the sloop of war

robert ate a light breakfast and went out to look at his domain, now unsullied. what a fine, trim, clean island it was! and how desirable to be alone on it, when the gulf and the caribbean produced only such visitors as those who had come two nights before! he looked toward the little bay, fearing to see the topmast of the schooner showing its tip over the trees, but the sky there, an unbroken blue, was fouled by no such presence. he was rid of the pirates—and forever he hoped.

it seemed to him that he had passed through an epic time, one of the great periods of his life. he wondered now how he had been able to carry out such a plan, how he had managed to summon up courage and resources enough, and he felt that the good spirits of earth and air and water must have been on his side. they had fought for him and they had won for him the victory.

he shouldered his rifle and strolled through the woods toward the beach. he had never noticed before what a fine forest it was. the trees were not as magnificent as those of the northern wilderness, but they had a beauty very peculiarly their own, and they were his. there was not a single other claimant to them anywhere in the world.

it was a noble beach too, smooth, sloping, piled with[pg 177] white sand, gleaming now in the sun, and the little frothy waves that ran up it and lapped at his feet, like puppies nibbling, were just the friendliest frothy little waves in the world. but there were the remains of the fire left by the ruffians to defile it, and broken bottles and broken food were scattered about. the litter hurt his eyes so much that he gathered up every fragment, one by one, and threw them into the sea. when the last vestige of the foul invasion was cleared away he felt that he had his lonely, clean island back again, and he was happy.

he strolled up and down the glistening beach, feeling a great content. after a while, he threw off his clothes and swam in the invigorating sea, keeping well inside the white line of the breakers, in those waters into which the sharks did not come. when he had sunned himself again on the sand he went to the creek, took his dinghy from the bushes, where it had been so well hidden, and rowed out to sea, partly to feel the spring of the muscles in his arms, and partly to sit off at a distance and look at his island. surely if one had to be cast away that was the very island on which he would choose to be cast! not too big! not too hot! and not too cold! without savage man or savage beasts, but with plenty of wild cattle for the taking, and good fish in the lakes, and in the seas about it. plenty of stores of all kinds from the slaver's schooner, even books to read. so far from being unfortunate he was one of the lucky. a period of retirement from the companionship of his own kind might be trying on the spirit, but it also meant meditation and mental growth.

his joy over the departure of the pirates was so great and his temperament was such that he felt a mighty revulsion of the spirits. he had a period of extravagant elation. he took off his cap and saluted his island. he[pg 178] made little speeches of glowing compliment to it, he called it the pearl of its kind, the choicest gem of the gulf or the caribbean, and, if pirates came again while he was there, he would drive them away once more with the aid of the good spirits.

he rowed back, hid his boat in the old covert among the bushes at the edge of the creek, and, rifle on shoulder, started through the forest toward his peak of observation. on the way, he passed the lake and saw the herd of wild cattle grazing there, the old bull at its head. the big fellow, assured now by use and long immunity, cocked his head on one side and regarded him with a friendly eye. but the bull had a terrible surprise. he heard the sharp ping of a rifle and a fearful yell. then he saw a figure capering in wild gyrations, and thinking that this human being whom he had learned to trust must have gone mad, he forgot to be angry, but was very much frightened. enemies he could fight, but mad creatures he dreaded, and, bellowing hoarsely to his convoy, as a signal, he took flight, all of them following him, their tails streaming straight out behind them, so fast they ran.

robert leaped and danced as long as one of them was in sight. when the last streaming tail had disappeared in the bushes he sobered down. he realized that he had given his friend, the bull, a great shock. in a way, he had been guilty of a breach of faith, and he resolved to apologize to him in some fashion the next time they met. yet he had been so exultant that it was impossible not to show it, and he was only a lad in years.

when he reached the crest of his peak he scanned the sea on all sides. eagerly as he had looked before for a sail he now looked to see that there was none. around and around the circle of the horizon his eyes traveled, and when he assured himself that no blur broke the[pg 179] bright line of sea and sky his heart swelled with relief.

in a day or so, his mind became calm and his thoughts grew sober. then he settled down to his studies. the battle of life occupied only a small portion of his time, and he resolved to put the hours to the best use. he pored much over shakespeare, the other elizabethans and the king james bible, a copy of which was among the books. it was his intention to become a lawyer, an orator, and if possible a statesman. he knew that he had the gift of speech. his mind was full of thoughts and words always crowded to his lips. it was easy enough for him to speak, but he must speak right. the thoughts he wished to utter must be clothed in the right kind of words arranged in the right way, and he resolved that it should be so.

the way in which men thought and the way in which their thoughts were put in the bible and the great elizabethans fascinated him. that was the way in which he would try to think, and the way in which he would try to put his thoughts. so he recited the noble passages over and over again, he memorized many of them, and he listened carefully to himself as he spoke them, alike for the sense and the music and power of the words.

it was then perhaps that he formed the great style for which he was so famous in after years. his vocabulary became remarkable for its range, flexibility and power, and he developed the art of selection. his rivals even were used to say of him that he always chose the best word. he learned there on the island that language was not given to man merely that he might make a noise, but that he might use it as a great marksman uses a rifle.

work and study together filled his days. they kept far from him also any feeling of despair. he had an abiding faith that a ship of the right kind would come[pg 180] in time and take him away. he must not worry about it. it was his task now to fit himself for the return, to prove to his friends when he saw them once more that all the splendid opportunities offered to him on the island had not been wasted.

almost unconsciously, he began to reason more deeply, to look further into the causes of things, and his mind turned particularly to the present war. the more he thought about it the greater became his conviction that england and the colonies were bound to win. courage and numbers, resources and tenacity must prevail even over great initial mistakes. duquesne and ticonderoga would be brushed away as mere events that had no control over destiny.

he remembered bigot's ball in quebec that willet and tayoga and he had attended. it came before him again almost as vivid as reality. he realized now in the light of greater age and experience how it typified decadence. a power that was rotten at the top, where the brain should be, could never defeat one that was full of youthful ardor and strength, sound through and through, awkward and ill directed though that strength might be. the young french leaders and their soldiers were valiant, skillful and enduring—they had proved it again and again on sanguinary fields—but they could not prevail when they had to receive orders from a corrupt and reckless court at versailles, and, above all when they had to look to that court for help that never came.

his reading of the books in the slaver's chest told him that folly and crime invariably paid the penalty, if not in one way then in another, and he remembered too some of the ancient greek plays, over which he had toiled under the stern guidance of master alexander mclean. their burden was the certainty of fate. you could never[pg 181] escape, no matter how you writhed, from what you did, and those old writers must have told the truth, else men would not be reading and studying them two thousand years after they were dead. only truth could last twenty centuries. bigot, cadet, péan, and the others, stealing from france and canada and spending the money in debauchery, could not be victorious, despite all the valor of montcalm and st. luc and de levis and their comrades.

he remembered, too, the great contrast between quebec and new york that had struck him when he arrived at the port at the mouth of the hudson with the hunter and the onondaga. the french capital in canada was all of the state; it was its creature. if the state declined, it declined, there was little strength at the roots, little that sprang from the soil, but in new york, which men already forecast as the metropolis of the new world, there was strength everywhere. it might be a sprawling town. there might be no courtliness to equal the courtliness at the heart of quebec, but there was vigor, vigor everywhere. the people were eager, restless, curious, always they worked and looked ahead.

he saw all these things very clearly. silence, loneliness and distance gave a magnificent perspective. facts that were obscured when he was near at hand, now stood out sharp and true. his thoughts in this period were often those of a man double his age. his iron health too remained. his was most emphatically the sound mind in the sound body, each helping the other, each stimulating the other to greater growth.

it was a fact, however, that the onondaga belief, peopling the air and all sorts of inanimate objects with spirits, grew upon him; perhaps it is better to say that it was a feeling rather than a belief. according to tayoga[pg 182] the good spirits fought with the bad, and on his island the good had prevailed. they had told him that a ship was coming, and then they had warned him that it would be a ship of pirates. they had shown him how to drive away the ruffians. his inspiration had not been his own, it had come from them and he thankfully acknowledged it.

he told himself now as he went about his island that he heard the good spirits singing among the leaves and he told it to himself so often that he ended by believing it. it was such a pleasant and consoling belief too. he listened to hear them say that he would leave the island when the time was ripe and his imagination was now so extraordinarily vivid that what he expected to hear he heard. the spirits assured him that when the time came to go he would go. they did not tell him exactly when he would go, but that could not be asked. no one must anticipate a complete unveiling of the future. it was sufficient that intimations came out of it now and then.

it was this feeling, amounting to a conviction, that bore him up on a shield of steel. it soothed the natural impatience of his youth and temperament. why grieve over not going when he knew that he would go? yet, a long time passed and there was no sail upon the sea, though the fact failed to shake his faith. often he climbed his peak of observation and studied the circling horizon through the glasses, only to find nothing, but he was never discouraged. there was never any fall of the spirits. no ship showed, but the ship that was coming might even then be on the way. she had left some port, probably one in england, not dreaming that it was a most important destiny and duty of hers to pick up a lone[pg 183] lad cast away on an island in the gulf or the caribbean—at least it was most important to him.

now came a time of storms that seemed to him to portend a change in the seasons. the island was swept by wind and rain, but he liked to be lashed by both. he even went out in the dinghy in storms, though he kept inside the reefs, and fought with wave and undertow and swell, until, pleasantly exhausted, he retreated to the beach, drawing his little boat after him, where he watched the sea, vainly struggling to reach the one who had defied it. it was after such contests that he felt strongest of the spirit, ready to challenge anything.

he plunged deeper and deeper into his studies, striving to understand everything. the intensity of his application was possible only because he was alone. forced to probe, to examine and to ponder, his mind acquired new strength. many things which otherwise would have been obscure to him became plain. looking back upon his own eventful life since that meeting with st. luc and tandakora in the forest, he was better able to read motives and to understand men. the reason why adrian van zoon wished him to vanish must be money, because only money could be powerful enough to make such a man risk a terrible crime. well, he would have a great score to settle with van zoon. he did not yet know just how he would settle it, but he did not doubt that the day of reckoning would come.

a cask of oil and several lanterns were among his treasures from the ship, and, making use of them, he frequently read late at night, often with the rain beating hard on walls and roof. then it seemed to him that his mind was clearest, and he resolved again and again that when he returned to his own he would make full use of what he learned on the island. it seemed to him[pg 184] sometimes that his being cast away was a piece of luck and not a misfortune.

a clear day came, and, taking his rifle, he strolled toward his peak of observation, passing on the way the herd of wild cattle with the old bull at its head. the big fellow looked at him suspiciously, as if fearing that his friend might be suffering from one of his mad spells again. but robert's conduct was quite correct. he walked by in a quiet and dignified manner, and, reassured, the bull went back to his task of reducing the visible grass supply.

he saw nothing from the peak except the green island and the blue sea all about it, but there was a singing wind among the leaves and it was easy for him to sit down on a rock and fall into a dreaming state. the good spirits were abroad, and it was their voices that he heard among the leaves. their chant too was full of courage, hope and promise, and his spirits lifted as he listened. they were watching over him, guarding him from evil, and he felt, at last, that they were telling him something.

it is not always easy to know the exact burden of a song, even if it is uplifting, and robert listened a long time, trying to decipher exactly what the good spirits were saying to him. it was just such a song as they sang to him before the pirate ship came, saving one strain and that was most important. there was no underlying note of warning. hunt for it as he would, with his fullest power of hearing, he could detect no trace of it. then he became convinced. another ship was coming, and this time it was no pirate craft.

he roused himself from his dreaming state and shook his head, but the vision did not depart. the ship was coming and it was for him to receive it. the news of it had been written too deeply upon the sensitive plate of[pg 185] his brain to be effaced, and, as he walked back toward the house, it seemed to grow more vivid. he was too much excited to study that day, and he spent the time building a great heap of wood upon the beach. even if one were helped by good spirits he must do his own part. they might bring the ship to the horizon's rim, but it was for him to summon it from there, and he would have a great bonfire ready.

the brilliance of the day departed in the afternoon, and it became apparent that the season of rain and storm was not yet over. clouds marched up in grim battalions from the south and west, rain came in swift puffs and then in long, heavy showers, the sea heaved, breaking into great waves and the surf dashed fiercely on the sharp teeth of the rocks.

robert's spirits fell. this was not the way in which a rescuing ship should come, under a somber sky and before driving winds. perhaps he had read the voices of the spirits wrong, or at least the ship, instead of coming now, was coming at some later time, a month or two months away maybe. he watched through the rest of the afternoon, hoping that the clouds would leave, but they only thickened, and, long before the time of sunset, it was almost as dark as night. he was compelled to remain in the shelter of the house, and, in a state of deep depression, he ate his supper without appetite.

the storm was one of the fiercest he had seen while on the island. the rain drove in sheets, beating upon the walls and roof of the house like hail, and the wind kept up a continuous whistling and screaming. all the while the house trembled over him. nor was there any human voice in the wind. the good spirits, if such existed, would not dare the storm, but had retreated to cover. all the illusion was gone, he was just a lonely[pg 186] boy on a lonely island, listening to the wrath of a hurricane, a ship might or might not come, most probably never, or if it did it would be another pirate.

the storm did not seem to abate as the evening went on, perhaps it was the climax of the season. tired of hearing its noise he lay down on his couch and at last fell asleep. he was awakened from slumber by an impact upon the drum of his ear like a light blow, but, sitting up, he realized that it was a sound. the storm had not abated. he heard the beat of wind and rain as before, but he knew it was something else that had aroused him. the noise of the storm was regular, it was going on when he fell asleep, and it had never ceased while he slept. this was something irregular, something out of tune with it, and rising above it. he listened intently, every nerve and pulse alive, body and mind at the high pitch of excitement, and then the sound came again, low but distinct, and rising above the steady crash of the storm.

he knew the note. he had heard it often, too often on that terrible day at ticonderoga. it could be but one thing. it was the boom of a cannon, and it could come only from a ship, a ship in danger, a ship driven by the storm, knowing nothing of either sea or island, sending forth her signal of distress which was also a cry for help.

it was his ship! the ship of rescue! but he must first rescue it! now he heard the voices of the good spirits, the voices that had been silent all through the afternoon and evening, singing through the storm, calling to him, summoning him to action. he had not taken off his clothes and he leaped from the couch, snatched up a lighted lantern, stuffed flint and steel in his pocket, and ran out into the wind and rain, of which he was now scarcely conscious.[pg 187]

the boom came to his ears a second time, off to the east, and now distinctly the report of a cannon. he waited a little, watching, and, when the report came a third time, he saw dimly the flash of the gun, but it was too dark for him to see anything of the ship. she was outside the reefs, how far he could not tell, but he knew by the difference in the three reports that she was driving toward the island.

it was for him to save the unknown vessel that was to save him, and in the darkness and storm he felt equal to the task. his soul leaped within him. his whole body seemed to expand. he knew what to do, and, quick as lightning, he did it. he ran at full speed through the woods, his lighted lantern swinging on his arm, and twice on the way he heard the boom of the cannon, each time a little nearer. the reports merely made him run faster. time was precious, and in the moment of utmost need he was not willing to lose a second.

he reached the great heap of wood that he had built up on the beach, worked frantically with flint and steel, shielding the shavings at the bottom with his body, and quickly set fire to them. the blaze crackled, leaped and grew. he had built his pyramid so well, and he had selected such inflammable material, that he knew, if the flames once took hold, the wind would fan them so fiercely the rain could not put them out.

higher sprang the blaze, running to the crest of the pyramid, roaring in the wind and then sending out defiant hissing tongues at the rain. the boom of the cannon came once more, and, then by the light of his splendid bonfire, he looked. there was the ship outside the reefs which his great pyramid of flame now enabled her to see. he shouted in his joy, and threw on more[pg 188] wood. if he could only build that pyramid high enough they would see the opening too and make for it.

he worked frantically, throwing on driftwood, the accumulation of many years, and the flames biting into every fresh log, roared and leaped higher. the ship ceased to fire her signal guns, and now he saw, with a great surge of joy, that she was beating up in the storm and trying for the opening in the reef, her only chance, the chance that he had given her. he had done his part and he could do no more but feed the fire.

as he threw on wood he watched. his pyramid of flame roared and threw out sparks in myriads. the ship, a sloop, was having a desperate struggle with wind and wave, but his beacon was always there, showing her the way, and he never doubted for a moment that she would make the haven. he was sure of it. it was a terrible storm, and there was a fierce sea beating on the reefs, but a master mind was on the sloop, the mind of a great sailor, and that mind, responding to his signal of the fire, the only one that could have been made, was steering the ship straight for the opening in the reef.

his glasses were always in his pocket, and, remembering them now for the first time, he clapped them to his eyes. the sloop and her tracery of mast and spars became distinct. he saw guns on the deck and men, men in uniform, and he could see well enough, a moment or two later, to tell that they wore the uniform of britain. his heart gave a wild throb. the spirits in the air were good spirits, and the storm had never been able to drive them away. they had been calling to him when he thought they were silent, only he had not been able to hear them.

he gave a wild shout of joy that could be heard above the crash of the storm. triumph was assured. he was[pg 189] rescuing, and he would be rescued. he did not realize until that instant how eager he was to be taken from the island, how he longed, with all his soul, to rejoin his own kind, to see his friends again and to take a part in the great events that were shaking the world. he uttered his wild shout over and over, and, in between, he laughed, laughed with a joy that he could not control.

the sloop entered the opening. it seemed to him that the rocks, those fearful sharks' teeth, almost grazed her on either side, and his heart stood still, but she went safely past them, drew into the little harbor where she was safe from the wildest storm that ever blew, dropped anchor, and was at rest.

robert in his exultation had never permitted his fire to die down an inch. rather he had made it grow higher and higher until it was a vast core of light, throwing a red glare over the beach and the adjacent waves, and sending off vast showers of sparks. but when the ship cast anchor in her port he stood still before it, a dark figure, a perfect silhouette outlined against a blazing background, and watched, while a boat was launched from the sloop.

he saw five figures descend into the boat. four were sailors and one an officer in uniform, and he knew well that they were coming to see him, the human being by the fire who had saved them. pride was mingled with his joy. if he had not been there the sloop and probably all on board of her would have perished. it was touch and go, only a brief opportunity to save had been allowed him, but he had used it. so he raised himself to his full height, straightened his clothes, for which he always had respect despite the storm, and waited on. he had a full sense of drama, and he felt that this was one of the most dramatic moments of his life.[pg 190]

the boat came up the beach on a wave, the men sprang out, held it as the wave retreated, and then dragged it after them until it was beyond the reach of invading water. robert meanwhile never stirred, and the great fire behind him enlarged his figure to heroic proportions.

the officer, young, handsome, in the british naval uniform, walked forward, with the four sailors following in a close group behind, but he stopped again, and looked at the strange figure before him. evidently something in its pose, in its whole appearance, in truth, made an extraordinary impression upon him. he passed his hands before his eyes as if to make sure that it was no blur of the vision, and then he went forward again, the sailors keeping close behind, as if they were in fear lest the figure prove to be supernatural.

"who are you?" called the young officer.

"robert lennox, of albany, the province of new york, and the wilderness," replied robert. "welcome to my island."

his sense of drama was still strong upon him, and he replied in his fullest and clearest voice. the officer stared, and then said:

"you've saved the ship and all our lives."

"i think that's what i was here for, though it's likely that you've saved me, too. what ship it that?"

"his majesty's sloop of war, hawk, captain stuart whyte, from bridgetown in the barbadoes, for boston."

robert thrilled when he heard the word "boston." it was not new york, but it was a port for home, nevertheless.

"who are you?" continued the officer, on fire with curiosity. "you've told me your name, but what are you? and where are the other people of the island?"[pg 191]

"there are no other people. it's my island. i'm sole lord of the isle, and you're most welcome."

"you heard our signal guns?"

"aye, i heard 'em, but i knew before you fired a shot that you were coming."

"'tis impossible!"

"it's not! i knew it, though i can't explain how to you. behold my bonfire! do you think i could have built such a pyramid of wood between the firing of your first shot and your coming into my harbor? no, i was ready and waiting for you."

"that's convincing."

"i repeat that i welcome you to lennox island. my house is but a short distance inland in a beautiful forest. i should like to receive captain whyte there as an honored guest, and you, too."

"your house?"

"aye, my house. and it's well built and well furnished. you'd be surprised to know how much comfort it can offer."

the officer—a lieutenant—and the men, coming closer, inspected robert with the most minute curiosity. lone men on desert islands were likely to go insane, and it was a momentary thought of the officer that he was dealing with some such unhappy creature, but robert's sentences were too crisp, and his figure too erect and trim for the thought to endure more than a few seconds.

"it's raining heavily," he said, "and captain whyte will be glad to be a guest at your home later. i'll admit that for a moment i doubted the existence of your house, but i don't now. are you willing to go on board the hawk with us and meet captain whyte?"

"gladly," replied robert, who felt that his dramatic moment was being prolonged. "the storm is dying now.

[pg 192]

having done its worst against you, and, having failed, it seems willing to pass away."

"but we don't forget that you saved us," said the officer. "my name is lanham, john lanham, and i'm a lieutenant on the hawk."

the storm was, in truth, whistling away to the westward and its rage, so far as robert's island was concerned, was fully spent. the waves were sinking and the night was lightening fast. the sloop of war, heaving at her anchorage, stood up sharp and clear, and it seemed to robert that there was something familiar in her lines. as he looked he was sure. coincidence now and then stretches forth her long arm, and she had stretched it now.

the sailors, when the sea died yet more, relaunched the boat. lanham and robert sprang in, and the men bent to the oars.