Rob Nixon, the Old White Trader: A Tale of Central British North America

“Oh! bring them – haste! – haste!” exclaimed the wounded girl, alone divining who they were of whom the Cree spoke; “I would see my brother ere I die. I have much – much to say to him.”

Anxious to gratify his daughter, and satisfied that the Cree chief spoke the truth, and would not prove treacherous, Robert Nixon allowed two of his followers, known as fleet of foot, to hasten to his camp to bring in the young men spoken of, having no doubt that his own son, and his friend’s two sons, were the prisoners spoken of. Meantime, it appeared doubtful whether the dying girl would survive till their arrival. While the rest of the party stood round grieving, she reclined in her father’s arms, occasionally whispering a few words of comfort in his ear, and assuring him of her happiness. At length she lifted up her head in the attitude of listening. Her quick ear had caught the sound of approaching footsteps, even before the rest of the party. It was some time before any one appeared. “I knew it – I knew it – my brother!” she cried out, as several young men, running at full speed, burst from among the trees at the top of the bank. One of them, who was leading, taking a hurried glance around, rushed down, and, with an expression in which surprise and grief were mingled, threw himself by her side. She took his hand, and strange to his ear were the communications she made. Another of the youths approached her. She gave him her other hand, and turned her countenance towards him as she did so. “I was the cause of your going on that expedition. I was ignorant, dark-minded, wicked. I knew well that you loved me. I know it now; but, oh! listen to my father. He will tell you of One who loves you far more than I could do, whose love will make ample amends for the loss of mine; and then we may meet in the realms of happiness, to dwell for ever and ever together.” To the young heathen this language was an enigma. Ere it was solved, the speaker had ceased to breathe. “The Lord’s will be done!” said the old hunter: and those who knew how he loved his child understood what a mighty change religion had wrought in his heart. They buried her in that secluded spot, beneath the green turf, on which she had lately trod so full of life and beauty; and those who had loved her, and their late foes, assisted to raise a monument, of materials furnished by the river bed and the surrounding trees, above her tomb.

Rob Nixon and all the party reached the settlements in safety. He mourned as a father for his daughter, but his mourning was full of hope. Her dying words were not thrown away on her brother, or on his companions. Before long, they were all baptised, and admitted to the privileges and blessings of Christ’s church. When the father knelt at the Lord’s table, for the first time after his daughter’s death, and thought of the dead for whom thanks had been given, because they had died in Christ’s faith and fear, he felt that his beloved daughter had not died in vain. He declared that he had not been preserved from so many and great dangers of body and spirit, to lead a life of idleness, and while life remained, he never wearied in striving to bring others to a knowledge of Him, whom he had found to be so precious to his own soul.

The End