The Star Woman/Book 2/Chapter 2
CHAPTER II
WHEN FOG LIFTS, THE ROAD CLEARS
ALTHOUGH dazed and momentarily paralyzed by the blow which felled him, Crawford did not quite lose consciousness. He dimly realized that he was being dragged back into the cabin by the Bostonnais; then felt himself lifted and placed in a chair and firmly lashed to it. Deakin rumbled with laughter.
"A good blow, one worth learning! You're not hurt—come around after a bit"
Deakin stamped out and ascended to the deck above.
Sagging down in the chair with closed eyes, Crawford relaxed utterly and rested while he might, wasting no thought on his own carelessness; he had been caught, and must face the future instead of the past. After a time his senses cleared again and the agonized ache slowly passed from his head and neck and nerve-centers, until presently he dropped into a light doze. From this he was wakened by a heavy trampling on deck, and heard the stentorian tones of Deakin bellowed forth through a speaking trumpet. Deakin had a voice like brass.
"Come back, come back!" roared the words, and again: "Come back!"
So the Bostonnais was calling in his men. After a little Crawford jerked up his head and came wide awake as Deakin returned into the cabin.
"Ha! The ice be on the move again, and if those fools o' mine be not spry, they'll get caught. Well, well—let's have your 'bacca."
Stooping over his prisoner, Deakin swiftly searched him, throwing weapons, pipe and tobacco pouch to the table, and finally drawing forth the Star of Dreams on its thong. During a long moment he hesitated over the emerald jewel, greed fighting in his large eyes against a stronger fear; then he reluctantly shoved it back beneath Crawford's shirt.
"Not that, not that!" he rumbled heavily. "There's wizardry in it, and I'll ha' no warlock after me o' nights. 'Twas the star that brought ye here, yourself said it; and Moses Deakin knows when to let things bide. Nay, I'll not touch the thing."
With this astonishing speech the fur-pirate lowered himself into his own chair, facing Crawford, stuffed his pipe with the Virginia tobacco, and made a light. Crawford held himself in check, realizing in a flash the singular streak of superstition in his captor and resolving to see whither it tended. Nor did Deakin long delay in setting forth the matter, displaying a great confidence in himself, an assurance in his own deductions and suppositions.
"Fog's down again and the outer ice splitting up. If the wind hauls around into the east'ard, we'll be free soon enough now. Blood and wounds! A month we've been fighting this cursed ice. Now, Crawford, what's to do with ye? If the ice stops movin' to-night, I'll have that bark of yours. Come over and hang Moses Deakin, eh? Let 'em try it! If they come, you're here for hostage; if they come not, then ye lied to me and have a weak crew."
Shrewd reasoning enough, and Crawford was keenly alarmed by it. Deakin leaned forward, clawed his great beard, grinned, and shot forth a direct question.
"So ye thought to sneak into the bay and steal the Star Woman from me, eh?"
"No."
"That's a lie. Ha! Put steel into me, will ye? I say again, that's a lie! South sea passage, eh? Ye knew well enough there was none. 'Twas the Star Woman ye wanted. I know when a man tells the truth, Crawford. It was a lie ye spoke about the south sea passage, and the truth about the green star. So ye were on your way to her, eh? There's wizardry in that, or ye'd never ha' found me on the ice. Aye, wizardry! And as ye said, the star brought ye here. It's a warlock ye are, no doubt about it."
Crawford was somewhat bewildered by all this, but the gaze of his captor settled and sobered him. Deakin sucked at his pipe, while his abnormally large eyes fastened upon his prisoner in a gaze that was oddly unwinking. Indeed, from time to time the lids, instead of drooping, lifted slightly and widened.
Once before had Crawford seen just such a stare as this, but then in the eyes of a woman. That was years ago in Ireland. He remembered the cold and rainy night, with Phelim Burke sitting across the campfire, and the old hag wandering in through the lines; the Wicklow Witch, they called her. He remembered how she had squatted by the fire, staring from him to Phelim Burke with that queer, momentary distending of her eyes; and she had talked of Granuaile and Red Hugh and Brian O'Rourke and others of the mighty dead, as though she knew them well. With an effort, Crawford forced himself back to the present situation. He spoke quietly.
"Is this honest treatment of a guest, Moses Deakin? I came freely with you"
"Sink you and your fine words!" The Bostonnais breathed deeply, his wide nostrils flaring, and removed the pipe to scratch at his two-pronged tangle of grizzled beard. He reverted at once to his own chosen subject.
"That French buccaneer, Frontin, gave ye news of her, and the star brought ye here. Ay, that'll be the way of it. I'll do ye no harm, Crawford, nor the star neither, for I'll need to walk carefully with warlocks, and can take no chances. A Cree wizard told me two year ago that no weapon or hand o' man could kill me, and that I'd come to my end only by the gift of a woman. So I ha' naught to do with women, unless it be the Star Woman. She always smiles at me, so I know she be right friendly and well-disposed."
He paused, puffing his pipe into a last flicker of life. Crawford gathered that in Deakin's thought he was something of a wizard, and was being treated to confidences. This thought drew the ghost of a smile to his lips. He racked his brains for some means of turning the fact to his advantage, but found none. Deakin was obviously wrapped up in his own fancies, which were sincere enough, and now went on with his rambling talk.
"So last year I sent messages to the Star Woman by the Injuns, bidding her come and meet me at my post this summer. Far away she is, somewhere to the south and west, but all the tribes know her name and fear it. Shall we have a look at her, Crawford? Ay, say ye so. I'll have a smile from her sweet lips and tell ye what she's about this minute. Most like she's over on the other shore o' the bay now, waiting for me. She'll have had my message, sent from tribe to tribe until it reached her."
The giant laid aside his pipe. He shoved the heavy table so that it came under the arms of Crawford's chair and under Crawford's eye. Then, rising, he went to a locker and produced a shallow pewter dish. He set this on the table and reached down a flask, pouring into the dish a dankly glittering fluid which might have been black quicksilver, had there been such a thing. With the dish between himself and Crawford, Deakin now tugged his chair forward and reseated himself.
"First I'll have a look at what's in the straits," he said. "Put your eyes on the witch ink, Crawford, and tell me what ye see."
The Bostonnais stared down at the dark fluid, intent and absorbed, his huge frame bent over, his pronged beard sweeping the table, his immense hands outstretched and motionless. The monstrous incongruity of such a man engaged in so childish a task smote Crawford with a mad impulse to burst out laughing; but he checked it sternly enough. Whatever the man's delusion might be, it held a deadly sincerity. Also, Crawford had heard in Boston that this Moses Deakin was famed for seeing visions, and now he perceived the explanation of the rumours.
Crawford, being without any credulity and putting no faith in witchcraft or second sight, waited for what might come. It occurred to him that Deakin, if possessed of any desire to apply his magic, might well summon up a vision of the Northstar at the moment, and save his scouts the work. Those who work wizardry, however, apparently eschew its more practical benefits.
"Look!" Deakin suddenly started, and his big hands gripped. "Blood and wounds—a fifty-gun ship!"
Crawford gazed down at the dark fluid and saw in it only the mirrored reflection of Deakin's hairy visage. The other man, however, spoke with growing excitement.
"White flag at her poop—a Frenchman! A ship o' the line, a royal ship! There's men aboard her; ay, the faces begin to come out now. What the Canadians doing aboard she? And a red Injun, and fine officers in gold lace. I'll warrant the rogues are cold enough! And yonder's her cap'n; a fine handsome man he is, and a boy alongside him, likely his brother"
Crawford sent an astonished glance to the fluid, but saw nothing. Could Deakin really be finding visions there? That man and boy—they must be Iberville and Bienville! He remembered now that Iberville had been awaiting ships from France
"It's Iberville!" he exclaimed. "Iberville and his fleet!"
That name, so dreaded on the bay, smote the Bostonnais. Lifting his head, Deakin showed in wild and hairy countenance a sudden amazed awe. He thought Crawford, too, had seen the vision.
"Warlock, wi' the star at your breast—I knew it well enough!" he breathed hoarsely. "Iberville, is it? Then Moses Deakin goes not near the south o' the bay this voyage. Perdition take him and his Frenchmen! He be no man, but devil incarnate. Nay, I'll look no more at him, but shall call up the Star Woman. Set a name to her likewise, if ye can; sink me, Crawford, if ye have not more power than I at my own game. Warlock, indeed!"
He lowered his face again and stared anew at the fluid.
Crawford, realizing now how the man was ridden by superstition, tried vainly to discover some trick in the matter, for he refused to believe that Deakin saw real images. Perhaps the man knew that a French squadron was heading north. Perhaps the whole thing was a lie and a delusion, either deliberate trickery or self-deception on Deakin's part. Perhaps there were no ships in the straits at all! That, indeed, was more likely than not.
"Now I see her!" cried out Deakin. "Look! She's standin' at the door of a bark lodge—blood and wounds, what a woman she is, too! White woman, too—gold hair streaming all over her, with a star o' blue stones on her breast"
Deakin was concentrated, tense, quivering with inward excitation, completely gripped by his own fantasy. Crawford could not but feel the infection. He peered down, staring at the dish, yet seeing in it only the reflection of those distended grey eyes. Through his brain raced the words that Iberville had said to him, that evening above Bay de Verde. A Spanish woman
"Ay, she's smiling at me! Put a name to her, ye warlock, if ye can!"
"Her name's Mariana," said Crawford.
Deakin caught his breath gustily, lifted wild eyes at Crawford, his wide nostrils flaring with each breath, his beard twitching; to doubt the terrible earnestness of the man was impossible.
Then came abrupt wakening, sudden and swift return to sanity. From the deck overhead sounded a medley of shouts and trampling feet, the rise of excited voices. Steps thumped on the ladder, and into the cabin came the boatswain. Deakin looked at him with a growled oath.
"The men are back, master," said the man eagerly. "There's open water a half-mile outside of us—a wide channel. The ice ha' stopped moving outside and be jammed once more to the north'ard. Fog down like always, but the upper wind's hauling around. Looks like she'll be in east'ard before a great while, master."
Deakin stared at him a moment, then crashed out rapid orders.
"That means the ice be goin' fast. Get out the skids and chock the pinnace into 'em for haulin' across the ice. Lay food and powder in her, and muskets. Lay the little skiff overside likewise—we'll carry her across to open water."
"Be goin' to leave the ship?" came the astonished query.
"Ay, bose. We be going to take Crawford's ship—gold aboard her! We'll work up to her i' the pinnace, take her, and be back afore morning. Leave the three men worst down wi' scurvy to hold the Albemarle and signal us. Ice won't go out afore turn o' the tide come morning. Sharp, now, sharp does it! We ha' no time to dilly away. Chuck me down a coil o' light line as ye go."
Bose disappeared. Moses Deakin returned the dark fluid to its flask, placed it with the dish in the locker, then turned and stared at Crawford.
"Two hundred pound for ye in Boston town!" His barrel of a chest heaved in a deep breath of resignation. "No, I'll take no chances. Two hundred pound is much gold, but a warlock is not to be tampered with. I'll do ye no hurt, nor the star neither. None the less, I'll not leave ye free to shout."
A coil of line rattled down the ladder. Deakin picked it up, tore a piece of canvas from a dirty tarpaulin in one corner, and came to Crawford. The latter was firmly and efficiently gagged before he realized what was happening.
Deakin had thoroughly convinced himself that Crawford was something in the nature of a wizard, and that the emerald jewel was a thing of magic power. Only this obsession explained his reluctant decision to let the jewel go, not to mention the very valuable head of its bearer. That he should thus pass up two hundred pounds was an eloquent testimony to his sincerity. Crawford stirred uneasily in his bonds, wondering what was now about to take place.
"Our friend may have man's reason in the carcase of an animal," he reflected, "but so much the worse for him. If he had the brain of an animal, he'd be better off. If he doesn't mean to hurt me, what the devil does he mean? And why this gag?"
As though in response to this silent query, Deakin called down two of his men. They freed Crawford from the chair, then lashed his wrists together in front of him, and to the lashing attached a length of line. His feet were left free.
"All ready above?" inquired the Bostonnais.
"Ay, master."
"Then come ye with me, Crawford." Deakin took the length of line and went to the ladder, the captive perforce following him.
So they came out on deck, and Crawford was helped to climb over the side to the ice. There the crew were grouped about the longboat or pinnace, which was choked upon runners with ropes attached for pulling, and a tiny skiff which six of them picked up bodily. Three scurvy-staggering rascals bawled thin farewells from the rail above.
"Compass in pinnace, bose?" asked Deakin. "Then come along to open water."
He marched in the lead, a huge, ungainly figure, with Crawford on the line behind him. The men followed, carrying the skiff and dragging the pinnace on its sled. Thick fog was settled down about the Albemarle, and in ten paces she was lost to sight behind them. Under that fog, all was dark; the slanting sunlight of the arctic summer's night was lost for a little while, ice and melted pools held obscure terror instead of fiery rainbow-hued splendour. Moses Deakin lifted his head, sniffed with his wide nostrils, and like an animal led straight for the open water which he could smell.
In this fashion half a mile was covered, the last of it being very precarious, since the floes were split into great cakes, while sharp cracks and reports told how further splitting was in progress. Then, abruptly, Deakin halted at the very edge of open water, swirling dark and ice-dotted as far as eye could pierce.
"Wind on the shift and ice be goin' out to-morrow," he announced, though Crawford could detect no faintest breath of breeze. "Launch the craft, now. Current settin' out—good! Into the skiff, Crawford."
Still far from realizing what was intended, Crawford climbed into the skiff while the men held it to the verge of the floe. Deakin leaned over the little craft, which was empty of oars or anything else, and lashed the captive's lead-line about a thwart. Then he unsheathed his knife and tossed it into the bottom of the skiff, took the craft by her stern, and with one mighty heave sent her swirling out into the foggy water.
"By the time ye get yourself free, ye'll be safe enough!" came his roaring bellow. "And you're warlock enough to reach the shore. Fare ye well, Crawford! Now, lads, get matches lighted and into the pinnace with ye all! We're off for Crawford's bark"
The fog closed in. Its chill was no worse than the chill in Crawford's heart as the swift currents bore his little skiff out into the bay.
Swept away into darkness almost immediately, he devoted all his energies to getting rid of the lashing about his arms. First he had to reach the knife, which was no simple task in itself; then, doubling over, gripping it between his feet, he must hack and saw at the line which bound him. The motion of the boat added to the difficulty, since the skiff was rocking against cakes of ice or rolling in sudden surges sent out from the welter of smashing floes and pans. The vast field of ice was now breaking up for good. The whole night was filled with a mighty diapason of the roaring masses, pierced by shriller notes, of splitting floes and the occasional booming of an overturned berg.
During all this straining time, Crawford's mind did not dwell particularly upon his own fate, which seemed inevitable enough. By the gradual appearance of freer water around, he knew that the currents were rapidly bearing him offshore, out into the vast inland sea, helpless to steer his craft or to hinder his destiny. Yet in this while, his thoughts reverted to two things—first to the Star Woman, second to that blood-stained paper which he had pressed into Frontin's hand on parting with his lieutenant.
He felt all amazed by Deakin's words regarding the Star Woman. The man had been indubitably sincere in believing that such a person existed; as he had said, Deakin must have heard of her through the Bay Indians. Iberville had heard of her, also. The very name, taken in conjunction with the emblem which lay on Crawford's breast, would have been impressive to a superstitious man; Crawford, however, was not superstitious. He was not impressed in the least by Deakin's ravings, but he was tremendously perplexed by this new recurrence of the Star Woman in his own destiny.
"Why not find her, then—why not?" he muttered. "Still, I have more pressing affairs in hand at the present moment, if I am to find anything except a watery grave. Will Frontin understand that paper, I wonder?"
The paper in question had been taken from the body of Moses Deakin's lieutenant. Crawford, in his hasty glance, had caught only the first line of writing, yet it now came back into his mind with redoubled emphasis. The words were simple: "Acct. of Goods to Bee broke out for ye trade att ye Daniche River." Wherever this Danish river might lie—the name was totally unknown to Crawford—there also must be Deakin's secret trading rendezvous with the redskins. What a chance!
"Ah, free!" he exclaimed, when at last his arms were at liberty and he could chafe his numbed and swollen hands into life. "Now, if I had but a sail and a chart of this bay, I'd still best that hairy devil. Warlock, am I? Ha—a breeze! To work, warlock!"
A faint breath of wind fanned his cheek. There was no lift to the fog, which rolled down more thick and dark than ever, nor was the little breeze likely to rift it. Crawford, facing the situation, found himself in total ignorance of direction. If the breeze came from the east, as Deakin had said, he would be carried off the land. He had no food or water, no blankets or sail; he had only the clothes on his back, the naked knife, and the light line which had captived him.
With these things, he went to work.
Despite the bitter chill of the fog, he was forced to dispense with his outer fur-lined coat. Then he smashed the 'midships thwart of the boat and split the long plank lengthwise until he had sticks to serve his purpose. These he fitted and spliced together with unravelled hemp, until he had a stout six-foot mast. Another stick in the arms of the coat made a very fair dipping-lug rig. To get this rig installed was another matter. Eventually, however, he had the mast stayed in place, got up his makeshift sail, made fast the lines, and chuckled softly as he felt the faint breeze take hold. He lay across the thwarts and heard the water go rippling more swiftly past the counter.
"Warlock indeed!" he commented, with a laugh. "The Star of Dreams is still guiding, and whither the star goes, I follow. It may well be that there is some truth behind all this rank superstition—singular, how Deakin spoke of the Star Woman! Coincidence in the names, of course—yet I wonder!"
He laughed again at the fancy, but quickly sobered. Crawford himself was tempted to be a trifle superstitious about that emerald star. First he had taken it as a symbol of his own flight from the world, of his quest after a freedom that did not exist. From talking of it with Frontin or Sir Phelim Burke, a reaction had inevitably taken effect upon his own mind. He fought against this and scorned it, yet none the less it lingered. Consequently, Deakin's belief in a connection between star and Star Woman made an appeal to him—until he forced himself to dismiss the whole thing as the wanderings of an unsound brain, the superstitious fancy of a bestial man.
"The Danish river!" he reflected, coming back again to his immediate problems. "If I knew where that place lay, and had food, I believe I'd try for it"
He was now out of the ice and distinctly warmer, the breeze was freshening slightly, the fog was somewhat less dense. So, careless whither he was carried, he found the boat's bottom to be sound and dry, and promptly curled up for a much-needed sleep.
Morning came and he slept on, while the long wraiths of grey fog fled across the waters and thinned into shadows, and the wind came ever fresher and steadier out of the southeast to scatter the dissipating mist and blow the skiff out to north and west. Behind her the morning broadened, and overhead the fog gave place to blue sky, although the sun itself remained dun and dim behind the heavy wrack of grey obscurity that still overhung the straits and the Labrador coast. Ahead in the west, however, the fog went whirling away and was gone, until presently the sunlight struck all the wide expanse of sea into glittering radiance, with the enormous granite cliffs of Mansfield island forming a long blur against the western horizon. Off to the east and north the ice blink made shimmering response to the sunlight, and from the straits came the thunderous rumble and grind of ice-masses fighting for freedom beneath the fog-blanket.
Crawford wakened. He sat up, blinking at the sunlight, then stared at the running white crests all around, and laughed in sudden joyous remembrance.
"Ill whip you yet, Moses Deakin!" he cried out exultantly. "No food, no rudder, no sail, no compass—yet I'll whip you, sink me if I don't! Ay, warlock or not, I may give you a fight—for the—Star"
The words died on his lips as he swung about and swept his eager gaze along the horizon. For there, not a mile to the northeast and standing squarely for him out of the cloud-bank that still hovered low above the straits, was a fifty-gun ship—white canvas towering up into the sky as she leaned over and headed for him across the wind! Crawford stared at her all agape, incredulous, then leaped to his feet with a blaze of excitement in his blue eyes. The French ship! Iberville! As he stood, thus, leaning to the thrust of the boat and staring, the emerald jewel came out from beneath his shirt; he replaced it with fumbling fingers, and a laugh broke on his lips.
"The Star of Dreams, eh? There lies the ship Deakin saw in his vision, and it seems that I'm destined to meet Iberville again. Did Deakin see the Star Woman also?"
He had no answer to this query, but meet Iberville he did, half an hour later, when he clambered up the side of the Pelican frigate and struck hands with the eldest of the famous Le Moyne brethren. Young Bienville, boy in years yet wearing man's uniform, stood beside Iberville, and greeted Crawford with a cry and a hearty embrace.
"I knew it was you! Pierre scoffed at me, but I knew it!"
Crawford laughed into the ardent eyes of the handsome youngster, then turned to the strong and masterful brother, who welcomed him with equal warmth.
"My faith, it's incredible!" said Iberville. "Why are you here alone in an open boat, M. Crawford? Where's that bark you had from me?"
"Lay the tale on the shoulders of food, drink and tobacco, and it'll go better," replied Crawford. Instantly Iberville took his arm and led him aft, with hasty apologies, while the ship's yards were squared and she fell off on her course. Crawford's gaze took in the staring Rochefort marines, the clustered seamen, the groups of Canadians; then he was being introduced to the officers—Grandville of the marines, and La Salle, the wild bush-loper Martigny, who had raided Acadia and Newfoundland with Iberville, the royal commissioner La Potherie, and others.
Now, knowing his man, Iberville led Crawford down to the cabin and shut out all save Bienville. Then, with food and wine before him, Crawford began to relate what had happened since his meeting and parting with the Le Moynes in Newfoundland. In the midst, there came a wild hammering at the door. In burst a red-haired, cassocked figure who greeted Crawford with a huge yell of joy and gripped his shoulders affectionately.
"Hal Crawford—by the piper! I was below with a poor dyin' devil and"
"Fitzmaurice of Kerry!" exclaimed Crawford. "Why, this is a dream"
"Lad, lad, it's like old times to see ye!" burst out Fitzmaurice, chaplain of the fleet. "Dost remember Limerick town, and the hammerer in the breach, and Phelim Burke na Murtha, and how Dutch William's men poured in on us"
"Phelim's here on the bay!" cried Crawford. Then Iberville laughed, slammed the door shut again, and intervened.
"Sit down, Fitzmaurice, or I'll send you back to shrive more scurvy-sick men! Let the man talk. Crawford, give me the news I crave! Have you met English ships in the straits? Have you seen any but this Bostonnais you were mentioning?"
"None," rejoined Crawford. "Where's the rest of your fleet?"
Iberville shrugged. "How do I know? Ahead of us, we believe. We've been fighting the ice for weeks. The last I saw of the others was two days ago. My brother Serigny was far ahead of us in the Palmier. The Profound, under Du Guai, was almost at open water, and the Wasp likewise. We left the Violent at Placentia for repairs. We had news that an English fleet was on the way, but have seen nothing of them."
The excited Irish chaplain settled down, Crawford swallowed his wine and lighted a pipe, and all four men fell into talk. Iberville, avid for news, was confident that his brother Serigny and the other three ships were already steering across the bay for Fort Nelson, at which post he meant to strike the first blow. When he had heard Crawford's tale, he nodded.
"Strange words! Did this Bostonnais really see anything in the dish? My faith, I'd like to know! So you've given up the south sea passage, Crawford? Art going to find the Star Woman?"
Crawford shook his head. "I know not, Iberville—my first hope shall be to find my friends and ship again. Time enough for that."
"Ay, we'll have news of them, never fear!" Iberville rose. "Rest assured, you shall have your ship again and the best charts we can give you. M. l'Abbé, I offered this roving rascal a commission if he would sail with me—and he refused. Yet behold, here he is! Is this the hand of providence or not?"
"I'd call it Hal Crawford's luck!" said Fitzmaurice, with a chuckle. "But where to, Pierre? Sit down, man, and smoke a pipe"
"I must lay out the course and watch the charts," said Iberville. "These pilots are afraid of the ice and shallows. Have out your talk in peace."
He departed. Bienville, leaning across the table with his eyes ashine, listened eagerly while Crawford and the chaplain conned the days that had elapsed since Limerick and Boynewater. Once Crawford turned to him gaily.
"And suppose we find the English fleet ahead of us, Bienville?"
The boy shrugged. "Ask Pierre! We've put some of our guns and thirty seamen aboard the Profound, and twoscore of our men are down below with scurvy. But we'll not find the enemy ahead of us. Pierre is always the first, never fear!"
So the Pelican drove on to her destiny, while men laughed and made merry aboard her at thought of the green land so near, nor dreamed to what doom they rushed so merrily. And, while she drove on, strange things were taking place behind her at the mouth of the straits, where the curtains of fog still lingered and blew away and returned again.
Strange things, indeed, and stranger sounds echoing back from these ironbound cliffs than any they had yet heard since man came to these seas. For there the flash of cannon split the fog, and the crashing thunder of broadsides boomed back from the headlands. When the thick mist lifted for a space that morning, the Profound was fast nipped in the ice, with three unsuspected English frigates about her stern; whereupon, as the terse chronicler puts it, "Du Guai attacked." Hour after hour he fought the three with his two little stern-guns, hour after hour they poured their shot into him, until the fog closed down again and they deemed him sunk, and the roaring cliffs fell silent.
There, too, before this fight happened, Moses Deakin had fallen upon fate and found it bitter to the taste. Before the dawn came, he sighted the flare of a ship in the ice, and drove his men at her. He thought her Crawford's bark, but she was something else—the Hudson's Bay, crowded with extra seamen and servants of the English company, and in command of her was grim old Nick Smithsend, who hanged fur-pirates and Frenchmen alike. The end of this matter was that Moses Deakin and half his Boston men sat in irons to await hanging at Nelson, and the other half of them lay dead upon the ice.
And there, too, but farther south under the cliffs, Frontin and Sir Phelim Burke and their men fell upon the covette Albemarle in the dawning. None too soon either, for the floes and shore ice were breaking up beneath their feet. Deakin's three scurvy-smitten men fought them and were cut down. One of these, before he died, related the fate that had befallen Crawford. Then fell Frontin to work like a madman, and all of them likewise. Presently the Albemarle was working out through ice-channels, until she gained open water with the early light of day and tacked back and forth through the mist while the guns roared to the northward. No sign of Crawford's little skiff did they find, however.
So they, who no less than Moses Deakin had their destiny to accomplish, tacked down to the southward that day and then back again, seeking vainly. And at set of sun, when the fog lifted for a little space, there suddenly loomed through the greyness a huge shape, and a gun thundered in air above them, and over the puny, frightened corvette frowned the heavy batteries of Serigny in the Palmier. The Frenchmen came aboard and took her. Frontin, cursing bitterly, shook his fist at the fog and blasphemed like the buccaneer he was, as the ship was headed to the west and south. Then came storm that night, and the pilots were ignorant of the bay; and the ships drove blindly before the wind.
Thus did fate, working through the activities of little men, lay out a blood-red net in which to snare heroes. And Iberville, all unwitting, bore up for Fort Nelson.