The Crew of the Water Wagtail

One day, some time after leaving Hendrick’s camp on the great lake, Captain Trench and his son, with Paul Burns and the hunter, halted to rest on the summit of a cliff from which they could obtain a magnificent view of the country lying beyond.

They had by that time passed over the rich grassland with its park-like plains, its lakes and streams and belts of woodland, and had entered upon that mountainous region which lies towards the southwesterly portion of the island.

“Hendrick,” said Paul, as he gazed with admiration on the wild scene before him, “I have now seen enough to know that this land is most suitable for the abode of man. The soil is admirable; the woods contain magnificent timber; fish, flesh, and fowl are plentiful; coal exists in, I should think, extensive fields, while there are indications in many places of great mineral wealth, especially copper. Besides this, the land, you tell me, is pierced by innumerable bays, inlets, fords, and natural harbours; and, to crown all, the climate, except on some parts of the coast, is exceedingly good. Now it seems to me that these facts ought to be made known in England, and that our King should not only take possession, but should send out colonists to settle all over this island and develop its resources. If permitted, it will be my part to finish this exploration and carry home the news.”

Hendrick did not reply for a few minutes, then a faint sigh escaped him as he replied—

“No doubt what you say is just, and I doubt not that these plains and hills will one day resound with the activities of civilised life: the plough will obliterate the deer-tracks, the axe will lay low the forests, and the lowing of cattle and the bark of dogs will replace the trumpeting of the wild-goose and the cry of plover; but when the change begins to come, I will strike my tent and go to the great unknown lands of the west, for I cannot bear the clatter and the strife of men.”

Paul was about to reply, when an arrow whizzed through the air, pierced the sleeve of his coat, scratched his left arm slightly as it passed, and quivered in a tree behind them.

Leaping up, each member of the party sprang for shelter behind a neighbouring tree.

At the same moment there arose a terrible cry, as of men rushing to attack each other. The form of the ground prevented our travellers from seeing the combatants, though the sound of their strife proved them to be close at hand. Suddenly Hendrick left the tree behind which he had taken shelter, and, running towards a precipitous bank or cliff, called to his companions to follow. They obeyed at once.

“I fear,” he said, as Paul ran up alongside of him, “that I know the meaning of this. Some of the voices sound familiar to me. That arrow was not, I think, discharged at us. We shall be wanted here. May I count on you?”

“You may,” said Paul. “I cannot doubt that your cause must be a just one.”

“I’m with you!” exclaimed Master Trench, plucking the hatchet from his son’s belt—a weapon that the youngster could well spare, as the bludgeon and the bow were still left to him.

Hendrick had spoken in quick, sharp tones, for he was evidently much excited. On reaching the crest of a rising ground he looked cautiously over it.

“As I thought!” he said; “my wife’s relations are attacked by savages from Labrador. Come, follow me!”

He ran swiftly round the base of the rising ground, not giving his comrades time even to see the combatants to whom he referred.

Suddenly they came in full sight of perhaps the most terrible sight that our fallen world can present—two bands of armed men, mad with rage, engaged in the fiendish work of butchering each other.

In the immediate foreground two powerful Indians were struggling each to plant a short spear in the other’s heart. One, who was shorter than the other but equally powerful, was making a desperate effort to wrench his right hand from his foe’s grasp, and another foe was on the point of stabbing the short man in the back, when the white men appeared on the scene. Paul, the captain, and Oliver, although ready with arrow and bolt hesitated, for they knew not which to regard as foes, and which as friends. No such difficulty, however, interfered with Hendrick, who sent an arrow into the brain of the savage who meant to strike from behind. At the same instant the short warrior succeeded in his effort; his spear flashed upwards, and the next moment his tall enemy fell to rise no more.

Hendrick, who seemed to have been transformed into a human tiger, rushed to the attack with a shout and a display of fury that for a moment arrested the fight. The short Indian, whose life he had just saved, bestowed on him and his companions one look of surprise, and joined him in the rush. Captain Trench, whose combative tendencies were easily aroused, joined them with a roar which was somewhat intensified by the fact that he was still a little uncertain as to which was “the enemy.” Oliver relieved his overcharged bosom by an involuntary shriek or howl, that rose high and shrill above the tumult, as he followed suit, whirling his bludgeon with some difficulty round his head.

The combined effect of all this was to strike terror into the enemy who, turning short round, fled precipitately, and were followed for a considerable distance by some of the victorious Indians.

On returning from the pursuit, Hendrick introduced the short Indian as his wife’s cousin, who, with a party of hunters, had been out for a supply of fresh meat when attacked by the Labrador savages.

“It is an old feud,” remarked Hendrick, as he and Paul sat a little apart that evening, while their comrades assisted the Indians to prepare supper; “an old feud. Oh! war—war! There is no place of rest from it, I fear, in this world.”

The hunter’s tone was so sad that Paul looked at him inquiringly.

“You are surprised,” said his companion, “that I should long thus for escape from the warring passions of men, but if you knew what reason I have for hating war, you would not wonder. Listen! Many years ago I went with my wife and child to visit a kinsman in the Scottish Highlands. I need scarcely tell you that it was not my present wife and child. She was young, fair, faultless in person and disposition. Our little daughter resembled her in all respects. There chanced to be a miserable feud existing between my relative and a neighbouring chief. It originated in some disputed boundary, and always smouldered, like a subdued volcano, but occasionally broke forth in open warfare. At the time of my visit my kinsman, who was a bachelor, had gone to transact some business at a town not far distant, leaving a message for me to follow him as he required my assistance in some family arrangements, and meant to return home the same night. I went, leaving my wife and child in the castle. That very night my kinsman’s foe—knowing nothing of my arrival—came to the castle, took the small body of defenders by surprise, overcame them, and set the place on fire. Fiendish and revengeful though the marauders were, I believe they would not wantonly have murdered the helpless ones, had they known of their being in the place, but they knew it not until too late.

“When we returned that night the castle was a black smoking ruin, and my wife and little one had perished! Can you wonder that I fled from the horrible spot; that I left my native land for ever; and that I shudder at the very thought of strife?”

“Nay, brother, I wonder not,” said Paul, in a sympathetic tone; “but I fear there is no region on the face of this earth where the terrible war-spirit, or, rather, war-fiend, is not alive.”

“Why, the man whose life I took this very day,” resumed Hendrick, clenching his right hand almost fiercely, “has doubtless left a woman at home who is now a widow, and it may be children, whom I have rendered fatherless! No rest—no rest anywhere from this constant slaying of our fellow-men; yet I was forced to do it to save the life of my wife’s kinsman! Oh! is there no deliverance, no hope for this poor world?”

“Hendrick,” said Paul, laying his hand impressively on his friend’s arm, “there is deliverance—there is hope. See here.”

He pulled out the manuscript Gospel as he spoke, and turning over the well-thumbed leaves, read the words—

“‘Jesus saith… A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another… Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In My Father’s house are many mansions.’ Hendrick, this same Jesus, who is Immanuel, God with us, has said, ‘Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ ‘Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.’ These latter words are not here, but they are in other scriptures which I have often heard read.”

“But how shall I know,” said the hunter earnestly, “that these words are true—that they are the words of God?”

For some time Paul made no reply, then suddenly, to the surprise of his friend, he looked upwards, and, in a low voice, said—

“O Holy Spirit of God, convince my friend that these words are Thine,—in Jesus’ name!”

Then, turning to the hunter, he continued: “Come, let us examine this writing together.”

“Something of this have I heard before,” said Hendrick, “and, as I thirst for light and truth, I will gladly examine it with you.”

Need we say that those two earnest men were soon engrossed in the study of the Word, and that the interruption of the evening meal did not prevent them from afterwards poring over the manuscript far into the night by the light of the camp-fire. Hendrick was well able to do so, for, like Paul, he had received a better education than fell to the lot of most men in those days.

At first Captain Trench and his son had listened to the conversation and discussion of the students with much interest and the sturdy matter-of-fact mariner even ventured to put one or two puzzling questions to them; but by degrees their interest flagged, and at last taking example by the Indians, they rolled themselves in deerskin robes and sought repose.

Continuing their journey next day, they were about to part from their Indian friends on the mountain ridge, from which a view of the Western ocean could be obtained, when they observed a band of Indians in the far distance travelling eastward.

“On the war-path!” suggested Hendrick.

After a prolonged gaze the kinsman of Trueheart came to the same conclusion, and said he felt sure that they were not from Labrador, but were evidently men of the Island.

“Can you guess what they are going to do?” asked Hendrick.

The Indian shook his head solemnly. “No, he did not know—he could not guess, and as they were separated by some miles of valleys, precipices, and mountain gorges, there was no possibility of finding out.”

After some time spent in speculation and guessing as to the intention of the war party, our explorers, bidding farewell to their red friends, proceeded on their journey, while the latter diverged to the southward, and continued their hunt after fresh meat.

If Paul Burns and his friends had known the purpose of the warriors whom they had just seen, it is probable that they might not have slept quite as soundly as they did that night under the greenwood trees.

Chapter Thirteen.

Unlooked-for Interruptions and Difficulties

No elaborate dissertation is needed to prove that we are ignorant of what the morrow may bring forth, and that the best-laid plans of men are at all times subject to dislocation. It is sufficient here to state that immediately after parting from the Indians, Paul Burns and Captain Trench had their plans and hopes, in regard to exploration, overturned in a sudden and effective though exceedingly simple manner.

On the evening of the day on which their travels were resumed they halted sooner than usual in order to have time to form their camp with some care, for the weather had suddenly become cold, and that night seemed particularly threatening.

Accordingly they selected a spot surrounded by dense bushes, canopied by the branches of a wide-spreading fir-tree, and backed by a precipitous cliff, which afforded complete shelter from a sharp nor’-west gale that was blowing at the time. In this calm retreat they erected a rough-and-ready wall of birch-bark and branches, which enclosed them on all sides except one, where a glorious fire was kindled—a fire that would have roasted anything from a tom-tit to an ox, and the roaring flames of which had to be occasionally subdued lest they should roast the whole encampment.

There, saturated, so to speak, with ruddy light and warmth, they revelled in the enjoyment of a hearty meal and social intercourse until the claims of tired Nature subdued Captain Trench and Oliver, leaving Paul and Hendrick to resume their eager and sometimes argumentative perusal of the Gospel according to John.

At last, they also succumbed to the irresistible influences of Nature, and lay down beside their fellows. Then it was that Nature—as if she had only waited for the opportunity—began to unfold her “little game” for overturning the sleepers’ plans. She quietly opened her storehouse of northern clouds, and silently dropped upon them a heavy shower of snow.

It was early in the season for such a shower, consequently the flakes were large. Had the cold been excessive the flakes would have been small. As it was, they covered the landscape by imperceptible but rapid degrees until everything turned from ghostly grey to ghastly white, which had the effect of lighting, somehow, the darkness of the night.

But in the midst of the effective though silent transformation the camp of our explorers remained unchanged; and the dying embers of the slowly sinking fire continued to cast their dull red glow on the recumbent forms which were thoroughly protected by the spreading fir-tree.

By degrees the morning light began to flow over the dreary scene, and at length it had the effect of rousing Oliver Trench from slumber. With the innate laziness of youth the lad turned on his other side, and was about to settle down to a further spell of sleep when he chanced to wink. That wink sufficed to reveal something that induced another wink, then a stare, then a start into a sitting posture, a rubbing of the eyes, an opening of the mouth, and a succession of exclamations, of which “Oh! hallo! I say!” and “Hi-i-i-i!” were among the least impressive.

Of course every one started up and made a sudden grasp at weapons, for the memory of the recent fight was still fresh.

“Winter!” exclaimed Paul and the captain, in the same breath.

“Not quite so bad as that,” remarked Hendrick, as he stepped out into the snow and began to look round him with an anxious expression; “but it may, nevertheless, put an end to your explorations if the snow continues.”

“Never a bit on’t, man!” exclaimed the captain promptly. “What! d’ye think we are to be frightened by a sprinkling of snow?”

To this Hendrick replied only with a gentle smile, as he returned and set about blowing up the embers of the fire which were still smouldering.

“There is more than a sprinkling, Master Trench,” observed Paul, as he began to overhaul the remnants of last night’s supper; “but I confess it would be greatly against the grain were we to be beaten at this point in our travels. Let us hope that the storm won’t last.”

“Anyhow we can go on till we can’t, daddy,” said Oliver, with a tremendous yawn and stretch.

“Well said, my son; as you once truly remarked, you are a chip of the ancient log.”

“Just so, daddy. Don’t quite finish that marrow bone; I want some of it.”

“There, you young rascal, I leave you the lion’s share,” returned the captain, throwing the bone in question to his son. “But now, Hendrick, what d’ye really think o’ this state of things? Shall we be forced to give in an’ ’bout ship?”

“No one can tell,” answered the hunter. “If the snow stops and the weather gets warm, all will be well. If not, it will be useless to continue our journeying till winter fairly sets in, and the snow becomes deep, and the rivers and lakes are frozen. In which case you must come and stay with me in my island home.”

“You are very good, Hendrick; but don’t let us talk of givin’ up till the masts go by the board. We will carry all sail till then,” said the captain, rather gloomily, for he felt that the hunter knew best.

This first snowfall occurred about the middle of October; there was, therefore, some reasonable prospect that it might melt under an improved state of the weather, and there was also the possibility of the fall ceasing, and still permitting them to advance.

Under the impulse of hope derived from these considerations, they set forth once more to the westward.

The prospect in that direction, however, was not cheering. Mountain succeeded mountain in irregular succession, rugged and bleak—the dark precipices and sombre pine-woods looking blacker by contrast with the newly-fallen snow. Some of the hills were wooded to their summits; others, bristling and castellated in outline, afforded no hold to the roots of trees, and stood out in naked sterility. Everywhere the land seemed to have put on its winter garb, and all day, as they advanced, snow continued to fall at intervals, so that wading through it became an exhausting labour, and Oliver’s immature frame began to suffer, though his brave spirit forbade him to complain.

That night there came another heavy fall, and when they awoke next morning it was found that the country was buried under a carpet of snow full three feet deep.

“Do you admit now, Master Trench, that the masts have gone by the board,” asked Paul, “and that it is impossible to carry sail any longer?”

“I admit nothing,” returned the captain grumpily.

“That’s right, daddy, never give in!” cried Oliver; “but what has Master Hendrick got to say to it?”

“We must turn in our tracks!” said the hunter gravely, “and make for home.”

“Home, indeed!” murmured the captain, whose mind naturally flew back to old England. “If we are to get to any sort of home at all, the sooner we set about making sail for it the better.”

There was something in the captain’s remark, as well as in his tone, which caused a slight flush on Hendrick’s brow, but he let no expression of feeling escape him. He only said—

“You are right, Captain Trench. We must set off with the least possible delay. Will you and your son start off in advance to get something fresh for breakfast while Master Paul and I remain to pack up and bring on our camp equipage? Hunters, you know, should travel light—we will do the heavy work for you.”

The captain was surprised, but replied at once—

“Most gladly, Master Hendrick, will I do your bidding; but as we don’t know what course to steer, won’t we be apt to go astray?”

“There is no fear of that, captain. See you yonder bluff with the bush on the top of it?”

“Where away, Master Hendrick? D’ye mean the one lyin’ to wind’ard o’ that cliff shaped like the side of a Dutch galliot?”

“The same. It is not more than a quarter of a mile off—make straight for that. You’ll be sure to fall in with game of some sort between this and that. Wait there till we come up, for we shall breakfast there. You can keep yourself warm by cutting wood and kindling a fire.”

Rather pleased than otherwise with this little bit of pioneer work that had been given him to do, Trench stepped boldly into the snow, carrying his cross-bow in one hand, and the hatchet over his shoulder with the other. He was surprised, indeed, to find that at the first step beyond the encampment he sank considerably above the knees, but, being wonderfully strong, he dashed the snow aside and was soon hid from view by intervening bushes. Oliver, bearing his bow and bludgeon, followed smartly in his track.

When they were gone Paul turned a look of inquiry on his companion. Hendrick returned the look with profound gravity, but there was a faint twinkle in his eyes which induced Paul to laugh.

“What mean you by this?” he asked.

“I mean that Master Trench will be the better of a lesson from experience. He will soon return—sooner, perhaps, than you expect.”

“Why so—how? I don’t understand.”

“Because,” returned the hunter, “it is next to impossible to travel over such ground in deep snow without snow-shoes. We must make these, whether we advance or retreat. Meanwhile you had better blow up the fire, and I will prepare breakfast.”

“Did you not tell the captain we were to breakfast on the bluff?”

“I did; but the captain will never reach the bluff. Methinks I hear him returning even now!”

The hunter was right. A quarter of an hour had barely elapsed when our sturdy mariner re-entered the encampment, blowing like a grampus and perspiring at every pore! Oliver was close at his heels, but not nearly so much exhausted, for he had not been obliged to “beat the track.”

“Master Hendrick,” gasped the captain, when he had recovered breath, “it’s my opinion that we have only come here to lay down our bones and give up the ghost—ay, and it’s no laughing business; Master Paul, as you’ll find when you try to haul your long legs out of a hole three futt deep at every step.”

“Three futt deep!” echoed Oliver, “why, it’s four futt if it’s an inch—look at me. I’ve been wadin’ up to the waist all the time!”

It need scarcely be said that their minds were much relieved when they were made acquainted with the true state of matters, and that by means of shoes that could be made by Hendrick, they would be enabled to traverse with comparative ease the snow-clad wilderness—which else were impassable.

But this work involved several days’ delay in camp. Hendrick fashioned the large though light wooden framework of the shoes—five feet long by eighteen inches broad—and Oliver cut several deerskins into fine threads, with which, and deer sinews, Paul and the captain, under direction, filled in the net-work of the frames when ready.

“Can you go after deer on such things?” asked the captain one night while they were all busy over this work.

“Ay, we can walk thirty or forty miles a day over deep snow with these shoes,” answered Hendrick.

“Where do the deer all come from?” asked Oliver, pausing in his work to sharpen his knife on a stone.

“If you mean where did the reindeer come from at first, I cannot tell,” said Hendrick. “Perhaps they came from the great unknown lands lying to the westward. But those in this island have settled down here for life, apparently like myself. I have hunted them in every part of the island, and know their habits well. Their movements are as regular as the seasons. The winter months they pass in the south, where the snow is not so deep as to prevent their scraping it away and getting at the lichens on which they feed. In spring—about March—they turn their faces northward, for then the snow begins to be softened by the increased power of the sun, so that they can get at the herbage beneath. They migrate to the north-west of the island in innumerable herds of from twenty to two hundred each—the animals following one another in single file, and each herd being led by a noble stag. Thus they move in thousands towards the hills of the west and nor’-west, where they arrive in April. Here, on the plains and mountains, they browse on their favourite mossy food and mountain herbage; and here they bring forth their young in May or June. In October, when the frosty nights set in, they again turn southward and march back to winter-quarters over the same tracks, with which, as you have seen, the whole country is seamed. Thus they proceed from year to year. They move over the land in parallel lines, save where mountain passes oblige them to converge, and at these points, I regret to say, my kinsmen! the Bethuck Indians, lie in wait and slaughter them in great numbers, merely for the sake of their tongues and other tit-bits.”

“There is no call for regret, Master Hendrick,” said Captain Trench. “Surely where the deer are in such numbers, the killing of a few more or less don’t matter much.”

“I think it wrong, captain, to slay God’s creatures wantonly,” returned the hunter. “Besides, if it is continued, I fear that the descendants of the present race of men will suffer from scarcity of food.”

That Hendrick’s fears were not groundless has been proved in many regions of the earth, where wanton destruction of game in former days has resulted in great scarcity or extinction at the present time.