chapter vii.
"a ministering angel, thou."
1808.
two years had passed since the interrupted meeting in the tent. not a word had chrissy received from her lover. at length a report reached her, through a passing brigade, that george morrison had been sent to the vicinity of great bear lake to open a trading-post for his company, and that nothing had since been heard or seen of him.
chrissy's devotion to her absent lover had grown deeper and stronger as month followed month. she never felt for an instant that he was dead to her. she did not think of him with hopes that were withered, with a tenderness frozen; the man whom she loved never once became a vague, dreamy idea to her, for to chrissy george was a living, bright reality, who would come some day to fulfil his promise, when she would at last enter into the glorious consummation of her heart's deepest longing. it was this confidence that cheered and sustained her as she became her mother's most efficient coadjutor in missions of mercy and love. it was not an uncommon sight to see mother and daughter cantering over the rough woodland roads to distant clearances, in response to appeals for help from the sick and sorrowing.
on one occasion the appeal came from "aunt" allen, who lived on one of the back concession roads. as they approached the unpretentious but cosy little farm cottage, in the midst of a field of blackened stumps, mrs. allen came out to meet them.
"oh, mrs. wright," she said, "i'm so thankful you have come. he's nearly mad with pain. in fact, i think the poor lad is agoin' out of his mind."
"how did it happen?" asked mrs. wright.
"you see," she said, "he had to sleep out nights in the woods when he was hauling timber to the drive, and an insect or somethin' must have got into his ear, for he could feel it a movin' and a crawlin' and"——.
"what have you done?" interrupted mrs. wright.
"we made him lie down with his ear on the pillow, but it was no good. then we made him hold his ear down while we struck his head several hard blows to make it fall out, but it was no good. then we put an onion poultice on it to draw it out, but that was no good, and now we don't know what more to do."
"i fear," said mrs. wright sadly, "that i shall not be much help to you, for my book does not mention what should be done in a case of that kind."
"but, mother," said chrissy, "we cannot leave until we have done something. it is dreadful to see him suffer so."
"physic will not touch it," she replied, "and they seem to have done everything that could be done."
at length chrissy said:
"i've thought of a plan. let us hold him with his head downwards, so that it may have a chance to drop on the floor; then let someone puff tobacco smoke up into the ear, and perhaps the smoke will cause the insect to become stupefied and it will fall out."
"very good," said her mother. "the plan is worth trying, but who will do the smoking? there's not a man about the place."
"i'll do it myself," said chrissy. "you have a pipe and tobacco, i suppose, mrs. allen?"
"yes," she replied, "for the lad smokes."
the experiment was tried. chrissy, kneeling on the clean sanded floor, puffed away vigorously at the strong old pipe, while her mother and mrs. allen held the young man's head over the fumes. soon something dropped upon the floor, which proved to be a large red ant, and a shout of triumph went up as mrs. allen jumped upon it and ground it to nothingness. this brought instantaneous relief to the sufferer, who was very profuse in his expressions of gratitude.
poor mrs. allen laughed and cried in turn as they took an affectionate farewell of one another, but chrissy's face had an unusually pallid appearance, which, however, soon faded away as they galloped down the road to mrs. murphy's cottage.
they found the poor woman on a bed of suffering, where she had been for three months.
"is it yersilf that's come, me lady?" she said, a slight flush of pleasure lighting up the pale, sad face.
"yes, bridget," said mrs. wright, "and i have brought my daughter, whom you have not seen for a long time."
"ah, me darlint," she said, grasping chrissy's hand, "moike is a gud husband to me. he has a big, koind irish heart, but one night when he came home he wasn't hisself, moike wasn't, and he kicked me and the swate lamb there," pointing to a fat dumpling of a baby, "out of the door, and thin he locked it forninst me, moike did; and i entrated him to let me in, but he would not; so i ran over the shnow through the fields to joe larocque's shanty, and i tuk off me skurt to roll the wee darlint in, for she was cryin' with the could, an' i ran to the shanty. for shure i was in my bare feet, an' when at last i reached larocque's he was afeared to let me come in, he was, an' i prayed him for the sake o' the blessed virgin and all the holy angels to open the door, an' afther a long toime he did."
"poor moike," she said, with a look of agony in her face; "he's a gud man, a gud man, but he was not hisself—it was the dhrink that did it."
"there now, bridget," said mrs. wright, "you have talked enough; you had better keep quite still while i remove these bandages."
the odor from the poor frozen hands and feet was frightful, but patiently and tenderly they removed the old bandages and applied new ones, after first saturating them in linseed oil and lime water. before they had finished, the patient, overcome with exhaustion, sank back into a state of semi-unconsciousness, repeating the sad words over and over again:
"poor moike, he's gud, he's gud; but he wasn't hisself."
"i am afraid," whispered mrs. wright, "that mortification has set in. did you observe that she had no feeling in the right foot while we were dressing it? poor soul! her sufferings will soon be over—perhaps to-night."
the tears streamed down chrissy's face as she looked first at the poor sufferer, then at the innocent babe so soon to become motherless.
"i think, mother," she said, "that you had better leave me with her, for the larocques can only come over once a day, and mike has evidently no idea of how to take care of a sick woman, much less a baby. could you not take him with you? tell him that father wants him, for he said only this morning that he wanted more men."
it was finally decided that chrissy should remain, and that the grief-stricken husband should ride her pony as far as the columbia farm, where he was to remain until the chief should give him leave to return.
it was nearly dark when mrs. wright reached burns's, where several young men were standing round the door. touching their hats respectfully to her as she entered, they soon followed her into a low room, permeated with the sickening odor of whisky and stale tobacco, where a young man lay with blackened eyes, a gash over the left temple, and a broken arm.
"so you've been fighting again, andrew?" she said, "i thought after your last scrape that you would leave jamaica rum alone."
andrew was fully convinced in his own mind that his injuries would ultimately prove fatal, and his feelings alternated between vengeance on the one who had proved too strong for him and an uneasy apprehension of dissolution.
"it was not my fault; and if ever i lay hands on that villain again i'll thrash him within an inch of his life," he hissed through clenched teeth, his face white with rage; "i'll smash every bone in his body. give me time, mrs. wright, to say a paternoster before you begin."
"how can you pray, 'our father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,' and drink that which will cause his name to be profaned and blasphemed?" she said. "how can you pray, 'thy kingdom come, thy will be done,' and drink that which will be the greatest hindrance to the coming of his kingdom and the fulfilment of his will? how can you pray, 'give us this day our daily bread,' and drink that which is depriving thousands of daily bread? how can you pray, 'forgive us our debts as we forgive our debtors,' and take that which makes us unwilling to forgive our debtors? how can you pray, 'lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil,' and drink that which has proved temptation and evil to so many? i assure you, andrew," she said, "that you cannot say a paternoster and drink strong drink."
turning to the father of the young man, she said:
"it is a simple fracture, but it will have to be set, and it will need a strong man to do it. you can get a splint while i make the bandages. there now," she said, "take hold of the hand and pull it slowly and steadily—this way—see. now, are you ready?"
"ough!" groaned the young man. "ough, but you're hurtin' me, you're hurtin' me."
"there, now, that was well done," she said, feeling the spot carefully. "now give me the splint."
after she had carefully bandaged the arm, she said: "there now, are you more comfortable?"
"yes, thank you, ma'am," he replied.
"now you must remain in bed for a time in order to give it every chance," she said; "for if you go about with it inflammation may set in and you may lose it. here is a book which you may read when the time seems long."
he glanced at the title.
"the pilgrim's progress," he said, giving a sly wink at one of his friends. "shure an i'll be purty hard up for somethin' to do when i read the like o' that."
"it is not so bad as it looks, andrew," she said, good-naturedly, as she shook hands with him on leaving.
soon the messenger of mercy and healing was flying along the road to paul mousseau's shanty, where she found poor old paul at the gate in tears.
"what is the matter, mousseau?" she said, as she tied her pony to a tree.
"le charbon, madame, le charbon; ma bonne femme, i fear she no get well again."
the charbon was a disease which afflicted many of the french settlers in canada at that time. a small black spot would appear on the body, resembling a piece of charcoal, which soon spread until the whole body was affected. the only remedy known was to cut out the affected part as soon as it appeared. it was supposed that it was contracted through skinning and eating the flesh of cadaverous animals.
paul's shanty contained one large, low, common room or kitchen with two windows, a fireplace at one side, one bedroom for the family, with a loft above, where the older boys slept among all sorts of provender and farm tools, and which was reached by a ladder. the walls of the room in which the sick woman lay were adorned with rude religious pictures, with an earthenware crucifix, which had attached to it a receptacle for holy water.
mrs. wright shook her head sadly as she examined the poor woman, and said:
"i fear, paul, that it has gone too far."
the poor old man fell on his knees, made the sign of the cross, and gave way to a paroxysm of tears.
"ma bonne katrine!" he cried; "ma bonne katrine! ah! sainte vierge—no preese—no messe—ma pauvre femme—ma pauvre femme."
"paul," said mrs. wright, "though you have no priest and no church you are not shut out from the great high priest—the lord himself. pour out your sorrows to him and he will hear and comfort you and save katrine."
the old man kissed her hand as she took leave of him, and assisted her to mount her impatient pony, which needed no urging to hasten home, for darkness had come on, and she was alone in the forest. they were not long in covering the distance to the wigwam, where the children were anxiously awaiting her return.
"where is chrissy?" asked phil, who was cleaning his gun and was evidently having great difficulty in the effort to extricate the ramrod from the barrel.
"she is going to sit up to-night with poor mrs. murphy," said his mother, "who will probably not live through the night."
"jee-roo-salem!" exclaimed phil, "and what can a girl like chrissy do for a dying woman?"
"she could read a verse of scripture or one of the beautiful prayers of the prayer book," said his mother, softly.
"it's all rot," he said, "the whole bible is utter foolishness from cover to cover."
"exactly what the bible says of itself," said his mother. "it says that 'the preaching of the cross is to them that perish foolishness,' and if it is foolishness to you, my dear boy, it is because you are perishing. st. paul told the truth when he said, 'the natural man receiveth not the things of the spirit of god, for they are foolishness to him, neither can he know them, for they are spiritually discerned.' you have not a nature capable of grasping the spiritual. 'you must be born again.'"
"don't quote scripture at me, for i tell you that i don't believe one word of it," said phil.
"if you could have seen what i have seen this day you would not be such a trifler, my boy."
"i'm not trifling, mother," he said. "i am quite serious about it. i am not proud, as some are, of being a sceptic, but i cannot believe as you and chris do." observing tears in his mother's eyes, he added, slowly, "i wish i could."
"there is but one way," she replied, "out of the fog of scepticism into the light of faith, and it is the narrow way of obedience. 'if any man will do his will he shall know of the doctrine whether it be of god.' if you want to believe, my boy, give up your self-will and promise me that you will try honestly to find out what god's will is concerning you, that you may do it, and your scepticism will soon take wings."
"but," said phil, "i would like to have some proof that there is a god before i begin to find out what his will is. every sense that i have bears me out in believing that there is no god. i have never seen a god, nor heard one; i have never smelt, tasted, nor felt one."
"you may not have felt that there is a god, but i have," said his mother, "and i delight to pour forth my very soul to him whom i know exists, and whom i am satisfied to believe in without proofs save such as i obtain from my own inner consciousness."
"and is the testimony of that one sense of feeling sufficient to convince you that there is a god?" said phil.
"it is," replied his mother.
"well," he added, thoughtfully, "the odds are against you four to one."
approaching her first-born the mother laid her hand on his shoulder, and said:
"tell me, my boy, did you ever see a pain?"
"no," he replied.
"did you ever hear a pain?"
"no."
"did you ever smell a pain?"
"no."
"did you ever feel a pain?"
"yes," he unwillingly admitted.
"and was the testimony of that one sense sufficient to convince you of the existence of pain?"
"yes," he replied.
"and the testimony of that same sense has convinced me," she said, "not only of the existence, but of the presence and love, of god."
"well, mother," said phil, who shuffled about uneasily, "i have seen so many hypocrites among church members that i, for one, do not wish to be classed with them. there was tom adams, one of mr. meach's favorites, who was always in his seat at the meeting-house, who would not shave on sunday, but had no conscience about shaving us six days in the week. he would not blacken his boots on sunday, but he did not hesitate to blacken the character of any man in the settlement who disagreed with him in anything, on sunday or any other day."
"the very existence of hypocrites is a proof of the existence of a reality," said mrs. wright, "for if you should happen to find a counterfeit coin it would need no argument to convince you that it was copied from a genuine one. there are genuine christians as well as counterfeits, and the omniscient and omnipresent god knows the one from the other; and as hypocrites have not the faintest chance of heaven, you had better beware, dear boy, lest you should be 'classed with hypocrites' throughout the never-ending ages of eternity."
phil's scepticism was a crushing grief to his mother and sister, who set themselves resolutely to win him to the faith with the full force of their intellects. they read, they pleaded, they wrote, they argued, they reasoned. as time went on their best efforts seemed frustrated, and, when at length they seemed to come to the end of all their resources, both cast themselves in utter despair upon god and prayed as only a mother and sister can. nor did they pray in vain, for the time came when he found his way out of the darkness into the light of truth.
