CHAPTER X
THE HOME-COMING OF THE SHANTYMEN
For some weeks Ranald was not seen by any one belonging to the manse.Hughie reported that he was not at church, nor at Bible class, andalthough this was not in itself an extraordinary thing, stillMrs. Murray was uneasy, and Hughie felt that church was a greatdisappointment when Ranald was not there.
In their visits to Macdonald Dubh the minister and his wife nevercould see Ranald. His Aunt Kirsty could not understand or explain hisreluctance to attend the public services, nor his unwillingness toappear in the house on the occasion of the minister's visits. "He isbusy with the fences and about the stables preparing for the spring'swork," she said; "but, indeed, he is very queer whatever, and I cannotmake him out at all." Macdonald Dubh himself said nothing. But the booksand magazines brought by the minister's wife were always read. "Indeed,when once he gets down to his book," his aunt complained, "neither hisbed nor his dinner will move him."
The minister thought little of the boy's "vagaries," but to his wifecame many an anxious thought about Ranald and his doings. She was moredisappointed than she cared to confess, even to herself, that the boyseemed to be quite indifferent to the steadily deepening interest inspiritual things that marked the members of her Bible class.
While she was planning how to reach him once more, an event occurredwhich brought him nearer to her than he had ever been before. As theywere sitting one evening at tea, the door unexpectedly opened, andwithout announcement, in walked Ranald, splashed with hard riding, pale,and dazed. Without a word of reply to the greetings that met him fromall at the table, he went straight to the minister's wife, handed heran opened letter, and stood waiting. It was addressed to Ranald himself,and was the first he had ever received in his life. It was from YankeeJim, and read as follows:
Dear Ranald--The Boss aint feelin like ritin much and the rest of theboys is all broke up, and so he told me to rite to you and to tell yousome purty bad news. I don't know how to go about it, but the fact is,Mack Cameron got drownded yesterday tryin to pull a little fool of aFrenchman out of the river just below the Lachine. We'd just got throughthe rough water and were lyin nice and quiet, gettin things togetheragain when that ijit Frenchman got tite and got tryin some fool trick orother walking a timber stick and got upsot into the wet. I'd a let himgo, you bet, but Mack cudn't stand to see him bobbin up and down so heripped off and in after him. He got him too, but somehow the varmintgripped him round the neck. They went down but we got em out purtyquick and the Frenchman come round all right, but somehow Mack wouldn't,choked appearinly by that tarnel little fool who aint worth one ofMack's fingers, and if killin him wud do any good, then he wudn't belivin long. We are all feelin purty bad. We are comin' home on Thursdayby Cornwall, eight or ten of us. The rest will go on with the rafts. TheBoss says, better have rigs to meet us and Mack. That's all. I haintno good at weepin', never was, wish I cud somehow, it might ease off afeller a little, but tell you what, Ranald, I haint felt so queer sinceI was a boy lookin at my mother in her coffin. There was nothin meanabout Mack. He was good to the heart. He wud do his work slick and nevera growl or a groan, and when you wanted a feller to your back, Mack wasthere. I know there aint no use goin on like this. All I say is, ther'sa purty big hole in the world for us to-night. Boss says you'd bettertell the minister. He says he's good stuff and he'll know what to do atMack's home. No more at present. Good-bye. Yours truely,
J. LATHAM.
The minister's wife began reading the letter, wondering not a littleat Ranald's manner, but when she came to the words, "Mack Cameron gotdrownded," she laid the letter down with a little cry. Her husband camequickly to her, took up the letter, and read it to the end.
"I will go at once," he said, and rang the bell. "Tell Lambert toput Black in the buggy immediately, Jessie," he said, when the maidappeared. "Do you think you ought to go, my dear?"
"Yes, yes, I shall be ready in a moment; but, oh, what can we do orsay?"
"Perhaps you had better not go. It will be very trying," said theminister.
"Oh, yes, I must go. I must. The poor mother!" Then she turned to Ranaldas the minister left the room. "You are going home, Ranald, I suppose,"she said.
"No, I was thinking I would go to tell the people. Donald Ross willgo, and the Campbells, and Farquhar McNaughton's light wagon would bebest--for the--for Mack. And then I will go round by the McGregors."
Ranald had been thinking things out and making his plans.
"But that will be a long round for you," said Mrs. Murray. "Could not wego by the Campbells', and they will send word to Donald Ross?"
"I think it would be better for me to go, to make sure of the teams."
"Very well, then. Good by, Ranald," said the minister's wife, holdingout her hand to him.
But still Ranald lingered. "It will be hard on Bella Peter," he said, ina low voice, looking out of the window.
"Bella Peter? Bella McGregor?"
"Yes," said Ranald, embarrassed and hesitating. "She was Mack's--Mackwas very fond of her, whatever."
"Oh, Ranald!" she cried, "do you say so? Are you sure of that?"
"Yes, I am sure," said Ranald, simply. "The boys in the shanty would beteasing Mack about it, and one day Mack told me something, and I knowquite well."
"I will go to her," said Mrs. Murray.
"That will be very good," said Ranald, much relieved. "And I will begoing with you that way."
As Mrs. Murray left the room, Maimie came around to where Ranald wasstanding and said to him, gently, "You knew him well, didn't you?"
"Yes," replied Ranald, in an indifferent tone, as if unwilling to talkwith her about it.
"And you were very fond of him?" went on Maimie.
Ranald caught the tremor in her voice and looked at her. "Yes," he said,with an effort. "He was good to me in the camp. Many's the time he madeit easy for me. He was next to Macdonald Bhain with the ax, and, man,he was the grand fighter--that is," he added, adopting the phrase ofthe Macdonald gang, "when it was a plain necessity." Then, forgettinghimself, he began to tell Maimie how Big Mack had borne himself inthe great fight a few weeks before. But he had hardly well begun whensuddenly he stopped with a groan. "But now he is dead--he is dead. Iwill never see him no more."
He was realizing for the first time his loss. Maimie came nearer him,and laying her hand timidly on his arm, said, "I am sorry, Ranald";and Ranald turned once more and looked at her, as if surprised that sheshould show such feeling.
"Yes," he said, "I believe you are sorry."
Her big blue eyes filled suddenly with tears.
"Do you wonder that I am sorry? Do you think I have no heart at all?"she burst forth, impetuously.
"Indeed, I don't know," said Ranald. "Why should you care? You do notknow him."
"But haven't you just told me how splendid he was, and how good he wasto you, and how much you thought of him, and--" Maimie checked her rushof words with a sudden blush, and then hurried on to say, "Besides,think of his mother, and all of them."
While Maimie was speaking, Ranald had been scanning her face as iftrying to make up his mind about her.
"I am glad you are sorry," he said, slowly, gazing with so searching alook into her eyes that she let them fall.
At this moment Mrs. Murray entered ready for her ride.
"Is the pony come?" she asked.
"Indeed, it is the slouch I am," said Ranald, and he hurried off to thestable, returning in a very short time with the pony saddled.
"You would not care to go with your uncle, Maimie?" said Mrs. Murray, asLambert drove up Black in the buggy.
"No, auntie, I think not," said Maimie. "I will take care of Hughie andthe baby."
"Good by, then, my dear," said Mrs. Murray, kissing her.
"Good by, Ranald," said Maimie, as he turned away to get his colt.
"Good by," he said, awkwardly. He felt like lifting his cap, buthesitated to do anything so extremely unnatural. With the boys in thatcountry such an act of cou
rtesy was regarded as a sign of "pride," ifnot of weakness.
Their way lay along the concession line for a mile, and then through thewoods by the bridle-path to Peter McGregor's clearing. The green grassran everywhere--along the roadside, round the great stump roots, overthe rough pasture-fields, softening and smoothing wherever it went. Thewoods were flushing purple, with just a tinge of green from the burstingbuds. The balsams and spruces still stood dark in the swamps, but thetamaracks were shyly decking themselves in their exquisite robes ofspring, and through all the bush the air was filled with soft soundsand scents. In earth and air, in field and forest, life, the new springlife, ran riot. How strangely impertinent death appeared, and howunlovely in such a world of life!
As they left the concession road and were about to strike into thewoods, Mrs. Murray checked her pony, and looking upon the lovelinessabout her, said, softly, "How beautiful it all is!"
There was no response from Ranald, and Mrs. Murray, glancing at hisgloomy face, knew that his heart was sore at the thought of the painthey were bearing with them. She hesitated a few moments, and then said,gently: "And I saw a new heaven and a new earth. And there shall be nomore death."
But still Ranald made no reply, and they rode on through the bush insilence till they came to the clearing beyond. As they entered thebrule, Ranald checked his colt, and holding up his hand, said, "Listen!"
Through the quiet evening air, sweet and clear as a silver bell, camethe long, musical note of the call that brings the cows home for themilking. It was Bella's voice: "Ko--boss, ko--boss, ko--boss!"
Far across the brule they could see her standing on a big pine stumpnear the bars, calling to her cows that were slowly making toward herthrough the fallen timber, pausing here and there to crop an especiallyrich mouthful, and now and then responding to her call with softlowings. Gently Bella chid them. "Come, Blossom, come away now; you arevery lazy. Come, Lily; what are you waiting for? You slow old poke!"Then again the long, musical note: "Ko--boss, ko--boss, ko--boss!"
Ranald groaned aloud, "Och-hone! It will be her last glad hour," hesaid; "it is a hard, hard thing."
"Poor child, poor child!" said Mrs. Murray; "the Lord help her. It willbe a cruel blow."
"That it is, a cruel blow," said Ranald, bitterly; so bitterly that Mrs.Murray glanced at him in surprise and saw his face set in angry pain.
"The Lord knows best, Ranald," she said, gravely, "and loves best, too."
"It will break her heart, whatever," answered Ranald, shortly.
"He healeth the broken in heart," said Mrs. Murray, softly. Ranald madeno reply, but let the colt take her way through the brule toward thelane into which Bella had now got her cows. How happy the girl was! Joyfilled every tone of her voice. And why not? It was the springtime, thetime of life and love. Long winter was gone, and soon her brothers wouldbe back from the shanties. "And Mack, too," she whispered to her happyheart.
"And are ye sure the news is true? And are ye sure he's weel? Is this a time to think o' wark? Ye jades, fling by your wheel.
"For there's nae luck aboot the hoose, There's nae luck ava, There's little pleesure in the hoose When oor gude man's awa."
So she sang, not too loud; for the boys were at the barn and she wouldnever hear the end of it.
"Well, Bella, you are getting your cows home. How are you, my dear?"
Bella turned with a scarlet face to meet the minister's wife, and herblushes only became deeper when she saw Ranald, for she felt quitecertain that Ranald would understand the meaning of her song.
"I will go on with the cows," said Ranald, in a hoarse voice, and Mrs.Murray, alighting, gave him her pony to lead.
Peter McGregor was a stern man to his own family, and to all the world,with the single exception of his only daughter, Bella. His six boys hekept in order with a firm hand, and not one of them would venture totake a liberty with him. But Bella had no fear of his grim face andstern ways, and "just twiddled her father round her finger," as hermother said, with a great show of impatience. But, in spite of allher petting from her big brothers and her father, Bella remained quiteunspoiled, the light of her home and the joy of her father's heart. Ithad not escaped the father's jealous eye that Big Mack Cameron foundoccasion for many a visit to the boys on an evening when the day's workwas done, and that from the meetings he found his shortest way homeround by the McGregor's. At first the old man was very gruff with him,and was for sending him about his business, but his daughter's happyface, and the light in her eyes, that could mean only one thing, madehim pause, and after a long and sleepless night, he surprised hisdaughter the next morning with a word of gentle greeting and an unusualcaress, and thenceforth took Big Mack to his heart. Not that any word orexplanation passed between them; it had not come to that as yet; butBig Mack felt the change, and gave him thenceforth the obedience andaffection of a son.
The old man was standing in the yard, waiting to help with the milking.
Ranald drove the cows in, and then, tying up the horses, went straightto him.
"I bring bad news, Mr. McGregor," he said, anxious to get done with hissad task. "There has been an accident on the river, and Mack Cameron isdrowned."
"What do you say, boy?" said Peter, in a harsh voice.
"He was trying to save a Frenchman, and when they got him out he wasdead," said Ranald, hurrying through his tale, for he saw the twofigures coming up the lane and drawing nearer.
"Dead!" echoed the old man. "Big Mack! God help me."
"And they will be wanting a team," continued Ranald, "to go to Cornwallto-morrow."
The old man stood for a few moments, looking stupidly at Ranald. Then,lifting his hat from his gray head, he said, brokenly: "My poor girl!Would God I had died for him."
Ranald turned away and stood looking down the lane, shrinking from thesight of the old man's agony. Then, turning back to him, he said: "Theminister's wife is coming yonder with Bella."
The old man started, and with a mighty effort commanding himself, said,"Now may God help me!" and went to meet his daughter.
Through the gloom of the falling night Ranald could see the frightenedwhite face and the staring, tearless eyes. They came quite near beforeBella caught sight of her father. For a moment she hesitated, till theold man, without a word, beckoned her to him. With a quick little runshe was in his arms, where she lay moaning, as if in sore bodily pain.Her father held her close to him, murmuring over her fond Gaelic words,while Ranald and Mrs. Murray went over to the horses and stood waitingthere.
"I will go now to Donald Ross," Ranald said, in a low voice, to theminister's wife. He mounted the colt and was riding off, when Petercalled him back.
"The boys will take the wagon to-morrow," he said.
"They will meet at the Sixteenth at daylight," replied Ranald; and thento Mrs. Murray he said, "I will come back this way for you. It will soonbe dark."
But Bella, hearing him, cried to her: "Oh, you will not go?"
"Not if you need me, Bella," said Mrs. Murray, putting her arms aroundher. "Ranald will run in and tell them at home." This Ranald promised todo, and rode away on his woeful journey; and before he reached home thatnight, the news had spread far and wide, from house to house, like ablack cloud over a sunny sky.
The home-coming of the men from the shanties had ever been a time ofrejoicing in the community. The Macdonald gang were especially welcome,for they always came back with honor and with the rewards of theirwinter's work. There was always a series of welcoming gatherings in thedifferent homes represented in the gang, and there, in the midst of theadmiring company, tales would be told of the deeds done and the trialsendured, of the adventures on the river and the wonders of the citieswhere they had been. All were welcome everywhere, and none more than BigMack Cameron. Brimming with good nature, and with a remarkable turn forstories, he was the center of every group of young people wherever hewent; and at the "bees" for logging or for building or for cradling, BigMack was held in ho
nor, for he was second in feats of strength only toMacdonald Bhain himself. It was with no common grief that people heardthe word that they were bringing him home dead.
At the Sixteenth next morning, before the break of day, Ranald stood inthe gloom waiting for the coming of the teams. He had been up most ofthe night and he was weary in body and sore at heart, but MacdonaldBhain had trusted him, and there must be no mistake. One by one theteams arrived. First to appear was Donald Ross, the elder. For years hehad given over the driving of his team to his boys, but to-day he feltthat respect to the family demanded his presence on such an errand asthis; and besides, he knew well that his son Dannie, Mack's specialchum, would expect him to so honor the home-coming of his dead friend.Peter McGregor, fearing to leave his daughter for that long and lonelyday, sent his son John in his place. It was with difficulty that Mack'sfather, Long John Cameron, had been persuaded to remain with the motherand to allow Murdie to go in his stead.
The last to arrive was Farquhar McNaughton, Kirsty's Farquhar, with hisfine black team and new light wagon. To him was to be given the honorof bearing the body home. Gravely they talked and planned, and then leftall to Ranald to execute.
"You will see to these things, Ranald, my man," said Donald Ross, withthe air of one giving solemn charge. "Let all things be done decentlyand in order."
"I will try," said Ranald, simply. But Farquhar McNaughton looked at himdoubtfully.
"It is a peety," he said, "there is not one with more experience. He isbut a lad."
But Donald Ross had been much impressed with Ranald's capable manner thenight before.
"Never you fear, Farquhar," he replied; "Ranald is not one to fail us."
As Ranald stood watching the wagons rumbling down the road and out ofsight, he felt as if years must have passed since he had received theletter that had laid on him the heavy burden of this sad news. That hisuncle, Macdonald Bhain, should have sent the word to him brought Ranalda sense of responsibility that awakened the man in him, and he knew hewould feel himself a boy no more. And with that new feeling of manhoodstirring within him, he went about his work that day, omitting no detailin arrangement for the seemly conduct of the funeral.
Night was falling as the wagons rumbled back again from Cornwall,bringing back the shantymen and their dead companion. Up through theSixteenth, where a great company of people stood silent and with baredheads, the sad procession moved, past the old church, up through theswamp, and so onward to the home of the dead. None of the Macdonald gangturned aside to their homes till they had given their comrade overinto the keeping of his own people. By the time the Cameron's gate wasreached the night had grown thick and black, and the drivers were gladenough of the cedar bark torches that Ranald and Don waved in front ofthe teams to light the way up the lane. In silence Donald Ross, who wasleading, drove up his team to the little garden gate and allowed thegreat Macdonald and Dannie to alight.
At the gate stood Long John Cameron, silent and self-controlled, butwith face showing white and haggard in the light of the flaring torches.Behind him, in the shadow, stood the minister. For a few moments theyall remained motionless and silent. The time was too great for words,and these men knew when it was good to hold their peace. At lengthMacdonald Bhain broke the silence, saying in his great deep voice, as hebared his head: "Mr. Cameron, I have brought you back your son, and Godis my witness, I would his place were mine this night."
"Bring him in, Mr. Macdonald," replied the father, gravely and steadily."Bring him in. It is the Lord; let Him do what seemeth Him good."
Then six of the Macdonald men came forward from the darkness, Curly andYankee leading the way, and lifted the coffin from Farquhar's wagon, andreverently, with heads uncovered, they followed the torches to the door.There they stopped suddenly, for as they reached the threshold, therearose a low, long, heart-smiting cry from within. At the sound of thatcry Ranald staggered as if struck by a blow, and let his torch fall tothe ground. The bearers waited, looking at each other in fear.
"Whisht, Janet, woman!" said Long John, gravely. "Your son is at thedoor."
"Ah, indeed, that he is, that he is! My son! My son!"
She stood in the doorway with hands uplifted and with tears streamingdown her face. "Come in, Malcolm; come in, my boy. Your mother iswaiting for you."
Then they carried him in and laid him in the "room," and retiring to thekitchen, sat down to watch the night.
In half an hour the father came out and found them there.
"You have done what you could, Mr. Macdonald," he said, addressing himfor all, "and I will not be unmindful of your kindness. But now you cando no more. Your wife and your people will be waiting you."
"And, please God, in good time they will be seeing us. As for me, I willneither go to my home nor up into my bed, but I will watch by the manwho was my faithful friend and companion till he is laid away."
And in this mind he and his men remained firm, taking turns at thewatching all that night and the next day.
As Macdonald finished speaking, the minister came into the kitchen,bringing with him the mother and the children. The men all rose to theirfeet, doing respect to the woman and to her grief. When they were seatedagain, the minister rose and said: "My friends, this is a night forsilence and not for words. The voice of the Lord is speaking in ourears. It becomes us to hear, and to submit ourselves to His holy will.Let us pray."
As Ranald listened to the prayer, he could not help thinking howdifferent it was from those he was accustomed to hear from the pulpit.Solemn, simple, and direct, it lifted the hearts of all present up tothe throne of God, to the place of strength and of peace. There wasno attempt to explain the "mystery of the Providence," but there wasa sublime trust that refused to despair even in the presence ofimpenetrable darkness.
After the minister had gone, Macdonald Bhain took Ranald aside and askedhim as to the arrangements for the funeral. When Ranald had explained tohim every detail, Macdonald laid his hand on his nephew's shoulder andsaid, kindly, "It is well done, Ranald. Now you will be going home, andin the morning you will see your aunt, and if she will be wishing tocome to the wake to-morrow night, then you will bring her."
Then Ranald went home, feeling well repaid for his long hours of anxietyand toil.