CHAPTER XV.
FORT ROYAL.
At first, huddled there together on the rocky spit of land, we stared atone another in dazed silence. It had been so sudden a transformationthat we could not comprehend it all at once. A moment before while thehorrid chorus of war-whoops rang in our ears we had each of us beenmarked out for death by tomahawk or bullet. Now our red enemies hadvanished as swiftly and noiselessly as the deer; there was no sound butthe droning chant of the rapids, and the singing of the birds in theforest trees.
But five of us were left; we had been eight that morning. As I thoughtof the three brave fellows we had lost, I made a vow that sooner orlater I would avenge them. Then I knelt beside Flora, and by comfortingwords sought to banish the look of frozen horror from her lovely face.Mrs. Gummidge had fainted, and her husband was dashing water on hertemples. Baptiste was wringing his dripping clothes and bemoaning theloss of his prized musket. We were all drenched to the skin, and itbehooved us to mend our sad plight as quickly as possible.
"Our lives are safe Gummidge," I said, rising, "and that is something tobe thankful for. We must have a fire to dry our clothes, and then wewill be off on foot for the fort. The canoe is at the bottom, andcrushed beyond repair."
"But why did those red varmints spare us?" Gummidge cried hoarsely."They melted away like chaff. What does it mean, Carew?"
"The leader of the Indians was Gray Moose," I replied. "I saved him froma grizzly last winter, and this was his way of paying the debt. Themoment he recognized me he called off his braves."
"Then they were not on the war-path against the company? There was awhite man with them."
"I know that," I answered, "and it was he who hired the savages."
I briefly explained my view of the situation to Gummidge, who was awareof all that had happened in Quebec.
"It is a clear case," I concluded, "and the motive was revenge and thecapture of Miss Hatherton. Mackenzie chose this spot so that he coulddrive us over the falls. No doubt he intended to kill all of us but thegirl."
By this time Mrs. Gummidge was sitting up, and the color was returningto her cheeks. Baptiste set to work with flint and steel to light afire, and meanwhile Gummidge and I waded through the shallows to theopposite side of the stream. To our surprise, we found Moralle lyingunconscious, but breathing. He had two ugly tomahawk wounds on the headand shoulder, but I judged that he had a fighting chance for life.Gardapie had gone to the bottom above the falls, and doubtless Lavigne'sbody had been sucked into one of the deep holes below, for wecould find no trace of it.
We called Baptiste over, and he helped to carry poor Moralle back. Weput him down by the fire, which was blazing cheerily, and Gummidgestarted to dress his wounds. Flora was standing alongside the flames.She was shivering with cold, and her face looked blue and pinched. Imade her swallow some brandy--I had a flask in my pocket--and the fieryliquor warmed her at once.
"Denzil, was Cuthbert Mackenzie with the Indians?" she asked.
"Yes," I admitted.
"We have not seen the last of him!" she cried. "He will come back."
"I only wish he would," I replied. "But don't be alarmed. You are quitesafe. We shall soon be at the fort."
"The fort!" she murmured. "Then we are near it?"
"Very near," said I. "It will be a couple of hours' tramp, and then--"
I was interrupted by a shout from Gummidge and Baptiste. Hearty cheersanswered them, and when I looked around I saw four men, with a big canoeon their shoulders, coming up the shore at a trot. And the foremost ofthem was the factor of Fort Royal.
Flora divined the truth instantly, and all her self-control could notprevent an agitated heaving of her bosom and a sudden pallor of thecheeks.
"Oh, Denzil, is it--" she began.
"Yes; it is Griffith Hawke," I broke in savagely.
"Be brave!" she whispered. "Our paths lie apart--do not make it harderfor me."
Our eyes met in a look that spoke volumes, and then there was a suddenuproar as the factor and his companions joined our party. I heard myname called and soon Griffith Hawke's hand was locked in mine and he waspouring out a torrent of eager words.
"And is this Miss Hatherton, my boy?" he asked suddenly.
I introduced him briefly and he made her a low and respectful bow. Whathe said to Flora or how she greeted him I do not know. But as I turnedon my heel I stole a glance at the girl and I saw that she wasstruggling hard to keep her composure. The sun was shining brightly butthe world looked dark and black to my eyes.
As soon as the excitement of the meeting was over Gummidge and I gavethe factor a coherent story of our adventures; and the narrative broughta grave and troubled expression to his face.
"I will speak of these matters later," he said. "The first thing is toget back to the fort. The wounded voyageur needs immediate attention. Mycanoe is a large one and will hold us all."
"But where were you bound?" I asked. "To Fort York? You sent word thatyou were not coming."
"Yes; but affairs grew more quiet," Hawke replied, "and I concluded thatI could be spared for a week or two. I was on my way to meet you,Denzil, and it is fortunate that we did not miss each other."
A few moments later we were all tucked into the canoe. Moralle was stillunconscious, and the paddles of the voyageurs swept us down the foamingcurrent of the Churchill River. It was shortly after noon when onturning a bend we saw below us the towers and palisades, the waving flagof the Hudson Bay Company's post of Fort Royal. Since I had last seen itmonths before what a change had come into my life! It was a sad andbitter home-coming for me.
So our journey through the wilderness ended and now there was a lullbefore the threatened storm broke in all its fury--before the curtainrose on new scenes of excitement and adventure. I will pass briefly onto the things that followed soon after our arrival at the fort, theevents that far surpassed in tragedy and bloodshed, in sorrow andsuffering, all that had happened previously; but first I must give thereader a peep at a northern Hudson Bay Company's post as it was in thoseremote days--as it exists at the present time with but few changes.
Fort Royal was a fair type of them all though it was much smaller thansome. It was built mostly of heavy timbers and stood in a littleclearing close to the river. The stockade was about six feet high, andhad two corner towers for lookout purposes. Inside, arranged like theletter L, were the various buildings--the factor's house, those of thelaborers, mechanics, hunters and other employees; a log hut for theclerks; the storehouses where were kept the furs, skins and pelts, andthe Indian trading house where the bartering was done. Some smallerbuildings--the icehouse, the powder house and a sort of stable for thecanoes--completed the number.
Nearly every man had a little bedroom meagerly furnished with picturesfrom old illustrated papers adorning the walls. The living room wherethey sat at night or on off days, yarning, smoking, and drinking, was agreat hall. A big table in the center was strewn with pipes and tobacco,books and writing materials; on the walls hung muskets and fishingtackle. All the houses had double doors and windows; and in the wintertremendous stoves were kept burning. The food varied according to theseason, ranging from pemmican and moose-muffle--which is the nose of themoose--to venison and beaver, many kinds of fowl, and fresh and saltedfish.
A word as to the Indian trading house. It was divided into two rooms,the inner and larger one containing the stores--blankets, scalpingknives, flints, twine, beads, needles, guns, powder and shot and otherthings too numerous to mention. To the outer room the Indians enteredand through a square iron-barred hole they passed their furs and pelts,receiving in exchange little wooden castors, with which they purchasedwhatever they wanted.
Fort Royal, as I have said, was not so large as some. It held at thistime about forty men, all trusty, good-hearted fellows. It was regardedas an impregnable post; but little did any of us dream how soon our flagwould be lowered amid scenes of flame and shot, of carnage and panic.<
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The Cryptogram: A Story of Northwest Canada Page 15