The Sun Of Quebec Part 21

His absorption as a student now made him forget often that he was alone, and there were long periods when he was not unhappy, especially when he was trying to solve some abstruse mental problem. He regretted sometimes that he did not have any book on mathematics, but perhaps it was as well for him that he did not. His mind turned more to the other side of life, to style, to poetry, to the imagination, and, now, as he was moving along the line of least resistance, under singularly favorable circ.u.mstances, he made extraordinary progress.

Heavy winds came and Robert liked them. He had plenty of warm clothing and it pleased him to walk on the beach, his face whipped by the gale, and to watch the great waves come in. It made him stronger to fight the storm. The response to its challenge rose in his blood. It was curious, but at such times his hope was highest. He stood up, defying the lash of wind and rain, and felt his courage rise with the contest. Often, he ran up and down the beach until he was soaked through, letting the fierce waves sweep almost to his feet, then he would go back to the house, change to dry clothing, and sleep without dreams.

There was no snow, although he longed for it, as do those who are born in northern regions. Once, when he stood on the crest of the tallest hill on the island, he thought he saw a few tiny flakes floating in the air over his head, but they were swept away by the wind, as if they were down, and he never knew whether it was an illusion or reality. But he was glad that it had happened. It gave him a fleeting touch of home, and he could imagine once more, and, for a few seconds, that he was not alone on the island, but back in his province of New York, with his friends not far away.

Then came several days of fierce and continuous cold rain, but he put on an oilskin coat that he found among the stores and spent much of the time out of doors, hunting ducks along the edges of the larger lake, walking now and then for the sake of walking, and, on rare occasions, seeking the wild cattle for fresh meat. The herds were in the timber most of the time for shelter, but he was invariably able to secure a tender cow or a yearling for his larder. He saw the big bull often, and, although he was charged by him once again, he refused to pull trigger on the old fellow. He preferred to look upon him as a friend whom he had met once in worthy combat, but with whom he was now at peace. When the bull charged him he dodged him easily among the bushes and called out whimsically:

"Let it be the last time! I don't mean you any harm!"

The fierce leader went peacefully back to his grazing, and it seemed to Robert that he had been taken at his word. The old bull apparently realized at last that he was in no danger from the human being who came to look at him at times, and he also was willing to call a truce. Robert saw him often after that, and invariably hailed him with words of friends.h.i.+p, though at a respectful distance. The old fellow would look up, shake his big head once or twice in a manner not at all hostile, and then go on peacefully with his grazing. It pleased Robert to think that in the absence of his own kind he had a friend here, and--still at a respectful distance--he confided to him some of his opinions upon matters of importance. He laughed at himself for doing so, but he was aware that he found in it a certain relief, and he continued the practice.

The dinghy became one of his most precious possessions. A little farther to the north he had found a creek that flowed down from the center of the island, rising among the hills. It was narrow and shallow, except near the mouth, but there it had sufficient depth for the boat, and he made of it a safe anchorage and port during the winter storms. He slept more easily now, as he knew that however hard the wind might blow there was no danger of its being carried out to sea. He thought several times of rigging a mast and sails for it and trying to make some other island, but he gave up the idea, owing to the smallness of the boat, and his own inexperience as a sailor. He was at least safe and comfortable where he was, and a voyage of discovery or escape meant almost certain death.

But he used the dinghy in calm weather for bringing back some of the stores that he had left on the other side of the island. The lighter articles he brought by land. There was not room for all of them in the house, but he built a shed under which he placed those not of a perishable nature, and covered them over with the tarpaulin and sails.

He still had the feeling that he must not lose or waste anything, because he knew that in the back of his head lay an apprehension lest his time on the island should be long, very long.

He kept in iron health. His life in the wilderness had taught him how to take care of himself, and, with an abundant and varied diet and plenty of exercise, he never knew a touch of illness. He did not forget to be grateful for it. A long a.s.sociation with Tayoga had taught him to remember these things. It might be true that he was being guarded by good spirits. The white man's religion and the red man's differed only in name. His G.o.d and Tayoga's Manitou were the same, and the spirits of the Onondaga were the same as his angels of divine power and mercy.

Often in the moonlight he looked up at the great star upon which Tayoga said that Tododaho dwelled, that wise Onondaga chieftain who had gone away to the skies four hundred years before. Once or twice he thought he could see the face of Tododaho with the wise snakes, coil on coil in his hair, but, without his full faith, it was not given to him to have the full vision of Tayoga. He found comfort, however, in the effort. It gave new strength to the spirit, and, situated as he was, it was his soul, not his body, that needed fortifying.

He decided that Christmas was near at hand, and he decided to celebrate it. With the count of time lost it was impossible for him to know the exact day, but he fixed upon one in his mind, and resolved to use it whether right or wrong in date. The mere fact that he celebrated it would make it right in spirit. It might be the 20th or the 30th of December, but if he chose to call it the 25th, the 25th it would be.

Endowed so liberally with fancy and with such a power of projecting the mind, it was easy for him to make believe, to turn imagination into reality. And this power was heightened by his loneliness and isolation, and by the turning in of his mind so tremendously upon itself.

After the thought of a Christmas dinner was struck out by his fancy it grew fast, and he made elaborate preparations. Ducks were shot, a yearling from the wild cattle was killed, the stores from the s.h.i.+p were drawn upon liberally, and he even found among them a pudding which could yet be made savory. Long experience had made him an excellent cook and he attended to every detail in the most thorough manner.

The dinner set, he arrayed himself in the finest clothes to be found in his stock, and then, when all was ready, he sat down to his improvised board. But there was not one plate alone, there were four, one for Willet opposite him, one for Tayoga at his right hand and one for Grosvenor at his left. And for every thing he ate he placed at least a small portion on every plate, while with unspoken words he talked with these three friends of his.

It was a dark day, very cold and raw for the island, and while there was no Christmas snow there was a cold rain las.h.i.+ng the windows that could very well take its place. A larger fire than usual, crackling and cheerful, was blazing on the hearth, throwing the red light of its flames over the table, and the three places where his invisible friends sat.

His power of evocation was so vivid and intense that he could very well say that he saw his comrades around the table. There was Willet big, grave and wise, but with the lurking humor in the corner of his eye, there was Tayoga, lean, calm, inscrutable, the young philosopher of the woods and the greatest trailer in the world, and there was Grosvenor, ruddy, frank, tenacious, eager to learn all the lore of the woods. Yes, he could see them and he was glad that he was serving Christmas food to them as well as to himself. Willet loved wild duck and so he gave him an extra portion. Tayoga was very partial to cakes of flour and so he gave him a double number, and Grosvenor, being an Englishman, must love beef, so he helped him often to steak.

It was fancy, but fancy breeds other and stronger fancies, and the feeling that it was all reality grew upon him. Dreams are of thin and fragile texture, but they are very vivid while they last. Of course Willet, Tayoga and Grosvenor were there, and when the food was all served, course by course, he filled four gla.s.ses, one at each plate, from a bottle of the old cordial that he had saved from the s.h.i.+p, lifted his own to his lips, tasted it and said aloud:

"To the victory of our cause under the walls of Quebec!"

Then he shut his eyes and when he shut them he saw the three tasting their own gla.s.ses, and he heard them say with him:

"To the victory of our cause under the walls of Quebec!"

CHAPTER IX

THE VOICE IN THE AIR

Robert slept long and peacefully the night after his Christmas dinner, and, when he rose the next morning, he felt more buoyant and hopeful than for days past. The celebration had been a sort of anchor to his spirit, keeping him firm against any tide of depression that in his situation might well have swept him toward despair. As he recalled it the day after, Tayoga, Willet and Grosvenor were very vivid figures at his table, sitting opposite him, and to right and left. They had responded to his toast, he had seen the flash in their eyes, and their tones were resonant with hope and confidence. It was clear they had meant to tell him that rescue was coming.

He accepted these voices out of the distance as definite and real. It could not be long until he saw the hunter, the Onondaga and the young Englishman once more. His lonely life caused him, despite himself, to lend a greater belief to signs and omens. Tayoga was right when he peopled the air with spirits, and most of the spirits on that island must be good spirits, since all things, except escape, had been made easy for him, house, clothes, food and safety.

The day itself was singularly crisp and bright, inciting to further cheerfulness. It was also the coldest he had yet felt on the island, having a northern tang that stirred his blood. He could shut his eyes and see the great forests, not in winter, but as they were in autumn, glowing in many colors, and with an air that was the very breath of life. The sea also sang a pleasant song as it rolled in and broke on the rocks, and Robert, looking around at his island, felt that he could have fared far worse.

Rifle on shoulder he went off for a long and brisk walk, and his steps unconsciously took him, as they often did, toward the high hill in the center of the island, a crest that he used as a lookout. On his way he pa.s.sed his friend, the old bull, grazing in a meadow, and, watching his herd, like the faithful guardian he was. Robert called to him cheerfully. The big fellow looked up, shook his horns, not in hostile fas.h.i.+on but in the manner of comrade saluting comrade, and then went back, with a whole and confident heart, to his task of nipping the gra.s.s. Robert was pleased. It was certain that the bull no longer regarded him with either fear or apprehension, and he wanted to be liked.

It was nearly noon when he reached his summit, and as he was warm from exercise he sat down on a rock, staying there a long time and scouring the horizon now and then through the gla.s.ses. The sea was a circle of blazing blue, and the light wind sang from the southwest.

He had brought food with him and in the middle of the day he ate it.

With nothing in particular to do he thought he would spend the afternoon there, and, making himself comfortable, he waited, still taking occasional glances through the gla.s.ses. While he sat, idling more than anything else, his mind became occupied with Tayoga's theory of spirits in the air--less a theory however than the religious belief of the Indians.

He wanted to believe that Tayoga was right, and his imagination was so vivid and intense that what he wished to believe he usually ended by believing. He shut his eyes and tested his power of evocation. He knew that he could create feeling in any part of his body merely by concentrating his mind upon that particular part of it and by continuing to think of it. Physical sensation even came from will. So he would imagine that he heard spirits in the air all about him, not anything weird or hostile, but just kindly people of the clouds and winds, such as those created by the old Greeks.

Fancying that he heard whispers about him and resolved to hear them, he heard them. If a powerful imagination wanted to create whispers it could create them. The spirits of the air, Tayoga's spirits, the spirits of old h.e.l.las, were singing in either ear, and the song, like that of the sea, like the flavor breathed out by his Christmas celebration, was full of courage, alive with hope.

He had kept his eyes closed a full half hour, because, with sight shut off, the other senses became much more acute for the time. The power that had been in the eyes was poured into their allies. Imagination, in particular, leaped into a sudden luxuriant growth. It was true, of course it was quite true, that those friendly spirits of the air were singing all about him. They were singing in unison a gay and brilliant song, very pleasant to hear, until he was startled by a new note that came into it, a note not in harmony with the others, the voice of Ca.s.sandra herself. He listened and he was sure. Beyond a doubt it was a note of warning.

Robert opened his eyes and everything went away. There was the pleasant, green island, and there was the deep blue sea all about it. He laughed to himself. He was letting imagination go too far. One could make believe too much. He sat idly a few minutes and then, putting the gla.s.ses to his eyes, took another survey of the far horizon where blue sky and blue water met. He moved the focus slowly around the circle, and when he came to a point in the east he started violently, then sprang to his feet, every pulse leaping.

He had seen a tiny black dot upon the water, one that broke the continuity of the horizon line, and, for a little while, he was too excited to look again. He stood, the gla.s.ses in his trembling fingers and stared with naked eyes that he knew could not see. After a while he put the gla.s.ses back and then followed the horizon. He was afraid that it was an illusion, that his imagination had become too vivid, creating for him the thing that was not, and now that he was a little calmer he meant to put it to the proof.

He moved the gla.s.ses slowly from north to east, following the line where sky and water met, and then the hands that held them trembled again.

There was the black spot, a trifle larger now, and, forcing his nerves to be calm, he stared at it a long time, how long he never knew, but long enough for him to see it grow and take form and shape, for the infinitesimal but definite outline of mast, sails and hull to emerge, and then for a complete s.h.i.+p to be disclosed.

The s.h.i.+p was coming toward the island. The increase in size told him that. It was no will-o'-the-wisp on the water, appearing a moment, then gone, foully cheating his hopes. If she kept her course, and there was no reason why she should not, she would make the island. He had no doubt from the first that a landing there was its definite purpose, most likely for water.

When he took the gla.s.ses from his eyes the second time he gave way to joy. Rescue was at hand. The s.h.i.+p, wherever she went, would take him to some place where human beings lived, and he could go thence to his own country. He would yet be in time to take part in the great campaign against Quebec, sharing the dangers and glory with Willet, Tayoga, Grosvenor and the others. The spirits in the air had sung to him a true song, when his eyes were shut, and, in his leaping exultation, he forgot the warning note that had appeared in their song, faint, almost buried, but nevertheless there.

He put the gla.s.ses to his eyes a third time. The s.h.i.+p was tacking, but that was necessary, and it was just as certain as ever that her destination was the island. Owing to the s.h.i.+fts and flaws in the wind it would be night before she arrived, but that did not matter to him.

Having waited months he could wait a few hours longer. Likely as not she was an English s.h.i.+p out of the Barbadoes, bound for the Carolinas. He must be somewhere near just such a course. Or, maybe she was a colonial schooner, one of those bold craft from Boston. There was a certain luxury in speculating on it, and in prolonging a doubt which would certainly be solved by midnight, and to his satisfaction. It was not often that in real life one looked at a play bound to develop within a given time to a dramatic and satisfying finish.

He remained on the crest until late in the afternoon, watching the s.h.i.+p as she tacked with the varying winds, but, in the end, always bearing toward the island. He was quite sure now that her arrival would be after dark. She would come through the opening in the reefs that he and the slaver had made so hardly in the storm, but on the night bound to follow such a day it would be as easy as entering a drawing room, with the doors held open, and the guest made welcome. He would be there to give the welcome.

He was able to see more of the s.h.i.+p now. As he had surmised, she was a schooner, apparently very trim and handled well. Doubtless she was fast.

The faster the better, because he was eager to get back to the province of New York.

Late in the afternoon, he left the hill and went swiftly back to his house, where he ate an early supper in order that he might be on the beach to give welcome to the guest, and perhaps lend some helpful advice about making port. There was none better fitted than he. He was the oldest resident of the island. n.o.body could be jealous of his position as adviser to the arriving vessel.

This was to be a great event in his life, and it must be carried out in the proper manner with every attention to detail. He put on the uniform of an English naval officer that he had found on the s.h.i.+p, and then rifle on shoulder and small sword in belt went through the forest toward the inlet.

The night was bright and beautiful, just fitted for a rescue, and an escape from an island. All the stars had come out to see it, and, with his head very high, he trod lightly as he pa.s.sed among the trees, approaching the quiet beach. Before he left the wood he saw the top of the schooner's mast showing over a fringe of bushes. Evidently she had anch.o.r.ed outside the reefs and was sending in a boat to look further.

Well, that was fit and proper, and his advice and a.s.sistance would be most timely.

The wind rose a little and it sang a lilting melody among the leaves.

His imagination, alive and leaping, turned it into the song of a troubadour, gay and welcoming. Tayoga's spirits were abroad again, filling the air in the dusk, their favorite time, and he rejoiced, until he suddenly heard once more that faint note of warning, buried under the volume of the other, but nevertheless there.

Alone, driven in upon himself for so many months, he was a creature of mysticism that night. What he imagined he believed, and, obedient to the warning, he drew back. All the caution of the northern wilderness returned suddenly to him. He was no longer rus.h.i.+ng forward to make a welcome for guests awaited eagerly. He would see what manner of people came before he opened the door. Putting the rifle in the hollow of his arm he crept forward through the bushes.

A large boat was coming in from the schooner, and the bright moonlight enabled him to see at first glance that the six men who sat in it were not men of Boston. Nor were they men of England. They were too dark, and three of them had rings in their ears.