The Sun Of Quebec Part 24

His gla.s.ses were always in his pocket, and, remembering them now for the first time, he clapped them to his eyes. The sloop and her tracery of mast and spars became distinct. He saw guns on the deck and men, men in uniform, and he could see well enough, a moment or two later, to tell that they wore the uniform of Britain. His heart gave a wild throb. The spirits in the air were good spirits, and the storm had never been able to drive them away. They had been calling to him when he thought they were silent, only he had not been able to hear them.

He gave a wild shout of joy that could be heard above the crash of the storm. Triumph was a.s.sured. He was rescuing, and he would be rescued. He did not realize until that instant how eager he was to be taken from the island, how he longed, with all his soul, to rejoin his own kind, to see his friends again and to take a part in the great events that were shaking the world. He uttered his wild shout over and over, and, in between, he laughed, laughed with a joy that he could not control.

The sloop entered the opening. It seemed to him that the rocks, those fearful sharks' teeth, almost grazed her on either side, and his heart stood still, but she went safely past them, drew into the little harbor where she was safe from the wildest storm that ever blew, dropped anchor, and was at rest.

Robert in his exultation had never permitted his fire to die down an inch. Rather he had made it grow higher and higher until it was a vast core of light, throwing a red glare over the beach and the adjacent waves, and sending off vast showers of sparks. But when the s.h.i.+p cast anchor in her port he stood still before it, a dark figure, a perfect silhouette outlined against a blazing background, and watched, while a boat was launched from the sloop.

He saw five figures descend into the boat. Four were sailors and one an officer in uniform, and he knew well that they were coming to see him, the human being by the fire who had saved them. Pride was mingled with his joy. If he had not been there the sloop and probably all on board of her would have perished. It was touch and go, only a brief opportunity to save had been allowed him, but he had used it. So he raised himself to his full height, straightened his clothes, for which he always had respect despite the storm, and waited on. He had a full sense of drama, and he felt that this was one of the most dramatic moments of his life.

The boat came up the beach on a wave, the men sprang out, held it as the wave retreated, and then dragged it after them until it was beyond the reach of invading water. Robert meanwhile never stirred, and the great fire behind him enlarged his figure to heroic proportions.

The officer, young, handsome, in the British naval uniform, walked forward, with the four sailors following in a close group behind, but he stopped again, and looked at the strange figure before him. Evidently something in its pose, in its whole appearance, in truth, made an extraordinary impression upon him. He pa.s.sed his hands before his eyes as if to make sure that it was no blur of the vision, and then he went forward again, the sailors keeping close behind, as if they were in fear lest the figure prove to be supernatural.

"Who are you?" called the young officer.

"Robert Lennox, of Albany, the Province of New York, and the wilderness," replied Robert. "Welcome to my island."

His sense of drama was still strong upon him, and he replied in his fullest and clearest voice. The officer stared, and then said:

"You've saved the s.h.i.+p and all our lives."

"I think that's what I was here for, though it's likely that you've saved me, too. What s.h.i.+p it that?"

"His Majesty's sloop of war, _Hawk_, Captain Stuart Whyte, from Bridgetown in the Barbadoes, for Boston."

Robert thrilled when he heard the word "Boston." It was not New York, but it was a port for home, nevertheless.

"Who are you?" continued the officer, on fire with curiosity. "You've told me your name, but what are you? and where are the other people of the island?"

"There are no other people. It's my island. I'm sole lord of the isle, and you're most welcome."

"You heard our signal guns?"

"Aye, I heard 'em, but I knew before you fired a shot that you were coming."

"'Tis impossible!"

"It's not! I knew it, though I can't explain how to you. Behold my bonfire! Do you think I could have built such a pyramid of wood between the firing of your first shot and your coming into my harbor? No, I was ready and waiting for you."

"That's convincing."

"I repeat that I welcome you to Lennox Island. My house is but a short distance inland in a beautiful forest. I should like to receive Captain Whyte there as an honored guest, and you, too."

"Your house?"

"Aye, my house. And it's well built and well furnished. You'd be surprised to know how much comfort it can offer."

The officer--a lieutenant--and the men, coming closer, inspected Robert with the most minute curiosity. Lone men on desert islands were likely to go insane, and it was a momentary thought of the officer that he was dealing with some such unhappy creature, but Robert's sentences were too crisp, and his figure too erect and trim for the thought to endure more than a few seconds.

"It's raining heavily," he said, "and Captain Whyte will be glad to be a guest at your home later. I'll admit that for a moment I doubted the existence of your house, but I don't now. Are you willing to go on board the _Hawk_ with us and meet Captain Whyte?"

"Gladly," replied Robert, who felt that his dramatic moment was being prolonged. "The storm is dying now. Having done its worst against you, and, having failed, it seems willing to pa.s.s away."

"But we don't forget that you saved us," said the officer. "My name is Lanham, John Lanham, and I'm a lieutenant on the _Hawk_."

The storm was, in truth, whistling away to the westward and its rage, so far as Robert's island was concerned, was fully spent. The waves were sinking and the night was lightening fast. The sloop of war, heaving at her anchorage, stood up sharp and clear, and it seemed to Robert that there was something familiar in her lines. As he looked he was sure.

Coincidence now and then stretches forth her long arm, and she had stretched it now.

The sailors, when the sea died yet more, relaunched the boat. Lanham and Robert sprang in, and the men bent to the oars.

CHAPTER XI

BACK TO THE WORLD

Captain Stuart Whyte of His Majesty's gallant sloop of war, the _Hawk_, was standing on his own quarterdeck, looking curiously at the scene about him, and, taking it in, as well as he could, by the light of a great bonfire blazing on the beach some distance away. He was a young officer and his immense relief predominated over his curiosity. The _Hawk_ was a fine sloop, and he loved her, but there had been a terrible time that night when he thought she was lost and her crew and himself with her.

He had seen more than one storm in these sudden seas, but this was perhaps the worst. All bearings were gone, and then the signs showed breakers. He was a brave man and he had brave officers, but every one of them had despaired, until suddenly a light, a pillar of fire, rose in the darkness and the storm, almost from the heart of the ocean, as if it had been evoked by his own signal guns. Then, by this marvelous beacon, they had sc.r.a.ped between the rocks and into safety. Clearly it was a miracle, and young Captain Whyte felt a deep and devout grat.i.tude. He had then sent one of his best officers ash.o.r.e to see the man who had saved them, and, meanwhile, he had stood by, watching through his gla.s.ses.

He saw the man of the island get into the boat with Lanham and approach the sloop. The storm had now sunk much, and it was not difficult to come aboard, but Captain Whyte, still intensely curious, but with a proper sense of his own dignity, withdrew to his cabin where he might receive the lord of the isle in state.

He rose politely, and then stared at the tall youth who came in with Lieutenant Lanham, the water running from his clothes. Yet the stranger had a dignity fully equal to his own, and there was also something very uncommon about him, a look of strength and confidence extraordinary in one so young.

"Won't you sit down?" said Captain Whyte.

Robert glanced at his clothes.

"I bring the storm with me," he said--he often spoke in the language that he had unconsciously imbibed in much reading of the Elizabethans.

"Never mind that. Water won't hurt my cabin, and if it did you're welcome just the same. I suppose you represent the people of the island, to whom my crew and I owe so much."

"I am the people of the island."

"You mean that you're here alone?"

"Exactly that. But tell me, before we go any further, Captain, what month this is."

"May."

"And the year?"

"1759."

"I wanted to be sure. I see that I've been on the island eight or nine months, but I lost all count of time, and, now and then it seemed like eight or nine years. As I've already told Lieutenant Lanham, I'm Robert Lennox, of Albany, the Province of New York, and the wilderness. I was kidnapped at Albany and carried down the Hudson and out to sea by a slaver and pirate."