The Crew of the Water Wagtail Part 26

"Yes--yes--no. I have not forgotten," she said, pa.s.sing her hand over her brow; "but, oh! let me go to her before I die!"

"Rising Sun shall not die. She is among friends now. The pale-faced enemies who killed Little Beaver can do her no harm."

"Killed him--enemies!" murmured the poor girl, as if perplexed; then, quickly, "Yes--yes--he is dead. Does not Rising Sun know it? Did she not see it with her own eyes? He was killed--killed!"

The poor girl's voice rose as she spoke until it was almost a shriek.

"Rising Sun," said the chief, in a tone which the girl could not choose but obey, "tell us who killed him?"

"Killed him? No one killed him!" she answered, with a return of the perplexed look. "He missed his footing and fell over the cliff, and the Great Spirit took him."

"Then the palefaces had nothing to do with it?" asked the chief eagerly.

"Oh! yes; the palefaces had to do with it. They were there, and Rising Sun saw all that they did; but they did not see her, for when she saw them coming she hid herself, being in great fear. And she knew that Little Beaver was dead. No man could fall from such a cliff and live.

Dead--dead! Yes, he is dead. Oh! let me go."

"Not yet, Rising Sun. What did the palefaces do? Did they take his scalp?"

"No; oh! no. The palefaces were kind. They lifted him tenderly. They dug his grave. They seemed as if they loved him like myself. Then they went away, and then--Rising Sun forgets! She remembers running and bounding like the deer. She cannot--she forgets!"

The poor girl stopped speaking, and put her hand to her brow as if to restrain the tumult of her thoughts. Then, suddenly, she looked up with a wild yet intelligent smile.

"Yes, she remembers now. Her heart was broken, and she longed to lay it on the breast of Little Beaver's mother--who loved him so well. She knew where the wigwams of Bearpaw stood, and she ran for them as the bee flies when laden with honey to its home. She forgets much. Her mind is confused. She slept, she fell, she swam, she was cold--cold and hungry--but--but now she has come home. Oh, let me go!"

"Let her go," said the chief, in a low voice.

The young brave loosed his hold, and Rising Sun bounded from the tent.

It was dark by that time, but several camp-fires threw a lurid glare over the village, so that she had no difficulty in finding the hut of her dead husband's mother, for, during the interchange of several visits between members of the two tribes, she had become very familiar with the camp. All ignorant of the poor maniac's arrival, for the news had not yet spread, the mother of Little Beaver sat embroidering a moccasin with dyed quill-work. The traces of profound grief were on her worn face, and her meek eyes were dim as she raised them to see who lifted the curtain of the tent so violently.

Only one word was uttered by Rising Sun as she sprang in and fell on her knees before the old woman:--"Mother!"

No cry was uttered, not even an expression of surprise moved the old woman's face; but her ready arms were extended, and the girl laid her head, with a long-drawn sigh, upon the old bosom.

Long did she lie there that night, while a tender hand smoothed her coal-black hair, and pressed the thin cheek to a warm throbbing heart, which feared to move lest the girl's rest should be disturbed; but there was no need to fear that. Even the loving old heart could no longer warm the cheek that was slowly but surely growing cold. When the face was at last turned anxiously towards the firelight it was seen that a rest which could not be disturbed had been found at last--for Rising Sun was dead.

While this solemn scene was enacting in the old mother's tent, a very different one was taking place in the cave prison, where the captives still sat, bound hand and foot leaning against the wall.

Captain Trench and his son sat in front of them. A small fire burned in the cave, the smoke of which found an exit among the crevices of the high roof. It cast a lurid light on the faces of the men and on projections of the wall, but left the roof in profound darkness.

The captain was still much excited, for the moment for his desperate venture was rapidly approaching.

"Now, Grummidge," he said, in a low but earnest voice, "it's of no use your objectin' any more, for I've made up my mind to do it."

"Which means," returned the seaman, "that for the sake of savin' my life, you're a-goin' to risk your own and the lives of all consarned.

Now it's my opinion that as the sayin' goes, of two evils a man should choose the least. It's better that I should die quietly than that the whole of us should die fightin', and, maybe, killin' savages as well, which would be of no manner of use, d'ye see. I can only die once, you know, so I advise ye to give it up, an' leave the whole matter in the hands of Providence."

"Not at all," said Squill stoutly. "It's my opinion that when they've kilt you, Grummidge, they'll be like tigers when they've tasted blood: they'll want to kill the rest of us. No; I've made up me mind to bolt, and, if need be, fight, an' so has all the rest on us--so heave ahead, cappen, an' tell us what we've got to do."

"Well, boys, here it is," said the captain. "You see this weapon." He took up the heavy bludgeon that Oliver had made for himself on commencing his travels in Newfoundland. "Well, I've brought this here every time I've come just to get the two sentries accustomed to see me with it. This is your last night on earth, Grummidge, so I'm goin' to pay you an extra visit about midnight, by way of sayin' farewell. As I pa.s.s the sentries--who are quite used to me now--I'll fetch the first one I come to such a crack with this here that he will give no alarm.

Before the other has time to wink I'll treat him to the same. It's a mean sort o' thing to do, but necessity has no law, so I've made up my mind to go through with it."

"It'll be a bad look-out if you do," said Grummidge.

"It'll be a worse look-out if I don't," replied the captain. "Then, when that's done," he continued, "I'll cut your lashin's, an' we'll crowd all sail for the woods, where I have already concealed some arms an' dried deer's-meat, an' if we can't get fair off and make for the east coast, we'll get on the top o' some mound or rock an' show these Redskins what English seamen can do when they're hard pressed."

"Not to mintion Irish wans!" said Squill.

"An' have Master Paul an' Hendrick agreed to fall in wi' this mad plan?"

asked Grummidge.

"No, I can't say they have. To say truth, considerin' that Hendrick's a relation o' the Redskins an' that Master Paul is his friend, I thought it best to say nothing to them about it. So I'll--"

He was interrupted here by the sudden entrance of Hendrick and Paul themselves, accompanied by Bearpaw and the sentries. To one of the latter the chief gave an order, and the man, drawing his knife, advanced to Grummidge. The seaman instinctively shrank from him, but was agreeably surprised on having his bonds cut. The others having also been liberated, the chief said:--

"My pale-faced brothers are free."

"Yes, lads," said Paul, heartily grasping Grummidge by the hand. "G.o.d has sent deliverance at the eleventh hour--you are all free."

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE LAST.

The joy with which the news was received by our seamen and their friends was somewhat marred by the death of the poor girl who had unconsciously been the means of their deliverance. During several days there was profound grief in the Indian village, for Rising Sun had been a favourite with every one.

About this time one or two scattered bands of the party, which had gone to attack the paleface settlement, returned to the village, and when they found what had occurred in their absence, their enmity was turned into friendship, and general goodwill prevailed among all.

From the men just arrived Paul and his friends heard of the fate of poor Swinton and Jim Heron, but at the same time were relieved to find that none of the other seamen had been slain.

A grand council and palaver was held in front of Bearpaw's tent not long afterwards. It was a very grave and orderly council--one which would contrast favourably with many of our nineteenth century councils, for those savages had not at that time acquired the civilised capacity for open offhand misrepresentation, calumny, and personal abuse which is so conspicuous in these days, and which must be so gratifying to those who maintain that civilisation is the grand panacea for all the moral ills that flesh is heir to. Whether the Bethucks ever improved in this matter is not known, for history is silent on the point; but it is, perhaps, of little consequence, the Bethuck race having become extinct.

"It is now a matter for our consideration, my friends and warriors,"

said Bearpaw, in opening the palaver, "whether the palefaces are to spend the winter here and hunt with us, or to return to the Crooked Lake to stay with our kinsman, the white hunter, and his wife, the sweet singer. Of course, my warriors know well that we could keep the palefaces by force just as easily as we could take their scalps, if we were so disposed; but Bearpaw is not a tyrant. He will not inflict kindness on his friends. His heart is great. It swells within him.

Something inside of him whispers, `Let them do as they please.' That must be right, for if circ.u.mstances were reversed, it would be right to let Bearpaw do as he pleases."

The chief paused and looked sternly round, as if to say, "Contradict that if you dare!" Possibly he felt that the "something inside of him"

might have stated the golden rule more simply. Returning to the point, he continued--

"Bearpaw is glad that Rising Sun came home before he killed the palefaces, for her words have saved their lives. He is also glad that the friends of the palefaces came, for they have taught him wisdom.

They have shown him that he was going to act in haste; they have told him that the Great Spirit orders all events here, and the Great Spirit himself has proved the truth of what they said; for, when Bearpaw refused to believe the palefaces, He sent Rising Sun to confirm their words, and to convince Bearpaw that he was wrong."

Again the chief paused, and looked round upon his men, some of whom appeared to dissent from what he said in condemnation of himself by slightly shaking their heads.

"Bethuck warriors," continued the chief, "have often told Bearpaw that he is wise. Bearpaw now tells his warriors that they are fools--fools for telling their chief that he is wise! If he had been wise he would not have come so near to shedding the blood of innocent men; but the Great Spirit prevented him. If the Great Spirit had not prevented him, still that would have been right, for the Great Spirit cannot do wrong, and He is not bound to give explanations to his creatures; though, doubtless, we will do it in the end. The heart of Bearpaw is grateful to his paleface brothers, and he would be glad if they will stay to hunt over his lands and palaver in his wigwam during the winter; but if they prefer to go, they may do as they please. Waugh! Bearpaw has spoken."

The chief sat down with emphasis, as if he felt that he had done his duty, and his men uttered a decided "Ho!" of approval.