THE LONG ARROW.
Menard allowed a halt of but a few hours at Three Rivers. The
settlement held little of interest, for all the resident troops and
most of the farmers and _engages_ had gone up the river to join the
army which was assembling at Montreal. The close of the first week out
of Quebec saw the party well on the second half of the journey to
Montreal. As they went on, Menard's thoughts were drawn more deeply
into the work that lay ahead, and in spite of his efforts at
lightness, the work of keeping up the maid's spirits fell mostly to
Danton (though Father Claude did what he could). As matters gradually
became adjusted, Danton's cheery, hearty manner began to tell; and now
that there was little choice of company, the maid turned to him for
her diversion.
On the morning of the second day after leaving Three Rivers, the two
_voyageurs_ were carrying the canoe to the water when Guerin slipped
on a wet log, throwing the canoe to the ground, and tearing a wide
rent in the bark. Menard was impatient at this carelessness. The
knowledge that the Three Rivers detachment had already gone on to
Montreal had decided him to move more rapidly, and he had given orders
that they should start each day in the first light of the dawn. This
was a chill morning. A low, heavy fog lay on the river, thinning, at a
yard above the water, into a light mist which veiled what colour may
have been in the east.
While Guerin and Perrot were patching the canoe under Menard's eye,
Danton found some dry logs under the brush, and built up the dying
fire, which was in a rocky hollow, not visible from the river. Then he
and the maid sat on the rocks above it, where they could get the
warmth, and yet could see the river. Menard and his men, though only a
few rods away, were but blurred forms as they moved about the canoe,
gumming the new seams.
The maid, save for an occasional heavy hour in the late evenings, had
settled into a cheerful frame of mind. The novelty, and the many
exciting moments of the journey, as well as the kindness of the three
men, kept her thoughts occupied. Danton, once he had shaken off his
sulky fits, was good company. They sat side by side on the rock,
looking down at the struggling fire, or at the figures moving about
the canoe, or out into the white mystery of the river, talking easily
in low tones of themselves and their lives and hopes.
The mist, instead of rising, seemed to settle closer to the water, as
the broad daylight came across the upper air. The maid and Danton fell
into silence as the picture brightened. Danton was less sensitive than
she to the whims of nature, and tiring of the scene, he was gazing
down into the fire when the maid, without a word, touched his arm. He
looked up at her; then, seeing that her eyes were fixed on the river,
followed her gaze. Not more than a score of yards from the shore,
moving silently through the mist, were the heads of three Indians.
Their profiles stood out clearly against the white background; their
shoulders seemed to dissolve into the fog. They passed slowly on up
the stream, looking straight ahead, without a twitch of the eyelids,
like a vision from the happy hunting-ground.
Danton slipped down from the rock, and stepped lightly to Menard,
pointing out the three heads just as they were fading into the
whiteness about them. Menard motioned to Guerin and Perrot to get the
newly patched canoe into the water, took three muskets, and in a
moment pushed off, leaving Danton with the maid and the priest, who
had retired a short distance for his morning prayers. For a minute the
heads of the three white men were in sight above the fog, then they
too were swallowed up.
"I wonder what Menard thinks about them?" said Danton, going back
toward the maid.
She was still looking at the mist, and did not hear him, so he took a
seat at the foot of the rock and rubbed the hammer of his musket,
which had been rusted by the damp. After a time the maid looked toward
him.
"What does it mean?" she asked.
"I don't know," Danton replied. "They were going up-stream in a canoe,
I suppose. Probably he thinks they can give us some information."
In a few minutes, during which the mist was clearing under the rays of
the sun, the two canoes together came around a wooded point and
beached. The Indians walked silently to the fire. They appeared not to
see Danton and the maid. Menard paused to look over his canoe. It was
leaking badly, and before joining the group at the fire, he set the
canoemen at work making a new patch.
[Illustration: "The Indians walked silently to the fire."]
"Danton," he said, in a low tone, when he reached the fire, "find the
Father."
Danton hurried away, and Menard turned to the largest of the three
Indians, who wore the brightest blanket, and had a peculiar wampum
collar, decorated in mosaic-like beadwork.
"You are travellers, like ourselves," he said, in the Iroquois tongue.
"We cannot let you pass without a word of greeting. I see that you are
of the Onondagas, my brothers. It may be that you are from the Mission
at the Sault St. Francis Xavier?"
The Indian bowed. "We go from Three Rivers to Montreal."
"I, too, am taking my party to Montreal." Menard thought it wise to
withhold the further facts of his journey. "Have you brothers at Three
Rivers?"
"No," replied the Indian. "We have been sent with a paper from the
Superior at Sault St. Francis Xavier to the good fathers at Three
Rivers. Now we are on our return to the Mission."
"Have my brothers eaten?" Menard motioned toward the fire. "It is
still early in the day."
The three bowed. "We are travelling fast," said the spokesman, "for
the Superior awaits our return. We ate before the light. It will soon
be time for us to go on our journey."
Menard saw Father Claude and Danton approaching, and waited for them.
The face of the large Indian seemed like some other face that had had
a place in his memory. It was not unlikely that he had known this
warrior during his captivity, when half a thousand braves had been to
him as brothers. The Indian was apparently of middle age, and had
lines of dignity and authority in his face that made it hard to accept
him as a subdued resident at the Mission. But Menard knew that no sign
of doubt or suspicion must appear in his face, so he waited for the
priest. The Indians sat with their knees drawn up and their blankets
wrapped about them, looking stolidly at the fire.
Father Claude came quietly into the group, and with a smile extended
his hand to the smallest of the three, an older man, with a wrinkled
face. "I did not look for you here, Teganouan. Have you gone back to
the Mission?"
Teganouan returned the smile, and bowed.
"My brother has told the white man of our errand?"
"Yes," said Menard, "they have been sent to Three Rivers by the
Superior, and are now returning. I have told them that we, too, are
going to Montreal."
The priest took the hint. "We shall meet you and your brothers again,
Teganouan. They are newcomers at the Mission, I believe. They had not
come when I left."
"No, Father. They have but last week become Christians. The Long
Arrow" (inclining his head toward the large Indian) "has lost a son,
and through his suffering was led to take the faith."
The Long Arrow, who had seemed to lose interest in the conversation as
soon as he had finished speaking, here rose.
"My brothers and the good Father will give us their blessing? The end
of the journey is yet three days away. I had hoped that we might be
permitted to accept the protection of the son of Onontio,"--he looked
at Menard,--"but I see that his canoe will not be ready for the
journey before the sun is high." He looked gravely from Menard to the
priest, then walked to the shore, followed by the others. They pushed
off, and shortly disappeared around the point of land.
Menard gave them no attention, but as soon as they were gone from
sight, he turned to the priest.
"Well, Father, what do you make of that?"
Father Claude shook his head.
"Nothing, as yet, M'sieu. Do you know who the large man is?"
"No; but I seem to remember him. And what is more to the point, he
certainly remembers me."
"Are you sure?"
"He recognized me on the river. He came back with me so willingly
because he wanted to know more about us. That was plain. It would be
well, Father, to enquire at the Mission. We should know more of them
and their errand at Three Rivers."
Menard called Danton, and walked with him a little way into the wood.
"Danton," he said, "you are going through this journey with us, and I
intend that you shall know about such matters as this meeting with the
Onondagas."
"Oh, they were Onondagas?"
"Yes. They claim to be Mission Indians, but neither the Father nor I
altogether believe them." In a few sentences Menard outlined the
conversation. "Now, Danton, this may or may not be an important
incident. I want you to know the necessity for keeping our own counsel
in all such matters, dropping no careless words, and letting no
emotions show. I wish you would make a point of learning the Iroquois
language. Father Claude will help you. You are to act as my right-hand
man, and you may as well begin now to learn to draw your own
conclusions from an Indian's words."
Danton took eagerly to the lessons with Father Claude, for they seemed
another definite step toward the excitement that surely, to his mind,
lay in wait ahead. The studying began on that afternoon, while they
were toiling up against the stream.
In the evening, when the dusk was coming down, and the little camp was
ready for the night, Menard came up from the heap of stores, where the
_voyageurs_ had already stretched out, and found the maid sitting
alone by the fire. Danton, in his rush of interest in the new study,
had drawn Father Claude aside for another lesson.
"Mademoiselle is lonely?" asked Menard, sitting beside her.
"No, no, M'sieu. I have too many thoughts for that."
"What interesting thoughts they must be."
"They are, M'sieu. They are all about the Indians this morning. Tell
me, M'sieu,--they called you Onontio. What does it mean?"
"They called me the son of Onontio, because of my uniform. Onontio,
the Great Mountain, is their name for the Governor; and the Governor's
soldiers are to them his sons."
"They speak a strange language. It is not the same as that of the
Ottawas, who once worked for my father."
"Did you know their tongue?"
"A few words, and some of the signs. This,"--raising her hand, with
the first finger extended, and slowly moving her arm in a half circle
from horizon to horizon,--"this meant a sun,--one day."
Menard looked at her for a moment in silence. He enjoyed her
enthusiasm.
"Why don't you learn Iroquois? You would enjoy it. It is a beautiful
tongue,--the language of metaphor and poetry."
"I should like to," she replied, looking with a faint smile at Danton
and the priest, who were sitting under a beech tree, mumbling in low
tones.
"You shall join the class, Mademoiselle. You shall begin to-morrow. It
was thoughtless of Danton to take the Father's instruction to himself
alone."
"And then, M'sieu, I will know what the Indians say when they sit up
stiffly in their blankets, and talk down in their throats. They have
such dignity. It is hard not to believe them when they look straight
at one."
"Don't you believe them?"
"The three this morning,--they did not tell the truth."
"Didn't they?"
"Why, I understood that you did not believe them."
"And where did Mademoiselle learn that? Did she follow the conversation?"
"No; but Lieutenant Danton--"
"He told you?"
She nodded. Menard frowned.
"He shouldn't have done that."
The maid looked surprised at his remark, and the smile left her face.
"Of course, M'sieu," she said, a little stiffly, "whatever is not
meant for my ears--"
Menard was still frowning, and he failed to notice her change in
manner. He abruptly gave the conversation a new turn, but seeing after
a short time that the maid had lost interest in his sallies, he rose,
and called to the priest.
"Father, you are to have a new pupil. Mademoiselle also will study the
language of the Iroquois. If you are quick enough with your pupils, we
shall soon be able to hold a conversation each night about the fire.
Perhaps, if you would forego your exclusive air, Mademoiselle would
begin at once."
Danton, without waiting for the priest to start, came hurriedly over
and sat by the maid.
"You must pardon me," he said, "I did not think,--I did not know that
you would be interested. It is so dry."
The maid smiled at the fire.
"You did not ask," she replied, "and I could not offer myself to the
class."
"It will be splendid," said Danton. "We shall learn the language of
the trees and the grass and the rivers and the birds. And the message
of the wampum belt, too, we shall know. You see,"--looking up at
Menard,--"already I am catching the meanings."
Menard smiled, and then went down the bank, leaving the three to bend
their heads together over the mysteries of the Iroquois rules of
gender, written out by Father Claude on a strip of bark. It was nearly
an hour later, after the maid had crept to her couch beneath the
canoe, and Perrot and Guerin had sprawled upon the bales and were
snoring in rival keys, that Danton came lightly down the slope humming
a drinking song. He saw Menard, and dropped to the ground beside him,
with a low laugh.
"Mademoiselle will lead my wits a chase, Menard. Already she is deep
in the spirit of the new work."
"Be careful, my boy, that she leads no more than your wits a chase."
Danton laughed again.
"I don't believe there is great danger. What a voice she has! I did
not know it at first, when she was frightened and spoke only in the
lower tones. Now when she speaks or laughs it is like--"
"Like what?"
"There is no fit simile in our tongue, light as it is. It may be that
in the Iroquois I shall find the words. It should be something about
the singing brooks or the voice of the leaves at night."
The lad was in such buoyant spirits that Menard had to harden himself
for the rebuke which he must give. With the Indian tribes Menard had
the tact, the control of a situation, that would have graced a council
of great chiefs; but in matters of discipline, the blunter faculties
and language of the white men seemed to give his wit no play. Now, as
nearly always, he spoke abruptly.
"Have you forgotten our talk of this morning, Danton?"
"No," replied the boy, looking up in surprise.
The night had none of the dampness that had left a white veil over the
morning just gone. The moon was half hidden behind the western trees.
The sky, for all the dark, was blue and deep, set with thousands of
stars, each looking down at its mate in the shining water.
"I spoke of the importance of keeping our own counsel."
Danton began to feel what was coming. He looked down at the ground
without replying.
"To-night Mademoiselle has repeated a part of our conversation."
"Mademoiselle,--why, she is one of our party. She knows about us,--who
we are, what we are going for--"
"Then you have told her, Danton?"
"How could she help knowing? We are taking her to Frontenac."
"Father Claude has not told her why we go to Frontenac--nor have I."
"But Major Provost is her friend--"
"He would never have told her."
"But she seemed to know about it."
"Then you have talked it over with her?"
"Why, no,--that is, in speaking of our journey we said something of
the meaning of the expedition. It could hardly be expected that we,--I
fail to see, Captain, what it is you are accusing me of."
"You have not been accused yet, Danton. Let me ask you a question. Why
did you enter the King's army?"
Danton hesitated, and started once or twice to frame answer, but made
no reply.
"Did you wish a gay uniform, to please the maids, to--"
"You are unfair, M'sieu."
"No, I wish to know. We will say, if you like, that you have hoped to
be a soldier,--a soldier of whom the King may one day have cause to be
proud."
Danton flushed, and bowed his head.
"I offered you the chance to go on this mission, Danton, because I
believed in you. I believed that you had the making of a soldier. This
is not a child's errand, this of ours. It is the work of strong men.
This morning I told you of my talk with the three Onondagas because I
have planned to take you into my confidence, and to give you the
chance to make a name for yourself. I made a point of the importance
of keeping such things to yourself."
"But Mademoiselle, M'sieu, she is different--"
"Look at the facts, Danton. I told you this morning: within twelve
hours you have passed on your information. How do I know that you
would not have let it slip to others if you had had the chance? You
forget that Mademoiselle is a woman, and the first and last duty of a
soldier is to tell no secrets to a woman."
"You speak wrongly of Mademoiselle. It is cowardly to talk thus."
Menard paused to get control of his temper.
"Cowardly, Danton? Is that the word you apply to your commander?"
"Your pardon, M'sieu! A thousand pardons! It escaped me--"
"We will pass it by. I want you to understand this matter. Mademoiselle
will spend a night in Montreal. We shall leave her with other women. A
stray word, which to her might mean nothing, might be enough to give
the wrong persons a hint of the meaning of our journey. A moment's
nervousness might slip the bridle from her tongue. All New France is
not so loyal that we can afford to drop a chance secret here and
there. As to this maid, she is only a child, and by giving her our
secrets, you are forcing her to bear a burden which we should bear
alone. These Indians this morning were spies, I am inclined to
believe, scouting along the river for information of the coming
campaign. The only way that we can feel secure is by letting no word
escape our lips, no matter how trivial. I tell you this, not so much
for this occasion as for a suggestion for the future."
"Very well, M'sieu. You will please accept my complete apologies."
"I shall have to add, Danton, that if any further mistake of this kind
occurs I shall be forced to dismiss you from my service. Now that I
have said this, I want you to understand that I don't expect it to
happen. I have believed in you, Danton, and I stand ready to be a
friend to you."
Menard held out his hand. Danton clasped it nervously, mumbling a
second apology. For a few moments longer they sat there, Menard trying
to set Danton at ease, but the boy was flushed, and he spoke only half
coherently. He soon excused himself and wandered off among the trees
and the thick bushes.
During the next day Danton was in one of his sullen moods. He worked
feverishly, and, with the maid, kept Father Claude occupied for the
greater part of the time, as they paddled on, with conversation, and
with discussion of the Iroquois words. The maid felt the change from
the easy relations in the party, and seemed a little depressed, but
she threw herself into the studying. Often during the day she would
take up a paddle, and join in the stroke. At first Menard protested,
but she laughed, and said that it was a "rest" after sitting so long.
They were delayed on the following day by a second accident to the
canoe, so that they were a full day late in reaching Montreal. They
moved slowly up the channel, past the islands and the green banks with
their little log-houses or, occasionally, larger dwellings built after
the French manner. St. Helen's Island, nearly opposite the city, had a
straggling cluster of hastily built bark houses, and a larger group of
tents where the regulars were encamped, awaiting the arrival of
Governor Denonville with the troops from Quebec.
Menard stopped at the island, guiding the canoe to the bank where a
long row of canoes and bateaux lay close to the water.
"You might get out and walk around," he said to the others. "I shall
be gone only a few moments."
Father Claude sat on the bank, lost in meditation. Danton and the maid
walked together slowly up and down, beyond earshot from the priest.
Since Menard's rebuke, both the lad and the maid had shown a slight
trace of resentment. It did not come out in their conversation, but
rather in their silences, and in the occasions which they took to sit
and walk apart from the others. It was as if a certain common ground
of interest had come to them. The maid, for all her shyness and even
temper, was not accustomed to such cool authority as Menard was
developing. The priest was keeping an eye on the fast-growing
acquaintanceship, and already had it vaguely in mind to call it to the
attention of Menard, who was getting too deeply into the spirit and
the details of his work to give much heed.
Menard was soon back.
"Push off," he said. "The Major is not here. We shall have to look for
him in the city."
They headed across the stream. The city lay before them, on its gentle
slope, with the mountain rising behind like an untiring sentry. It was
early in the afternoon, and on the river were many canoes and small
boats, filled with soldiers, friendly Indians, or _voyageurs_, moving
back and forth between the island and the city. They passed close to
many of the bateaux, heaped high with provision and ammunition bales,
and more than once the lounging soldiers rose and saluted Menard.
At the city wharf he turned to Danton.
"We shall have to get a larger canoe, Danton, and a stronger. Will you
see to it, please? We shall have two more in our party from now on.
Make sure that the canoe is in the best of condition. Also I wish you
would see to getting the rope and the other things we may need in
working through the rapids. Then spend your time as you like. We shall
start early in the morning."
Menard and Father Claude together went with the maid to the Superior,
who arranged for her to pass the night with the sisters. Then Menard
left the priest to make his final arrangements at the Mission, and
went himself to see the Commandant, to whom he outlined the bare facts
of his journey to Frontenac.
"The thing that most concerns you," he said finally, "is a meeting I
had a few days ago with three Indians down the river. One called
himself the Long Arrow, and another was Teganouan, who, Father de
Casson tells me, recently left the Mission at the Sault St. Francis
Xavier. They claim to be Mission Indians. It will be well to watch
out for them, and to have an eye on the Richelieu, and the other
routes, to make sure that they don't slip away to the south with
information."
"Very well," replied the Commandant. "I imagine that we can stop them.
Do you feel safe about taking this maid up the river just now?"
"Oh, yes. Our men are scattered along the route, are they not?" Menard
asked.
"Quite a number are out establishing Champigny's transport system."
"I don't look for any trouble. But I should like authority for one or
two extra men."
"Take anything you wish, Menard. I will get word over to the island at
once, giving you all the authority you need."