The Days of a Man ^1909 



height, with an arm like the limb of a tree and a 

 crushing, hearty hand. Scotch-Irish by birth, a 

 graduate of Trinity College, and a man of peace, 

 'Father Hogan" nevertheless delighted to recite war 

 verses from Kipling and the Scotch balladists in a 

 deep, rich voice like a great organ. Many stories are 

 told of his success as a militant moralist. Once in the 

 course of a sermon at Port Essington he grew elo- 

 quent over the virtues of the noble Clan MacDon- 

 ald^ dwelling on their courage, warmth of heart, and 

 "Black loyalty to "bonnie Prince Charlie." Then, turning 

 jack" on one of his wealthy parishioners in a front seat, 

 he thundered: "And now you, Black Jack Mac Don- 

 ald, you're leading the people of Port Essington 

 straight to Hell!' This was more than Black Jack 

 could stand; fora time, at least, his gambling house 

 remained closed. 



Hearing a Port Simpson man swear foully at his 

 wife, Hogan picked him up between thumb and 

 fingers and held him out from the wharf over thirty 

 speedy feet of ice-cold water. 'Now swear away as much as 

 you like," said he. "Get out all the cussing you have 

 in you. But if I hear another dirty word, I'll drop you 

 into the sea." 



Hogan was nearly seventy years of age when I met 

 him, and had a daughter whom he wished to educate 

 as a trained nurse. I therefore arranged to have him 

 called to the Episcopal parish at Palo Alto, where I 

 thought he would get a great hold on the boys. But 

 the local bishop would not let him go, and sent him 

 to the Indians on Queen Charlotte's Island, where he 

 did not long survive. 



From a tombstone at Port Simpson I copied the 

 following: 



C 268 n 



