Wrecked but not Ruined

“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.

The Indian allowed the faintest possible smile to curl his lips for a moment and then with a slight inclination of his head, but without uttering a word, turned abruptly and went off at a long swinging pace into the woods.

“’Pon my word, Flo,” said McLeod, “your pantomime has been most effective, but I have doubts as to whether he understands you to have invited him to be our hunter, or commanded him to go about his business.”

“I think we’ve seen the last of him,” said Kenneth, somewhat gloomily.

“He will return,” said Flora, with decision.

“Well, time will show,” rejoined McLeod, “meanwhile we will delay the trip to Jenkins Creek for a day, and I’ll go have a talk with Roderick about that lucky insurance business.”

Time did settle the matter of the Indian’s intentions almost sooner than had been expected, for that same evening he returned with a further supply of fresh meat and laid it down at Flora’s feet. Nothing, however, would prevail on him to remain and sup with the party. Having received a small supply of powder and shot in payment, he at once turned away and re-entered his native wilderness.

Thus day by day for about a week the silent man made his appearance every evening with fresh supplies, and, we might almost say, disappeared after delivering them. One day Kenneth determined to offer to accompany him on his next appearance. Accordingly he prepared his gun, rolled up his blanket and strapped it on his shoulders, and when the Indian arrived in the evening as usual, he presented himself equipped for the chase.

The Indian expressed some surprise in his looks, and at first seemed to object to Kenneth’s companionship, but at length gave in and they entered the forest together.