Captain Stanway's Gun-Loader

by Theodore Goodridge Roberts

CAPTAIN STANWAY'S GUN-LOADER

By THEODORE GOODRIDGE ROBERTS

FROM the River St. Jolm, where her grand-parents had settled after the Revolutionary War, Nancy Blismore was sent to England to school. For several years after finishing school she remained in England with relatives. There she first met young Captain Thomas Stanway.

When Nancy was eighteen years old, she returned to her home in New Brunswick. Captain Stanway resigned his commission in the Army, and followed her. They were married with considerable pomp, and then went to live for a while with the bride's parents. Stanway bought a big island in the river, not far from the Blismore place, and on a natural mound near the head of the island he built a house. In June of the year following their marriage they moved into the new house on Haystack Island. The house stood among fine elms, and looked out on hundreds of wild, rich meadows and on the blue reaches of the river.

In those days Captain Stanway always dressed according to the latest fashions. He wore long side-whiskers, brown and fine as silk, and in his left eye he wore an eyeglass. But he was a good citizen, a good husband, a good farmer, and, later, a good father. He had a tender heart, although his manner was sometimes abrupt with strangers. When he was angry or disgusted, his grey eyes could harden like glass. The smoky-faced Malacites stood in awe of him until they knew him.

One day late in September Captain Stanway breakfasted by candlelight. The ducks were flying—dusky duck, teal, sheldrake, and wood duck gathered in the ponds and the backwaters of the Islands for their south-west flight. The Captain's two fine fowling-pieces had been cleaned the night before. When the Captain had finished his breakfast, he sent for Gabe Paul, who was a cunning hunter. Word came back that Gabe was very ill, but that Gabe's sister's husband, Noel Bear, would take his place for the day's shooting. The Captain went immediately to Gabe's hut, in order to give the sick man a dose of medicine if he should need it. Gabe was not at home. His squaw knew nothing of his illness; all she knew was that he had set off an hour before for the mainland, to hunt moose with Beaver Bill.

The Captain was angry with Gabe Paul. He was so much vexed, in fact, that he spoke rather sharply to Gabe's substitute, Noel Bear. Noel, whose home was about three miles up river on the eastern shore, had spent the night on the island. He seemed a dull-witted, sulky fellow. The Captain gave him a few lessons in quick and accurate loading in the gun-room at the back of the big hall. Then the Indian hung the flasks of powder and shot about his neck, put the percussion caps into one pocket of his shabby coat and the wads into the other.

Followed by two Indian boys who worked on the island farm, and two brown spaniels, the Captain and his loader set out. It was still early. The sun was on the horizon, and its level golden rays shot over wood, river, and meadow. There was a nip of frost in the air; narrow yellow leaves rustled down from the willows; the aftermath glistened with drops of dew.

The Captain led the way across the meadows to a marshy place that sloped down to the grey-brown sand of the shore. On the right a gully, knee-deep with tall grasses and sappy water-lilies, ran at a long slant into the interior of the island. The gully was flooded at high water, but now was almost dry.

The two boys moved on noiselessly; the Captain, Noel Bear, and the dogs took post in a clump of shore willows. The Captain moved forward a step or so, in order to have a clearer view. The loader stood a yard behind him, with a sulky scowl on his dark face. The dogs lay flat at the edge of the thicket.

Suddenly, with a flapping and splashing, five ducks rose from among the lily pads and came flying down toward the ambush. Up went the Captain's gun; the report of the right barrel was followed close by the clap of the left. One duck dropped from the flock and struck the ground with a thud.

Instantly more birds appeared in the air. Some flew directly over the clump of willows, some passed to the right, and some to the left. Their short strong wings whistled through the air. The Captain exchanged the empty gun for the loaded one. Again he fired the two barrels. Again he exchanged guns. Still the birds came on; sometimes one dropped, sometimes two. They flew along, singly, in pairs, in groups, with their necks straight out. Their wings, set far back on their bodies, shrilled in the air. The Captain shot fast, and Noel Bear rammed the charges into the empty gun as if his life depended upon it. The white powder-smoke clung to the tops of the willows like a fog.

Suddenly the smoky covert and the sunlit air were shaken by an explosion unlike any report of a gun. A torn and twisted fragment of metal, which had been the powder-flask, hummed into the air like a great bee. Noel Bear let the gun that he had been loading fall to the ground. The Captain turned like a flash and caught the reeling Indian in his arms. The Captain's face was white, for he knew what had happened. The hot guns had been loaded too fast. Some sparks had ignited the powder as Noel was pouring it from the flask, and the flask had exploded in his right hand. His whole hand was scorched and torn; three fingers had been blown away.

Captain Stanway had fought for his young Queen, Victoria, but nothing he had seen of battle and of death had ever shaken him so much.

"I will carry you to the house," he said in a husky voice.

Noel resisted feebly, leaned heavily against the Captain's broad shoulder, then slid, fainting, to the ground. Stanway lifted him in both arms and strode off toward the house.

Mrs. Stanway came running across the meadow to meet them. The Captain laid the unconscious man on a couch in the wide hall, and forced a stimulant between his lips. Mrs. Stanway washed the torn hand. The Captain, who knew something of the rough surgery of that day, got his surgical outfit. He put several stitches in the torn flesh, dressed the burns with a pure salve, and thoroughly bandaged the hand and arm.

Presently Noel Bear opened his eyes and stared sullenly at the Captain. He turned his head a little, looked at Mrs. Stanway, and made an effort to sit up. Captain Stanway pressed him gently back on the couch.

"Me go home now," Noel said.

"You can't. You are badly hurt, and I must look after the wound. You must stay here for a few days. I'm sorry this happened, Noel Bear."

"Me go now," said Noel stubbornly.

"You can't. You must stay here and have your hand attended to."

"Me go home."

The Captain looked at his wife. Mrs. Stanway stooped over the Malecite.

"I want you to stay and be properly doctored, Noel," she said gently. "We will send food and blankets to your family."

"Nope. Me go home now."

"We must let him go," said Mrs. Stanway to her husband. "We can go to his cabin to-morrow morning and dress his hand again."

So Noel's bandaged arm was placed in a sling. Provisions were packed for him, and he was helped out of the house and down to the shore. The boys who had driven the ducks manned one of the Captain's canoes. Noel was placed amidships on a comfortable seat of hay and blankets. The Stanways stood on the sand and watched the canoe cross the channel of deep water and turn up-stream along the eastern shore of the mainland. The Captain sighed.

"Nancy," he said, "I'd give a hundred pounds—two hundred—if that had not happened."

The boys put Noel Bear ashore at the foot of a narrow path that led up to his cabin among the spruces. Noel went slowly up to the cabin, and met his wife just outside the low doorway. The squaw uttered a sharp cry of dismay at sight of his drawn face and bandaged arm. The three children—the eldest only five years old—came from the underbrush and gazed wide-eyed at their father.

Noel sat down and told the woman to fetch the blankets and basket of food from the shore. She obeyed, and was back in half a minute. Then the whole family, with the exception of the baby, fell to devouring the good things from the Stanway kitchen. Noel told his story while they ate. He told it in the Malecite language, for the squaw knew only a few words of English.

"He cares not so much for the poor Malecite as for his dogs," said Noel. "His guns blow up when the powder goes down, from much shooting, so he gives them to me to load. He thinks it no great thing if the right hand of Noel Bear is destroyed."

Noel lay down on the new blankets in the sunshine and pretended to sleep. An hour passed. The woman and children went into the forest to gather firewood. Noel crawled into the hut and took his gun from the corner. It was a huge flintlock. He loaded it hastily, slipped the powder-horn into the front of his shirt, and then carried the gun down to the shore and hid it in a clump of grass. He felt weak and tired, but the desire for revenge was so hot in his heart that he paid no heed to his physical discomfort.

His good canoe he had left on Haystack Island, but from the bushes beside the path he dragged an ancient craft that he had not used since the year before. He built a little lire and hung his resin pot above it. Later his wife helped him to resin the open seams and holes in the bark of the canoe. In reply to the woman's question where he was going, he only grunted.

He slept for several hours. It was nearly dusk when he launched the canoe with his left hand and stepped aboard. The gun lay in the bottom of the canoe, covered by a blanket. Using the paddle as a pole and working it with his left hand, he slid slowly and noiselessly down-stream, close to the shore. The twilight deepened quickly, and a few stars appeared. A light wind awoke and blew from the south-east, spreading a thin veil of mist over the stars.

Noel's plan of revenge was fixed. It was very simple—a hand for a hand. He knew well how the owner of Haystack Island spent his autumn evenings. He had seen him. last night in the big sitting-room, with his feet to the fire and his back to the windows, candles at his elbow, and a book held high in his right hand. Noel would kneel on the floor of the verandah, and rest the muzzle of the gun on the window-sill. It would not be hard. A right hand for a right hand.

By this time Noel's whole arm as well as his hand was throbbing with pain, but he continued on his way. It was very dark. A number of ducks, frightened up from the river ahead, flew over the canoe so low that Noel heard the rush of the air in their wings, but it was so dark that he could not see them. What had frightened the birds? Noel let the boat drift and listened. He heard a splashing, as more ducks rose from the river in front. Then he heard the light, dry click of the haft of a paddle striking upon the gunwale of a canoe. He heard the slop of the paddle among the clinging lily stems.

The strange canoe passed in the darkness within three yards of Noel Bear. A few minutes later Noel continued on his silent way, dully wondering who else was abroad that night. Most likely it was some deer hunter, he thought. At last he turned the canoe out from the shallow water and pointed it straight for the upper end of the island. He needed neither light nor compass. By the time the bow of his canoe slipped among the island grasses, his head was aching dully, his right arm burned and throbbed. He reeled as he stepped ashore, but he managed to pull the heavy gun from its hiding-place.

He staggered up towards the lights of the big white house. He looked in at one of the windows of the sitting-room, and for a moment a film of darkness dropped before his eyes; then it vanished like a drifting mist. He saw the fire on the hearth, the big chair with its back to him, the table and the candles. But the Captain was not there. Mrs. Stanway sat in the chair with a book in her hand.

A purple mist flooded across Noel's vision, and he lowered the gun to the floor of the verandah. He swayed for a moment, then sank noiselessly beside the gun.

While Noel Bear lay unconscious on the floor of the verandah, the Captain drew near to Noel's cabin, three miles away. His good heart had sent him out that night to see the wounded man's hand. It was he who had passed Noel in the dark.

As the Captain rounded a point, he saw a light on the wooded bank. There was something not quite natural about that light. It was lurid with smoke, and too large for a cooking fire. Red sparks rose from it into the tops of the spruces.

With a few strokes of the paddle, the Captain drove the canoe to land, jumped out, and ran up the path. He found the hut front and the roof of the hut ablaze. One of the new blankets had been carelessly flung half in and half out of the doorway; the fire had crept along it from the embers before the door to the curtain of bark. The flames had crawled up the wall and poles to the roof, and the heavy smoke had flooded in upon the sleeping family.

Captain Stanway shouted and dashed at the burning hut. He plunged through the blazing doorway and groped wildly about the floor. The place was thick with smoke and as hot as an oven. The Captain grabbed something in each hand, turned, and plunged out of the hut. He had dragged the two older children with him. He laid them on the ground and plunged again into the burning cabin. As he came out from that furnace the second time, carrying the baby on one arm and dragging the squaw by the waist, the roof fell in with a roar.

Gasping for breath, the Captain lay flat for several minutes. He brushed his scorched face with his stinging palms. His eyebrows and his flowing whiskers were gone, and his clothing was peppered with black holes. He heard the woman groan, turned to her, and shook her violently by the shoulders until she opened her eyes. She looked up at him with fear in her eyes.

"Where is Noel?" he asked. "I could not find him."

The woman could not understand him, but she caught the sound of her husband's name.

"Noel go 'way," she said.

Twenty minutes later the Captain had brought the children back to consciousness, and had made the whole family get into his canoe. He removed his heavy shooting-coat and put it round the baby. Although worried and puzzled about Noel, he saw that his first duty was to the woman and children. In spite of the painful condition of his blistered hands, he pushed the canoe along at a good pace. The baby slept in its mother's arms. The woman moaned continuously from fright and pain. She felt cold and very ill; she had breathed a great deal of smoke.

The Captain reached the head of his own island at last, and sent a shout ringing across the frosty meadows. Then he set off for the house with the older children in his arms, and the woman, with the baby, at his heels. A lantern, swinging close to the ground, appeared from the shadowy bulk of the house. It was Mrs. Stanway who carried it When the Captain explained the situation, she sped away to rouse the cook and the other servants. She wanted hot water and food; she wanted fires lighted and beds aired.

The Captain went straight to the sitting-room, with Noel's bewildered squaw still close at his heels. The woman, with the baby still sleeping in her arms, sank down upon a rug on the floor; the Captain put the other children on a couch. Mrs. Stanway entered, and cried out at sight of her husband; she had not seen him clearly by the light of the lantern. His lips were swollen, his eyes were red, his hair was singed, his brow and chin were black and raw. She was about to fling herself into his arms, when a noise at the window caused them both to turn sharply. They saw a face at the window, pressed closed to the glass.

The Captain sprang forward and threw up the window-sash.

"Noel Bear!" he said.

He dragged the bewildered Malecite into the room. Noel blinked stupidly at his wife and children. His wife sat up and spoke to him quickly in her own tongue. Noel's face lightened, and he eyed the Captain keenly—eyed the singed face, the raw and blistered hands, and the shirt peppered with round black holes. His black eyes met the Captain's blue ones.

"Been asleep," he said. "Head all go queer. T'ink me go shootin'. Feel a'mighty queer. One big fool, me!"

"Lie down, Noel," said the Captain gently. "Man, the pain has gone to your head. Nancy, he's shivering like a leaf. He needs a hot drink immediately. Then I'll dress his hand again."

The Malecite lay down on the floor with a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. "You make one good brother of Noel Bear," he said.

Copyright, by the Perry Mason Company, in the United States of America.