Kitabı oku: «Defending the Island: A story of Bar Harbor in 1758», sayfa 6
CHAPTER VI.
THE WRECK
Hope once more sprang up in the hearts of those who had been so sorely tried, when the storm continued with greal fury. The electrical portion of the tempest appeared to have passed away, leaving the raging wind and pelting rain to guard the settlers who of a verity had descended into the very valley of the shadow of death.14
When it was understood that that which was at first supposed to be a summer gale had developed into a furious northeast storm, giving no token of subsiding, Mark said as he rose to his feet:
"When the rain first came it seemed as if my throat was parched dry with thirst, and now that water is to be had in abundance, all hands of us appear to have forgotten that we wanted a drink."
"We might catch some of the water that is finding its way through the roof," Mistress Pemberton said as if such a possibility had never occurred to her before.
"We can do better than that, mother dear. I'll go to the spring for a full bucket, and when it has been strained we shall have what will be an improvement on rainwater."
"But possibly some of the enemy may be lurking outside," Mistress Harding said, becoming timorous once more, now that the imminent danger had passed.
"Whoever has been out in the storm all this while will be harmless, aunt, for his musket would be filled with something other than powder," Mark replied with a laugh, and then he unbarred the door, surprised to find that it was only with difficulty he could make headway against the furious blasts.
So powerful was the wind that it became necessary for Susan and Luke to unite their strength in order to close the door while Mark was absent, and when he returned with a brimming bucket of discolored water, the three had no little difficulty in putting the bars into place again.
"It is the fiercest storm I ever saw!" Mark exclaimed as he dashed the rain-drops from his face. "We'll pray that the Future Hopes is in a snug harbor, otherwise she will have to scud, for I don't believe they could heave her to."
"Do you think there is any probability your father and uncle may be out in this tempest?" Mistress Pemberton asked, more anxious now for the safety of the absent ones then she previously had been concerning herself.
"They are too good sailors, mother dear, to take many chances, and we had fair warning of this storm. If we hadn't been in such sore straits, there's no question but that we would have been prepared for it. I noticed the clouds gathering, but at the time thought only that it would be our misfortune, since we could not keep watch of the Indians. Close-reefed, and with plenty of sea-room, the Future Hopes will ride out this gale without doing more harm to herself than the straining of a seam, perhaps."
"The Frenchmen could not have had time to get their vessel under way," Mistress Pemberton said as if thinking aloud, and Mark sprang to his feet in excitement.
"Of course they couldn't, and it is well for them if they didn't succeed in getting on board, for the craft never had been built that can ride at anchor to the eastward of the brook while the wind is so heavy. It would have been impossible to get under way, for she'd be on the rocks before her nose could be brought around into the wind!"
"Do you suppose they are yet on the island?"
"I think, unless all hands are good sailors, that they'd try to get on board, and that could have been done because the sea wouldn't grow heavy in an instant."
Further speculation as to the fate of their foes was checked very suddenly by what sounded like the groaning of a human being in deepest distress, coming from one corner of the room in which they were seated.
Instinctively the inmates of the dwelling clutched each other, for it was impossible to see anything in that profound darkness, and during many seconds no one spoke.
Then the dismal sound could be heard once more, and Mark, forcing himself to beat down the fear which assailed him, said, with an effort:
"Can you find one of the candles, mother? Some one here must be dying. Where are the children?"15
"Johnny and Jimmie are with me," Ellen said, and Mary added:
"I'm here with Luke."
"No one could have got inside without our knowing it," Mistress Pemberton said, as she groped around for the scanty store of candles, which were reserved for use on especial occasions.
Mark did not reply until his mother succeeded, after many fruitless efforts, in striking a spark from the steel and flint on the tinder, and as the feeble flame of the candle flickered and flared in the wind which made its way through the crevices, the lad began to tear away the barricade of household goods which had been thrown up to screen the window.
"It is useless to search there," Mistress Pemberton said, quickly, as if a sudden thought had come to her. "One of those whom you wounded is lying outside, and we hear his moans because he is close beside the building."
Mark was at the door in an instant, forgetting that he was hastening to the succor of one who, a short hour previous, was bent on killing him, and Susan seized the lad by the arm, as she said in a tone of caution:
"It may be some trick to get you outside. Be careful what you do; we have heard that the Indians often make use of such means to get a victim in their clutches."
"I'll warrant there is no Indian living who could stay out in this storm an hour or more, and then be able to do very much mischief," Mark replied as he unfastened the bar, waiting only long enough for Luke and Susan to get hold of the door, lest it should be torn from its hinges by the wind, before he darted out into the blackness.
A moment later it was possible to hear his voice, as if he spoke to someone, and then all was still, save for the raging of the tempest, until he cried from the outside:
"Open the door, youngsters. I've got a Frenchman here, who must be very near death!"
Then, as Luke and Susan gave him admittance, he came staggering into the room with an apparently lifeless body in his arms, while Mistress Pemberton shielded the candle as best she might, lest the wind extinguish the feeble flame.
Mark laid his burden on the bed, heeding not the fact that the water was running from every angle of the stranger's garments.
Like Mark, the two women forgot that a bitter enemy was before them; but with gentle care set about ministering to his wants, if, indeed he would have any more in this world.
Now all the occupants of the dwelling were too much engrossed with the work of saving the life which had so nearly been taken by one of their number to be able to tell whether the storm was yet raging, or if the morning had come.
In a very short time it was learned that the man lived, although how he survived after being exposed to the fury of the tempest so long, could not be understood. He had an ugly-looking wound in the thigh, and another in the left breast; but Mistress Pemberton gave it as her opinion that he was not mortally hurt.
"With good nursing, I doubt not but that he will live," she said, as she dressed the wounds to the best of her ability. "But if he does, what shall we do with him?"
"There is no need to answer that question now, mother dear," Mark said, gently. "We'll try to pull him through, even if we have already done our best to kill him, and then he'll know what it is to have coals of fire heaped on his head; that is," he added, after a brief pause, "if his comrades allow us to live long enough to do the job."
A fire was built, tea of herbs made and administered to the sufferer, and before morning came it was possible for him to speak.
He was sufficiently acquainted with the English language to make them understand him, and his first words were expressive of surprise.
"Save when you attack us without cause, we have no desire for your death," Mistress Pemberton replied. "Now you are no longer a soldier, striving to do us grievous injury, but a suffering fellow creature, and so long as it is in our power we will do whatsoever we may toward giving you aid."
The wounded man turned his face away, as if ashamed to look the good woman in the face, and after a time Mark questioned him as to how the chanced to be so near the house.
From his story, told little by little because of the difficulty experienced in talking, the facts were soon known.
He had been among the first to burst through the gate, and was not wounded until when the last shot was fired. Then instinct prompted him to gain a shelter under the wall of the building, where it would not be possible for those on the inside to see him, immediately after which he lost consciousness. During a long while he remained as if dead, and it is probable that the deluge of rain served to revive him after a time; but he was ignorant of having made any outcry. He remembered of realizing that he was alone, exposed to the storm, and the next knowledge was that the women were striving to nurse him back to life.
It was morning before the inmates of the dwelling gave much heed to anything save the wounded soldier, and then Mark, after cautioning the remainder of the family to stay inside the dwelling unless they heard his cry for help, ventured out into the tempest, which continued with but little decrease of violence.
The sun had not yet risen, and it the gray light of early dawn it was not possible to distinguish objects at any great distance. He had, in the immediate vicinity of the stockade, however, good proof of the violence with which the storm raged.
A portion of the palisade itself had been overthrown, leaving an opening through which the entire force of the enemy might have marched shoulder to shoulder. Trees were uprooted; the small boat, which had been drawn beyond reach of the tide, was now within ten feet of the battered gate, having been carried there by the wind.
That the buildings within the stockade remained un-injured was due, doubtless, to the thicket in the rear which served to shield them from the full fury of the elements.
Turn where he might, the same scene of devastation met his gaze, and he understood that if any of the Frenchmen remained on the island they would be powerless to depart, for their vessel could not have outlived the night.
The wind was yet so violent that only with difficulty could he make his way from one point to another, and the rain beat upon his face until it became necessary to shield his eyes in order to see anything twenty paces distant; but he struggled against the elements, making his way along the shore toward the place where the Frenchmen's schooner had been moored.
The vessel no longer remained at her anchorage, nor did he expect to see her there; but he was not quite prepared for that which met his gaze when he was where a view of the most northerly point of the harbor island could be had.
Between where he stood and the opposite shore was the hull of the schooner, keel uppermost, tossing on the short waves, now completely submerged, and again rising high in the air until the greater portion of the planking could be seen. Clinging to this restless wreck were six or eight human beings, and on the beach at his feet lay the bodies of two men who had been beaten down to death during the conflict of the elements.
After watching for several moments the plunging, rolling remnant of what had been a seagoing vessel, fitted to withstand almost any buffeting of wave or wind, Mark became convinced that the wreck was moored in some fashion, and then it was possible to guess very nearly how the disaster had occurred.
It seemed probable that when the first of the Frenchmen gained the schooner's deck, after the fury of the tempest had forced them to retreat from the stockade, the wild tossing of the craft as the waves were beginning to rise induced them to let go every anchor on board, under the belief that she could be held at moorings until the storm had subsided sufficiently to admit of her clawing away from the shore.
When the tempest was at its height, and after the attacking party had succeeded in getting on board, the little craft must have been literally blown down, until the water, rushing into the open hatches, had caused her to completely upset.
The wounded, and all others who were in the cabin, must have been drowned offhand, and that some of those who tried to save themselves by clinging to the hulk had suffered a like fate could be told by the lifeless bodies at Mark's feet.
Aid had come to the defenders of the island on the wings of the tempest; and at the very time when it seemed as if all hope of succor was vain, the enemy had been overcome by "Him who holdeth the waters in the hollow of His hand."
As he gazed at the struggling wretches on the bottom of the wreck, some of whom waved their hands feebly, as if nearly exhausted and imploring him to help them, Mark forgot that but a few hours previous these same men had been thirsting for his blood, and thought only that they were in sore need of his assistance.
He ran with all speed to the stockade, shouting as he approached, and when the women and children hastened outside, believing him to be in distress, he hurriedly told of what he had seen.
"Of all those who made the attack, I am satisfied that only the men on the hulk remain alive. It is for us to help them if we can. There should be enough of us here to drag our boat to the water, and Luke and I will see what can be done in the way of life-saving."
Sorely beset though they had been, no one thought at that moment of the suffering which had been endured because of these men who were now so near death; but all, even the youngest children, laid hold of the boat to launch her.
It was no slight task to drag the craft, small though she was, over the sand to the water's edge; but the task was finally accomplished, and then many moments were spent trying to find the oars, which had been blown out of the boat during such time as the tempest forced her upon the shore.
A full half-hour must have elapsed from the moment Mark discovered the wreck until he and his brother were ready to set off on their mission of mercy, and then it was an open question as to whether they would succeed in the battle against the boisterous waves.
The members of both families stood near the water's edge, regardless of the furious storm which was raging, as they watched with anxious eyes the efforts of the lads. They had set out to save lives; but very many times did it seem as if their own must of a certainty be sacrificed.
Fortunately they were partially sheltered from the wind by the harbor island, otherwise the task could never have been accomplished, and not until both the lads were well-nigh exhausted did they arrive at the plunging hulk.
Now it was that the most dangerous portion of the work must be performed. Only at imminent risk of swamping the small boat could she be taken sufficiently near the wreck to permit of a rescue, and then it was necessary to handle her with the utmost skill, otherwise she would have been stove to kindling against the side of the hulk.16
When the boat came close at hand, all the Frenchmen gathered at one point, as if counting on leaping aboard at the same moment, and Mark shouted, peremptorily:
"You'll swamp us if more than one comes at a time. Lay back there you fellows who are the strongest, and help the weakest first!"
Then they quarreled among themselves, each insisting that he was in the greatest need of help, and Mark, finally becoming impatient, cried, sternly:
"If you can't come aboard like decent people, we'll leave the whole boiling of you to get along as may be possible."
"There is not one of us who can cling to this wreck half an hour longer," a man cried, piteously. "Already five have been washed away and drowned."
"Two of you take hold and send aboard that fellow who is lying across the keel. He seems to be in the worst shape. Stand back!" the lad added, as four men made ready to seize the small boat at the first opportunity. "If you come in other order than I give the word, I'll leave all hands."
By dint of scolding, pulling the boat forward or back as the waves threatened, and otherwise handling his small craft in a sailorly fashion, Mark succeeded in getting four of the men aboard, leaving three to be rescued later.
The boat would carry no more of a load than she then had, while the storm was so furious, and the lads pulled shoreward, aided greatly, when going in this direction, by the wind.
The members of both families gathered on the beach near about where a landing would be made, and when the shipwrecked men had been set ashore they were helped toward the stockade by the women and children, for the Frenchmen were so nearly exhausted that it was impossible to walk unaided.
Then Mark and Luke started on the second journey, battling quite as desperately as before, and the day was fully half-spent when they brought the last of the survivors ashore.
It was not until the seven Frenchmen were being cared for in the apartment of the Pemberton house where the wounded soldier lay, that the lad began to realize the possible danger. These eight men, after having recovered, might easily take possession of the stockade, and Mark was inclined to believe that people who were willing to make war on women and children, could not be trusted to play a manly part even toward those who had saved them from death.
"What shall we do with them all?" Susan asked, as she came out of the house, which had much the appearance of a hospital, to where Mark stood studying the matter seriously.
"It has just come into my mind that we might herd them in your father's house. The greater portion of the things have been taken from there, and we can arrange it to bar the doors and shutters on the outside."
"Are you counting on holding them as prisoners?" Susan asked, in surprise.
"That is the only way we may be certain of a crew like that. After all that has happened, I wouldn't believe in any promises that might be made, and they shall be guarded like so many wildcats."
"Every one of whom appears to be grateful."
"Ay, I suppose they are now, before having recovered; but it may be a different matter, once they're in good shape."
"Do you believe there can be any on the harbor island?"
"I'm satisfied there are no others alive out of all the crew of French and Indians. Luke and I counted on burying the bodies which have been washed ashore, and while we are at that work you had better gather up all the muskets and ammunition, hiding the lot in the stable until we have the men secured."
Then, calling his brother, Mark set off toward the beach to perform the last rites over those who had lost their lives while trying to commit murder most foul, and, that having been done, the two lads began transforming the Harding house into a prison, which last was done by fastening all the shutters and one of the doors on the outside. The other door was to be barred in such a manner that it could be readily opened by those who were charged with the care of the Frenchmen.
These tasks were not completed until nightfall, and then Mark told the rescued party exactly what it was his purpose to do, explaining that he was not ready to believe in any protestations they might make.
"You must be held prisoners until our fathers return, and it is to be remembered that if we find one of you attempting to leave the building, which will be given over to your use, we shall shoot him down without the slightest feeling of pity or remorse."
The men swore most solemnly that they would obey every command which might be given by those who had saved them from death, and Mark, armed with a loaded musket, lost no time in escorting them to the Harding house.
It was his intention to have them closely guarded during every hour of the day and night, and to such end Luke was stationed at the front of the building, where, through a crevice which had been made between the logs by Mark, he could keep his charges in view.
Mistress Pemberton would not consent to having the wounded man removed with the others. He was given a bed in one corner of the room, after the furniture piled up as a barricade had been put in place, and Mary and Ellen were instructed to watch him, not with the idea that he might try to escape, but because his condition was such, owing to the wounds and subsequent exposure, that the most careful nursing and attention was needed.
The storm subsided at sunset; the clouds disappeared, and the first night after the besieged were turned jailers was as calm and peaceful as if the harmony of nature had never been disturbed by the clash of arms.
Luke remained on duty until about ten o'clock in the evening, when Susan took his place, and shortly after midnight Mark took his turn at guarding the prisoners.
The Frenchmen had shown no signs of a disposition to do other than as they were commanded; but Mark would not put faith in them, and kept his watch as if knowing they had already formed a plan for capturing those who succored them.
The lad paced to and fro in front of the dwelling, looking in upon the men every five minutes, until a new day had come, and then as he gazed across the waters watching for the sun to rise, he saw the dingy canvas of the Future Hopes, glistening like silver in the early light.
The fresh breeze was bearing the little vessel swiftly on, and before any inmate of the Pemberton house was astir, she swung to her anchor close inside the harbor, while the two men listened to the story which Mark had to tell.
The fishermen had not been able to gain a shelter when the storm burst upon them, therefore the Future Hopes scudded before the wind during the four and twenty hours, which explained why she had arrived so much sooner than had been expected.
It would be a labor of love to follow the fortunes of these two families who, in 1758, defended the Island of Mount Desert so bravely against the combined attacks of French and Indians; but historians make no further mention of them, after setting forth in the fewest possible words their deeds, therefore this tale must perforce come to an end.
We do know, however, from the records of Pemaquid, that Masters Pemberton and Harding carried to the fort eight Frenchmen as prisoners, and that the authorities of Massachusetts took them in charge several weeks later.
It is also known that in 1769 one Mark Pemberton, with his wife Susan, settled on Penobscot Bay near where the town of Camden now stands, and it is reasonable to infer that this man was the same who, aided by Susan Harding, so bravely defended the island.
