SIX CANDLES AND ONE
The short winter day was drawing to a close as Jean and her two Indian
companions moved down the western side of a long hill. They were
making for the valley below through which ran a small brook, where they
hoped to camp for the night. They had been abroad since morning, and
Jean was now very tired. Her strength was not so great as she had
imagined, and she recalled with amusement her proud boast the day
before. Sam had been right, and she was glad that he did not try to
reach the mast-cutters in "one sleep." She could not possibly do it,
although it would have been easy for the Indians. They had this day
regulated their speed to her feeble steps. But without her how they
would have sped through the forest. They were both wonderful
snow-shoers, and on several occasions she had watched them as they
bounded over the snow with great swinging, tireless strides. Her
admiration of these faithful, self-reliant people was unbounded.
They had almost reached the valley when the report of a gun rang
through the forest, followed in a few seconds by a cry of distress.
Sam stopped dead in his tracks, gripped hard his musket, and peered
keenly among the trees. The next instant he was bounding forward,
leaving Jean and Kitty staring after him.
"What is it?" the girl asked, her face white with fear.
"Kitty no say now," was the reply. "See bimeby."
And as they waited and listened with fast-beating hearts, another
report echoed through the forest, and then all was still.
"Sam shoot," Kitty explained. "Come."
Hurrying forward, they soon reached the valley, and ere long they saw
Sam bending over some object. Nearby was a large moose, with its great
body and branching antlers half buried in the snow. But to this Sam
gave no heed. His attention was centred upon a human being, moaning
and writhing in pain. Jean saw at once that it was a man, with white
hair and long, flowing beard. With a cry she rushed forward and knelt
by his side.
"Are you hurt?" she asked in a tremulous voice.
At this question the man started, lifted his head, and looked curiously
at the girl. An expression of defiance glowed in his eyes, which
caused Jean to wonder.
"Are you hurt?" she repeated. "Can we help you?"
"Am I hurt?" the man growled. "Do I look hurt?"
These words instead of frightening the girl only tended to make her
somewhat angry. She wished to do what she could to help the man, but
she did not like his sarcasm. It was altogether uncalled for, so she
thought.
"You look as if you are hurt," she replied. "But, then, you are the
best judge of that. We are willing to do what we can for you, but if
you do not want our help we shall leave you alone."
Her tone was severe, and this the man noted.
"I am hurt," he confessed in a milder voice. "That devil over there
nearly made an end of me. O, Lord!" He placed his hand to his side,
and his brow contracted with pain. "I guess I'm done for, anyway."
"Where do you live?" Jean asked. "We must get you home."
"Just down the valley. Sam knows where. I think I can walk with his
help. He's a good Indian, and he saved my life to-day. He was just in
time."
With considerable difficulty the injured man was lifted out of the snow
where he was half buried, and helped to regain his feet. One of his
snow-shoes was gone, but Kitty found it several yards away.
"It was that which caused all the trouble," the man explained. "When
the moose charged, something went wrong with that snow-shoe, and before
I could do anything the brute was upon me."
After Sam had fixed and arranged the snow-shoe upon the man's
moccasined foot, he took him by the arm and started forward, with the
women following. Their progress was slow, for the injured man often
stopped and pressed his hand to his side. That he was suffering
greatly was most apparent, and Jean felt sorry for him. She wondered
who he was, and the reason for the look of defiance in his eyes. That
he had called Sam by name puzzled her, for the Indian had never spoken
of him to her.
She was more mystified than ever when ere long they came in sight of a
log cabin nestling on the hillside at the entrance of the valley. In
front of the house was a small clearing surrounded by a rough pole
fence, causing Jean to believe that the owner had lived there for some
time, and did a little gardening.
When, however, she entered the building her surprise was greater than
ever. The main room was as comfortable and cosy as hands could make
it. The floor was covered with fur rugs of various shapes and sizes.
The walls, too, were adorned with skins of the bear, fox, otter,
wolverine, and other animals. At the farther end of the room was a
large fire-place, above which was a fine moose head with great
branching antlers. Several hardwood sticks were burning upon the
hearth, showing that the owner had not been long away from home. There
were also other articles on the walls, such as Indian curios, bows and
arrows, as well as a few pictures. In the middle of the room was a
table, covered with a cloth of rich design. In the centre of this
stood a candle-stick, made of wood, evidently hand-wrought. It had
seven branches, and in each was a dip-candle. A well-polished silver
tray, containing a pair of snuffers, was lying near. There were
several books upon the table, one of which was lying open, as if the
reader had hurriedly laid it down as he rose from the deep, comfortable
chair nearby. There were other chairs in the room, as well as stools
and benches, but this big chair excelled them all in size and quaint
workmanship. It was evidently the owner's special favourite, for it
showed signs of much use.
To the left of the fire-place was the one couch the room contained, and
to this the injured man at once made his way. He sat upon the edge and
rested for a few minutes. He was breathing hard, and most of the time
he kept his right hand to his suffering side. He seemed to pay no heed
to what was taking place around him, but stared straight before him as
if in a dream. He aroused at length, and glanced at the three standing
before him.
"Make yourselves at home," he said. "There is plenty of food in the
next room. It is quite warm there, for I always keep a fire going.
The women, I think, will find it comfortable. Sam, I want to speak to
you alone."
Jean was not slow in taking this hint, so she opened a door to the
right of the fire-place and passed into the adjoining room. This was
somewhat similar to the one they had just left, excepting that it was
not so cosy. The table had no cloth covering it, and upon it stood a
single candle stuck in a wooden candle-stick. This she lighted with a
coal from the fire-place, and then looked curiously around. Along one
side of the room was an abundance of provisions, all in bags, and
carefully arranged. There were blankets, too, piles of them, and
nearby a stack of furs. Jean thought of the Loyalists on the
A-jem-sek. Here was sufficient food and clothing to last them for some
time. And why should they not have them? She would speak to the owner
just as soon as possible, and no doubt he would be willing to send
something to the needy ones.
As she looked toward a corner of the room opposite the food and
blankets, she was astonished to see many muskets leaning against the
wall. She went over and began to count, and found there were fifty in
all. She also saw numerous old swords, bayonets, and boxes filled with
bullets. There were cans, as well, which she believed contained
powder. She grew more puzzled now than ever. Who could the man be,
and why did he have so many guns? Perhaps he was a trader, and dealt
with the Indians. But why had not Sam and Kitty spoken about him?
Then she recalled the look of defiance in his eyes when she had first
met him. What was the meaning of that?
She crossed the room to where the Indian woman was searching among the
pots, pans, and other cooking utensils near the fire-place.
"What are you going to do?" she asked.
"Cook supper," was the reply. "Plenty grub, eh?"
"There certainly is, Kitty. I wonder what that man is going to do with
it all." She then lowered her voice, and glanced toward the door. "Do
you know anything about him?" she enquired. "Why does he have so many
guns?"
"Kitty know," was the reply. "White man beeg chief."
"What kind of a chief?"
"Kitty no say now. Bimeby, mebbe."
"Is he a trader?"
"A-ha-ha, mebbe."
This was all the information Jean could gain from the woman, and she
was greatly mystified. Kitty evidently knew who the man was, and yet
she would tell nothing more than that he was a big chief. She sat down
before the fire and tried to puzzle it all out. But the more she
thought, the more confused she became, and at last was forced to give
up in despair. Perhaps she could find out for herself. Anyway, she
must get food and clothing to send to the Loyalists as speedily as
possible.
In the meantime Kitty had found a quantity of Indian meal and was
cooking some cakes in one of the frying-pans she had found. There was
also a good supply of molasses in a cask, which when served with the
cakes makes fairly good eating. It was a change, at any rate, from the
constant meat diet.
"Kitty cook plenty bimeby," the Indian woman announced. "Good tam, eh?"
"Some of that food must go to those starving people on the A-Jem-sek,"
Jean replied. "And look at those blankets. Why, there are enough to
keep them all warm. You and Sam will take some, will you not?"
To this request Kitty made no response, and while Jean was wondering
why she did not answer, Sam entered the room, and came close to the
fire.
"Beeg chief want see babby," he announced.
"How is he?" the girl asked, rising to her feet.
"Seek here," and Sam placed his hand to his side. "Much seek. Bad!"
Jean at once went into the other room, which was lighted only by the
fire, and crossed to where the injured man was lying.
"You want to see me?" she enquired. "Is there anything I can do for
you?"
"Yes, light the candles. It is very dark here."
Jean at once obeyed, and in a few minutes the candles were burning
brightly. The effect was beautiful, and as she stood watching them she
wondered why there were just seven.
"You like them?" the man asked.
"I do," Jean acknowledged. "But I am curious to know why there are
just seven."
"Oh, that is a perfect number," the man explained. "It is according to
the Bible, you know. Now, take the snuffers and put out six."
Jean did as she was bidden, greatly mystified, until but one candle was
left burning.
"There, that will do," the man said. "Now, come over here and sit by
my side. That is better," he continued when she had complied with his
request.
"How are you feeling?" Jean asked.
"A little easier now. I am somewhat of a doctor, and Sam helped me.
But never mind that. I want to know who you are, and why you are
travelling with those Indians?"
Briefly as possible Jean told her story, and when she had ended the man
remained silent for a few minutes. She could not see the expression
upon his face, nor the peculiar light in his eyes owing to the darkness
of the corner where he was lying. Could she have done so, she would
have been more surprised than ever.
"It is a strange story you have told me, young woman," he at length
remarked. "You have been wonderfully delivered. You should consider
yourself very fortunate in having such friends as those Indians."
"Indeed I do," Jean declared. "They have done more for me than I can
ever repay. I know now how to sympathise with others in distress, and
so want to help those unfortunate Loyalists."
"So you are on your way to get food and clothing from the mast-cutters?"
"Yes, but we won't have to go to them now, as I am sure you will help
out those poor people. You have plenty of supplies."
"And they will stay here, young woman."
"What! you won't send any to those people in distress?"
"Why should I? They are Loyalists, and that is enough."
Jean started and stared at the man in amazement.
Surely she had not heard aright.
"Do you mean what you say?" she asked.
"I certainly do. Those Loyalists will never receive any help from me.
Let them starve and freeze; it is no more than they deserve."
These cold, inhuman words stirred Jean's fighting blood. She rose
quickly to her feet, her eyes ablaze with anger.
"I don't know who you are," she began, "and I don't know why you hate
the Loyalists. But--" she paused just for an instant, "some of that
food and clothing will leave this place to-morrow morning."
The man sat bolt upright at this declaration, and flung out his right
hand as if to hit the girl. Then he sank back upon the bed with a
groan.
"You can't help yourself," Jean reminded, "so it is better for you to
keep quiet. Some of those supplies are going, whether you like it or
not."
"But this is a hold-up, a robbery," the man charged.
"I don't care what you call it, and I'm not worrying about that. I
only know that men, women, and children are starving not far away, so
while there is food here they are going to have some of it."
Jean was surprised at her boldness. But it was not time for half-way
measures. If the owner would not agree to let the supplies go, she
would take matters into her own hands.
"Oh, but for this confounded pain in my side I would soon teach you who
is master of this house," the man shouted. "You are an impudent hussy,
and I believe the story you told me about being carried away is a lie.
And how do I know but what you are lying about those Loyalists? You
and your Indian companions may keep what you take for yourselves."
"You can believe me or not, just as you wish," Jean quietly and firmly
replied. "But those supplies are going to the Loyalists in the
morning. I would be ashamed to be called Colonel Sterling's daughter
if I were afraid to use strong measures to save starving people."
At these words the man suddenly lifted himself on his right elbow, and
peered keenly at the girl.
"Light the rest of those candles," he ordered. "I must see your face.
I want to know if you are telling me the truth."
Jean did so, and then returned to the man's side.
"Stand there," he commanded, "a little to the right, so I can see your
face. Ah, that's better. Now, tell me your father's Christian name."
"James," the girl replied.
"Yes, but James what? He has a second name, has he not?"
"Witrow. James Witrow Sterling; that's his full name."
"What was your mother's name?"
"Deborah Ruth."
"But her maiden name?"
"Winslow."
"And your name?"
"Priscilla Jean, although I only get 'Jean.'"
"After whom were you named?"
"A very dear friend of my parents."
"Who was she?"
"Priscilla Jean Norman, so I have been told."
"Where is she now?"
"I do not know. She and her husband disappeared years ago, and no word
has been received from them since. They were the dearest friends my
father had, and he feels the loss very keenly."
"Is your mother alive?"
"No; she died several years ago."
With a deep sigh the man dropped back upon the pillow, and remained
silent for a few minutes. Jean sat down by his side, lost in thought.
What was the meaning of the man's sudden excitement? she asked herself.
And why did he question her so closely about her parents' names?
Perhaps he had known them in the past. At length the man stirred,
reached out his right hand and touched hers.
"Young woman," he began, "for your parents' sake alone I give you
permission to take food and clothing to those starving people."
"Oh, I am so glad!" Jean replied. "But did you know my father and
mother?"
To this question the man seemed to pay no heed. His eyes were fixed
upon the seven candles.
"Yes, there were seven of us," he murmured as if to himself, "seven who
were all in all to one another. But six went out, and I was left
alone. Put them out again, Miss, and leave just one burning. You may
go now, as I want to think. Send Sam to me. He can sleep in here
to-night. You will find plenty of blankets in the next room. Good
night."
Quietly and almost reverently Jean extinguished six of the candles, and
then left the room. She felt that there was a deep mystery surrounding
this man's life of which the seven-branch candle-stick was but the
outward symbol.