I
made some ado to eat cheerfully, for I saw that the men were surly from
this unnecessary hardship. The western Indians were friendly, and if
we had not had this incubus of an Englishman on our hands we should
have had fire and song, a boiling pot, and roasting maize cakes. There
was no muttering among the men, for I was there, but they looked
glowering, and drew away.
The Englishman ate in silence. I was too ruffled and crossgrained to
talk to him, but I could not keep myself from watching him. His eyes
were less sad than I had thought. I could imagine that they might
easily be merry. But they were watchful eyes. He saw the discontent
among the men, and finally he rose and went to them. I followed him
with some warning in my look, for I thought that he was vexed, and I
knew that his tongue was sharp, but I realized in a moment that his
brain was in control and that he was safe.
"I have brought you all discomfort," he said, with a shake of the head,
and his slow French gave his words more meaning than they perhaps
deserved. "I regret this. It is hard for me to bear, for it is new to
me to be a burden. But what can I do? I cannot go away. I am not
enamored of this voyage, for I do not like being thrust upon your
company, but you saved my life, and I have no right to throw away what
you went to such lengths to preserve.
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