Old Friends in a Sad Plight.  
Anxious though Paul Burns naturally was for the fate of the crew of the Water Wagtail, he could not help being interested in and impressed by the fine country which he was thus unexpectedly obliged to traverse. His mind being of a practical and utilitarian cast, as well as religious, he not only admired the grand and richly diversified land as being part of the works of God, but as being eminently suitable for the use and enjoyment of man.
 
“Look there,” he said to Captain Trench, as they plodded steadily along, at the same time pointing to a break in a neighbouring cliff which revealed the geological features of the land. “Do you see yonder beds of rock of almost every colour in the rainbow? These are marble-beds, and from the look of the parts that crop out I should say they are extensive.”
 
“But not of much use,” returned the captain, “so long as men are content to house themselves in huts of bark and skins.”
 
“So might some short-sighted mortal among our own savage forefathers have said long ago if the mineral wealth of Britain had been pointed out to him,” returned Paul. “Yet we have lived to see the Abbey of Westminster and many other notable edifices arise in our land.”
 
“Then you look forward to such-like rising in this land?” said the captain, with something of a cynical smile.
 
“Well, not exactly, Master Trench; but our grandchildren may see them, if men will only colonise the land and strive to develop its resources on Christian principles.”
 
“Such as—?” asked Trench.
 
“Such as the doing to others as one would have others do to one’s-self, and the enacting of equal laws for rich and poor.”
 
“Then will Newfoundland never be developed,” said the captain emphatically; “for history tells us that the bulk of men have never been guided by such principles since the days of Adam.”
 
“Since when were you enrolled among the prophets, Master Trench?”
 
“Since you uttered the previous sentence, Master Paul. I appeal to your own knowledge of history.”
 
“Nay, I question not your historical views, but your prophetical statements, as to the fate of this island. Have you not heard of this writing—that ‘the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth as the waters cover the sea?’ Does not that signify completeness in the spread of knowledge? And when that comes to pass, will it bear no good fruit? If not, why is it recorded as a blessed state of things to which we may look forward, and towards which we may strive? I admit that the wickedness of man may delay the desired end. Unjust laws, interference with freedom of action, hatred of truth, may check progress here as it has done elsewhere; but who can tell how soon the truth, as it is in Jesus, may begin to operate, or how rapidly it may culminate?”
 
“You may be right, Master Paul; I know not. Anyhow I withdraw my claim to be numbered with the prophets—all the more that I see Strongbow making signals which I don’t rightly understand.”
 
The Indian guide, who had been walking somewhat in advance of the party, was seen standing on the summit of a knoll making signals, not to his friends behind him, but apparently to some one in front. Hastening forward they soon found that he had discovered friends,—a body of Indians, who were hurrying to meet him; while down in the valley beyond, which suddenly burst upon their view, stood an extensive Indian village. It was of that evanescent and movable kind, which consists of cone-like tents made of skins and bark spread upon poles.
 
“They are friends,” said Strongbow, when Hendrick and the others reached him; “kinsmen of the murdered Little Beaver.”
 
“Friends of Hendrick also, I see,” said the captain to Paul, as the hunter hastened forward to meet the Indians and salute them.
 
He was right, and a few minutes’ conversation with his friends sufficed to put the guide in possession of all he wished to know. Returning to his companions, he at once relieved their minds, to some extent at least, by telling them that it was indeed the tribe into whose hands their old shipmates had fallen, and that the sailors were still alive and well, though prisoners, and lying under sentence of death.
 
“Come, that at all events is good news,” said Paul. “I thank God we are not too late, and I make no doubt that we will persuade the Indians to delay execution of the sentence till we find out whether or not they have been guilty of this murder. Some of our old shipmates I know are capable of it, but others are certainly innocent.”
 
Hendrick did not at once reply. It was evident from his looks that he had not much hope in the merciful disposition of the Indians.
 
“I know some men of this tribe,” he said, “but not all of them—though they all know me by report. You may at least depend on my influence being used to the utmost in behalf of your friends. Come, we will descend.”
 
A few minutes’ walk brought them to the foot of the hill where the Indian tents were pitched. Here they found a multitude of men, women, and children watching them as they descended the hill, and, from the looks of many of the former, it seemed not at all improbable that a rough reception awaited them.
 
“You see,” said Paul, in a low voice to the captain, “they probably class us with the murderers, because of our white skins. Our only hope, under God, rests in Hendrick.”
 
That Paul’s hope was not ill-founded became apparent the moment the hunter made himself known. For the scowling brows cleared at once, and one or two men, who had formerly met with the white hunter, came forward and saluted him in the European manner which he had already taught to many of the red men, namely, with a shake of the hand.
 
A great palaver followed in the wigwam of the chief, Bearpaw, in the course of which many things were talked about; but we confine our record to that part of the talk which bears specially on our tale.
 
“The men must die,” said Bearpaw sternly. “What you tell me about their harsh treatment of their chief and his son and friend only proves them to be the more deserving of death. My two young braves who visited them on the island were treated like dogs by some of them, and Little Beaver they have slain. It is just that they should die.”
 
“But my three friends here,” returned Hendrick, “treated your braves well, and they had no knowledge or part in the killing of Little Beaver. Perhaps the palefaces did not kill him. Do they admit that they did?”
 
“How can we tell what they admit? We know not their language, nor they ours. But there is no need to palaver. Did not Strongbow a............