Read The Plowshare and the Sword: A Tale of Old Quebec Page 9


  CHAPTER IX.

  THE GAUNTLET DOWN.

  Oskelano, chief of the Algonquins, that unstable race, false alike tofriend and foe, and doomed to be the first of the savage tribes to beextinguished, reached the fortress about noon on the day which had beenfixed for Geoffrey's departure to the unknown lands. Roussilacpersonally met the treacherous old man upon the heights, and dazzledhis savage eyes with the splendour of a blue surcoat, upon whichgleamed the fleur-de-lys worked in gold. He proceeded to point out thesoldiers in their brave array, the strong huts of wood or stone dottedabout the cliff, the _St. Wenceslas_ riding upon the river, theglistening guns, and the flashing steel. Finally he bade the oldsavage note the impregnable nature of the French position.

  "Behold the citadel which my master has ordered me to build for yourprotection," the commandant continued, pouring his figments through theleering mouth of the dwarf Gaudriole. "We have not destroyed yourforests, nor robbed you of your shelters. You may enter our forts insafety, and obtain whatsoever you desire in exchange for skins andfeathers. We do not mass together in one place. We distribute ourstrength. Our forts are dotted along the coast. The tribes ofMaryland and of Massachusetts have shown you how the English congregateupon the Potomac River. When you go to them for supplies of food, ordemanding recompense for that which they have taken from you, theythreaten 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 onthe governor. "In the south they rule, but only by permission of ourking. Have you obtained any benefits from them? Have they not ratherhunted you like wild beasts when you have resisted them? Remember howSamuel de Champlain armed you so that you might fight against thetribes of the Iroquois. He did not fear the Iroquois, but he saw youin 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 ofEngland. If you accept my master's friendship he shall protect youfrom your enemies. But if you refuse him he shall leave you to themercy of the Iroquois and the English, who shall rob and kill you untilthere is not one Algonquin left."

  "The chief desires to know," said the interpreter, "why it is that theEnglish in the south have brought their wives and families, and why theFrench come alone."

  "The English desire to take the country that they may make it theirhome and abide here for ever," answered Roussilac. "The French arehere to protect the Algonquins, and when danger is over they shallreturn to their wives and families in the homeland."

  "The chief also desires to know what is the cause of the king'sfriendliness to a people whom he has never seen," continued theinterpreter.

  "King Louis has forbidden the English to enter this country, and whenthey disobey he sends ships and men against them. It is his will thatthe 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 yonderisland in mid-stream, and there exterminate them root and branch," thegovernor muttered.

  "Import a shipload of bad brandy, commandant," suggested theinterpreter, with an evil grin. "That would spread a disease whichmight 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 forhim, and Gaudriole had followed with a grating laugh, Roussilacremained to pace the cliff and consider the evil thought. "'Tis a vileplan," he muttered. "Yet beasts are poisoned when they overrun theland. By St. Louis, it is a plan which might work."

  That poor twisted freak of nature, Gaudriole, had lived formerly in thegutters of Paris by his wits and the predatory powers of his fingers,begging by day, stealing by night. Favoured by fortune beyond hisdeserts, he had continued to escape the great stone gallows which hadbeen erected for the dismissal of vagabonds of his kind, and hadfinally escaped to the New World, there to fall speedily into the handsof the Indians. Having saved his life by the performance of somesleight-of-hand tricks, he robbed the tribe which had taken him captiveand escaped that same night. For years he had lived among the natives,learning their language, adopting their manner of living, until he hadmade himself as much at home in the dense forests as in the slums ofhis native city. Indian braves and French soldiers alike stood in aweof him on account of his impish form and devilish ways. The governorsof the forts found him useful because he brought them information. Thefree life suited the unprincipled dwarf, who was little better than ananimal invested with a trick of reasoning; and he knew that, like ananimal, he was liable to be hanged and his body thrown to the crows anyday of his sinful life.

  The cabaret in the Rue des Pecheurs was noisy that evening because theship which had lately arrived from Marseilles had replenished Michel'scasks. Soldiers were gaming behind the red curtain which half-blindedthe single window, and fierce songs sounded under the cliff asGaudriole shuffled down the pathway. The dwarf had not listened to thewelcome noise of the tavern for many a month, and his crooked heartheated 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 youlost, brother, body and soul. Michel, an you sing that lewd songagain---- A plague strike you drunkards! Have the streets ofMarseilles no new song?"

  "There is nothing new, my father," bawled a hoarse voice. "His sacredEminence holds all France as a man might contain in his hand an egg.Only strong men, good fighters, be they priests or laymen, find favourin the Cardinal's eyes, and 'tis said, though with what truth I knownot, 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 verymass-bread is mouldy, and the women are hags----"

  "Peace, brute!" La Salle shouted. "Laroche, smite me yon babbleracross his mouth."

  Standing in the doorway, Gaudriole saw the fat priest heave, and aim aterrific blow at a half-drunken soldier whose head lolled against thewall. The dwarf shuffled forward with his malevolent laugh as thesoldier lurched aside with an oath.

  "The English are upon you, Messires!" he shouted with all his strength.

  Instantly there arose indescribable confusion. Trestles and stoolswere flung aside, wine from overthrown goblets soaked black patternsinto the earthen floor, as every soldier made for the outside, graspinghis sword, or swearing because he could not find it. Out of the noisegrated the laugh of the dwarf, who slunk against the log wall, rubbinghis hairy hands.

  "A jest! A jest!" screamed Ferraud of shrill voice, his waxen faceregaining colour as he wagged his hand at the dwarf. "Masters, beholdGaudriole! Liar, hunchback, bastard! Were you used as you deserve youwould hang from the roof-tree. Masters, come back. There are noEnglish within a thousand miles."

  "What found ye outside, my soldiers?" chuckled Gaudriole, as the men ofMars tumbled disorderedly into the cabaret. "There is the wind. Thewest 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 dwarfuntil his head rolled. "Would make a laughing-stock of his Majesty'sbrave 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 garneredmany a capful of sous at the corners of Paris by his antics, songs, andcontortions. His pathetic shape had saved him from the punishme
ntwhich often attended the tricks of less daring jesters; and it may besurmised that his malignant face and cross-seeing eyes not unfrequentlyrepelled the would-be striker. Men were superstitious in the days whenthe world was large.

  "Some wine first," the hunchback panted, for the priest's arm wasrough. "The ship moves not till she has wind in her sails. I havebeen a drinker of water these months, and my dreams have been red ofwine. Ah, friend! may your beard grow golden, and curl even as yourmistress would have it."

  This to a singularly ugly soldier, with a flat, scarred face andstubbly black beard, who handed him a potful of wine.

  "My beard becomes me well enough," the man growled, when a laugh wentagainst him.

  "Well, in faith. It grows out of your skin like bristles from achimney-brush."

  "Cease your gibes, hunchback, and to your capers. We grow thin forwant of laughter in this accursed country," cried Laroche.

  "What shall it be, Messires, a dance, a clever contortion, or a song--asong of fair ladies, such as one may see upon the streets of Paris,saving the presence of these most holy and renowned priests?" jeeredGaudriole, with his intolerable laugh.

  "All. Give us all, buffoon, and invent somewhat for the occasion," themaster of ceremonies ordered.

  Not loth to practise his talents, Gaudriole took the centre of thefloor. Voice, in a musical sense, he had none. The noise he made waslittle better than the screech of wind roaring through the hollowmouthpiece of some gargoyle of the roof-gutter. Every fresh contortionof his face was more hideous than the last, as he danced, shouted, andtwisted bonelessly over the wine splashes on the ground, until heappeared to the spectators as some frightful creature of nightmare,presenting the evil scenes and actions of their past lives before theirwide-opened eyes.

  He concluded his vaudeville amid shouts of applause, in which La Sallealone took no part. The priest was disgusted at this exhibition of somuch that was brutal, and he was disgusted with himself for remaining alistener and a watcher. He was, for those days, well-educated, and thespectacle of the little monster writhing and yelling before himrepelled. It was Paris in truth that Gaudriole recalled; but not, forhim, the Paris of the corners and byways, not the Paris of vagabondsand free-livers, but the city of the most brilliant court upon earth,the city of intrigue where Cardinal Richelieu spun his red web toentangle the feet of kings. The cabaret was but an interlude, a by-wayof the path to power; but the priest realised, as he sat among thefools, that he had trodden the by-ways frequently and too well.

  He left the tavern with its fumes of smoke and wine, and escaped intothe cool, moist wind under the cliff, but a pair of cross-seeing eyesfollowed his departure, and Gaudriole wormed his way through alabyrinth of arms that would have detained him for more folly, andhopped loosely up the ascent of the crooked path.

  "What would you, creature of sin?" demanded La Salle, when he perceivedwho it was that followed him.

  "A word with you, holiness," panted the dwarf. "The woman Onawa sendsyou greeting and prays that you will meet her at the beginning of theforest where formerly she saw you by chance. She engages to show youwhere your enemy may be found. She waits for you now, most renowned."

  "Dog!" exclaimed La Salle. "What have I to do with this woman? Whatenemy is it of whom she speaks? I have no enemy save Van Vuren, wholives now under the protection of the governor, and slinks at his heelslike a frightened hound."

  Gaudriole could never suppress the malignant grin which escaped fromthe ends of his slit mouth whenever he spoke.

  "I but repeat the message as it was spoken. Think you that I darebetray 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 yondercrows love carrion."

  "See you tell no man of this," the priest muttered, as he moved towardsthe 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 creepinglike midges about their tasks. He descended, and the swaying wall offorest broke the wind. The pale purple crocus pushed its furry hoodfrom the short grass, the songless robins hopped before him, the smellof fresh water was in the air. The fighting priest felt strong as hebreathed 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 thepriest. "A comely maid, by St. Louis. What a figure is there, andwhat freedom! She has a trick of moving her head which would make afashion 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 isgrowing late," she went on in her own tongue, hoping vainly that hemight understand.

  "I commit my body to this adventure," said La Salle. "If these be theEnglish who captured the Dutch vessel and mocked us, the reward ofdiscovery shall be mine. A ship sails for home next week. Tidingsfrom 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 innumerabletwistings, and after an hour's sharp walking they reached an untroddenbed of sage brush glistening upon the flats. Onawa picked up a faintthread, which was invisible to La Salle's eyes, and led him on throughbush where the spikes of dead pines snagged his feet. Then came a coldravine down the sides of which quaking asps drooped and moss spreadthickly. More forest, growing every pace denser, until the girlstopped and motioned her companion to enter what appeared to be a holemade in the centre of a thicket. She held back the rough bushes toallow him to pass ahead. For a moment La Salle hesitated. He washuman enough to know that his manliness had made an impression uponOnawa, but at the same time he feared treachery. The Iroquois weresworn foes of the French, and here was a daughter of the chief of theCayugas abetting a Frenchman. He looked at the girl. She smiledbrilliantly and made an impatient movement, and he advanced boldly intothe cold thicket.

  The ground shelved, and under the arched branches a spring freshet,scarcely seven feet in width, ran hurriedly into the unseen. A canoerocked upon the water, held to the crooked root of a pine by a knottedwillow. Onawa motioned him into this canoe, and when he had taken hisplace after sundry lurchings and difficulties, the girl stepped in,unfastened the twig, and struck her paddle into the water. The canoeswept away under the low branches.

  "I would I had Laroche with me," said La Salle, watching the cold treesand 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 waterrolling up a beach and the sweep of wind across an open surface. Thefreshet widened and grew more shallow; the keel of the canoe scrapedacross a ridge of silt. With a deft turn of her paddle Onawa shot theprow 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, untilthe trees thinned, and willow scrub sprang thickly out of a grey soil.At a certain spot the girl halted and motioned her companion to lookforth.

  La Salle saw the little settlement of New Windsor nestling in itsenclosure, and needed no longer the information, "English," which thegirl offered with a smile.

  They lay in wait while the night grew upon them. La Salle watched whenthe bars of the palisade were removed and five men came forth, andmarvelled to learn the weakness of the enemy. A bold scheme instantlysuggested itself. He would engage the enemy single-handed upon theirreturn, and wear them down one by one.

  Here Onawa became an obstacle, because he could not explain to her hisintentions. He did his best by signs and broken English, but the girlmisunderstood him. She believed that he was telling her that he hadtaken the settlement, and she was expected to instruct the Englishmenthat their property had passed away from them.
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  The white moon ascended the sky. The wooden bars sprawled where theEnglishmen had left them. La Salle felt confident that he would beable to strike down the owners of the place as they passed singly intothe fort.

  Suddenly a great hound came out of the forest, sniffed his way to thepalisade, and stopped before the entry, growling and lashing his tail.Onawa recognised the hound, and called to him. He heard her voice andturned his leonine head to snarl fiercely. Then he headed for theforest, giving tongue as he ran. Onawa sprang to the palisade, andstruggled to replace the bars. For a moment she pulled her blanketover her face, leaving none of it visible except the eyes and forehead,and the priest shivered. He remembered the mysterious swordsman whohad wounded him upon the Rue des Pecheurs. He assisted Onawa to put upthe bars.

  They heard voices in the forest. La Salle knew that he would requirehis full skill in sword-play to save himself that night.