By this time it was fairly light, and Harry not having awaked, Old Ruff having lifted one of the hot, smoking fish upon some fresh green leaves, and, kneeling softly beside the lad, held the morsel so that the odor was sure to reach the nostrils.
One good sniff was enough. The boy moved uneasily, flung the blanket from his shoulders, opened his eyes, and called out:
“Quick! give me something to eat before I starve!”
“All right, you shall have it,” replied Old Ruff, “only sit up like a Christian and eat it.”
A few minutes sufficed to make matters clear, and as Harry began to eat the tempting fish he looked around for the Blackfeet, and seeing them not, made inquiry.
“That ’ere Maquesa is the cunningest varmint I ever run afoul of,” said the trapper, after answering the question; “of course he knowed that I was arter him, ever since that night Speckled Beauty walked into camp and told him so. He never stopped to see me, but he just tramped ahead, and arter fixing things to suit him, he then turned ’bout to meet me. He must have seen us when I left you yesterday, and, waitin’ till I had got out of sight, he went in to plague you a little, for the old greaser ain’t above a joke now and then.”
“But he showed no disposition to hurt me,” said Harry.
“’Cause I come up in time to sp’ile thar game, but ef I’d stayed away a couple of hours longer they’d put you through a course of sprouts, and made you b’l’eve sartin you war goin’ to be skulped and burnt at the stake. That was all them varmints come fur—just for the sake of having a little fun out of you.”
“Then I’m very glad you put in an appearance when you did, for I don’t fancy these red-skins, and I don’t understand all the little tricks they’re up to. If they had begun that business I’d been certain they were in dead earnest, and would have done my best to use my gun or rifle upon them, and then I suppose the fun would have turned to dead earnest.”
“You may bet on that;thatain’t the kind of fun they fancy, and them other two chaps with him are a couple ofbloody dogs that would have been glad of the chance to split your head open.”
“But what about Little Rifle?” asked Harry, unable longer to conceal his impatience. “I noticed that you talked Indian, so you must have given Maquesa a chance to do most of the talking.”
“He speaks English purty well, but of course it ain’t like his own woshy-boshy, so I steered ahead inthat.”
“And what did you learn?”
“It was a mighty strange story that he told,” said the trapper, seriously, “and it’s nothin’ more nor less than this. He said that a couple of moons ago, he l’arned that the little gal that had been left in his charge was the Little Rifle that I had, and so he came across the mountains arter her.”
“How was it that he found out?” asked Harry. “Who could have told him the secret, when, at that time, even you and Little Rifle herself did not know it?”
“That’s the question I put to him, and he wouldn’t answer, but I don’t b’l’eve any one told him, but that he thought it out for himself. Of course it took him a long time, for he has known for a good many years that Little Rifle has been with me, but the old chap has got brains enough to cipher out a thing like that, without any help.”
“How does his story correspond with that told by the slip of paper?”
“’Zactly; he says the babe was left in his charge by a great white man, who thought all the world of him, and that he seen him write something on a slip of paper, and put it in the handle of the gun. He and his squaw took it to their lodge on the other side the mountains, and war keepin’ it thar. They often left it alone, and it happened at one of these times that I slipped in and went away with it, and I’ve had it ever since.”
“Then it was Maquesa who succeeded in getting her away from us. Did he tell you why it was that she came to leave me so willingly?”
“No; he didn’t tell me that, ’cause thar warn’t no need of it. I knowed it already.”
Harry had hoped to catch the trapper off his guard, andsecure the coveted answer, but Robsart saw through the trick in time to escape.
“But what is he doing with Little Rifle? Why does he keep her?”
“He says he hasn’t got her at all—that he hasn’t seen her for several days—and that he never expects to see her again.”
Harry Northend sat astounded and stupefied at the answer of Old Ruff, and when he had partly regained his self-poise he repeated the words.
“Maquesa says he has not seen her for several days, and never expects to see her again. Is that what the chief said?”
“Them’s almost his words ’zactly—leastways, that’s ’zactly what he meant.”
“In the name of Heaven, what does he mean?”
“He says that he has met the father of Little Rifle—that he met him a couple of weeks ago, and that it was on his account he came through the mountains arter her. Her father waited somewhere for him—down toward the Willamette, I b’l’eve, at one of the forts. Thar Maquesa met him, and thar he turned over Little Rifle to him, and both have started for Astoria, whar they’re going to take ship for San Francisco.”
Here was a revelation indeed, and for several minutes Harry sat with open mouth, hardly able to realize all that had been said. Before he could make any comment the trapper added, in a significant tone:
“That’s a big story to tell, and it may all be true, but somehow or other I think old Maquesa was lying to me, and tryin’ to throw me off the right track.”
“What is it you suspect, Uncle Ruff?”
“I don’t know as I kin tell ’zactly,” he answered, with a puzzled air as he scratched his head, “but he let drop oneor two things that made me think he was very anxious to get you and me off to Astoria, where we’d be out of his way.”
“You think, then, that that part of his story was a fabrication?”
“Yes; I don’t believe Little Rifle has started for Astoria; but thar’s some truth, too, in what the varmint said.”
“And how much?”
“That’s hard to tell; but I s’pect he has met the father of Little Rifle, or else, when he went away a good many years ago, the man promised to come back ag’in, and the time being ’bout up, Maquesa has started off to hunt up his little gal for him.”
“That does not seem probable to me,” said Harry, after a moment’s thought. “No man would go away or remain away voluntarily for years, knowing that his only daughter was among a tribe of barbarous savages. No father could willingly leave a child to grow up among them, as your theory would make Mr. Ravenna do.”
“I guess you’re right,” replied the trapper. “I didn’t think of all that, but I kin see the reason in it now. It must be, then, that Maquesa is waiting to see the father, and wishes to get us out the way until arter he delivers her up.”
“That seems very likely,” said Harry; “there is reason and consistency in all that.”
“Arter he turns the gal over to the father, then I s’pose he don’t care, and we kin tramp and hunt all we’re a mind to.”
“Why does he wish us to go to Astoria?”
“Thar ar’ ships sailin’ from thar to Fr’isco. The smart dog thinks when we git thar, that we’ll just hear of some vessel goin’ down the coast, and will be sartin the father and gal have gone, and we’ll start arter ’em. That’ll put us out of the way for a couple of months, you see, and that’ll give the old coon plenty time to get through with his part of the business, and when we come back mad and tearing, what’ll he care?”
“You suspect, then, that Little Rifle is still in the hands of Maquesa?”
“That’s what I think. As long as he was on the go with her, he didn’t mind how hard we follered arter, for he coulddodge us all the time; but now he’s settled down for a while, and it’ll take ’bout all his time to watch the gal, without watchin’ us too.”
“And Little Rifle is probably at Maquesa’s village close at hand?”
“I shouldn’t wonder, and of course I’m going to find out afore I make a fair start for Fr’isco. I ain’t quite ’nough fool to start off on such a hunt without something more than the word of Maquesa.”
“But you know how cunning he is, Uncle Ruff; he will be on the watch for us, and it will be hard for you to reconnoiter the village without his discovering it; and that will show him that we don’t believe what he has told us.”
“He’s beat me up to this time,” replied the trapper, with a grin, “but if he beats me now, I’ll leave the woods and mountains, and open an oyster saloon in Fr’isco. But come! do you see how high the sun is? Let’s be off.”
Harry noticed that as they moved away the old man headed for the Columbia river, which lay off to the south-west, and to reach which by the present route, would carry them entirely out of the way of the Indian village in which Maquesa ruled and reigned.
The trapper explained by saying that his intention was to “fool” the chief into the belief that he had given his words full credence, and was really on his way for the little trading-post at the head of the Columbia.
“He’s very kind—oncommonly so,” he added; “he told me where I could find one of his canoes, which he said was a mighty good thing to shoot the Dalles with. We’ll take it, and p’r’aps use it for that.”
The river was still a goodly distance away, and it was a couple of hours before they reached it; but, so explicit had been the instructions of the Blackfoot, that scarcely fifteen minutes passed, after striking the stream, before the boat was found, and the two entered, and headed down-stream, Old Ruff paddling at a leisurely rate, like one who has a week of labor ahead.
Not until they had rounded a large bend in the river, did he make any reference to the Blackfoot who had sent them upon this errand. Then it was to inquire:
“Didn’t notice nothin’ ’ticular when we shoved off, younker?”
Harry replied in the negative, wondering to what he referred.
“Maquesa and another varmint were on t’other side the river, watchin’. I seen ’em, but they didn’t know it. You see, they wa’n’t sartin whar I meant to go, and that’s what they war after.”
“Then you are certain they have been deceived as to what you mean to do?”
“Ain’t sartin yet, and I don’t b’lieve he is. I’m paddlin’ mighty slow, as you have obsarved, ’cause I’m expecting he’ll take another squint. Ef he does, it will be from the top of that swell yender. He orter reached it by this time, ’cause we haven’t traveled fast. Jes’ turn your glass that way—as careless, like, you know, as you can—and see whether you can catch sight of any top-knots.”
The boy did as requested, and after a few seconds’ careful survey, he declared that he saw nothing suspicious. The swell alluded to was upon the right bank of the river, rising to a hight of a dozen feet or so, with no trees, but covered with long, luxuriant grass.
“Let me take it,” said Robsart to Harry, and turning it in the direction indicated, he held it motionless for considerable time, leaving the canoe to drift with the current.
“Don’t see nothin’ of him,” he said, still holding the instrument to his eye; “guess he thinks thar ain’t no use of his going to Astoria— Skulp me! ef I didn’t cotch a glimpse of his top-knot then. He’s a-layin’ flat, and raised his noddle jist high ’nough for me to see it through the grass. Now its down ag’in.”
Several times this was repeated, until the trapper, convinced that he was entirely alone, grew weary, and passing the telescope to his companion, resumed the paddle.
The Columbia, at this part of its course, was quite broad and winding, and by keeping close to the shore, Robsart managed his boat in such a way that, while he appeared to be at work all the time, he was in reality making little progress; for, as will be easily seen, every rod thus passed over, very likely would have to be tramped back, not once but twice again.
The experienced eye of the trapper was enabled to discover, almost to a certainty, the points from which the Blackfoot chief would make his observations, and after doubling another cape, he directed the glass to the suspicious point.
But a careful survey, repeated many times, failed to reveal any thing at all; and the conclusion was inevitable.
Maquesa had been satisfied in his own mind that his statements were fully credited, and that the two were on their way to the mouth of the Columbia. Consequently he had withdrawn from watching and following them.
Another result from all this was the conviction that the chief had been using deception, and that, in the words of Harry, they had not only overtaken Little Rifle, but had passed beyond her, and to find her again, they must turn about and retrace a goodly part of the distance.
Old Ruff Robsart, understanding the tricky nature of Maquesa as he did, dared not take any thing for granted, and although almost positive that he was no longer under surveillance, he kept up his semblance of journeying westward until the sun went down, and darkness wrapped the forest and stream in its sable mantle.
And then, as soon as assured that he was under the scrutiny of no prowling red-skin, he shot the canoe under the bank and leaped out.
Every thing had been arranged beforehand, so that no time was now lost in the exchange of words.
Harry was to remain where he was until his return, no matter if he was absent a month. This was to be a journey entirely on foot, and the trapper’s legs had enjoyed such a good rest that they felt capable of almost any thing. A run of a dozen miles would be no more than enough to give them a good stretching.
After springing ashore, he merely uttered a word of parting, and then whisked away like a shadow, leaving Harry Northend alone.
The latter made up his mind for a good long period of waiting, so he ran the canoe out a short distance into the stream, where he made the stern fast to a long, outreaching limb, and then, wrapping himself up in his blanket, went to sleep.
Nothing occurred to interrupt his sleep, and when he awoke,the stream was sparkling in the sunshine, and the cool, fresh morning air was crinkling the surface.
The next sensation of which he was aware was one of excessive hunger, and unfastening the boat, he paddled ashore and sprung out to go on a hunt after something.
Harry drew the canoe up the bank and entirely out of the water, remembering the caution that the trapper always took at such a time, not merely from any sudden rising of the current but to prevent its catching the eye of any foes who might pass up or down stream.
This done to his own satisfaction, he threw his rifle upon his shoulder and was just starting off upon his hunt, when the crackling of a branch told him that some one was approaching!
The next moment the copse parted, and to the surprise and pleasure of Harry Northend, not an Indian or wild animal, but old Robsart himself appeared.
The lad was not expecting him before nightfall, but he had strong hopes that when he did come he would bring Little Rifle with him; when he saw, therefore, that he was entirely alone, the pleasure of meeting his old friend again was mingled with a bitter disappointment.
But the trapper did not appear cast down or discouraged, although he, too, was apparently disappointed in the result of his journey.
After grasping the hand of the lad, he said:
“What do you s’pose, younker? Arter all I’ve said, and arter all we’ve seen, that Maquesa has been tellin’ me nothin’ but the truth itself.”
“Are you in earnest?” inquired Harry, with no little amazement.
“Never more in ’arnest in my life; I got a look into thar village, and was mighty lucky in finding the lodge of Maquesahimself. Thar I listened fur a half-hour, while he talked with his squaw, and what I heard him say made me sartin that Little Rifle has joined her father, and with a couple of Injins to guide ’em, they’re gone down the Columbia, on thar way to Fr’isco. If we ever expect to overhaul ’em, that’s just what we’ve got to do. The little gal is still ahead of us, and we’re a good ways behind.”
“How much have they the start of us?” asked Harry.
“I dunno; but I think it can’t be fur from two days, and mebbe a good deal more.”
“Do you think there is any probability of our overtaking them, before they reach the mouth of the Columbia?”
“The chances are all ag’in’ it; ’cause it ain’t likely that them two red-skins have slept much on thar way. You know the old man would be purty sartin to give ’em good pay and hurry ’em up all he could. I shouldn’t wonder if they’ve set him and Little Rifle already ashore, and then our only chance is that the vessel they’re goin’ on don’t sail afore we git thar.”
“Then let us be off at once.”
Both were so eager to get forward that they took no more time than was absolutely necessary for taking their dinner. The day was clear and pleasant, just cool enough to make the exercise of paddling exhilarating to one of Old Ruff’s powerful, healthy frame.
He worked as untiringly as a steam engine, and aided by the swift current of the Columbia they made good progress toward the ocean.
All the way along the river the trapper was on the look-out for the returning canoe, in which Ravenna and Little Rifle had been taken to Astoria. Having seen nothing of it thus far, he had strong hopes of reaching the mouth of the Columbia so near behind it as to intercept their friends before they started for San Francisco.
At the same time there was the possibility, if not the probability, that the returning Blackfeet had either gone back overland or had avoided them.
The most vivid reminder that they were out of the woods was the sudden appearance of a sloop coming up-stream. It was under full sail, and at first sight of it Harry started andexclaimed that they were now indeed in a land of civilization.
The Columbia is ascended by large vessels to Fort Vancouver, about a hundred miles from the mouth, while vessels of very light draught now reach a point nearly double that distance.
A few miles further, and just as the day was drawing to a close, our friends came in sight of a schooner anchored close to shore.
Robsart ran the little boat alongside, and finding several of the crew aboard, made inquiries as to whether they had noticed a canoe going by at any time during the past few days.
Upon hearing the question the sailors laughed, and declared that they had seen fully a hundred during the week that they had been ascending the river; and even when the trapper explained particularly the number and general appearance of the occupants of the one he was seeking, the seamen could give no satisfactory answer, and Old Ruff resumed his journey, rather ill-naturedly remarking that it was no use of making inquiries of men who knew nothing and never would know any thing.
They had come a long distance during the day and the trapper needed rest. Accordingly the boat was run ashore, turned over on its face, and they sought and procured lodgings in a little settlement that stood back a short distance from the shore.
As may be believed, the sun was scarcely above the horizon when the canoe was again speeding down the Columbia, which was rapidly expanding in depth and width as they advanced.
They had now passed the last great bend in this majestic river, and had almost a due westerly course before them until they should reach the Pacific. Off to the north-east they could see the massive snow-covered peak of St. Helen’s, as it towered aloft for fully thirteen thousand feet. Shortly after they glided by the mouth of a considerable stream that put in from the north.
Just as the twilight descended upon wood and stream the canoe reached Astoria, and this portion of their journey was finished.
Although, as we have said, the day was drawing to a close when our friends landed in Astoria, they lost no time in making search for Little Rifle and her father, directing their steps, naturally enough, to the old tavern which stands back some distance from the river.
“Thar they ar’ now!” suddenly exclaimed Old Robsart.
“Where? where?” asked Harry, starting and looking about in great excitement.
“Thar! don’t you see ’em? I mean them two red-skins that fotched ’em here! They’re Blackfeet, both of ’em; they’re the very varmints we’ve been lookin’ fur.”
As he spoke he pointed out two Indians seated upon the ground, with a bottle of whisky between them. Sure enough they were the very men that had brought down Ravenna and his daughter from the Blackfoot village. Having been well paid for their work they had purchased a few gaudy ornaments at the fort, and were now fast drinking themselves dead drunk upon the red-man’s great enemy, “fire-water.”
Indeed they were so far gone now, that there was very little to be got out of them, and Old Ruff would have succeeded no better than he did with the sailors up the river, had he not snatched their whisky-bottle away from them, and sworn that they should not have it again, until they answered him every question.
After a half-hour’s hard work, he learned that they had reached Astoria on the preceding day with their charge, that they had seen them sail away in a “much big canoe” toward the great lake, as they supposed, on a trip to some happy hunting-ground.
At the tavern or inn, more definite information was gained. They learned that Mr. Ravenna had arrived there in a ship from San Francisco, several weeks before, and remaining onlya day, had hired a couple of hunters to take him up the river to meet some Indian chief. On the preceding day he had returned, in a canoe under the charge of the two Blackfeet, and having with him, what seemed a boy, attired in Indian dress. He was very quiet, had scarcely anything to say, and very little was seen of him.
They had taken passage on this same morning for San Francisco, in the same vessel that had brought the father there, and by this time were fairly out to sea, on their way thither.
This was to the point, as were the query and answer as to when another boat left the port for the same destination. The captain of the schooner Albatross was sitting in the bar-room at the time, and replied that he should weigh anchor at sunrise on the morrow, when the tide would be in and the bar could be passed without trouble.
Could he take a couple of passengers who would pay him well for the accommodation?
Certainly; any thing in the way of business, and to please the gentlemen.
But just here, the trapper called Harry aside and conveyed the unexpected startling information that he had decided to go no further.
“What’s the use?” he said, by way of explanation. “I can’t be of no further help to you; all you’ve got to do, is to go on board the Albatross, and squat down and wait till she lands you in Fr’isco. When you git there you kin hunt out the little gal as well without as you kin with me. I must look after them furs and peltries of mine, and when I go back I’ll stop at Fort Abercombie, and tell your old man that you’re all right, and you know that’ll be a great satisfaction to him. You’re on the right track now, and thar ain’t no Blackfeet in the way to make any bother. You’ve got plain sailin’, and like ’nough you’ll git into Fr’isco as soon as the other boat does. Leastways you’ll have no trouble to find the little critter, and when you do, give her my love, and tell her I’ll be down that way purty soon, to see her, or I’ll foller her wherever she goes. Don’t you see, younker, that that’s the true plan and the best one?”
Harry could not help seeing the force of what the trappersaid, and he admitted it; but as he had not the least thought of such a proceeding upon his part, it required some time for him to feel perfectly resigned to it.
The agreement was made that Old Ruff should remain over night with Harry at the inn and then start on his return to the beaver runs beyond the Cascade Range, while he should move down the coast toward San Francisco.
And with this understanding the parties retired at a late hour.
The arrangement was carried out almost to the letter, as the trapper left the inn at an early hour, bidding Harry an affectionate farewell, with the confident hope that they would soon meet again.
It was nearly noon when the Albatross crossed the bar at the mouth of the river, ten miles further down, and placed herself fairly on the Pacific ocean.
As soon as the sloop was fairly out to sea, and sailing northward, Harry gave himself up to the enjoyment of the scene. Walking to the prow, he took a station where he was not likely to be in the way and feasted upon the view, which was a novel and deeply interesting one to him.
When Harry Northend finally aroused himself from the fanciful dreams into which he had fallen, the sun had gone down, and it was already growing dark. He noticed that the sea was heavier than usual, and the ship tossed and pitched in a way that was any thing but pleasant to a landsman.
He had a dread of being sea-sick, but it may be that there was something in the rough out-door life that he had been leading during the past few months that acted as a preventive; for now, when the real test had come, in the tossing and heaving of the sea, he was not sensible of the slightest disturbance, and, as he descended into the cabin to take hissupper with the captain, that functionary took occasion to congratulate him upon his good fortune.
“Perhaps I may get sick yet,” timidly returned the boy, “as we are only fairly started on our trip, I suppose.”
“Perhaps you will,” was the hearty reply of the captain, as he helped himself to a huge slice of fried pork, “though a chap, if he is going to have it, is pretty sure to show signs of it by this time. However, we are going to have rough weather before we get through.”
Harry looked up at the bronzed and bearded face with some apprehension.
“Do you mean that a storm is brewing?”
“Exactly; I can always feel it in that larboard leg of mine—a touch of the rheumatics, you know—a reg’lar barometer—sure to tell me when trouble is coming.”
“What sort of a coast have we here?” asked the boy.
“It is one of the infernalest coasts in the whole creation,” was the reply of Captain Cole. “I was wrecked on it twice, and the last time I came up, only missed it by a hair’s breadth.”
Harry could not but feel alarmed at the words of the captain; but beyond his own personal fear, was anxiety about Little Rifle, who, he knew, was at no great distance ahead, and whose vessel would be caught in the same tempest, if it should come, and would, in all human probability, share the same fate.
“Do you know what boat Mr. Ravenna and his daughter sailed upon?” he asked of the officer.
“Certainly,” was the prompt answer. “It was the North Star, a schooner belonging to the Smith Brothers, of Fr’isco, engaged in the same trade with us.”
“Is she a stanch vessel, able to weather such a storm as seems to be coming?”
“She is one of the rottenest, good-for-nothingest old hulks in the trade. It’s a wonder to me that she hasn’t gone to the bottom before, for she ain’t any better than an old tub.”
This was very dispiriting tidings, to say the least, and Harry began to believe that instead of being through with the difficulties and dangers, the greatest still remained before them.
As if to emphasize the words of the captain, the whistling of the wind through the cordage at this moment rose so high and shrill, that they distinctly heard it in the cabin, although the door was closed. At the same time the vessel made a deep plunge into the sea.
Captain Cole shook his head in a knowing way.
“Oh, I tell you it’s coming, sure; you can make up your mind to that. I tell you that ahowleris coming up!”
The captain arose and went on deck, and Harry followed him, that he might see for himself the prospect before them.
The change that he encountered was enough to make the strongest man, unaccustomed to the sea, draw back in terror.
It was of pitchy darkness, and the gale, as it whistled through the rigging, rose and swelled like the shrieking of spirits in the air, as they floated high above the mast, or glided over the deck; the wind that blew against his cheeks brought with it the brine of the ocean, and he instinctively clapped his hand upon his head to prevent his hat being carried away.
The sloop was pitching and tossing quite heavily, but still she held her own. All sail was crowded on, and she seemed to be under capital control, if it would only last.
The captain speedily vanished in the gloom, as he went to take his place at the helm, and relieve the mate, who had been stationed there during his absence.
When Harry found himself out of the cabin and upon the deck, he staggered to the gunwale, where he caught hold with both hands and held on, while he listened and looked, and endeavored to gain a fair view of the situation.
“There is a strong gale of wind,” he thought, as the spray went dashing over his head; “but I can not see why there should be any great danger. She has not taken in any sail yet, and so long as the wind keeps as it is, it will only hurry us on our way.”
Looking aloft, not a star was to be seen. The sky seemed to be wrapped in the densest, blackest gloom.
Looking off to the southward, Harry fancied, once or twice, that he detected a bright point of light appear through the night.
Only for an instant was it visible, when it vanished again,and he supposed it was produced by the phosphorescence of the sea, until he happened to be gazing directly toward the point where it appeared, when it struck him that its appearance was different from that. It was more like the glimmering of a star, that is shut out at intervals by some dark body coming between it and the observer, to reäppear again in a few moments.
While Harry was puzzling his brains over the singular appearance of this light, somebody slapped him upon the shoulder, causing him to turn with a suddenness that almost threw him off his feet.
In the murky gloom, he was barely able to make out a human figure, which he suspected was that of the captain.
“Come, my boy, you had better go below!” he called out, in a cheery voice.
“Can you tell me what that light means?” Harry inquired.
“Where? I don’t see any,” replied the officer, halting by his side.
“It is gone now—there it is again. Look! it seems like a star!”
“Oh, that! Why that’s the binnacle light of another boat.”
“Do you know what one it is?” asked the lad, with a vague but terrible misgiving freezing his heart.
“Hardly enough light to read her name; wait until morning, and I’ll tell you what she is, and where she hails from.”
Harry was about to ask more, but the captain moved away in the darkness, leaving him alone.
He remained on deck, watching the fitful twinkling of the point of light, as it rose to view on the crest of a wave, and then dipped out of sight again, and speculating as to what the night and following day would bring forth.
But, as the night advanced, he thought there was very little if any increase in the fury of the gale, and he descended into the cabin, where Captain Cole had placed a hammock at his disposal.
Here he committed his soul in fervent prayer to God, and then lay down without removing any of his garments; for he had no expectation of sleep, and had little hope that he would be permitted to remain undisturbed until the rising of the morrow’s sun.
Harry Northend had been through many perils and trying scenes in the wilderness of the North-west; but just now he felt more wretched from physical fear than ever before.
It was useless for him to lie upon his hammock, and he only did so because he had nothing else to do. Finally he leaped down upon the floor, and taking a seat upon the bench, concluded to sit out the night.
The lantern swinging from the roof threw a dim, yellow glare through the cabin, and, as he mechanically looked up, he saw a half-dozen life-preservers dangling beside it. They were made of cork, and were the same as he had often seen upon the Mississippi steamers.
Unfastening one of the useful articles, he carefully fastened it beneath his shoulders, and then resuming his seat, waited as the terrible moments dragged slowly by.
Harry was sitting with bowed head, his thoughts upon his mother and home, when he was again brought to his feet by another outburst. This time it was the heavy boom of thunder, that appeared to burst overhead, scarcely higher than the masts, and which made the sloop tremble as if struck by a mountainous surge.
This was the first time since starting that he had heard the noise of thunder, and somehow or other, whether with or without reason, we can not say, he had mainly founded his hope upon that fact, persuading himself that so long as that was absent, there was good reason for believing the vessel would safely ride out the gale.
The boat was still shivering beneath the shock, when there came another rattling, reverberating peal, ten times louder than before, and that paralyzed Harry for the moment with terror.
“The vessel has been struck!” he gasped, as soon as he recovered his self-possession, and then staggering to the door,he drew it open, and looked out, expecting to see the boat hissing in flames.
But no; it was still unharmed; but the dense blackness was cut in a hundred places by the zigzag lightning, that was flaming from every portion of the heavens, and seemed to be playing about the vessel preparatory to splitting it into a thousand fragments.
Harry partially ascended from the cabin, and then paused transfixed by the terrible scene. It was now raining, the drops of water being carried along almost horizontally by the hurricane, and striking his face like particles of sand. By the intense brightness of the lightning, he could catch sight of the towering billows that rushed tumultuously toward the doomed vessel, each one, as if it were about to overwhelm it, their tops white with foam, while their concave walls appeared, as momentarily seen, as if they were of ink.
The wind shrieked and moaned through the cordage, and the captain’s orders, as he shouted them through his speaking-trumpet, sounded as if they came from some point miles away. By the same vivid flashes, he caught sight of him and the seamen, standing like statues, cool, self-possessed, and ready for whatever the elements should bring them.
Harry was recalled to a more vivid sense of his perilous position by a tremendous surge, which striking the side of the vessel with all its force, instead of dashing itself into spray and mist, broke so as to send an immense volume bodily across the decks, precipitating itself against him with such violence that he was thrown senseless to the floor of the cabin.
He had an indistinct recollection of hearing the door slammed to at the same instant, and concluded, when he recovered his senses, that it had been done by one of the seamen, as a reminder for him to keep it closed, so as to prevent the water from entering, the hatches having long since been fastened down.
The lad did not remain unconscious for any length of time. The sense of impending danger was too vivid and intense, and the shuddering and tossing of the vessel too constant for him to continue insensible to it. Recovering his feet he again sat down, holding on tightly to prevent himself being tossed upon his head.
And sitting there he could hear the mighty waves sweep over the deck with a fierce impetuosity that it seemed must rend the vessel asunder.
“How much longer, oh heaven! can this tortured vessel stand this?” he exclaimed, more than once, as it labored up from the trough of the sea.
The terrible night wore slowly away. If the sloop Albatross was unseaworthy she still struggled manfully and bravely with the furious tempest. It seemed at times as if human ingenuity could not put timbers together strong enough to withstand the avalanche-like pounding of the mountain surges; but still she labored on, panting and plunging through the waves that broke and swept her decks from end to end.
It was near daylight, and Harry was sitting in the manner mentioned, when he observed that the floor of the cabin was covered with water. Of course a considerable quantity had been dashed in with him at the time he was struck by the wave and precipitated to the bottom, but it appeared that this quantity was increasing.
The constant pitching and tossing made it impossible for him to measure the hight by any mark upon the side of the cabin, but a few minutes’ careful survey convinced him that he was not mistaken.
Just then the dull thumping of one of the pumps reached his ears, and he understood that the vessel was leaking.
His little knowledge of a vessel had led him to suppose that in case they sprung a leak the last place into which the water made its way was the cabin; but he could well understand how in such a gale as this such furious wrenching must open the seams in a score of places.
“She is leaking—that’s certain!” he exclaimed, as the sousing and dashing of the water made his position anythingbut a pleasant one. “I believe it will gain upon them too, if the storm continues much longer, so that the hold will fill with water.”
Scarcely any change was to be noticed in the thunder-claps, which continually sounded in the ear with a stunning uproar to which Harry was in a certain respect indifferent. It was not the lightning which he feared, but the sea, the tempest; it was the shivering ship, the crashing billows, whose frightful perils he could not drive from his mind if he desired, which at any moment might consign him to the merciless ocean.
Finally he concluded to make the attempt to reach the deck again, for he was convinced from the way that the boat was laboring, and the increasing water in the cabin, that she was sinking, and he judged that Captain Cole was too much occupied to leave his post, and perhaps when the critical moment came would forget him altogether and leave him to his fate.
At the very moment he placed his hand upon the door it was shoved violently inward, and the stentorian voice of Captain Cole shouted:
“Come, my boy, time’s up; are you ready to go to Davy Jones’ locker?”
A frightful scene met his gaze as he came upon deck. The night was passed, but the morning that had succeeded was scarcely less terrible.
The wind, which had been blowing a hurricane, had abated somewhat, but a rain, mixed with snow, swept horizontally through the air, with a cutting chilliness; the billows came sweeping tumultuously forward, so close after each other that they looked like the snowy ridges of countless mountains; the hold of the vessel was half full of water, and she plunged and struggled like some dying monster.
No sunlight lit up the dreadful scene, but a gray, horrid mist shut out all sight for a distance of a hundred yards; the seamen seeing that all further effort was useless had lashed themselves to the rigging, but the stern Captain Cole disdained all such assistance, and managed by herculean strength and skill to keep himself from being washed overboard by the waves that broke ceaselessly over the deck.
Harry saw it was sure death to venture away, and he crouched down by the cabin, so as to permit it partly to shield him from the fearful avalanches of water.
The minutes seemed of eternal length, but he had been here only a few seconds when he became aware of a dull, booming roar that rose above the tumult of the tempest. The captain, maintaining a position near him, seemed to divine his thoughts, and stooping down so as to bring his mouth close to his ear, shouted:
“It is the breakers you hear! We shall strike in a few minutes! Hang on till the hulk goes to pieces, and then do what you can to reach shore. Can you swim?” he asked, noticing the life-preserver.
Harry nodded, for it was useless for him to attempt to speak in this pandemonium of sound.
“Can’t help each other,” shouted back the strong-lunged Captain Cole; “if I can, I’ll do all that’s possible for you.”
The Albatross was drifting rapidly toward shore, for at this moment the bold, rocky headland of the California coast loomed up to view, with the churning breakers at their base, curling and foaming in their restless fury.
The rocks looked black, dripping and unutterably cheerless in the misty morning; but the yearning eyes that peered through the fog could see also the sand of the beach at their feet, showing standing-room for any who might be fortunate enough to be cast thither.
But, behold! As Harry looked he saw the dark hull of another vessel pounding against the shore. It had struck some time before, and while the bow remained immovably fixed, the stern was rearing and plunging in a way which showed that it must speedily go to pieces. Not even an iron-clad could withstand such blows as it was receiving each moment.
Harry Northend forgot his own peril in his interest in the scene. He could discern several figures clinging to the bow, and one of them as dimly revealed through the blinding mist and sleet, he was sure was Little Rifle, while the tall, dark form near her must be that of her father.
“It’s the North Star!” screeched Captain Cole, who well understood the anxiety of the lad; “we’re going to strike pretty near her. Hello!”