CHAPTER VI.
THE FIGHT AT LA GALLETTE.
Danton was lying on the ground, but he was not asleep. He looked up,at the sound of Menard's footsteps, and then, recognizing him, loweredhis eyes again. The Captain hesitated, standing over the prostratefigure.
"Danton," he said finally, "I want you to tell me the truth."
The boy made no reply, and Menard, after waiting for a moment, satupon a log.
"I have decided to do rather an unusual thing, Danton," he saidslowly, "in offering to talk it over with you as a friend, and not asan officer. In one thing you must understand me: Mademoiselle St.Denis has been intrusted to my care, and until she has safely reachedthose who have a right to share the direction of her actions, I canallow nothing of this sort to go on. You must understand that. If youwill talk with me frankly, and try to control yourself for thepresent, it may be that I can be of service to you later on."
There was a long silence. Finally, Danton spoke, without raising hishead.
"Is there need of this, M'sieu? Is it not enough that she--thatMademoiselle dismisses me?"
"Oh," said Menard, "that is it?"
"Yes."
"You are sure of yourself, Danton? sure that you have not made amistake?"
"A mistake?" The boy looked up wildly. "I was--shall I tell you,M'sieu?--I left the camp to-night with the thought that I should nevergo back."
Menard looked at him curiously.
"What did you plan to do?"
"I didn't know,--I don't know now. Back to Montreal, perhaps to theIroquois. I don't care where."
"You did not bring your musket. It would hardly be safe."
"Safe!" There was weary contempt in the boy's voice. He sat up, andmade an effort to steady himself, leaning back upon his hands. "Ishould not say this. It was what I thought at first. I am past it now;I can think better. It was only your coming,--when I first saw you, itcame rushing back, and I wanted to--oh, what is the use? You do notknow. You cannot understand."
"And now?"
"Now, Captain, I ask for a release. Let me go back to Montreal."
"How would you go? You have no canoe."
"I will walk."
Menard shook his head.
"I am sorry," he said, "but it is too late. In the first place, youwould never reach the city. There are scouting bands of Iroquois allalong the river."
"So much the better, M'sieu, so--"
"Wait. That is only one reason. I cannot spare you. I have realizedwithin the last day that I should have brought more men. The Iroquoisknow of our campaign; they are watching us. A small party like this isto their liking. I will tell you, Danton, we may have a close rubbefore we get to Frontenac. I wish I could help you, but I cannot.What reason could I give for sending you alone down the river toMontreal? You forget, boy, that we are not on our own pleasure; we areon the King's errand. For you to go now would be to take away one ofour six fighting men,--to imperil Mademoiselle. And that, I think," helooked keenly at Danton, "is not what you would wish to do."
The boy's face was by turns set and working. He looked at Menard as ifto speak, but got nothing out. At last he sprang to his feet, andpaced back and forth between the trees.
"What can I do?" he said half to himself. "I can't stay! I can't seeher every day, and hear her voice, and sit with her at every meal. Whydo you call yourself my friend, Menard? Why don't you help? Why don'tyou say something--?"
"There are some things, Danton, that a man must fight out alone."
Danton turned away, and stood looking over the river. Menard sat onthe log and waited. The moments slipped by, and still they saidnothing. They could hear the stirring of Colin, back at the camp, andthe rustle of the low night breeze. They could almost hear the greatsilent rush of the river.
"Danton."
The boy half turned his head.
"You will stay here and play the man. You will go on with your duties;though, if the old arrangement be too hard, I will be your master inthe Iroquois study, leaving Mademoiselle to Father Claude. And now youmust return to the camp and get what sleep you can. Heaven knows wemay have little enough between here and Frontenac. Come."
He got up, and walked to the camp, without looking around. Dantonlingered until the Captain's tall figure was blending with the shadowsof the forest, then he went after.
During the following day they got as far as the group of islands atthe head of Lake St. Francis. Wherever possible Menard was nowselecting islands or narrow points for the camp, where, in case of anight attack, defence would be a simple problem for his few men. Also,each night, he had the men spread a circle of cut boughs around thecamp at a little distance, so that none could approach without someslight noise. Another night saw the party at the foot of PetitChesneaux, just above Pointe Maligne.
While Perrot was preparing the supper, and Danton, with the_voyageurs_, was unpacking the bales, Menard took his musket andstrode off into the forest. There was seldom a morning now that themaid did not have for her breakfast a morsel of game which theCaptain's musket had brought down.
In half an hour he returned, and sought Father Claude; and after a fewlow words the two set off. Menard led the way through thicket andtimber growth, over a low hill, and down into a hollow, where awell-defined Indian trail crossed a brook. Here was a large sugarmaple tree standing in a narrow opening in the thicket. Menard strucka light, and held up a torch so that the priest could make out ablaze-mark on the tree.
"See," said Menard. "It is on the old trail. I saw it by the merestchance."
Father Claude bent forward, with his eyes close to the inscriptionthat had been painted on the white inner bark, with charcoal andbear's grease.
"Can you read it?" asked Menard, holding the torch high.
The priest nodded. Both of these men knew the Indian writing nearly aswell as their own French.
[Transcriber's Note: An illustration of picture-writing appears here in the text with the following caption:
NOTE.--By this picture-writing the Long Arrow (of the clan of the Beaver) tells the Beaver (of the same clan) that he has taken up the hatchet against the party in the canoe, and he asks the Beaver to assist him. The parallel zigzag lines under the long arrow tell that he is travelling by the river, and the two straight lines under these that he has two warriors with him. The attack is to be made in either three or four sleeps, or days, as indicated by the three finished huts and one unfinished.
The Beaver has seen this sign, as shown by his signature at the bottom. The seventeen slanting lines under the foot mean that he has seventeen warriors and they are travelling on foot, southward, as shown by the fact that the lines slope toward the sun.
That the figures in the canoe are French is shown by their hats. The priest has no paddle, the maid is represented with long hair.]
"He does not know of the two men you got at Montreal, M'sieu. He tellsof only six in our canoe."
"No? But that matters little. The Beaver has hurried after him withnearly a score. They can give us trouble enough. What do you make ofthe huts? Do they mean three days or four?"
"It looks to me," said the priest slowly, "that he was interrupted indrawing the fourth."
"Well,"--Menard threw his torch into the brook, and turned away intothe dusk of the thicket,--"we know enough. The fight will be somewherenear the head of the rapids. Perhaps they will wait until we get oninto the islands."
"And meantime," said the priest, as they crackled through theundergrowth, "we shall say nothing of this to Lieutenant Danton or themaid?"
"Nothing," Menard replied.
In three days more they had passed Rapide Flat, after toilinglaboriously by the Long Sault. They were a sober enough party now,oppressed with Danton's dogged attention to duty and with the maid'slistless manner.
They were passing a small island the next morning, when Perrot gave ashout and stopped paddling.
"What is it?" asked Menard, sharply.
Perrot pointed across a spit of l
and. In the other channel they couldsee a bateau just disappearing behind a clump of trees. It was headeddown-stream. Menard swung the canoe about, and they skirted the footof the island. Instead of a single bateau there were some half dozen,drifting light down the river, with a score of _coureurs de bois_ and_voyageurs_ under the command of a bronzed lieutenant, Du Peron, asergeant, and a corporal. The lieutenant recognized Menard, and bothparties landed while the two officers exchanged news.
"Can you spare me a few men?" Menard asked, when they had drawn apartfrom the others.
The lieutenant's eye roamed over the group on the beach, where the menof both parties were mingling.
"How many do you want? I'm running shorthanded. We have all we canmanage with these bateaux."
"There's a war party of twenty on my trail," said Menard. "If I had myown men with me I should feel safe, but I have my doubts about thesefellows. I haven't room for more than two."
"What's the trouble?--that La Grange affair?"
Menard nodded.
"I heard that they had a price on your head. There's been a good dealof talk about it at Frontenac. A converted Mohawk has been scoutingfor us, and he says that the Onondagas blame you for that whole galleybusiness."
"I know," said Menard, grimly. "You could hardly expect them to getthe truth of it."
"It was bad work, Menard, bad work. The worst thing La Grange did wasto butcher the women and children. He was drunk at the time, and theworst of it was over before d'Orvilliers got wind of it. Do you knowwho is leading this war party?"
"The Long Arrow."
"Oh, yes. A big fellow, with a rather noticeable wampum collar. Hecame to Frontenac as a Mission Indian, but got away before wesuspected anything. Our scout told me that his son was in the partythat was taken to the galleys. He's been scouting along the river eversince. Likely as not he followed you down to Quebec. How many men haveyou now?"
"Five, and Father Claude."
"He could shoot at a pinch, I suppose. I'll let you have the best twoI have, but--" Du Peron shrugged his shoulders--"you know the sortthat are assigned for this transport work. They're a bad lot at best.But they can shoot, and they hate the Iroquois, so you're all right ifyou can keep them sober. That will make nine, with yourself,--itshould be enough."
"It will be enough. How is the transport moving?"
"Splendidly. Whatever we may say about the new Governor, our Intendantknows his business. I judge from the way he is stocking up Frontenac,that we are to use it as the base for a big campaign."
"I suppose so. You will report, will you, at Montreal, that we weresafe at Rapide Flat? And if you find a _coureur_ going down to Quebec,I wish you would send word to Provost that Mademoiselle St. Denis iswell and in good spirits."
The lieutenant looked curiously at the maid, who was walking withFather Claude near the canoe. Then the two officers shook hands, andin a few moments were going their ways, Menard with two villainous_voyageurs_ added to his crew. That afternoon he passed the lastrapid, and beached the canoe at La Gallette, thankful that nothingintervened between them and Fort Frontenac but a reach of still waterand the twining channels of the Thousand Islands, where it would callfor the sharpest eyes ever set in an Iroquois head to follow hismovements.
They ate an early supper, and immediately afterward Father Claudeslipped away. The maid looked after him a little wistfully, then shewandered to the bank, and found a mossy seat where she could watch thelong rapid, with its driving, foaming current that dashed over theledges and leaped madly around the jagged rocks. Menard set his men atwork preparing the camp against attack. When this was well under wayhe called Danton, who was lying by the fire, and spent an hour withhim conversing in Iroquois. By that time the twilight was creepingdown the river. Menard left the boy to form a speech in accord withIroquois tradition, and went on a tour of inspection about the camp.The new men had swung thoroughly into the spirit of their work; one ofthem was already on guard a short way back in the woods. The other menwere grouped in a cleared place, telling stories and singing.
Father Claude came hurriedly toward the fire, looking for Menard. Hiseyes glowed with enthusiasm.
"M'sieu," he said, in an eager voice, "come. I have found it."
"What?"
"It has come to me,--about the canoe."
Menard looked puzzled, but the priest caught his arm, and led himaway.
"It came while we ate supper. The whole truth, the secret of theallegory, flashed upon me. I have worked hard, and now it is done.Instead of leaving out the canoe, I have put it back, and have placedin it six warriors, three paddling toward the chapel, and three awayfrom it. Over them hovers an angel,--a mere suggestion, a faint,shining face, a diaphanous form, and outspread hands. Thus wesymbolize the conflict in the savage mind at the first entrance of theHoly Word into their lives, with the blessed assurance over all thatthe Faith must triumph in the end."
At the last words, he stopped and drew Menard around to face theportrait of the Lily of the Onondagas, which was leaning against astump.
"Is it too dark, M'sieu? See, I will bring it closer." He lifted thepicture, and held it close to Menard's eyes. He was trembling with theexcitement of his inspiration.
The Captain stepped back.
"I should like to know, Father, where you have had this picture."
"It was in my bundle. I have"--for the first time he saw the sternnessin Menard's face, and his voice faltered.
"You did not leave it at Montreal?"
Father Claude slowly lowered the canvas to the ground. The light hadgone out of his eyes, and his face was white. Then suddenly his thinform straightened. "I had forgotten. It was M'sieu's order. See,"--hesuddenly lifted the picture over his head and whirled to thestump,--"it shall go no farther. We will leave it here for the wolvesand the crows and the pagan redmen."
He dashed it down with all his strength, but Menard sprang forward,and caught it on his outstretched arm. "No, Father," he said; "we willtake it with us."
The priest smiled wearily, and lowered the picture to the ground; butwhen Menard said, "You have broken it," he raised it hastily, andexamined it. One corner of the wooden frame was loosened, but thecanvas was not injured.
"I can mend it," he said.
Then they walked to the camp together, without talking; and Menardhelped him repair the frame, and pack the picture carefully.
"How is it that it was not ruined in the capsize at Coteau desCedres?" Menard asked.
"It was preserved by a miracle, M'sieu. This bundle did not leave thecanoe."
The _voyageurs_, still lounging in the clearing, were laughing andtalking noisily. The Captain, after he had prepared the maid's couch,and bade her good-night, called to them to be quiet. For a time thenoise ceased, but a little later, as he was spreading his blanket onthe ground, it began again, and one of the transport men sang theopening strain of a ribald song. Menard strode over to the group soquickly that he took them by surprise. Colin was slipping somethingbehind him, but he could not escape Menard's eye. In a moment he wassprawling on his face, and a brandy flask was brought to light. Menarddashed it against a tree, and turned to the frightened men.
"Go to your blankets, every man of you. There are Iroquois on thisriver. You have already made enough noise to draw them from half aleague away. The next man that is caught drinking will be flogged." Hethought of the maid lying under her frail shelter, for whose life hewas responsible. "If it occurs twice, he will be shot. Perrot, I wantyou to join the sentry. From now on we shall have two men on guard allnight. See that there is no mistake about this. At the slightestnoise, you will call me."
The men slunk to their blankets, and soon the camp was still.
The river sang as it rushed down its zigzag channel through therocks,--a song that seemed a part of the night, and yet was distinctfrom the creeping, rustling, dropping, all-pervading life and stir ofthe forest. Every leaf, every twig and root, every lump of sod androck-held pool of stagnant water, had its own miniature world, wherel
iving things were fighting the battle of life. In the far distance,perhaps, an owl hooted; or near at hand a flying squirrel alighted ona bending elm-twig. Deer and moose followed their beaten tracks to thestreams that had been theirs before ever Frenchman pierced the forest;beaver dove into their huts above the dams their own sharp teeth hadmade; moles nosed under the rich soil, and left a winding trackbehind; frogs croaked and bellowed from some backset of theriver,--and all blended, not, perhaps, so much into a sound, as into asense of movement,--an even murmur in a low key, to which the lighternote of the water was apart and distinct.
To a man trained as Menard had been, this was companionship. He wasnever alone in the forest, never without his millions of friends, who,though they seldom came into his thoughts, were yet a part of him, ofhis sense of life and strength. And through all these noises, even tothe roar of Niagara itself, he could sleep like a child, when theslightest sound of a moccasined foot on a dry leaf would have arousedhim at the instant to full activity. To-night he lay awake for a longtime. With every day that he drew nearer the frontier came graverdoubts of the feasibility of the plan which had been intrusted to him.The wretched business of La Grange's treachery and the stocking of theKing's galleys had probably alienated the Onondagas for all time.Their presence on the St. Lawrence pointed to this. He felt safeenough, personally, for the very imprudence of the Governor'scampaign, which had made it known so early to all the Iroquois, was anelement in his favour. The Iroquois, unlike many of the roamingwestern tribes, had their settled villages, with lodges and fields ofgrain to defend from invasion. One secret of the campaign had beenwell kept; no one save the Governor's staff and Menard knew that theblow was to fall on the Senecas alone. And Menard was certain enoughin his knowledge of Iroquois character to believe that each tribe,from the Mohawks on the east to the Senecas on the west, would call inits warriors, and concentrate to defend its villages. Therefore therecould be no strong force on the St. Lawrence, where the French couldso easily cut it off. As for the Long Arrow and his band, eight goodfighting men and a stout-hearted priest could attend to them.
No, the danger would begin after the maid was safe at Frontenac, andhe and Danton and Father Claude must set out to win the confidence ofthe Onondagas. The Oneidas and Mohawks must not be slighted; but theOnondagas and Cayugas, being the nearest to the Senecas, and betweenthem and the other nations, would likely prove to be the key to thesituation.
The night was black when he awoke. Clouds had spread over the sky,hiding all but a strip in the west where a low line of stars peepedout. This strip was widening rapidly as the night breeze carried theclouds eastward. At a little distance some of the men were whisperingtogether and laughing softly. A hand was feeling his arm, and a voicewhispered,--
"Quick, M'sieu; something has happened!"
"Is that you, Colin?"
"Yes. Guerin was on guard with me, and he fell. I thought I heard anarrow, but could not be sure. I looked for him after I heard him fall,but could not find him in the dark."
Menard sprang to his feet, with his musket, which had lain at his sideevery night since leaving Montreal.
"Where was Guerin, Colin?"
"Straight back from the river, a few rods. He had spoken but a momentbefore. It must have told them where to shoot."
"Call the men, and draw them close in a circle." Menard felt his waytoward the fire, where a few red embers showed dimly, and rousedDanton with a light touch and a whispered caution to be silent.Already he could hear the low stir of the _engages_ as they slippednearer the fire. He walked slowly toward the river, with one handstretched out in front, to find the canoe. It was closer than hesupposed, and he stumbled over it, knocking one end off its support.The maid awoke with a gasp.
"Mademoiselle, silence!" he whispered, kneeling beside her. "I fear weare attacked. You must come with me." He had to say it twice beforeshe could fully understand, and just then an arrow sang over them, andstruck a tree with a low _thut_. He suddenly rose and shouted,"Together, boys! They will be on us in a moment. Close in at the bank,and save your powder. Perrot, come here and help me with the canoe."
There was a burst of yells from the dark in answer to his call, and afew shots flashed. Danton was rallying the men, and calling to them tofall back, where they could take cover among the rocks and trees ofthe bank.
The maid was silent, but she reached out her hand, and Menard,catching her wrist, helped her to her feet, and fairly carried herdown the slope of the bank, laying her behind the tangled roots of agreat oak. Already the sky was clearer, and the trees and men werebeginning to take dim shape. The river rushed by, a deeper black thansky and woods, with a few ghostly bits of white where the foam of therapids began.
"Stay here," he whispered. "Don't move or speak. I shall not be far."
She clung to his hand in a dazed manner, but he gently drew his away,and left her crouching on the ground.
The men were calling to one another as they dodged back from tree totree toward the river, shooting only when a flash from the woodsshowed the position of an Indian. Some of them were laughing, and asMenard reached the canoe Perrot broke into a jeering song. It wasclear that the attacking party was not strong. Probably they had nottaken into account the double guard, relying on the death of thesentry to clear the way for a surprise.
"Perrot!" called the Captain. "Why don't you come here?"
The song stopped. There was a heavy noise as the _voyageur_ cameplunging through the bushes, drawing a shower of arrows and musketballs.
"Careful, Perrot, careful."
"They can't hit me," said Perrot, laughing. He stumbled against theCaptain, stepped back, and fell over the canoe, rolling and kicking.Menard sprang toward him and jerked him up. He smelled strongly ofbrandy.
Menard swore under his breath.
"Pick up your musket. Take hold of that canoe,--quick!"
Perrot was frightened by his stern words, and he succeeded in holdingup an end of the canoe, while Menard pushed him down the slope tothe water's edge. They rushed back, and in a few trips got downmost of the stores. By this time Perrot was sobering somewhat, andwith the Captain he took his place in the line. The men wereshooting more frequently now, and by their loose talk showedincreasing recklessness. Calling to Danton, Menard finally madethem understand his order to fall back. Before they reached thebank, Colin dropped, with a ball through the head, and was draggedback by Danton.
They dropped behind logs and trees at the top of the slope. It beganto look as if the redmen were to get no closer, in spite of thedrunken condition of all but one or two of the men. Though the nightwas now much brighter, they were in the shadow, and neither theCaptain nor Danton observed that the brandy which the transport menhad supplied was passing steadily from hand to hand. They could notknow that the boy Guerin lay on his back amid the attacking Onondagas,an arrow sticking upright in his breast, one hand lying across hismusket, the other clasping a flask.
The maid had not moved. She could be easily seen now in the clearerlight, and Menard went to her, feeling the need of giving her somework to occupy her mind during the strain of the fight.
"Mademoiselle," he whispered.
She looked up. He could see that she was shivering.
"I must ask you to help me. We must get the canoe into the water. Theywill soon tire of the assault and withdraw; then it will be safe totake to the canoe. They cannot hurt you. We are protected by thebank."
He helped her to rise, and she bravely threw her weight on the canoe,which Menard could so easily have lifted alone, and stood at the edgeof the beach, passing him the bundles, which he, wading out, placedaboard. But suddenly he stopped, with an exclamation, peering into thecanoe.
The maid, dreading each moment some new danger, asked in a dry voice,"What is it, M'sieu?"
For reply he seized the bundles, one at a time, and tossed themashore, hauling the canoe after, and running his hand along the bark.
The maid stepped to his side. There was a gaping hole in the side ofthe c
anoe. She drew her breath in quickly, and looked up at him.
"It was Perrot," he muttered, "that fool Perrot." He stood looking atit, as if in doubt what to do. Up on the bank the men, Danton andFather Claude among them, were popping away at the rustling bushes.Suddenly he turned and gazed down at the maid's upturned face."Mademoiselle," he said, "I do not think there is danger, but whateverhappens you must keep close to me, or to Danton and Father Claude. Itmay be that there will be moments when we cannot stop and explain toyou as I am doing now, but you must trust us, and believe that allwill come out well. The other men are not themselves to-night--"
He stopped. It was odd that he should so talk to a maid while his menwere fighting for their lives; but the Menard who had the safety ofthis slender girl in his hands was not the Menard of a hundred battlesgone by. So he lingered, not knowing why, save that he hoped for someword from her lips of confidence in those who wished to protect her.And, as he waited, she smiled with trembling lips, and said:--
"It will come out well, M'sieu. I--I am not afraid."
Then Menard went up the bank with a bound, and finding one man alreadyin a stupor, and another struggling for a flask, which Father Claudewas trying to take away from him, he laid about him with his hardfists, and shortly had the drunkards as near to their senses as theywere destined to be during the short space they had yet to live.