THE MEANING OP CONQUEST
When I stumbled along the bank of the little stream that marked our
rendezvous, I was mud-splashed, torn, and insect-poisoned, and I led a
brutish set of ruffians. Yet I heard a muffled cheer roar out as I
came into view. The Winnebagoes were in camp and in waiting.
I forgot ache and weariness. The Winnebagoes were fifty in all, picked
men, and I looked them over and exulted. Erect and clean-limbed, they
were as dignified and wonderful as a row of fir trees, and physically I
felt a sorry object beside them. Yet they hailed me as leader, and
placing me on a robe of deerskins carried me into camp. They smoked
the pipe of fealty with me, and when I slept that night I knew that my
dream castles of the last two years were at last shaping into something
I could touch and handle. Their glitter was giving way to masonry.
The morning brought the Malhominis, the noon the Chippewas. I hoped
for the French and the Pottawatamies by night.
But the night did not bring them, nor the next morning, nor the next
day, nor yet the day following.
And in the waiting days I lived in four camps of savages, and it was my
duty to cover them with the robe of peace.
The wolf-eyed Sacs, the stately Winnebagoes, the Chippewas, and
Malhominis,--they sat like gamecocks, quiet, but alert for a ruffle of
one another's plumage. In council they were men; in idleness,
children. When I was with them, they talked of war and spoke like
senators. When I turned my back they gambled, lied, bragged, and
stole. I needed four bodies and uncounted minds.
And I saw how my union was composed. The tribes would unite and
destroy the Senecas,--that done, it was probable they would find the
game merry, and fall upon one another.
With every hour of delay they grew harder to control. There was
jealousy between the war chiefs. I stepped on thin ice in my walks
from lodge to lodge.
But the third day brought Cadillac. We saw the blur of his canoes far
to the north, and when they came within earshot we were ranged to
receive them.
A man should know pride in his achievement,--else why is striving given
him? I looked over my warriors, rank on rank. Fierce-eyed, muscled
like panthers, they were terrible engines of war. And I controlled
them! I felt the lift of the heart that strengthens a man's will.
That is something rarer than pride; a flitting vision of the unsounded
depths of human power.
And the canoes that approached made a strange pageant. I could not in
a moment rid myself of a rooted custom; I wished the woman were there
to see. French and Indians sat side by side, so that blankets rubbed
uniforms. They were packed in close bending ranks, their bodies
crouching to the paddles, their eyes upon the shore. There were
ferret-sharp black eyes and peasant-dull blue ones, but all were
glittering. And the faces, bronze or white, took on the same
look,--they were strained, arid of all expression but the fever for
war. A slow tingle crawled over me, and I saw the crowd sway. A
cautious, muffled cry broke from the shore and was answered from the
canoes. It was a hoarse note, for the lust for blood crowds the throat
full.
I looked to see Cadillac riding a surge of triumph, but when our hands
met I was chilled. He showed no gladness. His purple face had lines,
and he looked hot and jaded. Had his men failed him? No, I reviewed
them. French, Hurons, and Ottawas, they made a goodly showing.
Onanguissé was there, and his Pottawatamies, oiled, feathered, and
paint-decked, were beautiful as catamounts. All was well. Cadillac
was not in his first youth, and had abused himself. His look meant
fatigue.
"Ottawas, Hurons, Pottawatamies, Malhominis, Chippewas, Sacs,
Winnebagoes." I counted them off to him. "Monsieur de la
Mothe-Cadillac, it is a sight worthy your eyes. New France has not
seen such a gathering since the day when Saint Lusson planted our
standard at the straits and fourteen tribes looked on."
He nodded heavily, "The Senecas are still in camp?"
"Yes, monsieur. We can attack to-night."
But he turned away. "Montlivet, your wife is in the Seneca camp."
I looked at him coldly, I think, though I remember that I clutched his
shoulder.
"Monsieur, you mistake. My wife went east."
He tried to draw me aside, but I resisted him stolidly. I eyed him
searchingly, angrily, but he could not look at me. "Listen," he
begged, and he spoke very slowly and tapped my arm. Yet I was
understanding him perfectly. "Listen, Montlivet, there is no mistake.
When Father Carheil told me that there were Hurons in Starling's escort
I sent Ottawas in pursuit. I have heard from them. Starling's party
went east till they were out of sight of the garrison. Then they
turned west and joined Pemaou. It was by Starling's direction. The
Ottawas would have objected, for I had ordered them to travel east, but
they were overpowered. It is supposed, since they traveled in this
direction, that they went to the Seneca camp. But that may not be
true."
"It is undoubtedly true," I said.
Cadillac pushed me out of earshot of the men. "Montlivet, you cannot
understand. Listen to me."
I tried to shake him away. "There is nothing more that you can say.
Monsieur, unhand me. My wife left with Starling. She is undoubtedly
in the Seneca camp. Pemaou and Starling are in league, and they go to
the Senecas because they hope to make terms on behalf of the English
with the western tribes. I understand."
Cadillac looked at me fully, and I realized dully that his face grew
white as he examined mine. "Go away. Go at once," he urged.
"Leave things here to me."
I nodded and stumbled away. Stretched tarpaulins made my tent, and I
crawled under them, drew down the folds, and was alone. The noise of
the camp muttered around me like a wind.
And then I lay alone with myself and my beliefs, and fought to know
where my feet were set. There was tempest without my tent, but not
within. In the valleys where I struggled there was great quiet. And
at last I found certainty.
In an hour I went to find Cadillac. He would not let me speak.
"Montlivet, we will stop this attack--if we can hold the Indians."
"It is not possible to hold the Indians. They are blood drunk. We
should have general massacre."
"Then you must leave. You can go with Onanguissé. He says that if his
adopted daughter is with the Senecas he will not join in the attack."
"No, I shall not go with him. I shall lead the allied force of
Indians, monsieur."
Cadillac looked me over. I saw, with my own face cold, that his was
not steady.
"No victory is worth that," I heard him say, and I listened as if he
spoke of another's sorrow. "It is not necessary, Montlivet."
"It is absolutely necessary. The war chiefs are jealous. Without a
leader they will fall on one another and we shall have sickening
massacre. You cannot lead them, for you do not speak their language."
"But even granting that"----
I touched his sleeve. "Monsieur, I have been alone. I have thought it
out. There is no escape. I do not know why life should give a man
such a thing to do, but it is here. I have told the Indians that I
represented the king; that I stood for government, protection. I have
called them here in the name of law. It is a new word to them, and I
have forced its meaning into their minds. And so they trust me. They
trust me in the name of this law I talk about. If I desert them now,
they will lapse into savagery of the worst kind. We shall have
anarchy. Blood will flow for years. No Frenchman's life will be safe.
I have the best men of six tribes here, and they will think themselves
deceived and pay us in red coin. I have been alone. I have thought it
out. I cannot do wholesale murder to save one life, even if it is my
wife whose life is to be forfeit. We must go on."
Cadillac put out his hand and caught my shoulder. I had reeled against
him as I spoke. He removed his hat.
"I await your plans, Monsieur de Montlivet. My troops are ready."
When I found Onanguissé he examined me from under drooping lids.
Despite his age, he was wont to hold his head like a deer, but now his
look was on the ground. He handed me a richly feathered bow and a
sheaf of arrows.
"I cannot use them," he said. "I called her daughter. I gave her a
robe in token. It is only a porcupine who turns against his own. A
chief remembers."
I pressed the bow back. "Take it, and save her. I do not know how.
You are an old man in knowledge, I am a child. I trust to you to bring
her to me."
He looked up at that, and shook his head in sorrow when he saw my face.
But he would not take his bow. "One man cannot save her," he said, and
he bowed his head again and went away.
I did not speak. I saw him summon his warriors and reembark. In the
general tumult his leaving made little stir. The Pottawatamies were
arrogant, called themselves "lords," and exacted tribute of the other
tribes of La Baye. Yet they accomplished this more by diplomacy than
warfare. I knew that Onanguissé's desertion was well in tune with his
reputation and would not be combated.
I found Pierre, and told him about the woman. "You are to save her.
You are to get her away. It is for you to do. You are to think
nothing else, work for nothing else. You can do it. I depend on you
to do it. You are never to come to me again if you fail."
But he, too, looked away. "It cannot be done. The Indians will kill
her." He turned his head from me, and his voice was thick and grating.
I raged at him. "I shall give the Indians orders to spare all women,"
I declared.
He nodded his great head. "I will help the master. I will do all I
can." He humored me as one hushes an ailing child, but I saw the
caution and blankness in his look. As soon as he could he slipped out
of my sight.
And then I went to work. If I staggered as I made my stumbling,
blinded way from war chief to war chief, there was none to know, for
blood lust had closed eyes and ears. Yet, though my muscles failed, my
brain was clear.
The kettle-drums snarled and buzzed like lazy hornets. They sounded
spiteful rather than wicked, but I knew what their droning stood for,
and my body grew cold. In the Ottawa camp the drummers sat beside a
post in the centre of a great circle of warriors, and Longuant stood
with them in the ring singing a war chant. His body was painted green
and he was hung with chains of wampum. I halted. He was one of the
sanest, the most admirable, of the war chiefs, and I listened to him.
He kept his eyes fixed on the westering sun, and yelped his recitation
in a sharp, barking voice. I heard of children dashed to death against
trees; of men disemboweled and left to the mercy of dogs and flies.
After the recitation of each exploit, he struck his hatchet against the
post, and the clamor of the drums doubled.
I found myself sick as well as faint. I beat the air with my clenched
fist, and Cadillac saw me, and begged me to go away alone till I had
myself in hand. But I pushed by him.
"My mind is clear," I said, and I spoke as coldly as a machine.
"Clearer than yours, for I see this as it is. Let me go. I have
undertaken this and I shall go through."
We were ready to march an hour before sunset. The fifty Sacs formed
the vanguard, and I was with them. The Winnebagoes followed, then the
French troops. The remaining tribes, and the Indians who carried the
stores, brought up the rear. Our intention was to march as quietly as
possible while daylight lasted, then work our way by dark and starlight
till we were near the Seneca camp. We would then drop on the ground,
and lie in ambush till it grew light enough to attack. We hoped to
surprise the camp. They had fortified themselves, but apparently had
no scouts at work, and from all we could learn they were feasting and
drinking in Babylonish security, celebrating the return of their
messengers from Michillimackinac. With that exploit in mind it was
small wonder that they felt arrogant and unassailable. Now was indeed
our time.
Our ranks were formed, and I looked them over man by man. Each savage
carried a bag with ten pounds of maize flour, a light covering, a bow
and arrows, or a fusee. The Winnebagoes I had put well in the lead,
for they were protected by great shields of dried buffalo skin. I
tried one of the skin shields and found it like iron. It would turn a
hatchet.
Cadillac's bugler sounded the call and we started. The late sun was
unclouded and warm, and the smell of paint and breath and unwashed
bodies filled my lungs. The stench was hot and brutish in my nostrils,
and it was the smell of war.
So long as daylight lasted we moved with some regularity in spite of
the rough ground. Then, knowing we were drawing nearer the Senecas, we
began to slip from tree to tree. The Indians did this like phantoms,
and the French troops imitated. Three hundred men went through the
forest, and sometimes a twig cracked. There was no other sound. We
went for some time. We heard owls hoot around us, and knew they might
be watch cries. Still we went on. We went till I felt the ground rise
steadily under my groping feet. The Seneca stronghold was on an
eminence. I gave the signal to drop where we were and wait for day.
We melted into the shadows, and lay rigid while the stars looked down.
The savage next me slept. His war club lay by his side and I felt of
it in the dark. It was made of a deer's horn, shaped like a cutlass;
it had a large ball at the end. The ball was heavy and jagged, and
would crush a skull.
There were hundreds of such clubs. In a few hours they would be in
use. And the woman was in camp.
My right arm was free from the sling and I dug my hands together. I
could feel the blood running in my palms, and I checked myself. If I
injured my hands how could I save the woman?
But nothing could save the woman.
I had given commands to spare all whites and to torture no one. But
Pierre was right. I was a fool to have pretended, even to myself, that
I thought the savages listened.
A fool can do harm enough, but a cowardly, soft-hearted man is the most
dangerous of knaves. I might have killed Pemaou when I threw the spear
at him; I might have killed him the night before my wedding in the
Pottawatamie camp. I had withheld my hand because it was disagreeable
to me to kill. And now the woman's life was to pay the forfeit of my
lax softness. I rolled in my agony, and bit the ground till my mouth
was full of leaf mould.
A planet swung from one tree-top to the next. What lay behind it? She
would know soon. But I could not follow her where she was going. I
should live. I knew that. When Death is courted he will not strike.
I had seen that in battle.
That first morning when she had come to me with the sunrise,--when she
had drifted to me, bound and singing,--I had called to her to have no
fear, that no harm should come to her. And she had trusted me.
She had a little hollow in her brown throat where I had watched the
breath flutter. I had never touched it.
I could thank God for her, for one thing. She had refused my kiss.
I saw the planet again, tipping another tree-top. I understood its
remoteness; in my agony I was part of it. What were men, countries,
empires! I felt the insignificance of life, of suffering. What did it
matter if these Indians died! Why should we not all die? I crawled to
my knees. I would give the signal to retreat. I would give it now.
Let the massacre come.
But I fell back. I could not. I could not. Three hundred lives for
one life. I could spill my own blood for her, but not theirs.
But as for empire, I had forgotten its meaning.
All of these men lying in the shadows had women who were dear. Many of
the wives would kill themselves if their husbands died. I had seen an
Indian wife do it; she had smiled while she was dying.
Would the woman think of me--at the last? She would not know that I
had failed her. She would not know that I was worse than Starling.
She was the highest-couraged, the most finely wrought woman that the
world knew. Yet two men had failed her.
"Monsieur," she had said, "life has not been so pleasant that I should
wish to live."
It was only a week ago that she--she, alive, untouched, my own--had
walked away from me in the sunshine, leaning on Cadillac's arm. And I
had let her go. And I had let her go.
And I had let her go. I said that over and over, with my mouth dry,
and I forgot time. I did not know that minutes were passing, but I
looked up, and the stars were dim, and branches and twigs were taking
form. Day would be on us soon.
I raised myself on my elbow and peered. I could see very little, but I
could hear the strange rhythmic rustle that I call the breathing of the
forest. And with it mingled the breathing of three hundred warriors.
They carried clubs, arrows, muskets. I was to give them the signal for
war.
I tried to rise. I was up on my knees. I fell back. I tried again.
My muscles did not obey. I saw the war club of the Indian beside me.
My hands stole out to it. A blow on my own head would end matters. My
hands closed on the handle of the club.
Then the savage next me stirred. That roused me. The insanity was
over, and sweat rained from me at realization of my weakness,--the
weakness that always traps a man unsure of his values, his judgment.
When men say that a man's life is not his own to take, I am not sure.
But that had nothing to do with me now. I was not a man in the sense
of having a man's free volition. When I had given up human claims for
myself, I had ceased to exist as an independent agent. It was only by
knowing that I was a tool that I could keep myself alive.
And so I sat upon my knees and whispered to the Indians about me. They
whispered in turn, and soon three hundred men were waked and ready.
Yet the forest scarcely rustled.
I motioned, and the line started. We crept some twenty paces from tree
to tree. Then ahead of us I saw an opening. I could distinguish the
outlines of a rough redoubt.
I stepped in front and stopped a moment. It had grown light enough for
me to see the faces of the Sac warriors. Dirt-crusted, red-eyed,
wolfish, they awaited my signal.
I raised my sword. "Ready!" I called. An inferno of yells arose. We
ran at the top of our speed. We charged the stake-built redoubt with
knives in hands. Mingled with our war cry I heard the screams of the
awakening camp.
I reached the palings. They were of bass wood, roughly split and
tough. I could not scale them with my lame shoulder. I seized a
hatchet from an Indian, struck the stakes, wrenched one free, and
climbed through the hole.
The camp was in an uproar. A few Sacs had scaled the redoubt ahead of
me, and one of them was grappling with a Seneca just in my path. I
dodged them and ran on. Behind me I heard the terrible roar of the
blood-hungry army.
I fought my way on. Warriors and slaves rose before me and screamed at
my knife, and at something that was in my face. I did not touch them.
I had to find the woman. She might be hiding in one of the huts. But
there were many bark huts, and all alike. I ran on.
The air was thickening with powder smoke, and the taste of blood was in
my throat. A hatchet whistled by me and cut the cloth from my
shoulder. I saw the Seneca who threw the hatchet, but I would not
stop. Corpses were in my way. Twice I slipped in blood and went to my
knees.
I must search each lodge, each group. I had seen nothing that looked
like a woman.
An Indian grappled with me, and I slashed at him till he was helpless.
I was covered with blood that was not my own. I let him drop and
stumbled on.
I could not find the woman. I had not seen Starling nor Pierre nor
Labarthe nor Leclerc.
And over all the noise of tearing flesh and the screams of dying men
came the sound of singing, of constant, exultant singing,--the singing
of victors binding their captives; the death songs of wounded preparing
to die.
I saw two bodies lying together as if the same arrow had cleft them.
Their hands sprawled toward me, red and beckoning. They were
mutilated, but I knew their clothes. They were Leclerc and Labarthe.
Leclerc was hanging on Labarthe as he had leaned in life.
I had brought these men to the wilderness. And Simon was dead, too. I
went on.
I saw a Seneca, stripped and running blood, crouch to a white man on
the ground and lift his knife to take the scalp. I sprang upon him,
but he dashed my knife away, found his feet, and pressed at me. I
dodged his hatchet, and catching up a skin shield from the ground
turned on him. I was taller than he, and I smashed the shield down on
his head so that he dropped. I pounded him till he was beyond doing
harm to any one, then I took his knife and hatchet, tossed him aside,
and turned to the white man.
It was Starling, and there was life in him, for he opened his eyes.
I took my flask and forced brandy between his teeth. He recognized me
but could not speak. A great spear had torn through his chest. I
started to pull it out, but when I looked farther and saw what a
hatchet had done I checked myself.
His eyes were on mine and he tried to speak. It was more than I could
look at,--his effort to hold life in his torn body and tell me
something. I eased his head and gave him more brandy.
And then he found strength to try to push me away. "Go! Go! The
woman!" I made the words out of the writhing of his lips.
I leaned over him. "Where? Where is she? Where?"
He tried many times before he made a sound that I could catch, and his
strength ebbed. I tried more brandy, but he was past reviving. I
strained to hear, till my agony matched his. I thought I caught a
word. "Woods!" I cried. "Is she in the woods?"
"Yes." He suddenly spoke clearly. "Go." And he fell back in my arms.
I thought that he died with that word, but I held him a moment longer
to make sure. It did not matter now that I hated him. As to what he
had brought on me,--I could not visit my despair on him for that. As
well rage at the forces that made him. Life had given him a little
soul in a compelling body. The world believed the body, and expected
of the man what he could not reach. I looked at his dead face and
trembled before the mystery of inheritance.
But he was not dead. He opened his eyes to mine, quivered, and spoke,
and his voice was clear.
"I would have followed her into the woods but they bound me. I was not
a coward that time. I would have followed her."
And then the end came to him in a way that I could not mistake, for
with the last struggle he cried to the woman.
I laid him down. While I had held him I had known that Frenchmen were
fighting around me, and my neck was slimy with warm blood, for an arrow
had nicked my ear. But the battle had swayed on to the north of the
camp, and only dead and dying were left in sight. I looked at
Starling. I could not carry him. I took off my coat, covered the
body, and went on.
The woman had gone to the woods. She had gone to the woods.
But woods lay on every side.
As I ran through the camp toward the north I saw a woman ahead of me.
She had a broad, fat figure, and I knew she was an Indian. But she was
a woman and the first that I had seen. I caught her and jerked her
around to face me.
"The woman? The white woman? Where is she?" I used the Illinois
speech.
The woman was a Miami slave and apparently unhurt. But as I stood over
her a line of foam bubbled out of her blue lips. Her eyes were
meaningless. I had frightened her into catalepsy, and I ground my
teeth at my ill luck, for she could have told me something of the
woman. I took my brandy flask and tried to pry her teeth apart.
Both of my hands were busy with her when Pierre's bellow rose from
behind me. "Master! Jump! Jump!" In the same instant I heard
breathing close upon me.
I jumped. As I did it I heard the crash of a hatchet through bone, and
the pounding of a great body heaving down upon its knees. I turned.
Pemaou's hatchet was in Pierre's brain, and my giant, my man who had
lived with me, was crumpled down on hands and knees, looking at me and
dying.
I called out like a mad thing, and insanity gave me power. I tore the
red hatchet from Pemaou's hands and pinioned him. My fingers dug into
his throat, and I threw him to the ground. He bared his wolf's teeth
and began his death song. But I raved at him, and choked him to
silence. "You are not to die now!" I shouted at his glazing eyes.
"You shall live. I shall torture you. You shall live to be tortured."
I carried rope around my waist, and I took it and bound him. How I did
it is not clear, for I had a weak shoulder and he was muscular. But
now he seemed palsied and I a giant. It was done. I bound him till he
was rigid and helpless.
And then I fell to my knees beside Pierre. He was dead. I had lost
even the parting from him. My giant was dead. He had taken the blow
meant for me.
Pierre was dead, and Simon and Labarthe and Leclerc. I had brought
them to the wilderness because I believed in a western empire for
France. I left Pierre and went on.
But I had not gone far when a cry rose behind me. It was louder than
the calls of the dying. It was the wail of an Indian woman for her
dead. I ran back. Singing Arrow lay stretched on Pierre's body.
I looked at her. I did not ask myself how she came there, though I had
thought her safe in the Malhominis village. So she had loved the man
enough to follow secretly. I left her with him and went on.
I stepped over men who were mangled and scalped. Some of them were not
dead, and they clutched at me. But I went on my way.
Indians and troops were gathered at the north of the camp. The warfare
was over. Corpses were stacked like logs, and the savages were binding
their captives and chanting of their victories. The French stood
together, leaning on their muskets. I saw Cadillac unhurt, and went to
him.
"Is the bugler alive? Have him sound the call."
The commandant turned at sound of my voice. He was elated and would
have embraced me, but seeing my face his mood altered. He gave the
order.
The bugle restored quiet, and I raised my sword for attention. I asked
each tribe in turn if they had seen a white woman. Then I asked the
French. I gained only a storm of negatives.
I went on with the orders to the tribes. All captives were to be
treated kindly and their wounds dressed. This was because they were to
be adopted, and it was prudent to keep them in good condition. The
argument might restrain the savages. I was not sure.
And all the time that I was speaking I wondered if I looked and talked
as other men did. Would the savages obey me as they had done when I
was a live, breathing force, full of ardor and belief? They seemed to
see no difference. I finished my talk to them and turned to Cadillac.
"You do not need me now. You will be occupied caring for the wounded
and burying the dead. The Indians will not attempt torture to-day. I
am going to the woods."
"To the woods?"
"The woman is in the woods. She must have gone at the first alarm. I
cannot find her here."
"Ask the captives. They will know."
"It is useless to ask them. They will not speak now. It is a code. I
am going to the woods. Send what soldiers you can to search with me."
"Shall I send Indians with you, too?"
"Not now. They are useless now. They could trail nothing. Let me go."
He followed like a father. "You will come back?"
"Yes, I will come back."
But I had three things to do before I was free to go to the woods. To
go to the woods where I would find the woman.
I searched for the Miami slave woman. She was dead. That cut my last
hope of news.
I saw that Pemaou was still well bound, and I had him carried into a
hut to await my orders.
I went to Pierre's body. Singing Arrow still wailed beside it, and
cried out that it should not be moved. I told her the soldiers would
obey her orders, and carry it where she wished.
But there was a fourth matter. I spoke to Dubisson, and my tongue was
furry and cold.
"See that watch is kept on the bags of scalps for European hair."
Then I went to the woods.