The Crew of the Water Wagtail by Robert Michael Ballantyne (first ebook reader .txt) 📕

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."


CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.


OLD FRIENDS IN A SAD PLIGHT.

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, came forward and saluted him in the European manner which he had already taught to many of the red men, namely, with a shake of the hand.

A great palaver followed in the wigwam of the chief, Bearpaw, in the course of which many things were talked about; but we confine our record to that part of the talk which bears specially on our tale.

"The men must die," said Bearpaw sternly. "What you tell me about their harsh treatment of their chief and his son and friend only proves them to be the more deserving of death. My two young braves who visited them on the island were treated like dogs by some of them, and Little Beaver they have slain. It is just that they should die."

"But my three friends here," returned Hendrick, "treated your braves well, and they had no knowledge or part in the killing of Little Beaver. Perhaps the palefaces did _not_ kill him. Do they admit that they did?"

"How can we tell what they admit? We know not their language, nor they ours. But there is no need to palaver. Did not Strongbow and his braves find the dead body of Little Beaver bruised and broken? Did they not see his black dog in the paleface camp, and has not Rising Sun disappeared like the early frost before the sun? Doubtless she is now in the camp with those palefaces who have escaped us, but whom we will yet hunt down and kill."

"Bearpaw is right," said Hendrick, "murderers deserve to die. But Bearpaw is also just; he will let the men of the sea speak in their own defence now that I am here to interpret?"

"Bearpaw is just," returned the chief. "He will hear what the palefaces have got to say. One of the young men will take you to their prison."

He signed as he spoke to a young Indian, who instantly left the tent, followed by Hendrick and his friends.

Passing right through the village the party reached a precipice, on the face of which was what appeared to be the entrance to a cavern. Two Indians stood in front of it on guard. A voice was heard within, which struck familiarly, yet strangely, on Paul and the captain's ears. And little wonder, for it was the voice of Grummidge engaged in the unaccustomed act of prayer! The young Indian paused, and, with a solemn look, pointed upwards, as if to intimate that he understood the situation, and would not interrupt. Those whom he led also paused and listened--as did the sentinels, though they understood no word of what was said.

Poor Grummidge had evidently been brought very low, for his once manly voice was weak and his tones were desponding. Never before, perhaps, was prayer offered in a more familiar or less perfunctory manner.

"O Lord," he said, "_do_ get us out o' this here scrape somehow! We don't deserve it, though we _are_ awful sinners, for we've done nothin' as I knows on to hurt them savages. We can't speak to them an' they can't speak to us, an' there's nobody to help us. Won't _you_ do it, Lord?"

"Sure it's no manner o' use goin' on like that, Grummidge," said another voice. "You've done it more than wance a'ready, an' there's no answer. Very likely we've bin too wicked intirely to deserve an answer at all."

"Speak for yourself Squill," growled a voice that was evidently that of Little Stubbs. "I don't think I've been as wicked as you would make out, nor half as wicked as yourself! Anyhow, I'm goin' to die game, if it comes to that. We can only die once, an' it'll soon be over."