THE FIGHT.
Although the majority of the thirty-six Dutchmen left aboard had been
secured below hatches, those on deck were sufficient to make the odds
heavy against the Englishmen. The unanticipated arrival of the lord of
the isles and his son--who had been returning from their hunting ground
higher up the river, when their ears were startled through the morning
mist by the sound of English voices--brought up the attacking strength
to the fortunate number of seven; but the new-comers were not even
observed by the five adventurers during the excitement of the opening
stage of that struggle in the fog.
That incautious cheer, which followed the noise of the gun, was defiant
rather than triumphant. In spite of Penfold's careful aim the ball had
merely crashed across deck and plunged through the cabin windows. A
couple of hurriedly aimed shots came back in angry reply, but one
passed high, the other low, resulting in a wrecked plank in the deck
and the loss of a portion of rigging. The bark of seventeenth-century
cannon was far more formidable than its bite.
"Have at them, my lads. Drive them over the side," thundered Penfold;
and he rushed forward to clear the deck at the head of his gallant few.
Before the conflicting parties could meet, three Dutchmen, deceived by
the tumultuous English cheer, had gone over the side to swim for shore.
These men believed that at least a boatload of armed men had taken them
by surprise, and they but obeyed the instinct which in certain
temperaments recommends prudence in the form of flight.
"We stand too close together," rang out Penfold's voice. "Friend
Woodfield, I had your elbow twice into my side. Separate a little, but
let us keep in line."
"One rush forward--a strong rush to the cabins," shouted Hough. The
five swords darted through the fog, and every point came back reddened.
Then they broke into a run, hoping thus to sweep the deck, but their
weakness had by this time become evident to the defenders, who in their
turn pressed forward, conquering by sheer weight of numbers. Each of
the adventurers sought shelter for his back, a mast or bulwark, and
each was driven to fight independently. Three men rushed upon Penfold
and pressed him sore. The Englishman cut at the head of the foremost,
but while his arm was uplifted the others took the advantage offered
and ran in under his guard. Penfold drew his dagger and beat at them
with his left hand. The second Dutchman scratched him deeply along the
side. The third caught and held his left wrist, and shortened his
rapier to run the Englishman through the heart. Penfold saw death
before him, but only called grimly, "Fair play, ye dogs, fair play!"
The sword was dashed from his hand. He pressed back to avoid the
plunge of the shortened blade, but the Hollanders had him at their
mercy. Penfold prepared to make a last effort to break aside, when the
foe who threatened him started rigid with a gasp of pain, and the
leader of the adventurers saw the point of a sword dart fearfully from
the Dutchman's chest. Then the man fell forward spitted from behind,
and with him another of the soldiers, while the third of Penfold's
assailants splashed heavily into the St. Lawrence.
The man who had saved the leader's life went on his way fighting with
magnificent confidence in the strength of his right arm, and beside him
went the boy, fighting with all his father's fervour, his brown face
pale with passion, his little brown hands already oozing blood, and his
short sword from hilt to point all bloody too.
"Angels or devils," gasped Flower, who was bleeding heavily from a
wound in the thigh, "they fight upon our side."
"At them again," cried Woodfield. "After the brave stranger."
"He takes too much upon him. I am leader here," grumbled old Penfold
unthankfully.
The valour of the stranger turned the scale. None of the Dutch could
stand before that terrible blade. They gave way, were hunted back to
the cabins, and there brought to bay.
"Yield you, sirs!" called Penfold.
Seeing that they had done sufficient for honour, the men yielded, gave
up their weapons, and sought permission to finish their dressing.
Before this request could be granted, a deep voice exclaimed:
"You grow careless, my masters. Know you not that a bird cannot fly
unless she has wings to carry her?"
It was the stranger who issued this caution as he pointed with his
sword over the stern.
The ship had drifted some eighty yards from her moorings, her keel
grating more than once upon a drift of mud. She had remained close to
the bank, out of reach of the strong central current, and now lay
almost motionless, because she had reached the slack water where the
river commenced its eastward bend. Behind her lay the fortress,
already vested in the golden light of the morning. Between, where the
white mist was stealing upward, came sailing a great hulk, and above
the vapour could be seen the flag of France crushing its golden lilies
against the topmast. At intervals came the indistinct murmur of
voices, the flash of hurried sparks dropped upon touchwood, the rattle
of cannon balls, the ramming home of charges down slim-waisted guns.
"Fool that I am!" exclaimed Penfold. "Fool and forgetful! Up the
rigging, my lads, and set the mainsail. What breeze there is blows
down the river. Drive me yonder fellows up, George Flower. Do you see
that they set all sails, and if they be not ready to obey hurry them
with the sword point."
The sailors were driven into the rigging to plume their ship for the
benefit of a victorious enemy. The canvas flapped out, the ship veered
towards midstream, and, instantly responding to wind and current,
floated to the left of the island, with the Frenchman scarce a hundred
yards from her stern.
A voice came rolling out of the mist, the voice of D'Archand. "Are you
attacked by Indians?" he shouted. The master had undoubtedly made out
the Indian canoe floated beside the steps.
"Let any man answer at his peril," said Penfold, glaring round upon the
unarmed Dutch.
"Do we fear the French?" demanded Viner hotly. "Here are five--nay,
seven--good Englishmen, for surely our stout allies here have fought as
only English can----"
"There are a hundred men upon yonder ship," interrupted the leader,
"men equipped with the newest weapons of Europe. It were madness to
divulge our names and nation. Sir," he went on, turning to the
stranger, "we are much indebted to you. Sir, you have fought like a
brave man, and have helped us to overcome our enemies. What counsel do
you give?"
"Answer Roussilac that Indians have come aboard, but that the crew are
capable of defending themselves, if you will," the stranger replied.
"So may you avoid his fire. Or with your pleasure I will undertake to
answer the master myself, even as an Englishman should always answer a
Frenchman."
"And how is that?" demanded Penfold.
The stranger indicated the brilliant flag, flapping in the sunshine
like a wounded bird trying to fly but falling back. "By defying him so
long as that emblem flies," he said.
Between heavy lines of mist, waved like the bar nebuly upon the shield
of the woolcombers, the black stem and white deck of the enemy had
become partly visible. Heads of watchers were peering over her side,
their bodies hidden, their faces barely above the fog line. Before the
cabins in front of the poop a canopy fluttered; under it a table, and
upon the table six great golden poppies lifted their heads, their
ragged petals flickering under the breeze. The Englishmen saw the bare
head and richly caparisoned shoulders of a tall priest, who swayed
monotonously from side to side, and muttered Latin in a deep voice.
The table was an altar, the poppies were candles, and the priest was La
Salle reciting the inevitable morning Mass.
The better-built Dutch vessel, being easily capable of sailing a knot
and a half to the Frenchman's one, drew away, her main and fore sheets
swelling till they were round as the belly of some comfortable merchant
of Eastcheap who had profited by a successful venture upon the Spanish
Main. Very soon the voice of the militant priest became like the
murmur of an overhead insect.
"Now by my soul!" cried Hough, with a quivering of his slit nostrils.
"It were an everlasting disgrace to Christian men to stand thus idle
and watch a priest of Baal offering sacrifice. Bid us run out the
guns, captain, and drop a good Protestant cannon ball amid yonder
catholic juggling. We have fought for our country this day. Let us
now commit ourselves to the Lord's work, and snuff out yonder stinking
candles, and end these popish blasphemies."
Penfold made no sign of hearing this appeal. He said merely, "They
cram on yet more sail. But they shall not come up to us unless we are
brought upon a bar, and even so they cannot pass us, because the water
becomes narrow beyond. Where is friend Woodfield?"
"Guarding the prisoners at the door of the cabin and keeping an eye
that they do not arm themselves."
"Listen to the men below," said Flower. "Our caged birds become weary
of confinement, and beat their wings to escape."
Hough and the lord of the isles held their eyes upon the Frenchman, who
was now one hundred and fifty yards away, and almost clear of vapour.
When they could see that the guns had been unshipped and were pointing
over the bows, neither man was able altogether to suppress his feelings.
"The curse of God shall surely fall upon us," cried the Puritan
furiously. "When summoned to work in His vineyard we turn a deaf ear
to the call. Did evil come to me when I dragged with mine own hands
from the reformed communion table of our parish church at Dorchester a
Jesuit in disguise, and flung the dog into our little river Thame there
to repent him of his former and latter sins?"
"Peace, friend," said old Penfold. "Here is not England, nor stand we
on English territory. Let yonder papists worship their saints and
idols to their own decay. We are but few in number, though valiant in
spirit, and with every man a wound to show. Remember also that this
ship is not yet our prize."
"Croaker," muttered Hough disdainfully.
"Say rather a man to whom age has brought sound judgment," returned
Penfold, unmoved.
"It is my turn," said the deep voice of the unknown. "Sir Captain, I
have a favour to beg. There is a gun yonder on which I have set my
eye, a brass gun of some twenty pounds weight, loaded with ball. If it
displease you not, I will discharge that gun from the aftmost deck in
such a manner that it shall harm no man. Sir Captain, I have some
small experience in aiming the gun."
Penfold set his rugged face towards his questioner.
"Good sir," he said, "you are English among Englishmen. We are plain
countrymen of the royal county of Berks, village yeomen of small
degree, who have beaten our plowshares into swords; but you, I may
believe, judging from your speech, are somewhat higher. Tell us, if
you will, your name."
"My name is my own, my sword the king's, my life belongs to my
country," said the stranger. "Enough to know that I am a man of Kent.
If now I have answered you, sir, I beg of you to answer me."
"We should but reveal ourselves."
"Every minute widens yon strip of water between ourselves and the
pursuer. She is sailing her fastest, and each minute sends us more of
the wind which she has been taking from us. This breeze may endure for
another hour, by which time we shall have reached the chasm which is
called Tadousac. Sixteen years have I dwelt upon this river, good
master, both in winter and summer, and no servant of King Louis, nor
Indian of the forest, knows its waters better than I."
Penfold turned to the two associates supporting him. "What answer
shall I give?" he asked.
"Consent," said fanatic and youth together; and Penfold gave consent
against his better judgment.
Unaided, the stranger carried the short gun up the steps, rested it in
position upon its crutch on the sloping deck, and arranged the priming,
while the stern boy at his bidding produced knife and flint. The men
below awaited results with a certain curiosity, looking for little more
than an explosion of powder, and the hurling of a defiant missile
harmlessly into space.
It might have been the excellence of the aim, it might have been the
working of Providence, more probably it was sheer commonplace English
luck; but, when the quaint little weapon had howled, kicked viciously,
and rolled over, there came the dull crash of lead with wood, a shower
of tough splinters, and--most glorious sight for the adventurers'
eyes--the top of the French mainmast, carrying the great white and gold
flag, which had been blessed by a bishop upon the high altar of Notre
Dame in Paris, sprang into the air like a pennoned lance, described a
half circle, and plunged to deck, piercing the canopy as though it had
been paper, missing the ministrant by inches only, scattering the
candlesticks and breaking the candles before the eyes of the
scandalised soldiers, who were concluding their devotions to the "_Ite
missa est_" of the priest.
A great cheer ascended from the Dutch ship, making the cold, pine-clad
hills echo and ring. Hough forgot his sternness, and laughed aloud as
he clasped the gunner's hand. Old Penfold smiled grimly, with more
inward jubilation than he cared to show.
"Now plume her, lads, and let us fly," he shouted. "Steer her around
yonder bend in safety, and we may laugh at her cannon."
"The prisoners, captain! We cannot both fight the ship and hold guard
over them."
"To the river with them," said Hough. "Let them swim ashore."
"There may be some who cannot swim."
"What better chance shall they have of learning? My father cast me
into the Thames when I was but a whipster, and said, 'Sink or swim, my
lad.' And I thought it well to swim."
Protesting, struggling, swearing in an unknown tongue, the prisoners
were brought forth from the cabins and hurried over the side, the
laggards helped by a cuff or kick at starting. The turgid river
splashed with Dutchmen, like a school of porpoises, making with what
speed they could--for the water was exceedingly cold--towards the
rock-bound shore.
Great was the confusion upon the Frenchman when she became so notably
disgraced, but presently D'Archand restored a semblance of order, and
the men trailed off to their duties, probably not a little afraid at
discovering that the ever-dreaded English, whose appearance north of
far-distant Plymouth had become a familiar nightmare, were aboard their
supposed Dutch ally. La Salle, who had immediately rushed into his
cabin and there divested himself of his ecclesiastical finery, speedily
reappeared in secular costume with his redoubtable sword naked in his
hand. The abbe could swear as heartily as any soldier when put to it,
which fact he proved beyond lawyers' arguments then and there.
"Body of St. Denis!" he cried. "See to your priming, knaves. Ah,
hurry, young imp of the pit," kicking a scrambling powder-boy as he
shouted. "By St. Louis, our Lady, and the Cardinal! This is a Dutch
word, a Dutch troth, a Dutch alliance. We shall harry the traitors who
have leagued themselves with our enemies, unless their master, Satan,
lends them wings to carry them to the uttermost parts of the earth. We
shall hang them speedily to the rigging, if the saints be favourable.
Fire, rogues! See you not that she is slipping away from us? Ah, for
a sand bank, or sunken rock, to catch her as she runs! Mark you now,
when I throw a curse over them, how they shall be brought down in their
pride."
Despite the malediction of Holy Church, the trim Dutchman swept on
nearly a quarter of a mile ahead. Sailors manned the rigging, and
crammed on as much additional sail as the masts would bear; the
dishonoured flag was replaced; Roussilac paced the main deck, pale with
rage, his fingers clasping and unclasping his sword-hilt. D'Archand
hurried to and fro, issuing orders with typical French rapidity.
A jet of smoke broke over her bows, and a ball threw up a spout of
water in the wake of the fleeing vessel.
"A most courteous and inoffensive messenger," quoth Flower, bowing to
the enemy. "Captain, shall we not make a suitable reply?"
"I fear me powder and ball are out of reach," said the captain. "The
noisy hornets below guard the magazine. Would that we had a flag to
hoist over us, though it were nothing more comprehensible to our foes
than the five heads of county Berks."
Another gun exploded, and after it another, and so they continued
ringing their wild music, the balls falling astern for the most part,
though more than one whizzed through the rigging, yet without doing
more damage than cutting a rope.
"Take her wide round yonder point, master helmsman," cried the
stranger. "There lies a mud-bank stretching under the water well-nigh
to mid-stream. Mark you the place where it ceases by the ripple across
the river? Steer your passage to the left of that ripple, and all
shall go well."
"Methinks the wind blows more keenly," said Woodfield.
"There is coming upon us that wind which the Indians call the life of
the day, a breath of storm from the west which endures but a few
moments, blowing away the vapours of early morn and the last clouds of
night," said the man of Kent. "We may be sure of that wind at this
season of the year. After it follows calm, and the sun grows hot.
Haul down the lower main-sail, Sir Leader. The heavy mist upon yonder
hills tells us that the wind shall blow full strength this morning."
Even as he spoke a ball from the enemy's bows roared overhead, and
snatched away a portion of the sail he indicated. The loose canvas
began already to flap and the flying ropes to whistle in the wind.
"Let it remain so," said the Kentishman. "We have no need to take in
our sail since they have saved us the work. Didst see how she
staggered then? She shall never carry all that weight of canvas
through the life of the day, and the wind bears more heavily on her
than upon us. Ah, she gains!"
It was as he had said. The unwieldy vessel fell into the breath of the
wind, and, righting herself after a sudden lurch, settled down into the
water, ploughing a deep white furrow, every mast bending and every rope
straining, every inch of canvas bellying mightily.
The Dutchman came out to avoid the mud flat. She began to make the
bend, and her helmsman already saw the wide reach of river beyond, when
a terrible shout ascended from the men who were caged between decks.
At the same moment a pungent odour tainted the free air, and a thin
blue vapour began to leak from the cracks and joinings of the planks.
The Dutchman was burning internally. Soon her deck smoked like a dusty
road under wind, and the shouts of the prisoners became terrible to
endure. The adventurers smelt the choking fumes, saw the curling
vapours, and their faces grew pale with the knowledge that they had to
face a more dangerous foe than the French, knowing well that any moment
a spark or a flame might touch the magazine.
"Unfortunates!" groaned Penfold. "I had hoped to win this ship, and
with her sail to Virginia, there to gather a crew of mine own people,
and return hither to harry the French."
"To the boats," cried Flower. "Better be sunk by a cannon ball than
perish like rats in a corn-stack."
The wind rushed down from the westward rocks with a shout. It smote
the waters of the St. Lawrence, beating them into waves. It penetrated
the womb of the Dutch vessel, and fanned the smouldering fire into
life. It plucked at the cordage, fought with the sails, and bent the
masts until they cracked again. It came in a haze through which the
sun glowed faintly, and behind over the unseen heights the sky cleared
and burst into blue patches, because the passing of the life of the day
was as sudden as its birth.
Down went the mizzenmast of the Frenchman with its crowning weight of
canvas, carrying away the spanker, the shrouds, davits, and quarter
boat; and her sky-sails, which a moment before had raked the breeze so
proudly, spread disabled in the river. She dragged on with her
wreckage, while men with axes swarmed into the poop to cut away the
dead weight of wood and saturated canvas. The mainmast curved like a
bow from the main shrouds to the truck, but remained fast until the
haze broke, and the sky became a field azure, from which the sun shone
out in his might.
Flames were now pouring from the doomed ship, and the poop was a mass
of fire. The Englishmen ran for the boats, into which they flung every
article upon which they could lay their hands: swords and guns, axes,
clothing, provisions, bedding, and even spare sails and ropes.
Everything would serve some useful purpose in their life upon the
shore. The lord of the isles alone took nothing. He entered his canoe
with the boy, and before the adventurers quitted the doomed ship they
had reached the shore and entered the cover of the trees, the man
carrying the light canoe beneath his arm.
"Release the prisoners," cried Flower, as he cast his last burden into
the boat.
"Not so," replied the vindictive Hough. "Let them perish like the men
of Amalek before Israel."
"Nay, we are no cold-blooded murderers," protested Woodfield.
"Unfasten the hatches, and let them save themselves."
"Have they not been delivered into our hands that we may destroy them?"
said Hough.
"Now you would undo the good work, and raise up again a host to be our
destruction in the time to come."
"Let us not argue, lest we be destroyed," said young Viner. "What says
our captain?"
But old Penfold was lying back in the boat, fainting with exhaustion
and loss of blood, and when Woodfield appealed to him he only murmured
the death sentence of the Dutchmen, "Let Jeremiah Hough command."
"Cast off," said the Puritan. "Let the enemies of our country perish.
The Lord do so to me and more also if I spare any of the accursed race
who have sworn to sweep England from the seas."
So the boat pushed off, and came after hard rowing to the shore, beside
the mouth of the little river which enters the main stream midway
between Cap Tourmente and the cleft of the Saguenay. Up this river the
men pulled to find a place for encampment, until the sweet-smelling
pine forest closed behind and hid them from their enemies, whose flag
they had flouted and beaten that day. While they worked their way
inland a mighty explosion shook the atmosphere, the cones rained from
the overhanging trees, the rock land thrilled, the face of the water
shivered, and the birds flew away with screams.
"I fear me," said Hough, as he ceased his nasal droning of a psalm, "I
fear me that the popish dogs have been given time to rescue the
Hollanders."
True it was that the French had been allowed both time and opportunity
for setting at liberty the wretches in the burning ship, but neither
Roussilac nor any of his captains dared to lead the venture, knowing
that any moment might witness the destruction of the ship. The master
took in his sails, cast anchor, and waited for the end.
Thus the undertaking of Holland failed, as her treachery deserved. It
was her one attempt at wresting the fortress from the Cardinal's grip.
And from that day to this no man-of-war from the Netherlands has ever
sailed up the gulf of the St. Lawrence.