The Man from Glengarry: A Tale of the Ottawa

by Ralph Connor

  CHAPTER XVI

  AND THE GLORY

  The first communion in the new church was marked by very greatsolemnity. There were few new members, but among the older men who hadhitherto kept "back from the table" there was a manifest anxiety, andamong the younger people a very great seriousness. The "coming forward"of Macdonald Dubh was an event so remarkable as to make a greatimpression not only upon all the Macdonald men who had been associatedwith him so many years in the lumbering, but also upon the wholecongregation, to whom his record and reputation were well known. Hischange of attitude to the church and all its interests, as well as hischange of disposition and temperament, were so striking as to leave inno one's mind any doubt as to the genuineness of his "change of heart,"and every week made this more apparent. A solemn sense of responsibilityand an intensity of earnestness seemed to possess him, while hishumility and gentleness were touching to see.

  On the evening of Monday, the day of thanksgiving in the Sacrament Week,a great congregation assembled for the closing meeting of the CommunionSeason. During the progress of the meeting, Mr. Murray and the ministersassisting him became aware that they were in the presence of someremarkable and mysterious phenomenon. The people listened to the Wordwith an intensity, response, and eagerness that gave token of a stateof mind and heart wholly unusual. Here and there, while the psalms werebeing sung or prayers being offered, women and men would break down inaudible weeping; and in the preaching the speaker was conscious of apower possessing him that he could not explain.

  At length the last psalm was given out, and the congregation, contraryto their usual custom, by the minister's direction, rose to sing.As John "Aleck" led the people in that great volume of praise, theministers held a hasty consultation in the pulpit. The professor hadnever seen anything so marvelous; Mr. Murray was reminded of the days ofW. C. Burns. The question was, What was to be done? Should the meetingsbe continued, or should they close tonight? They had a great fear ofreligious excitement. They had seen something of the dreadful reactionfollowing a state of exalted religious feeling. It was the beginning ofharvest, too. Would it be advisable to call the people from their hardwork in the fields to nightly meetings?

  At length, as the congregation were nearing the close of the psalm,the professor spoke. "Brethren," he said, "this is not our work. Let usleave it to the Lord to decide. Put the question to the people and abideby their decision."

  After the psalm was sung, the minister motioned the congregation totheir seats, and without comment or suggestion, put before them thequestion that had been discussed in the pulpit. Was it their desire thatthe meetings should be continued or not? A deep, solemn silence layupon the crowded church, and for some time no one moved. Then thecongregation were startled to see Macdonald Dubh rise slowly from hisplace in the middle of the church.

  "Mr. Murray," he said, in a voice that vibrated strangely, "you willpardon me for letting my voice be heard in this place. It is the voiceof a great sinner."

  "Speak, Mr. Macdonald," said the minister, "and I thank God for thesound of your voice in His house."

  "It is not for me to make any speeches here. I will only make bold togive my word that the meetings be continued. It may be that the Lord,who has done such great things for me, will do great things for othersalso." And with that he sat down.

  "I will take that for a motion," said the minister. "Will any one secondit?"

  Kenny Crubach at once rose and said: "We are always slow at followingthe Lord. Let us go forward."

  The minister waited for some moments after Kenny had spoken, and thensaid, in a voice grave and with a feeling of responsibility in it: "Youhave heard these brethren, my people. I wait for the expression of yourdesire."

  Like one man the great congregation rose to their feet. It was a sceneprofoundly impressive, and with these serious-minded, sober people, onethat indicated overwhelming emotion.

  And thus the great revival began.

  For eighteen months, night after night, every night in the week exceptSaturday, the people gathered in such numbers as to fill the new churchto the door. Throughout all the busy harvest season, in spite ofthe autumn rains that filled the swamps and made the roads almostimpassable, in the face of the driving snows of winter, through themelting ice of the spring, and again through the following summer andautumn, the great revival held on. No fictitious means were employedto stir the emotions of the people or to kindle excitement among them.There were neither special sermons nor revival hymns. The old doctrineswere proclaimed, but proclaimed with a fullness and power unknown atother times. The old psalms were sung, but sung perhaps as they hadnever been before. For when John "Aleck's" mighty voice rolled forth inits full power, and when his band of trained singers followed, liftingonward with them the great congregation--for every man, woman, andchild sang with full heart and open throat--the effect was somethingaltogether wonderful and worth hearing. Each night there was a sermon bythe minister, who, for six months, till his health broke down, had solecharge of the work. Then the sermon was followed by short addresses orprayers by the elders, and after that the minister would take the men,and his wife the women, for closer and more personal dealing.

  As the revival deepened it became the custom for others than the eldersto take part, by reading a psalm or other Scripture, without comment, orby prayer. There was a shrinking from anything like a violent display ofemotion, and from any unveiling of the sacred secrets of the heart, butScripture reading or quoting was supposed to express the thoughts, thehopes, the fears, the gratitude, the devotion, that made the religiousexperience of the speaker. This was as far as they considered it safe orseemly to go.

  One of the first, outside the ranks of the elders, to take part in thisway was Macdonald Dubh; then Long John Cameron followed; then PeterMcGregor and others of the men of maturer years. A distinct stage in therevival was reached when young Aleck McRae rose to read his Scripture.He was quickly followed by Don, young Findlayson, and others ofthat age, and from that time onward the old line that had so clearlydistinguished age from youth in respect to religious duty and privilege,was obliterated forever. It had been a strange, if not very doubtful,phenomenon to see a young man "coming forward," or in any way givingindication of religious feeling. But this would never be again.

  It was no small anxiety and grief to Mrs. Murray that Ranald, though heregularly attended the meetings, seemed to remain unmoved by the tide ofreligious feeling that was everywhere surging through the hearts ofthe people. The minister advised letting him alone, but Mrs. Murray wasanxiously waiting for the time when Ranald would come to her. That timecame, but not until long months of weary waiting on her part, and ofpainful struggle on his, had passed.

  From the very first of the great movement his father threw himself intoit with all the earnest intensity of his nature, but at the same timewith a humility that gave token that the memory of the wild days of hisyouth and early manhood were never far away from him. He was eager toserve in the work, and was a constant source of wonder to all who hadknown him in his youth and early manhood. At all the different meetingshe was present. Nothing could keep him away. "Night cometh," he said tohis brother, who was remonstrating with him. His day's work was drawingto its close.

  But Ranald would not let himself see the failing of his father's health,and when, in the harvest, the slightest work in the fields would sendhis father panting to the shade, Ranald would say, "It is the hotweather, father. When the cool days come you will be better. And whyshould you be bothering yourself with the work, anyway? Surely Yankeeand I can look after that." And indeed they seemed to be quite fit totake off the harvest.

  Day by day Ranald swung his cradle after Yankee with all a man'ssteadiness till all the grain was cut; and by the time the harvestwas over, Ranald had developed a strength of muscle and a skill in theharvest work that made him equal of almost any man in the country. Hewas all the more eager to have the harvest work done in time, that hisfather might not fret over his own inability to help. For Ranald
couldnot bear to see the look of disappointment that sometimes showed itselfin his father's face when weakness drove him from the field, and it wasthis that made him throw himself into the work as he did. He was carefulalso to consult with his father in regard to all the details of themanagement of the farm, and to tell him all that he was planning to doas well as all that was done. His father had always been a kind of heroto Ranald, who admired him for his prowess with the gun and the ax, aswell as for his great strength and courage. But ever since calamityhad befallen him, the boy's heart had gone out to his father in a newtenderness, and the last months had drawn the two very close together.It was a dark day for Ranald when he was forced to face the fact thathis father was growing daily weaker. It was his uncle, Macdonald Bhain,who finally made him see it.

  "Your father is failing, Ranald," he said one day toward the close ofharvest.

  "It is the hot weather," said Ranald. "He will be better in the fall."

  "Ranald, my boy," said his uncle, gravely, "your father will fade withthe leaf, and the first snow will lie upon him."

  And then Ranald fairly faced the fact that before long he would be alonein the world. Without any exchange of words, he and his father came tounderstand each other, and they both knew that they were spendingtheir last days on earth together. On the son's side, they were days ofdeepening sorrow; but with the father, every day seemed to bring hima greater peace of mind and a clearer shining of the light that neverfades. To his son, Macdonald Dubh never spoke of the death that he feltto be drawing nearer, but he often spoke to him of the life he wouldlike his son to live. His only other confidant in these matters was theminister's wife. To her Macdonald Dubh opened up his heart, and to her,more than to any one else, he owed his growing peace and light; and itwas touching to see the devotion and the tenderness that he showed toher as often as she came to see him. With his brother, Macdonald Bhain,he made all the arrangements necessary for the disposal of the farm andthe payment of the mortgage.

  Ranald had no desire to be a farmer, and indeed, when the mortgage waspaid there would not be much left.

  "He will be my son," said Macdonald Bhain to his brother; "and my homewill be his while I live."

  So in every way there was quiet preparation for Macdonald Dubh's going,and when at last the day came, there was no haste or fear.

  It was in the afternoon of a bright September day, as the sun wasnearing the tops of the pine-trees in the west. His brother wassupporting him in his strong arms, while Ranald knelt by the bedside.Near him sat the minister's wife, and at a little distance Kirsty.

  "Lift me up, Tonal," said the dying man; "I will be wanting to see thesun again, and then I will be going. I will be going to the land wherethey will not need the light of the sun. Tonal, bhodaich, it is thegood brother you have been to me, and many's the good day we have hadtogether."

  "Och, Hugh, man. Are you going from me?" said Macdonald Bhain, withgreat sorrow in his voice.

  "Aye, Tonal, for a little." Then he looked for a few moments at Kirsty,who was standing at the foot of the bed.

  "Come near me, Kirsty," he said; and Kirsty came to the bedside.

  "You have always been kind to me and mine, and you were kind to HER aswell, and the reward will come to you." Then he turned to Mrs. Murray,and said, with a great light of joy in his eyes: "It is you that came tome as the angel of God with a word of salvation, and forever more I willbe blessing you." And then he added, in a voice full of tenderness,"I will be telling her about you." He took Mrs. Murray's hand andtremblingly lifted it to his lips.

  "It has been a great joy to me," said Mrs. Murray, with difficultysteadying her voice, "to see you come to your Saviour, Mr. Macdonald."

  "Aye, I know it well," he said; and then he added, in a voice that sankalmost to a whisper, "Now you will be reading the prayer." And Mrs.Murray, opening her Gaelic Bible, repeated in her clear, soft voice, thewords of the Lord's Prayer. Through all the petitions he followed her,until he came to the words, "Forgive us our debts." There he paused.

  "Ranald, my man," he said, raising his hand with difficulty and layingit upon the boy's head, "you will listen to me now. Some day you willfind the man that brought me to this, and you will say to him that yourfather forgave him freely, and wished him all the blessing of God. Youwill promise me this, Ranald?" said Macdonald Dubh.

  "Yes, father," said Ranald, lifting his head, and looking into hisfather's face.

  "And, Ranald, you, too, will be forgiving him?" But to this there was noreply. Ranald's head was buried in the bed.

  "Ah," said Macdonald Dubh, with difficulty, "you are your father's son;but you will not be laying this bitterness upon me now. You will beforgiving him, Ranald?"

  "Oh, father!" cried Ranald, with a breaking voice, "how can I forgivehim? How can I forgive the man who has taken you away from me?"

  "It is no man," replied his father, "but the Lord himself; the Lord whohas forgiven your father much. I am waiting to hear you, Ranald."

  Then, with a great sob, Ranald broke forth: "Oh, father, I will forgivehim," and immediately became quiet, and so continued to the end.

  After some moments of silence, Macdonald Dubh looked once more towardthe minister's wife, and a radiant smile spread over his face.

  "You will be finishing," he said.

  Her face was wet with tears, and for a few moments she could not speak.But it was no time to fail in duty, so, commanding her tears, with aclear, unwavering voice she went on to the end of the prayer--

  "For thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory, forever and ever.Amen."

  "Glory!" said Macdonald Dubh after her. "Aye, the Glory. Ranald, my boy,where are you? You will be following me, lad, to the Glory. SHE will beasking me about you. You will be following me, lad?"

  The anxious note in his voice struck Ranald to the heart.

  "Oh, father, it is what I want," he replied, brokenly. "I will try."

  "Aye," said Macdonald Dubh, "and you will come. I will be telling HER.Now lay me down, Tonal; I will be going."

  Macdonald Bhain laid him quietly back on his pillow, and for a moment helay with his eyes closed.

  Once more he opened his eyes, and with a troubled look upon his face,and in a voice of doubt and fear, he cried: "It is a sinful man, O Lord,a sinful man."

  His eyes wandered till they fell on Mrs. Murray's face, and then thetrouble and fear passed out of them, and in a gentler voice he said:"Forgive us our debts." Then, feeling with his hand till it rested onhis son's head, Macdonald Dubh passed away, at peace with men and withGod.

  There was little sadness and no bitter grief at Macdonald Dubh'sfuneral. The tone all through was one of triumph, for they all knew hislife, and how sore the fight had been, and how he had won his victory.His humility and his gentleness during the last few weeks of his lifehad removed all the distance that had separated him from the people,and had drawn their hearts toward him; and now in his final triumph theycould not find it in their hearts to mourn.

  But to Ranald the sadness was more than the triumph. Through the wild,ungoverned years of his boyhood his father had been more than a fatherto him. He had been a friend, sharing a common lot, and without muchshow of tenderness, understanding and sympathizing with him, and nowthat his father had gone from him, a great loneliness fell upon the lad.

  The farm and its belongings were sold. Kirsty brought with her the bigbox of blankets and linen that had belonged to Ranald's mother. Ranaldtook his mother's Gaelic Bible, his father's gun and ax, and with thegreat deerhound, Bugle, and his colt, Lisette, left the home of hischildhood behind him, and with his Aunt Kirsty, went to live with hisuncle.

  Throughout the autumn months he was busy helping his uncle with theplowing, the potatoes, and the fall work. Soon the air began to nip,and the night's frost to last throughout the shortening day, and thenMacdonald Bhain began to prepare wood for the winter, and to make allthings snug about the house and barn; and when the first fall of snowfell softly, he took down his broad-ax, and th
en Ranald knew that thegang would soon be off again for the shanties. That night his uncletalked long with him about his future.

  "I have no son, Ranald," he said, as they sat talking; "and, for yourfather's sake and for your own, it is my desire that you should becomea son to me, and there is no one but yourself to whom the farm would go.And glad will I be if you will stay with me. But, stay or not, all thatI have will be yours, if it please the Lord to spare you."

  "I would want nothing better," said Ranald, "than to stay with you andwork with you, but I do not draw toward the farm."

  "And what else would you do, Ranald?"

  "Indeed, I know not," said Ranald, "but something else than farming. Butmeantime I should like to go to the shanties with you this winter."

  And so, when the Macdonald gang went to the woods that winter, Ranald,taking his father's ax, went with them. And so clever did the boy provehimself that by the time they brought down their raft in the springthere was not a man in all the gang that Macdonald Bhain would soonerhave at his back in a tight place than his nephew Ranald. And, indeed,those months in the woods made a man out of the long, lanky boy, sothat, on the first Sabbath after the shantymen came home, not many inthe church that day would have recognized the dark-faced, stalwart youthhad it not been that he sat in the pew beside Macdonald Bhain. It waswith no small difficulty that the minister's wife could keep her littleboy quiet in the back seat, so full of pride and joy was he at theappearance of his hero; but after the service was over, Hughie couldbe no longer restrained. Pushing his way eagerly through the crowd, heseized upon Ranald and dragged him to his mother.

  "Here he is, mother!" he exclaimed, to Ranald's great confusion, and tothe amusement of all about him. "Isn't he splendid?"

  And as Ranald greeted Mrs. Murray with quiet, grave courtesy, she feltthat his winter in the woods and on the river had forever put behind himhis boyhood, and that henceforth he would take his place among the men.And looking at his strong, composed, grave face, she felt that thatplace ought not to be an unworthy one.