THE TWO FRENCHMEN
When the three were left alone in the glade the hunter turned to young
Lennox.
"You've done good work today, Robert," he said. "I didn't know you had
in you the makings of an orator and diplomatist. The governor of New
York did better than he knew when he chose you for one of this mission."
Robert blushed again at praise and modestly protested.
"Lennox has found that for which he is best fitted," said Tayoga, slyly.
"If I'm to talk without end I'll do my best," said Robert, laughing,
"and I suggest that we resume our journey now. There doesn't appear to
be any further danger from the Indians who besieged us."
"You're right about it, Robert," said the hunter. "The coming of the
Mohawks has put a barrier between us and them. I've an idea that
Dayohogo and his warriors won't go far toward Ticonderoga, but will soon
turn south to meet those savages and acquire a few scalps if they can,
and if they do meet 'em I hope they'll remove that Ojibway, Tandakora,
who I think is likely to make us a lot of trouble."
Willet never spoke of the Iroquois as "savages," but he often applied
the term to the Canadian and Western Indians. Like Robert, he regarded
those who had built up the great political and military power of the
Hodenosaunee as advanced, and, in a sense, civilized nations.
"I think my friend, the Great Bear, is right," said Tayoga. "Unless
Tandakora and his band have gone toward the west it is likely that
Dayohogo will meet them, and they cannot stand before the Mohawks."
"I think it more probable," said Robert, "that after the failure to
destroy us Tandakora went back to St. Luc, giving a false explanation of
his absence or none at all, just as he pleased."
"It may be so," said Tayoga, "but I have another opinion."
While they talked they were taking the canoe from its shelter, and then
they bore it down to the river again, putting it back into the stream
and listening with pleasure to the gurgle of the water by its sides.
"Paddling isn't the easiest work in the world," said Willet with
satisfaction, "but when you're used to it your muscles can stand it a
long time, and it's far ahead of walking. Now, ho for Canada!"
"Ho for Canada!" said Robert, and the three paddles flashed again in the
clear water. The canoe once more became a live thing and shot down the
stream. They were still in the wilderness, racing between solid banks of
green forest, and they frequently saw deer and bear drinking at the edge
of the river, while the foliage was vivid with color, and musical with
the voices of singing birds.
Robert had a great elation and he had reason to be satisfied with
himself. They had triumphed over the dangers of the gorge and savage
siege, and he had sowed fruitful seed in the mind of Dayohogo, the
powerful Mohawk chief. He had also come to a realization of himself,
knowing for the first time that he had a great gift which might carry
him far, and which might be of vast service to his people.
Therefore, the world was magnificent and beautiful. The air of forest
and mountain was keen with life. His lungs expanded, all his faculties
increased in power, and his figure seemed to grow. Swelling confidence
bore him on. He was anxious to reach Quebec and fulfill his mission.
Then he would go back to the vale of Onondaga and match himself against
the clever St. Luc or any other spokesman whom the Marquis Duquesne
might choose to send.
But his golden dreams were of Quebec, which was a continuous beacon and
lure to him. Despite a life spent chiefly in the woods, which he loved,
he always felt the distant spell of great capitals and a gorgeous
civilization. In the New World Quebec came nearer than any other city to
fulfilling this idea. There the nobles of France, then the most
glittering country in the world, came in silks and laces and with gold
hilted swords by their sides. The young French officers fought with a
jest on their lips, but always with skill and courage, as none knew
better than the British colonials themselves. There was a glow and
glamor about Quebec which the sober English capitals farther south did
not have. It might be the glow and glamor of decay, but people did not
know it then, although they did know that the Frenchman, with his love
of the forest and skill in handling the Indians, was a formidable foe.
"When do you think we'll reach the St. Lawrence, Dave?" he asked.
"In two or three days if we're not attacked again," replied the hunter,
"and then we'll get a bigger boat and row down the river to Quebec."
"Will they let us pass?"
"Why shouldn't they? There's no war, at least not yet."
"That battle back there in the gorge may not have been war, but it
looked precisely like it."
The hunter laughed deep in his throat, and it was a satisfied laugh.
"It did look like it," he said, "and it was war, red war, but nobody was
responsible for it. The Marquis Duquesne, the Governor General of
Canada, who is Onontio to our Iroquois, will raise his jeweled hand, and
protest that he knew nothing about those Indians, that they were wild
warriors from the west, that none of his good, pious Indians of Canada
could possibly have been among them. And the Intendant, François Bigot,
the most corrupt and ambitious man in North America, will say that they
obtained no rifles, no muskets, no powder, no lead from him or his
agents. Oh, no, these fine French gentlemen will disown the attack upon
us, as they would have disavowed it, just the same, if we had been
killed. I want to warn you, Robert, and you, Tayoga, that when you reach
Quebec you'll breathe an air that's not that of the woods, nor yet of
Albany or New York. It's a bit of old Europe, it's a reproduction on a
small scale of the gorgeous Versailles over there that's eating the
heart out of France. The Canadian Frenchman is a good man, brave and
enduring, as I ought to know, but he's plundered and fooled by those
people who come from France to make fame or quick fortunes here."
He spoke with earnestness, but not as a hunter. Rather he seemed now to
Robert, despite his forest dress, to be a man of the world, one who
understood cities as well as the wilderness.
"I don't know all your life, Dave," said young Lennox, "but I'm quite
sure you know a great deal more than you would have people to think.
Sometimes I believe you've been across the great water."
"Then you believe right, Robert. I never told you in so many words
before, but I've been in Europe. I'll talk to you about it another time,
not now, and I'll choose where and when."
He spoke so positively that Robert did not pursue the topic, knowing
that if the hunter wished to avoid it he had good reasons. Yet he felt
anew that David Willet, called the Great Bear by the Iroquois, had not
spent his whole life in the woods and that when the time came he could
tell a tale. There was always the fact that Willet spoke excellent
English, so unlike the vernacular of the hunters.
The afternoon was waning fast. The sun was setting in an ocean of fire
that turned the blue line of the mountains in the east to red. The slope
of the land made the current of the river much swifter, and Robert and
Willet drew in their paddles, leaving the work to Tayoga alone, who sat
in the prow and guided their light craft with occasional strokes,
letting the stream do the rest.
There was no more expert canoeman than Tayoga in the whole northern
wilderness. A single sweep of his paddle would send the canoe to any
point he wished, and apparently it was made without effort. There was no
shortening of the breath nor any sudden and violent movement of his
figure. It was all as smooth and easy as the flowing of the water
itself. It seemed that Tayoga was doing nothing, and that the canoe once
more was alive, the master of its own course.
The ocean of fire faded into a sea of gray, and then black night came,
but the canoe sped on in the swift current toward the St. Lawrence. It
was still the wilderness. The green forest on either side of the stream
was unbroken. No smoke from a settler's chimney trailed across the sky.
It was the forest as the Indian had known it for centuries. Robert,
sitting in the center of the canoe, quit dreaming of great cities and
came back to his own time and place. He felt the majesty of all that
surrounded him, but he was not lonely, nor was he oppressed. Instead,
the night, the great forest, the swift river and the gliding canoe
appealed to his sensitive and highly imaginative mind. He was uplifted
and he felt the confidence and elation that contribute so much to
success.
It was characteristic of the three, so diverse in type, and yet knitted
so closely together in friendship, that they would talk much at times
and at other times have silence long and complete. Now, neither spoke
for at least three hours. Tayoga, in the prow, made occasional strokes
of his paddle, but the current remained swift and the speed of the canoe
was not slackened. The young Onondaga devoted most of his time to
watching. Much wreckage from storms or the suction of flood water often
floated on the surface of these wild rivers, and his keen eyes searched
for trunk or bough or snag. They also scanned at intervals the green
walls speeding by on either side, lest they might pass some camp fire
and not notice it, but finding no lighter note in the darkness he felt
sure that no hostile bands were near.
About midnight the force of the current began to abate and Robert and
Willet used the paddles. The darkness also thinned. The rainless clouds
drifted away and disclosed a full moon, which turned the dusk of the
water to silver. The stars came out in cluster after cluster and the
skies became a shining blue. The wilderness revealed itself in another
and splendid phase, and Robert saw and admired.
"How long will we go on, Dave?" The words were his and they were the
first to break the long silence.
"Until nearly daylight," replied Willet. "Then we can land, take the
canoe into the bushes and rest. What do you say, Tayoga?"
"It is good," replied the Onondaga. "We are not weary, because the
river, of its own accord, has borne us on its bosom, but we must sleep.
We would not wish to appear heavy of eye and mind before the children of
Onontio."
"Well spoken, Tayoga," said the hunter. "An Iroquois chief knows that
appearance and dignity count, and you were right to remind us of it. I
think that by the next sunset we'll be meeting French, not the Canadian
French that they call _habitants_, but outposts made up mostly of
officers and soldiers from France. They'll be very curious about us,
naturally so, and since your new friend Dayohogo has announced that you
are a great orator, you can do most of the talking and explaining,
Robert."
"I'll talk my best," replied young Lennox. "Nobody can do more."
As agreed, they drew the canoe into the bushes shortly before daylight,
and slept several hours. Then they returned to the river and resumed
their journey. By the middle of the afternoon they saw signs of
habitation, or at least of the presence of human beings. They beheld two
smokes on the right bank, and one on the left, trailing black lines
against the blue of the sky, but they were all far away, and they did
not care to stop and determine their origin.
Shortly before sunset they saw a camp fire, very close on the eastern
shore, and as they drew near the figures of men in uniform were visible
against the red glow.
"I think we'd better draw in here," said Robert. "This is undoubtedly an
outpost, and, likely, an officer of some importance is in charge. Ours
is a mission of peace, and we want to placate as many people as we can,
as we go."
"It is so," said Tayoga, making a sweep or two of the paddle, and
sending the canoe in a diagonal line toward the designated shore.
Two men in blue uniforms with white facings walked to the edge of the
water and looked at them with curiosity. Robert gave them a gaze as
inquiring as their own, and after the habit of the forest, noted them
carefully. He took them to be French of France. One was about forty
years of age, rather tall, built well, his face browned by forest life.
He had black, piercing eyes and a strong hooked nose. A man of
resolution but cold of heart, Robert said to himself. The other, a
little smaller, and a little younger, was of much the same type. The
uniforms of both were fine and neat, and they bore themselves as
officers of importance. Like St. Luc, they fortified Robert's opinion of
what he was going to find at Quebec.
Neither of the men spoke until the canoe touched the shore, and its
three occupants sprang out. Then they bowed politely, though Robert
fancied that he saw a trace of irony in their manner, and the elder said
in good English:
"Good evening, gentlemen."
"Good evening, Messieurs," said Robert, remembering that he was to be
spokesman. "We are English."
"I can see readily that two of you are."
"The third, Tayoga, the son of a great Onondaga chief, is English also
at heart."
The lips of the Frenchman curled ever so little. Robert saw at once
that he challenged his assertion about Tayoga, but he did not seem to
notice it, as he expected that his comrades and himself would be guests
in the French camp.
"I have mentioned Tayoga," he said, "but I will introduce him again. He
is of the clan of the Bear, of the nation Onondaga, of the great League
of the Hodenosaunee. I also present Mr. David Willet, a famous scout and
hunter, known to the Indians, and perhaps to some of the French, too, as
the Great Bear. My own name is Robert Lennox, of Albany and New York,
and I have done nothing that is descriptive of me, but I bear important
letters from the Governor of New York to Quebec, to be delivered to the
Marquis Duquesne, the Governor General of Canada."
"That, young sir, is no slight mission," said the elder man, "and it is
our good fortune to speed you on your way. My friend is the Chevalier
François de Jumonville, one of France's most gallant officers, and I am
Auguste de Courcelles, a colonel by fortune's favor, in the service of
His Majesty, King Louis."
"I am sure," said Robert, "that it is not chance or the favor of fortune
that has given you such important rank. Your manner and presence are
sufficient assurance to me that you have won your rank with your own
merits."
De Courcelles laughed a little, but it was a pleased laugh.
"You have a more graceful tongue than most of the English," he said,
"and I could almost believe you had been at court."
"No nearer a court than Albany or New York."
"Then, sir, your credit is all the greater, because you have acquired so
much with so little opportunity."
Robert bowed formally and Colonel de Courcelles bowed back in the same
manner.
"The roads from Albany to Quebec are but trails," said de Courcelles,
"but I hope your journey has been easy and pleasant."
Willet gave Robert a warning glance, and the lad replied:
"Fairly pleasant. We have met a slight obstacle or two, but it was not
hard to remove them."
De Courcelles lifted his eyebrows a little.
"'Tis reported," he said, "that the savages are restless, that your
English governors have been making them presents, and, as they interpret
them, 'tis an inducement for them to take up the tomahawk against our
good Canadians. Oh, don't be offended, Mr. Lennox! I have not said I
believe such tales. Perhaps 'tis but the tongue of scandal wagging in
this way, because it must wag in some way."
Robert believed much meaning underlay the man's words, and he made rapid
surmises. Was de Courcelles trying to draw him out? Did he know of the
attack made upon them at the hollow beside the river? Did he seek to
forestall by saying the English were corrupting the Indians and sending
them forth with the tomahawk? All these questions passed swiftly in his
mind, but the gift discovered so newly came to his aid. His face
expressed nothing, and smiling a little, he replied:
"The tongue of scandal, sir, does indeed wag wildly. The Governor of New
York seeks at all times to keep peace among the Indians, and the fact
that I am bearing letters from him to the Marquis Duquesne is proof of
his good intentions."
"I accept your professions," said de Courcelles, "as I trust you will
accept my own assurances of amity and good faith. Why should we discuss
politics, when we are well met here in the woods? We have a fairly good
camp, and it's at your service. If I may judge by appearances your
journey has been attended by some hardships."
"You infer correctly," replied Robert, "and we shall be glad indeed to
share your fire and food with you."
De Courcelles and Jumonville led the way to a large camp fire around
which at least fifty French, Canadians and Indians were seated. All the
French and Canadians were in uniform, and the Canadians, although living
in a colder climate, had become much darker than the parent stock. In
truth, many of them were quite as dark as the Indians.
These Canadians of the French stock were, for the present, silent men,
and Robert regarded them with the deepest interest. Those who were not
in uniform wore long frock coats of dark gray or dark brown, belted at
the waist with a woolen sash of bright colors, decorated heavily with
beads. Trousers and waistcoats were of the same material as the coats,
but their feet were inclosed in Indian moccasins, also adorned
profusely with beads. They wore long hair in a queue, incased in an
eel-skin, and with their swarthy complexions and high cheek bones they
looked like wild sons of the forest to Robert. Tayoga, the Onondaga, was
to him a more civilized being. All the Canadians were smoking short
pipes, and, while they did not speak, their black eyes, restless with
eager curiosity, inspected the strangers.
The Indians in de Courcelles' party were of two types, the converted
Indians of Canada, partly in white man's costume, and utterly savage
Indians of the far west, in very little costume at all, one or two of
them wearing only the breech cloth. The looks they bestowed upon Robert
and his comrades were far from friendly, and he wondered if any Ojibway,
a warrior who perhaps owned Tandakora as a chief, was among them. They
were sitting about the fire and none of them spoke.
"We cannot offer you a banquet," said de Courcelles, "but we can give
you variety, none the less. This portion of His Majesty's territory is a
wilderness, but it provides an abundance of fish and game."
Robert believed that he had alluded purposely to the territory as "His
Majesty's," and, his mind challenging it instantly, he was about to
reply that in reality it was the northern part of the Province of New
York, but his second and wiser thought caused him to refrain. He would
enter upon no controversy with the older man, especially when he saw
that the latter wished to draw him into one. De Courcelles, seeing that
his lead was not followed, devoted himself to hospitality.
"We have venison, beaver tail, quail, good light bread and some thin
red wine," he said. "You Americans or English--which shall I call you?"
"Either," replied Robert, "because we are both."
"Then English it shall be for the present, because you are under that
flag. I was going to say that you are somewhat hostile to wine, which we
French love, and which we know how to drink in moderation. In some
respects we are a people of more restraint than you are. The slow, cold
English mind starts with an effort, but when it is started it is stopped
with equal difficulty. You either do too little or too much. You lack
the logic and precision of the Frenchman."
Robert smiled and replied lightly. Having avoided controversy upon one
point, he was of no mind to enter it upon another, and de Courcelles,
not pressing a third attack, entered with Jumonville upon his duties as
host. Both were graceful, easy, assured, and they fulfilled Robert's
conception of French officers, as men of the world who knew courts and
manners. It was a time when courts were more important than they are
today, and they were recognized universally as the chief fountains from
which flowed honor and advancement.
Robert did not like them as well as St. Luc, but he found a certain
charm in their company. They could talk of things that interested him,
and they exerted themselves, telling indirectly of the glories of Quebec
and alluding now and then to the greater splendors of Paris and
Versailles. It was a time when the French monarchy loomed as the
greatest power in the world. The hollowness and decay of the House of
Bourbon were not yet disclosed, even to the shrewdest observers, and a
spell was cast upon all the civilized nations by the gorgeous and
glittering world of fashion and the world of arms. The influence reached
even into the depths of the vast North American wilderness and was felt
by Robert as he sat beside the camp fire in the savage woods with the
Frenchmen.
He drank a little of the red wine, but only a very little, and Tayoga
would not touch it at all. Willet took a small leather cup of it, but
declined a second. The food was good, better cooked than it usually was
among the English colonists, where the table was regarded as a
necessity, and in no particular as a rite. Robert, despite his habitual
caution, found his heart warming toward his French hosts. It could not
be possible that the Indians had been set upon his comrades and himself
by the French! The warmth of his heart increased when one of the
Canadians took a violin from a cloth cover and began to play wailing old
airs. Like so many others, Robert was not made melancholy by melancholy
music. Instead, he saw through a pleasing glow and the world grew poetic
and tender. The fire sank and Americans, French, Canadians and Indians
listened with the same silent interest. Presently the violinist played a
livelier tune and the _habitants_ sang to the music:
"Malbrouck, s'en va t-en guerre
Mironton, mironton, mirontaine;
Malbrouck s'en va t-en guerre
Ne sait quand reviendra."
Then he left Malbrouck, and it was:
"Hier sur le pont d'Avignon
J'ai oui chanter la belle
Lon, la,
J'ai oui chanter la belle
Elle chantait d'un ton si doux
Comme une demoiselle
Lon, la,
Comme une demoiselle."
The Canadians sang well, particularly in "The Bridge of Avignon," and
the dying fire, the black woods around them and the sighing wind created
an effect that no stage scenery could ever have given it. When the last
note melted with the wind de Courcelles sighed a little and stared into
the sinking fire.
"It is a fair country, sweet France," he said; "I myself have stood upon
the bridge of Avignon, and I have watched the pretty girls. It may be
that I have had a kiss or two, but all that is far away now. This is a
bolder country than France, Mr. Lennox, larger, more majestic, but it is
wild and savage, and will be so for many years to come. Nor can the
rules that apply to old and civilized Europe apply here, where the deeds
of men, like the land, are wilder, too."
Robert was conscious of some meaning in his words, perhaps a trace of
apology for a deed that he had done or would do, but in the mind of
young Lennox men's standards should be the same, whether in the
wilderness of New York and Canada or in the open fields of France and
England. De Courcelles, thoughtful for a moment, turned suddenly to the
man with the violin and cried:
"Play! Play again!"
The man played quaint old airs, folk songs that had been brought from
Normandy and Brittany, and the _habitants_ sang them in low voices or
rather hummed them in the subdued manner that seemed fitting to the
night, since the black shadows were creeping up closer, leaving only the
fire, as a core of light with the dusky figures around it. During all
the talk the Indians had been silent. They had eaten their food and
remained now, sitting in Turkish fashion, the flickering flames that
played across their faces giving to them a look sinister and menacing to
the last degree.
The Frenchmen, too, fell silent, as if their courtesy was exhausted and
conversation had become an effort. The last of the old French airs was
finished, and the player put his violin away. Jumonville, who had spoken
but little, threw a fresh stick on the fire and looked at the black wall
of circling forest.
"I can never get quite used to it," he said. "The wilderness is so
immense, so menacing that when I am in it at night a little shiver will
come now and then. I suppose our remote ancestors who lived in caves
must have had fear at their elbows all their lives."
"Very likely," said de Courcelles, thoughtfully, staring into the coals.
"It isn't strange that many people have worshiped fire as God. Why
shouldn't they when it brings light in the dark, and lifts up our souls,
when it warms us and makes us feel strong, when it cooks our food and
when in the earlier day it drove away the great wild animals, with
which man was not able to fight on equal terms?"
"I am not one to undervalue fire," said Robert.
"Few of us do in the forest. The night grows chill, but two of our good
Canadians will keep the coals alive until morning. And now I suppose you
are weary with your day's travels and wish sleep. I see that you have
blankets of your own or I should offer you some of ours."
Tayoga had been sitting before the fire, as silent as the Canadian
Indians, his rifle across his knees, his eyes turned toward the blaze.
The glow of the flames fell upon him, disclosing his lofty countenance,
his splendidly molded figure, and his superiority to the other Indians,
who were not of the Hodenosaunee and who to him were, therefore, as much
barbarians as all people who were not Greeks were barbarians to the
ancient Greeks. Not a word of kinship or friendship had passed between
him and them. For him, haughty and uncompromising, they did not exist.
For a long time his deep unfathomable eyes had never turned from the
fire, but now he rose suddenly and said:
"Someone comes in the forest!"
De Courcelles looked up in surprise.
"I hear nothing," he said.
"Someone comes in the forest!" repeated Tayoga with emphasis.
De Courcelles glanced at his own Indians. They had not yet moved, but in
a moment or two they too rose to their feet, and then he knew that the
Onondaga was right. Now Robert also heard a moccasined and light
footstep approaching. A darker shadow appeared against the darkness, and
the figure of an Indian, gigantic and sinister, stepped within the
circle of the firelight.
It was Tandakora, the Ojibway.