Chapter XIX
The Camp by Canseau Strait
It was perhaps to their encounter with the _Osprey_ we owed it that wesaw no more of our pursuers. At any rate we were no furtherpersecuted. After two days of marching we felt safe to light fires.
We shot partridges, and a deer; and the fresh meat put new vigour intoour veins. We came to the beginning of the narrow strait which seversIle Royale from the main peninsula of Acadie; and with longing eyesMizpah gazed across, as if hoping to discern the child amid the treesof the opposite shore. At last, I could but say to her:--
"We are a long, long way from Philip yet, my comrade; were we acrossthis narrow strait, we would be no nearer to him, for the island is socut up with inland waters, many, deep, and winding, that it would takeus months to traverse its length afoot. We must push on to Canseau,for a boat is needful to us."
And all these days, in the quiet of the great woods, in the stillnessof the wilderness nights when often I watched her sleeping, in thehours while she walked patiently by my side, her brave, sweet face wanwith grief suppressed, her eyes heavy with longing, my love grew. Ittook possession of my whole being till this doubtful, perilous journeyseemed all that I could desire, and the world we had left behind usbecame but a blur with only Marc's white face in the midst to give itconsequence. Nevertheless, though my eyes and my spirit waited uponall her movements, I suffered no least suggestion of my worship toappear, but ever with rough kindliness played the part ofcompanion-at-arms.
One morning,--it was our fifth day from the _Osprey_, but sincereaching the Strait we had become involved in swamps, and made a verypitifully small advance,--one morning, I say, when it wanted perhaps anhour of noon, we were both startled by a sound of groaning. Mizpahcame closer to me, and put her hand upon my arm. We stood listeningintently.
"It is some one hurt," said I, in a moment, "and he is in that gullyyonder."
Cautiously, lest there should be some trap, we followed the sound; andwe discovered, at the bottom of a narrow cleft, an Indian lad lyingwedged between sharp rocks, with the carcass of a fat buck fallenacross his body. It was plain to me at once that the young savage hadslipped while staggering under his load of venison. I hesitated; forwhat more likely than that there should be other Indians in theneighbourhood; but Mizpah cried at once:--
"Oh, we must help him! Quick! Come, Monsieur!"
And in truth the lad's face appealed to me, for he was but a stripling,little younger than Marc. Very gently we released him from hisagonizing position; and when we had laid him on a patch of smooth moss,his groaning ceased. His lips were parched, and when I brought himwater he swallowed it desperately. Then Mizpah bathed his face.Presently his eyes opened, rested upon her with a look of unutterablegratitude, and closed again. Mizpah's own eyes were brimming withtears, and she turned to me in a sort of appeal, as if she would say:--
"How can we leave him?"
"Let him be for a half hour now," said I, answering her look. "Thenperhaps he will be able to talk to us."
We ate our meal without daring to light a fire. Then we sat in silenceby the sleeping lad, till at last he opened his eyes, and murmured inthe Micmac tongue, "water." When he had taken a drink, I offered himbiscuit, of which he ate a morsel. Then, speaking in French, I askedhim whence he came; and how he came to be in such a plight.
He answered faintly in the same tongue. "I go from Malpic," said he,"to the Shubenacadie, with messages. I shot a buck, on the rock there,and he fell into the gully. As I was getting him out I fell in myself,and the carcass on top of me. I know no more till I open my eyes, andmy mouth is hard, and kind friends are giving me water. Then I sleepagain, for I feel all safe," and with a grateful smile his eyes closedwearily. He was fast asleep again, before I could ask any morequestions.
"Come away," I whispered to Mizpah, "till we talk about this." Shecame, but first, with a tender thoughtfulness, she leaned her musketagainst a tree, with his own beside it, so that if he should wake whilewe were gone he should at once see the two weapons, and know that hewas not deserted.
When we were out of earshot, I turned and looked into her eyes.
"What is to be done with him?" I asked.
"We must stay and take care of him," said she, steadily, "till he cantake care of himself."
"And Philip?" I questioned.
She burst into tears, flung herself down, and buried her face in herhands. After sobbing violently for some minutes she grew calm, dashedher tears away, and looked at me in a kind of despair.
"The poor boy cannot be left to die here alone," she said, in a shakenvoice. "It is perfectly plain what we must do. Oh, God, take care ofmy poor lonely little one." And again she covered her eyes. I tookone of her hands in mine, and pressed it firmly.
"If there is justice in Heaven, he will," I cried passionately. "Andhe will; I know he will. I think there never was a nobler woman thanyou, my comrade."
"You do not know me," she answered, in a low voice; and rising, shereturned to the sick boy's side.
Seeing that we were here for some days, or perchance a week, I raisedtwo hasty shelters of brush and poles. That night the patient wanderedin his mind, but in the morning the fever had left him, andthenceforward he mended swiftly. His gratitude and his docility weretouching, and his eyes followed Mizpah as would the eyes of a faithfuldog. I think his insight penetrated her disguise, so that from thefirst he knew her for a woman; but his native delicacy kept him frombetraying his knowledge. As far as I could see, there were no bonesbroken, and I guessed that in a week at furthest he would be able toresume his journey without risk.
For three days I troubled him not with further questions, Mizpah havingso decreed. She said that questioning would hinder his recovery; but Ithink she feared what questioning might disclose. At last, as wefinished supper, of which he had well partaken, he rose feebly but withdetermination, took a few tottering paces, and then came back to hiscouch, where he lay with gleaming eyes of satisfaction.
"I walk now pretty soon," said he. "Not keep kind friends here muchlonger. Which way you going when you stopped to take care of Indianboy?"
I looked across at Mizpah, then made up my mind to speak plainly. If Iknew anything at all of human nature, this boy was to be trusted.
"We are going to Ile Royale," said I, "to look for a little boy whomsome of your tribe have cruelly carried off."
His face became the very picture of shame and grief. He looked firstat one of us, then the other; and presently dropped his head upon hisbreast.
"Why, what is the matter, Xavier?" I asked. He had said his name wasXavier.
"I know," he answered, in a low voice. "It was some of my own peopledid it."
"_What_ do you know? Tell us, oh, tell us everything! Oh, we helpedyou! You will surely help us find him!" pleaded Mizpah, breathlessly.
"By all the blessed saints," he cried, with an earnestness that I feltto be sincere, "I will try to help you. I will risk anything. I willdisobey the Abbe. I will--"
"Where _is_ the child? Do you know that?" I interrupted.
"Yes, truly," he replied. "They have taken him north to Gaspe, and tothe St. Lawrence. My uncle, Etienne le Batard, was in canoe thatbrought him to mouth of the Pictook. Then other canoe took him north,where a French family will keep him. The Abbe says he shall grow up amonk. But he is not starved or beaten, I swear truly."
"How do you know all this?" I asked, looking at him piercingly. Buthis eye was clear and met mine right honestly.
"My uncle came to Malpic straight," said he, "where the warriors had acouncil. Then I was sent with word to my father, Big Etienne, who ison the Shubenacadie."
"What word?" I asked.
But the boy shook his head. "It does not touch the little boy. Itdoes not touch my kind friends. I may not tell it," he said, with abrave dignity. I loved him for this, and trusted him the more.
"This lad's tongue and heart are true," said I, looking at Mizpah.
"Wemay trust him."
"I know it!" said she. Whereupon he reached out, grasped a hand ofeach, and kissed them with a freedom of emotion which I have seldomseen in the full blood Indian.
"You may trust me," he said, in a low voice, being by this somethingwearied. "You give me my life. And I will help you find your child."
And the manner of his speech, as if he considered the child _our_child, though it was but accident, stirred me sweetly at theheart,--and I durst not trust myself to meet Mizpah's eyes.
Thus it came about that, after all, we crossed not the narrow strait,nor set foot in Ile Royale. But when, three days later, I judged ourpatient sufficiently recovered, we set our faces again toward theShubenacadie.
The journey was exceeding slow, but to me very far from tedious, for inrain or shine, or dark or bright, the light shone on me of mymistress's face.
And at last, after many days of toilsome wandering, we struck the headwaters of the Shubenacadie.
From this point forward we went with more caution. When we were comewithin an hour of the Indian village, Xavier parted company with us.The river here making a long loop, so to speak, we were to cross behindthe village at a safe distance, strike the tide again, and hide at acertain point covered with willows till Xavier should bring us a canoe.
We reached the point, hid ourselves among the willows, and waited closeupon two hours. The shadows were falling long across the river, andour anxieties rising with more than proportioned speed, when, at last,a canoe shot around a bend of the river, and made swiftly for thepoint. We saw Xavier in the bow, but there was a tall, powerfulwarrior in the stern. As the canoe drew near, Mizpah caught meanxiously by the arm.
"That man was one of the band that captured us at Annapolis," shewhispered. "What does it mean? _Could_ Xavier mean to--?"
"No," I interrupted; "of course not, comrade. These Indians are nevertreacherous to those who have earned their gratitude. Savages thoughthey be, they set civilization a shining example in that. There isnothing to fear here."
Landing just below us, the two Indians came straight toward ourhiding-place. At the edge of the wood the tall warrior, whom I nowknew for a certainty to be Big Etienne himself, stopped, and held outboth his hands, palm upwards. I at once stepped forth to meet him,leaving my musket behind me. But Mizpah who followed me closely, clungto hers,--which might have convinced me, had I needed conviction, thathero though she was she was yet all woman.
"You my brother and my sister!" said the tall warrior at once, speakingwith dignity, but with little of Xavier's fluency. He knew Mizpah.
"I am glad my brother's heart is turned towards us at last," said I."My brother knows what injury has been done to us, and what we sufferat the hands of his people."
"Listen," said he, solemnly. "You give me back my son, my only son, myyoung brave," and he looked at Xavier with loving pride; "for that Ican never pay you; but I give you back your son, too, see? And, now,always, I am your brother. But now, you go home. I find the childaway north, by the Great River. I put him in your arms, safe,laughing,--so;" and he made as if to place a little one in Mizpah'sarms. "Then you believe I love you, and Xavier love you. But now,come; not good to stay here more." And, turning abruptly, he led theway to the canoe, and himself taking the stern paddle, while Xaviertook the bow, motioned us to get in. I hesitated; whereupon he cried:--
"Many of our people out this way. River not safe for you now. We takeyou to Grand Pre, Canard, Pereau,--where you want. Then go north.Better so."
Seeing the strong reason in his words, I accepted his offer thankfully,but insisted upon taking the bow myself, because Xavier was not yetwell enough to paddle strongly.
Thus we set out, going swiftly with the tide. As we journeyed, BigEtienne was at great pains to make us understand that it would take himmany weeks to find Philip and bring him back to us, because the way waslong and difficult. He said we must not look to see the lad before thesnow lay deep; but he bound himself to bring him back in safety,barring visitation of God. I saw that Mizpah now trusted the tallwarrior even as I did. I felt that he would make good his pledge atany hazard. I urged, however, that he should take me with him; but onthis point he was obstinate, saying that my presence would only makehis task the more difficult, for reasons which occurred to me veryreadily. It cost me a struggle to give up my purpose of being myselfthe child's rescuer, and so winning the more credit in Mizpah's eyes.But this selfish prompting of my heart I speedily crushed (for which Ithank Heaven) when I saw that Big Etienne's plan was the best thatcould be devised for Philip.
Some miles below the point where the river was already widening, wepassed a group of Indians with their canoes drawn up on the shore,waiting to ascend with the returning tide. Recognizing Big Etienne inthe stern, they paid us no attention beyond a friendly hail. Late inthe evening we camped, well beyond the river mouth. Once on thefollowing morning, when far out upon the bosom of the bay, we passed acanoe that was bound for the Shubenacadie, and again the presence andparting hail of our protector saved us from question. Our halts formeals were brief and far apart, but light headwinds baffled us much onthe journey, so that it was not till toward evening of the second dayout from the Shubenacadie mouth that we paddled into the Canard, anddrew up at Giraud's little landing under the bank.