The Crew of the Water Wagtail by R. M. Ballantyne (types of ebook readers .TXT) 📕
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- Author: R. M. Ballantyne
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The entire heavens seemed to be ablaze from horizon to zenith, not as with the lurid fires of a great conflagration, which might suggest only the idea of universal devastation, but with the tender sheen of varied half-tints, playfully shooting athwart and intermingling with brighter curtains of light of every conceivable hue.
The repose of the party was somewhat interfered with by the wonders that surrounded them that night, and more than once they were startled from slumber by the loud report of great limbs of trees, which, strong though they seemed to be, were torn off by the load of ice that had accumulated on them.
Daybreak found the party again passing swiftly over the land. It really seemed as if even the boys had received special strength for the occasion, for they neither lagged behind nor murmured, but kept well up during the whole forced march. No doubt that youthful enthusiasm to which Captain Trench had referred kept Olly up to the mark, while Osky—as his friend called him—had been inured to hard labour of every kind from infancy.
At last, about noon that day, their leader came to a sudden halt, and pointed to something on the ground before him.
“What does he see?” asked Paul, in a low voice.
“Footprints,” said Hendrick.
“What of—deer?” asked the captain, in a hoarse whisper.
“No—natives. Perhaps his friends.”
While they were whispering, the Indian was on his knees examining the footprints in question. Rising after a few minutes’ survey, with a grave look he said—
“Strongbow is not sure. The prints look like those of his tribe, but—he is not sure!”
“At all events we can follow them,” said Hendrick. “The land is open; we cannot easily be surprised, and we have our weapons handy.”
As he spoke he drew an arrow from his quiver, and, affixing the notch to the bow-string, carried the weapon in his left hand. The others followed his example. Oliver felt his belt behind, to make sure that the axe was there, and glanced at the mighty club that hung from his shoulder.
Oscar, regarding with a slight degree of wonder the warlike arrangements of his friend, also fitted an arrow to his little bow, and then, with cautious steps and inquiring glances, the party continued to advance.
But Hendrick was wrong in supposing that a surprise was not probable, for suddenly from behind a frowning rock or cliff there appeared a band of armed men who confronted them, and instantly raised their bows to shoot. Quick as lightning the white men did the same. Evidently both parties were taken by surprise, for if the Indians had been a party in ambush they would have shot at the others without showing themselves. This or some such idea seemed to flash into the minds of both parties, for there was a slight hesitation on the part of each. Just at that moment a large black dog which accompanied the Indians, and had displayed all its formidable teeth and gums on seeing the strangers, was observed to cover its teeth and wag its tail interrogatively.
Hendrick gave a low whistle.
Instantly the dog bounded towards him, and began to fawn and leap upon and around him with every demonstration of excessive joy, at sight of which both parties lowered their weapons.
“The dog is an old friend,” explained Hendrick to Paul. “Good dog,” he added, addressing the animal in the Indian tongue, “you are a faithful friend—faithful in time of need.”
Then, dropping his bow and advancing unarmed to the Indians, he said—
“This dog belongs to the Bethucks of Grand Lake. Did you obtain him from them?”
“No, we did not,” replied one of the Indians, who seemed from his bearing to be a chief, “but we are kinsmen of the men of Grand Lake. One of their braves, Little Beaver, took one of our girls, Rising Sun, for his wife. We come from yonder (pointing northward). Some moons have passed since Little Beaver, who came to revisit us with his wife, left us to return to his wigwam on Grand Lake.”
“I know Little Beaver well,” said Hendrick, as the chief paused at this point; “the dog belongs to him.”
Without noticing the remark the chief continued—
“When Little Beaver and Rising Sun left us they went on alone by the shores of the great salt lake. We never saw our brave in life again. Some time after, a party of our warriors came upon a grave. They examined it, and found the dead body of Little Beaver. It was bruised, and many bones were broken. A party of white men had built lodges near to the place. It was they who had murdered Little Beaver, we knew, for there was no sign of others near, and his dog was with them. So our braves went to the kinsmen of Rising Sun, and we returned and attacked the palefaces.”
“Did you slay all the palefaces?” asked Hendrick anxiously.
“No, some we slew, others we took prisoners.”
Hendrick thought it best to reserve in the meantime his communication of all this to Paul and his friends.
“I am your kinsman also,” he said to the chief, “for Trueheart is my wife. I have much to say to you, but our business is pressing. Will you walk with me while we talk?”
The chief bowed his head, and ordered his party to fall to the rear and follow, while he walked in advance with the pale-faced hunter.
Hendrick then explained to the Indian as much about the wreck of the Water Wagtail and the dismissal of Captain Trench and his comrades as he thought necessary, and then said that although his three friends were indignant at the treatment they had received from their comrades, they would be grieved to hear that any of them were to be killed, and he greatly wished to prevent that. “Would the chief guide him to the place where the prisoners were?”
“I will guide you,” said the chief, “but you will find it hard to save them. Palefaces have slain Little Beaver and stolen Rising Sun, and palefaces must die.”
Anxious though Paul Burns naturally was for the fate of the crew of the Water Wagtail, he could not help being interested in and impressed by the fine country which he was thus unexpectedly obliged to traverse. His mind being of a practical and utilitarian cast, as well as religious, he not only admired the grand and richly diversified land as being part of the works of God, but as being eminently suitable for the use and enjoyment of man.
“Look there,” he said to Captain Trench, as they plodded steadily along, at the same time pointing to a break in a neighbouring cliff which revealed the geological features of the land. “Do you see yonder beds of rock of almost every colour in the rainbow? These are marble-beds, and from the look of the parts that crop out I should say they are extensive.”
“But not of much use,” returned the captain, “so long as men are content to house themselves in huts of bark and skins.”
“So might some short-sighted mortal among our own savage forefathers have said long ago if the mineral wealth of Britain had been pointed out to him,” returned Paul. “Yet we have lived to see the Abbey of Westminster and many other notable edifices arise in our land.”
“Then you look forward to such-like rising in this land?” said the captain, with something of a cynical smile.
“Well, not exactly, Master Trench; but our grandchildren may see them, if men will only colonise the land and strive to develop its resources on Christian principles.”
“Such as—?” asked Trench.
“Such as the doing to others as one would have others do to one’s-self, and the enacting of equal laws for rich and poor.”
“Then will Newfoundland never be developed,” said the captain emphatically; “for history tells us that the bulk of men have never been guided by such principles since the days of Adam.”
“Since when were you enrolled among the prophets, Master Trench?”
“Since you uttered the previous sentence, Master Paul. I appeal to your own knowledge of history.”
“Nay, I question not your historical views, but your prophetical statements, as to the fate of this island. Have you not heard of this writing—that ‘the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth as the waters cover the sea?’ Does not that signify completeness in the spread of knowledge? And when that comes to pass, will it bear no good fruit? If not, why is it recorded as a blessed state of things to which we may look forward, and towards which we may strive? I admit that the wickedness of man may delay the desired end. Unjust laws, interference with freedom of action, hatred of truth, may check progress here as it has done elsewhere; but who can tell how soon the truth, as it is in Jesus, may begin to operate, or how rapidly it may culminate?”
“You may be right, Master Paul; I know not. Anyhow I withdraw my claim to be numbered with the prophets—all the more that I see Strongbow making signals which I don’t rightly understand.”
The Indian guide, who had been walking somewhat in advance of the party, was seen standing on the summit of a knoll making signals, not to his friends behind him, but apparently to some one in front. Hastening forward they soon found that he had discovered friends,—a body of Indians, who were hurrying to meet him; while down in the valley beyond, which suddenly burst upon their view, stood an extensive Indian village. It was of that evanescent and movable kind, which consists of cone-like tents made of skins and bark spread upon poles.
“They are friends,” said Strongbow, when Hendrick and the others reached him; “kinsmen of the murdered Little Beaver.”
“Friends of Hendrick also, I see,” said the captain to Paul, as the hunter hastened forward to meet the Indians and salute them.
He was right, and a few minutes’ conversation with his friends sufficed to put the guide in possession of all he wished to know. Returning to his companions, he at once relieved their minds, to some extent at least, by telling them that it was indeed the tribe into whose hands their old shipmates had fallen, and that the sailors were still alive and well, though prisoners, and lying under sentence of death.
“Come, that at all events is good news,” said Paul. “I thank God we are not too late, and I make no doubt that we will persuade the Indians to delay execution of the sentence till we find out whether or not they have been guilty of this murder. Some of our old shipmates I know are capable of it, but others are certainly innocent.”
Hendrick did not at once reply. It was evident from his looks that he had not much hope in the merciful disposition of the Indians.
“I know some men of this tribe,” he said, “but not all of them—though they all know me by report. You may at least depend on my influence being used to the utmost in behalf of your friends. Come, we will descend.”
A few minutes’ walk brought them to the foot of the hill where the Indian tents were pitched. Here they found a multitude of men, women, and children watching them as they descended the hill, and, from the looks of many of the former, it seemed not at all improbable that a rough reception awaited them.
“You see,” said Paul, in a low voice to the captain, “they probably class us with the murderers, because of our white skins. Our only hope, under God, rests in Hendrick.”
That Paul’s hope was not ill-founded became apparent the moment the hunter made himself known. For the scowling brows cleared at once, and one or two men, who had formerly met with the white hunter,
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