The Settlers in Canada

"Well, perhaps that will be better," said Malachi; "two rifles are better than one, and if any assistance is required, there will be one to send for it."

"But what do you think they would do, Malachi?" said Mr. Campbell; "they can not climb the palisades."

"Not well, sir, nor do I think they would attempt it unless they had a large force, which I am sure they have not; no, sir, they would rather endeavor to set fire to the house if they could, but that's not so easy; one thing is certain, that the Snake will try all he can to get possession of what he saw in your storehouse."

"That I do not doubt," said Alfred; "but he will not find it so easy a matter."

"They've been reconnoitering, sir, that's the truth of it, and if John has helped one of them to a bit of lead, it will do good; for it will prove that we are on the alert, and make them careful how they come near the house again."

After a few minutes' more conversation, Mr. Campbell, Henry, and Percival retired, leaving the others to watch. Alfred walked home with Malachi and his party to see if all was right at the sheep-fold, and then returned.

The night passed without any further disturbance except the howling of the wolves, to which they were accustomed.

The next morning, at daybreak, Malachi and Martin came to the house, and, with John and Alfred, they opened the palisade gate, and went out to survey the spot where John had fired.

"Yes, sir," said Malachi; "it was an Indian, no doubt of it; here are the dents made in the snow by his knees as he crawled along, and John has hit him, for here is the blood. Let's follow the trail. See, sir, he has been hard hit; there is more blood this way as we go on. Ha!" continued Malachi, as he passed by a mound of snow, "here's the wolf-skin he was covered up with; then he is dead or thereabouts, and they have carried him off, for he never would have parted with his skin, if he had had his senses about him."

"Yes," observed Martin, "his wound was mortal, that's certain."

They pursued the track till they arrived at the forest, and then, satisfied by the marks on the snow that the wounded man had been carried away, they returned to the house, when they found the rest of the family dressed and in the kitchen. Alfred showed them the skin of the wolf, and informed them of what they had discovered.

"I am grieved that blood has been shed," observed Mrs. Campbell; "I wish it had not happened. I have heard that the Indians never forgive on such occasions."

"Why, ma'am, they are very revengeful, that's certain, but still they won't like to risk too much. This has been a lesson to them. I only wish it had been the Angry Snake himself who was settled, as then we should have no more trouble or anxiety about them."

"Perhaps it may be," said Alfred.

"No, sir, that's not likely; it's one of his young men; I know the Indian customs well."

It was some time before the alarm occasioned by this event subsided in the mind of Mrs. Campbell and her nieces; Mr. Campbell also thought much about it, and betrayed occasional anxiety. The parties went out hunting as before, but those at home now felt anxious till their return from the chase. Time, however, and not hearing any thing more of the Indians, gradually revived their courage, and before the winter was half over they thought little about it. Indeed, it had been ascertained by Malachi from another band of Indians which he fell in with near a small lake where they were trapping beaver, that the Angry Snake was not in that part of the country, but had gone with his band to the westward at the commencement of the new year. This satisfied them that the enemy had left immediately after the attempt which he had made to reconnoiter the premises.

The hunting parties, therefore, as we said, continued as before; indeed, they were necessary for the supply of so many mouths. Percival, who had grown very much since his residence in Canada, was very anxious to be permitted to join them, which he never had been during the former winter. This was very natural. He saw his younger brother go out almost daily, and seldom return without having been successful; indeed, John was, next to Malachi, the best shot of the party. It was, therefore, very annoying to Percival that he should always be detained at home doing all the drudgery of the house, such as feeding the pigs, cleaning knives, and other menial work, while his younger brother was doing the duty of a man. To Percival's repeated entreaties, objections were constantly raised by his mother: they could not spare him, he was not accustomed to walk in snow-shoes. Mr Campbell observed that Percival became dissatisfied and unhappy, and Alfred took his part and pleaded for him. Alfred observed very truly, that the Strawberry could occasionally do Percival's work, and that if it could be avoided, he should not be cooped up at home in the way that he was; and, Mr. Campbell agreeing with Alfred, Mrs. Campbell very reluctantly gave her consent to his occasionally going out.

"Why, aunt, have you such an objection to Percival going out with the hunters?" said Mary. "It must be very trying to him to be always detained at home."

"I feel the truth of what you say, my dear Mary," said Mrs. Campbell, "and I assure you it is not out of selfishness, or because we shall have more work to do, that I wish him to remain with us; but I have an instinctive dread that some accident will happen to him, which I can not overcome, and there is no arguing with a mother's fears and a mother's love."

"You were quite as uneasy, my dear aunt, when John first went out; you were continually in alarm about him, but now you are perfectly at ease," replied Emma.

"Very true," said Mrs. Campbell; "it is, perhaps, a weakness on my part which I ought to get over; but we are all liable to such feelings. I trust in God there is no real cause for apprehension, and that my reluctance is a mere weakness and folly. But I see the poor boy has long pined at being kept at home; for nothing is more irksome to a high-couraged and spirited boy as he is. I have, therefore, given my consent, because I think it is my duty; still the feeling remains, so let us say no more about it, my dear girls, for the subject is painful to me."

"My dear aunt, did you not say that you would talk to Strawberry on the subject of religion, and try if you could not persuade her to become a Christian? She is very serious at prayers, I observe; and appears, now that she understands English, to be very attentive to what is said."

"Yes, my dear Emma, it is my intention so to do very soon, but I do not like to be in too great a hurry. A mere conforming to the usages of our religion would be of little avail, and I fear that too many of our good missionaries, in their anxiety to make converts, do not sufficiently consider this point. Religion must proceed from conviction, and be seated in the heart; the heart, indeed, must be changed, not mere outward forms attended to."

"What is the religion of the Indians, my dear aunt?" said Mary.

"One which makes conversion the more difficult. It is in many respects so near what is right, that Indians do not easily perceive the necessity of change. They believe in one God, the fountain of all good; they believe in a future state and in future rewards and punishments. You perceive they have the same foundation as we have, although they know not Christ, and, having very incomplete notions of duty, have a very insufficient sense of their manifold transgressions and offenses in God's sight, and consequently have no idea of the necessity of a mediator. Now it is, perhaps, easier to convince those who are entirely wrong, such as worship idols and false gods, than those who approach so nearly to the truth. But I have had many hours of reflection upon the proper course to pursue, and I do intend to have some conversation with her on the subject in a very short time. I have delayed because I consider it absolutely necessary that she should be perfectly aware of what I say, before I try to alter her belief. Now the Indian language, although quite sufficient for Indian wants, is poor, and has not the same copiousness as ours, because they do not require the words to explain what we term abstract ideas. It is, therefore, impossible to explain the mysteries of our holy religion to one who does not well understand our language. I think, however, that the Strawberry now begins to comprehend sufficiently for me to make the first attempt. I say first attempt, because I have no idea of making a convert in a week, or a month, or even in six months. All I can do is to exert my best abilities, and then trust to God, who, in His own good time, will enlighten her mind to receive His truth."

The next day the hunting party went out, and Percival, to his great delight, was permitted to accompany it. As they had a long way to go, for they had selected the hunting ground, they set off early in the morning, before daylight, Mr. Campbell having particularly requested that they would not return home late.

CHAPTER XXX

The party had proceeded many miles before they arrived at the spot where Malachi thought that they would fall in with some venison, which was the principal game that they sought. It was not till near ten o'clock in the morning that they stood on the ground which had been selected for the sport. It was an open part of the forest, and the snow lay in large drifts, but here and there on the hill-sides the grass was nearly bare, and the deer were able, by scraping with their feet, to obtain some food. They were all pretty well close together when they arrived. Percival and Henry were about a quarter of a mile behind, for Percival was not used to the snow-shoes, and did not get on so well as the others. Malachi and the rest with him halted, that Henry and Percival might come up with them, and then, after they had recovered their breath a little, he said,

"Now, you see there's a fine lot of deer here, Master Percival, but as you know nothing about woodcraft, and may put us all out, observe what I say to you. The animals are not only cute of hearing and seeing, but they are more cute of smell, and they can scent a man a mile off if the wind blows down to them; so you see it would be useless to attempt to get near to them if we do not get to the lee side of them without noise and without being seen. Now, the wind has been from the eastward, and as we are to the southward, we must get round by the woods to the westward, before we go upon the open ground, and then, Master Percival, you must do as we do, and keep behind, to watch our motions. If we come to a swell in the land, you must not run up, or even walk up, as you might show yourself; the deer might be on the other side, within twenty yards of you; but you must hide yourself, as you will see that we shall do, and when we have found them, I will put you in a place where you shall have your shot as well as we. Do you understand, Master Percival?"

"Yes, I do, and I shall stop behind, and do as you tell me."

"Well then, now, we will go back into the thick of the forest till we go to the leeward, and then we shall see whether you will make a hunter or not."

The whole party did as Malachi directed, and for more than an hour they walked through the wood, among the thickest of the trees, that they might not be seen by the animals. At last they arrived at the spot which Malachi desired, and then they changed their course eastward toward the more open ground, where they expected to find the deer.

As they entered upon the open ground, they moved forward crouched to the ground, Malachi and Martin in the advance. When in the hollows, they all collected together, but on ascending a swell of the land, it was either Malachi or Martin who first crept up, and, looking over the summit, gave notice to the others to come forward. This was continually repeated for three or four miles, when Martin having raised his head just above a swell, made a signal to those who were below that the deer were in sight. After a moment or two reconnoitering, he went down and informed them that there were twelve or thirteen head of deer scraping up the snow about one hundred yards ahead of them upon another swell of the land; but that they appeared to be alarmed and anxious, as if they had an idea of danger being near.

Malachi then again crawled up to make his observations, and returned.

"It is sartin," said he, "that they are flurried about something; they appear just as if they had been hunted, and yet that is not likely. We must wait and let them settle a little, and find out whether any other parties have been hunting them."

They waited about ten minutes, till the animals appeared more settled, and then, by altering their position behind the swell, gained about twenty-five yards of distance. Malachi told each party which animal to aim at, and they fired nearly simultaneously. Three of the beasts fell, two others were wounded, the rest of the herd bounded off like the wind. They all rose from behind the swell, and ran forward to their prey. Alfred had fired at a fine buck which stood apart from the rest, and somewhat further off; it was evident that the animal was badly wounded, and Alfred had marked the thicket into which it had floundered; but the other deer which was wounded was evidently slightly hurt, and there was little chance of obtaining it, as it bounded away after the rest of the herd. They all ran up to where the animals lay dead, and as soon as they had reloaded their rifles, Alfred and Martin went on the track of the one that was badly wounded. They had forced their way through the thicket for some fifty yards, guided by the track of the animal, when they started back at the loud growl of some beast. Alfred, who was in advance, perceived that a puma (catamount, or painter, as it is usually termed) had taken possession of the deer, and was lying over the carcass. He leveled his rifle and fired; the beast, although badly wounded, immediately sprang at him and seized him by the shoulder. Alfred was sinking under the animal's weight and from the pain he was suffering, when Martin came to his rescue, and put his rifle ball through the head of the beast, which fell dead.

"Are you much hurt, sir?" said Martin.

"No, not much," replied Alfred; "at least I think not, but my shoulder is badly torn, and I bleed freely."

Malachi and the others now came up, and perceived what had taken place. Alfred had sunk down and was sitting on the ground by the side of the dead animals.

"A painter!" exclaimed Malachi; "well, I didn't think we should see one so far west. Are you hurt, Mr. Alfred?"

"Yes, a little," replied Alfred, faintly.

Malachi and Martin, without saying another word, stripped off Alfred's hunting-coat, and then discovered that he had received a very bad wound in the shoulder from the teeth of the beast, and that his side was also torn by the animal's claws.

"John, run for some water," said Malachi; "you are certain to find some in the hollow."

John and Percival both hastened in search of water, while Malachi and Martin and Henry tore Alfred's shirt into strips and bound up the wounds, so as to stop in a great measure the flow of blood. As soon as this was done and he had drunk the water brought to him in John's hat, Alfred felt revived.

"I will sit down for a little longer," said he, "and then we will get home as fast as we can. Martin, look after the game, and when you are ready I will get up. What a tremendous heavy brute that was; I could not have stood against him for a minute longer, and I had no hunting-knife."

"It's a terrible beast, sir," replied Malachi. "I don't know that I ever saw one larger; they are more than a match for one man, sir, and never should be attempted single-handed, for they are so hard to kill."

"Where did my ball hit him?" said Alfred.

"Here, sir, under the shoulder, and well placed too. It must have gone quite close to his heart; but unless you hit them through the brain or through the heart, they are certain to make their dying spring. That's an ugly wound on your shoulder, and will put a stop to your hunting for five or six weeks, I expect. However, it's well that it's no worse."

"I feel quite strong now," replied Alfred.

"Another ten minutes, sir; let John and me whip off his skin, for we must have it to show, if we have all the venison spoiled. Mr. Henry, tell Martin only to take the prime pieces, and not to mind the hides, for we shall not be able to carry much. And tell him to be quick, Mr. Henry, for it will not do for Mr. Alfred to remain till his arm gets stiff. We have many miles to get home again."

In the course of ten minutes Malachi and John had skinned the puma, and Martin made his appearance with the haunches of two of the deer, which, he said, was as much as they well could carry, and they all set off on their return home.

Alfred had not proceeded far when he found himself in great pain, the walking upon snow-shoes requiring so much motion as to open the wounds and make them bleed again; but Malachi gave him his assistance, and having procured him some more water they continued their route.

After a time the wounds became more stiff, and Alfred appeared to be more oppressed by the pain. They proceeded, however, as fast as they could, and at nightfall they were not far from home. But Alfred moved with great difficulty; he had become very faint, so much so, that Martin requested John would put down the venison and hasten before them to the house to request Mr. Campbell to send some brandy or other cordial to support Alfred, who was scarcely able to move on from weakness and loss of blood. As they were not more than a mile from the house, John was soon there, and hastening in at the door, he gave his message in presence of Mrs. Campbell and his cousins, who were in a state of great distress at the intelligence. Mr. Campbell went to his room for the spirits, and as soon as he brought it out Emma seized her bonnet, and said that she would accompany John.

Mr. and Mrs. Campbell had no time to raise any objection, if they were inclined, for Emma was out of the door in a moment, with John at her heels. But Emma quite forgot that she had no snow shoes, and before she had gone half the distance she found herself as much fatigued as if she had walked miles; and she sank deeper and deeper in the snow every step that she advanced. At last they arrived, and found the party: Alfred was lying insensible on the snow, and the others making a litter of branches that they might carry him to the house.

A little brandy poured down his throat brought Alfred to his senses; and as he opened his eyes, he perceived Emma hanging over him.

"Dear Emma, how kind of you," said he, attempting to rise.

"Do not move, Alfred; they will soon have the litter ready, and then you will be carried to the house. It is not far off."

"I am strong again now, Emma," replied Alfred. "But you must not remain here in the cold. See, the snow is falling again."

"I must remain now till they are ready to carry you, Alfred, for I dare not go back by myself."

By this time the litter was prepared, and Alfred placed on it. Malachi, Henry, Martin and John took it up.

"Where is Percival?" said Emma.

"He's behind a little way," replied John. "The snow-shoes hurt him, and he could not walk so fast. He will be here in a minute."

They carried Alfred to the house, where Mr. and Mrs. Campbell and Mary were waiting at the door in great anxiety; poor Emma was quite knocked up by the time that they arrived, and went into her own room.

Alfred was laid on his bed, and his father then examined his wounds, which he considered very dangerous, from the great laceration of the flesh. Mr. Campbell dressed them, and then they left Alfred to the repose which he so much required. The state of Alfred so occupied their minds and their attention, that nothing and nobody else was thought of for the first hour. Emma, too, had been taken very ill soon after she came in, and required the attention of Mrs. Campbell and Mary. It was not until they were about to sit down to supper that Mr. Campbell said, "Why, where's Percival?"

"Percival! Is he not here?" was the question anxiously uttered by all the party who had been hunting.

"Percival not here!" exclaimed Mrs. Campbell, starting up. "Where—where is my child?"

"He was just behind us," said John; "he sat down to alter his snow-shoes; the ties hurt him."

Malachi and Martin ran out of doors in consternation; they knew the danger, for the snow was now falling in such heavy flakes that it was impossible to see or direct their steps two yards in any direction.

"The boy will be lost for sartin," said Malachi to Martin; "if he has remained behind till this fall of snow, he never will find his way, but wander about till he perishes."

"Yes," said Martin, "he has but a poor chance, that is the truth; I would have given my right arm this had not happened."

"Misfortune never comes single," replied Malachi; "what can we do? Madam Campbell will be beside herself, for she loves that boy beyond all measure."

"It's useless our going out," observed Martin; "we should never find him, and only lose ourselves; but still we had better go back, and say that we will try. At all events we can go to the edge of the forest, and halloo every minute or so; if the boy is still on his legs, it will guide him to us."

"Yes," replied Malachi, "and we may light a pine torch; it might be of some use. Well, then, let's go in, and tell them that we are going in search of the boy; as long as madam knows that we are seeking him she will not lose hope, and hope will keep up her spirits for the time, till she is better prepared for her loss."

There was much good sense and knowledge of the human heart in the observation of Malachi, who, although he was aware that all search would be useless, could not resolve to destroy at once all hope in the mind of the afflicted and anxious mother.

They went in, and found Mrs. Campbell weeping bitterly, supported by her husband and Mary. They stated that they were going to search for the boy, and bring him home if they could, and, taking three or four pine torches, one of which they lighted, they set off for the edge of the forest, where they remained for two hours with the light, shouting at intervals; but the snow fell so fast, and the cold was so intense, for the wind blew fresh from the northward, that they could remain no longer. They did not, however, return to the house, but went to their own lodge to recover themselves, and remained there till daylight. They then went out again; the snow-storm had ceased, and the morning was clear and bright; they went back into the forest (on the road by which they had come home) for three or four miles, but the snow had now fallen and covered all the tracks which they had made the day before, and was in many places several feet deep. They proceeded to where Percival was last seen by John, who had described the spot very exactly; they looked every where about, made circuits round and round, in hopes of perceiving the muzzle of his rifle peeping out above the snow, but there was nothing to be discovered, and after a search of four or five hours, they returned to the house. They found Mr. Campbell and Henry in the kitchen, for Mrs. Campbell was in such a state of anxiety and distress, that she was in her room attended by Mary. Mr. Campbell perceived by their countenances that they brought no satisfactory tidings. Malachi shook his head mournfully, and sat down.

"Do you think that my poor boy is lost, Malachi?" said Mr. Campbell.

"He is, I fear, sir; he must have sat down to rest himself, and has been overpowered and fallen asleep. He has been buried in the snow, and he will not wake till the day of resurrection."

Mr. Campbell covered his face with his hands, and after a time exclaimed, "His poor mother!"

After a few minutes, he rose and went into Mrs. Campbell's room.

"What of my child,—my dear, dear Percival?" exclaimed Mrs. Campbell.

"The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away," replied Mr. Campbell; "your child is happy."

Mrs. Campbell wept bitterly; and having thus given vent to the feelings of nature, she became gradually more calm and resigned; her habitually devout spirit sought and found relief in the God of all comfort.

CHAPTER XXXI

Thus in one short day was the family of Mr. Campbell changed from a house of joy to one of mourning. And true was the remark of Malachi, that misfortunes seldom come single, for now they had another cause of anxiety. Emma, by her imprudent exposure to the intense chill of the night air and the wetting of her feet, was first taken with a violent cold, which was followed by a fever, which became more alarming every day. Thus, in addition to the loss of one of their children, Mr. and Mrs. Campbell were threatened with being deprived of two more; for their nieces were regarded as such, and Alfred was in a very precarious state. The wounds had assumed such an angry appearance, that Mr. Campbell was fearful of mortification. This accumulated distress had, however, one good effect upon them. The danger of losing Emma and Alfred so occupied their minds and their attention, that they had not time to bewail the loss of Percival; and even Mrs. Campbell, in her prayers, was enabled to resign herself to the Almighty's will in taking away her child, if it would but please Him to spare the two others who were afflicted. Long and tedious were the hours, the days, and the weeks that passed away before either of them could be considered in a state of convalescence; but when her prayers were heard, and, as the winter closed, their recovery was no longer doubtful. A melancholy winter it had been to them all, but the joy of once more seeing Emma resume her duties, and Alfred, supported on cushions, able to be moved into the sitting-room, had a very exhilarating effect upon their spirits. True, there was no longer the mirth and merriment that once reigned, but there was a subdued gratitude to Heaven, which, if it did not make them at once cheerful, at least prevented any thing like repining or complaint. Grateful for the mercies vouchsafed to them, in having Alfred and Emma spared to them, Mr. and Mrs. Campbell consoled themselves in reference to Percival, with the reflection that, at so early an age, before he had lived to be corrupted by the world, to die was gain,—and that their dear boy had become, through Divine grace, an inhabitant of the kingdom of Heaven. By degrees the family became cheerful and happy; the merry laugh of Emma once more enlivened them, Alfred again recovered his former health and spirits, and Mrs. Campbell could bear the mention of the name of Percival, and join in the praises of the amiable child.