"Didst ever see the storm ship upon Hudson's River?" a listener demanded.

The old sailor pulled himself round to face the speaker.

"What story is this?" he muttered.

"There is a ship which haunts that river and comes a-sailing by night or day, running 'gainst both wind and tide, her deck crowded with Dutchmen who neither move nor speak. She comes before a storm, and goes while men gaze, like a flash of light."

Pieter von Donck grinned.

"Will call me a phantom, brave boys? Here you shall find enough sound flesh to make two men as good as any," he said, slapping his mighty thighs. "That ship is surely none other than the _Half Moon_ herself.

Know you not that Hudson and his crew haunt the Kaatskills? O' nights the good ship, which lies sunken at the end of the world, rises, and the ghosts of my master and my mates pa.s.s from the phantom deck to their revels within the mountains, and back ere morning to their graves. Peace be to them, brave fellows all!

"Twenty-nine years past," Von Donck went on, in his strident voice, which brought Van Vuren near to listen, "we cast away from our new city on the island, and sailed westward to discover the overland pa.s.sage to China. In a day we had left the land of the Manhattoes far astern, and with a favouring breeze had run under the palisadoes, a wall of rock, young friend, which makes yonder height seem to my eye no greater than an ant-mound. The solitude unmanned all, save Hudson, who walked the deck, swearing that he would reach the sea if he had to explore till Judgment Day. Awful was that silence when our ship entered the shadow of the Highlands, where the falling of a rope upon deck broke into echoes among the hills, and over the river came a noise as of demons laughing. The terror of the New World was upon us, and when we sang our chanties, heaving the lead or drawing in sail, we would fain have stopped our ears, so terrible were the voices which answered us from the sh.o.r.e."

"Was there no talk of turning back?"

"There was no turning back with Hendrick Hudson. He strode the deck day and night, and at his every order the black rocks pealed and the precipices shrieked, though the weather would be calm and the wind not more than a whisper. We held on our course until a storm seized and flung us upon the sh.o.r.e; and there we made landing, in a place where snakes darted their heads at us, and having built us a fire under the ba.s.swoods, cooked food and dried our clothes.

"'This mountain country is the place for me,' cried Hudson. 'Here might we spend a free life, my sailors, hunting by day, and at sport by night. Bring out our pipes and liquor from the ship, and in this hollow let us rest until the storm clouds pa.s.s.'

"So we remained there three days, chasing bears by light, spending the dark hours around the fire, smoking our long pipes, and playing at bowls, the favourite game of our master; and the mountains thundered, and the goblin voices shrieked with every gust of wind. A fearsome place, that dripping rock-forest at the end of the world. Upon the third night came Indians to our camp, two sachems old and cunning, who demanded by what right we had brought ourselves into their land. I can see the face of Hudson now, with its straight black beard and hard black eyes, and the angry twitch of his mouth, a trick of his when crossed, as he answered them. 'We are Dutch,' quoth he. 'And if there be any new pa.s.sage across this world Dutchmen shall find it.' Then the sachems came down from the rocks, and cursed him and his crew, swearing to call up spirits of river and wind which should fight against our ship. Hudson threatened them with the sword--there was methinks too much hot English blood in our captain--and the next day we remanned the _Half Moon_, and sailed away against the stream.

"A wind struck us, and the horse-shoe which had been nailed to the mast before starting dropped with a fearful clanging upon deck. We sang the hymn to San Nicolas, and fastened the horse-shoe anew, but again it fell. The Indian spirits were making mischief in the wind. The day became dark; the sun went out; but Hudson bade us cram on sail, because every hour he looked to hear the roar of the sea. 'And then for China, my men,' cried he.

"We ran into whirlpools and cross currents, and the _Half Moon_ struck full upon a rock in the middle of the stream. The water roared around, and I swam for my life through darkness, seeing no man, dreading every instant lest a hand should seize my heel and drag me down. I reached the sh.o.r.e, and there found a companion, who had saved himself as I had done. Of our ship and mates we could find no trace, therefore we set out together, and made a great journey overland, until by the grace of G.o.d we saw the tower of the church of San Nicolas lit by the morning sun, and the good folk of New Amsterdam coming out to greet us as men brought back from the dead."

Von Donck drew a flaming stick from the fire and relighted his rolled tobacco leaf. A circle of solemn faces was set towards him.

"The _Half Moon_ yet sails upon Hudson's River," remarked the sailor who had questioned the voyageur concerning the storm ship. "She rides out of a thunder-cloud, her sails flying against the wind, the men staring over her side. One Sunday in the morn, when the folk were at church and the dominie was preaching--such is the tale I have heard--there sounded a mighty wind, and the building grew creeping dark. Upon that a man ran in, crying, 'A ship! A Dutch ship sailing by!' The dominie and all ran into the gloom of mid-day and saw a vessel riding against the tide, full of men in wide breeches and sugar-loaf hats, with faces as white as wool. Some of the bolder youths manned a boat, and rowed out signalling, but the stranger gave them no heed. Sometimes she would appear so nigh to them that they could mark the flakes rotting from her beams and the weeds trailing round her bows, and the same minute she would appear as though half a mile away. And while they still rowed after her, they heard a noise as of iron ringing upon her deck and straightway she rode into a cloud and vanished. And afterwards came a great storm which wrecked close upon a score of houses."

"The old ship," muttered Von Donck, his eyes astray, his cheeks less ruddy than their wont. "'Twas the sound of the horse-shoe falling to deck which the rowers heard. Hudson swore in the face of Heaven that he would make that pa.s.sage. Mayhap he still strives, the storm holding him back from the unknown north-west for ever."

As the old sailor ceased to speak Van Vuren advanced, the strip of vellum between his fingers, and stood a sharp figure in the firelight.

The men ceased their mutterings and leaned forward to hear what their leader had to say.

"Our expedition upon this land has failed, my men," he cried. "Our ship lies burnt, our comrades are lost, we are not strong enough to withstand the French. Shall we now make a journey through the unknown land, and so down to our own free colony, through which pours Hudson's river, of which I have heard you speak? Let us strive together to gain the island of the Manhattoes, where our city of New Amsterdam smiles upon the sea."

The Dutchmen did not break into a shout as Englishmen might have done, nor did they raise a noisy chatter after the manner of the French.

They looked on one another with grave faces, and each man puffed his smoke more heavily. Finally old Pieter von Donck snorted and spoke:

"I have played the pioneer before to-day, captain. 'Twould gladden my eyes to see again the tower of San Nicolas by the sea."

"Then let us away before morning," said Van Vuren.

Boats of the fishermen were drawn along the white road of sh.o.r.e, and these the Dutchmen requisitioned for crossing. They worked warily, fearful of seeing the flash of torches along the path beneath the cliff. The river brimmed and the stream flung down with a ceaseless undertone.

"What have we here?" snorted Von Donck, while he groped under the gloomy wall.

A number of dry logs, crossed and pinned together by wooden wedges, lay upon the gravel spit, piled with dry gra.s.s and resinous boughs interlaced. Beside were lengths of pine to act as rollers for launching. The ma.s.s of inflammable material rose high. Torches were pressed between two stones beside the logs.

"'Tis but the raft made to give signal to the Iroquois tribes,"

explained the lieutenant.

"To the water with it," cried a voice.

"Peace, fool. The French have sentries posted."

"Fire it," snorted Von Donck. "Let not so much good work be spent in vain. Will float it upon the French man-o'-war for a parting message."

Eager hands set in place the rollers, and soon the unwieldy ma.s.s grumbled riverwards. It nosed into the water and settled with a splash, riding deep because the logs had weight. Flint and steel struck, a shower of sparks rained upon the catch-fire, the torches were ignited. At a word the gra.s.s flared, and the raft, released, struck upon a rock, turned slowly, and raced down stream, a red and yellow sheet of fire under a whirling canopy of smoke, straight for the lantern which marked the presence of the man-of-war.

"To the boats!" whispered Van Vuren.

A cry was raised above, and soon the answering voices resembled a chorus of daws frightened round a dark steeple by the shadow of a bird of prey. While the Dutch were floundering in mid-stream a bra.s.s gun thundered. The column of fire swept on, illuminating the seamed wall, and throwing into black contrast the trees on the opposite sh.o.r.e.

As the laughing Dutchmen reached land a terrific din from the hemlock forest shocked the night, and this wild revelry became each moment more terrible, until the wind seemed to cease to breathe.

The raft was opposite the landing-stage, burning rapidly down to the water, casting out flakes of fire and wisps of blazing gra.s.s. Lights flashed confusedly upon the heights, and the tramp of armed men carried solemnly across the river.

"The Iroquois are coming out!" cried Van Vuren.

"Let us wait like vultures for the pickings," muttered the lieutenant at his side.

"Vultures!" shrieked a malignant voice. "A good word, traitors."

The men swung round and stared into the gloom. Upon a point of rock they saw Gaudriole, squatting like a toad, his features half lit by the glow of his pipe.

"The plain of Tophet lies ahead," he snarled at them. "Others may play at fire as well as ye."

He sprang up and danced furiously upon the rock.

"Slay me that hunchback," shouted Van Vuren in a rage.

His men ran at the rock. Gaudriole spat at them like a cat and vanished among the scrub.

A wave of smoke fanned over the ridge. A deep glow, waving up and down like a red rag, grew along the southern sky, advancing storm-like, deepening in colour.

The bush had been fired.

CHAPTER XX.

SACRAMENTAL.

The military routine of the fortress continued that day as usual, and the approach of night brought no suspicion of the forthcoming a.s.sault.

The absence of La Salle was alone commented upon, yet without apprehension, for the priest was notoriously lax in the performance of his ecclesiastical duties, and only Laroche was seriously troubled in mind for his brother priest. Roussilac indeed breathed more freely when La Salle was not present in the fortress. At eventide two little bells rang out, that to the east of the citadel being the bell of the chapel of Ste. Anne, presided over by the junior priest, St Agapit, that to the west the bell of Ste. Mary Bonsecours upon the hill. Here Laroche, in the absence of La Salle, officiated to recite vespers and hear confessions.