for that was the way she was to go. Suddenly as she looked a boat
turned the point into the bight. It was a strange boat and she could
not see who was in it, but it held her attention as it approached, for
a visitor was quite unusual at this time of the year. Presently the
single occupant stood up in the boat, to get a better view of the
cabin.
"Bob! _Bob!_ BOB!" shouted Emily, quite wild and beside
herself. "Mother! Father! Bob is coming! _Bob_ is coming!"
Those in the house rushed out in alarm, for they thought the child had
gone quite mad, but when they reached her they, too, seemed to lose
their reason. Mrs. Gray ran wildly to the sandy shore where the boat
would land, extending her arms towards it and fairly screaming,
"My lad! Oh, my lad!"
Bessie was at her heels and Richard and Douglas followed.
When Bob stepped ashore his mother clasped him to her arms and wept
over him and fondled him, and he, taller by an inch than when he left
her, bronzed and weather-beaten and ragged, drew her close to him and
hugged her again and again, and stroked her hair, and cried too, while
Richard and Douglas stood by, blowing their noses on their red bandana
handkerchiefs and trying to took very self-composed.
When his mother let him go Bob greeted the others, forgetting himself
so far as to kiss Bessie, who blushed and did not resent his boldness.
Emily simply would not let him go. She held him tight to her, and
called him her "big, brave brother," and said many times:
"I were knowin' you'd come back to us, Bob. I were just _knowin'_
you'd come back."
An hour passed in a babble of talk and exchange of explanations almost
before they were aware, and then Mrs. Gray suddenly realized that Bob
had had no dinner.
"Now un must be rare hungry, Bob," she explained. "Richard, carry
Emily in with un now, an' we'll have a cup o' tea wi' Bob, while he
has his dinner."
"Let me carry un," said Bob, gathering Emily into his arms.
In the house they were all so busy talking and laughing, while Mrs.
Gray prepared the meal for Bob, that no one noticed a boat pull into
the bight and three men land upon the beach below the cabin; and so,
just as they were about to sit down to the table, they were taken
completely by surprise when the door opened and in walked Dick Blake,
Ed Matheson and Bill Campbell.
The three stopped short in open-mouthed astonishment.
"'Tis Bob's ghost!" finally exclaimed Ed.
They were soon convinced, however, that Bob's hand grasp was much more
real than that of any ghost, and the greetings that followed were
uproarious.
Nearly the whole afternoon they sat around the table while Bob told
the story of his adventures. A comparison of experiences made it
quite certain that the remains they had supposed to have been Bob's
were the remains of Micmac John and the mystery of the half-breed's
failure to return to the tilt for the pelts he had stolen was
therefore cleared up.
"An' th' Nascaupees," said Bob, "be not fearsome murderous folk as we
was thinkin' un, but like other folks, an' un took rare fine care o'
me. I'm thinkin' they'd not be hurtin' white folks an' white folk
don't hurt _they_."
Finally the men sat back from the table for a smoke and chat while the
dishes were being cleared away by Mrs. Gray and Bessie.
"Now I were sure thinkin' Bob were a ghost," said Ed, as he lighted
his pipe with a brand from the stove, "and 'twere scarin' me a bit. I
never seen but one ghost in my life and that were----"
"We're not wantin' t' hear that ghost yarn, Ed," broke in Dick, and Ed
forgot his story in the good-natured laughter that followed.
The home-coming was all that Bob had hoped and desired it to be and
the arrival of his three friends from the trail made it complete. His
heart was full that evening when he stepped out of doors to watch the
setting sun. As he gazed at the spruce-clad hills that hid the great,
wild north from which he had so lately come, the afterglow blazed up
with all its wondrous colour, glorifying the world and lighting the
heavens and the water and the hills beyond with the radiance and
beauty of a northern sunset. The spirit of it was in Bob's soul, and
he said to himself,
"'Tis wonderful fine t' be livin', an' 'tis a wonderful fine world t'
live in, though 'twere seemin' hard sometimes, in the winter. An' th'
comin' home has more than paid for th' trouble I were havin' gettin'
here."
XXVII
THE CRUISE TO ST. JOHNS
When Bob and the two Eskimos sailed the _Maid of the North_ up the bay
from Fort Pelican it was found advisable to run the schooner to an
anchorage at Kenemish where she could lie with less exposure to the
wind than at Wolf Bight. The moment she was made snug and safe Bob
went ashore to Douglas Campbell's cabin, where he learned that his old
friend had gone to Wolf Bight early that morning to spend the day.
The lad's impatience to reach home would brook no waiting, and so,
leaving Netseksoak and Aluktook in charge of the vessel, he proceeded
alone in a small boat, reaching there as we have seen early in the
afternoon.
What to do with the schooner now that she had brought him safely to
his destination was a problem that Bob had not been able to solve. The
vessel was not his, and it was plainly his duty to find her owner and
deliver the schooner to him, but how to go about it he did not know.
That evening when the candles were lighted and all were gathered
around the stove, he put the question to the others.
"I'm not knowin' now who th' schooner belongs to," said he, "an' I'm
not knowin' how t' find th' owner, I'm wonderin' what t' do with un."
"Tis some trader owns un I'm thinkin'," Mrs. Gray suggested.
"'Tis sure some trader," agreed Bob, "and the's a rare lot o' fur
aboard she an' the's enough trader's goods t' stock a Post. Mr. Forbes
were tellin' me I should be gettin' salvage for bringin' she t' port
safe."
"Aye," confirmed Douglas, "you should be gettin' salvage. 'Tis th' law
o' th' sea an' but right. We'll ha' t' be lookin' t' th' salvage for
un lad."
"But how'll we be gettin' un now?" Bob asked, much puzzled. "An'
how'll we be findin' th' owner?"
"Th' owner," explained Douglas, "will be doin' th' findin' hisself I'm
thinkin'. But t' get th' salvage th' schooner'll ha' t' be took t' St.
Johns. Now I'm not knowin' but I could pilot she over. 'Tis a many a
long year since I were there but I'm thinkin' I could manage un, and
we'll make up a crew an' sail she over."
"We'll be needin' five t' handle she right," said Bob. "'Twere
wonderful hard gettin' on wi' just me an' th' two huskies. We'll sure
need five."
"Aye, 'twill need five of us," assented Douglas, "I'm thinkin' now
Dick an' Ed an' Bill would like t' be makin' th' cruise an' seein' St.
Johns, an' we has th' crew right here."
The three men were not only willing to go but delighted with the
prospect of the journey. They had never in their lives been outside
the bay and the voyage offered them an opportunity to see something of
the great world of which they had heard so much.
"I'll be wantin' t' go home first," said Dick, "an' so will Ed, but
we'll be t' Kenemish an' ready t' start in three days."
"'Twill be a fine way t' take th' maid t' th' mail boat so th' doctor
can take she with un," suggested Richard.
"An' father an' mother an' Bessie can go t' th' mail boat with us,"
spoke up Emily, from her couch. "Oh, 'twill be fine t' have you all go
t' th' mail boat with me!"
And so this arrangement was made and carried out. On the appointed day
every one was aboard the _Maid of the North_, and with light hearts
the voyage was begun.
Two days later they reached Fort Pelican, when Netseksoak and Aluktook
went ashore to await the arrival of the ship that was to take them to
their far northern home, and Bob said good-bye to the two faithful
friends with whom he had braved so many dangers and suffered so many
hardships.
The following morning the mail boat steamed in, and Emily was
transferred to her in charge of the doctor, who greeted her kindly and
promised,
"You'll be going home a new girl in the fall, and your father and
mother won't know you."
Nevertheless the parting from her friends was very hard for Emily, and
the mother and child, and Bessie too, shed a good many tears, though
the fact that she was to see Bob in a little while in St. Johns
comforted Emily somewhat.
When the mail boat was finally gone, Richard Gray, with his wife and
Bessie, turned homeward in their dory, which had been brought down in
tow of the _Maid of the North_, and the schooner spread her sails to
the breeze and passed to the southward.
With some delays caused by bad weather, three weeks elapsed before the
_Maid of the North_ one day, late in July, sailed through the narrows
past the towering cliffs of Signal Hill, and anchored in the
land-locked harbour of St. Johns.
In the interim the mail boat had made another voyage to the north, and
brought back with her Captain Hanks and his crew, who had worked their
way to Indian Harbour in their open boat to await the steamer there.
Of course Skipper Sam had heard that Bob was coming with the _Maid of
the North_, and when the schooner finally reached her anchorage he was
on the lookout for her, and at once came aboard with much blustering,
to demand her immediate delivery. He believed he had some
unsophisticated livyeres to deal with, whom he could easily browbeat
out of their rights. What was his surprise, then, when Douglas stepped
forward, and said very authoritatively:
"Bide a bit, now, skipper. When 'tis decided how much salvage you pays
th' lad, an' after you pays un, you'll be havin' th' schooner an' her
cargo, an' not till then."
Bob's first thought upon going ashore was of Emily, and he went
immediately to the hospital to see her. The operation had been
performed nearly two weeks previously and she was recovering rapidly.
When he was admitted to the ward, and she glimpsed him as he entered
the door, her delight was almost beyond bounds.
"Oh! Oh!" she exclaimed, when he kissed her. "Tis fine t' see un,
Bob--'tis _so_ fine. An' now I'll be gettin' well wonderful quick."
And she did. She was discharged from the hospital quite cured a month
later. At first she was a little weak, but youth and a naturally
strong constitution were in her favour, and she regained her strength
with remarkable rapidity.
Finally a settlement was arranged with Captain Hanks. The furs on
board the _Maid of the North_ were appraised at market value, and when
Bob received his salvage he found himself possessed of fifteen
thousand dollars.
He reimbursed Douglas the amount advanced for Emily's hospital
expenses, but the kind old trapper would not accept another cent,
though the lad wished to pay him for his services in piloting the
vessel to St. Johns.
"Put un in th' bank. You'll be needin' un some day t' start un in
life. Hold on t' un," was the good advice that Douglas gave, and
accordingly the money was deposited in the bank.
Bob's share of the furs that he had trapped himself he very generously
insisted upon giving to Dick and Ed and Bill. They were diffident
about accepting them at first, saying:
"We were doin' nothin' for un."
But Bob pressed the furs upon them, and finally they accepted them.
The silver fox which he wept over that cold December evening sold for
four hundred and fifty dollars, and the one Dick found frozen in the
trap by the deer's antlers for three hundred dollars.
Neither did Bob forget Netseksoak and Aluktook. Money would have been
quite useless to the Eskimos as he well knew, so he sent them rifles
and many things which they could use and would value.
Laden with gifts for the home folks, and satiated with looking at the
shops and great buildings and wonders of St. Johns, they were a very
happy party when at last the mail boat steamed northward with them.
Bob Gray was very proud of his little chum when, one beautiful
September day, his boat ground its prow upon the sands at Wolf Bight,
and with all the strength and vigour of youth she bounded ashore and
ran to meet the expectant and happy parents.
As, with full hearts, the reunited family of Richard Gray walked up
the path to the cabin, Bob said reverently:
"Th' Lard has ways o' doin' things that seem strange an' wonderful
hard sometimes when He's doin' un; but He always does un right, an' a
rare lot better'n _we_ could plan."
XXVIII
IN AFTER YEARS
During the twenty years that have elapsed since the incidents
transpired that are here recorded, the mission doctors and the mission
hospitals have come to The Labrador to give back life and health to
the unfortunate sick and injured folk of the coast, who in the old
days would have been doomed to die or to go through life helpless
cripples or invalids for the lack of medical or surgical care, as
would have been the case with little Emily but for the efforts of her
noble brother. New people, too, have come into Eskimo Bay, though on
the whole few changes have taken place and most of the characters met
with in the preceding pages still live.
Douglas Campbell in the fullness of years has passed away. But he is
not forgotten, and in the spring-time loving hands gather the wild
flowers, which grow so sparsely there, and scatter them upon the mossy
mound that marks his resting place.
Ed Matheson to this day tells the story of the adventures of Ungava
Bob--as Bob Gray has thenceforth been called--not forgetting to
embellish the tale with flights of fancy; and of course Dick Blake
warns the listeners that these imaginative variations are "just some
o' Ed's yarns," and Bob laughs at them good-naturedly.
It may be asked to what use Bob put his newly acquired wealth, and the
reader's big sister should this book fall into her hands, will surely
wish to know whether Bob and Bessie married, and what became of
Manikawan. But these are matters that belong to another story that
perhaps some day it may seem worth while to tell.
For the present, adieu to Ungava Bob.