THE WRECK
Hope once more sprang up in the hearts of those who had been so
sorely tried, when the storm continued with greal fury. The
electrical portion of the tempest appeared to have passed away,
leaving the raging wind and pelting rain to guard the settlers who
of a verity had descended into the very valley of the shadow of
death.
When it was understood that that which was at first supposed to be a
summer gale had developed into a furious northeast storm, giving no
token of subsiding, Mark said as he rose to his feet:
"When the rain first came it seemed as if my throat was parched dry
with thirst, and now that water is to be had in abundance, all hands
of us appear to have forgotten that we wanted a drink."
"We might catch some of the water that is finding its way through
the roof," Mistress Pemberton said as if such a possibility had
never occurred to her before.
"We can do better than that, mother dear. I'll go to the spring for
a full bucket, and when it has been strained we shall have what will
be an improvement on rainwater."
"But possibly some of the enemy may be lurking outside," Mistress
Harding said, becoming timorous once more, now that the imminent
danger had passed.
"Whoever has been out in the storm all this while will be harmless,
aunt, for his musket would be filled with something other than
powder," Mark replied with a laugh, and then he unbarred the door,
surprised to find that it was only with difficulty he could make
headway against the furious blasts.
So powerful was the wind that it became necessary for Susan and Luke
to unite their strength in order to close the door while Mark was
absent, and when he returned with a brimming bucket of discolored
water, the three had no little difficulty in putting the bars into
place again.
"It is the fiercest storm I ever saw!" Mark exclaimed as he dashed
the rain-drops from his face. "We'll pray that the _Future Hopes_ is
in a snug harbor, otherwise she will have to scud, for I don't
believe they could heave her to."
"Do you think there is any probability your father and uncle may be
out in this tempest?" Mistress Pemberton asked, more anxious now for
the safety of the absent ones then she previously had been
concerning herself.
"They are too good sailors, mother dear, to take many chances, and
we had fair warning of this storm. If we hadn't been in such sore
straits, there's no question but that we would have been prepared
for it. I noticed the clouds gathering, but at the time thought only
that it would be our misfortune, since we could not keep watch of
the Indians. Close-reefed, and with plenty of sea-room, the _Future
Hopes_ will ride out this gale without doing more harm to herself
than the straining of a seam, perhaps."
"The Frenchmen could not have had time to get their vessel under
way," Mistress Pemberton said as if thinking aloud, and Mark sprang
to his feet in excitement.
"Of course they couldn't, and it is well for them if they didn't
succeed in getting on board, for the craft never had been built that
can ride at anchor to the eastward of the brook while the wind is so
heavy. It would have been impossible to get under way, for she'd be
on the rocks before her nose could be brought around into the wind!"
"Do you suppose they are yet on the island?"
"I think, unless all hands are good sailors, that they'd try to get
on board, and that could have been done because the sea wouldn't
grow heavy in an instant."
Further speculation as to the fate of their foes was checked very
suddenly by what sounded like the groaning of a human being in
deepest distress, coming from one corner of the room in which they
were seated.
Instinctively the inmates of the dwelling clutched each other, for
it was impossible to see anything in that profound darkness, and
during many seconds no one spoke.
Then the dismal sound could be heard once more, and Mark, forcing
himself to beat down the fear which assailed him, said, with an
effort:
"Can you find one of the candles, mother? Some one here must be
dying. Where are the children?"
"Johnny and Jimmie are with me," Ellen said, and Mary added:
"I'm here with Luke."
"No one could have got inside without our knowing it," Mistress
Pemberton said, as she groped around for the scanty store of
candles, which were reserved for use on especial occasions.
Mark did not reply until his mother succeeded, after many fruitless
efforts, in striking a spark from the steel and flint on the tinder,
and as the feeble flame of the candle flickered and flared in the
wind which made its way through the crevices, the lad began to tear
away the barricade of household goods which had been thrown up to
screen the window.
"It is useless to search there," Mistress Pemberton said, quickly,
as if a sudden thought had come to her. "One of those whom you
wounded is lying outside, and we hear his moans because he is close
beside the building."
Mark was at the door in an instant, forgetting that he was hastening
to the succor of one who, a short hour previous, was bent on killing
him, and Susan seized the lad by the arm, as she said in a tone of
caution:
"It may be some trick to get you outside. Be careful what you do; we
have heard that the Indians often make use of such means to get a
victim in their clutches."
"I'll warrant there is no Indian living who could stay out in this
storm an hour or more, and then be able to do very much mischief,"
Mark replied as he unfastened the bar, waiting only long enough for
Luke and Susan to get hold of the door, lest it should be torn from
its hinges by the wind, before he darted out into the blackness.
A moment later it was possible to hear his voice, as if he spoke to
someone, and then all was still, save for the raging of the tempest,
until he cried from the outside:
"Open the door, youngsters. I've got a Frenchman here, who must be
very near death!"
Then, as Luke and Susan gave him admittance, he came staggering into
the room with an apparently lifeless body in his arms, while
Mistress Pemberton shielded the candle as best she might, lest the
wind extinguish the feeble flame.
Mark laid his burden on the bed, heeding not the fact that the water
was running from every angle of the stranger's garments.
Like Mark, the two women forgot that a bitter enemy was before them;
but with gentle care set about ministering to his wants, if, indeed
he would have any more in this world.
Now all the occupants of the dwelling were too much engrossed with
the work of saving the life which had so nearly been taken by one of
their number to be able to tell whether the storm was yet raging, or
if the morning had come.
In a very short time it was learned that the man lived, although how
he survived after being exposed to the fury of the tempest so long,
could not be understood. He had an ugly-looking wound in the thigh,
and another in the left breast; but Mistress Pemberton gave it as
her opinion that he was not mortally hurt.
"With good nursing, I doubt not but that he will live," she said, as
she dressed the wounds to the best of her ability. "But if he does,
what shall we do with him?"
"There is no need to answer that question now, mother dear," Mark
said, gently. "We'll try to pull him through, even if we have
already done our best to kill him, and then he'll know what it is to
have coals of fire heaped on his head; that is," he added, after a
brief pause, "if his comrades allow us to live long enough to do the
job."
A fire was built, tea of herbs made and administered to the
sufferer, and before morning came it was possible for him to speak.
He was sufficiently acquainted with the English language to make
them understand him, and his first words were expressive of surprise.
"Save when you attack us without cause, we have no desire for your
death," Mistress Pemberton replied. "Now you are no longer a
soldier, striving to do us grievous injury, but a suffering fellow
creature, and so long as it is in our power we will do whatsoever we
may toward giving you aid."
The wounded man turned his face away, as if ashamed to look the good
woman in the face, and after a time Mark questioned him as to how
the chanced to be so near the house.
From his story, told little by little because of the difficulty
experienced in talking, the facts were soon known.
He had been among the first to burst through the gate, and was not
wounded until when the last shot was fired. Then instinct prompted
him to gain a shelter under the wall of the building, where it would
not be possible for those on the inside to see him, immediately
after which he lost consciousness. During a long while he remained
as if dead, and it is probable that the deluge of rain served to
revive him after a time; but he was ignorant of having made any
outcry. He remembered of realizing that he was alone, exposed to
the storm, and the next knowledge was that the women were striving
to nurse him back to life.
[Illustration: The next knowledge was that the women were trying to
nurse him back to life.]
It was morning before the inmates of the dwelling gave much heed to
anything save the wounded soldier, and then Mark, after cautioning
the remainder of the family to stay inside the dwelling unless they
heard his cry for help, ventured out into the tempest, which
continued with but little decrease of violence.
The sun had not yet risen, and it the gray light of early dawn it
was not possible to distinguish objects at any great distance. He
had, in the immediate vicinity of the stockade, however, good proof
of the violence with which the storm raged.
A portion of the palisade itself had been overthrown, leaving an
opening through which the entire force of the enemy might have
marched shoulder to shoulder. Trees were uprooted; the small boat,
which had been drawn beyond reach of the tide, was now within ten
feet of the battered gate, having been carried there by the wind.
That the buildings within the stockade remained un-injured was due,
doubtless, to the thicket in the rear which served to shield them
from the full fury of the elements.
Turn where he might, the same scene of devastation met his gaze, and
he understood that if any of the Frenchmen remained on the island
they would be powerless to depart, for their vessel could not have
outlived the night.
The wind was yet so violent that only with difficulty could he make
his way from one point to another, and the rain beat upon his face
until it became necessary to shield his eyes in order to see
anything twenty paces distant; but he struggled against the
elements, making his way along the shore toward the place where the
Frenchmen's schooner had been moored.
The vessel no longer remained at her anchorage, nor did he expect to
see her there; but he was not quite prepared for that which met his
gaze when he was where a view of the most northerly point of the
harbor island could be had.
Between where he stood and the opposite shore was the hull of the
schooner, keel uppermost, tossing on the short waves, now completely
submerged, and again rising high in the air until the greater
portion of the planking could be seen. Clinging to this restless
wreck were six or eight human beings, and on the beach at his feet
lay the bodies of two men who had been beaten down to death during
the conflict of the elements.
After watching for several moments the plunging, rolling remnant of
what had been a seagoing vessel, fitted to withstand almost any
buffeting of wave or wind, Mark became convinced that the wreck was
moored in some fashion, and then it was possible to guess very
nearly how the disaster had occurred.
It seemed probable that when the first of the Frenchmen gained the
schooner's deck, after the fury of the tempest had forced them to
retreat from the stockade, the wild tossing of the craft as the
waves were beginning to rise induced them to let go every anchor on
board, under the belief that she could be held at moorings until the
storm had subsided sufficiently to admit of her clawing away from
the shore.
[Illustration: He gazed at the struggling wretches on the bottom of
the wreck.]
When the tempest was at its height, and after the attacking party
had succeeded in getting on board, the little craft must have been
literally blown down, until the water, rushing into the open
hatches, had caused her to completely upset.
The wounded, and all others who were in the cabin, must have been
drowned offhand, and that some of those who tried to save themselves
by clinging to the hulk had suffered a like fate could be told by
the lifeless bodies at Mark's feet.
Aid had come to the defenders of the island on the wings of the
tempest; and at the very time when it seemed as if all hope of
succor was vain, the enemy had been overcome by "Him who holdeth the
waters in the hollow of His hand."
As he gazed at the struggling wretches on the bottom of the wreck,
some of whom waved their hands feebly, as if nearly exhausted and
imploring him to help them, Mark forgot that but a few hours
previous these same men had been thirsting for his blood, and
thought only that they were in sore need of his assistance.
He ran with all speed to the stockade, shouting as he approached,
and when the women and children hastened outside, believing him to
be in distress, he hurriedly told of what he had seen.
"Of all those who made the attack, I am satisfied that only the men
on the hulk remain alive. It is for us to help them if we can. There
should be enough of us here to drag our boat to the water, and Luke
and I will see what can be done in the way of life-saving."
Sorely beset though they had been, no one thought at that moment of
the suffering which had been endured because of these men who were
now so near death; but all, even the youngest children, laid hold of
the boat to launch her.
It was no slight task to drag the craft, small though she was, over
the sand to the water's edge; but the task was finally accomplished,
and then many moments were spent trying to find the oars, which had
been blown out of the boat during such time as the tempest forced
her upon the shore.
A full half-hour must have elapsed from the moment Mark discovered
the wreck until he and his brother were ready to set off on their
mission of mercy, and then it was an open question as to whether
they would succeed in the battle against the boisterous waves.
The members of both families stood near the water's edge, regardless
of the furious storm which was raging, as they watched with anxious
eyes the efforts of the lads. They had set out to save lives; but
very many times did it seem as if their own must of a certainty be
sacrificed.
Fortunately they were partially sheltered from the wind by the
harbor island, otherwise the task could never have been
accomplished, and not until both the lads were well-nigh exhausted
did they arrive at the plunging hulk.
Now it was that the most dangerous portion of the work must be
performed. Only at imminent risk of swamping the small boat could
she be taken sufficiently near the wreck to permit of a rescue, and
then it was necessary to handle her with the utmost skill, otherwise
she would have been stove to kindling against the side of the hulk.
When the boat came close at hand, all the Frenchmen gathered at one
point, as if counting on leaping aboard at the same moment, and
Mark shouted, peremptorily:
"You'll swamp us if more than one comes at a time. Lay back there
you fellows who are the strongest, and help the weakest first!"
Then they quarreled among themselves, each insisting that he was in
the greatest need of help, and Mark, finally becoming impatient,
cried, sternly:
"If you can't come aboard like decent people, we'll leave the whole
boiling of you to get along as may be possible."
"There is not one of us who can cling to this wreck half an hour
longer," a man cried, piteously. "Already five have been washed away
and drowned."
"Two of you take hold and send aboard that fellow who is lying
across the keel. He seems to be in the worst shape. Stand back!"
the lad added, as four men made ready to seize the small boat at
the first opportunity. "If you come in other order than I give the
word, I'll leave all hands."
By dint of scolding, pulling the boat forward or back as the waves
threatened, and otherwise handling his small craft in a sailorly
fashion, Mark succeeded in getting four of the men aboard, leaving
three to be rescued later.
The boat would carry no more of a load than she then had, while the
storm was so furious, and the lads pulled shoreward, aided greatly,
when going in this direction, by the wind.
The members of both families gathered on the beach near about where
a landing would be made, and when the shipwrecked men had been set
ashore they were helped toward the stockade by the women and
children, for the Frenchmen were so nearly exhausted that it was
impossible to walk unaided.
Then Mark and Luke started on the second journey, battling quite as
desperately as before, and the day was fully half-spent when they
brought the last of the survivors ashore.
It was not until the seven Frenchmen were being cared for in the
apartment of the Pemberton house where the wounded soldier lay, that
the lad began to realize the possible danger. These eight men, after
having recovered, might easily take possession of the stockade, and
Mark was inclined to believe that people who were willing to make
war on women and children, could not be trusted to play a manly part
even toward those who had saved them from death.
"What shall we do with them all?" Susan asked, as she came out of
the house, which had much the appearance of a hospital, to where
Mark stood studying the matter seriously.
"It has just come into my mind that we might herd them in your
father's house. The greater portion of the things have been taken
from there, and we can arrange it to bar the doors and shutters on
the outside."
"Are you counting on holding them as prisoners?" Susan asked, in
surprise.
"That is the only way we may be certain of a crew like that. After
all that has happened, I wouldn't believe in any promises that might
be made, and they shall be guarded like so many wildcats."
"Every one of whom appears to be grateful."
"Ay, I suppose they are now, before having recovered; but it may be
a different matter, once they're in good shape."
"Do you believe there can be any on the harbor island?"
"I'm satisfied there are no others alive out of all the crew of
French and Indians. Luke and I counted on burying the bodies which
have been washed ashore, and while we are at that work you had
better gather up all the muskets and ammunition, hiding the lot in
the stable until we have the men secured."
Then, calling his brother, Mark set off toward the beach to perform
the last rites over those who had lost their lives while trying to
commit murder most foul, and, that having been done, the two lads
began transforming the Harding house into a prison, which last was
done by fastening all the shutters and one of the doors on the
outside. The other door was to be barred in such a manner that it
could be readily opened by those who were charged with the care of
the Frenchmen.
These tasks were not completed until nightfall, and then Mark told
the rescued party exactly what it was his purpose to do, explaining
that he was not ready to believe in any protestations they might
make.
"You must be held prisoners until our fathers return, and it is to
be remembered that if we find one of you attempting to leave the
building, which will be given over to your use, we shall shoot him
down without the slightest feeling of pity or remorse."
The men swore most solemnly that they would obey every command which
might be given by those who had saved them from death, and Mark,
armed with a loaded musket, lost no time in escorting them to the
Harding house.
It was his intention to have them closely guarded during every hour
of the day and night, and to such end Luke was stationed at the
front of the building, where, through a crevice which had been made
between the logs by Mark, he could keep his charges in view.
Mistress Pemberton would not consent to having the wounded man
removed with the others. He was given a bed in one corner of the
room, after the furniture piled up as a barricade had been put in
place, and Mary and Ellen were instructed to watch him, not with the
idea that he might try to escape, but because his condition was
such, owing to the wounds and subsequent exposure, that the most
careful nursing and attention was needed.
The storm subsided at sunset; the clouds disappeared, and the first
night after the besieged were turned jailers was as calm and
peaceful as if the harmony of nature had never been disturbed by the
clash of arms.
Luke remained on duty until about ten o'clock in the evening, when
Susan took his place, and shortly after midnight Mark took his turn
at guarding the prisoners.
The Frenchmen had shown no signs of a disposition to do other than
as they were commanded; but Mark would not put faith in them, and
kept his watch as if knowing they had already formed a plan for
capturing those who succored them.
The lad paced to and fro in front of the dwelling, looking in upon
the men every five minutes, until a new day had come, and then as he
gazed across the waters watching for the sun to rise, he saw the
dingy canvas of the _Future Hopes_, glistening like silver in the
early light.
The fresh breeze was bearing the little vessel swiftly on, and
before any inmate of the Pemberton house was astir, she swung to her
anchor close inside the harbor, while the two men listened to the
story which Mark had to tell.
The fishermen had not been able to gain a shelter when the storm
burst upon them, therefore the _Future Hopes_ scudded before the
wind during the four and twenty hours, which explained why she had
arrived so much sooner than had been expected.
It would be a labor of love to follow the fortunes of these two
families who, in 1758, defended the Island of Mount Desert so
bravely against the combined attacks of French and Indians; but
historians make no further mention of them, after setting forth in
the fewest possible words their deeds, therefore this tale must
perforce come to an end.
We do know, however, from the records of Pemaquid, that Masters
Pemberton and Harding carried to the fort eight Frenchmen as
prisoners, and that the authorities of Massachusetts took them in
charge several weeks later.
It is also known that in 1769 one Mark Pemberton, with his wife
Susan, settled on Penobscot Bay near where the town of Camden now
stands, and it is reasonable to infer that this man was the same
who, aided by Susan Harding, so bravely defended the island.
THE END.
[Transcriber's Notes:]
Here are all the misspelled words, odd usages and other things of
note that I have found.
The word "defence", as it is spelled throughout, is time period
spelling.
1. This paragraph is accurate to the book. It could read like this:
"...otherwise the defences would not be being strengthened when the
boys should have been making ready...".
2. The words "any one" appear to be time period usage. It is used
twice.
3. The original does use the word "then" though it should probably
be "when": "...relieved from guard duty, and when the gate had been
closed..."
4. The original does use the word "and": "...the gate was barred on
the inside, and Mary Pemberton standing close beside it..."
5. The original does use the word "prosecute". I
suspect it is just time period usage. "...in position to prosecute
their murderous work."
6. This paragraph is accurate to the book: "...there's no show of
our being able to do anything here..."
7. The second "e" in the word "reechoed" is a small letter "e" with
diaeresis.
8. The word "of" appears to be time period usage: "...uncle heard
from those aboard of the last vessel...".
9. The word "resentiments" appears to be a misprint of
"resentments". "...gave vent to their resentiments and rage..."
10. The words "some one" appear to be time period usage.
11. The second "e" in the word "reentered" is a small letter "e"
with diaeresis. It is also used in the title of the 13th
illustration.
12. This paragraph is accurate to the book: "...shake the very
earth, and on the moment rain fell in torrents..."
13. The word "greal" appears to be a misprint for "great": "...the
storm continued with greal fury."
14. The words "some one" appear to be time period usage.
15. The word "of" appears to be time period usage: "...to permit of
a rescue..."
[End of Transcriber's Notes.]