Chapter 11: 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 scraped between the rocks and into safety. Clearly, it was a miracle, and young Captain Whyte felt a deep and devout gratitude. He had then sent one of his best officers ashore to see the man who had saved them, and, meanwhile, he had stood by, watching through his glasses.

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 for 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.”

“‘Tis an extraordinary tale, Mr. Lennox.”

“But a true one, Captain Whyte.”

“I meant no insinuation that it wasn’t. Extraordinary things happen in the world, and have been happening in these seas, ever since Columbus first came into them.”

“Still mine is such an unusual story that it needs proof, and I give it. Did you not last autumn pretend that yours was a merchant ship, have a sailor play the violin on the deck while others danced about, and lure under your guns a pirate with the black flag at her masthead?”

Captain Whyte stared in astonishment.

“How do you know that?” he exclaimed.

“Did you not shatter the pirate ship with your broadsides but lose her afterward in a great storm that came up suddenly?”

“Aye, so I did, and I’ve been looking for her many a time since then.”

“You’ll never find her, Captain. Your guns were aimed well enough, and they took the life out of her. She couldn’t weather the storm. Of all the people who were aboard her then I’m the only survivor. Her captain escaped with me to this island, but he died of wounds and I buried him. I can show you his grave.”

“How do I know that you, too, are not one of the pirates?”

“By taking me back on your ship to the colonies, and proving my tale. If you don’t find that every word I tell you is true you can hang me to your own yardarm.”

Captain Whyte laughed. It was a fair and frank offer, but he was a reader of men, and he felt quite sure that the strange youth was telling the absolute truth.

“He’s given me, sir, quite correct accounts of events that happened in the colonies last year,” said Lanham. “He was at Ticonderoga and his narrative of the battle agrees fully with the accounts that we received.”

And just at that moment, coincidence stretched out her long arm again, as she does so often.

“I had a cousin at Ticonderoga,” said Captain Whyte. “A splendid young fellow, name of Grosvenor. I’ve seen a letter from him in which he says ‘twas a terrible fight, but that we threw away our chances before we went upon the field.”

“Grosvenor! Grosvenor!” exclaimed Robert eagerly. “Why, I knew him! He was a friend of mine! We were in the forest together, in combat and escape. His first name was Alfred. Did he say nothing in his letter of Robert Lennox?”

“Of course he did! I was so much interested in you that I paid little attention to your name, and it glided past me as if I’d not heard it. He told of a friend of his, name of yours, who had been lost, murdered they all believed by some spy.”

“And did he say nothing also of Tayoga, a wonderful Onondaga Indian, and of David Willet, a great hunter?”

“Aye, so he did. I recall those names too. Said the Indian was the most marvelous trailer the world had ever known, could trace the flight of a bird through the air, and a lot more that must have been pure romance.”

“It’s all true! every word of it. I’ll see that you meet Tayoga, and then you’ll believe, and you must know Willet, too, one of the grandest men that ever lived, soul of honor, true as steel, all those things.”

“I believe you! Every word you say! But I can’t keep you talking here with the water dripping from you. We really couldn’t question your truth, either, after you’d saved our ship and all our lives. I see you have a naval uniform of ours. Well, we’ll give you a dry one in its place. See that the best the Hawk has is his, Lanham.”

Robert was taken to a small cabin that was vacant and he exchanged into dry clothing. He went back a little later to the captain’s room with Lanham, where they insisted upon his taking refreshment, and then Captain Whyte sent him to bed.

“I’ve a million questions to ask you, Mr. Lennox,” he said, “but I won’t ask ‘em until to-morrow. You must sleep.”

Robert’s manner had been calm, but he found when he lay down that he was surcharged with excitement. It was inside him and wanted to get it out, but he kept it bottled up, and after an hour spent quieting his nerves he fell asleep. When he awoke, dressed, and went on deck, all trace of the storm had gone. The Hawk swung quietly at anchor and to him, she seemed the very finest ship that had ever sailed on any sea from the day of the galley to the day of the three-decker. He noticed with pleasure how trim everything was, how clean was the wood, how polished the brass was, and how the flag of Britain snapped in the breeze overhead. He noticed the eighteen pounders and he knew these were what had done the business for the slaver and pirate. Lanham gave him a hearty welcome.

“It’s halfway to noon,” he said, “and you slept long and well, as you had a right to do, after saving His Majesty’s twenty-two gun sloop, Hawk, from the rocks. We had a boat’s crew ashore this morning, not because we doubted your word, but to see that everything was trim and snug on your island, and they found your house. On my word, quite a little castle, and well furnished. We didn’t disturb a thing. It’s yours, you know.”

“I merely inherited it,” said Robert. “The slaver and pirate who kidnapped me built it as a place for a refuge or a holiday, and he came back here to die. He furnished it partly, and the rest came from his wrecked ship.”

After breakfast, Robert went ashore also with the captain and Lanham, and he showed them about the island. They even saw the old bull at the head of his herd, and Robert waved him a friendly farewell. The house and its contents they decided to leave exactly as they were.

“They may shelter some other castaway,” said Robert.

“We’ll even leave the guns and ammunition,” said Captain Whyte. “We don’t need ‘em. You rescued ‘em from the ship and they belong to you. The Hawk has no claim on ‘em.”

“I’d like for ‘em to stay here,” said Robert. “Nobody may ever be cast away on this island again, and on the other hand, it might happen next week. You can’t tell. But it’s been a good island to me, and, though I say farewell, I won’t forget it.”

“You take the right view of it,” said Captain Whyte, “and even if I didn’t feel your way about it, although I do, I’d be bound to give you your wish since you saved us. You’ve also taken quite a burden off my mind. It’s always been a source of grief to me that the pirate eluded us in the storm, but since you’ve shown me that we were really responsible for her sinking I feel a lot better about it.”

On the Hawk Lanham told him what had been passing in the world.

“There’s a great expedition out from England under that young general, Wolfe, who distinguished himself at Louisbourg,” he said. “It aims at the taking of Quebec, and we’re very hopeful. The rendezvous is Louisbourg, on Cape Breton Island, and the army and navy, I suppose, are already there. Your own Royal Americans will be in it, and what we lost at Ticonderoga we propose to regain--and more--before Quebec. The Hawk is bound for Louisbourg to join the fleet, but she puts in at Boston first. If you choose to go on to Louisbourg with us you won’t fare ill, because the captain has taken a great fancy for you.”

“I thank you much,” said Robert, gratefully. “I’m almost tempted to join the great expedition from Louisbourg into the St. Lawrence, but I feel that I must leave the ship at Boston. I’m bound to hunt up Willet and Tayoga, and we’ll come by land. We’ll meet you before the heights of Quebec.”

Everything seemed to favor the northward voyage of the Hawk. Good winds drove her on, and Robert’s heart leaped within him at the thought that he would soon be back in his own country. Yet he made little outward show of it. The gravity of mind and manner that he had acquired on the island remained with him. Habits that he had formed there were still very powerful. It was difficult for him to grow used to the presence of other people, and at times he longed to go out on his peak of observation, where he might sit alone for hours, with only the rustling of the wind among the leaves in his ears. The sound of the human voice was often strange and harsh, and now and then only his will kept him from starting when he heard it, as one jumps at the snarl of a wild animal in the bush.

But the friendship between him, Captain Whyte, Lieutenant Lanham, and the other young officers grew. People instinctively liked Robert Lennox. Whether in his mood gay or grave, he had a charm of manner that few could resist, and his story was so strange, so picturesque that it invested him with compelling romance. He told all about his kidnapping and his life on the island, but he said nothing of Adrian Van Zoon. He let it be thought that the motive of the slaver in seizing him was merely to get a likely lad for sale on a West India plantation. But his anger against Van Zoon grew. He was not one to cherish wrath, but on this point, it was concentrated, and he intended to have a settlement. It was not meant that he should be lost, it was not meant that Adrian Van Zoon should triumph. He had been seized and carried away twice, and each time, when escape seemed impossible, a hand mightier than that of man had intervened in his favor.

He spoke a little of his thought once or twice when he stood on the deck of the Hawk on moonlight nights with Captain Whyte and Lieutenant Lanham.

“You can’t live with the Indians as much as I have,” he said, “especially with such a high type of Indian as the Iroquois, without acquiring some of their beliefs which, after all, are about the same as our own Christian religion. The difference is only in name. They fill the air with spirits, good and evil, and have ‘em contending for mastery. Now, I felt when I was on the island and even before that I was protected by the good spirits of the Iroquois, and that they were always fighting for me with the bad.”

“I take it,” said Captain Whyte, “that the Indian beliefs, as you tell them, are more like the mythology of the old Greeks and Romans. I’m a little rusty on my classics, but they had spirits around everywhere, good and bad, always struggling with one another, and their gods themselves were mixtures of good and evil, just like human beings. But I’m not prepared to say, Mr. Lennox, that you weren’t watched over. It seems strange that of all the human beings on the slaver, you should have been the only one saved and the only one not stained with crime. It’s a fact I don’t undertake to account for. And you never found out the name of the pirate captain?”

“Neither his nor that of his ship. It had been effaced carefully from the schooner and all her boats.”

“I suppose it will remain one of the mysteries of the sea. But tell me more about my cousin, Grosvenor. Was he really becoming a trailer, a forest runner?”

“He was making wonderful progress. I never saw anybody more keen or eager.”

“A fine lad, one of our best. I’m glad that you two met. I’d like to meet too that Frenchman, St. Luc, of whom you’ve spoken so often. We Englishmen and Frenchmen have been fighting one another for a thousand years, and it seems odd, doesn’t it, Mr. Lennox, that it should be so? Why, the two countries can see each other across the Channel on clear days, and neighbors ought to be the best of friends, instead of the most deadly enemies. It seems that the farther a nation is from another the better they get along together. What is there in propinquity, Mr. Lennox, to cause hostility?”

“I don’t know, but I suppose it’s rivalry, the idea that if your neighbor grows he grows at your expense. Your hostility carries over to us in America also. We’re your children and we imitate our parents. The French in Canada hate the English in the Provinces and the English in the Provinces hate the French in Canada when there’s so much of the country of each that they’re lost in it.”

“It’s a queer world, Mr. Lennox. In spite of what you say and which I endorse, I’m going with an eager heart in the great expedition against Quebec, and so will you. I’ll be filled with joy if it succeeds and so will you.”

Robert admitted the fact.

“And I’d be delighted if we could meet a French sloop of about our own size and armament,” continued the captain. “Every man on board the Hawk would go into battle with her eagerly, and yet I don’t hate the French individually. They’re a brave and gallant nation and this St. Luc, of whom you speak, seems to be the very flower of chivalry.”

The captain’s wish to meet a French sloop of war of his own size was not granted. He had high hopes on the fourth day when they saw a sail, but it proved to be a schooner out of Newport returning from Jamaica with a cargo of sugar and molasses. The Hawk showed her heels in disgust and pursued her way northward.

As the time to reach Boston drew near, Robert’s heart filled again. He would be back in his own land, and his world would be before him once more. He had already decided that he would go at once to Albany and there pick up the thread of his old life. He was consumed, too, by curiosity. What had happened since he was gone? His feeling that he had been on the island for eight or nine years instead of eight or nine months remained. While it was his own world to which he was returning, it was also a new world.

Came the day when the harbor lights of the port of Boston showed through a haze and Robert, standing on the deck of the Hawk, watched the city rise out of the sea. He was dressed in a good suit of civilian clothing that he had found on the island, and he had some money that had never been taken from him when he was kidnapped, enough to pay his way from Boston to Albany. His kindly English friends wanted to lend him more, but he declined it.

“You can pay us back in Quebec,” said White.

“I don’t need it,” replied Robert, “but I’ll keep the rendezvous there with you both.”

As the Hawk was to stay two or three days in port in order to take on supplies, they went ashore together, and the three were full of curiosity when they entered, for the first time, the town of which they had heard so much. Boston had already made such impress upon the imagination that all the English colonists were generally known to the French in Canada as Bostonnais. In England, it had a great name, and there were often apprehensions about it. It was the heart and soul of the expedition when the New Englanders surprised the world by taking the great French fortress of Louisbourg, and it had an individuality and a personality that it has never lost.

“I don’t know how I’m going to like it,” said Captain Whyte, as they left the sloop. “I hear that they’re very superior here, and consider us English a rather backward lot. Don’t you think you’d better reconsider, Lennox, and go on with us to Louisbourg?”

Robert laughed.

“I’m not afraid of the Bostonians,” he said. “I met some very competent ones on the shores of Lake George. There was one Elihu Strong, a colonel of Massachusetts infantry, whom I like to remember. In truth, Captain, what I see here arouses my admiration. You noticed the amount of shipping in the port. The Bostonians are very keen traders, and they say there are sharp differences in character between them and the people of our southern provinces, but as I come from a middle province, New York, I am, in a sense, neutral. The New Englanders have a great stake in the present war. Their country has been ravaged for more than a century by French and Indians from Canada, and this province of Massachusetts is sending to it nearly every man, and nearly every dollar it has.”

“We know of their valor and tenacity in England,” said Captain Whyte, “but we know also that they’re men of their own minds.”

“Why shouldn’t they be? That’s why they’re English.”

“Since you put it that way, you’re right. But here we are.”

The town, about the size of New York, looked like a great city to Robert. He had come from a land that contained only one inhabitant, himself, and it was hard for him now to realize there were so many people in the world. The contrast put crowds everywhere, and, at times, it was very confusing, though it was always interesting. The men were mostly tall, thin, and with keen but composed eyes. They were of purer British blood than those in New York, but it seemed to Robert that they had departed something from type. They were more strenuous than the English of Old England, and the New Yorkers, in character, if not in blood and appearance, were more nearly English than the Bostonians. He also thought, and he was not judging now so much from a glimpse of Boston as from the New England men whom he had met, that they were critical both of themselves and others and that they were a people who meant to have their way at any cost.

But his attempts to estimate character and type were soon lost in his huge delight at being back in his own country. Robert’s mind was a mirror. It always reflected his surroundings. Quickly adaptable, he usually perceived the best of everything and is now busy and prosperous. Boston in its thin, crisp air, delighted him immeasurably. His feelings were much as they had been when he visited New York. Here was a great city, that is, great for his country and time, and it was destined to be much greater.