WHILE THE SPARS ARE SCRAPED
It is difficult to imagine the feelings of the skippers and crews of the
good ship _Plover_ and _Mary and Joyce_, when the gray light of dawn
disclosed the fact that the _Heart of the West_ had vanished completely.
What a rubbing of eyes must have taken place! What a dropping of
whiskered jaws and ripping of sea oaths!
"Sunk," said one heavy-shouldered mariner.
"Then where be her spars?" inquired a messmate.
"Cut an' run," suggested another.
"Then the devil must have been after her! Ol' Trowley'd run from nothin'
else," replied the cook of the _Plover_.
The captain of the _Mary and Joyce_ scanned the inner harbour and what
he could see of the outer bay. Then he turned his brass telescope upon
the cliffs and hills and inland woods.
"Maybe the French has towed mun out," he said at last.
No fishing was done that day. The neighbouring bays and coves were
searched, and even the "River of Three Fires" was investigated, with a
deal of trouble, for several miles up its swift current. That night the
skippers of the two vessels decided, over several hot glasses, that
Wigwam Harbour was no safe place for honest English sailor men. Next
morning found them sailing northward in search of another haven from
which to reap the harvest of the great bay.
To Fort Beatrix journeyed all the Beothics from many miles around, for a
great trade was going on. Influenced by Maggie Stone's foolish outbreak,
Beatrix and Bernard had decided to seek a priest in the port of St.
John's on their way to England, and so cross the ocean as man and wife,
to the bitter chagrin of Bristol scandal-mongers. Though the idea had
not occurred to either of the lovers before the old woman's outcry in
the name of suffering propriety, it was none the less to their liking
now that they had accepted it.
"And it will please poor Maggie Stone," said the girl.
"I was not thinking of her," replied Kingswell, lifting the glowing
face to his by a hand beneath the rounded chin.
"Nor I, dear heart," she replied.
To the others of that wilderness the trading seemed a greater matter
than that romantic attachment of a man and a maid. Blankets, trinkets,
inferior weapons, and even the spare clothing of the settlers were
bartered for pelts of beaver, mink, marten, otter, musquash, and red,
patched, and black fox, to make up a cargo for the _Heart of the West_.
The price of an axe-head was twice its weight in beaver skins. Even
Maggie Stone, with an eye to adding to her nest-egg, traded a skillet
(the identical implement with which she had floored D'Antons) for a
beautiful foxskin. Only Trowley had no finger in the trading. Sullen and
silent, he wandered about the fort, and a few paces behind him a brawny
Beothic always stalked.
The storehouse of the fort was replenished from the well-stocked
pantries and lazaret of the ship. Kingswell smiled grimly when, during
the overhauling of the cabin lockers, he discovered choice wines,
cheeses, and pots of jam which his lady mother had given to Master
Trowley as a slight mark of her gratitude for his services to her son.
He forced an admittance of these things from the old rascal himself. It
had been as he had hinted to Beatrix. The fellow had told the tearful
and credulous lady that he had risked his life in her son's defence,
during an engagement with the savages; and she, grateful heart, had made
such an unbusiness-like agreement with him for the sailing of the ship
that, had the voyage run its anticipated course, even a full load of
fish would not have saved her from a shrewd loss. Happily for Trowley,
Master Kingswell was far too happy for such trivial matters to really
anger him.
"The old rogue staked his soul and lost on the last throw," he said to
Beatrix, "and I staked my heart, and won all that the world holds of
joy. Surely I should be a low fellow to add to his misfortunes, poor
devil. I can afford to be charitable now."
They were seated on the grassy edge of the river meadow, looking out at
the anchored ship, where sailors were repairing the rigging and scraping
the spars. The girl did not seem keenly interested in Trowley's
underhand behaviour to Dame Kingswell. As to his treachery toward
Kingswell, to tell the truth, she was very grateful to the old thief for
having sailed away and left her lover in the wilderness. Such thoughts
flitted pleasantly through her mind.
"When did you stake your heart?" she asked, as if that were the core of
the whole thing.
"I cannot tell you the date exactly," replied Kingswell, "but I was in
Pierre d'Antons' company at the time, and--and I was mightily surprised
to find Somersetshire people in this country. Lord, but your eyes were
bright."
"Do you mean that you--do you mean that it happened on the first day of
your arrival at the fort?" she queried.
"Surely," said he.
"And you loved me then?"
He nodded, smiling across toward the busy mariners in the rigging of his
ship. His memories of those perilous days were fragrant as an English
rose-garden.
"Do you know," she whispered, "that, though I felt sure I had made an
impression on you then, I began to doubt it later. You were so
self-satisfied that you shook my faith in my own powers to charm."
He laughed softly, and with a note of wonder. Then, for a little while,
they were silent.
"Tell me," she said, suddenly. "Did you really love me that first day
you came to the fort, or was it just--just surprise at seeing a--a
civilized girl in so forsaken a place?"
He considered the question gravely and at some length. "I wanted to
kill D'Antons," he answered, presently, "and I would gladly have given
ten years of my life for a kiss from your lips, a caress from your
hands. Was that love, think you?"
"I should call it a right hopeful beginning," she replied, brightly; but
tears which she could not explain shone in her eyes. Across the hurrying
water drifted the song of the men at work upon the tall masts of the
_Heart of the West_.
"In a week's time," said Kingswell, "she will fill her sails for St.
John's--and then for home."
The girl nestled closer to his side. Looking down, he saw that she was
weeping.
"God grant that we find a parson in that harbour," he added. She nodded,
and choked with a sob she could not stifle.
"Why do you weep, dearest?" he asked.
"For those whom we must leave behind," she whispered.
He had no answer to make to that. Together they looked beyond the
anchored ship and the bright river to the inscrutable wilderness that
held the fate of the mad baronet so securely.