Part 4 (1/2)
But the soft shadows of evening were falling on the woods and hills before them, as the steamer glided into the beautiful harbor of Port Hope--a noted harbor even in the old Indian times, under the name of Ganeraske. The placid water, afire with rich sunset tints, and smooth as a mirror, was dotted with the skiffs of pleasure seekers, and the pretty little town looked most attractive, as, half in shadow, it nestled in its picturesque valley and straggled up the sides of its protecting hills. The long railway viaduct seemed to lend it an additional charm, and Flora McNab appealed to her brother whether it were not more like one of their old-country towns, than any they had yet seen. On the pier were a number of strollers, who had come out to catch the evening breeze, or to see the arrival of the daily boat; and, among them, Kate's quick eye easily recognized Nellie Armstrong and her brother, who gave them all a warm welcome, and speedily packed them into a dog-cart and a light-covered carriage, in which they were driven through the shady, sloping streets to the pretty bowery home of the Armstrongs, where another kind welcome awaited them from the host and hostess, and where an inviting supper was laid out in a cool, pleasant dining-room, opening on a velvety lawn overshadowed by a great ”ba.s.s-wood” or linden tree. To May it all seemed like a delightful romance, nor did she mind a bit the soft rain, which, during the night, she heard through her dreams, pattering on the great leafy bough with that peculiarly tranquilizing effect which a soft summer rain has on the sleepy listener at night.
The morning was wet and misty, but their host declared the latter to be a good sign. And so it proved, for by the time the carriages, ordered for a long drive, were at the door, the mists were rolling gently up the sides of the hills, giving to the charming landscape just the touch of poetry that could best enhance its charm. It was a delightful drive, taking in most of the hills around the town, and the fine view from the one called ”Fort Orton” was particularly enjoyed by the travelers.
”It's very like a pretty English or Scotch view,” said Flora. ”Not what one is apt to imagine _Canadian_ scenery.”
”Well, you see, this is one of the oldest settled parts of Canada,”
said Mr. Armstrong. ”The whole vicinity is a.s.sociated with the early French Missions to the Indians, and with some of the early French and Indian wars. There was an old Sulpician Mission at the Indian village on the very site of Port Hope--a mission whose director was the Abbe Fenelon, the first explorer of this lake sh.o.r.e, and no other than a brother of the celebrated Fenelon, who was the distinguished Archbishop of Cambray, and instructor of the Dauphin of France.”
”And who wrote 'Telemaque?'” said Kate.
”Precisely. And while he was writing it for his royal pupil, his brother, devoted to the spiritual good of the poor ignorant Indians, was trying to teach the Catechism and the Lord's Prayer to the little Indian children, and enduring among the fierce Senecas, hards.h.i.+ps far greater than those through which his brother was leading Telemaque. He was a real hero, that Abbe Fenelon.”
”I must read up those old French Missions,” said Hugh. ”They seem to be wonderfully rich in heroic deeds.”
”They are, indeed,” said Mr. Armstrong, ”but I wish you had time to go back to the neighborhood of Rice Lake and Peterboro', with its lovely little lakes. By the way, there is a pretty waterfall thereabout, named after this Abbe Fenelon, and the whole country is full of a.s.sociations, not only with those old French explorers and missionaries, but also with the almost equally gallant fight of the old U. E. Loyalist settlers, with hards.h.i.+ps and privation.”
”And what _is_ a 'U. E. Loyalist?'” asked Hugh. ”I've seen the expression before, but have no idea what it means.”
”We should not expect you to understand our Canadian terms, without explanation,” said Mr. Armstrong, laughingly. ”Well, a U. E. Loyalist means one of those first settlers of Canada who were driven to take refuge here at the time of the American revolution, because they would not give up their allegiance to the British Empire, and so they left their farms and possessions behind, and came to settle in the wilderness under the 'old flag.'”
”Oh, I see,” said Hugh. ”I have heard that many did so, but did not know that they were called by that particular name.”
”Well, they gave good proof of their loyalty,” said Mrs. Sandford; ”for many of them had pretty hard times. Mrs. Moodie's experiences which she records in her book, 'Roughing it in the Bush,' were endured in this section of the country. I must try to get the book for you to read. You know she was a sister of Miss Agnes Strickland, and she and her sister, Mrs. Traill, may be called our pioneer auth.o.r.esses, though we can hardly call them Canadians.”
”Yes, and this is a neighborhood full of Indian legend, too,” said Mr.
Armstrong; ”we have a village called _Hiawatha_, not many miles from here, and a 'Minnehaha,' 'laughing water,' in the same neighborhood; and not far from either dwelt the magician Megissogwon, who, 'guarded by the black pitch-water, sends fever from the marshes,' as, indeed, many a pale-face victim of fever and ague has known to his cost. And old Indian battlefields have been discovered hereabout, besides the connection of this point with warlike expeditions between white men in later times.”
”And so we can never get away from 'old unhappy things and battles long ago,'” said Hugh, moralizingly.
”Well, let us give them the go-by, just now,” said Kate and Flora together. ”On such a lovely evening, we don't want to think of battles and unhappy things,--old or new.”
”Only, somehow, they seem to add the touch of human interest, even if it be a sad one,” rejoined Hugh, who was so much interested in all he could learn of the past history of the country that Kate laughingly chaffed him about the book or magazine article he must be going to write when he got home. However, the chaffing had no effect on his thirst for knowledge, and when they returned in the lovely summer twilight,--more than ready for the substantial repast which awaited them, notwithstanding the luncheon they had enjoyed on the way,--Hugh eagerly set to work thereafter, to devour, in addition, all the sc.r.a.ps of information which Mr. Armstrong hunted up for him among the historical works in his library. But his attention was somewhat distracted by the songs which Nellie and Flora and May were singing, sometimes in concert, sometimes separately, at the piano in the adjoining drawing-room. Flora delighted them all with the sweetness and pathos with which she sang some of the ”Songs from the North,”
which the others had not previously heard. They gave her an enthusiastic _encore_ for the spirited song ”Over the Hills to Skye,”
and at last, after hearing it two or three times, they all joined in the chorus.
”Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing, Onward! the sailors cry.
And carry the lad who was born to be King, Over the hills to Skye.”
And they were almost as much fascinated by the chorus of the other, ”The Bonnie, Bonnie Banks of Loch-Lomond,” and sang again and again the mournful refrain:--
”Oh, ye'll tak' the high road, an' I'll tak' the low road, An' I'll be in Scotland afore ye; But I'll never, never see my true love again On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch-Lomond!”
”You see, you can't get away from the 'old unhappy things,'” said Hugh, at last leaving his books and coming to join the group at the piano. ”It's always the same two minor chords we have in every pathetic song or story--love and war--in some form!”
”Yes,” said Mr. Armstrong, ”see how the American war struck into life the latent possibilities of pathos and poetry in the practical American people.”
”Oh, by the way, Kate,” said Nellie, ”don't you remember that Mr.
Winthrop we met at Old Orchard last summer, with whom you used to have so many arguments about the North and South, and all the rest of it? I think he made a convert of you.”