The Road to Frontenac Read online

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  THE ONLY WAY.

  When at last the canoe slipped from the confines of river and hillsand forest out upon the great Lake Ontario, where the green waterstretched flat, east and north and west to the horizon, the Cayugawarriors said farewell and turned again to their own lands. It was atnoon of a bright day. The water lay close to the white beach, withhardly a ripple to mar the long black scallops of weed and drift whichthe last storm had left on the sand. The sky was fair and the airsweet.

  In the one canoe which the Cayugas had left to them, the little partyheaded to the east, now skimming close to the silent beach, nowcutting a straight path across some bay from point to point, out overthe depths where lay the sturgeon and the pickerel and trout andwhitefish. The gulls swooped at them; then, frightened, soared away inwide, rushing circles, dropping here and there for an overbold minnow.The afternoon went by with hardly the passing of a word. Each of them,the Captain, the maid, the priest, looked over the burnished water,now a fair green or blue sheet, now a space of striped yellow andgreen and purple, newly marked by every phase of sun and cloud; and toeach it meant that the journey was done. Here was solitude, with noneof the stir of the forest to bring companionship; but as they lookedout to the cloud-puffs that dipped behind the water at the world'send, they knew that far yonder were other men whose skins were white,for all of beard and tan, whose tongue was the tongue of Montreal, ofQuebec, of Paris,--and neither tree nor rock nor mountain lay between.The water that bore them onward was the water that washed the beach atFrontenac. Days might pass and find them still on the road; but theywould be glorious days, with the sun overhead and the breeze at theirbacks, and at evening the wonder of the western sky to make the watergolden with promise. As they swung their paddles, the maid with them,their eyes were full of dreams,--all save Teganouan. His eyes werekeen and cunning, and when they looked to the north it was not withthoughts of home. It may be that he was dreaming of the deed whichmight yet win back his lost name as an Onondaga warrior.

  The sun hung over the lake when at last the canoe touched the beach.They ate their simple meal almost in silence, and then sat near thefire watching the afterglow that did not fade from the west until thenight was dark and the moon high over the dim line that marked theeastern end of the lake. The sense of relief that had come to themwith the first sight of the lake was fading now. They were thinking ofFrontenac, and of what might await them there,--the priest soberly,the maid bravely, the Captain grimly. Later, when the maid had saidgood-night, and Father Claude had wandered down the beach to thewater's edge, Menard dragged a new log to the fire and threw it on,sending up the flame and sparks high above the willows of the bank. Hestretched out and looked into the flames.

  Teganouan, who had been lying on the sand, heard a rustle far off inthe forest and raised his head. He heard it again, and rose, standingmotionless; then he took his musket and came toward the fire. TheCaptain lay at full length, his chin on his hands. He was awake, forhis eyes were open, but he did not look up. The Indian hesitated, andstood a few yards away looking at the silent figure, as if uncertainwhether to speak. Finally he stepped back and disappeared among thewillows.

  Half an hour went by. Father Claude came up the beach, walkingslowly.

  "It is growing late, M'sieu, for travellers."

  Menard glanced up, but did not reply. The priest was looking about thecamp.

  "Where is Teganouan, M'sieu? Did you give him permission to go away?"

  "No; he is here,--he was here." Menard rose. "You are right, he hasgone. Has he taken his musket?"

  "I think so. I do not see it."

  "He left it leaning against the log. No; it is not there. Wait,--doyou hear?"

  They stood listening; and both caught the faint sound of a body movingbetween the bushes that grew on the higher ground, close to the lineof willows. Menard took up his musket and held it ready, for they hadnot left the country of the Iroquois.

  "Here he comes," whispered Father Claude. "Yes, it is Teganouan."

  The Indian was running toward them. He dropped his musket, and beganrapidly to throw great handfuls of sand upon the fire. The two whitemen sprang to aid him, without asking an explanation. In a moment thebeach was lighted only by the moon. Then Menard said:--

  "What is it, Teganouan?"

  "Teganouan heard a step in the forest. He went nearer, and there weremore. They are on the war-path, for they come cautiously and slowly."

  "Father, will you keep by the maid? We must not disturb her now. Youhad better heap up the sand about the canoe so that no stray ball canreach her."

  The priest hurried down the beach, and Menard and the Indian slippedinto the willows, Menard toward the east, Teganouan toward the west,where they could watch the forest and the beach on all sides. Thesound of an approaching party was now more distinct. There would be along silence, then the crackle of a twig or the rustle of dead leaves;and Menard knew that the sound was made by moccasined feet. He wassurprised that the invaders took so little caution; either they wereconfident of finding the camp asleep, or they were in such force as tohave no fear. While he lay behind a scrub willow conjecturing, FatherClaude came creeping up behind him.

  "I will watch with you, M'sieu. It will make our line longer."

  "Is she safe?"

  "Yes. I have heaped the sand high around the canoe, even on the sidetoward the water."

  "Good. You had better move off a little nearer the lake, and keep asharp eye out. It may be that they are coming by water as well, thoughI doubt it. The lake is very light. I will take the centre. You haveno musket?"

  "No; but my eyes are good."

  "If you need me, I shall be close to the bushes, a dozen yards fartherinland."

  They separated, and Menard took up his new position. Apparently themovement had stopped. For a long time no sound came, and then, asMenard was on the point of moving forward, a branch cracked sharplynot twenty rods away. He called in French:--

  "Who are you?"

  For a moment there was silence, then a rush of feet in his direction.He could hear a number of men bounding through the bushes. He cockedhis gun and levelled it, shouting this time in Iroquois:--

  "Stand, or I will fire!"

  "I know that voice! Drop your musket!" came in a merry French voice,and in another moment a sturdy figure, half in uniform and half inbuckskin, bearded beyond recognition, had come crashing down theslope, throwing his arms around the Captain's neck so wildly that thetwo went down and rolled on the sand. Before Menard could struggle tohis feet, three soldiers had followed, and stood laughing, forgettingall discipline, and one was saying over and over to the other:--

  "It is Captain Menard! Don't you know him? It is Captain Menard!"

  "You don't know me, Menard, I can see that. I wish I could take thebeard off, but I can't. What have you done with my men?"

  Now Menard knew; it was Du Peron.

  "I left them at La Gallette," he said.

  "I haven't seen them--oh, killed?"

  Menard nodded.

  "Come down the beach and tell me about it. What condition are you in?Have you anybody with you?" Before Menard could answer, he said to oneof the soldiers:--

  "Go back and tell the sergeant to bring up the canoes."

  They walked down the beach, and the other soldiers set about buildinga new fire.

  "Perhaps I'd better begin on you," Menard said. "What are you doinghere? And what in the devil do you mean by coming up through the woodslike a Mohawk on the war-path?"

  The Lieutenant laughed.

  "My story isn't a long one. I'm cleaning up our base of supplies at LaFamine. We've got a small guard there. The main part of the rear-guardis back at Frontenac."

  "Where is the column?"

  "Gone to Niagara, Denonville and all, to build a fort. They'll give itto De Troyes, I imagine. It's a sort of triumphal procession throughthe enemy's country, after rooting up the Seneca villages and fieldsand stockades until you can't find an able-bodied
redskin this side ofthe Cayugas. Oh, I didn't answer your other question. What do youthink of these?" He held out a foot, shod in a moccasin. "You'd neverknow the King's troops now, Menard. We're wearing anything we can pickup. I've got a dozen canoes a quarter of a league down the lake. I sawyour fire, and thought it best to reconnoitre before bringing thecanoes past." He read the question in Menard's glance. "We are nottaking out much time for sleep, I can tell you. It's all day and allnight until we get La Famine cleared up. There is only a handful ofmen there, and we're expecting every day that the Cayugas andOnondagas will sweep down on them."

  "They won't bother you," said Menard.

  "Maybe not, but we must be careful. For my part, I look for trouble.The nations stand pretty closely by each other, you know."

  "They won't bother you now."

  "How do you know?"

  "What did I come down here for?"

  "They didn't tell me. Oh, you had a mission to the other nations? Butthat can't be,--you were captured."

  Menard lay on his side, and watched the flames go roaring upward asthe soldiers piled up the logs.

  "I could tell you some things, Du Peron," he said slowly. "I supposeyou didn't know,--for that matter you couldn't know,--but when thecolumn was marching on the Senecas, and our rear-guard of four hundredmen--"

  "Four hundred and forty."

  "The same thing. You can't expect the Cayugas to count so sharply asthat. At that time the Cayugas and Onondagas held a council to discussthe question of sending a thousand warriors to cut off the rear-guardand the Governor's communications."

  The Lieutenant slowly whistled.

  "How did they know so much about it, Menard?"

  "How could they help it? Our good Governor had posted his plans onevery tree. You can see what would have happened."

  "Why, with the Senecas on his front it would have been--" He paused,and whistled again.

  "Well,--you see. But they didn't do it."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I spoke at that council."

  "You spoke--but you were a prisoner, weren't you?"

  "Yes."

  The Lieutenant sat staring into the fire. Slowly it came to him whatit was that the Captain had accomplished.

  "Why, Menard," he said, "New France won't be able to hold you, whenthis gets out. How you must have gone at them. You'll be a major in aweek. You're the luckiest man this side of Versailles."

  "No, I'm not. And I won't be a major. I'm not on the Governor's pocketlist. But I don't care about that. That isn't the reason I did it."

  "Why did you do it then?"

  "I--That's the question I've been asking myself for several days, DuPeron."

  The Lieutenant was too thoroughly aroused to note the change in theCaptain's tone.

  "You don't see it right now, Menard. Wait till you've reached thecity, and got into some clothes and a good bed, and can shake handswith d'Orvilliers and Provost and the general staff,--maybe with theGovernor himself. Then you'll feel different. You're down now. I knowhow it feels. You're all tired out, and you've got the Onondaga dirtrubbed on so thick that you're lost in it. You wait a few weeks."

  "Did the Governor have much trouble with the Senecas?"

  "Oh, he had to fight for it. He was--My God, Menard, what about thegirl? I was so shaken up at meeting you like this that it got awayfrom me. The column had hardly got to the fort on their way up fromMontreal before everyone was asking for you. La Grange had a letterfrom her father saying that she was with you, and he's been in a badway. He says that he was to have married her, and that you've got awaywith her. It serves him right, the beast. One night, at La Famine, hewas drunk, and he came around to all of us reading that letter at thetop of his voice and swearing to kill you the moment he sees you. He'sbeen talking a good deal about that."

  "She is here, asleep."

  "Thank God."

  "Where is La Grange now?"

  "He's over at Frontenac. He got into trouble before we left La Famine.He's drinking hard now, you know. He had command of a company that wasworking on the stockades, and he made such a muss of it that hissergeant had to take hold and handle it to get the work done at all.You can imagine what bad feeling that made in his company. Played thedevil with his discipline. Well, he took it like a child. But thatnight, when he got a little loose on his legs, he hunted up thesergeant and made him fight. The fellow wouldn't until La Grange cameat him with his sword, but then he cracked his head with a musket."

  "Hurt him?"

  "Yes. They took him up to Frontenac. He's in the hospital now, butit's pretty generally understood that d'Orvilliers won't let him goout until the Governor gets back from Niagara. He's well enoughalready, they say. It's hard on the sergeant, too; no one blameshim."

  Du Peron looked around and saw Teganouan lying near.

  "Who's this Indian?" he asked in a low tone.

  "He is with me. A mission Indian."

  "Does he know French? Has he understood us?"

  "I don't know. I suppose so. Here is Father Claude de Casson. Youremember him, don't you?"

  "Yes, indeed."

  The Lieutenant rose to greet the priest, and then the three sattogether.

  "You asked me about the fight, didn't you, Menard? I don't seem ableto hold to a subject very long to-night. We struck out from La Famineon the morning of the twelfth of July. You know the trail that leadssouth from La Famine? We followed that."

  Menard smiled at the leaping fire.

  "Don't laugh, Menard; that was no worse than what we've done from thestart. The Governor never thought but what we'd surprise them asmuch on that road as on another. And after all, we won, though it didlook bad for a while. There was a time, at the beginning of thefight,--well, I'm getting ahead of myself again. We were in fairlygood order. Callieres had the advance with the Montreal troops. Hethrew out La Durantaye, with Tonty and Du Luth,--the _coureurs debois_, you know,--to feel the way. La Durantaye had the missionIndians, from Sault St. Louis and the Montreal Mountain, on his left,and the Ottawas and Mackinac tribes on his right."

  "How did the Ottawas behave?"

  "Wretchedly. They ran at the first fire. I'll come to that. The othersweren't so bad, but there was no holding them. They spread through theforest, away out of reach. Perrot had the command, but he could onlyfollow after and knock one down now and then."

  "The Governor took command of the main force?"

  "Yes. And he carried his bale like the worst of us; I'll say that forhim. It was hot, and we all drooped a bit before night. And he made agood fight, too, if you can forgive him that bungling march. When webivouacked, some of Du Luth's boys scouted ahead. They got in bysunrise. They'd been to the main village of the Senecas on the hillbeyond the marsh,--you know it, don't you?"

  "Yes."

  "And they saw nothing but a few women and a pack of dogs. The Governorwas up early,--he's not used to sleeping out doors in the mosquitocountry,--sitting on a log at the side of the trail, talking withGranville and Berthier. I wasn't five yards behind them, trying toscrape the mud off my boots--you know how that mud sticks, Menard.Well, when the scouts came in with their story, the Governor stood up.'Take my order to La Durantaye,' he said, 'that he is to move on withall caution, that the surprise may be complete. He will push forward,following the trail. You,' he said, to a few aides who stood by, 'willsee that the command is aroused as silently as possible.' Well, Ididn't know whether to laugh at the Governor or pity myself and theboys. Any man but the crowd of seigniors that he had about him wouldhave foreseen what was coming. I knew that the devils were waiting forus, probably at one of the ravines where the trail runs through thatgroup of hills just this side of the marsh. You know the place,--everyone of us knows it. But what could we say? I'd have given a month'spay to have been within ear-shot of La Durantaye when he got theorder. La Valterie told me about it afterward. 'What's this?' he says,'follow the trail? I'll go to the devil first. There's a better placefor my bones than this pest-ridden country.' He calls to Du L
uth:'Hear this, Du Luth. We're to "push forward, following the trail."' Ican fairly hear him say it, with his eyes looking right through theyoung aide. 'Not I,' says Du Luth, 'I'm going around the hills andcome into the village over the long oak ridge!' 'You can't do it. Ihave the Governor's order.' And then Du Luth drew himself up, LaValterie says, and looked the aide (who wasn't used to this kind of asoldier, and wished himself back under the Governor's petticoats) upand down till the fellow got red as a Lower Town girl. 'Tell yourcommanding officer,' says Du Luth, in his big voice, 'that the advancewill "push forward, following the trail,"--and may God have mercy onour poor souls!'

  "Well, Menard, they did it, nine hundred of them. And we came on, aquarter of a league after, with sixteen hundred more. We got into thefirst defile, and through it, with never a sound. Then I was sure oftrouble in the second, but long after the advance had had time to getthrough, everything was still. There was still the third defile, justbefore you reach the marsh, and my head was spinning, waiting for thefirst shot and wondering where we were to catch it and how many of uswere to get out alive. And then, all at once it came. You see theSenecas, three hundred of them at least, were in the brush up on theright slope of the third defile; and as many more were in the elderthickets and swamp grass ahead and to the left. They let the wholeadvance get through,--fooled every man of Du Luth's scouts,--and thencame at them from all sides. We heard the noise--I never heard aworse--and started up on the run; and then there was the strangestmess I ever got into. They had surprised the advance, rightenough,--we could see Du Luth and Tonty running about knocking mendown and bellowing out orders to hold their force together,--but yousee the Senecas never dreamed that a larger force was coming onbehind, and we struck them like a whirlwind. Well, for nearly an hourwe didn't know what was going on. Our Indians and the Senecas were somixed together that we dared not shoot to kill. Our own boys, even theregulars, lost their heads and fell into the tangle. It was allyelling and whooping and banging and running around, with the smoke sothick that you couldn't find the trail or the hills or the swamp. Iwas crowded up to my arms in water and mud for the last part of thetime. Once the smoke lifted a little, and I saw what I thought to be amission Indian, not five yards away, in the same fix. I called to himto help me, and he turned out to be a Seneca chief. Our muskets werewet,--at least mine was, and I saw that he dropped his when he startedfor me,--so we had it out with knives."

  "Did he get at you?"

  "Once. A rib stopped it--no harm done. Well, I was tired, but I gotout and dodged around through the smoke to find out where our boyswere, but they were mixed up worse than ever. I was just in time tosave a _coureur_ from killing one of our Indians with his own hatchet.Most of the regulars scattered as soon as they lost sight of theirofficers. And Berthier,--I found him lying under a log all gone topieces with fright.

  "I didn't know how it was to come out until at last the firing eased alittle, and the smoke thinned out. Then we found that the devils hadslipped away, all but a few who had wandered so far into our lines--ifyou could call them lines--that they couldn't get out. They carriedmost of their killed, though we picked up a few on the edge of themarsh. It took all the rest of the day to pull things together andfind out how we stood."

  "Heavy loss?"

  "No. I don't know how many, but beyond a hundred or so of cuts andflesh-wounds like mine we seemed to have a full force. We went on inthe morning, after a puffed-out speech by the Governor, and beforenight reached the village. The Senecas had already burned a part ofit, but we finished it, and spent close to ten days cutting their cornand destroying the fort on the big hill, a league or more to the east.Then we came back to La Famine, and the Governor took the whole columnto Niagara,--to complete the parade, I suppose."

  The story told, they sat by the fire, silent at first, then talking asthe mood prompted, until the flames had died and the red embers werefading to gray. Father Claude had stretched out and was sleeping.

  "I must look about my camp," Du Peron said at length. "Good-night."

  "Good-night," said Menard; and alone he sat there until the last sparkhad left the scattered heap of charred wood.

  The night was cold and clear. The lake stretched out to a mistysomewhere, touching the edge of the sky. He rose and walked toward thewater. A figure, muffled in a blanket stood on the dark, firm sandclose to the breaking ripples. He thought it was one of Du Peron'ssentries, but a doubt drew him nearer. Then the blanket was thrownaside, and he recognized, in the moonlight, the slender figure of themaid. She was gazing out toward the pole-star and the dim clouds thatlay motionless beneath it. The splash of the lake and the call of thelocusts and tree-toads on the bank behind them were the only sounds.He went slowly forward and stood by her side. She looked up into hiseyes, then turned to the lake. She had dropped the blanket to thesand, and he placed it again about her shoulders.

  "I am not cold," she said.

  "I am afraid, Mademoiselle. The air is chill."

  They stood for a long time without speaking, while the northern cloudssank slowly beneath the horizon, their tops gleaming white in themoonlight. Once a sharp command rang through the night, and musketsrattled.

  "What is that?" she whispered, touching his arm.

  "They are changing the guard."

  "You will not need to watch to-night, M'sieu?"

  "No; not again. We shall have an escort to Frontenac." He paused; thenadded in uncertain voice, "but perhaps--if Mademoiselle--"

  She looked up at him. He went on:

  "I will watch to-night, and to-morrow night, and once again--thenthere will be no need: we shall be at Frontenac. Yes, I will watch; Iwill myself keep guard, that Mademoiselle may sleep safely and deep,as she slept at the Long Lake and in the forests of the Cayugas. Andperhaps, while she is sleeping, and the lake lies still, I may dreamagain as I did then--I will carry on our story to the end, andthen--"

  He could not say more; he could not look at her. Even at the rustle ofher skirt, as she sank to the beach and sat gazing up at him, he didnot turn. He was looking dully at the last bright cloud tip, sinkingslowly from his sight.

  "Frontenac lies there," he said. "I told them I should bring youthere. It has been a longer road than we thought,--it has been aharder road,--and they have said that I broke my trust. Perhaps theywere not wrong--I would have broken it--once. But we shall be there inthree days. I will keep my promise to the chiefs; and we--we shall notmeet again. It will be better. But I shall keep watch, to-night andtwice again. That will be all."

  He looked down, and at sight of the mute figure his face softened.

  "Forgive me--I should not have spoken. It has been a mad dream--thewaking is hard. When I saw you standing here to-night, I knew that Ihad no right to come--and still I came. I have called myself asoldier"--his voice was weary--"see, this is what is done to soldierssuch as I." One frayed strip of an epaulet yet hung from his shoulder.He tore it off and threw it out into the lake. A little splash, and itwas gone. "Good-night, Mademoiselle,--good-night."

  He turned away. The maid leaned forward and called. Her voice wouldnot come. She called again and again. Then he heard, for he stoodmotionless.

  "M'sieu!"

  He came back slowly, and stood waiting. She was leaning back on herhands. Her hair had fallen over her face, and she shook it back,gazing up and trying to speak.

  "You said--you said, the end--"

  He hesitated, as if he dared not meet his thoughts.

  "You said--See," she fumbled hastily at her bosom, "see, I have keptit."

  She was holding something up to him. In the dim light he could notmake it out. He took it and held it up. It was the dried stem and thecrumbling blossom of a daisy. For a moment he kept it there, then,while he looked, he reached into his pocket and drew out the other.

  "Yes," he said, "yes--" His voice trembled; his hand shook. Her hairhad fallen again, and she was trying to fasten it back. He looked ather, almost fiercely, but now her eyes were hidden. "We will go toFrontenac;" he said
; "we will go to Frontenac, you and I. But theyshall not get you." He caught the hands that were braiding her hair,and held them in his rough grip. "It is too late. Let them break mysword, if they will, still they shall not get you."

  Her head dropped upon his hands, and for the second time since thosedays at Onondaga, he felt her tears. For a moment they weremotionless; he erect, looking out to the pole-star and over the waterthat stretched far away to the stone fort, she sobbing and clinging tohis scarred hands. Then a desperate look came into his eyes, and hedropped on one knee and caught her shoulders and held her tightly,close against him.

  "See," he said, with the old mad ring in his voice, "see what asoldier I am! See how I keep my trust! But now--but now it is too latefor them all. I am still a soldier, and I can fight, Valerie. And Godwill be good to us. God grant that we are doing right. There is noother way."

  "No," she whispered after him; "there is no other way."