The Trapper's Son

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“Friends,” he said, “according to Indian custom you might kill them; but I have learned a new law, which is just and true—given me by an all-powerful, kind, and merciful Master, who commands His servants to forgive their enemies, and to do good to those who injure them. Our prisoners were doing a wicked thing, and have been severely punished, for one of their number lies dead. I would that he were alive again, that he might hear what I have to say. I must pray you, therefore, to let these men go. We will take their arms, that they may do us no further injury; but we will give them food, that they may return to their friends, to tell them about the love of our great Father; that He desires all His children to serve Him, and to be at peace with each other.”

Peter then, in a simple way, suited to the comprehension of his hearers, unfolded to them the gospel plan of salvation. The Blackfeet listened with astonished ears, and could scarcely believe the fact that they were allowed to go free and uninjured. Peter then invited them to the fort, and promised to receive them as friends, and to tell them more of the wonderful things of which he had spoken. The coals of fire which he heaped on their heads appeared really to have softened their hearts. Having, with the assistance of the Crees, buried their companion, by Peter’s desire their arms were unbound, and they were set at liberty. Uttering expressions of gratitude such as rarely fall from an Indian’s lips, they took their departure, promising ere long to pay him a visit at the fort.

A night’s rest sufficiently restored old Michael to enable him to commence his journey on one of the horses to the fort, while the other carried his peltries and traps. Laurence walked all the way at the head of his steed, endeavouring by his conversation to keep up the spirits of his father, and never failing, at every opportunity, to introduce the subject nearest his heart. The old man listened to what he said; but he seldom made any answer. He offered, however, no opposition to his remarks. Frequently Laurence feared that he would sink from the effects of his wounds; but his life was mercifully preserved, and at length the fort was reached.

There was sincere rejoicing as Laurence was seen leading his father’s horse up to the gate. The old trapper was carried into Mr Ramsay’s house, and there received that watchful care he so greatly needed. He gradually recovered his strength. One of his first visitors was Mr Martin. His object, as may be supposed, was not to talk of temporal affairs, but to unfold to him, as he perceived that his mind was capable of comprehending it, God’s merciful plan of salvation.

The old man’s heart, unlike that of his young son, appeared so hardened and seared, from having long rejected Divine truth, that some people might have given up the attempt in despair; but Mr Martin had too much knowledge of the human heart, and too firm a faith of the all-powerful influence of God the Holy Spirit, to relax his efforts. From no idle curiosity, he endeavoured to draw from Michael some account of his early life. He was, he found, an Englishman, and that he had been for some time married and settled in Canada, when he had joined the rebellion which broke out many years ago against the authority of the British Government. Having acted as a leader in some of the more desperate enterprises in which a few of the misguided inhabitants engaged at that time, a price was set on his head. He escaped, however, to the wilds of the Far West, where, both from inclination and necessity, he had taken to the pursuit of a trapper. He quickly learned the language both of the Crees and Sioux, and other tribes among whom he wandered. He gained their confidence and friendship;—he believed, indeed, that he could lead them to any purpose he might entertain, and all sorts of wild plans passed through his mind. One enterprise he was, unfortunately, able to carry out. One of his daughters had married a gentleman of some property who had been a firm adherent of the Government, and Moggs had, in consequence, conceived a bitter hatred against him, which time in no way had lessened. Several years passed by, when he heard that his daughter had a son, then about four years of age; and he formed the barbarous idea of carrying off the child. He had little difficulty in obtaining the assistance of a band of Indians; and, disguising himself as one of them, he led an attack on the place, and succeeded too well in his nefarious project. As the country was in a disturbed state at the time, the attack was supposed to have been instigated by American sympathisers, and the real culprit was not suspected. Making good his retreat, he did not stop till he had got many hundred miles away from the borders of Canada; and believing that he might still be traced, he placed the child under charge of an old squaw belonging to a tribe of Sioux, with whom he had formed a friendship. Strangely inconsistent as it would seem, an affection for the boy grew up in his hard heart; and in time, oppressed with the solitary life he had doomed himself to lead, he determined to make him his companion in his trapping expeditions.

“Has no remorse ever visited you?” asked Mr Martin, when the old man had finished his narrative.

“Yes, sometimes my thoughts have been terrible,” groaned Michael.

“Then pray God that it may be a repentance to salvation not to be repented of. With regard, however, to your temporal affairs, my friend, I can assure you that, through the clemency of the Queen of England, all the rebels in Canada at the time you speak of have been forgiven.”

“Ah, sir,” exclaimed Michael Moggs, “the Queen may have forgiven some, but she cannot have forgiven me. You must, I am sure, be mistaken.”

“But, my friend, if I can show you her proclamation, in which she declares that she overlooks and pardons all those rebellious subjects who rose against her authority, and allows those who have fled the country to return under her rule, would you then believe me?”