CHAPTER XII
THE SLAVER
Robert spent more days in New York, and they were all pleasant. Hisown handsome face and winning manner would have made his way anywhere,but it became known universally that a great interest was taken in himby Mr. Benjamin Hardy, who was a great figure in the city, a man notto be turned lightly into an enemy. It also seemed that some mysteryenveloped him--mystery always attracts--and the lofty and noble figureof the young Onondaga, who was nearly always by his side, heightenedthe romantic charm he had for all those with whom he came incontact. Both Hardy and Willet urged him to go wherever he was askedby the great, and clothes fitted to such occasions were providedpromptly.
"I am not able to pay for these," said Robert to Willet when he wasbeing measured for the first of his fine raiment.
"Don't trouble yourself about it," said the hunter, smiling, "I havesufficient to meet the bills, and I shall see that all your tailorsare reimbursed duly. Some one must always look after a man offashion."
"I wish I knew more than I do," said Robert in troubled tones,"because I've a notion that the money with which you will pay mytailor comes from the till of Master Benjamin Hardy. It's uncommonstrange that he does so much for me. I'm very grateful, but surelythere must be some motive behind it."
He glanced at Willet to see how he took his words, but the huntermerely smiled, and Robert knew that the smile was a mask through whichhe could not penetrate.
"Take the goods the gods provide thee," said the hunter.
"I will," said Robert, cheerfully, "since it seems I can't do anythingelse."
And he did. His response to New York continued to be as vigorous as ithad been to Quebec, and while New York lacked some of the brilliancy,some of the ultimate finish that, to his mind, had distinguishedQuebec, it was more solid, there was more of an atmosphere ofresource, and it was all vastly interesting. Charteris proved himselfa right true friend, and he opened for him whatever doors he cared toenter that Mr. Hardy may have left unlocked. He was also thrown muchwith Grosvenor, and the instinctive friendship between the two ripenedfast.
On the fifth day of his stay in New York a letter came out of thewilderness from Wilton at Fort Refuge. It had been brought by anOneida runner to Albany, and was sent thence by post to New York.
Wilton wrote that time would pass rather heavily with them in thelittle fortress, if the hostile Indians allowed it. Small bands nowinfested that region, and the soldiers were continually making marchesagainst them. The strange man, whom they called Black Rifle, was ofvast help, guiding them and saving them from ambush.
Wilton wrote that he missed Philadelphia, which was certainly thefinest city outside of Europe, but he hoped to go back to it, seasonedand improved by life in the woods. New York, where he supposed Robertnow to be, was an attractive town, in truth, a great port, but it hadnot the wealth and cultivation of Philadelphia, as he hoped to showRobert some day. Meanwhile he wished him well.
Robert smiled. He had pleasant memories of Wilton, Colden, Carson andthe others, and while he was making new friends he did not commit thecrime of forgetting old ones. It was his hope that he should meet themall again, not merely after the war, but long before.
In his comings and goings among the great of their day Robert kept akeen eye for the vision of St. Luc. He half hoped, half feared thatsome time in the twilight or the full dusk of the night he would seein some narrow street the tall figure wrapped in its great cloak. Butthe chevalier did not appear, and Robert felt that he had not reallycome as a spy upon the English army and its preparations. He must havegone, days since.
He met Adrian Van Zoon three times, that is, he was in the same roomwith him, although they spoke together only once. The merchant had inhis presence an air of detachment. He seemed to be one who continuallycarried a burden, and a stripling just from the woods could not longhave a place, either favorable or unfavorable, in his memory. Robertbegan to wonder if St. Luc had net been mistaken. What could a manborn and bred in France, and only in recent years an inhabitant ofCanada, know of Adrian Van Zoon of New York? What, above all, could heknow that would cause him to warn Robert against him? But this, likeall his other questions, disappeared in the enjoyments of themoment. Nature, which had been so kind in giving to him a vividimagination, had also given with it an intense appreciation. He likednearly everything, and nearly everybody, he could see a rosy mistwhere the ordinary man saw only a cloud, and just now New York was sokind to him that he loved it all.
A week in the city and he attended a brilliant ball given by WilliamWalton in the Walton mansion, in Franklin Square, then the mostelaborate and costly home in North America. It was like a greatEnglish country house, with massive brick walls and woodwork, allimported and beautifully carved. The staircase in particular made ofdark ebony was the wonder of its day, and, in truth, the wholeinterior was like that of a palace, instead of a private residence, atthat time, in America.
Robert enjoyed himself hugely. He realized anew how close was theblood relationship among all those important families, and he wasalready familiar with their names. The powerful sponsorship of Mr.Hardy had caused them to take him in as one of their number, and forthat reason he liked them all the more. He was worldly wise enoughalready to know that we are more apt to call a social circle snobbishwhen we do not belong to it. Now, he was a welcome visitor at the besthouses in New York, and all was rose to him.
Adrian Van Zoon, who had not only wealth but strong connections, wasthere, but, as on recent occasions he took no notice of Robert, untillate in the evening when the guests were dancing the latest Paris andLondon dances in the great drawing-room. Robert was resting for alittle space and as he leaned against the wall the merchant drew nearhim and addressed him with much courtesy.
"I fear, Mr. Lennox," he said, "that I have spoken to you ratherbrusquely, for which I offer many apologies. It was due, perhaps, tothe commercial rivalries of myself and Mr. Hardy, in whose house youare staying. It was but natural for me to associate you with him."
"I wish to be linked with him," said Robert, coldly. "I have a greatliking and respect for Mr. Hardy."
Mynheer Van Zoon laughed and seemed not at all offended.
"The answer of a lad, and a proper one for a lad," he said. "'Tis wellto be loyal to one's friends, and I must admit, too, that Mr. Hardy isa man of many high qualities, a fact that a rivalry in businessextending over many years, has proved to me. He and I cannot becomefriends, but I do respect him."
He had imparted some warmth to his tone, and his manner bore theappearance of geniality. Robert, so susceptible to courtesy in others,began to find him less repellent. He rejoined in the same politemanner, and Mynheer Van Zoon talked to him a little while as a busyman of middle age would speak to a youth. He asked him of hisexperiences at Quebec, of which he had heard some rumor, and Robert,out of the fullness of his mind, spoke freely on that subject.
"Is it true," asked Mynheer Van Zoon, "that David Willet in a duelwith swords slew a famous bravo?"
"It's quite true," replied Robert. "I was there, and saw it with myown eyes. Pierre Boucher was the man's name, and never was a deathmore deserved."
"Willet is a marvel with the sword."
"You knew him in his youth, Mynheer Van Zoon?"
"I did not say that. It is possible that I was thinking of some onewho had talked to me about him. But, whatever thought may have been inmy mind, David Willet and I are not likely to tread the same path. Irepeat, Master Lennox, that although my manner may have seemed to yousomewhat brusque in the past, I wish you well. Do you remain muchlonger in New York?"
"Only a few days, I think."
"And you still find much of interest to see?"
"Enough to occupy the remainder of my time. I wish to see a bit ofLong Island, but tomorrow I go to Paulus Hook to find one NicholasSuydam and to carry him a message from Colonel William Johnson, whichhas but lately come to me in the post. I suppose it will be easy toget passage across the Hudson."
"Plenty o
f watermen will take you for a fare, but if you are familiarwith the oars yourself it would be fine exercise for a strong youthlike you to row over and then back again."
"It's a good suggestion, as I do row, and I think I'll adopt it."
Mynheer Van Zoon passed on a moment or two later, and Robert, with hisextraordinary susceptibility to a friendly manner, felt a pleasantimpression. Surely St. Luc, who at least was an official enemy, didnot know the truth about Van Zoon! And if the Frenchman did happen tobe right, what did he have to fear in New York, surrounded by friends?
The evening progressed, but Mynheer Van Zoon left early, and then inthe pleasures of the hour, surrounded by youth and brightness, Robertforgot him, too. A banquet was served late, and there was such adisplay of silver and gold plate that the British officers themselvesopened their eyes and later wrote letters to England, telling of theamazing prosperity and wealth of New York, as proven by what they hadseen in the Walton and other houses.
Robert did not go back to the home of Mr. Hardy, until a very latehour, and he slept late the next day. When he rose he found that allexcept himself had gone forth for one purpose or another, but itsuited his own plan well, as he could now take the letter of ColonelWilliam Johnson to his friend, Master Nicholas Suydam, in PaulusHook. It was another dark, gloomy day, but clouds and cold had littleeffect on his spirits, and when he walked along the shore of the NorthRiver, looking for a boat, he met the chaff of the watermen withhumorous remarks of his own. They discouraged his plan to row himselfacross, but being proud of his skill he clung to it, and, havingdeposited two golden guineas as security for its return, he selected asmall but strong boat and rowed into the stream.
A sharp wind was blowing in from the sea, but he was able to managehis little craft with ease, and, being used to rough water, he enjoyedthe rise and dip of the waves. A third of the way out and he pausedand looked back at New York, the steeple of St. George's showingabove the line of houses. He could distinguish from the mass otherbuildings that he knew, and his heart suddenly swelled with affectionfor this town, in which he had received such a warm welcome. He wouldcertainly live here, when the wars were over, and he could settle downto his career.
Then he turned his eyes to the inner bay, where he saw the usualamount of shipping, sloops, schooners, brigs and every other kind ofvessel known to the times. Behind them rose the high wooded shores ofStaten Island, and through the channel between it and Long IslandRobert saw other ships coming in. Truly, it was a noble bay,apparently made for the creation of a great port, and already busy manwas putting it to its appointed use. Then he looked up the Hudson atthe lofty Palisades, the precipitous shores facing them, and his eyescame back to the stream. Several vessels under full sail were steeringfor the mouth of the Hudson, but he looked longest at a schooner,painted a dark color, and very trim in her lines. He saw two menstanding on her decks, and two or three others visible in her rigging.
Evidently she was a neat and speedy craft, but he was not there towaste his time looking at schooners. The letter of Colonel WilliamJohnson to Master Nicholas Suydam in Paulus Hook must be delivered,and, taking up his oars, he rowed vigorously toward the hamlet on theJersey shore.
When he was about two-thirds of the way across he paused to look backagain, but the air was so heavy with wintry mists that New York didnot show at all. He was about to resume the oars once more when thesound of creaking cordage caused him to look northward. Then heshouted in alarm. The dark schooner was bearing down directly uponhim, and was coming very swiftly. A man on the deck whom he took to bethe captain shouted at him, but when Robert, pulling hard, shot hisboat ahead, it seemed to him that the schooner changed her coursealso.
It was the last impression he had of the incident, as the prow of theschooner struck his boat and clove it in twain. He jumpedinstinctively, but his head received a glancing blow, and he did notremember anything more until he awoke in a very dark and closeplace. His head ached abominably, and when he strove to raise a handto it he found that he could not do so. He thought at first that itwas due to weakness, a sort of temporary paralysis, coming from theblow that he dimly remembered, but he realized presently that hishands were bound, tied tightly to his sides.
He moved his body a little, and it struck against wood on eitherside. His feet also were bound, and he became conscious of a swayingmotion. He was in a ship's bunk and he was a prisoner of somebody. Hewas filled with a fierce and consuming rage. He had no doubt that hewas on the schooner that had run him down, nor did he doubt eitherthat he had been run down purposely. Then he lay still and by longstaring was able to make out a low swaying roof above him and verynarrow walls. It was a strait, confined place, and it was certainlydeep down in the schooner's hold. A feeling of horrible despair seizedhim. The darkness, his aching head, and his bound hands and feetfilled him with the worst forebodings. Nor did he have any way ofestimating time. He might have been lying in the bunk at least a week,and he might now be far out at sea.
In misfortune, the intelligent and imaginative suffer most becausethey see and feel everything, and also foresee further misfortunes tocome. Robert's present position brought to him in a glittering trainall that he had lost. Having a keen social sense his life in New Yorkhad been one of continuing charm. Now the balls and receptions thathe had attended at great houses came back to him, even more brilliantand vivid than their original colors had been. He remembered the manybeautiful women he had seen, in their dresses of silk or satin, withtheir rosy faces and powdered hair, and the great merchants and feudallandowners, and the British and American officers in their bright newuniforms, talking proudly of the honors they expected to win.
Then that splendid dream was gone, vanishing like a mist before awind, and he was back in the swaying darkness of the bunk, hands andfeet bound, and head aching. All things are relative. He felt now ifonly the cruel cords were taken off his wrists and ankles he could behappy. Then he would be able to sit up, move his limbs, and his headwould stop aching. He called all the powers of his will to hisaid. Since he could not move he would not cause himself any increaseof pain by striving to do so. He commanded his body to lie still andcompose itself and it obeyed. In a little while his head ceased toache so fiercely, and the cords did not bite so deep.
Then he took thought. He was still sure that he was on board theschooner that had run him down. He remembered the warning of St. Lucagainst Adrian Van Zoon, and Adrian Van Zoon's suggestion that he rowhis own boat across to Paulus Hook. But it seemed incredible. Amerchant, a rich man of high standing in New York, could not plan hismurder. Where was the motive? And, if such a motive did exist, a manof Van Zoon's standing could not afford to take so great a risk. Inspite of St. Luc and his faith in him he dismissed it as animpossibility. If Van Zoon had wished his death he would not havebeen taken out of the river. He must seek elsewhere the reason of hispresent state.
He listened attentively, and it seemed to him that the creaking andgroaning of the cordage increased. Once or twice he thought he heardfootsteps over his head, but he concluded that it was merely theimagination. Then, after an interminable period of waiting, the doorto the room opened and a man carrying a ship's lantern entered,followed closely by another. Robert was able to turn on his side andstare at them.
The one who carried the lantern was short, very dark, and had goldrings in his ears. Robert judged him to be a Portuguese. But hisattention quickly passed to the man behind him, who was much taller,rather spare, his face clean shaven, his hard blue eyes set closetogether. Robert knew instinctively that he was master of the ship.
"Hold up the lantern, Miguel," the tall man said, "and let's have alook at him."
The Portuguese obeyed.
Then Robert felt the hard blue eyes fastened upon him, but he raisedhimself as much as he could and gave back the gaze fearlessly.
"Well, how's our sailorman?" said the captain, laughing, and hislaughter was hideous to the prisoner.
"I don't understand you," said Robert.
"My me
aning is plain enough, I take it."
"I demand that you set me free at once and restore me to my friends inNew York."
The tall man laughed until he held his sides, and the short manlaughed with him, laugh for laugh. Their laughter so filled Robertwith loathing and hate that he would have attacked them both had hebeen unbound.
"Come now, Peter," said the captain at last. "Enough of your grandmanner. You carry it well for a common sailor, and old Nick himselfknows where you got your fine clothes, but here you are back amongyour old comrades, and you ought to be glad to see 'em."
"What do you mean?" asked the astonished Robert.
"Now, don't look so surprised. You can keep up a play too long. Youknow as well as we do that you're plain Peter Smith, an able youngsailorman, when you're willing, who deserted us in Baltimore threemonths ago, and you with a year yet to serve. And here's yourparticular comrade, Miguel, so glad to see you. When we ran your boatdown, all your own fault, too, Miguel jumped overboard, and he didn'tdream that the lad he was risking his life to save was his oldchum. Oh, 'twas a pretty reunion! And now, Peter, thank Miguel forbringing you back to life and to us."
A singular spirit seized Robert. He saw that he was at the mercy ofthese men, who utterly without scruple wished for some reason to holdhim. He could be a player too, and perhaps more was to be won by beinga player.
"I'm sorry," he said, "but I was tempted by the follies of the land,and I've had enough of 'em. If you'll overlook it and let the past beburied, captain, you'll have no better seaman than Peter Smith.You've always been a just but kind man, and so I throw myself on yourmercy."
The captain and Miguel exchanged astonished glances.
"I know you'll do it, captain," Robert went on in his most winningtones, "because, as I've just said, you've always been a kind man,especially kind to me. I suppose when I first signed with you that Iwas as ignorant and awkward a land lubber as you ever saw. But yourpatient teaching has made me a real sailor. Release me now, and Ithink that in a few hours I will be fit to go to work again."
"Cut the lashings, Miguel," said the captain.
Miguel's sharp knife quickly severed them, and Robert sat up in thebunk. When the blood began to flow freely in the veins, cut offhitherto, he felt stinging pains at first, but presently heavenlyrelief came. The captain and Miguel stood looking at him.
"Peter," said the captain, "you were always a lad of spirit, and I'mglad to get you back, particularly as we have such a long voyage aheadof us. One doesn't go to the coast of Africa, gather a cargo of slavesand get back in a day."
In spite of himself Robert could not repress a shudder of horror. Aslaver and he a prisoner on board her! He might be gone a year ormore. Never was a lad in worse case, but somewhere in him was a sparkof hope that refused to be extinguished. He gave a more imperioussummons than ever to his will, and it returned to his aid.
"You've been kind to Peter Smith. Few captains would forgive what I'vedone, but I'll try to make it up to you. How long are we out from NewYork?" he said.
"It might be an hour or it might be a day or what's more likely itmight be two days. You see, Peter, a lad who gets a crack on the headlike yours lies still and asleep for a long time. Besides, it don'tmake any difference to you how long we've been out. So, just you stayin your bunk a little while longer, and Miguel will bring yousomething to eat and drink."
"Thank you, captain. You're almost a father to me."
"That's a good lad, Peter. I am your father, I'm the father of all mycrew, and don't forget that a father sometimes has to punish hischildren, so just you stay in your bunk till you're bid to come out ofit."
"Thank you, captain. I wouldn't think of disobeying you. Besides, I'mtoo weak to move yet."
The captain and Miguel went out, and Robert heard them fastening thedoor on the outside. Then the darkness shut him in again, and he layback in his bunk. The spark of hope somewhere in his mind had grown alittle larger. His head had ceased to ache and his limbs werefree. The physical difference made a mental difference yetgreater. Although there seemed to be absolutely no way out, he wouldfind one.
The door was opened again, and Miguel, bearing the ship's lantern inone hand and a plate of food in the other, came in. It was rough foodsuch as was served on rough ships, but Robert sat up and looked at ithungrily. Miguel grinned, and laughed until the gold hoops in his earsshook.
"You, Peter Smith," he said. "Me terrible glad to see you again. Missmy old comrade. Mourn for him, and then when find him jump into thecold river to save him."
"It's true," said Robert, "it was a long and painful parting, but herewe are, shipmates again. It was good of you, Miguel, to risk your lifeto save me, and now that we've had so many polite interchanges,suppose you save me from starving to death and pass that plate offood."
"With ver' good will, Peter. Eat, eat with the great heartiness,because we have ver', ver' hard work before us and for a longtime. The captain will want you to do as much work in t'ree mont' ast'ree men do, so you can make up the t'ree mont' you have lost."
"Tell him I'm ready. I've already confessed all my sins to him."
"He won't let you work as sailor at first. He make you help me in thecook's galley."
"I'm willing to do that too. You know I can cook. You'll remember,Miguel, how I helped you in the Mediterranean, and how I did almostall your work that time you were sick, when we were cruising down tothe Brazils?"
Miguel grinned.
"You have the great courage, you Peter," he said. "You alwayshave. Feel better now?"
"A lot, Miguel. The bread was hard, I suppose, and better potatoeshave been grown, but I didn't notice the difference. That was goodwater, too. I've always thought that water was a fine drink. And now,Miguel, hunger and thirst being satisfied, I'll get up and stretch mylimbs a while. Then I'll be ready to go to work."
"I tell you when the captain wants you. Maybe an hour from now, maybetwo hours."
He took his lantern and the empty plate and withdrew, but Robert heardhim fastening the door on the outside again. Evidently they did notyet wholly trust the good intentions of Peter Smith, the deserter,whom they had recaptured in the Hudson. But the spark of hope lodgedsomewhere in the mind of Peter Smith was still growing andglowing. The removal of the bonds from his wrist and ankles hadbrought back a full and free circulation, and the food and water hadalready restored strength to one so young and strong. He stood up,flexed his muscles and took deep breaths.
He had no familiarity with the sea, but he was used to navigation incanoes and boats on large and small lakes in the roughest kind ofweather, and the rocking of the schooner, which continued, did notmake him seasick, despite the close foul air of the little room inwhich he was locked. He still heard the creaking of cordage and now heheard the tumbling of waves too, indicating that the weather wasrough. He tried to judge by these sounds how fast the schooner wasmoving, but he could make nothing of it. Then he strained his memoryto see if he could discover in any manner how long he had been on thevessel, but the period of his unconsciousness remained a mystery,which he could not unveil by a single second.
Long stay in the room enabled him to penetrate its dusk a little, andhe saw that its light and air came in normal times from a single smallporthole, closed now. Nevertheless a few wisps of mist entered thetiny crevices, and he inferred the vessel was in a heavy fog. He wasglad of it, because he believed the schooner would move slowly at sucha time, and anything that impeded the long African journey was to hisadvantage.
A period which seemed to be six hours but which he afterward knew tobe only one, passed, and his door swung back for the third time. Theface of Miguel appeared in the opening and again he grinned, until hismouth formed a mighty slash across his face.
"You come on deck now, you Peter," he said, "captain wants you."
Robert's heart gave a mighty beat. Only those who have been shut up inthe dark know what it is to come out into the light. That alone wassufficient to give him a fresh store of courage and
hope. So hefollowed Miguel up a narrow ladder and emerged upon the deck. As hehad inferred, the schooner was in a heavy fog, with scarcely any windand the sails hanging dead.
The captain stood near the mast, gazing into the fog. He lookedtaller and more evil than ever, and Robert saw the outline of a pistolbeneath his heavy pea jacket. Several other men of variousnationalities stood about the deck, and they gave Robert malicioussmiles. Forward he saw a twelve pound brass cannon, a deadly anddangerous looking piece. It was extremely cold on deck, too, the rawfog seeming to be so much liquid ice, but, though Robert shivered, heliked it. Any kind of fresh air was heaven after that stuffy littlecabin.
"How are you feeling, Peter?" asked the captain, although there was nonote of sympathy in his voice.
"Very well, sir, thank you," replied Robert, "and again I wish to makemy apologies for deserting, but the temptations of New York are verystrong, sir. The city went to my head."
"So it seems. We missed you on the voyage to Boston and back, but wehave you now. Doubtless Miguel has told you that you are to help him acouple of days in his galley, and you'll stay there close. If you comeout before I give the word it's a belaying pin for you. But when I dogive the word you'll go back to your work as one of the cleverestsailormen I ever had. You'll remember how you used to go out on thespars in the iciest and slipperiest weather. None so clever at it asyou, Peter, and I'll soon see that you have the chance to show againto all the men that you're the best sailor aboard ship."
Robert shivered mentally. He divined the plan of this villain, whowould send him in the icy rigging to sure death. He, an untrainedsailor, could not keep his footing there in a storm, and it could besaid that it was an accident, as it would be in the fulfilment thoughnot in the intent. But he divined something else that stopped themental shudder and that gave him renewed hope. Why should the captainthreaten him with a belaying pin if he did not stay in the cook'sgalley for two days? To Robert's mind but one reason appeared, and itwas the fear that he should be seen on deck. And that fear existedbecause they were yet close to land. It was all so clear to him thathe never doubted and again his heart leaped. He was bareheaded, but hetouched the place where his cap brim should have been and replied:
"I'll remember, captain."
"See that you do," said the man in level tones, instinct neverthelesswith hardness and cruelty.
Robert touched his forehead again and turned away with Miguel,descending to the cook's galley, resolved upon some daring trial, hedid not yet know what. Here the Portuguese set him to work at once,scouring pots and kettles and pans, and he toiled without complaintuntil his arms ached. Miguel at last began to talk. He seemed tosuffer from the lack of companionship, and Robert divined that he wasthe only Portuguese on board.
"Good helper, you Peter," he said. "It no light job to cook for twentymen, and all of them hungry all the time."
"Have we our full crew on board, Miguel?"
"Yes, twenty men and four more, and plenty guns, plenty powder andball. Fine cannon, too."
Robert judged that the slaver would be well armed and well manned, buthe decided to ask no more questions at present, fearing to arouse thesuspicions of Miguel, and he worked on with shut lips. The Portuguesehimself talked--it seemed that he had to do so, as the longing forcompanionship overcame him--but he did not tell the name of theschooner or its captain. He merely chattered of former voyages and ofthe ports he had been in, invariably addressing his helper as Peter,and speaking of him as if he had been his comrade.
Robert, while apparently absorbed in his tasks, listened attentivelyto all that he might hear from above He knew that the fog was as thickas ever, and that the ship was merely moving up and down with theswells. She might be anchored in comparatively shallow water. Now hewas absolutely sure that they were somewhere near the coast, and thecoast meant hope and a chance.
Dinner, rude but plentiful, was served for the sailors and foodsomewhat more delicate for the captain in his cabin.
Robert himself attended to the captain, and he could see enough now toknow that the dark had come. He inferred there would be no objectionto his going upon deck in the night, but he made no such suggestion.Instead he waited upon the tall man with a care and deftness that madethat somber master grin.
"I believe absence has really improved you, Peter," he said. "Ihaven't been waited on so well in a long time."
"Thank you, sir," said Robert.
Secretly he was burning with humiliation. It hurt his pride terriblyto serve a rough sea captain in such a manner, but he had no choiceand he resolved that if the chance came he would pay the debt. Whenthe dinner or supper, whichever it might be called, was over, he wentback to the galley and cheerfully began to clear away, and to wash andwipe dishes. Miguel gave him a compliment, saying that he had improvedsince their latest voyage and Robert thanked him duly.
When all the work was done he crawled into a bunk just over the cook'sand in any other situation would have fallen asleep at once. But hisnerves were on edge, and he was not sleepy in the least. Miguel,without taking off his clothes, lay down in the bunk beneath him, andRobert soon heard him snoring. He also heard new sounds from above, awhistle and a shriek and a roar combined that he did not recognize atfirst, but which a little thought told him to be a growing wind andthe crash of the waves. The schooner began to dip and riseviolently. He was dizzy for a little while, but he soon recovered. Astorm! The knowledge gave him pleasure. He did not know why, but hefelt that it, too, contributed hope and a chance.
The roar of the storm increased, but Miguel, who had probably spentnearly all his life at sea, continued to sleep soundly. Robert wasnever in his life more thoroughly awake.
He sat up in his bunk, and now and then he heard the sound of voicesand of footsteps overhead, but soon they were lost entirely in theincessant shrieking of the wind and the continuous thunder of thegreat waves against the side of the schooner. In truth, it was astorm, one of great fury. He knew that the ship although stripped tothe utmost, must be driving fast, but in what direction he had noidea. He would have given much to know.
The tumult grew and by and by he heard orders shouted through atrumpet. He could stand it no longer, and, leaping down, he seized thePortuguese by the shoulder and shook him.
"Up, Miguel," he cried. "A great storm is upon us!"
The cook opened his eyes sleepily, and then sprang up, a look of alarmon his face. While the eyes of the Portuguese were filled with fear,he also seemed to be in a daze. It was apparent to Robert that he wasa heavy sleeper, and his long black hair falling about his forehead hestared wildly. His aspect made an appeal to Robert's sense of humor,even in those tense moments.
"My judgment tells me, Miguel," he shouted--he was compelled to raisehis voice to a high pitch owing to the tremendous clatteroverhead--"that there is a great storm, and the schooner is in danger!And you know, too, that your old comrade, Peter Smith, who has sailedthe seas with you so long, is likely to be right in his opinions!"
The gaze of Miguel became less wild, but he looked at Robert with aweand then with superstition.
"You have brought us bad luck," he exclaimed. "An evil day for uswhen you came aboard."
Robert laughed. A fanciful humor seized him.
"But this is my place," he said. "I, Peter Smith, belong on board thisschooner and you know, Miguel, that you and the captain insisted on mycoming back."
"We go on deck!" cried the cook, now thoroughly alarmed by the uproar,which always increased. He rushed up the ladder and Robert followedhim, to be blown completely off his feet when he reached the deck. Buthe snatched at the woodwork, held fast, and regained an uprightposition. The captain stood not far away, holding to a rope, but hewas so deeply engrossed in directing his men that he paid no attentionto Robert.
The youth cleared the mist and spray from his eyes and took acomprehensive look. The aspect of sea and sky was enough to strikealmost any one with terror, but upon this occasion he was anexception. He had never looked upon a wilder world
, but in its verywildness lay his hope. The icy spars from which he would slip toplunge to his death in the chilling sea were gone, and so was farAfrica, and the slaver's hunt. He was not a seaman, his experience hadbeen with lakes, but one could reason from lakes to the universalocean, and he knew that the schooner was in a fight for life. Andinvolved in it was his fight for freedom.
The wind, cold as death, and sharp as a sword, blew out of thenortheast, and the schooner, heeled far over, was driving fast beforeit, in spite of every effort of a capable captain and crew. The shiprose and fell violently with the huge swells, and water that stunglike an icy sleet swept over her continually. Looking to the westwardRobert saw something that caused his heart to throb violently. It wasa dim low line, but he knew it to be land.
What land it was he had no idea, nor did he at the moment care, butthere lay freedom. Rows of breakers opening their strong teeth for theship might stretch between, but better the breakers than the slaver'sdeck and the man hunt in the slimy African lagoons. For him the icywind was the breath of life, and he soon ceased to shiver. But hebecame conscious of chattering teeth near him and he saw Miguel, hisface a reproduction of terror in all its aspects.
"We go!" shouted the Portuguese. "The storm drive the ship on thebreakers and she break to pieces, and all of us lost!"
Robert's fantastic spirit was again strong upon him.
"Then let us go!" he shouted back. "Better this clean, cold coast thanthe fever swamps of Africa! Hold fast, Miguel, and we'll ride intogether!"
The superstitious awe of the Portuguese deepened, and he drew awayfrom Robert. In the moment of terrible storm and approaching deaththis could be no mortal youth who showed not fear, but instead a joythat was near to exaltation. Then and there he was convinced that whenthey had seized him and brought him aboard they had made their owndoom certain.
"In twenty minutes, we strike!" cried Miguel. "Ah, how the wind rise!Many a year since I see such a storm!"
Spars snapped and were carried away in the foaming sea. Then the mastwent, and the crew began to launch the boats. Robert rushed to thecaptain's cabin. When he served the man there he had not failed toobserve what the room contained, and now he snatched from the wall ahuge greatcoat, a belt containing a brace of pistols in a holster withammunition, and a small sword. He did not know why he took the sword,but it was probably some trick of the fancy and he buckled it on withthe rest. Then he returned to the deck, where he could barely hold hisfooting, the schooner had heeled so far over, and so powerful was thewind and the driving of the spray. One of the boats had been launchedunder the command of the second mate, but she was overturned almostinstantly, and all on board her were lost. Robert was just in time tosee a head bob once or twice on the surface of the sea, and thendisappear.
A second boat commanded by the first mate was lowered and seven oreight men managed to get into it, rowing with all their might towardan opening that appeared in the white line of foam. A third whichcould take the remainder of the crew was made ready and the captainhimself would be in charge of it.
It was launched successfully and the men dropped into it, one by one,but very fast. Miguel swung down and into a place. Robert advanced forthe same purpose, but the captain, who was still poised on the rail ofthe ship, took notice of him for the first time.
"No! No, Peter!" he shouted, and even in the roar of the wind Robertobserved the grim humor in his voice. "You've been a good and faithfulsailorman, and we leave you in charge of the ship! It's a greatpromotion and honor for you, Peter, but you deserve it! Handle herwell because she's a good schooner and answers kindly to a kind hand!Now, farewell, Peter, and a long and happy voyage to you!"
A leveled pistol enforced his command to stop, and the next moment heslid down a rope and into the boat. A sailor cut the rope and theypulled quickly away, leaving Robert alone on the schooner. Hisexultation turned to despair for a moment, and then his courage cameback. Tayoga in his place would not give up. He would pray to hisManitou, who was Robert's God, and put complete faith in His wisdomand mercy. Moreover, he was quit of all that hateful crew. The shipof the slavers was beneath his feet, but the slavers themselves weregone.
As he looked, he saw the second boat overturn, and he thought he heardthe wild cry of those about to be lost, but he felt neither pity norsympathy. A stern God, stern to such as they, had called them toaccount. The captain's boat had disappeared in the mist and spray.
Robert, with the huge greatcoat wrapped about him clung to the stumpof the mast, which long since had been blown overboard, and watchedthe white line of the breakers rapidly coming nearer, as they reachedout their teeth for the schooner. He knew that he could do nothingmore for himself until the ship struck. Then, with some happy chanceaiding him, he would drop into the sea and make a desperate try forthe land. He would throw off the greatcoat when he leaped, butmeanwhile he kept it on, because one would freeze without it in theicy wind.
He heard presently the roaring of the breakers mingled with theroaring of the wind, and, shutting his eyes, he prayed for a miracle.
He felt the foam beating upon his face, and believing it must comefrom the rocks, he clung with all his might to the stump of the mast,because the shock must occur within a few moments. He felt theschooner shivering under him, and rising and falling heavily, and thenhe opened his eyes to see where best to leap when the shock did come.
He beheld the thick white foam to right and left, but he had notprayed in vain. The miracle had happened. Here was a narrow openingin the breakers, and, with but one chance in a hundred to guide it,the schooner had driven directly through, ceasing almost at once torock so violently. But there was enough power left in the waves evenbehind the rocks to send the schooner upon a sandy beach, where shemust soon break up.
But Robert was saved. He knew it and he murmured devout thanks. Whenthe schooner struck in the sand he was thrown roughly forward, but hemanaged to regain his feet for an instant, and he leaped outward asfar as he could, forgetting to take off his greatcoat. A returningwave threw him down and passed over his head, but exerting all hiswill, and all his strength he rose when it had passed, and ran for theland as hard as he could. The wave returned, picked him up, andhurried him on his way. When it started back again its force was toomuch spent and the water was too shallow to have much effect onRobert. He continued running through the yielding sand, and, when thewave came in again and snatched at him, it was not able to touch hisfeet.
He reached weeds, then bushes, and clutched them with both hands, lestsome wave higher and more daring than all the rest should yet come forhim and seize him. But, in a moment, he let them go, knowing that hewas safe, and laughing rather giddily, sank down in a faint.
The Shadow of the North: A Story of Old New York and a Lost Campaign Page 13