A COPY OF “THE TIMES.”
I was both glad and sorry for the interruption. In our forlorn condition we needed assistance badly enough, but I would have preferred to have Flora all to myself for some time longer. However, I made the best of it, and gave the voyageurs a warm greeting. They were from Fort York, and they told me that they and half a dozen more had been on a week’s hunting trip, and that they had spent the night in a sheltered spot near by. They added that when they were about starting for the fort, half an hour previously, two survivors of the wreck had straggled into their camp.
This was pleasing news, but before I could glean any further information, the rest of the party made their appearance from the timber—three more voyageurs and three of the company’s Indian hunters. And with them, to my great delight, were Captain Rudstone and Baptiste. Both walked with difficulty and were sorely bruised. It seems they had come ashore clinging to the jolly-boat—the rest of the crew were drowned—and had been cast on a sandy part of the coast. They knew nothing of the other boat or its occupants, and there was reason to believe the worst.
“I fear they are all lost,” said Captain Rudstone. “The longboat was heavily weighted and it probably capsized soon after it left the ship. We four have had a truly marvelous escape, Mr. Carew. I judge that Miss Hatherton owes her life to you.”
“We came ashore together,” I answered.
“Mr. Carew is too modest,” Flora said quietly. “But for him I should have been drowned when the boat upset. I was helpless all the time, while he held me on the spar.”
The captain looked queerly from one to the other of us, and I was afraid he would say some awkward thing; but he merely shrugged his shoulders, and turned to another subject.
“We might be in a worse plight,” he remarked. “We are sound of limb, and Fort York is but six miles away. And I have saved Lord Selkirk’s dispatches, which is a matter to be thankful for.” He patted his breast as he spoke. “A drying at a good fire is all they will need,” he added.
After some discussion, it was decided that two of the voyageurs should remain behind for the present and search the coast on the chance of finding trace of the longboat and its crew. The rest of us started for the fort, but first a rude litter was constructed on which to carry Flora, who was too weak and bruised to walk so great a distance.
The captain, Baptiste, and I were not in much better condition, and we were heartily glad when, after a weary tramp of under three hours, we arrived at Fort York. This was and still is, the main trading-post of the Hudson Bay Company. It stood close to the bay and to the mouth of the Nelson River. It was larger than the other forts, but in every respect like them—a fortified palisade surrounding a huddled cluster of buildings, in which live a little colony of men, from the factor and his assistants down to the Indian employees.
Captain Rudstone and myself were well known at the fort—we had both been there before—and we received a cordial greeting from old friends. We were soon provided with dry clothes and a stiff glass of liquor, and then, little the worse for our hardships, we sat down to a plentiful breakfast. Baptiste had fared worse than either of us. It turned out that one of his ribs was broken, and he went straight to the hospital. The factor’s wife took charge of Flora, and I saw her no more that day. One thing sadly marred our spirits—we had no hope that Hiram Bunker or any of his crew had been saved, and the disaster cast a gloom on all in the fort. I may add here that the two voyageurs found the bodies of the kind-hearted American skipper and six of his men, and that they were buried the following day on a low bluff overlooking the scene of their death-struggles. Peace to their ashes!
I slept soundly until late in the afternoon, and when supper was over, and I had visited Baptiste in the hospital, Captain Rudstone and I spent a quiet evening with the factor. Over pipes and brandy we told him the story of the wreck, and of the circumstances that led to our hurried flight from Quebec. He agreed that we had acted wisely, and he had some remarks to make to the disadvantage of Cuthbert Mackenzie.
“He is a revengeful man,” he added, “and he will leave no stone unturned to settle with you for that night’s work. I have no doubt that the theft of Lord Selkirk’s despatches was his aim.”
“He did not get them,” the captain laughed.
“It would have been a most unfortunate thing if he had,” the factor replied gravely. “One of the letters in the packet was for him and he had already received it. Lord Selkirk is a shrewd and determined man, and I am glad to know that they understand the danger at the head office in London. My instructions are just what I have wished them to be, and I suppose the import of all the letters is about the same.”
“Very likely,” assented Captain Rudstone. “I am glad you are pleased. Trouble has been brewing this long time, and the crisis can’t be far off. By the by, have you had news from Quebec later than the date of our sailing?”
“Not a word. The last mail, which brought me some London papers, left Fort Garry at the close of June.”
The factor sighed. He was fond of the life of towns and he had been buried in the wilderness for ten years!
“Gentlemen, fill your glasses,” he added. “Here’s to the prosperity of the company!”
“May it continue forever!” supplemented the captain.
I drank the toast, and then inquired what was the state of the lower country.
“There have been no open hostilities as yet,” the factor replied, “but there are plenty of rumors—ugly rumors. And that reminds me, Mr. Carew, a half-breed brought me a message from Griffith Hawke two days ago.”
“I rather expected to find him here,” said I, trying to hide my eagerness at the opening of a subject which I had wished to come to.
“He has abandoned that intention,” the factor stated. “He is afraid to leave at present. The redskins have been impudent in his neighborhood of late, and he thinks their loyalty has been tampered with by the Northwest people. He begged me to send you and Miss Hatherton on to Fort Royal at the first opportunity after your arrival, and there happens to be one open now.”
“How is that?” I asked.
“My right-hand man, Gummidge—you met him at supper—has been transferred to Fort Garry,” the factor explained. “He is married, and he and his wife will go by way of the Churchill River and Fort Royal. Mrs Gummidge will be a companion to Miss Hatherton. They expect to start in a week, so as to cover as much ground as possible before the winter sets in.”
“The sooner the better,” said I.
“And what about the marriage?” Captain Rudstone inquired carelessly.
“There will be a priest here—one of the French fathers—in the course of a month,” said the factor, “and I will send him on to Fort Royal.”
I tried hard to appear unconcerned, for I saw that Captain Rudstone was watching me keenly.
“I trust I shall be present for the ceremony,” he remarked. “I go south by that route when I have finished with the business that brought me to the bay. I have three forts to visit hereabouts first.”
The factor sucked thoughtfully at his pipe.
“Hawke is a lucky man,” he said. “By gad, I envy him! Miss Hatherton is the prettiest bit of womanhood I ever clapped eyes on.”
“She is too young for Hawke,” said Captain Rudstone, with a sly glance in my direction.
“She will make him a good wife,” I replied aggressively.
“There is another who wishes to marry her,” he answered.
“What do you mean by that?” I cried.
“I refer to Cuthbert Mackenzie,” said the captain.
I gave him an angry look, for I knew he had been purposely drawing me on, and to hide my confusion I drank a glass of brandy and water. There was a pause, and then, to my relief, the factor turned the conversation on the prices of furs.
The next five days passed slowly and uneventfully. Baptiste came out of hospital, and was pronounced fit for travel. Flora was none the worse for her exposure and suffering; I saw very little of her, for she lived in the married men’s quarters and was looked after by the factor’s wife and Mrs. Gummidge. But when we found ourselves alone together, as happened several times, her guarded conversation gave me to understand that the past must be forgotten, and she showed plainly that she was deeply grateful to me for not bringing up the subject that was next my heart. And indeed I had no intention of doing so. I realized that the girl could not be mine, and that what had occurred between us, when we believed ourselves to be on the edge of the grave—was the more reason why I should remain true to faith and honor. But my love for her was stronger and deeper-rooted than ever, and I still adhered to my resolution to take myself out of temptation’s way at the first opportunity—to begin a new life in the wilderness or the towns of Lower Canada. I would have evaded the journey with her to Fort Royal had it been possible to do so.
Captain Rudstone made no further mention of the girl, and during the time he remained at the fort we were on the best of terms, though I observed that he took no pains to seek my company, and that he often looked at me with the puzzled and uneasy expression which I had noted from the first. On the morning of the fourth day he left for a fort some miles to the eastward, and on the night before an incident happened which I must not forget to mention.
We were sitting in the factor’s room after supper—the captain and I—and he was reading an English paper that had come up with the last mail. Suddenly he uttered a sharp cry of surprise, and brought his tilted chair to the floor with a crash. When I inquired what was the matter he looked at me suspiciously, and made some inaudible reply. He tossed the paper on the table, gulped down a stiff brandy, and left the room.
As he did not return, I ventured to pick the paper up and examine it. It was a copy of the London Times, dated a year back. I scanned the page he had been reading, but could find nothing to account for his agitation. Where his hand had rumpled it was a brief paragraph stating that the Earl of Heathermere, of Heathermere Hall, in Surrey, was dead; that his two unmarried sons had died during the previous year—one by an accident while hunting; and that the title was now extinct, and the estate in Chancery. I read it with momentary interest, and then it passed from my mind. The notice of deaths was close by, and I concluded that it contained the name of one of the captain’s English friends. I remembered that he had resided in London for some time.
Early the next morning Captain Rudstone departed, expressing the hope that he would see me within a month or six weeks. Two days later—on the morning of the sixth day after the wreck of the Speedwell—I was on my way to Fort Royal. Our party numbered eight, as follows: Jim Gummidge and his wife, Miss Hatherton and myself, Baptiste, and three trusty voyageurs. Gummidge was a companionable fellow, and his wife was a hardy, fearless little woman of the woods.
Our course was to the west, across a seventy-mile stretch of waterway, formed of connecting lakes and streams, that would bring us to the Churchill River, at a point a few miles above Fort Royal—the Churchill, it may be said, empties into Hudson Bay more than a hundred miles to the northwest of Fort York. We traveled in one long, narrow canoe, which was light enough to be portaged without difficulty, and on the evening of the second day we were within thirty-five miles of our destination.