Neville Trueman the Pioneer Preacher | Page 9

he was o' his ancestry sax hunnerd years lang syne. Methinks he's the gran'est o' the name himsel'--the laird o' a score o' toonships a' settled by himsel'. Better yon than like the gran' Duke o' Sutherland drivin' thae puir bodies frae hoose an' hame. Lang suld Canada mind the gran' Colonel Talbot [Footnote: Posterity has not been ungrateful to the gallant colonel. In the towns of St. Thomas and Talbotville, his name is commemorated, and it is fondly cherished in the grateful traditions of many an early settler's family. He died at London, at the age of eighty, in 1853.] But was na it fey that him as might hae the pick an' choice o' thae braw dames o' Ireland suld live his lane, wi' out a woman's han' to cook his kail or recht up his den, as he ca'd it."
"I've been at his castle," said Neville, "and very comfortable it is: He lives like a feudal lord,--allots land, dispenses justice, marries the settlers, reads prayers on Sunday, and rules the settlement like a forest patriarch." "Tell about Tecumseh," said Zenas, in whose eyes that distinguished chief divided the honours with General Brock.
"Wall," continued Loker, "at Malden there wuz a grand pow-wow, an' the Indians wore their war-paint and their medals, and Tecumseh made a great harangue. He was glad, he said, their great father across the sea had woke up from his long sleep an' sent his warriors to help his red children, who would shed the last drop of their blood in fighting against the 'Merican long knives." "And they'll do it, too," chimed in Zenas, in unconscious prophecy of the near approaching death of that brave chief and many of his warriors.
"An' Tecumseh," continued the narrator, "drawed a map of Detroit an' the 'Merican fort on a piece o' birch bark, as clever, I heered the Gineral say, as an officer of engineers."
"But was na yon a gran' speech thae General made us when we were tauld tae attack thae fort?" exclaimed Sandy with martial enthusiasm. "Mon, it made me mind o' Wallace an' his 'Scots wham Bruce hae aften led.' I could ha' followed him 'gainst ony odds, though odds eneuch there were--near twa tae ane, an' thae big guns an' thae fort tae their back."
"Wasn't I glad to see the white flag come from the fort as we formed column for assault, instead o' the flash o' the big guns, showin' their black muzzles there," Loker ingenuously confessed. "I'm no coward, but it makes a feller feel skeery to see those ugly-lookin' war dogs splttin' fire at him."
"Hae na I tell't ye," said Sandy, somewhat sardonically, "gin ye're born tae be hangit, the bullet's no made that'll kill ye."
"Ye're as like to be hanged yerself," said Tom, somewhat resentfully, giving the proverb a rather literal interpretation.
"Tush, mon, nae offence, its ony an auld Scotch saw, that. But an angry mon was yon tall Captain Scott [Footnote: Afterwards Major- General Scott, Commander-in-Chief of the United States army. The prisoners were sent to Montreal and Quebec. Hull was subsequently court-marshalled for cowardice and condemned to death, but he was reprieved on account of Revolutionary service.] at thae surrender. How he stamped an' raved an' broke his sword."
"I am sure the Gineral was very kind to them. On our march home, the prisoners shared and fared as well as we did."
"I heard," said Neville, "that Hull was afraid the Indians would massacre the women and children who had taken refuge in the fort."
"No fear of that," said Loker. "Tecumseh told the Gineral they had sworn off liquor during the war. It's the fire-water that makes the Indian a madman, an' the white man, too."
"Well, thank God," said Neville, "it is a great and bloodless victory. I hope it will bring a speedy peace."
"I am afraid not," said the squire, arousing from his doze in the "ingle nook." "We had a seven years' struggle of it in the old war, and I fear that there will have to be some blood-letting before these bad humours are cufed. But we'll hope for the best. Come, Katharine, bring us a flagon of your sweet cider."
The sturdy brown flagon was brought, and the gleaming pewter mugs were filled--it was long before the days of Temperance Societies-- even the preacher thinking it no harm to take his mug of the sweet, amber-coloured draught.
Neville read from the great family Bible that night the majestic forty-sixth psalm, so grandly paraphrased in Luther's hymn,
"Ein' feste Burg ist unser Gott;"
the favourite battle-hymn, chanting which the Protestant armies marched to victory on many a hard-fought field--the hymn sung by the host of Gustavus Adolphus on the eve of the fatal fight of Lutzen.
As he read the closing verses of the psalm the young preacher's voice assumed