The Crew of the Water Wagtail

Meanwhile, at the other end of the settlement, the greater number of the shipwrecked mariners were engaged in hot pursuit of the party of Indians who had attacked them. They were very indignant, several of their mates having been wounded, and a considerable quantity of their stores carried off.

It quickly became apparent, however, that the seamen were no match for savage, at a race through the woods, therefore Grummidge, who soon overtook his comrades, called a halt, and gathered as many of his men as possible around him.

“Now, lads,” he said, “it’s plain that some of you can’t run much further. You ain’t used to this sort o’ work. Besides, we have left our settlement undefended. Most of you must therefore return, an’ a few of the smartest among you will follow me, for we must give these rascals a fright by followin’ ’em till we catch ’em—if we can—or by drivin’ ’em back to their own place, wherever that may be.”

Many of the men were more than willing to agree to this arrangement, while others were quite ready to follow their leader. The party, therefore, that finally continued in pursuit of the Indians was composed of Grummidge, George Blazer, Fred Taylor, Little Stubbs, Garnet Squill, and several others. Armed with bows, arrows, short spears, and clubs, these set off without delay into the forest, trusting to the sun and stars for guidance. The remainder of the men returned to the settlement, where they discovered that they had been the victims of a ruse on the part of the savages. The assault at the further end of the settlement proved to be a mere feint, made by a comparatively small party, for the purpose of drawing the seamen away, and leaving the main part of the settlement undefended, and open to pillage. While the small detachment of Indians, therefore, was doing its part, the main body descended swiftly but quietly on Wagtail Bay, and possessed themselves of all that was valuable there, and carried it off.

Of course, Swinton and Jim Heron were found there. Both had been beheaded, and their bodies stripped and left on the floor. Heron seemed to have offered a stout resistance, until overpowered by numbers and slain. Poor Swinton, who could not have had much more life remaining than enabled him to understand what was occurring, had been stabbed to death where he lay.

Fortunately, it was not possible for the Indians to carry off all the dried fish and other provisions, so that the men were not reduced to absolute starvation.

All ignorant of what was going on at the settlement, the avengers were pushing their way through the woods in pursuit of the smaller body of savages. Nothing could have been more satisfactory to these latter. From every eminence and knoll unseen eyes watched the movements of the white men, who remained under the delusion that they were striking terror into the hearts of a flying foe.

“Sure, we’ll have to take a rest soon,” said Squill, as they halted on the top of a mound, about sunset to breathe and wipe their heated brows.

“True, a short sleep we must have, but we’ll have to take our rest without kindling a fire,” said Grummidge.

“Ay, an’ go supperless to bed, too,” remarked Little Stubbs; “for we’ve brought nothing to eat with us.”

This fact had not struck any of the party till that moment. They had been so eager in pursuit of the foe that all prudential considerations had been thrown to the winds. They now lay down, therefore, to the very brief rest that was absolutely needful, not only without supper, but with the prospect of starting again without breakfast. However, each man felt bound in honour not to damp his fellows by complaining.

“Now, boys,” said Grummidge, “you lie down, an’ I’ll mount guard. Sleep as fast as you can, for I’ll route ye out in an hour or so.”

But Grummidge did not fulfil his promise. Seating himself with his back to a tree, his bows and arrows ready to hand, and actuated by a firm resolve to watch with intense care, he fell fast asleep, and the whole party snored in concert.

About fifty Indians, who had joined the original attacking party, had waited patiently for this state of affairs. When quite certain that the seamen were all sleeping soundly, they crept silently forward, and pounced upon them. The struggle was sharp, but short. Courage and strength are futile when opposed to overwhelming numbers. A few minutes later, and the white men were led, with hands bound behind them, into the depth of the unknown wilderness.

Chapter Nineteen.

A New Friend with Startling News

Turn we now to the island in the great lake where Hendrick, the hunter, had set up his romantic home.

The premature touch of winter, which had put so sudden a stop to the work of our explorers, gave way to a burst of warmth and sunshine almost as sudden. It was that brief period of calm repose in which nature indulges in some parts of the world as if to brace herself for the rough work of approaching winter. There was a softness in the air which induced one to court its embrace. Absolute stillness characterised the inanimate world. Clouds floated in the heavenly blue in rotund masses, which seemed, to the careless glance, as unchangeable as the hills, and the glassy water reflected them with perfect fidelity. It also reflected gulls, ducks, plover, and other wildfowl, as they sailed, whirred, or waded about, absorbed in the activities of their domestic economy, or in the hilarious enjoyment of the sweet influences around them. Colours most resplendent dyed the forest trees; gentle sounds from bird and beast told of joyous life everywhere, and the blessed sun threw a golden haze over wood and lake and hill. It was as though Paradise had been restored to man, and our loving Creator had swept away every trace of evil and misery from the beautiful earth.

But although the day is surely coming when, through Jesus Christ, “sorrow and sighing shall flee away,” Paradise had certainly not returned to earth at the date we write of. Doubtless, however, something which seemed marvellously like it had reappeared round the hunter’s home, for, while all nature was peaceful as well as beautiful, love was the grand motive power which actuated the hearts of those who dwelt there, and that love had been greatly intensified, as well as purified, since the advent of Paul Burns with the manuscript Gospel of John in his bosom, and the Spirit of God in his heart.

Besides being naturally sympathetic, Paul and Hendrick were thus drawn still more strongly together, as they communed with each other—sometimes while walking through the forest engaged in the chase; often beside the camp-fire after supper while others slept; and, not unfrequently, while paddling in their canoe over the sleeping lake.

One evening they were in the latter position—returning from a successful day’s hunt in the canoe—when Hendrick became more communicative than usual about the Indian tribe to which his wife belonged, and in regard to which subject he had hitherto been reticent. The sun was setting; the island home was not far distant. The total absence of wind and consequent stillness of the lake rendered it unnecessary to do more than make an occasional dip of the paddles with which the light craft was propelled—Paul using his in the bow, while Hendrick sat in the stern and steered. No one was with them—indeed the canoe was too small to carry more than two when loaded with the proceeds of the chase.

“I have often thought” said the hunter, dipping his paddle lazily, “that you must wonder why one whose position in the world warranted his looking forward to a bright and prosperous career should inflict on himself voluntary banishment, and wed an Indian woman.”

“Hendrick,” returned Paul, “I wonder at few things in this life, for I know something of the working of the human mind and heart and have ceased to judge other men’s feelings by my own. Besides, I criticise not the actions of my friend. The motives of his acts are known only to himself and his God. The Gospel tells me to ‘judge not according to the appearance.’ Moreover, the longer I live with you, the more have I learned to know that there are qualities in Trueheart which would do honour to dames of the highest station.”

A gleam of satisfaction lightened the hunter’s face for a moment as he exclaimed, with unwonted energy, “You do her no more than justice, my friend. I have lived to learn that love, truth, and every virtue are to be found in every station—alike with the high-born and the lowly; also that the lack of these qualities is common to both, and, to say truth, I had rather mate with a gentle savage than with a civilised female tiger!”

“But Trueheart is not a gentle savage,” returned Paul, scarcely able to repress a smile at the tone in which his friend uttered his sentiments; “she is a gentle woman.”

“Of course, I know that” rejoined Hendrick; “moreover she is a half-caste! I only used the word to designate the class of humanity to which she belongs, and to contrast her with that other class which deems itself at the top of the civilised tree.”

“But it seems to me, Master Hendrick, that you are inclined to be too severe on the high-born. There are those among them whose lives conform to the teachings of the Gospel of Jesus.”

“Do I not know it?” replied the hunter abruptly. “Have I not told you that my murdered wife was high-born and endowed with every grace?”

“True, but what of this civilised female tiger whom you would scorn to wed. Did not Christ die for her? May she not be saved by the same Power that drags the tiger of the lower ranks—both male and female—from the pit?”

“I doubt it not,” answered Hendrick thoughtfully, as he relapsed into his usual quiet manner, “and I am glad you appreciate Trueheart, for she is worthy of your regard. Her name was bestowed on her by her Indian relations. My children I have named after some of my kindred in the old country. The tribe to which my wife belongs are called Bethucks. They are well-disposed and kindly in disposition, and do not quarrel among themselves more than other human beings—indeed not so much as men in our own land; probably because they have not so much to quarrel about and have more elbow-room. They are good kinsmen, as I know; good hunters also, and inclined for peace, but the natives of Labrador render peace impossible, for they make frequent raids on our island, and of course we have to drive them away. If white men now come to Newfoundland, I fear that the poor Bethucks will be exterminated.” (The Bethucks are now extinct.)

“I trust not,” said Paul.

“So do I,” returned Hendrick, “and if the Gospel you have brought here only takes good root in our own land all will be well, for if men acted on the command ‘let us love one another,’ war and robbery, murder and strife, would be at an end.”

“Can we expect all men to act upon that precept?” asked Paul.

“Apparently not; but we might at least expect Christians to do so; those who accept the Gospel as their book of law. I had expected to escape from war and bloodshed when I left civilised lands and settled here, but I have been disappointed. The necessity for fighting still exists!”

“And will exist until the reign of Jesus extends to every human heart,” returned Paul. “It seems to me that what we have some right and ground to expect is, not the stoppage of all war, but the abolition of war between nations calling themselves Christian.”

It is a curious circumstance that, only a few days after the above conversation, an incident occurred which induced both Paul and Hendrick to buckle on their armour, and sally forth with a clear perception that it was their bounden duty to engage in war!

That incident was the arrival of an Indian hunter who was slightly known to Hendrick’s wife.

He came in a canoe just as the family on the Island were about to sit down to supper.

It was dark when his tall figure was seen to stalk out of the surrounding gloom into the circle of firelight. Trueheart recognised him at once, and a word from her sufficed to inform her husband that the stranger was a friend. He was welcomed of course cordially, and made to sit down in the place of honour.

Every attention he accepted with the grave solemnity of an owl, and without any other recognition than a mild grunt, which was by no means meant as a surly return of thanks, but as a quiet mode of intimating that the attention was agreeable to his feelings.

It may, perhaps, be not unknown to the reader that grave reticence is one of the characteristics of the Red men of the west. They are never in a hurry to communicate their news, whether important or otherwise, but usually, on arriving at any hospitable abode, sit down with calm dignity and smoke a pipe, or make slight reference to unimportant matters before coming to the main point of their visit—if it have a main point at all. As it is with the Red men now, so was it with the Bethucks at the time we write of. True, the pernicious practice of smoking tobacco had not yet been introduced among them, so that the social pipe was neither offered, desired, nor missed! but the Indian accepted a birch-bark basket of soup with placid satisfaction, and consumed it with slow felicity. Then, being offered a formidable venison steak, he looked calmly at his host, blinked his thanks—or whatever he felt—and devoured it.

“Has he got nothing to say for himself?” asked Captain Trench, surprised at the man’s silence.

“Plenty to say, I doubt not,” answered Hendrick, who then explained to the Captain the Indian characteristic just referred to.

“What a power of suction he has got” said Olly, referring not to the Indian, but to the family baby which he had got on his knee, and was feeding with a dangerously large lump of bear’s fat.

“What does he say?” asked Paul, referring to their visitor, who, having come to a temporary pause, with a sigh of contentment had said something in his native tongue to Hendrick.

“He asked me if the singing-birds will gladden his ears and cause his heart to thrill.”

“What means he by that?”

“He only refers to a fact well known among the Indians,” replied the hunter, with a quiet smile, “that Trueheart and Goodred have such sweet voices that they are known everywhere by the name of the singing-birds. Happening to have some knowledge of music, I have trained them to sing in parts one or two hymns taught to me by my mother, and composed, I believe, by a good monk of the olden time. Some things in the hymns puzzled me, I confess, until I had the good fortune to meet with you. I understand them better now. You shall hear one of them.”

So saying, he turned and nodded to Trueheart who of course understood the conversation. With a slight inclination of the head denoting acquiescence she began to sing. At the same moment Goodred parted her pretty lips and joined her. The result was to fill the air with harmony so sweet that the captain and his comrade were struck dumb with delight and surprise, the Indian’s jaw was arrested with an unchewed morsel in the mouth, and the family baby gazing upward in wonder, ceased the effort to choke itself on bear’s fat.

It need scarcely be said that the grunt of the Indian was very emphatic when the sounds died away like fairy-music, and that the hunter’s white guests entreated for more. Trueheart and her daughter were quite willing, and, for a considerable time, kept their audience enthralled.