1812.
Machecawa, who was still a widower, made no secret of his admiration of Abbie. With a dogged determination, characteristic of his race, he resolved to win her, and having evidently made a deep study of the case, had put it down as a first axiom that, if he began by wooing the father and brothers, all things being favorable, he would soon have the daughter and sister. He had not been slow to observe a change in the atmosphere of the Chief's home since Abbie's return from the convent. He felt instinctively a lack of warmth in the welcome received. He had little encouragement to spend the day in the kitchen as he had done formerly.
This coolness on the part of the weaker members of the family he attributed to two things. First, that they had moved into a new house overlooking the Falls, on the western hill of the village, which they regarded as altogether too grand for him; and, second, that Harold Wrenford had succeeded in rousing within them a want of trust and a suspicion that he had sinister designs upon certain members of the family.
Numerous and costly gifts and game of all kinds found their way to the White House, as the new home was called. A short deerskin coat, or shirt, beautifully embroidered with colored silks and beads, was sent to the Chief. Moccasins similarly decorated were given to his sons. Baskets and bark boxes ornamented with colored porcupine quills were presented to Mrs. Wright, who was suspicious of the motives which prompted these offerings.
The two younger boys, who were still in their teens, were delighted with the attentions of the Red Chief, for he taught them many lessons in hunting and trapping, and confided to them many secrets unknown to white men. Casting his Indian superstitions to the winds, he told them of the existence of iron mines in the neighboring hills. He led them into the depths of the forests that they might witness one of the strangest of ceremonies, which the Indians were shy of performing in the presence of whites—the ceremony of the marriage of the nets—and which Rug afterwards described as follows:
"Supper was hardly finished when a huge fire was kindled on an open space on the bank of the river, and their Chief called out in a loud bass voice, 'Ho!'
"'Ho! Ho!! Ho!!!' came thick and fast from every part of the camp.
"They then surrounded two beautiful young Indian girls, and laying at their feet several rude nets, which had been made from the inner bark of trees, commenced to dance round them, yelling, stamping with their feet and brandishing their arms, while the two Indian maidens, who stood apart from each other, raised the nets between them and held them suspended in the air.
"Again the Chief called 'Ho!' and they all fell on their backs silent and motionless, with their feet towards the fire, while the Chief, with a loud voice, called upon the spirit of the nets to do its best to furnish them with food for themselves, their wives and their children. Then he addressed the fish, urging them to take courage and be caught, assuring them that the greatest respect would be paid to their bones."*
* Parkman mentions this as a common ceremony among the Algonquin tribes of the Ottawa.
Machecawa frequently took the boys with him when he visited traps on the "Carman Grant."* On one occasion they crossed the ice on snow-shoes, climbed the cliffs, and made their way through the woods to the head of a small stream in the midst of a great cedar swamp. They followed the stream through marsh and thicket, crawling on their hands and knees at times, and climbing over fallen trees, until they came to a large pond with a dam about thirty rods long. On one side the land was low, but on the opposite side a steep bluff of about thirty feet rose directly from the water. The bluff was covered with poplar and birch. Here beaver had made roads, or slides, from top to bottom, wonderfully smooth and neat, on which they slid the wood they had cut, some of which was eight inches thick, into the pond below. Machecawa, who had previously cut a gap in the dam and made a hole in the ice, where he had set two traps in about four inches of water, drew up the first of them. He discovered that a young beaver had been caught, and cut off his leg, leaving that in the trap to tell the tale. In the second was a huge male with flat, broad, scaly tail, which could not have been mistaken for any other creature than a beaver. He re-baited the traps with an aromatic substance called castor, which he had taken from the pouches of one caught a few days previously, and which entices the beaver from a great distance.
* The present site of the city of Ottawa.
"Machecawa," continued Rug, "then began to mutter a monotonous song which he afterwards explained was a song of praise to the great king of the beavers, who, he declared, was the forefather of the human race. In it he described their good qualities, and promised to respect the bones of the one which had been killed, and to keep them from the dogs.
"'Surely, Machecawa,' I said, 'you do not believe that your grandfather was a beaver, do you?'
"To this he replied: 'De fadder ob de fadder ob de fadder ob my fadder, she am de king of de beaver an' de fadder ob all men.'
"I asked him," said Rug, "if in that case it were not wrong to kill a beaver, for I hardly knew how to reconcile the Indian's superstitious belief with his conduct.
"'When de big Injun she am kill de beaver,' he replied, 'she praise de good beaver, and de king she am pleese an' she no get cross.'
Proceeding eastward they soon reached the Rideau, and following the ice on snow-shoes they were surprised to hear the sound of a woodman's axe in the distance. They followed the direction from whence the sound came and found a white man, Braddish Billings by name, hewing out for himself a home in the forest. He was as much surprised at seeing them as they were at seeing him, as he did not expect to find any white man, except Mr. Honeywell, in the vicinity of his grant.
They had not gone far when the Indian drew their attention to the tracks of a jumper in the snow. Following the track for a mile they came upon a small clearing, in the midst of which stood a log shanty, and found that it had been built by Mr. Honeywell, who, like Mr. Billings, had made his way through the wilds from Prescott with a jumper drawn by a young ox, upon which he had strapped all his household effects, provisions and tools.
They then followed a trail which led down to the little Chaudiere, where Machecawa had a moose snare. He had driven two oak pegs into two large pine trees, about six feet from the ground, on opposite sides of the trail. On these he hung a cord about the size of a cod-line, formed of thirty strands of the green skin of a moose and arranged as a noose, one end of which was securely attached to a fallen log, so that when the moose would come down hill for a drink he would run his head into it and the strip would slip off the pegs and tighten round his neck; then, in attempting to get free he would become strangled, for the log to which he was attached could not be dragged through the woods.
At the mouth of a creek which ran through a deep ravine* the Indian had set traps for mink and otter. Cautiously they approached the spot, keeping to the lee side till they reached the bank, where they remained quietly for several minutes. They soon observed two young otters crawling to the top of the opposite bank, a height of about thirty or forty feet. No sooner had they reached it than they slid head-first down into the water. This was repeated over and over again until someone stepped on a dry branch, which snapped, and they disappeared and were not seen again.
* The present Water-works viaduct.
1814.
Nancy Chamberlain and Sarah Olmstead were neighbors, and were the recipients of numerous visits from Phil and Bearie. It had been commented upon by many in the settlement that there had been an unusual number of "bees" during the autumn and winter. Among others, Mrs. Olmstead had a husking-bee, but did not invite many of the neighbors, who therefore were not slow in imputing to her certain designs in trying to form a relationship with the Chief's family.
Mrs. Chamberlain also had a bee, an apple-drying bee, and, following the example of her friend and neighbor in the exclusiveness of her invitations, brought herself under the same ban as Mrs. Olmstead. Whereupon Mrs. Bancroft, who also had a marriageable daughter, resolved, when the spring days should come, to have a "sugaring-off," and to teach her ambitious neighbors a thing or two about entertainments. Invitations were accordingly sent to all the New Englanders in the settlement, including rich and poor, young and old, and extensive preparations made for the greatest social event of the season.
Among those who accepted the invitation were the Aliens, the Sheffields, the Townsends, the Wrights, the Eberts, the Wymans, the Olmsteads, the Chamberlains, the Fessendens, the Honeywells, and the Moores. These with many others gathered round the glowing, crackling fire, above which a huge new potash kettle was suspended by crotched sticks.
"It will soon be ready to pour into the smaller kittle," said Ephraim Bancroft, "for it has been boilin' stiddy since mornin'. I only found out this spring that it takes nearly twice as long to boil down the last sap of the season as it does the first, and it is not near so sweet."
"Be careful, Ephraim," said Mrs. Bancroft, "you're pilin' on too much wood. It's getting quite syrupy, an' you'll burn it if you're not more careful. Keep the fire low and stiddy."
The young people were having a gay time coasting down hill over the 'crust' on Dudley Moore's traineau, while the men and women "hugged" the fire and discussed the all-absorbing subject of the American invasion. The Chief had just returned from Montreal, and had the latest war news, which was received with keenest interest.
"It was rumored," he said, "that Wilkinson was coming up Lake Champlain with six thousand men, followed by Hampton with a large force, and De Salaberry and Macdonell posted our men in such advantageous positions, and were so successful in concealing the weakness of our force, that Wilkinson and his men had to beat a hasty retreat.
"You have probably heard," he continued, "that Colonel Morrison met Boyd on the St. Lawrence, near Cornwall, on his way to attack Montreal, and drove him back to Plattsburg."
"If they get Montreal," said Mr. Fessenden, "the whole of Canada will fall into their hands."
"What is the whole fuss about, anyhow?" asked a shrewd little New Englander from one of the back settlements, who had bought a tract of land and was paying for it in work.
"It is a long story," replied the Chief, "and a sad one, but I shall try to explain to you in as few words as possible the whole trouble, for there are several here to-night who have strong prejudices against Britain, which should be removed.
"Ever since America, the elder daughter of Great Britain, wanted to commence housekeeping for herself, and had such difficulty in escaping from her arbitrary old father, she has not had the kindliest feelings toward him. She lost sight of the fact that the British Parliament was by no means the British people, a great majority of whom sympathized with her in her struggles for constitutional liberty, and regretted the misery it produced.
"Though not actuated by hostile feeling against the father, she was determined to overturn his short-sighted policy. Washington did his best to repress the anti-British spirit which pervaded the Democratic party, and succeeded in establishing a commercial treaty with Britain, but unfortunately after his death the Democratic party came into power, and the dislike for everything British began to show itself more than ever.
"Meanwhile Europe was almost completely at the mercy of Napoleon. England, whose fleet swept the seas, being the only obstacle in his way, he determined to strike at her power at the most vital part, so he closed all the ports of Europe against her manufactures, and authorized the seizure of all vessels bound for British harbors.
"England retaliated by declaring all the ports of France and her allies from which the British flag was excluded in a state of blockade. In doing this Britain was merely adopting Bonaparte's own measures against himself.
"This state of things paralyzed American trade, and the Democratic party made it a favorable opportunity of stirring up feeling against England, instead of against Bonaparte, who alone was responsible.
"Meanwhile two or three unfortunate circumstances, as you are aware, helped to widen the breach. An American frigate, theChesapeake, was cruising off Virginia, and as she had some British deserters on board, was hailed by an English man-of-war, theLeopard, and a formal demand was made for these men. The American captain refused to admit the right of search, whereupon a broadside was fired from the British ship, and the deserters were given up.
"The English Government did not approve of the act, and offered to make reparation, but Congress declared war. About the same time Britain withdrew the Order-in-Council which affected the American trade, and though it was known in the United States that the cause of the war had been removed, Congress did not recede from its hostile position, but had decided to drive Britain from Canada, and to add it as another State to the Union. This policy was opposed by the Republican party, who sent delegates from several counties in New York protesting against the war."
"Someone told me," said Mr. Townsend, "that on the day war was declared all the ships in Boston harbour displayed flags at half-mast, and at a meeting of the citizens resolutions were passed stating that the proposed invasion of Canada was unnecessary and would lead to connection with France, which would be destructive to American independence."
"Quite so," said the Chief. "Our friends in New England have much to contend with in the foreign element that is creeping into the Democratic party—such as German socialists, refugees from the Irish rebellion and of the French Revolution, who have little or no true patriotic spirit."
"Imagine any of our neighbors at Woburn," interrupted Martin Eberts, "stooping to seduce the people of this or any other country from their allegiance, and converting them into traitors, as a preparation for making them good American subjects. I hear," he continued, "that Eustis pointed out the advantage it would be to secure Canada, and said that it was a most opportune time while Britain had her whole force engaged with Napoleon."
"Yes," said the Chief, "and he stated that it could be taken without soldiers, and that if they sent a few officers into the country Canadians would rally round their standard. So they sent poor old Hull, after whom our township was named, with twenty-five hundred men, to open the campaign in Upper Canada about two years ago. As soon as he met Brock he hoisted the white flag and fell back to Detroit, and he and all his men were taken prisoners. Hull was condemned to be shot, but was spared because of his great age, and in consideration of former good service."
"It is no wonder," said Mr. Fessenden, "that the attempt has failed, for it had not the backing of thinking men nor of true Republicans."
"It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," said the Chief. "The price of wheat has gone up three dollars per bushel, and I have just disposed of our fall crop at a profit of $7,000."
"May the war continue," said Martin Eberts, "and we'll all sow wheat."
"Let us hope that it won't," said Mr. Honeywell, "for I had to go all the way to the front for three barrels of flour, for my family was on the verge of starvation. I had just rolled it into the shanty, when who should come along but Dow and Billings, who wanted to buy two barrels, but I wouldn't sell, for I had hauled it all the way from Kingston on a jumper. Well, sir, they laid down $50, and walked off with the flour."
But to return to our party. It was a glorious moonlight night, and the young people would probably have kept up the sport the whole night long had not Ephraim announced that the "lateer" was ready.
The cushions and buffalo robes were then taken from the sleighs and spread upon the snow, and the gentlemen served each lady with a block of hard snow, upon which had been poured some of the boiling sugar, which immediately hardened into "lateer," or taffy.
For a time there was a lull in the babel of voices, when suddenly their attention was arrested by the sound of a stealthy step of moccasined feet on the crust, and the tall, stately form of an Indian emerged from the woods.
"Hullo, Machecawa, is that you?" said the Chief. "You are just in time. We want you to show us how to dance the war-dance, and then we shall give you a good tin of 'sucre.'"
Machecawa was quite equal to the emergency, for when asked by the Chief if he liked sugar he replied:
"Ba, oui," with a decided emphasis on the "oui." Then approaching the fire, he asked:
"Who belongs to dees pot?" pointing to the huge kettle.
"It belongs to Mrs. Bancroft, who will give you a good share of sugar if you will dance for us."
The young people laughed heartily as Machecawa stamped and danced and sang a strange monotonous song. Not a muscle of his face betrayed fun or amusement. He went through with it all as gravely and seriously as though he were about to rush into conflict with his enemies, the inevitable whoop terminating the ludicrous performance.
By this time the sugar was ready to pour into moulds. Mrs. Bancroft had removed the small kettle from the fire, and was stirring it vigorously, when she called:
"Ephraim, it is your turn to stir now. My arms is near broke." In a moment Ephraim was beside her, and was straining the muscles of his right arm in stirring the fast cooling sugar.
The contents of the pot were then poured into dishes of various shapes and sizes, which were imbedded in the snow, the largest of which was handed to Machecawa, who sat on a fallen log and began to devour the contents greedily. At length he caught sight of Bearie, who was seated in Gideon Olmstead's cutter talking to Sarah.
"Whoop!" cried the Indian, a ray of light creeping over his dark face. "De young chief's squaw? Some tam she am dat squaw, more some time she am de odder," he said, pointing his finger at Nancy.
Shrieks of laughter resounded through the woods.
"It is precisely what we would like to know ourselves," said Mary, the Chief's youngest daughter, who had made repeated attempts to draw from the boys their purposes and plans regarding the future.
"Choose partners—choose partners for 'Auld Lang Syne,'" said the White Chief.
"They seem to have chosen partners," said Christie, "but the trouble is they won't let any one into the secret."
"No doubt," said the Chief, "they will declare their intentions in due time."
The whole party then, at Mrs. Bancroft's request, gathered in a circle round the fire, and forming a chain, sang:
"Should auld acquaintance be forgot,And never brought to mind?"
After which three cheers were given for the host and hostess, who had afforded them an opportunity of spending so enjoyable an evening.
They were all seated in the sleighs and about to drive off in various directions, when Mrs. Wright called for Abbie.
"Is Abbie with you, Mrs. Olmstead?" said the Chief.
"Is she with you, Mrs. Chamberlain?"
"No, no; she is not here," cried a dozen voices.
The anxious father called, "Halt! halt! We must not leave till we can find Abbie."
"Wait a moment," said Bearie. "It has just occurred to me that Abbie left us about ten minutes ago, remarking that she had lost her muff, and was going to search for it at the foot of the hill."
They called and searched in vain, and suddenly the Chief said:
"Where is Machecawa?"
"He left some time ago on snow-shoes," said one of the party.
"Follow him up, boys," he said. "Trace the track of the snow-shoes through the woods. The moon will furnish sufficient light."
Fully a dozen volunteers responded, and hastened through the woods in the direction of the Indian's camp, where they found the Red Chief and his friends before the fire smoking.
"Have you seen Mr. Wright's daughter, Abbie?" asked Mr. Bancroft.
They shook their heads and did not move from their lazy attitudes before the fire, except Machecawa, who was on his feet in a moment, and led the way back to the sugar bush at a slow trot.
In the meantime Bearie and Thomas Brigham had followed a track leading from the foot of the hill where they had been coasting into the woods. They waded through drifts knee deep, through a forest almost impenetrable, and to their amazement found the object of their search securely lashed to a tree by a long strip of deerskin, blindfolded, and with a red handkerchief tied over her mouth. Hurriedly releasing her, they searched the neighborhood, but could find no trace of the perpetrator of the deed. She was suffering from hysteria, and could hardly give an intelligible account of what had happened.
"I saw my muff in the snow," she said, "and was stooping to pick it up when someone suddenly threw a cloth over my face and tied my hands. It was all done so suddenly and gently that I had not time to see who it was, and thought it was one of the boys who had done it in jest. The truth dawned upon me when I began to struggle to get free and found myself half-dragged, half-carried through the deep snow and tied to a tree. I was nearly insane with terror. If ever I prayed in my life I prayed then to be released."
On their return home they were met by Mr. Wrenford, who asked if they had had an enjoyable time. Phil, in a very excited manner, gave an account of the attempted abduction of his sister, whereupon the tutor exclaimed:
"Most mysterious! What treachery! What villainy! Evidently the infamous work of Indians. Where was your friend, Machecawa?" he said, addressing Abbie.
"Machecawa had absolutely nothing to do with it," replied Bearie, sharply, "nor had any of his tribe, for the tracks were made by hob-nail boots—not moccasins."
1815.
Mr. Wrenford, the bookkeeper, whose tutoring days were now over, sat at his desk in the office, reading letters which had come by morning post addressed to the firm.
Among the letters which he opened and read was one for Mrs. P. Wright, in care of P. Wright, jr., for Phil had chosen Sarah for his bride, and Bearie was preparing a home for Nancy. It was from Abbie, and lay bare to her bosom friend and sister-in-law the deep secrets of her heart.
She had been disappointed, and had resolved at length to give up fretting for one whom she had loved and lost. Could he ever have loved her? Why, if alive and able to communicate with her, had he remained as dead? Could it be that he had laid down his life in defence of the colony with gallant Brock at Queenston? or at Stony Creek? but that would not account for his silence before the invasion. Ever since she had parted with him at Quebec his image had been enshrined in her heart, and now two others were seeking her hand in marriage. One, though unloved and distrusted by every member of the family, her father only excepted, had once again renewed his suit, and her heart turned to him because of his resemblance to his friend, her first love. The other was her brother's most intimate friend, who had assisted in releasing her from her perilous position the night of the sugar party. To say which she loved most was a problem. At times one seemed uppermost in her heart's affection, at times the other.
The letter closed with the following pathetic words: "Would that an angel from heaven could fly down and whisper the name of the one most worthy of my deepest confidence and love. Oft have I wondered, with swelling heart, if the Omniscient thought me unworthy to enter the sacred sphere of wedded life. Now, at last, there seems a ray of hope. Let it be fully understood, dear Sarah, that this isentré nous. Do not whisper it even to Phil."
Wrenford read and re-read the precious missive, and hastily jotting down one or two sentences in his pocket-book, re-folded, re-sealed it and handed it to Phil, who came in shortly afterwards.
The Chief discovered by mere chance that evening that, for some unaccountable reason, his bookkeeper had debited the men with the amount of their wages, and credited them with the amount of their store account, and charged a man with an order for two shillings instead of two pounds, for which he reproved him severely.
Wrenford looked dazed and bewildered, and replied with a deep sigh, after meditating for some time and shifting his attitude uneasily:
"Ah, well, sir, you see, I am not altogether responsible for my actions, for, as a matter of fact, sir, I fear that my affections have run off with my wits, and I feel impelled to lay before you a very important request. For many months I have been exceedingly desirous of approaching your second daughter with a view to marriage, but hesitated to do so without consulting you, sir. I think the time has come when your daughter would consider the matter favorably, and with your consent I shall lose no time in laying the matter before her."
The Chief tilted back his chair, thrust both hands into his pockets, and with a characteristic droop of his right eyelid said slowly:
"You have my full, free and hearty consent, and if you are successful I shall take you into the firm of P. Wright & Sons as a partner."
Wrenford went to the wicket in answer to a call from one of the employees, and the Chief left his seat and stood leaning against the high desk with its set of books, surveying his clerk from head to foot. The fastidiousness of his dress, the arrogance of his manner, his cultured mind, his shrewd business capacity, gave additional effect to his claim. He seemed a man worthy in every way of the favor he sought.
The Chief's face was expressive of satisfaction in the highest degree, and could hardly have deceived the young Englishman with reference to what was passing in his thoughts. They left the office together at twilight and strolled beyond the village by a pleasant walk to the White House. It was a clear, calm evening, with hardly a sound to break the stillness but a cow-bell tinkling in the distance, the hum of insects and the rushing water. As they entered a grove of stately trees they beheld an unexpected vision. It was Abbie. Her proud dark eyes were fixed upon the ground as though some passion or struggle were raging within. By her side was Thomas Brigham, who stood looking intently into her face, holding her hand meanwhile.
Matters were evidently on the verge of coming to a climax when they heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Abbie looked up suddenly, her face crimsoning to the roots of her hair as she observed the cold steel-gray eyes of Mr. Wrenford looking defiantly at Thomas.
"I fear we are intruding," said the Chief, coldly.
"Not at all," replied Abbie. "Mr. Brigham has just given me a conundrum to solve, and I was trying to think of an answer."
Whereupon Mr. Wrenford said:
"By the way, Miss Wright, I have been seeking an opportunity all day of seeing you with reference to the new spinnet that your mother wished us to order from Montreal. We had a letter from the firm this morning, and I was going up to see you about it."
Almost unconsciously Abbie was led to walk with Mr. Wrenford the remainder of the way, while Thomas, biting his lips with rage, followed in solemn silence with the Chief.
It was rather late, and the Chief, following the example of the other members of the family, retired, leaving the rival suitors and Abbie in the sitting-room.
A look of triumph came into the face of Harold as she addressed her remarks mostly to him, and seemed oblivious of the presence of Thomas. This, however, faded away when she passed a small basket of maple sugar to his rival. Clouds and sunshine alternated in the faces of the jealous suitors, each of whom had made a solemn resolve to remain until after the other should withdraw. The embarrassment of the situation was relieved only when the great old-fashioned clock struck one, and Abbie, with extended hand, advanced to Mr. Brigham and said:
"May I hope to have the pleasure of seeing you sometime to-morrow? and you, too, Mr. Wrenford," she added, as the two bowed themselves out of the door.
The progress of the suits of the rival claimants for Abbie's affections had been watched with deep interest by the villagers; in fact, it was an open secret that betting had taken place among them on the chances of Harold Wrenford and Thomas Brigham.
Abbie, who in every other matter held such decided opinions, was unable to come to a decision in this. At times, after long nights of reflection, she was disposed to accept Harold; and then, again, after other wakeful nights, she felt her inclinations turning towards Thomas.
But now things had come to a crisis. All night she tossed restlessly on her pillow, indecision and suspense depriving her of rest and peace, but as the first rays of dawn began to gild the eastern sky Abbie had resolved that she would accept the one who would come first.
At an early hour Mr. Wrenford called, and after a prolonged interview, Abbie declared to the family circle her engagement to the young Englishman. The announcement was received in silence. Tears trickled slowly down the mother's face, while the father's was radiant with satisfaction.
It was subsequently decided to postpone the marriage indefinitely, out of deference to the wishes of the mother and brothers.
1815.
Rug had been at "The Landing" for several hours awaiting the arrival of theColombo, which was unusually late. His father had written from Quebec to have someone meet him and Abbie with a double-seated waggon on that evening.
The night was extremely dark. A high wind was blowing from the west when the lights of the boat were seen as it rounded the headland on its way to the wharf.
"We have two trunks," said the Chief, after a mutual exchange of greetings. "You had better make them secure to the rack with ropes, for we could ill afford to lose the small one."
"Or the large one either," added Abbie, "for it contains a number of very valuable purchases."
"Abbie contemplates beginning housekeeping soon," said the Chief, as they drove off together.
"The longer she postpones the evil day the better for all parties concerned," muttered Rug, who alighted from the waggon to lead the horses over a treacherous place in the road, which was unsafe enough even in daylight. In addition to the deep ruts worn by vehicles, the road was obstructed by boulders too large to be easily removed, while deep ditches bounded it on either side. Here and there the branches of trees swept their hats off or scratched their faces. It was well that the horses knew the road and that they had a careful driver.
Chilled by her brother's remark, Abbie retorted:
"Is it necessary for me to be constantly bored with such remarks?"
"Yes, it is necessary—unfortunately—if you would be saved from lifelong association with a bore," responded her brother.
Abbie sat back in the farthest corner of the conveyance and, biting her lips, gave herself up to a host of unhappy meditations. The boys had never given her one word of encouragement, nor had Chrissy or her mother. There had somehow stolen upon her, from time to time, an uneasy feeling that there might possibly be some grounds for their want of confidence; but she would dismiss such a thought as soon as it presented itself and try to convince herself that their eyes were blinded by jealousy, dislike, or indifference. Far better be the wife of an educated man and a gentleman, who may not be immaculate, she reasoned, than be the slave of a mere farmer.
"I have seen something of his business dealings," resumed Rug, with evident reluctance, "which has filled me with uneasiness. That he has been guilty of 'shady' and even dishonest transactions is certain."
On reaching the summit of the hill they were met by the full blast of the wind, which had risen to a gale, and which, together with the hoarse roar of the falls and the swish of the driving rain, produced a chorus of melancholy sounds.
"What was that?" said Abbie in a startled voice, "I thought I heard something fall."
"Just a tree in the forest," said her father, complacently, "it is not the first I've heard this evening."
"But hark!" said Abbie. "What was that?" Her ear had caught what sounded like a wild "whoop," followed by a scream, which was drowned in a gust of wind more concentrated and more fierce than before.
"Timid child," said the father, taking her hand in his, "owls and eagles are being disturbed from their peaceful slumbers. Your nervous temperament and fervid imagination easily throw you into a panic. There is nothing to fear—nothing, nothing."
At last they stood before the gates of the White House. A flickering light was in the window. Abbie bounded into the hall and into the arms of her mother, who had been watching and waiting their arrival for hours.
In the meantime consternation prevailed outside. The Chief and his son had discovered that the small tin trunk containing several thousand dollars was missing. The ropes had evidently been cut. With his heart beating violently with apprehension of an irreparable loss, or a passage at arms with a band of highway robbers, the Chief hurriedly gathered all the fire-arms, ammunition, lanterns and axes in the place and sat down to wait for Rug, who had gone to arouse some of the employees in connection with the works. He tried to remain quietly where he was, but felt so nervous and excited that he could not sit still for a moment. He seemed to think that he was losing time unless he was moving. It was an absurd idea, he knew, but he could not resist it, so he hastened down to Mr. Wrenford's boarding-house to secure his assistance, and found that that gentleman had gone out early in the evening and had not returned.
Rug having arrived with a number of brave, faithful men, they hastened back over the road to the steamboat landing. Cautiously they crept along, scanning each blackened stump which stood out in the darkness like a fortress of the enemy, until at last the Chief, who was in advance of the search party, gave a shout:
"Come on, boys, come on!"
There by the roadside stood a tall, powerful-looking man, bending over the missing trunk. Quick as thought they surrounded him. He stood firm and erect. He moved not an inch, nor manifested any desire to escape, and as they closed in upon him, to their amazement they found it was Machecawa. In his left hand was a scalp of long auburn hair; in his right was a bag of gold, which he held up triumphantly.
"Eenglishman, he no rob White Chief no more," he said, his dark eyes flashing in the dim light of the lanterns. "Eenglishman, he no burn White Chief's mills no more. Eenglishman, he no tie White Chief's girl to tree no more," and he shook the auburn hair and danced round the box in high glee.
The Chief was stunned. Visions of the decapitated Wrenford rose up before him. He stood gazing at the Indian with mingled feelings of horror at the atrocious crime he had evidently committed, and of incredulity as to the veracity of the charges brought against his unfortunate clerk.
Machecawa advanced, and laying his hand upon the Chief's shoulder, explained that he was crossing the road, when he observed a man climb on to the rack behind the waggon, sever the ropes that bound the trunk securely, and deliberately throw it into a mossy bank, after which he let himself down gently and proceeded to force open the lock.
"He was looking in the box," said Machecawa, "when I pounced on him and grabbed him by the hair, which came off in my hands."
He then passed it round as an object of curiosity, and after examining it closely, the Chief said, with a sigh of relief:
"It is a wig, boys, only a wig. Let us trust that the poor fellow has escaped the scalping-knife after all."
"More's the pity," growled one of the men.
The Indian proceeded with his story. Wrenford escaped to the woods, followed by himself in hot pursuit, and just as he was about to step into a canoe at the river's bank the Indian captured him and tied him to a tree, while he overturned the canoe on shore, emptying it of all its contents. Then, placing his pistol at Wrenford's clean-shaven head, he said:
"You deserve to be shot."
The robber pleaded for mercy, and the Indian promised to release him if he would never again show his face in the settlement under penalty of death. He was then permitted to escape in his canoe.
The Indian led them through a path to the river, where they found an old carpet-bag filled with cash, a common grain sack containing family plate, a bag of provisions, and a valuable gun.
No further evidence was needed to convince the Chief of the perfidy of his clerk. He leaned against a tree unable to utter a word. There was the deerskin bag which Mary had made for the cash and which was in the safe the night of the fire. There were valuables which he had left in charge of his clerk before leaving for Quebec. The truth was only too evident. At length he was able to say:
"Thank you, Machecawa; you have done me good service to-night. I shall not forget it."
While these events were transpiring, Abbie and her mother were too anxious and excited to think of sleep. Mrs. Wright sat before the fire which roared and crackled on the spacious hearth. The angry wind whistled and howled about the house. It seemed as though the elements had gone mad with fury.
Abbie went to the window and peered out into the night. The face of heaven was dark, so dark that it seemed to frown upon her. As she stood gazing abstractedly into the darkness her attention was suddenly attracted by the flickering light of lanterns and torches. That wild shriek which had almost paralyzed her with fear echoed and re-echoed in her ears and carried with it strange forebodings of evil. She walked up and down the room, nervously stopping now and then before the window to observe the progress of the search party on its return. Soon her father entered, looking pale and haggard.
"Did you find it, Philemon?" asked Mrs. Wright, with bated breath as she approached him.
"Yes," he replied.
Suddenly Abbie sprang towards him, and putting her arms round his neck and pressing her head against his cheek, whispered:
"I'm so glad."
"My dear child," he said, stroking her head caressingly, "though we have found what we lost, we have sustained a greater loss in Mr. Wrenford. You have cause to thank God for the greatest deliverance of your life, for he has proved himself unworthy of you. It is not necessary for you to know all the unhappy circumstances."
"Tell me all," she whispered. "Withhold nothing."
The Chief gave a brief resume of what had happened. Abbie groaned and staggered and would have fallen had not her father's strong arms caught her and carried her upstairs to her own room.
Months elapsed before Abbie recovered from the shock. She could not escape from the sensation of having had a terrifying nightmare. Natural emotion could not be suppressed. She could do nothing but weep, and would fly to her own room, lay her face on the pillow and give full vent to her feelings. It was a long time before she was able to rise above the overwhelming sense of disappointment and loss.
1815.
There came a time early in the life of Rug, the Chief's youngest son, when love of adventure gave way to a deeper, holier love. One beatific vision was ever before him—the vision of a beautiful girl just budding into womanhood.
The first glimpse he ever had of Hannah Chamberlain was at the little Congregational meeting-house, which had been supplied with a pastor by the Congregational Board of Massachusetts in response to an appeal from the settlers. He often sat gazing at her through the whole service, and whenever she looked towards him now and then she might have read in his tell-tale face the passionate emotion which stirred his heart. He was at a loss to understand why her presence had such a strange influence over him.
"She reminds me more of mother than any woman I have ever met," he mused, as he turned over the leaves of the hymn-book carelessly.
Just then Mr. Meach, who had been preaching of the love of Christ, hesitated to find a passage in the old Testament which he intended to read to the congregation. It was the momentary pause which led Rug to listen to the preaching, for he had not heard a word of what had gone before.
"David, in his lament over Jonathan, said: 'Very pleasant hast thou been unto me. Thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.' Sweeter, stronger, fuller and better than any earthly love," continued the preacher, "is the love of Christ to us. Add together all the love of all the loving hearts in the world, multiply it by infinity, and you will have a faint idea of what the love of God in Christ is. He loves you, my brethren, absorbingly, unutterably."
"What is this strange sensation that has come over me," said Rug to himself, "that seems to possess my thoughts and emotions whenever I see that beautiful girl, or hear of love?"
The more he thought of it the more puzzled he became, for hitherto there had been but little deep sentiment about Rug, who believed more in the common-place than in the romantic. He never had any inclination to read love stories, which he regarded as unreal and unnatural. But now the probability of the improbable surprised and amused him. "This is positively absurd," he said to himself, as he stood with the rest of the congregation to receive the benediction. It was a relief to him when the service was over and he joined Chrissy on her way homeward.
Life began to have a new meaning to Rug from that day. He felt that he only began to live when he began to love, but he felt that it would have been an intrusion on the sacredness of his love to have mentioned it to anyone, even to Miss Chamberlain herself. Month after month passed which only served to intensify his affection. At length he sought an opportunity of laying the matter before his father. His confidence was not rudely repelled. It never had been. He was not reproached for presuming to think of love and marriage at so early an age for he was only twenty. On the contrary, his father said:
"There can be no question in my mind that wedded life is the ideal life for man—the life which God intended for you and for me. If your affections are involved, my boy, why not write and put the case before the young woman of your choice?"
Acting upon his father's advice he penned the following short, manly note:
DEAR MISS CHAMBERLAIN,—I know a young man who is very fond of you. He would like to begin a correspondence with you with a view to marriage. Kindly inform me if I may hold out to him any prospect of encouragement.
Yours truly,RUG WRIGHT.
Several days passed before he received a reply to his letter, and when at last it came his hands trembled as he broke the seal and read as follows:
DEAR MR. WRIGHT,—You certainly may not hold out any encouragement until I know the gentleman who would confer upon me the honor to which you refer.
The only true basis of such a union is love, and I cannot love one whom I do not know. If the gentleman in question will call to-morrow I shall be pleased to receive him.
Yours truly,HANNAH CHAMBERLAIN.
The courtship thus commenced resulted a few months later in a unique wedding. Rev. Mr. Meach had given up the charge, owing to declining health and strength, and there was no clergyman available. It was therefore suggested that they send through the woods to the new Scotch settlement of Perth for a Justice of the Peace, who, it was reported, was authorized to perform marriages.
An Indian guide was secured, and Rug commenced a long and tedious journey through the forest on snowshoes.
No one but an Indian could have kept the tangled path, which led through a perfect confusion of drifts and underbrush. Though only fifty-six miles distant, they were nearly a week on the way, for after several days of circuitous wanderings the Indian was forced to admit that he was not positive as to the exact location of the settlement. Their perseverance was rewarded after five days on seeing smoke ascending from a small collection of huts.
"Is this the Scotch settlement?" asked Rug of an old man who was cutting wood.
"Ay, sir," was the reply.
"Is there a Justice of the Peace here?"
"Ay, sir."
"Well," said Rug, "I want to see him. Where is he?"
The old man dropped his axe, and going to one of the huts, knocked at the door.
"Is your gude mon at hame?" he asked of a tall, fair woman, who had all the evidence of a lady of refinement and culture.
"The Major left this morning for Montreal," she replied, "but he has appointed Archie McKeracher to act in his place during his absence."
They then approached Archie, who was busily engaged in hewing a stick of timber near his shanty.
"I believe," said Rug, "that you are authorized to act as Justice of the Peace?"
"That I am," he said, pulling himself up as if straining to attain to the height of the dignity and importance of the position.
"And that you can issue licenses and perform marriages?"
"Ay," he said, "that I can."
"Well," continued Rug, "I want you to come down to the Chaudiere to perform a ceremony for me."
"Mon alive," he exclaimed, "would you be askin' such a thing? Dinna ye ken that my gude wife an my bairnies 'ud perish? Na! na! na!"
"But," said Rug, "I shall pay you for loss of time, and it will be to your profit. I'll give you £10 for your trouble."
"Na! na!" he said. "Ten gouden sovereigns would na pay me for my trouble."
After a long and tedious discussion it was finally decided that the Scotchman should return with them in consideration of "the young mon's importunity," and that the fee be raised to £14.
Rug and the Scotchman reached the White House just as the members of the Chief's family were gathering round the supper table, and the devoted young lover was not slow in observing Hannah in the group.
"We have bad news for you, Rug," said his father. "We have just ascertained that marriages are not valid in Lower Canada unless performed by a minister or priest."
For a moment Rug was speechless—partly from disappointment and partly from displeasure. As he stood before them he looked a model of muscular strength and manliness, though little more than a boy. He looked fondly at Hannah, and as she met his gaze her cheeks grew crimson and her eyes dropped shyly under their long lashes. The devotion of her lover filled her with an indescribable ecstasy which thrilled her innermost soul, making it responsive to his. In her opinion Rug was all that was good and true and noble. He was her ideal, and she was determined to love, honor and obey him, humbly, tenderly, completely, submissively.
"Is an outward ceremony necessary?" he said, "to complete a union of heart and soul which was made in heaven months ago?"
"I have a plan," said the Chief, "which you will be perfectly justified in adopting under the circumstances. Let us drive down on the ice to-morrow, and halt on the other side of the border line between the two provinces, and have our Scottish friend perform the ceremony in Upper Canada, which he is entitled to do by law."
The suggestion was received with applause by all present, and preparations for the wedding proceeded with.
On the day following, an exceedingly brief ceremony was performed on the frozen river, the only part of which the bewildered bridegroom could remember being the last words of the Scotchman: "I pronoonce ye mon and wife." The solemn words seemed to echo and re-echo in unison with the merry jingle of the sleigh-bells as he drove with his young bride through snowy fields and drifts of spotless purity to his father's house, followed by a long line of sleighs. The limbs of the dignified elms which guarded the approach to the house hung heavily glittering in the setting sun, the ice laden spruces waved wearily and crackled as the numerous guests filed into the large front room.
There was an awkward silence, as though it might have been a funeral, for the tendency of life in the woods seemed to impart to many of the early settlers something of the characteristics of their surroundings—calmness, silence, stability—and they seemed to shrink from the sound of their own voices. Some of the young men looked as though they would like to have given up their seats to the young ladies who were standing, but were too bashful to propose it.
Fortunately the embarrassing silence was soon broken by the happy announcement that supper was ready in the kitchen.
What a bright and cheery appearance that kitchen presented! On the hearth a huge pile of dry resinous logs burned brilliantly, filling the room with light and warmth and good cheer. On the iron crane which swung back over the fire hung a huge "spare rib" of fresh pork, the gravy of which dripped into a pan below. Several pots or "kittles" were also suspended from the crane, containing fowl, potatoes, or apple-sauce, while willing hands assisted in placing upon the long trellis tables steaming hot pies, cakes, and loaves of fancy bread, which were brought from the outer brick oven.
Full justice having been done to the repast, they formed in couples, the best man with the bride. The bridegroom with the first bridesmaid led the way back to the front room, which had been cleared of all superfluous articles of furniture, and where Joe Larocque was tuning his "fiddle."
Then followed a scene of merriment such as the young people of the settlement had never before beheld, and in which even the bashful lads who had been slow to offer their chairs to the ladies took as active a part as any. The dancing was prolonged until the small hours of the morning, when the guests drove off in the moonlight to relate the circumstances of the romantic wedding to their friends.
1815-16.
Eighteen months passed. The Chief was in Quebec with Hannah and Abbie awaiting the arrival of Rug, who had been sent by his father to the Mother Land to dispose of two cargoes of timber.
It was an unusually cold evening in June. Snow had been falling all day. The neighboring hills were covered with large feathery crystals, which, however, soon melted as the sun appeared for a moment before sinking behind the gray walls of the Castle St. Louis. Just as the evening gun was fired, news had reached the Union Hotel that a vessel had been sighted near the Island of Orleans. It was ascertained that it was theDorris, in command of Captain French, and that Rug was on board. They were soon speeding down Mountain Street in a caleche to the docks, where they secured passage in a small row-boat which was going out to the vessel. The genial captain invited them to take tea with him, and said that Rug was below supervising and arranging with the Customs Officer about the baggage of his numerous protégés, and would be on deck shortly.
Hannah burst into a paroxysm of tears when she caught sight of her long-lost lover, who had been compelled to leave only a few weeks after their marriage. He looked twenty years older, and appeared careworn, haggard and ill. As they were seated round the table he gave an account of his travels.
"When I received your letter," he said, addressing his father, "I chartered two vessels and persuaded Archie and Jonathan Campbell to go with me for a pleasure trip. We were nearly three months tossing about at the mercy of wind and wave when a hurricane swept the deck of the vessel, carrying with it the main-mast and sails. Water began to pour in at an alarming rate, and after a desperate struggle at the pumps the captain ordered all hands on deck. We felt that we had to prepare for the worst. The sailors had abandoned the pumps from exhaustion, and Jonathan and I took their places and worked until we, too, were exhausted, and as others took our places we retired to the stern, where we found Archie in a sheltered nook, seated upon a coil of rope, playing his violin, apparently oblivious of our perilous condition.
"For two days the work at the pumps was a matter of life and death, and when at last the wind subsided we drifted about helplessly until a passing vessel saw our signals of distress and towed us from the Bay of Biscay to Bristol, where the necessary repairs were made to enable us to proceed to Liverpool. We soon disposed of the timber at good profit, and Jonathan, Archie and I took the stage-coach for London, where we had the honor of being presented at Court to gay Prince Geordie, who is acting as Regent, owing to his father's mental derangement. I wish you could have seen the Carleton House," he said, turning to Hannah. "He built it at a cost of £250,000 sterling, and had to sell his stud of race-horses and discharge most of his servants to meet the demands of the creditors, for he had led such a wild, dissipated life that the King and Parliament refused for a long time to help him out of his difficulties.
"We visited many places of interest in London and the old farm in Kent, which we found bordered on that of General Wolfe. Then we crossed to France, and after having with great difficulty secured passports, drove to Paris.
"If we had arrived on the scene only a few months sooner we might have seen how Napoleon turned Louis XVIII. from the kingdom, or we might have seen the great battle of Waterloo; but Napoleon is now safe at St. Helena, where he was sent last October."
"The story of Napoleon Bonaparte," said Captain French, "presents probably the most remarkable example in the world of the action of great intellect and resolute will, unrestrained by conscience, and shows both the possible success which may reward, for a time, the most unscrupulous selfishness and also, fortunately, its certain ultimate failure and overthrow."
"Notwithstanding which, I have the greatest admiration for Napoleon," said Rug.
"The Captain's sentiments are mine," said the Chief. "He was a man of no conscience, no heart, and one of the most uncompromising enemies of constitutional liberty that the world has ever seen. I am amazed that a born republican like you, Rug, could see anything to admire in despotism or tyranny."
"Did you see anything of poor Josephine?" asked Abbie.
"No," he said. "The Empress Queen Dowager died two years ago, but we saw her beautiful home, 'Malmaison.'
"If one may judge from appearances, it will take many years for France to recover from the effects of the Reign of Terror. My object, however, in visiting France and England was that I might see something of their progressive developments in agriculture and commerce, so that we might adopt the newest and best methods in building up our own little colony. I have brought with me," he continued, "the latest novelties in the way of general merchandise; I have brought the newest inventions in agricultural and milling machinery; I have Herefordshire and Devon cattle, of most renowned ancestors, who have not ceased to protest against a sea voyage from the time they left Liverpool.
"Nor is this all," he said; "I have something better still on board for the new settlement, namely, twenty-five English families, who are going to take up land in the township and pay for it in work."
"And who nearly turned mutineers," added the captain, slapping him on the shoulder, "did they not, Wright?"
"How was that?" asked the Chief.
"When we boarded the vessel at Liverpool," replied Rug, "some were bright and cheerful, but most of them were in tears, which showed that they did not leave the Old Land without a struggle. We soon weighed anchor and were under sail with a fair wind, but it came round to the east and blew fresher, so that we were forced to come to anchor not far from the place we left. The ship, as you may see, was fitted up for the timber trade, and has only a small cabin or quarter-deck. On each side are ranged two tiers of berths for passengers providing their own bedding. Along the open space in the middle we placed two rows of large chests which were used sometimes as tables, sometimes as seats—all of which I shall show you presently. There was much noise and confusion before all found berths; crying children, swearing sailors, scolding women, who had not been able to secure the beds they wanted, produced a chorus of a very melancholy nature. The disagreeableness of it was heightened by the darkness of the night and the rolling and tossing of the ship. After breakfast, as usual, all began to be sick. I took the advice of the sailors and drank some salt water, which acted as an emetic, and I soon felt better.
"Unfortunately, while we were still at anchor, boats came from the shore with friends of the sailors, who smuggled a lot of liquor on board, and before the captain discovered it the whole crew was drunk. We were wakened at an early hour next morning by the violent motion of the ship, for there was a perfect gale blowing from the north-west. The sea was roaring and foaming around us. The passengers were all sick. Things grew worse and worse. Consternation and alarm were in every face. Children were crying, women wringing their hands, and I could see by the angry looks of the men that they would like to have thrown me overboard. The ship had little ballast, and it mounted the waves like a feather. Sometimes a hard sea would break over her with a shock that would make every one stagger. After a sleepless night, in which I received many a bruise and uttered many a groan, the captain informed us that the squall had carried away our mainyard and rigging, and that we were on our way back to Bristol to refit. At one time, when the ship was on her side, several chests, though strongly lashed to the deck, broke from their moorings, and in their progress downwards carried destruction to everything on which they happened to fall.
"What a sight the deck presented! Do you remember, Captain? Clothes, spoons, shoes, hats, bottles, dishes, were strewn about in endless confusion. The next day the captain returned with the mainyard dragging behind his boat, but owing to a strong head wind we could not prepare nor rig it till the following day, when all the men on board who could get round it assisted at the work, and we were soon speeding along at the rate of six miles an hour with a fine favorable breeze.
"The next day we made one hundred miles in twelve hours. I cannot describe what took place after that, for I was too ill. It was well that I was ill, for the indignation of the men and the fury of the women were almost unbounded as they thought of having consented to leave their comfortable cottages to follow me to what I had represented was a new and better country.
"As we neared the banks of Newfoundland a most extraordinary phenomenon was produced by the dashing of the salt water against the bow of the ship in the evening. The water seemed on fire and produced a very fine effect. The next day a mass of ice appeared about two hundred yards distant. It was almost half a mile in length, and was moving south-east. Soon after we found the channel between Cape Breton and Cape Ray, and got into the ice. The captain sent eight men to the bow with fenders. One piece knocked splinters off the bow and threw us all down. About five days later we reached the Island of Anticosti, but I was too ill to see it. We saw porpoises in shoals plunging about the ship, while the sailors tried to harpoon them beneath the bow. About two hundred and eighty miles below Quebec the pilot came on board. His number was painted in large characters on his sail as well as on his boat. He had a cask of fresh water and some maple sugar, which he sold at an extortionate price to the passengers.
"Near Bic Island we saw whales spouting water at a great height, and a habitant came out in a boat with a large basket of eggs, which he disposed of at a shilling per dozen, and so we continued on until the domes and towers of Quebec came in sight and I began to realize the inexpressible joy of being at home once more."*
* Diary of Rev. Robert Bell and letters of R. Wright.
Rug was a young man of great executive ability, a young man whose word could be relied upon with absolute certainty, a young man who proved himself the very soul of honor in all his business transactions.
The rare, practical, common sense shown in the expenditure of twelve thousand dollars in the Mother Land inspired the Chief with such confidence in his son that when, a few years later, he appealed for funds for the construction of timber slides at the Chaudiere and the Chats, of which he was the inventor, his father had no hesitation in entrusting him with over one hundred thousand dollars.
1819.
Hull wasen fête. There was not a mill, shop, or dwelling but had its display of bunting and evergreens, for the new Governor-General and Commander-in-Chief of Canada, Charles, fourth Duke of Richmond, Lennox and Aubigny, had sent a courier through the woods from Richmond to inform the Chief of his intention of spending an afternoon and night in Hull, before embarking on the steamer for Montreal.
The announcement had thrown the whole population into a state of great excitement, for there were not many places in the backwoods settlement in which a duke could reasonably expect hospitality. It therefore fell to Mr. Wright's lot to have the honor of entertaining His Grace, and great and costly had been the preparations.
An hour before the time appointed for meeting him, a flotilla of bark canoes, with gay pennants floating in the breeze, drew up before the Richmond Landing to await his arrival. They waited and waited, but he came not.
"Is he a Scotchman or an Irishman?" asked one.
"He is a Scotchman by birth and an Irishman by nature, I believe," replied the Chief. "He has the frank, benevolent, open-hearted manner so characteristic of the Irish, is a lover of fast men and fast horses, and enjoys a midnight carouse occasionally."
"Whatever induced him to take such a trip at this time of the year? Why did he not come up the Rideau in a canoe instead of walking overland from Kingston?" asked another.
"Surely he was not after big game at this time of the year," said Caleb Bellows, who kept a small shop at the Landing.
"He could have chosen a much more pleasant route and a more pleasant time of the year, when there were fewer mosquitoes and less heat, if it was a pleasure trip he wanted," said Bearie.
"I guess he reckoned on makin' a pilgrimage on foot to the Holy City of Richmond to atone for his sins, for I hear he's no saint," ventured Billy Snickel, who presented a grotesque appearance in his grandfather's velvet coat, knee-breeches and silk hat. Billy never was prepossessing in appearance, even when dressed in velvet. His face had numerous creases and puckers, and resembled in color the foot of a goose, which indicated defective secretion on the part of the liver, and which was probably caused by excessive use of gin and tobacco. The hairs of his head were very coarse and wiry, and stood on end quite independently of each other, which gave him much the appearance of a porcupine.
"The Holy City of Richmond," as Snickel called it, was a settlement which had sprung up on the River Jock, about ten miles distant, a year previously. The settlers were all officers and soldiers of the 99th and 100th regiments, who had received grants of land from the Government, and who had decided to call the settlement Richmond, in honor of the new Governor, who, on his arrival at Quebec on H.M.S.Iphigenia, ordered a Royal salute to be fired from the Citadel guns as they left for their new home in the wilderness. They landed at a point south of the Chaudiere Island, where the women and children remained until the men cut a road through the woods to their grants, where they proceeded to erect temporary dwelling-places. Their landing-place at the beginning of the Richmond Road was known as Richmond Landing, and it was there that they had all gathered to await the coming of the Duke.
"It is whispered in political circles," said one, "that the Duke of Wellington—realizing the blundering policy of his predecessors, thirty-seven years ago, in submitting without a word to our friends over the border taking so large a stretch of the south shore of the St. Lawrence within their boundaries—has decided to establish a new route to the West, in order to avoid the possibility of the only means of communication between Montreal and Upper Canada being cut off in case of any further trouble that might arise. It would not be surprising if the new Governor had an idea of recommending to the Iron Duke the old Iroquois route from the St. Lawrence, near Kingston, to the Grand River, by way of the Rideau River and lakes. The whole route could be made navigable by means of a series of canals."
"Why was it called the Iroquois route?" interrupted a lean, lanky individual, with hands thrust deep into his pockets, who shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
"Because the Iroquois found it much shorter and more direct in coming from New York State on their incursions into the Algonquin country," replied the Chief. "But why, why does not the Governor come?" he continued, consulting his watch for the forty-second time. "It is now three o'clock, and he said he would be here about ten."
"How are our military friends getting on," asked Captain Le Breton, who had a small farm in the neighborhood of the Landing.
"Shure, it was bad luck to thim," interrupted a ruddy, good-natured-looking Irishman. "Before some of thim military gintlemen could get a house built, the weather got so cold that no wonder two of the children died."
The speaker was a young man named Nicholas Sparks, who with two of his friends, named Daniel Byrne and Thomas Bedard, had been engaged by Rug as farm laborers at Quebec, in September, 1816; his friends having deserted at Montreal.
Sparks was still in the employ of the Chief, and though illiterate, possessed great common sense, rare practical cleverness, boundless energy, and was respected by all who knew him.
"I went out to see Captain Monk recently," replied the Chief, "and found that they have secured grants of land ranging from one hundred to one thousand acres, and as no survey had ever been made of the township, they chose their sites and commenced building. The Government recently made a survey, and the Monks discovered that they had built on Lieutenant Read's land, so they are going to build a larger and more comfortable house at Point Pleasant next summer. Captain Weatherby built his house on Captain Street's land, and as Captain Street had a house of his own, they decided to convert it into a church, where they all meet on Sunday mornings, and one of them reads prayers. Mrs. Monk, who spent several weeks with us while her husband and his soldier servants constructed their first house in the woods, which they called 'Mosquito Cove,' made light of the inconveniences and experiences of pioneer life, and laughingly pointed to a large tin tray which, she said, had served as a shelter for the baby in its cradle. 'It gave me a great sense of satisfaction last fall,' she said, 'to hear the tinkle, tinkle of the raindrops, and to feel that baby at least was cosy and dry, for our roof is not altogether rainproof.' She referred also to the flutter of excitement among the neighbors caused by the loss of the only darning-needle in the settlement. The whole feminine population turned out to search for it. It was much in demand, and went a continual round of visits from house to house. Fortunately it was found, and they all adjourned to the house of Mrs. Pinhey to express their rejoicings over a cup of tea.