Doctor Summoned to the Select Encampment--Newcome
Interviewed--Nash's Discovery--His Venture--Drop the
Handkerchief--The Dominie's Indignation--The Pedestrians
Detained--The Doctor Stays--A Trip to the Lakes--Conversation on
the Way--The Richards--Fishing--Songs--The Barrier in the
Channel--Nash's Dead Body Found--His Crazed Sister Comes to
Bridesdale.
It was only eight o'clock when the elders finished their breakfast, and
the children prepared to succeed them. All the party, except Mrs.
Carruthers and Mrs. Carmichael, who had domestic duties before them, and
Miss Du Plessis, who had her note to write, strolled out into the garden
in groups. Shortly, a buckboard drove up to the gate, and its occupant,
a washed out looking youth, enquired if the doctor was there, Dr.
Halbert. The subject of the enquiry went forward, and found that he was
wanted at the Select Encampment, for a man who had shot himself.
"I tell you frankly, my man," said the doctor, "I don't care to go to
your Select Encampment; there is too much mystery about it."
"I guess the pay's all O.K.," answered the youth.
"Why do you not get Dr. Smallpiece to look after your man?"
"'Cos we don't know nuthun about him, and he's too small a piece for our
boss. You best hurry up yer cakes and come on, doctor."
Re-entering the house for his instruments, the doctor confided to
Carruthers his distaste for the work before him, on account of the
mystery surrounding it, but said he supposed it was his duty to relieve
human suffering.
"Where is it?" asked the Squire.
"All I can tell you is that it is out on the lakes beyond the Lake
Settlement."
"I thocht as muckle," remarked the Squire to the detective, after the
doctor was carried away on the buckboard.
"Let as go and see Newcome," said the detective; and the pair went round
to the kitchen, where the wounded man lay on an improvised couch, and
was waited upon by big Ben Toner, anxious for news of Serlizer. Mr. Nash
began:--
"The doctor says that talking won't hurt you, Newcome."
"Dawn't spause 'twull," answered the surly fellow.
"Setting fire to buildings with intent to take life is a hanging matter,
Newcome."
"Oo said t'warnt?"
"You seem prepared for your fate."
"Ma vate was aw raight to I got t'bahl i'my laig."
"I mean, you don't seem to care if you are going to be hanged."
"Oo's a gaun to hahng us an' vor wat?"
"You'll be hanged for arson with intent to kill. There are witnesses to
prove you threatened to kill me at least."
Newcome started, and so did Ben.
"Yaw cahn't prove nowt."
"Yes I can. I've got your pocket book and the odd papers out of your
coat pocket."
"Aw'll hae yaw oop vor stalun as well as shootun, zee iv I dawn't, yaw
bloody thafe!"
"Keep a civil tongue in your head, man, or I'll send you to the lockup
at once," interposed the Squire.
"Leave him to me Squire; I'll manage him," whispered Nash.
Then, turning to the injurious Newcome, he continued:
"Your daughter, Sarah Eliza, is at Rawdon's Select Encampment, where the
stuff you sell is turned out. She can give some fine evidence. The
Peskiwanchow crowd, the man that pretends to be called Jones, and the
rest of them, were picked up by you in a waggon, I know, last night. The
coal oil and fire marks are on your hands still, and this pretty rag
came out of your side pocket. What is more, I don't need to ask the
Squire here to commit you. I've got a warrant already, on the evidence
of Henry and Stokes and Steadman. I'll serve that warrant on you now,
and have you off to the county gaol, where Dr. Stapfer is bound to cut
off your leg, if you don't own up quick, for I have no time to lose."
"Daw yaw thenk as Stapper ull ambitate ma laig?"
"I'm sure of it. He always does; he has a perfect mania for amputation.
You know Driver?"
"Yaas."
"Who cut off his leg for a little bruise?"
"T'wer Stapper."
"And who cut of Sear's arm at the shoulder for a trifle of a rusty
nail?"
"Stapper taw. O, aw zay, Mezder Nahsh, dawn't zend us ta naw Stappers."
"But I will, I must, if you don't confess immediately all that the
Squire and I want to know. Turn Queen's evidence, and make a clean
breast of it. You can't save Rawdon and his gang; we have them tight.
But confess, and I'll get you out on bail, and send you home to your
wife to be nursed; and, when the trials come, I'll get you off your
liquor charge with a fine. Refuse to, and you go straight to Stapfer's
to lose your leg, and then to the gallows."
"Aw dawn't moind chancin' t'gallas, but ma laig! Wat daw yaw wahn't ta
knaw?"
At once all the people, Ben included, were ordered out of the hospital,
and Coristine, much to his disgust, sent for. His hands were useless
for writing, but, as he had a good memory, he could help in the
examination. So Mr. Errol was called in to act as clerk, Mr. Perrowne
refusing to do so, on the ground that all confessions made in the
presence of a clergyman are sacred. Little by little the hardened old
sinner revealed Rawdon's business, its centre and methods, his
accomplices and victims. Then the whole story of the plot which
culminated in the night attack was drawn from him, appearing blacker and
more diabolical at every new revelation of villainy. It appeared that
the Grinstun man had with him in the attack, which he conducted
personally, his own six men from the so called Encampment, together with
the idiot boy, and two lots of teamsters or distributors, the five from
Peskiwanchow brought by Newcombe, and four from another quarter. He had
thus sixteen ruffians in his force, besides himself and the boy.
"Whose boy is that?" asked the detective, eagerly. He had been looking
closely at the lad more than once and listening to his voice.
"Ah beeslong ta Rowdon."
"Who is his mother?" asked Nash, with a strange light in his eye.
"Her's cawd Tilder."
"Is she Rawdon's wife? Speak, man!"
"Naw, nawt az aw niver heerd."
"What was her name before he--brought her there?"
"Aw donno, but t'lahd's cawd Mawnta Nehgull."
"O my God!" cried the detective, as he fell back in his chair, and
seemed to lose all power of speech.
"Come away, Nash," said the Squire, taking one arm of the stricken man,
while Mr. Errol, handing his notes to the lawyer, took the other. They
led him tenderly to the office, where Carruthers forced a glass of wine
upon him. Nash revived, and begged that the door might be closed and
locked.
"I may never have a chance to tell this again, so I want to tell it to
you two, and to you alone. My real name is Nagle, not Nash. I was born
in Hamilton, where my father was a wheelwright. I got a good schooling,
and went into a lawyer's office, for father wanted me to become a
lawyer. But I got reading detective books, and did a few sharp things
for the firm that got me into notice and brought me private detective
business. So I got on till I rose to be what I am, such as it is. When
my parents died they left my sister Matilda in my care. I was only
twenty then, and she, eighteen, a bright, pretty girl. She kept my rooms
for me, but I was away most of the time, so she became tired of it, as
we had no relations and hardly any friends we cared to associate with.
She insisted on leaving me and learning the millinery in Toronto; so I
had to let her go. I saw her often, and frequently sent her money. She
got good wages at last and dressed well, and seemed to have respectable
people about her. Suddenly her letters stopped. I went to her place of
business, and heard that she had left to be married to a rich man in the
country; but nobody, not even her closest acquaintances among the girls,
knew where, or who the man was. I advertised, neglected business to hunt
up every clue, travelled all over the country looking for my lost
sister, promised my dead parents never to marry till I found her. And at
last, at last, O God! I have found Matilda, and you know where, a woman
without name or character, the victim of the greatest scoundrel unhung,
the associate of brutal criminals, the unlawful mother of an idiot boy!
No! no more wine, Squire, not a drop. I want a steady head and a strong
hand this morning more than any day of my life. Open the door and the
windows now, please; and give me a little air."
Nash, for so he may still be called, sent Coristine away to Talfourd's
for his bundle, and Miss Du Plessis, having handed the note for Rawdon
to the dominie, accompanied the hero of the gloves in the Squire's
buggy, so as to lose no time. Wilkinson was warned not to post the
letter before his comrade's return. While waiting in the office, Mr.
Errol, whose heart was deeply touched, locked the door again, saying:
"John, let us kneel down and pray our Heavenly Father to comfort our
friend in his great sorrow, and bless him in his present work." The
Squire knelt with the minister, and the detective fell on his knees
beside him, their hearts joining in the quiet but earnest supplications
of the good man of religion. When they rose from their knees, Nash,
almost tearfully, pressed their hands and bade God bless them.
Coristine enjoyed the society of Miss Du Plessis; nevertheless he drove
fast, for the business demanded haste. The buggy returned in little over
half an hour, and the bundle was handed to the detective, who took it up
stairs, and, soon after, descended as a countryman, in flannel shirt,
light soiled coat, and overalls. The rim of his wideawake was drawn down
all round, half hiding his face disguised with a ragged beard. It could
not conceal his refined, almost aristocratic, features, but such a
country type is not uncommon in many parts of Canada, even accompanied
with perfect boorishness. His boots were small, which also was quite
Canadian, but he had rubbed the blacking off, and trusted to the dust
still further to disguise them. Smiling and courteous, he bade everybody
whom he could trust good-bye, and slipped a large pocket-book full of
money and memoranda into the hands of the Squire. "You can keep it till
I come back," he said; "if I don't, get Mr. Errol and this lawyer chap,
who seems a good fellow, to help you to make it out." Then, the dominie
expressed his readiness to take the note to the post office, and Miss Du
Plessis, a little piqued at Coristine's apparent want of attention to
her, said that, if Mr. Wilkinson had no objections, she should, above
all things, like a short walk after a cramping drive. The schoolmaster
was only too delighted, in spite of Mr. Perrowne's glance of jealousy,
which Miss Halbert saw and noted with a tap of her dainty foot on the
verandah. So, Wilkinson and his inamorata tripped along the road, and,
some distance behind them, shambled Simon Larkin, the hawbuck from away
back, alias Mr. Nash. The children came out to play, led by Marjorie.
Perrowne was still talking to Miss Halbert, Mr. Errol was closeted with
the Squire, and the Captain and the veteran, on a garden bench, were
telling yarns. "Cousin Marjorie," said her juvenile namesake, "we are
going to play drop the handkerchief, because we've got such a lot of
nice people to play it" Miss Carmichael answered: "Oh no, Marjorie, try
some other game." But Marjorie insisted. So, a ring was formed, with
Marjorie as handkerchief holder, outside. The ring consisted of the
Captain and little Susan Carruthers, Mr. Perrowne and Marjorie of the
same family, Coristine and Miss Halbert, Mr. Terry, pipe and all, and
Honoria junior, John Carruthers junior and Miss Carmichael, and baby
Michael, but with whom? Marjorie suggested the two aunties and Tryphosa,
but finally concluded that there had to be an odd one any way, so baby
Michael took the Captain's hand and Miss Carmichael's, and the game
began. Of course Marjorie dropped the handkerchief on her Eugene, and
Eugene caught her and kissed her with great gusto. Then he had to drop
it, and Honoria saluted him with effusion. Mr. Perrowne was her choice,
and the parson, tell it not in Gath, the perfidious parson gave himself
away on Miss Halbert, who captured him, blushed, and submitted. The
Captain and Mr. Terry were becoming indignant and shocked. Miss Halbert
had mercy on John Carruthers junior, who went wild with delight, and
brought out Miss Carmichael. She, pitying the Captain, gave him the
handkerchief and a long chase, but Mr. Thomas finally triumphed, and
chose Susan Carruthers as his victim. Susan took grandpa, who pocketed
his pipe, and, after a sounding smack, passed the handkerchief on to his
grandchild Marjorie. She, true to her name, chose the lawyer, and that
gentleman, emboldened by the parson's precedent, dropped the terrible
symbol on the shoulder of the girl who was all the world to him. She
pursued him, and he ran as he well could do, but at last he got weak and
tired, and she overtook him against her will and his, and Coristine was
in the seventh heaven of delight. They could take him and trample on
him, and flaunt his recreancy before Wilkinson even; he didn't want to
kiss any more, even the fresh young lips of the children. He wanted that
one impression to stay forever.
Miss Du Plessis and the dominie were not in a hurry to get back to
Bridesdale. She had received a letter from her mother, saying that Uncle
Morton was coming to see her, and that she would try to induce him to
accompany her to the country, as she did not wish to shorten her
daughter's brief holiday by calling her home. Imparting the news to
Wilkinson, a long and interesting conversation began which branched off
into a variety of topics, treated seriously, at times poetically, by the
kindred minds. Miss Da Plessis was quite unreserved, yet dignified, and
without a trace of coquetry; nevertheless, the dominie assured himself
that Mr. Perrowne had not a ghost of a chance in that quarter. She was
pleased with the generous way in which he referred to his companion
pedestrian, in spite of the provocation which she knew the lawyer had
given his friend. The adventures of the past night, the fresh air of the
morning, the rural scenery and his delightful companionship, made the
schoolmaster eloquent; yet his sense of propriety and natural politeness
kept him from monopolizing the conversation, so that his silent
attention was even more flattering than his appeals to the lady's
intelligence and culture. Outside of the English classics and current
literature, her reading lay chiefly among French and Spanish authors,
most of which were not unknown to the studious dominie. A few ripples of
well-bred amusement were raised by his recital of his experience at the
Beaver River, where he found the Voyage autour de mon Jardin, especially
by his specimens of Lajeunesse French and the story of the dug-out. Of
course, he did not offend a lady's ear with a word so vulgar; it was
always the canoe. Too soon the pleasant morning walk was over, and they
stood before the garden gate at Bridesdale, just at the moment when
Coristine accidentally stumbled and was captured by the fair possessor
of the handkerchief. "How good of your friend to please the children by
taking part in their games," remarked Miss Du Plessis in all sincerity.
"I cannot express the depth of my humiliation," replied the dominie; "it
is scandalous--a violation of the rights of hospitality."
"But, see! Mr. Wilkinson, Mr. Perrowne is there; and Fanny also."
"I have nothing to do, Miss Du Plessis, judging them that are without;
Mr. Coristine pertains to my inner circle, and shall know my opinion of
his shameful conduct before the sun rises much higher in the heavens."
"Hi! there, shipmate," bawled the Captain, "come on and add a link to
this here endless chain. I told you your real name, you sly dog! Ha, ha!
Will-kiss-em, eh Marjorie? Not you, you little puss; but your cousin
there, colourin' up like a piney rose."
"I relinquished such sports with my pinafores," answered the dominie,
grandly.
It was very unjustifiable of Mr. Perrowne, but two things annoyed him;
one being the fact that he was equally guilty with the lawyer, the
other that Miss Du Plessis had deserted him for this prig of a
schoolmaster. Loud enough to be heard by all, he remarked:--
"A very learned and distinguished man was once playing with some
children, when he suddenly cried, 'Children, we must stop, for I see a
fool coming.' What do you think of that, Captain!"
"Never said a truer word in your life," growled Mr. Thomas, and
continued, "anything as calls itself a man and can't romp with the
youngsters, nor give a joke and take it, had ought to be set in a high
chair with a bib, let alone petticuts."
"He said pinnies, papa," Marjorie corrected.
"Pinnies or petticuts, it's all the same thing. Me and Terry here, old
enough to be his fathers!"
"An' it 'ud be a grate 'anner for me, anyway, to be father to a foine,
praper, illigant gintleman loike Mishter Wilkerson," put in the veteran,
anxious to keep the peace. The embers, however, were smoking on both
sides when little Marjorie ran up to the dominie and, taking his hand,
said beseechingly: "Please don't scold the poor boys and girls, Wilks,
because it was my fault--all my fault. I made them play. Now, put down
your head and kiss me, and say, 'I forgive you this once, but don't you
go to do it again'; just like papa says."
There was no help for it, though everybody laughed to hear the terror of
the Sacheverell Street school called Wilks, and the grown-up people,
girls and boys. The dominie had to repeat the formula and seal it with a
kiss, when the perfidious child turned upon him very gravely, saying:
"Now, sir, you can't speak, for you've done it your very own self." Thus
it was that a storm was averted, and "drop the handkerchief" broke up in
good nature.
"Corry," said his friend, "I'm going upstairs for my knapsack. You had
better get yours, and prepare to follow our route. Colonel Morton and
Miss Du Plessis are coming here, so that we, as entire strangers, ought
no longer to intrude upon the hospitality of Mrs. Carruthers."
"All right, Wilks, my boy!" replied the tender-hearted lawyer, who felt
as if his heart was breaking. In a few minutes the pedestrians descended
ready for the road, when the Squire opened his office door and threw up
his arms in amazement.
"What in aa conscience is the meanin' o' this?"
Wilkinson explained, and expressed a desire to find Mrs. Carruthers,
that he might thank her for her kind hospitality.
"Here, gudewife, and as ye four Marjories, and Miss Cecile," cried
Carruthers, lustily, "come ye as here, and garr thae twa wanderin' Jews
bide."
Then there was a commotion, as the ladies flocked with the children into
the hall, with many exclamations of astonishment and reproach,
surrounding the recreant young men. Mr. Errol, the Captain, the veteran,
and even Mr. Perrowne, came to learn what was the matter. When they
heard the intentions of the pair, Mr. Thomas and the parson were
prepared to make the most abject apologies to the dominie, who insisted
that there was no necessity; on the contrary, he alone was to blame, but
all that was past. Mrs. Carruthers would not hear of their going just as
they were becoming so pleasantly acquainted, assured them that
Bridesdale had ample accommodation, and commanded the veteran to form a
company of his grandchildren and arrest the would-be deserters. Marjorie
clung to her Eugene's right leg. Mr. Errol accused him of stealing away
with his gloves, and finally the lawyer confided to Mrs. and Miss
Carmichael that he didn't want to go a bit, was never happier in his
life. Miss Du Plessis put a hand on the dominie's arm, a hand that
tingled away in to his very heart, and said her uncle would be so
disappointed when he arrived to find that his friends of Collingwood had
not deemed him worth waiting for. Finally, the Squire took them both
aside, and, speaking seriously, said he had no right selfishly to detain
them, but the time was critical, poor Nash was away on a dangerous
errand, and their services, already great and highly appreciated, might
yet be of the greatest importance. Besides, after the fatigue and
excitement of the past night, they were not fit to travel. The dominie
confessed that, with all the excitement and possible danger, he had
enjoyed himself amazingly, that his only motive for leaving was the fear
of trespassing upon the kindness of Mrs. Carruthers, and that, if his
humble services were of any value, he trusted the Squire would draw
upon them to the utmost. The lawyer, hearing his companion's decision,
wanted to give a wild Irish hurroo, but, checking himself, ground the
Squire's right hand with his own kid-gloved afflicted member, as if he
had been a long lost brother. When they next reached the hall, Miss
Halbert was there taking in the situation with the other young ladies.
She had already seen enough to know that neither of her fair companions
was capable of properly addressing the culprits, so she made up for
their deficiency, saying: "Go upstairs at once, you naughty boys, and
take off these pads." The naughty boys ascended, with a strangely
combined feeling of joy and smallness, and, when the knapsacks were
removed, Coristine sank into a chair laughing. "O Lord, Wilks," he said,
"she called them pads!"
The doctor arrived in time for dinner, and reported three wounded men
instead of one. Two had pistol wounds that had evidently been attended
to from the first, the other had a gunshot in the back, and must have
dragged himself a long way after it, for he was almost gone with loss of
blood. "That'll be the chiel' puir Nash fired at wi' Ben's gun," said
Carruthers.
"Can your wife put me and Fanny up for the night, John?" asked the
doctor, looking serious.
"Just delighted to do so," replied the Squire; "we have more space than
we know how to fill."
"I must tell you why. These rough fellows at the Encampment are furious,
and one of them, in his gratitude, warned me, on no account, to be in or
near your house to-night."
"Doctor, that's another thing. I have no right to let you risk yourself
and Miss Fanny in time of danger in my house."
"But we will, John. Come here, Fanny!" Telling his daughter the
circumstances, the doctor asked her decision, and she at once answered:
"Of course, Mr. Carruthers, we shall stay. Papa has two pistols in his
gig, and, if necessary, will lend me one. I am a good shot, am I not,
papa?"
"Yes, John, she has a fine eye and nerve for a mark."
At the dinner table Doctor Halbert conversed with the pedestrians about
the scenery they had passed through, and recommended them, by all
means, not to fail in visiting the Flanders' lakes. He informed them
that they constitued a long and perplexing chain, being more like a long
continuous sheet of water, narrowing every here and there into straits,
affording little more than room enough for two boats to pass through,
than an actual succession of lakes. To penetrate far in would be
dangerous, but his guide had informed him that no visitors to the first
three ran any risk of interference.
"By the bye, Miss Cecile," interrupted the Squire, "some of these lakes
are your property, are they not?"
"Yes, Mr. Carruthers," the lady replied; "but they would be so no longer
if a very kind friend had not paid the taxes for them."
"Hoot toot, lassie, what's the taxes on a bittock o' wild land and
useless water?"
"I should like above all things to see these lakes," remarked the
dominie.
"Do you know," said Mr. Perrowne, "for sow long a time as I have been in
Flanders, I have never seen the lakes. One down't like to gow alowne,
you know."
"I say we go this afternoon," proposed the lawyer.
"I'm with you, sir," responded the minister. "We'll drop cricket and
golf, the day, Perrowne." Then in a whisper to Carruthers, "I'm anxious
about poor Nash."
"Then, meenister, see that ye aa tak' your revolvers and cartridges. I
can supply you and Perrowne."
Coristine proposed to botanize, but did not care to detain the
expedition by continually opening his knapsack, nor to incommode himself
with the burden of the strap press. He regretted that he had not brought
his vasculum, when Miss Carmichael spoke up, and said that she would
furnish him with one when the party was ready to start. After dinner the
company lounged for half an hour on the verandah and in the garden.
There the Captain made up his mind to go with the exploring party, and
take charge of Richards' scow on the first lake, that being the only
craft available. Ben Toner came round from the kitchen and asked the
Squire if he had anything for him to do, as Sylvanus wanted to stay with
old man Newcome and read the Bible to him.
"Do you know the lakes, Toner?" asked Mr. Carruthers.
"If you don't mind Squier, I'd sooner you'd call me Ben."
"Well, Ben, then?"
"Yaas, leastways I've ben at the laiuk as is nighes to han.'"
"Do you mind taking your gun, and looking out for sport with these
gentlemen?"
"They isn't nawthin I'd laike bettr'en that."
So, Ben got his gun and ammunition, and the Captain was furnished with a
stout walking-cane loaded in the head. The two parsons, the dominie, and
the lawyer had pistols in their pockets. When ready to start, Miss
Carmichael came up to Coristine carrying some mysterious object behind
her back. Rapidly bringing it forward, she threw a thick green cord over
the lawyer's shoulders, from which depended a browny black japanned tin
candle-box. Of course, it was an accident that the cord was short, and
that Coristine bent his head just as the fair damsel stood on tiptoe to
adjust the improvised vasculum.
"I hope I didn't hurt you with my awkwardness, Miss Carmichael," pleaded
the penitent knight of the order of the candle-box.
"Not at all, Mr. Coristine, it was my fault. I am afraid your nose
suffered."
"Ha! ha!" chuckled the Captain, "young fellows can stand a lot o' that
sort o' punishment. Reefs o' that kind don't do human vessels no harm."
Wilkinson was getting sick of the Captain and his aggressive vulgarity.
Coristine didn't mind him; anybody belonging to Miss Carmichael was, for
the present, delightful. Nevertheless, for marching purposes, he fell in
with Toner, while the Captain accompanied Mr. Errol, and Wilkinson, Mr.
Perrowne. They had six miles to tramp, which took them a good hour and
a-half. The Captain discussed navigation in Scripture times with the
minister, and decided that the Jews might have been good at punting
round, but were a poor seafaring lot. The dominie and the parson were
deep in the philosophy of the affections, in the course of which
excursus the former quoted the words:--
Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,
Love gives itself, it is not bought
Nor voice nor sound betrays
Its deep, impassionated gaze.
It comes, the beautiful, the free,
The crown of all humanity,
In silence and alone.
To seek the elected one.
Mr. Perrowne was struck with these verses, and, taking out his note
book, begged that his companion would repeat them, as he recorded their
sublime sentiment for future use. They then proceeded to eulogize Miss
Du Plessis, of whom the parson formed a very high estimate, which he
qualified by the statement that, were he not in holy orders, he would
say Miss Fanny Halbert was more fun and ever so much jollier. Mr.
Wilkinson really could not say, speaking conscientiously and without
reserve, that he regarded jollity as an essential element in true
womanhood. In his estimation it sank the peculiar grace and sacred
dignity of the sex too nearly to a level with ordinary prosaic humanity.
Mr. Perrowne concurred in a measure, but thought it was awfully nice for
men of serious occupations, like the dominie and himself, to have
somebody to liven them up a little; not too much, down't you know, but
just enough to dispel the blues. The lawyer interrogated Toner. "Well,
Ben, have you got any news of your young lady?"
"Yaas, Doctor."
"Never mind calling me doctor, Ben, because I'm not one yet. My name is
Coristine."
"Then, Mr. Corsten, I heern from old man Newcome as Serlizer's out in
that there Slec Camp in the laiuks. She's cookin' for twainty dollars a
month, and that's tarble good wages for gals, ef so be she gets her
money all right."
"Not a very nice place for a good girl to be, Ben."
"No, it ain't; log roll and timber slide the hull consarn."
"These are queer expressions you've got."
"Yaas, Mr. Corsten, I waynt and promised that there priest as looked
like Mr. Nash, guaiss it must ha' bin his brother, as I wouldn't sweaur
no moer. And now, it keeps my mind workin' mornin' and night, so'st to
know what to spit out when I'm raiul mad and hoppen."
"It must be quite an anxiety to you, Ben."
"Anxiety? It's wearin' my life away. I've got a bit of a rest jest now
on loggin' and lumberin', but them words 'll soon be used up."
"What's to hinder you repeating them, or leaving them out altogether? I
hardly ever feel the need of them."
"It's the way you're broughten up, like your food. What 'ud do you for
dinner, wouldn't be nigh enough for me. Same ways in speakin', they must
be something to fill your talk out."
"Swearing is a poor business, Ben. Our Saviour, when He was on earth,
said, Swear not at all."
"Is that in the Bible, Mr. Corsten?"
"Yes."
"Wall, it may be in some, but t'aint in the one Sylvanus was readin' to
old man Newcome, fer that says in black and white as Jesus cussed the
barrn fig tree, and I'd laike to know what's odds between cussin' and
swearin'. It stands to reason and natur that He wouldn't go and tell
folks not to do things He did Himself; don't it?"
"If you had read the chapters, there are two of them, that tell the
story of the fig tree, you would have found that the disciples called it
cursing when it was only a quiet saying: 'Let no fruit grow on thee
henceforth.' You wouldn't call that cursing, would you?"
"O my, no, that ain't wuth callin' a cuss; they ain't no cuss about it.
Now, fer whole souled, brimstun heeled cuss words, they's----"
"Never mind telling me any. They wouldn't do me any good, and the
clergyman forward there might hear them."
"Do these clergy belong to the Church?"
"They both think they do in different ways, but, strange to say, neither
of them belongs to your Church."
"Wall, I ain't got no quarrl at 'em. I guaiss all the good folks 'll get
to Heaven somehow."
"Amen!" answered the lawyer, and the conversation ended.
There was no visible cart track to the lakes. If Rawdon's whiskey mill,
as Ben called it, was really somewhere among them, there must of
necessity have been a road tapping their shores at some point, for an
extensive business employing so many men could hardly exist without a
means of easy transportation. To the neighbourhood of the Lakes
Settlement, however, this road was a mystery. The party halted at a log
house by the side of the road proper, and Mr. Perrowne, who claimed
Richards as a parishioner, asked his wife if he and his friends could
have the use of her boat. Mrs. Richards gave the required permission
very graciously, and the excursionists struck into the bush path which
led to Lake No. 1, or Richards' Lake. The bush had once been
underbrushed, perhaps a long time back by the Indians who generally made
for water; but the underbrush was now replaced by a dense growth of
Canadian yew, commonly called Ground Hemlock, the crimson berry of which
is one of the prettiest objects in the vegetable world. It, and other
shrubs and small saplings, encroached on the narrow path, and, in
places, almost obliterated it. The land rose into a ridge a short
distance from the water, so that it was invisible until the crest was
reached. Then, a dark circular lake, seemingly altogether shut in by the
elsewhere dense forest, made its appearance. There were remains of a log
shelter near the shore on the left, and, between it and the somewhat
muddy beach, Toner lit a fire of drift wood to drive away the flies
which followed the party out of the bush. The punt was soon discovered
moored to a stake, a punt with three seats flush with the gunwales, one
each fore and aft, and one in the centre.
"O, I saye," cried Mr. Perrowne, "look at that lovely little island out
there! See, you can hardly see it because of the black shadows. What a
place to fish! and here we are without a single rod."
"Ain't no need to trouble about rods," remarked Ben; "I kin cut you
half-a-dozen in two shakes of a dead lamb's taiul."
"And I've got three hooked lines," added the lawyer, producing part of
his Beaver River purchase from his breast pocket. The dominie did not
wish to trust himself in a doubtful craft with Coristine again, and he
distrusted the Captain, save on the _Susan Thomas_. His former success
in fishing, and his present pleasant relations with Perrowne, prompted
him to join that gentleman in practising the gentle art. But what about
bait? The question having been put to Toner, who returned with three
springy saplings, and worms having been suggested, that veteran
fisherman told Mr. Perrowne that he might as well look for a gold mine
as for worms in new land. When, however, some envelopes were produced
from various pockets, he proceeded to fill them with grasshoppers and
locusts. He also excavated a little pond near the shore, and gathered a
collection of caddice worms from the shallow border of the lake, after
which he found an old bait tin in the log shelter, that he filled with
water, into which he transferred the pond's inhabitants for
transportation. "Ef them baiuts don't suit, they's a heap o' little
frawgs in the grass of that there island," he finally remarked, before
unmooring the scow. Then the dominie and Mr. Perrowne got on board with
their rods, lines, and bait, and were poled and paddled by Ben over to
their isle of beauty. Their lines were in the water, and a bass was on
each hook, before the scow returned to the shore.
Now the Captain took command of the craft, occupying the entire stern
thwart; while Ben, with his gun resting on the floor and pointing its
muzzles out over the bow, held that end of the vessel. The commander
would not allow the passengers who sat amidships to do any work, but
said they might talk or sing if they had a mind to. Then the lawyer
sang:--
The floatin' scow ob ole Virginny
I've toiled for many a day,
Workin' among de oyster beds,
To me it was but play.
When he ended, Mr. Errol gave the company "Flow gently, Sweet Afton,
amang thy green braes," and Coristine wondered much if "My Mary" that
occurs in the song had any reference to a Marjorie, one who, as he said
inwardly,
Shall never be thine,
But mine, but mine, so I fondly swear,
For ever and ever mine!
After Mr. Errol's effort, which won applause from the Captain, the
lawyer waved his handkerchief as a farewell sign to the busy fishermen,
for, just at that moment, the apparently land-locked shore opened, and a
narrow channel between cliffs came into view. The second lake, into
which they soon glided, was more beautiful than the first. A few jays
and woodpeckers were flying about, and Toner was anxious to have a shot
at a golden woodpecker, which he called a Highholder, and which sat
unconcernedly on a limb within splendid range. Mr. Errol dissuaded him,
saying he had heard that the report of a gun was carried through all the
channels to the very end by the echoes, and reverberated there like the
noise of thunder; after last night, they had better be as quiet as
possible. To take his mind off the disappointment, Coristine asked Ben
if he could sing and paddle too. He guessed he could, as paddling wasn't
taking his breath away any. So Ben was pressed to sing, and at once
assumed a lugubrious air, that reminded the lawyer of The Crew. The song
was about a dying youth, who is asked what he will give in legacy to his
mother, his sister, and various other relatives. He is liberal to all,
till his lady-love's name is mentioned, and, for some unknown reason,
excites his indignation. The tune was not the same as The Crew's
copyright.
"What will you give your sweetheart, my comfort and my joy?
What will you give your sweetheart, my darling boy?"
"Oh! a gallows to hang on!
Mother, make my bed soft;
I've a pain in my chest;
I want to lay down."
The last line was sung in a very solemn and affecting monotone.
Coristine had to pretend to be deeply moved, to turn round facing the
Captain, and chew first his moustache and then half of his pocket
handkerchief. "Eh, Ben," said the graver minister, "I'm afraid that was
no' a very Christian spirit to die in."
"No, your raiverence," replied the singer, "but ef I hadn't a knowed it
was old man Newcome as took Serlizer away, I'd be cant-hooked and
pike-poled ef I wouldn't ha' sung jest them words, that's ef I had a
paiun in my chaist and wanted to lay down." When they reached the third
lake, through a channel similar to the last, the Captain said sternly:
"I'm in command of this vessel, and expect orders to be obeyed. No more
singin' nor laughin' out nor loud talkin'. Doctor says it's as much as
life's worth to go beyond it. You've heerd orders; now mind 'em."
Everything was silent, save the soft dip of the paddles in the water;
the quiet was painfully oppressive. Ugly thoughts of bad men mingled
with a sense of the natural beauty of the scene. Toner in the bow
silently pointed to a square artificial-looking white object at the
entrance to the next channel, which was the limit of the voyage. At
last the punt came up to it, and its occupants found the channel barred
by a heavy grating, that passed down into the water. Above it was a
notice in the usual form, indicating the prosecution of trespassers, and
signed by order of the proprietor, Miss Du Plessis, with the name of
John Carruthers, J.P. "The villain!" ejaculated Mr. Errol. "John has
neither been here nor sent here. It's a forgery, an impudent forgery."
"Let us take it down and carry it back with us," said the lawyer.
"Na, na, my lad; we maun just wait till we come in force."
"Time to 'bout ship," growled the Captain.
"Hush!" whispered the minister, "I hear a voice, a woman's voice."
"Come on!" said the lawyer, jumping ashore; "will you come, Ben?"
"Don't ask me that, Doctor, I dassent," replied Toner, shivering with
superstitious fear.
"Let me go with him," said the minister to the Captain; "we'll not be a
minute away."
"Look sharp, then!" growled Mr. Thomas. "Are you loaded?"
The two explorers looked to their revolvers, and then climbed the bank,
which was no easy task, as it was a mass of felled timber and dead
brush; but the notes of a woman's voice led them on, and, at last, they
found themselves on the shore of the fourth lake. They saw nothing, so
they crouched down listening for the voice.
"Steve, Stevy dear, wake up and let us go away. Oh, why are you sleeping
when every moment is precious? He will come, Stevy, I know he will, and
kill you, dear!" The voice was very near. Simultaneously the intruders
looked up the bank, and, at the foot of a standing hemlock, saw a woman,
with gray hair hanging loose over her shoulders, who knelt by a
recumbent figure. "Steve, dear brother," she continued, "do wake up! You
used to be so good and sensible." Coristine crept nearer behind some
bushes till he was within a very short distance of the pair. With a
white, sad face, trembling in every limb, he came back as silently to
the minister, and whispered: "It's poor Nash, and she calls him brother;
Mr. Errol, he's murdered, he's dead." The warm-hearted Errol, who had
come out to look after the detective's safety, at once became a hero.
"Bide you there, Coristine," he said, "bide there till I call you." Then
he arose and went to the spot, but the woman, though he was in full
view, took no notice of him. He stooped and touched her. For a moment
she shrank, then looked up and saw it was not the person she dreaded.
"Matilda Nagle," whispered the minister, "we must get poor Steevie away
from here." Then he saw that her intellect was gone; no wonder that she
was the mother of an idiot boy. "Oh, I am so glad you have come, Mr.
Inglis," she cried, softly; "won't you try and wake Stevy, perhaps he
will mind you better than me." The minister brushed the tears from his
eyes, and strove to keep the sobs out of his voice. "I have a friend
here and will call him," he said, "and we will carry Steevie away to the
boat, and all go home together." So he called Coristine, and they picked
the dead man up, the dead man from whose smooth, girl-like face the
disguise had been torn away, and bore him painfully but tenderly over
the rough fallen timber safely to the other side, the woman following.
Ben shivered, as he saw the strange procession come down the hill, but,
like the Captain, he uttered neither word nor cry. The bearers propped
the dead man up against the middle thwart with the face towards the bow,
and then set the woman down beside the Captain, who said: "Come along,
my dear, and we'll see you both safely home." The old man's honest face
won the poor sister's confidence, as she took her seat beside him and
left her Stevy to the care of the minister and Coristine. With all their
might and main paddled the Captain and Ben. Joyfully, all the company
saw stretch after stretch of the lake behind them, until, at last, they
passed the fishermen and landed on the shore. The minister and the
lawyer laid their coats upon the boards of the log shelter, and placed
their burden upon them. "Let him sleep a bit," said Mr. Errol to the mad
woman; "let him sleep, and you help my friend to get a few flowers to
take home with him." So Coristine took his candle-box from the floor of
the punt, and, with his strange companion, gathered the skullcaps and
loose-strifes and sundews that grew by the shore. She knew the flowers
and where to find them, and filled the lawyer's improvised vasculum
almost to overflowing with many a new specimen. He only took them to
humour her, for what cared he for all the flowers that bloom when death,
and such a death, was but a few yards away.
Ben Toner brought the fishers back with two good strings of fish; but,
when they heard the story, they threw them into the lake. Ben was a
handy man. He cut down two stout poles, and with leather wood bark
constructed a litter, light but strong. On this the sleeping detective
was laid, and while Mr. Errol and the Captain stumbled through the
ground hemlock on either side of the now cheerful mad woman, the other
four carried their ghastly load, with scalding tears streaming from
every eye. "S'haylp me," said Ben to the lawyer, "ef I don't hunt the
man as killed him till he dies or me." After a painful journey they
reached the Richards' house, and Richards was at home. Mr. Perrowne told
him all about it, and the brave fellow answered:--
"Bring it in here, passon; we've a place to put it in where it'll be
safe till they send for it. I ain't scared, not I. You know my four boys
in your club; they've all got guns and can use 'em, and I've got mine to
boot." So, they left the body there, and persuaded the sister to come
with them on their six mile walk home. It was seven o'clock before they
had accomplished half the journey, and had been met by the
representatives of an anxious household, the Squire and his
father-in-law, the latter with rifle in hand, prepared for action. The
first joy at beholding them safe and sound was damped by the news they
brought. As soon as Carruthers could recover himself he spoke to the
weird woman and invited her to come and rest at Bridesdale. Then he
hastened on ahead to warn his wife and sister, and make arrangements for
the reception of the strange visitor. When the party arrived at the
house they found a large company, young and old, assembled to meet them,
for, in addition to the doctor and his daughter, there was Mrs. Du
Plessis with her daughter on one side, and, in all its soldierly
dignity, the tall form of Colonel Morton on the other. The lawyer also
noticed the ebon countenance of Mr. Maguffin peering over the palings in
the direction of the stables. Matilda Nagle was hurried away to the
back of the house by Mrs. Carruthers and her sister-in-law, there to
find her idiot boy, to partake of necessary food provided by the
compassionate Tryphena, and, for a time, altogether to forget the sad
tragedy of the day. Tryphosa prepared tea for the truants in the
breakfast room, and, after the formalities of introduction and
reacquaintance had been gone through, Miss Carmichael poured out tea for
the five, while Tryphosa did the same for Ben in the kitchen. The
Captain told how Mr. Errol and the lawyer braved the terrors of the
barred-in lakes, which appalled the stout heart of big Ben Toner. The
two heroes hastened to put all the credit on one another's shoulders, in
which, so far as one person's estimation was concerned, the minister
triumphed, for, through the tears that shimmered in her eyes, Coristine
could see that the presiding goddess was proud of him, and, with all his
simple-heartedness, he knew that such pride has its origin in
possession.