Wrecked but not Ruined

“It is the proper course to follow,” he muttered to himself, one day after breakfast, while brooding alone over the remnants of the meal, “for it would be unjust to allow myself to lie under a false imputation, and it would be equally unjust to allow the McLeods to remain under a false impression. Perhaps some enemy may have put them against me. Anyhow, I shall go down and try to clear the matter up. If I succeed—well. If not—”

His thoughts were diverted at this point by the entrance of Bob Smart. That energetic individual had been to visit the frost-bitten seamen, for whose comfort an old out-house had been made weather-tight, and fitted up as a rough-and-ready hospital.

“They’re all getting on famously,” said Bob, rubbing his hands, as he sat down and pulled out the little black pipe to which he was so much addicted. “Green’s left little toe looks beautiful this morning, quite red and healthy, and, I think, won’t require amputation, which is well, for it is doubly a left little toe since you cut off the right one yesterday. His big toe seems to my amateur eye in a thoroughly convalescent state, but his left middle finger obviously requires removal. You’ll do it to-day, I suppose?”

“Yes, I meant to do it yesterday,” answered Redding, with much gravity, “but gave it another chance. How’s Brixton?”

“Oh, he’s all right. He groans enough to make one believe he’s the worst of ’em all, but his hurts are mostly skin deep, and will heal no doubt in course of time. His nose, certainly, looks blobby enough, like an over-ripe plum, and I rather think it’s that which makes him growl so horribly; but after all, it won’t be shortened more than quarter of an inch, which will be rather an advantage, for it was originally too long. Then as to Harper and Jennings, they are quite cheery and their appetites increasing, which is the best of signs, though, I fear, poor fellows, that the first will lose a hand and the other a foot. The dressings you put on yesterday seem to have relieved them much. I wish I could say the same for the poor nigger. His foot is sure to go. It’s in such a state that I believe the cleverest surgeon alive couldn’t save it, and even if he could what’s left of it would be of no use. You know I have a mechanical turn and could make him a splendid wooden leg if you will pluck up courage to cut it off.”

“No,” said Redding decidedly; “it’s all very well to lop off a finger or a toe with a razor, but I don’t think it’s allowable for an amateur to attempt a foot except under circumstances of extreme urgency.”

“Well, it don’t much matter,” continued Bob Smart, drawing vigorously at the black pipe, “for we’ll have an opportunity of sending them up to Quebec in a week or so, and in the meantime the poor fellows are very jolly considering their circumstances. That man Ned Wright keeps them all in good humour. Although, as you know, he has suffered severely in hands and feet, he feels himself well enough to limp about the room and act the part, as he says, of ‘stooard and cook to the ship’s company.’ He insisted on beginning last night just after you left, and I found him hard at it this morning when I went to see them. He must have been the life of the ship before she went ashore, for he goes about continually trolling out some verses of his own composing, though he has got no more idea of tune in him than the main-top-mast back-stay, to which, or something of the same kind, he makes very frequent reference. Here is a verse of his latest composition:—”

O-o-o-o-h! it’s once I froze the end of my nose,    On the coast of Labrador, sir,An’ I lost my smell, an’ my taste as well,    An’ my pipe, which made me roar, sir;But the traders come, an’ think wot they done!    They poked an’ pinched an’ skewered me;They cut an’ snipped, an’ they carved an’ ripped,    An’ they clothed an’ fed an’ cured me.        Chorus.—Hooroo! it’s true        An’ a sailor’s life for me.

“Not bad, eh?” said Bob.

“Might be worse,” answered Redding, with the air of one whose mind is preoccupied.

“I’ve often wondered,” continued Bob Smart, in a moralising tone, and looking intently at the wreaths of smoke that curled from his lips as if for inspiration, “I’ve often wondered how it is that sailors—especially British sailors—appear to possess such an enormous fund of superabundant rollicking humour, insomuch that they will jest and sing sometimes in the midst of troubles and dangers that would take the spirit out of ordinary men such as you and me.”

“Bob Smart,” said Redding earnestly.

“Yes,” said Bob.

“D’you know it strikes me that I ought to go down to the wreck to see how the McLeods are getting on.”

“O ah! well, to change the subject, d’you know Mr Redding, that same idea struck me some days ago, for Jonas Bellew has left them to look after his own affairs, and the Indians were to go north on the 13th, so the McLeods must have been living for some time on salt provisions, unless they have used their guns with better success than has been reported of them. If you remember, I have mentioned it to you more than once, but you seemed to avoid the subject.”

“Well, perhaps I did, and perhaps I had my reasons for it. However, I am going down now, immediately after dressing the poor fellows’ sores. Will you therefore be good enough to get the small boat ready, with some fresh meat, and tell Le Rue and Michel to be prepared to start in an hour or so.”

The day after the above conversation McLeod senior walked down to the wreck accompanied by Flora. Kenneth had been left in charge of the invalid, whose system had received such a shock that his recovery was extremely slow, and it had been deemed advisable not only to avoid, but to forbid all reference to the wreck. Indeed Roderick himself seemed to have no desire to speak about it, and although he had roused himself on the arrival of his relations, he had hitherto lain in such a weak semi-lethargic state that it was feared his head must have received severer injury than was at first supposed. On the morning of the day in question an Indian had arrived with a letter from Mr Gambart of Partridge Bay, which had not tended to soothe the luckless father.

“It seems very unfortunate,” said Flora, in a sympathetic tone.

“Seems unfortunate?” exclaimed McLeod, with some asperity, “it is unfortunate. Why, what could be more so? Just think of it, Flo! Here am I without a penny of ready cash in the world, and although Gambart knows this as well as I do myself, he writes me, first, that he has sold Loch Dhu to that fellow Redding, and now that he has bought Barker’s Mill for me without my sanction!”

“But you gave him leave to sell Loch Dhu,” suggested Flora.

“Oh, yes, yes, of course, and I told him to let it go at a low sum, for I needed cash very much at the beginning of this venture at Jenkins Creek. But I find that our expenses are so small that I could afford to hold on for some time on the funds I have. To be sure Gambart could not know that, but—but—why did the fellow go and buy that mill for me? It’s being a great bargain and a splendid property, just now are no excuse, for he knew my poverty, and also knew that I shall feel bound in honour to take it off his hands when I manage to scrape the sum together, because of course it was done in a friendly way to oblige me. No doubt he will say that there’s no hurry about repayment, and that he won’t take interest, and so forth, but he had no business to buy it at all!”

Flora made no reply to this, for she saw that her father was waxing wroth under his misfortunes.

Her silence tended rather to increase his wrath, for he was dissatisfied with himself more than with others, and would have been glad even of contradiction in order that he might relieve his feelings by disputation.

While this state of mind was strong upon him they reached a turn in the path that brought the wreck into view and revealed the fact that a boat lay on the beach, from which three men had just landed. Two of these remained by the boat, while the third advanced towards the woods.

Flora’s hand tightened on her father’s arm.

“Surely that is Mr Redding,” she said.

The frown which had clouded McLeod’s brow instantly deepened. “Go,” he said, “walk slowly back towards the hut. I will overtake you in a few minutes.”

Flora hesitated. “Won’t you let me stay, father?”

“No, my dear, I wish to talk privately with Redding—go.”

He patted her kindly on the head, and she left him with evident reluctance.

“Good-morning, Mr McLeod,” said Redding, as he approached.

“Good-morning,” replied the other stiffly, without extending his hand.

Redding flushed, but restrained himself, and continued in a calm matter-of-course tone:

“Thinking it probable that you might be in want of fresh provisions, I have run down with a small supply, which is at your service.”

“Thank you,” replied McLeod, still stiffly, “I am not quite destitute of fresh provisions, and happen to have a good supply of ammunition; besides, if I were starving I would not accept aid from one who has deceived me.”

“Deceived you!” exclaimed Redding, waxing indignant more at McLeod’s tone and manner than his words, “wherein have I deceived you?”

As he put the question his mind leaped to the line of demarcation between the properties at Jenkins Creek, and he racked his brains hastily to discover what he could have said or done at their first interview that could have been misunderstood. McLeod was one of those men in whom anger is easily increased by the exhibition of anger in others. It was therefore in a still more offensive tone that he said:—

“Sir, you deceived me by violating the laws of hospitality—by keeping silence when candour required you to speak.”

“Sir,” exclaimed Redding, still thinking of the line of demarcation, and losing his temper altogether, “in all that has passed between us I have invariably spoken with candour, and if at any time I have kept silence I consider that in so doing I have done you a favour.”

When two fiery men clash, an explosion is the natural result.

“Very well, sir,” said McLeod, with a look of withering contempt, “as I don’t accept your favours I don’t thank you for them, so you may take yourself off as soon as you please.”

He waited for no reply but turned abruptly on his heel and walked away, while Redding, with a face of scarlet, strode down the beach and leaped into his boat.

Not a word did he utter to his astonished men beyond ordering them to pull back to the fort. Apparently the rate of rowing was not fast enough to please him, for in a few minutes he ordered Michel to take the helm, and himself seized the oar, which he plied with such vigour that, as Michel afterwards averred, the rudder had to be kept nearly hard a-port all the time to prevent the boat being pulled round even though Le Rue was working like a steam engine and blowing like a grampus!

Towards the afternoon this exercise, coupled with reflection, cooled Reginald Redding’s spirit while it warmed his body, and at last he deemed it right to pause for the purpose of letting the men have a pipe and a mouthful of food. While they were busy refreshing themselves he leant over the stern, gazed down into the water, and brooded over his supposed wrongs.

Whether it was the clearness of the still water, through which he could see the little fish and crabs floating and crawling placidly among the pebbles at the bottom, or the soothing influence of the quiet afternoon, or the sedative effect of a reflective condition of mind, we know not, but it is certain that before the pipes were smoked out he fur-trader observed that his reflected visage wore a very unpleasant-looking frown, insomuch that a slight smile curled his lips. The contrast between the frowning brows and the smiling lips appeared so absurd that, to prevent the impropriety of becoming too suddenly good-humoured, he turned his eyes towards his men and encountered the perplexed gaze of Le Rue, as that worthy sat with his elbows on his knees in the calm enjoyment of his pipe.

Redding at once resumed his frown.

“François,” said he, “did you have much conversation with McLeod before he dismissed you on the way down?”

“Oui, Monsieur, we had ver moche conversatione.”

“Can you remember what it was about?”

“Oh oui. ’Bout a’most all tings. I tell him de mos’ part of my histoire,—me fadder, me moder, broder, sister, an’ all dat, ’bout vich he seem not to care von buttin. Den ve convarsatione ’bout de fur-trade, an’ de—”

“Well well,” interrupted Redding, “but what was the last thing, just before he sent you off?”

“Ah let me zee. Oui—it was ’bout you’self. I tell him ’bout de property—de Lock Doo vat you was—”

“Le Rue,” exclaimed Redding, suddenly and very angrily, “you’re a consummate ass!”

“Vraiment,” said Le Rue, with a slight shrug of his shoulders, “I am so for remaining in de service of von goose!”

There was such good-humoured impudence in the man’s face as he said this that Redding laughed in spite of himself.

“Well,” he said, “your readiness to talk has at all events caused bad feeling between me and the McLeods. However, it don’t matter. Ship your oars again and give way with a will.”

The men obeyed, and as Redding sat buried in meditation at the helm he became convinced that McLeod’s anger had been aroused by his silence in regard to the purchase of Loch Dhu, for he himself had almost forgotten that the sudden entrance of the Indian had checked the words which were at the moment on his lips. When he thought of this, and of Flora, he resolved to pull back and explain matters, but when he thought of McLeod’s tone and manner he determined to proceed to the fort. Then, when he thought of Roderick’s precarious state, his mind again wavered, but, other thoughts and plans suggesting themselves, he finally decided on returning home.

That night he encamped in the woods and continued to brood over the camp-fire long after his men were asleep. Next day he reached the Cliff Fort, when, after seeing to the welfare of the wrecked men, he informed Bob Smart that he meant to absent himself for about a week, and to leave him, Bob, in charge. He also gave orders that no one should quit the post, or furnish any assistance to the McLeods.

“But, sir,” said Bob Smart, in surprise, “they will be sure to starve.”

“No fear of them,” replied Redding, “Kenneth is young and active, and they have plenty of ammunition.”

“If report be true,” returned Bob, “neither Kenneth nor any of his kin can hit a sheep at twenty yards off. Bellew says they are as blind as bats with the gun.”

“No matter. They have a boat, and one of them can row back to Jenkins Creek for fresh meat. Anyway, do as I bid you, and be very careful of the wrecked men.”

Smart, although fond of discussion, knew how to obey. He therefore said no more but bade Redding good-night and retired to his humble couch, which, he was wont to say, was a fine example of compensation, inasmuch as the fact of its being three inches too narrow was counterbalanced by its being six inches too long.

Chapter Ten

A Friend in Need

“Look here, my love,” said plump little Mr Gambart to his plump little wife, bustling into the parlour with an open letter in his hand, “isn’t this vexatious! Just listen—it’s from McLeod:—

“‘My dear Gambart,—I take the opportunity of Jonas Bellew leaving me to write a line in reply to your last, which was brought on to me by the Indian. You will be sorry to learn that the Betsy of Plymouth, in which all my goods were embarked, is lying here a total wreck, and the goods have been washed out of her—not a bale or cask saved! But, worse than that, poor Roderick has been badly injured in getting ashore, and now lies here unable to move. Many of the poor fellows who composed the crew have been lost, and those saved are in a sad condition. I was sorry to hear of Loch Dhu being sold, but now that my fortunes have been so utterly and literally wrecked it is perhaps as well as it is. I’m sorry, however, that you bought Barker’s Mill for me. In the circumstances I will find it difficult to repay you for a long time to come.’

“Now,” said Gambart, “isn’t this vexing? I thought it would please him so much, for of course he knows that I would never press him for the money.”

“Did you tell him,” asked Mrs Gambart, “that in the event of his not wanting the mill you would gladly take it yourself?”

“No, I didn’t think that necessary.”

“Didn’t I,” continued the little lady, pursing her little mouth, “didn’t I advise you to do so at the time?”

“You certainly did, my dear.”

“And did I not,” continued Mrs Gambart, severely, “advise you, further, not to keep Mr Redding in ignorance as to who was the late owner of Loch Dhu, for fear of mischief coming of it?”

“Yes, my love,” answered Gambart, with ever-increasing humility, “but no mischief has come of it apparently, and I thought—”

“Oh yes,” interrupted his lady, “I know you thought. You always think when you shouldn’t, and you never think when you should.”

In his heart the little man repelled this accusation, but thought it best in the circumstances to hold his tongue. After a moment or two the lady went on:—

“Besides, you don’t know that no mischief has come of it. Take my advice now. Write immediately to Mr McLeod, telling him that you only ventured to buy the mill for him because you were very anxious to secure it for yourself in the event of his not wanting it, and add that in the selling of Loch Dhu you concealed from Mr Redding the name of the former owner because of an absurd fancy in your own mind which it is not worth while to mention.”

“Won’t that be a sort of humiliating confession?” urged the little man timidly.

To this the little woman replied that it was better to make a sort of humiliating confession than to admit the full extent of his unreasoning stupidity; and the surveyor, half agreeing with her in his own mind, immediately went to his study, wrote the epistle as directed, and sent it off express by an Indian.

Meanwhile the party at the wreck found themselves in the unpleasant condition of having nothing fresh to eat. As we have said, the trapper had left them, knowing that the fur-traders and the Indians were quite capable of looking after their wants. But soon afterwards the Indians went away down the gulf to hunt seals, and none of the McLeods being able to speak their language, they could not, or would not, be got to understand that one of them was wanted to remain and hunt for the sick man. As McLeod had still some provisions on hand, with a gun and ammunition besides his boat, he did not much mind the departure of the red men at the time. As time wore on, however, and their fresh provisions failed, he became anxious, and wished that he had not so angrily declined the aid offered by the fur-traders. Neither father nor son had the slightest taste for field sports, so that when they saw the track of an animal they found it almost impossible to follow it up with success, and when, by good fortune, they chanced to discover a “partridge” or a squirrel they invariably missed it! This incapacity and a scarcity of game had at last reduced them to extremities.

“Kenneth,” said his father one morning, as they walked up and down beside the hut in which Flora sat talking to Roderick, “we must give up our vain attempts at hunting, for it is quite plain that you and I are incapable of improvement. After that splendid shot of yours, in which you only blew a bunch of feathers out of a bird that was not more than four yards from the end of your gun—”

“That,” interrupted Kenneth, “was the very cause of my missing. Had it been a little further off I should certainly have killed it. But, father, you seem to forget the squirrel’s tail, which is the only trophy you have to show of your prowess after blazing away right and left for two weeks!”

“No, I don’t forget it, lad,” returned his father, “it is because of these sad truths that I have now determined to give it up and send you with the boat for supplies to Jenkins Creek. Of course Ian cannot send to us, having no boat, and Rooney or the Indian would take too long a time to scramble through the tangled woods of this rugged part of the coast, besides which, all they could carry on their backs would not last more than a few days, and as long as Ian does not hear from us he will naturally think that all is going on well. It will take you six days to go and come, but, what with the little that remains of our fresh meat and a chance partridge or two, we shall be able to keep Roderick going till you return. He’s getting stronger now, and as for Flo and me, we can get along famously with salt pork and biscuit for so short a time.”

“But why should I not go rather to the Cliff Fort?” asked Kenneth. “The store there is a public one, and our buying food from the fur-traders will lay us under no obligation to Mr Redding, whom, excuse me, I think you have judged too hastily.”

“It matters not how I have judged him,” retorted McLeod sternly. “There is no occasion to go near him at all. As I have said—”

He stopped abruptly, for at that moment an Indian was seen approaching.

He was a powerfully-built fellow, with a handsome figure and face, though the latter was very dark, and he walked with a stoop and an awkward slouching gait. He wore his long black hair in straight elfin locks; those in front having been cut across the forehead just above the eyebrows, as being the simplest method of clearing the way for vision. He was clad in a very dirty soiled hunting-shirt and leggings of leather, with moccasins of the same, and carried a long gun on his shoulder. McLeod also observed, with much satisfaction, that several partridges hung by their necks from the belt which encircled his waist.

Of course the meeting that ensued was conducted in pantomime, with a few useless remarks in English from Kenneth, who appeared to entertain an idea which is not uncommon among sailors, namely, that a man who knows nothing whatever of the language is more likely to understand bad than good English! “Where you come from?” he asked, after shaking hands with the Indian and giving him the salutation, “watchee?” (what cheer), which he understood, and returned.

A shake of the head was the reply.

“Where you go—go?” said Kenneth, in the hope apparently that emphasis might awaken intelligence.

Again the Indian shook his head.

“What’s the use of asking him?” said McLeod senior. “See, here is a language that is understood by all men.”

He pulled a powder flask from his pocket, and, shaking it at the ear of the savage, offered it to him, at the same time pointing to the partridges and to his own open mouth.

This pantomime was evidently comprehensible, for the man at once threw the birds at McLeod’s feet, and, taking the flask, emptied its contents into his own powder-horn.

“Good,” said McLeod, picking up the birds. “Now, Kenneth, if we can prevail on this redskin to remain by us it won’t be necessary to send you to Jenkins Creek.”

As he spoke, Flora issued from the opening of the tarpaulin tent, exclaiming— “Father, I’ve just—”

On seeing the red man she stopped and gazed at him with much interest. The native returned the gaze, and for one moment a gleam of admiration lighted up his swarthy countenance, but it passed like a flash of light and left that stoical look of impassibility so common to the men of the American wilderness.

“What were you about to say, Flo?” asked her father.

“That I’ve just learned a piece of good news from Roderick. He seemed inclined to talk about the wreck this morning. Seeing him so much better, I gave him encouragement, and he has just told me that before leaving England he had taken the advice of a friend and insured the whole of our goods that were shipped in the Betsy.”

“That’s good news indeed, Flo; better than I deserve after my unbelieving remarks about the efficacy of prayer. And here is good news for you of another kind,” he added, holding up one of the partridges, “fresh meat for Roderick, and a hunter who looks as if he could keep us well supplied if we can only prevail on him to stay with us. Try what you can do, Flo; if he has a spark of gallantry in him he will be sure to understand what you say to him; but it must be in the language of signs, Flo, for he evidently understands no English.”

Thus appealed to, Flora advanced to the Indian, and, taking him somewhat timidly by the sleeve, led him to the opening of the tent and pointed to the sick man; then to the clean-scraped bones of the last rabbit he had eaten, after which she pointed to the game just purchased, touched the Indian’s gun, and, making a sweep with her hand towards the forest looked him full in the face.