The _Osprey_, of Plymouth
It must have been a good two hours that I slept. I woke with a start,
with a sense of some duty left undone. I was in an awkward position,
half on my side amid stones and underbrush, my arms clasping the bundle
of herbage which I had meant for Mizpah's pillow. The daylight was
fairly established, blue and cold, though the sun was not yet visible.
The gale hummed shrilly as ever, the huge waves thundered on the
trembling beach, and all seaward was such a white and purple hell of
raving waters that I shuddered at the sight of it. Mizpah was still
sleeping. As I looked at her the desire for sleep came over me again
with deadly strength, but I resisted it, rushing down to the edge of
the surf, and facing a chill buffet of driven spume. I took another
glance at the canoe. It was past mending. The two muskets were there,
but everything else was gone, washed away, or ground upon the rocks.
After much searching, however, to my delight I found a battered roll of
bacon wedged into a cleft. Pouncing upon this, I bore it in triumph to
Mizpah.
"Wake up, comrade," I cried, shaking her softly. "We must be getting
away."
The poor girl roused herself with difficulty, and sat up. When she
tried to stand, she toppled over, and would have fallen if I had not
caught her by the arms. It was some minutes before she could control
the stiffness of her limbs. At last the whipping of the wind somewhat
revived her, and sitting down upon a rock she looked about with a face
of hopeless misery.
"Eat a little," said I, gently, "for we must get away from here at
once, lest our enemies come over the hills to look for us."
But she pushed aside the untempting, sodden food which I held out to
her.
"Whither shall we go?" she asked heavily. "The canoe is wrecked. How
can we find my boy? Oh, I wish I could die!"
Poor girl! my heart ached for her. I knew how her utter and terrible
exhaustion had at last sapped that marvellous courage of hers; but I
felt that roughness would be her best tonic, though it was far indeed
from my heart to speak to her roughly.
"Shame!" said I, in a voice of stern rebuke. "Have you struggled and
endured so long, to give up now? Will you leave Philip to the savages
because a canoe is broken? Where is your boasted courage? Why, we
will walk, instead of paddling. Come at once."
Even this rebuke but half aroused her. "I'm so thirsty," she said,
looking around with heavy eyes. By good Providence, there was a
slender stream trickling in at this point, and I led her to it. While
she drank and bathed her face, I grubbed in the long grasses growing
beside the stream, and found a handful of those tuberous roots which
the Indians call ground-nuts. These I made her eat, after which she
was able to endure a little of the salt bacon. Presently, she became
more like herself, and began to grieve at the weakness which she had
just shown. Her humiliation was so deep that I had much ado to comfort
her, telling her again and again that she was not responsible for what
she had said when she was yet but half awake, and in the bonds of a
weariness which would have killed most women. I told her, which was
nothing less than true, that I held her for the bravest of women, and
that no man could have supported me better than she had done.
We pushed our way straight over the height of land which runs seaward
and ends in Cape Merigomish. Our way lay through a steep but pleasant
woodland, and by the time the sun was an hour high we had walked off
much of our fatigue. The tree tops rocked and creaked high above us,
but where we walked the wind troubled us not.
"Where are we going?" asked Mizpah, by and by--somewhat tremulously for
she still had in mind my censure.
"Why, comrade," said I, in a cheerful, careless manner of speech, a
thousand miles away from the devotion in my heart,--"my purpose is to
push straight along the coast to Canseau. There we will find a few of
your country-folk, fishermen mostly, and from them we will get a boat
to carry us up the Bras d'Or."
"But what will become of Philip, all this time?" she questioned, with
haggard eyes.
"As a matter of fact," I answered, "I don't think we will lose much
time, after all. If we still had the canoe, we would be storm-bound in
the bay back there till the wind changes or subsides--and it may be
days before it does the one or the other. As it is, the worst that has
befallen us is the loss of our ammunition and our bread. But we will
make shift to live, belike, till we reach Canseau."
"Oh, Monsieur," she cried, in answer, with a great emotion in her
voice, "you give me hope when my despair is blackest. You seem to me
more generous, more brave, more strong, than I had dreamed the greatest
could be. What makes you so good to an unhappy mother, so faithfully
devoted to a poor baby whom you have never seen?"
"Tut, tut!" said I, roughly; "I but do as any proper minded man would
do that had the right skill and the fitting opportunity. Thank Marc!"
But I might have told her more if I had let my heart speak truth.
"I know whom to thank, and all my life long will I pray Heaven to bless
that one!" said Mizpah.
Thus talking by the way, but most of the way silent, we came at length
over Merigomish and down to the sea again, fetching the shore at the
head of a second bay. This was all in a smother and a roar, like that
we had just left behind. As we rounded the head of it, we came upon a
little sheltered creek, and there, safe out of the gale, lay a small
New England fishing schooner. I knew her by the build for a New
Englander, before I saw the words OSPREY, PLYMOUTH, painted in red
letters on her stern.
"Here is fortune indeed!" said I, while a cry of gladness sprang to
Mizpah's lips. "I'll charter the craft to take us up the Bras d'Or."
The little ship lay in a very pleasant idleness. The small haven was
full of sun, the green, wooded hills sloping softly down about it and
shutting off all winds. The water heaved and rocked; but smoothly,
stirred by the yeasty tumult that roared past the narrow entrance. The
clamour of the surf outside made the calm within the more excellent.
Several gray figures of the crew lay sprawling about the deck, which we
could see very well, by reason of the steepness of the shore on which
we stood. In the waist was a gaunt, brown-faced man, with a scant,
reddish beard, a nose astonishingly long and sharp, and a blue woollen
cap on the back of his head. He stood leaning upon the rail watching
us, and spitting contemplatively into the water from time to time.
We climbed down to the beach beside the schooner, and I spoke to the
man in English.
"Are you the captain?" I asked civilly.
"They do say I be," he answered in a thin, high, sing-song of a voice.
"Captain Ezra Bean, Schooner _Osprey_, of Plymouth, at your sarvice."
And he waved his hand with a spacious air.
I bowed with ceremony. "And I am your very humble servant," said I,
"the Sieur de Briart, of Canard by Grand Pre. We were on our way to
Canseau, but have lost our canoe and stores in the gale. We are bold
to hope, Captain, that you will sell us some bread, as also some powder
and bullets. We did not lose our little money, Heaven be praised!"
Knowing these New Englanders to be greedy of gain, but highly honest, I
made no scruple of admitting that we had money about us.
"Come right aboard, good sirs!" said the captain; and in half a minute
the gig, which floated at the stern, was thrust around to us, and we
clambered to the deck of the _Osprey_, where crew and captain, five in
all, gathered about us without ceremony. The captain, I could see at
once, was just one of themselves, obeyed when he gave orders, but
standing in no sort of formal aloofness. Cold salt beef, and biscuit
and cheese, and tea, were soon set before us, and as we made a hasty
meal they all hung about us and talked, as if we had been in one of
their home kitchens on Massachusetts Bay. As for Mizpah, who felt
little at ease in playing her man's part, she spoke only in French, and
made as if she knew no word of English. Captain Ezra Bean had some
French, but no facility in it, and a pronunciation that was beyond
measure execrable.
But at last, being convinced that they were honest fellows, I spoke of
chartering the _Osprey_, and in explanation told the main part of our
story, representing Mizpah as a youth of Canard. But, alas, I had not
read my men aright. Honest they were, and exceeding eager to turn an
honest penny,--but they had not the stomach for fighting. When they
found that a war party of Micmacs was in chase of us, they fell into a
great consternation, and insisted on our instant departure.
At this I was all taken aback, for I had ever found the men of New
England as diligent in war as in trade. But these fellows were in a
shaking terror for their lives and for their ship.
"Why, gentlemen," I said, in a heat, "here are seven of us, well armed!
We will make short work of the red rascals, if they are so foolhardy as
to attack us."
But no! They would hear none of it.
"It's no quarrel of mine!" cried Captain Ezra Bean, in his high
sing-song, but in a great hurry. "My dooty's to my ship. There's been
many of our craft fell afoul of these here savages, and come to grief.
We're fast right here till the wind changes, and we'll just speak the
redskins fair if they come nigh us, an' there ain't goin' to be no
trouble. But you must go your ways, gentlemen, begging your pardon;
and no ill will, I hope!" And the boat being hauled around for us,
they all made haste to bid us farewell.
Mizpah, with a flushed face, stepped in at once; but I hung back a
little, sick with their cowardly folly.
"At least," said I, angrily, "you must sell me a sack of bread, and
some powder and ball. Till I get them I swear I will not go."
"Sartinly!" sing-songed the captain; and in a twinkling the supplies
were in the boat. "Now go, and God speed ye!"
I slipped a piece of gold into his hand, and was off. But frightened
as he was, he was honest, and in half a minute he called me back.
"Here is your silver," came the queer, high voice over the rail. "You
have overpaid me three times," and I saw his long arm reaching out to
me.
"Keep it," I snapped. "We are in more haste to be gone than you to get
rid of us."
In five minutes more the woods enfolded us, and the little _Osprey_ was
hid from our view. I walked violently in my wrathful disappointment,
till at last Mizpah checked me. "If the good soldier," said she,
"might advise his captain, which would be, of course, intolerable, I
would dare to remind you of what you have said to me more than once
lately. Is not this pace too hot to last, Monsieur?" And stopping,
she leaned heavily on her musket.
"Forgive me," I exclaimed, flinging myself down on the moss. "And what
a fool I am to be angry, too, just because those poor bumpkins wouldn't
take up our quarrel."
The look of gratitude which Mizpah gave me for that little phrase, "our
quarrel," made my heart on a sudden strong and light. Presently we
resumed our journey, going moderately, and keeping enough inland to
avoid the windings of the coast. The little _Osprey_ we never saw
again; but months later, when it came to my ears that a fishing vessel
of Plymouth had been taken by the Indians that autumn while
storm-stayed at Merigomish, and her crew all slain, I felt a qualm of
pity for the poor lads whose selfish fears had so misguided them.