A MEETING IN THE WILDERNESS
Summer blew up from the South and wrapped the Wilderness Country in a
misty languor. Our arms lagged at the paddling. We were prone to
idling back against the thwarts and watching the vast flocks of birds
that flew northward, and especially the incalculable myriads of the
pigeons, flights of such monstrous proportions that they darkened the
sky. Ay, they shut out the light of the sun, for an hour at a time,
the whirring of their wings and their sharp cries like the faint
echoes of fairy drums and fifes.
The forest trees hung heavy with foliage, vividly green, and the
occasional meadows and savannahs were gemmed with wild-flowers, white
and red and yellow and blue and pink and purple. The scent of the
growing things was borne to us by the gusty breeze that puffed and
died and puffed again, heavy as the humid air, uncertain,
indeterminate. At intervals storm-clouds tore down upon us, black,
towering galleons of wrath; there would be thunder in the heavens;
lightning-bolts streaked earthward to devastate the forest monarchs;
and the rain would spill upon us like the torrents of the Thunder
Waters at Jagara.*
* Niagara.
For two weeks we traversed this paradise without evidence of other
men. Alone we surveyed the area of a kingdom. All France, I say,
might have been rooted up and transplanted to this neglected
wonderland to which her King laid inconsequential claim. Here were
timber, ready for the axe; splendid grazing grounds where only the
deer wandered; endless fields of rich black loam, awaiting the
husbandman. And the very savages seemed to have abandoned it. If
any watched us pass, they contrived to remain unseen. From horizon
to horizon there was not a curl of smoke to show a human habitation.
But there were others besides ourselves on the bosom of the Ohio, as
we soon discovered. We had slipped by the mouth of the Ouabache in
the night, thinking thus to elude the observation of a possible
picket thrown out from the French post of Vincennes, although, to say
truth, we saw no trace of such an outpost. After a few hours' sleep
we were paddling on, encouraged by Tawannears' assertion that two or
three days more should bring us to the Mississippi, which we regard
as the barrier of that ulterior Wilderness where our real search
began, when we rounded one of the river's frequent bends to face at
short range a fleet of canoes that thronged the stream from shore to
shore.
Hard luck could not have dealt us a shrewder stroke. In my first
glance I spied the trappings of the French Marine Infantry, the
regular troops of the Canadian garrisons, the glitter of an officer's
gorget, and worst of all, the flutter of the black robe of a priest.
Interspersed with these were habitants in buckskin and painted
Ouabaches, Miamis and Potawatomis to man the paddles. There were
fifteen or twenty canoes, varying from slender craft smaller than
ours to larger ones that accommodated six or eight men.
We all three backed water instinctively as we appreciated the
situation, but Tawannears redipped his paddle and drove forward again
almost without a check.
"It is useless to flee, brothers," he murmured. "We must stand firm."
There were several shouts from the fleet ahead, and two of the
smaller craft sped out from their irregular formation. Tawannears
ceased paddling for an instant and raised his right arm, palm out, in
the signal for peace. A French officer, in laced coat and cocked
hat, in one of the large canoes answered him in kind, and the Indians
who occupied the two small canoes sheered off as soon as they
descried the wolf's head on his chest. No ordinary wood-ranging
savages cared to encounter a chief of the Long House in peace time,
even with the backing of French troops. They knew their betters, had
learned to know them through many a bloody foray.
The French flotilla drifted idly, awaiting us as we paddled slowly
between the leading canoes toward the one in which was seated the
officer who had acknowledged Tawannears' greeting.
"Who is he?" I asked, when we came close enough to identify his
corpulent form and massive face.
"Charles Le Moyne."
"The Chevalier de Longueuil?" I exclaimed.
"Yes, brother."
I stared at the man with increased interest. He was one of the four
greatest men in Canada, the eldest son and heir of that Baron de
Longueuil who was Lieutenant Governor. He ranked next after the
Governor-General, himself, the Intendant and his father. 'Twas no
slight mission had brought him so far from home.
I was about to speak again when I noticed a certain tense rigidity in
the muscles that lay in beautiful coils and ridges along Tawannears'
spine. Simultaneously came a gasp from Corlaer, behind me in the
stern of the canoe.
"'Black Robe!'"
I craned my neck to peer over the Seneca's head. Ay, 'twas so.
Behind Le Moyne, sitting as motionless as an image upon the hard,
narrow thwart, his death's-head of a face turned full upon us was the
famous Jesuit, Père Hyacinthe. His gnarled tortured fingers were
telling the beads of the rosary that lay across his bony knees. His
black soutane fell in straight, severe lines to his sandaled feet. I
knew, though I could not see, the terrible scars that the
torture-stake had left upon his body for once in the past he had
shown them to me. I knew, too, the man's indomitable hatred of all
things English, his overweening ambition, fortified by iron will and
intense religious conviction, to win the whole Continent for Louis of
France and the Church of Rome.
Of all those who labored with tireless devotion to substitute Latin
civilization for Anglo-Saxon in the New World, there was none whose
aims were more ardently or unselfishly served. Up and down the
Wilderness Country he went, always toiling, reckless of hunger, of
thirst, of cold, of physical peril. And the savages, with their
instinct for the appropriate, had named him Black Robe. By it he was
known to many thousands who had never seen him.
A strange man! A man whose mentality had been a little warped by
suffering and hardship and over-much concentration upon ecstatic
devotion. Fasting and contemplation, loneliness and
self-flagellation, abnegation of all things physical, fire torment
and knife torment--these had left their mark upon him. If he did
harm, he also did good. He was of those fearless ones who carried
the Christian faith to recesses of the Wilderness which will not be
known to others until our sons' sons push the frontier a thousand
leagues nearer to the sunset. He believed that he had no occasion to
bother unduly for food, because God would feed him at need, and
certes 'tis true he never died of starvation. A strange man! One to
be judged without thought to creed or politics.
His face betrayed no emotion as our canoe drew alongside Le Moyne's,
and a Marine corporal clutched the gunwale, but his eyes blazed with
fanatical intelligence in the deep recesses of their bony sockets.
He leaned forward and tapped Le Moyne's shoulder.
"Anti-Christ is come among us," he announced in sepulchral tones.
"Here are sons of the English harlot."
Le Moyne frowned slightly. He was a plain soldier-statesman, and no
doubt he found it sometimes difficult to accept the priest's high
ways. Yet it speaks for Black Robe's influence that he dared not
show resentment.
"What mean you, my father?" he asked curtly.
The Jesuit pointed an accusing finger at us.
"Do you not know them, my son?"
"Ay, Tawannears I know. 'Tis the Warden of the Western Door of the
Long House. And Corlaer, too, I know. But not the other."
"'Tis Henry Ormerod, of the Council of the Governor of New York, one
of the wiliest minions of the English. He is a renegade from the
service of his rightful sovereign King James, and through him hath
held commission from the Regent Orleans."
Of our party I was the only one who could understand this
conversation, for Tawannears and Corlaer had no French. It came
glibly enough to my tongue, however, after five years service under
the Duke of Berwick on the frontiers of the Low Countries and Italy
and in Spain. I struck back, therefore, without waiting to consult
my comrades.
"'Tis true, Chevalier," I said, "that my name is Ormerod and Governor
Burnet hath honored me with membership of his Council. True, too,
that in my youth I was mistaken enough to espouse the cause of the
exiled Stuarts, and thus passed some time in France. But that is a
page long turned. Whilst I served James I was faithful, and I left
him because I came to know that he would never be more than a puppet
to serve the ends of a foreign court. Since then I have striven to
serve my country as you serve yours. Is there dishonor and hostility
in that?"
Le Moyne started to answer me, but Black Robe took the words from his
mouth.
"Never heed the Englishman," exclaimed the priest. "He is a servant
of evil, a foresworn heretic, an enemy of France."
"There is peace betwixt France and England," I answered boldly.
"What talk is this of enemies?"
The priest tossed his arms aloft.
"They talk of peace, peace," he cried. "And there is no peace! Can
there ever be peace betwixt anti-Christ and God? Nay, my son. But
ask the Englishman what he does, journeying secretly through the
territories of France hundreds of leagues from English soil. Why
does he travel with the Iroquois chief who is known as the principal
friend of the English? Why do we see with him Corlaer, who is the
emissary of the English in seducing the savages from trading at our
posts? What is his mission here? Has he a passport from Quebec?"
Le Moyne nodded his head.
"There you are correct, father. Monsieur Ormerod, these questions I
must have you answer. Where is your passport?"
"I have none," I returned. "Nor do I admit I should have one. I
have not traveled territory under the control of France. Since we
left Deonundagaa more than a month ago we have not seen a single
Frenchman or a sign of French occupation. More, it is not my purpose
to enter French territory. I am bound to the farther Wilderness
Country, beyond the Great River."
"That, too, is French territory," proclaimed Black Robe. "All this
region God hath set aside for the sons of France. No Englishman hath
put foot beyond the Great River."
"For that reason, I propose to," I said. "Surely, there is no harm
in seeking to know what it is like."
Le Moyne squared his jaw.
"I am not so certain of that, Monsieur Ormerod. But 'tis useless to
debate the point here. I fear I must ask you to accompany us to our
camping place. There we will discuss your case more fully, and
endeavor to arrive at a composition of our differences. At the
worst, I must send you back to New York under escort. No harm shall
be done you."
There was nothing else for it. Our plight was hopeless. We were
three against near an hundred Frenchmen and Indians, and resistance
was as unthinkable as flight.
So much I reasoned for myself, and Tawannears and Corlaer agreed with
me when I repeated the substance of the conversation as we fell into
line behind the French commander's canoe, and wearily retraced our
course. We were too disheartened to say much, for we reckoned it
probable we should have to do over again what we had already
accomplished, and that would mean losing the Summer--and very likely,
having to wait over the next Winter. Ahead, I could see Black Robe
leaning forward now and then to speak to Le Moyne. A bad omen!
At dusk the flotilla drew inshore to the northern bank a few miles
below the mouth of the Ouabache, and we beached our canoe with the
others. A file of the regular infantry busied themselves to help us
collect wood, and although they did not touch our arms they made us
feel that we were prisoners. I tried to draw out the corporal, but
gleaned little for my pains. Yes, they had left Le Detroit whilst
the snow was still on the ground. They had been to the mouth of the
Great River or very near it, to the French post at New Orleans, where
the Sieur de Bienville, the Chevalier de Longueuil's brother, was
stationed. Now, they were returning by way of Vincennes, Le Detroit,
Jagara and Fort Cadaraqui* to Montreal.
* Afterward Fort Frontenac.
It had been a trip of inspection, I gathered typical of the nervous
energy of the French Government, not content, as were the rulers of
the English colonies, to rest satisfied with a strip of seacoast or
the valley of a tidal river, but forever reaching out for new lands
to develop and acquire and hold in fee as a heritage for the
future--a trip of thousands of leagues by river and forest, under all
extremes of heat and cold. And if the humble corporal knew nothing
of such high policies, nonetheless I was sure that one of Le Moyne's
objects must have been the selection of suitable points for a chain
of trading stations and military posts along the line of the Ohio and
the Mississippi to link up the New Orleans settlement with Canada,
and so bar England once for all from the untapped resources of the
Far West beyond the Great River.
Somewhat of these reflections I communicated to my comrades as we ate
our evening meal, and we were still discussing the significance of
our chance encounter when an ensign came to summon us to Le Moyne.
The French Commander was sitting by a fire in a deep glade that ran
back from the river's brink toward the forest. Black Robe was
standing beside him when we arrived, hot eyes shining uncannily in
the glare of the leaping flames, distorted fingers twitching his
rosary beads.
"Be seated," said Le Moyne briefly. And then falteringly, in the
Seneca dialect: "Tawannears, and you, Corlaer, pardon me if I speak
in French to your friend. My tongue has not the knack of the
Iroquois speech."
Tawannears bowed with the gracious assent of a prince. Corlaer
squeaked "_Ja._"
Le Moyne turned to me, his manner hostile, his accent crisp.
"I have been hearing bad things about you, Monsieur Ormerod. The
reverend father tells me you are a secret envoy of the English, a
spy, in other words, one they send abroad to sow trouble betwixt us
and the savages. He charges that you are the favorite emissary of
Monsieur Burnet and that it is largely due to you the Six Nations
have latterly turned against us."
"But, Chevalier----"
"I will have no buts, Monsieur Ormerod. It is beyond reason that I
should permit such a person as you to travel undisturbed in French
territory."
"But is it French territory?" I demanded.
"If the Peace of Utrecht means aught."
"I have heard it said that no two minds were alike on that point," I
commented dryly.
He laughed.
"There you are right," he agreed. "Yet it is beside the point. You
are a trouble-maker, Monsieur. I must expel you. Wherever I found
you I should expel you."
"Are the French at war with the English?" I asked hotly.
"Not that I have heard. You are later from civilization than I,
Monsieur."
"Then why----"
He brushed the objection aside.
"We deal with realities, Monsieur Ormerod. 'Tis not a question of
war but of peace--for France. As I have said, you are a
trouble-maker. If I let you wander free, the next time I came this
way you might have all the tribes by the ears, united by alliances
with the English Crown. Heed me now when I say that France came
first into this country, and France shall stay first here."
"But I say I have no interest in this country. I----"
Black Robe bent forward sternly.
"Do not relent, my son," he said to Le Moyne. "The man is
dangerous--his companions, too."
"You have heard my decision, father," answered the officer.
I regarded the priest curiously.
"Why do you dislike me?" I asked. "We are on opposite sides, 'tis
true, but I have always fought you fair--and once I saved your life."
This was no less than truth, for on a certain occasion, which has
nothing to do with this story, the Iroquois would cheerfully have
burned Père Hyacinthe but for my strenuous objection. He was in no
ways grateful at the time, I am bound to admit, and he did not
exhibit gratitude now, as he towered over the camp-fire.
"Poor worm that squirms itself into the path of destiny!" he said
harshly. "There is no question of fair fighting or foul fighting
betwixt us, nor of gratitude or ingratitude. You serve Anti-Christ.
I serve the Heavenly Father. At no place do we touch. We have no
interests in common. If you did well, doubt not Holy Peter has
recorded the deed for you in his record book. But who are you to
prate of good deeds when your soul is steeped in the darkness of
heresy, and your eyes are clouded by English lies? Think, rather, on
your sins, and it may be you will see light before it is too late."
He turned to Le Moyne.
"My son, I am leaving you now. There is a village of the Ouabaches
some miles hence where I have preached the Word. I visit them and
will rejoin you at Vincennes."
He turned on his heel and strode off.
"Hold, father," called the officer. "Will you not rest and eat? An
escort, surely----"
The answer came from the shadows.
"I do not need an escort when I go upon my Father's business. I have
rested all day and I have broken my fast."
"_Peste!_" ejaculated Le Moyne. "'Tis an uncomfortably holy person,
Monsieur Ormerod."
"Do I not know it!" I retorted. "This is not the first time, either."
The Frenchman chuckled.
"So I gathered. But come, now, tell me truthfully what is your
object; 'twill do you no good to deceive. My hands are bound, as you
must know. This wood-ranging is a tedious business, and I have heard
naught of politics since I left New Orleans. What bee is buzzing in
Burnet's hat?"
I gave him a desperate look. He was a man of good countenance,
kindly in reason, iron-willed, pugnacious, intelligent. So I read
him. He lounged by the fire obviously bored. There were no others
close by save Tawannears and Corlaer, and they were smoking and
exchanging small-talk on their own account.
"The truth?" I said. "You shall have it--although 'tis not a story
for general telling. You, Chevalier, I can see, are a gentleman."
He bowed courteously.
"And for that reason," I went on, "I give you my confidence. 'Tis
true, of course, that in my travels I am keeping my eyes open for
information useful to my people. If, for instance, you sent me back
to New York I should have to tell at once of meeting this expedition
and the deductions I had drawn from it."
"Hah!" said Le Moyne. "I don't know that I shall! I hadn't thought
of that."
"Then I should not like to be in your dilemma," I replied. "After
all, as Père Hyacinthe told you, I am a member of the Provincial
Council. You can't very well incarcerate me without trial in time of
peace."
"Get on with your story, Monsieur," he adjured impatiently.
"I am hoping," I pursued, "to learn much of value. No Englishman
that I know of hath traversed the Wilderness Country across the
Mississippi. I would learn to what extent our people and the French
are known to its tribes, and what is their disposition to the
English, as also, the value of the land and its geographic condition."
"My faith, Monsieur, but you are frank!" protested the Frenchman.
"I am trying to be," I said. "But you may believe me or not,
Chevalier. I should not be here for that reason alone, nor would my
comrades yonder."
And I described to him as simply as possible the combination of
circumstances which had brought Tawannears, Corlaer and myself upon
this venture. 'Twas not a story easily to be compressed, and again
and again he drove me off the main trail into byways, for bits of it
had come to him in the past--as, for instance, the matter of Gahano's
death and the grief of Tawannears--so it was very late when I
finished. My comrades were asleep, and over the brow of the shallow
glen I could see the groups of sleepers around the dying fires. By
the shore where the canoes were beached and at intervals along the
edge of the encampment stood the sentinels. Except ourselves, they
were the only souls awake.
I looked at them because my eyes were wet. In repeating my story I
had resurrected painful memories that the recent weeks had buried.
The old wound had reopened. I did not like to think of the house in
Pearl Street. At that moment I thought I never wanted to enter it
again. I loathed the idea of returning to New York. And I did not
want the Frenchman to see my grief.
I was brought back to the present by a crash of sparks as he withdrew
a heavy log from the fire, and the flames flared lower.
"Monsieur Ormerod," he said abruptly, "you were good enough to call
me a gentleman."
I met his eyes fully--and scarcely dared to believe what I read there.
"I am also," he continued, "a soldier of France. I trust I place my
country's interests above my personal vanity, above friendship, above
all. But I should not be a Frenchman if I did not recognize courage
and the love which spans the worlds. I have learned a lesson from
you and your comrades to-night, Monsieur. I thank you for it. You
have made me a better Frenchman, a better soldier, a better
Christian."
He made a wry face at this last word.
"Although I shall have trouble convincing Père Hyacinthe on that
count," he admitted.
"You mean, Chevalier?" I queried breathlessly.
"I mean, Monsieur Ormerod, that I am unable to see how an adventure
such as yours can do anything save good. It is an inspiration for
brave men of all races. Has it not made me a better Frenchman to
hear of it? That sleeping savage there, he is a better Frenchman
than I, even so, he, who doubtless hates my race."
He rose.
"But I am not a sufficiently better Frenchman to dare to seem to
flout Père Hyacinthe. Oh no! Therefore, Monsieur Ormerod, I am
going for a walk to inspect the sentries. I shall draw their
attention to something by the shore of the river over to the left.
In the meantime, the fire dies. This glen leads into the forest.
Your friends are here. I see you have your arms with you. Monsieur,
I have the honor to tell you it has been a pleasure to meet you.
_Adieu!_"
He was gone whilst I was still mumbling my thanks, I heard his hearty
voice blustering at the nearest sentries, a running chain of comment
along the outskirts of the camp; and I was recalled to my senses. A
hand over the mouth of each, and my comrades awoke. Another minute,
and crouched double, we were stealing up the glen into the welcome
depths of the forest. Five minutes later, and our feet were spurning
the leaf-mold as we ran between the trunks, left arms outstretched
before our faces to ward off hanging boughs or vines.