A Cry in the Wilderness Part 21

On, on he sped and ever to the West, land-locked at times in prairie-bound ca.n.a.ls; then pulling vigorously, the rapids past, along the River's narrowing polished curve, with oar stroke, swift and sweeping, keeping time to hit of merry raftsmen on the Sault.

Fresh-hearted Andre! All the wholesome joys to which his simple life was consecrate were his as on he voyaged; his eventide brought joy and calm and light-of-evening peace. But once he would have tarried--as alights a wearied sea-mew on some lonely isle--when, paddling slow and noiselessly he steered his craft among the leafy waterways of that Arcadian Venice of our North: the Thousand Isles. His woodsman's heart beat high when, gliding silently past sunny glades and darkling glens, he heard the wavelets lap the crinkling sands and saw the water glint against the slopes fringed deep with June's lush green.

At times he paused, the paddle braced, and leaned thereon his weight; the while, his lungs inflate, he drew deep breaths of fragrance balsamic that flowed in counter currents, sensate, warm, from out the depths of cedar thickets gray, and red, and white. And then away, away he sped past gardens gay with summer blooms, past emerald lawns set round by sapphire waves. And here and there an islet laughed at him--a tiny patch of verdure overhung by one white birch that glistered in the sun.

And every night a strange enchantment wrought upon his spirit when, beneath the stars, on some long reach that narrowed suddenly, embraced by banks converging, forest clad, the dugout drifted 'twixt two firmaments. Then Andre dreamed of pool and river reach and ancient pine o'er-hanging torrents wild, far distant on the Upper Saguenay; and summer dwellers on those Fortunate Isles were ware at midnight of a singing voice and fragment of a song, like some last chord drawn lingeringly across responsive strings:

"Je cherche, je cherche, la bas, la bas, La ville de Dieu, la merveilleuse; Si je la trouve, quand je serai De mon retour je chante toujours Les gloires de Dieu, les gloires de Dieu."

Ontario, Ontario, all hail thou lovely Lake that in thy breast doth hide the many secrets of Niagara! Upon thy waves, soft thrilling joyously with rush of thunderous waters from afar, see, like a gull, the white three-cornered sail dip lightly to the fair breeze from the North!

"La bas, la bas," sang Andre o'er and o'er, and e'en Pierre bayed long into the West, awoke shrill echoes from the border farms at early dawn, and told his nightly tale to waning summer moons till cliff and sh.o.r.e gave back the sound in echoes manifold.

And what of nights within some sheltered cove when storm and darkness claimed both sea and sky? And what of days when furious cross-winds rose, and smote the lake that hissed and writhed and roared beneath the scourge that welted its white breast? Then Andre crossed himself and told his beads; Pierre crouched low adown within the hull; the dugout rocked safe moored within the cove or, drawn up on a strip of pebbly beach, with softly-grating keel in rhythmic beats told off the lapsing surges till the West translucent 'neath the lifting cloud ma.s.s gleamed, and in the sedges near the sh.o.r.e he heard the reed birds whistle plaintively and low.

Three moons had waxed and waned since, far away upon the Upper Saguenay, the pools foreshadowed substance of those haunting dreams of glories human eye had never seen--thrice thirty days ere Andre neared his goal. At last, emerging from the narrow strait of savage Mackinac, he set his sail and voyaged ever southwards day by day with many a tack cajoling every breeze. The white fish leaped within the dugout's wake; the gulls' harsh cry was heard above the mast; at times a pa.s.sing steamer's paddles throbbed an hour and broke the dead monotony of sea and sky on lonely Michigan.

On silent sea, neath silent skies he voyaged, till lo! one silent morn ere rise of sun, the light mists, veiling yet disclosing, crept slow-curling o'er the surface of the Lake to meet the brightening east, and there dissolved in sudden glory, leaving Andre rapt, with dripping oars suspended and with eyes intent upon a vision marvellous!--The softened radiance of breaking day shone clear, subdued, on dome and tower and arch, on rich facade and many-columned gate of that ethereal Wonder-City white, the fundaments of which in amethyst and chrysopras were seen deep down beneath the surface of the Lake that, motionless, reflected heaven on earth and earth in heaven!

And Andre, gazing so, bared his gray head, the slow tears coursing down his furrowed cheeks, and, folding on his breast his calloused hands, prayed low and fingered o'er his wellworn beads.

Old Andre moored his dugout to the pier, and leaving tragic-eyed Pierre within as sentinel, slow-blinking towards the east, he turned his steps to that high-columned gate, the prototype of heaven on this our earth, and pa.s.sed beneath the portal as the sun rose o'er the Lake in gorgeous crimson state.

X

I can still hear in memory the sudden hiss from a bursting air-pocket in the forelog; it broke the silence which followed Jamie's reading.

At the sound, it seemed as if we drew a freer breath.

Was it Jamie Macleod who was sitting there with flushed cheeks, bright eyes, dilated pupils, and eager inquiring look which asked of his friends their approval or criticism? Or was it some changeling spirit of genius that for the time being had taken up its abode in the frail tenement of his body?

His mother leaned to him and laid her hand on his shoulder.

"My dear boy," was all she said, for they were rarely demonstrative with each other; but, oh, the pride and affection in her voice! I saw Jamie's mouth twitch before he smiled into her eyes.

"You 've made us live it, Boy," said the Doctor quietly and with deep feeling; "but I never thought you could do it--not so, for all the faith I 've had in you."

Jamie drew a long breath of relief; he spoke eagerly:

"It was the trial trip, Doctor, and I did hope it would stand the test with you and Ewart."

Mr. Ewart rose and crossed the hearth to him. He held out his strong shapely hand. Jamie's thin one closed upon it with a tense nervous pressure, as I could see.

"I congratulate you, Macleod." The tone of his voice, the address as man to man, expressed his pride, his love, his admiration.

Jamie smiled with as much satisfaction as if for the first time there had been conferred upon him manhood suffrage, the freedom of the city of London, and a batch of Oxford honors. Then, satisfied, he turned to me. I spoke lightly to ease the emotional tension that was evident in all the rest of us:

"You 've imposed upon me, Jamie Macleod. You 're cla.s.sed henceforth with frauds and fakirs! How could I know when you were sc.r.a.pping with me the last three weeks over such prosaic things as rag carpets, toilet sets and skins, that you were harboring all this poetry!"

"Then you think it's poetry? You 've found me out!" Jamie said, showing his delight. "Honestly, Marcia, you like it? I want you to, though I say it as should n't."

"Yes, I do," I answered earnestly; "I can understand the song the better for it."

"What song?" the Doctor asked, before Jamie could speak.

"'_O Canada, pays de mon amour_'," I quoted.

"You know that?" Mr. Ewart spoke quickly.

"Only as I have heard it through the graphophone, in the cabaret below the steamboat landing."

"I say, Marcia, that's rough on the song!--Gordon," he exclaimed, "do you sing it for us, do; then she 'll know how it ought to sound."

"It's the only possible epilogue for the 'Odyssey'--what a capital t.i.tle, Boy! Sing it, Ewart."

"Wait till I have a piano."

"You don't need it. You used to sing it in camp."

"But I had Andre's violin."

"I have it! Pierre will fiddle for you." Jamie jumped to his feet.

"Hark!"

We listened. Sure enough, from some room behind the kitchen offices, probably in the summer kitchen, we could hear the faint but merry sounds of a violin.

"They 're celebrating your home-coming, Ewart! I knew they were up to snuff when Angelique gave me an order for a half a dozen bottles of the 'vin du pays', you remember, Marcia? They 're at it now. I might have known it, for they have n't come in to say good night."

"Let's have them all in then," said Mr. Ewart. "They 'll stay up as long as we do."

"Will you sing for them?" Mrs. Macleod put the question directly to her host.

"For you and them, if you wish it," was the cordial reply. "Jamie, you 're master of ceremonies and have had something up your sleeve all this evening; I know by your looks. Bring them in."

Jamie laughed mischievously. "Oh, I 'll bring them in," he said. I knew then that, unknown to his mother and me, he had planned a surprise.

"Get Cale in, if you can," Mr. Ewart called after him.

"Oh, Cale 's abed before this; _he_ does n't acknowledge you as his lord of the manor, not yet."

"That was remarkable, Gordon," said the Doctor, as soon as the door closed on Jamie.

"Yes, he has given me a surprise. Of course you realized that whole description was in metre?"