SHOVING OF THE ICE.
We must pass over a year; for so long did Sam Holt continue in Europe.
Rambling over many countries, from the heather hills of Scotland and the
deep fiords of Norway, to the Alhambra and the sunlit 'isles of Greece,'
this grandson of a Suffolk peasant, elevated to the ranks of independence
and intellectual culture by the wisdom and self-denial of his immediate
ancestors, saw, and sketched, and intensely enjoyed the beauty with
which God has clothed the Old World. And in that same sketch-book, his
constant companion, there was one page which opened oftener than any
other--fell open of itself, if you held the volume carelessly--containing
a drawing, not of Alpine aiguille, nor Italian valley, nor Spanish
posada, nor Greek temple, but of a comfortable old mansion, no way
romantically situate among swelling hills, and partially swathed in ivy.
The corner of the sketch bore the lightly pencilled letters, 'Dunore.'
And now he fancied that twelve months' travel had completed the cure,
and that he had quite conquered his affection for one who did not return
it. He was prepared to settle down in common life again, with the
second scar on his heart just healed.
Coming home by Boston, he took rail thence to Burlington on Lake
Champlain, and near the head of that noble sheet of water crossed the
Canadian frontier into French scenery and manners. The line stopped
short at the edge of the St. Lawrence, where passengers take boat for La
Chine or the island of Montreal--that is, ice permitting. Now, on this
occasion the ice did not permit, at least for some time. Sam Holt had
hoped that its annual commotion would have been over; but it had only
just begun.
A vast sheet of ice, a mile in breadth and perhaps ten in length, was
being torn from its holdfasts by the current beneath; was creaking,
grinding, shoving along, crunching up against the shore in masses, block
over block ten or fifteen feet high, yielding slowly and reluctantly to
the pressure of the deep tide below, which sometimes with a tremendous
noise forced the hummocks into long ridges. The French Canadians call
these 'bourdigneaux.'
The sights, the sounds, were little short of sublime. But when night
came down with its added stillness, then the heaving, grating, tearing,
wrenching noises were as of some prodigious hidden strength, riving the
very foundations of solid earth itself. People along shore could hardly
sleep. Mr. Holt, having a taste for strange scenery, spent much of
that sharp spring night under 'the glimpses of the moon,' watching the
struggle between the long-enchained water and its icy tyrant. Another
passenger, like-minded, was companion of his ramble.
'I fear it is but a utopian scheme to dream of bridging such a flood as
this,' observed Holt. 'No piers of man's construction could withstand
the force that is in motion on the river to-night. I fear the promoters
of the Victoria Bridge are too sanguine.'
'Well, I could pin my faith upon any engineering project sanctioned by
Stephenson,' rejoined the other. 'We had him here to view the site, just
a mile out of Montreal. He recommended the tubular plan--a modified copy
of the English Britannia Bridge. And Ross, the resident engineer, has
already begun preliminaries, with cofferdams and such like mysteries.'
'It will be the eighth wonder of the world if completed,' said Mr. Holt,
'and must add immensely to the commercial advantages of Canada.'
'My dear sir,' quoth the other impressively (he was a corn merchant in
Montreal), 'unless you are in trade you cannot duly estimate the vast
benefits that bridging the St. Lawrence will confer on the colony. For
six months of the year the river is closed to navigation, as you are
aware, and the industry of Canada is consequently imprisoned. But this
noble highway which the Grand Trunk Railway Company have commenced will
render all seasons alike to our commerce. Consider the advantage of
being able to transport the inexhaustible cereals of the Far West,
"without break of bulk or gauge," from the great corn countries of the
Upper Lakes to the very wharves on the Atlantic.'
Mr. Holt was not surprised to hear, after this, that the speaker was a
heavy shareholder in the Grand Trunk Railway, and placed unlimited faith
in its projects. Whether, in subsequent years, its complete collapse
(for a time) as a speculation lowered his enthusiasm, we cannot say;
perhaps he was satisfied to suffer, in fulfilment of the superb ambition
of opening up a continent to commerce.
The corn merchant had got upon his hobby, and could have talked all
night about the rail and its prospects in Canada. 'The progress of the
Province outstrips all sober calculation,' said he. 'Population has
increased twelve hundred per cent. within the last forty years; wherever
the rail touches the ground, an agricultural peasantry springs up.
Push it through the very wilderness, say I; there is no surer means of
filling our waste places with industrial life; and the Pacific should be
our terminus.'
This design has ceased to be thought extravagant, since Professor Hind's
explorations have proved the existence of a fertile belt across the
continent, through British territory, from the Lake of the Woods to the
Rocky Mountains; along which, if speedily and wisely opened up, must
travel the commerce of China and Japan, as well as the gold of Columbia.
The nation which constructs this line will, by its means, hold the
sceptre of the commercial world. Brother Jonathan is well aware of the
fact, and would long since have run a chain of locomotives from Atlantic
to Pacific if he could; but thousands of miles of the great American
desert intervene, and along the western seaboard there is no port fit
for the vast trade, from Acapulco to Esquimalt on Vancouver's Island,
except San Francisco, which, for other reasons, is incapacitated.
Grinding, crushing, heaving, the broad current of the St. Lawrence bore
its great burden all night along. The same might continue for many days;
and Sam Holt was anxious to get home. He determined, in company with
his new friend the corn merchant, to attempt the passage in a canoe.
'Now, sir,' said the latter gentleman, while they waited on the bank,
muffled to their eyes in furs, 'you will have some experience of what a
complete barrier the frozen St. Lawrence is to Canadian commerce, or the
commonest intercourse, and how much the Victoria Bridge is needed.'
'Au large! au large!' called the boatmen--sturdy, muscular fellows,
accustomed to river perils; and, laying themselves at the bottom of the
canoe as directed, shoulders resting against the thwarts, the passengers
began their 'traject.' Sometimes they had open water in lanes and
patches; sometimes a field of jagged ice, whereupon the merry-hearted
voyageurs jumped out and dragged the canoe across to water again,
singing some French song the while. What perilous collisions of floes
they dexterously avoided! What intricate navigation of narrow channels
they wound through within half a boat's length of crushing destruction!
Notwithstanding all their ability, the passengers were thankful to touch
land again some miles below the usual crossing place, and some hours
after embarkation.
Here the banks were deeply excoriated with the pressure of the ice
against them; for the edges of the vast field set in motion the previous
day had ploughed into the earth, and piled itself in immense angular
'jambs.' On the quay of Montreal it lay in block heaps also, crushed up
even into the public thoroughfare; and men were at work to help the
break in the harbour with pickaxes and crowbars on the grey plain.
Mr. Holt had only a few minutes wherewith to visit a friend in one of
the obscure streets of the city in a mean-looking house, made known to
him by the coming out of children bearing school satchels. A gentleman
with semi-military air, wearing his hat somewhat jauntily on top of a
bloated face and figure, met them as he emerged from a side street, and,
paternally patting their heads, called them 'little dears;' and, from
his seedy dress and unoccupied manner, it was not hard to perceive that
he must still be unsuccessful in his search after the employment to suit
him.
Whether Edith's suited her or not was a question her friend would fain
have asked, when he saw the tired look and dull eye after her morning's
work. Captain Armytage observed that he had frequently wished her to
take holidays--in fact, had done everything short of exercising his
paternal authority; which perhaps he ought to have used on the occasion.
In fact, he had thoughts of removal to Toronto; the air of Montreal
evidently did not agree with either of the girls, eh? It is to be
noticed that Jay stood by, having suddenly shot into a slender shy
girl, very efficient over the smallest pupils.
Mr. Holt was cordially pleased when Captain Armytage made many apologies
for not remaining longer; the fact was, he had a business appointment;
and herewith he whispered to his daughter, who gave him something from
her pocket. Mr. Holt fancied it was money.
She knew of the approaching marriage of his sister Bell, to attend which
he had hastened home; and knew, also, that some of the Cedar Creek
household would be there. Sinewy athlete as Sam Holt was, he could not
frame his lips to ask whether Linda might be one of them. But how often
had he to put the question resolutely away during that and the next
day's travelling? And what would have been his disappointment if, on
entering the family at Mapleton, that pretty brown head and fair face
had not met his glance? And you fancied that you were cured, Mr. Holt;
you reckoned fifteen months' travel a specific.
Yes; Linda was one of Bell's bridesmaids. And that same sketch-book,
filled with glimpses of European scenery, brought about an enduring
result on this wise.
The girls were looking over it the day before the wedding--Miss Bell
in a manner rather preoccupied, which, under the circumstances, was
excusable. Having both a trousseau and a bridegroom on one's hands is
quite sufficient for any young lady's capacity; so she presently left
her brother Sam to explain his sketch-book to Linda alone.
All went evenly until the page was opened, the bit of silver paper lifted
off, and Dunore was before her. What a start--colour--exclamation! Her
beloved Irish home, with its green low hills, and its purple sea-line
afar. 'Oh, Mr. Holt, I am so glad that you went to see Dunore!' Her eyes
were full of tears as she gazed.
'Are you? I went there for your sake, Linda, to look at the place you
loved so much.' And--and--what precise words he used then, or how he
understood that she would prize the drawing a thousandfold for his sake,
neither rightly remembered afterwards. But--
'In April the ice always breaks up,' remarked old Hiram, with a huge
laugh at his own joke.
* * * * *
Mr. and Mrs. Sam Holt, after their wedding trip to Niagara, settled
down soberly at Daisy Burn as if they had been married a hundred years,
Arthur said. They brought back with them a fugitive slave, who had made
her escape from a Virginian planter. Dinah proved a faithful and useful
nurse to the Daisy Burn children. Fugitive slaves are found all over
Canada as servants, and generally prove trustworthy and valuable.