Books: Neville Trueman the Pioneer Preacher
W >>
William Henry Withrow >> Neville Trueman the Pioneer Preacher
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 | 7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12
"So we were," replied Tom Loker with all his old _sang
froid_, "longer than we wanted."
"How did you like picking oakum for the Yankees, Sandy?" asked
Zenas.
"Nae oakum picked I," said Sandy with an air of grim
determination. "It was clean against ma conscience to gi' aid or
comfort to the King's enemies in ony way."
"What did they say to that?" asked the squire. "I thought they had
a way of overcoming scruple's of that sort."
"They could na owercome mine," said Sandy.
"They jest clapped him in the bilboes and kept him there for one
while," interjected Tom. "For me, I'd rather pick all day at the
tarred rope though it _was_ hard on the fingers."
"Did they use you well otherwise?" asked Kate with commiseration
in her voice.
"Prisoners can na be choosers, Miss Katharine," responded Sandy.
"I suppose our treatment was naithing by ordinair. We hadna thae
oaten bannocks and hot kale ye aftens gave us. But warst o' a' was
bein' pent in the close hot hulks 'tween decks, whaur ye couldna
stan' upricht wi'out knocking your heid again the timmers, and
whaur ye gat na a sough o' the blessed air o' heaven save what
stole in through the wee port-holes. How we tholed it sae lang I
dinna ken. We faured better after yon Methody parson came."
"Ay, he wor a good un, he wor," said Tom.
"Who was he?" asked Kate with much interest.
"He wuzzn't much to look at," continued Tom; "that is, there
wuzzn't much of him. But he had a heart big as a mountain; ther
wuz nothin he wouldn't do for them poor prisoners. 'He wuz come to
preach salvation,' he said, 'to them that wuz bound.' Case wuz his
name,--a leettle man, but worth mor'n a dozen ornary men. I
remember one day he came 'long side with a boat load of tea,
coffee, sugar, and several jars of milk for the prisoners; and he
preached, and prayed, and exhorted so long that it seemed as if he
couldn't tear hisself away."
We may be allowed here to quote, in illustration of the labours of
that heroic man, Elder Case, to whom Canadian Methodism owes such
a debt of gratitude, extracts of two of his letters written about
this period:
"I was present," he says, "a few hours after the battle of
Sackett's Harbour, where I witnessed a scene of death and carnage
more moving than ever I saw before. Numbers lay cold in death.
Many were groaning with their wounds and bleeding in their gore.
Myself and two preachers were in Rutland, about ten miles from the
Harbour, and were about to commence clearing off a camp-ground,
but on hearing the cannon and constant roll of small arms we gave
up the idea of work and betook ourselves to prayer. Such
sensations I never realized before. We knew many of our
acquaintances were there, among whom were brethren in the Lord. We
thought on the condition of the women whose husbands and sons were
exposed; the welfare of the country, where so much was at stake,
and the honour of the nation concerned; but more than this a
thousand times--the immortal interests of the thousands who were
engaged in the contest, Americans and Englishmen, all of one
creation--alike the subjects of redeeming blood, all accountable
to the King of kings, and deserving the same condemnation. With
these reflections we immediately called the household and fell
upon our knees in prayer, and the Lord poured on us the spirit of
supplication. We wept aloud and prayed most fervently to the Ruler
of nations and Saviour of men that He would pardon our national
crimes, save men from death, and have mercy on the souls of those
constantly falling in battle. You may suppose that the constant
sound of the instruments of death gave weight to our concern, and
ardency to our petitions, with all that grace could inspire.
"We then mounted our horses and set out for the scene of action,
that, if possible, we might afford some assistance as ministers,
and administer consolation to the wounded and dying. When we
reached the Harbour the British had retreated to their shipping,
leaving part of the dead and wounded upon the field of battle.
These, with the others, were brought in from the field; the dead
were stretched side by side in rows, and the wounded on beds and
straw in as comfortable a condition as could be expected. We were
conducted by a friend to the several hospitals, where I saw the
distress of about eighty wounded. I cannot describe my feelings to
hear the groans of the wounded and dying, some pierced through the
body, others through the head, some bruised by the falling of
timbers, others with broken bones, and one whose face was shot
away (save his under jaw) by a grape-shot. He was yet breathing
strong. This was a shocking view. Some were in such pain they
could not be conversed with; others being fatigued and broken of
their rest were asleep, but we conversed with many who manifested
seriousness, whom we pointed to the suffering, bleeding Saviour,
and exhorted them to look to Him for mercy. Here I saw how useful
a faithful and feeling chaplain might be. The best opportunity
would present itself in alleviating the miseries of men in some
degree, by procuring such things as the distressed most needed,
and by comforting them in their afflictions; and here he might be
heard though at another time his counsel might be slighted.
"Having been without bread for a long time, many of the militia
were very hungry. Some wanted coffee, some milk, some bread. We
gave them the biscuits we carried down, but could procure no milk
for them. I really desired to stay with them; my heart thirsted to
do them good.
"On leaving the Harbour, we called on some brethren, who, with
their neighbours, carried down several gallons of milk, and
distributed it among the wounded. We also represented their case
to the congregation at the close of the camp-meeting, when twenty-
five dollars were contributed and put into proper hands, who
purchased coffee, sugar, and other delicacies which they much
needed, and from time to time distributed among them. For this
they were very thankful, and both English and American blessed me
with many good wishes when I again visited the hospital, four
weeks ago.
"Our preachers on the lines have frequent opportunities of
preaching to the soldiers, who are very fond of hearing. We find
it necessary to avoid all political discussions, both in public
and in private.
"Having been kindly indulged by Col. Larned, commandant to the
prisoners, we most joyfully embraced the privilege of proclaiming
to them the sweet liberty of the Gospel. They were called together
by their officers, and a more attentive congregation I never
expect to address again. As soon as we began to sing there was
weeping; and immediately on our kneeling to prayer they all knelt
down, and here and there we heard the voice of 'Amen' to our
petition for their salvation. I could not solve this till after
the service. To my great surprise and mingled grief and joy,
several brethren and acquaintances from Canada came and made
themselves known unto us; they were militia in arms, and were
taken near Fort George. Among these were Messrs. George Lawrence,
leader at Four-Mile Creek; William Clinton, from the head of the
lake, and Russel Hawley, brother of David Hawley, of the Bay of
Quinte. Their captivity was an affliction which made friends more
consoling." [Footnote: Carroll's Case and his Cotemporaries. Vol.
I., pp. 316-20.]
On this statement, Dr. Carroll thus comments:
"Mr. Case says the Canadian prisoners 'were militia in arms,' but
Mr. Lawrence was an exception. The reader will remember that he
was one of the Methodist Palatine stock, and brother of John
Lawrence, the second husband of Mrs. Philip Embury. In the war-
time he was so advanced in years as to be exempt from militia
duty, although his sons bore arms, and one of them was wounded the
day his father was taken prisoner. Mr. Lawrence, senior, kept
about the peaceful avocations of his farm, and continued to meet
his little class in his own house in those stormy times. He was
made a prisoner at his own door at Cross-Roads. [Footnote: About
four miles west of Niagara.] The writer, though only a child of
four years, was there, and remembers well his arrest, as he does,
all events consecutively since the battle of Niagara. The
Americans were then in the occupancy of Fort George, and a portion
of the British army were entrenched at the Cross-Roads, about half
a mile from Mr. Lawrence's residence. A general skirmish Lad taken
place all that morning between the pickets and advanced guards of
the two armies. A body of only ten American Indians, or white men
disguised like Indians, advanced toward Mr. Lawrence's, where an
officer's mess was kept and a guard of thirty soldiers posted.
"The cowardly officer of the guard, one _McLeod_ (let his
name go down to posterity), threatened to 'cut off the first man's
head who fired a shot;' and they fled to the camp, leaving the
women and children to the mercy of the savages. These latter, when
they came up, shot a corporal of the Glengaries, a Mr. Smith, who
chanced to be there, and who boldly stood on his defence. Mr.
Lawrence thinking the matter some _emeute_ between the
soldiers and our own Indians, passed through the front gate into
the road and gave one of the savages his hand, who took and held
it, while another came up with an angry countenance and grasped
the old gentleman by the neck-cloth, and made him a prisoner. He
and poor Smith, whom only the courage of a woman, Mrs. Cassaily,
kept the savages from killing outright in the house, whither he
had crawled, were led; away from our sight. Smith died on the
road. The alarm was given before any one had broken last. We all
fled. The writer's mother and her four youngest children, passing
the camp, found the army preparing for march, and an elder son and
brother just mounting his horse with a view to coming to our
rescue. We followed the retreating army through the Black Swamp
road all that weary day, and broke a twenty-four hours' fast at
sunset. We had the supreme felicity of extending the hospitalities
of our humble house in York to Mr. Lawrence, whom we all revered
and loved as a father, towards the close of the war, on his way
back from captivity." [Footnote: Case and his Cotemporaries. pp.
320-22.]
We return from this digression to the group at the fire-side of
the Holms.
"How did you get away?" asked Zenas.
"Tam here gied 'em French leave," replied Sandy, "He just droppit
oot o' a port-hole into the water after the guard made his rounds
and got awa in the mirk; I wonner he was na droonded."
"So I wuz e'en a'most. But wuss still was that villian of a sentry
blazing away at me. It's lucky the night wuz so dark. But I
thought I'd have to give up afore I got to land. I had to lie on
the beach panting like a dying mackerel. Well, I walked all night
to Cape Vincent, and at daybreak I just borrowed one of Uncle
Sam's boats and paddled across to Wolfe's Island, and soon after
got to Kingston."
"How much longer did _you_ stay, Sandy?" asked the squire,
who said the story reminded him of the adventures of the Yankee
prisoners in the _Jersey_ hulk during the old war.
"Weel Tam here helped me tae win oot, as I may say," replied
Sandy. "He hadna eneuch of fechtin', sae he mun join thae yoemanry
corps that followed Wilkinson's army doun the St Lawrence, and
took part in the battle o' Windmill Point. They took a hantle o'
preesoners there, and sune cam a' cartel' they ca' it, offering an
exchange. We did garrison duty at Fort Henry awhile, and learned
the big gun drill; it may come in useful yet."
"How got you here?" asked the squire. "you never marched from
Kingston at this time of year, surely."
"No," said Tom Loker, "the ten-gun brig _William and Mary_,
Captain Richardson, master, wuz a-carrying stores to Colonel
Vincent at Burlington, and we got leave to take passage in her. We
reached there last night and walked all day to get here, and glad
we are to get back to our old quarters, the best we've seen since
we left them." [Footnote: Captain Richardson afterwards became a
distinguished minister and bishop of the Methodist Episcopal
Church of Canada, and was for many years Agent of the Upper Canada
Bible Society. He was under fire at the taking of Oswego, and
while engaged rigging a pump, a round shot carried away his arm.
We have heard him say in his own parlor, picking up a carpet ball,
"It was a ball like this that took off my arm." He became, on
recovery from his wound, sailing master of Sir James Yoe's flag
ship the _St Lawrence_, a position requiring much nautical
skill, as the huge kraken drew twenty-three feet of water, and
carried something like a hundred guns. Few men were better known
or more esteemed in Canada than Bishop Richardson. He died in
1875, full of years and full of honours, beloved and regretted by
all classes of the community.] By this time Kate had a hearty
supper ready for the wanderers, to which they did ample justice
before returning with grateful hearts to their old lodgings in the
capacious attic. By such privations and sufferings on the part of
her faithful yeomanry, were the liberties of Canada maintained in
those stormy days of war and conflict.
CHAPTER XII.
A DARK TRAGEDY--THE BURNING OF NIAGARA.
The victory of the British arms in Lower Canada led to vigorous
efforts to drive the American invaders out of the upper province.
Lieutenant-General Drummond assumed command, and at once resolved
to regain possession of Fort George. Early in December he
despatched Colonel Murray from Burlington Heights with a force
of five hundred regulars and Indians to drive in the marauding
bands of the enemy that were pillaging the country. McClure, the
American general, fell back on Niagara and Fort George, and,
fearing an attack in force, and his garrison being much reduced,
resolved to evacuate the fort and abandon the country. But before
doing so he resolved, in obedience to instructions from the War
Department at Washington, to perpetrate an act of inhuman
barbarity which shall hand down his name to infamy so long as the
story shall be told. In order to deprive the British troops of
winter quarters he determined to burn the town of Niagara,
leaving the innocent and non-combatant inhabitants, helpless
women and little children, the sick and infirm, homeless and
shelterless amid the rigours of a Canadian winter.
It is one of the dread results of international conflict that the
inhabitants of the hostile frontiers, who may have previously
dwelt in good fellowship and neighbourly helpfulness, are often
changed to deadly enemies, and even claim for their bitter
hostility the sanctions of duty. There was one conspicuous
exception on the banks of the Niagara. Mary Lawson, the daughter
of the village miller and merchant of the little hamlet of
Youngstown, that nestled under the wing of Fort Niagara on the
American side of the river, was as blithe and bonnie a lass of
eighteen summers as ever gladdened a father's heart. Admirers Mary
had in plenty, but the must eligible of them all, in the opinion
of the village gossips, was young Ensign Roberts, attached to the
American forces at the Fort.
Not so, however, thought Mary. The favoured of her heart was a
smart young Canadian, who for some time had acted as clerk in her
father's store, and had shortly before opened a small
establishment of his own on the opposite side of the river, in the
thriving village of Niagara. Every Sunday young Morton crossed in
his own light skiff to attend church with Mary; and on summer
evenings many were the pleasant sails they had upon the shining
reaches of the river, watching the sun go down in golden glory in
the bosom of blue Ontario, and the silver moon bathe in its pale
light the bosky foliage of the shores, beneath which, dark and
heavy, crouched the stealthy shadows, while the river rippled
calmly by.
With the outbreak of the war, however, these pleasant sails and
visits ceased. George Morton naturally espoused the cause of his
native country, with which, too, all his commercial interests were
identified. This brought him at once under the ban of Mary's
father, and his visits were interdicted. Ensign Roberts took
advantage of the absence of his rival to press his suit, which
Squire Lawson favoured as being likely, he thought, to wean Mary
from her forbidden attachment to one who was now her country's
foe. But he little knew the depth and the strength of a woman's
affection. The more her royalist lover was aspersed and maligned,
the more warmly glowed her love, the more firm was her resolve to
be faithful unto death.
In the action which led to the British evacuation of Fort George,
young Morton took an active part in endeavouring to repel the
invasion of his country. As barge after barge transferred to the
shore, under cover of a heavy fire, the hostile force from the
crescent-shaped fleet that lay moored on the blue bosom of the
lake before the town, he with the militia company to which he was
attached, was lying in a hollow near the beach, to check if
possible the advance of the foe. A round shot from the fleet
struck the ground in front of him, covering him with earth and
breaking the arm with which he was loading his musket. At the same
moment a bullet from the enemy struck his nearest comrade, passing
right through his body as he lay upon the ground. A slight quiver
convulsed his frame, and then it was at rest forever. As the foe
advanced in force, driving back the British, George, unable to
retreat as rapidly as the rest, was taken prisoner and with others
sent across to the American fort.
Personally, George Morton received every kindness from the officer
and surgeons of the American hospital; and in the gentle
ministrations of Mary Lawson, which he shared with the rest of the
wounded, he found a compensation for all his sufferings. Upon his
partial convalescence he was released on parole, and returned to
Niagara to look after his disorganized and partially ruined
business. By his skill and industry, aided by the fictitious
prosperity caused by the presence of a numerous army, before the
winter it had become again exceedingly flourishing, but only to be
ruthlessly and completely destroyed.
Amid the active preparations made for the transfer of the American
forces and _materiel_ of war across the river, preparatory to
the destruction of Niagara, intelligence of the atrocious design
came to the knowledge of Mary Lawson, chiefly through the
indignant dissent and remonstrance of some of McClure's own
officers against the unsoldier-like cruelty. The intrepid girl's
resolve was taken on the instant. She determined under cover of
the night to give the alarm to Morton, and through him to the
inhabitants, that they might, if possible, frustrate the infamous
design, or at least rescue their moveable property from
destruction.
It required no small courage to carry out her purpose. The winter
had set in early and severe. The river was running full of ice,
which rendered crossing, especially by night, exceedingly
perilous. To this was added the danger of being challenged, and it
might be shot, by the sentries of the American camp. But when did
true love in man or woman stop to calculate chances, or hesitate
to encounter danger or even death for the beloved one?
It was on the 9th of December--a bleak, cold, cloudy night--that
Mary, having secured the aid of her father's faithful servant,
Michael O'Brian, a jolly but rather stupid Irishman, who knew no
fear, escaped through the window of her room after the family had
retired to rest, which was not till near midnight, and set forth
on her perilous mission of mercy. In order to avoid the American
sentries they attempted to cross about a mile above the camp, and
in the murky darkness, fearlessly launched their little boat,
steering by the lights in the town, slumbering unconscious of its
fate, where some patient watcher kept her vigil beside a sick bed.
The dark water eddied and gurgled amid the ice-floes, from which a
ghastly gleam was reflected, like that from the face of a corpse
dimly seen amid the dark. Occasionally a huge fragment of ice
would grate, and crash, and crunch against the frail ribs of the
boat, as if eager to crush it and frustrate the generous purpose
of its passengers. But the strong arm of O'Brian pushed a way
through the ice, while Mary sat wrapped in her cloak and in busy
meditation in the bottom of the boat.
But they had not calculated on the strength, of the current, and
the resistance of the ice. In spite of every effort they were
being rapidly borne down the stream. Another danger stared them in
the face. Should they be carried into the lake with the floating
ice, they might before morning be drifted out of sight of land and
perish miserably of cold or hunger; or be dashed upon the ice-
bound shore, where they could hear the waves roar harshly, like
sea-beasts howling for their prey.
But the bitter north wind, which had been such a source of
discomfort, now proved their salvation from this imminent danger.
Blowing fresher every moment it arrested the ice-drift, and formed
a solid barrier from shore to shore and extending far up the
river. But this in turn effectually prevented the progress of the
little boat which had almost readied the Canadian shore; and worse
still, the dim grey light of morning began to dawn.
Suddenly the sight of a black object in the middle of a white
field of now dense ice, and the sound of O'Brian's oar striving to
force a passage through, caught the watchful eye and ear of the
sentry near whose beat they had unfortunately drifted.
"Halt!" rang out sharp and clear on the frosty air the challenge
of the sentry.
"Faith an' it's halted fast enough I am," answered Mickey.
"Who goes there?" repeated the sentry's voice.
"Sure I don't go at all, that's what's the matther," said the
boatman, unconsciously anticipating a slang phrase of later times.
"Advance and give the countersign," exclaimed the enraged soldier,
who in martinet obedience to discipline, would challenge a
drowning man before trying to save him.
"It's that same I would if I could," replied the bewildered
Irishman, "but I can't walk on wather, and this ice-slush isn't
much betther." "Unless you answer, I'll fire," shouted the sentry,
to whom Mickey's maunderings, half drowned by the crashing ice and
gusty wind, were unintelligible.
"Au' that same is the very thing I want, for it's starved wid the
cowld I am," said the shivering creature, who with characteristic
ingenuity had failed to apprehend the meaning of the menace
addressed to him. But a sudden flash and the dull thud of a bullet
against the ice beside him interpreted to his sluggish brain the
danger in which he stood.
"The saints be betune us an' harm," he exclaimed, devoutly
crossing himself. "Oh, sure ye won't murder a body in cowld blood
who's kilt entirely already. It's half drownded and froze I am,
without being riddled like a cullender wid your bullets as well."
"Why, Mickey O'Brian!" exclaimed the astonished soldier, who had
by the gun-flash recognized the familiar features of a quondam
friend; "why on earth didn't you tell your name, man? I might have
killed you as dead as a door-nail."
"An' a purty thrickit 'ud be for ye, too, Tommy Daily. It's not ashamed
of my name I am, an' if I'd know'd it was you, I'd tould ye before.
But help us out of this an' I'll bear ye no malice whativer."
The guard had turned out at the report of the gun, and getting
such planks as were available laid them on the floating ice; but
still they could not reach the boat. Tommy Daily with fertile
ingenuity tying some twine to his ramrod fired it over the skiff,
when it was easy to send out a strong fisherman's line, which Mick
tied to the thwarts, and a dozen strong arms drew the boat
ashore. [Footnote: The present writer witnessed the rescue of a
shipwrecked crew, in the manner here described, near this very
spot.]
The benumbed form of Mary was borne to the guard-room, and Ensign
Roberts, the officer of the night, immediately sent for.
"Why, Miss Lawson!" he exclaimed with astonishment, "to what can
we owe your presence at such a time and place as this?"
"To the inhumanity of your commander, and to my desire to rescue
an innocent people from its consequences."
"I regret, Miss Lawson, that my military duty prevents my
permitting you to carry out your generous purpose. You will be
entertained hero as comfortably as our rude accommodation will
allow till the river clears, when you will be sent safely home."
"Is this your generosity to a fallen foe, Mr. Roberts?" she
exclaimed; but, too proud to ask a favour from a discarded suitor,
she relapsed into haughty silence.
But Colonel McClure was not without plain-spoken remonstrance
against his contemplated act of inhumanity. In the prosecution of
his spiritual functions Neville Trueman had free access to the
people of the town of Niagara, many of whom were members, of his
church or congregation. Among these a large number of American
soldiers were billeted, and very burdensome and unwelcome guests
they were. From the unusual commotion and covert threats and hints
dropped by the soldiers on the eve of the evacuation, Trueman
apprehended some serious disaster to the towns-people. With the
prompt energy by which he was characterized, he resolved to
proceed to head-quarters and to intercede for the devoted town. He
was received by Colonel McClure with a cold and repellent dignity,
and obtained only evasive answers. As he was about to leave the
presence of that officer, the Colonel said in a constrained
manner,--
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 | 7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 |
12