The Settlers in Canada Part 23
"And then you married her," said Percival.
"Married her! no, boy, I never married her; what has an old man of near seventy to do with marrying? They call her my squaw, because they suppose she is my wife, and she does the duty of a wife to me; but if they were to call her my daughter, they would be nearer the mark, for I have been a father to her."
"Well, Malachi, to tell you the truth, I did think that she was too young to be your wife," said Emma.
"Well, miss, you were not far wrong," replied the old man. "I do wish I could find out her tribe, but I never have been able, and indeed, from what I can learn, the party who were surprised came a long way from this, although speaking the same language; and I don't think there is any chance now, for even if I were to try to discover it, there have been so many surprises and so much slaughter within these last twenty years, that it's scarcely possible the search would be attended with success."
"But why do you wish to find out her tribe?" said Mary.
"Because I'm an old man, miss, and must soon expect to be gathered to my fathers, and then this poor little girl will be quite alone, unless I can marry her to some one before I die: and if I do marry her, why then she will leave _me_ alone; but that can't be helped, I'm an old man, and what does it matter?"
"It matters a great deal, Malachi," said Mr. Campbell; "I wish you would live with us; you would then be taken care of if you required it, and not die alone in the wilderness."
"And the Strawberry shall never want friends or a home, while we can offer her one, Malachi," said Mrs. Campbell; "let what will happen to you, she will be welcome to live here and die here, if she will remain."
Malachi made no reply; he was in deep thought, resting his chin upon his hands, which held his rifle before him. Mrs. Campbell and the girls were obliged to leave to prepare the dinner. John had sat down with the Strawberry and the Indian woman, and was listening to them, for he now understood the Chippeway tongue. Alfred, Sinclair, and the other gentlemen of the party, were in conversation near the fire, when they were requested by Mrs. Campbell to retreat to the sitting-room, that the culinary operations might not be interfered with. Malachi Bone still continued sitting where he was, in deep thought. Martin, who remained, said to the Miss Percivals in a low voice--
"Well, I really did think that the old man had married the girl, and I thought it was a pity," continued he, looking toward the Strawberry, "for she is very young and very handsome for a squaw."
"I think," replied Mary Percival, "she would be considered handsome everywhere, Martin, squaw or not; her features are very pretty, and then she has a melancholy smile, which is perfectly beautiful; but now, Martin, pluck these turkeys, or we shall not have them ready in time."
As soon as the dinner was at the fire, and could be left to the care of Martin, Mrs. Campbell and the Misses Percival went into the sitting-room. Mr. Campbell then read the morning service of the day, Henry officiating as clerk in the responses. Old Malachi had joined the party, and was profoundly attentive. As soon as the service was over, he said--
"All this puts me in mind of days long past, days which appear to me as a dream, when I was a lad and had a father and a mother, and brothers and sisters around me; but many summers and many winters have pa.s.sed over my head since then."
"You were born in Maine, Malachi, were you not?"
"Yes, ma'am, half way up the White Mountains. He was a stern old man, my father; but he was a righteous man. I remember how holy Sunday was kept in our family; how my mother cleaned us all, and put on our best clothes, and how we went to the chapel or church, I forget which they called it; but no matter, we went to pray."
"Was your father of the Established Church, Malachi?"
"I can't tell, ma'am; indeed, I hardly know what it means; but he was a good Christian and a good man, that I do know."
"You are right, Malachi; when the population is crowded, you find people divided into sects, and, what is still worse, despising, if not hating each other, because the outward forms of worship are a little different.
Here in our isolated position, we feel how trifling are many of the distinctions which divide religious communities, and that we could gladly give the right hand of fellowship to any denomination of Christians who hold the main truths of the Gospel. Are not all such agreed in things essential, animated with the same hopes, acknowledging the same rule of faith, and all comprehended in the same divine mercy which was shown us on this day? What do all sincere Christians believe but that G.o.d is holy, great, good, and merciful, that his Son died for us all, and that through his merits and intercession if we conform to his precepts--whether members of the Church of England, or any other communion--we shall be saved and obtain the blessedness of heaven? We may prefer, and reasonably prefer, our own mode of worship, believing it to be most edifying; but we have no right to quarrel with those who conscientiously differ from us about outward forms and ceremonies which do not involve the spirit of Christianity."
After a pause, Mary Percival said, "Malachi, tell us more about your father and your family."
"I have little to tell, miss; only that I now think that those were pleasant days which then I thought irksome. My father had a large farm and would have had us all remain with him. In the winter we felled timber, and I took quite a pa.s.sion for a hunter's life; but my father would not allow me to go from home, so I staid till he died, and then I went away on my rambles. I left when I was not twenty years old, and I have never seen my family since. I have been a hunter and a trapper, a guide and a soldier, and an interpreter; but for the last twenty-five years I have been away from towns and cities, and have lived altogether in the woods. The more man lives by himself, the more he likes it, and yet now and then circ.u.mstances bring up the days of his youth, and make him hesitate whether it be best or not to live alone."
"I am glad to hear you say that, Malachi," said Mr. Campbell.
"I little thought that I should ever have said it," replied the old man, "when I first saw that girl by the side of the stream (looking at Emma),--then my heart yearned toward the boy; and now this meeting to praise G.o.d and to keep Christmas-day--all has helped."
"But do you not pray when you are alone?" said Mary.
"Yes, in a manner, miss; but it's not like your prayers; the lips don't move, although the heart feels. When I lie under a tree watching for the animals, and I take up a leaf and examine it, I observe how curious and wonderful it is,--I then think that G.o.d made it, and that man could not.
When I see the young gra.s.s springing up, and _how_, I know not, except that it does so every year, I think of G.o.d and his mercy to the wild animals in giving them food; and then the sun reminds me of G.o.d; and the moon, and the stars, as I watch, make me think of Him; but I feel very often that there is something wanting, and that I do not worship exactly as I ought to do. I never have known which is Sunday, although I well recollect how holy it was kept at my father's house; and I never should have known that this was Christmas-day, had it not been that I had met with you. All days are alike to a man who is alone and in the wilderness, and that should not be--I feel that it should not."
"So true is it," observed Mr. Campbell, "that stated times and seasons are necessary for the due observance of our religious duties; and I am glad to hear Malachi say this, as I trust it will occasion his being with us more than he has been."
"Come to us every Sunday, Malachi," said Mrs. Campbell.
"I think I will, ma'am, if I can--indeed, why I say _if I can_, I know not; it was wrong to say so."
"I wish you to come not only on your own account, but for John's sake; suppose you agree to come every Sunday morning, and leave us every Monday. You will then have the whole week for your hunting."
"Please G.o.d, I will," replied Malachi.
"And bring the Strawberry with you," said Mary.
"I will, miss; it can not but do her good."
Dinner was now announced, and they all sat down, a happy party. Mr.
Campbell on this occasion produced two or three bottles of his small store of wine, which he kept rather in case of illness than for any other reason, for they had all been so long without wine or spirits, that they cared little about it. Their dinner consisted of white fish (salted), roast venison, boiled salt beef, roast turkey, and a plum-pudding, and they were all very merry, although they were in the woods of Canada, and not at Wexton Hall.
"My children," said Mr. Campbell, after dinner. "I now drink all your healths, and wish you as much happiness as the world affords, and at the same time accept my most hearty thanks and my dearest love. You have all been good, obedient, and cheerful, and have lightened many a heavy load.
If when it pleased Providence to send us into this wilderness, it had been part of my lot to contend with willful and disobedient children; if there had been murmuring and repining at our trials; discontent and quarreling among yourselves, how much more painful would have been our situation. On the contrary, by your good humor and attention, your willing submission to privations, and your affectionate conduct toward me, my wife, and each other, you have not allowed us to feel the change of position to which we have been reduced. I say again, my dear children all, you have my thanks, and may the Almighty bless and preserve you!"
CHAPTER XXII.
When we left off our narrative, our Canadian settlers were enjoying themselves on Christmas day. On the following morning, Malachi Bone, the Strawberry, and John, set off for their abode to the westward, and Captain Sinclair and his companion went back to the fort. The Indian woman was better, and the family resumed their usual occupations. We must now briefly narrate a few events which occurred during the remainder of the long winter. Malachi and John made their appearance, accompanied by the Strawberry, almost every Sunday, and the old hunter appeared gradually to become more reconciled to the society of others, and sometimes would remain for a day or two over the Sunday. The Indian woman, in the course of three weeks, was quite recovered, and signified, through the Strawberry, her wish to leave, and join her tribe. To this, of course, no objection was raised; and having received a supply of provisions, she took her leave at the latter end of the month of January.
February,--March followed, and the winter still continued, but the sun became more powerful, and the weather was not so severe. It was not till the middle of April that the lake was clear of ice and the thaw commenced, and then it was so rapid, that the little stream became quite an impetuous torrent, and a large portion of the prairie land was under water. A few days, however, sufficed to change the scene; the snow, which had covered the ground for so many months, had all disappeared; the birds, which had been mute or had migrated during the winter, now made their appearance, and chirped and twittered round the house; the pleasant green of the prairie was once more presented to their view, and nature began to smile again. Other ten days pa.s.sed, and the trees had thrown out their leaves, and after one or two storms, the weather became warm and the sky serene.
Great was the delight of the whole party at this change; and now the cows were put out to their pasture, and Emma and Mary went milking as before, no longer afraid of meeting with the wolves. The boat was launched, and Percival and John went out to procure fish. Alfred, Henry, and Martin were very busy picking up the cleared ground, to sow the first crop. Mr. Campbell worked all day in the garden; the poultry were noisy and bustling, and soon furnished an abundant supply of eggs; and as now the hunting season was over for a time, Malachi and the Strawberry were continually coming to visit them.
"Oh! how delightful this is," exclaimed Emma, as she stopped at the bridge and looked on the wide blue lake; "is it not, Mary, after having been cooped up for so many weary months?"
"It is, indeed, Emma; I do not wonder at your flow of spirits; I feel quite another person myself. Well, if the winter is long and dreary, at all events, it doubly enhances the value of the spring."
"I think it very odd that Captain Sinclair has not come to see us; don't you, Mary?"
"I certainly did expect him before this," replied Mary; "I presume, however, his duty will not permit him to come."
"Surely he could get leave, now that the weather is fine; there was some reason for his not coming during the winter. I hope he is not ill."
"I hope so too, most sincerely, Emma," replied Mary; "but come, sister, we must not loiter; hear how the calves are bleating for us to let them have their breakfast; we shall have more of them very soon; yes, and plenty of milk, and then we shall have plenty of churning; but I like work when the weather is fine."
After breakfast, Emma expressed her surprise to Alfred at Captain Sinclair's not having made his appearance, and her fear that he was not well. Alfred, at her request, promised to walk to the fort in the afternoon, and ascertain how matters were.
John, who had not forgotten the advice of Malachi, brought in a basket of fine trout from the stream almost every day, and the supply of fish and eggs proved very acceptable, for the beef had all been consumed, and the family would otherwise have been reduced to salt-pork.
Alfred, as he had promised Emma, set off for the fort, accompanied by Martin. He returned the next morning, full of news. Captain Sinclair was, as Emma had imagined, unable to come, having had a severe fall, by which he had injured his knee, and was laid up for a time; he was, however, in very good spirits, and the medical officer had promised that he should be well again in a fortnight; he sent his kind regards to all the family. The commandant also sent his compliments to Mr. Campbell, and desired to acquaint him that, in a week or ten days, it was his intention to send a boat to Montreal, and if Mr. Campbell had any purchases to make, or wished to send any one by the opportunity, he might do so, and the boat would bring back the articles he required.