THE GAUNTLET DOWN.
Oskelano, chief of the Algonquins, that unstable race, false alike to
friend and foe, and doomed to be the first of the savage tribes to be
extinguished, reached the fortress about noon on the day which had been
fixed for Geoffrey's departure to the unknown lands. Roussilac
personally met the treacherous old man upon the heights, and dazzled
his savage eyes with the splendour of a blue surcoat, upon which
gleamed the fleur-de-lys worked in gold. He proceeded to point out the
soldiers in their brave array, the strong huts of wood or stone dotted
about the cliff, the _St. Wenceslas_ riding upon the river, the
glistening guns, and the flashing steel. Finally he bade the old
savage note the impregnable nature of the French position.
"Behold the citadel which my master has ordered me to build for your
protection," the commandant continued, pouring his figments through the
leering mouth of the dwarf Gaudriole. "We have not destroyed your
forests, nor robbed you of your shelters. You may enter our forts in
safety, and obtain whatsoever you desire in exchange for skins and
feathers. We do not mass together in one place. We distribute our
strength. Our forts are dotted along the coast. The tribes of
Maryland and of Massachusetts have shown you how the English congregate
upon the Potomac River. When you go to them for supplies of food, or
demanding recompense for that which they have taken from you, they
threaten you with death. Is it not so?"
"Um," replied the Algonquin, not a muscle of his face stirring.
"The English have their eye upon this north of the continent," went on
the governor. "In the south they rule, but only by permission of our
king. Have you obtained any benefits from them? Have they not rather
hunted you like wild beasts when you have resisted them? Remember how
Samuel de Champlain armed you so that you might fight against the
tribes of the Iroquois. He did not fear the Iroquois, but he saw you
in danger, and reached out his hand to save you."
"Um, um," exclaimed Oskelano, with some symptom of feeling.
"And now the King of France bids you choose between him and Charles of
England. If you accept my master's friendship he shall protect you
from your enemies. But if you refuse him he shall leave you to the
mercy of the Iroquois and the English, who shall rob and kill you until
there is not one Algonquin left."
"The chief desires to know," said the interpreter, "why it is that the
English in the south have brought their wives and families, and why the
French come alone."
"The English desire to take the country that they may make it their
home and abide here for ever," answered Roussilac. "The French are
here to protect the Algonquins, and when danger is over they shall
return to their wives and families in the homeland."
"The chief also desires to know what is the cause of the king's
friendliness to a people whom he has never seen," continued the
interpreter.
"King Louis has forbidden the English to enter this country, and when
they disobey he sends ships and men against them. It is his will that
the Algonquins shall possess this land in peace."
"Um," said Oskelano profoundly, when these fictions had been expounded.
"What says the wooden-faced fool?" asked Roussilac.
"The doctors of his tribe tell him that all white men are liars,"
replied the dwarf. "But the English are greater liars than the French."
"Would that I might collect all the savages in this country upon yonder
island in mid-stream, and there exterminate them root and branch," the
governor muttered.
"Import a shipload of bad brandy, commandant," suggested the
interpreter, with an evil grin. "That would spread a disease which
might carry them off in a few generations."
"What say you?" exclaimed Roussilac. "Away, hunchbacked devil!"
But when Oskelano had gone to the quarters which had been prepared for
him, and Gaudriole had followed with a grating laugh, Roussilac
remained to pace the cliff and consider the evil thought. "'Tis a vile
plan," he muttered. "Yet beasts are poisoned when they overrun the
land. By St. Louis, it is a plan which might work."
That poor twisted freak of nature, Gaudriole, had lived formerly in the
gutters of Paris by his wits and the predatory powers of his fingers,
begging by day, stealing by night. Favoured by fortune beyond his
deserts, he had continued to escape the great stone gallows which had
been erected for the dismissal of vagabonds of his kind, and had
finally escaped to the New World, there to fall speedily into the hands
of the Indians. Having saved his life by the performance of some
sleight-of-hand tricks, he robbed the tribe which had taken him captive
and escaped that same night. For years he had lived among the natives,
learning their language, adopting their manner of living, until he had
made himself as much at home in the dense forests as in the slums of
his native city. Indian braves and French soldiers alike stood in awe
of him on account of his impish form and devilish ways. The governors
of the forts found him useful because he brought them information. The
free life suited the unprincipled dwarf, who was little better than an
animal invested with a trick of reasoning; and he knew that, like an
animal, he was liable to be hanged and his body thrown to the crows any
day of his sinful life.
The cabaret in the Rue des Pecheurs was noisy that evening because the
ship which had lately arrived from Marseilles had replenished Michel's
casks. Soldiers were gaming behind the red curtain which half-blinded
the single window, and fierce songs sounded under the cliff as
Gaudriole shuffled down the pathway. The dwarf had not listened to the
welcome noise of the tavern for many a month, and his crooked heart
heated at the sound.
"Saints of God!" the high voice of La Salle sounded. "If it be true,
as they say, that the devil lends favour to gamblers, then are you
lost, brother, body and soul. Michel, an you sing that lewd song
again---- A plague strike you drunkards! Have the streets of
Marseilles no new song?"
"There is nothing new, my father," bawled a hoarse voice. "His sacred
Eminence holds all France as a man might contain in his hand an egg.
Only strong men, good fighters, be they priests or laymen, find favour
in the Cardinal's eyes, and 'tis said, though with what truth I know
not, that he sways his Holiness as the wind may play with a cornstalk.
Not a brick has been added to Marseilles this year past. The very
mass-bread is mouldy, and the women are hags----"
"Peace, brute!" La Salle shouted. "Laroche, smite me yon babbler
across his mouth."
Standing in the doorway, Gaudriole saw the fat priest heave, and aim a
terrific blow at a half-drunken soldier whose head lolled against the
wall. The dwarf shuffled forward with his malevolent laugh as the
soldier lurched aside with an oath.
"The English are upon you, Messires!" he shouted with all his strength.
Instantly there arose indescribable confusion. Trestles and stools
were flung aside, wine from overthrown goblets soaked black patterns
into the earthen floor, as every soldier made for the outside, grasping
his sword, or swearing because he could not find it. Out of the noise
grated the laugh of the dwarf, who slunk against the log wall, rubbing
his hairy hands.
"A jest! A jest!" screamed Ferraud of shrill voice, his waxen face
regaining colour as he wagged his hand at the dwarf. "Masters, behold
Gaudriole! Liar, hunchback, bastard! Were you used as you deserve you
would hang from the roof-tree. Masters, come back. There are no
English within a thousand miles."
"What found ye outside, my soldiers?" chuckled Gaudriole, as the men of
Mars tumbled disorderedly into the cabaret. "There is the wind. The
west wind, which the Indians say brings all that a man may wish for.
Comrades, did ye find the wind?"
His hideous figure doubled, and his laughter grated again.
"Buffoon of the pit!" cried Laroche, striding up and shaking the dwarf
until his head rolled. "Would make a laughing-stock of his Majesty's
brave men, deformed imp of darkness? Come forth now and sing to us.
Sing to us, I say, lest I beat your crooked shape into a lath."
Because Gaudriole was aware of his value he dared to play such pranks.
He was indeed a capably grotesque comedian, and formerly had garnered
many a capful of sous at the corners of Paris by his antics, songs, and
contortions. His pathetic shape had saved him from the punishment
which often attended the tricks of less daring jesters; and it may be
surmised that his malignant face and cross-seeing eyes not unfrequently
repelled the would-be striker. Men were superstitious in the days when
the world was large.
"Some wine first," the hunchback panted, for the priest's arm was
rough. "The ship moves not till she has wind in her sails. I have
been a drinker of water these months, and my dreams have been red of
wine. Ah, friend! may your beard grow golden, and curl even as your
mistress would have it."
This to a singularly ugly soldier, with a flat, scarred face and
stubbly black beard, who handed him a potful of wine.
"My beard becomes me well enough," the man growled, when a laugh went
against him.
"Well, in faith. It grows out of your skin like bristles from a
chimney-brush."
"Cease your gibes, hunchback, and to your capers. We grow thin for
want of laughter in this accursed country," cried Laroche.
"What shall it be, Messires, a dance, a clever contortion, or a song--a
song of fair ladies, such as one may see upon the streets of Paris,
saving the presence of these most holy and renowned priests?" jeered
Gaudriole, with his intolerable laugh.
"All. Give us all, buffoon, and invent somewhat for the occasion," the
master of ceremonies ordered.
Not loth to practise his talents, Gaudriole took the centre of the
floor. Voice, in a musical sense, he had none. The noise he made was
little better than the screech of wind roaring through the hollow
mouthpiece of some gargoyle of the roof-gutter. Every fresh contortion
of his face was more hideous than the last, as he danced, shouted, and
twisted bonelessly over the wine splashes on the ground, until he
appeared to the spectators as some frightful creature of nightmare,
presenting the evil scenes and actions of their past lives before their
wide-opened eyes.
He concluded his vaudeville amid shouts of applause, in which La Salle
alone took no part. The priest was disgusted at this exhibition of so
much that was brutal, and he was disgusted with himself for remaining a
listener and a watcher. He was, for those days, well-educated, and the
spectacle of the little monster writhing and yelling before him
repelled. It was Paris in truth that Gaudriole recalled; but not, for
him, the Paris of the corners and byways, not the Paris of vagabonds
and free-livers, but the city of the most brilliant court upon earth,
the city of intrigue where Cardinal Richelieu spun his red web to
entangle the feet of kings. The cabaret was but an interlude, a by-way
of the path to power; but the priest realised, as he sat among the
fools, that he had trodden the by-ways frequently and too well.
He left the tavern with its fumes of smoke and wine, and escaped into
the cool, moist wind under the cliff, but a pair of cross-seeing eyes
followed his departure, and Gaudriole wormed his way through a
labyrinth of arms that would have detained him for more folly, and
hopped loosely up the ascent of the crooked path.
"What would you, creature of sin?" demanded La Salle, when he perceived
who it was that followed him.
"A word with you, holiness," panted the dwarf. "The woman Onawa sends
you greeting and prays that you will meet her at the beginning of the
forest where formerly she saw you by chance. She engages to show you
where your enemy may be found. She waits for you now, most renowned."
"Dog!" exclaimed La Salle. "What have I to do with this woman? What
enemy is it of whom she speaks? I have no enemy save Van Vuren, who
lives now under the protection of the governor, and slinks at his heels
like a frightened hound."
Gaudriole could never suppress the malignant grin which escaped from
the ends of his slit mouth whenever he spoke.
"I but repeat the message as it was spoken. Think you that I dare
betray a Frenchman, and that a most holy priest? An I wished to do so,
the game would not be worth the candle. Gaudriole loves life as yonder
crows love carrion."
"See you tell no man of this," the priest muttered, as he moved towards
the cliff.
The way was rough, the breeze cold, as La Salle crossed the heights,
turning once to see the flag beating over the fort and men creeping
like midges about their tasks. He descended, and the swaying wall of
forest broke the wind. The pale purple crocus pushed its furry hood
from the short grass, the songless robins hopped before him, the smell
of fresh water was in the air. The fighting priest felt strong as he
breathed the wind.
Onawa flashed out of the brush and waved her bow to him.
"She has painted her face and looks forth ready for battle," said the
priest. "A comely maid, by St. Louis. What a figure is there, and
what freedom! She has a trick of moving her head which would make a
fashion at court."
"Come!" Onawa called. "Hasten!"
She spoke in English, and hope revived in the heart of the priest.
"English. I show you," she cried. "I have waited a long time. It is
growing late," she went on in her own tongue, hoping vainly that he
might understand.
"I commit my body to this adventure," said La Salle. "If these be the
English who captured the Dutch vessel and mocked us, the reward of
discovery shall be mine. A ship sails for home next week. Tidings
from the New World carry apace throughout Europe. The first step. Ha,
it is the first step that gives confidence. The rest is easy."
He followed Onawa along a trail which bewildered with innumerable
twistings, and after an hour's sharp walking they reached an untrodden
bed of sage brush glistening upon the flats. Onawa picked up a faint
thread, which was invisible to La Salle's eyes, and led him on through
bush where the spikes of dead pines snagged his feet. Then came a cold
ravine down the sides of which quaking asps drooped and moss spread
thickly. More forest, growing every pace denser, until the girl
stopped and motioned her companion to enter what appeared to be a hole
made in the centre of a thicket. She held back the rough bushes to
allow him to pass ahead. For a moment La Salle hesitated. He was
human enough to know that his manliness had made an impression upon
Onawa, but at the same time he feared treachery. The Iroquois were
sworn foes of the French, and here was a daughter of the chief of the
Cayugas abetting a Frenchman. He looked at the girl. She smiled
brilliantly and made an impatient movement, and he advanced boldly into
the cold thicket.
The ground shelved, and under the arched branches a spring freshet,
scarcely seven feet in width, ran hurriedly into the unseen. A canoe
rocked upon the water, held to the crooked root of a pine by a knotted
willow. Onawa motioned him into this canoe, and when he had taken his
place after sundry lurchings and difficulties, the girl stepped in,
unfastened the twig, and struck her paddle into the water. The canoe
swept away under the low branches.
"I would I had Laroche with me," said La Salle, watching the cold trees
and the pale rocks approaching and receding.
"English," said Onawa softly from time to time. "I show you."
The trees went back and the rocks heightened. La Salle heard water
rolling up a beach and the sweep of wind across an open surface. The
freshet widened and grew more shallow; the keel of the canoe scraped
across a ridge of silt. With a deft turn of her paddle Onawa shot the
prow upon a sand bank, and signed to him to land.
She led him along a cliff path, across a flat, again into sage brush,
and finally into more forest. They moved stealthily under cover, until
the trees thinned, and willow scrub sprang thickly out of a grey soil.
At a certain spot the girl halted and motioned her companion to look
forth.
La Salle saw the little settlement of New Windsor nestling in its
enclosure, and needed no longer the information, "English," which the
girl offered with a smile.
They lay in wait while the night grew upon them. La Salle watched when
the bars of the palisade were removed and five men came forth, and
marvelled to learn the weakness of the enemy. A bold scheme instantly
suggested itself. He would engage the enemy single-handed upon their
return, and wear them down one by one.
Here Onawa became an obstacle, because he could not explain to her his
intentions. He did his best by signs and broken English, but the girl
misunderstood him. She believed that he was telling her that he had
taken the settlement, and she was expected to instruct the Englishmen
that their property had passed away from them.
The white moon ascended the sky. The wooden bars sprawled where the
Englishmen had left them. La Salle felt confident that he would be
able to strike down the owners of the place as they passed singly into
the fort.
Suddenly a great hound came out of the forest, sniffed his way to the
palisade, and stopped before the entry, growling and lashing his tail.
Onawa recognised the hound, and called to him. He heard her voice and
turned his leonine head to snarl fiercely. Then he headed for the
forest, giving tongue as he ran. Onawa sprang to the palisade, and
struggled to replace the bars. For a moment she pulled her blanket
over her face, leaving none of it visible except the eyes and forehead,
and the priest shivered. He remembered the mysterious swordsman who
had wounded him upon the Rue des Pecheurs. He assisted Onawa to put up
the bars.
They heard voices in the forest. La Salle knew that he would require
his full skill in sword-play to save himself that night.