WE LAND AN ODD FISH
After brief respite Madame steered as closely beside the bank as
possible, thus avoiding the swift current, yet it was no small task to
win our way upward through the lagging hours. More and more frequently
tired muscles drove us to the shore for intervals of relaxation.
Still, in spite of much time thus lost, we made steady progress, so
before morning dawned I was confident many a mile had been placed
behind, although the low shore we skirted remained so similar in
outline as to afford few landmarks with which to gauge our passage.
De Noyan grew more cheerful toward the end, his sullen mood changing to
a gay semblance of reckless abandon. To me, however, he appeared
scarcely more engaging in snatches of ribald song, and careless speech,
freely interspersed with French oaths and much complaint at unwonted
toll, than in his former moody silence; yet his cheerfulness had effect
upon Madame, who contrived to rally from her mental depression,
becoming in turn a veritable sunburst in the gloom. I experienced a
glow of pleasure listening to her merry banter, and, once or twice, to
a low-voiced French song, sounding sweetly enough as it echoed back
from off the black water.
In spite of such efforts to appear light-hearted, the nature of our
work, coupled with the sombre surroundings of the night, rested heavily
upon the spirits, and long before morning broke, we had all subsided
into disheartening silence, holding grimly to our onward course through
sheer force of will. With wearied eyes I marked the slow coming of
dawn above that desolation; the faint gray light creeping like some
living thing across the swirling waters, leaving more ghastly than
before the immense flood sweeping past. It was a sombre sight, yet
became more heartsome as crimson light streaked the sky, flashing forth
over the wide river, reddening the heaving surface, until the waters
blazed like burnished metal, and our blinded eyes could hardly gaze
upon it.
We were at this time approaching a vast curve in the shore-line,
appearing to the eye as if it might prove the mouth of some important
tributary stream. Beyond, perhaps a hundred feet out in the main
river, appeared a low island, a mere rock as it fronted us, yet thickly
covered by small trees and bushes, growing close to the water's edge.
No sign of life was apparent anywhere. The mainland, so far as the
sweep of vision extended, bore the same marshy and inhospitable look,
and I immediately determined upon the island as the more suitable
camping spot.
"Turn the prow of the canoe toward the upper end of that rock, Madame,"
I said, resuming my place at the oar. "It appears the most promising
halting place hereabout, and should afford us excellent vantage of view
both up and down the river."
"It will prove vantage of sleep for me," grumbled the Chevalier
gruffly. "I take it I should have been resting better had I remained
with the Dons."
I noticed the sudden uplifting of his wife's face, and seeing a pained
expression upon it, I replied:
"Such words bespeak little appreciation, Monsieur, of our efforts to
pluck you from a fate which has befallen your companions. Surely your
work is no harder than that of others, while you have more at issue."
He glanced from her face to mine in apparent surprise, but replied
readily:
"Those knowing me best, friend Benteen, pay least heed to my words.
When I bark I seldom bite, and when I intend biting I waste small time
on the bark. But, _parbleu_! how can I feel life worth living, if it
is all toil? There may be those who enjoy such existence, but I
discover no pleasure in it. _Sacre_! I love not hard hands and poor
fare, nor will I make pretence of what I do not feel."
We were then two-thirds of the distance between the mainland and the
island, in the full sweep of the raging current. It struck us
sidelong, with such force as to require all our combined strength to
afford the laboring boat headway. Suddenly Eloise startled us with an
outcry.
"What is that yonder?" she questioned excitedly, pointing directly
up-stream. "It looks the strangest red thing ever I saw on water. I
believed it moved but now, as if alive."
Keeping my oar in motion, lest we should drift backward, I made shift
to glance across my shoulder in the direction indicated. The river had
us completely in its grasp, tossing the light boat in a majestic flood
of angry water, whitened by foam, and beaten into waves, where it
rounded the rocky edge of the island. Across this tumbling surge
streamed the glorious sunlight, gilding each billow into beauty, while
in the midst of it, bearing swiftly down toward us, came that strange
thing that had so startled Madame. What in the name of nature it might
prove to be, I could not hazard--it had the appearance of some queer,
shaggy animal, rolled tight into the form of a ball, having fur so
radiantly red as to flash and burn in the sunshine. It bobbed crazily
about, barely above the surface of the river, like some living
creature, while now and then I marked a glimmer of light behind, as if
the water was being vigorously churned by some species of swimming
apparatus in the monster's tail.
"Stand by with your small sword, De Noyan," I commanded uneasily, "for,
hang me if I ever before set eyes on such a creature! Move, quick, and
pass me over your oar so you may have both hands free for the onset."
The beast was being swept along rapidly, now appearing to my eyes
somewhat whiter on top, although the surrounding red was so glaringly
prominent as to obscure everything else. Suddenly the creature gave a
kick and whirled over, turning the white expanse directly toward us.
At the same moment De Noyan dropped the point of his rapier against the
side of the boat, with a loud guffaw.
"May the saints absolve me," he grinned, choking from merriment, "if
it's not the red-headedest man ever my eyes looked upon."
Forcing back his laughter, he hailed the swimmer, who, perceiving us
for the first time, began sheering off, as if frightened by our
presence, and intent upon escape.
"Hold there a moment, Master Red-Cap! If in truth you are not a fish,
come on board."
The fellow heard him plainly enough, for I distinguished a muttered
English exclamation, but he made no pause in urging a peculiar
sidestroke of the arms which threatened to bear him past us like a wild
thing.
"Hold your hands!" I roared in English, thinking, perhaps, he had not
comprehended the other tongue. "Come in here, sirrah, or, the Lord
help you, we 'll turn and run you down."
At sound of these words he ceased his efforts, and turned a peculiar
wrinkled face, creased like long-folded parchment, and as yellow,
directly toward us. Even at that distance I imagined I could detect a
twinkle of delight in the shrewd gray eyes.
"Thy words of greeting are as manna fallen from heaven," boomed a deep,
resonant voice, surprising in its volume. "I take heart anew, young
man, for surely thou art not the spawn of the scarlet woman, but,
verily, one of the chosen people of our own God."
"I fail to grasp your meaning, friend," I retorted, nettled to be held
at the oars so long in that current. "We are honest voyagers, glad to
be of aid to any one in such distress as you seem to be."
"Nay; I am not especially uncomfortable, unless my tobacco is soaked,
and if such disaster hath overtaken me, it shall yet go hard with those
blaspheming idolaters who cast me overboard. But thy language is that
of modern Israel, so I will join you in the boat. 'Tis the more
readily done as I have not tasted food since yesternoon, and possess a
hollowness within my physical temple which demandeth attention. The
spirit yieldeth to the craving of the flesh."
"Catch hold upon the side," I ordered, as he drew near. "We will have
you ashore in a dozen strokes."
The stranger did as I bade him, and it was truly a wondrous sight to
observe how his head glowed in the sun as the drops of moisture dried,
and brought out the full, ornate color of it. His face had a pinched
look, with thousands of little wrinkles leading away from the corners
of the wide mouth, and about the narrow, glinting gray eyes. But there
was a sly gleam of humor about the expression of it, which, taken in
connection with that fiery headpiece, nearly caused me a fit of
laughter. I noticed, however, that Madame drew slightly away from his
side of the boat, as if close proximity to the fellow were repugnant to
her.
"Well, friend," said I, as we drew up in shoal water under lee of the
rock, and I noted his short legs and stocky chest, "no doubt you are
well water-logged, and a little healthful exercise will help to warm
your blood, especially as we dare not light a fire for such purpose.
So bend that broad back of yours, and aid us in lifting the boat to
cover."
He performed his portion of the work well, bearing with apparent ease
fully one-half the burden, while De Noyan and I staggered beneath the
remainder, until together we sank the boat well out of sight behind the
thick brush.
"And why not a fire?" the stranger questioned abruptly, noticing Eloise
spreading forth our stock of provisions on the grass. "It was in hope
of thus warming the inner man that I consented to come ashore and
companion with you. Are you refugees, fleeing from danger?"
I glanced aside at De Noyan and muttered hastily in French, "It will be
best to tell him our story--'tis not likely he will prove an emissary
of Spain."
"As you please; he is more of your class than mine," he returned
indifferently, and, with a shrug of the shoulders, strolled away.
"You have made fairly correct guess," I said to our new acquaintance;
"so we may as well understand each other first as last. We have
escaped with our lives from New Orleans, and are now seeking refuge on
the Ohio."
He nodded, his shrewd gray eyes fastened intently on my face, his own
countenance expressionless.
"Who holdeth New Orleans?" he asked in a tone of interest.
"The Spanish, under O'Reilly."
"'Tis what they told me above, yet I believed they lied. Those with
you are French?"
"Ay."
"And you?"
"Of Louisiana birth and English blood; five years I have been a hunter
in the Illinois country."
He groaned as though the mention of the word awoke unpleasant memories.
"'Tis an unholy land, no fit abiding place for the elect, as I learned,
having passed through its settlements seeking prayerfully to bear an
evangel unto that stiff-necked people. Friend, thou hast an honest
face, and I will say in confidence I have been ofttimes blessed of the
Spirit in the conversion of souls; yet this people laughed at my
unctuous speech, making merry regarding that head-covering with which
the Almighty chose to adorn his servant. Dost thou know the French
settlement on the Kaskaskia?"
"I have been there often."
"Ah! 'tis verily a stronghold of popish superstition. Recall you the
humble cabin of Gabriel La Motte, the Huguenot, close by the ravine?
It was there I abode in much spiritual and temporal comfort with that
godly man, until certain mad roisterers took offence at plain gospel
speech, driving me forth into the wilderness, even as Jehovah's
prophets of old. Since that hour I have been a wanderer on the face of
the earth, finding small comfort in this life; yet Ezekiel Cairnes is
merely the poor servant of the Lord, the chief of sinners, and must
abide in travail until He cometh."
He cast up his eyes in pious affectation, his lips moving as though he
meditated in prayer.
"Then your name is Cairnes?"
"Ezekiel Cairnes, late of the Connecticut colony, and am permitted by
the Lord's mercy to write Reverend before my unworthy appellation."
"A Puritan preacher!" I exclaimed in some disgust. "I have heard of
your sort before, yet have been spared a meeting until now. Where do
you propose going?"
"The Lord leadeth His anointed, young man. Even as Jonah abode in the
belly of the whale, so doth the water bear me onward as the Almighty
willeth."
His wandering eyes rested thoughtfully upon my companion, now returning
toward us, sauntering listlessly along the sandy shore.
"I know not, friend, who you may be, save as you have seen fit to
reveal," he said shrewdly. "Yet I would venture a guess as to yonder
gayly attired cavalier."
"A guess?" I echoed, taken completely by surprise. "It is small chance
you would hit right--what might your guess be?"
"Chevalier Charles de Noyan."
"How know you that?"
He chuckled grimly, evidently well pleased at my astonishment.
"'Tis no work of the evil one, friend. I am but just escaped also from
the hands of the Philistines," he explained, becoming angry at the
thought, and ducking his red head vehemently. "While in their
unhallowed company, a gray-bellied son of Belial questioned me much
regarding yonder fine gentleman, ere he waxed exceedingly wroth at my
plain speech in matters of the spirit, bidding his jabbering crew of
papists to heave me overboard."
"How far away did this occur?" I asked, looking anxiously up the river.
"Oh, mayhap some such matter as twenty leagues," he returned
indifferently, his gaze idly following mine. "Let me reflect; it was
at the hour for sunset prayer I fell in with their party. I have heard
it said this stream hereabout hath a sweep of seven or more miles the
hour, and I kept well in the current of it."
"Do you mean you have been swimming since sunset yesterday?"
"Nay, friend; I beg be not over-hasty in conclusions. I merely reposed
easily upon my back, with only enough straightening out of the legs to
keep my nose fairly up-tilted above the stream. 'T was thus I made the
passage with much comfort of body, and relaxation of mind. 'T is no
serious trick for one unafraid of the water although it might bring on
cramps were I to keep on as far as New Orleans."
I stared at him with an astonishment which for the moment precluded
speech. Before I found voice with which to express doubt of his story,
Madame called, bidding us join her upon the grass, where our rude meal
waited.