ther had
been an Indian warrior of some renown in the early history of our
province. In him were united the savageness of the red man, the gaiety
of the Frenchman, and the shrewdness of the Yankee. He was a large,
handsome, and immensely muscular man, with dark complexion, small
straight features, quick black eyes, and long raven-coloured beard and
hair that hung down to his shoulders. Utterly wicked and unprincipled
as he was, his merriment, off-hand and daring, lent him a certain
fascination and popularity among us. He was very witty, his laugh was
rich and constant, he sang well, and played in a dashing way the violin.
Every night he found some one to gamble with him. Every night he drank
a pint of whisky, and kept the cabin in an uproar.

I greatly disliked this Guyon Vidocq; because he exerted a most baneful
influence in our company, all of whom except the boss were younger than
himself.

The best man of our number was John Bar, and a fine Christian,
cheerful-hearted fellow he was. Although differing so widely from Guyon
Vidocq, he, without any effort to do so, and indeed unconsciously,
disputed the palm of popularity with him. He was an active, powerful
man too, and though terribly pockmarked, had a most agreeable
countenance. He could troll a pleasant stave, and loved, when off
hunting or at work with his axe sometimes, to sing one of our
C--- Sunday hymns, and whenever there was a respectable party in the
evening, instead of the usual rioting set, he would willingly give them
"The Fireside at home," "Merrily row, the Boat row," or any of the good
old-fashioned songs, pure and inspiriting. Not another of us was so
cheerful and industrious as John Bar. Drinking, gambling, or swearing,
he was never guilty of, and when the evening orgies commenced he
generally spoke to me, and we went off together to visit at the other
cabin, or, if they were as bad there, find a warm corner with our
blankets in the log barn, and there chat away the hours until our
companions had calmed down and turned into their bunks. John Bar was
not a meddler, nor what is contemptuously called, in such reckless
societies as ours was, "a preacher;" but as he was loyal to his country,
and loyal to his parents, he was far more loyal to his God. It would
madden any _man_ to hear his mother's name profanely used; it made John
Bar's heart sick--yes, and I have seen him tremble with rage--when the
name of his Saviour was taken as an oath.