The rays of the evening sun were now sinking beneath the horizon,
shedding a golden glory over the landscape, and speaking in fair promise
of a fine day on the morrow. “It is time we went home again, before the
dews begin to fall,” said Mrs. Ward, as she rose from her seat; and
then, pointing to the western sky, she added: “How beautiful!--‘These
are thy glorious works, Parent of good. Let us praise God, whose glory
is shown in the works of His hands; for day unto day uttereth speech;
night unto night showeth knowledge.’ I hope you, my dear George, will
never be one of those who have eyes that see not, and ears that cannot
hear. Your dear grandfather was only a little boy when he began to think
of the great things of another world, and at the age of fifteen he
solemnly devoted himself to the service of God his Saviour.”
“Dear Grandmamma, I should like to know more about him. You promised to
tell me about one of his journeys in Newfoundland; and now here we are,
home again, and tea is set out in readiness, as I can see through the
open window.” The little party was soon comfortably seated at the social
meal, when Master George’s health was pledged in the cup “that cheers
but not inebriates;” and he regaled himself on choice plum-cake made by
the dear old lady herself for that special occasion, taking care, every
now and then, to break off a bit and throw it to Boxa, who sat by his
side, wagging her tail, in evident expectation of tit-bits.
“Shall we have candles?” asked Mrs. Ward, when the tea-things were
being removed, “or would you like best to sit in the twilight and watch
the rising moon?”
“I vote for twilight and the moon,” said George, placing his
grandmother’s arm-chair in a cozy nook, from which she could see abroad;
and then, seating himself on the stool at her feet, he waited till she
should begin the promised story.
“It was in the spring of the year, 1835, when your grandfather undertook
a tour of visitation to the southern and western shores of Newfoundland,
for the purpose of ministering to the scattered families in the remote
settlements of that region. He left me at St. John’s in the month of
March, as travelling over the snow in the island is considered less
difficult in that month than walking overland is at any other season of
the year. When we parted I knew that he was going on a laborious and
painful journey, but I had formed no idea of the dangers to which he
would be exposed, or my heart would indeed have sunk within me. He
took with him a guide to pilot him through the country; a man who was
reckoned very skilful and experienced, and who had lived some time with
the Micmac Indians, one of the aboriginal tribes. They had not advanced
far on their way when they missed the route, and could only ascertain
the points of the compass by observing the inclination of the topmost
branches of the juniper or larch trees.”
“How could they know by that means, grandmamma?”
“Because the juniper or larch always points to the east, thus affording
them a secure indication, by means of which they regained the path some
time after night-fall.
“This was rather a bad start, and as it turned out, seemed ominous of
evil to the travellers. As they proceeded on their way, your grandfather
stopped at various places to preach, administer the sacraments, and
visit the sick; and, in many instances, the poor people received him
gladly, being like sheep scattered without a shepherd in solitary
places, far from the means of grace. In one house which he visited he
was moved with compassion at the sight of the poor ailing mother of the
family. ‘Ah sir!’ said she, ‘if any of us be sick or sore, there is no
one to come near us, or to care for our souls.’
“I doubt not you have often heard the saying, ‘One half the world little
knows how the other half lives;’ and, indeed, we have but little idea
of the shifts to which thousands of our fellow men are put, and of the
discomforts and troubles of their daily life. These people lived, for
the most part, in wretched cabins, which swarmed with men, women, and
children, while every nook and corner not thus occupied was filled with
pigs, fowls, sheep, or dogs; and the thick smoke, or, as the people
emphatically call it, ‘cruel steam,’ is most distressing to the
eyesight, which suffers greatly in consequence.”
“But, why don’t they make chimneys, and let it out grandma?”
“They have a sort of rude chimney constructed of upright planks stuffed
between with moss; but the danger of the fire is great; indeed it is
always a necessary to have buckets of water at hand ready to throw upon
the flames. In some places the chimneys were fortified against this
danger by being lined all the way up with a coating of tin, which is
found to last some years.”
“I should be very sorry to have to live with the Newfoundlanders if
they have such houses as these; it seems more like what we read of the
savages in their wigwams.”
“Well, George, your grandfather fell in with some of these people, a
party of Indians from Canada; and, as it was late at night when he
reached their wigwams, the guide begged to be allowed to pass the night
with them. This they courteously permitted, and showed every hospitality
to their unexpected guests. It was a curious sight, the whole party,
men, women, and children, lying around the fire in the middle of the
tent, upon spruce boughs, spread like feathers, to form the couch. The
softest and cleanest deer skin was most courteously offered to the
guest, and he passed the night very comfortably, truly thankful for the
accommodation thus afforded him, and without which he must have suffered
greatly from exposure to the weather, for the snow fell fast during
several hours.”
At this point of her narrative Mrs. Ward rang for a candle, and desired
the servant to bring her writing desk. “I shall find there,” she said,
“the original MS. given me by my dear husband on his return from this
journey. He wrote it amid much difficulty, for very frequently the ink
would freeze in spite of all the precautions he took. Paper, too, was
very scanty, and had it not been for boxes, containing a supply of this
article, which had been washed on shore from different wrecks, he would
have found it impossible to procure enough for the purpose. Anxious,
however, to preserve a diary of each day’s proceedings, he persevered to
the best of his power, and the result was this scroll, now discoloured
by age, and some of the leaves a good deal torn, but the hand is clear
and legible throughout. I think you will like to have me read you
a short extract, giving an account of a very dangerous part of his
expedition. But, in the first place, I should mention that, when
travelling into the interior, he was obliged to walk in Indian rackets,
or snow-shoes, a very difficult matter to one unaccustomed to their
use.”
“Why difficult, grandma? I thought snow-shoes kept you from slipping,
and made it much easier to walk in winter.”
[Illustration]
“The snow-shoes of which I speak, my dear, are very different from
anything you have ever seen; nor could you imagine it possible to travel
in them if you had a pair now before you. The racket is a machine
consisting of a sort of net-work stretched upon ledges made of very hard
wood. They are about two feet and a half long, and fourteen inches
broad; and in the middle is fitted a kind of shoe, lined with wool or
hair, which is tied on to the ankle. By means of these strange
snow-shoes, the feet are prevented from sinking into the soft, deep snow.
Even the Indians, shod in this fashion, occasionally meet with heavy
falls, especially when descending very steep hills; and a foreigner
feels terribly awkward and at a loss when first he attempts to use them.
They are exceedingly fatiguing, too, as they become very heavy when wet;
and the wearer is compelled to walk with long and rapid strides, in
order to prevent the rackets from striking against each other.
Sometimes, when the day’s journey was a long one, the faithful terrier
which accompanied your grandfather throughout the whole route would howl
for very exhaustion; and whenever his master stopped to look about him,
or to set his compass, the poor brute would scratch about and make
himself a bed for a few minutes’ rest in the soft snow.”
“Poor Doggy!” said George, “I can pity him for I remember once when I
walked some miles through the snow, and my shoes got clogged up, I was
so tired, what Uncle Tom called ‘dead beat,’ that I could not help
crying the last mile before I reached home.”
“Imagine, then, your grandfather starting and making the best of his way
over the snow-clad country until the afternoon began to warn him that he
must make a halt. At about four o’clock the traveller has to begin his
preparation for the night’s lodging, and this he does by clearing away
the snow (which is sometimes ten feet deep) from a square space; for
which purpose he makes a rude shovel, cut out of the side of some
standing tree; and, as snow does not adhere to wood as it does to iron,
this is the best thing to be used in removing the snow. When the ground
is quite cleared, the wood for the fire is laid in the centre, about
a foot of loose snow being left round the space in which it is to be
kindled. Upon this, the spruce or fir branches, which easily break off
when bent sharply backwards, are laid all one way, with the lower part
of the bough upwards. Thus the bed is made. The excavated snow forms
a lofty wall round the square; and here the traveller lies, with no
covering from the weather, nor any other shelter than the walls of snow
on each side of his cavern, and the surrounding trees, may afford.”
“I wonder,” said George, “how they got a light to make the fire with;
perhaps by rubbing two pieces of wood together.”
“Your guess, though ingenious, is not correct, my dear,” said Mrs. Ward,
“there is a certain yellow fungus which grows on the hazel tree that
supplies tinder to the Indian, who is never without flint and steel; and
he has a very expert method of rapidly whirling moss and dry leaves and
bark in his hands, so as to cause a draught, and in a wonderfully short
time he succeeds in making a cheerful blaze.”
“And what has he to eat?”
“Plenty of venison, for there are large flocks of deer in the country.
You will wonder where these creatures find pasture; I will tell you. At
the time when your grandfather travelled, the whole land was covered
with snow, excepting on the tops of some of the hills, from which the
snow had melted. These lofty, bare spots are called ‘naps,’ and they
resemble island meadows in an ocean of snow. Upon these, the deer were
grazing leisurely, like cattle, in numerous herds. They go in quest of
food from one of these naps to another, in places near water, which
after long frost becomes exceedingly scarce; in the interior, the tracks
of the deer were as thick as of cattle in the snow in a well-stocked
farmyard. There were, beside, plenty of ptarmigan, which abounded on
these hills, searching for a species of cranberry, a food of which they
are very fond.”
“Vension and grouse! dainty dishes, indeed, dear granny; after all, that
is not quite a land of barrenness.”
“Nay, child! there is provision made in all places of our heavenly
Father’s dominions for the supply of the necessities both of man and
beast. But I must hasten on, or you will be weary of my tale.”
[Illustration]