Black Rock by Ralph Connor (inspirational books for students TXT) 📖

he had ‘nae doot was a clever enough buddie, tae judge by her son.’ Abe was speedily appeased, and offered to set up the drinks all round. But Geordie, with evident reluctance, had to decline, saying, ‘Na, na, lad, I’m a League man ye ken,’ and I was sure that Geordie at that moment felt that membership in the League had its drawbacks.

Nor was Geordie too sure of Craig’s orthodoxy; while as to Mrs. Mavor, whose slave he was, he was in the habit of lamenting her doctrinal condition—

‘She’s a fine wumman, nae doot; but, puir cratur, she’s fair carried awa wi’ the errors o’ thae Epeescopawlyuns.’

It fell to Geordie, therefore, as a sacred duty, in view of the laxity of those who seemed to be the pillars of the Church, to be all the more watchful and unyielding. But he was delightfully inconsistent when confronted with particulars. In conversation with him one night after one of the meetings, when he had been specially hard upon the ignorant and godless, I innocently changed the subject to Billy Breen, whom Geordie had taken to his shack since the night of the League. He was very proud of Billy’s success in the fight against whisky, the credit of which he divided unevenly between Mrs. Mavor and himself.

‘He’s fair daft aboot her,’ he explained to me, ‘an’ I’ll no’ deny but she’s a great help, ay, a verra conseederable asseestance; but, man, she doesna ken the whusky, an’ the inside o’ a man that’s wantin’ it. Ay, puir buddie, she diz her pairt, an’ when ye’re a bit restless an thrawn aifter yer day’s wark, it’s like a walk in a bonnie glen on a simmer eve, with the birds liltin’ aboot, tae sit in yon roomie and hear her sing; but when the night is on, an’ ye canna sleep, but wauken wi’ an’ awfu’ thurst and wi’ dreams o’ cosy firesides, and the bonnie sparklin’ glosses, as it is wi’ puir Billy, ay, it’s then ye need a man wi’ a guid grup beside ye.’

‘What do you do then, Geordie?’ I asked.

‘Oo ay, I juist gang for a bit walk wi’ the lad, and then pits the kettle on an’ maks a cup o’ tea or coffee, an’ aff he gangs tae sleep like a bairn.’

‘Poor Billy,’ I said pityingly, ‘there’s no hope for him in the future, I fear.’

‘Hoot awa, man,’ said Geordie quickly. ‘Ye wadna keep oot a puir cratur frae creepin’ in, that’s daein’ his best?’

‘But, Geordie,’ I remonstrated, ‘he doesn’t know anything of the doctrines. I don’t believe he could give us “The Chief End of Man.”’

‘An’ wha’s tae blame for that?’ said Geordie, with fine indignation. ‘An’ maybe you remember the prood Pharisee and the puir wumman that cam’ creepin’ in ahint the Maister.’

The mingled tenderness and indignation in Geordie’s face were beautiful to see, so I meekly answered, ‘Well, I hope Mr. Craig won’t be too strict with the boys.’

Geordie shot a suspicious glance at me, but I kept my face like a summer morn, and he replied cautiously—

‘Ay, he’s no’ that streect: but he maun exerceese discreemination.’

Geordie was none the less determined, however, that Billy should ‘come forrit’; but as to the manager, who was a member of the English Church, and some others who had been confirmed years ago, and had forgotten much and denied more, he was extremely doubtful, and expressed himself in very decided words to the minister—

‘Ye’ll no’ be askin’ forrit thae Epeescopawlyun buddies. They juist ken naething ava.’

But Mr. Craig looked at him for a moment and said, “Him that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out,”’ and Geordie was silent, though he continued doubtful.

With all these somewhat fantastic features, however, there was no mistaking the earnest spirit of the men. The meetings grew larger every night, and the interest became more intense. The singing became different. The men no longer simply shouted, but as Mr. Craig would call attention to the sentiment of the hymn, the voices would attune themselves to the words. Instead of encouraging anything like emotional excitement, Mr. Craig seemed to fear it.

‘These chaps are easily stirred up,’ he would say, ‘and I am anxious that they should know exactly what they are doing. It is far too serious a business to trifle with.’

Although Graeme did not go downstairs to the meetings, he could not but feel the throb of the emotion beating in the heart of the community. I used to detail for his benefit, and sometimes for his amusement, the incidents of each night. But I never felt quite easy in dwelling upon the humorous features in Mrs. Mavor’s presence, although Craig did not appear to mind. His manner with Graeme was perfect. Openly anxious to win him to his side, he did not improve the occasion and vex him with exhortation. He would not take him at a disadvantage, though, as I afterwards found, this was not his sole reason for his method. Mrs. Mavor, too, showed herself in wise and tender light. She might have been his sister, so frank was she and so openly affectionate, laughing at his fretfulness and soothing his weariness.

Never were better comrades than we four, and the bright days speeding so swiftly on drew us nearer to one another.

But the bright days came to an end; for Graeme, when once he was able to go about, became anxious to get back to the camp. And so the last day came, a day I remember well. It was a bright, crisp winter day.

The air was shimmering in the frosty light. The mountains, with their shining heads piercing through light clouds into that wonderful blue of the western sky, and their feet pushed into the pine masses, gazed down upon Black Rock with calm, kindly looks on their old grey faces. How one grows to love them, steadfast old friends! Far up among the pines we could see the smoke of the engine at the works, and so still and so clear was the mountain air that we could hear the puff of the steam, and from far down the river the murmur of the rapids. The majestic silence, the tender beauty, the peace, the loneliness, too, came stealing in upon us, as we three, leaving Mrs. Mavor behind us, marched arm-in-arm down the street. We had not gone far on our way, when Graeme, turning round, stood a moment looking back, then waved his hand in farewell. Mrs. Mavor was at her window, smiling and waving in return. They had grown to be great friends these two; and seemed to have arrived at some understanding. Certainly, Graeme’s manner to her was not that he bore to other women. His half-quizzical, somewhat superior air of mocking devotion gave place to a simple, earnest, almost tender, respect, very new to him, but very winning.

As he stood there waving his farewell, I glanced at his face and saw for a moment what I had not seen for years, a faint flush on Graeme’s cheek and a light of simple, earnest faith in his eyes. It reminded me of my first look of him when he had come up for his matriculation to the ‘Varsity. He stood on the campus looking up at the noble old pile, and there was the same bright, trustful, earnest look on his boyish face.

I know not what spirit possessed me; it may have been the pain of the memory working in me, but I said, coarsely enough, ‘It’s no use, Graeme, my boy; I would fall in love with her myself, but there would be no chance even for me.’

The flush slowly darkened as he turned and said deliberately—

‘It’s not like you, Connor, to be an ass of that peculiar kind. Love!—not exactly! She won’t fall in love unless—’ and he stopped abruptly with his eyes upon Craig.

But Craig met him with unshrinking gaze, quietly remarking, ‘Her heart is under the pines’; and we moved on, each thinking his own thoughts, and guessing at the thoughts of the others.

We were on our way to Craig’s shack, and as we passed the saloon Slavin stepped from the door with a salutation. Graeme paused. ‘Hello, Slavin! I got rather the worst of it, didn’t I?’

Slavin came near, and said earnestly, ‘It was a dirty thrick altogether; you’ll not think it was moine, Mr. Graeme.’

‘No, no, Slavin! you stood up like a man,’ said Graeme cheerfully.

‘And you bate me fair; an’ bedad it was a nate one that laid me out; an’ there’s no grudge in me heart till ye.’

‘All right, Slavin; we’ll perhaps understand each other better after this.’

‘An’ that’s thrue for yez, sor; an’ I’ll see that your byes don’t get any more than they ask for,’ replied Slavin, backing away.

‘And I hope that won’t be much,’ put in Mr. Craig; but Slavin only grinned.

When we came to Craig’s shack Graeme was glad to rest in the big chair.

Craig made him a cup of tea, while I smoked, admiring much the deft neatness of the minister’s housekeeping, and the gentle, almost motherly, way he had with Graeme.

In our talk we drifted into the future, and Craig let us see what were his ambitions. The railway was soon to come; the resources were, as yet, unexplored, but enough was known to assure a great future for British Columbia. As he talked his enthusiasm grew, and carried us away. With the eye of a general he surveyed the country, fixed the strategic points which the Church must seize upon. Eight good men would hold the country from Fort Steele to the coast, and from Kootenay to Cariboo.

‘The Church must be in with the railway; she must have a hand in the shaping of the country. If society crystallises without her influence, the country is lost, and British Columbia will be another trap-door to the bottomless pit.’

‘What do you propose?’ I asked.

‘Organising a little congregation here in Black Rock.’

‘How many will you get?’

‘Don’t know.’

‘Pretty hopeless business,’ I said.

‘Hopeless! hopeless!’ he cried; ‘there were only twelve of us at first to follow Him, and rather a poor lot they were. But He braced them up, and they conquered the world.’

‘But surely things are different,’ said Graeme.

‘Things? Yes! yes! But He is the same.’ His face had an exalted look, and his eyes were gazing into faraway places.

‘A dozen men in Black Rock with some real grip of Him would make things go. We’ll get them, too,’ he went on in growing excitement. ‘I believe in my soul we’ll get them.’

‘Look here, Craig; if you organise I’d like to join,’ said Graeme impulsively. ‘I don’t believe much in your creed or your Church, but I’ll be blowed if I don’t believe in you.’

Craig looked at him with wistful eyes, and shook his head. ‘It won’t do, old chap, you know. I can’t hold you. You’ve got to have a grip of some one better than I am; and then, besides, I hardly like asking you now’; he hesitated—‘well, to be out-and- out, this step must be taken not for my sake, nor for any man’s sake, and I fancy that perhaps you feel like pleasing me just now a little.’

‘That I do, old fellow,’ said Graeme, putting out his hand. ‘I’ll be hanged if I won’t do anything you say.’

‘That’s why I won’t say,’ replied Craig. Then reverently he added, ‘the organisation is not mine. It is my Master’s.’

‘When are you going to begin?’ asked Graeme.

‘We shall have our communion service in two weeks, and that will be our roll-call.’

‘How many will answer?’ I asked doubtfully.

‘I know of three,’ he said quietly.

‘Three!