AN UNCHARTERED PLANTATION
In a cave in White Bay the voyagers traded with a party of friendly
natives. Farther north they found indications of copper, and collected a
bagful of the mother rock. In late August a sickness prostrated Master
Kingswell and Clotworthy, and camp was made on the mainland. For three
weeks the sufferers were unable to lift their heads. They lost flesh
until they were little more than skin and bone. Ouenwa undertook the
dual position of physician and nurse. He had some knowledge of the
science of medicine, as practised by the Beothics, and treated the
malady with teas of roots and herbs. He also managed to kill a young
caribou, and fed his patients with broth made from the meat. But it was
close upon the end of September when the _Pelican_ again took up her
northward journey.
Kingswell's real reason for this adventurous cruise was the quest of
gold. Other explorers had seen gold ore in the possession of the
natives, and he had heard stories of a French sailor having been
wounded by a gold-barbed arrow. But the precious metal eluded him. Upon
gaining the farthest cape of the great island, he wanted to cross the
straits and continue his search along the Labrador coast; but the men
shook their heads. The boat was too small for the voyage. Their
provisions were running low. The northern summer was already far spent.
So Kingswell headed the _Pelican_ southward. After a week of fair winds,
they were caught in a squall, and the starboard bow of their stout
little craft was shattered while they were in the act of winning to a
sheltered anchorage. Everything was salvaged; but it took them three
days to patch the boat back to a seaworthiness. Even after this
unlooked-for delay, the young commander persisted in exploring every
likely looking cave and river mouth that had been neglected on the
northward trip. The men grumbled sometimes, but it was not in the heart
of any sailor to deny the wishes of so charming and brave a gentleman as
Master Kingswell. Ouenwa's long conversations in his partially acquired
English helped to keep the company in good spirits.
It was November, and nipping weather in that northern bay, when the
_Pelican_ threaded the islands of Exploits and opened Wigwam Harbour to
the eager gaze of her company. The harbour was empty! They had not
sighted a vessel in any of the outer reaches of the bay. The
drying-stages and fish stores stood deserted above the green tide.
Kingswell turned a bloodless face toward his men. "They have sailed for
home without us," he said, and swallowed hard. Old Tom Bent gazed
reflectively about him, and scratched a hoary whisker with a mahogany
finger. He had grumbled at the chance of this very disaster, but now
that he was face to face with it the thought of grumbling did not occur
to him.
"Ay, sir," said he, "the damned rascals has sailed without us--an' we
are lucky not to be in such dirty company!"
He spat contemptuously over the gunwale. The colour returned to
Kingswell's cheeks, and a flash of the old humour to his eyes. He smiled
approvingly on the boatswain. But young Peter Harding, being neither as
old nor as wise as Bent, nor as cool-headed as Clotworthy, had something
to say on the subject. He ripped out an oath. Then--"By God," he cried,
"here's one man who'd rather sail in a ship with what ye calls dirty
company, Tom Bent, than starve in a damn skiff with--with you all," he
finished, lamely.
Kingswell and Ouenwa looked at the young seaman with mute indignation
in their eyes. But Tom Bent laughed softly.
"Ay, Peter, boy," he said, "ye be one o' these fine, lion-hearted
English mariners what's the pride o' the king an' the terror o' the
seas. The likes o' ye don't sail shipmates with men, but with the duff
an' the soup an' the prize-money." His voice shrilled a little. "Ay, if
it wasn't that I know ye for a better man than ye sound just now, I'd ax
cap'n's leave to twist the snivellin' nose off the fat face o' ye."
"Tom be right," remarked Clotworthy, with a knowing and well-considered
wag of his heavy head.
Harding, who had delivered his speech from a commanding position on a
thwart, sat down very softly, as if anxious not to attract any further
attention.
"We'll have a look at the old arrow-maker, lads," said Kingswell,
cheerfully, "and stock up with enough dried venison to carry us south to
Trinity, or even to Conception. Ships often lie in those bays till the
snow flies. At the worst we can sail the old _Pelican_ right 'round to
St. John's, and winter there. I'll wager the governor would be glad
enough of a few extra fighting men to scare off the French and the
privateers."
Despite Master Kingswell's brave words, there was no store of dried
venison to be obtained from the arrow-maker, for both the old
philosopher's lodge and Black Feather's were gone--gone utterly, and
only the round, level circles on the sward to show where they had stood.
What had become of Montaw and his friends could only be surmised.
Ouenwa's opinion that the enemies of Soft Hand were responsible for
their disappearance was shared by the Englishman. All agreed that
immediate flight was safer than a further investigation of the mystery.
So the storm-beaten, wave-weary _Pelican_ turned seaward again.
Two days later, toward nightfall, and after having sailed far up an arm
of the sea and into the mouth of a great river, in fruitless search of
some belated fishing-ship, the adventurers were startled and cheered by
the sound of a musket-shot. It came from inland, from up the shadowy
river. It was muffled by distance. It clapped dully on their eager ears
like the slamming of a wooden door. But every lonely heart of them knew
it for the voice of the black powder. They drifted back a little and lay
at anchor all night, just off the mouth of the river. With the dark came
the cruel frost. But they crawled beneath their freight of furs and
slept. They were astir with the first gray lights, and before sunrise
were pulling cautiously up the middle of the channel. White frost
sparkled on thwart and gunwale. Dark, mist-wrapped forests of spruce and
fir and red pine came down to the water on both sides. Here and there a
fang of black rock, noisy with roosting gulls, jutted above the dark
current. A jay screamed in the woods. A belated snipe skimmed across
their bows. An eagle eyed them from the crown of an ancient pine, and
swooped down and away.
They must have ascended the stream a matter of two miles--and hard
pulling it was--when Ouenwa's sharp eyes detected the haze of wood smoke
beyond a wooded bend.
"Cooking-fire there!" he exclaimed. "Maybe get something to eat? Maybe
get killed?"
He spoke cheerfully, as if neither prospect was devoid of charm.
"We'll risk it," remarked Kingswell, quietly. "Put your weight into the
stroke, lads--and, Tom, keep your match handy."
At last the bend was rounded, and the rowers turned on the thwarts and
peered over their shoulders, and Kingswell uttered a low cry of delight.
Close ahead of them the right-hand bank lay level and open, and along
its edge were beached three skiffs. About twenty yards back stood a
little settlement of log cabins enclosed by palisades. From the
chimneys of the cabins plumes of comfortable smoke rose to the clearer
azure above. In front of this civilized spot, in mid-stream, a small
high-pooped vessel lay moored. Her masts and spars were gone. She swung
like a dead body in the brown current.
Tom Bent swore softly and with grave deliberation. "Damn my eyes," he
murmured. "Ay, sir, dash my old figger-head, if there don't lay a
reggler, complete plantation! Blast my eyes!"
"A tidy, Christian appearin' place," remarked Clotworthy, joyously. "An'
real chimleys, too! Well, that do look homely, for certain."
At that moment three men, armed with muskets, ran from the gateway of
the enclosure and stood uncertain half-way between the palisade and the
river. Kingswell hailed them, standing in the bluff bows of the little
_Pelican_. He stated the nationality, the names, and degrees of himself
and the other of the little company, and the manner of their misfortune,
even while the boat was covering the short distance to the shore.
The settlers laid aside their weapons, and received Master Kingswell and
his men with every show of cordiality and good faith. They were
strapping fellows, with weather-tanned faces, broad foreheads, steady
eyes, and herculean shoulders. They doffed their skin caps to the
gentleman adventurer.
"Ye be our first visitors, sir, since we come ashore here two year and
two months ago come to-morrow," said one of the three. "Yes, it be just
two year and two months ago, come to-morrow, that we dropped anchor off
the mouth of this river," he added, turning to his companions. They
agreed silently. Their eyes and attention were fully absorbed by Master
Kingswell's imposing, though sadly stained, yellow boots and gold-laced
coat. Another settler joined the group, and welcomed the voyagers with
sheepish grins. A fifth, arrayed in finery and a sword, approached and
halted near by.
"These," said the spokesman, "be Donnellys--father and son." With a
casual tip of the thumb, he indicated two rugged members of the company.
He turned to a handsome young giant beside him and smote him
affectionately on the shoulder. "This here be my boy John--John
Trigget," he said, "an' that gentleman be Captain Pierre d'Antons." He
bowed, with ungracious deference, to the dark, lean, fashionably dressed
individual who stood a few paces away. "An' my name be William Trigget,
master mariner," he concluded.
Kingswell bowed low for the second time, and again shook hands with the
elder Trigget. Then he stepped over to D'Antons and murmured a few
courteous words in so low a voice that his men caught nothing of them.
Each gentleman laid his left hand lightly on the hilt of his sword. Each
bowed, laced hat in hand, until his long hair fell forward about his
face. D'Antons' locks were raven-black, and straight as a horse's mane.
Young Kingswell's were bright as pale gold, and soft as a woman's. Both
were of goodly proportions and gallant bearing, though the Frenchman was
the taller and thinner of the two.
D'Antons slipped his arm within Kingswell's, and, motioning to the
others to follow, started toward the stockade. William Trigget
immediately strode forward and walked on Master Kingswell's other hand,
as if determined to assert his rights as a leader of the mixed company.
Ouenwa and the seamen of the _Pelican_, and the Donnellys and young
Trigget, followed close on the heels of their superiors.
"And who may ye be, lad?" inquired John Trigget of Ouenwa, as they
crossed the level of frost-seared grass.
"I am Ouenwa," replied the boy, frankly, "and Master Kingswell is my
strong friend and protector. My grandsire was Soft Hand, the head chief
of this country. His enemies--barking foxes who name themselves
wolves--pulled him down in the night-time."
The big settler nodded, and the others uttered ejaculations of pity and
interest. The story was not news to them, however.
"Ay," said John Trigget, "Soft Hand were pulled down in the night, sure
enough. The Injuns run fair crazy, what with murderin' each other an'
burnin' each other's camps. I was huntin', two days to the north, when
the trouble began. I come home without stoppin' to make any objections,
an' the skipper kep' our gates shut for a whole week. They rebels was
for wipin' out everybody; an' they captured two French ships, an' did
for the crews. They be moved away inlan' now, thank God. We be safe till
spring, I'm thinkin'."
"There be worse folks nor they tormentin' Injuns around these here
soundin's, an' ye can take my word for that," growled the elder
Donnelly, in guarded tones.
"Belay that," whispered John Trigget. "The devil can cook his stew
plenty quick enough. Us won't bear a hand till the pot boils over."
Captain d'Antons glanced back at the talkers. His black eyes gleamed
suspiciously.