THE BREAK OF STORM
We had no more pleasant weather for days, the skies being overcast and
the wind damp and chill. It did not rain, nor were the waves
dangerous, although choppy enough to make paddling tiresome and
difficult.
A mist obscured the view, and compelled us to cling close to the shore
so as to prevent becoming lost in the smother, and as we dare not
venture to strike out boldly from point to point, we lost much time in
creeping along the curves.
The canoes kept closer together, never venturing to become separated,
and the men stationed on watch in the bows continually called to each
other across the tossing waters in guidance. Even De Artigny kept
within sight, and made camp with us at night, although he made no
effort to seek me, nor did I once detect that he even glanced in my
direction. The studied indifference of the man puzzled me more than it
angered, but I believed it was his consciousness of guilt, rather than
any dislike which caused his avoidance. In a way I rejoiced at his
following this course, as I felt bound by my pledge to Cassion, and
had no desire to further arouse the jealousy of the latter, yet I
remained a woman, and consequently felt a measure of regret at being
thus neglected and ignored.
However I had my reward, as this state of affairs was plainly enough
to Monsieur Cassion's liking, for his humor changed for the better, in
spite of our slow progress, and I was pleased to note that his
watchfulness over my movements while ashore noticeably relaxed. Once
he ventured to speak a bold word or two, inspired possibly by my
effort to appear more friendly, but I gave him small opportunity to
become offensive, for the raw, disagreeable atmosphere furnished me
with sufficient excuse to snuggle down beneath blankets, and thus
ignore his presence.
I passed most of those days thus hidden from sight, only occasionally
lifting my head to peer out at the gray, desolate sea, or watch the
dim, mist-shrouded coast line. It was all of a color--a gloomy, dismal
scene, the continuance of which left me homesick and spiritless. Never
have I felt more hopeless and alone. It seemed useless to keep up the
struggle; with every league we penetrated deeper into the desolate
wilderness, and now I retained not even one friend on whom I could
rely.
As Cassion evidenced his sense of victory--as I read it in his
laughing words, and the bold glance of his eyes--there came to me a
knowledge of defeat, which seemed to rob me of all strength and
purpose. I was not ready to yield yet; the man only angered me, and
yet I began dimly to comprehend that the end was inevitable--my
courage was oozing away, and somewhere in this lonely, friendless
wilderness the moment I dreaded would come, and I would have no power
to resist. More than once in my solitude, hidden beneath the blankets,
I wiped tears from my eyes as I sensed the truth; yet he never knew,
nor did I mean he should.
I had no knowledge of the date, nor a very clear conception of where
we were, although it must have been either the fourth or fifth day
since we left Port du Morts. The night before, we had camped at the
mouth of a small stream, the surrounding forest growing down close to
the shore, and so thick as to be almost impenetrable. The men had set
up my tent so close to the water the waves broke scarcely a foot away,
and the fire about which the others clustered for warmth was but a few
yards distant.
Wrapped in my blankets I saw De Artigny emerge from the darkness, and
approach Cassion, who drew a map from his belt pocket, and spread it
open on the ground in the glare of the fire. The two men bent over it,
tracing the lines with finger tips, evidently determining their course
for the morrow. Then De Artigny made a few notes on a scrap of paper,
arose to his feet, and disappeared.
They had scarcely exchanged a word, and the feeling of enmity between
them was apparent. Cassion sat quiet, the map still open, and stared
after the younger man until he vanished in the darkness. The look upon
his face was not a pleasant one.
Impelled by a sudden impulse I arose to my feet, the blanket still
draped about my shoulders, and crossed the open space to the fire.
Cassion, hearing the sound of my approach, glanced around, his frown
changing instantly into a smile.
"Ah, quite an adventure this," he said, adopting a tone of pleasantry.
"The first time you have left your tent, Madame?"
"The first time I have felt desire to do so," I retorted. "I feel
curiosity to examine your map."
"And waited until I was alone; I appreciate the compliment," and he
removed his hat in mock gallantry. "There was a time when you would
have come earlier."
"Your sarcasm is quite uncalled for. You have my pledge relative to
the Sieur de Artigny, Monsieur, which suffices. If you do not care to
give me glimpse of your map, I will retire again."
"_Pouf_! do not be so easily pricked, I spoke in jest. Ay, look at the
paper, but the tracing is so poor 'tis no better than a guess where we
are. Sit you down, Madame, so the fire gives light, and I will show
you our position the best I can."
"Did not De Artigny know?"
"He thinks he does, but his memory is not over clear, as he was only
over this course the once. 'Tis here he has put the mark, while my
guess would be a few leagues beyond."
I bent over, my eyes seeking the points indicated. I had seen the map
before, yet it told me little, for I was unaccustomed to such study,
and the few points, and streams named had no real meaning to my mind.
The only familiar term was Chicagou Portage, and I pointed to it with
my fingers.
"Is it there we leave the lake, Monsieur?"
"Ay; the rest will be river work. You see this stream? 'Tis called the
Des Plaines, and leads into the Illinois. De Artigny says it is two
miles inland, across a flat country. 'Twas Père Marquette who passed
this way first, but since then many have traversed it. 'Tis like to
take us two days to make the portage."
"And way up here is Port du Morts, where we crossed the opening into
Green Bay, and we have come since all this distance. Surely 'tis not
far along the shore now to the portage?"
"_Mon Dieu_, who knows! It looks but a step on the map, yet 'tis not
likely the distance has ever been measured."
"What said the Sieur de Artigny?"
"Bah! the Sieur de Artigny; ever it is the Sieur de Artigny. 'Tis
little he knows about it in my judgment. He would have it thirty
leagues yet, but I make it we are ten leagues to the south of where he
puts us. What, are you going already? Faith, I had hopes you might
tarry here a while yet, and hold converse with me."
I paused, in no way tempted, yet uncertain.
"You had some word you wished to say, Monsieur?"
"There are words enough if you would listen."
"'Tis no fault of yours if I do not. But not now, Monsieur. It is
late, and cold. We take the boats early, and I would rest while I
can."
He was on his feet, the map gripped in his hand, but made no effort to
stop me, as I dropped him a curtsey, and retreated. But he was there
still when I glanced back from out the safety of the tent, his
forehead creased by a frown. When he finally turned away the map was
crushed shapeless in his fingers.
The morning dawned somewhat warmer, but with every promise of a storm,
threatening clouds hanging above the water, sullen and menacing, their
edges tipped with lightning. The roar of distant thunder came to our
ears, yet there was no wind, and Cassion decided that the clouds would
drift southward, and leave us safe passage along the shore. His canoe
had been wrenched in making landing the evening before, and had taken
in considerable water during the night. This was bailed out, but the
interior was so wet and uncomfortable that I begged to be given place
in another boat, and Cassion consented, after I had exhibited some
temper, ordering a soldier in the sergeant's canoe to exchange places
with me.
We were the last to depart from the mouth of the stream where we had
made night camp, and I took more than usual interest, feeling oddly
relieved to be away from Cassion's presence for an entire day. The man
irritated me, insisting on a freedom of speech I could not tolerate,
thus keeping me constantly on defense, never certain when his audacity
would break bounds. So this morning it was a relief to sit up, free of
my blanket, and watch the men get under way.
We may have proceeded for half a league, when a fog swept in toward
the land enveloping us in its folds, although we were close enough to
the shore so as to keep safely together, the word being passed back
down the line, and as we drew nearer I became aware that De Artigny's
boat had turned about, and he was endeavoring to induce Cassion to go
ashore and make camp before the storm broke. The latter, however, was
obstinate, claiming we were close enough for safety, and finally, in
angry voice, insisted upon proceeding on our course.
De Artigny, evidently feeling argument useless, made no reply, but I
noticed he held back his paddlers, and permitted Cassion's canoe to
forge ahead. He must have discovered that I was not with Monsieur, for
I saw him stare intently at each of the other canoes, as though to
make sure of my presence, shading his eyes with one hand, as he peered
through the thickening mist. This action evidenced the first
intimation I had for days of his continued interest in my welfare, and
my heart throbbed with sudden pleasure. Whether, or not, he felt some
premonition of danger, he certainly spoke words of instruction to his
Indian paddlers, and so manipulated his craft as to keep not far
distant, although slightly farther from shore, than the canoe in which
I sat.
Cassion had already vanished in the fog, which swept thicker and
thicker along the surface of the water, the nearer boats becoming mere
indistinct shadows. Even within my own canoe the faces of those about
me appeared gray and blurred, as the damp vapor swept over us in dense
clouds. It was a ghastly scene, rendered more awesome by the glare of
lightning which seemed to split the vapor, and the sound of thunder
reverberating from the surface of the lake.
The water, a ghastly, greenish gray, heaved beneath, giving us little
difficulty, yet terrifying in its suggestion of sullen strength, and
the shore line was barely discernible to the left as we struggled
forward. What obstinacy compelled Cassion to keep us at the task I
know not--perchance a dislike to yield to De Artigny's advice--but the
sergeant swore to himself, and turned the prow of our canoe inward,
hugging the shore as closely as he dared, his anxious eyes searching
every rift in the mist.
Yet, dark and drear as the day was, we had no true warning of the
approaching storm, for the vapor clinging to the water concealed from
our sight the clouds above. When it came it burst upon us with mad
ferocity, the wind whirling to the north, and striking us with all the
force of three hundred miles of open sea. The mist was swept away with
that first fierce gust, and we were struggling for life in a wild
turmoil of waters. I had but a glimpse of it--a glimpse of wild,
raging sea; of black, scurrying clouds, so close above I could almost
reach out and touch them; of dimly revealed canoes flung about like
chips, driving before the blast.
Our own was hurled forward like an arrow, the Indian paddlers working
like mad to keep stern to the wind, their long hair whipping about.
The soldiers crouched in the bottom, clinging grimly to any support,
their white faces exhibiting the abasement of fear. The sergeant alone
spoke, yelling his orders, as he wielded steering paddle, his hat
blown from his head, his face ghastly with sudden terror. It was but
the glimpse of an instant; then a paddle broke, the canoe swung
sideways, balanced on the crest of a wave and went over.
I was conscious of cries, shrill, instantly smothered, and then I
sank, struggling hard to keep above water, yet borne down by the
weight of the canoe. I came up again, choking and half strangled, and
sought to grip the boat as it whirled past. My fingers found nothing
to cling to, slipping along the wet keel, until I went down again, but
this time holding my breath. My water-soaked garments, and heavy shoes
made swimming almost impossible, yet I struggled to keep face above
water. Two men had reached the canoe, and had somehow found hold. One
of these was an Indian, but they were already too far away to aid me,
and in another moment had vanished in the white crested waves. Not
another of our boat's crew was visible, nor could I be sure of where
the shore lay.
Twice I went down, waves breaking over me, and flinging me about like
a cork. Yet I was conscious, though strangely dazed and hopeless. I
struggled, but more as if in a dream than in reality. Something black,
shapeless, seemed to sweep past me through the water; it was borne
high on a wave, and I flung up my hands in protection; I felt myself
gripped, lifted partially, then the grasp failed, and I dropped back
into the churning water. The canoe, or whatever else it was, was gone,
swept remorselessly past by the raging wind, but as I came up again to
the surface a hand clasped me, drew me close until I had grip on a
broad shoulder.