>“You owe it to Hemlock; not to me.”</p> - -<p>“I know all, brave heart. I met Mrs Scott at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> Kingston and she told me -of your journey to Oka, but for which Hemlock would never have known of -my peril. As she spoke, the smouldering love I had for you burst into -flame and your image has never been absent from my mind an hour since. -When my comrades caroused and spoke loosely, I thought of you and -turned away and tried to live worthily of you.”</p> - -<p>“You know how to praise yourself.”</p> - -<p>“No, no, my Maggie: I speak it not in praise of myself but in proof of -my devotion, for how can a man show his love for a woman better than by -forcing himself to live as he knows she would wish him to do?”</p> - -<p>“And if you so loved this somebody of yours, why did you not write her?”</p> - -<p>“You forget a soldier’s life is uncertain; I knew not the hour when I -might fall. I said to myself a thousand times, if my life is spared I -will seek her I love and plead my cause. When the bugle sounded the -call to prepare for action I never failed to breathe an ardent prayer -that Heaven’s blessing might rest upon you. I have been spared, the -supreme hour in my life has come, and I await your answer.”</p> - -<p>Maggie stood still. Her eyes fell to the ground and her fingers -unconsciously plucked to pieces the flowers they held.</p> - -<p>“Will you not speak?” pleaded Morton.</p> - -<p>In a low voice she replied, “I cannot marry.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Why?”</p> - -<p>“I will never leave my father.”</p> - -<p>“I do not ask you should. I value his honest worth, and he shall be my -father too, for I never saw my own, he died when I was a child. Say you -will make me the happiest man on the Chateaugay and we will never part.”</p> - -<p>“I say it is time to go and get dinner ready. Father, poor man, will be -starving. Mr Morton, did you ever hoe potatoes for a forenoon?”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense; speak the word and end my anxiety.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m not anxious. If you had hoed for half a day you would know -what hunger was.”</p> - -<p>“My hunger today is of another sort.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, well, boys ought to learn to restrain their appetites.”</p> - -<p>“Play with me no more. Let me know my fate. Give me my answer.”</p> - -<p>“Won’t it be time enough when the minister asks?”</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * *</p> - -<p>It was not much of a dinner that Maggie cooked, for she boiled the -potatoes without salt and fried the pork to a crisp. It did not much -matter, however, for of the three the father was the only one who had -an appetite, and he did not complain. When done, he left to resume -his task, and the young couple were alone. At supper he was told all, -when he quietly rose, gripped Morton by the hand and said nothing. -Next day the two sons<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> arrived, and, on learning the news, by way -of congratulation, slapped Maggie on the back until she declared it -was sore. There were long discussions over Morton’s plans. He told -them he had obtained promotion after Lundy’s Lane, and as captain -his commission was worth a good deal; he would sell it, and then, as -a retired officer, he would be entitled to a grant of land in Upper -Canada. He proposed they should all leave and go with him. To this -father and sons were much inclined, for the fact that the place they -occupied was subject to seigniorial rent they did not like. It was -arranged Morton should go to Quebec and sell his commission and by the -time he returned they would be ready to join him.</p> - -<p>Four days after he had left, Maggie received a letter from him, -enclosing one from Mrs Scott. He said he found that Colonel Scott had -arrived in Montreal, and, after winding up some ordnance business -there, meant to sail for England with the Fall fleet. Mrs Scott sent a -pressing invitation to Maggie to come and stay with her until Morton -returned from Quebec. Maggie went, expecting to stay ten days or so, -but her visit lengthened out to the end of August. They were happy -weeks, spent in enjoyable society and in the delightful task of the -preparation that is the prelude to a happy marriage. Morton at last -got back, and had not merely the money obtained for his commission, -but a patent for a large tract of land on the shore<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> of Lake Ontario, -obtained by him in a personal interview with Sir George Prevost, the -gallant Gordon Drummond, his old commander, accompanying him and -pressing his claim to generous recognition. Leaving Maggie in Montreal, -he went again to the Chateaugay to tell all was ready. While there, -he took a run up to Four Corners, his business being to visit the -poor widow whose only son had been slain in the skirmish that led -to his imprisonment. He found her and not only made sure she would -be cared for but instituted steps to secure a pension, for congress -was considering the question of relief to those who had suffered by -the war. During his stay at Four Corners, he lived with Mr Douglass, -and repaid with earnest gratitude the advances he had made him while -living in misery in the stable, which sad abode he looked into with a -swelling heart. On the morning after his return, they were ready to -embark in the three canoes that were in waiting to convey them and -their belongings, when the old man was missed. Morton, guessing where -he was, went to seek him, and found him kneeling by the grave of his -wife. Reverently approaching, he whispered the boatmen were anxious to -start, assisted him to rise, and, leaning heavily on his arm, led him -to the canoe where he was to sit. One last look at the shanty his hands -had built and the fields they had cleared, and a bend in the river -shut them out from his sight forever. Resuming his wonted contented -cheerfulness, he adapted<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> himself to the change, and rose still higher -in Morton’s esteem. When they reached the Basin, the wind was favorable -for the bateau that was waiting to leave on her trip to Lachine, and -there they arrived late in the evening. The following morning Morton -left for Montreal with Mr Forsyth, the sons remaining to stow away -the outfit in the bateau, which done, they also journeyed to the same -place. That evening there was a quiet little party at Colonel Scott’s -quarters, and next morning a larger assemblage, for every officer off -duty in the town was present, to see the army chaplain unite the happy -pair. When all was over and Maggie had gone to prepare for the journey, -Morton received congratulations that he knew were sincere. “Why,” said -Major Fitzjames, “she is fit to be a Duchess.”</p> - -<p>“She is fit for a more difficult position,” interjected Colonel Scott, -“she has a mother-wit that stands her well alike in the circles of -polished society and in the hour of danger and hardship.”</p> - -<p>“Who is this that is such a paragon?” asked Mrs Scott, who had just -come in.</p> - -<p>“Mrs Morton.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, say she is a true woman, and you say all. Mr Morton you have got a -treasure.”</p> - -<p>“I know it,” he replied, “and I will try to be worthy of her. She will -be the benediction of the life I owe her.”</p> - -<p>The day was fine and, for a wonder, the road<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> was good, so that a -large party, many of them on horseback, escorted the newly married -pair to Lachine. As they drove past King’s Posts Morton recalled his -first visit to it, the spy, and all the painful complications that had -ensued, and now so happily ended. As they stood on the narrow deck of -the bateau, and the wind, filling the huge sail, bore them away, a -cheer rose, led by Colonel Scott. It was answered from the receding -boat, and Maggie waved her handkerchief.</p> - -<p>The journey was tedious and toilsome, but when they sailed into the -bay on which Morton’s land was situated, saw its quality and fine -situation, they felt they had been rewarded for coming so far. That -Maggie proved an admirable help-mate need hardly be told, but what -was remarkable is, that Morton became a successful farmer. Willing to -put his hand to whatever there was to do, under his father-in-law’s -tuition, he quickly became proficient, and when there was work to be -done he did not say to his helpers “Go” but “Come,” and set them an -example of cheerful and persevering exertion. Having land and enough -to spare, he induced a good class of immigrants to buy from him, so -that, before twenty years, his settlement was known as one of the most -prosperous on Lake Ontario. Influential and public-spirited, Morton, as -his circumstances grew easy and did not exact the same close attention -to his personal affairs, took a leading part in laying the commercial -and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span> political foundations of Upper Canada, and Maggie was widely known -in its best society. That they were a happy couple everybody knew, -and their descendants are among the most prominent subjects of the -Dominion. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span></p> - - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> - -<h2>ARCHANGE AND MARIE.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<h3>I.—THEIR DISAPPEARANCE.</h3> - -<p>During the revolutionary war a number of Acadians left the New -England States for Canada, preferring monarchic to republican rule. -The British authorities provided for these twice-exiled refugees -with liberality, giving them free grants of lands and the necessary -tools and implements, also supplying them from the nearest military -posts with provisions for three years, by which time they would be -self-sustaining. Some half dozen families asked for and received lots -in the county of Huntingdon and settled together on the shore of the -St Lawrence. Accustomed to boating and lumbering in their old Acadian -homes, they found profitable exercise in both pursuits in their new, -and after making small clearances left their cultivation to the women, -while they floated rafts to Montreal or manned the bateaux which -carried on the traffic between that place and Upper Canada. The shanty -of one of these Acadians, that of Joseph<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> Caza, occupied a point that -ran into the great river near the mouth of the LaGuerre.</p> - -<p>It was a sunny afternoon towards the end of September and the lake-like -expanse of the river, an unruffled sheet of glassy blue, was set in a -frame of forest already showing the rich dyes of autumn. It was a scene -of intense solitude, for, save the clearance of the hardy settler, no -indication of human life met the gaze. There was the lonely stretch -of water and the all-embracing forest, and that was all. Playing -around the shanty were two sisters, whose gleeful shouts evoked solemn -echoes from the depths of the forest, for they were engaged in a game -of hide-and-seek amid the rows of tall corn, fast ripening in the -sunshine. They were alone, for their father and brothers were away -boating and their mother had gone to the beaver-meadow where the cows -pastured. Breathless with their play the children sat down to rest, the -head of the younger falling naturally into the lap of the older.</p> - -<p>“Archange, I know something you don’t.”</p> - -<p>“What is it?”</p> - -<p>“What we are to have for supper. Mother whispered it to me when she -went to milk. Guess?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, tell me; I won’t guess.”</p> - -<p>“Wheat flour pancakes. I wish she would come; I’m hungry.”</p> - -<p>“Let us go and meet her.”</p> - -<p>The children skipped along the footpath that led through the forest -from the clearance to the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>pasture and had gone a considerable distance -before their mother came in sight, bearing a pail.</p> - -<p>“Come to meet your mother, my doves! Ah, I have been long. The calves -have broken the fence and I looked for them but did not find them. -Archange, you will have to go or they may be lost. Marie, my love, you -will come home with me.”</p> - -<p>“No, mother, do let me go with sister.”</p> - -<p>“No, you will get tired; take my hand. Remember the pancakes.”</p> - -<p>“I won’t be tired; I want to go with Archange.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, well; the calves may not have strayed far; you may go. But haste, -Archange, and find them, for the sun will soon set.”</p> - -<p>The children danced onwards and the mother listened with a smile to -their shouts and chatter until the sounds were lost in the distance. -On entering the house she stirred up the fire and set about preparing -supper.</p> - -<p>The sun set, leaving a trail of golden glory on the water, and she was -still alone. The day’s work was done and the simple meal was ready. -The mother walked to the end of the clearance and gazed and listened; -neither sight nor sound rewarded her. She shouted their names at the -highest pitch of her voice. There was no response, save that a heron, -scared from its roost, flapped its great wings above her head and -sailed over the darkening waters for a quieter place of refuge.</p> - -<p>“It is impossible anything can have befallen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> them,” she said to -herself; “the calves could not have gone far and the path is plain. -No, they must be safe, and I am foolish to be the least anxious. Holy -mother, shield them from evil!”</p> - -<p>Returning to the house, she threw a fresh log on the fire, and placing -the food where it would keep warm she closed the door, casting one -disconsolate look across the dark water at the western sky, from -which the faintest glow had departed. Taking the path that led to -the pasture, she hastened with hurried step to seek her children. -She gained the pasture. The cows were quietly grazing; there was no -other sign of life. Her heart sank within her. She shouted, and her -cries pierced the dew-laden air. There was no response. She sank upon -her knees and her prayer, oft repeated, was, “Mother of pity, have -compassion on a mother’s sorrow and give me back my little ones!”</p> - -<p>The thought suddenly seized her that the children had failed to find -the calves and, in returning, had not taken the path, but sought the -house by a nigh cut through the woods. She sprang to her feet and -hastened back. Alas! the door had not been opened, and everything was -as she left it.</p> - -<p>“My God!” she cried in the bitterness of her disappointment, “I fear -me the wolf garou has met and devoured my children. What shall I do? -Marie, my pretty one, wilt thou not again nestle in thy mother’s bosom -nor press thy cheek to mine? Holy Virgin, thou who hadst a babe of -thine own,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> look on me with compassion and give back to me my innocent -lambs.”</p> - -<p>Again she sought the pasture, and even ventured, at her peril, to -thread in the darkness the woods that surrounded it, shouting, in -a voice shrill with agony, the names of the missing ones, but no -answering sound came. Heedless of her garments wet with dew, of her -weariness, her need of food and sleep, she spent the night wandering -back and forth between house and pasture, hoping to find them at either -place, and always disappointed. The stars melted away one by one, -the twitter of the birds was heard, the tree-tops reddened, and the -sun again looked down upon her. She resumed the search with renewed -hope, for now she could see. With the native confidence of one born -in the bush she traversed the leafy aisles, but her search was in -vain. There was only a strip of bush to be examined, for a great swamp -bounded it on one side as the St Lawrence did on the other, and into -the swamp she deemed it impossible the children could have gone. She -was more convinced than before that a wild beast had killed them and -dragged their bodies to its lair in the swamp. Stunned by this awful -conjecture, to which all the circumstances pointed, her strength left -her, and in deep anguish of spirit she tottered homewards. On coming -in sight of the shanty she marked with surprise smoke rising from the -chimney. Her heart gave a great leap. “They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span> have returned!” she said -joyfully. She hastened to the door. A glance brought back her sorrow. -She saw only her husband and her eldest son.</p> - -<p>“What ails thee? Your face is white as Christmas snow. We came from -Coteau this morning and found nobody here. What is wrong?”</p> - -<p>“Joseph,” she replied in a hollow voice, “the wolf garou hath devoured -our children.”</p> - -<p>“Never! Thou art mad. There is no wolf garou.”</p> - -<p>“I leave it all with the good God: I wish there was no wolf garou.” -Then she told him of the disappearance of the children and of her vain -search. Husband and son listened attentively.</p> - -<p>“Pooh!” exclaimed Caza, “they are not lost forever to us. Get us -breakfast and Jean and I will track them and have them back to thee -before long. You do not know how to find and follow a trail.”</p> - -<p>An hour later, shouldering their rifles, they set forth. The day -passed painfully for the poor mother, and it was long after sunset -when they returned. They had found no trace of the wanderers. They had -met the calves, which, from the mud that covered them, had evidently -been in the swamp and floundered there long before they got back to -solid land at a point distant from the pasture. The father’s idea was -that the children had been stolen by Indians. Next day the search -was resumed, the neighbors joining in it. At nightfall all returned -baffled, perplexed and disheartened; Caza<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> more confident than before -that the Indians were to blame. After a night’s rest, he set off -early for St Regis, where he got no information. Leaving there, he -scoured the forest along Trout River and the Chateaugay, finding a few -hunting-camps, whose dusky inmates denied all knowledge of the missing -girls. He pursued his toilsome way to Caughnawaga and came back by -the river St Louis without discovering anything to throw light on the -fate of his children. The grief of the mother who had been buoying -herself with the expectation that he would bring back the truants, is -not to be described; and she declared it would be a satisfaction to -her to be assured of their death rather than longer endure the burden -of suspense. Again the father left to scour the wilderness that lies -between the St Lawrence and the foot-hills of the Adirondacks, hoping -to find in some wigwam buried in forest-depths the objects of his eager -quest. On reaching Lake Champlain he became convinced that the captors -were beyond his reach, and, footsore and broken-hearted, he sought his -home, to make the doleful report that he had not found the slightest -trace.</p> - -<p>The leaves fluttered from the trees, the snow came in flurries from -the north, the nights grew longer and colder, and, at last, winter set -in. When the wind came howling across the icy plain into which the -St Lawrence had been transformed, and the trees around their shanty -groaned and wailed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span> the simple couple drew closer to the blazing logs -and thought sadly of their loved ones, pinched with cold and hunger, in -the far-away wigwams of their heartless captors.</p> - -<p>“They will grow up heathens,” murmured the mother.</p> - -<p>“Nay, they were baptized,” suggested the father, “and that saves their -souls. I hope they are dead rather than living to be abused by the -savages.”</p> - -<p>“Say not that, my husband; they can never forget us, and will watch a -chance to come back. Archange will sit on thy knee again, and I will -once more clasp my Marie to my bosom.”</p> - -<p>When bedtime came they knelt side by side, and in their devotions the -wanderers were not forgotten.</p> - -<p>Time rolled on, and Caza and his wife became old people. Each year -added some frailty, until, at a good old age, the eyes of the mother -were closed without having seen what she longed for—the return of her -children. The husband tarried a while longer, and when he was laid -to rest the sad and strange trial of their lives grew fainter and -fainter in the memories of those who succeeded them, until it became a -tradition known to few—as a mystery that had never been solved.</p> - -<h3>II.—THEIR FATE.</h3> - -<p>Archange, holding Marie by the hand, on reaching the pasture, followed -the fence to find where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> the calves had broken out, and then traced -their footprints, which led to the edge of the swamp. Here she -hesitated. “Marie, you stay here until I come back.”</p> - -<p>“No, no; I will go with you; I can jump the wet places, you know.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and get tired before you go far. Wait; I’ll not be long in -turning the calves back.”</p> - -<p>Marie, however, would not part from her sister, and followed her steps -as she picked her way over the swamp; now walking a fallen tree and -anon leaping from one mossy tussock to another. The calves were soon -sighted, but the silly creatures, after the manner of their kind, half -in play and half in fright, waited until the children drew near, when -they tossed up their heels and ran. In vain Archange tried to head -them. Cumbered by Marie, who cried when she attempted to leave her, -she could not go fast enough, and when it became so dark that it was -difficult to see the sportive animals, she awakened to the fact that -she must desist.</p> - -<p>“Marie, we will go home and leave the calves until morning.”</p> - -<p>“But if we don’t get them they will have no supper.”</p> - -<p>“Neither will you; let us haste home or we will not see to get out of -the swamp.”</p> - -<p>“There is no hurry; I am tired,” and with these words Marie sat down -on a log, and, pouting at her sister’s remonstrances, waited until -the deepening<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> gloom alarmed Archange, who, grasping the little hand, -began, as she supposed, to retrace the way they had come. Marie was -tired, and it now being dark, she slipped repeatedly into the water, -until, exhausted and fretful, she flung herself on the broad trunk of -a fallen hemlock and burst into tears. Archange was now dreadfully -alarmed at their situation, yet it was some time before she was able -to persuade her sister to resume their journey. They moved on with -difficulty, and, after a while, the sight of solid green bush rising -before them gladdened their strained eyes. “We have passed the swamp!” -joyfully exclaimed Archange. They reached the ridge and scrambled up -its side. The heart of the elder sister sank within her for she failed -to recognize, in the starlight, a single familiar landmark. Could it be -that, in the darkness, she had pursued the reverse way, and, instead of -going towards home, had wandered farther away and crossed an arm of the -swamp?</p> - -<p>“Are we near home, Archange? I’m hungry.”</p> - -<p>“My darling, I fear we will have to stay here until daylight. We’ve -lost our way.”</p> - -<p>“No, no; mother is waiting for us and supper is ready; let us go.”</p> - -<p>“I wish I knew where to go, but I don’t. We are lost, Marie.”</p> - -<p>“Will we have no supper?”</p> - -<p>“Not tonight, but a nice breakfast in the morning.”</p> - -<p>“And sleep here?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, I will clasp you and keep you warm.”</p> - -<p>“I want my own bed, Archange,” and the child broke down and softly wept.</p> - -<p>Finding a dry hemlock knoll, Archange plucked some cedar brush, and -lying down upon it, folded Marie in her arms, who, wearied and faint, -fell asleep. It was broad daylight when they awoke, chilled and hungry. -Comforting her sister as best she could, Archange descended to the -swamp, confident that they would soon be home. She had not gone far, -until she was bewildered. The treacherous morass retained no mark of -their footprints of the night before, and she knew not whither to -go. Long and painfully they struggled without meeting an indication -of home, and the fear grew in Archange’s breast that they were going -farther and farther away from it. Noon had passed when they struck -another long, narrow, stony ridge, which rose in the swamp like an -island. Gladly they made for it, and seeking an open space, where the -sunshine streamed through the interlacing foliage, enjoyed the heat, as -it dried their wet garments and soothed their wearied limbs.</p> - -<p>“If we only had something to eat,” said Marie, wistfully.</p> - -<p>“Oh, we will get plenty of nuts here. See, yonder is a butternut tree,” -and running; to it Archange returned with a lapful, which she broke -with a stone as Marie ate them. They satisfied her craving, and laying -her head on the sunny bank she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> fell asleep from fatigue. As soon as -her breathing showed that she was sleeping soundly her sister stole -from her side to explore the ridge and try to discover some trace of -the way home. She found everything strange, and the conviction settled -upon her mind that they were lost and that their sole hope of escape -was in the searching-party, which she knew must be out, finding them. -Little did she know that the morass their light steps had crossed would -not bear the weight of a man, and that they were hopelessly lost and -doomed to perish in the wilderness. Had she been alone she would have -broken down; the care of her sister sustained her. For her she would -bear up. On returning, she found her still asleep, and as she bent over -her tear-stained face and lightly kissed it, she murmured, “I will take -care of Marie and be her little mother.”</p> - -<p>The thought of home and mother nigh overcame her. Repressing the rising -lump in her throat, she busied herself against her sister’s waking. -She increased her store of butternuts, adding beechnuts and acorns as -well and broke them and arranged the kernels on basswood leaves, as on -plates. She drew several big branches together and covered them with -boughs which she tore from the surrounding cedars, and when the bower -was complete she strewed its floor with dried ferns. She had finished -and was sitting beside Marie when the little eyes opened and were -greeted with a smile. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, I have been waiting ever so long for you, Marie. We are going to -have a party. I have built a bower and laid out such a nice supper. We -will play at keeping house.”</p> - -<p>The child laughed gleefully on seeing the arrangements, and the forest -rang with their mirth as the hours sped on. When evening approached -Marie grew wistful; she wanted her mother; she wanted to go home, and -Archange soothed her with patient care.</p> - -<p>“Look at the bower, Marie! See what a nice bed; won’t you lie down on -it? And what stories you will have to tell mother of our happy time -here!”</p> - -<p>The child, charmed by the novelty, crept in, and laying down her curly -head fell asleep to the crooning of her sister. The stars as they hung -over the tree-tops gazed downwards in pity on the little girls clasped -in each others’ arms in the sleep of innocence, and the soft south -wind sighed as it swept by, sorrowing that it could not save them. A -murmuring was heard in the pine-tops.</p> - -<p>“Must they perish?” asked the guardian angel.</p> - -<p>“They must; no help can reach them,” answered Nature with a sigh. -“Unwittingly they have strayed from the fold into the wilderness, these -poor, helpless lambs, and must suffer. Only to man is given the power -to help in such extremity.”</p> - -<p>“Can you do nothing?” pleaded the angel.</p> - -<p>“Yes; I shall lighten their last hours, give them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> a speedy death, and -prevent the tooth of ravenous beast or crawling worm touching their -pure bodies. Think me not cruel. I cannot perform the acts allotted to -mankind, but am not, therefore, as some deem me, cruel and stolid; my -spirit is tender, and what is in my power I’ll do.”</p> - -<p>Sad of countenance the angel turned and glided to the side of the -sleeping children. Stooping over them he whispered in their ears, and -they smiled in their sleep and dreamt of home, of dancing on their -father’s knee, of being tossed to the rafters by their brothers, and -they felt the touch of their mother’s hand and heard the sound of her -voice, and they were very happy.</p> - -<p class="center">* * * * *</p> - -<p>When they awoke the song of a belated greybird, perched overhead, -greeted them, and they lay and listened and watched the movements of a -brilliantly colored woodpecker, as it circled the trunk of a spruce. -Looking into the face of her sister, Archange saw that it was pale and -pinched and that her smile was wan and feeble.</p> - -<p>“Will father be here today?”</p> - -<p>“I hope so, Marie; are you tired of me?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no; I do love you so, but I do want mother and—and—a drink of -warm milk and a piece of bread.”</p> - -<p>“Well, perhaps you will get them soon, and we will be happy until they -come.”</p> - -<p>They rose and Archange busied herself in setting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> forth breakfast, but -both, though very hungry, now loathed the sight of nuts. Wandering, -hand in hand, to find something more acceptable, they found in a -raspberry thicket a bush with a scant crop of second-growth berries. -Making a little basket of the bark of the white birch they nearly -filled it, and returning to their bower, sat down to enjoy them, -fashioning out of reeds make-believe spoons and asking each other if -they would have cream and sugar. The play went on and faint laughter -was heard. When the last berry was gone, the gnawing hunger re-awoke -and the feverish heat of tongue and palate, which the acid juice had -allayed, returned. Marie would not be comforted. She wanted to go -home; she wanted her mother; she wanted food, and burying her face -in her sister’s lap sobbed as if her heart would break and she would -not be comforted. Archange felt as if she must give way to despair, -but she repressed the feeling and bore up bravely. The trials and -responsibilities of the past thirty-six hours had aged her, and, child -as she was in years, she acted like a woman towards her sister, whom -she alternately soothed and tried to divert. While leaning over her, in -affected sportive mood, something soft brushed past her face and crept -between them. It was a grey squirrel. Marie opened her weeping eyes, -looked wonderingly for a moment, and then, with delighted gesture, -grasped the little creature, and beaming with joy, pressed it to her -lips. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span></p> - -<p>“It is Mignon; my own clear little Mignon! What caused you to run away -from me, you naughty boy?”</p> - -<p>It was a tame squirrel, Marie’s pet, which, a week before, had -scampered off to the woods. There was no doubt as to his identity, for -beside its evident recognition of Marie, it retained the collar of -colored yarn she had braided and tied round his neck. Hunger, home and -mother were forgotten in the delight of recovering her pet, for whom -she busied herself in getting breakfast, and he was soon sitting before -her gravely disposing of the nuts she handed him, one by one.</p> - -<p>“Cannot Mignon guide us home?” she suddenly asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes; Mignon knows the way; but we would have to follow him over -the trees. I am afraid you could not jump from branch to branch; I know -I could not.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I will tie a string to him and make him walk before us,” and with -pretty prattle she entered into a conversation with the squirrel, -telling him how they were lost and he was to guide them home, for she -wanted to take dinner with mother. Mignon gravely listened and nodded -his head as if he understood it all. Then he ran up a tree or two by -way of exercise, frisked with another squirrel, peeped at Marie from -all sorts of unexpected places, and ended his capers by jumping on -to her shoulder when she was not expecting him, and pretended he was -going to nibble her chin. Marie was delighted;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> Mignon had diverted -her mind from her sufferings and Archange assisted by suggesting they -should make a little house for him. Of sticks and reeds they framed it -and plucking from the swamp lapfuls of ripe cat-tails they lined it -with them, making a nest soft as velvet. This done, they had to fill -a larder for him, and had a great hunting for all manner of nuts, and -in this part of their work Mignon took great interest and pretended to -assist, tho’, despite all warnings from Marie, he persisted in clasping -in his forepaws the biggest butternuts and running away to bury them in -out-of-the-way places. When she became tired with her exertions, Marie -took a nap and Mignon curled himself up on her breast and snoozed with -one eye open.</p> - -<p>Weak in strength and sick from hunger, Archange, no longer requiring -to keep up appearances, flung herself down near by and wept bitterly. -Why did not father come? Were they to die there alone and from want of -food? Should she not try again to find the way home? She stood up, as -if to consider which way to try, when her head grew dizzy and she sank -down and knew no more until she was aroused by Marie climbing over her -and kissing her. She knew by the sun that it was late in the day, and -rising, the sisters walked slowly and unsteadily seeking berries. They -found a few only and they again tried to eat nuts. They could not. -Tracing the edge of the swamp they looked for blueberries, but their -season was past. Suddenly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> a low bush, dotted with red berries, caught -their sight. They found the berries small and of so peculiar a taste -that, had they not been ravenous for food, they could not have eaten -them. They picked the bush bare and went to their bower, where they -ate them. A feeling of satisfaction followed, and Marie grew quiet and -contented.</p> - -<p>“Sing to me, Archange: do?” and the little maid laid her down to rest -and listen. Her sister sang one after another the chansons her parents -had brought with them from Acadia. She ceased and marked the satisfied -expression that had overspread Marie’s countenance. Her eyes were -closed and her hands folded. “Sing the Cedars’ song?” she whispered, in -the voice of one about to sleep. By that name was meant a hymn Archange -had heard at Christmas tide, when for the first time to her knowledge -she had been in a church, having accompanied her father to the small -village of the Cedars. She knew not the words of the hymn, but had -carried away the tune. High and clear rose in the air and floated far -away across the desolate swamp the song in which so many generations -of believers have expressed their love for the Holy Babe—the ancient -Latin hymn, Adeste Fidelis. She sang the strain over and over again -until a strange torpor crept upon her, and her voice grew fainter until -it ceased and her head sank beside that of Marie’s. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> - -<p>All nature was hushed. The remains of trees, long since burned, now -gaunt and white, stood in the swamp as sentinels to guard the sleeping -babes, and the giant pines, beneath whose cover they rested, seemed to -lift up their hands to Heaven in silent pleading. Slowly yet surely the -berries of the dread ground-hemlock did their work; stealthily as juice -of mandrake or of poppy. The leaden hours of the long September night -passed and inky clouds blotted out the stars, and when the sun rose he -shot out a shaft of purplish light, which revealed the faces of the -sisters, calm and cold in death, with Mignon whisking his head against -the whitened cheek of his sweet mistress.</p> - -<p>There was a roll of distant thunder; nearer and nearer it came; it grew -darker and the air was hot and stifling. The forest groaned, and then -there was an appalling crash and a blaze of lightning clad the scene -in dazzling sheen. There was the red glow of fire; the bolt had struck -a dead pine and instantly the surrounding trees, covered with withered -leaves, that caught like tinder, were in a blaze. The storm shrieked, -the thunder made the earth tremble, the rain fell in torrents, but -higher and higher mounted the flames. It was the funeral pyre of -Archange and Marie, and when it died out not a vestige of them was to -be found. </p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p> - -<h2>THE SETTLER’S FIRST GRIST.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> - -<p>Late in the fall of 1817 seven families of immigrants settled on the -banks of the St Lawrence in Dundee, close to the St Anicet line and -nearly opposite the village of Lancaster. With one exception, they -had come from the Isle of Skye, and they named their settlement after -their Scottish birthplace, which was not altogether inappropriate, for -the strip of territory they had taken possession of was so surrounded -on the land side by swamps as to be, in a sense, an island. Apart -from two or three of their number who knew a little English, they -spoke Gaelic and Gaelic only. They brought naught beyond strong arms -and great endurance of privation, for their training as crofters and -fishermen was of little use in their new surroundings. An untrodden -wilderness of forest hemmed in their shanties, which were placed on -the bank of the St Lawrence, and on the other side of the great river, -which here <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>expands into a lake two miles in width, were their nearest -neighbors, who had shown them the greatest kindness. Highlanders like -themselves, the people on the Glengarry side of the river had taken a -lively interest in the newcomers, had made bees to give them a fresh -start in life; crossed over the river to show them how to fell trees, -build shanties, and make potash, and when spring came had, with true -Highland generosity, lent them seed and assisted in brushing it in or -planting it amid the stumps of their clearings. In the black mould of -the virgin soil the potatoes grew with an abundance that surprised -the Skyemen, though their astonishment was greater at the luxuriance -of the Indian corn, which they saw for the first time, and at the -excellence of the wheat. When the latter was threshed the next step -was to get it ground. Their nearest mill was at Williamstown, in the -county of Glengarry, and to reach it involved a fatiguing journey. It -was a bright morning in the first week of October, 1818, that one of -the settlers placed a bag of wheat in a canoe to take to this mill. It -was his first grist—the first in his life of wheat—and he looked at -the bag, as he deposited it carefully in the bottom of the canoe, with -satisfaction not unmingled with honest pride, which was shared in by -his wife and children, who came to the water’s edge to see him off. -Assisted by his son, a handsome young fellow,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> the paddles were dipped, -and the boat was soon skimming lake St Francis, for so the expansion -of the St Lawrence between Cornwall and Coteau is named. When half-way -across they paused to rest, and as they viewed the noble sheet of -water, embedded in a setting of bush whose bright colors glowed in the -shimmering sunshine of a true Canadian fall day, they thought they had -never seen anything more beautiful. “And the best of it is, Allan, that -the water is fresh and not salt, and,” fixing his gaze on his shanty, -which he could discern beneath the trees, “the land is our own, and -there will be no rent to pay at Martinmas.”</p> - -<p>When they got to the mill they found there were other customers before -them, and having to wait their turn, it was nearly dark when their -canoe passed out of the river Raisin into lake St Francis on their -homeward journey. The sun had set behind a cloud, and the lake, though -calm, had an oily appearance—both signs of a coming change. They had -gone far enough to lose sight of the shore they had left, when a slight -swell of the waters was noticed, and immediately afterwards the hollow -sound of approaching wind. Both practised boatmen of the Old World, -they knew what these signs meant. “Had we our old boat, Allan,” said -the father, “I would not care for the squall that’s coming, but this -cockle-shell will not stand a rough sea. It may soon blow over. Yonder -I think I see the light your mother has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> set in the window to guide us. -We will hurry before the waves get big.” Urged by their strong arms, -the canoe flew over the lake, but swifter came the storm, and before -many minutes a violent gust of wind, accompanied by pelting rain, burst -upon them. Like all shallow sheets of fresh water, the lake was quickly -beaten into a fury, and before long waves large enough not merely to -toss the boat but to drench its occupants were coursing over it. The -danger of swamping was imminent when the father’s skill averted it. -Directing his son to stretch himself full length in the bottom of -the canoe, using the bag of flour as a pillow, it steadied under the -living ballast. Then, taking his place at one end, the father brought -the other bow-on the wind and skilfully kept it, by vigorous use of -the paddle, in a line with the waves, so that the canoe breasted and -slipped over them, hardly shipping a drop of water. The fury of the -squall soon passed, and was succeeded by a gale which blew steadily -from the west. With that fine respect for parents which characterizes -Highlanders, Allan had offered no suggestion, obediently doing what his -father ordered. When he heard him say to himself “My God, we are lost!” -he exclaimed: “No, father, the storm will blow by, and we will then -make our way home this night yet.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, the storm will blow over, but where will we be then? You forget, -my poor boy, that the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> lake ends in rapids, and we are hurrying towards -them as fast as wind and wave can drive us. Your mother and your -sisters and brothers will have sore hearts tomorrow.”</p> - -<p>Allan had not thought of the rapids. On their way from Montreal he had -seen them, watched their foaming surges, and knew their canoe could -not live a moment among them. The thought of death was bitter to him, -and as the hours passed and they went drifting downwards, amid the -storm and darkness, towards the jaws of the dreaded danger, his heart -was filled with anguish, not alone for his mother, his brothers and -sisters, but for her with whom he had secretly plighted troth.</p> - -<p>“Allan, I will shout to you when I see the rapids. Jump and try to make -the shore, for it may be near; do not trouble with me, or we both may -be lost. Be a good lad to your mother, and tell her and your brothers -and sisters my last thoughts were of them.”</p> - -<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> - -<p>Mrs McDonald had tidied up the one and only room of the shanty, and -was expecting momentarily the arrival of her husband and son, when she -was terror-struck by the unlooked for sound of the squall among the -trees. Hurrying from the house, she stood on the beach, on which the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> -waves were beginning to break, but the darkness and rain prevented -her seeing many yards. In her agony of apprehension she shouted, in -the hope that the missing ones were near: from the stormy waters came -no reply. Bidding her children, who had followed her, to go and alarm -the neighbors, very soon every soul in the settlement was by her side, -talking rapidly in Gaelic and excitedly suggesting what ought to be -done. They were all agreed that if the canoe was on the lake when the -storm burst she was lost, and their sole hope was she had not left the -other shore. The only other canoe they had was no larger than the one -that was gone, and to launch it in order to search the lake, would be -to add to the calamity. All that could be done was to build a bonfire -on the most prominent point, to guide the missing canoe if within -sight, and hope for the best. Laying his hand on Mrs McDonald’s arm, -as she stood wistfully gazing on the now foaming waters of the lake, -the oldest man of the settlement said, “Come with us out of the cold -and wet; we can do no good here.” Gathered in the shanty, the fire was -replenished until it roared in the ample chimney, and the neighbors -talked hopefully to the family and despondently among themselves. When -the hope that the storm was only a passing squall was dissipated by its -settling into a gale, under the influence of which the waves lashed the -sandy beach with a roar so appalling that it stifled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> the groanings -of the forest, the men agreed among themselves that McDonald and his -son were at the bottom of the lake, and their hearts grew sore for -those whom they believed to be widowed and orphaned by the calamity. -Fighting with her fears, Mrs McDonald tried to persuade herself all -would come right, and assumed a complacency she was far from feeling. -“Often,” she remarked, “has my husband been out worse nights than this -in Scotland, and surely he who could fight the Atlantic is not going -to be drowned in a bit freshwater loch in Canada. To be sure there was -a winding-sheet in the candle last night, but that did not signify, -seeing that it was made from the fat of a wild deer, and not from that -of a Christian sheep. Not one of my family, and it goes far back, Mrs -McGillis, ever died without the wraith of Ian Ban, our forbear, who was -laird of Glenish, being seen, and it is not to be said he failed to -warn me when my husband and oldest son were near their end. I am not -afraid of them. They will be here tomorrow—Donald, like a good man, -go and see that the fire is blazing on the point—and we must keep our -composure. What is that?”</p> - -<p>Close to the dwelling rose a prolonged howl, beginning at a low pitch -and rising to a piercing climax, the sound of which blanched every -face. Those nearest the door opened it; none ventured out. Every ear -was strained. In a few minutes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> the howl was repeated. “Pooh!” said a -young man, “it is only a wolf.”</p> - -<p>The incident broke the tension of suspense, and one after another began -telling stories of their old life in Skye, having more or less bearing -on the situation of those they waited for. Thus the hours wore away, -and it was noted with satisfaction that at the turn of the night the -gale broke and speedily died away. The waves still ran too high for -the canoe to be launched to attempt to gain the other side of the lake -and make enquiries, but they were falling fast. When it was agreed it -would be safe to go, the settlers again gathered on the beach, which -was reddened by the beacon fire that still blazed. There was unexpected -delay; a paddle was found to be broken, and another had to be made, -and ere all was ready a faint whitening of the eastern sky told of -the coming day. It was now a beautiful night, calm and still, the -glassy swells of the lake reflecting the sparkle of the stars. Many a -searching glance was cast across the broad lake for the missing boat, -and dreadful apprehensions filled each bosom as to the secret its dark -waters kept. The canoe was about to start, the two men going with her -had dipped their paddles, and the group on the beach clustered closer -to see her off, when, faint and from afar, came over the surface of -the lake a plaintive murmur. Not a word was uttered, but every ear was -strained to catch the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> sound. It came again fitfully. Neighbor looked -with agony into the blanched face of neighbor. The one idea possessed -them, that it was the dirge of the spirits of their departed friends -as they were journeying to the place of souls. The mother impulsively -sprang forward until the water laved her feet and cried, “My Allan, my -first-born, is it you that is calling? Oh speak to me and tell where in -the cold deep I will find you.”</p> - -<p>There was a shriek behind her which froze every heart. A young woman, -the winsome daughter of one of the settlers, had fallen senseless on -the sand.</p> - -<p>The patriarch of the settlement who, at the first sound, had knelt -and placed his ear close to the lake, soon rose in stern reproof. “Is -it thus you welcome God’s mercy? Your son, Mrs McDonald, and your -lover, Flora, for so you have just revealed to us he is, is alive and -well. It is his voice singing the boat-song of the Isle of Mist, and I -hear the plash of oars.” And so it was, for now clear and strong came -from the lake the words of the song, and soon keen eyes could see the -approaching canoe. There was a shout of joy, and tears streamed from -every cheek. A few minutes more and the lost were among them.</p> - -<p>When they had re-entered the shanty and the cup of rejoicing had gone -round, Mr McDonald told his story. As time passed, and the canoe -drifted farther down the lake, he had given up<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> all hope and expected -every moment to feel it caught in the strong current that leads to the -rapids, and to hear their dreadful sound. “I was praying for you in my -heart,” he said, “when I heard the sound of breaking water. Allan, I -shouted, here they are at last; make ready to jump and swim for your -life. No sooner said than my paddle struck bottom and I saw trees -before me. Quick, Allan, jump and we will drag the canoe ashore. We -both sprang out at the same time, and catching hold of the canoe ran -her through the breakers and high on to the bank. We were wet and so -cold, but, oh, we were thankful that we were saved. After a while we -got up and moved round to see if a house was near, when we found that -we were on one of the small islands that lie at the head of the rapids. -A few rods one way or the other and we would have swept past it and -been lost. It was God’s own hand that had steered our canoe. Well, we -waited patiently till the gale went down, and as soon as we dared we -launched out again and paddled homeward. And a long pull we had, but it -warmed us.”</p> - -<p>The bag of flour was opened. The water had caked the outside layer, -leaving the interior quite dry. The flour was examined with interest, -being the first from wheat grown in the settlement.</p> - -<p>“Well,” exclaimed the patriarch, “it is time we were in our beds, -though it be now good daylight,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> and we will go to sleep with thankful -hearts that our good neighbor is with us and not at the bottom of the -lake. And you, Mrs McDonald, we wish well to, for you have this morning -found not only the son that was lost, but a daughter you knew not of, -and a good girl she is too. There is plenty of land here for all, and -we will build them a house and hold our New Year in it, and, please -God, we will not again risk life in these French cobbles of canoes, but -build a big boat.”</p> - -<p>And so it came to pass. The New Year beheld Flora and Allan made one -with a merry-making that became a tradition in the settlement, their -Glengarry friends driving over the icy bosom of the lake to it in a -drove, and bringing two pipers to supply the music, and when spring -came a boat, large enough to carry half a dozen bags of flour, built -after the best Isle of Skye design, was launched in the creek beside -the shanty of William McPhee, and served the settlement many a long -year.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p> - -<h2>ABNER’S DEVICE.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<p>“Abner, I want you to go a message for me after breakfast.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, mother. Is it to Four Corners?”</p> - -<p>“No; you are to go to the Blands, with a basket for old Mrs Whiting.”</p> - -<p>“Why, that’s in Canada, and they’re our enemies.”</p> - -<p>“Our governments are at war, but we old neighbors are not.”</p> - -<p>“But the Indian guard may catch me.”</p> - -<p>“If they do, they’ll not harm a boy like you.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, they would, mother. They’d scalp anything that’s Yankee, and I -hate them and every Britisher. I don’t see why you want to do a good -turn to those who’ve been trying these two years to cut our throats and -burn our houses.”</p> - -<p>“Abner!” exclaimed Mrs Smith reproachfully.</p> - -<p>“I want to hit them every time, mother, and if I have got to go, you’ll -let me take father’s rifle.”</p> - -<p>“No, Abner; you’ll go as you are, and if the Indian guard fall in -with you, their captain will let you go when you tell your errand. If -congress<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span> want to fight king George, that’s not to say we are to hate -and hurt those we have lived beside so long and who’ve done us many a -kindness.”</p> - -<p>This conversation took place in the log shanty of a first settler in -northern New York in the fall of 1813. War was then in progress, and -a few days before General Hampton had returned from his attempt to -reach Montreal, and with his withdrawal to winter quarters the settlers -along the frontier supposed hostilities were ended for the season. -When war had been declared the settlers on the American side of the -lines were in terror of being visited by the Indians, whom the British -government had enrolled to watch the frontier, but as time proved their -apprehensions groundless, they were little affected by the contest that -was being waged, beyond having their intercourse with the settlers -on the Canadian side restricted, and that intercourse had been close -and frequent, for the difference in allegiance had not affected their -friendship. In the bush distance goes for little, and though five miles -apart, the Blands were Mrs Smith’s nearest neighbors to the north, -and their relation had been of the warmest kind. Unable, owing to the -presence of Hampton’s camp at Four Corners, to do their trading there, -Mrs Smith knew that the Blands must be without groceries and even -flour, and, at this, the first opportunity, she was eager to send them -some little comforts to vary their coarse fare, especially<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> for Mrs -Whiting, the grandmother of the household, who was often bedridden from -rheumatism.</p> - -<p>The basket was ready for Abner by the time he had finished breakfast. -His imagination had been fired by seeing the soldiers at fort Hickory -and at Four Corners, and to carry the basket in the usual way was out -of the question. Securing thin withe-ropes, made from the bark of the -moosewood, he slung the basket on his shoulders like a knapsack, and -catching up a cedar pole he grasped it as if it were a musket, and -shouting to himself the order, “Eyes front; right foot forward; quick -march!” off he set, fancying himself one of Colonel Purdy’s crack -brigade. Mrs Smith as, from the door, she watched her boy depart on his -errand, while she smiled at his wayward fancy, could not help feeling -a thrill of pride in his lithe, active figure, giving promise of a -handsome man. That he was shrewd and quick-witted, as well as tall and -strong, for his years, she well knew.</p> - -<p>The weather had been extremely wet for the season; the ground was -soaked and the leaves had long ago been washed from all the trees -except the beech. During the night the rain had ceased, and the -morning, dull and hazy, gave promise of a dry day. Once out of his -father’s clearance, Abner’s way lay through the bush. There was a -foot-track that led to the Blands, but now it was so hidden by the -litter of leaves that it was indiscernible. That did not signify. Born -in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> woods, they were so familiar that Abner could find his way in -any direction he chose, with as much ease as the dwellers in cities -traverse their intricacies of streets and lanes. As he threaded his -way among the trees, the chatter of the chipmunk, the whirr of the -partridge, and the tapping of a belated woodpecker were the only sounds -that fell on his ear, and no sight more unusual than an occasional -grey-squirrel or troop of deer. When he had crossed the line that -divides Chateaugay from Hinchinbrook, and was fairly on Canadian -territory, he became more circumspect, and his fancy changed. He was -no longer the right-hand man of a file of soldiers, but a scout, sent -into the enemy’s country to get information. Keeping under every cover -that offered, looking furtively around before venturing to cross any -open that came in his way, treading on the hardest ground he could -find, and doubling on his track where the soil treacherously retained -his footprints, he found playing at Abner the spy much more exciting -than that of Abner the soldier. Suddenly a crackling sound arrested his -footsteps. It was, he knew, no noise made by any denizen of the forest, -and he turned towards whence it came. Soon he caught the faint odor of -smoke, and then he knew there was a fire near—probably the camp-fire -of the British guard. Prudence whispered to him to turn away and pass -on; curiosity, to go and have a peep at the camp.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> He was only a boy -of fourteen, and curiosity carried the day. Slowly he stole towards -the point whence the crackling sound of blazing branches came, and so -noiselessly that even the squirrels failed to start at his approach -until he passed their perch. Now he could see the smoke, and next -the glare of the embers. He thought he saw the figure of a man, but -as, when he looked again, the shape was gone, he thought he had been -mistaken. He paused to listen. There was no sound save the drumming of -a partridge behind him. Redoubling his caution, he crawled towards the -spot whence the smoke rose, and when he slowly lifted his head from -behind a thicket, he was startled to find himself looking into a camp -of the dreaded Indian guard, of whom he had so often heard but never -seen. There they were, 21 in number, lying prostrate in sleep in a -circle around the fire and the pale autumn sunshine streaming down upon -them. Uncouth looking men they were, with daubs of paint on their faces -that made them hideous. Beside each one lay his musket, and some even, -in their sleep, grasped their hatchets, prepared, if surprised, for -immediate combat. Their captain Abner recognized from his being white -and wearing the sword and crimson sash of a British officer. With eager -eye Abner scanned the unexpected scene, and when the first feeling -of fear died away, he grew bold and thought of what he might have -accomplished<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span> had his mother allowed him to take his father’s rifle -with him. The exploits of Robert Rogers and Ethan Allen floated before -his mind’s eye and he planned how, had he been armed, he might have -shot the captain through the heart and have disappeared before any of -the sleeping group knew what had happened. Satisfied with the sight, he -moved to withdraw and resume his journey. At the first attempt to turn -around, his arms were seized with a grasp of iron, and, looking up, -he saw he was in the hands of an Indian, whose painted visage glared -with ferocity. Appalled for a moment, Abner stood still, then he made -a wrench to get away. It was in vain. Drawing the boy’s arms together, -the Indian grasped them by the wrists with his left hand, and when the -right hand was thus released he thrust it into the folds of his belt -of wampum. Abner’s eyes followed the movement, and when the hand was -withdrawn grasping a short, thick knife, which he recognized as the -scalping-knife he had heard so much of, a paroxysm of terror smote him, -and he gave a piercing shriek. With a diabolical grin, as if he enjoyed -the boy’s terror, the Indian passed the knife before Abner’s eyes and -tried its edge on his soft chubby cheek, then flourished it before -plunging into his scalp. As he made the motion, a billet of wood came -hurtling past, and striking the Indian on the head, he fell, dragging -Abner down with him. He was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span> lifted up by the captain, whom Abner had -seen asleep a minute before, and as he passed his hand over him to make -sure he was unhurt, he poured forth a torrent of angry words, in his -own language, at the Indian, who gave no sign that the knockdown blow -he had received had hurt him. As the captain led Abner into the circle -of Indians, who had been awakened by his shriek, he told him he had -been scolding his assailant for attempting to scalp him, and said in -apology that he was a heathen Indian of the far west, a Blackfoot who -had strayed to the Ottawa, and joined a band of the Iroquois. “I do not -allow my men to be cruel; my orders be to watch the frontier to prevent -invasion by your soldier, and not to hurt anybody.” Then he asked -Abner who he was and why he had come nigh their camp, and was answered -frankly.</p> - -<p>“Ah, my leetle man,” said the captain, who spoke with a French -accent, “if you tell me true you get away; but I’m afraid you carry -letter,—despatch—eh!” Taking the basket from his back, the captain -lifted out its contents, among which were half-a-dozen apples, then a -luxury in the new settlement, where the few fruit trees planted had not -begun to bear. An Indian snatched up one and took a bite, laughingly -saying, “Yankee apple better nor Yankee bullet.” The other contents -were of as innocent a description: a few little luxuries that might -tempt an invalid, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span> small bag of flour, and a bottle of liniment. -The captain, satisfied there was no letter in the basket, carefully -replaced its contents, and then examined Abner’s clothing, making him -even take off his shoes. While thus engaged an Indian slouched up -beside the captain and, throwing down his musket, began to speak to -him, and Abner listened to the guttural sounds with awe.</p> - -<p>“Dis man,” said the captain, “tell me he see you leave clearance and -follow you. He say, when you come to Canada side you act as ’fraid, -hide behind bush, and walk ve-ray fooney. Why you no want to be seen?”</p> - -<p>Abner blushed at this description of his enacting the role of Indian -scout and perceived how his conduct could be misconstrued. He -remembered, also, his mother’s repeated injunction that truth is better -under any circumstances, and, with a shamed smile on his face, he told -what he was doing. The captain grinned as he listened and patting Abner -on the back said: “I know; boy once myself and now fadder of four; you -play one leetle game of Indian spy, not tinking real Indian watch you. -You one good, honest-faced boy. Pity you Yankee.”</p> - -<p>The Indian who had tracked him, smiled as the captain spoke, showing he -understood English, and, like all his race, enjoyed banter. “You smell -smoke, eh?” he said, “hold up nose and go on. Then you hear partridge -drum (here he imitated<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> the sound) me partridge and signal to Joe; Joe -steal up behind, catch arms, pull out knife, you—squeal,” and here, as -if overcome by the ludicrousness of the scene, the Indian grinned from -ear to ear without emitting a single sound of laughter, and poked Abner -in the side.</p> - -<p>“You make big mistake tink you come to Indian camp without we know,” -remarked the captain, “when we sleep, sentinel all round like fox.” -Changing the subject, the captain tried to get from Abner what he knew -of the movements and whereabouts of the American army, particularly -of the number still in camp at Four Corners, which Abner admitted he -had visited the day before. It was without avail. The boy realized the -information he would give might be used against his countrymen, and he -answered evasively. “Ah, well,” exclaimed the captain, “it no matter; -we’ve our spies in your camp so well as in de bush.”</p> - -<p>The Indians were now busily preparing breakfast, and Abner watched them -with curious eyes as they placed potatoes and pieces of pork to cook -upon the hot embers, while a copper-kettle with tea was slung on a -crooked stick. Their duties required them to be on the patrol along the -frontier during the night, which accounted for their sleeping so late.</p> - -<p>“Vell,” said the captain, “what you tink of dese Indian? Yankee able to -catch ’em? Eh? You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> tell, when you get home, what great fellow Indians -be. Now you may go, and give Mrs Bland de compliment of Captain de -Versailles and say he will do her de honor of taking supper with her.”</p> - -<p>Thus permitted to resume his journey, Abner struck into the bush, and -in half an hour had reached the house of the Blands. He was hailed -with an uproarious welcome from every member of the large household, -for there was the delight not only of resuming long-suspended friendly -intercourse, but the proof in his appearance that the warfare waged -between the two governments had not lessened the goodwill of their -neighbors. Unpacking the basket, it was found to contain a little of -everything they had been so long deprived from being shut out from the -American stores. On the cork being drawn from the bottle of liniment, -granny declared that the very smell had done her rheumatics good. As -the contents of the basket lay spread on the table, a sudden thought -seemed to strike Mrs Bland, which she communicated in a whisper to her -husband. There was a quiet consultation, and then she addressed Abner.</p> - -<p>“We have something strange to tell you, and mum’s the word. Night -before last, when we were asleep, a knock came to the door and then it -was pushed open. Father rose, stirred the fire, and got a light, when -we saw it was an American<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> soldier. He was drenched to the skin, for it -was pouring rain, and, oh, what a pale, thin ghost he looked! He crept -up to the fire and sank in a heap beside it, muttering, ‘Thank God.’ I -saw he was perishing, and got some hot drink for him, and after a while -he told his story. He had been with Hampton’s army in the battle, where -he had received a flesh wound in the side, and when Purdy’s brigade -fell back he was unable to keep up with them, got separated from his -company, and, in the dark, lost his way. Next morning he tried to find -the trail of the army, but failed, and then, guided by the sun, struck -south, knowing he would in time reach the States. Too weak to carry -them, he threw away his musket and ammunition, and crawled, rather -than walked. When the last biscuit in his haversack was eaten, he had -to trust to beech and butter nuts, though he was not hungry, for his -wound fevered him. Often he lay down, thinking he would never rise -again, but he was young and strong, and when he revived a little he -pushed on, until, to his great joy, he struck our clearing. He thought -he was in the States, and when we told him our house was on the Canada -side he was dreadful afraid we would give him up, and he would be sent -to Montreal as a prisoner. We soon eased him on that score; our big -trouble was to hide him from the Indian guard until we could get him -sent across the lines.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Yes, mother,” interrupted one of her sons, “they came to our house the -next day, and are close by yet.” Abner shivered.</p> - -<p>“Well,” resumed Mrs Bland, “I made the poor Yank take off his wet -clothes and lie down in our warm bed. I dressed his wound for the first -time, and it was raw and nasty, I can tell you, and then he fell asleep -like a baby, poor fellow. I cleaned and set his clothes to dry, and as -I sat mending them next morning father and I consulted. To keep him in -the house was to give him up to the Indians, and he was too weak to -travel farther. Where to hide him until he was able to leave bothered -us, when, all of a sudden, father thought of the big platform that -stands near the spring in the bush, two acres back, which the Indians -raised last year for still hunting. It was late in the day when he -awoke, and he found himself weak as water but the fever had left him. -We told him what we intended, and, after he had eaten something, father -and the boys carried him to the platform, rolled him in a blanket and -covered him with elm bark and cedar brush. We have taken him victuals -after dark, and last night, seeing it was wet, we fetched him over and -gave him a night’s rest in bed. He eats little, for his stomach is -turned against our common food, and he’ll be glad of what your mother -has sent. Now, Ab, can’t you think of some plan to get this poor fellow -across the lines?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p> - -<p>He could not think of any, for the woods were full of Indians, but he -would like to visit the wounded soldier. Preparing as tasty a repast as -she could out of the victuals sent by Mrs Smith, Abner and Mrs Bland -started for his place of concealment. As is their custom, the Indians -had raised the platform in a thicket, which commanded a runway, and was -therefore well concealed, and, what was of equal consequence at that -season, sheltered from the wind. On coming beneath it, Mrs Bland spoke, -when there was a movement above, and a face, so ashy pale and wasted -that Abner felt a creeping feeling pass over him, peered from beyond -the edge. “Here’s a boy from Yankeetown and a dinner cooked from the -provisions he has brought.”</p> - -<p>“He’s welcome,” faintly whispered the soldier. “I wish I could go back -with him.”</p> - -<p>Taking the basket in one hand, Abner climbed up to the platform with -the agility of a squirrel, and helped the soldier to raise himself and -arrange the food. When he saw the wheaten bread, he said it put him in -mind of home, and he fell to and made the best meal he had partaken of -since the fatal day on the Chateaugay. His strength returned with the -grateful food and he asked Abner many questions, what Hampton had done -after the battle, where he was now, were many killed, did the British -follow him up, and were there many Indians in the woods. When he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> heard -of Abner’s encountering the Indians that morning, he shuddered, and -Abner could not help thinking of what his fate would be did one of them -ferret out his retreat, a reflection that increased his desire to save -him. Leaving the soldier in a cheerful and hopeful mood, he slipped -back to the Blands, puzzling his head to devise some plan of rescuing -his countryman.</p> - -<p>After dinner, which consisted of corn boiled in milk, and potatoes -with fried venison, the Bland boys proposed to go partridge shooting, -and Abner agreed, as he was in no hurry to return home. So off they -went. In beating the woods, a coon was started, and it supplied the -idea Abner had been seeking for. Before they returned home he had -worked it out and determined to submit it to Mrs Bland. On approaching -the door they heard peals of laughter, when one of the boys remarked, -“The captain has come; he’s a jolly one with the girls,” and on -entering, they found that personage entertaining the family in his -liveliest style. Abner bit his lip and saw he must bide his time. -Supper is an early meal in the backwoods, and after enjoying it to -the full, and diverting and flattering each of the household, Captain -Versailles, with many apologies for duty requiring him to leave such -delightful company, left to return to his Indians. No sooner had he -gone, than Abner asked abruptly, “These moonlight nights don’t you go -coon-hunting?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Don’t we, Ab,” answered one of the boys, “think you’d say so if you -saw the skins nailed on the barn-door.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, I’ve a plan to get the soldier away with me,” which he -proceeded to lay before them. Briefly it was, that the boys should go -with their guns a mile or so east and close to the boundary-line, when -they would begin firing and shouting. The Indians, thinking it was an -attack from Fort Hickory, would hurry to meet the invaders, leaving the -western part of the frontier unguarded, and let Abner slip across with -the soldier.</p> - -<p>“It’s feasible,” said Mr Bland, “the trouble is the poor fellow isn’t -able to walk a rod, let alone five miles.”</p> - -<p>“He’ll die from cold if left out longer,” remarked his wife; “we must -run some risk. He might be able to keep on the back of the old white -mare.”</p> - -<p>“That’s so,” answered her husband, “we’ll try Ab’s plan.”</p> - -<p>As no time was to be lost, it being essential to make the diversion -before the Indians were detailed by Captain Versailles to their posts -for the night, the boys caught up their guns and left, while Abner and -Mr Bland slipped over to the hiding-place of the soldier, told him -what was intended, and helped him down from his perch. The prospect of -speedy escape gave him unwonted strength, and leaning on his friends -he managed to walk to the house, where Mrs Bland, after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> dressing his -wound, insisted on washing his face and tidying him up. “For sure,” she -said, “you’re going home to your friends, and you mustn’t give Canada a -bad name.”</p> - -<p>“That I never will,” murmured the grateful soldier, “God has anointed -the hearts of both peoples with the same oil of kindness, and it’s only -the politicians and big men on both sides that make trouble between us.”</p> - -<p>The evening was calm and mild for the season, and Mr Bland sat -listening by the open door. Presently, there burst from a remote corner -of the woods, a sharp volley, followed by such shouts and cries as -would lead the listener to fancy a fierce fight was in progress. “There -they are!” exclaimed Mr Bland, while the shots and uproar continued to -increase, “let ’em keep that up for five minutes, and there won’t be an -Indian within earshot who won’t be running to the spot.”</p> - -<p>The noise did continue that long and longer too, while, with skilful -imitation, it subsided and increased, and passed from one part of the -woods to another, the cheers of soldiers mingling with equally good -imitations of Indian yells, giving the impression of a running fight -between a detachment of the American garrison and the Indian guard. -When Mr Bland considered all the Indians had left for the neighborhood -of the supposed fight, the old mare was brought to the door, which the -soldier was helped to mount, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> Abner, grasping the bridle, led the -way. By this time the moon was high enough to be pouring down its rays -through the tree-tops, and though its light was useful in showing him -how to avoid obstacles and to go much faster than they otherwise could -have done, Abner would have dispensed with it for fear of its revealing -their presence to the Indians. His fear was groundless. His device was -a complete success. Not an Indian was met, the woods were traversed -in safety, and Abner exulted in the thought how he had tricked the -Indians, and almost laughed right out when he pictured to himself their -disgust, on reaching the scene of the supposed fight, to find it to -be only a coon-hunt. If they had trapped him in the morning, he had -outwitted them in the evening. When the light of his father’s house was -discerned, Abner relieved his feelings by a great shout of exultation, -that drew his parents to the door.</p> - -<p>“Well, Abner, you see the Indians did not catch you?”</p> - -<p>“Didn’t they mother! I feel the clutch of one of ’em at my scalp yet. -Won’t you help the stranger down, father? He is a soldier and wounded.”</p> - -<p>“Wounded! Poor critter, I must get the bed ready,” and Mrs Smith darted -indoors.</p> - -<p>Stiff and sore from the exertion and cold, the poor soldier was like -to fall when they helped him off the mare, and, gently, father and son -carried him to the bed. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Poor man, ain’t he tuckered out!” exclaimed Mrs Smith, as she -approached him when his head had been laid on the pillow. Shading the -candle she glanced at him, started, looked again, and crying out, -“Blessed if it ben’t my own brother Bill from Varmont!” she fell on his -neck in a paroxysm of hysterical sobs. And so it turned out to be. He -had been among those last drafted to reinforce Hampton, and had been -unconscious that his sister lived so near the camp at Four Corners. -Abner was the hero of the night when the soldier told how he had been -the means of saving him. “No,” said the lad modestly, “it was mother’s -sending me against my will to the Blands that saved you.”</p> - -<p>“That’s so, Abner, and you never forget it, that blood is thicker than -water, and in doing a kind deed to those you considered an enemy we -were serving ourselves.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p> - -<h2>WHAT A SETTLER TOLD ME.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<p>After the stifling heat and blinding glare of a Canadian summer day, -it is most refreshing to walk forth as the sun, shorn of its strength, -sinks, a glowing ball of fire, behind the forest that edges the -landscape. Vegetation, wilted by the day’s glaring heat, revives with -the dewy coolness of the hour, and from the neighboring bush comes the -song of the greybird. As the glow fades from the sky, nowhere else in -the world of tenderer blue or more translucent depth, the stars drop -into sight, and should Venus be in the ascendant, she burns with a -white flame unknown at any other season. Generally, with the setting -of the sun, a light breeze springs up from the west or northwest, -refreshing to the farmers who toiled throughout the sultry day, and -swaying the heads of timothy until the meadows seem to be swept by -billows. The eye of the saunterer takes in the scene, passing over the -great flat fields of grain and grass, until ended by the recurring -belt of bush; the snug farm-houses set amid shade-trees and orchards; -the pond-like reaches of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span> Chateaugay, sleeping peacefully in the -hollows of its rounded banks, unruffled save as the wing of one of the -swallows, that skim its glassy surface, frets it for a moment, or from -the leap of an inhabitant of its clear waters; and, in the finished -beauty of the picture, he finds it hard to realize that he is looking -upon the results of the labor of scarce half a century, that underneath -a few of the roofs before him still live men and women who saw the -country when a wilderness of forest and swamp, and who are survivors -of the generation who wrought the wondrous change—men and women who -underwent privations the most painful and labors the most exhausting -in making the country what it is. To give those who have inherited -the fruits of their sacrifices some idea of what the first settlers -underwent, I here submit the narrative of one of them, as nearly as may -be in the words I was told it:</p> - -<p>You have driven a long way to see me, sir, and I am afraid I can -tell you little worth the hearing. It is strange you should go to -so much trouble to gather these old-time stories, but if I can tell -you anything that will be of use to you I am willing. You want me to -begin with our leaving the Old Country and go on in order, as you can -recollect best that way. Very well, only you will have to come and -see me again, for it is a long story, and if you print any of it, you -are to change it so that nobody will know who told<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span> you. I don’t mind -myself, but some of my children might not like it.</p> - -<p>We belonged to the Border, and the first sight that met my eyes every -morning was the Eildon hills. My husband was a shepherd and we lived -well enough until our family began to grow large, and then we thought -it would be well for their sake to try Canada. We had a little saved -and that, with what we got from the roup of our furniture, paid our -passage and plenishing. We sailed from the Solway, into which a big -ship from Liverpool called for a party of emigrants. We were rowed -out in small boats, and when I got on to her deck my heart failed -me, for such dirt and confusion I never saw the like, crowded as she -was with 242 emigrants from county Kerry, who had gone on board at -Liverpool. This we never expected, but it was too late now, and we -had to make the best of it. The sight below was worse than above, and -I turned fairly sick when I went down the ladder to our berths; the -noise was bad enough but the smell was just awful. The mate, a swearing -character, was not without a show of decency, and did the great favor -of allotting to us Border folks, who numbered an even six dozen, the -row of berths aft the main hatchway, so that we were kept together. We -slipped out of the firth that night with the tide, and next morning, -which was a most beautiful day, we kept tacking off and on the coast -of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> North of Ireland. As we got out on the ocean I grew sea-sick, -and for a few days I was just in misery; having to attend the children -yet hardly able to raise my head. The ship’s provisions were scanty -and very bad, which did not matter much to us, for we had taken a good -deal with us, but the poor Irish, who had brought nothing, were always -wanting to borrow, and as we, not having more than enough to serve -ourselves, had to refuse, they abused us for being proud, and tried to -pick quarrels, but both the Scotch and English of us kept our tempers -and gave them no offence. Their jealousy and ill-feeling grew, and one -morning they banded together to prevent our getting hot water at the -galley. This we could not stand, for the water was bad and only fit to -drink when boiled and made into tea or gruel. The captain refused to -interfere, being afraid, we thought, of having trouble with the Kerry -men, and when we told the mate he only swore at our lads for a cowardly -lot of sheep-tenders. When dinner-time came, our men got out their -crooks, and, going quietly on deck, formed in a column and, laying -about them right and left, cleared a road to the galley. There were -fearful threats made, but nothing came of them, and after that we were -respected and left alone.</p> - -<p>The ship made little headway owing to the wind keeping in the west, -and it was on the eighth day of our voyage that it became known to -us that a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span> woman, who had been sick for some time, was ill of the -fever. On that day she got delirious and her people could not hide the -truth longer. Four of the oldest men of our party were sent to tell -the captain. He made light of their news and said they were mistaken -about the disease, but he refused to come and see the woman or to -erect a partition across the hold to separate us from the rest of the -passengers. We took his treatment sore to heart. When ship-owners get -his passage-money, they don’t care what becomes of the poor emigrant, -and would just as soon he would die on the voyage as land him. We went -to sleep that night sad and frightened, for we knew, by reading the -papers, what ship-fever meant. Well, next day the woman was worse, and -on the evening of the third she died. We were all anxious that the -corpse should be buried at once, so that the infection might not be -spread by it, and two of our folk, taking some things that might be -useful in preparing the body, went over to where it lay to advise that -that be done. The poor creatures got angry at once, and drove them -back, and cursed us for a set of heretics, who would put the decent -woman out of sight without waking her. They laid the corpse on top -of some chests in the centre of the ship, surrounded it by candles, -and then the keening began, which drove me nearly into hysterics. The -captain, hearing what was going on, sent down a keg of rum, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span> made -matters worse. Towards morning, when the drink had taken effect, they -began to quarrel, and the noise and confusion was terrible. There being -no partition, we could see the whole length of the hold, with the rows -of berths on either side, and towards the far end, in the middle of the -ship, was the white heap formed by the corpse and lighted by candles, -with the women sitting around it, wailing in the most unearthly way, -and taking no heed of the men and children who swarmed outside of them, -talking, shouting, pushing, and fighting. A candle was knocked down -and there was a cry of fire, but an old woman smothered it with her -cloak. As we could not sleep, and were afraid they might come to our -end of the ship and give us trouble, we went on deck to wait till all -was over. It was a cold, raw morning, with not enough of wind to keep -the ship from pitching, but anything was better than being below. When -the eight o’clock bell struck, the Irish came swarming up, bearing the -corpse. They rested it awhile by the bulwarks, when all, even to the -smallest child, fell on their knees in prayer. Then it was lifted over -and let drop into the ocean. The sailors would not help, keeping by -themselves on the forecastle, for they were afraid of the infection. -As four days passed without a new case, we were beginning to hope the -danger was passed, but on the fifth three children took ill, and before -the week was done<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span> there were 17 down. After that the disease had its -own way, and deaths became so frequent that it was impossible to hold -wakes. We pitied the poor creatures, and gave more than we could spare -to help them. The worst want of the sick was water and though it smelt -so that a horse would not have touched it and not worth the saving, -for there was plenty on board such as it was, the captain would not -order that the allowance be increased, but he encouraged the steward to -sell liquor, in the profit of which he shared. I cannot begin to tell -you of the scenes we had to endure; it was of God’s mercy that they -did not take away our senses. If the ship was dirty before the fever -broke out, it was worse now, and the smell, as you stepped from the -deck, was like to knock you down. None of our folk, with one sorrowful -exception, took the disease, which was not considered strange by the -Irish, for they accounted the taking away of the sick, especially of -the young, as a sign of favor by the saints, who carried them to glory. -The exception was my husband. When about to raise a tin of tea to his -lips one morning, he saw a child looking at him from her berth with -such entreating eyes, that he went over and held the vessel to the -girl’s mouth. When she was satisfied, he drank what was left. Three -days after he complained of a racking headache, which was followed -by a chill, after that the fever set in. Just because he was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> such a -lusty man the disease went hard with him, and on the tenth day of his -illness I saw there was no hope. It was in the afternoon as I sat by -him, listening to his ravings, that he suddenly sat up, and pointing -to the shaft of sunshine that poured down the hatchway into the dark -and loathsome hold, he said, “It fa’s on the Cheviots and glints on -the Tweed e’noo; let me bask in’t once mair.” We carried him over and -laid him in the sunlight. The delirium left him, and a sweet smile came -to his face. “Hae ye onything to say?” I whispered in his ear. “No, -Mailie,” he answered softly, “I am quite happy an’ feel the grip o’ my -Saviour’s han’: God will be wi’ you and the bairns.” He never opened -his een mair, but the smile lingered on his lips until the sun began -to sink, and as he felt the glow leave his cheek, he muttered, “It’s -growin’ late and the nicht will be ower cauld for the lammies; I’ll -ca’ the ewes frae the knowes,” and so saying he slipped awa wi’ the -Great Shepherd o’ the Sheep to the lown valley and the still waters. -Though my sorrow was like to rive my head, I kept my composure, for -there was work to be done, and nothing can excuse neglect of duty. -I prepared him for burial, and when all was ready, an old friend, a -brother shepherd of my husband from a boy, gave out the 90th psalm, -and when it had been sung, he read the 14th chapter of John, and -offered up a most soul-striving prayer, so that, when the corpse was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> -lifted, there was not a dry cheek. We followed as it was carried to -the deck. The ship was on the banks of Newfoundland, and the ocean was -a dead calm, the new moon lighting up the thin haze of mist that lay -upon it. I had wrapped my husband in his plaid, and thrust his crook -lengthways through the outer fold. Holding each an end of it, two of -the strongest of our men swung the body well out from the ship’s side. -As it disappeared I felt that my love for man as wife had gone with it, -and such a sense of desolation came over me as words cannot tell.</p> - -<p>Five days after we came to quarantine, where the sick were landed, and, -just five weeks and two days from the time we left Scotland, we sailed -into Quebec harbor. We were a small and heartbroken handful. Our chests -had been brought on deck and we sat on them, waiting for the steamer -to come alongside that was to carry us to Montreal. None of our folk -had asked me what I was going to do, and I knew the reason. It was not -that they were unwilling to help me, but because they had more than -they could do to mind themselves. They felt for me sore, but they could -not take the bite out of their own children’s mouths to give to mine. -Indeed, there was hardly one of them who knew what they were going to -do, for they had come to Canada to seek new homes on chance. I had had -my own thoughts and had marked out what I would try to do. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p> - -<p>“There’s the steamer; get yer bairns thegither and I’ll look to yer -kists.”</p> - -<p>It was a hard-favored man that spoke, a shepherd named Braxton from -Cumberland, who all the voyage had hardly said a word. Glad of his help -I followed him. He bought milk and bread for us when the steamer called -at Three Rivers, but never saying aught until Montreal was in sight.</p> - -<p>“What beest thou gaun to do?” he asked. I said I was going to bide in -Montreal and try to get something to do. I was strong and had a pair of -good hands. He gave a kind of snort.</p> - -<p>“Ye canna mak eneugh to keep five bairns; ye’d better come wi’ me.”</p> - -<p>“Where till?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“I dinna knaw yet, but I’se get lan’ somewhere near and ye’se keep -house for me.”</p> - -<p>“Are ye a single man?” He nodded. I sat thinking. He was a stranger to -me beyond what I had seen of him on the ship. Could I trust him? Here -was a home for my children in the meanwhile. For their sake would I do -right to refuse the offer? My mind was made up, and I told him I would -go with him.</p> - -<p>“I canna offer thee wages,” he said.</p> - -<p>“I dinna ask any.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” he replied, and no more was said.</p> - -<p>By this time they had yoked the steamer to a string of oxen, which -helped it up the current into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> the harbor, and in course of an hour we -were in Sandy Shaw’s tavern. In answer to Braxton, the landlord told -him of there being bush land easy to be had near to the city. Next day -at sunrise he left to see it, and it was after dark on the third day -when he came back. He had got a lot on the Chateaugay, and we were to -start for it early next day. I had the children dressed soon after -daylight, and the three youngest rode on the French cart that was hired -to take our chests to Lachine. The rest of us followed on foot. It was -a fine morning, but very warm, and the road was deep with dust, which -the wind raised in clouds like to choke us. When we got to Lachine we -were disappointed to find that the ferryboat was unable to leave her -wharf owing to the strong wind blowing down the lake and which had -raised a heavy sea. We sat on our boxes and spent a weary day, my head -being just like to split with the heat and the shouting and jabbering -of the bateau men. There were several hundred emigrants waiting besides -ourselves, for the Durham boats could not start until the wind changed. -We could not get a bite to buy, for the Canadians were afraid of us -on account of the fever, and they had reason, for among those waiting -were many who had been sick of it, and there were some who were so -white and wasted that you would say the hand of death was upon them. -Towards sunset the wind fell and the lake got<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span> calmer, so the ferry -boat started. Her paddles were not driven by a steam-engine but by -a pair of horses, which went round and round. It was going to be -moonlight, so when we were put off at the Basin, we thought we would -push on to Reeves’s, for it would be cooler than to walk next day, and -we might thereby catch the canoes Braxton had bespoke. A cart was hired -to convey our chests and the younger children, and we set off. We got -along very well for about five miles, when we heard distant thunder, -and half an hour after the sky was clouded and we saw a storm would -soon burst. We knocked at the doors of several houses, but none would -let us in. As soon as the habitants saw we were emigrants, they shut -the door in our face, being afraid of the fever. When the rain began to -fall, the boy who was driving halted beneath a clump of trees by the -river-side, and I got under the cart with the children. It just poured -for about half an hour and the lightning and thunder were fearful. We -were soon wet to the skin, and I felt so desolate and lonesome, that I -drew my shawl over my head, and, hugging my youngest child to my bosom, -had a good cry. Those born here cannot understand how castdown and -solitary newcomers feel. For months after I came, the tear would start -to my eye whenever I thought of Scotland. Well, the storm passed, and -the moon came out bright in a clear sky. It was much cooler, but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> the -roads were awful, and we went on, slipping at every step or splashing -through mud-holes. Had I not been so much concerned about the children, -I could never have got through that night; helping and cheering them -made me forget my own weariness. It was getting to be daylight when the -cart at last stopped in front of a long stone house, in which there was -not a soul stirring, though the doors were all open. The boy pointed us -to where the kitchen was and turned to unyoke his horse. I found four -men sleeping on the floor, who woke up as we went in. They were French -and very civil, giving up the buffaloes they had been sleeping upon for -the children. I sat down on a rocking-chair, and fell at once asleep. -The sound of somebody stamping past woke me with a start. It was the -master of the house, a lame man, whom I found out after to be very -keen but honest and kind in his way. It was well on in the day, and -breakfast was on the table. I was so tired and sore that I could hardly -move. Braxton came in and asked if we were able to go on, for the -canoes would be ready to start in an hour. I was determined he should -not be hindered by me, so I woke up the children, washed and tidied -them as I best could, and then we had breakfast, which did us a deal -of good. There were two canoes, which were just long flat boats, with -two men in each to manage them. Our baggage and ourselves were divided -equally<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> between them, and we started, everything looking most fresh -and beautiful, but the mosquitoes were perfectly awful, the children’s -faces swelling into lumps, and between them and the heat they grew -fretful. For a long way after leaving Reeves’s there were breaks in -the bush that lined the river banks—the clearances of settlers with -shanties in front—but they grew fewer as we went on, until we would go -a long way without seeing anything but the trees, that grew down to the -water’s edge. Getting round the rapids was very tiresome, and it was -late in the day when the men turned the canoes into a creek and pulled -up alongside its west bank. This was our lot and where we were to stay. -Placing our boxes so as to form a sort of wall, the canoemen felled -some small cedars for a roof, and, lighting a fire, they left us. I -watched the boats until they were out of sight and the sound of their -paddles died away, and then felt, for the first time, what it is to be -alone in the backwoods. There was so much to do that I had no time to -think of anything, and the children were happy, everything being new to -them. The kettle was put on and tea made, and we had our first meal on -our farm—if you had seen it, with the underbrush around us so thick -that we could not go six rods, you would have said it never could be -made a farm.</p> - -<p>We slept that night under our cover of cedar bushes and slept sound. In -the morning Braxton<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> and my oldest boy started down the track, for it -was no road, that followed the bank of the Chateaugay, to see if the -settlers below would help to raise a shanty, and while they were gone -I did my best to get things into order. For all I had come through, -there was lightness in my heart, for there is a freedom and hopefulness -in living in the woods that nothing else seems to give one, and I made -child’s play of discomforts that would have disheartened me had I been -told of them before leaving Scotland. It was nigh noon when Braxton -came back. He had been made welcome everywhere, all were glad to have -a new neighbor, and the promise given that word would be sent to all -within reach to come to a bee next day. After dinner he took the axe -and tried his hand at chopping. He began on a tree about half a foot -thick and was nicking it all round, we looking on and admiring.</p> - -<p>“Ye’ll kill somebody with that tree,” said a voice behind us, and -turning, to our astonishment we saw a tall woman, in a poke-bonnet, -looking on. Explaining that it was necessary to know how a tree would -fall, she pointed how any direction could be secured by the way it was -chopped, and, seizing the axe, she showed how, and, under her strokes, -the first tree fell amid the shouts of the children. She was the wife -of our nearest neighbor, and, on hearing of our arrival, had come over -to see us, “Being real glad,” as she said, “to have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> a woman so near.” -She stayed an hour, and after finding out all about us, showed me how -to do a great many things needful in bush-life. Among the rest, how -to make a smudge to protect us from the mosquitoes, which was a real -comfort.</p> - -<p>Next morning six men came and spent the day in clearing space for the -shanty and in making logs for it. The day after, Braxton with two of -the men went to Todd’s to buy boards and rafted them down the river. -On the third day the raising took place, and that night, though it was -not finished, we slept in it, and proud we were, for the house as well -as the land was our own. It was quite a while before Braxton could -finish it, for there was more pressing work to do, and for a month -and more our only door was a blanket. The fire was on the hearth with -an open chimney made of poles covered with clay. And here I must tell -of my first trial at baking. We had brought a bag of flour and, once -established in our shanty, I resolved to make a loaf. As you know, in -Scotland there is no baking of bread in the houses of the commonality, -and though nobody could beat me at scones or oat cake, I had never seen -a loaf made. I thought, however, there was no great knack about it. I -knew hops were needed, and sent one of my boys with a pail to borrow -some from my neighbor, who sent it back half full. I set to work, and -after making a nice dough I mixed the hops with it, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>moulded a -loaf, which my oldest son, who had seen the process while visiting -round, undertook to bake. He put it into a Dutch oven, or chaudron, and -heaping hot ashes over it, we waited for an hour, when the chaudron was -taken out and the cover lifted. Instead of a nice, well-raised loaf, -there was at the bottom of it a flat black cake. “Maybe it will taste -better than it looks,” says I, thrusting a knife at it, but the point -was turned, and we found our loaf to be so hard that you could have -broken it with a hammer. And the taste! It was bitter as gall. Well, -that was a good lesson to me, and I was not above asking my neighbors -after that about matters on which I was ignorant.</p> - -<p>No sooner had shelter been provided for us, than we all turned to with -hearty will to clear up a bit of land. My boys were a great help, and -the oldest got to be very handy with the axe, which was well, for -Braxton never got into the right hang of using it, and spent double -the strength in doing the same work my boy did. There is quite an art -in chopping. It was exhausting work clearing up the land, being quite -new to us and the weather very hot. Often had Braxton to lay down his -axe and bathe his head in the creek, but he never stopped, working from -dawn to darkening, and when it was moonlight still longer. I helped to -brush and log, as much to encourage my boys to work as for all I could -do. When ready to burn, three neighbors came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> to show us how to do it -and, the logs being large and full of sap, it was a slow and laborious -job. The men looked like Blackamoors, being blacker than any sweeps, -from smoke and the coom that rubbed off the logs, while the sweat just -rolled down them, owing to the heat of the fires and the weather. We -came on to our lot on the 29th of May and it was well on in June when -the remains of the logs were handspiked out of the way and the ground -was kind of clear between the stumps on half an acre. In the ashes we -planted potatoes, and a week after, when a bit more land was taken in, -we put in a few more. This done, we turned to make potash. Except along -the creek there was no timber on our lot fit for making ashes but on -its banks there was a fine cut of swale elm. The chopping of the trees -was the easiest part of the work, the getting of the logs together and -burning them being difficult, the underbrush being very thick and we so -short of help in handling the felled trees. A neighbor showed us how -to make a plan-heap and skid logs, but from inexperience we did not -work to much advantage that summer. We, however, wrought with a will -and kept at it, even my youngest, Ailie, helping by fetching water to -drink. Young people nowadays have no idea of what work is, and I don’t -suppose that one in twenty of them would go through what their fathers -and mothers did. Although it was a dry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> summer, the banks of the creek -were soft, so our feet were wet all the time and we had to raise the -heaps on beds of logs to get them to burn. Our first lot of ashes we -lost. Before they could be lifted into the leaches, a thunderstorm came -on and in a few minutes the labor of a fortnight was spoiled. After -that, we kept them covered with strips of bark.</p> - -<p>The neighbors were very kind. They had little and had not an hour to -spare, but they never grudged lending us a hand or sharing with us -anything we could not do without. There was no pride or ceremony then, -and neighbors lived as if they were one family. One of them who had -a potash kettle lent it to us, and it was fetched on a float or sort -of raft, which was pushed up the creek as far as it would go. Then -the kettle was lifted out and carried by main strength, suspended on -a pole. We had thought the chopping, the logging, and the burning bad -enough, (the carrying of water to the leaches and the boiling of the -lye was child’s play) but the melting of the salts was awful. Between -the exertion in stirring, the heat of the sun and of the fire, flesh -and blood could hardly bear up. How we ever managed I do not know, -unless it was by keeping at it and aye at it, but on the first week of -October we had filled a barrel with potash, and Reeves took it away in -one of his canoes and sold it in town for us, on the understanding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span> -that we were to take the pay out of his store. He made thus both ways, -and everything he kept was very dear. I have paid him 25 cents a yard -for common calico and a dollar a pound for tea. We could not help -ourselves just then.</p> - -<p>I should have told you our potatoes grew wonderfully. There is a -warmth in newly-burned land or a nourishment in ashes, I don’t know -which, that makes everything grow on new land far beyond what they do -elsewhere. The frost held off well that fall, and we lifted our crop -in good order, except a few that were very late planted, which did not -ripen properly. When we landed on our lot, Braxton used his last dollar -to pay the canoemen, and I had just 15 shillings left after paying -the boards we got at Todd’s mill, so all we had to put us over until -another crop would be raised, was the potatoes and what we could make -out of potash. We were in no way discouraged. The work was slavish, -but we were working for ourselves in making a home; the land was our -own, and every day it was improving. The children took to the country -and its ways at once and were quite contented. We were cheerful and -hopeful, feeling we had something to work for and it was worth our -while to put up with present hardship. I remember a neighbor’s wife, -who was always miscalling Canada and regretting she had come to it, -being satisfied with nothing here. She said to her husband one day,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> in -my hearing, “In Scotland you had your two cows’ grass and besides your -wage sae muckle meal and potatoes, and we were bien and comfortable; -but you wad leave, and dae better, and this is your Canada for you!” -“Can you no haud your tongue, woman,” he replied, “we hae <i>a prospect</i> -here, and that is what we hadna in Scotland.” That was just it, we had -a prospect before us that cheered us on to thole our hardships.</p> - -<p>I counted not the least of the drawbacks of the bush, the lack of -public ordinances. There was no church to go to on Sabbath, and the day -was spent in idleness, mostly in visiting. Sometimes the young men went -fishing or hunting, but that was not common in our neighborhood, where -the settlers respected it as a day of rest, though without religious -observance of any kind. Accustomed from a child to go to kirk regularly -in Scotland, I felt out of my ordinary as each Sabbath came round. To -be sure, I taught the children their catechism and we read the story of -Joseph and the two books of Kings before the winter set in, but that -did not satisfy me. The nearest preaching was at South Georgetown, -and tho’ I heard no good of the minister I wanted to go. Somehow, -something aye came in the way every Sabbath morning I set. At last, it -was after the potatoes had been lifted and the outdoor work about over -one Sabbath morning in October, a canoe, on its way down, stopped to -leave a message for us.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> This was my chance, and getting ready I and -my two oldest children went, leaving the others in charge of Braxton, -and, for a quiet man, he got on well with children, for he was fond -of them. I remember that sail as if it were yesterday—the glow of -the hazy sunlight, the river smooth as a looking-glass, in which the -trees, new clad in red and yellow claes, keeked at themselves, and the -very spirit of peace seemed to hover in the air. Oh it was soothing, -and I thought over all I had come through since I left Scotland. Tho’ -I could not help thinking how different it had been with me six months -before, yet my heart welled up as I thought of all the blessings -showered on me and mine and thanked God for his goodness. It was late -when we came in sight of the church, for the sound of singing told us -worship had begun. Dundee was the tune, and as the voices came softly -over the water my heart so melted within me to hear once again and in a -strange land the psalmody of Scotland that I had to turn away my head -to greet. Stepping ashore where the church stood on the river bank, -we went quietly in. It was a bare shed of a place, with planks set up -for seats, and there were not over thirty present. The minister was a -fresh-colored, presentable enough man, and gave a very good sermon, -from the 11th chapter of Second Corinthians. While he was expatiating -on what the apostle had suffered, something seemed to strike him, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> -he said, “Aye, aye, Paul, ye went through much but you never cut down -trees in Canada.” He spoke feelingly, for he had to work like the rest -of his neighbors to earn his bread. One end of the church was boarded -off, and in it he and his wife lived. I will say no more about Mr -McWattie, for his failing was notorious. When worship was over, it was -a great treat to mix with the folk. That I did not know a soul present -made no difference, for all were free then and I made friendships that -day that have lasted to this. When he heard that I was from the south -of Scotland, Mr Brodie would take no refusal and I had to go with him -across the river to his house, where we had dinner, and soon after set -out to walk home. People now-a-days think it a hardship to walk a mile -to church, but I knew many then who went four or five, let the weather -be what it might. It was dark before we got home, and that night there -was a frost that killed everything. The weather kept fine, however, -until December, and we had no severe cold until the week before New -Year.</p> - -<p>I cannot think of anything out of the common that first winter. Our -neighbors wrought at chopping cordwood to raft to Montreal in the -spring, but Braxton could not, for he had no oxen to draw the wood to -the river-bank, so we went on enlarging our clearance. I forgot to say, -that one of our North Georgetown acquaintances gave my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> oldest boy a -pig in a present, and we managed to keep the little creature alive with -the house-slop and boiling the potatoes that had not ripened well.</p> - -<p>We all suffered from the cold, which was past anything we had any -conception of before coming to Canada. Our shanty was so open that it -did little more than break the wind, and water spilled on the floor at -once froze. We had plenty of wood, but it was green, and the logs were -fizzing and boiling out the sap the day long, and it took Braxton quite -a while to learn that some kinds of wood burn better than others. At -first he was just as likely to bring in a basswood or elm log as one -of maple or hemlock. Most of the heat went up the big chimney, so that -while our faces would be burning, our backs were cold. It was worst -in the mornings, for I would rise to find everything solid, even the -bread having to be thawed, and the blankets so stiff from our breaths -and the snow that had sifted in that I had to hang them near the fire -to dry. We kept our health, however, and after the middle of February -the weather moderated. In March a deer, while crossing our clearance, -broke through the crust, and while floundering in the snow was killed -by two of my boys. After that they were on the watch, and ran down and -killed two more with their axes. I salted and dried the hams, and but -for them we would have fared poorly. Having no kettle, we made only -a little maple sugar that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> spring by boiling the sap in the kailpot. -There was no sugar then like what is made now, it was black and had a -smoky flavor.</p> - -<p>The spring was late and wet, which was a great disappointment, for -Braxton could not burn the log-heaps he had ready and make potash, -on the money for which he counted to buy provisions to put us over -until harvest. To make matters worse, provisions got to be very scarce -and dear, so that flour and oatmeal sold at $5 the quintal, and -sometimes was not to be had. One day, when quite out, I went down to -Rutherford’s, who kept a bit of a store, and he had neither meal nor -flour, but went into the kitchen and brought out a bowlful of the meal -they had for themselves. I went over the potatoes we had cut for seed, -and sliced off enough around the eyes to make a dinner for us. In June, -provisions became more plentiful, for the boats had begun to bring -supplies from Upper Canada to Montreal. It was the middle of that month -before Braxton had a barrel of potash ready, and the money it brought -did not pay what we were due the storekeepers. We were kept very bare -that summer, but had a prospect before us in the three acres of crops -which we had got in and which were doing finely.</p> - -<p>I can never forget that summer from the fright I had about Ailie. -She was as sweet a wee dot as there was in the world, so loving and -confiding that she made friends with everybody at sight.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> I was never -tired of watching her pretty ways and listening to her merry prattle. -We were busy one afternoon leaching ashes, when suddenly my oldest boy -asked, “Where’s Ailie?” I started, and remembered that it was over an -hour since I had seen her. “She’ll have gone back to the house to take -a sleep,” I said, and I told one of her sisters to go and see. We went -on again, carrying water, when, after a while, the lassie came back -with the word that she could find Ailie nowhere. We threw down our tubs -and dishes, and I shouted her name as loud as I could, thinking she -was nearby in the woods. No answer came. “She’ll have fallen asleep -under some bush, and doesna hear us,” I said, and, with my children, -we went here and there searching for her, calling her name, and all -without finding Ailie. Braxton was an immovable man, who seldom spoke -or gave sign of what he was thinking about, but when we were together -again and all had the same report, his mouth quivered. Turning down -the wooden scoop with which he had been shovelling ashes, he said, -“We’ll dae nae mae wark till we find the bairn.” This time we went more -systematically about our search, but again it was without avail. It -was a hot afternoon, and the sunshine was so bright it lighted up the -darkest nooks of the forest, but in none we explored was Ailie. When we -met one another in our search and learned not a trace had been found, a -pang of agony went through our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span> hearts. Braxton followed the creek and -looked well along the bank of the Chateaugay. It was not until it had -become too dark to see that our shouts and cries of “Ailie” ceased to -sound through the bush. When we had returned to the house, I stirred -up the fire and made supper. When we sat down, not one of us could -eat. Braxton bit a piece of bread, but could not swallow it, and with -a groan he left the table. We talked over what should be done next, -and agreed to warn our neighbors to come and help at daylight, which -Braxton and the boys went to do. None of us liked to speak of what may -have befallen the child, though we all had our fears, that she had -strayed down to the Chateaugay and been drowned or gone into the woods -and a wild beast had devoured her. Although they had not troubled us, -we knew there were bears and wolves in the swamps to the north of us -and there had been even talk of a catamount having been seen. While -there was hope I was not going to lose heart, and when I besought the -Lord to restore my last born to my arms I thanked Him that the night -was so dry and warm that she could come by no ill from the weather. -I did not sleep a wink that night, sitting at the door and straining -my hearing in the hope that I might catch the cry of my Ailie. Beside -the croaking of the frogs and the bit chirrup of some mother-bird that -wakened in its nest and tucked her young closer under her wings,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> -I heard nothing. When the stars were beginning to fade I set about -getting breakfast ready and wakened the children. I had no need to -call Braxton. Poor man, though he said not a word, I knew he had not -closed an eye. I insisted on their making a hearty breakfast so as to -be strong for the work before them, and in the pockets of each I put -a slice of bread and a bit of maple sugar for Ailie, should they find -her, for I knew she would be perishing from hunger. Soon after sunrise -the neighbors began to drop in until there was a party of over twenty. -All had their dogs and some of them had brought axes and guns. It was -arranged we should start out in every direction, yet keeping so near -as to be always within hearing. By spreading out this way in a circle -we would be sure to examine every part of the bush, while two men were -to search the river bank in a canoe. We started, some calling aloud, -others blowing horns or ringing ox-bells until the woods echoed again, -and all without avail, for no Ailie was to be found. What could have -become of the bairn? It was as if the earth had opened and swallowed -her up. After beating the bush for miles around we gathered together -at noon, as had been arranged. Not a trace had been found. We talked -it over and over and were at our wits’ end. One lad, new come out and -with his head full about Indians, suggested that one of them might have -stolen her, and, indeed, it looked <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>feasible, did we not know that the -few Indians we had were civil and harmless. Had a wild beast taken her, -we would have found some fragments of her bit dress. I was dumb with -disappointment and sorrow, and had begun to think I would never see her -alive. It was agreed among the men it would be useless to spread out -farther, that we were now deeper in the woods than it was possible for -her to have wandered, and that we should use the afternoon in going -back over the ground we had passed, making a better examination of it. -We went back slowly, stopping to look at every log and going through -every hollow, and, though there was once a shout that her trail had -been struck, it proved a mistake, and our second scouring of the woods -was as fruitless as the first. The sun was fast westering when we drew -nigh our shanty. About four acres back of it there was a waterhole, a -low wet spot which all of us had gone round, nobody deeming it possible -for the child to have put foot upon it. As I looked at the black oozy -muck, half floating in water, the thought struck me, the toddler could -walk where a grown up person would sink, and without saying a word -to the lad who was with me, I drew off my shoes and stockings, and, -kilting my petticoat, stepped in. How I wrestled through I do not -know, but once in I had to scramble as I best could until I reached a -dry spot in the centre that was like an island, and on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> which there -was a thicket of bushes. Daubed with muck and wringing wet, I paused -when I got my footing. I heard a rustle. I was panting for breath, so -exhausted that I was about to sit down for a little, but that sound -revived hope in me. I peered through the bushes and saw a deer gazing -at me. The creature stared, without moving, which was strange for so -timid an animal. I slipped through an opening in the bushes and there, -on a grassy plot, lay my Ailie asleep, crusted with muck, and with her -arms clasped round the neck of a baby deer; her wee bit face black with -dirt and streaked where the tears had been running down. I snatched -her to my bosom and sinking down I hugged and cried over her like one -demented. Oh, had you heard her joyful cry of “Mammie, mammie!” and -seen her lift her bit pinched mou to mine, you would have cried with -us. The deer did not stir but stood looking on, startled and wondering, -while the fawn lay quietly beside me. This was a mystery, which I soon -solved, for I found the fawn could not move from having a broken leg, -and the faithful mother deer would not leave her young one. The shout -that Ailie had been found soon brought plenty of help, and the first -man that came made to kill the deer, but I prevented him and could not, -ever after, bear him near me. There are savages among us who cannot -see any of God’s creatures, however harmless, in a state of nature, -without trying to take<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> their lives. Sportsmen, indeed! Useless louts, -who would do the country a service were they to use their powder and -shot in killing one another. The fallen tree, by which the deer got -across the swale to its well-hidden nest, was found, and I returned by -it, carrying Ailie, while Braxton took the fawn in his arms, the deer -following. There was much rejoicing at our humble shanty before our -neighbors left, and many attempts to account for Ailie’s wandering to -where she did. She was weak from want of food and I feared she might -be the worse of her exposure, but next day, beyond that she was pale, -she was well as ever. From what we could gather from her, we made out -tolerably plain how her disappearance had come about. While playing -near the house, she saw the deer come out of the woods, jump the fence -of our clearance, and begin to browse on the oats. Ailie seeing the -fawn ran to catch the bonnie creature, when the mother took the alarm, -and bounded back into the woods. In attempting to follow, the fawn -struck one of its hind feet against the top rail of the fence, and -broke the bone. Ailie caught the wee beastie, and held it in her arms, -when the doe returned, bunted her away, and managed to induce its young -one to hirple after it on three legs to its lair in the wee swamp. -Ailie, wanting to get the fawn, followed, which she could do, for they -must have gone slowly. When tired of fondling the creature, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span> would -have returned home, but could not find the way out, and cried and -slept, and slept and cried, croodling down beside the wounded fawn, as -it nestled under its mother, which, from its concern for its injured -offspring, never tried to drive Ailie away. Well, Braxton set the -broken bone and the leg got strong again, but before it did the fawn -had become so attached to Ailie that it would not leave her, and the -mother, which had watched over her offspring in the most touching way, -had become so accustomed to us and so tame that it did not offer to -leave, running in the woods where it had a mind, and making its home in -a shed my boys put up for her. She was torn to death, two years after, -by a hound that a Yankee neer-do-weel brought in, but the fawn lived -with us until she died of a natural death.</p> - -<p>We had a fair harvest that fall, and, when it was got in, we had the -satisfaction of knowing that we would have enough to eat until another -was ready. There being no oatmeal-mill then in the country, Braxton -traded half of the oats for wheat with a neighbor who wanted them for -a lumber-camp. There was a grist mill convenient at the Portage, which -was burned the following summer, after which we had to send all the -way to Huntingdon, where there was a poor sort of a mill. Having no -horse, the bag was carried by Braxton on his shoulder. The want of a -yoke of oxen was so much against our getting on, that we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span> determined -to run some risk in getting one, and saved in every way possible with -that in view. The week before New Year we hired a horse and traineau -from a neighbor, paying him in work, and Braxton went to Montreal -with two barrels of potash. On his way down he had the offer at the -Basin of a heifer that was coming in, and instead of buying the cloth -intended, he saved the money, and took her on his way home. She was -a real beauty, and, out of all the cows we had after, there was not -one to me like her, she was so kindly and proved such a grand milker. -We were all so proud of her that, for a week after she came, we never -tired looking at her, and the children were comforted for the want of -the clothing they needed by having her for a pet. You may not think it, -but the sorest want of our settlement was clothes. When those brought -from the Old Country were done, there was no money to spare to buy -others, and families who had plenty to eat were nigh half-naked, you -may say, and on very cold days could not venture out. I did the best I -could, patching and darning, yet we all suffered much from cold that -winter on account of want of sufficient clothing. Braxton, poor man, -had only a thickness of cloth between him and the weather, yet he never -complained and went to his work in the bush on the coldest days. The -exposure, together with hard work, told on him afterwards and shortened -his life.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span> When the lumber-camps were breaking up, we had a chance of a -yoke of oxen within our ability to pay for, and they were brought home -to the barn that had been raised before the snow came. We had not straw -enough for three head, but managed to keep them alive by cutting down -trees for them to eat the tender ends of the branches. Many a pailful -of browse I snapped off for my bossie that spring. It was well for us -the grass came early.</p> - -<p>I do not know that I have much more to tell that would interest you. -The oxen gave us a great start in clearing the land, and that season we -did more than all we had done before. We paid the seignior regularly, -and once we were a little ahead, it was wonderful how well we got on. -Then you must bear in mind, that, as my boys grew up, we were strong in -help, and our place improved quickly compared with the generality of -those beside us. That fall we got another cow and two sheep, so that we -never afterwards wanted for milk or yarn. It was a hard struggle, with -many ups and downs, much slavish work and pinching and paring, but in -course of time we had all we could reasonably wish and were content.</p> - -<p>I was long concerned about the schooling of my children, of whom only -two had got any before leaving Scotland. We could not help ourselves -until the fourth year of our coming, when a man, lame of a leg, came -round and told us he was a schoolmaster. The neighbors consulted and -one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> of them gave a log stable he was not using, which was fitted -up as a schoolhouse, and the man set to work. He could teach his -scholars little, and tried to cover up his deficiencies by threshing -them unmercifully. He was got rid of and another hired, who was more -qualified but was given to drink. They were a miserable lot of teachers -in those days, being either lazy or drunken fellows who took to keeping -school without considering whether they were qualified. In course of -time we had a church at Ormstown, Mr Colquhoun, a proud Highlander, -being the first minister. When we came, there was only one (old Jones) -living where Ormstown stands, now it is a large village, with buildings -the like of which nobody could have expected to see. There has been -a wonderful improvement all over, and, when I first saw it, to have -foretold the country would become what it now is, nobody would have -believed. That the people have improved correspondingly I do not think. -The money, scraped together by the hard work of their fathers, I have -seen squandered by lads who despised the plow, and the upsetting ways -of many families are pitiful to see. Folk in the old times lived far -more simply and happily.</p> - -<p>You want to know what became of Braxton. He died 14 years after we -came here. It was in the winter and I thought he had caught cold while -skidding logs in the bush. Any way, inflammation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> set in, and he died -within a week of his first complaining. We mourned sorely for him. A -more patient or truer soul never breathed, and to the example he set -my boys, who have all done well, I set down much of the credit. We -counted up his share of the property, and, adding £20 to it, sent it -to his sister in England, who was his only relative. I may say all my -old acquaintances are gone, for there are few now on the river who were -there when I came, and I wait patiently to follow them, living happily, -as you see, with Ailie and her children until the Lord is pleased to -call me.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p> - -<h2>JEANIE MORISON.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> - -<p>Only those who have lived in a cold country like Canada can fully -realize the pleasurable sensations which attend the opening of spring. -The weary monotony of winter, with its unvarying aspect of white -fields, and steady frost, often so intense as to make exposure painful, -gives way to freedom and life, and with some such feelings as stir the -heart of the prisoner, when he exchanges his darksome cell for sunshine -and green fields, does the dweller of Canada hail the time when the -snowbanks disappear and when he can, without wraps, move whether he -will in the genial atmosphere. It was at that period of the year when -the simple incidents I am going to relate took place.</p> - -<p>Amid the unbroken forest which covered the county of Huntingdon in -the year 1820, a log shanty stood on the west bank of Oak creek, at a -point where the beavers had by their industry formed a small meadow. -The shanty was rude<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span> as might be, of unsquared logs, with a roof of -basswood split into slabs, and a stick chimney. The interior consisted -of a single room, and a small one at that. The inmates were a mother -and daughter. The mother, engaged in spinning, sat in the sunshine -which streamed through the open door, brightening the few pieces of -furniture it fell upon and whitening still more the heaps of ashes in -the open fire-place, behind which smouldered a huge backlog. She had -evidently passed her fiftieth year, while the pressed lips and look of -patient reserve told of the endurance of a lifelong sorrow.</p> - -<p>“Dae ye no see or hear ocht?” she asked, looking through the doorway to -the woods beyond, to which she often turned her eyes.</p> - -<p>“No, mother,” replied the girl addressed, who was sitting on the -doorstep.</p> - -<p>“What can hae come ower him!” said the woman in a low voice.</p> - -<p>“Dinna fret; he’ll be here soon,” said Jeanie in a tone that spoke more -of a desire to comfort her mother than faith in her statement.</p> - -<p>As if not heeding her, the mother resumed, “He said he would be back -last nicht, and he should hae been. I sair misdoot ill has befaen him.”</p> - -<p>It was of her husband of whom she spoke. He had worked all winter for a -party of Americans, who were cutting the best of the timber along the -banks of the creek, and had gone Monday morning<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> to aid them in driving -the logs to the point on the Chateaugay where they were to be formed -into rafts and thence taken to Quebec. His last words had been that he -would, at the latest, be back the following evening and it was now the -third day.</p> - -<p>Jeanie strained her eyes and ears to catch the faintest sign of her -father’s approach. The quaver of the grey-bird and the chirrup of the -chipmunk came occasionally from the recesses of the woods, which lay -sleeping in the April sunshine that glorified everything, but no rustle -of branch or cracking of dried stick that would indicate an approaching -footstep. The usually silent creek, now swollen by melted snow, lapped -its banks in pursuing its tortuous course, murmuring a soothing lullaby -to the genial day; and that great peace, to be found only in mountain -recess or forest depth, brooded over the scene. But there, where all -the influences of nature were so soothing, were two hearts filled with -anxious care.</p> - -<p>“Jeanie,” suddenly exclaimed the mother, after a long pause, and -staying the whirr of the wheel, “you maun gang and seek your father. -Gae down to Palmer’s and there you’ll find the rafts, and the men will -tell you whether he left for hame or no.”</p> - -<p>“But I dinna like to leave you, mother, and I am sure you are taking -trouble without need. He will be here by dark.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p> - -<p>The mother understood the affectionate motive of her child in trying to -make light of her fears, but well knew her anxiety was no less than her -own.</p> - -<p>“Say nae mair, my lassie, but gang while there is time for you to get -back. You ken the yarn for the Yankee wife at the Fort is ready and -there is no flour until he gangs there for it.”</p> - -<p>Casting one long eager glance down the creek, along which her father -should come, the girl turned in from the door and made ready for the -journey. Her preparations were easily made. The slipping on of her -stoutest pair of shoes and throwing a plaid over her arm, as a hap from -the cold after sunset, comprised them, and bidding her mother not to -fret for she would bring back good news she started. She did not follow -the creek, but struck northward across the peninsula that forms the -township of Elgin, her design being to reach Trout river, as being more -fordable than the wider Chateaugay. The path was, probably, at first -a deer run, which the few who travelled it, chiefly lumbermen, had -roughly brushed. Only one accustomed to the woods could have kept the -track, for, to a stranger’s eye, it differed little from the openings -which ever and anon appeared among the trees. Jeanie, however, was no -novice to the path or to the bush, and she stepped quickly and with -confidence on her way. She had walked about an hour beneath the solemn -gloom of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> primeval forest when she saw an opening ahead, and knew -she was approaching Trout river. On reaching it, she followed its bank, -until, with one end grounded in a little bay, she found a large log. -Grasping the first straight stick she saw lying about to serve as a -pole, she pushed the log from its anchorage, and stepping on it as it -moved guided it across the narrow river. From the liability of the log -to roll, such a mode of ferrying is dangerous to those unused to it, -but Jeanie knew how to place her feet and keep her balance and speedily -gained the other bank and resumed her journey. On reaching the place -where the two rivers unite, she could not, despite her anxiety, help -pausing to admire the beautiful expanse of water, which, unruffled by a -breath of wind, lay glassing itself in the sunshine, while the forest, -which rose from its margin on either side, formed no unfit setting. -Presently she saw a ripple upon its surface, and her keen eye perceived -the black head of a muskrat, which was making its way to the opposite -bank. While she followed the rapid movements of the little creature, -there was the flash and smoke of a gun before her, and, while the woods -were still echoing the report, a dog jumped into the water to bring -in the rat, which floated dead upon the current. A few steps brought -Jeanie to the marksman, a tall, wiry man, of rather prepossessing -appearance. His dog had returned and laid the rat at his master’s feet, -who was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span>encouraging him with exclamations of “Good dog! good dog!” -when he caught sight of her.</p> - -<p>“Waal neow, who would a thought it? Miss Jeanie herself and nobody -else. How do you do?” And stretching forth his sinewy arm, he grasped -her hand in a clutch that would have made a bear shed tears.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’m well, thank you, Mr Palmer, and my mother, but we’re in sore -trouble.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t say the old man is sick?” and an anxious look passed over the -kindly face of the honest Yankee.</p> - -<p>“Oh, dear sir, we dinna ken whether he’s sick or well. He left home -Monday morning and was to be back next night and he hasna come yet, and -I’ve come to ask after him and get help to find him if nobody knows -where he is?” As she spoke there was a tremor in Jeanie’s voice, and a -tear glistened on her drooping eyelashes.</p> - -<p>“Ha, do tell; this is serious,” and the hunter leant upon his rifle -and gazed abstractedly upon the river, as if trying to conjecture what -could have become of the lost man, until, noting Jeanie’s evident -distress, he aroused himself, and, exhorting her to keep up heart, led -the way to his house.</p> - -<p>“You see,” he said, as they picked their way along the rough path by -the river’s edge, “there ain’t much to shoot yet and what there is -ain’t worth killing, but I kinder felt lonesome to be about doors so -fine a day, and I took a stroll, tho’<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> all I came across was that -mushrat, which, darn it skin, ain’t worth the lead that killed it.”</p> - -<p>“If the shooting is poor, the fishing will be good,” said Jeanie, who -humored the spirit of the sportsman.</p> - -<p>“Couldn’t be better,” answered Mr Palmer, “I speared seven salmon at -the foot of the rapids last night, and this morning I drew my seine -full of as pretty fish as you would want to clap your eyes on.”</p> - -<p>The sound of rushing water told of their approach to the rapids, at the -head of which, on a knoll a few rods to the left, stood Mr Palmer’s -house, which was a comfortable log one, overshadowed by majestic pines. -On entering, they found Mrs Palmer, a rather delicate-looking woman, -engaged in baking. Uttering an exclamation of surprise at the sight -of Jeanie, she wiped her dusty hands and gave her a cordial welcome, -as well she might, for the visits she had received from members of -her own sex, since she had taken up her abode by the Chateaugay, -might have been counted on her fingers without exhausting them. On -learning the cause of Jeanie’s journey, she received the tidings with -the same anxious look as her husband. Evidently both entertained the -worst forebodings, while both had a delicacy in speaking of what they -believed to be the cause of his absence. Neither had seen him, but -the gang of lumbermen he had helped were now <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>forming a raft half a -mile below the house and it was arranged that Mr Palmer should go and -see them while Jeanie would wait. Her hostess resumed her baking, and -Jeanie, feeling the heat indoors oppressive on so fine a day, stepped -out and sat on a log, near enough to keep up the conversation yet -sufficiently far to enjoy the balmy atmosphere and the beauty of the -scene before her. And here, before attempting to describe it, let me -tell what manner of woman Jeanie was. She had that first quality of -a handsome girl, stature—she was tall, with a form instinct with -life—lithe and graceful, which, when matured by age, would become -dignified also. She had no pretension to beauty, beyond what the -liveliness of youth and a sweet temper can give to the countenance, but -still her well-formed mouth, gray eyes, a forehead broad though not -too high, and a wealth of light brown hair went to form a face that -was pleasant to look upon. She had been a visitor at Palmer’s house -before, but its surroundings were still sufficiently novel to engage -her even in her present distracted frame of mind, for, as became a -Scotchwoman, she had a keen relish for whatever is beautiful in nature. -Above, and until directly opposite her, the Chateaugay came sweeping, -with graceful curve, a wide, unruffled sheet of water, until suddenly -it fell over a rocky ledge and became a mass of foaming rapids, which -brattled between banks, covered by trees and overhung by hazel bushes, -until lost<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> to sight by a sharp bend a considerable distance below.<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" >[A]</a> -Being at flood height, the rapids were seen at their best, and Jeanie -never wearied admiring the graceful sweep of the smooth water as it -neared the ledge that preceded its fall, or the tumult of breakers into -which, a moment after, it was tossed. It flashed upon her that the -river was, perhaps, to prove a true type of her own and her mother’s -fate,—the even tenor of their life hitherto was about to be suddenly -broken by her father’s disappearance, and then the water, tossed from -rock to rock, broken into spray and driven in every direction, except -upward, would too truly represent their life hereafter. Raising her -gaze to the south, she caught a glimpse, through a gash among the trees -on the opposite bank where fire had levelled them, of a range of smooth -moulded hills, which, blue and soft in the sweet spring sunshine, -brought back to memory the dear old hills of her native land, and joy -mingled with her sorrow.</p> - -<p>The afternoon wore away apace and still Mr Palmer did not return. Above -the noise of the rapids Jeanie heard, now and then, the shouts of the -lumbermen as they heaved the logs in forming their raft, and whom Mr -Palmer had gone down to see. Having finished her household duties and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> -spread the supper on the table, Mrs Palmer sat down beside Jeanie and, -with kindly craft, by talking of commonplace matters, strove to divert -her mind. By-and-by the appearance of a fine spaniel, the same that had -swam to the rat, indicated the approach of Mr Palmer, who, when he came -up to them, leading his eldest girl, a chattering child, seemed in no -hurry to answer the questioning eyes of the two women.</p> - -<p>“Blessed if the dog don’t scent something,” said the worthy man, as he -watched the animal creeping to a clump of underbrush to the right.</p> - -<p>“Bother the dog,” exclaimed Mrs Palmer, “what did the men tell you?”</p> - -<p>“Waal, they ain’t jest sure, you know, but they guess ’tis all right,” -and as he drawled out the words slowly and reluctantly, Jeanie could -see that he was far from thinking it was all right.</p> - -<p>“Oh, sir,” she said, “you are a father yourself and you are as dear to -your child as she is to you. Tell me the worst, and be done wi’ it.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t take on, Jeanie; it may be all right yet. Your father helped -to tote the logs to the foot of the rapids, and left them, well and -strong, to walk home last night. I rather conjecture he lost his way, -but he will be home by this time.”</p> - -<p>This was all Mr Palmer seemed disposed to tell, and, hoping for the -best, she tried to share in her host’s affected confidence as to her -father’s safety, and followed him in answer to his wife’s call “That<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span> -supper was ready.” A capital cook, and having a larder to draw from -replenished by the gun and rod of her husband, Mrs Palmer, in honor of -her guest, had spread a table that contrasted painfully with the meagre -fare to which Jeanie was accustomed, and made her think of the mess of -boiled corn of which her mother would then be partaking. After supper, -the canoe was launched, and bidding farewell to her hostess and her -little girl on the river’s bank, Jeanie stepped in, when, propelled by -the paddle of Mr Palmer, it began steadily to stem the current.</p> - -<p>Who that has undergone the agony of sorrowful apprehension has not -noted how every trifling incident that may have occurred during that -period has become imprinted indelibly upon the memory? The watcher -by the sick-bed, over which death hovers, is puzzled how, at a time -when the mind is absorbed with one thought, the perceptions should be -so sharpened as to note trivial events and objects, down to the very -furniture and pattern of the wallpaper, which on ordinary occasions -leave no trace upon the memory. On that April evening Jeanie’s mind -was laboring under this intensified acuteness, and while brooding -continually over her father’s probable fate, to her dying day she -remembered every feature of the scenery she was now passing. The smooth -flowing river, swollen and discolored by the melted snow from the -hills, hemmed in on either bank<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> by a thick growth of trees, many of -which, as if enamored with the beautiful sheet of water by which they -grew, bent over it until, in their leafy prime, their branches almost -kissed its surface. Now, though leafless, their tops were glorified by -the setting sun, which filled the still air with the lambent blue haze -which distinguishes the evenings of early spring in Canada. Keeping to -the Chateaugay at its union with Trout river, the canoe stole silently -beneath the shadow of the overhanging trees until the mouth of Oak -creek was reached, when Jeanie stepped ashore to pursue her way on foot -to her home. Before bidding her goodbye, Mr Palmer paused and said: -“Now, you keep up a good heart for whatever may happen, and we’ll be up -tomorrow to search the woods. Give that to your mother and—God bless -you.” Without giving her time to say a word, he pushed his canoe into -the stream and speedily glided out of sight, leaving Jeanie standing on -the bank perplexed by what he had said and holding the basket he had -thrust into her hands, which contained a loaf of bread and a string -of fish. With a heavier heart than ever, she began to trace her way -homeward by the creek. Once in that lonely journey she thought she saw -her father walking ahead of her, and once she thought she heard his -voice. She called out and paused to listen for a reply. The only sound -that reached her was the dismal croakings of the frogs. Knowing that -her imagination<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> was deceiving her, she hurried on and, when she caught -the first glimpse of light gleaming from her humble home, it outlined -her mother’s figure seated on the doorstep waiting her return.</p> - -<p>“You hav’na found him, Jeanie?”</p> - -<p>“No, mother; and he hasna come hame?”</p> - -<p>“What can hae come ower him!” exclaimed the mother, as she sank into a -seat by the open fire-place.</p> - -<p>It was remarkable that in their conversation no conjecture was hazarded -by either as to the probable fate of the missing one. Both, plainly, -entertained the same painful surmise, which they were alike ashamed to -breathe. They sat by the glowing backlog for many hours, hoping against -hope that the wanderer might return, until Jeanie overcome by fatigue -sought her bed. Once she awoke during the night, thinking she heard a -voice. She listened in the darkness. It was her mother wrestling with -God on behalf of her father.</p> - -<h3>FOOTNOTE:</h3> - -<p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> These rapids were known to old settlers as “Palmer’s -rapids.” The quarrying of them for building purposes has greatly -changed their appearance.</p> - -<h3>CHAPTER II.</h3> - -<p>Early next day Jeanie and her mother saw a short, stout man emerge from -the woods. He was a stranger to them, but his aspect indicated he was a -lumberman. He had a towsy head of reddish hair and a matted beard and -whiskers of the same hue.</p> - -<p>“A pleasant day, ma’am,” he said, in a voice so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> soft and insinuating, -and contrasting so strikingly with the roughness of his appearance, -that Mrs Morison was somewhat startled. “It is, indeed, a fine spring -day,” she replied.</p> - -<p>“And the water is high, ma’am, and the rafts are getting away -finely—oh, very finely,” and the man stood complacently eyeing the -mother and daughter, and rubbing his hands.</p> - -<p>“Hae ye seen ocht o’ my husband? Ye’ll hae come about him?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, my dear ma’am, don’t fret; take it coolly and comfortable like.”</p> - -<p>“I see ye ken aboot him; oh, dinna play wi’ me, but tell me at once.”</p> - -<p>Not in the least discomposed, the little man, in more oily tones than -ever, replied, “Well, well, ma’am, there is no denying it, accidents -will happen, you know. You shouldn’t be supposing the worst, and taking -it easy, for”—</p> - -<p>Before he could finish his sentence there was heard a heavy trampling -in the woods, and soon there came from beneath their cover half a dozen -men, four of them carrying a burden laid on two poles. They came in -silence to the door, when Mrs Morison saw their burden was her husband. -She snatched away the red handkerchief that covered his face, a glance -at which showed her he was dead. She gave a shriek that resounded -through the forest, and fell senseless upon the corpse. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span></p> - -<p>The career of the dead man may be told in a few words. He had been the -son of a small farmer in the south of Scotland, a strapping, lively -fellow, who won the good graces of the daughter of a draper in the -neighboring village. Her parents opposed her keeping company with him, -not merely because his circumstances were indifferent but because -his habits were not of the steadiest, he being fond of convivial -gatherings, at which, more than once, he had got overcome by drink. -Their opposition seemed only to strengthen their daughter’s affection -for the free-hearted, good tempered young fellow, and the upshot -was, that one morning she was not to be found, and before evening -they learned she had been married. The imprudent match resulted as -the parents had anticipated; the young man was unequal to the task -of supporting a wife and his habits did not mend. Moving to a mining -village, he got work as a laborer, and out of his scanty earnings a -large percentage went into the till of the whisky shop every Saturday -night, so that his wife, to eke out a living, had to exert herself to -do something also. Quietly and uncomplainingly she took in sewing, -washed, or spun, as opportunity offered, to earn an honest shilling, -and did what lay in her power to keep things decent. Children came but -none lived to maturity save Jeanie. The village was unhealthy, its -fumes and murky smoke were not favorable to childhood, typhus was a -regular <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>winter visitor, and, more than all, the narrow means at her -disposal afforded not the necessaries of life in the abundance children -need, so, to her heart-sorrow, one after another was taken away. Time -passed, and her father died, leaving her a small legacy, and with -this she determined they should emigrate. She fondly thought were her -husband removed from his boon companions, were all his old associations -broken, and he transplanted into a new sphere, he might reform. Often -had she striven with him, often had hope kindled in her bosom that -he was going to keep the good resolutions he so often formed; always -doomed to bitter disappointment. To emigrate was the last chance, it -seemed to her, and for Canada they accordingly sailed. Deplorable to -relate, on the day of their arrival at Quebec her husband got drunk -with several of his fellow-passengers who went to take, as they termed -it, a parting glass, and before he got over his spree the greater part -of their little stock of money was gone. Instead, therefore, of being -in a position to go to Upper Canada and take up land, as intended, he -had to engage at Quebec with a lumberman who was getting out masts -and square timber on the Chateaugay, and thus it came that, two years -before the opening of our narrative, he had made a home, a poor one -as we have seen, in what is now the township of Elgin. Altho their -privations were great, Mrs Morison did not regret the change from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span> -the dirty, squalid, mining village in Scotland to the lonely woods -of Canada. Her husband had fewer opportunities of getting drink and, -on the whole, they lived happily. Possessing a superior education -herself and having moved before her marriage in respectable society, -she brought up her daughter very differently from what might have been -expected from their circumstances, and Jeanie, despite her home-spun -dress, had acquirements and manners that qualified her to move in any -station of life. As already stated, on the Monday morning Morison had -gone to assist in running logs out of the creek. On the evening of the -succeeding day his employer settled with him for the season’s work, -and, in addition to the small balance of wages that was coming to him, -gave him a few pieces of pork to take home and, fatal parting gift, a -bottle of rum. He left the raftsmen in high spirits, an able-bodied if -not very active man, taking the track that led to his humble dwelling. -What followed no human eye witnessed. He never reached his home, and -the searching-party that morning had discovered his body a few yards -from the creek, stretched upon the ground, with his face immersed in a -pool of water—a pool only an inch or so in depth, left by the melting -of the snow and gathered in a cavity formed by the roots of a tree. Had -he, when he stumbled and fell, moved his head ever so little, he would -have breathed and lived. The more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> than half empty bottle, found in his -stony grasp, showed he had been too overcome to stir a hairsbreadth, -and there, in a basin of water, so small that a squirrel could have -leaped it; so shallow that a robin, in pruning his wings, could have -stepped through without wetting a feather; this stalwart man, before -whose axe the loftiest pines had fallen and whose vigorous oar had -stemmed the rapids of the Chateaugay, had ignominiously met his death, -within hail of the faithful wife and loving daughter who were anxiously -waiting his return. Jeanie, in going home the preceding evening, -had unconsciously passed within a few paces of the body which once -contained her father’s spirit. On finding it, damp from the exposure -of a day and two nights, the searching party had made the body as -presentable as possible, and sent ahead one of their number to break, -as gently as might be, the news to the wife and daughter. With what -success he, who was chosen on account of his smooth tongue, acquitted -himself, the reader knows.</p> - -<p>So long did Mrs Morison remain in her swoon that once the dreadful -thought darted through Jeanie’s mind that she was not going to recover, -and at one fell swoop she was to be deprived of both parents. She did -not cease her exertions, however, and while bathing the rigid temples -she rejoiced to see the flush of returning animation. Slowly did Mrs -Morison raise herself to a sitting<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> posture, and looked in a dazed -manner, as if wondering why they were there, at the rough lumbermen -grouped around her, who stood in silence and with the awkwardness of -people who were anxious to help but did not know how. Unconsciously -she moved her glance from one to the other until it fell upon the -body of her husband. Recollection returned in a flash, and drawing -the inanimate form to her lap she pressed the bloated and discolored -features to her lips.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Willie,” she exclaimed, unconscious in her overwhelming passion of -sorrow that there was a listening ear, “lang did we ken ane anither and -braw and gallant were you ance; my pride and joy. Sair hae oor trials -been and muckle hae ye been misguided, but aye faithfu and true to me. -Oh, that I had been wi’ you; oh, that ye had given me your last kiss -and deed in my arms! There hae been them wha despised you, wha tauld me -to leave you; little did they ken o’ the love that bound me to you. Oh, -that we should hae partit thus!”</p> - -<p>Here she paused, and turning her eyes upwards she slowly and reverently -said: “Merciful God, as in your wise decree you have been pleased to -bring this affliction upon me, grant, in your pity, that I tarry not -long behind him whom ye hae taen awa.”</p> - -<p>The solemn petition calmed the tumult of her mind, and reverently -disposing of the body, she rose to her feet and said modestly— </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You will excuse me, freens, for taking on sae sairly afore you, but I -couldna help it; this misfortune has come so sudden. I thank you for -what you hae dune, and, gin it be your pleasure, as you can do nae mair -noo, leave us alane and come the morn to bury him wha’s gane.”</p> - -<p>The red-whiskered man was about to make a voluble reply, when he was -cut short by a tall lumberman, in whose eye there glistened a tear, -with the remark, “Yes, ma’am, we are at your service and mean to do all -we can for you.” Then, looking at his comrades, he said, “Let us go,” -and turning abruptly he led the way, leaving the mother and daughter -alone with their dead.</p> - -<h3>CHAPTER III.</h3> - -<p>It is true in the moral world as in the material that after a storm -comes a calm. The agony of suspense, the wild burst of passionate -sorrow had swept over them, and the morning succeeding the sad -discovery found mother and daughter composed and resigned. The worst -was now known, a worst there was no remedying, and so they bowed, -without needless fret or repining, beneath the trial. The sun had risen -in an unclouded sky and his beams were warmer than on the preceding -days, and as they came pouring down unstintingly on the turbid waters -of the creek and the uplifted branches of the forest, it seemed as if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span> -summer was nigh and buds and leaves and green sward would speedily -succeed the birds whose noisy concert ushered in the rosy dawn. -Everything had been arranged in the humble shanty with all the deftness -of order-loving hands; on one side of it, beneath a white cloth, was -the corpse. Mrs Morison was seated on the chair at the window; Jeanie -sat at her feet on the doorstep.</p> - -<p>“Wasna father a braw man when you first foregathered?”</p> - -<p>“He was the handsomest lad in the countryside; a very pleasure for the -ee to rest on. Little dae they ken what he was like that didna see -him then, and a kinder or truer heart couldna be. O, Jeanie, I just -worshipped him when we were lad and lass.”</p> - -<p>“But your father didna like him?”</p> - -<p>“Dinna put it that way, Jeanie. He liked him but he saw a faut in him -that spoiled a’. I was wilfu. I said Willie would gie up the company he -keepit when he was merrit, and that it was guid-fellowship and no love -o’ the drink that enticed him. I dinna say that I regret what I did, -or that my lot hasna been as guid as I deserved—God forgive me that I -should repine or say an unkindly word o’ him that lies there—but young -folks dinna lippen to their parents in choosing partners as they ocht.”</p> - -<p>“Hoots, mother; when a lad or lass hae found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> their heart’s love, what -for suld father or mother interfere?”</p> - -<p>“Easy said, Jeanie, but think ye there is ony body in the wide world -loes son or dochter as a parent does? They are as the apple o’ their -ee, and his or her happiness is all they seek. Dootless there are -warld’s worms o’ parents who only look to the suitor’s gear and wad -break off the truest love-match that ever was gin he were puir. I dinna -speak o’ them, for they are out o’ the question. But take parents by -ordinar, who only seek their bairns’ welfare, and the son or dochter -wha disregards their advice in choosing a life-mate will hae mickle to -repent o’.”</p> - -<p>“I dinna see hoo that is,” said Jeanie, “for surely their marriage -concerns only themselves?”</p> - -<p>“True in a sense, Jeanie, that as we mak oor bed we maun lie on’t. -Think ye, though, o’ a parent’s experience, that nae glamor o’ love -blinds their ee, that their haill concern is for their bairn’s -happiness, and they may see fauts in the would-be partner o’ their -child that can only result in meesery. Young folks shouldna think -their parents are obstinate or stupid when they oppose their marrying -this ane or that ane. In maist cases they hae solid reason for their -opposition, and the son is foolish that winna get his parents consent -before he gangs too far and the dochter silly indeed who says Yes -without taking counsel o’ her mother.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, but that wadna dae always,” replied Jeanie, deprecatingly, in a -tone as if such a course would rob love of its romance.</p> - -<p>“Come, noo, Jeanie, tell me what better adviser can a dochter hae than -her mother, and hasna the father a richt to hae some say in a match -seeing that, if it disna turn out weel, he may hae a useless son-in-law -to sorn on him or, in his auld days, hae his dochter or a tawpy of a -son’s wife come wi’ a wheen bairns to seek shelter in his hame? Na, -na, the first commandment wi’ promise requires obedience in this as -in ither callings o’ life, and happy is the wedding whaur the true -love o’ the young couple is crooned wi’ the blessings (given without a -misgiving) o’ their parents, for there is, then, a reasonable prospect -that the match will prove what a’ should be—a heaven upon earth.”</p> - -<p>“Mightna the parents be mistaen, mother?”</p> - -<p>“Aye, and so might the lad or lass, and far mair likely that the young -should err than the auld. Had I taen the advice my father and mother -pressed on me, advice that came frae their lifelong experience and -their affection for me, it wad hae been different—no that I regret -what has happened for mysel but for you, Jeanie, that maun grow up in -this wilderness, and for your brithers and sisters wha hae gane to a -better land.” And here, as the remembrance of the years of poverty and -of wretchedness caused by her husband’s intemperate habits flashed upon -her, she burst into tears. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Oh, mother,” exclaimed Jeanie, as rising and standing beside her she -clasped her bowed head to her bosom, “dinna tak on so. I wadna hae had -it otherwise, and wad suner hae bided wi’ you than had the queen on the -throne for my mother. We hae been very happy for a’ that has come and -gone, and sae will we yet. Were it to part us, I wadna marry the best -man in a’ Canada; I will aye be wi’ you and will aye be obedient to -your will.”</p> - -<p>“I ken that, my bairn, but,” said the mother, raising her tear-stained -face, “promise me this—and it is a promise that him wha lies there wad -hae backed, for weel he kent his ain faut—that, nae matter hoo ye may -be drawn to him, you will never marry a man that likes his glass.”</p> - -<p>“I promise,” said Jeanie with simple solemnity, and drawing up her -graceful figure to its full height, she, as if anxious to break off the -subject, turned to get a wet towel, with which she wiped her mother’s -face, “for,” as she remarked, “ye maun be decent when the folk come.”</p> - -<p>It was nigh noon before any of the visitors made their appearance. In -the then unsettled state of the country news spread slowly even when -messengers were sent out expressly to carry it. Everybody came that -heard of the melancholy occurrence, for in those primitive days, when -only the young and healthy inhabited this section of country, deaths -were so rare that a funeral was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> regarded as an important event which -nobody missed. Straggling in from different points they came in twos -and threes, except the lumbering-party with whom the deceased had been -connected, who appeared in a body marching up the creek, carrying the -coffin—a rude box of unplaned boards—with Mr Palmer leading. Two -features in the assemblage were noticeable, one being that hardly a man -among them had a coat, the other the fewness of the women. The men, -great brawny fellows in home-made shirts and pants fastened by belts, -gathered in clusters in the clearing to exchange news and talk over the -circumstances attending the event that had brought them together, while -the women went into the house. The sun was sinking fast towards the -west before the preparations necessary for the burial were completed. -When the word went round that the grave was ready, one by one they -fyled into the house to take a last look of the face of their late -neighbor, after which the lid of the coffin was nailed down. There was -no clergyman to be had at the time and among those present there was no -one inclined, even if capable, to conduct religious services. If the -solemn observances of such occasions were absent, those present had not -come unprepared to maintain a custom which in those days was universal -in Canada, and, for all the writer knows, may still be in the Mother -Country—that of passing a glass of liquor before lifting the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span> coffin. -A man, with a jar in one hand and a tin cup in the other, went round -the company, tendering the filled cup to each, which it would have been -bad manners to refuse and which nearly all emptied before returning. -When all out of doors had been helped, the man, a well-meaning, kindly -fellow, stepped into the shanty to regale those inside. Thinking -it good manners, he pressed to where Mrs Morison was sitting and, -deliberately filling the cup to the brim, tendered it to her first.</p> - -<p>Mrs Morison gave him a piercing look. “What!” she exclaimed in a low -voice, so emphasized by deep feeling that every word sunk into the -minds of those present; “What! Do you ask me to take that which has -murdered my husband?”</p> - -<p>“Take a taste, ma’am,” said the red-whiskered man, who was in the room, -“it will do you good.”</p> - -<p>“Do me good!” she re-echoed, “then it will be for the first time in my -life. That do me good that took away the bread for lack of which my -bairns, noo saints in glory, perished! That do me good that robbed my -husband of his usefulness and good name; that made him fit for only -orra jobs and to be despised as a drunkard! That do me good the love of -which supplanted his love for me, for it was the stronger o’ the twa or -wad he no hae left it alane for my sake? That do me good that filled -his bosom with remorse, which hurt his health, and, last of all, has -taen his life! Oh, that it hasna caused the loss of his soul; that,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> -in the moment of his passing breath, he found time to seek acceptance -with God for the Redeemer’s sake! Take it away,” she screamed with the -energy of one who shrinks at the sight of a snake, “take it away, and -may the curse of the widow and the orphan rest upon them that make and -sell it—wha tempt decent men to destruction in order that they may -have an easy living.”</p> - -<p>Abashed at so unexpected a reception, the man continued to stand -stupidly before her, holding the cup and jar. Seeing his puzzled look, -Mrs Morison, who had recovered her composure, quietly said, “I ken -you mean it kindly, and sae far I thank you, but gin you think o’ it, -you will see that the bottle may be your own worst enemy and they are -safest and happiest who leave it alane. As a favor, freen, I ask you no -to offer it in this house.”</p> - -<p>A few minutes afterwards the coffin was borne out of doors, when four -lumberers lifted it on their shoulders, and, leading the straggling -procession, walked to the grave, which had been dug on a knoll close to -the creek, the only spot that could be found convenient sufficiently -free of trees and their roots. When the coffin was lowered, each man -lifted his hat for a moment, there was a pause, and then the grave was -filled in.</p> - -<p>With thoughtful kindness those who came had brought some gift of food -to replenish the widow’s larder, and now, while all the rest departed, -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span> lumbermen remained, until sunset, chopping firewood and putting -the house and its surroundings to rights, so that, before they lay down -to sleep that night, Mrs Morison and Jeanie included in their prayer -thanks to God for having so bountifully provided for them.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p> - -<h2>LOST IN THE WOODS.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<p>You have heard of my passing a night in the bush, and want me to tell -you about it. When we came to Hinchinbrook, which was in July, 1831, -the shanty my husband put up did not stand where this house is, but -on a ridge at the end of the lot. For the first two years we had no -neighbor nearer than half a mile, for though the lots on each side of -us were granted, nobody was then living upon them. From morning to dark -I saw nothing but the bush that encircled our house and the little -clearance of blackened stumps. Oh, but it was lonely! It was worse than -a jail, for the prisoner gets a blink out of his cell window of the -wide prospect without, and of houses and people, but I saw nothing for -several years but trees, and trees, until our clearance so extended -that it met that on the east side of our lot, and all at once we, one -fine day, came in sight of a neighbor’s house. The second Spring we -were on the lot, my husband left to help to take a raft down to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> -Basin, leaving me alone with Henry, who was then the baby. He expected -to be back in four days, or by the end of the week at furthest. If it -had not been that I had so much work to do I would have cried my eyes -out, it was so miserable to be left alone in the woods, and William had -never been away so long before. The four days passed and Sabbath came, -but he did not. I got very anxious, and all day could scarcely keep my -eyes off the spot at which he would come out of the bush, and where the -track from the river crossed our lot, and at night I could not sleep -a wink, thinking every moment I heard his footstep. Once I was sure I -heard him moving outside. I got up and opened the door and called his -name. There was no answer, and it was so dark I could not see a rod -off. Lighting a bit of pitch pine at the fire, I held it up to look -again, when there was a patter of feet and something bounded by me. It -was sugar-time and there were a few trees tapped around the house. The -noise I heard was a few deer drinking the sap out of the troughs. I -knew not what to do. I wanted to go in search of William, but how could -I leave our small stock? They might starve before I got back, and that -would ruin us. It happened Monday afternoon, just when I had determined -to go over to the nearest neighbor and see if I could get some one to -go and enquire for my husband, though I knew it would be useless, for -every man and boy old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> enough had gone with the rafts. I was wrapping -baby in a shawl, when the door darkened and a strange voice bade me -good day. It was that of a young lad from the second concession. He was -on his way home, and had a message from William. In running Dumouchel’s -rapids the raft had bunted on a stone, throwing her crew off their -feet. In falling, William’s oar had struck his left arm and broken it. -I thanked God it was no worse. He told the boy I was not to be anxious, -that he felt so well he hoped to be able to leave for home in a few -days. I questioned the lad, and from what he told me, I guessed my -husband was worse than he let on. My resolution was made; I would go -and see him. The lad said he had to go home first, but promised to come -back next morning and tend the stock until I returned. Before going, I -got him to fell a few saplings for the young beasts to browse on their -tops, for the fodder was nearly done. Then I prepared for my journey; -cooking enough to keep the lad while away, and baking some cakes to -take to my husband. It would be past 5 o’clock in the afternoon when -I was ready to leave, but I considered I would be able to reach the -Chateaugay before dark, and once on its banks I would be safe to get -a night’s rest. With baby in my arms I started brave enough, but had -not gone many acres in the woods until I felt I had acted rashly. I -had gone over the path only a few times and never alone, so that I was -not so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> well acquainted with it as I thought I was, and, from the snow -having newly melted, it was not as plain as usual. I pressed on until -I felt that I had walked so far that, if on the right track, I should -have reached the river, while I had not even come to the Outarde. The -sunlight had long left the treetops and the stars had begun to glimmer, -when I gave it up, convinced that, likely in going to one side to pass -a wet spot, I had left the track, and that I was lost in the woods. -Assured I had lost my way, I knew it would be madness to walk farther, -and so, while I could see, I picked out a hemlock knoll, and choosing -a big hemlock that had some cedar bushes growing near, I sat down -beneath it. It was not very cold, though in the clearances I daresay -there was frost. Taking a cake out of my pocket I made my supper. Baby -was very good and lay asleep in his shawl. Wrapping him more warmly in -the long plaid I had around my shoulders, I clasped him to my bosom -and, so wearied was I, that I fell asleep. I awoke with a start. I -thought I heard some one calling. I listened and the sound soon came -again. It was the cry of a wolf at some distance. Another answered -from some other part of the woods, and another and another. You have -noticed, on a calm night, how, if a dog barks, every dog within hearing -answers; it is the same with wolves, only their cries are more varied, -ranging from a deep howl to a whine like that of a child<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> in pain. I -shuddered for my babe, who still slept, and, kissing him, resolved I -should die before the brutes would reach him. For a long time I sat -and listened, until the cries died away, from the beasts apparently -hurrying to some distant point in pursuit of their prey. I again slept, -how long I do not know, but was awakened by something warm stroking -my cheek. It was our dog licking my face. I had shut him in the house -to be a watch on it, but he had broken out some way and, scenting my -steps, had overtaken us. I was so desolate and lonesome, and so glad -to have Collie’s company, that my heart leaped with happiness as he -cuddled down beside me and would not give over licking my hands and -face for very joy. I should be ashamed to tell it, but, sir, a good dog -is better than a false friend, and Collie was a most faithful beast. -After that I slept with confidence, and it was good daylight when I -awoke, cold and stiff with my first and last night’s rest in the woods, -but refreshed and confident. I would not touch more of my cakes, for -I wanted them for my husband, so, thanking God for preserving me so -far, I went on my way, baby crowing at the sight of Collie, as he -gamboled around us with yelps. Marking as well as I could from the -way his rays fell, where the sun rose, I went north, for I knew that -in that direction I would soon come across the Outarde. Sure enough, -I had not gone a quarter of a mile, when I came upon it, flowing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span> red -and full, for it was high water. Knowing I was safe, and that I would -quickly come upon one of the settlers by its banks, I hurried on in -great spirits, and came out on John Hughes’ clearing, and was speedily -seated by their blazing log fire at breakfast. My troubles were now -over, and I saw that, instead of going north, I had wandered to the -east. A little boy went with me to Strachan’s, where I crossed the -Chateaugay, and resuming my walk got to the house, near Ste Martine, -where my husband lay, in the afternoon. It was well I went, for his -hurt had brought on a slight fever, and though the habitant’s family -were kind, they could not nurse him as I did. These were anxious but -happy days, for William was overjoyed to have me beside him, and I was -glad to be of service to him. In ten days Dr Syme told me he would bear -the journey, and getting a cast in one of Reeves’s canoes as far as -the Portage, we were safe back in our own house before night, to find -everything better than we expected. It was a drawback William’s arm, -for it was some time before he could do hard work with it, but we got -over that and many another backset, and, if we are now well-to-do, we -earned all we’ve got.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p> - -<h2>AN INCIDENT OF HUNTINGDON FAIR.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<h3>A LOST CHILD.</h3> - -<p>It was wearing on to three o’clock on the first day of the fair, and -the crowd was at its height. At a corner of the main building, where -the throng was thickest, stood a child, a girl of some four summers, -sobbing, not loudly or obtrusively, but with her face buried in her -pinafore. The passers-by, intent upon their own pleasure, took no -notice of her, until a gaunt, elderly man halted in front of her with -the query, “What are you crying for?” “For mama,” said the child -raising her tear-stained face from behind her pinafore. “Don’t you -know where she is?” “No,” sobbed the little one, “she’s goned away,” -and here her grief broke out afresh. Attention being thus directed -to the child, the standers-by grew interested. Among them were two -young ladies in rather loud costume. “Guess she’s lost,” remarked -one of them. “Want to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span> know?” queried the other, “Ain’t she sweet?” -“Some; should say her mother don’t know much; such a looking hat.” -“You mightn’t do better, Ethie.” “I’d be sick if I couldn’t.”—“Well, -what’s to be done?” asked the man who first noticed the child. “Has -anybody seen anybody looking for a little girl?” Nobody had, and then -suggestions as to what to do were volunteered. “Ask her name?” was one -of them. “What’s your name, sissy?” “Roose,” sobbed the child. “And -where do you live?” “With mama.” “And where does she live?” “At home.” -“That’s not the way to ask her,” exclaimed a brawny young man, whose -lowest whisper would startle a horse, and bending over her he asked, -“How did mama come to the fair?” “With me and Toby.” “Is Toby your -father?” “No,” said the child, smiling through her tears, “Toby’s a -dear little dog.” “Did mama walk to the fair?” “We’s drove in a wagon -and Toby too, ever so long ways.” “What’s the name of the place you -came from?” The question was beyond the child, who simply shook her -head. “Don’t bother her,” interjected a bystander, “get your wagon and -drive her round the ground and the mother will see her.” “I can’t very -well,” said the man of the loud voice. “My horse has got the gorum, -and I want to watch the sheep judges.” “Well, take her home with you; -you’ve neither chick nor child.” At this a laugh rose, and suggestions -as to what should be done, each more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> senseless and impracticable than -another, began again. To send her to Grahamie as lost baggage, to seat -her in the centre of the horse-ring, at the head of the show-house -stairs, with the band, or among the fancy articles, where her mother -would be sure to go, were among the more reasonable. Each one was -clear that it was the duty of somebody else to exert themselves to -find the mother, and each one was equally clear he was not called upon -to undertake the task. And so precious time was slipping, and what to -do with the child remained undecided. At this juncture, a short and -somewhat stout woman broke through the ring. “Hech, what’s a’ this -about? A lost bairn, say ye.” Bending over, she lifted the child, and -sitting down on a bench pressed her to her bosom. “My bonnie doo, and -hae ye lost your mammie! Wha ocht ye?” The child, with staring eyes, -answered not. “You might as well speak Greek,” grimly remarked the -gaunt man. “Eh, what’s that! Do you think she disna understan the -English lang’age? Na, na, thae bonny blue een are no French. An hoo -did you lose yer mammie, my pet?” “Mama gave me penny to get candy, -and Toby ran after other dog, and I tried to catch Toby but he runned -a long way and was bad, and—and—I couldn’t find mama or Toby,” and -the recollection of her misfortune renewed her grief. “Eh, ma wee bit -lady,” exclaimed the good-hearted woman, as she clasped the sobbing -child more closely, “but hoo are we in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span> this thrang to find Toby or -yer mither either. Hech but her heart will be sair for the loss o’ ye. -Will na some o’ ye gang and see if ye canna fin a woman lookin’ for her -bairn, instead o’ gapin there at us like so mony gomerils.”</p> - -<p>“If you’ll give me ten cents I’ll go,” said a pert boy.</p> - -<p>“Ha, ha, my man, ye’ll be a Conservative; ye want an office.”</p> - -<p>“There’s the president,” remarked one of the bystanders.</p> - -<p>“What! yon black-a-vised man wi the bit red ribbon? Hey, Mr Praseedent; -come yont: I want yer advice.”</p> - -<p>“What’s this; what’s this?” asked the president.</p> - -<p>“Jist a lost bairn, an hoo to fin the mother o’t I dinna ken.”</p> - -<p>“Couldn’t be in better hands,” said the president.</p> - -<p>“She micht be in waur, tho I say’t mysell. But that’s no what I’m -drivin at. Hoo am I to get her mither!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s not hard to do. You have seen a lamb lose its mother, but -did you ever see the ewe that failed to find her? You just sit where -you are, and the mother will come along.”</p> - -<p>“I’ve seen the ewie seek her bit lammie ower knowe and heugh an never -fail to find the wanderer, but what could she do were as mony auld -tups thranging roun as are here? Na, na; yer comparison winna stan, -Mr Praseedent. Jest tell<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> me what I’m to dae, an no be stanin’ there -twirlin yer whisker.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you what to do. Take the child home with you; she is tired -and not fit to stay here longer. The mother will be sure to come to the -office, and I will know where to send her. I’ll take your address,” and -he pulled out his notebook.</p> - -<p>Glancing at the child, which had fallen asleep on her bosom, the woman -kissed the peaceful little face, and replied, “that’s gude advice. -Everybody kens me. I’m Mrs Crowdie, and I live on the —— concession -of Hinchinbrook, and if ye want to ken mair o’ me ye can speer at that -decent man, Mr Herdman, yonner, wha lifts my taxes, and as oor waggin -will be ready, I’ll gang noo. Sae gude day to ye.”</p> - -<p>Tired with the day’s fatigue and grief, the child did not wake until -the wagon halted at Mrs Crowdie’s door, when, seeing everything new and -strange, she cried a little for her mother, but was easily soothed, -and, on supper appearing, she forgot her little sorrows in satisfying -her appetite. Though Mrs Crowdie had much to do “in settin things to -richts,” as she termed it, about the house, and scolded the man-servant -for “thinkin mair o’ what he saw at the fair than o’ his wark,” she -found time to lavish much attention on the waif, so curiously left on -her hands, and beguiled the smiles to her cheeks by kindly arts. When -it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> grew dark, she cried for her mother, but accepting Mrs Crowdie’s -promise that “she would see her the morn,” and that she would “let -pooshack sleep with her,” she lisped her artless prayer at her knee -and, laid in bed, dropped into the land of Nod with her arms around Mrs -Crowdie’s big black cat.</p> - -<h3>A NEEBOR LADDIE.</h3> - -<p>Little Roose was up by times next morning, and thought it grand fun to -help Mrs Crowdie to milk, to feed the poultry, and to get breakfast -ready. Everything was new to her, and enjoyed with such a zest as to -show that it was her first taste of country-life. To keep her company, -Mrs Crowdie had sent word to her neighbors to let their son come and -play with her, and by-and-by Johnnie made his appearance, and the two -had a rare time of it. It was in the afternoon, when, tired with play, -and to rest and enjoy the pieces Mrs Crowdie gave each of them, they -snuggled down behind a clump of bushes in the orchard.</p> - -<p>“When I’m a man, Roose, I’ll have sugar on my bread like this all the -time.”</p> - -<p>“When you’re a man, will you have a horse?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; two of them and whiskers too.”</p> - -<p>“And a farm like this?”</p> - -<p>“A bigger farm than this, an’ a big house an’ a buggy, an’ pigs an’ -sheep an’ hens.”</p> - -<p>“And may I come to see you?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You’ll milk the cows and make butter.”</p> - -<p>“Will it be long time ’fore you’re a man?”</p> - -<p>“When I’m growed; two or three year; I’m six now.”</p> - -<p>“How do cows make butter?”</p> - -<p>“My, don’t you know? It ain’t the cows that make the butter, it’s the -girls.”</p> - -<p>“And will you show me when I’m big?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, an lots o’ things.”</p> - -<p>“My mama has no cows.”</p> - -<p>“Ain’t she! Why, my dad has lots o’ em and a bull, too.”</p> - -<p>“I’d be ’fraid.”</p> - -<p>“O, you are not a man like me. I could fire a gun an shoot a bear.”</p> - -<p>“Has God cows?”</p> - -<p>“Why, He makes em, an the horses, an the elephants, an every thing. -Don’t you go to Sabbath school?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“My! I went when littler than you, an learnt heaps o’ things, an got -raisins and candy at Christmas.”</p> - -<p>“Without a penny?”</p> - -<p>“Gimme for nothing.”</p> - -<p>“My.”</p> - -<p>“I was to have spoke a piece but got afraid.”</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t be ’fraid.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, that’s nothing; you’re a girl.”</p> - -<p>Here the conference was broken by Johnnie’s<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> offering to show where -the ground hogs kept house, and off he and his companion trotted to -a remote stone-pile, and did not turn up till supper time, when they -burst in upon Mrs Crowdie with the appetite of hawks, and the girl so -full of the wonders she had seen that her tongue never rested until she -became sleepy. When laid away for the night, Mrs Crowdie sat in the -gathering gloom to think over what she should do. The day had passed -without any one coming to enquire for a lost girl, which very much -surprised her. So far as her own inclinations went, she would rather -nobody ever came, but she knew that somewhere a poor mother’s heart -was in agony over the loss, and she resolved that, next morning, after -breakfast she would drive to Huntingdon to find out if there had been -any enquiries.</p> - -<h3>A SHADE OF MYSTERY.</h3> - -<p>With many injunctions to Roose, that she was to “be a guid bairn till -she got back, an no go near the soos or the wall,” Mrs Crowdie next day -betook herself to the village, where she arrived in due course and went -first to the office of the president to find out whether he had heard -aught. Entering she spied through the net-work that surmounted the -counter a man in his shirt-sleeves leaning over a desk writing, with -his head turned away from her. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Hey, man!” No response.</p> - -<p>“Whar will I find your maister?” No response.</p> - -<p>“Whatna ticket is this?” as her eye here fell on a card -hung to the wire-netting, and she spelt out slowly, -“<span class="smcap">This—is—my—busy—day</span>. Fegs, by the look o’ him I should -say it is. Hey, man!” No response, the man of the big ledger calmly -continuing to write.</p> - -<p>“Eh, puir chiel!” exclaimed Mrs Crowdie, “he maun hae a hard maister or -be dull o’ hearin,” and she thereupon rattled on the counter with her -umbrella.</p> - -<p>“Oh, were you wanting me. Want to pay your church seat, eh?”</p> - -<p>“What na kirk? St Andrew’s, say ye? Na, na, I dinna gang there. Dod! -You dinna need to have a seat in ony kirk, for there are a’ kin o’ -bodies that ca’ themselves preachers rinnin aboot. Says I to ane that -pit maist impertinent questions to me about my saul—an us Scotch folk -dinna show our hearts to every Jock and Tam—My man, ye pit me in mind -o’ a finger-post, ye pint the way ye dinna gang yoursel. Ye see, I kent -ocht o’ him.”</p> - -<p>“That’s a good one,” exclaimed the man of the pen as he rubbed his left -arm.</p> - -<p>“Gin I had my way, there wad be a riddle afore every college door -to try the coofs wha wad wag their heids in a poopit. I ken o’ some -chuckie heads it wad hae thrown aside.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Not a bad idea. And what can I do for you? You’ll want an organ?”</p> - -<p>“Me an organ! I’d suner tryst a parritch pat.”</p> - -<p>“It’s a nice thing to have a little music, and the young ladies soon -learn to play.”</p> - -<p>“I’se ken ye noo. I saw ye at the show. Ye can blaw a horn but ye canna -blaw my lug. I want to see your maister.”</p> - -<p>“What name?”</p> - -<p>“My name’s Mrs Crowdie; kent by her neebors as ane that pays as she -buys an is due naebody.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, I have a memorandum. The boss left word you were not to -trouble yourself; it would be all right.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll gang hame we nae such assurance. I have come ane errand to see -him and I wull see him.”</p> - -<p>“We had a fine show, Mrs Crowdie?”</p> - -<p>“Whaur’s your maister?”</p> - -<p>“What did you think of the flowers?”</p> - -<p>“Whaur’s yer maister?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it’s the boss you want.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, an I’ll no gang till I see him.”</p> - -<p>Calling a chubby-faced lad, he sent him in search, and the desired -gentleman soon entered.</p> - -<p>“And how are you to-day, Mrs Crowdie?”</p> - -<p>“I’ve naething to complain o’ except o’ sin an a touch o’ the -rheumatics.”</p> - -<p>“And what can we do for you to-day?”</p> - -<p>“Ye ken weel my errand, an I see by yer man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span> ye’ve something ye dinna -want to tell me. Wha’s bairn is she?”</p> - -<p>“We’ll speak about that by-and-bye.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll speak about it noo.”</p> - -<p>“Is the little girl well?”</p> - -<p>“The lassie’s weel an I’d be laith to part wi her did I no ken there -are they wha hae a better richt to her. Noo, tell me; what hae ye -learned about her folks?”</p> - -<p>“There have been some enquiries; her people know that she is safe.”</p> - -<p>“Wha are they? I’ll gang an see them.”</p> - -<p>“There’s no need. You go home and you’ll hear from them.”</p> - -<p>A good deal of conversation followed, but Mrs Crowdie could get no -particular information about the parents, further than that they were -satisfied she was in safe hands, and they would call or send for their -child in a short time. Forced to be satisfied with this, she returned -home, and when Roose threw her arms round her neck in welcome, she -could not forbear the secret wish that the parents might never come. -There was some mystery and she hoped that it might result thus. She -watched the child pattering about during the afternoon, listened to her -prattle, and helped to amuse her, and when the evening gathered, and -the sun set beyond the forest, leaving the clouds burning in crimson -and gold, she sat with her in her lap. Something in the peaceful -scene stirred up old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span> memories, and, with thin and quavering voice, -the old woman began the 23rd psalm. To her surprise, the child chimed -in, knowing both the words and the old world tune Mrs Crowdie sang -them to. “Wha taught ye that, ma dawtie?” she asked, as finishing the -psalm, she hugged the child in closer embrace, the moisture glistening -in her eyes. “Mama,” said the child. “She maun be a guid woman, and a -Presbyterian, too.” And clasping the child, Mrs Crowdie sat thinking in -silence and did not move into the house until it grew chill, when she -said “the bairn micht catch cauld.”</p> - -<h3>THE MYSTERY IS CLEARED UP.</h3> - -<p>The section of Hinchinbrook in which Mrs Crowdie lives is a very -pleasant one to look upon; the landscape being relieved from monotony -by low knolls and ridges which break the wide intervales. In the -middle of September, the bush, that runs as a straggling and somewhat -ragged fringe over the ridges, was still green, with only here and -there a branch or tree whose brilliant red foretold the coming glory. -The day was bright and warm, the sun’s rays being chastened by the -faint smoky haze that softened the distant features of the landscape. -Her work being over until milking time came round, Mrs Crowdie took a -seat by the open window and began knitting. Her little charge had gone -to watch a preposterous<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span> hen, which, after being given up as having -furnished supper to a fox, had appeared that morning clucking with joy -over the solitary chicken that followed her; the yellow hairy little -thing a source of delight to the child. While Mrs Crowdie’s fingers -moved actively with the needles, her thoughts were wandering away to -the past. The advent of the child had stirred her nature and wakened -memories, she knew not how, that she had stifled so long ago that -she thought they were dead. And to judge by her face, they were not -pleasant memories. Casually raising her head, she was astounded to see -a woman standing at the door intently watching her; a comely woman, -neatly dressed.</p> - -<p>“What’s brocht you back?” demanded Mrs Crowdie, breaking silence, “I -told you I was dune wi’ you; that gin ye had made yer bed, you could -lie on it.”</p> - -<p>“O, mother!”</p> - -<p>“Na, ye needna beg; gin that useless man ye wad marry in spite o’ me, -has failed to provide for you, you maun look for help anither gate.”</p> - -<p>“I have not come to beg; we have made ends meet so far.”</p> - -<p>“Ay, by your wark. A fauchless, smooth-tongued haveril; hoo he threw a -glamor ower ye I ken na.”</p> - -<p>“You are too sore on him.”</p> - -<p>“Ower sair! A useless being that wad talk an<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span> flee round the kintry, -an dae onything but wark. To think that ye wad prefer sic na ane to -yer ane mither, you ungrateful hussy. But its aye the way; the best o’ -women get the lavins o’ men.”</p> - -<p>“It’s not for me to listen to such talk of my husband,” said the -daughter, coloring.</p> - -<p>“A bonny husband! Merry’t ye, thinking he could hang up his hat in my -hoose and sorn on me. My certie, I sorted him! Gang back to yer husband -an wark yer finger-nails aff to make up for his laziness. You made your -choice, an I’m dune with baith you an him.”</p> - -<p>Resentment struggled in the breast of the young woman with affection; -it was for a moment only; her better nature triumphed.</p> - -<p>“I have not come, mother, to ask of you anything but your love and”—</p> - -<p>“An what?” asked the mother, in a voice shrill from suppressed emotion, -“Did I no nestle you in my bosom an care for you as dearer than my -life? When, ane by ane, your brithers an sisters gaed awa an you were -left the ae lam oot o’ the flock; when God in his providence took your -faither to Himsel an I was left alane, it was you that gied me heart to -wrastle wi’ the warl, an I watched ower you an thocht you wad be a prop -to my auld age. Oh, hoo could ye have the heart to leave me?”</p> - -<p>“I love you better than I ever did, mother, but you wouldn’t think much -of me as a wife were I to say I did wrong in marrying.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Aye, there it is; the shuffling creature wi his sleek manners that cam -between you an me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, mother, leave that alone. I am sorry to have vexed you today. -I never meant to trouble you, until you saw fit to send for me or I -thought you needed my help.”</p> - -<p>“An what has brocht ye, then?”</p> - -<p>“I’ve come for Ruth.”</p> - -<p>The old woman sank back in her chair in speechless astonishment. At -last she whispered, “An she’s your bairn! I thocht there was something -aboot her that was familiar to me: that explains it a’. She’s yerself -ower again when ye were a bit toddler. O that thae days were back -again! An hoo did ye lose her?”</p> - -<p>“It’s six years since I left you, mother, and my heart wearied among -the Yankees to see dear old Huntingdon again. I watched the Gleaner -when the show was to be, and arranging to be away a fortnight I came -with Ruth and stayed with cousin on the river. I saw you at the show, -but you did not see me. In the crowd I lost Ruth. I was here and there -seeking for her, when a man told me he had seen a little girl, dressed -like mine, in a wagon that drove towards the village. I followed and -found he was wrong. Thinking she had driven home with our friends, I -hastened to cousin’s, but she was not there. What a night I spent! Next -morning I went back to the show grounds, and was struck dumb when the -president<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span> told me where she was. I explained it all to him. He was -very kind and said if I would leave it in his hands he would manage it; -when you came in he would put you off for a day or two. Last night he -sent me word things had worked well, and I was to go out to you myself. -If there is any plot about it to bring us together without your will, -it’s none o’ mine,” and sinking before her mother she buried her head -in her lap and wept.</p> - -<p>What Mrs Crowdie would have done; whether her resentment would have -returned and she again have driven away her daughter, God alone knows, -but at this juncture the patter of little feet was heard on the gallery -and Ruth, with her pinafore full of golden-rod, came shouting, “See -what I have got.” One glance at the tearful face upraised to see -her, and there was a glad scream of “Mama.” Clasping her child and -grandchild in her arms, Mrs Crowdie broke down. “It’s the Lord’s wark; -nane save Himsel could hae brocht us thus thegither, an I’se no fecht -against His will. By a lost child I’ve found my ain, an we’ll never -pairt. Ay, my bonny Ruth, I’m your grannie, and ye’ll bide we me, an -help me tak care o’ the hens an the turkeys, and the lave.”</p> - -<p>“And, papa.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll thole him for your sake; maybe I have wranged him in my -prejudices. We’ll sen for him.”</p> - -<p>“An Toby, too?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span></p> - -<p>“That’s cousin’s dog, Ruth,” said her mother, smiling in her joy.</p> - -<p>“Ay, Ruth,” said Mrs Crowdie, “we’ll get the dowg too, and we’ll let -byganes be byganes and begin a new life an ther’ll no be a happier -family in a’ Hinchinbrook. Eh, hoo true’s the Scripter in mair senses -than ane. An a little child shall lead them. Hech, but this’ll no dae. -There’s the nock chappin five, an the coos are comin up the lane, an -the fire’s to kinle. Let’s be steerin an get the wark dune an then -we’ll hae supper ance mair thegither.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span></p> - -<h2>THE SUMMER OF SORROW.</h2> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<h3>LOOKING FOR THE BOOK.</h3> - -<p>You want to see the little buk I have? An who tould you about it? -You’ll do it no harm. Maybe you won’t get the chance. It’s not the -likes of you that should have it. You’ve driven from Huntingdon on -purpose and sure I won’t disappoint you. I didn’t ax you to come, did -I? You’ll print it. Yis, what suits you: laving out all that tells how -we poor Catholics were used in Ireland. Honor bright, you’ll print -every word of the little buk. Maybe you would and maybe you wouldn’t, -but it is not to everybody I would give a reading of my poor nevy’s -book, and, if you plaze, we’ll say no more about that same. Well, then, -I might tell you what I saw myself at the favor sheds. Did you ever -know anybody who seen a ghost like to talk about it? I tries to forgit -what I saw and heard, an thank nobody that brings me in mind o’t. Come -now, I’ll tell you a bettor shtory than about poor women and childer a -dyin by the score of favor an strong<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span> men alayin aside them too wake -to git thim a cup o’ wather. An its a thrue story, which is more than -can be said about some you’ve prented. Whin I wint to William Bowron to -buy my lot, I paid my money down for’t in goold. He wrote my ticket for -the lot an’ whin he hands it to me, says he, Now you’ve got a farrum, -my man, you’ll want a cow. Thrue for you, says I, I had always a cow in -Ireland an my father afore me. Confound it all, says he, then you must -have one in Canada; I have a heifer that’ll suit you. Gittin aff his -chair, he placed his stick across his back and hooked his elbows over -it, an tuk me into his yard, where he pointed to a beauty av a crathur. -How much? says I. Three pounds, says he, Done, says I, an’ puttin my -hand in my pocket I pays him the money in his fisht. Sure the baste -wud have cost tin poun in Ireland. Confound it all, says he, ye’re a -dacint fellow; come in an have a bite to ate. An afther I had my dinner -I started for my farm, adrivin my springer afore me through the woods, -feelin proud as Punch over my bargain. It was not until I stood afore -the bit shanty I had got raised, that the thought came on me all at -once, that I had nothing to feed the baste. Och, it takes an Irishman -to jump before seeing where his feet will fall. Well, I held my whisht, -and my woman and her good mother comes out and falls admirin the baste. -There was only another cow in the settlement; wan ould<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span> Armstrong had. -Sure, I cries, won’t the nabors be invying us! Thim here long afore us -an widout a four-footed baste, barrin pigs an dogs an cats, an here, -the firsht month we come, we have an illigant heifer, new come in. -“She’s a beauty, sure,” says my wife’s mother, “an as like the wan I -sould when I left the Ould Counthry (bad luck to the day I left it) as -a red wan can be like a black; lave her to me, I’ll look afther her.” -Indeed an I will, says I, for if you don’t she’ll die, for sorra a bite -hev I got for her. An so it was, the ould woman took charge and tended -her as if she had been her child, herdin her in the woods an atakin -her to the creeks where she could get a bellyful, a drivin her home -against nightfall. It divarted the ould woman, who had all the time -been lamenting laving Ireland, and sarved us, for me wife an mysilf -were workin hard in makin a clearance to get in a few praties. It was -on in August that wan night the ould woman an the cow did not come -home. She’ll hev lost her way, says my wife to me. Not at all, I tells -her, she knows the woods as well by this time as ever she did the bog -of Dorroghmore. Thin, why’s she not here? asks she. Och, she’ll have -shtrayed furder than ordinar an daylight has failed her. Niver throuble -yer mind; she’ll be here with the sun tomorrow. I was more consarned -than I let on, but what could I do? It was dark an there was no use -going looking for her in the woods wid a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span> candle, seein’ we hadn’t wan. -My wife couldn’t get a wink o’ sleep, an sot at the door, shouting -whiniver she thought she heard a rustlin in the bush. The day broke -an the sun climbed up until he was high enough to look over the tree -tops at us an say Good mornin, an nivir a sign o’ the ould woman or -the cow. We waited an waited, expectin ivery minute to see her, until -I got afeard, an wint an tould the nearest nabors. They were consarned -at the news an agreed if she did come back afore, they would warn the -settlement an ivery man jack o’ thim would turn out next mornin to luk. -An they did; och but there was a crowd ov them, some wid guns an some -wid horns an some wid pitchforks. There was grain awaitin to be shore, -but not a sowl of mankind stayed away. What’s that you say? They’d be -Arangemen? What ilse was there in the sittlemint then? We didn’t talk -in thim days about what makes strife, but lived as frindly as nabors -could, helpin wan another, an niver askin what you were. Well, it was -a fine day, tho hot, an aff we started, watchin for foot tracks an -shoutin an blowin horns an firing shots, expectin the ould woman would -hastin to us on hearin where we were. It was niver a bit o’ use. Hours -wint by an we thravelled miles on miles an niver a sign. Whin we found -a track we soon lost it, for the woods were cut up by slues. It was -agrowin late whin a few o’ us met to talk it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span> over. “We’ve gone north -an east an wist,” says Sam Foster, the ouldest settler ov us all an -a knowledgable man, “an havn’t found her or the cow. That shows me -she has crossed the swamp to the south an gone towards the lines.” We -agreed to this rasonin an shtarted aff for the swamp, which was as -dirthy a puddle o’ black wather an green skum as there was in Ameriky. -Sam was our guide, or we might av been thryin to crass it to this day. -He knew where it was narrowest an by creeping along fallen trees we -reached the ridge beyant, an hadn’t gone half a mile afore we struck -the footprints of an ould woman an a cow. How did I know it was the -footprints ov an ould woman? Hould yer whisht or I won’t be atellin -you any more. It was a blessin we did, for it wad soon hev been too -dark to have followed them up. I tell ye, we forgot our tiredness an -hunger, an hurried on in great spirits, an in half an hour Sam shouts, -“There she is,” apointin through the trees. I shouts Whuroo an dashes -ahead o’ them all an in a minit I had the ould woman in my arms an the -cow a lookin on as innocint as if it had niver played thricks whin a -calf. The saints be praised ye are not kilt and ded, I cries, as I -hugged her, for sure, though she was ould an wrinkled an bint, she was -the mother o’ my darlin wife. Ded I wad hev been, says she, cryin wid -joy, but for the crathur, an niver ben waked or buried. By<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span> this time -the rist o’ the min kem up an awl sat down to hear the ould woman’s -shtory. She tould us how, from the drouth, the cow found little to pick -and kept amovin on and on until she was floundering in the swamp, an -whin they got on solid land sorra the wan of thim knew where they were. -“How did ye keep alive?” asks a man, “for ye are spry and hearty.” “I -wunna tell ye,” says she. “Two days and two nights in the bush,” says -another, “an you not hungry: it’s a mysthery.” “Hould yer whisht,” says -another, “it’s a miracle: there be good people in thim woods as well -as on the hills ov Ould Oireland.” It was growin late an there was no -time for more talk an we shtarted for home, an, bedad, the ould woman -bate us all wid the nimbleness she tripped through the bush an over the -logs. Whin we got home, an glad my wife was when she hugged her ould -mother, an the nabors left, I axed again how she had kept body an sowl -so well together in the bush. “I wunna tell ye,” says she again, an aff -she wint to bed. I tould all to my wife an axed her to find out, and -by-and-bye she got it as a great saycret—the ould woman sucked the cow -for food an purticted hersilf from the cowld ov the night by sleeping -aside her.</p> - -<p>“Are you done, grandpa?”</p> - -<p>I turned, a girl stood behind us, having come unnoticed.</p> - -<p>“Yis, yis; what is it?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Supper is ready, and I’ve been waiting ever so long to tell you.”</p> - -<p>“Come,” said the old man to me as he rose, “an have a bite.”</p> - -<p>I followed and when after tea I rose to take my horse for my homeward -journey, my eyes must have expressed what courtesy kept my tongue from -again asking. “Och, the little buk, is it. Well, I’ll trust ye wid it.” -Leaving the room he returned with what looked like a greasy and much -handled pass-book. “Take care of it,” he exclaimed with emotion, “an -don’t keep it long.” Placing it in my pocket we parted.</p> - -<h3>HOW THE BOOK WAS GOT.</h3> - -<p>On retiring to my room that night, I examined the book given me with -such reluctance and read every word of it before going to bed. I found -it to be the diary of an Irishman who had left his country during the -famine. In the ship on which he embarked for Canada typhus fever broke -out and the incidents of the horrors of the voyage and of the equal -horrors of the quarantine sheds on being landed at Grosse isle were -described with a simplicity and directness that alternately moved me to -tears and filled my bosom with indignation. Next day I set to work to -copy the diary. On considering the matter I saw it would be necessary -to learn somewhat of the writer, who he was, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span>whether he survived the -plague, and if he did, where he was now. The first day I could get away -from duty found me on the road to interview the old man a second time. -On restoring to him the book I expressed freely my indignation at the -conduct of the landlords, of the ship-agents, and of the quarantine -officers, and my pity for those whom they oppressed. My words seemed to -be unlooked for.</p> - -<p>“Begorra,” said the old man, “I didn’t expict this aff ye. I tuk ye for -wan that thought anything good enough for the likes of us.”</p> - -<p>Explaining my wish to publish the diary I asked him to tell me what he -knew about its writer.</p> - -<p>“Sure he was my nevy, an I will tell ye awl about him.”</p> - -<p>Though it was mid-October the day was warm and the sun unpleasantly -hot, and the old man suggested we should go to the orchard, where he -could tell me what he knew without interruption. It proved a long -interview for I had many questions to ask and the substance of his -statement, though not in his words, I will now give as an introduction -to the diary.</p> - -<p>It was in the year 1847 myself and wife were behind the house cutting -hay. There was no mowing-machine those days; no, not even a scythe -could be used because of the stumps, and we were picking the locks -of hay out atween the stones and stumps with our hooks. It was a hot -day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span> and we had been at work since sunrise, so our backs were tired -enough, but we could not rest, for there was much to do and we had no -help beside ourselves. We were working hard and fast, when a voice came -ahint us that made us start.</p> - -<p>“Uncle, wanna you look roun at me?”</p> - -<p>There stood a girl, with a bundle in her right hand. By her figure you -might say she was 17 or thereabout; by her face she was an old woman, -for the bones were sticking out of the tight drawn skin and her skin -was a deadly grey, with black streaks above and below the eyes. My -first thought was the colleen was demented.</p> - -<p>“God save you kindly,” says I, “but why do you name me uncle?”</p> - -<p>“I am your brother’s child.”</p> - -<p>You might have knocked me down with a feather, I was so astonished.</p> - -<p>“What! me brother Jerry?”</p> - -<p>“That same,” answers she in a wake voice.</p> - -<p>“Where is he?” shouts I, throwing down my hook. “Lade me to him. Niver -a line did he send to tell us he was laving Ireland, but welkim he and -his as the flowers in May to the best I have.”</p> - -<p>The girl didn’t stir; she seemed numbed and dead like and answered in -her hollow voice, “He’s dead thim three weeks.”</p> - -<p>“God save us all,” I shouted, “you are mad my colleen, and ye’re mind’s -awandering. My brother<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span> Jerry is in Ireland with his wife and the -childer, and ye’re mistaen when you call me uncle.”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” she says to me, “ye’re my own uncle for I axed at the house -next to you. My mother, my father, my brothers and sisters are wid the -saints in glory,” and wid that she lifted her eyes and crosses herself.</p> - -<p>“When and where?” I shouted in desperation.</p> - -<p>“They died ov the ship favor, part are buried in the say and part at -the favor sheds.”</p> - -<p>With those words the truth of all she said burst on me and I staggered, -for my head swam, and I had to throw myself down on the meadow, but -my wife rushed past and clasped the poor child in her arms, “I’ll be -mother to you, and, God help us, it won’t be on our account if the tear -o’ sorrow come again to your eye.”</p> - -<p>The poor thing didn’t respond as you might expect, but sank on my -wife’s bosom and looked about with that stony stare of hers. My wife’s -hot tears were raining on her face, when she whispered, “Wad ye give me -a bite to eat?”</p> - -<p>Then we saw it all. The girl was starving. I caught her up in my -arms—she was no heavier than many a baby—a bag of bones—and I ran -with her to the house, crying to my wife to hurry and get something -ready. Had ye seen her look at the food as my wife brought it out of -the cellar, with the eye of a wild beast, you would have shivered. -“Draw in,” says I, “it’s coorse, but it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span> is the best we have, an -there’s plenty av it.”</p> - -<p>“Is the mate for me?” she asks doubtful like.</p> - -<p>“Surely,” says I.</p> - -<p>“I havn’t put a tooth mark on mate for three years,” says she simple -like.</p> - -<p>I reached her a rib of cold boiled pork and she smiled for the -first time, and sucked it as a child does the orange it wants to -have the taste of as long as possible. When she had eaten as much -as my wife thought safe, she took and laid her on our own bed, and -willing she was, for she was clean beat out, and went to sleep when -her head touched the pillow. Then we had a talk. She had come from -the fever sheds and might give the disease to the children, who had -gone berrying, so I goes, as agreed on, and meets them, tells them -of their new cousin from Ireland, who had come to us sick, and takes -them to stay with a neighbor for the night. Next morning I off to the -hay before sunrise and worked excited like till the sun got high and -overpowering, when I says to myself, “I’ll take a rest and go and -see my brother’s child.” She was sitting at the door, where the hops -clustered round her, and looked another crathur. The fearsome glare of -hunger in the eye was gone and there was a glint of color in the cheek -as she rose to welcome me. “You don’t think me mad today, uncle?” she -asks me. “God forgive me,” says I, “for the word—.” With that she puts -her hand over my mouth. Oh she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span> was the kindly crathur, and now that -she was clean and fresh dressed I could see would be a handsome lass -when there was more mate on her bones. My wife had been looking for my -coming and had the table spread, and after we had eaten we sat again in -the shade at the door and as I smoked my pipe Ellen told her story. It -was, more the pity, a common enough one in those days. The failure of -the potatoes had left my brother unable to get enough for his family to -eat let alone pay the rent. On the back of the hunger came sickness and -when things had got to be as bad as they could, the agent comes round -and tells him if he would give up his houlding and go to Canada the -landlord would forgive him the rent, pay the passage-money and a pound -ahead on landing at Quebec. He took the offer as his neighbors did and -went to Dublin, where they found a ship waiting for them. They were -not out of sight of land when the fever broke out and the children, -one after another, took it, and three died at sea. When quarantine was -reached they were all sent ashore, and there the rest of the children, -saving Ellen, died, with the father and mother. When the fever left -her she was put on board a steamer for Montreal, and got sorra a bite -from the hour she left until she landed, though it took the boat 36 -hours. Faint and sick she was hurried ashore and when she made for -the city a policeman turned her back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span> and she sat down on the wharf, -wishing to die. By and by a man comes along and by his dress she knew -he was a minister, though not of our sort. He spoke to her and she -told him she wanted to get to me, and showed my address on a bit of -paper she carried in her bosom. He read it and saying to follow him, -led to a steamer lying in the canal. He sought out the captain and -told him to take the girl and land her at Beauharnois, and the captain -promised he would to oblige the minister and refused the dollar he -offered. The stranger handed it to her with the words, “I must leave -you, for others are perishing,” and slipped away before she could thank -him. That evening she was landed at Beauharnois and when the steamer -left the wharf for the Cascades she felt more lost than ever, for she -heard nothing but French, and not a word she understood. She spied -a man putting bags of flour in a cart with a face that she thought -was that of an Old Countryman. She went up to him and he answered -her in English, or rather Scotch, for I know him well; he lives near -the Meadows. She told where she wanted to go. “You’ll be ane o’ thae -emigrants,” says he, “an may hae the fever.” “I’ve had it,” says Ellen, -“an am well again.” “Aye, but ye may give it to ither folk.” At this -a Frenchman came up to speak to the man and on seeing Ellen put his -hand to his mouth and drew back. “Louis,” says the Scotchman, “tak<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[Pg 354]</a></span> -this lassie hame wi you and give her a nicht’s lodgin.” Louis shook his -head. “I’ll pay you, man,” shouted the Scotchman. “No, no,” said Louis, -making a sign of horror, “me not let her in my house.” “You are a’ o’ -ae kirk and suld be kind to ane anither.” Without replying, Louis left. -“Weel, lassie, gin they’ll no gie you cover in this town, ye maun gae -wi me,” and with that he went into the tavern at the head of the wharf -and came back with some bread in his hand for her. He spread his horse -blanket on the bags for her to sit on and off they started. It was a -long drive in the dark, for the horse walked every step of the way, and -Ellen fell asleep. On waking at the rumbling of the cart ceasing, she -found they were standing in a farm-yard. The night was clear but cold, -but she had not felt it, for the Scotchman had tucked his big coat -around her. He told her he dare not take her to the house for fear of -infecting the children. Lighting a lantern he showed her to a corner -of the barn, where she lay down to sleep, while he went to unyoke his -horse. On waking in the morning she stepped into the yard, where she -found the Scotchman unloading his cart. “I’ve been waitin for you,” -says he, “an dinna tak it unkind if I say you maun go at ance on yer -way. Were my naebors to hear o’ ane wha has been sick o’ the fever bein -here, my place wad be shunned.” Putting something to eat in her hand he -bade her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[Pg 355]</a></span> follow him, and pointed out the road she was to take for her -uncle’s place, and by observing his directions had succeeded.</p> - -<p>“An so there’s only yirsilf left?” asks my wife.</p> - -<p>“Av our family,” says she, “but unless he’s dead since I left, there’s -my cousin Gerald in the fever sheds at quarantine.”</p> - -<p>Gerald was my sister’s only child and I had heard after her death he -had gone to Maynooth to be a priest.</p> - -<p>“Do you tell me my nephew, that rode on my knee the day I left Ireland, -is in Canada? Why did he not come wid you?”</p> - -<p>Then she explained; told us of what he had been to the sick and dying -and how the day before she left he had been stricken himself. She -wanted to stay with him, but he told her to hasten to her uncle and -if he had a mind he might come and help him; she could do no good to -stay. I jumps up. “I’ll go,” I cries, “and will bring him back wid me -here safe and sound.” As I said that I caught my wife’s eye so pleading -like, not to go. But I did. I got my neighbors to look after my hay and -off I started next morning, bright and early, to catch the stage at the -Potash. When old Mr Oliver heard my errand, he told me to go back to my -family, but my mind was made up. When my own brother was adying I was -in comfort. I was determined my nephew would not suffer like him and -me so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[Pg 356]</a></span> near. When the stage came along I jumped into a seat and before -darkening I was in the city. All the talk there was about the fever, -and how the poor creatures were dying by the hundred in the sheds at -Point St Charles. Everybody was in mortal dread of infection and the -police had orders to watch that none of the emigrants got past the -wharves or out of the sheds, but some did, and they were hunted down -and taken back. I kept my whisht as to my errand and listened in the -bar-room of the tavern to one story after another, that made the blood -run cold to my heart. After an early breakfast next day I left the -tavern and walked down to where the steamer sailed for Quebec. It was a -beautiful morning and I thought it the prettiest sight I had seen for a -long time, the blue river sparkling in the sun and the islands and the -other shore looking so fresh and green, with the blue mountains beyant. -It was going to be a while before the steamer was ready, for there was -a pile of freight to put on board, and I walked up a bit to look round -me. In turning the corner of a shed I sees lying on the ground a young -lad with a girl leaning over him. I went up to them. “What’s come over -you, my boy, that you be lyin on the ground?” asks I. Never a word from -either. I went close up and I sees his eyes closed and his face white -as death, with his head resting on the girl’s lap. “God save us, what’s -wrong?” Never a word. “Can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[Pg 357]</a></span> I do anything for you?” I says, placing my -hand on her shoulder. She lifted up her head that was bowed down on the -young man’s, oh so slowly, and looked at me, her face white and sunk -like. “No,” she whispered, “he’s adyin.” “Dyin like this in a Christian -land,” says I, “I will get help.” I ran back to where the crowd was and -tould a policeman. “They’ll be escaped imigrants,” says he, “and must -be sent back, the villins,” and off he comes with me. I led him to the -place and he flourished his big stick, shouting, “What div ye mean, -coming among Christian people agin orders?” I caught his arm. “Don’t -touch them; he’s dyin,” for I heard the rattle in his throat. We stood -aside for a minute or so, there was a gurgle and a drawin up of the -legs, and all was over. “Oh, my brother, my brother, hev you died afore -me,” moaned the poor girl as she tighter clutched his body. “Come wid -me,” I said, stooping over and trying to lift her, “I am Irish like -yersilf, and will spind my last dollar if need be to bury your brother. -Lave him, and I will take you where you will find friends.” I could not -loosen her hould on the body. The policeman said he would go for the -ambulance and left me. I stroked her hair, I talked to her as if she -had been my own daughter; I tried to comfort her. Never a sign or a -word. There was a sound of wheels and I looked and saw the ambulance. -The men came and I grasped the girl to lift her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[Pg 358]</a></span> off the corpse. I -caught a look at her face—she was dead too. The ambulance men said -that was nothing, that fever patients dropped dead every day without -a sign. I looked at the poor colleen as I helped to lift her into the -ambulance beside her brother’s corpse, and I knew it was not of the -fever alone she had died, but of a broken heart. Och, och, to come to -Ameriky to die on the quay. “Drive to the cimitry,” says I, “and I will -pay all expinses,” trying to get up beside the driver. “Have you lost -your sinses,” says he, “they wad not bury them in the cimitry; they -go to Point St Charles, and if yer wise ye’ll tell nobody you handled -faver patients and go about your business.” Wid that he cracks his -whip, and rattles aff at a great rate. “Well, well,” I said to myself, -“at ony rate they will be united in burial as they were in life and -death,” and they rest in the field where a big stone tells more than -3000 were buried. I turned with a heavy heart to the steamer, which -was ringing a warning bell to get on board and lying down on a pile of -bags fell asleep. It was afternoon when I awoke and soon after we were -at Three Rivers, where I went ashore and got something to eat. When we -had left it a while a steamer hove in sight, coming up the river. We -crowded to see her in passing. It was a sight that sunk like a stone on -my heart. Her lower deck was chuck full of women and childer and men, -all in rags,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[Pg 359]</a></span> and with faces as sharp as hatchets from starvation, and -most all of them white or yellow from the fever. She passed between -us and the wind and the smell was awful. A sailor told me steamboats -passed every day like her on their way from quarantine, and never a one -reached Montreal without a row of corpses on her upper deck for burial -and a lot of sick to be carried to Point St Charles.</p> - -<p>It was late in the night when we tied up at Quebec and I took the first -lodging-house I found. When I paid the landlord next morning, I asked -him how I would get to Grosse Isle. “Ye’re jokin you are,” says he, -“people lave it, they don’t go to it.” I tould him my errand. Says he, -“Go home, it’s no use; your nevy is dead by this time, an if he isn’t -he’ll be dead ony way. It’ll be the death of yoursel to go.” No, says -I, I have come awl the way from Huntingdon to save the boy and I wunna -go back widout him. Whin he see I was detarmined he told me how hard -it was to get to the island; that the city people were afraid of the -infection and watched everybody going and would let none come from -there. He pointed to the landing-stage where the quarantine steamboat -lay and I went to it. There was a sentry at the end and when I made to -pass him he ordered me back. “I’m going to quarantine,” says I. “The -divil ye be; shtand back; ye can’t pass widout an order.” I was pleadin -wid him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[Pg 360]</a></span> to let me by whin a voice behind says, “What is all this -loud talk about?” I turns and sees a tall man in black, straight as a -hickory. “Yer rivrince, this man wants to go to quarantine and has no -permit.” “My good man,” says he to me, “you are seeking to rush into -danger if not certain death. The sentry does a kindness in turning you.”</p> - -<p>“I have a good raison for wanting to go.”</p> - -<p>“It would need to be in risking your life and endangering the safety of -the community by bringing back infection. What may be your reason?”</p> - -<p>I saw he was a gentleman and his kind voice won me. I told him all.</p> - -<p>“What is your nephew’s name?”</p> - -<p>“Gerald O’Connor.”</p> - -<p>“Has he been stricken! They did not tell me when I was last there. He -has been one of our best helpers. His only hope lies in instant removal -on convalescence and since you have come for that purpose, I shall see -you have opportunity.”</p> - -<p>With that he says to the sentry, “This man is my assistant today,” and -putting his arm in mine he walks me on to the boat, where even the deck -hands saluted him. When he walked away with the captain, I axed who he -was. “Dat am Bishop Mountain,” says a Frenchman. “Bedad,” says I, “they -shpoiled a fine cavalryman when they made a preacher ov him.”</p> - -<p>The order was given to cast off and on we went,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[Pg 361]</a></span> the river smooth as a -millpond. When a long way off we could see rows of white tents and long -wooden sheds where the sick lay on Grosse isle, and off the landing we -found anchored 17 ships that had come from Ireland or Liverpool and -had fever aboard. The wharf was a poor one and we had trouble getting -ashore, for the steps were rotten and broken. The gentleman they called -the bishop beckoned me to follow him as he walked on, speaking with the -friends who came to meet him. When in front of the first shed, before -going in at the door, he says to me, “Dr Russell will take you to your -nephew,” and with a bow he passed into the shed. I followed the doctor -to another shed and, heavens! when we went in the smell nigh knocked -me down. The doctor must have seen something in my face, for he says, -“Never mind, my man, you’ll soon get used to it.” We passed along -between two rows of berths, everyone filled, and an odd man, here and -there, trying to attend to their wants. The doctor stopped before a -berth where lay a young man, with thick black hair. Seizing his arm he -felt his pulse. “This is your man,” says he. I looks at the worn face -and with a trimble in my voice I could not keep back, I asks, “Is he -able to go away wid me?”</p> - -<p>“He’ll go to his grave in a few hours,” says he.</p> - -<p>“Doctor, dear, don’t say that; you can save him. I’ll pay you well, if -I have to mortgage my farm to get the money.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[Pg 362]</a></span></p> - -<p>“There is no saving of him, poor fellow; he’s going as many like him -are going,” and with that the doctor moved away.</p> - -<p>I knelt beside my nephew and put my hand on his forehead. It was -burning hot. His lips were going and he was muttering something, what -I could not make out. “Gerald, won’t you spake; I’m your uncle come -to take you home wid me.” Never a word. I went over to one of the men -in charge and he pointed where the water was. I filled a noggin and -pressed it to my nephew’s lips and wet his face. I watched by him -for what seemed a long while and saw others die and heard the groans -of those in pain and the screams of those that were raving, and the -beseechings for water to drink. I attended to those near by as well -as I could, and it was when I was coming back with a pail of water I -noticed the flush had left my nephew’s face. I was bathing his forehead -when he opened his eyes and stared at me. “I’m your uncle, me poor boy; -you feel better?”</p> - -<p>“May God bless you,” says he, “but what made you come to this fearful -place?”</p> - -<p>“Sure its nothing; its little to do for my own sister’s child.”</p> - -<p>He squazed my hand and closed his eyes and I knew he was praying for me.</p> - -<p>“Bring me a priest.”</p> - -<p>A man that was passing told me I’d find one in the next shed. It was -worse than the one I left,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[Pg 363]</a></span> for it had one row over the other of -berths. At the far end I saw a priest, and found he was giving the last -rites to an ould man, whose white hair was matted with dirt. I waited -till he was done and asked the father to come with me. I left Gerald -and him alone, and the priest had no sooner said the last prayer than -there was a message for him to go to another poor soul for whom there -was no hope. When Gerald saw me, he said, despairin’ like, “Take me out -o’ here; ye can carry me. I want to die in God’s free air.” These were -his very words.</p> - -<p>“That I will,” says I, “and you’ll be home wid me in Huntingdon afore -three days.” He smiled a sorrowful smile, and said nothing. I lifted -him in my arms and carried him out of the shed. I was powerful strong -when I was young, and tho’ he was tall and broad-shouthered he was -wasted to skin and bone. I laid him down in the shade of a tree, for -the sun was hot. He didn’t look at the river or the hills beyant, but -fixed his eyes on a spot that I took to be a burying-place. “Go back,” -he whispered, “and bring the bag below my berth.” I went, and found a -woman had already been put in the poor bed I had lifted him out of. -I reached for the bag and took it to him. Pointing to a spot in the -burying-place he told me to go there and I would see a grave with a -cross at its head and the name Aileen cut on it. “You can read?” “Yes,” -says I. I did his bidding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[Pg 364]</a></span> and coming back told him I had found the -grave. “Promise me, you’ll bury me beside that grave.” I promised him. -“Open the bag and you’ll find in it a little book.” I reached it to -him. “Take it,” says he, “there are pages in it I would tear out were I -able. Let it go. Save the book; it will tell to those now unborn what -Irish men and women have suffered in this summer of sorrow.”</p> - -<p>He was wake and closed his eyes. “Is there anything more I can do for -yees?” asks I. “Nothing, uncle dear; the summer breeze is sweet.” He -never said another rational word, for the fever set in again and he -began to rave. He talked as if he were on ship again and then he would -change to ould Ireland and he would be aplayin with his comrades, and -his laughing was sore to hear. Then there came a long while when he -was quiet, just tossing uneasy like at times as he slept. My eyes were -on the river and the ships and the green fields bright beyant, when I -hears him whisper, “Mother, dear, have ye been long waiting here for -your boy?” and he spoke to her tender and soft as he must have done -manys the time in ould Ireland. Then it was Aileen he saw, and it -was true-lover talk. Oh, it was all so beautiful; the poor boy dying -there of the fever on the river bank talkin so sweet and loving with -the two women who had filled his heart, an its the lot of love a true -Irishman’s heart can hould. I was gripping his hand, watching him, when -all at once<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[Pg 365]</a></span> his jaw fell and I saw the soul had fled. I laid him out -as I best could, and rolling the blanket round him lifted the corpse on -my shoulder and carried it to the spot he told me. There were shovels -and picks in plenty and I set myself to dig the grave. The smell of -the fresh earth brought back to me my own family and farm that I had -clean forgot that dreadful day, and I determined to be back with them -at once. There were men at work near me finishing a long trench, and -I saw them watching me and I watched them and listened to their talk. -The sun was low before the grave was finished to my liking. There was -no use trying to get a priest, they had enough to do with the dying -without burying the dead, so I laid the corpse carefully in the grave, -said a prayer and filled it in. I drove in a cedar picket to mark the -spot, for I meant some day to put a headstone there, but I never did, -for I was never able to go back. When all was done I went over to one -of the men who had been digging the trench that I had seen by his -talk was an Irishman. He was smoking his pipe with the lave, who were -waiting for the burial. I got him by himself and told him my errand -on the island and now I was done, I wanted away at once. That’s not -easy, he said. There were guards to prevent any coming on or leaving -the island except by the steamer and with a permit. “Sure,” I says, -“if I stay here till tomorrow I may be a dead man.” “That you will,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[Pg 366]</a></span> -says he, “an thin you’ll hev to go as a passenger in the steamboat that -takes emigrants right on to Montreal.” “I’ll never go on an emigrant -steamboat,” says I, minding the one I had seen. He spoke in French to -two men near us. They lived above Beauport, he told me, and while they -came, like himself, to bury the dead for big pay, they broke the rules -by going home at night, when wind and tide served, in a small boat. -If I’d help them to get done, they would let me go with them. The job -was like to make me sick, but I wanted away, and agreed. By this time -they were beginning to carry the dead from the sheds and tents, and as -the men with the stretchers came up they dumped their load into the -trench. We straightened the corpses to make them lie close, shovelled -some lime over them, and then a few inches of earth, when we were ready -for another row. Then the trench was filled and smoothed over. I had -put on my coat and was cleaning my shovel when one of the Frenchmen -touched my arm and I followed him. We slipped into the bushes and went -to the north side of the island, meeting nobody. At the foot of a steep -bank we found a boat. We got in, and casting loose the tide, which -was making, carried us up until we were a good bit from the island, -when a sail was hoisted and we went at a great speed, for the tide had -brought with it a stiff breeze. On landing I did not follow the men, -for I had something to do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[Pg 367]</a></span> I had on my mind. I stripped to the skin, -and spread my clothes on the bushes. Going into the water I rubbed my -handkerchief and shirt and washed myself as I have never done since. I -scrubbed my skin with the sand and sniffed the water up my nose until, -for the first time, since morning, I got the stink out of it. It was -such a warm night, I was in no hurry to put on my clothes, and didn’t -till I thought they were well aired. I may tell you, from the moment -I buried my nephew, the fear of the fever came upon me, though I had -never thought of it afore. Well, when I was ready for the road, I felt -sick, but I knew it was with hunger, for I hadn’t broken bread since -morning. Coming to a habitant’s house, the door of which was open, I -went to it, but when they heard my tongue, they slammed the door in my -face, taking me to be an escaped fever patient. Seeing it was no use, I -walked as quickly as I could to Quebec, and made for the lodging-house -I had left that morning. There was a light in it, though I knew it must -be long past midnight. I went in and there were some sailors drinking -and playing cards. The landlord lifted his eyebrows when he saw me, -and signed me to follow into a back room. He lit a candle “Were you at -the island?” “I was, and am right dead wid hunger.” He brought some -victuals and I told him how I had got on. When I had cleaned the plates -he showed me to a bed. I rose late next<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[Pg 368]</a></span> day all right, and left with -the steamboat that afternoon for Montreal. The second day after I was -home and thankful my wife was to see me. I held my whisht, and never a -one but herself knew where I had been.</p> - -<p>Well, that is all I have to tell. For a long while after, the sights -I had seen followed me, and at night I would wake trembling from my -dreams. That passed away, but I never cared to speak of what I saw, -and tried to keep the island and its sheds out of my mind. Did any -die of the fever in Huntingdon? Yes, Dr Shirriff told me he attended -45 cases, of whom 5 died. Not many were Irish. Emigrants strayed into -farmers’ houses and gave the infection. Father Kiernan was that year -priest in the old church at John Finn’s. He had gone on duty to attend -the emigrants at Lachine. Feeling ill one day he knew he was in for -the fever. If he stayed where he was, he would die in the sheds, so he -waited till the stage came along, got in, and rode home. When he got -off at his lodging, he told the people Geordie Pringle did not know -what kind of a customer he had. Next day he could not lift his head, -but he pulled through all right. What came of the colleen? She left -us that fall. Her mother’s brother in county Kent wrote for her. She -married a storekeeper in Chatham, who left her well off. The little -book is all I took belonging to my nephew. There were more things in -the bag. I was afeared of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[Pg 369]</a></span>infection and never touched them. He -must have had a chest or two, but I never asked for them. He was a good -man, and I’ve been thankful ever since I went to see him die.</p> - -<p class="space-above">Driving home in the dark I thought over what the old man had told me, -and felt how much more interesting his narrative made his nephew’s -diary, a faithful reprint of which I now present to the reader. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[Pg 370]</a></span></p> - -<h3>THE JOURNAL OF GERALD KEEGAN.</h3> - -<p>“The famine was heavy upon all the land.” According to the -chronologists more than three thousand years have passed since the -event recorded in these words. Strange that, after so long a period of -time has gone, the world has made so slight an advance in providing -food for the mouths it contains. At school today there was not a -scholar who was not hungry. When I told Mike Kelly to hold out his -hand for blotting his copy, he says, “I did not mane to: it was the -belly gripe did it.” I dropped the ferule and when the school was -dismissed slipped a penny into his hand to buy a scone at the baker’s. -The poor school I have had this winter takes the heart out of me. My -best scholars dead, others unfit to walk from their homes for weakness. -For men and women to want is bad enough, but to have the children -starving, crying for the food their parents have not to give them, -and lying awake at night from the gnawing at their little stomachs; -oh, it is dreadful. God forgive those who have it, and will not share -their abundance even with His<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[Pg 371]</a></span> little ones. I came home from school -this afternoon dejected and despairing. As I looked round me before -opening the door of my lodging, everything was radiantly beautiful. The -sunshine rested on the glory of Ireland, its luxuriant vegetation—its -emerald greenness. Hill and valley were alike brilliant in the first -flush of spring and the silver river meandered through a plain that -suggested the beautiful fields of paradise. Appearances are deceitful, -I thought; in every one of those thatched cabins sit the twin brothers, -Famine and Death. As I opened the door, Mrs Moriarty called to me -that my uncle Jeremiah had been twice asking for me. Poor man, I said -to myself, he will have come to borrow to buy meal for his children -and I will not have a shilling in my pocket until the board pays me -my quarter’s salary. I respect Jeremiah, for both he and his brother -in Canada were kind to my poor mother. How I wish all the family had -gone to Canada; cold in winter and hot in summer, they say, but there -is plenty to eat. I took up a book and had not long to wait for my -uncle. He did not need to say a word, his face told me he knew what -starvation meant. I called to my landlady to roast another herring; my -uncle would share my dinner. He came neither to beg nor borrow, but to -ask my advice. After high mass on Sunday the proctor got up on a stone -and told them their landlord had taken their case into consideration,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[Pg 372]</a></span> -and went on to read a letter he had got from him. In it Lord Palmerston -said he had become convinced there was no hope for them so long as they -remained in Ireland, and their only means of doing better was to leave -the country. All in arrears, who would agree to emigrate, he would -forgive what they were due and pay their passage to Canada. Are you -sure, I asked, this letter was really from Lord Palmerston?</p> - -<p>“We have just the proctor’s word for it. Well,” my uncle went on to -say, “the most of us jumped wid joy when we heard the letter and we -all began talkin as soon as he druv aff in his car. Tim Maloney said -nothin. He’s a deep one, Tim, a pathriot, an rades the papers. What -hev ye to say, Tim? I’m considerin, says he, the likes o’ this must be -deliberated on. Sure, I spakes up, the besht we can do is to get away -from here. In the wan letther I iver got from my brother in Canada, he -tould me he had two cows and a calf and three pigs, an a pair o’ oxen -and as much as they could ate. That’s not the pint, answers Tim, this -affer prisints itself to me as a plot to get us to lave the land widout -an equitable equivalent.”</p> - -<p>With doubt thrown on the landlord’s good faith, the poor people went -on arguing among themselves, until a majority decided to stand out -and demand better terms. On hearing this, the agent sent word they -must decide within a week. If they rejected the offer, it would be -withdrawn and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[Pg 373]</a></span> no new one would be submitted. My uncle had come to -get my advice, “For sure,” he said, “you are the only scholard in the -family.” I comprehended the infamous nature of the offer. The people -did not own the land, but they owned the improvements they had made on -it, and had a right to be compensated for them. I knew my uncle when a -boy had rented a piece of worthless bog and by the labor of himself, -and afterwards of his wife, and children, had converted it into a -profitable field. Should I advise him to give it up for a receipt for -back rent and a free passage to Canada? I tried to find out what he -thought himself. Are you for accepting the offer, uncle?</p> - -<p>“That depinds,” he answered. “Give me a crop of spuds such as we had in -the ould times, an niver a step wad I muv.”</p> - -<p>I told him potatoes had been the ruin of Ireland; that placing sole -dependence upon them had made her farmers neglect the proper care -of the land and the raising of other crops. When the rot came or -even a hard frost, such as they had in 1837, when potatoes froze in -the ground, they had nothing. My uncle was a sample of his class. -The lessons of Providence had been lost upon them. They would go on -planting potatoes and hoping for days that would never return, for the -land had become, by years of cropping, potato sick. Now, uncle, that -Tim Maloney has had time for deliberating, what has he decided on? </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[Pg 374]</a></span></p> - -<p>“I mit him at O’Calaghan’s lasht night,” replied my uncle, “an he tould -us to rejict the affer an jine the Young Ireland min. There’ll niver be -peace and plinty in Ireland, ses he, until she’s free.”</p> - -<p>“May be,” I remarked, “but you and your family will be dead from -starvation before Tim and his friends free Ireland.” I cast the matter -over and over in my head while we were eating our bite of dinner, but -could not decide what advice to give my uncle and those who were going -to be governed by what he did. Escape from the dreadful conditions -under which they suffered would be a great blessing. On the other hand, -my sense of what was fair revolted at the idea of their giving up their -holdings, their homes for generations, for a nominal consideration. -When my uncle rose to go, for he had a long walk before him, I said I -could not decide then; I would think it over and on Sunday I would go -and see them.</p> - -<p>When Sunday came, I rose early, and let myself out quietly. It was a -misty, soggy morning. I stepped out quickly, for I had a good way to -go. The walking was heavy, so when I came in sight of the chapel, I saw -late comers hurrying in for high mass. At the altar, to my surprise -and joy, I saw my old companion, Tom Burke. When the sermon came it -was like his old self, strong and bold. He compared the afflictions of -the people of suffering Ireland to those of the Israelites in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[Pg 375]</a></span> Egypt, -ascribing the famine to the alien government, which wanted to wipe -them from the face of the earth. It would prove as futile as all past -persecutions directed against the Irish race, which would continue to -cherish their faith and their love of country. He carried me away with -him, but his hearers listened with countenances stolid and heavy. It -was the hunger; they could think of nothing but their craving for food. -Father Tom had noticed me, for when I was going out at the door the -man whispered to me to step into the sacristy. Passing the word with -my uncle, that I would be at his house in the afternoon, I joined my -old fellow student, who would have me to break my fast with him. He had -come on temporary duty, and I went with him to the priest’s house. Over -the table we recalled old times at Maynooth and were living those happy -days over again with joke and story, when our laughter was checked by -the housekeeper coming in to say if we were done with our dinner Mrs -Murtagh was waiting to see for what his reverence wanted her. “Send her -here,” he ordered. A broken-down woman, haggard and in rags, stood at -the door. “O ye have come, have ye, Mrs Murtagh.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yer rivirence; Mrs Maloney tould me ye wanted me, and didn’t know -what for.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, you know what I wanted you for, if Mrs Maloney did not. I wanted -to see what kind of a baste you were that would go to the soupers—what -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[Pg 376]</a></span>kind of Irish woman you were that would sell your faith to thim -white-livered divils.”</p> - -<p>Father Burke here rose to his feet, his face lit with wrath, and his -hand moving to grasp his cross. The woman sunk on her knees at his -feet. “For the sake of the dear mother of God, don’t put the curse on -me, yer rivirence,” she entreated.</p> - -<p>“Why not? What have ye to say?”</p> - -<p>“The childher were cryin all night for a bite, but it wasn’t that. -Little Tim was adyin on my breast, an I cudn’t bear to have him tuk -from me. I wint out, I tried everywhere, I could get nothin, an thin, I -wint to the soupers. It was to keep the life in Tim, yer rivirence; I -burned their thracks an never tasted myself what they gev me.”</p> - -<p>With a piercing cry the woman fell prone on the floor. Father Tom’s -anger passed as quickly as it rose. “Take her away,” he said to the -housekeeper who hastened in, “I’ll see her after vespers.”</p> - -<p>I rose to go; he was his old self again; and with a hearty word we -parted. At my uncle’s house I found a number of his neighbors waiting -and we were soon discussing the subject that filled their heads. The -agent had given out he had got another letter, in which the landlord -mended his offer, by promising that his agent at Quebec would pay ten -shillings a head on their landing at that city, and saying the Canadian -government would give each family a hundred acres free. There was to -be no breaking or separating of families; all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[Pg 377]</a></span> would go in the same -ship. Against the lure of the free passage, the ten shillings, and the -hundred acres, they put leaving Ireland for such a wild, cold place as -Canada, and to people in rags the thought of its frost and snow was -terrible. My uncle fetched his only letter from his brother and I read -it aloud. I had to do so several times, as they argued over particular -statements and expressions in it. The account it gave of his comfort -weighed with them. After a great deal of talk my uncle says, “Well, -boys, my brother never told me a lie an I believe every word of his -letter. If ye says, I’ll go wid ye, I’m for takin the offer an lavin at -onct.” His decision carried them by storm, and the listless downcast -men became bright and energetic with the new hope born within them. As -I walked home, I thought it over. There was the possibility of their -being deceived by the agent. They were ignorant of business and could -easily be imposed upon. Should I not go with them and protect their -interests? What was there to keep me in Ireland? Everything I had tried -had gone against me. When I was in a fair way at Maynooth, the thought -had possessed me the priesthood was not my vocation and I left its -loved walls. Failure and disappointment had marked every effort made in -other callings since. To give up my situation as teacher would matter -little; its salary was a mockery. I would see Aileen. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[Pg 378]</a></span></p> - -<p>Feby. 28, 1847.—Aileen consents. Like myself an orphan, she has no -ties to bind her to dear old Ireland beyond those common to all her -children. We will be married the week before the ship sails. Gave up -my school today. As I mean to keep a journal of the voyage, I sat down -tonight and wrote the foregoing, to remind me in future years of the -causes that led to my decision.</p> - -<p>March 8.—Uncle came to see me this morning. What he tells me raises -doubts of the good faith of the landlord. The agent was round yesterday -with an attorney who got them to put their mark to a paper. A ship is -promised beginning of April.</p> - -<p>10.—Walked to town to see the agent. He was not for showing the paper -at first. It was a release of all claims on the landlord and a promise -to give him peaceable possession on the 1st April. The remission of -what is due for rent and the free passage are specified as the quid -pro quo of the landlord, but not a word about the ten shillings a head -to be paid at Quebec or the 100 acres per family from the Canadian -government. Nothing can now be done; the poor people are at Lord -Palmerston’s mercy.</p> - -<p>April 9.—We were married Monday morning, and spent three happy days -with Aileen’s cousin in Limerick. Arrived here in Dublin today. The -ship is advertised to sail tomorrow. Took out our tickets for second -cabin and drive tomorrow morning to where the ship is lying. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[Pg 379]</a></span></p> - -<p>10.—When the car drove alongside the ship, instead of finding her -ready for sea she was a scene of confusion, carpenters at work on her -hull and riggers perched in her cordage. There is a mountain of freight -to go on board, which she is not ready to receive. It was a shame to -advertise her to sail today when she cannot leave for several days. Our -second cabin proves to be a cubby-hole in the house on deck. We might -as well have gone in the steerage and saved £5. It was late in the day -when uncle and his neighbors arrived; they formed a large party, and -were footsore with their long tramp. The captain refused to allow them -to go on board and they will have to spend the night on the quay. The -weather fortunately is dry.</p> - -<p>11.—I spoke to the captain on behalf of the emigrants. I showed him -they had come on the day advertised and had a right to maintenance. -He curtly told me to go and see the ship’s broker, who has his office -far up in the city. I waited over an hour in an outer room to get an -interview with the government emigration inspector. I implored him to -put in force the law on behalf of the poor people shivering on the -quay. He haughtily ordered me out of his office; saying he knew his -duty and would not be dictated to by a hedge schoolmaster. Came away -indignant and sore at heart. Looking over the emigrants I can see why -Lord Palmerston confined his offer to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[Pg 380]</a></span> those in arrears for rent and -who had small holdings. Such persons must needs be widows or old men -without proper help. His lordship has shrewdly got rid of those likely -to be an incumbrance on his estates. The company is made up largely of -women and children, with a few old or weakly men. The number of widows -is surprising.</p> - -<p>12.—The weather is cold and showery and the poor people are most -miserable—wet, hungry, and shivering. I went to Dublin to see the -ship’s broker. He received me very smoothly and referred me to the -charterer, without whose instructions he could do nothing. The -charterer I found to be out of town; the owner of the ship lives in -Cork. I returned disconsolate. An infant died today from exposure. On -going to see about the innocent’s burial, the priest told me it was -common for ships to advertise they would sail on a day on which they -had no intention of leaving. It was done to make sure of getting all -the passengers they could pack into the vessel. They get £3 a head -from the landlords, children counting as half, and the more they can -force on board the greater their profit. His experience had been that -charterers of vessels for carrying emigrants were remorseless in their -greed, and, by bribing the officials, set the government regulations -at defiance. Scenes he had seen on the quays drew tears from all save -those whose hearts were hardened by the lust of gain. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[Pg 381]</a></span></p> - -<p>14—The poor people are homesick and heartsick. Today a number of -them tried to get on board and take possession of the berths between -decks, which were finished yesterday. They were driven back by the mate -and the sailors. One man was brutally kicked by the mate. It seems -if the passengers got on board they would have a right to rations, -hence their being denied shelter. Some of the men have got work along -the quays, and every sixpence is a help to buy bread. Again ventured -to remonstrate with the captain. He said he had nothing to say to an -informer, referring to my visit to the government agent. I told him I -would report his conduct to Lord Palmerston, and have just written a -letter to his lordship.</p> - -<p>15.—Matters have been going on from bad to worse. Two more children -have died from cold and want. Not a soul in the crowd has had a warm -bite since they left home. Their food is an insufficiency of bread, -which is poor sustenance to ill-clad people camped in open sheds. The -ship is ready for sea yet they will not let us go on board.</p> - -<p>16.—This morning we were ordered to go on board and gladly hurried -up the long plank. We had not been fairly settled in her until there -was a hurroo, and looking ashore I saw a great crowd of men carrying -bundles and babies, with women and children. They were worse clad and -more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[Pg 382]</a></span> miserable than our own people. To my surprise they headed for -our ship and were soon crowding into her until there was not room to -turn. No sooner was the last chest got on board than the sailors began -to unmoor the ship. Before they were done a tug steamed up to us and -passed her hawser. We had moved out into the bay some distance, when -the paddles of the tug stopped, and we saw a six-oared cutter making -for us, and when alongside the government inspector, in blue uniform -with gilt buttons, leapt on board. He looked neither to left nor right, -but walked with the captain across the quarter-deck and went down into -the cabin. My mind was made up. My people had already suffered much at -the hands of the shipping-men, and I resolved to protest against their -being overcrowded. I knew the law, and knew full well that she had all -on board she was competent for before this new arrival. I waited my -opportunity, and when I saw the inspector emerge from the companion-way -and head straight for his boat, I rushed forward. I had just shouted -the words, “I protest—,” when I was tripped from behind. As I fell -headlong, I heard the inspector say, “Poor fellow, has had a drop too -much. Good-bye, captain; prosperous voyage.” When I rose to my feet he -was gone, and the mate faced me. “Damn you,” he shouted, “try to speak -to an outsider again and I’ll brain you.” Mortified at my failure and -indignant at<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[Pg 383]</a></span> my usage, I left the quarter-deck. The tug was in motion -again, and we were sailing down the bay—fair Dublin bay, with its -beautifully rounded slopes and hills, bright with budding woods and -verdant sward. To our surprise, for we thought we had started on our -voyage, the tug dropped us when we had gone down the bay a bit, and our -anchor was let go. Late in the evening the word went round the reason -of our not sailing was that the crew, from the captain down to the -apprentices, believed the ship would have no luck were she to begin her -voyage on a Friday.</p> - -<p>17.—At daybreak we were roused by the clanking of the capstan as the -anchor was weighed. There was a light air from the north-east. Sails -were spread and we slowly beat out of the bay and took a long slant -into the channel, dropping our pilot as we passed Kingstown. Stores -were broached and biscuit for three days served. They were very coarse -and somewhat mouldy, yet the government officer was supposed to have -examined and passed them as up to the requirements of the emigration -act. Bad as they were, they were eagerly accepted, and so hungry were -the people that by night most of them were eaten. How shamefully the -ship was overcrowded was now to be seen and fully realized. There were -not berths for two-thirds of the passengers, and by common consent they -were given up to the aged, to the women and the children. The others<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[Pg 384]</a></span> -slept on chests and bundles, and many could find no other resting place -than the floor, which was so occupied that there was no room to walk -left. I ascertained, accidentally, that the mate served out rations -for 530 today. He counts two children as one, so that there are over -600 souls on board a ship which should not legally have 400, for the -emigrant act specifies 10 square feet of deck to a passenger. Why was -this allowed? What I heard a man telling this morning explains all. The -government had sent £200 to be spent on relief works in his townland -by giving employment at a shilling a day. When £50 had been paid out, -the grant was declared to be exhausted. Where did the £150 go? Into the -pockets of a few truly loyal defenders of the English constitution and -of the Protestant religion. The British parliament has voted enough -money to put food in every starving mouth in Ireland. Half and more of -the money has been kept by bloodsuckers of the English garrison. I get -mad when I think of all this. The official class in Ireland is the most -corrupt under the sun. A bribe will blind them, as I saw yesterday, -when the inspector passed our ship and stores. Wind continued light -all forenoon, and fell away in the afternoon to a calm. After sunset a -breeze sprung up from the west, but did not hold, and as I write we are -becalmed in mid-channel.</p> - -<p>18.—Light and baffling breezes from the west<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[Pg 385]</a></span> and north-west prevailed -all day, so we made little progress on the long journey before us. One -of our many tacks brought us close to the English coast. It was my -first and likely to be my last view of that country. Aileen has made -our cabin snug and convenient beyond belief. Her happy disposition -causes her to make the best of everything.</p> - -<p>19.—The westerly breezes that kept us tacking in the channel gave -place, during the night, to a strong east wind, before which the ship -is bowling at a fine rate. Passing close to the shore we had a view of -the coast from Ardmore to Cape Clear. Aileen sat with me all day, our -eyes fixed on the land we loved. Knowing, as it swept past us, it was -the last time we would ever gaze upon it, our hearts were too full for -speech. Towards evening the ship drew away from it, until the hills -of Kerry became so faint that they could hardly be distinguished from -the clouds that hovered over them. When I finally turned away my eyes -from where I knew the dear old land was, my heart throbbed as if it -would burst. Farewell, Erin; no matter how far from you I may roam, my -heartstrings are woven to you and forget you I never shall. May the -centuries of your sorrows soon be completed, and peace and plenty be -yours forever. Land of my fathers, shrine of my faith, a last farewell!</p> - -<p>20.—When I awoke this morning I became<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[Pg 386]</a></span> sensible of the violent -motion of the ship. Going out I saw we were fairly on the bosom of -the Atlantic and the ship was plunging through the ocean swell. The -east wind still held and we were speeding on our course under full -sail. I found my fellow-passengers to be in a deplorable condition. -The bulwarks were lined with a number who were deadly seasick. Going -between decks the scene nigh overcame me. The first time I went below -I was reminded of a cavern—long and narrow and low in ceiling. Today -it was a place for the damned. Three blinking oil lanterns cast light -enough to show the outlines of forms that lay groaning on the floor, -and give glimpses of white stony faces lying in the berths, a double -tier of which surround the sides of the ship. A poignant wail of misery -came through an atmosphere of such deadly odour that, for the first -time, I felt sick, and had to beat a retreat up the narrow ladder. The -cool ocean breeze revived me and Aileen, who proved a good sailor, -had our modest breakfast ready when I joined her. On revisiting the -steerage later in the day I found there were passengers down with more -than seasickness. There are several cases of dysentery. I asked the -steward to tell the captain. He informs me the captain can do nothing, -having only a small medicine-chest for the crew. However he told him, -and the captain ordered the steward to give them each a glass of -whisky. I had plain<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[Pg 387]</a></span> proof today of my suspicions that drink is being -sold, and on charging the steward he told me it was the custom for -the mates of emigrant ships to be allowed to do so, and he would get -me what I wanted at any time for sixpence a noggin. I told him I had -taken the pledge at the hands of Father Matthew and considered drink -unnecessary. My remonstrances fell on stony ground, for the steward, a -decent, civil fellow, sees no wrong in drinking or in selling drink.</p> - -<p>21.—The first death took place last night, when a boy of five years -succumbed to dysentery. In the afternoon a wail suddenly arose from -the hold—a fine young woman had died from the same cause. Both were -dropped into the sea at sunset. There are fewer seasick today, but the -number ill from dysentery grows. Cornmeal was served out today instead -of biscuit. It was an injury instead of a sustenance, for it being -impossible to make stirabout of it owing to no provision having been -made for a galley for the passengers, it had to be mixed with water and -eaten raw. Some got hot water, but most had to use cold. Such food when -dysentery threatens is poison. Today was cold with a headwind that sent -the spray flying over the bows. Had a long talk this afternoon with a -very decent man who is going to Peterborough, Canada West. He thinks it -is not disease that ails the children, but cold and hunger. Food and -clothes is what they need, not medicine. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[Pg 388]</a></span> number of sick grows. -Sighted 2 ships today, both too far away to speak them.</p> - -<p>22.—Why do we exert ourselves so little to help one another, when it -takes so little to please? Aileen coaxed the steward to let her have -some discarded biscuit bags. These she is fashioning into a sort of -gowns to cover the nakedness of several girls who could not come on -deck. The first she finished this afternoon, and no aristocratic miss -could have been prouder of her first silk dress than was the poor child -of the transformed canvas bag, which was her only garment.</p> - -<p>23.—This is Sunday. The only change in the routine of the ship that -marks the day is that the sailors gave an extra wash down to the decks -and after that did no work except trim the sails. They spent the -forenoon on the forecastle mending or washing their clothes. During -the afternoon it grew cold, with a strong wind from the northeast, -accompanied by driving showers. Towards sunset the sea was a lather of -foam, and the wind had increased to a gale. When the waves began to -flood the deck, the order was given to put the hatches on. God help the -poor souls shut in beneath my feet! With hatches open, the hold was -unbearable to me. With them closed, what will it be by morning? It is -growing so dark I cannot see to write more, for a light is forbidden -to us. The wind is still rising and the thump of the waves as they -strike the ship’s side grows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[Pg 389]</a></span> more violent. The shouting of orders, -the tramp and rush of the sailors to obey them, the swaying of the -ship, the groaning of her timbers and masts, and the constant swish of -water rushing across the deck, combine to make me most melancholy and -forebodings of evil darken my soul. Aileen is on her knees, the calm -and resignation of a saint resting upon her face. There is a faith in -God that rises above the worst of the world’s trials.</p> - -<p>24.—We had a dreadful night, and I slept only by snatches. At midnight -the tempest seemed to reach its heighth, when its roar drowned all -other sounds. The ship swayed and rolled as if she would capsize, -while ever and anon she shipped a sea that flooded our little cabin, -and threatened to tear the house, of which it forms part, from its -fastenings and carry it overboard. How I prayed for daylight! When -at last the dawn of another day came, the wind lessened somewhat in -its force, but the waves were higher and stronger, and while the ship -was still shuddering from the dreadful blow dealt by one, another -struck her, and made her stagger worse than before. Peering out of the -side-scuttle I could see naught but a wild tumult of waters—yawning -abysses of green water and moving mountains crested with foam. The -writhing, ceaseless activity of the raging waters deeply impressed -me. Our ship at one time seemed to be about to be engulfed; the next -moment<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[Pg 390]</a></span> she towered above the highest waves. So far as I could make -out she was driving before the gale under her foresail, close reefed. -It was noon before it was safe to step out on deck. The wind was dying -away but the ocean was still a wild scene. With little way on the ship, -she rolled and pitched, so that to keep from falling I had to clutch -at whatever I could get a hold of. The sails were slatting against the -masts with a noise like thunder. It was late in the day when a breeze -came up, which steadied the vessel and caused her to ship no more -water, when the mate ordered the hatches to be opened. I was standing -by, concerned to know how it had gone with my people. The first man to -come up was my uncle. He had been waiting anxiously to see me. His wife -had taken ill during the night, and he was afraid her trouble was the -fever. I hurried down with him and found her pulse high and her body -racked with pains. All that we had in our power to do for her was to -give a few drops of laudanum from a bottle Aileen had brought with her, -which eased her pains and gave her some rest. Aileen wanted to go and -see her but I would not allow her, the sights and stench of between -decks being revolting and past description. Uncle says the passengers -passed a dreadful night. The seams opened in the forepeak, and the -water coming in caused a panic, the belief being the ship was about to -sink. One old man was thrown against a trunk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[Pg 391]</a></span> and had three ribs broken -and a girl, ill from dysentery, died during the worst of the storm.</p> - -<p>25.—Tired and worn out as I was, I had a broken night’s rest. I woke -with a start from a dream that uncle’s wife was dead. So impressed was -I that such was the case, that I dressed hurriedly to go and see. As I -stepped on deck 8 bells were struck, indicating midnight. It was clear -though cold, and the stars could be seen to the horizon. The column of -heated air that rose from the hatchway was peculiarly fetid, but I did -not hesitate to descend. Except for the cries and groans of the sick -stillness prevailed. Exhausted by the watching of the preceding night -all who could were asleep. On getting to uncle’s berth, I found him -sleeping heavily, his wife tossing by his side with the restlessness of -her disease. She was dosing and muttering, showing she was not herself. -I tried to catch the words she uttered, and found in her delirium she -was back in Ireland and to the happy days when uncle was a wanter -and was coming to see her. I searched high and low before I found a -pannikin of water. I raised her head and held it to her lips. She drank -it to the last drop. Slipping back to my bunk, I slept until it was -late in the day. My first thought on opening my eyes was, that it was -my duty to speak to the captain, and as I took breakfast with Aileen I -thought how I could approach him with some hope of success. I kept on -deck<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[Pg 392]</a></span> watching my chance. The captain came up only for a short time at -noon to take the sun, and then the mate was with him. I knew it was no -use to speak when that fellow was near. After dinner I saw the mate go -to his cabin for a sleep, and waited anxiously for the captain. When he -did step from the companion and had taken a round or two on the poop, -I stepped up. He looked surprised and as if he resented my intrusion. -Before he could speak I said—“Pardon me, captain, for coming here. I -thought you might not know what is on board ship.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” he asked roughly.</p> - -<p>“There is fever on board,” I answered quietly. He paled a little, and -then shouted, “You lie; what do you know about fever? You are not a -doctor.”</p> - -<p>“Come and see for yourself,” I said, “you have not been ’tween decks -since we left Dublin.”</p> - -<p>With an oath he retorted “Do you mean to tell me what I should do? I -want you to understand I know my duty.”</p> - -<p>“For heaven’s sake, captain, do it then. Fever is on board and unless a -change is made half the passengers may die.”</p> - -<p>“What change?” he asked sulkily.</p> - -<p>“The steerage wants cleansing and the passengers need better food and -more of it.”</p> - -<p>“Grumbling, eh; what do they expect? Roast beef and plum pudding? The -beggars get the government allowance. Begone, sir.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[Pg 393]</a></span></p> - -<p>I was trembling with repressed indignation but for the sake of -those I pled for I kept cool. “Captain, the poor people ask nothing -unreasonable. Go and see for yourself the biscuits and water served out -to them, and I am sure you will order a change.”</p> - -<p>“Complain about the water, too! What’s wrong with it?”</p> - -<p>“It’s foul,” I told him, “it smells and bad though it be, there is not -enough served out. The sick are calling for water and not a drop to be -got.”</p> - -<p>“Not enough served out—what do you mean?”</p> - -<p>“That the allowance is scrimped.”</p> - -<p>He clinched his fist and raised his right arm as if to strike me. “This -to me, on my own ship; that passengers are cheated in measure!”</p> - -<p>“Strike me, captain, if you will, but by our common faith I implore you -to consider the case of my poor people. There are children who have -died from starvation and they have been dropped into the sea. There are -more dying and you can save them by ordering a larger ration of sound -biscuit. There are men and women lying stretched in the fever, will -you not ease their agony by letting them have all the water they can -drink? They have suffered everything flesh and blood can suffer short -of death. In fleeing from the famine in Ireland, do not let it be said -they have found harder hearts and a worse fate on board ship. When you -know a cup of water and a bite will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[Pg 394]</a></span> save life and will make hundreds -happy, sure, captain, you will not refuse to give them.”</p> - -<p>“You vagabond,” he exclaimed, his eyes flashing with anger, “if you -insinuate I am starving anybody I will pitch you overboard. The -passengers get all the government regulations allow them and more they -shan’t have. Begone, sir, and do not dare to come on the poop again.”</p> - -<p>“One word, captain. I have been told you have a wife and children. For -their sweet sake, have pity on the little ones and the women on board.”</p> - -<p>“Do you hear me?” he shouted. “Leave the poop or I will kick you off. -I’ll have no mutiny on my ship.”</p> - -<p>I turned and left more sorrowful at my failure than indignant at my -usage. My appeal did some good, however, for before the day was over -wind-sails were rigged at the hatchways, which did a little to freshen -the air ’tween decks. A sail ahead hove in sight during the afternoon, -and we rapidly gained on her. At six o’clock we were abreast of the -stranger, which was not over half a mile away. She was a small barque -and had lost her foretopmast during the gale. She signalled us, but -our captain took no notice, and we soon left her a long way astern. -Asking the boatswain why she wanted to speak us, he said she likely was -short of sails and spars to repair her damage and wanted to get them -from us. “And why did the captain not help her?” The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[Pg 395]</a></span> boatswain smiled. -“They cost money and supplying them would have delayed us.” I had my -own thoughts about the sailor who would not give a helping hand to his -brother when overtaken by misfortune. If that ship be lost for lack of -spar or sail, then that little tyrant who struts our quarter-deck is -accountable.</p> - -<p>26.—A beautiful morning, bright and milder than it has been. Every -sail is drawing and the ship is bowling along at a fine rate. I got up -early, being anxious about uncle’s wife. Found her no better. Worse -than that, learned there were five besides her ill the same way. There -is now not a shadow of a doubt that typhus fever is on board. Since -we left port, no attempt has been made to clear the steerage, which -is filthy beyond description. When I speak to the men to join in and -shovel up the worst of the dirt, they despondently ask me, “What’s the -use?” The despondency engendered of hunger and disease is upon them -and they will not exert themselves. The steward is the only one of the -ship’s company who goes down the hatch-steps, and it would be better -if he did not, for his errand is to sell the drink for which so many -are parting with the sixpences they should keep for their landing in -a strange country. The day being passably warm in the afternoon the -children played on the deck and I coaxed Paddy Doolan to get out his -pipes and set them jigging. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[Pg 396]</a></span></p> - -<p>27.—A dull, murky morning, with a mist that surrounded the ship as -the wrapping of silk paper does an orange. It was almost a dead calm -and the atmosphere was so heavy the smoke of the galley did not rise -and filled the deck with its fumes. The main deck was deserted, save -by myself and three old women who sat on the coaming of the main -hatchway, smoking their pipes. The cabin boy flitted backwards and -forwards carrying breakfast to the cabin, where the steward was laying -the table. The boy’s motions did not escape the women, and I noticed -them whispering and laughing as if concocting a plot. One presently -went down into the hold, while the other two turned anxious glances -for the return of the cabin boy. When he did come he loaded up with as -many skillets and pans as he could carry. No sooner had he disappeared -down the companion-way, than the women ran to the galley, which was -deserted, for the cook, having completed his morning’s work, had gone -to the forecastle, where the sailors were at breakfast, leaving the -dishes ready for the boy to take to the cabin as wanted. In a twinkling -the women were out again, one of them bearing a big copper teapot, -the steam from its spout showing in the morning air. Hurrying to the -hatchway they were met by the woman who had left them, ready with a -lapful of tins of every description. Into these the tea was poured and -handed below, as quickly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[Pg 397]</a></span> as they could be handled. Curious to view the -scene I went to the hatch and looked down, seeing a crowd of grinning -passengers beneath, who carried off the tins as they got them. When -the last drop was out of the kettle, the woman who held it ran back to -the galley, and dipping it into an open copper of hot water replaced -it where she got it. The women did not disappear, but resuming their -seats on the edge of the hatch proceeded to discuss the tins of tea -they had reserved for themselves. By-and-by the boy hove in sight, -and, unsuspicious of the change in its contents, carried the kettle to -the cabin. He had been away five minutes when he reappeared kettle in -hand and went to the galley. I stood behind him. He looked bewildered. -“Bedad, I was right; there’s no other kettle.” “Anything wrong, my -boy?” “Och, yis; it’s hot say water instead of tay that’s in the -kettle.” Going to the sailors’ quarters he returned with the cook who, -on tasting what was in the kettle, looked perplexed. Accompanied by the -boy he made his way to the cabin to report a trick had been played upon -him. Telling Aileen of what was afoot, she drew a shawl over her head, -came out and took her place by me in lee of the long boat, awaiting -developments. The mate, followed by cook, steward, and boy, emerged -from the companion. Striding the deck with wrathful haste the mate went -to the galley and after hearing the explanations of the cook, shouted -“I’ll flay<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[Pg 398]</a></span> the——thieves with a rope’s end.” Coming back, he asked -me, “What do you know about this?”</p> - -<p>“That I had no hand it,” I replied, “nor, I’m sorry to say, even a -taste of it.” Aileen laughed, and eyeing me malignantly the mate -retorted, “You know who did it; tell me right away.”</p> - -<p>“Of course I know, but I would not tell a gentleman like yourself who -hates informers. Remember Dublin bay.”</p> - -<p>He ground his teeth and had Aileen not been there I believe he would -have attempted to strike me. Wheeling round to the three old women who -sat quietly on the hatchway he asked them.</p> - -<p>“Is it the tay ye are askin afther? Sure an it wasn’t bad; was it, Mrs -O’Flaherty?”</p> - -<p>“Dade it was comfortin this saft mornin, Mrs Doolan, an good it was ov -the gintlemin to send it to us. It’s a captain ye should be instead ov -a mate, my dear.”</p> - -<p>“Tell me who stole the tea-kettle from the galley,” yelled the mate.</p> - -<p>“Och, dear, don’t be shoutin so loud,” replied Mrs Doolan, “if I be -old, I’m not deaf yet. An as for stealin yer dirthy ould tay-kittle, -sure I saw the boy with it in his hand this minit.”</p> - -<p>“Come, no prevaricating. You know what I mean. Who stole the tea?” -cried the mate.</p> - -<p>“Mrs Finegan, ye sit there niver saying a word; can’t ye tell this -swate gintlemin who stole the tay.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[Pg 399]</a></span></p> - -<p>“You’ll be manin the tay the landlord tould us he paid tin pounds into -the hands of the mate to give us on the voyage. Where that tay wint to -I don’t know at awl, at awl. Do you, Mrs O’Flaherty?”</p> - -<p>“For shame, Mrs Finegan, to be purtindin sich a gintlemin wad kep the -tin poun. He’s agoin to give us tay reglar afther this, an (here she -raised her tin and drank the last drop) this is the first token. If ye -plaze, sir, it would taste betther were ye to put a grain o’ shuggar in -it.”</p> - -<p>At this, Aileen, who had been quivering with restrained merriment, -burst into a ripple of laughter, loud and long, and an echo from -beneath showed there were amused auditors at the hatchway. The mate -grew purple with wrath. Seizing Mrs O’Flaherty by the shoulder he -fairly screamed, “You old hag, you know all about it; show me the -thief.”</p> - -<p>The woman rose to her feet, her long grey hair hanging damp and limp in -straggling locks. With a twinkle in her eye she composedly regarded the -mate and dropping him a curtsey, said, she could “not refuse so purlite -a gintlemin. Thravellin in furrin parts is as good for manners as a -boardin-school eddication, Mrs Finegan.”</p> - -<p>With an oath the mate shouted, “Show me the thief.”</p> - -<p>“It’s that same I’m going to do,” she replied, “Come afther me,” and -she put her foot on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[Pg 400]</a></span> ladder that led into the hold. The mate shrank -back as if shot. “Are you not acomin?” asked Mrs O’Flaherty. “Indade -its proud we will all be to see yer bewtiful face below for ye have -never been down to see us yet.”</p> - -<p>“He’s bashful,” interjected Mrs Doolan, rising, “come wid me, if ye -plaze, Mr Mate, an I’ll interjuce you.”</p> - -<p>The mate was glaring with a look in which fear mingled with baffled -rage. The crones noted his state of mind and enjoyed it. “Can ye tell -me, Mrs O’Flaherty, where that fine parfume is comin from?”</p> - -<p>“Is it the sint aff the mate, yer smellin?” remarked Mrs Finegan, who -had relit her pipe and was looking on with a solemn face. “Sure it’s -camfire, an he shmells av it like an ould maid’s chist o’ drawers.”</p> - -<p>“Beggin yer pardon, Mrs Finegan,” retorted Mrs O’Flaherty, “it’s a -docthur he be, an he is comin down to see thim sick wid the favor.”</p> - -<p>With a volley of curses the mate turned away. As he went towards the -poop he was followed by a chorus of cries from the old women, Wunna -ye come an git the thafe? How did ye like hot say wather for tay? -Remimber, an send us our tay reglar afther this, not forgittin the -shuggar. There’s a favor patient wants to see ye, sir.</p> - -<p>When he disappeared I said to Aileen “none but Irishwomen could have -so settled a bully.”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[Pg 401]</a></span> “And no other,” she laughingly replied, “have -captured a cup of tea so neatly.” Towards noon the fog cleared, and the -ship made some progress under a light breeze. There was no death today, -but there are more cases of fever. The boatswain told me that the sight -of the sun today showed we were 600 miles from Newfoundland. Saw the -topsails of a full-rigged ship at the edge of the horizon before sunset.</p> - -<p>28.—Rained all morning and miserably cold. The light breeze we had -died away and we rolled helplessly until after dinner, when the wind -came up from the south-east, which sent us bowling on our course. A -huge staysail, that had been bent by the sailors two days ago between -the main and foremast, was hoisted for the first time, and added -perceptibly to the ship’s speed. Sickness increases and the body of a -boy of 5 years of age was dropped into the ocean in the forenoon. The -frequency of deaths has made the passengers callous, and, especially -those of children, call out little comment. When men and women have -sounded the deepest depth of wretchedness, as they have done, they seem -to lose both hope and fear. Uncle’s wife is no better; so far as I can -judge she is sinking. She might rally had we suitable nourishment to -give her, but we have nothing. She has not even fresh air, but with -every breath inhales the stench of a pestilence. Uncle, unable to do -anything else for her, sits at the head of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[Pg 402]</a></span> berth, her hand clasped -in his. We had a wonderful sunset. The change of wind brought warmth -and dappled the sky with fleecy clouds. The forecastle being deserted -Aileen went with me and we sat where, looking down, we could see the -cutwater flashing the waves into foam, or, looking up, see the cloud of -canvas and tracery of rope and block crimsoning in the waning sunlight. -The sun was setting so directly ahead of us that it might be supposed -the man at the wheel was steering for it. The glittering, burnished -pathway it threw across the ocean, our ship sailed up.</p> - -<p>“Sure,” whispered Aileen, “it is the road to the land of promise and -the sun himself welcomes us as we pursue it.”</p> - -<p>“Heaven grant it may be so, but for some on board the land of promise -will never be.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t be looking at the dark side, Gerald. See yonder clouds, their -downy edges touched with pink. Let us fancy them the wings of the -angels who are beckoning us to homes of plenty and content beyond that -western wave, and cheer up.”</p> - -<p>As I looked into her face, bright with enthusiasm, I felt if angels -beckoned I had also one at my side to encourage me. We gazed in silence -at the glowing scene, marked the sun’s disappearance, and the deepening -colors in cloud and water. Turning our gaze to the ship we could trace -the sun’s departing rays as they creeped up the tall masts. “Who -would think,” I said, “to look upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[Pg 403]</a></span> this most beautiful of all man’s -creations, a ship in full sail radiant in the sun’s richest tints, that -in her hold she is bearing an unspeakable mass of misery and woe? How -dark within; how bright without. How deceiving are appearances!”</p> - -<p>“Nay, Gerald, rather look at it this way: How God in his goodness -beautifies what man mars. Nothing so loathsome the sun will not bathe -in the fullness of his brightness and glory.”</p> - -<p>And in that I thought, the sunshine is type of woman’s love, which -is not withheld by what is repulsive and like the sunshine takes no -defilement from what it touches.</p> - -<p>29.—Uncle’s wife died this morning. It would not be correct to say -the fever killed her, for it had not reached its crisis. She was -weakly when she left home, and the sojourn on the quay, waiting to get -on board ship, gave her a bad cold. Her system was so reduced, she -could not withstand the onset of the disease. Uncle wanted a coffin, -and the carpenter agreed to make one for five shillings, but when he -asked permission of the mate he refused, so she was buried like the -others, slipped into the ocean. I recited the prayers for the dead, -and the deck was crowded, many being there who had not left the hold -since we sailed. Just as they were about to lift the corpse over the -gunwale Aileen suddenly burst into song—that mournful, consolatory -hymn of the ages, Dies Iræ, to whose strains so many<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[Pg 404]</a></span> millions of the -faithful have been carried to the grave. It was her magnificent voice, -sounding from the choir-loft of our chapel, that first drew me to her, -and, never before, did I hear her put more feeling into her voice than -now. When the last strain of melody floated over the waters, there was -a hush for a minute, my uncle laid his hand for the last time on the -head of her he so dearly loved, there was a plunge, and all was over. -The breaking out of the fever has produced, even among us hardened to -misfortune, something like a panic. The crew are in mortal terror of -the infection and will not allow passengers to go on the forecastle, -as was their wont. The ship being sent to sea purposely shorthanded, -the owner relying on saving something by getting the emigrants to -help, a few of our lads, who had been given bunks in the forecastle -and allowed sailors’ rations, have been warned, if they go down the -hatchways to see their people, they need not return. The captain and -cabin passengers never leave the poop. As for the mate, he seems to put -his faith for protection against infection on camphor, and so smells of -it that he must have a piece in every pocket. Uncle’s sorrows are not -ended, for two of his family are very ill.</p> - -<p>30.—Cold and rainy with fog. A north-west wind is blowing that drives -the ship at a good rate, though not straight on her course. The fever -spreads and to the other horrors of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[Pg 405]</a></span> steerage is added the cries of -those in delirium. While I was coming from the galley this afternoon, -with a pan of stirabout for some sick children, a man suddenly sprang -upwards from the hatchway, rushed to the bulwark, his white hair -streaming in the wind, and without a moment’s hesitation leaped into -the seething waters. He disappeared beneath them at once. His daughter -soon came hurrying up the ladder to look for him. She said he had -escaped from his bunk during her momentary absence, that he was mad -with the fever. When I told her gently as I could that she would never -see him again, she could not believe me, thinking he was hiding. Oh -the piercing cry that came from her lips when she learned where he had -gone; the rush to the vessel’s side, and the eager look as she scanned -the foaming billows. Aileen led her away; dumb from the sudden stroke -yet without a tear.</p> - -<p>May 1.—Wind still from northwest; ship beating against it in short -tacks. Most disagreeable motion. Cast lead at noon. At 150 fathoms -found no bottom. A whale crossed our bows, not a hundred yards away. -During the afternoon wind veered to northeast and before dark developed -into a gale, before which we are driving. May it last long enough to -bring us to land. Two deaths today, which has been a truly miserable -May-day.</p> - -<p>2.—There had been a flurry of snow during<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[Pg 406]</a></span> the night, so that yards -and deck were white when I went out. The gale still holds and boatswain -said if the weather cleared we would see Newfoundland. Two small booms -cracked but that has not deterred the captain from keeping on all the -sail the ship will bear. At times her lee rail almost touches the -water, and the deck slants so it is difficult to cross it. The captain -is anxious to end the voyage, and no wonder, for the fever spreads. One -child and two adults have died within the last twenty-four hours. Their -bodies were dropped overboard when the ship was going 12 knots an hour. -A cold, miserable day.</p> - -<p>3.—The gale blew itself out during the night and today it is calm, the -ship pitching and rolling on a glassy swell, and the sails flapping as -if they would split. There is a mist, and it is very cold, which, the -boatswain tells me, indicates ice near. Lead cast and soundings found, -showing we are on the Banks. Some of our people, who are fishermen, -bargained with the cook for a piece of salt pork and using it as bait -cast their lines. Their patience was tried for a while, until we struck -a school of fish, when for half an hour they caught cod and dogfish -as fast as they could haul them in. The school then left and few were -caught afterwards. They gave a few of best fish to the cook and in -consideration he cooked what they had, so for one day all between decks -had enough<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[Pg 407]</a></span> to eat. The drinking-water has been growing daily worse, -and now the smell of it is shocking. The barrels must have been filled -from the Liffey near a sewer. Repugnant as it is to sight, smell, and -taste it continues to be doled out in such meagre measure that the sick -are continually crying for water with not a drop to give them. The -number now sick is appalling—the young of dysentery, the old of fever, -the cause of both diseases starvation. Uncle’s second boy died this -afternoon of dysentery. Poor uncle, his lot is a sore one, yet he never -complains. Wind came from southwest towards evening bringing milder -temperature with light rain. Sighted several fishing schooners and saw -sea-birds for first time since left coast of Ireland.</p> - -<p>4.—This has been a variable day; at times bright and warm, at others -foggy and chilly, according as the wind blew, and it has veered from -west to southwest. Sailors busy getting anchors off forecastle and -bitted to the catheads—a slow and laborious task. Passed a number of -fishing smacks today and sailed through a school of porpoises. Our own -fishermen did pretty well today, The fish they catch is a great boon to -our starving people. No death today.</p> - -<p>5.—Weather thick and bitterly cold; no child played on deck today. -Passed large fields of ice requiring great skill in handling the ship -to avoid them. Captain remained on deck all day. While<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[Pg 408]</a></span> I have no -respect for him as a man, he is an excellent sailor. Passed two ships -caught in the ice. Boatswain says they will have to drift with it until -the wind opens a channel by which they can escape. Steady wind from -north-east all day. One death this evening, body buried by moonlight.</p> - -<p>6.—No ice seen today. Boatswain tells me the captain has brought the -ship well south of it. Weather continued thick, with wind from east, -and frequent showers of rain. Passed a beautifully shaped two-masted -vessel, painted white. She hoisted the stars and stripes. Sighted two -large vessels, one like ourselves crowded with emigrants, for her lee -bulwark was black with them, looking at us. A patch of floating sea -weed drifted by before dark, showing we must be near land. There were -three deaths today. If it please God, may this agony soon end.</p> - -<p>7.—Stepping on deck this morning to my astonishment saw land on -either side—cape North and St Paul island, the sunlight bringing the -lighthouses into sharp relief. Both spits looked desolate, but were -a cheering sight, for they were the first land we have seen since we -lost sight of the Kerry hills. Thank God for his goodness in bringing -us to land, the sight of which cheered me beyond expression. It sent -a thrill of excitement even through the steerage. During the night -the wind changed to the southeast and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[Pg 409]</a></span> ship makes great progress, -the water being smooth, for now being in the gulf of St Lawrence we -have left behind us the swell of the Atlantic. As the morning wore on -it grew warmer, and when the sun had climbed to his heighth his rays -became almost unpleasantly hot. Passengers not seen on deck since we -sailed, crawled up to have a sight of the land, which we quickly left -astern, and to bask in the sunshine, until few except the sick remained -below. It was wonderful the change heat and prospect of soon being on -land, wrought on the spirits of us all. Hope sprung afresh, and the -misery of the past was forgotten. Children played about the deck and -the hum of conversation filled the air. There were a number of ships -in sight, bound, like ourselves, for Quebec. The hours sped and we -were bearing down on the Bird-rocks—lonely islets of rock, worn into -fantastic shapes, shooting sheer up from the sea and whose cliffs give -a foothold to sea fowl, squadrons of whom were careering above them. -While intently watching these sentinels of the gulf of the mighty river -we had entered, my eye chanced to fall on the face of an old woman -whom Aileen had persuaded to stay on deck. More pinched and sallow it -could not be, for she was wasted and worn, but, to my alarm, I saw its -lines assuming the rigidity of coming death. I touched Aileen’s arm -to direct her attention. She was down on her knees by her side in a -moment.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[Pg 410]</a></span> “Mother, dear, are you not feeling well?” The eyelids lifted -and the answer came, “I thank God for his goodness,” and then they -drooped over the poor dazed eyes. I stepped into my cabin for a tin -of water and Aileen held it to her lips. She feebly motioned it away. -The slip of a girl who belonged to her, a grandchild, now realizing -the coming change, clasped her round the neck. “Granny, dear, don’t be -aleavin me all alone; sure we see Ameriky now and will soon be walkin -on it.” The soul was quitting its frail tenement but the child’s voice -so far recalled it, that a slight look of recognition lightened the -face. “Och, stay wid me, granny, an I’ll do yer biddin and nivir vix ye -agin. We’ll soon be havin lashins of meat an wather, an ye wunna need -to be givin me your share. O stay wid me!” At that moment there was a -report of a musket fired near by. The passengers, grouped around the -dying woman, raised their startled eyes and saw it was the mate, who -had fired at the sea fowl on the rocks we were now passing. The angry -scowl at the interruption melted again into sorrow when Aileen, lifting -the gray head from her lap, reverently straightened it on the deck, -and leaving the body to the care of the women who crowded near, led -the sobbing girl, doubly orphaned, to our cabin. At sunset we buried -the body and with it that of a poor cripple, who had been suffering -from dysentery. We sat late that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[Pg 411]</a></span> night, for the breeze was warm and -the speed of the ship exhilarating, while the waters sparkled in the -moonlight. I had been in bed some time, when voices outside wakened -me. It was the boatswain and a sailor who were talking, and the sound -of their voices seemed to express astonishment. I dressed and hurried -out. “Is there anything gone wrong?” I asked. “Did you ever see the -like of that?” the boatswain replied, by pointing to the sky. The wind -had fallen and glancing up the masts I saw sail, and rope, and block -were motionless. Above hung clouds the like of which I had never seen. -There were thousands of them, all about a size, all spherical, and all -placed together as exactly as the panes in a cathedral window. Though -hid from view, the moon was in the zenith, and its downward rays fell -on the cloudlets, illuminating them and transmitting a ghostly light, -reflected by a ghostly sea. From the horizon to the apex the illusion -of the clouds was perfect in representing the ship as standing beneath -the centre of a great dome composed of spheres of grey glass, through -which streamed a light mysterious and fearsome, revealing the face -of a glassy sea, dark and dread. “What weather does this portend?” I -whispered. The boatswain shook his head. “It ain’t weather, sir,” said -the sailor, “It’s death. You see if the fever don’t grow worse.”</p> - -<p>8.—I had sat so long on deck during the night<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[Pg 412]</a></span> that it was late in -the day when I awoke. Aileen had gone out but returned when I had -dressed and we had breakfast. A western breeze was blowing and the -ship was tacking. The boatswain told me the gulf was over 200 miles -wide so there was plenty of sea room, but before night we found there -was not. As the day wore on the wind increased and the weather became -thick, so that the men on the lookout kept sounding the horn nearly all -the time. The captain was more afraid of ice than of a collision with -another ship, and did not leave the deck after dinner. It was about -6 o’clock, when everything seemed to be going well, the ship tearing -through the water on her northern tack, when the fog suddenly thinned, -and to our surprise we saw land ahead. We were not over a mile from it. -The captain shouted to the man at the wheel, who brought the ship up -to the wind, the sails slatting like to break the masts. The yards of -the foremast were soon braced round, and the question was whether the -ship would wear in time to avoid striking, for the land was now so near -that we could see the foam of the breakers on the shore. There was a -dreadful period of suspense, during which the ship drifted broadside -on towards the land, until the sails of the foremast bellied out on -catching the wind, when she turned on her heel, and the order tacks and -sheets given, when everybody who had been able to get a grip of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[Pg 413]</a></span> the -ropes hauled with all their strength. The ship was now on the other -tack, when we left the land astern, and which presented a desolate -appearance, a foreground of rock with low hills behind on which were -patches of snow. The boatswain said it was the eastern end of the -island of Anticosti, and had we struck the rocks, those who escaped -drowning would have starved to death, for the island, save a lighthouse -or two, is uninhabited. I thought it, but did not say it, for he is not -responsible, that 500 people were being starved to death on board ship. -Our having got out of our course, for the captain supposed he was well -clear of the island, is blamed on the currents and tides of the gulf.</p> - -<p>9.—Uncle’s oldest son died of the fever soon after daylight. The blow -is a crushing one, but I have yet to hear the first murmur from uncle. -His submission to the Divine Will is most touching. The body along with -two more we dropped overboard when the sailors were at dinner. Tho’ -near the end of our voyage, the little tyrant on the poop has given no -order to increase the supply of water or biscuit. I did not think the -stench of the hold could become worse, but the heat we had a day ago -has intensified it. To descend into the hold has become more than I can -well bear. I told Aileen today she must not even go near the hatchways. -Wind unfavorable all day, and ship tacking. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[Pg 414]</a></span></p> - -<p>10.—Wind again in the south but very light. Today in making the -weather tack we came close to the south shore, which seemed to be a -succession of ranges of high hills with trees to their tops. This was -a sad day, five having died. Exchanged signals with a ship. She said -she was from Liverpool with emigrants and many were sick. Lead was kept -going all day.</p> - -<p>11.—In beating across the gulf this morning, the wind being ahead, and -cold enough to chill to the marrow, we noticed a small schooner bearing -down upon us. It was a pilot boat that had sighted us. When alongside, -a row boat left her and soon a pilot was climbing to our deck. He was a -Frenchman and spoke broken English. When he saw he had got on board an -emigrant ship, he seemed to hesitate, and looked as if he wished he was -back, with the bundle he had in his hand, on the schooner again. The -boat, however, was by this time near the schooner. “Any seek?” he asked -the captain. What the captain answered I could not hear, for he turned -and took the stranger to the cabin. When the pilot reappeared he took -command, and I noticed he never left the poop. In the afternoon it grew -foggy and from the forecastle the dismal sound of the fog horn came. -Being now well up the gulf we were in the neighborhood of many vessels, -and a collision was possible. We sighted no ship, however, until late -in the afternoon, when we<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[Pg 415]</a></span> saw masttops above the fog. She proved to -be a large vessel in splendid order. Ranging close to us, her captain -asked if we had a pilot. Answered yes, he replied he had none. Our -captain told them to follow us. Instead of that, the order was given -to set more sail and in a few minutes she was lost to sight. Our pilot -shook his head as he remarked, “She heading for Mingan rocks.” When -it began to grow dark, order given to let go the anchor. The noise of -the rattling cable was like thunder. A child died today, a sweet girl -toddler that Aileen was fond of. Many of the sick are sinking tonight, -not one of whom but might have lived with proper sustenance, for it is -the period of convalescence that proves fatal in nine cases out of ten. -Mouldy sea biscuit of the coarsest kind and foul water simply kill the -patient who has got over the fever, yet we have nothing else to offer -to satisfy their cravings.</p> - -<p>12.-Anchor was weighed at daylight and when I came out on deck found we -were tacking towards south shore, which was concealed by a fog-bank. -Afterwards the wind veered to the east, and a drizzling rain set in. -Weather thick all day, cold and disagreeable, with satisfaction, -however, of knowing we are making good progress. The pilot, like the -captain, is anxious to make all possible speed, and even the top stun -sails were set. This was a sad day between decks. There were four -deaths and the number of sick greatly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[Pg 416]</a></span> increased. No wonder: the air is -that of a charnel vault and the people are so weak from want of food -that they have no strength to resist disease.</p> - -<p>13.—During the night was roused by the noise of the anchor being let -go. On leaving my cabin was astounded, for I stepped into brilliant -sun shine, in whose beams the waters danced, while, like a panorama, a -lovely landscape was unrolled on either side. No longer a weary waste -of water, with an unchanging horizon, met my view, but a noble river, -rolling between picturesque banks. The north was rugged, with lofty -hills, wooded to the summit; the south was an undulating slope, along -whose lower edge ran a line of small white-washed houses, so near each -other as to form a street. The fields were flushed with green and some -of the tree-tops thickened with bud and bursting leaf. Evidently the -occupants of each house had a farm, which ran like a riband from the -river to nigh the head of the slope, which was crowned with woods. -At regular intervals in the line of houses there is a church—plain -stone edifices with high pitched roofs, which, with steeples, are -tinned, giving them a foreign look. We were waiting for the tide to -turn, the breeze being insufficient to enable the ship to beat against -the current. On the other side of the river were four large ships, at -anchor like ourselves. As the morning wore on a boat was seen to leave -the shore and row towards us. The gunwale of our<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[Pg 417]</a></span> ship was crowded with -passengers watching her approach. On coming near us, the two men in -the boat did not seem to fancy our looks, for they did not throw their -line to us. They had evidently come to sell us the provisions they -had aboard. “Lay to, what are you afeared of,” shouted the boatswain. -One of the men shook his blue cowled head. “Parley vous Français?” he -cried “What does he say?” the boatswain asked me “I think he wants to -know if you speak French.” “Blast his himpudence; what does he think my -mother was? I wants none sich lingo,” retorted the salt. Scared by the -row of white faces the men had plainly decided to forego the profits -of trade from fear of infection. One had seized his oar to bring the -boat’s head to shore when, recalling all the French words I had ever -heard, I shouted “Lait,” and held out a pail with one hand and sixpence -with the other. They swung round, and one of the men caught my pail, -filled it and handed it back. Pointing to some loaves he gave me one -for a sixpence, and several other passengers bought the rest of them. -This done, the boat left. With that milk Aileen hopes to save the -lives of the few infants left. The bread was welcome, though it was -heavy and had a peculiar sourish taste. When the tide began to make, -the order to weigh the anchor was given. The ships to the north of us -were doing the same, and the sailors’ songs came over the water with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[Pg 418]</a></span> -beautiful cadence, blending with the chorus of our own crew, which -began with “haul in the bowline, the black ship’s arolling,” and ended -declaring that “Katie is my darling.” With a large spread of canvas -we moved slowly up the mighty river for the wind was light. In spite -of our dismal surroundings, this was a day of quiet delight to Aileen -and myself. The extraordinary width of the river, said to be over ten -miles, its waters, pure and of deep blue color, clasping at intervals -a picturesque island, the boldness of the wooded hills on the north -shore and the brightness and softness of the cultivated landscape on -the south, were a constant feast for eyes wearied of the sea. The depth -and tender blue of the sky, so much more transparent than in the dear -old land, particularly impressed Aileen. As we made our way up the -glorious river, the shores trended nearer, the hills on the north grew -loftier and the southern bank less steep. The sun had set in a glory -of gold and crimson beyond the hills when the order was given to let -go the anchor, the tide no longer serving us. Quarter a mile ahead -of us a large ship did the same. The evening being calm Aileen got -a wrap and we sat watching the darkening waters and the shores that -loomed momentarily more faint, until the lights from the house windows -alone marked where they were. “What is that?” she suddenly exclaimed, -and I saw a shapeless heap move past our ship on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[Pg 419]</a></span> outgoing tide. -Presently there was another and another. Craning my head over the -bulwark I watched. Another came, it caught in our cable, and before the -swish of the current washed it clear, I caught a glimpse of a white -face. I understood it all. The ship ahead of us had emigrants and they -were throwing overboard their dead. Without telling Aileen, I grasped -her arm, and drew her to our cabin.</p> - -<p>14.—An eventful day, the consequences of which I fear, although, -recalling every detail, I do not see how I could have acted otherwise. -Anxious to see this country, so new and bright to me, I rose at -daylight. The ship was under plain sail, beating against a northwest -wind, and making little headway. One of our lads who had been taken -to help the sailors was ordered by the mate up the foremast to put to -rights some tackle that had got entangled in the last tack. The boy -blundered, and the mate repeated the order with his customary oaths. -Again the lad tried to do what he was bid and failed. Ordering a sailor -to go up and do the work, the mate shouted to the boy to come down. -He did so reluctantly, for he saw the mate had grasped a rope’s end. -Cursing him for his slowness, the mate seized his feet while still in -the ratlines. He fell violently on the deck, when the mate proceeded to -shower blows with the heavy rope on the head and back of the boy, who -cried piteously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[Pg 420]</a></span> for mercy. I could not stand it; my blood was boiling. -“Stop,” I shouted, “have pity on the boy; he did not mean to disobey -your order. It was his sorrow for his mother who died last night that -confused him.” The mate paused in his lashing of the lad and glared at -me with such a malignant look as I pray the saints I may never again -have cast on me. “Mind your business, damn you, or I’ll have you put -in irons for mutiny,” he shouted and again laid the rope across the -lad’s quivering body with fiercer strength. It was, perhaps, foolish -for my own interests but I could not help it. I sprang at the mate and -dealt him a blow in the face. He clutched hold of me and we grappled. -He was strong, with muscles toughened by fighting sea and wind, but -a Sligo boy of my inches will take odds from no man in a wrestle. We -fell time and again, he beneath me, but he always managed to wriggle -up again, until I got a good hold of his neck, then I bent him under -me and rained blows on every part of him my right fist could reach. -All that the cheating villain had done, his cruelties to my people, -his brutal indifference to their sufferings, flashed across my mind, -and lent vim to every blow I dealt. How the scoundrel howled for help -and, finally, for mercy. Not one of the sailors interfered. They drew -off to the forepeak and looked on, glad to see his punishment. The -passengers who were on deck formed in a circle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[Pg 421]</a></span> around us, delighted at -the sight. One of them, I recall, popped up from the hatchway and held -out a blackthorn to me with the explanation, “To finish him off wid, -yer honor.” I needed no shillelah. The fear that I might fatally injure -the bully alone caused me to pause. I gathered him up in my arms for -a final effort, when a strange thing happened me. I saw in my mind’s -eye, as they passed before me, the white face of one after the other -of the dead I helped to drop into the sea. It was one of those freaks -the imagination plays when the mind is intensely excited. This could -not have taken over a moment or two, but I saw them all, plainly and -distinctly. Solemnized yet strengthened by the sight, I was given a -power I had not. I raised the craven, who was whining and sobbing, as -high as my breast and flung him away as far as I could. Fortune favored -him, he fell on a coil of rope, where he lay helpless. The steward -went to him, wiped the blood from his eyes, and finally he was able -to rise and, leaning on the steward’s left shoulder, shuffled to the -cabin. By this time every man of my people able to leave the hold was -on deck, an excited throng, eager for fighting. “If they lay a finger -on yees for what ye’ve so nately done, we’ll break the heads av ivery -wan o’ thim,” said a county Leitrim man to me, and I knew that was -the spirit of them all. Softly opening the door of our little cabin I -was thankful to find Aileen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[Pg 422]</a></span> asleep. Getting a change of clothes, for -those I had on were torn and bloodstained, I slipped out, had a wash -in a bucket of saltwater, and then dressed myself. At breakfast I told -Aileen all. She was much shocked at the danger I had run, and when -satisfied I had received no greater injury than sundry black and blue -bruises from kicks and blows and some handfuls of hair the coward had -torn from my head, she became alarmed for the result. Assaulting an -officer on shipboard I knew was a serious offence in the eyes of the -law, and so did Aileen. “I don’t think,” I said to her, “you need fear -their punishing me according to law, for they know if I am taken before -a court, all the villainy of captain and mate towards the passengers -would come out. They have broken the law in fifty ways, and know it. -What I fear is the captain trying to take the law into his own hands -before we reach Quebec.” We passed the day on deck as usual, appearing -as unconcerned as might be. Whether the captain entertained any notion -of arresting me, I cannot say, for he made no sign. The sight of a -score or so of my people keeping nigh me wherever I moved, from whose -coats peeped the end of what they called “a bit av a shtick,” may have -had some influence in deterring him, but the real cause I opine to be -what the boatswain whispered to me in the evening, that the steward had -told the captain the sailors to a man would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[Pg 423]</a></span> refuse to put a hand on -me. They hate the mate, who, by the way, according to the cabin boy, -is lying in his berth, alternately groaning with pain and swearing -from rage. We made little progress today. The wind was ahead and we -kept tacking every half hour or so. In beating up the river thus, a -ship overhauled us. She was a Clyde trader, and being shorter she wore -more quickly and being heavier laden sailed more closely to the wind, -and owing to these advantages she outsailed us. As she passed us, her -captain stood at the stern and dangled a rope to us, as if offering -to take our ship in tow. Our captain, with an oath, rushed down the -companionway to hide his mortification. In the afternoon a discovery -was made that sent joy to the heart of every passenger. A boy had -hauled up a pailful of water to douse his head in, after getting his -hair clipped, when he got a taste of it and found it was fresh. The -tide was out, and at the point we now had reached, at the slack, the -water is fresh. Pailful after pailful was hauled on board, and the -sick were supplied without stint, with water sweet, clear and cool. -Alas, the refreshing draught came too late for seven, who died during -the day. I wanted to keep the bodies on board in hopes of giving them -burial, but the boatswain advised otherwise, as he said, although we -were within a short distance of quarantine with the present wind we -might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[Pg 424]</a></span> be two or three days of making it. Ship anchored at darkening, -close to shore.</p> - -<p>15.—Remained at anchor all day. Cold with strong wind from north-west. -At intervals there were squalls, accompanied by driving showers of -rain and hail. Three hours’ fair wind would see us at quarantine, yet -here we are unable to advance a yard on our way. Five deaths today. I -resolved the bodies be kept for burial. Boatswain told me mate is worse -today, being feverish. The pilot bled him and the captain gave him a -blue pill. Not being needed to work the ship, all hands were engaged -in putting the vessel into her best trim, scraping, scrubbing, and -painting. Outwardly the ship is neat and clean, a sight to delight a -sailor’s eye, and to look at her from the deck it is hard to conceive -of the putrid state of her hold. The steward bribed several of the -passengers with whisky to clean the steps and alley-ways of the -steerage. A steamer painted white and with a house the length of her -deck, passed us, going east.</p> - -<p>16.—The sound of the anchor being weighed awoke me and I heard it -with joy. I dressed and gave the sailors a hand. The wind had veered -into the east, and it looked as if rain was coming. The fore mainsail -having been set, the ship swept on, keeping the channel as easily as if -propelled by steam. When Aileen came out, the church bells were ringing -for early mass, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[Pg 425]</a></span> we could make out the people driving along the -roads to attend. Reports from the steerage are gloomy. There have been -three deaths during the night. It seems as if a number of the sick had -reached that point that their dropping off is inevitable. The river -was dotted with ships following us, and the sight of so many large -vessels moving majestically in a column in our rear fascinated me. By -and by the rain came on, when Aileen left to pack our trunks, for we -are fully persuaded the wind will hold and that we will land in Quebec -before dark, bidding farewell to this ship of misery. When quarantine -was sighted, I dropped in to see how she was getting on, and finding my -help not needed, wrote this, in all probability, the last entry I will -make on board.</p> - -<hr class="smler" /> - -<p>Grosse Isle, May 31.—Fourteen days since I penned a line in this -sorrowful record. I wish I had not lived to pen another. God’s will -be done, but, oh, it is hard to say it. Yet I ask myself, what right -have I to repine? Grievous as has been my loss, what is it compared -with that of many of those around me, whose quiet submission rebukes my -selfish sorrow. Enough of this, let me resume my record. When the ship -came abreast of the quarantine buildings, all fresh from a new coat of -whitewash, the anchor was dropped. It was nearly an hour before the -quarantine officer came on board, and I heard him on stepping from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[Pg 426]</a></span> -his boat apologize to our captain for the delay, owing to his waiting -for breakfast. The captain took him down to the cabin and it was a -long while before he re-appeared, when he stepped down to the main -deck, where all the passengers, able to be out of bed, were waiting -him. He walked round us, asked a few to hold out their tongues, and -then went down into the hold, where he stayed only a minute or so. -Passing a few words with the captain, he re-entered his boat and was -rowed back to the island. No sooner had he left, than the boatswain got -orders to have all boats made ready to take the sick ashore. First the -dead were brought up. The sailors shrank back, there was a muttered -consultation, and the boatswain, taking me aside, told me they would -not touch them or even row a boat that held them, and I had better drop -them overboard. “Never,” I cried, “shall it be said that the bodies -of the faithful did not receive Christian burial when it was possible -to give it.” Calling out from among my people four men whom I knew -were fishermen, I asked them if they would row the dead ashore, and -on saying they would, the boatswain let me have a boat. Decently the -bodies were passed over and we made our way to the landing. We had -trouble in getting them out of the boat, for the steps of the quay were -out of repair, but we managed it and carried them to what, from the -cross on it, we saw was<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[Pg 427]</a></span> a church. The priest came out, and I told him -our purpose. Leaving the dead in the church, we went back to the ship -for the others. By this time the sick were being landed, and roughly -handled they were. As it would be awhile before the graves would be -ready, I lent a hand—the most miserable, heartrending work I had ever -engaged in. With indecent haste they were hurried from the ship deck -into the boats, and tossed on to the steps of the quay, careless of -what injury they might receive. Most were unable to help themselves -in the least, a few were delirious. Men, women, and children were all -treated the same, as so much rubbish to be got rid of as quickly as -possible. It was no better on land. The quarantine had only two men to -spare to help the few relatives who came ashore to carry them from the -wharf to the buildings, and many lay an hour in a cold pelting rain. -It signified little as to their getting wet, for they were all doused -by the waves in landing them on the quay. Small wonder two died on the -quay, and were borne to the chapel to add to the number awaiting burial -there. The priest was very considerate, and, although I did not ask it, -said mass, which I knew would be a great consolation to the relatives. -Leaving the cemetery with the priest, I thanked him from my heart, and -ran to the quay. My heart was in my mouth when I saw on it Aileen, -standing beside our boxes, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[Pg 428]</a></span> ship, having tripped her anchor, -bearing up the river. “What makes you look so at me, Gerald? I have -come as you asked.”</p> - -<p>“I never sent for you.”</p> - -<p>“The steward told me you had sent word by the sailors for me to come -ashore, that you were going to stay here. They carried the luggage into -a boat and I followed.”</p> - -<p>I groaned in spirit. I saw it all. By a villainous trick, the captain -had got rid of me. Instead of being in Quebec that day, here I was left -at the quarantine-station. “My poor Aileen, I know not what to do; my -trouble is for you.” I went to see the head of the establishment, Dr -Douglas. He proved to be a fussy gentleman, worried over a number of -details. Professing to be ready to oblige, he said there was no help -for me until the steamer came. “When will that be?” Next Saturday. A -week on an island full of people sick with fever! Aileen, brave heart, -made the best of it. She was soaking wet, yet the only shelter, apart -from the fever sheds, which were not to be thought of, was an outhouse -with a leaky roof, with no possibility of a fire or change of clothing. -How I cursed myself for my rashness in making captain and mate my -enemies, for the penalty had fallen not on me, but on my Aileen. There -was not an armful of straw to be had; not even boards to lie on. I -went to the cooking booth, and found a Frenchman in charge. Bribing -him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[Pg 429]</a></span> with a shilling he gave me a loaf and a tin of hot tea. Aileen -could not eat a bite, though she tried to do so to please me, but drank -the tea. The rain continued and the east wind penetrated between the -boards of the wretched sheiling. What a night it was! I put my coat -over Aileen, I pressed her to my bosom to impart some heat to her -chilled frame, I endeavored to cheer her with prospects of the morrow. -Alas, when morning came she was unable to move, and fever and chill -alternated. I sought the doctor, he was not to be had. Other emigrant -ships had arrived, and he was visiting them. Beyond giving her water -to assuage her thirst when in the fever it was not in my power to do -anything. It was evening when the doctor, yielding to my importunities, -came to see her. He did not stay a minute and writing a few lines told -me to go to the hospital steward, who would give me some medicine. -Why recall the dreadful nights and days that followed? What profit to -tell of the pain in the breast, the raging fever, the delirium, the -agonizing gasping for breath—the end? The fourth day, with bursting -heart and throbbing head, I knelt by the corpse of my Aileen. There -was not a soul to help; everybody was too full of their own troubles -to be able to heed me. The island was now filled with sick emigrants, -and death was on every side. I dug her grave, the priest came, I laid -her there, I filled it in, I staggered to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[Pg 430]</a></span> shed that had sheltered -us, I fell from sheer exhaustion, and remember no more. When I woke, I -heard the patter of rain, and felt so inexpressibly weary I could think -of nothing, much less make any exertion. My eye fell on Aileen’s shawl, -and the past rushed on me. Oh, the agony of that hour; my remorse, my -sorrow, my beseechings of the Unseen. Such a paroxysm could not last -long, and when exhausted nature compelled me to lie down, I turned my -face to the wall with the earnest prayer I might never awaken on this -earth. How long I slept I know not. Some motion of one leaning over me -brought back consciousness.</p> - -<p>“Pax tecum,” said a voice I seemed to recall. “Et cum spiritu tuo,” I -mechanically responded.</p> - -<p>I opened my eyes. Could I believe them? It was Father Moylan. I put my -arms round his neck, and kissed him a score of times.</p> - -<p>“Father, dear; sure it must be the Blessed Virgin herself sent you to -console me for the loss of her daughter, my Aileen, my love.”</p> - -<p>“My consolation would be of little aid; but as an unworthy servant of -the church I may be the channel of communicating the consolation that -doth avail. May the Mother of Sorrows, whose heart was pierced by the -sight of her son’s death, heal thy wound. I knew not Aileen was dead.”</p> - -<p>“Did Father McGoran not tell you?”</p> - -<p>“Like everybody else in this wretched place his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[Pg 431]</a></span> hands are too full -to permit of speech that can be dispensed with. A lad called on me at -Quebec to tell me of how you had been left behind and besought me to -help you and your wife.”</p> - -<p>“His name, father?”</p> - -<p>“Michael Fagan.”</p> - -<p>“The grateful soul; the boy I stopped the mate from lashing.”</p> - -<p>“He it was, for he told me all and of what you had been to the sick -on the voyage. I intended coming anyway to see what I could do for -our poor country people, but when I knew of my pupil being here in -distress, I went to the bishop to ask to be sent at once.”</p> - -<p>“And how did you find me?”</p> - -<p>“By searching. The last hour I have gone through every building looking -for you and came in course to this outhouse.”</p> - -<p>“May the saints ease your dying hour for this kindness, father. Oh that -you had come while Aileen was alive!”</p> - -<p>“Fret not over the past, Gerald; there is work calling for you which -you must rise and do.”</p> - -<p>“I have no heart to lift my head: I want to die and be with Aileen.”</p> - -<p>“A wish natural to the flesh, my son, but I taught you to little avail -if I did not ground you in the belief that it is the duty of the -Christian to so direct the blind sorrow of fallen humanity that it -become an impulse to more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[Pg 432]</a></span> strenuous discharge of our daily duties. -Aileen is dead; requiescat en pace. Is your sorrow for her to be a -selfish sorrow that will add to your load of sin; or shall it become an -incitement to you to do for those around you what she would wish you to -do could she speak?”</p> - -<p>“Do not ask me; I cannot forget her.”</p> - -<p>“You are not asked to forget her. May you ever see her in your mind’s -eye, beckoning you on to works of faith and mercy; may her precious -memory be your inspiration to do what duty calls from your hand.”</p> - -<p>“There is no need of my help now.”</p> - -<p>“No need! I tell you every hour there are Irish men and women dying -within a furlong of you for lack of the commonest help. Before I came -here, I found sick who had not had their fever assuaged by a drop of -water for 18 hours; children who had not tasted a bite since yesterday; -the dead lying beside the living, and all because there is none to -help.”</p> - -<p>“I do not understand why that should be on land. There is plenty of -food and help in Quebec.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and so there was on your ship, but a heartless captain and a -greedy mate stood between the food and water and the passengers. There -is abundance of everything within sight of here, yet our countrymen are -perishing by the score, because the government of Canada is deaf to -their cries.” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[Pg 433]</a></span></p> - -<p>“What interest can the Canadian government have in acting so?”</p> - -<p>“No interest. It is more heedlessness than intent. The politicians are -too absorbed in their paltry strifes to give heed to a few thousand -Irish emigrants dying at their door.”</p> - -<p>“It sounds incredible.”</p> - -<p>“That is because you do not know politics and politicians here. I -tell you, Gerald, I have been in Canada now three years, and (always -barring the tools of the Irish landlords) if there be a more despicable -creature than the office-hunting Canadian politician, I have yet to see -him.”</p> - -<p>“If I must act, I should go first to Quebec to see after my people. -They were promised ten shillings a head, to be paid by Lord -Palmerston’s agent at Quebec, and a deed from the Canadian government -for a hundred acres a family.”</p> - -<p>“Faugh! Not a shilling, not an acre did they get. I saw them. Lord -Palmerston has no agent in Quebec, the government will give no free -grant of land. Mere lies told the poor crathurs to get them to leave -Ireland.”</p> - -<p>“Well, then, I could at least make an example of the captain of our -ship.”</p> - -<p>“Not a bit of it; you are deceiving yourself. The prosecution would -have to be taken by the emigration agent, and he would not, if he could -help it. Then, where are your witnesses? You would be bled of your last -dollar by the lawyers<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[Pg 434]</a></span> and do nothing. No, Gerald, there is no use of -thinking of leaving here. Providence has guided you to Grosse isle and -here is your work. Come, man, get up and do it.”</p> - -<p>I sank back with a groan. I did not want to move, the father insisted, -however, and, after many remonstrances, grasped my hand and raised me -to my feet. He took me to where the resident priest lived, insisted -on my washing myself and gave me, out of his bag, one of his clean -shirts. Then we sat down to dinner, Fathers McGoran and Taschereau -joining us. The conversation was of the deluge of emigrants, every -day bringing new arrivals, and every ship with its quota of sick and -dying. Every available place having become crowded, the ships had to -remain and become floating hospitals. The calamity with which they -were face to face was so unexpected and appalling that how to devise -means to grapple with it staggered them. They spoke of the need of -urging the government to erect sheds and send plenty of nurses and -doctors. I listened in silence until Father Taschereau asked me for -my opinion, as one who was an emigrant. I said many had died on the -voyage and many more had been landed who would certainly die, but of -this I was confident, there would not have been a death from fever or -dysentery on the voyage or one sick of these diseases landed at Grosse -isle, had there been enough to eat. The solution of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[Pg 435]</a></span> difficulty -therefore seemed to me simple. Give all who arrive plenty of wholesome -food. Starvation is the cause of dysentery and fever. Remove the cause -and these diseases will disappear. It is not medicine and nursing -that are wanted, but food. The people fled from starvation in Ireland -to be worse starved on board ship where their lot was made worse by -the lack of pure air and water, of which they had no lack in Ireland. -They asked me many questions about the treatment of the emigrants on -shipboard. Father McGoran said he was inclined to believe I was right, -that Dr Douglas was making the mistake of fighting the fever instead of -removing what caused the fever. The fever was not to be looked upon as -was the cholera visitation of 12 years before. I left the table with -Father Moylan and as we went out at the door, he stood for a minute to -look at the sight on the river. The clouds had cleared and the sun had -come out strong, with a marvellously soft and clear atmosphere. So far -as we could see from where we stood, the blue waters of the river bore -a column of vessels of which neither head nor end was visible. “Let us -take a step over and see them,” said Father Moylan. When we reached the -bank, the sight was striking, and would have been most inspiring had -we not known that each of these noble ships was a floating pest-house. -There was a shout from the vessel opposite us. A man stood on the -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[Pg 436]</a></span>gunwale, and steadying himself with one hand grasping the rigging, -gesticulated with the other. His agitation was so great neither of us -could make out what he was saying. “Speak slowly,” cried Father Moylan, -when clear the response came across the water, “For the love of God, -father, come aboord; ye’re needed.” There was only one rowboat in -sight, and it belonged to Dr. Douglas. The oars were out of her and the -chain locked. “You’ll have to send a boat,” cried the father. There was -a long delay, ending in a boat putting off from the ship. He wanted me -to go with him, but I said I wished to find my uncle.</p> - -<p>With heavy heart and unsteady step I turned to the buildings where -the sick were. The nighest was the best. I looked in and to my joy -espied my cousin Bridget sitting alongside a bunk. She started and -gave a cry of fright when she saw me, for, she explained, she thought -I was in Quebec and I looked like a ghost. It was her father and her -sister Ellen who were in the bed. The latter had been landed sick of -the fever; uncle had been stricken by it the day after arrival. He did -not know me, and I feared the worst from the sound of his moaning. The -girl seemed to be doing well. “Comfortable they be,” said Bridget, -“this is the best place; the sheds are bad as the ship.” I told her -to go and take the air for a while, and sat down to watch in her -place. I was hardly seated when I distinguished a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[Pg 437]</a></span>murmur of plaintive -cries from every part of the room, mostly—“Wather, if ye plaze.” I -bestirred myself, and when the poor souls found there was somebody to -help, requests increased, and I was kept going from bed to bed. When -Bridget returned I remarked that I saw none of our ship’s people in the -place. She said there was only room for her father and Ellen and the -others were in the sheds. It was growing dark when Father Malloy came -to the door and beckoned me out. He had such a distressed and wearied -look that I went with him without asking any questions. When we came -near the outhouse I had lodged in, I turned towards it. He gripped -my arm. “No, Gerald, not there; you’d lapse into your old mood.” He -took me to the priest’s house, and a shake-down was made for me in the -kitchen. I had a wakeful night and went out of doors before sunrise. -To my surprise I saw Father Malloy walking up and down in front of the -house, prayer-book in hand. When done he joined me. “Now, Gerald, we -have work to do; we must make an examination of everything, for no plan -can be laid until we know the actual state of affairs.” Re-entering -the house with him, he got a loaf and a jug of milk. “I am going to -tell you something you should never forget; when you have to go where -there are sick, do not go with an empty stomach. Fasting and infection -go together.” Having broken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[Pg 438]</a></span> our fast, we started, the first thing to -be done, the father said, being to see what the island was like. The -morning was delightfully fresh and we walked briskly. We found the -island larger than we supposed, and having a good deal of land fit -for cultivation. Pausing at a field where a man was harrowing, the -father had a conversation with him in French. He told him the island -was about three miles long by one in width, and that Doctor Douglas -farmed a considerable part of it, keeping a number of cows. Standing -on its north bank a wide expanse of the St Lawrence lay at our feet, -the blue waters ruffled by a western breeze. Beyond rose a chain of -wooded hills, which swelled into a lofty peak, overhanging the river. -“That is called cape Tourmente,” said Father Malloy. “Is it not a -glorious scene! Who, looking upon it, would dream there is concentrated -within ten minutes’ walk the misery of a nation? Gerald, we must give -Ireland’s woe on this island a voice that will bring the help of -Christian people.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid it will be hard to interest them. Everything is against -the poor emigrant, father. He is not looked upon as a human being. The -very sailors treat him as they would a steer given to carry from one -port to another.”</p> - -<p>“True, my boy, and you don’t know it all, for you have not lived in -this country yet. I’ve seen in New York men and women shrink from the -newly landed emigrant as an unclean thing, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[Pg 439]</a></span> at Quebec over there -the very bar-room loafers sniff their noses in disgust at him. Unless -they have money nobody makes them welcome; and if they have money -everybody tries to get it from them. I buried a woman who had been left -to die on the wharf at Quebec. The captain bundled her out, nobody -would touch her, let alone give her shelter, and the poor sick crathur -afore sundown found rest and is now where those who despised her will -have little chance of going.”</p> - -<p>I asked Father Malloy about his visit to the ship the day before. He -told me the man who shouted for him had a brother dying, who wanted the -church’s last rites. “It was my first visit to a fever-stricken ship,” -he went on to say, “and it was a revelation. I could not stand upright -in her hold, for it was not much over 5 feet high, and there was little -more elbow than head room. Every side was lined with berths and I saw -dead lying in them with the living. The stench made one gasp, and the -sight of the vermin crawling over dead and living made my flesh creep. -An Irish priest is used to the sights of disease and want, but the -emigrant-ship, fever-stricken, embodies every form of wretchedness and -multiplies them a ten-fold.”</p> - -<p>The quarantine-buildings are huddled together at the upper end of the -island and each we examined during the day. Except the one in which -uncle lay, they are flimsy affairs, a shelter from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[Pg 440]</a></span> the heat of the -sun and no more, for the boards are shrunken and the roofs leaky. In -one the berths are in double tier, like those of a ship, the result -being the patient in the lower berth is made uncomfortable by the one -above, and he, in turn, from weakness, can neither get out nor into it -without help, which he seldom gets. Every place is crowded with sick, -even the two churches being occupied. The government had prepared for -200 sick; already there are nigh a thousand, and many more on the ships -who cannot be landed for want of room. Without regard to age or sex -they are huddled together in the sheds, and left to die or recover. The -attendance was hardly worth speaking of. At long intervals a man or -woman would come round with drink and food, but there was no pretence -at coming for their comfort. We were told by many nobody had been near -them for hours. We saw the dead lying next the living, for the bodies -are removed only night and morning, and in many cases there were two -and three in a berth. Over all this sad scene, from which hope had -fled, shone the virtues of patience and submission to the divine will. -No querulous word was heard, no grumbling; the stricken flock bowed -beneath the rod of affliction with pious resignation. Workmen were -busy building a new shed and there were tents lying round, but all the -preparations were wofully insufficient. Father<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[Pg 441]</a></span> Malloy agreed with me -that the lack of nurses was even worse than the lack of shelter, and -thought a supply might be had from the healthy emigrants. I thought -not; emigrants in health were too eager to escape after being bound to -scenes of horror on shipboard for a month and more. We labored to do -our best, and many a pail of water did the father carry from the river -to serve out in cupfuls in the sheds.</p> - -<p>The weather has been sorely against the sick, rain with high east -winds, adding to their discomfort. Nearly every day there is a fresh -arrival of a ship, and not one without sick on board. The wind had been -from the east the day before and on the morning of the 25th a whole -fleet was seen bearing up the river, of which a dozen had emigrants. At -Father Malloy’s request I spent a day with him going from ship to ship, -a boat having been lent him by a friendly captain. The passengers cried -with joy when they saw him and clustered round the holy man, whose -services in administering the last consolations of the church were -needed at every step. I spoke with the passengers while he was below, -and it was an unvarying tale of starvation on the voyage and cruel -usage. I found the passengers on ships that had been lying at anchor -over a week to be still starving, for the captains had not increased -the rations and Dr Douglas said he could not supply provisions from the -shore unless <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[Pg 442]</a></span>authorized by the Canadian government. One of the new -arrivals had 13 dead on board. The 40 ships now at anchor, have nigh -15,000 emigrants: of these I am sure one-third would not be passed as -healthy. Sailors are at work on shore erecting a sort of shelter with -spars and sails, where the ships will leave their healthy to perform -quarantine, while they go on to Quebec.</p> - -<p>June 3.—Father Malloy has left with the design of making -representations to the government about the condition of things here. -He intended, if his bishop consented, to go direct to Montreal, and -speak to the ministers themselves. The forwarding of emigrants passed -as healthy has begun. They are crowded on to the steamers until there -is barely room to move. The reason for this is, the passage money is a -dollar a-head and the more packed on board, the more profit. Truth to -tell, this class of emigrants are eager enough to leave, and get away -from this place. The meanness of the Canadian government in dealing -with them is shameful. Instead of allowing healthy passengers to go on -with the ship as at first, they are now landed. Being compelled to land -and stay here by the government’s orders, it would be reasonable to -expect the government would provide for them. It does not; all it has -done is to send an agent who offers to sell them provisions at cost. -Uncle’s recovery is hopeless; his strength has gone. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[Pg 443]</a></span></p> - -<p>5.—Poor uncle is dead. He was buried yesterday. Ellen keeps hovering -between life and death; she has youth on her side. Poor Bridget is worn -to a shadow, waiting on the sick. Being told a ship that came in this -forenoon was from Sligo, I watched a chance to get on board, expecting -to find some I knew among her passengers. I found her deck crowded with -emigrants, watching the sailors fish up from the hold with boat-hooks -the bodies of those who had died since entering the river. I soon -learned there was bad blood between the crew and passengers, all of -whom who could do so had left the steerage two days before and lived -on deck. The hold had grown so loathsome with the warm weather that it -became unbearable. The crew resented their living on deck. The captain -stood at the poop rail, and proved to be a civil man. He told me he -had done his best for the passengers on the voyage, but the charterers -had poorly provisioned the vessel and he could not therefore give them -the rations he wished. For the bad feeling between the sailors and -passengers he could not blame either. Staying on deck the emigrants -were in the sailors’ way, yet he could not order them back to the hold. -Three sailors had caught the fever during the week, which incensed -their comrades against the emigrants. He was to pay the sailors a -sovereign for each body brought up. I told him of Captain Christian of -the ship <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[Pg 444]</a></span>Sisters, who, the week before, when emigrants and sailors -refused for any money to go into the hold to bring up the dead, went -down himself and carried them to the deck on his shoulders. I hope he -may live to know that Irishmen are grateful, for he is now down with -the fever. I recognized none of the passengers, for they were from the -northwest end of Lord Palmerston’s estates. Their poverty was extreme. -They had no luggage and many had not rags enough to cover their -nakedness. So haggard and white were they, so vacant their expression, -that they looked more like an array of spectres, than of human beings. -Coming back, I had painful evidence of the brutal indifference of the -authorities in dealing with the sick. They continue to be brought from -the ships to the quay in rowboats, and the line of ships being now two -miles long, the journey is a long one, and often fatal in bad weather. -A small steamboat for transferring them would be a godsend, but the -government does not get one, does not even spend ten shillings to -replace the broken planks of the steps on the quay, although the want -of them causes many a feeble one to slip into the river.</p> - -<p>6.—Dr Douglas exemplifies how a man may be estimable as an individual -yet unequal for his duties as an official. He is so obliging and -gracious personally that it is unpleasant to find fault with him, yet -it is apparent he does not grasp the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[Pg 445]</a></span> magnitude of the affliction he -has to deal with and is unable to devise means to meet it. All the -steps taken are ridiculous in their petty nature. I have been told -that it is not him but the Canadian government that is to blame, that -it will not allow him a free hand in meeting the emergency, does -not respond to his calls, and warns him to be careful in incurring -expenditure. Probably that is true, but the government is not -accountable for the foolish rules by which the island is governed. -There is now a large colony of supposed healthy emigrants confined to -the northwest corner of the island. When one falls sick, instead of -being taken to the fever-sheds, he is conveyed to the ship in which -he was a passenger, and from her is taken to the sheds. The delay and -the fatigue of the journey by land and water, if it does not kill the -patient makes his recovery more doubtful. Although the population of -the island has doubled in a few weeks, the boat with supplies from -Quebec continues to come once a week only. We may be starving, many -are starving this day, yet until the steamer comes there is no help. -The dead are being buried in trenches, three tier deep. Men and women -whose strong arms would add to Canada’s wealth are being held here by -its authorities to die of want when within sight of plenty. I look at -the row of farm-houses on the opposite bank of the river, on the little -town whose roofs I see, and knowing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[Pg 446]</a></span> there is comfort and plenty over -there, marvel at the stupidity, the criminal disregard, that leaves us -without bread to eat or even straw to die upon. Steamers pass daily but -they are not allowed to stop at the island; my poor people are kept -prisoners to perish amid the rocks of this island. The Almighty will -surely have a day of reckoning with the rulers of Canada, for it is -Canada’s territory we are on and it is Canada’s quarantine in which we -lie bound. The sick are everywhere and are neglected. I found the body -of a man in a thicket where he had crawled like a scared beast to die -in peace. Bodies are taken from the tents daily where the healthy are -supposed to lodge. The sheds have become repugnant to every sense, and -the sick are worse off than on ship, for few have relatives to attend -them, and they lie for hours without being helped even to a drink of -water. The inmates of a tent told me nobody had been near them for two -days, and not one among them able to stand for a minute. Everything -is against us, for the weather is windy and wet. I go to spend the -night in the old shed. My brain is overburdened with the sorrows of my -people, and I would I were at rest with Aileen.</p> - -<p>10.—A steamer came in this morning to take away emigrants, and I am -sure over a thousand were packed on board. Her purser brought a package -of letters; one of them was for myself. </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[Pg 447]</a></span></p> - -<blockquote><p class="right">Montreal, June 8, 1847.</p> - -<p>My Dear Gerald,—I had it in mind to have written you several days -ago, but postponed taking pen in hand day after day in expectation -of being able to convey to you the intelligence that would cheer -your heart—that the government had decided on adopting a policy -of adequate relief. That, it grieves me to say, they have not -done, although I have exerted myself to arouse them to a sense -of their duty, but it is little a poor priest can do with our -public men. When I reached here I went first to see the premier. -After waiting my turn for an hour with a crowd of visitors, I was -admitted. He was civil, but is a dull man, and did not seem to -realize what I was telling him. He told me to go to the provincial -secretary, to whose department emigration belongs, and see him. I -left in no good humor, to do as Mr Sherwood bade me. Mr Daly was -not at his lodgings; he had gone to the back of the mountain to -dine. I have learned since, he is better at dining and wining than -attending to his duties. I had an interview with him next day. -You may not know that Mr Daly is of ourselves. He is a Galway man -himself and his lady is from Kilkenny. Appealing to an Irishman -and a Catholic I expected him to fall in with me—that all I had -to do, was to seize him of the actual facts of the situation at -Grosse isle and he would act with energy. That was what I expected -of him but all I got from him,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[Pg 448]</a></span> Gerald, was soft words and -promises, and neither the one nor the other will feed the starving -or cure the sick. He told me to call next day, as he wanted time -to go over the reports. When I went, his servant man said he was -out, and I never found him in again for me. When the house opened, -I managed to get in, to hear what the governor would say about the -emigrants. The words put in his mouth about them made me angry. -The government pretended they had made ample preparation for the -expected influx and that everything was going on well. Beside him -stood two men smiling among a bevy of ladies who knew better, -for I had told them all. In the debate since then, when a member -on the opposition side referred to the rumors of the state of -matters at quarantine, Mr Daly begged the house not to give heed -to alarmist reports and to rest assured the government was doing -everything that was required, had appointed a commission of three -doctors to visit Grosse isle, and would act on their report. I -had little respect before for Canadian politicians, I have less -now. I was advised to wait on the new minister, John A. Macdonald, -the youngest member of the government. I told my friend that if -Mr Daly would not do the decent thing by his countrymen, I was -not going to ask the member for the Orange city of Kingston, who, -like all the others of them, is engrossed in intrigues to keep his -party in office. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[Pg 449]</a></span> talk of the city is whether the ministry -will stand, for its majority is only one or two, and there is a -good deal of excitement about it. More attention is being paid to -the ribaldry of The Pilot than anything else. This will not be for -long. The evil has come to the door of this city. The forwarding -by wholesale of all emigrants able to move, has brought the fever. -The emigration sheds are at Windmill point, an inconvenient place, -for there is not water enough to permit the steamers to come up -to the wharf, and the emigrants have to be landed by scows, which -is sore on the sick. I am not going to say that the journey from -Grosse isle to here is as bad as the voyage across the Atlantic, -but it has a few features worse than it. The steamers come in -with emigrants packed on their lower deck like herrings in a -fish-box. The steamers are chartered by the government from their -supporters, and a few of them are old, worn-out tubs, that take -two days to a trip that ought to be made inside 20 hours. Without -food or cover, blistered by the sun in the day and chilled by the -river breezes at night, the poor creatures are landed here more -dead than alive. Many who went aboard feeling well, are carried -off in a dying state. My curse and the curse of every Irishman be -on the government that allows the helplessness of our countrymen -to be traded upon to make money for their followers. If their -<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[Pg 450]</a></span>transportation was left open to all ship-owners, the emigrants -would be brought here in large and speedy steamers, and a limit -could be put to the number they carry. Once landed, the emigrants -are decently treated. I am thankful to be able to say that. It -is the city and not the government that manages. For sick and -well there is plenty of wholesome food, and no lack of doctors -or nurses. The food, to be sure, is coarse and the cooking not -good, but you know the saying, The poor drink wather and the rich -sip tay. After Grosse isle it is fine. What I have seen here has -shown me the necessity of moving the quarantine to the flats below -Quebec. If the sick were moved from Grosse isle to near the city -they would get all the supplies and service needed. I expect to -return to Quebec in a day or so, and before leaving here hope -to get the bishop to wait on the premier, to ask that the new -fever sheds be placed on the outskirts of Quebec. I hear from the -emigrants as they arrive of you, and as they speak they bless you. -I hope to see you soon.</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Your Old Preceptor.</span></p></blockquote> - -<p>12.—A ship that came in from Sligo has many of my old neighbors. They -say after we left, the agents gave out that all who refused to emigrate -would have the relief taken from them, which was all they had to keep -life in them until next crop. The more that went, the more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[Pg 451]</a></span> eager were -those left behind to go. At the rate they are coming, Lord Palmerston -will have his land clear of people by Michaelmas, and be able to lease -it to Scotch cow-feeders. Most of the emigrants come expecting free -land from the Canadian government and a pound a-head from the agents -of their landlords at Quebec. Oh, the deceivers, to cheat these poor -people with lies!</p> - -<p>16.—Bridget is down with the fever, just when Ellen was recovering and -likely to be able soon to leave with her sister for uncle’s farm in -Huntingdon. It seems as if exposure, if long enough continued, is sure -to induce the disease. Doctor Douglas says few can withstand breathing -the air of the sheds for a fortnight without being laid down. I expect -my turn will come yet. A company of soldiers has arrived to act as a -guard over the camp of what is called the healthy emigrants to keep -them from going near the fever sheds. It is of a piece with everything -else. The fever is in the camp as well as in the sheds. Had they sent a -few hundred boards from Quebec to floor the tents, it would have been -more sensible than to supply a guard. The weather is still wet, and the -ground under the tents is soaking, yet the people have nowhere else to -lie. I was telling the head of the Church of England clergymen, Doctor -Mountain, of what my friend had said about quarantine being moved -near the city. He agreed it ought to be done, although the people of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[Pg 452]</a></span> -Quebec would resist. The cellar of the marine hospital having become -full to overflowing with emigrants, workmen came three days ago to -erect sheds on the hospital grounds. The people of St Rochs assembled, -scattered the lumber, and drove away the workmen. Lamenting the lack of -nurses, he told me it was partly due to the government’s not offering -sufficient wages. Placards on the Quebec streets asking for nurses at -60 cents a day met with no response. Doctors were offered only $3.50 a -day. A dollar a day for nurses and $5 for doctors would get a supply, -but the authorities would not consent. I can believe anything of them. -They will not send us a supply of straw, even, and many of the sick are -lying without anything below them.</p> - -<p>18.—I was witness today of an incident I want to preserve some note -of. I was attending to an old neighbor, Mr Monaghan, who came in the -ship from Sligo six days ago. He is mending, though still poorly. While -bending over him, he gave a start, and turning I saw they were carrying -in a new patient. They placed him in an adjoining bed. Wasted and -sallow as he was, I recognized in him a man I had seen from boyhood, -but had never spoken to. He had a farm in our townland and was a bitter -Orangeman. With Monaghan he had a feud, which they tried to fight out -on many a market day. Stanhope had led a party that beat his oldest son -and four other boys nigh to death<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[Pg 453]</a></span> one St John’s eve, and had heaped -insult on him and his times without count. I will not say Monaghan did -not pay him back. If he did not, somebody else did, for he had his -stackyard twice burned and one fine morning found four of his cows -houghed. How would these mortal enemies meet now, far from their native -land and laid side by side in deathly sickness? Stanhope was overcome -with the fatigue of bringing him from the ship, and lay exhausted with -his eyes shut. I held up his head to give him some cordial, and then -he sank back and fell asleep. I kept my eye on him as I went about the -shed, watching his waking. On Dr Mountain’s coming in, I told him of -the new Protestant patient and of the circumstances I have here set -down. We went to where the couple lay and were looking at them when -Stanhope awoke. He gazed helplessly around until his eyes met those of -Monaghan, which had been fixed on him from the time he came in. The -glitter of the old fire sprung up in Stanhope’s eyes and a flush passed -over his white face. Neither said a word for quite a while. During the -pause the defiant look faded from Stanhope’s face, and I could see -recollection of old neighborhood and a sense of community of suffering -filled his bosom. The stern, hard features relaxed and a bony hand was -thrust across.</p> - -<p>“Is that yersilf, Monaghan; will ye shak hans wid me?” </p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[Pg 454]</a></span></p> - -<p>“Glad an proud to do that same, and let bygones be bygones, Mr -Stanhope.”</p> - -<p>There was a moistness in Dr Mountain’s eyes as he said, “Love is the -fulfilling of the law. May the Good Shepherd, who has sheep in every -flock, bless you both, and in His own time gather you into His heavenly -fold.”</p> - -<p>“Amen,” I said with all my heart. “Dr Mountain, I have learned -something in this island of horrors—that goodness is not bounded by -creed, for I have seen you and your clergy nurse the sick and feed the -hungry day after day although not one in a score of them are of your -church. The thanks that have been in my heart for your kindness to my -countrymen I am not ashamed now to speak.”</p> - -<p>He clasped my hand. “My dear Mr Keegan, say not another word; when a -man comes to die the most painful reflection he can have is, that he -did not embrace every opportunity he had during his lifetime of doing -good. You and I have simply done our duty, and, after all, have to -confess we are unprofitable servants of the one God whom we worship -at different altars.” Having said this he turned away to resume his -visitation of the sick elsewhere.</p> - -<p>26.—The weather has been steaming hot for a week, with heavy showers, -and fog at night, making our situation worse and spreading infection. -There is a stench both in and out of doors.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[Pg 455]</a></span> Ships continue to come -in and the number of sick to grow; a doctor told me there are over -2000. The nurses, both men and women, that come from Quebec, are a -bad lot. They neglect their duties, smuggle in drink to those of the -sick who can pay for it, and rob the dying. On this lone island, where -everything else is so scarce, whisky can be got by whoever wants it. -The greed of gain overcomes the fear of infection, and it is smuggled -in by small boats from Quebec. Last night there was an uproar in the -camp of the healthy, caused by drunkenness. The military guard is a -hurt to the emigrants. Like soldiers everywhere, they have neither -morals nor decency. Bridget grows worse and poor Ellen is making a bad -recovery, for she exhausts her strength by trying to nurse her sister. -Monaghan and Stanhope talk by the hour, and their converse has put new -heart in them. Hope is better than medicine. Indeed, I have seen scores -die from despondency or indifference to life, who, to all appearance, -ought to have recovered. The two old enemies are the most cordial of -friends and will soon be able to leave. They have agreed to go with -the survivors of their families to the London district and take up -land together. Both are industrious and steady and having buried their -senseless hatred will be of mutual help to one another. Both have money -enough to start them.</p> - -<p>24.—Father Moylan has got back for a few<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[Pg 456]</a></span> days. There is need for more -like him, but Irish priests are few in this part of Canada, and our -people want them alone. The ships now arriving report larger mortality -than those that came in May. This is due to the heat. The condition of -the holds of the ships that come in is unspeakably revolting. Several -buried over a hundred in the ocean, equal to a fifth of the number of -their passengers.</p> - -<p>July 2.—Father Moylan wanted me to go to Montreal as a witness before -a committee of enquiry appointed by the legislature. I have no heart -to leave here, and I told him if they would not believe him they would -not believe me. There is no improvement in caring for the sick; the -callousness of the Canadian government to the sufferings of God’s poor -on this island I cannot understand. The weather is now settled, and -beyond the sun being scorchingly hot at midday is as fine as could be -wished.</p> - -<p>9th.—This evening I took a walk to the far side of the island and -enjoyed the solitude and the peace of nature. Sitting on the beach, I -watched the sun sink behind the hills. I have a feeling that my own -sun will soon disappear, for I am sad and disheartened beyond all my -experience. Dr Fenwick told me the other day I should leave; that -I needed a change. I cannot, indeed I will not, for I cherish the -secret wish to die where my Aileen left me. A ship has<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[Pg 457]</a></span> arrived with -31 dead on board; she lost over a fourth of those who embarked on -her at Liverpool. Another out of 470 emigrants, dropped 150 into the -Atlantic. Sure, tragedies like these ought to direct the eyes of the -civilized world to what is happening. My heart is broken at the sight -of thousands of my own dear people, men, women, and little children, -dying for lack of a crust on Canada’s shore.</p> - -<p>14.—I think the end has come. Tonight my head throbs and my bones are -sore. Bridget, after hovering a long while between life and death, -sank to rest this morning, and is buried. Ellen leaves by tomorrow’s -steamer, and will be in Huntingdon in a few days. I gave her a message -to uncle. My life has been a failure. May God have pity on me and on -my poor people. Oh, that Aileen were here; that I felt her hand on my -racked forehead.</p> - -<p class="center space-above">THE END.</p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[Pg 459]</a></span></p> - -<h2><span class="smcap">Note to the Summer of Sorrow.</span></h2> - -<p>The immigration to Canada in 1847 was the largest on record. During -the season of navigation vessels hearing 90,000 arrived in the St -Lawrence. Of these 20,000 were English, Scotch, and Germans, and on -the vessels that carried them there was no unusual sickness, so that, -in considering the calamity of 1847, they are to be set aside, and the -remaining seventy thousand alone to be dealt with. They were mainly -Irish Roman Catholics, and it was among them that disease and death -reigned. Fifty thousand of them sailed from ports in Ireland; twenty -thousand came by way of Liverpool. 129 ships were required to carry -them. On every vessel fever and dysentery broke out; the emigrants who -sailed from Liverpool faring worst. In crossing the Atlantic these 129 -vessels dropped 4092 of their passengers into the deep; while anchored -off Grosse isle 1190 died on board; out of those they sent ashore upon -the island 3389 perished. A monument in its cemetery records that there -was buried, in less than six months, 5424 persons “who, flying from -pestilence and famine in Ireland, found in America but a grave.” That, -however, is only a portion of the mortality. Streaming past Grosse -isle, after a detention that was harmful to them and of no benefit -in protecting the Canadian community against disease, the advancing -army of immigrants swept westward, and wherever it bivouaced, left -a cluster<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[Pg 460]</a></span> of graves. At Quebec city 712 died, at Montreal 6330, at -Lachine 130, at Cornwall 52, at Kingston 1900, at Toronto 863. Only -where the authorities prepared places of shelter, was any record kept -of the deaths, and these places closed in October. Of the mortality -during the winter no count was kept nor of the hundreds who died -by twos or threes along the routes of travel or in remote country -districts, to which the sorely smitten people penetrated in the hope -of relief. The official record gives the total at 17,000; actually, -about 20,000 died. Adding those who died on shipboard, the number -rises to 24,000. That is, out of every fourteen who left Ireland, five -died—a rate of mortality without parallel in modern times. For this -appalling destruction of human life, the Irish landlords were primarily -responsible in compelling or inducing their tenants to leave Ireland -without making adequate provision for their sustenance. For their -treatment on shipboard, the owners, or charterers of the vessels, and -the officers in command are accountable. It is humiliating to state -that no effort was made by the officials at Quebec to punish the -captains and mates of vessels who had maltreated passengers. It was -notorious that the poor emigrant had been robbed in measuring out his -scanty allowance of biscuit, meal, and water, and that the quality -was detestable, yet there is only one case on record of a captain -being brought to account. The master of the Birnam was charged with -cheating in the allowance of water. By confessing judgment and paying -a paltry fine, he avoided trial and went free! No class of men more -abuse the power their position gives them than the officers of ships. -The <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[Pg 461]</a></span>emigrant has always been badly treated; is to this day shamefully -used. Steam has shortened the voyage and made it more bearable, while -government requirements as to space and accommodation are more liberal, -but there are steamships which come to Quebec whose passengers tell -of their voyage being an ordeal of starvation and neglect—of petty -tyranny on the part of hectoring ship-officers, of food being thrown -before them of such execrable quality and so badly cooked as to turn -the stoutest stomach. Desirous of hurrying to their destination and -knowing their inability to contend with powerful companies, the -grievances of the poverty-stricken and friendless immigrant are -unrecorded in our courts.</p> - -<p>For the tragedy enacted at Grosse isle in 1847, and its sad scenes -re-enacted in every town and city west of it, from Quebec to Sandwich, -the Canadian government is accountable, and the responsibility for the -death of the twenty thousand laid in premature graves lies at the door -of Sherwood and his ministers. The letters and reports of Dr Douglas -show they were fully acquainted with the awful state of affairs at -Grosse isle from the landing of the first sick emigrants, yet took -no adequate steps in response. There never was a calamity that could -have been more easily averted; there never was waste of life that -could have been more easily prevented. The British government did its -part. Communication was slow then, and it was past the middle of June -before accounts of the dreadful state of matters at Grosse isle reached -Britain. On the 18th, the Imperial government sent a despatch asking -the Canadian authorities to take vigorous action to relieve it and -promising<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[Pg 462]</a></span> to pay the cost. On receipt of this despatch, the Canadian -government became lavish enough, and the following year presented a -bill for some $700,000, which the Imperial authorities paid without -enquiry. Where that money went, it is useless now to enquire; assuredly -little of it went to feed the famishing immigrant. The efficiency -of the action of the government can be judged by one fact—it was -not until the end of August it had provided sufficient sheds for the -sick at Grosse isle to permit of the sexes being separated. While -no Canadian can look back upon 1847 without a feeling of shame for -the conduct of our public men, they entertain an honest pride in the -devotion of the clergy and physicians. Thus, out of 42 Roman Catholic -priests who volunteered to visit Grosse isle 19 caught the fever, and -4 died. Out of the 16 Episcopal clergymen who responded to the call of -Bishop Mountain, 7 took ill and 2 died. Of the 26 doctors, 22 fell ill -and 4 died. The same devotion was shown elsewhere, doctors, nurses, and -ministers, in the hope of doing good to the sick and dying, walking -into danger. One clergyman associated with this district, Rev Wm. -Dawes, died from the fever at St Johns. The mayor of Montreal, J. T. -Mills, after doing invaluable work in providing for the sick, caught -the contagion and died.</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLEANER TALES ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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