CHAPTER IV.
THE MAN FROM THE SEA.
A fine-looking man he was, too, despite his age. I put him down as three-score and ten, and found later that I had not been far wrong. His face was hard-set and stern, like that of some eagle, his nose finely curved, and his deep-set eyes—ah, what eyes those were! Never since have I seen eyes like his. They seemed to be gazing far off, even as they looked into one's own; they seemed to see some great vision not given to other men's sight, as in truth I believe they did.
His hair was snow-white, but very thick, hanging about his shoulders, and on his bronzed neck was tattooed some strange animal which I had never before seen. So we stood about him, staring, while Wat Herries cast off the little sloop and left her to sink as she would.
The stranger searched us with those great black eagle-eyes, but shook his head at Alec Gordon's Gaelic, and muttered something that fetched a joyful cry from Ruth, for it was in the French tongue.
"You are a Frenchman?" she inquired quickly, pushing to my side. The stranger glanced at us, then his great figure quivered as a tree shakes beneath the ax. I could have sworn that a tinge of red leaped into his pale cheeks and that he was gazing at the golden brooch which once more held Ruth's cloak, but he replied slowly and calmly in a musical voice:
"I speak French, mademoiselle, though I may not claim to belong to that nation."
"Who are you?" asked Ruth, "and what are you doing in that little boat?"
"As to my name, that matters not," he replied with a bow that could only have been learned in courts. "I was sailing to the west, and if I might thank your company for saving me from a leaky and all but disabled craft, I would fain do so through you."
Ruth put his words into our own tongue, somewhat disconcerted at his courteous aloofness, whereat Alec Gordon rubbed his chin, and bade us salute him courteously.
"Tell the man that he must e'en go to the colonies with us," he said, knitting his gray eyebrows. "If he will not tell his name, we care little. Ask him of his religion."
And so Ruth did. But at the question the old man straightened up and a flash of fire leaped into his wondrous eyes.
"Who are you that dare to question me?" he replied sternly and proudly. "As to my religion, that is my own affair. May I ask your name, mistress?"
"We are of Scotland, of the Covenant," she returned simply, giving her name. He frowned as if in perplexity. "Fear not," smiled the little maid, mistaking his attitude. "You are with friends, old man, and if you be not a Papist your religion matters not."
He laughed shortly, staring down upon her. "Not I, maiden. As to fear, I am more hungered than fearful, though I have felt fear often in my time."
As Ruth gave his words to the others and my father led him to the cabin, I turned over this speech in my mind and set him down, boylike, as a coward. Therein I made a grave mistake, as I found out ere long.
It was but natural that the stranger should make great talk among us all, and when he returned on deck, his tall figure wrapped in a spare plaid of Tam Graham's, we gazed at him ever more eagerly. But he gave us little heed, going forward into the bow and sitting there upon a coil of rope, gazing out into the west as if the ship sped not fast enough for him. After a little, Ruth and I, being the only ones aboard who could speak French, save the sailors, came to him. He did not repel us—nay, there was something about the man that drew us both, and Ruth more than me; he seemed like one who had seen many strange things, and the secret that shone forth from his deep eyes half frightened while it attracted me. As for Ruth, she felt sorry for him in his loneliness and wished to talk her French also, for she ever held that my accent was most vile.
He gave us a kindlier welcome than I had looked for, and when he smiled all his sternness vanished and I knew on the instant that here was a man who had suffered and loved greatly, and who knew how to win love from other men. There was about him something of that same quality which Ruth so greatly possessed, the quality of drawing out the faith of others, of quiet trust and confidence. I was not to know for many long weeks what it really meant to love and be loved by him, but, as I perched on the anchor chains and stared frankly at him, I thought that it must indeed be hard to tell this man a lie.
"If you would speak English," he smiled in the southland speech, "I can converse well in that."
"Nay," and Ruth's laugh rippled out, "French is mine own mother-tongue, and seldom do I get a chance to use it."
"Are you French, then? With your name?" he asked quickly. Now, though I knew full well that Ruth had come there with no such thought, she poured out the tale of her coming to us over the moors, as she had heard it often from my mother and me. This surprised me all the more because as a rule she made light of it and claimed Ayrby for home, and my people for her people.
The old stranger listened to all her story, but he remained silent and fell to staring over the bowsprit again as if he had not heard. But I who watched him saw him try to speak, as it were, then stop suddenly and gulp in his throat.
"It is a strange tale," he replied after a little, "and I thank you for the telling, maiden. Know you whither we are bound?"
"For the New York colony," I replied, somewhat downcast that he had not trusted us in turn with his own tale. He must have read the thought in my eyes, for he smiled sadly and I felt emboldened to question him. "What is that mark on your throat?" I continued, gazing at the tattooed animal. "Is that some strange beast?"
"Aye, strange enough," he turned human all at once and laughed in my face like a boy. "It is a beaver, an animal of the New World and of the old, yet stranger never lived. You will see many a beaver-skin—aye, and sell them, too, perchance!"
"Then you have been in the New World!" cried out Ruth, settling down snugly at his side. "Tell us all about it, sir!"
"The tale would outlast the voyage," he said, looking down at her face. A sudden mad thought came into my mind, and before I thought to stay it, sprang to my lips.
"In the New World," I asked eagerly, "did you ever know a man who was called The Pike?"
The answer to that question was wonderful enough. With one quick motion he leaned forward and gripped my shoulder in a hand of iron; and when his eyes bored into mine own I all but cried out, so like pure flame was the look therein.
"What know you of him?" he asked bitingly, and his tone minded me of my father's when he had flung the Commissioner's man over the rail. In that instant I feared this old stranger as never in my life had I feared anyone, no, not even my father; and so I gave him all I knew of Gib o' Clarclach, without let or hindrance. While I spoke, his grip loosened, but his shaggy brows came down until they met.
"Lad," he said when I had made an end, "keep this maid from that man as if he were the plague itself! Let him not touch her, should you ever meet again, and if he so much as looks at her put your knife into him as into a dog gone mad!"
"Why, the fellow is aboard now," I answered in wonder, and in no little fear. But to my surprise the old man only turned and gazed out into the sunset once more, checking Ruth when she would have spoken.
"My children," he said very softly, "while I am here you are safe from this man, remember that. Nay, I would not harm him. I am an old man, but I have been where no other white man has been; I have been a ruler among men whose skins are not as ours, and I go even now to end my days among these people. He, also, has been among them, and I know not what evil he is about here; but it seems to me that the hand of God has drawn me to you and to this ship, lest you come to harm. Now leave me, my children, and count me ever as a friend of the best."
Hand in hand, like two frighted bairns, we left him and went aft in awe. When we were alone in the cabin, all the other folk being above, Ruth looked strangely at me and caught my hand.
"Davie, is he not a wonderful man? Do you like him?"
"I fear him," I replied honestly. "But I think I could even love him, an' I had the chance. He is some great man, Ruth, that I know!"
"I like him, too, and I am not a bit feared of him," she said earnestly. "Say naught to anyone of what he said, Davie, for I think he would trust us more than others."
Whereto I agreed willingly enough, remembering that shoulder-grip which still burned me. But that did not save me from much speculating to myself. First, why had the old man been sailing westward in a small and battered sloop, scarce fit for coast fishing? Second, what did he know of Gib o' Clarclach? And last and greatest— who was he? These questions drove through my mind as I went back to the deck, but it was long ere any of them were answered. All that evening I looked about for the face of Gib the sailor, but saw it not.
Oddly enough, that same night a terrific gale from the south came on us. Odd, because until then the weather had been perfect, and also because of what followed. It was such a gale as I had never known before, keeping up day after day and driving us ever west and north, for the poor little "Lass" could only run with a single shred of sail to keep her right end forward.
That was a hard time for all of us. Morn and eve we held assembly in the larger of the cabins, where we men slept, and Alec Gordon led us in prayer. At each of these meetings the old stranger attended, although he took no part himself, which my father liked but ill. During those days we younger men helped the crew pull and haul, but the others were cooped up in the cabin—and a dreary place it was. Alec and the rest kept up an ever-lasting argument on Effectual Calling and Reason Annexed, together with other such topics as the articles of faith afforded, and I was glad enough to be sharing with the crew instead of listening to such talk below, for I was ever fonder of action than discussion.
I had nearly forgot the other part of our crew and cargo—Grim, who kept company with half a dozen more sheep dogs, and the poor beasts stowed away in hasty-built pens below. The day the old stranger came aboard, three of the sheep died, and what with broken legs from the rolling of the "Lass," and from sickness, the rest followed speedily. Wherein Wat Herries was proved to know his business better than my father. As for Grim, he kept close below after the storm began, and remained there in safety, keeping near to my father's heels as usual.
For a week that storm blew down on us, and there was rest or comfort for none aboard. On the seventh day we had clear weather once more and returned to our course, from which we had been sadly driven. Two days after this befell a sore accident, for Master Herries was knocked down by a lower yard breaking from its cordage, and when we picked him up his right leg was found broken below the knee.
We carried him to his cabin and there my father, who had no little leechcraft, tended him. This placed the ship in the hands of an Ireland man called Black Michael, who was good enough in his way, but a poor mate, for as events proved he had little hold on the men forward.
As if this were not enough, the storm came back upon us the next day and again the poor "Lass" fled helpless before it. It was now that first I noted a peculiar manner among the men, who like all our west coast seamen were highly superstitious. I thought little of it, nor dreamt how it tended, until one night when I crept forward to steal a pannikin of water from the butt for Grim. On my way back I heard two seamen talking in Gaelic, behind a corner of the cabins, and the wind carried me their words.
"Duar na Criosd!" muttered one, an Irisher like the mate. "There is no doubt of it, Eoghan! I have seen it before, and I tell you that unless Ruadh has green stuff in plenty, he will die! It is the scurvy, and we have naught aboard to fight it with."
"Scurvy an' you like," replied the other sullenly, "but I say it is the old wizard whom we took aboard. Do you mind the tale of Jonah in the Scriptures? Do you mind how the sheep began to die when he came, and how he brought the gale with him?"
There was a little silence, and I felt my heart sound against my ribs as I began to comprehend their words.
"Like enough," answered the first with an oath. "But the scurvy is upon us, and we be all dead men, Eoghan, unless we fetch land right soon. Nor is the manner of that rotting death pleasant, and with this he described the workings of scurvy until my flesh creeped.
"Then let us have this Jonah overboard," cried out the other man on a sudden, and despair was in his voice. "Gib o' Clarclach is with us, and the rest. Black Michael matters not; put this wizard overside and we will have fair weather again. Who ever heard tell of such gales at this season?"
Which same was true enough, and I even wondered a trifle if the man might not be right.
"Stay," returned the first. "I have a better plan. The old wizard sleeps in the cabin aft, with the captain. I will slip in there this very night, when the watch is changed, and have my knife in him and out again. Let the elder lay it to the Lord's vengeance an' he will, being overfond of such talk."
At this the other man laughed shortly, but I crept very silently across the heaving deck to the cabin, and there was great fear in my heart for all of us.