the keen eye of a detective. For to old John McAlpine every soul with
whom he came in contact was a burden to be carried until it was laid
safely at the foot of the cross, and he was yearning to know if this
young man, so respectful and kindly of manner, had yet had his heart
touched by Divine love.
He tried to read the dark, young face in the light of the dancing
flames, noting every feature--the intellectual brow, the kind, bright
eyes, the mouth, still boyish, and showing some wilfulness and
impatience of rule; the resolute chin. A good face, the man concluded,
with rare possibilities. But he was convinced before the conversation
closed that its owner was not a follower of the meek and lowly One.
For the minister was a marvellous reader of character, and in spite of
Scotty's reserve, before the evening was gone he had allowed his guest
to discover that he intended to carve out his own destiny as he
desired, fearless of consequences.
When everything was in readiness for the night, and the young man had
returned from making up a second bed in the shanty, the minister drew
up close to the fire and took from his pocket a Bible.
He slowly turned over the leaves, praying earnestly that he might be
guided in his choice to something that would touch this young man's
soul. The 139th Psalm caught his eye, and the deep voice slowly and
solemnly read:
"O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou knowest my
down-sitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thoughts afar
off.... Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee
from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: if I
make my bed in hell, behold thou art there. If I take the wings of the
morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there shall
thy hand lead me and thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, surely
the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me."
Leaning back against a fallen tree trunk, his face partially hidden in
shadow, Scotty listened intently. Had this man been sent out of the
darkness of the forest to show him how foolhardy were his attempts to
escape from God? For had he not been saying to himself all these past
months that surely the darkness of secrecy would cover his wrongdoing;
that somehow he would escape from God.
He had not read the Bible since he left home, and the old familiar
words, coming like a long-lost friend, struck him with their inevitable
truth. His rest in the lap of nature had brought him to himself; he
saw things with a clearer vision, and he realised now that the fierce
yearning to be away which had driven him to the forest had been really
the desire to escape the Eye that never sleeps. The longing to take
the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea
had been upon him, and here God's messenger had met him, and he stood
like a hunted animal at bay.
The minister read on without pause almost to the end, and then stopped.
There were two more verses, Scotty well knew; he and Isabel had learned
that Psalm years ago at Granny's knee. "Search me, O God, and know my
heart; try me, and know my thoughts; and see if there be any wicked way
in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." He looked up
half-inquiringly as the voice ceased. The minister smiled
comprehendingly.
"I see you know what follows," he said; "it is a great thing to be
grounded in the Scriptures in youth. Do you know why I stopped?"
"No," said Scotty, in a whisper.
"Because the next is a verse I hardly dare to read. It is a fearful
thing to ask the Almighty God to search the heart, for there are wicked
ways in us, many and deep." He began slowly turning over the leaves
again, and Scotty waited with a strange dread of what was coming.
The passage was from the challenging words that came to Job out of the
whirlwind, and like a whirlwind they swept over the young man's soul.
"Who is this that darkeneth counsel, by words without knowledge? Gird
up now thy loins, like a man, for I will demand of thee, and answer
thou me."
He paused a moment and his listener held his breath. To him the words
did not seem to be spoken by man, but seemed to come out of the
whispering darkness of the great forest.
"Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? declare, if
thou hast understanding.... Whereupon are the foundations thereof
fastened? or who laid the cornerstone thereof; when the morning stars
sang together and all the sons of God shouted for joy?"
Scotty's heart suddenly swelled. This great Jehovah was speaking
directly to him; the Jehovah whose inexorable laws were written in
man's very being, as well as in His Book. And he, His creature, was
about to set them aside, declaring that he would walk as seemed right
in his own eyes.
But the minister was still reading. "Hast thou commanded the morning
since thy days; and caused the day-spring to know his place?... Have
the gates of death been opened unto thee? or hast thou seen the doors
of the shadow of death?... Canst thou bind the sweet influences of the
Pleiades, or loose the bands of Orion?"
Scotty listened with heart and ears, and when the minister came at last
to Job's confession, he felt he could echo the words, "I have heard of
thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine eye seeth thee. Wherefore
I abhor myself and repent in dust and ashes."
The amber column of smoke rising straight to the circle of sky was
suddenly touched with a silver radiance. Up from behind the dark
island the moon had arisen, radiant and burnished, and was sending a
long shimmering pathway across the deep blue of Lake Simcoe. Scotty's
eyes followed its glint between the tree trunks and the words came over
him again, "Now mine eye seeth thee." But when the minister paused he
came back to realities. Another picture rose before him, the sweet
face of the girl he loved, the one whom he was to win by keeping in the
path wherein he now walked. A look of defiance flitted across his
face. No. He would go on. He could never give up now!
But the leaves had rustled again, and now the minister had resumed his
word pictures. This time they were not of the mighty Jehovah, just,
unapproachable, omnipotent; but of the lonely Man of Nazareth standing
by the lakeside and calling the fishermen to Him, and then on to
Calvary when He said, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what
they do."
The elder man's keen eyes saw the tokens of a conflict in the other's
face, and he was too wise to address him directly. His occasional
remarks had the effect of soliloquies, but they plunged Scotty's soul
in the valley of shadows.
He was thinking how all his life he had been compassed about. He knew
now that what he had called hedging circumstances had been God's very
Hand. His grandmother's faithful teachings had guided his careless
boyish feet; his grandfather's falls from the high position he had set
himself were graphic object-lessons to teach the value of
righteousness; Monteith's influence had kept him in the right way, and
now how dared he turn aside of his own will?
But what was the minister reading now? What but the story of a young
man, one so goodly and commendable in person and character that the
Master had regarded him with an especial feeling of comradeship; but
there was one thing he refused to give up, and he turned his back upon
the Saviour of mankind and went away sorrowful, "for his possessions
were very great." And Scotty's possessions were great also--those he
was about to reach out and seize, infinitely beyond the value of gold
and silver, and he wanted to turn away, too, but something held him.
The minister glanced at the young man's face, and knew his heart had
been touched. He closed the Book. "Let us pray," he said, and rising,
knelt by the side of a moss-grown log. But Scotty did not kneel; he
sat erect, staring with desperate eyes into the fire, and striving with
all the force of his will to harden his heart. To his relief the old
man made no remark upon his strange conduct when he arose from his
knees, but at once went to his bed in the shanty. Some subtle instinct
told him the young man would be better alone.
Long after he had retired Scotty walked up and down before the fire,
fighting out the old, weary battle; but now with a fury as if for life.
To go on with his work at Raye & Hemming's now in the light of what had
come to him this night would be, he knew, to cast aside all the
teachings of his lifetime--the teachings of Granny, of experience, yes,
even of Monteith, for he realised now they had all come from God, and
were one. He was down in the valley of the shadows, and the rod and
staff were of no comfort to him, for they meant pain and renunciation.
He could not give up Captain Herbert's friendship and Isabel; he could
not go on. The fire had died down to a red eye looking sullenly out of
the smoky darkness, the moon had sunk behind the forest ring, and out
of the blackness of night came a sensation of approaching change, a
hint that the dawn was near. As Scotty, pale and haggard, stood
looking into the dying fire, a step aroused him and the minister was by
his side.
"Why, sir," he cried in surprise, "you will surely not be getting up
yet. It is quite dark."
"I was not sleeping," said the old man. "I could not but watch you,"
he added gently, "for I cannot but see you are carrying a burden; one
heavy for your time of life, my lad, and I wondered if I could be of
any help."
All Scotty's mental attitude of defiance melted away before this gentle
sympathy. He was silent, simply through the inability to speak, and
the minister continued, "Do not speak of it if you would rather not. I
would not force your confidence, but just come and we will pray about
it, and you will tell the Father and He will be making it right."
Scotty turned with a gesture of defeat. To pray was the last thing he
desired to do, it meant surrender; but this time he knelt obediently at
the minister's side by the dying fire.
And as he bowed his head he was suddenly startled by the words that
broke forth. It seemed as if all his own soul's struggle had been
transferred to the man at his side. Old John McAlpine had a wondrous
gift of prayer, one that never failed to cast a solemn spell over his
hearers, and to-night he pleaded for the soul of this young man as if
for his life. His big hands were knotted, the perspiration stood in
beads on his white forehead, and his agonised voice rose and went
ringing away into the forest. Scotty was awesomely reminded of One who
prayed in a garden, quite unlike this one of nature's wild making, and
sweat drops of blood because of the sin he was to bear. And before the
minister had ceased it seemed as if that other One came to his side and
took up the petition, for Scotty felt his worldly desires slip from him
like a garment. The struggle was over. Henceforth there could be no
indecision, for he was not his own, but had been bought with a price.
When they arose from their knees the darkness had suddenly become
transparent. A mysterious rustle and whisper of awakening life was on
all sides, the dawn was on the point of breaking. Scotty's fire, like
his worldly hopes, had died down to pale ashes, but far out on the
faintly grey bosom of Lake Simcoe, and away beyond its dark
forest-ring, soon to put all lesser lights to shame in their triumphant
blaze, were kindling the fires of Heaven.
XIV
THE VOYAGEURS
Oh, the East is but the West, with the sun a little hotter;
And the pine becomes a palm by the dark Egyptian water;
And the Nile's like many a stream we know that fills its brimming cup;
We'll think it is the Ottawa as we track the batteaux up!
Pull, pull, pull! as we track the batteaux up!
It's easy shooting homeward when we're at the top.
--WILLIAM WYE SMITH.
The Imperial transport, _Ocean King_, had loosed from her moorings at
Montreal and was swinging down with the tide of the mighty St.
Lawrence, and on her deck, many leaning eagerly over the railing to get
a last glimpse of home, stood some four hundred stalwart sons of the
Maple Land. Great, strong fellows they were, all with the iron muscles
and steady, clear eyes of the expert riverman. For these were the
famous voyageurs, trained from childhood on the rapids and cataracts of
Canadian streams and summoned now to the help of the mother country on
the ancient river of Egypt.
When Lord Wolseley found himself face to face with the tremendous task
of reaching Gordon far up the hostile Nile, he remembered the
assistance he had received in an earlier expedition in a western land
from the daring, untiring, cool-headed, warm-hearted Canadian boatmen.
And he asked that once more they might give him aid. And here they
were, the best the country could produce, a rollicking, light-hearted
crew, ready for anything--adventure, hard work, danger, death.
Among those who stood longest gazing at the receding land were two who
had begun their years of apprenticeship for this great day on the
little, noisy, foaming stream that scolded its way into the Oro river.
And one of them, looking at the fast-fading outline of Mount Royal, saw
instead an old log house among the enfolding Ontario hills, with a
Silver Maple spreading its protecting branches above the roof. His
home!--and the dear home faces, how they rose up from the misty shore;
and another face, the most beautiful in the world, as he had seen it
that winter night in the sunset glow!
And he had left all, had turned his back upon friends and home, and
love itself, for what? A mere sentiment? A mad notion born of that
night in the wilderness the spring before? The man who had been his
guide and instructor, his staunchest friend and truest adviser from
boyhood, had called his new impulse by just such a name, and the loss
of his esteem had been one of the bitterest drops in Scotty's cup of
renunciation. Apparently he had done injury to himself in every
quarter, by giving up his connection with Raye & Hemming. Captain
Herbert had been disgusted and had declared he washed his hands of him,
Monteith had been filled with righteous indignation over such blind
folly, and his grandparents had been keenly disappointed. And Isabel?
That was the hardest part. What would Isabel think? Perhaps she, too,
was offended, and he had had no opportunity to vindicate himself. And
yet, through disappointments, estrangements and doubts, he clung
tenaciously to his purpose. He was done forever with Raye & Hemming,
and no power on earth could drive him back. Before he left Barbay,
Monteith had come down upon him to bring him to a more reasonable state
of mind. The schoolmaster had scolded, entreated, and had even brought
up arguments which Scotty was powerless to combat. In his perplexity
and bewilderment he could answer nothing; only there had come vividly
to his mind the reply of another young man in somewhat similar
circumstances; a young man, who, when clever people argued that the Man
who had opened his eyes was at fault, could only say, "One thing I
know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see."
For that night in the wilderness had given this young man a clearer
vision of right and wrong, the keen perception granted to those only
who have passed by Calvary and seen the One who suffered there and
conquered. And in that uplifting moment he had heard the voice of the
Eternal say, "This is the way, walk ye in it"; and he could not but
obey.
So Scotty had turned his back upon all his worldly prospects, because
they had led from the way of integrity; and early in the summer had
gone to seek employment amongst the lumbering centres of the Ottawa.
And away back there he had been tracked and joined by his faithful
henchman, Dan Murphy. This strange freak on Scotty's part had no
effect on Danny's warm heart. What cared he that his chum preferred
working in the bush to a college education? That mattered little, so
long as they were together. For had Scotty turned Mohammedan and gone
forth to convert the world to his beliefs, not one inch would his
friend's loyalty have swerved.
And, while they worked on the upper Ottawa, the call for the Nile
voyageurs had come. Here was an opportunity to see the world and serve
the Empire, and the boys had gladly embraced it. And so Scotty was
going down into Egypt, because the great Controller of Destiny had need
of him there, as He had long before needed another young man in that
same land to perfect His divine plans.
The Canadians commenced active work at a station on the Nile a few
miles from Wady Halfa. The busy little trains, that came puffing up
from Cairo, landed this latest addition to Britain's forces amid all
the bustle and stir of the departing army. Here the naval detachment
of the River Column was preparing to embark. The steel-keeled
whaleboats, the especial care of the voyageurs, were being fitted up
with masts and oars. As soon as ready they were filled with soldiers
or Dongolese boatmen, the Canadian bowman and helmsman took their
places, and out they shot up the swift, brown current.
Scotty and his chum found that their turn to embark was not likely to
come for some time, and they employed their first day of leisure in
looking about them. To their unaccustomed Western eyes the place
presented endless interest. It was full of the noise and display of a
military camp, and alive with potent signs of war. Trains loaded with
ammunition went puffing out; bands of baggage-mules, driven by
scantily-dressed natives, came down to the water's edge to drink; and
stately camels swayed past.
Now and then a detachment of a regiment swung out desertward, whether
on hostile acts intent or for exercise, only the initiated could tell.
The boys stood watching them with absorbed interest. First came the
Coldstream Guards, then the Grenadiers, and finally the Black Watch
stepping out splendidly to the rousing scream of the pipers. Scotty
had been taking in all the sights calmly, but this last was too much
for his Highland blood; and, in spite of Dan's jeers, he leaped to his
feet with a cheer, as they whirled past.
But even such spectacles as these began to pall. The Canadians soon
discovered that an army is an unwieldy monster, and that even a flying
column moves slowly. When the third day came and they still awaited
their call to the boats, Dan became restless. This period of enforced
idleness acted upon him like firewater upon a wild Indian, and his
friend soon had his hands full keeping him from disaster.
On the last afternoon of their waiting Scotty composed himself under a
gum acacia tree near the river to write home. They expected to go at
any moment and he must leave a last message for Granny. With the aid
of an old box for a writing desk and the battered lid of a tin can for
an inkbottle he managed his task fairly well. The sun was blazing down
on rock and sand and river, but the breeze from the north blew up cool
and grateful, reminding him of the June zephyrs that came up from Lake
Oro to stir the boughs of the Silver Maple.
Near him, stretched full length upon the ground, lay Dan, striving to
be as cross as his light-hearted Irish spirits would permit. Scotty
had just a moment before forcibly rescued him from a row with some
idle, poker-playing Tommies, and the wild Irishman felt small gratitude
towards his preserver. He rolled about restlessly, pronouncing
serio-comic denunciations upon everything in Egypt from Lord Wolseley
to the baggage-mules, and informing his inexorable keeper at short
intervals, that if something didn't hurry up and happen, glory be, but
he'd commit high treason--a crime of which Dan had only the vaguest
notion, but one which he imagined immeasureably transcended all other
forms of iniquity.
Scotty paid no attention to these threats; he finished his letter,
packed his writing materials into his kit bag, and stood up to stretch
his limbs. Over near the officers' quarters a couple of Tommies were
making strenuous efforts to hold down a reluctant and evil-minded camel
long enough to permit a fat and pompous Colonel to mount.
"That brute must be some relation to you, Dan," said Scotty laughingly,
"he seems to have got up a mighty objection to everything in the way of
common sense."
Dan did not reply; he had raised himself upon his elbow and was
listening eagerly to something else. His attention had been caught by
the conversation of a couple of officers who were coming up from the
water-side. One was a young army subaltern, fresh from home, very
innocent and well-meaning, but belonging to that class of youth who,
because of a serene consciousness of vast inward resources, is certain
to fall a prey to circumstances. His companion was slightly older, a
young officer of the Naval Brigade under Lord Beresford. He was
squarely-set, with a frank, good-humoured face.
The subaltern was evidently showing his newly-arrived friend the
sights. "Those are the American Indians we've brought out to pilot the
boats," he explained, with a nod in the direction of a group of French
Canadians standing at the boat-slip; "rather a fine looking lot o'
beggars, aren't they?"
His companion laughed. "Indians be hanged!" he exclaimed merrily.
"More than half those fellows are no more Indians than you are. Jove,
it does a fellow's eyes good to see something from home. I'm going to
have a chat with them."
"Pshaw, you don't expect to find friends there, I hope. 'Pon honour,
they're red Indians, every one of them. Wolseley got 'em. And
Harcourt says they're the aboriginal thing."
"Your Colonel's an insular baa-lamb, Bobby; you can bet Wolseley never
said it. Surely, as I was born and brought up in Canada I'm likely to
know a red Indian from myself now, am I not?"
The subaltern looked annoyed. "I think you're mistaken this time," he
said with some dignity; "perhaps an odd one or so may be white, but the
majority are the real thing. Look at that big fellow there, now. I'll
bet two to one he's a full blood, anyway."
The other glanced at the man indicated. Scotty's face and arms, always
brown, had become almost copper-coloured in even his short exposure to
the Egyptian sun, and his lithe, muscular figure, leaning easily
against the tree, was not unlike that of the stalwart Caughnawagas from
the St. Lawrence, but as the young naval officer looked at him he
laughed derisively.
"Done with you," he cried gaily. "Go and ask him."
The subaltern marched up promptly to the voyageur. "I say, Canadian,"
he said somewhat stiffly, "here's a gentleman who says you're not an
Indian. Just tell him politely that he's mistaken, please."
Scotty turned from his contemplation of the camel to find, to his
surprise, that he was being addressed. But before he could reply, Dan
had forestalled him. That young man, whose red hair and Hibernian
features could have left no doubt even in the subaltern's mind as to
his nationality, had been listening, with huge enjoyment, to the
conversation. He had risen to his feet and was saluting with grave
respect.
"Sure it's yourself that's right, sir," he said with an apologetic air.
"Anybody can see he's an Indian. He belongs to one of our worst
tribes--the Blood-drinkers, they call themselves. His name's Big
Scalper. And sure," he added, lowering his voice fearfully, "it's the
bloodthirsty brute he is, an' no mistake!"
The young naval officer came forward and gazed fixedly into the
speaker's meek and innocent countenance, but could detect there no
smallest sign of deceit. The subaltern looked solemn.
"Is that all true he's telling us, Big Scalper?" he asked dubiously.
"Sure, there's no use talkin' to him, sir," broke in Dan, with patient
surprise; "he can't spake a word but his own outlandish jabber. The
cratur was jist runnin' wild in the bush when Colonel Denison caught
him an' brought him out here." The young man's air of kindly anxiety,
mingled with innocent seriousness, was too much for mortal gravity.
Big Scalper turned his back with strange suddenness and stared fixedly
out upon the hot, grey glint of the river.
A little group of idle Canadians had begun to gravitate towards them.
Dan Murphy had already earned a reputation among them as a source of
entertainment, and was particularly interesting whenever anyone evinced
a desire to learn anything of his native land. The officers were wont
to question the voyageurs, and Dan played upon their ignorance of the
western half of their Empire, which was deep enough to begin with, and
made it abysmal.