The Cruise of the Snowbird: A Story of Arctic Adventure

by his brave fellows, and in a few minutes more hadcleared the forest and gained the glade where the unequal strife wasproceeding. And none too soon. Here were brave young Allan and statelySeth, their backs against a tree, defending themselves, with riflesclubbed, against a cloud of skin-clad savages armed with bows andarrows, but brandishing only spear and tomahawk.

  High o'er the din of the strife rang our people's British cheer. Onewell-aimed volley, then McBain charged the very centre of the crowd, andblows fell and men fell like wintry rain.

  So quick and unexpected had been the onslaught that the savages werebeaten back in less time almost than it takes me to describe it--beatenback into the forest and pursued as far as their own encampment. Herethey made a stand, and the battle raged for a whole hour; but when didever savages hold their own very long against the white man?

  Let us draw a curtain on the scene that followed--the rout and thepursuit, and the return to the glade where the fight commenced.Stillness once more prevailed as our people re-entered it.

  McBain glanced hastily and anxiously around. Where was Rory? Alas! hehad not far to look. Yonder he lay, where the fight had raged thefiercest, on his back, quiet and still, with purple upturned face.

  It was a painful scene, and down from the sky looked the round risingmoon, while daylight slowly faded into gloaming.

  As the giant oak is bent before the gale, so bowed was McBain in hisgrief. He knelt him down beside poor Rory and covered his face with hishands. "My boy! my poor boy!" was all he could say.

  Seth had taken but one glance at Rory's dark swollen face and another atthe rising moon. "I guess," he muttered, "there has been pizened arrowsflying around."

  Then he disappeared in the forest.

  CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

  THE SEARCH FOR AN ANTIDOTE--CAN RORY BE DEAD?--SETH TO THE RESCUE--SETHAS DOCTOR AND NURSE.

  "I reckon," said Seth to himself, "that there'll be just about lightenough to find 'em. Good thing now that the moon is full, for they dosay that gathered under the full moon their virtue is increasedfourfold, and what is more, old Seth believes it. Hullo! it strikes meRory is in luck. Here they grow as large as life, and twice asnatural."

  They were a deal bigger than Seth at all events. Tall and gracefulstems with an immensity of leaf, probably a plant belonging to the_Solanaceae_ family.

  "I won't spare you," continued this curious Yankee trapper.

  Nor did he. He quite filled his arms with both stems and leaves, andhastened back to the glade where lay poor Rory, to all appearance dead,and surrounded by his sorrowing friends.

  "Clear the course," cried Seth, "for once in a way, gentlemen; Seth willsave the boy if there be a save in him. Carry him along to the lake.Gently with him."

  There was little need of the latter precaution. McBain, hoping againsthope, took him up in his arms as tenderly as if he had been a child, andapparently with as much ease, and carried him after Seth to the GreatSnow Lake. Here he was laid softly down, and the trapper proceeded inthe most masterly manner to bathe and rinse Rory's terrible wounds. Thewhite milky juice from the fleshy stem of the curious plant was thendropped into them, and they were carefully covered over with bruisedleaves.

  "There is little else we can do now," said Seth, "but set us down towatch."

  "And pray," murmured McBain. Then he said aloud, "I do not doubt yourskill, friend Seth, but here I fear there is more to contend with thanmortal power can hope to cope with. The poor boy is dead."

  For well-nigh an hour they sat beside him; gloaming had deepened intonight, and a fire had been lighted which brought forth Rembrandtineshadows from the woods, and cast its beams far over the broad lake,until they were swallowed up in the darkness. An hour, and yet no signsof returning life--a whole hour, and they still seemed to look on poorRory as on the face of the dead.

  But see! can they be mistaken? Did not his lips move? They did, andnow they move again. A sigh is breathed, and presently one faint wordis ejaculated.

  The word was "Water."

  "He'll live," cried Seth; "he'll live! This is the proudest day for theold trapper in the whole course of his born existence."

  And the cry of Rory for water was indeed the first sign of returninglife. A few drops of the juice of that wonderful plant were squeezedinto the wounded boy's mouth, and, ten minutes after, the colour hadreturned to his face, and he was sleeping as sweetly and soundly as everhe had slept in his life.

  McBain squeezed the hand of the honest trapper. In silence he pressedthe trapper's hand. Perhaps he could not have spoken at that moment hadhe wished to do so, for there was a moisture in his eyes that he had noneed to be ashamed of.

  While Rory sleeps calmly by the rude log fire, there is other and sadlymournful work to be attended to, for three of the _Snowbird's_ bravecrew lie stark and stiff. So the dead had to be laid out, and thegraves dug, where, as soon as sunrise, they would lie side by side withthose who had so lately been their foes.

  Two more men were wounded, but none so severely as Rory.

  There was little sleep for any one in the camp that night, for they wereconstantly in dread of a renewed attack by the savages. Even the luxuryof a fire was a danger, and yet upon this depended Rory's veryexistence; but patrols were kept constantly moving through the forestnear to prevent surprises.

  "Yet I don't think," said Seth, "that them bothering blueskins will comearound again. We've given them such a taste of our steel and ourshooting-irons that it ain't likely they'll have an appetite for morefor some days to come."

  "Shall you hunt them up in the morning," asked Allan, "and haverevenge?"

  "No," said McBain; "no, Allan. The principle is a bad one. Peopleshould fight in defence of their homesteads, fight for life and honour,but never to simply show their superiority or for mere revenge."

  Very simple was the service conducted by McBain by the graves of thefallen men. Very simple, and yet, methinks, none the less impressive.A psalm from the metrical version of Israel's sweetest singer, and aprayer--that was all; then the graves were covered in and left, andthere they lie by the side of that Great Snow Lake, with never a stoneto mark the spot. Oh! but those three poor fellows will live for many aday and many a year in the memory of their messmates.

  The march back to the _Snowbird_ was a mournful one. The skins they hadcollected did not seem to have the same value now. McBain would notleave them behind, however. Duty must not be neglected, even in themidst of grief.

  And Rory? Would he live? Would the blood ever bound again through hisveins as of yore? Would he ever again be the bright-smiling,sunny-faced lad he had been? For weeks this was doubted. He lay on hisbed, so pallid and worn that every one save Seth thought he was wearingaway to the land o' the leal. Seth would not give him up, though, andmany a herb and balsam he gathered for him in the forest, and many astrange fish, cooked by Seth himself, was brought to tempt his appetite.

  Seth came on board one day rejoicing.

  "I have it now," he cried; "the old trapper has done it at last. Now,boy Rory, as everybody calls you, you have nothing earthly to do in thiswide world but get well. And you'll eat what I brings, and nice you'llfind them, too." And Seth proceeded to open a handkerchief and displayto the astonished gaze of our heroes a lovely collection of largetruffles.

  "Why, truffles, I do declare!" exclaimed McBain. "I never imagined,friend Seth, that the geographical disposition of the truffle extendedto these wild regions."

  "The trapper don't speak a word o' Greek," said Seth, looking at McBainamusedly; "but them's the truffles, right enough, and they are bound tosend the last remnant o' that vile blueskin's pisen out o' boy Rory'sblood."

  It was a magical stew that Seth concocted that day with those truffles.It even made Rory smile. Something of the old good-humour and happinessbegan to settle down on the hearts of the people of the _Snowbird_ fromthat very hour, and when, a day or two after, Rory joined his mess matesat dinner, reclining on a sofa, all doubts for his s
afety werecompletely dispelled. Dr Seth, as he insisted upon calling thetrapper, was invited to join the party, and not only he, but the threemates, and a pleasant evening, if not a merry one, was passed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

  ONE LAST DAY ON SHORE--BEARING UP FOR THE EAST AND NORTH--FAREWELL, OLDSETH; FAREWELL, PLUNKET.

  When at last Rory was so far recovered that he could go on deck withsafety, he gazed around him with delight. And well he might, for a morewildly beautiful scene it has been the lot of very few travellers tofeast their eyes upon.

  "Why," he cried, with the old glad smile in his eyes, "summer has comeagain while I have been ill. Oh! such beauty! such grandeur! All thetrees in leaf and the flowers in bloom, and not a bit of