CHAPTER X
THE SLOOP OF WAR
Robert ate a light breakfast and went out to look at his domain, nowunsullied. What a fine, trim, clean island it was! And how desirable tobe alone on it, when the Gulf and the Caribbean produced only suchvisitors as those who had come two nights before! He looked toward thelittle bay, fearing to see the topmast of the schooner showing its tipover the trees, but the sky there, an unbroken blue, was fouled by nosuch presence. He was rid of the pirates--and forever he hoped.
It seemed to him that he had passed through an epic time, one of thegreat periods of his life. He wondered now how he had been able to carryout such a plan, how he had managed to summon up courage and resourcesenough, and he felt that the good spirits of earth and air and watermust have been on his side. They had fought for him and they had won forhim the victory.
He shouldered his rifle and strolled through the woods toward the beach.He had never noticed before what a fine forest it was. The trees werenot as magnificent as those of the northern wilderness, but they had abeauty very peculiarly their own, and they were his. There was not asingle other claimant to them anywhere in the world.
It was a noble beach too, smooth, sloping, piled with white sand,gleaming now in the sun, and the little frothy waves that ran up it andlapped at his feet, like puppies nibbling, were just the friendliestfrothy little waves in the world. But there were the remains of the fireleft by the ruffians to defile it, and broken bottles and broken foodwere scattered about. The litter hurt his eyes so much that he gatheredup every fragment, one by one, and threw them into the sea. When thelast vestige of the foul invasion was cleared away he felt that he hadhis lonely, clean island back again, and he was happy.
He strolled up and down the glistening beach, feeling a great content.After a while, he threw off his clothes and swam in the invigoratingsea, keeping well inside the white line of the breakers, in those watersinto which the sharks did not come. When he had sunned himself again onthe sand he went to the creek, took his dinghy from the bushes, where ithad been so well hidden, and rowed out to sea, partly to feel the springof the muscles in his arms, and partly to sit off at a distance and lookat his island. Surely if one had to be cast away that was the veryisland on which he would choose to be cast! Not too big! Not too hot!And not too cold! Without savage man or savage beasts, but with plentyof wild cattle for the taking, and good fish in the lakes, and in theseas about it. Plenty of stores of all kinds from the slaver's schooner,even books to read. So far from being unfortunate he was one of thelucky. A period of retirement from the companionship of his own kindmight be trying on the spirit, but it also meant meditation and mentalgrowth.
His joy over the departure of the pirates was so great and histemperament was such that he felt a mighty revulsion of the spirits. Hehad a period of extravagant elation. He took off his cap and saluted hisisland. He made little speeches of glowing compliment to it, he calledit the pearl of its kind, the choicest gem of the Gulf or the Caribbean,and, if pirates came again while he was there, he would drive them awayonce more with the aid of the good spirits.
He rowed back, hid his boat in the old covert among the bushes at theedge of the creek, and, rifle on shoulder, started through the foresttoward his peak of observation. On the way, he passed the lake and sawthe herd of wild cattle grazing there, the old bull at its head. The bigfellow, assured now by use and long immunity, cocked his head on oneside and regarded him with a friendly eye. But the bull had a terriblesurprise. He heard the sharp ping of a rifle and a fearful yell. Then hesaw a figure capering in wild gyrations, and thinking that this humanbeing whom he had learned to trust must have gone mad, he forgot to beangry, but was very much frightened. Enemies he could fight, but madcreatures he dreaded, and, bellowing hoarsely to his convoy, as asignal, he took flight, all of them following him, their tails streamingstraight out behind them, so fast they ran.
Robert leaped and danced as long as one of them was in sight. When thelast streaming tail had disappeared in the bushes he sobered down. Herealized that he had given his friend, the bull, a great shock. In away, he had been guilty of a breach of faith, and he resolved toapologize to him in some fashion the next time they met. Yet he had beenso exultant that it was impossible not to show it, and he was only a ladin years.
When he reached the crest of his peak he scanned the sea on all sides.Eagerly as he had looked before for a sail he now looked to see thatthere was none. Around and around the circle of the horizon his eyestraveled, and when he assured himself that no blur broke the bright lineof sea and sky his heart swelled with relief.
In a day or so, his mind became calm and his thoughts grew sober. Thenhe settled down to his studies. The battle of life occupied only a smallportion of his time, and he resolved to put the hours to the best use.He pored much over Shakespeare, the other Elizabethans and the KingJames Bible, a copy of which was among the books. It was his intentionto become a lawyer, an orator, and if possible a statesman. He knew thathe had the gift of speech. His mind was full of thoughts and wordsalways crowded to his lips. It was easy enough for him to speak, but hemust speak right. The thoughts he wished to utter must be clothed in theright kind of words arranged in the right way, and he resolved that itshould be so.
The way in which men thought and the way in which their thoughts wereput in the Bible and the great Elizabethans fascinated him. That was theway in which he would try to think, and the way in which he would try toput his thoughts. So he recited the noble passages over and over again,he memorized many of them, and he listened carefully to himself as hespoke them, alike for the sense and the music and power of the words.
It was then perhaps that he formed the great style for which he was sofamous in after years. His vocabulary became remarkable for its range,flexibility and power, and he developed the art of selection. His rivalseven were used to say of him that he always chose the best word. Helearned there on the island that language was not given to man merelythat he might make a noise, but that he might use it as a great marksmanuses a rifle.
Work and study together filled his days. They kept far from him also anyfeeling of despair. He had an abiding faith that a ship of the rightkind would come in time and take him away. He must not worry about it.It was his task now to fit himself for the return, to prove to hisfriends when he saw them once more that all the splendid opportunitiesoffered to him on the island had not been wasted.
Almost unconsciously, he began to reason more deeply, to look furtherinto the causes of things, and his mind turned particularly to thepresent war. The more he thought about it the greater became hisconviction that England and the colonies were bound to win. Courage andnumbers, resources and tenacity must prevail even over great initialmistakes. Duquesne and Ticonderoga would be brushed away as mere eventsthat had no control over destiny.
He remembered Bigot's ball in Quebec that Willet and Tayoga and he hadattended. It came before him again almost as vivid as reality. Herealized now in the light of greater age and experience how it typifieddecadence. A power that was rotten at the top, where the brain shouldbe, could never defeat one that was full of youthful ardor and strength,sound through and through, awkward and ill directed though that strengthmight be. The young French leaders and their soldiers were valiant,skillful and enduring--they had proved it again and again on sanguinaryfields--but they could not prevail when they had to receive orders froma corrupt and reckless court at Versailles, and, above all when they hadto look to that court for help that never came.
His reading of the books in the slaver's chest told him that folly andcrime invariably paid the penalty, if not in one way then in another,and he remembered too some of the ancient Greek plays, over which he hadtoiled under the stern guidance of Master Alexander McLean. Their burdenwas the certainty of fate. You could never escape, no matter how youwrithed, from what you did, and those old writers must have told thetruth, else men would not be reading and studying them two thousandyears after they were dead. Only truth could last twent
y centuries.Bigot, Cadet, Pean, and the others, stealing from France and Canada andspending the money in debauchery, could not be victorious, despite allthe valor of Montcalm and St. Luc and De Levis and their comrades.
He remembered, too, the great contrast between Quebec and New York thathad struck him when he arrived at the port at the mouth of the Hudsonwith the hunter and the Onondaga. The French capital in Canada was allof the state; it was its creature. If the state declined, it declined,there was little strength at the roots, little that sprang from thesoil, but in New York, which men already forecast as the metropolis ofthe New World, there was strength everywhere. It might be a sprawlingtown. There might be no courtliness to equal the courtliness at theheart of Quebec, but there was vigor, vigor everywhere. The people wereeager, restless, curious, always they worked and looked ahead.
He saw all these things very clearly. Silence, loneliness and distancegave a magnificent perspective. Facts that were obscured when he wasnear at hand, now stood out sharp and true. His thoughts in this periodwere often those of a man double his age. His iron health too remained.His was most emphatically the sound mind in the sound body, each helpingthe other, each stimulating the other to greater growth.
It was a fact, however, that the Onondaga belief, peopling the air andall sorts of inanimate objects with spirits, grew upon him; perhaps itis better to say that it was a feeling rather than a belief. Accordingto Tayoga the good spirits fought with the bad, and on his island thegood had prevailed. They had told him that a ship was coming, and thenthey had warned him that it would be a ship of pirates. They had shownhim how to drive away the ruffians. His inspiration had not been hisown, it had come from them and he thankfully acknowledged it.
He told himself now as he went about his island that he heard the goodspirits singing among the leaves and he told it to himself so often thathe ended by believing it. It was such a pleasant and consoling belieftoo. He listened to hear them say that he would leave the island whenthe time was ripe and his imagination was now so extraordinarily vividthat what he expected to hear he heard. The spirits assured him thatwhen the time came to go he would go. They did not tell him exactly whenhe would go, but that could not be asked. No one must anticipate acomplete unveiling of the future. It was sufficient that intimationscame out of it now and then.
It was this feeling, amounting to a conviction, that bore him up on ashield of steel. It soothed the natural impatience of his youth andtemperament. Why grieve over not going when he knew that he would go?Yet, a long time passed and there was no sail upon the sea, though thefact failed to shake his faith. Often he climbed his peak of observationand studied the circling horizon through the glasses, only to findnothing, but he was never discouraged. There was never any fall of thespirits. No ship showed, but the ship that was coming might even then beon the way. She had left some port, probably one in England, notdreaming that it was a most important destiny and duty of hers to pickup a lone lad cast away on an island in the Gulf or the Caribbean--atleast it was most important to him.
Now came a time of storms that seemed to him to portend a change in theseasons. The island was swept by wind and rain, but he liked to belashed by both. He even went out in the dinghy in storms, though he keptinside the reefs, and fought with wave and undertow and swell, until,pleasantly exhausted, he retreated to the beach, drawing his little boatafter him, where he watched the sea, vainly struggling to reach the onewho had defied it. It was after such contests that he felt strongest ofthe spirit, ready to challenge anything.
He plunged deeper and deeper into his studies, striving to understandeverything. The intensity of his application was possible only becausehe was alone. Forced to probe, to examine and to ponder, his mindacquired new strength. Many things which otherwise would have beenobscure to him became plain. Looking back upon his own eventful lifesince that meeting with St. Luc and Tandakora in the forest, he wasbetter able to read motives and to understand men. The reason why AdrianVan Zoon wished him to vanish must be money, because only money could bepowerful enough to make such a man risk a terrible crime. Well, he wouldhave a great score to settle with Van Zoon. He did not yet know just howhe would settle it, but he did not doubt that the day of reckoning wouldcome.
A cask of oil and several lanterns were among his treasures from theship, and, making use of them, he frequently read late at night, oftenwith the rain beating hard on walls and roof. Then it seemed to him thathis mind was clearest, and he resolved again and again that when hereturned to his own he would make full use of what he learned on theisland. It seemed to him sometimes that his being cast away was a pieceof luck and not a misfortune.
A clear day came, and, taking his rifle, he strolled toward his peak ofobservation, passing on the way the herd of wild cattle with the oldbull at its head. The big fellow looked at him suspiciously, as iffearing that his friend might be suffering from one of his mad spellsagain. But Robert's conduct was quite correct. He walked by in a quietand dignified manner, and, reassured, the bull went back to his task ofreducing the visible grass supply.
He saw nothing from the peak except the green island and the blue seaall about it, but there was a singing wind among the leaves and it waseasy for him to sit down on a rock and fall into a dreaming state. Thegood spirits were abroad, and it was their voices that he heard amongthe leaves. Their chant too was full of courage, hope and promise, andhis spirits lifted as he listened. They were watching over him, guardinghim from evil, and he felt, at last, that they were telling himsomething.
It is not always easy to know the exact burden of a song, even if it isuplifting, and Robert listened a long time, trying to decipher exactlywhat the good spirits were saying to him. It was just such a song asthey sang to him before the pirate ship came, saving one strain and thatwas most important. There was no underlying note of warning. Hunt for itas he would, with his fullest power of hearing, he could detect no traceof it. Then he became convinced. Another ship was coming, and this timeit was no pirate craft.
He roused himself from his dreaming state and shook his head, but thevision did not depart. The ship was coming and it was for him to receiveit. The news of it had been written too deeply upon the sensitive plateof his brain to be effaced, and, as he walked back toward the house, itseemed to grow more vivid. He was too much excited to study that day,and he spent the time building a great heap of wood upon the beach. Evenif one were helped by good spirits he must do his own part. They mightbring the ship to the horizon's rim, but it was for him to summon itfrom there, and he would have a great bonfire ready.
The brilliance of the day departed in the afternoon, and it becameapparent that the season of rain and storm was not yet over. Cloudsmarched up in grim battalions from the south and west, rain came inswift puffs and then in long, heavy showers, the sea heaved, breakinginto great waves and the surf dashed fiercely on the sharp teeth of therocks.
Robert's spirits fell. This was not the way in which a rescuing shipshould come, under a somber sky and before driving winds. Perhaps he hadread the voices of the spirits wrong, or at least the ship, instead ofcoming now, was coming at some later time, a month or two months awaymaybe. He watched through the rest of the afternoon, hoping that theclouds would leave, but they only thickened, and, long before the timeof sunset, it was almost as dark as night. He was compelled to remain inthe shelter of the house, and, in a state of deep depression, he ate hissupper without appetite.
The storm was one of the fiercest he had seen while on the island. Therain drove in sheets, beating upon the walls and roof of the house likehail, and the wind kept up a continuous whistling and screaming. All thewhile the house trembled over him. Nor was there any human voice in thewind. The good spirits, if such existed, would not dare the storm, buthad retreated to cover. All the illusion was gone, he was just a lonelyboy on a lonely island, listening to the wrath of a hurricane, a shipmight or might not come, most probably never, or if it did it would beanother pirate.
The storm did not seem to abate as the eve
ning went on, perhaps it wasthe climax of the season. Tired of hearing its noise he lay down on hiscouch and at last fell asleep. He was awakened from slumber by an impactupon the drum of his ear like a light blow, but, sitting up, he realizedthat it was a sound. The storm had not abated. He heard the beat of windand rain as before, but he knew it was something else that had arousedhim. The noise of the storm was regular, it was going on when he fellasleep, and it had never ceased while he slept. This was somethingirregular, something out of tune with it, and rising above it. Helistened intently, every nerve and pulse alive, body and mind at thehigh pitch of excitement, and then the sound came again, low butdistinct, and rising above the steady crash of the storm.
He knew the note. He had heard it often, too often on that terrible dayat Ticonderoga. It could be but one thing. It was the boom of a cannon,and it could come only from a ship, a ship in danger, a ship driven bythe storm, knowing nothing of either sea or island, sending forth hersignal of distress which was also a cry for help.
It was his ship! The ship of rescue! But he must first rescue _it_! Nowhe heard the voices of the good spirits, the voices that had been silentall through the afternoon and evening, singing through the storm,calling to him, summoning him to action. He had not taken off hisclothes and he leaped from the couch, snatched up a lighted lantern,stuffed flint and steel in his pocket, and ran out into the wind andrain, of which he was now scarcely conscious.
The boom came to his ears a second time, off to the east, and nowdistinctly the report of a cannon. He waited a little, watching, and,when the report came a third time, he saw dimly the flash of the gun,but it was too dark for him to see anything of the ship. She was outsidethe reefs, how far he could not tell, but he knew by the difference inthe three reports that she was driving toward the island.
It was for him to save the unknown vessel that was to save him, and inthe darkness and storm he felt equal to the task. His soul leaped withinhim. His whole body seemed to expand. He knew what to do, and, quick aslightning, he did it. He ran at full speed through the woods, hislighted lantern swinging on his arm, and twice on the way he heard theboom of the cannon, each time a little nearer. The reports merely madehim run faster. Time was precious, and in the moment of utmost need hewas not willing to lose a second.
He reached the great heap of wood that he had built up on the beach,worked frantically with flint and steel, shielding the shavings at thebottom with his body, and quickly set fire to them. The blaze crackled,leaped and grew. He had built his pyramid so well, and he had selectedsuch inflammable material, that he knew, if the flames once took hold,the wind would fan them so fiercely the rain could not put them out.
Higher sprang the blaze, running to the crest of the pyramid, roaring inthe wind and then sending out defiant hissing tongues at the rain. Theboom of the cannon came once more, and, then by the light of hissplendid bonfire, he looked. There was the ship outside the reefs whichhis great pyramid of flame now enabled her to see. He shouted in hisjoy, and threw on more wood. If he could only build that pyramid highenough they would see the opening too and make for it.
He worked frantically, throwing on driftwood, the accumulation of manyyears, and the flames biting into every fresh log, roared and leapedhigher. The ship ceased to fire her signal guns, and now he saw, with agreat surge of joy, that she was beating up in the storm and trying forthe opening in the reef, her only chance, the chance that he had givenher. He had done his part and he could do no more but feed the fire.
As he threw on wood he watched. His pyramid of flame roared and threwout sparks in myriads. The ship, a sloop, was having a desperatestruggle with wind and wave, but his beacon was always there, showingher the way, and he never doubted for a moment that she would make thehaven. He was sure of it. It was a terrible storm, and there was afierce sea beating on the reefs, but a master mind was on the sloop, themind of a great sailor, and that mind, responding to his signal of thefire, the only one that could have been made, was steering the shipstraight for the opening in the reef.
His glasses were always in his pocket, and, remembering them now for thefirst time, he clapped them to his eyes. The sloop and her tracery ofmast and spars became distinct. He saw guns on the deck and men, men inuniform, and he could see well enough, a moment or two later, to tellthat they wore the uniform of Britain. His heart gave a wild throb. Thespirits in the air were good spirits, and the storm had never been ableto drive them away. They had been calling to him when he thought theywere silent, only he had not been able to hear them.
He gave a wild shout of joy that could be heard above the crash of thestorm. Triumph was assured. He was rescuing, and he would be rescued. Hedid not realize until that instant how eager he was to be taken from theisland, how he longed, with all his soul, to rejoin his own kind, to seehis friends again and to take a part in the great events that wereshaking the world. He uttered his wild shout over and over, and, inbetween, he laughed, laughed with a joy that he could not control.
The sloop entered the opening. It seemed to him that the rocks, thosefearful sharks' teeth, almost grazed her on either side, and his heartstood still, but she went safely past them, drew into the little harborwhere she was safe from the wildest storm that ever blew, droppedanchor, and was at rest.
Robert in his exultation had never permitted his fire to die down aninch. Rather he had made it grow higher and higher until it was a vastcore of light, throwing a red glare over the beach and the adjacentwaves, and sending off vast showers of sparks. But when the ship castanchor in her port he stood still before it, a dark figure, a perfectsilhouette outlined against a blazing background, and watched, while aboat was launched from the sloop.
He saw five figures descend into the boat. Four were sailors and one anofficer in uniform, and he knew well that they were coming to see him,the human being by the fire who had saved them. Pride was mingled withhis joy. If he had not been there the sloop and probably all on board ofher would have perished. It was touch and go, only a brief opportunityto save had been allowed him, but he had used it. So he raised himselfto his full height, straightened his clothes, for which he always hadrespect despite the storm, and waited on. He had a full sense of drama,and he felt that this was one of the most dramatic moments of his life.
The boat came up the beach on a wave, the men sprang out, held it as thewave retreated, and then dragged it after them until it was beyond thereach of invading water. Robert meanwhile never stirred, and the greatfire behind him enlarged his figure to heroic proportions.
The officer, young, handsome, in the British naval uniform, walkedforward, with the four sailors following in a close group behind, but hestopped again, and looked at the strange figure before him. Evidentlysomething in its pose, in its whole appearance, in truth, made anextraordinary impression upon him. He passed his hands before his eyesas if to make sure that it was no blur of the vision, and then he wentforward again, the sailors keeping close behind, as if they were in fearlest the figure prove to be supernatural.
"Who are you?" called the young officer.
"Robert Lennox, of Albany, the Province of New York, and thewilderness," replied Robert. "Welcome to my island."
His sense of drama was still strong upon him, and he replied in hisfullest and clearest voice. The officer stared, and then said:
"You've saved the ship and all our lives."
"I think that's what I was here for, though it's likely that you'vesaved me, too. What ship it that?"
"His Majesty's sloop of war, _Hawk_, Captain Stuart Whyte, fromBridgetown in the Barbadoes, for Boston."
Robert thrilled when he heard the word "Boston." It was not New York,but it was a port for home, nevertheless.
"Who are you?" continued the officer, on fire with curiosity. "You'vetold me your name, but what are you? and where are the other people ofthe island?"
"There are no other people. It's my island. I'm sole lord of the isle,and you're most welcome."
"You heard our signal guns?"
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p; "Aye, I heard 'em, but I knew before you fired a shot that you werecoming."
"'Tis impossible!"
"It's not! I knew it, though I can't explain how to you. Behold mybonfire! Do you think I could have built such a pyramid of wood betweenthe firing of your first shot and your coming into my harbor? No, I wasready and waiting for you."
"That's convincing."
"I repeat that I welcome you to Lennox Island. My house is but a shortdistance inland in a beautiful forest. I should like to receive CaptainWhyte there as an honored guest, and you, too."
"Your house?"
"Aye, my house. And it's well built and well furnished. You'd besurprised to know how much comfort it can offer."
The officer--a lieutenant--and the men, coming closer, inspected Robertwith the most minute curiosity. Lone men on desert islands were likelyto go insane, and it was a momentary thought of the officer that he wasdealing with some such unhappy creature, but Robert's sentences were toocrisp, and his figure too erect and trim for the thought to endure morethan a few seconds.
"It's raining heavily," he said, "and Captain Whyte will be glad to be aguest at your home later. I'll admit that for a moment I doubted theexistence of your house, but I don't now. Are you willing to go on boardthe _Hawk_ with us and meet Captain Whyte?"
"Gladly," replied Robert, who felt that his dramatic moment was beingprolonged. "The storm is dying now. Having done its worst against you,and, having failed, it seems willing to pass away."
"But we don't forget that you saved us," said the officer. "My name isLanham, John Lanham, and I'm a lieutenant on the _Hawk_."
The storm was, in truth, whistling away to the westward and its rage, sofar as Robert's island was concerned, was fully spent. The waves weresinking and the night was lightening fast. The sloop of war, heaving ather anchorage, stood up sharp and clear, and it seemed to Robert thatthere was something familiar in her lines. As he looked he was sure.Coincidence now and then stretches forth her long arm, and she hadstretched it now.
The sailors, when the sea died yet more, relaunched the boat. Lanham andRobert sprang in, and the men bent to the oars.
The Sun of Quebec: A Story of a Great Crisis Page 12