H. A. Cody - The King\'s Arrow

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Transcriber's note: In the original book, the 's' in "Wu-las-tukw" is
actually "s-acute", or Unicode U+015B, and the first
'u' in "Pu-kut" is actually "u-breve", or Unicode
U+016D. In this e-text, both characters have been
rendered as their standard ASCII equivalents.

THE KING'S ARROW

A Tale of the United Empire Loyalists

by

H. A. CODY

Author of "The Frontiersman," "The Long Patrol," "Glen of the High North,"
"Jess of the Rebel Trail," etc.

McClelland and Stewart
Publishers Toronto
George H. Doran Company

1922,

To

MY ANCESTORS OF THE UNITED EMPIRE LOYALISTS

Who Came to the St. John River, May, 1783,

This Book is Gratefully Dedicated

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I WHEN THE CANNON ROARED
II "COME AND TAKE IT"
III CUPID'S ARROW
IV THE WARNING
V "TRY IT"
VI WHEN THE BOW-STRING TWANGED
VII OUT OF THE STORM
VIII BENEATH THE SPREADING MAPLE
IX LOVE'S CHARM
X WHILE THE WATER FLOWS
XI THE SUMMONS
XII PLOTTERS IN COUNCIL
XIII THE KING'S RANGERS
XIV WHERE THE RANGERS LED
XV THE LINE IN THE SAND
XVI UNDER COVER OF NIGHT
XVII THE UNKNOWN QUANTITY
XVIII LOYAL FRIENDS
XIX THE SMOKE SIGNAL
XX TEMPERED PUNISHMENT
XXI THROUGH THE WILDERNESS
XXII IN DESPERATE STRAITS
XXIII SIX CANDLES AND ONE
XXIV TIMON OF THE WILDERNESS
XXV UNMASKED
XXVI BEHIND THE BOLTED DOOR
XXVII THROUGH THE NIGHT AND THE STORM
XXVIII WITHIN THE LONE CABIN
XXIX SHELTERING ARMS
XXX THE ROUND-UP
XXXI PEACE AT EVENING TIME
XXXII AFTER MANY DAYS
XXXIII SEEDS OF EMPIRE

THE LOYALISTS

(1783)

"Broad lands, ancestral homes, the gathered wealth
Of patient toil and self-denying years
Were confiscate and lost. . . .
Not drooping like poor fugitives they came
In exodus to our Canadian wilds,
But full of heart and hope, with heads erect,
And fearless eyes, victorious in defeat."

WILLIAM KIRBY

"No one will know, because none has told, all that those brave pioneers
underwent for their devotion and fidelity. You will see to-day on the
outskirts of the older settlements little mounds, moss-covered
tombstones which record the last resting-places of the forefathers of
the hamlet. They do not tell you of the brave hearts laid low by
hunger and exposure, of the girlish forms washed away, of the babes and
little children who perished for want of proper food and raiment. They
have nothing to tell of the courageous, high-minded mothers, wives and
daughters, who bore themselves as bravely as men, complaining never,
toiling with men in the fields, banishing all regrets for the life they
might have led had they sacrificed their loyalty. . . . No great
monument is raised to their memory; none is needed; it is enshrined
forever in the hearts of every Canadian and of every one who admires
fidelity to principle, devotion and self-sacrifice."

"_Romance of Canada_," BECKLES H. WILLSON

THE KING'S ARROW

CHAPTER I

WHEN THE CANNON ROARED

A keen wind whipping in from the west swayed the tops of innumerable
pines, firs, spruces, and maples. They were goodly trees, unharmed as
yet by scathing fire or biting axe. Proudly they lifted their crests
to the wind and the sun, while down below, their great boles were
wrapped in perpetual shade and calm. Life, mysterious life, lurked
within those brooding depths, and well did the friendly trees keep the
many secrets of the denizens of the wild.

Through that trackless maze two wayfarers warily threaded their course
on a chill May day in the year seventeen hundred and eighty-three.
They were men, and their speed denoted the urgency of the business upon
which they were bent. They were clad in buckskin jackets, and homespun
trousers, which showed signs of hard usage. Moccasins encased their
feet, and squirrel-skin caps sat lightly upon their heads. Each
carried a heavy flint-lock musket in his hand, while at his side swung
the inevitable powder-horn, hung low enough so as not to interfere with
the small pack strapped across the shoulders.

Both travellers were peering intently forward, and when at length the
glint of shimmering water glimmered through the trees their faces
brightened with satisfaction. But just then the leader stopped dead in
his tracks, and glanced anxiously to the left. He was an Indian of
magnificent physique, and princely bearing, as straight as the trees
around him. His companion, too, was standing in a listening attitude a
few feet away. His keen ears had also caught a sound, and he knew its
meaning. He was a white man, much younger than the Indian, although
from his deeply-bronzed face he might have been mistaken for a native.
He measured up nobly to the other in size and bearing, as well as in
strength, woodland skill, and endurance on the trail.

"Slashers, Pete, eh?" he questioned in a low voice.

"A-ha-ha," was the reply. "No meet 'em, Dane. Too many. We go round."

Without another word he swung sharply to the right, and led the way to
the water in a wide circle. Cautiously they approached the shore, and
then keeping within the edge of the forest they moved slowly along,
most of the time upon their hands and knees. Occasionally they paused
to listen, but the only sounds they heard were the ones which had first
arrested their attention, although much nearer now.

Presently they stopped and from a thicket of bushes drew forth a birch
canoe, which had been cunningly hidden. It took them but a few minutes
to carry it to the water, step lightly aboard, and push away from the
shore. Each seized a paddle, and soon the canoe was headed for the
open, with Dane squatting forward, and the Indian seated astern.

Less hardy souls would have hesitated ere venturing out upon that angry
stretch of water in such a frail craft. The crooked Kennebacasis was
showing its temper in no uncertain manner. Exposed to the full rake of
the strong westerly wind, the waves were running high, and breaking
into white-caps, threatened to engulf the reeling canoe. But the
Indian was master of the situation, and steered so skilfully that only
an occasional wisp of spray was flung on board.

They had gone about two hundred yards when a shot rang out from the
shore, and a bullet whistled past their heads. Glancing quickly
around, they saw several men in the distance with muskets in their
hands. They were shouting words of defiance to which the canoeists
made no reply. Intuitively Dane reached for his musket, but a sharp
warning from the Indian caused him to desist.

"No shoot," he ordered. "Paddle. Quick."

And in truth there was urgent need, for the canoe had swung somewhat to
the left and was in danger of being swamped by the big waves as they
rolled and tossed their white foamy manes. Another bullet sang by as
Dane drove his paddle into the water and forced the canoe into the eye
of the wind just as a larger wave than usual was about to break. To
attempt to shoot he realised would be useless, although he longed to
have a try at the insulting slashers. But to reach the opposite shore
in safety would require every ounce of strength and utmost skill, so he
bent steadily to his task and paid no further heed to the men upon the
shore.

Ahead lay two islands, separated by a narrow strip of water, and toward
this opening they directed their course. It was a hard fight, and only
men of great strength and thoroughly-developed muscles could have
accomplished the task. Reeling, dipping, lifting, and sliding, the
canoe pressed on, a fragile thing in the grip of an angry monster. But
bear up it did and rode proudly at last into the smooth water between
the two islands. Here the men rested and mopped their moist foreheads.

"Bad blow," the Indian casually remarked.

"Pretty heavy," Dane replied. "I wish the slashers had come after us."

"Slashers, ugh! Cowards! No come. Bimeby me ketch 'em. Me fix 'em,
all sam' skunk."

Dane smiled as he again dipped his paddle into the water.

"Come, Pete, let's get on. There's a nasty run ahead, and it'll take
us over two hours after we land to reach the Fort."

"Plenty rum to-night, eh?" the Indian queried, as he guided the canoe
out into the open.

"Not plenty, remember, Pete. You've got to be careful this time and
not take too much. If there are slashers hanging around the trading
post they'll be only too anxious to get you drunk, and put you out of
business. There's too much at stake to run any risk."

"Umph! me no get drunk," the Indian retorted. "Me no fool. Me no
crazee white man."

It took them almost a half hour to cross to the mainland. Here they
landed, concealed the canoe, and ate a frugal meal of bread and dried
meat. This detained them but a short time, and they then started forth
upon the trail which led along the river not far from the shore. They
swung rapidly on their way, up hill and down, leaping small brooks, and
crossing swamps overgrown with a tangle of alders, rank grass, and
succulent weeds. Small game was plentiful. Rabbits scurried across
the trail, and partridges rose and whirred among the trees. But the
travellers never paused in their onward march. Although they had been
on the way since early morning, they showed no sign of fatigue. Their
strong athletic bodies, bent somewhat forward, swayed in rythmic
motion, and their feet beat a silent tatoo upon the well-worn trail.

For over an hour they kept up this swinging gait, and only slowed down
when at length the trail led them out of the thick forest into a great
open portion of the country. This was marshland, and it spread out
before them miles in extent. To the right were rugged wooded hills,
while far away to the left the cold steel glitter of the Bay of Fundy
could be distinctly seen.

For a few minutes they stopped to rest on this commanding elevation,
Dane's whole soul athrill at the wonderful panorama thus suddenly
presented to view. His eyes glowed, and he eagerly inhaled great
draughts of the invigorating tang wafted in from the far distant sea.

"My, that's fine!" he ejaculated, giving a deep sigh of satisfaction.
"That puts new life into one, eh, Pete?"

The Indian's mind, however, was not upon the marvellous things of
nature. He was gazing intently down toward the marshland where
something had attracted his attention.

"Plenty duck down dere," he replied. "Me get 'em bimeby."

Dane smiled, picked up his musket, and looked quizzically at his
companion.

"Can't you see anything but ducks, Pete? What do you think of all
that?" and he waved his hand to the left. "Isn't it great!"

"Umph!" the Indian grunted, "me see only duck; stummick say only
'duck.'"

"Come on, then, Pete," the young man ordered. "The sooner we get
through with our business, the sooner you can come back for your ducks.
One of those fat fellows would go well for supper."

Turning somewhat to the right, they followed the trail over the rugged
hills, where through breaks in the trees they could catch occasional
glimpses of the marsh and the water beyond. The way here was rough,
and their progress somewhat slow. But steadily they plodded on,
knowing that their destination was now not far off.

After crossing an exceptionally bad piece of ground, they came out upon
a pleasant little lake lying like a gem among the hills. At its outlet
was a small saw-mill, but now idle, and with no one in sight. Here
they paused for a few minutes, and when they were about to proceed a
great roar startled them. It was quickly followed by three more in
rapid succession, and then all was still.

"It's the Fort cannon!" Dane exclaimed, much excited. "Something's
happening over there. Maybe that old pirate, Crabtree, has come up the
harbour again. He won't find Fort Howe as easy to take as Fort
Frederick, let me tell you that. Come on, Pete, let's see the fun."

Hurrying on their way, ere long they reached the summit of a hill above
the lake, from which position they were able to obtain the first view
of the Fort away in the distance. The guns were silent now, and no
sign of life could they see.

Below stretched a deep wooded valley through which the trail ran. It
did not take the excited men long to speed down the hill and up the
opposite side. The roar of the cannon had roused these hardy sons of
the wild, and the fire of a new adventure thrilled their souls. The
great guns had roared, and what else did it mean but a fight with a
desperate foe in the narrow harbour? And if they could see the
struggle, what a tale they would have to tell their comrades around the
camp fires in the heart of the great forest.

As they gained the summit of the hill, the trail led them through
clearings where the trees had been cut for fuel. Piles of brush were
on all sides, and in places cords of wood lined the way which here
widened into a rough road. They were coming into the limits of
civilisation now, and the view of the Fort was much more distinct. The
great guns gave no further voice, but as they neared the crest of the
hill which slopes down to the harbour, a new and peculiar sound fell
upon their ears. They paused and listened intently, but could not
understand its meaning.

Cautiously they advanced, alert, and ready to flee to the shelter of
the forest should occasion require. For a time nothing unusual could
they see, although the strange sound was becoming more audible.
Reaching at length the brow of the hill, they stopped dead in their
tracks at a wonderful sight. Below lay the harbour, where vessels
large and small were riding calmly at anchor. Where had they come
from? and what were they doing there? Such were the questions which
leaped to Dane's mind. Small boats were coming from the ships, loaded
with people, while on the shore and some distance from the water
throngs of men, women, and children were either huddled in groups, or
hurrying to and fro in the most excited manner. Tents and rude brush
shacks dotted the hillside, before which people were standing, while
bundles and household effects were scattered about on every side.

Never had Dane been so greatly puzzled. Why had the Fort guns roared?
What were those ships doing there in the harbour? That they did not
belong to the pirates he felt certain, for they bore the English flag,
and he could see red-coated soldiers mingling with the people on the
shore. In his intense interest he forgot for the moment his important
mission, and he was upon the point of hastening down the hill to find
out for himself the meaning of the strange scene when Pete touched his
arm.

"What all dat beeg fuss, eh?" he asked.

The Indian's question startled him, and brought him to himself.

"Blamed if I know, Pete," he replied. "It's beyond me, for I never saw
anything like it before. Anyway, I'm going to find out. You take my
pack and gun and go back to the lake. Get a duck for supper, a good
big fat fellow. I'll be there as soon as I can, and tell you what I
can learn at the Fort. We've run across something to-day, Pete, more
than we expected."

CHAPTER II

"COME AND TAKE IT"

Fort Howe occupied an important position at the mouth of the St. John
River when the present Province of New Brunswick was a part of Nova
Scotia. It was well situated, and from the summit of a high hill
commanded the harbour, a large stretch of the river, and the entire
surrounding country for miles in extent. It looked down upon the ruins
of Fort Frederick, which it replaced, and across to the site of another
old Fort where the brave and noble Lady LaTour and her little band of
men made their gallant resistance to a treacherous foe.

Fort Howe proved a great comfort to the trading post at Portland Point,
and to the thirty or more families settled in the vicinity. Scarcely
had it been erected, and its guns mounted, when the rapacious pirate
from Machias, A. Greene Crabtree by name, appeared upon the scene, as
he had done before with disastrous results. But this time he received
the surprise of his life. He viewed with astonishment the new Fort
upon the hill, and the flag of England floating from the ramparts. So
great was his astonishment that he beat a hasty retreat, and troubled
no more the little settlement at Portland Point.

Fort Howe was not a large place, containing in all two blockhouses
and barracks, with twelve rooms for the officers, and accommodation
for one hundred men. The armament consisted of two five and a half
inch brass mortars, and eight iron guns, the latter including two
eighteen-pounders, four six-pounders, and two four-pounders.

Although Fort Howe was small, yet it meant a great deal to the people
scattered along the St. John River and its various tributaries. It was
the seat of authority where all knew that true British justice would be
meted out by the brave, sturdy commander in charge, Major Gilfred
Studholme. It had a restraining influence upon restless, warlike
Indians, and rebels dwelling along the river. At the same time it
filled the hearts of all loyal, peaceful people with a feeling of
security. To them it was a symbol of England's power, and they often
discussed it around their camp fires, and in their lonely forest homes.

As Dane Norwood paused for a minute upon the brow of the opposite hill,
after he had left the Indian, a feeling of pride and awe welled up in
his heart as he looked across at the Fort. He had heard much about it,
but never until this day had he set eyes upon the place. He saw the
big flag fluttering in the breeze, and the black muzzels of the cannon
frowning seaward. He longed to hear them roar again, and he wondered
how far they would shoot, much farther, he had been told, than the
largest flint-lock ever made.

Leaving the brow of the hill, he moved swiftly down a narrow trail
which led to a large pond of water below. At its outlet was a tidal
grist mill, back of which a strong dam had been built. Along this
latter was a foot path which he followed, and soon reached the opposite
bank. From here a well-constructed road, lined with trees, wound up
the hill to the Fort. Dane walked somewhat slower now, and his heart
beat fast. He was at the end of his long journey, and soon he would be
in the presence of the man of whom he had heard so much. He slipped
his hand beneath his buckskin jacket and felt, as he had done so often
during the last three days, a small package hidden in an inside pocket.
In a few minutes more it would be delivered into the hands of the
owner, and his responsibility would be ended.

When part way up the hill he came to a strong barricade, where he was
suddenly confronted and challenged by a sentry, who demanded where he
was going and what he wanted.

"I have a message for the commander of the Fort," Dane told him. "I
must see him at once."

"The Major is out at present," the soldier replied. "But let me have
your message and I shall give it to him as soon as he comes back."

"I have orders to give it to the Major himself and to no one else," the
courier explained. "It is very important."

"It certainly must be," and the soldier smiled. "But the Major is very
busy to-day, so may not have time to see you. He is down at the
trading post just now looking after the wants of those people who have
come in the ships. They have upset things in general, and are making
matters pretty lively around here, let me tell you that. The Major is
almost at his wits' end."

"Who are they?" Dane eagerly asked, "and where did they come from?"

"Why, don't you know?" the soldier asked in surprise.

"No, I have not the least idea. When I heard the Fort guns roar, I
thought maybe old Crabtree had come back again."

The soldier laughed and looked curiously at the young man.

"Say, where do you hail from, anyway, that you haven't heard about the
coming of the Loyalists? Why, we've been expecting them for some time."

"I never heard of them," Dane confessed, "and have no idea who they
are."

"They are the ones who stood by King George during the Revolutionary
War, of course. When England gave up the fight, and peace was decided
upon, the Loyalists were in a bad way. Their property was confiscated,
and they themselves treated very badly. They would not live under the
new flag of their enemies, so they got out, and here they are."

Dane glanced out toward the ships with the light of intense interest in
his eyes. What a story he would have to tell his comrades in the
wilderness. They all knew about the war, but no word had reached them
of the coming of the Loyalists.

"Didn't you want them to come here?" he asked turning to the sentry.

"Want them? Why, we had nothing to say about the matter."

"But didn't you fire upon them? I heard the roar of the guns when out
in the hills."

The soldier threw back his head and gave a hearty laugh. He was
enjoying this conversation, as it broke the monotony of his duty.

"We weren't firing upon them," he explained. "That was only a salute
of welcome."

"What are all those people going to do?" Dane asked. "How are they to
make a living?"

"Oh, I suppose many will settle here, while others will take up land
and farm. It will be some time, though, before everything is
straightened out. Just look at that crowd down there," and he motioned
to the trading post. "I guess we'll have our hands full keeping order.
I don't envy the Major his job."

"And there are others he must handle as well," Dane replied. "I must
see him at once. Which is the best road to take?"

"You better follow that one along the side of the hill," the soldier
advised, pointing to the right. "There is a short cut down over the
bank some distance ahead. You can't miss it. There is another along
the waterfront leading to the mill-pond. That's the best one to take
coming back."

Thanking the friendly sentry, Dane hurried away, and in about fifteen
minutes came near the trading post. He walked slower now, greatly
interested in everything he beheld, from the quaint store to the people
gathered ground the building.

For years this post at Portland Point had been the Mecca for the entire
country. The owners, Simonds and White, carried on an extensive trade
with both Indians and whites. Enduring and overcoming great
difficulties, they laid the foundation of what to-day is the City of
St. John. The most important event, however, in all their career at
Portland Point was the arrival of the thousands of exiles in their
midst. They gave them a hearty welcome, and did all in their power to
aid them in the land of their adoption.

As Dane approached the crowd, he looked keenly about for Major
Studholme. Although he had never seen him, he imagined that he would
know him at once. He surely would be a large man, of princely bearing,
who would be busy issuing orders to his men. But although he saw a
number of soldiers, there was no one who measured Up to his ideal of
the commander of the Fort.

At length he observed a man, who from his uniform seemed to be an
officer, seated at a small rough table near the store door. He was
busy writing, and passing pieces of paper to men standing before him.
Surely he must be the Major, Dane thought, so stepping forward, he
stood for a few minutes close to the table. He soon learned that the
officer was issuing orders to the Loyalists for boards, shingles,
clapboards, and bricks for the building of their houses. For a while
he had no chance to speak to the man, but waiting his opportunity, he
at last stood before him.

"Are you Major Studholme?" he asked.

"No," the officer replied, laying down his pen with a sigh of
weariness. "I am merely acting in the Major's place."

Then he looked at Dane more closely, and his interest became aroused.
He knew at once that this young man was not one of the newly-arrived
exiles, but a courier from the wilderness. He noted his buckskin garb,
finely-built body, erect manner, and the bright open countenance. He
had seen special couriers before, and they had all been men worthy of
more than a passing glance. But this young man surpassed them all, and
he looked upon him with admiration.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he at length asked.

"I have a message for the Major," Dane explained, "and I must deliver
it to him."

"Give it to me," and the officer reached out his hand. "I am
Lieutenant Street, and I shall see that the Major gets it."

"That I cannot do," Dane replied as he drew back a step. "I have
strict orders to give it to Major Studholme, and to no one else."

"It must be very important, then," and the officer smiled.

"It is, and the Major must get it at once. Where is he?"

"Over there," and the Lieutenant motioned across the water to the right
where the small boats were still busy landing people from the ships.
"He's got his hands full straightening things out. But he can do it if
any one can."

The officer now turned his attention to several impatient men who were
standing near, so further conversation was out of the question. Dane
had taken no notice of those around him. Neither did he see three men
watching his every movement. They had evidently overheard his
conversation with the officer, and seemed greatly pleased. As Dane
left the place and walked toward the road leading to the mill-pond, the
three followed. They kept some distance behind until they came to a
grove of rough tangled trees, when they started forward at a run.
Dane, hearing them coming, stopped and looked back. Instinctively the
caution of the wild possessed him, causing him to stand on the
defensive, and his eyes to gleam with the light of danger.

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