Perhaps it would be wiser to end the tale of misery here, but as the chapter would seem incomplete, it may be necessary to make slight allusion to a wilder and more terrible fire.
The consummation of terror, madness, and dismay, depicted in its most awful form, would fail to do justice to this sickening calamity—the Miramichi fire.
The forests, for hundreds of miles in every direction, were one solid mass of living fire, roaring louder than thunder; in its fury shaking the bowels of the earth and leaping up to the heavens which seemed, also, to be enveloped in flames. Nothing more awful will be witnessed until the judgment day. Many were of opinion that the time was at hand when "the heavens and earth shall melt away." Hundreds lost their lives, while property was destroyed to an immense amount.
An ordinary mind would have sunk under the weight of grievances that pressed on all sides; but Sir Howard Douglas rose above the situation. With Spartan firmness and unswerving courage he set about raising means for the distressed by subscription, both at home and abroad, in money, food, and clothing. Letters were sent to all parts of America, England, and Ireland. Not thus content, Sir Howard went himself to visit burnt districts where man or beast could scarcely penetrate, climbing over miles of fallen brushwood. Those poor creatures tried to show their gratitude by words, but were unable. Their tears were a more gracious tribute than jewels—being the grateful offering of a stricken community. Their benefactor had conveyed provision for their sustenance, and clothing for their wives and families. Many were the fervent prayers offered for their noble-hearted and humane ruler, and none more gratefully acknowledged these than he.
Much more might be told in connection with those sad events, but as the details might not be acceptable to the reader, therefore we refrain.
Once more gathered in their home, the family of Sir Howard were not inactive. The spirit of charity was manifest in every action of those lovely girls. Mary Douglas and Lady Rosamond had formed a sewing circle, to which they invited some of their young acquaintances. In this charitable employment they spent many hours. Clothing was made and distributed with increasing demand. The severity of winter caused many poor people to look for assistance in every possible form. Gaiety was for a time forgotten. Festive parties and sumptuous array were set aside for the necessities of the season.
It is a well established fact that the miseries of others often alleviate our own. To none could this application be more forcible than Lady Rosamond. In her bitterness of heart she experienced a quiet relief in assisting her companions to provide clothing for the sufferers. The scenes through which she had passed counterbalanced the feelings she had hitherto experienced and taught her gentle resignation. Her thoughts were of a more serious nature—a source whence she derived much comfort. Her parent's views were unaltered; her hopes were no brighter in the distant future, but, as afterwards expressed, she had more strength given her from the bitter trials of suffering humanity.
As Christmas drew nigh the inmates of Government House could not resist a desire to look back to the joyous season which they had passed in the home now laid low, its surrounding woods, their pleasant excursions, and the extensive preparations in decorating for the festive scenes that followed.
Pioneer Johnnie was loud in regrets for the apparent neglect which the sylvan deities must naturally feel by his temporary absence from their select and stately assemblages.
"Keep up your spirits, Master Johnnie," once remarked Lady Rosamond, "the next time we go back the trees will recognize the compliment with music and grateful homage."