On a bright May morning, later in the month than the sailing of the
ships out of the Halifax Harbor, the sun shone at Penetang in vivid
warmth and splendor. The people were glad. Earth was putting on her
newest garb of green. The trees of the forest, tired of monotonous
nudity, were clothed in many tints; and even the tardy ones, the annual
laggards, were being roused from their lethargy.
Part of the barracks had been finished and made comfortable for
habitation, and the foundations of the fort had already been laid. By
judicious division of labor in the soldier settlement, men were
portioned off in accordance with their special aptitudes, and every one
was busy. Blacksmith and carpenter shops stood side by side, and in them
forge, hammer, saw and chisel, did their work persistently from morning
until night. Under habitant direction, too, the first fallow had been
cleared, the brushwood and timbers piled up to dry for burning, and the
land made ready for the seed.
In front of the cottage on this special morning, Helen was busily
arranging her little garden. Harold had dug the ground for her and
planted the seeds she had brought from England. She was examining the
little shoots that had already appeared very tenderly, as a link to the
far-away beyond the sea.
"Good morning, Mrs. Manning," said Sir George Head as he approached.
"Your little flower beds are full of promise."
"My fear is that the sun will burn the plants before they have a chance
to develop," said Helen; "the English climate is so different."
"That depends," said the Colonel. "My gardener used to say that if
plants were watered at night, and shaded during the heat of the day,
they would stand the change from a cool to a hot climate very well."
"Thank you, Sir George. I am glad to know. These little plants are very
dear to me."
"You must not make too much of them," he said gently. "And how do you
like your new house?"
"Better every day. The floors of those rip-saw planks have all been
laid, and it is such a comfort. I don't know how to thank you for having
the carpenters make them for us."
"My dear, they are just getting their hands in. They may have to rip the
floor boards for the fort for all we know. Latimer tells me that the
nearest sawmill is on the east side of the lake a hundred and fifty
miles away; and when we can get them by boat from there is a question."
"I may consider myself very fortunate, then."
"Indeed you may."
"And the _Bumble Bee_ sails--"
"To-morrow, I think. It was badly damaged in that ice storm, and our men
have repaired it in return for Latimer's services."
At this moment Dr. Beaumont joined them.
"Latimer tells me," he said, "that the wind indicates a brisk land
breeze, and he purposes sailing to-night."
"A sensible idea," echoed the Colonel. "The sooner he starts now the
better. I have engaged him to bring in fresh supplies if he can get
them. He wants to take our mail matter, too, but it is too risky a
venture. We must send it by help of Indian guides overland to Little
York."
"Latimer has great faith in his own ability," said Beaumont. "He thinks
he can run down the whole coast line without being caught."
"Perhaps he might, the eastern shore being out of the war arena, but
toward St. Clair and Detroit, unless they are again in the hands of the
English, his boat would be sure to be captured."
"Would they attack a little boat like his?" Helen asked in surprise.
"An enemy will take any prize he can get, whether great or small," said
the Colonel. "Still Latimer may secure supplies of some kind from the
shore settlements; and I will see that he does not run too much risk."
With these words Sir George returned to his quarters.
"Shall you send a letter to Miss Maud this time?" the Doctor asked,
pulling his moustache first on one side and then on the other.
"I think I shall. Not being official I might risk it with Latimer. I
have written a long one for her. She's a charming girl, and in the short
time that I had the opportunity I grew very fond of her," she replied,
looking up into his face. "Unfortunately I did not remain long enough in
Halifax to get acquainted with many of the ladies; but I had more than
one long talk with Maud, and I assure you I admire her very much."
"You do not overestimate her, Mrs. Manning, and I am glad you like her."
"I could not help it," she responded as she bent again to arrange her
plants. "She has high ideals and wonderful self-control, a true index of
noble character."
"Yes, and she is as beautiful as she is good," said Beaumont
impressively. "One of the women men rave over, but cannot win."
"They might as well cease their ravings--but not every one."
"Do you think so, Madame? Strange that you should learn in days what has
taken me years to discover."
"Perhaps one woman can read another woman's heart quicker than a man
can."
"Mon Dieu! Je ne sais quoi. I would give a fortune to read hers."
"Spare your ducats, Monsieur," said Helen with a light laugh. "But I can
tell you something without money. In one of our talks she said she would
never marry a man unless she loved him so much that she would gladly go
to the ends of the earth with him; but that he must rise to her ideal
before she would think of him at all."
"Is that ideal very high? Can no one reach it? Mon Dieu! I know one man
who will do his best, give him only the opportunity."
"Make the opportunity. Make the effort," said Helen earnestly.
"Remember, she is the only woman, he the only man. Both seek ideals, and
the divine is still above them."
"Dear Madame, how good you are! You give me hope. Heaven knows how I
love her!"
She had never heard him talk so before, and as they reached the cottage
she held out her hand.
"Thank you, Dr. Beaumont, for your confidence. I wish you well. Yes, and
I believe, also, that you are worthy to win."
The Doctor had the gallantry of his race, and bowing low, he raised her
fingers to his lips.
"Harold is busy with his men at the new bridge," she said, looking over
in the direction of the island.
"Yes," he assented. "He and Captain Cummings will be there with a large
force all day."
"Please tell him, when you go down, that I shall be at the wharf to see
him before they leave for dinner."
As the Doctor withdrew she entered the cottage. Emmiline was busily
preparing wheaten dough for the oven. Her sleeves were turned up, her
neck bare, and her dress fastened loosely at the girdle. A bright fire
burned in the open fireplace, and in it a square sheet-iron oven had
been placed to heat for the baking.
"How is the bread, Emmiline?" she asked as she opened the window a
little wider.
"Oh, 'tees bon, Madame. Salt risin' good to-day. Yesterday mauvais bad.
Oven nice heat. Put right in now." And she dropped the dough into a
square tin, patted it on the back, and placed it on the shelf in the
oven.
"Now," she went on, "Je vatch de fire--not too 'ot--not too cole--jes'
de tres meedle."
"You must not work too hard, Emmiline."
"No fear, Madame. No fear 'tall. You jes' like Bateese; he al'us say
tak' car', Emmiline, tak' car'. I only laugh. I strong an' work all de
same."
"Still I want you to be wise. Mrs. Hardman will do any heavy lifting for
you; and we cannot have you hurt yourself."
"I know dat--an' it ees nice to have de vemin's house so close. Dey be
goot fellahs, bot'."
"When are they going to finish the room upstairs for you, Emmiline?"
"Oh, vere soon. De floor all right, de leetle window all right, and de
laddare work goot. Bateese say not much mattare for more, now summare
tam come."
Emmiline's cheeks were rosy again. She had not the sallow complexion so
often seen; and moving so freely about the room, Helen's care for her
seemed almost groundless.
The internal arrangements of the cottage were very simple. At one end
were two rooms; the one, Harold and Helen's bedroom, the other, the
store room, and in it the ladder to the upper story. The balance of the
floor space made the living apartment; and, in the meantime, Emmiline
and Bateese would occupy the upper room until after the event was over.
After giving directions about dinner, Helen put on a Quaker sunbonnet,
and tripped over the green turf down to the edge of the water, where men
were driving cedar posts to support the crossbeams of the island bridge.
One gang were working close to the shore, another from a raft on the
water, while a third were at similar work on the island beyond.
Captain Cummings had charge of the shore gang and Harold the island one.
Helen did not know it until almost on the spot. If she had, she might
have turned back.
"This is cheering, to be visited by the lady of the fort!" exclaimed
Cummings, lifting his hat, "a delightful and unlooked-for compliment."
"Thank you," returned Helen, lightly; "but I'm afraid the compliment was
unintended. I thought Harold was on this side, and ran down to have a
word with him."
"What? to have words with your husband? Lucky for him he is so far
away," returned the Captain with a laugh.
"Oh, they will keep till he comes to dinner!" said Helen, declining to
see his meaning.
"Madame!" exclaimed Bateese at her elbow, "I tak' you ovare in mine
leetle canoe. See!" and he pointed to a birch-bark that he had bartered
with an Indian for a few days before.
"Won't that be fine?" she returned, as she hastened to its side. "Are
you sure you won't upset me?"
"Bateese nevare upset canoe, no nevare."
"Oh, I remember, you are the man that never upsets anything!"
Bateese's eyes twinkled. He remembered too.
In another minute they glided over the water to the spot where the men
were working.
"'And Helen--alluring comes across the briny deep!'" exclaimed her
husband.
"Quite a mistake, Harold! I tasted the water and there isn't a bit of
brine in it."
"How intensely practical! Don't you know that canoeing in Penetang
should be poetic?"
"So it is," she replied. "Coming over made me dream of canoeing with you
in the long evenings over this very bay."
"Yes, dearest. That's one of the delights in store for us. But come and
see where Sir George has decided to build the magazine."
Parting the underwood they were soon upon a little hill, the highest
spot of the island. To the north was the mouth of the harbor; while to
the south, over the tops of Chippewa wigwams, lay the upper end of the
long, narrow bay.
"Can those Indians be trusted?" Helen asked.
"Yes, perfectly. They arrived and put up their tepees a few days ago.
They come here to fish every spring and go away again in the summer."
"So they will remain for a while," said Helen with a slight shiver.
"Probably. But they are nomadic and may go any time. Some bright morning
before you even think of it, they will fold their tents and glide away."
"What a lot of them there are!" said Helen, prosaically.
"Yes, there must be fifty at least, counting braves, squaws, papooses
and all. Latimer says the men will be very useful to us, while they
stay, as runners and guides."
"I suppose Sir George meant these Indians this morning when he spoke of
sending the mail through the woods to Little York. But did you know
that the Latimers intend to sail to-night?"
"Not positively, though I suspected as much."
"That is one reason that I came to see you. Would it be safe to send one
of my letters on the boat; or must they all go by Little York?"
"It would be safer by land than water, even if slower. Still a
non-committal letter might be risked if you are careful in the wording."
"It is just a little message to Maud Maxwell and could not implicate any
one. I do so want to send a few words and get news from there. It seems
like an age since we left; and if it is lost it will not matter much. I
only sent one before, and that was from Montreal.
"Well, do as you like, dearest. But my men are wanting me. They don't
know how to place that plank."
They parted the bushes and in another minute were at the water's edge
again.
"V'eell Madame go back right vey?" Bateese asked.
"Wait a moment; those squaws want to speak to me."
Two Indian women, clothed in blanket, short skirt and moccasins had been
waiting her return. The older one, with long black hair loose over her
shoulders, resembled the tall handsome girl beside her, and looked old
enough to be her mother. She touched Helen on the arm.
"Pale-face squaw want moccasins?" she asked, holding out a pair
decorated with beads and quills.
A strange thrill went through Helen as she felt the touch, and saw the
dark, fierce face of the Indian woman so close to hers. But with an
effort she controlled herself and answered:
"Yes, I want moccasins. These will fit me. How much are they?"
"Waupatheca not know. Pale-face tell her," said the squaw throwing up
her hand.
"What shall I give her?" Helen asked of Harold, who turning from his men
watched the scene with amusement.
"A piece of cloth, some needles and thread would be better than money,"
he said.
"But I haven't them with me."
"Give the moccasins back and tell her you will come again this
afternoon. The Indians must not come to the house. Not so soon at any
rate."
A dissatisfied expression came into the squaw's face; but she nodded and
turned away, as her daughter, also unsatisfied, pulled at one of the
strings of Helen's bonnet.
"Little Moon want it!" she exclaimed eagerly.
"Little Moon can't have it," returned Helen, arranging her hood and
shaking her head, "but I will bring you something too."
The girl clapped her hands and laughed.
"Where did you learn English?" Helen asked.
"In Detraw," was her answer.
"How did you get there?" she questioned.
"'Jibway Indians and squaws go in canoes every summare," was the answer;
"sell skins, sell wampum, sell moccasin, sell fish, too."
The black eyes of the girl wandered restlessly toward the men who were
working.
"What is your name?" Helen asked.
"Metsemee. It means Little Moon," she replied.
"What a beautiful name!"
"Pale-face squaw like it?" questioned the girl with a smile.
"Yes, it is like the silvery moon itself. And your mother's name, she
did not tell me its meaning?"
"Waupatheca means White Swan; she came from the setting sun--the
daughter of a Shawanee chief by the Wabash."
"And your father?"
"He is Big Thunder, Chief of the Ojibways. My mother calls him
Pepapaunway-Nenimkee, because the lightning flashes when he is angry."
"Well, good-bye Metsemee," said Helen. "I will not forget my promise."
Little Moon again flashed a look at the men. Then turning she followed
her mother to the tepees; while Helen, taking her seat in the canoe, was
paddled across the channel by her faithful servitor.