Chapter 12: The Wilderness Again

The full hospitality of Colonel Strong’s house was for Robert, and he sat late that night, listening to the talk of his host, merchant and warrior, and politician too. There were many like him in the colonies, keen men who had a vision for world affairs and who looked far into the future. He was so engrossed in these matters that he did not notice that he was doing nearly all the talking, but Robert was content to listen.

As Robert sat with Colonel Strong he felt to the full the reality of his own world to which he had returned, and his long life on the island became for the time a dream, something detached, that might have happened on another planet. Yet its effects remained. His manner was grave, and his thoughts were those of one much beyond his years. But mingled with his gravity were an elation and a sanguine belief in his future. He had survived so much that coming dangers could not daunt him.

The special coach departed the next morning and Robert sat on the seat with the driver. All things were auspicious. The company in the coach was good, the driver was genial and the weather was fine. It was a long trip and they slept several nights in inns by the way, but Robert always had pleasant memories of that journey. He was seeing his country under the most favorable conditions, well cultivated, trim, and in the full freshness of spring.

They reached Albany and his heart beat hard once more. He realized now that he was one risen from the dead. His reception by Colonel Strong had shown him that, but he believed the joy of his friends would be great when they saw him. The coach drew up at the George Inn, and, leaving it there, he started through the streets, taking no baggage.

It was the same busy little city with its thrifty Dutch burghers. The tide of war had brought added prosperity to Albany, and he saw about him all the old signs of military preparations. It was yet a base for the great campaigns to the northward. Evidently the fear of an attack by Montcalm had passed, as he did not see apprehension or depression in the faces of the people.

He went directly to the house of Master Jacobus Huysman, that staunch friend of his and Tayoga’s, and the solid red brick building with its trim lawns and gardens looked as neat and comfortable as ever. It was hard to believe that he had gone away, that he had been so long on an island. Nothing had been changed except himself and he felt different, much older.

He lifted the heavy brass knocker and struck thrice. The sound of footsteps came from within, and he knew at once that they were Caterina’s. Middle-aged, phlegmatic, and solid she had loved both him and Tayoga, despite tricks and teasing, but he knew her very phlegm would keep her from being startled too much. Only an earthquake could shake the poise of Caterina.

The door swung slowly open. The nature of Caterina was cautious and she never opened a door quickly.

“Good morning, Caterina,” said Robert. “Is Master Jacobus in? I stayed away a bit longer than I intended, and I wish to make my apologies to him, if I’ve caused him any inconvenience.”

The mouth of Caterina, a wide cleft, opened full as slowly as the door and full as steadily, and her eyes seemed to swell at the same time. But she did not utter a word. Words might be forming in her throat, though they were not able to pass her lips. But Robert saw amazement and joy in her eyes. She knew him. That was evident. It was equally evident that she had been struck dumb, so he grasped her large and muscular hand and said:

“I’ve come back, Caterina, a trifle late ‘tis true, but as you see I’m here. It’s not my fault that I’ve been delayed a little. I hope that Master Jacobus is well. I know he’s in his study as the odor of his pipe comes floating to me, a pleasant odor too, Caterina; I’ve missed it.”

“Aye! Aye!” said Caterina. It was all she could manage to say, but suddenly she seized his hand and fell to kissing it.

“Don’t do that, Caterina!” exclaimed Robert, pulling his hand away. “You’re glad to see me and I’m glad to see you. I’m no ghost. I’m solid and substantial, at least ten pounds heavier than I was when I went away suddenly at the invitation of others. And now, Caterina, since you’ve lost your voice I’ll go in and have a talk with Master Jacobus.”

Caterina’s mouth and eyes were still opening wider and wider, but as Robert gave her an affectionate pat on the shoulder she managed to gasp:

“You haf come back! you wass dead, but you wouldn’t stay dead.”

“Yes, that’s it, Caterina, I wouldn’t stay dead, or rather I was lost, but I wouldn’t stay lost. I’ll go in now and see Master Jacobus.”

He walked past her toward the odor of the pipe that came from the study and library of Mr. Huysman, and Caterina stood by the door, still staring at him, her mouth opening wider and wider. No such extraordinary thing had ever happened before in the life of Caterina, and yet it was a happy marvel, one that filled her with gratitude.

The door of Mr. Huysman’s room was open and Robert saw him very clearly before he entered, seated in a great chair of mahogany and hair cloth, smoking his long hooked pipe and looking thoughtfully now and then at some closely written sheets of foolscap that he held in his hand. He was a solid man of the most solid Dutch ancestry, solid physically and mentally, and he looked it. Nothing could shake his calm soul, and it was a waste of time to try to break anything to him gently. Good news or bad news, it was well to be out with it, and Robert knew it. So he stepped into the room, sat down in a chair near that of Mr. Huysman, and said:

“I hope, sir, that I’ve not caused you any inconvenience. I didn’t mean to keep you waiting so long.”

Master Jacobus turned and regarded him thoughtfully. Then he took one long puff at his pipe removed it from his mouth and blew the smoke in spirals towards the ceiling.

“Robert,” he said, after an inspection of a full minute, “why were you in such a hurry about coming back? Are you sure you did everything you should have before you came? You wass sometimes a hasty lad.”

“I can’t recall, sir, anything that I’ve neglected. Also, I wiped my shoes on the porch and I shut the door when I came in, as Caterina used to bid me do.”

“It iss well. It shows that you are learning at last. Caterina and I haf had much trouble teaching manners to you and that young Onondaga scamp, Tayoga.”

“As we grow older, sir, we have more desire to learn. We’re better able to perceive the value of good advice.”

Master Jacobus Huysman put the stem of his long pipe back in his mouth, took the very longest draught upon it that he had ever drawn, removed it again, sent the smoke rushing in another beautiful spear of spirals toward the ceiling, and, then, for the first and last time in his life, he lost all control over himself. Springing to his feet he seized Robert by both hands and nearly wrung them off.

“Robert, my lost lad!” he exclaimed. “It iss you! it iss really you! I knew that you wass dead, and, yet when you walked into the room, I knew that it wass you alive! Your face iss changed! your look iss changed! your manner iss changed! you are older, but I would have known you anywhere and at the first glance! You do not understand how much you took out of my life when you went, and you do not know how much you have brought back when you come again! I do not ask why you left or where you have been, you can tell it all when you are ready! It iss enough that you are here!”

Tears rose in Robert’s eyes and he was not ashamed of them. He knew that his welcome would be warm, but it had been even warmer than he had expected.

“I did not go away of my own accord, sir,” he said. “I could not have been so heartless as that. I’ve a wonderful tale to tell, and, as soon as you give me all the news about my friends, I’ll tell it.”

“Take your time, Robert, take your time. Maybe you are hungry. The kitchen iss full of good things. Let me call Caterina, and she will bring you food.”

The invitation of the good Mynheer Jacobus, a very natural thought with him, eased the tension. Robert laughed.

“I thank you, sir,” he said, “but I cannot eat now. Later I’ll show you that I haven’t lost my ability at the trencher, but I’d like to hear now about Tayoga and Dave.”

“They’re gone into the northern forests to take part in the great expedition that’s now arranging against Quebec. We hunted long, but we could discover no trace of you, not a sign, and then there was no conclusion left but the river. You had been murdered and thrown into the Hudson. Your body could not disappear in any other way, and we wass sure it must have been the spy Garay who did the foul deed. Only Tayoga kept any hope. He said that you wass watched over by Manitou and by his own patron saint, Tododaho, and though you might be gone long, Manitou and Tododaho would bring you back again. But we thought it wass only a way he had of trying to console himself for the loss of his friend. Willet had no hope. I wass sorry, sorry in my soul for David. He loved you as a son, Robert, and the blow wass one from which he could never have recovered. When all hope wass gone, he and Tayoga plunged into the forest, partly I think to forget, and I suppose they have been risking the hair on their heads every day in battle with the French and Indians.”

“It is certain that they won’t shirk any combat,” said Robert. “Valiant and true! No one was ever more valiant and true than they are!”

“It iss so, and there wass another who took it hard, very hard. I speak of Benjamin Hardy of New York. I wrote him the letter telling him all that we knew, and I had a reply full of grief. He took it as hard as Willet.”

“It was almost worth it to be lost a while to discover what good and powerful friends I have.”

“You have them! You have them! And now I think, Robert, that the time draws nigh for you to know who you are. No, not now! You must wait yet a little longer. Believe me, Robert, it iss for good reasons.”

“I know it, Mr. Huysman! I know it must be so! But I know also there is one who will not rejoice because I’ve come back! I mean Adrian Van Zoon!”

“Why, Robert, what do you know of Adrian Van Zoon?”

“I was told by a dying man to beware of him, and I’ve always heard that dying men speak the truth. And this was a dying man who was in a position to know. I’m sure his advice was meant well and was based on knowledge. I think, Mr. Huysman, that I shall have a large score to settle with Adrian Van Zoon.”

“Well, maybe you have. But tell me, lad, how you were lost and how you came back.”

So, Robert told the long story again, as he had told it to Elihu Strong, though he knew that he was telling it now to one who took a deeper and more personal interest in him than Colonel Strong, good friend though the latter was. Jacobus Huysman had settled back into his usual calm, smoking his long pipe, and interrupting at rare intervals with a short question or two.

“It iss a wonderful story,” he said when Robert finished, “and I can see that your time on the island wass not wholly lost. You gained something there, Robert, my lad. I cannot tell just what it iss, but I can see it in you.”

“I feel that way myself, sir.”

“No time iss ever lost by the right kind of a man. We can put every hour to some profit, even if it iss not the kind of profit we first intended. But I will not preach to one who hass just risen from the dead. Are you sure, Robert, you will not have a dinner now? We have some splendid fish and venison and sausage and beef! Just a plate of each! It will do you good!”

Robert declined again, but his heart was very full. He knew that Master Jacobus felt deep emotion, despite his calmness of manner, and this was a way he had of giving welcome. To offer food and to offer it often was one of the highest tributes he could pay.

“I could wish,” he said, “that you would go to New York and stay with Benjamin Hardy, but as you will not do it, I will not ask it. I know that nothing on earth can keep you from going into the woods and joining Willet and Tayoga, and so I will help you to find them. Robert Rogers, the ranger leader, will be here to-morrow, and he starts the next day into the north with a force of his. He can find Willet and Tayoga, and you can go with him.”

“Nothing could be better, sir. I know him well. We’ve fought side by side in the forest. Is he going to lead his rangers against Quebec?”

“I do not know. Maybe so, and maybe he will have some other duty, but in any event, he goes up by the lakes, and you’re pretty sure to find Tayoga and Willet in that direction. I know that you will go, Robert, but I wish you would stay.”

“I must go, and if you’ll pardon me for saying it, sir, you won’t wish in your heart that I would stay. You’d be ashamed of me if I were to do so.”

Mr. Huysman made no answer but puffed a little harder on his pipe. Very soon he sent for Master Alexander McLean, and that thin dry man, coming at once, shook hands with Robert, released his hand, seized and shook it a second and a third time with more energy than ever. Mr. McLean, an undemonstrative man, had never been known to do such a thing before, and he was never known to do it again. Master Jacobus regarded him with staring eyes.

“Alexander iss stirred! He iss stirred mightily to make such a display of emotion,” he said under his breath.

“Robert hass been away on an island all by himself, eight or nine months or more,” he added, aloud.

“And of course,” said Master McLean, who had recovered his usual calm, “he forgot all his classical learning while he was there. I do not know where his island is, but desert islands are not conducive to a noble education.”

“On the contrary, sir,” said Robert, “I learned more about good literature when I was there than I ever did anywhere else, save when I sat under you.”

“‘Tis clearly impossible. In such a place you could make no advancement in learning save by communing with yourself.”

“Nevertheless, sir, happy chance gave me a supply of splendid books. I had Shakespeare, Marlowe, Beaumont, and Fletcher, translations of Homer and of other great Greeks and Latins.”

Mr. McLean’s frosty eyes beamed.

“What a wonderful opportunity!” he said. “Eight or nine months on a desert island with the best of the classics, and nobody to disturb you! No such chance will ever come to me, I fear. Which book of the Iliad is the finest, Robert?”

“The first, I think. ‘Tis the noble opening, the solemn note of tragedy that enchains the attention of us all.”

“Well answered. But I wish to make a confession to you and Jacobus, one that would shock nearly all scholars, yet I think that I must speak it out, to you two at least, before I die. There are times when my heart warms to the Odyssey more than it does to the Iliad. The personal appeal is stronger in the Odyssey. There is more romance, more charm. The interest is concentrated in Ulysses and does not scatter as it does in the Iliad, where Hector is undoubtedly the most sympathetic figure. And the coming home of Ulysses arouses emotion more than anything in the Iliad. Now, I have made my confession--I suppose there is something in the life of every man that he ought to hide--but be the consequences what they may I am glad I have made it.”

Mr. McLean rose from his chair and then sat down again. Twice that day he had been shaken by emotion as never before, once by the return of the lad whom he loved, risen from the dead, and once by the confession of a terrible secret that had haunted him for years.

“When I was on the island I reread both books in excellent translations,” said Robert, the utmost sympathy showing in his voice, “and I confess, sir, though my opinion is a poor one, that it agrees with yours. Moreover, sir, you have said it ahead of me. I shall maintain it, whenever and wherever it is challenged.”

Mr. McLean’s frosty blue eyes gleamed again, and his sharp strong chin set itself at a firm defiant angle. It was clear that he was relieved greatly.

“Have a pipe, Alexander,” said Master Jacobus. “A good pipe is a splendid fortifier of both body and soul, after a great crisis.”

Mr. McLean accepted a pipe and smoked it with a methodical calm. Robert saw that great content was settling upon both him and Mr. Huysman, and, presently, the burgher began to tell him news of vital importance, news that they had not known even in Boston when he left. It seemed that the Albany men had channels through Canada itself, by which they learned quickly of great events in the enemy’s camp.

“Wolfe with his fleet and army will be in the Gulf of St. Lawrence very soon,” said Master Jacobus, “and by autumn they will certainly appear before Quebec. Whatever happens there it will not be another Duquesne, nor yet a Ticonderoga. You must know, Robert, that the great merchants of the great ports get the best of information from England and from France too, because it is to their interest to do so. Mr. Pitt iss a great minister, the greatest that England hass had in centuries, a very great man.”