Part 17

“Over with them!” shouted Pierre, still rowing with one hand while he flung out the fish with the other. But Paul had already begun to do that very thing. Hearing Pierre’s words he passed his oar over to his brother, and then, gathering the fish up in both hands, he flung them out of the boat by armfuls. Meanwhile Pierre rowed with all his strength, and at the same time the wind never ceased to bear the boat along. But the same wind bore onward after them the boat of their pursuers, and the two brothers watched with anxious eyes the progress of those who followed on their track.

At last all the fish were flung overboard except about half a dozen, which were reserved for food. They felt the benefit of this very soon. Gradually the distance between themselves and their pursuers increased. By this time also the tide had turned, and swept them on at an ever accelerated rate of progress; and, although the same tide swept their enemies along after them, still their own speed was the greater, and every minute served to increase their chance of escape. For the boats were about equal in speed, and while their boat only had two inside, the other carried six, and therefore was over weighted in this race.

Several hours passed away, and the united action of wind and tide had carried onward pursuers and pursued many miles into the bay. There rose before them the frowning cliffs of Blomidon, and past this the current was setting in a swift stream, by which they were borne along. Now, too, the wind died away, and the tide alone remained. This caused a change for the worse. Thus far the lightness of their boat had favored them, so that their pursuers had fallen behind as much as four or five miles; but now, when it came to drifting, this difference was no longer in their favor, and the enemy, either from having caught a stronger current, or from some other reason, seemed to be slowly gaining upon them.

The question now arose, what was to be done? They could easily have landed here, scaled the cliff, and escaped in the woods. But that was not to be thought of except as a last resort. At all hazards they wished to keep the boat. If they fled to the woods their boat would be captured, and their fate might be a miserable death. With the boat, however, they might hope not only to save their lives, but perhaps to follow their friends, perhaps to rescue them; or at least, if such a thing as that should be beyond their powers, they could choose some new home, and have the means of living from the water, till the land should be ready to yield them sustenance. For these reasons they resolved to cling to the boat, and fly as long, and as far, as possible.

But however eager they were in their determination to escape, the enemy showed a resolve to pursue which was as obstinate as theirs. As they floated along they saw the other boat still following. The tide bore them on, in its course, down through the Straits of Minas, beneath the frowning cliffs that rise gloomily on one side, where Blomidon overhangs the water, past the rocks all covered with sea-weed, past long, bare sand flats, past the giant cliffs, which, torn and riven by earthquake or by tempest, rise at the extremity of the straits, and onward into the wide Bay of Fundy.

They had hoped that in this place a breeze might arise, but their hopes were disappointed. The water was smooth, and they were borne onward over an unruffled surface, by the strong tide, far down. Yet though there was no wind, they at length encountered something which to them, in that extremity, was no less welcome. Before them rose a wall of mist, shutting out all the scene beyond, hiding even the Haute, which lay so near. Into the entrance of this dense fog bank they were borne by the tide; and soon all surrounding scenes, all prospect of rock, and cliff, and distant shore, and overhanging sky, and all sight of their pursuers, were snatched from their eyes, and nothing remained but an all-surrounding blank, an opaque wall of unpenetrable fog.

At any other time such an occurrence would have plunged them into despair, but now it raised them out of despair into hope. At first they thought of rowing in some direction, but a little discussion served to dismiss this thought from their minds. In the first place, they could not tell in which direction to row; and in the second place, they thought that their pursuers would probably take to their oars, and if so, their best plan of escape would be to drift.

Hours had passed away since their flight commenced, and at length darkness came on. That darkness was most intense. There was not the slightest light to alleviate the gloom. Still even this darkness was a relief, for they felt more secure. In spite of the hope which they tried to entertain that their enemies had given up the chase, they could not get rid of a dark fear that they were still pursued, and a foreboding that with the return of light they might see them. And as the darkness seemed to bring safety, they bore it with patience, and resignation, and hope.

All night long they drifted in this thick darkness. At last light came again. But the light was dull and obscure, for the fog still enveloped them. By this time they had lost all idea of locality, and could not conceive in what direction they were drifting. They knew, however, that while the falling tide would carry them down the bay, the refluent tide would bear them back, and therefore hoped, when the fog lifted, that they would find themselves somewhere near the land. The day that followed was a gloomy day indeed. The water was glassy. There was not a breath of wind. Having nothing by which to judge of their motion, they seemed to be without motion, and to be floating on a stagnant sea. There was no sight to meet their eyes through the dense surrounding fog, and no sound came to their ears through the wide, surrounding stillness.

At last the evening of that day came on, and the fog lessened. Land appeared on either side of them. Gradually the atmosphere cleared, and to their amazement they found themselves drifting up a long channel that seemed like a river. Up this river the tide seemed to run, carrying them with it at a great rate of speed. As they went on the shores approached more closely, the stream grew narrower and more winding; but still the swift waters lost nothing of their speed. The shores on either side were a wilderness, covered with the primeval forest, with not a sign of any human habitation. The strangeness of the place and the suspense which they felt at finding themselves here prevented them from trying to land. They rather chose to drift onward, and allow themselves to be borne wherever the current might carry them.

At length darkness began to come on, and the fugitives thought that they had drifted far enough. They therefore flung out the rude anchor which they had in the boat. It caught, and their progress was stopped. They felt safe at last. Here, in this remote place, no pursuer would follow them, and they might rest. They had not slept during all the time of their flight, and were very greatly fatigued. It seemed to them that the boat was safer than this unknown shore, and to sleep there at anchor floating on the water would be better than in those unknown woods where wild beasts or prowling Indians might be lurking; and thus, as soon as the boat came to anchor, they flung themselves down in the bottom, and were soon in a sound sleep.

Their sleep was somewhat disturbed, and early on the following day they awaked. Pierre was up first, and he looked about in surprise. It was about dawn, and in that morning twilight surrounding objects were as yet indistinct. The first thing that he noticed was, that the boat was aground. The channel up which they had drifted on the preceding evening was now bare of water--a wide expanse, like those red mud flats of Grand Pré with which he was so familiar. These flats extended here above and below for miles, and on either side they ran for a great distance before they touched the shore.

Suddenly, in the midst of this survey, Pierre caught sight of an object which made his blood run cold, and caused his heart for a few moments to stop its beating. It was a dark object that appeared, on the mud flats, about a mile away, down the channel.

It was a boat!

That boat, like his own, had grounded, and lay there on her side.

Could that be the boat of their pursuers? Had they been followed all this time, and all this distance, so remorselessly? It seemed like it. Perhaps his pursuers had become bewildered by the fog, or perhaps they had allowed themselves to drift, as the surest way of keeping near to the fugitives; but whatever the reason was, it seemed as though the same currents that had borne them away had carried the pursuers after them.

And there it lay! It grew lighter as he looked, and then, as if to confirm his worst fears, there suddenly appeared something which put an end to all doubt.

A figure stood up in that boat. It was light enough to see the color of his dress.

It was red.

Scarcely had he seen this than other figures appeared--red-coated figures. They stood up. Pierre could no longer doubt. They were English soldiers. Even as he looked they began to leap out from the boat, and run towards him. As he looked his eyes caught sight of something beyond--something white--like a long, low, white wall; and from that far distance there arose a low, droning sound, which struck a strange terror into his soul.

In a moment he roused his brother. Paul stood up, and stared in the direction where Pierre was pointing. He saw the wide, flat river bed uncovered. He saw the red-coated English soldiers.

Pierre looked all around to find the best place for refuge.

On his right there projected a wooded cliff, its sides rising precipitously for fifty or sixty feet, and its summit covered with fir trees. This was the nearest land. If they ran towards this they might get out of sight of their pursuers in a few minutes, and plunge into the woods at a place where the cliff ended and the land sloped gradually down. To this place he directed Paul’s attention; and then calling upon him to follow, he leaped from the boat. Paul followed. The two brothers ran with their utmost speed over the treacherous mud flats towards the shore behind the point.

Up the channel, over the same treacherous mud flats, came their pursuers, who, at this unexpected sight of their prey, seemed to be filled with fresh fury. Seeing that prey about to escape, they fired after them. Report after report sounded through the air and echoed along the shore.

Six shots were thus fired, and then, as the last echo died out, there arose another sound. It was that low, droning sound which had come to Pierre’s ears before he left the boat but the sound was louder, and deeper, and nearer, and more dreadful. It was a sound of wrath. It was the voice of many waters! It was the sound of a pursuer more terrible than man--the sound of the pitiless march of innumerable waves.

The cliff rose overhead. They had reached it; but before they passed behind it they turned one glance at their pursuers. In that one glance a sight revealed itself which was never forgotten.

Far down arose a wall of white foam, formed by the advancing tidal wave of the Bay of Fundy--a dread mass of surging billows, rolling up the channel, extending all the way across. At the moment when they looked it had caught the boat and overwhelmed it, and then, in hungry fury, advanced towards the soldiers.

They had heard it! They had seen it--that terrible pursuer, the tremendous, the inevitable! They stood still in horror. Escape was impossible. On came the wave. Even the fugitives stood for a moment overwhelmed with the horror of that spectacle.

On came the wave!

The wall of white foam rose high. It rushed onward. It reared its curling crest. It fell in thunderous fury upon the wretched victims of its wrath. One wild, despairing yell burst forth, and then all sounds were drowned in the roar of the rolling waves.

The brothers fled. They reached the sloping bank, and clambered to a place of safety, from which they looked with pallid faces upon those waters, which, like the waves of the Red Sea, had saved the fugitives by overwhelming the pursuers.

After this they wandered through the woods for some days, and finally met with friendly Indians, with whom they went to the Miramichi.

Such is the substance of M. Grousset’s narrative.

XXIV.

_The American Indian in a new Light.--The false Guide.--Solomon prepares for Vengeance.--The Indian Chief.--Full Explanations._

THAT evening they had a bountiful repast, after which they slept well, and on the following morning an equally bountiful breakfast fortified them for the work of the day. Soon after this they started down to the schooner to talk over their plans for the future.

Close by the wharf stood the mills already mentioned, where now arose the tumult and bustle generally prevalent there. Into the precincts of this mill the boys strolled, and looked about upon the busy scene.

The scene was to Bart one of the most familiar possible, for all his early life had been passed in a city of saw-mills, and the present occasion offered nothing that was new. To the other boys it was also more or less familiar, and it was rather the animation of the spectacle before them than its novelty which attracted them. One thing, however, there certainly was which seemed to all of them most singular and unaccountable.

As they looked upon the men who were at work in the mill and in the mill yard, they noticed that one after another of them was an Indian. To see an Indian engaged in such work as this seemed astonishing, for it had been a fixed belief in their minds that no Indian will engage in continuous hard labor; yet here was a fact which contradicted all former opinions. What was more surprising was the gradual discovery that not one, or two, or a few, but the whole gang of men at work in and about the mill were of the same race.

They worked doggedly, ploddingly, industriously; some floating logs, some carrying deals, some attaching the ropes to those logs that had to be hauled up; all busy, none idling.

“I never knew that Indians would work,” said Bart to Mr. Smith.

“These Indians work very well,” said he.

“Yes; and that is what is so astonishing. Of course I knew that Indians will go through any amount of fatigue in the course of a hunting expedition, but I have always heard that they are incapable of hard work.”

“Well, as to being incapable, I have my doubts about that,” said Mr. Smith. “They cannot be incapable; they are only unwilling. Continuous drudgery like this does not suit them as a general thing. But these Indians don’t object. They work hard, never complain, and I have never had any men who have given so little trouble.”

“It seems very odd, though,” said Bart. “I’m sure no other Indians in this country would be willing to work in this way. No amount of wages would tempt them.”

“No. That’s true. The fact is, these Indians belong to a different tribe.”

“A different tribe?”

“Yes. The Indians that you are acquainted with, who live in Nova Scotia and the greater part of New Brunswick, are called the Micmacs. These are called the Milicetes. The language of the two tribes is altogether distinct; their traditions, manners, and customs also vary in many particulars. Between the two tribes there is no intercourse and no friendly feeling whatever. You see here with your own eyes how different they must be from the other tribe, with which you are acquainted.”

Midday came, and as the steam whistles sounded, all hands left off work and prepared for dinner. Their dinners had been brought to them by the squaws of the tribe who had come to the mill bringing their pappooses with them. Men, women, and children then sat in a circle, in the midst of the mill yard, and engaged in their midday repast, while the boys looked on curiously from a distance.

Among these Indians there was one who had come up with the women, and seemed to have some sort of authority. He did not work in the mill, but had the air and tone of one giving directions, to which the others yielded assent or obedience. There was something in this Indian which seemed familiar to Bart, though he could not account for it. He was the first who noticed him, and he mentioned it to the others; but they were equally unable to do so. At length, as several of the boys grouped themselves together, it seemed to Bart as though the Indian had some recognition of them. There were Bart, and Phil, and Pat, and the two Rawdons; and as the Indian looked up, he caught sight of them, with Bart in the foreground. He started, and then turned his head away, and appeared to busy himself with something else.

He was a very old man, somewhat bent, his face seamed with a million wrinkles; but his figure was still strong, sinewy, and apparently capable of undergoing fatigue or exertion to an indefinite extent. He turned away, as has been said, but every few moments he threw a furtive glance at the boys.

And now it happened that Solomon came up from the schooner to ask whether the boys were to get dinner on board or on shore. He came up to where the Indians were seated, and it was evident that they had never seen a negro before, for the advent of Solomon created an extraordinary sensation. The women drew back, the children screamed, the men stared, and all gave signs of unusual excitement. But among all, none showed such excitement as the old man already mentioned.

As Solomon drew near, he saw him first, and started to his feet, staring at him with a face upon which there was a variety of contending expressions; curiosity, wonder, uneasiness, alarm--all these were plainly visible at the same time on that old Indian’s face.

But the emotion of the Indian found its counterpart in that which was manifested by Solomon, as the Indian caught sight of him and started to his feet. The attention of Solomon was arrested by that movement. He stopped short, and fixed his eyes upon the Indian. His hands clinched themselves together; his lips compressed themselves; his limbs grew rigid; while his eyes seemed to glow like fire. Again the old man was transformed; again that wonderful change took place from apparent feebleness, and even decrepitude, to something which seemed like the bounding vigor and vehement energy of barbaric manhood. His chest heaved; he seemed like some wild beast, as he stood there, gathering up all his energies for one tremendous spring.

On the other hand, the Indian saw it, and drew himself up to resist the assault. He fell back a step or two, and mechanically threw himself into an attitude of defence. His gesture was seen by his companions. They looked up to where his eyes were turned, and they marked the threatening attitude of Solomon. In an instant every one of them started up to his feet, and by one common movement put themselves in front of their old companion, as though to guard him from the attack of this unexpected enemy.

Upon the boys these singular proceedings produced different effects. Bart and his companions in the woods at once recognized the truth. The old Indian was no other than their false guide, who had first turned upon them to attack them, and then fled, leaving them in the midst of the trackless forest. This was the man who now appeared before them in the midst of his own people, who certainly deserved some punishment for all that he had done, but who seemed to be out of the reach of any punishment, unless, indeed, Solomon should take the law into his own hands. But Bruce and the others, who had never seen the Indian before, stood simply amazed, not knowing what to make of such a singular scene. They had heard of the adventure in the woods with the Indian guide, but what they had heard did not suffice to afford them a clew to the affair before them.

For a few moments they stood thus, Solomon threatening, the Indians scowling, the boys looking on. But Solomon, though poised to spring, hesitated, as he saw all the enemies before him. Had it been only the old Indian, he would have leaped upon him at once; but with so many other Indians, it was a different matter. Very naturally, therefore, Solomon hesitated, and faltered, and sank down from his high pitch of fury, at thus being confronted with the impossible.

It was at this juncture that Mr. Smith approached. He surveyed the scene with surprise and anxiety, and walking forward, hastily he asked what it all meant. The advent of one thus clothed with authority produced an instantaneous effect. The Indians turned away, and talked in low tones with one another; Solomon subsided from his fighting attitude into one of vehement denunciation; and Bart proceeded to tell Mr. Smith the whole story.

Mr. Smith listened to it all with the deepest interest.

“It’s abominable of Sam,” said he, as Bart ended, “and if it had been any one else, I should like to have him punished. But with Sam it is different, and I can easily explain it. Sam is the chief of these Milicetes, and generally is all that a chief should be. The only trouble with him is, that, like all Indians, he is fond of liquor. When he gets any, it makes him simply insane. He stays about here most of the time, and in this place he can’t get a single drop. Consequently he is a very sensible, dignified, and respectable Indian. He is looked up to with the utmost respect by his people, and he and I agree perfectly well. Unfortunately, when he goes away, he generally manages to get liquor. He can’t resist temptation. He went off, about a fortnight ago, to Miramichi, where you found him. Before starting with you, he supplied himself with that unfortunate bottle of liquor. Had it not been for that, you would have found him an admirable guide, and he would have brought you here without any difficulty. But his bottle drove him crazy, and caused that wild outbreak. I don’t believe he remembers much about it himself. He must have come straight back to Shippegan after leaving you.”

This explanation proved highly satisfactory to the boys, who readily forgave the Indian for an outbreak that had been produced by such an unfortunate cause; and even Solomon, on learning that it had not been out of any malicious intention, consented to forego his vengeance.

After this, Mr. Smith had some conversation with the Indian himself, who, as he suspected, remembered nothing about his outbreak in the woods.

He only remembered that he had engaged to go with the boys, and had got separated from them, he knew not how. He expressed great sorrow, and tried, in his broken English, to explain and to apologize.

Thus this affair was all happily settled.

The boys spent one more day in Shippegan, and then prepared to depart. On the following morning they bade adieu to Mr. Grousset and his amiable family, who begged them, with great earnestness, to visit them again, which they all promised to do. Mr. Smith accompanied them to the wharf, and shook hands with them all around. Up went the sails, the lines were cast off, and the Antelope passed down the long harbor and out into the bay.