I ENCOUNTER MIXED MOTIVES
I was called to semi-consciousness by the tinkling clamor of small
bells, and by feeling my feet caught in something clinging yet
yielding. Then my body swung into it. It was a web. I pulled at it,
and tried to brush it away. And all the while the bells kept ringing,
ringing. A shower of arrows fell around me, and one grazed my foot.
A man must be far gone indeed when an arrow point will not sting him to
life. I was no longer a fever-riven log of driftwood. I knew where I
was and what was happening. I had reached the Malhominis village.
Working through the rice swamp, I had come into the main river too far
to the west, but following the woman's voice I had floated back. I was
caught in one of the nets that the Malhominis strung with small bells,
and stretched across the stream to keep both fish and enemies in
bounds. I set my teeth hard.
"It is Montlivet. It is Montlivet," I called.
Had I thought the Malhominis stolid and none too intelligent! They
heard me call, they pushed a canoe to my rescue, and they carried me to
a warm lodge. I remember that I bandied words with them as they
carried me. They made sport to see me naked, for on my former visit I
had rebuked them severely on that score. But they were tender of my
shoulder.
The time for the next few hours--indeed for the night--is confused. My
shoulder was dressed and bound with herbs, and I was laid on a bed of
rushes. Outchipouac, the Malhominis war chief, knew from former
acquaintance with me that I had prejudices and would not lie where it
was not clean, and so he humored me and gave orders that the rushes be
freshly cut. By this I knew that he had not only respect for me, but
something that was like affection, since savages are indolent and
intolerant, and will not bestir themselves for Europeans unless they
are unwontedly interested. I treasured this kindness. One meets
little that savors of personal regard in the wilderness, and I was ill.
Now, savages know little of the laws of health and abuse what they
know, but in the matter of herbs they can be trusted. The herb drink
which they gave me had virtue, for I woke with my head clear. A gourd
of water stood beside my pallet, and I drained it and called lustily
for another. A man pushed aside the skins and came in. It was Pierre.
Pierre, alive, clothed, and with every hair of his flamingo head
bristling and unharmed! He answered my cry with a huge smile, and then
because he had a gypsy mother in the background of his nature, he put
his great hands before his face, and I saw tears pushing between the
fingers.
That made me fear ill news. I half rose, and would have shaken his
tidings out of him like corn out of a bag. But the pain of my shoulder
sent me back again with my teeth jammed hard together.
"What has happened? Out with it!" I cried.
But Pierre was inarticulate. He came to my pallet and mumbled
something between tears about my shoulder.
--"and the master with no clothes but a dirty Indian's!" he finished.
So I was the cause of this demonstration. I patted his hand.
"But your escape, Pierre? Where are the other men?"
"Master, I do not know."
"But where did you come from? How did you get here? Talk, man!"
"The master does not give me time. I came by land. It is a fine land.
They raise great squashes. Yes, and grain and vegetables! I have
never seen their like in France. If I had a farm here I could have
more than I could eat the whole year round."
I took time to curse. I had never heard my giant prate of agriculture;
the camp and the tap-room had been his haunts. This appeared to be a
method of working toward ill news. I lay back on my rushes and tried
to fix his eye.
"Pierre, answer. Where is Labarthe?"
"I told the master"--
"Answer!"
"I don't know."
"Did he escape with you?"
Pierre rubbed his sleeve across his face. "The master will not listen.
I do not know about Labarthe. I saw him at camp yesterday morning.
The master saw him at the same time. Then the master went to the
swamp, and I went, too, with my Indian. But I kept behind. By and by
I saw the canoe upside down, and the master's cloak floating on the
water; by that I knew that the master was drowned or had got away. I
thought he had gone to the Malhominis, and I wanted to go, too. So I
killed my Indian, and hid him in the grass. I came by land."
I rose on my elbow, careless of my shoulder. "How could you kill the
Indian? You had no weapon."
Pierre stretched out his arms, knotted like an oak's branches, and
illustrated. "I hugged him. Once I broke the ribs of a bear."
I lay and wagged my head like an old man who hears of warlocks and
witch charms, and knows the tales to be true. The stupefying
simplicity of it! If you want a thing, take it. Pierre wanted to
follow me, so he killed his guard and came. That was all there was of
it. I looked at him long, my head still wagging. He had done this
sort of thing before. I had never understood it. It was this that I
meant when I had called Pierre, dull of wit as he seemed, the most
useful of my men.
I lay all day on my pallet, and Outchipouac served me with his own
hands.
"It is thus that we treat those whom we delight to honor," he said, and
he held the gourd to my lips and wiped my face with a square of linen
that some trader had left in camp. He would give me no solid food, but
dosed me with brewed herbs and great draughts of steaming broth. The
juggler looked into the lodge and would have tried his charms on me,
but Outchipouac sent him away.
A storm rose toward night, and I heard the knocking of the rain on the
skin roof above me, and thought of the woman traveling northward in the
Iroquois canoes. Starling was with her. I lay with tight-clenched
hands.
The storm swelled high. I asked that the mat be dropped from before
the door that I might see the lightning, and while I watched it
Outchipouac slipped in. He felt me over, and patted my moist skin
approvingly. Then he sat by my side and began to talk.
His talk at first was a chant, a saga, a recitation of the glories of
his ancestors. The Malhominis had been a proud race,--now they were
dwindled to this village of eighty braves. He crooned long tales of
famine, of tribal bickerings, of ambuscade and defeat; his voice
rustled monotonously like wind in dried grass.
Then his tone rose. He spoke of the present, its possibilities. The
Iroquois league was a scourge, a pestilence. Could it be abolished,
the western nations would return to health. Security would reign, and
tribal laws be respected. The French would be friends,
partners,--never masters,--and a golden age would descend upon the
west. It was the gospel that I had cried in the wilderness, but
phrased in finer imagery than mine. I felt the wooing of his argument,
even as I had wooed others, and I listened silently and watched the
lightning's play.
But I dreaded the moment when his argument should leave theory and face
me in the concrete. The change came suddenly, as in music a tender
melody will merge abruptly into a summons to arms. He called me to
witness. The Iroquois were at the gates. They outnumbered the
Malhominis, but the Sacs, the Chippewas, and the Winnebagoes were all
within a day's journey, and would come at my call. The time for the
alliance of which I had told them was at hand. My body was crippled
but my brain was whole. To-morrow he, the chief, at my bidding, and
with my watchword, would send runners through the tribes. Within the
week a giant force could be gathered and an attack made. The Iroquois
camp would be exterminated, and then I, at the head of the force, could
march where I willed. Never had the western tribes followed a white
man, but I had called their hearts from their bodies, and they would go.
But one thing I was to remember. He, Outchipouac, the chief, was my
brother in arms. He had rescued me, clothed me, furnished me the means
of war. My victories were his victories. These were his conditions.
All Iroquois slaves that might be captured were to belong to the
Malhominis to be incorporated in their tribe. The other tribes could
divide the plunder, but the Malhominis needed new blood for adoption.
I must agree to that.
He stopped. I was too sick of mind to speak, and my distemper was not
of my wound. I had builded for this moment for two years, and now that
it had come I was going to turn my back on it. More, I was going to
refuse aid to a man who had succored me, had shown me genuine kindness.
Self-pity is contemptible, but I felt it now.
"I cannot lead you," I said dully. "Gather your troops if you like,
and make the attack without me. I cannot be here. To-morrow I must
start for Michillimackinac. You will give me a canoe and a man?"
The lightning filled the tent and lit our faces, and I saw the chief
start back under the blow of my words. He was shocked out of all his
inherited and acquired phlegm. He did not speak, but he rose and
peered into my eyes and I saw bewilderment go and contempt rise to take
its place. To feel the righteous disdain of an Indian! That is an
unusual experience for a white man.
And still he did not reply. He sat down and pulled his blanket over
him. He was sorting out the evidence against me and giving judgment.
It seemed at least an hour that he sat silent. And when he did speak
he brought no manna.
"You have sold yourself to the Iroquois wolf. You are a child. You
see only what is in front of your nose and forget what may come later.
You are a fox. You hand us over to the wolf, but what do you expect?
Has a wolf gratitude? No, but he has hunger. Fox meat is poor and
stringy, but the wolf has a large stomach. Let the fox beware."
I pulled myself to my feet, though my shoulder cried to me for mercy.
I jerked the chief's blanket aside.
"Outchipouac, I have listened. You have used an old trick. When a man
wishes to be rid of a dog he cries that it is mad; then he can kill it,
and no one will call him to account. So you. If you wish to break the
covenant between us, now is your time. You can call me a fox, you can
say that I have sold my honor to the Iroquois wolf. No one will check
you, for I am naked and ill, and you are powerful. But you will have
lied. This is my answer. I have called you 'brother;' I have kept the
bond unbroken. If there is a fox here it is the man who calls me one."
I waited, and my mind was heavy. If the chief called me "brother" in
turn, I was ready to embrace him as of my kin. For he was full of
vigor of mind and honesty, and I respected him. He had been kind to
me. Would he trust me against the evidence,--the evidence of his ears
and of my reluctant tongue?
He temporized. "The Frenchman has a tongue like a bobolink,--pleasant
to hear. Whether it says much,--that is a different matter. Can the
Frenchman tell me why he wishes to go to Michillimackinac? Can he tell
me why he spends time from the moon of breaking ice to the moon of
strawberries building a lodge of promises, and then when he is just
ready to use the lodge blows it down with a breath?"
What could I tell him? That I was following a woman? That I had given
her my name, and that I must protect her? It would sound to him like a
parrot's laughter. This was no court of love. It was war. A
troubadour's lute would tinkle emptily in these woods that had seen
massacre and knew the shriek of the death cry. Again I set my teeth
and rose.
"Outchipouac, war is secret. I cannot tell you why I go to
Michillimackinac. But trust me. I go on business; I shall return at
once, within ten days, unless the wind be foul. Will you furnish me a
canoe and a man to paddle?" I stooped and pulled rushes from my
pallet, plaited them, and bound them in a ring. "Take this ring; keep
it. It is firm, like my purpose, and unending, like my endeavor. I
shall replace it with a chain of bright silver when I come to you
again. I give it to you in pledge of my friendship."
The chief took the ring and handled it loosely. I thought he was about
to throw it away, but he did not. He put it in his blanket.
"It is well," he said, and left the lodge. I was held on probation.
I had a good night and woke with new sinews. I saw that the sun was
shining and the sky untroubled. A squaw brought me broth, and I drank
it hungrily and tried to see no evil augury in the fact that I was
served by a woman. I flattered her, and asked her to summon Pierre.
She brought him at once. He thrust himself into the entrance, and I
saw dismay written large upon him.
"There is a canoe waiting to take the master away," he cried. "I am
going, too."
Now I was prepared for this battle. "Pierre, you are to stay here.
You are to keep near the Seneca camp to help Labarthe and Leclerc. If
they escape, go, all of you, to our camp on Sturgeon Cove and guard the
stores till I send you word. You understand?"
"But the master is sick. I go with him."
"You stay here."
"I go with the master."
"I will not allow it."
"Then I follow behind."
"You have no canoe, no provision."
"I have legs. I can walk. I can eat tripe de roche."
The giant was trembling. I could not but respect this rebellion. He
had broken the chains of three centuries in his defiance. The thought
of his filling his cavernous stomach with tripe de roche--which is a
rock lichen, slimy and tasteless--moved me somewhat.
"You dare disobey me, Pierre?"
"But the master is sick."
I shrugged, but the logic held. "Then tell the chief," I capitulated.
"And see that I have something to wear."
Water was brought by one squaw, and another fetched more broth and
bound my shoulder with fresh dressings. Then leggings, robe, and
girdle of wolfskin were left for me. I put them on with difficulty,
and went to find Outchipouac.
I stepped out into a glare of sunshine and stood blinking. The braves
were gathered in a group, and a line of squaws barred me from them. I
started toward them, but the squaws waved me back; they pointed me to
the shore and the waiting canoe. Pierre rolled forward, uneasy and
scowling.
"The braves will not speak to us; they say our talk means nothing."
"Who said that?"
"Outchipouac. He showed me a grass ring hanging on a pole by his
lodge. He says that when you come again and hang a silver one in its
place it will be time for him to listen."
I knew the Indians were watching, though covertly, so I could only bow.
I went to the canoe and looked to its provisioning. There were two
bags of rice, one of jerked meat, some ears of maize, and the dried
rind of a squash; a knife and a hatchet lay with them. Our hosts had
been generous. We were to be aided even if we were to be disciplined.
I found my place, and Pierre took the paddle and pushed away.
It is one thing to be at enmity with savages, it is another to be an
outcast among them. I knew that their attitude had excuse, and I was
sick with myself. Then my Indian dress chafed my pride. I was sure
that Pierre was laughing under his wrinkled red skin, and I was
childish enough to be ready to rate him if he showed so much as a
pucker of an eye. For I had always refused to let my men adopt the
slightest particular of the savage dress. I had held--and I contend
rightly--that a man must resist the wilderness most when he loves it
most, and that he is in danger when he forgets the least point of his
dress or manner. After that the downward plunge is swift. I had said
this many times, and I knew Pierre must be recalling it.
And so I was sore with fate. Wounded, skin-clad, I was not heroic in
look; it was hard to be heroic in mind. I had jeopardized the chance
of an empire for a woman. But that proved nothing. The weakest could
do that. It must be shown that I could justify my sacrifice.
These were irritations, yet they were but the surface of my suffering.
Underneath was the grinding, never-ceasing ache of anxiety. What was
happening at Michillimackinac? Would I reach there in time? I could
do nothing but sit and think. Always, from dawn to dusk, my impatient
spirit fretted and pushed at that canoe, but my hands were idle. I
tried paddling with my left hand, but it dislocated my bandages, and I
did not dare. I was in some pain, but exposed as I was, broiled by the
sun and drenched by showers, I yet mended daily. I ate well and drank
deep of the cold lake water and felt my strength come. My cut was
healing wholesomely without fever, and Pierre washed and bandaged it
twice a day. He told me with many a twist of his hanging lip that it
was well for me that he was there.
But on the point of his being there I had new light. It came one day
after long silence. The giant rested and wiped his forehead.
"There are plovers on the waters," he pointed. "They make good eating.
Singing Arrow can cook them with bear's grease. I am going to marry
the Indian when we get to Michillimackinac. Then when we reach
Montreal you will give her a dowry. There is the grain field on the
lower river that was planted by Martin. Martin has no wife. What does
he need of grain? The king wishes his subjects to marry. And if the
master gave us a house we could live, oh, very well. I thought of it
when I went through the Malhominis land and saw all those squashes.
The Indian sews her own dresses, and I shall tell her I do not like her
in finery. We will send a capon to the master every Christmas."
I grinned despite myself. I had grown fatuous, for I had taken it
without question that the oaf had followed from his loyalty to me. But
I nodded at him and promised recklessly--house, pigs, and granary. The
same star ruled master and man.
But the way was long, long, long. Nights came and days came, and still
more nights and days. Yet it ended at last. Late one afternoon we saw
the shore line that marked Michillimackinac. Once in sight it came
fast, fast, fast,--faster than I could prepare my courage for what
might meet me. What should I find?
We reached the beach where I had tied Father Carheil. We rounded the
point. The garrison, the board roofs of the Jesuit houses, the Indian
camps,--all were as usual. They were peaceful, untouched. I
swallowed, for my throat and tongue were dry.