TRUE MEN
“Loïs, there are five or six men on horseback just come up through the
village; they are outside the gate, and are asking for Roger. Where’s mother?”
and Marie Langlade dashed into the kitchen, where Loïs, her sleeves tucked up
above the elbows, was busy kneading the bread.
“Roger won’t be back till to-morrow; he’s gone up country with Stark and
Bradstreet after some cattle which are missing. There was a rumour of the
Indians having been seen down the river, and he’s gone to reconnoitre. Mother
is with Mistress Cleveland; she was ailing, and sent Charlie up to ask her to
come down. She went an hour ago.”
“Then you must come out and speak to the strangers,” said Marie. “They are
different from the men who usually come this way; they are neither hunters nor
merchants, and they sit so straight on their horses and look so grand, and
their speech is soft and pleasant.”
“I will come,” said Loïs, smiling at the description; and taking her hands out
of the kneading-trough, she quickly washed them, drew down her sleeves, and
went out into the porch, followed by Marie.
They were a great contrast, those two sisters,--Loïs in the dawn of early
womanhood, with her soft dark hair and rich, ripe complexion, quiet and
composed, as eldest daughters, upon whom tired mothers are often wont to shift
a portion of their burdens, frequently are; whilst Marie was not yet
seventeen, and fair as a northern maiden, with rippling golden-hued hair, a
rose-leaf complexion, forget-me-not blue eyes; not beautiful in feature, but
fresh and pure and lovable. Very pleasant they looked as they came out
together, and at sight of them the foremost horseman sprang to the ground,
opened the garden gate, and, doffing his military cap, came towards them.
“You are asking, my sister tells me, for Roger Boscowen,” said Loïs, returning
his salute. “He is not at home; he is gone on an expedition, and will not be
back for some days perhaps; we can never tell how long he may absent himself.”
“I am sorry,” said the stranger, in a rich, musical voice, and with an accent
which told Loïs that he was no colonist, but an Englishman fresh from the old
country; “doubtless,” he continued, “there is some inn where we can put up our
horses and remain until his return?”
“Oh, yes,” answered Loïs; “but if you have come on business to Roger, you had
better wait and see Father Nat. You look travel-stained; have you come from
far?”
“We have come all the way from Albany,” answered the stranger, smiling
pleasantly, “and we wish to take up our abode in your village--at least, for a
time.”
“Indeed,” said Loïs, looking surprised; but too modest to question him
further, she added, “If you will go with your men to the house yonder I will
send for Father Nat, and you can explain your business to him.”
“But is not this Roger Boscowen’s house?” asked the traveller.
“No,” said Loïs; “this is Alpha Marsh, the Langlades’ homestead; the Boscowens
live next door at Omega Marsh. But indeed it is much the same, only as you ask
for Roger you had better go to his own place. I will send men to take your
horses, and Nokomis will provide refreshments for your men.” She bent her head
with a certain stately grace, and re-entered the house.
“Quick, Marie,” she said; “find Jim and tell him to go in search of Father
Nat, and let him know of the arrival of the new-comers. I will go round to
Nokomis and see that she deals out proper hospitality; she is not over given
to generosity.”
Half an hour later the strangers were seated in Omega Marsh kitchen, partaking
of a plentiful meal, which was rendered still more palatable served as it was
by two such handmaids as Loïs and Marie. Father Nat had returned in haste when
he heard of the arrival of the strangers, but he would not allow their chief
to enter into any explanations until he had refreshed himself.
They were five in number: four men in the prime of life, and one lad of
seventeen, whom Nathaniel recognised immediately as the son of an old
acquaintance, William Parkmann, of Massachusetts. He was a mere boy in
appearance, unusually tall and lanky, overgrown one might say, with an almost
girl’s face--he looked so very young: yet there was no lack of character in
it; the mouth and chin were firm, and the hazel eyes intelligent and even
searching.
When the supper was cleared away, and the jar of tobacco and long clay pipes
had been placed upon the table, the evident leader of the party turned to
Nathaniel, and said with infinite courtesy,--
“After having partaken of your generous hospitality, it is time we introduced
ourselves to you, my host; especially as it is our intention to remain some
time in the settlement, if you will suffer us to do so.”
“Why should I hinder you? If I mistake not, you are officers in his Gracious
Majesty’s army,” said Nathaniel.
“You have guessed rightly,” answered the same speaker. “I am Brigadier Howe,
and my companions are Lieutenants Pringle, Philips, and Roche. I need scarcely
tell you the importance of the struggle going on between France and England;
it has not yet reached its height, but it will ere long, and it behoves us all
to be prepared to fight to the best of our abilities for our country and her
honour. I am of opinion that the ordinary system of European warfare will
prove a failure when pitted against Indian and Canadian fighting; and unless
we can acquire some practical knowledge of their tactics, we run a very great
chance of being worsted. For the last three years you have suffered frightful
aggressions along the borderland from the Indians and French, and have only
been protected by the courage and abilities of your volunteer men, your
Rangers, as they are called, whose captain, Roger the Ranger, is, I believe,
your son. His name is in everybody’s mouth as the man of all others the most
capable of rendering assistance to the colony in its present straits. Thirley,
the Governor of Massachusetts, and William Johnson, of New York, Commander of
the Massachusetts Volunteers, cannot say too much in his favour; and therefore
we four officers of his Majesty’s army have come to him with a request that,
during the present winter, he will enroll us as members of his corps of
Rangers, subject us to their training, and allow us to accompany him on all
his expeditions; thus we shall learn forest warfare and the ways of the enemy,
and know how to deal with them. Your son will be doing inestimable service to
the regular army by thus initiating us. Do you think he will consent to do
this?”
“I cannot say,” answered Nathaniel. “My son has thrown himself heart and soul
into the defence of the colony. But for his fame I scarcely think our
settlement would have remained so long unmolested. You are acquainted with the
frightful rapine and murder which the red warriors have committed in the
border settlements of Virginia and Pennsylvania. The Quakers even, much
against their will, have been driven into passing a militia law, by the sight
of the bodies of the massacred men paraded about the streets of Philadelphia.
Massachusetts has been foremost in resisting French and Indian aggression, and
has taken the lead in the preparation for war. I have heard Roger say that the
British army, disciplined as it is, and with officers of unrivalled bravery,
will, from their ignorance of the country and of the style of warfare, be
subject to many reverses. I think he would approve of your plan, but you must
await his return; he will answer you himself.”
“We are quite willing to remain here,” answered Brigadier Howe, “if you will
tell us where we can put up.”
Nathaniel smiled. “You are unacquainted with our New England hospitality,” he
said. “We never turn a stranger from our door; we deem it would bring us
ill-fortune. The Lord has sent you hither, and until your business with Roger
be settled, your place is laid for you at my table and the guest-chamber is at
your service.”
“But we are so numerous, and our horses will encumber your stables,” said the
Brigadier.
“What Omega cannot accomplish Alpha will,” he answered quietly. “The Boscowens
and Langlades, though they live each under different roofs, form but one
household: it has been so for over four generations.”
“If such hospitality be amongst your traditions, far be it from me to gainsay
you,” said the Brigadier. “But that name of Langlade struck me just now. I
heard it lately at Albany; there was much talk of a Charles Langlade and a
certain La Corne, both of them French Canadians, who had joined the Indians,
taken squaw wives, and become of great importance in the tribes. Surely that
Langlade has no connection with this family?”
Nathaniel’s brow darkened.
“Speak not of it,” he said sternly. “He is our eldest son. Above all things do
not utter his name before Roger; they were as brothers, and he has become a
thorn in his flesh.”
He had hardly finished speaking when the door opened, and Martha, accompanied
by the minister and his wife, entered. Mistress Cleveland’s ailments were
frequent, but never of a very serious nature--often little more than an excuse
for sending to Alpha Marsh and getting Martha Langlade down for a good day’s
gossip. When, therefore, the news came that strangers had arrived, she
declared herself quite equal to the exertion of accompanying her husband and
Martha--indeed, the walk she felt sure would be beneficial to her; and so they
set forth together, curious to know who the newcomers might be. Marcus and
the younger members of the family soon followed, so that the kitchen was full;
and the murmur of many voices and occasional laughter struck pleasantly on the
ear.
Marcus, though some years older, promptly made friends with William Parkmann,
and heard with interest all that was going on in the States.
The young man spoke with enthusiastic affection of Brigadier Howe; to his
young imagination he was evidently a hero.
“He will save the colonies,” he affirmed, “because he’s young and goes to work
in the right way. He is not likely to fall into an ambuscade, as General
Braddock did.”
“We will hope not,” said Marcus; “one such experience is sufficient.”
“I wish you would talk of something besides fighting and Indians,” said Marie,
leaning her elbows on the table. “It is the same thing every day. I am so
tired of it.”
“I am afraid you will be much more tired before it is over, Marie,” said her
brother; “the great struggle has yet to come. One thing is certain, French and
English cannot live together as neighbours unless the former will take the
oath of allegiance, and that their priests will never allow them to do.”
“I hope we shall never hear again of anything so dreadful as the expulsion
from Grandpré two years ago,” said Loïs. “Fancy husbands and wives, parents
and children, torn away from each other, sent hundreds of miles apart, never
to meet again! That seems to me worse than death; the yearning and the
longing, the never-ceasing anxiety, must be so very terrible!” and tears
filled her eyes, whilst her voice trembled with emotion.
“Yes, worse than death,” said a low, deep voice behind her. “Death means
peace, reunion, love. Why should we fear it, if we but remember His promise,
‘_Fear not_, I am with thee’?” Loïs turned round, and met the kindly eyes of
Brigadier Howe bent on her.
“Yes,” she answered, “there are many worse things than death--this continuous
warfare, the horrors of the savages, brother warring against brother. Oh! when
will it end? when shall we have peace?” and the tears which she had striven to
restrain rolled down her face.
“There, there, Loïs,” said Marcus soothingly. “It will come in due time; we
are all striving after it.”
“The war is drawing to a close,” said Brigadier Howe. “England has taken up
the gauntlet in good earnest at last; William Pitt is at the helm, and he will
not rest until Canada is a settled English Protestant colony.”
“Amen,” said Minister Cleveland; “and now, mistress, it’s time we went home;
it is getting late, and the travellers will be glad to go to rest. Good-night
to you all,” and there was a great hand-shaking. Loïs helped Mistress
Cleveland on with her cloak and hood, commending her to be careful not to take
a chill; then the lantern was lit, and the young people trooped down to the
gate to start them on their way home. Martha took this opportunity of speaking
to Father Nat.
“You must not take all the five guests, father,” she said; “have you forgotten
that we also have our guest-chamber?” and she drew herself up with dignity.
“Not likely I should forget,” he answered; “choose which of them you will
have, Martha, or shall they cast lots? Women rule the roost here, sir, as they
do elsewhere,” he said, turning to Howe. “Mistress Martha will have it she has
a right to the honour of entertaining some of your party; you went to her gate
first, it seems.”
“True,” said Howe, smiling. “We are flattered by your desire, madam. We think
there is one amongst us who has already found a flame, and is trying to singe
his wings; if she lead the way, he will not refuse to follow,” and as he spoke
he looked towards where Marie and William Parkmann were talking to each other.
“Tut!” said Martha. “Marie’s only a child.”
“To our mothers we are always children,” said Howe sweetly.
“He’s a nice lad,” said Martha kindly; “let him come, and one other.”
“The young with the young,” said Howe, smiling. “What do you say to Roche?”
“He is welcome,” said Martha, smiling.
“Roche and Parkmann,” said Howe, speaking with a tone of military command,
“you are billeted on Dame Martha Langlade.”
“Very good, sir,” answered the two young men gladly.
A general move followed, good-nights were exchanged, Marcus helped Father Nat
show his guests to their rooms, and then they all separated; only Father Nat
and Brigadier Howe remained in the chimney corner.
“If you’ve no objection, we’ll smoke one pipe together before we part company,
Father Nat. I am anxious to ask you a few questions,” said Howe.
“You can ask,” answered the father; “maybe I’ll answer you, maybe I won’t.”
“I think you will answer me,” said Howe gently, as he filled his pipe from the
jar of tobacco Father Nat pushed towards him. Stooping, he picked an ember out
of the hearth and lit it, and then he leant back thoughtfully in the old
armchair as the white smoke slowly curled up the wide open chimney.