THE SUN OF QUEBEC

A STORY OF A GREAT CRISIS

BY

JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

AUTHOR OF

"LORDS OF THE WILD," "THE GREAT SIOUX TRAIL," ETC.

APPLETON-CENTURY-CROFTS, INC.

NEW YORK

COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY

D. APPLETON AND COMPANY

All rights reserved. This book, or parts
thereof, must not be reproduced in any form without permission of the publishers.

Copyright, 1947, by Sallie B. Altsheler

Printed in the United States of America

FOREWORD

"The Sun of Quebec" is the sixth and closing
volume of the French and Indian War Series of which
the predecessors have been "The Hunters of the Hills,"
"The Shadow of the North," "The Rulers of the
Lakes," "The Masters of the Peaks," and "The Lords
of the Wild." The important characters in the
earlier books reappear, and the mystery in the life of
Robert Lennox, the central figure in all the romances,
is solved.

CHARACTERS IN THE FRENCH AND INDIAN WAR SERIES

CONTENTS

[Pg 1]

THE SUN OF QUEBEC

CHAPTER I

OLD FRIENDS

Mynheer Jacobus Huysman walked to
the window and looked out at the neat red
brick houses, the grass, now turning yellow, and
the leaves, more brown than green. He was troubled,
in truth his heart lay very heavy within him. He was
thinking over the terrible news that had come so swiftly,
as evil report has a way of doing. But he had cause
for satisfaction, too, and recalling it, he turned to gaze
once more upon the two lads who, escaping so many
perils, had arrived at the shelter of his home.

Robert and Tayoga were thin and worn, their clothing
was soiled and torn, but youth was youth and they were
forgetting dangers past in a splendid dinner that the fat
Caterina was serving for them while Mynheer Jacobus,
her master, stood by and saw the good deed well done.

The dining room, large and furnished solidly, was
wonderful in its neatness and comfort. The heavy mahogany
of table, sideboard and chairs was polished and
gleaming. No trace of dirt was allowed to linger any[Pg 2]where.
When the door to the adjoining kitchen opened,
as Caterina passed through, pleasant odors floated in, inciting
the two to fresh efforts at the trencher. It was all
as it had been when they were young boys living there,
attending the school of Alexander McLean and traveling
by painful steps along the road to knowledge. In its
snugness, its security and the luxury it offered it was a
wonderful contrast to the dark forest, where death
lurked in every bush. Robert drew a long sigh of content
and poured himself another cup of coffee.

"And you escaped from the French after the great
battle?" said Mynheer Jacobus, asking the same question
over and over again.

"Yes, sir," replied Robert, "and it was not a difficult
thing to do at all. The victory of the French was so
remarkable, and I think so unexpected, that they were
paying little attention to me. I just walked out of their
camp, and the only man I met was the Chevalier de St.
Luc, who did not seem at all interested in stopping me—a
curious fact, but a fact all the same."

"A great leader and a fine man iss the Chevalier de St.
Luc," said Mr. Huysman.

"He's both, as I've had many chances to learn, and I
intend to know more about him some day."

"It may be that you will know even more than you
think."

Robert looked sharply at the burgher, and he was about
to ask questions, but he reflected that Mynheer Jacobus,
if he were able to answer, would be evasive like all the
others and so he checked the words at his lips.

"I suppose that time will disclose everything," he contented
himself with saying. "Meanwhile, I want to tell
you, sir, that Tayoga and I appreciate to the full your[Pg 3]
hospitality. It is noble, it always was noble, as we've had
ample occasion to discover."

The full red face of Mynheer Jacobus bloomed into a
smile. The corners of his mouth turned up, and his eyes
twinkled.

"I must have had a premonition that you two were
coming," he said, "and so I stocked the larder. I remembered
of old your appetites, a hunger that could be
satisfied only with great effort, and then could come back
again an hour later, as fresh and keen as ever. You
are strong and healthy boys, for which you should be
grateful."

"We are," said Robert, with great emphasis.

"And you do not know whether Montcalm iss advancing
with his army?"

"We don't, sir, but is Albany alarmed?"

"It iss! It iss alarmed very greatly. It wass not
dreamed by any of us that our army could be defeated,
that magnificent army which I saw go away to what I
thought was certain victory. Ah, how could it have happened?
How could it have happened, Robert?"

"We simply threw away our chances, sir. I saw it all.
We underrated the French. If we had brought up our
big guns it would have been easy. There was no lack
of courage on the part of our men. I don't believe that
people of British blood ever showed greater bravery, and
that means bravery equal to anybody's."

Mynheer Jacobus Huysman sighed heavily.

"What a waste! What a waste!" he said. "Now the
army hass retreated and the whole border iss uncovered.
The tomahawk and scalping knife are at work. Tales of
slaughter come in efery day, and it iss said that Montcalm
iss advancing on Albany itself."

"I don't believe, sir, that he will come," said Robert.[Pg 4]
"The French numbers are much fewer than is generally
supposed, and I can't think he will dare to attack Albany."

"It does not seem reasonable, but there iss great alarm.
Many people are leaving on the packets for New York.
Who would have thought it? Who could have thought
it! But I mean to stay, and if Montcalm comes I will
help fight in the defense."

"I knew you wouldn't leave, sir. But despite our defeat
we've a powerful army yet, and England and the
Colonies will not sit down and just weep."

"What you say iss so, Robert, my boy. I am not of
English blood, but when things look worst iss the time
when England shows best, and the people here are of the
same breed. I do not despair. What did you say had
become of Willet?"

"Shortly before we reached Albany he turned aside to
see Sir William Johnson. We had, too, with us, a young
Englishman named Grosvenor, a fine fellow, but he went
at once to the English camp here to report for duty. He
was in the battle at Ticonderoga and he also will testify
that our army, although beaten, could have brought up
its artillery and have fought again in a day or two. It
would have gained the victory, too."

"I suppose so! I suppose so! But it did not fight
again, and what might have been did not happen. It
means a longer war in this country and a longer war all
over the world. It spreads! It iss a great war, extending
to most of the civilized lands, the greatest war of
modern times and many think it will be the last war, but
I know not. The character of mankind does not change.
What do you two boys mean to do?"

"We have not decided yet," replied Robert, speaking
for both. "We'll go back to the war, of course, which[Pg 5]
means that we'll travel once more toward the north, but
we'll have to rest a few days."

"And this house iss for you to rest in—a few days or
many days, as you please, though I hope it will be many.
Caterina shall cook for you four, five meals a day, if you
wish, and much at every meal. I do not forget how
when you were little you raided the fruit trees, and the
berry bushes and the vines. Well, the fruit will soon be
ripe again und I will turn my back the other way. I will
make that fat Caterina do the same, and you and Tayoga
can imagine that you are little boys once more."

"I know you mean that, Mynheer Jacobus, and we
thank you from the bottom of our hearts," said Robert,
as the moisture came into his eyes.

"Here comes Master Alexander McLean," said Mr.
Huysman, who had turned back to the window. "He
must have heard of your arrival and he wishes to see if
your perils in the woods have made you forget your ancient
history."

In a minute or two Master McLean, tall, thin, reddish
of hair, and severe of gaze entered, his frosty blue eyes
lighting up as he shook hands with the boys, though his
manner remained austere.

"I heard that you had arrived after the great defeat
at Ticonderoga," he said, "and you are fortunate to have
escaped with your lives. I rejoice at it, but those who
go into the woods in such times must expect great perils.
It is of course well for all our young men to offer their
lives now for their country, but I thought I saw in you
at least, Robert Lennox, the germ of a great scholar, and
it would be a pity for you to lose your life in some forest
skirmish."

"I thank you for the compliment," said Robert, "but as[Pg 6]
I was telling Mynheer Jacobus I mean to go back into the
woods."

"I doubt it not. The young of this generation are wise
in their own conceit. It was hard enough to control
Tayoga and you several years ago, and I cannot expect
to do it now. Doubtless all the knowledge that I have
been at such pains to instill into you will be lost in the
excitement of trail and camp."

"I hope not, sir, though it's true that we've had some
very stirring times. When one is in imminent danger of
his life he cannot think much of his Latin, his Greek and
his ancient history."

The severe features of Master Alexander McLean
wrinkled into a frown.

"I do not know about that," he said. "Alexander the
Great slept with his Homer under his pillow, and doubtless
he also carried the book with him on his Asiatic
campaigns, refreshing and strengthening his mind from
time to time with dips into its inspiring pages. There is
no crisis in which it is pardonable for you to forget your
learning, though I fear me much that you have done so.
What was the date, Robert, of the fall of Constantinople?"

"Mahomet the Second entered it, sir, in the year 1453
A. D."

"Very good. I begin to have more confidence in you.
And why is Homer considered a much greater poet than
Virgil?"

"More masculine, more powerful, sir, and far more
original. In fact the Romans in their literature, as in
nearly all other arts, were merely imitators of the
Greeks."

The face of Master McLean relaxed into a smile.

"Excellent! Excellent!" he exclaimed. "You have[Pg 7]
done better than you claimed for yourself, but modesty is
an attribute that becomes the young, and now I tell you
again, Robert, that I am most glad you and Tayoga have
come safely out of the forest. I wish to inform you
also that Master Benjamin Hardy and his chief clerk,
Jonathan Pillsbury, have arrived from New York on the
fast packet, River Queen, and even now they are depositing
their baggage at the George Inn, where they
are expecting to stay."

Master Jacobus who had been silent while the schoolmaster
talked, awoke suddenly to life.

"At the George Inn!" he exclaimed. "It iss a good
inn, good enough for anybody, but when friends of mine
come to Albany they stay with me or I take offense.
Bide here, my friends, and I will go for them. Alexander,
sit with the lads and partake of refreshment while
I am gone."

He hastened from the room and Master McLean, upon
being urged, joined Robert and Tayoga at the table,
where he showed that he too was a good man at the
board, thinness being no bar to appetite and capacity.
As he ate he asked the boys many questions, and they,
knowing well his kindly heart under his crusty manner,
answered them all readily and freely. Elderly and bookish
though he was, his heart throbbed at the tale of the
great perils through which they had gone, and his face
darkened when Robert told anew the story of Ticonderoga.

"It is our greatest defeat so far," he said, "and I hope
our misfortunes came to a climax there. We must have
repayment for it. We must aim at the heart of the
French power, and that is Quebec. Instead of fighting
on the defense, Britain and her colonies must strike down
Canada."[Pg 8]

"So it seems to me too, sir," said Robert. "We're permitting
the Marquis de Montcalm to make the fighting, to
choose the fields of battle, and as long as we do that we
have to dance to his music. But, sir, that's only my
opinion. I would not presume to give it in the presence
of my superiors."

"You've had much experience despite your youth and
you're entitled to your thoughts. But I hear heavy
steps. 'Tis odds that it's Jacobus with his friends."

The door was opened and Mr. Huysman with many
words of welcome ushered in his guests, who being
simple and strong men brought their own baggage from
the inn. Robert rose at once and faced Benjamin Hardy
in whose eyes shone an undoubted gladness. The merchant
did not look a day older than when Robert had
last seen him in New York, and he was as robust and
hearty as ever. Jonathan Pillsbury, tall, thin and dressed
with meticulous care, also permitted himself a smile.

"Robert, my lad!" exclaimed Benjamin Hardy, dropping
his baggage and holding out two sinewy hands.
"'Tis a delight to find you and Tayoga here. I knew
not what had become of you two, and I feared the worst,
the times being so perilous. Upon my word, we've quite
a reunion!"

Robert returned his powerful and friendly grasp. He
was more than glad to see him for several reasons; for
his own sake, because he liked him exceedingly, and because
he was sure Master Benjamin held in his keeping
those secrets of his own life which he was yet to learn.

"Sir," he said, "'tis not my house, though I've lived in
it, and I know that Mr. Huysman has already given you
a most thorough welcome, so I add that it's a delight to
me to see you again. 'Twas a pleasant and most mem[Pg 9]orable
visit that Tayoga and I had at your home in New
York."

"And eventful enough, too. You came very near going
to the Guineas on a slave trip. That was the kind of
hospitality I offered you."

"No fault of yours, sir. I shall never forget the welcome
you gave us in New York. It warms my heart now
to think of it."

"I see you've not lost your gift of speech. Words
continue to well from your lips, and they're good words,
too. But I talk overmuch myself. Here is Jonathan
waiting to speak to you. I told him I was coming to
Albany. 'Upon what affair?' he asked. ''Tis secret,' I
replied. 'Meaning you do not want to tell me of its
nature,' he said. 'Yes,' I replied. Then he said, 'Whatever
its gist, you'll need my presence and advice. I'm
going with you.' And here he is. Doubtless he is right."

Jonathan Pillsbury clasped Robert's hand as warmly as
he ever clasped anybody's and permitted himself a second
smile, which was his limit, and only extraordinary
occasions could elicit two.

"Our conversation has been repeated with accuracy,"
he said. "I do not yet know why I have come to Albany,
but I feel sure it is well that I have come."

Mr. Huysman hustled about, his great red face glowing
while fat Caterina brought in more to eat. He insisted
that the new guests sit at the table and eat tremendously.
It was a time when hospitality meant repeated
offerings of food, which in America was the most abundant
of all things, and Mr. Hardy and Mr. Pillsbury easily
allowed themselves to be persuaded.

"And now, Robert, you must tell me something more
about Dave," said the merchant as they rose from the
table.[Pg 10]

Young Lennox promptly narrated their adventures
among the peaks and about the lakes while the older
men listened with breathless attention. Nor did the
story of the great hunter suffer in Robert's telling. He
had an immense admiration for Willet and he spoke of
his deeds with such vivid words and with so much imagery
and embroidery that they seemed to be enacted
again there in that quiet room before the men who
listened.

"Ah, that is Dave! True as steel. As honest and
brave as they ever make 'em," said Master Benjamin
Hardy, when he had finished. "A man! a real man if
ever one walked this earth!"

"And don't forget Tayoga here," said Robert. "The
greatest trailer ever born. He saved us more than once
by his ability to read the faintest sign the earth might
yield."

"When Dagaeoga begins to talk he never knows how
to stop," said Tayoga; "I but did the things all the warriors
of my nation are taught to do. I would be unworthy
to call myself a member of the clan of the Bear,
of the nation Onondaga, of the great League of the
Hodenosaunee, if I could not follow a trail. Peace, Dagaeoga!"

Robert joined in the laugh, and then the men began
to talk about the prospects of an attack upon Albany by
the French and Indians, though all of them inclined to
Robert's view that Montcalm would not try it.

"As you were a prisoner among them you ought to
know something about their force, Robert," said Mr.
Hardy.

"I had opportunities to observe," replied the lad, "and
from what I saw, and from what I have since heard concerning
our numbers I judge that we were at least four[Pg 11]
to one, perhaps more. But we threw away all our advantage
when we came with bare breasts against their
wooden wall and sharpened boughs."

"It is a painful thing to talk about and to think about,
but Britain never gives up. She marches over her mistakes
and failures to triumph, and we are bone of her
bone. And you saw St. Luc!"

"Often, sir. In the battle and in the preparations for
it he was the right arm of the Marquis de Montcalm. He
is a master of forest war."

"He is all that, Robert, my lad. A strange, a most
brilliant man, he is one of our most formidable enemies."

"But a gallant one, sir. He did nothing to prevent my
escape. I feel that at Ticonderoga as well as elsewhere
I am greatly in his debt."

"Undoubtedly he favors you. It does not surprise
me."

Intense curiosity leaped up in Robert's heart once
more. What was he to St. Luc! What was St. Luc
to him! All these elderly men seemed to hold a secret
that was hidden from him, and yet it concerned him
most. His lips twitched and he was about to ask a question,
but he reflected that, as always before, it would not
be answered, it would be evaded, and he restrained his
eager spirit. He knew that all the men liked him, that
they had his good at heart, and that when the time came
to speak they would speak. The words that had risen
to his lips were unspoken.

Robert felt that his elders wanted to talk, that something
they would rather not tell to the lads was in their
minds, and meanwhile the brilliant sunshine and free
air outside were calling to him and the Onondaga.

"I think," he said, addressing them all collectively,
"that Tayoga and I should go to see Lieutenant Grosve[Pg 12]nor.
He was our comrade in the forest, and he has been
somewhat overcome by his great hardships."

"The idea would not be bad," said Master Benjamin
Hardy. "Youth to youth, and, while you are gone, we
old fellows will talk of days long ago as old fellows are
wont to do."

And so they did want him and Tayoga to go! He
had divined their wishes aright. He was quite sure, too,
that when he and the Onondaga were away the past
would be very little in their minds. These active men in
the very prime of their powers were concerned most
about the present and the future. Well, whatever it was
he was sure they would discuss it with wisdom and
foresight.

"Come, Tayoga," he said. "Outdoors is calling to us."

"And be sure that you return in time for supper," said
Master Jacobus. "This house is to be your home as
long as you are in Albany. I should be offended mortally
if you went elsewhere."

"No danger of that," said Robert. "Tayoga and I
know a good home when we find it. And we know
friends, too, when we see them."

It was a bit of sentiment, but he felt it very deeply and
he saw that all of the men looked pleased. As he and
Tayoga went out he noticed that they drew their chairs
about the dining-room table that Caterina had cleared,
and before the door closed upon the two lads they were
already talking in low and earnest tones.

"They have affairs of importance which are not for
us," he said, when he and the Onondaga were outside.

"It is so," said Tayoga. "The white people have their
chiefs and sachems like the nations of the Hodenosaunee,
and their ranks are filled by age. The young warriors
are for the trail, the hunt, and the war path, and not for[Pg 13]
the council. It is right that it should be thus. I do not
wish to be a chief or a sachem before my time. I am
glad, Dagaeoga, to enjoy youth, and let our elders do the
hard thinking for us."

"So am I," said Robert joyfully as he filled his lungs
with draught after draught of the fresh air. "No seat
at the council for me! Not for twenty years yet! Give
me freedom and action! Let others do the planning and
take the responsibility!"

He felt a great elation. His sanguine temperament had
made a complete rebound from the depression following
Ticonderoga. Although he did not know it the result was
partly physical—good food and abundant rest, but he did
not seek to analyze the cause, the condition was sufficient.
The color in his cheeks deepened and his eyes
glowed.

"Dagaeoga is feeling very, very good," said Tayoga.

"I am," replied Robert with emphasis. "I never felt
better. I'm forgetting Ticonderoga; instead, I'm beholding
our army at Quebec, and I'm seeing our flag wave
over all Canada."

"Dagaeoga sees what he wants to see."

"It's not a bad plan. Then the lions die in your
path."

"It is so. Dagaeoga speaks a great truth. We will
now see how Red Coat feels."

A portion of the army that had retreated from Ticonderoga
was camped on the flats near the town, and Robert
and Tayoga walked swiftly toward the tents. It was a
much more silent force, British and American, than that
which had gone forth not so very long ago to what
seemed certain victory. Officers and men were angry.
They felt that they had been beaten when there was no
reason why they should have been defeated. Obeying[Pg 14]
orders, they had retreated in sullen silence, when they
had felt sure they could have gone on, fought a new battle,
and have crushed Montcalm. Now they waited impatiently
for another call to advance on Canada, and win
back their lost laurels. Both lads felt the tension.

"They are like the wounded bear," said Tayoga.
"They feel very sore, and they wish for revenge."

They learned that Grosvenor was in his tent and soon
found him there lying upon his blankets. Some of the
ruddy color was gone from his cheeks, and he looked
worn and thin. But he sat up, and welcomed Robert and
Tayoga joyously.

"It's foolish of me to break down like this," he said,
"but after we got back to civilization something seemed
to cave in. I hope you chaps won't overlook the fact
that I'm not as much used to the forest as you are, and
bear in mind that I did my best."

"Red Coat's best was very good," said Tayoga in his
grave, precise manner. "Few who have been in the forest
as little as he could have done as much and have
borne as much."

"Do you really think so, Tayoga? You're not merely
flattering me?"

"Our wisest sachem would tell you so, Red Coat."

"Thanks, my friend. You make me feel better. I was
lucky enough to go through the great battle with little
hurt. It was a most ghastly slaughter, and I still dream
of it. I stood up all right until we got back to Albany,
and then I collapsed. But to-morrow I'll be on my feet
again. Your friends, Colden, Wilton and Carson are all
here. They showed great courage and they have some
slight wounds, but not enough to trouble 'em."

Robert found the Philadelphians a little later, and they
all went back to Grosvenor's tent, where they were joined[Pg 15]
in a half hour by the Virginians, Walter Stuart and
James Cabell, who had been with them in Braddock's defeat
and whom Robert had known at Williamsburg. It
was a tight squeeze for them all in the tent, but there
was another and joyous reunion. Youth responded to
youth and hope was high.

"Stuart and I did not arrive in time for Ticonderoga,"
said Cabell, "but we mean to be in the next great battle."

"So we do!" exclaimed Cabell. "The Old Dominion
had a taste of defeat at Fort Duquesne and you've had
the like here. Now we'll all wait and see how victory
agrees with us."

"Some of us have been in at both defeats," said Grosvenor
rather sadly.

But the presence of so many friends and the cheerful
talk made him feel so much better that he averred his
ability to go anywhere and do anything at once.

"You've leave of absence if you wish it?" asked Cabell.

"For several days more," replied Grosvenor.

"Then let's all go into the town. I haven't had a good
look at Albany yet. I want to see if it's as fine a place as
Williamsburg."

"It's larger," said Robert.

"But size is not everything. That's where you northern
people make your mistake."

"But you'll admit that Philadelphia's a fine city, won't
you?" said Colden, "and you know it's the largest in the
colonies."

"But it's comparatively near to Virginia," said Cabell
briskly, "and our influence works wonders."

"We've our own conceit in Philadelphia," said Wilton,
"but conceit and Virginia are just the same words,
though they may have a different sound."

"Come on to the George Inn," said Grosvenor, "and[Pg 16]
you can argue it out there. Old England likes to see this
healthy rivalry among her children. She doesn't mind
your being bumptious."

"We're bumptious, because we're like our parent," said
Cabell. "It's a matter of inheritance."

"Let the George Inn settle it. Come on, lads."

Grosvenor was feeling better and better. He was
adaptable and this was a sprightly group, full of kindred
spirits. The Virginians were as English as he was, and
the others nearly as much so. He had acquitted himself
well in the New World, in fields with which he was unfamiliar,
and these lads were friends. Danger and hardships
faded quite away into a forgotten past. He was
strong and well once more.

"You shall all be my guests at the George Inn!" he exclaimed.
"We shall have refreshment and talk, plenty of
both."

"As we Virginians are the oldest people in the colonies,
it's the right of Stuart and myself to be the hosts," said
Cabell.

"Aye, so 'tis," said Stuart.

"As we're from Philadelphia, the greatest and finest
city in the country, it's the right of Wilton, Carson and
myself," said Colden.

But Grosvenor was firm. He had given the invitation
first, he said, and nobody could take the privilege from
him. So the others yielded gracefully, and in high good
humor the eight, saying much and humming little songs,
walked across the fields from the camp and into the
town. Robert noticed the bustling life of Albany with
approval. The forest made its appeal to him, and the
city made another and different but quite as strong appeal.
The old Fort Orange of the Dutch was crowded
now, not only with troops but with all the forms of in[Pg 17]dustry
that follow in the train of an army. The thrifty
Dutch, despite their apprehension over the coming of
the French, were busy buying, selling, and between battles
much money was made.

The George Inn, a low building but long and substantial
was down by the river. The great doors stood wide
open and much life flowed in and out, showing that it
too profited by war. The eight found seats at a table on
a sanded floor, and contented themselves with lemonade,
which they drank slowly, while they talked and looked.

It was a motley and strange throng; American, English,
Dutch, German, Indian, Swedish. A half dozen languages
were heard in the great room, forerunner of the
many elements that were to enter in the composition of
the American nation. And the crowd was already cosmopolitan.
Difference of race attracted no attention.
Men took no notice of Tayoga because he was an Indian,
unless to admire his tall, straight figure and proud carriage.
Albany had known the Iroquois a century and a
half.

Robert's spirits, like Grovenor's, mounted. Here he
was with many friends of his own age and kindred mind.
Everything took on the color of rose. All of them were
talking, but his own gift of speech was the finest. He
clothed narrative with metaphor and illustration until
it became so vivid that the others were glad to fall silent
and listen to him, though Robert himself was unconscious
of the fact. They made him relate once more his story of
the battle as he saw it from inside the French lines at
Ticonderoga, and, just as he came to the end of the
tale, he caught a glimpse of a tall man entering the tavern.

"Tell us what you saw from the other side," he said
to Grosvenor, and they compelled the reluctant English[Pg 18]man
to talk. Then Robert turned his eyes toward the
tall man who was now sitting at a small table in the corner
and drinking from a long glass. Something familiar
in his walk had caught his attention as he came in, and,
under cover of Grosvenor's talk, he wished to observe
him again without being noticed even by his own comrades.

The stranger was sitting with the side of his face to
Robert, and his features were not well disclosed. His
dress was that of a seafaring man, rough but rather good
in texture, and a belt held a long dirk in a scabbard which
was usual at that time. The hand that raised the long
glass to his lips was large, red and powerful. Robert felt
that his first belief was correct. He had seen him before
somewhere, though he could not yet recall where, but
when he turned his head presently he knew. They had
met under such circumstances that neither was ever likely
to forget time or place.

He was amazed that the stranger had come so boldly
into Albany, but second thought told him that there was
no proof against him, it was merely Robert's word
against his. Among people absorbed in a great war his
own story would seem wildly improbable and the
stranger's would have all the savor of truth. But he
knew that he could not be mistaken. He saw now the
spare face, clean shaven, and the hard eyes, set close together,
that he remembered so well.

Robert did not know what to do. He listened for a
little while to Grosvenor's narrative but his attention
wandered back to the seafaring man. Then he decided.

"Will you fellows talk on and excuse me for a few
minutes?" he said.

"What is it, Lennox?" asked Colden.[Pg 19]

"I see an acquaintance on the other side of the room.
I wish to speak to him."

"That being the case, we'll let you go, but we'll miss
you. Hurry back."

"I'll stay only a few minutes. It's an old friend and I
must have a little talk with him."

He walked with light steps across the room which was
crowded, humming with many voices, the air heavy with
smoke. The man was still at the small table, and, opposite
him, was an empty chair in which Robert sat deliberately,
putting his elbows on the table, and staring
into the hard blue eyes.

"I'm Peter Smith," he said. "You remember me?"

There was a flicker of surprise in the Captain's face,
but nothing more.

"Oh, yes, Peter," he said. "I know you, but I was not
looking for you just at this moment."

"But I'm here."

"Perhaps you're coming back to your duty, is that it?
Well, I'm glad. I've another ship now, and though you're
a runaway seaman I can afford to let bygones be bygones."

"I hope your vessel has changed her trade. I don't
think I'd care to sail again on a slaver."

"Always a particular sort of chap you were, Peter.
It's asking a lot for me to change the business of my
ship to suit you."

"But not too much."

The conversation was carried on in an ordinary tone.
Neither raised his voice a particle. Nobody took any
notice. His own comrades, engrossed in lively talk,
seemed to have forgotten Robert for the moment, and
he felt that he was master of the situation. Certainly the
slaver would be more uncomfortable than he.[Pg 20]

"I was wondering," he said, "how long you mean to
stay in Albany."

"It's a pleasant town," said the man, "as I have cause
to know since I've been here before. I may remain quite
a while. Still, I shall decide wholly according to my
taste."

"But there is a certain element of danger."

"Oh, the war! I don't think the French even if they
come to Albany will have a chance to take me."

"I didn't have the war in mind. There are other risks
of which I think that I, Peter Smith, who sailed with you
once before ought to warn you."

"It's good of you, Peter, to think so much of my
safety, but I don't believe I've any cause for fear. I've
always been able to take care of myself."

The last words were said with a little snap, and Robert
knew they were meant as a defiance, but he appeared not
to notice.

"Ah, well you've shown that you know how to look out
for number one," he said. "I'm only Peter Smith, a
humble seaman, but I've the same faculty. I bid you
good-day."

"Good-day, Peter. I hope there's no ill feeling between
us, and that each will have whatever he deserves!"

Cool! wonderfully cool, Robert thought, but he replied
merely: "I trust so, too, and in that case it is easy to
surmise what one of us would get."

He sauntered back to his comrades, and, lest he
attract their attention, he did not look toward the slaver
again for a minute or two. When he glanced in that
direction he saw the man walking toward the door, not
in any hurried manner, but as if he had all the time in
the world, and need fear nobody. Cool! wonderfully
cool, Robert thought a second time.[Pg 21]

The slaver went out, and Robert thought he caught a
glimpse of a man meeting him, a second man in whose
figure also there was something familiar. They were
gone in an instant, and he was tempted to spring up and
follow them, because the figure of which he had seen
but a little at the door reminded him nevertheless of
Achille Garay, the spy.[Pg 22]

CHAPTER II

THE CHEST OF DRAWERS

It was but a fleeting glimpse that Robert had of the
second man, but he believed that it was Garay. He
not only looked like the spy, but he was convinced
that it was really he. After the first moment or two he
did not doubt his identity, and making an excuse that he
wanted a little fresh air and would return in an instant
he walked quickly to the door. He caught another and
fugitive glimpse of two men, one tall and the other short,
walking away together, and he could not doubt that they
were the slaver and the spy.

Had he been alone Robert would have followed them,
though he was quite certain that Garay must have had
some place of sure refuge, else he would not have ventured
into Albany. Even with that recourse his act was
uncommonly bold. If the slaver was daring, the spy
was yet more so. There was nothing against the slaver
that they could prove, but the spy put his neck in the
noose.

Robert whistled softly to himself, and he was very
thoughtful. Willet, Tayoga and he had been so completely
victorious over Garay in the forest that perhaps he
had underrated him. Maybe he was a man to be feared.
His daring appearance in Albany must be fortified by supreme
cunning, and his alliance with the slaver implied
a plan. Robert believed that the plan, or a part of it at[Pg 23]
least, was directed against himself. Well, what if it was?
He could meet it, and he was not afraid. He had overcome
other perils, and he had friends, as true and steadfast
as were ever held to any man by hooks of steel. His
heart beat high, he was in a glow, his whole soul leaped
forward to meet prospective danger.

He went back into the inn and took his seat with the
others. Now it was Stuart who was talking, telling them
of life in the great Southern colony and of its delights,
of the big houses, of the fields of tobacco, of the horse
races, of the long visits to neighbors, and how all who
were anybody were related, making Virginia one huge
family.

"Now Cabell and I," he said, "belong to the same clan.
My mother and his father are third cousins, which makes
us fourth cousins, or fifth is it? But whether fourth or
fifth, we're cousins just the same. All the people of our
blood are supposed to stand together, and do stand together.
Oh, it has its delights! It makes us sufficient
unto ourselves! The old Dominion is a world in itself,
complete in all its parts."

"But you have to come to Philadelphia to see a great
city and get a taste of metropolitan life," said Colden.

Then a discussion, friendly but warm arose as to the
respective merits of the Virginia and Pennsylvania provinces,
and when it was at its height and the attention of
all the others was absorbed in it, Tayoga leaned over and
whispered to Robert:

"What did you see at the door, Dagaeoga?"

Robert was startled. So, the Onondago was watching,
after all. He might have known that nothing would
escape his attention.

"I saw Garay, the spy," he replied in the same tone.[Pg 24]

"And the man at the little table was the captain of
the slave ship on which you were taken?"

"The same."

"It bodes ill, Dagaeoga. You must watch."

"I will, Tayoga."

The crowd in the great room of the George Inn increased
and the young group remained, eager to watch
it. It was a reflex of the life in the colonies, at the seat
of conflict, and throbbing with all the emotions of a great
war that enveloped nearly the whole civilized world. A
burly fellow, dressed as a teamster, finally made his voice
heard above the others.

"I tell you men," he said, "that we must give up Albany!
Our army has been cut to pieces! Montcalm is advancing
with twenty thousand French regulars, and
swarms of Indians! They control all of Lake George as
well as Champlain! Hundreds of settlers have already
fallen before the tomahawk, and houses are burning
along the whole border! I have it from them that have
seen the fires."

There was a sudden hush in the crowd, followed by
an alarmed murmur. The man's emphasis and his startling
statements made an impression.

"Go on, Dobbs! Tell us about it!" said one.

"What do you know?" asked another.

He stood up, a great tall man with a red face.

"My cousin has been in the north," he said, "and he's
seen rangers, some that have just escaped from the Indians,
barely saving their hair. He heard from them that
the King of France has sent a big army to Canada, and
that another just as big is on the way. It won't be a
week before you see the French flag from the hills of
Albany, and wise men are already packing ready to go
to New York."[Pg 25]

There was another alarmed hush.

"This fellow must be stopped," said Colden. "He'll
start a panic."

"Dagaeoga has the gift of words," whispered a voice
in Robert's ear, "and now is the time to use it."

Nothing more was needed. Robert was on fire in an
instant, and, standing upon his chair, asked for attention.

"Your pardon a moment, Mr. Dobbs," he said, "if I
interrupt you."

"Why it's only a boy!" a man exclaimed.

"A boy, it's true," said Robert, who now felt himself
the center of all eyes, and who, as usual, responded with
all his faculties to such an opportunity, "but I was present
at the Battle of Ticonderoga, and perhaps I've a chance
to correct a few errors into which our friend, Mr. Dobbs,
has fallen."

"What are those errors?" asked the man in a surly
tone, not relishing his loss of the stage.

"I'll come to them promptly," said Robert in his mellowest
tones. "They're just trifles, Mr. Dobbs, but still
trifles should be corrected. I stood with the French army
in the battle, and I know something about its numbers,
which are about one-sixth of what Mr. Dobbs claims
them to be."

"What were you doing with the French?"

"I happened to be a prisoner, Mr. Dobbs. I escaped
a day or two later. But here are with me young officers
of ours who were in the attack. Several of them felt
the sting of French bullets on that day, so when they
tell you what happened they know what they're talking
about. Their reports don't come from their cousins, but
are the product of their own eyes and ears. Peace, Mr.
Dobbs! I've the floor, or rather the chair, and I must[Pg 26]
tell the facts. We were defeated at Ticonderoga, it's
true, but we were not cut to pieces. Our generals failed
to bring up our artillery. They underrated the French.
They went with rifles, muskets and bayonets alone
against breastworks, defended by a valiant foe, for the
French are valiant, and they paid the price. But our
army is in existence and it's as brave as ever. Albany
is in no danger. Don't be alarmed."

"You're but a boy. You don't know," growled Dobbs.

"Peace, Mr. Dobbs! Give us peace. A boy who has
seen may know better than a man who has not seen. I
tell you once again, friends, that the Marquis de Montcalm
will not appear before Albany. It's a long way from
Ticonderoga to this city, too long a road for the French
army to travel. Wise men are not packing for flight to
New York. Wise men are staying right here."

"Hear! Hear!" exclaimed the Virginians and Philadelphians
and Grosvenor, and "Hear! Hear!" was repeated
from the crowd. Dobbs' red face grew redder, but
now he was silent.

"My friends," continued Robert in his golden persuasive
tones, "you're not afraid, you're all brave men, but
you must guard against panic. Experience tells you that
rumor is irresponsible, that, as it spreads, it grows. We're
going to learn from our defeat. The French are as near
to Albany as they'll ever come. The war is not going to
move southward. Its progress instead will be toward
Quebec. Remember that panic is always a bad counselor;
but that courage is ever a good one. Things are
never as bad as they look."

"Hear! Hear!" exclaimed his young comrades again,
and the echoes from the crowd were more numerous than
before. The teamster began to draw back and presently
slipped out of the door. Then Robert sat down amid[Pg 27]
great applause, blushing somewhat because he had been
carried away by his feelings and apologizing to the others
for making himself conspicuous.

"Nothing to apologize for," exclaimed Cabell. "'Twas
well done, a good speech at the right time. You've the
gift of oratory, Lennox. You should come to Virginia
to live, after we've defeated the French. Our province is
devoted to oratory. You've the gift of golden speech, and
the people will follow you."

"I'm afraid I've made an enemy of that man, Dobbs,"
said Robert, "and I had enemies enough already."

His mind went back to the slaver and Garay, and he
was troubled.

"We've had our little triumph here, thanks to Lennox,"
said Colden, "and it seems to me now that we've about
exhausted the possibilities of the George. Besides, the
air is getting thick. Let's go outside."

Grosvenor paid the score and they departed, a cheer
following them. Here were young officers who had
fought well, and the men in the George were willing to
show respect.

"I think I'd better return to camp now," said Grosvenor.

"We'll go with you," said Colden, speaking for the
Pennsylvanians.

"Stuart and I are detached for the present," said Cabell.
"We secured a transfer from our command in
Virginia, and we're hoping for commissions in the Royal
Americans, and more active service, since the whole tide
of war seems to have shifted to the north rather than
the west."

"The Royal Americans are fine men," said Robert.
"Though raised in the colonies, they rank with the British
regulars. I had a good friend in one of the regiments,[Pg 28]
Edward Charteris, of New York, but he was taken at
Ticonderoga. I saw the French bring him in a prisoner.
I suppose they're holding him in Quebec now."

"Then we'll rescue him when we take Quebec," said
Stuart valiantly.

The friends separated with promises to meet again soon
and to see much of one another while they were in
Albany, Grosvenor and the Pennsylvanians continuing
to the camp, Cabell and Stuart turning back to the George
for quarters, and Robert and Tayoga going toward the
house of Mynheer Jacobus Huysman. But before they
reached it young Lennox suggested that they turn toward
the river.

"It is well to do so," said the Onondaga. "I think
that Dagaeoga wishes to look there for a ship."

"That's in my mind, Tayoga, and yet I wouldn't know
the vessel I'm looking for if I saw her."

"She will be commanded by the man whom we saw
in the inn, the one with whom Dagaeoga talked."

"I've no doubt of it, Tayoga. Nothing escapes your
notice."

"What are eyes for if not to see! And it is a time for
all to watch; especially, it is a time for Dagaeoga to
watch with his eyes, his ears and all his senses."

"I've that feeling myself."

"Something is plotting against you. The slaver did not
meet the spy for nothing."

"Why should men bother about one as insignificant as
I am, when the world is plunged into a great war?"

"It is because Dagaeoga is in the way of somebody. He
is very much in the way or so much trouble and risk
would not be taken to remove him."

"I wonder what it is Tayoga. I know that Mr. Hardy
and Mr. Huysman and doubtless others hold the key to[Pg 29]
this lock, but I feel quite sure they are not going to put
it in my hand just at present."

"No, they will not, but it must be for very good reasons.
No one ever had better friends than Dagaeoga has
in them. If they do not choose to tell him anything it
will be wise for him not to ask questions."

"That's just the way I feel about it, and so I'm going
to ask no questions."

A hulking figure barred their way, a red face glowed
at them, and a rough voice demanded satisfaction.

"You fellow with the slick tongue, you had 'em laughing
at me in the tavern," said Dobbs, the teamster. "You
just the same as told 'em I was a liar when I said the
French were coming."

The man was full of unreasoning anger, and he handled
the butt end of a heavy whip. Yet Robert felt quite cool.
His pistol was in his belt, and Tayoga was at his elbow.

"You are mistaken, my good Mr. Dobbs," he said gaily.
"I would never tell a man he was a liar, particularly one
to whom I had not been introduced. I try to be choice in
my language. I was trained to be so by Mr. Alexander
McLean, a most competent schoolmaster of this city, and
I merely tried to disseminate a thought in the minds of
the numerous audience gathered in the George Inn. My
thought was unlike your thought, and so I was compelled
to use words that did not resemble the words used by
you. I was not responsible for the results flowing from
them."

"I don't know what you mean," growled Dobbs. "You
string a lot of big words together, and I think you're
laughing at me again."

"Impossible, Mr. Dobbs. I could not be so impolite.
My risibilities may be agitated to a certain extent, but
laugh in the face of a stranger, never! Now will you[Pg 30]
kindly let us pass? The street here is narrow and we do
not wish to crowd."

Dobbs did not move and his manner became more
threatening than ever, the loaded whip swaying in his
hand. Robert's light and frolicsome humor did not depart.
He felt himself wholly master of the situation.

"Now, good Mr. Dobbs, kind Mr. Dobbs, I ask you
once more to move," he said in his most wheedling manner.
"The day is too bright and pleasant to be disturbed
by angry feelings. My own temper is always even. Nothing
disturbs me. I was never known to give way to
wrath, but my friend whom you see by my side is a great
Onondaga chieftain. His disposition is haughty and
fierce. He belongs to a race that can never bear the
slightest suspicion of an insult. It is almost certain death
to speak to him in an angry or threatening manner.
Friends as we have been for years, I am always very
careful how I address him."

The teamster's face fell and he stepped back. The
heavy whip ceased to move in a menacing manner in his
hand.

"Prudence is always a good thing," continued Robert.
"When a great Indian chieftain is a friend to a man, any
insult to that man is a double insult to the chieftain. It
is usually avenged with the utmost promptitude, and place
is no bar. An angry glance even may invite a fatal
blow."

Dobbs stepped to one side, and Robert and Tayoga
walked haughtily on. The Onondaga laughed low, but
with intense amusement.

"Verily it is well to have the gift of words," he said,
"when with their use one, leaving weapons undrawn, can
turn an enemy aside."

"I could not enter into a street fight with such a man,[Pg 31]
Tayoga, and diplomacy was needed. You'll pardon my
use of you as a menace?"

"I'm at Dagaeoga's service."

"That being the case we'll now continue the search for
our slaver."

They hunted carefully along the shores of the Hudson.
Albany was a busy river port at all times, but it was now
busier than ever, the pressure of war driving new traffic
upon it from every side. Many boats were bringing supplies
from further south, and others were being loaded
with the goods of timid people, ready to flee from Montcalm
and the French. Albany caught new trade both
coming and going. The thrifty burghers profited by it
and rejoiced.

"We've nothing to go on," said Robert, "and perhaps
we couldn't tell the slaver's ship if we were looking
squarely at it. Still, it seems to me it ought to be a
small craft, slim and low, built for speed and with a
sneaky look."

"Then we will seek such a vessel," said Tayoga.

Nothing answered the description. The river people
were quite willing to talk and, the two falling into conversation
with them, as if by chance, were able to account
for every craft of any size. There was no strange
ship that could be on any mysterious errand.

"It is in my mind, Dagaeoga," said Tayoga, "that this
lies deeper than we had thought. The slaver would not
have shown himself and he would not have talked with
you so freely if he had not known that he would leave
a hidden trail."

"It looks that way to me, Tayoga," said Robert, "and I
think Garay must be in some kind of disguise. He would
not venture so boldly among us if he did not have a way
of concealing himself."[Pg 32]

"It is in my mind, too, that we have underestimated
the spy. He has perhaps more courage and resolution
than we thought, or these qualities may have come to him
recently. The trade of a spy is very useful to Montcalm
just now. After his victory at Ticonderoga he will be
anxious to know what we are doing here at Albany, and
it will be the duty of Garay to learn. Besides, we put a
great humiliation upon him that time we took his letter
from him in the forest, and he is burning for vengeance
upon us. It is not in the nature of Dagaeoga to wish revenge,
but he must not blind himself on that account to
the fact that others cherish it."

"It was the fortune of war. We have our disasters
and our enemies have theirs."

"Yet we must beware of Garay. I know it, Dagaeoga."

"At any rate we can't find out anything about him and
the slaver along the river, and that being the case I suggest
that we go on to the house of Mynheer Jacobus,
where we're pretty sure of a welcome."

Their greetings at the burgher's home were as warm as
anybody could wish. Master McLean had left, and the
rest were talking casually in the large front room, but
the keen eyes of the Onondaga read the signs infallibly.
This was a trail that could not be hidden from him.

"Other men have been here," he said a little later to
Robert, when they were alone in the room. "There has
been a council."

"How do you know, Tayoga?"

"How do I know, Dagaeoga? Because I have eyes and
I use them. It is printed all over the room in letters of
the largest type and in words of one syllable. The floor
is of polished wood, Dagaeoga, and there is a great table
in the center of the chamber. The chairs have been
moved back, but eight men sat around it. I can count[Pg 33]
the faint traces made by the chairs in the polish of the
floor. They were heavy men—most of the men of Albany
are heavy, and now and then they moved restlessly,
as they talked. That was why they ground the chair legs
against the polish, leaving there little traces which will be
gone in another hour, but which are enough while they
last to tell their tale.

"They moved so, now and then because their talk was
of great importance. They smoked also that they might
think better over what they were saying. A child could
tell that, because smoke yet lingers in the room, although
Caterina has opened the windows to let it out. Some of
it is left low down in the corners, and under the chairs
now against the wall. A little of the ash from their pipes
has fallen on the table, showing that although Caterina
has opened the windows she has not yet had time to clean
the room. You and I know, Dagaeoga, that she would
never miss any ash on the table. Master McLean smoked
much, perhaps more than any of the others. He uses the
strongest Virginia tobacco that he can obtain, and I
know its odor of old. I smell it everywhere in the room.
I also know the odor of the tobacco that Mynheer Jacobus
uses, and it is strongest here by the mantel, showing
that in the course of the council he frequently got up
and stood here. Ah, there is ash on the mantel itself! He
tapped it now and then with his pipe to enforce what he
was saying. Mynheer Jacobus was much stirred, or he
would not have risen to his feet to make speeches to the
others."

"Can you locate Master Hardy also?"

"I think I can, Dagaeoga."

He ran around the room like a hound on the scent,
and, at last, he stopped before a large massive locked
chest of drawers that stood in the corner, a heavy ma[Pg 34]hogany
piece that looked as if it had been imported from
France or Italy.

"Master Jacobus came here," said the Onondaga. "I
smell his tobacco. Ah, and Master Hardy came, too! I
now smell his tobacco also. I remember that when we
were in New York he smoked a peculiar, bitter West India
compound which doubtless is brought to him regularly
in his ships—men nearly always have a favorite tobacco
and will take every trouble to get it. I recognize the
odor perfectly. There are traces of the ash of both tobaccos
on the chest of drawers, and Master Huysman and
Master Hardy came here, because there are papers in this
piece of furniture which Master Huysman wished to
show to Master Hardy. They are in the third drawer
from the top, because there is a little dust on the others,
but none on the third. It fell off when it was opened, and
was then shut again strongly after they were through."

Robert gazed with intense curiosity at the third drawer.
The papers in it might concern himself—he believed
Tayoga implicitly—but it was not for him to pry into the
affairs of two such good friends. If they wished to keep
their secret a while longer, then they had good reasons
for doing so.

"Did the others come to the chest of drawers also, and
look at the papers?" he asked.

The Onondaga knelt down and examined the polished
floor.

"I do not think so," he replied at length. "It is wholly
likely that Master Jacobus and Master Hardy came to
the chest of drawers after the others had gone, and that
the papers had no bearing on the matters they talked over
in the council. Yes, it is so! It is bound to be so! The
odor of their two tobaccos is stronger than any of the
other odors in the room, showing that they were in here[Pg 35]
much longer than the others. It may be that the papers
in the third drawer relate to Dagaeoga."

"I had that thought myself, Tayoga."

"Does Dagaeoga wish me to go further with it?"

"No, Tayoga. What those men desire to hide from us
must remain hidden."

"I am glad Dagaeoga has answered that way, because
if he had not I should have refused to go on, and yet I
knew that was the way in which he would answer."

They went to another room in which they found
Mr. Huysman, Mr. Hardy and the clerk, and Robert told
of his meeting with the slaver. The face of Benjamin
Hardy darkened.

"Tayoga is right," he said. "That man's presence here
bodes ill for you, Robert."

"I'm not afraid. Besides I've too many friends," said
Robert quietly.

"Both your statements are true, but you must be careful
just the same," interjected Master Jacobus. "Nevertheless,
we'll not be apprehensive. Master McLean iss
coming back for supper, and we're going to make it a
great affair, a real reunion for all of us. Caterina, helped
by two stout colored women, has been cooking all the
afternoon, and I hope that you two boys have had enough
exercise and excitement to whet your appetites. How
iss it?"

"We have, sir!" they replied together, and with emphasis.

"And now to your old room. You'll find there in a
closet clothes for both of you, Tayoga's of his own kind,
that Caterina has preserved carefully, and at six o'clock
come in to supper, which to-day iss to be our chief meal.
I would not have Benjamin Hardy to come all the way
from New York and say that I failed to set for him as[Pg 36]
good a meal as he would set for me if I were his guest in
his city. Not only my hospitality but the hospitality of
Albany iss at stake."

"I know, sir, that your reputation will not suffer," said
Robert with great confidence.

He and Tayoga in their room found their clothes preserved
in camphor and quickly made the change. Then
they stood by the window, looking out on the pleasant
domain, in which they had spent so many happy hours.
Both felt a glow.

"Master Jacobus Huysman is a good man," said Robert.

"A wise, fat chief," said the Onondaga. "A kind
heart and a strong head. He is worthy to rule. If he belonged
to the league of the Hodenosaunee we would put
him in a high place."

"Though he holds no office, I think he sits in a high
place here. It is likely that the men who were around
the table to-day came to him for counsel."

"It seems a good guess to me, Dagaeoga. Perhaps they
take measures to meet the threat of Montcalm."

"They're our elders, and we'll let them do the thinking
on that point just now. Somehow, I feel light of heart,
Tayoga, and I want to enjoy myself."

"Even though the slaver and the spy are here, and we
all believe that they threaten you?"

"Even so. My heart is light, nevertheless. My mind
tells me that I ought to be apprehensive and sad, but my
heart has taken control and I am hopeful and gay?"

"It is the nature of Dagaeoga, and he should give
thanks to Manitou that he has been made that way. It
is worth much more to him than the white man's gold."

"I am thankful, Tayoga. I'm thankful for a lot of
things. How does this coat look on me?"[Pg 37]

"It is small. You have grown much in the last year
or two. Your frame is filling out and you are bigger
every way. Still, it is a fine coat, and the knee breeches,
stockings and buckled shoes are very splendid. If Dagaeoga
does not look like a chief it is only because he is
not old enough, and he at least looks like the son of a
chief."

Robert contemplated himself in a small mirror with
much satisfaction.

"I'm frightfully tanned," he said. "Perhaps they
wouldn't take me for a model of fashion in Paris or London,
but here nearly everybody else is tanned also, and,
after all, it's healthy."

The Onondaga regarded him with an amused smile.

"If Dagaeoga had the time and money he would spend
much of both on dress," he said. "He loves to make a
fine appearance."

"You say nothing but the truth," said Robert frankly.
"I hope some day to have the very best clothes that are
made. A man who respects his clothes respects himself.
I know no sin in trying to please the eyes of others and
incidentally myself. I note, Tayoga, that on occasion
you array yourself with great splendor, and that, at all
times, you're very particular about your attire."

"It is so, Dagaeoga. I spoke in terms of approval, not
of criticism. Are you satisfied with yourself?"

"As much as possible under the circumstances. If I
could achieve the change merely by making a wish I'd
have the coat and breeches of a somewhat richer hue,
and the buckles on the shoes considerably larger, but
they'll do. Shall we sit here and rest until Caterina calls
us for supper?"

"I think so, Dagaeoga."

But it was not long until the summons came, and they[Pg 38]
went into the great dining-room, where the elder company
was already gathered. Besides Mr. Huysman, Benjamin
Hardy, Jonathan Pillsbury, and Alexander McLean,
there were Nicholas Ten Broeck and Oliver Suydam,
two of Albany's most solid burghers, and Alan
Hervey, another visitor from New York, a thin man of
middle years and shrewd looks, whom Robert took to
be a figure in finance and trade. All the elders seemed
to know one another well, and to be on the best of terms.

Robert and Tayoga were presented duly, and made
their modest acknowledgments, sitting together near the
end of the table.

"These lads, young as they are," said Master Jacobus
Huysman, "have had much experience of the present war.
One of them was a prisoner of the French at Ticonderoga
and saw the whole battle, while the other fought
in it. Before that they were in innumerable encounters
and other perils, usually with the great hunter, David
Willet, of whom you all know, and who, I regret, is not
here."

"It is no more than thousands of others have done,"
said Robert, blushing under his tan.

Hervey regarded him and Tayoga with interest. The
Onondaga was in full Indian dress, but Albany was used
to the Iroquois, and that fact was not at all exceptional.

"War is a terrible thing," he said, "and whether a
nation is or is not to endure depends very much upon its
youth."

"We always think that present youth is inferior to what
our own youth was," said Mr. Hardy. "That, I believe,
is a common human failing. But Master McLean ought
to know. Forty years of youth, year after year have
passed through his hands. What say you, Alexander?"

"Youth is youth," replied the schoolmaster, weighing[Pg 39]
his sentences, "and by those words I mean exactly what
I say. I think it changes but little through all the ages,
and it is probably the same to-day that it was in old
Babylon. I find in my schoolroom that the youth of this
year is just like the youth of ten years ago, just as the
youth of ten years ago was exactly like the youth of
twenty, thirty and forty years ago."

"And what are the cardinal points of this formative
age, Alexander?" asked Master Jacobus.

"Speaking mildly, I would call it concentration upon
self. The horizon of youth is bounded by its own eye.
It looks no farther. As it sees and feels it, the world exists
for youth. We elders, parents, uncles, guardians and
such, live for its benefit. We are merely accessories to
the great and main fact, which is youth."

"Do you believe that to be true, Robert?" asked Master
Benjamin Hardy, a twinkle in his eye.

"I hope it's not, sir," replied Robert, reddening again
under his tan.

"But it's true and it will remain true," continued the
schoolmaster judicially. "It was equally true of all of us
who passed our youth long ago. I do not quarrel with
it. I merely state a fact of life. Perhaps if I could
I would not strip youth of this unconscious absorption in
self, because in doing so we might deprive it of the simplicity
and directness, the artless beliefs that make youth
so attractive."

"I hold," said Mr. Hervey, "that age is really a state
of mind. We believe certain things at twenty, others at
thirty, others at forty, and so on. The beliefs of twenty
are true at twenty, we must not try them by the tests of
thirty, nor must we try those of thirty by the tests of
forty or fifty. So how are we to say which age is the
wiser, when every age accepts as true what it believes,[Pg 40]
and, so makes it true? I agree, too, with Mr. McLean,
that I would not change the character of youth if I could.
Looking back upon my own youth I find much in it to
laugh at, but I did not laugh at it at the time. It was
very real to me then, and so must its feelings be to the
youth of to-day."

"We wade into deep waters," said Mynheer Jacobus,
"and we may go over our heads. Ah, here are the
oysters! I hope that all of you will find them to your
liking."

A dozen were served for every guest—it was the day of
plenty, the fields and woods and waters of America furnishing
more food than its people could consume—and
they approached them with the keen appetites of strong
and healthy men.

"Perhaps we do not have the sea food here that you
have in New York, Alan," said Master Jacobus with
mock humility, "but we give you of our best."

"We've the finest oysters in the world, unless those of
Baltimore be excepted," said Hervey, "but yours are, in
truth, most excellent. Perhaps you can't expect to equal
us in a specialty of ours. You'll recall old Tom Cotton's
inn, out by the East River, and how unapproachably he
serves oyster, crab, lobster and every kind of fish."

"I recall it full well, Alan. I rode out the Bowery
road when I was last in New York, but I did not get a
chance to go to old Tom's. You and I and Benjamin
have seen some lively times there, when we were a bit
younger, eh, Alan?"

"Aye, Jacobus, you speak truly. We were just as
much concentrated upon self as the youth of to-day. And
in our elderly hearts we're proud of the little frivolities
and dissipations that were committed then. Else we[Pg 41]
would never talk of 'em and chuckle over 'em to one
another."

"And what is more, we're not too old yet for a little
taste of pleasure, now and then, eh, Alexander?"

The schoolmaster, appealed to so directly, pursed his
thin lips, lowered his lids to hide the faint twinkle in
his eyes, and replied in measured tones:

"I cannot speak for you, Jacobus. I've known you a
long time and your example is corrupting, but I trust
that I shall prove firm against temptation."

The oysters were finished. No man left a single one
untouched on his plate, and then a thick chicken soup
was served by two very black women in gay cotton prints
with red bandanna handkerchiefs tied like turbans around
their heads. Robert could see no diminution in the
appetite of the guests, nor did he feel any decrease in his
own. Mr. Hervey turned to him.

"I hear you saw the Marquis de Montcalm himself,"
he said.

"Yes, sir," replied Robert. "I saw him several times,
at Ticonderoga, and before that in the Oswego campaign.
I've been twice a prisoner of the French."

"How does he look?"

"Of middle age, sir, short, dark and very polite in
speech."

"And evidently a good soldier. He has proved that
and to our misfortune. Yet, I cannot but think that we
will produce his master. Now, I wonder who it is
going to be. Under the English system the best general
does not always come forward first, and perhaps we've
not yet so much as heard the name of the man who is
going to beat Montcalm. That he will be beaten I've
no doubt. We'll conquer Canada and settle North Amer[Pg 42]ican
affairs for all time. Perhaps it will be the last
great war."

Robert was listening with the closest attention, and it
seemed to him that the New Yorker was right. With
Canada conquered and the French power expelled it
would be the last great war so far as North America was
concerned? How fallible men are! How prone they are
to think when they have settled things for themselves
they have settled them also for all future generations!

"And then," continued Mr. Hervey, "New York will
become a yet greater port than it now is. It may even
hope to rival Philadelphia in size and wealth. It will be
London's greatest feeder."

The soup, not neglected in the least, gave way to fish,
and then to many kinds of meat, in which game, bear,
deer and wild fowl were conspicuous. Robert took a
little of everything, but he was absorbed in the talk. He
felt that these men were in touch with great affairs, and,
however much they diverged from such subjects they
had them most at heart. It was a thrilling thought that
the future of North America, in some degree at least,
might be determined around that very table at which he
was sitting as a guest. He had knowledge and imagination
enough to understand that it was not the armies
that determined the fate of nations, but the men directing
them who stood behind them farther back, in the dark
perhaps, obscure, maybe never to become fully known,
but clairvoyant and powerful just the same. He was
resolved not to lose a word. So he leaned forward just
a little in his seat, and his blue eyes sparkled.

"Dagaeoga is glad to be here," said Tayoga in an
undertone.

"So I am, Tayoga. They talk of things of which I
wish to hear."[Pg 43]

"As I told you, these be sachems with whom we sit.
They be not chiefs who lead in battle, but, like the
sachems, they plan, and, like the medicine men, they make
charms and incantations that influence the souls of the
warriors and also the souls of those who lead them to
battle."

"The same thought was in my own mind."

Wine smuggled from France or Spain was served to
the men, though young Lennox and the Onondaga
touched none. In truth, it was not offered to them, Master
Jacobus saying, with a glance at Robert:

"I have never allowed you and Tayoga to have anything
stronger than coffee in my house, and although you
are no longer under my charge I intend to keep to the
rule."

"We wish nothing more, sir," said Robert.

"As for me," said the Onondaga, "I shall never touch
any kind of liquor. I know that it goes ill with my race."

"Yours, I understand, is the Onondaga nation," said
Mr. Hervey, looking at him attentively.

"The Onondaga, and I belong to the clan of the Bear,"
replied Tayoga proudly. "The Hodenosaunee have held
the balance in this war."

"That I know full well. I gladly give the great League
ample credit. It has been a wise policy of the English to
deal honestly and fairly with your people. In general
the French surpass us in winning and holding the affections
of the native races, but some good angel has directed
us in our dealings with the Six Nations. Without their
Indians the French could have done little against us. I
hear of one of their leaders who has endeared himself to
them in the most remarkable manner. There has been
much talk in New York of the Chevalier de St. Luc,[Pg 44]
and being nearer the seat of action you've perhaps heard
some of it here in Albany, Jacobus!"

Robert leaned a little farther forward and concentrated
every faculty on the talk, but he said nothing.

"Yes, we've heard much of him, Alan," replied Master
Jacobus. "I think he's the most dangerous foe that we
have among Montcalm's lieutenants. He passes like a
flame along the border, and yet report speaks well of
him, too. All our men who have come in contact with
him say he is a gallant and chivalrous foe."

Robert glanced at Master Benjamin Hardy, but the
great merchant's face was blank.

"Robert saw him, too, when he was a prisoner among
the French," said Mr. Huysman.

Mr. Hervey looked at Robert, who said:

"I saw him several times at Ticonderoga, where he
was the chief adviser of Montcalm during the battle, and
I've seen him often elsewhere. All that they say about
him is true. He's a master of forest warfare, and
his following is devoted."

He glanced again at Benjamin Hardy, but the New
Yorker was helping himself to an especially tender bit
of venison and his face expressed nothing but appreciation
of his food. Robert sighed under his breath. They
would never do more than generalize about St. Luc.
Tayoga and he asked presently to be excused. The men
would sit much longer over their nuts and wine, and
doubtless when the lads were gone they would enter
more deeply into those plans and ventures that lay so
near their hearts.

"I think I shall wander among the trees behind the
house," said Tayoga, when they were out of the dining-room.
"I want fresh air, and I wish to hear the wind
blowing among the leaves. Then I can fancy that I am[Pg 45]
back in the great forest, and my soul will be in peace."

"And commune, perhaps, with Tododaho on his star,"
said Robert, not lightly but in all seriousness.

"Even so, Dagaeoga. He may have something to tell
me, but if he does not it is well to be alone for a while."

"I won't let you be alone just yet, because I'm going
out with you, but I don't mean to stay long, and then
you can commune with your own soul."

It was a beautiful night, cooled by a breeze which
came crisp and strong from the hills, rustling through the
foliage, already beginning to take on the tints of early
autumn. After the warm room and many courses
of food it was very grateful to the two lads who stood
under the trees listening to the pleasant song of the
breeze. But in five minutes Robert said:

"I'm going back into the house now, Tayoga. I can
see your star in the clear heavens, and perhaps Tododaho
will speak to you."

"I shall see. Farewell for an hour, Dagaeoga."

Robert went in.[Pg 46]

CHAPTER III

THE PURSUIT OF GARAY

Robert paused a few moments in the hall. Sounds
of voices came from the dining room, showing that
the supper was still in progress. He thought of
going back there to listen to the talk, but he reflected that
the time for youth at the table had passed. They were
in their secrets now, and he strolled toward the large
room that contained the chest of drawers.

A dim light from an unshuttered window shone into
the apartment and it was in his mind to wait there
for Tayoga, but he stopped suddenly at the door and
stared in astonishment. A shadow was moving in the
room, thin, impalpable and noiseless, but it had all the
seeming of a man. Moreover, it had a height and shape
that were familiar, and it reminded him of the spy,
Garay.

He was too much surprised to move, and so he
merely stared. Garay knelt before the chest of drawers
and began to work at it with a small sharp tool that he
drew from his coat. Robert saw, too, that his attention
was centered on the third drawer from the top. Then
he came out of his catalepsy and started forward, but
in doing so his foot made a slight noise on the floor.

Garay leaped to his feet, gave Robert one glance and
then disappeared through the open window, with incredible
dexterity and speed. Robert stared again. The[Pg 47]
man was there and then he was not. It could not be
Garay, but his ghost, some illusion, a trick of the eye or
mind. Then he knew it was no fancy. With extraordinary
assurance the man had come there to rifle the
drawer—for what purpose Robert knew not.

He ran to the window, but saw nothing save the peaceful
night, the waving trees and the quiet lawn lying
beyond. Then he walked to the chest and examined the
third drawer, noticing new scratches around the lock.
There was not the slightest doubt that Garay had been
trying to open it.

He went to the door, resolved to tell Mr. Huysman at
once of the attempt upon the chest, but he stopped
irresolute. The low sounds of talk still came from the
dining-room. He was only a boy and his was a most
improbable tale. They might think he had been dreaming,
though he knew full well that he had seen straight
and true. And then Garay was gone, leaving no trace.
No, he would not interrupt Mr. Huysman now, but he
would talk it over with Tayoga.

He found the Onondaga standing among the trees,
gazing with rapt vision at his star.

"Did Tododaho speak to you?" asked Robert.

"He did," replied Tayoga earnestly.

"What did he say?"

"That the great war will go on, and that you and I
and the Great Bear, who is away, will encounter many
more perils. The rest is veiled."

"And while we take our ease, Tayoga, our enemies
are at work."

"What does Dagaeoga mean?"

"I went into the room containing the chest of drawers,
the story of which you read, and found there Garay,
the spy, trying to open it."[Pg 48]

"Dagaeoga does not dream?"

"Oh, I thought for a moment or two that I did, but
it was reality. Garay escaped through the open window,
and, on the lock of the third drawer, were scratches that
he left where he had been working with a sharp tool.
Come, Tayoga, and look at them."

The two went into the house. Robert lighted a lamp
for better light, and Tayoga knelt before the drawer,
giving it a long and close examination.

"Garay is a very clever man," he said at last, "much
cleverer, perhaps, than we gave him the credit of being."

"I think so too," said Robert.

"As events show, he came into this house to obtain
the papers in this drawer, and you and I feel quite certain
that those papers concern you. And as you saw him
and the slaver together, it indicates that they have some
plot against you, what I know not. But the papers here
have much to do with it."

"Do you think I should speak of it to Master Jacobus
and Mr. Hardy now?"

"I think not, Dagaeoga. Whatever is the mystery
about you it is evident that they do not wish to tell you
of it yet. So, being what you are, you will not ask them,
but wait until such time as they see fit. I think these
scratches on the lock were made by the sharp point of a
hunting knife. Garay did not succeed in opening it,
though it is likely that he would have done so if you
had not interrupted him."

"When he saw me he was gone like a flash. I did
not know a man could skip through a window with so
much celerity."

"One has to be skillful at such things to carry on the
trade of a spy. That is why he could have opened this
lock, large and strong as it is, with the point of his[Pg 49]
hunting knife had he been allowed time, and that is why
he flew through the window like a bird when you came
upon him."

He examined the window, and then laughed a little.

"But he did not go without leaving further proof of
himself," he said. "Here on the sill is the faintest trace
of blood where he bruised his hand or wrist in his rapid
flight."

"Suppose you try to trail him, Tayoga. I believe you
could find out which way he went, even here in Albany.
The men will talk in there a long time, and won't miss
us. There's a fair moon."

"I will try," said Tayoga in his precise fashion. "First
we will look at the ground under the window."

They went outside and the Onondaga examined the
grass beneath it, the drop being five or six feet.

"As he had to come down hard, he ought to have left
traces," said Robert.

"So he did, Dagaeoga. I find several imprints, and
there also are two or three drops of blood, showing that
he scratched his hand considerably when he went through
the window. Here go the traces, leading north. Garay,
of course, knows this immediate locality well, as he
observed it closely when he made his attempt upon you
before. It is lucky that it rained yesterday, leaving the
ground soft. We may be able to follow him quite a
distance."

"If anybody can follow him, you can."

"It is friendship that makes Dagaeoga speak so. The
trail continues in its original course, though I think that
sooner or later it will turn toward the river."

"Meaning that Garay will meet the slaver somewhere,
and that the natural place of the latter is on the water."

"Dagaeoga reasons well. That, I think, is just what[Pg 50]
Garay will do. It is likely, too, that he will curve about
the town. If he went upon a hard street we would lose
him, since he would leave no trail there, but he will keep
away because he does not wish to be seen. Ah, he now
turns from the houses and into the fields! We shall
be able to follow him. The moon is our friend. It is
pouring down rays enough to disclose his trail, if trail
he leaves."

They were soon beyond the houses and climbed three
fences dividing the fields. At the third, Tayoga said:

"Garay paused here and rested. There is a drop of
blood on the top rail. He probably sat there and looked
back to see if he was followed. Ah, here is a splinter
on a lower rail freshly broken!"

"What do you make of it, Tayoga?"

"The spy was angry, angry that his effort, made at
such great risk, should have failed through the mere
chance of your coming into the room at that particular
time. He was angry, too, that he had bruised his hand
so badly that it bled, and continued to bleed. So, his
disappointment made him grind his heel against the rail
and break the splinter."

"I'm glad he felt that way. A man in his trade ought
to suffer many disappointments."

"When he had satisfied himself that no pursuit was
in sight, he jumped to the ground. Here are deep imprints
made by his descending weight, and now he
becomes less careful. Albany is behind us, and he thinks
all danger of pursuit has passed. I see a little brook
ahead, and it is safe to say that he will kneel at it and
drink."

"And also to bathe his wounded hand."

"Even so, Dagaeoga. Lo, it is as we said! Here are
the imprints of his knees, showing that he refreshed[Pg 51]
himself with water after his hurried flight. The ground
on the other side of the brook is soft and we shall be
able to find his imprints there, even if it were pitch
dark. Now I think they will turn very soon toward the
river."

"Yes, they're curving. Here they go, Tayoga."

The trail led across a field, over a hill, and then
through a little wood, where Tayoga was compelled to
go slowly, hunting about like a hound, trying to trace a
scent. But wherever he lost it he finally picked it up
again, and, when they emerged from the trees, they saw
the river not far ahead.

"Our trail will end at the stream," said Tayoga confidently.

As he had predicted, the imprints led directly to the
river, and there ended their pursuit also. The Hudson
flowed on in silence. There was nothing on its bosom.

"The slaver in a boat was waiting for him here," said
Tayoga. "I think we can soon find proof of it."

A brief examination of the bank showed traces where
the prow had rested.

"It was probably a boat with oars for two," he said.
"The slaver sat in it most of the time, but he grew
impatient at last and leaving the boat walked up the bank
a little distance. Here go his steps, showing very plainly
in the soft earth in the moonlight, and here come those
of Garay to meet him. They stood at the top of the
bank under this oak, and the spy told how he had failed.
Doubtless, the slaver was much disappointed, but he did
not venture to upbraid Garay, because the spy is as necessary
to him as he is to the spy. After they talked it
over they walked down the bank together—see their
trails going side by side—entered the boat and rowed[Pg 52]
away. I wish the water would leave a trail, too, that we
might follow them, but it does not."

"Do you think they'll dare go back to Albany?"

"The slaver will. What proof of any kind about anything
have we? Down! Dagaeoga, down!"

Fitting the action to the word, the Onondaga seized
Robert by the shoulders suddenly and dragged him to
the earth, falling with him. As he did so a bullet
whistled where Robert's head had been and a little puff
of smoke rose from a clump of bushes on the opposite
shore.

"They're there in their boat among the bushes that
grow on the water's edge!" exclaimed Tayoga. "I ought
to have thought of it, but I did see a movement among
the bushes in time! I cannot see their faces or the boat,
either, but I know it is Garay and the slaver."

"I have no weapon," said Robert. "It did not occur
to me that I would need one."

"I have a pistol in my tunic. I always carry one when
I am in the white man's country. It is wise."

"Under the circumstances, I think we'd better slip
away and leave the spy and the slaver to enjoy the river
as they please, for to-night at least."

He was about to rise, but Tayoga pulled him down a
second time and a report heavier than the first came
from the far shore. Another bullet passed over their
heads and struck with a sough in the trunk of a big tree
beyond them.

"That was from a rifle. The other was from a pistol,"
said Tayoga. "It is the slaver, of course, who has the
rifle, and they mean to make it very warm for us. Perhaps
an unexpected chance gives them hope to do here
what they expected to achieve later on."

"Meaning a final disposition of me?"[Pg 53]

"That was in my mind, Dagaeoga. I think it is you
at whom they will shoot and you would better creep
away. Lie almost flat and edge along until you come
to the trees, which are about twenty yards behind us.
There, you will be safe."

"And leave you alone, Tayoga! What have I ever
done to make you think I'd do such a thing?"

"It is not Tayoga whom they want. It is Dagaeoga.
I cannot go without taking a shot at them, else my pistol
would burn me inside my tunic. Be wise as I am,
Dagaeoga. Always carry a pistol when you are in the
white man's towns. Life is reasonably safe only in the
red man's forest."

"It looks as if you were right, Tayoga, but remember
that I stay here with you as long as you stay."

"Then keep close to the earth. Roll back a bit and
you will be sheltered better by that little rise."

Robert obeyed, and it was well that he did so, as the
heavy rifle cracked a second time, and a plowing bullet
caused fine particles of earth to fly over him. Tayoga
leveled his pistol at the flash and smoke, but did not pull
the trigger.

"Why didn't you fire, Tayoga?" asked Robert.

"I could not see well enough. They and their boat
are still hidden by the bushes in which they remain, because
from there they can command the bank where
we lie."

"Then it looks as if each side held the other. If they
come out of the bushes you use your pistol on 'em, and
if we retreat farther they use their rifle on us. You'll
notice, Tayoga, that we're in a little dip, and if we go
out of it on our far side in retreat we'll make a target
of ourselves. If they leave the bushes on their far[Pg 54]
side to climb their own bank they come into view. It's
checkmate for both."

"It is so, Dagaeoga. It is a difficult position for you,
but not for me. We of the red races learn to have
patience, because we are not in such a hurry to consume
time as you white people are."

"That is true, but it is not a moment for a discussion
of the relative merits of white and red."

"We are likely to have plenty of leisure for it, since
I think we are doomed to a long wait."

"I think you're happy over it, Tayoga. Your voice
has a pleased ring."

"I'm not unhappy. I see a chance to gratify a curiosity
that I have long had. I wish to see whether the white
race, even in great danger, where it is most needed, has
as much patience as the red. Ah, Dagaeoga, you were
incautious! Do not raise your head again. You, at
least, do not have as much patience as the occasion
requires."

The third bullet had passed so near Robert that cold
shivers raced over his body and he resolved not to raise
his head again a single inch, no matter what the temptation.

"Remember that it is you whom they want," said
Tayoga in his precise, book English. "Having the rifle
they can afford to try shots at longer range, but with the
pistol I must wait until I can see them clearly. Well,
Dagaeoga, it is a fine evening, not too cold, we need fresh
air after a big supper, and perhaps one could not find a
pleasanter place in which to pass the night."

"You mean that we may lie here until day?"

"Dagaeoga speaks as if that would be remarkable. My
father waited once three days and three nights beside a
run to obtain a deer. He neither ate nor drank during[Pg 55]
that time, but he went home with the deer. If he could
wait so long for something to eat, cannot we wait as
long when our lives are at stake?"

"According to the laws of proportion we should be
willing to stay here a week, at least. Can you see anything
moving in the bushes over there, Tayoga?"

"Not a thing. They too are patient men, the slaver
and the spy, and having missed several times with the
rifle they will bide a while, hoping that we will expose
ourselves."

The Onondaga settled himself comfortably against the
earth, his pistol lying on the little rise in front of him,
over which his eyes watched the clump of bushes into
which the boat had gone. If the slaver and the spy made
any attempt to slip forth, whether on the water or up
the bank, he would certainly see them, and he would not
withhold the pressure of his finger on the trigger.

The full moon still shone down, clothing the world in
a beautiful silver light. The stars in myriads danced in
a sky of soft, velvety blue. The river flowed in an
illuminated, molten mass. A light wind hummed a
pleasant song among the brown leaves. Robert had a
curious feeling of rest and safety. He was quite sure
that neither the slaver nor the spy could hit him while
he lay in the dip, and no movement of theirs would
escape the observation of Tayoga, the incomparable
sentinel. He relaxed, and, for a few moments, his
faculties seemed to fall into a dreamy state.

"If I should go to sleep, Tayoga," he said, "wake me
up when you need me."

"You will not go to sleep."

"How do you know? I feel a lot like it."

"It is because the worry you felt a little while ago has[Pg 56]
passed. You believe that in this duel of patience we shall
conquer."

"I know that we'll conquer, Tayoga, because you are
here."

"Dagaeoga's flattery is not subtle."

"It's not flattery. It's my real belief."

The night wore on. The breeze that rustled the leaves
was warm and soothing, and Robert's sleepiness increased.
But he fought against it. He used his will and
brought his body roughly to task, shaking himself violently.
He also told himself over and over again that
they were in a position of great danger, that he must be
on guard, that he must not leave the duty to the Onondaga
alone. Such violent efforts gradually drove sleep
away, and raising his head a few inches he looked over
the rise.

The whole surface of the river still showed clearly in
the moonlight, as it flowed slowly and peacefully on,
silver in tint most of the time, but now and then disclosing
shades of deep blue. Directly opposite was the clump
of bushes in which the slaver and the spy had pushed
their boat. An easy shot for a rifle, but a hard one for
a pistol.

Robert studied the bushes very closely, trying to discern
their enemies among them, but he saw nothing there
save a slight movement of the leaves before the wind.
It was possible that his foes had slipped away, going
up the other bank in some manner unseen. Since he
could discover no trace of them he began to believe
that it was true, and he raised his head another inch
for a better look.

Crack! went the rifle, and the bullet sang so close to
his face that at first he thought he was hit. He stared
for a moment at the puff of smoke rising from the[Pg 57]
bushes, his faculties in a daze. Then he came to himself
all at once and dropped back abruptly, feeling his head
gingerly to see that it was sound everywhere. But he
was certain that the slaver and the spy were there.

"Dagaeoga was rash," said the Onondaga.

"I know now I was. Still, I feel much relief because
I've settled a problem that was troubling me."

"What was it?"

"I wasn't sure that our enemies were still there. Now
I am."

"If you feel like it yet, I think you may go to sleep.
Nothing is likely to happen for a long time, and I can
awaken you at any moment."

"Thank you, Tayoga, but I've banished the wish. I
know I can't do anything without a weapon, but I can
give you moral help. They're bound to try something
sometime or other, because when the day comes other
people may arrive—we're not so far from Albany—and
they're guilty, we're not. We don't mind being seen."

"It is so, Dagaeoga. You talk almost like a man. At
times you reason well. Finding that we are as patient as
they are they will make a movement in an hour or two,
though I think we are not likely to see it."

"An hour or two? Then I think I'd better make myself
comfortable again."

He settled his body against the brown turf which was
soft and soothing, and, in spite of himself, the wish for
sleep returned. It was so quiet that one was really
invited to go away to slumberland, and then he had eaten
much at the big supper. After a long time, he was
sinking into a doze when he was dragged back abruptly
from it by a report almost at his ear that sounded like
the roar of a cannon. He sat up convulsively, and saw
Tayoga holding in his hand a smoking pistol.[Pg 58]

"Did you hit anything?" he asked.

"I saw a stir in the bushes over there," replied the
Onondaga, "and fired into them. I do not think my
bullet found its target, but we will wait. I have ammunition
in my pocket, and meanwhile I will reload."

He put in the powder and ball, still keeping an eye on
the bushes. He waited a full half hour and then he
handed the pistol to Robert.

"Watch, and use it if need be," he said, "while I swim
over and get the boat."

"Get the boat! What are you talking about, Tayoga?
Has the moon struck you with a madness?"

"Not at all, Dagaeoga. The slaver and the spy are
gone, leaving behind them the boat which they could not
take with them, and we might as well have it."

"Are you sure of what you are saying?"

"Quite sure, Dagaeoga. But for precaution's sake you
can watch well with the pistol and cover my approach."

He thrust the weapon into Robert's hand, quickly
threw off his clothing and sprang into the water, swimming
with strong strokes toward the dense, high bushes
that lined the opposite shore. Robert watched the lithe,
brown figure cleave the water, disappear in the bushes
and then reappear a moment or two later, rowing a boat.
All had fallen out as the Onondaga had said, and he
quickly came back to the western side.

"It is a good boat," he said, "a trophy of our victory,
and we will use it. Take the oars, Dagaeoga, while I
put on my clothes again. Our long wait is over."

Robert sprang into the boat, while Tayoga, standing
upon the bank, shook himself, making the drops fly from
him in a shower.

"Which way did they go?" asked Robert.

"They crept down the stream among the bushes be[Pg 59]tween
the water and the cliff. They could force their
bodies that way but not the boat. I felt sure they had
gone after my pistol shot, because I saw some of the
bushes moving a little against the wind farther down the
stream. It was proof. Besides, they had to go, knowing
that day would soon be here."

He reclothed himself and stepped back into the boat,
taking up the second pair of oars.

"Let us return to Albany in triumph by the river," he
said.

"You think there is no danger of our being fired upon
from ambush?"

"None at all. The slaver and spy will be anxious to
get away and escape observation. They would be glad
enough to shoot at us, but they would never dare to
risk it."

"And so ours has been the triumph. Once more we've
been victorious over our enemies, Tayoga."

"But they will strike again, and Dagaeoga must beware."

They rowed into the middle of the river and dropped
slowly down the stream. Robert had so much confidence
in the Onondaga that he felt quite safe for the present
at least. It seemed to his sanguine temperament that
as they had escaped every danger in the past so they
would escape every one in the future. He was naturally
a child of hope, in which he was fortunate.

The gray skies broke away in the east, and the dawn
was unrolled, a blaze of rose and gold. The surface of
the river glittered in the morning sun. The houses of
Albany stood out sharp and clear in the first light of the
morning.

"They'll be anxious about us at Mr. Huysman's," said
Robert.[Pg 60]

"So they will," said Tayoga. "As I have said to you
before, Dagaeoga, it will be wise for us to return to the
wilderness as soon as we can. The red man's forest
still seems to be safer than the white man's town."

They reached Albany, tied up the boat, and walked in
the early dawn to the house of Mynheer Jacobus Huysman,
where Caterina met them at the door with a cry
of joy. Master Jacobus appeared in a few moments, his
face showing great relief.

"Where have you lads been?" he exclaimed.

"We have been in much danger," replied Robert soberly,
"but we're out of it now, and here we are."

The others, all of whom had lain down fully dressed,
came soon, and Robert told the story of the night, beginning
with the spy's attempt upon the third drawer
in the chest of drawers. Mr. Huysman and Mr. Hardy
exchanged glances.

"That drawer does contain papers of value," said Mr.
Huysman, "but I'll see that they're put to-day in a place
into which no thief can break."

"And it would perhaps be well for young Mr. Lennox
also to keep himself in a safe place," said Mr. Hervey,
who had spent the night too in Mr. Huysman's house.
"It seems that a most determined effort is being made
against him."

"Thank you, sir, for your interest in me," said Robert,
"and I'll do my best to be cautious."

He ate a hearty breakfast and then, on the insistence
of Master Jacobus, lay down. Declaring that he would
not sleep, he fell asleep nevertheless in ten minutes, and
did not awake until the afternoon. He learned then that
Albany was feeling better. Many of the rumors that
Montcalm was advancing had been quieted. Scouts
brought word that he was yet at Lake Champlain, and[Pg 61]
that he had not given any sign of marching upon
Albany.

Robert learned also that the council in Mr. Huysman's
house had been to take measures of offense as well as
defense. Alan Hervey spoke for the leading men of
New York and he was to tell Albany for them that they
would make a mighty effort. A campaign had been lost,
but another would be undertaken at once, and it would
be won. They had no doubt that Boston, Baltimore and
Charleston were doing the same. The strong men of
the Colonies intended to assure England of their staunch
support, and the English-speaking race not dreaming
perhaps even then that it was to become such a mighty
factor in the world, would fight to the bitter end for
victory.

"I go back by sloop to New York to-morrow," said
Mr. Hardy to him, "and of course Jonathan Pillsbury
goes with me. There are important affairs of which I
must speak to you some day, Robert, and believe me, my
lad, I do not speak of them to you now because the
reasons are excellent. I know you've borne yourself
bravely in many dangers, and I know you will be as
strong of heart in others to come. I'm sorry I have to
go away without seeing Willet, but you could not be in
safer hands than his."

"And I know, too," said Robert earnestly, "that I
could have no better friend than you, Mr. Hardy, nor
you, Mr. Pillsbury."

He spoke with the frank sincerity that always made
such an appeal to everybody, and Mr. Hardy patted him
approvingly on the shoulder.

"And don't forget me, Mr. Lennox," said Mr. Hervey.
"I want you to be my guest in New York some day. We
live in tremendous times, and so guard yourself well."[Pg 62]

They left with a favoring breeze and the swift sloop
that bore them was soon out of sight. Robert, Tayoga,
Mr. Huysman and Master McLean, who had seen them
off, walked slowly back up the hill to Mr. Huysman's
house.

"I feel that they brought us new courage," said Master
Jacobus. "New York iss a great town, a full equal to
Boston, though they are very unlike, and do not forget,
Robert, that the merchants and financiers have much to
say in a vast war like this which is vexing the world
to-day."

"I do not forget it, sir," said Robert. "I have seen
New York and its wealth and power. They say that
it has nearly twenty thousand inhabitants—and some day
I hope to see London too. Lieutenant Grosvenor is
coming. Can we stop and speak to him?"

"Of course, my lad, but Master Alexander and I have
pressing business and you will pardon us if we go on.
If Lieutenant Grosvenor will come to my house as my
guest bring him, and tell him to stay as long as he will."

"That I will, sir, and gladly," said Robert, as he and
Tayoga turned aside to meet the young Englishman.

The meeting had all the warmth of youth and of real
liking. Grosvenor was fully restored now and his intense
interest in everything that was happening was
undiminished. They strolled on together. Robert and
Tayoga did not say anything for the present about
their adventure of the preceding night with the slaver
and the spy, but Robert delivered the invitation of
Master Jacobus.

"If you can get leave come and stay a while with us
in the house of Mr. Huysman," he said. "He bids me
give you a most hospitable welcome, and when he says
a thing he means not only what he says but a good deal[Pg 63]
more, too. You'll have a fine bed and you may have to
eat more than you can well stand."

"It appeals to me," said Grosvenor, "and I'd come, but
I'm leaving Albany in a day or two."

"Leaving Albany! I suppose I shouldn't ask where
you're going."

"I'll tell you without the asking. I'm going with some
other officers to Boston, where we're to await orders.
Between you and me, Lennox, I think we shall take a
sea voyage from Boston, maybe to Nova Scotia."

"And that, I think, indicates a new expedition from
England and a new attack upon Canada and the French,
but from another point. It's like the shadow of great
events."

"It seems so to me, too. Come with us, Lennox. All
your friends have got into the Royal Americans, and I
think they too are going east. We could raise enough
influence to secure you a lieutenant's commission."

Robert's heart swelled, but he shook his head.

"You tempt me, Grosvenor," he said. "I'd like to go.
I think you and the others will be in the thick of great
events, but I could never desert Tayoga and Willet. I
feel that my business, whatever it is, is here. But we
may meet on the front again, though we'll come by different
routes."

"If you can't you can't, and that's an end of it, but
I'm glad, Lennox, that I've known you and Tayoga and
Willet, and that we've shared perils. I'm to meet the
Philadelphians and the Virginians at the George Inn
again. Will you two come on?"

"Gladly," said Robert.

They found that the others had already arrived, and
they were full of jubilation. Colden, Wilton and Carson
were leaving their troop with regret, but the Royal[Pg 64]
Americans raised in the Colonies were a picked regiment
ranking with the best of the British regulars. Stuart and
Cabell, coming from the south, which was now more
remote from the scene of war, were delighted at the
thought that they would be in the heart of the conflict.
They, too, were insistent that Robert come with them,
but again he refused. When he and Tayoga left them
and walked back to the house of Mr. Huysman the Onondaga
said:

"Dagaeoga was right to stay. His world is centered
here."

"That's so. I feel it in every bone of me. Besides,
I'm thinking that we'll yet have to deal with Garay and
that slaver. I'll be glad though when Willet comes.
Then we can decide upon our next step."

Robert was too active to stay quietly at the house of
Mr. Huysman. Only their host, Tayoga and he were
present at their supper that evening, and, as the man
was rather silent, the lads respected his preoccupation,
believing that he was concerned with the great affairs in
which he was having a part. After supper Tayoga left
for the camp on the flats to see an Onondaga runner
who had arrived that day, and Mr. Huysman, still immersed
in his thoughts, withdrew into the room containing
the great chest of drawers.

Robert spent a little while in the chamber that he and
Tayoga had used, looking at the old, familiar things,
and then he wandered restlessly outside, where he stood,
glancing down at the lights of the town. He felt lonely
for the moment. Everybody else was doing something,
and he liked to be with people. Perhaps some of his
friends had come to the George Inn. A light was burning
there and he would go and see.

There was a numerous company at the inn, but it in[Pg 65]cluded
nobody that Robert knew, and contenting himself
with a look from the doorway, he turned back. Then
the masts and spars in the river, standing up a black
tracery against the clear, moonlit sky, interested him,
and he walked casually to the bank. Some activity was
still visible on the vessels, but tiring of them soon he
turned away.

It was dark on the shore, but Robert started violently.
If fancy were not playing tricks with him he saw the
shadow of Garay once more. The figure had appeared
about twenty yards ahead of him and then it was gone.
Robert was filled with fierce anger that the man should
show such brazen effrontery, and impulsively he pursued.
Profiting by his experience with the spy, he now had a
pistol in his pocket, and clutching the butt of it he hurried
after the elusive shadow.

He caught a second glimpse. It was surely Garay,
and he was running along the shore, up the stream.

Robert's anger rose by leaps. The spy's presumption
was beyond all endurance, but he would make him pay
for it this time. He drew his pistol that he might be
ready should Garay turn and attack, though he did not
believe that he would do so, and sped after him. But
always the shadow flitted on before, and the distance
between them did not seem to diminish.

They soon left all houses behind, although Robert, in
his excitement, did not notice it, and then he saw that
at last he was gaining.

"Stop, Garay! Stop, or I shoot!" he cried.

The spy halted, and Robert, covering him with his
pistol, was about to approach when he heard a step
behind him. He whirled, but it was too late. A stunning
weight crashed down upon his head, and he fell into
oblivion.[Pg 66]

CHAPTER IV

OUT TO SEA

When Robert came back from the far country in
which he had been dwelling, for a little space,
he looked into a long face, with eyes set close
and a curved nose. He was dimly conscious that it was
a familiar countenance, but he could not yet remember
where he had seen it before, because he could not concentrate
his thoughts. His head was heavy and aching.
He knew that he lived, but he did not know much more.

The staring face was distinctly unpleasant and menacing.
He gazed into it, trying to recall the owner, but
the effort was still too great. Then he became conscious
that he was lying upon his back and that he was moving.
Trees on his right and trees on his left, some distance
away, were filing past. Two men on each side were
pulling hard on oars, and then it slowly entered his mind
that he was in a boat.

He made another and stronger effort to gather up his
wandering faculties and then he realized with a jerk that
the face looking into his was that of the slaver. Making
a supreme effort he sat up. The slaver laughed.

"So, Peter Smith," he said, "you've decided to come
back a second time. I knew that you couldn't stay away
always from such a good, kind captain as I am. I saw
the light of welcome in your eyes when we met so
unexpectedly at the George Inn, and I decided that it[Pg 67]
was only a question of time until you came into my
service again."

Robert stared at him. His mind, which would not
work hitherto, recovered its power with great suddenness.
All his faculties were keen and alert, and they
coördinated smoothly and perfectly. He had been
trapped. He had been struck from behind, while he
pursued Garay with such eagerness. He had been careless,
and once more he was in the power of the slaver.
And there was the spy, too, in the prow of the boat, with
his back to him, but that very back seemed to express
insolent triumph. He felt a great sinking of the heart,
but in a few moments recalled his courage. His was a
spirit that could not be crushed. His head still ached
and he was a prisoner, but his courage was invincible,
and he put on a light manner.

"Yes, I've come back," he said. "You see, Captain,
there are some things concerning you of which I'm not
sure, and I couldn't part from you permanently until I
learned them."

"I'm glad of it, Peter. You've an inquiring mind, I
know, and you'll have plenty of opportunity to learn
everything about me. We're likely to be together for
quite a while."

Robert looked around. He was in a long boat, and
there were four oarsmen, stout fellows, rough of looks
and with hangers and pistols in their belts. Garay and
the captain completed the party, and both the slaver and
the spy were armed heavily. He saw that he had no
earthly chance of escape at present, and he resigned himself
for the moment. The slaver read his look.

"I'm glad, Peter," he said, "that you've given up the
thought of leaving us that was flitting around in your
head a minute or two ago. You're in a better state of[Pg 68]
mind now, and it was not possible anyway. Nor will
there be any storm to send you away from me again. A
chance like that wouldn't happen once in a hundred
times. I suppose you understand where you are."

"I'm in a boat a few miles above Albany, and I think
that before long you'll turn and go back down the
stream."

"Why, Peter?"

"Because there's nothing for you to go to up the
stream. If you kept on you'd arrive in the Indian country,
and I doubt whether that's any part of your plan."

"Clever, Peter, clever! and well reasoned. I see that
your intellect's as good as ever. You must rise above the
place of a common seaman. When you're a little older
there's a mate's berth for you."

Garay turned for the first time, and his malignant look
of triumph was not veiled at all.

"You and Willet and the Indian thought you were very
clever there in the forest when you compelled me to tell
where the paper was hid," he said, "but you forgot that
I might make repayment. We've taken you out of Albany
from the very center of your friends, and you'll
never see them again."

"Theatricals! theatricals!" said Robert, preserving his
gay manner, though his heart was low within him. "A
cat has nine lives, but I have ten. I've been twice a
prisoner of the French, and my presence here is proof
that I escaped both times. When I tire of your society
and that of the captain I'll leave you."

"No quarreling! no quarreling!" said the slaver. "I
never allow it among my men. And now, Peter, I must
insure your silence for a little while."

Two of the men who were rowing dropped their oars,
seized him, bound and gagged him. He struggled at first[Pg 69]
against the indignity, but, soon realizing its futility, lay
inert on the bottom of the boat.

"Good judgment, Peter," said the slaver, looking down
at him. "It's never wise to struggle against a certainty.
You've the makings of a fine officer in you."

The two resumed their oars, and the boat, turning
abruptly, as Robert had surmised it would, went
down the stream. The men ceased to talk and the lad
on his back looked up at the sky in which but few stars
twinkled. Heavy clouds floated past the moon, and the
night was darkening rapidly. Once more his heart sank
to the uttermost depths, and it had full cause to do so.
For some reason he had been pursued with singular
malice and cunning, and now it seemed that his enemies
were triumphant. Tayoga could trail him anywhere on
land, but water left no trail. He was sure that his captors
would keep to the river.

The speed of the boat increased with the efforts of the
rowers and the favor of the current. Soon it was opposite
Albany and then the men rowed directly to a small
schooner that lay at anchor, having come up the stream
the day before. Robert was lifted on board and carried
into the depths of the vessel, where they took out the
gag and put him on the floor. The captain held a lantern
over him and said:

"Garay is telling you good-bye, Peter. He's sorry he
can't go with us, but he'll be having business on the
Canadian frontier. He feels that the score is about even
with you for that business of the letter in the forest, and
that later on he'll attend also to the hunter and the
Onondaga."

"And I wish you a pleasant life on the West Indian
plantations," said Garay. "They still buy white labor
there in both the French and British islands. It does not[Pg 70]
matter to me to which the captain sells you, for in either
case it means a life of hard labor in the sugar cane. Few
ever escape, and you never will."

Robert turned quite sick. So this was the plan. To
sell him into slavery in the West Indies. Kidnapping
was not at all uncommon then in both the Old World and
the New, and they seemed to have laid their plans well.
As the slaver had said, there was not one chance in a
hundred of another storm. Again the captain read his
mind.

"You don't like the prospect," he said, "and I'll admit
myself that it's not a cheerful one. I've changed my
opinion of you, Peter. I thought you'd make a fine
sailor and that you might become a mate some day, but
I've seen a light. You're not a good sailor at all. The
stuff's not in you. But you're strong and hearty and
you'll do well in the sugar cane. If the sun's too hot and
your back bends too much just reflect that for a white
man it's not a long life and your troubles will be over,
some day."

Robert's old indomitable spirit flamed up.

"I never expect to see a West Indian plantation, not
on this journey, at least," he said. "You and that miserable
spy boast that you took me out of the very center of
my friends, and I tell you in reply that if I have enemies
who follow me I also have friends who are truer in their
friendship than you are in your hate, and they'll come
for me."

"That's the spirit. I never heard another lad sling
words in the noble fashion you do. You'll live a deal
longer on the plantations than most of 'em. Now, Garay,
I think you can go. It will be the last farewell for you
two."

The exulting spy left the close little place, and Robert[Pg 71]
felt that a breath of hate went with him. His feet disappeared
up a narrow little stair, and the slaver cut the
cords that bound Robert.

"You'll be locked in here," he said, "and it's not worth
while to damage good property by keeping it tied up too
long."

"That's so," said Robert, trying to preserve a light
manner. "You want to keep me strong and active for
the work on the plantations. A white slave like a black
one ought to be in good health."

The captain laughed. He was in high humor. Robert
knew that he felt intense satisfaction because he was
taking revenge for his mortification when he was defeated
in the duel with swords before his own men by a mere
boy. Evidently that would rankle long with one of the
slaver's type.

"I'm glad to see you recognize facts so well, Peter,"
he said. "I see that you've an ambition to excel on the
plantations, perhaps to be the best worker. Now, Garay,
telling me of that little adventure of his in the forest with
the hunter, the Indian and you, wanted me to be very
careful about your rations, to put you on a sparing diet,
so to speak. He thought it would be best not to let you
have anything to eat for two or three days. His idea
rather appealed to me, too, but, on the other hand, I
couldn't impair your value, and so I decided against him."

"I'm not hungry," said Robert.

"No, but you will be. You're young and strong, and
that wound on your head where I had to hit you with
the butt of my pistol doesn't amount to much."

Robert put up his hands, felt of the back of his head,
where the ache was, and found that the hair was matted
together by congealed blood. But he could tell that the
hurt was not deep.[Pg 72]

"I'll leave you now," said the slaver in the same satisfied
tone, "and I hope you'll enjoy the voyage down the
river. There's a good wind blowing and we start in a
half hour."

He went out, taking the lantern with him, and bolted
the door heavily behind him. Then Robert felt despair
for a while. It was much worse to be a prisoner on the
ship than in the French camp or in the village of the
partisan, Langlade. There he had been treated with consideration
and the fresh winds of heaven blew about him,
but here he was shut up in a close little hole, and his
captors rejoiced in his misery.

It was quite dark in the tiny galley, and the only air
that entered came from a small porthole high over a
bunk. He stood upon the bank and brought his face
level with the opening. It was not more than four inches
across, but he was able to inhale a pure and invigorating
breeze that blew from the north, and he felt better. The
pain in his head was dying down also, and his courage,
according to its habit, rose fast. In a character that nature
had compounded of optimistic materials hope was
always a predominant factor.

He could see nothing through the porthole save a dark
blur, but he heard the creaking of cordage and the slatting
of sails. He did not doubt that the slaver had told
the truth when he said the schooner would soon start,
and there was no possibility of escaping before then.
Nevertheless, he tried the door, but could not shake it.
Then he went back to the porthole for the sake of the air,
and, because, if he could not have freedom for himself,
he could at least see a little way into the open world.

The creaking of cordage and slatting of sails increased,
he felt the schooner heave and roll beneath him, and then
he knew that they were leaving Albany. It was the bit[Pg 73]terest
moment of his life. To be carried away in that
ignominious manner, from the very center of his friends,
from a town in which he had lived, and that he knew so
well was a terrible blow to his pride. For the moment
apprehension about the future was drowned in mortification.

He heard heavy footsteps overhead, and the sound of
commands, and the schooner began to move. He continued
to stand on the bunk, with his eyes at the porthole.
He was able to see a dark shore, moving past,
slowly at first and then faster. The dim outlines of
houses showed and he would have shouted for help, but
he knew that it was impossible to make any one hear,
and pride restrained.

The blurred outlines of the houses ceased and Albany
was gone. Doubtless the schooner had appeared as an
innocent trader with the proper licenses, and the slaver,
having awaited its arrival, had come on ahead to the
town. He was compelled to admit the thoroughness of
the plan, and the skill with which it had been carried
out, but he wondered anew why so much trouble had
been taken in regard to him, a mere lad.

He stood at the porthole a long time, and the wind out
of the north rose steadily. He heard its whistle and he
also heard the singing of men above him. He knew
that the schooner was making great speed down the
stream and that Albany and his friends were now far
behind. As the wise generally do, he resigned himself
to inevitable fate, wasting no strength in impossible
struggles, but waiting patiently for a better time. There
was a single blanket on the hard bunk, and, lying down
on it, he fell asleep.

When he awoke, day shining through the porthole
threw a slender bar of light across the floor, which[Pg 74]
heaved and slanted, telling that the wind out of the north
still blew strong and true. An hour later the door was
opened and a sailor brought a rude breakfast on a tin
plate. While he was eating it, and hunger made everything
good, the slaver came in.

"You'll see, Peter, that I did not put you on the diet
suggested by Garay," he said. "I'm at least a kind man
and you ought to thank me for all I'm doing for you."

"For any kindness of yours to me I'm grateful," said
Robert. "We're apt to do unto people as they do unto
us."

"Quite a young philosopher, I see. You'll find such a
spirit useful on the West India plantations. My heart
really warms to you, Peter. I'd let you go on deck as
we're running through good scenery now, but it's scarcely
prudent. We'll have to wait for that until we pass New
York and put out to sea. I hope you don't expect it of
me, Peter?"

"No, I don't look for it. But if you don't mind I'd
like to have a little more breakfast."

"A fine, healthy young animal, so you are! And you
shall have it, too."

He called the sailor who brought a second helping and
Robert fell to. He was really very hungry and he was
resolved also to put the best possible face on the matter.
He knew he would need every ounce of his strength,
and he meant to nurse it sedulously.

"When do you expect to reach New York?" he asked.

"To-morrow some time, if the wind holds fair, but
we won't stay there long. A few hours only to comply
with the port regulations, and then ho! for the West Indies!
It's a grand voyage down! And splendid islands!
Green mountains that seem to rise straight up out of the[Pg 75]
sea! While you're working in the cane fields you can
enjoy the beautiful scenery, Peter."

Robert was silent. The man's malice filled him with
disgust. Undoubtedly the slaver had felt intense chagrin
because of his former failure and his defeat in the duel
of swords before his own men, but then one should not
exult over a foe who was beaten for the time. He felt
a bitter and intense hatred of the slaver, and, his breakfast
finished, he leaned back, closing his eyes.

"So you do not wish to talk, but would meditate," said
the man. "Perhaps you're right, but, at any rate, you'll
have plenty of time for it."

When he went out Robert heard the heavy lock of the
tiny room shove into place again, and he wasted no further
effort in a new attempt upon it. Instead, he lay
down on the bunk, closed his eyes and tried to reconcile
himself, body and mind, to his present situation. He
knew that it was best to keep quiet, to restrain any mental
flutterings or physical quivers. Absolute calm, if he
could command it, was good for the soul, placed as he
was, and the mere act of lying still helped toward that.
It was what Tayoga would do if he were in his place,
and, spurred by a noble emulation, he resolved that he
would not be inferior to the Onondaga.

An hour, two hours passed and he did not stir. His
stillness made his hearing more acute. The trampling of
feet over his head came to him with great distinctness.
He heard the singing of wind at the porthole, and, now
and then, the swish of waters as they swept past the
schooner. He wondered what Tayoga was doing and
what would Willet think when he came back to Albany
and found him gone. It gave him a stab of agony. His
pride was hurt, too, that he had been trapped so thoroughly.
Then his resolution returned to his aid. Mak[Pg 76]ing
a supreme effort of his will, he dismissed the thought,
concentrating his mind on hope. Would Tayoga's Manitou
help him? Would Tododaho on his remote star look
down upon him with kindness? The Onondaga in his
place would put his faith in them, and the Manitou of
the Indian after all was but another name for his own
Christian God. Resolving to hope he did hope. He refused
to believe that the slaver could make him vanish
from the face of the earth like a mist before the wind.

The air in the little cabin was dense and heavy already,
but after a while he felt it grow thicker and
warmer. He was conscious, too, of a certain sultriness
in it. The tokens were for a storm. He thought with a
leap of the heart of the earlier storm that had rescued
him, but that was at sea; this, if it came, would be on a
river, and so shrewd a captain as the slaver would not
let himself be wrecked in the Hudson.

The heat and sultriness increased. Then he stood on
the bunk and looked through the porthole. He caught
glimpses of lofty shores, trees at the summit, and
stretches of a dark and angry sky. Low thunder muttered,
rolling up from the west. Then came flashes of
lightning, and the thunder grew louder. By and by the
wind blew heavily, making the schooner reel before it,
and when it died somewhat rain fell in sheets.

Although he felt it rather than saw it, Robert really
enjoyed the storm. It seemed a tonic to him, and the
wilder it was the steadier grew his own spirit. The
breath of the rain as it entered the porthole was refreshing,
and the air in the cabin became clear and cool again.
Then followed the dark, and his second night in the
schooner.

A sailor brought him his supper, the slaver failing to
reappear, and soon afterward he fell asleep. He made[Pg 77]
no surmise where they were the next morning, as he had
no way of gauging their speed during the night, but he
was allowed to go about under guard below decks for an
hour or two. The slaver came down the ladder and gave
him the greetings of the day.

"You will see, Peter," he said, "that I'm a much kinder
man than Garay. He would restrict your food, but I not
only give you plenty of it, I also allow you exercise, very
necessary and refreshing to youth. I'm sorry I'll have to
shut you up again soon, but in the afternoon we'll reach
New York, and I must keep you away from the temptations
of the great town."

Robert would have given much to be allowed upon the
deck and to look at the high shores, but he could not
sink his pride enough to ask for the privilege, and, when
the time came for him to return to his cell of a cabin he
made no protest.

He felt the schooner stop late in the afternoon and he
was sure that they had reached New York. He heard the
dropping of the anchor, and then the sounds became
much dimmer. The light in the cabin was suddenly shut
off, and he realized that the porthole had been closed from
the outside. They were taking no chances of a call for
help, and he tried to resign himself.

But will could not control feelings now. To know
that he was in New York and yet was absolutely helpless
was more than he could bear. He had never really believed
that the schooner could pass the port and put out
to sea with him a prisoner. It had seemed incredible,
one of the things not to be contemplated, but here was
the event coming to pass. Mind lost control of the body.
He threw himself upon the door, pulled at it, and beat it.
It did not move an inch. Then he shouted again and
again for help. There was no response.[Pg 78]

Gradually his panic passed, and ashamed of it he threw
himself once more upon the bunk, where he tried to consider
whatever facts were in his favor. It was certain
they were not trying to take his life; had they wished
they could have done that long ago, and while one lived
one was never wholly lost. It was a fact that he would
remember through everything and he would pin his faith
to it.

He slept, after a while, and he always thought afterwards
that the foul, dense air of the cabin added a kind
of stupor to sleep. When he came out of it late the next
day he was conscious of an immense heaviness in the
head and of a dull, apathetic feeling. He sat up slowly
and painfully as if he were an old man. Then he noticed
that the porthole was open again, but, judging from
the quality of the air in the cabin, it had not been open
long.

So the slaver had been successful. He had stopped in
the port of New York and had then put out to sea.
Doubtless he had done so without any trouble. He was
having his revenge in measure full and heaped over.
Robert was bound to admit it, but he bore in mind that
his own life was still in his body. He would never give
up, he would never allow himself to be crushed.

He stood upon the bunk and put his eyes to the porthole,
catching a view of blue water below and blue sky
above, and the sea as it raced past showed that the vessel
was moving swiftly. He heard, too, the hum of the
strong wind in the rigging and the groaning timbers. It
was enough to tell him that they were fast leaving New
York behind, and that now the chances of his rescue upon
a lone ocean were, in truth, very small. But once more
he refused to despair.

He did not believe the slaver would keep him shut up[Pg 79]
in the cabin, since they were no longer where he could
be seen by friends or those who might suspect, and his
opinion was soon justified. In a half hour the door was
opened by the man himself, who stood upon the threshold,
jaunty, assured and triumphant.

"You can come on deck now, Peter," he said. "We've
kept you below long enough, and, as I want to deliver
you to the plantations strong and hearty, fresh air and
exercise will do you good."

"I'll come willingly enough," said Robert, resolved to
be jaunty too. "Lead the way."

The captain went up the ladder just outside the door
and Robert followed him, standing at first in silence on
the swaying deck and content to look at sky and ocean.
How beautiful they were! How beautiful the world was
to one who had been shut up for days in a close little
room! How keen and sweet was the wind! And what a
pleasant song the creaking of the ropes and the slatting
of the sails made!

It was a brilliant day. The sun shone with dazzling
clearness. The sea was the bluest of the blue. The wind
blew steady and strong. Far behind them was a low line
of land, showing but dimly on the horizon, and before
them was the world of waters. Robert balanced himself
on the swaying deck, and, for a minute or two, he
enjoyed too much the sensation of at least qualified freedom
to think of his own plight. While he stood there,
breathing deeply, his lungs expanding and his heart leaping,
the slaver who had gone away, reappeared, saluting
him with much politeness.

"Look back, Peter," he said, "and you can get your
last glimpse of your native soil. The black line that just
shows under the sky is Sandy Hook. We won't see any[Pg 80]
more land for days, and you'll have a fine, uninterrupted
voyage with me and my crew."

Robert in this desperate crisis of his life resolved at
once upon a course of action. He would not show despair,
he would not sulk, he would so bear himself and
with such cheerfulness and easy good nature that the
watch upon him might be relaxed somewhat, and the conditions
of his captivity might become less hard. It was
perhaps easier for him than for another, with his highly
optimistic nature and his disposition to be friendly. He
kissed his hand to the black line on the horizon and said:

"I'm going now, but I'll come back. I always come
back."

"That's the right spirit, Peter," said the slaver. "Be
pleasant. Always be pleasant, say I, and you'll get
along much better in the world. Things will just melt
away before you."

Robert looked over the schooner. He did not know
much about ships, but she seemed to him a trim and
strong craft, carrying, as he judged, about thirty men.
A long eighteen-pound cannon was mounted in her stern,
but that was to be expected in war, and was common in
peace also when one sailed into that nest of pirates, the
West Indies. The slaver carried pistol and dirk in his
belt, and those of the crew whom he could see were
sturdy, hardy men. The slaver read his eyes:

"Yes, she's a fine craft," he said. "Able to fight anything
of her size we're likely to meet, and fast enough to
run away from them that's too big for her. You can see
as much of her as you want to. So long as we've no
neighbor on the ocean you've the run of the craft. But
if you should want to leave you needn't try to tempt any
of my men to help you. They wouldn't dare do it, and[Pg 81]
they wouldn't want to anyhow. All their interests are
with me. I'm something of a deity to them."

The slaver went away and Robert walked about the
narrow deck, standing at last by the rail, where he remained
a long time. No one seemed to pay any attention
to him. He was free to come and go as he pleased
within the narrow confines of the schooner. But he
watched the black line of land behind them until it was
gone, and then it seemed to him that he was cut off absolutely
from all the life that he had lived. Tayoga,
Willet, Master Jacobus, all the good friends of his youth
had disappeared over the horizon with the lost land.

It had been so sudden, so complete that it seemed to
him it must have been done with a purpose. To what
end had he been wrenched away from the war and sent
upon the unknown ocean? His wilderness had been that
of the woods and not of the waters. He had imbibed
much of Tayoga's philosophy and at times, at least, he
believed that everything moved forward to an appointed
end. What was it now?

He left the low rail at last, and finding a stool sat down
upon the deck. The schooner was going almost due
south, and she was making great speed. The slaver's
boast that she could run away from anything too strong
for her was probably true, and Robert judged also that
she carried plenty of arms besides the eighteen-pounder.
Most of the crew seemed to him to be foreigners, that is,
they were chiefly of the races around the Mediterranean.
Dark of complexion, short and broad, some of them wore
earrings, and, without exception, they carried dirks and
now and then both pistols and dirks in their belts. He
sought among them for the face of one who might be a
friend, but found none. They were all hardened and[Pg 82]
sinister, and he believed that at the best they were
smugglers, at the worst pirates.

A heavy dark fellow whom Robert took to be a Spaniard
was mate and directed the task of working the vessel,
the captain himself taking no part in the commands,
but casting an occasional keen glance at the sailors as he
strolled about. Robert judged that he was an expert
sailor and a leader of men. In truth, he had never
doubted his ability from the first, only his scruples, or,
rather, he felt sure that he had none at all.

The policy of ignoring the prisoner, evidently by order,
was carried out by the men. For all save the captain he
did not exist, apparently, and the slaver himself took no
further notice of him for several hours. Then, continuing
his old vein, he spoke to him lightly, as if he were a
guest rather than a captive.

"I see that you're improving in both mind and body,
Peter," he said. "You've a splendid color in your cheeks
and you look fine and hearty. The sea air is good for
anybody and it's better for you to be here than in a town
like Albany."

"Since I'm here," said Robert, "I'll enjoy myself as
much as I can. I always try to make the best of everything."

"That's philosophical, and 'tis a surprisingly good policy
for one so young."

Robert looked at him closely. His accent was that of
an educated man, and he did not speak ungrammatically.

"I've never heard your name, captain," he said, "and
as you know mine, I ought to know yours."

"We needn't mind about that now. Three-fourths of
my men don't know my name, just calling me 'Captain.'
And, at any rate, if I were to give it to you it wouldn't
be the right one."[Pg 83]

"I suspected as much. People who change their names
usually do so for good reasons."

Color came into the man's sun-browned cheeks.

"You're a bold lad, Peter," he said, "but I'll admit
you're telling the truth. I rather fancy you in some ways.
If I felt sure of you I might take you with me on a
voyage that will not be without profit, instead of selling
you to a plantation in the Indies. But to go with me I
must have your absolute faith, and you must agree to
share in all our perils and achievements."

His meaning was quite plain, and might have tempted
many another, thinking, in any event, to use it as a plan
for escape, but Robert never faltered for a moment. His
own instincts were always for the right, and long comradeship
with Willet and Tayoga made his will to obey
those instincts all the stronger.

"Thank you, Captain," he replied, "but I judge that
your cruises are all outside the law, and I cannot go
with you on them, at least, not willingly."

The slaver shrugged his shoulder.

"'Tis just as well that you declined," he said. "'Twas
but a passing whim of mine, and ten minutes later I'd
have been sorry for it had you accepted."

He shrugged his shoulders again, took a turn about
the deck and then went down to his cabin. Robert, notified
by a sailor, the first man on the schooner outside of
the slaver to speak to him, ate supper with him there.
The food was good, but the captain was now silent,
speaking only a few times, and mostly in monosyllables.
Near the end he said:

"You're to sleep in the room you've been occupying.
The door will not be bolted on you, but I don't think
you'll leave the ship. The nearest land is sixty or seventy
miles away, and that's a long swim."[Pg 84]

"I won't chance it," said Robert. "Just now I prefer
solid timber beneath my feet."

"A wise decision, Peter."

After supper the slaver went about his duties, whatever
they were, and Robert, utterly free so far as the
schooner was concerned, went on deck. It was quite
dark and the wind was blowing strong, but the ship was
steady, and her swift keel cut the waters. All around
him curved the darkness, and the loneliness of the sea
was immense at that moment. It was in very truth a
long swim to the land, and just then the thought of escape
was far from him. He shivered, and going down to
the little cabin that had been a prison, he soon fell
asleep.[Pg 85]

CHAPTER V

MUSIC IN THE MOONLIGHT

Several days passed and from the standpoint of
the schooner the voyage was successful. The wind
continued fresh and strong, and it came out of the
right quarter. The days were clear, the sea was a dazzling
color, shifting as the sky over it shifted. The
slaver was in high good humor. His crew seemed to be
under perfect control and went about their work mostly
in silence. They rarely sang, as sailors sing, but Robert,
watching them on spar or mast, although he knew little
about ships, knew that they were good sailors. He realized,
too, that the crew was very large for a vessel of its
size, and he believed that he understood the reason.

As for himself, he felt a vast loneliness. It was incredible,
but he was there on the schooner far from all
he had known. The forest, in which he had lived and the
war that had concerned the whole world had sunk out
of sight beyond the horizon. And on the schooner he had
made no acquaintance save the slaver. He knew that the
mate was called Carlos, but he had not yet spoken to him.
He tried his best to be cheerful, but there were times
when despair assailed him in spite of all his courage and
natural buoyancy.

"Better reconsider," said the slaver one day, catching
the look upon his face. "As I've told you, Peter, the life
on the plantations is hard and they don't last long, no[Pg 86]
matter how strong they are. There's peril in the life I
lead, I'll admit, but at least there's freedom also. Sport's
to be found among the islands, and along the Spanish
Main."

"I couldn't think of it," said Robert.

"Well, it's the second time I've made you the offer,
and the last. I perceive you're bent on a life in the sugar
cane, and you'll have your wish."

Robert, seeing no chance of escape from the ship now,
began to hope for rescue from without. It was a time of
war and all vessels were more than commonly wary, but
one might come at last, and, in some way he would give a
signal for help. How he did not know, but the character
of the schooner was more than doubtful, and he might be
able, in some way, yet unsuggested, to say so to any new
ship that came.

But the surface of the sea, so far as their own particular
circle of it was concerned, was untroubled by any
keel save their own. It was as lone and desolate as if
they were the first vessel to come there. They fell into a
calm and the schooner rocked in low swells but made no
progress. The sun shone down, brassy and hot, and
Robert, standing upon the deck, looked at the sails flapping
idly above. Although it carried him farther and
farther away from all for which he cared, he wished that
the wind would rise. Nothing was more tedious than to
hang there upon the surface of the languid ocean. The
slaver read his face.

"You want us to go on," he said, "and so do I. For
once we are in agreement. I'd like to make a port that I
know of much sooner than I shall. The war has brought
privateersmen into these seas, and there are other craft
that any ship can give a wide berth."

"If the privateer should be British, or out of one of our[Pg 87]
American ports why should you fear her?" asked Robert.

"I'm answering no such questions except to say that
in some parts of the world you're safer alone, and this
is one of the parts."

The dead calm lasted two days and two nights, and it
was like forever to Robert. When the breeze came at
last, and the sails began to fill, new life flowed into his
own veins, and hope came back. Better any kind of action
than none at all, and he drew long breaths of relief
when the schooner once more left her trailing wake in
the blue sea. The wind blew straight and strong for a
day and night, then shifted and a long period of tacking
followed. It was very wearisome, but Robert, clinging
to his resolution, made the best of it. He even joined
in some of the labor, helping to polish the metal work,
especially the eighteen-pounder in the stern, a fine bronze
gun. The men tolerated him, but when he tried to talk
with them he found that most of them had little or no
English, and he made scant progress with them in that
particular. The big first mate, Carlos, rebuffed him repeatedly,
but he persisted, and in time the rebuffs became
less brusque. He also noticed a certain softening of the
sailors toward him. His own charm of manner was so
great that it was hard to resist it when it was continuously
exerted, and sailors, like other men, appreciate help
when it is given to them continuously. The number of
frowns for him decreased visibly.

He still ate at the captain's table, why he knew not,
but the man seemed to fancy his company; perhaps there
was no other on the schooner who was on a similar intellectual
level, and he made the most of the opportunity
to talk.

"Peter," he said, "you seem to have ingratiated your[Pg 88]self
to a certain extent with my crew. I'm bound to admit
that you're a personable young rascal, with the best
manners I've met in a long time, but I warn you that
you can't go far. You'll never win 'em over to your side,
and be able to lead a mutiny which will dethrone me,
and put you in command."

"I've no such plan in my mind," said Robert laughing.
"I don't know enough about sailing to take command of
the ship, and I'd have to leave everything to Carlos,
whom I'd trust, on the whole, less than I do you."

"You're justified in that. Carlos is a Spaniard out of
Malaga, where he was too handy with the knife, just as
he has been elsewhere. Whatever I am, you're safer with
me than you would be with Carlos, although he's a fine
sailor and loyal to me."

"How long will it be before we make any of the islands?"

"It's all with the wind, but in any event it will be
quite a while yet. It's a long run from New York down
to the West Indies. Moreover, we may be blown out of
our course at any time."

"Are we in the stormy latitudes?"

"We are. Hurricanes appear here with great suddenness.
You noticed how hot it was to-day. We're to have
another calm, and the still, intense heat is a great breeder
of storms. I think one will come soon, but don't put
any faith in its helping you, Peter. To be saved that
way once is all the luck you can expect. If we were
wrecked here you'd surely go down; it's too far from
land."

"I'm not expecting another wreck, nor am I hoping
for it," said Robert. "I'm thinking the land will be better
for me. I'll make good my escape there. I've been
uncommonly favored in that way. Once I escaped from[Pg 89]
you and twice from the French and Indians, so I think
my future will hold good."

"Maybe it will, Peter. As resolute an optimist as you
ought to succeed. If you escape after I deliver you to
the plantation 'twill be no concern to me at all. On the
whole I'm inclined to hope you will, for I'm rather beginning
to like you, spite of all the trouble you've caused
me and that time you beat me with the swords before
my own men."

Robert's heart leaped up. Could the man be induced
to relent in his plan, whatever it was? But his hope fell
the next moment, when the slaver said:

"Though I tell you, Peter, I'm going to stick to my
task. You'll be handed over to the plantation, whatever
comes. After that, it's for others to watch you, and
I rather hope you'll get the better of 'em."

The storm predicted by the slaver arrived within six
hours, and it was a fearful thing. It came roaring down
upon them, and the wind blew with such frightful violence
that Robert did not see how they could live through
it, but live they did. Both the captain and mate revealed
great seamanship, and the schooner was handled
so well and behaved so handsomely that she drove
through it without losing a stick.

When the hurricane passed on the sea resumed its
usual blue color, and, the dead, heavy heat gone, the air
was keen and fresh. Robert, although he did not suffer
from seasickness, had been made dizzy by the storm, and
he felt intense relief when it was over.

"You'll observe, Peter," said the slaver, "that we're
coming into regions of violence both on land and sea.
You've heard many a tale of the West Indies. Well,
they're all true, whatever they are, earthquakes, hurricanes,
smugglers, pirates, wild Englishmen, Frenchmen,[Pg 90]
Americans, Spaniards, Portuguese, deeds by night that
the day won't own, and the prize for the strongest. It's
a great life, Peter, for those that can live it."

The close-set eyes flashed, and the nostrils dilated. Despite
the apparent liking that the slaver had shown for
him, Robert never doubted his character. Here was a
man to whom the violent contrasts and violent life of
the West Indian seas appealed. He wondered what was
the present mission of the schooner, and he thought of
the bronze eighteen-pounder, and of the dirks and pistols
in the belts of the crew.

"I prefer the north," he said. "It's cooler there and
people are more nearly even, in temper and life."

"Your life there has been in peril many times from
the Indians."

"That's true, but I understand the Indians. Those who
are my friends are my friends, and those who are my
enemies are my enemies. I take it that in the West Indies
you never know what change is coming."

"Correct, Peter, but it's all a matter of temperament.
You like what you like, because you're made that way,
and you can't alter it, but the West Indies have seen
rare deeds. Did you ever hear of Morgan, the great
buccaneer?"

"Who hasn't?"

"There was a man for you! No law but his own!
Willing to sack the biggest and strongest cities on the
Spanish Main and did it, too! Ah, Peter, 'twould have
been a fine thing to have lived in his day and to have
done what he did."

"I shouldn't care to be a pirate, no matter how powerful,
and no matter how great the reward."

"Again it's just a matter of temperament. I'm not
trying to change you, and you couldn't change me."[Pg 91]

Came another calm, longer than the first. They hung
about for days and nights on a hot sea, and captain and
crew alike showed anxiety and impatience. The captain
was continually watching the horizon with his glasses,
and he talked to Robert less than usual. It was obvious
that he felt anxiety.

The calm was broken just before nightfall. Dark had
come with the suddenness of the tropic seas. There was
a puff of wind, followed by a steady breeze, and the
schooner once more sped southward. Robert, anxious to
breathe the invigorating air, came upon deck, and standing
near the mainmast watched the sea rushing by. The
captain paused near him and said to Robert in a satisfied
tone:

"It won't be long now, Peter, until we're among the
islands, and it may be, too, that we'll see another ship before
long. We've been on a lone sea all the way down,
but you'll find craft among the islands."

"It might be a hostile vessel, a privateer," said Robert.

"It's not privateers of which I'm thinking."

The light was dim, but Robert plainly saw the questing
look in his eyes, the look of a hunter, and he drew
back a pace. This man was no mere smuggler. He
would not content himself with such a trade. But he
said in his best manner:

"I should think, captain, it was a time to avoid company,
and that you would be better pleased with a lone
sea."

"One never knows what is coming in these waters,"
said the slaver. "It may be that we shall have to run
away, and I must not be caught off my guard."

But the look in the man's eyes did not seem to Robert
to be that of one who wished to run away. It was far
more the look of the hunter, and when the hulking mate,[Pg 92]
Carlos, passed near him his face bore a kindred expression.
The sailors, too, were eager, attentive, watching
the horizon, as if they expected something to appear
there.

No attention was paid to Robert, and he remained on
the deck, feeling a strong premonition that they were at
the edge of a striking event, one that had a great bearing
upon his own fate, no matter what its character might be.

The wind rose again, but it did not become a gale. It
was merely what a swift vessel would wish, to show her
utmost grace and best speed. The moon came out and
made a silver sea. The long white wake showed clearly
across the waters. The captain never left the deck, but
continued to examine the horizon with his powerful
glasses.

Robert, quick to deduce, believed that they were in
some part of the sea frequented by ships in ordinary
times and that the captain must be reckoning on the probability
of seeing a vessel in the course of the
night. His whole manner showed it, and the lad's own interest became
so great that he lost all thought of going down
to his cabin. Unless force intervened he would stay
there and see what was going to happen, because he felt
in every fiber that something would surely occur.

An hour, two hours passed. The schooner went swiftly
on toward the south, the wind singing merrily through
the ropes and among the sails. The captain walked back
and forth in a narrow space, circling the entire horizon
with his glasses at intervals seldom more than five minutes
apart. It was about ten o'clock at night when he
made a sharp, decisive movement, and a look of satisfaction
came over his face. He had been gazing into the
west and the lad felt sure that he had seen there that[Pg 93]
for which he was seeking, but his own eyes, without artificial
help, were not yet able to tell him what it was.

The captain called the mate, speaking to him briefly
and rapidly, and the sullen face of the Spaniard became
alive. An order to the steersman and the course of the
schooner was shifted more toward the west. It was evident
to Robert that they were not running away from
whatever it was out there. The slaver for the first time
in a long while took notice of Robert.

"There's another craft in the west, Peter," he said,
"and we must have a look at her. Curiosity is a good
thing at sea, whatever it may be on shore. When you
know what is near you you may be able to protect yourself
from danger."

His cynical, indifferent air had disappeared. He was
gay, anticipatory, as if he were going to something that
he liked very much. The close-set eyes were full of light,
and the thin lips curved into a smile.

"You don't seem to expect danger," said Robert. "It
appears to me that you're thinking of just the opposite."

"It's because I've so much confidence in the schooner.
If it's a wicked ship over there we'll just show her the
fastest pair of heels in the West Indies."

He did not speak again for a full quarter of an hour,
but he used the glasses often, always looking at the same
spot on the western horizon. Robert was at last able to
see a black dot there with his unassisted eyes, and he
knew that it must be a ship.

"She's going almost due south," said the captain, "and
in two hours we should overhaul her."

"Why do you wish to overhaul her?" asked Robert.

"She may be a privateer, a Frenchman, or even a
pirate, and if so we must give the alarm to other peaceful
craft like ourselves in these waters."[Pg 94]

He raised the glasses again and did not take them down
for a full five minutes. Meantime the strange ship came
nearer. It was evident to Robert that the two vessels
were going down the sides of a triangle, and if each continued
on its course they would meet at the point.

The night was steadily growing brighter. The moon
was at its fullest, and troops of new stars were coming
out. Robert saw almost as well as by day. He was soon
able to distinguish the masts and sails of the stranger,
and to turn what had been a black blur into the shape and
parts of a ship. He was able, too, to tell that the
stranger was keeping steadily on her course, but the
schooner, obeying her tiller, was drawing toward her
more and more.

"They don't appear to be interested in us," he said
to the captain.

"No," replied the man, "but they should be. They
show a lack of that curiosity which I told you is necessary
at sea, and it is my duty to overtake them and tell
them so. We must not have any incautious ships sailing
in these strange waters."

Ten minutes later he called the mate and gave a command.
Cutlasses and muskets with powder and ball were
put at convenient points. Every man carried at least one
pistol and a dirk in his belt. The captain himself took
two pistols and a cutlass.

"Merely a wise precaution, Peter," he said, "in case
our peaceful neighbor, to whom we wish to give a useful
warning, should turn out to be a pirate."

Robert in the moonlight saw his eyes gleam and his
lips curve once more into a smile. He had seen enough
of men in crucial moments to know that the slaver was
happy, that he was rejoicing in some great triumph that
he expected to achieve. In spite of himself he shivered[Pg 95]
and looked at the stranger. The tracery of masts and
spars was growing clearer and the dim figures of men
were visible on her decks.

"Oh, we'll meet later," said the captain exultantly.
"Don't deceive yourself about that. There is a swift
wind behind us and the speed of both ships is increasing."

Robert looked over the side. The sea was running in
white caps and above his head the wind was whistling.
The schooner rolled and his footing grew unsteady, but
it was only a fine breeze to the sailors, just what they
loved. Suddenly the captain burst into a great laugh.

"The fools! the fools!" he exclaimed. "As I live,
they're pleasuring here in the most dangerous seas in the
world! Music in the moonlight!"

"What do you mean?" asked Robert, astonished.

"Just what I say! A madness hath o'ercome 'em!
Take a look through the glasses, Peter, and see a noble
sight, but a strange one at such a time."

He clapped the glasses to Robert's eyes. The other
ship, suddenly came near to them, and grew fourfold in
size. Every detail of her stood out sharp and vivid in
the moonlight, a stout craft with all sails set to catch the
good wind, a fine merchantman by every token, nearing
the end of a profitable voyage. Discipline was not to
say somewhat relaxed, but at least kindly, the visible evidence
of it an old sailor sitting with his back against
the mast playing vigorously upon a violin, while a dozen
other men stood around listening.

"Look at 'em, Peter. Look at 'em," laughed the captain.
"It's a most noble sight! Watch the old fellow
playing the fiddle, and I'll lay my eyes that in a half
minute or so you'll have some of the sailormen dancing."

Robert shuddered again. The glee in the slaver's voice[Pg 96]
was wicked. The cynical jesting tone was gone and in
its place was only unholy malice. But Robert was held
by the scene upon the deck of the stranger.

"Yes, two of the sailors have begun to dance," he said.
"They're young men and clasping each other about the
shoulders, they're doing a hornpipe. I can see the others
clapping their hands and the old fellow plays harder
than ever."

"Ah, idyllic! Most idyllic, I vow!" exclaimed the captain.
"Who would have thought, Peter, to have beheld
such a sight in these seas! 'Tis a childhood dream come
back again! 'Tis like the lads and maids sporting on the
village green! Ah, the lambs! the innocents! There is
no war for them. It does my soul good, Peter, to behold
once more such innocent trust in human nature."

The shudder, more violent than ever, swept over Robert
again. He felt that he was in the presence of something
unclean, something that exhaled the foul odor of
the pit. The man had become wholly evil, and he shrank
away.

"Steady, Peter," said the slaver. "Why shouldn't you
rejoice with the happy lads on yon ship? Think of your
pleasant fortune to witness such a play in the West Indian
seas, the merry sailormen dancing to the music in
the moonlight, the ship sailing on without care, and we
in our schooner bearing down on 'em to secure our rightful
share in the festival. Ah, Peter, we must go on
board, you and I and Carlos and more stout fellows and
sing and dance with 'em!"

Robert drew back again. It may have been partly
the effect of the moonlight, and partly the mirror of
his own mind through which he looked, but the captain's
face had become wholly that of a demon.
The close-set eyes seemed to draw closer together than[Pg 97]
ever, and they were flashing. His hand, sinewy and
strong, settled upon the butt of a pistol in his belt, but,
in a moment, he raised it again and took the glasses from
Robert. After a long look he exclaimed:

"They dream on! They fiddle and dance with their
whole souls, Peter, my lad, and such trusting natures
shall be rewarded!"

Robert could see very well now without the aid of the
glasses. The sailor who sat on a coil of rope with his
back against a mast, playing the violin, was an old man,
his head bare, his long white hair flying. It was yet too
far away for his face to be disclosed, but Robert knew
that his expression must be rapt, because his attitude
showed that his soul was in his music. The two young
sailors, with their arms about the shoulders of each
other, were still dancing, and two more had joined them.

The crowd of spectators had thickened. Evidently it
was a ship with a numerous crew, perhaps a rich merchantman
out of Bristol or Boston. No flag was flying
over her. That, however, was not unusual in those seas,
and in times of war when a man waited to see the colors
of his neighbor before showing his own. But Robert
was surprised at the laxity of discipline on the stranger.
They should be up and watching, inquiring into the nature
of the schooner that was drawing so near.

"And now, Peter," said the captain, more exultant
than ever, "you shall see an unveiling! It is not often
given to a lad like you, a landsman, to behold such a dramatic
act at sea, a scene so powerful and complete that
it might have been devised by one of the great Elizabethans!
Ho, Carlos, make ready!"

He gave swift commands and the mate repeated them
as swiftly to the men. The two ships were rapidly drawing
nearer, but to Robert's amazement the festival upon[Pg 98]
the deck of the stranger did not cease. Above the creaking
of the spars the wailing strains of the violin came to
him across the waters. If they were conscious there of
the presence of the schooner they cared little about it.
For the moment it occurred to Robert that it must be the
Flying Dutchman, or some other old phantom ship out
of the dim and legendary past.

"And now, Carlos!" exclaimed the captain in a full,
triumphant voice, "we'll wake 'em up! Break out the
flag and show 'em what we are!"

A coiled piece of cloth, dark and menacing, ran up
the mainmast of the schooner, reached the top, and then
burst out, streaming at full length in the strong wind,
dark as death and heavy with threat. Robert looked up
and shuddered violently. Over the schooner floated the
black flag, exultant and merciless.

The tarpaulin was lifted and the long bronze gun in
the stern was uncovered. Beside her stood the gunners,
ready for action. The boatswain's whistle blew and the
dark crew stood forth, armed to the teeth, eager for action,
and spoil. Carlos, a heavy cutlass in hand, awaited
his master's orders. The captain laughed aloud.

"So you see, Peter, what we are!" he exclaimed. "And
it's not too late for you to seize a cutlass and have your
share. Now, my lads, we'll board her and take her in
the good old way."

The mate shouted to the steersman, and the schooner
yawed. Robert, filled with horror, scarcely knew what
he was doing; in truth, he had no conscious will to do
anything, and so he ended by doing nothing. But he
heard the fierce low words of the pirates, and he saw
them leaning forward, as if making ready to leap on the
deck of the stranger and cut down every one of her
crew.[Pg 99]

Then he looked at the other ship. The old man who
had been playing the violin suddenly dropped it and
snatched up a musket from behind the coil of rope on
which he had been sitting. The dancers ceased to dance,
sprang away, and returned in an instant with muskets
also. Heavy pistols leaped from the shirts and blouses
of the spectators, and up from the inside of the ship
poured a swarm of men armed to the teeth. A piece of
cloth swiftly climbed the mainmast of the stranger also,
reached the top, broke out there triumphantly, and the
flag of England, over against the black flag, blew out
steady and true in the strong breeze.

"God! A sloop of war!" exclaimed the captain. "About,
Carlos! Put her about!"

But the sloop yawed quickly, her portholes opened,
bronze muzzles appeared, tampions fell away, and a tremendous
voice shouted:

"Fire!"

Robert saw a sheet of flame spring from the side of
the sloop, there was a terrific crash, a dizzying column
of smoke and the schooner seemed fairly to leap from
the water, as the broadside swept her decks and tore her
timbers. The surly mate was cut squarely in two by a
round shot, men screaming in rage and pain went down
and the captain staggered, but recovered himself. Then
he shouted to the steersman to put the schooner about
and rushing among the sailors he ordered them to another
task than that of boarding.

"It was a trick, and it trapped us most damnably!" he
cried. "A fool I was! Fools we must all have been to
have been caught by it! They lured us on! But now,
you rascals, to your work, and it's for your lives! We
escape together or we hang together!"

The night had darkened much, clouds trailing before[Pg 100]
the moon and stars, but Robert clearly saw the slaver's
face. It was transformed by chagrin and wrath, though
it expressed fierce energy, too. Blood was running from
his shoulder down his left arm, but drawing his sword
he fairly herded the men to the sails; that is, to those
that were left. The helmsman put the shattered schooner
about and she drove rapidly on a new course. But the
sloop of war, tacking, let go her other broadside.

Robert anticipated the second discharge, and by impulse
rather than reason threw himself flat upon the deck,
where he heard the heavy shot whistling over his head
and the cries of those who were struck down. Spars and
rigging, too, came clattering to the deck, but the masts
stood and the schooner, though hit hard, still made way.

"Steady! Keep her steady, my boys!" shouted the captain.
"We've still a clean pair of heels, and with a little
luck we'll lose the sloop in the darkness!"

He was a superb seaman and the rising wind helped
him. The wounded schooner had gained so much that
the third broadside did but little damage and killed only
one man. Robert stood up again and looked back at the
pursuing vessel, her decks covered with men in uniform,
the gunners loading rapidly while over the sloop the flag
of England that was then the flag of his own country too,
streamed straight out in the wind, proud and defiant.

He felt a throb of intense, overwhelming pride. The
black flag had been overmatched by the good flag. In
the last resort, those who lived right had proved themselves
more than equal to those who lived wrong. Law
and order were superior to piracy and chaos. Forgetful
of his own safety, he hoped that the sloop would overtake
the schooner, and obeying his impulse he uttered a shout
of triumph. The captain turned upon him fiercely.

"You cheer the wrong ship," he said. "If they over[Pg 101]take
us, you being with us, I'll swear that you were one
of the hardiest men in my crew!"

Robert laughed, he could not help it, though the act
was more or less hysterical, and replied:

"I'll chance it! But, Captain, didn't you have the surprise
of your whole life, and you so cunning, too!"

The man raised his cutlass, but dropped it quickly.

"Don't try me that way again," he said. "It was my
impulse to cut you down, and the next time I'd do it. But
you're right. It was a surprise, though we'll escape 'em
yet, and we'll let 'em know we're not just a hunted rabbit,
either!"

The Long Tom in the stern of the schooner opened fire.
The first shot splashed to the right of the sloop, and
the second to the left, but the third struck on board, and
two men were seen to go down. The captain laughed.

"That's a taste of their own medicine," he said.

A big gun on the sloop thundered, and a round shot
cut away one of the schooner's spars. Another flashed
and a load of grape hissed over the decks. Two men
were killed and three more wounded. The captain shouted
in anger and made the others crack on all the sail they
could. She was a staunch schooner, and though hurt
grievously she still made speed. Swifter than the sloop,
despite her injuries, she gradually widened the gap between
them, while the wind rose fast, and the trailing
blackness spread over the sea.

Although still close at hand, the outline of the pursuing
sloop became dim. Robert was no longer able to
trace the human figures on her deck, but the banner of
law and right flying from her topmast yet showed in
the dusk. Forgetful as before of his own danger, he
began to have a fear that the pirate would escape. Under
his breath he entreated the avenging sloop to come[Pg 102]
on, to sail faster and faster, he begged her gunners to
aim aright despite the darkness, to rake the decks of the
schooner with grape and to send the heavy round shot
into her vitals.

The sloop kept up a continuous fire with her bow guns.
The heavy reports crashed through the darkness, the
sounds rolling sullenly away, and not every shot went
wild. There was a tearing of sails, a splintering of spars,
a shattering of wood, and now and then the fall of a
man. Under the insistent and continuous urgence of the
captain the men on the schooner replied with the Long
Tom in her stern, and, when one of the shots swept the
deck of the sloop, the fierce, dark sailors shouted in joy.
Robert saw with a sinking of the heart that the gap between
the two vessels was still widening, while almost the
last star was gone from the heavens, and it was now so
dark that everything was hidden a few hundred yards
away.

"We'll lose her! We'll lose her yet!" cried the captain.
"Winds and the night fight for us. See you, Peter,
we must be the chosen children of fortune, for this can
hardly be chance!"

Robert said nothing, because it seemed for the time
at least that the captain's words were true. A sudden
and tremendous gust of wind caught the schooner and
drove her on, ragged and smashed though she was, at
increased speed, while the same narrow belt of wind
seemed to miss the sloop. The result was apparent at
once. The gap between them became a gulf. The flag
flying so proudly on the topmast of the sloop was gone
in the dusk. Her spars and sails faded away, she showed
only a dim, low hulk on the water from which her guns
flashed.[Pg 103]

The schooner tacked again. A new bank of blackness
poured down over the sea, and the sloop was gone.

"It was a trap and we sailed straight into it," exclaimed
the captain, "but it couldn't hold us. We've escaped!"

He spoke the truth. They drove steadily on a long
time, and saw no more of the sloop of war.[Pg 104]

CHAPTER VI

THE ISLAND

Robert came out of his benumbed state. It had
all seemed a fantastic dream, but he had only to
look around him to know that it was reality. Three
or four battle lanterns were shining and they threw a
ghostly light over the deck of the schooner, which was
littered with spars and sails, and the bodies of men who
had fallen before the fire of the sloop. Streams of blood
flowed everywhere. He sickened and shuddered again
and again.

The captain, a savage figure, stained with blood,
showed ruthless energy. Driving the men who remained
unwounded, he compelled them to cut away the wreckage
and to throw the dead overboard. Garrulous, possessed
by some demon, he boasted to them of many prizes
they would yet take, and he pointed to the black flag
which still floated overhead, unharmed through all the
battle. He boasted of it as a good omen and succeeded
in infusing into them some of his own spirit.

Robert was still unnoticed and at first he wandered
about his strait territory. Then he lent a helping hand
with the wreckage. His own life was at stake as well as
theirs, and whether they wished it or not he could not
continue to stand by an idler. Circumstance and the sea
forced him into comradeship with men of evil, and as
long as it lasted he must make the best of it. So he fell[Pg 105]
to with such a will that it drew the attention of the captain.

"Good boy, Peter!" he cried. "You'll be one of us yet
in spite of yourself! Our good fortune is yours, too!
You as well as we have escaped a merry hanging! I'll
warrant you that the feel of the rope around the neck
is not pleasant, and it's well to keep one's head out of the
noose, eh, Peter?"

Robert did not answer, but tugged at a rope that two
other men were trying to reeve. He knew now that
while they had escaped the sloop of war their danger
was yet great and imminent. The wind was still rising,
and now it was a howling gale. The schooner had been
raked heavily. Most of her rigging was gone, huge holes
had been smashed in her hull, half of her crew had been
killed and half of the rest were wounded, there were not
enough men to work her even were she whole and the
weather the best. As the crest of every wave passed she
wallowed in the trough of the sea, and shipped water
steadily. The exultant look passed from the captain's
eyes.

"I'm afraid you're a lad of ill omen, Peter," he said
to Robert. "I had you on board another ship once and
she went to pieces. It looks now as if my good schooner
were headed the same way."

A dark sailor standing near heard him, and nodded in
approval, but Robert said:

"Blame the sloop of war, not me. You would lay
her aboard, and see what has happened!"

The captain frowned and turned away. For a long
time he paid no further attention to Robert, all his skill
and energy concentrated upon the effort to save his ship.
But it became evident even to Robert's inexperienced
eye that the schooner was stricken mortally. The guns[Pg 106]
of the sloop had not raked and slashed her in vain. A
pirate she had been, but a pirate she would be no more.
She rolled more heavily all the time, and Robert noticed
that she was deeper in the water. Beyond a doubt
she was leaking fast.

The captain conferred with the second mate, a tall,
thin man whom he called Stubbs. Then the two, standing
together near the mast, watched the ship for a while
and Robert, a little distance away, watched them. He
was now keenly alive to his own fate. Young and vital,
he did not want to die. He had never known a time when
he was more anxious to live. He was not going to be
sold into slavery on a West India plantation. Fortune
had saved him from that fate, and it might save him
from new perils. In a storm on a sinking vessel he was
nevertheless instinct with hope. Somewhere beyond the
clouds Tayoga's Tododaho on his great star was watching
him. The captain spoke to him presently.

"Peter," he said, "I think it will be necessary for us
to leave the ship soon. That cursed sloop has done for
the staunchest schooner that ever sailed these seas. I left
you on board a sinking vessel the other time, but as it
seemed to bring you good luck then, I won't do it now.
Besides, I'm tempted to keep you with me. You bore
yourself bravely during the battle. I will say that for
you."

"Thanks for taking me, and for the compliment, too,"
said Robert. "I've no mind to be left here alone in the
middle of the ocean on a sinking ship."

"'Tis no pleasant prospect, nor have we an easy path
before us in the boats, either. On the whole, the chances
are against us. There's land not far away to starboard,
but whether we'll make it in so rough a sea is another
matter. Are you handy with an oar?"[Pg 107]

"Fairly so. I've had experience on lakes and rivers,
but none on the sea."

"'Twill serve. We'll launch three boats. Hooker, the
boatswain, takes one, Stubbs has the other, and I command
the last. You go with me."

"It would have been my choice."

"I'm flattered, Peter. I may get a chance yet to sell
you to one of the plantations."

"I think not, Captain. The stars in their courses have
said 'no.'"

"Come! Come! Don't be Biblical here."

"The truth is the truth anywhere. But I'm glad
enough to go with you."

One of the boats was launched with great difficulty,
and the boatswain, Hooker, and six men, two of whom
were wounded, were lowered into it. It capsized almost
immediately, and all on board were lost. Those destined
for the other two boats hung back a while, but it became
increasingly necessary for them to make the trial, no
matter what the risk. The schooner rolled and pitched
terribly, and a sailor, sent to see, reported that the water
was rising in her steadily.

The captain showed himself a true seaman and leader.
He had been wounded in the shoulder, but the hurt had
been bound up hastily and he saw to everything. Each
of the boats contained kegs of water, arms, ammunition
and food. A second was launched and Stubbs and his
crew were lowered into it. A great wave caught it and
carried it upon its crest, and Robert, watching, expected
to see it turn over like the first, but the mate and the
crew managed to restore the balance, and they disappeared
in the darkness, still afloat.

"There, lads," exclaimed the captain, "you see it can
be done. Now we'll go too, and the day will soon come[Pg 108]
when we'll have a new ship, and then, ho! once more for
the rover's free and gorgeous life!"

The unwounded men raised a faint cheer. The long
boat was launched with infinite care, and Robert lent a
hand. The pressure of circumstances made his feeling
of comradeship with these men return. For the time
at least his life was bound up with theirs. Two wounded
sailors were lowered first into the boat.

"Now, Peter, you go," said the captain. "As I told
you, I may have a chance yet to sell you to a plantation,
and I must preserve my property."

Robert slid down the rope. The captain and the others
followed, and they cast loose. They were eight in the
boat, three of whom were wounded, though not badly.
The lad looked back at the schooner. He saw a dim
hulk, with the black flag still floating over it, and then
she passed from sight in the darkness and driving storm.

He took up an oar, resolved to do his best in the common
struggle for life, and with the others fought the sea
for a long time. The captain set their course south by
west, apparently for some island of which he knew, and
meanwhile the men strove not so much to make distance
as to keep the boat right side up. Often Robert thought
they were gone. They rode dizzily upon high waves,
and they sloped at appalling angles, but always they righted
and kept afloat. The water sprayed them continuously
and the wind made it sting like small shot, but that was a
trifle to men in their situation who were straining merely
to keep the breath in their bodies.

After a while—Robert had no idea how long the time
had been—the violence of the wind seemed to abate somewhat,
and their immense peril of sinking decreased. Robert
sought an easier position at the oar, and tried to see
something reassuring, but it was still almost as dark as[Pg 109]
pitch, and there was only the black and terrible sea
around them. But the captain seemed cheerful.

"We'll make it, lads, before morning," he said. "The
storm is sinking, as you can see, and the island is there
waiting for us."

In another hour the sea became so much calmer that
there was no longer any danger of the boat overturning.
Half of the men who had been rowing rested an hour,
and then the other half took their turn. Robert was in
the second relay, and when he put down his oar he realized
for the first time that his hands were sore and his
bones aching.

"You've done well, Peter," said the captain. "You've
become one of us, whether or no, and we'll make you an
honored inhabitant of our island when we come to it."

Robert said nothing, but lay back, drawing long
breaths of relief. The danger of death by drowning had
passed for the moment and he had a sense of triumph
over nature. Despite his weariness and soreness, he was
as anxious as ever to live, and he began to wonder about
this island of which the captain spoke. It must be tropical,
and hence in his imagination beautiful, but by whom
was it peopled? He did not doubt that they would reach
it, and that he, as usual, would escape all perils.

Always invincible, his greatest characteristic was flaming
up within him. He seemed to have won, in a way,
the regard of the captain, and he did not fear the men.
They would be castaways together, and on the land opportunities
to escape would come. On the whole he preferred
the hazards of the land to those of the sea. He
knew better how to deal with them. He was more at
home in the wilderness than on salt water. Yet a brave
heart was alike in either place.

"We'd better take it very easy, lads," said the captain.[Pg 110]
"Not much rowing now, and save our strength for the
later hours of the night."

"Why?" asked Robert.

"Because the storm, although it has gone, is still hanging
about in the south and may conclude to come back,
assailing us again. A shift in the wind is going on now,
and if it hit us before we reached the island, finding us
worn out, we might go down before it."

It was a good enough reason and bye and bye only two
men kept at the oars, the rest lying on the bottom of the
boat or falling asleep in their seats. The captain kept a
sharp watch for the other boat, which had gone away in
the dark, but beheld no sign of it, although the moon and
stars were now out, and they could see a long distance.

"Stubbs knows where the island is," said the captain,
"and if they've lived they'll make for it. We can't turn
aside to search all over the sea for 'em."

Robert after a while fell asleep also in his seat, and
despite his extraordinary situation slept soundly, though
it was rather an unconsciousness that came from extreme
exhaustion, both bodily and mental. He awoke some
time later to find that the darkness had come back and
that the wind was rising again.

"You can take a hand at the oar once more, Peter,"
said the captain. "I let you sleep because I knew that it
would refresh you and we need the strength of everybody.
The storm, as I predicted, is returning, not as
strong as it was at first, perhaps, but strong enough."

He wakened the other men who were sleeping, and
all took to the oars. The waves were running high, and
the boat began to ship water. Several of the men, under
instructions from the captain, dropped their oars and
bailed it out with their caps or one or two small tin vessels
that they had stored aboard.[Pg 111]

"Luckily the wind is blowing in the right direction,"
said the captain. "It comes out of the northeast, and
that carries us toward the island. Now, lads, all we
have to do is to keep the boat steady, and not let it ship
too much water. The wind itself will carry us on our
way."

But the wind rose yet more, and it required intense
labor and vigilance to fight the waves that threatened
every moment to sink their craft. Robert pulled on the
oar until his arms ached. Everybody toiled except the
captain, who directed, and Robert saw that he had all
the qualities to make him a leader of slavers or pirates.
In extreme danger he was the boldest and most confident
of them all, and he stood by his men. They could see
that he would not desert them, that their fortune was his
fortune. He was wounded, Robert did not yet know
how badly, but he never yielded to his hurt. He was a
figure of strength in the boat, and the men drew courage
from him to struggle for life against the overmastering
sea. Somehow, for the time at least, Robert looked upon
him as his own leader, obeying his commands, willingly
and without question.

He was drenched anew with the salt water, but as they
were in warm seas he never thought of it. Now and
then he rested from his oar and helped bail the water
from the boat.

A pale dawn showed at last through the driving
clouds, but it was not encouraging. The sea was running
higher than ever, and there was no sign of land.
One of the men, much worse wounded than they had
thought, lay down in the bottom of the boat and died.
They tossed his body unceremoniously overboard. Robert
knew that it was necessary, but it horrified him just
the same. Another man, made light of head by dangers[Pg 112]
and excessive hardships, insisted that there was no island,
that either they would be drowned or would drift on in
the boat until they died of thirst and starvation. The
captain drew a pistol and looking him straight in the
eye said:

"Another word of that kind from you, Waters, and
you'll eat lead. You know me well enough to know that
I keep my word."

The man cowered away and Robert saw that it was
no vain threat. Waters devoted his whole attention to
an oar, and did not speak again.

"We'll strike the island in two or three hours," the captain
said with great confidence.

The dawn continued to struggle with the stormy sky,
but its progress was not promising. It was only a sullen
gray dome over a gray and ghastly sea, depressing to the
last degree to men worn as they were. But in about two
hours the captain, using glasses that he had taken from
his coat, raised the cry:

"Land ho!"

He kept the glasses to his eyes a full two minutes, and
when he took them down he repeated with certainty:

"Land ho! I can see it distinctly there under the horizon
in the west, and it's the island we've been making
for. Now, lads, keep her steady and we'll be there in an
hour."

All the men were vitalized into new life, but the storm
rose at the same time, and spray and foam dashed over
them. All but two or three were compelled to work hard,
keeping the water out of the boat, while the others
steadied her with the oars. Robert saw the captain's face
grow anxious, and he began to wonder if they would
reach the island in time. He wondered also how they
would land in case they reached it, as he knew from his[Pg 113]
reading and travelers' tales that most of the little islands
in these warm seas were surrounded by reefs.

The wind drove them on and the island rose out of the
ocean, a dark, low line, just a blur, but surely land, and
the drooping men plucked up their spirits.

"We'll make it, lads! Don't be down-hearted!" cried
the captain. "Keep the boat above water a half hour
longer, and we'll tread the soil of mother earth again!
Well done, Peter! You handle a good oar! You're the
youngest in the boat, but you've set an example for the
others! There's good stuff in you, Peter."

Robert, to his own surprise, found his spirit responding
to this man's praise, slaver and pirate though he was,
and he threw more strength into his swing. Soon they
drew near to the island, and he heard such a roaring of
the surf that he shuddered. He saw an unbroken line of
white and he knew that behind it lay the cruel teeth of
the rocks, ready to crunch any boat that came. Every
one looked anxiously at the captain.

"There's a rift in the rocks to the right," he said, "and
when we pass through it we'll find calm water inside.
Now, lads, all of you to the oars and take heed that you
do as I say on the instant or we'll be on the reef!"

They swung to the right, and so powerful were wind
and wave that it seemed to Robert they fairly flew toward
the island. The roaring of the surf grew and the long
white line rose before them like a wall. He saw no opening,
but the captain showed no signs of fear and gave
quick, sharp commands. The boat drove with increased
speed toward the island, rising on the crests of great
waves, then sinking with sickening speed into the trough
of the sea, to rise dizzily on another wave. Robert saw
the rocks, black, sharp and cruel, reaching out their long,
savage teeth, and the roar of wind and surf together was[Pg 114]
now so loud that he could no longer hear the captain's
commands. He was conscious that the boat was nearly
full of water, and when he was not blinded by the flying
surf he saw looks of despair on the faces of the men.

An opening in the line of reefs disclosed itself, and
the boat shot toward it. He heard the captain shout, but
did not understand what he said, then they were
wrenched violently to the left by a powerful current. He
saw the black rocks frowning directly over him, and felt
the boat scrape against them. The whole side of it was
cut away, and they were all hurled into the sea.

Robert was not conscious of what he did. He acted
wholly from impulse and the instinctive love of life that
is in every one. He felt the water pour over him, and fill
eye, ear and nostril, but he was not hurled against rock.
He struck out violently, but was borne swiftly away, not
knowing in which direction he was taken.

He became conscious presently that the force driving
him on was not so great and he cleared the water from
his eyes enough to see that he had been carried through
the opening and toward a sandy beach. His mind became
active and strong in an instant. Chance had brought
him life, if he only had the presence of mind to take it.
He struck out for the land with all his vigor, hoping to
reach it before he could be carried back by a returning
wave.

The wave caught him, but it was not as powerful as
he had feared, and, when he had yielded a little, he was
able to go forward again. Then he saw a head bobbing
upon the crest of the next retreating wave and being carried
out to sea. It was the captain, and reaching out a
strong arm Robert seized him. The shock caused him to
thrust down his feet, and to his surprise he touched bot[Pg 115]tom.
Grasping the captain with both hands he dragged
him with all his might and ran inland.

It was partly an instinctive impulse to save and partly
genuine feeling that caused him to seize the slaver when
he was being swept helpless out to sea. The man, even
though in a malicious, jeering way, had done him some
kindnesses on the schooner and in the boat, and he could
not see him drown before his eyes. So he settled his
grasp upon his collar, held his head above the water and
strove with all his might to get beyond the reach of the
cruel sea. Had he been alone he could have reached
the land with ease, but the slaver pulled upon him almost
a dead weight.

Another returning wave caught him and made him
stagger, but he settled his feet firmly in the sand, held
on to the unconscious man, and when it had passed made
a great effort to get beyond the reach of any other. He
was forced half to lift, half to drag the slaver's body,
but he caught the crest of the next incoming wave, one
of unusual height and strength, and the two were carried
far up the beach. When it died in foam and spray
he lifted the man wholly and ran until he fell exhausted
on the sand. When another wave roared inland it did
not reach him, and no others came near. As if knowing
they were baffled, they gave up a useless pursuit.

Robert lay a full half hour, supine, completely relaxed,
only half conscious. Yet he was devoutly thankful. The
precious gift of life had been saved, the life that was so
young, so strong and so buoyant in him. The sea, immense,
immeasurable and savage might leap for him, but
it could no longer reach him. He was aware of that
emotion, and he was thankful too that an Infinite Hand
had been stretched out to save him in his moment of
direst peril.[Pg 116]

He came out of his cataleptic state, which was both
a mental and physical effect, and stood up. The air was
still dim with heavy clouds and the wind continuously
whistled its anger. He noticed for the first time that it
was raining, but it was a trifle to him, as he had already
been thoroughly soaked by the sea.

The sea itself was as wild as ever. Wave after wave
roared upon the land to break there, and then rush back
in masses of foam. As far as Robert could see the surface
of the water, lashed by the storm, was wild and
desolate to the last degree. It was almost as if he had
been cast away on another planet. A feeling of irrepressible,
awful loneliness overpowered him.

"Well, Peter, we're here."

It was a feeble voice, but it was a human one, the
voice of one of his own kind, and, in that dreary wilderness
of the ocean, it gave welcome relief as it struck
upon his ear. He looked down. The slaver, returned to
consciousness, had drawn himself into a sitting position
and was looking out at the gray waters.

"I've a notion, Peter," he said, "that you've saved my
life. The last I remember was being engulfed in a very
large and very angry ocean. It was kind of you, Peter,
after I kidnapped you away from your friends, meaning
to sell you into slavery on a West India plantation."

"I couldn't let you drown before my eyes."

"Most men in your place would have let me go, and
even would have helped me along."

"Perhaps I felt the need of company. 'Twould have
been terrible to be alone here."

"There may be something in that. But at any rate,
you saved me. I'm thinking that you and I are all that's
left. I was a fool, Peter, ever to have mixed in your
business. I can see it now. When I carried you away[Pg 117]
from New York I lost my ship. I kidnap you away
again from Albany, and I lose my ship and all my crew.
I would have lost my own life, too, if it had not been
for you. It was never intended by the fates that I should
have been successful in my attempts on you. The first
time should have been enough. That was a warning.
Well, I've paid the price of my folly. All fools do."

He tried to stand up, but fresh blood came from his
shoulder and he quickly sat down again. It was obvious
that he was very weak.

"I'll do the best I can for us both," said Robert, "but
I don't know the nature of this land upon which we're
cast. I suppose it's an island, of course. I can see trees
inland, but that's all I can discover at present."

"I know a deal more," said the slaver. "That's why
I had the boat steered for this point, hoping to make the
little bay into which the opening through the reefs leads.
It's an island, as you say, seven or eight miles long, half
as broad and covered thickly with trees and brush.
There's a hut about half a mile inland, and if you help
me there we'll both find shelter. I'll show the way. As
trying too steadily to do you evil brought me bad luck
I'll now try to do you good. You can put it down to
logic, and not to any sudden piety in me."

Yet Robert in his heart did not ascribe it wholly to
logic. He was willing to believe in a kindly impulse or
two in everybody, there was a little good hidden somewhere
deep down even in Tandakora, though it might
have to struggle uncommonly hard for expression. He
promptly put his arm under the man's and helped him
to his feet.

"Give me the direction," he said, "and I'll see that we
reach the hut."

"Bear toward the high hill ahead and to the right.[Pg 118]
And between you and me, Peter, I'm glad it's inland.
I've had enough of the sea for a while and I don't want
to look at it. How is it behaving now?"

Robert, looking back, saw a great wave rushing upon
the beach as if it thought it could overtake them, and it
gave him an actual thrill of delight to know the effort
would be in vain.

"It's as wild, as desolate and as angry as ever," he
said, "and we're well away from it for the present."

"Then go on. I fear I shall have to lean upon you
rather hard. A bit of grape shot from that cursed sloop
has bitten pretty deep into my shoulder. I've been
doubly a fool, Peter, in kidnapping you a second time
after the first warning, and in allowing myself to be
tolled up under the broadside of that sloop. It's the last
that hurts me most. I behaved like any youngster on his
first cruise."

Robert said nothing, but did his best to support the
wounded man, who was now bearing upon him very
heavily. His own strength was largely factitious, coming
from the hope that they would soon find shelter and
a real place in which to rest, but such as it was it was
sufficient for the time being.

He did not look back again. Like the slaver, he wanted
to shut out the sea for the present. It was a raging,
cruel element, and he felt better with it unseen. But he
became conscious, instead, of the rain which was driving
hard. He suddenly realized that he was cold, and he
shivered so violently that the slaver noticed it.

"Never mind, Peter," he said. "We're going to a
palace, or at least 'twill seem a palace by power of contrast.
There you'll be snug and warm."

"And you can bind up your wound again and get
back your strength."[Pg 119]

"Aye, we can bind it up again, but it's not so sure
about my getting back my strength. I tell you again, lad,
that the grape bit deep. It hurts me all the time to think
I was lured under those guns by a silly old fiddler and
a couple of silly sailors dancing to his silly tune. You're
a good lad, Peter, I give you credit for it, and since, beside
myself, only one on board the schooner was saved,
I'm glad it was you and not a member of the crew."

"We don't know that others were not saved. We
haven't had time yet to see."

"I know they weren't. It's only a miracle that we two
came through the reefs. Miracles may happen, Peter,
but they don't happen often. Nobody else will appear
on the island. Keep steering for the hill. I'll be glad
when we get there, because, between you and me, Peter,
it will be just about as far as I can go and I'll need a
long, long rest."

He bore so heavily upon Robert now that their
progress was very slow, and the lad himself began to
grow weak. It was impossible for any one, no matter
how hardy of body and soul, to endure long, after going
through what he had suffered. He too staggered.

"I'm leaning hard on you, Peter," said the slaver. "I
know it, but I can't help it. What a difference a whiff
of grapeshot makes!"

Robert steadied himself, made a mighty effort, and
they went on. The wind shifted now and the rain drove
directly in his face. It was cold to him, but it seemed
to whip a little increase of vigor and strength into his
blood, and he was able to go somewhat faster. As he
pulled along with his burden he looked curiously at the
region through which he was traveling. The ground
was rough, often with layers of coral, and he saw on
all sides of him dense groves of bushes, among which[Pg 120]
he recognized the banana by the fruit. It gave him a
thrill of relief. At all events here was food of a kind,
and they would not starve to death. It was the first time
he had thought of food. Hitherto he had been occupied
wholly with the struggle for immediate life.

A belt of tall trees shut out the hill toward which he
had been steering, and he was uncertain. But the man
gave him guidance.

"More to the right, Peter," he said. "I won't let you
go astray, and it's full lucky for us both that I know this
island."

A half hour of painful struggle and Robert saw the
dark shape of a small house in the lee of a hill.

"It's the hut, Peter," said the slaver, "and you've done
well to bring us here. You're not only a good lad, but
you're strong and brave, too. You needn't knock at the
door. No one will answer. Push it open and enter. It
really belongs to me."

Robert obeyed while the man steadied himself sufficiently
to stand alone. He thrust his hand against the
door, which swung inward, revealing a dark interior. A
musty odor entered his nostrils, but the hut, whatever its
character, was dry. That was evident, and so it was
welcome. He went in, helping the wounded man along
with him, and standing there a moment or two everything
became clear.

It was more than a hut. He was in a room of some
size, containing articles of furniture, obviously brought
across the sea, and clothing hanging from the wall on
hooks. A couch was beside one wall, and two doors
seemed to lead to larger chambers or to small closets.
The captain staggered across the room and lay down on
the couch.[Pg 121]

"Well, how do you like it, Peter?" he asked. "'Twill
serve in a storm, will it not?"

"It will serve grandly," replied Robert. "How does
it come to be here?"

"I had it built. The islands all the way from the Bahamas
to South America and the waters around them
are the great hunting ground for people in my trade, and
naturally we need places of refuge, secluded little harbors,
so to speak, where we can commune with ourselves and
refresh our minds and bodies. Even rovers must have
periods of relaxation, and you'll find a lot of such places
scattered about the islands, or, rather, you won't find 'em
because they're too well hidden. I had this built myself,
but I never dreamed that I should come back to it in the
way I have."

"It's a palace just now," said Robert, "yes, it's more
than a palace, it's a home. I see clothing here on the
wall, and, by your leave, I'll change you and then myself
into some of those dry garments."

"You're lord of the manor, Peter, by right of strength.
I'm in no condition to resist you, even had I the wish,
which I haven't."

Assisted by the man himself, he removed the captain's
garments and put him in dry clothing, first looking at the
wound in his shoulder, which his experience told him
was very serious. The piece of grapeshot had gone entirely
through, but the loss of blood had been large, and
there was inflammation.

"I must bathe that with fresh water a little later and
devise some kind of dressing," said Robert. "I've had
much experience in the wilderness with wounds."

"You're a good lad, Peter," said the slaver. "I've told
you that before, but I repeat it now."

Robert then arrayed himself in dry garments. He[Pg 122]
was strangely and wonderfully attired in a shirt of fine
linen with lace ruffles, a short, embroidered jacket of
purple velvet, purple velvet knee-breeches, silk stockings
and pumps, or low shoes, with large silver buckles. It
was very gorgeous, and, just then, very comfortable.

"You look the dandy to the full, Peter," said the slaver.
"The clothes have hung here more than a year. They
came from a young Spaniard who had the misfortune
to resist too much when we took the ship that carried
him. They've come to a good use again."

Robert shuddered, but in a moment or two he forgot
the origin of his new raiment. He had become too much
inured to deadly peril to be excessively fastidious. Besides,
he was feeling far better. Warmth returned to his
body and the beat of the rain outside the house increased
the comfort within.

"I think, Peter," said the slaver, "that you'd better go
to sleep. You've been through a lot, and you don't realize
how near exhaustion you are."

Without giving a thought to the question of food,
which must present itself before long, Robert lay down
on the floor and fell almost at once into a sound
slumber.[Pg 123]

CHAPTER VII

THE PIRATE'S WARNING

When the lad awoke it was quite dark in the
house, but there was no sound of rain. He went
to the door and looked out upon a fairly clear
night. The storm was gone and he heard only a light
wind rustling through palms. There was no thunder of
beating surf in the distance. It was a quiet sky and a
quiet island.

He went back and looked at the slaver. The man was
asleep on his couch, but he was stirring a little, and he
was hot with fever. Robert felt pity for him, cruel and
blood-stained though he knew him to be. Besides, he was
the only human companion he had, and he did not wish
to be left alone there. But he did not know what to do
just then, and, lying down on the floor, he went to sleep
again.

When he awoke the second time day had come, and the
slaver too was awake, though looking very weak.

"I've been watching you quite a while, Peter," he said.
"You must have slept fifteen or sixteen hours. Youth
has a wonderful capacity for slumber and restoration. I
dare say you're now as good as ever, and wondering
where you'll find your breakfast. Well, when I built this
house I didn't neglect the plenishings of it. Open the
door next to you and you'll find boucan inside. 'Boucan,'
as you doubtless know, is dried beef, and from it we got[Pg 124]
our name the buccaneers, because in the beginning we
lived so much upon dried beef. Enough is in that closet
to last us a month, and there are herds of wild cattle on
the island, an inexhaustible larder."

"But we can't catch wild cattle with our hands," said
Robert.

The slaver laughed.

"You don't think, Peter," he said, "that when I built
a house here and furnished it I neglected some of the
most necessary articles. In the other closet you'll find
weapons and ammunition. But deal first with the
boucan."

Robert opened the closet and found the boucan packed
away in sheets or layers on shelves, and at once he became
ravenously hungry.

"On a lower shelf," said the slaver, "you'll find flint
and steel, and with them it shouldn't be hard for a wilderness
lad like you to start a fire. There are also kettles,
skillets and pans, and I think you know how to do the
rest."

Robert went to work on a fire. The wood, which was
abundant outside, was still damp, but he had a strong
clasp knife and he whittled a pile of dry shavings which
he succeeded in igniting with the flint and steel, though
it was no light task, requiring both patience and skill. But
the fire was burning at last and he managed to make in
one of the kettles some soup of the dried beef, which he
gave to the captain. The man had no appetite, but he
ate a little and declared that he felt stronger. Then Robert
broiled many strips for himself over the coals and ate
ravenously. He would have preferred a greater variety
of food, but it was better than a castaway had a right to
expect.

His breakfast finished, he continued his examination of[Pg 125]
the house, which was furnished with many things, evidently
captured from ships. He found in one of the
closets a fine fowling piece, a hunting rifle, two excellent
muskets, several pistols, ammunition for all the fire-arms
and a number of edged weapons.

"You see, Peter, you're fitted for quite an active defense
should enemies come," said the slaver. "You'll
admit, I think, that I've been a good housekeeper."

"Good enough," said Peter. "Are there any medicines?"

"You'll find some salves and ointments on the top shelf
in the second closet, and you can make a poultice for this
hurt of mine. Between you and me, Peter, I've less pain,
but much more weakness, which is a bad sign."

"Oh, you'll be well in a few days," said Robert cheerfully.
"One wound won't carry off a man as strong as
you are."

"One wound always suffices, provided it goes in deep
enough, but I thank you for your rosy predictions, Peter.
I think your good wishes are genuinely sincere."

Robert realized that they were so, in truth. In addition
to the call of humanity, he had an intense horror of being
left alone on the island, and he would fight hard to save
the slaver's life. He compounded the poultice with no
mean skill, and, after bathing the wound carefully with
fresh water from a little spring behind the hut, he applied it.

"It's cooling, Peter, and I know it's healing, too," said
the man, "but I think I'll try to go to sleep again. As
long as I'm fastened to a couch that's about the only way
I can pass the time. Little did I think when I built this
house that I'd come here without a ship and without a
crew to pass some helpless days."

He shut his eyes. After a while, Robert, not knowing[Pg 126]
whether he was asleep or not, took down the rifle, loaded
it, and went out feeling that it was high time he should
explore his new domain.

In the sunlight the island did not look forbidding. On
the contrary, it was beautiful. From the crest of the hill
near the house he saw a considerable expanse, but the
western half of the island was cut off from view by a
higher range of hills. It was all in dark green foliage,
although he caught the sheen of a little lake about two
miles away. As far as he could see a line of reefs
stretched around the coast, and the white surf was breaking
on them freely.

From the hill he went back to the point at which he
and the captain had been swept ashore, and, as he
searched along the beach he found the bodies of all those
who had been in the boat with them. He had been quite
sure that none of them could possibly have escaped, but it
gave him a shock nevertheless to secure the absolute proof
that they were dead. He resolved if he could find a way
to bury them in the sand beyond the reach of the waves,
but, for the present, he could do nothing, and he continued
along the shore several miles, finding its character
everywhere the same, a gentle slope, a stretch of
water, and beyond that the line of reefs on which the
white surf was continually breaking, reefs with terrible
teeth as he well knew.

But it was all very peaceful now. The sea stretched
away into infinity the bluest of the blue, and a breeze
both warm and stimulating came out of the west. Robert,
however, looked mostly toward the north. Albany
and his friends now seemed a world away. He had been
wrenched out of his old life by a sudden and unimaginable
catastrophe. What were Tayoga and Willet doing
now? How was the war going? For him so far as real[Pg 127]
life was concerned the war simply did not exist. He was
on a lost island with only a wounded man for company
and the struggle to survive and escape would consume all
his energies.

Presently he came to what was left of their boat. It
was smashed badly and half buried in the sand. At first
he thought he might be able to use it again, but a critical
examination showed that it was damaged beyond any
power of his to repair it, and with a sigh he abandoned
the thought of escape that way.

He continued his explorations toward the south, and
saw groves of wild banana, the bushes or shrubs fifteen
or twenty feet high, some of them with ripe fruit hanging
from them. He ate one and found it good, though he
was glad to know that he would not have to depend upon
bananas wholly for food.

A mile to the south and he turned inland, crossing a
range of low hills, covered with dense vegetation. As
he passed among the bushes he kept his rifle ready, not
knowing whether or not dangerous wild animals were to
be found there. He had an idea they were lacking in
both the Bahamas and the West Indies, but not being
sure, he meant to be on his guard.

Before he reached the bottom of the slope he heard a
puff, and then the sound of heavy feet. All his wilderness
caution was alive in a moment, and, drawing back,
he cocked the rifle. Then he crept forward, conscious
that some large wild beast was near. A few steps more
and he realized that there were more than one. He heard
several puffs and the heavy feet seemed to be moving
about in an aimless fashion.

He came to the edge of the bushes, and, parting them,
he looked cautiously from their cover. Then his apprehensions
disappeared. Before him stretched a wide,[Pg 128]
grassy savanna and upon it was grazing a herd of wild
cattle, at least fifty in number, stocky beasts with long
horns. Robert looked at them with satisfaction. Here
was enough food on the hoof to last him for years. They
might be tough, but he had experience enough to make
them tender when it came to fire and the spit.

"Graze on in peace until I need you," he said, and
crossing the savanna he found beyond, hidden at first
from view by a fringe of forest, the lake that he had seen
from the crest of the hill beside the house. It covered
about half a square mile and was blue and deep. He surmised
that it contained fish good to eat, but, for the present
he was content to let them remain in the water. They,
like the wild cattle, could wait.

Feeling that he had been gone long enough, he went
back to the house and found the slaver asleep or in a
stupor, and, when he looked at him closely, he was convinced
that it was more stupor than sleep. He was very
pale and much wasted. It occurred suddenly to Robert
that the man would die and the thought gave him a great
shock. Then, in very truth, he would be alone. He sat
by him and watched anxiously, but the slaver did not
come back to the world for a full two hours.

"Aye, Peter, you're there," he said. "As I've told you
several times, you're a good lad."

"Can I make you some more of the beef broth?" asked
Robert.

"I can take a little I think, though I've no appetite
at all."

"And I'd like to dress your wound again."

"If it's any relief to you, Peter, to do so, go ahead,
though I think 'tis of little use."

"It will help a great deal. You'll be well again in a[Pg 129]
week or two. It isn't so bad here. With a good house
and food it's just the place for a wounded man."

"Plenty of quiet, eh Peter? No people to disturb me
in my period of convalescence."

"Well, that's a help."

Robert dressed the wound afresh, but he noticed during
his ministrations that the slaver's weakness had increased,
and his heart sank. It was a singular fact, but
he began to feel a sort of attachment for the man who
had done him so much ill. They had been comrades in a
great hazard, and were yet. Moreover, the fear of being
left alone in a tremendous solitude was recurrent and
keen. These motives and that of humanity made him do
his best.

"I thank you, Peter," said the wounded man. "You're
standing by me in noble fashion. On the whole, I'm
lucky in being cast away with you instead of one of my
own men. But it hurts me more than my wound does to
think that I should have been tricked, that a man of experience
such as I am should have been lured under the
broadside of the sloop of war by an old fellow playing a
fiddle and a couple of sailors dancing. My mind keeps
coming back to it. My brain must have gone soft for
the time being, and so I've paid the price."

Robert said nothing, but finished his surgeon's task.
Then he made a further examination of the house, finding
more boucan stored in a small, low attic, also clothing,
both outer and inner garments, nautical instruments,
including a compass, a pair of glasses of power, and
bottles of medicine, the use of some of which he knew.

Then he loaded the fowling piece and went back
toward the lake, hoping he might find ducks there. Beef,
whether smoked or fresh, as an exclusive diet, would become
tiresome, and since they might be in for a long stay[Pg 130]
on the island he meant to fill their larder as best he could.
On his way he kept a sharp watch for game, but saw only
a small coney, a sort of rabbit, which he left in peace.
He found at a marshy edge of the lake a number of
ducks, three of which he shot, and which he dressed and
cooked later on, finding them to be excellent.

Robert made himself a comfortable bed on the floor
with blankets from one of the closets and slept soundly
through the next night. The following morning he found
the slaver weaker than ever and out of his head at times.
He made beef broth for him once more, but the man was
able to take but little.

"'Tis no use, Peter," he said in a lucid interval. "I'm
sped. I think there's no doubt of it. When that sloop
of war lured us under her guns she finished her task;
she did not leave a single thing undone. My schooner is
gone, my crew is gone, and now I'm going."

"Oh, no," said Robert. "You'll be better to-morrow."

The man said nothing, but seemed to sink back into a
lethargic state. Robert tried his pulse, but could hardly
feel its beat. In a half hour he roused himself a little.

"Peter," he said. "You're a good lad. I tell you so
once more. You saved me from the sea, and you're
standing by me now. I owe you for it, and I might tell
you something, now that my time's at hand. It's really
come true that when I built this house I was building the
place in which I am to die, though I didn't dream of it
then."

Robert was silent, waiting to hear what he would tell
him. But he closed his eyes and did not speak for five
minutes more. The lad tried his pulse a second time. It
was barely discernible. The man at length opened his
eyes and said:[Pg 131]

"Peter, if you go back to the province of New York
beware of Adrian Van Zoon."

"Beware of Van Zoon! Why?"

"He wants to get rid of you. I was to put you out of
the way for him, at a price, and a great price, too. But
it was not intended, so it seems, that I should do so."

"Why does Adrian Van Zoon want me put out of the
way?"

"That I don't know, Peter, but when you escape from
the island you must find out."

His eyelids drooped and closed once more, and when
Robert felt for his pulse a third time there was none.
The slaver and pirate was gone, and the lad was alone.

Robert felt an immense desolation. Whatever the man
was he had striven to keep him alive, and at the last the
captain had shown desire to undo some of the evil that he
had done to him. And so it was Adrian Van Zoon who
wished to put him out of the way. He had suspected
that before, in fact he had been convinced of it, and now
the truth of it had been told to him by another. But,
why? The mystery was as deep as ever.

Robert had buried the bodies of the sailors in the sand
in graves dug with an old bayonet that he had found in
the house, and he interred the captain in the same manner,
only much deeper. Then he went back to the house
and rested a long time. The awful loneliness that he had
feared came upon him, and he wrestled with it for hours.
That night it became worse than ever, but it was so acute
that it exhausted itself, and the next morning he felt
better.

Resolved not to mope, he took down the rifle, put
some of the smoked beef in his pocket, and started on a
long exploration, meaning to cross the high hills that ran[Pg 132]
down the center of the island, and see what the other
half was like.

In the brilliant sunshine his spirits took another rise.
After all, he could be much worse off. He had a good
house, arms and food, and in time a ship would come. A
ship must come, and, with his usual optimism, he was
sure that it would come soon.

He passed by the lakes and noted the marshy spot
where he had shot the ducks. Others had come back and
were feeding there now on the water grasses. Doubtless
they had never seen man before and did not know his
full destructiveness, but Robert resolved to have duck
for his table whenever he wanted it.

A mile or two farther and he saw another but much
smaller lake, around the edge of which duck also were
feeding, showing him that the supply was practically unlimited.
Just beyond the second lake lay the range of
hills that constituted the backbone of the island, and although
the sun was hot he climbed them, their height being
about a thousand feet. From the crest he had a view
of the entire island, finding the new half much like the
old, low, hilly, covered with forest, and surrounded with
a line of reefs on which the surf was breaking.

His eyes followed the long curve of the reefs, and then
stopped at a dark spot that broke their white continuity.
His blood leaped and instantly he put to his eyes the
strong glasses that he had found in the house and that
fortunately he had brought with him. Here he found his
first impression to be correct. The dark spot was a ship!

But it was no longer a ship that sailed the seas. Instead
it was a wrecked and shattered ship, with her bow
driven into the sand, and her stern impaled on the sharp
teeth of the breakers. Then his heart leaped again. A
second long look through the glasses told him that the[Pg 133]
lines of the ship, bruised and battered though she was,
were familiar.

It was the schooner. The storm had brought her to
the island also, though to the opposite shore, and there
she lay a wreck held by the sand and rocks. He descended
the hills, and, after a long walk, reached the
beach. The schooner was not broken up as much as he
had thought, and as she could be reached easily he
decided to board her.

The vessel was tipped partly over on her side, and all
her spars and sails were gone. She swayed a little with
the swell, but she was held fast by sand and rocks. Robert,
laying his clothes and rifle on the beach, waded out
to her, and, without much difficulty, climbed aboard,
where he made his way cautiously over the slanting and
slippery deck.

His first motive in boarding the wreck was curiosity,
but it now occurred to him that there was much treasure
to be had, treasure of the kind that was most precious to
a castaway. A long stay on the island had not entered
into his calculations hitherto, but he knew now that he
might have to reckon on it, and it was well to be prepared
for any event.

He searched first the cabins of the captain and mates,
taking from them what he thought might be of use, and
heaping the store upon the beach. He soon had there a
pair of fine double-barreled pistols with plenty of ammunition
to fit, another rifle, one that had been the captain's
own, with supplies of powder and ball, a half
dozen blankets, a medicine chest, well supplied, and a
cutlass, which he took without any particular thought
of use.

Then he invaded the carpenter's domain, and there he
helped himself very freely, taking out two axes, two[Pg 134]
hatchets, two saws, a hammer, two chisels, several augers,
and many other tools, all of which he heaped with great
labor upon the beach.

Then he explored the cook's galley, gleaning three large
bags of flour, supplies of salt and pepper, five cured
hams, four big cheeses, several bottles of cordial and
other supplies such as were carried on any well-found
ship. It required great skill and caution to get all his
treasures safely ashore, but his enthusiasm rose as he
worked, and he toiled at his task until midnight. Then
he slept beside the precious heap until the next day.

He lighted a fire with his flint and steel, which he made
a point to carry with him always, and cooked a breakfast
of slices from one of the hams. Then he planned a further
attack upon the schooner, which had not altered her
position in the night.

Robert now felt like a miser who never hoards
enough. Moreover, his source of supply once gone, it
was not likely that he would find another, and there was
the ship. The sea was in almost a dead calm, and it was
easier than ever to approach her. So he decided to board
again and take off more treasure.

He added to the heap upon the beach another rifle,
two muskets, several pistols, a small sword and a second
cutlass, clothing, a considerable supply of provisions and
a large tarpaulin which he meant to spread over his supplies
while they lay on the sand. Then he launched a
dinghy which he found upon the ship with the oars inside.

The dinghy gave him great pleasure. He knew that it
would be an arduous task to carry all his supplies on his
back across the island to the house, and it would lighten
the labor greatly to make trips around in the boat. So he
loaded into the dinghy as much of the most precious of[Pg 135]
his belongings as he thought it would hold, and began
the journey by water that very day, leaving the rest of
the goods covered with the tarpaulin in the event of rain.

It was a long journey, and he had to be careful about
the breakers, but fortunately the sea remained calm. He
was caught in currents several times, but he came at
last to the opening in the rocks through which he and
the captain had entered and he rowed in joyfully. He
slept that night in the house and started back in the
morning for another load. One trip a day in the dinghy
he found to be all that he could manage, but he stuck to
his work until his precious store was brought from the
beach to the house.

He could not make up his mind even then to abandon
the schooner entirely. There might never be another
magazine of supply, and he ransacked her thoroughly,
taking off more tools, weapons, clothing and ammunition.
Even then he left on board much that might be useful
in case of emergency, such as cordage, sails, and clothing
that had belonged to the sailors. There was also a large
quantity of ammunition for the Long Tom which he did
not disturb. The gun itself was still on board the ship,
dismounted and wedged into the woodwork, but practically
as good as ever. Robert, with an eye for the picturesque,
thought it would have been fine to have taken
it ashore and to have mounted it before the house, but
that, of course, was impossible. He must leave it to find
its grave in the ocean, and that, perhaps, was the best
end to a gun used as the Long Tom had been.

Part of his new treasures he took across the island on
his back, and part he carried around it in the boat, which
he found to be invaluable, and of which he took the utmost
care, drawing it upon the beach at night, beyond the
reach of tide or storm.[Pg 136]

More than two weeks passed in these labors, and he
was so busy, mind and body, that he was seldom lonely
except at night. Then the feeling was almost overpowering,
but whenever he was assailed by it he would
resolutely tell himself that he might be in far worse case.
He had shelter, food and arms in plenty, and it would not
be long before he was taken off the island. Exerting his
will so strongly, the periods of depression became fewer
and shorter.

But the silence and the utter absence of his own kind
produced a marked effect upon his character. He became
graver, he thought more deeply upon serious things
than his years warranted. The problem of his own identity
was often before him. Who was he? He was sure
that Benjamin Hardy knew. Jacobus Huysman must
know, too, and beyond a doubt Adrian Van Zoon did,
else he would not try so hard to put him out of the way.
And St. Luc must have something to do with this coil.
Why had the Frenchman really pointed out to him the
way of escape when he was a prisoner at Ticonderoga?
He turned these questions over and over and over in his
mind, though always the answer evaded him. But he
resolved to solve the problem when he got back to the
colonies and as soon as the great war was over. It was
perhaps typical of him that he should want his own personal
fortunes to wait upon the issue of the mighty struggle
in which he was so deeply absorbed.

Then his thoughts turned with renewed concentration
to the war. Standing far off in both mind and body, he
was able to contemplate it as a whole and also to see it in
all its parts. And the more he looked at it the surer he
was that England and her colonies would succeed. Distance
and perspective gave him confidence. The French
generals and French soldiers had done wonders, nobody[Pg 137]
could be braver or more skilful than they, but they could
not prevail always against superior might and invincible
tenacity.

Sitting on the ground and looking at the white surf
breaking on the rocks, he ended the war in the way he
wished. The French and Canada were conquered completely
and his own flag was victorious everywhere.
Braddock's defeat and Ticonderoga were but incidents
which could delay but which could not prevent.

But he did not spend too much time in reflection. He
was too young for that, and his years in the wilderness
helped him to bear the burden of being alone. Rifle on
shoulder, he explored every part of the island, finding
that his domain presented no great variety. There was
much forest, and several kinds of tropical fruits were
for his taking, but quadruped life was limited, nothing
larger than small rodents. Well-armed as he was, he
would have preferred plenty of big game. It would have
added spice to his life, much of which had been spent
in hunting with Willet and Tayoga. Excitement might
have been found in following bear or deer, but he knew
too well ever to have expected them on an island in
summer seas.

There was some sport in fishing. Plenty of tackle had
been found among the ship's stores, and he caught good
fish in the larger lake. He also tried deep sea fishing
from the dinghy, but the big fellows bit so fast that it
soon ceased to be of interest. The fish, though, added
freshness and variety to his larder, and he also found
shellfish, good and wholesome when eaten in small quantities,
along the shore.

He went often to the highest hill in the center of the
island, where he would spend long periods, examining
the sea from horizon to horizon with his strong glasses,[Pg 138]
searching vainly for a sail. He thought once of keeping
a mighty bonfire burning every night, but he reconsidered
it when he reflected on the character of the ship that it
might draw.

Both the Bahamas and the West Indies—he did not
know in which group he was—swarmed then with lawless
craft. For nearly two hundred years piracy had
been common, and in a time of war especially the chances
were against a ship being a friend. He decided that on
the whole he would prefer a look at the rescuer before
permitting himself to be rescued.

The weather remained beautiful. He had been a
month on the island, and the sea had not been vexed by
another storm since his arrival. The schooner was still
wedged in the sand and on the rocks, and he made several
more trips to her, taking off many more articles, which,
however, he left in a heap well back of the beach covered
with a tarpaulin and the remains of sails. He felt that
they could lie there awaiting his need. Perhaps he would
never need them at all.

His later visits to the schooner were more from curiosity
than from any other motive. He had a strong desire
to learn more about the captain and his ship. There
was no name anywhere upon the vessel, nor could he find
any ship's log or manifest or any kind of writing to indicate
it. Neither was the name of the slaver known
to him, nor was there any letter nor any kind of paper to
disclose it. It was likely that it would always remain
hidden from him unless some day he should wrench it
from Adrian Van Zoon.

Robert went into the sea nearly every morning. As
he was a powerful swimmer and the weather remained
calm, he was in the habit of going out beyond the reefs,
but one day he noticed a fin cutting the water and com[Pg 139]ing
toward him. Instantly he swam with all his might
toward the reefs, shivering as he went. When he drew
himself up on the slippery rocks he did not see the
formidable fin. He was quite willing to utter devout
thanks aloud. It might not have been a shark, but it
made him remember they were to be expected in those
waters. After that he took no chances, bathing inside
the reefs and going outside in the dinghy only.

A few days later he was upon his highest hill watching
the horizon when he saw a dark spot appear in the
southwest. At first he was hopeful that it was a sail, but
as he saw it grow he knew it to be a cloud. Then he
hurried toward the house, quite sure a storm was coming.
Knowing how the southern seas were swept by hurricanes,
it was surprising that none had come sooner, and
he ran as fast as he could for the shelter of the house.

Robert made the door just in time. Then the day
had turned almost as dark as night and, with a rush and
a roar, wind and rain were upon him. Evidently the
slaver had known those regions, and so he had built a
house of great strength, which, though it quivered and
rattled under the sweep of the hurricane, nevertheless
stood up against it.

The building had several small windows, closed with
strong shutters, but as wind and rain were driving from
the west he was able to open one on the eastern side and
watch the storm. It was just such a hurricane as that
which had wrecked the shattered schooner. It became
very dark, there were tremendous displays of thunder
and lightning, which ceased, after a while, as the wind
grew stronger, and then through the dark he saw trees
and bushes go down. Fragments struck against the
house, but the stout walls held.

The wind kept up a continuous screaming, as full of[Pg 140]
menace as the crash of a battle. Part of the time it swept
straight ahead, cutting wide swathes, and then, turning
into balls of compressed air, it whirled with frightful
velocity, smashing everything level with the ground as if
it had been cut down by a giant sword.

Robert had seen more than one hurricane in the great
northern woods and he watched it without alarm. Although
the house continued to rattle and shake, and now
and then a bough, wrenched from its trunk, struck it a
heavy blow, he knew that it would hold. There was a
certain comfort in sitting there, dry and secure, while
the storm raged without in all its violence. There was
pleasure too in the knowledge that he was on the land
and not the sea. He remembered the frightful passage
that he and the slaver had made through the breakers,
and he knew that his escape then had depended upon the
slimmest of chances. He shuddered as he recalled the
rocks thrusting out their savage teeth.

The storm, after a while, sank into a steady rain, and
the wind blew but little. The air was now quite cold for
that region, and Robert, lying down on the couch, covered
himself with a blanket. He soon fell asleep and slept so
long, lulled by the beat of the rain, that he did not awaken
until the next day.

Then he took the dinghy and rowed around to the
other side of the island. As he had expected, the
schooner was gone. The storm had broken her up, and
he found many of her timbers scattered along the beach,
where they had been brought in by the waves. He felt
genuine sadness at the ship's destruction and disappearance.
It was like losing a living friend.

Fortunately, the tarpaulin and heavy sails with which
he had covered his heap of stores high up the beach,
weighting them down afterward with huge stones, had[Pg 141]
held. Some water had entered at the edges, but, as the
goods were of a kind that could not be damaged much,
little harm was done. Again he resolved to preserve all
that he had accumulated there, although he did not know
that he would have any need of them.

When he rowed back in the dinghy he saw a formidable
fin cutting the water again, and, laying down the
oars, he took up the rifle which he always carried with
him. He watched until the shark was almost on the surface
of the water, and then he sent a bullet into it. There
was a great splashing, followed by a disappearance, and
he did not know just then the effect of his shot, but a
little later, when the huge body of the slain fish floated
to the surface he felt intense satisfaction, as he believed
that it would have been a man-eater had it the chance.[Pg 142]

CHAPTER VIII

MAKING THE BEST OF IT

After his return in the dinghy Robert decided that
he would have some fresh beef and also a little
sport. Although the island contained no indigenous
wild animals of any size, there were the wild cattle, and
he had seen they were both long of horn and fierce. If
he courted peril he might find it in hunting them, and in
truth he rather wanted a little risk. There was such an
absence of variety in his life, owing to the lack of human
companionship, that an attack by a maddened bull, for
instance, would add spice to it. The rifle would protect
him from any extreme danger.

He knew he was likely to find cattle near the larger
lake, and, as he had expected, he saw a herd of almost
fifty grazing there on a flat at the eastern edge. Two
fierce old bulls with very long, sharp horns were on the
outskirts, as if they were mounting guard, while the
cows and calves were on the inside near the lake.

Robert felt sure that the animals, although unharried
by man, would prove wary. For the sake of sport he
hoped that it would be so, and, using all the skill that
he had learned in his long association with Willet and
Tayoga, he crept down through the woods. The bulls
would be too tough, and as he wanted a fat young cow
it would be necessary for him to go to the very edge of[Pg 143]
the thickets that hemmed in the little savanna on which
they were grazing.

The wind was blowing from him toward the herd and
the bulls very soon took alarm, holding up their heads,
sniffing and occasionally shaking their formidable horns.
Robert picked a fat young cow in the grass almost at the
water's edge as his target, but stopped a little while in
order to disarm the suspicion of the wary old guards.
When the two went back to their pleasant task of grazing
he resumed his cautious advance, keeping the fat young
cow always in view.

Now that he had decided to secure fresh beef, he
wanted it very badly, and it seemed to him that the cow
would fulfill all his wants. A long experience in the
wilderness would show him how to prepare juicy and
tender steaks. Eager to replenish his larder in so welcome
a way, he rose and crept forward once more in
the thicket.

The two bulls became suspicious again, the one on the
right, which was the larger, refusing to have his apprehension
quieted, and advancing part of the way toward
the bushes, where he stood, thrusting forward angry
horns. His attitude served as a warning for the whole
herd, which, becoming alarmed, began to move.

Robert was in fear lest they rush away in a panic, and
so he took a long shot at the cow, bringing her down, but
failing to kill her, as she rose after falling and began to
make off. Eager now to secure his game he drew the
heavy pistol that he carried at his belt, and, dropping his
rifle, rushed forward from the thicket for a second shot.

The cow was not running fast. Evidently the wound
was serious, but Robert had no mind for her to escape
him in the thickets, and he pursued her until he could secure
good aim with the pistol. Then he fired and had the[Pg 144]
satisfaction of seeing the cow fall again, apparently to
stay down this time.

But his satisfaction was short. He heard a heavy
tread and an angry snort beside him. He caught the
gleam of a long horn, and as he whirled the big bull was
upon him. He leaped aside instinctively and escaped the
thrust of the horn, but the bull whirled also, and the animal's
heavy shoulder struck him with such force that he
was knocked senseless.

When Robert came to himself he was conscious of an
aching body and an aching head, but he recalled little
else at first. Then he remembered the fierce thrusts of
the angry old bull, and he was glad that he was alive. He
felt of himself to see if one of those sharp horns had
entered him anywhere, and he was intensely relieved to
find that he had suffered no wound. Evidently it had
been a collision in which he had been the sufferer, and
that he had fallen flat had been a lucky thing for him, as
the fierce bull had charged past him and had then
gone on.

Robert was compelled to smile sourly at himself. He
had wanted the element of danger as a spice for his hunting,
and he had most certainly found it. He had been
near death often, but never nearer than when the old bull
plunged against him. He rose slowly and painfully,
shook himself several times to throw off as well as he
could the effect of his heavy jolt, then picked up his
rifle at one point and his pistol at another.

The herd was gone, but the cow that he had chosen
lay dead, and, as her condition showed him that he had
been unconscious not more than five minutes, there was
his fresh beef after all. As his strength was fast returning,
he cut up and dressed the cow, an achievement in
which a long experience in hunting had made him an ex[Pg 145]pert.
He hung the quarters in a dense thicket of tall
bushes where vultures or buzzards could not get at them,
and took some of the tenderest steaks home with him.

He broiled the steaks over a fine bed of coals in front
of the house and ate them with bread that he baked himself
from the ship's flour. He enjoyed his dinner and he
was devoutly grateful for his escape. But how much
pleasanter it would have been if Willet and Tayoga,
those faithful comrades of many perils, were there with
him to share it! He wondered what they were doing.
Doubtless they had hunted for him long, and they had
suspected and sought to trace Garay, but the cunning spy
doubtless had fled from Albany immediately after his
capture. Willet and Tayoga, failing to find him, would
join in the great campaign which the British and Americans
would certainly organize anew against Canada.

It was this thought of the campaign that was most
bitter to Robert. He was heart and soul in the war, in
which he believed mighty issues to be involved, and he
had seen so much of it already that he wanted to be in it
to the finish. When these feelings were strong upon
him it was almost intolerable to be there upon the island,
alone and helpless. All the world's great events were
passing him by as if he did not exist. But the periods
of gloom would not last long. Despite his new gravity,
his cheerful, optimistic spirit remained, and it always
pulled him away from the edge of despair.

Although he had an abundance of fresh meat, he went
on a second hunt of the wild cattle in order to keep
mind and body occupied. He wanted particularly to find
the big bull that had knocked him down, and he knew
that he would recognize him when he found him. He
saw a herd grazing on the same little savanna by the[Pg 146]
lake, but when he had stalked it with great care he found
that it was not the one he wanted.

A search deeper into the hills revealed another herd,
but still the wrong one. A second day's search disclosed
the right group grazing in a snug little valley, and there
was the big bull who had hurt so sorely his body and his
pride. A half hour of creeping in the marsh grass and
thickets and he was within easy range. Then he carefully
picked out that spot on the bull's body beneath
which his heart lay, cocked his rifle, took sure aim, and
put his finger to the trigger.

But Robert did not pull that trigger. He merely wished
to show to himself and to any invisible powers that might
be looking on that he could lay the bull in the dust if he
wished. If he wanted revenge for grievous personal injury
it was his for the taking. But he did not want it.
The bull was not to blame. He had merely been defending
his own from a dangerous intruder and so was wholly
within his rights.

"Now that I've held you under my muzzle you're safe
from me, old fellow," were Robert's unspoken words.

He felt that his dignity was restored and that, at the
same time, his sense of right had been maintained.
Elated, he went back to the house and busied himself,
arranging his possessions. They were so numerous that
he was rather crowded, but he was not willing to give up
anything. One becomes very jealous over his treasures
when he knows the source of supplies may have been cut
off forever. So he rearranged them, trying to secure for
himself better method and more room, and he also gave
them a more minute examination.

In a small chest which he had not opened before he
found, to his great delight, a number of books, all the
plays of Shakespeare, several by Beaumont and Fletcher,[Pg 147]
others by Congreve and Marlowe, Monsieur Rollin's Ancient
History, a copy of Telemachus, translations of the
Iliad and Odyssey, Ovid, Horace, Virgil and other classics.
Most of the books looked as if they had been read
and he thought they might have belonged to the captain,
but there was no inscription in any of them, and,
on the other hand, they might have been taken from a
captured ship.

With plenty of leisure and a mind driven in upon itself,
Robert now read a great deal, and, as little choice
was left to him, he read books that he might have ignored
otherwise. Moreover, he thought well upon what he
read. It seemed to him as he went over his Homer
again and again that the gods were cruel. Men were
made weak and fallible, and then they were punished because
they failed or erred. The gods themselves were
not at all exempt from the sins, or, rather, mistakes for
which they punished men. He felt this with a special
force when he read his Ovid. He thought, looking
at it in a direct and straight manner, that Niobe had a
right to be proud of her children, and for Apollo to
slay them because of that pride was monstrous.

His mind also rebelled at his Virgil. He did not care
much for the elderly lover, Æneas, who fled from Carthage
and Dido, and when Æneas and his band came to
Italy his sympathies were largely with Turnus, who tried
to keep his country and the girl that really belonged to
him. He was quite sure that something had been wrong
in the mind of Virgil and that he ought to have chosen
another kind of hero.

Shakespeare, whom he had been compelled to read at
school, he now read of his own accord, and he felt his
romance and poetry. But he lingered longer over the
somewhat prosy ancient history of Monsieur Rollin. His[Pg 148]
imaginative mind did not need much of a hint to attempt
the reconstruction of old empires. But he felt that
always in them too much depended upon one man. When
an emperor fell an empire fell, when a king was killed a
kingdom went down.

He applied many of the lessons from those old, old
wars to the great war that was now raging, and he was
confirmed in his belief that England and her colonies
would surely triumph. The French monarchy, to judge
from all that he had heard, was now in the state of one
of those old oriental monarchies, decayed and rotten,
spreading corruption from a poisoned center to all parts
of the body. However brave and tenacious the French
people might be, and he knew that none were more so,
he was sure they could not prevail over the strength of
free peoples like those who fought under the British
flag, free to grow, whatever their faults might be. So,
old Monsieur Rollin, who had brought tedium to many,
brought refreshment and courage to Robert.

But he did not bury himself in books. He had been a
creature of action too long for that. He hunted the wild
cattle over the hills, and, now and then, taking the dinghy
he hunted the sharks also. Whenever he found one he
did not spare the bullets. His finger did not stop at the
trigger, but pulled hard, and he rarely missed.

But in spite of reading and action, time dragged heavily.
The old loneliness and desolation would return and
they were hard to dispel. He could not keep from crying
aloud at the cruelty of fate. He was young, so vital, so
intensely alive, so anxious to be in the middle of things,
that it was torture to be held there. Yet he was absolutely
helpless. It would be folly to attempt escape in the
little dinghy, and he must wait until a ship came. He
would spend hours every day on the highest hill, watch[Pg 149]ing
the horizon through his glasses for a ship, and then,
bitter with disappointment, he would refuse to look again
for a long time.

Whether his mind was up or down its essential healthiness
and sanity held true. He always came back to the
normal. Had he sought purposely to divest himself of
hope he could not have done it. The ship was coming.
Its coming was as certain as the rolling in of the tide,
only one had to wait longer for it.

Yet time passed, and there was no sign of a sail on the
horizon. His island was as lonely as if it were in the
South Seas instead of the Atlantic. He began to suspect
that it was not really a member of any group, but
was a far flung outpost visited but rarely. Perhaps the
war and its doubling the usual dangers of the sea would
keep a ship of any kind whatever from visiting it. He
refused to let the thought remain with him, suppressing
it resolutely, and insisting to himself that such a pleasant
little island was bound to have callers some time or other,
some day.

But the weeks dragged by, and he was absolutely alone
in his world. He had acquired so many stores from the
schooner that life was comfortable. It even had a touch
of luxury, and the struggle for existence was far from
consuming all his hours. He found himself as time went
on driven more and more upon his books, and he read
them, as few have ever read anything, trying to penetrate
everything and to draw from them the best lessons.

As a student, in a very real sense of the term, Robert
became more reconciled to his isolation. His mind was
broadening and deepening, and he felt that it was so.
Many things that had before seemed a puzzle to him now
became plain. He was compelled, despite his youth, to
meditate upon life, and he resolved that when he took[Pg 150]
up its thread again among his kind he would put his
new knowledge to the best of uses.

He noted a growth of the body as well as of the mind.
An abundant and varied diet and plenty of rest gave him
a great physical stimulus. It seemed to him that he was
taller, and he was certainly heavier. Wishing to profit to
the utmost, and, having a natural neatness, he looked
after himself with great care, bathing inside the reefs
once every day, and, whether there was work to be done
or not, taking plenty of exercise.

He lost count of the days, but he knew that he was
far into the autumn, that in truth winter must have come
in his own and distant north. That thought at times was
almost maddening. Doubtless the snow was already falling
on the peaks that had seen so many gallant exploits
by his comrades and himself, and on George and Champlain,
the lakes so beautiful and majestic under any aspect.
Those were the regions he loved. When would he
see them again? But such thoughts, too, he crushed and
saw only the ship that was to take him back to his own.

Some change in the weather came, and he was aware
that the winter of the south was at hand. Yet it was not
cold. There was merely a fresh sparkle in the air, a new
touch of crispness. Low, gray skies were a relief, after
so much blazing sunshine, and the cool winds whipped
his blood to new life. The house had a fireplace and
chimney and often he built a low fire, not so much for
the sake of warmth as for the cheer that the sparkling
blaze gave. Then he could imagine that he was back
in his beloved province of New York. Now the snow
was certainly pouring down there. The lofty peaks were
hidden in clouds of white, and the ice was forming
around the edges of Andiatarocte and Oneadatote. Perhaps
Willet and Tayoga were scouting in the snowy for[Pg 151]ests,
but they must often hang over the blazing fires, too.

The coldness without, the blaze on the hearth, and the
warmth within increased his taste for reading and his
comprehension seemed to grow also. He found new
meanings in the classics and he became saturated also
with style. His were the gifts of an orator, and it was
often said in after years, when he became truly great,
that his speech, in words, in metaphor and in illustration
followed, or at least were influenced, by the best models.
Some people found in him traces of Shakespeare, the
lofty imagery and poetry and the deep and wide knowledge
of human emotions, of life itself. Others detected
the mighty surge of Homer, or the flow of Virgil, and a
few discerning minds found the wit shown in the comedies
of the Restoration, from which he had unconsciously
plucked the good, leaving the bad.

It is but a truth to say that every day he lived in these
days he lived a week or maybe a month. The stillness,
the utter absence of his kind, drove his mind inward with
extraordinary force. He gained a breadth of vision and
a power of penetration of which he had not dreamed. He
acquired toleration, too. Looking over the recent events
in his perilous life, he failed to find hate for anybody.
Perhaps untoward events had turned the slaver into his
evil career, and at the last he had shown some good.
The French were surely fighting for what they thought
was their own, and they struck in order that they might
not be struck. Tandakora himself was the creature of
his circumstances. He hated the people of the English
colonies, because they were spreading over the land and
driving away the game. He was cruel because it was
the Ojibway nature to be cruel. He would have to fight
Tandakora, but it was because conditions had made it
necessary.[Pg 152]

His absorption as a student now made him forget often
that he was alone, and there were long periods when he
was not unhappy, especially when he was trying to solve
some abstruse mental problem. He regretted sometimes
that he did not have any book on mathematics, but perhaps
it was as well for him that he did not. His mind
turned more to the other side of life, to style, to poetry,
to the imagination, and, now, as he was moving along
the line of least resistance, under singularly favorable
circumstances, he made extraordinary progress.

Heavy winds came and Robert liked them. He had
plenty of warm clothing and it pleased him to walk on
the beach, his face whipped by the gale, and to watch the
great waves come in. It made him stronger to fight the
storm. The response to its challenge rose in his blood.
It was curious, but at such times his hope was highest.
He stood up, defying the lash of wind and rain, and felt
his courage rise with the contest. Often, he ran up and
down the beach until he was soaked through, letting the
fierce waves sweep almost to his feet, then he would go
back to the house, change to dry clothing, and sleep without
dreams.

There was no snow, although he longed for it, as do
those who are born in northern regions. Once, when he
stood on the crest of the tallest hill on the island, he
thought he saw a few tiny flakes floating in the air over
his head, but they were swept away by the wind, as if
they were down, and he never knew whether it was an
illusion or reality. But he was glad that it had happened.
It gave him a fleeting touch of home, and he could
imagine once more, and, for a few seconds, that he was
not alone on the island, but back in his province of New
York, with his friends not far away.

Then came several days of fierce and continuous cold[Pg 153]
rain, but he put on an oilskin coat that he found among
the stores and spent much of the time out of doors,
hunting ducks along the edges of the larger lake, walking
now and then for the sake of walking, and, on rare occasions,
seeking the wild cattle for fresh meat. The
herds were in the timber most of the time for shelter,
but he was invariably able to secure a tender cow or a
yearling for his larder. He saw the big bull often, and,
although he was charged by him once again, he refused
to pull trigger on the old fellow. He preferred to
look upon him as a friend whom he had met once in
worthy combat, but with whom he was now at peace.
When the bull charged him he dodged him easily among
the bushes and called out whimsically:

"Let it be the last time! I don't mean you any harm!"

The fierce leader went peacefully back to his grazing,
and it seemed to Robert that he had been taken at his
word. The old bull apparently realized at last that he
was in no danger from the human being who came to
look at him at times, and he also was willing to call a
truce. Robert saw him often after that, and invariably
hailed him with words of friendship, though at a respectful
distance. The old fellow would look up, shake his
big head once or twice in a manner not at all hostile, and
then go on peacefully with his grazing. It pleased Robert
to think that in the absence of his own kind he had
a friend here, and—still at a respectful distance—he confided
to him some of his opinions upon matters of importance.
He laughed at himself for doing so, but he was
aware that he found in it a certain relief, and he continued
the practice.

The dinghy became one of his most precious possessions.
A little farther to the north he had found a creek
that flowed down from the center of the island, rising[Pg 154]
among the hills. It was narrow and shallow, except near
the mouth, but there it had sufficient depth for the boat,
and he made of it a safe anchorage and port during the
winter storms. He slept more easily now, as he knew
that however hard the wind might blow there was no
danger of its being carried out to sea. He thought several
times of rigging a mast and sails for it and trying to
make some other island, but he gave up the idea, owing
to the smallness of the boat, and his own inexperience as
a sailor. He was at least safe and comfortable where he
was, and a voyage of discovery or escape meant almost
certain death.

But he used the dinghy in calm weather for bringing
back some of the stores that he had left on the other side
of the island. The lighter articles he brought by land.
There was not room for all of them in the house, but he
built a shed under which he placed those not of a perishable
nature, and covered them over with the tarpaulin
and sails. He still had the feeling that he must not lose
or waste anything, because he knew that in the back of
his head lay an apprehension lest his time on the island
should be long, very long.

He kept in iron health. His life in the wilderness
had taught him how to take care of himself, and, with
an abundant and varied diet and plenty of exercise, he
never knew a touch of illness. He did not forget to be
grateful for it. A long association with Tayoga had
taught him to remember these things. It might be true
that he was being guarded by good spirits. The white
man's religion and the red man's differed only in name.
His God and Tayoga's Manitou were the same, and the
spirits of the Onondaga were the same as his angels of
divine power and mercy.

Often in the moonlight he looked up at the great star[Pg 155]
upon which Tayoga said that Tododaho dwelled, that
wise Onondaga chieftain who had gone away to the skies
four hundred years before. Once or twice he thought
he could see the face of Tododaho with the wise snakes,
coil on coil in his hair, but, without his full faith, it was
not given to him to have the full vision of Tayoga. He
found comfort, however, in the effort. It gave new
strength to the spirit, and, situated as he was, it was his
soul, not his body, that needed fortifying.

He decided that Christmas was near at hand, and he
decided to celebrate it. With the count of time lost it
was impossible for him to know the exact day, but he
fixed upon one in his mind, and resolved to use it whether
right or wrong in date. The mere fact that he celebrated
it would make it right in spirit. It might be the 20th or
the 30th of December, but if he chose to call it the 25th,
the 25th it would be. Endowed so liberally with fancy
and with such a power of projecting the mind, it was
easy for him to make believe, to turn imagination into
reality. And this power was heightened by his loneliness
and isolation, and by the turning in of his mind so tremendously
upon itself.

After the thought of a Christmas dinner was struck
out by his fancy it grew fast, and he made elaborate
preparations. Ducks were shot, a yearling from the wild
cattle was killed, the stores from the ship were drawn
upon liberally, and he even found among them a pudding
which could yet be made savory. Long experience had
made him an excellent cook and he attended to every
detail in the most thorough manner.

The dinner set, he arrayed himself in the finest clothes
to be found in his stock, and then, when all was ready,
he sat down to his improvised board. But there was not
one plate alone, there were four, one for Willet opposite[Pg 156]
him, one for Tayoga at his right hand and one for Grosvenor
at his left. And for every thing he ate he placed
at least a small portion on every plate, while with unspoken
words he talked with these three friends of his.

It was a dark day, very cold and raw for the island,
and while there was no Christmas snow there was a
cold rain lashing the windows that could very well take
its place. A larger fire than usual, crackling and cheerful,
was blazing on the hearth, throwing the red light of
its flames over the table, and the three places where his
invisible friends sat.

His power of evocation was so vivid and intense that
he could very well say that he saw his comrades around
the table. There was Willet big, grave and wise, but
with the lurking humor in the corner of his eye, there
was Tayoga, lean, calm, inscrutable, the young philosopher
of the woods and the greatest trailer in the world,
and there was Grosvenor, ruddy, frank, tenacious, eager
to learn all the lore of the woods. Yes, he could see
them and he was glad that he was serving Christmas
food to them as well as to himself. Willet loved wild
duck and so he gave him an extra portion. Tayoga was
very partial to cakes of flour and so he gave him a
double number, and Grosvenor, being an Englishman,
must love beef, so he helped him often to steak.

It was fancy, but fancy breeds other and stronger
fancies, and the feeling that it was all reality grew upon
him. Dreams are of thin and fragile texture, but they
are very vivid while they last. Of course Willet, Tayoga
and Grosvenor were there, and when the food was all
served, course by course, he filled four glasses, one at
each plate, from a bottle of the old cordial that he had
saved from the ship, lifted his own to his lips, tasted it
and said aloud:[Pg 157]

"To the victory of our cause under the walls of Quebec!"

Then he shut his eyes and when he shut them he saw
the three tasting their own glasses, and he heard them
say with him:

"To the victory of our cause under the walls of Quebec!"[Pg 158]

CHAPTER IX

THE VOICE IN THE AIR

Robert slept long and peacefully the night after
his Christmas dinner, and, when he rose the next
morning, he felt more buoyant and hopeful than
for days past. The celebration had been a sort of anchor
to his spirit, keeping him firm against any tide of depression
that in his situation might well have swept him
toward despair. As he recalled it the day after, Tayoga,
Willet and Grosvenor were very vivid figures at his table,
sitting opposite him, and to right and left. They had
responded to his toast, he had seen the flash in their
eyes, and their tones were resonant with hope and confidence.
It was clear they had meant to tell him that
rescue was coming.

He accepted these voices out of the distance as definite
and real. It could not be long until he saw the hunter,
the Onondaga and the young Englishman once more.
His lonely life caused him, despite himself, to lend a
greater belief to signs and omens. Tayoga was right
when he peopled the air with spirits, and most of the
spirits on that island must be good spirits, since all
things, except escape, had been made easy for him, house,
clothes, food and safety.

The day itself was singularly crisp and bright, inciting
to further cheerfulness. It was also the coldest he had
yet felt on the island, having a northern tang that stirred[Pg 159]
his blood. He could shut his eyes and see the great
forests, not in winter, but as they were in autumn, glowing
in many colors, and with an air that was the very
breath of life. The sea also sang a pleasant song as it
rolled in and broke on the rocks, and Robert, looking
around at his island, felt that he could have fared far
worse.

Rifle on shoulder he went off for a long and brisk walk,
and his steps unconsciously took him, as they often did,
toward the high hill in the center of the island, a crest
that he used as a lookout. On his way he passed his
friend, the old bull, grazing in a meadow, and, watching
his herd, like the faithful guardian he was. Robert
called to him cheerfully. The big fellow looked up,
shook his horns, not in hostile fashion but in the manner
of comrade saluting comrade, and then went back,
with a whole and confident heart, to his task of nipping
the grass. Robert was pleased. It was certain that the
bull no longer regarded him with either fear or apprehension,
and he wanted to be liked.

It was nearly noon when he reached his summit, and
as he was warm from exercise he sat down on a rock,
staying there a long time and scouring the horizon now
and then through the glasses. The sea was a circle of
blazing blue, and the light wind sang from the southwest.

He had brought food with him and in the middle of
the day he ate it. With nothing in particular to do he
thought he would spend the afternoon there, and, making
himself comfortable, he waited, still taking occasional
glances through the glasses. While he sat, idling
more than anything else, his mind became occupied with
Tayoga's theory of spirits in the air—less a theory however
than the religious belief of the Indians.

He wanted to believe that Tayoga was right, and his[Pg 160]
imagination was so vivid and intense that what he wished
to believe he usually ended by believing. He shut his
eyes and tested his power of evocation. He knew that
he could create feeling in any part of his body merely
by concentrating his mind upon that particular part of
it and by continuing to think of it. Physical sensation
even came from will. So he would imagine that he
heard spirits in the air all about him, not anything weird
or hostile, but just kindly people of the clouds and
winds, such as those created by the old Greeks.

Fancying that he heard whispers about him and resolved
to hear them, he heard them. If a powerful imagination
wanted to create whispers it could create them.
The spirits of the air, Tayoga's spirits, the spirits of old
Hellas, were singing in either ear, and the song, like that
of the sea, like the flavor breathed out by his Christmas
celebration, was full of courage, alive with hope.

He had kept his eyes closed a full half hour, because,
with sight shut off, the other senses became much more
acute for the time. The power that had been in the eyes
was poured into their allies. Imagination, in particular,
leaped into a sudden luxuriant growth. It was true, of
course it was quite true, that those friendly spirits of the
air were singing all about him. They were singing in
unison a gay and brilliant song, very pleasant to hear,
until he was startled by a new note that came into it, a
note not in harmony with the others, the voice of Cassandra
herself. He listened and he was sure. Beyond a
doubt it was a note of warning.

Robert opened his eyes and everything went away.
There was the pleasant, green island, and there was the
deep blue sea all about it. He laughed to himself. He
was letting imagination go too far. One could make
believe too much. He sat idly a few minutes and then,[Pg 161]
putting the glasses to his eyes, took another survey of
the far horizon where blue sky and blue water met. He
moved the focus slowly around the circle, and when he
came to a point in the east he started violently, then
sprang to his feet, every pulse leaping.

He had seen a tiny black dot upon the water, one that
broke the continuity of the horizon line, and, for a little
while, he was too excited to look again. He stood, the
glasses in his trembling fingers and stared with naked
eyes that he knew could not see. After a while he put
the glasses back and then followed the horizon. He was
afraid that it was an illusion, that his imagination had
become too vivid, creating for him the thing that was not,
and now that he was a little calmer he meant to put it
to the proof.

He moved the glasses slowly from north to east, following
the line where sky and water met, and then the
hands that held them trembled again. There was the
black spot, a trifle larger now, and, forcing his nerves
to be calm, he stared at it a long time, how long he never
knew, but long enough for him to see it grow and take
form and shape, for the infinitesimal but definite outline
of mast, sails and hull to emerge, and then for a
complete ship to be disclosed.

The ship was coming toward the island. The increase
in size told him that. It was no will-o'-the-wisp on the
water, appearing a moment, then gone, foully cheating
his hopes. If she kept her course, and there was no
reason why she should not, she would make the island.
He had no doubt from the first that a landing there was
its definite purpose, most likely for water.

When he took the glasses from his eyes the second
time he gave way to joy. Rescue was at hand. The
ship, wherever she went, would take him to some place[Pg 162]
where human beings lived, and he could go thence to his
own country. He would yet be in time to take part in
the great campaign against Quebec, sharing the dangers
and glory with Willet, Tayoga, Grosvenor and the others.
The spirits in the air had sung to him a true song, when
his eyes were shut, and, in his leaping exultation, he
forgot the warning note that had appeared in their song,
faint, almost buried, but nevertheless there.

He put the glasses to his eyes a third time. The ship
was tacking, but that was necessary, and it was just as
certain as ever that her destination was the island.
Owing to the shifts and flaws in the wind it would be
night before she arrived, but that did not matter to him.
Having waited months he could wait a few hours longer.
Likely as not she was an English ship out of the Barbadoes,
bound for the Carolinas. He must be somewhere
near just such a course. Or, maybe she was a
colonial schooner, one of those bold craft from Boston.
There was a certain luxury in speculating on it, and
in prolonging a doubt which would certainly be solved
by midnight, and to his satisfaction. It was not often
that in real life one looked at a play bound to develop
within a given time to a dramatic and satisfying finish.

He remained on the crest until late in the afternoon,
watching the ship as she tacked with the varying winds,
but, in the end, always bearing toward the island. He
was quite sure now that her arrival would be after dark.
She would come through the opening in the reefs that he
and the slaver had made so hardly in the storm, but on
the night bound to follow such a day it would be as
easy as entering a drawing room, with the doors held
open, and the guest made welcome. He would be there
to give the welcome.

He was able to see more of the ship now. As he had[Pg 163]
surmised, she was a schooner, apparently very trim and
handled well. Doubtless she was fast. The faster the
better, because he was eager to get back to the province
of New York.

Late in the afternoon, he left the hill and went swiftly
back to his house, where he ate an early supper in order
that he might be on the beach to give welcome to the
guest, and perhaps lend some helpful advice about making
port. There was none better fitted than he. He was
the oldest resident of the island. Nobody could be
jealous of his position as adviser to the arriving vessel.

This was to be a great event in his life, and it must
be carried out in the proper manner with every attention
to detail. He put on the uniform of an English naval
officer that he had found on the ship, and then rifle on
shoulder and small sword in belt went through the forest
toward the inlet.

The night was bright and beautiful, just fitted for a
rescue, and an escape from an island. All the stars had
come out to see it, and, with his head very high, he trod
lightly as he passed among the trees, approaching the
quiet beach. Before he left the wood he saw the top of
the schooner's mast showing over a fringe of bushes.
Evidently she had anchored outside the reefs and was
sending in a boat to look further. Well, that was fit
and proper, and his advice and assistance would be most
timely.

The wind rose a little and it sang a lilting melody
among the leaves. His imagination, alive and leaping,
turned it into the song of a troubadour, gay and welcoming.
Tayoga's spirits were abroad again, filling the
air in the dusk, their favorite time, and he rejoiced, until
he suddenly heard once more that faint note of warn[Pg 164]ing,
buried under the volume of the other, but nevertheless
there.

Alone, driven in upon himself for so many months, he
was a creature of mysticism that night. What he imagined
he believed, and, obedient to the warning, he drew
back. All the caution of the northern wilderness returned
suddenly to him. He was no longer rushing forward
to make a welcome for guests awaited eagerly. He
would see what manner of people came before he opened
the door. Putting the rifle in the hollow of his arm he
crept forward through the bushes.

A large boat was coming in from the schooner, and
the bright moonlight enabled him to see at first glance
that the six men who sat in it were not men of Boston.
Nor were they men of England. They were too dark,
and three of them had rings in their ears.

Perhaps the schooner was a French privateer, wishing
to make a secret landing, and, if so, he had done well to
hold back. He had no mind to be taken a prisoner to
France. The French were brave, and he would not be
ill-treated, but he had other things to do. He withdrew
a little farther into the undergrowth. The door of welcome
was open now only a few inches, and he was
peering out at the crack, every faculty alive and ready
to take the alarm.

The boat drew closer, grounded on the beach, and the
men, leaping out, dragged it beyond the reach of the
low waves that were coming in. Then, in a close group,
they walked toward the forest, looking about curiously.
They were armed heavily, and every one of them had a
drawn weapon in his hand, sword or pistol. Their
actions seemed to Robert those of men who expected a
stranger, as a matter of course, to be an enemy. Hence,
they were men whose hands were against other men,[Pg 165]
and so also against young Robert Lennox, who had been
alone so long, and who craved so much the companionship
of his kind.

He drew yet deeper into the undergrowth and taking
the rifle out of the hollow of his arm held it in both
hands, ready for instant use. The men came nearer,
looking along the edge of the forest, perhaps for water,
and, as he saw them better, he liked them less. The
apparent leader was a short, broad fellow of middle
years, and sinister face, with huge gold rings in his ears.
All of them were seamed and scarred and to Robert
their looks were distinctly evil.

The door of welcome suddenly shut with a snap, and
he meant to bar it on the inside if he could. His instinct
gave him an insistent warning. These men must not
penetrate the forest. They must not find his house and
treasures. Fortunately the dinghy was up the creek,
hidden under overhanging boughs. But the event depended
upon chance. If they found quickly the water
for which they must be looking, they might take it and
leave with the schooner before morning. He devoutly
hoped that it would be so. The lad who had been so
lonely and desolate an hour or two before, longing for
the arrival of human beings, was equally eager, now that
they had come, that they should go away.

The men began to talk in some foreign tongue, Spanish
or Portuguese or a Levantine jargon, perhaps, and
searched assiduously along the edges of the forest. Robert,
lurking in the undergrowth, caught the word "aqua"
or "agua," which he knew meant water, and so he was
right in his surmise about their errand. There was a
fine spring about two hundred yards farther on, and he
hoped they would soon stumble upon it.

All his skill as a trailer, though disused now for many[Pg 166]
months, came back to him. He was able to steal through
the grass and bushes without making any noise and to
creep near enough to hear the words they said. They
went half way to the spring, then stopped and began to
talk. Robert was in fear lest they turn back, and a wider
search elsewhere would surely take them to his house.
But the men were now using English.

"There should be water ahead," said the swart leader.
"We're going down into a dip, and that's just the place
where springs are found."

Another man, also short and dark, urged that they
turn back, but the leader prevailed.

"There must be water farther on," he said. "I was
never on this island before, neither were you, José, but
it's not likely the trees and bushes would grow so thick
down there if plenty of water didn't soak their roots."

He had his way and they went on, with Robert stalking
them on a parallel line in the undergrowth, and now he
knew they would find the water. The spirit of the island
was watching over its own, and, by giving them what
they wanted at once, would send these evil characters
away. The leader uttered a shout of triumph when he
saw the water gleaming through the trees.

"I told you it was here, didn't I, José?" he said.
"Trust me, a sailor though I am, to read the lay of the
land."

The spring as it ran from under a rock formed a little
pool, and all of the men knelt down, drinking with noise
and gurglings. Then the leader walked back toward the
beach, and fired both shots from a double-barreled pistol
into the air. Robert judged that it was a signal, probably
to indicate that they had found water. Presently
a second and larger boat, containing at least a dozen men,
put out from the schooner. A third soon followed and[Pg 167]
both brought casks which were filled at the spring and
which they carried back to the ship.

Robert, still and well hidden, watched everything, and
he was glad that he had obeyed his instinct not to trust
them. He had never seen a crew more sinister in looks,
not even on the slaver, and they were probably pirates.
They were a jumble of all nations, and that increased
his suspicion. So mixed a company, in a time of war,
could be brought together only for evil purposes.

It was hard for him to tell who was the captain, but
the leader who had first come ashore seemed to have the
most authority, although nearly all did about as they
pleased to the accompaniment of much talk and many
oaths. Still they worked well at filling the water casks,
and Robert hoped they would soon be gone. Near midnight,
however, one of the boats came back, loaded with
food, and kegs and bottles of spirits. His heart sank.
They were going to have a feast or an orgie on the
beach and the day would be sure to find them there.
Then they might conclude to explore the island, or at
least far enough to find his house.

They dragged up wood, lighted a fire, warmed their
food and ate and drank, talking much, and now and then
singing wild songs. Robert knew with absolute certainty
that this was another pirate ship, a rover of the
Gulf or the Caribbean, hiding among the islands and
preying upon anything not strong enough to resist her.

The men filled him with horror and loathing. The
light of the flames fell on their faces and heightened
the evil in them, if that were possible. Several of them,
drinking heavily of the spirits, were already in a bestial
state, and were quarreling with one another. The others
paid no attention to them. There was no discipline.

Apparently they were going to make a night of it, and[Pg 168]
Robert watched, fascinated by the first sight of his own
kind in many months, but repelled by their savagery
when they had come. Some of the men fell down before
the fires and went to sleep. The others did not
awaken them, which he took to be clear proof that they
would remain until the next day.

A drop of water fell on his face and he looked up.
He had been there so long, and he was so much absorbed
in what was passing before his eyes that he had not noted
the great change in the nature of the night. Moon and
stars were gone. Heavy clouds were sailing low. Thunder
muttered on the western horizon, and there were
flashes of distant lightning.

Hope sprang up in Robert's heart. Perhaps the fear
of a storm would drive them to the shelter of the ship,
but they did not stir. Either they did not dread rain,
or they were more weatherwise than he. The orgie
deepened. Two of the men who were quarreling drew
pistols, but the swart leader struck them aside, and
spoke to them so fiercely that they put back their weapons,
and, a minute later, Robert saw them drinking together
in friendship.

The storm did not break. The wind blew, and, now
and then, drops of rain fell, but it did not seem able to
get beyond the stage of thunder and lightning. Yet
it tried hard, and it became, even to Robert, used to the
vagaries of nature, a grim and sinister night. The
thunder, in its steady growling, was full of menace, and
the lightning, reddish in color, smelled of sulphur. It
pleased Robert to think that the island was resenting
the evil presence of the men from the schooner.

The ruffians, however, seemed to take no notice of the
change. It was likely that they had not been ashore for
a long time before, and they were making the most of it.[Pg 169]
They continued to eat and the bottles of spirits were
passed continuously from one to another. Robert had
heard many a dark tale of piracy on the Spanish Main
and among the islands, but he had never dreamed he
would come into such close contact with it as he was
now doing for the second time.

He knew it was lucky for the men that the storm did
not break. The schooner in her position would be almost
sure to drag her anchor and then would drive on
the rocks, but they seemed to have no apprehensions,
and, it was quite evident now, that they were not going
back to the vessel until the next day. The ghastly quality
of the night increased, however. The lightning flared so
much and it was so red that it was uncanny, it even had
a supernatural tinge, and the sullen rumbling of the distant
thunder added to it.

The effect upon Robert, situated as he was and alone
for many months, was very great. Something weird,
something wild and in touch with the storm that threatened
but did not break, crept into his own blood. He was
filled with hatred and contempt of the men who caroused
there. He wondered what crimes they had committed
on those seas, and he had not the least doubt that the
list was long and terrible. He ought to be an avenging
spirit. He wished intensely that Tayoga was with him
in the bush. The Onondaga would be sure to devise
some plan to punish them or to fill them with fear. He
felt at that moment as if he belonged to a superior race
or order, and would like to stretch forth his hand and
strike down those who disgraced their kind.

The swart leader at last took note of the skies and
their sinister aspect. Robert saw him walking back and
forth and looking up. More than half of his men were
stretched full length, either asleep or in a stupor, but[Pg 170]
some of the others stood, and glanced at the skies.
Robert thought he saw apprehension in their eyes, or at
least his imagination put it there.

A wild and fantastic impulse seized him. These men
were children of the sea, superstitious, firm believers in
omens, and witchcraft, ready to see the ghosts of the
slain, all the more so because they were stained with
every crime, then committed so freely under the black
flag. He had many advantages, too. He was a master
of woodcraft, only their wilderness was that of the
waters.

He gave forth the long, melancholy hoot of the owl,
and he did it so well that he was surprised at his own
skill. The note, full of desolation and menace, seemed
to come back in many echoes. He saw the swart leader
and the men with him start and look fearfully toward the
forest that curved so near. Then he saw them talking
together and gazing at the point from which the sound
had come. Perhaps they were trying to persuade themselves
the note was only fancy.

Robert laughed softly to himself. He was pleased,
immensely pleased with his experiment. His fantastic
mood grew. He was a spirit of the woods himself; one
of those old fauns of the Greeks, and he was really there
to punish the evil invaders of his island. His body
seemed to grow light with his spirit and he slid away
among the trees with astonishing ease, as sure of foot and
as noiseless as Tayoga himself. Then the owl gave forth
his long, lonely cry with increased volume and fervor.
It was a note filled with complaint and mourning, and it
told of the desolation that overspread a desolate world.

Robert knew now that the leader and his men were
disturbed. He could tell it by the anxious way in which
they watched the woods, and, gliding farther around the[Pg 171]
circle, he sent forth the cry a third time. He was quite
sure that he had made a further increase in its desolation
and menace, and he saw the swart leader and his
men draw together as if they were afraid.

The owl was not the only trick in Robert's trade. His
ambition took a wide sweep and fancy was fertile. He
had aroused in these men the fear of the supernatural, a
dread that the ghosts of those whom they had murdered
had come back to haunt or punish them. He had been
an apt pupil of Tayoga before the slaver came to Albany,
and now he meant to show the ruffians that the owl was
not the only spirit of fate hovering over them.

The deep growl of a bear came from the thicket, not
the growl of an ordinary black bear, comedian of the
forest, but the angry rumble of some great ursine beast
of which the black bear was only a dwarf cousin. Then
he moved swiftly to another point and repeated it.

He heard the leader cursing and trying to calm the
fears of the men while it was evident that his own too
were aroused. The fellow suddenly drew a pistol and
fired a bullet into the forest. Robert heard it cutting the
leaves near him. But he merely lay down and laughed.
His fantastic impulse was succeeding in more brilliant
fashion than he had hoped.

Imitating their leader, six or eight of the men snatched
out pistols and fired at random into the woods. The cry
of a panther, drawn out, long, full of ferocity and woe,
plaintive on its last note, like the haunting lament of a
woman, was their answer. He heard a gasp of fear from
the men, but the leader, of stauncher stuff, cowed them
with his curses.

Robert moved back on his course, and then gave forth
the shrill, fierce yelp of the hungry wolf, dying into an
angry snarl. It was, perhaps, a more menacing note[Pg 172]
than that of the larger animals, and he plainly saw the
ruffians shiver. He was creating in them the state of
mind that he wanted, and his spirits flamed yet higher.
All things seemed possible to him in his present mood.

He moved once more and then lay flat in the dense
bushes. He fancied that the pirates would presently fire
another volley into the shadows, and, in a moment of
desperate courage, might even come into the forest. His
first thought was correct, as the leader told off the steadier
men, and, walking up and down in front of the forest,
they raked it for a considerable distance with pistol shots.
All of them, of course, passed well over Robert's head,
and as soon as they finished he went back to his beginnings,
giving forth the owl's lament.

He heard the leader curse more fiercely than ever before,
and he saw several of the men who had been pulling
trigger retreat to the fire. It was evident to him that the
terror of the thing was entering their souls. The night
itself, as if admiring his plan, was lending him the greatest
possible aid. The crimson lightning never ceased to
quiver and the sullen rumble of the distant thunder was
increasing. It was easy enough for men, a natural prey
to superstition, and, with the memories of many crimes,
to believe that the island was haunted, that the ghosts of
those they had slain were riding the lightning, and that
demons, taking the forms of animals, were waiting for
them in the bushes.

But the swart leader was a man of courage and he
still held his ruffians together. He cursed them fiercely,
told them to stand firm, to reload their pistols and to be
ready for any danger. Those who still slumbered by the
fire were kicked until they awoke, and, with something
of a commander's skill, the man drew up his besotted[Pg 173]
band against the mystic dangers that threatened so
closely.

But Robert produced a new menace. He was like one
inspired that night. The dramatic always appealed to
him and his success stimulated him to new histrionic efforts.
He had planted in their minds the terror of animals,
now he would sow the yet greater terror of human
beings, knowing well that man's worst and most dreaded
enemy was man.

He uttered a deep groan, a penetrating, terrible groan,
the wail of a soul condemned to wander between the here
and the hereafter, a cry from one who had been murdered,
a cry that would doubtless appeal to every one
of the ruffians as the cry of his own particular victim.
The effect was startling. The men uttered a yell of
fright, and started in a panic run for the boats, but the
leader threatened them with his leveled pistol and
stopped them, although the frightful groan came a second
time.

"There's nothing in the bush!" Robert heard him say.
"There can't be! The place has no people and we know
there are no big wild animals on the islands in these
seas! It's some freak of the wind playing tricks with
us!"

He held his men, though they were still frightened, and
to encourage them and to prove that no enemy, natural
or supernatural, was near, he plunged suddenly into the
bushes to see the origin of the terrifying sounds. His
action was wholly unexpected, and chance brought him
to the very point where Robert was. The lad leaped
to his feet and the pirate sprang back aghast, thinking
perhaps that he had come face to face with a ghost.
Then with a snarl of malignant anger he leveled the
pistol that he held in his hand. But Robert struck in[Pg 174]stantly
with his clubbed rifle, and his instinctive impulse
was so great that he smote with tremendous force. The
man was caught full and fair on the head, and, reeling
back from the edge of the bushes in which they stood,
fell dead in the open, where all his men could see.

It was enough. The demons, the ghosts that haunted
them for their crimes, were not very vocal, but they
struck with fearful power. They had smitten down the
man who tried to keep them on their island, and they
were not going to stay one second longer. There was a
combined yell of horror, the rush of frightened feet, and,
reaching their boats, they rowed with all speed for the
schooner, leaving behind them the body of their dead
comrade.

Robert, awed a little by his own success in demonology,
watched until they climbed on board the ship,
drawing the boats after them. Then they hoisted the
anchor, made sail, and presently he saw the schooner
tacking in the wind, obviously intending to leave in all
haste that terrible place.

She became a ghost ship, a companion to the Flying
Dutchman, outlined in red by the crimson lightning that
still played at swift intervals. Now she turned to the
color of blood, and the sea on which she swam was a sea
of blood. Robert watched her until at last, a dim, red
haze, she passed out of sight. Then he turned and
looked at the body of the man whom he had slain.

He shuddered. He had never intended to take the
leader's life. Five minutes before it occurred he would
have said such a thing was impossible. It was merely
the powerful impulse of self-protection that had caused
him to strike with such deadly effect, and he was sorry.
The man, beyond all doubt, was a robber and murderer
who had forfeited his life a dozen times, and still he was[Pg 175]
sorry. It was a tragedy to him to take the life of any
one, no matter how evil the fallen might be.

He went back to the house, brought a shovel, one of
the numerous ship's stores, and buried the body at once
high up the beach where the greatest waves could not
reach it and wash it away. He did his task to the rumble
of thunder and the flash of lightning, but, when he finished
it, dawn came and then the storm that had threatened
but that had never burst passed away. He felt,
though, that it had not menaced him. To him it was a
good storm, kindly and protecting, and giving sufficient
help in his purpose that had succeeded so well.

It was a beautiful day, the air crisp with as much
winter as the island ever knew, and shot with the beams
from a brilliant sun, but Robert was exhausted. He had
passed through a night of intense emotions, various,
every one of them poignant, and he had made physical
and mental efforts of his own that fairly consumed the
nerves. He felt as if he could lie down and sleep for a
year, that it would take at least that long to build up his
body and mind as they were yesterday.

He dragged himself through the woods, forced his
unwilling muscles to cook a breakfast which he ate.
Then he laid himself down on his bed, his nerves now
quiet, and fell asleep at once. When he awoke it was
night and he lay giving thanks for his great escape until
he slept again. When he awoke a second time day had
returned, and, rising, he went about his usual tasks with
a light heart.[Pg 176]

CHAPTER X

THE SLOOP OF WAR

Robert ate a light breakfast and went out to look
at his domain, now unsullied. What a fine, trim,
clean island it was! And how desirable to be
alone on it, when the Gulf and the Caribbean produced
only such visitors as those who had come two nights
before! He looked toward the little bay, fearing to see
the topmast of the schooner showing its tip over the
trees, but the sky there, an unbroken blue, was fouled
by no such presence. He was rid of the pirates—and
forever he hoped.

It seemed to him that he had passed through an epic
time, one of the great periods of his life. He wondered
now how he had been able to carry out such a plan, how
he had managed to summon up courage and resources
enough, and he felt that the good spirits of earth and air
and water must have been on his side. They had fought
for him and they had won for him the victory.

He shouldered his rifle and strolled through the woods
toward the beach. He had never noticed before what
a fine forest it was. The trees were not as magnificent as
those of the northern wilderness, but they had a beauty
very peculiarly their own, and they were his. There was
not a single other claimant to them anywhere in the
world.

It was a noble beach too, smooth, sloping, piled with[Pg 177]
white sand, gleaming now in the sun, and the little frothy
waves that ran up it and lapped at his feet, like puppies
nibbling, were just the friendliest frothy little waves in
the world. But there were the remains of the fire left
by the ruffians to defile it, and broken bottles and broken
food were scattered about. The litter hurt his eyes so
much that he gathered up every fragment, one by one,
and threw them into the sea. When the last vestige of
the foul invasion was cleared away he felt that he had his
lonely, clean island back again, and he was happy.

He strolled up and down the glistening beach, feeling
a great content. After a while, he threw off his clothes
and swam in the invigorating sea, keeping well inside the
white line of the breakers, in those waters into which the
sharks did not come. When he had sunned himself again
on the sand he went to the creek, took his dinghy from
the bushes, where it had been so well hidden, and rowed
out to sea, partly to feel the spring of the muscles in his
arms, and partly to sit off at a distance and look at his
island. Surely if one had to be cast away that was the
very island on which he would choose to be cast! Not
too big! Not too hot! And not too cold! Without
savage man or savage beasts, but with plenty of wild
cattle for the taking, and good fish in the lakes, and in
the seas about it. Plenty of stores of all kinds from the
slaver's schooner, even books to read. So far from being
unfortunate he was one of the lucky. A period of retirement
from the companionship of his own kind might be
trying on the spirit, but it also meant meditation and
mental growth.

His joy over the departure of the pirates was so great
and his temperament was such that he felt a mighty
revulsion of the spirits. He had a period of extravagant
elation. He took off his cap and saluted his island. He[Pg 178]
made little speeches of glowing compliment to it, he
called it the pearl of its kind, the choicest gem of the
Gulf or the Caribbean, and, if pirates came again while
he was there, he would drive them away once more with
the aid of the good spirits.

He rowed back, hid his boat in the old covert among
the bushes at the edge of the creek, and, rifle on shoulder,
started through the forest toward his peak of observation.
On the way, he passed the lake and saw the herd of
wild cattle grazing there, the old bull at its head. The
big fellow, assured now by use and long immunity,
cocked his head on one side and regarded him with a
friendly eye. But the bull had a terrible surprise. He
heard the sharp ping of a rifle and a fearful yell. Then
he saw a figure capering in wild gyrations, and thinking
that this human being whom he had learned to trust must
have gone mad, he forgot to be angry, but was very much
frightened. Enemies he could fight, but mad creatures
he dreaded, and, bellowing hoarsely to his convoy, as a
signal, he took flight, all of them following him, their
tails streaming straight out behind them, so fast they ran.

Robert leaped and danced as long as one of them was
in sight. When the last streaming tail had disappeared in
the bushes he sobered down. He realized that he had
given his friend, the bull, a great shock. In a way, he
had been guilty of a breach of faith, and he resolved to
apologize to him in some fashion the next time they met.
Yet he had been so exultant that it was impossible not to
show it, and he was only a lad in years.

When he reached the crest of his peak he scanned the
sea on all sides. Eagerly as he had looked before for a
sail he now looked to see that there was none. Around
and around the circle of the horizon his eyes traveled,
and when he assured himself that no blur broke the[Pg 179]
bright line of sea and sky his heart swelled with relief.

In a day or so, his mind became calm and his thoughts
grew sober. Then he settled down to his studies. The
battle of life occupied only a small portion of his time,
and he resolved to put the hours to the best use. He
pored much over Shakespeare, the other Elizabethans
and the King James Bible, a copy of which was among
the books. It was his intention to become a lawyer, an
orator, and if possible a statesman. He knew that he had
the gift of speech. His mind was full of thoughts and
words always crowded to his lips. It was easy enough
for him to speak, but he must speak right. The thoughts
he wished to utter must be clothed in the right kind of
words arranged in the right way, and he resolved that
it should be so.

The way in which men thought and the way in which
their thoughts were put in the Bible and the great Elizabethans
fascinated him. That was the way in which he
would try to think, and the way in which he would try
to put his thoughts. So he recited the noble passages
over and over again, he memorized many of them, and
he listened carefully to himself as he spoke them, alike
for the sense and the music and power of the words.

It was then perhaps that he formed the great style
for which he was so famous in after years. His vocabulary
became remarkable for its range, flexibility and
power, and he developed the art of selection. His rivals
even were used to say of him that he always chose the
best word. He learned there on the island that language
was not given to man merely that he might make a noise,
but that he might use it as a great marksman uses a rifle.

Work and study together filled his days. They kept
far from him also any feeling of despair. He had an
abiding faith that a ship of the right kind would come[Pg 180]
in time and take him away. He must not worry about it.
It was his task now to fit himself for the return, to prove
to his friends when he saw them once more that all the
splendid opportunities offered to him on the island had
not been wasted.

Almost unconsciously, he began to reason more deeply,
to look further into the causes of things, and his mind
turned particularly to the present war. The more he
thought about it the greater became his conviction that
England and the colonies were bound to win. Courage
and numbers, resources and tenacity must prevail even
over great initial mistakes. Duquesne and Ticonderoga
would be brushed away as mere events that had no control
over destiny.

He remembered Bigot's ball in Quebec that Willet and
Tayoga and he had attended. It came before him again
almost as vivid as reality. He realized now in the light
of greater age and experience how it typified decadence.
A power that was rotten at the top, where the brain
should be, could never defeat one that was full of youthful
ardor and strength, sound through and through, awkward
and ill directed though that strength might be. The
young French leaders and their soldiers were valiant,
skillful and enduring—they had proved it again and
again on sanguinary fields—but they could not prevail
when they had to receive orders from a corrupt and
reckless court at Versailles, and, above all when they had
to look to that court for help that never came.

His reading of the books in the slaver's chest told him
that folly and crime invariably paid the penalty, if not
in one way then in another, and he remembered too some
of the ancient Greek plays, over which he had toiled
under the stern guidance of Master Alexander McLean.
Their burden was the certainty of fate. You could never[Pg 181]
escape, no matter how you writhed, from what you did,
and those old writers must have told the truth, else men
would not be reading and studying them two thousand
years after they were dead. Only truth could last twenty
centuries. Bigot, Cadet, Péan, and the others, stealing
from France and Canada and spending the money in
debauchery, could not be victorious, despite all the valor
of Montcalm and St. Luc and De Levis and their comrades.

He remembered, too, the great contrast between Quebec
and New York that had struck him when he arrived
at the port at the mouth of the Hudson with the hunter
and the Onondaga. The French capital in Canada was
all of the state; it was its creature. If the state declined,
it declined, there was little strength at the roots, little that
sprang from the soil, but in New York, which men already
forecast as the metropolis of the New World, there
was strength everywhere. It might be a sprawling town.
There might be no courtliness to equal the courtliness at
the heart of Quebec, but there was vigor, vigor everywhere.
The people were eager, restless, curious, always
they worked and looked ahead.

He saw all these things very clearly. Silence, loneliness
and distance gave a magnificent perspective. Facts
that were obscured when he was near at hand, now stood
out sharp and true. His thoughts in this period were
often those of a man double his age. His iron health too
remained. His was most emphatically the sound mind
in the sound body, each helping the other, each stimulating
the other to greater growth.

It was a fact, however, that the Onondaga belief, peopling
the air and all sorts of inanimate objects with
spirits, grew upon him; perhaps it is better to say that it
was a feeling rather than a belief. According to Tayoga[Pg 182]
the good spirits fought with the bad, and on his island the
good had prevailed. They had told him that a ship was
coming, and then they had warned him that it would be
a ship of pirates. They had shown him how to drive
away the ruffians. His inspiration had not been his own,
it had come from them and he thankfully acknowledged
it.

He told himself now as he went about his island that
he heard the good spirits singing among the leaves and
he told it to himself so often that he ended by believing it.
It was such a pleasant and consoling belief too. He listened
to hear them say that he would leave the island
when the time was ripe and his imagination was now
so extraordinarily vivid that what he expected to hear
he heard. The spirits assured him that when the time
came to go he would go. They did not tell him exactly
when he would go, but that could not be asked. No one
must anticipate a complete unveiling of the future. It
was sufficient that intimations came out of it now and
then.

It was this feeling, amounting to a conviction, that
bore him up on a shield of steel. It soothed the natural
impatience of his youth and temperament. Why grieve
over not going when he knew that he would go? Yet, a
long time passed and there was no sail upon the sea,
though the fact failed to shake his faith. Often he
climbed his peak of observation and studied the circling
horizon through the glasses, only to find nothing, but he
was never discouraged. There was never any fall of the
spirits. No ship showed, but the ship that was coming
might even then be on the way. She had left some port,
probably one in England, not dreaming that it was a
most important destiny and duty of hers to pick up a lone[Pg 183]
lad cast away on an island in the Gulf or the Caribbean—at
least it was most important to him.

Now came a time of storms that seemed to him to
portend a change in the seasons. The island was swept
by wind and rain, but he liked to be lashed by both. He
even went out in the dinghy in storms, though he kept
inside the reefs, and fought with wave and undertow and
swell, until, pleasantly exhausted, he retreated to the
beach, drawing his little boat after him, where he watched
the sea, vainly struggling to reach the one who had defied
it. It was after such contests that he felt strongest
of the spirit, ready to challenge anything.

He plunged deeper and deeper into his studies, striving
to understand everything. The intensity of his application
was possible only because he was alone. Forced
to probe, to examine and to ponder, his mind acquired
new strength. Many things which otherwise would have
been obscure to him became plain. Looking back upon
his own eventful life since that meeting with St. Luc and
Tandakora in the forest, he was better able to read
motives and to understand men. The reason why Adrian
Van Zoon wished him to vanish must be money, because
only money could be powerful enough to make such a
man risk a terrible crime. Well, he would have a great
score to settle with Van Zoon. He did not yet know just
how he would settle it, but he did not doubt that the day
of reckoning would come.

A cask of oil and several lanterns were among his
treasures from the ship, and, making use of them, he
frequently read late at night, often with the rain beating
hard on walls and roof. Then it seemed to him that his
mind was clearest, and he resolved again and again that
when he returned to his own he would make full use
of what he learned on the island. It seemed to him[Pg 184]
sometimes that his being cast away was a piece of luck
and not a misfortune.

A clear day came, and, taking his rifle, he strolled
toward his peak of observation, passing on the way the
herd of wild cattle with the old bull at its head. The big
fellow looked at him suspiciously, as if fearing that his
friend might be suffering from one of his mad spells
again. But Robert's conduct was quite correct. He
walked by in a quiet and dignified manner, and, reassured,
the bull went back to his task of reducing the visible
grass supply.

He saw nothing from the peak except the green island
and the blue sea all about it, but there was a singing wind
among the leaves and it was easy for him to sit down
on a rock and fall into a dreaming state. The good
spirits were abroad, and it was their voices that he heard
among the leaves. Their chant too was full of courage,
hope and promise, and his spirits lifted as he listened.
They were watching over him, guarding him from evil,
and he felt, at last, that they were telling him something.

It is not always easy to know the exact burden of a
song, even if it is uplifting, and Robert listened a long
time, trying to decipher exactly what the good spirits
were saying to him. It was just such a song as they
sang to him before the pirate ship came, saving one
strain and that was most important. There was no
underlying note of warning. Hunt for it as he would,
with his fullest power of hearing, he could detect no
trace of it. Then he became convinced. Another ship
was coming, and this time it was no pirate craft.

He roused himself from his dreaming state and shook
his head, but the vision did not depart. The ship was
coming and it was for him to receive it. The news of it
had been written too deeply upon the sensitive plate of[Pg 185]
his brain to be effaced, and, as he walked back toward
the house, it seemed to grow more vivid. He was too
much excited to study that day, and he spent the time
building a great heap of wood upon the beach. Even
if one were helped by good spirits he must do his own
part. They might bring the ship to the horizon's rim,
but it was for him to summon it from there, and he
would have a great bonfire ready.

The brilliance of the day departed in the afternoon,
and it became apparent that the season of rain and storm
was not yet over. Clouds marched up in grim battalions
from the south and west, rain came in swift puffs and
then in long, heavy showers, the sea heaved, breaking
into great waves and the surf dashed fiercely on the
sharp teeth of the rocks.

Robert's spirits fell. This was not the way in which
a rescuing ship should come, under a somber sky and
before driving winds. Perhaps he had read the voices
of the spirits wrong, or at least the ship, instead of coming
now, was coming at some later time, a month or two
months away maybe. He watched through the rest of
the afternoon, hoping that the clouds would leave, but
they only thickened, and, long before the time of sunset,
it was almost as dark as night. He was compelled to
remain in the shelter of the house, and, in a state of deep
depression, he ate his supper without appetite.

The storm was one of the fiercest he had seen while
on the island. The rain drove in sheets, beating upon
the walls and roof of the house like hail, and the wind
kept up a continuous whistling and screaming. All the
while the house trembled over him. Nor was there any
human voice in the wind. The good spirits, if such
existed, would not dare the storm, but had retreated
to cover. All the illusion was gone, he was just a lonely[Pg 186]
boy on a lonely island, listening to the wrath of a hurricane,
a ship might or might not come, most probably
never, or if it did it would be another pirate.

The storm did not seem to abate as the evening went
on, perhaps it was the climax of the season. Tired of
hearing its noise he lay down on his couch and at last
fell asleep. He was awakened from slumber by an
impact upon the drum of his ear like a light blow, but,
sitting up, he realized that it was a sound. The storm
had not abated. He heard the beat of wind and rain
as before, but he knew it was something else that had
aroused him. The noise of the storm was regular, it was
going on when he fell asleep, and it had never ceased
while he slept. This was something irregular, something
out of tune with it, and rising above it. He listened intently,
every nerve and pulse alive, body and mind at
the high pitch of excitement, and then the sound came
again, low but distinct, and rising above the steady crash
of the storm.

He knew the note. He had heard it often, too often
on that terrible day at Ticonderoga. It could be but one
thing. It was the boom of a cannon, and it could come
only from a ship, a ship in danger, a ship driven by the
storm, knowing nothing of either sea or island, sending
forth her signal of distress which was also a cry for help.

It was his ship! The ship of rescue! But he must
first rescue it! Now he heard the voices of the good
spirits, the voices that had been silent all through the
afternoon and evening, singing through the storm, calling
to him, summoning him to action. He had not taken
off his clothes and he leaped from the couch, snatched
up a lighted lantern, stuffed flint and steel in his pocket,
and ran out into the wind and rain, of which he was now
scarcely conscious.[Pg 187]

The boom came to his ears a second time, off to the
east, and now distinctly the report of a cannon. He
waited a little, watching, and, when the report came a
third time, he saw dimly the flash of the gun, but it was
too dark for him to see anything of the ship. She was
outside the reefs, how far he could not tell, but he
knew by the difference in the three reports that she was
driving toward the island.

It was for him to save the unknown vessel that was to
save him, and in the darkness and storm he felt equal
to the task. His soul leaped within him. His whole body
seemed to expand. He knew what to do, and, quick as
lightning, he did it. He ran at full speed through the
woods, his lighted lantern swinging on his arm, and
twice on the way he heard the boom of the cannon, each
time a little nearer. The reports merely made him run
faster. Time was precious, and in the moment of utmost
need he was not willing to lose a second.

He reached the great heap of wood that he had built
up on the beach, worked frantically with flint and steel,
shielding the shavings at the bottom with his body, and
quickly set fire to them. The blaze crackled, leaped and
grew. He had built his pyramid so well, and he had
selected such inflammable material, that he knew, if the
flames once took hold, the wind would fan them so
fiercely the rain could not put them out.

Higher sprang the blaze, running to the crest of the
pyramid, roaring in the wind and then sending out defiant
hissing tongues at the rain. The boom of the
cannon came once more, and, then by the light of his
splendid bonfire, he looked. There was the ship outside
the reefs which his great pyramid of flame now enabled
her to see. He shouted in his joy, and threw on more[Pg 188]
wood. If he could only build that pyramid high enough
they would see the opening too and make for it.

He worked frantically, throwing on driftwood, the
accumulation of many years, and the flames biting into
every fresh log, roared and leaped higher. The ship
ceased to fire her signal guns, and now he saw, with a
great surge of joy, that she was beating up in the storm
and trying for the opening in the reef, her only chance,
the chance that he had given her. He had done his part
and he could do no more but feed the fire.

As he threw on wood he watched. His pyramid of
flame roared and threw out sparks in myriads. The
ship, a sloop, was having a desperate struggle with wind
and wave, but his beacon was always there, showing her
the way, and he never doubted for a moment that she
would make the haven. He was sure of it. It was a
terrible storm, and there was a fierce sea beating on the
reefs, but a master mind was on the sloop, the mind of a
great sailor, and that mind, responding to his signal of
the fire, the only one that could have been made, was
steering the ship straight for the opening in the reef.

His glasses were always in his pocket, and, remembering
them now for the first time, he clapped them to his
eyes. The sloop and her tracery of mast and spars became
distinct. He saw guns on the deck and men, men
in uniform, and he could see well enough, a moment or
two later, to tell that they wore the uniform of Britain.
His heart gave a wild throb. The spirits in the air were
good spirits, and the storm had never been able to drive
them away. They had been calling to him when he
thought they were silent, only he had not been able to
hear them.

He gave a wild shout of joy that could be heard above
the crash of the storm. Triumph was assured. He was[Pg 189]
rescuing, and he would be rescued. He did not realize
until that instant how eager he was to be taken from the
island, how he longed, with all his soul, to rejoin his
own kind, to see his friends again and to take a part in
the great events that were shaking the world. He uttered
his wild shout over and over, and, in between, he
laughed, laughed with a joy that he could not control.