Ouenwa, but failed signally. They parted, however, with the most friendly feelings toward one another.

After the interview with Kingswell, Ouenwa spent most of his time gazing longingly at the ships in the bay, and picturing the life aboard them, and the countries from which they had come. One morning Kingswell called to him from the land-wash. He ran down, delighted at the attention. Kingswell pointed to a small, open boat which the carpenter of the Heart of the West had just completed. Then, by signs and a few words, he told Ouenwa that he was going northward in the little craft, to explore the coast, and that he would be back with the fleet before the birch leaves were yellow. Ouenwa begged to be taken on the expedition and afterward across the seas. He offered his canoe-load of beaver skins. He tried to tell of his great desire to see the lodges of the strangers, and to learn their speech. He did not want to live the life of his own people. Kingswell caught the general trend of the Beothic's remarks. He had no objection to driving a good bargain. So he made clear to him that he was to come alongside the ship, with the beaver skins, on the following night.

The sky was black with clouds, and a fog wrapped the harbour, when Ouenwa stepped into his loaded canoe and pushed out toward the spot where Trowley's ship lay at anchor. He had dragged his skins from Montaw's lodge earlier in the night, without disturbing the slumbers of either his guardian or Pot Friend. Age had dulled their ears and thickened their sleep. He paddled noiselessly. Sounds of roistering came to his ears, muffled by the fog. Presently the admiral's ship loomed close ahead. Lights blinked fore and aft. She seemed a tremendous thing to the lad, though in truth she was but of one hundred tons. Singing and laughter were ripe aboard.

For the first time a fear of the strangers took possession of Ouenwa. Even his trust in Kingswell faltered. He ceased paddling, and listened, with bated breath, to the hoarse shouts of merriment and the clapping oaths. Then curiosity overcame his fear. He slid his long canoe under the stem of the Heart of the West. A cheering glow of candle-light yellowed the fog above him. He stood up and found that his head was on a level with the sill of a square port. It stood open. He heard Kingswell's voice, and Trowley's. The master-mariner's was gusty and argumentative. It broke out at intervals, like the flapping of a sail.

Ouenwa steadied himself with his hands on the casing of the open port, and lifted to tiptoe. Now he could see into the little cabin, and hear the conversation of its inmates. Happily for his feelings, he could understand only a word or two of that conversation. He saw Kingswell and the master of the ship seated opposite one another at a small table. Upon the table stood candles in metal sticks, a bottle, and glasses. The old sea-dog's bearded face was working with excitement. He slapped his great flipper-like hand on the polished surface of the board.

"Now who be master o' this ship?" he bawled. "Tell me that, will 'e. Who be master?"

"I am the owner, you'll kindly remember, John Trowley," replied Kingswell, with a ring of anger in his voice, but a smile on his lips.

"Ay, ye be owner, but John Trowley be skipper," roared the other, glaring so hard that his round, pale eyes fairly bulged from his face. "An' no dirty redskin sails in ship o' mine unless as a servant, or afore the mast,—no, not if he pays his passage with all th' pelts in Newfoundland."

"You are mistaken, my friend," replied Kingswell. "I'll carry fifty of these people back to Bristol, if it so pleases me."

"I'll put ye in irons, my fine gentleman," retorted the seaman.

"You are drunk," cried the young adventurer, drawing back his right hand as if to strike the great, scowling face that bent toward him across the table.

"Drunk, d'ye say! An' ye'd lift yer hand against the ship's master, would ye?" shouted Trowley. He lurched forward, and a knife flashed above the overturned bottle and glasses.

Ouenwa emitted a horrified scream, and hurled his paddle spear-wise into the cabin. The rounded point of the blade caught Trowley on the side of the head, and sent him crashing to the deck.