



Produced by Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)






BROTHERS OF PERIL

A Story of Old Newfoundland




_WORKS OF THEODORE ROBERTS_

_The Red Feathers_           _$1.50_
_Brothers of Peril_           _1.50_
_Hemming the Adventurer_      _1.50_


_L. C. PAGE & COMPANY_ _New England Building, Boston, Mass._


[Illustration: "A VIVID CIRCLE OF RED ON THE SNOW OF THAT NAMELESS
WILDERNESS"]




Brothers of Peril

A Story of Old Newfoundland

By

Theodore Roberts
_Author of_ "Hemming, the Adventurer"

_Illustrated by_ H. C. Edwards

[Illustration: Logo]

_Boston_ L. C. Page & Company _Mdccccv_


_Copyright, 1905_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)

_All rights reserved_

Published June, 1905
Second Impression, March, 1908

_COLONIAL PRESS
Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co.
Boston, Mass., U.S.A._




Preface


During the three centuries directly following John Cabot's discovery of
Newfoundland, that unfortunate island was the sport of careless kings,
selfish adventurers, and diligent pirates. While England, France, Spain,
and Portugal were busy with courts and kings, and with spectacular
battles, their fishermen and adventurers toiled together and fought
together about the misty headlands of that far island. Fish, not glory,
was their quest! Full cargoes, sweetly cured, was their desire--and let
fame go hang!

The merchants of England undertook the guardianship of the "Newfounde
Land." In greed, in valour, and in achievement they won their mastery.
Their greed was a two-edged sword which cut all 'round. It hounded the
aborigines; it bullied the men of France and Spain; it discouraged the
settlement of the land by stout hearts of whatever nationality. It was
the dream of those merchant adventurers of Devon to have the place
remain for ever nothing but a fishing-station. They faced the pirates,
the foreign fishers, the would-be settlers, and the natural hardships
with equal fortitude and insolence. When some philosopher dreamed of
founding plantations in the king's name and to the glory of God,
England, and himself, then would the greedy merchants slay or <DW36>
the philosopher's dream in the very palace of the king. Ay, they were
powerful enough at court, though so little remarked in the histories of
the times! But, ever and anon, some gentleman adventurer, or humble
fisherman from the ships, would escape their vigilance and strike a blow
at the inscrutable wilderness.

The fishing admirals loom large in the history of the island. They were
the hands and eyes of the wealthy merchants. The master of the first
vessel to enter any harbour at the opening of the season was, for a
greater or lesser period of time, admiral and judge of that harbour. It
was his duty to parcel out anchorage, and land on which to dry fish, to
each ship in the harbour; to see that no sailors from the fleet escaped
into the woods; to discourage any visions of settlement which sight of
the rugged forests might raise in the romantic heads of the gentlemen of
the fleet; to see that all foreigners were hustled on every occasion,
and to take the best of everything for himself. Needless to say, it was
a popular position with the hard-fisted skippers.

In the narratives of the early explorers frequent mention is made of the
peaceful nature of the aborigines. At first they displayed unmistakable
signs of friendly feeling. They were all willingness to trade with the
loud-mouthed strangers from over the eastern horizon. They helped at the
fishing, and at the hunting of seals and caribou. They bartered
priceless pelts for iron hatchets and glass trinkets. Later, however, we
read of treachery and murder on the parts of both the visitors and the
natives. The itch of slave-dealing led some of the more daring
shipmasters and adventurers to capture, and carry back to England,
Beothic braves and maidens. Many of the kidnapped savages were kindly
treated and made companions of by English noblemen and gentlefolk. It is
recorded that more than one Beothic brave sported a sword at his hip in
fashionable places of London Town before Death cut the silken bonds of
his motley captivity.

Master John Guy, an alderman of Bristol, who obtained a Royal Charter in
1610, to settle and develop Newfoundland, wrote of the Beothics as a
kindly and mild-mannered race. Of their physical characteristics he
says: "They are of middle size, broad-chested, and very erect.... Their
hair is diverse, some black, some brown, and some yellow."

As to the ultimate fate of the Beothics there are several suppositions.
An aged Micmac squaw, who lives on Hall's Bay, Notre Dame Bay, says that
her father, in his youth, knew the last of the Beothics. At that
time--something over a hundred years ago--the race numbered between one
and two hundred souls. They made periodical excursions to the salt water
to fish, and to trade with a few friendly whites and Nova Scotian
Micmacs. But, for the most part, they avoided the settlements. They had
reason enough for so doing, for many of the settlers considered a
lurking Beothic as fair a target for his buckshot as a bear or caribou.
One November day a party of Micmac hunters tried to follow the remnant
of the broken race on their return trip to the great wilderness of the
interior. The trail was lost in a fall of snow on the night of the first
day of the journey. And there, with the obliterated trail, ends the
world's knowledge of the original inhabitants of Newfoundland; save of
one woman of the race named Mary March, who died, a self-ordained
fugitive about the outskirts of civilization, some ninety years ago.

To-day there are a few bones in the museum at St. John's. One hears
stories of grassy circles beside the lakes and rivers, where wigwams
once stood. Flint knives and arrow-heads are brought to light with the
turning of the farmer's furrow. But the language of the lost tribe is
forgotten, and the history of it is unrecorded.

In the following tale I have drawn the wilderness of that far time in
the likeness of the wilderness as I knew it, and loved it, a few short
years ago. The seasons bring their oft-repeated changes to brown barren,
shaggy wood, and empurpled hill; but the centuries pass and leave no
mark. I have dared to resurrect an extinct tribe for the purposes of
fiction. I have drawn inspiration from the spirit of history rather than
the letter! But the heart of the wilderness, and the hearts of men and
women, I have pictured, in this romance of olden time, as I know them
to-day.

T. R.

_November, 1904._




CONTENTS


CHAPTER                                                      PAGE
     I. A BOY WINS HIS MAN-NAME                                 1

    II. THE OLD CRAFTSMAN BY THE SALT WATER                     9

   III. THE FIGHT IN THE MEADOW                                16

    IV. OUENWA SETS OUT ON A VAGUE QUEST                       24

     V. THE ADMIRAL OF THE HARBOUR                             34

    VI. THE FANGS OF THE WOLF SLAYER                           43

   VII. THE SILENT VILLAGE                                     56

  VIII. A LETTER FOR OUENWA                                    65

    IX. AN UNCHARTERED PLANTATION                              73

     X. GENTRY AT FORT BEATRIX                                 83

    XI. THE SETTING-IN OF WINTER                               94

   XII. MEDITATION AND ACTION                                 104

  XIII. SIGNS OF A DIVIDED HOUSE                              116

   XIV. A TRICK OF PLAY-ACTING                                126

    XV. THE HIDDEN MENACE                                     133

   XVI. THE CLOVEN HOOF                                       140

  XVII. THE CONFIDENCE OF YOUTH                               148

 XVIII. EVENTS AND REFLECTIONS                                156

   XIX. TWO OF A KIND                                         164

    XX. BY ADVICE OF BLACK FEATHER                            174

   XXI. THE SEEKING OF THE TRIBESMEN                          183

  XX