The Trail of the Sword, Volume 2.
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Gilbert Parker >> The Trail of the Sword, Volume 2.
He stood up and folded his arms, looking into the silence and mist. His
hand mechanically dropped to his sword, and he glanced up proudly to the
silver flag with its golden lilies floating softly on the slight breeze
they made as they passed.
"The sword!" he said under his breath. "The world and a woman by the
sword; there is no other way."
He had the spirit of his time. The sword was its faith, its magic.
If two men loved a woman, the natural way to make happiness for all was
to let the sword do its eager office. For they had one of the least-
believed and most unpopular of truths, that a woman's love is more a
matter of mastery and possession than instinct, two men being of
comparatively equal merit and sincerity.
His figure seemed to grow larger in the mist, and the grey haze gave his
hair a frosty coating, so that age and youth seemed strangely mingled in
him. He stood motionless for a long time as the song went on:
"Qui vive!
Who saileth into the morn,
Out of the wind of the dawn?
'Follow, oh, follow me on!'
Calleth a distant horn.
He is here--he is there--he is gone,
Tall seigneur of the dawn!
Qui vive! Qui vive! in the dawn."
Some one touched Iberville's arm. It was Dollier de Casson. Iberville
turned to him, but they did not speak at first--the priest knew his
friend well.
"We shall succeed, abbe," Iberville said.
"May our quarrel be a just one, Pierre," was the grave reply.
"The forts are our king's; the man is with my conscience, my dear
friend."
"But if you make sorrow for the woman?"
"You brought me a gift from her!" His finger touched his doublet.
"She is English, my Pierre."
"She is what God made her."
"She may be sworn to the man."
Iberville started, then shook his head incredulously. "He is not worthy
of her."
"Are you?"
"I know her value better and prize it more."
"You have not seen her for four years."
"I had not seen you for four years--and yet!"
"You saw her then only for a few days--and she was so young!"
"What are days or years? Things lie deep in us till some great moment,
and then they spring into life and are ours for ever. When I kissed King
Louis' hand I knew that I loved my king; when De Montespan's. I hated,
and shall hate always. When I first saw this English girl I waked from
youth, I was born again into the world. I had no doubts, I have none
now."
"And the man?"
"One knows one's enemy even as the other. There is no way but this,
Dollier. He is the enemy of my king, and he is greatly in my debt.
Remember the Spaniards' country!"
He laid a hand upon his sword. The face of the priest was calm and
grave, but in his eyes was a deep fire. At heart he was a soldier,
a loyalist, a gentleman of France. Perhaps there came to him then the
dreams of his youth, before a thing happened which made him at last a
servant of the Church after he had been a soldier of the king.
Presently the song of the voyageurs grew less, the refrain softened and
passed down the long line, and, as it were, from out of far mists came
the muffled challenge:
"Qui vive! Qui vive! in the dawn."
Then a silence fell once more. But presently from out of the mists there
came, as it were, the echo of their challenge:
"Qui vive! Qui vive! in the dawn."
The paddles stilled in the water and a thrill ran through the line of
voyageurs--even Iberville and his friends were touched by it.
Then there suddenly emerged from the haze on their left, ahead of them, a
long canoe with tall figures in bow and stern, using paddles. They wore
long cloaks, and feathers waved from their heads. In the centre of the
canoe was what seemed a body under a pall, at its head and feet small
censers. The smell of the wood came to them, and a little trail of sweet
smoke was left behind as the canoe swiftly passed into the mist on the
other side and was gone.
It had been seen vaguely. No one spoke, no one challenged; it had come
and gone like a dream. What it was, no one, not even Iberville, could
guess, though he thought it a pilgrimage of burial, such as was sometimes
made by distinguished members of Indian tribes. Or it may have been--
which is likely--a dead priest being carried south by Indian friends.
The impression left upon the party was, however, characteristic. There
was none but, with the smell of the censers in his nostrils, made the
sacred gesture; and had the Jesuit Silvy or the Abbe de Casson been so
disposed, the event might have been made into the supernatural.
After a time the mist cleared away, and nothing could be seen on the path
they had travelled but the plain of clear water and the distant shore
they had left.
Ahead of them was another shore, and they reached this at last. Where
the mysterious canoe had vanished, none could tell.
Days upon days, they travelled with incredible labour, now portaging over
a stubborn country, now, placing their lives in hazard as they shot down
untravelled rapids.
One day on the Black Wing River a canoe was torn open and its three
occupants were thrown into the rapids. Two of them were expert swimmers
and were able to catch the stern of another canoe as it ran by, and
reached safe water, bruised but alive. The third was a boy, Maurice
Joval, the youngest of the party, whom Iberville had been at first loth
to bring with him. But he had remembered his own ambitious youth, and
had consented, persuading De Troyes that the lad was worth encouragement.
His canoe was not far behind when the other ran on the rocks. He saw the
lad struggle bravely and strike out, but a cross current caught him and
carried him towards the steep shore. There he was thrown against a rock.
His strength seemed to fail, but he grasped the rock. It was scraggy,
and though it tore and bruised him he clung to it.
Iberville threw off his doublet, and prepared to spring as his boat came
down. But another had made ready. It was the abbe, with his cassock
gone, and his huge form showing finely. He laid his hand upon
Iberville's arm. "Stay here," he said, "I go; I am the stronger."
But Iberville, as cries of warning and appeal rang out around him, the
drowning lad had not cried out at all,--sprang into the water. Not
alone. The abbe looked around him, made the sacred gesture, and then
sprang also into an eddy a distance below, and at an angle made his way
up towards the two. Priest though he was, he was also an expert river-
man, and his vast strength served him royally. He saw Iberville tossed
here and there, but with impossible strength and good fortune reach the
lad. The two grasped each other and then struck out for the high shore.
De Casson seemed to know what would happen. He altered his course, and,
making for the shore also at a point below, reached it. He saw with a
kind of despair that it was steep and had no trees; yet his keen eyes
also saw, not far below, the dwarfed bole of a tree jutting out from the
rock. There lay the chance. Below this was a great turmoil of rapids.
A prayer mechanically passed the priest's lips, though his thoughts were
those of a warrior then. He almost enjoyed the danger for himself: his
fear was for Iberville and for the motherless boy.
He had guessed and hoped aright. Iberville, supporting the now senseless
boy, swung down the mad torrent, his eyes blinded with blood so that he
could not see. But he heard De Casson's voice, and with a splendid
effort threw himself and the lad towards it. The priest also fought
upwards to them and caught them as they came, having reserved his great
strength until now. Throwing his left arm over the lad he relieved
Iberville of his burden, but called to him to hold on. The blood was
flowing into Iberville's eyes and he could do nothing else. But now came
the fight between the priest and the mad waters. Once--twice--thrice
they went beneath, but neither Iberville nor himself let go, and to the
apprehensive cries of their friends there succeeded calls of delight, for
De Casson had seized the jutting bole and held on. It did not give, and
they were safe for a moment.
A quarter of a mile below there was smoother water, and soon the canoes
were ashore, and Perrot, Sainte-Helene, and others were running to the
rescue. They arrived just in time. Ropes were let down, and the lad was
drawn up insensible. Then came the priest, for Iberville, battered as he
was, would not stir until the abbe had gone up--a stout strain on the
rope. Fortunately there were clefts and fissures in the wall, which
could be used in the ascent. De Casson had consented to go first,
chiefly because he wished to gratify the still youthful pride of
Iberville, who thought the soldier should see the priest into safety.
Iberville himself came up slowly, for he was stiff and his limbs were
shaking. His clothes were in tatters, and his fine face was like that of
a warrior defaced by swords.
But he refused to be carried, and his first care was for the boy, who had
received no mortal injury.
"You have saved the boy, Pierre," said the priest, in a low voice.
"Self-abasing always, dear abbe; you saved us both. By heaven, but the
king lost a great man in you!"
"Hush! Mere brawn, Pierre. . . . By the blessing of God," he added
quickly.
CHAPTER XI
WITH THE STRANGE PEOPLE
After this came varying days of hardship by land and water, and then
another danger. One day they were, crossing a great northern lake. The
land was moist with the sweat of quick-springing verdure; flocks of wild
fowl rose at all points, and herds of caribou came drinking and feeding
at the shore. The cries of herons, loons, and river-hens rose with
strange distinctness, so delicate was the atmosphere, and the blue of the
sky was exquisite.
As they paddled slowly along this lake, keeping time to their songs with
the paddles, there suddenly grew out of the distance a great flotilla of
canoes with tall prows, and behind them a range of islands which they had
not before seen. The canoes were filled with men--Indians, it would
seem, by the tall feathers lifting from their heads. A moment before
there had been nothing. The sudden appearance was even more startling
than the strange canoe that crossed their track on Lake of the Winds.
Iberville knew at once that it was a mirage, and the mystery of it did
not last long even among the superstitious. But they knew now that
somewhere in the north--presumably not far away--was a large band of
Indians, possibly hostile; their own numbers were about fourscore. There
was the chance that the Indians were following or intercepting them.
Yet, since they had left the Ottawa River, they had seen no human being,
save in that strange canoe on Lake of the Winds. To the east were the
dreary wastes of Labrador, to the west were the desolate plains and
hills, stretching to the valley of the Saskatchewan.
Practically in command, Iberville advised watchfulness and preparation
for attack. Presently the mirage faded away as suddenly as it came. For
days again they marched and voyaged on, seeing still no human being. At
last they came to a lake, which they crossed in their canoes; then they
entered the mouth of a small river, travelling northward. The river
narrowed at a short distance from its mouth, and at a certain point the
stream turned sharply. As the first canoe rounded the point it came full
upon half a hundred canoes blocking the river, filled by Indians with
bended bows. They were a northern tribe that had never before seen the
white man. Tall and stern, they were stout enemies, but they had no
firearms, and, as could be seen, they were astonished at the look of the
little band, which, at the command of De Troyes, who with Iberville was
in the first boat, came steadily on. Suddenly brought face to face there
was a pause, in which Iberville, who knew several Indian languages,
called to them to make way.
He was not understood, but he had pointed to the white standard of France
flaring with the golden lilies; and perhaps the drawn swords and the
martial manner of the little band--who had donned gay trappings, it being
Iberville's birthday--conveyed in some way his meaning. The bows of the
strangers stayed drawn, awaiting word from the leader. Near the chief
stood a man seven feet in height, a kind of bodyguard, who presently said
something in his ear. He frowned, then seemed to debate, and his face
cleared at last. Raising a spear, he saluted the French leaders, and
then pointed towards the shore, where there was a space clear of trees,
a kind of plateau. De Troyes and Iberville, thinking that a truce and
parley were meant, returned the salute with their swords, and presently
the canoes of both parties made over to the shore. It was a striking
sight: the grave, watchful faces of the Indians, who showed up grandly in
the sun, their skin like fine rippling bronze as they moved; their tall
feathers tossing, rude bracelets on their wrists, while some wore
necklets of brass or copper. The chief was a stalwart savage with a
cruel eye, but the most striking figure of all--either French or Indian
--was that of the chief's body guard. He was, indeed, the Goliath of the
tribe, who, after the manner of other champions, was ever ready for
challenge in the name of his master. He was massively built, with long
sinewy arms; but Iberville noticed that he was not powerful at the waist
in proportion to the rest of his body, and that his neck was thinner than
it should be. But these were items, for in all he was a fine piece of
humanity, and Iberville said as much to De Casson, involuntarily
stretching up as he did so. Tall and athletic himself, he never saw a
man of calibre but he felt a wish to measure strength with him, not from
vanity, but through the mere instincts of the warrior. Priest as he was,
it is possible that De Casson shared the young man's feeling, though
chastening years had overcome impulses of youth. It was impossible for
the French leaders to guess how this strange parley would end, and when
many more Indians suddenly showed on the banks they saw that they might
have tough work.
"What do you think of it, Iberville?" said De Troyes. "A juggler's
puzzle--let us ask Perrot," was the reply.
Perrot confessed that he knew nothing of this tribe of Indians. The
French leaders, who had never heard of Indians who would fight in the
open, were, in spite of great opposing numbers, in warrior mood.
Presently all the canoes were got to land, and without any hostile sign
the Indians filed out on the centre of the plateau, where were pitched a
number of tents. The tents were in a circle, surrounding a clear space
of ground, and the chief halted in the middle of this. He and his men
had scarcely noticed the Frenchmen as they followed, seemingly trusting
the honour of the invaders that they would not attack from behind. It
was these Indians who had been seen in the mirage. They had followed the
Frenchmen, had gone parallel with them for scores of miles, and had at
last at this strategic point waylaid them.
The conference was short. The French ranged in column on one side, the
Indians on the other, and then the chief stepped forward. De Troyes did
the same and not far behind him were Iberville, the other officers, and
Perrot. Behind the chief was the champion, then, a little distance away,
on either side, the Indian councillors.
The chief waved his hand proudly towards the armed warriors behind him,
as if showing their strength, speaking meanwhile, and then with effective
gesture, remarking the handful of French. Presently, pointing to his
fighting man, he seemed to ask that the matter be settled by single
combat.
The French leaders understood: Goliath would have his David. The
champion suddenly began a sing-song challenge, during which Iberville
and his comrades conferred. The champion's eyes ran up and down the line
and alighted on the large form of De Casson, who calmly watched him.
Iberville saw this look and could not help but laugh, though the matter
was serious. He pictured the good abbe fighting for the band. At this
the champion began to beat his breast defiantly.
Iberville threw off his coat, and motioned his friends back. Immediately
there was protest. They had not known quite what to do, but Perrot had
offered to fight the champion, and they, supposing it was to be a fight
with weapons, had hastily agreed. It was clear, however, that it was to
be a wrestle to the death. Iberville quelled all protests, and they
stepped back. There was a final call from the champion, and then he
became silent. From the Indians rose one long cry of satisfaction, and
then they too stilled, the chief fell back, and the two men stood alone
in the centre. Iberville, whose face had become grave, went to De Casson
and whispered to him. The abbe gave him his blessing, and then he turned
and went back. He waved his hand to his brothers and his friends,--a gay
Cavalier-like motion,--then took off all save his small clothes and stood
out.
Never was seen, perhaps, a stranger sight: a gentleman of France ranged
against a savage wrestler, without weapons, stripped to the waist, to
fight like a gladiator. But this was a new land, and Iberville could
ever do what another of his name or rank could not. There was only one
other man in Canada who could do the same--old Count Frontenac himself,
who, dressed in all his Court finery, had danced a war-dance in the
torch-light with Iroquois chiefs.
Stripped, Iberville's splendid proportions could be seen at advantage.
He was not massively made, but from crown to heel there was perfect
muscular proportion. His admirable training and his splendidly nourished
body--cared for, as in those days only was the body cared for--promised
much, though against so huge a champion. Then, too, Iberville in his
boyhood had wrestled with Indians and had learned their tricks. Added to
this were methods learned abroad, which might prove useful now. Yet any
one looking at the two would have begged the younger man to withdraw.
Never was battle shorter. Iberville, too proud to give his enemy one
moment of athletic trifling, ran in on him. For a time they were locked,
straining terribly, and then the neck of the champion went with a snap
and he lay dead in the middle of the green.
The Indians and the French were both so dumfounded that for a moment no
one stirred, and Iberville went back and quietly put on his clothes. But
presently cries of rage and mourning came from the Indians, and weapons
threatened. But the chief waved aggression down, and came forward to the
dead man. He looked for a moment, and then as Iberville and De Troyes
came near, he gazed at Iberville in wonder, and all at once reached out
both hands to him. Iberville took them and shook them heartily.
There was something uncanny in the sudden death of the champion, and
Iberville's achievement had conquered these savages, who, after all,
loved such deeds, though at the hand of an enemy. And now the whole
scene was changed. The French courteously but firmly demanded homage,
and got it, as the superior race can get it from the inferior, when
events are, even distantly, in their favour; and here were martial
display, a band of fearless men, weapons which the savages had never seen
before, trumpets, and, most of all, a chief who was his own champion, and
who had snapped the neck of their Goliath as one would break a tree-
branch.
From the moment Iberville and the chief shook hands they were friends,
and after two days, when they parted company, there was no Indian among
all this strange tribe but would have followed him anywhere. As it was,
he and De Troyes preferred to make the expedition with his handful of
men, and so parted with the Indians, after having made gifts to the chief
and his people. The most important of these presents was a musket,
handled by the chief at first as though it were some deadly engine. The
tribe had been greatly astonished at hearing a volley fired by the whole
band at once, and at seeing caribou shot before their eyes; but when the
chief himself, after divers attempts, shot a caribou, they stood in
proper awe. With mutual friendliness they parted. Two weeks later,
after great trials, the band emerged on the shores of Hudson's Bay,
almost without baggage, and starving.
CHAPTER XII
OUT OF THE NET
The last two hundred miles of their journey had been made under trying
conditions. Accidents had befallen the canoes which carried the food,
and the country through which they passed was almost devoid of game.
During the last three days they had little or nothing to eat. When,
therefore, at night they came suddenly upon the shores of Hudson's Bay,
and Fort Hayes lay silent before them, they were ready for desperate
enterprises. The high stockade walls with stout bastions and small
cannon looked formidable, yet there was no man of them but was better
pleased that the odds were against him than with him. Though it was
late spring, the night was cold, and all were wet, hungry, and chilled.
Iberville's first glance at the bay and the fort brought disappointment.
No vessel lay in the harbour, therefore it was probable Gering was not
there. But there were other forts, and this one must be taken meanwhile.
The plans were quickly made. Iberville advised a double attack: an
improvised battering-ram at the great gate, and a party to climb the
stockade wall at another quarter. This climbing-party he would himself
lead, accompanied by his brother Sainte-Helene,
Perrot, and a handful of agile woodsmen. He had his choice, and his men
were soon gathered round him. A tree was cut down in the woods some
distance from the shore, shortened, and brought down, ready for its duty
of battering-ram.
The night was beautiful. There was a bright moon, and the sky by some
strange trick of atmosphere had taken on a green hue, against which
everything stood out with singular distinctness. The air was placid, and
through the stillness came the low humming wash of the water to the hard
shore. The fort stood on an upland, looking in its solitariness like
some lonely prison-house where men went, more to have done with the world
than for punishment. Iberville was in that mood wherein men do stubborn
deeds--when justice is more with them than mercy, and selfishness than
either.
"If you meet the man, Pierre?" De Casson said before the party started.
Iberville laughed softly. "If we meet, may my mind be his, abbe! But he
is not here--there is no vessel, you see! Still, there are more forts on
the bay." The band knelt down before they started. It was strange to
hear in that lonely waste, a handful of men, bent on a deadly task,
singing a low chant of penitence--a Kyrie eleison. Afterwards came the
benediction upon this buccaneering expedition, behind which was one man's
personal enmity, a merchant company's cupidity, and a great nation's lust
of conquest! Iberville stole across the shore and up the hill with his
handful of men. There was no sound from the fort; all were asleep. No
musket-shot welcomed them, no cannon roared on the night; there was no
sentry. What should people on the outposts of the world need of
sentries, so long as there were walls to keep out wild animals! In a few
moments Iberville and his companions were over the wall. Already the
attack on the gate had begun, a passage was quickly made, and by the
time Iberville had forced open the doors of the blockhouse, his followers
making a wild hubbub as of a thousand men, De Troyes and his party were
at his heels. Before the weak garrison could make resistance they were
in the hands of their enemies, and soon were gathered in the yard--men,
women, and children.
Gering was not there. Iberville was told that he was at one of the other
forts along the shore: either Fort Rupert on the east, a hundred and
twenty miles away, or at Fort Albany, ninety miles to the north and west.
Iberville determined to go to Fort Rupert, and with a few followers,
embarking in canoes, assembled before it two nights after. A vessel was
in the harbour, and his delight was keen. He divided his men, sending
Perrot to take the fort, while himself with a small party moved to the
attack of the vessel. Gering had delayed a day too long. He had
intended leaving the day before, but the arrival of the governor of the
company had induced him to remain another day; entertaining his guest at
supper, and toasting him in some excellent wine got in Hispaniola. So
palatable was it that all drank deeply, and other liquors found their way
to the fo'castle. Thus in the dead of night there was no open eye on the
Valiant.
The Frenchmen pushed out gently from the shore, paddled noiselessly over
to the ship's side, and clambered up. Iberville was the first to step on
deck, and he was followed by Perrot and De Casson, who had, against
Iberville's will, insisted on coming. Five others came after. Already
they could hear the other party at the gate of the fort, and the cries of
the besiegers, now in the fortyard, came clearly to them.