Wrecked but not Ruined by R. M. Ballantyne (best inspirational books .txt) 📕

at a first glance, appeared to be dying. One in particular, a youth, seemed to be in the very last stage of exhaustion. Smart had just risen from his side after administering a cup of hot tea, when the trapper appeared.

“I fear he won’t last long,” said Smart, turning to Bellew, with a shake of his head.

“What have you been givin’ him?” asked Bellew, stooping and feeling his pulse.

“Just a cup of tea,” replied Smart; “I have unfortunately nothing better. We only heard of the wreck yesterday, and came down in our boat in such haste that we forgot spirits. Besides, I counted on bringing whoever I should find up to the fort without delay, but although we may move most of these poor fellows, I doubt much that we daren’t move him.”

This was said in a whisper, for the poor fellows referred to, although unable to rise, lay listening eagerly to every word that was spoken. There were six of them—one a negro—all terribly emaciated, and more or less badly frost-bitten. They formed the remnant of a crew of twenty-five, many of whom, after suffering dreadfully from hunger and frost-bites, had wandered away into the woods, and in a half delirious state, had perished.

“You have hot water, I see,” said the trapper, hastily unfastening his pack, “fetch some.”

Bob Smart promptly and gladly obeyed, for he saw that Bellew was a man of action, and appeared to know what to do.

“You’re right, Mr Smart,” said Bellew, as he poured a little of the contents of a bottle into the tin pannikin that had served him for a tea-cup the night before, “this poor lad couldn’t stand moving just now. Fortunately I’ve brought some spirits with me. It will start fresh life in him if he’s not too far gone already. Here, sir,” he continued, in a louder tone, “let me put this to your lips.”

The youth opened a pair of brilliant black eyes and gazed earnestly at the speaker, then smiled faintly and sipped the offered beverage.

As might have been expected, he at once revived a little under its influence.

“There, that’s enough just now; it don’t do to take much at a time. I’ll give ’ee somethin’ else in a minute,” said Bellew, as he went from one to another and administered a teaspoonful or two to each.

They were very grateful, and said so in words more or less emphatic. One of them, indeed, who appeared to have once been a jovial seaman, intimated that he would be glad to take as many more teaspoonfuls of “that same” as Bellew chose to administer! but the trapper, paying no attention to the suggestion, proceeded to open his store of provisions and to concoct, in his tin tea-kettle, a species of thin soup. While this was simmering, he began to remove the blankets with which Bob Smart had covered the unfortunate men.

“Don’t you think,” said Bob, “that it would be well to leave their wraps alone till we get them up to the fort? They’re badly bitten, and I know little about dressing sores. By the time we get there Mr Redding will probably have returned from Partridge Bay, and he’s more than half a a doctor, I believe.”

“Nevertheless I’ll have a look,” said Bellew, with a smile, “for I’m a bit of a doctor myself in such matters,—about a quarter of one, if I may say so.”

Without further parley the trapper laid bare their sores, and truly the sad sight fully justified Smart’s remark that the poor fellows were badly bitten. One of them, the seaman above referred to, whom his comrades styled Ned, had only lost the ends of one or two toes and the forefinger of his left hand, but some of the others had been so severely frost-bitten in their feet that all the toes were rotting off; the negro in particular had lost his left foot, while the heel-bone of the other was exposed to the extent of nearly an inch, and all the toes were gone. (We describe here, from memory, what we have actually seen.)

In perfect silence, but with a despatch that would have done credit to hospital training, the trapper removed the dead flesh, dressed the sores, applied poultices of certain herbs gathered in the woods, and bandaged them up. This done, he served out the thin soup, with another small allowance of spirits and hot water, after which, with the able assistance of Bob Smart and his men, he wrapped them up in their blankets and made arrangements for having them conveyed to the boat which had been pulled into a convenient creek further down the shore than the wreck.

Strange to say, the youth who appeared to be dying was the least injured by frost-bites of the party, his fingers and face being untouched, and only a portion of the skin of his feet damaged; but this was explained by the seaman, Ned, who, on hearing Bellew’s expression of surprise, said, with a touch of feeling:—

“It’s not the frost as damaged him, sir, it’s the water an’ the rocks. W’en we was wrecked, sir,—now three weeks ago, or thereby,—we’d ableeged to send a hawser ashore, an’ not one of us could swim, from the cap’n to the cabin-boy, so Mister McLeod he wolunteered to—”

“Mister who?” demanded Bellew hastily.

“Mister McLeod.”

“What was your ship’s name?”

“The Betsy, sir.”

“From what port?”

“Plymouth.”

“Ho ho! well, go on.”

“Well, as I was a-sayin’, sir, Mister McLeod, who’s as bold as a lion, he wolunteered to swim ashore wi’ a line, an’ swim he did, though the sea was rollin’ in on the cliffs like the Falls o’ Niagery,—which I’m told lie somewhere in these latitudes,—leastwise they’re putt down in all the charts so. We tried for to dissuade him at first, but when the starn o’ the ship was tore away, and the cargo began to wash out, we all saw that it was neck or nothin’, so we let him go. For a time he swam like a good ’un, but when he’d bin dashed agin’ the cliffs two or three times an’ washed back again among the wreck of spars, cargo, and riggin’, we thought it was all over with all of us. Hows’ever we wasn’t forsooken at the eleventh hour, for a wave all of a sudden washed him high and dry on a ledge of rock, an’ he stood up and waved his hand and then fell down in a swound. Then we thought again it was all up with us, for every wave went roarin’ up to young Mister McLeod, as if it wor mad to lose him, and one or two of ’em even sent the foam washin’ in about his legs. Well, sir, the last one that did that seemed to bring him to, for as it washed over his face he jumped up and held on to the rocks like a limpet. Then he got a little higher on the cliff, and when we saw he was looking out to us we made signs to him that a hawser was made fast to the line, an’ all ready. He understood us an’ began to haul away on the line, but we could see that he had bin badly hurt from the way he stopped from time to time to git breath, and rested his head on a big rock that rose at his side like a great capstan. Hows’ever, he got the hawser ashore at last, an’ made it fast round the big rock, an’ so by means of that, an’ the blessin’ o’ Providence, we all got ashore. P’r’aps,” added Ned thoughtfully, “it might have bin as well if some of us hadn’t—hows’ever, we wasn’t to know that at the time, you understand, sir.”

It must not be supposed that Ned said all this in the hearty tones that were peculiar to his former self. The poor fellow could only utter it sentence by sentence in a weak voice, which was strengthened occasionally by a sip from “that same” beverage which had first awakened his admiration. Meanwhile the object of his remarks had fallen asleep.

“Now, Mister Smart,” said Bellew, taking the fur-trader aside, “from all that I have heard and seen it is clear to me that this wreck is the vessel in which the McLeods of Jenkins Creek had shipped their property from England, and that this youth is Roderick, the youngest son of the family. I’ve bin helping the McLeods of late with their noo saw-mill, and I’ve heard the father talking sometimes with his sons about the Betsy of Plymouth and their brother Roderick.”

At another time Bob Smart would not have been at all sorry to hear that the interloping McLeods had lost all their property, but now he was filled with pity, and asked Jonas Bellew with much anxiety what he thought was best to be done.

“The best thing to do,” said Bellew, “is to carry these men to the boat and have them up to the Cliff Fort without delay.”

“We’ll set about it at once. You’ll go with us, I suppose.”

“No, I’ll remain behind and take care of young McLeod. In his present state it would likely cost him his life to move him.”

“Then I’ll leave some of my men with you.”

“Not needful,” replied the trapper, “you know I’m used to bein’ alone an’ managin’ things for myself. After you get them up you may send down a couple of men with some provisions and their hatchets. For to-night I can make the poor fellow all snug with the tarpaulin of your boat.”

In accordance with these plans the shipwrecked men were sent up to the Cliff Fort. Roderick McLeod was sheltered under a tarpaulin tent and carefully tended by Bellew, and one of Smart’s most active Indians was despatched with a pencil-note to Jenkins Creek.

It was this note which interrupted the conversation between Reginald Redding and the elder McLeod at a somewhat critical moment, and this note, as the reader may easily believe, threw the whole establishment into sudden consternation.