Produced by Al Haines
[Illustration: Cover art]
THE PLOWSHARE
AND
THE SWORD
A TALE OF OLD QUEBEC
BY
ERNEST GEORGE HENHAM
"Empire and Love! the vision of a day."--_Young_
TORONTO: THE COPP, CLARK CO., LIMITED
LONDON: CASSELL AND COMPANY, LIMITED
MCMIII. All Rights Reserved
A Toi
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I.--THE FATHER OF WATERS
II.--AN ENEMY IN THE CAMP
III.--CHRISMATION
IV.--MAKERS OF EMPIRE
V.--DOUBLE DEALING
VI.--THE INTRODUCTION TO A FIGHT
VII.--THE FIGHT
VIII.--COUCHICING
IX.--THE GAUNTLET DOWN
X.--PILLARS OF THE HOUSE
XI.--THE SWORD IMBRUED
XII.--SPLENDOUR
XIII.--ENCHANTMENT
XIV.--FIRESIDE AND GROVE
XV.--GLORIOUS LIFE
XVI.--CLAIRVOYANCE
XVII.--STAMEN
XVIII.--COMMITTAL
XIX.--ENKINDLED
XX.--SACRAMENTAL
XXI.--IRON AND STEEL
XXII.--OR AND AZURE
XXIII.--THE EVERLASTING HILLS
XXIV.--ART-MAGIC
XXV.--NOVA ANGLIA
XXVI.--STIGMA
XXVII.--REVELATION
XXVIII.--BODY AND MIND
XXIX.--WOMAN'S LOVE IS LIFE
XXX.--LAND-LOCKED
XXXI.--IN THE FALL OF THE SNOW
XXXII.--ARMS AND THE MAN
XXXIII.--THE GRAIN OF MUSTARD SEED
XXXIV.--THE THIRST
XXXV.--SWORDCRAFT
XXXVI.--SETTLEMENT
XXXVII.--THE PLOWSHARE
XXXVIII.--VALEDICTORY
THE PLOWSHARE AND THE SWORD
CHAPTER I.
THE FATHER OF WATERS.
It was an evening of spring in the year of strife 1637. The sun was
slowly withdrawing his beams from the fortress of Quebec, which had
been established some thirty years back, and was then occupied by a
handful of settlers and soldiers, to the number of 120, under the
military governorship of Arnaud de Roussilac. The French politicians
of the seventeenth century were determined colony builders. However
humble the settler, he was known and watched, advanced or detained, by
the vigilant government of Paris. The very farms were an extension,
however slight, of the militarism of France, and a standing menace to
Britain. Where, further south, Englishmen founded a rude settlement,
the French in the north had responded by a military post. The policy
of peace taught by that intrepid adventurer, Jacques Cartier, exactly a
hundred years before, had become almost forgotten. "This country is
now owned by your Majesty," Cartier had written. "Your Majesty has
only to make gifts to the headmen of the Iroquois tribes and assure
them of your friendship, to make the land yours for ever."
But Samuel de Champlain, the colony-maker who followed Cartier, was a
man of pride who understood how to make war, but had left unlearned the
greater art of bidding for peace. In 1609, acting under what he
believed to be a flash of genius, Champlain brought against the
Iroquois the Algonquins, their bitter hereditary enemies; and with
their aid, and the use of the magic firearms which had never before
been heard in the country of the wild north, he had utterly defeated
the proud and unforgiving people who had won the admiration and respect
of Cartier the pioneer, thus making the tribes of the Iroquois
confederacy sworn enemies of France for ever. Had Providence been
pleased to make Samuel de Champlain another Cartier, had the latter
even succeeded the former, Canada, from the rough Atlantic seaboard to
the soft Pacific slope, might well have been one great colony of France
to-day.
It was, however, not the past history of that land, nor even its
present necessities, which occupied the mind of the Abbe La Salle,
great-uncle of the future Robert of that name, who, half-a-century
later, was to discover the mighty river of Mississippi--which was to
deprive the St. Lawrence of its proud birth-title, the Father of
Waters--and explore the plains of Michigan. The abbe was lying, that
spring evening, on the heights, smoking a stone pipe filled with coarse
black tobacco from Virginia, and watching a heavy ship which rocked
upon the swift current where it raced round the bend in the shore. He
was building up a future for himself, a fabric of ambition upon
foundations of diplomacy and daring. This senior priest of the
fortress--there were two others, Laroche the bully, and St Agapit the
ascetic--was a handsome man, powerfully built, of fair complexion
marred only by a sword-cut above the left eye. Although priest in
name, he was more at his ease flicking a rapier than thumbing a
breviary; an oath was habitually upon his tongue; a hot patriot was he,
and above all a fighter. He had fought a duel before his early mass,
and had left the altar to brag of his prowess. He was, in short, one
of the most notorious of that band of martial Churchmen, imitators of
Armand du Plessis Richelieu, for which colonial France at that age was
noted. Far from the eye of the mighty Cardinal and the feeble mind of
Louis the Just, they swaggered through life, preaching the divine
mission of the Church to the natives one hour, drinking deeply, or
duelling in terrible earnest, the next. The lives of the fighting
priests of Quebec make not the least interesting page of that romance
which three centuries have written around the heights.
Wooden huts were dotted thinly along the slopes, which ended where the
forest of hemlocks began, about half a mile from the edge of the cliff;
and below, where a log landing-stage jutted into the stream, a
man-of-war flying the flag of France rode at her ease, a party of
turbaned men, no bigger to the abbe's eyes than children, gambling at
dice upon her fore-deck. Anchored beside the shore opposite appeared
another vessel, more rakish in build, less heavy at the stern, and
showing four masts to the Frenchman's three. A pine branch fluttered
at the main truck, and a great bough of hemlock depended over her bows,
completely draping the heavy and grotesque figure-head.
It was this latter ship which La Salle was watching with suspicion, as
attentively as the distance would permit. The abbe mistrusted all
foreigners, even when, as in this case, they came bringing gifts. He
had recently been informed of that hasty alliance patched up between
France and Holland, and the policy found no favour in his eyes; he
frowned to think that a Dutch man-of-war should be permitted to sail up
the St. Lawrence and cast anchor beneath the heights. Was there any
genuine desire on the part of Holland to strengthen the hands of her
new ally, or were the crafty Dutchmen playing some deep game of their
own? The Indians, who surrounded the fortress as closely as they
dared, were entirely hostile to the holders of the land. Rumours of at
least one band of Englishmen, friendly with the natives, hiding in the
forest or among the clefts in the rock, waiting to strike a blow when
opportunity offered against the servants of King Louis, had been
circulated by a French dwarf known by the name of Gaudriole, a
malevolent, misshapen creature, who passed unharmed about the country,
and escaped hanging merely because of his value as an interpreter of
the various native dialects. The Dutch ship, which had arrived only
that afternoon, might well have sailed northward with some plan of
joining for the time with either Indian or English to wrest the mastery
of the maritime provinces from the clutch of France.
While La Salle thus meditated with a mind to his own advancement, his
keen ears detected the fall of footsteps over the crisp grass, and he
pulled himself round to discover a priest, like himself wearing a
sword, a stout man, panting after his long climb.
"What news, Laroche?" called the smoker, indicating the distant warship
with the stem of his pipe.
"Corpus Domini!" gasped the new comer. "The sun strikes across yonder
rocks like the fire of Gehenna. What news, ask you, of yonder
piratical thief of a Dutchman? She is under commission, mark you, to
pick a quarrel and fight us for this coast, for all the fair talk of
alliance and the chopping up of the Spanish Netherlands between Paris
and Holland----"
"What of Roussilac?" broke in La Salle.
"The commandant is now aboard the floating gin-tank, and there you may
swear he shall impress upon the mind of Van Vuren, her master, the
certain fact that Louis the Thirteenth is lord here, from the sea
outward to wherever this endless land may reach. But we know the
Hollander. A smooth rascal, who flatters to a man's face, and when his
back is turned--Proh stigmata Salvatoris! Dost remember the Dutchman
who pinked you in the shoulder at Avignon?"
He broke off with the question, and his fat body shook with laughter.
"A priest must remain a priest in Avignon," said La Salle sourly; "but
he may here be a man. What news has this Hollander brought?"
"Why, that England is in revolt from end to end," answered Laroche
gladly. "We shall find none of their clumsy ships, nor any of their
barbarian fist-using soldiers here. The people have risen against the
king. A man named John Hampden has refused to pay ship-money, a new
tax levied to raise a fleet to defy the Pope, the Dutch, and the
Cardinal, and this man carries the people with him. Also this Charles
has made himself hated in the north by forcing some new form of heresy
and insult to his Holiness in the shape of a prayer-book down the
throats of the Scotch. All but a handful have fallen away from him,
says Van Vuren, even the lords temporal have begun to despair, and many
are preparing to set out for the West."
La Salle's martial spirit flamed up. "Here?" he questioned eagerly.
"They would no more dare seek a home here than in Rochelle," went on
Laroche. "They go south to take up the lands where the last of their
mariners harried the Spaniards. It is reported that Lord Saye and Sele
proposes to transport himself to Virginia, Lord Warwick to Connecticut,
and the yeomen, weary of heavy taxes and fearing the extortions of the
Star Chamber, seek information concerning New England now that the star
of the old has set. We hold the seas, France or Holland unaided is
strong enough to sink the rotten barques which the English call their
fleet. There is no money forthcoming for new ships. Richelieu shall
soon rule the world! Come down. We shall perchance obtain a bottle of
wine along the Rue des Pecheurs before vespers."
"I join you at Michel's after sundown," said La Salle. "At this
present time I remain in the wilderness."
He stood up, brushed the dry grass from his almost entirely secular
costume, and gazed landwards under the wide brim of his hat, until a
crow came presently flapping out of the valley where the great forest
began. The black bird soared over the heads of the martial priests,
and dropped slowly to drink of the river.
"There are finer birds in yonder forest," muttered La Salle, a smile
about his mouth.
"Ha! An assignation?" exclaimed the stout priest, and at the
suggestion wiped his moist forehead and laughed loudly. Then he turned
and rolled away down the slope, shouting a song of the cabaret which
had been popular among the soldiers of Paris two years before. La
Salle followed his progress with a cynical smile, before he also
turned, and descended upon the opposite side out of sight of the river,
and crossed the plain where the French were to rule for two centuries
more and then to fly with the kilted men of Scotland at their heels.
Here the cool hemlock forest murmured, the dense forest which stretched
northward to the mud flats of the salt bay named after the adventurer
Hudson, whose lost bones were somewhere tossed in its cold and lonely
waters. The sun was hidden by the hills, big golden lilies stared at
the priest, an indigo-winged butterfly tumbled into shelter to die at
the ending of the day. The dew sweated out of the ground, and the
foliage smelt like wine.
"This is better than the gutters of Paris," muttered the priest.
The bushes parted at the sounding of his voice, and a radiant vision
stood before him, backed by the greenwood shade. A young woman, but a
few years removed from childhood, stepped forth, hungrily regarding the
abbe with a splendid pair of eyes, brown-red and full of fire, and
burning with the health and passion of life.
This young maid was Onawa of the Cayugas, that boldest of the tribes of
the allied Iroquois, who held the interior under their confederacy, all
the plains, backwoods, the river and seaboard, with the exception of
those spots where military posts had been established--the small
palisaded farm, and even the trader's hut, being marked upon the map as
military posts, and made so by the simple order, "_Le roi le veut_."
This girl had been present at the council fire when Roussilac had
endeavoured to heal the breach between French and Indians by specious
promises, none of which he intended to fulfil; La Salle also had been
present, accompanying the commandant as the representative of the
Church. The council had been a failure, owing, said the soldiers, to
the trickery of Gaudriole, the only interpreter available; but in fact
due to the overbearing manner of Roussilac, who fell into Champlain's
error of relegating an uncivilised people to the level of animals; and
to the innate hatred entertained by the Indians for their conquerors.
The Iroquois sachems answered the representative smoothly that they
would consider his offer of peace and the terms accompanying the same,
and subsequently resolved that, though they might tolerate English and
Dutch in their midst, their final answer to the white race who had
armed the Algonquins against them could only be made by arrow and
tomahawk. Onawa, who because of her sex was allowed to take no part in
the discussion, held aloof, and regarded the figure of La Salle
standing haughtily in the yellow glow of the fire. When the deputation
withdrew she followed and caught the priest's attention with a smile;
and when night fell she was still watching the lights of the rude
little town upon the cliffs.
La Salle was no woman's man. He was too healthy a soldier; but he was
ambitious, and had moulded his policy upon that of his master, the
character which did not shame to describe itself in the unscrupulous
terms, "I venture upon nothing till I have well considered it; but when
I have once taken my resolution I go directly to my end. I mow down
and overthrow all that stands in my way, and then cover the whole with
my red mantle." The daughter of an Iroquois chief had great power
among her own people, and the priest reflected that he might add some
fame to his name and win perhaps the red hat for his head, if he could
secure the withdrawal of the hostile tribes; or, better, inflame them
against the English, who were, so said report, but awaiting an
opportunity to strike at the north. But a difficulty lay in his path;
neither he nor Onawa could speak the other's tongue.
But this was not an overwhelming obstacle, because then, as now, the
language of signs might make a dumb tongue eloquent. Thus it was not
altogether by accident that the handsome abbe came to the fringe of the
forest at evening, and it was not chance alone which brought Onawa from
the camp into the enemy's country.
She held between her fingers a flower, a lily as golden as that
emblazoned upon the royal standard; and while standing before him she
placed the flower to her forehead, and then gave it him, without
turning away her eyes, and without shrinking from his.
La Salle understood that she was expressing her willingness to give
herself to him, with or without the will and consent of her people.
"By St. Anthony!" he muttered. "How shall I tell the jade that I have
abjured women? Does she then desire me to strip and paint, that she
may make of me a heathen husband?"
He shook his head, and the light changed in the eyes of the girl, and
her brow wrinkled. He saw the sudden gleam of her teeth and heard her
sigh.
"Jezebel of the forest," he cried, "name me this flower!"
He extended it with a sign, and the ready girl spoke softly a
dissyllabic word. La Salle repeated it, again indicating the flower,
and Onawa nodded vigorously.
"Ah!" exclaimed the priest. "Here is light out of darkness."
He came nearer and took the girl's hand, making the same sign. She
spoke again. He touched her hair. Again she spoke. Then her cheek,
her nose, her lips, her ears, and Onawa answered him every time,
laughing delightedly as the priest pronounced each soft Iroquois word
at her dictation.
"A few such lessons, and Gaudriole may be hanged," said La Salle.
Then, with a quick gesture, Onawa put out her fawn-coloured hand, and
touched his right eye with the tip of one finger.
"L'oeil," answered La Salle.
She patted his cheek.
"La joue," he said.
She tweaked his nose, with a laugh.
"Le nez," he gasped.
She slapped his mouth.
"La bouche," he growled, adding, "I might have said, 'La grimace.'"
The girl was very near. He caught her and drew her up to him, and
pressed his lips powerfully upon hers.
"C'est le baiser," he said carelessly.
The salutation of the kiss was unknown among the Iroquois. Onawa
started, thrilling with a feeling altogether strange; then turned to
him, putting back her head as a Parisienne might have done to receive
her lover's salute.
"Le baiser _again_," she demanded, clinging to the word which had made
life a new thing. "Le baiser _again_."
"By all the wiles of Satan!" exclaimed La Salle, thrusting her back.
"She is in league with the enemy."
Again he held her before him, his arms slightly bent, and said
haltingly in the tongue of the hated race, which he knew little better
than the Cayuga: "You speak the English?"
Onawa's face lighted. "A ver' little words," she answered. Then she
drew up to him, her eyes more eloquent, and softly repeating her
bilingual request:
"Le baiser again."
It was dark when La Salle reached the group of huts planted upon the
cliffs. The warships were invisible and unlighted, because lamps would
have revealed figures patrolling upon deck, and there were keen-eyed
enemies watching from either shore. The priest stumbled along the
rocky path, his long boots kicking the stones before him, until he came
near the waterside and the Rue des Pecheurs, situated immediately below
the main cliff on the site occupied to-day by Little Champlain Street.
The way was inhabited, as its name implied, by fisher-folk who swept
the wide river when times were fairly peaceful, and served as soldiers
in war. There was no street in the accepted sense of the word. A few
cave dwellings burrowed out of the rock; huts here and there, a tent,
or a simple erection of sticks and stones plastered over with mud, were
barely visible, sprinkled irregularly, out of the darkness along the
high shore.
Where a worn pathway went round and curved towards the landing-stage, a
square log-hut occupied some considerable portion of space. A very
dull lamp smoked over the entry, below a board bearing the inscription,
"Michel Ferraud, Marchand du Vin." A grumbling noise of conversation
and the rattle of dice sounded within.
"Deuce and three for the third time!" shouted the high-pitched voice of
the Abbe Laroche. "I'll throw you again, Dutchman--one more throw for
the honour of the Church; and the devil seize me if this box plays me
the trick again."
La Salle bent his head and entered the cabaret. He made two steps,
then stood motionless, his fingers feeling for his sword-hilt.
Laroche looked up, the dice-box poised in his fat right hand, and a
smile wandered across his face at beholding the attitude of his
fellow-priest.
"The master of the Dutch man-of-war," he called, indicating the player
who sat opposite him. "Sieur," he shouted over the table, with a burst
of unctuous laughter, "the renowned swordsman, L'Abbe La Salle."
Then Van Vuren looked up.