WONDERFUL TIDINGS
THE man was so weak that presently he sank back and seemed to sleep.
"Is he going to die?" asked Sandy, alarmed at his looks.
"Not just now," replied his brother, shaking his head as he spoke. "You
felt that heat of the fire yourself; and you see it has sent him to
sleep. Here, cover him with my blanket. It is dry now, and will keep
him warm."
Leaving the stranger, who as yet had not spoken a word, the boys turned
their attention to the leaky canoe. They knew how the Indians managed
to stop any such openings in their light boats, made of birch bark or
buffalo hides; and Bob had been wise enough to carry along some of the
necessary pitch when starting out on this journey of exploration.
"Do you ever forget anything?" demanded Sandy, when he saw his brother
produce the needed material for mending their boat, and start heating
it over the fire.
"Oh! yes, often," replied Bob, cheerfully; for he knew his own faults,
even if Sandy refused to see them. "And it was possible that we would
run on a snag that would punch a hole in the boat; so I came prepared
to mend it."
The boat had been carried near the fire some time before, in order that
it might dry out. When the conditions were right Bob set to work. He
had asked Blue Jacket many questions regarding repairing canoes, when
the young Shawanee brave was a guest under the Armstrong roof; and what
he had learned proved of considerable value to him now.
"How will it hold?" asked Sandy, who was hovering near, eager to lend a
hand if his brother needed help.
"I think it will be stronger than ever," came the reply.
"That was always a weak spot, I remember. Once, I thought my foot was
going to break through," declared Sandy, reminiscently.
"Just as you say. I noticed it myself, and that was one mistake I made.
I should have put this patch on before we started on our trip," and Bob
stood back to survey his work.
"Well," remarked the younger lad, as his eyes went out over that
tumbling flood, on which the trees were swiftly passing in procession,
"we will need a good stout boat if we hope to get over there. Do you
think we can manage it, Bob? I'd be willing to take some chances rather
than stay here a week, perhaps two, and have mother crying her eyes out
for us the while."
"I see no reason why we shouldn't make it," came Bob's reply. "The
current heads toward our shore. Besides, with three to paddle, we
should be able, foot by foot, to get over. And when we once leave the
middle of the river it will not be so bad."
"Three! Then you expect that our new friend will be able to help out?"
and Sandy glanced toward the sleeping stranger.
"Surely. After he wakes up he will be stronger. And he does not look
like one who would shirk. He must have struggled hard to reach that
place where we found him. Perhaps he saw our fire through the trees, or
heard you shout. That was what made him cry out."
Bob had picked up a hatchet as he spoke, and started to move off.
"Let me cut some more fuel," objected Sandy, as he tried to take the
tool from the other's hands.
"It isn't that," said Bob. "I am going to look for a piece of wood that
can be chopped into new paddles. We need three of them, you see, and it
is going to be a long job to fashion them, with only a hatchet and a
jackknife to work with."
"Then I will go along. Perhaps two pair of eyes may be better than one
in looking for the spruce pine," declared the younger brother, eagerly.
And so it proved, for Sandy was the one to discover the tree they
sought. Bob could figure just how the paddles might be hewn out, and he
attacked the tree in a spirited way that soon encompassed its fall.
When he tired, Sandy took a turn; and in this fashion they finally had
three pieces, in the rough, which Bob declared would make very good
paddles. And by slow degrees the first one was shaped until it only
needed whittling with a knife to complete the job.
"That seems all right," declared Sandy, as he proceeded to try the
blade; "and I give you my word that it is far stronger than either of
the ones we lost. I mean to fasten my paddle, this time, to my wrist
with a bit of buckskin thong, and then, even if I lose my grip, it will
never get away."
"A clever idea," answered Bob, pausing in his work to wipe his brow,
and smile at his brother; "and it will pay us all to do the same. Was
it not father who told us how an ounce of prevention is better than
a pound of cure? And once a paddle gets caught in the clutch of that
river it can never be recovered again."
"See!" exclaimed Sandy, "our friend is stirring! He is sitting up, and
staring around him. I think he can hardly understand where he is, and
how he came to cheat the river of a grave. Now he sees us, and smiles.
Bob, there is something I like about that man, stranger though he is.
I seem to feel that he is a friend, and that we will always be glad we
rescued him to-day."
"I am sure of that. There, the second paddle is about done. I am
tired of the work, so let us go over to make the acquaintance of our
guest. He is beckoning to us," and Bob dropped his hatchet to obey the
summons.
The stranger held out both hands, while his bearded face lighted up
with a smile that, as Sandy had said, was very winning.
"How can I ever thank you, boys, for what you have done?" he said, as
he pressed a hand of each. "But for you I should have passed over to
the other side."
"Please do not say anything more," replied Bob, who could not bear to
be praised for simply doing his duty. "Who may you be, and how did
it happen that we found you among the tree-tops at the head of this
island?"
"My name is Silas Hemphill. With a party of others I was on my way
down the river in a dugout canoe, intending to join our fortunes with
the new settlers from Virginia, who lately came overland. We left Fort
Pitt two days back, and were progressing fairly when this storm broke
upon us. Doubtless we took too many chances, for we presently found
ourselves in the grasp of the river, and could not return to shore."
He paused a minute to get a grip on himself, and then continued:
"Finally our boat was overturned. Heaven alone knows what became of my
two companions; but I fear they must have been drowned. Only by the
rarest of good fortune, and the favor of Providence, was I able to keep
afloat until cast up amid the tree-tops where you found me."
"But why did you shout? Surely you could not imagine that any one would
be on this island to hear you?" asked Sandy, curious still.
"I did not know then it was an island. And it seemed to me that I
had heard a voice calling, which I supposed must belong to one of my
friends who had luckily gained a footing on the shore. That was why
I cried out, for I was frantic. But I fear much that I am the only
survivor of the three voyagers."
The newcomer was eying them in turn curiously.
"And now," he said, "I would like to know your names; for I shall never
forget what I owe you both. I can see that you must be brothers, for
there is some resemblance between you; though I should say that this
one," indicating Sandy, "probably takes after his mother; while the
other is more like his father. This without knowing who your parents
may be."
"My name is Alexander, though they always call me Sandy. We are the
sons of David and Mary Armstrong."
As Sandy spoke Silas Hemphill's eyes took on a new glow, and again he
thrust out both hands to seize those of the boys.
"How wonderful are the ways of Providence!" he muttered, in a way that
gave the listening boys a start. "To think that my life should have
been saved by the sons of David Armstrong, of all men!"
"Then you know our father?" demanded Bob.
"No, I have never met him," came the reply. "But I have heard much
about him in the country I happened to pass through while on my way
here from Carolina, where my former home lay."
The rescued man looked at them both, and Bob was thrilled to see
tears in his eyes. Why should this stranger be so moved at sight of
David Armstrong's two boys? He spoke of having heard about their
father--could that have been down in Virginia, in the town which had
been so cruel to the man who valued his honor as he did his very life?
Bob saw a faint gleam of light. He hardly dared believe it at first, in
fear lest it prove only a hollow mockery. Still, he could not resist
saying:
"You say you heard much about our father, sir,--was it to his credit
that these things were said; or did they tell you the hateful, lying
stories that drove him to come far away from those who were once his
neighbors and friends?"
"My boy, I heard that which your father would give much to know. While
I stopped for a few days in the town where you dwelt, there was a
serious fray in a place where strong drink was sold. One man, a black,
was badly wounded. His name was Scipio, Black Scipio he was called, and
he used to work in the same tobacco warehouse where David Armstrong was
employed. Before he died the man confessed that it was _his_ hand that
fired the barn, for the destruction of which your father was blamed.
And now Jason Diggett, conscience stricken for having driven an honest
man into exile, wishes to hear from your father in order that he make
amends, in so far as pounds, shillings and pence may heal the wound!"