Part 7 (1/2)
In perfect silence, but with a despatch that would have done credit to hospital training, the trapper removed the dead flesh, dressed the sores, applied poultices of certain herbs gathered in the woods, and bandaged them up. This done, he served out the thin soup, with another small allowance of spirits and hot water, after which, with the able a.s.sistance of Bob Smart and his men, he wrapped them up in their blankets and made arrangements for having them conveyed to the boat, which had been pulled into a convenient creek further down the sh.o.r.e than the wreck.
Strange to say, the youth who appeared to be dying was the least injured by frost-bites of the party, his fingers and face being untouched, and only a portion of the skin of his feet damaged; but this was explained by the seaman, Ned, who, on hearing Bellew's expression of surprise, said, with a touch of feeling:--
”It's not the frost as damaged him, sir, it's the water an' the rocks.
W'en we was wrecked, sir,--now three weeks ago, or thereby,--we'd ableeged to send a hawser ash.o.r.e, an' not one of us could swim, from the cap'n to the cabin-boy, so Mister McLeod he wolunteered to--”
”Mister who?” demanded Bellew hastily.
”Mister McLeod.”
”What was your s.h.i.+p's name?”
”The _Betsy_, sir.”
”From what port?”
”Plymouth.”
”Ho ho! well, go on.”
”Well, as I was a-sayin', sir, Mister McLeod, who's as bold as a lion, he wolunteered to swim ash.o.r.e wi' a line, an' swim he did, though the sea was rollin' in on the cliffs like the Falls o' Niagery,--which I'm told lie somewhere in these lat.i.tudes,--leastwise they're putt down in all the charts so. We tried for to dissuade him at first, but when the starn o' the s.h.i.+p was tore away, and the cargo began to wash out, we all saw that it was neck or nothin', so we let him go. For a time he swam like a good 'un, but when he'd bin dashed agin' the cliffs two or three times an' washed back again among the wreck of spars, cargo, and riggin', we thought it was all over with all of us. Hows'ever we wasn't forsooken at the eleventh hour, for a wave all of a sudden washed him high and dry on a ledge of rock, an' he stood up and waved his hand and then fell down in a swound. Then we thought again it was all up with us, for every wave went roarin' up to young Mister McLeod, as if it wor mad to lose him, and one or two of 'em even sent the foam was.h.i.+n' in about his legs. Well, sir, the last one that did that, seemed to bring him to, for as it washed over his face he jumped up and held on to the rocks like a limpet. Then he got a little higher on the cliff, and when we saw he was looking out to us we made signs to him that a hawser was made fast to the line, an' all ready. He understood us an' began to haul away on the line, but we could see that he had bin badly hurt from the way he stopped from time to time to git breath, and rested his head on a big rock that rose at his side like a great capstan. Hows'ever, he got the hawser ash.o.r.e at last, an' made it fast round the big rock, an'
so by means of that, an' the blessin' o' Providence, we all got ash.o.r.e.
P'r'aps,” added Ned thoughtfully, ”it might have bin as well if some of us hadn't--hows'ever, we wasn't to know that at the time, you understand, sir.”
It must not be supposed that Ned said all this in the hearty tones that were peculiar to his former self. The poor fellow could only utter it sentence by sentence in a weak voice, which was strengthened occasionally by a sip from ”that same” beverage which had first awakened his admiration. Meanwhile the object of his remarks had fallen asleep.
”Now, Mister Smart,” said Bellew, taking the fur-trader aside, ”from all that I have heard and seen, it is clear to me that this wreck is the vessel, in which the McLeods of Jenkins Creek had s.h.i.+pped their property from England, and that this youth is Roderick, the youngest son of the family. I've bin helping the McLeods of late with their noo saw-mill, and I've heard the father talking sometimes with his sons about the _Betsy_ of Plymouth and their brother Roderick.”
At another time Bob Smart would not have been at all sorry to hear that the interloping McLeods had lost all their property, but now he was filled with pity, and asked Jonas Bellew with much anxiety what he thought was best to be done.
”The best thing to do,” said Bellew, ”is to carry these men to the boat and have them up to the Cliff Fort without delay.”
”We'll set about it at once. You'll go with us, I suppose.”
”No, I'll remain behind and take care of young McLeod. In his present state it would likely cost him his life to move him.”
”Then I'll leave some of my men with you.”
”Not needful,” replied the trapper, ”you know I'm used to bein' alone an' managin' things for myself. After you get them up you may send down a couple of men with some provisions and their hatchets. For to-night I can make the poor fellow all snug with the tarpaulin of your boat.”
In accordance with these plans the s.h.i.+pwrecked men were sent up to the Cliff Fort. Roderick McLeod was sheltered under a tarpaulin tent and carefully tended by Bellew, and one of Smart's most active Indians was despatched with a pencil-note to Jenkins Creek.
It was this note which interrupted the conversation between Reginald Redding and the elder McLeod at a somewhat critical moment, and this note, as the reader may easily believe, threw the whole establishment into sudden consternation.
CHAPTER EIGHT.
s.h.i.+FTING WINDS.