The Man From Glengarry | Page 4

their self- reliance. But deeper than all, the mark that
reached down to their hearts' core was that of their faith, for in them
dwelt the fear of God. Their religion may have been narrow, but no
narrower than the moulds of their lives. It was the biggest thing in them.
It may have taken a somber hue from their gloomy forests, but by
reason of a sweet, gracious presence dwelling among them it grew in
grace and sweetness day by day.
In the Canada beyond the Lakes, where men are making empire, the
sons of these Glengarry men are found. And there such men are needed.
For not wealth, not enterprise, not energy, can build a nation into sure
greatness, but men, and only men with the fear of God in their hearts,
and with no other. And to make this clear is also a part of the purpose
of this book.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER
I
THE OPEN RIVER
II VENGEANCE IS MINE
III THE MANSE IN THE BUSH
IV THE RIDE FOR LIFE
V FORGIVE US OUR DEBTS
VI A NEW FRIEND
VII MAIMIE
VIII THE SUGARING-OFF
IX A SABBATH DAY'S WORK
X THE HOME-COMING OF THE SHANTYMEN
XI THE WAKE
XII SEED-TIME
XIII THE LOGGING BEE
XIV SHE WILL NOT FORGET
XV THE REVIVAL
XVI AND THE GLORY
XVII LENOIR'S NEW MASTER
XVIII HE IS NOT OF MY KIND

XIX ONE GAME AT A TIME
XX HER CLINGING ARMS
XXI I WILL REMEMBER
XXII FORGET THAT I LOVED YOU
XXIII A GOOD, TRUE FRIEND
XXIV THE WEST
XXV GLENGARRY FOREVER

THE MAN FROM GLENGARRY
CHAPTER I
THE OPEN RIVER
The winter had broken early and the Scotch River was running ice- free
and full from bank to bank. There was still snow in the woods, and with
good sleighing and open rivers every day was golden to the lumbermen
who had stuff to get down to the big water. A day gained now might
save weeks at a chute farther down, where the rafts would crowd one
another and strive for right of way.
Dan Murphy was mightily pleased with himself and with the bit of the
world about him, for there lay his winter's cut of logs in the river below
him snug and secure and held tight by a boom across the mouth, just
where it flowed into the Nation. In a few days he would have his crib
made, and his outfit ready to start for the Ottawa mills. He was sure to
be ahead of the big timber rafts that took up so much space, and whose
crews with unbearable effrontery considered themselves the aristocrats
of the river.
Yes, it was a pleasant and satisfying sight, some three solid miles of

logs boomed at the head of the big water. Suddenly Murphy turned his
face up the river.
"What's that now, d'ye think, LeNware?" he asked.
LeNoir, or "LeNware," as they all called it in that country, was Dan
Murphy's foreman, and as he himself said, "for haxe, for hit (eat), for
fight de boss on de reever Hottawa! by Gar!" Louis LeNoir was a
French-Canadian, handsome, active, hardy, and powerfully built. He
had come from the New Brunswick woods some three years ago, and
had wrought and fought his way, as he thought, against all rivals to the
proud position of "boss on de reever," the topmost pinnacle of a
lumberman's ambition. It was something to see LeNoir "run a log"
across the river and back; that is, he would balance himself upon a
floating log, and by spinning it round, would send it whither he would.
At Murphy's question LeNoir stood listening with bent head and open
mouth. Down the river came the sound of singing. "Don-no me! Ah oui!
be dam! Das Macdonald gang for sure! De men from Glengarrie, les
diables! Dey not hout de reever yet." His boss went off into a volley of
oaths--
"They'll be wanting the river now, an' they're divils to fight."
"We give em de full belly, heh? Bon!" said LeNoir, throwing back his
head. His only unconquered rival on the river was the boss of the
Macdonald gang.
Ho ro, mo nighean donn bhoidheach, Hi-ri, mo nighean donn
bhoidheach, Mo chaileag, laghach, bhoidheach, Cha phosainn ach thu.
Down the river came the strong, clear chorus of men's voices, and soon
a "pointer" pulled by six stalwart men with a lad in the stern swung
round the bend into view. A single voice took up the song--
'S ann tha mo run's na beanntaibh, Far bheil mo ribhinn ghreannar, Mar
ros am fasach shamhraidh An gleann fad o shuil.
After the verse the full chorus broke forth again--

Ho ro, mo nighean, etc.
Swiftly the pointer shot down the current, the swaying bodies and
swinging oars