University of Virginia Library

17. CHAPTER XVII.
The Indian Messenger.

During the succeeding three days the
weather had been bright and clear, and
the English frigate had succeeded in
setting a mizzen-mast complete, with all
her top-hamper, and in rigging a jury-main-mast.
She could obtain no spar,
and had none on board large enough for
a new mast. By going on shore, and cutting
down a white pine, which the Captain
at first thought of doing, he might
have completely refitted his vessel; but
this would consume too much time, and
he was anxious to get away with such
repairs as he could make before the rumor
of his situation should be conveyed
o Boston, where he knew an American
frigate and gun-brig lay. That such information
would be at once conveyed the
morning after the storm, he had no doubt
whatever; and he was anxious to be at
sea again, on his way to Halifax, to complete
his refit.

He was not out in his conjectures. By
the early dawn of the morning after the
storm a messenger was on his way to
Boston Bay, in a canoe rigged with a sail.
The messenger was an Indian, the uncle
of young White Teeth.

William Northrop had early sought
his hut, about a mile in the depths of the
forest, by the side of a fresh-water lake.
The old chief, for chief he had been in
the day when his tribe was numerous and
strong, and he still looked the old warrior,
was on the alert at the door of his
camp, clearing his rifle preparatory to
the day's hunt.

`Hooh! Who goes?' he called as he
caught a glimpse, through the dusk of
the morning, of Northrop's figure in the
narrow woodland path; and the brought
his rifle to his shoulder, though it was
evidently unloaded.

`It is me, William.'

`Good. Come to camp. How you
do? Yo bin go way moosh times!'

`Yes. I got back last night,' answered
Northrop, seating himself on a log to
rest, for the walk had been long, and his
combat with the waves the night before
had weakened him, so that he was not yet
half the strong man he was when himself.

`Where, boy?' asked the chief, winding
a piece of dried grass about the screw
of his ram-rod and thrusting it into the
muzzle of his gun.

`Boy turn up by and by. I come to
see you, Natanah, not about your boy,
but on great business.'

`Great business. Good! Boy be
home by'm by.'

`Yes, and by,' answered Northrop,
who did care to introduce the unpleasant
information of his loss, lest he should not
get him to attend so promptly to the service
he had in view for him. `There is
a King's ship in the bay.'

`In you' bay, Will'm?' asked the Indian,
amazed.

`Yes—a big war-ship. She was driven
in last night by the storm. She will remain
two or three days to repair dam
ages.'

`Me sell 'em some game. Me get
much bukash—much monies.'

`I will give you more money than you
can ever get by selling them game, if
you do as I wish. Besides, it will be a
crime to sell to the enemy.'

`What Will'm say to Natanah?'

`He wants you to take your canoe
and start at once, this hour, this moment,
and strike across the Casco Bay, and so
up the harbor to Portland. You will
reach there before night. You will at
once go to the officer in commrnd of the
forces there, and give him this tobacco-box.'

As he spoke, he placed in the Indian's
hand an old oval japanned box that was
fastened by a clasp.

`This box contains a letter to him,
telling him the English ship is here, and
telling him to despatch an express to
Boston to the commander of the frigate
there.'

`Good. Now what bukkeesh you
give Indian if he go?' asked the wiley
and money-loving savage.

`I will give you twenty silver dollars
and two jugs of rum when you come
back.'

The Indian's eyes sparkled with pleasure.

`Give Natanah five doller before, and
he go.'

`Done. Now hasten to your boat
and be as secret as the wind in a calm
day.'

`Natanah true man good,' responded
the Indian impressively, placing his hand
on his heart.

`I can trust you. Where is your canoe?'

`At the rock.'

`Go, then, at once. I will walk with
you to your canoe, and see you start.'

The Indian returned into his hut, and
bringing forth a blanket and jug, and a
bunch of squirrels and a few birds, with
which he had an eye to a market in the
city, he flung his rifle across his arm,
and shutting the lodge, walked away to
the left by a path just discernible. Northrop
followed him steadily for about a
mile, when they came to the sea-shore,
where a narrow inlet made up into the
land. The sun was rising as they descended
to the beach, and flinging far
and wide his golden splendor over ocean,
isle and main.

`The sea rolls high yet, Natanah!' he
said, looking over the scene, now magnificently
contrasting the stormy night.

`Yiss, Will'm. Indian canoe not mind
him. Plenty bukeesh come by'm by.'

`There is not any more wind than
would fan a lady. Keep well out to
avoid the surf there on Gull Point Reef;
it rolls and tumbles there as if it would
keep it up for twenty-four hours more.'

The Indian was now busily launching
his birch canoe, which was concealed in
a larch thicket, above the highest flow of
the sea. It was so light, that he carried
it on his shoulder and placed it in the
water. He now put in his jug, his blanket,
and rifle, and then delayed to grasp
Northrop by the hand in token of faithfulness,
and to ask him for the boy.

`The boy will be safe enough till you
come back. Think only of what you
have to do.

`When you reach the city, make no
stop—touch no whiskey—speak to no
man; but hasten to the General in command,
and place the box in his hand.'

Natunah promised to do this, and
sprung into his boat, and raised its little
gossimer like sail. He turned its bow
from the shore, and seating himself in
the centre with his paddle, glided rapidly
away from the land, the sail filling and
stretching out far ahead of him. The
waves yet rolled heavily, but the light
bark danced over them with a swift and
joyous motion, and each moment lessened

to the eye of the old fisherman. It
steered for a passage between two islands
which lay to the west, and after passing
these, was to wind its way among the
numerous isles of the great Bay of Casco,
till it should reach its destination twenty
four miles distant.

Northrop now turned away, satisfied
that the message was safely on its way,
and began to follow a path over the
height of land which soon brought him
in full sight of the frigate at anchor in
his bay; for the inlet from which the
Indian had set sail was westward farther,
and separated from it by the promontory
that formed the western arm of Northrop's
Bay.

The deck of the frigate was already
in bustle. Shears were being rigged,
and every thing preparing to refit. She
was a noble looking ship, with her dark,
warlike hull, and battlements of cannon.
There was no flag at her fore-top, to designate
her nation; and Northrop attributed
the absence of it, to a desire to be
as little auspicious as possible.

He stood some minutes watching the
ship, and then made his way towards his
cottage. Near it he was met by May,
who on seeing him ran to embrace him.

`Dear father, how thankful I ought to
be, that I have been the instrument of
your safety. I could scarcely realise,
when I awaked this morning, that all
was not a dream.

`How fares it with you, child, after
the fatigues of the night?' he ask in a
kindly tone.

`Well, sir. I do not feel them at all.
I am so glad you have spoken pleasantly
to Tom. He is the happiest of the happy!'

`Poor witless wretch!'

`No, father—he is not a wretch. He
is not witless. He has a large heart,
and feels every kindness, as well as any
act of hostility. A word makes him an
enemy—a word makes him a friend!—
I hope, father, you will never speak
harshly to him again.'

`I will not. He has done me good
service. But I never supposed that the
dwarf had any feeling,' answered Northrop
coarsely.

`He is as sensitive as a child. He is
all feeling, father. I can tell him a
child's tale and make him weep; and I
can relate to him a deed of cruelty, and
he is roused into ferocity of indignation.
He would be faithful to you and useful,
if you would have confidence in him.'

`I will see what I can make of him.
I have something to say to you touching
another than Tom.'

`Who is it, sir?' she asked, blushing
as if she half guessed who he meant.

`It is George Hunnewell,' he answered,
in a tone as if he did not like the
person, whose name he uttered.

May started and turned pale. She
began to fear at once that her father had
heard that George had piloted the ship
in, and that he was angry at it; because
she knew his deep hatred for the English,
even before the war.

`What of him, sir?'

`He is a traitor! What was he doing
here last night talking apart with you.—
I noticed it: for I never let you escape
me when I am with you. I see and
hear all. He acted like a lover. You
treated him as if he were one, and one
well liked too! How is this that the
wind has changed so, since I went away
from home ten days ago?'

`He, that is sir—I—I mean to say
that George has —'

`I see how it is. Your embarrassment
is more eloquent than any confession
of your love. But, you shall not
see him again. If I opposed his tender
visits to you once, I will do it now, for
I will have no traitor to be a son-in-law
of mine!'

`He is not a traitor, sir!' she answered
warmly.

`He piloted the English frigate into
the harbour.'

`And therefore he deserves the appellation
of the friend of humanity.'

`So! The tide flows this way, does
it?' he said, in a deep voice of displeasure.
`You love this young man, then,
and approve too of his treachery.'

`Father, if there is treason, I alone
am to blame!' she answered earnestly.

`You?'

`Yes, dear father. It was at my request—my
earnest entreaty, that he
went out to the aid of the frigate. Voluntarily
he would not have gone; for he
believed that it would be a wrong for
which he could be punished by his country.
This he said to me. But I assured
him that it would rather be regarded as
an act of humanity. I urged him to go.
I removed his objections and he embarked.
If he has incurred the censure of
men, I alone am to blame, father.'

`You shall never take the blame on
yourself, child. I am amazed at this!
The young man has done an act that
will hang him.'

`It cannot. It was a noble act. He
would have deserved death had he stood
on the cliff, and permitted the frigate to
go to pieces! He has done no wrong,
sir; nor have I, in urging him to do
what he did!'

`May never speak again to a human
being of your part and agency, if you
love me or heed my commands.'

`I obey you, sir, only so long as my
silence does not cause any evil to befall
George!'

`I command you to be silent without
any condition. George Hunnewell must
take care of himself.'

`Father, I cannot be silent and George
come to harm! If he is to be blamed I
must also speak.'

`He shall not come to harm. Let the
matter rest between us,' he said, suddenly
changing his manner to one of
kindness. `Speak of it to no one else.
I will maybe pass it by.'

`I trust so,' she answered, with a sad
smile, as if still feeling that some evil to
her lover might yet come out of it. Her
father now left her and went down to the
beach, while she re-entered the cottage
to prepare breakfast.