CLOSE TO PORT.
I need make but brief mention of the long cruise that followed our
escape, of the days that passed slowly while we worked our way down the
mighty St. Lawrence, out to the open Atlantic by the rocky gates of
Newfoundland, and thence up the coast of Labrador to Hudson Straits. For
the most part wind and weather favored us, yet it was a matter of six
weeks before we got into the bay and made sail across that inland waste
of water toward our destination, Fort York, which was far down in the
southwestern corner. The distance from Quebec by land would have been
far less. Our course, as a map will show, was along the three sides of a
square.
The Speedwell was a sound little ship, and carried a mixed cargo to be
delivered at the Hudson Bay posts. We were well fed and snugly berthed,
Miss Hatherton having a cozy cabin all to herself. The crew were good
fellows, and Hiram Bunker was a typical New England skipper--bluff,
honest and popular. I did not see very much of him, for he and Captain
Rudstone became boon companions and stuck well together. It was the same
with the captain. Indeed, he seemed to take pains to avoid me, except
when others were present, thereby causing me some perplexity and
chagrin. And if we happened to find ourselves alone he appeared ill at
ease, and would look at me in a strange and shifty manner, as though he
had something on his mind. But for all that the time did not hang
heavily on my hands, nor was the voyage an uneventful one to me, as I
shall relate in a few words.
It came about naturally enough that Miss Hatherton and I spent the long
days together. In less than a fortnight we were calling each other by
our Christian names. Secluded in some nook of the deck, we would talk
for hours, or I would read aloud from one of the few volumes that the
skipper's cabin afforded. She told me much of her life in London. Her
father had been a gentleman of some means until speculation wrecked him,
and later she confided to me the whole of her sad story.
There was more than I had known before, as Captain Rudstone suggested.
It seems that prior to her father's death the only son of Lord Selkirk
fell in love with the girl. She did not return his affection, and,
indeed, she disliked the young man. But the old lord was either ignorant
of this fact or would not believe it. He had higher matrimonial views
for his son, and so, in order to get Miss Hatherton out of England, he
hatched the plot that resulted in the poor girl making her father a
sacred promise that she would go to the Canadas and marry Griffith
Hawke. She had no relatives to interfere, and a cruel disadvantage was
taken of her helplessness and poverty. She spoke of the matter only on
the one occasion, and it did not come up between us again. Nor had I the
heart to mention it, since she was clearly resigned to her future.
But I pitied the girl deeply, and I would have been more than human,
with the opportunities afforded, had I not fallen a victim to her charms
and loveliness. I did not perceive where I was drifting. I did not
realize my danger until it was too late. In short, I, who had hitherto
felt but contempt for all womankind, suddenly discovered that I was a
slave to the great passion. It was a sharp awakening, and it destroyed
my peace of mind. To me Flora Hatherton was a divinity, a goddess. It
gave me the keenest torture to think that she would soon be the wife of
old Griffith Hawke. I knew that she was as far out of my reach as the
stars above, and yet I felt that I should love her passionately all my
life--that the memory of her sweet face would shatter all the joys of
existence for me.
I could have cursed myself for being such a fool, and I hated the factor
for sending me on such a mission. It never entered my head to play him
false and try to win Flora, nor did I believe there was any chance of
doing so. Day after day we were together, and with Spartan courage I hid
my feelings--or, at least, I thought I was hiding them. It was a hard
task, for every word or look that the girl gave me seemed to turn my
blood to fire. That she was indifferent to me--that she regarded me only
as a friend--I was convinced. I was a youngster and inexperienced, and
so I was blind to the girl's pretty blushes, to the averting of her eyes
when they would meet mine, and to other signs of confusion that I
remembered afterward. To remain at Fort Royal, a witness of Griffith
Hawke's domestic happiness, I knew to be impossible. I determined to
seek a new post, or to plunge far into the northern wilderness, as soon
as I should have delivered Flora at her destination.
The days slipped by fraught with mingled joy and bitterness, and at
sunset one chilly August evening I stood alone on deck by the port
bulwark. The wind was rising, and there was a clammy mist on the gray,
troubled waters. We were nearly across the bay, and in the morning we
expected to sight the marshy shores that lay about Fort York. Flora was
in her cabin. She had seemed depressed all day and I remembered that an
hour before, when the skipper told her how near we were to land, she had
smiled at me sadly and gone below. I had no wish for the voyage to end.
The thought of the morrow cut me like a knife, and I was lost in gloomy
reflections, when a hand clapped me on the shoulder. I turned round with
a start, and saw Captain Rudstone.
"A few hours more, Mr. Carew," he said, "and we shall have dropped
anchor under the walls of the fort. Do you expect to meet your factor
there?"
"It is doubtful," I replied. "He will hardly look for our arrival so
soon. We took an earlier ship, you will remember, and our passage has
been a swift one."
"It was a dangerous passage," he said meaningly--"at least, for you. I
take it you will be glad of a few days of grace. But may I ask--I happen
to have a curiosity--how this thing is to end?"
"What thing?" I cried, ruffling at once.
"You love Miss Hatherton," he answered with a smile.
I felt my face grow hot.
"Does that concern you?" I demanded curtly. "I will thank you to mind
your own affairs, Captain Rudstone."
"The girl loves you," he replied calmly.
"I don't believe it," said I.
"Bah! you are a blind fool," he muttered. "I gave you credit for more
perception. But it is just as I said--the girl returns your affection.
What are you going to do about it? Will you allow her to marry Griffith
Hawke?"
I could have struck the captain for his jesting tone, and yet at the
same time I detected a ring of truth in what he had said. It flashed
upon me that I had indeed been blind, and the revelation thrilled my
heart.
"Miss Hatherton is the promised wife of Griffith Hawke," I answered
hoarsely; "and Griffith Hawke is my superior officer. I am acting under
his orders, and I dare not betray my trust. I am a man of honor, and not
a knave. I scorn your suggestion, sir."
"Do you call it honorable," sneered the captain, "to help this innocent
girl, whose heart belongs to you, to marry another man?"
I looked at him with some confusion for, to tell the truth, I had no
answer ready to my lips. And just then Hiram Bunker strode up to us, his
countenance unusually grave.
"It's going to be a nasty night, or I'm no mariner," he exclaimed.
"There's a storm brewing, and we are perilously near the coast. I don't
like the prospect a bit, gentlemen."
Captain Rudstone made some fitting reply, but I was in no mood to heed
the skipper's words, or to give a second thought to the prophecy of a
storm. I left the two together, and with my brain in a whirl I crept
down to the seclusion of my cabin.