ROM the River St. Jolm, where her grand-parents had settled after the Revolutionary War, Nancy Blismore was sent to England to school. For several years after finishing school she remained in England with relatives. There she first met young Captain Thomas Stanway.
When Nancy was eighteen years old, she returned to her home in New Brunswick. Captain Stanway resigned his commission in the Army, and followed her. They were married with considerable pomp, and then went to live for a while with the bride's parents. Stanway bought a big island in the river, not far from the Blismore place, and on a natural mound near the head of the island he built a house. In June of the year following their marriage they moved into the new house on Haystack Island. The house stood among fine elms, and looked out on hundreds of wild, rich meadows and on the blue reaches of the river.
In those days Captain Stanway always dressed according to the latest fashions. He wore long side-whiskers, brown and fine as silk, and in his left eye he wore an eyeglass. But he was a good citizen, a good husband, a good farmer, and, later, a good father. He had a tender heart, although his manner was sometimes abrupt with strangers. When he was angry or disgusted, his grey eyes could harden like glass. The smoky-faced Malacites stood in awe of him until they knew him.
One day late in September Captain Stanway breakfasted by candlelight. The ducks were flying—dusky duck, teal, sheldrake, and wood duck gathered in the ponds and the backwaters of the Islands for their south-west flight. The Captain's two fine fowling-pieces had been cleaned the night before. When the Captain had finished his breakfast, he sent for Gabe Paul, who was a cunning hunter. Word came back that Gabe was very ill, but that Gabe's sister's husband, Noel Bear, would take his place for the day's shooting. The Captain went immediately to Gabe's hut, in order to give the sick man a dose of medicine if he should need it. Gabe was not at home. His squaw knew nothing of his illness; all she knew was that he had set off an hour before for the mainland, to hunt moose with Beaver Bill.
The Captain was angry with Gabe Paul. He was so much vexed, in fact, that he spoke rather sharply to Gabe's substitute, Noel Bear. Noel, whose home was about three miles up river on the eastern shore, had spent the night on the island. He seemed a dull-witted, sulky fellow. The Captain gave him a few lessons in quick and accurate loading in the gun-room at the back of the big hall. Then the Indian hung the flasks of powder and shot about his neck, put the percussion caps into one pocket of his shabby coat and the wads into the other.
Followed by two Indian boys who worked on the island farm, and two brown spaniels, the Captain and his loader set out. It was still early. The sun was on the horizon, and its level golden rays shot over wood, river, and meadow. There was a nip of frost in the air; narrow yellow leaves rustled down from the willows; the aftermath glistened with drops of dew.
The Captain led the way across the meadows to a marshy place that sloped down to the grey-brown sand of the shore. On the right a gully, knee-deep with tall grasses and sappy water-lilies, ran at a long slant into the interior of the island. The gully was flooded at high water, but now was almost dry.
The two boys moved on noiselessly; the Captain, Noel Bear, and the dogs took post in a clump of shore willows. The Captain moved forward a step or so, in order to have a clearer view. The loader stood a yard behind him, with a sulky scowl on his dark face. The dogs lay flat at the edge of the thicket.
Suddenly, with a flapping and splashing, five ducks rose from among the lily pads and came flying down toward the ambush. Up went the Captain's gun; the report of the right barrel was followed close by the clap of the left. One duck dropped from the flock and struck the ground with a thud.
Instantly more birds appeared in the air. Some flew directly over the clump of willows, some passed to the right, and some to the left. Their short strong wings whistled through the air. The Captain exchanged the empty gun for the loaded one. Again he fired the two barrels. Again he exchanged guns. Still the birds came on; sometimes one dropped, sometimes two. They flew along, singly, in pairs, in groups, with their necks straight out. Their wings, set far back on their bodies, shrilled in the air. The Captain shot fast, and Noel Bear rammed the charges into the empty gun as if his life depended upon it. The white powder-smoke clung to the tops of the willows like a fog.