The Sun of Quebec: A Story of a Great Crisis

by Joseph A. Altsheler

He could not make up his mind even then to abandon the schooner entirely. There might never be another magazine of supply, and he ransacked her thoroughly, taking off more tools, weapons, clothing and ammunition. Even then he left on board much that might be useful in case of emergency, such as cordage, sails, and clothing that had belonged to the sailors. There was also a large quantity of ammunition for the Long Tom which he did not disturb. The gun itself was still on board the ship, dismounted and wedged into the woodwork, but practically as good as ever. Robert, with an eye for the picturesque, thought it would have been fine to have taken it ashore and to have mounted it before the house, but that, of course, was impossible. He must leave it to find its grave in the ocean, and that, perhaps, was the best end to a gun used as the Long Tom had been.

Part of his new treasures he took across the island on his back, and part he carried around it in the boat, which he found to be invaluable, and of which he took the utmost care, drawing it upon the beach at night, beyond the reach of tide or storm.

More than two weeks passed in these labors, and he was so busy, mind and body, that he was seldom lonely except at night. Then the feeling was almost overpowering, but whenever he was assailed by it he would resolutely tell himself that he might be in far worse case. He had shelter, food and arms in plenty, and it would not be long before he was taken off the island. Exerting his will so strongly, the periods of depression became fewer and shorter.

But the silence and the utter absence of his own kind produced a marked effect upon his character. He became graver, he thought more deeply upon serious things than his years warranted. The problem of his own identity was often before him. Who was he? He was sure that Benjamin Hardy knew. Jacobus Huysman must know, too, and beyond a doubt Adrian Van Zoon did, else he would not try so hard to put him out of the way. And St. Luc must have something to do with this coil. Why had the Frenchman really pointed out to him the way of escape when he was a prisoner at Ticonderoga? He turned these questions over and over and over in his mind, though always the answer evaded him. But he resolved to solve the problem when he got back to the colonies and as soon as the great war was over. It was perhaps typical of him that he should want his own personal fortunes to wait upon the issue of the mighty struggle in which he was so deeply absorbed.

Then his thoughts turned with renewed concentration to the war. Standing far off in both mind and body, he was able to contemplate it as a whole and also to see it in all its parts. And the more he looked at it the surer he was that England and her colonies would succeed. Distance and perspective gave him confidence. The French generals and French soldiers had done wonders, nobody could be braver or more skilful than they, but they could not prevail always against superior might and invincible tenacity.

Sitting on the ground and looking at the white surf breaking on the rocks, he ended the war in the way he wished. The French and Canada were conquered completely and his own flag was victorious everywhere. Braddock's defeat and Ticonderoga were but incidents which could delay but which could not prevent.

But he did not spend too much time in reflection. He was too young for that, and his years in the wilderness helped him to bear the burden of being alone. Rifle on shoulder, he explored every part of the island, finding that his domain presented no great variety. There was much forest, and several kinds of tropical fruits were for his taking, but quadruped life was limited, nothing larger than small rodents. Well-armed as he was, he would have preferred plenty of big game. It would have added spice to his life, much of which had been spent in hunting with Willet and Tayoga. Excitement might have been found in following bear or deer, but he knew too well ever to have expected them on an island in summer seas.

There was some sport in fishing. Plenty of tackle had been found among the ship's stores, and he caught good fish in the larger lake. He also tried deep sea fishing from the dinghy, but the big fellows bit so fast that it soon ceased to be of interest. The fish, though, added freshness and variety to his larder, and he also found shellfish, good and wholesome when eaten in small quantities, along the shore.

He went often to the highest hill in the center of the island, where he would spend long periods, examining the sea from horizon to horizon with his strong glasses, searching vainly for a sail. He thought once of keeping a mighty bonfire burning every night, but he reconsidered it when he reflected on the character of the ship that it might draw.

Both the Bahamas and the West Indies—he did not know in which group he was—swarmed then with lawless craft. For nearly two hundred years piracy had been common, and in a time of war especially the chances were against a ship being a friend. He decided that on the whole he would prefer a look at the rescuer before permitting himself to be rescued.