CHAPTER XV.

 CHAPTER XV.  A ROMANTIC WEDDING. 1815. There came a time early in the life of Rug, the Chief's youngest son, when love of adventure gave way to a deeper, holier love. One beatific vision was ever before him—the vision of a beautiful girl just budding into womanhood. The first glimpse he ever had of Hannah Chamberlain was at the little Congregational meeting-house, which had been supplied with a pastor by the Congregational Board of Massachusetts in response to an appeal from the settlers. He often sat gazing at her through the whole service, and whenever she looked towards him now and then she might have read in his tell-tale face the passionate emotion which stirred his heart. He was at a loss to understand why her presence had such a strange influence over him. "She reminds me more of mother than any woman I have ever met," he mused, as he turned over the leaves of the hymn-book carelessly. Just then Mr. Meach, who had been preaching of the love of Christ, hesitated to find a passage in the old Testament which he intended to read to the congregation. It was the momentary pause which led Rug to listen to the preaching, for he had not heard a word of what had gone before. "David, in his lament over Jonathan, said: 'Very pleasant hast thou been unto me. Thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of women.' Sweeter, stronger, fuller and better than any earthly love," continued the preacher, "is the love of Christ to us. Add together all the love of all the loving hearts in the world, multiply it by infinity, and you will have a faint idea of what the love of God in Christ is. He loves you, my brethren, absorbingly, unutterably." "What is this strange sensation that has come over me," said Rug to himself, "that seems to possess my thoughts and emotions whenever I see that beautiful girl, or hear of love?" The more he thought of it the more puzzled he became, for hitherto there had been but little deep sentiment about Rug, who believed more in the common-place than in the romantic. He never had any inclination to read love stories, which he regarded as unreal and unnatural. But now the probability of the improbable surprised and amused him. "This is positively absurd," he said to himself, as he stood with the rest of the congregation to receive the benediction. It was a relief to him when the service was over and he joined Chrissy on her way homeward. Life began to have a new meaning to Rug from that day. He felt that he only began to live when he began to love, but he felt that it would have been an intrusion on the sacredness of his love to have mentioned it to anyone, even to Miss Chamberlain herself. Month after month passed which only served to intensify his affection. At length he sought an opportunity of laying the matter before his father. His confidence was not rudely repelled. It never had been. He was not reproached for presuming to think of love and marriage at so early an age for he was only twenty. On the contrary, his father said: "There can be no question in my mind that wedded life is the ideal life for man—the life which God intended for you and for me. If your affections are involved, my boy, why not write and put the case before the young woman of your choice?" Acting upon his father's advice he penned the following short, manly note: DEAR MISS CHAMBERLAIN,—I know a young man who is very fond of you. He would like to begin a correspondence with you with a view to marriage. Kindly inform me if I may hold out to him any prospect of encouragement. Yours truly,     RUG WRIGHT. Several days passed before he received a reply to his letter, and when at last it came his hands trembled as he broke the seal and read as follows: DEAR MR. WRIGHT,—You certainly may not hold out any encouragement until I know the gentleman who would confer upon me the honor to which you refer. The only true basis of such a union is love, and I cannot love one whom I do not know. If the gentleman in question will call to-morrow I shall be pleased to receive him. Yours truly,     HANNAH CHAMBERLAIN. The courtship thus commenced resulted a few months later in a unique wedding. Rev. Mr. Meach had given up the charge, owing to declining health and strength, and there was no clergyman available. It was therefore suggested that they send through the woods to the new Scotch settlement of Perth for a Justice of the Peace, who, it was reported, was authorized to perform marriages. An Indian guide was secured, and Rug commenced a long and tedious journey through the forest on snowshoes. No one but an Indian could have kept the tangled path, which led through a perfect confusion of drifts and underbrush. Though only fifty-six miles distant, they were nearly a week on the way, for after several days of circuitous wanderings the Indian was forced to admit that he was not positive as to the exact location of the settlement. Their perseverance was rewarded after five days on seeing smoke ascending from a small collection of huts. "Is this the Scotch settlement?" asked Rug of an old man who was cutting wood. "Ay, sir," was the reply. "Is there a Justice of the Peace here?" "Ay, sir." "Well," said Rug, "I want to see him. Where is he?" The old man dropped his axe, and going to one of the huts, knocked at the door. "Is your gude mon at hame?" he asked of a tall, fair woman, who had all the evidence of a lady of refinement and culture. "The Major left this morning for Montreal," she replied, "but he has appointed Archie McKeracher to act in his place during his absence." They then approached Archie, who was busily engaged in hewing a stick of timber near his shanty. "I believe," said Rug, "that you are authorized to act as Justice of the Peace?" "That I am," he said, pulling himself up as if straining to attain to the height of the dignity and importance of the position. "And that you can issue licenses and perform marriages?" "Ay," he said, "that I can." "Well," continued Rug, "I want you to come down to the Chaudiere to perform a ceremony for me." "Mon alive," he exclaimed, "would you be askin' such a thing? Dinna ye ken that my gude wife an my bairnies 'ud perish? Na! na! na!" "But," said Rug, "I shall pay you for loss of time, and it will be to your profit. I'll give you ￡10 for your trouble." "Na! na!" he said. "Ten gouden sovereigns would na pay me for my trouble." After a long and tedious discussion it was finally decided that the Scotchman should return with them in consideration of "the young mon's importunity," and that the fee be raised to ￡14. Rug and the Scotchman reached the White House just as the members of the Chief's family were gathering round the supper table, and the devoted young lover was not slow in observing Hannah in the group. "We have bad news for you, Rug," said his father. "We have just ascertained that marriages are not valid in Lower Canada unless performed by a minister or priest." For a moment Rug was speechless—partly from disappointment and partly from displeasure. As he stood before them he looked a model of muscular strength and manliness, though little more than a boy. He looked fondly at Hannah, and as she met his gaze her cheeks grew crimson and her eyes dropped shyly under their long lashes. The devotion of her lover filled her with an indescribable ecstasy which thrilled her innermost soul, making it responsive to his. In her opinion Rug was all that was good and true and noble. He was her ideal, and she was determined to love, honor and obey him, humbly, tenderly, completely, submissively. "Is an outward ceremony necessary?" he said, "to complete a union of heart and soul which was made in heaven months ago?" "I have a plan," said the Chief, "which you will be perfectly justified in adopting under the circumstances. Let us drive down on the ice to-morrow, and halt on the other side of the border line between the two provinces, and have our Scottish friend perform the ceremony in Upper Canada, which he is entitled to do by law." The suggestion was received with applause by all present, and preparations for the wedding proceeded with. On the day following, an exceedingly brief ceremony was performed on the frozen river, the only part of which the bewildered bridegroom could remember being the last words of the Scotchman: "I pronoonce ye mon and wife." The solemn words seemed to echo and re-echo in unison with the merry jingle of the sleigh-bells as he drove with his young bride through snowy fields and drifts of spotless purity to his father's house, followed by a long line of sleighs. The limbs of the dignified elms which guarded the approach to the house hung heavily glittering in the setting sun, the ice laden spruces waved wearily and crackled as the numerous guests filed into the large front room. There was an awkward silence, as though it might have been a funeral, for the tendency of life in the woods seemed to impart to many of the early settlers something of the characteristics of their surroundings—calmness, silence, stability—and they seemed to shrink from the sound of their own voices. Some of the young men looked as though they would like to have given up their seats to the young ladies who were standing, but were too bashful to propose it. Fortunately the embarrassing silence was soon broken by the happy announcement that supper was ready in the kitchen. What a bright and cheery appearance that kitchen presented! On the hearth a huge pile of dry resinous logs burned brilliantly, filling the room with light and warmth and good cheer. On the iron crane which swung back over the fire hung a huge "spare rib" of fresh pork, the gravy of which dripped into a pan below. Several pots or "kittles" were also suspended from the crane, containing fowl, potatoes, or apple-sauce, while willing hands assisted in placing upon the long trellis tables steaming hot pies, cakes, and loaves of fancy bread, which were brought from the outer brick oven. Full justice having been done to the repast, they formed in couples, the best man with the bride. The bridegroom with the first bridesmaid led the way back to the front room, which had been cleared of all superfluous articles of furniture, and where Joe Larocque was tuning his "fiddle." Then followed a scene of merriment such as the young people of the settlement had never before beheld, and in which even the bashful lads who had been slow to offer their chairs to the ladies took as active a part as any. The dancing was prolonged until the small hours of the morning, when the guests drove off in the moonlight to relate the circumstances of the romantic wedding to their friends.