The Sun of Quebec: A Story of a Great Crisis

by Joseph A. Altsheler

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 circumstances, 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 friendship, 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 association 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 God 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.