It was a sorrowful day when our young friend left us; he had been a
constant inmate in the house for nice months, and not one unpleasant
word had ever passed between us. He had rendered our sojourn in the
woods more tolerable by his society, and sweetened our bitter lot by his
friendship and sympathy. We both regarded him as a brother, and parted
with him with sincere regret. As to old Jenny, she lifted up her voice
and wept, consigning him to the care and protection of all the saints
in the Irish calendar. For several days after John left us, a deep gloom
pervaded the house. Our daily toil was performed with less cheerfulness
and alacrity; we missed him at the evening board, and at the evening
fire; and the children asked each day, with increasing earnestness, when
dear E---- would return.
Moodie continued sowing his fall wheat. The task was nearly completed,
and the chill October days were fast verging upon winter, when towards
the evening of one of them he contrived--I know not how--to crawl down
from the field at the head of the hill, faint and pale, and in great
pain. He had broken the small bone of his leg. In dragging, among the
stumps, the heavy machine (which is made in the form of the letter V,
and is supplied with large iron teeth) had hitched upon a stump, and
being swung off again by the motion of the oxen, had come with great
force against his leg. At first he was struck down, and for some time
was unable to rise; but at length he contrived to unyoke the team, and
crawled partly on his hands and knees down the clearing.
What a sad, melancholy evening that was! Fortune seemed never tired
of playing us some ugly trick. The hope which had so long sustained
me seemed about to desert me altogether; when I saw him on whom we all
depended for subsistence, and whose kindly voice ever cheered us under
the pressure of calamity, smitten down hopeless, all my courage and
faith in the goodness of the Divine Father seemed to forsake me, and I
wept long and bitterly.
The next morning I went in search of a messenger to send to Peterborough
for the doctor; but though I found and sent the messenger, the doctor
never came. Perhaps he did not like to incur the expense of a fatiguing
journey with small chance of obtaining a sufficient remuneration.
Our dear sufferer contrived, with assistance, to bandage his leg; and
after the first week of rest had expired, he amused himself with making
a pair of crutches, and in manufacturing Indian paddles for the canoe,
axe-handles, and yokes for the oxen. It was wonderful with what serenity
he bore this unexpected affliction. Buried in the obscurity of those
woods, we knew nothing, heard nothing of the political state of the
country, and were little aware of the revolution which was about to work
a great change for us and for Canada.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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