_A CANADIAN BUSHRANGER._
DUBOCQ smiled condescendingly upon the enthusiasm with which his
appearance was greeted; he accepted with sedateness the embraces and
warm congratulations of his friends, but, perfectly conscious of his own
dignity, resolutely refused to divulge any of the particulars of his
story until he reached M. de Callière, Governor of Ville Marie.
Lydia, by nature timid, had no idea of controlling her fears when
comfort and succor of an especially pleasant description were close at
hand. She now clung to du Chesne for protection, her face irradiated by
a lovely expression, half smiles, half tears. Did ever sculptor chisel a
mouth where all sweet graces curved more bewitchingly? The young man
noted the upward sweep of the long lashes, the exquisite flush deepening
in the cheeks and melting into the warm whiteness of brow and chin and
throat. How engaging this clinging helplessness was!
“He is a savage!” the English girl exclaimed with a shiver, “I shall
never get over my terror of all Indians.”
Du Chesne’s glowing eyes rested on her face; the fervent glance cheered
and strengthened her. Lydia required to be supported constantly, and she
enjoyed the exhilarating sensation.
“No, Mademoiselle, he is of our own country. His grandfather was a
Frenchman from Normandy, who married a squaw, Marie Arontio, daughter of
the first Huron chief baptized by, the sainted Father de Breboeuf. Ah!
Mademoiselle, but that was a martyr worthy of the faith! Sainte Marie
Madeleine, a nun of the Ursulines, in Quebec, is Dubocq’s sister. He has
always been considered one of our best fighters, an adept in Indian
modes of warfare, and a man of great courage and extraordinary strength.
Some years ago he was taken prisoner by our enemies, and as time went on
and nothing was heard of him, all believed him dead. That was a genuine
loss for the colony; we could ill afford to spare one of our best
champions; hence his return occasions so much rejoicing. He has
contrived to escape the clutches of the most ferocious savages in the
world, at whose hands he could expect nothing but agonizing torments.”
The crowd, following the bushranger with shouts and cheers, proceeded up
St. Joseph Street to the residence of M. de Callière. The Count de
Frontenac, attended by several members of his suite, happened to be
within. Disturbed by the noise, the party, led by M. de Callière,
hurried to the door to inquire into the cause of the commotion.
“What have we here?” asked the Governor-General, who possessed a
singular faculty for endearing himself to the populace by being
interested in all his surroundings.
“Dubocq! Dubocq has returned! Dubocq! Vive our champion, Dubocq!”
The forest rover with composed assurance advanced to exhibit his
trophies, and in answer to the Governor’s enquiries, recounted the
history of his exploits with much natural eloquence.
“I was taken prisoner by the Iroquois,” he began, “and for a long time I
labored as their slave. They found my strength useful in many ways. For
me, I devoured my heart in silence, M. le Comte, for no way of escape
seemed possible, and if it was my fate to perish in the hands of those
demons, why, there was no more to be said. So I was waiting with what
patience I could muster for the fatal moment in which I was to be burnt
alive. It happened on an occasion when I was engaged in hunting with
eight braves and two squaws”—(here he indicated with a gesture his two
female companions, who had never even raised their eyes or given the
slightest indication that they knew their fate was trembling in the
balance)—“we camped in a spot where they had hidden a quantity of
liquor. Having been on two war expeditions in which they had performed
prodigies of valor, they had succeeded in enriching themselves at their
enemies’ expense, and were at the time visiting the liquor as a rest and
indulgence after much privation. Desiring to carry nothing with them but
their arms and ammunition, they had been fasting for many days; so, as
you may imagine, M. le Comte, those wolves were not inclined to be very
abstemious.”
“It is the custom of these pagans to swallow brandy at a gulp, easier
than we take light wine at our most jovial parties,” whispered Jean
Ameron to his friend, who was a keenly interested spectator of all that
was going on.
“After supper,” continued the hero of the occasion, “they commenced
drinking and singing, according to their own ideas of enjoyment.
Considering me as a victim about to be sacrificed to their vengeance,
they invited me to join their orgy, with the comforting assurance that
it would be my last opportunity, as they had decided to put an end to me
at once. Being for the moment all companions in pleasure, they sang
loudly, with joyful hearts celebrating their victories. They persisted
in forcing quantities of the liquor on me. Though in usual well inclined
to drink, I restrained my inclination, knowing that should I become
helpless my fate would be at once sealed. After raising the brandy to my
mouth I allowed it to spill, and as the wigwam was illuminated only by
the uncertain light of the fire, the savages did not notice my evasion
of their hospitable intentions. By this means I retained my composure,
while by the middle of the night my companions, whose heads were heated
by drink and the war-songs they had sung, were overcome by sleep. I made
no movement, but feigned to be the drunkest of all the party, though
watching quietly like a fox. Faith of Dubocq! the Iroquois and I, we
know each other well, and here it was a question of life and death. I
debated seriously whether when I found them all helpless, completely at
my mercy, I should profit at once by my liberty, or whether before
leaving I should send those ten heathen to the land of souls. As for the
braves, that meant eight enemies less for the colony. Then, M. le
Gouverneur, ladies, gentlemen and friends,” with a grandiloquent
flourish of the hand towards the unhappy prisoners, who still stood
mute, like bronzed images of resignation, “then I resolved to spare
these women as being unworthy a man’s vengeance, and also as witnesses
of my triumph.
“_V’là!_ I commenced by tying the squaws tightly together, comprehending
well that, having smaller brains than the men, they were more easily
intoxicated and consequently more difficult to awaken. And, I assure
you, they had not stinted themselves in the use of the liquor. I
resolved to make sure, however, trusting my fate to no chance which I
had power to provide against. In order to try if their sleep were really
so profound as it appeared, I held pieces of flaming wood close to their
faces; but, behold! not a movement, not so much as the quiver of an
eyelash. My opportunity had come; it but depended upon the strength of
my own arm to escape death by torture. I have seen that; I know what it
is; so do many of you, my friends.”
The crowd responded to this appeal by a quick sympathetic murmur.
“Many of us have witnessed the death of our comrades, many bear scars of
the wounds inflicted by those wolves. That thought nerved my heart.
Arming myself with a heavy hatchet, I dealt one warrior after another a
deadly blow, and that with the greatest rapidity. If one should awaken
and give the alarm, then I was lost. _Tiens!_ it was all finished in a
crack. It was a cold butchery, I grant you, M. le Comte, but what will
you, then? The choice lay between my death and theirs. Imagine to
yourself when a man fights in the name of his lord the King, his Lord
God, the holy saints and angels, and his own safety. I owed the Iroquois
many a debt, and I endeavored honestly to pay them all.
“I tried vainly to awaken the two women, who still slept soundly. Then I
sat down to smoke my pipe and indulge in many pleasant memories of the
home which I had never thought to see again. We had still a long and
dangerous journey before us, so it was necessary to set about making
preparations. Next morning when the two women regained their senses I
allowed them to perceive that a change had taken place in the position
of affairs—that they had at the one stroke become widows and my slaves.
I could not suppose that they were pleased by the course of events, but
they said little. I assured them that I would spare their lives on
condition that they would bear witness to the truth of my story, and
they agreed with the best possible resignation. I may make them my
compliments on their docility; never have they troubled me with useless
lamentations. When I had adjusted my scalps to my taste—and you will
perceive, M. le Comte, that they are arranged in true savage fashion—I
took them and my prisoners and started upon my journey.”
“Vive, Dubocq, who has killed eight Iroquois at a blow! Vive Dubocq!”
shouted the excited and sympathetic crowd.
“But they are monsters! One hears only of shedding of blood.” In her
agitation Lydia had seized hold of du Chesne’s hand, at which a thrill
went through the young man’s veins.
“All this is far removed from you; it is not fit that you should hear
such tales. You should be surrounded by scenes of peace and tenderness.
Cannot you trust yourself to my care, my sweet Lydia?” he urged
tenderly.
The young Canadian felt himself completely fascinated by this fair
childish beauty. There was something in the girl’s guileless expression,
the sight of her hair flowing in waves of gold over the shapely
shoulders, that ensnared his heart. Then his efforts at consolation were
so very successful, and were so gratefully received, that he could not
fail to be thoroughly satisfied. Diane de Monesthrol might accept
tribute of general admiration if it pleased her to do so; for his part,
he preferred the sweetly feminine creature who was pleased to receive
rather than confer distinction.
Frontenac, himself a brave man, had always shown cordial sympathy for
the reckless courage of the voyageurs and bushrangers. He now readily
gave utterance to his commendations.
“Ta, ta, ta! bravely done, my fine fellow. These are the sort of
defenders that Canada requires; would that we had many more of them.
Eight enemies killed at a stroke! He is a Canadian hero; we owe him the
thanks of the colony.”
“_Et par le corbeau_,” grumbled Jean Ameron, who made desperate but
futile attempts to imitate the soldiers in the jaunty swagger of their
manner. “Heroes, like saints, are cheap in this country. To kill eight
Iroquois, that were easily enough done—just one sharp blow skilfully
directed, and all is over. Little more effort is required than for
killing a mouse. Thirty livres, no less, is the price paid for each
scalp; two hundred and forty livres will this bird of prey receive from
the Government. It was but chance that placed the occasion in Dubocq’s
way. Some are favored by luck; I could myself do as much as that.”
“Jean, my friend, thou art not of those whose light is suffered to hide
under bushels,” protested the soldier.
* * * * *
“Maître Bourdon, hast thou good wine at thy tavern?” demanded Frontenac.
“But yes, plenty, and of the most excellent, M. le Comte; of many kinds
also, to suit all tastes—Vin de Grève, both the white and the red, wine
of Xeres, Muscat—” the little fat man was delighted to seize the
opportunity of proclaiming the prime quality of his wares.
“Drink, then, my friends, to the health of His Majesty, and to that of
the brave Dubocq, not forgetting the prosperity of Canada, and confusion
to our enemies, the Iroquois!”