"'What is it?' I inquired.
"'Why the wife, silly body, is down in Montreal, and as I hae a bit shanty bigged here, I wad like tae gang doon an' bring her up, if ye had nae objection.'
"To this I replied that I would have none, but that he must apply to the same gentleman as formerly and see what he had to say in the matter.'
"'Ay, but there's that in it, I doubt he'll score me oot o' the books when I'm awa'.'
"He went to the Colonel and asked the favor to bring his wife, which of course was granted. Off went the Laird as proud as a dog with two tails, but when he came to the bank of the river to the steamboat landing, the saidbateau de feu, as the French call her, had gone to the other side of the Ottawa to take in part of her cargo. There was no boat about but the Government boat, in which were Colonel By with some ladies and military officers about to take a pleasure sail up to the Falls. This boat had pushed off, but Birrboy waved his hat and cried:
"'Hoot, mon, come hither!'
"The rowers rested on their oars and he was asked what he wanted.
"'I want a bit cast, mon, to the ither side o' the water to the steamboat.'
"Someone replied out of the boat that it was impossible,' as they were going on a pleasure sail and could not be troubled with him.
"'Hoot, mon!' continued the persevering Scotchman, 'it will tak ye nought out o' yer wye to throw a puir body oot on the pint as ye gae by.'
"'Confound you,' replied the Colonel as they pushed in the boat, 'if you are not a Scotchman in truth I am in ignorance.'
"How joyfully did he take his seat among the officers and ladies, smiling to himself with all the humor of Dunscore depicted in his countenance. I looked and laughed after my worthy countryman, and have not been so fortunate as to have seen him since."
"Tell us how you celebrated your first Christmas in Canada," said Mr. MacKay.
"I well remember how I forgot to celebrate my first Christmas in this country," replied Mac. "We were taking a flying level* between Rafting Bay and the Rideau—a distance of about four miles. Taking a level of this extent at home would not have occupied more than a day, but in a dark, dense wood the subject was quite altered, and the surveyor has to change his home system altogether; for instance, if we get upon a hill in Britain we may see the natural lead of the land, but here in the wilderness you have to grope for this like a blind man.
* A rough guess to a foot of the rise or fall of the country above any fixed spot.
"We cut holes through the thickets of these dismal swamps, and sent a man half a mile before us to blow a horn, keeping to one place until those in the rear come up, so that by the compass and the sound, there being no sun, we were able to grope out our course.
"The weather was extremely cold, and the screws of the theodolite would scarcely move. When night came on we sent two of the axemen to rig a shanty by the side of a swamp. We generally camped near a swamp, for water could be had to drink and to cook with, and the hemlock boughs grew more bushy in such places, and were easily obtained to cover the shanty; and, besides, we generally found dry cedar there, which makes excellent firewood. When we arrived at the camp we found a very comfortable house set up by our friends, with a blazing fire in front of it. We lay down on the bushy hemlock, holding pork before the fire on wooden prongs, each man roasting for himself, while plenty of tea was thrown into a kettle of boiling water. The tin mug, our only tea cup, went round till all had drunk, then it was filled again, and so on, while each with his bush knife cut toasted pork on slices of bread.
"Then we went to sleep, and, after having lain an hour or so on one side, someone would cry—'Spoon!' the order to turn to the other, which was often a disagreeable one if a spike of tree root or such substance stuck up beneath ribs. Reclining thus like a parcel of spoons, our feet to the fire, we have found the hair of our heads often frozen to the place where we lay. For several days together did we lie in these wild places. In Dow's great swamp, one of the most dismal places in the wilderness, did five Irishmen, two Englishmen, two Americans, one Frenchman, and one Scotchman, hold their merry Christmas in 1826, or rather forgot to hold it at all."
"Do you remember your experiences in prospecting for iron ore in the mountains?" asked the Chief, who was one of Mac's warmest friends and admirers.
"I had been in Canada only a few months," he said, "when I happened to hear from various sources that mountains of iron ore existed in the range north of Hull, and the Chief, MacKay, Colonel By, and I secured a guide, and took our way on horseback through the forest to inspect the said ore bed that had hindered the magnetic needle of many a surveyor's compass from traversing properly. We mounted at the Columbian hotel and away we went, our guide having provisions, axes, hammers, etc., in a bag on the saddle with him. Having cantered away several miles through cleared land, we began to enter the wilderness, and, as I am no great horseman, I soon found my eyes and nose beginning to be scratched off from the brushwood lashing and rubbing against them, and soon, alas! I found myself comfortably landed on my back on the trunk of an old tree that had fallen many years ago.
"On looking round I saw my quiet pony thinking for a wonder what had become of me, one of his forefeet having trod out the crown of a good new thirty shilling hat I had bought in London.
"My companions gathered round, but could not prevail on me to mount again; the guide led the horse, and I trudged along on foot. Getting rather weary, however, and seeing the comparatively easy manner in which my friends got along, in spite of the thick brushwood and old trees that lay stretched over one another at all angles, I mounted again, but soon found it almost impossible to follow my companions without getting myself bruised in all quarters, and possibly some of my bones broken.
"They had got about one hundred yards before me, and halloed to me to follow. I exerted myself to the utmost, but one of my legs getting into the cleft of a small tree, I was thrown off the horse's back and left among the briars again. Bawling out, they waited until I came up. None of them but Mr. MacKay, as good a Scotchman as lives, laughed, and I was almost inclined to fling my boot at him. Being a good horseman, and used to the rough roads of Canada, he could keep his seat in the saddle in a way, but the skin of his legs was partly peeled like my own, and his clothes torn in various places.
"After travelling a great way we got to a stream which the guide said had its origin in the iron mountain. Proceeding up the stream to its source, we at last came upon the famous ore-bed, but through excessive fatigue, after having taken a little refreshment, I fell asleep, as did all my companions but one, the enterprising Lord of the Manor of Hull, Indian Chief, Colonel of the 2nd Battalion, etc., etc. Even Colonel By, with bone and muscle and sinew like wrought-iron, who can endure anything and eat anything, even to raw pork, was fagged out, and slept like the rest of us.
"The Chief kindly left us undisturbed for an hour, when he roused us. Traversing these wild mountains in all directions, we were much pleased with the immense specimens of iron ore that appeared everywhere. Mr. MacKay wielded the hammer with masonic skill, and laid the rich ore-beds open to inspection. At one place the mountains are not more than two miles from the first falls of the Gatineau, where machinery and engines could be erected at moderate rate, as water-power may be had to any extent from the falls. We found an abundance of hardwood, particularly maple, which makes the best charcoal of any. We concluded that this was the best place for iron works in Canada.
"We at length thought of returning to the hotel. Night came on, and in the forenoon of the next day I found myself alive at the Falls of the Chaudiere. The troubles I had undergone were amply repaid. My bruises recovered, the skin came over my arms and legs, but I shall never try to explore the wilds of Canada on horseback again."
"Have you ever tried the experiment, Mr. McNab?" asked the good-natured Scotchman.
"Sir," he replied, disdainfully, "I thought you had known better. Nothing but McNab, if you please—'Mr.' does not belong to me."
Mr. McTaggart expressed his apologies, and there was a lull in the conversation.
"You have quite a fine church," said the Chief, after a time, addressing the Scottish pastor.
"Yes," he replied, "we are indebted to our host for that church. He built it at his own expense while the masons of the public works were awaiting orders from the War Department in England, to widen the locks."
"Why did you call it after St. Andrew?" said the Chief. "I never could understand why Scotchmen seem to have a monopoly of that saint, and Episcopalians a monopoly of the name of Christ, and Roman Catholics of St. Peter and St. Joseph, in naming their churches. St. Andrew was one of the least known of the honored twelve, and why he should have gained and retained such a grip of Scotland and her scattered children is a mystery to me."
"There, Mr. Cruikshanks," said the Laird, "is a problem for you to solve, for I must admit it is a question beyond my ken."
"The only reason that I can find why St. Andrew is so closely connected with Scotland," replied Mr. Cruikshanks, whose speech was not a little infected with the dialect of southern Scotland, but is here rendered in modern English for the sake of the readers, "is found in most ancient history—it may be legendary. It is this:
"Faithful to the farewell commission of his Master, whom he saw ascend from the brow of Olivet and received into heaven, Andrew spent his missionary life in Scythia and Achaia, and in Patræ, one of its principal cities, he founded a branch of the Church, the success of which brought down upon him the vengeance of the heathen governor, who caused him to be crucified. He was tied to a cross of olive wood in the form of the letter X. He endured the prolonged agonies of hunger and thirst and pain for many days, until at last the strong heart gave its last beat and his spirit fled to the side of the glorified Christ.
"A woman of wealth and rank obtained possession of the body. The congregation with sorrowing hearts buried it in the little church. There it lay in undisturbed repose during the long stretch of three hundred years.
"Wholesale massacres swept myriads of Christians into martyr graves until a Christian emperor came to the throne, who ordered a great and gorgeous temple to be erected in memory of the apostle in Constantinople.
"Constantine commanded the presiding presbyter"——
"Bishop, you mean," interrupted the rector.
"Presbyter, sir," said the Scotchman, firmly, "of the little church at Petræ to deliver up the body of the martyred apostle that it might rest till the glorious resurrection morn in the grandest mausoleum that Imperial hands could build for it.
"Three days before the messengers arrived, Regulus, the presbyter, dreamed that a messenger from a greater than Constantine ordered him to open the tomb of the saint and to remove part of its contents and hide them in another place. This he did, and the remainder of the body was removed to Constantinople.
"Some time afterwards Regulus had another dream, when the same messenger appeared to him and warned him to depart from Petrae, and to take with him the bones which he had concealed and to sail to a port to which God would safely guide him.
"Regulus obeyed, and was accompanied by sixteen presbyters and three devout deaconesses, who set sail not knowing whither to steer their course.
"Tossed up and down in Adria, driven by the wind through the dreaded pillars of Hercules, dashed hither and thither in the surging Bay of Biscay, whirled northward by furious hurricanes over the English Channel and the German Ocean, they found themselves shipwrecked in a bay, afterwards known as the Bay of St. Andrews, on the east of Scotland. All else but the precious relics lost, they with difficulty gained the shore.
"On the spot where they landed they built a church, taking for their plan the church at Petrae, and in it they reverently deposited the martyr's bones and called the church and place St. Andrews.
"Dense woods surrounded them, infested with boars and wolves. The barbarians extended to them a hearty welcome. Regulus, afterwards known in Scottish history as St. Raol, told them of St. Andrew and of his faith in the incarnate God who had come to seek and to save the lost. They listened and believed, and Hangus, the King, with all his subjects shook off Druidical superstition and became Christian, and from St. Andrews streamed through the dark places of the land the true light of the world—the Gospel of Christ as St. Andrew had learned it from the Master himself.
"That, sir," he said, addressing the Chief, "is the reason why we have named the new kirk St. Andrews."
"Interesting—most interesting," said the Laird, who had moved back from the table and sat clasping his right knee with his hands. "The learned son of Auld Scotia has answered the first part of the Chief's question, and we shall look to the rector to explain why the Episcopalians seem to enjoy a monopoly of the name of 'Christ church' in designating their places of worship."
For a moment the cultured young Englishman looked bewildered and confused, for the question had come to him suddenly and unexpectedly. Closing his eyes he repeated the question slowly and thoughtfully, "Why do churchmen like to confer upon their places of worship the name of Christ?"
"There passes before my mind the vision of a world," he said, still keeping his eyes closed, "which came from the hands of the Creator in a state of perfection and loveliness—a world of spotless purity, a world where all was peace and love, and joy and satisfaction—a heaven of bliss and of ecstasy. A dark shadow crept over it—the shadow of sin—which was soon followed by the darker and more awful shadow of death. Its women were subjected to a life of suffering and sorrow, a life of bondage and tyranny; its men to a life of slavery. The whole creation began to groan and travail in pain. Life was not worth living nor death worth dying, until a Light from heaven shone through the darkness, dispelling the gloom, bringing salvation to sorrowing, sin-burdened souls and hope of complete redemption, when the body shall be raised incorruptible, when the briars and thorns shall disappear, and even the animals shall be emancipated from the bondage and cruelty of man.
"It was the Christ who turned darkness into light. It was the Christ who brought life out of death. It was the Christ who lifted woman from the depths of degradation and placed her in a realm of love and hope. It was the Christ who gave the weary toiler rest.
"Have we not cause to bless God for 'His inestimable love in the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ?'
"That is Presbyterianism," said Mrs. MacKay.
"And that is Episcopalianism," replied the rector.
"We recognize the Christ as the head of the Church," said the Laird.
"And so do we," said the rector, "and if I had the naming of ten thousand churches, sir, I would call each one 'Christchurch,' and I would have a cross on each somewhere to remind the people of the fact that He left the heaven of glory to suffer and die for them, that He might bring them into the fulness of joy which He originally designed for them."
"You surprise me," said the Laird, "for I had come to regard the Established Church of England as dead in formalism. I have not found so great faith before—no, not in the Church of England."
"Then you had better become a little more intimately acquainted with it," good-naturedly rejoined the young rector, and the conversation turned into other topics.
1839.
Spring had come. The aged Chief, who had passed the seventy-ninth anniversary of his birth, sat propped up with pillows gazing at the swollen torrent, with its seething, tumbling mass of white foam, as it rushed with resistless power into the big cauldron below.
Through the half-open window the fragrance of blossoming fruit-trees found its way into the room. From the eastern window he could see the smoke rising from his innumerable factories and mills; through the southern one the burnished roofs and steeples of the opposite cliffs sparkled and glittered in the sunshine.
As he gazed thoughtfully at the panorama before him, he said to Chrissy, who with her husband had carefully nursed him for five years while suffering with a broken thigh, occasioned by a fall on the pavement near the St. Louis gate at Quebec:
"It makes one think of time as it rolls on like a mighty rushing river soon to lose itself in the vast sea of eternity."
Chrissy sat by his bedside reading, and seemed oblivious to the remark. At length, looking up from the book with a face beaming with satisfaction, she said:
"Do you know what the Surveyor-General says of you, father? I have just been reading a marked copy of his Topographical Report to William IV., which Mr. Papineau has sent, and in which he says, after describing the advanced stage of civilization found in our township:
"'From whence are all these benefits derived? Whose persevering talent and enterprising spirit first pierced the gloom of these forests and converted a wilderness of trees into fields of corn? Whose industrious hand first threw into the natural desert the seeds of plenty and prosperity?
"'The answer is—Mr. Philemon Wright. Through hardships, privations, and dangers that would have appalled an ordinary mind, he penetrated an almost inaccessible country, and where he found desolation and solitude he introduced civilization and the useful arts, and by his almost unaided skill and indefatigable industry the savage paths of a dreary wilderness have been changed into the cheerful haunts of men. The gloomy upland forests have given way to smiling corn-fields. The wet and wild savannas, sinking under stunted spruce and cedar, have been cleared and drained into luxuriant meadows. The perilous water-fall, whose hoarse noise was once the frightful voice of an awful solitude, is rendered obedient to the laws of art, and now converts the majestic tenants of the forest into the habitations of man and grinds his food. The rivers and lakes, once fruitful in vain, now breed their living produce for the use of human beings, and with deep, rapid current transport on their smooth glassy surface the fruits of his industry. The deep recesses of the earth are made to expose their mineral treasures from the birthday of time concealed.
"'In short, the judicious and persevering industry of one successful adventurer has converted all the rude vantages of primeval nature into the germs of agricultural, manufacturing and commercial prosperity.'
"It is true," she said, with great enthusiasm. "They may well appreciate the great work you have done."
The tribute of praise seemed to make no impression on the Chief, who sat silent and motionless, as though lost in thought.
"Shall I read to you, father, dear?"
"You may if you like," he said.
"What would you like me to read?" she asked.
"Read something that Solomon has written," said the Chief, who was a grand Arch Mason and Knight of Malta, and who was not very familiar with the writings of Solomon or any of the writers of Scripture.
Turning over the leaves of her well-worn Bible, Chrissy read from the second chapter of Ecclesiastes the following words:
"I made me great works; I builded me houses; I planted me vineyards; I made me gardens and orchards, and I planted trees in them of all kind of fruits; I made me pools of water, to water therewith the wood that bringeth forth trees; I got me servants and maidens, ... also I had great possessions of great and small cattle; ... I gathered me also silver and gold, ... so I was great, and increased more than all that were before me; ... also my wisdom remained with me. And whatsoever mine eyes desired I kept not from them, I withheld not my heart from any joy; for my heart rejoiced in my labour.... Then I looked on all the works that my hands had wrought, and on the labour that I had laboured to do; and, behold, all was vanity and vexation of spirit, and there was no profit under the sun."
The Chief gave a deep groan which caused Chrissy to close the book hurriedly. Taking his hand gently in hers, she said:
"I fear that I have wearied you, or is it the old pain again?"
"It is true! it is true!" he said. "When I look back over the past achievements of my life they are of no profit when viewed in the light of eternity. The sun that has lighted our way, dear child, is going down in a cloud—a dark, dark cloud!"
"Why is that, dear father? Have you not lived up to the family motto—Mens conscia recti? Have you not always followed the dictates of conscience?"
"Yes," he replied.
"Have you kept every command in the decalogue?"
"Yes," he said, confidently.
"And have you loved the Lord God withallyour mind and withallyour strength, and your neighbor as yourself? Have you always put Godfirstin everything?"
Here the aged Chief hesitated. Tears were in his eyes, his hand trembled, a look of pain came into his face, as he replied:
"No, Chrissy, I have not."
"Then you have broken the first and greatest command of God," she said, "and St. Paul has said: 'Condemned is every one that continues not inallthings which are written in the book of the law to do them.' If dark clouds are overshadowing you, dear father, may it not be because you have broken the law of God and are under His condemnation?"
"I had hoped for comfort from you," he said, coldly, "but you have made me miserably unhappy."
"Wait," said Chrissy. "This is the comforting thing about it all. It says here in Galatians: 'Christ hath redeemed us from the condemnation of the law, having been condemned for us.'
"Then if He paid the penalty of the faults and failures of my life, I suppose I should have no anxious thought about the future."
"Quite so," said Chrissy.
"I never saw it in that light before," he said. "Why did you not tell me this before, child?"
"Because," she replied, "I feared that you would scoff at my 'Quakerism,' as the boys call it."
In the few short weeks that followed, confidence and hope rose triumphant over physical weakness and mental depression, and on the second of June, 1839, the White Chief of the Ottawa passed through "the valley of the shadow." To him it was not a dark valley, however, for shadows cannot be seen in the dark. The Light of the World, whom he had lost sight of for the best part of his life, was there, and all was peace.
THE END.