The Conquest by H. Bedford-Jones - HTML preview

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CHAPTER VIII.
 DESERTED.

Even that hardened villain Gib was shocked at this discovery. He handed the soaked leather cover to me in silence, and when I raised my face I saw Radisson gazing at me, a great sadness in his eyes. I stammered out what the thing was, and thereafter silence fell upon us all.

I knew full well that some dire thing had happened before that sacred Bible could have been wrenched asunder in my father's hands, for seldom indeed had it ever left him. I stood up on the seat and shouted in a frenzy of fear, for that horrible fog set badly on my soul.

"Father! Father! Where are you?"

But through the mist came only one faint reply—a weird howl from the throat of Grim. I sank back staring and Radisson gave a short order.

"Pull, all of you! Somewhat has happened to the ship, plain enough. Yet may we rescue some of the poor souls aboard her, if it be God's will."

We gave way with desperate energy, but though we rowed back and forth in that blanketed fog for nigh an hour, we found no sign of Wat Herries' ship other than the torn, watersoaked fragment of leather that lay in my shirt bosom. Despair sat heavily upon us all, and at length Radisson, his face haggard and terrible, swept us about and we gave up the vain search.

It must be that the touch of scurvy and the hardships of that voyage had sapped my strength, and that this horrible day had set a finish upon it, for I remember nothing more save staggering to the camp, when we had reached the shore, and meeting Ruth as she advanced. Then I fell forward, my arms going about Grim's shaggy neck; I tried to sob out something, and therewith fainted dead away.

I recovered to find Ruth feeding me a bitter herb-brew, which I pushed from me as I sat up. My head had been in her arms, and when my eyes met hers I remembered all, and near cried out but with the shock of the memory. For the grief in her sweet face showed all too clearly that she had been told of the tidings. Then Grim licked my hand, whereat I rose to my feet; it came to me in that instant that there was a new burden now on my shoulders, and that I must show myself for a man indeed.

"Here, Davie," cried out Radisson, "come and help me with this canvas. Ruth, give Eoghan some more of that brew."

I joined him and the other two, and under his guidance we stretched the canvas into some semblance of a tent that would make a rude shelter for us. When this had been done to his liking, Radisson had us rear, a little distance off, a shedlike cover of boughs over which he flung our plaids. This was for the use of Ruth.

"Come, lad," and a heavy hand fell on my shoulder. "No more of this staring into the fog-cloud; help us gather firewood against the night."

Turning, I looked into the face of Black Michael and recognized his rough but kindly attempt to hearten me. I had not thought it of him, so dark and sullen the man was ever, and the memory of those few words has always touched him kindly in my mind. So I helped him gather wood, after which we made a sorry enough meal, our first in the New World.

Eoghan was somewhat recovered by now, and the leaves and brew had done us all good, even in that little time. But none the less we were in desperate case, and our gathering was a quiet one. When the meal was done Radisson beckoned me to one side.

"Come you for a little exploring, David."

But when we had left the camp and were among the trees, his tone changed and he gripped me by the shoulder, whirling fiercely upon me.

"Lad, there be three fusils and five horns of powder yonder in the camp. Get them all safe stowed away in hiding, for we may have trouble from these men ere long."

I stared at him agape. "Why, do you fear—"

"Obey orders!" he snapped. Then, his face relaxing from its anxious tensity, he continued more kindly. "Aye, I fear that for one thing the ship is lost, David. When this cursed fog lifts we shall know for certain; but hope for little. I misdoubt that great howl from the dogs; besides, there was no answer to our cries or shot. All those aboard her were too weak to man the pumps, and I fear she has filled and gone down at her anchor."

I was about to make reply when he checked me.

"We have ourselves to depend on, David. Brace up, lad—remember that your sister must be saved by us."

"Saved—from what?" I repeated. "We have the boat and can make our way—"

"Peace," he cried. "You know nothing of the dangers about us, even in our own party. Do my bidding in the matter of the fusils and powder. Say as little as may be to anyone, especially to Ruth, for I may be wrong and it were not well to alarm her. Go now—I will return presently."

So in no little alarm and perplexity I returned, to find no change in affairs at the camp. The three fusils and the powder were easily secured and I placed them in Ruth's shelter in charge of Grim. The weather remained as it had been, the fog still heavy on the waters.

Side by side, Ruth and I sat near the fire for hours. In truth, the poor maid was drooping with sheer fatigue. I, poor lout, could think of naught cheering to say to her, and so we sat and listened to the lapping of the waves below and the chance talk of the three men. I mentioned it not to Ruth, but the more I saw of Gib the more I feared and hated the fellow, though for no very tangible reason save the words of Radisson. And those I understood but dimly for many days to come.

Toward the sunset Radisson returned to us, bearing two dead rabbits. These were prepared and Ruth cooked them, giving us a wholesome change from the salt meat. Gradually the darkness fell, and we built up the fire until its warmth gave us such a glow as we had not known for weeks.

That night Radisson told us many stories of his adventures in this very country and in the Canadas to the south. He told how he had been captured as a lad by the Mohawk Indians and how he had finally become a great man among them, before returning to his own people. Then he told of that great empire of the redmen, called the Five Nations, of which the Mohawks are the greatest; of his later travels in the west and of how he had discovered that great river called "Father of Waters" by the Indians, which in later days had been "discovered" anew, for Radisson never stood well with the Papists. To his stories the men listened eagerly, Gib with a half sneer, but little did I heed their glumness. Ruth and I forgot ourselves in Radisson's words, which was perhaps as he had intended.

So drew that day to a close. Seldom in my life have I known a more terrible one—not from its actual danger, but from the mere awfulness of the unknown. Only once have I felt greater terror, and of that you shall hear in its proper place.

In the night a little breeze arose. I woke once to find Radisson building the fire anew, and cast my eyes toward the star-hung waters. But no ship's light could I see, and I think I sobbed myself to sleep in misery of heart, for I remember Gib cursing me in some strange tongue.

With the morning our worst fears were confirmed. There before us lay the blue bay glittering in the sun, but never a sign of the "Lass o' Dee." To north and west the shore stretched, while the country behind us seemed thickly wooded and deserted. It was a strange thing, to me at least, to see all that land with not a single spiral of smoke curling up from any farm or stead.

That the ship had sunk with all on board, I no longer had any doubt. Fortunately, we had good store of provisions, and as I sat with Ruth that morning and gazed out across the water, I did my best to cheer up the poor maid. The loss of my father and the rest was a great shock to her, coming as it had, but she was never much given to grieving and sat there dry-eyed. Pretty enough she looked, despite her grief, for her yellow hair fell braided over her shoulders and her great violet eyes stared out from beneath her fine, high brows. Looking at her in this moment, I was startled by a likeness of her profile to that of old Radisson; howbeit, I said nothing of it at the time.

No sooner had we made sure of the ship's loss than Radisson vanished with one of the fusils, and after a time we heard a faint shot. The men were already like new, the scurvy symptoms vanishing rapidly before the herb-brew and roots, and I myself could feel the great change which these had worked in me.

Slowly the morning drew on, and then Radisson appeared bearing parts of a deer-like animal he called a caribou. When we had eaten and drunk we felt wondrous better, both in body and mind.

"It is hard to realize," said Ruth very soberly, "that we alone are left alive out of all that ship's company. It seems like some evil dream."

"It is no dream, maid," returned Radisson sadly, "but cold reality. It behooves us to make some plan, my friends. Where think you we are, Jean?"

And now for the second time Gib answered to the French name. Truly, he seemed a person of many titles.

"I would say to the northwest of Albany," he replied slowly, cocking his evil face up at the sky. "The southern shore is lower than this, methinks. We might be near those barren lands the Chippewas tell of."

Radisson nodded. "So it seemed to me, although I have never been up through these more northern lands. Then our best plan will be to go south in the boat. Surely we ought to reach the fort within a day or so, and then—"

Radisson paused suddenly. I saw the eyes of Gib grow small and cold and hard, and they met those of the old wanderer insolently.

"And then?" He repeated half mockingly, with a triumphant leer. "England and France are at peace, in these parts! And perchance the Governor would pay as well for a certain hostage we wot of as would certain parties in New France."

Radisson said nothing, but looked at the man steadily for a long while, though I saw the cords of his neck bulge out. At length the bold eyes of Gib shifted and then fell beneath that intent look, and our leader spoke calmly and quietly.

"I think we will all be able to row in the morning. We will start then. If need be, we can make a sail of this canvas. This afternoon we will reload the boat."

Now it seemed to me that a single swift glance passed between Gib and Black Michael. Then the latter wagged his great beard dubiously.

"I fear me we are in no great spirit for rowing, Master Radisson," he grumbled, although an hour before he had been working well enough over the fire. "My joints are sore, and Eoghan here can barely move."

"Fool, to take Pierre Radisson for a child!" That was all the old man said, but before his eyes Black Michael seemed to shrink back in confused silence. If this kept on, I knew that Radisson would be goaded into action we might all regret; albeit, boylike, I rejoiced thereat as the thought came to me. Then I fell to pondering on that puzzle which had vexed me so sore—Gib o' Clarclach. Who was he? Had Radisson told me truly or no? And who was this hostage of whom he had spoken? But I knew no more at the end of that pondering than I knew at the beginning.

During the afternoon we loaded most of our goods back into the boat, so that in the morning we might make a start. Most of the provisions were put aboard, together with the spare clothes and other things we had fetched from the ship, but the fusils, powder and shot I left where they had been hid. And fortunate it was that I did so, as events fell out.

To tell the truth, I think Ruth grieved more for my father than did I. He had ever been a hard man, just but stern in all things, and I had been more my mother's son while she lived. The thing was rather a shock than a heart-grief to me, I verily believe, and bitterly have I reproached myself that it was so, but without avail.

That night I noticed that Black Michael cast anxious glances at us, and the sailor Eoghan stared more than once at the gold brooch at Ruth's throat. I thought long on this, and it brought again to my mind that scene on the beach near Rathesby, when Gib and the other had fallen to staring at the brooch also. What might the thing be, and whose arms were those graven upon it? But this Ruth knew as little as I, and I concluded that the men were but attracted by the glitter of the massy gold, as was like enough.

This night fell warm and clear, very different from that before. Now Radisson and I lay together, the other three sleeping beyond us and nearer to the fire. I wrapped my plaid about me, as I had done many a time on the moors at home, and fell asleep almost at once; as yet I was none too strong, and even the little work done that day had wearied me. Grim lay beside Ruth's shelter.

How long I slept I know not, but when I wakened the fire had died down to a red glow. I lay wondering what had roused me, then sat up. The place where Gib had lain was vacant.

But I was too sleepy to waste time on such little things, and so rolled over again and dropped off. When next I opened mine eyes it was to find Radisson bending over and shaking me roughly.

"Waken, David!" Something in that deep rich voice of his brought me to my feet.

"What is it?" I cried, staring about into the new dawn. "What is the matter?"

"Matter enough," replied the old man gravely. "The men have gone off with the boat, lad, and we are deserted!”