THE INNER IMPULSE
The success of the service showed the necessity of a church building.
There might come a time when the hospital could not be used, owing to
the number of patients. Dick had often revolved this idea in his mind,
and he believed that the time had now arrived for definite action. But
it was not his intention to have a building which would be closed six
days in the week and open only on Sunday for service. No, it was to be
used every day, and during the evenings as well. It was to be a place
where the evil influence of the saloon and the dance-hall could be
counteracted. He sadly noted how soon the latter had been erected after
the arrival of the women, and how well it was patronised. The church
building must be cosy, and serve as a place where the miners could meet
in genial intercourse, play games, smoke, and relate their experiences
in the northland. It was to be a reading-room as well, for he knew that
by the time the building was ready he would be able to have on hand a
liberal supply of magazines from the mission station down river. They
would be somewhat old, to be sure, but that would make little
difference, as the miners were hungry for reading matter of any kind.
When Dick unfolded his plan to Tom and Dad they became at once very
enthusiastic, and promised to do all in their power to assist. They in
turn mentioned the idea to a number of miners, but with little success.
A few agreed to help, but most of them were indifferent. This did not
discourage the missionary, however, and his little staff of workers.
They very well knew that a church building would not appeal to the
miners half as much as a hospital. But if it could be built it would
prove as great if not a greater benefit in the end. It was Nurse
Marion's interest and encouragement which did so much to advance the
scheme. Often in the evening the faithful band would gather at the
hospital to talk over the whole matter and discuss plans for the
building. Nance could not always be present, so the nurse would talk it
all over with her when they were alone during the afternoons. Nance was
thus enabled to carry the news to Martin, who listened with great
interest to the new project which was now on foot.
And thus once again Dick plunged into the forest, axe in hand, to
prepare the logs for the little church. Tom assisted him for a whole
week, while Dad looked after the mines. Summer was passing all too
rapidly, and the days were perceptibly shortening. It was a great
sacrifice on Tom's part to leave the diggings just at this season. But
he could not see the missionary stuck. "It may be," he quietly remarked
to Dad, "that helpin' to build the church 'ill do me more good in the
end than diggin' gold. What we dig out yon, Dad, 'ill perish, but in
hewin' these sticks I'm feelin' that I'm layin' treasures up yon in the
world to come."
Besides giving of their time and labour Tom and Dad contributed as much
as they were able of their gold. In this way several idle men were hired
to work upon the building. Others gave sparingly, and thus the
undertaking steadily though slowly advanced. But wages were high, and at
last the day came when Dick found himself alone, and with no gold to
employ any one to assist him. It was impossible for his two faithful
friends to be with him now. A long hard winter lay ahead, and as they
had recently got their mine in good working order, it was necessary for
them to keep at it almost day and night, if they were to take out enough
gold to last them until spring.
The thought of winter had given Dick considerable worry ever since the
arrival of the steamer. Many people had flocked into the region, and
others would follow later, who had little money, and who had staked
claims on creeks tributary to the Quaska, where there was very little
gold. What they would do when the cold weather set in was a problem
which he had discussed not only with Tom and Dad, but with Martin and
Nance as well. Game was becoming scarce in the vicinity of Quaska, as
the moose and caribou were retreating farther into the hills from the
presence of the white men.
Dick was also troubled about the church, as he feared that he would not
have it finished before winter. He was doing all he possibly could, and
he worked hard every day. It was always a comfort for him to slip over
in the evening to see Nance. Her presence cheered him when most
depressed. She looked upon the bright side, and he always went back to
his task the next morning with renewed courage.
Martin was often a silent listener as Dick talked about the church, and
the fear which was tugging at his heart lest it would not be completed
in time to be used that season.
"There are men on the creeks," the missionary explained one evening,
"who would be glad of a job if I only had some money to give them." He
was sitting gazing absently into the fire as he spoke, with Nance and
Martin seated near. "They have had bad luck, and are about stranded. The
stores will not trust them, so I understand, and what will become of
them is hard to tell. It is a pity that they didn't go out on the last
steamer. They were urged to do so, but they were determined to stay to
make good."
"Won't the rest of the miners help them?" Nance asked. "The ones who
have done well will surely not allow them to starve."
"Oh, no. I believe that they will share with them, or at least some
will. But many of the men who are hard up will not ask for help. They
will live in their lonely shacks far up on the creeks. They will roam
the forest for game, and subsist on half a meal a day. They will brood
and worry all through the winter, and when the long nights come their
position will be about unbearable. I have heard of such cases before.
Some will starve to death, while others will go out of their minds. I
fear that we shall have many sad cases on our hands before spring."
"Are the stores well supplied with provisions?" Martin asked. "I have
never been over to find out."
"Yes, I believe there is plenty to last all through the winter if it
could be equally distributed among the miners. But those who are able to
buy will get most of it, while others will get very little."
"Will the prices go up later, do you think?" Martin queried.
"I am sure they will. The storekeepers will wait until navigation
closes, and then they will jump the prices. They always do that, so I
understand. I call it a mean business."
Four days after this conversation Martin returned from a trip up the
creeks. Nance, who was preparing supper as he entered the house, noted
the buoyancy of his step, and the new expression which shone in his
eyes. He appeared to her like a man who had been groping for something
for a long time and at last had found it. A smile even spread over his
face as Nance greeted him with cheerful words of welcome.
"My, that supper smells good!" he exclaimed, as he laid his rifle aside.
"I am almost starved."
"Have you travelled far to-day, daddy?"
"Yes. I have been over several of the creeks. I wanted to find out how
much Dick knows about the condition of the miners out there."
"And did you?"
"Partly. I've not been over all the creeks yet, but so far I have
learned that he is right. There will certainly be much suffering this
winter."
Martin said nothing more about his visit to the creeks, but that
evening, much to Nance's surprise, he brought forth his violin, and
asked her to accompany him. It was the first time that he had done such
a thing since the arrival of the miners.
"What shall we play, daddy?" Nance queried as she tuned up her violin.
"Something sweet to-night, little one. Anything that strikes the fancy."
He then began to play the air of "Ninety and Nine." "Sing it, Nance," he
commanded. "Do you know the words?"
"I have them here in this book which Nurse Marion let me have," was the
reply. "But, oh, I wish you could have heard her sing it last Sunday at
service. It was wonderful, and the men were so still when she got
through, except one person near the door."
"And what did he do?" Martin inquired.
"He made a strange noise, something between a sob and a cry."
"Did any one know who it was?"
"No. We were talking about it afterwards, and Tom said that the words of
the hymn must have struck some poor chap pretty hard to make him cry out
like that."
Martin made no reply, but played the tune over softly, while Nance, with
the book open before her, sang the words in a clear, sweet voice.
The former sat for a while when the hymn was ended, with the violin
resting upon his knees.
"I can't play any more to-night, Nance," he at length remarked. "Put
this away, please," and he handed the instrument to her.
That night after Nance had gone to bed Martin sat for a long time before
the dying coals of the fire. He held in his hand a sheet of note paper,
on which he had traced with a lead pencil the Quaska River and the
various creeks running into it. On these latter he had made certain
marks, which indicated where the cabins of the miners were situated.
Several were close together, but most of them were far apart. On a
number of the creeks he had made no marks at all. "I must visit them as
soon as I can," he mused. "I learned to-day that one man is a long way
off, living in a cabin all by himself, without even a dog for a
companion."
It was after midnight when Martin at length folded, up the paper, put it
into his pocket, and rose to his feet. He listened attentively, until
satisfied from her regular breathing that Nance was asleep. Then taking
the candle in his hand, he went at once to the strong-room at the back
of the house. Unbarring the door, he opened it, entered, and closed it
carefully behind him. Crossing to the middle of the room, he lifted the
trap-door and, holding the light in his left hand, peered down upon the
treasure which he had not looked upon for years. It was all there just
as he had left it, with not a gleaming grain molested. Near by was a tin
can which he had used in bringing the gold from up river. Seizing this,
he placed it near the hole and, scooping up the gold with his hand, he
soon had the can filled to the brim. This accomplished, he replaced the
trap-door and, passing out of the room, shut to and barred the door as
it was before.
Picking up a piece of paper lying on a shelf, he scrawled a few words
with his lead pencil. Folding up the paper, he pressed it down on the
inside of the can so that only a small portion was left in sight.
Picking up the can, and blowing out the candle, he passed out of the
house, shut the door, and hurried down to the shore, where his canoe was
lying. It did not take him long to cross to the opposite bank, where he
landed, as he did the previous Sunday night, just below the hospital.
Carrying the tin of gold in his hands, he moved cautiously up among the
trees. The night was quite dark, but he was able to see the building
rising up black before him. He did not stop now at the front of the
hospital, but moved around to the side, where he knew there was a
separate door leading into Beryl's room. His steps were more wary than
ever now, for he was afraid lest the least noise should betray him.
Reaching at length the door, he placed the can upon the sill so that it
could without any doubt be seen when Beryl opened the door in the
morning. His errand completed, Martin breathed a sigh of relief as he
stepped back among the trees. He did not leave at once, but stood there
for some time, with eyes fixed upon the room in which he knew Beryl was
sleeping. He looked toward the door. It was there where she passed in
and out, and her feet had often touched that sill. He started suddenly
forward several paces, and, stooping, he impulsively pressed his lips to
the hard board sill. Then he sprang hurriedly back, surprised at his own
action, and, delaying no longer, plunged among the trees, and hastened
to the river.
After breakfast the next morning Martin again went into the strong-room
and, opening the trap-door, picked up a number of fine nuggets, and
placed them in his pocket. He then went back to the living-room and
informed Nance that he was going over the river and might not be back
for several hours. Nance was somewhat surprised at this, for Martin had
always persistently refused to go with her to the town. She watched him
as he paddled his canoe down the river, and then along the edge of the
shore until he came to the steamboat landing, where he ran ashore.
Beyond this she could not follow his movements. Her curiosity was now
much aroused, which was by no means lessened when she saw him returning
about two hours later with the canoe loaded with supplies from the
store. She ran down to the shore to meet him, and was greatly excited
when she saw the quantity of provisions he had on board.
"Why, daddy!" she exclaimed, "have you cleared the store all out?"
"Not at all," was the laughing reply. "I had no idea that the stores
were so well stocked with provisions. They will hardly miss what I have
brought away. They thought that I was a miner."
"But what are you going to do with it all, daddy? We couldn't use so
much flour, rice, bacon, beans, tea, and sugar in two years."
"Couldn't we, dearie? Are you sure of that?" and Martin's eyes twinkled
as he looked into Nance's puzzled face. "We'll store it away in the
strong-room, and this winter you will see how we can use it. There will
be five times as much before I am through, or else I am greatly
mistaken. You need not mention to any one at the hospital what I am
doing. It is just as well for people not to know too much, see?"
Nance helped her father to carry up the supplies and store them
carefully away. She longed to know what he intended to do with such a
quantity of provisions, but somehow she did not dare to question him any
further.
Martin sat for a long time before the fire that night after Nance had
gone to bed. He held a book in his hand, though he read but little. His
thoughts were elsewhere, and an occasional sigh escaped his lips. At
length he arose and crossed the room to his cot, and drew forth from
beneath it a small box. This he opened and took out a little package,
carefully wrapped in an old piece of faded brown paper. Carrying this
back to the fire, he sat down. His hand trembled slightly as he undid
the covering and looked upon the newspaper clipping which was exposed to
view. Long years had passed since he had last read the story of his
shame and disgrace. He had never desired to do so since Nance had come
into his life. But now he wished to read that account once again. With
the new impulse that had come to him he believed that he could do so
without any of the old feeling rising in his heart to torture him as
formerly.
Carefully he read every word, and then laid the clipping upon the book
lying on the table by his side, and gave himself up to thought. His
whole past life rose before him with wonderful clearness. Nothing was
omitted. He wished to view everything before shutting it out from his
mind, as he believed, forever. A new man was rising within him, which
was to cast off the old.
It was late when he rose from the chair, closed the book, placed it upon
the shelf, and then threw himself upon his cot.