There was so much of the wild and solitary character of the wilderness about Ontario, that one scarcely expected to meet with a vessel on its waters. The Scud herself, to those who were in her, resembled a man threading the forest alone, and the meeting was like that of two solitary hunters beneath the broad canopy of leaves, that then covered so many millions of acres, on the continent of America. The peculiar state of the weather served to increase the romantic, almost supernatural appearance of the passage. Cap alone regarded it with practised eyes, and even he felt his iron nerves thrill under the sensations that were awakened by the wild features of the scene.
The strange vessel was about two cables’ length ahead of the Scud, standing by the wind athwart her bows, and steering a course to render it probable that the latter would pass within a few yards of her. She was a full-rigged ship, and seen through the misty medium of the tempest, the most experienced eye could detect no imperfection in her gear or construction. The only canvass she had set, was a close reefed main-top-sail, and two small storm staysails, one forward and the other aft. Still the power of the wind pressed so hard upon her, as to bear her down nearly to her beam-ends, whenever the hull was not righted by the buoyancy of some wave under her lee. Her spars were all in their places, and by her motion through the water, which might have equalled four knots in the hour, it was apparent that she steered a little free.
“The fellow must know his position well,” said Cap, as the cutter flew down towards the ship, with a velocity almost equalling that of the gale, “for he is standing boldly to the southward, where he expects to find anchorage or a haven. No man in his senses would run off free in that fashion, that was not driven to scudding, like ourselves, who did not perfectly understand where he was going.”
“We have made an awful run, captain,” returned the man to whom this remark had been addressed. “That is the French King’s ship, Lee My Calm (le Montcalm) and she is standing in for the Niagara, where her owner has a garrison and a port. We’ve made an awful run of it!”
“Ay, bad luck to him! Frenchman like, he skulks into port, the moment he sees an English bottom.”
“It might be well for us, if we could follow him,” returned the man shaking his head despondingly, “for we are getting into the end of a bay, up here at the head of the lake, and it is uncertain whether we ever get out of it again!”
“Poh! man, poh!—We have plenty of sea room, and a good English hull beneath us. We are no Johnny Crapauds to hide ourselves behind a point, or a fort, on account of a puff of wind. Mind your helm, sir!”
The order was given on account of the menacing appearance of the approaching passage. The Scud was now heading directly for the forefoot of the Frenchman, and, the distance between the two vessels having diminished to a hundred yards, it was momentarily questionable if there was room to pass.
“Port, sir—port!” shouted Cap. “Port your helm and pass astern!”
The crew of the Frenchman were seen assembling to windward, and a few muskets were pointed, as if to order the people of the Scud to keep off. Gesticulations were observed, but the scene was too wild and menacing to admit of the ordinary expedients of war. The water was dripping from the muzzles of two or three light guns, on board the ship, but no one thought of loosening them for service, in such a tempest. Her black sides, as they emerged from a wave, glistened and seemed to frown, but the wind howled through her rigging, whistling the thousand notes of a ship, and the hails and cries, that escape a Frenchman with so much readiness, were inaudible.
“Let him hollow himself hoarse!” growled Cap—“This is no weather to whisper secrets in. Port, sir, port!”
The man at the helm obeyed, and the next send of the sea drove the Scud down upon the quarter of the ship, so near her that the old mariner, himself, recoiled a step, in a vague expectation that, at the next surge ahead, she would drive bows foremost into the planks of the other vessel. But this was not to be. Rising from the crouching posture she had taken, like a panther about to leap, the cutter dashed onward, and, at the next instant, she was glancing past the stern of her enemy, just clearing the end of his spanker boom, with her own lower yard.
The young Frenchman who commanded the Montcalm, leaped on the taffrail, and with that high toned courtesy which relieves even the worst acts of his countrymen, he raised his cap, and smiled a salutation as the Scud shot past. There were bonhommie and good taste in this act of courtesy, when circumstances allowed of no other communications, but they were lost on Cap, who, with an instinct quite as true to his race, shook his fist menacingly and muttered to himself—
“Ay—ay—it’s d____d lucky for you, I’ve no armament on board here, or I’d send you in to get new cabin windows fitted. Serjeant, he’s a humbug.”
“’T was civil, Brother Cap,” returned the other, lowering his hand from the military salute, which his pride as a soldier had induced him to return—“’t was civil, and that’s as much as you can expect from a Frenchman. What he really meant by it, no one can say.”
“He is not heading up to this sea without an object, neither! Well, let him run in, if he can get there; we will keep the lake, like hearty English mariners.”
This sounded gloriously, but Cap eyed with envy, the glittering black mass of the Montcalm’s hull, her waving top-sail, and the misty tracery of her spars, as she grew less and less distinct, and finally disappeared in the drizzle, in a form as shadowy as that of some unreal image. Gladly would he have followed in her wake, had he dared, for, to own the truth, the prospect of another stormy night in the midst of the wild waters that were raging around him, brought little consolation. Still he had too much professional pride to betray his uneasiness, and those under his care relied on his knowledge and resources, with the implicit and blind confidence, that the ignorant are apt to feel.
A few hours succeeded, and darkness came again to increase the perils of the Scud. A lull in the gale, however, had induced Cap to come by the wind once more, and throughout the night the cutter was lying-to, as before, head reaching as a matter of course, and occasionally waring to keep off the land. It is unnecessary to dwell on the incidents of this night, which resembled those of any other gale of wind. There were the pitching of the vessel, the hissing of the waters, the dashing of spray, the shocks that menaced annihilation to the little craft as she plunged into the seas, the undying howlings of the wind, and the fearful drift. The last was the most serious danger, for, though exceedingly weatherly under her canvass, and totally without top-hamper, the Scud was so light that the combing of the swells would seem, at times, to wash her down to leeward, with a velocity as great as that of the surges themselves.
During this night Cap slept soundly and for several hours. The day was just dawning, when he felt himself shaken by the shoulder, and on rousing himself he found the Pathfinder standing at his side. During the gale, the guide had appeared little on deck, for his natural modesty told him that seamen alone should interfere with the management of the vessel, and he was willing to show the same reliance on those who had charge of the Scud, as he expected those who followed through the forest, ought to manifest in his own skill. But he now thought himself justified in interfering, which he did in his own unsophisticated and peculiar manner.
“Sleep is sweet, Master Cap,” he said, as soon as the eyes of the latter were fairly open, and his consciousness had sufficiently returned—“Sleep is sweet, as I know from experience, but life is sweeter still. Look about you, and say if this is exactly the moment for a commander to be off his feet.”
“How now—how now—Master Pathfinder!” growled Cap, in the first moments of his awakened faculties—“Are you, too, getting on the side of the grumblers? When ashore, I admired your sagacity in running through the worst shoals, without a compass, and since we have been afloat, your meekness and submission have been as pleasant, as your confidence on your own ground; I little expected such a summons from you.”
“As for myself, Master Cap, I feel I have my gi
fts, and I believe they’ll interfere with those of no other man, but the case may be different with Mabel Dunham. She has her gifts, too, it is true, but they are not rude like ourn, but gentle, and womanish, as they ought to be. It’s on her account that I speak, and not on my own.”
“Ay—ay—I begin to understand. The girl is a good girl, my worthy friend, but she is a soldier’s daughter and a sailor’s niece, and ought not to be too taut, or too tender, in a gale. Does she show any fear?”
“Not she—not she. Mabel is a woman, but she is reasonable and silent. Not a word have I heard from her, consarning our doings, though I do think, Master Cap, she would like it better, if Jasper Eau douce were put into his proper place, and things were restored to their old situation, like. This is human natur’.”
“I’ll warrant it!—Girl like, and Dunham like, too. Any thing is better than an old uncle, and every body knows more than an old seaman! This is human natur’, Master Pathfinder, and, d____e, if I’m the man to sheer a fathom, starboard or port, for all the human natur’ that can be found in a minx of twenty—ay,—or—” lowering his voice a little—“for all that can be paraded in His Majesty’s 55th regiment of Foot. I’ve not been at sea forty years, to come up on this bit of fresh water to be taught human natur’.—How this gale holds out! It blows as hard, at this moment, as if Boreas had just clapped his hand upon the bellows. And what is all this to leeward?” rubbing his eyes—“Land as sure as my name is Cap; and high land, too!”
The Pathfinder made no immediate answer, but shaking his head, he watched the expression of his companion’s face, with a look of strong anxiety, in his own.
“Land, as certain as this is the Scud!—” repeated Cap—“A lee shore, and that, too, within a league of us, with as pretty a line of breakers, as one could find on the beach of all Long Island!”
“And is that encouraging, or is it disheartening?” demanded the Pathfinder.
“Ha! Encouraging—disheartening?—Why, neither. No—no—there is nothing encouraging about it; and, as for disheartening, nothing ought to dishearten a seaman. You never get disheartened, or afraid in the woods, my friend.”
“I’ll not say that—I’ll not say that. When the danger is great, it is my gift to see it, and know it, and to try to avoid it; else would my scalp, long since, have been drying in a Mingo wigwam. On this lake, howsever, I can see no trail, and I feel it my duty to submit; though I think we ought to remember there is such a person as Mabel Dunham, on board. But here comes her father, and he will nat’rally feel for his own child.”
“We are seriously situated, I believe, Brother Cap,” said the serjeant, when he had reached the spot, “by what I can gather from the two hands on the forecastle. They tell me the cutter cannot carry any more sail, and her drift is so great we shall go ashore in an hour or two. I hope their fears have deceived them?”
Cap made no reply, but he gazed at the land with a rueful face, and then looked to windward, with an expression of ferocity, as if he would have gladly quarrelled with the weather.
“It may be well, brother,” the serjeant continued, “to send for Jasper and consult him, as to what is to be done. There are no French here to dread, and, under all circumstances, the boy will save us from drowning if possible.”
“Ay—ay—’Tis these cursed circumstances that have done all the mischief! But let the fellow come; let him come; a few well-managed questions will bring the truth out of him, I’ll warrant you.”
This acquiescence on the part of the dogmatical Cap was no sooner obtained, than Jasper was sent for. The young man instantly made his appearance, his whole air, countenance and mien, expressive of mortification, humility, and, as his observers fancied, rebuked deception. When he first stepped on deck, Jasper cast one hurried anxious glance around, as if curious to know the situation of the cutter, and that glance sufficed, it would seem, to let him into the secret of all her peril. At first he looked to windward, as is usual with every seaman, then he turned round the horizon, until his eye caught a view of the highlands to leeward, when the whole truth burst upon him, at once.
“I’ve sent for you, Master Jasper,” said Cap, folding his arms, and balancing his body with the dignity of the forecastle, “in order to learn something about the haven to leeward. We take it for granted, you do not bear malice so hard, as to wish to drown us all; especially the women; and I suppose you will be man enough to help us to run the cutter into some safe berth, until this bit of a gale has done blowing?”
“I would die myself, rather than harm should come to Mabel Dunham,” the young man earnestly answered.
“I knew it!—I knew it!” cried Pathfinder, clapping his hand kindly on Jasper’s shoulder. “The lad is as true as the best compass that ever run a boundary, or brought a man off from a blind trail! It is a moral sin to believe otherwise.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Cap, “Especially the women!—As if they were in any particular danger. Never mind, young man; we shall understand each other, by talking like two plain seamen. Do you know of any port under our lee?”
“None. There is a large bay, at this end of the lake, but it is unknown to us all, and not easy of entrance.”
“And this coast to leeward—it has nothing particular to recommend it, I suppose?”
“It is a wilderness until you reach the mouth of the Niagara, in one direction, and Frontenac in the other. North and west, they tell me there is nothing but forest and prairies, for a thousand miles.”
“Thank God, then, there can be no French. Are there many savages, hereaway, on the land?”
“The Indians are to be found, in all directions, though they are nowhere very numerous. By accident, we might find a party, at any point on the shore; or, we might pass months there, without seeing one.”
“We must take our chance, then, as to the blackguards—but, to be frank with you, Master Western, if this little unpleasant matter about the French had not come to pass, what would you now do with the cutter?”
“I am a much younger sailor than yourself, Master Cap,” said Jasper, modestly, “and am hardly fitted to advise you.”
“Ay—ay—we all know that. In a common case, perhaps not. But this is an uncommon case and a circumstance, and on this bit of fresh water it has what may be called its peculiarities, and, so, every thing considered, you may be fitted to advise even your own father. At all events, you can speak, and I can judge of your opinion, agreeably to my own experience.”
“I think, sir, before two hours are over, the cutter will have to anchor.”
“Anchor!—not out here in the lake?”
“No, sir; but in yonder, near the land.”
“You do not mean to say, Master Oh! the deuce, you would anchor on a lee shore, in a gale of wind!”
“If I would save my vessel, that is exactly what I would do, Master Cap.”
“Whe—e—e—w!—This is fresh water, with a vengeance. Harkee, young man, I’ve been a seafaring animal, boy and man, forty one years, and I never yet heard of such a thing. I’d throw my ground tackle overboard, before I would be guilty of so lubberly an act!”
“That is what we do, on this lake,” modestly replied Jasper, “when we are hard pressed. I dare say we might do better, had we been better taught.”
“That you might indeed! No; no man induces me to commit such a sin against my own bringing up. I should never dare show my face inside of Sandy Hook, again, had I committed so know-nothing an exploit. Why, Pathfinder, here, has more seamanship in him, than that comes to. You can go below, again, Master Oh! the-deuce.”
Jasper quietly bowed and withdrew. Still, as he passed down the ladder, the spectators observed that he cast a lingering, anxious look at the horizon to windward, and the land to leeward, and then disappeared with concern strongly expressed in every lineament of his face.
Chapter XVII
“His still refuted quirks he still repeats;
New raised objections with new quibbles meets;
Till sinkin
g in the quicksand he defends,
He dies disputing, and the contest ends.”
—Cowper, The Progress of Error, ll. 550–53.
* * *
AS THE SOLDIER’S WIFE was sick in her berth, Mabel Dunham was the only person in the outer cabin, when Jasper returned to it; for, by an act of grace in the serjeant, he had been permitted to resume his proper place, in this part of the vessel. We should be ascribing too much simplicity of character to our heroine, if we said that she had felt no distrust of the young man, in consequence of his arrest, but we should also be doing injustice to her warmth of feelings and generosity of disposition, if we did not add that this distrust was insignificant and transient. As he now took his seat near her, his whole countenance clouded with the uneasiness he felt concerning the situation of the cutter, every thing like suspicion was banished from her mind, and she saw in him only an injured man.
“You let this affair weigh too heavily on your mind, Jasper,” she said eagerly, or with that forgetfulness of self with which the youthful of her sex are wont to betray their feelings, when a strong and generous interest has obtained the ascendency—“no one, who knows you, can or does believe you guilty. Pathfinder says he will pledge his life for you.”
The Leatherstocking Tales II Page 29
