"They are making extensive plans for the future. Streets are being surveyed, and building lots laid out. They will have a park of six acres, and are reserving large grants for ecclesiastical purposes."*
* Previous to the construction of the locks, it seemed as though Richmond was destined to become an important city at an early date, but the public works offered so many inducements for men to come to Bytown that it dwindled down to a mere village.
Soon the clatter of horses' hoofs was heard, and a man in military trousers and homespun shirt galloped down to where they had gathered, with the startling announcement:
"The Duke is dead!He was playing with a tame fox which, unknown to us all, had gone mad," the courier continued. "It bit him. He was in a fearfully nervous condition all night, but decided to come on. He got into a boat to come down to Chapman's, where your waggon was waiting for him, sir," he said, turning to the Chief, "but when we were about five miles from Richmond he leaped out of it and rushed wildly through the woods, and they found him in Chapman's barn in a fit. Dr. Collis bled him, but he died before anything more could be done. We laid the body in the waggon and covered it with a sheet, and the officers and soldiers formed themselves into a guard, and will soon be here."
The awe and consternation on every face was indescribable, and when at last the solemn cortege came in sight they all, with bared heads, gathered round the waggon to look upon the lifeless form, clad in the uniform of a British general.
The Duke's two attendants, who had followed him all the way, were too overcome with grief to be able to give an intelligent account of the tragedy.
"The steamer is in," said the Chief. "One of you had better cross over at once and tell Captain Stewart to lose no time in getting up steam. And you, Rug," he said, "had better relieve the suspense at home. Tell them that I shall see the body safely to Montreal. Any of you," he continued, addressing the crowd, "who wish to pay your last respects to the Commander-in-Chief should come with us."
In less than two hours the body was conveyed to the little steamer on a rude stretcher, and they were soonen routefor Montreal.
In the meantime Rug had reached home and found them all in tears. Chrissy was wringing her hands in anguish of spirit.
"O Rug! Rug!" she said, "have you heard the sad news?"
"Yes," he replied; "but how could you have heard it so soon?"
"Mike brought it from the farm," she said.
"And how could Mike have known about it?" he asked.
Chrissy could not answer. She had lost all control of her feelings.
"I don't see why you should make such a fuss about it," he said; "he was no relation of yours—you never even saw him."
A strange, questioning look came into the sister's face as she struggled to suppress her emotions.
"Why do you speak in such a strange way—have you been drinking, Rug?" she said.
"Drinking!" he exclaimed, disdainfully, "did you ever see me drunk? This is no time for drinking. Where's mother?"
"She went to comfort poor Sarah as soon as she heard of the accident," replied Chrissy.
"And why should Sarah feel so badly about it, pray? Women are the strangest mortals I ever met. Hannah is the only sensible one among them."
He threw himself on a couch and began to survey the decorations in the room, which were as pretty as womanly taste could make them.
"Come now, Chrissy, dry your tears and get me something to eat like a dear girl—do—for I am awfully hungry."
"Could you not wait a little longer? The Duke may be here at any time, and you will have no appetite left for the good dinner that I fear will be spoiled if he does not come soon."
"What are you talking about, Chrissy?" said Rug. "Did you not hear that the Duke is dead?"
"No," she replied. "And did you not hear that Phil was killed yesterday?" her voice almost incoherent with sobs.
"What!" he cried, "Phil—dead? Is it possible? Is it possible? How did it happen?"
"Mike said that he decided to return from Montreal by stage, and that the horses baulked on a dangerous hill near the Rouge. The stage was overturned and he was thrown out violently and his neck was broken. His wife knew nothing of it until they carried his body in."
Rug tried to catch the steamer that he might break the news to his father, but was too late; he had left with the remains of the Duke, and heard nothing of the accident until his return.
1826.
An interesting group of gentlemen was seated round a table covered with maps and papers in the dining-room of the Chief's house, arranging plans for the building of the Rideau Canal. They had been discussing for over an hour the relative merits of three different points at which the canal should diverge from the Ottawa River.
COLONEL BYCOLONEL BY
"Anyone with half an eye could see that there is but one spot where the locks of the new canal should be constructed, and that is at Rafting Bay, between Nepean Point and the Western Bluff," said a soldierly-looking man, about five feet ten in height, with dark hair, florid complexion, and portly form, who wore the uniform of an officer. It was Colonel By, a Royal Engineer sent out by the British Government to overlook the work of strengthening the military defences of Canada. "The men who made the survey," he continued, "did not count the cost of such works if constructed at the mouth of the Rideau. Think of the height of it! We want a connecting point with the Ottawa River which will be less steep and abrupt."
"In my opinion," said the Chief, "you should follow the natural undulation between the Rideau and the Ottawa River above the Chaudiere Falls, and surmount the cataract by locks, which could easily be constructed on the south side of the river, as the north side is not available owing to the existence of our lumber slides. This would throw the upper Ottawa open for navigation."
"I assure your Excellency," said the Colonel, ignoring the suggestion and addressing a dignified and thoughtful-looking man of courtly manners, "there is but one place for the junction of the canal with the Ottawa River, and that is the place I have designated. The cost of constructing the connecting link for a mile southward to the Rideau will be as nothing compared with the cost of building the locks at the Rideau Falls."
"I am quite convinced that your conclusion is a sound one," said Lord Dalhousie, "but I would like to have Colonel Durnford's opinion in the matter."
"Since inspecting the proposed route this morning, gentlemen," said the Colonel, "I quite agree with Colonel By, that the attempt to construct locks at the mouth of the Rideau would be highly undesirable; but that is not the only fault that I find with the plans. The specifications provide for a canal which would be so narrow as to be entirely unsuited for military service as well as for the commercial requirements of the country. It would seem desirable, therefore, that your Excellency should urge upon the War Department the necessity of making the canal sufficiently wide to take vessels from one hundred and ten to one hundred and thirty feet long and forty to fifty feet wide and drawing eight feet of water."
"I agree with you," said Lord Dalhousie, "We are building for the future of the country. Let us build well. What is the expenditure of an additional amount of twenty or thirty thousand pounds to the British Government when we consider the issues at stake?"*
* In the eyes of the parliamentarians of London, who knew nothing of the country or the work, the sum seemed enormous. A Committee of the House of Commons was appointed, before whom Colonel By was summoned. The members treated him with scant courtesy, and no acknowledgment of his valuable services to the Empire was made. Colonel Durnford, R.E., an officer of unusually high character and great experience, was treated in a manner ill-befitting his rank and services. The only charge against him was that he had expended twenty-two thousand pounds in excess of the parliamentary grant, a most trivial offence, as he had been instructed "to proceed with all despatch consistent with economy." Colonel By was deeply hurt by such criticisms, and died a few years later from a disease directly attributable to the unjust treatment he had received.—Edwards.
Among other matters of importance discussed at the meeting was the desirability of uniting the two sides of the river—the two provinces—by a bridge. It was finally decided to call for tenders the following day, when the formal ceremony of turning the first sod in the building of the canal would be performed by Lord Dalhousie.
The visitors had accepted the invitation of the Chief to go on a moose-hunting expedition up the Gatineau. It was early morning in the first week of October when a party of eight left for Bearie's farm on the banks of the Gatineau. As they drove through the orchard which sloped gently eastward to the creek below, the trees presented an unusually gay appearance bending under their weight of mellow apples, some of crimson and some of a rich golden hue.
Following the Columbia road through groves of brilliant maple and sombre pine, they arrived in due time on the banks of the river opposite an island, where men, canoes, and provisions were waiting for them. Their destination was the vicinity of a large cave at Wakefield, sometimes called the "mammoth cave," where they had arranged to camp for several days.
The party consisted of Lord Dalhousie, Colonel By, Colonel Durnford, the Chief, Bearie, Christie, a Frenchman named Joe Leclaire, an Irish cook named Michael O'Flanagan, and Ephraim Meyers, a Yankee, who had the reputation of being the best shot in the settlement.
The Governor was the life of the party, and related many amusing incidents connected with his varied experiences in the wilds of Canada, which kept the men in good-humor, notwithstanding the numerous and difficult portages.
On reaching the camp-ground all hands were soon at work pitching tents, building a fire and attending to other necessary preparations; after which they sat round the fire while Michael prepared the evening meal.
"Well, Mike," said Colonel By, "what do you think of this country? How does it compare with ould Oireland?"
"Och, sur," said Michael, respectfully touching his hat, "I niver seed the loike. Them skeeters bates all that iver I seen—the knaves!"—rubbing his hands and arms vigorously—"shure they drive me narely mad. I niver shall forgit the furst time they swarumed around me like a a swarum of bays, an' I tuk me blankits and ran down to the river an' roulled mesilf up and went to shlape on the rocks. Well, sur, d'ye think they'd lave a poor crathure alone? Not thim, the brutes! Shure as you're alive, sur, they came out with their lanterns an' ye'd see a flash here and a flash there; an' kill 'em? ye moight as well try to kill the divil himsilf, for soon as I could get nare them, out would go their light, an' they'd all cum buzzin' round tazin' and tormintin' me.
"Sez I to mesilf, 'Begorra, whin I get yez I'll finish yez; so I will, begorra, I will.' Well, sur, I'm tellin' yez the truth whin I say that they began pipin' out: 'Begorra! begorra! begorra!' and their mates cried out, 'Ye will? Ye will? Ye will?' till I cud shtand it no longer, so I put for the shanty as quick as me two legs could carry me."
By this time all the men round the camp-fire were in fits of laughter, in which the Irishman joined heartily. His superstitious dread of 'skeeters,' was modified when they explained to him that fire-flies, frogs and tree-crickets had contributed each a share to the tragic drama.
"Could you not give us a few suggestions which will assist us in becoming successful moose-hunters?" said Lord Dalhousie, addressing Meyers, who stood bare-headed, sheltering with his hat a faint flickering flame on a piece of "punk," which had been kindled by a tiny spark from his flint and steel, while he tried to light his pipe.
"Wal," he said, "I reckon there's only two ways to shoot a moose: one is to coax him within range by imitating the call of his mate; the other way is to make a salt lick for him. At this time of the year the buck begins to harden his horns, and he lies on the sides of the hills in the sun and rubs his horns against the bushes to get off the bark or velvety skin. If you want to get a crack at him you'll have to be mighty sly and keep to leeward of him, for if the wind blows from you to him he will scent you. Always hunt against the wind, and when you sight one aim at the knee of the fore-leg. Then raise the muzzle slowly until you sight the body following up the leg. Don't hold your breath or it will make you tremble. Breathe freely until you are ready to pull the trigger."
Meyers paused for a moment to take a few whiffs from his pipe.
"What do you mean by a salt lick?" asked Colonel By, who sat with his back securely gummed to the trunk of a spruce tree, with both hands thrust into his pocket.
"It's just an easy way of gettin' a shot at a deer," replied Meyers. "You choose a place where he'll be likely to pass, and put some salt in the hollow of an old log, or in a hole near the foot of a tree. Then you climb the tree and sit there and wait, and when the deer comes to lick the salt you may safely unhitch the contents of your rifle, for they rarely observe anything higher than their heads."
"There is one important fact which applies not only to moose-hunting but also to hunting in general, and which should not be forgotten," said Bearie, who lay full length on his blanket with his chin resting on his hands. "Never go to see what you have shot without first reloading your gun. The animal may not be badly wounded, and may run away or may attack you."
"If you happen to get sight of a buck, a doe and a fawn together, for they generally keep together at this time of the year," said Meyers, "aim at the doe first, for the buck and the fawn will both stay round; then aim at the buck, and you will probably secure all three."
Several days passed. The party had not sighted anything in the way of large game, though they had discovered numerous evidences that the neighborhood was frequented by moose.
One evening they had all returned to the camp save Colonel Durnford and Christie. Overcome by their exertions, the remainder of the party, with the exception of the Chief, had retired early and slept heavily. A low moaning wind had arisen and was sobbing round the camp.
"What was that?" said the Chief, rousing Bearie, who was on his feet in a moment. "It sounded like a shriek, followed by a strange laugh, like the laugh of a maniac. Colonel Durnford and Christie have not returned yet, and I fear something has happened."
They listened intently. Nothing could be heard but the wind whistling through the half-naked branches of the trees and rustling the dead leaves that covered the ground. The moon fell in slanting rays across the Laurentian hills. Dark clouds were hurrying up from the horizon, and soon the whole scene was plunged in darkness.
"Hush! there it is again," said the Chief, in a state of breathless expectancy. "It seems to be coming nearer. Could either of them have met with an accident, I wonder?"
Rousing the others, they seized their guns and followed the narrow path along the bank of the river in the direction whence the sound seemed to come. All was darkness—utter darkness. Suddenly there was a wild scream from the forest on the opposite bank. Its echoes had hardly ceased when it was answered by a similar cry from the trees above, followed by the same strange laugh. It proved to be the voice of the white-headed eagle calling to his mate.
What had become of Christie and the Colonel was the question which perplexed the mind of every man in the party. They called and called again, but there was no answer. They penetrated into the woods with lighted torches, but could find no trace of them. They discharged an old Queen Anne gun, which had the reputation of making the loudest report of any of the firearms in their possession, but there was no response.
At the first glimmer of daylight they organized a search-party, but not until late in the afternoon was suspense relieved by the return of the missing pair to the camp.
"We must have walked five miles," said the Colonel, "following the course of a small stream. On ascending a low hill we looked cautiously over its crest. Before us was a scene I shall never forget. Several huge animals were standing within range under a clump of willows, nibbling at their twigs. The tall, broad, palm-like antlers that rose from the head of one of them, the immense size and ungainly forms, the long legs and ass-like ears, the immense heads with overhanging lips, the short necks with their standing manes, left no doubt in my mind that they were moose, for I had never before seen one. They were all of a dark brown color, almost blackish in the distance, the large one being darker than the others.
"Christie handed me the gun, motioning me to move quietly. I must have lost my head, for all the first principles of moose-hunting slipped out of my mind, as I aimed at the high shoulders of the old bull, hoping to secure his antlers as a trophy. When I fired the doe and the fawn scrambled down hill towards the beaver-meadow below. I could see that the bull was not with them, and concluded that he was dead. Rushing forward without reloading my gun, to my great astonishment I found him on his knees, wounded. As soon as he saw me he rose to his full height, his eyes flashing fire, and lowering his horns in a forward position, he sprang at me. Dropping my gun I stepped behind a huge beech tree, the moose following close upon my heels. I had just time to get behind it when he rushed past, tearing the bark with his antlers. He turned and made another charge, only to find that I was in a safe position on the opposite side of the tree. Rushing up to the tree he struck it furiously with his horns, then with his hoofs, uttering loud snorts that were enough to intimidate even a military man. The disappointment which the enraged animal felt at seeing my escape added to his rage, and he vented his spite upon the tree until the trunk, to the height of six feet, was completely stripped of its bark. While this was going on I remained behind the tree, dodging round, always taking care to keep the infuriated brute on the opposite side. For over an hour this lasted. I was beginning to feel faint with fatigue. I could see that the bullet had hit the left shoulder, and, after tearing the skin, had glanced off."
"I remained behind the tree, dodging round.""I remained behind the tree, dodging round."
"Where was Christie all the time?" interrupted the Chief. "Why did he not secure the gun?"
"On seeing the encounter I climbed a tree," said Christie. "It was the only thing I could do. I could not get hold of the gun, for it was under the feet of the moose. I could not have reached the ammunition, because the Colonel had it."
"I must admit," said Colonel Durnford, "that I began to feel serious alarm. Any attempt on Christie's part to have approached me would have imperilled his life and mine, too. I began to realize the necessity for action, and so did Christie, and he called to me to escape to the nearest tree with branches sufficiently low to be easily climbed. Suddenly I caught sight of a spruce a few yards off, and waiting for the moose to work round to a favorable position, I sprang towards it and sheltered myself behind it. I laid hold quickly of an overhanging branch and swung myself up to a safe place on a strong limb of the tree. The moose arrived a second later, snorting furiously, and began to attack the tree, as he had the other, with hoofs and horns. He kept it up till darkness came on, then quietly took up a position at the foot of the tree, from which he hardly stirred all night long."
"What a night!" exclaimed Christie. "Will you ever forget it, Colonel? How the wolves howled! A whole pack of them scented us. Once or twice the moon shone out, revealing their gaunt, shadowy forms and flashing eyes. It was enough to make one's hair stand on end. So bitter and penetrating was the night wind that it had a paralyzing effect upon us both. Before morning came we had decided upon a plan. We knew the wolves would give us no trouble, for they always disappear with daylight, so we arranged to have the Colonel engage the attention of the moose while I should attempt to secure the gun, which still lay at the foot of the beech tree; and that I should manoeuvre with the moose while the Colonel approached as near as possible and flung to me the ammunition. The scheme worked admirably. I was able, after several unsuccessful attempts, for the powder was not quite dry, to send a bullet through his heart."
After a hearty meal Christie undertook to guide Meyers and Joe to the spot where the body of the moose lay, for they were detailed to guard it from the wolves and to bring it down the creek in a canoe the next morning.
Fortune seemed to turn in favor of the hunters, for a young fawn fell a victim to a well-directed bullet from Lord Dalhousie's gun next morning, and another was secured by the Chief.
Moose-hunting was not the only form of entertainment provided for the party. The old country visitors took a keen delight in drawing from the men stories of their adventures in the new world, which were mainly true, and were given in their own dialect.
One evening, as the shadows of darkness were creeping on and all were gathered round the camp-fire, the Chief said:
"Come, now, Joe, we want you to tell the gentlemen a story."
Seated on a log, dangling his legs, was the diminutive Frenchman, with coarse gray homespun shirt and knitted tuque drawn down to his ears, which stuck out almost at right angles from the head. He glanced at the Governor, and then at the red-coated officers, with evident dread and apprehension.
"Now, Leclaire," said the Chief, "don't be afraid. Tell your bear story."
Slowly removing his tuque, "Little Joe," as he was familiarly called, began to scratch his head thoughtfully as if to rake up reminiscences. Suddenly his sickly, pock-pitted face lighted up and his black eyes indicated that he had succeeded in scratching up something to tell about.
"Wan tam," he said, "when we work on de Got-no, I cut de whood, me, pour mak le souper, an' when I go back le shaintee—sacré bleu!—wan beeg bear she am got her head in de soup-pot. I trow down de whood an' run, me, for shure, lak wan wile moose. De bear she am skeart, an' she run, too. Le pot she steek on, too, lac wan blak hat. Dunno, me, how she fine le reever, but she run, and she sweem wit dat black pot till she reach the odder shore. Me an' de boss we tak le canot an' de gun pour chasser le bear an' we fine de pot, but we no see de bear."
"Bravo! old man; that's not bad," said Lord Dalhousie.
"Your turn now, Ephraim," said the Chief, addressing Meyers, who, ignoring the remark, went on smoking. There was an embarrassing silence as all eyes rested on the withered-looking face of the Yankee, who was evidently not ready with his contribution to the entertainment of the evening.
"Tell us about the squaw you found in the woods," suggested Christie.
"Wal," he said, "onct upon a time when we were runnin' the fifth concession line with Theodore Davis, we found an ole squaw who had been deserted by her children and left to find her way to Davy Jones's locker as best she could. Her poor ole body was bent almost double. She seemed very weak. Her only clothing was rabbit-skins sewed together with sinews, with the hair side next her skin. She mumbled a lot of things which we could not understand. D'ye mind Brown, the feller with the squaw wife?" he said, addressing the chief. "Wal, he told us that she lived on hares which she snared with sinews, an' that she lived alone an kep' herself from freezin' in winter by settin' fire to the end of a fallen log, and as the ashes cooled enough she would scoop out a nest to lie in. As the log burned she would follow the warm ashes an' move her nest closer to the fire, an' when one log was burned she would kindle another. She managed in this way to keep body and soul together for years alone in the forest."
"Is that true?" asked Colonel By, "or is it one of your Yankee yarns?"
"I reckon ye can fine out for yourself," retorted Meyers.
"It is quite true," said Bearie. "I have never seen her, but I know several who have."
"Now, Michael, you told us a good story the other night. Could you not tell us another before we roll ourselves up in our blankets?" said the Governor.
"Faith, an it's tirrible sorry I am that I'm not used to public shpaking, fur I cud tell yer Honor about Shparks an' the bear."
"The best way to become a public speaker, Mike," said Lord Dalhousie, "is to have something to say, and just say it, so tell us your story."
"Me and Shparks wuz in the blacksmith shop when Joe Wyman, the young shpalpeen, sez he, 'There's a bear in the river beyant.'
"'Come on, byes,' sez Mr. Rug, 'we'll foller him up,' sez he. He took down the gun that hung on the wall forninst him, an I tuk a hand-shpike forninst me, an Shparks he went out forninst the blacksmith shop an filled the inside of his shirt wid shtones, regardliss of shape or forrum; an', yer Honor," he said, touching his hat, "before Shparks an' me cud raitch the shore Mr. Rug was in the canoe. We cud see the great brute swimmin' to the island, an' we put after him as quick as iver we cud, but before we cud raitch him he had consailed himsilf. We spint two hours in searching for the brute, an' Shparks, who is a very obsarvant man, sez he, 'Begorra! there he is, as sure as a gun, makin' shtraight for the cliff.'
"'Come on, byes,' sez Mr. Rug, 'we'll get aven wid the crayture yet.'
"Shparks was feelin' pious-like, for it was Good Friday, an he didn't feel like fightin' bears nor min. Sez he, 'Let the poor brute go home to her cubs.'
"'Niver a bit of it,' said Mr. Rug, 'we'll not lit her go till she's kilt.' An' with that he put after the bear as fast as he cud. When we were not twinty yards from the baste, Mr. Rug, he aimed at the bear, but Shparks moved, an' the bullet went whizzin' into the water. Then Shparks he began a-peltin' him wid shtones, so he did, which made the poor baste so mad that he wheeled round an' was makin' shtraight for the canoe, when I up wid the handshpike to bate him, while Mr. Rug was loadin' his gun. Well, yer Honor, it's tirrible sorry I am to be tellin' yez that I upset the canoe, an' me an' Shparks an' the bear wuz all strugglin' in the ragin', foamin' deep.
"'Holy angels!' sez I, 'save me! save me!' The current was so shtrong that it carried me to the little island forninst the cliff, an' it was mesilf that was glad when I was washed on a rock near the shore. Mr. Rug an' Shparks they clung to the canoe an' drifted down to the shores of the cliff which the bear wuz engaged in ascendin'.
"'What's that,' sez I to mesilf, 'comin' across the river? It's a boat,' sez mesilf to me, 'wid the Chief and Mr. Brigham.' Soon they had reached the other shore, an' two bullets from their guns brought the poor crayture tumblin' to the bottom."
The weather turned exceedingly cold and wet, and as camping was no longer desirable, the party packed up their things and left. They had not gone many miles on their return trip when the leading canoe scraped a rock. Water poured in so quickly that the crew, consisting of the two officers, with Bearie and Joe, had to swim ashore towing the wreck behind them. Joe was sent to the woods to gather spruce gum and birch bark, while the other three tried to kindle a fire. After much difficulty they succeeded in securing light rotten wood from the inside of a hollow tree, sufficiently dry to retain sparks from a flint, and in a short time three half-frozen men stood steaming before a huge fire. After two hours of fruitless search, the Frenchman returned unable to procure any birch bark, but with a quantity of gum, which he scraped into a small iron kettle, together with a small quantity of fat, and suspended it over the fire.
"Now we are in a dilemma," said Colonel By. "What shall we do without bark? Shall we have to go the rest of the way on foot?"
"Not while there is a homespun shirt around," replied Bearie, who was busily engaged in cutting off part of his shirt-sleeve. The piece was soon smeared with melted gum and fastened securely over the hole, and in a few minutes the frail bark was skipping from wave to wave on the bosom of the mountain torrent till it reached the Gatineau farm.
1827.
It must not be inferred that the wheels of incident in connection with the lives of George Morrison and Chrissy had ceased to move during the twenty-one years of separation. Strange things were happening on the lonely shores of the settlement in the wilderness, where the once bright and joyous Chrissy was pining away her life. Still stranger things were happening to her absent lover.
At first, evil tidings from the Great Lone Land seemed like a dream from which there would be a glad awakening. But as days went by, and still the spell of silence brooded over her heart and life, and as days ripened into weeks—weeks into months—months into years—clouds of disappointment overshadowed her life, and Chrissy began to grow old and careworn. Loved ones watched her with wistful eyes. Why such a true, lovely woman had been destined to live on and on in a dire eclipse was a problem beyond the comprehension of all.
It was a hot, sultry morning in August Chrissy and her father were standing on the south shore of the river with Colonel By, who was superintending a large staff of workmen engaged in the construction of the Rideau Canal. On the eastern point was a pretty villa built of boulders, and surrounded with a low, wide veranda, and which, when completed, was designed to be the residence of the gallant Colonel. Surrounding it were the tents of the officers of two companies of Sappers and Miners, whose smart uniforms added to the picturesqueness of the scene. On the adjacent cliff three stone barracks were being built.
"It is a magnificent site—a magnificent site!" said the Colonel, then dreamily added: "It would not surprise me to see a fortress like the Castle St. Louis on that bluff some day."
A busy scene presented itself between the two cliffs, where scores of men with picks, shovels, hand-drills, wheel-barrows, and stone drays, were busily excavating. Stone-masons, with their mallets and chisels, were compelled to stop every few minutes to wipe the perspiration from their brows with their shirt-sleeves. Irish and Scotch they were mostly, their coarse homespun shirts contrasting with the neat undress uniform of the officers who were supervising the building of the barracks and assisting in the works.
Two men, with muskets, from one of the back settlements then accosted the Chief in an excited state of mind, and asked if it were another American invasion that they were preparing for.
"We heard the sound of your cannon," they said, "miles away, and we followed in the direction from whence the sound came, and when we saw the soldiers and the men engaged on the defences we were convinced that we had good grounds for our fears."
The Colonel enjoyed the joke immensely, as did the workmen, who had a hearty laugh at the expense of the backwoodsmen.
Mr. MacKay, the contractor, observing the embarrassment of the poor fellows, said:
"I trust that our men always will be as ready to take up arms in defence of their country if the need arises. They are brave, loyal fellows."
Just then they observed a canoe approaching.
"It looks like one of the big canoes of the Hudson's Bay Company," said the Chief.
The canoe was manned by four Indians, with three white men comfortably seated in the bottom. On landing, a man of about forty, whose head and face looked as though they had not been disturbed by scissors or razor for several months, approached the party. Though poorly clad, his voice and manner and general bearing denoted him a gentleman and an Englishman.
"We saw the storm approaching," he said, "and thought we would take shelter here, and see what is going on. May I ask," he continued, turning to Colonel By, "whom I have the pleasure of addressing?"
"I am Colonel By, of the Royal Engineers," replied the officer.
"And what are you excavating for?" he asked.
"A military canal of about one hundred and twenty miles in length," replied the Colonel, "which will give us a safer route to the West than the St. Lawrence route. You have the advantage of us," he added. "What is your name, sir?"
"My name," he said, "is Franklin—John Franklin—and these are my friends, Richardson and Morrison. Richardson and I have travelled about five thousand miles. We have been exploring the northern coast of the continent. We travelled over land from Davis Strait westward until we came to the Mackenzie River, where we found our friend, here," he said, pointing to a poor cripple who was being lifted from the canoe by the Indians.
Since the mention of the name of Morrison Chrissy had stood transfixed. Could it be that the tall, powerful, manly figure that she remembered so well could have become so distorted as to be bent almost double? Could it be possible that the cripple before her was George—her long-lost George?
A smile of recognition crossed Morrison's face as he caught sight of Chrissy. She uttered a scream of delight—"O George! George! Is it you? is it you?"
For a time the two were too overcome to be able to utter a word. The expression of peace and joy and hope which Chrissy possessed even as a girl in the old convent days was more noticeable now, not only in her face but in her whole manner.
It was the same sweet, modest face, the same earnest love-lit eyes which had so long reigned in George's heart, kindling within him the resignation and hope which had sustained him through years of suffering, that greeted him as he stood on the beach.
What did it matter to them that the curious gaze of scores of onlookers was centred upon them? Totally oblivious to all but themselves, he grasped her hand, but was too overcome with emotion to be able to utter a word.
"This is an unexpected pleasure," said the Colonel, at length, shaking hands with them warmly. "Come, let us seek shelter in my tent, and you must all dine with me to-night."
"Could anything have been more pathetic," said Captain Franklin to the Chief, as they ascended the cliffs, "than your daughter's eager welcome of her lover?" Not only he, but others who saw the meeting, shared the unalloyed bliss of the two who were just on the threshold of their new life of love and companionship.
Hardly had they reached the Colonel's tent when the threatening storm-cloud burst with all its fury, carrying away several of the tents and threatening to sweep everything before it. Though terrific while it lasted, the clouds soon dispersed, and the setting sun shone out for an hour or so, illuminating the sky.
Dinner over, the Colonel said: "Let me show you one of the most picturesque scenes in Canada."
They followed their host to the veranda of his new house, and while Captain Franklin was admiring the beauties of nature, the Colonel recounted the difficulties they had to contend with in erecting the bridge over the Ottawa, which at the time was obscured by the rising mist.
"We commenced the work last fall," he said, "but I was obliged to spend most of the winter in Montreal, and after they had constructed the first arch from the opposite shore the whole thing collapsed. In order to obtain communication with the opposite bank at the foot of the falls we got Captain Asterbrooks to take a cannon to the rocks near where the end of the bridge would naturally be, so as to fire off a rope across the channel, a distance of two hundred and forty feet, to the island.
"For the first trial a half-inch rope was used, but the force of the powder cut it. The experiment was repeated, but with the same result. An inch rope was then tried, and it was thrown on to the island about one hundred feet.
"Having secured the rope at both ends, the workmen were enabled to haul over larger ones. A trestle ten feet high was then erected on each side of the channel, and two ropes stretched across the tops of the trestles and fastened at each end to the rocks. These were allowed to be slack, in order to give greater strength. The next step was to have a foot passage to allow workmen to communicate with each other, and with this object the ropes were placed four feet apart and planked over, and a rope hand-rail made on each side. Chains were then placed across over trestles in a similar manner, and planked on top, until the planking from each shore reached within ten feet of joining in the middle, when the chain broke and precipitated the workmen and their tools into the channel. Three of our best men were drowned. The others swam ashore.
"Though it is extremely difficult and hazardous to build at such a point, I was determined to succeed, so I had a large scow built and anchored to a point of rock where the bridge was to be built. We made stronger trestles of heavier timber, and got two eight-inch cables, which we laid across the channel over the trestles, which we secured to the rocks at each end. Then we built a wooden bridge, and with screw-jacks placed on the scow below it was kept up to its proper level. The work is almost completed," he said, "and I am determined that it shall stand, even if I have to build it of silver dollars."
"Can you see the bridge, Colonel?" asked the Chief. "The mist comes and goes. Sometimes it seems as though it were not there."
"Your vision is probably growing defective," replied the Colonel.
It was evident to more than the Chief that the structure had been loosened from its moorings by the gale, and could be seen moving majestically down stream; but, knowing the Colonel's temper, they determined to say nothing more on the subject.
The account of the construction of the first bridges over the Ottawa had little of interest for either George or Chrissy, who sat a little apart from the others, absorbed in conversation.
"On reaching the Fort after our interrupted meeting," said George, "I was ordered off to the North to open a new trading-post. Our crew consisted of one French-Canadian, four Indians, and myself. We left Fort Chippewyan in July, our canoe loaded with pemmican, an assortment of useful and ornamental articles to be given as gifts to the Indians, to ensure us a friendly reception among them, and the ammunition and arms necessary for defence, as well as a supply for our Indians, upon whom we depended for our chief supply of provisions, as it was impossible to carry all that would be required before our return.
"Our course, which led from the Ungigah (Peace) to the Slave River, from thence to the Dog River, and from that to Slave Lake, was uneventful. The weather was extremely cold, and we were much hindered by ice. It was after we left the lake that our trouble really commenced. Our guide, who professed to know the route, mistook a small lake for the river, and led us into the midst of a tribe of the most hostile natives, known as the Red Knife Indians.
"My men spoke to these people in the Chippewyan language, and the information they gave respecting the river for which we were searching had so much of the fabulous that I shall not attempt to recall it. They said it would require several winters to reach it; that there was a great Manitou in the midst of it which consumed everything that attempted to pass, and that there were other monsters of horrid shapes and such destructive powers that all travel on it was effectually blocked.
"Though I did not believe a word they said, it had a very different effect upon my Indians, who were already tired of the voyage. It was only too evident that they were determined to return. They said that, according to the information they had received, there were very few animals in the country beyond us, and that as we proceeded the scarcity would increase, and that we would perish from hunger. Seeing that this had no effect upon me, they said that some treacherous design was meditated against me. A panic had seized them, and any further prosecution of the voyage, or of means of escape, was considered by them as altogether hopeless and impracticable.
"Without paying the least attention to the opinions or surmises of my Indians, I ordered them to take everything out of the canoe, which had become so leaky that we did not consider it safe to continue our journey in it. To add to the perplexity of the situation we had not an ounce of gum to repair it, and not one of the men had sufficient courage to venture into the woods to collect it. I dared not leave the crew with the canoe lest they might prove deserters. We were under the necessity of making a smoke to keep off the swarms of mosquitoes, which would otherwise have tormented us to death, but we did not venture to excite a blaze, as it would have been a mark for the arrows of the Red Knives. Though almost prostrated with weariness, I dared not sleep, but spent the night from sunset at 10 p.m. till nearly daylight at 2 a.m. in plotting and planning means to bring about a reconciliation with the natives, which alone would enable me to procure guides, without whose assistance it would be impossible for me to proceed.
"Just before sunrise, while sitting quietly in my tent, from which I could observe the crew, I heard a slow, stealthy movement in the rear of the tent. Turning hastily to investigate, I could see the dim figure of a man, dagger in hand, creeping under the canvas. In a moment I jumped on him, disarmed him, and secured his hands and feet with the fathoming-line, which fortunately was within reach. During the scuffle my whole crew fled to the canoe and escaped, leaving me at the mercy of the natives."
By this time the Chief had become an interested listener, and had beckoned to the others, who joined the little group and were listening intently to George as he related his adventures with the Red Knives.
"How shall I find words," he said, "to depict the fiendish atrocities perpetrated by that tribe during the months and years which followed. Their greatest cruelty lay in torturing their victim to the verge of insanity, and in stopping short of the final act, which would have proved a most blessed release. Escape was impossible. Suicide, which seemed so desirable, was forbidden by Divine law.
"We had returned to the camp from a hunting excursion one rainy day, and as they always insisted upon having me do the paddling up stream, as well as any other drudgery too difficult for the squaws, I was steaming from having been overheated, and as I was on the verge of exhaustion, fell asleep without sufficient covering, which I was unable to procure; consequently I became a martyr to rheumatism. There I was, helpless, racked with pains which would provoke the mildest of men to an Indian war-dance, and with red-hot joints and swollen limbs.
"After three months of misery among them, I began to suffer many things from many medicine-men, and was nothing better, but rather grew worse. I had nauseous medicines in large doses from one, and small doses from another, with exactly the same results. I was drenched, and steamed, and packed, and baked, externally, and almost poisoned internally with draughts of water which, to say the least, were unclean; but all to no purpose. They blew upon me, and then whistled. They pressed their extended fingers with all their strength into me. They put their forefingers doubled into my mouth, and spouted water from their own mouths into mine. They applied pieces of lighted touchwood to my flesh in many places. They then placed me on a litter made of saplings, and I was carried by four men into the woods, and as I observed one Indian carrying fire, another an axe, and a third dry wood, I could not but conjecture that they had arrived at the humane conclusion of relieving me of all pain forever. When we had advanced a short distance into the woods, they laid me on a clear spot and kindled a fire against my back. Then the medicine-men began to scarify my flesh with blunt instruments.
"A great hole was then dug in the ground, which I concluded was to be my burial-place. In this excavation a fire was kept up until the ground was heated to its utmost extent, when the embers and ashes were scraped out. Several layers of damp mud were immediately plastered over this fiery furnace. I was then placed within it, and covered with mud, my head alone protruding. For thirty-six hours I endured the torture of escaping steam, after which they carried me back to my lair in the camp more dead than alive, where I lingered on in agony, praying that every day might be my last. I began to wonder where the limit of human endurance could be found, and was led to view the situation philosophically. Why had Infinite Love placed me in such environment? Was it to appear as a witness for Him who had said, 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do?' Was it to bring the light of the Gospel to the Red Knives?
"Month after month I lay in the wigwam, surrounded by the children of the natives, who in summer were dressed in the uniform which the Creator had given them, with dangling necklaces or armlets to decorate them. I soon acquired sufficient knowledge of their language to be able to converse with them. After years of teaching they at length began to regard me with feelings of superstition and awe, and one day the Chief proposed a change of treatment. With a dignified and imperative gesture of the arm, he bade his attendants carry me in a blanket to a canoe.
"'We are not pleased,' he said, 'with the progress you are making towards recovery, and we have decided to take you to a spring which possesses strange healing power.'
"I could not understand all the Chief said, but his manner indicated tenderness and sympathy, which led me to believe that the light which was beginning to brighten the darkened lives of many of his people was dawning upon him also.
"The suggestion of a change of place kindled in my heart the hope of meeting someone who could assist me in finding my way back to civilization once more, and the gnawing pangs of rheumatism seemed lulled for a time as we embarked on the peaceful waters of the lake.
"It was a glorious day, not a ripple stirred the water as our canoe glided over the surface. Not a breath of wind moved the heavy mist which rose and floated with silver transparency over the depths below. We floated rather than paddled down the little river that connected the lakes. The snow-capped peaks of the distant mountains glistened with a radiance that was dazzling as they rose upon our view. It was like fairy-land. Not a bend in the little stream but disclosed some glimpse of unexpected loveliness.
"At last we floated out upon the waters of Great Slave Lake, and new scenes opened before us. Far away in the distance the deep blue waters glowed and sparkled in the blaze of sunlight. Here and there islands of green contrasted with the brightness of the water that lay between them. Far away ahead of our canoe there seemed to nestle on the surface of the lake a small gray cloud. As we approached it I could just make out the shadow of an island, and I understood from the conversation of the Indians that we had at last reached our destination.
"They carried me over the green mossy turf to a place where little jets of mineral water were springing clear and sparkling in the sunlight. Here they commenced to erect a rude hut. Its walls and roof were low, enclosing a roughly levelled floor of earth. We spread our skins and drew our blankets over us, and soon felt quite at home in our new quarters. We had not spent many months on the island before I felt almost free from pain. Though my joints were too stiff to walk much, the pains that for long years had made motion intolerable and life a misery were almost gone.
"One morning as I lay in the hut watching my companions as they sat round the fire cooking their mid-day meal, a canoe suddenly came in sight. I started and rubbed my eyes, thinking it a strange illusion, but there before me were the faces of two white men, the first I had seen since that ever-memorable night when my crew deserted me. My companions kept their places before the fire and betrayed not the slightest surprise or fear while I poured out to my new-found friends the story of past years. Captain Franklin offered me a passage in his canoe, and as I took leave of the Indians, and explained that the white men would take me home, they said not a word, but went on smoking their short black pipes as though it were nothing to them."
During the course of the evening it was arranged that an important event should take place at no distant date, George and Chrissy to reside at the White House. At the same time Colonel By remarked that it would be an opportune time to lay the corner-stone of the locks. "We could not do better," he said, "than have the ceremony quietly performed by one whose name is a household word on two continents, one who has braved untold peril and hardship in his country's service, not only in the Polar Seas, but at Trafalgar, Copenhagen and New Orleans, one whose name stands for everything that is honorable, self-sacrificing and courageous."
"I agree with you," said Mr. MacKay. "Mr. Redpath, Mr. McTaggart and myself were discussing the matter this morning, and decided to suggest to you, sir, that the corner-stone should be laid with some ceremony, and the work is sufficiently advanced to have it done to-morrow."
It was finally decided that the ceremony should take place the following day, August 16th, 1827, at 4 p.m.
Upon that corner-stone so "well and truly laid" was built a city which, in thirty-one short years, became the capital of a domain nearly three and a half million square miles larger in extent than the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, nearly five hundred thousand square miles larger than the United States, and almost as large as the combined countries of Europe.
With the laying of the foundation of the city of Ottawa will ever be associated the names of Rear Admiral Sir John Franklin, who afterwards laid down his life in the frozen North in the cause of his country; of Lieut.-Colonel John By, who filled so important a place in the public works of Canada in the construction of two canals, the building of two Martello towers on the Plains of Abraham, and whose recommendations to the Duke of Wellington resulted in the building of the present fortifications at Quebec; of Thomas MacKay, the contractor for the locks, who afterwards built Rideau Hall; of John Redpath, who later settled in Montreal, and built up one of the largest commercial enterprises in Canada; of John McTaggart, clerk of the works, to whose able pen we are indebted for much of the history of the time, and who returned to Scotland on the completion of the work; and last, but not least, of the White Chief of the Ottawa, the pioneer "Lumber King."
1833.
A solemn stillness pervaded the once happy home on the hill, a stillness broken only by the sighing of the wind through the poplar trees.
The stately, noble form of the queen of the household, who held sway over so many hearts, lay sleeping beneath the daisies in the cemetery not far distant. She had never been well after the shock occasioned by the sudden death of her eldest son.
One by one the young people went forth to homes of their own. Abbie, having awakened at last to a realization of the truth of her father's prediction regarding Thomas Brigham, had long since married that wealthy lumberman.
In his loneliness and sorrow came a call to the Chief to higher and harder work in his country's service. The County of York, in which Hull was situated, had a sufficiently large population to entitle it to representation in the Legislative Assembly, and, as the representation of the Province had been increased to eighty-four members, the electors of the county were called upon to choose their representative.
Elections in those days were not so much a question of political opinion with the electors as personal preference and local considerations, so the Chief was elected by acclamation, and took his seat in the House as an independent member, the name of the constituency being changed to that of Ottawa County.
The members, who in those days had not the prospect of a large indemnity to nail them to their seats, frequently deserted the Legislative Hall long before the session was over, notwithstanding which the White Chief was ever in his place, and voted intelligently on the burning questions of the day.
While attending session at Quebec, he sat down to breakfast on one occasion with the son of his old friend, Louis Joseph Papineau, who was Speaker of the House at the time, and who happened to be staying at the same hotel.
"I hear that a town is springing up like a mushroom on the opposite side of the river from Hull," said Mr. Papineau; "and that property on that side of the river has greatly enhanced in value."
"It has," replied the Chief. "The whole Carman grant, from the Rideau to the Chaudiere, comprising about one thousand acres, was sold to Hugh Fraser a few years ago for ten pounds. Later a man named Burroughs bought two hundred acres which he tried to sell to me for sufficient to pay his passage to England, in order to secure a legacy which had been left him. I would not have accepted it as a gift at that time, for it was all marsh land. He succeeded in getting Nicholas Sparks to take it for £95, and I indorsed his notes for the amount. Not long since Sparks sold eighty acres of it to Colonel By for several thousand pounds sterling. The Colonel drained it, divided it into town lots, and is now asking a fabulous price for it.*
* The same eighty acres was disposed of by Colonel By a few years later for half a million pounds sterling.
"How is the town laid out?" asked Mr. Papineau.
"There are a few scattered houses on a street which has been called after the Duke of Wellington, about half a dozen at Le Breton Flats, and east of the canal there are two streets called Sussex and Rideau, on which there are quite a number of houses and four shops, kept by Scotchmen. There are also two civilian barracks, facing each other near Sussex Street, for the canal workers.
"I rode over a few days ago and was astonished to see the rapid progress the place is making. Crossing the wooden bridge at the Chaudiere, which Colonel By succeeded in building after many fruitless attempts, I drove through Le Breton's farm to the gully recently bridged by Lieutenant Pooley, then, skirting the cliff on which the Episcopal church is being erected on a lot given by Sparks, and passing the Scotch church, I drove through the woods along a corduroy road which wound round the foot of Barracks Hill, or the Military Reserve, to Sappers' Bridge, and found that the Colonel had so transformed the lower part of the town by drainage as to make it beyond recognition. The swamp and even the creek have disappeared. There is about half a mile of unbroken forest between the upper and lower parts of the town. The houses are built in the midst of huge old boulders and masses of rock, and are hidden from each other by lofty pines and thick underbrush."
"What is its population?" asked Mr. Papineau.
"I should say about two thousand," he replied. "And they are mostly of the lowest class of Irish, who are very awkward. What they are used to doing they do fairly well, but it seems impossible to teach them anything new. If they can dig out for themselves a mud cabin in the side of a hill they would never dream of building one of wood.
"Near the works is a place called Corktown, where the workmen have burrowed in the sandhills. Smoke is seen to rise out of holes which have been opened in the ground to answer the purpose of chimneys. In these miserable dwellings whole families are huddled together worse than in Ireland.
"McTaggart says," continued the Chief, "that the engineers and contractors cannot get them to keep out of the way of their own blasts, and that he has more than once seen heads, legs and arms blown in all directions; and when given a spade and pick they have to exercise eternal vigilance to keep them from digging their own graves."
Dr. Bigsby then took his seat at the table.
"You look as though you had been carousing, Doctor," said Mr. Papineau.
"I was, in a way," he replied. "I remained up most of the night to see the charivari. I have seen it in France," he said, "but I think the French-Canadian has improved upon the original. In this country it is evidently intended to reach offenders against propriety and the public sense of honor. Ill-assorted marriages seem to be its special objects here. You know Adjutant Randall, do you not?" addressing Mr. Papineau.
"Yes," he replied, "quite well."
"He was married yesterday," continued the doctor, "to the widow of a wealthy brewer. She was of good French family, and resembled the famous widow of Kent in having a large annual income. She is not young, and for aught I know may have thrown off her weeds too soon.
"Last evening, when in my room, I heard the most incomprehensible noises, gradually drawing nearer and nearer. A broad red light soon began to glare upon the houses and fill the street. The throng slowly arrived and slowly passed the door, and as you honorable gentlemen were probably in session I shall try and describe some parts of the show.
"First came a strange figure, masked, with a cocked hat and sword; then came strutting a little humpbacked creature in brown, red and yellow, with beak and tail. Fifteen or sixteen people followed in the garb of Indians, some with cow-horns on their heads. Then came two men in white shirts, bearing a paper coffin of great size, lighted from within and having skulls, cross-bones and initials painted in black on its sides. This was surrounded by men blowing horns, beating pot-lids, poker and tongs, whirling rattles, whistling, and so on.
"To these succeeded a number of Chinese lanterns, some aloft on high poles and mixed with blazing torches, small flags, black and white, and more rough music. Close after came more torches, clatter and fantastic disguises, the whole surrounded by a large rabble who kept up an irregular fire of yells which could be heard a mile away.
"They perambulated the whole city before proceeding to the ill-fated mansion of the bride, but at last they arrived at her door and drew up before it. The large handsome house was silent and dark—the window shades were closed. There was evidently to be no friendly feast, for in many cases, I believe, the attack is met courteously with lighted halls and a cold collation to the principal actors, when the din and hubbub generally ceases and the thing ends; but it was not so in the charivari of last night.
"The crowd was puzzled, but showed pluck. It brayed and blew and roared and shook torch and lantern, and might have done so all night long, as it appeared to me, standing at a cowardly distance, when suddenly the large front door opened and out rushed the manly figure of the Adjutant with ten or twelve assistants in plain clothes (brother officers, I fear) armed with cudgels.
"To work they went upon the defenceless crowd, and especially among the masquers, where the torches gave useful light. The whole attack and flight was an affair of five minutes. The fun-loving crowd, actors and spectators, fled, and gone in an incredibly short space of time were torches, lanterns, coffin, kettles and buffalo-horns.
"The unhappy little hunchback was seized by the bridegroom, who began to pound him, but he most piteously confessed that he was Mr. ——, editor of the ——, a local paper. He was dismissed with a shake, and told that in future cripples in charivaris would be treated as able-bodied men.
"The affair so unnerved the bride that she escaped through the back door and took rooms here."
Just then an officer entered, and the doctor said:
"Good morning, Adjutant! How is Mrs. Randall?"
Suddenly he caught sight of the Chief, who sat back in his chair gazing at him in mute astonishment, for it was none other than Harold Wrenford.
"She is much better, thank you," he said, "but I forgot her medicine," and he hastened from the room.
"How long have you known the Adjutant?" asked the Chief.
"Only recently," replied the doctor.
"I have known him for years," replied Mr. Papineau. "I knew him when he was a young lieutenant in the Citadel. He sold his commission, went abroad, and returned a few years ago with his pockets full of money, purchased an adjutancy, and he has been regarded by the weaker sex as one of the greatest catches in Quebec."
In less than half an hour Adjutant and Mrs. Randall were seen driving down towards the docks, where they took passage in a vessel bound for Liverpool.
1837.
Mr. and Mrs. George Morrison and the aged Chief were among the guests at a small dinner party given by the "Laird of Bytown," the Hon. Thomas MacKay, at his new residence, Rideau Hall, in honor of John McTaggart, C.E., who had returned to the New World to visit old friends.
HON. THOMAS MACKAY.HON. THOMAS MACKAY.
The Hall, which had been erected on his estate of thirteen hundred acres, midway between the banks of the Rideau and the Ottawa, was a large cut-stone building with semi-tower front. The building itself, the well-kept grounds, the imposing avenues with their porters' lodges, the conservatories, excelled anything in Canada at that time.
It was spring. In the tall trees of the avenues, which seemed to shut out the sky, the birds were awaking to life and love. A little brook gurgled over mossy stones in the quiet glen by the wayside, on the banks of which, soft with moss and pine needles, the trilliums grew so thickly that they appeared like a bank of snow which had escaped the rays of the April sun.
There was great diversity of color and form in the trees. The pines stood erect, flinging their rough limbs above the young leaves of the deciduous trees below. The white birch and trembling poplar adorned the glen with pale gray or light green leaves, whose delicacy of tint contrasted finely with the dark masses of the fir trees and the lively green of maple and wild cherry.
Such was the home over which presided the noble Laird and his gracious wife, and which, even in those early days, was a centre of hospitality.
Among the guests were Chief McNab, who had left the Highlands of Scotland with a numerous clan, and taken up his abode with them in a township which had been granted to him on the banks of Lake de Chats, about thirty miles from Bytown.
The guests scanned him with a peculiarly keen interest as he entered the room preceded by his piper playing, "The Hacks o' Cromdale." He was dressed in full Highland costume, with kilts and scarf of red and green tartan, and wore a queue neatly tied with a knot of ribbon.
Captain Andrew Wilson, of Ossian Hall, on the banks of the Rideau, was another guest. He had retired from the Navy and posed as lawyer, judge, farmer, and author, his title to the latter consisting in three volumes on naval history. He held weekly courts at Bytown, and was regarded by the people of the town as a man of great importance. To see the Captain on the bench with his anchor-buttoned coat and his old-fashioned spectacles, attending gravely to the examination of witnesses, was ludicrous. Of this he was perfectly sensible, but it was an amusement to him. He was one of those men who would have liked to have the whole world following after him.
Rev. Mr. Cruikshanks, pastor of St. Andrews church, the first church in Bytown, and Rev. S. H. Stone, rector of Christ church, completed the list of invited guests.
McTaggart, or "Mac," as he was familiarly called, the guest of the evening and the hero of the hour, related many amusing incidents which had come under his notice while Clerk of the Public Works.
"On one occasion," he said, "while returning by steamer from Lachine, an oddly-dressed person sailed along with us. He had a short-tailed blue coat with metal buttons that once had been clear, but the salt spray of the Atlantic Ocean had dimmed their lustre, a woollen-striped, double-breasted waistcoat, while a pair of velveteen pantaloons graced hishurdies. He was a forward kind of little man from the south of Scotland, who had paid little attention to the cut of his whiskers, and the hair of his head seemed to furnish a good cover for game of a peculiar kind.
"The tone of my voice, or some other Scotch keepsake, drew him near me, when the following confab took place:
"'I hae surely seen your face some gate afore, mon, but whar it's mair than I can cleverly tell.'
"'At the fair o' Minnyvive, man?' quoth I. 'Are not ye'—there I hung fire. He helped me out by adding:
"'The Laird o' Birrboy.'
"'Exactly,' I replied, and he believed or seemed to believe me, although I had never seen his face in my life before.
"As the steamboat neared the Lake of Two Mountains, on the Ottawa, giving the passengers a peep at the wilderness, 'What a lang planting!' he exclaimed. 'I wonner wha's Laird o't?'
"I replied in a kind of knowing manner that he would see the Laird presently, and shortly we came upon an Indian encampment by the bank of the river. The Indians were busy among their canoes, skinning some deer and muskrats they had caught.
"'Yonder, Birrboy, yonder's the Laird!' quoth I, pointing to an Indian Chief with the feathers of wild birds stuck round in his hat, and long silver earrings hanging down on his shoulders.
"'Bless me!' said Birrboy, with open mouth, 'and yon's the Laird?'
"'It's all that's for him,' I continued, 'and yonder's the gardener coming after him.' This was another Indian with a branch of a tree on his shoulder for the fire.
"'Bless me! He's a queer Laird that, and is that ane of his seats?'
"I explained that it was, and that he had many such like up and down the 'lang planting.'
"'What wad the bodies about Minnyvive think if they saw sic lairds and gairdeners coming up the fair as thae, mon?' he exclaimed. 'I'll be hanged gin they wadna creep in aneath the beds wi' fear, like Nell Coskerie in a thunner-storm.'
"Landing on the shore at a place called Chute of 'Blendo,' we came upon pieces of junk pine split up in thin pieces.
"'An' what ca' ye thae now?' inquired the Scotchman.
"'Shingles,' I replied. 'The people of this country cover their houses with them.'
"'Hech, mon, and are thae the Canada sclate?' he returned. 'Ye hae queer names for things here. There's a shoe like a swine trough ye ca' the saboo, then there's a shoe ye ca' the morgason, a kin o' thing like a big splenchan the bodies row their feet in. Deil hang me, if ever I heard o' sic names. I'll never bring my mooth into the wye o' pronooncing them.'
"Proceeding up the river we came near to the public works.
"'And is yon a timmer clauchan we see?' pointing to Bytown, quoth the Laird.
"'Ay, yonder are the shanties,' I informed him, 'of a village the people are busy building.'
"'Ay, there again, noo,' he replied, 'What a queer name ye hae for timmer houses.'
"I explained that the first rough house that a settler built was called a shanty; the next, which was more genteel, was called a log-house; and the third and last was a clapboard house.
"He expressed some astonishment at this, and wondered 'if I could recommend him to a clout of land ony gate aboot that he could big a bit shanty on an' tak' a blaw o' the pipe in wi' comfort.'
"I informed him that land was by no means scarce, and that he might get a farm for an auld sang. 'Ay, mon,' I said, 'a farm larger than Birrboy for an auld sang.'
"This seemed to please him much, but he said: 'I hae nae siller, ye see, an' what's the use of a farm without it? I maun e'en see to get into the public works gaen on here and see to lay by a triffle. I wush ye wad be sae kind as to tell me how to act that I might find some employment.'
"'Go to the gentleman over the way,' said I, pointing to our military commander, who was out bustling about the works.
"'That man with the red coat and the cocked hat?' he inquired.
"'The same,' I said, 'and say to him that there was a man sent you to His Honor who thought you might be worth four shillings and sixpence a day as a squad-master of laborers.'
"He thanked me and went off and told his story. The Colonel quickly guessed who had sent him, so the Laird of Birrboy was regularly installed in his situation and seemed to understand his duty.
"About a month afterwards Birrboy came to me with a long face and said I had been gude, very gude to him, but thae was still a wee kindness I could do him in a quiet way.