The Cryptogram: A Story of Northwest Canada
by William Murray Graydon · English · Gutenberg #24299 · 456,095 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Cryptogram: A Story of Northwest Canada
Author: William Murray Graydon
Release date: January 15, 2008 [eBook #24299]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24299
Credits: Produced by Georges T. Dodds and Roger Frank.
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CRYPTOGRAM: A STORY OF NORTHWEST CANADA ***
Produced by Georges T. Dodds and Roger Frank.
THE CRYPTOGRAM.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Entered according to act of Congress in the years 1897, 1898 and 1899
By STREET & SMITH,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS
I. THE SAVING OF GRAY MOOSE. 5
II. THE HOTEL IN BONAVENTURE STREET 11
III. FLORA HATHERTON. 17
IV. MUTUAL EXPLANATIONS. 22
V. THE ALARM IN THE NIGHT. 28
VI. PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT. 31
VII. THE SKIPPER OF THE SPEEDWELL. 36
VIII. CLOSE TO PORT. 42
IX. AT THE MERCY OF THE SEA. 45
X. THE DAWN OF DAY. 51
XI. A COPY OF "THE TIMES." 54
XII. A WARNING IN WOODCRAFT. 60
XIII. THE AMBUSCADE. 64
XIV. AN INDIAN'S GRATITUDE. 68
XV. FORT ROYAL. 72
XVI. A RESOLVE THAT FAILED. 76
XVII. A STRANGE WARNING. 80
XVIII. A STOLEN INTERVIEW. 86
XIX. ANOTHER VISITOR. 90
XX. THE LOST LOCKET. 93
XXI. THE BEGINNING OF THE END. 99
XXII. HOT WORK. 103
XXIII. THE SECOND RUSH. 108
XXIV. A BLACK NIGHT. 114
XXV. A RAY OF HOPE. 118
XXVI. AS TWILIGHT FELL. 123
XXVII. THE SIEGE OF THE HOUSE. 126
XXVIII. THE END OF HOPE. 131
XXIX. THE SECRET OF THE FACTOR'S DESK. 136
XXX. A STRANGE DISCOVERY. 141
XXXI. A CRY IN THE NIGHT. 146
XXXII. THE TRAVELER FROM ALASKA. 150
XXXIII. A CONVIVIAL MORNING. 156
XXXIV. ON THE WAY. 161
XXXV. RETRIBUTION. 165
XXXVI. A PAINFUL MYSTERY. 170
XXXVII. REST AND HAPPINESS. 174
XXXVIII. GOOD NEWS. 177
XXXIX. A MESSAGE. 182
XL. A STARTLING CHANGE. 186
XLI. BACK FROM THE DEAD. 191
XLII. TRUNK 409. 196
XLIII. A DRAMATIC INTERRUPTION. 200
XLIV. THE RIGHTFUL CLAIMANT. 205
XLV. FORGING THE LINKS. 209
XLVI. THE ALARM. 215
XLVII. CONCLUSION. 218
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE CRYPTOGRAM.
CHAPTER I.
THE SAVING OF GRAY MOOSE.
I have long had in mind to set down the story of my early life, and now,
as I draw pen and paper to me for the commencement of the task, I feel
the inspiration of those who wrote straight from the heart. It is
unlikely that this narrative will ever appear in print, but if it does
the reader may rely on its truthfulness and accuracy from beginning to
end, strange and incredulous though parts of it may seem.
Thirty years ago! It is a long time, but the magic power of memory
laughs at wider gulfs. Every incident comes back to me with the
vividness and clearness of yesterday. I hear the echo of voices that
have been silent these many years. Dead faces, some smiling and some
looking fierce-haired, take dim shape in the corners of the room.
Beyond the open window, where birds are twittering in the overhanging
ivy, an English landscape of meadow and woodland, hills and hamlets,
rolls far in the sunshine of a June morning. It is the year 1846, in the
reign of her gracious majesty, Queen Victoria. I close my eyes, and I am
back in another world. I see the Great Lone Land--its rivers and lakes,
its plains and peaks, its boundless leagues of wilderness stretching
from sea to sea. I sniff the fragrant odors of snow-clad birch and pine,
of marsh pools glimmering in the dying glow of a summer sun. I hear the
splash of paddles and the glide of sledge-runners, the patter of flying
moose and deer, and the scream of the hungry panther. I feel the weird,
fascinating spell of the solitude and silence.
The Great Lone Land! Truly, to those who have known it, a name to
conjure with! As it was then so it remains to-day, that vast,
mysterious, romantic realm of the Canadas. The territory of the Hudson
Bay Company, chartered remotely and by royal warrant when Charles II was
king; the home of the Red Indian and the voyageur, the half-breed
trapper and hunter, the gentlemen adventurers of England, Scotland and
France; a land of death by Indian treachery and grizzlies, starvation
and freezing, snowslides and rapids; a mighty wilderness, with canoes
and sledges for the vehicles of travel and commerce, and forest trails
joining the scattered trading posts.
There I, Denzil Carew, was born. There was my home from the cradle to
manhood, and there my story lies. In that wild country I was nurtured
and bred, schooled in the lore of the woods, taught to shoot and swim,
to bear fatigue and to navigate dangerous waters. Nor did I grow up in
ignorance of finer arts, for my father, Bertrand Carew, was an
Englishman and a gentleman, and he took pains to give me the benefit of
his own education and culture. Who his people were, or what had brought
him out to the Canadas, were things he never told me.
My mother was the daughter of a company factor in charge of Fort Beaver.
I do not remember her, for she died when I was a year old. At the
factor's death my father succeeded to the post, and ten years later he
was killed by a treacherous Indian. Fort Beaver was then abandoned, a
new post having been recently built, seventy miles farther north. This
was Fort Royal, on the Churchill River, one hundred miles south of
Hudson's Bay, and I went there as assistant factor--I had already worn
the company's uniform for three years.
At that time I was twenty years old--very tall, and built in proportion,
with light hair and eyes, and a mustache in which I took some pride. I
knew as much of the wilderness and the fur trade as any voyageur, and I
had been twice to Quebec and other towns of Lower Canada.
I liked the life at Fort Royal, and I liked the factor, Griffith Hawke.
We got on well together, and I performed my duties to his satisfaction.
Thus five years passed way, and the closing of that uneventful period
brings me to the opening proper of my story--to the mission that sent me
five hundred miles down country in the dead of winter to Fort Garry,
where the town of Winnipeg now stands, and thence more than a thousand
miles eastward to Quebec. Concerning the purpose of the journey I shall
speak later, but it was not a thing to my taste or experience.
Distinctly I recall that frosty morning of March in the year 1815. The
picture of life and color, breaking on a scene of wintry grandeur and
solitude, rises before my eyes. I see the frozen, snow-covered waste of
the Lake of the Woods, the surrounding evergreen forests and towering
hills, the low leaden sky overhead. Along the edge of the
scrubby-timbered shore, five husky dogs come at a trot, harnessed in
single file to a sledge. The dogs are short-legged and very hairy, with
long snouts, sharp-pointed ears, and the tails of wolves; the sledge is
a simple toboggan made of two pieces of birch nine feet in length, their
ends turned high in front. Buckskin thongs hold the load in place, and
at either side of this vehicle of the woods a brightly-clad figure on
snowshoes glides swiftly.
Of the two men, one was myself, and the other was my half-breed servant
Baptiste. I wore the winter uniform of the Hudson Bay Company--a furred
leather coat lined with flannel, a belt of scarlet worsted, breeches of
smoked buckskin, moccasins of moose-hide, and blue cloth leggings. A fur
cap was on my head, and a strip of Scotch plaid about my neck. Baptiste
was dressed like all the company's voyageurs and hunters, in a blue
capote, red flannel shirt, beaded corduroy trousers and fringed
leggings, and a cap decked out with feathers. We each carried a musket
and a hunting knife, a powder horn, and a bullet pouch.
Fort Garry, where we had stopped for a few days after a fortnight's
steady travel from the Churchill River, was a week's journey behind us,
and we were likely to be another month in the wilderness before we
should reach Quebec. But we liked the wild life better than the turmoil
of towns, Baptiste and I, and we were in no haste to have done with it.
The strange thing that was taking me to Quebec would not be ripe for
accomplishment until the coming of the tardy June spring of the Canadas,
which was as yet eight or nine weeks off.
The weather was bitterly cold that March day, and we kept the dogs at
such a pace that by noon we had covered a matter of twenty miles. Then,
as we were speeding along the frozen river that leads from the Lake of
the Woods to Lake Superior, we heard the report of a musket, followed by
the cry of a human voice and the growl of a beast. Baptiste and I
stopped and at a word the dogs stood still and barked with uplifted
snouts. The sound had come from close by on our left, but now we heard
only a faint and receding patter on the snow crust.
"_Nom de Dieu_, there are two running!" cried Baptiste. "It is a chase."
"And the dogs smell a bear," I replied. "I am off to the rescue,
Baptiste. Do you wait here with the sledge, and if I shout for help,
come quickly."
With that I turned and made into the forest, unslinging my musket as I
ran. Fifty yards through scrub and timber brought me to a spot that bore
the imprint of big claws and moccasined feet. Here were a few drops of
blood on the snow, and the parts of a broken gun lying near. I had no
need to follow the trail, for as I pushed on with great strides the
noise of a struggle guided me straight.
It was but a short distance further. Breaking from the trees into a
rugged hollow, I came upon a thrilling scene. An Indian had sought
refuge in a shallow crevice between two tall bowlders, and he was in
sore peril of his life from a monstrous grizzly that was striving to
tear him out. The bear--I had never seen a larger one--was dealing blow
after blow with his heavy paws, and the redskin was making the best use
of his knife that his cramped position would allow. The clamor of beast
and man made a blood-curdling din.
I mastered the situation at a glance and vowed to save the Indian. I was
as likely to hit him as the bear from where I stood, so I circled
quickly around to one side. But the grizzly both heard and smelled me,
and I had scarcely lifted my musket when he turned with a snarl of rage,
and came at me. I aimed and fired. Bang!
It is difficult to kill a grizzly with a single shot, and as the smoke
drifted aside I saw the brute advancing on hind legs. His eyes were like
balls of fire, his open jaws dripped foam, and he roared horribly with
pain and anger. Blood was trickling from a wound close to the heart,
made by my bullet, and there was another bleeding hole in his neck.
I had no chance to reload, and there was barely time to flee. But my
temper was up, and it drove me to a reckless determination. I stood my
ground for an instant, while the grizzly shambled on, pawing viciously
at the air. Then I drew my long-bladed knife, darted out of the way, and
as swiftly turned and struck under the sheltered fore feet. It was a
foolish trick, and my agility barely saved me from a crushing blow. As
it was, I had to leave the knife sticking deep in the wound. But the
thrust had gone straight to the heart, and I gave a yell of delight as
the great beast came down with a crash. He lay quite still after a
brief struggle that churned the snow crust to powder.
The bear was dead, and my first step was to withdraw the knife and wipe
it clean. Then, having shouted to Baptiste, I approached the crevice
just as the Indian crawled out. Too weak to rise, he propped himself
against a rock. He was bleeding profusely from a dozen wounds. His shirt
of buffalo skin, his breech-clout, his fringed leggings of antelope, all
had been ripped to tatters by the grizzly's claws; his feathered
scalp-lock was half torn from his head, and one shoulder was mangled.
I was full of pity at first, but my heart hardened when I recognized the
savage. He was Gray Moose, a Sioux of much influence, and he and his
people were said to be carrying on underhand dealings with the Northwest
Company, which was the great and dangerous rival of the Hudson Bay
Company. We were known to each other, having met before on several
occasions. Whether the above rumor was true or not, I was aware to a
certainty that he held the Hudson Bay men in no favor; and I half
regretted that I had saved his life.
"How came you in such straits?" I asked coldly.
He explained in a few words, and in fairly good English. The grizzly had
come upon him unawares, and in his haste to fire he had inflicted only a
slight wound. Then he fled, and took shelter in the rock cranny as a
last resort.
"The red man is grateful to Pantherfoot," he concluded, addressing me by
a name which my skill at tracking game had won for me among the Indians.
"Gray Moose will not forget. Now let white man go his way."
But it was not in my nature to leave the poor wretch wounded and
helpless, and I told him so. On questioning him, I learned that a
village of his people was within a few miles, and I decided to take him
there. By this time Baptiste had arrived with the team, and after
dressing the Sioux's injuries as well as I could, I fixed him
comfortably on the sledge, the half-breed and I shouldering the
displaced part of the load.
On the way my servant had picked up the broken musket, and when Gray
Moose saw that the weapon was beyond mending--the grizzly had shattered
it by a terrific blow--such a look of misery came into his eyes as
softened my heart at once. I knew the value an Indian set on his
shooting-piece, and I gave him an extra gun which I chanced to have on
the sledge.
Baptiste upbraided me for my folly, and, indeed, I repented the act the
next moment; but the savage's gratitude was so sincere that I could not
bring myself to take back the gift.
An hour's tramp--the direction was quite out of our way--brought us to
the Sioux village. We left Gray Moose with his friends, and pushed on,
refusing an invitation to spend the night. I attached no significance to
the affair at the time, nor did I give it much thought afterward, but
the future was destined to prove that my trivial dead of kindness was
not wasted, and that even a bad Indian will remember a benefactor.
I need make no further mention of our journey through the wilderness to
Quebec, where we arrived safely in a little less than four weeks. But at
this point, for the better understanding of my narrative, I must set
down a brief statement of the ugly and threatening situation in the
Canadas at the period of which I write. Long before--during many years,
in fact--the Hudson Bay Company had vainly tried to obtain from the
English Parliament a confirmation of the charter granted them by Charles
II. But Parliament refused to decide the matter in one way or the other,
and on the strength of this a number of French and Scotch merchants of
Upper Canada formed themselves into the Northwest Trading Company in
1783. They established posts here and there, and in 1804 they erected
one on the very shore of Hudson's Bay.
Within the next few years their forts grew to outnumber those of the
older company, being scattered about in Prince Rupert's Land, and even
across the Rocky Mountains in British Columbia. Then, in 1812, the
Hudson Bay Company made a bold move. Lord Selkirk, a prominent official
of the company in London, sent out a large colony of Scotchmen who had
been evicted from their homes in Sutherlandshire. He hoped thus to build
up a stronghold and seat of government that would brook no rivalry. The
colonists came and settled at Fort Garry, at the forks of the Red River;
but matters grew worse instead of better. Each company claimed to be in
the right, and was resolved to drive the other out of existence. During
the next few years the men of the Northwest Company and of the Hudson
Bay Company came to blows more than once, and finally, in October of
1814, the Northwest Company were ordered to remove from the territory
within six months--a mandate which they treated with contempt and
derision.
It was early in the following year, the reader will recall, that
Baptiste and I left Fort Churchill for Lower Canada, and from what we
had seen at and about Fort Garry when we stopped there, we were
satisfied that serious trouble was brewing, and that it would break out
when navigation opened in the spring. We knew that the Northwest Company
were plotting to secure the aid of the Indians, and we were also aware
that the feeling throughout Lower Canada--even among the government
officials--was strongly in favor of the Hudson Bay Company's enemies.
Such being the situation, I was naturally anxious to get back to my post
as soon as possible; for though I was not so hot-headed as to wish for
war, I was ready to fight for the supremacy of the company I served, and
which my father had served before me. But I foresaw with distaste that I
should probably be detained in Quebec until the summer months--since I
was to await the arrival of a certain ship from England--and I entered
that town with but a poor zest for my task.
CHAPTER II.
THE HOTEL IN BONAVENTURE STREET.
It was nine o'clock on a Monday evening in the fourth week of June, and
I was sitting, as was my nightly custom, in the cozy coffee room of the
modest hostelry where I had taken lodgings when I first came to Quebec.
This was the Hotel Silver Lily, kept by Monsieur Jules Ragoul and
madame, his wife. It was a quiet little place in Bonaventure Street,
which was one of the oldest and narrowest thoroughfares of the lower
town.
I was alone in the room, save for an elderly man who was sound asleep in
a big chair on the far side of the table, remote from the candlelight.
He had been there when I entered, and I could not recall having seen him
before about the hotel; but of this I was not certain, since his face
was in shadow and half-covered by his hat. In the adjoining bar, to
judge from the clinking of glasses and bottles and the hum of
conversation, Madame Ragoul was busy with a few customers. The evening
was warm, and as I sat by the open window sucking at my long pipe, I
could hear on the one side the occasional challenge of the sentries high
up on the ramparts of the citadel. From the other direction came the
boisterous voices of boatmen and sailors down by the quays of the St.
Lawrence.
Two long months had passed since my arrival in Quebec. I was heartily
tired of its noisy, brawling life, hungry for the solitude of my native
wilderness. At first I had found much to see and enjoy, but the novelty
soon wore off. I had but few acquaintances in the town, and none of them
were to my fancy. I preferred the seclusion of the hotel, and the
company of the honest little Frenchman and his wife. Not so with
Baptiste. He had fallen in with a loose set of his own kind, and
frequented the low taverns by the riverside. That very evening I had
brought him home helplessly drunk, and seen him safely abed.
But before I go on, if you please, a word or two concerning the business
that brought me to Quebec. I have spoken of Griffith Hawke, the factor
of Fort Royal. He was a man of fifty-odd years, simple-hearted, absorbed
in his duties, and with not a spark of romance or sentiment in his
being. Would you believe that such a one could think of marriage? Yet it
was even so! A wife he suddenly resolved to have, and he sent for one to
the head office in London, as was a common custom in those days. Many a
woman was sent out by the company to cheer the lonely lot of their
employees.
To be brief, a correspondence was carried on for two years between Fort
Royal and London--that meant but a couple of letters on either side--and
the result of it was that I was now in Quebec to meet the bride of
Griffith Hawke and escort her to her distant home.
She was due in the early summer, being a passenger on the ship Good
Hope. I was to put her in care of Madame Ragoul, and we were both to
sail for Hudson's Bay at the first opportunity in one of the company's
vessels. The factor had not been able to leave his post for so long a
time, and he had sent me on this errand with evident reluctance. He
would meet us at Fort York, where there was a priest to perform the
marriage ceremony.
As I said before, the task was not to my liking. Love was a word without
meaning to me. I knew nothing of women, and had reached the age of
twenty-five without giving a thought to the other sex. I was completely
ignorant of the purport of the letters that had passed between Griffith
Hawke and the head office, and as I never questioned him about
particulars, he never vouchsafed me any. I naturally expected to meet a
middle-aged dame who would make a suitable partner for the prosaic
factor, and would adapt herself to the crude life and customs of the
lonely trading post.
A mission of adventure and deadly peril would have been more to my
taste, but this strange enterprise was put upon me in the capacity of a
company's servant, and I was resolved to carry out my instructions to
the best of my ability. I was pondering the matter as I sat in the hotel
that June night, and reflecting, with some relief, that I should not be
much longer detained in Quebec, for the Good Hope was expected in port
at any day or hour.
Having finished my third pipe, I knocked the ashes out gently so as not
to disturb my still sleeping companion. I rose to my feet, stifling a
yawn, and just then a man entered the room from the bar, closing the
door behind him. While he stood hesitating, I took in his appearance by
a brief glance. He was tall, slim and wiry, with tawny yellow hair worn
long, and thick, drooping mustache. His eyes were of a cold steel-blue,
and his face, though very handsome, had something sinister and fierce
about it. From his attire I judged him at once to be a polished man of
the world, who had seen other lands than the Canadas. He wore a
lace-trimmed coat of buff, breeches of the same material, top boots of
tanned buckskin, and abroad felt hat of a claret color. For the rest, a
sword dangled at his side, and a brace of pistols peeped from his belt.
He looked about fifty, and by his flushed countenance I saw that he was
more or less under the influence of liquor.
I noticed all this even before the man drew closer. Then seeing me
clearly in the light shed from the candles, he gave a sudden start. The
color left his cheeks, and he stared at me with an unmistakable
expression of bewildered surprise, of something like sharp fear and
guilt. I never doubted that he mistook me for another person.
"Have we met before, sir?" I asked courteously.
The stranger laughed, and his agitation was gone.
"Pardon my rudeness," he replied. "I had a spasm of pain, to which I am
subject at times, but it has passed off." He pointed to my blue capote
with brass buttons--the summer uniform of the company. "You are a Hudson
Bay man," he added, "and I am another. That is a bond of friendship
between us; is it not so?"
His manner was so captivating that I forgot my first unfavorable
impression cf him; moreover, I felt flattered by the condescension of so
fine a gentleman. I was easily induced to state my name and the position
I held at Fort Royal.
"We shall meet again," he cried, "for I shall be in those parts ere the
summer is over."
"Are you indeed in the company's service?" I asked. "You do not wear--"
"The uniform?" he interrupted, with a touch of hauteur. "No; my duties
are not the same as yours. But I will be as frank as you have been--"
He handed me a folded paper. "Read that," he said in a confidential
tone, leaning over me and exhaling the fumes of wine.
I opened the document, and scanned it briefly. The writing showed,
beyond a doubt, that my new acquaintance was in the secret service of
the Hudson Bay Company, and that he stood high in favor of the governor
himself. I was glad that he had revealed as much to me--a thing he would
not have done but for his potations; for it had dawned on me a moment
before that I had been indiscreet to unbosom myself so freely to a
stranger, who, for aught I knew to the contrary, might be a spy or an
agent of the Northwest Company. I handed the paper back to him, and he
buttoned it tightly under his coat.
"Is that credential enough for you?" he asked.
"I am more than satisfied," I replied.
"Then permit me to introduce myself. I am Captain Myles Rudstone, at
your service--ex-officer of Canadian Volunteers, formerly of London and
Paris, and now serving under the same banner as yourself. In short, I am
a man of the world."
"I judged as much, sir," said I.
"Your perception does you credit," he exclaimed.
"I see that you are a gentleman. And now let us drink together to
celebrate our first meeting."
"With all my heart!" I replied cordially.
I expected that he would ring the bell for madame, but instead of that
he strode around the table to the sleeping stranger in the chair, and
clapped him heavily on the shoulder. The man was roused instantly, and
as he sprang to his feet I saw that he was tall and middle aged. His
face was shrewd and intelligent, clean-shaven, and slightly wrinkled. He
wore a white neck-cloth, antiquated coat and breeches of rusty black,
and gray stockings with silver buckles at the knee; a cluster of seals
dangled from his watch chain, and his fingers were long and white.
"What the devil do you mean by striking me, sir?" he demanded angrily.
"I merely gave you a tap," Captain Rudstone replied coolly. "I wish you
to join this gentleman and myself in a drink."
"I have no desire to drink."
"But I say you shall!"
"And I say I shall not. I am a man of peace, but by Heavens, sir, I will
swallow no affront tamely."
"I believe you are a spy--an emissary of the Northwest Company," cried
the captain; and I knew by his manner that he had really suspected the
stranger from the first.
"Then you lie, sir!" declared the man in black. "Here is my card."
He tossed a slip of pasteboard on the table, and picking it up, I read
the following:
"CHRISTOPHER BURLEY.
"For Parchmont and Tolliver, Solicitors,
"Lincoln's Inn, London."
I handed the card to Captain Rudstone, and he glanced at it
disdainfully.
"A law clerk," he sneered. "But come, I will overlook your menial
position. I am not too proud to clink glasses with you."
"The boot is on the other leg, sir," cried the man of law. "I pick my
company, and I refuse to drink with a swashbuckler and a roysterer."
"You shall drink with me," roared the captain, drawing his blade, "or I
will teach you civil manners with the point of this!"
I judged that it was time to interfere.
"Captain Rudstone, you are behaving unseemly," said I. "There is no
cause for a quarrel. You will think better of it in the morning. I beg
you to drop the matter. Let us retire to the next room and have our
friendly drink."
I thought he would have run me through for my interference, so blackly
did he glare at me; but the next instant he sheathed his sword and
laughed.
"You are right," he said. "I have had a drop too much for the first time
for months. I offer my apologies to the offended law. Come, Mr. Carew, I
will take another cup to your good health."
As he spoke he approached the door, and as I followed him the law clerk
stopped me by a touch on the shoulder.
"My thanks to you, young gentleman," he said. "I like your face, and I
put no blame on you for what has occurred. A word with you, if I may. I
see that you are in the service of the Hudson Bay Company."
"Yes," I assented.
"And do you know the Canadas?"
"As well as you know London," I replied.
His face brightened at that.
"I came over a month ago on important business," he went on, "and I have
been lately in Montreal and Ottawa. Did you ever, in the course of your
wanderings, hear of a certain Osmund Maiden? He landed in Quebec from
England in the year 1787."
"I never heard the name, sir," I answered, after a moment's thought.
As I spoke I looked toward the door, and encountered the gaze of
Captain Rudstone, who was standing in a listening attitude with his
hand on the latch. I scarcely knew him. His cheeks were colorless, his
lips were half-parted, and a sort of frozen horror was stamped on his
features. Had he been seized by another spasm of pain, I wondered, or
was there a deeper cause for his agitation?
"So you can give me no information?" said Christopher Burley, in a tone
of disappointment.
"I know nothing of the man you seek," I answered.
Just then the door was flung open, and Jules Ragoul burst excitedly into
the room.
"_Bonne nouvelles!_" he cried. "News, Monsieur Carew! Good news! The
Good Hope is in the river, and she will land her passengers early
to-morrow!"
All else was forgotten, and I eagerly questioned the little Frenchman.
When I was done with him I looked about for Captain Rudstone and the law
clerk. Both had vanished, and I saw them no more that night.
CHAPTER III.
FLORA HATHERTON.
The next morning, at the hour of seven, I might have been found on the
landing-quay by the river. The Good Hope, I was informed, still lay a
short distance below the town, where for some reason she had anchored
during the night. It was unlikely that I should be kept waiting long,
yet I was in no haste to play the unaccustomed role of gallant. To
conceal my nervousness I tried to affect an air of jaunty composure. I
repeated over and over the words of greeting that I had chosen for the
occasion.
It was as fine a day as ever dawned on Quebec. A crisp, cool air blew
from the St. Lawrence, ruffling the water into little tips of foam. From
a blue and cloudless sky the rising sun shone on the scattered shipping,
on the green hills and islands, on the rugged and historical heights of
the town. Many others besides myself were on the quay, doubtless drawn
hither for the same purpose--priests, soldiers, soberly-clad citizens,
several coureurs-de-bois, and a redskin or two. I had a distant view of
Christopher Burley, and closer at hand I saw Captain Myles Rudstone in
conversation with a group of men. By-and-by he discovered me, and
strolling forward he gave me a pleasant word of greeting.
"It is quite an event, the arrival of a ship from England," said I.
"An event of importance," the captain replied. "But for the early hour
the quay would be crowded."
His manner was reserved and dignified, and I liked him better in this
mood. Yet I observed that his face wore a puzzled and uneasy expression
as he glanced at me, and that he seemed disinclined to look me straight
in the eyes. He ignored the events of the previous night, neither making
any reference to them nor offering the slightest apology. He chatted
indifferently for a moment or two, and then asked abruptly:
"You are waiting for the Good Hope, Mr. Carew?"
I nodded assent.
"Expecting a friend, perhaps?" he went on, carelessly; and I detected a
masked note of curiosity in his voice. It put me on my guard.
"Not exactly a friend," I replied evasively. "I am to meet a person whom
I have never seen."
"A strange coincidence, indeed!" said the captain, with a laugh. "That
is precisely my situation." He bent his head a little closer. "I am on
duty this morning," he added. "Secret work for the company, you
understand."
If he hoped by this confidence to draw my own in return he was
disappointed, though there was in truth no reason why I should not speak
freely; but it pleased me to be as mysterious as himself, so I answered
him by nodding my head wisely. Our eyes met, and he hastily turned and
looked out on the river.
"The ship is coming!" he exclaimed; and with that he bowed curtly and
strode away. He was soon lost to view in the crowd.
I gave him no further thought at the time. For a few moments I was all
in a flutter, and half-minded to take to my heels like a foolish boy.
But for very shame I presently plucked up courage and sought a point of
vantage at the edge of the quay.
Now the people were cheering loudly, and joyous hails floated shoreward
over the water. Nobly the Good Hope came in, her bulwarks and poop-deck
crowded with figures, the breeze bellying her canvas and fluttering the
flag of England at the masthead. I was fairly carried away by the novel
excitement, and I only came to my sober senses when the vessel was at
last moored alongside the quay and the gangway rattled down almost at my
feet.
I stuck to my place in spite of pressure and crowding. The first to come
ashore were all men--English merchants, returning Canadians, a couple of
uniformed officers, Frenchmen decked out in lace and fine clothing, and
a motley sprinkling of others. They passed on, some being met and
embraced by waiting friends; and next came an elderly, sour-looking
dame, who regarded me with ill-favor. I followed her a few paces beyond
the crowd, never doubting that I was right. Then I stepped boldly up to
her and doffed my cap.
"Do I address Miss Hatherton?" I began.
"No!" she snapped. "Wretch, how dare you?"
I fell back in confusion, with a titter of mocking laughter ringing in
my ears. I longed to hide my face, and I vowed that I would make no more
rash ventures. I was about to stride away when a hand touched me on the
shoulder, and a sweet voice asked:
"Pardon me, sir, but did I hear you inquire for Miss Hatherton?"
I turned round quickly, and what I saw brought my heart to my mouth and
the hot blood to my cheeks and temples. Before me stood a young girl of
no more than nineteen, slight and graceful of figure, with eyes of a
purple hue, a complexion like a ripe peach, and little curls of brown
hair straying from under her dainty bonnet. By her fine clothing and her
clear-cut features I knew that her station in life was of the best. I,
who had given no second thought to a woman in all my life, felt a thrill
of admiration. I stared at this fair creature as though she had been a
goddess, for I had never seen anything so lovely before. For a moment I
was speechless, and the girl repeated the question with some spirit,
accompanying it by a tap of the little foot.
"I--I did ask for Miss Hatherton," I stammered, "but surely you are
not--"
"I am Flora Hatherton," she interrupted; and as she spoke she made a
sudden and strange sign that puzzled me. "Who sent you to meet me, sir?"
she added impatiently.
Again I was at a loss for words. A great pity and resentment swelled up
in my heart. I still hoped that there might be a mistake somewhere. I
shrank from picturing this young and beautiful girl as the wife of old
Griffith Hawke, sharing with him the uncouth and half-barbarous life of
a wilderness trading post. It was too cruel for belief!
"Who sent you, stupid?" she repeated.
"Are you truly Miss Hatherton?" I asked.
"Of course I am!"
"Then I am at your service," said I, "and I am here to meet you in
behalf of the factor of Fort Royal."
Her eyes dropped and her face saddened.
"Oh," she exclaimed, "I thought you might be--"
But before she could finish the sentence a tall figure was thrust
impetuously between us, and I looked up to recognize Captain Rudstone.
He paid no heed to my presence, but made a swift sign to the girl. She
answered it as quickly, and then said, with a smile:
"You are Captain Rudstone?"
"The same, mademoiselle," he replied, with a courteous bow.
They moved a few paces to one side, and began to talk in low tones. I
hung back in confusion and anger, feeling bitterly the slight that had
been put upon me, and quite at a loss to know what the affair meant. I
overheard the words "Lord Selkirk" and "dispatches," and then I saw the
girl draw the end of a sealed packet of papers from her bosom; but she
thrust them out of sight again at a sharp command from Captain Rudstone.
The latter looked round just then, and I could have sworn that he
sneered contemptuously when he met my glance. My temper was ruffled by
the neglect and the sneer, and I stepped forward.
"Will Miss Hatherton permit me to escort her to the lodgings where she
is expected?" I asked the girl.
"My claim to this young lady's attention is prior to yours, sir," broke
in Captain Rudstone.
"I deny that, sir!" I cried hotly. "Will you be so kind as to state your
claim?"
"My word is enough. Be careful lest you provoke me further, Mr. Carew."
"I beseech you not to quarrel on my account, sirs," exclaimed Miss
Hatherton. "You are both right." The captain scowled at me.
"Which of us is to have precedence, mademoiselle?" he asked curtly.
But before the girl could answer an abrupt and unexpected interruption
fell upon us.
CHAPTER IV.
MUTUAL EXPLANATIONS.
From a distance a man had been watching us steadily--I had observed him
before--and now he came quickly and with an air of bravado to where we
stood. He was about my own age, but a little shorter and slighter,
clean-shaven, with dark eyes and thick, black hair. Though handsome in a
way, the stamp of an evil and unscrupulous nature was on his bronzed
features. His dress was that of a gentleman.
"Can I be of any service to you, Miss Hatherton?" the fellow began,
darting an impertinent glance at the captain and myself.
The girl shrank from him with aversion in her eyes.
"I need no assistance," she replied. "And I thought we had spoken the
last word on the ship, Mr. Mackenzie."
"I was no party to that agreement, you will remember," the man answered,
looking at her with fierce admiration. "I have been searching for you,
and when I caught sight of you but a moment ago, I judged that these
gentlemen were paying you unwelcome attentions. Certainly they were on
the point of an altercation."
I looked to Captain Rudstone to take the matter up, but to my amazement
he bowed and walked away, whispering at my ear as he passed me:
"Be prudent. I will join you at the Silver Lily."
To put his desertion down to cowardice was the only construction open.
I held my ground, wondering what strange thing would happen next. The
dark man eyed me insolently for a moment, evidently expecting and hoping
that I would follow my companion. Then he bent closer to Miss Hatherton.
"Why will you persist in this folly?" he asked. "You are alone in a
strange land--in a strange town. I urge you to accept the shelter of my
sister's house. It is but a short distance from here."
"And I refuse!" the girl cried indignantly. "I wish no further speech
with you, Mr. Mackenzie. I am not friendless, as you think. I am going
with this gentleman."
"It's a devilish bad choice!" the man exclaimed angrily.
"What do you mean by that?" I cried, ruffling up.
"Miss Hatherton, I beg you to listen to me," he went on, ignoring my
demand. "It is for your own good--"
"Not another word, sir," she interrupted, edging nervously toward me as
she spoke.
"You shall hear me!" he insisted; and with that he caught her brutally
by one arm.
The girl struggled in his grasp and gazed at me with such mute and
earnest pleading, with such fear and distress in her lovely eyes, that I
must have been more than human to resist taking her part. I was in a hot
rage, as it was, and I did not hesitate an instant. I shot out with my
right arm--a straight, hard blow from the shoulder that took the ruffian
between the eyes. He reeled and fell like a log.
The deed was no sooner done than I regretted--for Miss Hatherton's
sake--that I had gone to such extremities. But I made the best of it by
quickly leading the girl away, and she clung tightly to my arm as we
hurried through the curious group of people on the quay. To my relief,
no one stopped us, and indeed the incident had attracted little
attention. Looking back, I saw that Mr. Mackenzie was on his feet, the
center of a small crowd who were bent on preventing him from following
us.
It was not long before we were off the quay, and in the shelter of the
quiet streets of the town. By a few words Miss Hatherton gave me to
understand that she was aware of the arrangements made for her, and that
the trunk was to be sent to the Silver Lily. Then she looked into my
face with a sad and grateful smile that set my heart to fluttering.
"I am glad to have found such a friend and protector," she said. "You
have done me a great service, and one that I will not forget, Mr.
Carew--I think that is your name. But I fear you have not seen the last
of Mr. Mackenzie."
"He will be wise to let the affair drop," I replied. "I count it an
honor and a pleasure, Miss Hatherton, that I had the opportunity of
helping you. If the man seeks satisfaction, he shall have it."
She glanced at me with some surprise, and with a tinge of amusement, I
fancied.
"Are you a Canadian?" she asked.
"A native-born child of My Lady of the Snows," said I.
"And you have never been in England?"
"No nearer than Quebec," I answered.
"I should not have believed it," she replied. Then, after a pause: "I
met Cuthbert Mackenzie on board the Good Hope. He sailed with me from
London, and from the first I disliked him. He constantly forced his
attentions upon me, though he saw that they were hateful to me; and when
I refused to have anything to do with him, he even went so far as to
threaten. I hope I have seen the last of him."
"He shall not annoy you again," said I.
She was silent for a moment.
"Shall we find Captain Rudstone at the hotel?" she asked.
"I believe so," I answered, hiding my annoyance at the question. "He
made an abrupt departure, Miss Hatherton."
"Perhaps he had good reasons," she replied; and with that the matter
dropped.
The rest of the distance was all too short for me. It was a novel thing
that I, who had scarce spoken ten words to a woman before in my life,
should be playing the gallant to as pretty a girl as could be found in
Quebec. But she had put me quite at my ease, and mightily proud I felt
when I gave her into the care of Madame Ragoul, though the thought that
she was the promised bride of old Griffith Hawke seemed to bring a lump
to my throat. I bade her good-by for the present in the upper hall of
the house, and going downstairs, I sauntered into the room behind the
bar. There sat Captain Rudstone, a glass of wine before him.
"You have just come?" said I.
"But a moment ago," he answered coldly, and with a sour look. "What is
the meaning of this strange affair, Mr. Carew?"
"I had to knock the impertinent rascal down," I replied.
"I do not refer to that," said he, with a grim smile. "I witnessed the
whole trouble."
"From a distance?" I ventured.
His eyes flashed.
"Have a care," he muttered. "I am not in a trifling mood. Tell me, what
took you to the quay this morning to meet Miss Hatherton?"
"I might ask you the same question," I replied.
"Will you answer me, sir?"
"There is no reason why I should not," said I. "Miss Hatherton was sent
over to become the wife of the factor of Fort Royal. I met her in
accordance with my instructions, and we are to take the first ship that
sails for Hudson's Bay."
Captain Rudstone's hard expression softened; he looked astonished and
relieved.
"I am glad the matter is cleared up," he said. "It is plainly a case of
killing two birds with one stone. I will be equally frank, Mr. Carew. I
was directed by the governor of the company to await the arrival of the
Good Hope, and to receive from Miss Hatherton a packet of important
dispatches secretly intrusted to her in London by Lord Selkirk."
It was my turn to be amazed. I saw that each of us had suspected the
other without cause.
"I also sail on the first ship for the Bay," the captain went on. "I am
charged with the duty of delivering Lord Selkirk's letters of
instructions to the northern forts. This is a serious matter, Mr. Carew.
There is trouble brewing, and it may break out at any time. So the head
office is zealously preparing for it. By the bye, do you know who this
Mr. Mackenzie is?"
I shook my head.
"He is an official and a spy of the Northwest Company," said Captain
Rudstone, "and he has been in London working for the interests of his
people. I was aware of this when he approached us on the quay, and I
hurried away so that he might be the less suspicious as to my dealings
with the young lady."
"I did you an injustice," said I. What I had just heard caused me much
uneasiness, and I foresaw possible unpleasant complications.
"It was a natural mistake," replied Captain Rudstone. "I overlook it.
But speaking of Mackenzie--the letters would be of the utmost
value to him if he could get hold of them. I don't believe he suspected
the girl during the voyage, or he would have robbed her; but I am afraid
he saw her withdraw the packet from her bosom. I made her put it back at
once."
"He was standing near us on the quay for some time," said I, "does he
know who you are?"
"It is quite likely! Hang it all, Mr. Carew, I don't like the look of
things! I'm going to do a little spying about the town on my own
account; but, first it is important that I should see Miss Hatherton."
I did not relish the idea of disturbing the girl so soon after her
arrival, and I was about to say as much. But just then appeared Madame
Ragoul with a request that my companion would accord an interview to
Miss Hatherton. He departed with alacrity, and I took it with an ill
grace that I should be left out of the matter. I waited for a long time,
seeking consolation in the thought that I alone would be the girl's
protector in future, and at length Captain Rudstone returned.
"I have the dispatches," he announced, tapping his breast.
"You were an hour about it," said I petulantly.
"Oh, ho!" he laughed; "so the wind blows from that quarter! But I am no
lady's man, Mr. Carew. And Miss Hatherton is not for either of us, rare
beauty though she is--ay, and a girl of pluck and spirit. She is bound
by a sacred promise--a promise to the dead--to marry that old fossil,
Griffith Hawke. I knew him seven years ago. A fine husband indeed for
such a maid!"
The captain's foolish insinuation angered me, and I felt myself blushing
furiously, but I said nothing.
"It is a sad story," he went on. "I persuaded the girl to give me her
confidence. It seems that her father, a gentleman of good family, was a
friend of Lord Selkirk. Some months ago he lost every shilling he had in
the world through unwise speculation, and the shock killed him. On his
deathbed he sent for Selkirk, and begged him to care for his daughter,
who would be left quite alone in the world. The old rascal persuaded the
father that the girl could not do better than go out to the Canadas and
marry the factor of Fort Royal--he had received Hawke's application for
a wife at about this time. The result was that Flora yielded and
consented--I daresay there was no way out of it--and Selkirk took
advantage of the opportunity to send these important letters with her;
he knew she was the last person that would be suspected of having them.
This much may be put in Selkirk's favor: he visited Canada some years
ago, and took a fancy to Hawke."
"The factor is a gentleman born," said I, "but he is past fifty. And
think of the life! It is a sad pity for the girl."
"She knows what is before her," replied the captain, "and she seems to
be resigned. To tell the truth, though, I half-believe there is
something at the back of it all--that some deeper cause drove her out
here. Nothing to her discredit, I mean."
"What makes you think so?" I asked.
"A chance remark that she let fall," he answered.
I would have questioned Captain Rudstone more closely, but just then he
drained his glass and rose with an air of sudden determination.
"I have work to do," he said gravely, as he put on his hat. "I must keep
track of Cuthbert Mackenzie. Miss Hatherton knew nothing of his real
character, and I am satisfied that he knew as little of her while they
were at sea. But what he may have learned since landing is a different
matter. I will come back here this evening, and meanwhile I would advise
you to remain in the hotel. There is a ship sailing for the Bay in a
week as you probably know, and I shall be heartily glad when we are at
sea. Cuthbert Mackenzie is a serpent that stings in the dark."
He bade me good morning and was gone.
CHAPTER V.
THE ALARM IN THE NIGHT.
It was about eleven o'clock of the forenoon when Captain Rudstone
departed. I smoked a quiet pipe, and then sought out Baptiste; he had a
little box of a room over the hotel kitchen. I found the rascal but
half-sobered, so heavily had he liquored on the previous night, and I
angrily bade him stay in bed for the rest of the day. Miss Hatherton did
not come down to dinner, and I had for company in the coffee room Mr.
Christopher Burley; there were no other guests in the house at the time.
Neither of us was in a talkative mood, and very brief speech passed
between us. But shortly after the meal I met him again at the bar, where
he was paying his account. He looked ready for a journey, having his hat
on and a portmanteau in his hand.
"You are leaving, sir?" I asked politely.
"I return to Montreal to-day," he replied, "and later I go West. You, I
believe, are bound shortly for the North?"
I nodded assent.
"We may meet in the future," he went on; "and meanwhile I trust you will
remember that name--Osmund Maiden."
"I will bear it in mind," I promised, "and I wish you every success in
your errand."
With that we parted, the law clerk thanking me warmly and giving me his
hand. That I should ever see him again, or run across the man of whom he
was in search, were things so utterly improbable that I gave them no
second thought. But I was to learn in later days how small a place the
world really was.
I spent the afternoon in the hotel, for I was satisfied that Captain
Rudstone's caution against venturing in the streets was not to be
despised. He had gone up several degrees in my estimation since the
little cloud of mutual suspicion had cleared away. I did not doubt that
he was as zealous for the interests of the company as myself, and,
moreover, I felt that he would prove a trusty friend should Mr. Cuthbert
Mackenzie try to give me any trouble. That the captain was to sail on
the same ship to the Bay was a matter less to my liking, though I hardly
knew why. He was of a type that a youngster like myself usually looks up
to, and he had flattered me by giving me his full confidence: but he
never seemed quite at ease in my presence, or inclined to stare me
straight in the eyes, which I could not account for.
The time passed listlessly. I chatted for awhile with Monsieur Ragoul,
and watched the customers who came in to drink. I could not put Miss
Hatherton out of my mind. As often as I remembered that she was to share
the long sea voyage with me, the joy of it was marred by the picture of
old Griffith Hawke waiting at Fort York for his bride. I was angry at
myself for taking the thing so much to heart--uneasy because a woman
could thus interest me.
I had hoped to see her that afternoon, but she did not make her
appearance until the late supper-time. We sat down to table together,
and it gave me a strange thrill to see her sitting opposite. She looked
more lovely than ever without her bonnet, and in a black gown relieved
by some touches of creamy lace. I fear I stared at her stupidly, and was
dull of conversation; but she chatted freely of the wonderful things to
be seen in London, and I was sorry when the meal was over. Miss
Hatherton then offered me a dainty hand and bade me good-night, saying
that she had not been able to sleep all day, and intended to retire
early.
I finished my bottle of wine, and went upstairs to my room on the third
and top floor of the hotel--a meager little hole where I, used to a
blanket and fir boughs, had always felt cramped and stifled. But now I
wished to be alone, and for some hours I sat there without a light,
smoking and thinking. A distant clock had just pealed eleven when I
heard the unbolting of a door downstairs--the house had been closed for
the night. A little later, after the stir and sound of voices had died
away, light footsteps fell on my ear, and there was a rap at the door. I
hurriedly lit a candle.
"Come in!" I cried, thinking I knew what it meant.
Captain Rudstone entered, closing the door softly behind him. With a nod
he threw himself into a chair, helped himself to a pipeful of my
tobacco, and looked inscrutably at me through a cloud of smoke.
"So you are still up?" he began. "I expected to find you in bed. Have
you been away from the hotel?"
"Not outside of the door," I replied.
"I have left my old lodging," he went on, "and Monsieur Ragoul has given
me a room next to yours."
"I rejoice to hear it," I said politely. "And have you learned anything
to-day?"
"Mr. Mackenzie will demand satisfaction for that blow," the captain
answered coolly.
"He shall have it," said I.
"He is a skilled swordsman and a deadly shot, Mr. Carew."
"I will meet him with either weapon," I declared hotly.
"There must be no fighting, if it can be avoided," replied the captain.
"That is a matter which rests with me," said I. "But how do you know all
this?"
"I put a man on the track," was the reply. "He overheard Mackenzie
talking with two boon companions who are as deep in the plotting of the
Northwest Company as himself. Unfortunately, he learned no more than I
have told you, and he lost the trail at an early hour this evening in
the upper town."
"I shall depend on you to see me through the affair," said I.
"I fear there is mischief brewing in another quarter," the captain
replied. "To be frank, Mr. Carew, you and I, and Miss Hatherton are in a
decidedly unpleasant situation. Or, to leave the girl out of it, you and
I must decide a very delicate question. Shall we stand by our honor, or
shall we choose the best interests of the company we serve?"
"Make your meaning plainer," said I. "As yet I am in the dark."
"The point is this," the captain answered gravely. "If we wait for the
company's ship, which sails in a week, serious things may happen--not to
speak of the duel. I happen to know that a trading-vessel leaves the
river to-morrow morning for the Bay. The captain is a friend of mine,
and he will give the three of us a passage."
"This is the last proposition I should have looked for from you, Captain
Rudstone," I replied indignantly. "Would you have me slink away like a
thief in the night, giving Cuthbert Mackenzie the pleasure of branding
me far and wide as a coward? It is not to be thought of, sir."
The captain shrugged his shoulders, and meditatively blew a cloud of
smoke ceilingward.
"I admire your spirit," he said, "but not your discretion. Am I to
understand, then, Mr. Carew, that you choose honor before duty?"
I looked at him speechlessly. He had a cutting way of putting things,
and it dawned on me that there was indeed two sides to the question. But
before I could find words to reply, the silence of the June night was
broken by a shrill scream directly below us. It was followed by a cry
for help, and I was sure I recognized Miss Hatherton's voice.
With one impulse Captain Rudstone and I drew our pistols and sprang to
our feet. In a trice we were out in the hall, and plunging recklessly
down the stairs. We heard distant calls of alarm from the lower part of
the house, and a woman's voice, ringing loudly and close at hand, guided
us to Miss Hatherton's room. Captain Rudstone burst the door from its
fastenings by a single effort, and I followed him over the threshold.
The moon was shining through an open window, and by its pale light the
girl darted toward us, her snowy night dress trailing behind her, and
her disheveled hair flowing about her shoulders.
"Save me!" she cried hysterically. "Save me from Cuthbert Mackenzie!"
CHAPTER VI.
PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT.
When I heard Mackenzie's name pronounced by those fair lips and realized
that the scoundrel had dared to force his way to Miss Hatherton's
bedchamber, I was put in such a rage as I had never known before. I did
not wait for further information, but, brushing past the girl, I leaped
through the open window. There was a narrow balcony beyond it--as I
knew--which ran along the side of the house, and looked down on a paved
courtyard overshadowed by an adjoining building.
Being familiar with the hotel, I was at no loss to account for the means
by which the villain had entered and fled. I dashed at once to the end
of the balcony, which was within easy reach of the limbs of a tree that
grew up from the court. As I peered down from the shadows, I heard a
rustling noise, and the next instant I saw a man at the base of the
tree; it must have taken him all this time to descend the trunk. I was
sure that I recognized Mackenzie, and as he made off I took aim with my
pistol and fired. A sharp cry and an oath followed the report, but the
fellow sped on to the end of the court, where a passage led out to a
back street. Here a voice hailed him; showing that one or more had
shared his enterprise.
But a moment had passed since I leaped out of the window, and now I
found Captain Rudstone at my side.
"Did you hit him?" he demanded.
"I think so," I replied; "but he ran like a deer."
"He'll not run far if I can get sight of him. To take the scoundrel will
be a good card in our hands!"
With that the captain swung himself into the tree, and went down hand
over hand, from limb to limb, with the agility of a cat. He was on the
ground before I could have counted ten.
"Do not follow me," he called up: and then he vanished in the shadows
across the court.
I would have preferred to take a part in the chase, but I swallowed my
disappointment and returned along the balcony. The pistol-shot had
raised some clamor in the neighborhood. I could hear men shouting, and
several lights were moving in the opposite house. I climbed through the
window into the room, where I found Monsieur and Madame Ragoul and their
three servants all in a state of excitement. Miss Hatherton had by this
time put on a dressing-gown and slippers, and seemed to have entirely
recovered from her fright. She blushed prettily as she saw me.
"You have not killed him. Mr. Carew?" she asked.
"I fear not," I replied; "but Captain Rudstone hopes to take him."
"It will be a shame if he escapes," cried Madame Ragoul. "Oh, the
pig--the wicked robber! He might have strangled the pretty English
mademoiselle!"
The servants were rolling their eyes and shivering with fear, and
Monsieur Ragoul was dancing about, with his red nightcap hanging to one
ear.
"I am ruined!" he wailed. "The good name of my house is gone!
Never--never did such a thing happen before! The officers of the law
will enter--they will demand why a pistol is fired to waken the
quarter!"
"Coward, be quiet!" snapped his wife. "The affair is no fault of ours."
I judged it was time to interfere. The distant clamor had not
perceptibly increased, and I saw some chance of keeping the matter a
secret, which was a thing greatly to be desired.
"Monsieur Ragoul, I think there need be no publicity," said I. "Will you
be so good as to close the window and draw the curtains, and also put
out that candle you are holding?"
He obeyed me promptly, and just as the room was darkened Baptiste made a
tardy appearance. I explained the situation to him in a few words, and
then I turned to Miss Hatherton.
"I trust you are none the worse," I said. "I deeply regret that you
should have suffered such an outrage--"
"And I am sorry to have put you to so much trouble on my account," she
interrupted. "This is twice you have come to my help at a time of need."
"Then I am twice honored," I replied. "But, tell me, was the scoundrel
indeed Mr. Mackenzie?"
"I am sure of it, Mr. Carew. I woke suddenly, and saw him standing in
the moonlight at the foot of my bed. When I screamed the second time he
vanished through the window. It was the shock that unnerved me. I beg
you to believe that I am not ordinarily a coward."
"The adventure would have terrified the bravest of women," I answered.
Bending to her ear, I added, in a whisper: "As for Mr. Mackenzie, I take
it he was seeking the dispatches?"
"Yes, he doubtless thought I still had them," Miss Hatherton replied. "I
am afraid he will pay dearly for his folly if Captain Rudstone overtakes
him."
Even as she spoke a startling thing happened. In the silence of the room
we all heard the faint report of a pistol. The sound came from some
distance away, and in the direction of the upper town.
"That was the captain's shot," I declared.
"Or Mr. Mackenzie's," the girl suggested, in a tone of alarm.
"The saints save us!" cried Monsieur Ragoul. "This is worse and worse!"
I was for going out to investigate, but Miss Hatherton would have it
that such a step meant danger, and I yielded reluctantly to her
pleadings. However, I persuaded the little Frenchman to let me into the
courtyard, by which way I knew the captain would return if he was able.
We went downstairs, accompanied by Baptiste, and Monsieur Ragoul
unbarred and opened the side door. .
When I stepped into the court I was relieved to discover that the
immediate neighborhood was comparatively quiet. But at a distance, in
the direction whence the shot had come, a confused clamor was audible. I
had been listening no more than a minute when I heard footsteps, and
across the moonlit court came Captain Rudstone. My heart leaped for joy
at the sight of him. Without a word he motioned us into the house, and
closed and fastened the door. Then I knew that he had bad news.
"Monsieur Ragoul," he said, "will you go and tell Miss Hatherton to
dress at once and to put in a parcel as many of her belongings as she
can carry in one hand. Be quick!"
The Frenchman dared not ask any questions. He departed in a state of
alarm and mystery, and Baptiste and I were left alone with the captain.
The latter rested a hand on my shoulder.
"Mr. Carew," he said gravely, "you remember the question I put to you an
hour ago? You have no longer any choice in the matter; we must leave
Quebec at once--within a few minutes. That is, if we can."
"What do you mean?" I asked hoarsely. "What has happened?"
"Much," he replied. "In the first place, you wounded Mr. Mackenzie in
the right arm. In the second place, I followed the ruffians for a
quarter of a mile--there were two of them--and finally came up with them
at a lonely spot. I tried to take them both, but they resisted fiercely.
To save my own life I shot and killed Mackenzie's companion, a Northwest
man named Tredennis. Mackenzie fled, raising the alarm as he ran, and by
a detour I got back to the hotel unobserved."
"There is likely to be trouble over the affair," said I; and indeed I
felt more alarm than I put into my voice.
"Trouble?" cried the captain, with some irritation. "By Heavens, Mr.
Carew, it's as black an outlook as I ever faced! Mackenzie knows his
power, and he will hatch up a devil of a lie. In Quebec feeling runs
high against the Hudson Bay people, and the authorities openly favor the
Northwest Company. I tell you there will be warrants out for our arrest
within the hour--perhaps in less time. And you must perceive what the
result will be if we are taken. Lord Selkirk's dispatches will fall into
the hands of our enemies; you and I will be thrown into prison. And God
only knows what will become of Miss Hatherton!"
I felt a sensation as of a hand clutching at my heart. I knew that the
situation was as dismal as Captain Rudstone had painted it--that we
could not expect fair dealing from the authorities of Quebec. And the
thought of the girl's peril, if she should be left to the wiles of
Cuthbert Mackenzie, put me in a mind to accept any opportunity of escape
that offered.
"What is your plan?" I asked.
"The Yankee ship Speedwell sails for the Bay in the morning," the
captain replied. "She lies anchored a short distance down the river, and
we must get on board as soon as possible. I have known her master, Hiram
Bunker, of Salem, for several years."
I made no objection to the arrangement. Baptiste had been listening, and
a few sentences put everything clear. He was trusty and I saw a way to
utilize him.
"Off with you to the river--to the landing at the foot of Bonaventure
Street," I directed. "There are plenty of boats about. Get possession of
one, and wait for us."
Captain Rudstone warmly approved this step. We let Baptiste into the
court, locked the door, and hurried upstairs. In the hall we encountered
Miss Hatherton, fully dressed and carrying a small bundle. The brave
girl had promptly obeyed instructions, though ignorant of what they
meant. When we explained our purpose she showed an admirable pluck and
spirit, putting herself entirely in our hands, and urging us to be off
without delay. Monsieur Ragoul seemed disposed to give us some trouble
at first, but that blew over when we presented him with a few gold
pieces, and pointed out to him that our departure was for his own good.
Our destination, of course, we did not reveal.
In ten minutes more we were ready to start. My musket was strapped to my
back, and the captain and I had each a bundle containing a change of
clothes. We came quietly down the dark stairs, monsieur and madame
leading the way, and the servants bringing up the rear--traversing the
hall, we turned toward the side exit. And just then, on the front door
of the hotel we heard a loud and sudden thumping.
CHAPTER VII.
THE SKIPPER OF THE SPEEDWELL.
The alarm took us by surprise, for we had expected to get the start on
our enemies by at least half an hour. That the officers of the law were
at the door none of us doubted. We stood still where we were, and in a
whisper the captain admonished us to be quiet. There was a brief
silence, and then the rapping began again.
"What am I to do?" whispered Monsieur Ragoul, and so loudly that his
wife promptly clapped a hand over his mouth.
"They have come to seize us," said I, in a low voice. "I fear we are in
a trap, with no choice but to yield or fight."
"Resistance would be folly," Captain Rudstone replied quickly, "and for
Miss Hatherton's sake we must not be taken. There is a chance
for us yet--it is possible that the back way of the house has been left
unguarded."
"Then let us be off at once," I urged, taking courage from his
suggestions.
As I spoke, a lull came in the pounding, and a voice cried loudly,
"Open! Open!"
Monsieur Ragoul was fairly beside himself with terror and the servants
were as helpless as himself; so the captain and I had to act for
ourselves, and that without the loss of another second. We found the
side door, opened it, and closed it softly behind us when we stepped
into the court. The pounding at the front of the house had started
afresh, and there was a clamor off in the distance; but so far as we
could see by the moonlight this rear avenue of escape was open.
The captain led the way forward, and I followed with Miss Hatherton at
my side; her hand rested on my arm, and I could not detect the slightest
tremor in her touch. We glided swiftly across the court, and entered a
narrow passage leading to the street beyond. We were just at the end of
it when a man appeared abruptly from one side and barred the way.
"Not so fast!" he exclaimed, with a movement to draw a weapon. "Stop, in
the name of--"
The fellow got no further, for quickly the captain had him pinned by the
throat. The two fell after a brief scuffle, and I heard somebody's head
give the stone an ugly rap. The captain jumped to his feet, but the
other man lay motionless and quiet.
"Is he dead?" Miss Hatherton asked, in a horrified whisper.
I bent over the fellow, and recognized him as one of the town watch.
"He is only stunned," I replied, "but he got a bad fall, and won't know
anything for a couple of hours."
Meanwhile Captain Rudstone had ventured out of the passage to
reconnoiter, and he called to us sharply to join him. We did so, and
were relieved to find that the street was dark and empty.
"I feared the man would have companions with him," said I. "It seems he
came round here alone."
"Yes, luckily for us," the captain replied. "There will be a pretty row
before long; that scoundrel Mackenzie has wasted no time in showing his
hand. But I think we are fairly safe, and if the skipper of the
Speedwell is open to reason we shall be going down the river under full
sail within the hour."
"I hope so, indeed," I replied. "You say the man is a friend of yours?"
"He owes me more than one service, Mr. Carew, but enough of speech! Do
you and Miss Hatherton follow me closely, and avoid any appearance of
alarm or haste."
We had already crossed the street that lay in the rear of the Silver
Lily, and entered one at right angles to it. There was a great deal of
noise behind us, and for this reason there was the more danger to be
apprehended from the front, since the alarm had roused some of the
inhabitants of the quarter from their beds. Here and there men passed us
with sharp glances, and curious faces stared down at us from open
windows. But none stopped us, so boldly and with such unconcern did we
comport ourselves, and after treading a maze of the straggling and dirty
little thoroughfares, we came out on Bonaventure Street at a point close
to the river.
And now we made a discovery that was very discomforting. Looking up in
the direction of the hotel, we could see vaguely-moving figures, and
there was a sound of shouting and running that swelled louder on the
air.
"Our escape has been discovered," said I.
"Without a doubt," replied Captain Rudstone; "and what is worse, the
chase is coming this way. Some persons whom we met have given
information. But the river is close at hand, and our pursuers have
barely started from the Silver Lily."
"Will we escape them?" Miss Hatherton inquired anxiously.
"Assuredly," said I, in spite of a lurking doubt. "Keep up your courage.
We are almost within reach of safety."
We quickened our pace--this end of the street was deserted--and fifty
yards more brought us to the water's edge. The captain and I felt a fear
that neither of us put into words, but happily it proved unfounded; for
at the landing-steps, a short distance below, the faithful Baptiste was
waiting with a boat--a deep, roomy little craft which he had found near
by. At once we got in, Baptiste retreated to the bow, and Miss Hatherton
and myself occupied the stern seat. The captain took the oars, and he
wisely made the most of the opportunity by pulling straight out from
shore and in between the shipping that was anchored hereabouts. It is a
wonder we fared so well, for swinging lanterns shed their light upon us,
and we passed under decks where men were pacing their night watches. But
no inquisitive voices hailed us, and we glided safely through to the
open river and turned downstream with the current. The tangle of masts
and spars receded behind us, hiding the spot where we had embarked, and
for five minutes we drifted on in the moonlight, our hearts too full for
speech. Then Miss Hatherton broke the silence.
"Is the ship that we are seeking near or far?" she asked.
Captain Rudstone turned in his seat, and pointed to a dark object about
half a mile below us.
"There lies the Speedwell," he replied, "a quarter of a mile out from
shore, and by herself."
This was reassuring news, but there were perils to be reckoned with. A
great hue and cry was spreading along the town's edge, mainly in the
direction of the landing-stairs, and we looked for a boat to appear
behind us at any moment. Also, to my mind, there was some uncertainty as
to the reception the Speedwell's skipper would give us.
However, there was no sign of pursuit within next five minutes, and by
that time we were alongside of the ship, which was a tidy brig of some
hundred and fifty tons burden. Her sea gear was rove and her sails
stowed. Several heads looked over her bulwarks as we made fast, and a
voice hailed us sharply.
"That you, Bunker?" the captain replied.
"Yes. Who are you?" came suspiciously.
"Myles Rudstone."
There was an exclamation of surprise, and a moment later a rope ladder
was thrown down to us. Baptiste and I and the girl preceded the captain,
and as he followed us he cast the boat adrift. At the first sight,
seeing him on deck by the glare of a lantern, I was favorably impressed
by Hiram Bunker. He was a short, thick-set man, with a sandy beard and a
shrewd, good natured face. He scanned Miss Hatherton and myself with
open amazement, and shook hands heartily with Captain Rudstone.
"Glad to meet you again, sir," he cried in a nasal voice. "My mate
wakened me up to listen to the row over yonder," pointing to the shore,
"and that's why I'm on deck at this hour. I might have guessed you had a
hand in the rumpus. But what does it mean, anyway?".
The captain explained, making the situation thoroughly clear, and the
little skipper listened with thoughtful attention.
"It's an ugly scrape," was his grave comment.
"It is that; but you can get us out of it. What do you say?"
"I say I'll do it," cried the skipper. "I'm a Hudson Bay man at heart,
and I'll save the lot of you--hang the risk!"
"And you will sail at once?"
"At once. I've got my full cargo on board, and I was only waiting for
daylight to start. It's not far off that now. But, shiver my timbers, if
there don't come the rascals you thought you had slipped!"
He pointed up the river, and I saw a longboat approaching swiftly. It
was still a good distance off, but there was not a moment to lose, and
the skipper was aware of the fact. He hastily roused the crew, and I
never saw a more pleasing sight than that hardy lot of men as they set
to work to unfurl the sails and get the vessel under way.
Miss Hatherton stood with me at the bulwark, holding to my arm, and
asking me what I thought of the situation. I hardly knew how to answer
her, for there was no telling as yet what was going to happen. A stiff
breeze was blowing ready for the canvas, and when the anchor was lifted
we began to drift. But meanwhile the boat had come up close, and with
evident determination to board us. It held ten men, and they were mostly
at the oars.
"Sheer off, there!" cried the skipper. "What do you want?"
"You are sheltering fugitives from the law," a harsh voice replied.
"Give them up. It's a case of murder!"
The skipper refused in plain terms, and catching a sudden gleam of
steel, he shouted savagely:
"If you come any nearer or fire a single shot I'll give you a volley of
ten guns!"
By this time the ship was under way and moving with full canvas spread.
The pursuing boat fell back, its occupants yelling curses and threats;
and so the danger passed. The Speedwell bore swiftly on, leaving a foamy
wake dancing on the bosom of the St. Lawrence, and in my delight I felt
tempted to throw my arms about Miss Hatherton. Captain Rudstone joined
us, and with thankful hearts we watched the lights of Quebec fading in
the distance.
CHAPTER VIII.
CLOSE TO PORT.
I need make but brief mention of the long cruise that followed our
escape, of the days that passed slowly while we worked our way down the
mighty St. Lawrence, out to the open Atlantic by the rocky gates of
Newfoundland, and thence up the coast of Labrador to Hudson Straits. For
the most part wind and weather favored us, yet it was a matter of six
weeks before we got into the bay and made sail across that inland waste
of water toward our destination, Fort York, which was far down in the
southwestern corner. The distance from Quebec by land would have been
far less. Our course, as a map will show, was along the three sides of a
square.
The Speedwell was a sound little ship, and carried a mixed cargo to be
delivered at the Hudson Bay posts. We were well fed and snugly berthed,
Miss Hatherton having a cozy cabin all to herself. The crew were good
fellows, and Hiram Bunker was a typical New England skipper--bluff,
honest and popular. I did not see very much of him, for he and Captain
Rudstone became boon companions and stuck well together. It was the same
with the captain. Indeed, he seemed to take pains to avoid me, except
when others were present, thereby causing me some perplexity and
chagrin. And if we happened to find ourselves alone he appeared ill at
ease, and would look at me in a strange and shifty manner, as though he
had something on his mind. But for all that the time did not hang
heavily on my hands, nor was the voyage an uneventful one to me, as I
shall relate in a few words.
It came about naturally enough that Miss Hatherton and I spent the long
days together. In less than a fortnight we were calling each other by
our Christian names. Secluded in some nook of the deck, we would talk
for hours, or I would read aloud from one of the few volumes that the
skipper's cabin afforded. She told me much of her life in London. Her
father had been a gentleman of some means until speculation wrecked him,
and later she confided to me the whole of her sad story.
There was more than I had known before, as Captain Rudstone suggested.
It seems that prior to her father's death the only son of Lord Selkirk
fell in love with the girl. She did not return his affection, and,
indeed, she disliked the young man. But the old lord was either ignorant
of this fact or would not believe it. He had higher matrimonial views
for his son, and so, in order to get Miss Hatherton out of England, he
hatched the plot that resulted in the poor girl making her father a
sacred promise that she would go to the Canadas and marry Griffith
Hawke. She had no relatives to interfere, and a cruel disadvantage was
taken of her helplessness and poverty. She spoke of the matter only on
the one occasion, and it did not come up between us again. Nor had I the
heart to mention it, since she was clearly resigned to her future.
But I pitied the girl deeply, and I would have been more than human,
with the opportunities afforded, had I not fallen a victim to her charms
and loveliness. I did not perceive where I was drifting. I did not
realize my danger until it was too late. In short, I, who had hitherto
felt but contempt for all womankind, suddenly discovered that I was a
slave to the great passion. It was a sharp awakening, and it destroyed
my peace of mind. To me Flora Hatherton was a divinity, a goddess. It
gave me the keenest torture to think that she would soon be the wife of
old Griffith Hawke. I knew that she was as far out of my reach as the
stars above, and yet I felt that I should love her passionately all my
life--that the memory of her sweet face would shatter all the joys of
existence for me.
I could have cursed myself for being such a fool, and I hated the factor
for sending me on such a mission. It never entered my head to play him
false and try to win Flora, nor did I believe there was any chance of
doing so. Day after day we were together, and with Spartan courage I hid
my feelings--or, at least, I thought I was hiding them. It was a hard
task, for every word or look that the girl gave me seemed to turn my
blood to fire. That she was indifferent to me--that she regarded me only
as a friend--I was convinced. I was a youngster and inexperienced, and
so I was blind to the girl's pretty blushes, to the averting of her eyes
when they would meet mine, and to other signs of confusion that I
remembered afterward. To remain at Fort Royal, a witness of Griffith
Hawke's domestic happiness, I knew to be impossible. I determined to
seek a new post, or to plunge far into the northern wilderness, as soon
as I should have delivered Flora at her destination.
The days slipped by fraught with mingled joy and bitterness, and at
sunset one chilly August evening I stood alone on deck by the port
bulwark. The wind was rising, and there was a clammy mist on the gray,
troubled waters. We were nearly across the bay, and in the morning we
expected to sight the marshy shores that lay about Fort York. Flora was
in her cabin. She had seemed depressed all day and I remembered that an
hour before, when the skipper told her how near we were to land, she had
smiled at me sadly and gone below. I had no wish for the voyage to end.
The thought of the morrow cut me like a knife, and I was lost in gloomy
reflections, when a hand clapped me on the shoulder. I turned round with
a start, and saw Captain Rudstone.
"A few hours more, Mr. Carew," he said, "and we shall have dropped
anchor under the walls of the fort. Do you expect to meet your factor
there?"
"It is doubtful," I replied. "He will hardly look for our arrival so
soon. We took an earlier ship, you will remember, and our passage has
been a swift one."
"It was a dangerous passage," he said meaningly--"at least, for you. I
take it you will be glad of a few days of grace. But may I ask--I happen
to have a curiosity--how this thing is to end?"
"What thing?" I cried, ruffling at once.
"You love Miss Hatherton," he answered with a smile.
I felt my face grow hot.
"Does that concern you?" I demanded curtly. "I will thank you to mind
your own affairs, Captain Rudstone."
"The girl loves you," he replied calmly.
"I don't believe it," said I.
"Bah! you are a blind fool," he muttered. "I gave you credit for more
perception. But it is just as I said--the girl returns your affection.
What are you going to do about it? Will you allow her to marry Griffith
Hawke?"
I could have struck the captain for his jesting tone, and yet at the
same time I detected a ring of truth in what he had said. It flashed
upon me that I had indeed been blind, and the revelation thrilled my
heart.
"Miss Hatherton is the promised wife of Griffith Hawke," I answered
hoarsely; "and Griffith Hawke is my superior officer. I am acting under
his orders, and I dare not betray my trust. I am a man of honor, and not
a knave. I scorn your suggestion, sir."
"Do you call it honorable," sneered the captain, "to help this innocent
girl, whose heart belongs to you, to marry another man?"
I looked at him with some confusion for, to tell the truth, I had no
answer ready to my lips. And just then Hiram Bunker strode up to us, his
countenance unusually grave.
"It's going to be a nasty night, or I'm no mariner," he exclaimed.
"There's a storm brewing, and we are perilously near the coast. I don't
like the prospect a bit, gentlemen."
Captain Rudstone made some fitting reply, but I was in no mood to heed
the skipper's words, or to give a second thought to the prophecy of a
storm. I left the two together, and with my brain in a whirl I crept
down to the seclusion of my cabin.
CHAPTER IX.
AT THE MERCY OF THE SEA.
For an hour or more I sat on the edge of my berth, pondering the matter
first in one way and then in another. The captain's plain speech had
opened my eyes, as it were, and as I recalled many little incidents of
the past, looking at them now in their true light, I saw that I had
indeed been dull-witted and slow of comprehension. I had won Flora's
heart--she returned my affection. That was the meaning of her frequent
blushes and confusion--signs which I had interpreted as indifference
when I thought of them at all.
The discovery both caused me an exquisite joy and added to my
wretchedness. At the first I painted a bright and glowing picture of the
future. Flora should be mine! I would make her my wife, and carry her
off into the wilderness or to one of the lower towns. I was
young and strong. I had some money laid by, and it would be but a
delightful task to carve a home and a fortune for the two of us. So I
reasoned for a time, and then a more sober mood followed. I saw that I
had been indulging in an empty dream.
"There is no such happiness for me!" I groaned aloud. "I was a fool to
think of it for a moment. The girl loves me, it is true, but no
persuasion of mine could ever induce her to break her promise. She
belongs to Griffith Hawke, and she will marry him. And even if it were
possible to win her, honor and duty, which I have always held sacred,
would keep me from such a knavish trick. If I proved unfaithful to my
trust, could I ever hold up my head among men again?"
Thus I revolved the matter in my mind, and I confess that I was sorely
tempted more than once to stake all on the chance of making Flora my
own. But in the end I resolved to be true to my manhood--to the
principles my father had been at such pains to teach me. Without taking
the trouble to undress, I stretched myself on my bed--the hour was
late--and for a long time I dozed or tossed restlessly at intervals. At
last I fell into a sound sleep, and it could have been no great while
afterward when I was rudely awakened by a crash that pitched me out of
my bunk to the floor. A second and far louder crash followed at once,
immediately overhead, and then a shrill commotion broke out. I knew the
ship had struck, and I lost no time in getting to my feet. Luckily no
bones were broken, and with some difficulty--for the vessel was pitching
heavily--I groped my way through the darkness to the deck.
Here I beheld such a scene as I trust I may never see again. The
mainmast had fallen, tearing a great gap in the bulwark, and crushing
two sailors under its weight. Hiram Bunker and some of his men were
rushing to and fro, shouting and yelling; others were gazing as though
stupefied at the wreckage of shattered spars, flapping canvas, and
twisted cordage. The ship was plunging fore and aft--a sure sign that
she was not now aground. The mist had partly cleared, and the air was
raw and cutting. A storm of wind and rain was raging, blowing from the
starboard or seaward side. Several of the crew had followed me above,
but most of them had evidently been busy on deck at the time of the
disaster.
A single lamp was burning, and at first none observed my presence. All
was seemingly confusion and panic, and the skipper's orders were being
tardily obeyed. I moved forward a little, and recognized Captain
Rudstone holding to the snapped-off end of the mast.
"What has happened?" I demanded anxiously. "Are we in danger?"
"Little doubt of it, Mr. Carew," he answered calmly. "The ship struck on
a submerged rock--probably the side edge of it--and immediately sheered
off into deep water. It was a hard blow to shatter the mast, which
crushed two poor fellows to death in its fall."
"What is the time?" I asked.
"Two o'clock in the morning, and we are close to the shore."
"The vessel might have fared worse," said I. "But is she leaking?"
"Ay, there's the rub," the captain replied. "The water is pouring in,
and the ship is already beginning to settle."
"God help us," I cried, "if that is true!"
I wanted further confirmation, and I hurried away to seek the skipper. I
found him close by, and as I hurried up to him he was joined by another
man, a bearded sailor, who called out excitedly:
"There is four feet of water in the well, sir, and it is steadily
increasing. We can't keep afloat long."
"Stick to the pumps, Lucas, and do what you can," the skipper directed.
"Get some food ready, men, and prepare to lower the boats," he shouted
loudly to the crew. Then he turned to me.
"'Tis is a bad business, Mr. Carew," he said hoarsely. "It's all up with
my ship, and I'm a ruined man. But I'm going to save all hands, if it is
possible. Where is Miss Hatherton?"
"In her cabin," I replied.
I had not forgotten the girl, but I had felt reluctant to rouse her
until I knew what danger threatened us. Now there was no time to lose,
and I hastened to the companion way. At the foot of it, where there was
some depth of water, I dimly perceived Flora wading toward me. She
uttered a little cry of joy and clasped my arm.
"So you are up and dressed," I exclaimed. "I was just coming for you."
"I was awakened by the crash," she replied, "and I prepared for the
worst at once. Is the ship sinking, Denzil?"
"She will go down ultimately," I answered; "but there is plenty of time
for all hands to escape. Do not be alarmed."
"I am not frightened," she said bravely. "I know that I am safe with
you."
There was a tenderness in her voice that tempted me to some mad reply,
but I checked the impulse. I bade her stay where she was while I went to
my cabin for some articles of value. I was quickly back, and as soon as
the companion was clear--the skipper and some of the crew were swarming
down--I helped Flora up. We went forward to the bulwark, Captain
Rudstone joining us, and there we waited for a quarter of an hour of
suspense and anxiety.
In spite of the sucking of the pumps, the ship settled steadily, bows
first, and rolled less and less to the waves. It was very dark, and the
wind shrieked and whistled dismally; the rain fell unceasingly, soon
drenching us from head to foot. The worst of it was that we had shortly
to face a deadly peril. The boats were frail, the sea rough, and the
storm-beaten coast of the bay was no great distance off. I had not the
heart to tell Flora how slight was our chance of life, and I do not know
if she suspected it. At all events, she was perfectly calm and
collected.
The men were under control now, and there was little confusion. They
promptly obeyed orders, and Hiram Bunker seemed to be everywhere at
once. We could do nothing but look on, with a growing uneasiness, for
which there was good cause. But at last all was in readiness, and none
too soon, for the bows of the sinking ship were close to the water. It
was from this quarter that the two boats--the longboat and the
jolly-boat--were lowered.
The latter was the smaller, and it was quickly filled by Miss Hatherton,
Captain Rudstone, Baptiste, and I, and four seamen. The first mate, who
had a lantern lashed to his waist, let down some food and then followed
us. The skipper and the rest of the crew occupied the long boat, which
was lowered at the same time from the opposite side. Both craft were
hurriedly thrust off by the aid of boathooks, and there we were on the
open surface of Hudson Bay, exposed to the fury of the storm, and
drifting away into the black maw of the night.
How narrow an escape we had made of it we were quickly to learn, for we
had gone no more than a hundred yards when I heard a bitter cry from
Hiram Bunker, followed by shouts of "Look! Look!" I glanced back from
the stern seat, and at that moment the Speedwell went to her doom. There
was a sound of creaking planks, her bow dipped under and her stern rose
high the air, and then the waves closed over the poop-deck and blotted
out the swinging lantern.
We were beyond the reach of the vortex, and our men pulled hard away
from the fatal spot. The sea grew rougher, and the rain poured in
torrents; we were compelled to keep bailing the water out. The
wind-lashed gap between the two boats widened swiftly, and in a short
time the long boat was lost to sight in the darkness. Again and again we
shouted at the top of our voices, but no reply came back. The wind
shrieked, the billows roared and crashed, and the shadow of death seemed
to be lowering on us from the black sky overhead.
"How are we going?" Captain Rudstone asked of the first mate, who was at
one of the oars.
"Badly enough, sir," the man replied. "It's no use trying to keep off
the shore, pull as hard as we may."
"Is there no hope?" Flora asked of me in a whisper.
"Very little," I replied hoarsely. "It is better to prepare for the
worst."
I put one arm round her, and she voluntarily snuggled closer to me. Thus
we sat for twenty minutes or half an hour, expecting constantly to be
capsized and flung into the sea. The storm still raged with undiminished
violence, but it was growing a little lighter now, and as often as we
rose to the top of the swell we could see the faint blur of the land far
off. It was an ominous sight, for most of us knew what the shore of the
bay was like in a tempest. Wind and tide were drifting us steadily
nearer.
"Look! Look!" Captain Rudstone suddenly shouted. "Pull hard about, men!
Quick, for your lives!"
But it was too late to avert the danger. I had scarcely glanced behind
me, where I saw a mighty wave, yards high, rolling forward swiftly, when
the jolly-boat was pitched far into the air. It hovered an instant on
the crest of the wall of water and then turned bottom up, shooting us
all down the slope into a foamy trough.
I lost my grip of Flora--how I do not know--and was sucked deep below
the surface. When by hard struggling I came to the top and looked about,
I experienced a moment of sickening horror, for I could see nothing of
the girl; but suddenly she rose within a few feet of me, her loosened
hair streaming on the water, and by a desperate effort I reached and
caught hold of her.
It was just then, as we were both at the mercy of the sea, that a
strange and providential thing happened. A heavy spar, which had
doubtless been washed from the sinking ship, floated alongside of us. I
seized it firmly with one hand, while I supported Flora with the other.
We were hurled up on a wave, and from the crest I saw the capsized
jolly-boat some distance off. Two men were clinging to the keel, but I
was unable to recognize them. The next instant the wind seemed to fall a
little and shift to another quarter, bringing with it a gray fog that
settled speedily and thickly on all sides of us. But I had caught a
glimpse of the coast, and above the gale I could faintly hear the
muffled pounding of the surf.
The spar drifted on for several minutes, now high in the air, now deep
in the greenish hollow of the sea. Flora was perfectly conscious, and
partly able to help herself. We were in such peril that I could offer
her no words of comfort, and she seemed to understand the meaning of my
ominous stillness.
"Are we going to be drowned?" she asked.
"We are in God's hands, Flora," I answered huskily. "The shore is very
close, and we are drifting straight in. A tremendous surf is breaking
and it will be a miracle if we live through it."
"Then we will die together, Denzil," the brave girl whispered; and as
she looked up at me I read in her eyes the confession of her heart--the
pure depth of a love that was all my own.
CHAPTER X.
THE DAWN OF DAY.
Flora's words, and the meaning glance that accompanied them, melted the
resolve I had made but a few ours before. There was no reason, indeed,
why I should keep silence at such a time. I believed that we were both
in the jaws of death, with not the faintest chance of escape. To lift
the cloud that was between us--to snatch what bliss was possible out of
our last moments--would be a sweet and pardonable thing. So, while the
spar bore us lightly amid the curling waves, I drew the girl more
tightly to my breast with one arm, and pressed kisses on her lips and
eyes, on the salty, dripping hair that clustered about her forehead.
"My darling, I love you!" I whispered passionately in her ear. "You must
let me speak; I can hide it no longer. I lost my heart weeks ago, but
honor held me silent."
What more I said I do not recall, but I know that I poured forth all my
burning, pent-up affection. When I had finished, Flora lifted her
tear-dimmed eyes to my face and smiled; she put a trembling arm about my
neck and kissed me.
"And I love you, Denzil," she said softly. "Oh, I am so glad that I can
tell you; it seems to take away the sting of death. I would have hidden
the truth from you; I would have kept my promise and married Griffith
Hawke. But now--now it is different. In death we belong to each other.
You made me love you, Denzil--you were so kind, so good, so brave!"
"If we could only live, and be happy together!" I replied hoarsely.
"Hush! God knows best," she whispered. "In life we must have been apart.
Kiss me again, Denzil, and hold me tight. The end will not be long!"
I kissed her passionately, and drew her as close to me as I could with
one arm, while with the other I took a firmer grip on the spar. I had my
heart's desire, but already it was turning to ashes. I could not
reconcile myself to so cruel a fate. As I looked into Flora's eyes,
shining with the light of love, I felt a bitter resentment, a dull,
aching stupor of despair.
We were both silent for a few moments, and then of a sudden a rising
wind scattered the gray fog. From the top of the swell we had a glimpse
of the low, rugged shore, less than half a mile distant. Monstrous waves
were rolling toward it, and the angry bellowing of the surf was like
continuous thunder.
"I am growing weaker," Flora whispered, "and I am so cold. Don't let me
slip, Denzil."
I assured her that I would not, but I doubted if I could keep my word.
I, too, was beginning to succumb to the effects of the long struggle
with the raging sea and the driving storm. I was almost exhausted, and
chilled in every limb. I feared that before long we must both be washed
from the spar.
But during the next minute it grew a little lighter, and I made a
discovery that caused me a strange agitation. Over on the shore, and
slightly to our right, a promontory of rock and bushes jutted out some
distance. It was to leeward of the wind, which was blowing us
perceptibly that way, while at the same time the waves swept us
landward. I knew that if we should drift under the promontory, where
doubtless the surf was less violent, there would be some faint hope of
escape. I said nothing to Flora, however, for I thought it best to let
her continue to believe the worst. She was much weaker now, and made no
effort to speak; but the look in her half-closed eyes was more eloquent
than words.
On and on we plunged, gaining speed every instant--now deep down between
walls of glassy water, now tossed high on the curling swell. At
intervals I sighted the shore--we were close upon it--and there was no
longer any doubt that we should strike to leeward of the promontory.
Faster and faster! The spar spun round and round dizzily. I gripped it
with all my strength, supporting Flora's half-insensible form with the
other arm.
For a minute we were held in a watery trough, and then a huge wave,
overtaking us from behind, lifted us high on its curling, hissing crest.
I had a brief, flashing vision of a murky strip of sand and bushes
washed by milky foam. It looked to be straight below me, and on the
instant I let go of the spar. I strained Flora to my breast, and made a
feeble attempt to swim. There was a roaring and singing in my ears, a
blur of shadows before my eyes, and the next thing I remembered was a
tremendous crash that I thought had shattered every bone in my body.
The instinct of life was so strong that I must have scrambled at once to
my feet. I had been flung into a hillock of wet sand and grass, and with
such force that the deep imprint of my body was visible. I looked about
me, dizzy and stunned, and immediately saw Flora lying huddled in a
thick clump of bushes a few feet to the left. I knew not if she was dead
or alive, but as I staggered toward her I discovered a great foaming
wave rolling up the beach. Rallying what strength I could, I
seized the girl and dragged her back as far and as quickly as I was
able. The wave broke with a crash, hurling its curled spray almost to
our feet. I dropped my burden, and reeled over in a deathly faint. When
I came to my senses--I could not have been unconscious more than a few
minutes--the chilly gray dawn had driven away the shadows of the night.
A bleak and disheartening prospect met my eyes in every direction.
Straight in front the sea rolled to the horizon, still tossing and
tumbling. Behind me, and to right and left, stretched a flat, dreary,
marshy coast, scarred with rocks, thickets and evergreens.
It was a familiar enough scene to me--I had often visited the shores of
Hudson Bay--and I gave it but a glance. Flora lay close beside me, her
head and shoulders pillowed on a clump of weeds, and at the first I
thought she was dead. But when I had risen to my knees with some pain
and difficulty--I was as weak as a cat--I found that she was breathing.
I set myself to restore her, and chafed her cold hands until the blood
began to circulate freely. Then I poured a few drops of brandy between
her lips--I fortunately had some in a small flask--and it was no sooner
swallowed than she opened her lovely eyes. I could see that she was
perfectly conscious, and that she knew me and remembered all; but when I
lifted her gently in my arms she made a weak effort to draw back, and
looked at me with a sort of horror.
"My darling, what is the matter?" I cried.
"Hush, Denzil, not that name," she replied faintly. "Oh, why were we
spared? You must forget all that I told you, even as I shall forget your
words. It was only a dream--a dream that is dead. We can be nothing to
each other."
I knew in my heart that she was right, but the sight of her beauty, the
memory of her confession, put me in a rebellious mood. I drank what was
left of the brandy, and rose dizzily to my feet.
"I will not give you up," I said in a dogged tone. "You love me, Flora,
and you are mine. Providence saved us for a purpose--to make us happy."
She shook her head sadly.
"Denzil, why will you make is so hard for me?" she replied. "I must keep
my promise--you know that. Be brave, be honorable. Forget what has
happened!"
The appeal shamed me, and I averted my eyes from her. In my wretchedness
I felt tempted to throw myself into the sea.
"Where are the rest?" she asked in a different voice.
"I fear they are all drowned," I answered gloomily. "Fate has been less
kind to us."
"Do you know where we are?" she continued.
"Not exactly," I said, looking about, "but we can't be a great distance
from Fort York--and from Griffith Hawke."
I was sorry for the cutting words as soon as they were spoken, and I
would have made a fitting apology. But just then I heard voices, and two
voyageurs, in the blue capotes of the Hudson Bay Company, came out of
the timber about twenty yards off. They saw us at once and ran toward us
with eager shouts.
CHAPTER XI.
A COPY OF "THE TIMES."
I was both glad and sorry for the interruption. In our forlorn condition
we needed assistance badly enough, but I would have preferred to have
Flora all to myself for some time longer. However, I made the best of
it, and gave the voyageurs a warm greeting. They were from Fort York,
and they told me that they and half a dozen more had been on a week's
hunting trip, and that they had spent the night in a sheltered spot near
by. They added that when they were about starting for the fort, half an
hour previously, two survivors of the wreck had straggled into their
camp.
This was pleasing news, but before I could glean any further
information, the rest of the party made their appearance from the
timber--three more voyageurs and three of the company's Indian hunters.
And with them, to my great delight, were Captain Rudstone and Baptiste.
Both walked with difficulty and were sorely bruised. It seems they had
come ashore clinging to the jolly-boat--the rest of the crew were
drowned--and had been cast on a sandy part of the coast. They knew
nothing of the other boat or its occupants, and there was reason to
believe the worst.
"I fear they are all lost," said Captain Rudstone. "The longboat was
heavily weighted and it probably capsized soon after it left the ship.
We four have had a truly marvelous escape, Mr. Carew. I judge that Miss
Hatherton owes her life to you."
"We came ashore together," I answered.
"Mr. Carew is too modest," Flora said quietly. "But for him I should
have been drowned when the boat upset. I was helpless all the time,
while he held me on the spar."
The captain looked queerly from one to the other of us, and I was afraid
he would say some awkward thing; but he merely shrugged his
shoulders, and turned to another subject.
"We might be in a worse plight," he remarked. "We are sound of limb, and
Fort York is but six miles away. And I have saved Lord Selkirk's
dispatches, which is a matter to be thankful for." He patted his breast
as he spoke. "A drying at a good fire is all they will need," he added.
After some discussion, it was decided that two of the voyageurs should
remain behind for the present and search the coast on the chance of
finding trace of the longboat and its crew. The rest of us started for
the fort, but first a rude litter was constructed on which to carry
Flora, who was too weak and bruised to walk so great a distance.
The captain, Baptiste, and I were not in much better condition, and we
were heartily glad when, after a weary tramp of under three hours, we
arrived at Fort York. This was and still is, the main trading-post of
the Hudson Bay Company. It stood close to the bay and to the mouth of
the Nelson River. It was larger than the other forts, but in every
respect like them--a fortified palisade surrounding a huddled cluster of
buildings, in which live a little colony of men, from the factor and his
assistants down to the Indian employees.
Captain Rudstone and myself were well known at the fort--we had both
been there before--and we received a cordial greeting from old friends.
We were soon provided with dry clothes and a stiff glass of liquor, and
then, little the worse for our hardships, we sat down to a plentiful
breakfast. Baptiste had fared worse than either of us. It turned out
that one of his ribs was broken, and he went straight to the hospital.
The factor's wife took charge of Flora, and I saw her no more that day.
One thing sadly marred our spirits--we had no hope that Hiram Bunker or
any of his crew had been saved, and the disaster cast a gloom on all in
the fort. I may add here that the two voyageurs found the bodies of the
kind-hearted American skipper and six of his men, and that they were
buried the following day on a low bluff overlooking the scene of their
death-struggles. Peace to their ashes!
I slept soundly until late in the afternoon, and when supper was over,
and I had visited Baptiste in the hospital, Captain Rudstone and I spent
a quiet evening with the factor. Over pipes and brandy we told him the
story of the wreck, and of the circumstances that led to our hurried
flight from Quebec. He agreed that we had acted wisely, and he had some
remarks to make to the disadvantage of Cuthbert Mackenzie.
"He is a revengeful man," he added, "and he will leave no stone unturned
to settle with you for that night's work. I have no doubt that the theft
of Lord Selkirk's despatches was his aim."
"He did not get them," the captain laughed.
"It would have been a most unfortunate thing if he had," the factor
replied gravely. "One of the letters in the packet was for him and he
had already received it. Lord Selkirk is a shrewd and determined man,
and I am glad to know that they understand the danger at the head office
in London. My instructions are just what I have wished them to be, and I
suppose the import of all the letters is about the same."
"Very likely," assented Captain Rudstone. "I am glad you are pleased.
Trouble has been brewing this long time, and the crisis can't be far
off. By the by, have you had news from Quebec later than the date of our
sailing?"
"Not a word. The last mail, which brought me some London papers, left
Fort Garry at the close of June."
The factor sighed. He was fond of the life of towns and he had been
buried in the wilderness for ten years!
"Gentlemen, fill your glasses," he added. "Here's to the prosperity of
the company!"
"May it continue forever!" supplemented the captain.
I drank the toast, and then inquired what was the state of the lower
country.
"There have been no open hostilities as yet," the factor replied, "but
there are plenty of rumors--ugly rumors. And that reminds me, Mr. Carew,
a half-breed brought me a message from Griffith Hawke two days ago."
"I rather expected to find him here," said I, trying to hide my
eagerness at the opening of a subject which I had wished to come to.
"He has abandoned that intention," the factor stated. "He is afraid to
leave at present. The redskins have been impudent in his neighborhood of
late, and he thinks their loyalty has been tampered with by the
Northwest people. He begged me to send you and Miss Hatherton on to Fort
Royal at the first opportunity after your arrival, and there happens to
be one open now."
"How is that?" I asked.
"My right-hand man, Gummidge--you met him at supper--has been
transferred to Fort Garry," the factor explained. "He is married, and he
and his wife will go by way of the Churchill River and Fort Royal. Mrs
Gummidge will be a companion to Miss Hatherton. They expect to start in
a week, so as to cover as much ground as possible before the winter sets
in."
"The sooner the better," said I.
"And what about the marriage?" Captain Rudstone inquired carelessly.
"There will be a priest here--one of the French fathers--in the course
of a month," said the factor, "and I will send him on to Fort Royal."
I tried hard to appear unconcerned, for I saw that Captain Rudstone was
watching me keenly.
"I trust I shall be present for the ceremony," he remarked. "I go south
by that route when I have finished with the business that brought me to
the bay. I have three forts to visit hereabouts first."
The factor sucked thoughtfully at his pipe.
"Hawke is a lucky man," he said. "By gad, I envy him! Miss Hatherton is
the prettiest bit of womanhood I ever clapped eyes on."
"She is too young for Hawke," said Captain Rudstone, with a sly glance
in my direction.
"She will make him a good wife," I replied aggressively.
"There is another who wishes to marry her," he answered.
"What do you mean by that?" I cried.
"I refer to Cuthbert Mackenzie," said the captain.
I gave him an angry look, for I knew he had been purposely drawing me
on, and to hide my confusion I drank a glass of brandy and water. There
was a pause, and then, to my relief, the factor turned the conversation
on the prices of furs.
The next five days passed slowly and uneventfully. Baptiste came out of
hospital, and was pronounced fit for travel. Flora was none the worse
for her exposure and suffering; I saw very little of her, for she lived
in the married men's quarters and was looked after by the factor's wife
and Mrs. Gummidge. But when we found ourselves alone together, as
happened several times, her guarded conversation gave me to understand
that the past must be forgotten, and she showed plainly that she was
deeply grateful to me for not bringing up the subject that was next my
heart. And indeed I had no intention of doing so. I realized that the
girl could not be mine, and that what had occurred between us, when we
believed ourselves to be on the edge of the grave--was the more reason
why I should remain true to faith and honor. But my love for her was
stronger and deeper-rooted than ever, and I still adhered to my
resolution to take myself out of temptation's way at the first
opportunity--to begin a new life in the wilderness or the towns of
Lower Canada. I would have evaded the journey with her to Fort Royal had
it been possible to do so.
Captain Rudstone made no further mention of the girl, and during the
time he remained at the fort we were on the best of terms, though I
observed that he took no pains to seek my company, and that he often
looked at me with the puzzled and uneasy expression which I had noted
from the first. On the morning of the fourth day he left for a fort some
miles to the eastward, and on the night before an incident happened
which I must not forget to mention.
We were sitting in the factor's room after supper--the captain and
I--and he was reading an English paper that had come up with the last
mail. Suddenly he uttered a sharp cry of surprise, and brought his
tilted chair to the floor with a crash. When I inquired what was the
matter he looked at me suspiciously, and made some inaudible reply. He
tossed the paper on the table, gulped down a stiff brandy, and left the
room.
As he did not return, I ventured to pick the paper up and examine it. It
was a copy of the London Times, dated a year back. I scanned the page he
had been reading, but could find nothing to account for his agitation.
Where his hand had rumpled it was a brief paragraph stating that the
Earl of Heathermere, of Heathermere Hall, in Surrey, was dead; that his
two unmarried sons had died during the previous year--one by an accident
while hunting; and that the title was now extinct, and the estate in
Chancery. I read it with momentary interest, and then it passed from my
mind. The notice of deaths was close by, and I concluded that it
contained the name of one of the captain's English friends. I remembered
that he had resided in London for some time.
Early the next morning Captain Rudstone departed, expressing the hope
that he would see me within a month or six weeks. Two days later--on the
morning of the sixth day after the wreck of the Speedwell--I was on my
way to Fort Royal. Our party numbered eight, as follows: Jim Gummidge
and his wife, Miss Hatherton and myself, Baptiste, and three trusty
voyageurs. Gummidge was a companionable fellow, and his wife was a
hardy, fearless little woman of the woods.
Our course was to the west, across a seventy-mile stretch of waterway,
formed of connecting lakes and streams, that would bring us to the
Churchill River, at a point a few miles above Fort Royal--the Churchill,
it may be said, empties into Hudson Bay more than a hundred miles to the
northwest of Fort York. We traveled in one long, narrow canoe, which was
light enough to be portaged without difficulty, and on the evening of
the second day we were within thirty-five miles of our destination.
CHAPTER XII.
A WARNING IN WOODCRAFT.
That night we pitched our camp on a wooded island in a small lake,
erecting, as was the usual custom, a couple of lean-tos of bark and fir
boughs. Gummidge owned the traveling outfit and the factor of Fort York
had provided Baptiste and myself with what we needed in the way of
weapons and ammunition. We were all well armed, for none journeyed
otherwise through the wilderness in those days. But at this time, and
from the part of the country we had to traverse, it seemed a most
unlikely thing that we would run into any peril. However, neither
Gummidge nor I were disposed to relax the ordinary precautions, and when
we retired we set one of the voyageurs to watch.
This man--Moralle by name--awakened me about two o'clock in the morning
by shaking my arm gently, and in a whisper begged me to come outside. I
followed him from the lean-to across the island, which was no more than
a dozen yards in diameter. The night was very dark, and it was
impossible to make out the shore, though it was less than a quarter of a
mile away. A deep silence brooded on land and water.
"What do you want with me?" I asked sharply.
"Pardon, sir," replied Moralle, "but a little while ago, as I stood
here, I heard a low splash. I crouched down to watch the better, and out
yonder on the lake I saw the head and arms of a swimmer. Then a pebble
crunched under my moccasins, and the man turned and made off as quietly
as he came."
"You have keen eyes," said I. "Look, the water is black! A fish made a
splash, and you imagined the rest."
"I saw the swimmer, sir," he persisted doggedly.
"You saw a moose or a caribou," I suggested.
"Would a moose approach the island," he asked, "with the scent of our
camp fire blowing to his nostrils?"
This was true, and I could not deny it.
"Then you would have me believe," said I, "that some enemy swam out from
the mainland to spy upon us?"
"It was a man," the voyageur answered, "and he was swimming this way."
"I will finish your watch, Moralle," said I. "Give me your musket, and
go to bed. Be careful not to waken the others."
He shuffled off without a word, and I was left to my lonely vigil. I had
detected a smell of liquor in Moralle's breath, and I was disposed to
believe that his story had no more foundation than the splashing of a
fish. At all events, while I paced the strip of beach for two hours, I
saw or heard nothing alarming. There was now a glimmer of dawn in the
east, so I wakened Baptiste, bidding him without explanation to take my
place, and returned to the lean-to for a half-hour's sleep.
It was broad daylight when Gummidge roused me. The fire was blazing and
the voyageurs were preparing breakfast. Flora and Mr. Gummidge were
kneeling on a flat stone, dipping their faces and hands into the crystal
waters of the lake. The wooded shores rose around us in majestic
solitude, and I scanned them in all directions without discovering any
trace of human occupation. I made no mention of the incident of the
night, attaching no importance to it; nor did Moralle have anything to
say on the subject.
Sunrise found us embarked and already some distance down the lake. We
were in the heart of the woods, and the wild beauty of the Great Lone
Land cast its mystic spell upon all of us.
The morning was yet young when we passed from the lake into one of its
many outlets. This was a narrow stream, navigable at first, but quickly
becoming too shallow and rocky for our further progress. So we left the
water, and there was now a portage of two miles over a level stretch of
forest, at the end of which we would strike the Churchill River at a
point twenty miles above Fort Royal.
We started off rapidly, Baptiste and the three other voyageurs leading
the way with the canoe on their shoulders. The paddles and a part of the
load were inside, and Gummidge and I carried the rest. The women had no
burdens, and could easily keep pace with us.
"Have you passed this way before?" asked Gummidge.
"Only once," I replied, "and that was some years ago."
"The place reminds me of the enchanted forests one reads of in old fairy
tales," said Mrs. Gummidge.
"I wish we were out of it," exclaimed Flora. "It has a sad and
depressing influence on me."
Something in her voice made me turn and look at her, and she quickly
averted her eyes.
"What's that?" cried Gummidge, an instant later. "Don't you see? There
it lies, shining."
I darted past him to the left of the path and at the base of a tree I
picked up a hunting knife sheathed in a case of tanned buckskin. We all
stopped, and Lavigne, one of the voyageurs, left the canoe to his
comrades and took the weapon from my hand. He examined it with keen and
grave interest.
"It is just such a knife as the men of the Northwest Company carry," he
declared.
"Yes, you are right," assented Gummidge; and I agreed with him.
For a minute or more Lavigne searched the ground in the vicinity,
creeping here and there on all-fours. Then he rose to his feet with the
air of one who has made an unpleasant discovery.
"Indians have passed this way within a few hours," he announced, "and a
white man was with them. They went toward the northwest."
Gummidge and I were fairly good at woodcraft, but the marks in the grass
baffled us. Yet we did not dream of doubting or questioning Lavigne's
assertion, for he was known to be a skilled and expert tracker. Redskins
and a Northwest man together! It was a combination, in these times of
evil rumor, that boded no good. I remembered Moralle's tale of the
swimmer, and I felt a sudden uneasiness.
"We must be careful," said Gummidge. "This is a fine neighborhood for an
ambuscade."
I glanced at Flora, and by her pale and frightened face I saw she was
thinking of the same thing that was in my own mind.
"Do you suppose he is near us, Denzil?" she asked, stepping close to my
side.
"Impossible," I replied. "Cuthbert Mackenzie is hundreds of miles away
in Quebec. Do not be afraid. There is no danger, and the river is not
far off."
But my assuring words were from the lips only. At heart I felt that
Mackenzie was just the sort of man to have followed us to the North--a
thing he could easily have done by land in this time. Gummidge took as
serious a view of the matter, though for different reasons, and he
approved the precautions I suggested.
So when we started off again, our order of march was reversed and
otherwise changed. Gummidge and I went ahead single file, with, our
muskets ready for immediate use. The women came next, and then the
canoe; we had put the luggage into it, and the voyageurs did not grumble
at the extra load.
Less than a mile remained to be covered, and I was alert for attack with
every foot of the way. But no Indian yells or musket-shots broke the
stillness of the forest, and I was heartily glad when we emerged on the
bank of the Churchill. Only twenty miles down stream to Fort Royal! No
further thoughts of danger troubled us. Swiftly we embarked, and swung
out on the rushing blue tide.
After the first five miles the scene changed a little. The river
narrowed, and grew more swift. The hills receded right and left, and a
strip of dense forest fringed the banks on either hand. A dull roar in
the distance warned us that we were approaching well-known and dangerous
falls, where it would be necessary to land and make a brief portage
through the woods.
Closer and closer we swept, and louder and louder rang the thunder of
the rapids. The voyageurs began to make in a little toward the left
shore, and just then a musket cracked shrilly from the forest on that
side. Gardapie, who was immediately in front of me, dropped his paddle,
and leaped convulsively to his feet He clutched at his bleeding throat,
gave a gurgling cry of agony, and pitched head first out of the canoe,
nearly upsetting it as he slid off the gunwale.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE AMBUSCADE.
The attack was so sudden and unlooked for, and took us at such a
disadvantage, that it was a mercy the half of us were not killed by the
enemy's first straggling volley. For on the instant that Gardapie fell
dead into the river two more shots rang out, and then a third and a
fourth. A bullet whistled by my ear, and another flew so close to
Baptiste that he dropped his paddle and threw himself flat, uttering a
shrill "_Nom de Dieu!_" The women screamed, and Lavigne cried out
with a curse that he had a ball in his right arm.
"Redskins!" I yelled. "Down--down for your lives!"
The canoe was luckily of a good depth, and we all crouched low and
hugged the bottom. The firing had ceased as abruptly as it opened. Not a
shot or a yell disturbed the quiet of the woods on either hand, and but
for poor Gardapie's vacant place, and the splash of blood where he had
been kneeling, I might have thought that the whole thing was a hideous
dream. We drifted on with the current for a moment, while the roar of
the falls swelled louder. Our loaded muskets were in our grasp, but we
dared not expose our heads above the gunwales.
I looked back toward the stern, and saw Moralle tying a bandage on
Lavigne's wounded arm. Gummidge was bareheaded, and he told me
that a ball had carried his cap into the river.
"We're not done with the red devils," he added. "It's a bad scrape,
Carew. I've no doubt the Indians have been won over by the Northwest
people, and hostilities have already begun."
On that point I did not agree with him, but I was unwilling to speak
what was in my mind while Flora was listening. We were between two
perils, and I called out to Moralle for his opinion.
"If the redskins are in any force it will be impossible to land and make
the portage," I said. "We are within a quarter of a mile of the rapids
now. What are the chances of running them safely?"
"I have taken a canoe through them twice," replied Moralle, "and I could
do it again. That is, provided I can paddle and look where I am going.
Shall I try it, sir?"
"No, not yet; wait a little," I answered.
"I don't like this silence," exclaimed Gummidge. "Why did the redskins
stop firing so suddenly? Mark my word, Carew, there's a piece of
deviltry brewing. I'm afraid not one of us will--"
I stopped him by a gesture, and spoke a few comforting words to Flora;
her face was very white, but beyond that she showed no trace of fear.
Then I crept a little past Baptiste, and with the point of my knife I
hurriedly made two small holes below the gunwales of the canoe, one on
each side. I peeped through both in turn, and the curve of the bow gave
me as clear a view ahead as I could have wished.
What I saw partly explained the meaning of the brief silence--scarcely
more than a minute had elapsed since the musket volley. Here and there,
in the leafy woods to right and left I caught a glimpse of dusky,
swiftly moving bodies. We were close upon the falls, and but for the
noise of the tumbling waters I could have heard the scurrying feet of
our determined foes.
"What do you make out?" Gummidge whispered.
"The Indians are running ahead of us through the forest," I replied.
"They expect that we will try the portage, and then they will have us in
a trap. Our only chance is to dash down the rapids."
"It's a mighty poor one," murmured Gummidge; and as he spoke I heard an
hysterical sob from his wife.
"We are not going quite straight," I called to Moralle. "If we keep on
this course we will hit the rocks. A few strokes to the left--"
"I'll manage that, sir," the plucky voyageur interrupted.
I glanced over my shoulder, and saw him rise to his knees and begin to
paddle. He was not fired on, as I had expected would be the case, so
Baptiste and I ventured to lift our heads. As we watched, we held our
muskets ready for the shoulder.
The current was bearing us on swiftly. A short distance below, the
river narrowed to a couple of hundred feet, and here stretched the
line of half-sunken rocks that marked the beginning of the falls. In the
very center was a break several yards wide, and straight for this the
canoe was now driving. There was no sign of the enemy, and it was
difficult to realize that such a deadly peril awaited us.
Bang went a musket, and a puff of bluish smoke curled from the forest on
the left. The ball passed over Moralle's head; he ceased paddling and
dropped under cover. Baptiste did the same, but I kept my head up,
looking for a chance to return the shot. My attention had just been
attracted by a movement between the trees, when Gummidge cried,
hoarsely:
"Keep down, Miss Hatherton! That was a mad thing to do!"
I turned around sharply as Gummidge released his hold of Flora, who, I
judged, had been exposing herself recklessly. I was startled by her
appearance. She looked at me with frightened eyes and parted lips, with
a face the hue of ashes.
"Save me!" she gasped. "I saw him! I saw him!"
"Saw who?" I cried.
"Cuthbert Mackenzie! I am sure it was he, Denzil!" And she pointed to
the right.
I looked hard in that direction, scanning the woods right and left. By
Heavens, the girl had not been mistaken. Through a rift in the foliage,
nearly opposite the canoe, peered a swarthy, sinister countenance and I
recognized the features of Cuthbert Mackenzie. I took aim at him, but
before I could fire he was gone. My brain seemed in a whirl. I had found
the clew--the fiendish clew--to the attack that threatened to cost us
our lives. Bent on revenge, Mackenzie had traveled up country to
intercept us on the way to the fort--to kill me, and to capture Flora.
He had bribed the savages to help him, and he and his ruthless allies
had been in the vicinity of our camp on the previous night.
Swiftly these things coursed through my mind. I tried to speak to Flora,
but my tongue seemed to be held fast. I heard a shot--another and
another. The bullets sang close to my ear.
"Down--down!" warned Gummidge.
"Keep low!" shouted Moralle and Lavigne in one breath.
My brain grew suddenly clear, but I did not heed the friendly advice.
Three shots had missed me, and I knew that the canoe was jerking about
too much with the current to admit of a sure aim the savages.
"Paddle on, Moralle!" I cried. "Faster--faster!"
Meanwhile I watched the right hank, hoping to get another chance at
Cuthbert Mackenzie. Baptiste--brave fellow!--was on the alert with me
but he was scanning the left shore, and a sudden exclamation from him
drew my eyes in the same direction. Ten yards in front, on the edge of
the timber, a redskin thrust his coppery face from the leaves. I fired
as quickly and the savage vanished with a yell of pain.
We were almost upon the rapids, and half a minute more would see us
plunged into the seething, foaming slide of angry waters. To right and
left, where the jagged reef touched the forest, stood three or four
painted redskins, with muskets to their shoulders. And some distance
below the falls, where the water broadened and shallowed, I made out the
feather-decked heads of more Indians. This was a dread and significant
discovery, and I instantly perceived the trap that had been laid for us.
"Keep under cover!" I shouted at the top of my voice.
"Be ready to fight when we pass the rapids! The devils are waiting for
us below, blocking the way! Don't try to paddle, Moralle. The canoe is
headed straight for the rift in the middle. It's sure death if you show
yourself."
CHAPTER XIV.
AN INDIAN'S GRATITUDE.
Above the thunder of the falls my warning was heard and understood.
Glancing back to make sure, I saw the startled faces of the two women,
and the grimly-set countenance of Jim Gummidge. From the stern Moralle
half-rose, looked this way and that, and made two daring strokes with
the paddle. He dropped under cover again just as a volley of musket
balls swept close over the canoe.
"You fool!" I shouted at him.
"I had to do it," he yelled back. "We were swinging to the left. It's
all right now."
"Steady! Here we go!" cried Gummidge.
I gave Flora a brief look that brought a dash of hot color to her pale
cheeks, and then I turned quickly to one of my loopholes--Baptiste was
gazing from the other. There was scarcely time to see anything. Like a
flash I made out the little knot of painted savages on the reef to the
left, and caught a blur of scarlet and copper from the shallows beyond
the rapids. The next instant the turbulent waters leaped up and hid the
view, and we struck the verge of the falls.
The Indians to right and left of the channel had evidently been posted
there to prevent us from landing, and they did not fire on us as we shot
by, but they yelled and screeched like fiends, their comrades below
joining in, and above the horrid din of voices I heard the roar of the
great waves that now surrounded us.
For a few seconds--it could have been no more--we hugged the bottom
tightly. Spray and foam dashed over us; the frail craft pitched and
tossed, swung round and round; billows and rocks smote the toughened
birch-bark. Then came a sudden crash, the canoe turned over in the
twinkling of an eye, and out we went into the raging falls, studded
thickly with sunken bowlders and jagged, protruding reefs.
I was whirled about by the angry waters as though I had been a mere
chip, sucked deep down, hurled to the surface, and bruised against
rocks. I fought hard for life and held my breath, and when a spar of
moss-grown bowlder loomed suddenly in front of me, I caught it with both
arms and held it fast.
At the first I was grateful to Heaven for this mercy, and thought of
nothing else. I filled my lungs with air and took a tighter grip of the
rock. Then a burst of shrill yells and a couple of musket shots, ringing
above the clamor of the rapids, roused me from my semi-stupor. I
remembered that the canoe had capsized, flinging us all to the flood or
to the waiting savages. And Flora! What was her fate? The dread that she
had perished sickened my heart.
I shook the water from my dripping hair and eyes, and looked about me.
There was little of cheer or hope in what I saw. I was stuck midway in
the falls, with my face downstream. Many yards below, where the foaming
slide of water broadened into choppy waves and swirling shallows,
Baptiste was splashing hip-deep for shore. Three redskins were dashing
after him with drawn tomahawks, and I gave the poor fellow up for lost.
Moralle had been carried through the cordon of savages, and had reached
the farther bank. There, on the edge of the forest, he was locked limb
to limb with a stalwart warrior. The two were down, rolling amid the
grass and gravel, and three Indians were watching for a chance to shoot
the voyageur without injuring their comrade. Off to my right, in a deep,
whirling eddy formed by a big bowlder, Gummidge was struggling hard to
save himself and his wife; he had the use of but one arm, for the other
was fastened around the little woman's waist. A short distance beyond
them, Lavigne, in spite of his wounded shoulder, was clinging in the
bushy limb of a tree that overhung and dipped to the surface of the
stream.
All this I observed at a sweeping glance--scarcely a moment could have
elapsed since the upsetting of the canoe--and in vain I sought further
for trace of Flora. That my companions were in peril of their lives,
that death by drowning or the tomahawk must be my own fate--these things
seemed of slight importance to me at the time. The canoe I discovered
readily enough. It was wedged broadside to the stream no more than four
yards above me, creaking and bending with the fierce current, its bow
and stern jammed against half-submerged pinnacles of rock.
"Flora--Flora!" I shouted, loud and hoarsely.
Above the thunder of the waters, above the yelling of the bloodthirsty
savages, I fancied I heard an answering cry. Again I called her name.
Just then I saw two white hands gripping the gunwale of the canoe, and
Lavigne, who was still clinging to the tree, nodded his head in that
direction, and shouted something I could not understand. The next
instant the shattered canoe was torn loose by the rush of the current.
It shot toward me, turned over twice, and sank from sight. And close
behind it--she had been clinging to it all the while--my darling rose
out of the greenish water. Swiftly she drifted on, the folds of her
dress inflated with air, her hands beating feebly, and her white,
agonized face staring at mine.
I saw that she must pass beyond me, at least an arm's length out of
reach. I did not hesitate an instant. Letting go of my precious rock, I
struck out across the current. I swam alongside of the helpless girl,
and caught her slender waist tightly.
Escaping the network of bowlders and reefs as by a miracle, we were
swept down the remainder of the tumbling rapids. At the bottom I found a
footing, and with my burden I struggled on, now slipping and
floundering, now breasting the furious current, half-blinded at every
stride by the dashing spray that beat in my face. But I was alive to the
danger that awaited below, and I felt that there was no hope for either
of us.
"Save me, Denzil! Don't let me die!" Flora murmured faintly in my ear.
"I will save you," I cried, "or I will perish with you."
I had hardly spoken when a voice--an English voice--rang loud and sharp
from the forest:
"Don't harm the girl! Take her alive!"
I knew that the command came from Cuthbert Mackenzie. He was hidden by
the trees, and I vainly tried to catch a glimpse of him while I fought
my way through the boiling current. A moment later the stream grew
suddenly calmer and more shallow, and few feet below me, on a reef that
jutted out into the water I saw an Indian standing. The sunlight shone
on his feathered scalp-lock, on his breech-clout and fringed leggings, on
his hideously painted face. With a whoop of triumph he leveled his
musket and pointed it straight at my head.
I heard the click of the hammer as it was drawn back, and knew that I
must die--shot down like a dog. Life was sweet, and I could have cursed
my bitter fate as I stood there, breast-deep in the water, trying to
shelter Flora with my body. She uttered a heart-rending cry, and clung
to me tightly.
"Save the girl, but kill the Englishman!" Mackenzie yelled again from
the shelter of the forest.
The savage seemed to hesitate, still keeping his finger on the trigger
of his weapon and the muzzle pointed at my head and as I stared at him,
and noted the purple scars on his breast, I suddenly recognized him
beneath the war-paint that wrinkled his face. A wild hope flashed to my
mind.
"Gray Moose!" I cried hoarsely. "Is this your gratitude? Don't you know
me?"
The merciless aspect of the savage's countenance softened. With a
guttural grunt he leaped forward and gazed at me hard. Then he lowered
his musket and said quickly:
"Pantherfoot!"
"Ay, Pantherfoot," I replied. "Do I deserve death at your hands?"
"The white man is my brother," said the Indian. "I knew not that he
would be here, else I would have refused to take the war-path. I have
listened to words of evil."
"And you will save us all?" I cried.
For answer, Gray Moose turned to his braves, who were whooping like
fiends and firing an occasional shot, and shouted a few words to them in
the native tongue. In a moment more--almost before I could realize my
good fortune, every Indian had melted away into the forest. I heard
Mackenzie cry out with baffled rage and furiously curse his recreant
allies. Then a silence fell, broken only by the dull roar of the falls.
I waded to the shore, and placed Flora's trembling and half-unconscious
form against a tree. Baptiste quickly joined me; he had escaped from his
pursuers, and had seen the whole affair from his hiding-place in the
thick timber. Gummidge and his wife were clinging to the bowlders in
midstream, and with some difficulty they joined us. But Lavigne had
disappeared and poor Moralle lay motionless on the opposite bank,
apparently dead. Cuthbert Mackenzie's villainy had cost us dear.
CHAPTER XV.
FORT ROYAL.
At first, huddled there together on the rocky spit of land, we stared at
one another in dazed silence. It had been so sudden a transformation
that we could not comprehend it all at once. A moment before while the
horrid chorus of war-whoops rang in our ears we had each of us been
marked out for death by tomahawk or bullet. Now our red enemies had
vanished as swiftly and noiselessly as the deer; there was no sound but
the droning chant of the rapids, and the singing of the birds in the
forest trees.
But five of us were left; we had been eight that morning. As I thought
of the three brave fellows we had lost, I made a vow that sooner or
later I would avenge them. Then I knelt beside Flora, and by comforting
words sought to banish the look of frozen horror from her lovely face.
Mrs. Gummidge had fainted, and her husband was dashing water on her
temples. Baptiste was wringing his dripping clothes and bemoaning the
loss of his prized musket. We were all drenched to the skin, and it
behooved us to mend our sad plight as quickly as possible.
"Our lives are safe Gummidge," I said, rising, "and that is something to
be thankful for. We must have a fire to dry our clothes, and then we
will be off on foot for the fort. The canoe is at the bottom, and
crushed beyond repair."
"But why did those red varmints spare us?" Gummidge cried hoarsely.
"They melted away like chaff. What does it mean, Carew?"
"The leader of the Indians was Gray Moose," I replied. "I saved him from
a grizzly last winter, and this was his way of paying the debt. The
moment he recognized me he called off his braves."
"Then they were not on the war-path against the company? There was a
white man with them."
"I know that," I answered, "and it was he who hired the savages."
I briefly explained my view of the situation to Gummidge, who was aware
of all that had happened in Quebec.
"It is a clear case," I concluded, "and the motive was revenge and the
capture of Miss Hatherton. Mackenzie chose this spot so that he could
drive us over the falls. No doubt he intended to kill all of us but the
girl."
By this time Mrs. Gummidge was sitting up, and the color was returning
to her cheeks. Baptiste set to work with flint and steel to light a
fire, and meanwhile Gummidge and I waded through the shallows to the
opposite side of the stream. To our surprise, we found Moralle lying
unconscious, but breathing. He had two ugly tomahawk wounds on the head
and shoulder, but I judged that he had a fighting chance for life.
Gardapie had gone to the bottom above the falls, and doubtless Lavigne's
body had been sucked into one of the deep holes below, for we
could find no trace of it.
We called Baptiste over, and he helped to carry poor Moralle back. We
put him down by the fire, which was blazing cheerily, and Gummidge
started to dress his wounds. Flora was standing alongside the flames.
She was shivering with cold, and her face looked blue and pinched. I
made her swallow some brandy--I had a flask in my pocket--and the fiery
liquor warmed her at once.
"Denzil, was Cuthbert Mackenzie with the Indians?" she asked.
"Yes," I admitted.
"We have not seen the last of him!" she cried. "He will come back."
"I only wish he would," I replied. "But don't be alarmed. You are quite
safe. We shall soon be at the fort."
"The fort!" she murmured. "Then we are near it?"
"Very near," said I. "It will be a couple of hours' tramp, and then--"
I was interrupted by a shout from Gummidge and Baptiste. Hearty cheers
answered them, and when I looked around I saw four men, with a big canoe
on their shoulders, coming up the shore at a trot. And the foremost of
them was the factor of Fort Royal.
Flora divined the truth instantly, and all her self-control could not
prevent an agitated heaving of her bosom and a sudden pallor of the
cheeks.
"Oh, Denzil, is it--" she began.
"Yes; it is Griffith Hawke," I broke in savagely.
"Be brave!" she whispered. "Our paths lie apart--do not make it harder
for me."
Our eyes met in a look that spoke volumes, and then there was a sudden
uproar as the factor and his companions joined our party. I heard my
name called and soon Griffith Hawke's hand was locked in mine and he was
pouring out a torrent of eager words.
"And is this Miss Hatherton, my boy?" he asked suddenly.
I introduced him briefly and he made her a low and respectful bow. What
he said to Flora or how she greeted him I do not know. But as I turned
on my heel I stole a glance at the girl and I saw that she was
struggling hard to keep her composure. The sun was shining brightly but
the world looked dark and black to my eyes.
As soon as the excitement of the meeting was over Gummidge and I gave
the factor a coherent story of our adventures; and the narrative brought
a grave and troubled expression to his face.
"I will speak of these matters later," he said. "The first thing is to
get back to the fort. The wounded voyageur needs immediate attention. My
canoe is a large one and will hold us all."
"But where were you bound?" I asked. "To Fort York? You sent word that
you were not coming."
"Yes; but affairs grew more quiet," Hawke replied, "and I concluded that
I could be spared for a week or two. I was on my way to meet you,
Denzil, and it is fortunate that we did not miss each other."
A few moments later we were all tucked into the canoe. Moralle was still
unconscious, and the paddles of the voyageurs swept us down the foaming
current of the Churchill River. It was shortly after noon when on
turning a bend we saw below us the towers and palisades, the waving flag
of the Hudson Bay Company's post of Fort Royal. Since I had last seen it
months before what a change had come into my life! It was a sad and
bitter home-coming for me.
So our journey through the wilderness ended and now there was a lull
before the threatened storm broke in all its fury--before the curtain
rose on new scenes of excitement and adventure. I will pass briefly on
to the things that followed soon after our arrival at the fort, the
events that far surpassed in tragedy and bloodshed, in sorrow and
suffering, all that had happened previously; but first I must give the
reader a peep at a northern Hudson Bay Company's post as it was in those
remote days--as it exists at the present time with but few changes.
Fort Royal was a fair type of them all though it was much smaller than
some. It was built mostly of heavy timbers and stood in a little
clearing close to the river. The stockade was about six feet high, and
had two corner towers for lookout purposes. Inside, arranged like the
letter L, were the various buildings--the factor's house, those of the
laborers, mechanics, hunters and other employees; a log hut for the
clerks; the storehouses where were kept the furs, skins and pelts, and
the Indian trading house where the bartering was done. Some smaller
buildings--the icehouse, the powder house and a sort of stable for the
canoes--completed the number.
Nearly every man had a little bedroom meagerly furnished with pictures
from old illustrated papers adorning the walls. The living room where
they sat at night or on off days, yarning, smoking, and drinking, was a
great hall. A big table in the center was strewn with pipes and tobacco,
books and writing materials; on the walls hung muskets and fishing
tackle. All the houses had double doors and windows; and in the winter
tremendous stoves were kept burning. The food varied according to the
season, ranging from pemmican and moose-muffle--which is the nose of the
moose--to venison and beaver, many kinds of fowl, and fresh and salted
fish.
A word as to the Indian trading house. It was divided into two rooms,
the inner and larger one containing the stores--blankets, scalping
knives, flints, twine, beads, needles, guns, powder and shot and other
things too numerous to mention. To the outer room the Indians entered
and through a square iron-barred hole they passed their furs and pelts,
receiving in exchange little wooden castors, with which they purchased
whatever they wanted.
Fort Royal, as I have said, was not so large as some. It held at this
time about forty men, all trusty, good-hearted fellows. It was regarded
as an impregnable post; but little did any of us dream how soon our flag
would be lowered amid scenes of flame and shot, of carnage and panic.
CHAPTER XVI.
A RESOLVE THAT FAILED.
Two things were clear to my mind--first, that Flora was lost to me, and
that honor forbade me to speak one word of love to her again; second,
that I could not remain permanently under the same roof with her,
whether she was married or single. The latter was a delicate and
difficult affair, and I had some misgivings as to how it could be
arranged; but, fortunately, chance came to my aid, as I shall show.
The factor's house was shared by several other non-commissioned
officers of the company, one of whom was married. The single spare
room was assigned to Mr. and Mrs. Gummidge. I saw my opportunity, and
eagerly volunteered to give my own apartment to Flora, whose proper
place was with the women. The matter was easily arranged, and within two
hours of our arrival at the fort I was installed in a little room in the
men's quarters.
I was sitting there after supper, gloomily smoking my pipe, when I
received a visit from Griffith Hawke. The sight of his rugged, kindly
face gave me a keen twinge of conscience. He had been like a father to
me in the past, and I hated to think how nearly I had done him a foul
injury.
"All going well?" I asked.
"Within the fort, yes," he replied gravely, as he sat down. "Miss
Hatherton is quite recovered, and has an appetite. She seems to be a
brave and spirited girl."
"She is," I assented. "You knew they were sending her, I suppose?"
"Yes, Lord Selkirk forwarded me a little water color sketch of her
months ago. I am afraid there is a considerable disparity in our ages,
but that can be overcome. I shall make her a good husband, and a steady
one--eh, Denzil?"
With a forced smile, I pretended to appreciate the jest.
"How is Moralle?" I asked abruptly.
"He is a very sick man," said the factor; "but it is not a hopeless
case. With care, he may recover. But I came to have a serious talk with
you, my boy. First of all, tell me everything that happened from the
time you met Miss Hatherton in Quebec until I ran across you up the
river this morning. I have heard only fragments of the narrative."
I did as he requested, and he hung on my words with close attention and
with a deepening look of anxiety in his eyes. When I had finished, he
asked me numerous questions, and then pondered silently for a few
moments.
Finally he leaned forward and began to fill his pipe. By this time my
mind had strayed from the subject, and on a sudden impulse I plunged
into the thing that I was so anxious to have done and over with.
I grew confused from the start--a lie was so foreign to my nature--and I
fear I made rather a mess of it. What words I used I cannot recall, but
I incoherently told the factor that I wished to leave the fort at once
and go down country, pleading as an excuse that I was tired of the
lonely life of the wilderness and had taken a fancy to carve a future
for myself among the towns.
By the expression of his face I was certain that he suspected the truth,
and I could have bitten my tongue off with chagrin and shame. He looked
at me hard.
"You would leave the service of the company?" he asked. "And with your
fine chances!"
"I might be transferred--Fort Garry would suit me nicely," I blundered,
quite forgetting what I had said previously.
"This is not the time to make such a demand," Griffith Hawke replied,
not unkindly. "I want you here. There will be trouble in the North
before many days."
"I am very anxious to go," I persisted doggedly.
"I can't spare you," he said sharply. "Let that end the discussion for
the present. In the spring if you are of the same mind--"
"I will wait until then," I broke in.
I saw that all was against me, and that there was nothing to do but make
the best of it.
"I can hardly believe," continued the factor, "that Cuthbert Mackenzie
would have undertaken so desperate an affair, or that the Indians would
have taken service under him, unless both he and they knew that they had
the Northwest Company back of them. I am of the opinion that the
redskins have been bought over--that hostilities are about to begin.
What do you think?"
"I am inclined to agree with you," I replied.
"My duty is plain," said Griffith Hawke. "I have already despatched a
full report of the matter by messenger to Fort York. To-morrow I shall
send a dozen men out to scour the country to the east, west and south.
They are not likely to find Mackenzie--he is doubtless safe in one of
the Northwest Company's posts by this time--but they may run across some
of Gray Moose's braves, and ascertain from them what is brewing."
"I hope they may," said I.
"There is a chance of it," replied the factor. "Will you take charge of
the expedition, Denzil?"
I had been waiting craftily for this offer, which meant a prolonged
absence from the fort. Nothing could have suited me better--short of
transference to another post--and I accepted without hesitation. We
talked the matter over together until it was time to turn in for the
night.
I was off two hours after sunrise the next day, in command of twelve of
our best men. I did not see Flora before I started, nor did I wish to.
And I fervently hoped, as we plunged into the forest and lost sight of
the fort that the priest would have arrived and the marriage be over
before I returned.
I do not intend to write at length of the expedition, and indeed but
little could be said of it. We scoured the wilderness in three
directions, but we found no trace of Cuthbert Mackenzie or of his hired
band of savages. They had melted away mysteriously, and the empty
fastnesses of the Great Lone Land told us nothing of what we sought to
learn. The Indians of those parts we met in abundance, but they were
peacefully engaged in trapping, and denied that any overtures had been
made to them by the Northwest Company.
We were gone a fortnight, and covered some hundreds of miles. Meanwhile
the winter had set in, and we returned on snowshoes. The weather was
bitterly cold, the streams and lakes were frozen, and the snow lay two
feet deep. Away from the fort I had been in better spirits. When I
entered the stockade again, and realized that I was near Flora my heart
began to ache as before.
I was soon informed of what had taken place during my absence. Gummidge
and his wife had departed for Fort Garry a week previously. Moralle was
out of danger, and was mending slowly. The messenger was back from Fort
York, bringing news that Captain Rudstone had not yet returned there--as
was his intention before coming south--and that matters were quiet.
Moreover the priest had not yet arrived at Fort Royal, and there had
been no marriage. Flora was still single, and likely to remain so for a
time.
A week slipped by rapidly. The winter raged in all its severity, and
there was a steady influx of Indians laden with furs and pelts. I had
much to do, and was kept busy. I did not return to the factor's house,
as I might have done, but stuck to my new quarters. I saw Flora
occasionally, but at a distance. By mutual consent we seemed to avoid
each other.
Then a memorable day dawned--a day fraught with a series of events that
stamped themselves indelibly on my memory.
CHAPTER XVII.
A STRANGE WARNING.
I had been up late the night before, going over some tedious accounts
with the clerks, and it was by no means an early hour when I opened my
eyes and tumbled out of bed. It was a clear morning, but bitterly cold.
I hurriedly drew on my thick clothing, and was about to leave the room,
when I caught sight of an object sticking under the bottom crevice of
the door which opened on the fort yard.
I picked it up, and looked at it with interest and curiosity, not
unmixed with a vague alarm. What I held in my hand was a flat strip of
birch bark about six inches square, containing some rudely-painted
scrawls, which I at first took to be hieroglyphics, but which quickly
resolved themselves into the uncouth figures of two men. The one was
clearly a white man, wearing on his head what was evidently intended to
represent the odd-shaped cap of the Northwest Company. The other was an
Indian in leggings, blanket and feathers.
Here was a puzzle, indeed, and I could make nothing out of it. I was
satisfied, however, that it was meant to warn me--to indicate some
danger that threatened myself or the fort.
"It is a mysterious affair altogether," I reflected. "I can't fathom it.
Gray Moose may be the sender, but how did he get the bark under my door?
Ah, perhaps he conveyed it by some of the Indians who came to trade;
they must have been admitted to the inclosure an hour ago."
But this explanation was not plausible enough. After some further
thought, I concluded that the warning came from some of the Indian
employees within the fort, who had learned from their own people of some
threatening danger, and had chosen this means of communicating it. Then,
looking more closely at the bark, I discovered in the background a few
rude lines that had escaped my notice before. They were unmistakably
intended for the barred window of the trading room, and of a sudden the
solution to the problem flashed upon me.
"I was right in the first place," I muttered. "This is the handiwork of
Gray Moose, after all. And now, to make sure, I'll set about it quietly,
and won't say anything to the factor until my suspicions are confirmed."
I hastened from my quarters, forgetting that I had not yet breakfasted.
I was so intent on my task that I did not even glance toward the upper
windows of the factor's house, where I usually caught a glimpse of
Flora's pretty face at this hour. The birch bark I had tucked out of
sight in my pocket.
The gates of the stockade were wide open, and within the inclosure a
number of Indians--a dozen or more--were standing in groups around
sledges packed with furs waiting their turn to be served. They had left
their muskets outside, as was the rule when they came to trade. I
glanced keenly at them from a distance, and passed on to the trading
house, entering by the private door in the rear.
Here, looking from the storeroom into the common room beyond, the scene
was a noisy and brilliant one. Half a score of gayly-attired savages
were talking in guttural tones, gesticulating, and pointing, demanding
this and that.
Griffith Hawke greeted me with a nod. He and two assistants were busily
engaged at the barred window of the partition, receiving and counting
bales of skins, passing out little wooden castors, and taking them in
again in exchange for powder and shot, tobacco and beads, and various
other commodities.
For a few moments I watched the scene sharply, though with an assumed
air of indifference. I was satisfied that no Sioux were present. They
were all wood Indians--as distinguished from the fiercer tribe of the
plains--but they were in stronger numbers than was customary at this
time of the year.
What I was seeking I did not find here. I scanned each face in turn, but
all present in the outer room were unmistakably redskins.
"You are doing a lively business this morning," I remarked to the
factor.
"Yes; I am having quite a run," he replied. "I can't exactly account for
it." In a lower tone he added: "Every man of them is purchasing powder
and shot, Denzil."
This seemed a partial confirmation of my suspicions.
"It's queer, to say the least," I answered. "I wouldn't sell them much.
Tell them you're running short."
"They won't believe that," said Griffith Hawke.
"Stay and lend me a hand, Denzil, if you've nothing else to do."
"I'll come back in a moment," I replied. "I've got a little matter to
attend to. I may want you to help me. If I shout for you, close the
grating and run out."
Griffith Hawke's eyes dilated, and in a tone of astonishment he demanded
to know what I meant. But I did not wait to answer him. I slipped
unheeding out of the trading house, turned the corner and almost ran
into a big savage who was coming from the rear of the inclosure--a place
in which he had no business to be.
He was apparently an Assiniboin brave, decked out in cariboo robe and
blanket, fringed leggings, and beaded moccasins. But his cheek bones
were not prominent enough for an Indian, and when he saw me a ruddy
color flashed through the sickly copper of his skin and a menacing look
shone in his eyes.
And I, at the first glimpse, knew that the fellow was no more of a
redskin than myself. I had rightly interpreted the bit of birch bark,
which meant that a white man--a spy of the Northwest Company--would be
found within the fort disguised as an Indian. I was convinced that the
object of my search stood before me, and I even had a lurking suspicion
that the rogue was none other than Cuthbert. Mackenzie, though he was
too cleverly disguised for me to feel certain of that fact.
All this passed through my mind in much less time than it takes to tell.
I was on the alert, and let slip no sign that might betray my quest. And
no sooner had our eyes met than the Indian's agitation vanished, and he
looked at me with a proud and stolid expression.
"What are you doing here?" I demanded roughly. "This is not the way to
the trading house. You have no business in this part of the fort."
The brave's only reply was a guttural "Ugh!" Folding his blanket closer
about him, he began to stride off. This did not suit my purpose.
"Stop!" I cried. "I want to know what you were doing here."
"Indian mean no harm," he replied. "Heap nice fort--white man build many
houses."
The moment he spoke the last ray of doubt fled from my mind, for to my
trained ear the fellow's voice and accent were but feeble imitations of
what they ought to be, and I fancied I could detect a little trick of
mannerism I had observed in Cuthbert Mackenzie. It was time for me to
show the iron hand, and I did not hesitate a second.
"You may be telling the truth," I said, "but you must give an account of
yourself to the factor. Don't make any disturbance. Come along with me
quietly or--" I finished the sentence by displaying a pistol which I had
dexterously slipped from my belt.
I had expected some resistance, and was prepared for it. The Indian's
eyes gleamed with anger, and from under his blanket he whipped out a
knife. As quickly struck the weapon from his hand and grappled with him.
He gave a shrill cry, and I followed it with a loud shout for help.
What happened next, though it proved to my discomfiture, was as neat and
swift a thing as I have ever seen done. From the front of the trading
house, and from the inside of the building the Indians came dashing in a
body. They made no use of any weapons, but by sheer muscular force they
wrested my captive from me and beat me cruelly on the head.
The thing was over before a man could come to my assistance, though
plenty were within sight and hearing. Rising dizzily to my feet--I had
been knocked down and trampled upon--I saw the daring band of savages
swarming toward the open gates, taking with them the disguised spy,
their sledges of furs, and the powder and shot they had just purchased.
"Help--help!" I shouted, running in pursuit. "Stop them! Don't let them
get away!" With shrill cries, the redskins pushed on, and the single
sentry at the gates deserted his post and fled. I heard an outcry behind
me, and turning I saw that the factor and half a dozen others had come
up. Griffith Hawke was the only armed man among them.
"What is the trouble?" he demanded.
"A spy!" I shouted incoherently. "A Northwest man in the fort, disguised
as an Indian! I am certain it was Mackenzie! They tore him from
me--don't let them get him away!"
"Stop, you rascals!" the factor yelled loudly. "We must have that man!"
No attention was paid to the command, and lifting his musket, he pointed
it at the squirming mass of savages in the gateway. There was a sudden
flash, a stunning report, and one of the rearmost Indians dropped.
"My God! what have I done?" cried Griffith Hawke, his face turning pale.
"It was an accident--my finger slipped. Don't fire, men!"
The dead or wounded Indian had already been picked up by his comrades,
and only a crimson stain was left on the snow to mark where he had
fallen. The next instant the whole band were outside the stockade
yelling like fiends, and with a crash some of our men flung the big
gates to and barred them. A couple ran to the loopholes and peered out.
"The varmints are in retreat," cried one--"making for the woods on the
north."
"And it's a dead body they're carrying with them, sure enough," shouted
the other.
By this time the fort was in a tumult, and a crowd surrounded the factor
and myself, clamoring to know the cause of the disturbance. So soon as
Griffith Hawke could quiet them a little, I told all that I knew, and
produced the strip of birch bark. It was passed about from hand to hand.
"You read the message right--I know something of Indian character
writing," said the factor. "Doubtless Gray Moose sent it. A Northwest
Company's man in the fort as a spy! It is a thousand pities he got away!
But are you certain, Denzil, that he was a white man?"
"I am sure of it," I replied, "and the fact that the Indians rescued him
so promptly--"
"Yes; that proves the existence of some sort of a conspiracy," the
factor interrupted. "But do you know that the spy was Cuthbert
Mackenzie?"
"I could not swear to it," I admitted, "but I am pretty well satisfied
in my own mind."
Some of the men were for sallying out to pursue and capture the Indians,
but Griffith Hawke prudently refused to permit this.
"Let well enough alone," he said. "A large force of savages may be
lurking in the forest, and there will be trouble soon enough as it is. I
regret the unfortunate accident by which I shot one of the Indians, for
it will inflame them all the more against us. It is certain, I fear,
that they have been won over by the Northwest people, and that they
meditated an early attack on the fort. Thank God, that we got wind of it
in time! Come what may, we can hold out against attack and siege! And at
the earliest opportunity we must send word to the south and to Fort
York."
There were sober faces and anxious hearts behind the stockade that day,
for there could be no longer any doubt that the long-threatened
storm--the struggle for supremacy between the rival fur companies--was
about to break. Nay, for aught any of us knew, open strife might already
be waging in the south, or up on the shores of Hudson Bay; a lonely and
isolated post was ours on the Churchill River.
We held a consultation, and decided to omit no precautionary measures.
Our store of weapons was overhauled, the howitzers were loaded, the
gates and the stockade were strengthened, and men were posted on watch.
The day wore on quietly, and no sign of Indians was reported. I saw
nothing of Flora, but I thought of her constantly, and feared she must
be in much distress of mind. I confess, to my shame, that it caused me
some elation to reflect that the marriage was now likely to be
indefinitely postponed, but there I erred, as I was soon to learn.
At about four o'clock of the afternoon, when darkness was coming on, I
was smoking a pipe in the men's quarters. Hearing shouts and a sudden
commotion, I ran out in haste, thinking the Indians were approaching;
but to my surprise, the sentries were unbarring the gates, and no sooner
had they opened them than in came a couple of voyageurs, followed by two
teams of dogs and a pair of sledges. The two occupants of the latter, in
spite of the muffling of furs, I recognized at once. The one was my old
Quebec acquaintance, Mr. Christopher Burley, the London law clerk; the
other, to my ill-concealed dismay, was an elderly priest whom I had
often seen at Fort York.
CHAPTER XVIII.
A STOLEN INTERVIEW.
The news of so unexpected an event spread quickly through the fort, and
by the time the gates had been closed and barred again, men were
hurrying forward from all sides. They surrounded the travelers, greeting
them eagerly, and plying them and their guides with rapid questions.
I held aloof, for I was in too bitter a mood to trust myself to speech.
The reasons that had brought the London law clerk to Fort Royal--a journey
of hundreds of miles through the wilderness--gave me no concern; but I
knew what Father Cleary's visit meant, and what would follow speedily on
his arrival. Surely, I reflected, there could be no man living more
wretched than myself. I thought I had become resigned to the loss of
Flora, but now I knew that it was a delusion. I could not contemplate
her approaching marriage without grief and heartburning--without a mad
desire to dare the worst and claim the girl as my own.
The dogs and sledges were going to the stable, and the travelers, still
hemmed in by a crowd, were moving toward the factor's house. Griffith
Hawke caught sight of me, and made a gesture; but I pretended not to see
him, and turning on my heel, I strode away to a far corner of the yard.
An hour of solitude put me in a calmer frame of mind--outwardly, at
least. The supper horn drew me to quarters. I had little appetite, but I
made a pretense of eating, and tried to answer cheerfully the remarks
that my comrades addressed to me.
By listening I learned much of interest. The men kept up a ceaseless
chatter and discussion, and the sole topic of conversation was the
arrival of Christopher Burley and the priest. The travelers, it
appeared, had come together from Fort York--where all was quiet at the
time of their departure--and by the same roundabout road our party had
traversed some days before. Strange to say they had encountered no
Indians, either on the way or when near the fort, and for this the men
had two explanations. A part asserted that the redskins had moved off in
the direction of Fort York, while others were of the opinion that they
had purposely let the travelers enter unmolested in order to deceive our
garrison.
The discussion waxed so hot that no reference was made to the motive of
the priest's visit, for which I was heartily thankful. I was anxious to
get away from the noise and the light, and as soon as I had finished my
supper I rose. Just then Andrew Menzies, a non-commissioned officer of
the company, entered the room.
"Carew!" he called out; "the factor wants to see you when you can spare
the time."
"All right; I'll go over to the house presently," and lighting my pipe,
I sauntered out of the quarters.
Why the factor wanted me I could not readily conceive, unless it was for
some detail connected with his marriage. There were several things that
I wished to turn over in my mind before presenting myself to Griffith
Hawke, where I would be likely to meet Flora.
A sound of low voices at the gates, and the rattle of a bolt, drew me
first in that direction. A little group of men were standing at the
loopholes, peering out.
"What's up, comrades?" I inquired in a whisper.
"Ah, it's you, Denzil?" replied one looking around. "Didn't you know?
Vallee and Maignon, the voyageurs who came in a bit ago have just
started back to Fort York on snowshoes, taking a letter from the factor
in regard to the row here this morning."
"They will go as they came," added another, "and I believe they will get
through all right. They are out on the river by this time, and they
would scarcely have been permitted to pass yonder timber had any Indians
been on the watch."
"I agree with you," said I. "Let us hope that the brave fellows will
meet with no mishap."
I lingered for a moment, but the quiet of the night remained unbroken.
Then I turned back across the yard, taking care that none observed me,
and made my way to a small grove of fir trees that lay in the rear of
the trading house and some distance to the right of the factor's
residence. In the heart of the copse was a rude wooden bench, built some
years before by the factor's orders. I made my way to it over the frozen
snow crust, and sat down to meditate and smoke.
I had no more than settled myself when I heard the light, crunching
patter of feet. The sounds came nearer, and of a sudden, by the dim glow
of the moon, I saw the figure of a woman within six feet of me. It was
Flora Hatherton. She was bareheaded, and a long cloak was thrown over
her shoulders. As she advanced, her hands clasped in front of her, a
stifled sob broke from her lips.
I had been on the point of retreating, but the girl's distress altered
my mind. By an irresistible impulse I rose and stood before her.
"Flora!" I exclaimed.
She shrank back with a smothered scream.
"Hush! do not be alarmed!" I added. "Surely you know me?"
"Denzil!" she whispered. "Oh, what a fright you gave me!"
"Why are you here?" I asked.
"The house was so warm--they have the stove red hot," she stammered
confusedly. "I slipped out for a breath of fresh air. And you?"
"I came for the same purpose," said I. "This is a favorite spot of mine.
But you have been weeping Flora."
"No--oh, no," she answered, in a tone that belied her words. "You are
mistaken, Denzil. I--came here to think."
"Of what?"
"Of my wedding day," she replied half-defiantly. "Surely you know that
the priest has arrived. I am to be married to-morrow morning."
"To-morrow morning!" I gasped.
"Yes, unless the world ends before then. Oh, Denzil, I have such wicked
thoughts to-night! It is in my heart to wish that the Indians would take
the fort--that something would happen before to-morrow."
"Nothing will happen," I said bitterly. "The fort can stand a siege of
days and months. So you are determined to wed Griffith Hawke--to forget
what we have been to each other in the past?"
"Denzil, you have no right," she said sadly.
The words stung me, and I suddenly realized the depths of shame to which
I had sunk. She saw her advantage, and pressed it.
"I have lingered too long," she said. "I fear I shall be missed. This is
our last meeting. Farewell, Denzil!"
"Farewell!" I answered bitterly.
She held out her hand, and I pressed it to my lips. It was like marble.
Then she turned and glided away, and I heard her light footsteps
receding among the trees.
The next instant I regretted that I had yielded and let her go. The
thought that I might never see her again maddened me. Without realizing
the recklessness and folly of it, I started in pursuit, calling her name
in a hoarse whisper.
But I was too late, swiftly as I moved. I reached the edge of the trees
in time to see a flash of light as the rear door of the factor's house
opened and closed.
I stood for a moment in the moonlight and solitude and then something
happened that cooled my fevered brain and put Flora out of my thoughts.
Loud on the frosty night rang the report of a gun; two more followed in
quick succession. From the nearest watch-tower the sentries shouted a
sonorous alarm, and their voices were drowned by a shrill and more
distant burst of Indian yells.
CHAPTER XIX.
ANOTHER VISITOR.
That the redskins were making an attack in force on the stockade was my
first and immediate conclusion, but it gave me no great uneasiness since
I knew how stoutly we were protected. On second thoughts, however, I
observed that the shots and yells--which were keeping up lustily--came
from a considerable distance, and I began to suspect that something else
was in the wind.
Meanwhile, I had not been standing idle. As soon as I heard the alarm I
ran like a deer across the yard. It was the work of an instant to dash
into the quarters and seize my musket. Then I sped on, with a great
clamor rising from every part of the fort and armed men hastening right
and left of me.
When I reached the gates, where a little group was assembled, no more
than a minute could have elapsed since the outbreak. I passed on to the
nearest watch tower--it was near by--and darted up the ladder which led
to the second floor. Here there were good-sized loopholes commanding a
view of the north and east fronts of the stockade. Half a dozen men were
watching from them, and above their excited voices I heard the crack of
muskets and the whooping chorus of savages.
"What's going on?" I demanded. "They are not attacking the fort?"
"No, not that, Carew," cried one. "The redskins are chasing some poor
devils who were bound here. Ah, they have turned on them! Plucky
fellows!"
"Will you stand here, sir? Look yonder--quick!"
It was the voice of Baptiste, who was at one of the loopholes. He made
room for me, and I peered eagerly out. The view was straight to the
north, and what I saw turned my blood hot with anger.
Less than a quarter of a mile away, where the white, moonlit clearing
ended at a narrow forest road running parallel with the river, the
sorely-harassed little group was in plain sight--a sledge, a team of
dogs, and three men kneeling on the snow. They were exchanging shots
with a mass of Indians, who were dancing about on the verge of the
timber, and were for the moment being held at bay. I could see the red
flashes, and the wreaths of gray smoke against the dark green of the
trees.
"They had better make a dash for it," exclaimed Baptiste.
"Now is their chance."
"We are all cowards," I cried indignantly. "A party could have dashed out
to the rescue by this time."
"Just my opinion, Carew," said a man named Walker. "But who was to give
the orders? They must come from the factor. He's down at the gates now,
and plenty with him."
"Then I'll get his permission to go out," I cried hotly. "Will you
volunteer, men?"
But as I spoke--I had not taken my eyes from the loophole--the situation
suddenly took a different turn. The Indians yelled with triumph, and I
saw one of the three white men toss up his arms and fall over. At that
his companions wheeled about, the one leaping upon the sledge, while the
other ran toward the dog leader of the team.
"Only two left!" I shouted. "They are coming! Now for a lively race! God
help them to reach the fort!"
"By Heavens, sir! they'll get in if they are quick!" cried Walker, who
was on the other side of the tower. "Hawke knows what to do; he is
opening the gates! The men are loading their muskets! They are bringing
up the howitzer."
His last sentence I scarcely heard, for I had already left the loophole
and was scrambling down the ladder. The next instant I was at the double
gates, one of which had been unbarred and thrown wide open. A dozen men
were lined up on each side of the entrance, among them Menzies and the
factor.
"Stand back," Griffith Hawke shouted at me. "Keep the way clear!"
But I edged up to the front, where my view was uninterrupted. How my
heart leaped to see the sledge gliding over the snow, the man inside and
the one on snowshoes shouting at the plucky, galloping dogs! But they
still had one hundred and fifty yards to come, not far behind them,
whooping and yelling, firing musket and hurling tomahawks, were at least
two score of redskins--the most of them on snowshoes. Crack, crack,
crack! They seemed to be aiming poorly, for the sledge swept on, dogs
and men uninjured.
"Be ready!" cried the factor: "make room there! The moment the sledge
dashes in let the red devils have a volley--muskets and howitzer!"
What happened next, though it was all over in the fraction of a minute,
was intensely exciting and tragic. The tower being high up, the men
posted there were now opening fire; lusty cheers rose as we saw a couple
of Indians go down in the snow.
Bang, bang! a hit this time. The man on snowshoes staggered, reeled,
fell over. His comrade turned and shot as the sledge swept on--more than
that he could not do. Whether the poor fellow was dead or living we
never knew; but nothing mattered the next instant, for the foremost
savages reached the spot, and there was the quick gleam of a descending
tomahawk.
Fifty yards now to the stockade! In spite of the fire from the tower,
the Indians bore on. They let drive another straggling volley, and with
a convulsive spring in air, the leading dog of the team dropped dead. In
a trice the rest of the dogs, pulled up abruptly, were in a hopeless
tangle. The sledge dashed into them, grated sidewise, and tipped over,
sending its occupant sprawling on the snow.
I gave the poor fellow up for lost, but his pluck and wits were equal to
the emergency. He sprang to his feet, and without looking behind him or
stopping to pick up his musket, he struck out for the fort. On he sped,
running in a zigzag course, while the now halted Indians blazed away at
him, and our men cheered and shouted.
"Watch sharp!" cried Griffith Hawke.
As he spoke the fugitive swerved a little, and ten strides brought him
to the gates. He rushed safely past me, and staggered into the
inclosure.
Already the baffled redskins had scattered in flight, but they were not
to get off so easily. From the marksmen in the watch-tower and at the
stockade loopholes, from as many of our eager men as could line up
outside the gates, a hot and deadly fire was poured. A way was cleared
for the howitzer, and the roar that burst from its iron throat woke a
hundred forest echoes.
A great cloud of bluish smoke hid the scene for a moment, and when it
drifted and rolled upward, our short-lived opportunity was gone. With
almost incredible speed the savages had melted away, and were safe in
the shelter of the adjacent timber. They had taken some of their dead
and wounded with them, as well as the dogs and sledge; but six or seven
bodies lay sprinkled darkly here and there on the snow crust.
Nor were the casualties all on one side, as we now had time to observe.
The last volley delivered by the Indians had killed one of our party and
wounded two more. The men were for sallying out against the foe, but
Griffith Hawke would have none of it.
"The devils are in ambush," he cried, "and would give us the worst of
it. We'll need our powder and ball later, I'm thinking. Make all secure
yonder, and be quick about it."
I helped to close and bar the gate, and then pushed into the thick of
the clamorous crowd that surrounded the escaped traveler. I had fancied
I recognized him when he shot by me, and now the first glimpse told me I
was right, for the fugitive was none other than Captain Myles Rudstone.
CHAPTER XX.
THE LOST LOCKET.
Captain Rudstone was in a temper, and but for the press in front of him
he would have dashed at the gates.
"What are you afraid of?" he cried. "Why don't you pursue the red
devils? make an end of them? They've killed two of the best voyageurs
that ever tramped the woods. My God! what does it all mean?"
"It means war, sir," answered the factor. "The Northwest Company is at
the bottom of the mischief. I entreat you to be calm, Captain Rudstone.
The Indians are in force, and it would be sheer madness to try to track
them down. I am responsible for the safety of the fort."
These sober words brought the captain to his senses.
"You are right, Hawke," he admitted. "I see there is nothing to be done
at present. But, by Heaven! sir, I'll have the blood of a score of
redskins for each of those poor comrades of mine. And you say war has
broken out? I don't understand--"
Just then his eyes fell on me, and he held out his hand with a stern
smile of welcome. I clasped it warmly.
"So we meet again, Mr. Carew?" he exclaimed.
"I wish it had been under happier circumstances," said I; "but I am
heartily glad to see you."
"Thank you," he replied, and his eyes shifted from mine as they had been
wont to do formerly. "I have much to be grateful for," he added, "I
might be lying yonder with a bullet in my back and a tomahawk in my
skull. It was a narrow escape."
"You did not come from Fort York?" I inquired.
"No, from the north--from Fort Churchill, at the mouth of the river. I
am finished with my errand in this part of the country, and am bound
south. I had no idea that trouble had broken out until I was attacked on
the edge of the timber."
"I fear you will be detained here for many a day, Captain Rudstone,"
said Griffith Hawke. "But come to my quarters, and when you have fed and
rested I will give you a full report of all that has happened."
Turning to me the factor added:
"See to the wounded, Denzil, and make sure that the sentries are
properly posted. Then let me know how matters are going. I don't
anticipate any further trouble."
That Griffith Hawke should put me in virtual command of the fort at such
a time and in preference to several officers who were older and of
superior rank, caused me some pride and satisfaction; for just now my
mind was taken up with sterner things than my hopeless passion for
Flora, and what martial spirit was in me had been fired by the prospect
of an Indian siege.
After attending to my duties I strode on to the house and entered the
cozily-furnished living room. Here logs were blazing in a great
fireplace, at opposite sides of which, talking in low tones, sat Father
Cleary and Andrew Menzies. The latter's wife, it may be observed, was
Flora's companion.
At a table in the middle of the room, with lighted pipes between their
teeth and their glasses of grog handy, were Griffith Hawke and Captain
Rudstone. The latter was as handsome and dandified as ever, and by the
litter of dishes at one end of the table I knew he had just finished
supper. Both had been discussing the Indian troubles, to judge from
their grave and thoughtful faces.
The factor's eyes seemed to read me through and through, and there was
something in the scrutiny that disturbed and puzzled me. He motioned to
a chair and I sat down awkwardly.
"All quiet?" he asked. "You have omitted no precautions?"
I told him what I had done, and he and the captain nodded approval.
"A bad storm has set in?" the latter said interrogatively.
"The worst kind of a one," I replied. "The wind is high, and the snow
will drift heavily. The Indians are not likely to attack us in such
weather."
"I wish I could feel sure of that," Griffith Hawke said doubtfully. "By
the way, Denzil, I have reason to believe that white men are among the
savages."
"I am pretty certain that Cuthbert Mackenzie is with them," said I.
"And others," broke in Captain Rudstone. "I heard more than one English
voice when I was fighting and running for my life yonder."
"Northwest men!" exclaimed the factor. "By sir, I tell you I am right.
To-day's events amount to an open declaration of war."
Captain Rudstone blew a thick cloud of smoke and smiled grimly through
it.
"I don't agree with you," he said, in the tone of one who knows his
ground. "The Northwest Company will pot come to open hostilities--they
are too crafty for that; but they are at the bottom of this trouble.
Their agents have persuaded the Indians to rise, are fighting with them,
and Mackenzie is determined to take the fort. Whether he fails or
succeeds, his participation will not be proved. The blame will be thrust
on your shoulders, Hawke, because of the Indian you shot this
morning."
"That was an unfortunate accident," the factor admitted uneasily, "and
it may serve the purpose you suggest. But I am not afraid that the fort
will fall; we can hold out against big odds."
"You'll have them," said the captain. "I've no doubt there will be five
hundred redskins before the stockade within a day or two, and then
they'll give you sharp work. And a drifting snowstorm will be in their
favor."
"I don't see it," replied Griffith Hawke. "What do you mean?"
The captain shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing in particular," he answered
evasively. "By the way, Hawke, when are you to marry Miss Hatherton?"
As he spoke he jerked one arm toward the priest, who was still talking
by the fire, and then gave me a swift glance of amused contempt. The
factor also turned his eyes upon me, and I felt my face grow hot.
"I am to be married to-morrow," he replied half-sadly. "At least, that
is the present arrangement. But I have been thinking of late--"
He was interrupted, to my vast relief, by the sudden opening of a door
behind him. Mr. Christopher Burley entered the room, looking as if he
might have just stepped from the legal chambers in Lincoln's Inn. He had
evidently made a careful toilet, his traveling costume being discarded
for a suit of sober black.
He nodded severely to Captain Rudstone, who he had seen earlier in the
evening, and I observed a slight confusion in the bearing of both,
clearly due to the recollection of their quarrel at the Silver Lily.
Then, with an affable smile, the law clerk offered me his hand.
"I am pleased to see you, Mr. Carew," he said. "I learned from the
factor that you were here. I predicted that we might meet again, if you
remember."
"I remember well," said I. "This is a small world, after all. I take it
that the quest you spoke of has brought you to the north?"
"You are right, sir," he replied. "It has led me hundreds of miles
through the wilderness, from one fort to another of the Hudson Bay
territory--truly a weary round of travel."
"And with what success?"
"None as yet; but I am not discouraged. From here I go southwest. I feel
that I shall succeed in the end. I find that the factor is unable to
help me, and it is no doubt needless to ask you--"
"Quite so," I interrupted. "Osmund Maiden is still an unfamiliar name to
me."
"Captain Rudstone knows the Canadas thoroughly," said Griffith Hawke.
"Perhaps he has run across your man in the past."
My eyes were on the captain just then, and I fancied he gave a slight
start; certain it is that a sudden flush colored his bronzed face a
darker shade, and I remembered that this was not the first time he had
shown agitation at the mention of the man Christopher Burley was
seeking. But he was instantly himself again, and he calmly twisted his
long mustaches as he answered:
"Osmund Maiden! I fancy I have heard the name somewhere in my time. May
I ask, sir, what object you have in desiring to find this man?"
"That I may reveal to none save Osmund Maiden himself," Christopher
Burley replied. "But I beg of you to refresh your memory. It will be
greatly to your advantage if you can give me any information--"
"Denzil, I have been thinking of something," the factor interrupted
suddenly. "Forgive me, my boy, for alluding to a personal and delicate
matter; but I have always fancied that there was some mystery about your
father--that his name might have been assumed. I speak thus frankly
because Mr. Burley has honored me in part with his confidence--"
"There was no mystery," I broke in sharply. I was angry with Griffith
Hawke, though I knew that he meant well. "My father's name was Carew," I
went on, "and he had a right to it. Why he left England I cannot say,
but his home was in Yorkshire and his parents were dead when he came to
the Canadas."
"Then I am mistaken," said Griffith Hawke.
"There are Carews in Yorkshire," added the law clerk. "It is doubtless
the same family. Did your father leave no papers?"
"None," I replied.
"He used to wear a small gold locket about his neck," declared the
factor. "Surely you have seen it, Denzil?"
"I remember it," I said curtly; "but I do not know what was in it, or
what became of it. It was missing when my father's body was found in the
woods."
"That is unfortunate," said Christopher Burley in a tone that showed a
lack of further interest in the matter.
"Very!" assented Captain Rudstone, who was watching me curiously.
I made no reply. I had just recollected that I had in my pocket a seal
ring--a trifle too large to wear--which had been my father's. I fumbled
for it, hoping to put an end to a controversy that was distasteful to
me. But before I could find and produce it there were hurried steps
outside the house and the door was thrown open with a crash.
CHAPTER XXI
THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
We all turned round and then with one accord sprang to our feet The
horror of what we saw held us spellbound and speechless. We did not feel
the icy air, the swirl of fine snowflakes that came driving into the
room, for in the doorway stood Baptiste, his honest face almost
unrecognizable with hot passion, and in each hand he thrust out a
ghastly, gory, red-dripping thing of hair and flesh. They were human
scalps, and we knew at once from whose heads they had been torn.
"_Nom de Dieu!_" cried the priest. "The poor wretches!"
"Yes, Valle and Maignon!" Baptiste said thickly, grinding his teeth.
"They did not get far, sir, Heaven rest their souls! But a moment ago
the red devils flung these bloody trophies over the stockade--none can
tell how they crept so near! It is a warning, messieurs, that we are all
to be served the same way."
"My poor voyageurs!" groaned Christopher Burley. "That they should come
to such an end! Oh, this barbarous country!"
He suddenly turned sick and faint, and dropping into a chair, he sat
there trembling, his face buried in his hands. Father Cleary was
crossing himself and muttering piously.
"A thing like this," cried Captain Rudstone, "is enough to turn a man
into a fiend. By Heaven! Hawke, if you say the word, I'll lead a party
out against the savages!"
But the factor did not seem to hear him. He was leaning heavily on a
chair, his face the hue of ashes. "My fault--my fault!" he said
hoarsely. "I sent the poor fellows to their death. But God knows I
believed they would get through safely!"
"We all believed that," broke in Andrew Menzies.
"Compose yourself, sir! No blame can possibly attach to you."
Meanwhile Baptiste had been standing in the same attitude. I sharply
bade him close the door, and he did so. Then he stepped forward, tossed
the reeking scalps on the table, and with a shaking hand helped himself,
unbidden, to a stiff glass of rum.
"You need not have brought those hideous things here," said I.
"I did not come for that alone, Monsieur Carew," he replied. "I was sent
with a message. The Indians intend shortly to attack. It will be well to
prepare."
"We are all ready," exclaimed Griffith Hawke, roused from his dejection
by this intelligence. "But what do you mean, my man? Why do the sentries
look for an attack?"
"Sir, the Indians have been making strange signals," Baptiste answered,
"and they were seen from the loopholes and the tower creeping along the
edge of the timber in force."
"The warning is timely," said Captain Rudstone. "If the savages are
prowling about it means mischief, otherwise they would be rigging up a
camp against this bitter weather. And no doubt they reckon the storm
will be to their advantage, since the driving snow thickens the air."
The rest of us were of the same mind, and to a man we thirsted for a
chance to avenge the foul murder of the two voyageurs. We eagerly donned
our fur coats and caps, and began to examine our weapons.
"Mr. Menzies, will you speak to the women before you go," said the
factor. "Tell them not to be alarmed if they hear firing--that there is
no danger."
"And perhaps they will take consolation from your company, Father
Cleary," he added, when Menzies had left the room.
The priest was wrapping himself in furs, and before replying he took his
musket from a rack over the fireplace.
"If the women folk need me, I will not refuse," he said quietly. "I am a
man of peace first, but I can fight when occasion requires, and my
choice lies that way now, Mr. Hawke."
"Then come with us, by all means," assented the factor.
"Nor shall I be left behind," cried Christopher Burley, showing a spirit
that I did not think was in him. "I can handle a gun, sir."
He did not wait for permission, but borrowed a spare coat that hung on
the wall and helped himself to a serviceable musket and a supply of
powder and ball.
"Denzil, you had better go ahead and turn the men out," said the factor.
"We will follow shortly."
I was eager to do this, and, accompanied by Baptiste, I hurried from the
house. I thought with uneasiness, as I plodded across the inclosure,
that I had seen few worse storms. The snow was falling line and thick,
and a stinging, shrieking wind was already heaping it in drifts.
"The redskins will give us trouble, sir," Baptiste said ominously.
"No doubt," I assented sharply; "but we could beat off double their
numbers. Don't go and croak among the men, Baptiste."
The quarters were quite deserted, tidings of the expected attack having
emptied them, and I found all the inmates of the fort--save those on
duty--assembled near the northeast tower. These included the few Indian
employees, who were to be fully trusted. I made a quick round of the
loopholes, and learned that all was now quiet, and that no signals or
movement had been observed for several minutes. When I returned Griffith
Hawke and his little party had arrived, and I communicated the state of
affairs to them.
"It is the calm before the storm," remarked Captain Rudstone. "I'll
wager anything you like the savages are going to rush us."
We waited five minutes, standing about in scattered group, and listening
for some warning from the watch tower. It was the eve of the factor's
wedding--a fact that I recalled with bitter irony as I noted him posted
alertly in the pelting snow, musket in hand, expecting shortly to be
plunged in the thick of a bloody fray. Far across in the distance a
gleam of light twinkled in the window of Flora's room. What were her
thoughts?
A hand tapped me on the shoulder; I turned and saw Christopher Burley.
"It is worse than a London fog, this cold," he said, with chattering
teeth. "I seem to feel it in my bones. How long will we wait, Mr.
Carew?"
"That is hard to tell," I replied. "If you are freezing, go indoors."
I think he would have taken me at my word, but I had hardly spoken when
the brooding silence was shattered by a cry from the watch-tower:
"Look sharp! They are coming on two sides! To the loopholes!"
Here and there a shout was heard, but for the most part the warning was
received with a grim calmness that spoke well for the fighting temper of
our men. The next instant the air was full of Indian war-whoops--and a
more blood-curdling and fearful sound I have yet to hear. Then the
savages fired a continuous volley, and the bullets came rattling like
sleet against the stockade; some entered at the loopholes, and a cry
arose that a half-breed was down.
At the first--such trivial things will a man do at critical times--my
attention was taken by Christopher Burley. Elevating his musket in air,
he pulled the trigger, and was flat on his back before you could count
two. I helped him to rise, and he began to rub his shoulder ruefully.
"It was too heavy a charge," he said. "Did I kill any one?"
"It's a mercy you didn't," I replied.
I gave him a word or two of instruction, but did not wait to see how far
his pluck would carry him. I left him in the act of reloading, and sped
to a loophole near the gates, which faced eastward.
The east and north sides were the ones chosen for the assault, and here
a good third of our men had already posted themselves. They, and the
marksmen in the corner tower were firing steadily. The fusillade,
blending with Indian yells and volleys, made
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