The early morning sun, slanting in through a small window, found Major Studholme seated at his table lost in deep thought. The letter Dane had brought was lying open before him. Occasionally he glanced toward it, and each time his brow knitted in perplexity. At length he rose and paced rapidly up and down the room. With the exception of the table and a few stools this office was destitute of any furniture. It was as bleak as the hill upon which Fort Howe was situated. Here the men of the garrison received their orders, and it was here that the Major interviewed visitors from Portland Point, and couriers from all sections of the country. This commanding officer was the same to all men, so the humblest workman in the trading company's employ, or the uncouth native from the heart of the wilderness received just as much attention as men of high rank. Stern and unbending in the line of duty, Major Studholme realised the importance of his position, and that as a superior officer in the service of his King he must render even-handed justice, irrespective of color or rank. A sharp rat-tat-tat upon the door startled him.
"Come in," he called.
At once the door swung open, and a stalwart, sturdy man entered, carrying a stout stick in his hand which he used as a cane.
"Ah, good morning, Mr. Simonds," the Major accosted, his face brightening with pleasure and relief as he held out his hand. "I didn't expect you so early."
"Umph! this is not early," the visitor replied. "It seems late to me. Why, I've been up all night. Not a wink of sleep have I had. But, say, I've something here that'll refresh us both."
Drawing a flask from an inner pocket, he stepped forward and placed it upon the table.
"Have a noggin, Major. ThePollyarrived last night, straight from the West Indies, and Leavitt brought me some special Old Jamaica. I thought maybe you'd like to test it."
In a twinkling two mugs were produced, and filled to the brim.
"To the King, God bless him," Simonds toasted.
"To the King," the Major responded, as he raised his mug and clinked it against the visitor's.
When this toast had been drunk, the Major again filled the mugs.
"Now, another," he cried. "To the Loyalists, especially to ColonelSterling's daughter, the fairest of them all."
"To the Loyalists and the Colonel's daughter," Simonds repeated.
Again the mugs clinked, and two honest men drank their second toast. This done, they took their seats at the table, and settled down to business of a most important nature.
James Simonds was really the business pioneer of Portland Point. He was a man of outstanding ability and remarkable energy. For years he had been the moving spirit and leader in numerous enterprises. Of him and his partner, James White, it was said that "At one time the fishery claimed their attention, at another the Indian trade; at one time the building of houses for themselves and their tenants, at another the dyking of the marsh; at one time they were engaged in the erection of a mill, at another the building of a schooner; at one time they were making a wharf, at another laying out roads or clearing land; at one time they were furnishing supplies and cordwood to the garrison, at another in burning and shipping lime." In addition to this they owned and employed a score of vessels, both schooners and sloops, which plied not only on the river, but beyond the Bay to distant ports.
It was only natural that the commanding officer of Fort Howe should call upon the senior partner of the company for advice and assistance in time of need. And two serious problems had now been thrust upon him. One was the care and disposal of the three thousand Loyalists; the other, the arrival of Dane Norwood with news of threatening trouble up river.
"How many vessels have you on hand?" the Major asked.
"Only a few," Simonds replied. "But I expect several more in a few days. ThePeggy & Mollyis already spoken for by the people on theUnion. They haven't disembarked, as they plan to go up river at once."
"And you say thePollyarrived last night?"
"Yes, and she is unloading now."
"Well, I want you to keep her for Colonel Sterling, and a number of other people."
"So the Colonel is going to leave, is he? I was hoping that he would stay here. Where does he expect to settle?"
"It is not decided yet. However, we shall know in a few days when the lots are drawn."
"There will be a big load, I suppose. They'll want to take their boards, shingles, and household effects, no doubt."
"Yes, if you can manage it; otherwise Leavitt will have to make two trips. And there is something else I want to send."
The Major leaned forward, and touched the letter lying upon the table.
"I received this yesterday from Davidson," he explained, "and he requests immediate help."
"He does? What's wrong?"
"The slashers are giving him no end of trouble. There is danger of a serious outbreak, and he has not enough men to cope with the situation."
"So he wants you to send soldiers?"
"He does, and at once. But I cannot spare any men now, as I have barely enough to guard this place. There are rebels in our midst, and it is hard to tell what mischief they are planning."
"How do you know that?" the trader asked in surprise. "I thought they were all up river."
"And so did I until last night. But the young man who brought this letter from Davidson was attacked by three slashers as he was searching for me. They met him as he was coming from your store along the waterfront. Fortunately he was able to put the three to route."
"How did he know they were slashers?"
"Because they demanded the letter he was carrying. It proves that they were spies, and knew from whence the courier had come."
"It does seem reasonable," the trader agreed. "But I did not know they were hanging around our store. There has been such a crowd there, though, the last two days that I could not tell the slashers from the Loyalists. However, I shall keep a sharp watch after this, and if I catch them I shall let you know at once. But what about Davidson? He must be hard pressed, or he would not have sent you that urgent appeal."
"I can't send him any men, Mr. Simonds, that's certain," and the Major thrummed upon the table as he spoke. "Why, it would take a regiment to do any good, and I have barely fifty men in all. But I am going to send him a supply of guns and ammunition. They must go on thePolly, and you are to give Leavitt strict instructions to see that they are delivered to Davidson as speedily as possible. That is the best I can do."
A sharp rap sounded upon the door, and at once a soldier entered. He advanced to the centre of the room, stopped, clicked his heels together, saluted, and stood at attention.
"Well, Parker, what is it?" the Major asked..
"A man to see you, sir."
"A courier?"
"Yes, sir."
"Send him in at once."
"Yes, sir."
Again the soldier saluted, wheeled, and left the room. In another minute Dane entered, and at once walked over to where the two men were sitting. His free and easy manner was in striking contrast to the soldier's, and this the Major noted. He admired the courier's frank open countenance, and clear, fearless eyes. He was a man after his own heart.
"I am glad to see you on time," he accosted.
"I generally try to be," Dane replied. "Have you the message forDavidson?"
"It's not ready yet, but I shall write it at once."
The Major turned to the table, drew a sheet of paper toward him, and picked up a quill pen, which he examined critically before dipping it into the ink. Again he turned to the courier.
"The situation is serious up river, is it not?" he asked.
"It certainly is. Davidson must have help."
"Where is the greatest danger?"
"That is hard to tell. The slashers are scattered over a wide extent of country, and are to be found in most unexpected places. Why, you have them in and around here. My Indian and I were fired upon yesterday while crossing the Kennebacasis, and I was attacked by three while leaving the trading post."
"And you were fired upon yesterday, you say?" the Major asked in surprise. "How far out?"
"About ten miles. We had just crossed the portage from the main river to the Kennebacasis when we heard the slashers at work. We launched our canoe, and were heading for this side when they blazed at us several times."
"Dear me! Dear me!" the Major groaned. "I didn't know they were as bold as all that."
"And they will be bolder yet," Dane warned.
"In what way?"
"They will stir up the Indians, if I am not much mistaken."
"But the Indians are friendly to us. Why, we made a treaty with them right here nearly five years ago."
"I know that. But the Indians have become quite restless of late. When the war was on they received special attention from the English and the Americans. Both sides were anxious to win their good will and support, and gave them many presents. But now that the war is over the Indians are neglected, so they are becoming surly, and ready for mischief. Mark my word, the arrival of these Loyalists will make matters worse."
"In what way?"
"The slashers will do their utmost to stir up the Indians. They will tell them that these newcomers will settle on their hunting-grounds, and kill all their game, while they will be driven out and left to starve."
"Surely they will not do that."
"They have been doing it already, although they know nothing as yet about the coming of the Loyalists. They have been filling the minds of the Indians with all kinds of false stories. So far their words have had little definite effect, but when the natives see so many white people settling along the river, I am afraid they will remember what the slashers have told them, and trouble will follow. Some of the Indians, I am sure, will stand by the treaty, but I have my doubts about many others."
During this conversation Mr. Simonds had been a silent and interested listener. When, however, Dane had ended, he brought his stick down upon the floor with a bang.
"I believe you are right, young man," he began. "White and I have had our suspicions of this for some time, and your words confirm what we have by chance heard. Where do you live, and how is it I have never seen you before?"
"I live in no special place," Dane replied. "My business as the King's Arrow takes me everywhere, although this is the first time I have been sent here."
"How did you come to get that name?"
"Davidson gave it to me. You know, every white pine that is considered suitable for the King's navy is marked with a broad arrow, I guess that suggested the idea to Davidson, as I am always darting here and there like an arrow. Anyway, the name has stuck to me ever since."
"And well that it should," the trader agreed, nodding his head in approval. "Don't you think so, Major?"
The latter, however, was busily writing, so did not hear the question.Presently he paused and turned to the courier.
"So you think the Loyalists will be in danger along the river?" he asked.
"They will, unless the slashers and others who are against the King can be stopped."
"Who is the ringleader in this rebellion?"
For the first time since entering the room Dane failed to reply. His bronzed face flushed, and his eyes dropped. This both the Major and the trader noted, and their curiosity became aroused. They felt that this courier knew more than he was willing to divulge.
"Are you afraid to tell?" the Major questioned.
Dane suddenly lifted his head, and an angry expression glowed in his eyes.
"Do you think I am afraid?" he demanded. "Do I look it?"
"Well, no," and the Major slightly smiled. "But why will you not tell me the name of the ringleader?"
"Because I have a special reason."
"Suppose I make you?"
"Try it."
Although this reply was low and calm, yet the Major had sufficient knowledge of human nature to know that those two small words meant a great deal. He truly realised that nothing, not even death, could force this sturdy courier to divulge the secret against his will. He wisely dropped the subject, and turned again to the table. Nothing now was heard in the room but the scratching of the quill across the paper as the Major fashioned the bold comely letters of his answer to William Davidson, the King's purveyor. When he had signed his name, he picked up a small sand-box, and lightly sprinkled the paper. This done, he rose to his feet, crossed the room, and opened the door.
"Parker, bring me a fire," he ordered.
The soldier thus addressed evidently knew what was needed, for in a few minutes he entered, bearing in his hands a small iron receptacle containing a few hot coals. He stood perfectly rigid before the table while the Major held a stick of sealing-wax to the hot iron, and allowed a few drops to fall upon the back of the folded letter. When the Major had pressed his signet ring upon the wax, the task was finished, the soldier saluted and left the room. After the Major had addressed the letter, and sprinkled it until the ink was dry, he handed it to the courier.
"Take this to Davidson," he ordered. "I am glad that I have met you, young man, and I hope to hear from you again."
Dane took the letter, placed it carefully in an inside pocket of his jacket, bade the two men good morning, and at once left the room.
"What do you think of him?" the Major asked turning toward the trader.
"A remarkable young man," was the emphatic reply. "But I am surprised that I have not heard of him before."
"It is strange. But look here, Mr. Simonds," and the Major brought his fist down heavily upon the table, "if I had a regiment of men like that courier to send to Davidson, we would have no more trouble with the slashers and other rebels."
"You're about right, Major. But I'm wondering why he refused to tell us the name of that ringleader. I must get White to work at this. He may be able to find out, for he can do more with the Indians than anybody else."
"I wish you would look carefully into this matter," the Major replied. "If we can round up that ringleader, it may put a sudden stop to the whole trouble. I shall send half of my men to capture him if he can be found."
The little schoonerPolly, of twenty tons burden, had come on the flood tide up through the Reversible Falls. She had then slipped out of the Narrows where the grey, weather-beaten limestone rocks frown high on both sides, and was clipping merrily across the big basin of Grand Bay straight for Beaubear's River. She was well loaded, for over a dozen families were on board, with their household effects, together with a large supply of boards and shingles. In addition, there were the guns which Major Studholme was sending up river to William Davidson, the King's purveyor.
It was a beautiful early June day, and as Jean Sterling stood close at the bow she thought that she had never beheld a more perfect sight. Everywhere she looked great sweeping forests were to be seen crowding to the very water's edge. She breathed a deep sigh of relief, for she was glad to be speeding at last toward her new home in the wilderness. Surely there she would find refuge from the man who had been dogging her steps ever since she landed at Portland Point. He had not spoken to her after his defeat by Dane Norwood, but she knew that he had ever been near, following and watching her wherever she went. She thought, too, of him who had rescued her that night, and her eyes brightened. He had seldom been out of her mind since then, and she recalled again his pleasing presence and the words he had spoken. She wondered if she should ever see him again, or whether he had forgotten her altogether.
She was aroused by her father's voice, and glancing quickly around she saw him coming toward her, and with him the captain of the schooner, Jonathan Leavitt.
"Been indulging in day-dreams?" her father asked.
"I believe I have," she smilingly replied, while a conscious blush stole into her cheeks. "And why shouldn't I?" she hastily added. "Who could help having daydreams in such a wonderful place as this?"
"I am glad to see you so bright and happy, dear. Poor Old Mammy is indulging in night-dreams, and moaning about our terrible lot."
"Night-mares, I should say," the captain laughingly corrected. "To hear her wail and lament one would think that we are all going to be scalped alive before morning."
"And there are others who have the same idea," the Colonel replied."They can see nothing but misery and death right ahead."
"But is there any real danger, captain?" Jean asked.
"There is always more or less danger in a country such as this," was the quiet reply. "This river has witnessed stirring scenes. Look at those little clearings over yonder, for instance," and he pointed to the western shore. "A few settlers had their homes there, but the Indians drove them out, and burned their houses. It has been the same in other places, and it may happen again. But I have made many trips on this river, and the natives have never troubled me yet. It may be because I sail on thePolly," he added with a twinkle in his eyes.
"What has thePollyto do with it, captain?"
"Oh, she leads a charmed life. She has got into no end of difficult places, but has always come out on top. I have driven her through storms between here and the West Indies that would have swamped a much larger vessel. At one time she was forced by a wild gale on the top of the wharf at Newburyport. But she was pulled off all right. Several times she was captured by pirates, though generally she was able to show her heels in a lively manner to the fastest pursuer. She has carried all kinds of loads, from fish taken at Annapolis and Passamaquoddy to barrels of rum from Jamaica. But this is the most important cargo she ever carried, and she seems proud of it. She's English to the core, thePollyis. Now, look how she swings away from that point. She doesn't like the place."
"Why?" the colonel asked. "It is a most beautiful spot."
"Indeed it is, but thePollyalways shies off when she comes here. No doubt it's due to the current from that little stream, the Beaubear, but I like to think that this schooner knows that the old French Fort, Boishebert, was situated on that point. You can see the ruins of the place from here. No, thePollydoesn't like the French; guess she's had too much to do with them, the same as her captain."
They were out of Grand Bay now and bearing up through a fine stretch of water known as the "Long Reach." The land on both sides of the river was rugged, while far ahead the outlines of several islands could be discerned.
"And there's another," the captain exclaimed in disgust.
"Another what?" Jean asked.
"Oh, a place where the French once held out. It's that first island you see away up there. The Indian name is 'Ah-men-henik,' but the French called it 'Isle au Garce,' for what reason I don't know. Anyway, there were lively times on that island when the French had a trading post there. It now belongs to Captain Isaac Caton. There's a small rocky island a little above, which the French called 'Isle de trent,' while just above is the 'Isle of Vines.' It is in behind that where you are to land, just below Oak Point."
"Is it a pretty place?" Jean asked, now much excited. "Have you ever been there?"
"Not often, Miss. I generally keep out in the main channel, as I haven't the time to run into any of the out-of-the-way places. But I guess you'll like it all right."
"I am going to like it," the girl declared with enthusiasm. "And what is more, I am going to do my best to make others like it, too. It will be our home only for a while until daddy and the other men can look around and choose places where they are to settle permanently. Mammy, I believe, will be the hardest one to manage. She means well, and makes all kinds of promises, though she is very forgetful. I must now go and cheer her up."
An hour and a half later thePollyleft the channel and glided inthrough a narrow opening between the first island and the mainland.Captain Leavitt was at the wheel, for navigation here was difficult.Jean was standing by his side, her eyes and face aglow with animation.
"What a wonderful and beautiful place this is!" she exclaimed. "Those islands lying over there, and that long point running out into the river make this a perfect harbour. Where do we land, captain?"
"Straight ahead, Miss, where those big pines stand the thickest," the captain replied as he gave the wheel a rapid turn to the left. "Say, I nearly struck that bar," he added. "I didn't know it ran out so far from the island."
In less than a half hour thePollywas brought up head to the wind, and the anchor dropped. The small boat, which had been towed astern, was brought into service, and the passengers taken ashore. It was a snug cove where these exiles had determined for a time to make their wilderness home. The land lifted gradually back to the high hills, all covered with a dense forest. Eastward, toward the point, the trees were thinner, and in some spots the land had been cleared, evidently by early French settlers. To the northwest the water extended inland in the form of a marshy creek, with a fair-sized brook beyond, flanked on both sides by high hills.
It wanted but two hours to sunset when the passengers were landed, and their household effects brought ashore. It was a busy time, for camping sites had to be chosen, underbrush cleared away, and tents pitched. But men and women alike worked with a hearty good will. There was something thrilling and invigorating in this new and strange life. It was most restful after the tumult and distractions of war, the unpleasant ocean voyage, and the landing at desolate Portland Point. The warmth and brightness of the day, the fragrance of the forest, and the happy laughter of children racing along the sandy shore charmed and inspired the parents' hearts. Even Old Mammy forgot for a time her gloomy forbodings, and was quite cheerful as she helped Jean to unpack some of their household belongings.
The Colonel had pitched his tent in a snug retreat several rods back from the water. When the last peg had been driven securely into the ground, he stepped back to view the effect.
"How does that suit you, dear?" he asked, turning to Jean who was standing near by.
"I think it is great, daddy," was the enthusiastic reply. "This is the happiest and most peaceful time I have known for years. It is like a perfect calm after a terrible storm."
"I am very thankful, Jean, that our wanderings are at last ended. Here we shall stay for a time until we can choose a suitable place for our future home. When we get our house built we should be quite comfortable. We are on English soil, at any rate, and that is a great satisfaction. We are not likely to be molested here."
"Not if the Indians and rebels leave us alone, daddy."
"You must not worry about them, dear. We have had no quarrel with them, so why should they molest us? I feel that we are perfectly safe."
Night at length shut down slowly over the land, and a deep silence reigned on all sides. The weary children were asleep in the tents, and men and women were gathered upon the shore. A fire of drift-wood had been built, and around the bright cheerful blaze all were gathered. The small crew of the schooner had come ashore, and were taking part in the general conversation. For some time they sat there, talking of bygone days and plans for the future.
Colonel Sterling took little part in the talk. He sat upon a block of wood, with Jean seated on the ground by his side, her right arm resting upon his knee as she gazed dreamily into the fire. He was much interested in studying the flame-illumined faces of that little circle of men and women. He knew the history of their lives, what they had suffered during the war, and how much they had sacrificed for conscience's sake. A few were bowed with age, and their late trials had deepened the furrows upon their faces, and increased the whiteness of their hoary heads. Upon them the removal from their old homes had been the hardest. There were others, middle-aged men and women, whose eyes glowed with the light of a high resolve. Their features expressed determination which nothing could daunt. These said but little, leaving the younger ones to do most of the talking. There were youths and maidens, more free from care than their elders, who chatted and laughed in the most animated manner.
As the evening wore on and the conversation gradually died down, Simon Winters brought forth his fife and began to play an old familiar tune. At once all talking ceased, and hearts thrilled with memories of other days. Several tunes did Simon play, and when he had ended, the Colonel brought forth a small, well-worn book from an inside coat pocket. This he opened and then glanced around upon the little band.
"Friends," he began, "the hour is late, and we are all weary. But ere we separate, I ask you to join with me in a brief service of prayer and praise. But first of all, we need a message from the Great Book."
Then in a clear strong voice he read the ninety-first psalm, and as the words of promise sounded forth an intense silence reigned. The psalm ended, the Colonel closed the book, and dropping upon his knees began to repeat the Lord's Prayer. All immediately followed his example, including the captain and the crew of the schooner. As they rose to their feet, one man started to sing. The words and tune were familiar, and in another minute old and young were lifting up their voices in Isaac Watts' grand hymn of comfort and hope.
O God, our help in ages past,Our hope for years to come,Our shelter from the stormy blast,And our eternal home.
Never before had the silent, brooding forest witnessed a like gathering, nor its dark mysterious depths re-echoed with such unfamiliar sounds. But that camp-fire scene was merely a prelude to the tide of progress already setting, when unnamed rivers, hidden lakes, crouching valleys, lofty hills, and secret woodland depths would know those sounds, and rejoice in the knowledge.
An hour later silence reigned over the camp in the wilderness, broken only by the occasional hoot of an owl, or the light steps of some little forest creature.
About midnight the moon rose beyond the eastern hills, and rode high above the Isle of Vines. It cast its bright beams across the now placid water, and stole on furtive foot into the camping ground of the weary sleepers. As the river and shore thus became illuminated, a tall Indian stepped out from the darkness of the forest, and stood for a few minutes gazing upon the ghost-like tents. In one hand he carried a heavy flint-lock, and in the other a string of fine trout, while across his right shoulder hung a long bow and several arrows. He was not at all surprised at the sight before him, as he had been lurking near all the evening, watching with intense interest the group about the camp-fire. His attention now, however, was fixed upon the tent where Jean and Old Mammy were sleeping, and the Colonel's form wrapped in his blankets just outside.
At length he placed his gun and fish upon the ground, unslung the bow from his back, and fitted an arrow to its place. Then the bow-string twanged, and the arrow hurtled through the air, and sank deep into a great pine tree a few feet from where the Colonel was lying. For several minutes the Indian stood as motionless as the trees around him. Then picking up the fish, he glided silently forward, and reaching the pine, he fastened them to the embedded arrow. This done, he cast a quick glance toward the still form near at hand, turned and moved swiftly away. In another minute he had recovered his weapons, and disappeared in the depths of the great gloomy forest.
Early the next morning Old Mammy drew back the flap of the tent, stepped outside, and waddled over to where she had prepared supper the previous evening. She had always prided herself upon being the first to rise, and she was determined that she would continue the custom here in the wilderness.
The sun had just risen above the far off eastern horizon, and was struggling to disentangle itself from the drifting tresses of fog hanging in massy banks over the river. Slowly but surely it slipped away from each misty, tremulous embrace, and then like a giant refreshed by the encounter assumed the offensive. Before the mighty champion's silent fiery darts the surging foggy battalions wavered, loosened their hold on river and land, and broke in utter confusion. Wildly they scattered and fled, but escape they could not, and ere long not the slightest vestige remained of their once proud ranks.
Of all this Old Mammy saw nothing, as she was too busy digging among the ashes of the fire-place for a few live coals. It was only Jean who witnessed the magnificent sight. She had slipped out of the tent shortly after her old servant, and had hurried down to the shore for her morning wash. Here Mother Nature had provided her with basin and mirror combined in the calm water at her feet. Straight and lithe she stood, her dark, unbound hair flowing in ripples to her waist. Her face, turned eastward, was aglow with health and animation, and her eyes shone with the light of a joyous surprise.
"Isn't it wonderful!" she breathed. "I never saw anything like it.Why, it's a real fairy-land."
She was startled by a cry from Mammy, and turning quickly around, she saw the woman pointing excitedly to the big pine tree. The Colonel, aroused from slumber, had leaped to his feet, and was staring straight before him as Jean hurried up from the shore.
"What is the matter?" the girl asked.
"Look, look!" Mammy cried, pointing to the tree. "De debbil has been here."
Jean's eyes were now resting upon the object of the woman's excitement, and she, too, was filled with astonishment. She stared at the trout and the arrow, and then looked wonderingly at her father.
"How do you suppose they got there, daddy?" she questioned.
"It was de debbil, I tell ye," Mammy insisted before the Colonel could speak. "He's been in dis place, an' dat's his mark."
"He must be very friendly, then," the Colonel replied. "I don't mind how often he comes if he leaves fish, and they are trout at that."
By this time the entire camp had been aroused, and men, women and children were gathered near, gazing with wide-eyed astonishment upon the big pine. There were numerous conjectures as to the meaning of the arrow and the fish. Most, however, were of the opinion that it was the work of Indians, and that no doubt they were lurking near. Fearful glances were cast along the silent forest aisles, and vivid imagination pictured dusky warriors ready to swoop down with terrible war-whoops. But Old Mammy scoffed at this idea.
"It's de debbil, I tell ye, an' no Injun," she declared. "Dat's his mark, an' he's plannin' some mischief. It's a warnin' to us all. We nebber should hab come to sich a place as dis."
The Colonel listened with considerable amusement to what was being said. At length, however, he stepped forward and laid his right hand upon the fish. With a cry of fear Mammy sprang to his side.
"Doan touch 'em! Doan touch 'em!" she shrieked. "It ain't safe! It ain't safe!"
"Why, Mammy, what do you mean?" the Colonel asked.
"Go 'way, go 'way," the excited woman pleaded. "Dey belong to de debbil, an' he'll bewitch ye. Doan touch 'em."
"Look here, Mammy," and there was a note of sternness in the Colonel's voice, "I want you to be quiet. I thought you had more sense. The devil had nothing to do with this. It's the Lord's arrow, it seems to me. He sent the ravens of old to feed his faithful servant in the wilderness, so perhaps he has sent the Indians to do the same to us now. Anyway, we are going to have a taste of fish for breakfast. It would be a shame to throw away such excellent trout."
Jean had been a silent and interested spectator of all that had taken place. Like her father she was somewhat amused at the various expressions of fear. She was not afraid of the Indians, neither was she superstitious enough to believe that the devil had anything to do with the arrow and the fish. But when the Colonel spoke about the "Lord's Arrow," she gave a sudden start, while the light of understanding dawned in her eyes. The "King's Arrow" at once came into her mind, and she thought of him who had come to her rescue at Portland Point. Could it be possible that he had anything to do with it? she asked herself. Was that arrow a token that he was near? And were the fish a sign of his care? She glanced around as if expecting to see him emerge from the forest to explain the whole matter. Her heart beat fast, and the rich blood tingled to her cheeks. She withdrew a few steps lest her confusion should be observed. The King's Arrow. The King's Arrow. It kept surging through her mind. It could be no one else, she reasoned. She longed to speak, to tell of the discovery she had made. But how could she explain? Would she not betray her feelings, and thus increase her embarrassment? Would it not be better to remain silent than to lay bare to others the thoughts which were agitating her heart and mind?
She was aroused by her father bidding her to help prepare one of the fish for breakfast, as Mammy would have nothing to do with it. She obeyed with alacrity, pleased to have something to do. As she looked upon the speckled beauty she thought how like an arrow it appeared; its long, lithe body resembling the smooth shaft; the head and gills the barbed point; and the spreading tail the feathered end. She wondered if there was a meaning in all this, or was it merely her own foolish imagination?
She thought much about this during the days that followed, although she mentioned it to no one, not even to Old Mammy. For several nights a number of the younger men had kept watch, with their special attention directed to the big pine. This, however, soon proved very irksome, and as nothing further happened, the watch was discontinued. The men worked hard by day erecting their rude log cabins, so they could ill afford to sit up all night. A feeling of security gradually pervaded the camp, and all became cheerful and hopeful.
At a meeting held one night they decided upon the name "Loyal" for their little community.
"I feel we could not choose a better one," the Colonel said. "Every one here is an outcast for loyalty to the King, and when we get our flag-staff erected, the Union Jack floating above the trees will be a reminder to friend and foe alike of our unswerving devotion."
No one had interfered with the arrow embedded in the pine, and that lordly tree had been left standing while most of its nearby companions had fallen beneath the axe. Not a day passed that Jean did not glance toward the arrow, and each time she thought of him who had become so real to her. But for two weeks no further sign was vouchsafed, until one morning as she came forth from her tent she saw a brace of fine partridges hanging from the arrow. Once more excitement spread throughout the camp, and again various conjectures were heard as to the presence of the partridges. The birds were carefully examined, and several small pieces of lead were found in their bodies. Jean showed these to Mammy in her effort to convince the superstitious servant that the devil had nothing to do with it.
"Why, these birds were shot, Mammy," she explained. "Some one with a gun did it, and brought them to us."
"Ah, Missie Jean," and the old woman raised a warning finger, "de debbil knows eberyt'ing. He kin use a gun when he wants to, an' he kin make men do his nasty work. Didn't he put it into de heart of ol' Judas Scariot to betray de good Lo'd? An' mark my word, dat's jes what he's doin' now. He's up to some trick."
"But why would he be so friendly, Mammy? He's helping us instead of trying to do us harm."
"Doan ye know yo' Bible, chile? Doesn't it say in de Good Book dat de debbil comes to folks as an angel of light, an' makes 'em b'lieve dat he's friendly an' good? No, ye kin nebber trust de debbil. He's got somet'ing up his sleeve, an' doan yo' fo'git it."
Jean merely smiled at the woman's fears, knowing how useless it was to reason any further. She was satisfied in her own mind where the birds had come from, and the thought brought a thrill to her heart. This was intensified several days later when two wild ducks were found one morning suspended from the arrow.
"This is getting to be almost uncanny," the Colonel remarked as he examined the birds. "Whoever is responsible for these presents is a strange friend. I wish he would make himself known that we might thank him."
Jean was of the same opinion, although she did not say so. She had often wondered why Dane Norwood had remained hidden. That it was the courier she had not the slightest doubt. But why did he not come by day that she might see him?
Two weeks passed and nothing more happened. Most of the houses were almost completed. The Colonel had his finished first, and it was a proud day when he gave the order to move their few belongings from the tent. This was soon done, and Jean and Mammy spent the whole of the afternoon fitting up their new abode. The day was unusually hot, and at times they were forced to seek shelter beneath the shade of some friendly trees. Night brought but little respite, and even Old Mammy complained of the heat.
"Dis is de first time I'se been wa'm since comin' to dis place," she announced. "It reminds me of my ol' home in de Souf, it sa'tinly does."
At length a vivid flash of lightning streaked the air, followed immediately by a roll of thunder off to the west.
"It's just what I've been expecting" the Colonel remarked, as he walked over to the door and looked out. "Such heat as we've had to-day is generally followed by a thunder storm. It is coming this way fast. Listen to that."
The storm was rolling up rapidly over the hills, while the play of the lightning was grand and terrible. And mingled with the roar of thunder was the sound of the hurrying feet of the rain driven before the onrushing wind. Suddenly a blinding flash illumined water and land, followed instantly by a crash that shook the cabin. Old Mammy gave a shriek of fear, and caught Jean in her arms.
"Oh, oh, oh!" she moaned. "Dis is turrible! We'll all be killed!We'll all be killed!"
"Hush, hush, Mammy," Jean ordered. "Don't get so excited. This storm will soon be over, will it not, daddy?"
"Most likely," the Colonel replied. "But come here, dear, I want you to see this wonderful electric display upon the water."
Freeing herself from the colored woman's embrace, the girl rose, crossed the room, and stood by her father's side. As she turned her eyes upon the river, she gave a gasp of astonishment. Between the shore and the Isle of Vines the lightning was holding high carnival. For an instant there was intense darkness, followed by a succession of brilliant, flickering illuminations, bewildering to the senses. Several times she was forced to turn away her head, but only for a second, as she was compelled by some strange fascination to look upon the wonderful spectacle. Flash upon flash, racing gleam upon gleam, Stygian darkness and crashing thunder intermingled in an appalling confusion. Jean felt that she could endure the sight no longer. Her body trembled, and her eyes ached. She was about to go back to Mammy, when her father laid his hand upon her shoulder.
"What is that out there?" he asked. "Ah, it's gone now. It seemed to me like a boat. There it is again."
Jean looked and for a few seconds was enabled to catch a glimpse of a craft of some kind coming to them straight from the island.
"It is a canoe, daddy, and I can see some one paddling. Who can it be on the river in such a storm as this?"
And just then the rain swept down, forcing them to retreat a few steps within the cabin. But still they peered forth, and with fast-beating hearts watched the approaching voyager. Whenever a glimmering flash revealed the canoe, it resembled a mystic bark riding through the storm, encircled with a living fire. So weird and mysterious did it seem that Jean caught her father impulsively by the arm, while a slight cry of awe escaped her lips.
"It isn't natural, daddy," she whispered. "It's uncanny. Do you suppose it's a spirit?"
"No, no, dear. It's an Indian, no doubt. Look, he has stopped paddling now, and is about to land."
Darkness again intervened, and the next flash revealed a tall form stepping upon the shore as blackness once more enshrouded him. The next glimpse showed him coming toward the cabin, carrying a bundle in his arms. In another minute he was at the door, an Indian of magnificent physique, clad in buckskins, with a squirrel-skin cap upon his head. He smiled as he looked upon the astonished ones before him. Then he held out the bundle toward the girl.
"White woman tak' babby, eh?" he asked,
But Jean hesitated, and drew back a little. This seemed to surprise the Indian.
"Babby no hurt white woman," he explained. "Babby velly leetle. Babby no home, no mamma."
No longer could Jean resist such an appeal, so stepping forward, she took the bundle in her arms. Awkwardly she held it, uncertain what to do. Then Old Mammy came to her aid, and relieved her of her burden.
"Why, chile, yo' doan know how to hol' a baby," she reproached. "Yo' hol' it upside-down. Yo' nebber had 'sperience wif babies. Dis o' woman'll show yo' how."
Seating herself upon a bench, she removed the blanket with which the child was enwrapped. Jean dropped upon her knees by her side, and when a little dusky face was exposed to view, she gave a cry of delight.
"Isn't it pretty!" she exclaimed. "And it's asleep, too."
The Indian's eyes shone with pleasure as he watched the girl's interest in the little child.
"White woman tak' care babby, eh?"
"You want us to keep it?" Jean asked.
"Ah-ha-ha. Wan moon, two moon, mebbe. Injun come bimeby."
Jean turned to her father, who had been standing silently near the door.
"May we keep it, daddy?"
"Ask Mammy," the Colonel replied. "If she is willing, I have no objections. She is the only one in this house who knows how to look after a baby."
"I'se willin', Cun'l," the old woman agreed. "It makes me t'ink of de lil'l chile I los' long time ago in ol' Connec. Yes, I'se willin'."
The Indian understood, and smiled. He turned to go, but paused and looked at Jean.
"White woman keep canoe, eh?" he queried.
"Oh, may I?" the girl eagerly asked. She had often longed for a canoe to paddle along the shore and explore the various creeks.
"Ah-ha-ha. White woman paddle all sam' Injun bimeby. Me go now."
The Colonel pressed the Indian to stay until the storm was over, but the native shook his head, and with another glance at the sleeping child, he passed out into the night.
For about an hour the storm continued to rage. But the gleaming lightning and the crashing thunder worried Old Mammy no longer. She was completely engrossed in the little charge which had been so unexpectedly committed to her care.
"I mus' take special care ob dis chile," she' said. "Mebbe it's one of de Lo'd's angels, fo' wif Him it doan make no diff'rance what is de colah of de skin. Dey's all His chillun, an' He lubs dem all alike. Doan yo' nebber fo'git dat, Missie Jean. Dis may be one of de Lo'd's angels undewares."
The little community of Loyal had most things in common, as is generally the custom in pioneer settlements. All took to their hearts the little Indian child, and felt somewhat responsible for its welfare. It seemed to them an omen of good will, and they believed that so long as it was with them they would not be disturbed by the Indians. Old Mammy was very strong on this point, and was the one who first suggested the idea.
"If a cat comes to yo' it's a sign of good luck," she declared. "Now, we didn't send fo' dis chile; it jes came to us, so why shouldn't it bring us better luck den a cat?"
The colored woman considered the baby her special property, and only on rare occasions would she allow anyone else to look after it. Jean was delighted to have it in the house, and both she and her father became very fond of the little one. They called it "Babby," not knowing its Indian name, and were greatly pleased at its cunning ways.
The days and weeks sped rapidly by, and August was close edging into September before Jean realised that summer was almost gone. It had been a busy time at the settlement, and the bright beautiful days glided uneventfully by. Once again thePollyhad come up river with a load of provisions, and all had listened eagerly to the latest scraps of news brought by Captain Leavitt. They learned from him that another fleet with a band of Loyalists was coming in the fall. He expected to take many of the newcomers on his boat up river, and promised to call on his way back. This important piece of information, as well as other bits of news, was discussed for days at Loyal. They longed for some word from their old homes, and the friends they had left behind. If they could but see the Loyalists when they arrived in the fall they might hear much. Anyway, Captain Leavitt had promised to call, and no doubt he would have a fund of information.
Every fine Sunday was a great day for Jean. During the morning the Colonel gathered the people of the settlement about him, and read the service from the Prayer Book. The responses and the singing of a few old familiar hymns were very hearty, and the Doxology and the National Anthem were invariably sung at the close. It was but natural that the eyes of the older ones should become misty during this service, for it brought back memories of other days before the war.
After dinner the Colonel and Jean always went for a walk, either through the woods or along the shore to the large point which ran far out into the river. Here at this latter place they would sit under the great oak trees and talk to their hearts' content.
Their chief resort, however, was the brook which babbled down among the hills, and flowed into the river between the settlement and the point. About a mile back the brook was broken by a mass of huge rocks over which the water poured in torrents during the spring and after every heavy rain. But in the summer the rocks were bare, and only one great wreath of water slipped through a narrow crevice, and fell with a roar and a splash to the level below. Nearby father and daughter liked to sit in the shade of the trees and listen to the music of the falling water.
Jean always remembered the last time they were thus together. It was the final Sunday in August, and a most perfect afternoon. The Colonel had worked hard during the week and was very tired. He was strangely silent and depressed as he sat leaning against a rock, gazing off into space. It was so unlike his usual buoyant, cheery manner that Jean was quite anxious.
"Is anything the matter, daddy?" she at length asked. "Are you feeling sick?"
The Colonel started, and a slight forced laugh escaped his lips.
"No, no, not at all," he replied. "Do I look sick?"
"Then you must be worrying about something, daddy," and the girl's right hand stole sympathetically into his as she spoke.
"Not worrying, dear; only somewhat lost in thought. I have strange fancies this afternoon, suggested by those rocks which break the brook's steady course. There have been three such breaks in my life, and of them I have been thinking."
"I believe I know of two, daddy," Jean replied, as her father paused. "One was dear mother's death, and another the terrible war. But I do not remember the third."
"I told you once, dear, though you have forgotten, which is only natural. It was the loss of a very dear friend, Thomas Norman."
"Oh, yes, I remember now, daddy. He was the man who suddenly disappeared, and has never been heard from since."
"The very same, Jean. Next to your mother he was the best friend I had on earth. We had been boys together, and were inseparable. He was well educated, and held an important position in the King's service. When he lost it, as he believed through intrigue and treachery, his whole life was embittered. He became a changed man, and he brooded over it so much that I really believe it affected his mind. Anyway, he suddenly left with his wife and family, and I have never heard from him since. That was a long time ago when you were a mere child. But I can never forget him, and the happy years we spent together. What a joy it would be to have him here with me now as in the days of old. But that cannot be. As that brook flows on, notwithstanding the break in its course, so must my life. However, I have much to be thankful for. I have you, dear, and you are a great comfort. If anything should happen to you, I do not believe I could endure life any longer."
"Don't you worry about losing me, daddy," the girl assured. "I am going to stick right close to you, no matter what happens. But I think you had better leave this place which gives you such gloomy thoughts. This is too nice a day to feel unhappy."
"You are right, dear, and I suppose we had better go home. But I like to watch those great trees over yonder. How strong and self-reliant they are. How proudly they lift their heads. What storms have swept over them, and yet they stand as erect as ever. They do not complain, but accept everything, whether sunshine or darkness, winter or summer, as a matter of course. They are friendly, too, and their big branches seem to reach out like welcoming hands. There is always something inspiring to me about a great forest."
Often during the following days Jean's mind reverted to what her father had said to her at the falls. Although his old cheerful spirit returned, yet she observed him at times during the evenings, which were now lengthening, wrapped in thought, unheeding what was taking place around him. This worried her a great deal, and a new sense of responsibility began to shape itself in her mind. She believed that he missed his old home in Connecticut more than he would acknowledge, and that he was wearying of the monotonous life in the wilderness. Perhaps he needed a change, and she wondered how this could be brought about.
She was thinking seriously of this at the close of a bright day as she pointed the bark canoe up the creek lying to the northwest of the settlement. She had become quite expert in handling the frail craft, although, at her father's bidding, she always paddled in shallow water. It was a beautiful afternoon, and the mighty forest crowning the undulating hills was radiant with the beams of the streaming sun. Slowly she moved up a narrow winding channel, the trees of the shoreward side spreading out their great branches in a leafy canopy, while on the other, acres of rushes and lily-pads lined the way. It was a fairy-like scene through which she moved, and but for the serious thoughts which were agitating her mind, her soul would have been thrilled at the magnificent vista spreading out before her.
Reaching at length the mouth of the brook, where the shallowness of the water made further progress impossible, she ran the bow of the canoe gently upon the shore under the shade of a big maple tree. Here she rested and viewed with interest the antics of two red squirrels as they frisked about and scolded most furiously at the intrusion of the stranger in their domain. So funny did they appear that Jean was compelled to laugh outright. She always enjoyed watching the tiny creatures of the wild, especially the squirrels. She could get closer to these saucy and daring rascals of the nimble feet than their shyer comrades of the forest.
Presently in the midst of their antics the squirrels suddenly started, ceased their scolding, and scurried rapidly away. That something had frightened them Jean was certain, and she grew nervous. She was about to back the canoe from the shore and leave the place, when the tall form of a man unexpectedly emerged from the forest and stood before her. So great was her own fright that for a few seconds she was completely unnerved, although she uttered no sound. Her face became very white, and her heart beat wildly. Then recognising the intruder as Dane Norwood, she gave a slight hysterical laugh, and her tense body relaxed.
"Oh, my, how you frightened me!" she gasped. "I didn't know you at first."
"Forgive me," the young man apologised, as he stepped to the side of the canoe. "I came upon you sooner than I expected."
"Did you know I was here?" Jean asked.
"Yes. I happened to see you as I crossed the brook farther up."
"Where were you going?"
"To see you, of course. It has taken me three months to get here, and when I do arrive I frighten you almost out of your senses."
Jean smiled as she picked up the paddle. She had to be doing something, for she felt the hot glow stealing into her cheeks beneath Dane's ardent gaze. She was greatly struck by the remarkable change in his appearance. The travel-stained buckskin suit he had worn when first she met him had been replaced by a new one, neat and clean. It fitted him perfectly, making him appear taller and nobler than ever.
"Have you been really travelling three months to get here?" Jean asked. "You do not look like it." She glanced at his clothes, and this Dane noted.
"I have not been travelling all that time to get here," he explained. "I did not mean that. But Davidson has kept me so busy the last three months that I could not get away, although I tried several times."
"And you were not here before?" Jean asked in surprise. "Why, I thought it was you who gave us those presents, and stuck that arrow into the tree."
"Oh, Pete did that. He was keeping an eye over you."
"Who is Pete?"
"My Indian; the one who generally travels with me. You surely must have met him."
"No, I never did."
"But this is his canoe! How did you get it, then? It must be a sign of special favour, for I never knew him to let any one have his favourite canoe before."
"A big Indian left it with me the night of the great storm when he brought his little child to our place. It is there now."
"That must have been Pete!" Dane exclaimed in astonishment. "I have not seen him for several weeks, and did not know what had happened to him. It is very seldom that he leaves me for such a length of time. I am puzzled, though, about the child."
"He said that its mother is dead, and he wanted us to look after it for one moon, and maybe two. I hope he will leave it with us a long time, for we are very fond of it."
"Ah, now I understand," and Dane's eyes wandered thoughtfully out upon the river. "Poor Pete, he must be making up for lost time. It is just like him. He is a great Indian."
Noticing the expression of interest and curiosity in the girl's eyes,Dane smiled.
"Yes," he continued, "Pete always makes up for lost time. Five years ago his first wife died, and he was away for over two months. It was during the war when efforts were being made to keep the Indians true to King George. It was a hard struggle, and James White, the deputy agent of Indian affairs, was often at his wits' end. But at last a treaty was signed at Fort Howe, when the Indians and the English all became 'one brother,' as the natives say. I found out afterwards that Pete had a great deal to do with the signing of that treaty. He travelled from camp to camp, meeting the Indians, and urging them to be loyal to King George. He made up for lost time then, and I believe he is doing so now. No doubt we shall hear from him soon."
"Do you think the Indians are becoming troublesome again?" Jean somewhat anxiously asked.
"Not altogether this time. Our danger now is from the slashers, as they will do their best to stir up the Indians. But Pete will be on the lookout. He nipped a little game of theirs in the bud over a year ago."
"How?" Jean was becoming keenly interested.
"Oh, he brought us news of a raid the slashers were about to make upon the King's mast-cutters, so we were able to check them. Twenty of us marched all day and night through the woods and fell upon the rebels before they were awake. There was a lively tussle, but we cleaned them out, although they were double our number. Pete had been absent for two weeks before that, but his timely news put him back again in Davidson's good books."
"I hope there will be no more trouble," and Jean gave a deep sigh. "Everything has been so quiet this summer that I can hardly imagine that there are mischief-makers around. Perhaps those guns which Major Studholme sent up river have been a warning to the slashers. But my, how late it is getting! Daddy will be anxious about me. You will come and have tea with us, will you not?"
The young courier needed no second bidding, so in a few minutes the canoe was speeding riverward, with Dane paddling and Jean facing him. Peace surrounded them as they moved onward, but a deeper peace than that which brooded over river and land dwelt in their happy young hearts.