The Road to Frontenac Read online

  CHAPTER VII.

  A COMPLIMENT FOR MENARD.

  Colin and Guerin were dead, and one of the transport men lay in adrunken sleep, so that including Menard, Danton, and Father Claudethere were six men in the little half circle that clung to the edge ofthe bank, shooting into the brush wherever a twig stirred or a musketflashed. "There are not many of them," said Menard to Danton, as theylay on their sides reloading. He listened to the whoops and barks inan interval between shots. "Not a score, all told."

  "Will they come closer?"

  "No. You won't catch an Iroquois risking his neck in an assault.They'll try to pick us off; but if we continue as strong as we arenow, they are likely to draw off and try some other devilment, or waitfor a better chance."

  Danton crept back to his log for another shot. Now that the sky wasnearly free of clouds, and the river was sparkling in the starlight,the Frenchmen could not raise their heads to shoot without exposing adim silhouette to the aim of an Indian musket. Father Claude, who wasloading and firing a long _arquebuse a croc_, had risen above thisdifficulty by heaping a pile of stones. Kneeling on the slope, a pacebelow the others, and resting the crutch of his piece in a hollowclose to the stones, he could shoot through a crevice with littlechance of harm, beyond a bruised shoulder.

  The maid came timidly up the bank, and touched Menard's arm.

  "What is it, Mademoiselle? You must not come here. It is not safe."

  "I want to speak to you, M'sieu. If I could have your knife--for onemoment--"

  "What do you want of a knife, child? It is best that you--" There wasa fusillade from the brush, and his voice was lost in the uproar. "Youmust wait below, on the beach. They cannot get to you."

  "It is the canoe, M'sieu. The cloth about the bales is stout,--I cansew it over the hole."

  Menard looked at her as she crouched by his side; her hair fallenabout her face and shoulders; her hands, grimy with the clay of thebank, clinging to a wandering root. She was still trembling withexcitement, but her eyes were bright and eager. Without a word he drewhis knife from its sheath, and held it out. She took it, and was downthe slope with a light spring, while the Captain poked the muzzle ofhis musket through the leaves. As he drew it back, after firing, hecaught a glimpse of Danton's face, turned toward him with a curiousexpression. The boy laughed nervously, and wiped the sweat from hisblackened forehead. "They don't give us much rest, Captain, do they?"Menard's reply was jerked out with the strokes of his ramrod: "Theywill--before long--and we can--take to the canoe. We're letting themhave all they want." He peered through the leaves, and fired quickly.A long shriek came from the darkness. Menard laughed. "There's onemore gone, Danton."

  The fight went on slowly, wretchedly, shot for shot, Danton himselfdragging up a bale of ammunition and serving it to the men. The maid,unaided, had overturned the canoe where it lay, and with quickenedbreath was pressing her needle through the tough bark. Danton lost theflint from his musket, and crept down the bank to set a new one.Suddenly he exclaimed, "There goes Perrot!"

  The old _voyageur_ had, in a fit of recklessness, raised his head fora long look about the woods. Now he was rolling slowly down the slopetoward the canoe and the maid, clutching weakly at roots and bushes ashe passed. There was a dark spot on his forehead. Menard sprang after,and felt of his wrists; the pulse was fluttering out. He looked up, tosee the maid dipping up water with her hollowed hands, and waved herback.

  "It is no use, Mademoiselle. Is the canoe ready? We may need itsoon."

  She stood motionless, slowly shaking her head, and letting the waterspill from her hands a drop at a time.

  "Go back there. Do what you can with it." He hurried up the bank andfell into his place.

  "Do you see what they are doing?" asked Danton.

  "Playing the devil. Anything else?"

  The lieutenant pointed to an arrow that was sticking in a tree besidehim, slanting downward. "They are climbing trees. Listen. You can hearthem talking, and calling down. I've fired, but I don't get them."

  Menard listened closely, and shot for the sound, but with no result.

  "We've got to stop this, Danton. I don't understand it. It isn't likethe Iroquois to keep at it after a repulse. Tell Father Claude; he isshooting too low." Menard glanced along the line at his men. Thedrunken transport man lay silent at his post; beyond him were his mateand one of the Montreal men, both of them reckless and frightened byturns, shooting aimlessly into the dark. The arrows were rattling downabout them now. One grazed Father Claude's back as he stooped to takeaim, and straightened him up with a jerk. A moment later a bullet sangclose past Menard's head. He looked for the maid; she was sitting bythe canoe, sewing, giving no heed to the arrows.

  The Montreal man groaned softly, and flattened out, with an arrowslanting into the small of his back; which so unmanned the only otherconscious _engage_ that he sank by him, sobbing, and trying to pullout the arrow with his hands. Menard sprang up.

  "My God, Danton! Father Claude! This is massacre. Run for the canoe.My turn, eh?"

  "What is it?" asked Danton. "Did they get you?"

  For reply, Menard tore an arrow from the flesh of his forearm anddashed down the bank, musket in hand. The maid was tugging at thecanoe, struggling to move it toward the water. She did not look up tosee the yellow, crimson, and green painted figures rise from the reedsthat fringed the water but a few yards away; she did not hear the rushof moccasined feet on the gravel. Before she could turn, she wasseized and thrown to the ground, surrounded by the Indians, who werefacing about hastily to meet Menard. The Captain came among them witha whirl of his musket that sent one warrior to the ground and droppedanother, half stunned, across the canoe. Danton was at his heels, andFather Claude, fighting like demons with muskets and knives.

  "Quick, Mademoiselle!" Menard lifted her as he spoke, and swung herbehind him; and then the three were facing the group of howling,jumping figures, which was increased rapidly by those who had followedthe Frenchmen down the bank. "Come back here, Father. Protect themaid! They dare not attack you, if you drop your musket! Loose yourhold, Mademoiselle." He caught roughly at the slender arms that heldabout his waist, parrying a knife stroke with his other hand. "Theywill kill you if you cling to me. Now, Danton! Never mind your arm. Ihave one in the hand. Fight for the maid and France!" Menard wasshouting for sheer lust and frenzy of battle, "What is the matter withthe devils? Why don't they shoot? God, Danton, they're coming at uswith clubs!" He called out in the Iroquois tongue: "Come at us,cowards! Make an end of it! Where are your bows? your muskets? Whereis the valour of the Onondagas--of my brothers?"

  The last words brought forth a chorus of jeers and yells. The twoofficers stood side by side at the water's edge. Behind them,knee-deep in the water, was Father Claude, holding the maid in hisarms. The Indians seemed to draw together, still with that evidenteffort to take their game alive, for two tall chiefs were rushingabout, cautioning the warriors. Then, of a sudden, the whole body cameforward with a rush, and Menard, Danton, Father Claude, and the maidwent down; the three men fighting and splashing until they lay, boundwith thongs, on the beach.

  Menard turned his head and saw that Danton lay close to him.

  "Mademoiselle?" he said. "What have they done with her?"

  "She is here." The reply was in Father Claude's voice. It came fromthe farther side of Danton.

  "Is she hurt?"

  "No. But they have bound her and me."

  "Bound you!" The Captain tried to sit up, but could not. "They wouldnot do that, Father. It is a mistake."

  A warrior, carrying a musket under his arm, walked slowly around theprisoners, making signs to them to be silent. The others had withdrawnto the shadow of the bank; the sound of their voices came indistinctlyacross the strip of shore. Indifferent to the pain in his arm, Menardstruggled at his thongs, and called to them in Iroquois: "Who of mybrothers has bound the holy Father? What new fear strikes the breastsof the sons of the night-wind that they must subdue with force thegentle spirit o
f their Father, who has given his years for hischildren? Is it not enough that you have broken the faith with yourbrother, the child of your own village, the son of your bravest chief?Need you other prey than myself?"

  The guard stood over Menard, and lifted his musket. Menard laughed.

  "Strike me, brave warrior. Show that your heart is still as fond as onthe day I carried your torn body on my shoulder to the safety of yourlodge. Ah, you remember? You have not forgotten the Big Buffalo? Then,why do you hesitate? The man who has courage to seize a Father of theChurch, surely can strike his brother. This is not the brave TegakwitaI have known."

  Father Claude broke in on Menard, whose voice was savage in itsdefiance.

  "Have patience, M'sieu. I will speak." He lifted his voice."Teganouan! Father Claude awaits you." There was no reply from theknot of warriors at the bank, and the priest called again. Finally achief came across and looked stolidly at the prisoners.

  "My Father called?" he said.

  "Your Father is grieved, Long Arrow, that you would bind him like asoldier taken in war." The priest's voice was gentle. "Is this thecustom of the Onondagas? It was not so when I served you with Fatherde Lamberville."

  "My Father fought against his children."

  "You would have slain me, Long Arrow, had I not."

  The Indian walked slowly back to his braves, and for some momentsthere was a consultation. Then the other chief came to them, and,without a word, himself cut the thongs that bound the priest's wristsand ankles. There was no look of recognition in his eyes as he passedMenard, though they had been together on many a long hunt. He was theBeaver.

  As the Captain lay on his back, looking first at the kneeling Indian,then at the sky overhead, he was thinking of the Long Arrow, againwith a half-memory of some other occasion when they had met. Then,slowly, it came to him. It was at the last council to decide on hisrelease from captivity, five years before. The Long Arrow had comefrom a distant village to urge the death of the prisoner. He hadargued eloquently that to release Menard would be to send forth anungrateful son who would one day strike at the hand that hadbefriended him.

  Father Claude was on his feet, chafing his wrists and talking with theBeaver. The Long Arrow joined them, and for a few moments the chiefsreasoned together in low, dignified tones. Then, at a word from theBeaver, and a grunt of disgust from the Long Arrow, Father Claude,with quick fingers, set the maid free, and took her head upon hisknee.

  "Have they hurt her, Father?" asked Menard, in French.

  "No, M'sieu, I think not. It is the excitement. The child sadly needsrest."

  "Will they release you? It is not far to Frontenac. It may be that youcan reach there with Mademoiselle."

  "No, my son." The priest paused to dip up some water, and to strokethe maid's forehead and wrists. "They have some design which has notbeen made clear to me. They have promised not to bind me or to injurewhat belongs to me among the supplies. But the Beaver threatens tokill us if we try to escape, Mademoiselle and I."

  "Why do they hold you?"

  "To let no word go out concerning your capture. I fear, M'sieu--"

  "Well?"

  The priest lowered his eyes to the maid, who still lay fainting, andsaid no more. A long hour went by, with only a commonplace word nowand then between the prisoners. The maid revived, and sat against thecanoe, gazing over the water that swept softly by. Danton lay silent,saying nothing. Once a groan slipped past the Captain's lips at atwitch of his wounded arm, and Father Claude, immediately cheered bythe prospect of a moment's occupation, cleaned the wound with coolwater, and bandaged it with a strip from his robe.

  Preparations were making for a start. A half-dozen braves set out,running down the beach; and shortly returned by way of the river withtwo canoes. The others had opened the bales of supplies (exceptingFather Claude's bundle, which he kept by him), and divided the foodand ammunition among themselves. The two chiefs came to the prisoners,and seated themselves on the gravel. The Long Arrow began talking.

  "My brother, the Big Buffalo, is surprised that he should be taken aprisoner to the villages of the Onondagas. He thinks of the days whenhe shared with us our hunts, our lodges, our food, our trophies; whenhe lived a free life with his brothers, and parted from them withsadness in his voice. He had a grateful heart for the Onondagas then.When he left our lodges he placed his hand upon the hearts of ourchiefs, he swore by his strange gods to keep the pledge of friendshipto his brothers of the forest. Moons have come and gone many timessince he left our villages. The snow has fallen for five seasonsbetween him and us, to chill his heart against those who havebefriended him. Twice has he been in battle when we might have takenhim a prisoner, but the hearts of our braves were warm toward him, andthey could not lift their arms. When there have been those who haveurged that the hatchet be taken up against him, many others have comeforward to say, 'No; he will yet prove our friend and our brother.'"

  Menard lay without moving, looking up at the stars. Danton, by hisside, and the maid, sitting beyond, were watching him anxiously.Father Claude stood erect, with folded arms.

  "And now," continued the chief, "now that Onontio, the greatest of warchiefs, thinks that he is strong, and can with a blow destroy ourvillages and drive us from the lands our gods and your gods have saidto be ours by right, as it was our fathers',--now there is no longerneed for the friendship of the Onondagas, whose whole nation is fewerthan the fighting braves of the great Onontio. The war-song is sung inevery white village. The great canoes take food and powder up ourriver, for those who would destroy us."

  Menard was still looking upward. "My brother," he said, speakingslowly, "was once a young brave. When he was called before his greatchief, and commanded to go out and fight to save his village and hisbrothers and sisters, did he say to his chief: 'No, my father, I willno longer obey your commands. I will no longer strive to become afamous warrior of your nation. I will go away into the deepforest,--alone, without a lodge, without a nation, to be despisedalike by my brothers and my foes?' Or did he go as he was bid,obeying, like a brave warrior, the commands of those who have a rightto command? Does not the Long Arrow know that Onontio is the greatestof chiefs, second only to the Great-Chief-Across-the-Water, the fatherof red men and white men? If Onontio's red sons are disobedient, andhe commands me to chastise them, shall I say to my father, 'I cannotobey your will, I will become an outcast, without a village or anation?' The Long Arrow is a wise man. He knows that the duty of allis to obey the father at Quebec."

  "The Big Buffalo speaks with wisdom. But it may be he forgets that ourbraves have passed him by in the battles of every season since he leftour villages. He forgets that he met a band of peaceful hunters fromour nation, who went into his great stone house because they believedthat his white brothers, if not himself, would keep the word offriendship. He forgets that they were made to drink of the white man'sfire water, and were chained together to become slaves of the greatkind Chief-Across-the-Water, who loves his children, and would makethem mighty in his land. Is this the father he would have us obey?Truly, he speaks with an idle tongue."

  Menard lay silent. His part in La Grange's treachery, and in carryingout later the Governor's orders, would be hard to explain. To lay theblame on La Grange would not help his case, at least until he couldconsult with Father Claude, and be prepared to speak deliberately.

  "My brother does not reply?"

  "He will ask a question," replied Menard. "What is the will of thechiefs to do with the sons of Onontio?"

  "The Big Buffalo has seen the punishment given by the Onondagas tothose who have broken their faith."

  "I understand. And of course we shall be taken to your villages beforethis death shall come?"

  The Long Arrow bowed.

  "Very well," said Menard, in his slow voice. "As the Long Arrow, braveas he is, is but a messenger, obeying the will of the nation, I willwithhold my word until I shall be brought before your chiefs incouncil. I shall have much to say to them; it need be said only once.
I shall be pleased to tell my truths to the Big Throat, whose eyes cansee beyond the limits of his lodge; who knows that the hand of Onontiois a firm and strong hand. He shall know from my lips how kind Onontiowishes to be to his ungrateful children--" He paused. The Indians mustnot know yet that the Governor's campaign was to be directed onlyagainst the Senecas. The mention of the Big Throat would, he knew, bea shaft tipped with jealousy in the breast of the Long Arrow. The BigThroat, Otreouati, was the widest famed orator and chief of theOnondagas; and it was he who had adopted Menard as his son. Above all,the Long Arrow would not dare to do away with so important a prisonerbefore he could be brought before the council.

  The maid was leaning forward, following their words intently. "Oh,M'sieu," she said, "I cannot understand it all. What will they do withyou?"

  Menard hesitated, and replied in French without turning his head:"They will take us to their villages below Lake Ontario. They will notharm you, under Father Claude's protection. And then it is likely thatwe may be rescued before they can get off the river."

  "But yourself, M'sieu? They are angry with you. What will they do?"

  "Lieutenant Danton and I must look out for ourselves. I shall hopethat we may find a way out."

  The Long Arrow was looking closely at them, evidently resenting awoman's voice in the talk. At the silence, he spoke in the same lowvoice, but Menard and Father Claude read the emotion underneath.

  "It may be that the Big Buffalo has never had a son to brighten hisdays as his life reaches the downward years. It may be that he has notwatched the papoose become a fleet youth, and the youth a tirelesshunter. He may not have waited for the day when the young huntershould take his seat at the council and speak with those who will hearnone but wise men. I had such a son. He went on the hunt with a bandthat never returned to the village." His voice rose above the pitchcustomary to a chief. It was almost cold in its intensity. "I foundhis body, my brother, the body of my son, at this place, killed by thewhite men, who talked to us of the love of their gods and theirChief-Across-the-Water. Here it was I found him, who died before hewould become the slave of a white man; and here I have captured theman who killed him. It is well that we have not killed my brotherto-night. It is better that we should take him alive before thecouncil of the Onondagas, who once were proud in their hearts that hewas of their own nation."

  The maid's eyes, shining with tears, were fixed on the Indian's face.She had caught up with her hand the flying masses of her hair andbraided them hastily; but still there were locks astray, touched bythe light of the starlit sky. Menard turned his head, and watched herduring the long silence. Danton was watching her too. He had notunderstood the chief's story, but it was clear from her face that shehad caught it all. It was Father Claude who finally spoke. His voicewas gentle, but it had the air of authority which his long experiencehad taught him was necessary in dealing with the Indians.

  "The Big Buffalo has said wisely. He will speak only to the greatchiefs of the nation, who will understand what may be beyond the mindsof others. The heart of the Long Arrow is sad, his spirit cast down,and he does not see now what to-morrow he may,--that the hand of theBig Buffalo is not stained with the blood of his son. We will go toyour village, and tell your chiefs many things they cannot yet know.For the Big Buffalo and his young brother, I shall ask only thejustice which the Onondagas know best how to give. For myself and mysister, I am not afraid. We will follow your course, to come back whenthe chiefs shall order it."

  The two Indians exchanged a few signs, rose, and went to the scatteredgroup of braves, who were feasting on the white men's stores. In amoment these had thrown the bundles together, and were getting thecanoes into the water. Two warriors cut Danton's thongs and raised himto his feet. He rubbed his wrists, where the thongs had broken theskin, and stepped about to get the stiffness from his ankles. Then hebent down to set Menard loose, but was thrown roughly back.

  "What's this? What's the matter? Do you understand this, Menard?"

  "I think so," replied the Captain, quietly.

  "What is it?"

  "A little compliment to me, that is all."

  Danton stood looking at him in surprise, until he was hustled tothe nearest canoe and ordered to take a paddle. He looked back andsaw four warriors lift Menard, still bound hand and foot, andcarry him to the other canoe, laying him in the bottom beneath thebracing-strips. Father Claude, too, was given a paddle. Then theyglided away over the still water, into a mysterious channel thatwound from one shadow-bound stretch to another, past islands thatdeveloped faintly from the blackness ahead and faded into theblackness behind. The lean arms of the Indians swung with atireless rhythm, and their paddles slipped to and fro in the waterwith never a sound, save now and then a low splash.