Chapter Five.
Turned Adrift in a Foreign Land
It was a calm but very dark night when Swinton, Blazer, Garnet, Heron, Taylor, and several other men of kindred spirit, rose from their couches at the further end of the island, and, stealthily quitting the place, hastened back to their original camp.
They reached it about midnight, and, as they had expected, found all quiet, for the so-called “guard” of the camp had been hard at work all day and were at that moment fast asleep. Paul and the captain, with Oliver, lay side by side under a tent which they had constructed out of broken spars and a piece of sailcloth.
Their foes drew together not far from the spot.
“Now, men,” said Swinton, “this is a tough job we have in hand, for they are strong men, and the boy, albeit not big, is a very tiger-cat to fight. You see, if our plan was murder we could easily settle their business while they slept but that’s not our plan. We are not murderers—by no means!”
“Certainly not,” growled Blazer, with virtuous solemnity.
“Well, that bein’ so, we must take them alive. I will creep into the tent with you, Jim Heron, for you’re big and strong enough. You will fall on Trench and hold ’im down. I’ll do the same to Burns. Garnet will manage the boy. The moment the rest of you hear the row begin, you will jump in and lend a hand wi’ the ropes. After we’ve got ’em all safe into the boat, we will pull to the big island—land them there, an’ bid them a tender farewell!”
“But surely you won’t land them without a morsel to eat?” said Taylor.
“Why not? They’re sure to fall in wi’ their dear friends the savages, who will, doubtless, be very grateful to ’em, an’ supply grub gratis! Now, lads, you understand what you’ve got to do?”
“Ay, ay,” was the response, in a low tone, as they moved cautiously away, like evil spirits, to carry out their wicked plans.
“Fortune,” it is said, “favours the brave,” but in this case she did not thus bestow her favours, for the cowardly plan was successfully carried out. Before the sleepers were well awake, they were overwhelmed by numbers, secured and bound. They were not gagged, however, as no one was near to hear even if they shouted their loudest, which they knew it was useless to do. In a few minutes the three prisoners were hurried into the boat and rowed across the wide channel that separated the islet from the opposite shore.
At that time it was not supposed, either by the original discoverers or those who immediately followed them, that Newfoundland was one large island—considerably larger than Ireland. Not till many a year afterwards did explorers ascertain that it was an island of about three hundred and seventeen miles in length, by about the same in breadth; but so cut up by deep bays, inlets, and fords as to have much the appearance of a group of islands.
During their passage across the channel both Trench and Paul attempted to reason with Swinton, but that hardened villain refused to utter a word till their prisoners were marched up the shingly beach, and told to sit down on a ledge of rock under the steep cliffs, where innumerable sea-birds were screaming a clamorous welcome, or, perchance, a noisy remonstrance.
“Now, my friends,” said their foe, “as you are fond of commanding, you may take command o’ them there sea-birds—they won’t object!—and if ye fall in wi’ your friends the savages, you may give them my love an’ good wishes.”
“But surely you don’t mean to leave us here without food, and with our hands tied behind us?” fiercely exclaimed Master Trench, whose wrath at any thing like injustice was always prone to get the better of his wisdom.
“As to grub,” answered Swinton, “there’s plenty of that around, if you only exert yourself to find it. I won’t cut your lashin’s, however, till we are fairly in the boat, for we can’t trust you. Come along, lads; and, Garnet, you bring the boy with ye.”
Under the impression that he was to be separated from his father and friend, and taken back again to the islet, poor Oliver, whom they had not thought it worth while to bind, struggled with a ferocity that would have done credit to the wildcats with which he had been compared; but Garnet was a strong man, and held him fast.
“Take it easy, my boy,” said Paul, who, being helpless, could only look on with intense pity. “Submit to God’s will—we will pray for you.”
But Olly’s spirit could by no means reach the submitting point until he was fairly exhausted. While they dragged him towards the boat, Taylor turned back and flung a small canvas bag at the captain’s feet.
“There, Master Trench,” he said, “you’ll find a lump o’ pork in that bag to keep you goin’ till ye get hold o’ somethin’ else. An’ don’t take on about the boy. We don’t want ’im, bless you. Why, we only want to prevent him settin’ you free before we gets fairly away.”
This was true. When the boat was reached and the men were on board, ready to shove off, Garnet, still holding Olly fast by the arm, said, “Keep still, will you, and hear what Master Swinton has got to say?”
“Now, you fiery polecat,” said Swinton, “you may go and cut their lashin’s, and take that as a parting gift.”
The gift was a sounding box on the ear; but Olly minded it not, for while Garnet was speaking, as he stood knee-deep in the water close to the boat, he had observed an axe lying on one of the thwarts near to him. The instant he was set free, therefore, he seized the axe, and, flourishing it close past Garnet’s nose, with a cheer of defiance he sprang towards the beach. Garnet leaped after him, but he was no match for the agile boy, who in another minute had severed Paul’s bonds and placed the weapon in his hands.
“Hallo! hi, you’ve forgot me. Cut my—ho!”
But there was no occasion for Master Trench to cry out and struggle with the cords that bound him. A furious rush of Paul with the axe caused Garnet to double with the neatness of a hunted hare. He bounded into the boat which was immediately shoved off, and the sailors rowed away, leaving Paul to return and liberate the captain at leisure.
Silently the trio stood and watched the receding boat, until it was lost in the darkness of the night. Then they looked at each other solemnly. Their case was certainly a grave one.
“Cast away on an unknown shore,” murmured the captain, in a low tone; as if he communed with his own spirit rather than with his companions, “without food, without a ship or boat—without hope!”
“Nay, Master Trench,” said Paul, “not without hope; for ‘God is our refuge and our strength, a very present help in trouble,’ so says His own Word, as my mother has often read to me.”
“It is well for you, Paul,” returned the captain, “that you can find comfort in such words—I can find none. Stern realities and facts are too strong for me. How can I take comfort in unfulfilled promises? Here we are in trouble enough, surely. In what sense is God a ‘refuge’ to us—or ‘strength,’ or a ‘present help’? Why, we are left absolutely destitute here, without so much as a bite of food to keep our bodies and souls together.”
He spoke with some bitterness, for he was still chafing under the sense of the wrong which he had suffered at the hands of men to whom he had been invariably kind and forbearing. As he turned from Paul with a gesture of impatience his foot struck against the canvas bag of pork which the man Taylor had flung to him on leaving, and which had been forgotten. He stopped suddenly and gazed at it; so did Paul.
“Looks like as if God had already helped us—at least to food—does it not?” said the latter.
“It was Taylor helped us to that,” objected Trench.
“And who put it into Taylor’s heart to help us?” asked Paul. “He is one of the worst men of our crew, so we can hardly say it was his own tenderness, and certainly it was not the devil who moved him to it. Am I wrong in holding that it was ‘Our Father’?”
“I believe you are right, Paul. Anyhow, I have neither the capacity nor the inclination to dispute the point now. Pick up the bag, Olly, and come along. We must try to find some sort of shelter in which to spend the rest o’ the night and consider our future plans.”
With a lighter heart and firmer faith, Paul Burns followed his leader, silently thanking God as he went along for thus far, and so opportunely, demonstrating His own faithfulness.
They had to wander some time before a suitable camping spot was found, for that part of the Newfoundland coast on which they had been landed was almost inaccessible. The cliffs in many places rose sheer out of the water to a height of full three hundred feet. Only in a few places little strips of shingly beach lay between the base of the cliffs and the sea, so that the finding of an opening in those stupendous ramparts of rock was no easy matter in a dark night.
At last they came to a place where the cliffs appeared to rise less precipitously. After careful clambering for some minutes they discovered a sort of gap in the rampart, up which they climbed, amid rugged and broken masses, until they reached a somewhat level plateau, or shelf, covered with small bushes. Here they resolved to encamp.
“Whether it’s the top o’ the cliffs or not, there’s no findin’ out,” remarked Trench, as he tried to survey the ground; “but whether or not don’t matter, for it looks level enough to lie on, an’ we’re as like as not to break our necks if we try to go further.”
“Agreed,” said Paul; “but now it occurs to me that our pork may be raw, and that we shall want fire to cook it. Have you got flint and steel in your pocket, Master Trench?”
“Ay—never travel without it; but by ill-luck I’ve got no tinder. Flint and steel are useless, you know, without that.”
“If ill-luck troubles you,” returned Paul, “good luck favours me, for I have got a bit of tinder, and—”
“The pork’s raw,” exclaimed Oliver, who had been hastily investigating the contents of the canvas bag; “but, I say, there’s more than pork here. There’s a lot o’ the little flour-cakes our cook was so fond of makin’.”
“Good. Now then let us have a search for wood,” said Paul. “If we find that, we shall get along well enough till morning. But have a care, Olly, keep from the edge of the cliff. The ledge is not broad. Have an eye too, or rather an ear, for water as you go along.”
Success attended their search, for in a few minutes Paul and the captain returned with loads of dry branches, and Olly came back reporting water close at hand, trickling from a crevice in the cliffs.
“Your shirt-front tells the tale, Olly. You’ve been drinking,” said Paul, who was busy striking a light at the time.
“Indeed I have; and we shall all be obliged to drink under difficulties, for we have neither cup nor mug with us.”
“Neither is wanted, boy, as I’ll soon show you,” said Paul. “Why, a bit of birch-bark, even a piece of paper, forms a good drinking vessel if you only know how to use it. Ha! caught at last,” he added, referring to some dry grasses and twigs which burst into flame as he spoke.
Another moment and a ruddy glare lit up the spot, giving to things near at hand a cosy, red-hot appearance, and to more distant objects a spectral aspect, while, strangely enough, it seemed to deepen to profounder darkness all else around. Heaping on fresh fuel and pressing it down, for it consisted chiefly of small branches, they soon had a glowing furnace, in front of which the pork ere long sputtered pleasantly, sending up a smell that might have charmed a gourmand.
“Now, then, while this is getting ready let us examine our possessions,” said the captain, “for we shall greatly need all that we have. It is quite clear that we could not return to our shipmates even if we would—”
“No, and I would not even if I could,” interrupted Oliver, while busy with the pork chops.
“And,” continued his father, regardless of the interruption, “it is equally clear that we shall have to earn our own livelihood somehow.”
Upon careful examination it was found that their entire possessions consisted of two large clasp-knives; a sheath hunting-knife; flint, steel, and tinder; the captain’s watch; a small axe; a large note-book, belonging to Paul; three pencils; bit of indiarubber; several fish-hooks; a long piece of twine, and three brass buttons, the property of Oliver, besides the manuscript Gospel of John, and Olly’s treasured letter from his mother. These articles, with the garments in which they stood, constituted the small fortune of our wanderers, and it became a matter of profound speculation, during the progress of the supper, as to whether it was possible to exist in an unknown wilderness on such very slender means.
Olly thought it was—as a matter of course.
Master Trench doubted, and shook his head with an air of much sagacity, a method of expressing an opinion which is eminently unassailable. Paul Burns condescended on reasons for his belief—which, like Olly’s, was favourable.
“You see,” he said, wiping his uncommonly greasy fingers on the grass, “we have enough of pork and cakes here for several days—on short allowance. Then it is likely that we shall find some wild fruits, and manage to kill something or other with stones, and it cannot be long till we fall in with natives, who will be sure to be friendly—if not, we will make them so—and where they can live, we can live. So I am going to turn in and dream about it. Luckily the weather is warm. Good-night.”
Thus did our three adventurers, turning in on that giddy ledge, spend their first night in Newfoundland.
Chapter Six.
Difficulties met and Overcome
The position in which the trio found themselves next morning, when daylight revealed it, was, we might almost say, tremendously romantic.
The ledge on which they had passed the night was much narrower than they had supposed it to be, and their beds, if we may so call them, had been dangerously near to the edge of a frightful precipice which descended sheer down to a strip of sand that looked like a yellow thread two hundred feet below. The cliff behind them rose almost perpendicularly another hundred feet or more, and the narrow path or gully by which they had gained their eyrie was so steep and rugged that their reaching the spot at all in safety seemed little short of a miracle. The sun was brightening with its first beams an absolutely tranquil sea when the sleepers opened their eyes, and beheld what seemed to them a great universe of liquid light. Their ears at the same time drank in the soft sound of murmuring ripples far below, and the occasional cry of sportive sea-birds.
“Grand! glorious!” exclaimed Trench, as he sat up and gazed with enthusiasm on the scene.
Paul did not speak. His thoughts were too deep for utterance, but his mind reverted irresistibly to some of the verses in that manuscript Gospel which he carried so carefully in his bosom.
As for Oliver, his flushed young face and glittering eyes told their own tale. At first he felt inclined to shout for joy, but his feelings choked him; so he, too, remained speechless. The silence was broken at last by a commonplace remark from Paul, as he pointed to the horizon—“The home of our shipmates is further off than I thought it was.”
“The rascals!” exclaimed the captain, thinking of the shipmates, not of the home; “the place is too good for ’em.”
“But all of them are not equally bad,” suggested Paul gently.
“Humph!” replied Trench, for kind and good-natured though he was he always found it difficult to restrain his indignation at anything that savoured of injustice. In occasionally giving way to this temper, he failed to perceive at first that he was himself sometimes guilty of injustice. It is only fair to add, however, that in his cooler moments our captain freely condemned himself.
“‘Humph!’ is a very expressive word,” observed Paul, “and in some sense satisfactory to those who utter it, but it is ambiguous. Do you mean to deny, Master Trench, that some of your late crew were very good fellows? and don’t you admit that Little Stubbs and Squill and Grummidge were first-rate specimens of—”
“I don’t admit or deny anything!” said the captain, rising, with a light laugh, “and I have no intention of engaging in a controversy with you before breakfast. Come, Olly, blow up the fire, and go to work with your pork and cakes. I’ll fetch some more wood, and Paul will help me, no doubt.”
With a good grace Paul dropped the discussion and went to work. In a few minutes breakfast was not only ready, but consumed; for a certain measure of anxiety as to the probability of there being an available path to the top of the cliffs tended to hasten their proceedings.
The question was soon settled, for after ascending a few yards above their encampment they found an indentation or crevice in the cliff which led into an open spot—a sort of broader shelf—which sloped upwards, and finally conducted them to the summit.
Here, to their surprise, they discovered that their new home, instead of being, as they had supposed it, one of a series of large islands, was in truth a territory of vast, apparently boundless, extent, covered with dense forests. Far as the eye could reach, interminable woods presented themselves, merging, in the far distance, into what appeared to be a range of low hills.
“Newfoundland is bigger than we have been led to believe,” said Paul Burns, surveying the prospect with great satisfaction.
“Ay is it,” responded Trench. “The fact is that discoverers of new lands, bein’ naturally in ships, have not much chance to go far inland. In a country like this, with such a wild seaboard, it’s no wonder they have made mistakes. We will find out the truth about it now, however, for we’ll undertake a land voyage of discovery.”
“What! without arms or provisions, father?” asked Oliver.
“What d’ye call the two things dangling from your shoulders, boy?” returned the captain, with some severity; “are these not ‘arms’? and have not woods—generally got lakes in ’em and rivers which usually swarm with provisions?”
“That’s so, father,” returned the lad, somewhat abashed; “but I did not raise the question as a difficulty, only I’ve heard you sometimes say that a ship is not fit for sea till she is well-armed and provisioned, so I thought that it might be the same with land expeditions.”
Before the skipper could reply, Paul drew attention to an opening in the woods not far from them, where an animal of some kind was seen to emerge into an open space, gaze for a moment around it, and then trot quietly away.
“Some of our provisions—uncooked as yet,” remarked Oliver.
“More of them,” returned his father, pointing to a covey of birds resembling grouse, which flashed past them at the moment on whirring wings. “How we are to get hold of ’em, however, remains, of course, to be seen.”
“There are many ways of getting hold of them, and with some of these I am familiar,” said Paul. “For instance, I can use the long-bow with some skill—at least I could do so when at school. And I have no doubt, captain, that you know how to use the cross-bow?”
“That I do,” returned Trench, with a broad grin.
“I was noted at school as bein’ out o’ sight the worst shot in the neighbourhood where I lived. Indeed, I’ve bin known to miss a barn-door at twenty yards!”
“Well, well, you must learn to shoot, that’s all,” said Paul, “and you may, perchance, turn out better with the sling. That weapon did great execution, as no doubt you know, in the hands of King David.”
“But where are we to get long-bows and cross-bows and slings?” asked Oliver eagerly.
“Why, Olly, my boy, excitement seems to have confused your brain, or the air of Newfoundland disagrees with you,” said Paul. “We shall make them, of course. But come,” he added, in a more serious tone, “we have reached a point—I may say a crisis—in our lives, for we must now decide definitely what we shall do, and I pray God to direct us so that we may do only that which is right and wise. Are you prepared, captain, to give up all hope of returning to our shipmates?”
“Of course I am,” returned Trench firmly, while a slight frown gathered on his brow. “The few who are on our side could not make the rest friendly. They may now fight it out amongst themselves as best they can, for all that I care. We did not forsake them. They sent us away. Besides, we could not return, if we wished it ever so much. No; a grand new country has been opened up to us, and I mean to have a cruise of exploration. What say you, Olly?”
“I’m with ’ee, father!” answered the boy, with a nod of the head that was even more emphatic than the tone of his voice.
With a laugh at Oliver’s enthusiasm, Paul declared himself to be of much the same mind, and added that, as they had no boxes to pack or friends to bid farewell to, they should commence the journey there and then.
“I don’t agree with that,” said the captain.
“Why not, Master Trench?”
“Because we have not yet made our weapons, and it may be that we shall have some good chances of getting supplies at the very beginning of our travels. My opinion is that we should arm ourselves before starting, for the pork and cakes cannot last long.”
This being at once recognised as sound advice, they entered the forest, which was not so thick at that place as it at first appeared to be. They went just far enough to enable them to obtain a species of hardwood, which the experienced eye of Paul Burns told them was suitable for bow-making. Here they pitched their camp. Paul took the axe and cut down several small trees; the captain gathered firewood, and Oliver set about the fabrication of a hut or booth, with poles, bark, turf, and leaves, which was to shelter them from rain if it should fall, though there was little chance of that, the weather being fine and settled at the time.
The work which they had undertaken was by no means as easy as they had anticipated. Paul had indeed made bows and arrows in former years, but then all the materials had been furnished “in the rough” to his hands, whereas he had now not only to select the tree best adapted to his purpose, but had to choose the best part of it, and to reduce that portion from a massive trunk to suitably slender proportions. It was much the same with the arrows and cross-bow bolts. However, there was resolution and perseverance in each member of the party far more than sufficient to overcome such little difficulties; only, as we have said, they were slower about it than had been expected, and the work was far from completed when the descent of night obliged them to seek repose.
“Not a bad little bower,” remarked Paul, as they sat down to supper in the primitive edifice which Oliver had erected.
The said bower was about four feet high, eight wide, and five deep, of irregular form, with three sides and a roof; walls and roof being of the same material—branchy, leafy, and turfy. The fourth side was an open space in which the inhabitants sat, facing the fire. The latter, being large enough to roast a sheep whole, was built outside.
“Why, Olly, you’re a selfish fellow,” said the captain, during a pause in the meal; “you’ve thought only of yourself in building this bower. Just look at Paul’s feet. They are sticking out ten or twelve inches beyond our shelter!”
“That comes of his being so tall, daddy. But it does not matter much. If it should come on to rain he can draw his feet inside; there’s room enough to double up. Don’t you think so, Paul?”
But Paul replied not, save by a gentle snore, for he was a healthy man, and child-like in many respects, especially in the matter of going off to the land of Nod the moment his head touched his pillow. Possibly the fresh air, the excitement, the energy with which he had wrought, and the relish with which he had supped, intensified this tendency on the present occasion. Oliver very soon followed his friend’s example, and so Captain Trench was left to meditate beside the fire. He gazed into its glowing embers, or sometimes glanced beyond it towards an open space where a tiny rivulet glittered in the moonlight, and a little cascade sent its purling music into the still air.
Ere long he passed from the meditative to the blinking stage. Then he turned his eyes on the sleepers, smiled meekly once or twice and nodded to them—quite inadvertently! After that he stretched his bulky frame beside them, and resigned himself to repose.
Now, it is probable that we should have had nothing more to record in reference to that first night in Newfoundland if Captain Trench had been in the habit of taking his rest like ordinary mortals, but such was not his habit. He bounced in his sleep! Why he did so no one could ever find out. He himself denied the “soft impeachment,” and, in his waking moments, was wont to express disbelief as well as profound ignorance in regard to the subject. Several broken beds, however, had, in the course of his career, testified against him; but, like the man who blamed “the salmon,” not “the whisky,” for his headaches, Trench blamed “the beds,” not “the bouncing,” for his misfortunes.
One might have counted him safe with the solid earth of Newfoundland for his bed, but danger often lurks where least expected. Oliver Trench was not an architect either by nature or training. His bower had been erected on several false principles. The bouncing of a big man inside was too much for its infirm constitution. Its weak points were discovered by the captain. A bounce into one of its salient supports proved fatal, and the structure finally collapsed, burying its family in a compost of earth and herbage.
With a roar that would have done credit to a native walrus, the captain struggled to free himself, under the impression that a band of savages had attacked them. All three quickly threw off the comparatively light material that covered them, and stood in warlike attitudes for a few seconds, glancing around for foes who did not exist! Then the roar of alarm was transformed into shouts of laughter, but these were quickly checked by a real foe who crept up insidiously and leaped on them unexpectedly. The half-extinguished fire, having been replenished by the falling structure—much of which was dry and inflammable—caught on the roof and flashed down into the interior.
“Save the pork, lad!” shouted the captain, as he sprang out of the kindling mass.
“Ay, ay, father,” replied the son.
Paul meanwhile grasped the half-finished bows and arrows in his arms, and thus their little all was rescued from the flames. Of course, the bower was utterly consumed, but that caused them little grief. Having extinguished the flames, they all lay down to finish off the night under a neighbouring tree, and even its architect became so oblivious of what had occurred that he employed the remainder of his slumbering hours in dreaming of the home in old England, and of that dear mother whose last letter was still carefully guarded in the pocket of the coat that covered his ardent little bosom.