THE ADMIRAL OF THE HARBOUR
Spring brought ice-floes and bergs from the north, and millions of
Greenland seals. For weeks the little bay on which Montaw and Black
Feather had their lodges was choked with battering ice-pans and crippled
bergs. Many of the tribesmen came to the salt water to kill the seals.
Soft Hand sent a canoe-load of beaver pelts to Ouenwa, so that the boy
might trade with the strangers when they arrived out of the waste of
waters.
At last summer came to the great Bay of Exploits, and with it many
ships--ships of England, of France, of Spain, and of Portugal. All were
in quest of the world-renowned codfish. By this time the ice had rotted,
and drifted southward. The first craft to enter Wigwam Harbour (as the
English sailors called the arrow-maker's bay) was the Devon ship, _Heart
of the West_. Her master, John Trowley, was an ignorant, hard-headed,
and hard-fisted old mariner of the roughest type; but, by the laws of
those waters, he was Admiral of Wigwam Harbour for that season. It was
not long before every harbour had its admiral,--in every case the master
of the first vessel to drop anchor there. The shores were portioned off
in strips, so that each ship might have a place for drying-stages,
whereon to cure its fish. Then the great business of garnering that rich
harvest of the north began, amid the rattling of boat-gear, the shouting
of orders in many tongues, and the volleying of oaths. Ouenwa, watching
the animated scene, was fired with a desire to voyage in one of the
strange vessels, and to taste the world that lay beyond the rim of the
sea.
One day, soon after their arrival, three men from the _Heart of the
West_ ascended the twisting path to the arrow-maker's lodge. The old
craftsman and Black Feather and Ouenwa advanced to meet them without
fear, for up to that time the adventurers and the natives had been on
the best of terms. The strangers smiled and bowed to the Beothics. They
displayed a handful of coloured glass beads, a roll of red cloth, and a
few sticks of tobacco. Old Montaw's eyes glistened at sight of the
Virginian leaf. He had already learned the trick of drawing on the stem
of a pipe and blowing fragrant clouds of smoke into the air. He said
that to do so added to the profundity of his thoughts. And all winter he
had gone without a puff. He produced a mink skin from his lodge and
exchanged it for one of the coveted sticks of tobacco. Black Feather
also traded, giving skins of mink, fox, and beaver for a piece of cloth,
a dozen beads, and a knife. But Ouenwa stood aside and watched the
strangers. One of them he recognized as the great captain who shouted
and swore at the captains of the other ships, and pointed out to them
places where they might anchor their ships--for it was none other than
Master John Trowley. The young man with the gold lace in his hat, and
the long sword at his side--surely, he, too, was a chief, despite his
quiet voice and smooth face. Ouenwa's surmise was correct. The youth was
Master Bernard Kingswell, only son of a wealthy widow of Bristol. His
father, who had been knighted a few years before his premature death,
had been a merchant of sound views and adventurous spirit. The son
inherited the adventurous spirit, and was free from the bondage of the
counting-house. The third of the party was a common seaman. That much
Ouenwa could detect at a glance.
Master Kingswell stepped over to the young Beothic.
"Trade?" he inquired, kindly, displaying a string of glass beads in the
palm of his hand. Ouenwa shook his head. He knew only such words of
English as Montaw had taught him, and he feared that they would prove
entirely inadequate for the purpose that was in his mind. However, he
would try. He pointed to Trowley's ship, and then to the far and
glinting horizon.
"Take Ouenwa?" he whispered, scarce above his breath.
"To see the ship?" inquired Master Kingswell.
"Off," replied Ouenwa, with a wave of his arms. "Out, off!"
Kingswell looked puzzled, and made no reply. The young Beothic bent a
keen glance upon him; then he tapped himself on the chest.
"Take Ouenwa," he whispered. He plucked the Englishman by the coat.
"Come, chief, come," he cried, eagerly.
Kingswell followed to the nearest lodge. Ouenwa pulled aside the flap of
caribou hide that covered the doorway, and motioned for the visitor to
enter. For a second the Englishman hesitated. He had heard many tales of
the treachery of these people. What menace might not lurk in the gloom
of the round, fur-scented lodge? But he did not lack courage; and,
before the other had time to notice the hesitation, he stepped within.
The flap of rawhide fell into place behind him. Save for the red glow
that pulsated from the hearthstone in the centre of the floor, and the
fingers of sunlight that thrust through the cracks in the apex of the
roof, the big lodge was unilluminated.
"What do you want?" asked Master Kingswell, with his shoulders against
the slope of the roof and a tentative hand on his sword-hilt. For
answer, Ouenwa held a torch of rolled bark to the fire until it flared
smoky red, and then lifted it high. The light of it flooded the sombre
place, showing up the couches of skins, Montaw's copper pot, and a great
bale of pelts. The boy pointed to the pelts. Then he pressed the palm of
his hand against the Englishman's breast.
"Ouenwa give beaver," he said. "Take Ouenwa Englan'. Much good trade."
Kingswell understood. But he saw obstacles in the way of carrying out
the young Beothic's wish. The other savages might object. They might
look on it as a case of kidnapping. Lads had been kidnapped before from
the eastern bays, and, though they had been well treated, and made pets
of in England, their people had ceased to trade with the visitors, and
all their friendship had turned to treachery and hostility. On the other
hand, he should like to take the youth home with him. He tried to
explain his position to Ouenwa, but failed signally. They parted,
however, with the most friendly feelings toward one another.
After the interview with Kingswell, Ouenwa spent most of his time gazing
longingly at the ships in the bay, and picturing the life aboard them,
and the countries from which they had come. One morning Kingswell called
to him from the land-wash. He ran down, delighted at the attention.
Kingswell pointed to a small, open boat which the carpenter of the
_Heart of the West_ had just completed. Then, by signs and a few words,
he told Ouenwa that he was going northward in the little craft, to
explore the coast, and that he would be back with the fleet before the
birch leaves were yellow. Ouenwa begged to be taken on the expedition
and afterward across the seas. He offered his canoe-load of beaver
skins. He tried to tell of his great desire to see the lodges of the
strangers, and to learn their speech. He did not want to live the life
of his own people. Kingswell caught the general trend of the Beothic's
remarks. He had no objection to driving a good bargain. So he made clear
to him that he was to come alongside the ship, with the beaver skins, on
the following night.
The sky was black with clouds, and a fog wrapped the harbour, when
Ouenwa stepped into his loaded canoe and pushed out toward the spot
where Trowley's ship lay at anchor. He had dragged his skins from
Montaw's lodge earlier in the night, without disturbing the slumbers of
either his guardian or Pot Friend. Age had dulled their ears and
thickened their sleep. He paddled noiselessly. Sounds of roistering came
to his ears, muffled by the fog. Presently the admiral's ship loomed
close ahead. Lights blinked fore and aft. She seemed a tremendous thing
to the lad, though in truth she was but of one hundred tons. Singing and
laughter were ripe aboard.
For the first time a fear of the strangers took possession of Ouenwa.
Even his trust in Kingswell faltered. He ceased paddling, and listened,
with bated breath, to the hoarse shouts of merriment and the clapping
oaths. Then curiosity overcame his fear. He slid his long canoe under
the stem of the _Heart of the West_. A cheering glow of candle-light
yellowed the fog above him. He stood up and found that his head was on a
level with the sill of a square port. It stood open. He heard
Kingswell's voice, and Trowley's. The master-mariner's was gusty and
argumentative. It broke out at intervals, like the flapping of a sail.
Ouenwa steadied himself with his hands on the casing of the open port,
and lifted to tiptoe. Now he could see into the little cabin, and hear
the conversation of its inmates. Happily for his feelings, he could
understand only a word or two of that conversation. He saw Kingswell and
the master of the ship seated opposite one another at a small table.
Upon the table stood candles in metal sticks, a bottle, and glasses. The
old sea-dog's bearded face was working with excitement. He slapped his
great flipper-like hand on the polished surface of the board.
"Now who be master o' this ship?" he bawled. "Tell me that, will 'e. Who
be master?"
"I am the owner, you'll kindly remember, John Trowley," replied
Kingswell, with a ring of anger in his voice, but a smile on his lips.
"Ay, ye be owner, but John Trowley be skipper," roared the other,
glaring so hard that his round, pale eyes fairly bulged from his face.
"An' no dirty redskin sails in ship o' mine unless as a servant, or
afore the mast,--no, not if he pays his passage with all th' pelts in
Newfoundland."
"You are mistaken, my friend," replied Kingswell. "I'll carry fifty of
these people back to Bristol, if it so pleases me."
"I'll put ye in irons, my fine gentleman," retorted the seaman.
"You are drunk," cried the young adventurer, drawing back his right hand
as if to strike the great, scowling face that bent toward him across the
table.
"Drunk, d'ye say! An' ye'd lift yer hand against the ship's master,
would ye?" shouted Trowley. He lurched forward, and a knife flashed
above the overturned bottle and glasses.
Ouenwa emitted a horrified scream, and hurled his paddle spear-wise into
the cabin. The rounded point of the blade caught Trowley on the side of
the head, and sent him crashing to the deck.