The Project Gutenberg eBook ofMontlivetThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world 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 atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: MontlivetAuthor: Alice Prescott SmithRelease date: September 23, 2005 [eBook #16733]Most recently updated: December 12, 2020Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Al Haines*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONTLIVET ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world 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 atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: MontlivetAuthor: Alice Prescott SmithRelease date: September 23, 2005 [eBook #16733]Most recently updated: December 12, 2020Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Al Haines
Title: Montlivet
Author: Alice Prescott Smith
Author: Alice Prescott Smith
Release date: September 23, 2005 [eBook #16733]Most recently updated: December 12, 2020
Language: English
Credits: E-text prepared by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MONTLIVET ***
E-text prepared by Al Haines
by
New YorkGrosset & DunlapPublishersHoughton, Mifflin and Co.
1907
The May sun was shining on Michillimackinac, and I, Armand de Montlivet, was walking the strip of beach in front of the French garrison.
I did not belong to Michillimackinac. I had come in only the day before with two canoes and four men, and I was bound for the beaver lands further west. A halt was necessary, for the trip had been severe, and remembering that it was necessity, and not idleness, that held me, I was enjoying the respite. My heart was light, and since the heart is mistress of the heels, I walked somewhat trippingly. I was on good terms with myself at the moment. My venture was going well, and I was glad to be alone, and breathe deep of the sweet spring air, and let my soul grow big with the consciousness of what it would like to do. So content was I, that I was annoyed to see La Mothe-Cadillac approach.
Yet Cadillac was important to me then. He was commandant at Michillimackinac,—the year was 1695,—and so was in control of the strategic point of western New France. The significance of all that he stood for, and all that he might accomplish, filled my thought as he swaggered toward me now, and I said to myself, somewhat complacently, that, with all his air of importance, I had a fuller conception than he of what lay in his palm.
He hailed me without preface. "Where do you find food for your laughter in this forsaken country, Montlivet? I have watched you swagger up and down with a smile on your face for the last hour. What is the jest?"
In truth, there was no jest in me by the time he finished. My own thought had just called him a swaggerer, and now he clapped the same phrase back at me.
"There are more swaggerers upon this beach than I," I cried hotly, andI felt my blood rise.
My tone was more insulting than my words, and Cadillac, too, grew red. I saw the veins upon his neck begin to swell, and all my childish irritation vanished.
"Come, monsieur," I hastened; "I was wrong. But I meant no harm, and surely here is a jest fit for your laughter, that two grown men should stand and swell at each other like turkeycocks, all because they are drunk with the air of a May day. Come, here is my hand."
"But you said that I"—
"And what if I did?" I interrupted. I had fallen into step, and was pacing by his side. "What is there in the term that we should hold it in slight esteem? I swagger. What does that mean, after all, but my acknowledgment of the presence of Dame Opportunity, and my admission that I would like to impress her; to draw her eye in my direction. Surely that is laudable, monsieur."
Cadillac laughed. His tempers were the ruffle of a passing breeze upon deep water. "So you think that I swagger to meet opportunity? Well, if I do, I get but little out of it. Sometimes I push myself near enough to pluck at the sleeve of the dame; oftener she passes me by."
"Yet she gave you this key to an empire," I suggested. I had been rude, and I repented it, and more than that, there was something in the man that tempted me to offer him flattery even as I desire to give sweets to an engaging child.
But this cajolery he swept away with a fling of his heavy arm. "The key to an empire!" he echoed contemptuously. "They are fine words, and the mischief is that they are true. Yet food in my stomach, and money in my pocket, would mean more to me just now. I must speak to this Indian. Will you wait for me, monsieur? I have business with you."
I bowed, and resumed my walk. "The key to an empire!" I said my own words over, and could have blushed for their tone of bombast. They were true, but they sounded false, I looked at my surroundings, and marveled that a situation that was of real dignity could wear so mean a garb. The sandy cove where I stood was on the mainland, and sheltered four settlements. Behind lay the forest; in front stretched Lake Huron, a waterway that was our only link with the men and nations we had left behind. The settlements were contiguous in body, but even my twenty-four hours' acquaintance had shown me that they were leagues apart in mind. There were a French fort, a Jesuit convent, a village of Ottawas, and, barred by the aristocracy of a palisade, a village of Hurons. The scale of precedence was plain to read. The huts of the savages were wattled, interlaced of poles and bark; the French buildings were of wood, but roofed with rough cedar; the only houses with board roofs were those of the Jesuits. In later times when I found Father Carheil hard to understand, I used to say to myself that he was not to be held too strictly to account for his contradictions, for though one learns to think great thoughts in the wilderness, it is not done easily when there is sawed lumber to shut away the sky.
Cadillac came back to me in a few moments. He had lost his swelling port, and was frowning with thought. "I saw you in the Huron camp, Montlivet," he said. "Do you understand their speech?"
Now this was a question that I thought it as well to put by. "Would you call it speech?" I demurred. "It sounded more like snarling."
"Then you do understand it?"
I kicked at the dogs at my feet. "Frowns are a common language. I could understand them, at least. The camp is restless. Are they hungry?"
Cadillac shrugged his shoulders. "Possibly. But it is not hunger that sagamité or maize cakes can reach. Would a taste of Iroquois broth put them in better condition, do you think?"
I turned away somewhat sickened. "It is a savage remedy," I broke out. "And a good cook will catch his hare before he talks of putting it in the pot. Where is your Iroquois hare, Monsieur de la Mothe-Cadillac?"
The commandant shook his head. "My hare is still at large," he confessed. "Though just now—— Come, Monsieur de Montlivet, let us to plain speech. We are talking as slantingly as savages. I have a Huron messenger at my quarters. Come with me, and interpret."
"A messenger from your own camp?"
"Is it my own camp?" he queried soberly. "I do not know. I have reason to think that many of my Hurons are ripe for English bribes,—or even for the Iroquois. It is a strange menagerie that I rule over here, and the Hurons are the foxes,—when they are not trying to be lions. You say that their camp is restless. I do not speak their language, but I can tell you more. They are in two factions. Those who follow old Kondiaronk, the Rat, are fairly loyal, but the faction under the Baron would sell us to the English for the price of a cask of rum. Truly our scalps sit lightly on our heads here in this garrison."
I hesitated. I did not like this situation, and prudence whispered that I had best cut the conversation here, and make my way as swiftly as possible to the west. But curiosity urged me to one more question. I asked it with my lips pursing to a whistle, that I might seem indifferent. "Is the messenger from the Baron?"
Cadillac nodded contentedly. "So you have decided to help me," he said, with a smile that read my indecision perfectly, and I felt, with a rush of blood to my face, much less sure of myself, and more respect for him. "I wish that I had inducements to keep you here," he went on, "for I hear from Montreal that you have wonderful command of Indian dialects. But I will take what you are willing to give, and be thankful. As to this messenger,—this is the tale. Some months ago a small band of Hurons left here for the south. Hunting, or war, or diplomacy, how shall I say what was their errand? But I mistrust them, for they are followers of the Baron. They returned this morning, and are in camp on the island. Their sending a messenger in advance looks as if they had a prisoner, and so desired to be welcomed in state. If the prisoner should be an Iroquois"——
Now certain tales were fresh in my ears, and so I did not like the implication of the unfinished sentence, and hastened to cover it. "It is a favorable sign, monsieur, that the messenger came to you first."
"How do I know that he came to me first? He came to me—yes. But because a snake slips out of one hole, can you swear that he has not been in another? Will you go to him now?"
There was no door open for escape, and the matter was not important enough for me to be willing to force one. "If you wish," I agreed.
Cadillac looked relieved. "Good! You will find the messenger at my quarters. I shall let you go alone, for I can make nothing of the man's speech, and he smells somewhat rancid for a close acquaintance. When you are through, you will find me here."
I bowed, and made my way to his quarters. I knew as I opened his door that I might be entering more than appeared upon the surface, but the excitement of the game was worth the hazard,—even the hazard of a possible delay,—and I pushed the door wide, and went in.
The Huron was sitting in the middle of the floor, handling his calumet with some ostentation. The Hurons were but the remnant of a race, for Iroquois butchery had reduced them in numbers and in spirit, but even in their exile they preserved a splendor of carriage that made the Ottawas, who camped beside them here, seem but a poor and shuffling people. This man was a comely specimen, and he was decked to do honor to the moment. His blanket was clean, and his head freshly shaved except for a bristling ridge that ran, like a cock's comb, across his crown, and that dripped sunflower oil over his shoulders.
He handed me his calumet, and we smoked for the time required by ceremony, then he rose, and drew two beaver skins from the folds of his blanket.
"The sun has smiled upon us," he said, with a certain sedate pomposity which, like the black crest on his head, might be ludicrous in itself, but seemed fitting enough in him. "I speak for my people who are in camp upon the island. We have been upon strange rivers, and over mountains where the very name of Frenchman is unknown. Yet we have returned, and we come to you at once, as the partridge to her young. We are glad to see a Frenchman's face again. We confirm what we have said by giving these beavers."
I smoked for a moment, then leaned over and kicked the skins into the corner. "Why these words?" I asked, with a slow shrug. "Does the leg thank the arm for its service? Does the mouth give flatteries and presents to the tongue? We of Michillimackinac are all of one body. My brother must be drunk with the bad rum of the English traders, that he should come to me in this way. No, if my brother has anything to say, let him think it aloud without ceremony, as if speaking to his own heart. Let him save his beavers till he goes to treat with strangers."
There was a long silence. The Huron wrapped his blanket closer, and looked at me, while I stared back as unwinkingly. His face was a mask, but I thought—as I have thought before and since when at the council fire—that there was amusement in the very blankness of his gaze, and that my effort to outdo him at his own mummery somewhat taxed his gravity. When he spoke at last he told his story concisely.
A half hour later, I went in search of Cadillac. He heard my step on the crunching gravel, and when I was still rods away, he laid his finger on his lips for silence. I went to him rather resentfully, for I had had no mind to shout my news in the street of the settlement, and I thought that he was acting like a child. But he took no notice of my pique, and clapped me on the shoulder as if we were pot-companions.
"Hush, man," he whispered fretfully. "Your look is fairly shouting the news abroad. No need to keep your tongue sealed, when you carry such a tell-tale face. So they have an Iroquois?"
I dropped my shoulder away from under his hand. "If that is the news that you say I shouted, no harm is done,—save to my honor. No, they have no Iroquois."
Cadillac stopped. "No Iroquois!" he echoed heavily.
"No, monsieur. They have an Englishman."
It was as if I had struck him. He stepped back, and his face grew dull red.
"A spy?"
I shook my head. I could feel my blood pumping hard, but I answered by rote. "Not by the Huron's story."
The commandant snapped his fingers. "That for his story! As idle as wind in the grass!" he snorted. "But what did he say?"
I grew as laconic as the Huron. "That they left here as a hunting party," I said categorically.
"That they soon joined a war party of Algonquins, and went with them to the English frontier. I could make little of his geography, but I infer that they went in the direction of Boston,—though not so far. There the Algonquins fell upon a village, where they scalped and burned to their fill. He says that the Hurons remained neutral, and this prisoner, he maintains, is theirs by purchase. They bought him from the Algonquins for two white dressed deerskins, and they have treated him well. They have found him a man of spirit and importance, and they ask that you make a suitable feast in honor of what they have done. The Huron is waiting for your answer."
Cadillac had listened nodding, and his reply was ready. "Tell him that they must bring the prisoner to-morrow early,—soon after daybreak. Tell him that Monsieur de la Mothe-Cadillac knows his part, and that the kettles shall be full of dog-meat, and the young men painted and ready for the dancing." He spoke rapidly, his hand on his sword, and his great shoulders lifted as if eager to meet their new burden. He turned to me with a smile that would have conquered enmity in a wolf. "This is great news, Montlivet. I could almost ask you to drink the health of the Baron, and all his scurvy, seditious crew. For, look you, even if the Englishman is a spy, and the Hurons have brought him here to make a secret treaty, why, he is in our hands, and Boston is a continent away. He will have opportunity to learn some French before he goes back to his codfish friends. What say you, monsieur?"
I laughed rather ruefully. I saw that the game was to be exciting, and I had never been backward at a sport. Yet I knew that I must turn my face from it.
"What do I say?" I repeated. "Nothing, monsieur, but that I am a trader, not a diplomat, and that to-morrow I must be on my way to the west. I will take your answer to the Huron. Monsieur, I hope you will sleep long and sweetly to-night. You will need a clear head to-morrow."
Cadillac looked at me, and wagged his head. "Good-day to you, trader," he said, with one of his noiseless laughs. "How well you must sleep who have no thought beyond your beaver skins,—even though you do carry brandy and muskets hidden in your cargo. Never mind, never mind. Keep your secrets. Only see that Father Carheil does not smell your brandy, or I may be forced to send you back to Montreal."
I woke the next morning, saying, "I must keep out of this," and I knew that I had said it in my slumber. It is pitiful that a man should be so infirm of will that he need cosset his resolution in this fashion, and I kicked the dogs from the door of my cabin, and went out to meet the world in a bad humor.
It was a still world in the great sky and water spaces, but a noisy one upon the shore. Early as it was—the night dusk was still lingering—the kettles were simmering, and the Indians decked for a holiday. The sense of approaching action was powder to my nostrils, and added to my spleen; so though I went down upon the beach, and joined Cadillac and his officers, I was but surly company, and soon turned my back upon them, to stare off at the lake.
It was a breezeless morning, and the lake was without ripple. It lay like one of the metal mirrors that we sell the Indians, a lustreless gray sheet that threw back twisted pictures. I looked off at the east, and thought of the dull leagues that lay behind me, and the uncounted ones before, and I realized that the morning air was cold, and that I hated the dark, secret water that led through this strange land. Yet, even as I scowled at it, the disk of the sun climbed over the island's rim, and laid a shining pathway through the gray,—a pathway that ended at my feet.
I felt my pulse quicken. After all, it was a fair world, and the air, though keen, was a cordial. I let my gaze travel up that shining, glimmering track, and while I looked it was suddenly flecked with canoes. Long and brown, they swung down toward me like strong-winged birds upheld by the path of the sunrise.
I looked back at the Indians. They, too, had seen the canoes, but they made no sound of welcome. Bedizened and wolf-eyed, they stood in formal ranks as attentive as children at a pantomime. In a moment the canoes took clearer shape, and the shine of the paddles could be seen as the flat of the blades slanted toward the light. The men at the paddles were indistinguishable, crouching shapes, but their prisoner was standing. He stood in the foremost canoe, and as his figure was outlined against the sun I saw that he was rigid as a mummy. I turned to Cadillac. To see a white man bound! I could feel the thongs eating into my own flesh.
"They have bound the Englishman!" I protested. "Let us hope that they are not daring enough—or crazed enough—to make him sing to grace their triumph."
But he laughed at my tone. "What does it matter?" he shrugged. "These wards of mine—my happy family—must have their fête in their own fashion, or they will ask that I pay the piper. Well, whatever they do, the prisoner is in our hands, and it will be long before he escapes them. Yes, listen,—oh, the play-acting dogs!—they are making him sing now."
He had a keen ear, for, even to my forest-trained sense, the sound came but faintly. The crowd hushed its breathing, and the air was unwholesomely still. A dog yelped, and an Indian silenced it with a kick. Each paddle-stroke threw the canoes into sharper relief, and we could distinguish lank arms, and streaming hair. The prisoner's voice echoed as clear as if he were in some great playhouse, and were singing to gain the plaudits of a friendly throng.
I felt my blood tingling in my fingers' ends. It was a brave song, bravely sung. I could not understand the English words, but the sound was rollicking with defiance. It was a glove thrown in our faces; the challenge of a brave man to a cowardly foe.
"The plucky beggar!" I said half aloud, and I set my teeth hard.
But Cadillac was nudging my elbow. "You said that the prisoner was a man of importance," he accused, with a perplexed frown. "But, listen! He has the voice of a boy."
I was greedy to hear, so, with a wave of the hand, I shook Cadillac away. But, in truth, I was disturbed. The tones were certainly boyish.
The canoes came within bowshot, and the hush that held the camp suddenly broke like the release of pent waters. There were yells and stamping, the smash of tom-toms, and a scattering salvo of musketry. It was a united roar that shut out from our consciousness the thought of the calm sky and the silent water.
The canoes had come as unswervingly as arrows, and the one that held the prisoner landed at my feet. I looked up, and met his eyes, and I swept my hat from my head.
"You are among friends," I called, not knowing that I did so.
It was a foolish speech, since the prisoner could not understand; but I suppose that my tone was kind, for it apparently gave him courage. At least, a flush that might have been the color of returning hope rose in his cheeks. I was relieved at his appearance, for he was not the little lad that his song had made me fear. He was slim and beardless, but there were sorrow and understanding in his look that could not come with childhood. For the rest, he was dark and gaunt from exposure and privation. His rough woolen suit, leather-lined, hung loosely on him, but he wore it with a jauntiness that matched the bravado of his song.
Cadillac came forward in welcome. He was always an orator that the Indians themselves envied, and now his rhetoric was as unhampered as though he thought that the prisoner was following each flowing syllable. As he unbound the stiffened arms—they were pitifully thin and small, I thought—he called all mythology to witness his deep regret that this indignity should have been offered to his brother of the white race. I followed him and listened, storing away metaphors even as I carried beads in my cargo. I should need all the eloquence at my command before the close of the summer, and my own tongue was always too direct of speech.
Cadillac felt me at his elbow, and when he saw my listening face he stopped to give me a slow wink. "Will monsieur turn pupil to learn swaggering?" he asked, with an upward cock of the eye. "I had thought him too old for a school."
I bowed, and hated myself for my lagging wits that would not furnish a retort. "Never too old to sit at your feet," I assured him, and I went away knowing that I had been slow, and that the honors were with him, but knowing, also, that somehow I liked the man, and that I should drink his health when I opened my next tierce of canary.
I went to find my men, and it was time that I bestirred myself. License was in order, and the revel assaulted eyes, ears, and nose, till a white man was wise if he forsook his dignity, and ran like a fox to cover. The air was surfeiting with the steam of food. Dog-meat bubbled in great caldrons, and maize cakes crackled on hot stones. A bear had been brought in, and was being hacked in pieces to add to the broth. The women did this, and as I passed them they stopped, with their hands dripping red, and shook their wampum necklaces at me, and pointed meaningly toward a neighboring hut, where I had been told that rum could be bought if you were discreet in choosing your occasion. I tossed them a handful of small coins, and warned them in Huron that if they molested my men I should report them to the commandant. I felt yet more haste to see my canoes under way.
I was plunging on in this fashion when Father Carheil plucked at my sleeve. "Do you think you are running from the Iroquois?" he grumbled, and he pushed his irritable, brilliant face close to mine. It was an old face, lined and withered, and the hair above it was scanty and gray, but never have I met a look that showed more fire and unconquerable will. "The commandant wishes you," he went on. "He asked me to fetch you. I should not have complied—it is I who should ask services of him—but I wished to speak to you on my own account. Monsieur, do you know these men that you have in your employ?"
I nodded. "As well as I know my own heart. They are my habitants."
"Your habitants! Then you have a seigniory? Why do you not stay there as the king wishes?"
I shook my head at him. "We use large words in this new land, father. Yes, I have a seigniory. That is, I own some barren acres near Montreal that I can occupy only at risk of my scalp. As to the king, I think he wishes me to trade,—at least I carry his license to that effect. But what are my men doing?"
The Jesuit's thin old hands clutched each other. "They are turning this place into a Sodom," he said passionately. "They are drinking and carousing with the Indian women. You traders are our ruin. But we will shut you out of the country yet. Mark my words. Those twenty-five licenses will be revoked before the season ends, and you will have to find other excuses to bring your rabble here to debauch our missions."
In view of what I had just seen, I felt impatient. "You do my handful of stolid peasants too much honor," I said dryly. "They would need more wit and ingenuity than I have ever seen in them to be able to teach outlawry to anything that they find here. But I am looking for them now. You will pardon me if I hasten."
But his hand pulled at me. "Is one of your men lipped like a bull-moose and red as Rufus?"
"Pierre Boudin to the life," I chuckled. "What deviltry is he at now?"
The priest's face lost its flame. He looked suddenly the old man worn out in the service of a savage people. "He is with an Ottawa girl," he said sadly; "a girl the Indians call Singing Arrow for her wit and her laughter. She is not a convert, but she is a good girl. I wish you would get your man away."
I felt shame for my man and myself. "I will go at once," I promised soberly. "I will be westward bound by afternoon."
The old priest looked at me with friendly eyes. "There will be trouble before sundown," he said gravely. "If you wish to get away, go quickly, or you may not go at all. Now you must report to the commandant."
But I had turned my face the other way. "Not till I have foundPierre," I returned.
I had no summer stroll before me. Pierre, Anak that he was, was as lost as a leaf in a whirlpool, and though I had quick eyes, and shoulders that could force a passage for me in a crowd, I could see no sign of his oriole crest of red head in all the bobbing multitude of blackbirds. Instead I stumbled upon Cadillac.
He linked his arm in mine. "Do you know," he said abruptly, "the prisoner has spirit and to spare. He may be a man of importance after all."
I answered like a fool. "I think not. He is dressed like a yeoman."
Cadillac put me at arm's length, and puffed his cheeks with silent laughter. "Plumage, eh? Are you willing to be judged by your own?" He stopped to let his glance rest on my shabby gear. "Truly it must be a long year since you fronted a mirror, or you would not be so complacent. No, monsieur, the prisoner is a gentleman. No yeoman ever carried his head with such a poise. But who is he? I would give all the pistoles in my pocket—though, in faith, they're few enough—if I could understand English. But you may be able to help me. Go speak to the prisoner in Huron. He must have picked up something of the Indian speech in his trip here."
This was my opportunity. "Monsieur," I said, "I should like an understanding. Remember how little all this can mean to me,—a trader,—and do not think me churlish if I try to keep myself free from this intrigue. I will go to the prisoner now, if you wish; but, that done, I beg you to hold me excused of any further service in this matter."
Cadillac looked me over, and now his glance went, not to my doublet, but to the man within. "A trader!" he said curtly. "A trader carrying contraband brandy. A good commandant would send you back where you belong. No, no, monsieur, wait! I am not threatening you. Though you know as well as I that the thumb-screws are rather convenient to my hand should I care to use them. But there should be no necessity for that. Montlivet, I hardly understand your reluctance in the matter of this Englishman. We should be one in this affair, whatever our private concerns. Even Black Gown and I—and the world says we are not lovers—are working together. Why do you draw back?"
I could not meet him with less than the truth. "You have stated the reason, monsieur. My private concerns,—they seem large to me, and I fear to jeopard them by becoming entangled here. I regret this. You have shown me great clemency in the matter of the brandy,—though if you had confiscated it I should still have pushed on,—and for that, and for your own sake, monsieur, I should be glad to serve you."
He looked at my outstretched palm, and laid his own upon it. "'T is fairly spoken," he said slowly, "and I think you mean it." Then he grew peevish. "A pest on this country!" he cried. "We are all kings in disguise, and have a monarchy hidden in our hats. And what does it amount to? No bread, no wine, no thanks; a dog's life and a jackal's death,—and all to hold some leagues of barren land for his petticoat-ridden majesty at Versailles. Oh, why not say it? We can tell the truth here without losing our heads."
"The king's arm"—I began.
"Is long," he interrupted. "Yet, in truth, your face is longer. Are you so eager to be gone? Well, get you to the prisoner, and, my hand on it, I shall ask for nothing more."
The commandant's door had come to be the portal through which I stepped from safety into meddling. Yet I opened it now with laughter peeping from my sleeve. To bait the Englishman in Huron seemed a good-natured enough jest, and full of possibilities.
But one look at the prisoner drained my laughter. He was lying on a bench, his face hidden in his out-flung arms, and his slenderness and helplessness pulled at me hard. I knew that despair, and even tears, must have conquered now that he was alone, and I wished that I might save his pride, and slip away until he had fought back his bravery, and had himself in hand.
But he had heard my step, and drew himself up to face me. He turned with composure, and fronted me with so much dignity that I stood like a blundering oaf trapped by my own emotion. There was no emotion in his look. He had been thinking, not despairing, and his face was sharpened and lighted with such concentration that I felt slapped with cold steel. He looked all intellect and determination,—a thing of will-power rather than flesh and brawn.
My Huron speech seemed out of place, but there was no choice left me, so I used it. There was refuge for my dignity in the sonorous syllables, and I spoke as to a fellow sachem. Then I asked the prisoner his name, and waited for response.
None came. I knew that I had spoken rapidly, so I tried again. I chose short words, and framed my sentences like a schoolmaster. The prisoner listened negligently. Then he put out his hand. "Pardon, monsieur. But I speak French,—though indifferently," he said, with a slight shrug.
My anger made my ears buzz; I would not bandy words with a man of so small and sly a spirit. I turned to leave.
But the prisoner stepped between me and the door. "You were sent here with a message," he said; "I am listening."
His sunken brown eyes were so deep in melancholy that I could not hold my wrath. "Was it a gentleman's part to lead me on to play the clown?" I asked. "I came in kindness."
He smiled a little,—a bitter smile that did not reach his eyes. "I am not, like you, a gentleman by birth, monsieur," he said slowly, "and so often trip in my behavior. Granted that you were amusing,—and you were, monsieur,—can you blame me for using you for a diversion? I infer that you have come to tell me that the time left me, either for amusement or penitence, is short."
It was bravely said, but I knew from the careful repression of his tone that his hardness was a brittle veneer. He was young to carry so bold a front when his heart must be hammering, and I would willingly have talked any doggerel to have afforded him another smile.
"I know nothing of your future," I hastened, "save that, arguing from your youth, it will probably be a long one. It was your past that I was sent to ask concerning. The commandant sent me. Since you speak French, my mission is over. The commandant will come himself."
The prisoner laid his hand upon a chair. "Will you sit? I would rather it be you than the commandant, if it must be any one. What were you sent to ask?"
I waved away the chair, for I thought of the passing moments and of what I had promised Father Carheil. "I must hasten," I said irritably. "What was I to ask? Why, your name, the account of your capture,—the story of your being here, in brief."
He saw that I glanced at the door, and he walked over to it. "Wait!" he interposed. "I can answer you in a line. But one question first. Monsieur, I—I"—
"Yes, monsieur."
"Monsieur, I—I must think a moment. Be patient, if you will."
His voice was calm, but there was something in his look that forced my pity. "Tell me nothing that I must not tell the commandant," I warned. "But be assured of my good will."
I think he did not hear. He sat with his forehead on his hand, and I knew that he was thinking. He looked up with a new decision in his glance.
"Monsieur, you lead a strange life in this place. I see nothing but men. Have you no families?"
I swore under my breath. I had expected some meat from his remark, and he gave me trivialities. I had no time for social preliminaries, and I felt sudden distaste for him. I pointed him to the window.
"We are not all men. There are Indian women in plenty. Shall I draw the shade that you may see? There are many of my countrymen to tell you that they find them fair."
"But are there no white families in the settlement?" He was leaning forward, and he ignored the insult of my air.
I shook my head. "None, monsieur. None short of Montreal."
He tapped the floor, and frowned. His look went beyond me, and he was absorbed. "None short of Montreal. Indeed you live a strange life. Monsieur, is it far to Montreal?"
I shrugged. "Yes, it is a long journey. Come, monsieur, we waste time. I wish you good-day."
He glanced up quickly. His was a misleading face, for while his words were meaningless, and showed him of a small and trifling mind, his look was yet keen. He saw that I had wearied of him, and he put out his hand to beg my attention.
"Wait, monsieur!" he cried.
"Monsieur, you waste my time."
"I shall waste no more. I have made up my mind. Listen. I promised you my story." He had regained all his quiet arrogance. "It is soon told. I am an Englishman,—or a colonist, if you like the term better. I was in a village on the Connecticut frontier, when your savages came down upon us. No, I am wrong. They did nothing so manly as to come down upon us boldly. They slid among us like foul vermin afraid of the light. They achieved a notable victory, monsieur. I see that you recognize their prowess, and that the feast you have prepared for them is lavish. It was a noble battle. I regret you could not have seen it. There were some hundreds of the Indians, and a scattering handful of us. A quiet farming community, monsieur, that worked hard, supped early, and slept the deep sleep of quiet living and sober minds. We waked to find the scalping knives at our throats, and the death scream of children in our ears. Look over the bags of scalps, and see the number of women and old men that your braves had to overcome. You will be proud of them, monsieur."
I clenched my hand, and wished myself elsewhere. "But our Hurons say they were neutral," I defended.
He lifted his brows. "You prefer to give all the praise to the Algonquins?" he asked smoothly. "I understand. Yes, I have heard that the Algonquins stand even closer to you than your Hurons here. They are more than brothers. Indeed, it is said that your Count Frontenac calls them his children. Well, they did you credit. It took ten of them to silence Goodman Ellwood's musket, but they butchered him in the end. If you find a scalp with long silky white hair, monsieur, it belongs to John Ellwood. Value it, and nail it among your trophies, for it cost you the lives of a full half-dozen Algonquin braves."
I kept my eyes down. I had come here to unearth a certain fact, and I would pursue it. "But were the Hurons neutral?" I persisted.
I could not even guess at what raw nerve I touched, but he suddenly threw his arms wide as men do when a shot is mortal. His cool insolence dropped from him, and he was all fire and helpless defiance. He stamped his foot, till, slender as he was, the boards rang. "Were the Hurons neutral?" he mocked, in a voice so like my own I could have sworn it was an echo. "What manner of man are you? Are you made of chalk? If you had seen a child's brains dashed out against a tree, would you stop to ask the Indian who held the dripping corpse what dialect he spoke? Oh, a man should be ashamed to live who has seen such things, and who keeps his sword sheathed while one of your Indian family—brothers or children—remains alive! If you had blood in your veins, you would be man enough not to put even an enemy upon the rack, in this way, and force him to live that time over to glut your curiosity. Here is my answer, which you may take to your commandant. I am an Englishman, I am your prisoner, and you are to remember that I am, first, last, and at all times, your foe. Now go to your commandant, and tell him to keep himself and his schoolboy orations out of my way."
He was shaking, and his face was dead white. I did not answer, but I took him by the arm, and led him to a chair. He tried to resist, but I am strong. Then I brought him a cup of water from a pail that stood near by.
"Drink it," I said, "and when food is sent you, eat what you can. Your race is not over, and if you wish to trick and outwit us,—as you were planning when I found you lying here,—you will need more strength than you are showing now. I have but one more question. You must tell me your name."
For a moment he did not reply. He was still shaking painfully, and water from the cup in his hand splashed over him. "My name," he said slowly, "my name is—is Benjamin Starling."
I took the cup away. "I am waiting," I said after a pause.
"Waiting for what, monsieur?" When he willed, he could speak winningly, and he did it now.
I took paper from my pocket. "For your real name," I answered. "I shall write it here, and you must swear that it is true. Don't squander lies. Plain dealing will be best for us both."
He was as changeable as June weather. Now it was his cue to look pleading. "The Indians called me by a name that meant bitter waters," he said hesitatingly. "But my baptismal records say Starling. I am telling you the truth, monsieur."
I wrote the name so that he could see. "You give me your word as a gentleman," I said, "that your name is Benjamin Starling."
He stopped a moment. "Can a yeoman swear himself a gentleman?" he asked. "I think not. I will be more explicit. I give you my oath as a truth-loving person that my name is Starling."
I put up the paper. "Thank you," I said. "And now. Monsieur Starling, we will say good-by. I am only a chance wayfarer here, and leave in an hour. I cannot wish you success, since you are my foe, but I can wish you a safe return to your own kind. I hope that we shall meet again. When I am dealing with a foe that I respect, I prefer him with his hands unbound. Good-day, monsieur."
But he was before me at the door. I saw that my news troubled him.
"You mean," he asked, "that you are leaving here for several days?"
I laid my hand on the latch. "No," I answered. "I leave for several months, monsieur."
"For months! Oh no!" he cried, and he drew back and looked at me. "Then I am like never to see you again," he said thoughtfully. "You have been kind to me." He suddenly thrust out his hand. "Monsieur, I will be more generous than you. I wish you success."
But I would not take his hand on those terms.
"Don't!" I said roughly. "You cannot wish me success. It will mean failure to you—to your people. No, we are foes, and let us wear our colors honestly. Again, I wish you good-day," and, bowing, I raised the latch, and made my way out of the commandant's door.
Chance was disposed to be in a good humor. I had scarcely stepped into the crowd when I saw Pierre.
I went to him knowing that I should find opportunity for reproof, but should probably lack the will. For Pierre was my harlequin, and what man can easily censure his own amusements even when he sees their harm? Then there was more to make me lenient. The man's family had served my own for as many generations as the rooks had builded in our yews, and so, on one side at least, he inherited blind loyalty to my name. I say on one side, for his blood was mixed; his father had married a vagrant, a half-gypsy Irish girl who begged among the villages. It was the union of a stolid ox and a wildcat, and I had much amusement watching the two breeds fight for the mastery in the huge Pierre. The cat was quicker of wit, but the ox was of more use to me in the long run, so I tried to keep an excess of stimulants—whether of brandy or adventure—out of Pierre's way.
He was a figure for Bacchus when I found him, and I pricked at him with my sword, and drove him to the water, where I saw him well immersed.
"Now for quick work," I admonished. "I must see the commandant, but only for a moment. You gather the men, and have the canoes in waiting. There will be no tobacco for you to-night, if you are not ready when I come."
He shook the water from his red locks, and wagged his head in much more docile fashion than I had expected. "My master cannot go too fast for me," he said, with a twist of his great protruding lip. "I have no liking for white meat broth myself."
He drew back like one who has hit a bull's-eye and waited for me to ask questions, but I thought that I knew my man, and laughed at his childishness.
"No more of that!" I said with perfunctory sternness. "What pot-house rabble of Indians have you been with that you should prattle of making broth of white men, and dare bring such speech to me as a jest! That is not talk for civilized men, and if you repeat it I shall send you back to France. You are more familiar with the savages than I like a man of mine to be. Remember that, Pierre. Now go."
But he lingered. "It is no pot-house story," he defended sulkily."The Ottawas say they will go to war if the prisoner is not put in thepot before to-morrow morning. And what can the commandant do? TheOttawas are two thousand strong."
I knew, without comment, that he was telling me the truth, and I stood still. The din of the dancing and feasting was growing more and more uproarious, and the Indians were ripe for any insanity. I saw that the sun was already casting long shadows, and that the night would be on us before many hours. I looked at the garrison. Two hundred Frenchmen all told, and most of them half-hearted when it came to defending an Englishman and a foe! I turned to my man.
"You have been with an Ottawa girl, called Singing Arrow," I said."Are you bringing me some woman's tale you learned from her?"
He squirmed like a clumsy puppy, but I could see his pride in my omniscience. "She is smarter than a man," he said vaguely.
And Pierre were the man, I thought that likely. "Take me to her," I commanded.
I expected to follow him among the revelers, but he turned his back on them, and led the way through a labyrinth of huts, a maze so winding that I judged him more sober than I had thought. When we found the girl, she was alone, and I saw from her look that this was not the first visit Pierre had made.
He summoned her importantly, while I withdrew to a distance, that I might have her brought to me in form. I was intent and uneasy, but I had room in my heart for vain self-satisfaction that I knew something of the Ottawa speech. My proficiency in Indian dialects, for which the world praised me lightly, as it might commend the cut of my doublet, had cost me much drudgery and denial, and my moments of reward were rare.
Singing Arrow came forward, and curtsied as the priests had taught her. I was forced to approve my man's taste. Not that she was beautiful to my eyes, for brown women were never to my liking; but she had youth and neatness, and when she raised her eyes I saw that I might look for intelligence and daring. I motioned her to come nearer.
"Singing Arrow," I said, in somewhat halting Ottawa, "my man here tells me that your people are talking as if they were asleep, and were dreaming that they were all kings. Now when a dog barks at the moon, we do not stop to tremble for the safety of the moon, but we ask what is the matter with the dog. That is what I would ask of you. What do the Ottawas care what Monsieur de la Mothe-Cadillac, the commandant, does with the English prisoner?"
She thought a moment, and plaited the folds of her beaver-skin skirt as I have seen many a white girl do. "I know of no dog," she said, with a slow upward glance that tried to gauge my temper. "And as for the moon, it shines alike on the grass and the tall trees, and I have seen no Frenchman yet who could reach up and pluck it from its place. But I have seen a chain that was once bright like silver grow dull and eaten with rust. A wise man will throw such a chain away, and ask for a new one."
I shrugged. "You have sharp eyes," I said, shrugging yet more, "if you can see rust on the covenant chain that binds the French to the Ottawas. Is that what you mean?"
She looked up with a flash of fun and diablerie such as I never thought to see in a savage face. "Then monsieur has seen it himself?"
Now this would not do; I would leave all gallantries to my subordinate. "This is idle talk," I said, as I lit my pipe, and prepared as if to go. "It is the clatter of water among stones that makes a great noise, but goes nowhere. I have seen many strange things in my life, but never a cat that could fight fair, nor a woman that could answer a direct question. Look at this now. I ask you about the English prisoner, and you talk to me of covenant chains."
She looked at me with impassive good humor, her hands busy with her wampum necklaces, and I saw, not only that I had failed to entrap her into losing her temper, but that I was dealing with a quick-witted woman of a race whose women were trained politicians. But, for reasons of her own, she chose to answer me fairly.
"The Frenchman is right," she said, with a second swift upward look to test the ice where she was venturing. "I was wrong to talk of the covenant between the French and my people, for the chain is too weak to bear even the weight of words. It is rusted till it is as useless as a band of grasses to bind a wild bull. But blood will cleanse rust. What can the French want with their enemy, the Englishman? Why should not the prisoner's blood be used to brighten the chain between the Ottawas and the French?"
Now this was plain language. I listened to the girl's speech, which was as gently cadenced as if she talked of flowers or summer pleasures, and thought that here was indeed snake's venom offered as a sweetmeat. But why did she warn me? I had a flash of sense. I went to her, and compelled her to stop playing with her necklaces, and raise her eyes to mine.
"Answer me, Singing Arrow," I commanded. "You are repeating what was said in council, but you do not agree with it. You would like to save the prisoner. Look at me again. Am I right?"
I could as well have held an eel. She slipped from my hands, and ran back to her lodge. "So!" she cried, as she lifted the mat before her door. "So it is not the dog alone that smells at its food before it will eat. Why stay here? I have given you what you came to find. Take it." And with a look at Pierre she disappeared.
Pierre gave a great bellow of laughter. "I will catch her," he volunteered, and made a plunge in the direction of the lodge; but I caught him by the hood of his blanket coat, and let his own impetus choke him.
"Now look you, Pierre Boudin," I said, "if you cross the door of that lodge on any errand,—on any errand, mind you,—you are no longer man of mine. I mean that; you are no longer man of mine. Now begone. Gather the men, go to the canoes, and wait there till I come. I may come soon; I may not come till morning."
Pierre was still swelling. "As the master wishes," he said, with his eyes down; but I thought that he hesitated, and I called him to me.
"Pierre," I said, "do you want to be sent back to Montreal, and haveFrançois Labarthe put in your place?"
The giant looked up to see how much I was in earnest, and, as I returned his look, all his bravado oozed away. It does not seem quite the part of a man to cow a subordinate till he looks at you with the eyes of a whipped hound; but it was the only method to use with Pierre, and I went away satisfied.
I turned my steps toward the main camp of Ottawas, and there I idled for an hour. The braves were good-humored with me, for I was a trader, not an officer, and their noses were keen for the brandy that I might have for barter. So that I was free to watch them at their gambling, or dip my ladle in their kettles if I willed. All this was good, but it went no further. With all my artifices, I could not make my way into the great circle around the camp fire, and I grew sore with my incapacity, for I saw that Longuant, the most powerful chief of the Ottawas, was speaking. I picked up a bone and threw it among the dogs with an oath for my own slowness.
The bone was greasy, and I took out my handkerchief, but before I could use it to wipe my hands, a young squaw pushed her way up to me, and offered her long black hair as a napkin. She threw the oily length across my arm, and flattered me in fluent Ottawa.
Then I forgot myself. The body frequently plays traitor in emergencies, and my repugnance conquered me so that I pushed her away before I had time to think. Then I knew that I must make amends.
"The beauty of your hair is like the black ice with the moon on it," I said in Ottawa. "You must not soil it."
She giggled with pleasure to hear me use her own tongue, and would have come close to me again, but I motioned her away.
"Stay there, and catch this," I called, and I tossed her a small coin.
For all her squat figure and her broad, dull face, she was quick of action as a weasel. She put her hands behind her, and, thrusting her head forward, caught the coin in her teeth. It was well done; so well that I said "Brava," and the braves around me gave approving grunts.
"Look at the stupid Frenchman!" I heard a brave say. "For all his red coat, and his manners, he cannot catch as well as a squaw."
I pointed my finger at him, and twirled my mustaches as if I were playing villain in a comedy. "A Frenchman does not stoop to catch money," I vaunted, with my arm akimbo. "Money is for slaves and women. Give the Frenchman a spear, a man's weapon, and then see if he can be beaten at throwing by a squaw."
There was a laugh at this, and the squaw to whom I had thrown the coin seized a sturgeon spear that leaned against a kettle, and hurled it at me. I turned my back, and caught it over my shoulder. There was a hush among the braves for a moment, then a low growl of applause. "Let him do it again," several voices cried.
I did it again, and yet again, in varying ways. The squaw threw well, and caught better, but she was no match for my longer reach and better training. Still we kept the spear hurtling. With each throw I backed a pace or two toward the council fire, and the crowd made way for me.
"This is enough," I cried at length. "Have you no men among you who can throw better than your women?"
A dozen braves, each clamoring, leaped forward, but before I could select one of them, a young Huron elbowed his way into the midst of them and placed himself before me.
"Try your skill with me," he cried, striking his breast, and though he spoke a broken mixture of Huron and Ottawa, his air was so rhetorical that the Ottawas, always keen for a dramatic moment, stopped to listen.
I balanced the spear in my hand. "I am trying my skill with the Ottawas," I said. "Since when has Pemaou, the Huron, forsaken his own camp?"
The Huron drew back. He was a son of that adroit traitor, the Baron, and what his presence in this camp meant, I could only surmise. But that he was of the Baron's blood was enough for me, and I was prepared to dislike him without searching for excuse. He, on his part, looked equally unfriendly. He resented my recognition, and taking his war spear from his belt he sent it at me with a vicious fling.
This heated my blood. I caught the spear, and tested it across my knee. It was pliant but tough, and wickedly barbed,—a weapon for a man to respect. "So you wanted the color of my blood," I called angrily. "You have a good spear; all that was lacking was a man to aim it;" and with a contemptuous laugh I tossed the spear back to his hand.
Now this was mere childishness, and I knew it, and hoped, with shame for my own lack of sense, that Pemaou would not accept my covert challenge, and that the matter would end there. But Pemaou had purposes of his own. He looked at the spear for a moment, then sent it spinning toward my head. "On guard!" he cried in my own tongue, and I remembered that he had spent some time among the French at Montreal.
I caught the spear, and cursed myself for a fool. The Indians again gave tongue to their approval, and gathered in a ring, leaving the space between Pemaou and myself clear. All was ready for the game to proceed. I hesitated a moment, and the Ottawas laughed, while Pemaou looked disdainful.
All animals are braggarts, from the cock in the barnyard to the moose when he hears his rival, and man is not much better. I pricked the spear point against my hand, and looked at it critically.
"It is as dull as the Huron's wits," I scoffed, "but we will do the best that we can with it;" and stepping back several feet nearer the council fire, I put the weapon into play.
I have been in weightier occasions than the one that followed, but never in one that I can remember in more detail. In all lives there are moments that memory paints in bright, crude colors, like pictures in a child's book, and so this scene looks to me now. I can see the crowding Ottawas, their bodies painted red and black, their nose pendants—a pebble hung on a deer-sinew—swinging against their greasy lips as they shouted plaudits or derision. But best I can see Pemaou, dancing between me and the sun like some grotesque dream fantasy. He was in full war bravery, his body painted red, barred with white stripes to imitate the lacing on our uniforms, and his hair feather-decked till he towered in height like a fir tree. I say that he was grotesque, but at the time I did not think of his appearance; I thought only that here was a man who was my mate in cunning, and who wished me ill.
This was no squaw's game, for each cast was made with force and method. We both threw warily, and the spear whistled to and fro as regularly as a weaver's shuttle. I backed my way toward the council fire until I could hear Longuant distinctly, then I prayed my faculties to serve me well, and stood my ground. My mind was on the rack. I could not, for the briefest instant, release the tension of my thought as to the game before me, yet I missed no sound from the group around the fire. The low, red sun dazzled my eyes, and I waited, with each throw from the Huron, for one that should be aimed with deadlier intent.
For I realized that Pemaou was not doing his best, and, since I had seen hate in his eyes, this clemency troubled me. I wondered if he were a decoy, and if some one were coming upon me from the rear, and I stopped and stared at him with defiance, only to see that he was looking, not at me, nor at the attentive audience around us, but over my head at the council fire.
Then, indeed, the truth clapped me in the face, and I could have laughed aloud to think what a puppet I had been, just when I was comforting my vanity with my own shrewdness. Of course, Pemaou would spare me, and so prolong the game. As the son of the leader of the Hurons, he had more to learn from Longuant's speech than I. We were playing with the same cards, but his stakes were the larger. I suddenly realized that I was enjoying myself more than in a long time.
But the test was to come. When Pemaou had heard all he wished, he would aim the spear at my throat, and so, though I threw negligently, I watched like a starved cat. I heard the council agree upon a decisive measure, and I knew that the Huron's moment had arrived. He seized it. His spear whistled at me like a bullet, but my muscles were braced and waiting. I caught the weapon, and held it, though the wood ate into my palms. The savages told the Huron in a derisive roar that the Frenchman was the better man.
And now it was my turn. So far I had thrown fair, without twist or trickery, but I knew one turn of the wrist that could do cruel work. Should I use it? Pemaou had tried to murder me. I looked at his red-and-white body, and reptile eyes, and hate rushed to my brain like liquor. I took the spear and snapped it.
"Take your plaything!" I cried, and I tossed the fragments in his face."Learn to use it if you care for a whole skin, for I promise you thatwe shall meet again." And turning my back on him, I strode out of theOttawa camp the richer by some information, and one foe.