AN ARGUMENT ON ARGUMENTATION--ALSO ON RELIGION--BOUNCE "FEELOSOPHICAL"
AGAIN--A RACE CUT SHORT BY A BULLET--FLIGHT AND PURSUIT OF THE REDSKINS.
When McLeod returned to the square, he found that the trappers had
adjourned with the men of the establishment to enjoy a social pipe
together, and that Theodore Bertram was taking a solitary, meditative
promenade in front of the gate of the fort.
"You seem in a pensive mood, Mr Bertram," said the fur trader on coming
up, "will you not try the soothing effects of a pipe? Our tobacco is
good; I can recommend it."
He offered a plug of tobacco to the artist as he spoke.
"Thank you, I do not smoke," said Bertram, declining the proffered
luxury. "Tobacco may be good--though I know it not from experience.
Yet, methinks, the man is wiser who does not create an unnatural taste,
than he who does so for the purpose of gratifying it."
"Ah! you are a philosopher."
"If judging of things and questions simply on their own merit, and with
the single object of ascertaining what is truth in regard to them,
constitutes a philosopher, I am."
"Don't you find that men who philosophise in that way are usually deemed
an obstinate generation by their fellow-men?" inquired the trader,
smiling as he puffed a voluminous cloud from his lips.
"I do," replied Bertram.
"And don't you think the charge is just?" continued the other in a
jocular tone.
"I do not," replied the artist. "I think those who call them obstinate
are often much more truly deserving of the epithet. Philosophers, in
the popular sense of the word, are men who not only acquire knowledge
and make themselves acquainted with the opinions of others, but who make
independent use of acquired knowledge, and thus originate new ideas and
frequently arrive at new conclusions. They thus often come to differ
from the rest of mankind on many points, and, having good reasons for
this difference of opinion, they are ever ready to explain and expound
their opinions and to prove their correctness, or to receive proof of
their incorrectness, if that can be given--hence they are called
argumentative. Being unwilling to give up what appears to them to be
truth, unless it can be shown to be falsehood, their opinions are not
easily overturned--hence they are called obstinate. Thinking out a
subject in a calm, dispassionate, logical manner, from its first
proposition to its legitimate conclusion, is laborious to all. A very
large class of men and women have no patience for such a process of
investigation--hence argumentation, that most noble of all mental
exercises, is deemed a nuisance. Certainly argumentation with
unphilosophical persons _is_ a nuisance; but I know of few earthly
enjoyments more gratifying than an argument with a true philosopher."
"That's wot I says, so I do, out-an'-out," observed Bounce, who had come
up unperceived, and had overheard the greater part of the above remarks.
"Jist wot I thinks myself, Mr Bertram, only I couldn't 'xactly put it
in the same way, d'ye see? That's wot I calls out-an'-out feelosophy."
"Glad to hear you're such a wise fellow," said McLeod patronisingly.
"So you agree, of course, with Mr Bertram in condemning the use of the
pipe."
"Condemn the pipe?" said Bounce, pulling out his own special favourite
and beginning to fill it--"wot, condemn smokin'? No, by no means
wotsomdiver. That's quite another kee-westion, wot we hain't bin a
disputin' about. I only heer'd Mr Bertram a-talkin' about obst'nitness
an' argementation."
"Well, in regard to that," said Bertram, "I firmly believe that men and
women are all alike equally obstinate."
"Ha!" ejaculated Bounce, with that tone of mingled uncertainty and
profound consideration which indicates an unwillingness to commit
oneself in reference to a new and startling proposition.
"On what grounds do you think so?" asked McLeod.
"Why on the simple ground that a man _cannot_ change any opinion until
he is convinced that it is wrong, and that he inevitably must, and
actually does, change his opinion on the instant that he is so
convinced; and that in virtue, not of his will, but of the constitution
of his mind. Some men's minds are of such a nature--they take such a
limited and weak grasp of things--that they cannot be easily convinced.
Others are so powerful that they readily seize upon truth when it is
presented to them; but in either case, the instant the point of
conviction is reached the mind is changed. Pride may indeed prevent the
admission of this change, but it takes place, as I have said,
inevitably."
At this Bounce opened his eyes to their utmost possible width and said
solemnly, "Wot! do ye mean for to tell me, then, that thair ain't no
sich thing as obstinacy?" He accompanied this question with a shake of
the head that implied that if Bertram were to argue till doomsday he
would never convince him (Bounce) of that.
"By no means," returned the artist, smiling; "there is plenty of it, but
obstinacy does not consist in the simple act of holding one's opinion
firmly."
"Wot _does_ it consist of, then?"
"In this--in holding firmly to opinions that have been taken hastily up,
without the grounds on which they are founded having been duly weighed;
and in refusing to consider these grounds in a philosophical (which
means a rational) way, because the process would prove tiresome. The
man who has comfortably settled all his opinions in this way very much
resembles that `fool' of whom it is written that he `is wiser in his own
conceit than seven men who can _render a reason_.'"
"Well, but, to come back to the starting-point," said McLeod, "many wise
men smoke."
"If you say that in the way of argument, I meet it with the counter
proposition that many wise men _don't_ smoke."
"Hah!" ejaculated Bounce, but whether Bounce's ejaculation was one of
approval or disapproval we cannot tell. Neither can we tell what
conclusion these philosophers came to in regard to smoking, because,
just then, two horsemen were seen approaching the fort at full speed.
Seeing that they were alone, McLeod took no precautions to prevent
surprise. He knew well enough that Indians frequently approach in this
manner, so waited in front of the gate, coolly smoking his pipe, until
the savages were within a few yards of him. It seemed as if they
purposed running him down, but just as they came to within a couple of
bounds of him, they drew up so violently as to throw their foaming
steeds on their haunches.
Leaping to the ground, the Indians--who were a couple of strong,
fine-looking savages, dressed in leathern costume, with the usual
ornaments of bead and quill work, tags, and scalp-locks--came forward
and spoke a few words to McLeod in the Cree language, and immediately
after, delivering their horses to the care of one of the men of the
establishment, accompanied him to the store.
In less than half an hour they returned to the gate, when the Indians
remounted, and, starting away at their favourite pace--full gallop--were
soon out of sight.
"Them fellows seem to be in a hurry," remarked Bounce as they
disappeared.
"Ay, they're after mischief too," replied McLeod in a sad tone of voice.
"They are two Cree chiefs who have come here for a supply of ammunition
to hunt the buffalo, but I know they mean to hunt different game, for I
heard them talking to each other about a war-party of Blood Indians
being in this part of the country. Depend upon it scalps will be taken
ere long. 'Tis a sad, sad state of things. Blood, blood, blood seems
to be the universal cry here; and, now that we've had so many quarrels
with the redskins, I fear that the day is not far-distant when blood
will flow even in the Mountain Fort. I see no prospect of a better
state of things, for savage nature cannot be changed. It seems a
hopeless case."
There was a touch of pathos in the tone in which this was said that was
very different from McLeod's usual bold and reckless manner. It was
evident that his natural disposition was kind, hearty, and peaceable;
but that the constant feuds in which he was involved, both in the fort
and out of it, had soured his temper and rendered him wellnigh
desperate.
"You are wrong, sir, in saying that their case is hopeless," said
Bertram earnestly. "There is a remedy."
"I wish you could show it me," replied the trader.
"Here it is," returned the artist, taking his little Testament from the
inside pocket of his hunting-shirt. "The gospel is able to make all men
wise unto salvation."
McLeod shook his head, and said, "It won't do here. To be plain with
you, sir, I don't believe the gospel's of any use in these wild regions,
where murder seems to be as natural to man, woman, and child as food."
"But, sir," rejoined Bertram, "you forget that our Saviour Himself says
that He came not to call the righteous but _sinners_ to repentance. In
this volume we are told that the blood of Christ cleanseth us from _all_
sin; and, not only have we His assurance that none who come unto Him
shall be cast out, but we have examples in all parts of the known world
of men and women who were once steeped to the lips in every species of
gross iniquity having been turned to the service of God through faith in
Christ, and that by the power of the Holy Spirit, who, in this Word of
God, is promised freely to them that simply ask."
"It may be so," returned McLeod; "I have not studied these things much.
I don't profess to be a very religious man, and I cannot pretend to know
much of what the gospel has done elsewhere; but I feel quite sure that
it cannot do much _here_!"
"Then you do not believe the Bible, which says distinctly that this
`gospel is the power of God unto salvation to _every one_ that
believeth.'"
"Ay, but these wretched Indians won't believe," objected the trader.
"True," answered Bertram; "they have not faith by nature, and they
_won't_ because they _can't_ believe; but faith is the gift of God, and
it is to be had for the asking."
"To that I answer that they'll never ask."
"How do you know? Did you ever give them a trial? Did you ever preach
the gospel to them?"
"No, I never did that."
"Then you cannot tell how they would treat it. Your remarks are mere
assertions of opinion--not arguments. You know the wickedness of the
Indians, and can therefore speak authoritatively on that point; but you
know not (according to your own admission) the power of the gospel:
therefore you are not in a position to speak on that point."
McLeod was about to reply when he was interrupted by the approach of Mr
Macgregor, who had now recovered somewhat from the effects of his
violent fit of passion. Having observed during the _melee_ that
strangers had arrived at his fort, he had washed and converted himself
into a more presentable personage, and now came forward to the group of
trappers, all of whom had assembled at the gate. Addressing them in a
tone of affable hospitality he said--
"Good-day, friends; I'm glad to see you at the Mountain Fort. That
blackguard Larocque somewhat ruffled my temper. He's been the cause of
much mischief here, I assure you. Do you intend to trap in these
parts?"