VIIIWASHINGTON MEETS THE FRENCH
“The Hunter may ride my horse,” proposed Washington, in the morning—and that showed his kind heart.
“No,” Tanacharison replied. “It is not seemly. The English chief cannot march afoot in the mud. His feet will wear out. He is too heavy for his horse to bear double; he is a large man. If the boy cannot walk, we will make a litter for him; but I think that with a lift now and then he will suffer no harm. The wounds of the young heal quickly, and he must learn to endure like a warrior.”
It took five days to travel the seventy miles. In the afternoon of the fifth day, while they were following a trail up along the black Allegheny River, and the gaunt storm-drenched forest was darkening with early dusk, they came to the edge of the trees and Tanacharison, in the lead, said:
“Venango.”
“Gist, do you pitch camp in the cover of the woods,” Washington ordered, “whilst I go in with Vanbraam and find the commander. Keep the party together. We will spend the night here.” Then he looked at Robert and saw that the leg was swollen and painful; so he added: “The young Hunter with the panther-claw necklace shall come with me. These French may have good medicine for his leg.”
“He may go,” Tanacharison now responded, pleased. “The leg needs rest by a fire, indoors.” Andhe said to Robert, in Seneca: “You will stay with Washington and learn what is done, so as to tell me.”
For Juskakaka and White Thunder, and even Half-King, were still wondering what words Washington was bringing from the Governor of Virginia. Perhaps a bargain was proposed, and the French were to have one side of the Beautiful River and the English the other side, and the Indians would have nothing—just as Captain Joncaire had threatened.
Washington and Vanbraam left their horses and with Robert went afoot into the clearing. They saw before them a great log house, with smoke pouring from the chimney. Separated from it were bark and skin lodges of Delawares, Wyandots and French Indians who lived there. And beyond the house and the lodges was a creek flowing into the Allegheny River, both bordered by the stumps of the clearing.
But the log house was the main thing. Washington said suddenly:
“There’s a sight to heat the blood, Vanbraam.”
The wind, blowing gustily so that the forest moaned, had whipped a flag, hoisted over the house, into plain sight, flat against the dun sky. It was the flag of France.
“That’s likely the trading house Fraser built, and was driven from,” continued Washington. “They’re bold fellows, those French, to fly their flag in the territory of the King in America, and drive out his American subjects.”
This was how it seemed to Robert also, limping on. The French were bold; they travelled far through the woods, and paddled down the rivers and up the rivers, and made merry. Nothing daunted them. And while, of course, he was their enemy, he hopedthat they would let him and Washington and Captain Vanbraam in, for his leg was hurting cruelly.
Scarcely any sign of life, except the smoke, appeared in the clearing. But now the Indian dogs began to bark, and evidently they three, maybe all the party, had been seen; for when they were nearing the log house, with Washington ahead, three men stepped out and came a little way to meet them.
The three were French—French officers, by their laced uniform coats, their swords and cocked hats. The first one, lean and active, and dark, Robert knew at a glance.
Then Washington lifted his hat, and Captain Vanbraam stiffly lifted his hat, and the three Frenchmen lifted their hats, so that the chief bared his gray hair.
“I am Major George Washington of his Britannic Majesty’s Colony of Virginia,” Washington said, for Captain Vanbraam to translate into French. “Will you do me the honor to direct me to the commander of this post.”
Bowing and smiling, the gray-haired, wiry man answered, in French that Robert partially understood, because his mother spoke both English and French:
“I have the great pleasure of presenting in myself Captain Chabert de Joncaire, appointed to command for the King of France in the country of the River Ohio.”
“Then I have a letter for you, as commander, from the Governor of Virginia, sir,” announced Washington. “When I have delivered it at the proper place, I am bidden to wait for an answer.”
“Oh, pardon, monsieur,” Captain Joncaire smiled. “How is the letter addressed?”
“To the commander of the French forces upon the Ohio, sir.”
“Ah,” said Captain Joncaire. “It is official. In that case, monsieur, I think it would better be delivered to the Chevalier Legardeur de Saint-Pierre, my superior officer, at Fort le Boeuf.”
“And where is that, sir?”
“It is sixty miles to the north, up this Buffalo Creek which we call French Creek, monsieur. A very bad trail. You should not try without resting. You have come a long way to deliver a letter. The letter is important?”
“It is important, sir.”
“Tomorrow, then, to Fort Buffalo, if you wish,” said Captain Joncaire. “What terrible weather! And now will you and your companion do me the honor to have supper with us. We have little—it is the fare of a soldier, monsieur; but you are a soldier, so why do I apologize?”
“I accept with great pleasure, sir,” replied Washington. He introduced Jacob Vanbraam, and Captain Joncaire introduced his two officers, and there was much bowing and saluting and smiling on the part of the three Frenchmen, Captain Joncaire in particular.
Captain Joncaire looked sharply at Robert.
“And who is this?” he inquired.
“An Indian boy whom I have with me,” said Washington. “His leg is hurt, as you see, and I am trusting to get it freshly dressed by some of your people.”
“He may go to the other Indians in those lodges yonder,” said Captain Joncaire. “The Delaware women will dress it.”
“Your pardon, sir,” objected Washington. “I am responsible for him, and as he is a boy I thought that he might have a corner near me in quarters somewhat warmer than an Indian lodge.”
Captain Joncaire shrugged his shoulders and made a little grimace.
“Very well, Monsieur the Major. He may have his corner. But the place for Indians and dogs is out of doors.”
That, coming from Captain Joncaire, who was part Indian himself, sounded rather airy.
Now they all proceeded to the large log house. Once the Hunter had thought Captain Joncaire, and Andrew Montour also, to be wonderful persons. But beside Washington, dignified even in his soaked and ragged clothes, and over-topping the three French by a full head, Captain Joncaire and his officers looked small.
A huge fire was blazing hotly in the large main room of the old trading house. There were benches, and a plank table set for supper. A Delaware woman was sent for, and came and dressed Robert’s leg. Then at a signal from Captain Joncaire and a nod from Washington he lay down out of the way, upon a bear-skin, near the fire.
Servants began to add dishes and jugs and bottles to the other things upon the table, and brought in roasts of bear, deer and turkeys, a pudding, and heaps of little cakes, and jars of preserves—many things that were strange to Robert, but all looking mighty good.
Candles in brackets were placed upon the table, and the glasses and the dishes shone brightly. Washington and Jacob Vanbraam had removed theirheavy coats, and had washed. All sat down at the table. It was to be a feast. Servants passed dishes to them, with meat that had been cut. Never in his life had Robert the Hunter been so hungry. Then Captain Joncaire, with a little cry—“Here, child!”—tossed him a meaty bone to gnaw. But Washington said, politely: “With your permission, monsieur,” and got up and coming with his own piled-up plate handed it to the Hunter.
“This is yours, my brave boy,” he said. “I know what hunger is, myself.”
The Frenchmen stared as if they could scarcely believe their eyes. Captain Joncaire laughed gaily.
“My word, monsieur!” he exclaimed in the French. “You have the grand manner to an Indian whelp. But you omit. I, Captain, Chabert de Joncaire, will supply. Here, Jacques—” and he filled a tumbler with wine and passed it to a servant: “This for the young seigneur in the corner, that he may drink to His Gracious Majesty the King of France.”
Washington stretched out his arm and stopped the servant, and set the glass upon the table again.
“No, monsieur, if you please,” he said. He gazed straight at Captain Joncaire. “Water is the sufficient drink, as I have found, myself; and I would not wish to heat his blood.”
Again Captain Joncaire laughed. He and the two other French, and Captain Vanbraam, touched water scarcely at all. They drank repeatedly of wine and of brandy, while they ate; but Washington, the Hunter saw, scarcely wet his lips except with water.
After a time the chatter had increased. The meats were removed, but the liquors remained, and the cakes were passed. The three French were red offace, and bright of eye; Jacob Vanbraam was a little flushed, but not much so. Washington sat quietly, letting Vanbraam and the French do most of the talking, and mainly bowing reply to a question or a salute.
He spoke no French; Jacob Vanbraam, however, spoke the French. Every little while he uttered a sentence or two in English, that Washington should know what was being said.
The Hunter was sleepy; but Tanacharison had bidden him keep his ears open, so he only pretended to sleep.
The French were getting drunk and boastful. They talked rapidly, sometimes all together, and Captain Vanbraam made them laugh with his poor French, and they thought him drunk, too, and let him say to Washington whatever he pleased.
“Down we go, in the spring,” bragged Captain Joncaire. “Down to the Beautiful River. The English will be too late. They are slow. When they would move their settlers in, they will be stopped by French forts. They can do nothing. They have yet to cross the mountains, and we have only to go down the rivers.”
“Yes, yes; but by what right do you enter the country of the Ohio, gentlemen?” stammered Jacob Vanbraam.
“By the discovery by our great La Salle sixty years ago,” they babbled. “The Mississippi is ours and all the land watered by the rivers flowing into it. Huzzah! And what have the English? Nothing but their little colonies along the sea, bounded by the mountains. All west of the mountains, French.”
“So you deny their claim to land west of the mountains?” Jacob Vanbraam queried.
“Yes, yes. What claim? A treaty with those Iroquois dogs who never owned the land to give; and who besides are rightful subjects of France and not of England! No, Monsieur the Captain—and you, Monsieur the Major: the banner of France is to float over all the country of the Ohio, and one year shall see it done, before you slow English in America can cut your trails.”
“That will take many men, gentlemen.”
“Bah! Fifteen hundred. They are waiting. We have a line of forts connecting us with Montreal, and supplies in store. We will meet our men and supplies coming up from New Orleans, and thus we will possess all the Ohio and the Mississippi. The Indians are joining France. You English cannot win the Indians. Already the Miami have sued for friendship.”
“How is that?” Washington asked, through Captain Vanbraam.
“Certainly,” prated Captain Joncaire. “The Miami have sent me two English scalps and a belt of wampum, for their French father, as token of their love. They see the strength of the French. The Delaware and Shawnee and even your Mingo Iroquois of the Allegheny have come to our camps and offered to help us march. The Sac, Potawatomi and Ojibwa are enrolled on our side. Just previous to your arrival here a band of Ottawa passed through with eight English scalps from below, for my commander their father. Oh, you can do nothing with the Indians. They are ours.”
That was stunning news. The Miamis first hadvowed friendship to Virginia and Pennsylvania; and now had turned around. Delawares, Shawnees, and even some of the Mingos (said Joncaire) were helping the French. And the Ottawas were on the war trail.
“But you are not drinking, Monsieur the Major,” Joncaire continued. “The liquor of France is not to your liking?”
“The liquor may be excellent of the kind,” Washington answered. “But I find the water excellent also.”
Then one of the two other officers said something quickly, and Jacob Vanbraam as quickly translated again:
“He says you are too young and green to sit with men. You are a dolt.”
But Washington made no reply.
So the others chattered again, and drank, and laughed, their tongues wagged, the smoke from their pipes formed a cloud; and amid the smoke, the chatter and the warmth the Hunter, well fed, dozed upon his bear-skin.
He roused, wakened by the scraping of the benches. This had signalled to him that Washington was going. The candles were low in their sockets, and the French and Washington and Jacob Vanbraam were upon their feet—the French swaying foolishly. Up scrambled Robert himself, throwing off his sleep.
“My thanks to you,” Washington was saying, for Jacob Vanbraam to translate, “and my humble services. But I will sleep with my own men in my own camp, as befits a commander. I already have fared better than they.” He turned about, and saw the Hunter. “You may stay and sleep by the fire, on account of your leg,” he bade, with a sign.
“Yes, yes. Certainly,” smiled Captain Joncaire, understanding the sign. And he said to Robert in French: “The poor little boy shall stay with his French brothers.”
Robert shook his head. He was afraid of these French, so polite and so sure of themselves.
“I will go with Washington,” he announced in English. “He is my captain.”
When Vanbraam translated, the French laughed more loudly than ever, and Washington gravely smiled; and Robert followed him out into the cold blackness, for the camp in the woods.