"Now I tell you what it is, Master Hendrick," said Captain Trench, the
day after their arrival at the Indian camp. "I see this is goin' to be
an ugly business, an' I give you fair warning that I'm goin' to git
surly. I won't stand by quietly and see Grummidge and my men
slaughtered before my eyes without movin' a finger. I'll keep quiet as
long as there's any chance of all your palaverin' resulting in anything,
but if the worst comes to the worst I'll show fight, even if I should
have to stand alone with all the red devils in Newfoundland arrayed
against me."
"I honour your feelings, Captain Trench, but doubt your judgment. How
do you propose to proceed?"
"Will you join me? Answer me that question first."
"I will join you in any scheme that is reasonable," returned Hendrick,
after a pause, "but not in a useless attempt to fight against a whole
colony of Indians."
"Then I'll keep my plans of procedure in my own noddle," said the
captain, turning away with an indignant fling, and taking the path that
led to the cave or prison-house of his shipmates, for as yet they were
allowed free intercourse with their friends.
"Grummidge," said he, in a stern voice, as he squatted down on the floor
beside the unfortunate seaman, "things look bad, there's no doubt about
that, an' it would be unkind deception to say otherwise, for that
villain Bearpaw seems to git harder and harder the more they try to
soften him. Now what I want to know is, are you an' the others prepared
to join me, if I manage to cut your cords an' give you weapons, an'--"
"Shush! clap a stopper on your mouth, cappen," said Grummidge in an
undertone, "the redskins are listening."
"An' what then? They know no more about English than I know about
Timbuctoosh," returned the captain irascibly. "Let 'em listen! What I
was a-goin' to say is, are you an' the other lads ready to follow me
into the woods an' bolt if we can, or fight to the death if we can't?"
"Sure an' _I'm_ ready to fight," interposed Squill, "or to follow ye to
the end o' the world, an' further; but if I do I'll have to leave my
legs behind me, for they're fit for nothin'. True it is, I feel a
little stronger since your friend Hendrick got the bastes to increase
our allowance o' grub, but I'm not up to much yet. Howsiver, I'm strong
enough p'r'aps to die fightin'. Anyhow, I'll try."
"So will I," said Little Stubbs. "I feel twice the man I was since you
found us."
"Putt me down on the list too, cap'n," said Fred Taylor, who was perhaps
the least reduced in strength of any of the prisoners. "I'm game for
anything short o' murder."
Similar sentiments having been expressed by his other friends, the
captain's spirit was somewhat calmed.
Leaving them he went into the woods to ponder and work out his plans.
There he met Paul and Hendrick.
"We are going to visit the prisoners," said the former.
"You'll find 'em in a more hopeful frame of mind," observed the captain.
"I wish they had better ground for their hopes," returned his friend,
"but Bearpaw is inexorable. We are to have a final meeting with him
to-morrow. I go now to have a talk with our poor friends. It may be
that something in their favour shall be suggested."
Nothing, however, was suggested during the interview that followed,
which gave the remotest hope that anything they could say or do would
influence the savage chief in favour of his prisoners. Indeed, even if
he had been mercifully disposed, the anger of his people against the
seamen--especially the relatives of Little Beaver and those who had been
wounded during the attack on Wagtail settlement--would have constrained
him to follow out what he believed to be the course of justice.
When the final meeting between the visitors and the chief took place,
the latter was surrounded by his principal warriors.
"Hendrick," he said, in reply to a proposal that execution should be at
least delayed, "the name of the white hunter who has mated with the
Bethuck girl is respected everywhere, and his wishes alone would move
Bearpaw to pardon his paleface foes, but blood has been shed, and the
price of blood must be paid. Hendrick knows our laws--they cannot be
changed. The relations of Little Beaver cry aloud for it. Tell your
paleface friends that Bearpaw has spoken."
When this was interpreted to Paul Burns a sudden thought flashed into
his mind, and standing forth with flushed countenance and raised arm, he
said--
"Hendrick, tell the chief of the Bethucks that when the Great Spirit
formed man He made him without sin and gave him a just and holy law to
obey; but man broke the law, and the Great Spirit had said that the
price of the broken law is death. So there seemed no hope for man,
because he could not undo the past, and the Great Spirit would not
change His law. But he found a way of deliverance. The Great Spirit
himself came down to earth, and, as the man Jesus Christ, paid the price
of the broken law with His own blood, so that guilty, but forgiven, man
might go free. Now, if the Great Spirit could pardon the guilty and set
them free, would it be wrong in Bearpaw to follow His example?"
This was such a new idea to the Indian that he did not at first reply.
He stood, with folded arms and knitted brow, pondering the question. At
last he spoke slowly--
"Bearpaw knows not the thing about which his paleface brother speaks.
It may be true. It seems very strange. He will inquire into the matter
hereafter. But the laws that guide the Great Spirit are not the laws
that guide men. What may be fit in Him, may not be fit in them."
"My dark-skinned brother is wrong," said Hendrick. "The law that guides
the Great Spirit, and that _should_ guide all His creatures, is one and
the same. It is the law of love."
"Was it love that induced the palefaces to kill Little Beaver and steal
Rising Sun?" demanded the chief fiercely.
"It was not," replied Hendrick; "it was sin; and Bearpaw has now an
opportunity to act like the Great Spirit by forgiving those who, he
thinks, have sinned against him."
"Never!" returned the chief vehemently. "The palefaces shall die; but
they shall live one day longer while this matter is considered in
council, for it is only children who act in haste. Go! Bearpaw has
spoken."
To have secured even the delay of a single day was almost more than the
prisoners' friends had hoped for, and they resolved to make the most of
it.
"Now, Hendrick," said Paul, when they were in the tent that had been set
aside for their use, "we must be prepared, you and I, to give the chief
a full account of our religion; for, depend on it, his mind has been
awakened, and he won't rest satisfied with merely discussing the subject
with his men of war."
"True, Paul; what do you propose to do?"
"The first thing I shall do is to pray for guidance. After that I will
talk with you."
"For my part," said Captain Trench, as Paul rose and left the tent, "I
see no chance of moving that savage by religion or anything else, so
I'll go an' make arrangements for the carryin' out o' _my_ plans. Come
along to the woods with me, Olly, I shall want your help."
"Father," said the boy, in a serious tone, as they entered the forest,
"surely you don't mean to carry out in earnest the plan you spoke of to
Grummidge and the others yesterday?"
"Why not, my son?"
"Because we are sure to be all killed if you do. As well might we try
to stop the rising tide as to subdue a whole tribe of savages."
"And would you, Olly," said the seaman, stopping and looking sternly at
the boy, "would you advise me to be so mean as to look on at the
slaughter of my shipmates without making one effort to save them?"
"I would never advise you to do anything mean, father; an' if I did so
advise you, you wouldn't do it; but the effort you think of makin' would
not save the men. It would only end in all of us bein' killed."
"Well, and what o' that? Would it be the first time that men have been
killed in a good cause?"
"But a cause can't be a good one unless some good comes of it! If there
was a chance at all, I would say go at 'em, daddy, an' bowl 'em down
like skittles, but you know there's no chance in your plan. Boltin'
into the woods an' gittin' lost would be little use in the face o'
savages that can track a deer by invisible footprints. An' fighting
them would be like fighting moskitoes--one thousand down, another
thousand come on! Besides, when you an' I are killed--which we're sure
to be--what would come o' mother, sittin' there all alone, day after
day, wonderin' why we never come back, though we promised to do so?
Think how anxious it'll make her for years to come, an' how
broken-hearted at last; an' think how careful she always was of you.
Don't you remember in that blessed letter she sent me, just before we
sailed, how she tells me to look well after you, an' sew the frogs on
your sea-coat when they git loose, for she knows you'll never do it
yourself, but will be fixin' it up with a wooden skewer or a bit o'
rope-yarn. An' how I was to see an' make you keep your feet dry by
changin' your hose for you when you were asleep, for you'd never change
them yourself till all your toes an' heels came through 'em. Ah! daddy,
it will be a bad job for mother if they kill you and me!"
"But what can I do, Olly?" said the mariner, in a somewhat husky voice,
when this pathetic picture was presented to his view. "Your mother
would be the last to advise me to stand by and look on without moving a
finger to save 'em. What can I do, Olly? What can I do?"
This question was more easily put than answered. Poor Oliver looked as
perplexed as his sire.
"Pr'aps," he said, "we might do as Paul said he'd do, an' pray about
it."
"Well, we might do worse, my son. If I only could believe that the
Almighty listens to us an' troubles Himself about our small affairs,
I--"
"Don't you think it likely, father," interrupted the boy, "that if the
Almighty took the trouble to make us, He will take the trouble to think
about and look after us?"
"There's somethin' in that, Olly. Common sense points out that there's
somethin' in that."
Whether or not the captain acted on his son's suggestion, there is no
record to tell. All we can say is that he spent the remainder of that
day in a very disturbed, almost distracted, state of mind, now paying
short visits to the prisoners, anon making sudden rushes towards the
chief's tent with a view to plead their cause, and checking himself on
remembering that he knew no word of the Indian tongue; now and then
arguing hotly with Paul and Hendrick, that all had not been done which
might or ought to have been done, and sometimes hurrying into the woods
alone.
Meanwhile, as had been anticipated, the chief sent for Hendrick and Paul
to demand an explanation of the strange words which they had used about
forgiveness and the broken law of the Great Spirit and Jesus Christ.
It would be out of place here to enter into the details of all that was
said on both sides, but it may not be uninteresting to state that,
during the discussion, both the palefaces and the red men became so
intensely absorbed in contemplation of the vast region of comparatively
new thought into which they were insensibly led, that they forgot for
the time being the main object of the meeting, namely, the ultimate fate
of the captives.
That the chief and his warriors were deeply impressed with the Gospel
message was evident, but it was equally evident that the former was not
to be moved from his decision, and in this the warriors sympathised with
him. His strong convictions in regard to retributive justice were not
to be shaken.
"No," he said, at the end of the palaver, "the blood of a Bethuck has
been shed; the blood of the palefaces must flow."
"But tell him that that is not just even according to his own views,"
said Paul. "The blood of one paleface ought to suffice for the blood of
one Bethuck."
This was received in silence. Evidently it had some weight with the
chief.
"The paleface is right," he said, after a minute's thought. "Only one
shall die. Let the prisoners decide among themselves who shall be
killed. Go, Bearpaw has spoken--waugh!"
A few minutes later, and the prisoners, with their friends, were
assembled in the cave discussing this new phase of their case.
"It's horrible!" said Grummidge. "D'ye think the chief is really in
earnest?"
"There can be no doubt of it," said Hendrick.
"Then, my lads, I'll soon bid ye all farewell, for as I was your leader
when the so-called murder was done, I'm bound in honour to take the
consequences."
"Not at all," cried Squill, whose susceptible heart was touched with
this readiness to self-sacrifice. "You can't be spared yet, Grummidge;
if any man shud die it's the Irishman. Shure it's used we are to bein'
kilt, anyhow!"
"There'll be none o' you killed at all," cried Captain Trench, starting
up with looks of indignation. "I'll go and carry out _my_ plans--ah!
you needn't look like that, Olly, wi' your poor mother's reproachful
eyes, for I'm determined to do it, right or wrong!"