The Crew of the Water Wagtail Part 9

"True, Master Trench," remarked Paul, for the seaman had paused at this point; "thus far you and I think alike. What more have you to say?"

"This I have to say, that I am resolved not to explore another fathom o'

this land until I can make sure of hittin' the crown o' my cap with a cross-bow bolt at a reasonable distance; and I would advise you both to make the same resolution, for if you don't you will have to do your exploring without me."

"Just so, captain," said Paul, putting the last morsel of fish into his mouth, with a sigh of contentment; "you are commander of this expedition. I will obey orders."

"But what do you call a `reasonable' distance, daddy?" asked Oliver, with that pert c.o.c.k of the head peculiar to insolent youths; "a yard, or a fathom?"

"Well, now," continued Trench, ignoring the question, "we will set about it to-morrow morning, first thing after breakfast; stick up a target, retire to a _reasonable_ distance, and work away from morning till night, and every day till we become perfect."

"Agreed, captain," said Paul; "but what about food?"

"We will give Olly leave of absence for an hour or two daily to go and fish," said the captain; "that will keep us alive, coupled with what birds or beasts may come accidentally in front of our arrows."

This plan, although proposed at first half in jest, was carried into operation next day, during the whole of which they practised shooting at a mark most diligently. At supper-time, over a couple of fine trout, it was admitted sadly by each that the progress made was very slight-- indeed, scarcely perceptible. Next night, however, the report was more favourable, and the third night it was felt that the prospect ahead was becoming hopeful; for, besides the improvement in shooting, two rabbits graced their supper, one having been arrested by an almost miraculous bolt when bolting; the other having been caught, unintentionally, by a stone similar to that which brought down the giant of Gath. The fact that skill had nothing to do with the procuring of either did not in the least detract from the enjoyment with which they consumed both.

"Nothing is denied," they say, "to well-directed labour, and nothing can be done without it." Like most of the world's maxims, this is a partially erroneous statement; for many things are denied to well-directed labour, and sometimes amazing success is accorded to ill-directed and blundering efforts. Still, what truth does exist in the saying was verified by our three friends; for, after two weeks of unremitting, unwearied, persistent labour, each labourer succeeded in raising enormous blisters on two fingers of his right hand, and in hitting objects the size of a swan six times out of ten, at a "reasonable distance!"

Having arrived at this state of proficiency with their weapons, they resumed their journey, fortified with a hearty breakfast, the foundation of which was fish, the superstructure willow-grouse interspersed with rabbit, and the apex plover.

Not long after that the first deer was shot. It occurred thus:--

They were walking one beautiful morning slowly along one of the numerous deer-tracks of which we have already made mention, and were approaching the summit of a ridge at the very time that a herd of deer, headed by a n.o.ble stag, were ascending the same ridge from the opposite side. The little air that moved was blowing in the right direction--from the deer towards the travellers. As they topped the ridge about the same instant, the two parties stood suddenly face to face, and it would be difficult to determine which party looked most amazed.

Facility in fitting arrows, etcetera, had been acquired by that time.

The hunters were ready in a couple of seconds. The deer, recovering, wheeled about; but before they could take the first bound, "burr, tw.a.n.g, and whizz," sounded in their ears. The stone struck an antler of the stag, the arrow pierced his flank, the bolt quivered in his heart, and the monarch of the woods, leaping wildly into the air, fell dead upon the ground.

"Well done, Master Trench!" shouted Paul, with a hearty cheer. As for Oliver, he uttered a squeal of delight, threw an uncontrollable somersault, and landed, sittingwise, on a bed of soft moss.

This was a tremendous triumph and source of jubilation, and it soon became obvious to each that the other two had a hard struggle to keep their expressions of satisfaction within the limits of moderation; for not only had they now obtained the crowning evidence of their skill, but they were provided with a supply of meat which, if properly dried, would furnish them with food for many days to come.

It was a striking and picturesque, though perhaps not an agreeable, sight to witness the party that night, in the ruddy light of the camp-fire, with sleeves rolled to the shoulders, and b.l.o.o.d.y knives in hands, operating on the carcase of the deer, and it was several hours past their usual supper-time before they felt themselves at liberty to sit down on a bed of spruce-fir branches and enjoy the luxury of rest and food.

Next day, while proceeding slowly through the woods, chatting merrily over the incidents of the previous day, a sudden silence fell upon them; for out of the thick shrubbery there stalked a tall, n.o.ble-looking man of middle age. He was dressed in the garb of a hunter. Long yellow curls hung on his shoulders, and a heavy beard and moustache of the same colour concealed the lower part of a bronzed and handsome countenance.

His bright blue eyes seemed to sparkle with good humour as he gazed inquiringly, yet sadly, at the astonished faces of the three travellers.

CHAPTER NINE.

THEIR NEW ACQUAINTANCE BECOMES INTERESTED AND PRACTICAL.

The tall stranger who had thus suddenly presented himself bore so strong a resemblance to the vikings of old that Paul Burns, who was familiar with tales and legends about the ancient sea-rovers, felt stealing over him at the first glance a sensation somewhat akin to awe, for it seemed as if one of the sea-kings had actually risen from his grave to visit them.

This feeling was succeeded, however, by one of intense surprise when the stranger addressed them in the English tongue.

"I thought, years ago," he said, "that I had seen the last of white faces!"

It immediately occurred to Oliver Trench that, as their faces were by that time deeply embrowned by the sun, the stranger must be in a bantering mood, but neither he nor his companions replied. They were too much astonished to speak or even move, and waited for more.

"This is not a land where the men whose ruling ideas seem to be war and gold are likely to find what they want," continued the stranger, somewhat sternly. "Whence come ye? Are you alone, or only the advance-guard of the bloodthirsty race?"

There was something so commanding as well as courtly in the tone and bearing of this extraordinary man, that Paul half involuntarily removed his cap as he replied:

"Forgive me, sir, if astonishment at your sudden appearance has made me appear rude. Will you sit down beside us and share our meal, while I answer your questions?"

With a quiet air and slight smile the stranger accepted the invitation, and listened with profound interest to Paul as he gave a brief outline of the wreck of the _Water Wagtail_, the landing of the crew, the mutinous conduct of Big Swinton and his comrades, and the subsequent adventures and wanderings of himself, Master Trench, and Oliver.

"Your voices are like the echoes of an old, old song," said the stranger, in a low sad voice, when the narrative was concluded. "It is many years since I heard my native tongue from English lips. I had forgotten it ere now if I had not taken special means to keep it in mind."

"And pray, good sir," said Paul, "may I ask how it happens that we should find an Englishman in this almost unheard-of wilderness? To tell you the truth, my first impression on seeing you was that you were the ghost of an ancient sea-king."

"I am the ghost of my former self," returned the stranger, "and you are not far wrong about the sea-kings, for I am in very truth a descendant of those rovers who carried death and destruction round the world in ancient times. War and gold--or what gold represents--were their G.o.ds in those days."

"It seems to me," said Captain Trench, at last joining in the conversation, "that if you were in Old England just now, or any other part of Europe, you'd say that war and gold are as much worshipped now-a-days as they ever were in the days of old."

"If you add love and wine to the catalogue," said Paul, "you have pretty much the motive powers that have swayed the world since the fall of man.

But tell us, friend, how you came to be here all alone."

"Not now--not now," replied the stranger hurriedly, and with a sudden gleam in his blue eyes that told of latent power and pa.s.sion under his calm exterior. "When we are better acquainted, perhaps you shall know.

At present, it is enough to say that I have been a wanderer on the face of the earth for many years. For the last ten years my home has been in this wilderness. My native land is one of those rugged isles which form the advance-guard of Scotland in the Northern Ocean."

"But are you quite alone here?" asked Captain Trench, with increasing interest.

"Not quite alone. One woman has had pity on me, and shares my solitude.

We dwell, with our children, on an island in a great lake, to which I will conduct you if you will accept my hospitality. Red men have often visited me there, but I had thought that the face of a white man would never more grieve my sight."

"Is, then, the face of the white man so distasteful to you?" asked Paul.

"It _was_; but some change must have come over me, for while I hold converse with you the old hatred seems melting away. If I had met you eight or ten years ago, I verily believe that I would have killed you all in cold blood, but now--"

He stopped abruptly, and gazed into the flames of the camp-fire, with a grave, almost tender air that seemed greatly at variance with his last murderous remark.

"However, the feeling is past and gone--it is dead," he presently resumed, with a toss of his head which sent the yellow curls back, and appeared at the same time to cast unpleasant memories behind him, "and I am now glad to see and welcome you, though I cannot help grieving that the white race has discovered my lonely island. They might have discovered it long ago if they had only kept their ears open."

"Is it a big island, then--not a cl.u.s.ter of islands?" asked Trench eagerly.

"Yes, it is a large island, and there is a great continent of unknown extent to the westward of it."

"But what do you mean, stranger, by saying that it might have been discovered long ago if people had kept their ears open?" asked Paul.

"It is well known that only a few years ago a sea-captain named Columbus discovered the great continent of which you speak, and that so recently as the year 1497 the bold mariner, John Cabot, with his son Sebastian, discovered these islands, which they have named Newfoundland."

The stranger listened with evident interest, not unmingled with surprise, to this.

"Of Columbus and Cabot I have never heard," he replied, "having had no intercourse with the civilised world for twenty years. I knew of this island and dwelt on it long before the time you say that Cabot came.

But that reminds me that once, on returning from a hunting expedition into the interior, it was reported to me by Indians that a giant canoe had been seen off the coast. That may have been Cabot's ship. As to Columbus, my forefathers discovered the great continent lying to the west of this about five hundred years before he could have been born.

When I was a boy, my father, whose memory was stored with innumerable sc.r.a.ps of the old viking sagas, or stories, used to tell me about the discovery of Vinland by the Nors.e.m.e.n, which is just the land that seems to have been re-discovered by Columbus and Cabot. My father used to say that many of the written sagas were believed to exist among the colonists of Iceland. I know not. It is long since my thoughts ceased to be troubled by such matters, but what you tell me has opened up the flood-gates of old memories that I had thought were dead and buried for ever."