CHAPTER I
THE BECK OF FORTUNE
The last congratulations had been offered; the last good wishes,somewhat mixed with tears, had been expressed. The bride, glowing inthe happy consciousness of her own beauty, and deified by the greattenderness that enveloped her new estate like a golden mist, said herfarewells with steady voice and undrooping eyes. Once only, when twofrail arms drew her to the great mother-heart that was fighting withjoy and unspoken sorrow through its travail of the soul, did theirbright rays moisten and tremble like sun-shafts in a pool. It was forthe moment only; one hallowing kiss on the dear, white cheek; then,with uplifted head, she said good-bye, and the mother smiled upon herin a pride that was deeper than her pain. The breed that had notfeared, a generation back, to cross the seas and carve a province anda future from the forest, was not a breed to withhold its mostbeautiful and noble from the ventures of the greater West.
It had been a busy winter for John Harris, and this, although theconsummation of his great desire, was but the threshold to newactivities and new outlets for his intense energies. Since the faceand form of Mary Allan had first enraptured him in his littlebackwoods school district, a vast ambition had possessed his soul,and to-day, which had seemed to be its end, he now knew to be but itsbeginning. The ready consent of his betrothed to share his life inthe unknown wilderness between the Red River and the Rocky Mountainshad been a tide which, taken at its flood, might well lead him on tofortune. At the conclusion of his fall term he had resigned hisposition as teacher, and with his small savings had set aboutaccumulating equipment essential to the homesteader. A team ofhorses, cows, a few ducks, geese, and hens; a plough, a wagon, asleigh, a set of carpenter's tools; a gun, an axe, a compass, a chestof medicine, a box of books; a tent, bedding, spare clothing--thesehe had gathered together at the village store or at farmers' "sales,"and the doing so had almost exhausted the winter and his money.
Because his effects were not enough to fill a car he had "doubled up"with Tom Morrison, a fine farmer whose worldly success had beensomewhat less than his deserts, and who bravely hoped to mend hisbroken fortunes where land might be had for the taking. Their car hadalready gone forward, with Morrison's hired man nestling obviously inthe hay, and two others hid under the mangers. When railways wereinvented they were excepted from the protection of the EighthCommandment.
So John Harris and his bride took the passenger train from her cityhome, while their goods and chattels, save for their personalbaggage, rumbled on in a box-car or crowded stolidly into congestedside-tracks as the exigencies of traffic required.
At a junction point they were transferred from the regular passengerservice to an immigrant train. Immigrant trains, in the spring of'eighty-two, were somewhat more and less than they now are. Thetourist sleeper, with its comfortable berths, its clean linen, itskitchen range, and its dusky attendant, restrained to an attitude ofagreeable deference by his anticipation of a gratuity, was a greyatom of potentiality in the brain of an unknown genius. Even thecolonist car, which has done noble service in later days in thepeopling of the Prairie West, was only in the early stages of itsevolution. The purpose of immigrant trains was to move people. Tosupply comforts as well as locomotion was an extravagance undreamedof in transportation.
The train was full. Every seat was taken; aisles were crowded withstanding passengers who stumbled over bundles and valises with everypitch in the uncertain road-bed; women fought, bravely with memoriestoo recent to be healed, and children crowed in lusty abandon orshrieked as they fell between the slippery seats. The men were makingacquaintances; the communities from which they came were sufficientlyinterwoven to link up relationships with little difficulty, andalready they were exchanging anecdotes in high hilarity or discussingplans and prospects with that mutual sympathy which so quickly arisesamong those who seek their fortunes together under strangeconditions.
One or two of the passengers had already made the trip to Manitoba,and were now on the journey a second time, accompanied by their wivesand families. These men were soon noted as individuals of somemoment; they became the centre of little knots of conversation, andtheir fellow-immigrants hung in reverent attention upon every wordfrom their lips. Their description of the great plains, where onemight look as far as the eye could carry in every direction withoutseeing house or tree or any obstruction of the vision, fell with allthe wonder of the Arabian Nights upon the eager company. Stories ofthe trail, of Red River cart and ox-team, of duck shooting by theprairie sleughs, the whiff of black powder from their muzzle-loadersand the whistle of sharp wings against the sky; of the clatter ofwild geese which made sleep impossible, and the yelp of prairiewolves snapping up through the darkness; of thunder and lightning, oftempest and rain, of storm and blizzard and snow and cold--cold thatcrackled in the empty heavens like breaking glass and withered thecheek like fire; of Indians, none too certain, slipping likemoccasined ghosts down the twilight, or peering unexpectedly throughcabin windows; of hardship and privation and strength and courage andpossibilities beyond the measure of the imagination--these fell fromthe lips of the favoured old-timers, punctuated with jest andprophecy and nicely-timed intervals of silence.
"And is there no stones there, or stumps?" asked a woman, big ofbicep and deep of chest from years of wrestling with the rocks andtimbers of Lanark. "Has the bush all been cleared away?"
"Bush? There's no bush to clear. The prairie's as bald as yertable--no reflection on yer cookin', ma good woman, but so it is,excep' for the grass that tickles yer fingers as ye walk an' thepea-vine that up-ends ye when ye're no thinkin'. Bush! Ah've burntmore bush from ma ten-acre clearin' than ye'll find in a dozencounties. 'Deed, ye'll think a little more bush 'd be a guid thingwhen ye have yer house to build an' a hungry stove to keep roarin'from November to April."
"But whereby do they make their fences, if they ha' no cedar rails?"demanded the woman, still unconvinced.
"Fences? An' why for would ye fence a farm, ye unsociable body? Tokeep the gophers out? Or to keep the badgers in? Seein' ye have allout-doors for yer cattle, an' the days of the buffalo are over,thanks to the white man's powder an' shot, what would ye have withfences?"
"But are ye sure it has no been all ploughed some time?" persistedthe woman, who could not bring herself to believe that Nature,unaided, had left great areas ready for the hand of the husbandman. Alife of environment amid forests and rocks had sorely cramped herimagination.
"Ah'm no sayin' for sure, but whoever ploughed it took a man's order.It will be a thousand miles long, Ah'm thinkin', an' nobody knows howwide. Pioneers like you an' me ha' been workin' our hands off inCanada" (it was a trick of the old-timers to think only of theEastern Provinces as Canada), "an' in a hundred years we have nocleared what'd be a garden patch to that farm out yonder. Ah'mthinkin' it was a bigger Hand than yours or mine that did thatclearin'."
"Tell us about the crops," said one of the men passengers. "What likewheat can ye grow?"
"Like corn," said the narrator, with great deliberation. "Heads likeears o' corn. Wheat that grows so fast ye can hear it. Nothin'uncommon to walk into wheat-fields when they's knee-high, an' have tofight yer way out like a jungle."
"Is the Injuns werry big?" piped a little voice. "My pa's go'n'tomake me a bone-arrow so I can kill 'em all up."
"That's a brave soldier," said the man, drawing the child to hisknee. "But Ah know a better way to fight Indians than with bows an'arrows. D'ye want me to tell ye a story?"
"'S about Moses?"
"No, Ah ain't quite up-to-date on Moses, but Ah can tell ye a storyabout a better way to fight Indians than with arrows an' powder. Ahfight 'em with flour an' blankets an' badger-meat, an' it's a longway better."
The child climbed up on the friendly knee, and interested himself inthe great silver watch-chain that looped convenient to his fingers."Go on wif your story, man," he said. "I's listenin'."
And big Aleck McCrae forgot the immigrants crowded around, forgot thelurch of the train and the window-glimpse of
forests heavy-blanketedwith snow, as he ploughed his fertile imagination and spread a suddenharvest of wonderment before the little soul that clung to his greatwatch-chain.
Harris and his young bride found much to occupy their attention.Their minds were big with plans, nebulous and indefinite but chargedwith potentiality, which they should put into effect when they hadselected their prairie home. To the young girl, naturally of romantictemperament, the journey of life upon which they had so recentlyembarked together took on something of the glamour of knightlyadventure. Through the roseate lens of early womanhood the vague,undefined difficulties that loomed before her were veiled in a mistof glory, as she felt that no sacrifice could really hurt, noprivation could cut too deep, while she was fulfilling her destiny aswife and comrade to the bravest and best of men. The vast plains,heart-breaking in their utter emptiness, could only be full toher--full of life, and love, and colour; full of a happiness toogreat to be contained. She watched the gaunt trees rising naked fromthe white forest, and her mind flitted on a thousand miles inadvance, while on the cold window-sill her fingers tapped time to theclick of the car wheels underneath.
Harris, too, was busy with his thoughts. He measured the obstaclesahead with the greater precision of the masculine mind. To him, lovewas not a magician's wand to dissolve his difficulties in thin air,but a mighty power which should enable him to uproot them from hispath. No matter what stood in the way--what loneliness, whathardship, what disappointment and even disillusionment--he shouldfight his way out to ultimate victory for the sake of the dear girlat his side. As she watched the wintry landscape dreamily through thewindow he shot quick glances at her fine face; the white brow, thelong lashes tempering the light of her deep magnetic eyes; theperfect nose, through whose thin walls was diffused the faintest pinkagainst a setting of ivory; lips, closed and tender as in the sleepof a little child; chin, strong, but not too strong; and a neck fulland beautiful, the whole forming a picture of purity, gentleness, andconfidence which set his being aglow with the joy of immeasurablepossession. As he thought of her love, her faith, her confidence, heswore in his own big heart that neither harm nor want nor sorrowshould come upon her; that through every adversity of life he wouldbe her protector, her champion, her defence. And so in the charm andmirage of their young dream they rode dauntlessly, joyously, into theunknown.
With Ned Beacon, the trusty hired man, in charge of the carload ofeffects, under the direction of Tom Morrison, Harris was relieved ofmany duties and responsibilities that would have broken in somewhatrudely on his dream. Traffic was congested with the immigrantmovement; cars were side-tracked at nameless places for indefiniteperiods, but stock had to be fed and cared for; bonds had to beprovided, and all the conditions of departmental red tape compliedwith when the effects entered the United States, for in 1882 theAll-Canadian railway was a young giant fighting for life with themighty rocks of the North Shore route, and railway traffic with theNew West was, perforce, billed over American roads. These details anda score of others called for patience, for tact, and a judiciousdistribution of dollar bills. Harris made a mental note of hisobligation to Tom Morrison in the matter. He was shrewd enough tosurmise that this was the farmer's very practical wedding gift, buthe took debit for it nevertheless.
And so the journey wore on. As day succeeded day to the monotonousrumble of the car wheels the immigrants became better acquainted, andfriendships took root that in after years were to brave every stormof adversity and bloom forth in the splendid community of spirit andsacrifice which particularly distinguished the pioneers. But thestrain of travel drew heavily upon physical endurance; meals eatenstale from lunch-baskets, or hastily snatched at wayside stations;the cramp of days spent in the crowded seats; lack of exercise andlack of sleep; these laid their heavy finger on the strongest andheartiest. But one night the word went round that daylight would seethem back on Canadian soil, and the lagging spirit of the travellerswas revived. Someone struck up an impromptu song, parodied from awell-known hymn; men, and children joined in the chorus as theycaught the words, and rolled it forth with a vigour that vibratedevery timber of the car.
"O, Prairie Land, sweet Prairie Land,Where everyone joins heart and hand,"
they sang, and the sociability of the party teemed to swell with thevolume of the song. A bond of human interest, humaninterdependence--perhaps, even, some phase of human suffering, wasalready linking them together with links of steel that shouldwithstand every shock of the coming years, and bind together thefoundations of a mighty land.
In the cold grey of a March morning, when the sun had not yetdispelled the mists of night, and the fringing woods back from theRed River loomed white and spectral through the frost, theyre-entered the Empire, and in a few minutes were detraining atEmerson, the boundary town and gateway to the prairies which for athousand miles stretched into the mysteries of the unknown.