Part 7

A big shaft of light fell through the hatchway ahead, and suddenly a couple of burly legs appeared on the ladder in that light. Then Factor MacCaskill trod heavily down, and saw me when he had made a few paces; and he saw also the mock priest between us, and was quick-witted enough to grasp the situation, and clever enough to use it to the full. He checked himself abruptly when a couple of short paces divided him from Redpath, and his glance went heedlessly past the masquerader, to settle upon me with a well-simulated expression of fear and amazement.

“Golden gates of Jerusalem!” called the old fellow, making his voice thick and unsteady, and allowing his pipe to drop upon the deck.

The adventurer swung round between us, and in one moment his face became like the underpart of a fish. The flesh seemed to shrink up under its covering of false hair, and his eyes were like two little pits of oil. He had confessed that his body was weak--he had almost boasted of it--but his will was like steel. For the moment only it bent, and the next was strong again. His eyes left me and settled upon MacCaskill, and the factor looked him back like an honest man, without yielding an inch or ceding a wink. I left my barrel, and stepped forward with all the indifference I could muster.

“Where in the name of everything upon earth have ye sprung from, Rupe?” exclaimed MacCaskill.

“I only stowed myself among the cargo,” I said, for the benefit of listeners. Then I turned towards Redpath and Pete, who put his startled face out of the hot oil-smelling recess, “How are you, father?” I said, with all the confidence of having the stronger hand.

The adventurer stuck to the rules of his game.

“My dear young man!” he exclaimed, with splendid affection, emphasising each syllable with ease and unction. “This is, indeed, a joyful surprise. Why, we have all been in mourning for you!”

AFTERNOON

Lennie’s mask-like face became animated when I was introduced at dinner-time into the deck-cabin where meals were served. Questions began to buzz about my ears like mosquitoes on a damp evening. I told the story of my kidnapping, although I professed to be ignorant of my captors’ names, and when I had said all I intended to, the captain began to talk.

“Jake Peterssen never done it,” he stated. “You beat Jake, an’ he took his beatin’. There wasn’t one madder than him when ’twas told you’d ben misplaced. No, sir, Jake was fair spoilin’ to fix the man what took you foul. He said right through you’d ben took foul. Ain’t that so, Pete?”

Pete acquiesced, and Lennie disregarded his dinner and talked on.

“Well, now, there’s ben strange doings at Gull this trip.” He lowered his voice, peered about, and whispered, “Where’s the father?”

“Outside,” said the steward. “Said he wasn’t wantin’ his grub till some of ye was through.”

Lennie became mysterious.

“Some of ye must have heard tell of Father Lacombe of Three Points. They say he’s a priest what always wants to stretch the days out at work, and don’t have no use for settin’ around. They do say he’s a-goin’ to be next archbishop, ’cause he went to a place called Rome two year ago, a-payin’ calls on ole Father Holiness. Well, now, we don’t give a darn whether he’s goin’ to be archbishop or church-scraper; but here’s the trouble: What’s the father’s racket a-bummin’ around Gull these days on the idle, watchin’ the boys at scrap, and going inter Tommy’s Restaurant wi’ a bad crowd? Tommy wouldn’t get to give him away, ’cause that sort of thing ain’t bis’ness; but some of the boys saw him go in along wi’ toughs. Well, there’s that, an’ there’s the boy bein’ took foul, an’ there’s that steamer.”

It became my turn to ask a question.

“We’d got away from Gull this mornin’, when Sandy sights a steamer runnin’ at the island from the south,” went on Lennie sadly. “She was comin’ full rip, an’ not flyin’ any flag far as we could see. Sandy made out she was the _Firefly_ of the Force, but I’ll take me oath she was the _Sault Ste. Marie_ of the Hudson Bay. Don’t matter which she was. What does she want around Gull, anyhow? This is the only boat that goes to Gull, ’cept the lumber scows.”

Lennie looked round the table sourly, and went on:

“We’re goin’ to have a bad trip. That’s a dead sure thing. When I set down to breakfast before startin’ I found a flap-bug in me porridge. Takes a black dog wi’ a wall-eye to beat that for luck.”

After dinner MacCaskill and I talked upon deck, while Akshelah sat herself in the sun, her deft fingers engaged in repairing certain ravages in my coat. The factor thought that the opposition threatened by Leblanc and Morrison would be more likely to benefit than to injure us. “Sort of divides the aces,” was his comment. He went on to impress upon me the necessity for deceiving Redpath by making him believe that he was deceiving us, and here I had a question to ask, because I wanted to learn how the adventurer had come by his disguise.

“It’s as clear as sky, Rupe, that he brought the fixings along to Yellow Sands,” the factor said. “He’s ben playin’ some lively game down east, or down south, and havin’ to get out at a small hole he fixed himself up as a priest and came north for his health. Likely he didn’t change that rig until he got to Yellow Sands River, and heard tell of ole Petrie. By that time he reckoned he’d show up as his own ugly self.”

I was for telling Lennie the truth, but MacCaskill, who knew the world, pointed out danger. Redpath would never allow himself to be taken without bloodshed. Even if placed under confinement, he would possibly win over the crew by promising to share his secret with them. By this time I began to understand what men will do for “the dirt.” A mutiny might follow, and we should certainly be worsted.

“We’ll have a chance to get ahead of him,” went on the factor. “The _Carillon_ drops us at the Little Peace, and from there we work our way north along the coast.”

He called to Akshelah.

“Know what sort of folk live at the mouth of the river, my gal?”

Akshelah looked up, her eyes full of thought, and said presently:

“If the people of Mekawask are there, they are our friends.”

“They will let us have a big canoe?”

“I will get you a canoe,” said the girl proudly.

“And Redpath will steal one,” added the factor morosely.

“I will tell the tribe,” went on the girl. “They will watch their canoes, and if the man comes to steal, they will shoot at him.”

MacCaskill chuckled, “I guess we’ve got his reverence.”

Hardly had he spoken when the man himself came out of the cabin, and began to pace the deck on the opposite side to us. His cassock was held up behind by a safety-pin, and he wore the hard felt hat in which he had landed at Gull. He carried his disguise well.

That he was promenading with a motive beyond mere exercise was soon made evident; he gave a side movement with his head. I could not be sure that he was signalling me, but when I made no response, he boldly beckoned me with his hand.

“See what his game is, but don’t let him fool you, or take you from deck,” said MacCaskill.

“If you go to him I shall come with you,” said Akshelah, flinging down my coat, her eyes lighting. “He will overcome you with his eye, and throw you into the water.”

“Stop where you are,” I ordered, quite sharply, but apparently young women delight in disobedience.

Akshelah immediately rose up and accompanied me.

I felt a sense of shrinking as I came up to the big, strong-willed man. His keen eyes passed over me, before he spoke in his courteous manner.

“Can we not dispense with the--er--young lady, Petrie?”

He was not going to play the priest with me, because he understood that I had seen through his disguise.

Akshelah faced him at once.

“I am going to stay here,” she said angrily.

The adventurer nodded and smiled at me.

“A positive young Xantippe, my dear fellow. Do you speak French?”

I did not know what he meant, but rightly replied in the negative, and motioned Akshelah to stand a little aside. She took her stand to the right of me, watching Redpath unflinchingly. Farther along I could see the factor’s straw bonnet bobbing up and down excitedly.

“Have you anything to say to me?” I said, feeling how much rather I would openly fight with this man, because when it came to a contest of tongues I had no chance.

“In the first place, I have to congratulate you upon your escape from Olaffson and his gang of rascals,” said Redpath heartily. “I did what I could for you. Little, I confess, but I was powerless to do more. By the way, did this disguise deceive you at all?”

“Yes, at first.”

I tried not to be staggered at his coolness.

“I never intended to deceive you. I was compelled to assume these--er--priestly habiliments in order that I might be able to conceal my identity from our mutual enemies. The plan succeeded well enough with these unobservant creatures, though I never flattered myself that I had misled an intellectual and social equal.” He was playing with his false beard while he spoke. “I had more than one narrow escape myself, which I will tell you of later--these wretched men are so suspicious.” He came a little closer, his glance falling upon MacCaskill in the distance. “You think your servant is to be trusted?”

I knew that he was playing with me, yet I could not retaliate upon this calm, cynical gentleman. He managed to exert a marvellous power over me. I answered him as meekly as possible.

“He is my friend, and I know I can trust him.”

Redpath looked surprised, and a little concerned.

“My dear fellow,” he said, in a deeper voice, “are you quite prudent? Pardon me. I do not question the sincerity of your motives, but do you think you are wise? The man is palpably not of our station in life. He looks simple and good-hearted, but it really never pays to take a man of so humble an origin into full confidence. I feel sure you have acted for the best, but, as your partner in this enterprise, I feel called upon to offer a word of advice, if not warning. You must remember I am older than you, and I have been deceived so often.” He sighed, and shook his head mournfully. “It is pitiful to think how often I have been deceived. Even your own father, Petrie--better man never breathed, and yet he wronged me bitterly, dear fellow! How often I have sighed the reproachful utterance of the old poet, ‘It was even thou, my companion!’”

He turned from me, and fixed his false eyes upon the flickering lights and colours of the water.

All that I could say was:

“Are you going to keep up your disguise all the trip?”

“I have no choice,” came the answer. “Only you and your--I should say our--servant, with this young lady, will know that I am not Father Lacombe, of the upland mission. My dear fellow, I am exercising all my ingenuity to conceal my identity from Olaffson and Leblanc, the latter a loose-tongued scoundrel who knows far more than he ought, and who goes about the ship dropping hints among his miserable associates. Any one of them would murder either of us cheerfully if they were to gain by doing so.”

I pulled myself together.

“You were with them in Tommy’s Restaurant. You were playing poker with them.”

If I had thought to abash him, I had made a mistake.

“Yes,” he said, with his quiet, kindly smile. “It was all I could do for you, my boy. I kept the three scoundrels engaged, hoping you might escape in the meantime, and as events transpired, you succeeded in doing so. I understand that some of the priests do mix with the men upon their stations, and play cards with them, in order that they may get into closer touch. I chose that place because it happened to be well away from Gull, and I was the less likely to be noticed. It was somewhat of a strain to sustain my character before men who know me as myself, but as you managed to escape, I am amply rewarded for the endeavour.”

My reasoning powers fell to pieces. Both MacCaskill and I had recognised Redpath in the gambling compartment, because he was sitting in the light, with his hat off, and we could see the upper part of his face. The mere fact of his being shut up with Olaffson and the two sailors was sufficient proof for us. The man could hardly want to deceive his own confederates. My disgust at the impudence of the lie gave me courage to say:

“You tell me that you were playing poker with the men, while they never knew who you were?”

“My dear fellow!”--he had a superior, yet pleasant, way of saying this--“of course they knew. They still believe, all three of them, that I am the Reverend Gabriel Lacombe, head of the upland mission of Three Points, a very worthy priest, although sufficiently worldly to take a well-earned holiday--shall we say gold-hunting?”

EVENING

Akshelah looked very handsome as she sat on a clean brown coil of rope, with all the colours of the evening playing round her head. I had been silent for so long that my maid at last sought to learn the cause. I told her that I had been thinking of home, and I was sure that Antoine would allow the thistles to take possession of my clearing. Then Akshelah told me a secret.

“After you had gone away my father called the people together,” she said, with startling gravity. “The new factor lent axes, and the men were cutting the logs along Split Leaf Creek when I came away in my canoe.”

The girl looked at me and laughed, and I had to ask what she meant.

“The chief promised that your new home should be ready before the ending of Nepin; and when my father says a thing, it is done. But Antoine said you would never come back.”

These were the people who had sworn to give me their friendship! Akshelah went on regarding me with her fawn-like eyes.

“Ah, I know,” she said quickly, delighted at having caught the impression. “You see no owls.”

She meant I was suffering from home-sickness. When a camp moves to new ground there are no owl visitors at first, and the people think of their late home where the birds came each night.

“I am glad,” said the girl; but when I asked why, she only said again, “I am glad,” and laughed and sang until MacCaskill came up, large and hot.

Now Akshelah was not overwhelmed with affection for MacCaskill, whom she considered too serious a being for her world; so she went on singing, by way of protest at his having added himself to our company, and called down upon herself the rebuff, “Quit your noise, gal!” Then she said petulantly:

“It is the song of the god of the green mantles.”

“Well, quit it,” said the factor. “I’ve no use for it. Gals are always a-worryin’ ye,” he muttered morosely. “They’ll worry on the Day of Judgment, an’ after that if they ain’t stopped. Don’t matter where ye go, there they are, a-waitin’ to worry ye, first chance, or no chance at all.”

The old fellow was upset. He had been scouting below, and had encountered Olaffson, resting after a spell of stoking. The Icelander had answered every question with astonishing readiness. He had owned that he was following the fortunes of Father Lacombe, but having no money, was working his passage. Men were not plentiful, and the great majority preferred the well-paid labour of the lumber and fishing stations to the poor pay and hard life upon the dangerous sea. The unprincipled Olaffson had reiterated his willingness to devote himself, body and soul, to our service, and finally had sworn entire ignorance as to the whereabouts of Redpath.

“I thought the little skunk was a fool,” MacCaskill burst forth, “guessin’ Redpath supplied the brains of the business. It ain’t so, Rupe. Olaffson swore how Redpath had left him before they got to Gull, promising to meet him there, but never came to time. Swore he hadn’t set eyes on him since.”

“He’s lying,” I said.

“Course he’s lyin’. It’s the way he does it that worries me.”

A party came to join us, Lennie, the mate, Dave second engineer, and the steward, old and greasy, with fish scales clinging to his bare arms. Before the convivial plug of tobacco had finished its first round, the mock priest himself appeared, holding the skirt of his cassock in a long white hand. The officers of the ship obsequiously made space.

“What a magnificent evening!” murmured the adventurer, as he took his place among us.

What was his plan?

I was too well accustomed to the radiant atmosphere of my country to give particular notice to the sunset. The warmth was perfect; the ship slipped freely through the tinted water; there were scarcely any insects; over the west blazed the red, the gold, and the blue.

Lennie extended awkwardly the ragged plug torn by many teeth, with the invitation:

“Will ye chew, father?”

“I never chew,” came the answer. “But I am not prohibited from smoking.”

MacCaskill peered across, and grunted audibly.

Beside the starboard beam behind me some sailors were coiling ropes, and I heard a hoarse voice exclaim, “Gimme a match!” so I knew that Jim Morrison was near.

The presence of the supposed priest stopped conversation. Having lighted his pipe, Redpath looked over the silent group in his gracious manner, then, clasping his fingers together, leaning forward, looking at the sunset, he said:

“Let me hear the experiences of some of you. The mind is necessarily active at evening time. Having lived much in the solitude, each one of you must have felt, at some time or another, the power exerted by solitude upon the imagination.”

The men looked unhappy, because this kind of talk was far beyond them. Dave slewed his head round, and whispered to me:

“If the father would curse a bit, I’d make him out, maybe.”

Then Lennie stirred, and spoke for the credit of his position and his ship.

“I ain’t used to company wi’ priests, father,” he said apologetically, “but I did run agin a reg’lar boss one time, and I guess it’s the sort of experience you’re after. ’Twas away down Grande Marais, time they struck that find of copper. One evening I walked around to take a look at the place, an’ struck an oldish chap, a-settin’ on a heap of wash, an’ a-rubbin’ his leg. He was in long leggings, an’ a soft hat, an’ a flannel shirt, an’ a strap ’bout his middle, an’ I made out he was a miner, though I allow he didn’t talk like one. We give each other the nod and the good weather, an’ I said to him, ‘What’s your line, stranger?’ an’ he said, sort o’ bashful, ‘Well, I’m a bishop come to visit the miners.’ I got a-laughin’ at that, an’ course I wasn’t a-goin’ to be beat, so I spoke up. ‘Ye don’t want to talk about it, ole boy, but I’m jest a crowned head come around to patronise the circuses.’ Then he set a-laughin’ fit to choke. But I tell ye, anyone could have folded me up small, an’ stuffed me away inter a hand-grip, when the boys come to tell me that same night how the ole chap was a bishop.”

A short laugh went up, but evidently the men belonging to the ship had heard the story before.

“You have not altogether grasped my meaning,” went on the soft voice, in mild reproof. “It was my idea to learn how solitude affects your minds individually. Let me give you a personal illustration.”

He kept his eyes upon the ever-changing colours on the water, and the men looked at one another in distress.

“Experience in a lonely mission, even with much to occupy my thoughts, has shown me that solitude makes a man dream. They are strange things these dreams, and harmful if allowed to dominate the mind, but the unhappy part of it is that they pass rapidly, leaving merely a sense of melancholy, which, I am ashamed to say, will sometimes interfere with duty.”

The adventurer bent his head, coughed, then proceeded:

“One cannot hold and retain these fancies, any more than one can detain and fasten down a shadow. The entire charm of a dream is for the dreamer. He can think over it and enjoy it, but if he be rash enough to undertake a description he will find he can neither begin, nor continue, nor end. He has, in short, nothing to talk about. We have this dream-like picture of Nature around us now.” He threw his two hands away from him. “Let us suppose that the most graphic writer the world knows should pen a description of this scene, and that the same should be given us to read. We should find it wanting, and although we may be comparatively illiterate, our imagination, quickened by living long in the solitude, would be able to supply all the deficiencies in this description, so long as we kept to our thoughts.”

“Say!” exclaimed Dave miserably; “what language is it, anyhow?”

Was there anything going on in another part of the ship?

The pleasant voice made me sleepy, despite my suspicions.

“I may say that my own temperament is artistically affected by, firstly, such a coloured evening as this; secondly, by moonlight upon the water; and thirdly, by music. How often have we watched the burning pathway of the moon! How often have we longed to take our boat along that road, which we have thought may lead to some unknown land of happiness! You follow my meaning?”

MacCaskill was laughing behind his hand.

“Quite a priest!” muttered Dave admiringly.

“I kin understand a young feller a-settin’ out in the moon,” said the steward ponderously. “Did it meself one time, when I was worryin’ ’bout me little gal, though it only come to her marryin’ a feller wi’ a tidier face than mine.”

The adventurer resumed his high-flown talk. What he said might be nonsense, but it succeeded in producing the impression he desired, and in bringing the majority of his listeners under his influence. Had I not known the real identity of the speaker, his musical voice and delightful manner would have captured me with the spell that held the others.

I closed my ears and used my eyes. The first thing I noticed was that Akshelah had gone fast asleep. My second discovery showed me that the mate was standing behind me, his face perfectly vacant. Redpath still talked, and his sentences became more elaborate. MacCaskill was smoking heavily, his hat tilted over his eyes.

Suddenly an extraordinary impulse caused me to exclaim loudly:

“Who’s at the wheel?”

An ominous silence followed, during which I became conscious that my voice had not been untouched with suspicion. Redpath stopped in the middle of a parenthesis, and his head came round. I felt small and weak when his eyes met mine.

Sandy woke up, and Lennie opened his mouth in indignation:

“You’re runnin’ this ship since when? What you want rattlin’ the father when he’s preachin’? Ship’s all right, ain’t it?”

“The young man is excitable,” said Father Lacombe magnificently.

“The Icelander we took on at Gull’s at the wheel,” said Sandy, addressing the captain. “I gave it up to him for a spell. He steers good enough.”

MacCaskill shifted himself sharply, and I was sure the idea of treachery entered his mind also.

I had not lived with Nature all my life without learning how to interpret her moods. The silence had become unnatural; the throb of the screw was intensely loud; the atmosphere was as motionless as a sheet of glass; the water had become stagnant; a single mosquito hovered overhead, and gave out a noise like a trumpet. My glance went to the south, where trouble arises. A livid cloud, shaped like a snake, ascended slowly from the water-line, its “tail” wriggling madly. It was the time of my triumph, and I pointed with a warning cry.

The colours of the sunset settled into a uniform haze of a deep red so intense as to be almost black.

Lennie was up in an instant.

“Dave!” he shouted, his voice pealing fearfully into the hollow silence, “slow her down.” He turned to Sandy. “I’ll take the wheel.”

Only a minute back we had been in daylight, but already gloom had begun to settle, and the air was full of insects.

“A bad night to follow,” said Redpath resignedly. It was the night he had looked for. “There will be neither moon nor stars to cheer us on our way.”