The Forge in the Forest

"Eat a little," said I, gently, "for we must get away from here at once, lest our enemies come over the hills to look for us."

But she pushed aside the untempting, sodden food which I held out to her.

"Whither shall we go?" she asked heavily. "The canoe is wrecked. How can we find my boy? Oh, I wish I could die!"

Poor girl! my heart ached for her. I knew how her utter and terrible exhaustion had at last sapped that marvellous courage of hers; but I felt that roughness would be her best tonic, though it was far indeed from my heart to speak to her roughly.

"Shame!" said I, in a voice of stern rebuke. "Have you struggled and endured so long, to give up now? Will you leave Philip to the savages because a canoe is broken? Where is your boasted courage? Why, we will walk, instead of paddling. Come at once."

Even this rebuke but half aroused her. "I'm so thirsty," she said, looking around with heavy eyes. By good Providence, there was a slender stream trickling in at this point, and I led her to it. While she drank and bathed her face, I grubbed in the long grasses growing beside the stream, and found a handful of those tuberous roots which the Indians call ground-nuts. These I made her eat, after which she was able to endure a little of the salt bacon. Presently, she became more like herself, and began to grieve at the weakness which she had just shown. Her humiliation was so deep that I had much ado to comfort her, telling her again and again that she was not responsible for what she had said when she was yet but half awake, and in the bonds of a weariness which would have killed most women. I told her, which was nothing less than true, that I held her for the bravest of women, and that no man could have supported me better than she had done.

We pushed our way straight over the height of land which runs seaward and ends in Cape Merigomish. Our way lay through a steep but pleasant woodland, and by the time the sun was an hour high we had walked off much of our fatigue. The tree tops rocked and creaked high above us, but where we walked the wind troubled us not.

"Where are we going?" asked Mizpah, by and by – somewhat tremulously for she still had in mind my censure.

"Why, comrade," said I, in a cheerful, careless manner of speech, a thousand miles away from the devotion in my heart, – "my purpose is to push straight along the coast to Canseau. There we will find a few of your country-folk, fishermen mostly, and from them we will get a boat to carry us up the Bras d'Or."

"But what will become of Philip, all this time?" she questioned, with haggard eyes.

"As a matter of fact," I answered, "I don't think we will lose much time, after all. If we still had the canoe, we would be storm-bound in the bay back there till the wind changes or subsides – and it may be days before it does the one or the other. As it is, the worst that has befallen us is the loss of our ammunition and our bread. But we will make shift to live, belike, till we reach Canseau."

"Oh, Monsieur," she cried, in answer, with a great emotion in her voice, "you give me hope when my despair is blackest. You seem to me more generous, more brave, more strong, than I had dreamed the greatest could be. What makes you so good to an unhappy mother, so faithfully devoted to a poor baby whom you have never seen?"

"Tut, tut!" said I, roughly; "I but do as any proper minded man would do that had the right skill and the fitting opportunity. Thank Marc!" But I might have told her more if I had let my heart speak truth.

"I know whom to thank, and all my life long will I pray Heaven to bless that one!" said Mizpah.

Thus talking by the way, but most of the way silent, we came at length over Merigomish and down to the sea again, fetching the shore at the head of a second bay. This was all in a smother and a roar, like that we had just left behind. As we rounded the head of it, we came upon a little sheltered creek, and there, safe out of the gale, lay a small New England fishing schooner. I knew her by the build for a New Englander, before I saw the words OSPREY, PLYMOUTH, painted in red letters on her stern.

"Here is fortune indeed!" said I, while a cry of gladness sprang to Mizpah's lips. "I'll charter the craft to take us up the Bras d'Or."

The little ship lay in a very pleasant idleness. The small haven was full of sun, the green, wooded hills sloping softly down about it and shutting off all winds. The water heaved and rocked; but smoothly, stirred by the yeasty tumult that roared past the narrow entrance. The clamour of the surf outside made the calm within the more excellent.

Several gray figures of the crew lay sprawling about the deck, which we could see very well, by reason of the steepness of the shore on which we stood. In the waist was a gaunt, brown-faced man, with a scant, reddish beard, a nose astonishingly long and sharp, and a blue woollen cap on the back of his head. He stood leaning upon the rail watching us, and spitting contemplatively into the water from time to time.

We climbed down to the beach beside the schooner, and I spoke to the man in English.

"Are you the captain?" I asked civilly.

"They do say I be," he answered in a thin, high, sing-song of a voice. "Captain Ezra Bean, Schooner Osprey, of Plymouth, at your sarvice." And he waved his hand with a spacious air.

I bowed with ceremony. "And I am your very humble servant," said I, "the Sieur de Briart, of Canard by Grand Pré. We were on our way to Canseau, but have lost our canoe and stores in the gale. We are bold to hope, Captain, that you will sell us some bread, as also some powder and bullets. We did not lose our little money, Heaven be praised!"

Knowing these New Englanders to be greedy of gain, but highly honest, I made no scruple of admitting that we had money about us.

"Come right aboard, good sirs!" said the captain; and in half a minute the gig, which floated at the stern, was thrust around to us, and we clambered to the deck of the Osprey, where crew and captain, five in all, gathered about us without ceremony. The captain, I could see at once, was just one of themselves, obeyed when he gave orders, but standing in no sort of formal aloofness. Cold salt beef, and biscuit and cheese, and tea, were soon set before us, and as we made a hasty meal they all hung about us and talked, as if we had been in one of their home kitchens on Massachusetts Bay. As for Mizpah, who felt little at ease in playing her man's part, she spoke only in French, and made as if she knew no word of English. Captain Ezra Bean had some French, but no facility in it, and a pronunciation that was beyond measure execrable.

But at last, being convinced that they were honest fellows, I spoke of chartering the Osprey, and in explanation told the main part of our story, representing Mizpah as a youth of Canard. But, alas, I had not read my men aright. Honest they were, and exceeding eager to turn an honest penny, – but they had not the stomach for fighting. When they found that a war party of Micmacs was in chase of us, they fell into a great consternation, and insisted on our instant departure.

At this I was all taken aback, for I had ever found the men of New England as diligent in war as in trade. But these fellows were in a shaking terror for their lives and for their ship.

"Why, gentlemen," I said, in a heat, "here are seven of us, well armed! We will make short work of the red rascals, if they are so foolhardy as to attack us."

But no! They would hear none of it.

"It's no quarrel of mine!" cried Captain Ezra Bean, in his high sing-song, but in a great hurry. "My dooty's to my ship. There's been many of our craft fell afoul of these here savages, and come to grief. We're fast right here till the wind changes, and we'll just speak the redskins fair if they come nigh us, an' there ain't goin' to be no trouble. But you must go your ways, gentlemen, begging your pardon; and no ill will, I hope!" And the boat being hauled around for us, they all made haste to bid us farewell.

Mizpah, with a flushed face, stepped in at once; but I hung back a little, sick with their cowardly folly.

"At least," said I, angrily, "you must sell me a sack of bread, and some powder and ball. Till I get them I swear I will not go."

"Sartinly!" sing-songed the captain; and in a twinkling the supplies were in the boat. "Now go, and God speed ye!"

I slipped a piece of gold into his hand, and was off. But frightened as he was, he was honest, and in half a minute he called me back.

"Here is your silver," came the queer, high voice over the rail. "You have overpaid me three times," and I saw his long arm reaching out to me.

"Keep it," I snapped. "We are in more haste to be gone than you to get rid of us."

In five minutes more the woods enfolded us, and the little Osprey was hid from our view. I walked violently in my wrathful disappointment, till at last Mizpah checked me. "If the good soldier," said she, "might advise his captain, which would be, of course, intolerable, I would dare to remind you of what you have said to me more than once lately. Is not this pace too hot to last, Monsieur?" And stopping, she leaned heavily on her musket.

"Forgive me," I exclaimed, flinging myself down on the moss. "And what a fool I am to be angry, too, just because those poor bumpkins wouldn't take up our quarrel."

The look of gratitude which Mizpah gave me for that little phrase, "our quarrel," made my heart on a sudden strong and light. Presently we resumed our journey, going moderately, and keeping enough inland to avoid the windings of the coast. The little Osprey we never saw again; but months later, when it came to my ears that a fishing vessel of Plymouth had been taken by the Indians that autumn while storm-stayed at Merigomish, and her crew all slain, I felt a qualm of pity for the poor lads whose selfish fears had so misguided them.

Chapter XIX

The Camp by Canseau Strait

It was perhaps to their encounter with the Osprey we owed it that we saw no more of our pursuers. At any rate we were no further persecuted. After two days of marching we felt safe to light fires.

We shot partridges, and a deer; and the fresh meat put new vigour into our veins. We came to the beginning of the narrow strait which severs Ile Royale from the main peninsula of Acadie; and with longing eyes Mizpah gazed across, as if hoping to discern the child amid the trees of the opposite shore. At last, I could but say to her: —

"We are a long, long way from Philip yet, my comrade; were we across this narrow strait, we would be no nearer to him, for the island is so cut up with inland waters, many, deep, and winding, that it would take us 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 stillness of the wilderness nights when often I watched her sleeping, in the hours while she walked patiently by my side, her brave, sweet face wan with grief suppressed, her eyes heavy with longing, my love grew. It took possession of my whole being till this doubtful, perilous journey seemed all that I could desire, and the world we had left behind us became but a blur with only Marc's white face in the midst to give it consequence. Nevertheless, though my eyes and my spirit waited upon all her movements, I suffered no least suggestion of my worship to appear, but ever with rough kindliness played the part of companion-at-arms.

One morning, – it was our fifth day from the Osprey, but since reaching the Strait we had become involved in swamps, and made a very pitifully small advance, – one morning, I say, when it wanted perhaps an hour of noon, we were both startled by a sound of groaning. Mizpah came closer to me, and put her hand upon my arm. We stood listening intently.

"It is some one hurt," said I, in a moment, "and he is in that gully yonder."

Cautiously, lest there should be some trap, we followed the sound; and we discovered, at the bottom of a narrow cleft, an Indian lad lying wedged between sharp rocks, with the carcass of a fat buck fallen across his body. It was plain to me at once that the young savage had slipped while staggering under his load of venison. I hesitated; for what more likely than that there should be other Indians in the neighbourhood; 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 his agonizing position; and when we had laid him on a patch of smooth moss, his groaning ceased. His lips were parched, and when I brought him water he swallowed it desperately. Then Mizpah bathed his face. Presently his eyes opened, rested upon her with a look of unutterable gratitude, and closed again. Mizpah's own eyes were brimming with tears, 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. "Then perhaps he will be able to talk to us."

We ate our meal without daring to light a fire. Then we sat in silence by the sleeping lad, till at last he opened his eyes, and murmured in the Micmac tongue, "water." When he had taken a drink, I offered him biscuit, of which he ate a morsel. Then, speaking in French, I asked him 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, and my mouth is hard, and kind friends are giving me water. Then I sleep again, for I feel all safe," and with a grateful smile his eyes closed wearily. He was fast asleep again, before I could ask any more questions.

"Come away," I whispered to Mizpah, "till we talk about this." She came, but first, with a tender thoughtfulness, she leaned her musket against a tree, with his own beside it, so that if he should wake while we were gone he should at once see the two weapons, and know that he was 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 can take care of himself."

"And Philip?" I questioned.

She burst into tears, flung herself down, and buried her face in her hands. After sobbing violently for some minutes she grew calm, dashed her 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 shaken voice. "It is perfectly plain what we must do. Oh, God, take care of my poor lonely little one." And again she covered her eyes. I took one of her hands in mine, and pressed it firmly.

"If there is justice in Heaven, he will," I cried passionately. "And he will; I know he will. I think there never was a nobler woman than you, my comrade."

"You do not know me," she answered, in a low voice; and rising, she returned to the sick boy's side.

Seeing that we were here for some days, or perchance a week, I raised two hasty shelters of brush and poles. That night the patient wandered in his mind, but in the morning the fever had left him, and thenceforward he mended swiftly. His gratitude and his docility were touching, and his eyes followed Mizpah as would the eyes of a faithful dog. I think his insight penetrated her disguise, so that from the first he knew her for a woman; but his native delicacy kept him from betraying his knowledge. As far as I could see, there were no bones broken, and I guessed that in a week at furthest he would be able to resume his journey without risk.

For three days I troubled him not with further questions, Mizpah having so decreed. She said that questioning would hinder his recovery; but I think she feared what questioning might disclose. At last, as we finished supper, of which he had well partaken, he rose feebly but with determination, took a few tottering paces, and then came back to his couch, where he lay with gleaming eyes of satisfaction.

"I walk now pretty soon," said he. "Not keep kind friends here much longer. Which way you going when you stopped to take care of Indian boy?"

I looked across at Mizpah, then made up my mind to speak plainly. If I knew 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 whom some of your tribe have cruelly carried off."

His face became the very picture of shame and grief. He looked first at one of us, then the other; and presently dropped his head upon his breast.

"Why, what is the matter, Xavier?" I asked. He had said his name was Xavier.

"I know," he answered, in a low voice. "It was some of my own people did it."

"What do you know? Tell us, oh, tell us everything! Oh, we helped you! You will surely help us find him!" pleaded Mizpah, breathlessly.

"By all the blessed saints," he cried, with an earnestness that I felt to be sincere, "I will try to help you. I will risk anything. I will disobey the Abbé. I will – "

"Where is the child? Do you know that?" I interrupted.

"Yes, truly," he replied. "They have taken him north to Gaspé, and to the St. Lawrence. My uncle, Etienne le Batard, was in canoe that brought him to mouth of the Pictook. Then other canoe took him north, where a French family will keep him. The Abbé says he shall grow up a monk. But he is not starved or beaten, I swear truly."

"How do you know all this?" I asked, looking at him piercingly. But his eye was clear and met mine right honestly.

"My uncle came to Malpic straight," said he, "where the warriors had a council. Then I was sent with word to my father, Big Etienne, who is on the Shubenacadie."

"What word?" I asked.

But the boy shook his head. "It does not touch the little boy. It does not touch my kind friends. I may not tell it," he said, with a brave dignity. I loved him for this, and trusted him the more.

"This lad's tongue and heart are true," said I, looking at Mizpah. "We may trust him."

"I know it!" said she. Whereupon he reached out, grasped a hand of each, and kissed them with a freedom of emotion which I have seldom seen in the full blood Indian.

"You may trust me," he said, in a low voice, being by this something wearied. "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 the heart, – 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 our patient sufficiently recovered, we set our faces again toward the Shubenacadie.

The journey was exceeding slow, but to me very far from tedious, for in rain or shine, or dark or bright, the light shone on me of my mistress's face.

And at last, after many days of toilsome wandering, we struck the head waters of the Shubenacadie.

From this point forward we went with more caution. When we were come within 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 behind the village at a safe distance, strike the tide again, and hide at a certain point covered with willows till Xavier should bring us a canoe.

We reached the point, hid ourselves among the willows, and waited close upon two hours. The shadows were falling long across the river, and our anxieties rising with more than proportioned speed, when, at last, a canoe shot around a bend of the river, and made swiftly for the point. We saw Xavier in the bow, but there was a tall, powerful warrior in the stern. As the canoe drew near, Mizpah caught me anxiously by the arm.

"That man was one of the band that captured us at Annapolis," she whispered. "What does it mean? Could Xavier mean to – ?"

"No," I interrupted; "of course not, comrade. These Indians are never treacherous to those who have earned their gratitude. Savages though they be, they set civilization a shining example in that. There is nothing to fear here."

Landing just below us, the two Indians came straight toward our hiding-place. At the edge of the wood the tall warrior, whom I now knew for a certainty to be Big Etienne himself, stopped, and held out both his hands, palm upwards. I at once stepped forth to meet him, leaving my musket behind me. But Mizpah who followed me closely, clung to hers, – which might have convinced me, had I needed conviction, that hero though she was she was yet all woman.

"You my brother and my sister!" said the tall warrior at once, speaking with 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 suffer at the hands of his people."

"Listen," said he, solemnly. "You give me back my son, my only son, my young brave," and he looked at Xavier with loving pride; "for that I can 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 child away 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's arms. "Then you believe I love you, and Xavier love you. But now, come; not good to stay here more." And, turning abruptly, he led the way to the canoe, and himself taking the stern paddle, while Xavier took 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 take you to Grand Pré, 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 yet well enough to paddle strongly.

Thus we set out, going swiftly with the tide. As we journeyed, Big Etienne was at great pains to make us understand that it would take him many weeks to find Philip and bring him back to us, because the way was long and difficult. He said we must not look to see the lad before the snow lay deep; but he bound himself to bring him back in safety, barring visitation of God. I saw that Mizpah now trusted the tall warrior even as I did. I felt that he would make good his pledge at any hazard. I urged, however, that he should take me with him; but on this point he was obstinate, saying that my presence would only make his task the more difficult, for reasons which occurred to me very readily. It cost me a struggle to give up my purpose of being myself the 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 I thank Heaven) when I saw that Big Etienne's plan was the best that could be devised for Philip.

Some miles below the point where the river was already widening, we passed a group of Indians with their canoes drawn up on the shore, waiting to ascend with the returning tide. Recognizing Big Etienne in the stern, they paid us no attention beyond a friendly hail. Late in the evening we camped, well beyond the river mouth. Once on the following morning, when far out upon the bosom of the bay, we passed a canoe that was bound for the Shubenacadie, and again the presence and parting hail of our protector saved us from question. Our halts for meals were brief and far apart, but light headwinds baffled us much on the journey, so that it was not till toward evening of the second day out from the Shubenacadie mouth that we paddled into the Canard, and drew up at Giraud's little landing under the bank.

Chapter XX

The Fellowship Dissolved

In Giraud's cabin during our absence things had gone tranquilly. We found Marc mending, – pale and weak indeed, but happy; Prudence no longer pale, and with a content in her eyes which told us that her time had not been all passed in grieving for our absence. Father Fafard was in charge, of course; and of the Black Abbé there had been nothing seen or heard since our departure.

Nevertheless there was great news, and a word that deeply concerned me. De Ramezay had led his little army against Annapolis. Just ten days before had he passed up the Valley; and for me he had left an urgent message, begging me to join him immediately on my return. This was a black disappointment; for just now my soul desired nothing so much as a few days of quiet converse with Mizpah, and the chance to show her a courtesy something different from the rough comradeship of our wilderness travels. But this was not to be. It was incumbent upon me to go in the morning.