[8] Bark house.
Our chamber was perhaps twelve or fourteen feet in length and twelve feet across. On each side there was a shelf or bunk of bark placed on wooden sticks, raised about two feet from the beaten-clay floor and covered with skins, more or less infested with vermin.[9] Above these bunks again were other shelves for holding clothing, weapons or provisions. The passageway between the bunks was the common entry to the house.
[9] I am obliged to confess I had lice throughout my stay amongst the Indians. 'Twas impossible to be clean.—H.O.
In the middle was a fire-hole where our squaw cooked. In the remainder of the length of the house there was a fire for every four families, and when all were cooking at once—as was frequently the case—the smoke that escaped through the vents in the roof was negligible.
On the other hand, the houses were stanchly constructed and weather-proof, and they demonstrated strikingly the clannishness and community spirit which were the outstanding characteristics of the Iroquois. They thought, not as families or individuals, as most savage or barbarous people do, but as a people, as a clan, a tribe or a confederacy.
In this, as Ta-wan-ne-ars remarked in our many talks on this and kindred subjects, lay the secret of their political and military success. It enabled them to concentrate, when they wished, an overwhelming force against any other tribes, and a force which could be directed in the joint interests of the League. Only the French or English could withstand them, and their aid must tip the balance in favor of the white nation whose cause they espoused.
From the Oneida Castle the Great Trail bore westward past De-o-sa-da-ya-ah,[10] which lay on the boundaries of the Onondagas, whose beautiful valley, with its mirror lake, was the fairest country I have ever seen unless it be the matchless home of the Senecas. The trail led us through the three villages of the tribe, which were scattered along the banks of the Onondaga River northward of the lake.
[10] Deep Spring.
At Ka-na-ta-go-wa burned the sacred Council-Fire of the Long House which their traditions claimed had been lighted by the godlike Founders of the League, the tworoy-an-ehs, Da-ga-no-weda and Ha-yo-wont-ha, whose places in the Ho-yar-na-go-war[11] have never been filled because the Great Spirit can not create again men worthy to hold their titles.
[11] Literally, Counselors of the People—the ruling body of the League.
Ordinarily, Ta-wan-ne-ars would have halted on his way to pay due reverence to the shrine and to To-do-da-ho, the senior of all the fiftyroy-an-ehsof the League, whose wisdom and prestige are inherited from the first of the name, him who made practical by his deeds the conceptions of the Founders. But we were in haste; Ta-wan-ne-ars was anxious that no news of our journey should escape; and he pressed on, sending word by a brother Wolf to To-do-da-ho of the circumstances which governed his action.
It was a rich country which we traversed, a country fit to be the home of a race of warriors. The forest always was king, but the ingenuity of the inhabitants forced it back whenever they had need.
In clearings by the streams were vast gardens of corn, pumpkins, melons, squashes and beans. In open spaces were luxuriant orchards of fruit-trees. The people we met, in the villages where we sometimes slept and ate or along the shaded slot of the trail, were pleasant and courteous. They eyed me curiously, but there was never any unseemly disregard of manners. Even the children were polite and hospitable.
"Qua," would be our greeting. "You have traveled far, brother of the Wolf Clan, you and your white friends. Sit by our fire and partake of our food and tobacco, and perhaps when you are rested you will tell us what you have seen on your way."
"What do you think of my people, Ormerod?" asked Ta-wan-ne-ars one day as we sat on a hillside above the north end of the Cayuga Lake and looked down on the village of Ga-ya-ga-an-ha.[12]
[12] Near present site of Auburn, N.Y.
"I think they are a people of warriors and what we call nobles," I answered.
"That means gentlemen," he said.
"Yes, if you choose," I agreed.
"But they take scalps and have vermin in their clothes," he suggested.
"And they are kind to the stranger and fearless and generous," I returned.
Corlaer, who usually said nothing, took his pipe from his mouth and blinked at me.
"Ja," he said. "Andt there is der same kind of fermin in Fort Orange or New York."
We slept that night in the Cayuga village, and in the morning forded the foot of the lake and pursued the trail westward again until it emerged upon the north bank of the Seneca River, which we followed to the village of Ga-nun-da-gwa[13] on the lake of that name.
[13] Site of Canandaigua, N.Y.
"Now we are in the country of the Senecas, brother," said Ta-wan-ne-ars, when we started the next morning. "You have seen the homes of all the other tribes, save only the Tuscaroras, who live to the south of the Oneidas; but none of them is so fair as the valley of Gen-nis-he-yo,[14] where my brethren dwell."
[14] Literally, "The Beautiful Valley."
And I endorsed his words without reserve on the evening of our tenth day on the Great Trail, when we stood on the brink of the sweetest vale in all the world—aye, more beautiful even than the sacred valley of Onondaga—and looked across the tree-tops at the river that wound along its center like a looping flood of silver, with the myriad colors of the sunset tinting the hills beyond and a soft wind wafting upward to our level the odors of the woodlands and orchards.
From a little village that was huddled on the near bank of the river Ta-wan-ne-ars sent off that night a messenger to carry on word of our coming. So two days later, when we had passed the Gen-nis-he-yo and the belt of forest beyond to the Senecas' chief town, De-o-nun-da-ga-a, it was to find ourselves expected guests. Warriors and hunters, women and children, along the trail, hailed Ta-wan-ne-ars and his friends; and at the gates of the palisade which fortified the village—for it was the principal stronghold of the Western Door—stood Do-ne-ho-ga-weh himself, the Guardian of the Door, with hisroy-an-ehsandha-seh-no-wa-weh[15] or chiefs, around him.
[15] Literally, "An Elevated Name." The office of chief was elective and in no sense hereditary or noble as was that ofroy-an-eh, which has been misnamed sachem.
He was a splendid-looking old man, tall as Ta-wan-ne-ars, his massive shoulders unbent by age, his naked chest, with the vivid device of the wolf's head, rounded like a barrel; his pendant scalp-lock shot with gray. He and those with him were in gala dress, and the sun sparkled on elaborate beadwork and silver and gold ornaments and inlay of weapons.
He took one step forward as we halted, and his right arm went up in the graceful Iroquois salute.
"Qua, Ta-wan-ne-ars!" his voice boomed out. "You are welcome home, O my nephew. I can see that you have been brave against our enemies, for you carry a string of scalps at your belt. I can see that you have been honored, for Corlaer walks with you. I can see that you have been fortunate, for a strange white man walks beside you who has friendship in his face.
"Enter, O my nephew, with your white friends. The Council-House is made ready for them, and you will dwell with them a while until their feet have become accustomed to the new paths and their eyes see straight the unfamiliar things about them. We are eager to hear of your experiences and the deeds you have done. Enter!"
He turned on his heel and walked before us, and those who had accompanied him fell into single file behind us. So we paraded through the village—or rather I should say town, for it contained many thousand people—until we reached a house in the center where burned the tribal Council-Fire and where ambassadors and distinguished guests were lodged.
This house was oblong, almost square. Theroy-an-ehs, chiefs and elders filed into it at our heels and arranged themselves around the fire in the center. Then squaws fetched in clay dishes of meats and vegetables of several kinds, as well as fruit, which they set down at intervals around the circle, and at a signal from Do-ne-ho-ga-weh everybody began to eat, each one dipping his fingers into whichever dish was nearest or most to his liking, but all governed by the utmost deference toward the wishes of their neighbors.
At the conclusion of the meal Do-ne-ho-ga-weh lighted a ceremonial pipe, carved of soapstone, with a long wooden mouthpiece decorated with beads and small, bright-colored feathers. He blew one puff toward the ground, one puff toward the sky and one toward each of the four quarters. Then he passed it to Ta-wan-ne-ars on his right hand, and Ta-wan-ne-ars gravely puffed it for a moment, and handed it to me. I did likewise, and gave it to Corlaer, who handed it on to the next man, and so it went the rounds of the fire.
There was a moment's silence, and then Ta-wan-ne-ars began the account of his travels, speaking slowly and without oratorical effect. Afterward he told me what he and the others had said. He made no references to our mission, but he described his journey to New York, his interview with Ga-en-gwa-ra-go—this impressed his audience mightily, and they applauded by a succession of gutteral grunts—his meeting with me; the arrival of Murray and de Veulle and its meaning; our journey homeward and the fight with the Cahnuagas.
"Na-ho!" he concluded.
Again there was a pause. Then Do-ne-ho-ga-weh rose.
"We thank you, O my nephew," he said. "You have indeed honored us and yourself, and your white friends have shown themselves to be brave men. Now we will retire so that you may rest."
He walked out, and the others followed.
"What next?" I asked as Ta-wan-ne-ars filled his pipe.
The Seneca smiled.
"Soon we shall have a real talk," he said, and reached for a live coal.
"A real talk?" I repeated.
"Do-ne-ho-ga-weh knows that we could not tell him all of our tale when so many ears were listening. He knows, too, that we are pressed for time."
"Ja," squeaked Corlaer, "derroy-an-ehwill come back."
An hour passed, and I began to doubt my friends' wisdom. I was sleepy and tired. I had had overmuch of the coarse native-grown tobacco. But in the event I was rewarded, for a shadow darkened the entrance and the Guardian of the Western Door stood before us.
He sat between Ta-wan-ne-ars and me, and crammed tobacco into his pipe-bowl.
"You are not sleeping, O my nephew," he commented.
"We have that upon our minds which will not let us sleep," answered Ta-wan-ne-ars.[16]
[16] This conversation was translated for me later by Ta-wan-ne-ars.—H.O.
"Would it ease the weight on your minds to confide your troubles in me?"
"That is my thought, O my uncle."
Do-ne-ho-ga-weh bowed gravely to all of us.
"My ears are open," he said.
There was a pause, and Ta-wan-ne-ars put down his pipe upon the floor.
"As you know, O my uncle," he began, "I went with Corlaer to Ga-en-gwa-ra-go to tell him of Joncaire's plans to build a stone fort at Jagara. On the same day came this white warrior, Ormerod, whom I call my brother, with word that Murray had defeated Ga-en-gwa-ra-go before Go-weh-go-wa. On the same day came the Frenchman de Veulle, who once lived for a while amongst us. Him you will remember."
The bronze mask of theroy-an-eh'sface was contorted for one brief instant by a flare of passion.
"I remember him," he said simply.
"De Veulle comes from Onontio's King with a message for the Canadian tribes, O my uncle. He and Murray and Joncaire work together to defeat our friend Ga-en-gwa-ra-go and drive the English from the land. Ga-en-gwa-ra-go has sent my brother Ormerod, who has lived amongst the French and speaks their tongue, to spy out the ground at Jagara. I go with him. After that, if we may, we shall seek the Doom Trail and clean out the Cahnuaga dogs."
For five minutes Do-ne-ho-ga-weh smoked in silence. Then he emptied his pipe.
"I am glad that Ga-en-gwa-ra-go keeps his eyes open, O my nephew," he said. "But I can not understand why the English disagree amongst themselves, so that one faction work for Onontio. However, they are white people, and I am a red man. Perhaps that is the reason. Do you wish my counsel?"
Ta-wan-ne-ars inclined his head.
"The Messesagues you met on the Mohawk told you that de Tonty was in trouble. I do not think word of this can yet have reached Joncaire. My advice is that you dress yourself as a Messesague warrior, O my nephew, and that your white brother—whose name I can not coil my tongue around—call himself by a French name. Then the two of you may go to Joncaire and say that you have just come from Le de Troit and give him the news and he will make you welcome. So you may spy out his plans at Jagara."
"Ja," assented Corlaer in English; "that is a goodt plan. You needt a goodt plan for a fox like Joncaire. By ——, I hope you fool him andt bring home his scalp."
"The news which Ga-en-gwa-ra-go asks for will be sufficient," replied Ta-wan-ne-ars. "O my uncle, we thank you. Now we may sleep with ease."
"That is well," said theroy-an-eh, rising.
He lifted his arm in salute.
"May Ha-wen-ne-yu, the Great Spirit, and the Ho-no-che-no-keh, his Invisible Aids, have you in their keeping."
It was a week before we left De-o-nun-da-ga-a, and although the delay irked me it could not be avoided, for the prolonged absence of Ta-wan-ne-ars from his post as Warden of the Western Door of the Long House had permitted an accumulation of questions of political and military importance which required his attention. He spent the days either in consultations with theroy-an-ehsand chiefs and delegations from neighboring tribes or in inspecting the marches. Corlaer departed with a small band of braves upon a hunting-trip, but I availed myself of the opportunity to gain an insight into the workings of the remarkable military confederacy which held the balance of power in America.
Do-ne-ho-ga-weh, as Guardian of the Western Door, was the political custodian of the most important frontier of the League. As such he was supreme.
But Ta-wan-ne-ars with his assistant chief, So-no-so-wa,[1] of the Turtle Clan, were the military captains of the Western Door. They were the only permanent war-chiefs in the confederacy, all others being elected to temporary command in times of emergency. They were also assistants to Do-ne-ho-ga-weh and attended him in this capacity at meetings of the Ho-yar-na-go-war, the great council of theroy-an-ehs. Their duty was to keep in proper subjection the numerous tributary nations, beyond the actual boundaries of the Long House, and equally to safeguard the Western Door from attack by any enemy.
[1] "Great Oyster Shell." The names of the two permanent war-chiefs were really titles of honor, and were hereditary in an indirect line like the rank ofroy-an-eh, the idea being to select the ablest man of his generation in a particular family.
So-no-so-wa at the time of my visit was absent on a trip to the south to chastise a band of Shawanese who had presumed to invade the hunting-grounds of the League. So jealous was the watch kept over the supremacy of the Long House that the slightest aggression or impertinence, even against a tributary nation, was punished at the earliest opportunity.
One of Ta-wan-ne-ars' first acts was to organize a war-party to harry the Miamis in retaliation for an attack upon a village of the Andastes in the Susquehanna Valley who were subject to the jurisdiction of the League.
"It was the intent of the Founders to prevent quarrels amongst the five nations who formed the Ho-de-no-sau-nee," explained Ta-wan-ne-ars as we sat in the Council-House after the departure of an embassy from the Jego-sa-sa[2] or so-called Neuter Nation, who had petitioned for relief from the military aid which had been demanded of them for the expedition against the Miamis. "Before we built the Long House we fought constantly amongst ourselves. Afterwards we fought only against others, and because we were united we always won, although sometimes our wars lasted for many years.
[2] Wildcats.
"And now that we are strong, and only the white man can venture to oppose our war-parties, we fight for nothing more than the right to impose peace upon others. If a nation makes trouble for us too frequently we subjugate it, as we did the Delawares. If a nation is troublesome upon occasion, like the Je-go-sa-sa, we make it a tributary, and in return we protect it. If a nation is in difficulties, as were the Tuscaroras in the South, and they appeal to us for aid, we give it. We took the Tuscaroras into the League because that was the best way we could protect them."
"Against whom?" I asked innocently.
"Against the white men," he answered. "Aye, brother, down in the Southern colonies the white men hunger for land just as they do here in New York. When an Indian tribe is weak, as were the Tuscaroras, the white men drive it before them. When a tribe is strong, like the O-ya-da-ga-o-no[3] or ourselves, it can resist—for a time."
[3] Cherokees.
He fell silent and his eyes gazed moodily into the smoke of the Council-Fire.
"Why do you say 'for a time'!" I asked.
"Because I mean it," he retorted fiercely. "Think you Ta-wan-ne-ars is ignorant because he is an Indian! But I do my brother an injustice there, for he does not look down upon the Indian as do so many white men.
"No, Ormerod, I tell you it is so. Today the Indian is still strong. He has the protection of the forest. The white man foolishly has given him guns to fight with, and steel axes and knives. But the Indian grows weaker; the white man grows stronger. In the end the Indian must go."
"The People of the Long House?" I cried. "'Tis impossible after the friendship you have shown us."
He eyed me gloomily.
"Friendship counts at the moment; strength counts in the future," he said. "That is the white man's way. Have I not lived amongst them?"
He leaned forward until his face was close to mine.
"When all else fails the white man will use fire-water, what you call rum and the French call brandy. The red man can not resist it—and it ruins him. He becomes a red animal."
"But——"
He would not let me speak.
"And your missionaries told me I must believe in their God!" he went on scornfully. "A God who permits white men to do things the God of the Indians forbids! I said to them:
"'No. I am an Indian. A good Indian is better than a good white man; he is a better Christian, as you call it. And between bad Indians and bad white men there is only a difference in kinds of evil.'"
A warrior entered to report on a mission to a near-by village, and our conversation lapsed. I was to remember it many times in the future and especially during the adventures which were immediately before me.
The next day we started upon the march to Jagara. We had not gone very far on the morning of the second day of our journey when I began to hear what sounded like a muffled roar, not thunder, but the bellowings of some gigantic monster, whose breath could ruffle the trees of the forest. Ta-wan-ne-ars, who had regained his customary good spirits with the prospect of danger and hardship, smiled at my obvious bewilderment.
"'Tis the voice of the Great Falls, brother," he said. "The Thunder Waters."
"Does water make that noise?" I exclaimed.
"Nothing but water."
"'Tis impossible."
"So many have said; and, indeed, the missionaries told me 'twas one of the greatest wonders of the world."
In the early afternoon a mist appeared, overhanging the treetops on the horizon and shot with gorgeous rainbows. The volume of noise increased. It was not deafening. You could speak and converse with ease as you approached it; but it dominated you, made you conscious of a power beyond human effort to subdue.
Yet even so, when we stepped from the trees and the panorama of the cataract lay spread before us, a vast, seething wall of water that swirled and smoked and tossed and fumed in an endless fight for freedom, I was amazed, staggered by the magnitude of the spectacle. Here in the heart of the wilderness, far from civilization, the effect of it was belittling, overwhelming. That mighty flow of water, so resistless, so inevitable in its progress, so unthinkably gigantic, seemed almost as if it might sweep away the fabric of a continent.
I stumbled behind Ta-wan-ne-ars into the trail of the portage which led around the falls. Canoes and goods were transported by this route from the Cadarakui Lake to the Lake of the Eries whence poured this endless stream; it was a main-traveled road between the French posts in Canada and their outflung establishments in the farther wilderness.
We followed it northeastward until twilight, the roar of the falls gradually diminishing behind us, and came at length into an open space upon the banks of the swift-running river which carried the shattered waters into the Cadarakui Lake. Close to the bank stood a flagstaff, and from its summit floated the white ensign of France.
At the foot of the staff, as if resting secure under the folds of the flag, rose the walls of a substantial log house. Behind it were a collection of smaller huts and lodges of bark.
A large, stout man, with very greasy, lanky black hair, hailed us from the log house as we approached.
"Hola!" he shouted in French. "Who comes so free from the westward without canoe or fur-packs?"
"A poor, miserable rascal of a forest-runner," I called back gaily.
He discarded an Indian pipe he had been nursing in his hand, and came across to me at a surprizingly rapid gait for one of his build.
"And who might this 'poor, miserable rascal of a forest-runner' be?" he demanded. "These are the King's grounds, and we must know who comes and goes."
"Mon Dieu!" I appealed in mock consternation to the stars. "But it is a hard man to deal with! Will you have an objection,monsieur, to the name of Jean Courbevoir?"
"None in the world, Jean," he returned promptly, "if you have your trading-permit with you. But who is the good savage with you?"
Nobody had told me anything of a trading-permit, and I fought for time.
"You call him good with justice,monsieur— By the way, what is your name?"
"They call me Joncaire," he said with a trace of grimness.
"Joncaire!Mort de ma vie!"
And I appealed with all the precision my memory would permit to the calendar of the saints.
"The very man I have been searching for!"
"What? How is that?" he asked.
"Ah, but that is a tale! I can not believe it now! Am I in very truth on French soil once more?"
"This is the Magazin Royal," he returned. "As for French soil,mon brave, I do not see how you could have been off it."
"Off it?" I repeated.
"Off it," he replied impatiently. "Since his Most Catholic Majesty hath a just claim to all lands in these parts—on this side of Hudson's River, at any rate."
"To be sure, to be sure," I assented quickly. "But, Monsieur de Joncaire, you will be interested to know there is an accursed tribe of savages who do not believe as you do."
"Is that so, Jean? And who may they be?"
"The Messesagues."
His face lighted up.
"They are in de Tonty's country. And how is the dear Alphonse?"
"Fleeing for his life, no less."
"Fleeing? How is it he has not come here?"
"Those same accursed Messesagues,monsieur. They rose up against us, and Monsieur de Tonty must flee to the northward and make the journey through the country of the Hurons."
"But you escaped?" he pressed.
"Verily,monsieur; and 'tis this good savage who walks beside me who did it. He has a kindness for me, and when we were out hunting informed me of the rising against Monsieur de Tonty and escorted me here."
A look of grave concern overspread Joncaire's face.
"Are you certain of this, Jean?"
"Beyond doubt, monsieur; for my friend, the Wolf here, smuggled a message from me to Monsieur de Tonty, who bade me come at once to you that you might hold up all west-bound canoes."
"Aye, Alphonse would have done so," approved Joncaire. "Well, I always told him he would have trouble with the Messesagues. He was too easy with them. They are used to the heavy rule of the Iroquois, and they misunderstand kindness.Ma foi! This is bad news you bring, Jean. Was there much loss in furs?"
"Sad! 'Tis very sad!" I said ambiguously. "All gone!"
"And that reminds me," he went on, "you have not shown me your trading-permit."
"Trading-permit, monsieur?" I said. "Why—why—monsieurforgets that I am not a free-trader. I was in Monsieur de Tonty's employ. I had no permit. Nor, indeed, monsieur, have I any furs. Therefore what need would Jean Courbevoir have for a trading-permit?"
"Humph!" he growled. "Have you been long in Canada, Jean!"
"But this year, monsieur."
"And you already speak the tongue of the savages!"
I nearly fell into this trap, but bethought myself of the danger in time.
"Oh, no,monsieur; only a word here and there."
"But this savage of yours?"
"Oh, he is like a dog. So faithful, so devoted! And he learns French readily, too."
"Humph!" growled Joncaire again. "And where do you come from, Jean?"
Something in his speech warned me—the liquid slurr of the South.
"I,monsieur?" I replied innocently. "Oh, I am of Picardy. But monsieur is of the South—no? of Provence?"
All the suspicion fled from Joncaire's face, and in its stead blossomed a broad smile.
"Peste!" he ejaculated. "'Tis a clever lad! And how knew you that, Jean?"
I was overjoyed—and in no need to simulate my sentiments. This was good fortune.
"Was I not camping beside the Regiment de Provence when we were on the Italian frontier! 'Tis a pleasant way those lads have of talking. And such good companions with the bottle!"
"You know, Jean, you know!"
Joncaire was delighted with me.
"Ah, yes,monsieur," I asserted modestly. "Ah, for some of that warm Southern wine at this moment instead of the accursed rum. Rum is good only for savages."
"You say truth," applauded Joncaire. "Come your ways within, Jean, and you shall taste of the blood of La Belle France—although it be not our Provence vintage. By the way, do you know Provence?"
"I can not say so with honesty, monsieur," I fenced, "although I have been in Arles."
"In Arles!"
He flung his arms around my neck.
"Jean, I love you, my lad! I was born in St. Remi, which is but a short distance out in the diocese. Does thatsacréHenri Ponteuse yet have the tavern at the corner of the Grande Place?"
I decided to take a long leap in the dark, and answered:
"But no, monsieur; he is dead these ten years. 'Tis his——"
I was about to say "son," but luckily Joncaire interrupted in time.
"'Twill be that fine lass, Rosette, his niece!" he exclaimed. "Ah, I knew it."
"And she has taken a husband," I encouraged him, now so far committed that I might not draw back.
"Not young Voisin, the miller's son!"
"No, monsieur; a stranger from a far corner of the diocese. One Michel."
We were now in the entrance of the log house, and Joncaire opened wide the door.
"Jean, you are a lad in a million!" he pronounced. "You shall drink deep. I have some wine which Bigon theintendantfetched out for a few of us—you will understand you must say naught of it hereafter; it never paid duty. Aye, we shall make a fine night of it, and you shall tell me of all that has passed in Arles these many years.
"Mon Dieu! I could weep at the thought of the time I have spent in this place of devils; and my children will never know the country that their father came from!"
Ta-wan-ne-ars would have followed us indoors, but Joncaire turned and pushed him down on the doorstep.
"Sit, sit," he said kindly in a tongue which Ta-wan-ne-ars afterward told me was the Messesague dialect. "You shall have your food here."
And to me—
"Our own Indians I will tolerate when I must, but I want no strange savages stealing my stores."
"Monsieurhas a family here?" I asked as we took our seats at a rough table in the front room.
"Here! Never! Although I have one son who will soon be able to carry on his father's work."
"One son? That is too bad. Now in Picardy——"
"Mort de ma vie! Would you talk to me of your Picards! Young man, each Autumn that I return to Montreal—and it has been many Autumns, let me tell you—Madame de Joncaire has a new little one to introduce to me."
His face softened.
"Bless me if I know how that old lady does it!" he sighed. "We have ten now—or maybe 'tis twelve. But I am not sure. I must count up when I return this year."
He clapped his hands, and a soldier in the undress uniform of the French marine troops, who formed the major part of the garrison of Canada, entered.
"François," announced Joncaire, "this is Jean Courbevoir, who will be my guest until he departs. He has been in Arles, François. Remember that. It should be a part of each young man's training to visit Arles.
"What he orders you will render to him. Now bring us the flagon of wine which Monsieur Bigon sent out this Spring."
The soldier saluted me as if I were a marshal of France, and brought in the flagon of theintendant'swine with the exquisite reverence which only a son of France could bestow upon the choicest product of the soil of France.
"Pour it out, François," commanded Joncaire.
The soldier hesitated.
"And Monsieur de Lery?" he said.
"A thousand million curses!" exploded Joncaire. "Am I to wait for him? Am I to sacrifice my choicest wine in his gullet!"
"Who is Monsieur de Lery?" I asked as François filled a thick mug with the ruby juice.
"What? You do not know him? That is a good one, that! I should like to have had him hear you say it. But do you mean you do not know of him?"
"Monsieurwill remember I am of the wilderness," I protested.
"True, true. And this pompous whipper-snapper who sets out to teach Louis Thomas de Joncaire, Sieur de Chabert, his duty, after thirty-five years on the frontier—pah!"
He drained his mug, and pushed it toward François for more.
"But you have not told me who he is, monsieur," I said.
"He is——"
"Monsieur de Lery enters," interposed François with a glance at the doorway.
A slender, wiry little man in a wig several sizes too big for him strode into the room. He had a thin face, near-sighted eyes and a bulging forehead. He favored me with a curious glance, nodded to Joncaire and took a seat across the table from me.
My host made a wry smile and motioned to François to bring a third mug.
"Hola, Monsieur de Lery," he said. "This is a gallant young forest-runner, one Jean Courbevoir, who has come to tell me that charming idiot Alphonse de Tonty has been chased out of Le de Troit by the Messesagues. Jean, Monsieur de Lery is the King's engineer officer in Canada."
"Another case of a log fortification, I suppose," remarked de Lery sarcastically in a dry, crackling voice.
He paid no attention to the introduction to me.
"You gentlemen will never learn," he added.
"You must think we grow louis d'or instead of furs in Canada," growled Joncaire. "Be sure, we of the wilderness posts are the most anxious to have stone walls around us. Well, what headway have you made?"
"I have traced out the lines of the central mass," replied de Lery, taking a gulp of the wine. "Tomorrow I shall mark out a surrounding work of four bastions to encompass it."
"And you insist it shall be at the confluence of the river and the lake?"
"There can be no doubt 'tis the proper spot," declared de Lery didactically, "both from the engineering and the strategical points of view."
"But I am telling you—I, Louis Thomas de Joncaire, Sieur de Chabert, who have been thirty-five years in this accursed country—that if you do so you will have no sheltered anchorage for shipping. Moreover, you will sacrifice the buildings we have erected here."
De Lery pushed back his mug.
"All very well," he answered; "but your position here does not command the lake. If the English chose they could blockade you in the river, and your anchorage would go for naught. Furthermore, there is great difficulty in navigating craft this far up the river against a current of nearly three leagues an hour."
"Bah!" exclaimed Joncaire. "You know everything."
"I am an engineer," returned de Lery pompously. "You are a soldier. I should not attempt to dictate to you."
Joncaire appealed to me. He was on his third mug of wine, and the mellow stuff had rekindled his odd friendship for me.
"Come,mon Jean," he cried, "what do you say to it! You are a man of experience. You have been to Arles. I think you implied that you had seen service in the Army in France?"
"As a sergeant only,monsieur," I answered modestly. "In the Regiment de la Reine."
"A famous corps," he proclaimed. "Your opinion has weight with me, Jean. You are a man of sense and judgment. What is your opinion on this subject we debate?"
"Ma foi, monsieur," I said cautiously, "I am scarcely fitted to discuss it with two gentlemen of your wisdom and experience. I am frank to say I do not understand the issue."
"De Lery, we will leave the matter to this youth's honest candor," suggested Joncaire.
"With your favor,monsieur, we will not," replied the engineer decisively.
He rose from his seat.
"Speaking for myself, I have had sufficient wine, and I shall retire. If the masons bring in the loads of stone we expect in the morning, we shall be able to lay the first course by noon."
Joncaire twisted his face into a grimace as de Lery ascended a steep flight of ladder-stairs to an upper story.
"What a man to live with!" he apostrophized. "Mon Dieu, nobody knows the agonies I suffer! Me, I am a man of compassion, of friendliness, of respect for another's opinion. But that man—tonnerrr-rrr-rr-re de Dieu! For him there are no opinions but his own."
"What is the difficulty,monsieur?" I inquired sympathetically.
"Why, at last I have persuaded this stupid, timorous government of ours to build me a proper fort. 'Tis the only way we shall hold thesacréEnglish in check.
"You have intelligence, Jean. You know the country to the West. 'Tis manifest that with a fort here we can control in some measure the intercourse betwixt the western tribes and the English. Also, we shall have a constant threat here to keep the Iroquois at peace."
"That is readily understood, monsieur."
"Of course. Well, I worked up Vaudreuil to approve it, obtained the grants from Paris, secured the necessary mechanics—and then they sent this popinjay to supervise the work. I had pitched on this site here. He would have none of it. No, he must overturn all my plans and put the new works several miles down the river where it runs into the lake.
"And he will not listen to reason. He is so conceited with himself because he has been charged with all the works of fortification in Canada."
"Are there others then,monsieur?" I asked casually, burying my nose in the wine-mug.
"Aye, to be sure. He is to build a wall around Montreal, and to strengthen theenceinteof Quebec."
"But we are at peace with thesesacréEnglish," I objected.
Joncaire, now thoroughly convivial, winked at me over the rim of his mug.
"For the present, yes. But how long, Jean? Ah, my lad, you are young, and I can see you have the brains to carry you far. Here in Canada family counts for less than in Paris. But after all you are not of those who know the high politics of the day—not yet."
"I am a poor, ignorant youth whommonsieuris pleased to honor," I said humbly.
"Andmonsieuris pleased to instruct you," he answered. "Yes, we can not go on as we have been, Jean. Every year that passes the English grow in strength, and we become weaker; I speak now in matters of trade; for after all, lad, the country which obtains the mastery in trade must be the military master of any contending nation. I may be only a simple soldier, but so much I have learned."
"Ah, butmonsieuris pleased to be down-hearted!" I cried. "'Tis plain we are stronger than the English. Are not our posts stretched thousands of miles beyond theirs?"
"Pouf! What of that? We are a colony of soldiers and traders, well armed and disciplined. They are an infinitely larger group of colonies with only a few soldiers and traders, but many husbandmen. Give them time, and they will obtain such a grip on the soil of the wilderness that they can not be pried loose. But if we use our temporary advantage, and keep them from winning supremacy in the trade with the savages, then, my Jean, we may force a war upon them at an early day, and we shall win."
He sat back, and eyed me triumphantly.
"Surely we have that supremacy now!"
He winked at me again, and drew from a drawer in the table a heavy book such as accounts are kept in.
"Jean," he said, "I am about to disclose to you a secret—which is not a secret, because every trader who works for himself is acquainted with it."
He flipped through the pages.
"Here is the account for this post for the year just ended. We handled a total of 204 'green' deerskins and 23 packets of various kinds of furs. On these we cleared a profit of 2,382 livres, 3 sols, 9 deniers,[1] which would not come anywhere near covering the operating expenses of the post. You will find the same story at every post from here to the Mississippi."
[1] About $476.
"Why,monsieur?"
"ThesesacréEnglish! First they turn the Iroquois against us—and in that success, I am bound to say, they have been ably assisted by ourselves;[2] then they build the post of Fort Oswego, at the foot of the Onondaga's River on Irondequoit Bay;[3] then they send out a swarm of young men to trap and shoot in the Indian country; then they pass this accursed law that forbids us obtaining Indian goods from the New York merchants!Peste, what a people! They have us in a noose."
[2] Joncaire was one of the few Frenchmen who had the confidence of the Iroquois. He had been captured as a young man by the Senecas and adopted into that tribe.
[3] Now Oswego, N.Y.
I shook my head dolefully.
"Ah,monsieur, you make me very sorrowful," I said. "I came out to Canada thinking to make my fortune, but if what you say be true, I am more likely to be killed by the English."
"No, no, it's not so bad as that," he answered quickly. "The governor-general has waked up. It seems that in France they are not quite ready for another war, but we are charged to make preparations as rapidly as possible. There is an emissary coming soon from Paris, who will have instructions for the frontier posts and the friendly Indians. It may be we can persuade the English to be stupid enough to revoke this law of theirs. In any case, my Jean, you will have heard of the Doom Trail?"
I crossed myself devoutly.
"I have heard nothing good of it,monsieur," I said fearfully.
"Humph; I don't doubt it. And mind you, Jean, for myself, I do not like that kind of business. But after all 'tis the trade over the Doom Trail which keeps you and me in our jobs. Without it—well, this post would shut down. And they do say at Quebec that if we can start a revolution in England for this Pretender of theirs and war at the same time, we shall be able to take the whole continent from them."
"And who is this emissary you spoke of?" I asked, thinking to extract more information from the bibulous Joncaire.
"Not of your——"
There was a commotion at the door.
"Bind the Indian," shouted a voice in French. "Hah, I thought so! We meet again, Ormerod!"
De Veulle stood on the threshold, his rifle leveled at my breast.
"Bring the Indian inside here," he called behind him. "We'll have a look at him in the light."
A group of Cahnuagas, frightfully painted, with their grotesque bristling feather headdresses, hustled Ta-wan-ne-ars into the room.
But now Joncaire asserted himself.
"What do you mean by this, Monsieur de Veulle?" he demanded with a cold displeasure which showed no signs of his recent indulgences. "This man is a forest-runner, Jean Courbevoir, a messenger from de Tonty. The Indian is a Messesague—as you should see by his paint and bead-work."
"Bah!" sneered de Veulle. "They fooled you. The Indian is Ta-wan-ne-ars, of the Seneca Wolves, War Chief of the Iroquois. The white man is Harry Ormerod, an English spy and a deserter from the Jacobites. He was stationed in Paris for some years, and recently was sent to New York. Burnet, the Governor of New York, dispatched him here to spy out what you were doing. 'Twas fortunate I had an errand to Jagara, for he seems to have deluded you completely."
"That may be so," assented Joncaire; "but it happens that I command here. These men are my prisoners. You will order your Indians from the room. François, get your musket and stand guard."
De Veulle drew a paper from a pocket inside his leather shirt and presented it to Joncaire with irritating deliberation.
"Here," he said, "you will find my warrant from the King himself to exercise what powers I deem necessary along the frontier. Only the governor-general may overrule me."
Joncaire studied the paper.
"That is so," he admitted. "But I tell you this, de Veulle, you have a bad record on the frontier for a trouble-maker. But for you I should have had the Senecas and Onondagas in our interest before this. I write to Quebec by the first post, demanding a check upon your activities. We have too much at stake to permit you to jeopardize it."
"At De-o-nun-de-ga-a it is known that Ta-wan-ne-ars and his brother Ormerod journeyed to Jagara," interposed the Seneca in his own language. "Does Joncaire think the Senecas will be quiet when one of their chiefs is given up to the Keepers of the Doom Trail for torment?"
"The Senecas will be told that you never reached Jagara," replied de Veulle before Joncaire could speak.
"I will have nothing to do with it," declared the commandant of the post. "Spies they may be, and as such they may be imprisoned; but I will have nothing to do with turning them over to the Keepers. De Veulle, this is on your own head."
"I am content," said de Veulle with a mocking smile.
Joncaire turned to me.
"Well, my Jean," he said soberly, "whatever your name may be, you have gotten yourself into a nasty mess. You will be lucky if you die quickly. This is what comes of trying to fool old Papa Joncaire."
"You will admit that I fooled you," I replied as lightly as I could.
"You did," he conceded, "and you are nearly the first."
"Will you do me a favor in memory of Arles—I have really visited that renowned city—monsieur?"
"Gladly."
"Get word sometime to Peter Corlaer that I fooled you, and 'twas no fault of mine I was taken."
He clapped me on the back.
"That's the spirit,mon brave! I'll do it without fail. And my advice to you is to pick the first chance to die, no matter how it may be. These Keepers—peste! They are a bad lot. They are artists in torment. 'Tis part of their religion, which I will say they still practise, even though Père Hyacinthe were to excommunicate me."
"Better not let the worthy priest hear you," admonished de Veulle with his mocking smile. "Have you finished your homily and last word to the condemned?"
"I have finished my last word to you," snarled Joncaire.
"Perhaps,monsieur," I said, "you have never chanced to hear of a certain duel with small-swords in the ——"
De Veulle struck me with all his strength across the mouth.
"Here," he called to the waiting Cahnuagas, "bind him—and make a sure job of it. Be not careful of his comfort."
Joncaire looked him up and down with indescribable contempt.
"There is a bad air in here, Monsieur Englishman," he said. "Even the company of that ass de Lery is preferable to this miserable person. I bid you adieu."
But as he was about to climb the stairs de Lery had ascended, de Veulle called him back.
"One moment! Speaking officially, Monsieur de Joncaire, I desire you to send out belts to all friendly tribes, summoning them to a council-fire which will be held here by the King's command in August."
Joncaire bowed.
"It shall be done," he said.
"Now then"—de Veulle addressed me—"we will consider your case. Are the bonds sufficiently tight?"
I had been bound with strips of rawhide which cut into every muscle. The question was superfluous.
"Pick them up," he said to the Cahnuagas. "We will get back to the canoes."
One of the Keepers objected, seeming to suggest that they rest the night at least; but de Veulle silenced him with a frown.
"We start at once," he said. "There will be time to rest after we are out in the lake."
Ta-wan-ne-ars and I were slung like sacks of grain each upon the shoulders of a pair of warriors and so carried past several phlegmatically interested French soldiers to the bank of the river. Here we were laid carefully in the bottoms of separate canoes, which were shoved out into the swirling current and borne swiftly down-stream into the spreading waters of the Cadarakui Lake.
Despite the tightness of my bonds and the numbness they induced, I fell asleep, rocked by the easy motion of the canoe as it was driven along by the powerful arms of the Cahnuagas, who crouched in line, one behind the other, their paddles dipping in and out of the water like tireless machines.
A dash of water awakened me. One of the Cahnuagas was leaning down, his hideous face close to mine, his fingers wrestling with the knots in the rawhide bonds.
"You can not lie idle, my distinguished guest," called de Veulle from his place at the stern. "You must keep us dry."
As the rawhide strips were unwound I was able to sit up and look over the frail bark side. We were out of sight of land, and a moderate breeze was raising a slight swell, the crest of which occasionally broke over our bow. In the other canoe Ta-wan-ne-ars already was at work with a bark scoop.
The Cahnuagas were uneasy, and at times they muttered amongst themselves; but de Veulle kept them at the paddles, working in relays of four. It said much for his hold on the Indians that he was able to persuade them to navigate the treacherous waters of the open lake, a feat the savages will never attempt except under compulsion.
All of that day we were isolated on the restless surface of the huge inland sea. Just before dusk of the second day we sighted a rocky coast, and sheered away from it. Two nights later we passed a group of lights to the north, and the Cahnuagas murmured "Cadaraqui." Indeed, 'twas the French fort of that name, the key to the westerly defenses of Canada and the St. Lawrence outlet from the lake.[1] On the sixth day we passed out of the lake into the narrow channel of the great river, and landed in the evening at a palisaded post on the southern bank.
[1] Later Fort Frontenac.
So far I had been treated fairly well. My captors had shared with me their meager fare of parched corn and jerked meat; and if I had been compelled to bale out the canoe incessantly, it was equally true that they had labored at the paddles night and day. It was also true that de Veulle had made me the constant subject of his gibes and kicks and had encouraged the Cahnuagas—and God knows they required no encouragement—to maul me at pleasure. Yet the frailty of the canoe had forbidden indulgence in as much roughness as they desired.
But now everything was changed. My legs were left unbound, but with uncanny skill the savages lashed back my arms until well-nigh every bit of circulation was stopped in them and each movement I was forced to make became an act of torture. The one recompense for my sufferings was that for the first time since our capture I had the company of Ta-wan-ne-ars, and I was able to profit by his stoical demeanor in resisting the impulse to vent my anger against de Veulle.
"Say nothing, brother," he counseled me when I panted my hate, "for every word you say will afford him satisfaction."
"I wish I had staved in the canoe in the middle of the lake," I exclaimed bitterly.
"Ta-wan-ne-ars, too, thought of that," he admitted. "Yet must we have died with our tormenters, and perhaps if we wait we may escape and live to slay them at less cost to ourselves."
"It is not likely," I answered, for my spirits were very low. "What is this place? Where are we?"
Ta-wan-ne-ars looked around the landscape, rapidly dimming in the twilight. We had been left in custody of the Indians on the river-bank whilst de Veulle conversed with three white men who had emerged from the palisades as we scrambled ashore.
"This place Ta-wan-ne-ars does not know," he replied. "Yet it is on the river St. Lawrence, for there is no other stream of this size. I think, brother, that de Veulle is taking us to La Vierge du Bois."
"It matters little where he takes us," I returned ill-naturedly. "Our end is like to be the same in any case."
"At the least," said Ta-wan-ne-ars with a smile, "we shall have solved the riddle of the Doom Trail."
"And what will that avail us?" I countered. "Joncaire told me all I sought to know of Jagara—but he told it to a dead man."
"Not yet dead, brother," Ta-wan-ne-ars corrected me gently. "We have still a long way to go—and we have our search."
"Which is like to lead us into the hands of ——," I said rudely.
But de Veulle and the three strange Frenchmen walked up at that moment, and Ta-wan-ne-ars was spared the necessity of an answer.
"'Tis well," de Veulle was saying. "We will rest the night, then. I'll lodge my prisoners in the stockade."
"And there is naught else!" asked one of the others.
"The letter to Père Hyacinthe—don't forget that."
Whereat they all four laughed with a kind of sinister mystery and cast glances of amusement at us.
"I would I might see the Moon Feast," said another.
"Some day, if you are accepted amongst the Ga-go-sra, you may," returned de Veulle. "Be ready with the letter, I beg you. I must start early with the daylight if I am to be in time for the feast."
The Cahnuagas drove us from the bank with kicks and blows of their paddle-blades, and the white men followed leisurely, laughing now and then as we dodged some particularly vicious attack upon our heads and faces. As it was, when we were flung into a bare log-walled room within the palisade we were covered with bruises. 'Twas the real beginning of our torment.
In the morning our arms were untied and we were given a mess of half-cooked Indian meal. Then the rawhides were rebound, and we set forth upon a trail that led from the river southeastward into the forest. A Cahnuaga walked behind each of us, tomahawk in hand. De Veulle himself brought up the rear, his musket always ready.
I prefer not to think of that day. The heat of early Summer was in the air, and although it was cooler in the forest than in the open, a host of insects attacked us; and with our hands bound, we could not fight them off. Ta-wan-ne-ars had the thick hide of his race, and they bothered him less than they did me; but we were both in agony by the time we made camp and the smoke-smudge kindled by our guards in self-protection gave us temporary relief.
The next day was much the same. If we hesitated in our pace or staggered, the savage nearest to us used the flat of his tomahawk or his musket-butt. Ta-wan-ne-ars walked before me in the column, and the sight of his indifference, his disdainful air toward all the slights put upon him, maintained my courage when otherwise it must have yielded.
On the third day, shortly after noon, I was astonished to hear faintly, but very distinctly, a bell ringing in the forest. And I remembered the words of the Cahnuaga who had been last of his brethren to die in that fight in the glade on the Great Trail—
"A building with a tower and a bell that rings."
"La Vierge du Bois welcomes you," hailed de Veulle from behind us. "The bell rings you in. Ah, there will be bright eyes and flushed cheeks at sight of you!"
He laughed in a pleasant, melodious way.
"White cheeks to flush for you, Ormerod, and red cheeks to grow duskier for our friend the chief here! What a fluttering of hearts there will be!"
Could I have wrenched my hands free I would have snatched a tomahawk from the Cahnuaga before me. But I did what Ta-wan-ne-ars did—held my head straight and walked as if I had not heard. Something told me the Seneca suffered as much as I.
We did not hear the bell again; but in mid-afternoon the forest ended upon the banks of a little river, and in the distance a wooden tower showed through the trees. As we drew nearer other buildings appeared, arranged in irregular fashion about a clearing. One of pretentious size stood by itself inside a palisade.
Cahnuagas, including women and children, swarmed along the trail with guttural cries. A big, red-headed man stepped from a building which was evidently a storehouse. 'Twas Bolling, and with a yell of delight he snatched a block of wood from the ground and hurled it at my head.
"Curse me, 'tis the renegade and his red shadow!" he shouted. "We are in great luck! Do but wait until Tom knows you are here, my friend. The stake awaits you!"
He walked beside us, rubbing his hands together in high glee, and discoursing with seemingly expert knowledge on the precise character of the various kinds of torment we should undergo. From time to time he would break off to call upon the Cahnuagas for confirmation or new ideas, and they never failed to support him. Once in a while he kicked us or beat us with the nearest stick he could reach.
His attentions drew a considerable crowd; and so when we entered the single rude street of the settlement 'twas to find the whole population awaiting us. The gate in the stockade around the big house was open, and with a thrill I realized that a swirl of color there meant Marjory. Murray's stately figure I identified at a distance.
I think she did not know me at first. There was no reason why she should. My leather garments were rent and torn, my hair was tangled and matted with briers and thorns from the underbrush, my face was scratched and bleeding. I was thin and gaunt, and I might not walk upright, although I tried, for the rawhide thongs bowed my shoulders.
But Murray knew me instantly, and a flare of exultation lighted his face. Behind him, too, stood the animal-shape of Tom, long arms almost trailing on the ground; and the negro's yellow eyes seemed to expand with tigerish satisfaction.
De Veulle halted us directly in front of the gate.
"An old acquaintance has consented to visit us," he said.
And with a shock of grief I saw comprehension dawn in Marjory's face. But she did not flush crimson, as de Veulle had prophesied. She blenched white. I knew by that she had been long enough at La Vierge du Bois to appreciate the temper of its inhabitants.
"I seem to recollect the tall Indian beside our friend, likewise," observed Murray.
"'Tis his companion of the interview at Cawston's in New York," rejoined de Veulle. "What, Mistress Marjory, you have not forgotten the rash youth who was always threatening or badgering us?"
Her lips moved mechanically, but 'twas a minute before she could force her voice to obey.
"I remember," she said.
Murray took snuff precisely and addressed himself to me.
"Master Juggins, Master Juggins—oh, I beg your pardon! I keep confusing your names. Master Ormerod, then—did I not warn you to leave the Doom Trail alone?"
I laughed.
"I have not been near the Doom Trail," I answered.
"No," answered de Veulle. "I found him cozening that old fool Joncaire at Jagara."
"So!"
Murray pursed his lips.
"'Tis a serious offense."
"For which, it seems, Joncaire is not to be permitted to take revenge," I added.
"You are a dangerous youth, Master Ormerod," admonished Murray gravely. "You had opportunity to win free of your past misdemeanors, you will allow, yet you would hear none of my advice. No, you must mix in affairs which did not concern you. And as I warned you, it hath been to your sore prejudice. Much as I——"
Marjory flung out her arms in a gesture of appeal.
"Why do you talk so much, sir?" she cried. "What have you in mind? This man is an Englishman! Is he to be given up to the savages?"
Murray surveyed her gravely.
"Tut, tut, my dear! Is this the way to conduct in public? 'Given up to the savages,' forsooth! The young man is a traitor, a renegade—and a sorry fool into the bargain. He is in an uncomfortable situation, thanks to his own mistakes and heedlessness. He hath meddled in matters beyond his comprehension or ability. We must reckon up the harm he hath done, and assess his punishment in proportion."
"Just what do you mean by that, sir?" she demanded coldly.
He brushed a speck of snuff from his sleeve.
"Frankly, my dear lass, I can not tell you as yet."
"I think you mock me," she asserted. "And I tell you, sir, I will be party to no such crime against humanity. You talk of traitors. I am wondering if there is more than one meaning to the word."
She turned with a flutter of garments and sped into the house. De Veulle eyed Murray rather quizzically, but the arch-conspirator gave no evidence of uneasiness.
"You shall tell me about it," he said, as if nothing had happened. "Meantime I suppose they may be lodged with the Keepers."