Produced by Al Haines
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 wasslowly withdrawing his beams from the fortress of Quebec, which hadbeen established some thirty years back, and was then occupied by ahandful of settlers and soldiers, to the number of 120, under themilitary governorship of Arnaud de Roussilac. The French politiciansof the seventeenth century were determined colony builders. Howeverhumble the settler, he was known and watched, advanced or detained, bythe vigilant government of Paris. The very farms were an extension,however slight, of the militarism of France, and a standing menace toBritain. Where, further south, Englishmen founded a rude settlement,the French in the north had responded by a military post. The policyof peace taught by that intrepid adventurer, Jacques Cartier, exactly ahundred years before, had become almost forgotten. "This country isnow owned by your Majesty," Cartier had written. "Your Majesty hasonly to make gifts to the headmen of the Iroquois tribes and assurethem of your friendship, to make the land yours for ever."
But Samuel de Champlain, the colony-maker who followed Cartier, was aman of pride who understood how to make war, but had left unlearned thegreater art of bidding for peace. In 1609, acting under what hebelieved to be a flash of genius, Champlain brought against theIroquois the Algonquins, their bitter hereditary enemies; and withtheir aid, and the use of the magic firearms which had never beforebeen heard in the country of the wild north, he had utterly defeatedthe proud and unforgiving people who had won the admiration and respectof Cartier the pioneer, thus making the tribes of the Iroquoisconfederacy sworn enemies of France for ever. Had Providence beenpleased to make Samuel de Champlain another Cartier, had the lattereven succeeded the former, Canada, from the rough Atlantic seaboard tothe soft Pacific slope, might well have been one great colony of Franceto-day.
It was, however, not the past history of that land, nor even itspresent necessities, which occupied the mind of the Abbe La Salle,great-uncle of the future Robert of that name, who, half-a-centurylater, was to discover the mighty river of Mississippi--which was todeprive the St. Lawrence of its proud birth-title, the Father ofWaters--and explore the plains of Michigan. The abbe was lying, thatspring evening, on the heights, smoking a stone pipe filled with coarseblack tobacco from Virginia, and watching a heavy ship which rockedupon the swift current where it raced round the bend in the shore. Hewas building up a future for himself, a fabric of ambition uponfoundations of diplomacy and daring. This senior priest of thefortress--there were two others, Laroche the bully, and St Agapit theascetic--was a handsome man, powerfully built, of fair complexionmarred only by a sword-cut above the left eye. Although priest inname, he was more at his ease flicking a rapier than thumbing abreviary; 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, oneof the most notorious of that band of martial Churchmen, imitators ofArmand du Plessis Richelieu, for which colonial France at that age wasnoted. Far from the eye of the mighty Cardinal and the feeble mind ofLouis the Just, they swaggered through life, preaching the divinemission of the Church to the natives one hour, drinking deeply, orduelling in terrible earnest, the next. The lives of the fightingpriests of Quebec make not the least interesting page of that romancewhich three centuries have written around the heights.
Wooden huts were dotted thinly along the slopes, which ended where theforest of hemlocks began, about half a mile from the edge of the cliff;and below, where a log landing-stage jutted into the stream, aman-of-war flying the flag of France rode at her ease, a party ofturbaned men, no bigger to the abbe's eyes than children, gambling atdice upon her fore-deck. Anchored beside the shore opposite appearedanother vessel, more rakish in build, less heavy at the stern, andshowing four masts to the Frenchman's three. A pine branch flutteredat 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, asattentively as the distance would permit. The abbe mistrusted allforeigners, even when, as in this case, they came bringing gifts. Hehad recently been informed of that hasty alliance patched up betweenFrance and Holland, and the policy found no favour in his eyes; hefrowned to think that a Dutch man-of-war should be permitted to sail upthe St. Lawrence and cast anchor beneath the heights. Was there anygenuine desire on the part of Holland to strengthen the hands of hernew ally, or were the crafty Dutchmen playing some deep game of theirown? The Indians, who surrounded the fortress as closely as theydared, were entirely hostile to the holders of the land. Rumours of atleast one band of Englishmen, friendly with the natives, hiding in theforest or among the clefts in the rock, waiting to strike a blow whenopportunity offered against the servants of King Louis, had beencirculated by a French dwarf known by the name of Gaudriole, amalevolent, misshapen creature, who passed unharmed about the country,and escaped hanging merely because of his value as an interpreter ofthe various native dialects. The Dutch ship, which had arrived onlythat afternoon, might well have sailed northward with some plan ofjoining for the time with either Indian or English to wrest the masteryof the maritime provinces from the clutch of France.
While La Salle thus meditated with a mind to his own advancement, hiskeen ears detected the fall of footsteps over the crisp grass, and hepulled himself round to discover a priest, like himself wearing asword, a stout man, panting after his long climb.
"What news, Laroche?" called the smoker, indicating the distant warshipwith the stem of his pipe.
"Corpus Domini!" gasped the new comer. "The sun strikes across yonderrocks like the fire of Gehenna. What news, ask you, of yonderpiratical thief of a Dutchman? She is under commission, mark you, topick a quarrel and fight us for this coast, for all the fair talk ofalliance and the chopping up of the Spanish Netherlands between Parisand Holland----"
"What of Roussilac?" broke in La Salle.
"The commandant is now aboard the floating gin-tank, and there you mayswear he shall impress upon the mind of Van Vuren, her master, thecertain fact that Louis the Thirteenth is lord here, from the seaoutward to wherever this endless land may
reach. But we know theHollander. A smooth rascal, who flatters to a man's face, and when hisback is turned--Proh stigmata Salvatoris! Dost remember the Dutchmanwho 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; "buthe may here be a man. What news has this Hollander brought?"
"Why, that England is in revolt from end to end," answered Larochegladly. "We shall find none of their clumsy ships, nor any of theirbarbarian fist-using soldiers here. The people have risen against theking. A man named John Hampden has refused to pay ship-money, a newtax levied to raise a fleet to defy the Pope, the Dutch, and theCardinal, and this man carries the people with him. Also this Charleshas made himself hated in the north by forcing some new form of heresyand insult to his Holiness in the shape of a prayer-book down thethroats of the Scotch. All but a handful have fallen away from him,says Van Vuren, even the lords temporal have begun to despair, and manyare 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 onLaroche. "They go south to take up the lands where the last of theirmariners harried the Spaniards. It is reported that Lord Saye and Seleproposes to transport himself to Virginia, Lord Warwick to Connecticut,and the yeomen, weary of heavy taxes and fearing the extortions of theStar Chamber, seek information concerning New England now that the starof the old has set. We hold the seas, France or Holland unaided isstrong enough to sink the rotten barques which the English call theirfleet. There is no money forthcoming for new ships. Richelieu shallsoon rule the world! Come down. We shall perchance obtain a bottle ofwine along the Rue des Pecheurs before vespers."
"I join you at Michel's after sundown," said La Salle. "At thispresent time I remain in the wilderness."
He stood up, brushed the dry grass from his almost entirely secularcostume, and gazed landwards under the wide brim of his hat, until acrow came presently flapping out of the valley where the great forestbegan. 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 smileabout his mouth.
"Ha! An assignation?" exclaimed the stout priest, and at thesuggestion wiped his moist forehead and laughed loudly. Then he turnedand rolled away down the slope, shouting a song of the cabaret whichhad been popular among the soldiers of Paris two years before. LaSalle followed his progress with a cynical smile, before he alsoturned, and descended upon the opposite side out of sight of the river,and crossed the plain where the French were to rule for two centuriesmore and then to fly with the kilted men of Scotland at their heels.Here the cool hemlock forest murmured, the dense forest which stretchednorthward to the mud flats of the salt bay named after the adventurerHudson, whose lost bones were somewhere tossed in its cold and lonelywaters. The sun was hidden by the hills, big golden lilies stared atthe priest, an indigo-winged butterfly tumbled into shelter to die atthe ending of the day. The dew sweated out of the ground, and thefoliage 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 visionstood before him, backed by the greenwood shade. A young woman, but afew years removed from childhood, stepped forth, hungrily regarding theabbe with a splendid pair of eyes, brown-red and full of fire, andburning with the health and passion of life.
This young maid was Onawa of the Cayugas, that boldest of the tribes ofthe allied Iroquois, who held the interior under their confederacy, allthe plains, backwoods, the river and seaboard, with the exception ofthose spots where military posts had been established--the smallpalisaded farm, and even the trader's hut, being marked upon the map asmilitary posts, and made so by the simple order, "_Le roi le veut_."This girl had been present at the council fire when Roussilac hadendeavoured to heal the breach between French and Indians by speciouspromises, none of which he intended to fulfil; La Salle also had beenpresent, accompanying the commandant as the representative of theChurch. The council had been a failure, owing, said the soldiers, tothe trickery of Gaudriole, the only interpreter available; but in factdue to the overbearing manner of Roussilac, who fell into Champlain'serror of relegating an uncivilised people to the level of animals; andto the innate hatred entertained by the Indians for their conquerors.The Iroquois sachems answered the representative smoothly that theywould consider his offer of peace and the terms accompanying the same,and subsequently resolved that, though they might tolerate English andDutch in their midst, their final answer to the white race who hadarmed the Algonquins against them could only be made by arrow andtomahawk. Onawa, who because of her sex was allowed to take no part inthe discussion, held aloof, and regarded the figure of La Sallestanding haughtily in the yellow glow of the fire. When the deputationwithdrew she followed and caught the priest's attention with a smile;and when night fell she was still watching the lights of the rudelittle town upon the cliffs.
La Salle was no woman's man. He was too healthy a soldier; but he wasambitious, and had moulded his policy upon that of his master, thecharacter which did not shame to describe itself in the unscrupulousterms, "I venture upon nothing till I have well considered it; but whenI have once taken my resolution I go directly to my end. I mow downand overthrow all that stands in my way, and then cover the whole withmy red mantle." The daughter of an Iroquois chief had great poweramong her own people, and the priest reflected that he might add somefame to his name and win perhaps the red hat for his head, if he couldsecure the withdrawal of the hostile tribes; or, better, inflame themagainst the English, who were, so said report, but awaiting anopportunity 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, thelanguage of signs might make a dumb tongue eloquent. Thus it was notaltogether by accident that the handsome abbe came to the fringe of theforest at evening, and it was not chance alone which brought Onawa fromthe camp into the enemy's country.
She held between her fingers a flower, a lily as golden as thatemblazoned upon the royal standard; and while standing before him sheplaced the flower to her forehead, and then gave it him, withoutturning away her eyes, and without shrinking from his.
La Salle understood that she was expressing her willingness to giveherself 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 haveabjured women? Does she then desire me to strip and paint, that shemay make of me a heathen husband?"
He shook his head, and the light changed in the eyes of the girl, andher brow wrinkled. He saw the sudden gleam of her teeth and heard hersigh.
"Jezebel of the forest," he cried, "name me this flower!"
He extended it with a sign, and the ready girl spoke softly adissyllabic 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. Shespoke 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 wordat 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, andtouched 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, andpressed his lips powerfully upon hers.
"C'est le baiser," he said carelessly.
The salutation of the kiss was unknown among the Iroquois. Onawastarted, thrilling with a feeling altogether strange; then turned tohim, putting back her head as a Parisienne might have done to receiveher lover's salute.
"Le baiser _again_," she demanded, clinging to the word which had madelife 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 saidhaltingly in the tongue of the hated race, which he knew little betterthan the Cayuga: "You speak the English?"
Onawa's face lighted. "A ver' little words," she answered. Then shedrew up to him, her eyes more eloquent, and softly repeating herbilingual request:
"Le baiser again."
It was dark when La Salle reached the group of huts planted upon thecliffs. The warships were invisible and unlighted, because lamps wouldhave revealed figures patrolling upon deck, and there were keen-eyedenemies watching from either shore. The priest stumbled along therocky path, his long boots kicking the stones before him, until he camenear the waterside and the Rue des Pecheurs, situated immediately belowthe main cliff on the site occupied to-day by Little Champlain Street.The way was inhabited, as its name implied, by fisher-folk who sweptthe wide river when times were fairly peaceful, and served as soldiersin war. There was no street in the accepted sense of the word. A fewcave dwellings burrowed out of the rock; huts here and there, a tent,or a simple erection of sticks and stones plastered over with mud, werebarely visible, sprinkled irregularly, out of the darkness along thehigh shore.
Where a worn pathway went round and curved towards the landing-stage, asquare log-hut occupied some considerable portion of space. A verydull lamp smoked over the entry, below a board bearing the inscription,"Michel Ferraud, Marchand du Vin." A grumbling noise of conversationand the rattle of dice sounded within.
"Deuce and three for the third time!" shouted the high-pitched voice ofthe Abbe Laroche. "I'll throw you again, Dutchman--one more throw forthe honour of the Church; and the devil seize me if this box plays methe 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 asmile wandered across his face at beholding the attitude of hisfellow-priest.
"The master of the Dutch man-of-war," he called, indicating the playerwho sat opposite him. "Sieur," he shouted over the table, with a burstof unctuous laughter, "the renowned swordsman, L'Abbe La Salle."
Then Van Vuren looked up.