XXV
“TROUBLES THAT NEVER CAME TRUE”
WITH the coming of May the sun grew bold, and fearlessly poured forth his genial warmth. The end of the reign of the once mighty frost monarch, who had so long ruled the world, was at hand. The snow began rapidly to shrink, rains fell, and presently the ice-clogged river and lake were open and free again.
With the break-up immediate preparations were made for departure, and one day the boat was loaded, and the homeward journey was begun.
The descent of the river was much more rapid than the ascent had been, for now they had the current with them. Below the carry around the big rapids was the tilt where Uncle Ben and Hiram had spent the winter. Here the two men transferred their belongings to their own boat, and three days later the two boats passed out of Grand Lake, and in mid-afternoon reached the Post.
Zeke Hodge met them at the landing with vociferous greetings and welcome, but he could offer no comfort. He had seen nothing of Indian Jake since the day he had observed the half-breed and the boys on their way to the trails the previous autumn.
“Of course not! Good gracious, no!” observed Uncle Ben. “To be sure you didn’t see him. He wouldn’t come this way. He wouldn’t go where folks could see him. The scamp has run out o’ th’ country with all th’ furs!”
And thus, their last hope that Indian Jake might, after all, have returned to The Jug banished, and with no possibility that the half-breed could be overtaken and the furs recovered, David and Andy said good-bye to Uncle Ben and Hiram, and continued upon their journey home with sorrowful and heavy hearts.
The sun was setting when they approached the entrance of The Jug. Evening shadows were already stealing down over the hills when they turned into the bight and the cabin came into view, and the voice of Roaring Brook, shouting a welcome, fell upon their ears.
And then they saw their father and Doctor Joe come hurrying down to meet them at the landing, and Margaret running to join them, as excited as she could be, and finally Jamie—poor, pathetic little Jamie—groping his way more slowly, and shouting to them at the top of his voice.
A moment later they were ashore with Jamie clinging to them, and Margaret hugging them and laughing and crying at the same time, and Thomas and Doctor Joe looking as pleased as ever two men could look.
Then the pent-up sorrow and disappointment in their hearts burst bounds, and these two lads who had fearlessly faced a wolf pack, and braved the wild blizzards and bitter cold of an arctic winter in the wilderness, broke down and wept.
In the cozy shelter of the cabin, in the long twilight, David and Andy told their story. And everybody praised their courage, and nobody blamed them, for they were guilty of no blame.
“You kept plenty o’ grit,” soothed Jamie, “and you couldn’t help Indian Jake’s takin’ th’ fur, and—and maybe it won’t be so bad goin’ blind—when I gets used to un.”
Oh, but Jamie, too, had grit, and grit a-plenty.
They tried now, one and all—save Doctor Joe, perhaps—to become reconciled to Jamie’s coming blindness. The great doctor and the marvelous cure were no longer mentioned. Thomas and the boys got the fishing nets out, and methodically went about their duties.
Doctor Joe did not return at once to Break Cove. He seemed to have lost heart and ambition. He ceased to sing his cheerful songs, and he would go out alone and for hours wander away into the forest, or pace up and down the gravelly beach of The Jug, and sometimes, with a frightened look in his face, he would sit and stare at Jamie.
On one of these occasions, on an afternoon a fortnight after the return of David and Andy, Doctor Joe, after watching Jamie for a long while, sprang suddenly to his feet, and, standing a dozen feet from Jamie, held out three fingers of his right hand and asked Jimmie to count them.
“I can’t make un out,” said Jamie. “They’re in a heavy mist.”
“Now count them,” and Doctor Joe moved nearer.
“I can’t make un out,” repeated Jamie.
And Doctor Joe must needs approach within six feet of Jamie before the lad could see them sufficiently well to count them.
When the test was made, Doctor Joe without a word donned his cap and passed out of doors and strode away, up the path and into the forest, and on and on.
Suddenly he stopped, and holding his clenched fist out at arm’s length watched it closely.
“As steady as ever it was!” he said at length. “Perhaps I can do it! If only I haven’t lost my skill! If only I could forget those years and that horrible failure.”
For a little he stood silent, beads of perspiration on his forehead.
“I can’t do it,” he said at length, and turning slowly retraced his steps toward The Jug.
He stopped again, however, as the cabin came into view, and for a long time stood deep in thought.
“But I must do it—there’s no other way!” he finally exclaimed with determination. And, turning his back on The Jug, he strode rapidly away toward Break Cove.
It was nearly four hours later when Doctor Joe reappeared at The Jug, with a packet under his arm.
“We were missin’ you,” greeted Thomas, as Doctor Joe entered the cabin. “Set in and have supper with Margaret. She’s kept un on th’ stove for you, and she’s waited t’ eat with you.”
“It’s kind of you, but can you wait a little, Margaret? There’s something I must say to your father before I eat,” and there was a new, strong note in Doctor Joe’s voice.
“Oh, yes,” agreed Margaret cheerfully, “I’m in no hurry.”
“Thomas,” said Doctor Joe, looking straight into Thomas’s face and plunging immediately into the matter, “Jamie’s eyes have reached a point where they must be operated upon at once or he will be beyond human help. I know you’re resigned to this, but I’m not. So long as there is the possibility of saving his sight we must do what there is to do. Thomas, I shall operate on them, with your consent. I have fetched my instruments from Break Cove.”
“Can—can you do un then?” and Thomas’s face brightened with fresh hope.
“There is none but me to do it, and we cannot see the lad go blind without an effort to save his eyes. Thomas, do you believe in me?” There was pathetic pleading in Doctor Joe’s voice.
“Believe in you! There’s nary a man I believes in more!” and Doctor Joe knew that Thomas was sincere.
“Thank you, Thomas,” said Doctor Joe, a quaver in his voice. “That means more to me than you will ever understand. But I must tell you about myself, for I want you to know all about me before I operate upon Jamie’s eyes, and when you have heard what I have to say you may not wish to trust me.
“I was once a skilful eye surgeon in New York,” he began, after a moment’s silence, “and I performed many difficult operations. The one ambition of my life was to be known as the greatest eye surgeon in my country, and my ambition was finally realized.
“But I had become addicted to liquor, which I first took to stimulate me when I was very tired, and to steady my nerves, usually on occasions when I had denied myself proper rest, or when weary from overwork. At length there came a time when I could not do without it, and I always fortified myself with a dose before beginning an operation. Sometimes in the midst of long operations it would lose its stimulating effect to such an extent that my hand would become uncertain and unsteady. One day, because of this, I ruined a patient’s sight.
“That was the last operation I ever performed. I turned my patients over to a young surgeon who had assisted me, and he is the great doctor I hoped might operate on Jamie’s eyes, for he has taken the place I once held.
“I made a desperate effort to break myself of the liquor habit, but I soon discovered this to be impossible so long as I remained where liquor could be had. It had broken my will and power of resistance, and shattered my nerves to such an extent that I could not again trust myself with the surgeon’s knife. The desire for liquor had become a disease with me, as it is with many a man, and in its presence I was irresponsible. Liquor, you know, is a poisonous drug, just as opium is, and the man who becomes addicted to its use is to be pitied.
“There was but one cure for me, and that was to go where it was not to be had. So in desperation I came north to The Labrador, and left the mail boat at Fort Pelican, where I bought the old boat which I was sailing up the bay when you hailed me that day eight years ago. Do you remember, Thomas, how nervous and restless I was?”
“Aye, you were a bit shaky, and we were sayin’ you had been sick,” admitted Thomas.
“I was sick then. If you had not taken me in, a stranger of whom you knew nothing, and had not helped me with your friendship, I should have returned to New York and ruin. I felt that if I could remain until the freeze-up came that year, and the mail boat stopped running, I would have my longings conquered before another summer came around. God knows how hard it was, even then, for me to stay. More than once that fall I said to myself of a night, ‘I can’t stand it any longer! I must go!’ But each morning you held me with kindness, and your sturdy, wholesome life, and each morning I resolved to stay, whatever my suffering might be.
“And so it came to pass that you cured me by reaching out to me a helping hand when I needed it, and so I have remained on The Labrador year after year, until I am cured of my old thirst and no longer feel a desire for liquor. I shall never regain my old position as the greatest eye surgeon in my country, Thomas, but, thank God, I am more than that. I am a sane, strong man again, and after all, man is the greatest thing God ever created.”
Doctor Joe, his face beaming, held out his clenched fist, as he had done before in the forest.
“See!” he exclaimed. “There’s no shake to that! I’ve a man’s steady nerve, because you cured me, Thomas Angus, by making it possible for me to live as a clean man should.”
“’Tis wonderful steady!” said Thomas, quite astonished and moved by Doctor Joe’s story.
“And now that you’ve heard who I am, and what I’ve been,” and there was an anxious look in Doctor Joe’s face, “are you willing to trust Jamie’s sight with me, Tom? Any doctor might fail, and my hand might not work true, and if I fail, or if I make a mistake, Jamie will never see again. But on the other hand, unless something is done, and done at once, Jamie will surely go blind.”
“Doctor Joe,” said Thomas in a strangely husky voice, “I’d rather have you do th’ cuttin’ than the other doctor, whatever. I knows what you says is right, and you’ll do un better than any other doctor could because you’re fond of Jamie and he’s fond of you, and you’re my friend. Whatever comes of un will be th’ Almighty’s will, and if Jamie goes blind after th’ cuttin’ I’ll never be complainin’.”
“Oh, Doctor Joe!” said Margaret, who had been listening, fascinated by Doctor Joe’s story, and whose eyes were moist with tears, “we all trusts you! We trusts you more than we trusts anybody else in the world!”
And Doctor Joe’s emotions nearly got the better of him when Jamie came over and put his hand in his.
“To-morrow, then,” said Doctor Joe, “we’ll operate. Jamie, are you afraid to have me cut the mist away?”
“No,” said Jamie stoutly, “I’d never be afraid t’ have you cut un away.”
“But you have got grit, now!” exclaimed Doctor Joe.
And so, with much hope and much foreboding, Jamie was prepared for the operation the following morning, and he was as brave as ever a little lad could be when, quite unassisted, he climbed upon the operating table which Doctor Joe had improvised.
Then Thomas, under Doctor Joe’s direction, applied the ether, while Doctor Joe watched its effect, and quickly Jamie passed into unconsciousness.
Deftly, and with a feather-like touch, Doctor Joe with a delicate instrument made a triangular incision upon the membrane which covered the white of one of Jamie’s eyes, and turning the membrane back removed a minute button-shaped piece from the exposed eyeball. Immediately this was done a fluid began to drain through the slight opening, and Doctor Joe spread the membrane back into place.
The other eye was treated in similar manner, and the eyes quickly bandaged by Doctor Joe. And then the unconscious Jamie was gently lifted into Thomas’s bunk, which Margaret had prepared for him.
Not a word had been spoken during all this time save by Doctor Joe, as he issued sharp, crisp directions to Thomas or Margaret. And now, when he looked up, there was a new alert enthusiasm in his face—a something they had never seen there before.
“We never can tell the result,” said he, “until the bandage is removed, but I never operated more skilfully. Sometimes it doesn’t cure, but it is the only thing to be done in such cases, and we’ll hope we have succeeded.”
They were still standing by the side of Jamie’s bed when the door opened, and David, turning to see who was entering, cried, excitedly:
“Jake! ’Tis Jake! Here’s Jake!”
And sure enough it was Indian Jake, with the bags of furs, and when he beheld David and Andy he stood staring at them quite as though they were not boys at all, but ghosts.
Thomas and all greeted Indian Jake as cordially as they could have done had there never been a suspicion of his honesty, and he was contrite and sorry enough that his delay had caused them pain and worry.
“When I thought the lads had perished,” said he, “I knew that I’d have t’ get out of th’ country on snowshoes, so I could haul my load on a flatsled, for I never could have managed the boat over the portage without help, and I started right off. The break-up caught me at the mouth of th’ Nascaupee, where I stopped t’ hunt bear. Then I waited till th’ Injuns came along with canoes yesterday, and gave me a passage down.”
Then he handed David and Andy the furs over the loss of which they had spent so many unhappy days, and opening his own bag of furs he drew forth the better of the two silver foxes, and shaking the pelt well, as he had done in the tilt, held it up for admiration, and when all had marveled at its beauty strode over to the bed of the unconscious Jamie, and laid it upon the blanket.
“It’s for the little lad,” said he. “Tom, when I heard Uncle Ben tellin’ you not t’ trust me, and you said you’d promised me th’ trail, and a man’s word was a man’s word, I said t’ myself, th’ best skin I get this winter goes t’ th’ little lad that’s goin’ blind,’ and there it is. I didn’t tell th’ lads because I wanted t’ surprise ’em. I like t’ surprise folks. It makes me feel good, somehow, inside. I always tries t’ be honest, Tom. When I left th’ country before with my furs it was because I had word my mother was sick, and I had t’ have th’ furs t’ help her. She died last winter, and then I came back t’ th’ Bay t’ pay my debts.”
And so it came about that Indian Jake proved himself an honest man after all, and that every one had misjudged him because they did not understand his motives. So it is too often with all of us. We jump at conclusions, and misjudge people because we do not understand the circumstances that move them to do things of which we do not approve.
They must wait four weeks, Doctor Joe said, before the bandage could be removed from Jamie’s eyes, and before they could know whether he was ever to see again. Those were four anxious weeks indeed, but Jamie was patient and confident, and never was there a gentler nurse, or a better one either, Doctor Joe declared, than Margaret.
But at last, in the twilight of an evening, Thomas, Margaret, David and Andy gathered around Jamie, who was sitting in a chair almost too excited to control himself, and every one held his breath as Doctor Joe undid the fastenings of the bandage. For a moment Jamie sat winking and blinking, and then cried out in sheer glee:
“Oh, I sees! I sees you all! th’ mist is gone. I sees you all plain!”
The joy of that moment cannot be described, but perhaps we can imagine and feel it. The world that opened to Jamie after the long darkness was a more beautiful world than ever it had been before. His loved mountains had never seemed so big and brave as when he was permitted to look at them again, and he was quite sure that never before had the peaks, lighted by the setting sun, been so bright and glorious with heavenly beauty at the moment when God stooped down to kiss the world good night.
And so, after all, they had worried a great deal over troubles that never came true. But nevertheless it had required grit a-plenty to carry them bravely over the dark days when the mists hung low.