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The Trapper's Son, a fiction by William H. G. Kingston |
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Chapter 3. Anxiety Of The Trapper About His Son... |
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_ CHAPTER THREE. ANXIETY OF THE TRAPPER ABOUT HIS SON--JEANIE TELLS LAURENCE ABOUT THE BIBLE AND GOD'S LOVE TO MAN--LAURENCE OUT OF DANGER--THE TRAPPER LEAVES LAURENCE WITH HIS FRIENDS--JEANIE TRIES TO TEACH LAURENCE TO READ-- HISTORY OF MRS. RAMSAY. The following morning, the old trapper was sitting on the floor, where he had passed the night, with his head bent down on his knees, when Mrs Ramsay came out of his son's room. "Is he better? Will he live?" he asked in a low, husky voice, gazing up anxiously at her countenance. "The issues of life and death are in God's hands," she answered. "Your young son is very ill; but our merciful Father in heaven can restore him if He thinks fit; we can but watch over him, and minister to his wants as may seem best to us. Lift up your heart in prayer to that Great Being through Him who died for us, sinning children as we are that we might be reconciled to our loving Parent, and He will assuredly hear your petition, and grant it if He thinks fit." The old man groaned as she ceased speaking, and again dropping his head on his breast made no reply to her, though he muttered to himself, "She tells me to pray. The Great Spirit would strike me dead in his anger were I to dare to speak to Him." The kind lady, seeing he did not speak, passed on. Old Michael could with difficulty be persuaded to eat anything, or to quit his post during the day. Little Jeanie was at length sent to him with some food, to try if he would receive it at her hands. "Here," she said, placing her hand on his arm. "You must take some of this, or you will become weak and ill. God, you know, gives us food to support our bodies, just as He sends His holy spirit to strengthen our souls. It is very wrong not to eat when we require food, and so it is when we refuse to receive the aid of the Holy Spirit, which we so much need every moment of our lives." "Who told you that, little damsel?" asked the old man, looking up in the child's sweet face. "Mamma, of course," she answered. "And Mr Martin, the missionary, who came here some time ago, says she is right, and told me never to forget what she says to me. I try not to do so; but when I am playing about, and sometimes when I feel inclined to be naughty, I am apt not to remember as I ought; and then I ask God to help me and to forgive me, through Jesus Christ, and all those things come back again to my memory." "You naughty!" said the old man, gazing still more intently at the young fair countenance. "I don't think you ever could be naughty." "Oh yes, yes, I am, though," answered the child. "I feel sometimes vexed and put out, and so do all sorts of naughty things; besides, you know that God says, 'there is none that doeth good, no, not one;' and even if I did not think I was naughty, I know that I must be in His sight, for He is so pure and holy that even to Him the heavens, so bright to us, are not pure." The old man apparently did not understand what the child was saying to him, but the sound of her soft voice soothed his troubled heart. She little knew how dark and hard that heart had become. "What is it you want, little damsel?" he asked, in a tone as if he had been lost in thought while she was speaking. "I came to bring you this food," she said. "I shall be so glad to see you eat some." The old man, without further remonstrance, almost mechanically, it seemed, consumed the food she offered him. For several days Laurence hung between life and death, but the constant and watchful care of his new friends was blessed with success; and once more he opened his eyes, and was able to understand and reply to what was said to him. As soon as he was considered out of danger, old Michael regained his usual manner. Though he expressed his gratitude to his hosts in his rough, blunt way, he uttered no expression which showed that he believed that aught of thanks were due to the Giver of all good for his son's recovery. With his ordinary firm tread he stalked into the room where Laurence lay. "I am glad to see thee coming round, boy," he said. "Food and quiet is all that is now required to fit thee for work again. Dost not long to be once more wandering through the forest, or trapping by the side of the broad stream? I am already weary, as I knew I should, of this dull life, and must away to look after our traps and such of our peltries as may have escaped the claws of the cunning wolverines." "Stay for me but a few days, and I shall be ready to go with you, father," said the boy, trying to raise himself up. "Nay, nay, boy; but you're not yet strong enough for travelling. The snow lies thickly on the ground, and the winter's wind whistles keenly through the forest and across the plain. Stay a while with your good friends here, and I'll come back for thee, and then we will hie away to lead the free life we have enjoyed so long." Old Michael spoke in a more subdued tone than usual. "You speak truth, father, when you say our friends are kind; if it were not for you I should not wish to leave them. Sometimes, when Mrs Ramsay and her little daughter have been tending me, my thoughts have been carried back to the days when I was a young child, or else to some pleasant dreams which have visited me in my sleep." "Speak not again of those times, Laurence," exclaimed the old trapper in an angry tone. "They are mere foolish fancies of the brain. You are still weak and ill, but you will soon recover," he added in a more gentle voice. "And when I come for you, promise me that you will be ready to go forth once more to be my companion in the free wilds." "Yes, father, yes; I promise, whenever you come and summon me away, I will go with you." "Farewell, then, boy," said the old trapper, taking his son's hand. "We will look forward to the time when we may enjoy our free roving life together again." On the entrance of Mrs Ramsay and Jeanie, who came with some nourishing food for Laurence, the old trapper silently left the room. When, a short time afterwards, Mrs Ramsay inquired for him, she found that he had quitted the fort, leaving behind him his bales of peltries, with the exception of the white wolf-skin. "He has taken it to trade with the Indians," observed the factor. "He knows that they value it more than we do." "I am so sorry that your father has gone away, Laurence," said Jeanie, as she sat by the bedside of the young invalid, trying to console him for the grief he showed when he heard of the old trapper's departure. "But remember you are among friends, and we will do all we can to make you happy. Still, it is a great thing to know that your father loves you. I should be miserable if I could suppose that my father and mother did not love me. But do you know, Laurence, I have often thought how much more wretched I should feel if I did not know that our Heavenly Father loves me also even more than they do. Mamma has often told me that His love is so great that we cannot understand it. It always makes me feel so happy when I think of it, and that He is always watching over us, and that His eye is ever upon us." "Do you speak of the Great Spirit, little girl?" said Laurence, raising himself on his elbow, and gazing inquiringly at her. "I have heard that He is the Friend of brave warriors and those who obey Him, and that He is more powerful than any human being; but still I cannot fancy that He cares for young boys and girls, and women and slaves, or cowards who are afraid to fight." "Oh, yes, yes; He cares for everybody," exclaimed Jeanie. "He loves all the creatures He has made, to whom He has given souls which will live for ever and ever. He wants them all to live with Him in the glorious heaven He has prepared for all who accept the gracious offer of mercy which He makes to us. You know that we are by nature rebels and disobedient children; and consequently Satan, the great rebel chief, has power to do evil, and to tempt us to sin, and to rebel against God, as he tempted our first parents; but God sent His Son Jesus Christ into the world, to suffer the punishment which, for our disobedience and sin, we ought to suffer, and to tell us that, if we trust Him and believe that He has so suffered for our sins, and thus taken them away, and will love and obey Him, and follow the laws which He established, we shall be received back again into favour, and when our souls quit this world, that they will go and dwell with Him in that glorious and happy land where He will reign for ever and ever." Laurence continued his fixed gaze at the young girl as she spoke. "These are very wonderful words you speak. They are so wonderful that I cannot understand them," said Laurence very slowly. "What I speak of is indeed very wonderful, for even the angels in heaven wonder at it; but if you seek the aid of the Holy Spirit, He will make it clear to your mind, for He it is who alone can teach us what Christ is, and what He has done for us. My mamma often told me about these things, and I did not understand them; but when I prayed that the Holy Spirit would help me to know the love of Jesus, and all He has done for me, then what appeared so dark and mysterious became as clear as the noonday; and, oh, I am sure that there is no joy so great as that of knowing that Jesus Christ loves us." "I don't think I shall ever understand that," said the boy, sinking back on his couch. "My father has never told me anything about those things and I am sure He is very, very wise, for the Indians say so; and every one owns that he is the best white trapper between the Rocky Mountains and the Red River. When he comes back, I'll talk to him, and learn what he thinks of the matter." "Oh, but God tells us that He has 'hid these things from the wise and prudent, and revealed them unto babes,'" observed Jeanie. "Your father is all you say, I am sure; but does he read the Bible, the book which God has given to us, to tell us about Jesus, and to let us know His will?" "I never heard of such a book," answered the boy. "But then I know nothing about books; I could not understand its meaning if I had one." "What! cannot you read?" asked the little girl, in a tone of astonishment. "No, of course not," answered Laurence. "The only books I have seen are those in the hands of the white traders, when they have been taking notes of the peltries they have bought from us or our Indian friends. Then I have observed that they make marks with the end of a stick in their books, and that is all I know about the matter." "Oh, then, I must show you some books, and you must learn to read. It is a sad thing not to be able to read the Bible." "I have no wish to learn, though you are very kind to offer to teach me," answered the boy, in a somewhat weary tone. "When I am well enough, I should like to be following my father, or chasing the buffalo with the brave hunters of the prairie. Still, I should be sorry to go away from you and those who have been so kind to me." "But it will be a long time before you are able to sit on horseback, or to endure the wild camp-life of a hunter, and until that time comes you must let me teach you." "My head would ache if I were to try to learn anything so strange as reading," said Laurence, closing his eyes. "Even now I cannot bear to think. But you are very kind, very kind," he added, as if he felt the little girl would consider him ungrateful for refusing her offer. Mrs Ramsay, who had just then come in unperceived, had heard the last part of the conversation, and understanding better than her daughter did the boy's still weak state, saw that it was not the time to press the point, and that it would be better just then to allow Laurence to fall asleep, as she judged from his heavy eyes he was inclined to do. She, therefore, smoothing his pillow, and bestowing a smile on him, led Jeanie from the room. Mrs Ramsay had gone through many trials. She had been brought up among all the refinements of civilised society in Scotland, and had been early brought by her pious parents to know and love the Lord Jesus. She had married Mr Ramsay, then employed in the service of the Hudson's Bay Company, dining a short visit he paid to his native land; but she had been little aware of the dangers and hardships she would be called on to endure in the wild region to which he was to take her. He had been so accustomed to them from his earliest days that, when describing the life he had led, he unconsciously made light of what might otherwise naturally have appalled her. For his sake she forbore from complaining of the perils and privations to which she had been exposed; and she had ever, by trusting to the aid and protection of God, borne up under them all. Two of her children had been taken from her, and Jeanie alone had been left. Famine, and the small-pox and measles, which has proved so fatal to the inhabitants of those northern wilds, had on several occasions visited the fort, which had also been exposed to the attacks of treacherous and hostile natives; while for years together she had not enjoyed the society of any of her own sex of like cultivated mind and taste. Yet she did not repine; she devoted herself to her husband and child, and to imparting instruction to the native women and children who inhabited the fort. She went further, and endeavoured to spread the blessings of religion and civilisation among the surrounding Indian population. By her influence her husband had been induced to take an interest in the welfare of the Indians, and no longer merely to value them according to the supply of peltries they could bring to trade with at the fort. He endeavoured also to instruct them in the art of agriculture, and already a number of cultivated fields were to be seen in the neighbourhood. He had introduced herds of cattle, which the Indians had been taught to tend and value, and numerous horses fed on the surrounding pastures. His great object now was to obtain a resident missionary, who might instruct the still heathen natives in the truths of Christianity; for when he had learned to value the importance of his own soul, he of necessity felt deeply interested in the salvation of the souls of his surrounding fellow-creatures. He had been warned that, should the natives become Christians and civilised, they would no longer prove useful as hunters and trappers, and that he was acting in opposition to trade. "When that occurs it will be time enough, if you think fit, to complain, my friends," he answered. "At present I see innumerable immortal souls perishing in their darkness; and am I to be debarred, for fear of future consequences, in offering to them the blessings of the gospel?" Most of those to whom he spoke were unable to comprehend him, but he persevered; and as the native trappers, certain of being fairly dealt with, resorted in greater numbers than before to the fort, and the amount of peltries he collected not falling off, no objection was taken at headquarters to his proceedings. _ |
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