Shadow of the North — Ch 13: The Meeting, part 2
The day was still brilliant but cold and he wisely kept himself thoroughly wrapped in the greatcoat.
As he ate he saw a large black bear walk leisurely through the forest, look at him a moment or two, and then waddle on in the same grave, unalarmed manner.
The incident troubled Robert, and his high spirits came down a notch or two.
If a black bear cared so little for the presence of an armed human being then he could not be as near to New York as he had thought.
Perhaps he had been unconscious on the schooner a long time.
He felt of the lump which was not yet wholly gone from his head, and tried his best to tell how old it was, but he could not do it.
The little cloud in his golden sky disappeared when he rose and started again through a fine forest.
His spirits became as high as ever.
Looking westward he saw the dim blue line of distant hills, and he turned northward, inferring that New York must lie in that direction.
In two hours his progress was barred by a river running swiftly between high banks, and with ice at the edges.
He could have waded it as the water would not rise past his waist, but he did not like the look of the chill current, and he did not want another wetting on a winter day.
He followed the stream a long distance, until he came to shallows, where he was able to cross it on stones.
His search for a dry ford had caused much delay, but he drew comfort from his observation that the stones making his pathway through the water were large and almost round.
He had seen many such about New York, and he had often marveled at their smoothness and roundness, although he did not yet know the geological reason.
But the stones in the river seemed to him to be close kin to the stones about New York, and he inferred, or at least he hoped, that it indicated the proximity of the city.
But he believed that he would have to spend another night in the wilderness.
Search the sky as he would, and he often did, there was no trace of smoke, and, as the sun went down the zenith and the cold began to increase, his spirits fell a little.
But he reasoned with himself.
Why should one inured as he was to the forest and winter, armed, provisioned and equipped with the greatcoat, be troubled?
The answer to his question was a return of confidence in full tide, and resolving to be leisurely he looked about in the woods for his new camp.
What he wanted was an abundance of dead leaves out of which to make a nest.
Dead leaves were cold to the touch, but they would serve as a couch and a wall, shutting out further cold from the earth and from the outside air, and with the greatcoat between, he would be warm enough.
He would have nothing to fear except snow, and the skies gave no promise of that danger.
He found the leaves in a suitable hollow, and disposed them according to his plan, the whole making a comfortable place for a seasoned forester, and, while he ate his supper, he watched the sun set over the wilderness.
Long after it was gone he saw the stars come out and then he looked at the particular one on which Tododaho, Tayoga's patron saint, had been living more than four hundred years.
It was glittering in uncommon splendor, save for a slight mist across its face, which must be the snakes in the hair of the great Onondaga chieftain who he felt was watching over him, because he was the friend of Tayoga.
Then he fell asleep, sleeping soundly, all through the night, and although he was a little stiff in the morning a few minutes of exercise relieved him of it and he ate his breakfast.
His journey toward the north was resumed, and in an hour he emerged into a little valley, to come almost face to face with the captain and the two sailors.
They were sitting on a log, apparently weary and at a loss, but they rose quickly at his coming and the captain's hand slid down to his pistol.
Robert's slid to his, making about the same speed.
Although his heart pounded a moment or two at first he was surprised to find how soon he became calm.
It was perhaps because he had been through so many dangers that one more did not count for much.
"You see, captain," he said, "that neither has the advantage of the other.
I did not expect to meet you here, or in truth, anywhere else.
I left you in command of the schooner, and you have deserted your post.
When I held that position I remained true to my duty."
The captain, who was heavily armed, carrying a cutlass as well as pistols, smiled sourly.
"You're a lad of spirit, Peter," he said.
"I've always given you credit for that.
In my way I like you, and I think I'll have you to go along with us again."
"I couldn't think of it.
We must part company forever.
We did it once, but perhaps the second time will count."
"No, my crew is now reduced to two--the ocean has all the others--and I need your help.
It would be better anyway for you to come along with us.
This Acadia is a desolate coast."
There was a log opposite the one upon which they had been sitting and Robert took his place upon it easily, not to say confidently.
He felt sure that they would not fire upon him now, having perhaps nothing to gain by it, but he kept a calculating eye upon them nevertheless.
"And so this is Acadia," he said.
"I've been wondering what land it might be.
I did not know that we had come so far.
Acadia is a long way from New York."
"A long, long way, Peter."
"But you know the coast well, of course, captain?"
"Of course.
I've made several voyages in the neighboring waters.
There's only one settlement within fifty miles of us, and you'd never find it, it's so small and the wilderness is such a maze."
"The country does look like much of a puzzle, but I've concluded, captain, that I won't go with you."
"Why not?"
"I'm persuaded that you're the very prince of liars, and in your company my morals might be contaminated."
The man's face was too tanned to flush, but his eyes sparkled.
"You're over loose with words, lad," he said, "and it's an expensive habit."
"I can afford it.
I know as surely as we're sitting here facing each other that this is not the coast of Acadia."
"Then what coast is it?"
"That I know not, but taking the time, I mean to have, I shall find out.
Then I'll tell you if you wish to know.
Where shall I deliver my message?"
"I think you're insolent.
I say again that it's the coast of Acadia, and you're going with us.
We're three to your one, and you'll have to do as I say."
Robert turned his gaze from the captain to his two men.
While their faces were far from good they showed no decision of character.
He knew at once that they belonged to the large class of men who are always led.
Both carried pistols, but he did not think it likely that they would attempt to use them, unless the captain did so first.
His gaze came back to the tall man, and, observing again the heavy cutlass he carried, a thought leaped up in his mind.
"You wish me to go with you," he said, "and I don't wish to go, which leaves it an open question.
It's best to decide it in clean and decisive fashion, and I suggest that we leave it to your cutlass and my sword."
The close-set eyes of the captain gleamed.
"I don't want to kill you, but to take you back alive," he said.
"You were always a strong and handy lad, Peter, and I need your help."
"You won't kill me.
That I promise you."
"You haven't a chance on earth."
"You pledge your word that your men will not interfere while the combat is in progress, nor will they do so afterward, if I win."
"They will not stir.
Remain where you are, lads."
The two sailors settled themselves back comfortably, clasping their knees with their hands, and Robert knew that he had nothing to fear from them.
Their confidence in the captain's prowess and easy victory was sufficient assurance.
They were not to be blamed for the belief, as their leader's cutlass was heavy and his opponent was only a youth.
The captain was of the same opinion and his mood became light and gay.
"I don't intend to kill you, Peter," he said, "but a goodly cut or two will let out some of your impertinent blood."
"Thanks, captain, for so much saving grace, because I like to live.
I
make you the same promise.
I don't want your death on my hands, but there is poison in the veins of a man who is willing to be a slaver.
I
will let it out, in order that its place may be taken by pure and wholesome blood."
The captain frowned, and made a few swings with his cutlass.
Then he ran a finger along its keen edge, and he felt satisfied with himself.
A vast amount of rage and mortification was confined in his system, and not charging any of it to the storm, the full volume of his anger was directed against his cook's former assistant, Peter Smith, who was entirely too jaunty and independent in his manner.
He could not understand Robert's presumption in challenging him to a combat with swords, but he would punish him cruelly, while the two sailors looked on and saw it well done.
Robert put his pack, his greatcoat, his coat, and his belt with the pistols and ammunition in a heap, and looked carefully to the sword that he had taken from the captain's cabin.
It was a fine weapon, though much lighter than the cutlass.
He bent the blade a little, and then made it whistle in curves about his head.
He had a purpose in doing so, and it was attained at once.
The captain looked at him with rising curiosity.
"Peter," he said, "you don't seem to be wholly unfamiliar with the sword, and you nothing but a cook's helper."
"It's true, captain.
The hilt fits lovingly into my hand.
In my spare moments and when nobody was looking I've often stolen this sword of yours from the cabin and practiced with it.
I mean now to make you feel the result of that practice."
The captain gazed at him doubtfully, but in a moment or two the confident smile returned to his eyes.
It was not possible that a mere stripling could stand before him and his cutlass.
But he took off his own coat which he had believed hitherto was a useless precaution.
There was a level space about thirty feet across, and Robert, sword in hand, advanced toward the center of it.
He had already chosen his course, which would be psychological as well as physical.
He intended that the battle should play upon the slaver's mind as well as upon his body.
"I'm ready, captain," he said.
"Don't keep us waiting.
It's winter as you well know, and we'll both grow cold standing here.
In weather like this we need work quick and warm."
The angry blood surged into the captain's face, although it did not show through his tan.
But he made an impatient movement, and stepped forward hastily.
"It can't be told of me that I kept a lad waiting," he said.
"I'll warrant you you'll soon be warm enough."
"Then we're both well suited, captain, and it should be a fine passage at arms."
The two sailors, sitting on the log, looked at each other and chuckled.
It was evident to Robert that they had supreme confidence in the captain and expected to see Peter Smith receive a lesson that would put him permanently in his place.
The mutual look and the mutual chuckle aroused some anger in Robert, but did not impair his certainty of victory.
Nevertheless he neglected no precaution.
The captain advanced, holding the heavy cutlass with ease and lightness.
He was a tall and very strong man, and Robert noted the look of cruelty in the close-set eyes.
He knew what he must expect in case of defeat, and again telling himself to be careful he recalled all the cunning that Willet had taught him.
"Are you ready?"
he asked quietly.
"Aye, Peter, and your bad quarter of an hour is upon you."
Again the two sailors on the log looked at each other and chuckled.
"I don't think so, captain," said Robert.
"Perhaps the bad quarter of an hour is yours."
He stared straight into the close-set cruel eyes so fixedly and so long that the captain lowered his gaze, proving that the superior strength of will lay with his younger opponent.
Then he shook himself angrily, his temper stirred, because his eyes had given way.
"Begin!"
said Robert.
The captain slashed with the heavy cutlass, and Robert easily turned aside the blow with his lighter weapon.
He saw then that the captain was no swordsman in the true sense, and he believed he had nothing to fear.
He waited until the man attacked again, and again he deftly turned aside the blow.
The two sailors sitting on the log looked at each other once more, but they did not chuckle.
Robert, still watching the close-set cruel eyes, saw a look of doubt appear there.
"My bad quarter of an hour seems to be delayed, captain," he said with irony.
The man, stung beyond endurance, attacked with fury, the heavy cutlass singing and whistling as he slashed and thrust.
Robert contented himself with the defense, giving ground slowly and moving about in a circle.
The captain's eye at first glittered with a triumphant light as he saw his foe retreat, and the two sailors sitting on the log and exchanging looks found cause to chuckle once more.
But the light sank as they completed the circle, leaving Robert untouched, and breathing as easily as ever, while the captain was panting.
Now he decided that his own time had come and knowing that the combat was mental as well as physical he taunted his opponent.
"In truth, captain," he said, "my bad quarter of an hour did not arrive, but yours, I think, is coming.
Look!
Look!
See the red spot on your waistcoat!"
Despite himself the captain looked down.
The sword flickered in like lightning, and then flashed away again, but when it was gone the red spot on the waistcoat was there.
His flesh stung with a slight wound, but the wound to his spirit was deeper.
He rushed in and slashed recklessly.
"Have a care, captain!"
cried Robert.
"You are fencing very wildly!
I
tell you again that your play with the cutlass is bad.
You can't see it, but there is now a red spot on your cheek to match the one on your waistcoat."
His sword darted by the other's guard, and when it came away it's point was red with blood.
A deep and dripping gash in the captain's left cheek showed where it had passed.
The two sailors sitting on the log exchanged looks once more, but there was no sign of a chuckle.
"That's for being a slaver, captain," said Robert.
"It's a bad occupation, and you ought to quit it.
But your wound will leave a scar, and you will not like to say that it was made by one whom you kidnapped, and undertook to carry away to his death."
The captain in a long career of crime and cruelty had met with but few checks, and to experience one now from the hands of a lad was bitter beyond endurance.
The sting was all the greater because of his knowledge that the two sailors who still exchanged looks but no chuckles, were witnesses of it.
The blood falling from his left cheek stained his left shoulder and he was a gruesome sight.
He rushed in again, mad with anger.
"Worse and worse, captain," said his young opponent.
"You're not showing a single quality of a swordsman.
You've nothing but strength.
I bade you have a care!
Now your right cheek is a match for your left!"
The captain uttered a cry, drawn as much by anger as by pain.
The deep point of his opponent's sword had passed across his right cheek and the red drops fell on both shoulders.
The two sailors looked at each other in dismay.
The man paused for breath and he was a ghastly sight.
"I told you more than once to beware, captain," said Robert, "but you would not heed me.
Your temper has been spoiled by success, but in time nearly every slaver meets his punishment.
I'm grateful that it's been permitted to me to inflict upon you a little of all that's owing to you.
Wounds in the face are very painful and they leave scars, as you'll learn."
He had already decided upon his finishing stroke, and his taunts were meant to push the captain into further reckless action.
They were wholly successful as the man sprang forward, and slashed almost at random.
Now, Robert, light of foot and agile, danced before him like a fencing master.
The captain cut and thrust at the flitting form but always it danced away, and the heavy slashes of his cutlass cut the empty air, his dripping wounds and his vain anger making him weaker and weaker.
But he would not stop.
Losing all control of his temper he rushed continually at his opponent.
The two sailors looked once more at each other, half rose to their feet, but sat down again, and were silent.
Now the captain saw a flash of light before him, and he felt a darting pain across his brow, as the keen point of the sword passed there.
The blood ran down into his eyes, blinding him for the time.
He could not see the figure before him, but he knew that it was tense and waiting.
He groped with his cutlass, but touching only thin air he threw it away, and clapped his hands to his eyes to keep away the trickling blood.
"You'll have three scars, captain," came the maddening voice, "one on each cheek and one on the forehead.
It's not enough punishment for a slaver, but, in truth, it's something.
And now I'm going.
You can't see to follow me, or even to take care of yourself but I leave you in the hands of your two sailors."
Robert put on his coat and greatcoat, resumed all his weapons and his pack and turned away.
The sailors were still sitting on the log, gazing at each other in amazement and awe.
Neither had spoken throughout the duel, nor did they speak now.
The victor did not look back, but walked swiftly toward the north, glad that he had been the instrument in the hands of fate to give to the slaver at least a part of the punishment due him.
He kept steadily on several hours, until he saw a smoke on the western sky, when he changed his course and came in another half hour to a small log house, from which the smoke arose.
A man standing on the wooden step looked at him with all the curiosity to which he had a right.
"Friend," said Robert, "how far is it to New York?"
"About ten miles."
"And this is not the coast of Acadia."
"Acadia!
What country is that?
I never heard of it."
"It exists, but never mind.
And New York is so near?
Tell me that distance again.
I like to hear it."
"Ten miles, stranger.
When you reach the top of the hill there you can see the houses of Paulus Hook."
Robert felt a great sense of elation, and then of thankfulness.
While fortune had been cruel in putting him into the hands of the slaver, it had relented and had taken him out of them, when the chance of escape seemed none.
"Stranger," said the man, "you look grateful about something."
"I am.
I have cause to be grateful.
I'm grateful that I have my life, I'm grateful that I have no wounds and I'm grateful that from the top of the hill there I shall be able to see the houses of Paulus Hook.
And I say also that yours is the kindliest and most welcome face I've looked upon in many a day.
Farewell."
"Farewell," said the man, staring after him.
Two hours later Robert was being rowed across the Hudson by a stalwart waterman.
As he passed by the spot where his boat had been cut down by the schooner he took off his hat.
"Why do you do that?"
asked the waterman.
"Because at this spot my life was in great peril a few days ago, or rather, here started the peril from which I have been delivered most mercifully."
An hour later he stood on the solid stone doorstep of Master Benjamin Hardy, important ship owner, merchant and financier.
The whimsical fancy that so often turned his troubles and hardships into little things seized Robert again.
He adjusted carefully his somewhat bedraggled clothing, set the sword and pistols in his belt at a rakish slant, put the pack on the step beside him, and, lifting the heavy brass knocker, struck loudly.
He heard presently the sound of footsteps inside, and Master Jonathan Pillsbury, looking thinner and sadder than ever, threw open the door.
When he saw who was standing before him he stared and stared.
"Body o' me!"
he cried at last, throwing up his hands.
"Is it Mr. Lennox or his ghost?"
"It's Mr. Lennox and no ghost," said Robert briskly.
"Let me in, Mr. Pillsbury.
I've grown cold standing here on the steps."
"Are you sure you're no ghost?"
"Quite sure.
Here pinch me on the arm and see that I'm substantial flesh.
Not quite so hard!
You needn't take out a piece.
Are you satisfied now?"
"More than satisfied, Mr. Lennox!
I'm delighted, Overjoyed!
We feared that you were dead!
Where have you been?"
"I've been serving on board a slaver on the Guinea coast.
That's a long distance from here, and it was an exciting life, but I'm back again safe and sound, Master Jonathan."
"I don't understand you.
You jest, Mr. Lennox."
"And so I do, but I tell you, Master Jonathan, I'm glad to be back again, you don't know how glad.
Do you hear me, Master Jonathan?
The sight of you is as welcome as that of an angel!"
The air grew black before him, and he reeled and would have fallen, but the strong arm of Jonathan Pillsbury caught him.
In a moment or two his eyes cleared and he became steady.
"It was not altogether a pleasure voyage of yours," said Master Jonathan, dryly.
"No, Mr. Pillsbury, it wasn't. But I came near fainting then, because I was so glad to see you.
Is Mr. Hardy here?"
"No, he has gone to the Royal Exchange.
He has been nigh prostrated with grief, but I persuaded him that business might lighten it a little, and he went out today for the first time.
Oh, young sir, he will be truly delighted to find that you have come back safely, because, although you may know it not, he has a strong affection for you!"
"And I have a high regard for him, Master Jonathan.
He has been most kind to me."
"Come in, Mr. Lennox.
Sit down in the drawingroom and rest yourself, while I hurry forth with the welcome news."
Robert saw that his prim and elderly heart was in truth rejoiced, and his own heart warmed in turn.
Obscure and of unknown origin though he might be, friends were continually appearing for him everywhere.
A
servant took his weapons and what was left of his pack, Master Jonathan insisted upon his drinking a small glass of wine to refresh himself, and then he was left alone in the imposing drawing-room of Mr. Hardy.
He sank back in a deep chair of Spanish leather, and shutting his eyes took several long breaths of relief.
He had come back safely and his escape seemed marvelous even to himself.
As he opened his eyes a mild voice said: "And so Dagaeoga who went, no one knows where, has returned no one knows how."
Tayoga, smiling but grave, and looking taller and more majestic than ever, stood before him.
"Aye, I'm back, and right glad I am to be here!"
exclaimed Robert, springing to his feet and seizing Tayoga's hand.
"Oh, I've been on a long voyage, Tayoga!
I've been to the coast of Africa on a slaver, though we caught no slaves, and I was wrecked on the coast of Acadia, and I fought and walked my way back to New York!
But it's a long tale, and I'll not tell it till all of you are together.
I hope you were not too much alarmed about me, Tayoga."
"I know that Dagaeoga is in the keeping of Manitou.
I have seen too many proofs of it to doubt.
I was sure that at the right time he would return."
Mr. Hardy came presently and then Willet.
They made no display of emotion, but their joy was deep.
Then Robert told his story to them all.
"Did you see any name on the wrecked schooner?"
