CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.
HOPES AND FEARS--AN UNEXPECTED MEETING--PHILOSOPHICAL TALK BETWEEN THEHUNTER AND THE PARSON.
On arriving at Norway House, Harry Somerville and his friend Hamiltonfound that they were to remain at that establishment during anindefinite period of time, until it should please those in whose handstheir ultimate destination lay to direct them how and where to proceed.This was an unlooked-for trial of their patience; but after the firstexclamation of disappointment, they made up their minds, like wise men,to think no more about it, but bide their time, and make the most ofpresent circumstances.
"You see," remarked Hamilton, as the two friends, after having had anaudience of the gentleman in charge of the establishment, saunteredtoward the rocks that overhang the margin of Playgreen Lake--"you see,it is of no use to fret about what we cannot possibly help. Nobodywithin three hundred miles of us knows where we are destined to spendnext winter. Perhaps orders may come in a couple of weeks, perhaps in acouple of months, but they will certainly come at last. Anyhow, it isof no use thinking about it, so we had better forget it, and make thebest of things as we find them."
"Ah!" exclaimed Harry, "your advice is that we should by all means behappy, and if we can't be happy, be as happy as we can. Is that it?"
"Just so. That's it exactly."
"Ho! But then you see, Hammy, you're a philosopher, and I'm not, andthat makes all the difference. I'm not given to anticipating evil, butI cannot help dreading that they will send me to some lonely, swampy,out-of-the-way hole, where there will be no society, no shooting, noriding, no work even to speak of--nothing, in fact, but the miserablesatisfaction of being styled `bourgeois' by five or six men, wretchedoutcasts like myself."
"Come, Harry," cried Hamilton, "you are taking the very worst view ofit. There certainly are plenty of such outposts in the country, but youknow very well that young fellows like you are seldom sent to suchplaces."
"I don't know that," interrupted Harry. "There's young McAndrew: he wassent to an outpost up the Mackenzie his second year in the service,where he was all but starved, and had to live for about two weeks onboiled parchment. Then there's poor Forrester: he was shipped off to aplace--the name of which I never could remember--somewhere between thehead-waters of the Athabasca Lake and the North Pole. To be sure, hehad good shooting, I'm told, but he had only four labouring men to enjoyit with; and he has been there _ten_ years now, and he has more thanonce had to scrape the rocks of that detestable stuff called _tripe deroche_ to keep himself alive. And then there's--"
"Very true," interrupted Hamilton. "Then there's your friend CharlesKennedy, whom you so often talk about, and many other young fellows weknow, who have been sent to the Saskatchewan, and to the Columbia, andto Athabasca, and to a host of other capital places, where they haveenough of society--male society, at least--and good sport."
The young men had climbed a rocky eminence which commanded a view of thelake on the one side, and the fort, with its background of woods, on theother. Here they sat down on a stone, and continued for some time toadmire the scene in silence.
"Yes," said Harry, resuming the thread of discourse, "you are right: wehave a good chance of seeing some pleasant parts of the country. Butsuspense is not pleasant. O man, if they would only send me up theSaskatchewan River! I've set my heart upon going there. I'm quite sureit's the very best place in the whole country."
"You've told the truth that time, master," said a deep voice behindthem.
The young men turned quickly round. Close beside them, and leaningcomposedly on a long Indian fowling-piece, stood a tall,broad-shouldered, sunburned man, apparently about forty years of age.He was dressed in the usual leathern hunting-coat, cloth leggings, furcap, mittens, and moccasins that constitute the winter garb of a hunter;and had a grave, firm, but good-humoured expression of countenance.
"You've told the truth that time, master," he repeated, without movingfrom his place. "The Saskatchewan _is_, to my mind, the best place inthe whole country; and havin' seen a considerable deal o' places in mytime, I can speak from experience."
"Indeed, friend," said Harry, "I'm glad to hear you say so. Come, sitdown beside us, and let's hear something about it."
Thus invited, the hunter seated himself on a stone and laid his gun onthe hollow of his left arm.
"First of all, friend," continued Harry, "do you belong to the forthere?"
"No," replied the man; "I'm stayin' here just now, but I don't belong tothe place."
"Where do you come from, then, and what's your name?"
"Why, I've comed d'rect from the Saskatchewan with a packet o' letters.I'm payin' a visit to the missionary village yonder"--the hunter pointedas he spoke across the lake--"and when the ice breaks up I shall get acanoe and return again."
"And your name?"
"Why, I've got four or five names. Somehow or other, people have givenme a nickname wherever I ha' chanced to go. But my true name, and theone I hail by just now, is Jacques Caradoc."
"Jacques Caradoc!" exclaimed Harry, starting with surprise. "You knew aCharley Kennedy in the Saskatchewan, did you?"
"That did I. As fine a lad as ever pulled a trigger."
"Give us your hand, friend," exclaimed Harry, springing forward andseizing the hunter's large, hard fist in both hands. "Why, man, Charleyis my dearest friend, and I had a letter from him some time ago in whichhe speaks of you, and says you're one of the best fellows he ever met."
"You don't say so," replied the hunter, returning Harry's grasp warmly,while his eyes sparkled with pleasure, and a quiet smile played at thecorners of his mouth.
"Yes I do," said Harry; "and I'm very nearly as glad to meet with you,friend Jacques, as I would be to meet with him. But come; it's coldwork talking here. Let's go to my room; there's a fire in the stove.--Come along, Hammy;" and taking his new friend by the arm, he hurried himalong to his quarters in the fort.
Just as they were passing under the fort gate, a large mass of snowbecame detached from a housetop and fell heavily at their feet, passingwithin an inch of Hamilton's nose. The young man started back with anexclamation, and became very red in the face.
"Hollo!" cried Harry, laughing, "got a fright, Hammy! That went soclose to your chin that it almost saved you the trouble of shaving."
"Yes; I got a little fright from the suddenness of it," said Hamiltonquietly.
"What do you think of my friend there?" said Harry to Jacques in a lowvoice, pointing to Hamilton, who walked on in advance.
"I've not seen much of him, master," replied the hunter. "Had I beenasked the same question about the same lad twenty years agone, I shouldha' said he was soft, and perhaps chicken-hearted. But I've learnedfrom experience to judge better than I used to do. I niver thinks o'formin' an opinion o' any one till I've seen them called to suddenaction. It's astonishin' how some faint-hearted men will come to face adanger and put on an awful look o' courage if they only get warnin'; buttake them by surprise--that's the way to try them."
"Well, Jacques, that is the very reason why I ask your opinion ofHamilton. He was pretty well taken by surprise that time, I think."
"True, master; but _that_ kind o' start don't prove much. Hows'ever, Idon't think he's easy upset. He does look uncommon soft, and his facegrew red when the snow fell, but his eyebrow and his under lip showedthat it wasn't from fear."
During that afternoon and the greater part of that night the threefriends continued in close conversation--Harry sitting in front of thestove, with his hands in his pockets, on a chair tilted as usual on itshind legs, and pouring out volleys of questions, which were pithilyanswered by the good-humoured, loquacious hunter, who sat behind thestove, resting his elbows on his knees, and smoking his much-loved pipe;while Hamilton reclined on Harry's bed, and listened with eager avidityto anecdotes and stories, which seemed, like the narrator's pipe, to beinexhaustible.
"Good-night, Jacques, good-night," said Harry, as the latter rose atlast to depar
t; "I'm delighted to have had a talk with you. You mustcome back to-morrow. I want to hear more about your friend Redfeather.Where did you say you left him?"
"In the Saskatchewan, master. He said that he would wait there, as he'dheerd the missionary was comin' up to pay the Injins a visit."
"By-the-bye, you're going over to the missionary's place to-morrow, areyou not?"
"Yes, I am."
"Ah, then, that'll do. I'll go over with you. How far off is it?"
"Three miles or thereabouts."
"Very good. Call in here as you pass, and my friend Hamilton and I willaccompany you. Good-night."
Jacques thrust his pipe into his bosom, held out his horny hand, andgiving his young friends a hearty shake, turned and strode from theroom.
On the following day Jacques called according to promise, and the threefriends set off together to visit the Indian village. This missionarystation was under the management of a Wesleyan clergyman, Pastor Conwayby name, an excellent man, of about forty-five years of age, with anenergetic mind and body, a bald head, a mild, expressive countenance,and a robust constitution. He was admirably qualified for his position,having a natural aptitude for every sort of work that man is usuallycalled on to perform. His chief care was for the instruction of theIndians, whom he had induced to settle around him, in the great andall-important truths of Christianity. He invented an alphabet, andtaught them to write and read their own language. He commenced thelaborious task of translating the Scriptures into the Cree language; andbeing an excellent musician, he instructed his converts to sing in partsthe psalms and Wesleyan hymns, many of which are exceedingly beautiful.A school was also established and a church built under hissuperintendence, so that the natives assembled in an orderly way in acommodious sanctuary every Sabbath day to worship God; while thechildren were instructed, not only in the Scriptures, and made familiarwith the narrative of the humiliation and exaltation of our blessedSaviour, but were also taught the elementary branches of a seculareducation. But good Pastor Conway's energy did not stop here. Naturehad gifted him with that peculiar genius which is powerfully expressedin the term "a _jack-of-all-trades_." He could turn his hand toanything; and being, as we have said, an energetic man, he _did_ turnhis hand to almost everything. If anything happened to get broken, thepastor could either mend it himself or direct how it was to be done. Ifa house was to be built for a new family of red men, who had neverhandled a saw or hammer in their lives, and had lived up to that time intents, the pastor lent a hand to begin it, drew out the plan (not a verycomplicated thing, certainly), set them fairly at work, and kept his eyeon it until it was finished. In short, the worthy pastor was everythingto everybody, "that by all means he might gain some."
Under such management the village flourished as a matter of course,although it did not increase very rapidly owing to the almostunconquerable aversion of North American Indians to take up a settledhabitation.
It was to this little hamlet, then, that our three friends directedtheir steps. On arriving, they found Pastor Conway in a sort ofworkshop, giving directions to an Indian who stood with a soldering-ironin one hand and a sheet of tin in the other, which he was about to applyto a curious-looking, half-finished machine that bore some resemblanceto a canoe.
"Ah, my friend Jacques!" he exclaimed as the hunter approached him; "thevery man I wished to see. But I beg pardon, gentlemen--strangers, Iperceive. You are heartily welcome. It is seldom that I have thepleasure of seeing new friends in my wild dwelling. Pray come with meto my house."
Pastor Conway shook hands with Harry and Hamilton with a degree ofwarmth that evinced the sincerity of his words. The young men thankedhim and accepted the invitation.
As they turned to quit the workshop, the pastor observed Jacques's eyefixed, with a puzzled expression of countenance, on his canoe.
"You have never seen anything like that before, I dare say?" said he,with a smile.
"No, sir; I never did see such a queer machine afore."
"It is a tin canoe, with which I hope to pass through many miles ofcountry this spring, on my way to visit a tribe of Northern Indians; andit was about this very thing that I wanted to see you, my friend."
Jacques made no reply, but cast a look savouring very slightly ofcontempt on the unfinished canoe as they turned and went away.
The pastor's dwelling stood at one end of the village, a view of whichit commanded from the back windows, while those in front overlooked thelake. It was pleasantly situated and pleasantly tenanted, for thepastor's wife was a cheerful, active little lady, like-minded withhimself, and delighted to receive and entertain strangers. To her careMr Conway consigned the young men, after spending a short time inconversation with them; and then, requesting his wife to show themthrough the village, he took Jacques by the arm and sauntered out.
"Come with me, Jacques," he began; "I have somewhat to say to you. Ihad not time to broach the subject when I met you at the Company's fort,and have been anxious to see you ever since. You tell me that you havemet with my friend Redfeather?"
"Yes, sir; I spent a week or two with him last fall. I found himstayin' with his tribe, and we started to come down here together."
"Ah, that is the very point," exclaimed the pastor, "that I wished toinquire about. I firmly believe that God has opened that Indian's eyesto see the truth; and I fully expected, from what he said when we lastmet, that he would have made up his mind to come and stay here."
"As to what the Almighty has done to him," said Jacques, in areverential tone of voice, "I don't pretend to know; he did for sartinspeak, and act too, in a way that I never see'd an Injin do before. Butabout his comin' here, sir, you were quite right: he did mean to come,and I've no doubt will come yet."
"What prevented him coming with you, as you tell me he intended?"inquired the pastor.
"Well, you see, sir, he and I and his squaw, as I said, set off to comehere together; but when we got the length o' Edmonton House, we heerdthat you were comin' up to pay a visit to the tribe to which Redfeatherbelongs; and so seein' that it was o' no use to come down hereaway justto turn about an' go up agin, he stopped there to wait for you, for heknew you would want him to interpret--"
"Ay," interrupted the pastor, "that's true. I have two reasons forwishing to have him here. The primary one is, that he may get good tohis immortal soul. And then he understands English so well that I wanthim to become my interpreter; for although I _understand_ the Creelanguage pretty well now, I find it exceedingly difficult to explain thedoctrines of the Bible to my people in it. But pardon me, I interruptedyou."
"I was only going to say," resumed Jacques, "that I made up my mind tostay with him; but they wanted a man to bring the winter packet here,so, as they pressed me very hard, an' I had nothin' particular to do, I'greed and came, though I would rather ha' stopped; for Redfeather an' Iha' struck up a friendship togither--a thing that I would niver ha'thought it poss'ble for me to do with a red Injin."
"And why not with a red Indian, friend?" inquired the pastor, while ashade of sadness passed over his mild features, as if unpleasantthoughts had been roused by the hunter's speech.
"Well, it's not easy to say why," rejoined the other. "I've nopartic'lar objection to the redskins. There's only one man among themthat I bears a grudge agin, and even that one I'd rayther avoid thanotherwise."
"But you should _forgive_ him, Jacques. The Bible tells us not only tobear our enemies no grudge, but to love them and to do them good."
The hunter's brow darkened. "That's impossible, sir," he said; "Icouldn't do _him_ a good turn if I was to try ever so hard. He maybless his stars that I don't want to do him mischief; but to _love him_,it's jist imposs'ble."
"With man it is impossible, but with God all things are possible," saidthe pastor solemnly.
Jacques's naturally philosophic though untutored mind saw the force ofthis. He felt that God, who had formed his soul, his body, and thewonderfully complicated machinery and objects o
f nature, which werepatent to his observant and reflective mind wherever he went, must ofnecessity be equally able to alter, influence, and remould them allaccording to his will. Common-sense was sufficient to teach him this;and the bold hunter exhibited no ordinary amount of common-sense inadmitting the fact at once, although in the case under discussion (theloving of his enemy) it seemed utterly impossible to his feelings andexperience. The frown, therefore, passed from his brow, while he saidrespectfully, "What you say, sir, is true; I believe though I can't_feel_ it. But I s'pose the reason I niver felt much drawn to theredskins is, that all the time I lived in the settlements I was used tohear them called and treated as thievin' dogs, an' when I com'd amongthem I didn't see much to alter my opinion. Here an' there I have foundone or two honest Injins, an' Redfeather is as true as steel; but themost o' them are no better than they should be. I s'pose I don't thinkmuch o' them just because they _are_ redskins."
"Ah, Jacques, you will excuse me if I say that there is not much sensein _that_ reason. An Indian cannot help being a red man any more thanyou can help being a white one, so that he ought not to be despised onthat account. Besides, God made him what he is, and to despise the_work_ of God, or to undervalue it, is to despise God himself. You mayindeed despise, or rather abhor, the sins that red men are guilty of;but if you despise _them_ on this ground, you must much more despisewhite men, for _they_ are guilty of greater iniquities than Indians are.They have more knowledge, and are, therefore, more inexcusable whenthey sin; and any one who has travelled much must be aware that, inregard to general wickedness, white men are at least quite as bad asIndians. Depend upon it, Jacques, that there will be Indians found inheaven at the last day as well as white men. God is no respecter ofpersons."
"I niver thought much on that subject afore, sir," returned the hunter;"what you say seems reasonable enough. I'm sure an' sartin, any way,that if there's a redskin in heaven at all, Redfeather will be there,an' I only hope that I may be there too to keep him company."
"I hope so, my friend," said the pastor earnestly; "I hope so too, withall my heart. And if you will accept of this little book, it will showyou how to get there."
The missionary drew a small, plainly-bound copy of the Bible from hispocket as he spoke, and presented it to Jacques, who received it with asmile, and thanked him, saying, at the same time, that he "was not muchup to book-larnin', but he would read it with pleasure."
"Now, Jacques," said the pastor, after a little further conversation onthe subject of the Bible, in which he endeavoured to impress upon himthe absolute necessity of being acquainted with the blessed truths whichit contains--"now, Jacques, about my visit to the Indians. I intend, ifthe Almighty spares me, to embark in yon tin canoe that you found meengaged with, and, with six men to work it, proceed to the country ofthe Knisteneux Indians, visit their chief camp, and preach to them thereas long as the weather will permit. When the season is pretty welladvanced, and winter threatens to cut off my retreat, I shall re-embarkin my canoe and return home. By this means I hope to be able to sow thegood seed of Christian truth in the hearts of men who, as they will notcome to this settlement, have no chance of being brought under the powerof the gospel by any other means."
Jacques gave one of his quiet smiles on hearing this. "Right, sir--right," he said, with some energy; "I have always thought, although Iniver made bold to say it before, that there was not enough o' this sorto' thing. It has always seemed to me a kind o' madness (excuse myplainness o' speech, sir) in you pastors, thinkin' to make the redskinscome an' settle round you like so many squaws, and dig up an' grub atthe ground, when it's quite clear that their natur' and the natur' o'things about them meant them to be hunters. An' surely since theAlmighty made them hunters, He intended them to _be_ hunters, an' won'trefuse to make them Christians on _that_ account. A redskin's natur' isa huntin' natur', an' nothin' on arth'll ever make it anything else."
"There is much truth in what you observe, friend," rejoined the pastor;"but you are not _altogether_ right. Their nature _may_ be changed,although certainly nothing on _earth_ will change it. Look at thatfrozen lake." He pointed to the wide field of thick, snow-covered icethat stretched out for miles like a sheet of white marble before them."Could anything on earth break up or sink or melt that?"
"Nothin'," replied Jacques laconically--
"But the warm beams of yon glorious sun can do it," continued thepastor, pointing upwards as he spoke, "and do it effectually, too; sothat, although you can scarcely observe the process, it neverthelessturns the hard, thick, solid ice into limpid water at last. So is it inregard to man. Nothing on earth can change his heart or alter hisnature; but our Saviour, who is called the Sun of Righteousness, can.When He shines into a man's soul it melts. The old man becomes a littlechild, the wild savage a Christian. But I agree with you in thinkingthat we have not been sufficiently alive to the necessity of seeking toconvert the Indians before trying to gather them round us. The onewould follow as a natural consequence, I think, of the other, and it isowing to this conviction that I intend, as I have already said, to makea journey in spring to visit those who will not or cannot come to visitme. And now, what I want to ask is, whether you will agree to accompanyme as steersman and guide on my expedition."
The hunter slowly shook his head. "I'm afeard not, sir; I have alreadypromised to take charge of a canoe for the Company. I would much rathergo with you, but I must keep my word."
"Certainly, Jacques, certainly; that settles the question. You cannotgo with me--unless--" the pastor paused as if in thought for amoment--"unless you can persuade them to let you off."
"Well, sir, I can try," returned Jacques.
"Do; and I need not say how happy I shall be if you succeed. Good-day,friend, good-bye." So saying, the missionary shook hands with thehunter and returned to his house, while Jacques wended his way to thevillage in search of Harry and Hamilton.