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diff --git a/28958-h/28958-h.htm b/28958-h/28958-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..9a0ba34 --- /dev/null +++ b/28958-h/28958-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11773 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Road to Frontenac, by Samuel Merwin</title> +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + .image-left {padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-right: 1em; float: left; clear: left; margin-top: 1em; text-align: center;font-size: smaller; color: black; background: white; border: none;} + h3 {font-size:1.0em;} + h1,h2,h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center;} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:center;} + .image-caption {padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .1em; text-align: justify; font-size: smaller; width: 200px;} + .caption {font-size:smaller;} + hr.tb {border:none; margin-top: 2em;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + h1 {font-size:1.4em;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + h2 {font-size:1.2em;} + + h1.pg {text-align:center; font-weight:bold; font-size: 190%; } + h3.pg {text-align:center; font-weight:bold; font-size: 110%; } + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Road to Frontenac, by Samuel Merwin</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Road to Frontenac</p> +<p>Author: Samuel Merwin</p> +<p>Release Date: May 24, 2009 [eBook #28958]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROAD TO FRONTENAC***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by Roger Frank<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h1>THE ROAD TO FRONTENAC</h1> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 369px; height: 567px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 369px;'> +“Half way down the steps was a double file of Indians chained two and two.”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='letter-spacing:0.1em;font-size:2em;margin-bottom:50px;margin-top:50px;'>THE ROAD TO<br />FRONTENAC</p> +<p class='tp' >BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;'>SAMUEL MERWIN</p> +<div style='margin:40px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.png' /> +</div> +<p class='tp' >NEW YORK</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;'>DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & CO.</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:50px;'>1901</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div style='font-size:smaller;'> +<p class='tp' style='font-variant:small-caps;'>Copyright, 1901, by Frank Leslie Publishing House.<br /> +Copyright, 1901, by Doubleday, Page & Company.</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><span style='font-size:small;'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Captain Menard Has a Lazy Day. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_I_CAPTAIN_MENARD_HAS_A_LAZY_DAY'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Maid. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_II_THE_MAID'>19</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Mademoiselle Eats Her Breakfast. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_III_MADEMOISELLE_EATS_HER_BREAKFAST'>38</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Long Arrow. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IV_THE_LONG_ARROW'>61</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Danton Breaks Out. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_V_DANTON_BREAKS_OUT'>83</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Fight at La Gallette. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VI_THE_FIGHT_AT_LA_GALLETTE'>103</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A Compliment for Menard. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VII_A_COMPLIMENT_FOR_MENARD'>127</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Maid Makes New Friends. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VIII_THE_MAID_MAKES_NEW_FRIENDS'>147</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Word of an Onondaga. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IX_THE_WORD_OF_AN_ONONDAGA'>169</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A Night Council. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_X_A_NIGHT_COUNCIL'>191</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Big Throat Speaks. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XI_THE_BIG_THROAT_SPEAKS'>212</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Long House. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XII_THE_LONG_HOUSE'>235</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Voice of the Great Mountain. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIII_THE_VOICE_OF_THE_GREAT_MOUNTAIN'>254</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Where the Dead Sit. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIV_WHERE_THE_DEAD_SIT'>272</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Bad Doctor. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XV_THE_BAD_DOCTOR'>293</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>At the Long Lake. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVI_AT_THE_LONG_LAKE'>314</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Northward. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVII_NORTHWARD'>337</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XVIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Only Way. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVIII_THE_ONLY_WAY'>359</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XIX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Frontenac. </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIX_FRONTENAC'>383</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<col style='width:80%;' /> +<col style='width:20%;' /> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“Half way down the steps was a double file of Indians chained two and two.”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“Sitting on a bundle was, a girl, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years old.”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>36</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“The Indians walked silently to the fire.”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>64</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>“Menard stood ... smiling with the same look of scorn he had worn ... when they led him to the torture.”</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'>256</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span></div> +<p style='font-size:1.3em; text-align:center; margin-top:3em; margin-bottom:1em;'>The Road to Frontenac.</p> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 0; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_I_CAPTAIN_MENARD_HAS_A_LAZY_DAY' id='CHAPTER_I_CAPTAIN_MENARD_HAS_A_LAZY_DAY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<h3>CAPTAIN MENARD HAS A LAZY DAY.</h3> +</div> +<p>Captain Daniel Menard leaned +against the parapet at the outer edge of +the citadel balcony. The sun was high, the +air clear and still. Beneath him, at the foot +of the cliff, nestled the Lower Town, a strip +of shops and houses, hemmed in by the palisades +and the lower battery. The St. Lawrence +flowed by, hardly stirred by the light +breeze. Out in the channel, beyond the merchantmen, +lay three ships of war, <i>Le Fourgon</i>, +<i>Le Profond</i>, and <i>La Perle</i>, each with a cluster +of supply boats at her side; and the stir and +rattle of tackle and chain coming faintly over +the water from <i>Le Fourgon</i> told that she would +sail for France on the morrow, if God should +choose to send the wind.</p> +<p>Looking almost straight down, Menard could +see the long flight of steps that climbed from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +the settlement on the water front to the nobler +city on the heights. Halfway down the steps +was a double file of Indians, chained two and +two, and guarded by a dozen regulars from his +own company. He watched them until they +reached the bottom and disappeared behind +the row of buildings that ended on the wharf +in Patron’s trading store. In a moment they +reappeared, and marched across the wharf, +toward the two boats from <i>Le Fourgon</i> that +awaited them. Even from the height, Menard +could see that the soldiers had a stiff task to +control their prisoners. After one of the boats, +laden deep, had shoved off, there was a struggle, +and the crowd of idlers that had gathered +scattered suddenly. Two Indians had broken +away, and were running across the wharf, with +a little knot of soldiers close on their heels. +One of the soldiers, leaping forward, brought +the stock of his musket down on the head of +the nearer Indian. The fugitive went down, +dragging with him his companion, who tugged +desperately at the chain. A soldier drew his +knife, and cut off the dead Indian’s arm close +to the iron wristlet, breaking the bone with +his foot. Then they led back the captive and +tumbled him into the boat, with the hand of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +his comrade dangling at the end of the chain. +The incident had excited the soldiers, and they +kicked and pounded the prisoners. A crowd +gathered about the body on the wharf, the +bolder ones snatching at his beads and wampum +belt.</p> +<p>Menard raised his eyes to the lands across +the river and to the white cloud-puffs above. +After months of camp and canoe, sleeping in +snow and rain, and by day paddling, poling, +and wading,––never a new face among the +grumbling soldiers or the stolid prisoners,––after +this, Quebec stood for luxury and the +pleasant demoralization of good living. He +liked the noise of passing feet, the hail of goodwill +from door to door, the plodding shopkeepers +and artisans, the comfortable priests in +brown and gray.</p> +<p>The sound of oars brought his eyes again +to the river. The two boats with their loads +of redskins were passing the merchantmen that +lay between the men-of-war and the city. On +the wharf, awaiting a second trip, was a huddled +group of prisoners. Menard’s face clouded as +he watched them. Men of his experience were +wondering what effect this new plan of the +Governor’s would have upon the Iroquois. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +Capturing a hunting party by treachery and +shipping them off to the King’s galleys was a +bold stroke,––too bold, perhaps. Governor +Frontenac would never have done this; he +knew the Iroquois temper too well. Governor +la Barre, for all his bluster, would not have +dared. It was certain that this new governor, +Denonville, was not a coward; but as Menard +reflected, going back over his own fifteen years +of frontier life, he knew that this policy of +brute force would be sorely tested by the tact +and intrigue of the Five Nations. His own +part in the capture little disturbed him. He +had obeyed orders. He had brought the band +to the citadel at Quebec without losing a man +(saving the poor devil who had strangled himself +with his own thongs at La Gallette).</p> +<p>To such men as Menard, whose lives were +woven closely into the fabric of New France, +the present condition was clear. Many an +evening he had spent with Major d’Orvilliers, +at Fort Frontenac, in talking over the recent +years of history into which their two names +and their two lives had gone so deeply. Until +his recall to France in 1682, Governor Frontenac +had been for ten years building up in the +Iroquois heart a fear and awe of Onontio, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +Great Father, at Quebec. D’Orvilliers knew +that period the better, for Menard had not +come over (from the little town of his birth, +in Picardy) until Frontenac’s policy was well +established. But Menard had lived hard and +rapidly during his first years in the province, +and he was a stern-faced young soldier when +he stood on the wharf, hat in hand and sword +to chin, watching New France’s greatest governor +sitting erect in the boat that bore him +away from his own. Menard had been initiated +by a long captivity among the Onondagas, and +had won his first commission by gallant action +under the Governor’s eye.</p> +<p>In those days no insult went unpunished; +no tribe failed twice in its obligations. The +circle of French influence was firmly extended +around the haunts of the Iroquois in New York +and along the Ohio. From Frontenac, on Lake +Ontario, north to Hudson’s Bay, was French +land. To the westward, along the Ottawa +River, and skirting the north shore of Lake +Huron to Michillimackinac and Green Bay, +were the strong French allies, the Hurons, +Ottawas, Nipissings, Kiskagons, Sacs, Foxes, +and Mascoutins. Down at the lower end of +Lake Michigan, at the Chicagou and St. Joseph +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +portages, were the Miamis; and farther still, +the Illinois, whom the Sieur de la Salle and +Henri de Tonty had drawn close under the +arm of New France.</p> +<p>This chain of allies, with Du Luth’s fort at +Detroit and a partial control over Niagara, had +given New France nearly all the fur trade of the +Great Lakes. The English Governor Dongan, +of New York, dared not to fight openly for it, +but he armed the Iroquois and set them against +the French. Menard had laughed when the +word came, in 1684, from Father de Lamberville, +whose influence worked so far toward +keeping the Iroquois quiet, that Dongan had +pompously set up the arms of his king in each +Iroquois village, even dating them back a year +to make his claim the more secure. Every old +soldier knew that more than decrees and coats +of arms were needed to win the Five Nations.</p> +<p>When La Barre succeeded Frontenac, lacking +the tact and firmness which had established +Frontenac’s name among foes and allies alike, +he fell back upon bluster (to say nothing of the +common talk in Quebec that he had set out to +build up his private fortune by the fur trade). +Learning that, by his grant of Fort Frontenac, +La Salle was entitled to a third of the trade +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +that passed through it, he seized the fort. He +weakened La Salle’s communications so greatly +that La Salle and Tonty could not make good +their promises of French protection to the Illinois. +This made it possible for the Iroquois, +unhindered, to lay waste the Illinois country. +By equally shortsighted methods, La Barre so +weakened the ties that bound the northern +allies, and so increased the arrogance of the +Iroquois, that when Governor Denonville took +up the task, most of the allies, always looking +to the stronger party, were on the point of +going over to the Iroquois. This would give +the fur trade to the English, and ruin New +France. Governor Dongan seized the moment +to promise better bargains for the peltry than +the French could offer. It remained for the +new governor to make a demonstration which +would establish firmly the drooping prestige of +New France.</p> +<p>Now the spring of 1687 was just ending. +Since February it had been spread abroad, +from the gulf seignories to Fort Frontenac, +that preparations were making for a great +campaign against the Iroquois. Champigny, +the new Intendant, had scoured the country for +supplies, and now was building bateaux and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +buying canoes. Regulars and militia were +drilling into the semblance of an army, and +palisades and defences were everywhere built +or strengthened, that the home guard might keep +the province secure during the long absence of +the troops. Menard wondered, as he snapped +bits of stone off the parapet, and watched the +last boatload of galley slaves embarking at the +wharf, whether the Governor’s plans would carry. +He would undoubtedly act with precision, he +would follow every detail of campaigning to the +delight of the tacticians, he would make a great +splash,––and then? How about the wily chiefs +of the Senecas and Onondagas and Mohawks? +They had hoodwinked La Barre into signing +the meanest treaty that ever disgraced New +France. Would Denonville, too, blind himself +to the truth that shrewd minds may work behind +painted faces?</p> +<p>But above all else, Menard was a soldier. +He snapped another bit of stone, and gave up +the problem. He would fight at the Governor’s +orders, retreat at the Governor’s command,––to +the Governor would belong the credit or the +blame. Of only one thing was he sure,––his +own half hundred men should fight as they had +always fought, and should hold their posts to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +the end. There ended his responsibility. And +did not the good Fathers say that God was +watching over New France?</p> +<p>Meantime the breath of summer was in the +air. The spring campaign was over for Menard. +So he rested both elbows on the parapet, and +wondered how long the leaves had been out in +Picardy. Over beyond the ships and the river +were waves of the newest green, instead of the +deep, rich colour and the bloom of full life he +had left behind at Fort Frontenac but two +weeks back. The long journey down the St. +Lawrence had seemed almost a descent into +winter. On the way to Quebec every day and +every league had brought fewer blossoms. Even +Montreal, sixty leagues to the south, had her +summer before Quebec.</p> +<p>On the wharf below him the crowd were still +plucking the dead Indian. Menard could hear +their laughter and shouts. Their figures were +small in the distance, their actions grotesque. +One man was dancing, brandishing some part +of the Indian’s costume. Menard could not +distinguish the object in his hand. A priest +crossed the wharf and elbowed into the crowd. +For the moment he was lost in the rabble, but +shortly the shouting quieted and the lightheaded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +fellows crowded into a close group. +Probably the priest was addressing them. Soon +the fringe of the crowd thinned, then the others +walked quietly away. When at last the priest +was left alone by the mutilated Indian, he knelt, +and for a space was motionless.</p> +<p>The idleness of reaction was on Menard. +He leaned on the parapet, hardly stirring, while +the priest went on his way across the square +and began toiling up the steps. When he was +halfway up, Menard recognized him for Claude +de Casson, an old Jesuit of the Iroquois mission +at Sault St. Francis Xavier, near Montreal. +Menard strolled through the citadel to the +square, and, meeting the Father, walked with +him.</p> +<p>“Well, Father Claude, you are a long way +from your flock.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Captain Menard, I came with the relations. +I have been”––Father Claude was +blown from his climb, and he paused, wiping +the sweat from his lean face––“I have been +grieved by a spectacle in the Lower Town. +Some wretches had killed an Onondaga with +the brutality of his own tribe, and were robbing +him. Are such acts permitted to-day in Quebec, +M’sieu?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span></p> +<p>“He was a prisoner escaping from the soldiers. +It must be a full year since I last saw +you, Father. I hope you bring a good record +to the College.”</p> +<p>“The best since our founding, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“Is there no word in the relations from the +New York missions?”</p> +<p>“Yes, M’sieu. Brother de Lamberville brings +glorious word from the Mohawks. Twenty-three +complete conversions.”</p> +<p>“You say he brings this word?” Menard’s +brows came together. “Then he has come up +to Montreal?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“It is true, then, that the Iroquois have word +of our plans?”</p> +<p>“It would seem so. He said that a war +party which started weeks ago for the Illinois +country had been recalled. A messenger was +sent out but a few days before he came away.”</p> +<p>Menard slowly shook his head.</p> +<p>“This word should go to the Commandant,” +he said. “How about your Indians at the Mission, +Father Claude? They have not French +hearts.”</p> +<p>“Ah, but I am certain, M’sieu, they would +not break faith with us.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span></p> +<p>“You can trust them?”</p> +<p>“They are Christians, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but they are Iroquois. Have none +of them gone away since this news reached +Quebec?”</p> +<p>“None, save one poor wretch whose drunkenness +long ago caused us to give up hope, +though I––”</p> +<p>“What became of him? Where did he +go?”</p> +<p>“He wandered away in a drunken fit.”</p> +<p>“And you have not heard from him since?”</p> +<p>“No, M’sieu. He was Teganouan, an Onondaga.”</p> +<p>“You would do well, Father, if I may suggest, +to take what news you may have to the Commandant. +You and I know the importance of +trifles at such a time as this. How long do +you remain in Quebec?”</p> +<p>“A few days only, unless there should be work +for me here.”</p> +<p>“Do you return then to Montreal?”</p> +<p>“I cannot say until I have made my report +and delivered the relations. Brother de Lamberville +thinks it important that word should go +to all those who are now labouring in the Iroquois +villages. If they remain after the campaign +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +is fairly started, their lives may be in +danger.”</p> +<p>“You think it necessary to go yourself?”</p> +<p>“What else, M’sieu? This is not the time +to trust too freely an Indian runner. And a +layman might never get through alive. My +habit would be the best safeguard.”</p> +<p>“I suppose you are right. If I should not +see you again, I must ask you to convey my +respect to your colleagues at the Mission. I +shall probably be here until the campaign is +fairly started; perhaps longer. Already I am +tasting the luxury of idleness.”</p> +<p>“A dangerous luxury, M’sieu. If I might +be permitted to advise––”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, Father,––I know, I know. But +what is the use? You are a priest, I am a +soldier. Yours is penance, mine is fighting; +yours is praying, mine is singing,––every man +to his own. And when you priests have got +your pagans converted, we soldiers will clean +up the mess with our muskets. And now, +Father, good day, and may God be with you.”</p> +<p>The priest’s face was unmoved as he looked +after the retreating figure. He had watched +Menard grow from a roistering lieutenant into a +rigid captain, and he knew his temper too well +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +to mind the flicks of banter. But before +the soldier had passed from earshot, he called +after him.</p> +<p>Menard turned back. “What now, good +Father? A mass for my soul, or a last absolution +before I plunge into my term of dissolute +idleness?”</p> +<p>“Neither, my son,” replied the priest, smiling. +“Is any of your idleness to be shared with +another?”</p> +<p>“Certainly, Father.”</p> +<p>“I am bringing a picture to the College.”</p> +<p>“I have no money, Father. I should be a +sorry patron.”</p> +<p>“No, no, M’sieu; it is not a patron I seek. +It is the advice of one who has seen and judged +the master work of Paris. The painting has +been shown to none as yet.”</p> +<p>“But you have seen it?”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, I have seen it. Come with me, +M’sieu; it is at my room.”</p> +<p>They walked together to the cell, six feet long +by five wide, where Father Claude slept when in +Quebec. It was bare of all save a hard cot. A +bale, packed in rough cloth and tied with rope, +lay on the bed. Father Claude opened the +bundle, while Menard leaned against the wall, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +and drew out his few personal belongings and +his portable altar before he reached the flat, +square package at the bottom. There was a +touch of colour in his cheeks and a nervousness +in the movement of his hands as he untied the +flaxen strings, stripped off the cloth, and held +the picture up to Menard’s view.</p> +<p>It was a full-length portrait in oil of a young +Indian woman, holding a small cross in her +right hand, and gazing at it with bent head. +Her left hand was spread upon her breast. She +wore a calico chemise reaching below her knees, +and leggings, and moccasins. A heavy robe +was thrown over the top of her head, falling on +the sides and back to within a foot of the ground. +In the middle background was a stream, with +four Indians in a canoe. A tiny stone chapel +stood on the bank at the extreme right.</p> +<p>Father Claude’s hand trembled as he supported +the canvas upon the cot, and his eyes +wavered from Menard to the picture, and back +again.</p> +<p>“It is not altogether completed,” he said, +nervously. “Of course the detail will be +worked out more fully, and the cross should +be given a warmer radiance. Perhaps a light +showing through the windows of the chapel––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span></p> +<p>“Who is it?” asked Menard.</p> +<p>“It is Catherine Outasoren, the Lily of the +Onondagas,” replied the priest; “the noblest +woman that ever rose from the depths of Indian +superstition.”</p> +<p>Menard’s eyes rested on an obscure signature +in a lower corner, “C. de C.”</p> +<p>“You certainly have reason to be proud of +the work. But may I ask about the perspective? +Should the maiden appear larger than +the chapel?”</p> +<p>The priest gazed at the painting with an +unsettled expression.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, “perhaps you are right, +M’sieu. At any rate I will give the matter +thought and prayer.”</p> +<p>“And the Indians,” Menard questioned, “in +the canoe; are they coming toward the chapel +or going away from it? It seems to me that +any doubt on that point should be removed.”</p> +<p>“Ah,” said the priest; “that very doubt is +allegorical. It typifies the workings of the +human mind when first confronted by the +truth. When the seeker first beholds the light, +as shown through the devotion of such a +woman as Catherine Outasoren, there arises +in his mind––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span></p> +<p>“Very true, very true! But I never yet have +seen a canoe-load of Indians in doubt whether +they were moving forward or backward.”</p> +<p>Father Claude held the canvas at arm’s length +and gazed long at it.</p> +<p>“Tell me, M’sieu,” he said at last, “do you +think it deserving of a place in the College?”</p> +<p>“I do not see why not.”</p> +<p>“And you think I would be justified in laying +a request before the Superior?”</p> +<p>Menard shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>“That is your decision, Father.”</p> +<p>“I never can fully thank you, my son, for +your kindness in looking on my humble work. +I will not decide to-day. First I must add foliage +in the foreground. And I will give it my +earnest prayer.”</p> +<p>Menard said farewell and went out, leaving +the priest gazing at the picture. He strolled +back toward the citadel, stopping now and +then to greet an old friend or a chance acquaintance. +When he arrived at the headquarters +in the citadel he found Danton, a +brown-haired young lieutenant of engineers, +gazing at a heap of plans and other papers +on the table.</p> +<p>“Well, Captain Menard,” was his greeting, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +“I’d give half of last year’s pay, if I ever get it, +to feel as lazy as you look.”</p> +<p>“You are lazy enough,” growled Menard.</p> +<p>“That begs the question. It is not how lazy +a man is, but how lazy he gets a chance to be.”</p> +<p>“If you’d been through what I have this +spring, you’d deserve a rest.”</p> +<p>“You must have had a stirring time,” said +the Lieutenant. “Major Provost has promised +to let me go out with the line when the campaign +starts. I’ve not had a brush since I +came over.”</p> +<p>Menard gave him a quizzical smile before he +replied, “You’ll get brushes enough.”</p> +<p>“By the way, the Major wants to see you.”</p> +<p>“Does he?” said Menard.</p> +<p>He lighted his short pipe with a coal from +the fire and walked out.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II_THE_MAID' id='CHAPTER_II_THE_MAID'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> +<h3>THE MAID.</h3> +</div> +<p>Menard did not go at once to see Major +Provost, the Commandant. He had already +handed in his report at the citadel. It +was probable that this was some new work for +him. He had just settled his mind to the prospect +of a rest, the first since that mad holiday, +seven years before, when word had come that +his lieutenant’s commission was on the way. +That was at Three Rivers. He wanted to idle, +to waste a few weeks for the sheer delight of +extravagance, but his blood did not flow more +quickly at the wish. He was an older man by +a score of years––or was it only seven?</p> +<p>He lingered on the square. The black-eyed +children, mostly dirty and ragged (for the maids +whom the King had sent over by shiploads to +his colonists had not developed into the most +diligent and neat housewives) tumbled about +his feet. He allowed himself to be drawn into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +their play. They had no awe of his uniform, +for it was worn and frayed. He had not yet +taken the trouble to get out his fresher coat and +breeches and boots. He thought of this, and +was again amused. It was another sign of age. +The time had been when his first care after +arriving in Quebec was to don his rich house +uniform and polished scabbard, and step gaily +to the Major’s house to sun himself in the welcome +of the Major’s pretty wife, who had known +his uncle, the Sieur de Vauban, at La Rochelle. +Now he was back in Quebec from months on +the frontier, he was summoned to the Major’s +house, and yet he stayed and laughed at the +children. For the Major’s wife was older, too, +and the vivacity of her youth was thinning out +and uncovering the needle-like tongue beneath. +A slim little urchin was squirming between +his boots, with a pursuing rabble close behind, +and the Captain had to take hold of a young +tree to keep his feet. He turned and started in +pursuit of the children, but caught sight of +two Ursuline sisters entering the square, and +straightened himself. After all, a captain is a +captain, even though the intoxication of spring +be in him, and his heart struggling to clamber +back into the land of youth. He walked on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +across the square and down the street to the +Major’s house.</p> +<p>Major Provost welcomed Menard heartily, +and led him to his office. “We’ll have our +business first,” he said, “and get it done with.”</p> +<p>Menard settled back in the carved oak chair +which had for generations been a member of +the Major’s family. The light mood had left +him. Now he was the soldier, brusque in +manner, with lines about his mouth which, to +certain men, gave his face a hard expression.</p> +<p>“First let me ask you, Menard, what are +your plans?”</p> +<p>“For the present?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I have none.”</p> +<p>“Your personal affairs, I mean. Have you +any matters to hold your attention here for the +next few weeks?”</p> +<p>“None.”</p> +<p>Major Provost fingered his quill.</p> +<p>“I don’t know, of course, how your own +feelings stand, Menard. You’ve been worked +hard for three years, and I suppose you want +rest. But somebody must go to Fort Frontenac, +and the Governor thinks you are the +man.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span></p> +<p>Menard made a gesture of impatience.</p> +<p>“There are a dozen men here with little +to do.”</p> +<p>“I know it. But this matter is of some +importance, and it may call for delicate work +before you are through with it. It isn’t much +in itself,––merely to bear orders to d’Orvilliers,––but +the Governor thinks that the right man +may be able to do strong work before the +campaign opens. You probably know that we +are to move against the Senecas alone, and +that we must treat with the other nations to +keep them from aiding the Senecas. No one +can say just how this can be done. Even +Father de Lamberville has come back, you +know, from the Mohawks; but the Governor +thinks that if we send a good man, he may be +able to see a way, once he gets on the ground, +and can advise with d’Orvilliers. Now, you +are a good man, Menard; and you can influence +the Indians if anyone can.”</p> +<p>“You are a little vague, Major.”</p> +<p>“You will go to Frontenac in advance of +the army to prepare the way. La Durantaye +and Du Luth are already at Detroit, awaiting +orders, with close to two hundred Frenchmen +and four hundred Indians. And Tonty should +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +have joined them before now with several +hundred Illinois.”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe he’ll bring many Illinois. +They must have known of the Iroquois war +party that started toward their villages. They +will stay to defend their own country. They +may not know that the Iroquois party was +recalled.”</p> +<p>“Recalled?” said the Major.</p> +<p>“Yes. Father de Casson has the news from +Father de Lamberville. You see what that +means. The Iroquois have been warned.”</p> +<p>“I was afraid of it. These new governors, +Menard––each has to learn his lesson from +the beginning of the book. Why will they +not take counsel from the men who know the +Indians? This campaign has been heralded as +broadly as a trading fair.”</p> +<p>“When should I start?” asked Menard, abruptly.</p> +<p>“At once––within a few days.” Major +Provost looked at the other’s set face. “I am +sorry about this, Menard. But you understand, +I am sure. Perhaps I had better give you an +idea of our plans. You know, of course, that +we have three ships fitting out at Frontenac. +Already our force is being got together at St. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +Helen’s Island, by Montreal. Champigny is +engaging canoemen and working out a transport +and supply system between Montreal and +Frontenac. The force will proceed to Frontenac, +and embark from there in the ships, +bateaux, and canoes.”</p> +<p>“Is the rendezvous at Niagara?”</p> +<p>“No, at La Famine, on the southern shore +of Lake Ontario.”</p> +<p>Menard nodded. He knew the place; for +by nearly starving there, years before, with the +others of Governor la Barre’s ill-starred expedition, +he had contributed to giving the spot +a name.</p> +<p>“La Durantaye and Du Luth, with Tonty, +are to meet us there. You will instruct them +to move on to Niagara, and there await further +orders. We shall sail around the east end of +the lake and along the south shore.”</p> +<p>“The Iroquois will follow your movements.”</p> +<p>“We intend that they shall. They will not +know where our final landing place will be, and +will have to keep their forces well in hand. +And it will prevent them from uniting to attack +Niagara.”</p> +<p>“What then?”</p> +<p>“We will leave a strong guard at La Famine +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +with the stores, and strike inland for the Seneca +villages.”</p> +<p>“And now what part am I to play in this?”</p> +<p>Major Provost leaned back in his chair.</p> +<p>“You, Menard, are to represent the Governor. +You will move in advance of the troops. +At Frontenac it will be your duty to see first +that the way is clear to getting the two divisions +to the meeting place at La Famine, and to +see that d’Orvilliers has the fort ready for the +troops, with extra cabins and stockades. Then +the Governor wishes you and d’Orvilliers to go +over all the information the scouts bring in. If +you can decide upon any course which will hold +back the other tribes from aiding the Senecas, +act upon it at once, without orders. In other +words, you have full liberty to follow your judgment. +That ought to be responsibility enough.”</p> +<p>Menard stretched his arms. “All right, +Major. But when my day comes to taste the +delights of Quebec, I hope I may not be too +old to enjoy it.”</p> +<p>“The Governor honours you, Menard, with +this undertaking.”</p> +<p>“He honoured De Sévigné with a majority +and turned him loose in Quebec.”</p> +<p>“Too bad, Menard, too bad,” the Major +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +laughed. “Now I, who ask nothing better than +a brisk campaign, must rot here in Quebec until +I die.”</p> +<p>“Are you not to go?”</p> +<p>“No. I am to stay behind and brighten my +lonely moments drilling the rabble of a home +guard. Do you think you will need an escort?”</p> +<p>“No; the river from here to Frontenac is in +use every day. I shall want canoemen. Two +will be enough.”</p> +<p>“Very well. Let me know what supplies you +need. You mistake, man, in grumbling at the +work. You are building up a reputation that +never could live at short range. Stay away +long enough and you will be a more popular +man than the Governor. I envy you, on my +honour, I do.”</p> +<p>“One thing more, Major. This galley affair; +what do you think of it?”</p> +<p>“You mean the capture at Frontenac? You +should know better than I, Menard. You +brought the prisoners down.”</p> +<p>“There is no doubt in my mind, Major, nor +in d’Orvilliers’s! We obeyed orders.” Menard +looked up expressively. “You know the Iroquois. +You know how they will take it. The +worst fault was La Grange’s. He captured the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +party––and it was not a war party––by deliberate +treachery. D’Orvilliers had intrusted to +him the Governor’s orders that Indians must be +got for the King’s galleys. As you know, d’Orvilliers +and I both protested. I did not bring +them here until the Governor commanded it.”</p> +<p>“Well, we can’t help that now, Menard.”</p> +<p>“That is not the question. You ask me to +keep the Onondagas out of this fight, after we +have taken a hundred of their warriors in this +way.”</p> +<p>“I know it, Menard; I know it. But the +Governor’s orders––Well, I have nothing to +say. You can only do your best.”</p> +<p>They went to the reception room, where Madame +de Provost awaited them. Menard was +made to stay and dine, in order that Madame +could draw from him a long account of his +latest adventures on the frontier. Madame de +Provost, though she had lived a dozen years in +the province, had never been farther from Quebec +than the Seignory of the Marquis de St. +Denis, half a dozen leagues below the city. +The stories that came to her ears of massacres +and battles, of settlers butchered in the fields, +and of the dashing adventures of La Salle and +Du Luth, were to her no more than wild tales +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +from a far-away land. So she chattered through +the long dinner; and for the first time since he +had reached the city, Menard wished himself +back on Lake Ontario, where there were no +women.</p> +<p>Menard returned to the citadel early in the +evening. Lieutenant Danton was drawing +plans for a redoubt, but he leaned back as +Menard entered.</p> +<p>“I began to think you were not coming back, +Captain,” he said. “I’m told the Major says +that you are the only man in New France who +could have got that trading agreement from the +Onondagas last year. How did you do it?”</p> +<p>“How does a man usually do what he is told +to do?” Menard sat on a corner of the long +table and looked lazily at the boy.</p> +<p>“That wasn’t the kind of treaty our Governors +make; you know it wasn’t.”</p> +<p>“You were not here under Frontenac.”</p> +<p>“No. I wish I had been. He must have +been a great orator. My father has told me +about the long council at Montreal. He said +that Frontenac out-talked the greatest of the +Mohawk orators. Did you learn it from him?”</p> +<p>“My boy, when you are through with your +pretty pictures,” Menard motioned toward the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +plans, “and have got out into the real work; +when you’ve spent months in Iroquois lodges; +when you’ve been burned and shot and starved,––then +it will be a pity if you haven’t learned +to be a soldier. What is this little thing you +are drawing?”</p> +<p>Danton flushed. “You may laugh at the +engineers,” he said, “but where would King +Louis be now if––”</p> +<p>“Tut, my boy, tut!”</p> +<p>“That is very well––”</p> +<p>Menard laughed. “How old are you, Danton?” +he asked.</p> +<p>“Twenty-two.”</p> +<p>“Very good. You have got on well. I dare +say you’ve learned a deal out of your books. +Now we have you out here in the provinces, +where the hard work is done. Well send you +back in a few years a real man. And then +you’ll step smartly among the pretty officers of +the King, and when one speaks of New France +you’ll lift your brows and say: ‘New France? +Ah, yes. That is in America. I was there +once. Rather a primitive life––no court, no +army.’ Ah, ha, my boy––no, never mind. +Come up to my quarters and have a sip of real +old Burgundy.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span></p> +<p>“Are you ever serious, Menard?” asked +Danton, sitting on the Captain’s cot and smacking +his lips over the liquor.</p> +<p>Menard smiled. “I’m afraid I shall have to +play at composure for an hour,” he said. “I +must see Father Claude. Settle yourself here, +if you like.”</p> +<p>Menard hurried away, for it was growing late. +He found the Jesuit meditating in his cell.</p> +<p>“Ah, Captain Menard, I am glad to see you +so soon again.”</p> +<p>Menard sat on the narrow bed and stretched +out his legs as far as he could in the cramped +space.</p> +<p>“How soon will your duties be over here, +Father?”</p> +<p>“There seems to be no reason for me to stay. +I have delivered the relations, and no further +work has come to hand.”</p> +<p>“Then it may be that you can help me, +Father.”</p> +<p>“You know, my son, that I will.”</p> +<p>“Very well. I have been ordered to Fort +Frontenac in advance of the troops. I am to +bear orders to d’Orvilliers and to Du Luth and +La Durantaye. It is possible that there may +be some delicate work to be done among the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +Indians. You know the Iroquois, Father, and +our two heads together should be stronger than +mine alone. I want you to go with me.”</p> +<p>The priest’s eyes lighted.</p> +<p>“It may be that I can get permission at +Montreal.”</p> +<p>“You will go, then?”</p> +<p>“Gladly. It is to be no one else––we +two––”</p> +<p>“We shall have canoemen. To my mind, +the fewer the better.”</p> +<p>“Still, Captain, you cannot depend on the +canoemen. Would it not be well to have one +other man? You might need a messenger.”</p> +<p>Menard thought for a moment.</p> +<p>“True, Father. And if I am to have a man, +he had best be an officer; yes, a man who +could execute orders. I’ll take Danton. You +will be ready for a start, Father, probably +to-morrow?”</p> +<p>“At any time, my son.”</p> +<p>“Good night.”</p> +<p>There was little work to be done in preparing +for the journey (Major Provost would attend to +the supplies and to engaging the canoemen), +and Menard still was in the lazy mood. He +stood for a while at the edge of the cliff and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +looked down at the wharf. It was dark, and he +could not see whether the body of the Indian +had been removed. The incident of the afternoon +had been gathering importance to his mind +the longer he thought of it. Five years earlier +Menard had been captured by the Onondagas +during a fight near Fort Frontenac. They +had taken him to one of their villages, south +of Lake Ontario, and for days had tortured +him and starved him. They had drawn out +cords from his arms and legs and thrust sticks +between them and the flesh. His back was +still covered with scars from the burning slivers +which they had stuck through the skin. They +had torn the nails from his left hand with their +teeth. Then Otreouati, the Big Throat, the +chief who had led his followers to believe in +Frontenac, came back from a parley with +another tribe, and taking a liking to the tall +young soldier who bore the torture without +flinching, he adopted him into his own family. +Menard had lived with the Indians, a captive +only in name, and had earned the name of the +Big Buffalo by his skill in the hunt. At last, +when they had released him, it was under a +compact of friendship, that had never since been +broken. It had stood many tests. Even during +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +open campaigns they had singled him out +from the other Frenchmen as their brother. +He wondered whether they knew of his part in +stocking the King’s galleys. Probably they did.</p> +<p>It was late when Menard took a last sweeping +look at the river and walked up to the citadel. +His day of idleness was over. After all, it had +not been altogether a wasted day. But it was +the longest holiday he was likely to have for +months to come. Having made up his mind to +accept the facts, he stretched out on his bed and +went to sleep.</p> +<p>Danton took the news that he was to be a +member of the party with enthusiasm. Menard +had hardly finished telling him when he swept +the tiresome plans and specifications into a +heap at the end of the table, and rushed out +to get a musket (for a sword would have no +place in the work before them). The start was +to be made at noon, but Danton was on the +ground so early as almost to lower his dignity +in the eyes of the bronzed canoemen. He +wore his bravest uniform, with polished belt +and buttons and new lace at the neck. His +broad hat had a long curling feather. He +wore the new musket slung rakishly over his +shoulder. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span></p> +<p>About the middle of the forenoon, as Menard +was looking over his orders, memorizing +them in case of accident to the papers, he +was found by Major Provost’s orderly, who +said that the Commandant wished to see him +at once.</p> +<p>The Major was busy with the engineers in +another room, but he left them.</p> +<p>“Menard,” he said abruptly, “I’ve got to ask +you to do me a favour. If I could see any way +out of it––”</p> +<p>“I will do anything I can.”</p> +<p>“Thank you. I suppose you know the +Marquis de St. Denis?”</p> +<p>“Slightly.”</p> +<p>“Well, I shan’t take time to give you the whole +story. St. Denis has the seignory six leagues +to the east. You may know that he went +into debt to invest in La Salle’s colonizing +scheme in Louisiana. St. Denis was in France +at the time, and had great faith in La Salle. +Of course, now that La Salle has not been +heard from, and the debts are all past due +without even a rumour of success to make +them good––you can imagine the rest. The +seignory has been seized. St. Denis has +nothing.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span></p> +<p>“Has he a family?” asked Menard.</p> +<p>“A daughter. His wife is dead. He came +here after you left last night, and again this +morning. We are old friends, and I have been +trying to help him. He is going to sail to-day +on <i>Le Fourgon</i> for Paris to see what he can +save from the wreck. My house is crowded +with the officers who are here planning the +campaign; but St. Denis has a cousin living at +Frontenac, Captain la Grange, and we’ve got +to get Valerie there somehow. Do you think +it will be safe?”</p> +<p>“It’s a hard trip, you know; but it’s safe +enough.”</p> +<p>“I shan’t forget your kindness, Menard. +The girl is a spirited little thing, and she +takes it hard. Madame has set her heart on +getting her to La Grange. I don’t know all +the details myself.”</p> +<p>“I think we can arrange it, Major. We +start in an hour.”</p> +<p>“She will be there. You are a splendid +fellow, Menard. Good-bye.”</p> +<p>Menard’s face was less amiable once he was +away from the house. He knew from experience +the disagreeable task that lay before him. +But there was nothing to be said, so he went +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +to his quarters and took a last look at the +orders. Then taking off his coat and his rough +shirt, he placed the papers carefully in a buckskin +bag, which he hung about his neck.</p> +<p>Everything was ready at the wharf. The +long canoe lay waiting, a <i>voyageur</i> at each +end. The bales were stowed carefully in the +centre. Father de Casson met Menard at the +upper end of the dock. He had come down +by way of the winding road, for his bundle was +heavy, and he knew no way but to carry it himself. +Menard good-naturedly gave him a hand +as they crossed the dock. When they had set +it down, and Menard straightened up, his eyes +twinkled, for young Danton, in his finery, was +nervously walking back and forth at the edge +of the dock, looking fixedly into the canoe, +apparently inspecting the bales. His shoulders +were unused to the musket, and by a quick +turn he had brought the muzzle under the rim +of his hat, setting it on the side of his head. +His face was red.</p> +<p>Sitting on a bundle, a rod away, was a girl, +perhaps eighteen or nineteen years old, wearing +a simple travelling dress. Her hands were +clasped tightly in her lap, and she gazed steadily +out over the water with an air that would +have been haughty save for the slight upward +tip of her nose.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +<img src='images/illus-036.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 367px; height: 501px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 367px;'> +“Sitting on a bundle was, a girl, perhaps eighteen or nineteen years old.”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span></div> +<p>Menard’s eyes sobered, and he handed his +musket to one of the canoemen. Then he +crossed over to where the maiden was sitting.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle St. Denis?”</p> +<p>The girl looked up at him. Her eyes seemed +to take in the dinginess of his uniform. She +inclined her head.</p> +<p>“I am Captain Menard. Major Provost tells +me that I am to have the honour of escorting +you to Fort Frontenac. With your permission +we will start. Father Claude de Casson is to +go with us, and Lieutenant Danton.”</p> +<p>The bundle was placed in the canoe. Menard +helped the girl to a seat near the middle: +from the way she stepped in and took her seat +he saw that she had been on the river before. +Danton, with his Parisian airs, had to be helped +in carefully. Then they were off, each of the +four men swinging a paddle, though Danton +managed his awkwardly at first.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III_MADEMOISELLE_EATS_HER_BREAKFAST' id='CHAPTER_III_MADEMOISELLE_EATS_HER_BREAKFAST'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> +<h3>MADEMOISELLE EATS HER BREAKFAST.</h3> +</div> +<p>The sun hung low over the western woods +when Menard, at the close of the second +day, headed the canoe shoreward. The great +river swept by with hardly a surface motion, +dimpling and rippling under the last touch of +the day breeze. Menard’s eyes rested on +Father Claude, as the canoe drew into the +shadow of the trees. The priest, stiff from the +hours of sitting and kneeling, had taken up a +paddle and was handling it deftly. He had +rolled his sleeves up to the elbow, showing a +thin forearm with wire-like muscles. The two +<i>voyageurs</i>, at bow and stern, were proving to +be quiet enough fellows. Guerin, the younger, +wore a boyish, half-confiding look. His fellow, +Perrot, was an older man.</p> +<p>Menard felt, when he thought of Danton, a +sense of pride in his own right judgment. +The boy was taking hold with a strong, if unguided, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +hand. Already the feather was gone +from his hat, the lace from his throat. Two +days in the canoe and a night on the ground +had stained and wrinkled his uniform,––a condition +of which, with his quick adaptability, he +was already beginning to feel proud. He had +flushed often, during the first day, under the +shrewd glances of the <i>voyageurs</i>, who read the +inexperience in his bright clothes and white +hands. Menard knew, from the way his shoulders +followed the swing of his arms, that the +steady paddling was laming him sadly. He +would allow Danton five days more; at the +week’s end he must be a man, else the experiment +had failed.</p> +<p>The canoe scraped bottom under a wild +growth of brush and outreaching trees. The +forest was stirring with the rustle and call of +birds, with the breath of the leaves and the +far-away crackle and plunge of larger animals +through the undergrowth. A chipmunk, with +inquisitive eyes, sat on the root of a knotted +oak, but he whisked away when Menard and +the canoemen stepped into the shallow water. +Overhead, showing little fear of the canoe +and of the strangely clad animals within it, +scampered a family of red squirrels, now nibbling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +a nut from the winter’s store, now running +and jumping from tree to tree, until only +by the shaking of the twigs and the leaf-clusters +could one follow their movements.</p> +<p>The maid leaned an elbow on the bale which +Danton had placed at her back, and rested her +cheek on her hand. They were under the +drooping branches of an elm that stood holding +to the edge of the bank. Well out over +the water sat one of the squirrels, his tail +sweeping above his head, nibbling an acorn, +and looking with hasty little glances at the +canoe. She watched him, and memories came +into her eyes. There had been squirrels on +her father’s seignory who would take nuts +from her hand, burying them slyly under the +bushes, and hurrying back for more.</p> +<p>Danton came wading to the side of the +canoe to help her to the bank, but she took his +hand only to steady herself while rising. Stepping +over the bracing-strips between the gunwales, +she caught a swaying branch, and swung +herself lightly ashore. Back from the water +the ground rose into a low hill, covered with +oak and elm and ragged hickory trees. Here, +for a space, there was little undergrowth, and +save under the heaviest of the trees the ground +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +was green with short, coarse grass. Danton +took a hatchet from the canoe, and trimmed a +fir tree, heaping armfuls of green boughs at the +foot of an oak near the top of the slope. Over +these he threw a blanket. The maid came +slowly up the hill, in response to his call, and +with a weary little smile of thanks she sank +upon the fragrant couch. She rested against +the tree trunk, gazing through the nearer foliage +at the rushing river.</p> +<p>For the two days she had been like this,––silent, +shy, with sad eyes. And Danton,––who +could no more have avoided the company of +such a maid than he could have left off eating +or breathing or laughing,––Danton, for all his +short Paris life (which should, Heaven knows, +have given him a front with the maids), could +do nothing but hang about, eager for a smile +or a word, yet too young to know that he could +better serve his case by leaving her with her +thoughts, and with the boundless woods and +the great lonely spaces of the river. Menard +saw the comedy––as indeed, who of the +party did not––and was amused. A few +moments later he glanced again toward the +oak. He was sharpening a knife, and could +seem not to be observing. Danton was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +sitting a few yards from the maid, with the +awkward air of a youth who doubts his welcome. +She still looked out over the water. +Menard saw that her face was white and drooping. +He knew that she had not slept; for +twice during the preceding night, as he lay in +his blanket, he had heard from under the overturned +canoe, where she lay, the low sound of +her sobbing.</p> +<p>Menard walked slowly down the slope, testing +the knife-edge with his thumb, his short +pipe between his teeth. He sheathed his knife, +lowered his pipe, and called:––</p> +<p>“Guerin.” The two men, who were bringing +wood to the fire, looked up. “Where has the +Father gone?”</p> +<p>Guerin pointed around the base of the hill. +“He went to the woods, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“With a bundle,” added Perrot.</p> +<p>Menard walked around the hill, and after a +little searching found the priest, kneeling, in a +clearing, before the portrait of Catharine Outasoren, +which he had set against a tree. His +brushes and paints were spread on the ground +before him. He did not hear Menard approach.</p> +<p>“Oh,” said the captain, “you brought the +picture!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span></p> +<p>The priest looked up over his shoulder, with +a startled manner.</p> +<p>“I myself have stripped down to the lightest +necessaries,” said Menard, with a significant +glance at the portrait.</p> +<p>The priest lowered his brush, and sat looking +at the picture with troubled eyes. “I had no +place for it,” he said at last, hesitatingly.</p> +<p>“They didn’t take it at the College, eh?”</p> +<p>Father Claude flushed.</p> +<p>“They were very kind. They felt that +perhaps it was not entirely completed, and +that––”</p> +<p>“You will leave it at Montreal, then, at the +Mission?”</p> +<p>“Yes,––I suppose so. Yes, I shall plan to +leave it there.”</p> +<p>Menard leaned against a tree, and pressed +the tobacco down in his pipe.</p> +<p>“I have been doing some thinking in the +last few minutes, Father. I’ve decided to make +my first call on you for assistance.”</p> +<p>“Very well, Captain.”</p> +<p>“It is about the maid. Have you noticed?”</p> +<p>“She seems of a sober mind.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you see why? It is her father’s +losses, and this journey. She is taking it very +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +hard. She is afraid, Father, all the time; and +she neither sleeps nor eats.”</p> +<p>“It is naturally hard for such a child as she +is to take this journey. She has had no experience,––she +does not comprehend the easy customs +and the hard travelling of the frontier. I +think that in time––”</p> +<p>Menard was puffing impatiently.</p> +<p>“Father,” he said, “do you remember when +Major Gordeau was killed, and I was detailed +to bring his wife and daughter down to Three +Rivers? It was much like this. They fretted +and could not sleep, and the coarse fare of the +road was beneath their appetites. Do you +remember? And when it came to taking the +rapids, with the same days of hard work that +lie before us now, they were too weak, and +they sickened, the mother first, then the daughter. +When I think of that, Father, of the last +week of that journey, and of how I swore +never again to take a woman in my care on the +river, I––well, there is no use in going over +it. If this goes on, we shall not get to Frontenac +in time, that is all. And I cannot afford +to take such a chance.”</p> +<p>The priest looked grave. The long struggle +against the rapids from Montreal to La Gallette +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +had tried the hardihood of more than one strong +man.</p> +<p>“It is probable, my son, that the sense of +your responsibility makes you a little over-cautious. +She is a strong enough child, I +should say. Still, perhaps the food is not what +she has been accustomed to. I have noticed +that she eats little.”</p> +<p>“Perrot is too fond of grease,” Menard said. +“I must tell him to use less grease.”</p> +<p>“If she should be taken sick, we could leave +her with someone at Montreal.”</p> +<p>“Leave her at Montreal!” exclaimed Menard. +“When she breaks down, it will be in the +rapids. And then I must either go on alone, +or wait with you until she is strong enough to +be carried. In any case it means confusion +and delay. And I must not be delayed.”</p> +<p>“What have you in mind to do?”</p> +<p>“We must find a way to brighten her spirits. +It is homesickness that worries her, and sorrow +for her father, and dread of what is before and +around her. I’ll warrant she has never been +away from her home before. We must get +her confidence,––devise ways to cheer her, +brighten her.”</p> +<p>“I can reason with her, and––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span></p> +<p>“This is not the time for reasoning, Father. +What we must do is to make her stop thinking, +stop looking backward and forward. And there +is Danton; he can help. He is of an age with +her, and should succeed where you and I might +fail.”</p> +<p>“He has not awaited the suggestion, Captain.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know. But he must,––well, Father, +it has all been said. The maid is on our hands, +and must be got to Frontenac. That is all. +And there is nothing for it but to rely on +Danton to help.”</p> +<p>The priest looked at his brushes, and hesitated. +“I am not certain,” he said, “she is +very young. And Lieutenant Danton,––I +have heard, while at Quebec,––”</p> +<p>Menard laughed.</p> +<p>“He is a boy, Father. These tales may +be true enough. Why not? They would fit +as well any idle lieutenant in Quebec, who is +lucky enough to have an eye, and a pair of +shoulders, and a bit of the King’s gold in his +purse. This maid is the daughter of a gentleman, +Father; she is none of your Lower Town +jades. And Danton may be young and foolish,––as +may we all have been,––but he is a +gentleman born.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span></p> +<p>“Very well,” replied the priest, looking with +regret at the failing light, and beginning to +gather his brushes. “I will counsel her, but I +fear it will do little good. If the maid is sick +at heart, and we attempt to guide her thoughts, +we may but drive the trouble deeper in. It is +the same with some of the Indian maidens, +when they have left the tribe for the Mission. +Now and again there comes a time, even with +piety to strengthen them,––and this maid has +little,––when the yearning seems to grow too +strong to be cured. Sometimes they go back. +One died. It was at Sault St. Francis in the +year of the––”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes,” Menard broke in. “We have +only one fact to remember; there must be no +delay in carrying out the Governor’s orders. +We cannot change our plans because of this +maid.”</p> +<p>“We must not let her understand, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>Menard had been standing, with a shoulder +against the tree, alternately puffing at his pipe +and lowering it, scowling meanwhile at the +ground. Now he suddenly raised his head +and chuckled.</p> +<p>“It will be many a year since I have played +the beau, Father. It may be that I have forgotten +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +the rôle.” He spread out his hands +and looked at the twisted fingers. “But I can +try, like a soldier. And there are three of us, +Father Claude, there are three of us.”</p> +<p>He turned to go back to the camp, but the +priest touched him.</p> +<p>“My son,––perhaps, before you return, you +would look again at my unworthy portrait. +I––about the matter of the canoe––”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said Menard, “you’ve taken it out.”</p> +<p>“Yes; it seemed best, considering the danger +that others might feel the same doubts which +troubled you.”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t do that. The canoe was all +right, once the direction were decided on.”</p> +<p>“Above all else, the true portrait should +convey to the mind of the observer the impression +that a single, an unmistakable purpose +underlies the work. When one considers––”</p> +<p>“Very true, Father, very true,” said Menard +abruptly, looking about at the beginning of the +twilight. “And now we had better get back. +The supper will be ready.”</p> +<p>Menard strode away toward the camp. Father +Claude watched him for a time through the trees, +then turned again to the picture. Finally he got +together his materials, and carrying them in a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +fold of his gown, with the picture in his left +hand, he followed Menard.</p> +<p>The maid was leaning back against the tree, +looking up at the sky, where the first red of the +afterglow was spreading. She did not hear +Menard; and he paused, a few yards away, to +look at the clear whiteness of her skin and the +full curve of her throat. Her figure and air, +her habits of gesture and step, and carriage of +the head, were those of the free-hearted maid +of the seignory. They told of an outdoor life, +of a good horse, and a light canoe, and the +inbred love of trees and sky and running water. +Here was none of the stiffness, the more than +Parisian manner, of the maidens of Quebec. +To stand there and look at her, unconscious as +she was, pleased Menard.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle,” he said, coming nearer, “will +you join us at supper?”</p> +<p>The maid looked at him with a slow blush +(she was not yet accustomed to the right of +these men to enter into the routine of her life). +Menard reached to help her, but she rose +easily.</p> +<p>“Lieutenant Danton is not here?”</p> +<p>“No, M’sieu, he walked away.”</p> +<p>They sat about a log. Danton had not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +strayed far, for he joined them shortly, wearing +a sulky expression. Menard looked about the +group. The maid was silent. Father Claude +was beginning at once on the food before him. +The twilight was growing deeper, and Guerin +dragged a log to the fire, throwing it on the +pile with a shower of sparks, and half a hundred +shooting tongues of flame. The Captain looked +again at Danton, and saw that the boy’s glance +shifted uneasily about the group. Altogether +it was an unfortunate start for his plan. But it +was clear that no other would break the ice, +so he drew a long breath, and plunged doggedly +into the story of his first fight on the St. +Lawrence.</p> +<p>It was a brave story of ambuscade and battle; +and it was full of the dark of night and the red +flash of muskets and the stealth and treachery +of the Iroquois soul. When he reached the +tale of the captured Mohawk, who sat against a +tree with a ball in his lungs, to the last refusing +the sacrament, and dying like a chief with the +death song on his lips, Danton was leaning +forward, breathless and eager, hanging on his +words. The maid’s eyes, too, were moist. +Then they talked on, Danton asking boyish +questions, and Father Claude starting over and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +again on a narrative of the wonderful conversion +of the Huron drunkard, Heroukiki, who, +in his zeal,––and here Menard always swept in +with a new story, which left the priest adrift in +the eddies of the conversation. At last, when +they rose, and the dusk was settling over the +trees, the maid was laughing with gentle good +fellowship.</p> +<p>While they were eating, the <i>voyageurs</i> had +brought the canoe a short way up the bank, +resting it, bottom up, on large stones brought +from the shore. Underneath was a soft cot of +balsam; over the canoe were blankets, hanging +on both sides to the ground. Then Mademoiselle +said good-night, with a moment’s lingering +on the word, and a wistful note in her voice +that brought perhaps more sympathy than had +the sad eyes of the morning. For after all she +was only a girl, and hers was a brave little +heart.</p> +<p>The three men lay on the slope with hardly +a word, looking at the river, now shining like +silver through the trees. This new turn in +the life of the party was not as yet to be taken +familiarly. Father Claude withdrew early to +his meditations. Menard stretched out on his +back, his hands behind his head, gazing lazily +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +at the leaves overhead, now hanging motionless +from the twigs.</p> +<p>Danton was sitting up, looking about, and +running the young reeds through his fingers.</p> +<p>“Danton,” Menard said, after a long silence, +“I suppose you know that we have something +of a problem on our hands.”</p> +<p>Danton looked over the river.</p> +<p>“What have you thought about Mademoiselle?”</p> +<p>“I don’t understand.”</p> +<p>“Father Claude and I have been talking this +evening about her. I have thought that she +does not look any too strong for a hard journey +of a hundred and more leagues.”</p> +<p>“She has little colour,” said Danton, cautiously.</p> +<p>“It seems to me, Danton, that you can help +us.”</p> +<p>“How?”</p> +<p>“What seems to you the cause of the +trouble?”</p> +<p>“With Mademoiselle? She takes little impression +from the kindness of those about her.”</p> +<p>“Oh, come, Danton. You know better. +Even a boy of your age should see deeper than +that. You think she slights you; very likely +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +she does. What of that? You are not here +to be drawn into a boy-and-girl quarrel with a +maid who chances to share our canoe. You +are here as my aid, to make the shortest time +possible between Quebec and Frontenac. If +she were to fall sick, we should be delayed. +Therefore she must not fall sick.”</p> +<p>Danton had plucked a weed, and now was +pulling it to pieces, bit by bit.</p> +<p>“What do you want me to do?”</p> +<p>“Stop this moping, this hanging about. +Take hold of the matter. Devise talks, diversions; +fill her idle moments; I care not what +you do,––within limits, my boy, within limits.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said Danton, “then you really want +me to?”</p> +<p>“Certainly. I am too old myself.”</p> +<p>Danton rose, and walked a few steps away +and back.</p> +<p>“But she will have none of me, Menard. It +is, ‘No, with thanks,’ or, worse, a shake of the +head. If I offer to help, if I try to talk, if I––oh, +it is always the same. I am tired of it.”</p> +<p>Menard smiled in the dark.</p> +<p>“Is that your reply to an order from your +superior officer, Danton?”</p> +<p>The boy stood silent for a moment, then he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +said, “I beg your pardon, Captain.” And with +a curious effort at stiffness he wandered off +among the trees, and was soon out of Menard’s +sight.</p> +<p>Menard walked slowly down to the fire, +opened his pack, and spreading out his blanket, +rolled himself in it with his feet close to the +red embers. For a long time he lay awake. +This episode took him back nearly a decade, +to a time when he, like Danton, would have lost +his poise at a glance from the nearest pair of +eyes. That the maid should so interest him +was in itself amusing. Had she been older +or younger, had she been any but the timid, +honest little woman that she was, he would +have left her, without a second thought, in the +care of the Commandant at Montreal, to be +escorted through the rapids by some later party. +But he had fixed his mind on getting her to +Frontenac, and the question was settled. His +last thought that night was of her quiet laughter +and her friendly, hesitating “good-night.”</p> +<p>He was awakened in the half light before +the sunrise by a step on the twigs. At a little +distance through the trees was the maid, walking +down toward the water. She slipped easily +between the briers, holding her skirt close. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +From a spring, not a hundred yards up the +hillside, a brook came tumbling to the river, +picking its way under and over the stones and +the fallen trees, and trickling over the bank +with a low murmur. The maid stopped by a +pool, and kneeling on a flat rock, dipped her +hands.</p> +<p>The others were asleep. A rod away lay +Danton, a sprawling heap in his blanket. Menard +rose, tossed his blanket upon his bundle, +and walked slowly down toward the maid.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle, you rise with the birds.”</p> +<p>She looked around, and laughed gently. He +saw that she had frankly accepted the first little +change in their relations.</p> +<p>“I like to be with the birds, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>Menard had no small talk. He was thinking +of her evident lack of sleep.</p> +<p>“It is the best hour for the river, Mademoiselle.” +The colours of the dawn were beginning +to creep up beyond the eastern bank, sending +a lance of red and gold into a low cloud bank, +and a spread of soft crimson close after. “Perhaps +you are fond of the fish?”</p> +<p>The maid was kneeling to pick a cluster of +yellow flower cups. She looked up and nodded, +with a smile. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span></p> +<p>“We fished at home, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“We will go,” said Menard, abruptly. “I +will bring down the canoe.”</p> +<p>He threw the blankets to one side, and stooping +under the long canoe, carried it on his +shoulders to the water. A line and hook were +in his bundle; the bait was ready at a turn of +the grass and weeds.</p> +<p>“We are two adventurers,” he said lightly, as +he tossed the line into the canoe, and held out +one of the paddles. “You should do your +share of the morning’s work, Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>She laughed again, and took the paddle. +They pushed off; the maid kneeling at the +bow, Menard in the stern. He guided the +canoe against the current. The water lay flat +under the still air, reflecting the gloomy trees +on the banks, and the deepening colours of the +sky. He fell into a lazy, swinging stroke, +watching the maid. Her arms and shoulders +moved easily, with the grace of one who had +tumbled about a canoe from early childhood.</p> +<p>“Ready, Mademoiselle?” He was heading +for a deep pool near a line of rushes. The +maid, laying down her paddle, reached back +for the line, and put on the bait with her own +fingers. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span></p> +<p>Menard held the canoe steady against the +current, which was there but a slow movement, +while she lowered the hook over the bow. +They sat without a word for some minutes. +Once he spoke, in a bantering voice, and she +motioned to him to be quiet. Her brows were +drawn down close together.</p> +<p>It was but a short time before she felt a jerk +at the line. Her arms straightened out, and she +pressed her lips tightly together. “Quick!” +she said. “Go ahead!”</p> +<p>“Can you hold it?” he asked, as he dipped +his paddle.</p> +<p>She nodded. “I wish the line were longer. +It will be hard to give him any room.” She +wound the cord around her wrist. “Will the +line hold, M’sieu?”</p> +<p>“I think so. See if you can pull in.”</p> +<p>She leaned back, and pulled steadily, then +shook her head. “Not very much. Perhaps, +if you can get into the shallow water––”</p> +<p>Menard slowly worked the canoe through an +opening in the rushes. There was a thrashing +about and plunging not two rods away. Once +the fish leaped clear of the water in a curve of +clashing silver.</p> +<p>“It’s a salmon,” he said. “A small one.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></p> +<p>The maid held hard, but the colour had gone +from her face. The canoe drew nearer to the +shore.</p> +<p>“Hold fast,” said Menard. He gave a last +sweep of the paddle, and crept forward to the +bow. Kneeling behind the maid, he reached +over her shoulder, and took the line below +her hand.</p> +<p>“Careful, M’sieu; it may break.”</p> +<p>“We must risk it.” He pulled slowly in +until the fish was close under the gunwale. +“Now can you hold?”</p> +<p>“Yes.” She shook a straying lock of hair +from her eyes, and took another turn of the +cord around her wrist.</p> +<p>“Steady,” he said. He drew his knife, leaned +over the gunwale, and stabbed at the fighting +fish until his blade sank in just below the gills, +and he could lift it aboard.</p> +<p>The maid laughed nervously, and rested her +hands upon the two gunwales. Her breath +was gone, and there was a red mark around +her wrist where the cord had been. The canoe +had drifted into the rushes, and Menard went +back to his paddle, and worked out again into +the channel.</p> +<p>“And now, Mademoiselle,” he said, “we shall +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +have a breakfast of our own. You need not +paddle. I will take her down.”</p> +<p>Her breath was coming back. She laughed, +and sat comfortably in the bow, facing Menard, +and letting her eyes follow the steady swing +and catch of his paddle. When they reached +the camp, the <i>voyageurs</i> were astir, but Danton +and the priest still slept. The first red glare +of the sun was levelled at them over the eastern +trees.</p> +<p>Menard made a fire under an arch of flat +stones, and trimming a strip of oak wood with +his hatchet, he laid the cleaned fish upon it and +kept it on the fire until it was brown and crisp. +The maid sat by, her eyes alert and her cheeks +flushed.</p> +<p>Danton was awake before the fish was +cooked, and he stood about with a pretence +of not observing them. The maid was fairly +aroused. She drew him into the talk, and +laughed and bantered with the two men as +prettily as they could have wished from a +Quebec belle.</p> +<p>All during the morning Danton was silent. +At noon, when the halt was made for the midday +lunch, he was still puzzling over the +apparent understanding between Mademoiselle +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +and the Captain. Before the journey was taken +up, he stood for a moment near Menard, on the +river bank.</p> +<p>“Captain,” he said, “you asked me last night +to––”</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>“It may be that I have misunderstood you. +Of course, if Mademoiselle––if you––” He +caught himself.</p> +<p>Menard smiled; then he read the earnestness +beneath the boy’s confusion, and sobered.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle and I went fishing, Danton. +Result,––Mademoiselle eats her first meal. If +you can do as much you shall have my thanks. +And now remember that you are a lieutenant +in the King’s service.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV_THE_LONG_ARROW' id='CHAPTER_IV_THE_LONG_ARROW'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> +<h3>THE LONG ARROW.</h3> +</div> +<p>Menard allowed a halt of but a few hours +at Three Rivers. The settlement held little +of interest, for all the resident troops and most +of the farmers and <i>engagés</i> had gone up the +river to join the army which was assembling at +Montreal. The close of the first week out of +Quebec saw the party well on the second half +of the journey to Montreal. As they went on, +Menard’s thoughts were drawn more deeply +into the work that lay ahead, and in spite of his +efforts at lightness, the work of keeping up the +maid’s spirits fell mostly to Danton (though +Father Claude did what he could). As matters +gradually became adjusted, Danton’s cheery, +hearty manner began to tell; and now that +there was little choice of company, the maid +turned to him for her diversion.</p> +<p>On the morning of the second day after +leaving Three Rivers, the two <i>voyageurs</i> were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +carrying the canoe to the water when Guerin +slipped on a wet log, throwing the canoe to the +ground, and tearing a wide rent in the bark. +Menard was impatient at this carelessness. +The knowledge that the Three Rivers detachment +had already gone on to Montreal had +decided him to move more rapidly, and he had +given orders that they should start each day in +the first light of the dawn. This was a chill +morning. A low, heavy fog lay on the river, +thinning, at a yard above the water, into a light +mist which veiled what colour may have been +in the east.</p> +<p>While Guerin and Perrot were patching the +canoe under Menard’s eye, Danton found some +dry logs under the brush, and built up the dying +fire, which was in a rocky hollow, not visible +from the river. Then he and the maid sat on +the rocks above it, where they could get the +warmth, and yet could see the river. Menard +and his men, though only a few rods away, +were but blurred forms as they moved about +the canoe, gumming the new seams.</p> +<p>The maid, save for an occasional heavy hour +in the late evenings, had settled into a cheerful +frame of mind. The novelty, and the many +exciting moments of the journey, as well as the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +kindness of the three men, kept her thoughts +occupied. Danton, once he had shaken off his +sulky fits, was good company. They sat side +by side on the rock, looking down at the struggling +fire, or at the figures moving about the +canoe, or out into the white mystery of the +river, talking easily in low tones of themselves +and their lives and hopes.</p> +<p>The mist, instead of rising, seemed to settle +closer to the water, as the broad daylight came +across the upper air. The maid and Danton +fell into silence as the picture brightened. Danton +was less sensitive than she to the whims of +nature, and tiring of the scene, he was gazing +down into the fire when the maid, without a +word, touched his arm. He looked up at her; +then, seeing that her eyes were fixed on the +river, followed her gaze. Not more than a +score of yards from the shore, moving silently +through the mist, were the heads of three Indians. +Their profiles stood out clearly against +the white background; their shoulders seemed +to dissolve into the fog. They passed slowly +on up the stream, looking straight ahead, without +a twitch of the eyelids, like a vision from +the happy hunting-ground.</p> +<p>Danton slipped down from the rock, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +stepped lightly to Menard, pointing out the +three heads just as they were fading into the +whiteness about them. Menard motioned to +Guerin and Perrot to get the newly patched +canoe into the water, took three muskets, and +in a moment pushed off, leaving Danton with +the maid and the priest, who had retired a short +distance for his morning prayers. For a minute +the heads of the three white men were in sight +above the fog, then they too were swallowed up.</p> +<p>“I wonder what Menard thinks about them?” +said Danton, going back toward the maid.</p> +<p>She was still looking at the mist, and did not +hear him, so he took a seat at the foot of the +rock and rubbed the hammer of his musket, +which had been rusted by the damp. After a +time the maid looked toward him.</p> +<p>“What does it mean?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” Danton replied. “They +were going up-stream in a canoe, I suppose. +Probably he thinks they can give us some +information.”</p> +<p>In a few minutes, during which the mist was +clearing under the rays of the sun, the two +canoes together came around a wooded point +and beached. The Indians walked silently to +the fire. They appeared not to see Danton and +the maid. Menard paused to look over his +canoe. It was leaking badly, and before joining +the group at the fire, he set the canoemen +at work making a new patch.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +<img src='images/illus-064.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 370px; height: 548px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 370px;'> +“The Indians walked silently to the fire.”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span></div> +<p>“Danton,” he said, in a low tone, when he +reached the fire, “find the Father.”</p> +<p>Danton hurried away, and Menard turned to +the largest of the three Indians, who wore the +brightest blanket, and had a peculiar wampum +collar, decorated in mosaic-like beadwork.</p> +<p>“You are travellers, like ourselves,” he said, +in the Iroquois tongue. “We cannot let you +pass without a word of greeting. I see that +you are of the Onondagas, my brothers. It +may be that you are from the Mission at the +Sault St. Francis Xavier?”</p> +<p>The Indian bowed. “We go from Three +Rivers to Montreal.”</p> +<p>“I, too, am taking my party to Montreal.” +Menard thought it wise to withhold the further +facts of his journey. “Have you brothers at +Three Rivers?”</p> +<p>“No,” replied the Indian. “We have been +sent with a paper from the Superior at Sault +St. Francis Xavier to the good fathers at Three +Rivers. Now we are on our return to the +Mission.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span></p> +<p>“Have my brothers eaten?” Menard motioned +toward the fire. “It is still early in the +day.”</p> +<p>The three bowed. “We are travelling fast,” +said the spokesman, “for the Superior awaits +our return. We ate before the light. It will +soon be time for us to go on our journey.”</p> +<p>Menard saw Father Claude and Danton approaching, +and waited for them. The face of +the large Indian seemed like some other face +that had had a place in his memory. It was not +unlikely that he had known this warrior during +his captivity, when half a thousand braves +had been to him as brothers. The Indian was +apparently of middle age, and had lines of dignity +and authority in his face that made it hard +to accept him as a subdued resident at the Mission. +But Menard knew that no sign of doubt +or suspicion must appear in his face, so he +waited for the priest. The Indians sat with +their knees drawn up and their blankets +wrapped about them, looking stolidly at the +fire.</p> +<p>Father Claude came quietly into the group, +and with a smile extended his hand to the +smallest of the three, an older man, with a +wrinkled face. “I did not look for you here, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +Teganouan. Have you gone back to the +Mission?”</p> +<p>Teganouan returned the smile, and bowed.</p> +<p>“My brother has told the white man of our +errand?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Menard, “they have been sent +to Three Rivers by the Superior, and are now +returning. I have told them that we, too, are +going to Montreal.”</p> +<p>The priest took the hint. “We shall meet +you and your brothers again, Teganouan. +They are newcomers at the Mission, I believe. +They had not come when I left.”</p> +<p>“No, Father. They have but last week become +Christians. The Long Arrow” (inclining his +head toward the large Indian) “has lost a son, and +through his suffering was led to take the faith.”</p> +<p>The Long Arrow, who had seemed to lose +interest in the conversation as soon as he had +finished speaking, here rose.</p> +<p>“My brothers and the good Father will give +us their blessing? The end of the journey is +yet three days away. I had hoped that we +might be permitted to accept the protection of +the son of Onontio,”––he looked at Menard,––“but +I see that his canoe will not be ready +for the journey before the sun is high.” He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +looked gravely from Menard to the priest, then +walked to the shore, followed by the others. +They pushed off, and shortly disappeared +around the point of land.</p> +<p>Menard gave them no attention, but as soon as +they were gone from sight, he turned to the priest.</p> +<p>“Well, Father, what do you make of that?”</p> +<p>Father Claude shook his head.</p> +<p>“Nothing, as yet, M’sieu. Do you know +who the large man is?”</p> +<p>“No; but I seem to remember him. And +what is more to the point, he certainly remembers +me.”</p> +<p>“Are you sure?”</p> +<p>“He recognized me on the river. He came +back with me so willingly because he wanted +to know more about us. That was plain. +It would be well, Father, to enquire at the +Mission. We should know more of them +and their errand at Three Rivers.”</p> +<p>Menard called Danton, and walked with him +a little way into the wood.</p> +<p>“Danton,” he said, “you are going through +this journey with us, and I intend that you +shall know about such matters as this meeting +with the Onondagas.”</p> +<p>“Oh, they were Onondagas?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span></p> +<p>“Yes. They claim to be Mission Indians, +but neither the Father nor I altogether believe +them.” In a few sentences Menard outlined the +conversation. “Now, Danton, this may or may +not be an important incident. I want you to +know the necessity for keeping our own counsel +in all such matters, dropping no careless words, +and letting no emotions show. I wish you +would make a point of learning the Iroquois +language. Father Claude will help you. You +are to act as my right-hand man, and you may +as well begin now to learn to draw your own +conclusions from an Indian’s words.”</p> +<p>Danton took eagerly to the lessons with +Father Claude, for they seemed another definite +step toward the excitement that surely, to +his mind, lay in wait ahead. The studying +began on that afternoon, while they were toiling +up against the stream.</p> +<p>In the evening, when the dusk was coming +down, and the little camp was ready for the +night, Menard came up from the heap of stores, +where the <i>voyageurs</i> had already stretched out, +and found the maid sitting alone by the fire. +Danton, in his rush of interest in the new study, +had drawn Father Claude aside for another +lesson. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span></p> +<p>“Mademoiselle is lonely?” asked Menard, +sitting beside her.</p> +<p>“No, no, M’sieu. I have too many thoughts +for that.”</p> +<p>“What interesting thoughts they must be.”</p> +<p>“They are, M’sieu. They are all about the +Indians this morning. Tell me, M’sieu,––they +called you Onontio. What does it +mean?”</p> +<p>“They called me the son of Onontio, because +of my uniform. Onontio, the Great Mountain, +is their name for the Governor; and the Governor’s +soldiers are to them his sons.”</p> +<p>“They speak a strange language. It is not +the same as that of the Ottawas, who once +worked for my father.”</p> +<p>“Did you know their tongue?”</p> +<p>“A few words, and some of the signs. This,”––raising +her hand, with the first finger extended, +and slowly moving her arm in a half +circle from horizon to horizon,––“this meant a +sun,––one day.”</p> +<p>Menard looked at her for a moment in silence. +He enjoyed her enthusiasm.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you learn Iroquois? You would +enjoy it. It is a beautiful tongue,––the language +of metaphor and poetry.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span></p> +<p>“I should like to,” she replied, looking with +a faint smile at Danton and the priest, who +were sitting under a beech tree, mumbling in +low tones.</p> +<p>“You shall join the class, Mademoiselle. +You shall begin to-morrow. It was thoughtless +of Danton to take the Father’s instruction +to himself alone.”</p> +<p>“And then, M’sieu, I will know what the +Indians say when they sit up stiffly in their +blankets, and talk down in their throats. They +have such dignity. It is hard not to believe +them when they look straight at one.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you believe them?”</p> +<p>“The three this morning,––they did not +tell the truth.”</p> +<p>“Didn’t they?”</p> +<p>“Why, I understood that you did not believe +them.”</p> +<p>“And where did Mademoiselle learn that? +Did she follow the conversation?”</p> +<p>“No; but Lieutenant Danton––”</p> +<p>“He told you?”</p> +<p>She nodded. Menard frowned.</p> +<p>“He shouldn’t have done that.”</p> +<p>The maid looked surprised at his remark, +and the smile left her face. “Of course, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +M’sieu,” she said, a little stiffly, “whatever is +not meant for my ears––”</p> +<p>Menard was still frowning, and he failed to +notice her change in manner. He abruptly +gave the conversation a new turn, but seeing +after a short time that the maid had lost interest +in his sallies, he rose, and called to the +priest.</p> +<p>“Father, you are to have a new pupil. +Mademoiselle also will study the language of +the Iroquois. If you are quick enough with +your pupils, we shall soon be able to hold a conversation +each night about the fire. Perhaps, +if you would forego your exclusive air, Mademoiselle +would begin at once.”</p> +<p>Danton, without waiting for the priest to +start, came hurriedly over and sat by the maid.</p> +<p>“You must pardon me,” he said, “I did not +think,––I did not know that you would be +interested. It is so dry.”</p> +<p>The maid smiled at the fire.</p> +<p>“You did not ask,” she replied, “and I could +not offer myself to the class.”</p> +<p>“It will be splendid,” said Danton. “We +shall learn the language of the trees and the +grass and the rivers and the birds. And the +message of the wampum belt, too, we shall +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +know. You see,”––looking up at Menard,––“already +I am catching the meanings.”</p> +<p>Menard smiled, and then went down the +bank, leaving the three to bend their heads +together over the mysteries of the Iroquois +rules of gender, written out by Father Claude +on a strip of bark. It was nearly an hour later, +after the maid had crept to her couch beneath +the canoe, and Perrot and Guerin had sprawled +upon the bales and were snoring in rival keys, +that Danton came lightly down the slope humming +a drinking song. He saw Menard, and +dropped to the ground beside him, with a low +laugh.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle will lead my wits a chase, +Menard. Already she is deep in the spirit of +the new work.”</p> +<p>“Be careful, my boy, that she leads no more +than your wits a chase.”</p> +<p>Danton laughed again.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe there is great danger. What +a voice she has! I did not know it at first, +when she was frightened and spoke only in the +lower tones. Now when she speaks or laughs +it is like––”</p> +<p>“Like what?”</p> +<p>“There is no fit simile in our tongue, light +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +as it is. It may be that in the Iroquois I shall +find the words. It should be something about +the singing brooks or the voice of the leaves at +night.”</p> +<p>The lad was in such buoyant spirits that +Menard had to harden himself for the rebuke +which he must give. With the Indian tribes +Menard had the tact, the control of a situation, +that would have graced a council of great +chiefs; but in matters of discipline, the blunter +faculties and language of the white men seemed +to give his wit no play. Now, as nearly always, +he spoke abruptly.</p> +<p>“Have you forgotten our talk of this morning, +Danton?”</p> +<p>“No,” replied the boy, looking up in surprise.</p> +<p>The night had none of the dampness that +had left a white veil over the morning just +gone. The moon was half hidden behind the +western trees. The sky, for all the dark, was +blue and deep, set with thousands of stars, +each looking down at its mate in the shining +water.</p> +<p>“I spoke of the importance of keeping our +own counsel.”</p> +<p>Danton began to feel what was coming. He +looked down at the ground without replying. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span></p> +<p>“To-night Mademoiselle has repeated a part +of our conversation.”</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle,––why, she is one of our +party. She knows about us,––who we are, +what we are going for––”</p> +<p>“Then you have told her, Danton?”</p> +<p>“How could she help knowing? We are +taking her to Frontenac.”</p> +<p>“Father Claude has not told her why we go +to Frontenac––nor have I.”</p> +<p>“But Major Provost is her friend––”</p> +<p>“He would never have told her.”</p> +<p>“But she seemed to know about it.”</p> +<p>“Then you have talked it over with her?”</p> +<p>“Why, no,––that is, in speaking of our +journey we said something of the meaning of +the expedition. It could hardly be expected +that we,––I fail to see, Captain, what it is you +are accusing me of.”</p> +<p>“You have not been accused yet, Danton. +Let me ask you a question. Why did you +enter the King’s army?”</p> +<p>Danton hesitated, and started once or twice +to frame answer, but made no reply.</p> +<p>“Did you wish a gay uniform, to please the +maids, to––”</p> +<p>“You are unfair, M’sieu.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span></p> +<p>“No, I wish to know. We will say, if you +like, that you have hoped to be a soldier,––a +soldier of whom the King may one day have +cause to be proud.”</p> +<p>Danton flushed, and bowed his head.</p> +<p>“I offered you the chance to go on this +mission, Danton, because I believed in you. +I believed that you had the making of a soldier. +This is not a child’s errand, this of ours. It is +the work of strong men. This morning I told +you of my talk with the three Onondagas +because I have planned to take you into my +confidence, and to give you the chance to make +a name for yourself. I made a point of the +importance of keeping such things to yourself.”</p> +<p>“But Mademoiselle, M’sieu, she is different––”</p> +<p>“Look at the facts, Danton. I told you this +morning: within twelve hours you have passed +on your information. How do I know that you +would not have let it slip to others if you had +had the chance? You forget that Mademoiselle +is a woman, and the first and last duty of a +soldier is to tell no secrets to a woman.”</p> +<p>“You speak wrongly of Mademoiselle. It is +cowardly to talk thus.”</p> +<p>Menard paused to get control of his temper. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span></p> +<p>“Cowardly, Danton? Is that the word you +apply to your commander?”</p> +<p>“Your pardon, M’sieu! A thousand pardons! +It escaped me––”</p> +<p>“We will pass it by. I want you to understand +this matter. Mademoiselle will spend a +night in Montreal. We shall leave her with +other women. A stray word, which to her +might mean nothing, might be enough to give +the wrong persons a hint of the meaning of our +journey. A moment’s nervousness might slip +the bridle from her tongue. All New France +is not so loyal that we can afford to drop a +chance secret here and there. As to this maid, +she is only a child, and by giving her our +secrets, you are forcing her to bear a burden +which we should bear alone. These Indians +this morning were spies, I am inclined to +believe, scouting along the river for information +of the coming campaign. The only way +that we can feel secure is by letting no word +escape our lips, no matter how trivial. I tell +you this, not so much for this occasion as for a +suggestion for the future.”</p> +<p>“Very well, M’sieu. You will please accept +my complete apologies.”</p> +<p>“I shall have to add, Danton, that if any +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span> +further mistake of this kind occurs I shall be +forced to dismiss you from my service. Now +that I have said this, I want you to understand +that I don’t expect it to happen. I have believed +in you, Danton, and I stand ready to be +a friend to you.”</p> +<p>Menard held out his hand. Danton clasped +it nervously, mumbling a second apology. For +a few moments longer they sat there, Menard +trying to set Danton at ease, but the boy was +flushed, and he spoke only half coherently. +He soon excused himself and wandered off +among the trees and the thick bushes.</p> +<p>During the next day Danton was in one of +his sullen moods. He worked feverishly, and, +with the maid, kept Father Claude occupied +for the greater part of the time, as they paddled +on, with conversation, and with discussion of +the Iroquois words. The maid felt the change +from the easy relations in the party, and +seemed a little depressed, but she threw herself +into the studying. Often during the day +she would take up a paddle, and join in the +stroke. At first Menard protested, but she +laughed, and said that it was a “rest” after +sitting so long.</p> +<p>They were delayed on the following day by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +a second accident to the canoe, so that they +were a full day late in reaching Montreal. +They moved slowly up the channel, past the +islands and the green banks with their little log-houses +or, occasionally, larger dwellings built +after the French manner. St. Helen’s Island, +nearly opposite the city, had a straggling cluster +of hastily built bark houses, and a larger group +of tents where the regulars were encamped, +awaiting the arrival of Governor Denonville +with the troops from Quebec.</p> +<p>Menard stopped at the island, guiding the +canoe to the bank where a long row of canoes +and bateaux lay close to the water.</p> +<p>“You might get out and walk around,” he +said to the others. “I shall be gone only a few +moments.”</p> +<p>Father Claude sat on the bank, lost in meditation. +Danton and the maid walked together +slowly up and down, beyond earshot from the +priest. Since Menard’s rebuke, both the lad +and the maid had shown a slight trace of resentment. +It did not come out in their conversation, +but rather in their silences, and in the +occasions which they took to sit and walk apart +from the others. It was as if a certain common +ground of interest had come to them. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +maid, for all her shyness and even temper, was +not accustomed to such cool authority as Menard +was developing. The priest was keeping +an eye on the fast-growing acquaintanceship, +and already had it vaguely in mind to call it +to the attention of Menard, who was getting +too deeply into the spirit and the details of his +work to give much heed.</p> +<p>Menard was soon back.</p> +<p>“Push off,” he said. “The Major is not +here. We shall have to look for him in the +city.”</p> +<p>They headed across the stream. The city +lay before them, on its gentle slope, with the +mountain rising behind like an untiring sentry. +It was early in the afternoon, and on the river +were many canoes and small boats, filled with +soldiers, friendly Indians, or <i>voyageurs</i>, moving +back and forth between the island and the city. +They passed close to many of the bateaux, +heaped high with provision and ammunition +bales, and more than once the lounging soldiers +rose and saluted Menard.</p> +<p>At the city wharf he turned to Danton.</p> +<p>“We shall have to get a larger canoe, Danton, +and a stronger. Will you see to it, please? +We shall have two more in our party from now +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +on. Make sure that the canoe is in the best of +condition. Also I wish you would see to getting +the rope and the other things we may need +in working through the rapids. Then spend +your time as you like. We shall start early in +the morning.”</p> +<p>Menard and Father Claude together went +with the maid to the Superior, who arranged +for her to pass the night with the sisters. +Then Menard left the priest to make his final +arrangements at the Mission, and went himself +to see the Commandant, to whom he outlined +the bare facts of his journey to Frontenac.</p> +<p>“The thing that most concerns you,” he said +finally, “is a meeting I had a few days ago with +three Indians down the river. One called himself +the Long Arrow, and another was Teganouan, +who, Father de Casson tells me, recently +left the Mission at the Sault St. Francis Xavier. +They claim to be Mission Indians. It will be +well to watch out for them, and to have an eye +on the Richelieu, and the other routes, to make +sure that they don’t slip away to the south with +information.”</p> +<p>“Very well,” replied the Commandant. “I imagine +that we can stop them. Do you feel safe +about taking this maid up the river just now?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span></p> +<p>“Oh, yes. Our men are scattered along the +route, are they not?” Menard asked.</p> +<p>“Quite a number are out establishing Champigny’s +transport system.”</p> +<p>“I don’t look for any trouble. But I should +like authority for one or two extra men.”</p> +<p>“Take anything you wish, Menard. I will +get word over to the island at once, giving you +all the authority you need.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V_DANTON_BREAKS_OUT' id='CHAPTER_V_DANTON_BREAKS_OUT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> +<h3>DANTON BREAKS OUT.</h3> +</div> +<p>When Menard reached the wharf, early on +the following morning, he found Father +Claude waiting for him. The new canoe lay +on the wharf, and beside it was a heap of stores. +Perrot and the two new <i>engagés</i> sat on the +edge of the wharf. The sun had just risen +over the trees on St. Helen’s Island, and the +air was clear and cool.</p> +<p>“Well, Perrot,” said Menard, as he unslung +his musket and horn, “is everything ready?”</p> +<p>“Everything, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“Where is Guerin?”</p> +<p>“I have not seen him, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>Menard turned to the priest.</p> +<p>“Good-morning, Father. You are on time, +I see; and that is more than we can say for +Danton. Where is the boy?”</p> +<p>“He has gone for Mademoiselle St. Denis, +Captain. He was here before the sunrise, +checking up the stores.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span></p> +<p>“Learning to work, is he? That is a good +sign. And how about yourself? Did you +pick up anything yesterday?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied the priest. “I enquired at the +Mission about Teganouan and his companions.”</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>“Nothing is known of them. Teganouan +had been one of the worst drunkards among +the Onondagas, and his conversion, a year ago, +was thought to be one of our greatest victories +for the faith. His penances were among the +most complete and purging ever––”</p> +<p>“And the others?”</p> +<p>“Just before I left the Mission for Quebec, +Teganouan went on an errand to the city and +fell among some of our fellow-countrymen who +were having a drinking bout. For a few days +after that he wavered, and fell again. Once +afterward he was seen in company with two +low fellows, <i>coureurs de bois</i>, who have since +been confined under suspicion of communicating +with the enemy.”</p> +<p>“He has returned to the Mission, then?”</p> +<p>“No, he disappeared some time ago. They +do not know the Long Arrow. I described +him to Brother de Lamberville––”</p> +<p>“Oh, he is here now?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span></p> +<p>“Yes. It seems, further, that all the other +workers among the Iroquois have had word and +are returning. That much of my labour is removed.”</p> +<p>“How do they get this word?” said Menard, +impatiently. “That is the old question. It is +enough to make one wonder if there are any +secrets kept from the enemy’s country.”</p> +<p>“No one seems to know, M’sieu. The +Superior told me last night that they had not +been sent for, so it would seem that the +information must have reached them through +the Indians.”</p> +<p>“The folly of these new governors!” Menard +strode back and forth. “Oh, it makes +one sigh for old Frontenac. He never walked +blindfolded into such a trap as this. But go +on. You were speaking of Father de Lamberville.”</p> +<p>“It was only that I described the Long +Arrow to Brother de Lamberville. He seemed +to remember such a wampum collar as the Long +Arrow wore. He could not recall exactly.”</p> +<p>“Then we may as well forget the incident. +It seems that we are to know nothing of it. +Here is Danton.”</p> +<p>The lieutenant and the maid were walking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +rapidly down to the wharf. Mademoiselle was +in a gay mood after her few hours of enjoyment +among the comforts of a city.</p> +<p>“Good-morning,” she called, waving her hand.</p> +<p>“Good-morning,” said Menard, shortly. He +did not look a second time, to see her smile +fade, for Guerin had not appeared, and he was +rapidly losing patience. He walked up and +down the wharf for a few moments, while +Danton found a seat for the maid and the +two talked together.</p> +<p>“Perrot,” he said, “do you know where +Guerin was last evening?”</p> +<p>“Yes, M’sieu. He was at the inn.”</p> +<p>“What was he doing? Drinking?”</p> +<p>“A little, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“Go up there, on the run. If you don’t find +him there, come right back, for we can’t wait +much longer for anyone.”</p> +<p>Perrot ran up the street and disappeared. +In a few moments he came in sight, striding +down between the row of houses, holding +Guerin firmly by one arm. The young fellow +was hanging back, and stumbling in limp fashion. +He was evidently drunk. Danton, who +had joined Menard when the two men appeared, +said, “Heavens, he must have started early!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span></p> +<p>Some distance behind Perrot and Guerin +came a ragged crowd of woodsmen, singing, +jeering, and shouting, and bearing broad traces +of a sleepless night.</p> +<p>Menard stood waiting with a look of disgust. +When they came upon the wharf Guerin +laughed, and tried to get out a flippant apology +for his tardiness; but Menard seized him +before the words were off his lips, and dragging +him across the wharf threw him into the +water. Then he turned to Perrot, and said, +“Pull him out.”</p> +<p>The two new men stood uneasily near, with +startled faces. Behind them the maid was sitting, +a frightened look in her eyes. Danton +had risen.</p> +<p>“Clear away from here!” Menard called to +the drunken rabble, who had collected a few +rods away, and were now hesitating between +laughter and fright. They stood looking at +each other and at Menard, then they slunk +away.</p> +<p>In all an hour had gone before they were +ready to start. Guerin was weak and shivering +from his plunge, but Menard ordered him +into the canoe. The incident drew a cloud +over the maid’s spirits, and altogether depressed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +the party, so that not until afternoon did they +get into conversation. By that time they were +past the Lachine Rapids and the Sault St. +Louis, where the men made a portage, and +Danton led the maid along the bank through +the tangled brush and briers. When at last +they were ready to push on across Lake St. +Louis the maid’s skirt was torn in a dozen places, +and a thorn had got into her hand, which Danton +carefully removed with the point of his knife, +wincing and flushing with her at each twinge of +pain. During the rest of the day, they had an +Iroquois lesson, and by the end of the afternoon +when the sun was low, and Menard headed for +the shore of Isle Perrot, the maid was bright +again, laughing over Danton’s blunders in the +new language.</p> +<p>They spent the next day on the island, for +what with wind and rain the lake was impassable +for their canoe. The men built a hut of +brush and bark which sheltered the party from +the driving rain. Menard’s mood lightened at +the prospect of a rest, and he started a long +conversation in Iroquois which soon had even +Father Claude laughing in his silent way. +The rain lessened in the afternoon, but the +wind was still running high. Menard and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +<i>engagés</i> went out early in the afternoon and +repacked all the supplies, in order that the +weight might be distributed more evenly in +the canoe. With this and other work he was +occupied until late in the afternoon. Father +Claude took the occasion for a solitary walk, +and for meditation. When Menard entered +the hut he found the maid sitting with her head +resting against one of the supporting trees. +She wore a disturbed, unsettled expression. +Danton evidently had been sitting or standing +near her, for when Menard entered, stooping, +he was moving across the hut in a hesitating, +conscious manner. The Captain looked at +them curiously.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid we’ll have to take away a part of +your house to pay for your supper,” he said. +“Everything is wet outside that might do for +firewood. Lend a hand, Danton.” He gathered +logs and sticks from the floor and walls, +and carried them out. Danton, after a quick +look toward the maid (which, of course, Menard +saw), did the same.</p> +<p>The Captain was the first to reenter the hut. +The maid had not moved, and her eyes were +puzzled and wearied, but she tried to smile.</p> +<p>“Has it stopped raining?” she asked. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span></p> +<p>Menard gave her an amused glance, and +pointed to a sparkling beam of sunlight that +came slanting in through an opening in the +wall, and buried itself in a little pool of light on +the trampled ground. She looked at it, flushed, +and turned her eyes away. He stood for a moment, +half minded to ask the question that was +on his tongue, but finally held it back. In a +moment Danton came back, looking suspiciously +at each of them as he stooped to gather +another armful of wood.</p> +<p>Menard was thoughtful during the evening +meal. Afterward he slipped his arm through +Father Claude’s, and led him for a short walk, +giving him an account of the incident. “I +didn’t say anything at the time,” he concluded, +“partly because I thought I might be mistaken, +and partly because it would have been the +worst thing I could do. I begin to see––I +should have foreseen it before I spoke to him +about the girl––that we have trouble ahead, +Father, with these precious children. I confess +I don’t know just what to do about it. We +must think it over. Anyway, you had better +talk to her. She would tell you what she +wouldn’t tell me. If he’s annoying her, we +must know it.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span></p> +<p>Father Claude was troubled.</p> +<p>“The maid is in our care,” he said, “and +also in that of Lieutenant Danton. It would +seem that he––”</p> +<p>“There’s no use in expecting him to take +any responsibility, Father.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I suppose you are right. He is a +child.”</p> +<p>“Will you go to the maid, Father, and get +straight at the truth? You see that I cannot +meddle with her thoughts without danger of +being misinterpreted. It is you who must be +her adviser.”</p> +<p>The priest acquiesced, and they returned to +the camp, to find the maid still sitting alone, +with a troubled face, and Danton puttering +about the fire with a show of keeping himself +occupied. They ate in silence, in spite of +Menard’s efforts to arouse them. After the +meal they hung about, each hesitating to wander +away, and yet seeing no pleasure in gathering +about the fire. Menard saw that Father +Claude had it in mind to speak to the maid, so +he got Danton away on a pretext of looking +over the stores. But he said nothing of the +episode that was in all their minds, preferring +to await the priest’s report. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span></p> +<p>After the maid had gone to her couch beneath +the canoe, and Danton had wandered +into the wilderness that was all about them, +Father Claude joined Menard at the fire.</p> +<p>“Well, Father, what word?”</p> +<p>“Softly, M’sieu. It is not likely that she +sleeps as yet.”</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>“I have talked long with her, but she is of a +stubborn mind.”</p> +<p>“How is that?”</p> +<p>“She was angry at first. She spoke hastily, +and asked me in short terms to leave her in +solitude. And then, after a time, when she +began to see that it was her welfare and our +duty which I had in mind, and not an idle curiosity, +she was moved.”</p> +<p>“Did she speak then?”</p> +<p>“No, M’sieu, she wept, and insisted that +there was no trouble on her mind,––it was +merely the thought of her home and her father +that had cast her down.”</p> +<p>“And so she has pride,” mused Menard. +“Could you gather any new opinions, Father? +Do you think that they may already have come +to some understanding?”</p> +<p>“I hardly think so, M’sieu. But may I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +suggest that it would be well to be firm with +Lieutenant Danton? He is young, and the +maid is in our trust,”</p> +<p>“True, Father. I will account for him.”</p> +<p>There seemed to be nothing further to do at +the moment, so the priest went to his blanket, +and Menard drew a bundle under his head and +went to sleep, after a glance about the camp to +see that the sentry was on watch. Now that +Montreal lay behind, and the unsettled forest +before, with only a thin line of Frenchmen +stretched along the river between them and +Fort Frontenac, he had divided the night into +watches, and each of the four <i>engagés</i> stood his +turn.</p> +<p>The following day was all but half gone +before the wind had dropped to a rate that +made the passage of the lake advisable. +Menard ordered the noon meal for an hour +earlier than usual, and shortly afterward they +set out across the upper end of Lake St. Louis +to the foot of the cascades. Before the last +bundle had been carried up the portage to +Buisson Pointe, the dusk was settling over the +woods across the river, and over the rising ground +on Isle Perrot at the mouth of the Ottawa.</p> +<p>During the next day they passed on up the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +stream to the Coteau des Cedres. Menard and +Father Claude were both accustomed to take +the rapid without carrying, or even unloading, +but Danton looked at the swirling water with +doubt in his eyes. When the maid, leaning +back in the canoe while the men halted at the +bank to make fast for the passage, saw the +torrent that tumbled and pitched merrily down +toward them, she laughed. To hold a sober +mood for long was not in her buoyant nature, +and she welcomed a dash of excitement as a +relief from the strained relations of the two +days just gone.</p> +<p>“M’sieu,” she called to Menard, with a +sparkle in her eyes. “Oh, M’sieu, may I stay +in the canoe?”</p> +<p>Danton turned quickly at the sound of her +voice, and a look, half of pain, half of surprise, +came over his face as he saw her eagerness. +Menard looked at her in doubt.</p> +<p>“It may be a wet passage, Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>“And why not, M’sieu? Have I not been +wet before? See, I will protect myself.” She +drew the bundles closely about her feet, and +threw a blanket across her knees. “Now I +can brave the stream, Captain. Or,”––her +gay tone dropped, and she looked demurely at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +him,––“perhaps it is that I am too heavy, that +I should carry myself up the bank. I will obey +my orders, Captain.” But as she spoke she +tucked the blanket closer about her, and stole +another glance at Menard.</p> +<p>He smiled. He was thinking of Madame +Gordeau and her fragile daughter, who had +shuddered with fear at a mere glimpse of the +first rapid. “Very well,” he said, “Mademoiselle +shall stay in the canoe.”</p> +<p>“But it is not safe”––broke in Danton, +stepping forward. Then, conscious of the blunder, +he turned away, and took up the rope.</p> +<p>“Lay hold, boys,” said Menard.</p> +<p>Perrot and one of the new men waded into +the water, and laid hold of the gunwales on +each side of the bow. Menard himself took +the stern. He called to Danton, who stood +awkwardly upon the bank, “Take the rope +with the men.”</p> +<p>Guerin made the rope fast and set out ahead, +with the other men and Danton close behind. +Father Claude rolled up his robe and joined +them.</p> +<p>“Wait,” called Menard, as the rope straightened. +“Mademoiselle, I am sorry to disturb you, +but if you will sit farther back you will have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +less trouble from the spray.” He waded along +the side, and helped her to move nearer the +stern, placing the bundles and the blanket +about her as before. Then he shouted, “All +right,” and they started into the foaming water.</p> +<p>They toiled slowly up the incline, catching +at rocks to steady their course, and often +struggling for a foothold. Once Menard +ordered a halt at a large rock, and all +rested for a moment.</p> +<p>When they started again, the men at the bow +of the canoe had some trouble in holding it +steady, for their feet were on a stretch of smooth +rock, and Menard called Danton back to help +them. The boy worked his way along the rope, +and reached the bow.</p> +<p>“Come around behind Perrot,” said Menard.</p> +<p>Danton reached around Perrot’s body, and +caught hold of the gunwale. At that moment +his foot slipped, and he fell, dragging the side +of the canoe down with him. The men at the +bow did their best to prevent a capsize, but succeeded +only in keeping half the bundles in the +canoe. The others, the muskets, and the maid +went into the river.</p> +<p>Menard moved forward as rapidly as he could +against the current. The maid was unable at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +once to get her feet, used as she was to the +water, and was swept down against him. He +caught her, and, steadying himself with one +hand, by the water-logged canoe, raised her +head and held her while she struggled for a +footing and shook the water from her eyes. +Before she was wholly herself, Danton came +plunging toward them.</p> +<p>“Give her to me!” he said huskily. “I’ve +drowned her! My God, let me have her!”</p> +<p>“Stop,” said Menard, sternly. “Take the +men, and go after those bales––quick!”</p> +<p>Danton looked stupidly at him and at the +maid, who was wiping the water from her face +with one hand, and holding tightly to the Captain. +Then he followed Perrot, who had already, +with the two new men and Father Claude, +commenced to get together the bales, most of +which had sunk, and were moving slowly along +the bottom. Menard still had his arm about +the girl’s shoulders. He helped her to the +shore.</p> +<p>“Keep moving, Mademoiselle,––don’t sit +down. In a moment we shall have a fire. +Father Claude,” he called, “bring the canoe +ashore.” Then to the maid, “There are yet +some dry blankets, thank God.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span></p> +<p>Mademoiselle was herself now, and she protested. +“But it is only water, M’sieu. Let me +go on with you, beyond the rapids.”</p> +<p>Menard merely shook his head. The canoe +was soon on the bank, and emptied of water. +The other men were beginning to come in with +soaked bundles and dripping muskets. Each +bale was opened, and the contents spread out to +dry, while Guerin was set to work at drying the +muskets with a cloth. Perrot and Danton +built a rough shelter for the maid, enclosing a +small fire, and gave her some dry blankets. +Then each man dried himself as best he could.</p> +<p>This accident threw Danton into a fit of +gloominess from which nothing seemed to +arouse him. He was careless of his duty, and +equally careless to the reprimands that followed. +This went on for two days, during which the +maid seemed at one moment to avoid him, and +at another to watch for his coming. In the +evening of the second day following, the party +camped at Pointe à Baudet, on Lake St. Francis. +The supper was eaten in a silence more oppressive +than usual, for neither Menard nor Father +Claude could overcome the influence of Danton’s +heavy face and the maid’s troubled eyes. +After the supper the two strolled away, and sat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +just out of earshot on a mossy knoll. For hours +they talked there, their voices low, save once +or twice when Danton’s rose. They seemed to +have lost all count of time, all heed of appearances. +Menard and the priest made an effort +at first to appear unobservant, but later, seeing +that their movements were beyond the sight of +those unheeding eyes, they took to watching +and speculating on the course of the conversation. +The night came on, and the dark closed +over them. Still the murmur of those low voices +floated across the camp.</p> +<p>Father Claude, with a troubled mind, went +down to the water, and walked slowly up and +down. Menard saw to the final preparations for +the night, and posted the first sentry. Then +he joined the priest.</p> +<p>“Father?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“I think it is time to speak.”</p> +<p>“I fear it is, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“I must leave it in your hands.”</p> +<p>“Shall I go now?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>Without further words, Father Claude walked +up the bank, crackling through the bushes. +From this spot the voices were inaudible, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +for a few moments there was no sound. Then +Menard could hear some one moving heavily +through the undergrowth, going farther and +farther into the stillness, and he knew that it +was Danton. He sat on the bank with his back +against a tree, and waited for a long hour. At +last he dropped asleep.</p> +<p>He was awakened by Father Claude. The +priest dropped to the ground beside him. His +training had given Menard the faculty of awaking +instantly into full grasp of a situation.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said. “Where is the maid?”</p> +<p>“She has gone to her couch, but not to sleep, +I fear. It has come, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“What has come?”</p> +<p>“Danton has lost his senses. He asks her +to marry him, to flee with him. It is a difficult +case. She has had no such experience before, +and knows not how to receive him. She seems +to have no love for him, beyond the pleasure +his flattery has given her. She believes all he +says. One thing I know, aside from all questions +of expediency, of care for our trust, this +must not go on.”</p> +<p>“Not for the present, at least. She may do +what she will, once we have taken her safely to +Frontenac.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span></p> +<p>“No, M’sieu; not even then. We must stop +it at once.”</p> +<p>“Oh, of course,” said Menard; “so far as we +are concerned, we have no choice. You need +not bother longer to-night. I will wait for the +boy. I am sorry for him.”</p> +<p>“I should have more pity, if I knew less of +his past.”</p> +<p>“Tush, Father! He is not a bad fellow, as +they go. To be sure he does not rise any too +well to new responsibilities, but he will grow +into it. It is better an honest infatuation with +the daughter of a gentleman than a dishonest +one with an Indian maid. And you know our +officers, Father. God knows, they are all bad +enough; and yet they are loyal fellows.”</p> +<p>“Ah, M’sieu, I fear you will be too lenient +with him. Believe me, we have not a minute to +waste in stopping the affair.”</p> +<p>“Have no fear, Father. Good-night.”</p> +<p>“Good-night.”</p> +<p>Menard lay on the bank, gazing at the sparkling +water, and listening to the slow step of +the sentry and to the deeper sounds of the forest. +Another hour crept by, and still Danton +had not returned. Menard walked about the +camp to make sure that he was not already +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +rolled in his blanket; then he went to the sentry, +who was leaning against a tree a few rods +away.</p> +<p>“Colin,” he said, “have you seen Lieutenant +Danton?”</p> +<p>“Yes, M’sieu. He is up there.” Colin +pointed through the trees that fringed the +river. “I heard a noise some time ago, and +went up to see. He is lying under a beech +tree, if he has not moved,––and I should +have heard him if he had. It may be that he +is asleep.”</p> +<p>Menard nodded, and walked slowly along +the bank, bending aside the briers that caught +at his clothes and his hands.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI_THE_FIGHT_AT_LA_GALLETTE' id='CHAPTER_VI_THE_FIGHT_AT_LA_GALLETTE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> +<h3>THE FIGHT AT LA GALLETTE.</h3> +</div> +<p>Danton was lying on the ground, but he +was not asleep. He looked up, at the sound +of Menard’s footsteps, and then, recognizing +him, lowered his eyes again. The Captain hesitated, +standing over the prostrate figure.</p> +<p>“Danton,” he said finally, “I want you to +tell me the truth.”</p> +<p>The boy made no reply, and Menard, after +waiting for a moment, sat upon a log.</p> +<p>“I have decided to do rather an unusual +thing, Danton,” he said slowly, “in offering to +talk it over with you as a friend, and not as an +officer. In one thing you must understand me: +Mademoiselle St. Denis has been intrusted to +my care, and until she has safely reached those +who have a right to share the direction of her +actions, I can allow nothing of this sort to go +on. You must understand that. If you will +talk with me frankly, and try to control yourself +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +for the present, it may be that I can be of +service to you later on.”</p> +<p>There was a long silence. Finally, Danton +spoke, without raising his head.</p> +<p>“Is there need of this, M’sieu? Is it not +enough that she––that Mademoiselle dismisses +me?”</p> +<p>“Oh,” said Menard, “that is it?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“You are sure of yourself, Danton? sure +that you have not made a mistake?”</p> +<p>“A mistake?” The boy looked up wildly. +“I was––shall I tell you, M’sieu?––I left the +camp to-night with the thought that I should +never go back.”</p> +<p>Menard looked at him curiously.</p> +<p>“What did you plan to do?”</p> +<p>“I didn’t know,––I don’t know now. Back +to Montreal, perhaps to the Iroquois. I don’t +care where.”</p> +<p>“You did not bring your musket. It would +hardly be safe.”</p> +<p>“Safe!” There was weary contempt in the +boy’s voice. He sat up, and made an effort to +steady himself, leaning back upon his hands. +“I should not say this. It was what I thought +at first. I am past it now; I can think better. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +It was only your coming,––when I first saw +you, it came rushing back, and I wanted to––oh, +what is the use? You do not know. You +cannot understand.”</p> +<p>“And now?”</p> +<p>“Now, Captain, I ask for a release. Let me +go back to Montreal.”</p> +<p>“How would you go? You have no canoe.”</p> +<p>“I will walk.”</p> +<p>Menard shook his head.</p> +<p>“I am sorry,” he said, “but it is too late. In +the first place, you would never reach the city. +There are scouting bands of Iroquois all along +the river.”</p> +<p>“So much the better, M’sieu, so––”</p> +<p>“Wait. That is only one reason. I cannot +spare you. I have realized within the last day +that I should have brought more men. The +Iroquois know of our campaign; they are +watching us. A small party like this is to +their liking. I will tell you, Danton, we may +have a close rub before we get to Frontenac. +I wish I could help you, but I cannot. What +reason could I give for sending you alone down +the river to Montreal? You forget, boy, that +we are not on our own pleasure; we are on the +King’s errand. For you to go now would be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +to take away one of our six fighting men,––to +imperil Mademoiselle. And that, I think,” +he looked keenly at Danton, “is not what you +would wish to do.”</p> +<p>The boy’s face was by turns set and working. +He looked at Menard as if to speak, but got +nothing out. At last he sprang to his feet, and +paced back and forth between the trees.</p> +<p>“What can I do?” he said half to himself. +“I can’t stay! I can’t see her every day, and +hear her voice, and sit with her at every meal. +Why do you call yourself my friend, Menard? +Why don’t you help? Why don’t you say +something––?”</p> +<p>“There are some things, Danton, that a man +must fight out alone.”</p> +<p>Danton turned away, and stood looking over +the river. Menard sat on the log and waited. +The moments slipped by, and still they said +nothing. They could hear the stirring of Colin, +back at the camp, and the rustle of the low night +breeze. They could almost hear the great silent +rush of the river.</p> +<p>“Danton.”</p> +<p>The boy half turned his head.</p> +<p>“You will stay here and play the man. You +will go on with your duties; though, if the old +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +arrangement be too hard, I will be your master +in the Iroquois study, leaving Mademoiselle to +Father Claude. And now you must return to +the camp and get what sleep you can. Heaven +knows we may have little enough between here +and Frontenac. Come.”</p> +<p>He got up, and walked to the camp, without +looking around. Danton lingered until the +Captain’s tall figure was blending with the +shadows of the forest, then he went after.</p> +<p>During the following day they got as far as +the group of islands at the head of Lake St. +Francis. Wherever possible Menard was now +selecting islands or narrow points for the camp, +where, in case of a night attack, defence would +be a simple problem for his few men. Also, +each night, he had the men spread a circle of +cut boughs around the camp at a little distance, +so that none could approach without some slight +noise. Another night saw the party at the foot +of Petit Chesneaux, just above Pointe Maligne.</p> +<p>While Perrot was preparing the supper, and +Danton, with the <i>voyageurs</i>, was unpacking the +bales, Menard took his musket and strode off +into the forest. There was seldom a morning +now that the maid did not have for her breakfast +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +a morsel of game +which the Captain’s musket +had brought down.</p> +<div class="image-left"> <img alt='map' src='images/illus-map.png' /><br /> + +<p class='image-caption'> +<span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Note.</span>––By this picture-writing the Long Arrow (of the clan of the +Beaver) tells the Beaver (of the same clan) that he has taken up the hatchet +against the party in the canoe, and he asks the Beaver to assist him. The +parallel zigzag lines under the long arrow tell that he is travelling by the +river, and the two straight lines under these that he has two warriors with +him. The attack is to be made in either three or four sleeps, or days, as +indicated by the three finished huts and one unfinished.<br /><br /> + +The Beaver has seen this sign, as shown by his signature at the bottom. The +seventeen slanting lines under the foot mean that he has seventeen warriors +and they are travelling on foot, southward, as shown by the fact that the +lines slope toward the sun.<br /><br /> + +That the figures in the canoe are French is shown by their hats. The priest +has no paddle, the maid is represented with long hair. +</p> + +</div> +<p>In half an hour he returned, +and sought Father +Claude; and after a +few low words the two +set off. Menard led the +way through thicket and +timber growth, over a +low hill, and down into a +hollow, where a well-defined +Indian trail crossed +a brook. Here was a +large sugar maple tree +standing in a narrow +opening in the thicket. +Menard struck a light, +and held up a torch so +that the priest could +make out a blaze-mark +on the tree.</p> +<p>“See,” said Menard. +“It is on the old trail. +I saw it by the merest +chance.”</p> +<p>Father Claude bent forward, with his eyes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +close to the inscription that had been painted +on the white inner bark, with charcoal and +bear’s grease.</p> +<p>“Can you read it?” asked Menard, holding +the torch high.</p> +<p>The priest nodded. Both of these men knew +the Indian writing nearly as well as their own +French.</p> +<p>“He does not know of the two men you got +at Montreal, M’sieu. He tells of only six in +our canoe.”</p> +<p>“No? But that matters little. The Beaver +has hurried after him with nearly a score. +They can give us trouble enough. What do +you make of the huts? Do they mean three +days or four?”</p> +<p>“It looks to me,” said the priest slowly, +“that he was interrupted in drawing the +fourth.”</p> +<p>“Well,”––Menard threw his torch into the +brook, and turned away into the dusk of the +thicket,––“we know enough. The fight will +be somewhere near the head of the rapids. +Perhaps they will wait until we get on into the +islands.”</p> +<p>“And meantime,” said the priest, as they +crackled through the undergrowth, “we shall +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +say nothing of this to Lieutenant Danton or +the maid?”</p> +<p>“Nothing,” Menard replied.</p> +<p>In three days more they had passed Rapide +Flat, after toiling laboriously by the Long Sault. +They were a sober enough party now, oppressed +with Danton’s dogged attention to duty and +with the maid’s listless manner.</p> +<p>They were passing a small island the next +morning, when Perrot gave a shout and stopped +paddling.</p> +<p>“What is it?” asked Menard, sharply.</p> +<p>Perrot pointed across a spit of land. In the +other channel they could see a bateau just +disappearing behind a clump of trees. It was +headed down-stream. Menard swung the canoe +about, and they skirted the foot of the island. +Instead of a single bateau there were some +half dozen, drifting light down the river, with +a score of <i>coureurs de bois</i> and <i>voyageurs</i> +under the command of a bronzed lieutenant, +Du Peron, a sergeant, and a corporal. The +lieutenant recognized Menard, and both parties +landed while the two officers exchanged news.</p> +<p>“Can you spare me a few men?” Menard +asked, when they had drawn apart from the +others. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span></p> +<p>The lieutenant’s eye roamed over the group +on the beach, where the men of both parties +were mingling.</p> +<p>“How many do you want? I’m running +shorthanded. We have all we can manage +with these bateaux.”</p> +<p>“There’s a war party of twenty on my trail,” +said Menard. “If I had my own men with +me I should feel safe, but I have my doubts +about these fellows. I haven’t room for more +than two.”</p> +<p>“What’s the trouble?––that La Grange +affair?”</p> +<p>Menard nodded.</p> +<p>“I heard that they had a price on your head. +There’s been a good deal of talk about it at +Frontenac. A converted Mohawk has been +scouting for us, and he says that the Onondagas +blame you for that whole galley business.”</p> +<p>“I know,” said Menard, grimly. “You could +hardly expect them to get the truth of it.”</p> +<p>“It was bad work, Menard, bad work. The +worst thing La Grange did was to butcher +the women and children. He was drunk at +the time, and the worst of it was over before +d’Orvilliers got wind of it. Do you know who +is leading this war party?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span></p> +<p>“The Long Arrow.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes. A big fellow, with a rather noticeable +wampum collar. He came to Frontenac as +a Mission Indian, but got away before we suspected +anything. Our scout told me that his +son was in the party that was taken to the galleys. +He’s been scouting along the river ever +since. Likely as not he followed you down to +Quebec. How many men have you now?”</p> +<p>“Five, and Father Claude.”</p> +<p>“He could shoot at a pinch, I suppose. I’ll +let you have the best two I have, but––” +Du Peron shrugged his shoulders––“you +know the sort that are assigned for this transport +work. They’re a bad lot at best. But they +can shoot, and they hate the Iroquois, so you’re +all right if you can keep them sober. That +will make nine, with yourself,––it should be +enough.”</p> +<p>“It will be enough. How is the transport +moving?”</p> +<p>“Splendidly. Whatever we may say about +the new Governor, our Intendant knows his +business. I judge from the way he is stocking +up Frontenac, that we are to use it as the base +for a big campaign.”</p> +<p>“I suppose so. You will report, will you, at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +Montreal, that we were safe at Rapide Flat? +And if you find a <i>coureur</i> going down to +Quebec, I wish you would send word to Provost +that Mademoiselle St. Denis is well and +in good spirits.”</p> +<p>The lieutenant looked curiously at the maid, +who was walking with Father Claude near the +canoe. Then the two officers shook hands, and +in a few moments were going their ways, Menard +with two villainous <i>voyageurs</i> added to his +crew. That afternoon he passed the last rapid, +and beached the canoe at La Gallette, thankful +that nothing intervened between them and +Fort Frontenac but a reach of still water and +the twining channels of the Thousand Islands, +where it would call for the sharpest eyes ever +set in an Iroquois head to follow his movements.</p> +<p>They ate an early supper, and immediately +afterward Father Claude slipped away. The +maid looked after him a little wistfully, then +she wandered to the bank, and found a mossy +seat where she could watch the long rapid, with +its driving, foaming current that dashed over +the ledges and leaped madly around the jagged +rocks. Menard set his men at work preparing +the camp against attack. When this was well +under way he called Danton, who was lying by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +the fire, and spent an hour with him conversing +in Iroquois. By that time the twilight was +creeping down the river. Menard left the boy +to form a speech in accord with Iroquois tradition, +and went on a tour of inspection about +the camp. The new men had swung thoroughly +into the spirit of their work; one of them was +already on guard a short way back in the +woods. The other men were grouped in a +cleared place, telling stories and singing.</p> +<p>Father Claude came hurriedly toward the +fire, looking for Menard. His eyes glowed +with enthusiasm.</p> +<p>“M’sieu,” he said, in an eager voice, “come. +I have found it.”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“It has come to me,––about the canoe.”</p> +<p>Menard looked puzzled, but the priest caught +his arm, and led him away.</p> +<p>“It came while we ate supper. The whole +truth, the secret of the allegory, flashed upon +me. I have worked hard, and now it is done. +Instead of leaving out the canoe, I have put it +back, and have placed in it six warriors, three +paddling toward the chapel, and three away +from it. Over them hovers an angel,––a mere +suggestion, a faint, shining face, a diaphanous +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +form, and outspread hands. Thus we symbolize +the conflict in the savage mind at the first entrance +of the Holy Word into their lives, with +the blessed assurance over all that the Faith +must triumph in the end.”</p> +<p>At the last words, he stopped and drew +Menard around to face the portrait of the +Lily of the Onondagas, which was leaning +against a stump.</p> +<p>“Is it too dark, M’sieu? See, I will bring it +closer.” He lifted the picture, and held it close +to Menard’s eyes. He was trembling with the +excitement of his inspiration.</p> +<p>The Captain stepped back.</p> +<p>“I should like to know, Father, where you +have had this picture.”</p> +<p>“It was in my bundle. I have”––for the +first time he saw the sternness in Menard’s +face, and his voice faltered.</p> +<p>“You did not leave it at Montreal?”</p> +<p>Father Claude slowly lowered the canvas to +the ground. The light had gone out of his +eyes, and his face was white. Then suddenly +his thin form straightened. “I had forgotten. +It was M’sieu’s order. See,”––he suddenly +lifted the picture over his head and whirled to +the stump,––“it shall go no farther. We will +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +leave it here for the wolves and the crows and +the pagan redmen.”</p> +<p>He dashed it down with all his strength, but +Menard sprang forward, and caught it on his +outstretched arm. “No, Father,” he said; “we +will take it with us.”</p> +<p>The priest smiled wearily, and lowered the +picture to the ground; but when Menard said, +“You have broken it,” he raised it hastily, and +examined it. One corner of the wooden frame +was loosened, but the canvas was not injured.</p> +<p>“I can mend it,” he said.</p> +<p>Then they walked to the camp together, +without talking; and Menard helped him repair +the frame, and pack the picture carefully.</p> +<p>“How is it that it was not ruined in the +capsize at Coteau des Cedres?” Menard asked.</p> +<p>“It was preserved by a miracle, M’sieu. This +bundle did not leave the canoe.”</p> +<p>The <i>voyageurs</i>, still lounging in the clearing, +were laughing and talking noisily. The Captain, +after he had prepared the maid’s couch, +and bade her good-night, called to them to be +quiet. For a time the noise ceased, but a little +later, as he was spreading his blanket on the +ground, it began again, and one of the transport +men sang the opening strain of a ribald +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +song. Menard strode over to the group so +quickly that he took them by surprise. Colin +was slipping something behind him, but he +could not escape Menard’s eye. In a moment +he was sprawling on his face, and a brandy flask +was brought to light. Menard dashed it against +a tree, and turned to the frightened men.</p> +<p>“Go to your blankets, every man of you. +There are Iroquois on this river. You have +already made enough noise to draw them from +half a league away. The next man that is +caught drinking will be flogged.” He thought +of the maid lying under her frail shelter, for +whose life he was responsible. “If it occurs +twice, he will be shot. Perrot, I want you to +join the sentry. From now on we shall have +two men on guard all night. See that there is +no mistake about this. At the slightest noise, +you will call me.”</p> +<p>The men slunk to their blankets, and soon +the camp was still.</p> +<p>The river sang as it rushed down its zigzag +channel through the rocks,––a song that +seemed a part of the night, and yet was distinct +from the creeping, rustling, dropping, all-pervading +life and stir of the forest. Every +leaf, every twig and root, every lump of sod +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +and rock-held pool of stagnant water, had its +own miniature world, where living things were +fighting the battle of life. In the far distance, +perhaps, an owl hooted; or near at hand a flying +squirrel alighted on a bending elm-twig. Deer +and moose followed their beaten tracks to the +streams that had been theirs before ever Frenchman +pierced the forest; beaver dove into their +huts above the dams their own sharp teeth had +made; moles nosed under the rich soil, and left +a winding track behind; frogs croaked and +bellowed from some backset of the river,––and +all blended, not, perhaps, so much into a sound, +as into a sense of movement,––an even murmur +in a low key, to which the lighter note of +the water was apart and distinct.</p> +<p>To a man trained as Menard had been, this +was companionship. He was never alone in +the forest, never without his millions of friends, +who, though they seldom came into his thoughts, +were yet a part of him, of his sense of life and +strength. And through all these noises, even +to the roar of Niagara itself, he could sleep +like a child, when the slightest sound of a +moccasined foot on a dry leaf would have +aroused him at the instant to full activity. +To-night he lay awake for a long time. With +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +every day that he drew nearer the frontier +came graver doubts of the feasibility of the +plan which had been intrusted to him. The +wretched business of La Grange’s treachery +and the stocking of the King’s galleys had +probably alienated the Onondagas for all time. +Their presence on the St. Lawrence pointed to +this. He felt safe enough, personally, for the +very imprudence of the Governor’s campaign, +which had made it known so early to all the +Iroquois, was an element in his favour. The +Iroquois, unlike many of the roaming western +tribes, had their settled villages, with lodges +and fields of grain to defend from invasion. +One secret of the campaign had been well +kept; no one save the Governor’s staff and +Menard knew that the blow was to fall on the +Senecas alone. And Menard was certain +enough in his knowledge of Iroquois character +to believe that each tribe, from the Mohawks +on the east to the Senecas on the west, would +call in its warriors, and concentrate to defend +its villages. Therefore there could be no strong +force on the St. Lawrence, where the French +could so easily cut it off. As for the Long +Arrow and his band, eight good fighting men +and a stout-hearted priest could attend to them. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></p> +<p>No, the danger would begin after the maid +was safe at Frontenac, and he and Danton and +Father Claude must set out to win the confidence +of the Onondagas. The Oneidas and +Mohawks must not be slighted; but the Onondagas +and Cayugas, being the nearest to the +Senecas, and between them and the other nations, +would likely prove to be the key to the situation.</p> +<p>The night was black when he awoke. +Clouds had spread over the sky, hiding all but +a strip in the west where a low line of stars +peeped out. This strip was widening rapidly +as the night breeze carried the clouds eastward. +At a little distance some of the men were whispering +together and laughing softly. A hand +was feeling his arm, and a voice whispered,––</p> +<p>“Quick, M’sieu; something has happened!”</p> +<p>“Is that you, Colin?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Guerin was on guard with me, and +he fell. I thought I heard an arrow, but could +not be sure. I looked for him after I heard +him fall, but could not find him in the dark.”</p> +<p>Menard sprang to his feet, with his musket, +which had lain at his side every night since +leaving Montreal.</p> +<p>“Where was Guerin, Colin?”</p> +<p>“Straight back from the river, a few rods. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +He had spoken but a moment before. It must +have told them where to shoot.”</p> +<p>“Call the men, and draw them close in a +circle.” Menard felt his way toward the fire, +where a few red embers showed dimly, and +roused Danton with a light touch and a whispered +caution to be silent. Already he could +hear the low stir of the <i>engagés</i> as they slipped +nearer the fire. He walked slowly toward the +river, with one hand stretched out in front, to +find the canoe. It was closer than he supposed, +and he stumbled over it, knocking one +end off its support. The maid awoke with a +gasp.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle, silence!” he whispered, +kneeling beside her. “I fear we are attacked. +You must come with me.” He had to say it +twice before she could fully understand, and +just then an arrow sang over them, and struck +a tree with a low <i>thut</i>. He suddenly rose and +shouted, “Together, boys! They will be on +us in a moment. Close in at the bank, and +save your powder. Perrot, come here and help +me with the canoe.”</p> +<p>There was a burst of yells from the dark in +answer to his call, and a few shots flashed. +Danton was rallying the men, and calling to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +them to fall back, where they could take cover +among the rocks and trees of the bank.</p> +<p>The maid was silent, but she reached out +her hand, and Menard, catching her wrist, +helped her to her feet, and fairly carried her +down the slope of the bank, laying her behind +the tangled roots of a great oak. Already the +sky was clearer, and the trees and men were +beginning to take dim shape. The river rushed +by, a deeper black than sky and woods, with a +few ghostly bits of white where the foam of +the rapids began.</p> +<p>“Stay here,” he whispered. “Don’t move +or speak. I shall not be far.”</p> +<p>She clung to his hand in a dazed manner, +but he gently drew his away, and left her crouching +on the ground.</p> +<p>The men were calling to one another as they +dodged back from tree to tree toward the river, +shooting only when a flash from the woods +showed the position of an Indian. Some of +them were laughing, and as Menard reached +the canoe Perrot broke into a jeering song. +It was clear that the attacking party was +not strong. Probably they had not taken into +account the double guard, relying on the death +of the sentry to clear the way for a surprise. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></p> +<p>“Perrot!” called the Captain. “Why don’t +you come here?”</p> +<p>The song stopped. There was a heavy noise +as the <i>voyageur</i> came plunging through the +bushes, drawing a shower of arrows and musket +balls.</p> +<p>“Careful, Perrot, careful.”</p> +<p>“They can’t hit me,” said Perrot, laughing. +He stumbled against the Captain, stepped back, +and fell over the canoe, rolling and kicking. +Menard sprang toward him and jerked him up. +He smelled strongly of brandy.</p> +<p>Menard swore under his breath.</p> +<p>“Pick up your musket. Take hold of that +canoe,––quick!”</p> +<p>Perrot was frightened by his stern words, +and he succeeded in holding up an end of the +canoe, while Menard pushed him down the +slope to the water’s edge. They rushed back, +and in a few trips got down most of the stores. +By this time Perrot was sobering somewhat, +and with the Captain he took his place in the +line. The men were shooting more frequently +now, and by their loose talk showed increasing +recklessness. Calling to Danton, Menard finally +made them understand his order to fall back. +Before they reached the bank, Colin dropped, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +with a ball through the head, and was dragged +back by Danton.</p> +<p>They dropped behind logs and trees at the +top of the slope. It began to look as if the +redmen were to get no closer, in spite of +the drunken condition of all but one or two of +the men. Though the night was now much +brighter, they were in the shadow, and neither +the Captain nor Danton observed that the +brandy which the transport men had supplied +was passing steadily from hand to hand. They +could not know that the boy Guerin lay on +his back amid the attacking Onondagas, an +arrow sticking upright in his breast, one hand +lying across his musket, the other clasping a +flask.</p> +<p>The maid had not moved. She could be +easily seen now in the clearer light, and Menard +went to her, feeling the need of giving her +some work to occupy her mind during the strain +of the fight.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle,” he whispered.</p> +<p>She looked up. He could see that she was +shivering.</p> +<p>“I must ask you to help me. We must get +the canoe into the water. They will soon tire +of the assault and withdraw; then it will be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +safe to take to the canoe. They cannot hurt +you. We are protected by the bank.”</p> +<p>He helped her to rise, and she bravely threw +her weight on the canoe, which Menard could +so easily have lifted alone, and stood at the +edge of the beach, passing him the bundles, +which he, wading out, placed aboard. But +suddenly he stopped, with an exclamation, peering +into the canoe.</p> +<p>The maid, dreading each moment some new +danger, asked in a dry voice, “What is it, +M’sieu?”</p> +<p>For reply he seized the bundles, one at a +time, and tossed them ashore, hauling the canoe +after, and running his hand along the bark.</p> +<p>The maid stepped to his side. There was a +gaping hole in the side of the canoe. She +drew her breath in quickly, and looked up at +him.</p> +<p>“It was Perrot,” he muttered, “that fool +Perrot.” He stood looking at it, as if in doubt +what to do. Up on the bank the men, Danton +and Father Claude among them, were popping +away at the rustling bushes. Suddenly he +turned and gazed down at the maid’s upturned +face. “Mademoiselle,” he said, “I do not think +there is danger, but whatever happens you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +must keep close to me, or to Danton and Father +Claude. It may be that there will be moments +when we cannot stop and explain to you as I +am doing now, but you must trust us, and believe +that all will come out well. The other +men are not themselves to-night––”</p> +<p>He stopped. It was odd that he should so +talk to a maid while his men were fighting for +their lives; but the Menard who had the safety +of this slender girl in his hands was not the +Menard of a hundred battles gone by. So he +lingered, not knowing why, save that he hoped +for some word from her lips of confidence in +those who wished to protect her. And, as he +waited, she smiled with trembling lips, and +said:––</p> +<p>“It will come out well, M’sieu. I––I am +not afraid.”</p> +<p>Then Menard went up the bank with a +bound, and finding one man already in a stupor, +and another struggling for a flask, which Father +Claude was trying to take away from him, he +laid about him with his hard fists, and shortly +had the drunkards as near to their senses as +they were destined to be during the short space +they had yet to live.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII_A_COMPLIMENT_FOR_MENARD' id='CHAPTER_VII_A_COMPLIMENT_FOR_MENARD'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> +<h3>A COMPLIMENT FOR MENARD.</h3> +</div> +<p>Colin and Guerin were dead, and one of +the transport men lay in a drunken sleep, +so that including Menard, Danton, and Father +Claude there were six men in the little half +circle that clung to the edge of the bank, shooting +into the brush wherever a twig stirred or +a musket flashed. “There are not many of +them,” said Menard to Danton, as they lay +on their sides reloading. He listened to the +whoops and barks in an interval between shots. +“Not a score, all told.”</p> +<p>“Will they come closer?”</p> +<p>“No. You won’t catch an Iroquois risking +his neck in an assault. They’ll try to pick us +off; but if we continue as strong as we are now, +they are likely to draw off and try some other +devilment, or wait for a better chance.”</p> +<p>Danton crept back to his log for another +shot. Now that the sky was nearly free of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +clouds, and the river was sparkling in the starlight, +the Frenchmen could not raise their heads +to shoot without exposing a dim silhouette to +the aim of an Indian musket. Father Claude, +who was loading and firing a long <i>arquebuse à +croc</i>, had risen above this difficulty by heaping +a pile of stones. Kneeling on the slope, a pace +below the others, and resting the crutch of his +piece in a hollow close to the stones, he could +shoot through a crevice with little chance of +harm, beyond a bruised shoulder.</p> +<p>The maid came timidly up the bank, and +touched Menard’s arm.</p> +<p>“What is it, Mademoiselle? You must not +come here. It is not safe.”</p> +<p>“I want to speak to you, M’sieu. If I could +have your knife––for one moment––”</p> +<p>“What do you want of a knife, child? It is +best that you––” There was a fusillade from +the brush, and his voice was lost in the uproar. +“You must wait below, on the beach. They +cannot get to you.”</p> +<p>“It is the canoe, M’sieu. The cloth about +the bales is stout,––I can sew it over the hole.”</p> +<p>Menard looked at her as she crouched by his +side; her hair fallen about her face and shoulders; +her hands, grimy with the clay of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +bank, clinging to a wandering root. She was +still trembling with excitement, but her eyes +were bright and eager. Without a word he +drew his knife from its sheath, and held it out. +She took it, and was down the slope with a +light spring, while the Captain poked the muzzle +of his musket through the leaves. As he +drew it back, after firing, he caught a glimpse +of Danton’s face, turned toward him with a +curious expression. The boy laughed nervously, +and wiped the sweat from his blackened forehead. +“They don’t give us much rest, Captain, +do they?” Menard’s reply was jerked out +with the strokes of his ramrod: “They will––before +long––and we can––take to the +canoe. We’re letting them have all they want.” +He peered through the leaves, and fired quickly. +A long shriek came from the darkness. Menard +laughed. “There’s one more gone, +Danton.”</p> +<p>The fight went on slowly, wretchedly, shot +for shot, Danton himself dragging up a bale of +ammunition and serving it to the men. The +maid, unaided, had overturned the canoe where +it lay, and with quickened breath was pressing +her needle through the tough bark. Danton +lost the flint from his musket, and crept down +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +the bank to set a new one. Suddenly he exclaimed, +“There goes Perrot!”</p> +<p>The old <i>voyageur</i> had, in a fit of recklessness, +raised his head for a long look about the +woods. Now he was rolling slowly down the +slope toward the canoe and the maid, clutching +weakly at roots and bushes as he passed. There +was a dark spot on his forehead. Menard +sprang after, and felt of his wrists; the pulse +was fluttering out. He looked up, to see the +maid dipping up water with her hollowed hands, +and waved her back.</p> +<p>“It is no use, Mademoiselle. Is the canoe +ready? We may need it soon.”</p> +<p>She stood motionless, slowly shaking her +head, and letting the water spill from her hands +a drop at a time.</p> +<p>“Go back there. Do what you can with it.” +He hurried up the bank and fell into his place.</p> +<p>“Do you see what they are doing?” asked +Danton.</p> +<p>“Playing the devil. Anything else?”</p> +<p>The lieutenant pointed to an arrow that +was sticking in a tree beside him, slanting +downward. “They are climbing trees. Listen. +You can hear them talking, and calling down. +I’ve fired, but I don’t get them.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span></p> +<p>Menard listened closely, and shot for the +sound, but with no result.</p> +<p>“We’ve got to stop this, Danton. I don’t +understand it. It isn’t like the Iroquois to +keep at it after a repulse. Tell Father Claude; +he is shooting too low.” Menard glanced along +the line at his men. The drunken transport +man lay silent at his post; beyond him were +his mate and one of the Montreal men, both of +them reckless and frightened by turns, shooting +aimlessly into the dark. The arrows were +rattling down about them now. One grazed +Father Claude’s back as he stooped to take +aim, and straightened him up with a jerk. A +moment later a bullet sang close past Menard’s +head. He looked for the maid; she was sitting +by the canoe, sewing, giving no heed to the +arrows.</p> +<p>The Montreal man groaned softly, and flattened +out, with an arrow slanting into the small +of his back; which so unmanned the only other +conscious <i>engagé</i> that he sank by him, sobbing, +and trying to pull out the arrow with his hands. +Menard sprang up.</p> +<p>“My God, Danton! Father Claude! This +is massacre. Run for the canoe. My turn, +eh?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span></p> +<p>“What is it?” asked Danton. “Did they +get you?”</p> +<p>For reply, Menard tore an arrow from the +flesh of his forearm and dashed down the bank, +musket in hand. The maid was tugging at +the canoe, struggling to move it toward the +water. She did not look up to see the yellow, +crimson, and green painted figures rise from +the reeds that fringed the water but a few yards +away; she did not hear the rush of moccasined +feet on the gravel. Before she could turn, she +was seized and thrown to the ground, surrounded +by the Indians, who were facing about +hastily to meet Menard. The Captain came +among them with a whirl of his musket that +sent one warrior to the ground and dropped +another, half stunned, across the canoe. Danton +was at his heels, and Father Claude, fighting +like demons with muskets and knives.</p> +<p>“Quick, Mademoiselle!” Menard lifted her +as he spoke, and swung her behind him; and +then the three were facing the group of howling, +jumping figures, which was increased rapidly +by those who had followed the Frenchmen +down the bank. “Come back here, Father. +Protect the maid! They dare not attack you, +if you drop your musket! Loose your hold, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +Mademoiselle.” He caught roughly at the +slender arms that held about his waist, parrying +a knife stroke with his other hand. “They +will kill you if you cling to me. Now, Danton! +Never mind your arm. I have one in the hand. +Fight for the maid and France!” Menard was +shouting for sheer lust and frenzy of battle, +“What is the matter with the devils? Why +don’t they shoot? God, Danton, they’re coming +at us with clubs!” He called out in the +Iroquois tongue: “Come at us, cowards! +Make an end of it! Where are your bows? +your muskets? Where is the valour of the +Onondagas––of my brothers?”</p> +<p>The last words brought forth a chorus of +jeers and yells. The two officers stood side by +side at the water’s edge. Behind them, knee-deep +in the water, was Father Claude, holding +the maid in his arms. The Indians seemed to +draw together, still with that evident effort to +take their game alive, for two tall chiefs were +rushing about, cautioning the warriors. Then, +of a sudden, the whole body came forward with +a rush, and Menard, Danton, Father Claude, +and the maid went down; the three men fighting +and splashing until they lay, bound with +thongs, on the beach. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span></p> +<p>Menard turned his head and saw that Danton +lay close to him.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle?” he said. “What have they +done with her?”</p> +<p>“She is here.” The reply was in Father +Claude’s voice. It came from the farther side +of Danton.</p> +<p>“Is she hurt?”</p> +<p>“No. But they have bound her and me.”</p> +<p>“Bound you!” The Captain tried to sit up, +but could not. “They would not do that, +Father. It is a mistake.”</p> +<p>A warrior, carrying a musket under his arm, +walked slowly around the prisoners, making +signs to them to be silent. The others had +withdrawn to the shadow of the bank; the +sound of their voices came indistinctly across +the strip of shore. Indifferent to the pain in +his arm, Menard struggled at his thongs, and +called to them in Iroquois: “Who of my +brothers has bound the holy Father? What +new fear strikes the breasts of the sons of the +night-wind that they must subdue with force +the gentle spirit of their Father, who has given +his years for his children? Is it not enough +that you have broken the faith with your +brother, the child of your own village, the son +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +of your bravest chief? Need you other prey +than myself?”</p> +<p>The guard stood over Menard, and lifted his +musket. Menard laughed.</p> +<p>“Strike me, brave warrior. Show that your +heart is still as fond as on the day I carried +your torn body on my shoulder to the safety of +your lodge. Ah, you remember? You have +not forgotten the Big Buffalo? Then, why do +you hesitate? The man who has courage to +seize a Father of the Church, surely can strike +his brother. This is not the brave Tegakwita +I have known.”</p> +<p>Father Claude broke in on Menard, whose +voice was savage in its defiance.</p> +<p>“Have patience, M’sieu. I will speak.” He +lifted his voice. “Teganouan! Father +Claude awaits you.” There was no reply from +the knot of warriors at the bank, and the priest +called again. Finally a chief came across and +looked stolidly at the prisoners.</p> +<p>“My Father called?” he said.</p> +<p>“Your Father is grieved, Long Arrow, that +you would bind him like a soldier taken in war.” +The priest’s voice was gentle. “Is this the +custom of the Onondagas? It was not so when +I served you with Father de Lamberville.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span></p> +<p>“My Father fought against his children.”</p> +<p>“You would have slain me, Long Arrow, +had I not.”</p> +<p>The Indian walked slowly back to his braves, +and for some moments there was a consultation. +Then the other chief came to them, and, without +a word, himself cut the thongs that bound +the priest’s wrists and ankles. There was no +look of recognition in his eyes as he passed +Menard, though they had been together on +many a long hunt. He was the Beaver.</p> +<p>As the Captain lay on his back, looking first +at the kneeling Indian, then at the sky overhead, +he was thinking of the Long Arrow, +again with a half-memory of some other occasion +when they had met. Then, slowly, it +came to him. It was at the last council to decide +on his release from captivity, five years +before. The Long Arrow had come from a +distant village to urge the death of the prisoner. +He had argued eloquently that to release Menard +would be to send forth an ungrateful son +who would one day strike at the hand that +had befriended him.</p> +<p>Father Claude was on his feet, chafing his +wrists and talking with the Beaver. The Long +Arrow joined them, and for a few moments the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +chiefs reasoned together in low, dignified tones. +Then, at a word from the Beaver, and a grunt +of disgust from the Long Arrow, Father Claude, +with quick fingers, set the maid free, and took +her head upon his knee.</p> +<p>“Have they hurt her, Father?” asked Menard, +in French.</p> +<p>“No, M’sieu, I think not. It is the excitement. +The child sadly needs rest.”</p> +<p>“Will they release you? It is not far to +Frontenac. It may be that you can reach +there with Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>“No, my son.” The priest paused to dip up +some water, and to stroke the maid’s forehead +and wrists. “They have some design which +has not been made clear to me. They have +promised not to bind me or to injure what +belongs to me among the supplies. But the +Beaver threatens to kill us if we try to escape, +Mademoiselle and I.”</p> +<p>“Why do they hold you?”</p> +<p>“To let no word go out concerning your +capture. I fear, M’sieu––”</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>The priest lowered his eyes to the maid, who +still lay fainting, and said no more. A long +hour went by, with only a commonplace word +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +now and then between the prisoners. The +maid revived, and sat against the canoe, gazing +over the water that swept softly by. Danton +lay silent, saying nothing. Once a groan +slipped past the Captain’s lips at a twitch of +his wounded arm, and Father Claude, immediately +cheered by the prospect of a moment’s +occupation, cleaned the wound with cool water, +and bandaged it with a strip from his robe.</p> +<p>Preparations were making for a start. A +half-dozen braves set out, running down the +beach; and shortly returned by way of the river +with two canoes. The others had opened the +bales of supplies (excepting Father Claude’s +bundle, which he kept by him), and divided +the food and ammunition among themselves. +The two chiefs came to the prisoners, and +seated themselves on the gravel. The Long +Arrow began talking.</p> +<p>“My brother, the Big Buffalo, is surprised +that he should be taken a prisoner to the villages +of the Onondagas. He thinks of the +days when he shared with us our hunts, our +lodges, our food, our trophies; when he lived a +free life with his brothers, and parted from +them with sadness in his voice. He had a +grateful heart for the Onondagas then. When +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +he left our lodges he placed his hand upon the +hearts of our chiefs, he swore by his strange +gods to keep the pledge of friendship to his +brothers of the forest. Moons have come and +gone many times since he left our villages. +The snow has fallen for five seasons between +him and us, to chill his heart against those +who have befriended him. Twice has he been +in battle when we might have taken him a +prisoner, but the hearts of our braves were +warm toward him, and they could not lift their +arms. When there have been those who have +urged that the hatchet be taken up against +him, many others have come forward to say, +‘No; he will yet prove our friend and our +brother.’”</p> +<p>Menard lay without moving, looking up at +the stars. Danton, by his side, and the maid, +sitting beyond, were watching him anxiously. +Father Claude stood erect, with folded arms.</p> +<p>“And now,” continued the chief, “now that +Onontio, the greatest of war chiefs, thinks +that he is strong, and can with a blow destroy +our villages and drive us from the lands our +gods and your gods have said to be ours by +right, as it was our fathers’,––now there is no +longer need for the friendship of the Onondagas, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +whose whole nation is fewer than the fighting +braves of the great Onontio. The war-song +is sung in every white village. The great +canoes take food and powder up our river, +for those who would destroy us.”</p> +<p>Menard was still looking upward. “My +brother,” he said, speaking slowly, “was once +a young brave. When he was called before +his great chief, and commanded to go out and +fight to save his village and his brothers and +sisters, did he say to his chief: ‘No, my father, +I will no longer obey your commands. I will +no longer strive to become a famous warrior of +your nation. I will go away into the deep +forest,––alone, without a lodge, without a +nation, to be despised alike by my brothers +and my foes?’ Or did he go as he was bid, +obeying, like a brave warrior, the commands of +those who have a right to command? Does +not the Long Arrow know that Onontio is the +greatest of chiefs, second only to the Great-Chief-Across-the-Water, +the father of red men +and white men? If Onontio’s red sons are disobedient, +and he commands me to chastise +them, shall I say to my father, ‘I cannot obey +your will, I will become an outcast, without +a village or a nation?’ The Long Arrow is a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +wise man. He knows that the duty of all is to +obey the father at Quebec.”</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo speaks with wisdom. But +it may be he forgets that our braves have +passed him by in the battles of every season +since he left our villages. He forgets that he +met a band of peaceful hunters from our nation, +who went into his great stone house because +they believed that his white brothers, if not +himself, would keep the word of friendship. +He forgets that they were made to drink of +the white man’s fire water, and were chained +together to become slaves of the great kind +Chief-Across-the-Water, who loves his children, +and would make them mighty in his land. Is +this the father he would have us obey? Truly, +he speaks with an idle tongue.”</p> +<p>Menard lay silent. His part in La Grange’s +treachery, and in carrying out later the Governor’s +orders, would be hard to explain. To lay +the blame on La Grange would not help his +case, at least until he could consult with Father +Claude, and be prepared to speak deliberately.</p> +<p>“My brother does not reply?”</p> +<p>“He will ask a question,” replied Menard. +“What is the will of the chiefs to do with the +sons of Onontio?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span></p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo has seen the punishment +given by the Onondagas to those who have +broken their faith.”</p> +<p>“I understand. And of course we shall be +taken to your villages before this death shall +come?”</p> +<p>The Long Arrow bowed.</p> +<p>“Very well,” said Menard, in his slow voice. +“As the Long Arrow, brave as he is, is but a +messenger, obeying the will of the nation, I will +withhold my word until I shall be brought +before your chiefs in council. I shall have +much to say to them; it need be said only +once. I shall be pleased to tell my truths to +the Big Throat, whose eyes can see beyond the +limits of his lodge; who knows that the hand +of Onontio is a firm and strong hand. He +shall know from my lips how kind Onontio +wishes to be to his ungrateful children––” +He paused. The Indians must not know yet +that the Governor’s campaign was to be directed +only against the Senecas. The mention of the +Big Throat would, he knew, be a shaft tipped +with jealousy in the breast of the Long Arrow. +The Big Throat, Otreouati, was the widest +famed orator and chief of the Onondagas; and +it was he who had adopted Menard as his son. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +Above all, the Long Arrow would not dare +to do away with so important a prisoner before +he could be brought before the council.</p> +<p>The maid was leaning forward, following +their words intently. “Oh, M’sieu,” she said, +“I cannot understand it all. What will they +do with you?”</p> +<p>Menard hesitated, and replied in French without +turning his head: “They will take us to +their villages below Lake Ontario. They will +not harm you, under Father Claude’s protection. +And then it is likely that we may be +rescued before they can get off the river.”</p> +<p>“But yourself, M’sieu? They are angry +with you. What will they do?”</p> +<p>“Lieutenant Danton and I must look out +for ourselves. I shall hope that we may find +a way out.”</p> +<p>The Long Arrow was looking closely at +them, evidently resenting a woman’s voice in +the talk. At the silence, he spoke in the same +low voice, but Menard and Father Claude read +the emotion underneath.</p> +<p>“It may be that the Big Buffalo has never +had a son to brighten his days as his life +reaches the downward years. It may be that +he has not watched the papoose become a fleet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +youth, and the youth a tireless hunter. He +may not have waited for the day when the +young hunter should take his seat at the council +and speak with those who will hear none but +wise men. I had such a son. He went on the +hunt with a band that never returned to the +village.” His voice rose above the pitch customary +to a chief. It was almost cold in its +intensity. “I found his body, my brother, the +body of my son, at this place, killed by the +white men, who talked to us of the love of their +gods and their Chief-Across-the-Water. Here +it was I found him, who died before he would +become the slave of a white man; and here I +have captured the man who killed him. It is +well that we have not killed my brother to-night. +It is better that we should take him alive before +the council of the Onondagas, who once were +proud in their hearts that he was of their own +nation.”</p> +<p>The maid’s eyes, shining with tears, were +fixed on the Indian’s face. She had caught up +with her hand the flying masses of her hair and +braided them hastily; but still there were locks +astray, touched by the light of the starlit sky. +Menard turned his head, and watched her during +the long silence. Danton was watching +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +her too. He had not understood the chief’s +story, but it was clear from her face that she +had caught it all. It was Father Claude who +finally spoke. His voice was gentle, but it had +the air of authority which his long experience +had taught him was necessary in dealing with +the Indians.</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo has said wisely. He will +speak only to the great chiefs of the nation, who +will understand what may be beyond the minds +of others. The heart of the Long Arrow is +sad, his spirit cast down, and he does not see +now what to-morrow he may,––that the hand +of the Big Buffalo is not stained with the blood +of his son. We will go to your village, and +tell your chiefs many things they cannot yet +know. For the Big Buffalo and his young +brother, I shall ask only the justice which the +Onondagas know best how to give. For myself +and my sister, I am not afraid. We will +follow your course, to come back when the +chiefs shall order it.”</p> +<p>The two Indians exchanged a few signs, rose, +and went to the scattered group of braves, who +were feasting on the white men’s stores. In a +moment these had thrown the bundles together, +and were getting the canoes into the water. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +Two warriors cut Danton’s thongs and raised +him to his feet. He rubbed his wrists, where +the thongs had broken the skin, and stepped +about to get the stiffness from his ankles. +Then he bent down to set Menard loose, +but was thrown roughly back.</p> +<p>“What’s this? What’s the matter? Do +you understand this, Menard?”</p> +<p>“I think so,” replied the Captain, quietly.</p> +<p>“What is it?”</p> +<p>“A little compliment to me, that is all.”</p> +<p>Danton stood looking at him in surprise, +until he was hustled to the nearest canoe and +ordered to take a paddle. He looked back and +saw four warriors lift Menard, still bound hand +and foot, and carry him to the other canoe, laying +him in the bottom beneath the bracing-strips. +Father Claude, too, was given a paddle. +Then they glided away over the still water, into +a mysterious channel that wound from one +shadow-bound stretch to another, past islands +that developed faintly from the blackness ahead +and faded into the blackness behind. The +lean arms of the Indians swung with a tireless +rhythm, and their paddles slipped to and fro +in the water with never a sound, save now and +then a low splash.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII_THE_MAID_MAKES_NEW_FRIENDS' id='CHAPTER_VIII_THE_MAID_MAKES_NEW_FRIENDS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> +<h3>THE MAID MAKES NEW FRIENDS.</h3> +</div> +<p>The prisoners were allowed some freedom +in the Onondaga village. They were not +bound, and they could wander about within call +of the low hut which had been assigned to them. +This laxity misled Danton into supposing that +escape was practicable.</p> +<p>“See,” he said to Menard, “no one is watching. +Once the dark has come we can slip +away, all of us.”</p> +<p>Menard shook his head.</p> +<p>“Do you see the two warriors sitting by the +hut yonder,––and the group playing platter +among the trees behind us? Did you suppose +they were idling?”</p> +<p>“They seem to sleep often.”</p> +<p>“You could not do it. We shall hope to +get away safely; but it will not be like that.”</p> +<p>Danton was not convinced. He said nothing +further, but late on that first night he made +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +the attempt alone. The others were asleep, +and suspected nothing until the morning. +Then Father Claude, who came and went freely +among the Indians, brought word that he had +been caught a league to the north. The Indians +bound him, and tied him to stakes in a strongly +guarded hut. This much the priest learned +from Tegakwita, the warrior who had guarded +them on the night of their capture. After Menard’s +appeal to his gratitude he had shown a +willingness to be friendly, and, though he +dared do little openly, he had given the captives +many a comfort on the hard journey +southward.</p> +<p>Later in the morning Menard and Mademoiselle +St. Denis were sitting at the door of their +hut. The irregular street was quiet, excepting +for here and there a group of naked children +playing, or a squaw passing with a load of firewood +on her back. An Indian girl came in +from the woods toward them. She was of +light, strong figure, with a full face and long +hair, which was held back from her face by +bright ribbons. Her dress showed more than +one sign of Mission life. She was cleaner than +most of the Indians, and was not unattractive. +She came to them without hesitation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span></p> +<p>“I am Tegakwita’s sister. My name is +Mary; the Fathers at the Mission gave it to +me.”</p> +<p>Menard hardly gave her a glance, but Mademoiselle +was interested.</p> +<p>“That is not your Indian name?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Yes,––Mary.”</p> +<p>“Did you never have another?”</p> +<p>“My other name is forgotten.”</p> +<p>“These Mission girls like to ape our ways,” +said Menard, in French.</p> +<p>The girl looked curiously at them, then she +untied a fold of her skirt, and showed a heap of +strawberries. “For the white man’s squaw,” +she said.</p> +<p>Mademoiselle blushed and laughed. “Thank +you,” she replied, holding out her hands. The +girl gave her the berries, and turned away. +Menard looked up as a thought came to him.</p> +<p>“Wait, Mary. Do you know where the +young white chief is?”</p> +<p>“Yes. He tried to run away. He cannot +run away from our warriors.”</p> +<p>“Are you afraid to go to him?”</p> +<p>“My brother, Tegakwita, is guarding him. +I am not afraid.”</p> +<p>Menard went to a young birch tree that stood +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +near the hut, peeled off a strip of bark, and +wrote on it:––</p> +<p>“If you try to escape again you will endanger +my plans. Keep your patience, and I can +save you.”</p> +<p>“Will you take him some berries, and give +him this charm with them?”</p> +<p>She took the note, rolled it up with a nod, +and went away. Menard saw the question in +Mademoiselle’s eyes, and said: “It was a warning +to be cool. Our hope is in getting the +good-will of the chiefs.”</p> +<p>“Will they––will they hurt him, M’sieu?”</p> +<p>“I hope not. At least we are still alive and +safe; and years ago, Mademoiselle, I learned +how much that means.”</p> +<p>The maid looked into the trees without replying. +Her face had lost much of its fulness, +and only the heavy tan concealed the worn outlines. +But her eyes were still bright, and her +spirit, now that the first shock had passed, was +firm.</p> +<p>Father Claude returned, after a time, with a +heavy face. He drew Menard into the hut, and +told him what he had gathered: that the Long +Arrow and his followers were planning a final +vengeance against Captain Menard. All the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +braves knew of it; everywhere they were talking +of it, and preparing for the feasting and +dancing.</p> +<p>“They will wait until after the fighting, won’t +they?”</p> +<p>“No, M’sieu. It is planned to begin soon, +within a day or two.”</p> +<p>“Have you inquired for the Big Throat?”</p> +<p>“He is five leagues away, at the next village. +We can hardly hope for help from him, I fear. +All the tribes are preparing to join in fighting +our troops.”</p> +<p>Menard paused to think.</p> +<p>“It looks bad, Father.” He walked up and +down the hut. “The Governor’s column must +have followed up the river within a few days of +us. Then much time was lost in getting us +down here.” He turned almost fiercely to the +priest. “Why, the campaign may have opened +already. Word may come to-morrow from the +Senecas calling out the Onondagas and Cayugas. +Do you know what that means? It +means that I have failed,––for the first time in +my life, Father,––miserably failed. There must +be some way out. If I could only get word to +the Big Throat. I’m certain I could talk him +over. I have done it before.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span></p> +<p>Father Claude had never before seen despair +in Menard’s eyes.</p> +<p>“You speak well, M’sieu. There must be +some way. God is with us.”</p> +<p>The Captain was again pacing the beaten +floor. Finally he came to the priest, and took +his arm. “I don’t know what it is that gives +me courage, Father, but at my age a man isn’t +ready to give up. They may kill me, if they +like, but not before I’ve carried out my orders. +The Onondagas must not join the Senecas.”</p> +<p>“How”––began the priest.</p> +<p>Menard shook his head. “I don’t know yet,––but +we can do it.” He went out of doors, +as if the sunlight could help him, and during +the rest of the day and evening he roamed +about or lay motionless under the trees. The +maid watched him until dark, but kept silent; +for Father Claude had told her, and she, too, +believed that he would find a way.</p> +<p>Late in the evening Father Claude began to +feel disturbed. Menard was still somewhere +off among the trees. He had come in for his +handful of grain, at the supper hour, but with +hardly a word. The Father had never succeeded, +save on that one occasion when Danton +was the subject, in carrying on a long +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +conversation with the maid; and now after a +few sorry attempts he went out of doors. He +thought of going to the Captain, to cheer his +soul and prepare his mind for whatever fate +awaited him, but his better judgment held +him back.</p> +<p>The village had no surface excitement to +suggest coming butchery and war. The children +were either asleep or playing in the open. +Warriors walked slowly about, wrapped closely +in blankets, though the night was warm. The +gnats and mosquitoes were humming lazily, the +trees barely stirring, and the voices of gossiping +squaws or merry youths blended into a low +drone. There was the smell in the air of wood +and leaves burning, from a hundred smouldering +fires. Father Claude stood for a long time +gazing at the row of huts, and wondering that +such an air of peace and happiness could hover +over a den of brute savages, who were even at +the moment planning to torture to his death +one of the bravest sons of New France.</p> +<p>While he meditated, he was half conscious of +voices near at hand. He gave it no attention +until his quick ear caught a French word. He +started, and hurried to the hut, pausing in the +door. By the dim light of the fire, that burned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +each night in the centre of the floor, he could +see Mademoiselle standing against the wall, +with hands clasped and lips parted. Nearer, +with his back to the door, stood an Indian.</p> +<p>The maid saw the Father, but did not speak. +He came forward into the hut, and gently +touched the Indian’s arm.</p> +<p>“What is it?” he asked in Iroquois.</p> +<p>The Indian stood, without a reply, until the +silence grew heavy. Mademoiselle had straightened +up, and was watching with fascinated eyes. +Then, slowly, the warrior turned, and beneath +buckskin and feathers, dirt and smeared colours, +the priest recognized Danton. He turned sadly +to the maid.</p> +<p>“I do not understand,” he said.</p> +<p>She put her hands before her eyes. “I cannot +talk to him,” she said, in a broken voice. +“Why does he come? Why must I––” Then +she collected herself, and came forward. Pity +and dignity were in her voice. “I am sorry, +Lieutenant Danton. I am very sorry.”</p> +<p>The boy choked, and Father Claude drew +him, unresisting, outside the hut.</p> +<p>“How did you come here, Danton? Tell +me.”</p> +<p>Danton looked at him defiantly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span></p> +<p>“What does this mean? Where did you get +these clothes?”</p> +<p>“It matters not where I got them. It is my +affair.”</p> +<p>“Who gave you these clothes?”</p> +<p>“It is enough that I have friends, if those +whom I thought friends will not aid me.”</p> +<p>The priest was pained by the boy’s rough +words.</p> +<p>“I am sorry for this, my son,––for this +strange disorder. Did you not receive a message +from your Captain?”</p> +<p>Danton hesitated. “Yes,” he said at last. +“I received a message,––an order to lie quiet, +and let these red beasts burn me to death. +Menard is a fool. Does he not know that they +will kill him? Does he not know that this is +his only chance to escape? He is a fool, I say.”</p> +<p>“You forget, my son.”</p> +<p>“Well, if I do? Must I stay here for the +torture because my Captain commands? Why +do you hold me here? Let me go. They will +be after me.”</p> +<p>“Wait, Danton. What have you said to +Mademoiselle?”</p> +<p>The boy looked at him, and for a moment +could not speak. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span></p> +<p>“Do you, too, throw that at me, Father? It +was all I could do. I thought she cared for +her life more than for––for Menard. No, let +me go on. I have risked everything to come +for her, and she––she––I did not know it +would be like this.”</p> +<p>“But what do you plan?” The priest’s voice +was more gentle. “Where are you going? +You cannot get to Frontenac alone.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” replied Danton wearily, +turning away. “I don’t care now. I may as +well go to the devil.”</p> +<p>Without a word of farewell he walked boldly +off through the trees, drawing his blanket +about his shoulders. Father Claude stood +watching him, half in mind to call Menard, +then hesitating. Already the boy was committed: +he had broken his bonds, and to make +any effort to hold him meant certain death for +him. Perhaps it was better that he should take +the only chance left to him. The hut was +silent. He looked within, and saw the maid +still standing by the wall. Her eyes were on +him, but she said nothing, and he turned away. +He walked slowly up and down under the +great elms that arched far up over his head. +At last he looked about for the Captain, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +finding him some little way back in the woods, +told him the story.</p> +<p>Menard’s face had aged during the day. +His eyes had a dull firmness in place of the old +flash. He heard the account without a word, +and, at the close, when the priest looked at +him questioningly for a reply, he shook his +head sadly. His experiment with Danton had +failed.</p> +<p>“He didn’t tell you who had helped him?”</p> +<p>“No, M’sieu. It is very strange.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Menard, “it is.”</p> +<p>The night passed without further incident. +Early in the morning, Father Claude went out +to find Tegakwita, and learn what news had +come in during the night of the French +column. Runners were employed in passing +daily between the different villages, keeping +each tribe fully informed.</p> +<p>Menard sat before the hut. The clearing +showed more life than on the preceding day. +Bands of warriors, hunting and scouting parties, +were coming in at short intervals, scattering to +their shelters or hurrying to the long building +in the centre of the village. The growing +boys and younger warriors ran about, calling to +one another in eager, excited voices. As the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +morning wore along, grave chiefs and braves, +wrapped in their blankets, walked by on their +way to the council house.</p> +<p>The maid, after Father Claude had gone, +watched the Captain for a long time through +the open door. The conversation with the +Long Arrow, on the night of their capture, had +been burned into her memory; and now, as +she looked at Menard’s drawn face and weary +eyes, the picture came to her again of the Long +Arrow sitting by the river in the dim light of +the stars,––and of the white man who had +fought for her, lying before him, gazing upward +and speaking with a calm voice to the stern +chief who wished to kill him. Then, in spite +of the excitement, the danger, and exhaustion +of the fight, it had seemed that the Captain +could not long be held by this savage. His +stern manner, his command, had given her a +confidence which had, until this moment, +strengthened her. But now, of a sudden, she +saw in his eyes the look of a man who sees +no way ahead. This quarrel with the Long +Arrow was no matter of open warfare, even of +race against race; it was an eye for an eye, the +demand of a crazed father for the life of the +slayer of his son. That she could do nothing, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +that she must sit feebly while he went to his +death, came to her with a dead sense of pain.</p> +<p>With a restless spirit she went out of doors, +passing him with a little smile; but he did not +look up. A group of passing youths stopped +and jeered at him, but he did not give them a +glance. She shrank back against the building +until they had gone on.</p> +<p>“Do not mind them, Mademoiselle,” said +Menard, quietly. “They will not harm you.”</p> +<p>She hesitated by his side, half in mind to +speak to him, to tell him that she knew his +trouble, and had faith in him, but his bowed +head was forbidding in its solitude. All about +the hut, under the spreading trees, was a stretch +of coarse green sod, dotted with tiny yellow +flowers and black-centred daisies. She wandered +over the grass, gathering them until her +hands were full. Two red boys came by, and +paused to cry at her, taunting her as if she, too, +were to meet the fate of a war captive. The +thought made her shudder, but then, on an +impulse, she called to them in their own language. +They looked at each other in surprise. +She walked toward them, laying down the +flowers, and holding out her hand. A little +later, when Menard looked up, he saw her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +sitting beneath a gnarled oak, a boy on either +side eagerly watching her. She was talking +and laughing with them, and teaching them to +make a screeching pipe with grass-blades held +between the thumbs. He envied her her elastic +spirits.</p> +<p>“You have made two friends,” he called in +French.</p> +<p>She looked up and nodded, laughing. “They +are learning to make the music of the white +brothers.”</p> +<p>The boys’ faces had sobered at the sound of +his voice. They looked at him doubtfully, and +then at each other. He got up and walked +slowly toward them.</p> +<p>“I will make friends, too, Mademoiselle,” he +said, smiling. “We have none too many here.”</p> +<p>Before he had taken a dozen steps, the boys +arose. He held out his hands, saying, “Your +father would be friends with his children.” But +they began to retreat, a step at a time.</p> +<p>“Come, my children,” said the maid, smiling +at the words as she uttered them. “The white +father is good. He will not hurt you.”</p> +<p>They kept stepping backward until he had +reached the maid’s side; then, with a shout of +defiance, they scampered away. In the distance +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +they stopped, and soon were the centre of +a group of children whom they taught to blow +on the grass-blades, with many a half-frightened +glance toward Menard and the maid.</p> +<p>“There,” he said, at length, “you may see +the advantage of a reputation.”</p> +<p>She looked at him, and, moved by the pathos +underlying the words, could not, for the moment, +reply.</p> +<p>“I once had a home in this village,” he +added. “It stood over there, in the bare spot +near the beech tree.” His eyes rested on the +spot for a moment, then he turned back to the +hut.</p> +<p>“M’sieu,” she said shyly.</p> +<p>The little heap of flowers lay where she had +dropped them; and, taking them up, she arranged +them hastily and held them out. “Won’t you +take them?”</p> +<p>He looked at her, a little surprised, then held +out his hand.</p> +<p>“Why,––thank you. I don’t know what I +can do with them.”</p> +<p>They walked back together.</p> +<p>“You must wear some of the daisies, Mademoiselle. +They will look well.”</p> +<p>She looked down at her torn, stained dress, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +and laughed softly; but took the white cluster +he gave her, and thrust the stems through a +tattered bit of lace on her breast.</p> +<p>Menard was plainly relieved by the incident. +He had been worn near to despair, facing a +difficulty which seemed every moment farther +from a solution; and now he turned to her +fresh, light mood as to a refuge.</p> +<p>“We must put these in water, Mademoiselle, +or they will soon lose their bloom.”</p> +<p>“If we had a cup––?”</p> +<p>“A cup? A woodsman would laugh at your +question. There is the spring, here is the +birch; what more could you have?”</p> +<p>“You mean––?”</p> +<p>“We will make a cup,––if you will hold the +flowers. They are beautiful, Mademoiselle. +No nation has such hills and lakes and flowers +as the Iroquois. The Hurons boast of their +lake country,––and the Sacs and Foxes, too, +though they have a duller eye for the picturesque. +See––the valley yonder––” He pointed +through a rift in the foliage to the league-long +glimpse of green, bound in by the gentle hills +that rose beyond––“even to the tired old +soldier there is nothing more beautiful, more +peaceful.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span></p> +<p>He peeled a long strip of bark from the birch +tree, and rolled it into a cup. “Your needle +and thread, Mademoiselle,––if they have not +taken them.”</p> +<p>“No; I have everything here.”</p> +<p>She got her needle, and under his direction +stitched the edges of the bark.</p> +<p>“But it will leak, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>He laughed. “The tree is the Indian’s +friend, Mademoiselle. Now it is a pine tree +that we need. The guards will tell me of one.”</p> +<p>He walked over to the little group of warriors +still at their game of platter,––the one +never-ceasing recreation of the Onondagas, at +which they would one day gamble away +blankets, furs, homes, even squaws, only to +win them back on the next. They looked at +him suspiciously when he questioned them; +but he was now as light of heart as on the day, +a few weeks earlier, when he had leaned on the +balcony of the citadel at Quebec, idly watching +the river. He smiled at them, and after a +parley the maid saw one tall brave point to a +tree a few yards farther in the wood. They +followed him closely with their eyes until he +was back within the space allowed him.</p> +<p>“Now, Mademoiselle, we can gum the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +seams,––see? It is so easy. The cold water will +harden it.”</p> +<p>They went together to the spring and filled +the cup, first drinking each a draught. He +rolled a large stone to the hut door, and set +the cup on it.</p> +<p>“Oh, Mademoiselle, it will not stand. I am +not a good workman, I fear. But then, it is +not often in a woodsman’s life that he keeps +flowers at his door. We must have some +smaller stones to prop it up.”</p> +<p>“I will get them, M’sieu.” In spite of his +protests she ran out to the path and brought +some pebbles. “Now we have decorated our +home.” She sat upon the ground, leaning +against the log wall, and smiling up at him. +“Sit down, M’sieu. I am tired of being solemn, +we have been solemn so long.”</p> +<p>Already the heaviness was coming back on +the Captain. He wondered, as he looked at +her, if she knew how serious their situation was. +It hardly seemed that she could understand it, +her gay mood was so genuine. She glanced up +again, and at the sight of the settling lines +about his mouth and the fading sparkle in his +eyes, her own eyes, while the smile still hovered, +grew moist. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span></p> +<p>“I am sorry,” she said softly,––“very, very +sorry.”</p> +<p>He sat near by, and fingered the flowers in +the birch cup. They were both silent. Finally +she spoke.</p> +<p>“M’sieu.”</p> +<p>He looked down.</p> +<p>“It may be that you think that––that I do +not understand. It is not that, M’sieu. But +when I think about it, and the sadness comes, +I know, some way, that it is going to come out +all right. We are prisoners, but other people +have been prisoners, too. I have heard of many +of them from Father Dumont. He himself +has suffered among the Oneidas. I––I cannot +believe it, even when it seems the darkest.”</p> +<p>“I hope you are right, Mademoiselle. I, too, +have felt that there must be a way. And at the +worst, they will not dare to hurt Father Claude +and––you.” And under his breath he added, +“Thank God.”</p> +<p>“They will not dare to hurt you, M’sieu. +They must not do it.” She rose and stood +before him. “When I think of that,––that you, +who have done so much that I might be safe, +are in danger, I feel that it would be cowardly +for me to go away without you. You would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +not have left me, on the river. I know you +would have died without a thought. And I––if +anything should happen, M’sieu; if Father +Claude and I should be set free, and––without +you––I could never put it from my thoughts. +I should always feel that I––that you––no no, +M’sieu. They cannot do it.”</p> +<p>She shook away a tear, and looked at him +with an honest, fearless gaze. It was the outpouring +of a grateful heart, true because she +herself was true, because she could not accept +his care and sacrifice without a thought of what +she owed him.</p> +<p>“You forget,” he said gently, “that it was +not your fault. They could have caught me as +easily if you had not been there. It is a soldier’s +chance, Mademoiselle. He must take +what life brings, with no complaint. It is the +young man’s mistake to be restless, impatient. +For the rest of us, why, it is our life.”</p> +<p>“But, M’sieu, you are not discouraged? +You have not given up?”</p> +<p>“No, I have not given up.” He rose and +looked into her eyes. “I have come through +before; I may again. If I am not to get through, +I shall fight them till I drop. And then, I pray +God, I may die like a soldier.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></p> +<p>He turned away and went into the hut. +He was in the hardest moment of his trial. It +was the inability to fight, the lack of freedom, +of weapons, the sense of helplessness, that had +come nearer to demoralizing Menard than a +hundred battles. He had been trusted with +the life of a maid, and, more important still, +with the Governor’s orders. He was, it seemed, +to fail.</p> +<p>The maid stood looking after him. She +heard him drop to the ground within. Then +she roamed aimlessly about, near the building.</p> +<p>Father Claude came up the path, walking +slowly and wearily, and entered the hut. A +moment later Menard appeared in the doorway +and called:––</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle.” As she approached, he +said gravely, “I should like it if you will +come in with us. It is right that you should +have a voice in our councils.”</p> +<p>She followed him in, wondering.</p> +<p>“Father Claude has news,” Menard said.</p> +<p>The priest told them all that he had been +able to learn. Runners had been coming in +during the night at intervals of a few hours. +They brought word of the landing of the French +column at La Famine. The troops had started +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +inland toward the Seneca villages. The Senecas +were planning an ambush, and meanwhile +had sent frantic messages to the other tribes +for aid. The Cayuga chiefs were already on +the way to meet in council with the Onondagas. +The chance that the attack might be aimed +only at the Senecas, to punish them for +their depredations of the year before, had given +rise to a peace sentiment among the more prudent +Onondagas and Cayugas, who feared the +destruction of their fields and villages. Up to +the present, none had known where the French +would strike. But, nevertheless, said the +priest, the general opinion was favourable to +taking up the quarrel with the Senecas.</p> +<p>Further, the French were leaving a rearguard +of four hundred men in a hastily built +stockade at La Famine, and the more loose-tongued +warriors were already talking of an +attack on this force, cutting the Governor’s +communications, and then turning on him from +the rear, leaving it to the Senecas to engage +him in front.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX_THE_WORD_OF_AN_ONONDAGA' id='CHAPTER_IX_THE_WORD_OF_AN_ONONDAGA'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> +<h3>THE WORD OF AN ONONDAGA.</h3> +</div> +<p>For a long time after Father Claude had +finished speaking, the three sat talking over +the situation. Even the maid had suggestions. +But when all had been said, when the chances +of a rescue by the French, or of getting a hearing +before the council, even of a wild dash for +liberty, had been gone over and over, their +voices died away, and the silence was eloquent. +D’Orvilliers would know that only capture +could have prevented them from reaching the +fort; but even supposing him to believe that +they were held by the Onondagas, he had +neither the men nor the authority to fight +through the Cayuga lakes and hills to reach +them. As for the Governor’s column, it would +have its hands full before marching ten leagues +from La Famine. Had Menard been alone, he +would have made the attempt to escape, knowing +from the start that the chance was near to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +nothing, but glad of the opportunity at least to +die fighting. But with Mademoiselle to delay +their progress, and to suffer his fate if captured, +it was different. As matters stood, she was +likely to be released with Father Claude, as soon +as he should be disposed of. And so his mind +had settled on staying, and dying, if he must, +alone.</p> +<p>“I have not known whether to tell all,” said +Father Claude, after the silence. “And yet +it would seem that Mademoiselle may as well +know the truth now as later.”</p> +<p>“You have not told me?” she said, with reproach +in her voice. “Must I always be a +child to you, Father? If God has seen it best +to place me here, am I not to help bear the +burden?”</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle is right, Father. Hold nothing +back. Three stout hearts are better than +two.”</p> +<p>The priest looked gravely at the fire.</p> +<p>“The word has gone out,” he said. “The +Long Arrow, by his energy and his eloquence, +but most of all because he had the courage to +capture the Big Buffalo in the enemy’s country +with but a score of braves, now controls the +village. To-morrow night the great council will +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +begin. The war chiefs of all the Cayuga and +Onondaga and Oneida and Mohawk villages +will meet here and decide whether to take up +the hatchet against the white men. The Long +Arrow well knows that his power will last only +until the greater chiefs come, and he will have +his revenge before his day wanes.”</p> +<p>“When?” asked the Captain.</p> +<p>“To-morrow morning, M’sieu. The feasting +and dancing will begin to-night.”</p> +<p>The maid was looking at the priest. “I do +not understand,” she said. “What will he +do?”</p> +<p>“He means me, Mademoiselle,” said the Captain, +quietly.</p> +<p>“Not––” she said, “not––”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he replied. “They will bring us no +food to-night. In the morning they will come +for me.”</p> +<p>“Oh, M’sieu, they cannot! They––” She +gazed at him, not heeding the tears that suddenly +came to her eyes and fell down upon her +cheeks; and, as she looked, she understood what +was in his mind. “Why do you not escape, +M’sieu? There is yet time,––to-night! You +are thinking of me, and I––I––Oh, I have +been selfish––I did not know! We will stay +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +here, Father Claude and I. You need not +think of us; they will not harm us––you told +me that yourself, M’sieu. I should be in your +way, but alone––it is so easy.” She would +have gone on, but Menard held up his hand.</p> +<p>“No,” he said, shaking his head, “no.”</p> +<p>Her lips moved, but she saw the expression +in his eyes, and the words died. She turned to +Father Claude, but he did not look up.</p> +<p>“I do not know,” said Menard, slowly, +“whether the heart of the Big Throat is still +warm toward me. He was once as my father.”</p> +<p>“He will not be here in time,” Father +Claude said. “He does not start from his village +until the sun is dropping on the morrow.”</p> +<p>The maid could not take her eyes from +Menard’s face. Now that the final word had +come, now that all the doubts of the unsettled +day, now only half gone, had settled into a fact +to be faced, he was himself again, the quiet, +resolute soldier. Only the set, almost hard +lines about the mouth told of his suffering.</p> +<p>“If we had a friend here,” he was saying, +quietly enough, “it may be that Tegakwita––But +no, of course not. I had forgotten about +Danton––”</p> +<p>“Tegakwita has lost standing in the tribe for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +allowing Lieutenant Danton to escape. He is +very bitter, We can ask nothing from him.”</p> +<p>“No, I suppose not.”</p> +<p>The cool air of these two men, the manner +in which they could face the prospect, coupled +with her own sense of weakness, weighed hard +upon the maid’s heart. She felt that she must +cry out, must in some manner give way to her +feelings. She rose and hurried into the open +air. The broad sunlight was still sifting down +through the leaves and lying upon the green +earth in bright patches. The robins were singing, +and many strange birds, whose calls she did +not know, but who piped gently, musically, so +in harmony with the soft landscape that their +notes seemed a part of it. It was all unreal, +this quiet, sunlit world, where the birds were +free as the air which bore their songs, while the +brave Captain––she could not face the thought.</p> +<p>The birch cup was still on the stone by the +door. She lifted out the flowers with their +dripping stems, and rearranged them carefully, +placing a large yellow daisy in the centre.</p> +<p>An Indian was approaching up the path. He +had thrown aside his blanket, and he strode +rapidly, clad in close-fitting jacket and leggings +of deerskin, with knife and hatchet slung at his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +waist. He came straight to the hut and entered, +brushing by her without a glance. Just +as he passed she recognized him. He was +Tegakwita. Her fear of these stern warriors +had suddenly gone, and she followed him into +the doorway to hear his errand. Menard +greeted him with a nod; Father Claude, too, +was silent.</p> +<p>“The White Chief, the Big Buffalo, has a +grateful heart,” said the Indian, in cutting +tones. She was glad that she could understand +him. She took a flower from the bunch +at her breast, and stood motionless in the low +doorway, pulling the petals apart, one by one +and watching the little group within. The +priest and the Captain were sitting on the +ground, Menard with his hands clasped easily +about his knees. Tegakwita stood erect, with +his back to the door. “He feels the love of a +brother for those who would make sacrifices +for him,” he went on. “It was many years +ago that he saved Tegakwita from the perils of +the hunt. Tegakwita has not forgotten. When +the White Chief became a captive, he had not +forgotten. He has lost his brave name as a +warrior because he believed in the White Chief. +He has lost––” his voice grew tremulous with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +the emotion that lay underneath the words––“He +has lost his sister, whom he sent to be a +sister to the white man and his squaw.”</p> +<p>“My brother speaks strangely,” said Menard, +looking up at him half suspiciously.</p> +<p>“Yes, it is strange.” His voice was louder, +and in his excitement he dropped the indirect +form of speech that, in the case of an older +warrior, would have concealed his feelings. “It +is strange that you should send my sister, who +came to you in trust, to release the white brave. +It is strange you should rob me of her whom +my father placed by my side.”</p> +<p>Menard and Father Claude looked at each +other. The Indian watched them narrowly.</p> +<p>“My son is mistaken,” said Father Claude, +quietly. “His sister has wandered away. It +may be that she has even now returned.”</p> +<p>“No, my Father. The white brave has stolen +her.”</p> +<p>Menard got up, and spoke with feeling.</p> +<p>“Tegakwita does not understand. The +white brave was foolish. He is a young warrior. +He does not know the use of patience. +He first escaped against my orders. The word +I sent by your sister was a command to be +patient. He went alone, my brother. He has +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +gone forever from my camp. It cannot be that +she––”</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo speaks lies. Who came +to cut the white brave’s bonds? Who stole the +hunting coat, the leggings of Tegakwita, that +her lover might go free? Who has dishonoured +herself, her brother, the father that––” +Words failed him, and he stood facing them +with blazing eyes.</p> +<p>Menard glanced at the maid, but she had +passed the point where a shock could sway her, +and now stood quietly at the door, waiting to +hear what more the warrior would say. But he +stood motionless. Father Claude touched his +arm.</p> +<p>“If this is true, Tegakwita, the Big Buffalo +must not be held to blame. He has spoken +truly. To talk in these words to the man who +has been your brother, is the act of a dog. You +have forgotten that the Big Buffalo never +speaks lies.”</p> +<p>The Indian gave no heed to his words. He +took a step forward, and raised his hand to his +knife. Menard smiled contemptuously, and +spread out his hands; he had no weapon. But +Tegakwita had a second thought, and dropped +his hand. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></p> +<p>“Tegakwita, too, never speaks lies,” he said. +“He will come back before the sun has come +again.”</p> +<p>He walked rapidly out, crowding roughly +past the maid.</p> +<p>Menajd leaned against the wall. “Poor +boy!” he said, “poor boy!”</p> +<p>The maid came slowly in, and sat on the +rude bench which leaned against the logs near +the door. The strain of the day was drawing +out all the strength, the womanhood, that lay +behind her buoyant youth. Already the tan +was fading from her face, here in the hut and +under the protecting elms; and the whiteness +of her skin gave her, instead of a worn appearance, +the look of an older woman,––firmer, with +greater dignity. Her eyes had a deeper, fuller +understanding.</p> +<p>“I suppose that there is nothing, M’sieu––nothing +that we can do?”</p> +<p>Menard shook his head. “No; nothing.”</p> +<p>“And the Indian,––he says that he will come +back?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I don’t know what he means. It +doesn’t matter.”</p> +<p>“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”</p> +<p>They were silent for a moment. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +maid leaned forward. “What was that, +M’sieu?”</p> +<p>“Loungers, on the path.”</p> +<p>“No, they are coming here.”</p> +<p>Menard rose, but she stepped to the door. +“Let me go, M’sieu. Ah, I see them. It is +my little friends.” She went out, and they +could hear her laughing with the two children, +and trying to coax them toward the door.</p> +<p>“Danton will never get away,” said the Captain, +in a low tone to the priest.</p> +<p>“I fear not, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“He has lost his head, poor boy. I thought +him of better stuff. And the girl––Ah, if he +had only gone alone! I could forgive his rashness, +Father, his disobedience, if only he could +go down with a clear name.”</p> +<p>“There is still doubt,” said the priest, cautiously. +“We know only what Tegakwita +said.”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid,” Menard replied, shaking his +head, “I’m afraid it’s true. You said he wore +the hunting clothes. Some one freed him. +And the girl is gone. I wish––Well, there is +no use. I hoped for something better, that is +all.”</p> +<p>Just outside the door the maid was talking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +gaily with the two children, who now and then +raised their piping voices. Then it was evident +that they were going away, for she was calling +after them. She came into the hut, smiling, +and carrying a small willow basket full of +corn.</p> +<p>“See,” she said, “even now it is something +to have made a friend. We shall not go +hungry to-day, after all. Will you partake, +Father? And M’sieu?”</p> +<p>She paused before the Captain. He had +stepped forward, and was staring at her.</p> +<p>“Where are they?” he asked.</p> +<p>“The children? They are wandering along +the path.”</p> +<p>“Quick, Mademoiselle! Call them back.”</p> +<p>She hesitated, in surprise; then set the basket +on the ground and obeyed. Menard paced the +floor until she returned.</p> +<p>“They are outside, M’sieu, too frightened to +come near.”</p> +<p>“Give me that birch cup, outside the door.” +He was speaking in quick, low tones. “They +must not see me. It would frighten them.”</p> +<p>She brought him the cup, and he emptied +the flowers on the floor, tearing open the +seams, and drying the wet white bark on his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +sleeve. He snatched a charred coal from the +heap of ashes in the centre of the floor, and +wrote rapidly in a strange mixture of words +and signs, “A piece of thread, Mademoiselle. +And look again––see that they have not +gone.”</p> +<p>“They are waiting, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>He rolled the bark tightly, and tied it with +the thread which she brought from her bundle.</p> +<p>“We must have a present. Father Claude, +you have your bale. Find something quickly,––something +that will please them. No, wait––Mademoiselle, +have you a mirror? They +would run fifty leagues for a mirror.”</p> +<p>She nodded, rummaged through her bundle, +and brought out a small glass.</p> +<p>“Take this, Mademoiselle. Tell them to +give this letter to the Big Throat, at the next +village. They will know the way. He must +have it before the day is over. No harm can +come to them. If anyone would punish them, +the Big Throat will protect them. You must +make them do it. They cannot fail.”</p> +<p>Her face flushed, and her eyes snapped as +she caught his nervous eagerness. Even Father +Claude had risen, and was watching him with +kindling eyes. She took the roll and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +mirror, and ran out the door. In a moment, +Menard, pacing the floor, could hear her merry +laugh, and the shrill-voiced delight of the +children over their new toy. He caught the +priest’s hand.</p> +<p>“Father, we shall yet be free. Who could +fail with such a lieutenant as that maid. How +she laughs. One would think she had never a +care.”</p> +<p>At last she came back, and sank, with a +nervous, irresponsible little laugh, on the bench. +And then, for the moment, they all three +laughed together.</p> +<p>In the silence that followed, Father Claude +moved toward the door.</p> +<p>“I must go out again, M’sieu. It may be +that there is further word.”</p> +<p>“Very well, Father. And open your ears +for news of the poor boy.”</p> +<p>The priest bowed, and went out. Menard +stood in the door watching him, as he walked +boldly along the path. After a little he turned. +The maid was looking at him, still flushed and +smiling.</p> +<p>“Well, Mademoiselle, we can take hope +again.”</p> +<p>“You are so brave, M’sieu.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span></p> +<p>He smiled at her impulsiveness, and looked +at her, hardly conscious that he was causing +her to blush and lower her eyes.</p> +<p>“And so I am brave, Mademoiselle? It may +be that Major Provost and Major d’Orvilliers +will not feel so.”</p> +<p>“But they must, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“Do you know what they will say? They +will speak with sorrow of Captain Menard, the +trusted, in whose hands Governor Denonville +placed the most important commission ever +given to a captain in New France. They will +regret that their old friend was not equal to the +test; that he––ah, do not interrupt, Mademoiselle; +it is true––that his failure lost a +campaign for New France. You heard Father +Claude; you know what these Indians plan to do.”</p> +<p>“You must not speak so, M’sieu. It is +wicked. He would be a coward who could +blame you. It was not your fault that you were +captured. When I return I shall go to them +and tell them how you fought, and how you +faced them like––like a hero. When I +return––” She stopped, as if the word were +strange.</p> +<p>“Aye, Mademoiselle, and God grant that you +may return soon. But your good heart leads +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +you wrong. It was my fault that I did not bring +a force strong enough to protect myself,––and +you. To fight is not a soldier’s first duty. It +is to be discreet; he must know when not to +fight as well as when to draw his sword; he +must know how many men are needed to defend +his cause. No; I was overconfident, and +I lost. And there we must leave it. Nothing +more can be said.”</p> +<p>He stood moodily over the heap of ashes. +When he looked at her again, she had risen.</p> +<p>“The flowers, M’sieu,” she said, “you––you +threw them away.”</p> +<p>He glanced down. They lay at his feet. +Silently he knelt and gathered them.</p> +<p>“Will you help me, Mademoiselle? We will +make another cup. And these two large daisies,––did +you see how they rested side by side +on the ground when I would have trampled on +them? You will take one and I the other; and +when this day shall be far in the past, it may be +that you will remember it, and how we two +were here together, waiting for the stroke that +should change life for us.”</p> +<p>He held it out, and she, with lowered eyes, +reached to take it from his hand, but suddenly +checked the motion and turned to the door. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span></p> +<p>“Will you take it, Mademoiselle?”</p> +<p>She did not move; and he stood, the soldier, +helpless, waiting for a word. He had forgotten +everything,––the low, smoke-blackened hut, +the responsibility that lay on his shoulders, the +danger of the moment,––everything but the +slender maid who stood before him, who would +not take the flower from his hand. Then he +stepped to her side, and, taking away the other +flowers from the lace beneath her throat, he +placed the single daisy in their stead. Her +eyes were nearly closed, and she seemed hardly +to know that he was there.</p> +<p>“And it may be,” he whispered softly, “that +we, like the flowers, shall be spared.”</p> +<p>She turned slowly away, and sank upon the +bench. Menard, with a strange, new lightness +in his heart, went out into the sunlight.</p> +<p>The day wore on. The warm sunbeams, +that slipped down through the foliage, lengthened +and reached farther and farther to the +east. The bright spots of light crept across +the grass, climbed the side of the hut and the +tree-trunks, lingered on the upreaching twigs, +and died away in the blue sky. The evening +star shot out its white spears, glowing and radiant, +long before the light had gone, or the purple +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +and golden afterglow had faded into twilight. +Menard’s mind went back to another day, just +such a glorious, shining June day as this had +been, when he had sat not a hundred yards +from this spot, waiting, as now, for the end. +He looked at his fingers. They were scarred +and knotted; one drunken, frenzied squaw had +mangled them with her teeth. He had wondered +then how a man could endure such torture +as had come to him, and still could live +and think, could even struggle back to health. +The depression had gone from him now; his +mind was more alert than since the night of +the capture. Whether it was the bare chance +of help from the Big Throat, or the gentle sadness +in the face of the maid as she bowed her +head to the single daisy on her breast,––something +had entered into his nerves and heart, +something hopeful and strong, He wondered, +as Father Claude came up the path, slowly, +laboriously, why the priest should be so saddened. +After all, the world was green and +bright, and life, even a few hours of it, was +sweet.</p> +<p>“What news, Father?”</p> +<p>The priest shook his head. “Little, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“Has the feast begun?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span></p> +<p>“Not yet. They are assembling before the +Long House.”</p> +<p>“Are they drinking?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>There was no need for talk, and so the two +men sat before the hut, with only an idle word +now and then, until the dark came down. The +quiet of the village was broken now by the +shouts of drinking warriors, with a chanting +undertone that rose and swelled slowly into +the song that would continue, both men knew, +until the break of day, or until none was left +with sober tongue to carry the wavering air. +A great fire had been lighted, and they could +see the glare and the sparks beyond a cluster +of trees and huts. Later, straggling braves +appeared, wandering about, bottle or flask in +hand, crazed by the raw brandy with which the +English and Dutch of New York and Orange +and the French of the province alike saw fit to +keep the Indians supplied.</p> +<p>A group of the warriors came from the dance, +and staggered toward the hut of the captives. +They were armed with knives and hatchets. +One had an arquebuse, which he fired at the +trees as often as the uncertain hands of all +of them could load it. He caught sight of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +white men sitting in the shadow, and came +toward them, his fellows at his heels.</p> +<p>“Move nearer the door,” whispered Menard. +“They must not get in.”</p> +<p>The two edged along the ground without +rising, until they sat with their backs in the +open doorway. The Indians hung about, a few +yards away, jeering and shouting. The one +with the arquebuse evidently wished to shoot, +but the others were holding his arms, and +reasoning in thick voices. No construction of +the Iroquois traditions could make it right to +kill a prisoner who was held for the torture.</p> +<p>The white men watched them quietly. Menard +heard a rustle, and the sound of a quick +breath behind him, and he said, without taking +his eyes from the Indians:––</p> +<p>“Step back, Mademoiselle, behind the wall. +You must not stand here.”</p> +<p>The warrior broke away from the hands that +held him, staggering a rod across the grass +before he could recover his balance. The +others went after him, but he quickly rested the +piece and fired. The ball went over their +heads through the doorway, striking with a low +noise against the rear wall. Menard rose, +jerking away from the priest’s restraining hand. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span></p> +<p>“Mademoiselle,” he said, “you are not hurt?”</p> +<p>“No, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“Thank God!” He stood glaring at the +huddled band of warriors, who were trying to +reload the arquebuse; then he bounded forward, +broke into the group with a force that sent two +to the ground, snatched the weapon, and, with +a quick motion, drew out the flint. He threw +the gun on the ground, and walked back to his +seat.</p> +<p>Two of the guards came running forward. +They had not been drinking, and one of them +ordered the loafers away. This did not strike +them amiss. They started off, trying to reload +as they walked, evidently not missing the flint.</p> +<p>The maid came again to the doorway, and +asked timidly:––</p> +<p>“Is there danger for you, M’sieu? Will +they come back?”</p> +<p>“No. It is merely a lot of drunken youths. +They have probably forgotten by now. Can +you sleep, Mademoiselle?––have you tried?”</p> +<p>“No, I––I fear that I could not.”</p> +<p>“It would be well to make the effort,” he +said gently, looking over his shoulder at her as +she leaned against the doorpost. “We do not +know what may happen. At any rate, even if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +you escape, you will need all your strength on +the morrow. A fallen captain may not command, +Mademoiselle, but––”</p> +<p>“If it is your command, M’sieu, I will try. +Good night.”</p> +<p>There was a long stillness, broken only by +the distant noises of the dance.</p> +<p>“You, too, will sleep, M’sieu?” said Father +Claude. “I will watch.”</p> +<p>“No, no, Father.”</p> +<p>“I beg it of you. At the least you will let +me divide the night with you?”</p> +<p>“We shall see, we shall see. There is much to +be said before either of us closes his eyes. +Hello, here is a runner.”</p> +<p>An Indian was loping up the path. He +turned in toward the hut.</p> +<p>“Quiet,” said the priest. “It is Tegakwita.”</p> +<p>The warrior had run a long way. He was +breathing deeply, and the sweat stood out on +his face and caught the shine of the firelight.</p> +<p>“My brother has been far,” said Menard, +rising.</p> +<p>“The White Chief is not surprised? He +heard the word of Tegakwita, that he would +return before another sun. He has indeed +been far. He has followed the track of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +forest wolf that stole the child of the Onondagas. +He has found the bold, the brave white +warrior, who stole away in the night, robbing +Tegakwita of what is dearer to him than the +beating of his heart.”</p> +<p>The maid stood again in the doorway, resting +a hand on the post, and leaning forward with +startled eyes.</p> +<p>“He has found––he has found him––” she +faltered.</p> +<p>The Indian did not look at her. He drew +something from the breast of his shirt, and +threw it on the ground at Menard’s feet. Then, +with broken-hearted dignity, he strode away +and disappeared in the night.</p> +<p>Father Claude stooped, and picked up the +object. Dimly in the firelight they could see +it,––two warm human scalps, the one of brown +hair knotted to the other of black. Menard +took them in his hand.</p> +<p>“Poor boy!” he said, over and over. “Poor +boy!”</p> +<p>He looked toward the door, but the maid +had gone inside.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_X_A_NIGHT_COUNCIL' id='CHAPTER_X_A_NIGHT_COUNCIL'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> +<h3>A NIGHT COUNCIL.</h3> +</div> +<p>The night crept by, as had the day, wearily.</p> +<p>The two men sat in the doorway or +walked slowly back and forth across the front +of the hut, saying little. The Captain was calling +to mind every incident of their capture, and +of the original trouble between La Grange and +the hunting party. He went over the conversation +with Major Provost at Quebec word by +word, until he felt sure in his authority as the +Governor’s representative; although the written +orders in the leather bag that hung from +his neck were concerned only with his duties +in preparing Fort Frontenac for the advancing +column,––duties that he had not fulfilled.</p> +<p>A plan was forming in his mind which would +make strong demands on the good faith of +Major Provost and the Governor. He knew, +as every old soldier knows, that governments +and rulers are thankless, that even written authority +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +is none too binding, if to make it good +should inconvenience those who so easily give +it. He knew further that if he should succeed +now in staying the Onondagas and Cayugas by +pledges which, perchance, it might not please +Governor Denonville to observe, the last frail +ties that held the Iroquois to the French would +be broken, and England would reign from the +Hudson to the river of the Illinois. And he +sighed, as he had sighed many times before, for +the old days under Frontenac, under the only +Governor of New France who could hold these +slippery redskins to their obligations.</p> +<p>“Father,” he said finally, “I begin to see a +way.”</p> +<p>“The Big Throat?”</p> +<p>“He must help, though to tell the truth I +fear that he will be of little service. He may +come in time to give us a stay; but, chief +though he is, he will hardly dare overrule +the Long Arrow on a matter so personal as +this.”</p> +<p>“What is the Long Arrow’s family––the +Beaver?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“But, M’sieu, that is the least of the eight +families. If it were the Tortoise or the Bear +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +against us, we should have greater cause for +fear.”</p> +<p>“True, Father, but to each family belongs +its own quarrels, its own revenge. If the Big +Throat should interfere too deeply, it would +anger the other small families, who might fear +the same treatment at some other time. And +with Beaver, Snipe, Deer, and Potato united +against us,––well, it is a simple enough problem.”</p> +<p>They were walking by the door, and Menard, +as he spoke, sat on the stone which he had +rolled there in the afternoon. The priest stood +before him.</p> +<p>“I hope we may succeed, my son. I have +seen this anger before, and it has always ended +in the one way.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” the Captain replied, “it does depend +on the Big Throat. He must reach here +in time.”</p> +<p>“God grant that he may!”</p> +<p>“In that case, Father, I look for a delay. +Unless his heart has hardened rapidly, he still +thinks of me. Together we will go to him, +and ask a hearing in the war council.”</p> +<p>“Oratory will not release us, I fear, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“We shall not ask to be released, Father. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +Don’t you understand? It is more than that +we shall demand,––it is peace with New +France, the safety of the column––”</p> +<p>The priest’s eyes lighted. “Do you think, +M’sieu––”</p> +<p>“We can do it. They have not heard all +the truth. They do not want a long war which +will kill their braves and destroy their homes +and their corn. It is this attack on the Senecas +that has drawn them out.”</p> +<p>“You will tell them that the Governor fights +only the Senecas?”</p> +<p>“More than that. The La Grange affair has +stirred them up. It has weakened their faith +in the Governor,––it has as good as undone +all the work of twenty years past. Our only +hope is to reestablish that faith.”</p> +<p>“I hope that we may,” said the priest, slowly. +“But they have reached a state now where +words alone will hardly suffice. I have tried +it, M’sieu. Since we came, I have talked and +reasoned with them.”</p> +<p>“Well, Father, I am going to try it. The +question is, will the Governor make good what +I shall have to promise? It may be that he +will. If not,––then my life will not be worth +a box of tinder if I stray a league from Quebec +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +without a guard.” He looked down at the +daisy on his coat. “But the maid will be safe, +Father. She will be safe.”</p> +<p>“I do not believe that they would harm her, +even as it is.”</p> +<p>“No, I trust not––I trust not. But we are +here, and she is here; and not until I know +that her journey is over will my eyes close +easily at night.”</p> +<p>“But your plan, M’sieu,––you have not +told me.”</p> +<p>“Ah, I thought you understood. Did you +know about the capture at Frontenac when it +happened? No? It was like this. The Governor +sent word, with the orders that came up +to the fort in May, that at the first sign of +trouble or disturbance with the Indians there, +d’Orvilliers should seize a few score of them +and send them down the river in chains. It +would be an example, he said. I was awaiting +orders,––I had just returned from the Huron +Country and Michillimackinac,––and d’Orvilliers +called me to his rooms and showed me the +order. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘who in the devil is +meddling at Quebec?’ I did not know; I do +not know yet. But there was the order. He +turned it over to La Grange, with instructions +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +to wait until some offence should give him an +excuse.”</p> +<p>“I know the rest, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“Yes, yes. You have heard a dozen times,––how +La Grange was drinking, and how he +lied to a peaceful hunting party, and drugged +them, and brained one poor devil with his own +sword. And what could we do, Father? Right +or wrong, the capture was made. It was too +late to release them, for the harm was done. +If d’Orvilliers had refused to carry out his +orders and send them to Quebec, it would have +cost him his commission.”</p> +<p>“And you, M’sieu?”</p> +<p>“I was the only officer on detached service +at the Fort. D’Orvilliers could not look me +in the face when he ordered me to take them.”</p> +<p>“You will tell them this?”</p> +<p>“This? Yes, and more. I will pledge the +honour of New France that La Grange shall +suffer. The man who has betrayed the Onondagas +must be punished before we can have +their good faith. Don’t you understand?”</p> +<p>Father Claude walked away a few steps, and +then back, his hands clasped before him.</p> +<p>“Don’t you understand, Father? If a wrong +has been done an Iroquois, it is revenge that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +will appease him. Very well. Captain la +Grange has wronged them; let them have +their revenge.”</p> +<p>“Is that the right view, M’sieu?”</p> +<p>“Not for us, Father,––for you and me. To +us it is simple justice. But justice,––that is +not the word with which to reach an Indian.”</p> +<p>“But it may be that Captain la Grange is +in favour at Quebec. What then?”</p> +<p>“You do not seem to understand me yet, +Father.” Menard spoke slowly and calmly. +“This is not my quarrel. I can take what my +life brings, and thank your God, the while, +that I have life at all. But if by one foolish +act the Iroquois are to be lost to France, while +I have the word on my tongue that will set +all right, am I,––well, would you have me such +a soldier?”</p> +<p>The priest was looking through the leaves +at the firelight. For once he seemed to have +nothing to offer.</p> +<p>“It will not be easy, Father; but when was +a soldier’s work easy? First I must make +these Indians believe me,––and you know +how hard that will be. Then I must convince +Governor Denonville that this is his only +course; and that will be still harder. Or, if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +they will not release me, you will be my messenger, +Father, and take the word. I will +stay here until La Grange has got his dues.”</p> +<p>“Let us suppose,” said the priest,––“let us +suppose that you did not do this, that you did +not take this course against Captain la Grange +which will leave him a marked man to the Iroquois, +even if the Governor should do nothing.”</p> +<p>“Then,” said Menard, “the rear-guard at La +Famine will be butchered, and the army of +New France will be cut to pieces. That is +all.”</p> +<p>“You are sure of this?”</p> +<p>“It points that way, Father.”</p> +<p>“Then let us take another case. Suppose +that you succeed at the council, that you are +released. Then if the Governor should disclaim +responsibility, should––”</p> +<p>“Then, Father, I will go to La Grange and +make him fight me. I mean to pledge my +word to these chiefs. You know what that +means.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied the priest, “yes.” He seemed +puzzled and unsettled by some thought that +held his mind. He walked slowly about, looking +at the ground. Menard, too, was restless. +He rose from the stone and tossed away the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +pebbles that had supported the cup, one at a +time.</p> +<p>“They are singing again,” he said, listening +to the droning chant that came indistinctly +through the dark. “One would think they +would long ago have been too drunk to stand. +How some of these recruits the King sends over +to us would envy them their stomachs.”</p> +<p>The priest made no reply. He did not understand +the impulse that led the Captain to speak +irrelevantly at such a moment.</p> +<p>“I suppose the doctors are dancing now,” +Menard continued. “It may be that they will +come here. If they do, we shall have a night +of it.”</p> +<p>“We will hope not, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“If they should, Father,––well, it is hard to +know just what to do.”</p> +<p>“You were thinking––?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I was wondering. If they come here, +and let their wild talk run away with them, it +might be well to fight them off until morning. +Maybe we could do it.”</p> +<p>“Yes, it might seem best.”</p> +<p>“But if––if the Big Throat should not come, +or should have changed, then it would have been +better that I had submitted.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span></p> +<p>“You are thinking of me, my son. You +must not. I will not leave you to go without +a struggle. I can fight, if needs be, as well as +you. I will do my part.”</p> +<p>“It is not that, Father. But if we fight, and +the Big Throat does not come,––there is the +maid. They would not spare her then.”</p> +<p>The priest looked at the Captain, and in the +dim, uncertain light he saw something of the +thought that lay behind those wearied eyes.</p> +<p>“True,” he said; “true.”</p> +<p>Menard walked up and down, a half-dozen +steps forward, a half-dozen back, without a +glance at the priest, who watched him closely. +Suddenly he turned, and the words that were +in his mind slipped unguarded from his tongue, +low and stern:––</p> +<p>“If they come, Father,––if they harm her,––God! +if they even wake her, I will kill them.”</p> +<p>Father Claude looked at him, but said nothing. +They walked together up and down; then, +as if weary, they sat again by the door.</p> +<p>“There are some things which I could not +talk over with you,” said the priest, finally. “It +was best that I should not. And now I hardly +know what is the right thing for me to do, or +to say.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span></p> +<p>“What troubles you?”</p> +<p>“When you are cooler, it will come to you. +For to-night,––until our last moment of choice,––I +must ask one favour, M’sieu. You will not +decide on this course until it comes to the end. +You will think of other ways; you will––”</p> +<p>“What else have I been doing, Father? +There is no other way.”</p> +<p>“But you will not decide yet?”</p> +<p>“No. We need not, to-night.”</p> +<p>The priest seemed relieved.</p> +<p>“M’sieu,” came in a low voice from the darkness +within the hut, “may I not sit with +you?”</p> +<p>“You are awake, Mademoiselle? You have +not been sleeping?”</p> +<p>“No, I could not. I––I have not heard you, +M’sieu,––I have not listened. But I wanted +to very much. I have only my thoughts, and +they are not the best of company to-night.”</p> +<p>“Come.” Menard rose and got one of the +priest’s blankets, folding it and laying it on the +ground against the wall. “I fear that we may +be no better than the thoughts; but such as we +are, we are at the service of Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>She sat by them, and leaned back, letting her +hands fall into her lap. Menard was half in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +shadow, and he could let his eyes linger on her +face. It was a sad face now, worn by the haunting +fears that the night had brought,––fears that +had not held their substance in the sunlight; +but the eyes were still bright. Even at this +moment she had not forgotten to catch up +the masses of hair that were struggling to be +free; and there was a touch of neatness about +her torn dress that the hardships of the journey +and the dirt and discomforts of an Indian shelter +had not been able to take away. They all three +sat without talking, watching the sparks from +the fire and the tips of flame that now and then +reached above the huts.</p> +<p>“How strange their song is, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“Yes. They will keep it up all night. If we +were nearer, you would see that as soon as a +brave is exhausted with the dancing and singing, +another will rush in to take his place. +Sometimes they fall fainting, and do not recover +for hours.”</p> +<p>“I saw a dance once, at home. The Ottawas––there +were but a few of them––had a war-dance. +It seemed to be just for amusement.”</p> +<p>“They enjoy it. It is not uncommon for +them to dance for a day when there is no hunt +to occupy them.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span></p> +<p>Father Claude had been silent. Now he rose +and walked slowly away, leaving them to talk +together. They could see him moving about +with bowed head.</p> +<p>“The Father is sad, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“Yes. But it is not for himself.”</p> +<p>“Does he fear now? Does he not think +that the Big Throat will come?”</p> +<p>“I think he will come.”</p> +<p>The maid looked down at her clasped hands. +Menard watched her,––the firelight was dancing +on her face and hair,––and again the danger +seemed to slip away, the chant and the fire +to be a part of some mad dream that had carried +him in a second from Quebec to this deep-shadowed +spot, and had set this maid before +him.</p> +<p>“You are wearing the daisy, Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>She looked up, half-startled at the change in +his voice. Then her eyes dropped again.</p> +<p>“See,” he continued, “so am I. Is it not +strange that we should be here, you and I. +And yet, when I first saw you, I thought––”</p> +<p>“You thought, M’sieu?”</p> +<p>Menard laughed gently. “I could not tell +you, without telling you what I think now, and +that would––be––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></p> +<p>He spoke half playfully, and waited; but she +did not reply.</p> +<p>“I do not know what it is that has come to +me. It is not like me. Or it may be that the +soldier, all these years, has not been me. Would +it not be strange if I were but now to find myself,––or +if you were to find me, Mademoiselle? +If it is true, if this is what I have waited so +long to find, it would be many years before I +could repay you for bringing it to me,––it +would be a long lifetime.”</p> +<p>Again he waited, and still she was silent. +Then he talked on, as madly now as on the +night of their capture, when he had fought, +shouting, musket and knife in hand, at the +water’s edge. But this was another madness.</p> +<p>“It is such a simple thing. Until you came +out here under the trees my mind was racked +with the troubles about us. But now you are +here, and I do not care,––no, not if this +were to be my last night, if to-morrow they +should––” She made a nervous gesture, but +he went on.</p> +<p>“You see it is you, Mademoiselle, who come +into my life, and then all the rest goes out.”</p> +<p>“Don’t,” she said brokenly. “Don’t.”</p> +<p>Father Claude came slowly toward them. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span></p> +<p>“My child,” he said, “if you are not too +wearied, I wish to talk with you.”</p> +<p>She rose with an air of relief and joined him. +Menard watched them, puzzled. He could +hear the priest speaking in low, even tones; +and then the maid’s voice, deep with emotion. +Finally they came back, and she went +hurriedly into the hut without a glance at +the soldier, who had risen and stood by the +door.</p> +<p>“Come, M’sieu, let us walk.”</p> +<p>Menard looked at him in surprise, but +walked with him.</p> +<p>“It is about the speech to the council––and +Captain la Grange. It may be that you are +right, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“Right? I do not understand.”</p> +<p>“It was but a moment ago that we talked +of it.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I have not forgotten. But what do +you mean now?”</p> +<p>“You promised me to wait before deciding. +It may be that I was wrong. If you are to +make the speech, you will need to prepare it +carefully. There is none too much time.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Menard. Then suddenly he +stopped and took the priest’s arm. “I did +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +not think, Father; I did not understand. +What a fool I am!”</p> +<p>“No, no, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“You have talked with her. He is her +cousin, and yet it did not come to me. It +will pain her.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Father Claude, slowly, “it will +pain her. But I have been thinking. I fear +that you are right. It has passed beyond the +simple matter of our own lives; now it is New +France that must be thought of. You have +said that it was Captain la Grange’s treachery +that first angered the Onondagas. We must +lay this before them. If his punishment will +satisfy them, will save the rear-guard, why then, +my son, it is our duty.”</p> +<p>They paced back and forth in silence. +Menard’s heavy breathing and his quick +glances toward the hut told the priest something +of the struggle that was going on in his +mind. Suddenly he said:––</p> +<p>“I will go to her, Father. I will tell her. I +cannot pledge myself to this act if––if she––”</p> +<p>“No, M’sieu, you must not; I have told her. +She understands. And she has begged me +to ask you not to speak with her. She has a +brave heart, but she cannot see you now.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span></p> +<p>“She asked you,––” said the Captain, slowly. +“She asked you––I cannot think. I do not +know what to say.”</p> +<p>The priest quietly walked back to the stone +by the door, and left the soldier to fight out the +battle alone. It was half an hour before he +came back and stood before Father Claude.</p> +<p>“Well, M’sieu?”</p> +<p>Menard spoke shortly, “Yes, Father, you are +right.”</p> +<p>That was all, but it told the priest that the +matter had been finally settled. He had seen +the look in the Captain’s eyes when the truth +had come to him; and he knew now what he had +not dreamed before, that the soldier’s heart +had gone out to this maid, and now he must +set his hand against one of her own blood. +The Father knew that he would do it, would +fight La Grange to the end. A word was trembling +on his tongue, but as he looked at the +seamed face before him, he could not bring +himself to add a deeper sorrow to that already +stamped there.</p> +<p>“You must help me with the speech, Father. +My wits are not at their best, I fear.”</p> +<p>“Willingly, M’sieu. And the presents,––we +must think of that.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span></p> +<p>“True. We have not the wampum collars. +It must be something of great value that will take +their place. You know how much tradition +means to these people. Of course I have nothing. +But you––you have your bale. And Mademoiselle––together +you should find something.”</p> +<p>“I fear that I have little. My blankets and +my altar they would not value. One moment––” He +stepped to the door, and spoke softly, “Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>“Yes, Father.” She stood in the doorway, +wearily. It was plain that she had been weeping, +but she was not ashamed.</p> +<p>“We shall need your help, Mademoiselle. +Anything in your bale that would please the +chiefs must be used.”</p> +<p>She was puzzled.</p> +<p>“It is the custom,” continued the priest, “at +every council. To the Indians a promise is not +given, a statement is not true, a treaty is not +binding, unless there is a present for each clause. +We have much at stake, and we must give what +we have.”</p> +<p>“Certainly, Father.”</p> +<p>She stepped back into the darkness, and they +could hear her dragging the bundle. Menard +sprang to help. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></p> +<p>“Mademoiselle, where are you?”</p> +<p>“Here, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>He walked toward the sound with his hands +spread before him. One hand rested on her +shoulder, where she stooped over the bale. She +did not shrink from his touch. For a moment +he stood, struggling with a mad impulse to take +her slender figure in his arms, to hold her where +a thousand Indians could not harm her save by +taking his own strong life; to tell her what made +this moment more to him than all the stern +years of the past. It may be that she understood, +for she was motionless, almost breathless. +But in a moment he was himself.</p> +<p>“I will take it,” he said.</p> +<p>He stooped, took up the bundle, and carried +it outside. She followed to the doorway.</p> +<p>“You will look, Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>She nodded, and knelt by the bundle, while +the two men waited.</p> +<p>“There is little here, M’sieu. I brought only +what was necessary. Here is a comb. Would +that please them?”</p> +<p>She reached back to them, holding out a high +tortoise-shell comb. They took it and examined +it.</p> +<p>“It is beautiful,” said Menard. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span></p> +<p>“Yes; my mother gave it to me.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps, Mademoiselle,––perhaps there is +something else, something that would do as well.”</p> +<p>“How many should you have, M’sieu?”</p> +<p>“Five, I had planned. There will be five +words in the speech.”</p> +<p>“Words?” she repeated.</p> +<p>“To the Iroquois each argument is a ‘word.’”</p> +<p>“I have almost nothing else, not even clothing +of value. Wait––here is a small coat of seal.”</p> +<p>“And you, Father?” asked Menard.</p> +<p>“I have a book with highly coloured pictures, +M’sieu,––‘The Ceremonies of the Mass applied +to the Passion of Our Lord.’”</p> +<p>“Splendid! Have you nothing else?”</p> +<p>“I fear not.”</p> +<p>Menard turned to the maid, who was still on +her knees by the open bundle, looking up at them.</p> +<p>“I am afraid that we must take your coat and +the comb,” he said. “I am sorry.”</p> +<p>She answered in a low tone, but firmly: “You +know, M’sieu, that it would hurt me to do nothing. +It hurts me to do so little.”</p> +<p>“Thank you, Mademoiselle. Well, Father, +we must use our wits. It may be that four +words will be enough, but I cannot use fewer. +We have but three presents.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span></p> +<p>“Yes,” replied the priest, “yes.” He walked +slowly by them, and about in a circle, repeating +the word. The maid leaned back and watched +him, wondering. He paused before the Captain +and seemed about to speak. Then abruptly he +went into the hut, and they could hear him +moving within. Menard and the maid looked +at each other, the soldier smiling quietly. He +understood.</p> +<p>Father Claude came out holding the portrait +of Catharine, the Lily of the Onondagas, in his +hands.</p> +<p>“It may be that this could be used for the +fourth present,” he said.</p> +<p>Menard took it without a word, and laid it +on the ground by the fur coat. The maid +looked at it curiously.</p> +<p>“Oh, it is a picture,” she said.</p> +<p>“Yes, Mademoiselle,” the Captain replied. +“It is the portrait of an Onondaga maiden +who is to them, and to the French, almost a +saint. They will prize this above all else.”</p> +<p>The maid raised it, and looked at the +strangely clad figure. Father Claude quietly +walked away, but Menard went after and gripped +his hand.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI_THE_BIG_THROAT_SPEAKS' id='CHAPTER_XI_THE_BIG_THROAT_SPEAKS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> +<h3>THE BIG THROAT SPEAKS.</h3> +</div> +<p>The light of the rising sun struggled through +the mist that lay on the Onondaga Valley. +The trees came slowly out of the gray air, like +ships approaching through a fog. As the sun +rose higher, each leaf glistened with dew. The +grass was wet and shining.</p> +<p>Menard had seized a few hours of sleep. He +awoke with the first beam of yellow light, and +rose from his bed on the packed, beaten ground +before the door. Father Claude was sitting on +a log, at a short distance, with bowed head. +The Captain stretched his stiff limbs, and +walked slowly about until the priest looked +up.</p> +<p>“Good morning, Father.”</p> +<p>“Good morning, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“It was a selfish thought that led me to +choose the earlier watch. These last hours +are the best for sleeping.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span></p> +<p>“No, I have rested well.”</p> +<p>“And Mademoiselle?”</p> +<p>“I have heard no sound. I think that she +still sleeps.”</p> +<p>“Softly, then. There has been no disturbance?”</p> +<p>“None. The singing has died down during +the last hour. There, you can hear it, +M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“Yes. But it is only a few voices. It must +be that the others are sleeping off the liquor. +They will soon awaken.”</p> +<p>“Listen.”</p> +<p>A musket was fired, and another.</p> +<p>“That is the signal.”</p> +<p>The song, which one group after another had +taken up all through the night, rose again and +grew in volume as one at a time the sleepers +aroused and joined the dance. The only sign +of the fire was a pillar of thin smoke that rolled +straight upward in the still air.</p> +<p>“Father,” said Menard, “are the guards +about?”</p> +<p>“I have not seen them. I suppose they are +wandering within call.”</p> +<p>“Then, quickly, before we are seen, help me +with this log.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span></p> +<p>“I do not understand, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“Into the hut with it, and the others, there. +If a chance does come,––well, it may be that +we shall yet be reduced to holding the hut. +These will serve to barricade the door.”</p> +<p>They were not disturbed while they rolled +the short logs within and piled them at one +side of the door, where they could not be seen +from the path.</p> +<p>“Quietly, Father,” whispered the Captain. +He knew that the maid lay sleeping, back +among the shadows. “And the presents,––you +have packed them away?”</p> +<p>“In my bundle, M’sieu. They will not be +harmed.”</p> +<p>They returned to the open air, and looked +about anxiously for signs of a movement toward +the hut; but the irregular street was silent. +Here and there, from the opening in the roof +of some low building of bark and logs, rose a +light smoke.</p> +<p>“They are all at the dance,” said Menard. +His memory supplied the picture: the great +fire, now sunk to heaps of gray ashes, spread +over the ground by the feet of those younger +braves who had wished to show their hardihood +by treading barefoot on the embers; the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +circle of grunting figures, leaning forward, +hatchet and musket in hand, moving slowly +around the fire with a shuffling, hopping step; +the outer circle of sitting or lying figures, men, +women, and children, drunken, wanton, quarrelsome, +dreaming of the blood that should be let +before the sun had gone; and at one side the +little group of old men, beating their drums of +wood and skin with a rhythm that never slackened.</p> +<p>The song grew louder, and broke at short +intervals into shouts and cries, punctuated with +musket-shots.</p> +<p>“They are coming, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>The head of the line, still stepping in the +slow movement of the dance, appeared at some +distance up the path. The Long Arrow was +in front, in full war-paint, and wearing the collar +of wampum beads. Beside him was the +Beaver. The line advanced, two and two, +steadily toward the lodge of the white men.</p> +<p>Menard leaned against the door-post and +watched them. His figure was relaxed, his +face composed.</p> +<p>“Here are the doctors, Father.”</p> +<p>A group of medicine men, wildly clad in +skins of beasts and reptiles, with the heads of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +animals on their shoulders, came running along +beside the line, leaping high in the air, and +howling.</p> +<p>Menard turned to the priest. “Father, which +shall it be,––shall we fight?”</p> +<p>“I do not know, M’sieu. We have no +weapons, and it may be, yet, that the Big +Throat––”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know.”</p> +<p>“And there is the maid, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>For the first time since the sunrise the quiet +expression left the Captain’s face. He was +silent for a moment. Then he said:––</p> +<p>“I will go, Father. You must protect her. +If anything––if they should dare to touch her, +you will––?”</p> +<p>“I will fight them, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“Thank you.” Menard held out his hand. +They gripped in silence, and turned again +toward the Indians, who were now but a hundred +yards away.</p> +<p>“They will stop in a moment,” said Menard, +“and form for the gantlet. Yes,––see, the +Long Arrow holds up his hands.” He stood +irresolute, looking at the fantastic picture; then +he stepped back into the hut.</p> +<p>The maid lay in her blanket on the bench. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +He stood over her, looking at the peaceful face +that rested on her outstretched arm. He took +her hand, and said gently:––</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>She stirred, and slowly opened her eyes; she +did not seem surprised that he should be there +clasping tightly her slender hand. He wondered +if he had been in her dreams.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>“You––you are going, M’sieu?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>She looked up at him with half-dazed eyes. +She was not yet fully awake.</p> +<p>“You must not fear,” he said. “They cannot +hurt you. You will soon be safe at––at +Frontenac.”</p> +<p>She was beginning to understand. Then all +at once the light came into her eyes, and she +clung to his arm, which was still wet with the +dew.</p> +<p>“You are not going? They will not take +you? Oh, M’sieu, I cannot––you must not!”</p> +<p>She would have said more, but he bent down +and kissed her forehead. Then, with his free +hand he unclasped her fingers and went away. +At the door he turned. She was sitting on the +bench, gazing after him with a look that he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +never forgot. For all of the unhappiness, the +agony, that came to him from those eyes, it +was with a lighter heart that he faced the +warriors who rushed to seize him.</p> +<p>Every brave, woman, and child that the village +could supply was in the double line that +stretched away from a point on the path not +a hundred yards distant to the long council +house, which stood on a slight rise of ground. +They were armed with muskets, clubs, knives,––with +any instrument which could bruise or, +mutilate the soldier as he passed, and yet leave +life in him for the harder trials to follow. Five +warriors, muskets in hand, had come to the hut. +They sprang at Menard as he stepped out +through the doorway, striking him roughly and +holding his elbows behind his back.</p> +<p>A shout went up from the waiting lines, and +muskets and clubs were waved in the air. The +Captain stepped forward briskly with head erect, +scorning to glance at the braves who walked on +either side. He knew that they would not kill +him in the gantlet; they would save him for +the fire. He had passed through this once, he +could do it again, conscious that every moment +brought nearer the chance of a rescue by the +Big Throat. Perhaps twenty paces had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +covered, and his guardians were prodding him +and trying to force him into a run, when he +heard a shout from the priest, and then the +sounds of a struggle at the hut. He turned his +head, but a rude hand knocked it back. Again +he heard the priest’s voice, and this time, with +it, a woman’s scream.</p> +<p>The Captain hesitated for a second. The +warriors prodded him again, and before they +could raise their arms he had jerked loose, +snatched a musket from one, and swinging it +around his head, sent the two to the ground, +one with a cracked skull. Before those in the +lines could fairly see what had happened, he +was running toward the hut with two captured +muskets and a knife. In front of the hut the +three other Indians were struggling with Father +Claude, who was fighting in a frenzy, and the +maid. She was hanging back, and one redskin +had crushed her two wrists together in his hand +and was dragging her.</p> +<p>Menard was on them with a leap. They did +not see him until a musket whirled about their +ears, and one man fell, rolling, at the maid’s feet.</p> +<p>“Back into the hut!” he said roughly, and +she obeyed. As he turned to aid the priest +he called after her, “Pile up the logs, quick!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span></p> +<p>She understood, and with the strength that +came with the moment, she dragged the logs +to the door.</p> +<p>Menard crushed down the two remaining +Indians as he would have crushed wild beasts, +without a glance toward the mob that was running +at him, without a thought for the gash in +his arm, made first by an arrow at La Gallette +and now reopened by a knife thrust. The +Father, too, was wounded, but still he could +fight. There was but a second more. The +Captain threw the four muskets into the hut, +and after them the powder-horns and bullet-pouches +which he had barely time to strip from +the dead men. Then he crowded the priest +through the opening above the logs, and came +tumbling after. Another second saw the logs +piled close against the door, while a shower of +bullets and arrows rattled against them.</p> +<p>“Take a musket, Father. Now, fire together! +Quick, the others! Can you load +these, Mademoiselle?”</p> +<p>“Yes.” She reached for them, and poured +the powder down the barrels.</p> +<p>“Not too much, Mademoiselle. We may +run short.”</p> +<p>“Yes, M’sieu.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span></p> +<p>To miss a mark in that solid mob would have +been difficult. The first four shots brought +down three men, and sent another limping away +with a bleeding foot.</p> +<p>“Keep it up, Father! Don’t wait an instant. +Fast, Mademoiselle, fast! Ah, there’s one more. +See, they are falling back. Take the other wall, +Father. See that they do not come from the +rear.”</p> +<p>The priest ran about the hut, peering through +the chinks.</p> +<p>“I see nothing,” he called.</p> +<p>“You had better stay there, then. Keep a +close watch.”</p> +<p>The maid laid two loaded muskets at the +Captain’s side.</p> +<p>“Can we hold them off, M’sieu?”</p> +<p>His eye was pressed to an opening, and he +did not turn.</p> +<p>“I fear not, Mademoiselle. A few minutes +more may settle it. But we can give them a +fight.”</p> +<p>“If they come again, will you let me shoot, +M’sieu?”</p> +<p>He turned in surprise, and looked at her +slight figure.</p> +<p>“You, Mademoiselle?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span></p> +<p>“Yes; I can help. I have shot before.”</p> +<p>He laughed, with the excitement of the moment, +and nodded. Then they were silent. She +knelt by his side and looked through another +opening. The women and children had retreated +well up the path. The warriors were +crowded together, just out of range, talking and +shouting excitedly. A moment later a number +of these slipped to the rear and ran off between +the huts.</p> +<p>“What does that mean, M’sieu? Will they +come around behind?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Watch out, Father. You will hear +from them soon.”</p> +<p>“Very well, M’sieu. It will be hard. There +are trees and bushes here for cover.”</p> +<p>Menard shrugged his shoulders, and made no +reply. Time was all he wished.</p> +<p>“If the Big Throat started with the first light, +he should be here before another hour,” he said +to the maid, who was watching the Indians.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she replied.</p> +<p>“Is there any corn in the basket, Mademoiselle?”</p> +<p>“I think so. I had forgotten.”</p> +<p>“We shall need it. Wait; I will look.”</p> +<p>He got the basket, and brought it to her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span></p> +<p>“There is no time for cooking, but you had better +eat what you can. And keep a close watch.”</p> +<p>“Here, M’sieu.” She spread her skirt, and +he poured out half of the corn.</p> +<p>“You give me too much. You must not.”</p> +<p>He laughed, and crossed to the priest, saying +over his shoulder:––</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle is our new recruit. And the +recruit must not complain of her food. I cannot +allow it.”</p> +<p>The moments passed with no sign of action +along the line of redskins on the path. They +were quieter since the flanking party had started. +To Menard it was evident that a plan had been +settled upon. In a like position, a dozen Frenchmen +would have stormed the hut, knowing that +only two or three could fall before they were +under the shelter of the walls; but even a large +force of Indians was unwilling to take the +chance.</p> +<p>“Father,” called the Captain, “it may be better +for you to take the doorway. Mademoiselle +and I will watch the forest.”</p> +<p>“Very well, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>The exchange was made rapidly.</p> +<p>“Will you look out at the sides, as well?” +Menard said to her. “Keep moving about, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +using all the openings. There are too many +chances for approach here.”</p> +<p>“If I see one, shall I shoot, M’sieu?”</p> +<p>He smiled. “You had better tell me first.”</p> +<p>She stepped briskly about, peering through +the chinks with an alert eye. Menard found it +hard to keep his own watch, so eager were his +eyes to watch her. But he turned resolutely +toward the woods.</p> +<p>“M’sieu!” she whispered. They had been +silent for a long time. “To the left in the +bushes! It looks like a head.”</p> +<p>“Can you make sure?”</p> +<p>“Yes. It is a head. May I shoot?”</p> +<p>Menard nodded without looking. She rested +her musket in the opening between two logs, +and fired quickly.</p> +<p>“Did you hit him?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I think so.”</p> +<p>She was breathless with excitement, but she +reloaded at once. A moment later Menard +fired, and then the priest.</p> +<p>“On all sides, eh?” the Captain muttered. +He called to the others: “Waste no powder. +Shoot only when you are sure of hitting. They +will fall back again. Two dead Indians will +discourage the wildest charge.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span></p> +<p>The firing went on at intervals, but still the +warriors kept at it, creeping up from bush to +bush and tree to tree. Menard’s face grew more +serious as the time went by. He began to +realize that the Long Arrow was desperate, that +he was determined on vengeance before the +other chiefs could come. It had been a typical +savage thought that had led him to bring Menard +to this village, where he had once lived, +rather than to the one in which the chief held +greater permanent authority; the scheme was +too complete and too near its end for delay or +failure to be considered. Still the attacking +party drew nearer, swelled every moment by a +new group. Then Menard saw their object. +They would soon be near enough to dash in +close to the wall, where their very nearness +would disable the white men’s muskets.</p> +<p>“Work fast!” he said suddenly. “They +must not get nearer!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” panted the maid. Her shoulder was +bruised by the heavy musket, her arms ached +with the quick ramming and lifting, but she +loaded and fired as rapidly as she could.</p> +<p>“Father,” called the Captain. “Quick! come +here. They are too many for me!”</p> +<p>The priest ran across the floor, half blinded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +by the smoke, cocking his musket as he came. +“Where, M’sieu?”</p> +<p>“There––at the oak! They are preparing +for a rush!”</p> +<p>He fired, at the last word, and one warrior +sprawled on his face. The priest followed.</p> +<p>“That will check them. Now back to the +door!”</p> +<p>Father Claude turned. The light was dim +and the smoke heavy. His eyes smarted and +blurred, so that he heard, rather than saw, the logs +come crashing back into the hut. Menard heard +it also; and together the two men dashed forward. +They met the rush of Indians with +blows that could not be stayed, but there was a +score pushing behind the few who had entered. +Slowly, the two backed across the hut. The +stock of Menard’s musket broke short off against +the head of the Beaver. His foot struck another, +and he snatched it up and fought on.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle,” he called, “where are you?”</p> +<p>“Here, M’sieu!”</p> +<p>The voice was behind him. Then he felt a +weight on his shoulder. The wearied maid, for +want of another rest for her musket, fired past +his face straight into the dark mass of Indians. +She tried to reload, but Menard was swept back +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +against her. With one arm he caught and held +her tight against him, swinging the musket with +his free hand. She clung to him, hardly breathing. +They reached the rear wall. One tall +warrior bounded forward and struck the musket +from his hand. That was the end of the struggle. +They were torn apart, and dragged roughly +out into the blinding sunlight.</p> +<p>Among the Iroquois, the torture was a religious +rite, which nothing, once it was begun, +could hasten. It may have been that the +younger warriors would have rushed upon the +captives to kill them; but if so, their elders held +them back. The long lines formed again, and +the doctors ran about the little group before the +hut door, leaping and singing. Menard lay on +his face, held down by three warriors. He tried +to turn his head to see what had been done with +the maid, but could not. He would have called +to her, but to make a sound now would be to +his captors an admission of weakness.</p> +<p>A great clamour came from the lines. Menard +wondered at the delay. He heard a movement +a few yards away. Warriors were grunting, +and feet shuffled on the ground. He heard the +priest say, in a calm voice, “Courage, Mademoiselle”; +and for a moment he struggled desperately. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +Then, realizing his mistake, he lay quiet. +When at last he was jerked to his feet, he saw +that the priest and the maid had been forced to +take the two first places in the line. The maid +was struggling in the grasp of two braves, one +of whom made her hold a war club by closing +his own hand over hers. Menard understood; +his friends were to strike the first blows.</p> +<p>The guards tried to drag him forward, but +he went firmly with them, smiling scornfully. +There was a delay, as the line was reached, for +the maid could not be made to hold the club. +Another man dropped out of the line to aid +the two who held her.</p> +<p>“Strike me, Mademoiselle,” said Menard. +“It is best.”</p> +<p>She shook her head. Father Claude spoke:––</p> +<p>“M’sieu is right.”</p> +<p>It was then that she first looked at the Captain. +When she saw the straight figure and +the set face, a sense of her own weakness came +to her, and she, too, straightened. Menard +stepped forward; and raising the club she let +it fall lightly on his shoulders. A shout went +up.</p> +<p>“Hard, Mademoiselle, hard,” he said. “You +must.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span></p> +<p>She pressed her lips together, closed her +eyes, and swung the club with all her strength. +Then her muscles gave way, and she sank to +the ground, not daring to look after the Captain +as he passed on between the two rows of +savages. She heard the shouts and the wild +cries, but dimly, as if they came from far away. +The confusion grew worse, and then died +down. From screaming the voices dropped +into excited argument. She did not know +what it meant,––not until Father Claude bent +over her and spoke gently.</p> +<p>“What is it?” she whispered, not looking +up. “What have they done?”</p> +<p>“Nothing. The Big Throat has come.”</p> +<p>She raised her eyes helplessly.</p> +<p>“He has come?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I must go back. Take heart, Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>He hurried away and slipped through the +crowd that had gathered about Menard and +the chief. She sat in a little heap on the +ground, not daring to feel relieved, wondering +what would come next. She could not see the +Captain, but as the other voices dropped lower +and lower, she could catch now and then a +note of his voice. In a few moments, the warriors +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +who were pressing close on the outskirts +of the crowd were pushed aside, and he came +out. She looked at him, then at the ground, +shuddering, for there was blood on his forehead. +Even when he stood over her she could +not look up or speak.</p> +<p>“There is hope now, Mademoiselle. He is +here.”</p> +<p>“Yes––Father Claude told me. Is––are +you to be released?”</p> +<p>“Hardly that, but we shall at least have a +little time. And I hope to get a hearing at +the council.”</p> +<p>“He will let you?”</p> +<p>“I have not asked him yet.” He sat beside +her, wearily. “There will be time for that. He +is talking now with the Long Arrow and the +old warriors. He is not fond of the Long +Arrow.” In the excitement he had not seen +that she was limp and exhausted, but now he +spoke quickly, “They have hurt you, Mademoiselle?”</p> +<p>“No, I am not hurt. But you––your +head––”</p> +<p>“Only a bruise.” He drew his sleeve across +his forehead. “I had rather a bad one in the +arm.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span></p> +<p>He rolled up his sleeve in a matter-of-fact +way. Her eyes filled.</p> +<p>“Oh, M’sieu, you did not tell me. I can +help you. Wait, I will be back.”</p> +<p>She rose, and started toward the spring, but +he sprang to her side.</p> +<p>“You must not trouble. It is not bad. +There will be time for this.”</p> +<p>“No. Come with me if you will.”</p> +<p>She ran with nervous steps; and he strode +after. At the side of the bubbling pool she +knelt, and looked up impatiently.</p> +<p>“It will not do to let this go, M’sieu. Can +you roll your sleeve higher?”</p> +<p>He tried, but the heavy cloth was stiff.</p> +<p>“If you will take off the coat––”</p> +<p>He unlaced it at the breast, and drew it off. +She took his wrist, and plunged his arm into +the pool, washing it with quick, gentle fingers, +drying it on his coat. Then she leaned back, +half perplexed, and looked around.</p> +<p>“What is it?”</p> +<p>“A cloth. No,”––as he reached for his +coat;––“that is too rough. Here, M’sieu,––” +she tore a strip from her skirt, and wrapped it +around the forearm. “Hold it with your other +hand, just a moment.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span></p> +<p>She hurried to the hut, and returning with +needle and thread, stitched the bandage. Then +she helped him on with his coat, and they +walked slowly to the hut.</p> +<p>“Where is Father Claude?” she asked.</p> +<p>He pointed to a thicket beyond the hut. +There, kneeling by the body of a dying Indian, +was the priest, praying silently. He had +baptized the warrior with dew from the leaves +at his side, and now was claiming his soul for +the greater King in whose service his own life +had been spent.</p> +<p>The Captain sat beside the maid, their backs +to the logs, and watched the shifting groups +of warriors. He told her of the arrival of the +Big Throat, and of the confusion that resulted. +Then for a time they were silent, waiting for +the impromptu council to reach a conclusion. +The warriors finally began to drift away, +though the younger and more curious ones +still hung about. A group of braves came +slowly toward the hut.</p> +<p>“That is the Big Throat in front,” said Menard. +“The broad-shouldered warrior beside +him is the Talking Eagle, the best-known chief +of the clan of the Bear. They are almost here. +We had better stand. Are you too tired?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span></p> +<p>“No, indeed.”</p> +<p>Father Claude had seen the group approaching, +and he joined Menard. The Big Throat +stood motionless and looked at the Captain.</p> +<p>“My brother, the Big Buffalo, has asked +to speak with the Big Throat,” he said at +length.</p> +<p>Menard bowed, but did not reply.</p> +<p>“He asks for his release,––and for the +holy man and the squaw?”</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo asks nothing save what +the chiefs of the Onondagas would give to a +chief taken in battle. The Long Arrow has lied +to the Big Buffalo. He has soiled his hands +with the blood of women and holy Fathers. +The Big Buffalo was told by Onontio, whom +all must obey, to come to the Onondagas and +give them his word. The Long Arrow was +impatient. He would not let him journey in +peace. He wished to injure him; to let his +blood. Now the Big Buffalo is here. He asks +that he may be heard at the council, to give +the chief the word of Onontio. That is all.”</p> +<p>The Big Throat’s face was inscrutable. He +looked at Menard without a word until the +silence grew tense, and the maid caught her +breath. Then he said, with the cool, diplomatic +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +tone that concealed whatever kindness +or justice may have prompted the words:––</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo shall be heard at the +council to-night. The chiefs of the Onondagas +never are deaf to the words of Onontio.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XII_THE_LONG_HOUSE' id='CHAPTER_XII_THE_LONG_HOUSE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> +<h3>THE LONG HOUSE.</h3> +</div> +<p>The council-house was a hundred paces or +more in length. The frame was of tall +hickory saplings planted in the ground in two +rows, with the tops bent over and lashed together +in the form of an arch. The building +was not more than fifteen yards wide. The +lower part of the outer wall was of logs, the +upper part and the roof of bark. Instead of a +chimney there was a narrow opening in the +roof, extending the length of the building.</p> +<p>A row of smouldering fires reached nearly +from end to end of the house. The smoke +struggled upward, but failing, for the greater +part, to find the outlet overhead, remained inside +to clog the air and dim the eyes. The +chiefs sat in a long ellipse in the central part of +the house, some sitting erect with legs crossed, +others half reclining, while a few lay sprawling, +their chins resting on their hands. The Big +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +Throat sat with the powerful chiefs of the nation +at one end. The lesser sachems, including the +Long Arrow, sat each before his own band of +followers. The second circle was made up of +the older and better-known warriors. Behind +these, pressing close to catch every word of the +argument, were braves, youths, women, and +children, mixed together indiscriminately. A +low platform extended the length of the building +against the wall on each side, and this held +another crowding, elbowing, whispering mass +of redskins. Every chief and warrior, as well +as most of the women, held each a pipe between +his teeth, and puffed out clouds of smoke into +the thick air.</p> +<p>The maid’s eyes smarted and blurred in +the smoke. It reached her throat, and she +coughed.</p> +<p>“Lie down, Mademoiselle,” said Menard. +“Breathe close to the ground and it will not be +so bad.”</p> +<p>She hesitated, looking at the Big Throat, +who sat with arms folded, proud and dignified. +Then she smiled, and lay almost flat on the +ground, breathing in the current of less impure +air that passed beneath the smoke. They had +been placed in the inner circle, next to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +chiefs of the nations, where Menard’s words +would have the weight that, to the mind of the +Big Throat, was due to a representative of the +French Governor, even in time of war. Father +Claude, sitting on the left of the maid, was +looking quietly into the fire. He had committed +the case into the hands of Providence, +and he was certain that the right words would +be given to the Captain.</p> +<p>It was nearing the close of the afternoon. A +beam of sunlight slipped in at one end of the +roof-opening, and slanted downward, clearing a +shining way through the smoke. A Cayuga +chief was speaking.</p> +<p>“The corn is ripening in the fields about the +Onondaga village. As I came down the hills +of the west to-day I saw the green tops waving +in the wind, and I was glad, for I knew that +my brothers would feast in plenty, that their +Manitous have been kind. The Cayugas, too, +have great fields of corn, and the Senecas. +Their women have worked faithfully that the +land might be plentiful.</p> +<p>“But a storm is breaking over the cornfields +of the Senecas. It is a great cloud that has +come down from the north, with the flash of +fire and the roar of thunder, and with hailstones +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +of lead that will leave no stalk standing. My +brothers know the strength of the north wind. +They have not forgotten other storms that +would have laid waste the villages of the Senecas +and the Mohawks. And they have not +forgotten their Manitous, who have whispered +to them when the clouds appeared in the northern +sky, ‘Rise up, Mohawks and Oneidas and +Onondagas and Cayugas and Senecas, and +stand firmly against this storm, and your +homes and your fields shall not be destroyed.’”</p> +<p>The house was silent with interest. The +maid raised her head and watched the stolid +faces of the chiefs in the inner circle. Not an +expression changed from beginning to end of +the speech. Beyond, she could see other, +younger faces, some eager, some bitter, some +defiant, some smiling, and all showing the +flush of excitement,––but these grim old chiefs +had long schooled their faces to hide their +thoughts. They held their blankets close, and +puffed deliberately at their pipes with hardly a +movement of the lips.</p> +<p>The Cayuga went on:––</p> +<p>“Messengers have come to the Cayugas from +their brothers, the Senecas, telling of the storm +that is rushing on them. The Cayugas know +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +the hearts of the Five Nations. When the Mohawks +have risen to defend their homes, the +hearts of the Cayugas have been warm, and +they have taken up the hatchet with their +brothers. When the Onondagas have gone on +the war-path, Senecas and Cayugas have gone +with them, and the trouble of one has been the +trouble of all.”</p> +<p>“The good White Father is no longer the +war chief of the white men. The Great Mountain, +who knew the voice of the forest, who +spoke with the tongue of the redman, has +been called back to his Great-Chief-Across-the-Water. +His word was the word of kindness, +and when he spoke our hearts were warm. But +another mountain is now the war chief, a mountain +that spits fire and lead, that speaks with +a double tongue. The Five Nations have +never turned from a foe. The enemy of the +Senecas has been the enemy of the Mohawks. +If the storm strikes the fields of the Senecas, +their brothers will not turn away and stop their +ears and say they do not hear the thunder, for +they remember the storms of other seasons, +and they know that the hail that destroys one +field will destroy other fields. And so this is +the word of the Cayugas:––Let all the warriors +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +of the Five Nations take up the hatchet; let +them go on the war-path to tell this white chief +with the double tongue that the Five Nations +are one nation; that they are bolder than +thunder, swifter than fire, stronger than lead.”</p> +<p>The maid found it hard, with her imperfect +knowledge of the language, to follow his metaphors. +She had partly risen, heedless of the +smoke, and was leaning forward with her +eyes fixed on the stern face of the speaker. +Menard bent down, and half smiled at her +excitement.</p> +<p>“What is it?” she whispered. “He is for +war?”</p> +<p>“Yes; he naturally would be.” There was a +stir about the house, as the speech ended, and +they could speak softly without drawing notice. +“The Cayugas are nearer to the Senecas than +the other nations, and they fear that they too +may suffer.”</p> +<p>“Then you do not think they all feel with +him?”</p> +<p>“No; the Oneidas and Mohawks, and even +the Onondagas, are too far to the east to feel +in danger. They know how hard it would be +for the Governor to move far from his base in +this country. It may be that the younger warriors +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +will be for fighting, but the older heads +will think of the corn.”</p> +<p>“Will the Big Throat speak?”</p> +<p>“Yes; but not like these others. He talks +simply and forcibly. That is the way when a +chief’s reputation is made. The Big Throat +won his name, as a younger brave, by his wonderful +oratory.”</p> +<p>“And you, M’sieu,––you will be heard?”</p> +<p>“Yes; I think so. We must not talk any +more now. They will not like it.”</p> +<p>The Cayuga was followed by a wrinkled old +chief of the Oneidas, called the Hundred Skins. +He stepped forward and stood near the fire, his +blanket drawn close about his shoulders, where +the red light could play on his face. A whisper +ran around the outer circle, for it was known +that he stood for peace.</p> +<p>“My Cayuga brother has spoken wisely,” he +began, in a low but distinct voice. He looked +slowly about the house to command attention. +“The Oneidas have not forgotten the storms +of other seasons; they have not forgotten the +times of starving, when neither the Manitous +of the redman nor the God of the white man +came to help. The grain stood brown in the +fields; the leaves hung dead from the trees; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +there was no wind to cool the fever that carried +away old men and young men, squaws and +children. And when the wind came, and the +cold and snow of the winter, there was no food +in the lodges of the Five Nations. My brothers +have heard that the corn is rising to a man’s +height––they have seen it to-day in the fields +of the Onondagas. They know that this corn +must be cared for like the children of their +lodges, if they wish food to eat when the winter +comes and the fields are dead. They know +what it will cost them to take the war-path.</p> +<p>“Twelve moons have not gone since the +chiefs of the Senecas rose in this house and +called on the warriors of the Five Nations to +take up the hatchet against the white men of the +north. The skins of the beaver were talking in +their ears. They saw great canoes on the white +man’s rivers loaded with skins, and their hands +itched and their hearts turned inward. Then +the wise chiefs of the Oneidas and Cayugas and +Onondagas and Mohawks spoke well. They +were not on the war-path; the hatchet was deep +in the ground, and young trees were growing +over it. Then the Oneidas said that the White +Chief would not forget if the Senecas heeded +their itching hands and listened to the bad +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +medicine of the beaver skins in their ears. But +the Senecas were not wise, and they took up +the hatchet.</p> +<p>“This is the word of the Oneidas to the +chiefs of the Long House:––The Seneca has +put his foot in the trap. Then shall the Oneida +and Onondaga and Cayuga and Mohawk rush +after, that they too may put in their feet where +they can get away only by gnawing off the +bone? Shall the wise chiefs of the Long +House run into fight like the dogs of their +village? The Oneidas say no! The Senecas +took up the hatchet; let them bury it where +they can. And when the winter comes, the +Oneidas will send them corn that they may not +have another time of starving.”</p> +<p>Menard was watching the Oneida with eyes +that fairly snapped. The low voice stopped, +and another murmur ran around the outer circles. +The Hundred Skins had spoken boldly, +and the Cayuga young men looked stern. The +chief stepped slowly back and resumed his seat, +and then, not before, did Menard’s face relax. +He looked about cautiously to see if he was +observed, then settled back and gazed stolidly +into the fire. The old Oneida had played +directly into his hand; by letting slip the motive +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +for the Seneca raid of the winter before, he +had strengthened the one weak point in the +speech Menard meant to make.</p> +<p>The next speaker was one of the younger war +chiefs of the Onondagas. He made an effort +to speak with the calmness of the older men, +but there was now and then a flash in his eye +and an ill-controlled vigour in his voice that told +Menard and the priest how strong was the war +party of this village. The Onondaga plunged +into his speech without the customary deliberation.</p> +<p>“Our brothers, the Senecas, have sent to us +for aid. We have been called to the Long +House to hear the voice of the Senecas,––not +from the lips of their chiefs, for they have fields +and villages to guard against the white man, +and they are not here to stand before the council +and ask what an Iroquois never refuses. +The Cayuga has spoken with the voice of the +Seneca. Shall the chiefs and warriors of the +Long House say to the Cayuga, ‘Go back to +your village and send messengers to the Senecas +to tell them that their brothers of the Long +House have corn and squaws and children that +are more to them than the battles of their +brothers––tell the Senecas that the Oneidas +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +must eat and cannot fight’? There is corn in +the fields of the Oneidas. But there is food for +all the Five Nations in the great house on the +Lake.”</p> +<p>The speaker paused to let his words sink in. +Menard whispered to the maid, in reply to an +inquiring look. “He means the Governor’s +base of supplies at La Famine.”</p> +<p>The Onondaga’s voice began to rise.</p> +<p>“When the Oneida thinks of his corn, is he +afraid to leave it to his squaws? Does he hesitate +because he thinks the white warriors are +strong enough to turn on him and drive him +from his villages? This is not the speech that +young warriors are taught to expect from the +Long House. When has the Long House been +guided by fear? No. If the Oneida is hungry, +let him eat from the stores of the white +man, at the house on the Lake. The Cayugas +and Onondagas will draw their belts tighter, +that the Oneida may be filled.”</p> +<p>The young chief looked defiantly around. +There was a murmur from the outer circle, but +the chiefs were grave and silent. The Hundred +Skins gazed meditatively into the fire as +if he had not heard, slowly puffing at his pipe. +The taunt of cowardice had sprung out in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +heat of youth; his dignity demanded that he +ignore it. The speech had its effect on the +Cayugas and the young men, but the older +heads were steady.</p> +<p>Other chiefs rose, talked, and resumed their +places, giving all views of the situation and of +the relations between the Iroquois and the +French,––but still little expression showed on +the inner circle of faces. The maid after a +time grew more accustomed to the smoke, and +sat up. She was puzzled by the conflicting +arguments and the lack of enthusiasm. Fully +two hours had passed, and there was no sign +of an agreement. The eager spectators, in the +outer rows, gradually settled down.</p> +<p>During a lull between two speeches, Menard +spoke to the maid, who was beginning to show +traces of weariness.</p> +<p>“It may be a long sitting, Mademoiselle. +We must make the best of it.”</p> +<p>“Yes.” She smiled. “I am a little tired. +It has been a hard day.”</p> +<p>“Too hard, poor child. But I hope to see +you safe very soon now. I am relying on the +Big Throat. He, with a few of the older +chiefs, sees farther than these hot-heads. He +knows that France must conquer in the end, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +and is wise enough to make terms whenever +he can.”</p> +<p>“But can he, M’sieu? Will they obey him?”</p> +<p>“Not obey, exactly; he will not command +them. Indians have no discipline such as ours. +The chiefs rely on their judgment and influence. +But they have followed the guidance of the Big +Throat for too many years to leave it now.”</p> +<p>Another chief rose to speak. The sun had +gone, and the long building was growing dark +rapidly. A number of squaws came through +the circle, throwing wood on the fires. The +new flames shot up, and threw a flickering +light on the copper faces, many of which still +wore the paint of the morning. The smoke +lay over them in wavering films, now and again +half hiding some sullen face until it seemed to +fade away into the darkness.</p> +<p>At last the whole situation lay clear before +the council. Some speakers were for war, some +for peace, others for aiding the Senecas as a +matter of principle. The house was divided.</p> +<p>There was a silence, and the pipes glowed in +the dusk; then the Long Arrow rose. The +listless spectators stirred and leaned forward. +The maid, too, was moved, feeling that at last +the moment of decision was near. She was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +surprised to see that he had none of the savage +excitement of the morning. He was as quiet +and tactful in speech as the Big Throat himself.</p> +<p>Slowly the Long Arrow drew his blanket +close about him and began to speak. The +house grew very still, for the whole tribe knew +that he had, in his anger of the morning, disputed +the authority of the Big Throat. There +had been hot words, and the great chief had +rebuked him contemptuously within the hearing +of half a hundred warriors. Now he was +to stand before the council, and not a man in +that wide circle but wondered how much he +would dare to say.</p> +<p>He seemed not to observe the curious +glances. Simply and quietly he began the +narrative of the capture of the hunting party +at Fort Frontenac. At the first words Menard +turned to Father Claude with a meaning look. +The maid saw it, and her lips framed a question.</p> +<p>“It is better than I hoped,” Menard whispered. +“He is bringing it up himself.”</p> +<p>“Not two moons have waned,” the Long +Arrow was saying, “since five score brave +young warriors left our village for the hunt. +They left the hatchet buried under the trees. +They took no war-paint. The Great Mountain +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +had said that there was peace between +the redman and the white man; he had asked +the Onondagas to hunt on the banks of the +Great River; he had told them that his white +sons at the Stone House would take them as +brothers into their lodges. When the Great +Mountain said this, through the mouths of the +holy Fathers, he lied.”</p> +<p>The words came out in the same low, even +tone in which he had begun speaking, but +they sank deep. The house was hushed; even +the stirring of the children on the benches +died away.</p> +<p>“The Great Mountain has lied to his children,”––Menard’s +keen ears caught the bitter, +if covered, sarcasm in the last two words; they +had been Governor Frontenac’s favourite term +in addressing the Iroquois––“and his children +know his voice no longer. There is corn in the +fields? Let it grow or rot. There are squaws +and children in our lodges? Let them live or +die. It is not the Senecas who ask our aid; it +is the voice of a hundred sons and brothers and +youths and squaws calling from far beyond the +great water,––calling from chains, calling from +fever, calling from the Happy Hunting Ground, +where they have gone without guns or corn or +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +blankets, where they lie with nothing to comfort +them.” The Long Arrow stood erect, with +head thrown back and eyes fixed on the opposite +wall. “Our sons and brothers went like +children to the Stone House of the white man. +Their hands were stretched before them, their +muskets hung empty from their shoulders, their +bowstrings were loosened; the calumet was in +their hands. But the sons of Onontio lied as +their fathers had taught them. They took the +calumet; they called the Onondagas into their +great lodge; and in the sleep of the white man’s +fire-water they chained them. Five score Onondagas +have gone to be slaves to the Great-Chief-Across-the-Water, +who loves his children +and is kind to them, and would take them all +under his arm where no storm can harm them. +My brothers of the Long House have heard +the promises of Onontio, and they have seen the +fork in his tongue. And so they choose this +time to speak of corn and squaws and children.” +The keen, closely set eyes slowly lowered and +swept around the circle. “Is this the time to +speak of corn? Our Manitou has sent this +Great Mountain into our country. He has +placed him in our hands so that we may strike, +so that we may tell the white man with our +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +muskets that our Manitou is stern and just, and +that no Iroquois will listen to the idle words of +a double tongue.”</p> +<p>He paused, readjusted his blanket, and then +stood motionless, that all might digest his +words. Then, after a long wait, he went on:––</p> +<p>“There are children to-day in our lodges who +can remember the Big Buffalo, who can remember +our adopted son who shared our fires and +food, who shared our hunts, who lived with us +as freely as an Onondaga. We saw him every +day, and we forgot that his heart was as white +as his skin, for his tongue was the tongue of an +Onondaga. We forgot that the white man has +two tongues. It has not been long, my brothers,––not +long enough for an Onondaga to forget. +But the Big Buffalo is a mangy dog. He forgot +the brothers of his lodge. He it was who +took the Onondaga hunters and carried them +away to be slaves. But the Manitou did not +forget. He has put this Big Buffalo into our +hands, that we may give him what should be +given to the dog who forgets his master.”</p> +<p>Again the Long Arrow paused.</p> +<p>“No; this is not the time to speak of corn. +It is not the Senecas who call us, it is our +brothers and their squaws and children. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +Iroquois have been the greatest warriors of +the world. They have driven the Hurons to +the far northern forests; the Illinois to the +Father of Waters, two moons’ travel to the +west; the Delawares to the waters of the south. +They have told the white man to stay within +his boundaries, and he has stayed. They have +been kind to the white man; they have welcomed +the holy Fathers into their villages. But +now the Great Mountain makes slaves of the +Onondagas. He brings his warriors across the +Great Lake to punish the Senecas and destroy +their lodges. Shall the Long House of the +Five Nations turn a white face to this Great +Mountain? Shall the Long House call out in +a shaking voice, ‘See, Onontio, there are no +heads on our arrows, no flints in our muskets! +our hatchets are dull, our knives nicked and +rusted! come, Onontio, and strike us, that +we may know you are our master and our +father’?”</p> +<p>The Long Arrow’s voice had risen only +slightly, but now it dropped; he went on, in +a tone that was keen as a knife, but so low +that those at the farther end of the house +leaned forward and sat motionless.</p> +<p>“It has been said to-day to the Long House +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +that we shall close our ears to the thunder of +the Great Mountain, that we should think of +our corn and our squaws, and leave the Senecas +to fight their own battles. But the Long House +will not do this. The Long House will not +give up the liberty that has been the pride of +the Iroquois since first the rivers ran to the +lake, and the moss grew on the trees, and the +wind waved the tops of the long grass. The +Great Mountain has come to take this liberty. +He shall not have it. No; he shall lose his +own––we will leave his bones to dry where +the Seneca dogs run loose. The Big Buffalo +shall die to tell the white man that the Iroquois +never forgets; the Great Mountain shall +die to tell the white man that the Iroquois is +free.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIII_THE_VOICE_OF_THE_GREAT_MOUNTAIN' id='CHAPTER_XIII_THE_VOICE_OF_THE_GREAT_MOUNTAIN'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> +<h3>THE VOICE OF THE GREAT MOUNTAIN.</h3> +</div> +<p>There was no lack of interest now in the +council. The weariness left the maid’s +eyes as she followed the speeches that came in +rapid succession. There was still the disagreement, +the confusion of a dozen different views +and demands; but the speech of the Long +Arrow had pointed the discussion, it had set +up an opinion to be either defended or attacked.</p> +<p>“Will the Big Throat speak now?” asked +Mademoiselle, leaning close to Menard.</p> +<p>“I hardly think so. I don’t know what will +come next.”</p> +<p>“When will you speak, M’sieu?”</p> +<p>“Not until word from the Big Throat. It +would be a breach of courtesy.”</p> +<p>One warrior, a member of the Beaver family, +and probably a blood relative of the Beaver who +had been killed in the fight of the morning, took +advantage of the pause to speak savagely for +war and vengeance. He counted those who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +had fallen since the sun rose, and appealed to +their families to destroy the man who had killed +them. He was not a chief, but his fiery speech +aroused a murmur of approval from scattered +groups of the spectators. This sympathy from +those about him, with the anger which was +steadily fed by his own hot words, gradually +drove from his mind the observance of etiquette +which was so large a part of an important council. +Still speaking, he left his place, and walking +slowly between two of the fires and across +the circle, paused before Menard.</p> +<p>“The dog whom we fed and grew has turned +against its masters, as the dogs of your own +lodges, my brothers, will bite the hand that pats +their heads. It has hung about outside of the +Great Lodge to kill the hunter who sees no +danger ahead. And now, when this dog is +caught, and tied at your door, would not my +brothers bring him to the end of all evil +beasts?” As he finished, he made a gesture +of bitter contempt and kicked Menard.</p> +<p>A shout went up, and voices clamoured, protesting, +denouncing, exulting. The Captain’s +eyes flashed fire. It was not for a second that +he hesitated. Weakness, to an Indian, is the +last, the greatest fault. If he should take this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +insult, it would end forever not only his own +chance of escape, with the maid and the priest, +but all hope of safety for the Governor’s column. +He sprang to his feet before the Indian, whose +arm was still stretched out in the gesture, and +with two quick blows knocked him clear of his +feet, and then kicked him into the fire.</p> +<p>A dozen hands dragged the warrior from the +fire and stamped out a blaze that had started in +the fringe of one legging. Every man in the +house was on his feet, shouting and screaming. +Menard stood with his hands at his side, smiling, +with the same look of scorn he had worn in +the morning when they led him to the torture. +Father Claude drew closer to the maid, and +the two sat without moving. Then above the +uproar rose the voice of the Big Throat; and +slowly the noise died away. The chief stepped +to the centre of the circle, but before he could +speak Menard had reached his side, and motioned +to him to be silent.</p> +<p>“My brothers,” he said, looking straight at +the fallen warrior, who was scrambling to his +feet,––“my brothers, the Big Buffalo is sorry +that the Onondagas have among them a fool +who thinks himself a warrior. The Big Buffalo +is not here to fight fools. He is here to talk to +chiefs. He is glad that the fool speaks only for +himself and not for the brave men of the Long +House.” He walked deliberately back and +resumed his seat by the maid.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +<img src='images/illus-256.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 614px; height: 366px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 614px;'> +“Menard stood ... smiling with the same look of scorn he had worn ... when they led him to the torture.”<br /> +</p> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span></div> +<p>“Courage, Mademoiselle,” he said close to +her ear. “It is all right.”</p> +<p>“What will they do, M’sieu?”</p> +<p>“Nothing. I have won. Wait––the Big +Throat is speaking.”</p> +<p>One by one the warriors fell back to their +seats. Some were muttering, some were smiling; +but all were subdued. The Big Throat’s +voice was calm and firm.</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo has spoken well. The +word of a fool is not the word of the Long +House. The White Chief comes to give us +the voice of Onontio, and we will listen.”</p> +<p>He turned toward Menard, and then resumed +his seat.</p> +<p>The Captain rose, and looked about the circle. +The chiefs were motionless. Even the +Long Arrow, now that his outburst was past, +closed his lips over the stem of his pipe and +gazed at the smoke. Father Claude drew forward +the bundle and opened it, the maid helping. +Some of the boys behind them crowded +closer to see the presents. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span></p> +<p>Menard spoke slowly and quietly. The rustling +and whispering in the outer circle died +away, so that every word was distinct.</p> +<p>“When the Five Nations have given their +word to another nation, it has not been necessary +to sign a paper; it has not been necessary +to keep a record. The Long Arrow has said +that the Iroquois do not forget. He is right. +The words that have gone out from the councils +have never been forgotten. I see here, in this +council, the faces of warriors who have grown +old in serving their people, of chiefs who are +bent and wrinkled with the cares of many generations. +I see in the eyes of my brothers that +they have not forgotten the Onontio, who went +away to his greater chief only five seasons ago. +They have seen this Onontio in war and peace. +They have listened to his silver tongue in the +council. They have called themselves his children, +and have known that he was a wise and +kind father. They remember the promises they +made him. But the Senecas did not remember. +The Seneca has no ears; he has a hole in his +head, and the words of his father have passed +through. The Senecas promised Onontio that +they would not take the white man’s beaver. +But when the English came to their lodges and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +whispered in their ears, the hole was stopped. +The English whispered of brandy and guns and +powder and hatchets and knives. They told +the Senecas that these things should be given +to them if they would steal the beaver. The +English are cowards––they sent the Senecas +to do what they were afraid to do. And then +the hole in the Seneca’s head was stopped––the +Seneca who had forgotten the words of +Onontio remembered the words of the English.</p> +<p>“My brothers of the Long House had not +forgotten the promises they had given Onontio. +When the Seneca chiefs called for aid in stealing +the beaver, my brothers were wise and said +no. The Onondagas and Cayugas and Oneidas +and Mohawks were loyal––they kept their +promise, and Onontio has not forgotten; he +will not forget.</p> +<p>“This is what the Great Mountain would say +to you, my brothers: You have been faithful to +your word, and he is pleased. He knows that +the Onondagas are his children. And he +knows why the Senecas left their villages and +fields to plunder his white children. It was +for the skins of the beaver, which the white +braves had taken from their own forests and +would bring in their canoes down the Ottawa +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +to trade at the white man’s villages. He +knows, my brothers, that the Senecas had +tired of their promises, and now would steal +the beaver and sell it to the English. What +comes to the boy when he climbs the tree to +steal the honey which the bees have gathered +and taken to their home? Is he not stung +and bitten until he cries that he will not disturb +the bees again? The Senecas have tried +to take that which is to the white man as the +honey is to the bee; and they too must be +stung and bitten until they have learned that +the Great Mountain will always protect those +who deserve his aid. He has sent you a comb +from the shell of the great sea-tortoise, more +precious than a thousand wampum shells, to tell +you that as the sea-monster pursues its enemies, +so will he pursue those who cannot keep their +promises––who lie to him.”</p> +<p>Father Claude handed him the comb, and he +laid it before the Big Throat. It was evident +that he had been closely followed, and he +started on his second word with more vigour.</p> +<p>“Your chiefs have spoken to-day of the +storm cloud that has swept down from the +north; your runners have told you that it is +not a cloud, but an army, that has come up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +the great river and across the lake of Frontenac +to the country of the Senecas. Do my +brothers know what a great army follows their +White Father when he sets out to punish his +children? More than twenty score of trained +warriors are in this war party, and every warrior +carries a musket; to-night they are marching +on the Seneca villages. They will destroy +those villages as a brave would destroy a nest +of hornets in his lodge. Not one lodge will be +left standing, not one stalk of corn.</p> +<p>“The Oneidas and Onondagas and Cayugas +talk of their cornfields. But even the Cayugas +need have no fear. For Onontio is a wise and +just father; he punishes only those that offend +him. The Senecas have broken their promises, +and the Senecas must be punished, but the +other nations are still the children of the Great +Mountain, and his hand is over them. The +Big Buffalo has come from the Great Mountain +to tell you that he will not harm the Cayugas; +their fields and lodges are safe.”</p> +<p>There was a stir at this, and then quiet, as +the spectators settled back to hear the rest of +Menard’s speech. Here was a captive who +spoke as boldly as their own chiefs, who commanded +their attention as a present bearer from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +the White Chief. And they knew, all of them, +from the way in which he was choosing his +words, coolly ignoring the more important +subjects until he should be ready to deal with +them, that he spoke with authority. He knew +his auditors, and he let them see that he knew +them.</p> +<p>“The Senecas have listened to the English. +What do they expect from them? Do they +think that the English wish to help them? +Do they look for wealth and support from the +English? My brothers of the Long House +know better. They have seen the English +hide from the anger of the Great Mountain. +They have seen the iron hand of New France +reach out across the northern country, and +along the shores of the great lakes, and down +the Father of Waters in the far west, while the +English were clinging to their little strip of +land on the edge of the sea. My brothers +know who is strong and who is weak. Never +have the fields of the Five Nations been so rich +and so large. No wars have disturbed them. +They have grown and prospered. Do the +Senecas think it is the English who have +made them great? No––the Senecas are not +fools. They know that the Great Mountain +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +has driven away their enemies and given them +peace and plenty. My brothers of the Long +House remembered this when the Senecas +came to them and asked for aid in stealing +the beaver. They stopped their ears; they +knew that Onontio was their father, and that +they must be faithful to him if they wished to +have plenty in their lodges.</p> +<p>“Onontio is a patient father. Let the Senecas +repent, and he will forgive them. Let +them bury the hatchet, and he will forgive +them. Let them be satisfied with peace and +honest trade, and he will buy their furs, and +give them fair payment. And then their cornfields +shall grow so large that a fleet runner +cannot pass around them in half a moon. They +shall have no more famine. Their pouches +shall be full of powder, their muskets new and +bright. Their women shall have warm clothing +and many beads. Nowhere shall there be +such prosperous nations as here among the +Iroquois. If the Senecas have broken their +pledges and have not repented, they must be +punished. But the Cayugas and Onondagas +and Oneidas and Mohawks have not broken +their pledges. The Great Mountain has sent +the Big Buffalo to tell them that he has seen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +that they are loyal, and he is pleased. He +knows that they are wise. If the Onondagas +have a grievance, he will not forget it, and if +they ask for vengeance he will hear them. +The Great Mountain knows that the Onondagas +are his children, that they will not make +war upon their father. He sends this coat of +seal fur that the hearts of the Cayugas and +Onondagas and Oneidas and Mohawks may +be kept warm, and to tell them that he loves +them and will protect them.”</p> +<p>The maid’s eyes sparkled with excitement.</p> +<p>“I wish they would speak, or laugh, or do +something,” she whispered to Father Claude, +“Are they not interested? They hardly seem +to hear him.”</p> +<p>The priest looked at her gravely.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he replied, “they are listening.”</p> +<p>The time had come to speak of La Grange. +The Captain had been steadily leading up to +this moment. He had tried to show the Indians +that they had no complaint, no cause for +war, unless it was the one incident at Fort +Frontenac. He knew that the chiefs not only +understood his argument, but that they were +quietly waiting for him to approach this real +cause of trouble, and were probably curious to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +see how he would meet it. The mind of the +Iroquois, when in the council, separated +from the heat and emotion of the dance, the +hunt, the war-path, was remarkably keen. +Menard felt sure that if he could present his +case logically and firmly, it would appeal to +most of the chief and older warriors. Then +the maid came into his thoughts, and he knew, +though he did not look down, that she was +gazing up at him and waiting. He hesitated +for a moment longer. The chiefs, too, were +waiting. The Long House was hushed:––three +hundred faces were looking at him +through the twisting, curling smoke that +blurred the scene into an unreal picture. Yes, +the time had come to speak of La Grange; and +he spoke the first words hurriedly, stepping +half-unconsciously farther from the maid.</p> +<p>There was a part of the true story of the +capture which he did not tell,––the Governor’s +part. For the rest, it was all there, every word +about La Grange and his treacherous act coming +out almost brutally.</p> +<p>“Your speakers have told you of the hunting +party that was taken into the stone house, +and put into chains, and sent away to be slaves +to the Chief-Across-the-Water. There is a chief +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +at the stone house whom you have seen fighting +bravely in many a battle. He is a bold +warrior; none is so quick or so tireless as Captain +la Grange. But he has a devil in his +heart. The bad medicine of white man and +redman, the fire-water, is always close to him, +ready to whisper to him and guide him. It +was not the father at Quebec that broke the +faith with the Onondagas. It was not the Big +Buffalo. If the Big Buffalo could so forget +his brothers of the Onondaga lodges, he would +not have come back to the Long House to tell +them of the sorrow of the Great Mountain. +My brothers have seen the Big Buffalo in war +and peace––they know that he would not do +this.</p> +<p>“The devil was in Captain la Grange’s +heart. He captured my brothers. He told +the Great Mountain that it was a war party, +that he had taken them prisoners fairly. He +lied to the Great Mountain. When the Great +Mountain asked the Big Buffalo to bring the +prisoners to his great village on the river, the +Big Buffalo could not say, ‘No, I am no longer +your son!’ When the Great Mountain commands, +the Big Buffalo obeys. With sorrow +in his heart he did as his father told him.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span></p> +<p>Menard was struggling to put the maid out +of his thoughts, to keep in view only the safety +of the column and the welfare of New France. +And as the words came rapidly to his lips and +fell upon the ears of that silent audience, he +began to feel that they believed him.</p> +<p>“My brothers,” he said, with more feeling +than they knew, “it is five seasons since I left +your village for the land of the white man. In +that time you have had no thought that I was +not indeed your brother, the son of your chief. +You have known other Frenchmen. Father +Claude, who sits by my side; Father Jean de +Lamberville, who has given his many years to +save you for the great white man’s Manitou; +Major d’Orvilliers, who has never failed to give +food and shelter to the starving hunter at his +great stone house,––I could name a hundred +others. You know that these are honest, that +what they promise will be done. But in every +village is a fool, in every family is one who is +weak and cannot earn a name on the hunt. +You have a warrior in this house who to-day +raised his hand against a visitor in the great +council. My brothers,––it is with sadness +that I say it,––not all the white men are true +warriors. You are wise chiefs and brave warriors; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +you know that because one man is a dog, +it is not so with all his nation. The Great +Mountain sends me to you, and I speak in his +voice. I tell you that Captain la Grange is +a dog, that he has broken the faith of the +white man and the redman, that the father at +Quebec and the Great-Chief-Across-the-Water, +who are so quick to punish their red children, +will also punish the white. The white men +are good. They love the Onondagas. And +if any white man breaks the faith, he shall be +punished.”</p> +<p>His voice had risen, and he was speaking in +a glow that seemed to drop a spark into each +listening heart. He knew now that they believed. +He turned abruptly for the present. +Father Claude was so absorbed in following +the speech, and in watching the maid, who +sat with flushed cheeks and lowered eyes, that +he was not ready, and Menard stooped and +took the book. He could not avoid seeing +the maid, when he looked down; and the +priest felt a sudden pain in his own heart to +see the look of utter weariness that came into +the Captain’s eyes.</p> +<p>Menard turned the leaves of the book for a +moment, as if to collect himself, and then held +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +it open so that the Indians could see the bright +pictures. There was a craning of necks in the +outer circles.</p> +<p>“In these picture writings is told the story +of the ‘Ceremonies of the Mass applied to the +Passion of Our Lord,’” he said slowly. “And +our Lord is your Great Spirit. It brings you +a message; it tells you that the white man is +a good man, who punishes his own son as +sternly as his red child.”</p> +<p>The present pleased the Big Throat. He +would not let his curiosity appear in the council, +but he dropped the book so that it fell +open, seemingly by accident, and his eyes +strayed to it now and then during the last +word of the speech. Menard did not hesitate +again.</p> +<p>“I have told my Onondaga brothers that +this white dog shall be punished,” he said. +“When this word is given in your council in +the voice of Onontio, it is a word that cannot +be broken. Wind is not strong enough, thunder +is not loud enough, waves are not fierce +enough, snows are not cold enough, powder is +not swift enough to break it.” The words +came swiftly from his lips. Calm old chiefs +leaned forward that they might catch every +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +syllable. Eyes were brighter with interest. +The Long Arrow, thinking of his son and +fearing lest the man who killed him should +slip from his grasp, grew troubled and more +stern. At last Menard turned, and taking the +portrait from the priest’s hands held it up, +slowly turning it so that all could see it in +the uncertain firelight. At first they were puzzled +and surprised; then a murmur of recognition +ran from lip to lip.</p> +<p>“You know this maid,” Menard was saying, +“this maid who to all who love the Iroquois, to +all who love the church, the Great Spirit, is a +saint. Her spirit has been for many moons +in the happy hunting ground. The snow has +lain cold and heavy on her grave. The night +bird has sung her beauty in the empty forest. +Catherine Outasoren has come back from the +land where the corn is always growing, where +the snows can never fall; she has come back to +bear you the word of the Great Mountain. She +has come to tell you that the dog who broke +the oath of the white man to the Onondagas +must suffer. This is the pledge of the Great +Mountain.”</p> +<p>He stopped abruptly, and stood looking with +flashing eyes at the circle of chiefs. There was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +silence for a moment, then a murmur that rapidly +rose and swelled into the loud chatter of +many voices. Menard laid the portrait at the +feet of the Big Throat, and took his seat at the +side of the maid,––but he did not look at her +nor she at him. Father Claude sat patiently +waiting.</p> +<p>There was low talk among the chiefs. Then +a warrior came and led the captives out of +doors, through a long passage that opened +between two rows of crowding Indians. The +night was clear, and the air was sweet to their +nostrils. They walked slowly down the path. +A group of young braves kept within a few rods.</p> +<p>“It must be late,” said Menard, in a weak +effort to break the silence.</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Father Claude.</p> +<p>“I suppose we had better go back to our +hut?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the priest again. But the maid +was silent.</p> +<p>They sat on the grass plot before the door, +none of them having any words that fitted the +moment. Menard brought out a blanket and +spread it on the ground, that the maid need not +touch the dew-laden grass.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIV_WHERE_THE_DEAD_SIT' id='CHAPTER_XIV_WHERE_THE_DEAD_SIT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> +<h3>WHERE THE DEAD SIT.</h3> +</div> +<p>“They need not starve us,” said Menard, +trying to speak lightly. “I am hungry.”</p> +<p>The others made no reply.</p> +<p>“I will see what chance we have for a supper.”</p> +<p>He got up and walked along the path looking +for the guards. In a short time he returned.</p> +<p>“They will bring us something. The sentiment +is not so strong against us now, I think.”</p> +<p>“They change quickly,” said Father Claude.</p> +<p>“Yes. It is the Big Throat.”</p> +<p>“And yourself, M’sieu,” the maid said impulsively. +“You have done it, too.”</p> +<p>“I cannot tell. We do not know what the +council may decide. It may be morning before +they will come to an agreement. The Long +Arrow will fight to the last.”</p> +<p>“And the other, M’sieu,––the one who +attacked you,––he too will fight?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span></p> +<p>“He is nothing. When an Iroquois shows +himself a coward his influence is gone forever. +It may be even that they will give him a new +name because of this.”</p> +<p>“There are times when a small accident or +a careless word will change the mind of a +nation,” said Father Claude. “When we left +the council they were not unfriendly to us. +But in an hour it may be that they will renew +the torture. Until their hearts have been +touched by the Faith there are but two motives +behind the most of their actions, expediency +and revenge. But I think we may hope. +Brother de Lamberville has told of many +cases of torture where the right appeal has +brought a complete change.”</p> +<p>So they talked on, none having anything to +say, and yet each dreading the silences that +came so easily and hung over them so heavily. +They could see the council-house some distance +up the path. Its outlines were lost in +the shadows of the trees, but through the crevices +in the bark and logs came thin lines of +light, and a glow shone through the long roof +opening upon the smoke that hung in the still +air above it. Sometimes they could hear indistinctly +the voice of a speaker; but the words +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +could not be distinguished. At other times +there was a low buzz of voices. The children +and women who had not been able to get into +the building could be seen moving about outside +shutting off a strip of light here and there.</p> +<p>Two braves came with some corn and smoked +meat. Menard set it down on a corner of the +blanket.</p> +<p>“You will eat, Mademoiselle?”</p> +<p>She shook her head. “I am not hungry. +Thank you, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“If I may ask it,––if I may insist,––it is +really necessary, Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>She reached out, with a weary little gesture, +and took some of the corn.</p> +<p>“And you too, Father.”</p> +<p>They ate in silence, and later went together +to the spring for a cool drink.</p> +<p>“We ought to make an effort to sleep,” +Menard said; and added, “if we can. Father, +you had better lie down. In a few hours, if +there is no word, I will wake you.”</p> +<p>“You will not forget, M’sieu? You will not +let me sleep too long.”</p> +<p>“No.” The Captain smiled. “No, Father; +you shall take your turn at guard duty.”</p> +<p>The priest said good-night, and went to a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +knoll not far from the door. The maid had +settled back against the logs of the hut, and +was gazing at the trees. Menard sat in silence +for a few moments.</p> +<p>“Mademoiselle,” he said at length, “I know +that it will be hard for you to rest until we have +heard; but––” he hesitated, but she did not +help him, and he had to go on,––“I wish you +would try.”</p> +<p>“It would be of no use, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>“I know,––I know. But we have much to +keep in mind. It has been very hard. Any +one of us is likely to break. And you have not +been so used to this life as the Father and I.”</p> +<p>“I know it,” she said, still looking at the elm +branches that bent almost to the ground before +them, “but when I lie down, and close my eyes, +and let my mind go, it seems as if I could not +stand it. It is not bad now; I can be very +cool now. You see, M’sieu?” She turned +toward him with the trace of a smile. “But +when I let go––perhaps you do not know how +it is; the thoughts that come, and the dreams,––when +I am awake and yet not awake,––and +the feeling that it is not worth while, this struggle, +even to what it may bring if we succeed. +It makes the night a torture, and the dread of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +another day is even worse. It is better to stay +awake; it is better even to break. Anything +is better.”</p> +<p>Menard looked down between his knees at +the ground. He did not understand what it +was that lay behind her words. He started to +speak, then stopped. After a little he found himself +saying words that came to his lips with no +effort; in fact, he did not seem able to check +them.</p> +<p>“It is not right that I should be here near +you. I gave up that right to-night. I gave it +up yesterday. I have been proud, during these +years of fighting, that I was a soldier. I had +thought, too, that I was a man. It was hardly +a week ago that I rebuked that poor boy for +what I have since done myself. I promised +Major Provost that I would take you safely to +Frontenac. That I have failed is only a little +thing. I have said to you––no, you must not +stop me. We have gone already beyond that +point. We understand now. I have tried to +be to you more than––than I had a right to +be while you were in my care. Danton did +not know; Father Claude does not know. You +know, because I have told you. I have shown +you in a hundred ways.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span></p> +<p>“No,” she said, in a choking voice. “It is +my fault. I allowed you.”</p> +<p>He shook his head.</p> +<p>“That is nothing. It is not what you have +done. It is not even what you think. It is +what I shall think and know all my life,––that +I have done the wrong thing. There are some +of us, Mademoiselle, who have no home, no ties +of family, no love, except for the work in which +we are slowly building up a good name and a +firm place. That is what I was. Do you know +what it is that makes up the life of such a +man? It is the little things, the acts of every +day and every week; and they must be honest +and loyal, or he will fail. I might have stayed +in Paris, I might even have found a place in +Quebec where I could wear a bright uniform, +and be close in the Governor’s favour. I chose +the other course. I have given a dozen years +to the harder work, only to fall within the week +from all that I had hoped,––had thought myself +to be. And now, as I speak to you, I know +that I have lost; that if you should smile at me, +should put your hand in mine, everything that +I have been working for would be nothing to +me. You would be the only thing in the world.”</p> +<p>She sat motionless. He did not go on, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +yet each moment seemed to bring them closer +in understanding. After a little while she said +huskily:––</p> +<p>“You cared––you cared like that?”</p> +<p>She was not looking toward him, and she +could not see him slowly bow his head; but +there was an answer in his silence.</p> +<p>“You cared––when you made the speech––”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>She looked at the stalwart, bowed figure. +She was beginning to understand what he +had done, that in his pledge to the chiefs he +had triumphed over a love greater than she had +supposed a man could bear for a woman.</p> +<p>“A soldier cannot always choose his way,” +he was saying. “I have never chosen mine. +It was the orders of my superior that brought +us here, that brought this suffering to you. If +it were not for these orders, the Onondagas +would be my friends, and because of that, your +friends. It has always been like this; I have +built up that others might tear down. I thought +for a few hours that something else was to come +to me. I should have known better. It was +when you took the daisy––” she raised her hand +and touched the withered flower. “I did not +reason. I knew I was breaking my trust, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +I did not care. After all, perhaps even that +was the best thing. It gave me strength and +hope to carry on the fight. It was you, then,––not +New France. Now the dream is over, +and again it is New France. It must be that.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said, “it must be.”</p> +<p>“I have had wild thoughts. I have meant +to ask you to let me hope, once this is over +and you safe at Frontenac. I could not believe +that what comes so easily to other men +is never to come to me. I cannot ask that +now.”</p> +<p>She looked at him, and a sudden glow came +into her eyes.</p> +<p>“Why not?” she whispered, as if frightened.</p> +<p>“Why not,” he repeated, for an instant meeting +her gaze. Then he rose and stood before +her. “Because I have given an oath to bring +Captain la Grange to punishment. You heard +me. But you did not hear what I promised to +Father Claude. I have sworn that what the +Governor may refuse to do, I shall do myself. +I have set my hand against your family.”</p> +<p>“You could not help it, M’sieu,––you could +not help it,” she said. But the light was going +out of her eyes. It had been a moment of +weakness for both of them. She looked up at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +him, standing erect in the faint light, and the +sight of his square, broad shoulders seemed to +give her strength. He was the strong one; he +had always been the strong one. She rose and +leaned back against the logs. She found that +she could face him bravely.</p> +<p>“He is your cousin,” he had just said in a +dry voice.</p> +<p>“Yes, he is my cousin.”</p> +<p>Menard was steadily recovering himself.</p> +<p>“We will not give all up. You know that I +love you,––I hope that you love me.” He +hesitated for an instant, but she gave no sign. +“We will keep the two flowers. We will always +think of this day, and yesterday. I have +no duty now but to get you safe to Frontenac; +until you are there I must not speak again. +As for the rest of it, we can only wait, and +trust that some day there may be some light.”</p> +<p>She looked at him sadly.</p> +<p>“You do not know? Father Claude has not +told you?”</p> +<p>Something in her voice brought him a step +nearer.</p> +<p>“You know that Captain la Grange is my +cousin?”</p> +<p>“Yes.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span></p> +<p>“You did not know that I am to be his +wife?”</p> +<p>They stood face to face, looking deep into +each other’s eyes, while a long minute dragged +by, and the rustling night sounds and the call +of the crickets came to their ears.</p> +<p>“No,” he said, “I did not know. May I +keep the flower, Mademoiselle?”</p> +<p>She bowed her head. She could not speak.</p> +<p>“Good-night.”</p> +<p>“Good-night.”</p> +<p>He walked away. She saw him stop at the +knoll where the priest lay asleep on a bed of +boughs, and stand for a moment gazing down +at him. Then he went into the shadows. +From the crackling of the twigs she knew that +he was walking about among the trees. She +sank to the ground and listened to the crickets. +A frog bellowed in the valley; perhaps he had +been calling before––she did not know.</p> +<p>She fell asleep, with her cheek resting against +a mossy log. She did not know when Menard +came back and stood for a long time looking at +her. He did not awaken Father Claude until +long after the time for changing the watch.</p> +<p>When he did, he walked up and down on the +path, holding the priest’s arm, and trying to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +speak. They had rounded the large maple +three times before he said:––</p> +<p>“You did not tell me, Father.”</p> +<p>“What, my son?”</p> +<p>The Captain stopped, and drawing the priest +around, pointed toward the maid as she slept.</p> +<p>“You did not tell me––why we are taking +her to Frontenac.”</p> +<p>“No. She asked it. We spoke of it only +once, that night on the river. She was confused, +and she asked me not to speak. She +does not know him. She has not seen him +since she was a child.”</p> +<p>Menard said nothing. He was gripping +the priest’s arm, and gazing at the sleeping +maid.</p> +<p>“It was her father,” added Father Claude.</p> +<p>Menard’s hand relaxed.</p> +<p>“Good-night, Father.” He walked slowly +toward the bed on the knoll. And Father +Claude called softly after him:––</p> +<p>“Good-night, M’sieu. Good-night.”</p> +<p>Menard lay awake. He could see the priest +sitting by the door. He wondered if the maid +were sleeping. A late breeze came across the +valley, arousing the leaves and carrying a soft +whisper from tree to tree, until all the forest +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +voices were joined. Lying on his side he +could see indistinctly the council-house. There +were still the lighted cracks; the Long House +was still in session. Their decision did not +now seem so vital a matter. The thought of +the maid––that he was taking her to be the +wife of another, and that other La Grange––had +taken the place of all other thoughts.</p> +<p>Later still came the buzz of many voices. +Dark forms were moving about the council-house. +Menard raised himself to his elbow, +and waited until he saw a group approaching +on the path, then he joined Father Claude.</p> +<p>The Big Throat led the little band of chiefs +to the hut. They stood, half a score of them, +in a semicircle, their blankets drawn close, +their faces, so far as could be seen in the dim +light, stern and impassive. Menard and the +priest stood erect and waited.</p> +<p>“It has pleased the Great Mountain that his +voice should be heard in the Long House of +the Iroquois,” said the Big Throat, in a low, +calm voice. “His voice is gentle as the breeze +and yet as strong as the wind. The Great +Mountain has before promised many things to +the Iroquois. Some of the promises he has +broken, some he has kept. But the Onondagas +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +know that there is no man who keeps all his +promises. They once thought they knew such +a man, but they were mistaken. White men, +Indians,––all speak at night with a strong voice, +in the morning with a weak voice. Each draws +his words sometimes off the top of his mind, +where the truth and the strong words do not lie. +The Onondagas are not children. They know +the friend from the enemy. And they know, +though he may sometimes fail them, that the +Great Mountain is their friend, their father.”</p> +<p>Menard bowed slowly, facing the chief with +self-control as firm as his own.</p> +<p>“They know,” the Big Throat continued, +“that the Indian has not always kept the faith +with the white man. And then it is that the +Great Mountain has been a kind father. If he +thinks it right that our brothers, the Senecas, +should meet with punishment for breaking the +peace promised to the white man by the Long +House, the Onondagas are not the children to +say to their father, ‘We care not if our brother +has done wrong; we will cut off the hand that +holds the whip of punishment.’ The Onondagas +are men. They say to the father, ‘We care +not who it is that has done wrong. Though he +be our next of blood, let him be punished.’ This +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +is the word of the council to the Big Buffalo +who speaks with his father’s voice.”</p> +<p>Well as he knew the Iroquois temperament, +Menard could not keep an expression of admiration +from his eyes. He knew what this speech +meant,––that the Big Throat alone saw far into +the future, saw that in the conflict between red +and white, the redman must inevitably lose +unless he crept close under the arm that was +raised to strike him. It was no sense of justice +that prompted the Big Throat’s words; it was +the vision of one of the shrewdest statesmen, +white or red, who had yet played a part in the +struggles for possession of the New World. +Greatest of all, only a master could have convinced +that hot-blooded council that peace was +the safest course. The chief went on:––</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo has spoken well to the +council. He has told the chiefs that he has not +been a traitor to the brothers who have for so +long believed that his words were true words. +The Big Buffalo is a pine tree that took root in +the lands of the Onondagas many winters ago. +From these lands and these waters, and the sun +and winds that give life to the corn and the +trees of the Onondagas, he drew his sap and his +strength. Can we then believe that this pine +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +tree which we planted and which has grown +tall and mighty before our eyes, is not a pine +tree at all? When a quick-tongued young +brave, who has not known the young tree as we +have, comes to the council and says that this +Big Buffalo, this pine tree, is not a pine but an +elm with slippery bark, are we to believe him? +Are we to drop from our minds what our hearts +and eyes have long known, to forget what we +have believed? My brothers of the Long House +say no. They know that the pine tree is a pine +tree. It may be that in the haze of the distance +pine and elm look alike to young eyes; but +what a chief has seen, he has seen; what he +has known, he has known. The Big Buffalo +speaks the truth to his Onondaga brothers, and +with another sun he shall be free to go to his +white brothers.”</p> +<p>“The Big Throat has a faithful heart,” said +Menard, quietly. “He knows that the voice of +Onontio is the voice of right and strength.”</p> +<p>“The chiefs of the Onondagas and Cayugas +will sit quietly before their houses with their +eyes turned toward the lands beyond the great +lake, waiting for the whisper that shall come +with the speed of the winds over forests and +waters to tell them that the white man has kept +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +his promise. When the dog who robbed our +villages of a hundred brave warriors has been +slain, then shall they know that the Big Buffalo +is what they have believed him to be, their +brother.”</p> +<p>“And the maid and the holy Father?”</p> +<p>“They are free. The chiefs are sorry that +a foolish brave has captured the white man’s +squaw.”</p> +<p>Menard and Father Claude bowed again, and +the chiefs turned and strode away. The priest +smiled gently after them.</p> +<p>“And now, M’sieu, we may rest quietly.”</p> +<p>“Yes. You lie down, Father; it will not be +necessary to watch now, and anyway I am not +likely to sleep much.” He walked back to the +bed on the knoll, leaving the priest to stretch +out across the doorway.</p> +<p>The elder bushes and briers crowded close to +the little clearing behind the hut, and Menard, +lying on his side with his face close to the +ground, watched the clusters of leaves as they +gently rustled. He rolled half over and stared +up at the bits of sky that showed through the +trees. It seemed as if the great world were a +new thing, as if these trees and bushes and +reaches of tufted grass were a part of a new life. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +Before, they had played their part in his rugged +life without asking for recognition; but to-night +they came into his thoughts with their sympathy, +and he wondered that all this great +world of summer green and winter white, and +of blue and green and lead-coloured water could +for so long have influenced him without consciousness +on his part. But his life had left +little time for such thoughts; to-night he was +unstrung.</p> +<p>Over the noise of the leaves and the trickle +of the spring sounded a rustle. It was not loud, +but it was a new sound, and his eyes sought the +bushes. The noise came, and stopped; came, +and stopped. Evidently someone was creeping +slowly toward the hut; but the sound was +on the farther side of him, so that he could +reach the maid’s side before whoever was +approaching could cross the clearing.</p> +<p>For a time the noise died altogether. Then, +after a space, his eyes, sweeping back and forth +along the edge of the brush, rested on a bright +bit of metal that for an instant caught the light +of the sky, probably a weapon or a head ornament. +Menard was motionless. Finally an +Indian stepped softly out and stood beside a +tree. When he began to move forward the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +Captain recognized Tegakwita, and he spoke his +name.</p> +<p>The Indian came rapidly over the grass with +his finger at his lips.</p> +<p>“Do not speak loud,” he whispered. “Do +not wake the holy Father.”</p> +<p>“Why do you come creeping upon my house +at night, like a robber?”</p> +<p>“Tegakwita is sad for his sister. His heart +will not let him go among men about the village; +it will not let his feet walk on the common +path.”</p> +<p>“Why do you come?”</p> +<p>“Tegakwita seeks the Big Buffalo.”</p> +<p>“It cannot be for an honest reason. You +lay behind the bush. You saw me here and +thought me asleep, but you did not approach +honestly. You crept through the shadows like +a Huron.”</p> +<p>“Tegakwita’s night eyes are not his day +eyes. He could not see who the sleeping +man was. When he heard the voice, he came +quickly.”</p> +<p>Menard looked at the musket that rested in +the Indian’s hand, at the hatchet and knife that +hung from his belt.</p> +<p>“You are heavily armed, Tegakwita. Is it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +for the war-path or the hunt? Do Onondaga +warriors carry their weapons from house to +house in their own village?”</p> +<p>The Indian made a little gesture of impatience.</p> +<p>“Tegakwita has no house. His house has +been dishonoured. He lives under the trees, +and carries his house with him. All that he +has is in his hand or his belt. The Big Buffalo +speaks strangely.”</p> +<p>Menard said nothing for a moment. He +looked up, with a keen gaze, at the erect figure +of the Indian. Finally he said:––</p> +<p>“Sit down, Tegakwita. Tell me why you +came.”</p> +<p>“No. Tegakwita cannot rest himself until +his sister has reached the Happy Hunting-Ground.”</p> +<p>“Very well, do as you like. But waste no +more time. What is it?”</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo has been an Onondaga. +He knows the city in the valley where the +dead sit in their graves. It is there that my +sister lies, by an open grave, waiting for the +farewell word of him who alone is left to +say farewell to her. Tegakwita’s Onondaga +brothers will not gather at the grave of a girl +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +who has given up her nation for a white dog. +But he can ask the Big Buffalo, who brought +the white dog to our village, to come to the +side of the grave.”</p> +<p>“Your memory is bad, Tegakwita. It was +not I who brought the white brave. It was +you who brought him, his two hands tied with +thongs.”</p> +<p>The Indian stood, without replying, looking +down at him with brilliant, staring eyes.</p> +<p>Menard spoke again.</p> +<p>“You want me to go with you. You slip +through the bushes like a snake, with your +musket and your knife and your hatchet, to +ask me to go with you to the grave of your +sister. Do I speak rightly, Tegakwita?”</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo has understood.”</p> +<p>Menard slowly rose and looked into the +Indian’s eyes.</p> +<p>“I have no weapons, Tegakwita. The chiefs +who have set me free have not yet returned the +musket which was taken from me. It is dangerous +to go at night through the forest without +a weapon. Give me your hatchet and I will +go with you.”</p> +<p>Tegakwita’s lip curled almost imperceptibly.</p> +<p>“The White Chief is afraid of the night?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span></p> +<p>Menard, too, looked scornful. He coolly +waited.</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo cannot face the dead without +a hatchet in his hand?” said Tegakwita.</p> +<p>Menard suddenly sprang forward and +snatched the hatchet from the Indian’s belt. +It was a surprise, and the struggle was brief. +Tegakwita was thrown a step backward. He +hesitated between struggling for the hatchet +and striking with the musket; before he had +fully recovered and dropped the musket, +Menard had leaped back and stood facing +him with the hatchet in his right hand.</p> +<p>“Now I will go with you to the city of the +dead, Tegakwita.”</p> +<p>The Indian’s breath was coming quickly, and +he stood with clenched fists, taken aback by the +Captain’s quickness.</p> +<p>“Come, I am ready. Pick up your musket.”</p> +<p>As Tegakwita stooped, Menard glanced +toward the hut. The priest lay asleep before +the door. It was better to get this madman +away than to leave him free to prowl about the +hut.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XV_THE_BAD_DOCTOR' id='CHAPTER_XV_THE_BAD_DOCTOR'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> +<h3>THE BAD DOCTOR.</h3> +</div> +<p>At the edge of the thicket they stopped and +stood face to face, each waiting for the +other to pass ahead. Tegakwita slightly bowed, +with an unconscious imitation of the Frenchmen +he had seen at Fort Frontenac and Montreal.</p> +<p>“Pass on,” said Menard, sternly. “You +know the trail, Tegakwita; I do not. It is you +who must lead the way.”</p> +<p>The Indian was sullen, but he yielded, +plunging forward between the bushes, and +now and then, in the shadow of some tree, +glancing furtively over his shoulder. His +manner, the suspicion that showed plainly in +the nervous movements of his head, in every +motion as he glided through thicket, glade, or +strip of forest, told Menard that he had chosen +well to take the second place. His fingers +closed firmly about the handle of the hatchet. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +That he could throw at twenty paces to the +centre of a sapling, no one knew better than +Tegakwita.</p> +<p>The city of the dead lay in a hollow at ten +minutes’ walk from the village. Generations +ago the trees had been cleared, and no bush or +sapling had been allowed a foothold on this +ground. The elms and oaks and maples threw +their shadows across the broad circle, and each +breath of wind set them dancing over the +mounds where many an hundred skeletons +crouched side by side, under the grass-grown +heaps of earth, their rusted knives and hatchets +and their mouldy blankets by their sides. No +man came here, save when a new heap of yellow +earth lay fresh-turned in the sun, and a +long line of dancing, wailing redmen, led by +their howling doctors, followed some body that +had come to claim its seat among the skeletons.</p> +<p>Tegakwita paused at the edge of the clearing, +and looked around with that furtive quickness. +Menard came slowly to his side.</p> +<p>“You will take your weapons to the grave?” +asked Menard, very quietly, but with a suggestion +that the other understood.</p> +<p>“Yes. Tegakwita has no place for his weapons. +He must carry them where he goes.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span></p> +<p>“We can leave them here. The leaves will +hide them. I will put the hatchet under this +log.” He made a motion of dropping the +hatchet, closely watching the Indian; then he +straightened, for Tegakwita’s right hand held +the musket, and his left rested lightly on his +belt, not a span from his long knife.</p> +<p>“The White Chief knows the danger of leaving +weapons to tempt the young braves. He +finds it easy to take the chance with Tegakwita’s +hatchet.”</p> +<p>“Very well,” said Menard, sternly. “Lead +the way.”</p> +<p>They walked slowly between the mounds. +Menard looked carefully about, but in the +uncertain light he could see no sign of a +new opening in any of them. When they +had passed the centre he stopped, and said +quietly:––</p> +<p>“Tegakwita.”</p> +<p>The Indian turned.</p> +<p>“Where is the grave?”</p> +<p>“It is beyond, close to the great oak.”</p> +<p>“Ah!”</p> +<p>They went on. The great oak was in a +dense, deep-shadowed place, at the edge of the +circle. A little to one side, close to the crowding +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +thicket, was a small, new mound. Looking +now at Tegakwita, Menard could see that his +front was stained with the soil. Probably he +had spent the day working on the mound for +his sister. While Menard stood at one side, he +went to a bush that encroached a yard on the +sacred ground and drew out a number of presents, +with necessary articles and provisions to +stay the soul on its long journey to the Happy +Hunting-Ground. It was at the end of Menard’s +tongue to repeat Tegakwita’s remark about +hiding the weapons, but he held back and +stood silently waiting.</p> +<p>“Come,” said the Indian.</p> +<p>He parted the bushes, drew away a heavy covering +of boughs, and there, wrapped in Tegakwita’s +finest blanket, lay the body of the Indian +girl. Menard stood over it, looking down with +a sense of pity he had never before felt for an +Indian. He could not see her face, for it was +pressed to the ground, but the clotted scalp +showed indistinctly in the shadow. He suddenly +raised, his eyes to Tegakwita, who stood +opposite.</p> +<p>“What have you done with the white brave?” +he said in fierce, low tones. “What have you +done with him?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span></p> +<p>Tegakwita raised one arm and swept it about +in a quarter circle.</p> +<p>“Ask the vultures that come when a man +falls, ask the beasts that wait for everyone, ask +the dogs of the village. They can tell you, +not I.”</p> +<p>Menard’s hands closed tightly, and a wild +desire came to him to step across the body and +choke the man who had killed Danton; but in +a moment he was himself. He had nothing to +gain by violence. And after all, the Indian +had done no more than was, in his eyes, right. +He bent down; and together they carried the +body to the grave, close at hand. Tegakwita +placed her sitting upright in the hole he had +dug. By her side he placed the pots and dishes +and knives which she had used in preparing the +food they two had eaten. He set the provisions +before her and in her lap; and drawing a twist +of tobacco from his bosom, he laid it at her feet +to win her the favour and kindness of his own +Manitou on her journey. After each gift he +stood erect, looking up at the sky with his arms +stretched out above his head; and at these +moments his simple dignity impressed Menard. +But there were other moments, when, in stooping, +Tegakwita would glance about with nervous, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +shifting eyes, as if fearing some interruption. +His musket was always in his hand or +by his side. Menard took it that he still feared +the hatchet.</p> +<p>Then at last the ceremony was done, and +the Indian with his bare hands threw the earth +over the hole in the mound. Still looking nervously +from bush to bush, his hands began to +move more slowly; then he paused, and sat by +the mound, looking up with a hesitancy that +recognized the need of an explanation for the +delay.</p> +<p>“Tegakwita’s arms are weary.”</p> +<p>“Are they?” said Menard, dryly.</p> +<p>“Tegakwita has not slept for many suns.”</p> +<p>“Neither have I.”</p> +<p>The Indian started as a rustle came from the +forest. Menard watched him curiously. The +whole proceeding was too unusual to be easily +understood. Tegakwita’s nervous manner, his +request that the Captain accompany him to the +mound, the weapons that never left his side,––these +might be the signs of a mind driven to +madness by his sister’s act; but Menard did not +recollect, from his own observation of the Iroquois +character, that love for a sister was a +marked trait among the able-bodied braves. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +Perhaps it was delay that he sought. At this +thought Menard quietly moved farther from the +undergrowth. Tegakwita’s quick eyes followed +the movement.</p> +<p>“Come,” said the Captain, “the night is nearly +gone. I cannot wait longer.”</p> +<p>“Tegakwita has worked hard. His heart is +sick, his body lame. Will the Big Buffalo +help his Onondaga brother?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>The Indian rose with too prompt relief.</p> +<p>“Your muscles need only the promise of +help to give them back their spring, Tegakwita.”</p> +<p>“The White Chief speaks with a biting +tongue.”</p> +<p>“You have been speaking with a lying +tongue. You think I do not know why you have +brought me here; you think I do not understand +the evil thoughts that fill your mind. +You are a coward, Tegakwita. But you will +not succeed to-night.”</p> +<p>The ill-concealed fright that came into the +Indian’s face and manner told Menard that he +was not wide of the mark. He began to understand. +Tegakwita wished to get him at work +and off his guard,––the rest would be simple. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +And as Menard well knew, more than one +brave of the Onondagas, who had known him +both as friend and enemy, would shrink when +the moment came to attack the Big Buffalo +single-handed, even though taking him at a +disadvantage. Now Tegakwita was hesitating, +and struggling to keep his eyes from the +thicket.</p> +<p>“Yes, I will help you. We will close this +matter now, and go back to the village where +your cowardly hands will be tied by fear of +your chiefs. Drop your musket.”</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo speaks in anger. Does he +think to disarm Tegakwita that he may kill +him?”</p> +<p>“Lay your musket on the ground before us. +Then I will drop the hatchet.”</p> +<p>Tegakwita stepped around the grave, and +leaning the musket across a stone stood by it. +Menard’s voice was full of contempt.</p> +<p>“You need not fear. The Big Buffalo keeps +his word.” He tossed the hatchet over the +grave, and stood unarmed. “Drop your +knife.”</p> +<p>Tegakwita hesitated. Menard took a step +forward, and the knife fell to the ground.</p> +<p>“Come. We will work side by side.” He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span> +was surprised at Tegakwita’s slinking manner. +He wondered if this Indian could by +some strange accident have been given a temperament +so fine that sorrow could unman him. +To the Iroquois, gifted as they were with reasoning +power, life held little sentiment. Curiously +enough, as Menard stood in the light of +the young moon watching the warrior come +slowly around the grave, which still showed +above the earth the head and shoulders of the +dead girl, he found himself calling up the rare +instances he had known of a real affection between +Indians.</p> +<p>Tegakwita stood by him, and without a word +they stooped and set to work, side by side, +scraping the earth with their fingers over the +body. Tegakwita found a dozen little ways to +delay. Menard steadily lost patience.</p> +<p>“Tegakwita has forgotten,” said the Indian, +standing up; “he has not offered the present +to his sister’s Oki.”</p> +<p>“Well?” said Menard, roughly.</p> +<p>Tegakwita’s voice trembled, as if he knew +that he was pressing the white man too far.</p> +<p>“The grave must be opened. It will not +take long.”</p> +<p>It came to Menard in a flash. The many delays, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +the anxious glances toward the thicket,––these +meant that others were coming. Something +delayed them; Tegakwita must hold the +Big Buffalo till they arrived. With never a +word Menard sprang over the grave; but the +Indian was quicker, and his hand was the first +on the musket. Then they fought, each struggling +to free his hands from the other’s grasp, +rolling over and over,––now half erect, tramping +on the soft mound, now wrestling on the +harder ground below. At last Menard, as they +whirled and tumbled past the weapons, snatched +the knife. Tegakwita caught his wrist, and +then it was nigh to stabbing his own thigh as +they fought for it. Once he twisted his hand +and savagely buried the blade in the Indian’s +side. Tegakwita caught his breath and rallied, +and the blood of the one was on them both. +At last a quick wrench bent the Indian’s wrist +back until it almost snapped,––Menard thought +that it had,––and the stained blade went home +once, and again, and again, until the arms that +had clung madly about the white man slipped +off, and lay weakly on the ground.</p> +<p>Menard was exhausted. The dirt and blood +were in his hair and eyes and ears. He was +rising stiffly to his knees when the rush of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +Indians came from the bushes. He could not +see them clearly,––could hardly hear them,––though +he fought until a musket-stock swung +against his head and stretched him on the +ground.</p> +<p>When he recovered they were standing +about him, half a score of them, waiting to +see if he still had life. He raised a bruised +arm to wipe his eyes, but a rough hand caught +it and drew a thong tightly about his wrists. +Slowly his senses awakened, and he could see +indistinctly the silent forms,––some standing +motionless, others walking slowly about. It +was strange. His aching head had not the +wit to meet with the situation. Then they +jerked him to his feet, and with a stout brave +at each elbow and others crowding about on +every side, he was dragged off through the +bushes.</p> +<p>For a long time the silent party pushed forward. +They were soon clear of the forest, +passing through rich wild meadows that lifted +the scent of clover, the fresher for the dew that +lay wet underfoot. There were other thickets +and other forests, and many a reach of meadow, +all rolling up and down over the gentle hills. +Menard tried to gather his wits, but his head +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +reeled; and the struggle to keep his feet moving +steadily onward was enough to hold his +mind. He knew that he should watch the +trail closely, to know where they were taking +him, but he was not equal to the effort. At +last the dawn came, gray and depressing, creeping +with deadly slowness on the trail of the retreating +night. The sky was dull and heavy, +and a mist clung about the party, leaving little +beads of moisture on deerskin coats and +fringed leggings and long, brown musket barrels. +The branches drooped from the trees, +blurred by the mist and the half dark into +strange shapes along the trail.</p> +<p>The day was broad awake when Menard +gave way. His muscles had been tried to the +limit of his endurance during these many desperate +days and sleepless nights that he had +thought to be over. He fell loosely forward. +For a space they dragged him, but the burden +was heavy, and the chief ordered a rest. The +band of warriors scattered about to sleep under +the trees, leaving a young brave to watch the +Big Buffalo, who slept motionless where they +had dropped him in the long grass close at +hand. On every side were hills, shielding +them from the view of any chance straggler +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +from the Onondaga villages, unless he should +clamber down the short slopes and search for +them in the mist. A stream tumbled by, not +a dozen yards from Menard and his yawning +guardian.</p> +<p>When he awoke, the mist had thinned, but +the sky showed no blue. Beneath the gray +stretch that reached from hill crest to hill crest, +light foaming clouds scudded across from east +to west, though there was little wind near the +ground. The Captain listened for a time to +the noise of the stream before looking about. +He changed his position, and rheumatic pains +shot through his joints. For the second time +in his life he realized that he was growing old; +and with this thought came another. What +sort of a soldier was he if he could not pass +through such an experience without paying +the old man’s penalty. To be sure his head +was battered and bruised, and scattered over +his shoulders and arms and hips were a dozen +small wounds to draw in the damp from the +grass, but he did not think of these. In his +weak, half-awake state, he was discouraged, +with the feeling that the best of his life was +past. And the thought that he, a worn old +soldier, could have dreamed what he had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +dreamed of the maid and her love sank down +on his heart like a weight. But this thought +served another purpose: to think of the maid +was to think of her danger; and this was to be +the alert soldier again, with a plan for every +difficulty as long as he had life in his body. +And so, before the mood could drag him down, +he was himself again.</p> +<p>Most of the Indians were asleep, sprawling +about under the trees near the water. The +warrior guarding Menard appeared to be little +more than a youth. He sat with his knees +drawn up and his head bowed, his blanket +pulled close around him, and his oily black +hair tangled about his eyes. Menard lay on +his back looking at the Indian through half-closed +eyes.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said in a low, distinct voice, +“you have me now, haven’t you?”</p> +<p>The Indian gave him a quick glance, but +made no reply.</p> +<p>“It is all right, my brother. Do not turn your +eyes to me, and nothing will be seen. I can +speak quietly. A nod of your head will tell me +if anyone comes near. Do you understand?”</p> +<p>Again the little eyes squinted through the +hanging locks of hair. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span></p> +<p>“You do understand? Very well. You +know who I am? I am the Big Buffalo. I +killed half a score of your bravest warriors in +their own village. Do you think these thongs +can hold the Big Buffalo, who never has been +held by thongs, who is the hardest fighter +and the boldest hunter of all the lands from +the Mohawk to the Great River of the Illinois? +Listen, I will tell you how many +canoes of furs the Big Buffalo has in the +north country; I will tell you––”</p> +<p>The Indian’s head nodded almost imperceptibly. +A yawning brave was walking slowly +along the bank of the stream, gathering wood +for a fire. He passed to a point a few rods +below the prisoner, then came back and disappeared +among the trees.</p> +<p>“I will tell you,” said Menard, keeping his +voice at such a low pitch that the guard had to +bend his head slightly toward him, “of the +great bales of beaver that are held safe in the +stores of the Big Buffalo. Does my brother +understand? Does he see that these bales are +for him, that he will be as rich as the greatest +chief among all the chiefs of the Long House? +No brave shall have such a musket,––with a +long, straight barrel that will send a ball to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +the shoulder of a buffalo farther than the +flight of three arrows. His blanket shall be +the brightest in Onondaga; his many clothes, +his knives, his hatchets, his collars of wampum +shall have no equal. He can buy the +prettiest wives in the nation. Does my brother +understand?”</p> +<p>The fire had been lighted, and a row of wild +hens turned slowly on wooden spits over the +flames. One by one the warriors were rousing +and stirring about among the trees. There +were shouts and calls, and the grumbling talk +of the cooks as they held the long spits and +turned their faces away from the smoke, which +rose but slowly in the damp, heavy air. Menard +lay with his eyes closed, as if asleep; even +his lips hardly moved as he talked.</p> +<p>“My brother must think quickly, for the time +is short. All that I promise he will have, if he +will be a friend to the Big Buffalo. And every +Onondaga knows that the word of the Big +Buffalo is a word that has never been broken. +My brother will be a friend. He will watch +close, and to-night, when the dark has come, +he will let his knife touch the thongs that +hold the White Chief captive.”</p> +<p>The Indian’s face was without expression. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +Menard watched him closely, but could not +tell whether his offer was taking effect. What +he had no means of knowing was that since the +battle at the hut, and the short fight in the +council-house, the younger braves had centred +their superstitions on him. It was thought +that his body was occupied by some bad spirit +that gave him the strength of five men, and that +he had been sent to their village by a devil to +lure the warriors into the hands of the French. +These were not the open views that would have +been heard at a council; they were the fears of +the untried warriors, who had not the vision +to understand the diplomacy of the chiefs, nor +the position in the village to give them a public +hearing. They had talked together in low +tones, feeding the common fear, until a few +words from the Long Arrow had aroused them +into action. And so this guard was between +two emotions: the one a lust for wealth and +position in the tribe, common to every Indian +and in most cases a stronger motive than any +of the nobler sentiments; the other an unreasoning +fear of this “bad doctor,” the fear +that to aid him or to accept furs from him +would poison the ears of his own Oki, and +destroy his chance of a name and wealth during +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +his life, and of a long, glorious hunt after +death.</p> +<p>“My brother shall come with me to the land +of the white men, where there is no trouble,––where +he shall have a great lodge like the white +chiefs, with coloured pictures in gold frames, and +slaves to prepare his food. He shall be a great +chief among white men and redmen, and his +stores shall be filled to the doors with furs of +beaver and seal.”</p> +<p>Menard’s voice was so low and deliberate +that the Indian did not question his statements. +He was tempted more strongly than he had +ever been tempted before, but with the desire +grew the fear of the consequences. As for the +Captain, he was clutching desperately at this +slender chance that lay to his hand.</p> +<p>“I have given my brother his choice of +greater power than was ever before offered to +a youth who has yet to win his name. The +stroke of a knife will do it. No one shall +know, for the Big Buffalo can be trusted. My +brother has it before him to be a red chief or +a white chief, as he may wish. The warriors +are near,––the day grows bright; he must +speak quickly.”</p> +<p>There was a call from the group by the fire, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +and the young Indian gave a little start, and +slowly rising, walked away, yielding his place +as guard to an older man. Menard rolled over +and pressed his face to the ground as if weary; +he could then watch the youth through the +grass as he moved to the fire, but in a moment +he lost sight of him. The new guard was a +stern-faced brave, and his appearance promised +no help; so the Captain, having done all that +could be done at the moment, tried to get +another sleep, struggling to put thoughts of +the maid from his mind. Perhaps, after all, +she was safe at the village.</p> +<p>Meantime the youth, after a long struggle +with the temptings of the bad doctor, yielded +to his superstition, and sought the Long Arrow, +who lay on the green bank of the stream. In +a few moments the story was told, and the +chief, with a calm face but with twinkling eyes, +came to the prisoner and stood looking down +at him.</p> +<p>“The White Chief is glad to be with his +Onondaga brothers?” he said in his quiet +voice.</p> +<p>Menard slowly raised his eyes, and looked +coolly at the chief without replying.</p> +<p>“The tongue of the Big Buffalo is weary perhaps? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +It has moved so many times to tell the +Onondaga what is not true, that now it asks +for rest. The Long Arrow is kind. He will +not seek to move it again. For another sleep +it shall lie at rest; then it may be that our +braves shall find a way to stir it.”</p> +<p>Menard rolled over, with an expression of +contempt, and closed his eyes.</p> +<p>“The Long Arrow was sorry that his white +brother was disappointed at the torture. Perhaps +he will have better fortune after he has +slept again. Already have the fires been lighted +that shall warm the heart of the White Chief. +And he shall have friends to brighten him. +His squaw, too, shall feel the glow of the roaring +fire, and the gentle hands of the Onondaga +warriors, who do not forget the deaths of their +own blood.”</p> +<p>Menard lay still.</p> +<p>“Another sleep, my brother, and the great +White Chief who speaks with the voice of +Onontio shall be with his friends. He shall +hear the sweet voice of his young squaw +through the smoke that shall be her garment. +He shall hear the prayers of his holy Father +by his side, and shall know that his spirit is +safe with the Great Spirit who is not strong +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +enough to give him his life when the Long +Arrow takes it away.”</p> +<p>There was still a mad hope that the chief +spoke lies, that the maid and Father Claude +were safe. True or false, the Long Arrow +would surely talk thus; for the Iroquois were +as skilled in the torments of the mind as of +the body. He was conscious that the keen +voice was going on, but he did not follow +what it said. Again he was going over and +over in his mind all the chances of escape. +It might be that the youth had been moved +by his offer. But at that moment he heard +the Long Arrow saying:––</p> +<p>“ ... Even before his death the Big Buffalo +must lie as he has always lied. His tongue +knows not the truth. He thinks to deceive +our young braves with talk of his furs and +his lodges and his power in the land of the +white men. But our warriors know the truth. +They know that the Big Buffalo has no store +of furs, no great lodges,––that he lives in +the woods with only a stolen musket, where he +can by his lies capture the peaceful hunters of +the Onondagas to make them the slaves of his +Chief-Across-the-Water.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVI_AT_THE_LONG_LAKE' id='CHAPTER_XVI_AT_THE_LONG_LAKE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> +<h3>AT THE LONG LAKE.</h3> +</div> +<p>Menard again dropped to sleep. When +the day had nearly reached its middle, he +was aroused by two warriors, who pulled him +roughly to his feet. The band had evidently +been astir for some moments. A few braves +were extinguishing the fire with clumps of sod, +while the others packed in their blankets what +had been left from the morning meal, or looked +to the spots of rust which the damp had +brought to knives and muskets. The Long +Arrow came over to inspect the thongs that +held Menard’s wrists; he had not forgotten +his attack on his guards on the morning of the +torture. And with a precaution that brought +a half smile to the prisoner’s face, he posted +a stout warrior on each side, in addition to +those before and behind. Then they set out +over the hills, wading through a great tumbling +meadow where their feet sank deep into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +the green and yellow and white that June had +spread over the open lands of the Iroquois. +Overhead the sky, though still clouded, was +breaking, giving little glimpses of clear blue.</p> +<p>As they neared the crest of the first hill, the +Captain looked back over his shoulder. The +sun had at last broken through to the earth, +and a great band of yellow light was moving +swiftly across the valley. Before it, all the +ground was sombre in its dark green and its +heavy moisture; behind lay a stretch of golden +sunshine, rounding over the farther hills in +great billows of grass and flowers and clustering +trees, glistening with dew and glowing with +the young health of the summer. Up the hillside +came the sunlight; and then in a moment +it had passed them, and the air was warm and +sweet.</p> +<p>Menard looked at the sun and then back +across the valley to get his direction. He +saw that the party was moving a little to the +south of west. This line of march should take +them through the Cayuga country,––a natural +move on the part of the Long Arrow, for the +Cayugas were closer to the scene of the fighting +than the Onondagas, and therefore would +be less likely to interfere with the persecution +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +of a Frenchman, particularly before their chiefs +should return from the council.</p> +<p>Late in the afternoon they came to a slow-moving +stream, the outlet of an inland lake. +By the basin-shape of the end of the lake, he +recognized it as one that lay directly between +Onondaga and the Long Lake of the Cayugas. +On the bank of the little river, under the +matted foliage, the chief signalled a halt, and +the warriors threw themselves on the ground. +Menard lay at the foot of a beech whose roots +dipped in the water, and for the hundredth +time since the sun had risen he cast about for +some chance at escape. The thongs about his +wrists were tied by skilful hands. He tried to +reach the knot with his fingers, but could not. +His guards were alert to every motion; they +lay on either side, and he could not lift his +eyes without meeting the sullen glance of one +or the other. He was about ready to submit, +trusting to his wits to seize the first opportunity +that should come; for after all, to worry +would strain his nerves, and now, if at any +time, his nerves and his strength were needed. +When at last he reached this point of view, he +lay back on the weed-grown earth and went to +sleep. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span></p> +<p>An hour later he was aroused for another +start. Night came while they were on the +way, but they pushed steadily forward, and +within a few hours they reached the Long +Lake. Instead of stopping, however, the Long +Arrow headed to the south along the bank of +the lake. For a space it was hard going +through the interwoven bushes and briers that +tore even Menard’s tough skin. The moon +was in the sky, and here and there he caught +glimpses of the lake lying still and bright. +They saw no signs of life save for the flitting +bats, and the owls that called weirdly through +the reaches of the forest. After another hour +they found a trail which led them down close +to the water, and at last to a half-cleared space, +rank and wild with weed and thistle, and with +rotting heaps where lay the trunks of trees, +felled a generation earlier. Scattered about +the outer edge of the clearing, close to the +circle of trees, were a few bark huts, with +roofs sagging and doors agape. One or two +were rivalled in height by the weeds that +choked their windows. As Menard stood +between his guards under the last tree on the +trail, looking at the deserted village where the +frightened bats rose and wheeled, and the moonlight +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +streamed on broken roofs, he began to +understand. The Long Arrow had found a +place where he could carry out his vengeance +undisturbed.</p> +<p>Other forms had risen from the weeds to +greet the party. Looking more closely, Menard +saw that a group of Indians were dragging logs +for a fire. Evidently this was a rendezvous for +two or more bands. He tried to count the dim +forms, and found them somewhat less than a +score in all. Perhaps the Long Arrow had +found it not easy to raise a large party to +defy the will of the council concerning the +White Chief; but he had enough, and already +the brandy was beginning to flow,––the first +stage of the orgie which should take up the +rest of the night, and perhaps the day to follow. +The Long Arrow and his party at once joined +in the drinking. Confident that they would +not this time be interrupted, they would probably +use all deliberation in preparing for the +torture.</p> +<p>A rough meal was soon ready, and all fell to. +Nothing was set apart for the prisoner; though +had he been weak they would have fed him to +stay him for the torture. One of his guardians, +in mock pity, threw him a bone to which a little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span> +meat clung. He asked that his hands be loosed, +or at least tied in front of his body, but his +request brought jeers from the little group about +him. Seeing that there was no hope of aid, he +rolled over and gnawed the bone where it lay +on the ground. The warriors laughed again, +and one kicked it away; but Menard crawled +after it, and this time was not disturbed. A +little later, two other Indians came from the +fire, and after a talk with his guards, ordered +him to his feet and led him to one of the +huts. The door was of rude boards, hung +on wooden hinges, and now held in place by a +short log. One brave kicked away the log, and +Menard was thrown inside with such force that +he fell headlong.</p> +<p>Through an opening in the roof came a wide +beam of moonlight. He looked up, and at +first thought he was alone; then he saw two +figures crouching against the rear wall. His +own face and head were so covered with dust +and blood that he could not have been recognized +for a white man.</p> +<p>“Who are you?” he said in Iroquois.</p> +<p>“Captain!” came in a startled voice that he +knew for Father Claude’s; and a little gasp of +relief from the other figure brought a thrill of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span> +joy. He tried to raise himself, but in an instant +they had come to him and were laughing and +sobbing and speaking his name. While Father +Claude seized his shoulders to lift him, the maid +fell on her knees, and with her teeth tried to cut +the thongs.</p> +<p>“Wait, Father,” she said in a mumbled voice, +without pausing in her work; “wait a moment.”</p> +<p>Menard could feel her warm tears dropping +on his hands.</p> +<p>“You must not, Mademoiselle,” said the +priest. “You must let me.”</p> +<p>She shook her head, and worked faster, until +the thongs fell away and she could rub with her +own torn hands the Captain’s wrists.</p> +<p>“Now he may arise, Father. See––see what +they have done to him.”</p> +<p>Menard laughed. All the weight that had +pressed on his heart had lifted at the sound of +her voice and the touch of her hands. The +laugh lingered until he was on his feet, and the +three stood close together in the patch of moonlight +and looked each into the other’s eyes––not +speaking, because there was no word so +complete as the relief that had come to them +all; a relief so great, and a bond so strong that +during all the time they should live thereafter, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span> +through other days and other times, even across +the seas in lands where much should be about +them to draw a mist over the past, the moment +would always be close in their memories,––it +would stand out above all other deeds and other +moments. Then the Captain held out his hands, +and they each took one in a long clasp that told +them all to hope, that stirred a new, daring +thought in each heart. Father Claude at last +turned away with shining eyes. The maid stood +looking up at this soldier whom she trusted, and +a little sigh passed her lips. Then she too +turned, and to cover her thoughts she hummed +a gay air that Menard had heard the trumpeters +play at Quebec.</p> +<p>“Tell us, M’sieu,” she said abruptly, “what is +it? How did it happen?”</p> +<p>“It is the Long Arrow.”</p> +<p>“So we thought,” said Father Claude; “but +he was not with the party that brought us +here, and we could not know. They came +while we were sleeping, and bound our mouths +so that we could not scream. I was at +fault, I––”</p> +<p>“No, Father. You cannot say that. I left +you. I should have been at your side.”</p> +<p>“Will you tell us about it, M’sieu?” asked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span> +the maid. She was leaning against the bark +wall, looking at the two men.</p> +<p>Menard dropped to the ground, and in a quiet +voice gave them the story of his capture. The +priest rested near him on the broken-down bench +that slanted against one wall. As the story +grew, the maid came over and sat at the Captain’s +feet where she could watch his face as he +talked. When he reached the account of the +fight at the grave, he paused and looked at her +upturned face. Then he went on, but he did +not take up the tale where he had dropped it. +He could not tell her of Tegakwita’s end. As +he went on to the fight with the Long Arrow’s +band and the flight through the hill country, he +thought that she had missed nothing; but when +he had finished she said:––</p> +<p>“And Tegakwita, M’sieu? Did he come +with them?”</p> +<p>“No,” Menard replied; “he did not come. I +killed him.”</p> +<p>He had not meant to let the words come out +so brutally. And now, as he saw the frightened +look, almost of horror, come into her eyes, he +suffered in a way that would not have been possible +before he had known this maid. He read +her thoughts,––that she herself was the cause +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span> +of a double tragedy,––and it for the moment +unmanned him. When he could look at her +again, she was more nearly herself.</p> +<p>“Go on, M’sieu. There is more?”</p> +<p>“No. There is no more, except that I am +here with you. But of yourselves? You have +told me nothing.”</p> +<p>“We have told you all there is to tell,” said +Father Claude. “We were taken while we +slept. They have come rapidly, but otherwise +they have not been unkind.”</p> +<p>“You have had food?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“We must think now,” Menard said abruptly; +“we must put our wits together. It is late in +the night, and we should be free before dawn. +Have you thought of any way?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied the priest, slowly, “we have +thought of one. Teganouan is with our party. +At the first he tried to keep out of sight, but +of course he could not, once we were on the +way. He was a long time at the Mission of +St. Francis, and I at one time hoped that he +would prove a true believer. It was drink that +led him away from us,––an old weakness with +him. This morning, when he passed me, I +knew that he was ashamed. I dared not speak +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span> +to him; but since then, whenever my eyes +have met his, I have seen that look of understanding.”</p> +<p>“I fear you will not see it to-night,” said the +Captain. “They are drinking.”</p> +<p>“Ah, but he is not. He is guarding the hut. +Come, M’sieu, it may be that we can see him +now.”</p> +<p>Menard rose, and with the priest peered +through the cracks at the rear of the hut. +After a moment they saw him, standing in the +shadow of a tree.</p> +<p>“You are sure it is he, Father?”</p> +<p>“Ah, M’sieu, I should know him.”</p> +<p>Menard rested his hand on a strip of rotting +bark in the wall. The priest saw the movement.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said cautiously, “it would be very +simple. But you will be cautious, M’sieu. Of +course, I do not know––I cannot tell surely––and +yet it must be that Teganouan still has a +warm heart. It cannot be that he has forgotten +the many months of my kindness.”</p> +<p>While they stood there, hesitating between a +dozen hasty plans, a light step sounded, and in +an instant their eyes were at the opening. A +second Indian had joined the guard, and was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span> +talking with him in a low voice. Father Claude +gripped the Captain’s arm.</p> +<p>“See, M’sieu,––the wampum collar,––it is +the Long Arrow.”</p> +<p>Menard laid his finger on his lips. The two +Indians were not a dozen yards away. The +chief swayed unsteadily as he talked, and once +his voice rose. He carried a bottle, and paused +now and then to drink from it.</p> +<p>“Teganouan is holding back,” whispered +Menard. “See, the Long Arrow has taken his +arm––they are coming––is the door fast?”</p> +<p>“We cannot make it fast, M’sieu. It opens +outward.”</p> +<p>Menard sprang across to the door and ran +his hands over it, but found no projection that +could be used to hold it closed. He stood for +a moment, puzzling; then his face hardened, +and he fell back to where the priest and the +maid stood side by side.</p> +<p>“They will get in, M’sieu?”</p> +<p>“Yes. It is better.”</p> +<p>They did not speak again. The moccasined +feet made no noise on the cleared ground, and +it seemed a long time before they could hear +the log fall from the door. There were voices +outside. At last the door swung open, and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span> +Long Arrow, bottle in hand, came clumsily into +the hut and stood unsteadily in the square of +moonlight. He looked about as if he could not +see them. Teganouan had come in behind +him; and the door swung to, creaking.</p> +<p>“The White Chief is the brother of the +Long Arrow,” said the chief, speaking slowly +and with an effort to make his words distinct. +“He loves the Onondagas. Deep in his mind +are the thoughts of the young white brave who +lived in our villages and hunted with our braves +and called the mighty Big Throat his father. +He never forgets what the Onondagas have +done for him. He has a grateful heart.” The +effort of speaking was confusing to the chief. +He paused, as if to collect his ideas, and looked +stupidly at the three silent figures before him. +“ ... grateful heart,” he repeated. “The Long +Arrow has a grateful heart, too. He remembers +the kind words of the white men who come to +his village and tell him of the love of the Great +Mountain. He never forgets that the Big Buffalo +is his brother––he never forgets. When +the Big Buffalo took his son from the hunting +party of the Onondagas he did not forget.”</p> +<p>Menard did not listen further. He was looking +about the hut with quick, shifting eyes, now +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span> +at the chief in the moonlight, now at Teganouan, +who stood at one side in the shadow, +now at the door. Could Teganouan be trusted +to help them? He glanced sharply at the warrior, +who was looking at his chief with an alert, +cunning expression. His musket lay carelessly +in the hollow of his arm, his knife and hatchet +hung at his waist. The chief had only his +knife; in his hand was the bottle, which he +held loosely, now and then spilling a few drops +of the liquor.</p> +<p>“The Long Arrow nev’r f’rgets,”––the chief’s +tongue was getting the better of him. “His +house is lonely, where the fire burns alone and +the young warr’r who once laid ’s blanket,––laid +’s blanket by the fire, no long’r ’s there to +warm the heart of the Long Arrow. But now +his loneliness is gone. Now when he comes +from the hunt to ’s house he’ll find a new fire, +a bright fire, and a new squaw to warm ’s heart––warm +’s heart.” He swayed a little as he +spoke, and Teganouan took a short step forward; +but the chief drew himself up and came +slowly across the patch of moonlight. His eyes +were unnaturally bright, and they rolled uncertainly +from one to another of the little group +before him. His coarse black hair was matted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span> +and tangled, and the eagle feathers that at the +council had stood erect from his head now +drooped, straggling, to one side.</p> +<p>The maid had understood. The two men +drew close to her on each side, and her hand +rested, trembling, on Menard’s arm. All three +were thinking fast. One scream, the sound of +a struggle or even of loud voices, would bring +upon them the whole drunken band. As the +chief approached, the maid could feel the muscles +harden on the Captain’s arm.</p> +<p>“Long Arrow’s lonely––his fire’s not bright +when he comes from hunt––” Here and there +in his talk a few words were distinguishable as +he stood lurching before them. He reached +out in a maudlin effort to touch the maid’s +white face. She drew in her breath quickly +and stepped back; then Menard had sprung +forward, and she covered her eyes with her +hands.</p> +<p>There was a light scuffle, but no other sound. +A strong smell of brandy filled the hut. Slowly +she lifted her head, and let her hands drop to +her sides. The Long Arrow lay sprawling at +her feet, his head gashed and bleeding, and +covered with broken glass and dripping liquor. +The priest had kneeled beside him, and over +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span> +his bowed head she saw Teganouan, startled, +defiant, his musket halfway to his shoulder, +his eyes fixed on the door. Her eyes followed +his gaze. There stood the Captain, his back +to the door, the broken neck of the bottle firmly +gripped in his hand.</p> +<p>She stepped forward, too struck with horror +to remain silent.</p> +<p>“Oh, M’sieu!” she said brokenly, stretching +out her hands.</p> +<p>He motioned to her to be quiet, and she +sank down on the bench.</p> +<p>“Father,” he said.</p> +<p>The priest looked up questioningly. There +was a long moment of silence, and the shouts +and calls of the half-drunken revellers without +sounded strangely loud. Then, as the priest +gazed at the set, hard face of the Captain, and +at the motionless Indian, he understood of a +sudden all the wild plan that was forming in +the Captain’s mind. He rose slowly to his +feet, and stood facing Teganouan, with the +light streaming down upon his gentle face.</p> +<p>“The sun has gone to sleep many times, +Teganouan, since you left the great white +house of the church at St. Francis. You +have heard the counsel of evil men, who think +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span> +only of the knife and the hatchet and the +musket, who have no dream but to slay their +brothers.” He was speaking slowly and in a +kindly voice, as a father might speak to a son +who has wandered from the right. “Have +you forgotten the talk of the holy Fathers, +when they told you the words of the Book of the +Great Spirit, who is to all your Manitous and +Okis as the sun is to the stars. Have you forgotten +the many moons that passed while you +lived in the great white house,––when you +gave your promise, the promise of an Onondaga, +that you would be a friend to the white +man, that you would believe the words of the +Great Spirit and live a peaceful life? Have you +forgotten, Teganouan, the evil days when your +enemy, the fire-water, took possession of your +heart and led you away from the white house +into the lodges of them that do wrong,––how +when the good spirit returned to you and you +came back to the arms of the Faith, you were +received as a son and a brother? The holy +Fathers did not say, ‘This warrior has done +that which he should not do. Let him be +punished. We have no place for the wrongdoer.’ +No; they did not say this. They said, +‘The lost is found. He that wandered from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span> +the fold has returned.’ And they welcomed +the lost one, and bade him repent and lead a +right life. Have you forgotten, Teganouan?”</p> +<p>The Indian had slowly lowered his musket.</p> +<p>“Teganouan has not forgotten,” he replied. +“He has a grateful heart toward the holy +Fathers of the great white house. When he +was sick, they brought him their good doctor +and told him to live. He believed that the +white men were his brothers, that they would +do to him as the Fathers had promised. But +when Teganouan came to the white men, and +asked to be made like they were, he left behind +in his village a brother and a sister and a father +who said that he was a traitor, who said that +he was false to the trust of his blood and his +nation, that he was not of their blood.”</p> +<p>“And did he believe them? Did he not +know, better than they could, that the faith of +the white man is also the faith of the redman; +that the love of the white man includes all who +breathe and speak and hunt and trade and +move upon the earth?”</p> +<p>“Teganouan has not forgotten. He heard +the words of the Fathers, and he believed that +they were true; but when the white Captain +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span> +took from the Onondagas five score of their +bravest warriors and called them slaves, when +he took the brother of Teganouan, borne by +the same mother and fed by the same hand, to +be a slave of the mighty Chief-Across-the-Water, +could he remember what the holy +Fathers had said,––that all men were +brothers?”</p> +<p>“Teganouan has heard what the White +Chief, the Big Buffalo, has said, that the evil +man who was treacherous to the Onondagas +shall be punished?”</p> +<p>“Teganouan understands. But the evil man +is far from the vengeance of the white man. +The White Chief is here in our lodges.”</p> +<p>Menard left the door and came to the +priest’s side. The jagged piece of glass, his +only weapon, he threw to the ground.</p> +<p>“Teganouan,” he said slowly and firmly, looking +into the Indian’s eyes, “you heard the +great council at the Long House of the Five +Nations. You heard the decision of the chiefs +and warriors, that they whom Onontio had +sent to bring a message of peace should be +set free. You have broken the pledge made +by your council. You have attacked us and +made us prisoners, and brought us here where +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span> +we may be tortured and killed and none may +know. But when the Great Mountain finds +that the Big Buffalo has not come back, when +he sends his white soldier to the villages of the +Onondagas and asks what they have done to +him who brought his voice, what will you say? +When the chiefs say, ‘We set him free,’ and look +about to find the warrior who has dared to +disobey the Long House, what will you say? +When the young boys and the drunkards with +loose tongues have told the story of the death +of the Long Arrow, what will you say? Then +you will be glad to flee to the white house of +the holy Fathers, knowing that they will protect +you and save you when the braves of your +own blood shall pursue you.”</p> +<p>Teganouan’s eyelids had drooped, and now he +was looking at the ground, where the chief lay.</p> +<p>“You will come with me, Teganouan. You +will fly with us over the Long Lake, and +through the forests and down the mighty rivers +and over the inland sea, and there you shall +be safe; and you shall see with your own eyes +the punishment that the Great Mountain will +give to the evil man who has been false to the +Onondagas.”</p> +<p>He held out his hand, and silently waited. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span> +The priest’s head was raised, and his lips moved +slowly in prayer. The maid sat rigid, her +hands tightly gripping the edge of the bench. +Though he knew that every moment brought +nearer the chance of discovery, that the lives +of them all hung on a thread as slender as a +hair, the Captain stood without the twitching +of a muscle, without a sign of fear or haste in +his grave, worn face.</p> +<p>The Indian’s eyes wavered. He looked at the +fallen chief, at the priest, at Menard; then he +took the offered hand. No further word was +needed. Menard did not know the thought +that lay behind the cunning face; it was +enough that the Indian had given his word.</p> +<p>“Quick, we must hide him,” said the Captain, +looking swiftly about the hut. “We must disturb +you, Mademoiselle––”</p> +<p>In a moment the three men had lifted the +body of the Long Arrow and laid it away under +the low bench. Teganouan scraped a few +handfuls of earth from a corner and spread it +over the spot where the chief had been.</p> +<p>“How far is it to the lake, Teganouan?”</p> +<p>“But a few rods.”</p> +<p>“And the forest is thick?”</p> +<p>“Yes.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span></p> +<p>“We must cross the lake. Is there a canoe +here?”</p> +<p>The Indian shook his head. Menard stood +thinking for an instant.</p> +<p>“If you are thinking of me, M’sieu, I think I +can swim with you,” said the maid, timidly.</p> +<p>“There is no other way, Mademoiselle. I +am sorry. But we will make it as easy as we +can.”</p> +<p>He stepped to the rear wall, and with a blow +of his fist would have broken an opening +through the rotted bank, but the Indian caught +his arm.</p> +<p>“It is not necessary. See.” He set rapidly +to work, and in a few silent moments he had +unlaced the thread-like root that held the sheet +of bark in place, and lowered it to the ground. +He raised himself by the cross-pole that marked +the top of the wall, and slipped through the +opening. A few quick glances through the +trees, and he turned and beckoned. Menard followed, +with the knife of the Long Arrow between +his teeth; and with Father Claude’s help +the maid got through to where he could catch +her and lower her to the ground.</p> +<p>The Indian made a cautious gesture and +crept slowly through the yielding bushes. One +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span> +by one they followed, the Captain lingering +until the maid was close to him and he could +whisper to her to keep her courage. They +paused at the bank of the lake. The water +lay sparkling in the moonlight. Menard looked +grimly out; this light added to the danger. +He found a short log close at hand and carried +it to the water.</p> +<p>“Come, Mademoiselle,” he whispered, “and +Father Claude. This will support you. Teganouan +and I will swim. Keep low in the +water, and do not splash or speak. The slightest +noise will travel far across the lake.”</p> +<p>Slowly they waded out, dropping into the +water before it was waist deep. Teganouan’s +powder-horn and musket lay on the log, and +the maid herself steadied it so that they should +not be lost.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVII_NORTHWARD' id='CHAPTER_XVII_NORTHWARD'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> +<h3>NORTHWARD.</h3> +</div> +<p>Weak and chilled from the long swim +through the cold water they dragged +themselves across the narrow beach to the bushes +that hung over the bank. Menard and Father +Claude supported the maid, who was trembling +and clinging to them. At the bank she sank +to the ground.</p> +<p>“It is hard, Mademoiselle, but we must not +stop. It is better to be weary than to rest in +this condition. It would mean sickness.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said; “I know. In a moment I +can go on.” She looked up and tried to smile. +“It is so cold, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>Menard turned to Teganouan.</p> +<p>“How far is it to the villages of the Cayugas?”</p> +<p>“Not far. Half a sleep.”</p> +<p>“Is there a trail?”</p> +<p>“The trail is far. It passes the end of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span> +Long Lake.” He raised his head and looked +at the stars, then pointed to the southwest. +“The nearest village lies there. If we go +through the forest toward the setting sun, we +shall meet the trail.”</p> +<p>“You think it will be wise to go to the Cayugas, +M’sieu?” asked Father Claude.</p> +<p>“I think so. The chiefs must have returned +before this time, or at least by the morrow.” +He dropped into the Iroquois tongue. “Is not +this so, Teganouan? Would the chiefs of +the Cayugas linger among the Onondagas +after the close of the council?”</p> +<p>“The Cayuga warriors await the word of the +Long House. They know that their chiefs +would hasten to bring it back to them.”</p> +<p>“Yes. It must be so, Father. And we can +trust them to aid us. Perhaps they will give +us a canoe. Teganouan must tell them he is our +guide, sent by the Big Throat and the chiefs of +the Onondagas to take us safely to Frontenac.”</p> +<p>The maid was struggling to keep awake, but +her lids were heavy. Menard came to her and +stood, hesitating. She knew that he was +there; she could hear the rustle of his wet +clothes, and his heavy breathing, but she did +not look up. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span></p> +<p>“Come,” he said, lightly touching her shoulder, +“we cannot wait here. We must go.”</p> +<p>She did not reply, and he hesitated again. +Then he stooped and lifted her in his arms.</p> +<p>“You will go ahead, Teganouan,” he said, +“and you, too, if you will, Father Claude. +Choose an easy trail if you can, and be careful +that no twig flies back.”</p> +<p>They set out slowly through the forest. The +priest and the Indian laboriously broke a way, +and Menard followed, holding the maid tenderly, +and now and then, in some lighter spot +where a beam of moonlight fell through the +foliage, looking down at her gentle, weary face. +She was sleeping; and he prayed that no sad +dreams might come to steal her rest. His arms +ached and his knees gave under him, but he +had hardly a thought for himself. At last, after +a long, silent march, the priest stopped, and said, +supporting himself with one thin hand against a +tree:––</p> +<p>“You are weary, M’sieu. You must let me +take Mademoiselle.”</p> +<p>“No, Father, no. I have been thinking. I +am afraid it is not right that she should sleep +now. Even though she fail in the effort, exercise +of her muscles is all that will prevent sickness. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span> +And yet I cannot,”––he looked again +at her face as it rested against his shoulder,––“I +cannot awaken her now.”</p> +<p>The Father saw the sorrow in the Captain’s +eyes, and understood.</p> +<p>“I will take her, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>Carefully Menard placed her in Father +Claude’s arms and turned away.</p> +<p>“Teganouan,” he said, trying to recover his +self-possession, “should we not be near the +trail?”</p> +<p>“Yes, more than half the way.”</p> +<p>“Can we reach it more quickly by heading a +little to the north?”</p> +<p>“We would reach the trail, yes; but the way +would be longer.”</p> +<p>“Never mind; once on the trail it will be +easier than in this forest. Turn to the north, +Teganouan.”</p> +<p>He could hear the maid’s voice, protesting +sleepily, and Father Claude talking quietly to +her. He looked around. The priest said in a +low tone:––</p> +<p>“Come, M’sieu, it is hard to awaken her.”</p> +<p>“We must frighten her, then.”</p> +<p>He caught her shoulders and shook her +roughly. Slowly her eyes opened, and then the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span> +two men dragged her forward. At first she +thought herself back among the Onondagas, +and she begged them not to take her away, +hanging back and forcing them almost to carry +her. It cut Menard to the heart, but he pushed +steadily forward. Later she yielded, and with a +dazed expression obeyed. Once or twice she +stumbled, and would have fallen but for the +strong hands that held her. Father Claude +rested his hand on her forehead as they walked, +and Menard gave him an anxious, questioning +glance. The priest shook his head.</p> +<p>“No,” he said, “there is no fever. I trust +that it is nothing worse than exhaustion.”</p> +<p>Menard went on with relief in his eyes.</p> +<p>In less than half an hour after reaching the +trail, they came upon the outlying huts of the +village. Over the hills to the east the dawn +was breaking, and all the sleeping birds and +beasts and creeping things of the forest were +stirring into life and movement. Teganouan +went ahead of the party and soon roused a member +of the Cayuga branch of his clan, the family +of the Bear. Through the yawning services of +this warrior they were guided to an unused hut. +Teganouan searched farther, and returned with +a heap of blankets for the maid, who had dropped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span> +to the ground before the hut. Menard carried +her within and made her as comfortable as possible, +then withdrew and closed the door.</p> +<p>“Have the chiefs returned from the council +at the village of the Onondagas?” he asked of +the warrior, who stood at one side watching +them with curiosity in his gaze.</p> +<p>The Cayuga bowed.</p> +<p>“Will my brother carry a message from the +White Chief, the Big Buffalo, to his chiefs? +Will he tell them, as soon as the sun has risen, +that the Big Buffalo has come to talk with +them?”</p> +<p>The warrior bowed and walked away.</p> +<p>“We are safe now, I think, Father. We +must get what little sleep we can between now +and sunrise.”</p> +<p>“Should not one of us watch, M’sieu?”</p> +<p>“We are not fit for it. We have hard work +before us, and many a chance yet to run.”</p> +<p>“Teganouan will watch,” said the Indian.</p> +<p>Menard’s face showed surprise, but Father +Claude whispered, “He has learned at the mission +to understand our language.”</p> +<p>They lay on the ground before the hut, in +their wet clothes, and in a moment were asleep. +Teganouan built a fire close at hand, and sat +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span> +by it without a motion, excepting the alert shifting +glances of his bead-like eyes, until, when the +colours in the east had faded into blue and the +sun was well above the trees, he saw the chiefs +of the village coming slowly toward him between +the huts, a crowd of young men following behind +them, and a snarling pack of dogs running before. +He aroused Menard and Father Claude.</p> +<p>The chiefs sat in a circle about the fire, the +two white men among them. The other Indians +sat and stood in a wider circle, just within earshot, +and waited inquisitively for the White +Chief to state his errand.</p> +<p>“My brothers, the white men, have asked to +speak with the chiefs of the Cayugas,” said the +spokesman, a wrinkled old warrior, whom Menard +recognized as one of the speakers at the +Long House.</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo is on his way to the stone +house of Onontio. He is far from the trail. +His muskets and his knives and hatchets were +taken from him by the Onondagas and were not +returned to him. He asks that the chiefs of +the Cayugas permit him to use one of their +many canoes, that he may hasten to carry to +Onontio the word of the Long House.”</p> +<p>“The White Chief comes to the Cayugas, who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span> +live two sleeps away from their brothers, the +Onondagas, to ask for aid. Have the Onondagas +then refused him? Why is my brother +so far from the trail?”</p> +<p>“The chiefs of the Cayugas sat in the Long +House; they heard the words of the great council, +that the Big Buffalo and the holy Father +and the white maiden should be set free. They +know that what is decided in the council is the +law of the nation, that no warrior shall break +it.”</p> +<p>The little circle was silent with attention, but +none of the chiefs replied.</p> +<p>“It was still in the dark of the night when +the Big Throat came to the lodge of the Big +Buffalo, and gave him the pledge of the council +that he should be free with the next sun. The +Big Buffalo once learned to believe the pledge +of the Iroquois. When the mighty Big Throat +said that he was free, he believed. He did not +set a guard to sit with wakeful eyes through the +night in fear that the pledge was not true. No, +the Big Buffalo is a warrior and a chief; he is +not a woman. He trusted his red brothers, and +rested his head to sleep. Then in the dark +came a chief, a dog of a traitor, and took away +his white brother and his white sister while their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span> +eyes were still heavy with sleep, and carried +them far over the hills to the lake of the Cayugas. +Here they hid like serpents in the long +grass, and thought that they would kill them. +But the Big Buffalo is a warrior. Without a +knife or a musket or a hatchet he killed the +Long Arrow and came across the Long Lake. +He knew that the Cayugas were his brothers, +that they would not break the pledge of the +Long House.”</p> +<p>The grave faces of the Indians showed no +surprise, save for a slight movement of the +eyes on the part of one or two of the younger +men, when the Long Arrow was mentioned. +Most of them had lighted their pipes before +sitting down, and now they puffed in silence.</p> +<p>“The White Chief speaks strangely,” the +spokesman said at last. “He tells the Cayugas +that their brothers, the Onondagas, have +broken the pledge of the council.”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“He asks for aid?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Menard, “he does not ask for aid. +He asks that the Iroquois nation restore to him +what the dogs of the Long Arrow have taken +away. He has spoken to the Long House in +the voice of the Great Mountain. He has the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346' name='page_346'></a>346</span> +right of a free man, of a chief honoured by the +council, to go freely and in peace. What if +those who do not respect the law of the council +shall rob him of his rights? Must he go on his +knees to the chiefs? Must he ask that he be +allowed to live? Must he go far back on his +trail to seek aid of the Onondagas, because the +Cayugas will not hold to the law?”</p> +<p>One of the great lessons learned during Menard’s +work under Governor Frontenac had been +that the man who once permits himself to be +lowered in the eyes of the Indians has forever +lost his prestige. Now he sat before the chiefs +of a great village, weak from the strain of the +long days and nights of distress and wakefulness +and hunger, his clothing still wet and bedraggled, +with no weapon but a knife, no canoe, +not to speak of presents,––with none of the +equipment which to the Indian mind suggested +authority,––and yet made his demands in the +stern voice of a conqueror. He knew that these +Indians cared not at all whether the word of +the council to him had been broken or kept, +unless he could so impress them with his +authority that they would fear punishment for +the offence.</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo is a mighty warrior,” said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span> +the spokesman. “His hard hands are greater +than the muskets and hatchets of the Cayugas. +He fights with the strength of the winter wind; +no man can stand where his hand falls. He +speaks wisely to the Cayugas. They are sorry +that their brothers, the Onondagas, have so +soon forgotten the word of the great council, +Let the Big Buffalo rest his arms. The warriors +of the Cayugas shall be proud to offer +him food.”</p> +<p>They all rose, and after a few grunted words +of friendship, filed away to go over the matter +in private council. Menard saw that they were +puzzled; perhaps they did not believe that he +had killed the Long Arrow. He turned to +Teganouan, who had been sitting a few yards +away.</p> +<p>“Teganouan, will you go among the braves +of the village and tell them that the Big +Buffalo is a strong fighter, that he killed the +Long Arrow with his hands? It may be that +they have not believed.”</p> +<p>This was the kind of strategy Teganouan +understood. He walked slowly away, puffing +at his pipe, to mingle among the people of the +village and boast in bold metaphors the prowess +of his White Chief. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span></p> +<p>“They will give us a canoe,” said Father +Claude.</p> +<p>“Yes, they must. Now, let us sleep again.”</p> +<p>They dropped to the ground, and Menard +looked warningly at the circle of young boys +who came as close as they dared to see this +strange white man, and to hear him talk in the +unpronounceable language. Father Claude’s +eyes were first to close. The Captain was +about to join him in slumber when a low voice +came from the door.</p> +<p>“M’sieu.”</p> +<p>He started up and saw the maid holding +the door ajar and leaning against it, her pale +face, framed in a tangle of soft hair, showing +traces of the wearing troubles of the days just +passed.</p> +<p>“Ah, Mademoiselle, you must not waken. +You must sleep long, and rest, and grow bright +and young again.”</p> +<p>She smiled, and looked at him timidly.</p> +<p>“I have been dreaming, M’sieu,” she said, and +her eyes dropped, “such an unpleasant dream. +It was after we had crossed the lake––We +did cross it, M’sieu, did we not? That, too, was +not a dream? No––see, my hair is wet.”</p> +<p>“No,” he said, “that was not a dream.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span></p> +<p>“We were on the land, and I was so tired, +and you talked to me––something good––I +cannot remember what it was, but I know that +you were good. And I thought that I––that +I said words that hurt you, unkind words. And +when I wished and tried to speak as I felt, only +the other words would come. That was a +dream, M’sieu, was it not? It has been troubling +me. You have been so kind, and I could +not sleep thinking that––that––”</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, “that was a dream.”</p> +<p>She looked at him with relief, but as she +looked she seemed to become more fully awake +to what they were saying. Her eyes lowered +again, and the red came over her face.</p> +<p>“I am glad,” she said, so low that he hardly +heard.</p> +<p>“And now you will rest, Mademoiselle?”</p> +<p>She smiled softly, and drew back within the +hut, closing the heavy door. And Menard +turned away, unmindful of the wide-eyed boys +who were staring from a safe distance at him +and at the door where the strange woman had +appeared. He sat with his back against the +logs of the hut, and looked at the ants that +hurried about over the trampled ground.</p> +<p>The sun was high when he was aroused by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span> +Teganouan, who had spent the greater part +of the morning among the people of the village.</p> +<p>“Have you any word, Teganouan?”</p> +<p>“Yes. The warriors have learned of the +strength of the Big Buffalo, and his name +frightens them. They bow to the great chief +who has killed the Long Arrow without a +hatchet. They say that the Onondagas should +be punished for their treachery.”</p> +<p>“Good.”</p> +<p>“Teganouan has been talking long with a +runner of the Seneca nation.”</p> +<p>“Ah, he brings word of the fight?”</p> +<p>“Yes. The Senecas have suffered under the +iron hand of the Great Mountain. A great +army takes up the hatchet when he goes on +the war-path, more than all the Senecas and +Cayugas and Onondagas together when every +brave who can hold in his hand a bow or a +musket has come to fight with his brothers. +There were white warriors so many that the +runner could not have counted them with all +the sticks in the Long House. There were +men of the woods in the skins and beads of +the redmen; there were Hurons and Ottawas +and Nipissings, and even the cowardly Illinois +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span> +and the Kaskaskias and the Miamis from +the land where the Great River flows past the +Rock Demons. The Senecas fought with the +strength of the she-bear, but their warriors were +killed, their corn was trampled and cut, their +lodges were burned.”</p> +<p>“Did the Great Mountain pursue them?”</p> +<p>“He has gone back to his stone house +across the great lake, leaving the land black +and smoking. The Senecas have come to +the western villages of the Cayugas.”</p> +<p>“There are none in this village?”</p> +<p>“No. But the chiefs have sent blankets to +their brothers, and as much corn as a hundred +braves could carry over the trail. They have +taken from their own houses to give to the +Senecas.”</p> +<p>A few moments later two young men came +with baskets of sagamity and smoked meat. +Menard received it, and rising, knocked gently +at the door.</p> +<p>“Yes, M’sieu,––I am not sleeping.”</p> +<p>He hesitated, and she came to the door and +opened it.</p> +<p>“Ah, you have food, M’sieu! I am glad. I +have been so hungry.”</p> +<p>“Come, Father,” said the Captain, and they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span> +entered and sat on the long bench, eating the +smoky, greasy meat as eagerly as if it had been +cooked for the Governor’s table. Their spirits +rose as the baskets emptied, and they found +that they could laugh and joke about their +ravenous hunger.</p> +<p>The chiefs returned shortly after, and came +stooping into the hut in the free Indian fashion. +The old chief spoke:––</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo has honoured the lodges of +the Cayugas; he has made the village proud to +offer him their corn and meat. It would make +their hearts glad if he would linger about their +fires, with the holy Father and the squaw, that +they might tell their brothers of the great warrior +who dwelt in their village. But the White +Chief bears the word of the Long House. +He goes to the stone house to tell his white +brothers, who fight with the thunder, that the +Cayugas and the Onondagas are friends of the +white men, that they have given a pledge +which binds them as close as could the stoutest +ropes of deerskin. And so with sad hearts +they come to say farewell to the Big Buffalo, +and to wish that no dog may howl while he +sleeps, that no wind may blow against his +canoe, that no rains may fall until he rests +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span> +with his brothers at the great stone house +beyond the lake.”</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo thanks the mighty chiefs +of the Cayugas,” replied Menard. “He is glad +that they are his friends. And when his mouth +is close to the ear of the Great Mountain, he +will tell him that his Cayuga sons are loyal to +their Father.”</p> +<p>The chief had lighted a long pipe. After +two deliberate puffs, the first upward toward +the roof of the hut, the second toward the +ground, he handed it to Menard, who followed +his example, and passed it to the chief next in +importance. As it went slowly from hand to +hand about the circle, the Captain turned to +the maid, who sat at his side.</p> +<p>“Do they mean it, M’sieu?” she whispered.</p> +<p>For an instant a twinkle came into his eye; +she saw it, and smiled.</p> +<p>“Careful,” he whispered.</p> +<p>Before she could check the smile, a bronze +hand reached across to her with the pipe. She +started back and looked down at it.</p> +<p>“You must smoke it,” Menard whispered. +“It is a great honour. They have admitted +you to their council.”</p> +<p>“Oh, M’sieu––I can’t––” she took the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354' name='page_354'></a>354</span> +pipe and held it awkwardly; then, with an +effort, raised it to her mouth. It made her +cough, and she gave it quickly to the Captain.</p> +<p>The Indians rose gravely and filed out of +the hut.</p> +<p>“Come, Mademoiselle, we are to go.”</p> +<p>The smoke had brought tears to her eyes, and +she was hesitating, laughing in spite of herself.</p> +<p>“Oh, M’sieu, will––will it make me sick?”</p> +<p>He smiled, with a touch of the old light +humour.</p> +<p>“I think not. We must go, or they will +wonder.”</p> +<p>They found the chiefs waiting before the hut, +Father Claude and Teganouan among them. +As soon as they had appeared, the whole party +set out through the village and over a trail +through the woods to the eastward. The ill-kept +dogs played about them, and plunged, +barking, through the brush on either side. +Behind, at a little distance, came the children +and hangers-on of the village, jostling one +another to keep at the head where they could +see the white strangers.</p> +<p>When they reached the bank of the lake, they +found two canoes drawn up on the narrow strip +of gravel, and a half-dozen well-armed braves +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span> +waiting close at hand. The chief paused and +pointed toward the canoes.</p> +<p>“The Cayugas are proud that the White +Chief will sail in their canoes to the land of the +white men. The bravest warriors of a mighty +village will go with them to see that no Onondaga +arrow flies into their camp by night.”</p> +<p>He signalled to a brave, who brought forward +a musket and laid it, with powder-horn +and bullet-pouch, at the Captain’s feet.</p> +<p>“This musket is to tell the Big Buffalo that +no wild beast shall disturb his feast, and that +meat in plenty shall hang from the smoking-pole +in his lodge.”</p> +<p>The canoes were carried into the water and +they embarked,––Menard, the maid, and two +braves in one, Father Claude and four braves +in the other. They swung out into the lake, +the wiry arms and shoulders of the canoemen +knotting with each stroke of the paddles; and +the crowd of Indians stood on the shore gazing +after until they had passed from view beyond +a wooded point.</p> +<p>A few hours should take them to the head +of the lake. They had reached perhaps half +the distance, when Menard saw that two of his +canoemen had exchanged glances and were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span> +looking toward the shore. He glanced along +the fringe of trees and bushes, a few hundred +yards distant, until his eyes rested on three +empty canoes. He called to Father Claude’s +canoe, and both, at his order, headed for the +shore. As they drew near, half a score of +Indians came from the brush.</p> +<p>“Why,” said the maid, “there are some of the +men who brought us to the lake.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” replied Menard, “it is the Long +Arrow’s band.”</p> +<p>He leaped out of the canoe before it touched +the beach, and walked sternly up to the +group of warriors. He knew why they were +there. It was what he had expected. When +they had discovered the death of the Long +Arrow there had been rage and consternation. +Disputes had followed, the band had divided, +and a part had crossed the lake to hunt the +trail of the Big Buffalo. He folded his arms +and gave them a long, contemptuous look.</p> +<p>“Why do the Onondagas seek the trail of the +Big Buffalo? Do they think to overtake him? +Do they think that all their hands together are +strong enough to hold him? Did they think +that they could lie to the White Chief, could +play the traitor, and go unpunished?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357' name='page_357'></a>357</span></p> +<p>Only one or two of the Onondagas had their +muskets in their hands. They all showed +fright, and one was edging toward the wood. +The Cayugas in the canoes, at a word from +Father Claude, had raised their muskets. +Menard saw the movement from the corner +of his eye, and for the moment doubted the +wisdom of the action. It was a question whether +the Cayugas could actually be brought to fire +on their Onondaga brothers. Still, this band +had defied the law of the council, and might, in +the eyes of the Indians, bring down another +war upon the nation by their act. While he +spoke, the Captain had been deciding on a +course. He now walked boldly up to the man +who was nearest the bushes, and snatched +away his musket. There was a stir and +a murmur, but without heeding, he took +also the only other musket in the party, +and stepped between the Indians and the +forest.</p> +<p>“Stand where you are, or I will kill you. +One man”––he pointed to a youth––“will +go into the forest and bring your muskets to +the canoes.”</p> +<p>They hesitated, but Menard held his piece +ready to fire, and the Cayugas did the same. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358' name='page_358'></a>358</span> +At last the youth went sullenly into the bushes +and brought out an armful of muskets.</p> +<p>“Count them, Father,” Menard called in +French.</p> +<p>The priest did so, and then ran his eye over +the party on the beach.</p> +<p>“There are two missing, M’sieu.”</p> +<p>Menard turned to the youth, who, though +he had not understood the words, caught their +spirit and hurried back for the missing weapons. +Then the Captain walked coolly past +them, and took his place in the canoe. For a +long time, as they paddled up the lake, they +could see the Onondagas moving about the +beach, and could hear their angry voices.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359' name='page_359'></a>359</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVIII_THE_ONLY_WAY' id='CHAPTER_XVIII_THE_ONLY_WAY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> +<h3>THE ONLY WAY.</h3> +</div> +<p>When at last the canoe slipped from the +confines of river and hills and forest out +upon the great Lake Ontario, where the green +water stretched flat, east and north and west to +the horizon, the Cayuga warriors said farewell +and turned again to their own lands. It was at +noon of a bright day. The water lay close to +the white beach, with hardly a ripple to mar the +long black scallops of weed and drift which the +last storm had left on the sand. The sky was +fair and the air sweet.</p> +<p>In the one canoe which the Cayugas had left +to them, the little party headed to the east, now +skimming close to the silent beach, now cutting +a straight path across some bay from point +to point, out over the depths where lay the +sturgeon and the pickerel and trout and whitefish. +The gulls swooped at them; then, frightened, +soared away in wide, rushing circles, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360' name='page_360'></a>360</span> +dropping here and there for an overbold minnow. +The afternoon went by with hardly the passing +of a word. Each of them, the Captain, the +maid, the priest, looked over the burnished water, +now a fair green or blue sheet, now a space +of striped yellow and green and purple, newly +marked by every phase of sun and cloud; and +to each it meant that the journey was done. +Here was solitude, with none of the stir of the +forest to bring companionship; but as they +looked out to the cloud-puffs that dipped behind +the water at the world’s end, they knew +that far yonder were other men whose skins +were white, for all of beard and tan, whose +tongue was the tongue of Montreal, of Quebec, +of Paris,––and neither tree nor rock nor mountain +lay between. The water that bore them +onward was the water that washed the beach +at Frontenac. Days might pass and find them +still on the road; but they would be glorious +days, with the sun overhead and the breeze +at their backs, and at evening the wonder of the +western sky to make the water golden with +promise. As they swung their paddles, the +maid with them, their eyes were full of dreams,––all +save Teganouan. His eyes were keen +and cunning, and when they looked to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361' name='page_361'></a>361</span> +north it was not with thoughts of home. It may +be that he was dreaming of the deed which +might yet win back his lost name as an Onondaga +warrior.</p> +<p>The sun hung over the lake when at last +the canoe touched the beach. They ate their +simple meal almost in silence, and then sat near +the fire watching the afterglow that did not +fade from the west until the night was dark +and the moon high over the dim line that +marked the eastern end of the lake. The +sense of relief that had come to them with the +first sight of the lake was fading now. They +were thinking of Frontenac, and of what might +await them there,––the priest soberly, the +maid bravely, the Captain grimly. Later, +when the maid had said good-night, and Father +Claude had wandered down the beach to the +water’s edge, Menard dragged a new log to the +fire and threw it on, sending up the flame and +sparks high above the willows of the bank. He +stretched out and looked into the flames.</p> +<p>Teganouan, who had been lying on the sand, +heard a rustle far off in the forest and raised +his head. He heard it again, and rose, standing +motionless; then he took his musket and +came toward the fire. The Captain lay at full +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362' name='page_362'></a>362</span> +length, his chin on his hands. He was awake, +for his eyes were open, but he did not look up. +The Indian hesitated, and stood a few yards +away looking at the silent figure, as if uncertain +whether to speak. Finally he stepped +back and disappeared among the willows.</p> +<p>Half an hour went by. Father Claude came +up the beach, walking slowly.</p> +<p>“It is growing late, M’sieu, for travellers.”</p> +<p>Menard glanced up, but did not reply. The +priest was looking about the camp.</p> +<p>“Where is Teganouan, M’sieu? Did you +give him permission to go away?”</p> +<p>“No; he is here,––he was here.” Menard +rose. “You are right, he has gone. Has he +taken his musket?”</p> +<p>“I think so. I do not see it.”</p> +<p>“He left it leaning against the log. No; it +is not there. Wait,––do you hear?”</p> +<p>They stood listening; and both caught the +faint sound of a body moving between the +bushes that grew on the higher ground, close +to the line of willows. Menard took up his +musket and held it ready, for they had not left +the country of the Iroquois.</p> +<p>“Here he comes,” whispered Father Claude. +“Yes, it is Teganouan.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363' name='page_363'></a>363</span></p> +<p>The Indian was running toward them. He +dropped his musket, and began rapidly to throw +great handfuls of sand upon the fire. The two +white men sprang to aid him, without asking +an explanation. In a moment the beach was +lighted only by the moon. Then Menard +said:––</p> +<p>“What is it, Teganouan?”</p> +<p>“Teganouan heard a step in the forest. He +went nearer, and there were more. They are +on the war-path, for they come cautiously and +slowly.”</p> +<p>“Father, will you keep by the maid? We +must not disturb her now. You had better heap +up the sand about the canoe so that no stray +ball can reach her.”</p> +<p>The priest hurried down the beach, and +Menard and the Indian slipped into the willows, +Menard toward the east, Teganouan toward the +west, where they could watch the forest and +the beach on all sides. The sound of an approaching +party was now more distinct. There +would be a long silence, then the crackle of a +twig or the rustle of dead leaves; and Menard +knew that the sound was made by moccasined +feet. He was surprised that the invaders took +so little caution; either they were confident of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364' name='page_364'></a>364</span> +finding the camp asleep, or they were in such +force as to have no fear. While he lay behind +a scrub willow conjecturing, Father Claude +came creeping up behind him.</p> +<p>“I will watch with you, M’sieu. It will make +our line longer.”</p> +<p>“Is she safe?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I have heaped the sand high around +the canoe, even on the side toward the water.”</p> +<p>“Good. You had better move off a little +nearer the lake, and keep a sharp eye out. It +may be that they are coming by water as well, +though I doubt it. The lake is very light. I +will take the centre. You have no musket?”</p> +<p>“No; but my eyes are good.”</p> +<p>“If you need me, I shall be close to the +bushes, a dozen yards farther inland.”</p> +<p>They separated, and Menard took up his +new position. Apparently the movement had +stopped. For a long time no sound came, and +then, as Menard was on the point of moving +forward, a branch cracked sharply not twenty +rods away. He called in French:––</p> +<p>“Who are you?”</p> +<p>For a moment there was silence, then a rush +of feet in his direction. He could hear a number +of men bounding through the bushes. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365' name='page_365'></a>365</span> +cocked his gun and levelled it, shouting this +time in Iroquois:––</p> +<p>“Stand, or I will fire!”</p> +<p>“I know that voice! Drop your musket!” +came in a merry French voice, and in another +moment a sturdy figure, half in uniform and +half in buckskin, bearded beyond recognition, +had come crashing down the slope, throwing +his arms around the Captain’s neck so wildly +that the two went down and rolled on the sand. +Before Menard could struggle to his feet, three +soldiers had followed, and stood laughing, forgetting +all discipline, and one was saying over +and over to the other:––</p> +<p>“It is Captain Menard! Don’t you know +him? It is Captain Menard!”</p> +<p>“You don’t know me, Menard, I can see that. +I wish I could take the beard off, but I can’t. +What have you done with my men?”</p> +<p>Now Menard knew; it was Du Peron.</p> +<p>“I left them at La Gallette,” he said.</p> +<p>“I haven’t seen them––oh, killed?”</p> +<p>Menard nodded.</p> +<p>“Come down the beach and tell me about it. +What condition are you in? Have you anybody +with you?” Before Menard could answer, +he said to one of the soldiers:–– +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366' name='page_366'></a>366</span></p> +<p>“Go back and tell the sergeant to bring up +the canoes.”</p> +<p>They walked down the beach, and the other +soldiers set about building a new fire.</p> +<p>“Perhaps I’d better begin on you,” Menard +said. “What are you doing here? And what +in the devil do you mean by coming up through +the woods like a Mohawk on the war-path?”</p> +<p>The Lieutenant laughed.</p> +<p>“My story isn’t a long one. I’m cleaning +up our base of supplies at La Famine. We’ve +got a small guard there. The main part of the +rear-guard is back at Frontenac.”</p> +<p>“Where is the column?”</p> +<p>“Gone to Niagara, Denonville and all, to +build a fort. They’ll give it to De Troyes, I +imagine. It’s a sort of triumphal procession +through the enemy’s country, after rooting up +the Seneca villages and fields and stockades +until you can’t find an able-bodied redskin this +side of the Cayugas. Oh, I didn’t answer your +other question. What do you think of these?” +He held out a foot, shod in a moccasin. “You’d +never know the King’s troops now, Menard. +We’re wearing anything we can pick up. I’ve +got a dozen canoes a quarter of a league down +the lake. I saw your fire, and thought it best +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367' name='page_367'></a>367</span> +to reconnoitre before bringing the canoes past.” +He read the question in Menard’s glance. “We +are not taking out much time for sleep, I can +tell you. It’s all day and all night until we get +La Famine cleared up. There is only a handful +of men there, and we’re expecting every day +that the Cayugas and Onondagas will sweep +down on them.”</p> +<p>“They won’t bother you,” said Menard.</p> +<p>“Maybe not, but we must be careful. For +my part, I look for trouble. The nations stand +pretty closely by each other, you know.”</p> +<p>“They won’t bother you now.”</p> +<p>“How do you know?”</p> +<p>“What did I come down here for?”</p> +<p>“They didn’t tell me. Oh, you had a mission +to the other nations? But that can’t be,––you +were captured.”</p> +<p>Menard lay on his side, and watched the +flames go roaring upward as the soldiers piled +up the logs.</p> +<p>“I could tell you some things, Du Peron,” +he said slowly. “I suppose you didn’t know,––for +that matter you couldn’t know,––but when +the column was marching on the Senecas, and +our rear-guard of four hundred men––”</p> +<p>“Four hundred and forty.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_368' name='page_368'></a>368</span></p> +<p>“The same thing. You can’t expect the +Cayugas to count so sharply as that. At that +time the Cayugas and Onondagas held a council +to discuss the question of sending a thousand +warriors to cut off the rear-guard and the +Governor’s communications.”</p> +<p>The Lieutenant slowly whistled.</p> +<p>“How did they know so much about it, +Menard?”</p> +<p>“How could they help it? Our good Governor +had posted his plans on every tree. You +can see what would have happened.”</p> +<p>“Why, with the Senecas on his front it +would have been––” He paused, and whistled +again.</p> +<p>“Well,––you see. But they didn’t do it.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“Because I spoke at that council.”</p> +<p>“You spoke––but you were a prisoner, +weren’t you?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>The Lieutenant sat staring into the fire. +Slowly it came to him what it was that the +Captain had accomplished.</p> +<p>“Why, Menard,” he said, “New France +won’t be able to hold you, when this gets out. +How you must have gone at them. You’ll be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_369' name='page_369'></a>369</span> +a major in a week. You’re the luckiest man +this side of Versailles.”</p> +<p>“No, I’m not. And I won’t be a major. +I’m not on the Governor’s pocket list. But I +don’t care about that. That isn’t the reason I +did it.”</p> +<p>“Why did you do it then?”</p> +<p>“I––That’s the question I’ve been asking +myself for several days, Du Peron.”</p> +<p>The Lieutenant was too thoroughly aroused +to note the change in the Captain’s tone.</p> +<p>“You don’t see it right now, Menard. Wait +till you’ve reached the city, and got into some +clothes and a good bed, and can shake hands +with d’Orvilliers and Provost and the general +staff,––maybe with the Governor himself. +Then you’ll feel different. You’re down now. +I know how it feels. You’re all tired out, and +you’ve got the Onondaga dirt rubbed on so +thick that you’re lost in it. You wait a few +weeks.”</p> +<p>“Did the Governor have much trouble with +the Senecas?”</p> +<p>“Oh, he had to fight for it. He was––My +God, Menard, what about the girl? I was +so shaken up at meeting you like this that it +got away from me. The column had hardly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_370' name='page_370'></a>370</span> +got to the fort on their way up from Montreal +before everyone was asking for you. La +Grange had a letter from her father saying that +she was with you, and he’s been in a bad way. +He says that he was to have married her, and +that you’ve got away with her. It serves him +right, the beast. One night, at La Famine, he +was drunk, and he came around to all of us +reading that letter at the top of his voice and +swearing to kill you the moment he sees you. +He’s been talking a good deal about that.”</p> +<p>“She is here, asleep.”</p> +<p>“Thank God.”</p> +<p>“Where is La Grange now?”</p> +<p>“He’s over at Frontenac. He got into trouble +before we left La Famine. He’s drinking +hard now, you know. He had command of a +company that was working on the stockades, +and he made such a muss of it that his sergeant +had to take hold and handle it to get +the work done at all. You can imagine what +bad feeling that made in his company. Played +the devil with his discipline. Well, he took +it like a child. But that night, when he +got a little loose on his legs, he hunted up the +sergeant and made him fight. The fellow +wouldn’t until La Grange came at him with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_371' name='page_371'></a>371</span> +his sword, but then he cracked his head with +a musket.”</p> +<p>“Hurt him?”</p> +<p>“Yes. They took him up to Frontenac. +He’s in the hospital now, but it’s pretty generally +understood that d’Orvilliers won’t let +him go out until the Governor gets back from +Niagara. He’s well enough already, they say. +It’s hard on the sergeant, too; no one blames +him.”</p> +<p>Du Peron looked around and saw Teganouan +lying near.</p> +<p>“Who’s this Indian?” he asked in a low +tone.</p> +<p>“He is with me. A mission Indian.”</p> +<p>“Does he know French? Has he understood +us?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. I suppose so. Here is +Father Claude de Casson. You remember +him, don’t you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, indeed.”</p> +<p>The Lieutenant rose to greet the priest, and +then the three sat together.</p> +<p>“You asked me about the fight, didn’t you, +Menard? I don’t seem able to hold to a subject +very long to-night. We struck out from +La Famine on the morning of the twelfth of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_372' name='page_372'></a>372</span> +July. You know the trail that leads south +from La Famine? We followed that.”</p> +<p>Menard smiled at the leaping fire.</p> +<p>“Don’t laugh, Menard; that was no worse +than what we’ve done from the start. The +Governor never thought but what we’d surprise +them as much on that road as on another. +And after all, we won, though it did look bad +for a while. There was a time, at the beginning +of the fight,––well, I’m getting ahead of +myself again. We were in fairly good order. +Callières had the advance with the Montreal +troops. He threw out La Durantaye, with +Tonty and Du Luth,––the <i>coureurs de bois</i>, +you know,––to feel the way. La Durantaye +had the mission Indians, from Sault St. Louis +and the Montreal Mountain, on his left, and +the Ottawas and Mackinac tribes on his right.”</p> +<p>“How did the Ottawas behave?”</p> +<p>“Wretchedly. They ran at the first fire. I’ll +come to that. The others weren’t so bad, but +there was no holding them. They spread +through the forest, away out of reach. Perrot +had the command, but he could only follow +after and knock one down now and then.”</p> +<p>“The Governor took command of the main +force?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_373' name='page_373'></a>373</span></p> +<p>“Yes. And he carried his bale like the +worst of us; I’ll say that for him. It was hot, +and we all drooped a bit before night. And +he made a good fight, too, if you can forgive +him that bungling march. When we bivouacked, +some of Du Luth’s boys scouted ahead. +They got in by sunrise. They’d been to the +main village of the Senecas on the hill beyond +the marsh,––you know it, don’t you?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“And they saw nothing but a few women +and a pack of dogs. The Governor was up +early,––he’s not used to sleeping out doors in +the mosquito country,––sitting on a log at the +side of the trail, talking with Granville and +Berthier. I wasn’t five yards behind them, +trying to scrape the mud off my boots––you +know how that mud sticks, Menard. Well, +when the scouts came in with their story, the +Governor stood up. ‘Take my order to La +Durantaye,’ he said, ‘that he is to move on +with all caution, that the surprise may be complete. +He will push forward, following the +trail. You,’ he said, to a few aides who stood +by, ‘will see that the command is aroused as +silently as possible.’ Well, I didn’t know +whether to laugh at the Governor or pity myself +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_374' name='page_374'></a>374</span> +and the boys. Any man but the crowd +of seigniors that he had about him would have +foreseen what was coming. I knew that the +devils were waiting for us, probably at one of +the ravines where the trail runs through that +group of hills just this side of the marsh. You +know the place,––every one of us knows it. +But what could we say? I’d have given a +month’s pay to have been within ear-shot of La +Durantaye when he got the order. La Valterie +told me about it afterward. ‘What’s this?’ he +says, ‘follow the trail? I’ll go to the devil first. +There’s a better place for my bones than this +pest-ridden country.’ He calls to Du Luth: +‘Hear this, Du Luth. We’re to “push forward, +following the trail.”’ I can fairly hear +him say it, with his eyes looking right through +the young aide. ‘Not I,’ says Du Luth, ‘I’m +going around the hills and come into the village +over the long oak ridge!’ ‘You can’t do +it. I have the Governor’s order.’ And then +Du Luth drew himself up, La Valterie says, +and looked the aide (who wasn’t used to this +kind of a soldier, and wished himself back +under the Governor’s petticoats) up and down +till the fellow got red as a Lower Town girl. +‘Tell your commanding officer,’ says Du Luth, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_375' name='page_375'></a>375</span> +in his big voice, ‘that the advance will “push +forward, following the trail,”––and may God +have mercy on our poor souls!’</p> +<p>“Well, Menard, they did it, nine hundred +of them. And we came on, a quarter of a +league after, with sixteen hundred more. We +got into the first defile, and through it, with +never a sound. Then I was sure of trouble +in the second, but long after the advance had +had time to get through, everything was still. +There was still the third defile, just before you +reach the marsh, and my head was spinning, +waiting for the first shot and wondering where +we were to catch it and how many of us were +to get out alive. And then, all at once it +came. You see the Senecas, three hundred +of them at least, were in the brush up on the +right slope of the third defile; and as many +more were in the elder thickets and swamp +grass ahead and to the left. They let the +whole advance get through,––fooled every +man of Du Luth’s scouts,––and then came +at them from all sides. We heard the noise––I +never heard a worse––and started up on +the run; and then there was the strangest +mess I ever got into. They had surprised the +advance, right enough,––we could see Du +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_376' name='page_376'></a>376</span> +Luth and Tonty running about knocking men +down and bellowing out orders to hold their +force together,––but you see the Senecas +never dreamed that a larger force was coming +on behind, and we struck them like a whirlwind. +Well, for nearly an hour we didn’t +know what was going on. Our Indians and +the Senecas were so mixed together that we +dared not shoot to kill. Our own boys, even +the regulars, lost their heads and fell into the +tangle. It was all yelling and whooping and +banging and running around, with the smoke so +thick that you couldn’t find the trail or the hills +or the swamp. I was crowded up to my arms +in water and mud for the last part of the time. +Once the smoke lifted a little, and I saw what +I thought to be a mission Indian, not five +yards away, in the same fix. I called to him +to help me, and he turned out to be a Seneca +chief. Our muskets were wet,––at least mine +was, and I saw that he dropped his when he +started for me,––so we had it out with +knives.”</p> +<p>“Did he get at you?”</p> +<p>“Once. A rib stopped it––no harm done. +Well, I was tired, but I got out and dodged +around through the smoke to find out where +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_377' name='page_377'></a>377</span> +our boys were, but they were mixed up worse +than ever. I was just in time to save a <i>coureur</i> +from killing one of our Indians with his own +hatchet. Most of the regulars scattered as +soon as they lost sight of their officers. And +Berthier,––I found him lying under a log all +gone to pieces with fright.</p> +<p>“I didn’t know how it was to come out +until at last the firing eased a little, and the +smoke thinned out. Then we found that the +devils had slipped away, all but a few who had +wandered so far into our lines––if you could +call them lines––that they couldn’t get out. +They carried most of their killed, though we +picked up a few on the edge of the marsh. +It took all the rest of the day to pull things +together and find out how we stood.”</p> +<p>“Heavy loss?”</p> +<p>“No. I don’t know how many, but beyond +a hundred or so of cuts and flesh-wounds like +mine we seemed to have a full force. We +went on in the morning, after a puffed-out +speech by the Governor, and before night +reached the village. The Senecas had already +burned a part of it, but we finished it, and +spent close to ten days cutting their corn and +destroying the fort on the big hill, a league +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_378' name='page_378'></a>378</span> +or more to the east. Then we came back to +La Famine, and the Governor took the whole +column to Niagara,––to complete the parade, +I suppose.”</p> +<p>The story told, they sat by the fire, silent +at first, then talking as the mood prompted, +until the flames had died and the red embers +were fading to gray. Father Claude had +stretched out and was sleeping.</p> +<p>“I must look about my camp,” Du Peron +said at length. “Good-night.”</p> +<p>“Good-night,” said Menard; and alone he +sat there until the last spark had left the scattered +heap of charred wood.</p> +<p>The night was cold and clear. The lake +stretched out to a misty somewhere, touching +the edge of the sky. He rose and walked +toward the water. A figure, muffled in a +blanket stood on the dark, firm sand close to +the breaking ripples. He thought it was one +of Du Peron’s sentries, but a doubt drew +him nearer. Then the blanket was thrown +aside, and he recognized, in the moonlight, the +slender figure of the maid. She was gazing +out toward the pole-star and the dim clouds +that lay motionless beneath it. The splash of +the lake and the call of the locusts and tree-toads +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_379' name='page_379'></a>379</span> +on the bank behind them were the only +sounds. He went slowly forward and stood +by her side. She looked up into his eyes, +then turned to the lake. She had dropped +the blanket to the sand, and he placed it again +about her shoulders.</p> +<p>“I am not cold,” she said.</p> +<p>“I am afraid, Mademoiselle. The air is chill.”</p> +<p>They stood for a long time without speaking, +while the northern clouds sank slowly beneath +the horizon, their tops gleaming white in the +moonlight. Once a sharp command rang +through the night, and muskets rattled.</p> +<p>“What is that?” she whispered, touching his +arm.</p> +<p>“They are changing the guard.”</p> +<p>“You will not need to watch to-night, +M’sieu?”</p> +<p>“No; not again. We shall have an escort to +Frontenac.” He paused; then added in uncertain +voice, “but perhaps––if Mademoiselle––”</p> +<p>She looked up at him. He went on:</p> +<p>“I will watch to-night, and to-morrow night, +and once again––then there will be no need: +we shall be at Frontenac. Yes, I will watch; I +will myself keep guard, that Mademoiselle may +sleep safely and deep, as she slept at the Long +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_380' name='page_380'></a>380</span> +Lake and in the forests of the Cayugas. And +perhaps, while she is sleeping, and the lake lies +still, I may dream again as I did then––I will +carry on our story to the end, and then––”</p> +<p>He could not say more; he could not look at +her. Even at the rustle of her skirt, as she +sank to the beach and sat gazing up at him, he +did not turn. He was looking dully at the last +bright cloud tip, sinking slowly from his sight.</p> +<p>“Frontenac lies there,” he said. “I told them +I should bring you there. It has been a longer +road than we thought,––it has been a harder +road,––and they have said that I broke my +trust. Perhaps they were not wrong––I would +have broken it––once. But we shall be there +in three days. I will keep my promise to the +chiefs; and we––we shall not meet again. It +will be better. But I shall keep watch, to-night +and twice again. That will be all.”</p> +<p>He looked down, and at sight of the mute +figure his face softened.</p> +<p>“Forgive me––I should not have spoken. +It has been a mad dream––the waking is hard. +When I saw you standing here to-night, I knew +that I had no right to come––and still I came. +I have called myself a soldier”––his voice +was weary––“see, this is what is done to soldiers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_381' name='page_381'></a>381</span> +such as I.” One frayed strip of an epaulet +yet hung from his shoulder. He tore it +off and threw it out into the lake. A little +splash, and it was gone. “Good-night, Mademoiselle,––good-night.”</p> +<p>He turned away. The maid leaned forward +and called. Her voice would not come. She +called again and again. Then he heard, for he +stood motionless.</p> +<p>“M’sieu!”</p> +<p>He came back slowly, and stood waiting. +She was leaning back on her hands. Her hair +had fallen over her face, and she shook it back, +gazing up and trying to speak.</p> +<p>“You said––you said, the end––”</p> +<p>He hesitated, as if he dared not meet his +thoughts.</p> +<p>“You said––See,” she fumbled hastily at +her bosom, “see, I have kept it.”</p> +<p>She was holding something up to him. In +the dim light he could not make it out. He +took it and held it up. It was the dried stem +and the crumbling blossom of a daisy. For a moment +he kept it there, then, while he looked, he +reached into his pocket and drew out the other.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, “yes––” His voice trembled; +his hand shook. Her hair had fallen again, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_382' name='page_382'></a>382</span> +she was trying to fasten it back. He looked at +her, almost fiercely, but now her eyes were hidden. +“We will go to Frontenac;” he said; “we +will go to Frontenac, you and I. But they +shall not get you.” He caught the hands that +were braiding her hair, and held them in his +rough grip. “It is too late. Let them break my +sword, if they will, still they shall not get you.”</p> +<p>Her head dropped upon his hands, and for +the second time since those days at Onondaga, +he felt her tears. For a moment they were +motionless; he erect, looking out to the pole-star +and over the water that stretched far away to +the stone fort, she sobbing and clinging to his +scarred hands. Then a desperate look came +into his eyes, and he dropped on one knee and +caught her shoulders and held her tightly, close +against him.</p> +<p>“See,” he said, with the old mad ring in his +voice, “see what a soldier I am! See how I keep +my trust! But now––but now it is too late +for them all. I am still a soldier, and I can +fight, Valerie. And God will be good to us. +God grant that we are doing right. There is +no other way.”</p> +<p>“No,” she whispered after him; “there is no +other way.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_383' name='page_383'></a>383</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIX_FRONTENAC' id='CHAPTER_XIX_FRONTENAC'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> +<h3>FRONTENAC.</h3> +</div> +<p>The sun was dropping behind the western +forests. From the lodges and cabins of +the friendly Indians about the fort rose a hundred +thin columns of smoke. Long rows of +bateaux and canoes lined the beach below the +log palisade; and others drew near the shore, +laden with fish. There was a stir and bustle +about the square within the stone bastions; +orderlies hurried from quarters to barracks, +bugles sounded, and groups of ragged soldiers +sat about, polishing muskets and belts, and +setting new flints. Men of the commissary +department were carrying boxes and bales from +the fort to a cleared space on the beach.</p> +<p>Menard walked across the square and +knocked at the door of Major d’Orvilliers’s +little house. Many an eye had followed him +as he hurried by, aroused to curiosity by his +tattered uniform, rusted musket, and boot-tops +rudely stitched to deerskin moccasins. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_384' name='page_384'></a>384</span></p> +<p>“Major d’Orvilliers is busy,” said the orderly +at the door.</p> +<p>“Tell him it is Captain Menard.”</p> +<p>In a moment the Major himself appeared in +the doorway.</p> +<p>“Come in, Menard. I am to start in an +hour or so to meet Governor Denonville, but +there is always time for you. I’ll start a little +late, if necessary.”</p> +<p>“The Governor comes from Niagara?”</p> +<p>“Yes. He is two or three days’ journey up +the lake. I am to escort him back.”</p> +<p>They had reached the office in the rear of +the house, and the Major brushed a heap of +documents and drawings from a chair.</p> +<p>“Sit down, Menard. You have a long story, +I take it. You look as if you’d been to the +Illinois and back.”</p> +<p>“You knew of my capture?”</p> +<p>“Yes. We had about given you up. And +the girl,––Mademoiselle St. Denis––”</p> +<p>“She is here.”</p> +<p>“Here––at Frontenac?”</p> +<p>“Yes; in Father de Casson’s care.”</p> +<p>“Thank God! But how did you do it? +How did you get her here, and yourself?”</p> +<p>Menard rose and paced up and down the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_385' name='page_385'></a>385</span> +room. As he walked, he told the story of the +capture at La Gallette, of the days in the Onondaga +village, of the council and the escape. +When he had finished, there was a long silence, +while the Major sat with contracted brows.</p> +<p>“You’ve done a big thing, Menard,” he said +at last, “one of the biggest things that has +been done in New France. But have you +thought of the Governor––of how he will +take it?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“It may not be easy. Denonville doesn’t +know the Iroquois as you and I do. He is +elated now about his victory,––he thinks he +has settled the question of white supremacy. +If I were to tell him to-morrow that he has +only made a bitter enemy of the Senecas, and +that they will not rest until they wipe out this +defeat, do you suppose he would believe it? +You have given a pledge to the Iroquois that +is entirely outside of the Governor’s view of +military precedent. To tell the truth, Menard, +I don’t believe he will like it.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“He doesn’t know the strength of the Five +Nations. He thinks they would all flee before +our regulars just as the Senecas did. Worse +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_386' name='page_386'></a>386</span> +than that, he doesn’t know the Indian temperament. +I’m afraid you can’t make him understand +that to satisfy their hunger for revenge +will serve better than a score of orations and +treaties.”</p> +<p>“You think he won’t touch La Grange?”</p> +<p>“I am almost certain of it.”</p> +<p>“Then it rests with me.”</p> +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> +<p>“I gave another pledge, d’Orvilliers. If the +Governor won’t do this––I shall have to do it +myself.”</p> +<p>Save for a moment’s hesitation Menard’s +voice was cool and even; but he had stopped +walking and was looking closely at the commandant.</p> +<p>D’Orvilliers was gazing at the floor.</p> +<p>“What do you mean by that?” he said +slowly, and then suddenly he got up. “My +God, Menard, you don’t mean that you +would––”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“That can’t be! I can’t allow it.”</p> +<p>“It may not be necessary. I hope you are +mistaken about the Governor.”</p> +<p>“I hope I am––but no; he won’t help you. +He’s not in the mood for paying debts to a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_387' name='page_387'></a>387</span> +weakened enemy. And––Menard, sit down. +I must talk plainly to you. I can’t go on +covering things up now. I don’t believe you +see the matter clearly. If it were a plain question +of your mission to the Onondagas––if it +were––Well, I want you to tell me in what +relation you stand to Mademoiselle St. Denis.”</p> +<p>The Captain was standing by the chair. He +rested his arms on the high back, and looked +over them at d’Orvilliers.</p> +<p>“She is to be my wife,” he said.</p> +<p>D’Orvilliers leaned back and slowly shook +his head.</p> +<p>“My dear fellow,” he said, “when your story +goes to Quebec, when the Château learns that +you have promised the punishment of La +Grange in the name of France, and then of +this,––of Mademoiselle and her relations to +yourself and to La Grange,––do you know +what they will do?”</p> +<p>Menard was silent.</p> +<p>“They will laugh––first, and then––”</p> +<p>“I know,” said the Captain, “I have thought +of all that.”</p> +<p>“You have told all this in your report?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“So you would go on with it?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_388' name='page_388'></a>388</span></p> +<p>“Yes; I am going on with it. There is +nothing else I can do. I couldn’t have offered +to give myself up; they already had me. The +fault was La Grange’s. What I did was the +only thing that could have been done to save +the column; if you will think it over, you will +see that. I know what I did,––I know I was +right; and if my superiors, when I have given +my report, choose to see it in another way, I +have nothing to say. If they give me my +liberty, in the army or out of it, I will find La +Grange. If not, I will wait.”</p> +<p>“Why not give that up, at least, Menard?”</p> +<p>“If I give that up, we shall have a war with +the Iroquois that will shake New France as she +has never been shaken before.”</p> +<p>D’Orvilliers started to speak, but checked the +words. Menard slung his musket behind his +shoulders.</p> +<p>“Wait, Menard. I don’t know what to say. +I must have time to think. If you wish, I will +not give notice of your arrival to the Governor. +I will leave the matter of reporting in your +hands.” He rose, and fingered the papers on +the table. “You see how it will look––there +is the maid––La Grange seeks your life, you +seek his––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_389' name='page_389'></a>389</span></p> +<p>Menard drew himself up, his hat in his hand.</p> +<p>“It shall be pushed to the end, Major. You +know me; you know Captain la Grange. +There will be excitement, perhaps,––you may +find it hard to avoid taking one side or the +other. I must ask which side is to be yours.”</p> +<p>D’Orvilliers winced, and for a moment stood +biting his lip; then he stepped forward and +took both Menard’s hands.</p> +<p>“You shouldn’t have asked that,” he said. +“God bless you, Menard! God bless you!”</p> +<p>Menard paused in the door, and turned.</p> +<p>“Shall I need a pass to enter the hospital?”</p> +<p>“Oh, you can’t go there. La Grange is +there.”</p> +<p>“Yes; I will report to him. He shall not say +that I have left it to hearsay.”</p> +<p>“But he will attack you!”</p> +<p>“No; I will not fight him until I have an +answer from the Governor.”</p> +<p>“You can’t get in now until morning.”</p> +<p>“Very well, good-night.”</p> +<p>“You will be careful, Menard?”</p> +<p>The Captain nodded and left the room. +Wishing to settle his thoughts, he passed +through the palisade gate and walked down +the beach. The commissary men were loading +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_390' name='page_390'></a>390</span> +the canoes, threescore of them, that were +to carry the garrison on its westward journey. +Already the twilight was deepening, and the +lanterns of the officers were dimmed by the +glow from a hundred Indian camp-fires.</p> +<p>From within the fort came a long bugle-call. +There was a distant rattling of arms and shouting +of commands, then the tramp of feet, and +the indistinct line came swinging through the +sally-port. They halted at the water’s edge, +broke ranks, and took to the canoes, paddling +easily away along the shore until they had +faded into shadows. A score of Indians stood +watching them, stolidly smoking stone pipes +and holding their blankets close around them.</p> +<p>It was an hour later when the Captain returned +to the fort and started across the enclosure +toward the hut which had been assigned to +him. Save for a few Indians and a sentry who +paced before the barracks, the fort seemed +deserted. It was nearly dark now, and the +lanterns at the sally-port and in front of barrack +and hospital glimmered faintly. Menard +had reached his own door, when he heard a +voice calling, and turned. A dim figure was +running across the square toward the sentry. +There was a moment of breathless talk,––Menard +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_391' name='page_391'></a>391</span> +could not catch the words,––then the +sentry shouted. It occurred to Menard that +he was now the senior officer at the fort, and +he waited. A corporal led up his guard, halted, +and again there was hurried talking. Menard +started back toward them, but before he reached +the spot all were running toward the hospital, +and a dozen others of the home guard had +gathered before the barracks and were talking +and asking excited questions.</p> +<p>Menard crossed to the hospital. Two privates +barred the door, and he was forced to +wait until a young Lieutenant of the regulars +appeared. The lanterns over the door threw a +dim light on the Captain as he stood on the +low step.</p> +<p>“What is it?” asked the Lieutenant. “You +wished to see me?”</p> +<p>“I am Captain Menard. What is the trouble?”</p> +<p>The Lieutenant looked doubtfully at the +dingy, bearded figure, then he motioned the +soldiers aside.</p> +<p>“It is Captain la Grange,” he said, when +Menard had entered; “he has been killed.”</p> +<p>The Lieutenant spoke in a matter-of-fact +tone, but his eyes were shining and he was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_392' name='page_392'></a>392</span> +breathing rapidly. Menard looked at him for +a moment without a word, then he stepped to +the door of a back room and looked in. Three +flickering candles stood on a low table, and +another on a chair at the head of the narrow +bed. The light wavered over the log and plaster +walls. A surgeon was bending over the bed, +his assistant waiting at his elbow with instruments; +the two shut off the upper part of the +bed from Menard’s view. The Lieutenant +stood behind the Captain, looking over his +shoulder; both were motionless. There was +no sound save a low word at intervals between +the two surgeons, and the creak of a bore-worm +that sounded distinctly from a log in the +wall.</p> +<p>Menard turned away and walked back to the +outer door, the Lieutenant with him. There +they stood, silent, as men are who have been +brought suddenly face to face with death. At +last the Lieutenant began to speak in a subdued +voice.</p> +<p>“We only know that it was an Indian. He +has been scalped.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” muttered Menard.</p> +<p>“I think he is still breathing,––he was just +before you came,––but there is no hope for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_393' name='page_393'></a>393</span> +him. He was stabbed in a dozen places. It +was some time before we knew––the Indian +came in by the window, and must have found +him asleep. There was no struggle.”</p> +<p>They stood again without speaking, and +again the Lieutenant broke the silence.</p> +<p>“It is too bad. He was a good fellow.” He +paused, as if searching for a kind word for Captain +la Grange. “He was the best shot at the +fort when he––when––”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Menard. He too wished to speak +no harsh word. “Is there anything I can do?”</p> +<p>“I think not. There is a strong guard about +the fort, but I think the Indian had escaped +before we learned of it. I will see you before +we take further steps.”</p> +<p>“Very well. I shall be at my quarters. +Good-night.”</p> +<p>“Good-night.”</p> +<p>Menard walked slowly back across the enclosure. +At the door of his hut he paused, +and for a long time he stood there, looking up +at the quiet sky. His mind was scattered for +the moment; he could not think clearly.</p> +<p>He opened his door and stepped over the log +threshold, letting the door close after him of its +own weight. The hut was dark, with but a square +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_394' name='page_394'></a>394</span> +of dim light at the window. He fumbled for +the candle and struck a light.</p> +<p>There was a low rustle from the corner. +Menard whirled around and peered into the +shadows. The candle was blowing; he caught +it up and shielded it with his hand. A figure +was crouching in the corner, half hidden behind +a cloak that hung there. The Captain +sprang forward holding the candle high, tore +down the cloak, and discovered Teganouan, the +Onondaga, bending over feeling for his hatchet +which lay on the floor at his feet. Menard +caught his shoulders, and dragging him out of +reach of the hatchet, threw him full length on +the floor. The candle dropped and rolled on +the floor, but before it could go out, Menard +snatched it up.</p> +<p>Slowly Teganouan rose to his feet.</p> +<p>“Teganouan comes in a strange manner to +the lodge of the white warrior,” said Menard, +scornfully. “He steals in like a Huron thief, +and hides in dark corners.”</p> +<p>The Indian looked at him defiantly, but did +not answer.</p> +<p>“My Onondaga brother does not wish to +show himself in the light. Perhaps there is +some trouble on his mind. Perhaps he is governed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_395' name='page_395'></a>395</span> +by an evil Oki who loves the darkness.” +While Menard was speaking he was moving +quietly toward the door. The Indian saw, but +beyond turning slowly so as always to face his +captor, made no movement. His face, except +for the blazing eyes, was inscrutable. In a moment +Menard stood between him and the door. +“Perhaps it is best that I should call for the +warriors of the fort. They will be glad to find +here the slayer of their brother.” His hand was +on the latch.</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo will not call to his brothers.” +The Indian’s voice was calm. Menard +looked closely at him. “He has not thought +yet. When he has thought, he will understand.”</p> +<p>“Teganouan speaks like a child.”</p> +<p>“If Teganouan is a child, can the Big Buffalo +tell why he came to the white man’s +lodge?”</p> +<p>“Because he has slain a great white warrior, +he must hide his face like the outcast dog.” +Menard pointed to the scalp that hung at his +waist. “He has slain a great warrior while the +hatchet lies buried in the ground. He has +broken the law of the white man and the redman. +And so he must hide his face.”</p> +<p>“Why did not Teganouan run to the woods? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_396' name='page_396'></a>396</span> +Why did he come to the lodge of the Big Buffalo?”</p> +<p>Menard looked steadily at him. He began +to understand. The shrewd old warrior had +chosen the one hiding-place where no searching +party would look. Perhaps he had hoped for +aid from the Captain, remembering his pledge +to bring punishment on La Grange. If so, he +should learn his mistake.</p> +<p>“Teganouan’s words are idle.” Menard +moved the latch.</p> +<p>“The Big Buffalo will not open the door. +Teganouan has not delivered his message. He +is not an enemy to the Big Buffalo. He is +his friend. He has come to this lodge, caring +nothing for the safety of his life, that he might +give his message. The Big Buffalo will not +open the door. He will wait to hear the +words of Teganouan; and then he may call +to his brother warriors if he still thinks it +would be wise.”</p> +<p>Menard waited.</p> +<p>“Speak quickly, Teganouan.”</p> +<p>“Teganouan’s words are like the wind. He +has brought them many leagues,––from the +lodges of the Onondagas,––that he may speak +them now. He has brought them from the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_397' name='page_397'></a>397</span> +Long House of the Five Nations, where the +fires burn brightly by day and by night, where +the greatest chiefs of many thousand warriors +are met to hear the Voice of the Great Mountain, +the father of white men and redmen. +The Great Mountain has a strong voice. It +is louder than cannon; it wounds deeper than +the musket of the white brave. It tells the +Onondagas and Cayugas and Oneidas and +Mohawks that they must not give aid to their +brothers, the Senecas, who have fallen, whose +corn and forts and lodges are burned to ashes +and scattered on the winds. It tells the Onondagas +that the Great Mountain is a kind +father, that he loves them like his own children, +and will punish the man who wrongs +them, let him be white or red. It tells the +Onondagas that the white captain, who has +robbed a hundred Onondaga lodges of their +bravest hunters, shall be struck by the strong +arm of the Great Mountain, shall be blown to +pieces by the Voice that thunders from the +great water where the seal are found to the +farthest village of the Five Nations. And +the chiefs hear the Voice; they listen with +ears that are always open to the counsel of +Onontio. They take his promises into their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_398' name='page_398'></a>398</span> +hearts and believe them. They know that he +will strike down the dog of a white captain. +They refuse aid to their dying brothers, the +Senecas, because they know that the strong +arm of Onontio is over them, that it will give +them peace.”</p> +<p>He paused, gazing with bright eyes at Menard. +There was no reply, and he continued:––</p> +<p>“The Great Mountain has kept his word. +The Onondagas shall know, in their council, +that Onontio’s promise has been kept, that +the white brave, who lied to their hunters and +sent them in chains across the big water, has +gone to a hunting-ground where his musket +will not help him, where the buffalo shall +trample him and tear his flesh with their +horns. Then the Onondagas shall know that +the Big Buffalo spoke the truth to the Long +House. And this word shall be carried to the +Onondagas by Teganouan. He will go to the +council with the scalp in his hand telling them +that the white children of Onontio are their +brothers. Teganouan sees the Big Buffalo +stand with his strong hand at the door. He +knows that the Big Buffalo could call his warriors +to seize Teganouan, and bind him, and +bid him stand before the white men’s muskets. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_399' name='page_399'></a>399</span> +But Teganouan is not a child. He sees with +the eye of the old warrior who has fought a +battle for every sun in the year, who has +known the white man as well as the redman. +When the Big Buffalo stood in the Long +House, Teganouan believed him; Teganouan +knew that his words were true. And now the +heart of Teganouan is warm with trust. He +knows that the Big Buffalo is a wise warrior +and that he has an honest heart.”</p> +<p>There was a pause, and Menard, his hand +still on the latch, stood motionless. He knew +what the Indian meant. He had done no +more than Menard himself had promised the +council, in the name of Governor Denonville, +should be done. The lodges of the allies near +the fort sheltered many an Iroquois spy; +whatever might follow would be known in +every Iroquois village before the week had +passed. To hold Teganouan for trial would +mean war.</p> +<p>There was the tramp of feet on the beaten +ground without, and a clear voice said:––</p> +<p>“Wait a moment, I must report to Captain +Menard.”</p> +<p>Menard raised the latch an inch, then looked +sharply at Teganouan. The Indian stood +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_400' name='page_400'></a>400</span> +quietly, leaning a little forward, waiting for +the decision. The Captain was on the point +of speaking, but no word came from his parted +lips. The voices were now just outside the +door. With a long breath Menard’s fingers +relaxed, and the latch slipped back into +place. Then he motioned toward the wall +ladder that reached up into the darkness of +the loft.</p> +<p>Teganouan turned, picked up the hatchet +and thrust it into his belt, took one quick +glance about the room to make sure that no +telltale article remained, and slipped up the +ladder. There was a loud knock on the +door, and Menard opened it. The Lieutenant +came in.</p> +<p>“We have no word yet, Captain,” he said. +“Every building in the fort has been searched. +I have so few men that I could not divide them +until this was done, but I am just now sending +out searching parties through the Indian village +and the forest. None of the canoes are +missing. Have I your approval?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“You––you have been here since you left +the hospital?”</p> +<p>“Yes.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_401' name='page_401'></a>401</span></p> +<p>“I think, then, that he must have had time to +slip out before we knew of it. There are many +Indians here who would help him; but a few +of them can be trusted, I think, to join the +search. Major d’Orvilliers left me with only +a handful of men. It will be difficult to accomplish +much until he returns. I will post a +sentry at the sally-port; we shall have to leave +the bastions without a guard. I think it will be +safe, for the time.”</p> +<p>“Very well, Lieutenant.”</p> +<p>The Lieutenant saluted and hurried away. +Menard closed the door, and turned to the +table, where were scattered the sheets on +which he had been writing his report. He +collected them and read the report carefully. +He removed one leaf, and rolling it up, lighted +it at the candle, and held it until it was burned +to a cinder. Then he read the other sheets +again. The report now told of his capture, of +a part of the council at the Long House, and +of the escape; but no word was there concerning +Captain la Grange. Another hand had +disposed of that question. Menard sighed as +he laid it down, but soon the lines on his face +relaxed. It was not the first time in the history +of New France that a report had told but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_402' name='page_402'></a>402</span> +half the truth; and, after all, the column had +been saved.</p> +<p>He sharpened a quill with his sheath-knife, +and began to copy the report, making further +corrections here and there. Something more +than an hour had passed before the work was +finished. He rolled up the document and tied +it with a thong of deerskin.</p> +<p>It was still early in the evening, but the +fort was as silent as at midnight. Menard +opened the door and walked out a little way. +The lamps were all burning, but no soldiers +were to be seen. The barrack windows were +dark. He stepped back into the house, closed +the door, and said in a low voice:––</p> +<p>“Teganouan.”</p> +<p>There was a stir in the loft. In a moment +the Indian came down the ladder and stood +waiting.</p> +<p>“Teganouan, you heard what the Lieutenant +said?”</p> +<p>“Teganouan has ears.”</p> +<p>“Very well. I am going to blow out the +candle.”</p> +<p>The room was dark. The door creaked +softly, and a breath of air blew in upon the +Captain as he stood by the table. He felt +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_403' name='page_403'></a>403</span> +over the table for his tinder-box and struck a +light. The door was slowly closing; Teganouan +had gone.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Another sun was setting. A single drum +was beating loudly as the little garrison drew +up outside the sally-port and presented arms. +The allies and the mission Indians were crowding +down upon the beach, silent, inquisitive,––puffing +at their short pipes. For half a league, +from the flat, white beach out over the rose-tinted +water stretched an irregular black line of +canoes and bateaux, all bristling with muskets. +The Governor had come. He could be seen +kneeling, all sunburned and ragged but with +erect head, in the first canoe. His canoemen +checked their swing, for the beach was close +at hand, and then backed water. The bow +scraped, and a dozen hands were outstretched +in aid, but Governor Denonville stepped briskly +out into the ankle-deep water and carried his +own pack ashore. A cheer went up from the +little line at the sally-port. Du Luth’s <i>voyageurs</i> +and <i>coureur de bois</i> caught it up, and +then it swept far out over the water and was +echoed back from the forest.</p> +<p>In the doorway of a hut near the Recollet +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_404' name='page_404'></a>404</span> +Chapel stood Menard and Valérie. They +watched canoe after canoe glide up and +empty its load of soldiers, not speaking as +they watched, but thinking each the same +thought. At last, when the straggling line +was pouring into the fort, and the bugles were +screaming, and the drum rolling, Valérie slipped +her hand through the Captain’s arm and +looked up into his face.</p> +<p>“It was you who brought them here,” she +said; and then, after a pause, she laughed a +breathless little laugh. “It was you,” she +repeated.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ROAD TO FRONTENAC***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 28958-h.txt or 28958-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/9/5/28958">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/9/5/28958</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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